#Rooftops Monaco

[mdameninie]

Les Meilleurs Rooftops à Monaco : Où Admirer la Principauté depuis les Hauteurs

Monaco, célèbre pour son glamour et son prestige, offre également des vues à couper le souffle depuis ses rooftops. Si vous cherchez à profiter d’un dîner chic ou simplement à siroter un cocktail tout en admirant les lumières scintillantes de la Principauté, voici une sélection des meilleurs rooftops à Monaco : Le Grill de l’Hôtel de Paris Niché au sommet de l’emblématique Hôtel de Paris, Le…

[giuseppe-yuki]

money, money, money

normal!max verstappen x billionaire!reader

w.c.: 6.8k

warnings: curse words, allusions to sex, RUDE people, sprinkle of angst (?)

summary: you introduce max to the good and bad sides of having money.

a/n: roughly inspired by crazy rich asians- one of my fav movies!!!

edit: bonus birthday oneshot :)

photo credits from pinterest :)

it was no secret to the majority of the world that your bloodline was rich- filthy rich. with your father’s side of the family owning the equivalent of half a small country and your mother’s side of the family the owners of several major corporations, you had no lack of paper bills in your bank accounts.

along with your siblings and your cousins, you grew up pampered, only going to your country’s best schools and wearing only the latest fashion. you were picked up by a chauffeur in a personal sleek black bentley and had a team of maids at your beck and call. hell, you were even granted access to a private jet in case you wanted to fly somewhere exotic just for fun!

as a child without a sense of the value of money, you thought all children lived like this. every birthday, you expected only the very best from your parents. on your sixth birthday, your parents closed down disneyland and let the kids rampage throughout the park. for your cousin’s grade school graduation, your aunt bought an entire cruise liner (company) and held a week-long party on the water to celebrate. when your little brother passed his driver’s license, your father bought him a customized ferrari pista (that he might have crashed three days in) as his first car. when christmas came by, your grandma flew in your entire family to her private island in first class, and surprised all the kids with their very own mini play homes in the backyard that were each the size of a small apartment. 

slowly, as you matured, you realized how lucky you were. while eating the caviar and champagne at the expensive gala, the homeless were out in the cold, eating the leftover crusts in oily crumpled pizza boxes that they fished out of the trash. each dollar in your bank accounts could go to sick children whose parents couldn’t pay the hospital bills for, and instead, they were going to mega yachts that sat in the monaco bay most of the year. besides, wouldn’t your parents' money run out some time? 

it seemed that many of your cousins and siblings didn’t give a fuck. you watched them exponentially abuse their power, blowing through thousands of grands for luxury cars they drove only once and exclusive rooftop parties where they swam in pools of champagne. one by one, you saw them drop out of school and spend every day as the life of the party. once they rapidly grew out of the excuse of being “young, naive, and not knowing better” their reputation to the general public became “spoiled and out-of-touch” with society. 

you of course, weren’t totally exempt from this. you had to admit that you occasionally spent a few k on a nice little bag for yourself, or had an occasional trip to bali for some sun. however, you focused much more on your studies and helping others than partying. instead of spending your draining your mother’s company assets, wouldn’t it be better to have your own? why wield a black card embellished with your father’s name in gold when it could be your own name? with your own money, you could also donate huge amounts to people in need- all under your name.

slowly, you built up your own credible business using the knowledge you gained, and it soon skyrocketed into a world-wide profitable company. 

even with such success however, all your siblings and cousins laughed at you. running a company? they had chuckled, in their balenciaga suits and miu miu dresses. why do such tedious work when you can just marry into a rich family?

rich family, you scoff, looking at one of your cousins at the yearly family party that your family threw. though she was dressed to the nines, hair done up and jewelry glistening on her neck, she looked absolutely miserable. her husband, that everyone knew she had just married “for the money” stood on the opposite end of the room, flirting unashamedly with a rather uncomfortable looking waiter. that was really funny, considering that your cousin had been bragging about how much her husband loved her at the last function. she had even shoved a picture of her next to a humongous flower bouquet into your face, teasingly stating how “you never had this experience before, huh?”

your brother wasn’t that much different. although he looked rather successful with a big quarter of your mother’s company stocks, you knew that he was in major debt from burning through his bank accounts gambling at casinos around the world. he paraded around the room with his wife, who hung on his arm so proudly, but only because she didn’t know a thing. if you hinted at your brother’s little “problem,” you knew that she would have the divorce papers ready by afternoon the next day. 

as the party went on and the alcohol broke down the painstakingly-built facades of your family’s relationships, you began to stop envying their so-called perfect lives. you realized that all they knew about was money. what did they know about love?

love to you was a kind man with blue eyes that crinkled whenever he smiled at you, light brown hair that was oh-so-soft to run through with your hands, and a soothing voice with a twinge of an accent and slight lisp. love smelled like his soft cologne, and tasted like the spiced sweetbreads he would bake on the weekends. 

max was the total opposite from the cocky and money-hungry douchebags from your home country that were more attracted to your wallet and family influence, which was what you liked about him. even the way you met him was different. usually, the men would make it all about themselves, trying to impress you with their “achievements” (owning three ferraris is not a keystone achievement, david) or throwing technical jargon at you to sound smart. if you somehow invited them on a second date, they always showed up late and would tear off their clothes the second they got in the house, expecting to get to third base immediately. however, you met max through a friend of a friend at a small party in monaco. he could barely look you in the eyes and stuttered through his sentences, which you found quite refreshing compared to the arrogant guys that you usually encountered. on your first date, he got you some rather wilty looking tulips, but also brought some homemade bread that you swore was the best you ever ate. on the second date, he yapped about all the flags of all the countries he knew, but you didn’t mind because he let you ramble your own interests after. before long, you moved in with him in his apartment on the edge of monaco, and had the honor of calling him your boyfriend.

so now, lying in his arms on his tiny bed, you felt more at home than ever. 

the sunlight streams in through the windows above his bed, casting a glow across his face and filtering through his impossibly long eyelashes. you take a minute to admire the angelic scene, before one his cats leaps off of who-knows-where and jumps on his face. 

he yelps, and unwinds his arm from around you to softly push who you assume to be sassy away from his head. 

you flash a glare at sassy for ruining such a nice moment, before picking her up and attempt to “throw” her off the bed. 

unfortunately, max yanks her out of your hands before you are able to.

“hey!” he says in a chastising tone. “be nice to sassy. i’m sure she didn’t mean to.” 

max sits up on the bed and gives sassy a few head scratches before placing a kiss on her soft head. sassy meows at you, which you swear is in a mocking tone. across the room, jimmy sprints over and takes a spot next to max, purring for head scratches too, effectively pushing you off the bed. 

you didn’t understand how your boyfriend couldn’t see that his cats were literally devils. you were basically subject to their abuse every day (i.e. random ankle attacks, knocking over all you fragile items, unplugging your devices, cat hair in your food, and the worst one, stealing max away from you). scowling, you surrender your rightful spot on the bed and pad into the kitchen in your slippers to start the coffee. 

it’s not until both the coffee and breakfast is ready when max finally enters the kitchen, now freshly dressed. the cats scamper around his feet, curling lovingly around his ankles. 

“sorry about that, baby.” he says, pulling out his chair and taking a seat in front of his plate of food. “jimmy and sassy just wanted some love.”

you roll your eyes before settling down into your own seat.

he spears a few sausage links and eggs into his mouth before glancing at the clock. eyes widening, he shoves the rest of the food into his mouth and chugs down the hot coffee.

“so sorry, i have to run!” he sputters out, “i’m going to be late to my engineering meeting!”

he dashes to the bedroom to grab his bag before running back into the kitchen to press a kiss to your cheek in goodbye. 

“have fun at work too, baby!” he yells before the front door slams closed. 

sighing, you finish your plate before washing the dishes in the sink. he was always late for his engineering job at a small office in downtown monaco. max somehow always got to his office in time though, but probably because he raced his little yellow renault clio rs on the streets like he was some type of formula one driver. meanwhile, you had your “work” at home (which typically meant one phone call to your secretary to make sure everything was running smoothly, a quick scroll through your company accounts, and then netflix on the couch).

from the time you met to the time you started dating, you never got to telling max about your family history or your job. it was actually kind of unbelievable that he didn’t notice actually, even when all your clothes were covertly designer and heels were always red bottoms, or when you seemingly traveled out of the country every other weekend for company meetings. however, he never asked, so you never told. 

well, that was until he came home that night. 

his footsteps echo on the ground as he walks out from the bathroom, but stops before he gets into the kitchen

“hey baby,” he says, tilting his head. “what’s this?”

you stop stirring the pasta sauce, looking back to see your freshly showered boyfriend questioningly glancing at your open macbook on the couch.

you must have forgotten to close out of your company bank account tab. quickly, you throw the spoon aside, slam the laptop shut, and throw it to the side. 

“that’s nothing, baby.” you say, rushing back to the kitchen and stirring the bubbling red mixture again. 

“oh-kay…” he says, walking up behind you and reaching over to help strain the pasta noodles. 

while straining the water out in the sink, he flashes you a quick glance. “was it like…” he whispers quietly. “adult material or something?? is that why you didn’t want me to see it?” 

what? 

you look back him, an unimpressed look at your face. “adult material, max???” you repeat back at him. “no. i was not watching adult material on my work laptop.”

“okay, whatever you say, baby.” max says, clearly not believing you. clearing his throat, he continues. “so, um… anyways, my coworker george was talking about how he met his boyfriend alex's parents over the weekend, and i realized that i never met your parents before. do you think we can maybe pay them a visit?"

you freeze, halfway sliding out a plate of garlic bread from the oven. 

“i- um, don’t think that’s wise, maxie.” you reply quietly.

your boyfriend wrinkles his brow. he stops the plating of the noodles and walks over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“is it…is it because they are assholes?” he asks, looking at you seriously. “cause it’s okay if they are- i understand, because my dad…my dad is not very kind either.”

you can’t help to think about your family in your home country. you could never take your maxie there. they would rip him to shreds, degrading him for being rather plain and destitute compared to them. you would never want to put your boyfriend through your parents, either, who would probably criticize him for wanting to marry you just for the money, even if max didn’t know a goddamn thing about how you earned your funds. 

you rub your face. “no, it’s not that.” you sigh, “i- mean- it’s just complicated over there in my home country. i don’t want you to feel pressure or uncomfortable-”

max cuts you off with a hug, and presses a kiss to your cheek. “i really don’t mind, baby. i’d really like to meet the people who made such a kind and beautiful person like you.”

you blush a little at his words. even if you have an uneasy feeling to your stomach, you nod lightly. it can’t be that bad, right?

if you were to take max over to your home country, there was no doubt he would be exposed to your massive fame and influence there. to slowly ease him into the more luxurious side of your life, you first introduce the luxuries of a private jet the day you take off from the airport.

“a private JET???” your boyfriend shrieks, looking at his speciality boarding pass. 

hurriedly, you shush him to avoid the glares of other travelers within a yelling distance of you both. 

“max, please be quiet.” you hiss into his ear. “yes, it says private jet.” 

maneuvering your cart with your lv-branded luggage to the side of the terminal, along with max’s one small carry-on and two pet cages with the reincarnations of the devil inside, you pull out your phone to check the location of the driver who would take you to the separate private-jet entrance. 

like magic, he materializes behind you, tapping you on the shoulder. 

politely, he takes your horde of luggages and max’s items before politely gesturing towards a massive black lincoln that was definitely not parked there before. 

“this way miss,” he says curtly, before reaching forward to open the car door for you. 

max, snapping out of his confusion, snaps his hand out first and roughly yanks the door open, and nearly hitting both you and the driver. 

“i’ll open the door for my own girlfriend, thanks!” he retorts, glaring suspiciously at the driver, who just shrugs and starts loading the luggage into the back of the car.

when max climbs into the spacious back of the lincoln, you can’t help but giggle into your hand. 

“max, you need to relax,” you laugh, placing a calming hand on max’s leg. “he’s my driver. it’s his job to open the door, okay?”

your boyfriend sniffs, pouting a little. 

“fine.”

after boarding the jet and ascending safely into the air, you settle into your padded chair. meanwhile, max runs around the jet like a little kid, pointing out the “special features,” much to the amusement of the staff. 

“omg, baby, look!” he yells, pointing at a wooden-paneled door behind your chair. “the bathroom is huge!” 

you nod, and hum in agreement, sparing a quick glance at max, who was opening and closing the door as if it would change what was behind it. 

he then charges toward a cabinet near the middle of the plane, which is stuffed to the brim with your favorite snacks. “wow!” he shouts, before sprinting towards a similar cabinet further down, which you know is the alcohol storage area. 

there’s a moment of silence before max steps into view with three gin and tonics and one of your favorite drinks in hand. he carefully sets them down in front of you, batting away a disgruntled-looking bartender who held a half-open bottle of gin that you assumed he was in the middle of pouring when max snatched the bottle away. 

you apologize profusely to the bartender while max watches on, straight up chugging his drinks. 

“this is wild!!” he whispers, pointing to the cups in front of him.

no more than five minutes after sending the bartender away with a little tip, max has already finished two of his three gin and tonics and was already bounding out of his seat to explore the rest of the plane. 

once you hear his exclamations of joy from the back of the plane, you know he has discovered the master bedroom.

before you have a chance to take a sip of your own drink, max basically pounces on you and drags you towards the private bedroom. your boyfriend pushes you onto the soft bed, yells out the door. 

“give us a little bit of privacy, okay?” he shouts to no one in particular, before slamming the door shut. 

he turns back to your figure lying spread-eagle in the bed, and wiggles his eyebrows. 

max is the first one to talk after you both lay on the bed, lips swollen and cheeks red. 

“so…?” he says, running a hand down your back. 

“so… what?” you ask, looking up at him from your position sprawled on top of him. from your point of view, you could feel the slight rise and fall of his chest, his slightly damp hair, and the way his blue, blue eyes study your face. 

“so, when were you going to tell me that you were…like…rich?” he replies.

you maneuver yourself to a sitting position on your boyfriend’s lap, looking him nervously.

“well…” you remark, twiddling your thumbs. this wasn’t the way you thought you were going to break the news to max. 

“i grew up more- comfortably in my home country, thanks to my family and their connections. i was lucky to not have to worry about money at all. when i became a little older, i separated myself from the rest of my siblings and cousins to form and take care of my own company. then, on a business trip, i met you and then.. yeah, you know what happens next.”

an awkward silence fills the room, with max digesting the information and you toying with a stray thread from the bedcovers.

your boyfriend opens his mouth slowly.

“a company?” he questions, turning to you. “what company?”

you scramble off the bed for your phone, and type something quick in the search bar. when you find what you are looking for, you rotate the phone towards your boyfriend, the glowing screen reflecting on his features. 

it only takes one or two seconds for max to scan and decipher the words on the screen.

“YOU’RE THE CEO OF REDBULL??” max shouts.

when the wheels of your private jet hit the bumpy runway, it was midnight. your pilot’s voice crackles on the intercom, politely notifying you that you have arrived, and are free to disembark whenever you’d like. outside, you can see several workers unloading your luggage, along with jimmy and sassy in their pet carriers.

you turn to max, who was intensely staring at his screen, unmoving. you assume he was still in the middle of his fervent wikipedia dive of you and your family’s entire history that he insisted on learning, once he got over the initial shock. 

“max,” you say, nudging him slightly. 

he doesn’t budge, eyes trained like an eagle on his screen. 

you pull on sweatshirt before nudging him again, this time a little harder. “max, come on, we gotta go.”

he snaps up, and pockets his phone before mock saluting you. “yes, of course, miss ceo! whatever you say!”

you roll your eyes. max was a little extra sometimes.

he trails behind you obediently as you climb down the stairs to get off the plane, and into a sleek black limousine. 

before long, you find yourself on the familiar streets and freeways that you used to frequent when you were younger. it feels the slightest bit nostalgic, so different from the streets of monaco that you became used to thanks to max. 

you look back to find max tilting his head at you. 

“where to now, miss ceo?” he asks in a curious tone.

you smile.

”i know just the place.”

even when it was close to three am, the downtown streets were still packed with people. vendors engulfed the street sides, selling delicious soups and snacks beckoned to people, and little shops with bright signs advertised souvenirs, clothing, stationary, and everything in between. the car inches to a stop when you come upon a familiar old building that you remember visiting often as a child. bright glittery letters on the storefront and windows exclaim, “lombardi ice cream shop.” a line of people streams out the door, an ode to the delicious creamy treats that the shop has been selling for years. god, you could basically taste the ice cream on your tongue already.

you practically leap out of the car, dragging max with you towards the front of the shop. the red bottoms of your heels click against the concrete, turning many heads in the crowd along the sidewalk. you hear gasps of shock and a few whispers of your name along the crowd. they automatically parts like moses and the red sea when you get closer. max hesitates, wide eyed, at the edge of the crowd. 

”c’mon,” you laugh, taking his hand and leading him through the people.

an old woman, back hunched with age, waddles out of the kitchen and greets you warmly when you arrive at the counter. without realizing, a warm feeling spreads across your chest. she was basically like a second mother to you, considering you spent your entire childhood frequenting this shop with your cousins and siblings. whenever you visited your home country, you would always make sure to pop by her shop (not that she needed your business- her lines always curled around the block, day and night). 

“ahh!! welcome back, honey,” she exclaims, wiping her wrinkled hands on her apron. “you’ve gotten so beautiful!” throwing a glance at a shy max hesitantly hidden behind you, she sends you an eyebrow raise. “ah, and i see you brought a boy back huh?”

you reach over to give the weathered old woman a hug, blushing. “hello, momma lella! yes, this is my boyfriend max.”

max waves a polite hello, one hand still nervously holding yours.

the elderly woman smiles kindly at max, not hiding how she looks him up and down. “well, i approve!” she states, giving you a thumbs up and a wink. “polite and handsome!” 

without another word, she grabs the largest size cup and fills it to the brim with creamy chocolate ice cream. sprinkling a good amount of sprinkles and shoving two spoons into the cup, she offers it to you. 

“on the house!”

you and max sit on the sidewalk with the cup of ice cream, watching people walk by and cars zoom through the traffic. occasionally, max takes his spoon and shovels a large helping of chocolate ice cream into his mouth. 

“you look like you’re really enjoying the ice cream,” you state, noticing the chocolate smeared over the corners of his mouth.

max just smiles at you in the way he always does, with the dimples and the crinkle in his eyes. 

suddenly, your moment is ruined when a flash goes off in your face.

max jerks back, rubbing his eyes, not used to the invasive cameras that made up your childhood.

you whip around towards the flash, seeing a small herd of paparazzi smiling wickedly. a rare spotting of you in back in your home country for the first time in years? that was payday for them. a flash of anger shoots through you, causing you to throw your wooden spoon at their expensive cameras. unfortunately, it just bounces off of the arm of a short looking man carrying a heavy duty camera.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you yell, shooing them away from max. “can you just leave us alone for one second?”

bothersome paparazzi like this was common when you grew up in a family rich with drama and money. you recall them camping in front of your house, shutters clicking once they saw a sign of movement. whatever mistake you made, like tripping over a small rock or fighting with your sister over a doll, was publicized and dramatized into unrecognizable stories on gossip magazines that were popular in your home country. it was a pity that this was max’s first introduction to these pests. 

you pull max with you as you shove your way roughly through the paparazzi. they deserved it if you accidentally smashed someone’s lens. 

max stumbles behind you. 

“wha-?” he says, holding the half-empty chocolate ice cream. “where are we going?”

you huff. “away from those wannabe photographers- i hate them so much.”

you flip open your phone to call your chauffeur, but your app notifies you it would take a total of ten minutes for him to weave through traffic to get to you both. in the distance, the paparazzi raise their cameras again, shutters clicking as they photograph your pissed off expression and a dumbfounded max next to you. you can practically see the headlines tomorrow- ‘bratty billionaire back in country!!’

like a godsend, a futuristic-looking car rumbles to life next to you. that will probably get you home and away from these fuckers fast, right? hurriedly, you march over to the disgruntled middle-aged man in the passengers’ seat.

“five million for your car- right now.” you say, dead serious. 

the man’s eyes widen comically large. 

“five mi-“

you cut him off quickly, seeing the paparazzi darting closer to max, who was still holding the ice cream and eyeing the cameras wearily. 

“yes, five million. i’ll mail you the check.”

without another word, the man tosses you the keys and hefts himself out of the car. you leap into the drivers seat just as he gets out, and jam your finger on the window down button to beckon max into the car immediately. 

the moment he sits down on the expensive-looking leather seats, you rev the engine and leave the paparazzi behind in the dust. 

it’s not until you are halfway back to your penthouse when max finally speaks. 

“this is a super nice car,” he states, running his hand against the interior side panels. 

you look around, really noticing the detailings of the car. the sides look like they are made with some carbon fiber material, and it seemed like it didn’t even have a door handle- just straps you pull on the corner of the dashboard. 

”yeah, i guess so,” you admit. “i just bought this off of that dude back there in order to get away from the damn paparazzi.”

max wrinkles his brows. 

“you bought-?? what??? you know this is an aston martin valkyrie, right?”

the next morning, when the sun shines through the skyline windows lining your penthouse, you keep your promise by instructing one of your staff to send the promised check to the random guy on the street (fernando, he said his name was). your boyfriend scrolls idly on his phone next to you, probably scrolling through your family’s lengthy wikipedia page again. his cats stamp around your white bedsheets as if they owned the place. you think about what you both could do today. perhaps visit the children’s hospital? before moving to monaco, you frequented many small hospitals, bringing gifts for the children. it always felt good seeing the sick kids light up with joy. or, you could go shopping, although you did spend a little bit much on the random car yesterday. or- 

before you can complete your thought, a familiar ringtone lights up the screen of your phone. your mother’s name lights up your phone, as if taunting you. before you second-guess yourself, you smash your finger into the green ‘answer’ button and place the phone to your ear.

your mother’s voice flows through the speakers, sending a wave of nostalgia throughout your body. 

“darling!” the voice hums, “why didn’t you tell me that you were back in your home country? i had to find out over the silly little paparazzi pictures on the newspapers!” 

damn it, you think, cursing silently in your head. it seemed that the paparazzi from yesterday night had probably sold your pictures to some trashy gossip magazine that had caught the attention of your mother. that meant that you had to face your family sooner or later. 

“hello, mother,” you reply curtly, trying to avoid the topic. “how may i help you?”

your mother tuts through the speakerphone. “oh, your own mother can’t just call to say hello?” 

you groan. “no- i mean yes-“

your mother cuts you off, laughing. “i’m kidding, darling. i just wanted to let you know that i’m hosting a party at our estate tomorrow, to celebrate your arrival! you’ve been in monaco for a god-awful long time. your cousins and siblings will be coming too- i’m sure they’ll all excited to see you after your hiatus in monaco!” 

you hesitate before responding. your first instinct was to say no, because everybody knew full well that the only reason your cousins and siblings even bothered to show up at these kind of events is to save face and show off their new ridiculously expensive clothing and cars, not to welcome you. however, this also gave you a chance for max to meet your parents, like he wanted back in monaco. it isn’t a hard choice when you agree to meet the next day.

max revs the engine once again as he pulls the valkyrie to stop in front of the valet at the front of your family’s estate. 

through the tinted windows of the car, you see one of your snobby cousins, dressed in an jeweled gown, jump at the loud sound and clutch her husband’s arm tighter however, her husband ignores her to get a good look at your aston martin supercar, which makes you laugh. to your surprise, he is not the only one. a few other family members gather around, admiring the hypercar. 

in the passenger’s seat, max’s mischievous grin slowly turns into a frown of nervousness as he spots the crowd of people gathering around you both. you know it must look intimidating, meeting your significant other’s family, especially when they had such high expectations of you. you place a kiss on his cheek. 

“you ready, maxie?” you ask, patting his shoulder comfortingly. 

he nods, before opening the car door. 

like the gentleman he is, max quickly hurries over to the passenger’s side of the car to help you out of the car. you gladly take his hand, and step out of the vehicle daintily. straight away, you can hear the confused mutterings and jealous glares of your family members start up, which follow the both of you into the house. 

like expected, your childhood home is decorated a little over the top. people mingle under crystal chandeliers around staircases draped with real flowers. from the second living room, music drifts out that sounds suspiciously like martin garrix. a fancy bar is set up a room that was usually the dining room, with a bottle of every single alcohol you can ever think of. the courtyard, usually empty save a few plants, was turned into outdoor buffet bar, complete with a five story cake and massive chocolate fountain. 

once inside, max attempts to introduce himself to the first friendly-looking family member that he sees, which happens to be your aunt on your mother’s side. he sticks out his hand, a smile gracing his face. 

“hi, my name is max,” he says, “i’m your niece’s boyfriend.”

your aunt nods politely, shaking his hand. 

“hello max,” she says, visibly studying him, “what are you, a ceo? businessman? sports star?”

”auntie!” you say, shocked, cutting max off from his response. that rude bitch. although she looked relatively kind from the outside, all she really cared about anyone was their power and money. which was probably why your cousin married a mega popstar that was away half the time. like the rest of your family, money trumped true love. “you can’t just start a conversation like that!”

max shakes his head, “no, no, it’s alright. i’m an engineer.”

“ah,” your aunt says, knowingly. taking a sip of her champagne, she continues, “head engineer, huh? of what company?”

thinking he might have misheard her, max corrects her, “oh- no, not head engineer, just an engineer, like in an office.”

your great-aunt’s friendly demeanor automatically drops.

“just an engineer?” she responds, coldly.

you notice how max’s face falls the slightest bit, before he plasters a fake polite smile on his face. he shuffles uncomfortably, glancing at you, as if saying, did i say something wrong?

before you can say something rather rude to your aunt, a hand clasps your shoulder. turning around, your brother beams at you. 

“sister!” he exclaims. “i haven’t seen you in a hot sec. too busy partying in monaco, huh? or doing your silly little business things for redbull?”

he then eyes max, to which he wiggles his eyebrows at you. “who’s this, huh? your boyfriend?”

”yes,” you snap, still a little pissed from your aunt’s rude reaction. 

your brother puts his hands up jokingly, in a surrender position. “damn, okay, no need to be defensive.” 

he sticks out his hand to your boyfriend, who takes it gladly. 

“what’s up, dude,” your brother says, shaking max’s hand. “i saw you pull up with my sister in that sick aston martin valkyrie! you must have some insane connections- the waitlist for that baby is like years long.”

your aunt answers before your boyfriend can. 

“there’s no way he could have bought that car- he’s just an office engineer at some company at who knows where,” she says pointedly.

hearing this, your brother’s impressed look turns into a sneer of disdain. he steps back from max in disgust, as if he had just turned into some horrible monster. he chuckles at you.

”wow, sister, you’ve outdone yourself huh? an office engineer?”

your family, slowly becoming aware of something going on, turns towards the scene. a wide-eyed martin garrix turns off the booming music in the back.

you shove your brother further away from max, causing the glass of champagne to spill onto your brother’s designer suit. 

“what’s wrong with you?” you exclaim angrily. “at least he has a job, unlike you!”

ignoring the bubbling liquid staining his suit and your enraged expression, he turns toward max, still eyeing him with disgust. “how pathetic, leeching off of my sister’s money as a ceo? ha, you probably used her card to buy that valkyrie, didn’t you?”

next to you, stunned into silence, max’s blue eyes begin to fill with tears. 

behind you, your aunt lets out a cackle of laughter, along with a few members of the crowd.

you just about launch yourself at your brother, wanting more than anything to bash his head in.

as if it couldn’t get worse, your mother pushes through the crowd gathered around you both, and grabs your arm before you can make contact with your brother. 

“hey!” she yells, yanking you back. “what is going on here?” 

your brother grins, pointing at max. “your precious daughter went and got herself a little gold digger boyfriend- and look, he’s crying!”

you glance over to max, heart sinking. like your brother said, he had a tear running down his face, and he shook a little with embarrassment. it reminded you of a story that max once told you, how his father had often upset him as a child when he was forced to do karting. an anger flared inside of you. max had only wanted to be a good boyfriend and introduce himself to your family, but was in turn ridiculed in front of a crowd by your hypocrite brother.

your mother turns to max, then turns to you. 

“is this true, darling?” she asks, tilting her head. “does he exploit you for money?”

does max exploit you for money? you can hardly even comprehend the ridiculous sentence. you roughly yank your arm out of your mother’s grasp and march over to max. you lace your fingers through his, giving his hand a squeeze. 

you turn towards your chuckling brother. he won’t be laughing soon.

“you’re really one to talk, brother! you think you’re hot shit, with a large chunk of mother’s company stocks. well, wouldn't it be a shame if everyone knew that you are in debt from your uncontrollable gambling problem, hmm? i wonder what your wife feels about that?”

you take comfort in the way the smug smile drops from your brother’s face, now replaced with a withering glare. the silent crowd gathered around the scene lets out a gasp, in light of this news. their focus now was trained on your brother instead of max. 

“and you!” you exclaim, turning to your aunt. “since you think the word gold digger is so funny, auntie, wouldn’t you like to know how your own daughter is one, huh?” 

your aunt jerks back, not used to the crowd’s attention trained on her, along with your harsh words.

”yeah,” you continue, “if you would stop judging people based on their worth in money, you might have been able to see that all she does is spend her husband‘s money on inane things in order to ignore his multiple affairs!”

from the back of the room, you hear your cousin burst into tears while her mother, your aunt, standing in front of you, turns as red as a tomato. 

gently, you lead max towards the gilded gold front door. your family gives you judgemental looks as you make your way through the crowd. turning back one last time before you step out, you address the crowd. “don’t think any of you guys are any better. all you lot do is leech off of trust fund money!”

max stays silent all the way to your penthouse, as do you. after a hot shower, you bundle him up in your soft fluffy blankets until he looks the puft marshmallow man. you can’t help but feel terrible. he silently shuffles towards you, which you respond by pulling his head against your chest. jimmy and sassy watch wearily from a distance on the carpet.

you are the first to cut through the silence. 

“i am so sorry that my family did that to you, maxie.” 

he doesn’t answer, but the new tears that soak your expensive silk pajama set does the answering for him. 

you run your hand through his damp strands of light brown hair, and rub his back comfortingly. 

he pulls back from your embrace to wipe his eyes briefly. 

“why do you love me?” he hiccups, cheeks wet with tears. “like- i have no money, two cats that you hate, and- and- a tiny apartment-“

“max!” you say, cutting him off from his ramblings. “listen to me.” 

you look into his watery eyes, eyelashes wet with tears.

”i really don’t care if you lived in a literal dirt hole with no job, or if you were a formula one world champion. i would love you no matter what. i love your blue eyes and your pouty lips and your lisp, and your cologne, and the bread that you bake, and your little apartment and even though it may not seem like it, i love your stupid cats too.“

he chuckles wetly at the last part of your sentence.

you kiss the top of his head.

”you don’t know how much i love you, max emillian verstappen.”

a devious grin slips onto his face. he shoots you a sultry look. 

“show me.”

and you do.

later, when max lays asleep on the bed, love bites on his neck, face slightly flushed, and back bare, you get up to fetch your phone.

the person you seek is only a few taps away. he picks up on the second ring, politely greeting you even though it was an ungodly hour. you tell him your request, but he hesitates slightly. 

”are you sure-“

you cut your financial advisor off as politely as possible. 

“yes, that’s right. i would like to buy the entirety of my mother’s companies and my father’s estates.”

the sounds of pencil scratching paper fills your ears before your financial advisor lets out a sound of approval. 

“right away, ma’am!”

a/n: APOLOGIES for my week-long hiatus!! take this fic as an apology... your normal spinoff series! scheduling will resume shortly <3

also let me know if you have a better name for this piece- i was STRUGGLING trying to name this one ;-;

[moonlightwritingf1]

Back to You | LN4

💥 summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N, heartbroken after Lando vanished nine months ago, sees a tabloid photo of him with another woman. Determined for answers, she flies to Monaco. Their confrontation turns heated, months of tension igniting into passion. As anger and desire blur, they realize they still want each other

💥 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

💥 word count ━━━━━━━ 6.6k

💥 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, rough sex

Based on this request.

Y/N sat alone in her apartment, the twilight sky outside mirroring the quiet desolation inside. The low hum of the bustling city seeped through the large windows—a constant reminder that life was moving on outside, even if her own world had come to a standstill. Every familiar sound—the distant rumble of traffic, the soft murmur of pedestrians, even the clink of glasses from a nearby rooftop bar—seemed to mock the heavy silence of her phone. For nine long months, ever since the argument that had shattered what little connection they once shared, Lando had vanished without a trace.

Her heart ached with each morning that began the same way: with her eyes opening to a screen filled with unanswered messages and missed calls, a relentless echo of his absence. She found herself mechanically scrolling through old photos on her phone—captured moments of laughter, shared secrets, and the tender surprises he’d sent her. Each image was a bittersweet reminder of a time when his presence had been a balm to her insecurities, when his gestures of gifting exquisite perfumes and designer handbags made her feel seen. Now, every memory only deepened the question that tormented her:

Was I ever enough?

She recalled his words, once so full of promise: “You’re incredible, Y/N. There’s something about you I can’t explain.” That text, once a spark of hope, now felt like a relic from a life that had slipped irretrievably away—a promise broken by months of silence. The very thought made her eyes sting with unshed tears and her chest tighten with a mix of sorrow and anger.

Just as she was about to sink deeper into despair, her phone vibrated—a sharp, unexpected buzz that sliced through the stillness. The notification was from a mutual friend, and the message appeared with an almost aggressive urgency:

Friend: “Hey, have you seen the tabloids? Lando was snapped outside a club last night in Monaco with a girl. They’re saying she was with him as he left.”

The words hit her like a cold splash of water. Her stomach churned, and a bitter taste spread across her tongue. The image of Lando—whose eyes had always held a spark just for her, even amidst the glitter of glamorous company—transformed in her mind into something unrecognizable and distant. So this is how you treat me? she thought bitterly. Ghost me for months, and then let a rumor paint you as nothing more than an option.

Her mind reeled with memories of their past—the whispered promises during quiet evenings, the extravagant gifts that had arrived like tokens of an unspoken devotion, the way he had looked at her as if she were the only person in the room. Yet here she was, feeling discarded and small—a solitary soul amidst a sprawling metropolis that had once held so much promise.

The room felt colder, the familiar surroundings now tinted with the sharp edge of betrayal. Every object in her apartment—the well-worn armchair by the window, the stack of books on her coffee table, even the gentle hum of the air conditioning—seemed to conspire with the silence of her phone, reminding her of the void Lando had left behind.

A surge of determination began to kindle within her, battling the despair that threatened to overwhelm her. I deserve better than this endless waiting, she resolved, her voice barely above a whisper. The sting of betrayal was too raw, too painful to let fester in isolation. She needed answers, a chance to reclaim her dignity, and perhaps—most of all—a way to understand why the man who had once made her feel like the center of the universe had chosen silence over solace.

Her thoughts churned as she considered her next move. Confrontation was daunting, yet the idea of sitting in perpetual uncertainty was unbearable. With a mix of trepidation and fierce resolve, she decided that the only way to mend the fractured pieces of her heart was to face him directly. Without a second thought, she booked a flight to Monaco—a place that now symbolized both his presence and her desperate need for closure.

As she closed the door behind her that evening, leaving the familiar comfort of her apartment, every step she took was laden with a heavy mix of sorrow, anger, and a spark of hope. The bustling city around her might have been indifferent to her inner turmoil, but within her burned a singular determination: to shatter the barrier of silence that had grown between them and to confront the man who had left her questioning her very worth.

—

The air in Lando’s apartment in Monaco was heavy with tension, the kind that could only come from weeks of silence and unanswered texts. Y/N stood in the middle of the living room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her breathing shallow but steady. She had flown from London on a whim, driven by a mix of anger, hurt, and something she couldn’t quite name. That something had brought her here, to his doorstep, uninvited but unyielding.

Lando leaned against the kitchen counter, his expression unreadable. He wore a black hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his hair was a mess, like he hadn’t bothered to style it all week. His eyes, usually so full of mischief and warmth, were cold now, distant.

“You can’t just show up here, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and clipped.

She laughed, but it was hollow. “Oh, I’m sorry. Should I have sent you a text? Oh wait, you’ve been ignoring those for months.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Y/N’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. She had replayed their last argument in her head a hundred times, each time feeling the sting of his words cutting deeper.

“You’re acting like a child,” she said finally, her voice shaking. “Ghosting me? Really? Is that how you handle things now?”

Lando’s eyes flicked up to hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of guilt. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“I didn’t ghost you,” he said, his voice flat. “I just needed space.”

“Space?” she repeated, incredulous. “You mean you needed to go out clubbing with some random girl while I was left wondering if I’d done something wrong?”

His expression darkened. “That wasn’t what it looked like. I wasn’t with her. She just happened to be—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “I don’t care about the details, Lando. I care about the fact that you couldn’t even be bothered to talk to me. You just disappeared.”

He pushed off the counter and took a step toward her, his voice rising. “You think this is easy for me? You think I wanted to walk away? You’re so damn stubborn, Y/N. You push people away, and then you act surprised when they leave.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. His words hit her like a punch to the gut, and she felt the familiar ache of insecurity creeping in.

“I don’t push people away,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, you do,” he shot back, his voice softening. “You keep everyone at arm’s length because you’re scared. Scared of getting hurt, scared of being vulnerable. But guess what? I’m scared too.”

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. “Scared of what?”

“Scared of losing you,” he admitted, his voice low and raw, his hands dropping from her face to hang at his sides. “But it’s more than that. That’s not what I meant, Y/N. I care about you—more than anyone else. But sometimes, I felt pressured to prove that I could have you. And I...I got scared.”

His words burned through her, their weight pressing against her chest. Her jaw tightened, her emotions twisting into something sharp and defensive. “You felt pressured? To prove what? That you’re worthy? Or that I’m just another conquest?” 

He stepped back, his face hardening. “You know that’s not what I’m saying.” “Do I?” Her voice cracked, anger and hurt colliding in a storm that threatened to spill over. “Because that’s what it sounds like. That’s always what it sounds like with you. Like I’m just some prize you’re trying to win.” 

“Stop twisting my words,” he shot back, his voice rising. “You’re not a prize. You’re not something to be won. But you keep pushing me away, acting like I’m some shallow, unfeeling idiot who doesn’t know what he wants. And it...it pisses me off.”

Her fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. “I’m scared too, Lando. I’m scared that I’m not enough, that I’m just the girl no one truly wants. I see the echoes of your past—the women you once admired so freely—and I can’t help but wonder if I’m merely another fleeting distraction in your life.”

His eyes darkened, and he took a step forward, his tone simmering with frustration. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. You’re not a distraction. You’re not some temporary fling. God, Y/N, how many times do I have to say it before you believe me? Before you stop comparing yourself to people who don’t matter?”

“Don’t matter?” she snapped, her voice trembling with fury. “How can they not matter when they’re a part of you? When I see their faces every time I close my eyes, wondering if that’s what you really want? Wondering if you’re just settling for me because I’m the one who said no?”

He let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable. You think I’m here, now, because you said no? That’s what you think? That I’m just some egomaniac who couldn’t stand the idea of a woman rejecting him?”

“I don’t know what to think!” she shouted, her hands flying up in frustration. “Because you’ve never made it clear! You’ve never given me a reason to trust that this is real!”

“I’ve tried!” he roared, stepping closer, his chest heaving. “I’ve tried everything to show you how I feel, and all you do is shut me out. You don’t let me in. You don’t let me love you!”

She stared at him, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts, her heart pounding so loudly it felt like it would break free from her chest. “Maybe I don’t deserve to be loved.” 

“Shut up,” he growled, his voice rough and desperate. He closed the distance between them, his hands grabbing her face with a force that sent her head tilting back. And then his lips were on hers, hard and demanding, a storm of anger and longing tangled in one desperate gesture.

For a split second, she froze, her mind screaming at her to pull away, to push him back, to protect herself. But then something inside her snapped, and she kissed him back with a ferocity that matched his own. Her hands fisted in his hoodie, pulling him closer as the fight dissolved into something far more primal.

Their lips moved in a chaotic rhythm, anger and passion combusting into something undeniable. His hands slid from her face to her waist, gripping her so tightly she stumbled backward, her back hitting the wall with a soft thud. He pressed into her, his body pinning hers, the heat between them unbearable.

“You’re not a distraction,” he murmured against her lips, his voice fierce and unyielding. “You’re the only damn thing I’ve wanted in months.”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. All she could do was kiss him again, her hands clawing at the fabric of his hoodie as if she could tear it away. The anger, the fear, the doubt—it all melted into the heat of his body against hers, the truth they’d both been too scared to admit finally breaking free.

And in that moment, she stopped fighting. Against him. Against herself. Against whatever this was that had always terrified her. Because maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to be alone anymore.

Their lips crashed together again, hungry and desperate, a tangle of anger and need. His hands were everywhere—her hips, her waist, her back—pulling her closer, tighter, as if he could erase the distance that had grown between them. She clawed at his hoodie, her nails digging into the fabric, her voice breaking as she gasped against his mouth, “Take this off. Now.”

He didn’t hesitate. In one swift motion, he pulled the hoodie over his head and tossed it aside, his chest heaving as he stared down at her, his eyes dark with a mix of rage and desire. “Happy?” he growled, his voice rough.

“No,” she shot back, her hands immediately finding their way to his bare skin, her fingers tracing the muscles of his back as she pulled him back into the kiss. Her lips were demanding, bruising, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip in a way that made him groan.

He lifted her effortlessly, his hands gripping the backs of her thighs as he carried her to the sofa, their lips never parting. The moment her back hit the cushions, he was on her, his body pressing into hers, his hands roaming wildly as if he were trying to memorize every inch of her.

“I’ve missed you,” he muttered against her lips, his voice thick with emotion. “Every moment without you was torture.”

“Don’t,” she whispered, her hands clutching at his shoulders as she tried to push him away, but her body betrayed her, arching into his touch. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” he demanded, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of her top, his movements hurried and impatient. “Because you don’t want to hear it? Or because you don’t believe me?”

She didn’t answer, her breath hitching as he finally managed to get her top off, his hands moving to her bra. He undid the clasp with ease, tossing it aside before his mouth descended on her breasts, his tongue flicking over her nipple in a way that made her cry out.

“I’ve craved your kiss in my darkest moments,” he murmured against her skin, his teeth grazing her sensitive flesh. “I’ve been longing for your touch.”

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer even as she tried to push him away, her body a contradiction of anger and need. “Lando,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “This doesn’t fix anything.”

“Maybe not,” he said, his lips trailing up her neck to capture hers once more. “But it’s a damn good start.”

His hands slid down her body, undoing the button of her jeans and sliding them off her hips along with her panties. She kicked them aside, her legs wrapping around his waist as he moved between them, his own jeans and boxers discarded in a heap on the floor.

When he finally entered her, it was with a deep, urgent thrust that made her moan, her nails digging into his back. He paused for a moment, his breath ragged as he looked down at her, his eyes searching hers. “I’ve missed feeling your pussy wrapped around my cock,” he said, his voice low and rough.

Her body tightened around him, a visceral reaction to the way his cock stretched her, filling her completely, dragging against every sensitive nerve she had. The friction was electric, his thickness pressing so deep it felt like he was stealing the air from her lungs. His thrusts were relentless, hard and furious, the kind that made her bones rattle and her mind go blank. Each time he pushed into her, his hips slammed against hers, the force of it sending shockwaves through her body. She could feel the anger in his movements, the pent-up frustration of weeks without her driving him to fuck her with a ferocity that bordered on savage.

Her walls clenched around him, slick and tight, her body betraying her mind as it welcomed the invasion. The pleasure was unbearable, every stroke of his cock inside her sending her closer to the edge. She hated how good it felt, how much her body craved him even as her mind screamed at her to resist. “I hate you for this,” she gasped, her voice trembling, her nails digging into his back hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks. “You don’t get to just— fuck your way back into my life.”

“Yes, I do,” he growled against her ear, his breath hot and ragged. He hooked his hands under her thighs, lifting her hips higher, angling himself so he could plunge even deeper. The tip of his cock brushed against that spot inside her that made her vision blur, her breath hitching in her throat. “You’re mine, Y/N. No matter how much you want to deny it, your body knows it. I can feel it—how wet you are for me, how fucking perfect you are.”

She hated how right he was. She hated the way her pussy clung to him, pulsing around his cock as if it had been made for him. The stretch of him, the way he filled her so completely, it was maddening. She could feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as it slid in and out of her, the friction sending sparks of pleasure ricocheting through her body. Her hips lifted to meet his thrusts, the rhythm wild and unhinged, her body moving on instinct, chasing the release she so desperately needed.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. His hands tightened on her hips, keeping her in place as he drove into her again, the slap of their skin echoing in the room. She opened her eyes to meet his, and the intensity in his gaze made her stomach clench. “I’ve missed this. Missed you. Every goddamn second without you, I’ve wanted to be inside you, to feel you come around me.”

Her breath caught, her heart pounding as the tension coiled tighter and tighter in her belly. “I hate you,” she whispered again, but it was weak, half-hearted, her body betraying her words as she arched into him, her walls fluttering around his cock. “I hate that I need you.”

“Say it again,” he urged, his lips brushing against hers, his thrusts slowing slightly, becoming deeper, more deliberate. The tip of his cock pressed against that spot inside her again, and she sucked in a sharp breath. “Say you hate me.”

“I hate you,” she said, her voice breaking as the first wave of her orgasm crashed over her, her body clenching around him so hard it was almost painful. Her head fell back, her back arching as she came, her pussy pulsing around his cock, pulling him deeper.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice ragged with need. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re so beautiful when you fall apart for me. So fucking perfect.” His thrusts became erratic, harder, his hips slamming into hers as he chased his own release. “I’ve missed feeling you come around me. Missed the way you squeeze my cock like you never want to let go.”

She could feel it—the way his body tensed, the way his cock pulsed inside her, thick and heavy, as if it were demanding every drop of her attention. His rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming shallow and uncoordinated, and then he was there, right on the edge. His hips jerked forward one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go, and she felt the first hot surge of his release flooding her, filling her in a way that made her toes curl.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his voice guttural, almost animalistic, as his cock twitched and spilled inside her. She could feel every pulse, every jet of his cum, hot and insistent, coating her walls. His forehead pressed against hers, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. His hands, which had been gripping her hips so tightly she was sure she’d have bruises, now trembled against her skin as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm.

“Y/N,” he whispered, her name sounding broken on his lips, like a prayer and a plea all at once. His body shuddered against hers, his cock still throbbing inside her, the warmth of his release pooling deep within. She could feel the sweat dripping down his chest, the way his muscles trembled with the effort of holding himself up, and for a moment, there was nothing but the two of them, tangled together in the aftermath of something that felt as raw and unrelenting as the fight that had brought them here.

His breath was warm against her neck as he finally stilled, collapsing half on her, half beside her, his cock still buried inside her, softening but undeniably present. She could feel him there, a heavy, grounding weight, and for the first time in weeks, there was a strange, unexpected sense of completeness. But it was fleeting, and as her fingers traced the curve of his spine, she knew the fight wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

They stayed like that for a moment, their breathing ragged, sweat slicking their bodies. He didn’t pull out, his cock still buried deep inside her, as if even now he couldn’t bear to be apart from her. “I’m not letting you go,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Not again.”

She closed her eyes, her body still trembling, her anger still simmering beneath the surface, but for now, it was muted by the sheer liquid heat of what had just happened between them.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her skin.

She didn’t respond, her eyes still closed as she tried to process everything that had just happened. The anger, the passion, the way he had touched her as if he never wanted to let her go—it was all too much.

He shifted slightly, pulling her closer as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “We’ll figure this out,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I’m not giving up on us.”

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of emotions—anger, fear, longing. “I don’t know if I can trust you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze intense as he looked at her. “Then let me earn it,” he said, his voice steady. “Let me prove to you that I’m not going anywhere.”

She didn’t answer, her heart torn between wanting to believe him and the fear that he would only hurt her again. But before she could say anything, he was kissing her again, his lips soft and gentle this time, a stark contrast to the earlier frenzy.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against her lips, his voice low but firm, laced with a quiet desperation that she hadn’t heard before. His forehead pressed against hers, their bodies still tangled together, his hand gripping her hip like it was the only thing keeping him anchored to reality.

She let out a bitter laugh, her chest rising and falling as she stared up at him through narrowed eyes. “You told me that before. And then you disappeared for months. Just vanished. Like I meant nothing.” Her voice cracked on the last word, the anger in her tone breaking open to reveal the raw hurt underneath.

His jaw tightened, his fingers flexing against her skin. “I didn’t vanish. You threw me out. You screamed at me to leave, Y/N. What was I supposed to do? Stay and beg?” His voice rose, frustration seeping into every word, but there was something else there too—something vulnerable, almost pleading.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, her body tensing beneath him. “You were supposed to fight for us! Not ignore my calls, not ghost me like some coward. Do you know how much that hurt? How many nights I laid awake wondering if you ever even cared?”

He flinched, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting hers again, his eyes dark and burning. “Do you know how much it killed me to stay away? To see your texts and not respond, to hear your voice and not answer? I hated myself for it, Y/N. Every single day. But you... you made it sound like you never wanted to see me again. What the hell was I supposed to think?”

She swallowed hard, her throat tight, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely think. “You were supposed to come back,” she whispered, her voice trembling now, the fight draining out of her. “You were supposed to come back and tell me you weren’t done with me.”

His hand cupped her face, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone, his touch gentle despite the storm raging in his eyes. “Because I’m not,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m not done with you. I’ll never be done with you. You’re it for me, Y/N. You always have been. Even when I was being an idiot, even when I was fucking things up—it was always you.”

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes as she tried to look away, but he didn’t let her. He tilted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze, his expression torn between anger and adoration. “Don’t do that,” he said softly. “Don’t shut me out. Not again.”

“I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Scared you’ll do it again. Scared you’ll leave me.”

His lips crashed against hers then, fierce and desperate, his arms wrapping around her like he was trying to merge them into one. “I’m not leaving,” he said when he finally pulled away, his breath hot against her skin. “Not now, not ever. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

She let out a shaky breath, her hands fisting in his hair as she pulled him closer. “I hate you,” she muttered, but there was no real venom behind it—just vulnerability, just fear, just the truth of how badly she wanted to believe him.

“Good,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her forehead, his tone soft but defiant. “Hate me all you want. But you’re still mine. And this time, I’m not letting go.”

Their breaths tangled in the air, heavy and uneven, the room humming with the echoes of their raw intensity. Lando’s body hovered over hers, their skin still fused together with the heat of what had just unfolded. Slowly, carefully, he pulled himself out of her, his cock slipping free with a wet, unmistakable sound. A trail of his cum followed, trickling down her thigh, marking her in a way that made his chest tighten.

“Don’t move.” His voice was low, barely more than a whisper, but it carried a weight that made her obey instantly. 

She stayed still, her body limp against the cushions as he slid off the couch, his movements deliberate. He didn’t look away from her as he walked to the bathroom, his eyes lingering on her sprawled form, the way her chest rose and fell, the curve of her hips glowing in the dim light. The room felt smaller with him gone, the air heavier, as if it were waiting for him to return. She could hear the faint sound of water running, the rustle of a towel being pulled from the rack. Her skin tingled where he had touched her, where he had been inside her, and she fought the urge to reach down and feel the warmth he’d left behind.

He returned with a warm towel in hand, the soft fabric damp against his palms. Gently, he knelt between her legs, his touch reverent as he cleaned her, wiping away the evidence of their shared desperation. His fingers brushed against her skin with a tenderness that made her heart ache, his focus entirely on her, on the way her body responded to his care. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, her eyes fixed on him. His face was softer now, the edges of his earlier intensity smoothed by something deeper, something unspoken. His gaze traveled over her, savoring every inch, every curve, every imperfection she’d tried so hard to hide. He looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, like he’d never seen anything more beautiful. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice breaking the quiet, his hand pausing over her hip as if he was memorizing the feel of her under his touch. “Not a single part of you that isn’t mine.” Her breath caught, her chest rising sharply as his words sank in. She wanted to argue, to push back, but the way he looked at her—so soft, so full of something she couldn’t quite name—left her paralyzed.

He sat down on the sofa, his body sinking into the cushions, his bare skin still glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. She shifted awkwardly, pushing herself up from the sprawled position she’d been in, her back leaning against the soft fabric of the sofa. He didn’t speak, didn’t move to help her, just watched as she settled into a seated position, her legs crossed loosely in front of her. The cool air of the room brushed against her naked skin, raising tiny bumps across her arms and thighs, but she barely noticed. Her face was flushed, her lips slightly parted, her eyes fixed on him. She still hadn’t uttered a word, her anger simmering just beneath the surface, a heated pulse that made her chest tighten every time he glanced at her.

He reached over, his fingers brushing against the underside of her thigh, a feather-light touch that made her breath catch in her throat. His eyes darted down, sweeping over her body once, twice, his gaze lingering long enough to send a shiver down her spine. She clenched her jaw, her arms instinctively crossing over her chest, her legs pressing tighter together. His calmness grated on her nerves. It was infuriating how gentle he could still be, even now. He kept his hand there, his fingertips lightly tracing patterns on her skin, like he was memorizing her, like he needed to touch her to believe she was real. She wanted to shove him away, to snap at him, but her own body betrayed her, leaning into his touch just enough that she cursed herself silently.

Something flickered in his eyes—something deep and unspeakable. It didn’t matter that she was angry, that she was conflicted, that she hadn’t said a word since it happened. He was still there, still touching her, still looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world. Her heart pulsed in her chest, a heavy, uneven throb that made her stomach twist. 

“Look at me,” he murmured, voice low. When she finally did, his eyes were earnest, a soft warmth chasing away the last vestiges of the cold distance she’d seen earlier.

“I swear to you,” he said, “the woman in those pictures is no one. She isn’t some new fling or anything like that. I didn’t even catch her name. We just happened to leave the club at the same time, and I guess the paparazzi decided to make it a story. I—I would never—” His voice tightened with an emotion she couldn’t quite name, and he shook his head, as if trying to fling away the mere thought of betrayal. “I’d never move on like that. Especially not after everything with us. You have to believe me.”

She heard the raw plea in his voice, and it squeezed her heart. She wanted to cling to her anger—it felt safer, in some warped way—but her body and soul knew the truth: she still loved him. Even after all the agony and heartbreak, even after the months of silence that nearly broke her, part of her wanted to trust him again.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she whispered, her eyes drifting down to where his fingertips rubbed soft, comforting circles on her thigh. “Why let me think the worst, after I flew all this way?”

He exhaled, running a hand through his messy curls. “I panicked,” he admitted. “I thought... maybe you’d already decided I wasn’t worth it. Or that you’d never forgive me. When I got your messages about the tabloid story, I—I freaked out. I’ve handled everything so badly, Y/N. I know that.”

She studied his face, searching for any sign of deceit. But the exhaustion and remorse in his gaze looked painfully real. “You hurt me,” she said plainly, not as an accusation but as a truth that hung between them.

“I know.” He swallowed hard. “It kills me to know that. But I’m here now—and so are you. And if you’ll let me, I want to make it right.”

The anger in her chest wavered, replaced by a tender ache. She let out a shaky breath. “I’m tired of fighting you,” she confessed, her voice trembling. “Tired of feeling like I’m chasing ghosts in my own head. You shut me out for so long, Lando. I thought... maybe you’d moved on. Or you realized I wasn’t enough.”

His eyes flared with a sudden, fierce protectiveness. “Don’t you ever say that again,” he murmured, reaching to cup her chin and guide her gaze to his. “You’ve always been more than enough. You’re my reason. You think I spent those nine months partying or living it up? I was miserable without you. I was just too proud—too damn stupid—to admit it.”

She felt her defenses begin to crumble. The sincerity in his eyes made her chest tighten, and despite the chaos that still swirled inside her, a quiet warmth began to spread.

He dipped his head closer, voice husky with emotion. “I’m not here to give you excuses. I’m here to do better. If you’ll let me.”

Something in the way he said it made her pulse stutter. “I don’t know how to fix us,” she whispered.

His lips curved into the faintest of smiles—hopeful, trembling on the edge of uncertainty. “We can figure it out, one day at a time. I’ll give you all the space you need, but I won’t vanish again. That’s a promise.”

Y/N let her eyes slip shut for a moment, recalling the jarring stillness of her apartment, the sense of betrayal when she’d read that tabloid message, and the constant, relentless question of her own worth. Then she thought of his texts from long ago—the sweet promises he used to make, the way he’d spin her around his apartment in a spontaneous dance, the unexpected, thoughtful gifts that were more about making her smile than showing off.

She opened her eyes again, looking into his. “If you ever disappear on me again...”

He shook his head, already understanding the weight of her threat. “I won’t.”

A fragile moment of silence passed, and then, quietly, she slid closer. It wasn’t the desperate need from earlier, but a gentle, tentative reach for comfort. His arms enveloped her, and for once, she let herself sink into him—breathing in the faint scent of his cologne, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her cheek. Each thud was like a quiet pledge that he was still here, that he wasn’t running.

“You really don’t know her?” she asked after a moment, referencing the girl in the tabloid photos. There was no bitterness left in her tone—only a vulnerable request for the truth.

Lando snorted softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I promise you—I have no idea who she is. The tabloids saw a chance to stir drama, and they took it. But if I could rewind time and see the flash of those cameras, I’d have run in the opposite direction just to spare you that pain.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “So dramatic, Norris.”

He grinned, a flash of his usual mischief finally returning. “You know me. I’m a sucker for the dramatic.”

Something about that smile, about the lightening of his mood, allowed her to hope. She lifted her head and traced a finger along his jaw. “You’re a fool,” she said softly.

“But you still love me anyway.” He caught her hand, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles.

She swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat, remembering her self-doubts, her fears. “I do,” she admitted, voice hushed. “And I hate how much I do.”

His fingers interlocked with hers. “I’ll do my best to make you hate it less. Starting now.”

Slowly, he guided her to sit up, then reached for the blankets crumpled at the edge of the couch. Pulling one around her shoulders, he tucked her in gently, his gaze never leaving her face. There was a sweet, soothing quiet in the gesture, a stark contrast to the storm that had raged between them just moments before.

He cleared his throat, looking almost shy. “Look, I—I’m sorry if this is too soon, but... I can’t let you stay in a hotel tonight. Stay here.” When he registered her sudden tension, he shook his head. “I’m not asking for—any of that. I just want you close. Let me prove that I’m serious about fixing this, about us.”

Her mind flickered with a thousand possible retorts, but instead, she simply nodded. “Okay.”

A small, relieved smile touched his lips. He bent down, scooped her clothes from the floor, and handed them to her with uncharacteristic care. As they dressed in silence, the conversation that still needed to happen—about the past, about forgiveness—hovered unspoken, but for once, it didn’t feel insurmountable.

When they were both clothed again, Lando reached for her hand, leading her to the bedroom. The lights of Monaco glowed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the space in soft gold and silver. She hesitated at the threshold, her heart pounding. But he just guided her to the edge of the bed, turned down the blankets, and held them open for her.

The gesture was so gentle that fresh tears stung at her eyes. She slid beneath the covers, and he lay down beside her, maintaining a careful distance until she inched closer, bridging the gap. His arm went around her shoulders, and her head found its home against his chest.

They lay there, the tension of the night still throbbing in the background, but now there was something else—a quiet, cautious kind of peace. She closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat.

“Lando,” she whispered, “I don’t know how we move past everything that’s happened. But for tonight... can we just be here together?”

He pressed his lips to her hairline, his breath warm against her skin. “Tonight, tomorrow, every day after if you’ll let me,” he answered softly. “I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”

She felt a tear slip free, but it wasn’t one of sorrow. In the glow of the Monaco lights, pressed against the warmth of his body, she found the faintest flicker of hope flickering in her chest—a fragile promise that maybe, this time, they could find their way back to each other.

“I believe you,” she whispered, letting herself relax into the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed a small, hopeful smile to curve her lips. “And I’m tired of pushing you away.”

He tightened his hold on her, his thumb tracing idle circles on her arm. “Then don’t,” he murmured.

She sighed, contentment blooming slowly in her chest. “I won’t.”

In the quiet that followed, there were no more words—just the soft cadence of their breathing, the hush of the night sky outside, and the unspoken vow settling between them. No matter how broken things had seemed, they would try. And for now, that was enough.

[uniquexusposts]

Jumping into assumptions | C. Leclerc

Summary: Charles had always considered Y/n his best friend, never imagining anything beyond their close bond. But one evening, when he realized he had fallen in love with her, he finally asked her out, and to his surprise, Y/n agreed.

The world knew Y/n as the heart of their friend group; the one everyone protected, the one who never raised her voice, the one who somehow made every place feel like home. She was the kind of girl who brought people together, the glue of their chaotic little friend group. And for as long as Charles had known her, people just assumed she was taken.

It was a running joke among their friends, really. Every time a guy showed interest in Y/n, someone would pipe up with a playful, "Oh, sorry, but she’s definitely taken," or, "Her boyfriend wouldn’t like that." The irony? She never actually had a boyfriend. And she never corrected them.

Charles had never given it much thought before. Not when they were younger, and certainly not when they fell into this unspoken rhythm of being each other’s constant. It was always Y/n beside him, laughing at his terrible jokes, rolling her eyes at his dramatics, nudging his shoulder when he got too arrogant. And, without realising it, Charles had started falling. Hard.

He’d known for a while that she was special to him, more than just a friend, but he'd convinced himself that it didn’t matter. She was Y/n. They were best friends. Nothing more. Besides, if he started thinking about her like that, who would he turn to when things were tough? Who would keep him grounded and remind him not to take himself too seriously? Who would be there to laugh with him through all the absurdities life threw their way?

It hit him one evening in Monaco, when they were all gathered at a rooftop bar, the sky burning in hues of orange and pink. Y/n was sitting across from him, laughing, properly laughing, at something a friend of theirs had said. Her head tilted back, her eyes shining, her joy so contagious that even Charles found himself grinning.

She was beautiful, of course, but it wasn’t just her looks that made his heart skip a beat. It was the way her laugh filled the air, the way she made everything seem brighter. She was magic, pure and simple.

And then it hit him.

They told him that to make her fall in love, they had to make her laugh. But every time she laughed, he was the one who fell in love.

His stomach twisted. How had he not seen it before? The way he always looked for her first in a crowded room. The way he cared a little too much when someone flirted with her. The way his world felt lighter when she was around. He was in love with his best friend.

He must've been staring, because suddenly, Y/n's gaze flickered to his, her smile faltering just slightly. "What's up?" she asked, her voice full of curiosity, the way she always sounded when she caught him in the act of thinking too much.

Charles hesitated. He could brush it off, make a joke, pretend he wasn’t on the verge of losing his mind over her. But then she smiled; soft, questioning, beautiful, and he knew he couldn't keep pretending.

“Nothing,” he said at first, then exhaled a quiet laugh. "Just… wondering if anyone’s ever actually asked you."

Her brows furrowed. "Asked me what?"

He opened his mouth, ready to say something casual, like always, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he found himself leaning in slightly, suddenly aware of how close they were. The noise around them faded, the world narrowing down to just the two of them.

"If you had a boyfriend," he said softly, his voice quieter than usual, almost a whisper. "Instead of assuming."

Y/n blinked, lips parting slightly. The rest of their friends were still talking, still laughing, but in this moment, it was just the two of them, suspended in some kind of strange limbo.

"No," she admitted, her voice barely above the noise around them. "No one ever has."

Charles’ heart pounded in his chest. It was a simple answer, but it was the most profound thing he’d heard in a long time. He felt the weight of it settle over him, like something had shifted in the air between them. She’d never been asked. Not once. Not seriously. And that realisation hit him harder than anything.

There was a brief silence between them, the kind that spoke volumes. Charles could feel the tension building, a knot forming in his stomach. The alcohol in his veins buzzed through him, making everything seem sharper, clearer. His thoughts, usually muddled, were now crystallised. This wasn’t just a casual conversation. This was the moment, the one he didn’t even know he was waiting for.

He leaned forward, closer, his gaze locking onto hers, steady and unwavering. "Then let me be the first," he said, his voice low, almost tentative. "Let me take you out. Properly. No assumptions, no misunderstandings. I will show you how it works, so you at least can say that you have been on a proper date once."

Y/n’s breath caught, her eyes wide with surprise. Charles could see the wheels turning in her head, the questions, the hesitation. But what struck him was how the uncertainty melted away, replaced by something softer, something more open. And then she smiled, a smile he had never seen before; not the playful, teasing one he was so used to, but something different, something just for him.

"Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the hum of the bar.

Charles’ heart leapt in his chest. "Yeah?" he asked, just to make sure. His voice was barely more than a breath, a mix of hope and disbelief.

"Yeah," she said again, her lips curling into that same soft smile. "Okay."

And just like that, everything changed. The boy who had spent years making her laugh, who had always been her constant, realised he never wanted to stop. He never wanted to be just friends.

—

The next day, Charles was practically bouncing with excitement. He couldn’t believe it. Y/n had said yes. They had both been floating in the same space for so long, so close to something more, but neither of them had ever crossed that line. Until now.

He texted her almost immediately, already planning their date in his mind. He couldn’t wait to see her, to spend time with her, and to finally, finally, be more than just the guy who made her laugh. He wanted to be the guy who made her heart race, too.

They met later that evening at a small, cosy restaurant in Monaco, one that Charles had carefully chosen for its intimacy, its quiet charm. When Y/n walked in, her smile instantly lit up the room, and Charles felt that familiar warmth spread through his chest. It was different now, though. There was an air of anticipation, a new energy between them that neither could ignore.

"You look amazing," Charles said, genuinely taken aback by how beautiful she looked, her hair cascading in loose waves around her shoulders, her dress simple but elegant.

Y/n blushed, clearly flustered by the compliment. "You clean up well yourself," she teased, sitting down across from him.

Charles chuckled, the nerves melting away the longer they talked. It was like they were slipping into their old routine, but with something new and exciting beneath the surface. Every joke felt more meaningful. Every smile felt more significant.

"You know," Charles said after a while, as they shared a dessert, "I’ve been meaning to ask you something."

Y/n raised an eyebrow. "What’s that?"

"Why haven’t you ever corrected people when they say you have a boyfriend?" he asked, his tone light but with a hint of curiosity. "I mean, you’re obviously not dating anyone, so… why let people assume?"

Y/n looked down at her dessert, her fingers tracing the edge of her plate as she thought for a moment. "I guess… I never really saw the point. It was not like, if I would say anything about it, that I would be heard,” she said finally, lifting her eyes to meet his. "It was easier to let them assume than explain it at some point. Plus, I wasn’t sure anyone would even ask me, you know? I mean, no one asked me before so then I mustn’t be in the game to date, I guess.”

Charles felt a pang of guilt, realising how long he’d let things go without stepping up. Without seeing her as more than just his best friend. “Don’t say that,” he replied. 

She shrugged.  “At some point, you will assume it is your own fault, or that you are the issue. I grew up with that. I don’t know any better. I have accepted it.”

“I should’ve asked you sooner," he admitted, his voice soft, almost apologetic.

Y/n smiled again, a small, knowing smile. "Well, you’ve finally asked," she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "And I’m glad you did."

They weren’t just best friends anymore. They were something more. And for the first time, Charles couldn’t wait to see where this new chapter would take them.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @ironmaiden1313 @sltwins @heart-trees @npcmia @llando4norris

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry) 

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Currently thinking this will have like 5-7 parts?

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

He had fallen like a ton of bricks for a dark-haired girl with doe eyes and the prettiest of smiles…and who also happened to be the twin sister of his biggest rival.

Colette Leclerc had been the first girl he had ever looked twice at and even 15 years later, that had never changed. Max was quite sure that it never would change either. It was her or nobody for him. 

Though he was very much aware that nobody had actually taken their relationship seriously for the first 5 years. Just a childhood crush turned into a teenage romance... But then slowly, their families had realised that it wasn't "just" anything.

He had moved to Monaco a day after his 18th birthday for her. To be as close to her as he possibly could. They had moved in together later that year. 

They had kept it quiet over the years... Family and friends knew but Max and Colette had never made it obvious enough for the press to pick up on.

 It had been Colette's request, not his.

Max would have liked to scream it from the rooftops. Would have liked everybody to know that Colette was his girlfriend, that he was the one that got to go home to her…that he was the one she loved. That they were blissfully happy together and had been for 15 years at this point. 

That she was carrying their child. 

Their baby.

It was a fucking miracle, that's what it was.

It had taken them a good six months to get pregnant the first time...nearly 2 years ago…between his race schedule and the insanity of the racing season...and then she had miscarried days after that first positive pregnancy test.

It has been heartbreaking. 

Of course, it had been...but they had thought that...maybe it was just a one-off…

The doctors hadn't been able to find anything wrong with her after all...

The second pregnancy resulted in another miscarriage less than a year later.

Another case of…Well, there is nothing wrong as far as we can tell. 

And then ..the third pregnancy...both Max and Colette had been a complete mess about it. 

Expecting the worst to happen at any minute. They had waited for the other shoe to drop. He had waited for there to be bleeding...for the baby not to make it...but then they had their first ultrasound and there had been a heartbeat.

Finally, after two devastating miscarriages, they had a positive ultrasound. A healthy heartbeat and a thriving baby growing in Colette’s belly.

It was a fucking miracle.

Even when the fact that Colette was due in January meant that he was gone for much of her pregnancy. Max hated being away from her during such a vulnerable and exciting time. 

He had tried though. Max had made sure to come home to Monaco as often as he could during the season, even if it was just for a quick visit, even when it was just for 24 hours at a time.

He was glued to his phone constantly, as soon as he had a free minute. The truly important people all knew about the baby and even GP let him go with a roll of his eyes when Max was once again absentmindedly checking his phone for another message from Colette.

At least, in a few days, he could be there for her. He would be there in January, and he wouldn’t miss the last month of pregnancy or the first precious few weeks with their baby…

There was a part of him that believed the baby would be a girl that would look just like Colette. Colette thought it was a boy. They had decided to be surprised. But regardless if it was a boy or a girl, Max just wanted the baby to be safe and healthy.

Max always called and video-chatted with Colette every evening. He was like an overly attached mother hen, constantly asking her how she felt, if she needed anything, and checking on the baby's progress.

So when her name was mentioned in conversation by two of his mechanics...he immediately perked up. 

They were in Abu Dhabi for the last race of the season... and after the drama that had been the Qatar GP, that particular penalty and George Russell…Max was, quite frankly, done with the season. 

He just wanted to get home to Colette and their baby.

"I just really want to know what Colette Leclerc posted on Instagram," one of them said with a snort. "Whatever it was, it must have really gotten under Russell's skin."

What?

Colette's Instagram was set to private. She used it to comment under every single one of her brothers' posts and that pretty much was it. She did post pictures sometimes, to the less than 200 followers she actually had.

Why would a random mechanic even know about...

"Too bad it's set to private," the other responded with a sigh. "I would love to slide in her dms…she’s a beauty…"

He held back a snort at that. It was true. Max wholeheartedly agreed that Colette was beautiful. Simply lovely.  There was no one else who could compare to her in his eyes.

But there was also the fact that Colette had the habit of not even realising if a guy was flirting with her at all. Quite frankly, he wasn’t much better…it had always just been each other for both of them. 

But all of that didn’t answer the other question he had.  So he whipped out his phone again and then did what he really shouldn't do...namely check out the fan accounts. 

He got his answer then.

Gemma, one of the press officers, approached him with a grim expression, just at that moment. "Max," she said urgently, "There's something you need to know."

Max's anger was building as he spoke. "I already saw," he gritted out, his voice barely restrained. "George decided to be an ass.”

 Granted, "Karma is the guy in the car, coming straight home to me" probably had been rather pointed...because Max had indeed gotten Pole Position back in the first corner... So it had been Karma in a way. 

Still, for George to use Colette against Max...Colette, who kept quiet and out of the spotlight...who abhorred paparazzi...

Max was seething. George had crossed a line by bringing Colette into their rivalry. She was an innocent party in all of this, someone who always shied away from the spotlight. 

Max clenched his fists in anger, his jaw tightened as he forced himself to remain composed. He knew that lashing out at George would only give him what he wanted, but he couldn't help feeling protective of Colette.

Especially right now. The stress wasn't good for her and it wasn't good for the baby...He took a deep breath to calm himself down. He needed to keep his temper in check, even if it was difficult.

 He had to think about Colette and the baby. The last thing he wanted was to add more stress to her life.

Gemma's words were quiet, but they hit like a ton of bricks. "I would suggest you stay low right now," she advised. "I know it's completely out of line, but if you confront him about it, he could end up telling the press about you two. And that's not something you want..."

He knew how cruel the media could be, how they would tear apart every aspect of their relationship. Colette avoided the spotlight for a reason and he had promised her that he would never drag her into it either if it was at all possible. But the idea of George using her as a pawn in his games with Max...it was infuriating.

[harrysfolklore]

home hero - charles x reader

gif by @princemick <33

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Monaco is Charles' home. Growing up, he had watched the Grand Prix from the balconies and rooftops, dreaming of the day he would stand atop the podium. Each year, the pressure mounted as he came so close, only to have victory slip through his fingers.

Today felt different. There was a determined glint in his eye this morning as he kissed you goodbye and headed to the track. You could tell he was ready, more focused than ever before. You had to believe this was his year.

"Are you nervous?" you asked, leaning against the kitchen counter asyou watched him get everything he needed before heading out.

"More than usual," he admitted, flashing you a quick smile,"But I feel good. I have a good feeling about today."

"You’ve got this, Charles. I believe in you," you walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you," he hugged you tightly, resting his chin on top of your head.

"You'd still be amazing," you said, looking up at him,"But I'm glad I get to be here with you."

You arrived at the circuit, the familiar roar of engines filling your ears as you made your way to the paddock. You found your usual spot in the Ferrari garage, the team bustling around with last-minute preparations. You exchanged nervous smiles with the crew, all of you hoping for the same outcome.

You watched as Charles went through his pre-race routine, meticulously checking everything himself even though he trusted his team completely. He looked up at you and smiled, his nervous eyes softening the moment they landed on you.

"Hey, come here," he called softly, waving you over.

You walked over, taking his gloved hand in yours. "You’re going to do great, you know that, right?"

"I just," he sighed, "Really want that win, you know? Not just for me, but for my family, my friends, for us," you smiled fondly at his words, "This is my home and everyone believes in me, I don't want to keep letting them down."

"Charles, you've never let anyone down," you squeezed his hand, "You've given everything you have, every time and that's why everyone believes in you. No matter what happens today, you're already a champion in our eyes."

"You're too sweet," he teased with a small smile, pecking your lips quickly, "I need to go. I'll see you after the race."

"Be safe out there," you said, giving him one last lingering kiss.

You watched as he made his way to the car, taking a deep breath before climbing in. The race was about to begin, and the anticipation was palpable. You found your seat in the garage, eyes glued to the screen, heart pounding with every lap.

As the race progressed, it was clear that Charles was driving with everything he had. Lap after lap, he maintained his position and defended his lead against the competition.

With only a few laps to go, the tension in the garage was at an all-time high. You could barely breathe, every fiber of your being focused on Charles and the car.

And then, it happened. Charles crossed the finish line and the checkered flag was waved, securing his first win at the Monaco Grand Prix. The garage erupted in cheers, and you felt tears of joy streaming down your face.

He did it. He actually did it.

Before you even knew what was happening, you ran to the pit wall, heart soaring with pride as you watched Charles climb out of the car, his face a mixture of disbelief and pure elation. He waved to the crowd, taking in the moment before making his way over to the barrier, his eyes searching for you.

You pushed through the crowd, your heart racing as you made your way to him. When he finally saw you, his face lit up with the brightest smile you'd ever seen.

"Charles!" you called out, your voice cracking with emotion.

"We did it!" he shouted, pulling you into his arms and hugging you tightly, his voice full of joy and relief.

"You did it," you corrected, laughing through your tears. "I'm so proud of you!"

"I couldn't have done it without you," he said, pressing his forehead against yours. "Fuck! I can't believe this is real."

You kissed him, a sweet and lingering kiss that held all the words you couldn't say in that moment. When you pulled back, you saw the love and gratitude in his eyes, and it made your heart swell with even more pride.

"Now go stand on top of the podium, you deserve it."

The celebrations were in full swing as it was time for the podium. Charles was greeted with cheers and applause from the team, his family, and the fans who had supported him through thick and thin. The Monegasque flag waving proudly above him.

The national anthem played, and you watched as tears of pride and joy rolled down Charles' cheeks. This was the moment he had dreamed of, the moment he worked so hard for. And now, it was finally here.

[dearstvckyx]

You’re always there to help me when I’m down - Lando Norris

After losing the 2024 WDC, Lando fakes being fine. When his girlfriend finds him breaking down alone, she comforts him, reminding him he’s not a failure and everyone is still proud of him. - The Neighbourhood , Compass

Lando Norris x Reader , other drivers x Reader

Warnings: Angst, emotional breakdown, mentions of alcohol, soft comfort.

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

The crowd roared as Max Verstappen hoisted the World Drivers’ Championship trophy high into the air, the golden light from the fireworks flashing against the metal. Confetti fell in thick waves, sticking to the champagne-soaked track. Cameras flashed relentlessly, capturing every moment of the celebration—the grins, the hugs, the triumph.

Lando stood off to the side, his hands clapping along with the crowd, his smile wide and easy. He even stepped forward, offering Max a handshake, pulling him into a hug.

“Congrats, mate,” he said, his voice steady. Sincere.

Max clapped him on the back, smiling through his exhaustion. “You were incredible this season. You pushed me harder than anyone ever has.”

Lando laughed lightly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Next year,” he joked, flashing that signature grin.

The cameras caught it—the good sportsmanship, the friendly rivalry. The perfect image of a man who had just narrowly missed out on the greatest title in motorsport but was still gracious in defeat.

What the cameras didn’t catch was the way his hand tightened into a fist in his pocket as he walked off the podium.

⸻

The celebration in Monaco was extravagant, thrown by Charles Leclerc himself, toasting not only Max’s victory but also Lando’s, and the other drivers, incredible season. The rooftop terrace was packed—drivers, WAGs, team members, and close friends, all dressed up, glasses of champagne, or hardcore drinks in hand.

Lando had been smiling the entire night. Laughing at Charles’ jokes, clinking glasses with George, accepting back pats and handshakes from anyone who crossed his path.

But you knew better.

You had seen the tightness in his jaw when Max’s name was chanted across the rooftop. You had noticed the way his eyes dimmed just slightly when people called him runner-up.

He had been fine all night. Cheerful. Gracious. And so incredibly fake.

You pressed your drink against your lips, watching him from across the room. His hand rested casually on Oscar’s shoulder as he chatted with George and Alex, his eyes crinkled with laughter. But you could see it—the faraway look just beneath the surface, the flicker of something else in his eyes when he thought no one was looking.

—

You were halfway across the room when you felt a hand brush your arm.

“Hey,” George’s voice was soft as he leaned in. His expression was careful. “Is he okay?”

You blinked, slightly thrown by his question.

“He seems… off,” Alex added, appearing at George’s side, his eyes flickering toward Lando.

Even Max Verstappen, standing by the bar, caught your eye and gave you a subtle glance that seemed to ask the same thing: Is he alright?

And that’s when you knew it wasn’t just you noticing.

You gave them a small, grateful nod, though your stomach knotted slightly.

You made your way over to Lando, slipping your hand into his. His fingers laced through yours easily, but they were slightly clammy.

“Hey,” you murmured softly, leaning into him. “You doing okay?”

Lando glanced at you, the smile on his lips unwavering. “I’m fine.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “You sure?”

He squeezed your hand. “I promise.”

But it was a lie.

And you knew it was a lie the moment he downed the rest of his drink, the way his fingers fidgeted with the rim of his glass, the way he plastered on another smile and turned back to the conversation.

You barely had a chance to press further before he kissed your temple softly. “I’m gonna head back to the hotel,” he mumbled. His voice was low, and you could smell the faint bitterness of alcohol on his breath.

You frowned. “Wait, Lando—”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, louder this time. His voice cut through the conversation, sharp enough that George, Oscar, and Alex glanced over.

You blinked, stunned, as he turned and walked away, his fists clenched at his sides.

You stood there for a moment, the warmth of your champagne glass fading in your hand. Your heart clenched in your chest, but you quickly shook it off, giving the others a weak smile as you quietly excused yourself and followed him out.

⸻

The hotel suite was dark when you entered, except for the faint glow from the bathroom light spilling into the bedroom.

You heard the sound of him before you saw him—the sharp, uneven breaths. The faintest hiccup of a broken inhale.

Your eyes adjusted, and there he was—Lando, sitting on the floor against the edge of the bed, his knees drawn up, his head in his hands. His shirt was still half-unbuttoned, his tie discarded somewhere near the door.

He was trembling slightly, and when you took a step closer, you realized why—he was crying.

“Lan…” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you knelt down in front of him.

He slowly lifted his head, his face streaked with tears. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his cheeks were flushed, either from the alcohol or the overwhelming emotions—probably both.

His voice cracked as he choked out, “I’m sorry.”

You reached for his hand, and he immediately gripped it with both of his, like he was afraid you might pull away. His knuckles were pale from how tightly he held on.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” he whispered brokenly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Hey.” You shook your head, sliding down to sit on the floor beside him. “It’s okay.”

He let out a shuddered breath, his voice fractured. “I’m not fine.”

The confession cracked your chest wide open.

You didn’t say anything. You just shifted closer, wrapping your arms around him, gently pulling him against you. His face pressed into the crook of your neck, and he clung to you with shaky hands, his fingers twisting into your shirt.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You just held him as his shoulders shook softly with each exhale, feeling his warm breath against your collarbone, hearing the slight hitch of every sob he tried to smother.

When his breathing finally evened out, you ran your fingers through his damp hair, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re not a failure.”

He let out a shaky breath, but you kept going.

“You raced so well, Lando,” you murmured against his temple. “You fought harder than anyone. You came so close—and everyone saw that. Your team, your fans, your family…” You placed a soft kiss against his hairline. “Me.”

He let out a broken breath, pulling you impossibly closer, like he was trying to anchor himself.

You rubbed slow circles against his back, your voice barely a murmur.

“No one is disappointed in you,” you whispered. “You made us proud.”

His arms tightened around you, his face pressed into your neck, and you felt his warm breath shake against your skin.

Neither of you moved from the floor. You didn’t care that your legs were starting to fall asleep or that your back was aching from the angle. You just sat there, holding him.

And Lando let you.

Because he didn’t need to pretend anymore—not with you. And he knew, you will always be there for him when he’s down.

[formula-ghost]

Wildflower (OP81 x fem!reader x LN4)

Chapter 5

SUMMARY: In the aftermath of your outing with Lando, tensions are raised, worlds fall apart, and resistance gives way to what you’ve always truly wanted. 

WORD COUNT: 11.2k

WARNINGS: Lando is SO EVIL!! I’m sorry to all my Lando girlies. Mention of horrible family dynamics. Reader dissociates during sexual contact (could potentially be triggering). Slow burn yearning. Unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT PLEASE), oral and fingering (fem receiving), p in v. 

TAGLIST: @at-a-rax-ia @henna006 @linnygirl09 @cassielikereading @judelina @supertrashbread @fastandcurious16 @widow-cevans  @czennieszn @irisesinthegarden @wierdflowerpower @sweetwh0re @reginalaufeyson-holmes @honethatty12 @suns3treading @obxstiles @mimiastroos @mrs-reeves-17 @milkysoop @amalialeclerc @starksztony @llando4norris @ginsengi @angxlzinthesky @1-queenofpotatoes-1 @makanirock05 @htpssgavi @lilypat @ameliaalvarez06 @scriptedinkbyxim

A/N: The long awaited chapter! For some reason this one was SUCH a struggle plus I had midterms and I got sick in the middle of writing it, so I’m just glad it’s done. I hope it’s still good though <3 I’m thinking probably one or two more chapters of this until it’s over, and then probably the Franco x Alpine social media manager au which will only be like 2 parts before I launch into my next series! A lot of exciting stuff planned. 

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

The rooftop bar in Monaco was gorgeous, though not as beautiful as the view from your balcony back home. 

The air was full of soft chattering conversations, the sound of plates and champagne flutes clinking, and the purr of expensive engines down on the streets. The sounds of Monte-Carlo had become like background static to you at this point. 

Even the air was fragrant with expensive perfume and cologne, mixed with the sweet smells of dinner plates and the soft aroma of the bouquet of flowers that Lando had brought for you.

He had pulled out all the gentlemanly stops: flowers, a romantic dinner, and, as you could tell by the way his eyes snaked up and down your body, a night that would end up far beyond this stuffy Monaco restaurant. 

“You look amazing,” he said, leaning down to whisper in your ear as the waiter led you to your table. “Is all this for me?”

A few weeks ago and the comment would have you blushing, a playful smile on your lips. Now it just made your stomach churn. 

“I clean up nice,” you joked, sliding into your seat and turning your head away from Lando and towards the view.

“No kidding,” he said, leaning his hand across the table to touch yours. You froze, letting him do it. “I don’t know what’s the better view.”

“That was bad, even for you,” you laughed, hoping that the banter could calm your nerves. He began to softly rub his thumb up and down the side of your hand.

“You’re smiling, though.”

When the waiter came by to take your order, you were thankful for the excuse to pull back your hand, though you weren’t as nervous anymore. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. You missed being touched.

It wasn’t like Oscar ever held your hand anymore.

You could feel his presence, even though you knew he was back in your apartment doing…well, God knows what. 

“I was surprised you made it,” Lando said. “I thought for a second there, you were going to stand me up.”

“Really?”

“He’s not happy about you being here, is he?”

You pursed your lips. “You know how he is.”

“I do. And I really am glad you made it.”

All at once, it felt like you saw right through him. You heard what was unsaid. Lando wanted you to revel at the thought of disobeying Oscar, to spite him by being here.

The problem was, the only person that you wanted to spite by being here was yourself. 

“Why are you doing this, Lando?”

“Doing what?”

The waiter returned with your wine, and he tapped your glass to say cheers. It felt like a mockery. 

“You don’t like me.”

“Who said that?” He sipped at his drink, his eyes never leaving you. “Oscar? You think he’s the authority on how to treat a woman?”

“Well, I’m not a Portuguese model, for one,” you scoffed, taking a sip of your own drink. “But do you really think that it’s not entirely obvious what you’re doing?” 

He smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, love.” His smile, once like a bolt of lightning in your stomach, felt like a slap in the face. 

“You’re trying to drive me and Oscar apart.” You could hear Oscar’s own words coming out of your mouth.

“I’m trying to show you that you deserve better than him. And, besides, I don’t think I need to do much on that front. Oscar’s already fucked it up himself, hasn’t he?”

“He told me everything you said to Lily, and about me.”

“And yet, you’re still here, aren’t you?”

You used to think that you and Lando were on the same playing field, like two masters at a game of chess. Now you knew you were always just a pawn. 

“Why?” you echoed. “I know you don’t like me, you’re not really interested in me at all. So why are you doing this?”

Lando turned his head to gaze at the view, and you could see the cogs in his head churning, trying to figure out his next move. Maybe you had surprised him, after all. 

“Truthfully? I want Oscar to lose.”

“So is this, what, your attempt at psychological warfare?” you laughed. 

“You make it sound so harsh,” he said, his smile returning. “I’m just pointing out the truth.”

“The truth?”

“He used you, YN. Lily left him because he couldn’t be loyal. He fucked you for a couple weeks to get over it. Then he wants to talk about how much he loves you? He just doesn’t want to go to bed alone.”

“You’re one to talk. You have a new girl on your arm every night.”

“I don’t claim to be a gentleman.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “But you like that, don’t you?”

The waiter arrived with your food, and you were thankful for the space that it gave you. But even as you savored the admittedly great food, you couldn’t help but think that Lando might be right. 

It made your stomach churn, to think of a version of Oscar that didn’t love you. You wanted nothing more than to believe that confession he had made, in the heat of your argument, that he had truly been in love with you for years but had made mistake after mistake after—

“You’ve gone quiet,” Lando said.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

He knew the answer. You looked up to meet his eyes, his gaze fixed on you. He was just…sitting there, as if he hadn’t just opened your mind and destroyed everything you thought to be true in only a few sentences.

And all at once, you hated him. 

“What do you think he’s doing, back at your apartment?”

“Probably sleeping,” you answered, your voice gone quiet.

“If he really cared about you, would he be asleep right now?”

“He warned me—”

“I’m sure he did.”

“I’m grown. I made my own decision to come here. He can’t tell me what to do.”

Lando just hummed. “You must not trust him, then.”

“Of course I trust him,” you replied. That was a lie. You still struggled to trust him most days.

“Then why are you here, YN? You interrogated me, let me interrogate you.”

“I don’t know.” You fiddled with your fork, your appetite long gone. 

“Yes, you do.” Lando leaned in again and reached for your hand. “And so do I.”

“Then tell me.”

“You don’t trust Oscar. You were in love with him for years, and you were always there for him when no one else was. But he didn’t want you, he wanted Lily. He couldn’t get rid of you though, because he needed you there for when things inevitably went bad. And that’s exactly what happened, didn’t it? You were never his first choice. He used you.”

“That’s…that’s not what happened at all.” Tears were threatening to form in your eyes.

Lando just continued. “And you? Sweet girl, all you ever wanted was to be loved. You’re so used to being second choice. Even your parents didn’t want you.”

“No, that’s not—”

“That’s why Oscar’s mum took you in, right? She took pity on you. But Oscar could never be with the girl that his family pitied.”

You stared at him, incredulous. You were torn between slapping him or crying, or both. 

“How do you know any of this?” you said. 

“He told me.”

He went back to eating. You felt like you were going to throw up. 

Lando insisted on ordering dessert. When it arrived—whatever it was, your head was spinning a bit too much to be sure—he fed you bites of it, gently guiding the spoon to your mouth. You ate in silence.

“Contrary to what he might tell you, YN, I’m not a bad guy. I’m not a liar.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“No, I don’t lie. I don’t need to. I just tell people the messy truth that they don’t like to hear.”

“You don’t love me, though. You don’t even know me. You try to act like you’re so much better than Oscar, but you don’t love me either.”

The last word hung on your lips. Oscar loved you. He had to. But did he? Or was Lando right?

“You’re right, I haven’t known you as long as he has. But I see you.” He brought the spoon to your mouth for the final bite. 

I see you. No. It couldn’t be true.

“And,” he chuckled, “I guarantee I can fuck you better than he can.”

Lando gestured to the waiter to come back, and he paid the bill before walking you down to his car. 

“Wanna go for a ride?” 

You didn’t know why you got in that car. You didn’t know why you didn’t push his hand away when he rested it on your thigh as he drove through the narrow streets of Monte-Carlo. You didn’t know why you let him kiss you when he pushed you against the wall in the elevator, meeting your lips with a frenzied need. 

He led you into his apartment, where he wordlessly pushed you down on his bed. Your body was beneath him, but your mind was somewhere else. The balcony, back at your apartment, overlooking the water. You were sitting there with a cup of tea, and inside, Oscar was asleep in the early morning hours as you watched the sun rise.

You closed your eyes, hearing the rustle of fabric as Lando unbuttoned his shirt. You weren’t on the balcony anymore. You were in your childhood neighbourhood, across from Oscar’s house, driving your little motorized car.

Lando’s lips returned to your neck, his hands wandering all over you, reaching down the front of your dress. 

You were in Oscar’s childhood bedroom, looking into his eyes as he touched you for the first time. You were scared. So was he. But you trusted each other. 

Before Lando’s hand could go any further, you opened your eyes.

“Stop,” you said, your voice wavering.

Lando pulled back, “What?”

You looked around. At some point, your dress had come off. You were so far away from your mind that you didn’t remember. 

“I don’t want to do this,” you said. 

Lando made a face. “Really?” he asked, his voice annoyed.

“I want to go home.” You were on the edge of tears again.

“Okay,” he said, sitting up and handing you your dress.

You dressed quickly and gathered your things that had been thrown around the room. There was no apology, no attempt to talk about it, no fanfare. Just a simple okay and a clear expression of indifference. 

You booked it out of the apartment complex, desperate to get home. 

When you did, the sun was already down, and you thanked God that Monaco was so small. You opened the door quietly, hearing Oscar’s soft snores in your room.

Oscar. 

You sank in the bed next to his form, so warm and familiar, and he felt like home. Just the thought of it made you want to cry, but no tears found you. You felt numb.

You curled up next to him and scooted back to be as close to him as you could without waking him—at least, that’s what you wanted, to be held in silence, to forget any of this had ever happened. 

“YN?” he asked, his voice groggy. “What time is it?”

“Too fucking late,” you whispered. “Go back to bed.”

It was no use. He grabbed his phone on the nightstand, checked the time, and sighed. He laid back down next to you, but the soft scene had been shattered.

“You smell like him,” he said, the reverberations of his speech echoing against your skin.

“I’m sorry.” You sniffled, trying to hold back tears.

“Shit, are you crying? Did he…?” Oscar propped himself up on his elbow, but you buried your head in your arms. 

“I made him stop,” you muttered. 

“I’ll fucking kill him.”

“No,” you said. “Just… hold me. Please.”

Oscar couldn’t argue with the quiet desperation in your voice, lowering himself finally to wrap his arm around you. He pressed a soft, chaste kiss to the back of your neck.

“How much longer are we going to do this?” he murmured against your skin. 

“I can go sleep on the couch, if you want,” you answered.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

You couldn’t face him, though you spoke anyway. “Is this beyond saving?” you asked.

“Us? No.”

“He said things…We were just going to get dinner. Even after I left, I didn’t really want to go. I don’t know why I kept ignoring my intuition, because I knew something was wrong.” The pillow beneath you was stained with tears.

You continued, “We mostly talked about you. I mean, we almost always talk about you. I can’t even remember what he said exactly, but he… he started talking about my parents.”

“Your parents?” Oscar echoed.

“Yeah. Saying that even they didn’t want me, that no one wanted me. It sounds so stupid when I say it aloud, but…it hurt. He said everyone just took pity on me and I’m always the second choice. Even to you. Or, I guess, especially to you.”

Oscar was silent at first, until he asked, “Do you really believe that?” 

“It’s hard not to.” 

“What more could I do, for you to believe that I love you?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” You reached down to where his arm rested around your middle and intertwined your fingers with his. “I don’t know.”

With nothing else to be said, you both drifted back to sleep. 

To your surprise, in the morning, Oscar didn’t bring up your conversation from the previous night. The next day was uneventful too. 

And as days turned to weeks, the best you could guess was that Oscar had…given up. 

It wasn’t like he had abandoned you. When he was in Monaco, neither of you sacrificed to take the couch anymore, spending each night entangled with the other. And on the road, everywhere from Spain to Silverstone, you somehow always made your way to his hotel room to spend the night. 

He hadn’t touched you, though. At least, not in the way you so desperately wanted—no, needed—nothing more than a careful arm around the middle, pulling you close to him at night, or the occasional peck on the back of the neck after a particularly bad race weekend. 

And Lando? Nothing. No calls, no texts, no flirty comments on the sly. It was as if you had never existed to him. You avoided him like the plague at races. And for the most part, he let you.

Well, for the most part.

Weeks later, you assumed your usual spot next to Oscar as he walked through the paddock, snapping photos of him through all the commotion. In these quiet moments, it was just you, your camera, and him; the rest of the world blurred into the background and all that mattered was capturing the perfect snapshot of this man you loved.

But no one could ignore the words of the commentators that flooded the ears of anyone who walked past the paddock.

“Well, we are gearing up for a Hungarian Grand Prix to remember! Only a year ago, who can forget how Oscar Piastri secured his first Grand Prix win here as a result of some controversial team orders? Now, it seems like controversy is still on the table as he battles with his teammate for the World Driver’s Championship…”

Oscar scowled.

“Ignore them,” you said, snapping a photo of his frown. “You’re gonna win, and you’re gonna do it right.”

“Hey, nothing’s wrong with papaya rules,” said a voice behind you. You spun to see Lando’s face, and your stomach sank.

“Just came by to wish my teammate good luck,” he said, putting on a fake smile for the commentators who watched above.

Oscar gave Lando an empty handshake, doing his best to keep his cool in front of all the journalists.

“Anyone with eyes can see that this championship battle has ruffled some feathers. These once friendly teammates are now ice cold, though they clearly have an admirable respect for each other despite it all…” The commentators droned on. 

“Oh, YN, by the way, you left your jacket at my house.” Lando said, turning his gaze to you.

“Keep it,” Oscar answered, protectively putting his hand on your shoulder. You leaned into the touch, feeling safe with him.

“I just figured YN can come by and grab it—”

“It’s fine,” you said, cutting him off. 

Lando leaned in, and you felt Oscar’s grip on you tighten. “You really gonna let him tell you what to do?” he whispered.

“Let’s go, YN,” Oscar instructed, and you turned and left without a word.

The rest of the weekend was full of these same games. Lando approaching you innocuously, always in the most public of spaces, as if he didn’t know the nervousness that he inspired within you. He played the innocent role as if he believed it himself.

He even winked at you before he got into his car for qualifying. You wanted to puke.

Oscar didn’t get pole. Lando did. None of the other stats mattered. 

The two McLaren drivers were neck and neck, even getting ahead of Max Verstappen, who’s Redbull car had proved to be useless this season. Every point, every millisecond, mattered. And Lando was winning. 

You did your job as usual, taking photos as Oscar hopped out of the car and sulked his way into the garage. Your lunch threatened to reappear when you felt a familiar tap on your shoulder. 

“Hey, YN—”

You walked away, but he followed.

“YN!” Lando called, jogging after you. “Wait!”

“Go away, Lando.”

“Just give a second, will you?” 

You walked faster, insistent on making it to the now emptying McLaren garage. 

“YN, when am I going to see you again?”

“Never,” you answered, not even turning to look at him. You finally made it back to the garage, but you kept walking back into the hallways of drivers rooms. You were determined to make it back to Oscar, but your oasis was swiftly destroyed.

Lando grabbed your shoulder and pushed you back into a corner. Your face went pale, and all breath left your body.

“You sure about that?” he asked, a sickening smirk across his face.

“Leave me alone,” you whimpered.

He leaned in, whispering in your ear, and the touch made you squirm. “You left your jacket at my place in Monaco. Which means you need to come back and get it, yeah? Maybe spend the night…”

He was yanked away by your saving grace: Oscar.

“Get the fuck away from her! What is wrong with you?” he yelled, grabbing Lando by the collar of his race suit and pulling him off you. 

You took advantage of the space and ran off to Oscar’s driver room, terrified. You felt like you wanted to jump out of your skin. 

“If you don’t leave her alone—”

“What are you gonna do about it, huh?” Lando taunted. He huffed. 

“Just leave her alone,” Oscar repeated, breathless. What could he do about it, realistically? He let Lando go, dropping him into the wall.

“What do you even want?” Oscar asked, his voice shaking in anger. “You never wanted her in the first place. You just wanted to win, and you are. So why not leave her alone and be done with it?”

Lando smirked. “I am winning, huh?”

“Is that all you really care about?” Oscar asked. He lowered his voice, knowing you were hiding in his driver’s room, pressing your ear to the door to listen in. “If I…if I stop trying, will you leave her alone?”

“Stop trying?”

“If I give up the championship, will you promise to never go near YN again?”

Lando chuckled incredulously. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” Oscar said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t know what it’s like to love someone that strongly.”

“This isn’t a shitty romcom, Oscar. If you don’t perform, you’ll get cut in an instant.”

“I’m willing to take that risk.”

Lando took a step towards Oscar. “Say I agree. What makes you think I’ll keep my word?”

“I’d just have to trust you,” Oscar said, his voice still low but firm and full of warning. 

“If you’re willing to give it up that easily, why are you here? What’s to stop me from ruining your entire career?” the Brit taunted. 

“Like I said,” Oscar explained, looking down on his teammate, “I love her. She’s worth it.”

“Not that much.”

“Yes, that much.”

Lando laughed. “You’ve gone soft. You’re no fun.”

“Do we have a deal?” Oscar asked.

Lando looked aside, weighing his options in his head. “Let me think on it.”

Both men knew the answer then and there. This wasn’t over. But if it kept Lando away from you for a while, Oscar would take your place in the back and forth. He could handle it. 

The short-lived peace made its way back to Oscar’s hotel room that night, where he wrapped an arm around you, as natural as turning the lights off and pulling the covers up to your chin. He held you close, relishing the feeling of your chest rising and falling under his arm that you interlocked with your own.

He closed his eyes, steadying his own breathing as he held you like his life depended on it.

“What did you say to Lando in the hallway?” you asked, your voice a scarce whisper in the dark room.

“Nothing,” Oscar answered. 

“I could hear you all talking. I just couldn’t make out the words.”

“Don’t worry about it. He won’t be bothering you anymore,” Oscar said, though he knew it was a lie. He ran his thumb up and down the smooth surface of your knuckles, soothing himself as much as you.

“You know, I got a job offer last week,” you said. Oscar stopped. His breath hitched. You continued, “Doing social media for some French fitness influencer. Seems like a pretty decent gig.”

“Are you going to take it?”

“I’m not sure. I’m waiting to hear back from some other positions.”

“And when you do?”

The question hung thick in the air. All talk of you leaving had fizzled out long ago, though you hadn’t stopped looking, still scared of that thought that lingered in the back of your mind, convincing you that you couldn’t trust the life that Oscar had carved out for you.

“I don’t know. It might do me some good to get away from all this.”

“You’d get lonely.”

You gave a small huff of a laugh. “I’d manage.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, pulling you closer. “I’d get lonely.”

“I’m sure you’d manage, too.”

“How’s the pay?”

“Not as good as Piastri incorporated,” you joked, a small across your face.

“That’s right,” he joked back. “Gotta pay my best worker well.”

“It’s not exactly the most professional environment, I must admit.”

‘Would you prefer a cubicle at the back of the paddock?”

You had missed this, the gentle banter that constituted your friendship with Oscar. It would be normal, were you not wrapped up in his arms right now.

You laughed at his joke, but Oscar continued, “Unfortunately, I can’t accept your resignation.”

“I don’t need you to.”

“You won’t get a good review out of me. I’ll tell everyone about your unprofessional behavior.” Oscar sat up, winking at you. “So close with the boss, hm?”

“You wish,” you taunted, grabbing a pillow and putting it between you and him.

“No!” he cried out, giggling as he grabbed the pillow and threw it across the room. You wrestled with the other bedding, grasping for layers and laughing in the mess you were swiftly creating.

But the moment ended too soon, as Oscar leaned over you and pinned you down, his chest heaving from the play fighting, his eyes locked on yours. Your gaze had darkened now, seeing his bare chest rising and falling above you, where all he had to do was reach down and bring his lips to yours for everything to change in an instant.

He pulled away, and you wanted to whimper. You imagined reaching up, slipping your fingers through the soft stands of his hair and pulling him back down to you, letting yourself get consumed by him once more.

And judging by the growing hardness pressing against your leg, he was imagining it too.

“I should go, erm, take a shower,” he said, breaking the moment before you could dwell on it any further. 

It didn’t matter. As you heard the water turn on and the rustling of his clothes, you wondered where Oscar’s hands must be wandering.

You could get up and walk into the bathroom, dropping your own clothes on the floor next to his. He could pin you against the wall of the shower and kiss up and down your neck, nipping into the sensitive skin, leaving dark marks to show the world that you’d always been his.

You took a deep breath. The shame came in waves. 

When Oscar got out of the shower, you were gone, having decided to spend the night in your own room for the first time in God knows how long. The bed was still warm, the covers still imprinted by your form.

He turned over and passed the night with a restless kind of sleep.

And yet, you turned up in the paddock the next morning as if nothing had happened. 

Oscar saw you from across the garage, and he let out a nervous breath seeing you chatting with one of the other photographers. You were here, safe. He didn’t like how anxious he was, not having you by his side at night and into the morning.

“Saw your girl show up alone this morning. You really trust me, huh?” Lando said, standing beside Oscar as they both weighed in for the Grand Prix.

“She’s grown. And so are you.”

“You really are a new man, aren’t you, Oscar? Love has changed you,” Lando said, patting Oscar on the back.

“Don’t push it.”

“But it’s so fun!” he said, smiling to himself. “I don’t think I’m gonna stop. Cause what are you gonna do about it?”

“Run you off the track,” Oscar said, his natural flatness giving the warning a cold chill.

“I’m sure you will,” Lando laughed.

Oscar hadn’t even planned to do it. But as he watched you out of the corner of his eye, he knew something had to be done. Lando was only keeping his distance, for now. 

When it came down to it, what could he do to protect you? Would he really have to give it all up?

He would. In an instant, only for you.

The thought raced in his mind as fast as the car he now sat himself into, preparing for the Grand Prix that would start any minute now. His eyes glanced at you, on the edge of the track, camera pointed towards him as usual. Yes, he’d do it for you. Only you. 

At the front of the pact, Lando turned to face you, knowing Oscar was in eyeshot. And he winked at you. Fucking winked, like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing, like everyone couldn’t see how the blood drained from your face and you awkwardly shuffled back to the McLaren garage just to be out of eyeshot of that man who had the nerve to treat you like a pawn in a game he didn’t even care to win. 

Oscar knew what he had to do. And when you heard the famous words in your ears just the same as all the countless race starts you’d seen—lights out and away we go!—he just prayed that you’d understand why he had to do it.

Oscar’s reflexes had never worked so fast as he booked it down the middle, the mere millisecond the lights went out. It was like his mind and body had split; he was moving by pure instinct, racing ahead towards his teammate who led the pack down the first straight. 

But even as he made his way to the front, he didn’t try to overtake. No, he wasn’t here to win. If Oscar was going down, Lando would go down with him. He turned and pushed his teammate off the track and into the barrier into the first turn.

It all happened so quickly that you couldn’t process it; the sound of rough metallic clashing, tires screeching, the crowd hushed as smoke and debris sprang into the air.

On one side, Oscar’s voice crackled through the radio. “I’m okay,” he assured. “Shit, I think I lost control of the steering…”

On the other, those who could hear Lando were not as soothed. “That fucker just ran me off the track! Did you see that? This is ridiculous!”

The garage was in a frenzy, mechanics scrambling to bring in both of the cars for repair after a rare double DNF. You knew the boys would be swept up in media interviews, calls to the stewards, and late meetings in the garage. It didn’t stop you from rushing forward with the crowd of everyone else, camera at the ready, snapping photos of Oscar as he ruffled his hair and began the walk of shame back to the garage. 

You still followed him back to his driver’s room, chasing the precious minutes before he’d be out of your grasp for the rest of the evening.

“Oscar!”

“I’m okay, YN,” he assured you, turning around to embrace you. His hands on your hips felt familiar, like home, like hope. He pressed his forehead to yours, exhaling as the adrenaline left him. 

“Are you really?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m okay.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I lost control—”

“I’m not the FIA, Oscar.”

He chuckled. You continued, “I know better. You didn’t lose control of the steering. Why in God’s name would you run him off track?”

“I did what I had to do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it, yeah?”

“Oscar—”

“Shh,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder now. “Stay in my room tonight? I don’t like you sleeping alone.”

You swallowed, scared of the acknowledgement of your closeness. “Oscar…”

“I have to get to the stewards. I’ll see you back at the hotel, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What the actual fuck was that?” The Brit’s voice reverberated through the tin walls of the meeting room, his anger palpable. 

“I lost—”

“Bullshit!”

“Lando, lower your voice,” Zak Brown commanded, leaning back in his chair at the head of the table. “Oscar, do you wanna walk us through what happened?”

Oscar resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not quite sure. I was trying to overtake, I lost control of the steering, then I spun out.”

“Well it looks like you ran into me,” Lando snided. “Or are you really that bad at controlling your own car?”

“Oscar wouldn’t run you off the track,” Zak interjected. “That’s not how we do things here.”

“Oh yeah, papaya rules?” Lando jeered, laughing to himself. “Yeah, right. Look at the footage. He rammed into me. The stewards will handle it.”

“Tensions are high right now, but let's not get carried away with allegations. Right now we need to focus on the team. You know Ferrari is catching up to us, and we still can’t eliminate Max.”

“Hard to do that when my own teammate is trying to run me into a fucking wall,” Lando muttered. 

“That’s enough,” Zak said, his voice unusually stern. “The mechanics are looking at the car, and the stewards are looking at the footage. If there’s a mechanical issue, they’ll find it. And if we have to take any penalties, we’ll deal with it. But all this infighting needs to stop. We all have the same goals here.”

“Do we?” Oscar asked, breaking his silence.

“Of course we do,” Zac said. “Why wouldn’t we?”

Oscar shrugged. “We both want to win. And some people are willing to do anything.” He looked up and locked eyes with Lando across the table. 

“We want to win,” Zac said, turning his head to both drivers. “We, as in, McLaren. But we don’t put one driver down to help the other win. You all know this. You both drive fair.”

“Of course,” Oscar said. Lando was seething, unable to keep up the charade for much longer. 

“I’ve got to get to the stewards. Stay here, both of you, and behave,” he warned, as if scolding children. But the second he closed the door behind him, Lando broke. 

“You fucked up, Piastri. You think he didn’t see right through that?”

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t care about winning anymore. I just want you to lose.”

Lando laughed. “I don’t buy that for one second.”

“You really think this is still about racing? You’re trying to destroy my entire life! You lied to Lily, you nearly killed me in Imola, and now you’re harassing YN. If you want to go low, I’ll go lower,” Oscar hissed. 

“You really don’t want to do that,” Lando said. “You think you’re beating me at my own game, but you haven’t seen anything.”

“Do your worst,” Oscar said, shrugging. “At this point, I don’t care. Because I know that more than anything else, you want to win. And if I go down, I’m bringing you down with me.”

By the time Oscar made it back to the hotel, you were nearly asleep. The day wore heavily on your shoulders, slumping you down into the bed with ease, though you wanted to be awake to talk to him when he got back.

You drifted in and out of consciousness, your breaths steadying as you heard his footsteps cross the floor softly in an effort not to wake you. 

“Osc…” you whispered, your voice hoarse from exhaustion. “You’re back.”

“Yeah,” he responded. “I’ll be to bed in a minute, go back to sleep.”

“I wanted to see you,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “Make sure you’re okay.”

“I am,” he said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple. The gesture was gentle and natural, as if the feeling of his lips on your skin wasn’t heavy with the weight of months of uncried tears and fears that still paralyzed you both. “Don’t worry about me. Get some rest.”

But his kiss, tender as it was, had sent a wave of warm electricity through you. Sleep was far from you now. Oscar crossed the room towards the bathroom, and again your thoughts drifted to darker places, remembering the solidity of his body against yours months ago. Your need for him was becoming indescribable. 

Why didn’t you just give in? He was right; you wanted each other, that was undeniable. What else could be done about it, besides letting the need take over, drowning in him until all you could breathe in was the warmth of his skin, the smell of his cologne, the gentle breaths he exhaled in the quiet dark of your love?

Still, you felt paralyzed. And when he came back into the room, clad in only his underwear, and snaked under the covers next to you, you couldn’t do it. In your mind, you crawled on top of him, steadying your hands on the slopes of his broad shoulders, and kissed him until you couldn’t breathe; in reality, you just turned to look at him, your eyes bold with a restrained wanting. 

“I told you to go back to sleep, YN,” he whispered, moving your hair out of your face to see you clearly. 

“Did you really run into him? Like, on purpose?”

“Are you wearing a wire?” Oscar joked, a small bunny-toothed grin stretching across his face.

“I’m hardly wearing anything,” you responded, ignoring the blush that rushed to your companion’s cheeks at the thought. “And neither are you. But seriously, why did you do that?”

You had left Oscar in a no-win situation: to acknowledge the enticing lack of clothing between you two, or the still muddled details of his crash. He chose the latter.

“I…did what I had to do. And he knows I’ll do it again.”

“You’re being cryptic,” you said. 

Oscar took a deep breath, contemplating whether or not to tell you. “I didn’t want it to get this far,” he began. “But after all the shit he put you through, I had to do something. When he followed you in the garage, I tried to talk to him. I thought if this is all just about winning, then if I let him win he’d leave us alone.”

“You…”

“I offered to give up, let him win. He wouldn’t agree to it.”

“Oscar!”

“What?” he asked.

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because you being safe is more important than any championship.”

“Don’t say that,” you scolded. “And don’t you dare give anything up for me.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is your dream. This is everything you’ve worked for.”

“What about your dreams, YN? What about everything you wanted that you gave up for me?”

“You were the only thing I ever wanted,” you whispered, as tears threatened to form in your eyes. “To be your friend, to be by your side when you win.”

“Well, you’re worth giving it up for.”

“No, don’t—”

“YN—”

You both sat up, and the space between you was infinitely small. Oscar looked to your lips, then his eyes met yours, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you. And you wanted it more than anything. 

“If you had done that,” you said, breaking the tension, “if you had really given up, I would have left you.”

He reached his hand out to your waist, carefully reaching under the loose tank top you wore, meeting your skin. His touch was warm and sent shivers under your spine. Again, his eyes went to rest on your lips, tracing every curve. “No you wouldn’t,” he said. 

“Yes, I would,” you replied, your voice more forceful.

“No, you wouldn’t,” he whispered. His free hand had come to rest on your jawline, his thumb tracing up and down the side of your face. “You love me too much.”

“You’d be miserable without racing.” Your voice was beginning to shake.

“Maybe. But I’d get over it.”

You inhaled sharply, suddenly overcome with anxiety and a thick sense of dread. This was all you had wanted; you and Oscar, nothing but atoms of air separating your bodies. But now that you were here, you felt a lump in your throat suffocating you.

Oscar could sense it too. He pulled back slightly. “He wouldn’t let me,” he said, his voice soft. “And then he winked at you. I had to show him that I wouldn’t let him get away with any of this.”

“That’s immature,” you said. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“I was more hurt when he ran into me first, if you’ve forgotten.” Though he had moved away, his eyes still couldn’t help but glancing at your lips. “I’m just showing him that he can’t get away with all of this.”

“And what happens when one of you gets seriously hurt? I can’t lose you, Oscar.”

“You won’t.” His hand lowered to your hip and stayed there, tracing small circles into your skin. “I don’t care about winning anymore, but he does. He can’t run me off track without sacrificing points.”

“I don’t like this,” you said. Your voice was still shaking, though with a different kind of fear now. 

“I know,” he whispered. 

The closeness was too much. You felt like you were going to puke. “I guess I should go to my own room, let you get some rest.”

“If you want,” he said, his voice soft with a gentle and innocent wanting. “I won’t stop you. But you can stay.”

“I just—”

“YN,” he cut you off, “why are you so nervous? It’s just me.”

“I know.”

“I’m not going to do anything that you don’t want.”

“I know,” you echoed. You felt like a broken record. “Just…get some rest. It’s been a long day.”

“Okay,” he said. “Goodnight, YN.”

You didn’t respond as you crossed the room, opened the door, and went to your own hotel room. 

A few days later, you felt your heart drop as you checked your phone for the first time in hours.

You had been on a grueling flight back to Australia with Oscar, where you were meant to spend the summer break with his family. Upon arriving at the empty Piastri family home, you took your phone off airplane mode, and what you saw took all the blood away from your face. 

“House is ours for the night,” Oscar explained as he began unpacking his suitcase. “Mum doesn’t get back from her trip until tomorrow night, but of course she didn’t tell—”

“Oscar.”

“What?” he said, looking at you, you sat on the edge of his bed, phone clutched in hand, shaking.

“Have you checked your socials today?”

“Isn’t that what I pay you for?” he joked, cracking a smile. You didn’t look back at him, and he quickly dropped the banter. “Wait, what’s wrong?”

You silently handed him the phone. On the screen was a gossip page, and a carousel of images of you and Lando.

Talking on track, out in Monaco, in his car. Oscar wanted to puke. But as he scrolled, it got even worse. The face that still haunted his dreams, though he’d never admit it aloud anymore: Lily.

Mess at McLaren! Fans have noticed tensions between McLaren drivers Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris, but according to a close source within McLaren, things are worse than anyone could have imagined. Our source says that Piastri and long time girlfriend, Lily Zneimer, have been broken up for months, which explains her absence at nearly every Grand Prix this season. Piastri quickly moved on with long time friend and social media manager YN LN, but recently, YN has been seen in close quarters with his teammate Lando Norris. Will we be seeing a new wag soon, or more drama between the drivers? 

The comments were even worse.

Wait, why did Oscar and Lily break up? They were so endgame!

↪️Our source told us that Lily was not a fan of how close Oscar and YN were! They have been friends since they were children, but fans have been speculating for a while that there’s something deeper there. 

YN is such a homewrecker oh my God. I always felt off about her. 

↪️Exactly. Like not only did she break up Oscar and Lily, but then she’s going for Lando now! Like girl GO AWAY EWWW

That pic of YN outside Lando’s condo? Look at her dress. Compared to the pic from the restaurant, it’s clear she took that off. There’s no way they didn’t hook up. 

Okay but how have Oscar and Lily been broken up since March but none of us noticed?

↪️Lily has always been super private, which makes sense considering her ex and his “girl best friend” were always flaunting how close they are. You all remember that photo he deleted after the Australian GP? I feel so bad for her. 

↪️Oh if I was Lily I’d be pissed. You steal my man and then you leave him for his teammate? The audacity of YN!

He couldn’t read any more. But when he looked up, he couldn’t stand what he saw, either. You, unable to keep the tears back, your mind racing faster than a Formula 1 car.

“I’m ruined,” you said. “I’ve gotten emails from HR, the PR people at McLaren… I’m gonna lose my job.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“Oscar, why would he do this?”

“Because he’s mad at me. And he knows the way to hurt me is through you. This is…his payback, I guess, for the crash.” As Oscar said those words, the truth dawned on him—this was his fault. 

“What do I even do?” you asked, and Oscar grabbed your shaking hands and held them in his own.

“Hey, we’ll figure it out after the break. I’ll make sure you don’t lose your job.”

“The entire internet thinks I’m a homewrecking whore.”

“No,” he said. “Just a small group of people who have nothing better to do than meddle in the personal lives of F1 drivers.”

“Are they wrong, though?”

“Don’t even entertain that idea. I’ll reach out to legal and see what they can do. This has got to be breaking Monaco privacy laws.”

“Oscar—”

“It’s gonna be okay, YN. I promise you.”

“Oscar,” you said, repeating his name, but this time quieter, more weighted. “Maybe this is a sign.”

“What?”

“I’ve been going back and forth about leaving for too long. Maybe this is it. I mean, how am I going to come back from this?”

“Are you serious? You just want to give up?” Oscar asked. His voice was tinged with anger.

“You, of all people, can’t lecture me about giving up,” you responded.

“Shit, you’re right, but I’ll tell you the same thing you told me. I won’t let you do it.”

“If I really wanted to leave, you’d make me stay? How would you manage that?” Your voice dripped in venom, and something more, something that sent a shiver down Oscar’s spine, an invitation to push.

“I’d figure it out,” he said, unsure of how far to go. “Just promise me you won’t give up immediately. At least try. Don’t let him win this easily.”

“I’m not competitive like you all,” you said, turning your head away. Suddenly, Oscar’s gaze felt too heavy for you to bear. 

“You said all you ever wanted was to be here with me. Are you gonna let him take that from you?” he asked.

You didn’t respond. Oscar moved towards you. “We’ll do this together. We’ll get through this. I promise. Will you promise me?”

Still, you were silent. 

“YN? Do you promise?” 

“Can you give me a minute?” you asked, though you didn’t wait for a response when you left the bedroom and made your way out onto the back porch.

In the distance, you heard the familiar and comforting sound of the neighborhood you had grown up in, and you let it lull you to a steady pace of breathing, in and out. 

You knew Oscar was right. You couldn’t give up this easily and let Lando take everything away from you. But you wanted so badly to indulge that instinct to run. 

You remembered what Oscar had said, nights before, when you had scolded him about his own desire to give in. He had said you were worth it, and the thought scared you. 

You had always been the one to do things for him, not the other way around. You had molded your entire future based on his dreams, until eventually they became your own. Now, all you wanted was him, but even when he was close enough to touch, you couldn’t take it. Why? What held you back from everything you had ever wanted, your entire life?

“YN,” Oscar called, closing the sliding door behind him. “I’m sorry. I was a little harsh.”

“It’s alright,” you said, as he sat next to you, his muscled arms straining against the fabric of his shirt. 

He bit his lip, unsure of exactly what to say. 

“You were right, though,” you said. “I shouldn’t give up. Neither of us should.”

“Do you really want to leave?” he asked, though the both of you were too nervous to look at the other. 

“I don’t know,” you answered. 

“I don’t know what I was on about, when I said I wouldn’t let you leave. I mean, I want you here. I won’t lie to you about that. But if you want to go…” his voice trailed off, unable to even comprehend what he’d do. 

“If I left, would you go back to Lily?”

“I— what? What does she have to do with any of this?”

“She has everything to do with this.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She left you because of me. And the entire reason I ever entertained Lando was because of her.”

“And now you want to leave because of her. Because you’ll never feel right about it, is that it?”

It shouldn’t shock you that Oscar knew you so well. Still, you kept your mouth shut, biting your lip.

“You were here before all of it,” he said. “Before Lando, before Lily, before racing, even. If being here is what you want, then you deserve it more than any of them.”

He moved to face you, his hand dangerously close to yours.

“So no, I wouldn’t go back to Lily.”

“Because she wouldn’t have you, or because you don’t want to be with her anymore?”

“YN, seriously?”

“What?”

“A few days ago I was about to give up my entire racing career for you. You really think I’d go back to her?”

The absurdity of what you’d implied dawned over you. 

“I…I’m sorry. I’m not thinking right.”

“I’m not upset. I just…” Oscar’s voice faded. You shivered in the cold air as night approached, evidenced by the stunning sunset that painted the Australian sky of his backyard. “Let’s go inside,” Oscar suggested, “You’re shivering.”

You wordlessly followed him back inside, but stopped before you got into his room. 

It had been a long time since you and Oscar had been alone in his room. The last time…well, it must have been the night that you lost your virginity. It almost felt like, to cross that threshold again would be to give up the fight that you had so strongly waged in your head. 

But isn’t that what you wanted?

Oscar, none the wiser, continued unpacking his clothes. 

You walked away, going to the kitchen to prepare food for dinner. 

It was odd, being in Oscar’s childhood home—and really, yours too—alone with him. All that was on your mind was the last time you were alone, in this place, a similar tension thick in the air, that ever-present fear that one of you would have to leave. It seemed that not much had changed. 

Oscar could tell that you were distracted, but he assumed the elephant in the room was your newly destroyed reputation, which he truthfully had no idea how he was going to fix. He’d figure it out. At least, that’s what he told himself. He’d figure anything out of it meant keeping you next to him every night, waking up with your arms around him. 

Though, recently, you had taken to sleeping alone. All this talk of leaving terrified him. He had once been so sure that you’d never leave him, that you’d always be there. The love and friendship you shared was strong enough to withstand anything—years of long distance, a relationship, his rise to stardom within Formula 1—but now, everything was as fragile as glass, able to be destroyed with just the tiniest bit of force.

He was scared. 

That fear returned when night fully came, and it was time to sleep. You were both exhausted from the insanity of the day. You had turned off your phone just to enjoy the silence of the home you grew up in. 

The episode of whatever random show you had been watching was over. The house was quiet, save for the creaking of the home’s bones, and the soft patter of rain outside. 

Despite your reservations, you had found yourself resting your head on Oscar’s shoulder, half asleep. He could feel his eyelids heavying too, but he didn’t want to disrupt the scene, the sweet presence of your closeness that could be gone any day now. 

“I should probably go to bed,” you said, your voice hoarse. Oscar hummed in response, unsure of what to say. He had a feeling that his words would just make the situation worse.

You stared at the ceiling of the Piastri family guest room, a familiar sight. Getting ready for bed had meant turning your phone back on for your alarm in the morning, and you had been inundated with a flood of nasty messages, worried texts, and concerning emails. You ignored them all. 

You felt like the ceiling was going to grow a set of eyes and start staring back at you, at this rate. Your insomnia in the past year was getting to you. 

Your gaze switched to your surroundings; the nondescript guest room, that was basically your childhood home. You had never decorated it, despite Nicole’s insistence that the room was yours to fill. You never felt like you deserved it. Someone else would eventually need to be there, someone more important than the girl from the troubled family across the cul de sac. 

And that was the root of all of this, wasn’t it? You were… you. The neighbour girl. The unofficial extra daughter. The best friend who was more like blood. The one who was always there, but in the background, never in the front; you wanted to be unnoticed, unknown. 

But it couldn’t be that way forever. Either you’d fully fade away, or you’d stay here forever, cemented in this family that had taken you in when no one else would. As much as you’d like to fight it, this place, this room, these people, they were your home. 

You should have been lulled to sleep by the droning of the ceiling fan or the gentle static of the rain outside that was now picking up to a stronger storm. But all you could think about was him. Oscar. Was he sleeping? Or was his mind running circles around itself, just like yours?

You picked up your phone to check the time. Nearly 3 in the morning. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d snuck into Oscar’s room in the early hours before the light of dawn. 

Down the hall, his door was ajar, as if he was expecting, or maybe hoping, you’d come by. You slid in silently and closed the door behind you. 

Oscar’s eyes glanced up to you, following your form as you assumed your place in the bed next to him. He could have turned away—you could have too—but instead you all curved to face each other, your eyes perfectly aligned, no words needed to express what you all knew to be true. 

Time had run out. You could no longer run from this, from him. And now you were back where it all began. 

You just held each other’s gaze for a moment, letting the silence speak all the words you knew couldn’t be said. Finally, Oscar broke the tension.

“YN,” he whispered, “I love you so much that it hurts.” You could hear the pain in his voice, the choked syllables that held back a flood’s worth of tears. “And I’m so fucking sorry about all of this. You deserve so much better.”

You didn’t respond, even as tears threatened their way forwards.

He continued, “You deserve someone who will always put you first. You deserve to go discover your dreams and make them happen, and you deserve someone who will be there to support you every second of the way. I’m so sorry I haven’t been that person. But God, I want to be.”

You whispered his name into the quiet between his words, but nothing could stop the flood that fell from his lips.

“If you want to go and find that person, find that dream, then do it. I want you to be happy more than I want you to be mine. But I can’t let you go without telling you how much I wish it could have been me.”

“Oscar,” you said, your voice more forceful this time, but he persisted.

“YN, I love you. I am in love with you. And I’m so sorry that I didn’t treat you better. I’m so sorry that I ruined what could have been so beautiful.”

“Oscar,” you repeated, cutting him off, “Kiss me.”

“What?” he asked, propping himself up on one elbow to look down on you. 

“I said, kiss me.”

“But—”

“Oscar. I am asking you to kiss me.”

“You…you want me to?”

“Do you not want to?”

“No, I mean yes, I just—”

You could let him babble any more, so you took action into your own hands, sitting up to meet him, pressing your lips to his in a chaste and gentle kiss that felt like a tsunami coming to rest in the pit of your stomach. 

“Do you remember the last time we were here? Alone in your room?” you whispered against his lips, and he nodded. “I was so scared, then. But I trusted you. We trusted each other.”

“YN,” he exhaled, his voice breathy with need, “I’m afraid you’re going to leave me.”

“Don’t think about that. We’re here, right now. It’s just us.”

“It’s just us,” he repeated, his hands beginning to wander. And it was true. Here there was no Lando, no Lily, no Formula 1, nothing but you and the man you loved, your bodies intertwined, your chests heaving with desire.

“Oscar.”

“Yeah?”

“Do it again,” you commanded.

“Huh?”

“Kiss me again,” you said, a smile forming on your lips. 

“I don’t—” You kissed him again, savoring his familiar taste, the way your lips fit so perfectly with his.

He pulled away. “We can’t. You said we can’t.” 

“You really want to stop?” you asked. 

“But you said—”

“Oscar,” you said, his name like a prayer on your lips. “Please. I want this. I need it.”

He was quiet then, for a moment, upon hearing your confession of desire. You were scared for a moment that he might reject you. 

“Tell me what to do,” he whispered in your ear. “Show me how you want it. I’ll be gentle.”

You moved his tentative hands to your waist, and he pulled you closer, holding you against him, where you were near enough to feel his blood pulse through his veins. Your heart was beating fast, the feeling of him both foreign and familiar.

He reached one hand up into your hair, gently pulling your head to the side to press his lips to your neck, and you let out a whimper at the soft touch. You rested your hands against his bare chest, relishing the feeling of his heart beat and his breath that was rapidly increasing. His want was devouring him, but he touched you like you were something fragile and breakable. 

“You don’t have to be this gentle with me,” you said with a breathy voice. “I won’t break.”

“No, you’re too precious,” he said, a temporary reprieve from his lips exploring every inch of your neck. He looked up and delicately ran the back of his hand along the soft skin of your cheek. “You’re so soft and warm. I want to savor you. God, I missed this.”

You grabbed his chin and brought his lips back to yours, unable to resist him any longer. Your tongues explored each other’s mouths, re-mapping every inch that had been forgotten, and you moaned into him, softly grinding into his lap. You needed more of him. 

“You taste like heaven. God, you’ll be the fucking death of me, YN.”

You could already feel a wetness pooling in your panties, and your hitched breath at his praise made you all the more ready. “I need you,” you whimpered. “I need you inside of me, filling me up—”

“Oh,” he moaned, “don’t do this to me, YN. I won’t last.”

“Undress me,” you told him, and he complied, tossing your pajamas aside until you were left in nothing but your panties, which were already stained with a wet spot, evidence of how badly you needed him. 

His hands smoothed over the expanse of your chest, groping at the soft flesh and leaning down to take one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. 

You exhaled, shivering, unused to such a gentle touch from your lover. You couldn’t help but want more of him; rougher, harder, faster. But he took his time with you, worshipping your body, committing every inch of skin to memory as if, at any second, you’d be gone. 

Oscar got down from the bed onto his knees before you, staring up at you with a lustful yet innocent adoration. He gently pawed at the softness of your thighs, spreading them open and he pulled you to the edge of the bed. The thin, soaked fabric of your panties was the only barrier between him and the fullness of your body, and he quickly pulled them off, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thighs as his eyes met your wet slit. 

“I want to make you cum on my tongue,” he said, one hand groping your left thigh as he kissed your right. He looked so beautiful, bowed before you, worshipping between your legs. 

“Please,” you begged. You were already quivering with anticipation, and he’d barely even touched you. 

“I love you,” he murmured into your skin, soft enough that you could barely understand him. Even with the muffled words, you could feel the sweet sentiment as he held your legs open and flattened his tongue to like a stripe from your opening to your clit, ending with his lips gently pressed to the bundle of nerves. 

You let out a sinful sound at the feeling, tensing up your thighs around his face as he ate you out like a starved man, savoring every bit of wetness he could lick up. Your hands instinctively found his hair as you leaned back, quivering at the feeling of his tongue swirling around your clit. One hand held your hip firmly in place, preventing you from squirming, while the other skillfully pumped two fingers in and out of you.

“O-Oscar…” you moaned, close to the edge.

He stopped. “You okay?”

“Don’t stop, please,” you begged, throwing your head back in pleasure as he fingered you faster, his mouth sucking on your clit. You squealed, letting out a high pitched whine as you came undone, fulfilling his wish. He licked up every drop of you, steadying you by holding your legs in his strong arms as they shook from the intensity of your climax. 

His name fell from your lips again and again, and he got back on the bed, laying you out beneath him. Your hair sprawled in a halo against the pillows, and he sat up above you, admiring the sight of you, desperate with wanting before him. 

“Oscar, please,” you begged. “I need you.”

He leaned down to kiss your neck again, whispering in your ear, “You need me?”

“Need you inside of me,” you echoed.

“No,” he said, taking off his own last layers until both of you were fully bare, “I need you. Need you wrapped around me. Need to stretch you out, fill you up.”

There were no words left with which to beg him, and your doe eyes staring at him were all he needed to take you fully. He let out a low groan as he sank into you, your velvety insides gripping him so perfectly. The sweet burn of him taking you was heavenly. 

“It’s always been you, YN,” he moaned as he fucked into you, slow but deep strokes making you see stars. “I’ve always wanted you. I always needed you—fuck. Love isn’t a strong enough word for what I feel for you.”

You reached for the muscles of his back, feeling them straining with every thrust as he held back from ruining you. He wanted to last, to fuck you slow and gentle, but he couldn’t help the lust that only grew hearing your sweet sounds, breathy in his ear.

You needed him closer. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper into you, and all you could hear was the obscene sounds of your wetness and Oscar groaning into your mouth as he brought his lips to yours again. His hand rested on your waist as he pushed as far as he could into you, resting for a moment. 

“You feel so fucking good. I’m not gonna last.”

“Don’t stop,” you whined.

“But I wanna take my time with you,” he whispered against your skin. 

“We have all night,” you teased. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhaled, his breath shaky as he pounded into you, and you squealed. You had both run out of words, too enraptured with the bliss of the other’s body against your own, becoming one again after so long. You had finally given in, and it felt too fucking good. Your brain shut off, only able to think about your own impending climax as he rutted into you, bringing you both closer and closer to the edge.

“My perfect girl. Oh, God, I’m so close. I love you—fuck, I’m gonna…” You stretched down his back as he gave one last, violent thrust into you before spilling his seed inside of you, moaning obscenely into your ear. He reached down and roughly rubbed at your sensitive clit until you came too, the empty home now full of the unrestrained sounds of your pleasure.

He held you there as you both steadied your breath, and as the static in your ears grew quiet, all you could hear was his breathing and yours, indistinguishable in the aftermath of your lovemaking. He gently kissed you, crading your face in his hands like you were a gentle, precious thing.

“I love you,” he murmured over and over through his shaky breaths. “I love you so much.”

You couldn’t bask in the afterglow, though, as your logic swiftly came back to you. “Oscar, did you finish inside of me?”

Your lover just hummed in response. “Oscar,” you said, your voice more urgent now, “I’m not on birth control.”

He was snapped out of his reverie. “You’re not? YN, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was just caught up in the moment—”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even mean to—”

You laughed out of the sheer absurdity of it all. “Of course this would happen to us. I am so fucking stupid…”

“Don’t say that,” he murmured, resuming his affection by bringing his lips back to your cheek. “Isn’t this what Plan B is for?” 

You exhaled sharply, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll just take the pill. I’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”

“Hey,” he said, turning your face to look at him. “It will be fine. I promise. I’m here for you no matter what.”

You exhaled again, this time an attempt at a real release of tension. 

“Breathe with me,” he said, and you took a few deep breaths in unison as he snuggled next to you, tracing patterns on the exposed skin of your stomach to calm you. It worked, and feeling the warmth of his bare skin against your own brought you to a sense of peace.

“It’s gonna be okay. I’m here,” he repeated, lulling you into something like sleep. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, letting him hold you as exhaustion finally took hold. 

[vitalverstappen]

Homecoming SMAU - C. Leclerc

summary: have you ever had a massive crush on your team rival? (smau edition)

pairing: Charles Leclerc x Red Bull driver!reader

fc: various, just pretend they're all the same person

a/n: i kinda love this fic wayyy too much to let it go so soon, so I decided to make a smau version for your enjoyment!

written

masterlist

liked by redbullracing, charles_leclerc, and 737,602 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: Didn't go how we planned, but grateful to snatch a point. Congrats to Charles for the home race win!

view all comments

charles_leclerc: thank you!! can't wait to celebrate later!

yourusername: lmk when and where and i'll be there!!

user1: wdym my two fav drivers are definitely about to get plastered together??

user2: they've been friends since she broke into f1, only makes sense they would user3: yeah "friends" he's been in love with her since he saw her for the first time

user2: no.

maxverstappen1: over/under on how long it takes for her to get ready? line is at 2.5 hours

logansargeant: over

landonorris: over

oscarpiastri: over

redbullracing: over

user4: there's no way she really takes THAT long

logansargeant: you'd be surprised

twitter & max's texts

liked by user1, user2, and 36,583 others

f1gossip: some of the drivers out and about in Monaco celebrating Charles' home win!

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user5: whoever let lando dj needs a RAISE

user6: i heard logan and oscar were also there!

user7: is it just me or do charles and y/n look weirdly close together??

user3: im telling you guys there's got to be SOMETHING going on between them

user2: again, guys and girls can be just friends.

user6: it's also a club. they're gonna be packed together

user8: i don't even want to know how much money they spent

monza media day

liked by: logansargeant, francolapinto and 673,842 others

tagged: logansargeant, francolapinto

yourusername: wdym i'm now the only one here repping the red, white n blue?? but in all reality, it's been an honor getting to know you Logan, you'll always be my best friend & I can't wait to see what you do in the future!!

but welcome to the grid Franco! you've got some tough shoes to fill

view all comments

logansargeant: thank you y/n. gonna miss you <3

yourusername: at least now you wont have to spend the 4th in the UK... again...

francolapinto: gracias y/n! No puedo esperar a ver qué trae el resto de la temporada!

yourusername: i have no idea what you just said but yes!!

user9: oh she's just like us

user10: girl is down bad

user2: @/user3 no like from Charles... how are you feeling after this?

user3: by the end of this season i'll be yelling i told you so from the rooftops

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and 987,325 others

tagged: yourusername

redbullracing: The queen of COTA has arrived! 🇺🇸

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user11: ugh she's glowing

user12: her austin looks always slay

user3: CHARLES IS BACK IN THE LIKES! I REPEAT CHARLES IS BACK!!

user2: you weren't kidding when you said you didn't give up hope

maxverstappen1: you guys better not be plotting to get me in a cowboy hat

yourusername: pffffft why would we do that??

redbullracing: fine, we'll go put it away...again...

charles_leclerc: if you need someone to dress up, i know a guy

user13: omg stand up king, this isn't even y/n's insta

yourusername: @/charles_leclerc wdym "you know a guy" you couldn't even wear your hat properly

liked by charles_leclerc, kimi.antonelli and 985,432 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, kimi.antonelli, jackdoohan, texasfootball

yourusername: hook 'em 🤘

view all comments

texaslonghorns: it was a pleasure to have you! same time next year?

yourusername: you know it! 🫡

texasfootball: thanks for the support! we'll have to get you suited up next year

yourusername: as long as i don't get tackled im yours

user14: awh y/n and charles are already starting to adopt the 2025 rookies

oscarpiastri: i do not need any more siblings

charles_leclerc: thx for showing me the joys of college football 🧡

yourusername: anytime charlie!!!

user15: CHARLIE?? girl WHAT?

user3: GUYS ITS HAPPENING!!

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, and 985,920 others

yourusername: P1 baby!! It's always special to race at home and being able to win it means even more! A weekend I'll forever remember ❤️🤍💙

view all comments

redbullracing: congrats y/n!! a win well deserved!

liked by yourusername

maxverstappen1: honor to be on that podium with you! let's run it back in vegas

yourusername: only in vegas??

maxverstappen: your ego is gonna get too big if you win everything else

user16: RAH RAHHHH AMERICA 🦅💥🦅💥🇺🇸

user17: U! S! A! 🇺🇸 U! S! A! 🇺🇸

charles_leclerc: congrats on the win!! now, drinks on me tonight?

user18: oh charles grew a pair

yourusername: @/charles_leclerc actually, i think i still owe you for monaco 😊

user3: 👀👀👀

liked by user3, user2, and 45,832 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, yourusername

f1gossip: newest wag(s)?? charles and y/n were caught making out in a club in Austin. The two, along with the rest of the grid were there celebrating y/n's homecoming win. Cheers were heard from the other drivers as the two shared their moment.

view all comments

user19: oh. my. god.

user20: what in the romeo and juliet with a happy ending??

user2: @/user3 go ahead. say it.

user3: @/user2 I TOLD YOU SO. I TOLD YOU ALLLLL SO

user3: I DON'T LOOK CRAZY NOW. I KNEW IT

user21: what does @/redbullracing have to say about this

redbullracing: i'm just glad it isn't one of the mclaren boys mclaren: we wouldn't date you either its fine

want more? @coco-loco-nut wrote a sister story. Check it out!

[f1girliefics]

Not His Girlfriend

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: He never lied. He just liked to tell stories.

One day, Lando's friends decided to throw him a surprise birthday party at a trendy rooftop bar in Monaco. 

As the night went on and the drinks flowed freely, one of Lando's friends couldn't help but notice that he seemed to be rather lonely.

"Hey Lando, where's your girlfriend tonight?" his friend asked with a mischievous grin.

Lando chuckled nervously, trying to come up with a clever response. 

"Oh, you know how it is, always flying solo," he replied with a wink.

But his friend wasn't convinced. 

"Come on, Lando, we all know you. Why do you keep denying it?"

Lando's face turned red as he tried to come up with a plausible explanation. 

"Well, you see, it's not that I have a girlfriend, it's just that...I have a wife," he finally admitted, much to the surprise of his friends.

The revelation caused quite a stir among the group, but Lando simply shrugged it off with a sheepish grin. 

"I guess I just like to keep things interesting," he quipped, earning a round of laughter from his friends.

And so, Lando's secret was finally out in the open, but his friends couldn't help but admire his quick thinking and clever way of handling the situation. 

From that day on, Lando was known as the master storyteller who could spin a tale like no other - even if it meant denying having a girlfriend because he had a wife.

But the story of your secret wedding had to wait a couple more nights as Lando was on his fifth shot of the night.

Grinning like an idiot.

He arrived home late, you were already asleep, you woke up to someone in the shower singing.

You decided to just pretend to be asleep and Lando soon joined you.

"Love you." he said and you could smell the alcohol with the mint of the toothpaste.

You were just glad he had a fun night. Even if the morning hangover will be a whole new beast.

[amaranthineghost]

hello!!!

can you do a one shot/ fanfic that Lando has been dating Y/N since they were 15/16, so for a long time, and she just found out she’s pregnant. you can come up with how they would react and how lando would react but i’d love if they were unsure of it in the beginning, but it grew on them as time went by.

thanks!!!!

| OUR WORLD IN YOUR HANDS ( lando norris. ) |

ꕥ pairing: lando x reader

ꕥ summary: they hadn't planned for pregnancy, but it changed their life.

ꕥ authors note: enjoyed writing it more than I thought I would honestly. tried to make it so she was more unsure than he was and in the end, I liked it. working on incorporating more dialogue in the future because it is definitely not my strong suit. I'll also alternate between requests and my own ideas so if you requested something, keep it in mind <3

ꕥ warnings: mentions of alcohol, sex, barely mentions thoughts of abortion

TWO RED LINES. her heart had skipped a beat, more like several as she stared at the dark red line and a faded pink one next to it. she couldn't believe her eyes. it couldn't be possible, it repeated in her mind.

but it obviously was. they hadn't been very careful, they're young and dumb and in love. two people so deeply in love that they couldn't care less. at least she thought they did at the time.

staring at the test in front of her shook her whole world, an entirely different branch of her life she'd never expect to take this soon. it was right in front of her.

despite being together for a year or two shy of a decade, it felt too soon. they were still young, had plenty of parties lined up in the near future. plenty of drunken nights running through the streets of monaco barefooted, hands intertwined as the world was focused on them. how they'd escape to the farthest rooftop, drunken makeouts leading to more as they came together under the stars.

they still had time. time to be what they'd missed as teenagers, to make memories. they had time to spend countless nights, wrapped in each other's arms under cold skies on balconies across countries, discussing their future. when they'd get married, where they'd like to live, if they ever left monaco which seemed unlikely, the places they've yet to see, how many kids they'll have and their names.

time for reckless driving through the streets of monaco with the wind crashing against them, hands raised as they cheered. he always drove to the most beautiful sight in the city, but always claimed it would never come close to the beauty she possessed.

time for runs across the beach in tiny bikinis and swim trunks as they raced on the sand. his arms capturing her waist as he tossed her around, feeling the vibrations of her laughter and screams against his skin. a feeling he'd forever cherish.

it all disappeared with a single faded line. everything she knew about their future collapsed with the test barely bigger than the length of her hand. it would affect everything.

it was conflicting. becoming a mother was all she ever dreamed and talked about, when she became older. she'd mention to her curly-haired boyfriend countless times of her dreams of having the mini versions of him running around the house they shared. the longing to see his eyes and curly hair with features of her own on another warm body. their child.

but she wasn't ready. in her mid-twenties, with years of life left to live child-free. tens of grand prix's to attend in support of her mclaren lover, watching 10 feet away from his car. nights to catch up on hours of sleep she lacked from keeping up with lando's lifestyle.

having a kid swept it all off the table. no more late night dalliances, or getting so drunk to the point where lando would have to pull over the car to hold back her hair as she threw up in the bushes.

no more parties at ungodly hours of the night, watching drunk lando stumble his way to the dj booth, giggling over a glass of alcohol at his actions.

no more sleep. she knew she'd be woken up numerous times in the night from the cries of her child, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to give up sleep yet.

and she wasn't sure lando wanted to give up formula one either. obviously, a balance between the two worlds is possible, but she knew he would want to be there with her, and she didn't know if he could.

it scared her. the thought of this changing the dynamic of their relationship on levels she couldn't even begin to think of. she's seen countless videos of how having a child completely changed the way couples worked, good and bad, and she didn't want that fifty-fifty.

she'd sat staring at the test between the tips of her fingers for a solid twenty minutes before she heard a patterned knock she grew familiar with from her beloved boyfriend.

the door muffled his voice just slightly, "darling, you 'right in there?" his hand wrapped around the now cold door handle and twisted it, but it failed to turn as it pressed into his palm.

it was unusual for her to lock the door, she knew he would question it. and she knew she couldn't use the excuse of that she's changing or showering because lando simply didn't care whenever she was. he'd sit and keep her company till she was done with whatever she was doing because it was often what they did. sit in silence, enjoying the presence of one another.

"yeah, I'm fine!" she called out to him in a rushed tone, flinching enough that she nearly dropped the test. she watched as the door knob shook, shoving the stick into the bottom of the trash temporarily. she'd remember to remove it eventually.

she turned on the sink as she hid the box of tests in the depths of the cabinet under the sink. looking at herself in the mirror, she'd wipe away the tears that built in her eyes. she didn't want him to notice, but like always he would.

from the locked door to the second she opened it, he'd watch it. she'd see him leaning on the wall just outside the door, patiently waiting for her to come out to him. he wouldn't question it, he trusted that she would eventually come around to tell him. she always did.

with the frequent trips to the bathroom and the slimmed selection of foods in the fridge, he'd suspect something, but he wouldn't know for sure. not without her word.

because for the time being, it was a secret she kept to herself, as much as she despised secrets. she felt like she was guilty to be hiding something from the person she trusted most in the world.

times when she thought the room was empty, she'd be pacing long ways back and forth with her arms crossed and her face solid. he'd watched her from the doorframe with his arms crossed against his chest, mirroring her position slightly.

times when she'd drop whatever she was doing to rush into the bathroom and spill her guts into the toilet as he held her hair and ran his fingers along the nape of her neck. she claimed it was a stomach bug, but he knew better. he also knew better than to question her words so he said nothing, but made a multitude of soups for her to sip on, taking notice of her now acute taste.

times when she'd cry over the tiniest of things, comforting her in his arms while she sobbed against the fabric of his very worn hoodie that happened to be her favorite.

it wasn't a great shock when she first told him. stuttering over her words as she fumbled with the sleeves of his long-sleeve shirt that went well past her fingertips, he could see tears brimming her eyes with her heightened sensitivity.

so when she muttered the words, "i'm pregnant," his world stopped, restarted, reloaded and stopped again when he finally processed the words. though he knew he could've expected it, hearing the confirmation leave her lips left his world tipped sideways.

but he wanted to hear it again, needed to, words breathlessly escaping his lips, "what, love?" he heard her the first time, but he wanted to hear it again. and again and again.

she choked on her words, sobbing out again, "I'm pregnant, lan," he pulled her into his chest, his hand finding it's way to the side of her head as he cradled her, pressing his lips against her hair.

as they swayed, it finally dawned on him, muttering unsure and excitedly against her head, "I'm going to be a dad?" his breathing deepened, his tongue gliding across his lips, then biting at the sensitive flesh. he felt his heart hammer in his chest, nearly comparing to when he first asked the girl out all those years ago. he reminisced the time when the biggest deal he could think of was rejection. now the girl he had crushed on when he was just a teenager just told him she's pregnant. with his kid.

part of him couldn't be happier, they had spent countless nights in bed, lying on their sides facing one another with stupid grins on their faces as they pondered their future together. whatever they wanted, it always had the other in their thoughts and plans.

this was just their plans manifesting faster than they might've hoped, and sure, he wasn't totally certain that it was the right timing after all. but this was their dream, and maybe they just needed time.

time to accept how greatly their life would be affected. he thought about how he'd have to leave her for days, weeks for his career, the few outlying times when she'd travel with him. he knew that would change, leaving her home with a new life to take care of besides her own. he hated the thought of leaving her.

they needed time to think, whether it was together or just by themselves. they needed to figure out how they'd make it through, if they could. which was a question in itself.

they needed to talk because part of her didn't think he would be so accepting of the change life threw them, permanently altering their course of life and the years to follow.

deep inside, they're scared. they knew they would've been, planned or not. it didn't make it any easier. but when he asked such a simple question, it lifted a massive weight that had been carrying on her shoulders. part of her knew he'd always be so accepting. everything is an experience after all.

with every month passed, every growth of the life within her body, he'd mention. he was the nerdy type to compare the size of the baby with fruit. he'd goggle each week with every new development she'd create. it shook his mind to even comprehend. she could make bones, organs and the tiniest lashes of their soon-to-be kid all within the confines of her body. to him, it was sacred.

and of course, he'd tell just about everyone from every team. all the drivers, mechanics, pit crew, team principals, the list goes on and so does his rants about her.

countless photos of appreciation for her on his social media, after all she was carrying his child and he was ecstatic. he'd spent every waking moment he could with her, his hands always somewhere on her, prodominantly on her growing stomach.

when he felt the first kick, he pulled his hand away sharply, looking at her with a dropped jaw and wide eyes, "it kicked me!" he'd exclaim and she slapped his shoulder, scolding him.

"don't call the baby an 'it!'"

"what else am I supposed to call it?" again, earning another slap to his bicep, and he'd look at her with a growing confused look.

"stop slapping me!" he held up his arms in defense as she scowled at him, her arms crossed over her chest. she pursed her lips before sighing as he'd replace his hand on her stomach.

"babe, I don't think this baby likes me," he looked between his hand and her eyes, feeling the movement under his palm. it was a weird sensation, something he'd never expect to feel so soon, or at all.

all she could do was laugh at the stupid expression across his face as he looked back and forth in bewilderment. the warmth from his hand, and the small calluses sent goosebumps across her skin. it incited a smirk to take place on his face, but she slapped it off. he'd expect to feel more of those as the months went by, especially with all the sly comments she'd hear slip past his lips.

with every ultrasound appointment, he'd be there. he'd make sure of it, no matter where he was or what he was doing. she also scheduled them in accordance to his race and where in the world it took place.

every time, his eyes would be locked on the screen that projected his child, a part of him in another life form. a smile always creeping into his face as he held her cold hand. more often than not, he'd get curious and try to become the technician, stealing the equipment out of the professional's hand. his girlfriend would scold him like he was some sort of dog. in response he'd groan, rolling his eyes at her.

he'd still try though, and the technician laughed it off. he'd make comments to her in reassurance, "babe, i've got this," he'd tell him as his hand with the wand came closer to her stomach.

"where's your degree then?" she snapped back, giggling at his sudden pause before he shrugged, waving it off his other hand.

" 's at home."

when the time finally came to birth their new life into the world, god did lando panic. everything he had prepared himself with went out the window when she'd mutter the words he'd been waiting to hear.

"lando," she mumbled as she sat on their couch, turning to him with wide eyes, "I think it's time." her sleeve-covered hands were at her face as she bit nervously on her nails.

he'd stutter over his words, hands in his hair, "you're joking." he'd say repeatedly as he rushed around the apartment, grabbing things. he was the type to grab everything and forget her still on the couch.

she'd call him on her phone when she sees him in his car from the window, through the pain, she laughed at him, "forget something, norris?"

"no, darling, I've got everything-" she'd see his movement pause, his hand returning to his hair, "fuck!"

when he'd come back to help her, she was nearly collapsed with laughter despite the pain she felt through her body.

"stop laughing at me!" he whined but he was laughing with her. nonetheless, they'd get to the car.

she was in labor for hours, crunching on ice chips that he'd fed her carefully. he'd massage her shoulders, hold her hand when contractions got particularly unbearable. he knew not to mumble bullshit words of encouragement, a word of advice from his mum, advice he'd gladly listen to.

instead he'd show her he was there by doing everything she asked until it was time to actually deliver their child they've been waiting 9 months to finally meet.

with a pale face, lando would comment, "I think one kid is fine after all." she'd roll her eyes at his words as she held their daughter in her arms, already seeing themselves in her. she was exhausted and he knew. he put her hair up, cooing words of appreciation to her now that all was done. he took care of her.

he'd remember call his mum later to tell her thank you.

[onlyonetifosi]

Behind the camera: Netflix S7

hellooo beautiful people, how are you? hope you like the episode, comment if you want to be in the taglist

The episode kicks off with a chaotic scene at a Monaco supermarket. You, Charles, and Joris are pushing a cart down the aisles, filling it with essentials (and, in Charles’ case, a ridiculous amount of pasta and cheese).

"Charles, on a littéralement une cuisine pleine de pâtes," you say, eyeing the groceries. (Charles, we literally have a kitchen full of pasta.)

"C'est une semaine importante, je dois manger correctement!" Charles defends, tossing another pack into the cart. (It’s an important week, I need to eat properly!)

Joris smirks, glancing at the overstuffed cart. "Correctement ou comme un homme qui se prépare à l'hibernation?" (Properly or like a man preparing for hibernation?)

Cut to the checkout line. Charles confidently inserts his credit card into the machine, only for the machine to beep. Declined.

Silence.

You and Joris exchange looks before bursting into laughter.

"Leclerc, multimillionaire Ferrari driver, can't pay for his own groceries!" you tease, pulling out your own card. "Sérieusement, c’est quoi ce bordel?" (Seriously, what the hell is this?)

Charles groans, rubbing his temples. "C'est la banque, ils bloquent parfois ma carte quand j'achète trop à Monaco." (It’s the bank, they sometimes block my card when I buy too much in Monaco.)

Joris leans in. "Ou peut-être qu'ils savent que tu dépenses trop." (Or maybe they know you spend too much.)

The cashier chuckles as you hand over your card. "T’inquiète pas, Charlie, je t’enverrai la facture." (Don’t worry, Charlie, I’ll send you the bill.)

Charles rolls his eyes as you and Joris high-five.

Then the episode shows old footage: a young Charles, Y/N and Arthur Leclerc, karting together on a track. Their father, Hervé Leclerc, stands by, smiling. His voice, captured in an old interview, echoes through the scene.

"Ils ont toujours été rapides, mais Y/N aussi. Ils ont la course dans le sang." (They have always been fast, but Y/N too. They have racing in their blood.)

Charles, Yn and their childhood friends are on his yacht.

You and Alexandra are lounging on the deck, sunglasses on, watching the guys fool around and dare each other to jump into the water in the most ridiculous ways possible.

Riccardo stands on the railing. "Cinq euros si je saute en faisant un backflip." (Five euros if I jump with a backflip.)

Charles leans back. "Je te paie dix si tu rates et tombes comme un idiot." (I’ll pay you ten if you fail and fall like an idiot.)

Alex turns to you, shaking her head. "Ils n'ont pas changé depuis l'école, hein?" (They haven’t changed since school, huh?)

You smirk. "Pas du tout. Juste plus d'argent pour faire des conneries." (Not at all. Just more money to do dumb things.)

Riccardo jumps—flailing, belly-flopping straight into the water. The entire yacht erupts in laughter.

Charles claps dramatically. "Dix euros pour la pire tentative de l’histoire." (Ten euros for the worst attempt in history.)

Hugo and Nico grab Riccardo’s towel and refuse to give it back, leaving him shivering.

It’s midweek, and tradition dictates one thing: Charles gets his pre-Monaco GP haircut from Pascale, your maman.

The scene opens inside Charles’ Monaco apartment. He’s seated on a chair, cape around his shoulders, while Pascale meticulously trims his hair. You, meanwhile, are on the floor with Léo, Charles and Alexandra’s tiny dachshund, rubbing his belly.

Alexandra sits beside you, scrolling on her phone as you gossip.

Léo suddenly jumps onto Charles' lap, causing Pascale to huff. "Léo, arrête! Il va finir avec une coupe asymétrique!" (Léo, stop! He’s going to end up with an uneven cut!)

You and Alex burst into laughter as Charles tries to hold Léo still.

Then the episode shows all the Leclerc siblings—Lorenzo, Charles, Y/N, and Arthur—sit together on a Monaco rooftop terrace, sharing a meal.

Lorenzo pours the wine, acting like the responsible older brother he always is.

"C’est fou de penser que cette semaine, tu pourrais enfin gagner à Monaco," he tells Charles. (It’s crazy to think that this week, you could finally win in Monaco.)

Arthur smirks. "Ouais, ou bien il va encore maudire cette course." (Yeah, or he’s going to curse this race again.)

You laugh, nudging Charles. "Si tu maudis encore Monaco, je te déshérite." (If you curse Monaco again, I’m disowning you.)

Charles groans. "Pourquoi vous êtes toujours contre moi?" (Why are you always against me?)

Lorenzo chuckles. "On n’est pas contre toi, on est réalistes." (We’re not against you, we’re just realistic.)

Arthur raises his glass. "Allez, à la chance, parce que tu en auras besoin." (Cheers to luck, because you’re going to need it.)

Charles rolls his eyes but clinks his glass anyway. "À la famille." (To family.)

Then, Netflix transitions into dramatic music—because next comes the real test.

Cut to: Monaco, 2024. The weight of expectation hangs heavy over the weekend. Ferrari has given Charles a car capable of winning, but the question remains—can he finally break the Monaco curse?

"We were born eighteen minutes apart," you say in your Drive to Survive interview. "Charles has always been ahead. He was always ahead in karting… and now, he had the chance to be ahead of history too."

The Ferrari garage is suffocating with tension. You grip Arthur’s hand so tightly it’s cutting off his circulation, but he doesn't care. Your eyes are locked on the screen as Charles navigates the final laps of his home race.

Joris is beside you, pacing, muttering curses under his breath. Alexandra, Charles’ girlfriend, is clutching your arm so hard you think she might leave bruises.

"If something happens now, je jure que je casse tout." Arthur mutters. (I swear I’ll break everything.)

"He’s got this," you whisper, willing it to be true.

Then—the checkered flag.

Silence for a second. Then the Ferrari pit wall erupts. Engineers throw their headsets, people scream, and you—you can’t breathe.

"He did it," Joris says, stunned.

You don’t even think before sprinting towards the pit lane, pushing past Ferrari personnel until you see the monitors displaying the leaderboard: P1 – Charles Leclerc.

He won.

Charles steps out of his car to deafening cheers, his hands shaking as he pulls off his helmet. He looks around, eyes wide with disbelief, before covering his face with both hands.

Netflix cuts to the post-race interviews. Charles stands in front of the cameras, still breathless, the Monegasque flag draped over his shoulders. His voice wavers.

"The last laps… I was thinking about my dad," he says, swallowing hard. "It was our dream."

The camera zooms in as his eyes glisten under the harsh lights.

"The emotions started coming up two laps from the end, and I was struggling to see." He lets out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking his head. "On the last lap, coming out of the tunnel, I couldn’t see anything. I was crying."

You watch from the sidelines, biting your lip to keep from crying yourself. Your mother, Pascale, stands beside you, eyes glassy with emotion.

"Il l’a fait, Maman," whispers Yn. (He did it, maman.)

She nods, voice thick. "Oui. Papa aurait été si fier." (Yes. Papa would have been so proud.)

Charles looks over, eyes finding yours, and in that moment, you know—this isn’t just his victory. It’s yours, Arthur’s, your maman’s. It’s your father’s.

The curse is broken.

Later that night, Monaco is drowning in red. Jimmy’z is packed and half the F1 grid is there

And Charles? Charles is absolutely wasted.

You lean against the bar, watching your twin brother stumble onto the dance floor, a massive Monegasque flag draped over his shoulders like a superhero cape.

Pierre, already tipsy, claps him on the back. "Le Prince de Monaco!" (The Prince of Monaco!)

"Arrête, il va plus passer les portes de Maranello à cause de son ego!" you joke, shaking your head. (Stop, he won’t fit through the doors at Maranello because of his ego!)

Charles, oblivious to everything, wraps an arm around your shoulders, grinning like a madman.

"YN, j’ai gagné," he slurs, his voice thick with emotion. (YN, I won.)

Your heart clenches.

"Je sais, Charles," you whisper, reaching up to push a damp curl from his forehead. (I know, Charles.)

His green eyes shine under the club lights, and suddenly, the music, the people—it all fades away.

"Papa serait fier." (Papa would be proud.)

Charles nods slowly, pressing his forehead to yours for a second, then pulling away when Pierre drags him off for another shot.

Joris slides an arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to your temple. "He did it."

You glance back at your twin, now dancing like an idiot in the middle of the club, his long-awaited victory finally sinking in.

"Yeah," you murmur, the weight of years lifting from your shoulders. "He did."

And then the credits roll.

Bonus: Singapore GP Dinner At a restaurant in Singapore, with a view of the Marina Bay, the Leclerc family is seated—except Pierre Gasly, who is late.

And tonight, Charles is not in a good mood.

He did badly in qualifying, and it’s written all over his face—arms crossed, jaw clenched, tapping his fork against his plate.

Arthur, already sensing his bad mood, leans over to Y/N and whispers:

"Il va exploser sur quelqu’un, c’est sûr." (He’s going to explode on someone, for sure.)

Y/N sighs, watching Charles angrily flip through the menu. "Ouais, et ce sera Pierre." (Yeah, and it’ll be Pierre.)

Charles? Already ordering the food.

Alexandra looks around. "Euh… on n’attend pas Pierre?" (Uh… aren’t we waiting for Pierre?)

Without even looking up from his phone, Charles answers "Non." (No.)

Arthur snorts. "Pierre est toujours en retard, on sait comment ça finit." (Pierre is always late, we know how this ends.)

Charles doesn’t even hesitate—he calls Pierre.

The camera zooms in on his phone screen:

📞 Calling: Pierre

Pierre picks up on the third ring.

"Ouais, Charlie?" (Yeah, Charlie?)

Charles doesn’t even say hi.

"T’ES OÙ?!" (WHERE ARE YOU?!) he answers angrily

Pierre pauses for a second, like he’s debating whether to lie. Then:

"J’arrive, j’arrive! Deux minutes!" (I’m coming, I’m coming! Two minutes!)

Charles rolls his eyes. "Ça fait vingt minutes que tu dis ça, Calamar." (You’ve been saying that for twenty minutes.)

Pierre laughs nervously. "Je suis littéralement en route." (I’m literally on my way.)

Charles, completely done: "Ouais, bah moi j’attends pas." (Yeah, well, I’m not waiting.)

And with that, he orders the starters.

Fifteen minutes later, the restaurant doors swing open.

Pierre walks in with Kika and his trainer. He immediately spots the table—and Charles, who is already drinking and eating.

Pierre’s face drops.

"T’AS PAS ATTENDU?!" (YOU DIDN’T WAIT?!)

Charles, completely unimpressed, takes another sip of his drink. "J’avais faim." (I was hungry.)

Pierre drops into the seat next to Y/N, still offended.

"T’avais faim ou t’étais juste énervé après ta qualif?" (Were you hungry, or were you just mad after quali?)

Silence.

Arthur snorts. "Il va te tuer." (He’s going to kill you.)

Charles sets down his glass. "Tu veux vraiment me parler de qualifications, Pierre?" (Do you really want to talk to me about qualifying, Pierre?)

Pierre raises his hands defensively. "Okay, okay! Pas besoin de m’agresser." (Okay, okay! No need to attack me.)

Pierre finally starts eating, still shaking his head.

"Tu sais, je suis vraiment blessé, Charlie. J’aurais attendu pour toi." (You know, I’m really hurt, Charlie. I would have waited for you.)

Charles raises an eyebrow. "C’est faux." (That’s false.)

Arthur, smirking, nods. "Mens encore." (Lie again.)

Pierre sighs dramatically, stabbing his fork into his food. "Vous êtes horribles." (You’re all horrible.)

The Netflix camera cuts to Charles, calmly chewing his food, absolutely ignoring Pierre’s whining.

taglist: @love4lando@gcldtom@im-mi@hiireadstuff@celesteblack08@reblog-princess@sunf1ower16@janeholt3@athena-artemis-dorian-gray@minkyungseokie@tesi1

[trashytracktales]

Flâner | CL¹⁶

. ݁₊ ⊹ summary ──── It’s the beginning of the summer break, and Charles and his girlfriend escape the chaos of racing life for a peaceful hike in the Monte Carlo hills.

. ݁₊ ⊹ pairing ──── Charles Leclerc x she/her reader

. ݁₊ ⊹ rating ──── teen

. ݁₊ ⊹ warnings ──── 13+, very short, established relationship, protective!Charles, intimate kissing, fluff.

. ݁₊ ⊹ word count ──── 1.7k

. ݁₊ ⊹ date ──── Mar. 4, 2025

. ݁₊ ⊹ a/n ──── Guys, I know. I still have requests piled up in my inbox, but I missed writing for Charles, and I was in a desperate need for some fluff 🥺🤍

GOLDEN RAYS ARE bathing Monaco in a warm, summery glow. It’s still early when their shoes crunch against the rocky trail, as Charles winds their way through the hills overlooking Monte Carlo. Below them, the city shimmers like a dream, with red-tiled rooftops, glinting glass windows, and the endless blue of the sea stretching out to the horizon.

The air is rich with a salty scent and wildflowers, the faint hum of cicadas blending with the distant crash of waves against the rocky shore below.

He walks ahead her, his athletic frame moving with ease as if the incline is barely noticeable, while she trails a few steps behind, taking her time to admire the scenery and catch her breath. But the summer heat grows heavier the higher they climb, and Charles eventually takes his shirt off, tossing it carelessly around his neck.

“How are you holding up?” he calls over his shoulder, his voice tinged with caution.

“Never better,” she replies almost breathless, her focus more on the dazzling view than the uneven trail. As she shifts her weight forward, her foot slips on a loose rock, her balance teetering dangerously.

Before she can even cry out, Charles appears next to her, his arms catching her around the waist to keep her on her feet. Her heart starts racing instantly, not just from the stumble but from the sudden nearness of him, his skin warm and slick.

“Never better, hm?” he mocks, but doesn’t let go immediately, his hands lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Let’s find some shade,” he adds, looking at her flushed cheeks.

He leads her a few more steps up the trail until they come across a small alcove, shielded by rocks and a thin canopy of greenery. The breeze here is softer, cooling, carrying the tang of the sea. Charles pulls his shirt from where it hangs around his neck, spreading it over the smoothest rock he can find, and encourages her to sit on it while handing her the bottle of water from his backpack.

She does as he says, watching him as he stands before her, his chest glistening in the sunlight. He is breathtaking, and he knows it too, judging by the teasing smile he throws her way.

“What?” asks Charles, catching her staring.

“Nothing,” she says a bit too quickly, though the faint blush in her cheeks betray her.

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, sipping water and taking in the view. The Mediterranean is agitated today, its surface sparkling like crushed glass, and the sound of birds chirping mingles with the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze.

“I like you here. You’re… different,” she says after a while, her voice soft as she turns to him. She just realized this and, even though she hasn’t had time to analyze her thought, she knows it’s true.

Charles looks at her curiously. “Different how?”

She shrugs, “Don’t know. Relaxed? No worries?” she continues, leaning slightly toward him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this, but I love it.”

He smiles, timid yet genuine. “I could get used to it,” he agrees.

The simplicity of his words strikes her, and something in her chest tightens. She gestures for him to move closer, patting the space between her legs. “Come here,” she encourages him. “Let me put some sunscreen on you before you burn.”

Charles hesitates for a moment, smirking playfully. “Is this an excuse to touch me, chérie?”

“Obviously,” she says matter-of-factly. “Sit,” she orders then, narrowing her eyes, though her lips twitch with amusement.

Charles settles himself between her legs, his back against her chest. Patiently, she squirts some sunscreen into her hands, the cool lotion contrasting with the warmth of his skin as she begins to rub it into his shoulders. Her fingers move in measured circles, massaging all the tension away.

“I swear, you’re never careful,” she scolds softly, her voice carrying just enough exasperation to make him chuckle.

“I have you to take care of me,” Charles admits, shrugging, his voice dropping an octave as her touch lulls him into relaxation.

He leans his head back against her shoulder, eyes closed, completely at ease. She tilts her head down, her lips brushing softly against his temple, a whisper of a touch that makes him hum in contentment. She lingers there for a heartbeat before she shifts, her lips finding his.

The kiss starts tender, her mouth fitting against his like a perfect puzzle piece. His lips are soft, warm, and she can taste the faint saltiness of his skin, mingled with the sweetness of her strawberry lip balm. It’s a slow dance between them, gentle and exploratory, as though savoring the moment of peace they’ve been craving for quite a while now. But then Charles turns slightly, angling himself better toward her, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her neck. And just like that, the kiss deepens, and she feels his tongue brush against her bottom lip, seeking the permission she grants without hesitation. When their tongues meet, it’s sensual and it makes her stomach flip. A quiet whimper escapes her throat as he pulls her closer, his fingers threading through her hair. The sound ignites something in him, and his grip tightens, his lips moving against hers with more intensity. His teeth graze her lip, gentle but teasing, before he soothes the sensation with another kiss, deeper this time, making her heart race.

Instinctively, her hands slide over his shoulders, fingers curling against his skin as if to anchor herself. She feels everything — his heat, the rapid thrum of his pulse beneath her touch, the way he pours every feeling into the kiss. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and utterly Charles.

When they finally part, both breathless and flushed, their foreheads press together. She opens her eyes to find him staring at her, his gaze darkened with a mix of affection and desire. He’s silent, his thumb brushing her cheek as though words aren’t enough to express what he’s feeling.

Her lips tingle, swollen and warm, and all she can do is smile, her fingers trailing down his jaw as she whispers, “You’re so full of yourself, it’s unbelievable.”

Charles chuckles, his voice low and hoarse. “Wrong, ma chérie. I’m so in love, it’s unbelievable.”

Her breath catches for a second, and she knows he feels it. Charles is always aware of the effect he has on her, and he never fails to tease her about it. But this time, there’s no smug grin, no playful remark. Just the truth, plain and unguarded, sitting in the space between them.

She exhales a little sigh, her fingers slipping down to tangle with his, their hands resting against his bare chest.

Neither of them speaks for a while, because they don’t need to. The breeze carries the scent of salt and earth, warm and comforting, wrapping around them like an embrace.

Eventually, they start their descent back down the trail. Charles holds her hand the entire time, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over the back of her knuckles, a subconscious promise to keep her safe. Every now and then, he steadies her when the terrain becomes tricky, always aware of her pace, always making sure she doesn’t fall behind. But then he stops suddenly, his eyes catching something small between the cracks of the rocky path. With a boyish grin, he bends down and plucks a delicate dandelion from the ground, twirling it between his fingers.

She raises an eyebrow. “What… are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he holds the dandelion up, inspecting it with exaggerated seriousness. Then, with a quick breath, he blows on it, sending the tiny white seeds fluttering into the air. They dance on the breeze before drifting toward the sea below.

The girl watches them disappear, then looks at him suspiciously. “Did you just make a wish?”

Charles smirks, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Maybe.”

She smirks at him. “What did you wish for?”

He hums, pretending to think about it, but the way his gaze softens when he looks at her gives him away. “If I tell you, it won’t come true, right?”

She scoffs, nudging his side. “You’re ridiculous.”

Charles gasps, clutching his chest like she’s wounded him with her affirmation. “Mon Dieu! Don’t break my heart.”

She giggles, shaking her head as she squeezes his hand. “You’ll survive.”

“Only if my wish comes true.”

She rolls her eyes, but her heart flutters all the same. Because deep down, she knows that whatever he wished for, it probably had something to do with her.

When they reach the main path, she expects him to lead them straight home, but instead, he veers left, toward the coastline.

“The long way?” she asks, smiling.

Charles nods, squeezing her hand. “We’re not in a rush, are we?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “I suppose not.”

The Mediterranean breeze is cooler near the water, and the scent of salt stronger. The waves lap gently at the shore, glistening under the afternoon sun. They walk along the sand, shoes in hand, feet sinking slightly with each step. The occasional splash of water kisses their ankles, a teasing reminder of how close the sea is.

Then, without warning, Charles tugs her hand sharply, pulling her off balance.

“Charles!” she squeals as she stumbles forward, but before she can protest, she’s in his arms, and they’re both wading into the water. The sea engulfs them up to their waists, cool against the lingering heat on their skin. She gasps at the sensation, laughing breathlessly as she clings to him. “You realize we’ll have to walk back home looking like two wet dogs.”

He chuckles, his hold on her never loosening. “So what?”

Before she can retort, he kisses her — deeper and consuming, the sound of waves crashing around them blending with the rapid thrum of her heart. His arms wrap tightly around her waist, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between them. Her hands slip up to his shoulders, fingers pressing into the warm, wet skin as she melts into him.

The kiss is slow but intense, the heat of the sun above them matched only by the fire building between them. His tongue slides against hers, teasing, tasting, and when she exhales a quiet moan against his lips, he swallows the sound like it belongs to him.

Charles smiles first, pressing one last lingering kiss to the corner of her lips.

“Now,” he murmurs, “How about ice cream for dinner?”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[lanf1an]

DREAMS lando norris pt.3 When your childhood bestfriend Flo had convinced you to get the fashion design job at her brother's company Quadrant, it finally paid off when Louis Vuitton was announced as the new sponsor for F1.

pt.1 pt.2 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 wordcount: 2495

You had convinced yourself nothing had happened. You would never have to tell Flo anything. And for a few days, it was easy to believe that. There were no events, no fittings, no reasons to see him. Just a silly mistake you had already forgotten. It should’ve never even happened in the first place. You weren’t the kind of person who mixed work with… whatever that had been. You were a professional and your LV job meant way too much to you to risk anything.

So when you arrived at the next fitting, relieved you weren’t assigned to Lando. It was for a campaign shoot, a setting that felt much more comfortable to you than the chaos of a live event. Here, things were controlled. Professional.

You were helping another driver with their fitting when your phone buzzed in your pocket.

Manager: Hey, slight change—Norris requested you.

You barely had time to process before the door opened and Lando strolled in, hands in his pockets, looking completely at ease.

Lando stretched lazily, like he had no idea why you’d be annoyed. 

“Hey, stylist.”

You kept your voice even. “Didn’t realize I was assigned to you.”

His grin widened. “Well, you weren’t.”

You exhaled sharply. “Then why am I here?”

Lando shrugged. "Yeah, well. Wouldn’t trust anyone else with my zippers during a wardrobe malfunction. Only the best, hey?"

You didn’t answer, just tossed the first outfit at him. “Try it on.”

Lando took the suit, standing up. “You’re all business today.”

“I’m always all business,” you muttered.

He didn’t push further, just disappeared behind the curtain to change. You took a steadying breath, shaking off the tension creeping into your shoulders. This was fine. You were in control.

A few moments later, he emerged, adjusting the sleeves of the suit jacket.

“How do I look?”

You turned, ready to make some small remark—but your words caught in your throat.

The suit fit him too well. Sharp lines, tailored perfectly to his frame. The deep navy color made his eyes stand out, the crisp white shirt underneath just barely undone at the collar.

Damn it.

Lando caught your hesitation, grinning. “That good, huh?”

You exhaled. “Put the next outfit on.”

He chuckled but did as he was told.

By the end of it, Lando looked as effortlessly put together as ever, and you had successfully done your job, and kept your professionalism intact. You were glad the fitting was done and you didn’t have to stay for the whole shoot, so you quickly left.

-

After the Australian Grand Prix and the first few races, there were no high profile LV events. You had been doing preparatory work at the London office. Until Monaco. Of course for Monaco, Louis Vuitton would play a big part at the events again. You flew there a few days before the events and race. Quadrant was also in Monaco for the race and they were all going out tonight, Max and Keegan had both texted you to come with like old times in London. 

When you arrive, the party is in full swing, the rooftop of the Monaco venue buzzing with drivers, influencers, and the elite of both motorsport and fashion. Maybe it’s the relief of not being on duty, of not having to hover over drivers making sure they don’t wrinkle their suits before the cameras get to them. 

You spot Max and Keegan near the bar, laughing at something stupid, and make your way towards them immediately.

“Finally,” you sigh, sliding between them. “People I actually like.”

Keegan grins, handing you a drink. “We’re honored.”

“Don’t be,” you tease, taking a sip. “I just don’t like anyone here”

Max laughs. “That’s the alcohol talking.”

You let yourself have fun. It’s been a while since you weren’t just the put-together stylist, since you weren’t navigating an event with work on your mind. The music is good and the drinks are flowing.

Of course they had invited Lando, he was their actual best friend. But you had thought he might not be there with the race weekend coming up. 

You’re all dancing, when you see him approach, greeting Max and Keegan enthusiastically. When you see Lando laughing with Max, joking around effortlessly like they always had, there was something oddly familiar about it. For a brief moment, he wasn’t the global superstar you had to dress. He was just Flo’s annoying brother, the same kid who used to crash your sleepovers and steal your snacks.

Then he sees you. 

“Hey stylist” he says as he steps closer.

You tilt your head. “I’m not working tonight”

Lando hums, eyes flicking over you. “I can tell.”

There’s something about the way he says it. 

You narrow your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lando leans in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach twist. “Just… didn’t see this side of you.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can respond, his hand grazes your waist as he reaches past you for something on the bar.

The touch is fleeting. Almost nothing.

But it lingers.

Your breath catches.

His smirk deepens, like he knows.

So you turn back to Keegan, laughing at something he says, ignoring Lando for the rest of the night.

-

Your head was pounding.

The second you cracked your eyes open, you regretted it. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn just enough to let in the Monaco morning light. Everything smelled like expensive cologne, a mix of fresh linen and something unmistakably male.

This was not your hotel room.

You groan, shifting slightly—only to feel someone beside you.

Your eyes fly open, heart hammering.

You turn your head.

Keegan.

Your entire body sags in relief. Keegan is still dead asleep, sprawled on his stomach, snoring into the pillow.

You push yourself up, glancing around. The sheets are too nice. The floor-to-ceiling windows too clean, too expensive-looking. You carefully slid out of bed. You needed to leave before anyone saw you.

That’s when you hear voices from the other room.

“…absolutely gone.” Max’s voice, amused.

“Yeah, she’s never drinking that much again.”

Lando.

The possibility of sneaking out without anyone noticing vanished instantly.

You sighed, making your way into the living room, where Lando and Max are sitting casually drinking coffee, looking way too well-rested.

Lando smirks over his cup. “Look who’s alive.”

You fold your arms. “What the hell am I?”

Max grins. “Lando’s place.”

Your stomach drops. You stare at Lando.

His smirk widens. “Don’t look so horrified. It was just the safest option.”

“You and Keegan got absolutely wrecked. Figured we’d let you crash here instead of sending you back to your hotel in that state.” Max adds.

Lando just shrugs. “Safe house.”

You narrow your eyes. “And we just… crashed?”

“You both crashed onto my bed directly,” Lando says. 

Keegan stumbles into the room, groaning. “I am never drinking that much again.”

You laugh when you see him, nudging him. “This is all your fault, those damn tequila shots”

Lando watches the exchange, something unreadable in his expression.

You heard your phone buzz.

Manager: Hey, last-minute change for the fitting today—it’ll be at Lando’s place instead of the hotel. Be there in 20.

You blinked. Then read it again.

No. No, no, no.

"Something wrong?" Lando asked, too entertained by your reaction.

You slowly looked up at him, horrified. "You arranged the fitting here?" you asked, voice hoarse.

Lando stretched, entirely unbothered. "Oh yeah. Seemed convenient. Thought you’d appreciate not having to travel. Figured it’d be easier than going to the hotel. Hope you don’t mind."

You wanted to murder him. Instead, you exhaled sharply, turned on your heel, and headed straight for the bathroom to make yourself look less like you had spent the night drinking tequila with his best friends.

You really needed to not look like a complete disaster before the fitting.

Which left you with only one option.

Lando’s wardrobe.

You rummaged through his neatly arranged collection until you found what you needed—a white button-up shirt and a pair of jeans. The jeans were  too big, but with a little trick—you were a stylist afterall—it worked. They sat low on your hips, hanging just right. His button-up was oversized, falling effortlessly over your frame, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows.

By the time you emerged from the bathroom, freshened up and dressed, you actually looked good. Casual. Effortless. Like you hadn’t just woken up hungover in a Formula 1 driver’s apartment.

Lando raised his eyebrows when you walked in, smirking. “Didn’t know we were styling my clothes on you today.”

You rolled your eyes. “Didn’t know I’d be styling someone in their own damn apartment.”

“Worked out, though.”

You heard Max and Keegan arguing in a different room, it sounded like they were playing videogames. 

You were glad the doorbell rang, it was your colleague with the clothes. It was very normal for celebrities to request their fittings at their homes, so she didn’t question it. 

The fitting itself was smooth—thankfully, he didn’t push too much. When you stepped back to check the final look, he tilted his head.

“You’re quiet today.”

You met his eyes, unamused. “I have a headache.”

“From drinking?”

“No. From you.”

Lando laughed. “Fair.”

You finished up quickly, more than ready to get out of there.

“Alright,” you said, taking a step back. “You’re done. I’ll see you at the event.” You still had to go the LV office before, and were going to the event from there.

Lando just looked at you, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Looking forward to it.”

You popped your head into the gaming room to say goodbye to Keegan and Max, too focused on their video game and stream, mumbling something like ‘’See you soon’’. They wouldn’t be going to tonight’s event, but they would be at enough other things in Monaco this week and weekend. You were glad they were around again, missing the friendships during your work at Quadrant.

-

The venue was extravagant—glistening chandeliers, perfectly curated floral arrangements, and guests dressed in luxury from head to toe. Louis was always extravagant, but this was Louis at Monaco, you hadn’t seen something like this before.

Lando was already there, talking to a group of people, glass of champagne in hand, his fitted suit a sharp contrast to the playful persona he usually carried. He had a way of looking effortlessly put together.

And yet, there was something about how easily he slipped into the role of charming, high-profile athlete that irritated you. He looked good—you knew he would. You had styled him. But it still annoyed you to see him flashing those perfect smiles for the cameras, working the crowd like it was effortless. It didn’t help you were still feeling hungover.

So, you did what you never did at events. You drank.

Not recklessly, just enough to take the edge off. 

"I liked my clothes better on you" Lando said, his gaze dragging over you in a way that felt deliberate. You had obviously changed into something else back at the LV office.

"Guess you can dress yourself again then" you replied, keeping your tone neutral.

He laughed, taking a sip of his drink. "Nah, I like all the attention your outfits get me"

You rolled your eyes.

The night went on, and you did your best to avoid him—not in an obvious way, but enough to keep some distance. It was necessary. 

But, of course, it was impossible to ignore him completely.

And then, the final blow—

You reached for your bag, instinctively searching for your keycard, only to realize—

Shit.

Your stomach dropped. You had left it at his apartment.

And, as if the universe was just as cruel as Lando, he already knew.

"Problem?" Lando’s voice came from just behind you, close enough that you felt his breath against your ear.

You should have been startled, but instead, your pulse just kicked up. You turned slightly, exhaling sharply. "I left my keycard at your place."

Lando smirked. "Looks like you’ll have to come home with me, then."

You shot him a look. "I could just ask the front desk for a new one."

"You could." He leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. "But then you wouldn’t have an excuse to come over again."

Your stomach twisted. You hated the way he said it—like he knew what he was doing to you.

You huffed, tilting your chin up. "I don’t need an excuse."

His smirk widened. "Then let’s go."

-

Lando unlocked the door to his apartment, stepping inside and tossing his keys onto the counter. "Make yourself at home," he said, amusement laced in his voice.

You shot him a glare, slipping off your heels. "Not funny."

"Little bit funny."

You ignored him, going straight for the living room where you had probably left your keycard earlier. But before you could grab it, Lando was suddenly there, leaning against the couch, watching you with an expression you really didn’t trust.

"You know," he started, and you could already tell he was going to say something stupid. "At this rate, you should just move in."

You glared at him. "Shut up."

He laughed, but then his eyes flickered down—just briefly, just enough to make your breath hitch.

He smirked, his hands slipping into his pockets like he wasn’t affected. Like he wasn’t standing close enough that you could smell the mix of his cologne and whatever alcohol still lingered on him.

"Okay, got it. Leaving now."

Lando leaned against the doorframe, blocking the way.

"Are you?"

You narrowed your eyes. "Yes?"

He tilted his head, grinning. "You sure? You do basically live here now."

Lando was suddenly close. Closer than he had been all night. Hands grazing your waist, fingers trailing up your spine.

“Lando,” you warned, voice quieter than you intended.

He tilted his head. “Yeah?”

You could feel his breath against your skin.

“I—”

And then, suddenly, his hands were on your zipper.

"Think I can handle this one," he murmured against your lips.

A breathless laugh escaped you, but it was lost in the way he kissed you—deeper, needier.

Lando’s hands found your waist, pulling you against him, his grip firmer this time, like he wasn’t afraid you’d pull away. 

And this time, you didn’t stop it, you weren’t sure if it was the lack of energy or the drinks you had.

It was messy and rushed again, seemingly unplanned, and before it could go any further, you heard stumbling and a door opening. You quickly stepped away.

‘’Lando, that you?’’ Max emerged from the bedroom, still half asleep.

-

WN: guysss sorry it took so long!! long chapter to make up for it. I actually have many chapters and ideas for this story but I just want able to finalize to post because I was busy. Hope you enjoy it!! xx

tl: @freyathehuntress @linnygirl09 @sarx164 @joannaln4 @widow-cevans @444-leqz @laneyspaulding19 @mayax2o07

[heartysworld]

Match points and podiums // Lewis Hamilton

A/N: I literally got the idea for this while I was watching the Wimbledon finale. I feel like I rushed it a bit, but I couldn't wait to post it for you guys, so here it is! I might edit it later on and add some bits but for now I'm quite happy with the result. Hope you enjoy it!

W.C.: 4.5k

MASTERLIST

You remember the first time you met Lewis like it was yesterday. It was at a charity event organized by mutual friends in Monaco. You were there as part of a tennis exhibition, and Lewis was there as an honor guest, fresh off another Grand Prix win. The evening was filled with laughter, champagne, and the mingling of two very different worlds—tennis and racing.

You had just finished another match, bringing home yet another win, and were chatting with some guests when Lewis approached you. He had a warm smile that reached his eyes, and there was an undeniable charm about him.

"Hello, I'm Lewis, it is very nice to meet you" he said, extending his hand. "I caught some of your match earlier. You were incredible out there."

You shook his hand, feeling a spark of something indescribable as a light pinkish color made its way to your cheeks. "Thank you, Lewis. I'm a big fan of your work on the track. Congratulations on your recent win."

From that moment on, something snapped deep inside your chest, making it impossible to look at another man the same way you looked at Lewis. His eyes sparkled with an indescribable force that felt like a magnet pulling a part inside of you towards him. His presence was otherworldly, that of a man who knew what he wanted and how to achieve it without ever giving up.

 As the months after the charity event passed you bonded over your shared dedication to your respective sports, your drive to be the best, and your love for adventure. Dates were often spontaneous, like a midnight drive along the coast or a quick flight to a secluded beach. Your love story was one of passion, mutual respect, and a deep connection that neither of you had ever felt before.

You began making appearances at each other’s’ sporting events, capturing the attention of both the media and the fans. Every time you had a free second, you were there to support Lewis- Bahrain, Silverstone, Singapore, and other locations thorough the Formula 1 season. Lewis respectively did the same, supporting you from the stands of your tennis tournaments. That was the beginning of your journey together.

One of your most cherished memories is from a summer evening in Spain. Lewis had taken you on vacation there during his summer break mid-season.

It wasn’t long before Lewis and you fell deeply in love. He admired your tenacity on the court, and you admired his precision on the track. You found comfort in each other’s presence, and soon, your lives began to intertwine even more. You met his closest friends and family members and were slowly eased into the Hamilton family dynamics. You passed the Roscoe approval test as Lewis’ mother Carmen liked to call it. The bulldog enjoyed your presence around the house whenever you were visiting, searching for you thorough the rooms of Lewis’ home whenever he heard your voice echoing from somewhere.

On your third night there, he surprised you with a candlelit dinner on the rooftop of your hotel, overlooking the city of Barcelona. The two of you talked for hours about your dreams, fears, and everything in between, the topic of your athletic careers long forgotten at that moment. Lewis had made it his priority to put his racing career on hold whenever he was with you. He refused to risk the possibility of losing one of the best things in life to his career that would end in the next couple of years. He loved racing, it’s been part of more than half his life, but you, he planned on keeping you forever.

"Do you ever think about the future?" Lewis asked, his eyes reflecting the twinkling city lights. The edges of his lips curved upwards as his eyes roamed over your features, taking note on every detail, every mole, freckle and dimple.

"All the time," you replied, reaching for his hand. "I want a family, a place to call home, and someone to share it all with. It has always been a dream of mine to become a mother. When I was a child I used to say that a family was the second thing, I desired the most after a Wimbledon trophy.’’ You said as you laughed at the last part, causing Lewis to smile even more at the thought of little you.

He smiled, squeezing your hand gently. "I want that too. And I want to make this come true with you by my side."

A year later, you and Lewis got married in a beautiful ceremony surrounded by family and friends. The wedding was a blend of elegance and simplicity, much like your relationship. You exchanged vows under a canopy of flowers, promising to support each other through every victory and defeat, every joy and challenge. The moment you exchanged your wedding vowels would forever remain engraved in your brain. You began first, holding a small piece of paper where your vows were written. You insisted on reading them as you feared your mind might betray you at the most important moment of your life.

As his fingers gently brushed against the skin of your wrist, a shiver of delight danced down your spine. It was a soft, almost ethereal caress, starting at the base of your neck and cascading downwards like a whisper of a breeze. The touch sent a warm, tingling sensation through your entire body, making your heart flutter and your breath hitch. It was as if his touch ignited tiny sparks of electricity, leaving a trail of warmth and anticipation in its wake. The connection between you felt electric, each shiver a testament to the depth of your feelings and the magic of the moment.

‘’Lewis, from the moment I met you I felt like I was being pulled towards a missing piece from myself. All my life I’ve been searching for a person who is willing to love and support me despite the hectic life I lead. I never thought I would ever meet someone as charming, loveable, and supportive as you. For the past three years you’ve done nothing but be by my side and hold my hand during the happy and sad moments I faced both in my personal and professional life. I promise to do the same for you, to be your biggest supporter in all aspects of life, to build a life with you, and make all of our dreams come true.’’

You were sobbing by the time you finished talking. As you looked at your husband-to-be you saw his eyes glistening with tears as he barely managed to hold them in. You mouthed a silent ‘’I love you’’ in his direction, receiving a gentle squeeze of your hand as a response.

Someone from the guests sobbed even louder, followed by the loud blow of their nose in a napkin, which caused everyone to laugh, including you and Lewis.

‘’My love, the light of my life, meeting you felt like finding the last missing piece of a puzzle I’ve been trying to complete ever since I took my first breath on this earth. I had lost all hope of finding the right person in this lifetime, but then I met you. Today, I vow to love you with the same passion and dedication that you bring to the court. I vow to support you through every challenge, to celebrate every victory, and to be the best husband and father I can be. Together, we will create a beautiful life, full of love, laughter, and shared dreams. Today, I give you my heart, my soul, and my forever."

Not long after, you found yourself pregnant with baby Amelia. It was a moment of pure joy and excitement. Lewis was over the moon, already envisioning the adventures you’d have as a family and remembering all the conversations you’d had regarding that special moment.

By the time he finished talking, you could see your and Lewis’ parents wiping tears from underneath their eyes. This was one of the most intimate and important moments of your life and you were happy that your families were there to share it with you two.

You continued to play tennis, balancing your passion for the sport with your growing family. Lewis was your rock, always there to support you, even when you had to stop playing mid-season due to your pregnancy. He held your hand through the morning sickness, the cravings, and the emotional rollercoaster, always reminding you of the incredible journey you were on together.

The years passed in a blur of sleepless nights, first steps, and family holidays. Amelia grew up surrounded by the world of sports, watching you on the tennis court and Lewis on the racetrack. She adored both of you and often tried to emulate your moves, whether it was swinging one of your rackets or pretending to drive a race car.

One summer afternoon, as you napped after a particularly exhausting day, Lewis and Amelia sat down to watch the Wimbledon final together. The living room was filled with the sounds of the match and Amelia’s excited chatter.

“Daddy, look at that serve! Do you think I can do that one day?” she asked, her eyes wide with admiration.

Lewis chuckled, pulling her close. “Of course, sweetheart. You can do anything you set your mind to. Remember, your mom is one of the best tennis players in the world. It’s in your blood.”

“I want to play tennis, Daddy. I want to see my name on the honor board at Wimbledon, just like mommy,” she declared with determination.

Lewis smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “That’s a wonderful dream, Amelia. But first, we have to wait for baby brother to arrive. Mommy needs to take care of him and then she can get back to playing.”

Amelia’s face lit up with excitement. “I can’t wait to watch with my brother! We’ll both cheer for mommy together.”

The scent of freshly popped popcorn lingered in the air, and you could hear the soft giggles of your daughter, Amelia, mingling with the excited commentary. You stretched, feeling the weight of pregnancy slowing you down, but a smile tugged at your lips as you realized Lewis and Amelia were watching Wimbledon together.

You quietly walked into the living room, leaning against the doorway as you watched them. Lewis was sitting on the couch, Amelia snuggled up next to him, both of them fully engrossed in the match. Amelia’s eyes are wide with admiration as she watches the players on the screen, and you can’t help but feel a swell of pride and love for your little family.

 “And I’ll be so proud to have both of you cheering for me,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

Lewis and Amelia turned to look at you, smiles spreading across their faces. Lewis stood up and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you gently. “How was your nap, love?” he asked softly.

“It was good,” you reply, resting your head against his chest. “Hearing Amelia talk about her dreams made it even better.”

Amelia runs over and hugs your legs, looking up at you with bright eyes. “Mommy! Can we play tennis together when baby brother is here?”

You laugh softly, running your fingers through her curly hair. “Of course, sweetheart. We’ll play as much as you want.”

The match was intense, each point hard-fought, but the support of your family carried you through. You could see Lewis and Amelia in the stands, their faces filled with anticipation and pride. Next to them, your mother held Oliver, now two years old, who clapped enthusiastically every time you scored a point, your father right next to them, trying to entertain the toddler as much as possible.

Two years later, the atmosphere at Wimbledon was electric as you stepped onto the green court. You had worked tirelessly to get back into peak condition, driven by the dream of seeing your name on that honor board as Amelia had said before.

When you finally scored the last, winning point, the sound of the crowd’s cheers was deafening. Tears filled your eyes as you raised your racket in triumph, overwhelmed by the moment. You wasted no time running towards the stands and finding your family. Amelia was the first to latch onto your leg, screaming in happiness. Seconds later, you felt two strong arms envelop you in a familiar embrace you’d always recognize.

‘’ I did it Lew, I did it!’’ you sobbed as your hands cupped his face, bringing his lips towards yours in a rushed kiss, overwhelmed by all the emotions you were feeling at that moment.’’

‘’ You did it love! You fucking did it! I told you it would happen, I never lost hope in you!’’ your husband said as he pulled you against his chest. Moments later you felt everyone around you cheering and congratulating you.

During the post-match interview, a reporter asked, “How are you feeling right now, and what has it taken to get here?”

You took a deep breath, steadying your voice. “It’s hard to put into words how much this means to me. When I was little, I used to help my father build furniture to make enough money to support my passion for tennis. My parents’ unwavering support allowed me to pursue my dreams, and I couldn’t have done it without them. My husband, Lewis, and our children, Amelia and Oliver, have been my rock. Two years ago, I overheard Amelia telling Lewis that she wanted to see both our names on the honor board at Wimbledon. That moment has stayed with me and pushed me to keep going.”

BONUS

The crowd’s applause was thunderous as you finished speaking. You glanced up at Lewis, who was beaming with pride. Amelia was jumping up and down, her excitement infectious.

Later that year in Abu Dhabi, the atmosphere was tense. Lewis was on the verge of his eighth championship, and the entire world was watching. You were in the Ferrari garage with Amelia while baby Oliver stayed home in the company of both of his grandmothers. Your heart was pounding with every lap he completed.

Lewis needed to finish at least fourth to secure the championship, but you knew how much he wanted to win. The final laps were nail-biting, with Max pushing hard on the gas pedal behind your husband. But Lewis’s skill and determination shone through, and when he crossed the finish line in first place, the crowd erupted.

"Lewis Hamilton rounds the final corner, the crowd on their feet, the tension electric! And he crosses the line! Lewis Hamilton wins the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix and secures his eighth World Drivers' Championship! What a monumental achievement! History has been made here today in the most thrilling fashion!

Ladies and gentlemen, we have just witnessed one of the greatest moments in the history of motorsport. Lewis Hamilton, defying all odds, with determination, skill, and sheer brilliance, has etched his name in the annals of Formula 1 forever. Eight championships, surpassing the legends of our sport, and cementing his place as the most successful driver in F1 history.

This season has been a rollercoaster of emotions, challenges, and intense competition, but once again, Lewis has shown why he is the master of his craft. His relentless pursuit of excellence, his unwavering focus, and his incredible talent have brought him to this pinnacle moment.

Congratulations, Lewis! You are a true champion, an inspiration to millions, and a testament to what can be achieved with heart, determination, and belief. What a day, what a race, what a champion! Lewis Hamilton, the 2024 Formula 1 World Drivers' Champion!"

You could see his body shake as he stepped out of the car. His father, Anthony was the first to get to his, giving him the time he needed to process everything he was feeling, before embracing his son in much much-needed hug You pushed through the crowd, holding Amelia’s hand. When Lewis saw you, he rushed over, pulling the two of you into a tight embrace.

He kissed you deeply, not caring about the cameras or the crowd. “We did it,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

You couldn’t hold back your tears as you nodded, “Yes, we did.”

During the trophy ceremony, Lewis pointed his trophy towards you and your daughter, his father standing proudly beside you. He then placed his hand on his heart, looking at you with so much love that it took your breath away.

In the post-race interview, Lewis shared the news that shocked the racing world. “It’s been an incredible journey, and I’m grateful for every moment. But now, it’s time to focus on my family. I couldn’t have done any of this without their support, and I’m excited for this next chapter of our lives.”

As the crowd outside gave him a standing ovation, you knew that no matter where life took you next, you’d face it together, as a family.

Back home, life settled into a new rhythm. Without the constant travel and pressure of racing, Lewis threw himself into being a full-time dad and husband. You balanced your tennis career with family life, savoring every moment.

One evening, after putting the kids to bed, you and Lewis sat on the balcony of your Monaco apartment, watching the night sky. He held your hand, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin.

“I never imagined life could be this perfect,” he said softly. “Thank you for being my rock, my partner, and my best friend.”

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. “We’ve been through so much together, and I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.”

Lewis turned to you, his eyes filled with love. “Here’s to the next adventure, whatever it may be.” You clinked your glasses together, knowing that no matter what the future held, you’d face it side by side, surrounded by the love of your family.

MASTERLIST

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated

[ricciardosheart]

Like all the drivers, who do you think will do a nice valentine day like celebration with flowers and dinner and all the stuff ?? and can you elaborate

this is the worst thing I may have written lol, not proud of it at all should I do a part 2 with the other driver ?????

1. Charles Leclerc

The Classic Romantic with Heartfelt Gestures

Charles is deeply in touch with his emotions, which makes him the kind of guy who would plan Valentine’s Day weeks in advance, wanting everything to be perfect. Growing up in Monaco, he knows all the beautiful spots hidden away from the hustle of city life. He’d probably pick a place that’s meaningful to both of you, like where you first met or a favorite quiet corner by the sea. Charles is attentive to detail—expect a well-thought-out dinner reservation at a charming, cozy restaurant overlooking the Mediterranean, or maybe a private rooftop dinner just for the two of you.

He’s a gentleman, so flowers are a must, but they won’t just be any flowers—he’ll know your favorite kind and make sure it’s personal. If you love roses, they’ll be there, but if you’ve once mentioned peonies in passing, that’s what you’ll receive.

The Day:

Morning: You’ll wake up to a hand-written note and breakfast he’s picked out from a local cafe. The note will be full of sweet little reminders of why he loves you.

Afternoon: He’ll take you to an art museum or for a scenic walk, something low-key but filled with moments to talk and connect.

Evening: Dinner will be elegant yet intimate, followed by a moonlit walk along the beach, with Charles wrapping his arm around you and maybe a stop for dessert at his favorite ice cream spot.

Gift: Something deeply personal—a delicate necklace or bracelet, possibly engraved, to remind you of a special moment you’ve shared.

2. Daniel Ricciardo

The Playful, Yet Deeply Affectionate Lover

Daniel is a ray of sunshine, and his Valentine’s Day celebration would be full of laughter, teasing, and spontaneous moments. He’s the guy who wakes you up with a goofy grin, presents you with a bouquet of colorful wildflowers, and tells you he has a surprise planned. His idea of romance blends fun with affection—so the day would start with some sort of adventure, like go-karting or even a silly scavenger hunt around the house or town. He thrives on shared experiences, so the activities would reflect that.

For Daniel, it's all about making you smile, so he might plan something quirky like a paint-and-sip class, where you both create art together. He’ll capture your playful spirit with things that allow you both to let loose and laugh, but he’ll still balance that with quiet moments where he holds your hand and tells you how much you mean to him.

The Day:

Morning: Wakes you up with breakfast in bed, made up of all your favorite things—coffee, pancakes, and a handpicked playlist that he’s curated just for you. He might even crack a few jokes or tell you to get ready for a day full of surprises.

Afternoon: Something spontaneous and fun—think go-karting, hiking, or visiting an amusement park where he can joke around, but he’s still holding your hand the entire time.

Evening: The playful vibe would continue with a casual dinner at a hidden gem of a restaurant or a private, at-home cooking experience where you both make pizzas together. Expect him to serenade you, with fake seriousness, over dinner or sneak in funny comments to make you laugh.

Gift: It could be something with an inside joke—a quirky piece of art or even a photo album capturing fun moments throughout your relationship, proving that he pays attention to the details that make you unique.

3. Lewis Hamilton

The Sophisticated Gentleman with a Deep Emotional Side

Lewis has a polished, luxurious vibe, but he’s also incredibly spiritual and mindful. Valentine’s Day with Lewis would be an experience of relaxation, intimacy, and connection, blending his love for wellness with moments of luxury. He’d begin the day with something to relax and pamper you both—a spa day, perhaps, where you can unwind with massages and enjoy a couple’s treatment. Lewis has a strong sense of adventure, so he might fly you to a romantic destination (Paris, anyone?) for a quick getaway to make the day extra special.

He’s likely to organize a multi-part day, where he surprises you with little thoughtful moments throughout. Lewis is deeply affectionate and tuned into his partner’s needs, so every part of the day would be curated with care. His love language is likely a combination of quality time and thoughtful gifts, so expect something deeply meaningful from him that reflects both his world and your relationship.

The Day:

Morning: A thoughtful breakfast that involves your favorite healthy treats—he’s a fan of wellness, so you might start with a smoothie bowl or avocado toast delivered to your bedside while he plays soft music in the background.

Afternoon: A spa retreat or a mindfulness experience like yoga together, reflecting his love for balance and relaxation. Or, he might fly you to a city like Paris or Rome, where the day continues in style.

Evening: A luxurious dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant or something private and intimate, with candlelight and fine wine. He’ll make sure the evening feels like a grand event, from the venue to his impeccable suit.

Gift: Expect a high-end, thoughtful present—perhaps a designer bag or fine jewelry, but with a touch of personalization, like an engraving or a connection to something special between you both.

4. Carlos Sainz

The Sincere, Down-to-Earth Romantic

Carlos is grounded and sincere, and that translates into his approach to love. He isn’t the type to make grand, flashy gestures, but everything he does will be filled with genuine care and attention. Valentine’s Day with Carlos would feel like home—warm, comforting, and intimate. He’s the kind of guy who would rather have a meaningful, personal dinner with you than do something extravagant, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less special.

Carlos is big on family, so don’t be surprised if he incorporates elements that show how much he values building a life with you. Expect him to make dinner plans at a cozy, intimate restaurant where you can enjoy each other’s company without too many distractions, or he might even cook with you at home—something like Spanish tapas, a nod to his heritage.

The Day:

Morning: Carlos would surprise you with breakfast in bed, or maybe even start the day with a quiet morning walk through a park, hand in hand, just enjoying each other’s company.

Afternoon: A laid-back activity like a scenic drive through the countryside or a visit to a local vineyard, where you can talk and laugh together, building memories in a relaxed setting.

Evening: A cozy dinner at a small, romantic restaurant with lots of good food and conversation. Or, he might cook with you, laughing and enjoying the time spent creating a meal together.

Gift: Carlos would likely give you something thoughtful, like a piece of jewelry with sentimental value or a keepsake that represents a milestone in your relationship.

5. George Russell

The Gentlemanly Perfectionist with Thoughtful Surprises

George is the definition of a gentleman, and his Valentine’s Day would reflect that. He’d plan meticulously, wanting to make sure every detail is perfect. He’s a romantic at heart and would enjoy doing things by the book, but with an extra touch of thoughtfulness to make sure you feel completely special. His day would be elegant and tasteful—expect him to show up with a perfectly arranged bouquet of roses, beautifully presented and likely paired with your favorite chocolates or a sweet card.

He’s also one for fine dining, so he’d probably make reservations at a high-end restaurant with an incredible view, knowing that atmosphere is key. George is the type who takes his time to understand his partner, so every part of the day would be designed around things he knows you love.

The Day:

Morning: You’ll wake up to George making breakfast, complete with freshly brewed coffee and something sweet like pastries or pancakes. He’d present it to you with a smile, making sure you feel pampered from the start.

Afternoon: You might spend the afternoon doing something charming like visiting a museum or going for a scenic drive, talking and sharing moments that feel effortless.

Evening: A reservation at an upscale restaurant with a view, where he’s likely dressed in a sharp suit. He’d hold the door for you, pull out your chair, and give you all his attention over a candlelit dinner.

Gift: Expect something elegant and timeless—he might gift you a beautiful watch or piece of jewelry that’s carefully chosen to suit your style.

6. Lando Norris

The Playful, Laid-Back Romantic with a Fun Twist

Lando’s young, fun-loving personality means that Valentine’s Day with him would be less about formality and more about having a great time together. He’s spontaneous and full of energy, so you can expect surprises throughout the day—he might wake you up with a cheeky “Happy Valentine’s!” and a box of donuts instead of flowers, just to keep things light-hearted.

He’s all about shared experiences, so his day would likely revolve around activities that allow you to bond, laugh, and make memories. He’s not overly traditional, so while you might not get a candlelit dinner at a Michelin-star restaurant, you’ll probably get something that feels much more personal and in tune with your relationship.

The Day:

Morning: Lando might start the day with a cute, casual breakfast, surprising you with something fun like pancakes shaped like hearts or donuts from your favorite bakery.

Afternoon: A playful date activity like bowling, go-karting, or mini-golf—something competitive where you can tease each other and have a good laugh.

Evening: A casual but meaningful dinner, maybe at a fun spot like a food truck park or a quirky, themed restaurant. He’d want to keep things relaxed and full of laughs.

Gift: Expect something playful but thoughtful, like a scrapbook of memories or a fun gadget he knows you’d love—something that shows he’s been paying attention.

7. Pierre Gasly

The Stylish, Thoughtful Romantic

Pierre has a keen sense of style and charm, and he’d bring that into his Valentine’s Day celebration. He’s the type to blend luxury with personal touches, making sure the day feels both special and unique to you. Pierre would likely plan a surprise date or even a mini getaway to somewhere breathtaking, because he’s all about creating moments that feel like something out of a movie.

You can expect him to show up with an extravagant bouquet of flowers, maybe something exotic or rare to symbolize how special you are to him. He’s also very attentive and would make sure every detail of the day aligns with what you love, from the food to the ambiance.

The Day:

Morning: Pierre would surprise you with breakfast in bed, complete with fresh croissants, coffee, and maybe even a handwritten note expressing his feelings.

Afternoon: A surprise trip to a scenic destination—a vineyard, a boutique hotel, or somewhere beautiful where you can take photos and just enjoy being together.

Evening: Dinner at an upscale restaurant with a gorgeous view, where he’d dress impeccably and treat you to a romantic evening filled with great food and conversation.

Gift: Pierre would give you something high-end but meaningful, like a designer handbag or jewelry, carefully chosen to suit your style.

8. Fernando Alonso

The Intense, Passionate Romantic

Fernando’s approach to Valentine’s Day would be filled with intensity and passion, but in a way that’s deeply thoughtful. He’s not into doing things just for the sake of it—he’d plan a day that feels meaningful, where you can both escape from the world and enjoy each other’s company in a quiet, intimate setting. He’s likely to choose a location off the beaten path, maybe a secluded cabin in the mountains or a hidden restaurant that only locals know about.

Fernando would make sure the day feels deeply connected—he’s not one for superficial gestures, so everything he does would have emotional weight. He’s likely to skip the big bouquet of roses for something more understated but significant, like a simple arrangement of flowers you once mentioned were your favorite.

The Day:

Morning: Fernando would start the day with a simple but meaningful gesture—perhaps coffee together while watching the sunrise, reflecting his love for quiet, peaceful moments.

Afternoon: A private, scenic getaway—somewhere far from the crowds, where you can enjoy the beauty of nature or explore a new place together.

Evening: Dinner at a secluded restaurant or a meal he’s prepared himself, with the two of you enjoying wine and conversation in front of a fireplace or overlooking a beautiful view.

Gift: Fernando’s gift would be deeply personal, something that speaks to the connection you share—perhaps an old book he knows you’d love, or a keepsake that ties into a significant memory between you two.

Each of these drivers would bring their own flair to Valentine’s Day, reflecting their personalities in unique ways. Whether it’s Charles’s heartfelt classic romance or Daniel’s playful yet affectionate vibe, every driver has a different way of showing their love. Which one resonates with the kind of Valentine's Day you’d love to experience?