#of when he's in f1 full time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amirasainz · 2 months ago

Note

Hey, can write one where rbr!reader and Ollie prank the grid and tell them that Ollie accidentally got her pregnant. Maybe they all have different reactions. Pretty please♥️

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

I am currently obsessed with writing driver!reader, so maybe some requests for her or similar to this story.

-xoxo babygirl 💜

The greatest prank of all times

The sun had barely risen over the paddock when Y/N and Ollie, full of mischievous energy, hatched their plan. Both young, vibrant, and constantly on the lookout for some fun to break the tension of race weekends, they decided it was time to pull a lighthearted prank on their fellow F1 drivers. It wasn’t often the grid got to see the two of them in action, but today was going to be different.

Y/N, the youngest driver on the grid and a star for Red Bull Racing, teamed up with Ollie. They had been best friends for years, their bond often the source of harmless trouble. This time, however, they were aiming for something bigger—a prank the grid would never forget.

They booked a small, private room in the Red Bull hospitality area. It was cozy, with just enough space for a couch, a table, and a couple of chairs. Perfect for their "serious" conversation. Hidden cameras were expertly positioned around the room, capturing every angle without raising suspicion. They’d already tested the setup earlier in the morning, making sure every tear and every frantic gesture would be caught on film.

The story was simple yet effective. Y/N would pretend to be distraught, eyes puffy and red as if she’d been crying all night. Ollie would play the role of the nervous boyfriend, pacing the room, wringing his hands, and muttering apologies under his breath. The "problem"? Y/N was "pregnant," and they didn’t know what to do.

To make it believable, they sent text messages to each driver on the grid, tailored to their personalities:

"Hey, I really need to talk to you. It's serious. Can you come to the Red Bull lounge? Please don’t tell anyone."

One by one, the drivers were lured into the trap.

Y/N and Ollie ran through the scenario a dozen times before anyone arrived.

"Okay, so you’re crying, and I’m like, ‘I don’t know what to do!’ And then maybe I sit down and put my head in my hands?” Ollie suggested, pacing the room.

“Yeah, yeah, and I’ll be like, ‘I’m so scared!’ and then just stare at them for help. They'll definitely freak out!” Y/N added, barely suppressing a laugh.

----

The first text had already been sent, and the countdown began. Y/N dabbed her cheeks with a damp tissue, smearing her mascara slightly to complete the "crying" effect. Ollie threw on a hoodie and deliberately messed up his hair, making himself look as if he hadn’t slept.

"Alright, camera rolling?" Ollie asked, glancing at the monitor hidden behind a stack of Red Bull merchandise.

"Rolling," Y/N confirmed, grinning despite herself.

The door creaked open, and the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway.

“Showtime,” Ollie whispered, shooting Y/N a conspiratorial wink before slumping into character.

The first victim was about to walk in.

----

The door opened slowly, and Lewis stepped into the room, his presence immediately filling the small space. His usual calm and reassuring demeanor was evident as he scanned the room, his eyes softening when he saw Y/N with her head in her hands, shoulders trembling as if she were crying. Ollie, meanwhile, was pacing frantically, his hands running through his hair like a man on the verge of a breakdown.

"Hey, hey, what’s going on?" Lewis asked gently, closing the door behind him. He moved toward Y/N, lowering himself to her level on the couch. "Y/N, are you okay?"

Y/N sniffled dramatically, her face buried in her hands. She peeked at Ollie from the corner of her eye, who nodded ever so slightly, signaling her to go ahead.

“It’s— it’s bad, Lewis,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

Lewis immediately placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his tone soft and full of concern. "It’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. Just breathe, alright?"

Ollie let out a shaky sigh, his pacing picking up. "I messed up, Lewis. I really messed up."

Lewis glanced between the two, his brows furrowing. "What happened? You two are scaring me."

Y/N wiped her eyes dramatically, hesitating for a moment before blurting out, "I’m pregnant."

Lewis froze, his expression blank for a second as he processed the information. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out immediately. The weight of the news settled over the room like a thick fog.

Then, he took a deep breath, his face softening once more. "Okay. Alright," he said, nodding slowly. "First of all, it’s going to be okay. Both of you, calm down. We’ll figure this out together."

He turned to Y/N, his voice gentle and steady. "Y/N, does anyone else know? Your parents?"

Y/N shook her head, biting her lip. "No. We don’t know how to tell them. I don’t even know what to do," she mumbled, her voice cracking.

Lewis exhaled, leaning back slightly as he processed the situation. "Alright. Here’s what I think. You need to talk to them. They’ll be shocked, sure, but they love you. They’ll want to help."

Y/N gave a small, hesitant nod, while Ollie finally stopped pacing, standing awkwardly by the couch.

"But listen, Y/N," Lewis continued, looking her directly in the eyes, "this is your decision. Whatever you want to do, it’s your choice, and no one else’s. Don’t let anyone pressure you into anything, alright?"

She nodded again, sniffing.

Lewis then turned his attention to Ollie, his gaze serious but kind. "And you, Ollie. You need to ask yourself something important—do you want to be a dad?"

Ollie gulped, glancing at Y/N before muttering, "I—I don’t know. I mean, I want to be there for her, but I’m scared."

Lewis placed a hand on Ollie’s shoulder, grounding him. "That’s natural. But if this is happening, you need to be ready to step up. Support her. Be a team. This isn’t just about you anymore."

Ollie nodded, looking genuinely thoughtful, even as he fought the urge to crack a smile at how seriously Lewis was taking it all.

"Listen, both of you," Lewis said, his tone resolute. "Whatever happens, I’m here for you. You’re not alone in this. I’ll help you figure things out, no matter what you decide. You can call me anytime, alright?"

Y/N let out a small sob, hiding her face again to disguise her laughter. It was Ollie who couldn’t hold it in any longer. He burst out laughing, doubling over as the tension in the room snapped like a rubber band.

Lewis looked utterly confused. "Wait—what’s happening?"

Through her fake tears, Y/N managed to choke out, "It’s a prank! We’re joking!"

The realization dawned on Lewis, and he leaned back, his mouth falling open in disbelief. Then, he started laughing, shaking his head. "You two… are terrible. I was ready to call your parents!"

Y/N and Ollie were in hysterics, tears of laughter streaming down their faces.

Lewis stood, hands on his hips, a bemused smile playing on his lips. "I hope you know, you’ve got a prank coming your way now."

Even as they laughed, they knew they’d never forget how kind and supportive Lewis had been.

----

The door opened, and Charles stepped into the room, his brow already furrowed with concern. "Y/N? Ollie? What’s going on?" he asked, his voice edged with worry as his eyes darted between them.

Y/N sat curled up on the couch, her head down and shoulders shaking as if she’d been crying for hours. Ollie, meanwhile, was pacing like a trapped animal, muttering under his breath. The atmosphere in the room was heavy, and it immediately put Charles on edge.

“Y/N,” Charles said softly, stepping closer. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

Y/N sniffled dramatically, peeking up at Ollie, who gave her a quick nod to go ahead. She hesitated, biting her lip, and finally whispered, “It’s really bad, Charles.”

Ollie stopped pacing and ran a hand through his hair, letting out an exaggerated, shaky sigh. “We… We don’t know what to do, man.”

Charles’ expression shifted to alarm, his hands fidgeting nervously as he crouched down to be at Y/N’s level. “Okay, okay. Just tell me. What happened?”

Y/N took a deep breath, her voice trembling as she finally said, “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, it looked like Charles had been struck by lightning. His face went pale, his eyes wide as he stared at them in disbelief. “You’re… pregnant?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N nodded, her lip trembling, while Ollie looked down at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck like a guilty schoolboy.

Charles sat back on his heels, visibly struggling to gather his thoughts. He rubbed his face with his hands, exhaling shakily. “Mon Dieu,” he muttered. “Okay… Okay.”

After a moment of silence, he stood, trying his best to mask his panic with determination. “It’s… It’s not the end of the world, okay? It’s hard, yes, but we can figure this out. You’re both so young, but… we’ll make it work.”

Charles looked at Y/N with genuine sincerity, his voice soft. “If you need somewhere to stay, you can live with me. Both of you. My home is open to you.”

Y/N sniffled again, nodding while biting her lip to suppress a smile.

“And… And I can help, financially, emotionally—whatever you need,” Charles continued, pacing now, his hands moving expressively. “This is big, but you’re not alone. You’ve got me, okay?”

Ollie looked up, his face a picture of fake anguish. “Thanks, Charles. That means a lot.”

Charles stopped pacing and turned back to them, his eyes glassy with emotion. “Listen,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “I know this is overwhelming, but it’s also… it’s also something to celebrate.” He gestured between them. “New life. That’s something beautiful. Scary, yes, but beautiful.”

Before either of them could respond, Charles stepped forward and pulled them both into a hug, holding them tightly. “You’re going to be okay. Both of you. I’ll make sure of it.”

Y/N buried her face in his shoulder to stifle her laughter, while Ollie awkwardly patted Charles on the back, barely able to contain his own giggles.

“Charles,” Y/N finally said, her voice muffled.

“Yeah?” he replied, pulling back to look at her.

“It’s a prank,” she blurted out, a burst of laughter escaping her.

Charles froze, his jaw dropping as the words sank in. “Quoi?”

Ollie was already doubled over with laughter, and Y/N followed suit, tears streaming down her face—not from crying but from laughing so hard.

Charles stood there, his face a mixture of shock, betrayal, and relief. “Are you serious? You… You scared me to death!”

Y/N gasped for breath, still laughing. “I’m sorry, Charles! We couldn’t resist!”

Charles shook his head, a small smile breaking through his initial disbelief. “You two are unbelievable. I was ready to start building a nursery for you!”

As the laughter died down, Charles joined in, shaking his head at their antics. “You’re lucky I love you both. But you’d better watch out, because revenge is coming.”

-----

Oscar opened the door, his brow furrowing at the sight in front of him. Y/N sat on the couch, her head buried in her hands, and Ollie was pacing again, his face a picture of distress. The room was thick with tension, and Oscar could immediately sense that something was wrong.

“Oi, what’s going on?” Oscar asked, his voice laced with concern as he stepped in, looking between the two of them.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes red and her face a mask of fake sadness. She hesitated for a moment, waiting for Ollie’s silent cue. Ollie stopped pacing and gave her a nod.

Oscar stood there, completely bewildered, trying to make sense of what he was walking into. He looked at Y/N, who took a deep breath and said, “Oscar… I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Oscar just stared at her, his mind struggling to process what she had said. His face drained of color, and his eyes flickered over to Ollie, who was now standing silently, looking every bit the panicked figure.

“Wait… what?” Oscar whispered, taking a small step forward.

Y/N nodded slowly, and Ollie let out a shaky breath, as if the weight of the situation had just hit him all at once.

Oscar sat down on the arm of the couch, placing his head in his hands, clearly shaken. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the ventilation system, and it felt like time had slowed down.

“I— I don’t know what to say…” Oscar murmured, still processing the shock.

After a few moments, he lifted his head and looked at them both, his voice more steady now, though tinged with concern. “Look… whatever happens, everything’s going to be fine, okay? You two are family, and you’re not in this alone. I’ll help you. I’ll be here for you.”

Oscar’s voice cracked slightly, but he quickly gathered himself. “You don’t have to go through this by yourself. I’m here, I promise.”

But then, his expression softened as he looked at them, his eyes filled with honesty. “But... to be real with you, I’m not sure I know how to help. We’re all so young, and maybe... maybe we should talk to someone who knows what they’re doing. Maybe we should ask Mark for help, someone who’s an adult and can guide us.”

Y/N and Ollie both stared at him, and for a moment, the sincerity in Oscar’s voice seemed to bring them back to the gravity of the situation.

“But…” Oscar continued, his eyes softening as he looked at the two of them. “I’ll go with you. I’ll support you. We’ll figure it out together, okay? Because no matter what, we’re friends. And that means we stick together. You don’t have to face this on your own.”

Y/N was on the verge of tears, not from distress but from holding back laughter. She could see the genuine concern in Oscar’s eyes, and despite everything, it made the prank feel all the more heartwarming.

Ollie, too, felt a rush of gratitude for his friend’s unwavering support, even if it was all based on a huge misunderstanding.

“Oscar,” Y/N said softly, her voice full of emotion, “thank you. I swear we’ll make it up to you for scaring you like this.”

Oscar blinked, clearly still trying to make sense of everything, when suddenly the tension snapped. Y/N burst into laughter, and Ollie followed suit, unable to keep it in any longer.

Oscar’s face went from concern to confusion to disbelief. “Wait... What?!”

“It’s a prank!” Y/N managed to gasp between laughs. “We’re just messing with you!”

Oscar’s expression froze, and for a moment, he was completely still, trying to comprehend what was happening. Then, his eyes narrowed playfully, a grin slowly breaking through his initial shock.

“You two… I’m going to get you back for this,” Oscar said, shaking his head, though a smile tugged at his lips. “I was ready to become a dad! What are you doing to me?”

Y/N laughed even harder, wiping tears from her eyes. “We thought you’d be the one to react the most seriously, and we weren’t wrong.”

Oscar chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you got me. But seriously, next time you prank me, you better make sure it’s not something that serious. I almost had a panic attack.”

“I’m sorry, Oscar!” Ollie said, still grinning. “We promise we’ll make it up to you!”

Oscar leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “You better, because I’m never trusting either of you again.”

The room was filled with laughter, the tension of the moment finally broken, and despite the craziness of it all, they knew their bond as friends was stronger than ever.

----

The next one who walked in was Carlos, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with concern as he noticed the tense atmosphere in the room. Y/N sat on the couch, head down, and Ollie was pacing, his hands nervously running through his hair. It was clear something serious was going on, and Carlos immediately felt a knot form in his stomach.

“Hey, what’s going on? You guys okay?” Carlos asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes red and tearful, but there was a flicker of mischief in them that Carlos didn’t notice right away. Ollie, on the other hand, was pacing with purpose, his face scrunched up as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Carlos…” Y/N began, her voice shaky. “I… I’m pregnant.”

Carlos froze in place, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. His eyes widened in shock as he tried to process what he had just heard.

“Wait… what?” Carlos stammered, his mind struggling to catch up. “Y/N… you’re… pregnant?”

Y/N nodded slowly, her face a picture of fake sadness. Ollie stopped pacing, his eyes wide as he looked at Carlos with a mixture of fear and guilt.

Carlos began pacing himself, running his hands through his hair, trying to make sense of the situation. “This... this is big, Y/N. You’re so young, and Ollie too—this is really serious, you know? You guys… this wasn’t planned, right? It was careless.”

He paused, looking between them with concern, his voice rising with panic as he spoke. “You’re too young for this, both of you. What were you thinking?”

Y/N’s expression faltered, her lip trembling as she struggled to hold back a smile. Ollie, too, looked down, feeling the weight of the words as if they were truly being scolded.

But when Carlos noticed how devastated they looked—how broken and unsure they were—his steps faltered. He immediately stopped pacing, his hand lowering from his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos said quickly, his voice softening as he turned toward them. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m not mad. I was just… shocked. I didn’t know what to say at first. I didn’t know how to react.”

Y/N looked up at him, her expression vulnerable, and Ollie shifted uncomfortably, his eyes meeting Carlos’ for the first time in what felt like forever.

Carlos took a deep breath, stepping closer to them, his gaze softening. “Listen, I’m still shocked. You guys are so young. I wasn’t expecting this. But I will help. I will be there for you both.”

Y/N’s lip quivered as she looked at him, taking in his words. Carlos kneeled down in front of them, looking each of them in the eyes. “I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to help exactly. But I’ll be there. We’ll figure it out together. But…”

He paused, his face showing his own uncertainty. “I still can’t believe you’re pregnant, Y/N. You’re so young… this is a huge thing to take on. But… if you need anything—anything at all—I’m here. I’ll support you.”

Ollie let out a shaky breath, still looking down at the floor. “We’re scared, Carlos. We don’t know what to do, and we didn’t know who else to turn to.”

Carlos reached out, putting a hand on Ollie’s shoulder, then turning to Y/N with a reassuring smile. “You’re not alone in this, okay? You’ve got me. But seriously, maybe we need to talk to someone who can help us more. We’re too young to know how to navigate all this, you know? We need to talk to someone who knows more about this.”

The sincerity in his voice broke through the tension, and Y/N finally let out a small, relieved breath, though her face was still full of fake distress.

Carlos stood up and took a step back, wiping his hand over his face. “And I’ll help you talk to your parents if you need me to. We’ll figure it out together, I swear. But… I really didn’t expect this.”

Y/N couldn't hold it in anymore. She and Ollie both burst out laughing, and Carlos stood frozen for a moment, his mouth falling open in shock.

“Wait, what?!” Carlos exclaimed, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Is this a prank?”

Y/N wiped the tears from her eyes, still laughing. “It’s a prank, Carlos! We were messing with you!”

Carlos’ face slowly shifted from confusion to a mixture of shock and relief. He took a deep breath, shaking his head in exasperation. “You guys are unbelievable,” he said, the tension melting away as a laugh escaped him. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“I’m so sorry!” Ollie said between fits of laughter. “We just had to do it to you!”

Carlos sighed dramatically, but a smile tugged at his lips. “You two are insane. But seriously… next time you want to pull a prank like this, maybe make it a little less… real.”

Y/N and Ollie just grinned, still laughing. “We’ll make it up to you, promise.”

Carlos shook his head, chuckling, though he couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride. After all, the two had truly pulled off a masterclass in pranking him—he’d almost believed it.

“You better make it up to me,” Carlos said with a playful grin. “And by the way, when you two start planning your real life decisions, let me know. I’ll give you actual advice then.”

----

Max strode into the room, his sharp eyes scanning the tense scene in front of him. Y/N sat curled on the couch, her head buried in her hands, while Ollie was pacing frantically. Something was clearly wrong, and the heavy atmosphere hit Max immediately.

“What’s going on?” Max asked, his voice firm and direct.

Y/N sniffled but didn’t answer, and Ollie froze mid-step, turning to look at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

“Max,” Y/N whispered, her voice shaky and small. “I… I’m pregnant.”

The words landed like a bomb. Max’s face immediately shifted into a mixture of shock and disbelief. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out as he processed what he’d just heard.

“You’re what?” Max finally said, his voice sharp.

“Pregnant,” Y/N repeated, her voice trembling.

Max stared at her, his eyes narrowing as the weight of the situation settled in. “You’re kidding, right? This is some kind of joke?”

Ollie shook his head, his voice low. “No. It’s real. We don’t know what to do.”

Max took a deep breath, his hand dragging over his face as he tried to contain the storm of emotions swirling inside him. “You two are too young for this! How could you be so careless? Do you even realize what this means?”

Y/N flinched at his words, her lip trembling as she fought to keep her composure.

“You’re just kids,” Max continued, his voice rising slightly. “Do you even know what it takes to raise a child? This isn’t just some small mistake—it’s life-changing!”

Y/N let out a shaky sob, and Max immediately stopped. His harsh tone softened as he saw how devastated she looked. In an instant, he crossed the room and knelt in front of her, pulling her into his arms.

“Hey, hey,” he said gently, wrapping his arms around her and stroking her hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

Y/N buried her face in his shoulder, her fake tears muffled by his jacket. Max’s hold tightened as he whispered, “It’s going to be okay. I’ll help you figure this out.”

He glanced up at Ollie, his expression hardening. “And you,” Max said sharply, his tone like a scolding parent. “You better be ready to step up, Ollie. You can’t leave her to deal with this on her own. She needs you to be there for her.”

Ollie nodded quickly, trying his best to look apologetic. “I will, Max. I swear.”

Max sighed, shaking his head. “Stupid teenagers,” he muttered under his breath before pressing a kiss to Y/N’s forehead. He pulled back slightly, looking down at her with a mix of worry and determination.

“You’re not alone, Y/N,” Max said softly, his hand still stroking her hair. “We’ll figure it out. But… I can’t believe you two let this happen.”

Y/N sniffled again, barely able to keep the giggles bubbling up inside her from escaping. Ollie bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing at the sight of Max in full protective mode.

Max looked between them, his brow furrowing. “What?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

“It’s a prank,” Y/N blurted out, laughter finally breaking free.

Max froze, blinking as the words sank in. “A prank?” he repeated slowly, his voice dangerously calm.

Ollie nodded, unable to stop himself from laughing now. “Yeah, Max. It’s a prank.”

Max pulled back, his expression a mixture of relief and exasperation. “You two are unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how much you scared me? I was ready to adopt the baby myself!”

Y/N and Ollie were laughing uncontrollably now, the tension in the room replaced with giddy energy.

“I’m sorry, Max!” Y/N said between giggles. “We couldn’t resist!”

Max stood, crossing his arms as he looked at them both with mock severity. “You two are going to pay for this,” he said, though the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips gave him away. “And don’t expect me to believe you next time you cry wolf!”

Y/N grinned, wiping fake tears from her eyes. “We’ll make it up to you, Max. Promise.”

Max shook his head, his smile finally breaking through. “You better. And next time you prank someone, don’t make it about something that serious. My heart can’t take it.”

----

Lando strolled into the room with his usual carefree energy, a playful grin on his face. He immediately noticed the tension in the air, but instead of worry, his first instinct was humor.

“What’s going on? You two look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he joked, his bright eyes darting between Y/N and Ollie.

Y/N glanced at Ollie, who gave her a subtle nod. Taking a deep breath, she looked at Lando, her voice trembling. “Lando… I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, Lando just stared at her, his grin frozen on his face. Then, he burst out laughing, clapping his hands together. “Good one! You almost got me there!”

Y/N and Ollie exchanged a quick look before Y/N shook her head. “Lando, I’m serious. Ollie’s the dad.”

The laughter immediately died on Lando’s lips, his smile fading as he looked at them both. “Wait… what? You’re serious?”

Y/N nodded, her face the picture of fake distress.

Lando’s playful demeanor shifted in an instant, his brow furrowing as he processed the situation. “How did this happen? I mean, I know how, but… you guys are so young. What were you thinking?”

Ollie shifted nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “We didn’t plan this, obviously. It just… happened.”

Lando sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. Tell me everything. I need to know exactly what’s going on before we figure out what to do.”

For the next few minutes, Y/N and Ollie stumbled through their fabricated story, trying their best to keep their composure as they watched Lando’s serious expression. Once they were done, Lando sat back in his chair, his arms crossed as he nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said, his tone surprisingly calm and measured. “Here’s what we’re going to do. First, tomorrow morning, the three of us are going to the doctor. We need to make sure everything’s okay with you and the baby, Y/N.”

Y/N blinked in surprise, not expecting Lando to take charge so quickly.

“After that,” Lando continued, “we’ll go to your parents. Both of you. I’ll come with you when you tell them. They’ll need to know, and you’ll need their support.”

Ollie opened his mouth to protest, but Lando raised a hand to stop him. “No arguments. They’re your parents, and they’ll want to be there for you—even if they’re mad at first.”

Y/N and Ollie exchanged a glance, both trying to hide their surprise at how practical Lando was being.

“Once that’s done, we’ll find a place for you two to live together,” Lando said, his voice growing more determined. “Somewhere big enough for a nursery but close to me so I can help if you need anything.”

Ollie gaped at him. “Lando, that’s… a lot.”

Lando ignored him, already deep in thought. “We’ll design the baby’s room together. I’ll help you pick out furniture, decorations, everything. And I’ll go with you to every appointment if you want me there. I’ll even help with the baby when they’re born. Diapers, bottles, sleepless nights—you name it. We’re in this together.”

By now, Y/N was struggling to keep a straight face. Lando’s level of commitment and detail was far beyond anything she’d expected.

“Lando,” Y/N said, her voice wavering with emotion, “that’s… really sweet of you.”

Lando turned to her, his expression softening. “You’re my friend, Y/N. And Ollie, you too. You’re not doing this alone, not if I can help it.”

Ollie scratched the back of his head, looking both grateful and overwhelmed. “Wow, mate, I didn’t think you’d have a whole plan ready.”

Lando shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Well, someone has to keep a cool head in this situation. And honestly, it’s kind of exciting in a weird way. A little scary, yeah, but exciting too.”

Y/N’s lip trembled as she tried to hold back her laughter, but it was too much. She burst out laughing, clutching her stomach as the tension in the room broke.

“Lando,” she said between giggles, “it’s a prank! We’re not actually having a baby!”

Lando’s jaw dropped, and he stared at them both in disbelief. “Wait, what? You’re kidding me, right?”

Ollie joined in the laughter, shaking his head. “Nope. It was all a prank. We wanted to see how you’d react.”

Lando slumped back in his chair, letting out a groan. “You two… I can’t believe I fell for that. I was already planning your entire future!”

Y/N wiped away tears of laughter. “You were amazing, though! You had everything figured out!”

Lando sighed, shaking his head, though a small smile crept back onto his face. “Yeah, well, don’t expect me to go all out like that again anytime soon. You’ve officially used up your prank privileges.”

The three of them laughed together, the air now light and full of warmth. Despite the prank, Y/N and Ollie couldn’t help but feel touched by how quickly Lando had stepped up to support them, proving just how much he cared.

----

Fernando entered the room with his usual composed yet curious demeanor, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the scene before him. Y/N was curled up on the couch, "crying" into Ollie’s shoulder, while Ollie looked up at Fernando with an expression of guilt and desperation.

“What happened?” Fernando asked, his voice calm but laced with concern.

Y/N sniffled, pulling back slightly from Ollie’s hold to look at Fernando. “I… I’m pregnant,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

Fernando froze for a moment, his sharp gaze flicking between the two young drivers. His silence stretched for a beat too long, making Y/N and Ollie exchange a brief, worried glance.

Then, to their utter surprise, Fernando’s face broke into a wide, genuine smile. His entire demeanor shifted, radiating warmth as he stepped closer to them. “That’s wonderful news!” he said, his voice filled with excitement.

Before either of them could respond, Fernando leaned down and wrapped them both in a strong, reassuring hug. “Congratulations, both of you,” he said, his tone so heartfelt that it momentarily disarmed the pranksters.

When he finally pulled back, his expression softened as he noticed how “scared” they looked. Without missing a beat, Fernando sat down on the couch between them, motioning for Y/N and Ollie to sit closer. He gently pulled Y/N to his right side and Ollie to his left, placing a comforting arm around each of them.

“I know you’re scared,” he began, his voice soothing and steady. “But this is going to be one of the most beautiful experiences of your lives. A new life, a part of you both, is coming into the world. You’ll love that child more than anything else—more than racing, more than winning.”

Y/N’s “tears” slowed as she listened, her heart softening at Fernando’s words despite the prank. Ollie leaned in slightly, his nervous energy fading as Fernando continued.

“You’ll get to watch them grow up,” Fernando said, his eyes shining with a rare tenderness. “Their first steps, their first words, the way they’ll look at you with so much love and trust… There’s nothing like it. And you’ll give them the world because you’ll want nothing but the best for them.”

Fernando paused, smiling warmly at the two of them. “This isn’t something to be afraid of. It’s something to celebrate. A child will bring you joy, purpose, and a love you never knew was possible.”

For a moment, Y/N and Ollie could almost see the future Fernando was painting for them—a cozy home filled with laughter, the small hands of a child reaching for theirs, and the kind of love that could make anything possible.

Ollie cleared his throat, his voice quieter than usual. “You really think we could do this?”

Fernando squeezed his shoulder, his smile unwavering. “I know you can. You’re strong, both of you. And you won’t be alone in this—you’ll have each other, your families, your friends… and me. I’ll be here every step of the way if you need me.”

Y/N glanced at Ollie, her resolve wavering under the weight of Fernando’s sincere encouragement. Finally, unable to keep up the charade any longer, she let out a small laugh.

“Fernando,” she said, wiping her fake tears away, “it’s a prank.”

Fernando blinked, his smile faltering as he processed her words. “A prank?”

Ollie nodded, a sheepish grin on his face. “Yeah… we wanted to see how you’d react.”

For a moment, Fernando just stared at them. Then, a deep laugh rumbled from his chest, and he shook his head in disbelief. “You two are unbelievable! You had me going for a moment there.”

“We’re sorry,” Y/N said, her voice still tinged with laughter. “But honestly, your reaction was so sweet.”

Fernando chuckled, leaning back against the couch. “Well, when it does happen someday, you’ll know exactly what I think about it.”

Ollie grinned. “Thanks, Fernando. You were amazing, honestly.”

Fernando waved a hand, still smiling. “Just promise me one thing—when you pull your next prank, make it a little less heart-stopping for me, okay?”

The three of them laughed together, the warmth of Fernando’s words lingering long after the prank had been revealed.

----

Yuki walked into the room, his usual curious and slightly mischievous energy in full swing. “What’s going on?” he asked, looking at Y/N, who was hunched over, fake crying into her hands, and Ollie, who looked awkwardly guilty while pacing the room.

“Yuki, we need to tell you something,” Ollie began, his voice serious.

Yuki blinked, glancing between them. “Okay… What is it?”

Y/N sniffled dramatically, wiping her “tears” with her sleeve. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, Yuki just stared, his head tilting slightly to the side. “Huh?”

“I’m pregnant,” Y/N repeated, trying to sound exasperated but sad.

Yuki squinted, his confusion only deepening. “Wait, like… for real? Or are you talking about some kind of food baby? You ate too much sushi or something?”

“No, Yuki!” Ollie interjected, his hands on his hips. “She’s actually pregnant.”

“Oh,” Yuki said, nodding slightly, but his expression was still blank. “Okay… so, um… what do you want me to do about it?”

Y/N let out a frustrated sigh, looking at Ollie for help. Ollie sat down beside her, trying to maintain the act. “Yuki, it’s serious. Y/N is having a baby, and I’m the dad.”

This only seemed to confuse Yuki more. He blinked rapidly, his eyebrows knitting together. “Wait, you’re the dad?”

“Yes, Yuki,” Ollie said slowly, as if explaining to a child. “I’m the dad.”

Yuki’s brow furrowed further as he processed this information. “Okay… but who’s the dad?”

Ollie groaned, rubbing his temples. “Me. I’m the dad, Yuki.”

Yuki looked genuinely puzzled, glancing at Y/N and then back at Ollie. “But… how? You’re, like, just… Ollie.”

At this point, Y/N let out a frustrated laugh, breaking character. “Yuki, what do you mean, ‘just Ollie’? How do you not get this?”

Yuki shrugged, looking completely unbothered. “I don’t know. It’s just weird. Are you guys pranking me or something?”

Y/N and Ollie exchanged a glance before collapsing onto the couch across from Yuki, utterly defeated. “Yes, Yuki,” Y/N said with a sigh. “It’s a prank.”

Yuki’s face lit up. “Oh! Okay! That makes way more sense.” He stood up, stretching casually. “You should’ve just said that from the beginning. Anyway, I’m going to get a snack. Let me know if you need help with, uh, whatever.”

With that, Yuki walked out of the room, leaving Y/N and Ollie staring after him, dumbfounded.

“He didn’t get it at all,” Ollie muttered, shaking his head.

“Nope,” Y/N agreed, slumping back against the couch.

From down the hall, Yuki’s voice echoed back to them. “You guys are weird!”

----

Franco stepped into the room with a concerned expression, immediately sensing something was off. His eyes darted between Y/N, who was "crying" into her hands, and Ollie, who was pacing nervously with a hand in his hair.

“What’s going on?” Franco asked, his voice laced with worry as he moved closer. “Are you two okay? Did something happen?”

Y/N sniffled dramatically, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes—an excellent fake cry performance. “Franco… I’m pregnant.”

Franco froze, his eyes going wide. He opened his mouth to say something but immediately closed it again, clearly unsure how to react. “Wait… are you—like, seriously? For real?”

Ollie nodded solemnly, stopping his pacing. “Yeah, and… I’m the dad.”

“Oh, my god,” Franco breathed, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. He took a step closer to them, his nervous energy bubbling over. “Okay, uh… okay. Are you happy? Are you scared? Sad? I—I don’t know how to feel right now. What about you guys?”

Y/N hiccupped, pretending to be on the verge of another sob. “We don’t know what to do, Franco. We’re so young…”

Franco immediately crouched down in front of her, his hands hovering nervously as if he wanted to comfort her but wasn’t sure how. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said quickly, his tone soft and motherly. “Deep breaths, Y/N. Deep breaths. It’s going to be okay. You too, Ollie—deep breaths.”

Ollie blinked in surprise. “Franco, you’re the one freaking out.”

Franco ignored him, pulling a chair close and sitting down, his knee bouncing anxiously. He clasped his hands together, his knuckles turning white as he tried to gather his thoughts. “Alright, listen. This is big. It’s huge. But we’re going to figure it out. You’re going to figure it out.”

He glanced between them again, his gaze softening. “Look, this is scary, but it’s also… kind of amazing, right? A new life! But—wait, no, sorry, I don’t want to freak you out more,” he added quickly, shaking his head. “Are you happy about this? Or scared? Or both? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. Oh god, I’m not helping, am I?”

Y/N bit her lip to keep from laughing, shaking her head. “No, Franco, you’re helping,” she said, her voice quivering with fake emotion.

Franco exhaled in relief, reaching over to pat her hand awkwardly. “Okay, good. That’s good. So, uh… first thing’s first: don’t panic. Take deep breaths. Have you thought about telling your parents? Or… no, no, wait, one thing at a time. I’m sorry, I’m just…” He ran a hand through his hair, visibly flustered. “I’m freaking out for you. But you’re going to be okay, I promise.”

Y/N and Ollie exchanged a quick glance, barely holding back their laughter as Franco continued to fret over them like a worried parent.

Finally, Y/N couldn’t take it anymore. “Franco,” she said gently, reaching out to touch his hand.

He looked up at her, his face a mix of concern and determination. “Yeah?”

“It’s a prank,” she said, unable to hold back a laugh.

Franco blinked, his brain taking a second to catch up. “A… prank?”

Ollie nodded, his grin sheepish. “Yeah. We just wanted to see how you’d react.”

For a moment, Franco just stared at them, his jaw slightly slack. Then he let out a groan, leaning back in his chair and covering his face with his hands. “Are you serious? You two put me through all that for a prank?”

Y/N burst out laughing, reaching over to pat his arm. “Franco, you were amazing. Seriously, you were so sweet.”

Franco peeked at her through his fingers, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, well, next time maybe prank someone who doesn’t care as much.”

Ollie clapped him on the shoulder. “You care too much, mate. But that’s why we love you.”

Franco groaned again, though his smile lingered. “You’re both lucky I love you too. But don’t ever do that to me again!”

The three of them laughed together, the tension melting away as Franco finally relaxed, shaking his head at the duo’s mischievous antics.

----

The press conference room was abuzz with the usual pre-event chatter. Reporters settled into their seats, armed with notebooks, voice recorders, and cameras, ready to pepper the drivers with questions. But the atmosphere shifted when Y/N and Ollie walked in.

Y/N’s eyes were red and puffy, as though she’d been crying for hours. Her shoulders were hunched, her body language radiating nervousness. Ollie, on the other hand, had an almost frantic energy, his leg bouncing as he sat down next to her. Yet, he kept a hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles and leaning in every so often to whisper something comforting.

The other drivers on the panel—fully in on the prank—exchanged knowing glances, some biting their lips to keep from laughing. Lewis had to clear his throat and look away, Max pretended to be overly focused on his water bottle, and Lando barely managed to keep a smirk off his face.

It didn’t take long for the reporters to notice that something was off.

“Y/N,” one of them finally asked, leaning forward, “are you alright? You look upset.”

Y/N sniffled audibly, looking down at the table as though gathering herself. Ollie leaned closer, whispering something inaudible, which only seemed to make the situation more curious.

Another reporter jumped in. “Ollie, is everything okay with Y/N? You seem… tense.”

The tension in the room became palpable as reporters shifted in their seats, sensing a story. Finally, Y/N lifted her head, her voice shaky as she spoke. “We… we weren’t planning on talking about this today, but…” She paused, looking at Ollie, who nodded solemnly.

Ollie took over, his voice steady but filled with a faux nervous edge. “Y/N and I… we just found out she’s pregnant.”

The room erupted.

Gasps, hurried whispers, and the frantic clicking of cameras filled the air as reporters scrambled to process the bombshell.

“What does this mean for your career, Y/N?”

“Ollie, how are you going to support her through this?”

“Did Red Bull know? What’s the team’s response?”

Y/N buried her face in her hands, and Ollie leaned closer to shield her from the barrage of questions, murmuring fake reassurances like, “It’s okay, we’ll get through this.”

The other drivers played their parts to perfection.

Fernando leaned forward with a supportive nod. “We’re here for them, of course.”

Charles shook his head solemnly. “It’s a difficult situation, but they’re strong.”

Lando, biting his lip to keep from laughing, muttered, “Yeah, we’ll all be there for them.”

Max, perhaps enjoying the chaos a bit too much, smirked and added, “It’s a bit shocking, isn’t it? But these things happen.”

The questions only grew louder, reporters tripping over one another to get their takes. But then Y/N, who had been trying to “compose herself,” let out a small snort of laughter. Ollie followed suit, and within seconds, both of them were doubled over, laughing uncontrollably.

The reporters froze, staring in confusion. “What’s so funny?” one finally asked.

Lando couldn’t hold back any longer, bursting into laughter. Fernando chuckled, Charles shook his head with a grin, and even Max let out an amused huff.

Y/N finally managed to speak through her laughter. “It’s—it’s a prank! We’re not pregnant!”

The room went silent for a moment before an uproar of disbelief and groans erupted from the reporters. Some laughed along, shaking their heads, while others looked like they’d been played harder than ever before.

Ollie grinned, leaning into the microphone. “Sorry, we couldn’t resist. The reactions were too good.”

The other drivers laughed harder, with Fernando adding, “You should’ve seen your faces!”

Within hours, clips from the press conference flooded social media, from Y/N’s dramatic performance to Ollie’s earnest act and the reporters’ chaotic reactions. The prank went viral almost immediately, with fans and media outlets alike praising the creativity and humor of it all.

“Y/N and Ollie: F1’s Ultimate Pranksters” trended worldwide, with the prank cementing itself as one of the most memorable moments of the season. Even the reporters, though initially annoyed, couldn’t help but laugh at themselves once the dust settled.

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #xoxo babygirl 💋#ollie bearman x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #oscar piastri x reader #max verstappen x reader #lando norris x reader #fernando alonso x reader #yuki tsunoda x reader #franco colapinto x reader #driver!reader

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yazmarina · 5 months ago

Text

walk me through it

for the love circuit series

—you're used to being flirted with in front of the camera. but something about franco is really doing you in.

franco colapinto (f1) x fem!reporter reader

warnings/notes: smut, unprotected sex (no condom, yes birth control), guided masturbation, lewd photography, lots of flirting, franco is shameless (naturally), some Spanish sentences and phrases

a/n: will resume hit play for a bit after this one! enjoy franco girlies mwa

Your job was simple enough. Well, for today, at least.

Stand in the media pen, gather statements, and piece together a couple of stories later that evening for publishing first thing tomorrow morning. All in a day's work, like all the other days before.

You've grown immune to the charms of rich, adrenaline-seeking men. Didn't take you too long, the illusion breaking as soon as any one of them opened their mouths. Some you tolerate more than others, but some you'd rather steer clear of completely.

This isn't to say that you've brushed all of them off. You might have agreed to a date here and there but nothing ever stuck, the nature of your jobs a bit too similar and all too different at the same time. You've given up on the prospect that you'll somehow end up with one of the many Formula 1 drivers you've interviewed and spoken to. And you've spoken to a lot. You've had this gig since you were shipped off fresh from uni and one too many 'What happened there?'s and 'Tell me about qualifying's can put a damper on the romantic side of things.

But someone new's in town. Well, er, new in the paddock. And you'd be lying if you said you weren't even a little bit excited.

He's charming, that much you can already tell. He walks into the media pen like he's done it thousands of times before and you have to actively suppress a smile as he walks over. Confidence is always a plus. For the interview, of course.

"Hola, Franco. Antes que nada, enhorabuena," you greet warmly, extending your arm over the barrier to place the microphone nearer to him. Hi, Franco. First of all, congratulations.

Franc's eyebrows shoot up, a wolfish grin settling on his face. "Oh. I thought this was an English interview?"

You smile back. "It is, but I know my way around Spanish, as well."

"Ah," Franco nods. "Gracias, _______."

"You know my name?" You ask, momentarily forgetting that you're being taped and recorded. You clear your throat, ignoring the quiet snicker from your cameraman.

"Yeah, I've seen you around and watched some of your other interviews," Franco confirms, a hand settling on his hip as he leans against the barrier, closer to you.

You can smell his perfume from where you stand.

"Thank you, I've heard and seen a lot about you as well," you respond, trying to return to your original train of thought.

"Which is why I want to ask you how it feels on your first day as a Formula 1 driver," you quickly follow. "Have you done anything special to prepare for this weekend? Other than the obvious, of course."

Another easy smile spreads across Franco's lips. "I've definitely added to my training and done some new things to prepare. I haven't done a full F1 weekend before so everything will be new."

"We definitely don't have reporters like you in the lower Formulas," he adds.

You feel a violent blush rip up through your neck all the way to your cheeks. As if the Monza heat wasn't enough.

"Well, I'm glad you could meet me here," you manage to get out.

The thing is, Franco isn't even the most attractive driver you've met. He's definitely up there, but not the most.

That's a discussion you have with yourself semi-weekly: ranking the drivers in terms of attractiveness, factoring in personalities and general attitudes towards the people around them, specifically the media.

Look, people love to shit on the media and press, calling journalism all sorts of derogatory words, but you're just here to do your job, like anyone else. And it gets pretty fucking hard when your boss is ringing your phone every five minutes demanding four stories by tomorrow and drivers are sassing you out as if you asked them if they've murdered their whole family.

So, naturally, the way they treat you determines a big chunk of how you think your day is going to pan out.

And right now, Franco seems to be lifting your spirits just fine.

"What are your goals for this weekend? Are points on the horizon for you at your first F1 race?" You continue, trying not to stare at the way Franco starts to rub at the back of his neck, bashful all of a sudden.

"We'll try," Franco begins. He plants both his hands on the barrier and leans even closer. You have to physically take a step back.

You gulp. Franco smiles.

"Anything is possible this weekend."

"You broke the internet last night."

You scoff, sending your cameraman a vicious side-eye. It's crowded in the paddock today, everyone wanting to get a glimpse of the new rookie, it seems. Such is the eagerness for this young driver that even that 30-second clip of your interview with him blew right up in your face. Your inboxes at capacity, your own voice speaking back to you with every other swipe on your TikTok.

It's not all bad, though. A tweet with one of your Instagram photos attached to it captioned 'TE ENTIENDO MUCHO FRANCO ES MUY LINDA PERIODISTA' did weasel out a chuckle from you.

Your cameraman shrugs, gesturing with a jerk of his head in front of you.

"There he is. I'm sure he knows all about it."

You look over to where he's pointing and lo and behold, Franco is right there, chatting with a few Williams team members, his race suit hanging undone around his waist. He turns to you even before you can fully register that it's him you're looking at.

But your training kicks in even faster. A megawatt smile appears on your lips and you wave enthusiastically at Franco.

"Hi."

"_______," Franco says, face lighting up at the sight of you. Your name seems to fall even more effortlessly off his lips.

You reach over and pull him into a half-hug with one arm, but both his arms wind around you and you have no choice but to squeeze back.

"You saw?" Franco asks, a gleam in his eye as he pulls away. His hand remains casually on the small of your back.

"Saw what?" You know what it is he's asking but you'd like to hear it from him.

"We went viral, no?" Franco says with a laugh, reaching further around you and squeezing your waist. You lean into his touch, heart jumping as his fingers graze just underneath your cropped top.

"That's all because of you," you reason, pointing an accusatory finger at Franco. "I bet you say that to all the other reporters."

The Williams team members standing nearby burst out laughing and even your cameraman affords a snicker. A deep blush spreads across Franco's face as he rubs your side reassuringly.

"No, no, I don't. Just you," Franco admits with another lighthearted laugh.

"Sure," you say with exaggerated skepticism. You pull away from his touch, catching his hand before he slips it fully off of you.

"I'll talk to you later," you say. And it's fully intentional, the words you choose to say. I'll talk to you later. Not 'I'll catch you later' or 'I'll see you later'.

I will talk to you later.

Franco understands, giving your hand a squeeze.

Later that day, you pray that no one catches you grinning behind your hand as Franco takes the chequered flag at qualifying.

P11.

Almost there.

"Hi. Come in."

Franco beams at you from across the threshold, stepping into your room with slow, measured steps.

"Great qualifying," you compliment, eyes traveling down Franco's body, noting the way his team kit hugs his frame just right, his hands shoved into his pockets, exposing just his arms, veins and all.

Your eyes snap back up to his face when you hear the door shut in place.

"Q2 on your debut. Not bad," you go on, taking a step back. Franco takes one toward you.

"You're just repeating what you said at the media pen earlier," Franco points out. He reaches out and gently circles an arm around your waist.

Always straight to the point.

Like this morning.

You tried not to make it so obvious when you ran into Franco earlier, but all you could think about was The Message.

You were doing your cursory social media checks a few minutes after you had woken up, still snug in your bed and unwilling to get up just yet. A message in your Instagram inbox caught your attention, sitting at the very top of your 'verified followers' tab.

Franco Colapinto: hola, hermosa 😉

It took a minute for your motor functions to return, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you pored over what to reply. You settled on a nonchalant greeting, asking if Franco needed anything.

You realized rather belatedly that this was looking a little familiar. You wished he wouldn't say the dreaded answer, the more-than-predictable response that every man liked to use.

Franco Colapinto: you, maybe?

You groaned into your pillow, not because you were repulsed by his answer, but because you liked it. If you were easy, then so was he.

You: i finish work at 9 pm tonight...? 👀

It's 9 PM now. Franco's in the room and your hand is running up his chest.

Easy.

"It's such an honor," Franco teases, backing you up further into the room. His hands feel heavy on your waist and your heart hammers against your chest.

"I get to work with people like you now," Franco continues, stopping right in front of the bed.

The kiss comes as a shock more so because of how good Franco kisses. One of his hands is now cradling the back of your head, keeping you in place while he licks into your mouth, groaning with every pucker of your lips.

You pull away for barely a second to get both of your tops off before you dive back in, seemingly too desperate and too starved for each other's mouths. Franco's hands are everywhere; they run down your arms, paw at your waist, tugging at the belt loops of your jeans.

You giggle as he pulls you even closer, your bare chests pressed against each other. Franco pulls back and peers down at you, reaching behind to unclasp your bra. You let it fall, already guiding one of his hands to your tits.

"Couldn't stop staring at them?" You ask, your voice rising with an innocent lilt.

Franco kneads at the mound beneath his hand, eliciting a moan from you. He grins.

"I wanted you to notice," Franco admits simply, kissing you again.

"Perv," you mumble against his lips. Franco laughs, already undoing his trousers.

You wiggle your own way out of your jeans, letting Franco get the shortest of glimpses at your baby pink underwear before you discard them off to the side.

"Mierda, you're so sexy," Franco compliments as you crawl backward onto the bed, laying back and letting your hair splay out beneath you.

Franco pounces on you like a man starved, bare atop your own naked body, his arms caging you in.

"Big moves from somebody so new," you whisper, carding your fingers through Franco's soft locks.

"I like to make a statement," Franco says with a shrug. He glances up momentarily, something piquing his interest off to the side.

"Is that your camera?"

You crane your neck to see where he's looking and sure enough, your personal DSLR is right there on the bedside drawer. You look back at Franco, an eyebrow raised.

"You wanna use it?" You ask, not expecting him to actually say yes. But a mischievous grin settles on Franco's face and you feel your heart skip several beats.

"Knock yourself out," you say.

Franco reaches for the camera and fiddles with it for a few seconds. His eyes scan over your body and you suddenly feel the urge to hide away with how hard he's looking.

"May I?" Franco asks, brandishing the camera. Your mouth falls open as you realize what he's asking.

"You can keep them for yourself. For your eyes only," Franco hurriedly adds, planting his knees firmly on either side of you.

You stare up at him, a million thoughts running through your mind.

"Just...touch yourself."

You gasp, stunned at his proposal. Franco watches through the LCD monitor, glancing up at you through his lashes. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth, and as if on instinct, your hand inches down slowly between your legs.

"You're in front of cameras all the time," Franco reminds with a smirk. "This should be easy for you."

You suppress a whimper at his words, your fingertips swiping through your slick folds. You're already soaked and you start to wonder if it started even before Franco got here.

The shutter clicks and the lens whirs, sharp against the soft breaths you're letting out. Franco is concentrated, snapping photo after photo as you rub yourself closer to release. But it's not enough. You need more.

"Franco...," you implore, peering up with bright, begging eyes.

"Slowly, mi amor," Franco coos. "Just where you like it. Right there."

Click.

"Harder now, but still slow. Yes? Feels good?"

You whine, eyes fluttering shut as your pleasure picks up again. Several clicks. You're panting now, the tendrils of release wrapping themselves around you.

"Faster, yes, like that," Franco eggs on. Your fingers speed up against your sensitive clit and a litany of Franco's name spills from your lips. Before you know it, he's putting the camera away. You reach for him, gripping the back of his neck as he smashes his lips into yours.

Franco bites down on your lip and you cry out, your orgasm washing over you like a tide. You arch against Franco, feeling his own stiffness heavy on your thigh.

You blink, Franco's face coming into focus, barely an inch from yours. He watches you closely, pupils blown wide and plump lips even redder. You hook your legs around his waist, letting him know that you're not done yet.

Franco is quick to pick up, smiling as lines himself up with you. The groan that escapes him is nothing short of delicious as he pushes himself in. You gasp along, the stretch a welcome sensation.

Franco wastes no time and pounds right into you, catching you by surprise. You let your head fall back against the mattress, a long, drawn-out whine erupting from deep within your chest as Franco licks a stripe up your neck.

Your whole body quakes with how hard he's thrusting into you but you're clearly enjoying it if your wanton moans are anything to go by. Franco meets your eyes and you pull him down, wanting nothing more than to drown in those lips of his.

It's feral and it's unrestrained, spurred on by the knowledge that this is more than unprofessional in your line of work. Not illegal by any means, but risky enough to warrant warnings from your coworkers. Never sleep with a driver unless you're committed.

Oh, well.

Franco groans loudly in your ear, movements losing their rhythm as he speeds up. You're clinging to him as if he'd disappear if you let go, your own belly tightening once more with that familiar feeling.

Franco. Franco. Franco.

He kisses you just as he finishes. Passionate, eager, heady. You feel him inside you, a different kind of elation filling you as you release all over him.

Franco pulls away to allow yourselves to breathe. He pulls out, rolling over to your side. You hug your folded knees to your chest, too lazy to get up and find something to deal with the mess.

"No hagas eso. Eso es demasiado doméstico," Franco jokes, moving closer and planting a kiss to your shoulder. Don't do that. That's too domestic.

"Relájate, estoy usando anticonceptiva," you reassure with a lighthearted roll of your eyes. Relax, I'm on birth control.

Franco hums, laying an arm over you. He pulls you close and you face him, reaching up to brush away some of his unruly hair.

He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Happy that you're a Formula 1 driver?" You ask, grinning.

Franco chuckles. "Very."

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #f2 x reader #f2 fanfic #f2 smut #fc43 #franco colapinto x reader

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mywritersmind · 16 days ago

Text

THIGH HIGHS - LN4

summary : In which Lando likes thigh high socks and his best friends sister far too much.

listen up : my first time writing full smut… oral, swearing, p in v, teasing, age gap!! fewtrell!youngersister!!

words : 1610

⋆｡‧˚⋆

Lando knew to stay in Max’s room. He was told explicitly to stay put. But Lando has never been good at following directions.

The loud bang in the kitchen was what broke him. He walked down the hall, praying it was Max’s cat or maybe P came home early!

It was not.

Lando mentally swore at the sight. She stood on her toes, trying to reach a mug that was too high. One hand was braced on the counter as her foot popped up. Lando looked at the counter, ceramic pieces shattered on it which explained the loud noise.

He should turn away. He would have, if not for her little squeal as she finally got her fingers on a mug and hopped off the counter, looking directly at him.

It wasn’t her slow blink or the sight of her in a thin oversized shirt… though both those things had Lando close to losing it, It was her socks.

Thigh high, too tight, stark white… socks.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were here.” She smiles softly, turning around and bopping back to the kitchen island to finish her drink making.

She’s lying. Him Max Fewtrell were her teachers growing up, Lando sees right through her.

He clears his throat, “Uh yeah… I could say the same for you.”

She shoots him a small smile before looking back at her mug, the kitchen now filled with the familiar smell of hot chocolate. “Want a cup?” She asks, dipping the spoon in her mouth and slowly pulling it out.

He mindlessly sits across from her as she moves around the kitchen to make more, her hair bouncing behind her.

His eyes were glued to her as she slid around in those bloody socks. They were the same socks she wore all throughout highschool with her prissy little skirt and uniform top.

The same socks that she would flaunt as she draped her legs over the couch while Lando and Max were playing video games.

Lando knew she was in college now but that didn’t make the sight, or his thoughts, any better.

The completion of her outfit, a thin shirt that dipped right above the socks and made it clear that she wasn’t wearing a bra, did not help.

She slides a mug to him, smiling in that sweet and innocent way she always has. “Tell me if you like it. It’s a new recipe.” She sips her hot chocolate at the same time as Lando, her lipgloss being left as a kiss on the ceramic.

Lando nods, “It’s really fucking good.”

This makes her grin grow, biting her bottom lip to restrain herself, “Good. So, what are you doing here?”

Lando quirks a brow, “Max and I are filming later.”

She nods slowly, “Right…”

“Well what are you doing here?” He raises a brow, bringing the mug to his lips again.

“I’m on spring break.”

“And you’re spending it with your brother?”

“I just got back from cabo…” She says as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Her tan did hint at it though. “I go back tomorrow though.”

“Ah, uni… how’s that going for ya?” He leans back in his chair as she backs up against the countertop.

“Great. Minus the guys.” She sighs purposefully, looking around the room. “How’s the whole F1 thing?”

He smiles at her tone, nodding, “Good.”

“You know! It’s funny… Max gets to go all the time, yet I'm never invited.” She pouts, crossing her legs.

“You never ask.” He makes a point to look at her in the eyes when saying it.

“I’m asking now.” Something about her voice screams DONT CROSS! DANGER! GO BACK! But Lando just sits up straighter.

“Fine then, come to australia.”

She finishes her drink, hopping up on the counter so her head is hitting the cabinets now. Lando sucks in a breath as she looks at him, “Only if I get to stay in your room.”

Christ he might just fall off this bloody chair.

“Stop that.” Lando shakes his head, leaning back in his chair and gripping his mug a little too tight.

“Stop what?” She smirks, completely mischievous and faking innocence.

“Being a little shit.”

She scoffs, jokingly. Putting a hand on her chest and frowning, “You wound me, Lan.”

“You not getting enough attention at school? Guys don’t fall at your feet everywhere you go?” It’s bad but the most he can do to stop his words is a mental slap on his face.

“They do… You’re just more fun to play with.”

“I’m too old for you.”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t think it’s hot. Five years isn’t even that bad- Would it make you feel better if I said I’ve gotten with a fourt-”

“No!” He stops her, standing up and washing out his cup to busy himself, “It’s not just the age thing.”

“So you’d get with me if I wasn’t your best friend's sister?” He turns to look at her, her legs squeezed together and practically begging to be touched.

“I didn’t say that.”

Her shirt is riding up her thighs more and it makes Lando’s stomach drop. He licks his lips as she looks at him, “Lan.” she practically whines, “I need someone experienced.”

He shakes his head, his eyes still on her body as she rubs her thighs together, “I haven’t orgasmed in forever… at least, not from a guy.” He lets out a little sigh, walking closer.

“You can touch me.” She looks up at him, her eyes full of lust as the tightness in his pants grows.

“I shouldn’t.” He braces himself on either side of her.

“Then I'll touch myself.” It’s almost a whisper, but definitely a promise. She slips her hand under her shirt, making it pool around her thighs and teasing her cotton underwear.

Lando thinks he might be dreaming as she slips her hand into her panties, her breathing picking up as she leans her head back.

“Lan…” she whimpers, “Feels so good…” she locks eyes with him, his mouth slightly open as he watches her.

He watches her fingers move under the fabric, dipping farther as her moans grow louder. His hands slide from the marble to her thighs, just the outsides in an attempt to control himself.

He’s rock solid now, his hands gripping her legs and feeling the smooth fabric under his fingers. Her nipples are hard and poking through her shirt. Her eyes meet his again as he breathes harder, her hand slowly pulls away, dripping.

She’s holding it in front of his face, inching closer just for him to take her fingers in his mouth. She’s smirking wickedly as he sucks. “Good boy.” she whispers.

Her fingers leave his mouth with a ‘pop’ and just as he goes in to kiss her, she shakes her head and slips her hand into his hair, pushing down.

He watches her eyes as he dips down, pulling down her panties and replacing them with his tongue. She moans, loudly, at the contact.

Every doubt either of them had is gone now, replaced with pleasure and pure need.

She grips his hair as his hands hold her in place, his mouth sucking and linking as one of his hands moves up her shirt, grabbing her tit and making her moan louder.

Lando was in heaven, fucking her with his tongue and listening to her moan under his touch. That is, until she pulled him back up.

“Fewtrell.” He growled, neither of them done.

She pulled him closer, kissing him finally. She bites his lip a bit as he grinds into her, his hard length begging for attention. “Someone’s needy.” She teases as he kisses her harder, his tongue exploring her mouth while he fingers the top of her socks.

“Please.” He’s pretty sure it’s the first time he’s begged a girl for something.

“Please what?” Her breath is hot against his, “Use your words.”

“Let me fuck you.”

This satisfies her, a cheeky smile meeting him as his hands slowly pull off her shirt.

Her nipples are hard when he takes one into his mouth, her head falling back as he runs his tongue over it.

She reaches down and skillfully unzips his pants, moving her hand over his hard clothed dick. He’s throbbing, so sensitive to the touch he’s been waiting for.

“This for me?” She whispers as his head falls on her shoulder, her hand moving back and forth. He nods, unable to speak as she palms him.

He pulls off his pants and boxers, not even caring to get them off his legs before he lines up to her. “I don’t want you to regret this.” He whispers, out of breath and fully blinded by lust, but not stupid.

She looks straight into his eyes, “Fuck me, Lando.”

So he does, pushing into her and almost losing it straight away. He goes slow at first, watching her mouth shake and her head fall back. She grabs onto his shoulder, moaning loudly in the kitchen that’s neither of theirs.

“You’re so fucking hot.” She moans as he thrusts into her, biting her shoulder and kissing her neck, “Yes!”

He whimpers as she tightens around him, wanting to give her the one thing idiot college guys can’t.

She cums in a rush of heated breaths and her nails dragging over Lando’s skin. He cums seconds later on those snow white thigh highs.

He falls against her in a slump, her heart beating fast against him. She’s smiling still, running her hands through Lando’s curls and saying, “I’m definitely coming to australia.”

#fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando norris smut

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snoopyracing · 9 months ago

Text

just us // ln4

pairing: lando norris X reader

word count: 15k (again i don't know how to write short fics)

warnings: cursing, alcohol use, smut (18+) (p in v, no protection, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, slight degradation, and exhibitionsim if you squint)

includes: friends to lovers, hidden relationship, jealous!lando, reader and lando being yappers, and reader X max f X lando friendship

summary: the three times your secret relationship with lando almost gets exposed and the one time it finally does.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The sun had just made her grand entrance to the world, golden rays illuminating the quiet Monaco apartment owned by a certain McLaren F1 driver. White bed sheets askew as the two lovers still slept soundly, soft snores echoing through the bedroom. Clothes from the previous nights activities scattered across the floor, almost making a path from the front door to their shared bed. The idea of waking up on neither of their minds, but the sun ray peeking through the open blind caused one of them to stir.

The light shining directly on your face proved opening your eyes to be a little difficult. Squinting, you blindly reached towards the nightstand to grab your phone, but the empty pats on the wood told you your phone wasn't there. A small groan left your lips, even without your phone to see what time it was, you knew it was early. You knew just from the certain birds that were chirping outside, their melodies always filling your ears when you had to get up early.

As you sat up in bed you noticed your lack of pajamas, and as you spotted the trail of clothes leading out of the bedroom you knew your phone had to be somewhere between here and the front door. Memories of the passionate night the two of you shared came flooding back as you leaned against the headboard, the bed sheet tucked under your arms being the only thing to keep your modesty.

The snores coming from beside you told you that Lando was still sound asleep. He was laying on his stomach with his face turned towards you and his arms tucked under his pillow. His muscular arms on full display as he slept like a baby. The shared sheet only covering his bottom half, allowing for his toned back to be exposed.

It was a rare occurrence for the two of you to get mornings like this, or really any chance for you to just admire him in his natural beauty. Lando was always the first to wake, not that he wanted to be, but his lifestyle required him to. Either waking up to travel for race weeks, work out, or work on Quadrant stuff. The boy was going nonstop, so moments like this you never took for granted. It almost brought a sense of normalcy to your lives.

As he laid next to you right now he wasn't some famous Formula 1 driver, he was just Lando. The sweet boy who always texted you good morning and goodnight when the two of you were apart, the boy who always ate the tomatoes off your sandwiches, who always let you pick the music in the car, who always brings you back a stupid tourist souvenir from races you didn't attend. He was yours, every last bit of him.

Your eyes now fully adjusted to the sunlight, grazed over every detail of him. From his little moles, to his eyelashes that made his eyes even more beautiful, to his perfect nose, his jawline sculpted by the gods, and lastly his heart shaped lips. As your eyes moved down to his back you could resist in reaching out your hand to trace mindless patterns as you counted every little mole and freckle that adorned his back.

Feeling him stir under your touch you quickly snatched your hand back, the last thing you had wanted to do was wake him up. And you had thought you were in the clear until a deep, still filled with sleep, voice filled your ears.

"Why'd you stop for?" His eyes were still closed as he untucked his hand from under his pillow, grabbing your now idle hand and moving it back to its prior location on his back.

"So needy." You teased as you resumed the mindless patterns you drew moments ago.

"Hmm. Only for you." He hummed as he felt your touch on him once again. The sensation almost lulling him back to sleep, until the sun that had awoken you moved towards Lando, the beam of light now adorning his face. He looked almost ethereal to you in this light, a moment you wished you had your phone for to capture. His blue eyes even brighter as the light poured into them. "Jesus." He mumbled as he quickly moved away from the light.

"Yeah I don't think the sun wants us to sleep in today, woke me up too." You glanced back at the open blind, then back to the Brit who now was on his side, hand propping up his head as he looked at you. "Maybe if someone closed the blind last night we'd both still be asleep."

A smirk formed on his face at the memories of last night's events. "Maybe if someone would have kept their hands off of me, I would have remembered to close the blind."

"As if!" You scoffed.

His eyebrows raised, cheesy grin on his face as he recalled your words to him. "Really? Because all I can seem to remember is 'lan please touch me' 'i need you' 'don't sto-"

A pillow came barreling towards his face, his words mumbled as he continued to tease you. "Ok! Enough!" You hollered out, a blush creeping onto your cheeks at his words.

"Awe, is my girl embarrassed?" Laughter laced in his words as he moved closer to you. "Honestly I love the fact that you can't keep your hands off me and the day that I don't is the day I need to be taken out back and shot."

"You're so fucking dramatic I cannot." You laughed, eyes rolling playfully at him. "It's a good thing I love you Norris."

His smile still not leaving his face as he switched to join you in sitting up in bed. His hands reaching out to cup your face as he leaned in closer. "You better." He teased before connecting his lips with yours. The feeling something you prayed you'd never grow tired of. His kisses always had somewhat of a drug feeling to you, always making you want more, point proven as he went to pull away you were grabbing at him, pulling him back in. And when you had finally got your full fix he was the one that looked like a dopey fool, lips swollen and eyes hooded. "God I love you." He stated as his fingers traced from your neck down to your arm.

A smirk was tugging at your lips as you repeated Lando's words back to him. "You better."

The two of you spent the remainder of the morning wrapped in each other. Your head on his chest as he ran his hands through your hair, your fingers tracing patterns on his torso. It was peaceful, until the obvious topic that lingered in both your minds had finally festered enough. "We need to talk about yesterday Lan."

Ah, yes, yesterday. How could he forget? How could he forget that he exposed their hidden relationship to the whole world on accident.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The said hidden relationship had been going on for around seven months, but Lando and you had known each other for years. The two of you met through mutual friends and instantly clicked. A bond formed and in what seemed like no time. Lando was someone you considered a best friend or a platonic other half, he just somehow always got you, knew what you were thinking, knew what to do when you were feeling upset or stressed. For Lando you were the one person who could calm him down after a bad race, who could make him laugh without even trying, and was the first person he thought of when he woke up in the morning. You knew each other's favorite foods, childhood dreams, and embarrassing secrets.

You attending the occasional races that were closer to home soon turned into Lando practically begging you to come to any race you could. Off weeks and breaks always spent in each others company. To any outsider looking in, the two of you were practically already together, at least it seemed like it. But if anyone asked either of you if there were feelings there (which many friends had) the both of you would say no. The both of you had never looked at each other in that way. Yes you loved him and you knew he loved you. And yes you weren't blind he was very attractive, but romantic feelings had never crossed your mind. You always pointed out to the people that prodded you with questions about Lando and you, that the both of you've had relationships in the time you've known each other. None of them ever lasting very long though. The both of them not knowing at the time that they were the main causes of their failed relationships.

Though, everything changed one cold January night in London. He had been handsy with you all night at the club, which Lando's hands on you wasn't a new concept, but tonight was excessive and different. His large hands always somehow planted on your hips, his chin resting on your shoulder. You blamed it on the alcohol, that he was just feeling affectionate, but you couldn't deny the feelings that were starting to fester inside of you. The feeling of him pressed up behind you. The feeling of his breath tickling your neck when he would whisper something in your ear. It was awakening something foreign in you towards Lando.

You could feel people's eyes on the two of you, videos undoubtedly being uploaded to social media. It wasn't the first time you had gotten filmed in public, in fact you were used to it, but under tonights circumstances you felt annoyed. You weren't sure if it was the music pouding in your chest or your heart, but combine that with the random eyes staring at you while Lando's hands are on you and this club was the last place you wanted to be. It felt suffocating almost, and you could barely manage to tell Lando you were heading home before you wriggled out of his grasp and made a b-line for the exit.

The cold air that hit your lungs as you exited the club was a soothing relief. The deep breaths you took as you pulled up Uber on your phone had managed to steady your heart rate, but that lasted for a mere second as a familiar hand landed on your shoulder.

"Y/N. Are you okay?"

Goosebumps formed on your skin and you weren't sure if it was from the cold or his touch. You didn't dare look back at him, just focused your attention on getting a ride. "I'm not feeling great. Think I may have drank too much." Lie. Both you and Lando knew you had barely had two drinks tonight and your very much coherent words did nothing to back up your statement. "I've got an Uber on the way. You stay. I'll be fine." Your eyes never leaving your phone as you spoke.

Lando had shuffled to the side of you and you could feel his eyes burning into you. "No, if you're leaving then so am I. Think I could crash at your place?"

Any other night this wouldn't have been such a big deal, Lando had stayed the night at your place many of times and you vise versa, but tonight was not like any other night. The mere idea of sharing a bed with him (because that's what friends do right?) made your head spin. All you had wanted to do was go home, take a cold shower, and try to rationalize these feelings you've had tonight. But your mouth was thinking faster than your brain and a 'sure' came tumbling out past your lips.

"Ok good." Lando stated, a smile tugging at his lips as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. The simple action causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach and that's when you knew the goosebumps from earlier were caused by the later option.

The 15 minute drive back to your place felt like an eternity.

The simple gesture of Lando putting his hand on your thigh as you got settled in the back seat made your breath catch in your throat. His head quirked towards you, eyebrows furrowed and his long fingers squeezed your thigh as he asked. "You good?"

You were in fact far from good. Your best friend was getting you hot and bothered in the back of an Uber, so no you weren't good.

"Just choked on my own spit, you know me."

The entire ride his hand felt like a thousand pounds on your thigh, the gesture that you never once batted an eyelash at now had you practically wanting to jump out of the moving vehicle.

The smell of his cologne was making your head spin as you tried to focus on anything other than how fast your heart was beating. If it hadn't been freezing outside you would have rolled down the window and stuck your head outside like a dog.

As the driver turned down your street you already had a grip on the door handle and he hadn't even come to a complete stop before you were opening the door and getting out.

Lando was fast on your heels, and by the time you entered your apartment you had decided that you were sleeping on the couch tonight.

A puzzled Lando stood motionless as he watched you carry a pillow and blanket from your room to the couch in the living room. "What are you doing?"

"I'm gonna sleep out here tonight. You can have my bed." You stated as you made your way towards your bedroom to grab some pajamas. The faster you could get ready for bed and away from whatever spell Lando had on you the better.

He had sat down on your bed as you rummaged through your dresser and you hadn't even heard him follow you to the bathroom until he spoke.

"Are you still not feeling good? Is that the reason you're sleeping on the couch? Or are you pissed at me? I'm already sorry for whatever I did."

As you glanced over at him he was leaning against the door frame and the sight of his shirt slightly raised up should not have made your heart beat quicken like it did, but yet here you were. You ignored his question, instead you were digging through the bathroom drawers, on a mission for your makeup wipes, but you couldn't seem to locate them.

"Top left." Lando shuffled into the bathroom towards the said drawer and as he pulled it open there sat your makeup wipes. A small smirk played at his lips as he handed them over to you.

You mumbled out a 'thanks' as you took them from him. As you took off your makeup he grabbed his toothbrush from the medicine cabinet. And as the two of you stood side by side getting ready for bed you realized just how much the scene playing out was nothing shy of domestication. What male friend knows what drawer your makeup wipes are in? And has his own toothbrush in your bathroom, not the guest bathroom? Has his own drawer in your dresser? Has his designated side of the bed? What other male friend touches you the way Lando does? Holds you? What other person in your life knew you as well as Lando? Who else did you have matching necklaces with? Your brain wouldn't stop with the questions, your body autopiloting the rest of your nighttime routine.

You felt Lando's arms sneak around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as the two of you made eye contact in the mirror. "Don't make me sleep alone tonight." He mumbled, before retreating to your bedroom. His words felt like ice in your veins and as you stood there staring back at yourself in the mirror you realized one thing.

You were fucked.

Thinking back to everytime one of your friends asking if Lando and you were together and you saying no, that there were no romantic feelings there now suddenly seemed like a big lie. Jesus christ, you guys were literally together, minus the kissing and sex, the two of you acted like you were in a relationship.

Did you have romantic feelings for Lando though?

The simple thought of 'i'm in love with my best friend' honestly had never crossed your mind. And thinking back to his past relationships there was never any jealousy coming from your side. So was all this that you were feeling tonight just a fluke? Maybe a side effect from the dry spell you've been having when it came to sex? But as you still stood there staring mindlessly at your reflection all the little pieces started to fit together.

You had said there were no feelings because your brain had blurred the lines between friendship and romantic feelings so much you couldn't tell the difference. Maybe it was your brain's way of protecting you, not letting you fully realize how you felt.

You had never gotten jealous or upset when Lando had gotten into relationships and it was because he still treated you like his number one even while seeing someone else. Looking back you had done the same in your past relationships. You remembered that the two of you had expressed vocally to each other that there must have been something wrong with them as to why they couldn't keep a partner for more than a couple months. And now you could see that you two were each others issue. Who wants to be in a relationship where the other person's heart already belongs to someone else?

How could you have been so blind? Because now the thought of 'i'm in love with my best friend' truly did cross your mind.

As you finally came back down to earth you realized you were going to have to face him as you exited the bathroom to get to the living room. The door had been open the whole time and you could hear a random sitcom playing softly on the TV. You didn't even want to look at him, afraid that one look would make you crawl in next to him. But as your feet moved from the cold tile to plush carpet your heart swelled at the sight in front of you.

Lando was already fast asleep on his side of the bed. Light snores emitting from him, his arm outstretched to your side, like he was waiting for you to climb into his arms (like you usually did). Your legs felt like cement pillars as you forced yourself out of your room. The urge to be wrapped up in his arms almost overpowering the sane part of you. You needed to be alone tonight, it was the smart thing to do. You had realized some big things about yourself and your relationship with Lando tonight and the level headed thing to do was to distance yourself until you had your head on completely straight.

That though, was easier said than done.

You were tired when you laid down on the couch, but yet almost two hours later you were still tossing and turning. Your mind being the main contributor as to why you were still up, Lando being the only thing on your mind. The uncomfortable couch didn't help either and you felt sorry for any your friends who had previously crashed on it. You tried to distract yourself, but scrolling on TikTok ended 30 minutes ago and you could only play so much Monopoly Go before you ran out of dice. A loud sigh escaped past your lips as the time on your phone read 3:00. If you would have just slept in your own bed you would have been in a deep sleep right now. But you were determined to not give in to your desires.

Ten minutes later your willpower gave out and you were walking down the hall towards your room. You slowly turned the door handle, not wanting to wake Lando. As you quietly closed the door, you couldn't help but shake your head at the fact that you were sneaking into your own room right now. It felt funny, like you were suddenly a teenager again.

Whatever had been playing on the TV had shut off and the glow of the screen saver was the only thing illuminating the room. Lando was still sound asleep, he was on his side now, and you were thankful that his back would be to you when you climbed into bed. Tip toeing to your side you carefully slid under the covers, the feeling of being in your own bed immediately relaxing you.

In a matter of seconds of you laying down Lando had flipped over, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you into him. For the first time in you think ever, you tensed at the feeling of being in his arms. It wasn't that you didn't want to be in his arms, it was that you did. It was that everything was different now. You weren't just wrapped in the embrace of your best friend. You were wrapped in the embrace of you best friend that you have unknowingly had romantic feelings towards for who knows how long.

The feeling of his thumb rubbing small circles where your shirt had slid up let you know he was awake, but you didn't instigate any conversation.

"Been waiting for ya." His sleep filled whisper tickled your neck, a shiver running down your spine.

Your hand traveled to his arm that had made its home around your waist, your hand covering his in a comforting way. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

Lando had pulled you closer to him, if that was even possible, your back flush against his front.

This was definitely something friends didn't do.

"It's okay. I couldn't sleep that well without you, kept waking up."

His words made your heart race, how have you just now realized that this relationship was not normal? Before you never batted an eyelash when he talked to you like that, but now he had you a blushing mess in his arms.

"What do you do when I'm not with you?" Your words were barely above a whisper.

"Take Nyquil." He deadpanned.

You craned your neck to look back at him, laughter lacing your words. "You're joking?!"

The light from the TV illuminated his face enough for you to see the sleepy smile on his face. "I'm not joking. I honestly think I might have built up a tolerance for it because it didn't work last week."

"Good lord Lan." You stated as you rested your head back on the pillow. "Maybe you should try Melatonin instead. Pretty sure it would be safer."

A simple hum was all you got in response and after a few moments of silence you thought he had fallen back asleep. His hand that had been tracing small circles on your skin had stilled and you took that as a sign for you to go to sleep too. Your eyes hadn't been closed for maybe ten seconds when he whispered something that made your eyes fly open.

"Wouldn't have to take anything to go to sleep if I just had you with me all the time."

Your body slowly turned towards him, your faces inches apart. It was time to face the music and talk about what you two were. Even though you had wished to work through it a little more on your own before talking to Lando. He was clearly testing the waters with you and what a better time to talk about how you were in love with your best friend than when you're in bed with them?

Words scrambled around in your brain, a thousand ways to go about this existed, but you couldn't get your brain and mouth to communicate. The two of you laid there, drowning in eachothers eyes, until you could finally put together a sentence.

"What's going on with us?" Lando only cocked an eyebrow at you, his eyes scanning your face to figure out where you were going with this. "Lan." You were wanting a response from him, not a confused look.

"What are you talking about?"

A sigh came tumbling past your lips, he was going to make you be the one to say it. "Lando. Do you think the way we act towards each other is normal? Like what other friends act the way we do with each other? The way you've been with me tonight is especially not how friends should act. Imagine how weird it would be if it was Fewtrell next to me right now instead of you." You paused, knowing what you were going to say next was going to change everything, and once you said it there was no going back. "We are more than friends Lando."

His mouth opened to say something and then immediately shut. He never thought this day would come. He had realized that things were more than platonic between you two months ago, and they had been the most agonizing couple months. Him knowing that he was in love with you, but too scared to say anything incase you didn't feel the same was driving him crazy. So, he pressed the envelope with his actions and words, hoping you would open your eyes.

His silence was slowly eating away at you. Had you just dreamt up all this stuff about you guys being more than friends? Had you misinterpreted his actions towards you and now made yourself look like a fool? "Please don't tell me this is one sided. God did I just fuc-"

Lando's lips on yours took you by surprise and it took a minute for your brain to catch up to be able to kiss him back. His lips were soft and it was a much different (better) feeling than whenever he had kissed your forehead or any other place that wasn't your lips (which again, how was that platonic?). His hand had traveled up towards your neck, his thumb resting on your cheek as he deepened the kiss. You felt light headed, never in a million years did you think you'd be kissing your best friend like this, but god did you love it. It was slightly embarrassing how you were already craving more as he pulled away, both of you with stupid smiles on your face.

"Yeah I don't think friends do that." He stated as he tried to catch his breath.

"No friends don't do that." The smile on your face still prominent as you stared at Lando.

His hand reached out for yours, your fingers interlocking causing the already prominent butterflies in your stomach to flutter even more. The two of you found your selves staring at each other once more, your eyes getting lost in the sea that was his eyes.

"Is this where we say we love each other?" Lando's words bringing you back to reality.

It wasn't uncommon for you guys to tell each other that you loved one another. In fact the last time those words were spoken was just a couple days ago. But now those three little words meant so much more, it was different now. Everything between the two of you was different now. Even if it didn't seem like that big of a deal it was, at least to you. Your teeth found the inside of your bottom lip as you plucked up the courage to say it.

"Everything is gonna be different now." Lando furrowed his eyebrows, head cocked in a questioning manner. His silence told you to continue speaking. "What I'm trying to say is yes I love you, but now those words mean so much more. We've crossed a line and there is no going back. It's gonna be different in public now, especially with your fans, and oh god we are never gonna hear the end of it from our friends. Do you think-"

Once again Lando had interrupted your rambling by smashing his lips onto yours. The action still taking you by surprise, but your reaction time had sped up significantly since the first time. This kiss was different from the first, it was more loving, slower even. It was like he was trying to calm you, reassure you about whatever you were worried about.

As he pulled away he laid flat on his back, his arms inviting you into them. With no obligation you scooted over to him, your head resting on his chest as his arms wrapped around you. The feeling of him pressing chaste kisses to the top of your head made your eyes flutter shut, you wanted to savor this moment.

"I love you, like a lot, probably too much for my own good. And if I had to guess I would say when we've said it to each other before, deep down we knew how we really felt when we said it. So, I don't think it's any different now because how I feel about you right now is how I've felt about you the whole time. Granted it took me a little while to figure it out, but fuck Y/N. It's always been you. Always has and always will be."

You had never had someone talk about you like that and in the moment you were thankful that you weren't facing Lando or else he would see the tears welling up in your eyes.

"And everyone already thinks we are together, and my fans like you, but if you're worried about going public we don't have to, not until you're ready. I mean hell we can continue to act the way we usually do, but I'll just have to keep my lips off of you, which may be more difficult than I thought." A grin was plastered on his face as he peppered kisses all over your shoulder, giggles erupting from you at his actions.

"I know your fans like me, but to them I'm still just your best friend, I'm not with you. There is a big difference Lando. Also, it wouldn't hurt to keep it from our friends for awhile, maybe just a month or two. Do you really want to hear Max go on and on about how he was right? It will never end. We've deprived ourselves of each other for years. I just want to enjoy us, without everyone else putting their nose where it shouldn't belong.

"Alright then it's decdided."

You lifted your head from his chest. Leaning up towards him you pressed your lips against his. "I love you."

Lando returned the favor, your lips together once again. "I love you too."

Your head rested back on Lando's chest, his arms wrapped around you once more. A moment you could get used to having, the feeling of his lips though something you don't think you'll ever get used to.

"And you're right. I know Fewtrell has bets placed on us, we'd never hear the end of it." Lando's chest vibrated with laughter, and when he laughed so did you. And in that moment there was no better feeling than being in the arms of the man you loved, laughing.

So, from that moment on the two of you kept your relationship hidden. You still acted like before (two best friends who were basically together because they were secretly in love with one another). But kept your intimate moments behind closed doors.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Over the course of your relationship there were a couple times where you guys almost exposed the two of you. The first time was two months in, when a jealous Lando almost spilled the beans.

It was a race week, the Australian GP to be exact. It was the first race of the season that you were attending since the two of you had decided to keep your relationship a secret. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for you to be there during race weekends. Infact last season you had probably been to at least 75% of the races, so you were a well known face around the paddock and garage. But even with you being around people you knew and a familiar atmosphere, you were still slightly nervous as you walked through the paddock. This was going to be the first real test of seeing if you guys could keep your relationship under wraps. There were cameras literally every few feet, which meant no room for slip ups.

As you approached McLaren hospitality you spotted Lando outside the entrance talking to Carlos.

"Hello boys." You greeted as you approached them. Smiles beaming from both of them back at you. "Are you lost Carlos?" You joked with the Ferrari driver.

A smirk splayed across his face. "Ah just came over to see you hermosa." The Spaniard always was a flirt, especially with you. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Lando tense at Carlos shamelessly flirting with you. "When are you gonna lose the papaya and come wear red?"

Rolling your eyes you couldn't help but let out a laugh at his antics, he truly had no shame in his game. "Behave Carlos."

Y/N may have found it funny, but Lando found nothing about this situation funny. And all he could do was stand here and let his ex teammate flirt with his girlfriend.

Before he got to be tortured anymore he was being whisked away to do an interview, but unfortunately for him he still had a clear view of the two of them as he sat down to do his interview.

He could barely focus on what the guy was asking him, his gaze flickering over the guys shoulder to watch you and Carlos every chance he got. He knew whatever Carlos was telling you was not that funny, there was no reason for you to be doubled over laughing.

The interviewer clearing his throat brought Lando's attention back to him. "Sorry could you repeat the question."

"Yes. I was asking after FP3 earlier how confident are you going into qualis in a few short hours?"

Lando gave some bullshit answer, his mind and gaze already wondering back to you and Carlos. His jealousy really starting to peak when Carlos put his hand on your arm as you laughed again at something he said. Lando knew you were just being friendly with Carlos and if anything his jealousy was just from the fact that he couldn't go out there and tell Carlos to fuck off and leave you alone. But when he saw Carlos' hands linger longer than they should have after a hug, the hints of red in his vision weren't from the Ferrari drivers fireproofs. God, how was he going to survive not letting every person in this place that you were his? The interview was thankfully a short one, which may have been due to his inability to focus.

He was handing off the microphone and out of the chair before they had probably stopped recording the interview. He could still see Carlos leaning against the railing outside, but you were long gone.

"Where'd Y/N go?" Lando inquired.

"Said she forgot her sunglasses in the garage earlier."

A simple nod came from Lando as he now joined Carlos in leaning against the railing. Silence had lulled between the two drivers and Lando was thankful that Carlos hadn't brought up Y/N, but seconds later he knew he had spoke too soon.

"You think she's into me?"

Lando nearly choked on his spit at the Spaniard's question. The bluntness of it took him by surprise, but the fact that Carlos really thought he had a chance with Y/N had Lando somewhat amused.

"I don't think so." Lando tried to use a normal voice, if he even knew what that was.

Carlos pushed himself off the railing. His whole body turning to face Lando, who maintained his gaze ahead, not wanting to look over at Sainz. "How do you know she's not?" What was Lando supposed to say? She's not into you because she's in love with me? He had froze up, allowing for Carlos to speak freely. "What are you in love with her or something? Not wanting to let me worm my way in?"

Lando's heartbeat quickened at the mention of him being in love with you. He racked his brain with how he could steer this conversation away from the two of you being together.

"No. She's got a boyfriend." Simple and effective he thought.

Lando still hadn't made eye contact with Carlos, but out of the corner of his eye he could see a smirk on Carlos' face. "Oh yeah who is it?"

So perhaps that wasn't the direction to steer the conversation. "I don't know."

"You're telling me your're her best friend and you don't know who she's dating?" What the hell did Lando get himself into? He had a way of always digging himself into a deeper hole when he talked, and in a situation like this he was really trying to chose his words carefully. But unfortunately for Lando, Carlos took his silence as an answer. "Well I'm taking that as you couldn't think of anyone to say. So when I ask her to dinner tonight, what would she like better? Italian? Chinese? Oh we are in Australia so what about some seafood? Sushi maybe?"

The two drivers now stood face to face as Lando's jealousy turned into irritation. "You're getting your hopes up Carlos. I told you she has a boyfriend."

"Until I have a name I don't believe you."

Lando knew he could just blurt out a random mechanics name from the team and that would pacify Carlos, but his smugness about the whole thing was just rubbing Lando the wrong way. Lando wanted to throw it in Carlos' face that you were his. Not some random guy or any other driver or mechanic's, you were his girlfriend. He knew you would be pissed about him blabbing to Carlos, exposing your relationship. In fact he would be breaking the promise that he made to you, but his judgment was clouded. And like always Lando's mouth worked faster than his brain.

"She's dating-"

"Sorry who's dating who?" Your eyes wide and heart racing as you approached the two drivers once more. You prayed Lando wasn't about ready to say what you thought he was as you stared him down.

Lando's cheeks turned scarlet as he stumbled over his words. He was thankful you showed up when you did to save him from making the mistake, but he also knew you weren't going to be happy.

"We were just talking about who you were dating." Carlos finally spoke up after watching Lando choke on every attempt at talking.

Your eyebrows raised in a fake suprisment at Lando, sarcasm dripping on every word you spoke. "Oh really?! I didn't know my love life was such a public topic? Who am I dating?"

Lando's eyes flashed back and forth between you and Carlos and as you stood there staring back at him he was already trying to telepathically apologize to you.

"He wouldn't say." Carlos stated as he glanced between Lando and you. The atmosphere was tense and he suddenly felt like he was in the middle of something he shouldn't be. He could find you later to talk, but right now he was trying to figure out how to excuse himself. "I think I'm late to an interview. I'll see you guys later."

As soon as Carlos was out of earshot you spoke, your tone hushed. "You better have a good explanation."

Lando glanced around, there were way too many people around for you two to be having this conversation here. Hell he probably shouldn't have even been talking to Carlos about you here earlier. If he would have told Carlos about the two of you, ten other people probably would have heard too. Grabbing your hand he led you through hospitality doors, down a small hallway, and then suddenly you were in what looked to be a storage room. McLaren merch was strewn about and various snacks and drinks lined the counters.

As you heard the lock on the door click you turned to see Lando leaning against it. No words were exchanged, you only raised your eyebrows at him, indicating for him to explain himself.

Lando pushed himself off the door, his hands reaching out for you to hold. When you only gave him a blank expression, he wiggled his fingers, emphasizing his want.

"Baby." The slight smile on his face didn't match the whiny questioning tone of his voice. Rolling your eyes at his dramatics you placed your hands in his, fingers intertwining as he pulled you closer to him. "I'm sorry. I let my jealousy get the better of me. I couldn't stand looking at Carlos shamelessly flirt with you. Then once you left he was talking to me about asking you out and he just wouldn't let up. It was driving me crazy, I just wanted to tell him to fuck off, that you were mine. And clearly I almost did until you walked up."

His eyes scanned your face for any indication that you weren't completely pissed off at him, but to his surprise your lips were on his. It was a quick kiss, his brain barely comprehending it was happening before you were pulling away, only making him desperate for more.

"I'm not mad, it just took me by surprise when I walked up and that was coming out of your mouth. I also knew he was flirting with me, why do you think I finally left? I could only play nice for so long, so I made up the excuse of me leaving my sunglasses in the garage." You paused, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. A small smile washed across Lando's face as he leaned into your touch. "Just please from now try and keep your jealousy in check? I've liked these past couple months with just us two, not us two and millions of other people. Plus, you have nothing to be jealous about. I love you. Not Carlos or Charles or-"

Lando's eyes widened. "Wait how many other drivers have been flirting with you?"

"It's not important. All I was trying to say is that I love you and only you!"

Lando scoffed, his hands grabbing at your waist, pulling you flush against him. "I love you too baby, but I'm gonna have to hide you or something. I don't think my heart can take seeing all these guys fawn over you."

Your hand reached up to his hair, your fingers running through his mop of curls. While his hands were placed firmly on your hips, his fingers toying with the fabric of your shirt. "You'll survive pretty boy."

"Oh so you think I'm pretty?" Lando teased as he leaned in to satisfy his desire to taste your lips after the tease of a kiss moments ago.

"Yes, but you're my pretty boy."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The second time your relationship was almost exposed was entirely your fault. Getting wasted + missing your boyfriend = blabbing to your friends.

To say perhaps you had been neglecting your friends since being with Lando was an understatement. Always denying their invites out because you were either working, going to a race, or saying you were working when really you were with Lando.

You had been trying to make plans for over a month with your friends, but it never seemed like anyone's schedule lined up, until this weekend. It was an off week for Lando and he had suggested that your friends and you have a girls weekend in Monaco, even saying you guys could stay at his apartment. Though, to you, a hotel sounded safer. You had way too much of your stuff at his place for it to seem like anything platonic.

So, here you guys were, getting ready in a hotel not even ten minutes away from Lando's apartment. Music playing in the background as you rummaged through your suitcase for the perfect outfit for tonight. Laughter erupting from everyone as you recalled funny memories from past nights out. It felt good to be with them again, you had missed this, missed them.

Work had been absolutely draining you these past couple weeks, deadlines and unread emails haunted your dreams. You had even been so busy that you had to miss Lando's race last week. It had been almost two weeks since you had even seen him. Facetime being your main form of communication as of recently. But tonight wasn't about Lando, it was about going out and having a good time with your friends. Although, someone should have told drunk you that.

You're all piling into an Uber before you know it, skirts and dresses slightly too short, but no one cared because that's the fun of it all. The conversation consists of who's going to get the most drunk and from the pregaming that took place back at the hotel it could be anyone. It then shifts to who might go home with someone tonight and of course because you've been 'single' the longest everyone says you need to be the one to. And of course you play along saying "Honestly I need to. It's been awhile since I've gotten any action."

Which wasn't a lie, you hadn't seen Lando in two weeks. Your work being primarily based in London and him being in another country for almost a week. Then this weekend being a girls weekend had provided less than enough time for you guys to even talk on the phone, let alone fool around.

"Well we are in Monaco. Let's pray our girl bags a hot millionaire." Your friend stated.

Already accomplished that.

The bass from the music rattles in your chest as you walk through the club with your friends in tow. The bar is of course the first stop, you open a tab and tell the girls to get what they want. You decide on a rum and coke, you weren't planning on going absolutely crazy tonight, but a couple of these plus the pregaming at the hotel would have you feeling happy tonight.

"Let's dance!" One of your friends shouts as she's already heading into the swarm of bodies.

You swayed your body to the beat, it felt good to finally let loose and have some fun. Your eyes closed as you got lost in the music, warmness radiating through you from the alcohol in your veins, but also the other dancing bodies around you.

As the night progressed so had your alcohol consumption. You honestly weren't planning on going this hard, but everything was just going down so smoothly and you were having such a good time. But you knew as your friend brought over everyone a double round of tequila shots you were done for. You were a big girl and you could have said no, but you were already so inebriated at that point the idea of saying no never crossed your mind. Only I'm gonna regret this in the morning as you said bottoms up.

Before you knew it you were wasted and as your friends tried to rally you so you all could leave you were proving to be a little more than difficult. It didn't help that your friends, although not as gone as you, were also clearly drunk. They had somehow managed to get you outside amidst your protests that the 'night was still young', at two in the morning.

You were trying to stand upright as you waited for your friend to get an Uber, but apparently to you the pavement looked more comfortable and down you went. Your knees and arms were scraped up, but you didn't feel anything, at all. You were practically floating at this point, one more shot and you would have been at black out level.

"Ok. Just sit on the curb. It's gonna be a minute for the Uber." Your least drunk friend said as she clamped a hand on your shoulder, preventing you from getting back up.

"Ugh. Just call my boyfriend he can come get us." In your drunken state you hadn't realized what you had said.

"Your boyfriend!? Who's your boyfriend?" You had the attention of all your friends now.

Pulling your phone out of your clutch you thanked the Apple Gods for face id because there was no way you could have put in your passcode. Getting to your recent calls was easier said than done and at one point you had accidently called your Mom. "Oops. Sorry Mom." You giggled. Your fingers and brain weren't working in sync so you resorted to Siri, which was not a good idea either.

"Siri call Lando."

Your friends necks nearly broke from how fast they turned them towards your phone.

"Sorry I didn't get that." Siri chimed off

"Siri call Lando Norris."

Failed.

"Siri call Laaanndoooo."

Failed again.

"Siri-"

"Ok enough. I'll just call him. Uber cancelled on me anyways." Your friend stated as she held her phone up to her ear. "Hey Lando. It's Y/F/N. Yeah sorry for calling so late. No everything's ok it's just that our Uber cancelled and Y/N mentioned something about you being able to come get us? If not it's fine- Oh ok great thanks. We are at the club with the big neon sign on the front. Yeah ok see you in a couple minutes."

"Who was that?" You asked as your friend hung up the phone.

She sat down next you on the curb, her arm wrapping around your shoulders, your head leaning to rest on her shoulder. "Lando. He's coming to get us."

Your eyes widened as your head perked up at the mention of his name. "Oh good. I've missed him!"

Your friends all exchanged questioning glances. Not sure if Lando was the boyfriend you had mentioned, if you were so drunk that you thought Lando was your boyfriend, or if they were so drunk that they had misinterpreted what you were saying. They all had always said that you two had to be together, that you had to have feelings for him, but in this drunken instance they weren't sure what to believe. The saying drunk words are sober thoughts worked in this situation, but they too were drunk, so who was the wiser?

As Lando pulled up to the club he could see you sitting on the curb with your friend, your other friends hovering behind you. Putting the car in park he got out and made his way across the street to you. He wasn't sure what state you were in, but from the scrapes on your knees, glossy eyes, and overly enthusiastic yelling when he approached he knew you weren't just tipsy.

"Lan!" You yelled when you saw him crossing the street. You tried to get up, but your legs gave out. Luckily for you Lando's arms were wrapped around you before you hit the pavement again. "Careful. Think you might've went a little too hard tonight huh?" His cologne invaded your senses, combine that with the hoodie and sweats he had on and all you wanted to do was be in his arms tonight. "Hi guys." He greeted your friends, who were all taking in the scene in front of them. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for Lando and you to be close like this, but after what came tumbling out of your mouth earlier they were second guessing everything. "Come on let's get you guys back to the hotel."

Lando had to help you into the car and then buckle you in while your friends piled in the back seat. "I don't wanna go to the hotel I wanna go to yours." A pout planted firmly on your face.

Ignoring your plea Lando closed the passenger side door and walked back to the drivers side. The car wasn't even a couple minutes from the club and you had passed out, small snores coming from you.

"Are you guys together?" Your friend's question made Lando's heart skip a beat. His eyes flickered up to the rearview mirror, your friends eyes staring back at him made his heart race even more.

"No. Why?" He prayed his tone was normal and not one of a man keeping said relationship a secret.

"She pretty much said you were her boyfriend."

Fuck. He knew she was drunk, but not that drunk to blab about their relationship. He racked his brain on how to spin this around.

"Unfortunately I'm not." Maybe admitting to her friends that he wanted to be with her, but wasn't, might work?

"What do you mean unfortunately you're not? Is this you finally admitting to what we have all known already?" Another friend asked.

Lando glanced over to you in the passenger seat. Your head leaning against the window, hair frizzy, the smell of tequila radiating off of you. Even in your drunken mess he thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world. "Maybe. I'm just afraid I can't give her what she needs." His eyes flickered back to the rearview mirror, questioning looks stared back at him, encouraging him to continue. "I can't always be there 24/7 like a normal boyfriend. Yeah she can travel with me, but she has a life and a job too. I wouldn't want her to lose that aspect of herself just to be with me. I wouldn't want her to think that she came second in my life, because even now right now she doesn't."

What Lando had said was true, it was a insecurity, hell even a fear that he's had for quite some time. The idea of him not being enough for you scared him. The fact that maybe one day you would grow tired of the inconsistency and leave him made him sick. He tried to be the best boyfriend he could, but some days he was so busy that he was lucky to send you a couple texts. It was hard having a career that he loved be so much of his life, something that at this point was a literal part of him. But on the other hand, you were also a part of him. He never wanted you to feel like you came second in his life, because at the end of the day racing doesn't last forever, and he wanted you to be the one that was still there after he took his last lap.

"If that's all that is holding you back from telling her how you feel then you're stupid. How long have you guys been in each other's lives? She's used to your crazy schedule and half the time she makes it work and is with you. She may deny it every time we bring it up, but she's in love with you Lando. Don't let the one person who would literally go to hell and back for you slip away because you're afraid of what might happen."

As the car stopped in front of the hotel Lando turned back to look at your friend. "Clearly you didn't drink as much as Y/N."

"I'm being serious Lando. Tell her." A serious look plastered on her face as your two other friends had started to exit the vehicle. Lando had unbuckled your seatbelt, but you were too knocked out to notice. "Just take her back to your place, it's where she wanted to go anyways. But I swear when we meet up tomorrow and you two aren't together I'm gonna strangle you Norris!"

She had joined your other friends on the sidewalk as Lando rolled down your window to talk to her. "She's completely wasted. I'm not telling her tonight."

"Well then in the morning! Either way you better do it!" Your friend hollered before they all gave him a wave goodbye and made their way into the hotel.

With a sigh Lando rolled your window back up and reached over to buckle you back in. Stirring slightly, you turned in the seat as Lando's hands brushed over you. "We're going home baby girl."

Music played softly on the radio as he drove the winding streets back to his apartment. It seemed like the act had worked on your friends. That you two were still the stubborn lovesick fools to them and not two people hiding their relationship.

By the time Lando had parked the car back at his apartment you had woke up. Something he was grateful for because (though he would never say this outloud) you were an absolute pain to wake up sober, let alone drunk.

"Come on baby, we're home." Lando stood in front of the passenger side, hands out to help you out of the car. A groan came from you as you dramatically swung your legs out, grabbing ahold of Lando's hands he helped you out the rest of the way. With his arm securely around your waist the two of you made your way to the elevator. "My knees hurt." You whined as you walked (stumbled).

"Yeah it seems that you took a nasty tumble." Lando shuffled you into the elevator, pressing the button for his floor with his free hand. You glanced down at your knees, even with your blurry vision you could see the dried blood. "Your arms too. Gonna have to wrap you in bubble wrap next time you go out."

You slowly lifted your arms as you tried to focus your vision to get a good look at them. But it was the same as your knees all you could see was blurry dried blood. "Well shit." You sighed, head falling onto Lando's shoulder.

As soon as you got into the apartment Lando was already bent down in front of you. Your hands on his shoulders as he helped you out of your heels.

"Come on we've got to get you cleaned up." His arm was back around your waist as he led you towards the bathroom. As you sat on the toilet seat lid you waited patiently for Lando to grab the first aid kit. Sleep was creeping its way back in as you sat there, your eyelids feeling heavy. You hadn't even realized you had dozed off until the feeling of a warm washcloth on your knees woke you up. As Lando gently cleaned your knees and arms you watched him. Even in your drunken state you heart couldn't help but swell at him taking care of you. Once he had cleaned and bandaged your injuries he grabbed your makeup wipes from one of the drawers. Your eyes fluttering shut as he did his best to remove your makeup, giggling as he cursed your waterproof mascara.

"Ok time to wash your face."

You had tried to get up to go to the sink, but his large hands pushed you back down. "I don't need you falling again, just stay put."

So you sat there as he applied your face wash, making sure to get the remaining remnants of your makeup off. And as he was applying your moisturizer you couldn't help but stare at him with adorning eyes. You were so utterly in love with him it made you sick. This wasn't the first time he had taken care of you like this, but this was the first time since you'd realized you loved him. And in this moment his actions just simply meant so much more to you than they ever did back then.

"I love you." You said as he rubbed in the last little bit of moisturizer.

His eyes met yours as he looked down at you, his hands cupping your cheeks as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Love you too baby."

He helps you brush your teeth and then seconds later you're crawling into bed. "Nope. I love you, but you are not cuddling up to me tonight in that scratchy dress." He throws some of your pajamas at you as a groan came from you. "Come on dress off."

"Jeez at least take me out to dinner first Norris." You joked as you slowly got off the bed. A smirk toyed at his lips as he rolled his eyes at you. "Are you gonna unzip it for me or?" Lando wasted no time, his fingers pulling the tiny zipper down. As the fabric fell to the ground he placed a chaste kiss on your shoulder, a sign of affection rather than sexual desire.

Thankfully you were able to dress yourself as you were slowly sobering up. Climbing back into bed you were greeted with Lando who had already took his hoodie off and was waiting for you to crawl into his arms, an offer you gladly took.

"I've missed you. I've missed this." You stated as you got settled into his embrace.

A kiss was placed on your temple. "Me too."

You were asleep within minutes, Lando not long after. But when you awoke the next morning with a hangover from hell some things that had slipped your mind came to light as the sun rose. Like the fact that you were out with your friends last night, but had somehow ended up at Lando's.

When Lando woke up he explained everything to you, about how you blabbed and how he hopefully convinced them that you weren't together. That he was just a lovesick fool who wanted to be with you. "They are gonna be expecting us to be together or at least expect me to have confessed my love when we go to lunch later." He was leaned against the headboard, your head in his lap as he ran his fingers through your hair.

"Do you think they even remember?" You asked.

"They weren't as drunk as you, so most definitely."

You lifted your head up to look at him. "Well, just because they are expecting it doesn't mean it has to happen."

So when you guys went to lunch your friends heads perked up when they saw the two of you, hopeful glances shared between them.

"So any news to share from last night or recently?" One of your friends asks as you're browsing the menu. Thankfully the menu covered your face at the moment, because you were trying so hard not to laugh at her question.

You played along though, acting like it was a regular conversation starter. "If you consider me deciding to never go out again after last night news then sure. I've got a hangover from hell."

You weren't even looking, but you could sense your friends eyes darting towards Lando, and a slight jostle from under the table was undoubtedly one of your friends kicking Lando.

"Although, it's still considered brunch hours, maybe I'll get a mimosa. Always heard nothing like getting over a hangover by drinking more." Acting like the tension between Lando and your friends was nonexistent you continued talking. "What are you guys thinking? The turkey club sounds good."

Lando on the other hand was fighting for his life. Between the stares and his now sore shin, he was wishing he would have never came. His phone vibrated on the table and as he picked it up it was a text from one of your friends and it only said one word.

y/f/n: chicken!!!!

At least his cover up worked last night, now hopefully they could just make it through this lunch.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The third time, technically you both were to blame, but you both blamed each other.

The unrelenting sun beat down on Lando as he climbed out of the car after probably the worst FP3 of his career. Granted it was only a practice run, but if this was how the car was going to perform in the actual race then he was done for. Not to mention this was his home race, which any driver wants to perform well in. There was a heatwave at Silverstone this weekend, one of the contributing factors in his shit practice run. The others; absolutely no grip on the tires, sweltering temperatures in the cockpit, and the fact that he couldn't stop thinking about you. Specifically how you looked in the garage before he went out for FP3.

From the get-go this morning when you put on that papaya (let's be real it was orange) tank top that cupped your breasts just right he knew today was going to be a long day. Then when he saw you in the garage the only thing he could think about was taking you back to his drivers room and fucking you till you couldn't walk. The slight sheen of sweat on your skin from the boiling sun gave you a glowing look, that goddamn tank top, and your hair tied up in a ponytail had basically given him a semi. But it was something he could mark off his "insane things to happen while in a race car" list.

1. have a hard on while driving.

As he walked into the garage he was thankful his race suit was slightly baggy in the groin area. When his race engineer started to go over data and possible strategy everything went in one ear and out the other, his mind preoccupied with only down right nasty thoughts about you. His grip on the table that he leaned on getting tighter with each passing moment. He didn't dare glance in your direction, afraid that his slight issue would turn into a full blown one.

You on the other hand were oblivious to how Lando was feeling at the moment. You thought the strained look on his face was from the heat and the not so great practice, not from him wanting to bend you over the first chance he could get. You hadn't even realized Lando was done talking to Will, too engrossed in your phone, until you felt Lando's grip on your arm.

His eyes were like saucers as you looked up at him. His tone was demanding yet he spoke softly to you as he didn't want anyone else to hear. "Come on."

Not one to oblige, you quickly following behind him to where you soon realized was to his drivers room. You figured he wanted to rant or just relax for a little bit before qualifying, but oh boy were you proven wrong as soon as Lando closed the door.

"You've been driving me fucking crazy all day." The almost animalistic tone of his voice went straight through you. His eyes dark as he made his way over to you, hands harshly gripping your waist. Your words were caught in your throat as you stood there, wide eyes staring back at Lando. "Oh don't act like you didn't wear that tank top on purpose. You knew the way it makes your tits look would drive me crazy."

His fingertips traced along the low neckline of your tank top, his touch causing a shiver to run up your spine. A smirk developed on his face as his fingertips traveled up the straps, your neck, and finally landing on your ponytail. His long slender fingers wrapped around it, and you knew what he was about to do, but that still didn't stop the moan that came barreling out of you when he tugged on your ponytail.

"You little slut you liked that didn't you?" Now it was your turn to smirk at him, a small laugh even escaped past your lips, which you knew would go straight through him. "You think this is funny huh? Think I should teach you a lesson."

In an instant his lips are on yours. It's messy and rushed, teeth clashing as he's guiding you towards his physio table. When the back of your legs hit the table he wastes no time in lifting you up onto it. His hands are already tugging at your tank top as he stands between your legs. You break apart just long enough to let him basically rip your shirt off and then his lips are back on yours. His hands had migrated from your hips to your breasts, rolling and pinching your nipples with his fingertips. The stimulation going straight to your core as he swallowed your moans.

Grabbing at his fireproofs you tried to pull him as close as possible to you. You could already feel how wet you were getting, your desire for him growing more by the minute. As he's attacking your neck you reach down and undo the button of your shorts and somehow shimmy them off while still sitting.

"That desperate for me huh? Undressing yourself?" He whispered in your ear, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.

"Only for you." You words breathy as he soothes the spot on your collarbone that will need to be covered in the morning.

Almost like a natural reflex your hips start rolling towards Lando, impatience setting in. All you want is for him to touch you and clearly he got the signal. His hand moved down to your clothed core, fingertips ghosting along it.

Whines emitting from you as you rocked your hips towards his hand. "Lan please."

"You gotta tell me what you want baby girl." His pupils blown as he grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"I want you to fuck me with your fingers." He felt his already painfully hard cock twitch at your words. No matter how many times you guys fucked, he was always surprised at how filthy your mouth was.

And as the natural born pleaser that he was, he pushed your panties to the side and immediately ran his fingers through your drenched folds. "Fuck baby your soaked."

You leaned back on the table to give him better access and as he slipped the first two fingers in your head fell back. Your moans echoing through the room as his fingers slide in an out of you.

"You gotta be quiet." He says as he adds a third finger.

His thumb works your clit and as his fingers curl up and find that spot that makes you see stars your biting down on his shoulder to try and keep quiet. You can feel yourself getting close, that pit in your stomach growing as those long fingers of his somehow repeatedly hit your g-spot. Lando can tell your close just from the way your breathing.

"Come on baby. Gonna be a good girl and come all over my fingers?"

His words of praise only adding to the the pleasure you were feeling right now. And Lando couldn't help but let out a chuckle at your walls clenching around his fingers as he praised you. Seconds later your coming undone, moans muffled by Lando's shoulder as your orgasm washes over you. His fingers continue to work even through your orgasm, something he always did. Always teetering on the line of overstimulation with you.

But this time he doesn't eventually let up, he's got you pushed all the way back on the table with your legs wide open. His free hand has you basically pinned to the table as he's relentlessly pumping his fingers into you, thumb still circling that small bundle of nerves. Your squirming under him, legs shaking as he teases you with his hushed words.

"Awe can my baby not take it? You want me to stop?"

You can barely think straight, every nerve in your body feels like it's on fire. The sound of his fingers in your wet cunt is borderline sinful. He's got a devilish grin on his face as he starts to slow his fingers, and you remember you didn't answer his question. The pitiful 'don't stop' that you're able get out is sufficient enough for Lando and he goes back to that same toe curling pace.

Lando knows your coming before you do, he knows your body like the back of his hand. The way your walls clench around his fingers and how your breathing gets rigid tells him you're on the edge. With one final curl of his fingers your back is arching as your hands grip the sides of the table. You were sure that you were speaking in tongues, the pleasure so intense you don't even realize how loud your being until Lando's got his hand clamped over your mouth. Eyes wide as he's shushing you, but he's removed his fingers from your cunt and decided to solely focus on your clit, and you think you might die if he tries to give you three orgasms back to back like that.

Lando can feel his cock throbbing in his race suit as he looks at how wrecked he's got you with just his fingers. He knows he can give you another orgasm without even using his cock, he knows you can take it, but his desire to be buried so deep into your pussy that you can feel him in your stomach overrides his pleaser mentality.

He lets you squirm for a few more moments before taking his hand away. His fingers immediately entering his mouth as he licks them clean. You watch him through hooded eyes, chest heaving as you’re trying to come down from your back to back orgasms. The desire for his mouth to be attached to your throbbing clit growing as you watch him. You knew you were being greedy, but you also knew he’d do it if you asked him. The man loved nothing more than being between your thighs. Always thinking that if he died while eating your pussy at least he’d die doing something he loved. And you thought you’d be getting your wish until he’s tugging his race suit down the rest of the way, fireproofs following after.

His cock slaps against his stomach as soon as it's free and you truly don't think you'll ever get used to just how thick it is. Your pussy already fluttering at the thought of him stretching you out. His hands are grabbing at your ankles, pulling you towards the edge of the table. And you don't realize just how much of a mess you had made on it until your ass is basically gliding over the table. Your lips collide for a brief moment as you resume your previous position of sitting on the edge of the table. His tongue exploring your mouth as your hand reaches down to his cock. The simple action of your thumb running over his tip had him moaning into your mouth, his hips bucking towards your hand.

In one swift motion he's got you bent over the table and you're practically dripping with anticipation. Lando's got one hand gripping your waist and his painfully hard cock in the other. The small moan that you let out just by him rubbing his tip between your folds is like music to his ears. Usually he would tease you, but he'd been thinking about this exact moment all damn day, he wasn't going to waste any time teasing. You're both trying to be quiet, but the feeling of just him pushing the tip in has both of you gasping. The feeling of him stretching you out is one of your favorite things in the world. How you can feel every inch of him, feel the vein on the underneath side of his cock, the slight curve in it that always hits your g-spot, it was like a drug that you couldn't get enough of.

By the time he's bottomed out and gotten you nice and accustomed to him he's ready to be absolutely feral. He leans down to your ear, his hands roaming your body as he speaks. "You gonna be a good girl for me? Gonna take my cock like the good little slut you are?" All you can do is whimper in response, but that's all he needs to hear. His large hands are on your waist in an instant and he slowly starts to build up his pace.

He can't help but be mesmerized by how your pussy engulfs his cock as he fucks you. He gets lost in it, his brain (and cock) pussy drunk, and soon enough he's ramming into you so hard that the table is hitting the wall. You're trying so hard to stifle your moans, but he's fucking you like he hates you and you can't get enough of it. You're sure someone has heard you, and if not with your moans then they've got to hear the physio table banging against the wall. And you know this is the moment that is gonna expose your relationship, but you don't even care because he's fucking you so good right now.

When Lando reaches up and grabs your now very messy ponytail and yanks on it at the same time as him hitting your g-spot you couldn't even try to hold in your moan. That in turn got a reaction out of Lando. "You've gotta be quiet pretty girl. You don't want someone to walk in now do you?" He's still got ahold of your ponytail and he lifts your head slightly as he speaks to you. "But I bet you'd probably like that huh? You'd like for everyone to hear how good I'm making you feel. How you're taking my cock so well. Bet you'd even like if someone walked in on us wouldn't you my little slut?" His words made your walls clench around him, which earned a 'fuck' from him.

That familiar feeling in your stomach had started to appear and after the two orgasms earlier you knew you couldn't hold it off for very long. If it wasn't for the table beneath you, your legs would have given out a long time ago.

"Lan I'm close." You were barely able to get that out. You were so fucked out you could barely keep your eyes open, let alone speak.

Lando was close himself, his pace slightly faltering. "I know baby. I'm almost there."

Your toes are curling as your trying to hold it together, but you're beyond overstimulated at this point, it doesn't help that he's reached down and started to rub circles on your clit. Your brain is practically scrambled, the pleasure becoming almost painful, tears start to form in your eyes.

"Lan-" Is all you can squeak out before your third orgasm for the night comes washing over you. Your body damn near convulses on the table as your vision goes white. Lando has to put an arm under you to keep you up right, your body so overstimulated it had given out.

"Oh my god!" You couldn't keep it together, because yet again he was fucking you through your orgasm.

You don't even hear the knock on the door or the person on the other side speak until you hear Lando shout. "I'm fine mate!"

"You sick fuck I know what you're doing!"

A familiar Australian accent filled your ears.

"Go away Oscar." Lando yells as he's still pounding into you, tears steadily streaming down your cheeks.

"I'm looking for Y/N. Have you seen her? She has my sunglasses."

Fuck. You had forgotten about him asking you to hold onto them. And if you remembered correctly you had them on your shirt, the same shirt that Lando practically ripped off of you. You both glanced down at the floor to see Oscar's sunglasses next to your shirt. Oops.

"She's probably in hospitality. Now leave."

You don't know if Oscar responded or if he had even left because the feeling of Lando finally coming undone had spurred on your fourth and final orgasm. Silent screams came from you, your throat raw, your body exhausted. You had never experienced this much pleasure in your life. If you had to describe it in one word you would have to say euphoric.

Lando's hips had finally came to a stop, sweat dripping off him as he tried to catch his breath. If he said this was the best sex of his life he would not be lying. You were both so fucked out, you much more than him, the idea of the fast approaching qualifying on neither of your minds. He stayed inside you for quite some time as his hands caressed your body, especially the spots that he know would be bruised in the morning. Sweet nothings were whispered in your ear, he knew this was a lot for you, but he was so proud of you for taking it so well and he wanted you to know that.

When he finally pulled out the sight of his cum dripping out of you was damn near pornographic. A image that would definitely be apart of his future wet dreams, but when he heard a whimper come from you he was brought back to reality. "I know baby. I'm right here." He's got you in his arms in an instant and a gentle kiss pressed to your lips.

He's got you both cleaned up as best as he can and got you wrapped back up in his arms as quickly as he can. He thinks maybe he shouldn't have gone this hard here, should have done this at home where he could have ran you a bath or something more loving, but his worries dissipate when you speak up.

"There is no way Oscar didn't know I was in here. So I guess if this is how we let everyone know about us. At least it was enjoyable."

Lando laughs a little at her optimism. "We've always somehow made it through our mishaps unscathed. So I'm sure we will this time."

And somehow by what you two would consider a miracle you do. Oscar never mentions anything to the two of you about that day and neither does anyone else. In all reality you knew Oscar probably knew and everyone else in a mile radius, but they just kept it to themselves. Probably figuring it was too awkward to bring up, but whatever the reason you were thankful and somehow incredibly lucky.

But from that day forward you couldn't step foot in Lando's driver room without thinking of the events that took place on that hot July day at Silverstone.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

By the time summer break had arrived the both of you were very much surprised that your relationship was still private. Looking back at all your mishaps and slips of the tongue, it was a miracle the whole world didn't know by now. The two of you had recently discussed the idea of launching your relationship, but you were honestly content with how things had been.

So, you decided to let it happen organically. You guys would continue to have a private relationship, but if there was a slip of the tongue you two wouldn't try to back peddle and save your asses. The both of you agreeing that it was going to happen sooner or later, so it was better to just accept what the universe had wanted to happen so many times before. Although, you just didn't think that it was going to happen the way it did.

How would an F1 driver spend a Friday night while on his summer break? Going out? On vacation? Going out while on vacation? All wrong if you are Lando Norris.

On a beautiful Friday night in August you were sat between Lando and Max on a stream, reading through the chat as they talked about something undoubtedly dumb.

One comment caught your eye, you laughed as you read it aloud. "When I show up to a yapping contest but Lando and Max are my opponents."

Their conversation halted, both of them faking offence. "Don't let Y/N fool you guys. She's the biggest yapper out of us three." Lando stated.

"I am not!"

All three of you now in a yapping contest, each person trying to defend themselves. A moment that will surely be clipped and used as a reaction video on Twitter before the stream is over.

Though the conversation quickly moved on as you guys tried to decide what to do. Max had promised it wouldn't just be a sit and chat stream, yet that is all you guys had done for the past thirty minutes. "Ok chat, let us know what you want us to do. We are at your mercy on this Friday night." You stated, eyes scanning the screen as people's ideas started to pour in.

user1: play f124!

user2: cinnamon challenge lmao

That one caught your eye, laughter lacing your words. "Cinnamon challenge? What is this 2012?"

user3: take funny quizzes

user4: mukbang!!!!

user5: yes mukbang!! we need a repeat of the famous 2022 mukbang stream.

You chuckled at the mention of the previous mukbang the three of you did. It was one of Max's most viewed streams, which you never understood why. All you guys did was stuff your face and attempt some very bad ASMR. But people still used clips from it to this day on Twitter. Nonetheless, you were always down for a good feast, your mind already running through what you should get.

Raising your eyebrows you glanced back and forth between Max and Lando. "Mukbang?"

Lando and Max's eyes lit up at your propsition. "Let's do it."

"Ok chat. Mukbang 2024 will commence shortly." You stated as Max pulled out his phone to see what sounded good. You leaned over to look as he scrolled through the options. When your favorite Sushi place popped up he immediately stopped scrolling, your eyes meeting in a knowing glance. No words were spoken as you both shook your heads yes. You both knew Lando would be pissed, but you didn't care. You hadn't had it in so long, your mouth was practically watering at the thought of it.

"Ok. We are getting sushi." You didn't even look in Lando's direction as you spoke, you could just imagine the disgusted look on his face.

"Ugh. No!" His complaint fell on deaf ears as Max and you were already placing your order. "Guys please why don't we do pizza or something?"

"Two against one mate. You want your usual spring rolls?" Max glanced up from his phone, eyebrow raised in question towards Lando.

And like a child Lando leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed and a pout on his face. "I guess." No matter how hard he tried to like fish, he just couldn't stomach it. In fact, he had tried it multiple times since you had been in his life, thinking if the women he loved liked fish then maybe he could learn to like it. But each time he was running for the toilet seconds later.

"Should be a good stream guys, it'll just be Lando freaking out the whole time." You teased, gently nudging his side with your elbow. An eye roll was all you got from him. "Oh come on you know I love you."

You could see the downturned corners of his mouth start to slowly turn upward as he tried to fight the smile that was wanting to break free. A slight blush had formed on his cheeks as the smile you loved so dearly spread across his face. You two, even before getting together, always told one another you loved them. So it was truly no big deal, you had done it in public, it wasn't a foreign concept. But for some reason the chat was going ballistic over it tonight.

user1: "friends" my ass

user2: try not to smile like an idiot when your "best friend" tells you they love you challenge. level impossible for lando

user3: i too would be a smiling blushing mess if Y/N told me she loved me

user4: max is third wheeling tonight i see.

You just laughed and shook your head. At least people were being nice and it seemed like they liked the idea of the two of you being together.

While you waited for the food to arrive you three answered some questions and chatted about random things, even recalling some funny memories between the three of you. Just as you were in the middle of a funny story that involved Lando and two birds there was a knock on the door.

Seconds later there was an array of takeout containers in front of you, mouth watering as you wasted no time in digging in. Lando on the other hand sat there with his spring rolls, trying to ignore the pieces of raw fish that were inches away from him.

"You wanna try? I got a California roll for you just incase you were feeling adventurous." You asked Lando, a piece tucked between your chopsticks as you held it up towards him. Furiously shaking his head no, he stuffed his mouth with a bite of spring roll. "It's like a starter roll for sushi newbies, can't even tell that there is crab in it. I promise."

"I can tell believe me. Remember when you had me try crab rangoons?" Yes, you did remember it because he was gagging after the first bite.

"Fine. More for me and Max." You popped the piece of sushi into your mouth, accepting that he was never going to like seafood or anything seafood adjacent.

As Lando watched you eat a piece that had a huge thing of raw fish on top his face twisted in disgust. At the same time you glanced over at him, wanting to ask him how his spring rolls were. But the words that came out of his mouth first erased any thought about spring rolls.

"Just so you know I am not kissing you for at least 24 hours."

Lando hadn't even realized he had said that out loud until Max started choking on his piece of sushi. The realization of what he had just said and what he had just done came washing over him. His cheeks turning crimson as he made eye contact with your wide eyes, the same crimson color painted across your cheeks.

"I'm sorry. Why would you be kissing Y/N?" Max's cheeks were red too, but his was from choking, not exposing his relationship on stream.

Lando and you having not broken eye contact simply shrugged at one another, remembering your conversation about no back peddling, no trying to save your asses anymore. So if the universe wanted your relationship to be public over Lando being grossed out over sushi, then so be it.

The both of you looked over at Max, sheepish grins plastered across your faces. "Surprise!" You said meekly.

Max's eyes flickered back and forth between his two friends, trying to figure out if this was some prank or if what he had suspected for years had finally come true. Lando's hand reaching out for yours under the table caught his gaze and in that moment Max knew it was true. "I knew it! I fucking knew it! Finally, I mean I was about ready to set you two down and force you to be together." Max had jumped up from his seat, excitement overtaking him. "How long?"

"Around seven months." Lando mumbled.

Max's eyes widened a shocked look on his face. "You've kept it from everyone for seven months?"

Lando muted the stream as you and him explained everything to Max, still wanting to keep some things private. Knowing surely Max's reactions to what you guys were telling him would be haunting him for years to come.

Meanwhile the chat was going insane.

user1: holy shit!!

user2: i mean are we surprised. they've been married in my head for years.

user3: 2022 mukbang found dead. 2024 mukbang you will always be famous

user4: the fact they even kept it a secret from their friends... guess that works when you've acted like you were together for years..

user5: need me a love like lando and y/n

user6: the way this is such a y/n and lando way for them to expose their relationship lmfao.

user7: wait... so this means y/n is off the market? lando norris can you fight?

You would have never thought this is how you would announce that you guys were together. But somehow it made sense for the two of you in your own weird way. One thing you did know was that the chat was right. 2024 mukbang stream will always be famous.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"We need to talk about yesterday Lan."

"Yeah I guess we do."

You removed your head from his chest, choosing to sit up and face him. "It's just that last night was a little crazy and then," your eyes glanced over to the trail of clothes on the floor "it got even crazier when we got home. We never actually discussed how we feel about us being public now."

Lando's hands reached out for yours, fingers interlacing. "Well let me just say I'm sorry for having a brain and mouth that don't communicate sometimes. But I don't regret saying it. Like we have discussed, clearly it was meant to happen in that moment, even as unserious as it was. Yes, some things are gonna be different, people are gonna pry and feel entitled to our business, but that doesn't change how I feel about you. I love you and honestly I'm glad I can hold your hand in public now." He pulled your smiling face closer to his, a matching grin plastered on his. "And if I feel like it, I'll kiss you in public too!"

He smashed his lips onto yours as you laughed into the kiss. His hands started to roam your body and before it could go any further you pulled away. "As long as I've got you by my side I think everything will be alright." Your hand caressed his face, his stubble tickling your hand. "I love you so much, never forget that Norris."

"I won't."

Later that day the two of you decided to both make a post on Instagram to officially announce your relationship, with the most unserious captions.

y/insta: finally got my kiss ♡ (after i brushed my teeth)

landonorris: i love you ♡ (but not your love for sushi)

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #mine #writing #i hope you guys like this one #it was fun to write!!!

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5sospenguinqueen · 1 month ago

Text

Am I The Problem? | Franco Colapinto x Williams! Reader

Summary: After finding out you were going to be teammates, you and Franco have very different reactions. Franco is prepared to worship the track you race on whilst you do everything to ignore him. Until it becomes impossible to

Warnings: angst, swearing, the loss of a family member, a suggestive comment

Requested: Yes by anon (full request)

F1 Masterlist

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williamsracing just posted

liked by jensonbutton, jackdoohan and others

francolapinto dream reality

18,200 comments

williamsracing welcome to the team. we’re so excited to have you become part of the williams family

user1 so they’re replacing logan, an f2 driver promoted to f1 too soon, with an f2 driver promoted to f1 too soon?

officialmpmotorsport we’re very proud of what you’ve achieved this season, and good luck in f1

user2 this doesn’t feel fair. he’s getting a seat (amazing) but will be paired with a driver who doesn’t want him there

dennis_hauger 👏🏻👏🏻

user3 has anyone checked on yn? she was always so happy to be racing alongside her childhood friend, and now they don’t even get to finish the season together

yn_ln just posted

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and others

yn_ln i knew i was going to have to say goodbye at some point but i never expected it to be so soon. i couldn't have asked for a better teammate but at least you’ll always be my friend. i’ll miss you so much, lo lo, but i will be there supporting you wherever you go next

23,096 comments

logansargeant 🤍

→ user4 signs of life!

→ user5 the fact that she is the only person he has responded to

user6 even when she’s devasted, she stays respectful. literally the perfect role model for girls in karting

user7 chat, do we think yn will stay with williams next year?

→ user8 i don’t think she even wants to stay with williams for the rest of the season

→ user9 she looks so miserable any time she’s with them/james vowels

user10 poor franco. she didn’t even congratulate him on any of the posts

→ user11 because she doesn’t have to

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yn_ln posted a new story

logansargeant replied wow so i really am easy to replace → yn_ln lo, no… → logansargeant how many more times are you going to fall for that? → yn_ln dickhead → logansargeant the internet was right. you are the personification of satan → yn_ln 🖕🏻🖕🏻

oscarpiastri replied haha the heart eyes are winning you over → yn_ln you can’t say anything, lando lover → oscarpiastri 🙄

user12 replied girl, did you cover up James’ face? 😂

francolapinto replied is that me??

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Thumb scrolling down your feed, you couldn't stop the wounded look twisting your face. Numerous tweets glanced back at you, informing you that your teammate’s fans had a very low opinion of you. Was it really a shock that you wouldn’t like journalists hounding your teammate? Had you truly been that mean to him that signs of basic human decency came as a surprise?

The door to your driver’s room was cracked open slightly, allowing you to catch a glimpse of the disconsolate body that shuffled past. A cap covered his usual mop of curls and his head hung low. All he wanted was to hide away in his driver’s room. Away from the hustle and bustle of the garage. All alone.

“Franco.”

A soft voice broke him from his sorrow. He’d never heard it say his name before, and he’d certainly never heard that gentle tone directed at him. His head snapped up in disbelief. Spinning around, he moved too fast and stumbled slightly. A pink flush decorated his cheeks, realising he’d just embarrassed himself in front of the woman finally talking to him. Your head poked out of the gap between your door and the wall. Almost hesitant to bridge the space between the two of you. You weren’t even fully aware of when you had moved, or decided to talk to him. But here you were, staring at his brown eyes, widened with scepticism.

Committing to your actions, you pushed yourself into the hallway. Unused to such close proximity to you, Franco took two shaky steps back. He could almost feel the wall behind him.

“I heard about your grandfather. I just wanted to offer my condolences.” Your teeth pulled at your bottom lip. “The media were out of line this morning.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Uncomfortable silence stretched between the pair of you. A need to fill it swelled within you.

“Nobody would blame you if you needed the day off. It’s not like we’re going to win any points in the Sprint.”

“I bet you’d like that. A race without me,” his tone was sharp, edged with grief.

It was a stark contrast to the light, playful timbre you’d become accustomed to hearing around the garage. Hurt briefly flickered across your face, causing him to almost regret his words. But he’d had enough.

He was tired. He was hurt, and he was not in the mood to be treated like he wasn’t there. Every day he hoped that you would finally speak to him. That you would smile at him, or share the glowing personality you had around the rest of the Grid. When he was still in F2, he’d been lucky enough to spend a day or two with you, and you’d been so warm and inviting. But, the person he was introduced to when he replaced Logan Sargeant hadn’t shown any sign of the person from before.

“Wait, what? No. Franco, I just… Look, I found out from Twitter and-”

“It’s not like you give me the chance to tell you things in person.”

Rubbing your hand over your face, you pondered whether you were doing more damage than good. All you wanted was to make amends, and not treat him like shit on a shitty day. Realising you couldn't make things worse, you decided to own up to your less-than-stellar behaviour.

“Franco, I just wanted to say… I don’t really know what to say. Other than that, I am so incredibly sorry for the way that I’ve acted these past couple of weeks. Believe me, I’m not proud of my actions, and it’s been made very clear to me that I could be ruining your dream.”

Your feet very subtly shifted closer to him, and his body was acutely aware of the smaller window of space between the two of you. The hairs on the back of his neck raised when the scent of your perfume invaded his nose. He loved that smell.

“I’ve been so terrible to you. The internet knows that I’ve been terrible to you. And what makes it all that much worse, is that it doesn’t really have anything to do with you.”

Franco watched you inhale deeply before barrelling forward with your heartfelt apology. Your nose had pinkened from the exertion of your speech. Franco decided it was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

“The truth is, I was angry. I was angry at the team, and the management, and the way they treated Logan was horrendous. But I didn’t realise that I was then doing the same thing to you, and I’m really sorry. I’m aware that none of this justifies my behaviour or makes it right but I just need you to know how much I regret what I’ve done. You’re so talented, Franco. If you had joined the team at any other time, I would’ve been flattered that you were so excited to be my teammate. I still am and-”

“Querida, breathe.” Franco’s lips curled in the corner. A small smile but the first time he had done so since yesterday. “I get it. You’re sorry. You were still mean though.”

Your heart fluttered at the affectionate term he’d used. After years of working with Spanish drivers, you’d picked up a few words here and there. Unfortunately, his following words ruined any hope you��d felt.

Scuffing your shoe against the floor, you avoided looking at him. “I know. I know. I don’t know how I’ll ever make it up to you.”

Franco reached out, taking your hand into his. His palm was warm and heated against your cold, almost clammy one. He was endeared by how nervous you seemed to be. At his touch, your head finally lifted to look at him. You were taken aback when your eyes met his, realising he was already staring at you.

“You could always give me your seat.” He let out a booming laugh at the look of shock on your face.

“Oh, I get it, you’re winding me up.” You pushed him away from you but your combined hands just ended up pulling you into him.”

“I wasn’t lying in those interviews. You really are one of my idols. It’s going to take a bit more than a tantrum for me to be mad at you. However, if you really feel you need to make it up to me, I’m not going to object.”

A body turned the corner, causing you to leap away from the Argentinian. His eyes twinkled as he did his best to keep his face neutral. You scrambled to compose yourself when John, your physiotherapist, glanced between the two of you. He raised his brows before walking past you and into your driver’s room.

“You have 30 seconds, Yn, to finish your conversation and get your ass in here.” He closed the door behind him, allowing you some privacy.

Franco turned to walk away, knowing you liked to run on a tight schedule, and not wanting to infringe on that when you seemed to be making a shaky form of peace.

“Dinner!” You blurted out, voice bouncing off the white plastic walls.

Staring at his muscular back, you watched his shoulders shake with silent laughter before he turned back to look at you.

“What about it?”

“Do you eat it?” How were you making this worse!?

“Yes, every day.”

He wasn’t making this easy on you.

“Maybe, if you’re not busy this evening, I could buy you dinner when we get out of here.”

“It would have to be early. I don’t know if you know this but I have a very busy day tomorrow.”

“I think I prefer not talking to you.”

“I’d love to have dinner with you, Cariño,” Franco smiled, “so long as you don’t spend the entire meal sullenly glaring at me. It seems to be a habit with you.”

An irritated shout of your name sounded from inside your room, reminding you that you were well past your allotted thirty seconds.

Not wanting Franco to have the last word, you looked at Franco before you entered your room. “I’m not sorry that I snuck an LS2 cap into your pile of hats to sign.”

His face turns from pure adoration to unadulterated offence. “That was you?!”

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

yn_ln just posted

liked by jv.f1, lewishamilton and others

its_yn my boy 💕

23,431 comments

williamsracing took team bonding to a new level

→ francolapinto i aim to please

user13 i knew that episode of team torque was carrying a different kind of tension

→ user14 no because he was so giggly and she was giving him full on banter

→ user15 let’s not ignore how she kept blushing when she caught him looking at her

user16 she fell victim to the heart eyes

→ yn_ln how could i not? have you seen how intense they are?

user17 oh no because now how do we tell who the biggest simp is

francolapinto my lips are still waiting for that kiss

→ yn_ln come here then

→ francolapinto 🏃🏽🏃🏽💋

→ user18 oh no. now we have to deal with this instead

logansargeant excuse me but where is his shirt in that last picture

→ oscarpiastri completely scandalous behaviour. reported

→ yn_ln piss off the pair of you

→ logansargeant @/oscarpiastri pay up. she did my thing first

→ oscarpiastri technically she did my thing first

→ francolapinto she did both in the same day

→ yn_ln franco!

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

requests open. they may just take a while

coming soon; max taste part 3 and toto thirst

tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25 @sillyfreakfanparty @iloveyou3000morgan @justaf1girl

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pucksandpower · 1 month ago

Text

Nothing to Prove

Charles Leclerc x Vettel!Reader

Summary: it’s a tale as old as time — every female sports fan has been told to “prove” her fandom at least once in her life — but the man quizzing you quickly learns the error of his ways

The Miami sun beats down relentlessly as you make your way through the bustling paddock, your destination the familiar red and white of the Ferrari motorhome. The air buzzes with pre-race excitement, mechanics and team personnel darting about like worker bees in a particularly colorful hive.

You’re so focused on navigating the crowd that you almost don’t notice the young man who steps directly into your path, phone held aloft. His grin is a touch too smug for comfort.

“Excuse me, miss,” he says, voice dripping with false politeness. “Mind if I ask you a few questions for my TikTok?”

You hesitate, torn between ingrained courtesy and a gnawing sense of unease. “I’m actually in a bit of a hurry-”

“It’ll only take a minute,” he insists, already hitting record. “So, tell me, what’s your favorite thing about Formula 1?”

The question seems innocent enough, but there’s something in his tone that sets your teeth on edge. Still, you decide to play along for now. “Well, I love the strategy, the technology, the way the whole sport pushes the boundaries of what’s possible-”

He cuts you off with a laugh. “Come on, be honest. It’s the hot drivers, right? That’s why most girls watch.”

You blink, momentarily stunned by his blatant misogyny. “Excuse me?”

“No judgment!” He says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I get it, they’re all rich and fit. But let’s see how much you really know. Who won the 1976 World Championship?”

You open your mouth to answer, but he barrels on.

“What’s the difference between understeer and oversteer? How many points do you get for fastest lap? Come on, if you’re a real fan, this should be easy!”

Your initial discomfort has morphed into full-blown anger. “Look, I don’t have to prove anything to you. My knowledge of the sport isn’t-”

“Ah, so you can’t answer,” he says, triumphant. “Just as I thought. Another pretty face here for the-”

“Is there a problem here?”

The smooth voice comes from just behind you, followed by the warmth of a familiar body pressing against your back. Strong arms wrap around your waist, and you instinctively lean into the embrace.

The TikToker’s eyes go wide as saucers as he takes in the newcomer. “You’re ... you’re ...”

“Charles Leclerc,” your boyfriend finishes for him, voice deceptively mild. “And you are ...”

The young man sputters, clearly thrown off his game. “I’m ... I mean... I was just asking your girl here some questions about F1.”

Charles’ arms tighten fractionally around you. “Is that so? Because from where I was standing, it sounded more like an interrogation.”

You turn your head slightly, meeting Charles’ gaze. His green eyes are blazing with a protective fury that makes your heart skip a beat.

“It’s fine,” you murmur. “He was just leaving.”

Charles raises an eyebrow at the TikToker, who’s looking increasingly desperate to be anywhere else. “You heard the lady.”

But the young man, perhaps realizing his video is about to become internet gold, rallies. “Wait! I mean, no offense, but how do we know she’s not just with you for the fame? Can she even name your teammate?”

You feel Charles tense behind you, but before he can speak, you’ve had enough. You step out of his embrace, squaring up to the TikToker.

“Carlos Sainz Jr.,” you say, voice hard. “Currently P4 in the championship. And since you’re so keen on quizzing people, James Hunt won in ‘76, understeer is when the front of the car doesn’t turn enough while oversteer is when the rear steps out too much, and you get one point for fastest lap if you finish in the top ten. Any other burning questions?”

The TikToker gapes at you, clearly unprepared for this turn of events. Charles, for his part, looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

“I ... but ...” the young man stammers.

You press on, building up a head of steam. “Oh, and fun fact — my brother has four World Championships. But I’m sure you knew that, being such an expert and all.”

The TikToker’s face drains of color as realization dawns. “Your brother? You’re Sebastian Vettel’s sister?”

Charles can’t contain his amusement any longer. He laughs, the sound rich and warm. “I tried to warn you. You’ve awakened the beast.”

You shoot him a mock glare. “You’re not helping.”

He holds up his hands in surrender, still grinning. “Far be it from me to interfere with your righteous fury. Please, continue.”

The TikToker looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. “I ... I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize-”

“That women can be genuine fans?” You interrupt. “That we might actually understand and love the sport for its own sake? Or just that you shouldn’t make assumptions about people based on their gender?”

He winces. “All of the above?”

Charles steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. The touch is gentle, but there’s steel in his voice when he speaks. “I think it’s time for you to go. And delete that video while you’re at it.”

The young man nods frantically, fumbling with his phone. In his haste to retreat, he trips over his own feet, sprawling ungracefully on the ground. Charles moves to help him up, ever the gentleman, but you put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Let him sort himself out,” you mutter. “A little humiliation might do him some good.”

Charles chuckles, pulling you close. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

As the TikToker scrambles away, face burning with embarrassment, you allow yourself to relax into Charles’ embrace. The adrenaline of the confrontation leaves you feeling a bit shaky.

“You okay?” Charles asks softly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You nod, letting out a long breath. “Yeah. Just ... frustrated. Why do people still think like that?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I wish I knew. It’s not fair, the assumptions people make.”

“It’s not just about me,” you say, turning to face him fully. “It’s about all the female fans out there who get treated like this. Who get quizzed and belittled and have their passion questioned at every turn.”

Charles nods, his expression serious. “You’re right. It’s a bigger problem than just one idiot with a TikTok account.”

“Sometimes I wonder if it will ever change,” you admit, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

Charles cups your face in his hands, his touch impossibly gentle. “It will,” he says with conviction. “Because of people like you who stand up and call it out. Who refuse to let ignorance go unchallenged.”

You lean into his touch, allowing yourself a small smile. “When did you get so wise?”

He grins, some of his usual playfulness returning. “I have my moments. Don’t tell anyone though, it’ll ruin my reputation.”

You laugh, the tension finally starting to dissipate. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Charles leans in, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m proud of you, you know,” he murmurs. “The way you handled that ... it was impressive.”

“Yeah?” You ask, a hint of vulnerability creeping into your voice.

“Absolutely,” he says firmly. “You were brilliant. Fierce. Passionate.” His voice drops lower, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Incredibly sexy.”

You swat his arm playfully. “Behave yourself, Leclerc. We’re in public.”

He affects an innocent expression that doesn’t fool you for a second. “I’m always on my best behavior.”

You snort. “That’s what worries me.”

Charles laughs, the sound bright and carefree. It never fails to make your heart soar. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. “Come on, let’s get to the motorhome. I think we both could use a moment of peace before the craziness really begins.”

As you walk hand in hand through the paddock, you can’t help but reflect on the incident. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth, but there’s also a spark of hope. Because for every misogynistic TikToker, there are countless fans — of all backgrounds — who love the sport for what it is. Who appreciate the skill, the strategy, the sheer spectacle of it all.

And maybe, just maybe, standing up to ignorance one interaction at a time is how change really happens.

Charles squeezes your hand, pulling you from your thoughts. “What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours?”

You smile, leaning into him slightly as you walk. “Just thinking about how lucky I am. To be here, doing what I love. To have people in my life who support me and believe in me.”

He brings your joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “The luck goes both ways, mon cœur. You make me better, on and off the track.”

As you approach the Ferrari motorhome, its bright red a beacon in the sea of team colors, you feel a renewed sense of purpose. There will always be challenges, always be those who try to tear others down. But with love, determination, and a refusal to back down from what’s right, anything is possible.

Even changing the world of Formula 1, one small interaction at a time.

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diamonddaze01 · 2 months ago

Text

Full Throttle (i)

pairing: ferrari driver!yoon jeonghan x journalist!reader chapter wc: 20.6K (dont look at me)genre: humor, fluff, angst, smut (?) au: f1 au (i am sorry i am a nerd abt this) rating: m (MINORS DNI)warnings: SLOOOOOW BURN. mentions of injuries, car crashes // eventual smut.

PREQUELS: would highly recommend reading On the Record and Off the Record to gain some context into the relationship! This fic starts directly after the end of Off the Record

summary: jeonghan's not used to someone who pushes his buttons as easily as you do, and you're not used to someone who challenges you as quickly as he does. maybe it's time to go full throttle, both on and off the track.

a/n: this one is gonna be long. buckle in. this is dedicated to kae @ylangelegy , who was the one who pushed me to write this in the first place, and also graciously beta read this // this is also dedicated to alta @haologram , who watched me lose my mind over this for so long and gave me so much love and support as i wrote this. // huge thanks to lola @monamipencil and haneul @chanranghaeys for beta-reading and giving me their thoughts, especially about when things were too technical // and finally, an ENORMOUS thank you to jupiter @cheolism for the banner!

read part 2 here! <3

FORMULA 1 ROLEX AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Melbourne Grand Prix Circuit

The Australian Grand Prix had come to an end, but the buzz from the race still lingered in the air. The paddock had started to quiet down, though the echo of cheers and the scent of champagne were still fresh. Jeonghan stood at the edge of the pit lane, watching as the last of the mechanics began to clean up, the high of the win beginning to settle into a low hum of satisfaction.

His fingers absentmindedly brushed over his helmet, the familiar weight grounding him after the chaos of the race. But his mind wasn’t on the mechanics or the trophy waiting for him. No, it was on you.

You had walked away with that smug grin of yours, and even now, hours later, the image of you—cool, collected, and far too clever for your own good—lingered in his thoughts. The way you’d turned the tables on him, effortlessly making him feel like the one caught off guard. For once, it hadn’t been about the race or the rumors swirling around his personal life—it had been about you and the way you knew how to press all his buttons without breaking a sweat.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, a grin creeping onto his face despite himself. "I should’ve asked her to dinner."

But there was no time for that now. The press was waiting. The fans, too. He needed to play the role of the cool, collected champion for the cameras, the last thing he needed was another round of gossip, another round of teasing from the people who loved to stir the pot. And yet, the thought of you, the way you’d made him feel a mix of frustration and something else entirely, was almost too tempting to ignore.

The crew cheered as he finally made his way back to the motorhome, the world still swirling in a whirlwind of victory and flashing cameras. But inside, it was quieter. More personal.

"Jeonghan!" His manager greeted him with a smile, the kind of smile that signaled the end of a long race and the beginning of yet another whirlwind of interviews, photos, and meetings. But Jeonghan only half-listened as his manager spoke, his mind flickering back to the conversation earlier.

"You sure know how to keep things interesting, don't you?" His manager chuckled, noticing the distraction in his eyes. "The headlines are still buzzing. You planning on setting the record straight anytime soon?"

Jeonghan chuckled under his breath, running a hand through his messy hair. "Let them talk," he muttered, flashing a grin. "It’s part of the game."

But that wasn’t what was on his mind. It was you. The way you’d baited him, just enough to make him feel the heat of the moment. He had never been this distracted by anyone—or anything—before.

"You have a minute?" a voice interrupted his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. It was his publicist, holding a phone in one hand, the other gesturing toward the press conference set up for him in the next room.

Jeonghan looked at her, then glanced over his shoulder as if expecting to see you again. But you were gone, just like that. He gave a small sigh, almost imperceptible to anyone watching.

"Yeah, yeah. Let’s do this," he muttered, before stepping forward. Jeonghan’s footsteps echoed through the motorhome hallway, the thrum of victory still running through his veins, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t shake the way you’d looked at him—those piercing eyes, full of challenge. He'd seen that expression before, but this time felt different. You weren’t just some reporter stirring up a bit of drama—you were someone who knew exactly how to get under his skin.

His publicist was waiting outside the press room, ready to brief him on the upcoming interviews and meetings. "You’ve got a full schedule, Jeonghan," she said, giving him the rundown with practiced precision. But Jeonghan barely heard her, his mind still distracted by the way you’d turned the tables.

"Hey," he cut in, slowing to a stop in front of her. "What do you know about Y/N?" he asked, his tone casual but with an edge of curiosity that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

The publicist blinked in surprise, and beside her, his manager gave a short laugh. "Y/N? You mean the reporter?" the manager asked, voice dripping with amusement. "The one you’ve had run-ins with over the past couple of seasons?"

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. "Run-ins?" he repeated, his lips curling into a small, knowing smirk. "What exactly are you implying?"

The publicist shrugged, exchanging a look with the manager. "She’s been covering F1 for a while, pretty sharp with her articles," she said, keeping her voice neutral. "Some of them have definitely gotten attention, especially that one a few weeks ago... the one about you and the whole ‘mysterious love life’ thing." Her eyes flicked to his manager, who made a face at the mention of that piece.

Jeonghan sighed, running a hand through his hair. He’d tried to forget about that article, but your earlier conversation (read as: challenge) had baffled him. "I shouldn’t have said anything," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "But you know she always gets a rise out of me, don’t you?"

The manager snickered. "Oh, we know. It’s not every day we get to watch you struggle to keep your cool. She’s got a way with words, that one." He winked. "But hey, I get it. She’s a great reporter—sharp, clever—and always knows where to find the juiciest stories. You just might want to be a little more careful with what you say around her next time."

Jeonghan smirked. "Careful? Since when have I ever been careful?"

His publicist gave a pointed look, clearly not impressed. "That’s not the problem, Jeonghan. It’s that you tend to forget she knows exactly what buttons to push."

Jeonghan chuckled, his eyes glinting with a new energy. "Oh, she’s good, I’ll give her that. But I’m not so easily rattled." His mind wandered back to the way you’d smirked and walked off, leaving him standing there feeling like he'd just been served a dish of his own medicine.

"Don’t underestimate her," the manager added, half-joking. "You’ve been in this game long enough to know, no one gets a rise out of you like that without knowing exactly what they’re doing."

Jeonghan hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose you’re right. But maybe..." He trailed off, eyes narrowing as a plan started to form in his mind. "...Maybe it’s time I gave her a taste of her own medicine."

The publicist and manager exchanged a glance but didn’t say anything. They knew that look—the one Jeonghan got whenever he was plotting something, usually with a dash of mischief and just the right amount of charm to make it impossible for anyone to say no. The same charm that had gotten him into trouble more times than they cared to count.

"You’ve got your interviews now, Jeonghan," his publicist reminded him gently, pulling him back to reality. "We can revisit this later. Just keep your head in the game for now."

He nodded, though his mind was still fixated on you. "Yeah, yeah. Later."

As he entered the press room, he was immediately hit with a barrage of questions. The usual ones about his win, his performance, and his plans for the rest of the season. But even as he answered, his thoughts lingered on you and that damn article. You were always one step ahead, always stirring the pot just enough to keep things interesting. But now, it seemed you had caught his attention for real.

And maybe—just maybe—he was going to have some fun with this.

FORMULA 1 MSC CRUISES JAPANESE GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Suzuka Ciruit

The neon lights of Tokyo cast a kaleidoscope of colors on the bustling streets, the city alive with energy even late into the night. After a long day of prepping for the upcoming race, you’d decided to wind down with a quiet drink in a tucked-away bar that promised a moment’s reprieve from the chaos of the paddock.

The bar was small and intimate, the kind of place that felt like a secret only locals knew about. Jazz music hummed softly in the background, and you found a seat near the corner, ready to savor your drink in peace.

But of course, peace wasn’t in the cards tonight.

“Y/N?”

The familiar voice made you freeze mid-sip. Turning your head, you found none other than Yoon Jeonghan standing a few feet away, his face lit with mild surprise and unmistakable amusement. He wasn’t in his Ferrari team gear for once—just a sleek black jacket and jeans, looking effortlessly casual in a way that somehow made him even more irritatingly attractive.

“Jeonghan,” you replied evenly, setting your drink down. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, sliding onto the stool beside you without an invitation. “Same as you, I’d imagine. Taking a break from the madness.” His eyes flicked to your glass. “Whiskey? I wouldn’t have pegged you for the type.”

“And what type is that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He leaned back slightly, his lips quirking into that trademark smirk. “The type who drinks whiskey alone in a bar and pretends they’re not thinking about work.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m not thinking about work. I’m thinking about how nice it is to not deal with questions about lap times and tire strategies for five minutes.”

Jeonghan chuckled, signaling to the bartender for a drink. “Fair enough. Though, if memory serves, you’re usually the one asking those questions.”

“Occupational hazard,” you shot back. “And if memory serves, you’re usually the one avoiding them.”

“Touché.” He raised his glass when it arrived, a silent toast that you reluctantly mirrored with your own.

For a while, the conversation meandered through safer topics—Tokyo’s sights, the food, the insanity of race week—but there was an undercurrent of something sharper, a game of verbal ping-pong that neither of you seemed willing to let go of.

“You know,” Jeonghan said after a particularly clever jab from you about his less-than-stellar start in Australia, “I think I’ve finally figured you out.”

“Oh?” you asked, amusement dancing in your tone. “Do tell.”

“You act all cool and collected, but deep down…” He paused for dramatic effect, leaning in slightly. “…you love the chaos. You thrive on it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though a grin tugged at your lips. “And what about you, Mr. Reigning Champion? Aren’t you the one who said chaos is just part of the game?”

“True,” he admitted with a lazy shrug. “But I like to think I’m more strategic about it.”

“Strategic?” you echoed, incredulous. “You literally said ‘let them talk’ after crossing the finish line in Australia. That’s not strategy, Jeonghan—that’s reckless arrogance.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and you hated how it made your chest tighten just a little. “Maybe. But it keeps things interesting, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t respond, sipping your drink instead, determined not to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

Jeonghan tilted his head, his gaze flicking over you with a knowing glint. “This feels familiar.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “What does?”

“Let’s just say you have a knack for leaving me with something to think about,” he said casually, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass.

A flicker of amusement crossed your face. “Still losing sleep over it, Jeonghan?”

He leaned in, his voice dropping low, laced with mischief. “Not quite. But I’ve been wondering if you’re all talk or if you actually mean half the things you say.”

You smirked, leaning back just a little. “And what are you planning to do about it?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Guess you’ll have to find out next time,” he said smoothly, signaling to the bartender and slipping his card onto the counter.

You frowned, catching on quickly. “Jeonghan, you don’t have to—”

“Of course I don’t,” he replied, his smirk growing as he leaned in just enough for his voice to drop, intimate and teasing. “But what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t treat you every now and then?”

“A terrible one,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms.

He chuckled, standing up and adjusting his jacket. “Always so quick with the comebacks.”

You tilted your head, not backing down. “And yet, here you are, still trying to keep up.”

He grinned, leaning down so his face was level with yours. “Oh, I’m not just keeping up, sweetheart. I’m leading.”

With that, he threw on his jacket, turning to leave, but not without one last playful remark. “Enjoy your night, Y/N. And next time…” He flashed a grin over his shoulder, his voice dipping lower. “Try putting that mouth of yours to better use.”

Your mouth dropped open, and you could hear his laugh as you watched him disappear into the neon-lit streets.

Damn him.

The Suzuka Circuit’s air was heavy with anticipation, the disappointment in Ferrari’s garage palpable. Jeonghan leaned against the barrier in the media pen, his crimson Ferrari suit contrasting with the growing dusk. Despite his relaxed posture, the tension radiating off him was hard to miss.

"Yoon Jeonghan," you began, stepping forward with your mic. "P11 today—your first time not making it to Q3 since your rookie season. What happened out there?"

His smile was thin, masking the fire simmering beneath. "Suzuka’s a tough circuit. I put in a solid lap, but in the end, it just wasn’t enough. A couple milliseconds make all the difference."

"Kim Mingyu of McLaren knocked you out in the dying seconds of the session," you pointed out, your tone as neutral as possible.

"Yeah, Mingyu had a great lap," he said, though his smirk betrayed a hint of frustration. "Kudos to him for that. It’s the nature of the game—sometimes you’re the one knocking others out, and sometimes you’re the one being knocked out."

You tilted your head, pressing just a little. "Ferrari’s upgrades were supposed to shine here at Suzuka. Do you think the car—or the driver—fell short today?"

His eyes met yours, sharp and knowing. "Is that your way of asking if I’m losing my edge?"

You smiled faintly. "Just doing my job, Jeonghan."

"And doing it well," he replied smoothly. "I’ll make sure to give you something better to write about tomorrow."

Yoon Jeonghan’s Q2 Knockout: A Sign of Ferrari’s Struggles or a Driver Underperforming?

Your analysis was live before the sun set over Suzuka, dissecting Jeonghan’s performance lap by lap:

"While Ferrari’s SF-24 showed promise in Q1, Jeonghan’s Q2 lap exposed cracks in execution. Hesitant braking into Spoon Corner cost him vital time, and a wide exit through Degner 2 raised questions about his confidence under high pressure. Kim Mingyu’s decisive lap in the McLaren only highlighted the contrast, leaving Ferrari fans wondering if Jeonghan can rebound from this rare stumble."

It didn’t take long for the article to ripple through the paddock—and reach its subject. The article was sharp, critical, with the same bite that you had become a household name for. And Jeonghan read every word.

He must have been an idiot to assume you would be kinder after the way he’d left you gobsmacked a few nights prior at the bar.

You had just wrapped up your interview with Mingyu, the day’s pole sitter, when Jeonghan found you.

"Got a minute?" he asked, voice deceptively light.

You glanced up, startled to find him so close, still in his Ferrari suit, his hair slightly damp from the cool-down lap.

"Something on your mind?" you replied, keeping your tone professional.

He didn’t bother with pleasantries. "That article."

You raised an eyebrow. "Specificity helps, you know."

He chuckled darkly. "The one where you ripped apart my Q2 performance like you’re a technical director." He took a step closer, and for the first time, the calm façade cracked - his smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Hesitant braking? Lack of confidence under pressure? You really think I’m losing my touch?"

"I think Suzuka demands perfection," you replied evenly. "And today, perfection wasn’t what we saw."

He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "You love this, don’t you? Watching me stumble so you can tear me apart in print."

"Jeonghan," you said, straightening, "if you want me to write glowing reviews, give me something to work with."

"You should’ve mentioned how close I was to Mingyu’s time," he shot back.

"Close isn’t enough," you countered, coolly. "Not in this sport."

His eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Careful, sweetheart. Don’t let them think you’re this obsessed with me."

"Careful, Jeonghan," you shot back mockingly. "Sienna Hartley might not like hearing you get so worked up over me."

His hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could walk away. "Here’s an exclusive for you," he said, his voice sharp. "Me and Sienna? Not together."

You blinked, thrown off for just a moment before you schooled your expression. "Good to know. Now let go."

He released you immediately but lingered just long enough to murmur, "Don’t think this is over."

The Suzuka chaos worked in Jeonghan’s favor.

When the lights went out, Jeonghan’s start was perfect—clean, aggressive, calculated. By the first corner, he had already gained two places, capitalizing on a sluggish Alpine and threading the needle between a Williams and an AlphaTauri.

The midfield battle was fierce. Suzuka’s notorious esses demanded precision, and Jeonghan attacked them with surgical efficiency, his Ferrari responding like an extension of his own instincts. He overtook the Aston Martin of Lee Seokmin into Turn 11 with a move so bold the crowd audibly gasped.

Each pass felt like a small victory, but it wasn’t enough. The podium still felt miles away. His fingers tightened on the wheel as he navigated the sweeping Spoon Curve, catching a glimpse of the orange McLaren far ahead—Mingyu.

The memory of your post-quali interview slipped into his mind. Close isn’t enough. Not in this sport.

He exhaled sharply, forcing the thought away. Now wasn’t the time. Jeonghan approached Degner 2, the car planted firmly under him. He could feel the wear on his tires but knew he still had grip to spare. He glanced briefly at the digital display on his steering wheel, calculating the gap to the car ahead—P5, the Red Bull of Choi Seungcheol.

As he accelerated toward the Hairpin, your voice echoed in his head again. Hesitant braking. Confidence issues.

His jaw clenched. It wasn’t anger—it was something more complicated. Why did you always manage to get under his skin? He should’ve been focusing on tire wear, fuel management, or his next target, but instead, his mind betrayed him.

He thought of the way you’d smirked during the interview, how your tone had been sharp, almost daring. The way you’d walked away, leaving him with more to say.

Focus. He snapped himself back, braking perfectly into the Hairpin. The slip of attention hadn’t cost him, but it had been close. Too close.

A well-timed pit stop under a virtual safety car catapulted him to P4. He rejoined the track with fresh mediums, slicing through the field with an aggression that stunned even his team.

By Lap 40, he was staring down the rear wing of Kwon Soonyoung—his own teammate. The team’s radio lit up, the pit wall hesitating.

“Jeonghan, Soonyoung ahead on a different strategy. Keep it clean.”

He didn’t wait for a direct order. Into 130R, the fastest corner on the track, he swung to the outside. His car shuddered with the force of the maneuver, but he held his line, leaving Soonyoung no choice but to yield.

“P3, Jeonghan. You’re on the podium now. Great move.”

With only two laps to go, he was in P2, chasing Mingyu, who had a comfortable lead. Jeonghan knew catching him was impossible, but that wasn’t the point anymore. This was about proving something—to his team, the fans, and maybe even to you.

The Ferrari hummed beneath him, a symphony of power and precision. Every turn, every braking zone, every shift felt like redemption. When he crossed the line in P2, the roar of the crowd was deafening, but all he could hear was his own heartbeat.

The media room was packed, buzzing with questions for the podium finishers. You started with Mingyu, still glowing from his dominant victory.

“Kim Mingyu,” you began, “another win for McLaren. How does it feel to catch up to Jeonghan in the driver’s championship?”

Mingyu smiled, leaning into the mic. “It feels incredible. The car was perfect today, and the team did an amazing job. Credit to everyone back at the factory.”

Before you could move on to the next question, Jeonghan interjected from his spot.

“Must feel nice to start up front and stay there,” he quipped, his tone light but pointed.

Mingyu grinned, unfazed. “You would know, Jeonghan. But you kept me looking over my shoulder the whole time.”

The room chuckled, and you shot Jeonghan a warning glance, which he ignored entirely.

Later, when a question was directed at Jeonghan about his race recovery, his response was pointed. "Oh, you know. I’m pretty good at managing tire degradation. And I had a lot of people doubting me on this track specifically, so I had to prove them wrong too."

His gaze locked on yours as he delivered the last line, and the meaning wasn’t lost on you—or anyone else in the room.

Jeonghan barely made it three steps out of the press conference room before Soonyoung intercepted him, leaning casually against a stack of Pirelli tires like he had all the time in the world. The amusement on his face set Jeonghan’s internal alarms blaring.

“What the hell was that about?” Soonyoung asked, arms crossed in mock authority.

Jeonghan blinked, expertly schooling his expression into one of pure confusion. “What was what about?” he replied, his tone dripping with innocence.

“Oh, don’t even try to play dumb with me, Jeonghan. I know you too well.” Soonyoung’s grin widened as he stepped closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “You were doing something during that press conference. I’ve never seen you look that smug unless you’re—”

“I was answering questions,” Jeonghan interrupted smoothly, plucking a water bottle from the cooler without breaking his stride. He unscrewed the cap with deliberate calm, taking a slow sip. “That’s what press conferences are for, in case you forgot.”

Soonyoung squinted at him, unconvinced. “Right. And here I thought press conferences were for you to pretend you’re unbothered while delivering backhanded digs at Kim Mingyu.”

Jeonghan barely managed to keep a straight face, though he felt the tiniest flicker of pride. He had been particularly good with his barbs today. Still, there was no way he was admitting that. “Don’t project, Soonyoung,” he drawled. “Not everyone uses media day as therapy.”

Before Soonyoung could retort, a new voice joined the conversation.

“I know what it was,” said Kim Sunwoo, strolling up with the unshakable confidence of someone who didn’t yet understand how much trouble he was about to cause. The young mechanic had a smirk plastered on his face, the kind that made Jeonghan instinctively want to flee.

“You know what?” Jeonghan asked warily, his eyes narrowing.

“That look you had during the Q&A,” Sunwoo continued, leaning casually against a tool chest. “You were staring at her, man. Like, full-on laser focus. It’s like you were trying to send her a message.”

Jeonghan’s grip on the water bottle tightened. He felt his ears heat up but refused to let it show. “I was answering her question,” he said evenly. “It’s called eye contact. You should try it sometime—people like that sort of thing.”

But Sunwoo wasn’t done. “And don’t think we didn’t notice you getting all flustered when Mingyu’s name came up,” he added, his smirk widening.

“Flustered?” Jeonghan repeated, letting out a short, incredulous laugh. “Right. That’s definitely the word I’d use to describe me.”

“Come on, dude.” Sunwoo shrugged, undeterred. “Admit it. You’ve got a crush.”

The words hit like a sucker punch. Jeonghan froze mid-sip, choking slightly as the water went down the wrong way. He coughed, spluttering as Sunwoo and Soonyoung erupted into laughter.

“Alright,” Jeonghan said sharply once he’d recovered, pointing a finger at Sunwoo. “You’ve been spending too much time on TikTok. Get back to work before I have you polishing rims for the rest of the season.”

But Sunwoo only grinned wider, completely unbothered. “Jeonghan’s in loooove,” he teased, drawing out the word in a sing-song voice.

“I said that’s enough,” Jeonghan snapped, the slight pink tinge creeping up his neck completely betraying his forced composure. “Shouldn’t you be tuning an engine or something useful?”

Soonyoung, meanwhile, was doubled over laughing, clearly enjoying himself far too much. When he finally straightened, he clapped Jeonghan on the back. “Hey, don’t worry about it, man. If you need advice, just let me know. I’m great with women.”

Jeonghan groaned, brushing him off. “The day I take advice from you, Soonyoung, is the day I retire. He shoved past them toward his motorhome, muttering under his breath. “Insufferable. Both of you.”

But even as he slammed the door behind him, Jeonghan couldn’t stop the echo of Sunwoo’s words from rattling around in his head.

You’ve got a crush.

He scoffed aloud, shaking his head. “Ridiculous,” he muttered, tossing the water bottle onto the couch. But as he sank down beside it, arms crossed and jaw tight, he couldn’t quite stop himself from wondering.

Jeonghan didn’t want to be here.

The club pulsed with energy, a humid swirl of bodies pressing too close, the bass reverberating in his chest like a persistent headache. Strobe lights sliced through the haze, and the air smelled faintly of spilled drinks and cheap cologne. Somewhere in the chaos, Soonyoung had disappeared, leaving Jeonghan to fend for himself.

He’d been ready to make his exit the moment they walked in, but Soonyoung had insisted. “You need to loosen up, Jeonghan. Let the adrenaline from the race wear off. Have a drink, maybe dance.”Jeonghan had scoffed at the idea, knowing full well that his reason for not wanting to stay wasn’t exhaustion.

No, it was you.

Even when you weren’t in the room, you lingered in his mind like the ghost of a song he couldn’t stop humming. The podium had been a nice distraction. But now, surrounded by the chatter of strangers and the clinking of glasses, his thoughts drifted back to the press conference and the pointed, teasing look you’d given him when he spoke.

And then there was Mingyu—always Mingyu—whose name you’d said with just a little too much warmth. Jeonghan had pretended not to notice, but it had been impossible to ignore.

Shaking his head, Jeonghan pushed through the crowd, determined to leave. He had almost made it to the exit when someone collided into him, hard enough to send him stumbling forward.

“Whoa—watch it!” a voice slurred, sharp with irritation but unmistakably familiar.

He turned, already scowling, but the expression froze on his face when he saw you.

“Jeonghan?” you said, blinking up at him, your voice teetering between surprise and amusement. Your cheeks were flushed, lips curling into a slow smile as you adjusted your grip on the drink in your hand.

“You?” he blurted, his composure slipping for a fraction of a second.

“What are you—?” you started, only to trail off as a giggle bubbled out of you. Shaking your head like you were trying to clear it, you added, “Wow. Small world, huh?”

“I guess so,” Jeonghan said, his tone carefully even, though his gaze lingered on the way the dim light caught the sheen of your hair, the curve of your smile. His eyes dropped to your drink, then back to your face. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” you said, far too quickly, before adding with a sheepish laugh, “Okay, maybe. Just a little.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, threatening to curve into a smile. “Sure looks like it.”

You waved him off with a dramatic flourish, nearly spilling your drink in the process. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be... I don’t know, brooding on a podium somewhere?”

He tilted his head, pretending to be affronted. “I don’t brood. And besides, this is a celebration.”

“Oh, right,” you said, stepping closer. Your gaze softened, and your voice dropped just enough to make the words feel like they were meant for him alone. “The big comeback.”

“Lots of doubters, huh?” you added, the slight slur in your voice doing nothing to dull the edge of your words.

Jeonghan blinked, caught off guard, before a chuckle escaped him. “Well, your article did the talking for you.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, your eyes a little too bright, your smile a little too slow. “What a way to get my attention, pretty boy.”

His breath caught, his carefully built façade cracking for just a second. “You think I’m pretty?”

Your lips parted, but before you could answer, a hand landed firmly on your shoulder.

“There you are!”

Jeonghan looked up to see one of your friends glaring at him as they steadied you. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you’re... what? Flirting with Yoon Jeonghan now?”

“Not flirting,” you protested weakly, though your lopsided smile said otherwise.

Your friend wasn’t convinced, nor were they interested in his response. They tugged you into the crowd with an apologetic glance over their shoulder. “Sorry about her—she’s had a night.”

Jeonghan stayed rooted in place, his gaze following your retreating figure. His lips curved into a faint smile as your words replayed in his mind.

“What a way to get my attention,” he murmured to himself, shaking his head.

And yet, as he stood there, the thought struck him that maybe you’d already gotten his.

FORMULA 1 GRAND PRIX DE MONACO 2024Track: Circuit de Monaco

The paddock at Monaco was alive with its usual glitz and glamour, the unmistakable hum of anticipation hanging thick in the air. Cameras flashed, team personnel buzzed around, and the harbor glistened under the sun. Monaco, the crown jewel of the F1 calendar, had a way of amplifying everything—victories felt sweeter, defeats more crushing, and the stakes impossibly higher.

Jeonghan, fresh off securing pole position, had his usual air of nonchalance, but the glow of triumph was undeniable. The fans chanted his name; the cameras adored him. Yet as he stepped off the podium erected for the post-qualifying festivities, his sharp eyes caught sight of something—someone—that brought him up short.

You.

You were standing just beyond the throng of journalists, your press badge gleaming under the midday sun. It had been weeks since he’d last seen you, weeks since your sharp quips and piercing questions had filled the air between you like sparks on dry wood.

Those weeks had been… odd, to say the least. You’d been reassigned to cover Formula E, a shift Jeonghan had learned about only after noticing your absence at the paddock in China. He had played it cool, pretending it didn’t matter, but he had found himself seeking out your byline anyway—reading articles that had nothing to do with him or F1, just to feel the rhythm of your words.

Even the searing critiques you usually aimed at him had been sorely missed. It was maddening, really, how much quieter the world had felt without your fire.

Now, here you were again, back in the fray of Formula 1, as though no time had passed. Jeonghan’s expression remained casual, but his stride toward you was deliberate, cutting through the chaos of the paddock.

When he stopped in front of you, his smirk was already in place, a shield against the strange, unwelcome flutter of relief in his chest. “Where’ve you been?” he asked, tilting his head with practiced ease.

You looked up from your notebook, arching a brow at him. “Missed me, Jeonghan?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

The word landed between you like a drop of rain on hot asphalt, its simplicity taking you aback. Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but notice how the sharpness in your gaze softened for a fraction of a second.

But then, as quickly as the moment arrived, he leaned in, his smirk deepening. “Someone had to keep the paddock interesting.”

You rolled your eyes, recovering your composure. “I see the Monaco air hasn’t done anything for your humility.”

“And I see Formula E hasn’t dulled your wit,” he shot back, stepping closer so the noise of the paddock faded slightly.

You shook your head, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You’ve done not too bad these past few races, huh?”

The comment was offhand, tossed in almost as a formality, but it hit Jeonghan harder than he expected. Compliments—genuine ones—were rare from you, and they stirred something unexpected in him.

Jeonghan blinked, the smirk faltering for just a second before he quickly replaced it with mock arrogance. “Not too bad?” he echoed, feigning offense. “I dominated in China, held my ground in Miami, and destroyed Emilia Romagna. Give me some credit here.”

For all his ego, Jeonghan knew he wasn’t wrong. He’d won China by a jaw-dropping 22.3-second margin, Mingyu so far behind that Jeonghan had time to deliver an entire thank-you speech over the radio before the McLaren driver even crossed the checkered flag. In Miami, even a grueling five-second stop-go penalty hadn’t stopped him; he finished P2 (behind Kim Mingyu, annoyingly) and picked up the extra point for the fastest lap, earning him Driver of the Day. And in Emilia Romagna, he was the clear favorite from the moment the race weekend began. The Tifosi were relentless, their cheers in the grandstands so deafening that Jeonghan could barely hear his engineer’s voice over the radio.

When he crossed the finish line first, the sea of red under the podium roared with such thunderous applause that his ears rang for hours afterward. In just three races, Jeonghan had cemented himself as the best contender for the 2024 World Champion.

And yet, somehow, it wasn’t as sweet without you there to write about it.

“Alright,” you said, meeting his gaze head-on. “You’ve been exceptional.”

The word struck like a sucker punch. For once, Jeonghan didn’t have a clever retort.

"Congrats on pole, Jeonghan," you said, your voice cool but sincere, offering him a small smile. It made his heart skip a beat.

Jeonghan’s lips twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You called me exceptional."

You glanced up at him, closing your notebook with a flick of your wrist. The corner of your mouth quirked into a smirk. "Yes. Now, thoughts on pole?"

He's silent for so long that you politely clear your throat, hoping to cut through the sudden stillness. "Maybe this should be my headline for the day, Jeonghan. Monaco's Maze Leaves Golden Boy Spinning Out."

It's like someone doused him with ice water. His easy, sun-soaked posture stiffens, and the small smirk he'd been wearing evaporates.

You're still a journalist. He forgets that sometimes.

"Why do you do that?" he mutters, voice edged with something unfamiliar—disappointment, maybe.

You blink, caught off guard by the abrupt change in tone. “Do what?”

“That.” He gestures vaguely between you and the notebook tucked in your hand. The lenses of his sunglasses catch the sunlight, but there’s no mistaking the intensity behind them. His gaze pierces, searching for something in your expression. “Bringing the shitty headlines into every conversation."

You arch a brow, tucking the notebook closer to your chest as if shielding it from his line of sight. “Shitty? You mean accurate, Jeonghan.”

His jaw tightens, a subtle movement, but enough to draw your attention. There’s a faint crease forming between his brows now, and you realize it’s not your usual back-and-forth banter. “You know what I mean,” he mutters, voice low and barely audible over the hum of the paddock—the distant rumble of engines, the echo of voices, the clinking of tools in nearby garages.

For a moment, you’re at a loss. Jeonghan doesn’t let things like this bother him—or, at least, he’s always been good at pretending they don’t. His whole brand is carefree charm, a perpetual smirk, and the confidence of someone who knows he’ll always be the center of attention. This feels different.

“You’re upset about a headline?” you ask, genuinely curious now.

“It’s not about the headline.” His tone sharpens, but he stops himself, jaw clenching like he’s swallowing something bitter. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, his fingers brushing over the brim of his cap. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, tinged with something almost vulnerable. “It’s about how you never let up, even when it’s me.”

The admission lands heavily between you, unexpected and disarming.

You shift uncomfortably under the weight of his words, the way they seem to strip away the professional distance you’ve been clinging to. “Why should I?” you counter, keeping your voice steady despite the flicker of doubt creeping in. “You’re just another driver, Jeonghan.”

His laugh is short and humorless, cutting through the charged air between you. “Right. Just another driver.”

There’s something about the way he says it—low, almost resigned—that catches you off guard. The bitterness in his tone isn’t theatrical; it’s real, raw, and so at odds with the image he projects to the world.

You glance at him, searching for the Jeonghan you’re used to—the one who shrugs off criticism with a knowing grin, who always has a teasing retort ready. But for once, he’s not hiding behind a smirk or a cocky quip. He looks tired, the weight of his words pulling at the edges of his carefully maintained charm.

“Jeonghan,” you begin, unsure of what you’re even trying to say.

But he shakes his head, cutting you off before you can find the right words. “Forget it.”

He takes a step back, and it feels like a gulf opening between you. The mask of indifference slips back into place with practiced ease, but you’ve already seen the cracks. “You’ve got your job to do,” he says, his tone clipped and distant. “Make sure you spell my name right in that next ‘shitty headline.’”

You hate the way your chest tightens at his words, hate the instinctive urge to reach out and stop him as he turns to walk away, his figure retreating into the chaotic swirl of the paddock.

But you don’t.

Instead, you grip your notebook tighter, the edges digging into your palm as if the physical discomfort might drown out the ache building in your chest. The buzz of your phone in your pocket snaps you out of the moment. Grateful for the distraction, you pull it out to see a text from your editor: Post-qualifying article. Deadline: 6 PM.

Just another driver.

The words echo hollowly in your mind, unconvincing and painfully untrue.

Because the truth is, Jeonghan has never been just anything to you.

And that’s exactly why this is so damn complicated.

Jeonghan spends the night refreshing his Twitter feed.

He’s not sure what he’s waiting for, honestly.

Maybe it’s the rush of validation that comes from a clever reply, or the sting of criticism that reminds him he’s still human under the helmet. Or maybe it’s something else entirely—something he doesn’t want to name. The applause of the crowd is long gone, and the adrenaline from securing pole position hours earlier has settled into a restless hum. His phone feels heavier in his hand as he scrolls, tapping at random links and skimming comments that veer between praise and criticism.

The article finally pops up, your name bold and unmistakable at the top. His stomach tightens, a sensation he’ll never admit to anyone, least of all you.

He clicks it immediately.

The headline strikes first:

Kim Mingyu’s Risky Qualifying Lap Keeps Rivals on Edge

For a moment, he freezes, his eyes scanning the words again to make sure he didn’t misread.

Mingyu?

Confusion knots his brow as he scrolls down. The opening paragraph is a glowing analysis of Mingyu’s audacious lap—a near miss in the second sector, a masterful recovery in the final corners. The kind of detailed, evocative writing that Jeonghan knows you reserve for stories you care about.

Then, buried halfway through, he finds his name:

“Jeonghan, true to form, delivered a flawless lap to secure pole position. His consistency and precision were unmatched, placing him at the front of the grid for tomorrow’s race.”

That’s it.

No breakdown of his sector times, no mention of the deft control it took to navigate the tight Monaco corners under immense pressure. Just a single, clinical acknowledgment, overshadowed by Mingyu’s second-place drama.

Jeonghan stares at the screen, his thumb hovering over the refresh button. He doesn’t know what he was expecting—a parade in words? A headline with his name front and center?

It’s ridiculous, he tells himself. Pole position speaks for itself. It doesn’t need a poetic article to back it up.

But that doesn’t stop the irritation bubbling under his skin.

He tosses his phone onto the bed with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. His hotel room feels quieter than it should, the distant hum of the city barely seeping through the windows.

He can’t shake the feeling that you’re making a point. That this is your way of reminding him that while he might be the golden boy on the track, he doesn’t get special treatment in your world.

Not in your writing. Not from you.

It’s infuriating.

And yet, a part of him—one he’s unwilling to examine too closely—wants to know why you didn’t write more about him. Wants to know what he’d have to do to make you look at him the way you clearly look at Mingyu.

Not just another driver.

But the one worth writing about.

The morning of the Monaco Grand Prix dawned with the soft hum of engines filling the paddock and the gleaming streets of Monte Carlo radiating under a cloudless sky. Jeonghan arrived early, his customary calm masking the roiling anticipation beneath. Pole position was his—secured with a lap so clinical it had left his rivals chasing shadows. Yet, the sharp sting of your article still lingered, buried beneath layers of pride and annoyance.

By mid-morning, the paddock buzzed with tension. The Monaco circuit—narrow, unforgiving, and relentlessly demanding—left no room for error. Victory here wasn’t just about speed; it was about precision, strategy, and an unwavering mental edge. Jeonghan knew that all too well.

As he suited up, the familiar ritual steadied his thoughts. Helmet, gloves, fireproofs—each piece transformed him into the driver everyone expected him to be. His engineer’s voice crackled over the comms. “Focus on the start, Jeonghan. Turn One is everything.”

He gave a curt nod, stepping into the car. The roar of the crowd was muffled as the cockpit enveloped him. Lights on the dashboard blinked in sequence, a visual metronome syncing with his heartbeat.

The engine roars to life beneath Jeonghan as he settles into the cockpit, the familiar hum of the Monaco Grand Prix vibrating through the seat, up his spine, and into his very bones. His focus sharpens like a blade, the heat of the sun seeping through his visor, but he’s not thinking about the sweat trickling down his neck or the weight of the helmet that obscures his field of vision. He’s thinking of the laps he’s put in, of the sacrifice, the years of work that led him here, to this very moment, pole position in Monaco.

He has no illusions about the challenge ahead. This track has always favored the one at the front, especially when that one is someone as methodical and precise as Jeonghan. It’s not often that the pole sitter falters here. But that’s not what has his stomach in knots. It’s not the track or the other drivers. It’s you. The thought of your words, your perspective, your gaze.

What if this win isn’t enough? What if I’m still just another driver to you?

His grip tightens on the steering wheel, and for a moment, he considers the possibility of failing, of cruising through the race without the sharp, passionate energy that has always pushed him. What if he doesn’t even get the headline he’s chasing? What if all this effort amounts to nothing more than another expected victory, no deeper praise, no recognition?

He blinks, pushing the thought away. He can’t afford distractions. He’s here to win—nothing else matters.

The lights blink, one by one, before finally turning off, and he’s off, the car surging forward into the narrow streets of Monaco, engines screaming in unison. His concentration narrows, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. The first few laps are a blur of tactical moves, maintaining the lead, setting the pace. Behind him, Mingyu is close—too close—but Jeonghan has enough room, enough air to breathe.

The laps tick by, the gaps between drivers stretching and shrinking like the ebb and flow of a tide. In Monaco, you can’t make mistakes. The barriers are close enough to bite, and one slip-up could send everything into chaos. Jeonghan doesn’t think of that, though. He doesn’t think of the press, of his reputation, of the words hanging in the back of his mind.

What he thinks about is the win. The pure, simple joy of crossing that finish line first. He wants to feel the weight of the moment, of the accomplishment, and more than anything, he wants to look up and see you there—see that your words reflect the magnitude of this victory.

He holds the lead through the race, but it’s a quiet victory, one he can feel in his bones but doesn’t fully experience. The lap times are consistent, but nothing spectacular happens. No drama, no surprise overtake, no breathtaking maneuver.

It’s a clean, controlled victory—exactly what everyone expects from the driver in pole position.

By the time the checkered flag waves, Jeonghan crosses the line in first. The crowd erupts in cheers, but Jeonghan doesn’t feel the same rush of emotion. The thrill is absent, replaced instead by a deep, gnawing sense of doubt.

The win is his, but it feels like it’s already slipping away from his grasp.

In the post-race briefing, he sits with his team, nodding as they discuss tire strategies, pit stops, and the things that went right. But his eyes keep drifting to the back of the room, to where you stand, clipboard in hand, scribbling notes with focused intent. Every time he tries to catch your gaze, to make eye contact, you look away, as if determined to keep your distance.

It stings more than it should.

Jeonghan leans back in his seat, the weight of his helmet resting against his neck, the pressure of your indifference pressing down on him. He wants to reach out, wants to tell you that this win—this clean, controlled, expected win—deserves something more. But he stays silent, twisting the words in his mind, unable to voice the insecurity that’s suddenly consuming him.

The press conference follows the briefing, a whirlwind of questions, cameras, and flashing lights. The room is full of journalists, all clamoring for soundbites, all eager to discuss the expected result—Jeonghan, pole position, and now, victory. But Jeonghan doesn’t care about the usual congratulatory remarks. He’s waiting for something more. Something real.

When the article finally drops, hours later, he barely waits before pulling it up on his phone. He knows what it’s going to say, but still, the disappointment claws at his chest as he reads the headline.

Jeonghan Dominates Monaco: Pole Position Translates to Victory

His stomach twists, and he exhales sharply, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that spreads through him. It’s everything he expected—a result that leaves no room for admiration, no room for praise. Just the simple, obvious statement that he did what everyone expected him to do. The race was clean, flawless even, but there’s no depth to the words, no recognition of what it takes to win here, at Monaco, the most challenging track in the world.

The thought gnaws at him.

It’s not enough.

The press conference continues, the cameras flashing, but Jeonghan’s mind is far from the words he’s being asked to repeat. He’s not thinking about the team’s success, about the strategies that worked, or even about the crowd's cheers. His eyes find you across the room once again, but this time, you don't look away. Your gaze is fixed on something—anything—but not on him.

He can’t help but wonder if it’s because you don’t see him as more than just another driver. Just another one of the usual suspects who gets a win when it’s expected. He’s fighting for something more—something beyond the surface. But for now, it seems like that’s something he’ll never get from you.

He’s won Monaco. But in that moment, the victory feels like the hollowest thing in the world.

FORMULA 1 AWS GRAND PRIX DU CANADA 2024Track: Circuit Gilles Villeneuve

The Canadian Grand Prix feels like a blur. The rain starts as a light drizzle, but by the time the race begins, it’s pouring, transforming the circuit into a slippery mess. The slick track glistens under the flood of water, making the circuit treacherous, a spinning wheel of danger. The air is thick with the scent of wet asphalt, and there’s an ominous tension in the paddock, a murmur that hangs in the atmosphere as if everyone knows something bad is about to happen.

You catch sight of Jeonghan on the grid. He’s staring straight ahead, hands clasped behind his back, his posture perfect, like the picture of composure. But you can see it in his eyes—something flickers there, a mix of tension and determination. His car, finely tuned for dry conditions, isn’t built for this. The engineers have done what they can, adjusting the setup, but there’s only so much they can do when the weather turns so violently. You know this track—the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve—is not forgiving, and for someone like Jeonghan, a precision driver who thrives when everything falls into place, this is the worst-case scenario. He’s trying to keep his focus, but you can see the strain on his face, the pressure mounting with every passing moment.

The starting lights go out, and the cars roar off the grid, their engines screaming in defiance of the rain. Jeonghan’s car is sluggish in the first few laps. You see him fighting with the wheel, struggling to keep the car in line, each turn a reminder that the odds are stacked against him. The rain is only getting heavier, and the car, built for speed in perfect conditions, is no longer responsive, no longer the finely-tuned machine he’s so accustomed to. It’s like he’s driving a different car altogether.

As the laps tick by, the race feels like a slow-motion disaster, unfolding before your eyes. Jeonghan’s always been skilled in the wet, but this is different—this is more than just rain. This is a mechanical mismatch, an impossible task to overcome. You watch him push, trying to find any way to make up time, but it’s clear he’s just not able to. The car slides wide through the corners, the back end kicking out as he struggles to maintain control. His frustration is palpable, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the wheel with white-knuckled intensity.

And then, it happens.

The rear end of Jeonghan’s car breaks loose as he enters Turn 6, and for a moment, it’s a dance of power and precision, a flick of the wheel, an attempt to save it. But it’s futile. The car loses traction, and before you can even process it, he’s in the barriers. The sound of impact is like a gut punch, a sickening crunch that sends a wave of dread through you. The crowd's collective gasp is drowned out by the static crackle of his radio.

“Jeonghan, do you copy?” The voice of his engineer is urgent, panicked, but there’s no mistaking the defeat in it when the response comes through. Jeonghan’s voice is clipped, emotion stripped away in favor of the cold reality.

“I’m out. Car’s done.”

The message is simple, the weight of it crashing down on you. The race is over. Lap 30. The dream, the chance to prove himself in a season that’s been anything but easy, has slipped away, drowned by the rain.

You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. It’s a loss for Jeonghan, but it feels like a loss for you too. Not because of the race itself, but because of the frustration you saw in his face. The disappointment. The feeling of helplessness. It’s all there, and it hits you harder than you expect.

He doesn’t speak to anyone after. He doesn’t go to the media pen, doesn’t stand in front of the cameras for the obligatory interview. There’s no deflection, no distractions. He’s just... gone. You barely see him in the paddock. He doesn’t even go to the Ferrari garage to debrief with his team. He disappears into the background, like he’s trying to erase himself from the scene altogether, retreating into the shadows, avoiding the world that’s waiting to cast its judgment.

And you? You stay away too. The press room feels suffocating, the questions ringing in your ears as you try to focus. You write your piece, a cold, sharp report about the race and Jeonghan’s crash, a clinical dissection of what went wrong. But something feels hollow as you type. The words don’t flow the way they used to. They’re just words, strung together to meet the deadline, to give the readers what they want. It’s not about the story anymore. It’s not about the race. It’s about the loss.

You can’t shake the image of Jeonghan crashing out, of his frustration written in every line of his face, every motion of his hands. You can’t forget the way he looked when he climbed out of the car, shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the world had suddenly fallen onto him. His eyes are distant, like he’s already checked out, retreating into himself. It’s a look you’ve seen before, but it’s sharper now, more pronounced. He’s carrying something, a burden that you don’t understand, a burden you’re not sure you can even help him carry.

But all you can do is write. And even that doesn’t feel like enough.

FORMULA 1 ARAMCO GRAN PREMIO DE ESPAÑA 2024 Track: Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya

The Spanish Grand Prix feels different from the moment you step out of the car, the heat oppressive, the air thick with anticipation and the inevitable tension of the weekend. The usual rhythm of the paddock is off-kilter, heightened by the suffocating summer heat, the burning sun beating down on every exposed surface. The heat is more than just physical; it's palpable in the way the drivers move, in the clipped tones of the engineers, in the quiet buzz of conversation that flickers out like static.

But even through the sticky, heavy air, the tension feels electric—charged, ready to snap. The circuit is a challenge in itself, and the drivers know it. There’s no room for error here—just wide, hot tarmac and the constant pressure of chasing that perfect lap.

You’ve done your best to avoid Jeonghan, kept a comfortable distance as much as possible. But there’s something about the way he carries himself now—an edge that wasn't there before. It’s sharp, biting, and yet there’s an underlying vulnerability that makes everything harder to ignore.

When qualifying results flash up, you’re caught off-guard. Soonyoung is on pole, Mingyu in second, and Jeonghan… Jeonghan is in third.

Jeonghan strides into the paddock after qualifying, his face carefully composed, but there’s a look in his eyes—something sharp, something that makes you hesitate. You haven’t spoken in days, not since Canada, not since he shut you out. You’ve been avoiding him, and he’s been avoiding you, but you both know the silence can’t last forever.

You’re standing near the media area when he approaches, and for a moment, it feels like the world holds its breath. The slight tilt of his head, the way his gaze flicks over your shoulder, pretending not to care, but you see through it.

"Don't do this," he says, his voice tight, but it's not the playful teasing you’ve grown used to. It’s something darker. Something tired.

"Don’t do what?" you snap, your patience running thin. "Pretend everything’s fine?"

His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing. "You’ve been avoiding me. Why? Because of Canada?"

You blink. The question hits harder than you expect, and you struggle to keep your composure. “You expect me to just forget what happened? You were fine after the crash, Jeonghan. You didn’t even bother with the press. I can’t just pretend that wasn’t... anything.”

The words come out sharper than you intend, and for a split second, you regret it. You see the way his shoulders stiffen, the brief flicker of pain in his eyes before he masks it with that carefully constructed indifference.

"Maybe I didn’t want to deal with your harsh words," he snaps, taking a step closer. “Maybe I’m tired of being the perfect driver for you, the one who’s supposed to be good enough to meet your standards. But I’m not—am I?"

Your chest tightens at the accusation, at the sudden rawness in his voice. "You think I’m too harsh? You think I’m just waiting for you to be perfect all the time?" You laugh, bitter and self-deprecating. "That’s what this is about? You crashing out wasn’t because of me. I write the truth, Jeonghan. And maybe the truth is you didn’t have the car for that race. It was out of your control."

His expression darkens, and you see that familiar flash of anger—one you’ve seen more times than you care to admit. "No," he hisses, taking another step toward you. "The truth is, you're so wrapped up in your narratives, you forget that I’m human. You forget that I have feelings too, and that maybe... maybe I wanted to do this for myself, not for some headline or some article. But you... you don’t see me that way, do you? You see me as another story, another fucking headline to dissect. Just another driver."

His words cut deeper than anything else could, and the final crack in your restraint breaks wide open. You can feel the heat rising in your chest, the tightness in your throat, the way your breath hitches.

“You want me to treat you differently?” you bite back, furious, stepping into his space. “You want me to hold your hand and tell you it’s okay every time you fail? Because you’re so tired of being just another driver? Well, you know what, Jeonghan? I am tired. I’m tired of trying to keep this professional, of pretending that I’m not watching the same guy who couldn’t even handle his own crash. You don’t get to demand better treatment from me when you can’t even handle the heat.”

For a moment, neither of you move, and the silence is thick, charged with the weight of your words.

He stares at you, eyes dark, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. You’re both too close now, caught in this space where words are weapons, and you’re both bleeding out.

Finally, Jeonghan turns away, his expression unreadable, but you can see the tightness in his back, the way his jaw works, like he’s holding something back. "Maybe you should stop writing about me altogether," he mutters, his voice rough, before stalking off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding and chest aching.

For a moment, you stand frozen, caught between regret and relief, between the anger that still simmers beneath your skin and the sudden emptiness that creeps in now that he's gone.

The moment Jeonghan storms off, leaving you standing there with a surge of anger and a pounding heart, you don't realize someone’s been listening. But someone has. The faint click of a camera, barely audible over the sound of your pulse, is enough to make you pause. You turn, instinctively, to see a familiar face from the gossip side of the paddock. It's Soojin, a reporter known for getting the juiciest bits of drama and twisting them into scandalous headlines. She’s got a camera in one hand, her phone in the other, furiously typing something into it with a smirk that sends an uncomfortable ripple through your gut.

Before you can say anything, she’s already gone, blending back into the throng of people milling around the paddock, her steps quick and sure. The damage has been done. You know it, and the prickling sensation in the pit of your stomach tells you that it’s about to get a lot worse.

By the time you’ve made it back to the media center, the storm has already hit. Your Twitter feed is flooded with the words “Trouble in Paradise?”, and the accompanying photos. The images are damning—Jeonghan’s angry face, red with emotion, and your own flushed, furious expression, both of you screaming at each other in the middle of the paddock. There’s no context, no explanation, just the raw emotion, raw enough to sell.

The headline isn’t even what stings. It’s the comments that follow. Speculation, assumptions, and a flood of opinions. Some call it a lover’s quarrel, some assume the worst, but most seem content to paint the picture of two people on the verge of breaking. It’s not just your name that gets dragged through the mud; it’s Jeonghan’s too. Both of you, caught in a perfect storm of emotions and bad timing. The last thing either of you needs.

You try to shut it out, but it’s impossible. The text messages from your editor come through, asking for a statement. Your phone rings with calls from the PR team, from your colleagues, and even from your friends, who all seem to know about the situation before you’ve even had a chance to process it yourself.

And then, just when you think it couldn’t get worse, the email comes. It’s from Ferrari’s PR team, and it’s almost too professional to be true:

Dear Y/N, In light of the recent events surrounding your interactions with Mr. Yoon Jeonghan, we would like to offer you full access to the Ferrari garage for the remainder of the season. This will provide you with the opportunity to write an in-depth feature on the team, showcasing the work and dedication that goes into each race weekend. We believe this move will allow for a clearer perspective on the situation and help ensure that your reporting reflects the true nature of the team and its drivers. We look forward to your continued coverage. Best regards, Ferrari PR Team

It’s a calculated move—a distraction, a chance to smooth things over. And you know it. The message is clear: everything must look fine. Everything must be fixed, packaged neatly for the media and the fans to consume. You’re a pawn in a much bigger game, and they’re making sure you play along.

At first, you think about refusing. You think about how everything feels so wrong right now. About how the image of you and Jeonghan, caught in the heat of an argument, is being used to feed the frenzy. But the PR team doesn’t leave room for argument. You know that declining would only escalate things further, make them harder to fix.

So, you agree.

The access starts almost immediately. They give you a full tour of the Ferrari garage, show you the inner workings of the team, introduce you to the engineers, the strategists, the pit crew. You’re given permission to write about the team’s strategy, their behind-the-scenes preparation, but there’s always a sense that you're being watched—every move, every word.

You can’t help but notice Jeonghan’s absence. Every time you walk through the garage, he’s not there. The driver who once greeted you with a cocky smile and a teasing remark, the one who always found a way to make you laugh, is nowhere to be found. It’s like he’s vanished, swallowed by the thick wall of Ferrari’s PR machine.

It’s as if nothing is real anymore. The false smiles, the calculated interviews, the way the drivers exchange glances with a rehearsed ease. The more you observe, the more you realize how much of this world is a performance, a show put on for the audience, with no room for anything real. It all feels like it’s slipping through your fingers, leaving you with nothing but an empty, fragile façade.

Still, you’re expected to keep writing, to deliver the polished pieces the team expects. You’re supposed to put the headline “TROUBLE IN PARADISE?” behind you and focus on the carefully constructed narrative. So, you do. For now.

But even as you walk the pits, breathing in the scent of burnt rubber and sweat, there’s a quiet ache in the back of your mind. The truth is, you don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending that everything is fine.

Not when you still feel Jeonghan’s words hanging in the air between you, like the remnants of a storm that’s yet to pass. Not when you still want, with everything in you, to be able to fix it.

And maybe that’s the problem.

The crash happens so quickly, so violently, that it almost feels unreal. One moment, the tell-tale red of Jeonghan’s car is cutting through the circuit with his signature precision. The next, it’s a twisted mess of metal and rubber, skidding off the track, his car spinning wildly as Lee Seokmin’s Aston Martin clips him just before the tight corner at Turn 14. You watch it all unfold from the pit wall, your heart stopping for a brief second as the sound of the crash echoes through the air.

There’s a collective gasp from the crew around you, followed by the frantic chatter of engineers and strategists, trying to process what just happened. You can see the smoke rising from the wreckage, and your breath catches when the marshals begin to swarm the car, signaling that Jeonghan is still inside.

The radio crackles to life, but Jeonghan’s voice doesn’t come through. For a second, it feels like time slows down. The pit wall is a blur of motion, but you’re frozen, eyes locked on the track, praying for him to be okay.

Then, finally, the confirmation comes: “Jeonghan is out of the car. He's fine. We'll move him to the medical center.”

A wave of relief washes over you, but it’s short-lived. The weight of the crash—his crash—still hangs in the air, and it’s clear from the looks of the Ferrari crew that no one knows exactly what went wrong. The tension in the paddock is palpable, and as you’re given full access to the debriefing room afterward, the atmosphere is thick with unspoken frustration.

Jeonghan walks in with that same seething expression he had after the crash, and the room goes silent. His eyes are red-rimmed, his jaw clenched, the kind of anger that’s so deep it can’t be shaken by anything or anyone. His usual confident swagger is replaced by a taut, barely contained rage that makes it hard for anyone to even breathe in his presence. His voice, when he speaks, is sharp, cutting through the room like a knife.

“You think this is a joke?” he snaps, looking at his team with a glare so intense it’s almost suffocating. His fists are balled at his sides, his shoulders tense with barely controlled fury.

The debriefing begins, but it’s clear that no one knows how to handle him. His coach tries to keep things calm, but Jeonghan's sharp words only make the tension worse. The rest of the team sits in silence, unsure of what to say, how to fix the situation. His eyes never leave the table, his posture rigid, as though every part of him is fighting the urge to storm out.

The meeting goes in circles—strategies discussed, what went wrong, how to move forward—but nothing seems to land. Jeonghan doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to listen to anyone right now. His frustration is palpable, and it’s clear this crash, this failure, has broken something inside of him.

When he finally stands, his chair scraping harshly against the floor, there’s an air of finality to it. Without another word, he storms out, leaving a tense silence in his wake. No one dares to speak, knowing that anything they say would be pointless. The door slams shut, and the meeting disbands soon after.

But you don’t leave. You don’t really have anywhere to go. Not yet.

You make your way to the Ferrari canteen, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. It’s one of those rare moments when you’re not chasing a headline, not following the usual routine, and the monotony of it all feels like a relief. You order two beers without thinking. You don’t need two, but for some reason, it feels right. Maybe it’s the adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the crash, or maybe it’s just the weight of everything—the pressure, the disappointment, the simmering frustration with Jeonghan that you haven’t had the chance to process yet. The beers are cold, the glass bottles slick with condensation, and when you walk outside to the grandstands, you find him.

Jeonghan is sitting alone, his back against the metal railing, the crowd long gone. The air is warm, the kind of summer heat that clings to your skin and makes everything feel a little heavier. His eyes are closed, his head tipped back as he stares at the sky, and for a moment, you wonder if he even notices you approaching.

Without saying a word, you sit beside him, the soft crunch of your shoes against the gravel the only sound in the stillness. You don’t offer him a drink immediately. Instead, you hold the bottles in your hands, feeling the chill seep into your palms, letting the silence stretch between you.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hand him one of the beers. He doesn’t look at you, but you catch the faintest shift in his posture, a soft hum of acknowledgement as he accepts it, cracking the cap with a quick twist.

“Jeonghan,” you say, breaking the silence, your voice quieter than you expect it to be. He doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. You take a sip of your own beer, the bitter taste grounding you in the moment. You can feel the tension that’s been building between you both, the weight of the unspoken words, but for now, you can’t bring yourself to make him speak.

Then he does. “Full access, huh?” His voice is rough, the teasing edge to his words gone, replaced by something heavier. The bitterness is unmistakable. “You must be thrilled, getting to see me crash out in front of the entire team.”

You almost choke on your beer. You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or genuinely hurt, but it stings regardless.

“I’m not,” you say quickly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You wish he would look at you, but he’s staring straight ahead, his jaw still tight, muscles still coiled like a spring. "I don’t want that, Jeonghan. What don’t you get?"

“No?” He tilts his head slightly, but his gaze stays fixed. “I would think Miss Scathing Articles would relish the chance to tear me down again.”

A sharp retort sat on your tongue, but you swallowed it. There was no point. Instead, you looked away, focusing on the distant horizon where the racetrack lay, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. "I don’t," you said quietly. "I’m not interested in tearing you down. I never have been."

Jeonghan’s laugh was hollow, almost like a scoff. "Color me surprised."

A beat passed between you both, the air thick with unspoken words. You took a sip of your beer, now lukewarm and slightly flat, but it didn’t matter. Neither of you had the luxury of pretending everything was fine anymore.

He finally turns to you, his eyes meeting yours; there’s something in the way he looks at you—raw, vulnerable, almost like he’s waiting for the punchline of some cruel joke.

“I’m sorry,” you say after a long silence, your voice softer this time, barely above a whisper. You’re not sure if he hears you, but he looks at you with an expression that makes you feel like you’ve just stepped into a minefield.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he exhales a long breath, rubbing his forehead with his fingers as though the weight of it all is finally catching up to him. The tension between you hangs heavy in the warm summer air, the quiet hum of distant cicadas filling the space where words should be. Jeonghan takes another sip of his beer, the bottle pressed lightly against his lips as though it might cool the heat simmering under his skin. He looks tired—no, more than tired. Worn down. The type of exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says finally, the words coming out uneven, almost like they’re foreign on his tongue. His voice is softer now, missing the sharp edges that had cut into you moments before. “You were just doing your job.”

“Jeonghan,” you start, but he holds up a hand, silencing you.

“No, really.” He forces a thin smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s the kind of expression you’ve seen him use in press conferences—a shield, practiced and perfect. “You’re here because Ferrari told you to be. Because someone thought it’d be a great PR move. You don’t owe me anything beyond that.”

The words sting, even though you know they shouldn’t. He’s not wrong. This isn’t your world, not really. But you can’t help the knot tightening in your chest as you watch him retreat into himself, the walls going up before your eyes.

“I’m not here because they told me to be,” you say quietly, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “I’m here because I wanted to be. Because I saw the crash, Jeonghan, and I—” You stop, swallowing hard as the memory flashes behind your eyes again. The twisted metal, the plume of smoke, the moment you thought—

“I was scared,” you admit, your voice cracking slightly. “Not as a journalist. Not as someone with a job to do. As someone who—” Jeonghan’s gaze snaps to you, his eyes narrowing slightly, but there’s something vulnerable there, too, something unguarded.

You don't finish the sentence.

Jeonghan watches you closely now, his beer suspended mid-air, forgotten. The sharpness in his gaze softens, replaced by something else—curiosity, maybe, or an unease he doesn’t quite know how to address.

The air between you feels heavy, suffocating in its quiet. You can still hear the faint echoes of the crash in your mind, the awful screech of metal against asphalt, the split-second horror of thinking you’d just seen him—

He sets the bottle down with a soft clink against the railing, breaking the spell.

“Scared, huh?” His voice is quieter now, and there’s a touch of disbelief, as though he’s trying to decide whether to accept your words or dismiss them.

You nod, throat tightening as you try to push through the lump that’s settled there. “Terrified,” you admit, the word feeling foreign and vulnerable on your tongue. “Not because of what I’d have to write, but because I thought—” You bite down on the rest of the sentence, unwilling to say it aloud.

Jeonghan exhales, long and slow, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he leans back against the railing. “I’m fine,” he says eventually, the words flat and unconvincing. He glances at you, his lips pressing into a faintly wry smile. “A little bruised. A little pissed. But I’m fine.”

It’s not enough to untangle the knot in your chest, but it’s a start. You nod, not trusting yourself to say anything else.

He finishes his beer in a few swallows, the motion oddly decisive, before standing and brushing off his pants. For a moment, you think he’s about to leave without another word, the tension between you both left unresolved.

But then he turns, holding out a hand toward you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a faint curve to his lips that feels almost... playful.

“Friends?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, his hair falling into his eyes. “If you’re going to be hanging around the garage all season, might as well, y’know?”

You blink at him, taken aback. The man who’d stormed out of the debriefing room in a fit of rage, who’d spat barbs at you moments ago, now stood here offering a truce like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Friends,” you echo, narrowing your eyes as you take his hand. It’s warm, his grip firm but not overbearing, and for a fleeting second, you wonder if this is another performance—an act to keep you at arm’s length.

But when he pulls you to your feet, there’s something genuine in his expression, something almost relieved.

“You better not make me regret this,” he says, letting go of your hand as he shoves his now-empty beer bottle into your other one. “And don’t think this means you’re off the hook for the shit you wrote.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as he smirks.

For the first time all day, the knot in your chest loosens just slightly. You follow him back toward the paddock, your steps lighter than they’ve been in weeks.

And for now, that’s enough.

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS AUSTRIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Red Bull Ring

The Red Bull Ring stretches out before you like a postcard of precision. Nestled in the Austrian hills, the track gleams under the soft morning sun, its curves and straights inviting the first roar of engines. The garage is alive with motion—engineers bent over laptops, mechanics tightening bolts, and the hum of anticipation that comes with any race weekend.

You step into the Ferrari garage, an interloper in a sea of red. Jeonghan’s car gleams in its designated spot, pristine and ready, as though it hadn’t been a crumpled wreck just a week ago. The team works around it like a well-oiled machine, barely sparing you a glance. You’re supposed to be here, technically, but that doesn’t stop the slight twinge of unease as you find a quiet corner near the monitors.

“Back again?”

The voice is unmistakable, light and teasing. You turn, and there he is: Yoon Jeonghan in his fireproofs, the sleeves tied around his waist, his white undershirt faintly clinging to his frame. He looks every bit the picture of calm, like he hasn’t spent the past few days fielding press questions about his crash.

“Didn’t think you’d miss the chance to watch me run into someone,” he adds, smirking as he adjusts his gloves.

You raise an eyebrow. “Is this your way of saying you’re aiming for Aston Martin?”

He laughs, a real laugh this time, and it’s startling how much it changes the air around you. “Not today. But I’ll keep you updated if Seokmin starts driving like a rookie again.”

“Careful, Jeonghan,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. “I might put that in my next article.”

He leans casually against the wall, his dark eyes scanning your face with an intensity that’s become familiar in the past few weeks. But there’s no edge to it today, no armor. Just him, relaxed and—for once—almost easygoing.

“You’re not as scary as you think you are,” he says after a beat, his voice low enough that the hum of the garage nearly drowns it out.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the grin that creeps onto your face. “And you’re not as charming as you think you are.”

He tilts his head, considering this like it’s the most interesting thing he’s heard all day. “Fair. But you’re still here, aren’t you?”

“Purely professional,” you quip, ignoring the way his smirk grows.

Before he can reply, the engineer by the monitors calls him over, gesturing to the screen. Jeonghan holds up a finger, signaling for a moment, then turns back to you.

“Stay out of trouble, yeah?” His voice is lighter now, teasing but not in the way that cuts. It feels natural, like banter between...well, maybe not quite friends. Not yet. But something close.

You shrug, watching as he walks toward his team, the confidence in his stride unmistakable. The tension that had lingered after the crash feels like it’s finally begun to dissolve, replaced by something steadier. Not quite trust, but something adjacent.

As you settle into the corner, notebook in hand, you can’t help but glance at him every so often. On the surface, it’s just another practice session, another day at the track. But for the first time in weeks, it feels like something close to normal.

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS BRITISH GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Silverstone Circuit

Silverstone roars to life under a blazing sun, the grandstands filled to capacity with fans waving flags and wearing team colors. The overcast sky has burned off, leaving the track shimmering under the summer sun. It’s one of the biggest stages of the season, and Jeonghan delivers a masterclass in qualifying, the finely tuned Ferrari underneath him responding to every input like an extension of himself. The sharp smell of rubber and fuel lingers in the air, mingling with the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He’s back.

The final lap times on the leaderboard tell the story: pole position. Ferrari’s garage is electric with celebration, engineers clapping each other on the back, a cheer rising when Jeonghan steps into the swarm of red. His team surrounds him, hands gripping his shoulders, voices shouting praise over the din.

He grins, wide and unguarded, the weight of the last few weeks lifting ever so slightly. Spain and Canada had shaken him, but this—this feels like a reckoning. Proof that the mistakes and setbacks weren’t the whole story.

“Perfect lap, Jeonghan,” his engineer says, beaming as he hands him a water bottle.

He nods in acknowledgment, taking a swig, his heart still racing as he glances around the paddock. The sun is high now, glinting off the sleek curves of the cars lined up in parc fermé. Jeonghan’s gaze sweeps over the crowd, soaking in the energy—until he sees you.

You’re standing just outside the McLaren garage, the vibrant orange of their branding a stark contrast to the reds and blacks of his world. You’re leaning against a barrier, the breeze tugging at your hair as you laugh at something Mingyu says. Your face is so open, so full of light, that it’s almost magnetic.

Mingyu gestures animatedly, clearly in the middle of some ridiculous story, his grin as wide as the Cheshire Cat’s. You throw your head back with a laugh, and Jeonghan feels a tightness in his chest he can’t quite place.

The joy that had filled him moments ago flickers.

Why does it bother him?

The thought lingers as he watches you, his water bottle dangling forgotten in his hand. Jeonghan isn’t used to this kind of gnawing discomfort. He’s competitive, sure, but this is something else entirely.

Jealousy.

The sun is lower in the sky when he finds you, his long strides purposeful as he weaves through the paddock. The golden hour light makes everything seem softer, but Jeonghan’s mood is anything but. His thoughts from earlier have been simmering, the warmth of victory eclipsed by a frustration he can’t shake.

You’re leaning against a railing, scrolling on your phone when he approaches.

“Shouldn’t you be in the Ferrari garage?” he says, his tone sharper than he intends.

You blink up at him, startled. “I was just catching up with Mingyu.”

Jeonghan crosses his arms, his brow furrowing. “Funny. I thought you were doing a full-access piece on Ferrari, not McLaren.”

There’s something in his voice—an edge that sets your teeth on edge. “I am,” you reply slowly, standing up straighter. “What’s this about?”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “Is that why your articles about Mingyu are always glowing? What, are you sleeping with him?”

The accusation is like a slap, cutting through the air with a harshness that leaves you stunned.

Your expression shifts, disbelief giving way to anger. “Are you serious right now?”

Jeonghan doesn’t respond immediately, his jaw tight. The regret in his eyes is fleeting, buried under the weight of his own misplaced frustration.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” you snap, your voice trembling with fury. “It’s always one step forward, two steps back with you, Jeonghan.”

His lips part as if to reply, but you don’t wait for him to dig himself deeper. You storm off, your footsteps echoing against the paddock floor. The sting of his words lingers, but so does the look on his face as you walk away.

Jeonghan stands there, watching you go, the tension in his shoulders giving way to a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knows he’s crossed a line, and the weight of his own stupidity settles heavily over him.

The knock on your hotel room door comes before sunrise, soft but insistent. You groan, burying your face in your pillow before dragging yourself to the door.

When you open it, the hallway is empty. But at your feet sits a bouquet wrapped in crisp white paper, tied with a simple satin ribbon.

Roses. Soft blush pink, their petals perfectly unfurled, paired with delicate sprigs of baby’s breath.

The arrangement is beautiful, almost heartbreakingly so, the kind of bouquet that feels like a story in itself. You crouch to pick it up, your fingers brushing over the velvety petals. The faint, sweet scent of roses fills the air, mixing with the crisp morning chill that seeps into the hallway.

Nestled among the flowers is a small envelope.

You pull it out, your thumb brushing over the edge of the paper as you open it. Inside, scrawled in a slightly messy hand that’s unmistakably Jeonghan’s, are two simple words:

I’m sorry.

You glance down the hallway instinctively, half-expecting to see him lingering in the shadows. But it’s empty, as silent as it was before you opened the door.

You stand there for a moment longer, the bouquet in your arms and the note trembling slightly in your fingers. The apology feels heavier than the flowers, weighted by the memory of his words from yesterday.

He didn’t need to apologize like this, you think. He could have texted, could have mumbled something in passing when you inevitably crossed paths today. But instead, he’d gone to the trouble of figuring out your favorite flowers—roses and baby’s breath, a detail you don’t even remember telling him.

The realization stirs something in you, softening the edges of your anger.

The roses sit on the desk as you get ready for the day, the baby’s breath adding a delicate touch to the arrangement. The card leans against the vase, its two-word apology a quiet presence in the room.

Somewhere in the city, Silverstone is waking up, the air already buzzing with anticipation for the race. But here, in the stillness of your hotel room, you take a moment to breathe, to let the gesture sink in.

Jeonghan’s voice echoes faintly in your mind, the memory of yesterday’s confrontation still fresh. And yet, as you glance at the roses again, the sting of his words begins to dull, replaced by something softer, something not yet ready to be named.

The pre-race buzz was electric. The roar of engines echoed faintly in the distance, a constant backdrop to the paddock’s chaotic rhythm. Mechanics zipped between garages, reporters hustled to get last-minute quotes, and fans outside the barricades chanted their favorite drivers’ names. Amid all this, your footsteps fell heavy against the asphalt, your target in sight: Yoon Jeonghan.

There he was, leaning against the nose of his red Ferrari, his race suit a striking flash of scarlet that caught the sunlight and made him look annoyingly pristine for someone who had caused you so much grief. He was chatting with an engineer, that easy, charming smile plastered on his face like he hadn’t thrown baseless accusations your way less than 24 hours ago.

You marched toward him, purpose sharpening your steps. The bouquet from this morning was still vivid in your mind—blush pink roses, soft and elegant, their delicate petals almost glowing against the green of the baby’s breath, a stark contrast to the seething frustration you still carried. And the note—just two infuriatingly simple words—burned in your pocket, a reminder of the apology you hadn’t quite accepted yet.

“Jeonghan,” you called, your voice cutting through the low hum of conversation around you.

He glanced up, his casual demeanor faltering for a split second when he saw you. Then, like a switch had flipped, his smile returned. “Oh, hey.”

You stopped a foot away, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “How did you know my favorite flowers?”

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, and he leaned ever so slightly against the car, as if the conversation were a game he’d already won. “Oh good, they got delivered to the right room.”

“Jeonghan,” you said, your tone sharper now, “don’t deflect.”

“Deflect what?” He tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with that infuriating glint of mischief that made you want to throttle him and laugh in equal measure.

“JEONGHAN.” The snap in your voice turned a few heads nearby, but you didn’t care.

He sighed dramatically, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fine. A certain papaya-colored birdie told me.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Papaya-colored birdie... Mingyu?”

Jeonghan hesitated, his grin faltering for just a moment. You saw the gears turning in his head, calculating whether to deflect again or come clean.

“Spit it out, Yoon Jeonghan,” you said, stepping closer, “or I’ll never write a single kind thing about you for the rest of your life.”

His mouth twitched, caught between amusement and resignation. Finally, he shrugged, his voice almost too casual. “Childhood friends, eh? You and Mingyu? That explains yesterday.”

You blinked, thrown by the abrupt shift in topic. “Don’t change the subject,” you snapped, though his words tugged at something in the back of your mind. “You really went to Kim Mingyu for help? After accusing me of—”

“I might have... aggressively encouraged Mingyu to spill everything he knew about you,” Jeonghan admitted, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You raised a brow. “Aggressively encouraged?”

“Fine,” he said with a huff. “I threatened to steal his steering wheel from the McLaren garage if he didn’t talk.”

Despite your irritation, a snort escaped you. “And he just handed over my life story, huh?”

Jeonghan crossed his arms, mirroring your stance. “What can I say? He’s surprisingly chatty when he thinks you’re in trouble. Very protective, that one.”

You clenched your jaw, the pieces clicking into place. “So, that’s why you jumped to conclusions yesterday. You thought—”

He cut you off, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “I know. I was out of line. That’s what the flowers were for.”

For a moment, the noise of the paddock seemed to fade. The wind carried the faint scent of burning rubber, and the distant cheers of fans reached your ears like a muted hum. Jeonghan’s expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something quieter, almost vulnerable.

“For what it’s worth,” he added, his tone lower now, “I really am sorry.”

You exhaled slowly, the weight of the last day lifting slightly from your chest. “You’re lucky I like roses.”

“I know,” he replied, his grin returning, lighter this time, almost boyish. “Good taste, huh?”

“Good recovery, at least,” you muttered, your lips twitching despite yourself.

Jeonghan’s laughter followed you as you turned and walked away, the sound less grating than it had been the day before. It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet—but it felt like a start.

FORMULA 1 HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Hungaroring

The Hungarian Grand Prix paddock was buzzing, but you could tell something was off. The sound of chatter and engines felt like distant echoes as you stood by the garage, watching Jeonghan’s Ferrari pull back into its stall after a less-than-stellar FP1. The car’s engine quieted as the mechanics immediately went to work, inspecting it. But it wasn’t the car that caught your attention—it was Jeonghan himself.

He was unusually quiet, his usual cocky confidence buried beneath the furrow of his brow as he stripped off his helmet and gloves. His gaze was focused on the car, but it was clear his mind wasn’t in the garage. He seemed... distant, almost frustrated. The others in the team were busy talking strategy, discussing the data, but Jeonghan barely spoke up during the debriefing. It was strange.

The team finished up, but you noticed Jeonghan lingered near the back, hands on his hips, staring at his car like it had personally betrayed him. It wasn’t like him to be this quiet, especially not after a session where he was so used to being in control. You could practically feel the weight of his thoughts from where you stood.

You didn’t want to be intrusive, but you couldn’t ignore it—something was wrong.

You walked over, careful not to disturb the mechanics who were still busy at work. "Jeonghan," you called softly, stepping beside him. He turned to you, but his eyes didn’t quite meet yours. They were focused on something distant, like he was seeing the track or the car but not really seeing them.

“Everything okay?” you asked, trying to keep the concern out of your voice, but it slipped through anyway. “You’ve been quiet since the debriefing.”

He gave a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine.”

You weren’t buying it. You had known Jeonghan long enough to recognize the way he carried his frustration. It wasn’t the kind of thing that could be hidden behind a casual smile, no matter how practiced.

“You sure? You know you don’t have to be okay all the time, right?” you pressed, stepping a little closer. The air around you felt heavy, charged with unspoken words.

Jeonghan exhaled sharply, his fingers digging into his gloves before he slowly pulled them off. He seemed to be gathering himself before speaking. “I hate it,” he muttered, and his voice had a rawness to it that caught you off guard. “Not being perfect. I... I can’t stand it.”

“Not being perfect?” you echoed, surprised. Jeonghan, the ever-cocky, confident driver, admitting that?

He looked up at you then, his eyes intense, as though he was searching for something in your gaze. “Yeah. I know it sounds stupid,” he said with a wry laugh that lacked its usual humor. “But it’s who I am. I’m a perfectionist, always have been. Every little mistake... it sticks with me. I can’t just move on. I think about it. Constantly.”

You watched him, absorbing his words, the vulnerability in his tone feeling like a crack in his otherwise polished exterior. Jeonghan, always so composed on the surface, always teasing and joking, was admitting something deeper now—something more personal.

“Is that why you were so quiet during the debriefing?” you asked, keeping your voice soft.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his gaze flicking to the car again. “I know I didn’t have the best session, but it feels like... like I failed. Like I’m not doing my job right. I could’ve done better.” His jaw clenched as if he were angry at himself.

The silence that fell between you was thick, almost suffocating, and you could feel the tension radiating off him. You hadn’t seen him like this before—not with this level of self-doubt.

“You’re not failing,” you said, your voice firm. “You’re allowed to have bad sessions. Hell, everyone has bad days. But that doesn’t mean you’re failing. It’s just a part of it.”

Jeonghan glanced over at you, his lips curving into a small, grateful smile. “You really believe that?”

“Yeah, I do,” you said, nodding. “I mean... it’s not all about being perfect. Sometimes it’s the mistakes that push you to be better.”

Jeonghan looked down at his hands, still clutching the gloves, and you could see the gears turning in his mind. “I know. But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

“I get it,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the side of the garage. “But you’ve got a whole team behind you. And we all know what you’re capable of. You’ll get there. It’s just one session.”

He finally met your gaze, his eyes softening. “Thanks.”

There was a long pause, the sound of distant chatter and the hum of the paddock filling the silence. You were so used to Jeonghan’s teasing and cocky attitude that this quieter, more introspective side of him felt like a different person altogether. And maybe it was—it was the side that wasn’t the driver who fought for every fraction of a second on the track, the side that just wanted to be good enough.

“It’s not stupid, you know,” you added quietly. “Caring about being good at what you do isn’t stupid. It’s just... exhausting sometimes.”

Jeonghan laughed lightly, the sound a bit more genuine this time. “You have no idea. But I’m getting better at... handling it. I think.”

You smiled at him, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over you. There was still that hint of unease in his posture, the tightness in his shoulders, but for the first time all day, he seemed a little more at ease with himself.

As you turned to leave, you shot him one last look. “Just don’t be so hard on yourself next time, okay?”

“I’ll try,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. And for a moment, you almost believed him.

The stands were eerily quiet now, a stark contrast to the roar of the crowd just hours earlier. You wandered through the empty paddock, your steps unhurried as the hum of the night settled around you. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint clatter of the Ferrari team packing up, but Jeonghan wasn’t with them.

You’d seen him after the race, his jaw tight as he climbed out of the car. Finishing P5 wasn’t bad by any measure, but it wasn’t what he wanted. And with Mingyu overtaking him in the Driver’s Championship by just twenty points, it was clear Jeonghan had taken it as a personal blow. His disappointment hung around him like a shadow.

It wasn’t hard to guess where he’d gone.

Sure enough, when you climbed up into the grandstands, there he was. Sitting alone in the middle row, still in his Ferrari race suit, unzipped to the waist to reveal his black base layer. His hair was tousled from the helmet, his posture slouched, shoulders hunched as though the weight of the day hadn’t yet left him. Beside him were two bottles of beer, one already open and resting loosely in his hand.

You approached quietly, but Jeonghan didn’t flinch. He didn’t even turn around when you reached him, your feet crunching softly against the debris of the crowd—discarded programs, empty wrappers, and forgotten flags. He must’ve known it was you, though. He always seemed to know.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, your voice breaking the stillness.

He finally glanced up, his expression unreadable. “It’s a free grandstand,” he muttered, gesturing to the empty seats around him.

You slid into the seat next to him, the cool metal chilling through your clothes. Jeonghan’s gaze returned to the track ahead, where the floodlights illuminated the ghost of the race. He took a sip of his beer, silent.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable—just heavy. You could feel the frustration radiating off him, the bitterness that came with being so close but not close enough.

“You should drink this before it gets warm,” he said suddenly, pushing the unopened beer toward you.

You picked it up, twisting off the cap with a small smile. “Thanks. Not exactly the post-race celebration you were hoping for, huh?”

He huffed a humorless laugh. “Not exactly.”

The silence fell again, but this time you weren’t willing to let it linger. You turned to him, watching the way his fingers tapped restlessly against the neck of the bottle. “You’re still in the fight, you know,” you said gently.

Jeonghan’s lips quirked, but it wasn’t a smile. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Well, you are,” you insisted. “Three points. That’s nothing. You’ve come back from worse.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he tilted his head back, looking up at the dark sky above the track. “You don’t get it,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “It’s not just about the points. It’s about everything. The mistakes, the pressure... the expectations. It’s like... like I have to prove that I deserve to be here. Every single time.”

“You do deserve to be here,” you said firmly, the conviction in your voice enough to make him turn to you. “You wouldn’t be in that seat if you didn’t. You’re one of the best drivers on the grid, Jeonghan. Everyone knows it. Even Mingyu. Especially Mingyu.”

Jeonghan scoffed, a flicker of a smile breaking through his stormy expression. “Bet he’s loving this right now.”

“Maybe,” you said, leaning back against the seat. “But knowing Mingyu, he’s probably already plotting ways to rub it in at the next race.”

That earned a laugh, small but real, and the sound was enough to make you smile too.

“You’re good at this,” he said after a moment, his tone softer now. “Talking me off the ledge.”

“Someone has to,” you replied with a shrug. “And honestly? I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. One race doesn’t define you, Jeonghan. You’re not just a number on the leaderboard.”

He looked at you then, his gaze lingering. There was something in his expression—gratitude, maybe, or something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name. “Thanks,” he said simply, the word weighted with more than just appreciation.

You clinked your bottle against his. “Anytime.”

The two of you sat there for a while longer, the weight of the day slowly lifting as the quiet of the night wrapped around you. It wasn’t much, but it was enough—for now. And as Jeonghan leaned back in his seat, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles, you knew he’d be okay. Eventually.

You took another sip of your beer, the chill of the bottle grounding you as Jeonghan’s earlier tension began to melt away. The ghost of a smile still lingered on his lips, and for the first time since you’d climbed up to find him, his shoulders seemed lighter.

“So,” he said, breaking the quiet, his voice tinged with a familiar mischievousness, “what’s your headline going to be this week?”

You raised an eyebrow, scoffing softly as you bumped his shoulder with your own. “You’ll see it when you see it, Yoon Jeonghan. No spoilers.”

His chuckle was low and warm, a sound that felt like the first crack of sunlight after a storm. “Should I be worried?”

“Always,” you replied, the corners of your lips quirking upward. “But maybe not too much this time.”

He gave you a curious look, his expression halfway between wary and amused, but he didn’t press. Instead, he leaned back, his gaze drifting back to the track. The night was calm now, the weight of the day’s disappointment tucked into the folds of shared silence.

The headline hit Monday morning, and Jeonghan had to admit, you’d delivered once again.

Ferrari Falters in Hungary: Yoon Jeonghan's Fight for the Title Tightens

The article was incisive, as sharp as he’d expected. You broke down his struggles in FP1, critiqued his race strategy, and even called out the overtaking move that cost him crucial points. It was the kind of detailed, no-nonsense analysis you were known for, and Jeonghan read every word with a mix of frustration and admiration.

But at the bottom, tucked beneath the last paragraph, there was a footnote—barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.

“Despite Hungary’s setback, Yoon Jeonghan remains one of the most popular and formidable contenders for the championship. With only twenty points separating him from the lead, Belgium offers a more than fair chance for the Ferrari star to close the gap and reclaim his momentum.”

Jeonghan blinked, then read it again, a slow smile tugging at his lips. He leaned back in his chair, the paper still in hand, and shook his head.

“Subtle,” he muttered, though his tone was anything but annoyed. It was gratitude, warmth, and a flicker of hope all wrapped together in a single word.

He might have faltered in Hungary, but you’d reminded him—the season wasn’t even half over. And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t fighting alone.

FORMULA 1 ROLEX BELGIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps

The weekend at Spa began like a dream.

The legendary Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps was a driver’s haven and a monster in equal measure. The longest track on the calendar, its 7 kilometers of asphalt wound through the lush forests of the Ardennes, combining high-speed straights, sweeping corners, and the unpredictable challenges of its microclimate. The iconic Eau Rouge and Raidillon dared drivers to go flat out, while the downhill plunge into Pouhon tested their courage and precision. It was a place where skill separated the good from the great.

Jeonghan thrived on its challenge.

FP1 and FP2 were his playgrounds, his Ferrari gliding through corners like it was made for this circuit alone. The car was responsive and balanced, every adjustment in setup shaving precious milliseconds off his laps. Jeonghan pushed it to its limits, feeling every bump and curve beneath him as if Spa’s asphalt were an extension of himself.

By the time he returned to the garage, his name was at the top of the timesheets, and his team wore expressions of pride and relief. Engineers crowded around him during the debrief, their excitement palpable. Even Mingyu wandered over to toss a mockingly impressed, “Don’t get used to it, Yoon,” in his direction.

Jeonghan, basking in the buzz of dominance, had only winked.

But then came the penalty.

A breach in power unit regulations—an unavoidable technicality that slapped him with a grid penalty. It was frustratingly bureaucratic, a punishment that felt out of his control and yet deeply personal. His pole position was stripped away, and he was relegated to P10.

In the Ferrari garage, Jeonghan leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, the weight of his helmet heavy in his hand. The rhythmic hum of power tools and bursts of chatter around him did little to soothe his simmering frustration.

It wasn’t just the penalty—it was the sting of perfection slipping through his fingers, a weekend that had started flawlessly now teetering on the edge of disappointment.

He glanced up, ready to bury himself in the chaos of the paddock, and froze.

You were there, leaning casually against the pit wall, chatting with one of the mechanics. The glow of the overhead lights caught in your hair, and despite the whirlwind of activity, you were a picture of calm. Your hands moved as you spoke, animated yet confident, the faintest flicker of a smirk playing on your lips.

His gaze lingered.

It hit him—a memory of your words from Hungary, your unwavering belief cloaked in sharp wit: “A more than fair chance to close the gap.”

For the first time since the penalty, the gap didn’t feel insurmountable.

He didn’t realize he’d been staring until you caught his eye. Your brows rose, and you tilted your head in mock curiosity before excusing yourself from the mechanic and walking toward him.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice laced with a note of amusement and something softer underneath.

Jeonghan shrugged, plastering on his signature cocky grin. “Since when are you worried about me?”

Your lips twitched in a barely concealed smile. “Oh, I’m not worried. Just curious. I wanted to see how Ferrari’s golden boy handles a little adversity.”

His grin faltered for the briefest moment before sharpening again. “Keep watching,” he said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “I might surprise you.”

You tilted your chin, your expression a blend of challenge and intrigue. “Don’t disappoint me then.”

The way you said it—like you meant it—sparked something fierce in him.

As you turned to leave, the faint scent of your perfume lingered in the air, anchoring him to the moment. Jeonghan watched you disappear into the paddock, your confident stride a sharp contrast to his brooding, and for the first time that day, a smirk tugged at his lips.

It wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

P10 to P1.

It was the kind of race drivers dreamed of—the kind that earned its place in highlight reels for years to come.

The chaos began even before the lights went out. Rain had threatened all morning, dark clouds heavy over the Ardennes, but it held off just long enough to keep everyone guessing. Jeonghan sat in his Ferrari on the grid, surrounded by cars that had no business being ahead of him. He’d spent every second since the penalty recalibrating his mindset, shifting his frustration into fuel.

As the lights went out, his singular focus kicked in.

Turn 1, La Source: Jeonghan dived inside, threading through a gap that barely existed. The radio crackled with his engineer’s voice, commending his clean move, but he barely registered it. Eau Rouge and Raidillon loomed ahead, their uphill sweep demanding precision, bravery, and trust in his car.

He took the corners flat out.

By Lap 5, Jeonghan was in P7. His mind churned as he studied the cars ahead, each one a problem to solve. Every braking point, every shift in weight through the curves—it all required perfect execution.

But then came the rain.

It began as a drizzle at Pouhon, the light sheen on the track turning treacherous by the next sector. Jeonghan’s grip on the wheel tightened as he adjusted his lines, feeling for every ounce of traction.

“Box this lap for inters,” his engineer instructed.

“No,” Jeonghan replied, his voice steady. He could feel it—the balance of risk and reward. He stayed out one lap longer, the gamble paying off as he overtook two cars struggling on the wrong tires. When he finally pitted, the stop was flawless.

By Lap 20, the red flag came out, the rain too heavy for safety. Jeonghan sat in the pit lane during the suspension, helmet off, sweat beading his brow. His thoughts wandered for the first time since the race began.

Your words came back to him.

"Jeonghan’s perfectionism is both his weapon and his curse. When he is at his best, he’s untouchable. But the question remains: can he handle the pressure when the odds aren’t in his favor?"

His jaw tightened. You were right—about the pressure, about the way he held himself to standards so high they sometimes crushed him. But you’d also written something else.

"A more than fair chance to close the gap."

He wasn’t sure why, but that sentence anchored him.

When the race restarted, Jeonghan was a man possessed.

Sector by sector, he clawed his way through the field, each overtake cleaner and bolder than the last. At Blanchimont, he overtook Soonyoung in a move that was half instinct, half calculated risk. His engineer’s voice came over the radio in a disbelieving laugh: “Mate, you’re insane!”

By the final lap, he was leading. The roar of the crowd blended with the steady beat of his heart as he crossed the finish line, victory his once more.

The pit lane was a blur of celebration. His team engulfed him in a sea of red, their cheers drowning out even the din of Spa’s loyal fans. Soonyoung appeared out of nowhere, throwing an arm around Jeonghan’s shoulders.

“Winning in Spa from P10? You better believe I’m buying the first round,” Soonyoung declared, grinning despite his P2 finish.

Jeonghan laughed, the sound ragged and raw from effort, but his mind wasn’t entirely in the moment.

Later, in the quiet of the motorhome, when the adrenaline had settled and exhaustion was creeping in, Jeonghan pulled out his phone. His thumb hovered over the search bar before typing your name.

The article was already live.

His breath caught as he read your headline:

From P10 to Perfection: Yoon Jeonghan’s Masterclass at Spa

It was glowing, but in your unmistakable style—balanced, sharp, and honest. You praised his overtakes, his strategy, and his ability to rise under pressure. Your writing was like poetry, an ode to his resilience, his precision in the rain, his ability to claw victory from the jaws of defeat. But what caught him off guard was the final line.

"With the championship fight closer than ever, it’s not a question of if Jeonghan will close the gap. It’s a question of when."

Jeonghan read it three times, his chest tight with something that felt almost like pride.

For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to believe them.

The bass thrummed low and heavy, a pulse that seemed to reverberate straight through the packed room.

Jeonghan leaned against the bar, his drink in hand, his racing suit long since replaced by a fitted black shirt with the top buttons undone. The sleeves were rolled just enough to expose his forearms, the dark fabric clinging to his frame in a way that effortlessly commanded attention. Around him, the club buzzed with post-race energy—drivers, engineers, and team members alike reveling in the victory and chaos of the day.

Soonyoung was next to him, buzzing with his usual infectious energy. Jeonghan caught snippets of his teammate’s banter, but his mind was elsewhere.

“God, Jeonghan, if you stare any harder, she’s going to spontaneously combust,” Soonyoung teased, sipping his drink with a knowing smirk.

Jeonghan blinked, startled. “What?”

Soonyoung rolled his eyes, nodding toward the dance floor. “Her. You’ve been staring at her like she’s a particularly tricky apex all night.”

Jeonghan followed his gaze.

There you were, dancing with a group of Ferrari engineers, the colored lights spilling across your frame, making your skin glow. You laughed at something one of them said, your head tilting back, your hair swaying with every movement. Jeonghan’s grip on his glass tightened.

“You’re hopeless,” Soonyoung said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just go talk to her. Or better yet, dance with her. God knows you’ll make everyone else jealous.”

Jeonghan scoffed, setting his empty glass down on the bar with a sharp clink. “You’re imagining things.”

“Sure, and you just happened to spend the past ten minutes glaring at the poor guy she’s dancing with.”

Jeonghan shot him a warning glance, but Soonyoung only grinned wider.

“Look, you’ve already won at Spa,” he added, leaning closer. “Might as well take another victory tonight.”

Jeonghan shook his head, but the heat in his chest betrayed him. He cast one last glance at you before downing the rest of his drink and pushing off the bar.

The crowd was a blur of movement, bodies packed tightly together under the pulsing lights, but Jeonghan moved with purpose. He found you easily, your energy magnetic even in the chaos.

The beat shifted as he approached, slowing to something deeper, sultrier. He stepped in behind you, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from your skin.

“Enjoying yourself?” he murmured, his voice low and warm against your ear.

You turned slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder. Your lips curved into a teasing smile, your eyes dancing in the dim light. “Jeonghan. Didn’t think you were the clubbing type.”

He smirked, his hand brushing lightly against your waist. “I make exceptions for special occasions.”

You arched a brow, leaning back into him just enough to blur the line between teasing and inviting. “Special occasions, huh? Like winning at Spa?”

“Something like that,” he said, his voice a touch quieter now. His fingers rested lightly on your waist, the heat of his touch sending a shiver up your spine.

You turned to face him fully, your hands drifting up to rest on his shoulders, playful and almost casual. “So? What’s it like being untouchable?”

He chuckled softly, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips and back again. “You’d know,” he said smoothly, “if you were paying attention during my races instead of writing snarky articles.”

You laughed, a soft, melodious sound that made his chest tighten. “I did pay attention,” you countered, leaning in slightly, your lips barely a breath away from his ear. “You were alright, I guess.”

“Alright?” he repeated, feigning offense. “You called it a masterclass. Don’t think I didn’t read your article.”

Your grin widened, the fire in your eyes matching the teasing edge in your tone. “Oh, that? Don’t let it go to your head, Yoon. I still expect a proper interview.”

His hands shifted to your hips, grounding you against him as he swayed slightly to the beat, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Careful. Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

“And if I did?” you teased back, your voice soft but no less challenging.

For a moment, the world around you fell away. The music, the lights, the press of the crowd—it all faded as the space between you closed. Jeonghan’s eyes lingered on your lips, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of racing.

Then, just as you tilted your head, leaning closer—

“JEONGHAN!”

The moment shattered.

Sunwoo’s voice boomed over the music as he appeared out of nowhere, the mechanic’s grin wide and oblivious. “Bro, come on! You can flirt later! Dance with me!”

Jeonghan groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as your laughter spilled over him like warm sunlight.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You pulled back, still laughing, and met his gaze with a wink. “I’ll hold you to that.”

FORMULA 1 HEINEKEN DUTCH GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Zandvoort

The paddock at Zandvoort was always one of Jeonghan’s favorites. The smell of fresh sea air mixed with the unmistakable tang of fuel and rubber, while the orange-clad crowd painted the stands in a fiery glow. Jeonghan didn’t even mind the noise—something about the Netherlands had a way of energizing him.

He was walking back from the driver’s parade when he spotted you outside the Ferrari hospitality tent, a coffee in hand, your eyes scanning the throng of people with practiced ease. The crisp breeze tugged at your hair, and Jeonghan slowed his pace, his lips curling into a familiar smirk.

You glanced up just in time to catch him staring. “Don’t you have a race to focus on?”

“Don’t you have an article to write?” he shot back, his voice smooth as ever.

“I’m multitasking,” you replied, raising your coffee in a mock toast.

Jeonghan stepped closer, close enough that the conversation felt private despite the bustling paddock around you. “Let me guess,” he said, crossing his arms, “today’s headline is, ‘Ferrari Driver Jeonghan Looks Extra Handsome Under Dutch Sunlight.’”

You snorted, barely suppressing a laugh. “Oh, please. I was thinking more along the lines of, ‘Can Ferrari’s Yoon Jeonghan Deliver After Spa Masterclass?’”

“Flattering,” he mused, tilting his head. “I thought you’d save the sarcasm for the post-race write-up.”

“I aim to keep you humble,” you said with a shrug, though the playful glint in your eyes gave you away.

Jeonghan leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a thrill down your spine. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like a fan.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could get a word in—

“Jeonghan!”

A voice cut through the tension like a knife. You both turned to see Soonyoung jogging up, waving enthusiastically. “There you are! We’re late for the strategy briefing!”

Jeonghan sighed, the corners of his mouth twitching as he glanced back at you. “Guess we’ll have to finish this later.”

You grinned, your eyes dancing with amusement. “Don’t let me keep you from your briefing, Ferrari’s golden boy.”

Jeonghan’s smirk deepened. “I’ll see you after I win.”

He walked off, Soonyoung talking his ear off as you watched him go, the heat in your chest lingering far longer than it should have.

The race came and went, and though Jeonghan didn’t win—Mingyu’s dominance at Zandvoort was almost an inevitability—he still managed to bring home a solid podium finish.

Later, back at the hospitality suite, you found yourself standing near the balcony, staring out at the ocean waves in the distance.

“Not bad for a day’s work,” came a familiar voice behind you.

You turned to find Jeonghan leaning casually against the doorway, his hair still damp from the post-race shower. He’d swapped his racing suit for a simple white shirt and jeans, but somehow, he still looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine.

“Not bad,” you admitted. “Though I was expecting a win. Should I change the headline to ‘Close, but Not Quite’?”

Jeonghan’s laugh was low and smooth as he closed the distance between you. “I think you’re just trying to rile me up.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Is it working?”

He stepped closer, close enough that you could see the faint freckle on his cheekbone, the way his lashes caught the light. “You tell me.”

The air between you crackled, your banter giving way to something heavier, something unspoken. For a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

“Jeonghan!”

The door slammed open, and Mingyu’s booming voice shattered the moment.

Both of you jumped, turning to see the taller driver grinning sheepishly. “Uh, sorry. Team dinner’s starting soon, and they’re waiting for you.”

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened, but he plastered on an easy smile. “Of course they are.”

Mingyu left as quickly as he’d come, leaving you and Jeonghan alone again.

“Do people just have radar for this?” Jeonghan muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

You laughed, the tension easing slightly. “Maybe it’s the universe telling you to focus on racing.”

He stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Or maybe it’s telling me I’ll just have to try harder.”

Your pulse quickened, but before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Jeonghan sighed dramatically, stepping back with a rueful smile. “Guess I’ll have to settle for third interruptions.”

You smirked, folding your arms. “You’re consistent, at least.”

“Don’t forget it,” he said with a wink, his voice smooth as ever as he walked away.

And just like that, you were left alone, the waves crashing in the distance as you wondered how long this game of cat and mouse could last.

another lil a/n: full throttle is probably one of my favorite things i've EVER written and i am so proud of myself for getting this out of my head and onto the page.

2K notes · View notes

sunrizef1 · 9 months ago

Text

big reputation

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x reader, Max Verstappen x ex!reader

Warnings: cheating, lying, manipulation

Authors note: kinda hate this but whatever

Pt2 Pt3

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1 kellypiquet and 6,889,007 others

yourusername happy 5 years with this wonderful, talented, beautiful, amazing man. I’m so proud of everything you do and you manage to amaze me every single day. Thank you so much for showing me what true love can be and for sticking beside me every day. From the boats of Monaco to the villas of Spain to the beaches of Brazil, I love you forever my darling xx

Tagged: maxverstappen1

Load comments…

user1 my parents <3

user2 I want what they have

user3 if she’s not like this I don’t want her

user4 the roses 🥹

user5 the love and support they have for each other is so amazing

user6 the way she’s almost never missed a race 😭🫶

maxverstappen1 ❤️❤️❤️

yourusername ❤️❤️❤️

user7 they’re so in love I can’t

user8 sleeping on the highway tonight

charles_leclerc Happy Anniversary!! 🥳

yourusername thank you Charles! xx

user9 the real royal couple

user10 when is max going to propose lmao

user11 they seem so happy together aw

carlossainz félicitations! 🎊🍾🎉

yourusername thank you chili!

user12 🥰🥰🥰

user13 that caption is so adorable

user14 we need new music about this man pls queen

user15 I feel a love album coming on

logansargeant 🎉

liked by yourusername

———————————————

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1 kellypiquet and 3,898,001 others

yourusername Friendship that will last forever <33 xx It was great to see you love @/kellypiquet

Tagged: kellypiquet

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user14 love this friendship

user15 got here before max did… proud of myself

user16 two pretty best friends

user17 their friendship is so pure I love them 😭

user18 the way y/n is so intertwined into f1 despite being from a completely different profession is so special to me 🫶

kellypiquet 🫶

yourusername 🫶

user19 oh to be y/n l/n

user20 new music when????

user21 why is Logan lurking lmao

user22 that is an international pop-star from his state… she has 122 million followers… she’s often on the grid… I don’t think this rly needs an explanation.

user21 I just think it’s weird cuz he’s not rly friends with max but he still knows him. Kinda weird to be lurking on the page of an acquaintances girlfriend.

user22 Dude she has 15 Grammys… she’s not a secret

user23 lowk the piquets are problematic but yall don’t wanna hear about that

user24 I’m just glad y/n is happy tbh

TWITTER

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INSTAGRAM

yourusername has added to their story

user41

🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄

user42

what a lie lmao 😵‍💫

user43

Justice for max

user44

I love you y/n!!! 🫶

user45

🖕🖕🖕🖕

—————————————————

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

liked by logansargeant taylorswift and 12,009,887 others

yourusername every days a new day ☀️

load comments…

user25 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

user26 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

user27 🐍🐍🐍🐍

user28 we still love you y/n 🫶

user29 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

user30 we believe you ❤️

user31 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

user32 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

user33 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

user34 we know you're not lying ❤️ it's gonna be okay 🫶

user35 she's a lying snake 🐍🐍🐍

user34 she said the call was doctored and I believe her

user36 it sounds pretty real to me 🐍🐍🐍

user34 I know she wouldn't do that. She loved max too much. She's proven time and time again to be a genuine, kind person and until the full call has been released, I'm going to believe her.

user37 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

user38 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

user39 max not defending her proves it's true 🐍🐍🐍 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

user40 Logan liking… guess he's siding with the liar then 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

COMMENTS HAVE BEEN LIMITED FOR THIS ACCOUNT

———————————————

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

————————————————

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc kellypiquet and 6,009,887 others

maxverstappen1 healing.

load comments…

user46 😍😍😍

user47 I'm so glad max is able to heal after what y/n did

user48 thank god that snake is gone 🐍

user49 kelly being there for max is so sweet

user50 I'm so happy they stayed friends 😭

charles_leclerc good times bro 🫶

maxverstappen1 😅

user51 😵😵😵

user52 y/n didn't do anything

user53 better off without y*n 😵‍💫

used54 I never liked y/n l/n lmao she's always been annoying

logansargeant 👍

liked by maxverstappen

user55 I'm just so happy kelly and max have each other and they weren't torn apart by y/n cheating

user56 you guys are so annoying that call is obviously fake

user57 she literally admits to in the recording what are you talking about

user56 the things she says in it are so vague she could literally be talking about anything. And we don't even hear the other persons responses. They could've 100% been prompting her to say this. Why would they cut them out if they wanted to prove they were telling the truth.

user57 🐍🐍🐍

TWITTER

7 MONTHS LATER… NO SIGHT OF Y/N

INSTAGRAM

logansargeant has added to their story

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

maxverstappen1

liked by kellypiquet redbullracing and 2,008,990 others

maxverstappen1 Ready for Imola! 👊

tagged: kellypiquet

load comments…

user58 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

user59 we all heard the call

user60 lied for what

user61 🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍🐍

user62 y/n deserves an apology

user63 we 🫶 max and kelly

user64 nah, speak for yourself 🐍

user65 ruined your girlfriends life for a full year just so you could date her best friend... And for what??? Why did you decide you needed to ruin her career and her life just for the sake of a relationship

user66 don't listen to these idiots, y/n deserves what you did

user67 I understand why they did it tbh, y/n is so annoying

user68 🐍🐍🐍

COMMENTS HAVE BEEN LIMITED FOR THIS ACCOUNT

yourusername

liked by logansargeant lilyhme and 21,998,879 others

yourusername all I think about is karma

load comments…

user69 COMMENTS ARE BACK ON

user70 MY QUEEN Y/N

user71 🐍🐍🐍

user72 now why did Charles like this post… my man literally defended max last year when this happened 😭

user73 the only drivers I’d accept to be a part of this is Carlos, Lewis and Logan. The only ones who defended her the whole time.

user74 and Fernando!!!

carlossainz mi hermana! El mundo te extrano 😁

yourusername gracias carlito, Aunque no creo que me hayan extrañado 😅

carlossainz Te extrañé, entonces 🤣

Translation: (my sister! The world missed you) (Thank you carlito, though I don’t think the world missed me) (I missed you, then)

user75 Carlos being on the right side of history… he ends your favs

user76 notice that all of the flops have shut right up now that it’s been proven that their favorite cheater was lying the whole time

user77 all the hottest drivers have been on y/n’s side…

fernandoalo_official ¿Cómo estuvo el descanso? 😁

yourusername relajante 😅

fernandoalo_official ¿porqué es eso? 🤔

yourusername 🤫

translation: (how was the break?) (relaxing 😅) (why is that? 🤔) (🤫)

user78 the comments from the drivers are so cute

user79 I didn’t know she spoke Spanish

lewishamilton welcome back, y/n 🥳

yourusername thanks lew 🫶

user80 bestie for the resties with lew 🥰

user81 my top 3 drivers all commenting on my number 1 artists’ post… you love to see it

user82 I sense aoty

logansargeant isn’t it delicate?

yourusername isn’t it?

user83 wtf are these hoes talking about

user84 my glorious queen y/n l/n

user85 🐍🐍🐍

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

liked by logansargeant danielricciardo and 49,008,776 others

yourusername reputation 5/18/24

Load comments…

user86 WHAT THE HELL

user87 NAHHHHHHHH

user88 is max ready to die?

user89 🐍

user90 breakup album?!?!?!

user91 max never to be seen again

charles_leclerc 🐍

yourusername 🐍

user92 and Charles is here, why? That man was first in line for the y/n hate train I don’t want to hear it.

fernandoalo_official slay

yourusername ?

user93 y/n and Alonso’s comments are killing me

user94 my favorite cheater and snake 💋

user95 who cares, no one likes youuuu

user96 she hasn’t been good since fearless

logansargeant so it goes

yourusername …

user97 these bitches love to chat about nothing for the sake of the plot istg

lilymhe 🫶

yourusername 🫶

user98 AWWWW LILY

yourinstagram

liked by charles_leclerc landonorris and 34,998,770 others

yourusername got some big enemies… reputation out now 🐍

Tagged: lewishamilton charles_leclerc edsheeran

load comments…

user99 XNDA!?????? Y/N BROUGHT BACK XNDA!?

user100 THESE ARENT BREAK UP SONGS Y/N

user101 SHE ATE SHE SERVED SHE DIDNT COME HERE TO PLAY

user102 nah because Lewis makes sense, that man has like a real-life mainstream artist song… WTF IS CHARLES DOING HERE????

user103 I haven’t even listened to the album yet because I’m too shocked by the track list 😭

user104 wtf do you mean Lewis and ed Sheeran made a song together??? 7-time wdc Lewis Hamilton and ginger boy ed Sheeran??? Nah

user105 releasing the album right before arguably the biggest and most historic race of the season… y/n I know who you are

user106 oh the amount of questions max is going to get about this album

logansargeant walking with his head down

yourusername I’m the one he’s walking to

user107 SONG LYRICS SONG LYRICS

carlossainz muy bueno hermosa!!! 🖤

yourusername gracias Carlos 🥹 🫶

user108 big brother Carlos, don’t talk to me I’m delicate 😭🫶

charles_leclerc thank you for inviting me! 🖤

yourusername none of this would’ve happened without you, cha! Merci beaucoup mon ami! 🖤

user109 huh???

user110 what did Charles add to this situation??

user111 we’ve all moved on way too quickly from whatever tf Logan is doing here

user112 lowk he was the mastermind behind it all but yall don’t wanna talk about that

lewishamilton the album is absolutely amazing, honored to be a part of it. Very proud of you, y/n 🖤🖤🖤

yourusername 🥹 love you lew

user113 NOW WHO TF IS THIS ALBUM ABOUT

TWITTER

@casperlikej @evie-119

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #scheduled #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 smau #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #logan sargent x reader #logan sargeant x fem!reader #logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargent fluff #max verstappen fanfic #logan sargeant fanfic #max verstappen x reader

3K notes · View notes

jungwnies · 10 days ago

Text

F1 GRID | proposals

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested) : he surprises you... with a ring.

୨ৎ : genre : romance & fluff ୨ৎ : tws : suggestive themes ୨ৎ : word count : 4586

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : a plead for more fluff, your prayer has been answered!

ʚ・max verstappen

“is it just me, or has max been acting weird lately?” you asked your friend as you absently fiddled with the hem of your jacket in the paddock. max was preparing for qualifying, and despite your effort to focus on the hum of activity around you, your thoughts kept circling back to him.

your friend shot you a curious look. “weird how? do you think he’s hiding something?”

you shrugged, letting out a small laugh to downplay your growing suspicion. “i don’t know… it’s not like he’s being distant or anything. he’s just been—antsy. like he’s waiting for something. it’s weird.”

your friend raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your overthinking. “maybe he is hiding something,” they teased. “or maybe you’re just overanalyzing.”

you huffed out a laugh, but the thought lingered.

later that evening, you met max for dinner at a cozy restaurant tucked away from the usual chaos of race weekends. the two of you had managed to carve out this little slice of normalcy amidst the whirlwind of his career, and you always treasured it.

but tonight, something felt different.

max was his usual self—sweet, attentive, and playful—but there was an edge to him, like he was holding his breath. you’d caught him glancing at you more than usual, his leg bouncing slightly under the table.

you set your glass down and decided to just ask. “alright, max, what’s going on? you’ve been acting—”

before you could finish, the lights in the restaurant suddenly dimmed.

“what the—?” you muttered, looking around in confusion as candles flickered to life on the table.

and then, from the shadows, a few familiar faces emerged—your closest friends, your family, all smiling warmly at you.

your breath caught. “what is happening?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you turned back to max.

but when your eyes met his, he was no longer sitting. he was kneeling.

“max…” you started, your heart pounding as he smiled up at you, his blue eyes shimmering with emotion.

“let me talk before you say anything,” he said with a soft laugh, his voice slightly shaky but full of warmth. “i know i’ve been weird lately—sorry about that. i’ve just been planning this day over and over in my head. i wanted it to be perfect because…”

he took a deep breath, and you saw the slightest tremor in his hands as he held out a small velvet box. “because i love you more than i can put into words. you’ve changed my life in ways i never thought possible, and i can’t imagine spending another moment without you by my side. so…”

he opened the box to reveal a stunning ring, and your eyes blurred with tears. “will you marry me?”

for a moment, all you could do was stare, your hand covering your mouth as you tried to process everything. and then, in true fashion, you couldn’t help but joke through the overwhelming emotion.

“max, get up. you’re embarrassing me!” you said, laughing through your tears.

he laughed too, his cheeks flushing. “let me finish my speech, will you?”

you nodded, still grinning as he continued.

“i’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. you’re my everything. my partner, my best friend, my world. i don’t care if this is embarrassing because i’d embarrass myself a thousand times over if it meant i could call you mine forever.”

his words hit you right in the heart, and by the time he asked again, “so, will you marry me?” you could barely get the words out through your tears.

“yes,” you whispered, then louder, “yes! of course!”

the room erupted into cheers as max stood, slipping the ring onto your finger before pulling you into his arms. he kissed you, softly at first, then with all the love and relief he’d been holding back.

as your friends and family gathered around to congratulate you, max leaned close to whisper in your ear, “i told you i wasn’t being weird for no reason.”

you laughed, leaning your forehead against his. “you’re still a little weird, but i love you anyway.”

and from the way he smiled at you, you knew this was just the beginning of forever.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

“let me take you to italy early,” lewis said, his warm brown eyes fixed on you as he tried to convince you. “we can explore the city together before i have to make my debut with ferrari. just us.”

you hesitated, glancing out the window at the familiar, cozy gray skies of home. “but my home is here, baby,” you murmured, your voice soft. “here in the uk.”

lewis reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “i know,” he said, giving you that boyish smile that always made your heart melt. “but this’ll be different. just one week, before the madness starts again. come on, let me steal you away.”

you sighed, knowing full well that he’d already won you over. “alright,” you relented, a small smile tugging at your lips. “but only because it’s you.”

the trip was nothing short of magical.

lewis took you through the heart of italy, weaving through cobblestone streets and picturesque piazzas, his excitement contagious. he made you try every local delicacy, promising it was “for the full experience,” and insisted on taking candid photos of you when you weren’t looking.

midweek, he brought you to the ferrari factory. his face lit up as he showed you around, the glint in his eyes a mix of pride and anticipation. watching him interact with the team, you couldn’t help but feel a swell of admiration for him, knowing how much this new chapter meant to him.

and then came the last night.

lewis had insisted you get your nails done that morning, though he was unusually cryptic about why. “just trust me,” he said with a wink before leaving you to pamper yourself. when you got back to the hotel, you found a stunning dress laid out on the bed, a handwritten note from him resting on top.

“wear this tonight. no questions. xx lewis”

dressed and ready, you stepped into the car he’d arranged, and after a short drive, you arrived at the most breathtaking spot. the sun was setting, casting a golden glow over a lush hillside. string lights twinkled softly above a blanket spread out on the grass, surrounded by candles. a picnic was perfectly arranged, and standing in the middle of it all was lewis, holding your favorite flowers.

“you look stunning,” he said, his voice low and full of admiration as you approached. he kissed your cheek before leading you to sit.

the evening was perfect—good food, laughter, and stories shared as the world seemed to fade away around you. but as the night settled into a quiet calm, lewis stood and gently pulled you to your feet.

your brows furrowed as you looked at him, but before you could say anything, he was already lowering himself onto one knee.

“lewis…” you whispered, your hand flying to your mouth as he pulled a small box from his pocket.

“i’ve been thinking about how to say this for weeks,” he began, his voice steady but full of emotion. “you’ve been my rock, my partner, my everything. through all the highs and lows, you’ve been there, and i don’t know how i ever got this lucky.

“joining ferrari, starting this new chapter—it’s exciting, but none of it matters without you by my side. you make me better in every way, and all i want is to spend the rest of my life with you, sharing every moment, every adventure, every quiet night.”

tears welled in your eyes as he opened the box, revealing a stunning ring that caught the flicker of the candlelight.

“so,” he said, his smile soft and nervous all at once, “will you marry me?”

for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, overwhelmed with love and disbelief. finally, you managed to nod, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“yes,” you whispered, your voice breaking before you said it again, louder this time. “yes, lewis. of course.”

he slipped the ring onto your finger, standing to pull you into his arms as you laughed through your tears. “i love you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

and as you looked out over the beautiful italian countryside, wrapped in his arms, you knew this was the start of something even more incredible than you could’ve ever imagined.

ʚ・george russell

“you know,” you said, laughing as you took another bite of your lunch, “my friends keep saying the craziest thing lately.”

george glanced up from his plate, his blue eyes twinkling with curiosity. “oh? what have they been saying?”

“they keep telling me you’re going to propose to me,” you said, laughing even harder at the thought. “isn’t that wild?”

the laughter caught in your throat when george, mid-bite, choked on his food. his eyes widened slightly as he reached for his water, and you watched him with a raised brow.

“are you okay?” you asked, stifling a laugh.

once he recovered, he looked at you, a little too intently. “i mean… if i were going to propose, would you be mad?”

you tilted your head, smiling softly. “of course not, my love. but you’ve been so busy lately. i know you wouldn’t be planning something like that right now.”

george nodded, his expression unreadable. “right… of course.”

but something in his tone made you pause.

over the next few days, the idea seemed to follow you everywhere. your friends weren’t letting up, either.

“why would he ask you to get your nails done?” one of them asked pointedly.

“and your hair,” another chimed in. “he’s definitely planning something.”

you shook your head, laughing off their theories, though you couldn’t deny the tiniest flicker of curiosity. still, george had been acting a little… shady. subtle, but shady. you chalked it up to his usual busy schedule, brushing off the idea of anything more.

at least, until a few days later.

the beach was stunning, a secluded stretch of soft sand meeting endless waves that shimmered under the setting sun. you’d been surprised when george suggested a quiet getaway, just the two of you. he said it was to relax before the season picked up again, but something about the way he kept fidgeting had your nerves on edge.

as you walked along the shore, the golden light casting an ethereal glow, george suddenly stopped.

“wait,” he said, reaching for your hand.

you turned to him, your brows furrowing slightly. “what’s up?”

he smiled, a nervous but endearing smile, and before you could ask again, he was down on one knee.

your heart stopped.

“george,” you breathed, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

“alright,” he began, grinning up at you. “first off, i have to say, i cannot believe you didn’t catch on. you’re usually much more observant, love.”

your jaw dropped, half in shock and half in amusement. “you’re making fun of me now?”

he laughed, but his expression quickly softened. “i’m serious, though. i’ve been thinking about this moment for a long time. you’re my everything—my partner, my best friend, the person i want to spend every moment with. i love you more than i can put into words, and i can’t imagine life without you.”

tears welled in your eyes as he pulled out a small velvet box, revealing a sparkling ring.

“so,” he said, his voice steady and full of emotion, “will you marry me?”

for a moment, you just stared at him, overwhelmed by the weight of the moment. finally, you nodded, tears streaming down your face. “yes, george. of course, yes!”

he slipped the ring onto your finger before standing and wrapping you in his arms. you laughed, still in disbelief, as he pressed his lips to yours.

“i can’t believe you,” you said between laughs, your head resting against his chest. “you really planned all of this?”

“i did,” he said, smiling down at you. “and i’d do it a hundred times over just to see that look on your face.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

“hermosa, would you like to go out for dinner on friday?” carlos asked, his voice soft as you stood by the mirror, finishing up your nightly routine.

“dinner? on friday?” you repeated, slipping into bed beside him, a smile tugging at your lips. “i’d love to, amor.”

carlos leaned over, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead. “perfecto. the season starts soon, and i want to spend as much time as i can with you before it all gets busy again.”

you smiled, feeling your heart melt a little more—like it always did with him.

the days passed quickly, and soon friday arrived.

carlos, as always, had everything meticulously planned. he’d picked out your outfit—a stunning dress in your favorite color—and, true to his usual thoughtful self, made sure his suit coordinated perfectly. if you wore a red dress, carlos would find a way to incorporate red into his look, whether it was his tie, pocket square, or even the lining of his jacket. it was one of those little things that made him so uniquely him.

“you look breathtaking,” he said as he helped you into the car, his eyes filled with nothing but admiration.

“and you match,” you teased, running your hand along his lapel. “as always.”

he grinned, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “siempre,” he murmured.

dinner was perfect—an intimate table for two at a beautiful restaurant with warm candlelight and soft music in the background. carlos, ever the gentleman, kept his focus entirely on you, listening intently as you talked and making you laugh with his playful jokes.

but as the evening came to an end, something about his energy shifted. he seemed more nervous than usual, though he tried to play it off.

“let’s take a walk,” he suggested as you both stepped outside.

the air was cool, the streetlights casting a golden glow over the cobblestone street. you didn’t think much of it until carlos suddenly stopped in front of the restaurant, turning to face you.

“carlos?” you asked, confused as he reached for your hands.

his dark eyes met yours, filled with an emotion so raw it took your breath away. “hermosa,” he started, his voice a little unsteady. “there’s something i’ve been wanting to say for a long time now.”

before you could process what was happening, he was down on one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket.

gasps and murmurs rose from the small crowd of onlookers nearby, but all you could focus on was him.

“i love you,” carlos said, his voice stronger now, filled with certainty. “i love everything about you—your laugh, your quirks, the way you care so deeply for the people around you. i love how you notice the little things, how you make every day feel special just by being in it. and i want to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you make me.”

tears welled in your eyes as he opened the box, revealing a ring that sparkled even in the dim light.

“will you marry me?” he asked, his gaze never leaving yours.

for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. and then, with a tearful laugh, you nodded.

“yes, carlos,” you whispered, your voice shaky but sure. “of course, yes!”

cheers erupted around you as he slid the ring onto your finger and stood, pulling you into his arms. he kissed you deeply, his smile pressed against your lips.

“you had one choice,” he teased quietly, a playful glint in his eyes.

“and it was the right one,” you replied, grinning through your tears.

as he held you close, you couldn’t help but think about how every little detail he cared about, every thoughtful gesture, every look, and every word all came together to make this moment so perfectly, beautifully carlos.

ʚ・charles leclerc

“ma chérie, you look beautiful,” charles said with a soft smile as he grabbed your hand and spun you gently, making your dress twirl. he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear before planting a playful kiss on your neck. “but you’d look better with it off,” he teased, his voice low and flirtatious.

your jaw dropped in mock offense as you lightly smacked his chest. “charles!” you laughed, shaking your head. “keep it in your pants, baby.”

he laughed, his green eyes sparkling with mischief as he pulled you into his arms. “are you ready to be on the yacht for the first time since we’ve been back in monaco?”

you nodded eagerly, your smile wide. “of course i am. there’s nothing better than being with you on the sea.”

charles smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “je t’aime.”

“i love you too, amore,” you replied softly, leaning into him.

the two of you headed to the yacht, the sun casting a golden glow over the sparkling water. when you arrived, the crew greeted you warmly, and the yacht began to drift away from the dock, leaving monaco’s skyline behind.

charles took your hand, leading you up to the second level. as you stepped onto the deck, you gasped. a beautifully set candlelit table awaited, complete with a chilled bottle of wine and a server standing by. the soft glow of the candles reflected off the water, creating a magical ambiance.

“charles,” you breathed, looking around in awe. “what is this?”

he smiled, his gaze full of adoration. “i thought you deserved to be spoiled, ma chérie. it’s been too long since we’ve had time like this together.”

he pulled out your chair, helping you settle in before taking his own seat across from you.

“charles, this is really beautiful,” you said, your voice full of gratitude.

“anything for you, cherie,” he replied, his accent making the words sound even sweeter.

dinner was perfect, the two of you sharing laughs, stories, and heartfelt conversation. charles seemed especially thoughtful, his gaze lingering on you more than usual.

after the last course, he shifted in his chair, his demeanor becoming more serious yet still soft. “you know,” he began, his tone quieter, “being with you has been the best part of my life. i know i’ve been busy, and sometimes i’m not always there as much as i should be.”

you tilted your head, confused by the sudden shift in conversation. “charles, what’s going on?”

he stood up slowly, reaching into his pocket. your heart began to race as he pulled out a small velvet box, his fingers trembling slightly.

“mon amour,” he said, dropping to one knee in front of you.

your hand flew to your mouth as tears welled in your eyes.

“i’ve thought about this moment every day,” he continued, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “i love everything about you—your quirks, the little things you do when you think no one is watching, the way you make me feel like the luckiest man alive just by being by my side. i love your flaws, your strengths, all of it. it’s everything i’ve ever wanted in my life, forever.”

your tears spilled over as he opened the box, revealing a dazzling diamond ring that sparkled even in the candlelight.

“i want to spend the rest of my life with you, cherie. will you marry me?”

for a moment, you were too overwhelmed to speak, your emotions taking over. finally, you nodded, laughing through your tears. “yes, charles. yes, of course!”

the smile that broke across his face was brighter than the stars above as he slipped the ring onto your finger. he stood, pulling you into his arms and kissing you deeply, your tears mixing with his own.

“i love you,” he whispered, holding you close as the yacht gently swayed with the waves.

“i love you too,” you replied, your heart full to bursting.

and as you stood there together, the sea stretching endlessly around you, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be—with charles, forever.

ʚ・lando norris

“lando, you’re being so distant. like, what is your issue?” you asked, crossing your arms as you sat in the passenger seat, watching him grip the wheel a little tighter than usual.

“it’s nothing, i promise,” he replied quickly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

but you couldn’t help the way your mind spiraled. “are you cheating on me?” you blurted out, your voice sharp and accusing.

lando slammed on the brakes, pulling the car over abruptly. he turned to you, his wide eyes filled with disbelief. “cheating on you? are you serious right now?”

“well, then why are you acting so weird!” you fired back, feeling frustration bubble over.

“i’m not cheating on you,” he said firmly. “and stop saying such irrational things before i crash the car!”

you huffed, crossing your arms tighter as he merged back onto the road. the tension hung thick in the air, but there was something about his tone that made you pause—he wasn’t just annoyed; he seemed… nervous.

after a few more silent minutes, the car pulled up to a secluded garden bathed in golden afternoon light. you frowned, glancing around.

“where are we?” you asked, the irritation in your voice softening as you took in the beauty of the place.

lando parked and stepped out, rushing around to open your door. he offered you his hand, and though you hesitated, you took it.

as you stepped into the garden, the feeling in your chest shifted. it was just the two of you—no other people, no distractions. the air was fragrant with blooming flowers, and butterflies flitted lazily in the sunlight.

your stomach fluttered as you glanced at lando, who was unusually quiet. he scratched the back of his neck, his signature nervous tell. that’s when it hit you—this wasn’t just a random outing.

“lando…” you started, your voice softer now.

but before you could finish, he turned to you, his cheeks flushed. “look, i know i’ve been acting weird,” he admitted, running a hand through his messy hair. “and i’m sorry. it’s just… i’ve been planning this for weeks, and i was so nervous i’d mess it up.”

you blinked, your heart pounding as he dropped to one knee, pulling a small box from his jacket pocket.

your hand flew to your mouth as your suspicions were confirmed, and a wave of emotions hit you all at once.

“i love you,” lando began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “more than anything. you’ve been with me through everything—the ups, the downs, the crazy schedules, the late-night arguments about absolutely nothing.” he let out a nervous laugh, and you felt tears well up in your eyes.

“you’ve seen the best and the worst of me, and somehow, you still choose to love me. i don’t want to imagine my life without you in it. so, here i am, asking you to make it official.”

he opened the box, revealing a ring that sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight.

“will you marry me?” he asked, his voice soft, almost vulnerable.

you couldn’t stop the tears from spilling as you nodded. “yes, of course, yes!”

lando let out a breath he’d clearly been holding, slipping the ring onto your finger before standing and pulling you into a tight hug.

“i can’t believe you thought i was cheating on you,” he teased, his playful smirk returning as he kissed your temple.

“well, you were acting suspicious!” you shot back, laughing through your tears.

he chuckled, holding you close. “yeah, because i was scared out of my mind. do you know how hard it is to hide something this big from you? you’re nosy.”

you swatted at him lightly, grinning. “i’m observant.”

“sure you are,” he teased, leaning down to kiss you again.

and in that quiet, magical garden, with the sunlight casting a golden glow around you, everything felt absolutely perfect.

ʚ・oscar piastri

the great barrier reef had always been a dream of yours—a place you’d talked about endlessly. and, being the proud australian that he was, oscar had promised to take you the moment the season ended. true to his word, here you were, surrounded by vibrant coral and schools of colorful fish, the water shimmering like a painting brought to life.

oscar had gone all out, arranging a private guide and setting up everything to ensure the trip was perfect for just the two of you. it felt special, even more magical than you’d imagined.

after a long snorkeling session with the guide, you emerged from the water, still adjusting your snorkel mask as droplets streamed down your face. you caught sight of oscar standing on the sand, waiting for you.

but something was different.

your heart skipped a beat as you noticed him—barefoot, dressed in a loose white button-up and tailored shorts that made him look effortlessly handsome, his usual chill vibe intact. the sun cast a golden glow over the scene, and your breath caught when you realized he wasn’t just standing there.

he was on one knee.

your hands instinctively went to your snorkel mask as if to tear it off, realizing you were standing there in a dripping swimsuit, goggles pushed awkwardly onto your forehead, and hair probably a complete mess.

“wait… what are you doing?” you stammered, feeling your cheeks burn despite the cool ocean breeze.

oscar grinned, his calm demeanor never faltering. “what does it look like i’m doing?” he teased lightly. “just wait—don’t touch the mask. you look perfect.”

“perfect?” you let out a half-hysterical laugh, glancing down at yourself. “oscar, i look ridiculous!”

but he shook his head, his eyes soft and full of adoration. “no, you don’t. you look like you. authentic. beautiful.” he took a deep breath, his fingers curling tightly around a small box in his hand.

“being with you has made my life so much better,” he began, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “you’ve made even the craziest, busiest days feel worth it. and i knew this was where i wanted to do this because it’s so… us. a little chaotic, but amazing.”

tears stung your eyes as the reality of the moment hit you.

“i want to spend my life with you,” oscar continued, his usual calm exterior cracking just enough for you to see the emotion behind his words. “snorkel masks, messy hair, and all. so… will you marry me?”

you couldn’t help but laugh through your tears, nodding fervently. “yes! of course, yes!”

oscar slipped the ring onto your finger before standing and pulling you into his arms, the warmth of his embrace grounding you as you tried to process the whirlwind of emotions.

“you know,” you sniffled, “i can’t believe you proposed to me when i looked like this.”

oscar chuckled, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. “i wanted it to be real. and let’s be honest, you’d never let me live it down if i’d done something boring or predictable.”

“well, you’re right about that,” you teased, your grin wide as you leaned in to kiss him.

“besides,” he added, his tone playful now, “even with a snorkel mask on, you’re still the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen.”

you rolled your eyes, laughing, but you couldn’t deny that this moment, messy and perfectly imperfect, was so perfectly you two.

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