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through the lens — drive to survive moments

Lando Norris x Y/N

Summary : The cameras may be there for Formula 1, but somehow, they keep capturing them. From playful bickering in the paddock to wholesome moments in McLaren’s garage, from Y/N’s growing fan club to Lando’s exaggerated jealousy, Drive to Survive unknowingly turns their love story into a viral sensation—one chaotic moment at a time.

Words : 3.6k

Warnings : swearing

Friends turned Rivals Lovers

The camera focuses on Lando, settled in the driver’s seat, before shifting to the seat behind him. Just beside the cameraman, Max F is seen scrolling through his phone.

“Max is pouty because he usually sits in the passenger seat,” Lando quips, drawing the camera’s attention back to him. A glimpse of his cheeky grin is visible from his side profile.

Reaching over the empty passenger seat, Lando rests a hand on her thigh. Max chuckles softly. “Bit more legroom up front.”

The scene cuts to Lando, now sat in a studio. From behind the camera, a voice cuts in. “You’ve been a hot topic this off-season. Any updates you want to share?”

Lando leans back in his chair, fixing his hair as he readies himself for the interview segment of Drive to Survive.

"What makes you say that?" A shy smile creeps onto his face just before the screen transitions to a montage of headlines and social media posts.

"Lando Norris seen kissing mystery girl in his Ferrari" "Lando Norris and mystery girl spotted driving around Monaco" "Mystery girl identified—longtime friend Y/N L/N" "Friends to Rivals? The true identity of McLaren driver Lando Norris'new girlfriend"

Lando nods with a smile. “Y/N and I have been friends for a long time. Finally found the guts to ask her to be mine.”

“Are you the romantic type?”

He chuckles, shrugging. “You’d have to ask her.”

The scene transitions to the paddock, where Lando walks hand-in-hand with Y/N, her bag slung over his arm. Max trails beside them, hands in his pockets. The trio makes their way into McLaren’s hospitality, settling at a free table tucked away in the corner, away from the crowd.

Y/N takes a sip of her smoothie before glancing at Lando. “Excited for today? First practice of the season.”

Lando looks up from his phone, nodding. “Yeah, feeling pretty good. Car felt good during testing—hope it translates well throughout the season.”

“Think he’s more nervous about the fact that you’ll be here watching,” Max teases, a smirk playing on his lips.

Y/N laughs softly. “I’ve been to races before, you know.”

“Yeah, but not as his girlfriend. Now he’s got to win for the team and to show off for you.”

“You dick,” Lando chuckles, grabbing a straw wrapper and tossing it at Max, who dodges it with a grin.

Lando glances at his watch, letting out a soft sigh before pushing his chair back. “Alright, I gotta go get ready.”

Max leans back in his chair, nodding. “We’ll be in the garage before you head out.”

Lando grabs Y/N’s bag from the table, slinging it over his shoulder. “Let’s go, baby.”

Y/N blinks up at him, confused. “Am I not staying with Max?”

Lando shrugs, a small smirk on his lips. “You could… but I want you with me while I get ready. Your choice.”

Y/N smiles and stands up, slipping her hand into Lando’s. Max groans dramatically. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been benched. I’ve lost my WAG status.”

--------------------------------------------------------

Air Max

Lando holds up his phone, the camera capturing the view outside Max Verstappen’s private plane. His team had arranged with Drive to Survive to give Netflix a small peek into his life outside the paddock. Now, he’s tasked with filming parts of his day—something he’s getting used to but still isn’t entirely comfortable with.

The camera shifts, panning around the cabin before zooming in on Max and his girlfriend, who sit across from each other, faces buried in their phones.

“Look at these two… they’ve been like this since we took off,” Lando murmurs, walking closer while keeping the camera focused on them. He tilts the screen toward their hands, revealing the game they’re both locked into—a racing simulator. Neither of them spares him a glance.

“We asked you to join, mate,” Max chuckles without looking up.

Lando plops down beside Y/N, setting the camera down at an angle that captures all three of them. He starts poking her cheek, then her side, trying to get her attention.

“Lan. I swear, if I lose—”

“—Of course you will. You’re racing against Max.”

“She’s actually pretty good, you know,” Max chimes in, eyes still glued to his phone.

Before Lando can tease again, Y/N suddenly shrieks, making him flinch. She drops her phone onto the table, leaning back in her seat with a dramatic groan of defeat.

“What did I say, baby?” Lando laughs, nudging her shoulder.

But Y/N is already sitting back up, snatching her phone with urgency. “One more, Max. Come on, let’s go. This is the one—I can feel it.”

Lando groans, throwing his head back. “Y/N, baby, please. Let’s watch a movie, take a nap, something.”

“In a bit, Lan, I need to beat Max.”

Max smirks, finally looking up at Lando with a teasing glint in his eye. “Sorry, mate. I win.”

"We're flying commercial next time"

--------------------------------------------------------

I'm just here for the coffee

The Drive to Survive camera crew catches up with Lando as he wraps up media duties alongside Oscar in McLaren hospitality. He’s distracted—eyes constantly scanning the room, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the screen as he checks it every few seconds. His expression shifts between mild frustration and confusion.

Just as he exhales sharply, about to shove his phone into his pocket, a familiar voice calls out.

"Lando!"

Max F strides over, relief on his face as he finally spots his friend sitting by the doors. Lando straightens up slightly, but before he can even greet them, Max speaks again.

"Oh, I thought Y/N would be with you. I've been trying to reach her for hours now."

Lando’s brows furrow as he gets to his feet, holding up his phone.

"I’ve been trying to call her too. I thought she was with you."

The realization hits him like a switch flipping. His expression drops into something between disbelief and sheer irritation. He exhales, shakes his head, and lets out a knowing scoff.

"I might know where she is."

Cue the most dramatic yet comedic smash cut imaginable.

Ferrari Hospitality – Where Y/N Has Been the Entire Time.

The camera immediately cuts to Y/N, relaxed and unbothered, seated at a table inside Ferrari hospitality. The atmosphere is lively, filled with laughter as they sip espresso, surrounded by Carlos, Charles, and their girlfriends. The Ferrari logo gleams proudly in the background, almost mocking.

Y/N leans forward, grinning at something Carlos just said, stirring their coffee absentmindedly. Charles adds a comment that earns another round of laughter. It’s the picture of comfort—warm, inviting, and clearly where Y/N has been all along.

Then, in the background, the doors swing open.

The camera follows Lando as he steps inside, expression unreadable—until the dramatic zoom-in captures the very moment.

"Unbelievable."

Lando’s voice cuts through the laughter, making the entire table turn their heads toward him. The easygoing chatter dies down as he strides over, hands on his hips, phone still clutched in one hand. His brows are furrowed—confused, mildly exasperated, and very much not amused.

"Baby, Max and I have been calling you."

Y/N blinks before reaching into their bag, finally checking their phone. The screen lights up with multiple missed calls. A sheepish smile tugs at their lips as they glance back up at Lando.

"Oops? Sorry, Lan. I had my ringer off."

Charles smirks, leaning back in his chair. "She’s been having a great time with us, mate."

Lando squints at him before turning back to Y/N. "How long have you been here?"

Before Y/N can even open their mouth, Carlos chimes in.

"Actually, quite late today. She came an hour later than usual."

Lando blinks. Processes. "Later than usual?" His gaze snaps back to Y/N, his confusion shifting into shock. "How often are you here?!"

Y/N, fully caught now, shrugs, setting their coffee down.

"I mean… almost every media day? You’re busy filming, and their coffee is really good here so I just—"

Lando groans, rubbing his face. "Oh baby…"

Before he can spiral further, Rebecca—clearly enjoying the moment—leans in with a grin. "Show Lando what Carlos and Charles gave you!"

Y/N shoots her a betrayed side-eye, but it’s too late. Lando’s eyes widen slightly as he looks between them. He nods at Y/N, expectantly.

Y/N sighs, reaching back into their bag. With hesitant hands, they pull out a very red Ferrari cap and place it on the table.

Silence.

Lando stares.

Alex, grinning, decides to throw more fuel into the fire. "You could’ve at least signed it for her."

"Oh shit—yeah." Charles grabs the cap, immediately patting down his pockets for a pen. He looks around helplessly before turning to Lando.

"Do you have a Sharpie?"

Lando blinks. His eye twitches.

"Do I—" He stops himself, inhales deeply, then exhales, running a hand down his face.

"Okay. We’re leaving. Come on."

Y/N barely has time to protest before Lando takes their hand and starts walking. "But— baby no my coffee..."

"I'll get you your own coffee machine"

--------------------------------------------------------

A victory in full bloom

It’s the moment Lando’s been dreaming of his entire career: his first-ever Formula 1 race win. The podium ceremony is over, and he’s just wrapped up celebrating with his team, taking photos and soaking in the victory. The Netflix crew trails him closely, hoping to catch a quick statement from the new race winner. But Lando’s not focused on the cameras or interviews—his mind is set on finding someone. He’s been eager to celebrate with Y/N.

As he walks towards the trailers, his eyes scan the area until they land on her. There she is, standing by his trailer with a small bouquet of flowers in hand. Lando stops dead in his tracks, his breath catching in his chest for a moment. A wide smile spreads across his face as he takes in the sight of her, the bouquet a simple yet perfect gesture for this milestone moment.

Y/N looks up and meets his gaze, a soft smile tugging at her lips. It’s clear she’s been waiting for him. "Hey champ"

Lando’s eyes light up when he sees them, his smile growing even wider. He’s still buzzing from the excitement of the win, but this moment feels different—more personal.

Lando is grinning from ear to ear "What’s this? For me?"

Y/N shyly holds the bouquet out towards him, a soft smile on her face. "Yeah... It's not the best, but it's the only one I could get my hands on at such short notice."

Lando doesn’t hesitate for a second. He sets his trophy down on the ground, his attention entirely on the flowers in her hands. He takes the bouquet from her gently, inspecting it with a look of pure joy on his face. The smile never leaves as he admires the thoughtful gesture.

Y/N flinches slightly when she hears the clink of the trophy being set down. “Oh, Lan, don’t just leave it on the floor—”

Before she can even move to pick it up, Lando pulls her into a tight, elated hug, careful not to crush the flowers between them.

“These are beautiful, my love. Thank you,” he whispers against her ear, his voice full of affection. “God, I love you. You’re the best, you know that, right?”

Y/N, caught in the warmth of the moment, smiles softly, her heart racing. Lando’s arms around her feel like the perfect celebration of everything they’ve worked for together.

"I'm so proud of you, Lan, my race winner," Y/N says softly, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Lando lets out a quiet laugh, glancing over her shoulder and catching sight of one of the camera crew members standing off to the side, clearly eager to capture the intimate moment. His smile widens, but then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he pulls away from her and takes her hand firmly in his.

"Alright, you vultures," he calls out playfully to the crew, his tone teasing as he begins to walk away with Y/N in tow. "Go film someone else now."

Lando walks off, his stride confident and relaxed, one hand holding the bouquet Y/N gave him, the other wrapped around her hand. His focus is entirely on her as they move down the paddock together, the world around them momentarily fading away.

"Lando the trophy!"

--------------------------------------------------------

Fan Favourite

The cameras follow Lando and Y/N as they stroll hand in hand through the paddock, stopping every few meters to greet excited fans. It’s a typical moment for them, with Lando taking his time to chat and take photos with the crowd, but today, there’s a certain energy in the air that the fans—especially the ones around them—seem to feed off of.

Y/N stands to the side, watching with a smile as Lando interacts with a group of young fans. One fan, in particular, catches his attention. She’s holding a small, handmade friendship bracelet, her hands slightly trembling with excitement.

Lando’s smile widens as he notices the bracelet. He looks at the fan and gestures toward it with a raised eyebrow, "That’s really pretty. Is that for me?"

The fan's eyes go wide, her mouth opening and closing as she tries to form words. Finally, she manages a shy reply, "Oh, uh... actually, it’s for Y/N. If you could give it to her, please?"

Lando lets out a lighthearted laugh, realizing his mistake, a blush creeping up his neck. He turns over his shoulder, calling out to Y/N with a playful tone, "Love, c’mere. They wanna say hi."

Y/N steps forward, smiling warmly as she walks towards them. But before she even gets close, a few of the girls in the group let out high-pitched squeals, and Lando, hearing the reaction, pauses mid-step. He turns around to face the group, his jaw dropping in mock surprise. “Right, calm down,” he teases, raising an eyebrow. "It's almost like you're more excited to meet her than me!"

The fans giggle, some blushing, while Y/N smiles with a soft laugh, taking the bracelet from the fan’s outstretched hand. Lando, now with a playful smirk, shakes his head, clearly enjoying the teasing moment.

Y/N immediately slips the bracelet onto her wrist, admiring it with a bright smile. “This is so pretty! Thank you so much, you guys are the sweetest.”

Before she can say anything else, another fan eagerly steps forward, holding out a small crocheted cat dressed in what looks suspiciously like Lando’s helmet.

“I got you this as well!” the fan beams.

Y/N gasps, carefully taking the little plushie into her hands. “Oh my gosh! Is this supposed to be Lando?” She turns it over, inspecting the tiny details, from the pattern of the helmet to the little number on its side. “This is adorable—you guys…” Her voice softens, and she clutches the cat close to her chest, looking at the group with a touched expression, lips forming a small pout.

Lando, standing off to the side, watches with a fond smile, his heart swelling as he sees how naturally she interacts with his fans. He doesn’t even realize how long he’s been staring until Y/N turns to him, stretching out her arm with her phone in hand.

“Lan, baby, take a photo of us, please?”

Lando blinks, snapping out of his daze. He lets out a chuckle before taking the phone from her hand. “Yeah, yeah—sorry, got a bit distracted there.”

After snapping a few more photos and sharing a couple more laughs, Y/N and Lando exchanged their final goodbyes with the fans before continuing their stroll toward the McLaren garage.

Y/N glanced down at the bracelet on her wrist, still admiring the thoughtful gift, while Lando walked beside her, hands in his pockets, a playful pout forming on his lips.

"Can't believe I gotta share my girlfriend with my fans now," he muttered dramatically, shaking his head.

Y/N let out a soft laugh, bumping her shoulder against his. "Oh, come on, don’t act like you don’t love it," she teased.

Lando sighed, pretending to be exasperated. "I mean, I was the main attraction. Now they’re out here squealing over you and giving you gifts." He shot her a look, but the corners of his lips twitched, betraying his amusement.

Y/N smirked, holding up the tiny crocheted cat. "Jealous?"

Lando scoffed, but his eyes flickered down to the plushie, and he hummed in fake thought. “Depends... do I get one in return?”

Y/N grinned. "Maybe if you win the race this weekend."

Lando groaned, tilting his head back. “So now I have to earn your love? This is outrageous.”

Y/N just giggled, slipping her hand into his, swinging it slightly as they walked. “You love the challenge, Norris.”

He sighed, squeezing her hand. “Yeah... yeah, I do.”

--------------------------------------------------------

P's new favourite

Lando’s relationship with Max Verstappen’s stepdaughter, Penelope, had always been a good one. Between race weekends and off-season meetups in Monaco, he saw her often, and they had their own little bond.

But ever since he started dating Y/N, it seemed like P had a new favorite.

Just before heading to the garage, Lando stood outside McLaren hospitality, casually chatting with his mom, a few friends, Kelly, and P—who, instead of paying attention to the conversation, was entirely focused on showing Lando her collection of stickers.

Lando’s smile softens as he looks down at the little girl, carefully pressing the sticker onto his fireproofs. “For me?” he asks, feigning surprise. “Thank you, P.”

“Bye, Lando!” P grins, bouncing on her heels before giving him a high five, which quickly turns into a hug.

Lando barely has time to wrap his arms around her before she suddenly gasps dramatically, pulling away as fast as she had latched onto him. Without a second thought, she bolts in the opposite direction.

“Y/N!”

The camera follows her path, cutting to Y/N just as she arrives. A wide smile spreads across her face as she kneels down, arms open and ready for impact.

P barrels straight into her, nearly knocking her over as she wraps her tiny arms around Y/N in a tight hug.

Y/N lets out a small laugh, steadying herself. “Hi, P! I love your hair—you look so pretty!”

P quickly pulls back, twirling proudly to show off her outfit. “Lando said he liked my hair too!” she exclaims.

Y/N gasps, playing along. “Well, if Lando said it, then it must be true.”

P giggles before Y/N takes her small hands in hers. “Alright, come on then, let’s go say goodbye to Lando.”

As they make their way back toward the group, Kelly watches them with a knowing smile. “She literally pulled away from Lando’s hug just to run to you,” she muses, shaking her head with amusement.

Lando lets out a dramatic sigh, crossing his arms. “Yeah, my family does the same thing when I bring her home with me.”

Cisca, who had been standing off to the side, bursts into laughter, nodding in agreement. “It’s true.”

“Hi, baby. I’m about to head off. I’ll see you after,” Lando murmurs, stepping in close to press a soft kiss to Y/N’s lips before pulling her into a tight hug.

Before Y/N can even melt into the embrace, a small but determined voice interrupts.

“Okay, bye now, Lando.”

P, eyes set with purpose, marches forward and starts pushing Lando away with her tiny hands.

Lando lets out a laugh, barely stumbling back before crossing his arms over his chest. “Excuse me? Am I not even allowed to kiss my girlfriend goodbye now?”

“She’s mine!” P announces proudly, wrapping her arms around Y/N in a possessive hug.

Y/N laughs, running a gentle hand over the little girl’s head. “Alright, missy, I think Lando gets the message loud and clear.” She glances at Lando with a teasing smile before blowing him a kiss. “I’ll see you later, my love. Good luck and be safe.”

Lando sneaks in a quick peck to her cheek before jogging off, grinning. “I’ll be back to take my girlfriend back, P! Watch over her for me!”

#Fernando Alonso

Toy Cars | Fernando Alonso x Mum! Reader

Summary: Fernando boasts about his step-sons to anyone who will listen. So, when you realise you want more, he's confused why your little family is no longer enough.

Warnings: angst, slight age gap. i pictured reader about 35

Requested: no

just a short one compared to the others

F1 Masterlist

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fernandoalo_official just posted

liked by astonmartinf1, aussiegrit and others

fernandoalo_official not been an easy weekend so far but it’s made easier when one of my favourite people is in the paddock

14,114 comments

jensonbutton but i’m not working this weekend?

→ lance_stroll we all know i’m his other favourite person

→ fernandoalo_official no, the twins are

→ user1 step dad nando has my whole heart

→ yn_ln mine too! 

user2 a hug from fernando would heal me

→ user3 a hug from y/n would heal me

yn_ln weekends where i get to see you are my favourite

→ user4 i will never be normal about these two 

→ user5 it’s the fact that he watches the f2 races because it gives him an excuse to hang out with y/n 

astonmartinf1 our favourite couple 

user6 need fernando to win now that he’s had his good luck hug 

yn_ln just posted

liked by jensonbutton, lance_stroll and others

yn_ln back on track for the twins. both my boys did a wonderful job with high position finishes… oh and they were visited by an enthusiastic fan 😉

5,343 comments

fernandoalo_official i’ll be getting you in one of those karts next 

→ yn_ln that’s going to take a lot of convincing, nando 

→ fernandoalo_official i can think of a few ways, mi vida

→ landonorris ew

→ user7 mi vida!! i will never be normal about these two 

aussiegrit how’d he get his hair that tall 

→ astonmartinf1 it’s so full of secrets 

fa_alonsokart calling the boss an enthusiastic fan is such a power move

→ user8 the fact that he let her and didn’t comment on it tho 

lance_stroll they'll be taking his seat soon enough

user9 love how supportive fernando is of his step-sons

→ user10 he literally started a karting school so that he could help their karting careers

→ user11 the dad that stepped up

user1 what’s your favourite fa14 fact? mine is that he fell in love with y/n l/n, realised she had twins and immediately started enacting project alonso 

→ user2 no because the twins were 11 when he met them and now they’re 15 and looking at f3 seats 

user3 this is what i’ve been saying. fernando doesn’t just love y/n, he loves her children just as much, if not more

user4 fernando alonso puts all other step-dads to shame because he is always there for them, no matter how busy his life is

user5 i really need fernando to hurry up and propose because that is his family

→ user6 yes! he needs to make project alonso official by giving them all his last name

→ user7 and then more babies!  

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comments 

user8 why was this the cutest thing said by anyone ever. like those are his boys 

user9 wait, so does this mean he doesn’t want kids?

user10 the way he cut that interviewer off because that his family whether they share blood or not

→ user11 i read it as he didn’t want to talk about it any more because he doesn’t want more kids and maybe he and y/n haven’t talked about it yet 

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yn_ln just posted

liked by kellypiquet, alexandrasaintmleux and others 

yn_ln an empty house for the week makes me realise that i miss hearing about cars 

2,343 comments

user1 aw are the flowers from fernando?

kellypiquet max keeps trying to convince me to get another cat. don’t let him see this

→ maxverstappen1 too late 

user2 wait, why isn’t she spending summer break with nando?

→ user3 because he’s on holiday 

→ user2 without her? 

→ user4 they don’t have to spend every minute together. he’s allowed to have a break 

user5 guys, y/n and fernando don’t follow each other anymore?

→ user6 i thought you were lying but then i checked and it’s true :( 

→ user7 oh that captions hit extra hard

user8 no because her entire life is racing and now that it’s not there, she realises she misses it

→ user9 she misses him

user10 i’m so confused. they were so in love like two weeks ago. what happened?

user11 no because i can’t imagine seeing fernando without y/n

user12 is he still going to support the twins? 

user13 but you were supposed to get married to fernando and have lots of little alonso’s

→ user14 maybe one of them didn’t want that 

→ user15 can’t imagine it being alonso, he thinks the world of the twins

→ user16 true. he does mention them in almost every interview 

user1 when i remembered f2 were racing this weekend, i was so happy because that meant yn and nando content and then i remembered they’d broken up

→ user2 all the tweets on here are tearing my heart out as well 

user3 they’ve not spoken to each other once today

user4 yes she walked straight past him but there’s clips of her entire face crumpling as soon as she’s past him

→ user5 yes! i saw that. her colleague had to usher her into the garage before she started crying 

user6 the fact that fernando spent the entire time watching her though

→ user7 even when people were talking to him, he was full on staring at her

→ user8 brokenhearted lover boy made no attempts to hide it 

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Baby Fever Angst Series

Love that I mentioned request for Esteban once and I already have 5 requests 😂 I didn't realise there was that much love for Ocon considering I can never find any fics for him

tag list

Thin Walls - Sebastian Vettel x reader

Sebastian Vettel x female!reader

Requested? Yes/No

Anon: Was wondering if I could put in a request for a Red Bull era Seb fic / oneshot? Maybe something along the lines of working for Red Bull since Seb joined, and the beginning of the 2013 season, Mark Webber finds out that Seb has always had a massive thing for you. Mark then decides to start flirting with you to make Seb jealous. Seb gets back at Mark by enacting Multi-21, and after the race, gets the ultimate payback by getting you to come back to his thin-walled hotel room, which is the room right next to Mark’s. ;)

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings: Angst, smut 18+++, dom! Seb, swearing (wrap it before you tap it kids)

—

Ever since Sebastian Vettel had joined Red Bull you had been working alongside him. Being Red Bull’s main photographer had a lot of benefits including being rather closer with both drivers. You conducted their photoshoots all year round and then followed them like a shadow around the tracks to get the best photos you could. Sure you got on with both boys well but there was always something about Sebastian that made him that little more special, maybe it was because the two of you started your Red Bull journey together or maybe it was because you two could never keep your eyes off one another. Whatever it was Mark Webber sure picked up on it and used it to his advantage. 

“You like her,” Mark turned to face Sebastian. The two were sat at a drivers meeting and Mark had caught the German’s eyes linger on you just outside the room for a little too long. “Don’t you?”

“Who?” Seb snapped his head back to meet the gaze of his teammate. “y/n? No.”

“I didn’t even mention her name.” Leaning back in his chair he smirked back at Seb. “So you do like her?”

Continuar lendo

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NONE OF THESE ARE WRITTEN BY ME

ᵐʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʳᵉᶜˢ

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come find me ⛐ 𝐂𝐒𝟓𝟓

♫ forgive me, peter carlos, please know that i tried to hold on to the days when you were mine.

ꔮ starring: carlos sainz x childhood best friend!reader. ꔮ word count: 4.4k ꔮ includes: romance, friendship, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort. mentions of food. childhood best friends, right person/wrong time, canon compliant -ish, minor spanish. heavily inspired by taylor swift's peter. ꔮ commentary box: ho is u okay,, @binisainz planted this idea in my head and i had to go full throttle with it. one day we will write happy things (today will not be that day). 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

♫ waiting room, phoebe bridgers. ceilings, lizzy mcalpine. cool about it, boygenius. boy who has everything, annika bennett. car's outside, james arthur.

▸ THE GODDESS OF TIMING ONCE FOUND US BEGUILING. SHE SAID SHE WAS TRYING; CARLOS, WAS SHE LYING? MY RIBS GET THE FEELING SHE DID.

The cake is lopsided.

It doesn’t matter, though. Carlos grins like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen. His mother places it on the kitchen counter with a laugh, brushing flour off her apron. The candles wobble precariously as she adjusts them, and you and Carlos press your palms to the table, watching like the fate of the world hinges on whether or not they’ll topple over.

They don’t.

Carlos cheers as if it’s a victory in its own right. He tugs at your wrist until you’re at his side. The kitchen smells of sugar and vanilla, and the late afternoon sun spills through the window, turning the terracotta tiles into a checkerboard of red and black.

His father ruffles his hair, chuckling under his breath. “Blow out the candles, campeón.”

Carlos turns to you, eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint that always means trouble.

“You do it with me,” he insists.

“It’s your birthday,” you argue, but he’s already inching closer, shoulder bumping against yours.

“Please?” he says, and you know then— even at this age— that you’ll never be able to say no to him.

So you do it together, squeezing your eyes shut as you make your wishes. When you open them, the candles are snuffed out, a faint curl of smoke rising toward the ceiling.

His mother claps, and his father nods. They share a knowing look. The kind of knowledge adults carry like a secret; the certainty that some people are just meant to orbit each other. 

The goddess of timing must be watching, amused and benevolent, because even the universe can’t help but indulge in this small, perfect moment.

There are murmurs about your friendship. Of course there are. Sainz Jr. had a friend, a next-door neighbor who indulged his every whimsy. 

And you had Carlos. 

Carlos, who chases your bullies away with sticks from his backyard. Carlos, who hurtles down the street on his bicycle so he can get the two of you the freshest bocadillos. Carlos, who will halve the chances of his birthday wish being fulfilled if it means you get to have a quarter of a wish, too. 

Later, after too much cake and games in the garden, you sit beneath the lemon tree. Dirt streaks your legs; frosting sticks to Carlos’ fingers. Your best friend leans his head against your shoulder.

His hair is damp with sweat, chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of someone perfectly content. He’s only 10— que horror, the dreaded double digit!— but he acts like he already has all the answers in the world. 

“I’m going to be a race car driver,” he tells you. As if it’s a prophecy. His God-given right. 

You hum, picking at the grass beside you. “I know.”

“You’ll come to all my races?”

“Of course.”

Carlos sighs with satisfaction. “We’ll always be friends,” he promises, prophesies.

You’re too young to know that people change, that you can’t possibly predict the years to come. Right now, with the sun dipping below the rooftops and the sky blushing pink, it feels like forever could be this simple. 

After a beat, Carlos pipes up, “What did you wish for?”

“I can’t tell you,” you snort, “or else it won’t come true.” 

“Not fair!” he whines. “It’s my birthday!” 

You bicker and roughhouse until Carlos’ mother has to intervene. The question is forgotten when you two are called in for dinner of polbo a feira and tapas.

It’s one of those memories you wish you could keep in a snow globe, forever immortalized. The dining table, the conversation, the company. 

The wish you made, buried in your mind like the spare house key under a mat. 

I hope Carlos gets everything he wants. 

▸ AND SOMETIMES IT GETS ME, WHEN CROSSING YOUR JET STREAM— WE BOTH DID THE BEST WE COULD DO UNDERNEATH THE SAME MOON.

The trophy is heavier than Carlos expected.

His hands ache from gripping the wheel, knuckles still buzzing from the adrenaline of the last lap. All the same, he refuses to put the prize down. He clutches it like proof that the last three years weren’t just a dream; inwardly, he’s scared that letting go might somehow undo the third place finish.

The victory party spills across the hotel’s rooftop, lanterns swaying in the humid breeze. His father shakes hands with team managers. His mother beams at anyone who glances her way. 

And Carlos— Carlos searches for you.

You find him first, dodging through the crowd with practiced ease. There’s a scrape on your knee from tripping over a curb in your rush to get to the podium, and your hair is a mess from running down the track, but Carlos doesn’t care. 

You look at him like he’s conquered the world, and he feels like maybe he has.

He casts aside the trophy. Suddenly, it’s not as important as what he’s about to hold. 

“You did it,” you’re breathing, and he’s reaching out to pull you into a hug. “Cariño, you did it.” 

“We did it,” he amends. You laugh like it’s a joke, like Carlos isn’t being a hundred percent sincere. 

Nobody bats an eye at the show of affection. You’ve been around since Torneo Industrie. You were there for the podium finishes and the falls from grace. 

Carlos Sainz’s best friend. The one who was keeping a promise. The one he sought out after every race, win or lose.

Not just any girl in the crowd, but the girl. 

Carlos sways the two of you back and forth, feet shuffling in a clumsy imitation of a slow dance. There’s a live band playing the ballads his parents like, so his effort to keep you close is rather awkward and off-putting. 

He’s not about to be called out on it, though. Not when this is his moment, and he’s keen on sharing it with you. 

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he mumbles into the crown of your head. 

“You could have,” you respond firmly, the words spoken into his clothed shoulder. “You would have.” 

I don’t want to, he almost says, but he bites the words back. Carlos doesn’t want to need you too much. Doesn’t want to put his career in the palm of your hands.

He pulls back, still gripping your arms like he needs the anchor. The party swirls around you both. A snow globe celebrating him while he reveres you. 

“We’ll do this forever,” he says. A shadow of that childhood promise. “You’ll come to all my races.”

You’re older, now. A little wiser. Not so immune to the whispers. 

Carlos, who is built for bigger things. And you— the amalgamation, the imposition. El destino.

His destiny, if he were to want it badly enough. 

You smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The moon hangs low in the sky, watching over you both like it knows something you don’t.

“Of course,” you say, pretending it’s still that simple.

▸ YOU SAID YOU WERE GONNA GROW UP, THEN YOU WERE GONNA COME FIND ME... YOU SAID YOU'D COME AND GET ME, BUT YOU WERE TWENTY-FIVE.

You remember what it looked like— the night Carlos made his choice. 

The car, idling by the curb, its headlights spilling across the pavement. Carlos, leaning against the gate of your house. His fingers tapped restless patterns on the metal; his sneakers scuffed against the ground. 

He looked young. He was young.

Stripped of the helmet and the race suit, he was just a 16-year-old boy with too much of the world ahead of him and not enough words to say what he meant. 

“I’ll call you,” he assured, voice breaking the silence. The third time he had said it that night.

You nodded and crossed your arms over your chest like you could hold yourself together that way. “I know.”

Carlos let out a breath, rubbing at the back of his neck. His hair was longer, curls falling over his forehead. It didn’t hide the way his eyes flickered with uncertainty.

He was always so sure of himself on the track— confident in every turn, every overtake— but he looked lost now, standing in front of you like he couldn’t figure out how to leave.

“You can still watch the races,” he had tried, the joke falling flat between you. “On TV. It’s almost the same.”

“It’s not the same,” you said, and you inhaled sharply when it came out sounding sharp. You shook your head and tried again. “It’s fine, Carlos. You should go.”

Instead of taking your advice, Carlos had taken a step closer. 

His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for you, but he shoved it into his pocket instead. “I don’t want you to think I’m leaving because I want to,” he said, words tumbling out too fast. “I have to do this. I just... I need to try. But I’ll come back.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” He swayed on his feet, desperate to make you believe him. “I’ll get it out of my system, and then I’ll come back.”

The way he said it— like racing was a fever that needed to break, like the only cure was time and distance— made your chest ache. You’d never seen him without racing, couldn’t imagine a version of Carlos that wasn’t chasing speed like he was scared of what might catch him if he slowed down.

“How long?” you whispered.

Carlos opened his mouth. Closed it again. 

The truth is, he didn’t know. It could be years. It could be forever.

But he had looked at you like he wanted it to be tomorrow.

“Just wait for me,” he begged, voice barely above a whisper, “please.”

As a teenager, you had not thought it to be cruel. It was simply a parting remark, a best friend’s desperate plea. When you nodded and let Carlos plant a kiss to your forehead— as if sealing the deal— you didn’t expect it to feel a lot like a death sentence. 

It’s been nine years since. 

Carlos slips in and out of your life like Spanish summers. He’ll spend a week or two of off-season in Madrid, soaking up as much of you as he can. Every year, there is something new to report. 

A co-driver he dislikes. A team trying to poach him. An entire life where you are a footnote— a ‘best friend’ back home. 

This time around, he is 25 and gearing up to join McLaren. He had texted you about it when he first got the news. 

The papaya team, you said good-naturedly, and he responded with a selfie with his curly-haired co-driver. 

I told him all about you, Carlos said. You were not sure whether to feel grateful or heartbroken. 

Tonight, the dinner plates have been pushed to the side, remnants of your meal forgotten in favor of stretching the night out just a little longer. Your best friend sits across from you, elbow on the table, chin propped in his hand. 

The kitchen of his family home is quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the ticking of the wall clock. His parents have given you some privacy. Even now, they are still rooting for what they think is the soft epilogue you both deserve. 

Carlos’ eyes soften as you top his glass. The same warm brown as when he was fourteen and winning his first championship, as when he was sixteen and making promises he couldn’t follow up on.

You tilt your glass of wine, watching the way the liquid catches the light. “So,” you start, voice steady, “have you gotten it out of your system yet?”

You can see the guilt settle over him, the way his shoulders tense and his gaze drops to the table. He scratches at the wood grain with his thumb, jaw tight. 

“I’m close,” he says, and you hate how desperate he sounds to convince you. “Just a few more years.”

“A few more years,” you repeat, like you can make the words sound like less than what they are. You nod, pretending not to notice the tremor in his voice. 

You lift your gaze, studying him. The sharper angles of his face, the subtle lines that years of racing and travel have carved into his skin.

The way he looks at you— that hasn’t changed.

“I will come back,” he promises, leaning in, eyes wide and earnest. “I swear, I just—”

“Carlos.” You reach across the table, fingers curling around his hand. 

You squeeze his hand, trying to memorize the shape of him, the feel of his skin against yours. And then, slowly, you stand, tugging him to his feet with you as you move around the table. 

He follows you instinctively, like he always has.

You’re the one who finally, finally does it. In the dim light of this kitchen that has witnessed everything, you kiss him. 

It’s soft and lingering, a slow unraveling of years of almosts and maybes. Carlos doesn’t hesitate; he melts into it, hands coming up to cradle your face.

He kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every goodbye, every missed birthday, every time he said he’d come back and didn’t.

He tastes like the wine you’d been drinking, like everything you want but can’t have. 

You pull away and briefly rest your forehead against his, fingers brushing through his hair. Carlos chases your lips, but you step back. 

“You don’t have to come back for me,” you exhale, voice breaking on the words. “Just come back when you’re ready.”

Carlos stares at you, eyes glassy, chest rising and falling like he’s about to argue.

He doesn’t. He’s never raised his voice at you. He was not about to start tonight. 

You slip away, the same way that summer might end on an unassuming September afternoon. 

And so this must be what winter feels like, Carlos thinks as he watches you go. 

▸ ARE YOU STILL A MIND-READER, A NATURAL SCENE STEALER? I'VE HEARD GREAT THINGS, CARLOS, BUT LIFE WAS ALWAYS EASIER ON YOU THAN IT WAS ON ME.

You find out the way everyone else does.

The announcement is plastered across every sports site you frequent, and someone in the office even mentions it in passing like it's a casual thing. For them, it is.

For you, it's something else entirely.

Carlos Sainz signs with Ferrari, replacing Sebastian Vettel. 

The sting isn't sharp, but it lingers. A dull ache of realization. 

You used to be the first to know these things. You used to get the late-night texts, the excited voice messages, the hastily snapped photos of team gear before anything was official. Now, you're like everybody else, learning about Carlos’ life through headlines and curated press releases.

You wonder, briefly, if it's the kiss that ruined things. You haven’t exactly stopped talking, but the texts are infrequent now. The check-ins, more obligatory than organic. 

Still, you swallow the feeling and shoot him a message. Not because you have to, but because there isn’t a world where you wouldn’t give Carlos Sainz the flowers he deserves. 

Congratulations, mi campeón, you text him. Ferrari red suits you. 

Your phone rings in the next five minutes, your screen lighting up with a childhood photo of you and Carlos. 

“I was waiting for you to text,” he says, voice laced with relief. “I wanted to tell you myself, I swear. I just... Things happened so fast.” 

You close your eyes, resting your forehead against your hand. You realize that you don’t know where he is. Maranello? Monaco? 

In the house right next doors to yours— back home, where you once thought he belonged? 

You want to let him explain, want to listen to every single word, but your boss shouts your name from across the room. You’re reminded of your place. These white walls and linoleum floors; cubicles and desk set-ups that Carlos never would have settled for. 

“Lo siento, cariño,” you say hurriedly. “I’m at work. I have to go, but— I mean it. Congratulations. I am happy for you.” 

It’s small, almost negligible. The emphasis you choose to put on the word ‘am’. I am happy for you, you’re saying, as if you’re still trying to convince yourself of the fact. 

Carlos, on the other end of the line, exhales heavily. 

He doesn’t say he will call later tonight when you’re free. The two of you are no longer in the business of getting each other’s hopes up. 

“Thank you,” he says, the platitude sounding heavier than it should. 

You end the call and shove the phone into your desk drawer, hopeful that it will keep you from doing something stupid like reading up on Ferrari or texting Carlos a dozen apologies. 

The ache lingers. 

It always does. 

▸ I WON'T CONFESS THAT I WAITED, BUT I LET THE LAMP BURN. AS THE MEN MASQUERADED, I HOPED YOU'D RETURN.

Carlos shows up at your doorstep like he doesn’t know where else to go.

You don’t have to check your phone to know why he’s here. You step aside wordlessly, letting him into the familiar warmth of your home. He exhales, as if stepping over the threshold takes something out of him. 

Maybe it does. Maybe this is the last place he can let himself be like this— untethered from the world that has just tossed him aside.

For a long time, neither of you speak. He lingers in your living room, shoulders hunched as he stares at the floor. Carlos doesn’t have to know, but the laptop in your bedroom bears dozens of articles, like you were a crime scene detective trying to make sense of all the details. 

Lewis Hamilton to replace Carlos Sainz at Ferrari for the 2025 season. 

It had felt like a punch to the gut just reading it. You can’t even imagine what it must’ve felt like to be him.

“Carlos,” you begin, but he’s already shaking his head, a wry smile playing at his lips.

All these years between the two of you— despite most of it being spent apart— makes you a language that Carlos is fluent in. He knows. Knows that you were about to offer some comfort, some reassurance, some platitude. 

He shifts on your couch. Your knees bump against each other. 

“Maybe this is it,” he murmurs. “Maybe this is the end of the road for me.” 

Then, softer, like he’s telling himself as much as he’s telling you, “Maybe after this season, I’ll finally fulfill what I’ve always promised you.”

You hate that your heart leaps. Hate that for a second— one fragile, selfish second— you wonder if this is the universe finally setting things right.

This is the universe course-correcting, is it not? The years, and the distance, and the missed calls were all just detours leading him back here.

But that’s not how it works. 

Not for him. Not for you.

This is not fate. It’s heartbreak. 

And you would never let Carlos Sainz’s heart break, if you could do anything about it. 

“Carlos,” you say again, firmer this time. 

He looks up at you. You recognize the glint in his eyes. The part of him that’s already bracing for the fight. Ready to convince you, to convince himself, that this— this is the checkered flag, the final lap. 

You don’t let him. 

“This— racing— it’s who you are. You can’t give that up,” you say earnestly, the words for me hanging in the air between you. 

Carlos laughs. It sounds more like a sob. “I’ve already given up so much for it,” he says wretchedly. “And still, it’s never enough.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and shift closer, reaching out to rest your hand over his. He doesn’t pull away.

“If this is the end of the road,” you say softly, “then walk it all the way to the finish. Don’t let them decide when it’s over.”

Carlos fixes you with his gaze, his eyes dark and unreadable. After all this time, he still looks to you like you have all the answers. 

Like you are the answer. 

After an eternity, he sighs and nods once.

For the rest of the night, you don’t talk about racing. You let him linger in the safety of your home, the two of you orbiting around each other like you always have. Two people bound by a history neither of you can seem to let go of.

You exchange stories. You watch reruns of some old telenovela. 

You keep your hands off each other, because you don’t want this moment to be a Band-Aid on a bullet wound. You respect each other too much to settle for that. 

When Carlos falls asleep on your couch, you quietly drape a blanket over him and let the lamp burn through the night.

Just in case he wakes up and needs to find his way back to you.

▸ WITH YOUR FEET ON THE GROUND, TELL ME ALL THAT YOU'D LEARNED 'CAUSE LOVE'S NEVER LOST WHEN PERSPECTIVE IS EARNED.

Carlos turns thirty with a new team, a new beginning, and a birthday party that feels like it was always meant to end here.

The Sainz family home buzzes with celebration— laughter spilling through the rooms, wine glasses clinking, plates scraping against each other as people help themselves to seconds. The scent of his mother’s cooking lingers, grounding everything in a familiarity Carlos hadn’t realized he missed this much.

And then there’s you.

Carlos stands by the cake, the glow of the candles flickering across his face, and he’s not looking at anyone else.

“Come blow the candle with me,” he says, holding out his hand.

You blink, caught off guard. A couple of snickers ripple through the room. Not everybody is privy to the lore, but they don’t really have to be. They all know how much you mean to Carlos. 

“It’s your birthday,” you say. The same thing you’d said two decades ago. 

His grin is boyish, teasing. “I’m thirty. I need the help.”

His mother hides her smile behind her mug. His father shakes his head, mumbles something like estos dos as déjà vu hits like a truck.

The room is full of people certain the two of you belonged to each other long before you ever understood what that meant.

You step beside him. Carlos counts down under his breath, his hand resting over the small of your back. 

The flame is extinguished. Another bottle of champagne is popped. You have some vague memory of the wish you made the first time this happened, but you can’t say for sure if it has come true. 

The party stretches into the night, but Carlos stays close, his shoulder brushing against yours every time he moves. He doesn’t say much— doesn’t have to. It’s enough to just be here for once. 

When the crowd thins out, he grabs his jacket without question, ready to walk you home like he always used to.

The streets of Madrid are quieter than they should be, as if the city is holding space for the two of you. The stars are bright, scattered across the sky like promises.

Carlos shoves his hands into his coat pockets, scuffing his shoe against the pavement. “What did you wish for?”

You exhale a soft laugh. “You can’t ask that.”

“I can.” He glances at you, half a smile tugging at his mouth. “I’m thirty now. I’ve earned the right to know.”

You don’t answer immediately. You watch him instead— the way he looks at peace, even with the weight of starting over. His new Williams contract is a fresh start, a lease on life he almost lost.

He’s not done racing. Not yet. But he’s here, he’s here, and you want so badly for that be enough. 

You stop walking. Carlos notices a beat later, turning to face you. His eyes are careful, searching.

“Racing is never going to be out of your system,” you say, as if it’s a fact of life. The sky is blue, the sun is warm, and Carlos Sainz will chase the thrill of a podium until his final breath. 

Carlos winces, looking almost guilty as he responds, “I didn’t mean to—” 

“I know.” You cut him off gently. You’re both now, and you understand that it is not simple. It never was. But that does not mean it is worth anything less. 

“I’m glad you didn’t quit,” you add, just to make things clear. 

Carlos steps closer. “I would’ve come back for you,” he says, voice rough with sincerity. “I think— I think I will always come back to you.”

You smile up at him. It’s bittersweet and small, but it’s all his. All for him. 

He lifts a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin. “You never told me what you wished for,” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours.

“I’ll tell you mine,” you say as you lean into him, chest aching with something that feels like forgiveness— for him, for yourself, for all the years you lost trying to outrun what was always inevitable, “if you tell me yours.” 

Carlos doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he leans in to kiss you like he’s been holding the promise of it for years. A quiet, patient kind of love finally breaking the surface.

It tastes like every birthday cake you ever shared, every race you ever watched, every almost that never quite unraveled into more.

This, he saying as he kisses away all the versions of love that didn’t quite fit before, is what I wished for. 

Somewhere in the universe, the goddess of timing breathes a sigh of relief. She had never lied. 

Te tomó bastante tiempo, she whispers through the breeze in your hair, through the constellation in the sky, through the flower that takes root over the spot you shared a kiss. 

It took you long enough. ⛐

White Horse - Chapter 17: May 2024 - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Alexandra didn’t mean to become an investigator.

It wasn’t like she’d shown up to the Monaco GP Qualifying with a magnifying glass and a corkboard. But when you’d been dating Charles Leclerc long enough—and surviving his family dynamics even longer—you learned to pay attention. To the tone. To the silences. To the details no one else saw.

Which was why, as she sipped her matcha in the shaded calm of the Paddock Lounge, Alexandra looked across the table at Carmen Montero Mundt and said, without preamble:

“I think Isabelle has a boyfriend.”

Carmen snorted. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Alexandra said, leveling her with a look. “She has a Chanel bag and a new bracelet. And she isn’t flinching when her brothers snap at her these days.” 

Carmen blinked, clearly caught off guard. “That’s… quite a list.”

“She’s glowing,” Alexandra continued. “Like, actual glowy skin, soft hair, new moisturizer who this kind of glow. And she’s started saying no to her brothers. You don’t wake up one day and grow a spine for no reason. Something changed.”

Carmen laughed, a little too loudly. “Okay, okay. I mean… that’s crazy, though. Right? Isabelle? Dating? In this paddock?” She waved a hand. “Wild idea.”

Alexandra narrowed her eyes.

Carmen looked away.

“You know something,” Alexandra said flatly.

“What? No. I just—”

“Carmen.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’m being supportive.”

“You’re squirming,” Alexandra said, setting her cup down. “You know something.”

Carmen opened her mouth. Closed it. Fiddled with her sleeve.

“If I did know something,” she said carefully, “Charles would absolutely not be allowed to know.”

That was confirmation enough.

Alexandra leaned back, lips twitching. “Oh my God.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Carmen said quickly, holding up her hands.

“You just did,” Alexandra whispered, eyes wide. “She’s seeing someone. She is.”

“I never confirmed that,” Carmen insisted, eyes darting. “This is purely hypothetical.”

“But you said Charles can’t know,” Alexandra replied, voice low. “Which means it’s someone Charles would hate. So. Let’s play a game.”

“No games,” Carmen said immediately.

Alexandra smiled sweetly. “Is it Lando?”

Carmen visibly short-circuited.

Carmen choked on her coffee. “What? No!”

Alexandra narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Lando is—no. No. Absolutely not.”

“Is it Lando?!” Alexandra repeated, scandalized. “Oh my god.”

Carmen clutched her water bottle like it might save her. “Alex, I’m begging you—I didn’t say it was Lando!”

Alexandra’s brain was already spinning. “Wait. It’s someone in the paddock, isn’t it?”

Carmen made a noise that could’ve been a cough or a plea.

Alexandra gasped. “It’s someone in the paddock. You just confirmed it!”

“No I didn’t.”

“You totally did.”

“I absolutely didn’t.”

“You’re panicking, which means I’m right.”

Carmen buried her face in her hands. “I hate you.”

Alexandra grinned. “You love me.”

“I will never survive Charles finding out.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell him.”

Carmen peeked through her fingers. “You won’t?”

“No,” Alexandra said, a little too gleefully. “Because I want to figure it out myself. And then I want to sit front row for the chaos when Charles does find out.”

Carmen groaned. “You’re evil.”

Alexandra took a victorious sip of matcha. “Isabelle has clearly been holding out on us.”

She glanced across the paddock, just in time to catch a glimpse of Isabelle—composed, chic, wearing that ridiculous bracelet that no one on her salary bought herself—speaking calmly to a Ferrari engineer.

Alexandra smiled.

Game on.

***

Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, painting golden streaks across the navy-blue sheets. The faint hum of the city below filtered through the open balcony doors, mingling with the distant sound of waves hitting the rocks. The air smelled like salt, fresh linens, and a hint of Max’s cologne lingering on the pillows.

Isabelle stirred, shifting slightly beneath the covers. Before she could open her eyes, a warm hand slid over her waist, pulling her back against a familiar chest.

“Stay,” Max mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

She smiled, settling against him. “We have to get up soon.”

Max let out a low hum, nuzzling into the back of her neck. “Later.”

She turned in his arms, finally opening her eyes to find him watching her with that soft, drowsy expression he only ever wore in the mornings. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and there was a faint crease on his cheek from the pillow. He looked at her like he had nowhere else to be, like nothing in the world mattered but her.

His lips curved into a slow grin. “Happy birthday, Schatje.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest. “Thank you.”

Max propped himself up on his elbow and reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a small, velvet box. “I know you said no gifts until tomorrow, but…” He handed it to her. “I want you to have this today.”

Isabelle raised an eyebrow but took the box, flipping it open. Inside, a pair of delicate diamond studs glimmered in the morning light. Simple, timeless—exactly her style.

Her throat tightened.

“Max,” she whispered, brushing her fingers over one.

He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Your real present comes tomorrow,” he promised. “But I wanted you to have something for today, too.”

She swallowed past the lump forming in her throat. “I love them.”

Max grinned, looking satisfied with himself, before rolling over her to reach for his phone. “We have time before we leave. Do you want scrambled eggs?”

She laughed, pushing at his chest. “You just want an excuse to make a mess in the kitchen.”

“I would never.”

She let him pull her out of bed anyway.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: 🕯️ I have lit the ceremonial birthday candle 🎂 You have officially survived another year of Leclerc-related nonsense 🪩 Proud of you, love you, and am mentally blowing up balloons in your honour.  (Also: do not lift a single finger today. Your brothers are on their own.)

Isabelle: It’s 6am. But thank you 🖤

Emilie: You’re welcome. Now go eat something sugary and dramatic and let Max spoil you.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria:  Happy birthday, Belle 💛 Victoria:   The boys made you a card—well, Luka drew a race car and Lio ate half a crayon, but it’s heartfelt. 💛 Victoria:   There’s cake waiting when you come up next ❤️We miss you.

Isabelle: Thank you, Vic ❤️ Tell the boys I love them. And I accept race cars with open arms.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Sophie Kumpen

Sophie: Happy Birthday, Belle! I know the day will be loud, but I hope someone takes a quiet moment just for you. You are thoughtful, steady, and stronger than you think. And you are so very loved.  Thank you for everything you’ve brought into Max’s life. Into ours.  We’re lucky to have you.

Isabelle: Thank you, Sophie. That means more than I can say.

Sophie: No need to say it. Just know.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Oscar Piastri

Oscar: Happy birthday, Belle! Lily says I have to include emojis so: 🎉🎂🧁💐 Thanks for adopting me into Monaco and teaching me how to not get run over by mopeds. (And how to find the best cheese…and saving my back from that couch.)

Isabelle: Thank you, Oscar 🧡 You were an excellent Monaco adoptee. Very teachable. Solid cheese instincts. 10/10 dodging reflexes. Good Luck today!

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Lando Norris

Lando: happy birthday, belle!! i was going to say something cool and poetic but i’m not awake enough for that. you’re a legend even when you scare me a little. (in a good way.)

Isabelle: thank you, lando 🧡 You’re not so bad yourself—even when you’re making that face you make mid-qualy. Legend recognizes legend. Appreciate you. Good Luck today!

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Lily Zneimer

Lily: 🎉🎂 HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY TO MONACO’S MOST UNDERAPPRECIATED GEM 💄👑 I hope today is full of peace, good coffee, and zero passive-aggressive family drama. (But just in case—it’s me. I’m your escape plan. Say the word, and we’re disappearing into McLaren hospitality with iced matchas and moral superiority.)

Isabelle: You had me at iced matcha and moral superiority. I’ll find you if the walls start closing in. Thank you, lily. Truly.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Daniel Ricciardo

Daniel: 🎈🎂 BELLE DAY!!! 🎂🎈

The only person I trust to emotionally manage Max Verstappen. Hope someone brings you flowers. And maybe a pony. If they don’t, I will personally cause a scene.

Isabelle: Thank you, Dan🩵 If a pony appears on my balcony, i’ll know who to blame. 

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Lewis Hamilton

Lewis: Happy birthday, Belle. I hope someone reminds you today how deeply you’re appreciated—not just for what you do, but for who you are. Thank you for keeping half the grid emotionally intact. Sending love. 

Isabelle: Thank you! Sending love right back. Good Luck today! ***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Gianpiero Lambiase

GP: Happy Birthday, Belle. Hope today brings you at least half the peace you bring Max. (And maybe a cupcake that isn’t from a sponsor.)

Isabelle: You saying that means more than a dozen cupcakes. (Though, for the record, I am on the lookout for a non-sponsored one.) Thank you 🩵

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Jos Verstappen

Jos: Happy birthday, Belle.

Isabelle: Thank you 🩵

***

The garage was buzzing already.

Ferrari reds were everywhere—technicians checking monitors, Charles pacing with purpose, Arthur trying to look official in his headset like he wasn’t a nervous wreck. Pascale stood just outside the garage in heels that defied logic, talking animatedly to a photographer. Lorenzo was in full PR mode, coordinating something Belle didn’t want to know about.

It was chaos. Familiar, electric chaos.

No one had said anything.

Not a word. Not a glance. Not even Arthur’s usual teasing “how does it feel to be ancient?” that she half-dreaded every year.

She didn’t know why she’d expected anything different. The race had swallowed them whole—Charles was starting on pole in Monaco. Nothing else existed. Not today.

Belle stood off to the side, near the rows of tire blankets, half watching the team run through final checks. Her arms were crossed loosely, her Ferrari pass swinging gently at her hip. She was calm. Mostly.

No one looked at Belle.

Not one person.

Not even the Ferrari comms girl who usually remembered these things and handed out team cupcakes with candles and Instagram captions.

Belle didn’t say a word about it.

She stood near the tire warmers, half-watching the screens, arms folded in her red windbreaker like she belonged—like she wasn’t a little hollow around the edges.

She didn’t need much. A nod. A quiet “happy birthday” from someone who shared her blood. 

She wasn’t a child. But she wasn’t made of stone, either.

“Belle,” came a voice from behind her, low and steady.

She turned. Carlos.

He was already in his suit, helmet in his hands, gloves off. His brows furrowed as he stepped a little closer, angled out of earshot from the others.

“Did they really all forget?” he asked quietly.

Belle gave a noncommittal shrug. “Race day. Everyone’s focused.”

Carlos looked unimpressed. “You’re Charles’ sister. You’re part of this team.”

“Not when he’s on pole at Monaco,” she said, her voice smooth. Not bitter. Not angry. Just… flat.

Carlos hesitated. “I could say something.”

Belle looked up at him, her eyes steady. “Please don’t.”

Carlos turned to face her more fully. “Belle—”

“I mean it,” she cut in gently, but firmly. “Don’t tell them. I don’t want a pity cupcake rushed from hospitality at the last minute. I don’t want a half-hearted ‘Oh my god, I forgot!’ over Charles’ shoulder after he wins Monaco.”

Carlos clenched his jaw, visibly holding back the urge to argue.

Belle folded her arms. “Let them forget. At least then it’s honest.”

“That’s not how it should be.”

“I know,” she said, softly. “But it’s how it is.”

Carlos looked at her for a long moment. 

A beat passed between them—quiet, unsaid, respectful.

Then Carlos exhaled, stepping back. “Feliz cumpleaños, Belle.”

“Gracias, Carlos.”

And just like that, he rejoined the team, already putting on his gloves, focus shifting toward the grid.

Belle didn’t move for a long time.

The noise swelled again. Charles laughed somewhere in the distance. Her mother was likely telling a cameraman how proud she was. Ferrari staff bustled past her, not one making eye contact.

Belle stayed silent.

She didn’t want fanfare. She didn’t need attention. But what she did want—to be remembered, without being the one to remind them—was clearly too much today.

So she folded her arms, stared at the screen, and reminded herself it was almost over.

And next year, she’d spend her birthday somewhere quiet. Somewhere far away from red walls and cheers that weren’t for her.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso and Kimi Räikkönen)

Carlos: we have a situation.

it’s belle’s birthday.

and her entire family has forgotten.

including ferrari.

including CHARLES.

it is 20 minutes to lights out and not. one. word.

Oscar: I’m going to throw something.

George: You’re kidding. Please say you’re kidding.

Carlos: do i look like i’m joking?? she’s just standing there. like nothing’s wrong. like she’s not quietly dying inside.

Lando: okay well now i’m dying inside

Alex: I feel physically ill

Daniel: WHAT EXCUSE ME???

Lewis: You’re joking Please tell me you’re joking

Carlos: no. I asked her. no one said anything. not a text. not even a joke. not even her own mother.

Lando: is this a new low?? is this the actual lowest the Leclercs have ever gone??

Daniel: I’m in a race suit and I want to cry. WHAT DO WE DO??

Oscar: We should tell Max, right? Like. Surely he should know??

Carlos: If we tell Max he’ll cause a scene.

George: He would literally buy out all of Cartier Monaco mid-race and hand-deliver it to her at parc fermé.

Fernando: Do not underestimate that man. 

Lando: we’re going to hell for this but do we… see how long it takes before someone notices?

Lewis: We don’t tell them. We watch and we wait. Let’s see how long it takes them to remember without her saying a word.

Mark: Ten bucks says they still won’t realise by the time Charles gets to the podium.

David: Make it twenty. I’ll double it if their mother starts crying and still doesn’t remember.

Alex: Yes. I want data. I want timestamps.

Daniel: I want Ferrari’s social team to panic at 8pm when they realise they posted five shots of Charles and zero birthday wishes for the sister in their garage.

Sebastian Vettel: We’ll make it up to her later. But let them feel this silence.

Carlos: She said not to tell them. she said—and I quote—“I don’t want a pity cupcake.”

Oscar: I respect her so much it hurts

George: She’s the most composed person I’ve ever met And they just… forgot

Nico H.: This is going to haunt me until I die

Alex: We need to do something. Like now.

Sebastian: Tell her we remember. That we care. Also—flowers. Immediately.

Mark: Seconded. No one ignores that girl on her birthday.

Nico R.: Are we sending a coordinated surprise or staging an intervention?

Oscar: What’s our over/under on how long it takes for Charles to realise

Alex: If he wins: never.  If he DNFs: thirty seconds

Fernando: Either way, he’ll make it about himself

***

Text Messages: Carlos Sainz Jr. & Max Verstappen

Carlos: I know it’s race day. But I need to tell you something.

Max: Is Belle okay?

Carlos: She’s fine. She’s… not saying anything. Her entire family forgot her birthday. 

Max: …What?

Carlos: No one said a word. Not Charles. Not her mother. Even Ferrari didn’t acknowledge it.

Max: You’re sure?

Carlos: I asked her. She shrugged it off. Said not to say anything. Said she didn’t want a “pity cupcake.” She’s just standing in the garage. Alone. Like she’s used to it.

Max: I’m going to kill someone. I swear to god.

Carlos: She said let them forget. She meant it.

Max: I can’t just do nothing.

Carlos: I didn’t say do nothing. I said let them do nothing.

Carlos: You do what you do best. You show up for her.

Max: I always do.

Carlos: I know. I just thought you should know before she pretends it didn’t matter.

Max: Thanks. I owe you.

Carlos: You don’t. But I’ll take beer.

Max: Done.

***

Max’s helmet rested against his hip like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

The garage was loud—buzzing with the usual tension of Monaco race day. The sound of compressed air guns, the low thrum of engines firing in intervals, the blur of pit wall calls and tire heat readings. But he barely registered it.

His whole body hummed with fury.

Not at Ferrari. Not at Charles.

Not even at the race.

At them.

Her family.

Carlos had texted him in a quiet moment, just minutes before Max was supposed to get in the car. He’d said it carefully, like someone diffusing a live wire.

She’s fine, he’d said. Her entire family forgot her birthday. 

Max hadn’t spoken for a full fifteen seconds.

Not even Charles. Not Arthur. Not Lorenzo. Not her mother.

Not the people who called her sweet when she baked for them. Not the team that draped her in red when it suited their image. Not the brother whose name she still defended in interviews, whose wins she supported even when her own milestones went ignored.

Max should’ve expected it.

He had expected it, in a cynical, detached sort of way. He’d seen the patterns—how easily they forgot her. How quickly they looked through her. Belle had always been the quiet background to their spotlight. The steady one. The peacemaker. The girl who remembered everyone else’s birthdays.

But this?

On her birthday?

On the day Charles was starting from pole in Monaco—his home race, his fairy tale, his childhood dream teetering on the edge of reality—they couldn’t spare a moment to remember her.

Not even Arthur’s usual teasing. Not a cupcake. Not a card from Maman. Not a stupid “Happy Birthday” badge from Ferrari’s comms team.

Nothing.

She hadn’t said a word. She never did. She was standing in that garage—arms folded, expression unreadable, surrounded by people in red who didn’t see her at all. Like she was just a shadow of the name stitched into their driver’s suit.

Max hadn’t seen her yet. But he didn’t need to.

He felt it.

He always felt it when she was hurting.

He turned slowly, trying to quiet the storm behind his ribs, and found GP near the telemetry monitors.

“GP,” he said, low and tight.

GP looked up immediately, blinking at the look on Max’s face. “You okay?”

“No,” Max said. “But I’ll deal with it. I just needed to say it out loud.”

“Say what?”

“They forgot her birthday,” Max said. “All of them.”

GP went still.

“Her brothers. Her mother. Ferrari. All of them. Not a text. Not a smile. Nothing.”

GP swore softly.

“She told Carlos not to say anything,” Max added, jaw clenched. “Didn’t want a ‘pity cupcake.’”

GP didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Max exhaled hard. “And Charles is about to win Monaco.”

The words tasted like ash in his mouth.

Because he couldn’t even bring himself to feel bitter about that—not really. Charles had worked for it. Earned it. Fought tooth and nail for years to cross this particular finish line. But the fact that his win would be the reason Belle went unnoticed? That the whole paddock would celebrate while she stood quietly in the shadows?

It made Max’s skin itch with something close to rage.

He hated them for it.

He hated how easily they took her for granted. How they smiled when she made their lives easier and then left her to disappear behind the noise.

And he hated that this would become a story Belle told herself—proof she wasn’t worth remembering. That her soft presence, her quiet kindness, her constant steadiness, somehow made her forgettable.

She wasn’t.

Not to Max.

Never to Max.

“I’m going to finish this race,” he said quietly, voice like steel.

GP met his eyes and nodded. “Yeah. I know you are.”

“And after that, I’m taking her home.”

“Good.”

Max didn’t move for a beat. He stared at the garage wall across from him, past the chaos of prep and the blinking monitors, and thought of her.

He thought of the way she still smiled at her family like she was proud of them.

He thought of the way she folded into his arms like it was the only place she was ever allowed to fall apart.

He thought of how easy it would be to make today better. To remember what they didn’t. To hold her hand and say, I see you. I always see you.

He pulled his helmet on.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1HistoryMaker: HE DID IT. HE FINALLY DID IT. CHARLES LECLERC WINS HIS HOME GRAND PRIX.

@/MonacoMagic16: I’M CRYING, YOU’RE CRYING, THE ENTIRE PRINCIPALITY OF MONACO IS CRYING.

@/RedFlagged: Ferrari actually didn’t ruin his race. Miracles do happen.

@/​​PitLaneProphet: Charles Leclerc winning Monaco is like a fairy tale finally getting its happy ending.

@/ScuderiaSimp: Charles crying, his team crying, the whole of Monaco crying, me crying in my living room—this is cinema.

@/RacingRoyalty: Not to be that person, but isn’t it also Isabelle Leclerc’s birthday today? Like… what a day for their family.

↳ @/F1Detective: So Charles wins Monaco on his sister’s birthday? This man really said, “Happy birthday, Isabelle, here’s the greatest achievement of my career.”

@/MonacoMonarch: Not to be dramatic, but I think the entire country of Monaco is going to declare today a national holiday.

@/ScuderiaFaithful: CHARLES LECLERC. MONACO GRAND PRIX WINNER. WE WAITED. WE SUFFERED. WE PRAYED. AND FINALLY, IT HAPPENED.

@/FerrariTifosi: Ferrari finally gave Charles a functional strategy in Monaco. I need a moment.

@/ScuderiaForever: CHARLES LECLERC WINS MONACO. I AM SCREAMING. I AM CRYING. I AM KISSING THE STREETS OF MONTE CARLO.

@/F1StatsGuy: Charles Leclerc becomes the first Monegasque driver to win the Monaco Grand Prix in 93 years. And all it took was years of heartbreak.

***

When Charles crossed the finish line, the world broke open around her.

The Ferrari garage erupted—screaming, fists in the air, champagne already being shaken loose from the back fridges. There were hugs, backslaps, high-pitched shouting in Italian. Team radios buzzed and clicked, Charles’ voice half-choked with emotion as he screamed in disbelief over the comms.

He’d done it.

 He’d won Monaco.

His home. His heartbreak. His ghost track.

And Belle was happy.

 Genuinely, undeniably happy for him.

She stood in the shadow of the celebration, just out of the camera frame, tucked near the telemetry screens with her arms loosely folded across her chest. Her lips were curved in something like a smile, her eyes glassy but bright. She clapped when the others clapped. She even let herself cheer when the Ferrari engineers surged forward like a wave.

She watched Arthur leap into Charles’ arms. Watched Pascale cry and kiss both her sons like the world had ended and been reborn in red and gold. Lorenzo filmed the moment on his phone with the focus of a man who would post it ten seconds later. The garage was shaking with joy.

And no one looked at Belle.

Not even once.

No passing “Happy birthday.” No late realization. No elbow nudge from Arthur, no cheek kiss from their mother. Not even the Ferrari comms girl with her clipboard full of media notes and scheduled shoutouts.

Nothing.

She didn't even know why she was still waiting. She should've known. She did know. But hope was funny that way—it always showed up, uninvited.

The hollowness wasn’t sharp. Just heavy. Just tired.

She felt it most when she watched Charles climb the fence to his team, red gloves in the air, face split in triumph. She felt it when the anthem played and the grandstands sang with him. She felt it in every photo she wasn’t in, every cheer she smiled through, every red flare that lit up the sky without once glancing her way.

It wasn’t malice. Just absence.

And Belle knew absence better than most.

Carlos found her at some point in the swirl of it all. He didn’t say anything. Just passed her a bottle of water, stood beside her for a while like a silent sentinel. She didn’t speak either. He didn’t need her to.

Later, when they followed the team up toward parc fermé, someone handed her a headset and someone else ushered her toward the group photo. She stood on the end. Smiled. Did her part. She had practice, after all.

She caught Charles’ eye once—just once—as he grinned like the world was finally giving him what he’d fought so long for.

After the photo, Belle quietly stepped away. Back into the shadows of the paddock. Back to silence.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t sigh. She just… breathed. Steadily.

She was proud of him. She really, truly was.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

***

Instagram Story: @/isabelleleclerc

***

He was waiting for her that evening. After the race…after the celebrations…she had texted him that she was on her way home…and he had come downstairs to wait in the lobby of the building they lived in…

He knew something was wrong the moment she stepped into the elevator with him and the doors closed. 

Belle didn’t move like herself.

She was too still. Folded in. Shoulders curled inward like she was trying to disappear into the seams of her own body. Her hands were clutched in the sleeves of her windbreaker. Ferrari Red. Worn over a cream coloured ress. 

She didn’t look at him—not when the doors opened, not when they slid shut. Just stood there blinking, like she wasn’t crying yet, but would be. Soon.

Max—who knew every version of her—recognized this one.

This was Belle when she’d given too much and received nothing back. When she’d swallowed every hurt and pretended it was fine until the silence pressed against her ribs.

She was unraveling. Quietly. Completely.

“Hi,” he said softly. Like a rope thrown out to sea. “I knew you’d leave early.”

She didn’t answer.

She took one small step forward.

Her knees buckled.

He caught her before gravity could.

She fell into his chest like the air had left her lungs. Her hands clutched at his hoodie—white-knuckled, shaking. Her face buried itself just beneath his collarbone. Her breath hitched, shallow and sharp. Not sobbing. Not yet.

But he felt it coming.

And God, he wanted to kill someone for it.

“They forgot,” she whispered.

Max closed his eyes.

“I know,” he murmured. “I know.”

“All of them. Maman. Charles. Arthur. Lorenzo. Even Ferrari.” Her voice caught on the name. “Not even a text. Not even a joke.”

His jaw tightened until it hurt.

Max wanted to scream. He wanted to take every single person who called themselves her family and demand how they could stand beside her and not see her. Not notice the way she always noticed them. How she remembered birthdays, anniversaries, meaningless preferences about milk and Spotify playlists.

Belle held the whole damn family together like an invisible thread. And they’d looked straight through her.

“They looked through me,” Belle whispered, her voice breaking completely now. “Like I wasn’t even there. Like I was just… invisible.”

Max wrapped his arms around her like armor.

“You’re not invisible,” he said fiercely, pressing his mouth to her hair. “You’re everything. And I see you, Belle. I always see you.”

She made a sound then—small and broken—and the dam burst.

She sobbed like it had been building all day. Her whole body shook against his. The kind of grief that wasn’t about one thing but all of it—every quiet dismissal, every missed moment, every time she’d made herself small so someone else could shine.

Max didn’t speak. Just held her. Let her cry. Let her fall apart the way no one had ever given her permission to do before.

By the time they reached their floor, her legs barely worked.

Max carried her inside.

He didn’t ask if she was hungry. Didn’t ask if she wanted to talk.

He filled the bath instead. Lit candles. Got her out of her Ferrari red windbreaker and the cream dress she had worn and into the water, slow and careful, like she might shatter if he moved too fast.

He washed her hair in silence. Brushed it back from her face. Whispered her name and little nothings—soft words meant to ground her, not fix her.

Belle didn’t say anything more.

She just curled into him, damp and shivering in one of his old Red Bull shirts, and shut down completely.

He got her into bed. Tucked the duvet around her like a shield. Slipped in behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, face pressed to the back of her neck. The cats climbed up and curled against her legs—silent, instinctive.

She didn’t move. Barely breathed.

But slowly, eventually, her breathing steadied. Like maybe the worst had passed. Or maybe she just couldn’t carry it anymore.

Max lay there, wide awake, rage blooming quiet and white-hot behind his ribs.

He thought of the garage. Of Charles laughing, soaked in champagne. Of Pascale gushing to a camera crew, pride sparkling in her eyes. Of Arthur pretending to be important in a headset and Lorenzo posing for photos.

Not one of them had seen her.

She’d stood there, right there, in her red jacket and her quiet grace and her heartbreak—and not one of them remembered.

Max hated them in that moment. All of them.

They didn’t deserve the version of Belle they so often took for granted.

And in the quiet, he made himself a promise.

They would never get to hurt her like this again.

Not by accident.

 Not by carelessness.

 Not by forgetting the girl who remembered everyone else.

Let them celebrate Charles. Let them flood Instagram with podiums and champagne and family pride.

He would be the one who never forgot her.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso and Kimi Räikkönen)

Carlos:Charles still hasn’t realized.

Oscar: I thought he’d realize when Ferrari posted the celebration gallery.

Lewis: You’re telling me he looked at her IN THE GARAGE on her birthday, won the most emotional race of his life and still didn’t realize she was standing right there and it was her birthday??

Carlos: Yes. That’s what I’m telling you.

Daniel: WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM.

Alex: Everything.

Nico H.: This is the most committed man has ever been to the concept of obliviousness.

Mark: I think he deserves a prize for this.

Sebastian: A slap is a prize now?

Fernando: We should start a timer. See how long it takes him.

Lewis: We already are. George made a spreadsheet.

George: Currently it’s at around 16 hours. 

Oscar: Should we… drop hints?

Carlos: Belle doesn’t want pity cupcakes. Remember?

David: What happens if he remembers a week late?

Lando: We release the tapes.

Alex: There are tapes???

Lando: There are always tapes.

Nico R.: How do we not tell him?

George: Because now it’s a scientific experiment and also a moral failing.

Sebastian: Also because if he finds out now, it’ll be a dramatic guilt spiral and Belle will have to comfort him and she deserves better.

Mark: Can we send her flowers anonymously again?

Sebastian: Already handled.

Oscar: We should send her a plaque. “Survived the Monaco GP and her entire family’s emotional incompetence.”

Lando: New merch idea???

David: I want in on that.

Kimi: this chat is insane

Daniel: That’s rich coming from you.

Kimi: tell leclerc he’s an asshole.

Carlos: She told me not to.

George: So we do nothing.

Oscar: Except passive-aggressively track it like the disappointed siblings she deserves.

***

Belle woke up in the quiet.

The windows were cracked open just enough to let in the early sea breeze. The city was still sleeping off champagne and street rubber. And Max… Max hadn’t moved.

He was lying beside her, still in the same hoodie he’d held her in last night, one arm curled protectively around her waist like he’d never once let go.

Her eyes were dry. Her throat sore. Her chest hollow.

But she wasn’t crying anymore.

Belle just felt still.

Slowly, she shifted beneath the blankets. Max stirred instantly, his hold softening so she could move, but his eyes opened the second she sat up.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough with sleep. “How do you feel?”

Belle pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them loosely. Her voice came out steady. Too steady.

“I’m done.”

Max blinked. “Done?”

“I don’t want anyone to say anything to them,” she said. “Not yet. Not today.”

“Belle…”

She shook her head. “I want to see how long it takes. How many days pass before someone notices.”

Max sat up beside her, eyes on her face. “That’s going to hurt.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

There was a long pause. The kind where most people would fill the silence with softness or sugar.

But not Max. He just waited.

“They forgot me,” Belle said. “And I think part of me always knew they would, eventually. I just didn’t expect it to be… so easy for them.”

Max’s hand brushed gently down her back. “You don’t have to forgive them.”

“I don’t even want to talk to them,” she said quietly. “Not right now. Not this week. Maybe not ever. I don’t want explanations. I don’t want excuses. I don’t want Charles saying he was too focused or Maman pretending she got the date wrong. I don’t want a retroactive Instagram post or some half-wilted apology bouquet.”

She turned her head and met Max’s eyes.

“I just want silence. Because that’s what they gave me.”

Max nodded once, slow and sure. “Then they get silence.”

She exhaled. Closed her eyes. Rested her cheek against his shoulder.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t bitter. She wasn’t even angry anymore.

She was just done.

She didn’t need to rage. She didn’t need to beg. She didn’t need to remind them why she mattered.

They should’ve known. And now, she was done teaching them how to love her.

The silence stretched again, but it felt easier now. Not so sharp around the edges.

Max stayed still for a moment longer, just letting her lean against him. Letting her breathe. Letting her exist without needing to perform for anyone’s comfort.

Then, he kissed the top of her head and stood.

Belle didn’t ask where he was going. She just stayed curled beneath the duvet, watching him move through the bedroom with quiet purpose.

When she finally followed the smell of something warm and toasty, the kitchen was already glowing with morning light. Monaco’s buildings gleamed gold just beyond the windows, and the sea sparkled like it didn’t know what day it was—or what it had cost her yesterday.

Max was barefoot, still rumpled from sleep, flipping something on the stove with quiet concentration.

Belle leaned against the doorframe. “You’re making pancakes?”

Max glanced over his shoulder. “Kind of,” he said. “You had a rough day. I figured a breakfast that doesn’t ask too much of you was a good idea.”

She blinked. “Pancakes ask nothing of me.”

“Exactly.” He nodded at the table. “Sit. I made tea.”

There were two mugs already waiting. Her favorite blend. A little honey on the side. A tiny bowl of berries that definitely hadn’t come from their fridge.

“Did you go out this morning?” she asked, touched but suspicious.

“I have resources,” Max said, which usually meant “I bullied someone over text until they delivered groceries before sunrise.”

Belle sat.

He placed a plate in front of her a moment later—pancakes with lightly caramelized edges, fresh raspberries (her favourite), and just a touch of powdered sugar. Not fancy. Not showy. But thoughtful.

Just like him.

Max sat across from her, sipping his coffee, watching her with the kind of quiet that meant he didn’t need to talk unless she wanted him to.

They ate in near silence. Belle didn’t finish everything. She didn’t need to. Max didn’t comment on it.

It wasn’t until he stood to rinse the dishes that he finally said, with a little smile tugging at his lips— “So,” he said. “Now that you’ve had coffee and carbs and emotional catharsis…”

Belle raised an eyebrow.

“…do you want your actual birthday surprise?”

She froze.

Max smiled, crooked and careful. “I know yesterday made it hard. And I didn’t want to push. But I have something for you. Well. Two somethings, technically.”

Belle narrowed her eyes. “Two?”

Max stood, offered his hand. “Trust me?”

She didn’t hesitate as she took it. “Always.”

He pulled her to her feet gently, not rushing her, not asking her to smile. Just kissed her knuckles and said, “Put on something comfortable. We’ve got a drive ahead.”

***

Text Messages: Oscar Piastri & Max Verstappen

Oscar: Hey. Just wanted to check in on Belle. How’s she doing?

Max: She cried herself to sleep yesterday. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her fall apart like that.

Oscar: Shit.

Max: Yeah.

Oscar: Is she… okay today?

Max: She’s quiet. Said she’s done.

Oscar: Done like…?

Max: She doesn’t want to talk to any of them. Doesn’t want apologies. Doesn’t want excuses. She just wants silence. Said it’s what they gave her, so she’s giving it back.

Oscar: She’s allowed to be done.

Max: Yeah. I’m not going to stop her.

Oscar: You shouldn’t. They don’t deserve her patience.

Max: They never did.

Oscar: Is there anything you need?

Max: No. I’ve got her. Just… make sure people don’t push her. Don’t try to fix it.. She’s drawing the line.

Oscar: Got it. Tell her we’re here if she needs anything.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso and Kimi Räikkönen)

Oscar: Update from Max: Belle cried herself to sleep last night. And this morning she said she’s done with all of them.

George: …Jesus.

Lando: This is actually heartbreaking. I feel physically sick.

Carlos: She didn’t even look sad. That’s the worst part. She looked like someone who expected it.

Daniel: Max must be losing it.

Oscar: He is. But he’s also calm. The kind of calm where you know someone’s promising vengeance in five languages.

Lewis: And she still doesn’t want anyone to say anything to them?

Oscar: Nope. She just wants silence. Said it’s what they gave her, so she’s giving it back.

Alex: I’m going to scream.

George: How long do we think this goes before Charles realizes?

Fernando: Forever.

Mark: Until she is pregnant and married and they notice the child, maybe.

Sebastian: Even then, they’ll probably ask if it’s a friend’s baby.

Lando:  She stood in the garage on her birthday and they all just looked past her. I can’t get over that. 

Alex: And she didn’t say anything. She gave them every chance.

Sebastian: She gave them years of chances.

David: That’s the part I can’t get past. She was right there.

Carlos: I asked her if she wanted me to say something. She said, “At least this way, it’s honest.”

George: She always showed up for them. Every birthday. Every event. Every podium.

Sebastian: And they never noticed when she needed someone to show up for her.

Alex: I hope they feel that silence for a long, long time.

Mark: They will. Max will make sure of it.

***

The drive was short—fifteen minutes, maybe twenty with traffic—but Belle didn’t ask where they were going. She just watched the streets of Monaco blur past the passenger window, the sun bright against the water. Everything shimmered with the afterglow of race day.

The city was still coming down from its high.

Belle, however, was just beginning to breathe again.

When Max pulled onto a narrow road, Belle blinked. She knew the turn. Knew the uneven curve of the gravel path. Her heart tugged hard against her ribs.

“Max,” she whispered, sitting up straighter.

He parked, turned off the engine, and looked at her.

“We’re here,” he said softly.

Her favorite stables—one she had visited countless times over the years. Where she still had her twice weekly riding lessons. 

“Max…”

He just smiled, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Come on.”

She followed him, her steps a little hesitant, excitement bubbling beneath her skin. The barn was already awake with morning energy—horses shifting in their stalls, soft neighs filling the air, the scent of hay and earth grounding her instantly.

And then she saw her.

A grey mare, soft-eyed and dappled silver, resting quietly in the corner of a sun-warmed paddock. She turned as Belle approached—calm, regal, familiar in a way that made Belle’s lungs forget how to work.

It was like looking through time.

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Max moved beside her, voice low. “Her name’s Fleur. Short for Blanchefleur. She’s Blanche’s daughter.”

Belle’s knees nearly gave.

“I found her,” Max went on, voice low. “She was in Italy. Pregnant. Due in a couple months. Emilie helped me track her down.”

Belle’s legs went weak. She reached for the fence without thinking, steadying herself with one hand.

Fleur lifted her head and looked straight at her—calm, curious, and somehow impossibly familiar. Those eyes. That stillness. Belle hadn’t realized how much she missed that kind of stillness. The kind that didn’t expect anything from her.

“She looks like her,” Belle whispered. “Her eyes—God. Max…”

Max reached for her hand again. Her fingers trembled when they laced with his.

“I know I can’t bring Blanche back,” he said. “But I thought maybe… you could have a piece of her. And something for the future, too.”

Fleur stepped toward the gate, nosing at the wood gently. Belle lifted her hand without thinking, fingers trembling as she touched soft fur. The tears started behind her eyes, hot and dizzying.

“She’s beautiful,” Belle whispered. “She’s so beautiful.”

“She’s yours,” Max said simply. “Both of them are.”

Belle looked at him, wide-eyed, stunned. “You… bought her?”

Max nodded. “She’s yours. To ride. To keep. To just visit, if that’s what you want. You don’t have to prove anything to her. Or to me. Just be hers. Let her be yours.”

Belle didn’t know what to say. She only knew how it felt—like someone had placed the missing piece of her life back into her hands, quietly, without expectation.

Her throat closed up with emotion. “Max…”

“I know they’ve taken things from you,” Max said, his voice breaking just a little. “Blanche. Your birthday. The way they look through you like you’re air. I can’t give it all back. But I can give you this. Something no one can take away.”

Belle turned fully toward him—and that’s when he moved.

He sank to one knee in the sand, quiet and sure, pulling a small box from his jacket pocket. Her breath hitched.

He looked up at her like she was the only thing he’d ever wanted to protect.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Max said softly. “And I want to spend the rest of my life making sure you’re never invisible again. Not for a single moment.”

Belle didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Then he opened the box.

A ring. Elegant. Understated. An emerald set in gold—delicate and bold all at once.

She made a sound—barely a breath—and dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands flying to his shoulders, tears spilling freely now.

“Marry me?”

“Yes,” she whispered. 

She pulled him into her arms, face buried in his neck, both of them kneeling in the sand and sunlight and soft smell of hay and horses.

“Yes,” she said again, just to say it.“Yes. Max. Of course, yes.”

Because this time, she wasn’t forgotten. She was chosen.

And Max had made sure of it.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes. Max. Of course, yes.”

***

cherry flavoured | sebastian vettel

sebastian vettel x reporter!reader

based on the video of iker casillas and his gf during the 2010 world cup

she’s a long one <3 this was finished at 2:30 AM so I’m sorry if there’s any mistakes (please do not request for part 2)

Abu Dhabi Grand Prix 2010

It was the last race of the season and you were nervous, especially for Sebastian. It was down to Fernando, Mark, Sebastian and Lewis, one of them was going to be them champion. It was your job to cover the race and conduct interviews before and after so this gave you a chance to speak with Sebastian and wish him luck. The media didn’t know about your relationship that had just become official a month ago.

Sebastian had asked you out before the Japanese Grand Prix. That day, you decided to make a deal with him. If he won, you would go to dinner with him. After 53 laps, Sebastian secured a win and a date with you.

While you finished up your interview with Lewis, Sebastian stood patiently to the side. He kept his eye on you, staring at how you talked with such confidence and passion. He loved how expressive you were, sometimes talking with your hands. After letting Lewis go so he could prepare for the race, it was Sebastian’s turn. He happily joined you.

“Hello Sebastian, how are you?” You asked, knowing already how he felt, but you had to do your job. The night before, you stayed in Sebastian’s room, that’s when he told you how nervous he was feeling.

“Good, excited, happy.” He replied, smiling at you.

“Well I won’t keep you here for very long—”

“Why not? I enjoy talking to you.” Sebastian interrupted. His smirk was making you weak and all you wanted was to drag him into a room and let him have his way with you, but you couldn’t at least not now.

Several questions later, Sebastian was still giving you that look making it hard for you to concentrate. It was the same look he gave you the night before when you and him were in his hotel room ripping each other’s clothes off.

“Alright, good luck Seb . . astian, sebastian sorry.” You apologized.

All Sebastian did was laugh at your mistake. Since nobody apart from Mark knew about your relationship, you couldn’t call him Seb. He nodded then mumbled an ‘I love you’ and left. You really hoped nobody could read his lips since you were still live.

You understood that Sebastian needed to concentrate before the race so you didn’t bother him. Soon, the race had started, almost instantly on lap 1, a crash happened. After the race restarted, you watched Sebastian keep his p1 position. When it came to the final lap, everyone was silent in the Red Bull garage where you were watching the race from. Sebastian crossed the finish line, but you still had to wait for the other four cars.

Lewis came in second then came Jenson. After confirming, it was clear that Sebastian had become world champion.

You and the team members of Red Bull made it to the podium ceremony. The German nation anthem played as Sebastian soaked in the moment. He had made history by becoming the youngest world champion. After the national anthem finished, he tried to look for you in the crowd. When he finally did, he winked at you. Again, he was making you feel all sorts of emotions.

After the podium celebrations and posing for photos, the three drivers had to do threat post race interviews. You were in charge of being the first to interview the new world champion.

In the media pen, Sebastian spotted you getting ready for your interview. When you were done, he walked up to you with the biggest smile on his face.

“Congratulations Sebastian. How was it up there on the podium?” You asked.

“It was a dream, but now it’s reality.” Sebastian replied. “I just wanna thank all the people that supported me and you of course, you’ve been there for me.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. Was Sebastian about to reveal your relationship?

“Well congratulations again, go celebrate this historic win—” Before you could finish your sentence, Sebastian placed both of his hands on your cheeks and brought you closer to him, placing a kiss on your lips. You could taste the champagne that had been poured of him by Jenson and Lewis. From the distance, Jenson cheered, making everyone turn their attention towards you and Sebastian.

Sebastian didn’t care that you were still live. All he wanted was to celebrate with his girlfriend. “I love you.” He mumbled against your lips. When he finally pulled away, he licked his lips. “Cherry, my favorite.” He smirked.

“You’re the worst.” You laughed. “I love you too, champ. Go, I’ll see you soon.” You practically had to push him away from you so you could continue with more interviews.

“I’ll wait for you!” He yelled as he walked away.

Then Jenson made his way to you since you were going to interview him next. “Do I get one as well?” He teased.

Of course you and Sebastian celebrated, how could you not? He had made history. After the famous kiss, you were sure that you were going to get fired, but nothing ever happened. You did get a warning to not do it again, which Sebastian reminded the FIA that it was his idea not yours resulting in him getting a warning too.

Over the years, you were there when Sebastian won, when he lost, when he moved to Ferrari. You comforted him when he realized he would never win a championship with Ferrari.

During the summer break of the 2019 season, you and Sebastian decided to get married. It was an intimate wedding with only close friends and family attending. The night of your wedding, Sebastian promised you that he would take you anywhere for a while so you could spend your honeymoon. Of course being an F1 driver and a reporter, it didn’t go as planned as a global pandemic hit. You assured Sebastian that you weren’t mad, you had traveled almost everywhere with him anyway.

After the 2020 season ended, Sebastian was now with Aston Martin. He had only secured one podium finish with the team, but you were still more than happy for him.

One day after media day had finished for the 2021 French Grand Prix, you and Sebastian were in the Aston Martin motorhome having lunch. You were talking about a new piece of furniture you wanted when your phone vibrated. You checked it and saw a picture of your friend’s baby that she had sent you.

“Look, remember my friend Jane? That’s her baby girl, aw she’s so adorable.” You showed Sebastian a picture of the baby. “I need to tell her to stop sending pictures or I might get baby fever.”

“It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, right?” Sebastian asked. “We’ve been together for eleven years, married for two.“

“I did always dream of being a mother. It would be fun to play dress up with our daughter or play with you cars with our son. Can you imagine that? They would call me mom . . holy shit.”

Sebastian thought about it. He was in his mid thirties, he already won four titles, that was enough for him.

“I guess this plays into what I’m about to talk to you next. . . I didn’t renew a contract for 2023 with sky sports.” You said.

“Are you going somewhere else?” He questioned.

“No, I didn’t sign anything with anyone. I just thought that it’s time for me to step back. Give someone younger their moment.” You replied. You made the decision a while ago even before the 2021 season started.

“But you love your job.”

“I can’t stay here forever, Seb.”

All day Sebastian had thought about your words. He couldn’t stay in formula 1 forever either. The younger generation had to have a go too.

At the end of the 2021 season, Sebastian had told you the news that he would be retiring at the end of the next season like you. You were sure him retiring was the result of your conversation, but he assured you that even before that he had considered retirement.

“So when are you going to announce it?” You asked.

“Soon. I want to enjoy winter break with you first.”

You and Sebastian spent the holidays in your home in Switzerland surrounded by family and friends. You weren’t even sure how it happened since you and Sebastian spent most of your time at home, but both of you ended up testing positive for covid. You assumed you contracted the virus when you went out for groceries.

The 2022 season had started and you and your husband were stuck at home quarantining. It wasn’t bad, it was just a normal day except you had medicine and empty tissue boxes scattered around the floor.

“Do you need another blanket, liebe?” Sebastian asked you. He touched your forehead feeling it not as hot as before.

You two were in your bedroom watching the Bahrain Grand Prix. You didn’t expect this to be the start of your last season, but at least you were with Sebastian.

“I’m okay, I’m thirsty though.” You sat up as Sebastian walked to the kitchen to get you a glass of water. Once he returned, he saw how sad you looked as you watch the race.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to miss it, but I’m happy that I get to be home with you.” You smiled weakly at him.

“We can visit whenever we want, liebe, and then one day we can visit with the kids.” Sebastian replied. “Here, drink.” He handed you the glass of water.

Soon enough, you and Sebastian were good to return back to the paddock. You felt refreshed and ready to officially start the season. You did your interviews, greeted your colleagues and then made your way to the Aston Martin garage where you were going to watch the race.

By lap 24, Sebastian was out. It broke your heart to see it, it was his first race back and he didn’t get a chance to finish it. He arrived back to the garage in a Marshall’s scooter making it a funny moment despite his dnf. He looked for you first.

“Are you okay?” You asked, running your hand through his messy hair.

“Good.” Was all that he said.

After doing some post race interviews, Sebastian waited for you in the Aston Martin motorhome. When you arrived, you noticed a plate of fruit and berries on the table. “I figured you didn’t get a break all day so eat. I made sure to get plenty of pineapple and strawberries.” He moved the plate closer to you.

“Thanks, it wasn’t that stressful today. Hopefully the next race is better for us.” You said once you sat down and started to eat the fruit. “No cherries today?”

“You and your cherries. Not today, liebe.” Sebastian grabbed a strawberry from the plate.

Eventually it was time to announce to the world of motorsports and media that Sebastian and you were retiring. You announced it first with a lengthy post on instagram with pictures of when you first started to now, you even posted the famous kiss that Sebastian gave you in 2010.

You received lots of comments and messages from family, friends and colleagues. It was nice to feel loved by them. The next day, it was Sebastian’s turn to announce his retirement. It started with him making an Instagram account then posting a video.

“I hereby announce my retirement from formula one by the end of the 2022 season.”

Abu Dhabi Grand Prix 2022

You felt a giant wave of deja vu. Here you were back in Abu Dhabi only this time it would be the official last Grand Prix for you and Sebastian. You would still visit like Sebastian mentioned, but it wouldn’t feel the same.

You walked into the paddock with Sebastian holding your hand. You were greeted by photographers, fans that wanted to get pictures with Sebastian and several members of other teams that wanted to congratulate you and your husband on retirement.

First you went to the Aston Martin motorhome again since you were a bit tired. You sat at a table in the corner. For a couple of weeks now, you were keeping a secret from Sebastian. Your friend, Jane, was the only one who knew since she had gone through a similar experience.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sebastian asked as he noticed the tired look on you. “Want something to eat?”

“No I’m okay, I promise. It’s still too early for me to function I guess.” You dismissed it. “I’ll catch up with you later, I’m sure you have lots of people waiting for you.”

“They can wait. If you need me here then I’m staying, end of discussion.” He was about to sit down next to you, but you stopped him.

“Seb, no. I mean it, I am fine. Go.” You demanded.

Before he left, Sebastian placed a kiss on your lips. When he pulled away, he frowned. “Is that coconut? I thought you were going to wear the cherry one.”

“Change of plans.” You smiled. “Go, the team needs you.”

“Be careful, I’ll see you later.” He placed one more kiss on your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You reply as you watch Sebastian walk out. “I can just imagine how protective he’s going to be about you, baby.” You spoke to yourself as you looked down to your stomach.

You found out you were pregnant when Jane was visiting you in Switzerland. You had gone out to eat for brunch at a nice little restaurant. Immediately after arriving, the smell of eggs made you run to the nearest bathroom and vomit in the toilet. Jane had ran after you making sure you were okay.

“Fuck . . It’s the smell.” You confirmed.

“Babe, when was the last time you had your period?”

Jane’s question made you think back to your vacation with Sebastian a couple months ago. You and Sebastian couldn’t keep your hands off of each other.

After taking a pregnancy test, it was confirmed that you were pregnant. You called your doctor to schedule an appointment. Sebastian wasn’t home so you didn’t have to worry about him walking in on you holding a pregnancy test. You weren’t sure how you were going to tell him, but you knew that he would be the happiest man on earth.

You were assigned to interview Sebastian immediately after the race while on the track. You were told that it would be a special moment for you two seeing as you were both leaving. Apparently Sebastian didn’t know this so that was another secret kept from him.

Sebastian stood beside you as he got ready. You held his helmet, your name printed on the side in a small font. “Remember when I won back in 2010?”

“No, remind me again?” You joked. “Of course I do. It was the night you kissed me in front of thousands of people on live tv.”

“It would be a shame if we didn’t recreate that.” He teased. “You know . . . for historical reasons.”

“I don’t want to get in trouble on my last day.”

“You’re no fun.” Seb rolled his eyes playfully. “Kiss for good luck?”

You then kissed the top of his helmet and shoved it in his hands. “Good luck.” You were about to leave, but Sebastian grabbed your hand and brought you back to him. “Fine.” You kissed him as if your life depended on it.

“I was hoping you changed your lipgloss to cherry.” Mumbled Sebastian after pulling away from you.

“You’ll live.” You gave him a chaste kiss then waited for him to put his balaclava. “I love you and I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Soon, the race was starting. Sebastian had started from P9. It was an exciting and emotional race for you and Sebastian. You didn’t want it to end, but you knew that Sebastian’s time in f1 was over.

By the end of the 58 laps, Sebastian had scored his last point in formula 1. You were content with the result even if he only scored one point. You were then directed to the track with a camera man and microphone in hand. As Sebastian did donuts on the track, you took your phone out to record his last moments. When he finished, you put away your phone. You didn’t even notice you were crying until a marshal gave you a tissue.

You thanked him and cleaned up as Sebastian made his way out the car to wave at the fans. Eventually Sebastian made his way towards you without his helmet and his racing suit hanging from his waist. You couldn’t start the interview without hugging him first so that’s what you did. Like in 2010, the camera filmed you and Sebastian as you embraced. You could hear the crowd cheering.

“You did so well. You made me cry.” You mumbled as Sebastian kissed your temple.

“You look pretty when you cry.” He let go of you since you needed to start the interview. He fixed your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear.

“Sebastian, wow, first off congratulations on your incredible career.” You began.

“I don’t know what to say. I feel a bit empty to be honest, it’s been a big weekend.” He looked at the crowd who were sad to see him go. He gave a speech that made you cry even more, which you blamed on the hormones. “I can say that you were always with me in the bad times and good times. Thank you for sticking with me.”

“Always.” You said, completely forgetting you were holding the microphone so the whole audience heard you.

Sebastian then thanked the fans for the messages and support he’s been receiving. It only made you want to cry even more so thankfully your interview was coming to an end.

“Congratulations, Seb. You deserve it.” You said and with that you and your husband hugged once more. “You’re coming home.” You sighed.

“You don’t sound too happy.” He teased.

“I am, trust me. That means you can help move some stuff around and redecorate the guest room.” You let go of Sebastian, but you still held his hand.

“Why would we need to redecorate the guest room?” He questioned.

“Because that’s our baby’s room.”

“Our baby? Really? You mean it?” His lips turned into a smile that he couldn’t wipe off. “When did you find out?”

“Weeks ago. I’m letting you know right now that if you ever make eggs around me, I will vomit so let’s not do that.” You laughed as Seb brought you in for a kiss.

Again, Jenson was cheering in the background like he did in 2010.

When Sebastian pulled away, he smirked. You had changed your lipgloss after all. “Cherry, my favorite.”

♡ come home with me - LN 4 ♡

Summary: what will happen when lando is finally in the same room as his crush? Will he play his cards right as a mastermind or will he fumble the deck?

Authors Note: this is my first fic in a month so bear with the shit as I try to relearn lol

WC: 1840

CW: Lando being tipsy, lando slightly panicking, fluff, I think that’s it

Everyone knew who Lando's crush was. The boy couldn’t make it any more obvious. Anywhere he went, all he could do was talk about you. He was always praising you for the work you did and how down to earth you were. Lando would also be caught practically drooling over any picture of you whether it was you on a billboard in the middle of the city or a photo on his feed.

Oscar is pretty sure there’s footage from a Mclaren video shoot where Lando spotted a poster of you on a wall and asked Oscar to take a photo of him next to it. The boy had the cheesiest smile on his face as crinkles appeared near his eyes.

Lando was often teased for being so down bad for you. A lot of the guys in the garage would joke about how he would probably faint if he ever got to meet you, or even be in the same room as you. However, the boy always insisted that he would remain calm and collected if that day ever came, claiming that he would pretend to not know you and play the role of the dark and mysterious guy that would intrigue you to the point where he would be all you thought about.

One day, Zak Brown got the idea to make a bet with Lando. There was an event coming up soon where all the F1 drivers and their teams would be in attendance to raise money for a few charities. Many celebrities were invited to bolster the event, you being one of them.

Zak had bet Lando that if you ended up making an appearance, that Lando would be a fumbling mess and would not be able to get your number. Lando being Lando took on the bet. With a firm handshake and $1,000 on the line, the deal was set.

The day of the event comes up and Lando is absolutely shitting bricks. He’s getting ready in the hotel room and losing his mind about the rumors that you’ll actually be at the event.

“Mate, they’re saying she’s actually coming. Even this fan account said it and whenever they post something, it’s true! Oh my god, Max. I might meet her today!” Lando all but yells as he drops his phone in disbelief.

“Listen, mate. Breathe. You assigned me the role of wingman for tonight so it’ll be okay. Right?” Max states calmly, trying to get his best friend to tone it down for a second.

“Right. How does my hair look? Is it okay? Does it look shit? Fuck, I knew I should’ve had it cut ages ago. What if she thinks I don’t clean up?! What if she thinks I’m a mess?! Fuuuuuck! It’s over. I’ve already fucked it.”

“You haven’t fucked it…yet.”

Lando scoffs and pulls a face at Max’s words.

“I’m kidding you muppet. Your hair is fine-”

“Fine?! Just fine?! This is Y/n we’re talking about. Not just some random person. Y/n deserves the best. I have to be the best.”

“Okay… Your hair is amazing. Literally the best it’s ever looked. She is goin-”

“I don't appreciate your sarcasm…”

“I’m no-” Max tries to argue but quickly gives up. Instead opting to pinch the bridge of his nose and take some breaths himself, “Just put your shoes on. We’re leaving in 5 minutes.” he says as he turns his back to Lando and walks towards the bathroom.

“Wait but-”

“5 minutes!” Max says with his back still towards Lando, raising 5 fingers above his head just to give Lando a visual representation of how long he has.

-=+=-

The boys hadn’t even been at the event for an hour and Lando was already quite tipsy. To calm his nerves, Lando decided to have a drink… or 4… This whole time, Lando stood in a corner with a drink in one hand and his phone in the other, constantly checking his feed to see if you’d arrived yet. As time passed, he began to wonder if you were really gonna show.

Lando was about to give up and leave the event when an echo of screams could be heard from a distance. The boy immediately pulled out his phone and checked social media, refreshing the page over and over again until he saw it. At the top of his feed was a blurry video of you walking through the doors of the building he was currently standing in.

“Max! Max! MAX!” Lando yelled, trying to get his friends' attention.

“What? What? WHAT?!” Max yelled back.

“Y/n just walked into the building!”

“Oh yeah. I know.”

“... You know?”

“Yeah. I was talking to Zak earlier and he said that she was on her way.”

“You knew and you didn’t tell me?!”

Max giggled “Yeah. Wanted to see your reaction when she walked through the doors after you moped around for an hour.”

“I was not moping.” Lando frowned.

“You were and you-” Max’s voice drifted into silence as Lando’s gaze shifted to the main entrance. He watched as you walked through the doors and it was like time stopped. You were enchanting. Lando watched your beauty in real time, breath slowing as he tried to process.

You were wearing a blush pink dress that hugged your figure perfectly, flowing down to your feet with a slit on the side. Your skin glowed in the dim light, sparkles appearing in your eyes as you smiled at everyone around you. It was like you were the only girl in the world, at least that’s how it seemed to Lando. It was like you took all the air in the room and replaced it with a feeling that was so overwhelming yet so gratifying.

Lando was stuck in place as you elegantly wandered through the room, sharing smiles with strangers as Lando wished he was one of them. Just for a moment. He wished that he could be one of those strangers, even if it meant he only got a small moment with you, knowing it may never lead to anything more.

He was only able to escape your enchantment when he watched your silhouette make its way towards him. Lando shook his head and panicked, quickly chugging the rest of his drink and turning to place it on the table behind him.

“Don’t come on too strong.” Max had leaned over and whispered into Lando’s ear as you approached.

In the blink of an eye, you were standing in front of Lando and it was as if he had the air knocked out of him. He couldn’t believe that you were in front of him. That you had walked over to him… on purpose.

You smiled with rosy cheeks as you opened your mouth to speak “Hi, I’m-”

“Come home with me.” Lando had blurted out.

“Sorry?” you asked, confusion spread across your face.

“I’m the man who’s gonna marry you.” Lando gulped, “I’m Lando.”

Your eyes moved to look at Max as you asked “Is he always like this?”

With a tight smile, Max replied “Yes”

“I’m Y/n.”

Lando smiled “Your name is like a melody.”

“Are you a musician or?” you asked. You had known of Lando. People often tagged you in videos or photos of him and your friends loved to send you any video of him where he fawned over you. You weren’t gonna lie, you did think he was cute. To be completely honest, he was the main reason you even came to this event. You always tried to avoid attending events like this to avoid unnecessary headlines of “who was y/n with at this party?!”. But, you made an exception tonight.

“I drive cars… and I like to play video games.”

“Oh a driver and a player. I’ve met a lot of guys like you.” you tease.

“No, wait. I’m not like that.” Lando says, panic lacing his face as he fears he’s already messed up his chance.

Max watches as Lando begins to throw himself in the deep end and decides to butt in for a moment, “He’s not like any man you’ve met.”

“How so?” you question, raising an eyebrow at Lando.

“I’m not perfect by any means. And I can’t promise that, if given the chance, being with me will be easy and happy all the time. I mess up a lot. But I can promise to do everything in my power to make all the time with me worth it. I’ll take any broken pieces and make them whole, well, as whole as they can be. We could be something and make something so beautiful that the world seems in tune.” he smiles before it drops and he panics again, “I’M NOT SAYING ANYTHING LIKE BABIES. I MEAN I WANT THEM ONE DAY BUT NOT SOON. I DON’T WANNA PRESSURE YOU. FUCK! Okay, just- All I’ll say is all the flowers will bloom when you become my wife.”

“Oh! He’s crazy.” you joke and spare a look at Max, “Why would I become his wife?”

“Maybe because he’ll make you feel alive.” Max states matter of factly.

“Alive? That’s worth a lot, ya know. What else ya got?” you excitingly ask Lando.

“Uhm, I won’t make you relate to ‘All Too Well’ by Taylor Swift?”

“That sounds good, Mr. Norris. I’ll be in touch.” you say whilst trying to stifle a laugh, turning your back to the two boys and making your way to mingle with some of your colleagues and friends.

Watching you walk away, Lando lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding and basks in the fact that he shot his shot and now he’s one step closer to achieving his dream. Also not to mention that Zak now owes him $1,000. Maybe Zak will tattoo today’s date as well.

After a moment, Lando felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He goes to grab it and stills when he sees the most recent notification.

“HOLY FUCK!!” you heard from a distance, “SHE JUST FOLLOWED ME BACK! HOLY FUCK! OH MY GOD! THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!.... FUCK WINNING MIAMI! THIS IS MY GREATEST ACCOMPLISHMENT!... wait… how did she-”

“She probably gave the go ahead to her social media manager.” Max mentions.

All of a sudden, Lando felt a hard smack land on the back of his head, turning to look at Max.

“What the hell?!”

“You’re lucky you’re rich and handsome. Who the fuck says “come home with me” to someone they’ve never spoken to?! If you were just a random man, you would’ve ended up with a restraining order and not an instagram follow.”

“Well, I never said I was smart.”

“Yeah. We know.” Max says as he pats Lando on the back and drapes his arm over the boys shoulders, “Let’s get you back to the hotel, mate. Before you’re too drunk to walk and I have to carry you.”

“Drunk off joy.” Lando smiles.

𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄 - 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 - Lando Norris really messed up on the first time meeting one of Hollywood's newest and hottest stars, Y/N L/N. But when his reputation gets too bad, she might be the only one who can save his career from being completely doomed

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Lando Norris x Actress!Reader (Enemies to Lovers & Fake Dating AU)

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 - Ongoing - Last updated on April 29th

𝐎𝐍𝐄 - 𝚖𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗'𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝐓𝐖𝐎 - 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎 & 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 - 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 - 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍* 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 - 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝐒𝐈𝐗 - 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 - 𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚘 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 - {𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚍}

*contains smut

⤳ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

⤳ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

I’LL BE THE GIRL OF HIS DREAMS (MAYBE??)

pairings: oscar piastri x stan account!reader

warnings: none?

faceclaim: pam hughes / pamalaaam on ig.

summary: it is a truth universally acknowledged that a fast driver must be in want of a girlfriend—oscar piastri just didn’t expect his to be a twitter menace.

author’s note: jam is just a nickname that yn goes by online, which is good for security on the internet. stay safe kids !

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liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend and 20,838 others.

yourusername: girl date w/ bffname. jam, books and the winter air. what could be better?

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user1: WAHT?!

— user2: omg she wasn’t joking she’s actually that gorgeous.

user3: sorry you’re so pretty i’m taken aback. i assume that all ppl who argue online r hideous trolls but you’re clearly not. sorry. i apologise.

user4: did u buy your namesake?

— yourusername: ofc!! spent my paycheck on new ones. i’m the proud mama of two strawberry jams 😽

user5: LANDO LIKED YOUR POST

user6: literally drop the skincare routine rn or i’m calling the authorities.

– yoursername: genetics + water + spite <3

user7: girl what books did u get i need the haul

– yoursername: east of eden, the glass castle and some other classics!! i’ll post a proper vid later if you’d like <3

user8: lando liked… HE’S WATCHING.

– user9: he’s been watching. oscar is shaking.

user10: okay but imagine arguing with someone online and then finding out they look like this. i’d delete my account.

– user11: user3 already went through all five stages of grief in these comments.

user12: winter air is nice and all but i feel like oscar should be here warming you up just saying!!

friend: girl date and no invite?! feeling betrayed rn …. 😓

— yourusername: ur in australia but i apologise. we should have walked through land and sea. next time i see u i owe u a matcha for the trauma babe 😞

— friend: a decent apology. i accept it 😽

user13: she fights, she reads, she stuns… what CAN’T she do?

– yoursername: parallel park.

user14: not me zooming in to confirm this isn’t an ai-generated model.

– yoursername: sorry to disappoint, i’m very real and very chronically online.

user15: OSCAR GIRLIES R HOT WBK <3

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from: mclaren racing team@mclaren.com

to: jam jamdoesf1@gmail.com

subject: you’re invited – race weekend with mclaren

hi jam,

we hope you’re well. we’ve been following your incredible f1 content and couldn’t help but notice your… passionate defence of a certain quiet australian. it’s safe to say the team (and the driver in question) are fans.

we’d love to invite you to join us for the upcoming grand prix weekend as our guest. paddock access, behind-the-scenes moments, and yes – proper tea and snacks included.

let us know if you’re available and we’ll sort everything on our end, including travel and accommodation. we think you’ll have a lot of fun.

looking forward to hearing from you.

cheers,

the mclaren team.

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liked by alexandrasaintmleux, yourbff and 45,838 others.

yourusername: hotties make some noise! (all u haters that say matcha tastes like grass r BABIES!!!)

view all comments

user1: i would recognise my goat’s hand anywhere… by touch alone, by smell; i would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. i would know him in death, at the end of the world.

— user1: my boo bear. my king. my reason. my oscar.

— user2: lando get off ur burner.

— user3: ICB LMFOAJDHEISJDN ?!38393&:

user4: jam ily. u taste good in matcha too. multi-use queen <3

*liked by yourusername.*

alexandrasaintmleux: gorgeous girl 🤍 lovely meeting u!!!

— yourusername: says the most gorgeous girl in recorded human history. omg blushing rn 😝

user5: u could say cement tastes good and i’d try it.

user6: jam you’re so fine it’s honestly starting to feel like a personal attack

user7: OSCAR DATING AN F1 OBSESSED GIRL YASSSSS

— user8: me and jam as the mclaren wags. i can see it now.

user9: the middle pic is giving “soft launch” and i’m spiraling

— yourusername: it’s giving “he paid for the matcha so i had to post him”

user10: is ur name really jam?

— yourusername: not legally or professionally or personally but yea :)

user11: the way jam is so unhinged on twt but is the sweetest ever on ig needs to be studied….

— user12: like on twt when she threatened to pull up on that guy who was saying awful things about oscar and he deactivated all his socials??? vs on ig where she goes to farmers’ markets like a granny 😭

user20: if oscar doesn’t soft launch you back i’m rioting

— yourusername: pls i’d settle for him texting back within 3-5 business days

— user21: NOT OSCAR FUMBLING BAD BITCHES NOOOO

— user22: @/oscar GET UPPPPPP!!!!!

— user23: WTFFFFFFFFF STOP THIS MADNESS @/oscar

— user24: if i had a baddie like this i would do anything she asks… jam says jump? i say how high… oscar u need that energy NOW!!!!

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