Pairing: Sebastian Vettel X Femalereader

no finish line

Pairing: Lando Norris x therapist!reader

Summary: When Lando sought to find help, he found you.

Word count: 3k+

Warnings: little angst, insecurities, fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

Lando's life seemed like a whirlwind of chaos and adrenaline to those on the outside looking in. A Formula 1 driver with a charismatic charm that had the world at his feet, Lando was the dream of every motorsport fan. The flashing lights, the roaring crowds, the podium celebrations—on the surface, it was everything anyone could ever want. But reality was far from the glitz and glamour people imagined.

Beneath the helmet, behind the cheerful interviews and easygoing smiles, was a young man grappling with a world that never let him slow down. He was just a kid from Bristol who had a passion for racing, who had fought his way into the most elite motorsport on the planet. Yet, with that dream came an invisible weight—one that pressed on his chest so tightly he sometimes struggled to breathe. The pressure, the expectations, the relentless scrutiny—it was suffocating.

Every race was a war, not just against his rivals on the track but against the voices in his own head. Every lap, every corner, every fraction of a second mattered. A single mistake could mean the difference between hero and failure. And when he wasn’t behind the wheel, the judgment never stopped. Every camera shutter captured moments that could be twisted into headlines. Every social media post became a battlefield, flooded with both admiration and brutal criticism. Every whisper of doubt—whether from analysts, fans, or even his own mind—followed him relentlessly, lingering in the silence of his hotel room at night.

The noise never stopped.

Even after the adrenaline of the race had faded, the echoes remained. Sleep became an elusive luxury. He’d lie awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying his mistakes, wondering if he was good enough, if he’d ever be good enough. Some nights, the walls felt like they were closing in, trapping him in his own thoughts. So he found ways to escape—pacing the halls, taking midnight drives through dimly lit streets, trying to outrun the anxiety clawing at his chest. But no matter how far he drove, it was always there, lurking in the rearview mirror.

He knew he needed help.

His closest friends saw the cracks beneath the surface, the exhaustion in his eyes no amount of caffeine or forced laughter could hide. His mother, Cisca, saw it too—the way his shoulders slumped under the weight of expectations, how the sport he once loved seemed to drain him rather than ignite him. She saw the way he hesitated before stepping into the car, as if the thing that once set him free had now become his prison.

She refused to stand by and watch her son break.

That’s when she found you.

Lando wasn’t eager about therapy. The idea of sitting in a room and talking about his feelings felt unnatural, even suffocating. He was used to dealing with things on his own—brushing off doubts with humor, locking away the pressure behind a confident grin. Vulnerability wasn’t in his nature. It wasn’t how he had survived in this world.

But he trusted his mum. And if this was what it took to ease the worry in her eyes, to stop her from watching him like he was one sharp breath away from breaking—he’d do it. Not for himself. For her.

The first time he walked into your office, he felt out of place. The air was calm, the walls lined with soft, neutral colors that were meant to be inviting, but to him, they were unfamiliar. His fingers fidgeted with the zipper of his jacket as he sat down, his knee bouncing slightly. He kept his gaze low, scanning the room, already counting down the minutes until he could leave.

He half-expected you to be like everyone else—clinical, detached, another stranger who saw him as a case file rather than a person. But then you spoke.

“Lando, I’m so glad you’re here. My name is Y/N, and as you may have guessed I'm a therapist. This space is yours, no pressure, no expectations. Just you and me, talking.”

There was something in your voice—steady, warm, genuine. No scripted pleasantries, no forced professionalism. Just you.

The tension in his shoulders loosened, only slightly, but enough for him to notice.

“Yeah,” he muttered, shifting in his seat. “Talking about my problems. That’s the hard part.”

“Then we won’t start with talking about that,” you said simply. “Tell me about your week. Not the racing part—just you. What made you smile? What pissed you off? What was the highlight of your week?”

That threw him.

Everyone always asked about the races, the performance, the expectations. No one ever asked about him. Not like this. Not with the expectation of an honest answer, not with the patience to actually listen.

For a moment, he just stared at you, processing. Waiting for the catch. But there wasn’t one. You weren’t trying to fix him. You weren’t analyzing him like a machine that needed recalibration.

And for some reason, that made something inside him click.

So he talked.

You watched Lando carefully as he struggled to find the words, his hesitation palpable. He fidgeted in his seat, a nervous energy that filled the room, his fingers tapping against the armrest. The silence stretched between you, and you didn’t rush him. That was his space, and you were there to give him time to process.

“I guess...” he trailed off, the words almost lost in the air. His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. “I’ve been driving at night. Just... getting in the car, going for a drive when everything’s quiet. Just me and the road. No one watching. No cameras. Just... calm.”

The honesty in his words caught you off guard, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you nodded slowly, giving him the space to continue if he wanted to, letting the weight of what he’d said settle. You could see it, though—the way his shoulders dropped slightly as if he was relieved to finally share this part of himself.

“That sounds like a good escape,” you said softly, your voice steady but warm. “A way to just be... Lando, not the driver. What did it feel like, when you were driving alone at night?”

You saw him exhale, his breath slow and deliberate as he processed your question. You hadn’t expected him to answer immediately. Instead, you watched him—the subtle shifts in his expression, the way his gaze flickered as if he was unsure whether or not he should speak this truth aloud. You didn’t push. You let the room stay quiet, giving him the time he needed.

When he spoke again, it was softer than before, almost as if he was letting you in on something very private. “It’s... nice. It’s the only time I can just... breathe. There’s no pressure, no one telling me what to do or what to think. I can just exist.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and you felt a pang of recognition. You’d heard this before, though not in these exact words. It was a struggle many faced, trying to reconcile who they were with the role they’d been forced into. He was looking at you now, and in his eyes, you saw something he didn’t always show the world: vulnerability.

You nodded, keeping your voice soft but firm. “That’s important, Lando. You deserved to have those moments, even in the chaos. What if we could find more ways for you to feel that... when you weren’t behind the wheel? When you weren’t in the spotlight?”

You let the question settle between you, watching him carefully. His eyes flickered with uncertainty, a slight furrow in his brow as he considered it. You could see the thought swirling in his mind, the struggle to picture a life that wasn’t constantly surrounded by noise and expectation.

You didn’t rush him. You were there for him to explore this, at his own pace. You waited, watching as he processed the weight of what you’d said.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice small, quieter now. “I guess I could try. Maybe.”

You smiled gently, a small, understanding smile that invited him to keep going, if he chose to. You could see the shift in him, the small flicker of hope that had started to appear, even if he wasn’t sure how to hold onto it just yet.

You didn’t press. Instead, you allowed the silence to stay with you both for a moment, not uncomfortable but calm. It was a moment for him to breathe, to think, and to start to picture something different for himself. You gave him that space, allowing the weight of your words to sit there with him.

You didn’t know where this journey would take him, but right then, in that quiet moment, you saw something changing in him. Something that felt almost like relief—a shift in perspective, even if it was only just starting to take root.

You kept your voice steady, not forcing anything, but still offering the support he needed. “You don't have to have all the answers right now. But you could figure it out, step by step. You don't have to be perfect, Lando. You just have to be you.”

You gave him a moment to digest this, watching as the quiet settled in. It was clear that this conversation, this opening, was the beginning of something. It wasn’t the end of his struggle, but perhaps it was the first breath he’d taken in a long time.

Two hours passed like minutes.

He was amazed at how talking could relieve him so much. Especially talking with you.

And then there were your eyes—warm, understanding, holding something he couldn’t quite name. A whole galaxy, maybe. He didn’t understand how, after just two hours, he felt so drawn to you. It made no sense. But if two hours with you felt like this, he couldn’t imagine what a lifetime would feel like.

At the end of the session, you smiled, tilting your head slightly as you met his gaze. “Lando, I’d love to see you again next week. Same time?”

For a second, he hesitated. He wasn’t the kind of person who did this—who willingly came back to talk about things he spent years avoiding.

But then he heard his own voice, softer than he expected. Almost uncertain.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

And the truth was, he wasn’t uncertain at all.

He wanted to see you again. Needed to. Even if it meant sitting through therapy, even if it meant confronting the things he had spent so long running from—he didn’t care. Because for the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t alone in this.

He left your office feeling lighter, like he could breathe without his own mind working against him.

Week after week, session after session, he fell. Hard.

It wasn’t sudden, like the dramatic, earth-shattering crashes he had experienced on the track. No, this was different. It was slow, insidious—like the way dusk faded into night, so gradual that he barely noticed it happening until he was already lost in the dark. Or maybe, in this case, the light.

He learned about you in the quietest of ways.

The fresh lilies in your office, are always the same, their soft fragrance filling the air as if they belonged there just as much as you did. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear when listening intently, your brows knitting together as if absorbing every syllable he spoke. The way your dimples only appeared when you laughed—really laughed the kind that made your shoulders shake and your eyes crinkle at the corners. The small tattoo on your wrist that you traced absentmindedly when deep in thought as if grounding yourself at the moment.

And then there was the way you chewed on the tip of your pen, lost in his words, as if every single one of them mattered. The faint freckles dusted across your nose—ones he didn’t notice at first, but then he saw them in the sunlight, and suddenly, they were all he could see. The delicate silver ring on your finger that you twisted absentmindedly when something weighed on your mind.

Every detail about you etched itself into his memory like a permanent marker, an imprint he couldn't erase. Not that he wanted to.

He never mentioned you to his family. Never let your name slip past his lips, not even in passing. Because if he did, his mother would see right through him.

Cisca was perceptive. She always had been. She would notice the way his eyes lit up at the mere mention of therapy, how his shoulders didn’t seem to carry the same invisible burdens they once did. How he had started humming under his breath while making breakfast, fingers tapping idly on the countertop. How he lingered a little too long on his phone after sessions, rereading messages that weren’t even from you—just automated appointment confirmations that made his stomach flip in a way he didn’t understand.

She would know.

And she did.

She saw the shift in her son. The way his laugh came easier now, unforced, not just a practiced performance for cameras and fans. The way he was more present, no longer lost in a perpetual cycle of exhaustion and self-doubt. The way he gazed out of windows, lost in thought, a secret kind of warmth flickering in his expression like a candle in the dark.

Cisca had been a mother long enough to recognize that look. She had seen it before, in fleeting moments of her youth, in the pages of love stories, in the eyes of those who didn’t yet realize they had fallen.

She knew exactly who was responsible.

Then, one day, it happened.

He didn’t plan it. Didn’t think about it. Didn’t weigh the consequences or try to stop himself. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could catch them, reckless and raw, spoken into existence before he could take them back.

"Would you go out with me?"

The words left his lips before he had the chance to second-guess them, before he could let fear hold them hostage in his throat.

The anxiety in his mind—always there, always whispering doubts—was suddenly drowned out by the deafening sound of his heartbeat. His pulse pounded in his ears, his hands clenching at the fabric of his sweater as he waited for your answer. A thousand worst-case scenarios flashed through his mind like a race replay he couldn’t turn off.

That he was embarrassing himself. That you’d say no. That he had just ruined everything.

Your lips parted in surprise, your breath catching for just a moment. His stomach twisted into knots as he watched you search for the right words.

"Lando… I don’t know what to say."

His chest tightened.

"I’m flattered, really. You’re an incredible person with a heart of gold. But I can’t."

The air in the room suddenly felt thinner, like all the oxygen had been sucked out.

"You’re my patient, and I won’t risk my career because of my feelings."

His world should have shattered in that moment. He should have felt devastated, humiliated, ready to run and never look back.

But he didn’t.

Because despite the rejection, despite the ache settling in his ribs, all he could think about was how much more he admired you.

You had principles. You had integrity. You were strong, unwavering, even when it would’ve been easier to bend.

And God, that only made him fall harder.

But he wasn’t about to let you go so easily.

"What if I see another therapist?" Lando blurted out, his voice filled with quiet desperation. "You’ve helped me more than I can ever explain. I’ve never been more confident in myself, and I owe that to you. But I want to be more than just your patient. Please, let me try."

You hesitated, conflict evident in your eyes, and for a split second, he thought he saw something else there, too—something you were trying desperately to suppress.

"Lando, this isn’t just about rules," you said carefully. "This is about what’s best for you. Therapy isn’t just a checkbox to get through so you can be with someone."

"I know that," he said quickly, his voice firm, unwavering. "And I mean it when I say I want to keep going. But with someone else. Not because I don’t need it anymore, but because I know what I want."

He was staring straight at you now, eyes burning with something raw, something real.

And it terrified you.

Because what if this wasn’t just infatuation? What if, despite everything, he was serious?

Silence stretched between you, thick with uncertainty, with unspoken words neither of you dared to voice.

Then, finally, you exhaled, your shoulders dropping ever so slightly as a small, reluctant smile played at your lips.

"If you’re sure, I can recommend my colleague Farah."

Lando’s heart slammed against his ribs.

"So… does that mean—?"

You inhaled deeply, looking up at him, something soft and unreadable in your gaze.

"It means you’re no longer my patient."

His breath hitched.

"And if you’re still sure in a few weeks, maybe we can talk about something else."

For the first time in a long time, Lando felt like he wasn’t just existing—he was alive.

A grin broke across his face, wide and genuine, the kind of smile he hadn’t worn in what felt like forever.

"I’ll wait. However long it takes."

And for the first time, he wasn’t just racing toward another podium, another trophy, another fleeting moment of victory.

This time, he was racing toward something real.

Something worth waiting for.

Something worth fighting for.

A future.

the parent trap (remake) | CS 55

cast: carlos sainz x fem!reader

warn: 100% fiction & remake

next chap

PART 16 BACK TO PAST MEMORIES

The afternoon had been a whirlwind—full of surprises, chaos, and more surprises. So, when Carlos and Matheo stepped out of the hotel lobby together, both dressed in formal attire, Carlos couldn't help but feel a little on edge. 

“Matheo…” Carlos tilted his head, tugging at the stiff collar of his shirt as he eyed his son. “There have been ‘way’ too many surprises today. Can you at least tell me where we’re going?” 

Matheo grin was as mischievous as ever. “I already told you, Dad—it’s a surprise.” 

Carlos rolled his eyes dramatically. “All right, I wish I am not about to get struck by lightning or something.” 

As they walked towards the entrance of the hotel, Carlos caught sight of Y/N, who was walking out with Mattia. Both were impeccably dressed, though Carlos’s gaze naturally lingered on the Y/N longer than he’d admit. 

The twins exchanged a knowing glance, the kind of secretive look that sent chills down a parent’s spine. Carlos sighed deeply. “This doesn’t feel like it’s going to end well.” 

Y/N approached him, smoothing down her dress. “Hey… any idea what the kids are up to?” 

Carlos shook his head. “No clue. Matheo won’t tell me a thing.” 

Y/N nodded “I see.”

The limo ride that followed was short, yet somehow stretched an eternity in awkward anticipation. Carlos couldn’t shake the feeling that he and Y/N were being set up. By the time they arrived at a port, the confusion on their faces was mutual. 

“Kids…” Carlos stared at the waterfront with raised eyebrows. “Is this where we’re eating?” 

Mattia smirked. “Nope!” 

Matheo pointed towards the dock, where a stunning yacht was illuminated against the evening sky. “That’s where we’re going to have dinner.” 

Carlos’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “The yacht? You’re joking.” 

But they weren’t joking. 

The group made their way onto the boat, Carlos firing questions as quickly as his brain could process what was happening. “Matheo, how exactly are we paying for this?” 

“We gave all our savings,” Matheo said, his tone suspiciously nonchalant. 

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure, Theo. Try again.” 

“Well… I call Grandpa Sainz yesterday, he have helped a ‘little’ bit,” Matheo admitted sheepishly. 

“Matheo,” Carlos said, gave his son a pointed look. 

Matheo grinned up at him. “What? It helped a lot.” 

Mattia quickly interjected, tugging on Y/N’s dress. “Come on, Mom. You’re going to love this.” 

The families was ushered inside the yacht, where they stopped at an elegant door. Matheo turned to them with a grin so wide it practically screamed trouble. “Mrs. Y/LN, Mr. Sainz… your dinner is served.” 

The door swung open, revealing a beautifully set table in the middle of the room. Flowers and candles decorated the space, their soft glow reflected in the surrounding windows that overlooked the water. Y/N gasped quietly, clearly impressed by the romantic setup, while Carlos scanned the scene, his eyes narrowing. 

“Uh… kids? There are only two chairs,” he pointed out, gesturing at the table. 

Matheo’s face lit up. “Exactly! That’s part two of the surprise. We’re ‘not’ having dinner with you!” 

Y/N laughed nervously, trying to mask her growing unease. “Oh? And who will be joining us then?” 

Right on cue, Chessy appeared, stepping into the room in an immaculately with a chef form. “Good evening,” she announced, a sly smile playing on her lips. “My name is Chessy, and I’ll be your assistant tonight. Comments, questions, and complaints? Not accepted.” 

Behind her, Martin entered, holding a bottle of wine with an almost angelic smile. “And I, Martin, will be your sommelier this evening. Let’s hope you drink just enough to forget that these two troublemakers roped us into this.” 

Carlos blinked. “Wait. You’re the staff tonight?” 

Chessy shrugged, clearly unfazed by the question. “Mattia, music please.” 

Mattia darted to the corner of the room, hitting play on a small speaker. A soft, romantic ballad filled the space, the melody blending perfectly with the gentle rocking of the yacht. 

“Relax,” Mattia said, his voice brimming with excitement. “Sail through time!” 

“And enjoy the evening,” Matheo added with a dramatic wave of his hand. 

The twins turned to leave, practically skipping out of the room. Y/N and Carlos exchanged hesitant glances, neither daring to speak as the reality of the situation sank in. 

“Well,” Y/N said after a long pause, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is… weird.” 

Carlos groaned, slumping into one of the chairs. “Remind me to ground those two when this is over.” 

But as the soft music played and Martin poured the wine, Carlos couldn’t help but crack a smile. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Chessy watched as the children disappeared from sight, their laughter fading into the distance. She turned to her companions, her brow furrowed. “Have you seen the evil plan?” she asked, her tone suspicious but tinged with humor.

Y/N adjusted the black-colored scarf around her neck, the gesture betraying her nervousness. “Yes, yes,” she muttered, trying to gather her thoughts. “I’m starting to understand what’s happening.”

Carlos glanced around, his eyes landing on a lifebuoy decorated with a familiar name. A flicker of recognition crossed his face. “It’s just like when we first met,” he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. “The boat, the music...”

“The service,” Chessy added with a smirk.

Y/N, ever the romantic, took in the scene with sincere appreciation. “Everything is... very beautiful,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Carlos turned to Martin with a playful grin. “Martin, would you please accept a drink?” he asked, gesturing toward the bar.

Martin and chessy shared a knowing smile as they obediently took their drinks. Martin gave Chessy a subtle signal, and the two of them quietly slipped away, leaving Carlos and Y/N alone.

As the soft hum of the waves provided a serene backdrop, Carlos leaned against the balcony of the boat. He hesitated for a moment before confessing, “To be honest, I haven’t been on a boat since that time.”

Y/N joined him at the railing, their shoulders almost brushing. “Me neither,” she admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability. He avoided Carlos’s gaze, focusing instead on the horizon. But Carlos wasn’t one to shy away. Raising his glass, he proposed, “Well, then, here’s to, uh…”

“Our son,” Y/N interjected quickly, finally meeting Carlos’s eyes.

The sincerity in her voice made Carlos pause, his own glass hovering mid-air. “Our son,” Carlos repeated, clinking his glass against Y/N’s. A small, almost imperceptible smile graced his lips, though it looked more like a grimace born of mixed emotions.

Their moment of connection was abruptly interrupted when Carlos caught sight of their children peeking through the small windows of the cabin doors. As soon as they realized they’d been discovered, the kids ducked out of sight with impressive speed.

Gathering his courage, Carlos turned to face her fully. “Y/N... if we can ever be completely alone, I’d like to talk about what happened between us. Because it ended so quickly.”

Y/N’s expression softened, though a flicker of hesitation lingered. “It started very fast,” she replied, her tone layered with meaning.

Carlos’s signature charming smile returned. “I remember that part very well,” he teased.

Y/N’s lips curved into a small smile, betraying her own memories of their whirlwind beginning.

Meanwhile, Chessy and Martin, who were spying discreetly from a corner, exchanged satisfied glances. “It seems like everything is going well,” Chessy commented, her tone light.

“I think the same,” Martin replied, his eyes still fixed on the couple.

She motioned toward the kitchen. “Come on, we have to serve the appetizers.”

Martin nodded, momentarily flustered by Chessy’s charm. “O-of course,” he stammered, following her.

Back at the table, Y/N and Carlos settled into their seats. Y/N broke the silence first. “So, tell me, Carlos. You’ve done very well in life, haven’t you?” she gestured to the wine bottle. “Your brand is on the rise every day.”

Carlos adjusted his napkin, his expression modest. “And you? I remember your notebooks full of amazing designs. Have you been able to pursue that?”

Y/N smiled, clearly touched that Carlos remembered. “Yes, that’s right. We both fulfilled our dreams, didn’t we?”

Chessy entered with two plates in hand, interrupting the moment. As she set the meals down, Y/N’s mind wandered back to their children. “What are we going to do with them?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Carlos sighed, his fingers tapping against the table. “Well, the two of them have already met. It’ll be impossible to separate them now.”

Y/N pondered for a moment. “I could stay with them for half a year, and you for the other half,” she suggested tentatively.

Chessy, still lingering nearby, shook her head. “Hey... kids can’t go to different schools every year. It wouldn’t make sense.”

Carlos nodded in agreement. “You’re right.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she tried to come up with a solution. “Well, I could take them for a full year, and you the next?”

Chessy’s disapproval was evident. “Still not a great idea,” she said bluntly.

Carlos glanced at her, then back at Y/N. Realizing the tension, Chessy quickly excused herself. “Oh... sorry, I’m leaving.”

Y/N couldn't help but let a soft chuckle escape, amused by the small slip-up that had just happened. It was one of those moments that lightened the tension, if only briefly.

"Anyway," Carlos began, attempting to steer the conversation back on track, "that’s why we had our previous agreement."

Y/N raised a skeptical eyebrow, her expression equal parts curious and doubtful. "Really? I thought it was because... well, because we didn’t want to be together anymore."

Carlos shifted in his seat, biting his lip as though the memory still stung. "No," he admitted quietly, "it wasn’t both of us."

Y/N leaned back slightly, folding her arms in front of him. "Well," she said, her voice laced with a mix of reflection and mild defensiveness, "that part has gotten a little fuzzy over the years."

Carlos tilted his head, as if deciding how much to push. "Do you remember the day you packed your things?" he asked, his tone gentle but probing.

Y/N hesitated, her brow furrowing in thought. "Yes... but I don’t remember everything about it. I think I hurt you with something I did... that was..." She trailed off, struggling to grasp the specifics.

Carlos’ lips quirked into a bittersweet smile as he helped jog Y/N’ memory. "You threw a plant at me," he reminded her.

Y/N’ cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she let out a self-conscious laugh. "True," she admitted, rubbing her dress. The memory, though distant, still carried a pang of awkwardness.

Carlos leaned forward slightly, his voice softening as he tried to tread carefully. "Y/N, maybe we’ll never have the chance to truly be alone, but I’d really like to talk about what happened between us. Honestly."

Y/N’ gaze sharpened as she rested her chin on her folded hands, giving Carlos her full attention. There was a weight to the air between them, a vulnerability they’d both spent years avoiding.

"Why did you do it?" Carlos asked suddenly, his voice quieter but filled with curiosity and an edge of hurt.

Y/N took a deep breath, the words slow to form. "Ah... Carlos, we were young. We didn’t know what we were doing. We said stupid things. I packed everything, got on the first plane, and left." Her voice wavered slightly as she finally dared to meet Carlos’ eyes, her smile fragile. "And... you didn’t come after me."

Carlos froze, caught off guard by the directness of Y/N’ words. "I didn’t think you wanted me to follow you," he admitted after a pause, his voice tinged with regret.

Y/N wrinkled her nose slightly at the response, a bitter half-smile playing on her lips. "Well, that doesn’t matter anymore," she said, brushing off the lingering ache with practiced ease. "What matters now is figuring this out for our children."

Carlos sighed deeply, the tension between them palpable. "Yes," he agreed, though his voice lacked conviction. " for their sake, we need to figure this out." He broke eye contact, focusing instead on finishing his drink as though it could wash away the uncomfortable emotions.

Y/N noticed the subtle shift in Carlos’ demeanor, the way his shoulders tightened ever so slightly. To distract herself from the growing heaviness in the room, Y/N picked up her spoon and took a small sip of her soup. It was more out of habit than hunger, but it gave her something to do as the silence stretched on, thick and unyielding.

*****

Y/N and Carlos stood at the hotel’s front desk, sorting through their paperwork to finalize the check-out process. Both of them were an odd mix of calm efficiency and subtle tension, their movements synchronized from years of parenting together, yet their silence spoke volumes.

“Mrs. Y/LN, everything is ready,” Martin, her butler, announced, handing Y/N their neatly stacked passports.

Y/N gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Martin. Do you know if Mattia is ready?”

Martin nodded. “I just called him. He shouldn’t be long coming down.”

Satisfied, Y/N turned back to her half-packed suitcase. Without looking at Carlos, she spoke in a measured tone. “So... Mattia will spend Christmas with you.”

Carlos didn’t miss a beat. “And Matheo will spend Easter with you,” he replied smoothly.

Their eyes met briefly, each weighing unspoken words that hovered between them. But before either could say anything more, the soft chime of the elevator broke the moment. Turning toward the sound, they saw their twin sons step out. Y/N and Carlos instantly froze—the boys were dressed identically in pink shirts.

“Mattia, what are you doing dressed like that?” Y/N asked, her voice tinged with confusion and mild annoyance. “We’re leaving for London. You need to change.”

One of the twins crossed his arms, a smug smile playing on his face. “Here’s the thing, Mom. We’ve been talking, and we think we’re being fooled.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Fooled? By who?”

The other twin stepped forward, matching his brother’s stance. “By you and mom. You promised us summer camp. We want to go… together.”

Y/N exchanged a baffled glance with Carlos. “What camp?” Carlos finally asked.

“The one we always go to before school starts,” the first twin clarified, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Y/N took a deep breath, her patience already wearing thin. “Mattia, this is ridiculous. Go upstairs and change. We’re leaving.”

“Are you sure I’m Mattia?” the boy countered, tilting his head innocently.

Y/N shot him a sharp look. “Of course, I’m sure.”

The other twin piped up, a mischievous glint in his eye. “But it’s hard to be 100% sure, isn’t it?”

Both boys grinned, clearly enjoying the chaos they were causing.

Carlos pinched the bridge of his nose. “Kids, this isn’t funny. You’re going to make your mom miss her plane.”

Y/N’s frustration bubbled over. “Mattia!” she snapped.

“Yes?” both boys answered in perfect unison.

Carlos squatted slightly to their eye level, seeing them carefully. After a moment, he pointed to the boy on his right. “You’re Matheo. I’m not mistaken.”

The boy smirked. “Are you sure, Dad? Because it wouldn’t be a good idea to send the wrong child to London again.”

Carlos hesitated, his confidence faltering. He stepped back with a resigned sigh. Y/N threw him an exasperated look, silently pleading for backup, but Carlos simply shrugged, powerless against their twins’ well-executed plan.

“Alright, I have a proposal,” one of the twins declared, stepping forward as if he were brokering a business deal. “Let’s go to Dad’s house, pack everything, and the four of us will go camping together.”

Y/N blinked, completely thrown off. “The four of us?”

“Exactly,” the other twin chimed in. “And when we get back, we’ll tell you who’s Mattia and who’s Matheo.”

Y/N crossed her arms, his patience hanging by a thread. “You’ll do as you’re told. One of you is coming back to London with me, whether you like it or not.” Her voice warned them in an angry mother tone, but the twins were unfazed.

Both boys grinned again, clearly enjoying the chaos they had unleashed. Y/N turned to Carlos, desperate. “You’re their dad! Do something!”

Carlos scratched the back of his neck, suppressing a laugh. “To be fair, this is kind of genius.”

Y/N groaned. “Not helping.”

prev chap

masterlist

♡ masterlist 1 ♡ masterlist 2 ♡ masterlist 3

celebrations ; happy 2k! // happy 3k!

sweet like cinnamon — the little leclerc obsession runs deep, amid escort allegations and the unravelling of a past relationship.

part seven // part eight

what the fuck is a leclerc? — a collection of the leclerc family in different parts of their life. a chaotic recollection of the overprotective brothers, and their flawless (alpha pheromoned) sister.

part one // part two

paddock bunny! — boobs signing, but the f1 dilfs are obsessed with you.

!! how to find your favorite drivers in slc universe !! ex. use #slc: lewis for blurbs/headcanons within the au ♡

dark dove 🖤 dark dove ii — you were raised with so much love, and affection how could he ever break your heart like this?

how to disapper — the aftermath

university au ( #slc: uni ) — carrying the expectations of the world is no easy feat; it's a good thing you're there to make everything better.

carlos sainz lando norris

freshies!

a town of freshies (being bullied)

who's your crush?

social media! tt. trends

can you watch my brothers for a second?

no one will hear you scream (ft. lando and max)

fighting an imaginary person (ft. lewis and max)

i think i'm pregnant (ft. lewis and max)

premium air (ft. lewis and max)

dark ficlets🏴tw: daddy!kink, morally grey characters, smut, dark themes

oh you sweet thing

million dollar baby

Masterlist

Anything crossed out is in my drafts

Formula 1

《《Various drivers x reader》》

12 descriptions of a lover masterlist

♡Charles Leclerc x reader♡

Ocean eyes couple (social media au)

Comfort drabble (student!reader)

Summer love (social media au)

Protective girl (social media au)

A Broken House (daughter!reader)

••LECLERC!SIBLING!READER (NO DRIVER PAIRING)••

Her mommy era (social media au)

Answered ask; a glance at Arthur and Yn's relationship

Request: under the weather (sick fic)

Request: the three big bad wolves (toddler!yn)

Request: how to undo (toddler!yn)

The Royal Way (Oldest!leclerc!reader x prince of monaco!oc)

pt1 // pt2 // pt3

♤Lando Norris x reader♤

Our wedding menu

••Lando Norris x leclerc! Reader••

If she's around

series

1. What's a soft launch?

2. The brothers' reactions

3. The surprise guest (that had to be protected by the host)

4. The hardest launch known to mankind (social media au)

5. The grid's reaction

6. That went well?

7. Request: goofy duo (wisdom tooth surgery)

◇Daniel Ricciardo x reader◇

The trophy boyfriend▪︎series (social media fic)

pt1 》》 pt2》》 pt3》》 pt4》》 pt5

♧Max Verstappen x reader♧

The Lost Keychain

The surprising match (soulmate au; social media au)

pt1》》 pt2

Vigilante Shit (social media au)

pt1》》 pt2》》

Starstruck (idol!reader; social media au)

Prologue

••Verstappen!reader x tomdaya••

The people's sweethearts (soulmate au)

ch.I // ch.II // ch.III

♤Oscar Piastri x reader♤

The Twitter Marriage (driver!reader, smau)

○Sebastian Vettel x reader○

Emotional Support Parents (leclerc!reader, social media au)

■Toto Wolff x reader■

Nobel prize winning wife (social media au)

pt1 》》 pt2

☆Carlos Sainz x reader☆

Free stay all year round (social media au)

Cliche love story

The Spaniard's wife (social media au)

□Lance Stroll x reader□

2 tropes in 1 story (social media au)

¤Kimi Raikkonen x reader¤

How would that keep us safe?

Formula 2

♡Arthur Leclerc x reader♡

Arthur Leclerc and the little bear (social media au)

Football

◇MESSI!READER◇

Messi family x daughter drabble

▪︎▪︎MESSI! KPOP IDOL! READER▪︎▪︎

Profile series masterlist

□Neymar Jr x reader□

The Tattoo Sleeve ▪︎▪︎ series (soulmate au)

Prologue》》 ch1》》 ch2》》 ch3》》 ch4》》 ch5》》tbd

Requested: Neymar x Messi! Daughter! Reader

Kpop & Kdrama

♡Wooga Squad x OC♡

In the soop: Getaway ▪︎▪︎ series (soulmate au)

overview》》 ch1》》 tbd

Actors

¤Cillian Murphy x reader¤

Am I a yn fan or a cillian fan

pt1》》 pt2

▪︎tomdaya x reader▪︎

The People's sweethearts (soulmate au, verstappen!reader)

ch.I // ch.II

For Her - Lando Norris x Reader

summary: She came to support him. Instead, she was met with hate and a paddock full of people who acted like she didn’t exist. But if there was one thing about Lando Norris, it was that he loved out loud (3.2k words)

content: protective boyfriend, public relationship, public displays of affection, romantic grand gesture

AN: happy new season guys!!! what a race, I hope china will be kinder with my heart :') here's another fic for our race winner! muah <3

........................................................................

The first race of the season should have been magical.

It should have been the kind of morning you’d always imagined—walking through the paddock with the giddy excitement of someone witnessing greatness up close, feeling the electricity in the air, the intoxicating mix of tire smoke, adrenaline, and champagne already waiting for its moment in the podium spray. You had thought of how proud you would feel watching Lando, how thrilling it would be to see him in his element, how belonging you might feel in a world that, until now, had existed for you in stories and through screens.

You had not imagined being denied entry.

"Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to step back."

The security guard barely spared you a glance, already moving on to the next person in line, his voice impassive, as if he had done this a hundred times before and you were simply another face in a sea of hopeful girls who had tried to talk their way into the paddock.

You gripped your lanyard a little tighter, your heart skipping slightly. "I have a pass," you said, voice gentle but firm as you lifted it to eye level, the McLaren logo glinting in the sunlight.

The guard exhaled sharply through his nose, unimpressed. "We've had a lot of fans trying to sneak in today. If you don’t have the right accreditation, I can’t let you through."

Your stomach twisted.

"I do have the right accreditation," you tried again, as kindly as possible, despite the heat creeping up your neck. "I’m with McLaren. My boyfriend-"

"Yeah, that’s what they all say."

The words were clipped, dismissive, and spoken with the kind of flat finality that suggested he had already decided you were lying.

Embarrassment coiled in your chest, wrapping itself around your lungs, making it suddenly difficult to breathe.

You stood there, cheeks burning, as people brushed past you, throwing curious glances your way. The seconds stretched endlessly, each one more excruciating than the last.

It wasn’t until a McLaren staff member recognized you—"Oh, she’s with Lando," they had said offhandedly—that the security guard finally stepped aside, not bothering with so much as an apology.

By the time you walked through the gates, the joy you had carried that morning had dulled into something smaller, something fragile.

And then, somehow, it got worse.

...

The McLaren motorhome stood like a beacon in the paddock, its sleek glass windows reflecting the bustle of team personnel moving inside. You exhaled slowly, shaking off the earlier embarrassment, and made your way toward the hospitality lounge, longing for something warm and familiar.

A latte, perhaps. Something to reset the day.

You stepped up to the hospitality counter with a practiced sort of grace, the kind that had been instilled in you from your childhood—shoulders back, chin lifted, a polite smile even when you wanted to disappear.

The woman behind the counter was stunning in a sharp, effortless way, her McLaren uniform crisp, her dark eyes shrewd, assessing. She barely looked up when you stepped forward.

"Good morning," you greeted, your voice light, pleasant. "Could I get an oat latte, please?"

The woman’s gaze flicked to you then, sweeping over you in a way that wasn’t unkind but wasn’t exactly warm, either.

"Are you with media?" she asked, already sounding bored.

You shook your head, still polite. "No, I’m—"

"Hospitality is for team guests only," she interrupted, her words clipped, a polite but unmistakable dismissal.

There was something about the way she said it, the way her lips curled just slightly, that sent something sharp down your spine.

You held up your accreditation again, your expression kind but unwavering. "I am a team guest. It is my first race though! I'm with Lando."

A pause. A flicker of something in her gaze.

And then, a small, almost imperceptible smirk.

"Ah," she said slowly, like she was only just now realizing. "Of course you are."

There was something else behind her tone, something you recognized.

You had met people like her before, in glittering lobbies, at perfectly curated events, in spaces where perception was everything. People who measured others in careful glances and quiet, ruthless judgments.

The woman tilted her head, her smile suddenly saccharine. "I’m afraid we’re only serving certain guests at the moment."

The words landed with the soft cruelty of a velvet dagger.

She wasn’t saying no outright.

She was refusing you while pretending it was about something else entirely.

You stared at her for a moment, your fingers tightening slightly over the strap of your bag.

You could have fought. Could have pointed out that this was ridiculous, that you had every right to be here, that her behavior was as transparent as it was petty.

But instead, you simply let out a soft breath and smiled.

Not the kind of smile that was warm and grateful.

The kind of smile that veiled the frustration you were feeling.

"No worries," you said gently, dipping your head, your voice smooth, graceful. "I wouldn’t want to trouble you."

And with that, you turned and walked away, back straight, head held high, because if nothing else—you were not the kind of woman who begged.

But it still stung.

...

The hotel room is quiet except for the faint murmur of the city outside. The occasional car passes beneath the window, the distant noises of Melbourne nightlife drifting in through the small gap in the balcony door. Inside, the glow from the bedside lamp casts soft golden light over the pristine sheets, the half-finished cup of tea resting on the nightstand, and my phone—face-down, untouched for the past hour.

I had set it aside like it burned me.

And in a way, it had.

I don’t need to look at the screen to know what’s waiting for me there.

The photograph was simple. A candid, taken at a cruel angle, just slightly off-guard—me walking alone through the paddock, my hands delicately adjusting the strap of my bag, my gaze flickering off to the side.

The caption beneath it, however, was anything but subtle.

"Classic gold digger. No personality, no job, just another wag looking for a paycheck."

The replies were worse.

"She looks so full of herself. I bet she spends his money like crazy."

"Lando deserves better. She looks disgusting."

"Does she even like racing or just his wallet?"

A part of me had expected this. I’m not naive—this is the cost of being seen.

But expectation doesn’t soften the blow.

It doesn’t make the words less sharp. It doesn’t stop them from settling in the quiet places of my mind, the ones that whisper in the dark when the world is still.

I exhale slowly, smoothing my hand over the sheets, willing away the tightness in my throat.

It’s fine.

I was raised to handle things like this with grace, with an understanding that women who stand beside successful men are often reduced to spectators, accessories, footnotes in their own stories.

I know I am my own person and that is what matters.

A keycard beeps at the door.

Then, the soft sound of it swinging open, of footsteps—light, easy, carrying a kind of restless energy even now.

"Hi darling," Lando’s voice fills the space before he does.

I don’t turn immediately, letting myself blink once, twice, composing myself in the quiet before offering a small smile as he steps inside.

He looks effortlessly disheveled—his hair still damp from the rain outside, his McLaren polo slightly untucked, the fabric creased like he’d run a hand over it one too many times.

He is still buzzing—from the high of the weekend, from the thrill of being back in the car, from the sheer joy of doing what he loves.

And then he looks at me.

And everything shifts.

His grin falters. His brows pull together.

"Hey," he says again, but softer this time, slower. "What’s wrong?"

I hesitate, fingers brushing against the sheets. "It’s nothing."

Lando stills.

"You’re upset."

It’s not a question.

I exhale, tilting my head slightly, lips curving in something almost amused. "No big deal, this is your weekend."

But Lando doesn’t smile.

Instead, he moves—crossing the room in three long strides, sinking down in front of me, his hands warm against my thighs, his gaze level, intent.

"Tell me," he says, quiet but firm.

All day, I have been ignored, dismissed, treated like an inconvenience. And yet, here he is, giving me his undivided attention, his entire world narrowing down to this moment, to me.

I hesitate. Then, finally, I murmur, "People weren’t exactly kind today."

His grip on my legs tightens just slightly.

"Security thought I was a fan trying to sneak in. Hospitality wouldn’t serve me." I let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking my head. "And now there’s a photo of me online. People saying I’m a disgusting gold digger."

Lando doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even breathe.

Then, slowly, he reaches for my phone, flipping it over with careful precision before scrolling. He doesn’t need me to guide him-he finds it immediately.

His jaw tightens.

And then, in a tone so low and steady that it makes my stomach flip:

"Are you joking?"

I open my mouth, but he’s already shaking his head, pushing himself up, pacing now, running a hand through his curls.

"Such bullshit," he starts, turning sharply, voice too controlled, too even, "that after everything—after how much effort you’ve put into being here, after how much of your life you’ve adjusted for me—these people had the nerve to treat you like that?"

I shift under his gaze, biting my lip. "Lando, it’s not—"

"No, no, hold on," he interrupts, hands in the air like he needs a second to process. He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, but there’s nothing amused about it. "Because from where I’m standing, you’re the easiest person to love in any room, and I genuinely don’t understand how anyone could be that dense."

He exhales sharply, shaking his head, jaw tight. "Honestly, I don’t even know whether to be pissed or impressed by their level of dickheadness."

He stops, inhales sharply, then turns back to me.

"Tomorrow," he says, voice steady now, decisive. "We fix this."

I raise a brow. "We?"

Lando tilts his head, giving me a look like I have just asked if the sky is blue.

"Obviously."

...

There are very few things in life that can silence an entire paddock.

Lando Norris walking in hand-in-hand with me is apparently one of them.

The usual morning commotion—the hurried strides of engineers, the murmured strategy discussions, the distant hum of espresso machines—all of it seems to slow, the air shifting as one by one, heads turn.

Eyes follow us as we move through the paddock, curiosity crackling in the air like static before a storm. Conversations taper off, whispers trailing in our wake, phones discreetly lifted, cameras capturing the moment in real-time.

Lando, of course, is unbothered.

If anything, he thrives under the weight of their attention. His grip on my hand remains firm, steady, unwavering, his strides unhurried, his smirk bordering on self-satisfied.

He wants them to see.

It’s deliberate—the way he holds me close, the way his fingers brush over mine in soft, thoughtless patterns, the way his head tilts toward me slightly every time I speak, like I am the only thing worth listening to.

There is no question about what this is.

There is no question about where I belong.

He makes sure of it.

And then, with perfect, almost cinematic timing, he steers me toward McLaren hospitality.

Right to the coffee bar.

The barista from yesterday stands behind the counter, the same sharp-cut uniform, the same perfectly applied lipstick, the same calculating gaze.

Only now, it falters.

She sees Lando before she sees me, her posture straightening, professional mask slipping into place like second nature. But then, her eyes flick toward me—toward our hands, toward the subtle, unspoken intimacy of the way he keeps close.

I watch as realization dawns.

Oh.

Lando leans against the counter, effortless, grinning.

"Two oat lattes," he says, voice bright, easy, amused. "One for me, one for my girl."

The silence that follows is exquisite.

The barista hesitates—just for a fraction of a second, just long enough for me to see it.

Panic.

"Of course," she says, voice smooth but not quite as sharp as before.

And just like that, there are no shortages, no waiting, no excuses.

The coffees are made within seconds.

Lando watches, humming thoughtfully, tapping his fingers lightly against the counter as she slides the first cup toward him. He lifts it to his lips, taking a slow, exaggerated sip before letting out a long, obnoxiously satisfied hum.

"Mm," he muses, shifting his weight, sparing her a glance. "Tastes better today."

His smirk is dangerous.

"Must be the service."

The barista’s lips press together just slightly.

I take my coffee, cradling the cup in my hands, offering her a soft, serene smile.

"Thank you," I say lightly.

I watch as she winces.

And Lando, the ever-efficient instigator that he is, takes it one step further.

"You know," he muses, as if the thought has just occurred to him, "I think I should make this a tradition."

He turns to me then, eyes bright with mischief, voice just loud enough for the surrounding staff to hear.

"Morning coffee," he says smoothly. "Every race weekend. For the foreseeable future."

The barista looks like she wants to disappear.

I, on the other hand, can't help but smile.

...

The checkered flag had waved, the roar of the crowd still echoing through the air, but none of it mattered—not the celebrations, not the flashing cameras, not the McLaren team swarming the pit wall in victory. Because the moment Lando climbed out of the car, eyes scanning the chaos, he found me.

When he saw me, he ran.

Straight toward me, helmet discarded, race suit half-unzipped, curls a disheveled mess from the heat of the cockpit.

I barely had time to react before he collided into me, arms wrapping around my waist, lifting me off the ground like I weighed nothing.

I shrieked—a real, actual shriek—as my feet left the pavement, the entire world tilting as he spun me in circles,laughter spilling from his lips like he couldn’t contain it.

And then—he kissed me.

Right there, in front of thousands of fans, in front of cameras, reporters, his entire team.

Hard. Fierce. Like he’d won the race and me in the same breath.

I felt the world erupt around us—cheering, chanting, Oscar groaning dramatically in the background. But none of it mattered.

Because Lando was grinning against my lips, breathless, victorious, mine.

When he finally set me back down, he didn’t let go.

Didn’t even try to.

Instead, he beamed down at me, cheeks flushed, curls damp with sweat, voice all cocky, all Lando.

"So, did I impress you or what?"

I rolled my eyes, fond and exasperated all at once. "Eh. You were alright."

He gasped. Actually gasped.

"You’re kidding. You’re joking." He turned toward the cameras, mock-betrayed. "Did you guys hear that? I win a Grand Prix, and she says I’m ‘alright.’"

I bit my lip, pretending to consider. "You were pretty fast, I guess."

"Pretty fast?" he repeated, positively scandalized. "Babe. I am literally the fastest man in Australia right now."

I burst out laughing. "I was kind of rooting for Oscar."

"Lies." He pulled me back in, forehead resting against mine, his voice dropping into something softer, something just for me.

"Say you’re proud of me."

I sighed dramatically. "I guess I’m—"

He nipped at my bottom lip.

"Say it."

I grinned, heart pounding. "Fine. I’m proud of you, Norris."

He hummed, satisfied, smug, still absolutely glowing. "Thought so."

...

Lando was still riding the high when he got to the media pen, his race suit unzipped to his waist, curls damp with sweat, and that stupidly charming grin still plastered across his face.

It wasn’t just a ‘first win of the season’ grin.

It was a ‘my girlfriend is here, and I just won arace for her’ grin.

The interviewer barely got a word in before Lando pointed directly at me, standing just off-camera.

"Her."

I blinked. "Me?"

"Yeah, you!" He turned back to the cameras, nodding enthusiastically. "Let’s just get this straight—I did this for her. Like, entirely. One hundred percent. Full motivation. If she hadn’t shown up, I probably would’ve parked it in a gravel trap on lap ten."

The interviewer laughed. "So, you’re saying she’s your good luck charm?"

"Absolutely," Lando replied, dead serious. "I mean, have you seen her? Look at her."

The camera did not pan to me, thank god. The poor guy running the live feed probably had no idea what to do.

But Lando? Oh, he was just getting started.

"She walked into this paddock today looking like an actual goddess, completely unaware that she is, in fact, the sun incarnate, and people want me to talk about tire degradation? No. I want to talk about her."

The interviewer tried so hard to stay professional.

"You—uh, you had great pace today—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Lando waved him off.

"Lando, I don’t think—"

"Listen, I need to emphasize something." Lando leaned in, tone conspiratorial. "Do you know how lucky I am? Not only is she breathtaking, but she’s also, like, annoyingly smart. Like, did you know she reads all the time? Real books. Not just memes and Twitter threads like me."

He gestured vaguely, suddenly overwhelmed by his own emotions.

"She doesn’t even realize how much people admire her. But I see it. I see everything. And I just think the world needs to start appreciating her at my level."

"That is… very sweet." The interviewer was visibly struggling to keep up.

"Just had to get that out there."

"Well, congratulations on the win, Lando," the interviewer finally managed, skimming over his list of unanswered questions he had prepared.

"Thank you." He nodded seriously, finally letting go of the mic. "And big thanks to the team, of course."

I rolled my eyes from behind the cameras, suppressing a smile.

...

The internet had seen many things, but no one was prepared for Lando Norris using his post-race interview as a full-blown love letter. 

"Lando’s race pace was great, but his girlfriend propaganda was even stronger."

"THE WAY HE JUST POINTED AT HER IMMEDIATELY I CAN’T."

"Lando Norris said ‘this win is for my girlfriend’ and proceeded to recite a romantic sonnet on live TV. My standards are ruined."

Later, as we curled up in the hotel room, finally away from the cameras, Lando buried his face in my neck with a content sigh.

"You know," he murmured, voice sleepy, warm, full of love. "I really did win that for you."

I ran my fingers through his curls. "I know."

"I meant every word, too."

I smiled. "Don't you think it was a bit much?"

"I don't think it was nearly enough," he said, already half-asleep, grinning like he had never been happier.

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 national 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 your toy 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.”

sweet spoiled schatzi ! sebastian v. x ofc (filipino!ofc)

summary: there’s nothing more rewarding for bel and sebastian’s patience than a gift in a form of a two-year-old.

content warning: tooth-rotting fluff, mentions/talks of infertility and struggling to conceive, adoption and immigration. made-up article at the beginning and messages in the instagram post (full view to read it clearly) uncle mick!!!!! introducing our new character: little kimuel vettel <3

note: i need some sugary content so i made this sweet little blurb

masterlist

liked by mickschumacher, lewishamilton, ginaschumacher

user1 OMG WELL DESERVED 🫶

user2 KIMI IS HIS NAME TOO 😭 i love that so much

user3 when mother is now mothering

lewishamilton looking forward to spoiling that little man ❤️ liked by belongvettel

belongvettel he already is spoiled 😂 seb hasn’t stopped with the constant scrolling through the f1 store website and telling me that “kimi needs this team’s car”

lewishamilton don’t worry, i’ll make sure kimi collects all of his mini mercedes cars and merch 😉 all for free

user4 grid’s new favourite vettel liked by belongvettel

ginaschumacher ughhhh what are the chances of me dropping by to say hi to him?

belongvettel seb says high chances 😁 you’re welcome to see kimi any time, tita gina!!!

user5 a new scuderia ferrari driver???

belongvettel seb would have to wait in the next thirty years before he can put kimi in a formula one car 😅

mickschumacher i can’t wait to introduce angie to him!!!

belongvettel i’m certain she and hi-ro will be the bestest friends of kimi!!!

liked by lance_stroll, charles_leclerc, georgerussell63

user1 UNCLE MACKIE— i might die of diabetes bc that is soooo sweet

belongvettel he was so excited seeing you mick! you’ve been a good godfather to him so far and i hope it stays like that forever ❤️ liked by mickschumacher

ginaschumacher i wasn’t aware we were allowed to do matching shoes with the little man 🤨

mickschumacher hehehe 🙈

user2 a little scooter for little seb. i repeat: little scooter for little seb 🥶

lance_stroll i’m gonna one up you next time mick 😈

mickschumacher i’d like to see you try; i’m the best uncle so far, according to kimi himself 😊

charles_leclerc i’m also gonna one up you mick; i’m gonna get the little man a tiny piano so he and i can play together😁

lewishamilton sorry guys i already sent some mercedes merch otw to switzerland so there’s really no point of trying if uncle lewis already won 🏆

user3 are the drivers just going to compete to win over little kimi’s heart???

user4 as of this point you might as well do the donut with him in the car- see how that’ll turn out for you all 🤣

Family Secrets

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader 

Warnings: dad!Charles, dad!Carlos and dad!Pierre all in one!!, mentions of pregnancy, the Leclerc children are a headache and a half, alcohol and the consumption of, a singular mention of drugs, a very old fashioned way of thinking from Charles’ end, a few swear words, one big happy family. 

Word Count: 3.9k

Author’s Note: thank you to the anons that sent in these asks, this one is for you guys!! thank you to @timetoracewrites for letting me use sofia in here!! 

based on these asks – one // two // three // four // five 

—-

You two had been incredibly blessed your entire lives; you had fallen in love at a young age and got married, you had been fortunate enough to be able to travel the world with your husband, Charles, watching him do what he loved and you were still were able to keep up with your writing, number one seller after the other. 

The first time you got pregnant, it wasn’t planned. Twins in the first go. Your family of two quickly became a family of 4; the two boys making their appearance after a long yet short nine months. 

Gabriel Hervé Leclerc was the older of the boys, born a whopping 12 minutes before his twin, Christopher Jules Leclerc. 

They were troublemakers from the day they were born; they had their father’s eyes, his dimples and smile. 

The family of 4 remained 4 for another 2 years before you found out you were pregnant again. This time you had a baby girl; Eloise Marie Leclerc. 

She too bared great resemblance to her father; the only thing was she has your eyes but his dimples prominent on her little cheeks, her fair skin identical to her father’s. As she got older, you quickly learned that she turned tomato red in the sun like her daddy. 

Even though she was the youngest of the 3 children, she had her brothers (and her father) wrapped around her little finger from day one.  

The kids didn’t stay little forever, you basked in the memories but now they were all grown up. The boys were 19 and your baby girl turned 17 last month. 

You and Eloise were at the nail salon, a regular Friday for the Leclerc women. Pascale usually joins you two, the gossip overflowing between you 3 but she wasn’t able to join you guys today. 

Charles was taking you to an event tonight, some F1 gala that required his presence for a few hours to give out an award. 

You were showing your daughter a colour, asking her which one she liked between but she waved you off, “blue, mom.” She answers, her eyes glued to the phone sitting on her thigh as the woman worked on her left hand. 

“Who’s texting you that you’re so busy you can’t even look up?” 

Eloise looks over at you, her cheeks red. “Anthony.” 

You racked your brain – Anthony ? Who the hell was Anthony? It was like the light bulb turned on when you looked over at her again, a smile on your own face. 

“Anthony as in, Anthony Gasly ?” 

Keep reading

Stay through it all - Masterlist

Summary:

The Story of how Max Verstappen, 4 time Formula 1 World Champion and cat dad, and Ariel Cane, Personal Assistant and cookie enthusiast, fall in love, mutually pine and eventually figure things out.  

Told over half a decade, through multiple points of view, use of social media and lots of side stories.  

Links:

Moodboard for Ariel

You are the best thing that's ever been mine

Sao Paulo 2024. The Dutchman delivered a defining drive…but maybe there is a relationship that could also use some defining. 

The moment I could see it

5 Times that Gianpiero Lambiase thinks that Ariel Cane and Max Verstappen are weirdly similar…and 1 time he is just happy that the two of them are no longer pining after each other. 

the one real thing you've ever known

If there was one thing that Dr. Percy Cane, B.Sc., M.Sc., M.A., Ph.D., Sc.D., Head of Electrical Engineering, Oracle Red Bull Racing, knew how to do… then it was how to hold a grudge. 

This was supposed to be a silly little blurb about giving Seb a blowjob, I don’t know how it got this out of hand.

Warnings: all of them. All the warnings.

Jk but there is sooo much in this fic. A bit of underage (but over 16), blowjobs, oral, p in v sex, rawdogging, rough sex, possessive Seb, a tad of subspace?, threesomes (if you don't want spoilers on the special guests don't look in the tags), voyeurism, undernegotiated dom/sub dynamics all over the place, infidelity (his IRL wife is included), smidge of angst but it’s really not the point of the fic lmao, mention of drugs and alcohol, I don’t condone anything I’ve written here guys. Although the warnings make it sound worse than it is tbh.

July 2007

I suppose you could say it all started when you were 13 and Sebastian had just been transferred to Toro Rosso.

Obviously nothing happened between you two given that he himself was 20 years old at the time. Although your childish crush on him had started way before that.

No, what happened at 13 was an embarrassing moment that got the ball rolling between you and Seb.

That night he was over at your parents’ house for a celebratory meal, for you, it was your birthday, for Sebastian Vettel, it was the beginning of a long and illustrious career.

Your father and him were good friends, Seb helped a lot with your brother's career in karting and you’d always been around the handsome blonde man. At various karting events with your brother, a gala here and there, and even at a couple of f1 races he had driven for BMW. By this time your crush was well and truly established, and subtlety not being your thing, your family knew all about it. And teased you relentlessly. And apparently now invited your crush to your birthday dinner... great.

Seb and your father were in the kitchen having a drink and helping your mother with the food when you heard your fathers voice drifting through the house.

“Man, think of all the blowies you’re gonna get!”

After a sharp scolding from your mother, the two burst out laughing and that was that. But the damage had been done.

At 13 years old, you had no idea what that meant. So you asked, at dinner, in front of your family, and your crush, what a blowie was.

Yeah, that went down well (pun intended, and note the sarcasm).

Your (15 year old) brother choked on his mouthful and shrieked in laughter, spraying your mother, who then slapped your father who was laughing maniacally beside her. Seb just went incredibly red and grinned “You’ll find out when you’re older, sunshine”

Okay, maybe the nickname should also be explained, after all it is the result of a previous embarrassing moment of your childhood.

It was at a karting track before a race and you were hanging out with your brother, some of his friends, and Seb. Or more accurately, you were following Seb around like a lost puppy. At this point you were 9, your brother 11 and Seb 16.

Someone had heard a dirty joke from the older boys at the track that went something like this:

“What is big, makes no noise, yet wakes us up every morning?”

And with your very innocent, very smart 9 year old brain you replied “the sunshine” which was supposed to be the right answer, but boys will be boys.

16 year old Seb thought that answer was hilarious.

“That is so adorable” he was wheezing “from now on I am calling you sunshine”

You were so embarrassed at not understanding the joke that you ran back to your father and told him about it, and he told the boys off sternly.

So anyway, there you were, a few years later, at dinner with your parents reliving that in your head, and living through yet another mortifying moment in front of Seb, who looked at you sympathetically from across the table, and kept sending you winks all throughout the evening, to try and make you feel better.

That night you looked up “blowie” online (of course a few days later the browser history conversation happened with your mother) and you were never the same again. You couldn’t stop imagining Seb getting blowjobs from all the girls he was indeed going to get, and it gnawed at you. For years. Of course, you knew you were too young for him, but it didn’t stop the fantasies from getting rather... wild.

2010 

You were 16, and Sebastian was about to win his first championship, you were sure of it. You were all in Abu Dhabi to support him (and the others of course) and you found yourself wandering into his drivers’ room just as he was putting his fireproofs on. You had expected his girlfriend Hanna to attend, but luckily for you she was busy, and you were going to make the most of that fact. You ogled his body for a second before he noticed you staring and grinned at you as he put his top on.

“There’s my sunshine!” You jumped into his arms like you’d done so many times before. “I was wondering if I’d get to see you before the race”

‘Of course! I'd consider myself a bad friend if I didn’t come to wish you good luck”

He put you down and dramatically threw himself on the sofa.

“Yeah! I’m going to need it”

“Oh, come on Seb I’m sure you’ll do great” You sat down next to him and put your hand on his knee, squeezing slightly. “If you want... I could give you a good luck present” you slid your hand slowly up his thigh and his leg jolted slightly “If you know what I mean”.

He glanced at your hand before looking back into your eyes, you could tell his mind was racing, obviously going in the right direction. “No, I don’t know what you mean” He gulped as your hand went higher and you batted your eyelashes at him.

“You know, I’m not the innocent kid who didn’t know what a blowie was anymore, I’ve learned a lot since then”.

Seb’s pupils were wide, and you could feel his fireproofs tenting under your hand. “I could show you if you’d like”.

You squeezed his cock over the fabric, and he grabbed your hand “Fuck sunshine, I can’t let you do this, you’re sixteen for fuck’s sake”

“Don’t act like you don’t fuck girls on the daily, Seb” You jumped up off the sofa and into his lap, straddling him.

“Yes, but I’ve known you since you were a baby, and you’re still a minor, Fuck-” Your hand had slithered its way into his fireproofs and was squeezing around him like a vice.

“I’m past the age of consent, Seb, you know that. And I know you’ve thought about it. About me. You’re not as quiet as you think you are when you come round to our house, you know.” You trailed sloppy kisses down his neck and chest, over his fireproofs as your hands got rid of the bottom half.

“Shit, aaah-” He hissed, and his resolve crumbled under your touch. “Fuck”

“Please Seb, please let me suck your cock for good luck” You purred, and he let his hands grip onto your hair as you nosed up the length of his now exposed cock.

He was staring into your eyes, guilt written all over his face as he nibbled nervously on his lip. “Fuck, sunshine what are you doing to me”.

Instead of answering, you took half of him into your mouth and sucked. He cried out and bucked his hips involuntarily, making you choke slightly.

“Shit sorry!” His concern was adorable, but unnecessary.

“Don’t worry Sebby, I trained myself out of a gag reflex, just for you” and before he could say anything else you sank down on him to the base and the noise he let out was inhuman. His head fell back, and his eyes rolled into his skull.

Yeah, you’d definitely been practising. And you were unbelievable.

He did end up winning the race, and the championship. And you grinned at him when he looked down at you from the podium, shaking his head and laughing before almost getting drowned in champagne by Lewis and Jenson.

2011

The next year you showed up in his driver’ room at the Japanese Grand prix, per his request. You knew this was the race that would potentially secure him his second championship win so you strutted in, pushed him onto his little bed in the corner and kissed him senseless as your hands started undressing him immediately.

“Tell me, Seb-” You got his shirt open and trailed kisses down his chest. “Do you think you’re capable of winning the championship on your own this year?” Off went his trousers “Orrrr…” then went his underwear “Would you like a blowie, for good luck?” You grinned at him, mouth hovering inches away from his rapidly hardening cock.

He grinned back at you, slightly breathless. “I think-” he sat up and pulled you in for a quick kiss “you can never say no to a good blowie”. He lay back down, arms behind his head, and that was all you needed to get to work.

He did in fact win the race, and the championship.

You couldn’t make it to Abu Dhabi however, and he got a puncture on the first lap.

 Figures.

2012

You celebrated your 18th birthday with Sebastian, one on one. He took you out to dinner during the summer break. You had finally finished school and were moving on to other things. You had no idea what those things would be, but you were excited none the less. He’d managed to convince Hanna he was on a business trip to meet a sponsor, but you didn’t think for a second that she bought any of it.

Sebastian told you all about the intense race for the Championship, given you weren’t able to attend any of the races before the summer. He had apparently taken to relieving stress by fucking anything that moved, and that included some of the other drivers. You couldn’t help but imagine him being bent over his massage table, reduced to a begging mess by his teammate. Everything Seb told you about Mark got you riled up before dessert had even been served, and you couldn’t help but wonder if that was his goal all along.

When you got back to his hotel, the real birthday celebration started. And it lasted all bloody night.

All the things Seb had thought about doing to you since the very first time you’d asked what a blowie was, he did to you that night. All the tension accumulated over the years finally boiled over, as he brought you over the edge so many times you lost count, with his mouth, his hands, his cock. He was going to ruin you for anyone else.

“Nobody can have you like this, can they?”

“No Seb just you- Fuck!” You panted as he pounded into you from behind, pressing you against the massive hotel windows, facing the city lights.

 It was almost romantic. Almost.

“You think anyone can see you from down there? All those people that don’t know how good you’re being for me.” The thought of being seen made you even wetter and you whined. He only chuckled.

“I’m sure if Mark were walking past, he would love to know what is happening up here. Would you like that? Would you like Webber to watch you come undone on my cock?”

You didn’t even need to answer, you cried out in pure extasy as you came for the umpteenth time that night and then slumped against the cool glass. The only thing holding you up being Seb’s arm around your waist and his other one propping your leg up as he trapped you against the window, grinding into you as he came inside you with a groan.

“Well sunshine, I guess that’s a ‘yes’ then, hmm?” He whispered in your ear before pecking you on the cheek. He lifted you up, carried you to the bed and went to get a cloth to clean you up with.

You giggled when he came back “You know Seb, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re so obsessed with Mark that you want to show me off to him. Is it because you want him to approve of me? Or be jealous? Or do you just want to flaunt your amazing skills in bed that I’m suuure are better than his?” You were obviously just trying to rile him up.

He laughed dryly as he wiped you down but didn’t reply. Perhaps you’d struck a nerve. He didn’t mention Mark for a long time after that.

You couldn’t make the race in COTA, so it was critical for you to be at Interlagos with Seb. You got a plane ticket several days before and gave him a good luck blowjob every single night, for good measure.

He won, of course.

2013

2013 got real weird, real quick.

For starters, you were 19 with no job and no idea what you were going to do with your life, but you spent all your time around older millionaire formula 1 drivers. You were basically an honorary member of the team by now and had a free paddock pass for every race you could attend.

Then, there was the issue of Seb living with his girlfriend, so you couldn’t stay at his place anymore, and in the rare instances where you and Hanna saw each other, the other drivers became exceptionally awkward around the both of you.

The last thing was, Mark didn’t win a single race all season, and Seb was a huge dick about it. He strutted around Mark in the paddock like a peacock. And he took you to every other GP to fuck you in his drivers’ room when he knew Mark could hear you from next door, just to drive him crazy.

It all came to a head in India. The race that secured Seb his fourth consecutive championship.

He was fucking you in his drivers’ room (more like railing the absolute shit out of you) on the long sofa that lined the wall. Face down, ass up, you were being loud, no longer caring about Mark hearing you.

Then, his phone started buzzing, Mark’s name flashed across the screen, along with an unflattering photo.

Seb answered it, put him on speaker and set the phone down next to your head.

“Would you two keep it down, the whole bloody garage can hear you!” Mark hissed.

“Yeah?” Seb answered “Hear that, sunshine? Everyone can hear how good I’m fucking you” His hips kept slapping against yours obscenely.

You moaned and Mark scoffed “Sounds like she’s faking Sebby, I guess those championships must be compensating for something...”

“Why don’t you come in here and say that to my face then Webber” Seb spat before hanging up.

You gasped as he grabbed your hair and pounded into you harder. “Seb! What-”

“You like having an audience, admit it.” He growled “You’d like nothing more than if Webber stormed in here and-”

He hadn’t even finished his sentence before Mark did just that. He was standing at the door, flushed, as if he’d sprinted over.

You turned your head to look at him but before you could say anything, Seb slowed down to a hard grind inside you, making your eyes roll back and you let out a shaky moan.

Mark’s eyes were scanning you and Seb, checking you both out. And obviously enjoying the view if the tent that was forming in his fireproofs was any indication.

From his angle he could see where Seb’s cock was buried inside you, where you were literally dripping down your thighs and onto the sofa and he let out a gasp. “Fuck Seb, she’s so wet”

“I guess she’s not faking then” Seb said smugly, picking up the pace again.

A lack of response from Mark prompted Seb to sigh and beckon him over.

“Don’t just stand there, come sit down, this will take a while”.

“What?” Utterly fucked out, you twisted your upper body to look at him, the confusion on your face matching Mark’s.

Seb smirked at you. “We’re going to play a little game, okay sunshine? I’m going to make you feel good, and Mark is going to watch. But you cannot come until he does, understand?”

Your jaw dropped, and he gave a hard thrust. “Understand, baby?” He repeated and you nodded quickly.

He turned to Mark “Well? You don’t want to be the reason she can't come, do you? Get to work.”

“Shit” Mark looked half murderous, half ridiculously turned on as he slowly lowered his suit and freed himself, starting to work his dry hand up and down his cock slowly and Seb chuckled “Put you hand out”.

Mark did as he was told, confused, and he almost combusted on the spot as you spat on his hand.

“Wow, she’s such a good girl, isn’t she?”

Seb groaned, as if Mark was talking to him. The older man’s presence was finally getting to him.

Mark’s hand inched towards your face, but Seb slapped it away. “No touching, she is mine”.

You tightened around him, about to come when he abruptly pulled out. You whined and squirmed as your orgasm faded, but he just shushed you and turned you over onto your back roughly, almost knocking the wind out of you. “Shhh baby, remember the rules?” He was rubbing your hips soothingly as he spoke “Mark has to come first, I’m not the one you should be begging”.

You turned to the other man.

“Please Mark, please, please come. I need to come so bad, Mark, please, fuck I need it...”  You were almost babbling at this point, and Mark melted.

Sebastian swiftly slid back into you as Mark’s hand picked up the pace on his own cock, glancing at your writhing body and at Seb. You tightened around him as you felt yourself get closer to the edge again. The two men were grunting and looking straight at each other as they moved, almost as if they were trying to get each other off. Their weird power play was tipping back and forth, and you were caught in the middle. Not that you were complaining.

Mark came all over himself and you felt Seb throbbing inside you as he started rubbing your clit to get you off faster, the sight of his teammate was affecting his self-control, and he was getting closer by the second. You came together, and he slumped over you, his legs and arms giving out.

Mark was panting and you looked at each other, having a silent conversation while Seb was recovering. He got up to go and get cleaned up in the small adjacent bathroom.

While he was gone, you stroked up and down Seb’s back and whispered in his ear “You okay, Seb?”

He sniffled into your neck before replying “Yes, I’m just a bit overwhelmed.”  He lifted his head to kiss you before flashing you his signature grin. “I’m a four-time formula 1 world champion!”

The two of you giggled and he dropped his head back down and sighed contentedly, planting lazy kisses on your shoulder.

Mark came out of the bathroom and laughed silently at Sebastian behind his back. You scowled and the two of you argued with your eyes again. ‘Congratulate him you prick!’ Your eyes said.  He rolled his before walking up to your entangled bodies and put a hand on Seb’s shoulder, making the younger man shiver. “Congrats on the title, mate. But there’s a few races left, I could still beat you.”

Seb snorted “Sure, if you say so. Now you can fuck off”.

You smirked at Mark, and he slinked out of the room without another word.

Well needless to say he did not beat Sebastian. And he promptly retired.

 2014

It was a shit year for Redbull, Seb DNF’d in Australia, Monaco, and Austria. He didn’t win a single race, but his new teammate Daniel did, and that was a sore subject. You lost count of the amount of pity blowjobs you gave him that year. He came to visit you often to lift his spirits, but you could always tell the season wasn’t going great, and it was taking a toll on him.

The one good thing to come out of that season was that you travelled around with him a lot, Hanna not being particularly interested in attending races. He was certainly rich enough to pay for your flights and hotels (not that you needed separate rooms most of the time).

You were the first person to know about his transfer to Ferrari. And you were both very excited about it. New team, new start, hopefully new championship wins.

Unbeknownst to you however, Seb had added an extra condition when he negotiated his new contract...

2015

During winter break, just before Christmas, Seb came to see you in at your parents’ house. That’s how you found out that he had gotten you a job at Ferrari, as part of his contract.

You were elated. It meant you would be around each other a lot more, and you could start pulling your own weight, feeling a little guilty that Seb had sort of been your sugar daddy for the past few years, not that he minded of course. And it also meant no more sneaking around and avoiding cameras at races to not alert Hanna to your presence at Seb’s side most of the time, not that it was really a secret anymore, you two weren’t discreet around the other drivers, and the drivers were all fucking each other as well anyway so no one cared.

As tradition dictated, you gave Seb an obligatory blowie to celebrate his Ferrari contract and your new job. And then, your parents being out of town, you had wild passionate nasty sex on every surface, as you wouldn’t be seeing each other for a few months, until the season started.

Needless to say, there would be no Championship win celebration blow job in Abu Dhabi, that year.

2017

It was your 3rd year working on the media team at Ferrari. It was a blast, you were severely overpaid, and you got to spend most of your time with the man you were having intimate relations with. Who could ask for more?

In Silverstone, Seb made a bet with Kimi. They were high (not on adrenaline, just high) and decided to wager on who would finish on top in the race. Kimi got a podium while Seb only got p7, but Kimi not being a man with a huge imagination, he had no idea what favour he wanted. So, it dragged on for months, until one day you were filming a promo video in Singapore with them, and his mind suddenly came up with the answer.

“Her” He pointed at you from across the room. Seb feigned innocence, pretending not to know what Kimi was inferring.

“What about her?” he asked tentatively.

Kimi smirked devilishly. “I want her. For the bet, you know. I want to watch you. To see how disappointing you are in bed”

He was only teasing, but he knew exactly how to get under Seb’s skin. So he agreed, and he asked you, and you agreed. Great. Kimi Räikkönen was going to watch you have sex, no biggie. After all, you’d done it before with Mark, this would be fine.

After a frustrating double DNF, you all went out to karaoke. You didn’t think Kimi was the type, but he showed up to the bar already three sheets to the wind, so you figured he wasn’t really there for the singing anyway.

Kimi was giving you sultry looks all night, which sent shivers down your spine. You’d never considered the man to be the epitome of hotness, but you couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to spend a night with Kimi. Was he passionate? Or was he just as ice cold as always?

You would soon find out as the three of you piled into a taxi back to the hotel, both Seb and Kimi’s wandering hands distracting you from trying to give the driver the address.

On the way, you’d ended up with Seb’s mouth on you neck and Kimi’s hand up your skirt, gently teasing you over the pathetic peace of fabric you called underwear.

By the time you were up into someone’s room, who’s room it was was impossible to say, your senses were engulfed by the two men. Kimi was behind you, trailing his mouth over your neck and shoulders and holding you up, while Seb was on his knees between your legs, one of them hooked over his shoulder, tongue eagerly working itself over your needy pussy as his fingers worked over that special spot deep inside you.

You came like that, then Seb stood back up and asked, “How was that, sunshine?”

You scoffed in disbelief at the question “It was amazing as always, baby. Are you going to fuck me now?”

He raised his eyebrows at Kimi, like ‘disappointing huh? I think not’ then pointed to the chair in the corner to signal to Kimi to sit in it, and led you over to the bed and put you on all fours.

He was halfway through railing you into next week, one hand holding your arms behind your back and the other around your neck, when Kimi piped up from the cuck chair.

“Can I come on her tits?”

Seb paused mid thrust and you whined “What do you think, sunshine? You want him to come all over your pretty tits, baby?”

“Yes, Seb, anything just keep going please!” You begged, but he didn’t move.

“Ah, ah, sunshine, be a good girl and tell Kimi what you want him to do to you”.

You huffed and looked at Kimi, who was observing you with hooded eyes and his mouth slightly open as he pumped his cock leisurely, waiting for an answer.

“Yes Kimi, please come all over my tits, I’ll be a good girl for you”.

The two men groaned in unison, and Seb picked up the pace again. He wasn’t going to last long, and neither were you, so he flipped you over onto your back and slid back into you quickly, beckoning Kimi over. He circled your clit expertly and you both came together fairly quicly, while Kimi watched and pumped his cock furiously, not far off as well.

“Go on then Kimi, give it to me” you gasped, sticking your tongue out for him, and that was it for the Finnish man.

He came in spurts over your chest, face, and mouth as he let out a shaky groan, finishing himself off before finding his pants and leaving with a simple “You two looked good” and winked at you. Truly a man of many words.

You and Seb laughed together, the adrenaline coming down as you both cleaned up and snuggled up under the covers.

“Weirdly, that wasn’t horrible” You giggled, and Seb acquiesced.

“You know, I think I like sharing you.” Seb kissed your temple, and you hummed, sleep almost taking you before he added “How do you feel about David Coulthard?”

You gasped and slapped his shoulder lightly “Oh my god he’s ancient!” and Seb scoffed, offended but let it go, sleep overtaking you both.

But he didn’t forget.

2019

All Sebastian could talk about for months was the eager twink Ferrari had dumped in his lap. So of course you had to have a taste. Or rather...

“My goodness Charles, you have got to taste her”.

Charles looked at you for permission before diving in. Even though he was younger than you, he obviously had experience as he brought you to the edge in no time. He got you wet and shaking before Seb had even finished taking his clothes off. You gasped as the waves of pleasure washed over you and Charles continued his assault on your weeping pussy. Seb only yanked him up by the hair after your second orgasm, and he looked absolutely wrecked. Face covered in your wetness, lips swollen, and eyes completely glazed over. Sebastian leaned in close to speak softly in his ear, making the younger man shiver.

“You want to fuck her Charlie? You want to fill her up properly while I fuck her pretty little mouth?” He said, while maintaining eye contact with you. Charles nodded a bit too enthusiastically and you both laughed at him.

Lucky for you, Charles’ cock was thick, and he stretched you out wonderfully while Sebastian fucked gently into your mouth. You were on your hands and knees, shaking through your 3rd orgasm when Charles finally came inside you, filling you to the brim.

While he cleaned himself up in the hotel bathroom, Seb turned you over onto your back and slipped inside you with ease. He started a maddeningly slow rhythm as he wrapped his arms around you possessively, and you tried to cling onto him, but your arms were useless at this point.

When Charles came back out, Seb didn’t even look at him as he told him he could go, so he didn’t push his luck and scarpered.

“Only I can have you like this” you preened under his touch, his hands gliding over your body, pinching your skin, and then soothing it as you went completely mad underneath him.

“Please Seb” You babbled mindlessly “I’ll be good, please, please just- “. Your eyes closed of their own volition and your head rolled to the side, losing all motor skills as he continued hitting that spot deep inside you. He grabbed your jaw and made you look back at him “You’re mine, aren’t you? Only I can make you beg like this, right sunshine?”

You wailed as you came around him, your final orgasm of the night taking its toll on you, rendering you completely boneless. And you didn’t move at all while he slipped out and got up to get you cleaned up. And you barely registered the bed shifting as settled under the covers with you, holding you gently, like you were the most precious thing in his world.

That year, Seb got married to his childhood sweetheart.

2022

The next time you saw him outside of the paddock was at his retirement party. The whole grid was there, plus his family, his friends, your family, and a bunch of other people. And his wife.

It was a proper retirement bash, and most people were at least tipsy within an hour of their arrival, Seb insisting on everyone getting shit faced to celebrate.

You snuck up to his bedroom and sat on the bed. You sighed longingly, it was surely the last time you would get to do this.

Seb came up a few minutes after you, after making sure someone was occupying Hanna.

He opened you up on his fingers, mouth mapping out your body, as if trying to imprint the feeling of it on his tongue. Once he slid inside you, it took you both an embarrassingly short amount of time to reach your peaks, but you did so together, your foreheads pressed together, breathing in each other’s air, hands scrambling for purchase on each other’s bodies. Then staying wrapped in each other’s arms for far longer than was necessary.

It was bittersweet. The end of an era.

Once you were both decent, you went back down and ensured that only good memories would be had of this party, lighting up the dance floor, lighting up the bar (you made flaming cocktails, which someone *cough*Charles*cough* spilled on the bar), all the while laughing, and crying a bit, with some of Seb’s soon to be ex-fellow drivers.

Epilogue:

It was Suzuka 2023, and you’d been waiting for this moment for months.

Seb’s bee house project was great for the bees and all, but it was even better for you.

The evening of his arrival at the paddock, you were buzzing (pun intended) with excitement.

When you spotted him, you shrieked, scaring a couple of engineers nearby, and ran towards him. It was a bit unprofessional given that you were still very much an FIA employee, but you couldn’t help it, you jumped into his waiting arms, like you’d done so many times before, and squeezed the life out of him.

“Sunshine!” Seb smiled as he lowered you back down.

“Old man!” You said and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m not that old”

“You’re retired, and I have work to do!” you said, as you started walking away.

“Doesn’t mean I’m old, means I had a successful career!” he shouted at your retreating figure.

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Grandpa!”

Cut to a few hours later in his hotel room.

“Are you sure it’s okay for old people to get blowies?” You mocked as you got down on your knees between Sebastian’s legs “Like, you’re not going to have a heart attack are you?”

“I think.” He gripped your hair, bringing your mouth to his cock.

“You can never say no to a good blowie”.

The end.