White Horse - Chapter 8: October 2023

White Horse - Chapter 8: October 2023

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

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

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

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

Warnings and Notes:

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families...I think that's it?

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

Max wasn’t someone who forgot how to be an adult.

He was a World Champion. He kept a strict training regimen, remembered which hand luggage worked best for long-haul flights, and could navigate a grid penalty strategy like it was second nature. He wasn’t helpless—not at the track, not at home.

But still, there was something quietly astonishing about how easy his life had become since Isabelle moved in.

It started off small.

After the first race weekend they spent apart post-move, he came home expecting the usual chaos—half-unpacked suitcase, laundry to do, a fridge with maybe one sad yogurt and some questionable cheese.

Instead?

His suitcase was already unpacked. Laundry sorted and in the wash. There was a folded stack of clean gym clothes on the bed, and a small sticky note on the bathroom mirror in Isabelle’s tidy handwriting:

Welcome home. You did great. There’s soup in the fridge and the cats missed you.

He’d blinked at it for a solid minute before laughing quietly and thinking, Huh. That’s new.

But it didn’t stop there.

By the third race weekend, it had become a rhythm. The fridge was magically stocked with all the foods he craved after long travel days—cut mango, chocolate granola, oat milk, the fancy yogurt he’d once mentioned liking.

His sim racing gear? Charged and ready before he even thought to use it. A small corner of the closet had somehow become better organized than Red Bull’s race strategy board.

She started refilling his supplements without saying a word. She pre-scheduled his haircuts, left Post-Its on the mirror when he needed to sign something for the team, and quietly placed noise-canceling earplugs in his carry-on.

And she worked. Isabelle had a full-time job. Not a desk job where she could casually scroll through her phone or delegate her way through the day—she was an architect, doing interiors, managing clients, deadlines, contractors. Max had seen her calendar. It looked like someone had lost a game of Tetris.

And somehow—somehow—she still remembered to order new toothpaste before they ran out. Or add his vitamins to the grocery list. Or restock the snack drawer in his sim room without ever saying a word.

It wasn’t flashy. She didn’t make announcements about it. She just did it, quietly and efficiently, like she always had.

It wasn’t until Max found himself halfway through folding his laundry before realizing he hadn’t had to fold laundry in over a month that the realization hit him fully:

Isabelle had spent most of her life running in the background of other people’s chaos.

He’d seen it before, on the edges of Leclerc family race weekends. Isabelle, the sister who stayed back to make sure Arthur had the right tie packed, or that Charles had signed the right forms. The one who found a florist for Lorenzo thirty minutes before an event, or remembered which water bottle brand their mother liked for travel.

She had always been the quiet buffer.

The fixer.

The forgotten problem-solver.

And now… she was doing it for him.

Not because he expected it. He didn’t. He’d told her repeatedly he could handle himself. But Isabelle wasn’t someone who waited to be asked. She anticipated, gently rearranged the world around her people, and made their lives easier before they even noticed they were stressed.

He found her that night curled up on the sofa, hair damp from the shower, laptop open with her architectural renders glowing softly against her face. She was eating grapes and typing one-handed, her legs tucked under her like always.

“You know,” Max said, dropping onto the couch beside her, “I haven’t had to do a single thing since I got home.”

Isabelle didn’t look up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… I haven’t done laundry. My flights are in my calendar. My snack drawer is mysteriously refilled. I have socks again. And coffee. And peace.”

She blinked, paused her typing, and smiled. “It’s really not that much.”

“It is,” Max said gently. “You work ten hours a day and somehow still run this apartment like it’s an F1 garage. I don’t know how you do it.”

She shrugged a little, looking sheepish. “I like doing it. I like making things easier for the people I love.”

“Do your brothers ever thank you?”

She hesitated. “I don’t think they realize half of what I do,” she admitted drily.

Max nodded slowly. “Well, I notice. Every little thing. You don’t have to do it all, but when you do… I see it. And I’m grateful. Really.”

Her smile wavered just a little, like something fragile cracked open inside her chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I… I’m not used to hearing that.”

Max pulled her laptop from her lap, set it gently on the coffee table, and tugged her into his arms.

Max cupped her cheek, thumb brushing just under her eye. “I see it now. All of it. Every time you notice something before I do. Every time you put something away or refill something I didn’t even realize was empty. You’ve made this place feel like home.”

She smiled softly. “That’s what love is, isn’t it?”

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)

Arthur: I’M SCREWED.

Lorenzo: Again?

Charles: What now?

Arthur: I FORGOT MY ANNIVERSARY.

Charles: …

Lorenzo: …

Charles: You absolute moron.

Lorenzo: You have ONE job.

Arthur: HELP ME.

Charles: Help you??? Maybe try remembering important dates next time?

Lorenzo: Yeah, I don’t really see how this is our problem.

Arthur: ISABELLE. SAVE ME.

Isabelle: What kind of dinner does she like?

Arthur: She likes Italian? And wine? And… romantic lighting?

Isabelle: …Do you know anything about your girlfriend?

Arthur: I KNOW I LOVE HER AND I DON’T WANT HER TO DUMP ME.

Isabelle: Right. I’ll take care of it.

Arthur: YOU’RE A HERO.

(20 minutes later)

Isabelle: You have a reservation at La Chèvre d'Or at 8 PM. I also ordered that perfume she keeps in her bag and had it gift-wrapped. It’ll be at your place in an hour.

Lorenzo: Oh, while you’re at it, what should I get my girlfriend for her birthday?

Isabelle: Jewelry. She’s been eyeing those gold earrings from Cartier.

Lorenzo: You’re actually a genius.

(Several hours later)

Isabelle: You’re welcome, by the way.

Arthur: Huh?

Lorenzo: For what?

***

Max was still buzzing with adrenaline when he finally stepped into his apartment, championship celebrations still ringing in his ears. The moment he closed the door behind him, silence settled over him like a warm blanket, the contrast almost jarring after the chaos of the paddock.

And then he saw her.

Isabelle was curled up on the couch, one of the cats nestled beside her, a book resting open in her lap. She must’ve heard him come in because she looked up immediately, her expression softening.

“Hey,” she said, setting the book aside. “How does it feel?”

Max huffed out a breath, toeing off his shoes and crossing the room in a few quick steps. “Like I need you,” he muttered, dropping onto the couch beside her and pulling her into his arms.

She let out a quiet laugh but didn’t resist, settling against his chest as his arms tightened around her. “That exhausting, huh?”

He buried his face in her shoulder. “So many people. So much noise. This is better.”

Her fingers threaded through his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “You did just win your third world title. Kind of a big deal.”

He smirked against her skin. “Mm. They wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Annoying, really,” she teased.

He pulled back just enough to look at her. The soft glow from the nearby lamp illuminated her features, her eyes filled with something quiet and fond.

“You should’ve been there,” he murmured, brushing his fingers along her jaw.

She sighed, shaking her head. “You know why I wasn’t.”

He did. She wasn’t ready for the cameras, the attention, the inevitable questions. And he would never push her into something she wasn’t comfortable with.

But fuck, he wished she had been there.

Still, she had waited up for him. She was here. That was enough.

His thumb traced slow circles over her hip as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You watched?”

“Of course.” She smiled. “You were incredible.”

His chest tightened at the quiet sincerity in her voice. He’d spent the entire night surrounded by people telling him how great he was, how historic his achievement was. But this—hearing it from her—meant more than any of it.

He let out a long breath, finally starting to feel the exhaustion creeping in. “Come to bed with me?”

She nodded, taking his hand as they stood. As they made their way toward the bedroom, one of the cats darted ahead of them, already claiming Max’s pillow.

Isabelle laughed. “Looks like you’re not the only champion in this house.”

Max just smiled, pulling her close again as they climbed into bed. “Doesn’t matter. I already have everything I want.”

They settled into bed, limbs tangled, warmth shared beneath soft blankets. The city was quiet outside the windows. The adrenaline was finally ebbing.

And then, just as the stillness settled, Isabelle spoke.

“You never ask,” she said quietly.

“Ask what?”

“Why I haven’t told them.”

She didn’t have to specify who them was.

Max exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. It wasn’t that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He had wondered—more than once—why she still kept their relationship a secret, why she hadn’t told her brothers, her mother, anyone. But he had never pushed.

“Do you want to tell them?” he asked carefully.

Isabelle was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, she looked up at him, her gaze steady.

“No.”

Max blinked. That wasn’t the answer he had been expecting.

She sighed, shifting so she was facing him fully. “It’s not because I’m ashamed of you. Or because I don’t care.” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s because you’re important to me.”

His breath hitched slightly, but he stayed quiet, letting her continue.

“My whole life, I’ve felt like I had to fight to be noticed. To be heard. And with my family, it’s always been about Charles. About Arthur. About Lorenzo. I love them, but—sometimes, it feels like I’m just a shadow in their lives.” She swallowed. “I didn’t want you to be part of that. I didn’t want us to become something that gets brushed aside, just another footnote in their world.”

Max’s jaw tightened. He had seen the way her family overlooked her, how they spoke over her, how they forgot things that should have mattered. And now, hearing it from her directly, it made something inside him ache.

“So you kept us just for you,” he murmured.

She nodded. “Just for me.”

Max reached out, his fingers threading through hers. “I don’t mind,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “If you want to wait. Whatever you decide—I just want to be with you.”

She squeezed his hand, and he lifted it to press a kiss against her knuckles, his lips lingering there for a moment.

“I hope you know,” he added quietly, “that you’ll never be a shadow to me.”

A small, wobbly smile tugged at her lips, and she leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“I know,” she whispered.

Max let the words settle between them, his grip on Isabelle’s hand firm but gentle. He could feel the warmth of her fingers, the slight tremble she tried to hide. He had never truly understood what it felt like to be overlooked—his entire life had been under a spotlight, from karting to Formula 1. But Isabelle? She had spent years fading into the background of her own family’s story.

And yet, here she was, choosing to keep him separate from all of that. Not because she was hiding him, but because she wanted something that was only hers.

He squeezed her hand lightly. “You know,” he said, voice softer than usual, “I’d never let them brush you aside. If they knew about us.”

She let out a quiet breath, her eyes flickering down to where their hands were intertwined. “I know,” she admitted. “But that’s not what I’m afraid of.”

Max frowned. “Then what is it?”

She hesitated, then sat up a little straighter, pulling one knee up to her chest. “If I tell them about us,” she said slowly, “it changes things. Not just for me, but for you. For us.” She exhaled. “Suddenly, I won’t just be Isabelle anymore. I’ll be ‘Max Verstappen’s girlfriend.’ And to them, that will mean something.”

He stayed quiet, letting her put her thoughts into words.

“They’ll look at me differently. Maybe they’ll suddenly start paying attention, maybe they’ll act like I matter more just because you matter. And I don’t want that.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she pushed forward. “I don’t want their attention just because of who I’m with. I want them to see me.”

Max felt something twist in his chest. He had never thought of it like that. To him, she had always been important. But her family? They had overlooked her for so long, and she didn’t want their sudden interest to be because of him.

“You think they’d only start noticing you because of my name,” he said quietly.

Isabelle gave him a small, sad smile. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s only cared because of who you are.”

That stung. Because she was right. He had seen it time and time again—people wanting to be close to him because of what he could offer, not because of who he was. The idea that her own family might finally pay attention to her for the same reason made his jaw tighten.

“Belle.” He turned to face her fully, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I don’t care how long we keep this just between us. But don’t ever think for a second that I don’t see you. That I don’t love you for exactly who you are.”

Her breath caught, and he saw the way her eyes widened slightly. He hadn’t said it before—not like this. Maybe he should have waited for a different moment, something more planned, more perfect. But she deserved to hear it now.

She swallowed hard. “Max.”

“I mean it,” he said, his voice steady. “I love you, Isabelle. And it has nothing to do with your last name, or your family, or anything else. Just you.”

Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, she just looked at him—like she was trying to memorize him, like she was searching for any trace of hesitation. She wouldn’t find any.

Then, finally, she let out a shaky breath and leaned in, pressing her forehead against his. “I love you too,” she whispered, so soft he almost didn’t hear it.

But he did. And that was all that mattered.

***

The shift had started quietly.

Snide comments. Backhanded compliments. Passive exclusion from group meetings she used to lead. Isabelle’s project folders were “misplaced,” her samples “forgotten,” and her renderings were somehow always “accidentally deleted.”

But by now it was blatant.

Last week, she’d walked into the break room and found her concept sketches tossed into the trash beside half-eaten croissants.

Today, someone had keyed in over her CAD file—over it, not on a copy—and added a caption across the top of the screen in bold red text:

“Thanks, nepotism. We’ll take it from here.”

Isabelle stared at it for a long time, her stomach turning.

The worst part was that no one tried to hide it anymore.

When she glanced around the office, no one made eye contact. No one looked guilty. They just went on with their day like she was background noise.

Like she hadn’t worked twice as hard. Stayed twice as late. Fought for every inch of credibility.

Like Max’s penthouse had erased everything she’d ever done before it.

She backed away from her desk, air thick in her lungs, and walked straight to the glass-enclosed materials library. Closed the door. Pressed her back against it.

Breathed.

You live in peace, she reminded herself. You wake up next to Max. This doesn’t get to break you.

But it did hurt.

She didn’t cry—she wouldn’t give them that. But her throat ached with all the things she couldn’t say.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Okay I’m officially done. I just had the worst day and I need to get out of my own head.

Emilie: What happened?? Are you okay?

Isabelle: Just… work stuff. People not listening. Clients who think Pinterest means they’re architects now. And my colleague took credit for something I spent three weeks on.

Emilie: I will start swinging.

Isabelle: Please do. Preferably with one of those cartoonishly large handbags.

Emilie: Already packed one. Where are we going?

Isabelle: Let’s go shopping this afternoon? I still haven’t bought birthday presents for Charles and Arthur, and if I stay in this office any longer I’ll start crying over the wrong throw pillow.

Emilie: Say no more. I’ll pick you up in 30. You can buy emotionally motivated gifts and I can be your moral support/human espresso.

Isabelle: You’re my favorite person.

Emilie: I know. And I’m dragging you to get cake after. No arguments.

***

Alexandra had only come in to browse.

The gallery had been quiet all morning, the kind of rainy-day lull that left her restless, so she’d taken a walk, turned a corner, and ducked into a tucked-away boutique that specialized in little luxuries—silk scarves, handmade ceramics, niche perfumes. The kind of place you didn’t go to with intention, just curiosity.

She was halfway to a display of glass jewelry trays when she heard a familiar voice.

“Alex?”

She turned—and blinked.

“Emilie?”

The other woman—sleek dark coat, sunglasses perched in her hair, a woven tote filled with rolled linen and a jar of fig jam—smiled.

“I thought that was you,” Emilie said, her voice warm but always laced with sharpness, like she couldn’t quite switch off the part of her brain that was evaluating everyone in the room. “It’s been a while.”

Alexandra smiled. “Yeah, since the preview at the gallery. You were with that collector from Paris.”

“He’s still deciding between three paintings he can’t afford,” Emilie said dryly. “But I’m sure he’ll make a confident choice any day now.”

They both laughed.

And then Alexandra’s eyes shifted—to the person standing just behind Emilie, holding a pale blue shopping bag and smiling politely.

Next to her stood Isabelle.

And that—that was the part Alexandra didn’t quite expect.

Because Isabelle Leclerc, as Alexandra knew her, was quiet. Sweet, yes. Polite, yes. But always a little faded at the edges. Always deferring. Always on the outside, even when she was technically inside the room. Always smiling without saying much.

But here—standing next to Emilie, twirling a delicate silver ring between her fingers, visibly debating whether to buy it—Isabelle looked alive.

Her cheeks were pink. She was smiling, not the polite, folded sort of smile Alexandra knew, but something real. Something that reached her eyes. Her body language was open. Confident.

And Emilie was watching her like she’d personally fight anyone who dimmed that light again.

“Hi, Isabelle.”

“Hey, Alex. How are you?” Her voice was as warm as ever. Kind, even. That was the thing about Isabelle—she was never unkind. Always soft-spoken, always thoughtful. Alex couldn’t remember her ever being cold or rude.

And yet… she realized with a flicker of guilt, she didn’t know a single personal thing about her. Not really.

“I’m good,” Alexandra said, hesitating. She wasn’t sure how long to linger. But Emilie stepped aside slightly, making room, and something about the way she did it—reluctantly welcoming—made Alexandra stay.

“You two shopping for anything in particular?” she asked.

Isabelle tilted her head. “A birthday gift. Possibly. Unless I end up keeping it for myself.”

“She’s been buying presents for everyone but herself,” Emilie said dryly. “As per usual.”

“I’m selective,” Isabelle said mildly.

“No, you’re selfless,” Emilie corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Alexandra watched the exchange, slightly stunned. There was an ease between them, a quiet rhythm. They spoke in a way that implied history. Real closeness. It made Isabelle seem... whole, somehow. Grounded.

Alexandra suddenly felt like she’d only ever seen the outline of a person.

“You’re really good at presents,” she said after a pause. “Honestly, I was just thinking about what to get Charles, and I have no idea. You always find the perfect thing.”

Isabelle blinked in surprise. “Oh—thank you. I just try to think about what makes people feel like they’ve been seen.”

“She’s too good,” Emilie said. “It’s genuinely annoying. I once said I liked the color of a book cover and two months later it showed up wrapped in silk ribbon with a handwritten note and a matching bookmark.”

Isabelle flushed slightly. “You needed cheering up.”

“She’s the personal shopper of the entire Leclerc family,” Emilie said flatly, reaching for a small candle. “Has been since she was old enough to know how to wrap a box. Half the birthday gifts your boyfriend has ever given were probably vetted or bought by her.”

Alexandra blinked. “Really?”

Isabelle looked embarrassed. “Sometimes they ask for help.”

Emilie raised an eyebrow. “Isabelle picked out Arthur’s last three girlfriend gifts and Pascale’s Christmas gift for the last 10 years.”

Alexandra laughed, but something about Emilie’s tone lingered.

Not unkind. Just sharp enough to say: Yes, Isabelle is good. And yes, they take her for granted.

It was the sort of thing Alexandra might have thought herself—but would never have said out loud.

“I’m very good at keeping secrets,” Isabelle said lightly.

Alexandra felt something twist in her chest.

She hadn’t known that. She’d never thought to ask.

She’d always liked Isabelle. Truly. Isabelle was kind, warm, undemanding. But also... elusive. Hard to reach. Like there was a door half-closed between them, and Alexandra had never known how to knock.

The three of them wandered through the boutique a little longer. Isabelle offered two suggestions for Charles—one sleek, one sentimental—and Alexandra made a note of both.

And then, as they paused by a shelf of men’s shirts in soft cotton and subtle patterns, Isabelle’s hand brushed one.

Alexandra watched her hesitate over it—thoughtful, considering—before she gently placed it back.

“For Charles?” Alex asked, puzzled.

Isabelle looked over, surprised. “What? Oh—no. Just a nice cut. The collar’s clean.”

And for a flicker of a second, something tugged at Alexandra—some thread she couldn’t quite pull free.

There was something else here. Something under the surface. And now that she’d seen it—how Isabelle lit up beside Emilie, how open she seemed in the right company—Alex couldn’t unsee it.

She’d always thought Isabelle was just shy. Or private. Or soft in that way people could overlook.

Now she wondered if Isabelle was simply guarded.

And Alex, for the first time, found herself wondering what it would take to really know Isabelle Leclerc.

Because she was starting to think—quietly, uneasily—that her boyfriend’s sister was not at all the girl they all assumed she was.

***

Text Messages: Alexandra Saint Mleux & Charles Leclerc

Alexandra: Just ran into your sister. In a boutique in the 6th.

Charles: Oh yeah? What was she doing?

Alexandra: Shopping. Birthday presents, apparently. But Isabelle looked… different.

Charles: Different how?

Alexandra: Happy. Confident. Like… I don’t know. Not the version of her I usually see at family stuff. She was laughing. Really laughing.

Charles: She’s always laughing.

Alexandra: Not like this, Mon amour.

Alexandra: Do you think she’s seeing someone?

Charles: What?

Alexandra: I’m serious.

Charles: Yeah, no way.

Alexandra: Are you sure?

Charles: She would have mentioned it.

Charles: Trust me, it’s not happening.

Alexandra: So confident about that, huh?

Charles: I’d know if she had a boyfriend. And she doesn’t.

***

Instagram Stories -@/isabelleleclerc

***

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/f1chaosupdates GUYS WHY DID ISABELLE LECLERC POST A CAT SINCE WHEN DOES SHE HAVE A CAT???

[Attached: Isabelle's story — a photo of a cat’s paw]

@/paddocktheories: okay but like this cat looks suspiciously like it could be max verstappen’s cats sassy or jimmy reincarnated

@/wheresmygrid: STOP I THOUGHT THE SAME THING

@/gridgoblins: Wait wait wait what if it IS Sassy or Jimmy and she’s just at Max’s place 👀👀👀

@/redbullstan4life: This is literally a picture of a cat’s paw. It could belong to a thousand other cats. It doesn’t even need to be a Bengal!

@/charlesdefensesquad: isabelle posting a cat and everyone immediately connecting it to max’s cats is so funny. the girl can’t even post her own furniture without y’all screaming “VERSTAPPEN???”

@/gossipgridf1: i will be NORMAL about this… except no because that cat 100% looks like Jimmy or Sassy

@/monaco_mess: to be fair if i was secretly dating max verstappen i too would post soft pictures of his cats like a declaration of love

@/oscarstan22: everyone in the comments like 🕵️‍♀️ enhance 🕵️‍♀️ zoom 🕵️‍♀️ cross-reference sassy and jimmy’s stripe patterns

@/gofasterbaby: if it IS sassy or jimmy and isabelle is just chilling with them…. that’s basically a marriage announcement in Verstappen family terms

***

Oscar Piastri didn’t think grocery shopping could be stressful.

Until Monaco.

Until Monegasque grocery stores, specifically, which didn’t believe in helpful signage, organization, or—apparently—labels with pictures.

Oscar just wanted cheese.

That was it. Cheese. Maybe some pasta. Possibly bread if he was feeling adventurous.

But standing in the middle of a charmingly cramped French grocery store, blinking at six nearly identical wedges of something called tomme de brebis and a handwritten sign that might have been a threat—or a discount—he was beginning to spiral.

He’d committed to doing this errand without help. Without Google Translate. Without texting his girlfriend.

He was trying to be independent.

But now the shop owner was hovering, and Oscar had been standing in the cheese aisle for nine minutes, and he was starting to feel judged by a 72-year-old woman with a very intense stare.

And then—

“Do you need help?” a soft voice asked beside him.

Oscar blinked, turning to find a woman about his age, brown hair twisted back, a linen tote on one shoulder, expression kind.

“I’m sorry?”

She smiled, switching to English immediately. “You’ve been staring at the cheese like it owes you money. I figured you might be lost.”

Oscar exhaled in relief. “I am, actually. I don’t know what any of this is.”

She stepped forward and scanned the shelf. “That one’s sheep’s milk—really good, a bit nutty. That one’s stronger, aged, smells like feet but tastes amazing if you like that sort of thing.”

Oscar stared at her, impressed. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“I live around the corner,” she said. “And I’ve made every grocery mistake there is.”

He laughed, properly now. “Thanks. That helps a lot.”

She smiled again—polite, gentle, unassuming.

There was something… familiar about her.

Not in a hey-we’ve-met way. But in the I-know-that-face-from-somewhere way.

Soft brown hair, loosely braided. Pretty green eyes. Very Monaco. Very… vaguely connected to something in his brain.

Oscar hesitated. “Do I… know you?”

A flicker of amusement crossed her face. “Probably not. I mean—we’ve technically met. But you probably wouldn’t remember.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes. And then—lightbulb.

“You look like—” He blinked. “Oh. Wait. You’re Charles’ sister.”

Her smile faltered for just a second. “Yes. Among other things.”

“Right,” he said, suddenly feeling awkward. “I didn’t recognize you outside the paddock.”

“It’s okay,” she said, grabbing a carton of eggs with practiced precision. “I usually disappear into the background there.”

“They didn’t have the peach one. So I got apricot instead,” Came a voice behind Isabelle.

Oscar looked up to see none other but Max Verstappen.

“Perfect,” Isabelle said brightly.

Oscar could just stare.

“Oscar,” Max greeted him like it was a normal day. Like he wasn’t currently grocery shopping with Charles Leclerc’s sister.

“…Hi,” Oscar managed, eyes pinging between them. “I—uh. Hey.”

Max moved to toss something else into Isabelle’s cart—like this was normal. Like they hadn’t just revealed themselves as Monaco’s most covert domestic power couple in front of the yogurt aisle.

“Groceries?” Max asked, like that was the confusing part of this moment.

“I—yeah,” Oscar said, holding up his sheep cheese wedge like it was a peace offering. “You guys are… together?”

Max looked over his shoulder. “Shopping?”

Oscar blinked. “No, I mean… like. Together.”

Isabelle flushed slightly but didn’t deny it. Just tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and said, “For a while now.”

Oscar stared. “Like. Secretly?”

Max shrugged. “Privately.”

“That’s the same thing,” Oscar said.

Max looked unbothered. “Is it?”

“I thought you two barely talked,” he said, still trying to catch up.

“We don’t. Publicly,” Max said.

Oscar opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Does Charles know?”

Max shot him a look that said absolutely not.

Isabelle just gave a small smile and added, “Please don’t tell him.”

Oscar held up both hands. “I’ve never kept a secret faster in my life.”

Max nodded approvingly. “Good.” Then, off handedly. “Lando knows. Danny does too.”

“Cool,” Oscar said. Then: “I’m gonna go… buy cheese and rethink everything I know.”

Max gave him a thumbs-up. “See you at the track.”

Oscar wandered away in stunned silence, still clutching his cheese like a lifeline, already trying to figure out how he of all people became the latest keeper of Verstappen-Leclerc classified information.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris and Daniel Ricciardo)

Oscar: I just ran into Max Verstappen and Isabelle Leclerc in a grocery store.

Oscar: Help me.

Lando: oh yeah? how was monaco’s finest domestic couple?

Oscar: I thought I hallucinated it at first

Oscar: I looked up and Max was holding her jam

Oscar: and then he put it in her cart

Lando: 🥹 precious

Oscar: HE KNEW WHAT KIND OF JAM SHE LIKED LANDO—HE SAID “THEY DIDN’T HAVE THE PEACH, SO I GOT APRICOT” WHAT DOES THAT MEAN

Daniel: It means they’re in love and hiding it from Charles.

Lando: welcome to hell.

Oscar: How can Charles not know.

Lando: he’s oblivious. like truly, impressively blind

Oscar: When Charles finds out we are going to die. I’m not built for this. I was buying cheese. Cheese.

Oscar: Is it serious??

Lando: max let her redecorate his penthouse

Oscar: I hate it here. I just wanted cheese.

Daniel: And instead you got a lifetime of emotional responsibility. Congrats.

Oscar: How did you find out?

Lando: you remember when i broke max’s trophy? he let me bring home the replacement to help my guilty conscience, and guess who is living with him

Daniel: The hotel disaster. That was when I figured it out

Lando: ???????? Lando: What hotel disaster

Oscar: What happened??

Daniel: Zandvoort. Her brothers forgot to book her a hotel room.

Daniel: Straight up just didn’t even think about it.

Daniel: She landed. No room. No backup plan.

Daniel: Was about to sleep in the damn lobby before Max found out.

Lando: YOU’RE JOKING.

Oscar: THEY WHAT. Oscar: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

Daniel: Not done

Daniel: Next morning?

Daniel: They LEFT HER at the hotel.

Daniel: Like… packed up, went to the track, forgot she existed.

Lando: I’m gonna throw something

Lando: THEY JUST FORGOT HER????

Oscar: SHE IS THEIR SISTER Oscar: NOT A MISPLACED WALLET

Lando: i have two sisters if i did that my mum would reassemble me from scratch just to kill me again

Oscar: If I did that my mother would drag me by my ear to the cameras of Sky Sports and berate me live on air.

Oscar: What is WRONG with them

Daniel: Max was FUMING. So he asked me to pick her up.

Oscar: GOOD.

Oscar: No wonder they kept it secret

Oscar: If my girlfriend was treated by her family like that I’d go full vigilante too.

Daniel: 😂 welcome to the secret society of "We Would Kill For Isabelle Leclerc"

Oscar: Sign me up

Lando: same.

Lando: also Charles is dead to me now until further notice

Daniel: don’t worry

Daniel: karma’s real

Daniel: and Max is scarier than any big brother

***

Lando Norris was pretty sure Oscar Piastri was about to crack.

He could see it happening in real time—the hairline fracture of panic starting just behind Oscar’s eyes. One more question. One wrong look. And Oscar was going to blurt out everything.

Max. Isabelle. The groceries.

And the worst part? Charles was right there—calm as ever, sipping an espresso in the hotel lobby like he wasn’t a ticking time bomb of impending betrayal. Like he wasn’t five seconds away from having his entire reality rearranged.

Lando shifted in his seat, chewing on a straw wrapper so aggressively he was surprised it hadn’t disintegrated yet. His knee bounced up and down, a desperate outlet for the nerves clawing at his insides.

They hadn’t spoken in ten minutes.

It was too quiet. Too weird. Too dangerous.

Which, obviously, was when Carlos strolled into the lobby, clocked the tension immediately, and frowned.

“What’s going on here?” Carlos asked, grabbing a protein bar from the snack stand like he had all the time in the world. “Why do you two look like you’ve committed war crimes?”

Oscar opened his mouth—probably to lie terribly and make it worse.

Lando, being the (barely) more functional one, jumped in first.

“It’s just—Charles,” Lando blurted.

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “What about him?”

Lando leaned forward, instantly deadly serious. “Have you ever noticed how he treats Isabelle?”

Carlos blinked. “His sister?”

“Exactly,” Lando said, nodding like he was revealing a state secret.

Oscar made a faint strangled noise next to him, probably reconsidering his life choices.

Carlos unwrapped his protein bar slowly, suspicious. “I mean… he loves her?”

“Sure,” Lando said, wide-eyed. “But does he see her? Or does he just… expect her to float quietly in the background of his life like a nice decorative houseplant?”

Oscar buried his face in his hands. Good. He deserved that.

Carlos stared at them like they were the ones malfunctioning.

“Where is this coming from?” Carlos asked, suspicious.

“Just answer the question,” Lando said, channeling his inner investigative journalist. “Do you think he actually appreciates her?”

Carlos hesitated, tilting his head like he was actually giving it thought. “I think… he assumes she’s fine because she doesn’t complain much?”

“EXACTLY,” Lando said, throwing his hands in the air. “She doesn’t complain. That doesn’t mean she’s fine!”

Oscar groaned again, muttering into his hands.

Carlos took a slow bite of protein bar. “Is this about the hotel thing?”

Oscar’s head snapped up. “You know about the hotel thing?”

Carlos nodded. “Yeah, I heard she didn’t have a room. I figured it was a mix-up.”

Lando let out a high-pitched laugh. “They also left her at the hotel the next morning. Like a pair of emotionally unavailable golden retrievers.”

Carlos shrugged. “They didn’t mean to.”

“THAT’S WORSE,” Lando exploded. “You don’t just ‘accidentally’ forget your SISTER.”

Oscar nodded vigorously. “That’s literally child abandonment but for grown-ups.”

Carlos stared at them, bemused. “You two are acting very emotionally involved.”

“NOPE,” Lando said immediately, standing up so fast his chair skidded backward.

Oscar scrambled after him. “Not emotionally involved. Just very passionate about…sibling rights. And human decency.”

“And basic hospitality standards!” Lando added, pointing accusingly at the air.

Carlos narrowed his eyes. “You’re both incredibly weird today.”

Lando clapped him hard on the shoulder. “We’re always weird, mate. But seriously. Watch how Charles talks to her next time. It’ll ruin your day.”

Carlos just blinked, chewing thoughtfully.

Oscar grabbed Lando’s arm before he could say anything else truly unhinged. “Come on. We have… tires. Very important tires to look at.”

“Yeah. Tire research. Super urgent,” Lando agreed.

They power-walked out of the lobby, leaving Carlos watching them, baffled.

Carlos shook his head slowly, muttering to himself, “Okay, but seriously… why are they so weird about Isabelle?”

***

Max trudged through the front door, dropping his bag with a dull thud. Isabelle had been waiting for him, curled up on the couch with a book, but the moment she saw him, she sat up straight.

“You’re sick.” It wasn’t a question.

Max huffed out a breath. “I’m fine.”

Isabelle was already on her feet, walking toward him. “You’re pale.” She placed the back of her hand against his forehead, frowning. “And warm.”

“I was just on a plane.”

“You also sound stuffy.” She folded her arms. “Go to bed.”

“I just got home.”

“And I’d like to keep you alive long enough to enjoy it. Bed, Max.”

Max sighed but didn’t argue. He was too tired for that. Instead, he leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to her forehead before mumbling, “You’re bossy.”

“I’m effective.”

She watched as he trudged toward the bedroom, shaking her head. A moment later, she followed, scooping up Jimmy from his spot on the armchair. When she walked into the room, Max was already under the blankets, eyes half-lidded.

“Here,” she murmured, placing Jimmy beside him. The cat instantly curled up against his chest, purring loudly.

Max cracked a small smile, rubbing behind Jimmy’s ears. “You’re trying to bribe me with my own cat.”

“Whatever works.” She kissed his temple. “Sleep.”

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Sophie Kumpen

Isabelle: Hi Sophie! I hope you’re doing well! I need your help with something.

Sophie: Hello, dear! Of course, what do you need?

Isabelle: Max came home from the race and he’s definitely getting sick. He’s trying to act normal, but he looks exhausted and keeps sniffling.

Isabelle: I sent him straight to bed with a cat for company, but I wanted to make him something comforting. He once told me you used to make tomato soup for him when he was sick—would you mind sharing the recipe?

Sophie: Oh, poor thing. He never knows when to slow down.

Sophie: And of course! Here’s how I always made it:

Sauté onions and garlic in olive oil until soft.

Add chopped tomatoes (fresh is best, but canned works too!)

Pour in vegetable broth and a pinch of sugar—Max never noticed, but it makes all the difference!

Lots of basil, always extra for Max.

Simmer, blend, then stir in a little cream to make it smooth.

Serve with bread—he used to insist on dipping half a baguette in it!

Isabelle: This is perfect! Thank you so much.

Sophie: You’re very welcome, sweetheart. He’s going to love it.

Sophie: And if he’s still feeling bad tomorrow, make him tea with honey. That’s what I always did.

Isabelle: Noted! I’ll make sure he drinks it.

Sophie: You’re taking such good care of him. He’s lucky to have you.

Isabelle: I’m lucky to have him too. ❤️

***

By the time he woke up, the apartment smelled like tomatoes and garlic. Max blinked, slowly sitting up. Jimmy was still pressed against him, and Sassy had taken up residence at his feet. He groggily reached for his phone and saw a notification from Isabelle.

Isabelle: Texted your mom for her tomato soup recipe. You’re getting the Verstappen childhood classic.

Max stared at the message for a second before a slow, warm feeling spread through his chest. He pulled himself out of bed, padding toward the kitchen. Isabelle was stirring a pot on the stove, hair tied up, her phone sitting next to her with messages from his mom open on the screen.

She turned at the sound of his footsteps. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

Max leaned against the counter, taking in the sight of her making his childhood comfort food, and felt something deep and certain settle in his bones.

“I feel like I should marry you.”

Isabelle blinked, then huffed a laugh. “You have a fever.”

“I’m serious.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were pink. “Eat your soup, Verstappen.”

Max watched as Isabelle turned back to the stove, stirring the soup with careful, practiced movements. He could see the little notes his mother had sent still open on her phone—things like "Don't forget a little sugar to balance the acidity" and "Max always liked it with extra basil".

Something about it made his chest ache, but in a good way.

“Sit down,” Isabelle said without looking at him. “I’ll bring it over.”

Max didn’t argue. He knew better. Instead, he shuffled over to the dining table, rubbing a hand over his face. He still felt like hell, but the warm smell of tomato soup and the sight of Isabelle in their kitchen softened the edges of it.

A few minutes later, Isabelle placed a bowl in front of him, along with a plate of bread. She even cut the slices into smaller pieces, making it easier for him to eat.

Max raised an eyebrow. “Are you about to start feeding me, too?”

“If I have to.” She sat down across from him, resting her chin on her hand. “Go on. Try it.”

He took a spoonful, letting the warmth spread through him. It tasted exactly like how he remembered—rich, slightly sweet, the basil bringing a fresh note to it.

“Good?” Isabelle asked.

Max swallowed, nodding. “Perfect.”

She looked pleased with herself, tucking one knee up against her chest. “Your mom was really sweet about sending me the recipe. She told me to tell you that if you’re still feeling bad tomorrow, I should make you tea with honey.”

Max smirked. “You and my mom are conspiring now?”

“Obviously.” She smiled. “Someone has to keep you in check.”

He took another sip, watching her from across the table. “Thank you,” he said, quieter this time.

Isabelle just shrugged, brushing it off like it was nothing. “You take care of me all the time,” she said simply. “Why wouldn’t I do the same?”

Max didn’t have a good answer for that.

Instead, he reached across the table, curling his fingers around hers. Isabelle let him, her thumb brushing absently over his knuckles.

“If I ever win another world championship,” he said, voice a little rough, “just know it’ll be because of you and your soup.”

She laughed, squeezing his hand. “Good to know my cooking has that much power.”

Max just smiled, his fever making him feel a little loopy, a little sentimental.

He didn’t mind.

***

Max was a terrible patient.

Not in the dramatic, clingy, "I think I’m dying" kind of way. No—he was quiet, still, and deeply put out by the fact that his body dared to betray him for more than five seconds.

Which meant he was now cocooned in the middle of their bed, surrounded by three pillows, and the comforter pulled halfway up to his chin like a grumpy Victorian child home with the flu.

His nose was pink. His curls were a mess. And he was definitely running a fever.

Isabelle pressed the back of her hand to his forehead and shook her head fondly. “Still warm.”

Max blinked up at her, expression solemn and glassy-eyed. “I feel like someone hit me with a tyre gun.”

“Very specific,” she said, setting the thermometer aside and handing him another cup of ginger tea.

He took a slow sip. Then sighed. Then blinked at her again like something important had just occurred to him.

“We should get another cat,” he said hoarsely.

Isabelle paused. “Sorry?”

“A kitten,” he clarified, like it was obvious. “Small. Would follow me around.”

She tried—really tried—not to laugh.

Max Verstappen, three-time World Champion, currently wearing a hoodie two sizes too big and nursing a cold, was looking at her like he’d just solved a national crisis.

“You want a kitten,” Isabelle repeated.

He nodded solemnly, already settling back against the pillows. “It’d be good practice.”

“For what?” she asked, amused.

Max blinked at her again, slow and drowsy. “You know.”

“No, I don’t. Enlighten me.”

He looked at her, expression perfectly serious despite the fever. “A baby.”

Isabelle choked on her tea.

Max didn't flinch.

She stared at him for a full ten seconds. “You think adopting a kitten would be… baby practice?”

He nodded again, very sure of himself. “Feeding. Naps. Picking the name.”

“And the kitten would be our test run for parenthood?”

“Exactly.”

Isabelle smiled—gently, deeply—and brushed a hand over his curls, pushing the hair back from his forehead.

“You’re feverish,” she said softly.

He nodded. “But I’m also right.”

She leaned down, kissed his too-warm cheek. “We’ll talk about the kitten when your temperature is below thirty-nine.”

Max hummed. “Good. I think you'd be a good cat mom. And baby mom.”

Then he promptly fell asleep with one hand still loosely curled around hers.

And Isabelle—heart full, smile helpless—sat beside him and thought, yeah, maybe I would.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria: Hey—how’s Max doing? Still being dramatic or has he entered the sleepy kitten phase of being sick?

Isabelle: Definitely the kitten phase.

Isabelle: Currently wrapped in a blanket burrito with Jimmy on his chest.

Isabelle: Looks like he’s been defeated by soup and his own body heat.

Victoria: Incredible.

Victoria: Has he started saying weird fever things yet?

Isabelle: …Depends what you consider “weird.”

Victoria: Uh-oh.

Victoria: Hit me.

Isabelle: He told me we should get another cat.

Isabelle: Which sounded normal-ish. Until he said it would be “good practice.”

Victoria: Practice for what?

Isabelle: A baby.

Victoria: A baby?

Isabelle: Yep. I laughed at first. But he was serious. Or fever-serious.

Isabelle: He looked at me like it wasn’t even a joke.

Victoria: …Do I get to be an aunt?

Victoria: Because I will cry.

Isabelle: He was feverish. It could have been the paracetamol talking.

Victoria: But you didn’t panic.

Isabelle: I melted. And then I panicked about melting.

Victoria: You want it.

Isabelle: I always have. I just never let myself imagine it.

Isabelle: And now suddenly he’s sick and talking about babies and I’m feeling things.

Victoria: Okay, well… since we’re being honest about baby feelings… You’ll get to practice sooner than you think.

Isabelle: What?

Victoria: I’m due in June.

Isabelle: WHAT.

Victoria: Surprise?

Isabelle: ARE YOU KIDDING ME

Victoria: Nope. Tiny Verstappen-Bluth incoming.

Isabelle: VIC.

Isabelle: You cannot just drop that in the middle of a conversation about your brother wanting a baby.

Victoria: I thought it was great timing!

Victoria: What’s better than your fever-delirious boyfriend mentioning fatherhood right before I tell you you’re about to be an aunt?

Isabelle: I’m crying.

Victoria: You’re going to be so good with them.

Victoria: And if you and Max do decide to start practicing sometime soon… well.

Victoria: Built-in cousin. You’re welcome.

Victoria: Get ready, Tante Belle.

Victoria: Big Verstappen family era incoming.

Isabelle: You’re all insane.

Isabelle: And I love you.

Victoria: Love you too.

***

Max heard the door slam—really slam—before he even saw her.

Not the usual soft click of someone slipping home after a long day. Not the tired shuffle of keys or the muted rustle of her bag hitting the floor. No, this was different. Sharp. Final. Frustrated.

He looked up from where he was half-dozing on the couch, immediately alert.

Isabelle stood by the door, hands clenched into fists, her chest rising and falling in short, uneven breaths. Her tote bag—usually treated carefully—was now abandoned at her feet, one strap twisted. She shoved her hands through her hair roughly, tugging it out of its neat twist, and paced a tight, angry line across the room.

Max stood without thinking.

"Bad day?" he asked quietly.

Isabelle laughed—a short, humorless sound—and shook her head, still pacing like she couldn't physically stay still.

"Bad?" she repeated, voice sharp with disbelief. "No, Max. It was a disaster."

He stayed silent, waiting, giving her the space she clearly needed to let it spill out.

"My boss dumped an entire project on me today. A major one. Because the senior architect left, and apparently—" she threw her hands up, exasperated, "—obviously it's my problem now. No heads-up. No discussion. Just, 'Congratulations, Isabelle, here's an entire portfolio of someone else's half-finished work. Good luck.'"

Max's jaw tightened. His hands itched to do something—fix it, protect her, something. But he stayed where he was, steady.

"And it gets better," Isabelle said, turning to face him, her green eyes sparking with a tired, furious fire he didn’t see often. "When I tried—politely, professionally—to point out that my current workload is already full, he told me to 'prioritize better.' And walked away. Just—walked. Like it wasn’t his problem."

She laughed again, but it cracked midway through. Her hands dropped to her sides helplessly.

Max exhaled slowly, moving toward her. "You know what I’m going to say."

She groaned, already knowing, already bracing. "Max—"

"You don't need this," he said firmly. "You're running yourself into the ground for people who don't even see you."

She closed her eyes, pressing the heels of her palms against them like she could block out the whole world.

"I like my job," she said, but it sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

Max stopped right in front of her, close enough that he could reach out—but he didn’t, not yet. He knew better. She wasn’t looking for comfort yet. She was still in the fight.

"Do you?" he asked, softer now. Not accusing. Just... careful. Gentle.

Isabelle’s shoulders slumped a little.

"You sure don’t look like someone who likes what they’re doing," Max added, his voice rougher, threading frustration and concern together. "You look like someone who’s trying to survive it."

The room was quiet for a beat, just the low hum of the evening city outside the windows.

Finally, she sagged forward, her forehead pressing into his chest like she physically couldn't hold herself upright anymore.

Max didn’t hesitate then. He wrapped his arms around her, firm and grounding, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head.

She let out a long, shaky breath, the tension bleeding out of her in slow, heavy drips.

"I just..." she started, her voice muffled against him. "I don’t know what to do."

Max closed his eyes, holding her tighter.

"You don’t have to have all the answers right now," he said quietly. "But you have options, Belle. You always do. You don’t have to stay somewhere that treats you like you’re disposable."

She let out a quiet, broken sound that made his chest ache.

He kissed her hair, slow and steady.

"You are not a stopgap. You're not a backup plan. You're not someone they can just lean on when it's convenient and forget about the rest of the time," he murmured against her. "You are brilliant. And you deserve people—and a job—that sees that."

She was silent for a long time, just breathing against him.

"I don't want to quit," she whispered eventually. "I don't want it to feel like they chased me out."

Max rubbed small circles over her back, patient. "Then don't. Fight them, if that's what you want. Prove them wrong. You’re strong enough."

He pulled back just enough to see her face, brushing her messy hair away from her cheeks. "But don’t stay just to prove a point if it’s breaking you in the process."

Her eyes were glassy but clear, staring up at him like she was trying to pull strength out of the way he looked at her.

"You’re not alone," he said simply. "You have me. Always."

For a moment, she just stood there, letting that settle between them.

Then she nodded—tiny, but certain—and leaned back into his chest.

Max smiled into her hair.

They stood like that for a long time, the city lights flickering quietly outside, the cats curling around their feet like they, too, understood that the whole world narrowed down to this.

Max holding her. Her letting herself be held.

And for now, that was enough. ****

The envelope looked expensive.

That was the first red flag.

Matte paper, gold foil edges, no return address on the front—just her full name printed in elegant, serif font.

Her full, full name. Because apparently her parents hadn’t been done after Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, and so she and Arthur had ended up with similarly ridiculous, vaguely royal-sounding names.

Isabelle Amélie Thérèse Éléonore Leclerc.

There it was.

On the kind of envelope that looked like it came with obligations.

She hadn’t ordered anything. She hadn’t opened a new account.

She frowned as she sliced it open. She wasn’t expecting anything. Max paid the bills on the penthouse. Her own account was small, manageable, predictable. Her work was steady.

The card slipped out first. Heavy. Polished. Black.

Hitting the kitchen island.

Her name, again, embossed in silver.

But it wasn’t her account.

It was his.

Linked cardholder – Max Emilian Verstappen

She stared at it for a full minute. Long enough for the air to change. Long enough for every messy, unspoken thing she’d been trying not to feel to crawl back up her throat.

She swallowed.

They had had that conversation.

You quit your job. Become my incredibly spoiled, disgustingly pampered trophy wife. No more late nights, no more stress. Just you, spending my money and riding your horses.

She had said no. Because she was ambitious. Talented. Smart.

But the truth?

The truth was that she’d wondered.

What if she could be that person?

What if she’d be fine being that person?

His person.

The woman who did yoga at ten, had coffee by eleven, picked up their kids from school in designer flats and knew the best lunch spots in three countries.

The one who didn’t constantly doubt her place, didn’t flinch every time someone whispered "nepo baby" under their breath, didn’t fight to be taken seriously in rooms that were already decided before she entered them.

There was a part of her—a very small, very quiet part—that wondered what it would be like.

To let go.

To stop clawing for approval from people who didn’t care if she drowned.

To let herself be loved, wholly and visibly.

To marry Max.

To have his name. His children. His cats.

To be someone soft and kept and adored.

What if she didn’t want to fight so hard all the time?

What if a part of her—small, shameful, stubborn—wanted to be kept?

And now… this.

Not a proposal. Not a ring.

But a card.

With her name.

On his account.

A card that wives got.

That long-term partners with shared mortgages and Sunday routines and matching key fobs got.

A gesture that said: this life is yours too. You’re allowed to be at ease.

And it terrified her.

Because Max didn’t do anything halfway. He wasn’t careless with people. He didn’t toss around trust like confetti. He was sharp, observant, and maddeningly meticulous.

He was deliberate.

This wasn’t about convenience.

This was a line drawn. A stake in the ground.

A declaration.

And Isabelle?

She wasn’t sure she trusted herself not to disappear into it.

Not because Max would ask her to—but because it felt so good to be seen by someone who didn’t require her to earn it. To prove it. To perform.

Max knew her fears. Her fault lines. Her quiet cravings.

And instead of mocking them, he made room for them.

Which, somehow, made it worse.

She’d spent so long trying to prove she was more than someone’s sister. More than a background fixture.

But here she was.

Here she was feeling safer just being Max’s than she ever had trying to be anyone else’s.

Here she was, considering if being Belle Verstappen might actually make her happier than being Isabelle Leclerc ever had.

And wasn’t that the most terrifying thought of all?

***

“Hey,” Max called as he stepped inside, the door shutting with a familiar click behind him. “I grabbed those oat crackers you like—the ones with the seeds that taste like cardboard.”

He dropped his keys into the ceramic bowl by the door, his tone light, teasing.

No answer.

He rounded the corner into the kitchen and—

Stopped.

Isabelle was standing still. Very still. Right beside the counter, her body folded in on itself like she was trying to take up less space.

The envelope was open. The card—that card—lay face-up on the marble. Black. Sleek. Heavy. Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest, like she needed the pressure to keep herself grounded.

Max’s eyes flicked from the card to her face and back again.

And then he felt it—the shift.

The air in the room had changed. Gone quiet. Weighted.

He knew that look on her face.

He’d seen it before—on days when she came home from work braced for someone to doubt her, challenge her, chip away at her. It was the expression she wore when she felt like she was too much and not enough in the same breath.

“Oh,” Max said softly, carefully. “You got it.”

He didn’t say I meant to tell you in person. He didn’t say I’ve been watching you stretch yourself thin, giving more than anyone asks, and never— never— expecting to receive anything back.

She didn’t smile.

“Max,” she said, her voice low and unfamiliar, “what is this?”

She wasn’t angry. That would’ve been easier. Anger was clean.

No—this was something else.

Fragile. Quiet. Like she'd been cracked open without warning.

He stepped toward her slowly. Like he was trying not to spook something delicate.

“It’s just…” he tried, “a card. For you. In case you ever need it.”

Her eyes—green, glossy, wide—didn’t leave his.

“You just handed me access to everything.”

He could’ve argued that. Could’ve said it’s not everything. But he didn’t lie to her, and this wasn’t about technicalities.

So instead, he said the truth.

“I handed you ease,” he said gently. “Because you never ask for it. Even when you need it most.”

He’d thought about that a lot.

That was why he’d had the card made.

Not because she needed it—not practically, not financially. Isabelle was capable in ways that astonished him daily. She ran her life on spreadsheets and discipline, all soft voice and steel spine.

But she’d been conditioned—by her family, by the world—to believe she had to earn everything. Love. Rest. Comfort. Even kindness.

So he’d done what he did best.

Planned ahead.

He’d spoken to his advisor. Had the account adjusted. Added her name. Put in the request quietly. Privately. No fanfare.

Not to control her.

But so that, if ever the moment came—

If she was tired, overwhelmed, caught without breath—

She’d have something already waiting.

No questions. No performance. Just trust.

But now, watching the way her fingers dug into her elbows, Max understood how even trust could feel like a trap when you’d never been given it freely.

“We just had a conversation about trophy wives,” she said suddenly. Her voice shook like she hated herself for even bringing it up.

He blinked. “Yes. And you said you didn’t want to be one.”

“What if I’d be fine with that life?” she said. “What if part of me wants it?”

His heart clenched. Not because she said it—but because he knew exactly what she meant.

“Then I’d tell you,” he said calmly, “if you ever want to be my trophy wife, just let me know. I’ll buy you a designer handbag and get very into being your arm candy.”

That earned him a look. A slight wobble in her mouth like she was trying not to smile, even while her throat worked against tears.

She let out an unsteady laugh that turned halfway into a sigh. “Max.”

“No pressure,” he said quickly, his voice low and warm now. “But if you ever wake up and decide you want that kind of life—that kind of ease—I’ll give it to you. Without question.”

“I don’t want to lose myself,” she whispered. “I don’t want to stop being… me.”

“You won’t,” Max said, voice steady. “I know who you are. And I’d never let you forget.”

Because she was the strongest person he’d ever known. She had survived a thousand quiet dismissals and overlooked brilliance. She’d clawed her way into a space she was never given, and never once asked for credit.

He wanted to say more. Wanted to tell her that he’d never met anyone who held herself so tightly together with so little help. That watching her try to hold back softness like it was weakness made his chest ache. That the thing she feared—disappearing—was impossible, because the moment she walked into a room, his world shifted.

She deserved to feel safe. And not just safe—but held.

But he didn’t say all that.

He just said what she needed.

“I didn’t give you this card to change you,” Max said. “I gave it to you so you’d never feel like you had to earn the right to feel safe.”

That word hung there between them. Heavy. Final. The real gift.

Not the money. Not the access.

Safety.

After a long, breathless silence, Isabelle reached out. Slowly. Carefully. She picked up the card with both hands like it might still burn her.

Held it in her palm. Looked at her name. His name. Their names. Together.

“Okay,” she said finally, voice soft, breaking open. “But you’re not allowed to joke when I buy toothpaste with it.”

He smiled—one of those rare, slow smiles he reserved just for her.

He stepped in and kissed her temple gently, grounding them both.

“Toothpaste, muffins, a yacht,” he murmured. “Whatever you need.”

She let out a wet laugh. “A yacht?”

“I’m just saying,” he said lightly, brushing his knuckles along her arm, “it’s good to have options.”

“I’m not buying a yacht, Max.”

“I know.” He paused. “But I wanted you to know you could.”

Such A Mystery - Part 1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

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

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

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

Warnings:

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

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

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biblioteca-da-meia-noite

1 month ago

Needy-L. Norris

Lando Norris x fem! Reader

Lando can be good at hiding his feelings and overthinking with his heart, but this time around he has you to show him how good it feels to be needed :)

Warnings?; slight angst, sad Lando, insecure Lando, hiding emotions, lots of reassurance, happy ending, sorry for any errors I missed. Ps this is VERY old but I found it and felt like it deserved to see the light!

He couldn’t help it, after years of his ex girlfriend telling him he could be to much and that he was so needy he alway backed himself into a corner when he felt like he was doing to much.

Technically you hadn’t shown any signs or given him any reason to believe that he was to much or to clingy but he just felt like he was.

His head told him to do it, told him he was spending too much time with you and that you needed a break from him. His heart raced anytime he thought about replying properly to you, ached when you were giving him quick and steady replies but he couldn’t man up and give you what you deserved.

His mother always did say he overthought with his heart.

“Baby?” He heard you call from the entryway of his apartment, you must have used the key he gave you.

“In my streaming room.” He replied.

“Are you streaming?” You asked before you entered the room, not quite in the mood to be on camera.

“No, just looking over this video for our Quadrant athletes announcement.” He spoke softly, turning in his chair to find you standing in the doorway. One of his hoodies swallowed you while you wore leggings and the crocs he always made fun of you for.

You smiled sweetly before entering the room, moving to stand beside his chair you ran a hand through his messy curls, leaning down to place a sweet kiss to his lips.

But when your lips touched his you couldn’t help but notice his lack of usual enthusiasm that’s there when you kiss him.

“What’s wrong?” You questioned.

“Nothing.” He mumbled, pulling his head from your grasp and standing up.

“Lando what’s going on? Did I do something to upset you?” You ask following him into his living room.

“What? no, why would you think that?” He scoffed.

“Because ever since I left on Monday you’ve been weird, giving my short and dry replies, cancelled dinner last night. I just thought that maybe I did something to upset you while I was here over the weekend.” You shrugged.

Shit he thought, this always happened. He got in his head, pushed people away, made them feel like they were the problem; when in reality it was him and his issues.

“No-No you didn’t do anything, it’s just me and my stupid emotions.” He shook his head voice rough as he sat on the sectional in his living room.

The sight made your chest ache, his head in his hands he looked frustrated and upset, guilty over something you couldn’t place.

You hated when he spoke of himself like this, spoke like his emotions weren’t important, as if how he felt was Irrelevant.

Typically you only saw this after a bad race weekend, when he didn’t drive how he wanted and the medias cruel words got to him and made him think less of himself.

“Lan, talk to me honey. What’s going in that head of yours?” You questioned softly moving to sit next to him on the lush cushions.

He shook his head in dismissal ready to get up and hide away, hide his emotions like he always did, watch from afar as he was once again left for not opening up.

But none of his past girlfriends understood how he felt, they all thought men should be manly and that men shouldn’t feel, men shouldn’t be held and cuddled.

And while you’d never acted that way towards him and had never made him feel like he was to much, he couldn’t help the way he reverted back to his usual ways.

However this time as he looked up at you he found your eyes full of nothing but concern, your eyebrows creased in confusion as you looked at him like all you wanted to do was help him.

And for the first time ever Lando found himself opening up to a girlfriend or anyone for that matter about this particular feeling.

“I’m just a lot you know? The busy schedule, constant travel, always wanting to be close to you when I can, the way I get emotional, how I like to be held and kissed? How i constantly apologize for literally nothing? How I pour my rants about the team onto you? That’s a lot for you and I shouldn’t put that all on you.” He explained with a sad shrug.

Your heart broke at the racers words, too much? The simple truth of being loved and cared for being seen as too much? Who had told your sweet boyfriend that?

“Lando-I do not think that you’re too much. I knew what I was signing up for with your schedule when we got together, if I didn’t want that I wouldn’t have said yes when you asked me out. And to be quite frank I like how cuddly and loving you are, it’s never to much when you love on me.” You spoke softly hand reaching to hold his shaking one’s.

He couldn’t help the way he flushed at the touch, “You don’t find me needy?”

“Needy? Baby no, and there’s not one damn thing wrong with being needy or wanted.” You laughed baffled by his words.

“I love when you curl up with your head in my lap and take a nap, I enjoy playing with your hair and cuddling you. My favorite way to wake up is when you kiss me awake-hell I even pretend I’m still sleeping sometimes just so you keep going, I love the way you hold me after you come back from a race weekend, and I love that you love to be around me. It makes me feel good and needed as well Lando.” You explained.

Lando felt ready to cry at the honesty in your words, the way you spoke to him like he meant something, like his wants and needs actually meant something.

“You really mean that?” He questioned quietly, so quiet that you almost didn’t hear it.

“I do, and you know why?”

“Why?” He raised a brow

“Because I love you, and I love loving you.” You smiled pulling the man in sealing your words with a kiss.

Lando felt ready to cry when you two pulled away, “I love you too.” He smiled.

“And thank you, I’ve never had anyone talk about me like that. In the past I’ve always been judged by girlfriends for the way I am, they’ve always told me I’m too needy for a man.” He sighed pitifully.

“Well I don’t think that, there’s nothing wrong with being needed or wanted Lando, and I’ll show you that for as long as you let me.”

“Yeah?” He asked and finally there was that sweet smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

“Yeah.” You nodded kissing him one last time before standing to your feel and holding a hand for him.

“Where are we going?”

“To cuddle, so I can show you how good it feels to be needed.”

Lando didn’t hesitate to stand after that, his hand wrapping around yours as you pulled him towards his room.

That night Lando realized as you allowed him to lay his head on your chest, fingers running through his tangled curls that this was okay. Loving hard was okay, wanting to be kissed and loved was okay.

And even though he was ‘needy’ it felt really really good to be needed and wanted by you.

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biblioteca-da-meia-noite

3 months ago

Another request for clingy Antonelli, maybe he is coming up as a reserve as one of the Mercedes drivers is sick and f1 gets a taste of clingy Antonelli, trying to keep reader with him at all times including trying to drag her into the drivers parade with him and getting made fun of by all the other drivers and team principals

Just the Way You Are (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Reader)

Clingy Antonelli Universe

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (Took me a minute, but I'm getting back into the swing of long content lol)

Warnings: None

POV: Second Person (You/your)

W.C. 1715

Summary: Clingy Antonelli meets F1 for his first weekend, and the comments are getting to him.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

Another Request For Clingy Antonelli, Maybe He Is Coming Up As A Reserve As One Of The Mercedes Drivers

~~(^Pinterest)

“I’m sorry, but do you not understand the point of a driver's parade?” You questioned in a condescending tone, but that didn’t deter Kimi from pulling you down to the track. “It’s for drivers! Not drivers and their significant others!”

“You’re like my personal photographer! This can count as working and getting content,” Kimi reasoned, and honestly, he had a point. Kimi was promoted up to Formula 1 for the last race of the season because George got food poisoning at the start of the weekend. It was a last-minute option, but Toto decided that since Kimi was going to be in the car next season, he could race anyway. “Consider this practice.”

“I think my three years of experience in photographing you in multiple races and multiple series should be plenty,” You replied as you planted your fee at the start of the track. You pulled your arm back to force Kimi to look at you. “Kimi, this is your time to shine. I do not need pictures of you in the driver’s parade today. Maybe sometime next season, I’ll talk Toto into getting me on somehow, but this is literally your first F1 race. It’s your time to shine.”

“It’s your first F1 race too, and I want you beside me just like every other first race we’ve done,” Kimi explained as he held out a hand to you. “Together?”

“You’re really trying to pull the ‘together’ card on me?” You teased as you crossed your arms, stepping back from him.

“You can never say no to the ‘together’ card,” Kimi stated as he grabbed your wrist again to pull you against him. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you tightly against his chest before whispering against your ear, “You can’t say no to me in general.”

“Let me grab my camera,” You melted as your arms dissolved and loosely wrapped around his waist briefly. Then, you gently pushed him back so you could head back to the garage to grab your camera. However, standing behind you with your camera was none other than Toto Wolff. “Hey, Toto. How can I help you?”

“I assumed he convinced you to go on the drive’s parade with him, so I brought your camera over on my way to the pit wall,” He explained as he handed it over to you. You narrowed your eyes on him, confused what he was talking about, so he continued. “I was going to ask you to cover it anyway. Kimi said he was going to get you on the bus, and our normal photographer is busy.”

“You are feeding his addiction, Toto,” You chuckled as you snatched your camera from him. “How else is he going to learn?”

“Not my problem,” Toto laughed with you, “Now, get on the bus.”

You sighed before turning back to Kimi, seeing him standing off to the side. You grabbed his wrist as you put the camera around your neck and dragged him over to the bus. You pushed him ahead of you to get on first, “Go, Kimi.”

“Nice of you to join us, Kimi,” Ollie laughed as he watched you two climb onto the bus.

“Had to bring your emotional support photographer, I see,” Jack laughed as he nudged Kimi with his shoulder. Kimi just rolled his eyes as he gripped your hand and laughed at them sarcastically.

“You’re just jealous you don’t have one,” Kimi joked as he walked over to lean against the rail. He tried to pull you closer to him, but you placed a hand against his chest. “What now?”

“I have to get pictures of you in your natural habitat. To do that, I need to be over there,” You gestured to the opposite side of the bus. “I’m gonna go. You have fun out there.” You didn’t give him the chance to say anything as you pushed away from him while the bus started moving down the track and media personnel started interviewing different drivers.

“Can’t even handle a few minutes to yourself, huh?” Jack bumped into Kimi’s side as they both watched you walk to the other side of the bus.

“Shut up,” Kimi muttered, pushing past Jack to stand at the edge of the bus to wave at fans.

“How much convincing did it take to get them on here?” Ollie joked as he leaned against the railing next to Kimi. Immediately, Kimi turned to glare at Ollie, but Ollie just laughed. “You know I’m teasing. Probably took more convincing to get Toto onboard.”

“I’ll have you know Tot was the one that convinced them, not me,” Kimi set the record straight as an interviewer walked up to him.

“You are filling in for George Russell, who had food poisoning earlier this week and has been declared unfit to compete this weekend,” They started off, “Last time you were in George’s car, you crashed it. How does that affect you coming into this week?”

“I can’t focus on that,” Kimi chuckled nervously, “I can say that I am much more confident this time around. I’ve had more running time in the car, I’ve had more races in F2 to find my craft, and I have my family here to support me. I can’t complain.”

“Yeah, we’ve seen your significant other snapping pictures in the background,’ The interviewer laughed and pointed you out. Kimi waved at you as you took pictures of him before he turned back to the interviewer. “Was it your doing to get them here? You have a reputation of being overly attached to them.”

“You can call me clingy. I take pride in it,” Kimi laughed, shyly looking back at you before addressing the interviewer again, “But no, I didn’t pull any strings. I wanted them here, but Toto was the one who actually convinced them to come. You can’t blame me, though. I just like having my favorite photographer around.”

With that, the interviewer took their leave while Kimi waved out to the crowd. He mindlessly waved to the fans as someone else walked up behind him.

“I’m expecting P8 or higher as thank you,” Toto said before laughing as Kimi jumped, not expecting Toto to be behind him.

“I’ll give you P5 or higher if you let them come with me on every parade,” Kimi negotiated quickly. Toto thought about it shortly before holding his hand out to make the deal.

Kimi stood next to Toto, overlooking the data just before qualifying when George walked up beside them. George leaned against the table before someone gave up their seat for him since he technically wasn’t supposed to strain himself at the track anyway. He offered some input for Kimi and gave some tips about how to manage the track. The conversation was pretty short as Kimi had to start preparing to qualify.

“Where’s your personal photographer? I thought you two were like velcro,” George laughed. Kimi just threw a glare at him, causing George to laugh a little too hard before putting his hands up. “I’m just saying I’ve never seen one without the other.”

“Working,” Kimi said simply, but even George could hear the frown in his tone.

“What’s with the sadness? It’s your first F1 race!” George asked, concerned for his incoming teammate. They may not be the closest of friends, but they would be teammates next year. That also wouldn’t stop George from trying to be an older brother to the rookie.

“We have a pre-race ritual, but they’re not here for it,” Kimi pouted. No one would know, however, because he threw his balaclava on before anyone could notice. George could see it in his eyes, though, that this affected him more than he wanted everyone to believe. “We’ve never missed one when they were at the track with me.”

“I bet we could call them over,” George trailed off, looking over at his manager, who was already pulling out her phone and calling you. George walked closer to Kimi and gently took his helmet from his shaking hands. “Kimi, slow down. Breathe. We’re getting them here. Just go into the back for a minute. We’ll send them back when they get here.”

Kimi didn’t need to be told twice as he retreated to his driver’s room and sat with his head in his hands on the couch. You were already on your way back when your phone started blowing up with messages. You didn’t look at them as your hands were full of equipment, and you walked through the back of the Mercedes garage, planning to drop everything off in Kimi’s driver’s room before joining him by the car for the ritual. You used your back to push open the door, and when you turned around, you immediately noticed Kimi on the couch.

“Hey, shouldn’t you be getting ready for quali?” You asked, not noticing anything wrong until you heard him take a deep breath. You set everything down by your bag, looking at him questionably, “What’s happened, Kimi?”

“Am I clingy?” He asked, looking up at you. His face was red with embarrassment, but he needed to know your opinion.

“Who said you're clingy? Only I’m allowed to call you clingy,” You replied quickly, moving to sit in front of him. “You’re my Clingy Antonelli, and I love you just the way you are.”

“Everyone’s been saying it today,” Kimi muttered, looking away from you. He looked down at his lap and fiddled with his fingers. “The driver’s parage, in the garage, just around the paddock. Everyone says I’m clingy with you, and maybe they’re right.”

“You’re not a bad clingy,” You said immediately, taking his hands in yours. “I’ve learned that you just like me in your space. It’s your love language, in a way, and I’m not going to get mad at that. I love that you’re clingy because, secretly, I like being around you just as much.”

“You do?” Kimi’s head snapped up to meet your eyes.

“I’ve never had the chance to be clingy because you always make the first move,” You chuckled, “I just bask in the love from you, so no, I wouldn’t change a thing about you because I love you just the way you are. You and all of your clingyness.”

~~~

Series masterlist

~~~~~

659 notes View Post

biblioteca-da-meia-noite

5 months ago

Written By A Woman - Max Verstappen

Summary: Max Verstappen was written by a woman.

Warnings: Mentions of smut no actual smut

Sidenote: I wrote this while watching the canadian race...which is so far the best race of the year for entertainment, like top tier racing there (wish Lando won which is horrible to say when this is a Man fic, sorry 🤣)

No part 2 requests please

Max doesn't even really think about the fact he's a romantic. To him it's just how he is, it's what comes naturally to him.

"For you." Max smiles placing a gift bag down and handing her a bouquet of tulips.

"For me? What is it?" Y/n smiles making Max pause, considering telling her or just letting her open them.

"I saw it and thought it would look nice on you." Max smiles with a small shrug as she pulls the tissue paper from the bag before she gasps and grins.

"Maxie! I love it." Y/n grins pulling the silky dress out of the bag. "But is it for you or me?"

"Both of us can enjoy it." Max states earning a small laugh as he sits down next to her and captures her in a kiss. "You smell different."

"Yeah, do you like it? It's a new perfume, I thought I'd try it. I can go back to the old one if you're not a fan" Y/n rambles as Max takes the opportunity to kiss her neck as he leans in to smell it more closely.

"I like it. Keep it." Max assures her then leaning back a little. "I think you should try on the dress to, I want to see how you look in it."

"Ok, I'll try it on...only to see it fits, we're not making use of it. We still have a flight to catch." Y/n states standing up with the dress in hand as she smiles back at him, kissing him once more before beginning to move away.

"My plane leaves when I decide."

"That's not what the airport says." Y/n calls back to him earning an eye roll that she can't see but definitely knows was there.

Max smiles as he shifts around waiting for her to appear. Then he remembers the tulips and jumps up moving to put them in a vase for her since they are running short on time and she'll definitely pout about it.

Note to self: buy more flowers when we land-or even better call the hotel ahead of landing and make sure there's some in the room.

"What do-Max?" Y/n calls out appearing back in the living room and finding he's disappeared.

"I'm here, I was-baby...that is...are you sure we don't have some time to spare? I can be quick..." Max states in awe of seeing his girlfriend dressed in the the admittedly very revealing dress but he's in absolute awe.

Not that it's much different to when she puts on any outfit, or even removes any outfit. Max looks at her like she's a work of art no matter what she wears, though he does have a particular soft spot for when she's wearing something that he's found and bought for her.

"Or...we can put you in a jacket and we can wait till we're on the jet?" Max tries not being able to high how excited he is to have his hands all over her in this dress.

"You're insatiable." Y/n laughs then biting her lip a little. "Fine. But only because this is the prettiest and the way you're looking at me is actually making it impossible to say no...plus I haven't missed that you put those tulips in a vase for me."

"Can you help me get them out?" Y/n asks as she appears from the bathroom with all her rollers in her hair.

Now usually Max is only asked to help with drying or straightening her hair because she considers that one of the lesser difficult tasks when it comes to styling her hair. She wanted to do something different and now they're running late.

Max definitely seems uncertain of how much good he'll do before he nods and shifts forward allowing her to guide him. She does help him in showing him how to remove one before he nods and begins helping, thankfully not giving her scalp a test of durability in yanking it but instead actually being very gentle, maybe just too cautious.

"Ok, good. Done. We need to-no...is it raining?" Y/n gasps catching sight out the window.

"Yeah, it's going to be a wet race." Max nods looking out the window with a grimace. "We have umbrellas and a car. Don't worry about your hair."

He really does understand. He gets it.

Y/n doesn't even have to explain. He just understands and gets it and has a solution to her panic.

"You can borrow my cap if you need to." Max smiles moving to kiss her lightly. "We'll keep your hair protected. You look beautiful, as always."

"Thank you." Y/n mumbles with a smile before she sighs. "We should get moving then."

Y/n smiles kissing Max's cheek as he checks in on her before the qualifying though she quickly jumps realising there's not a lipstick stain on his cheek.

"You have my lipstick on your cheeks." Y/n whispers with a small laugh going to try and wipe it away.

"No. Leave it. It's the closest I get to having you there with me." Max states shifting back from her touch but taking her hand in place and kissing it softly. "I love you."

"I love you too...it's just, it's right there." Y/n giggles knowing it's on a high part of his cheekbone that will show through his helmet.

"I like it." Max shrugs then kissing her properly. "I'll see you afterwards."

"Yeah, see you afterwards." Y/n sighs softly feeling almost a little dreamy at the fact that he's her boyfriend and he really just loves her unapologetically.

Rupert spots the lipstick stain and gestures for him to wipe at it but Max only shakes his head before managing to pull on his helmet and prove that actually her lipstick is pretty high quality because it doesn't budge. She probably would've needed to get a wipe to properly remove it.

"Max Verstappen...has a nice little gift from his girlfriend there on his cheek." Crofty chuckles as they get a close up of Max in his car and while knew it was there seeing it on the screen and seeing what it actually looked like since he didn't see it in any reflective surface before getting in the car he's definitely amused.

"Yes, well we know that Max is a fan of showing his girlfriend off at any opportunity. I don't think I've met a man so open to PDA with his girlfriend as Max is with her."

"That's very true. Here's a fun bit of pub quiz knowledge. He has bought y/n a bought of flowers every single race weekend, whether she is in attendance or not. So if she's here he has them delivered to the venue or hotel, if she's at home, he arranges for them to be delivered there to her. That very sweet isn't it? And any women in relationship watching are surely now glaring at their boyfriends."

By the end of qualifying Max has equalled George's time but getting it second means he's P2 rather than pole. Something that will annoy him later. But for now he keeps a smile on his face and accepts the front row.

Y/n doesn't usually take risk with her food, not that she's picky but sometimes it backfires when she tries.

Max, being the observing and knowing of his girlfriend, notices when she slows down eating her food instead starting to talk more and nudge things around.

"Can we swap?" Max asks suddenly making her look at him with a frown. "Or can I try yours? It looks nice."

"I don't know it's not the best." Y/n admits but Max stabs his fork into a bit of the pasta it and takes a bite of it.

"I like it...I'll swap if you want mine instead?" Max offers, really it's not better than his but he'd rather lie and her eat his meal which he knows she likes then her poke the meal around and then decide she's "not that hungry" and just not eat in the end.

"Do you really like it?" Y/n mumbles since she knows this trick by Max and while she will let him swap, she does feel a little bad about it. But as expected he moves their plates around and smiles at her. "Thank you. Next time I'm just going to order what you order."

"No it's ok, I like that I get to try new things when you don't like them, a lot of the time I end up liking a lot of the stuff that you decide you don't like that much." Max shrugs earning a small sigh. "Thank you."

"You're honestly too sweet-I'm going to give you the best blowjob."

Max almost chokes on his mouthful of food, not that he shouldn't have seen it coming but he was a little caught off guard by it.

"Also I will just start ordering the same food as you." Y/n declares earning a hum as they continue eating.

Y/n bounces on her feet clapping and applauding Max as he stands on top of the podium. Despite Max taking the win, which many people will argue isn't exciting, the race itself had a lot of action. Two safety cars and 5 retirements is the most they've seen for a while and with it being a wet to dry race and Marc taking a gamble to pit with a gap because of the 2nd safety car. It was anyone's guess who could win.

But as he does, Max achieved it and Red Bull is overjoyed. And y/n is very proud of her boyfriend.

"I'm gonna have to steal that cap." Y/n mumbles spotting the special edition red and white Canadian podium caps.

Y/n has a habit of collecting Max's winning caps but specifically stealing the special edition ones that has specific designs for the race.

As soon as Max is down he's taken to media being given his usual Red Bull cap to wear while y/n heads to the Red Bull unit just waiting for him. He makes quick work of debriefs and she smiles when he appears in his drivers room.

"Hey...there he is. My race winner." Y/n smiles as Max grins moving towards her and leaning in to kiss her. "Do you...know where that podium cap went?"

"Yes...I knew you'd like it." Max smiles then calling for Rupert who was handed the cap to keep tight a hold of. He appears only briefly to hand the cap to Max, his usual bright smile there. Damn that man really never stops smiling."It's covered in champagne. But we'll get it cleaned and you can keep it...I'll see if there's anyway to get hold of one that they might be selling for replicas if you want?"

"No. I want the one I got to see you celebrating in." Y/n grins earning a nod. "Go on and shower. Then we can leave...I can practically feel the pull of home making you buzz."

Max is absolutely the biggest home body y/n has ever found, he has his flight on standby to get them out of there asap once they get out the paddock.

"We're taking Lando on the flight too, so he might want a couple drinks when we're in the air." Max warns as he begins to peel himself out the race suit and fireproofs.

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biblioteca-da-meia-noite

4 months ago

Lovers to coworkers - Jenson Button x reader

cw: mentions of fingering, creampies, actual spanking and cockwarming, age gap (reader is in her 20s, jenson is in his 40s), author loves dilfs and hates her clichés

"I have a job for you." Jenson says to you when walking into your shared apartment.

"I am employed, honey. Even though I wish this deadline from my publisher wasn't real, it is. Just like the fact that your lovely girlfriend is a romance writer.". You knew how he felt about what you do for a living. It was an icebreaker during your first date, and when you made him laugh so hard, he did a spit take at your first commissions, you knew he was the one. Thankfully for you, the writing you did had evolved much since your "man gets turned into underwear for his ex-girlfriend" days in college. It was insane how you rationalized that 10 bucks was 10 bucks.

Ever since then, you wrote like a machine. You were versatile, pitching different things to your agent. Poetry books, essay collections, general fiction, all of those were your favorites, Jenson's too. But what skyrocketed you to fame was the romance book you started writing after a drunken night with your boyfriend. You teased him about his "grid slut" days of the past. Asked him to tell you about it, warts and all. And he did, loving the way you crossed your legs as his stories of the past. He kept his hand between your legs as he told you about menages a trois in Monaco and public indecency in Italy.

Jenson fucked you raw that night for the first time and he'd been obsessed with you begging to be filled with his cum. He called you needy, greedy, desperately horny, his little slut. And as much as he tried to deny it, it wears him out. He likes slow things now. Eating you out for hours, orgasm after orgasm melting the time together. Having you stroke him as he's doing research. So when you whine and cum around him, he can't help it. Two more pumps and he's out like a light.

He wakes up hours later, thirst making his throat almost painfully sore. And you're still naked, aside from a pair of glasses, typing furiously on a laptop. He doesn't question it anymore but still tries to coax you into bed. You shoo him off, claiming something about "being in the zone" and continued writing.

You're particularly cagey about that one, but he can guess it has to do with F1 and specifically him. You ask about whether certain events would be accurate in a race. Learn all about his girlfriends passed and how they coped with his stardom. Finally, after months of pestering him, he gets an advanced reader's copy. It's a romance, and it's obvious that it's based on him. The female lead also has some similarities to you, which Jenson loves to tease you about. Both of you expect it to be normal. But social media gets wind of it.

The Booktok girlies were a force to be reckoned with. You should've known that, considering Mark and his controversially young girlfriend. Their "internet meetcute" was as cliche as one of your new plots. But the couple sure made good company on secret double dates. Nothing like beating the assumptions that you're sugar babies with a friend. So when she and the rest of the F1 romance community found your book, it was chaos. Thank God for pen names, because being Jenson's girlfriend on top of writing smut about him would be too much. But after your steamy work, everything shifted. Thanks to the feedback and sales, the book had become a sequel. Then a trilogy. Now, with a fourth one in the works, your partner was getting tired.

That's why, at the mention of your romance writing, he quickly bends you over his lap. He wastes no time in pulling your pants down, making your skin prickle.

"You know, you're bad for my PR, sweets. Do you think your fans have any respect for me?" He asks as he traces shapes on your bare ass. He's waiting to strike.

"Of course they do." You reply. You know the people reading your smut could be a little too into it. And you embrace it. Liking fanart, aesthetic moodboards, playlist. You have your own community and you love engaging with them. That's what sets you apart and partially gets the bills paid. More realistically, it's what helps you buy more books and also spoil Jenson's dog.

"Yeah, then why are they in my Instagram comments, all horny? Thought they weren't supposed to know that your protagonist is based on me." He wonders and smack, comes the first slap to your ass.

"I've built this image, you know." Another hit and he doesn't miss your moan at it.

"A book, almost 400 pages of my deepest, darkest secrets, so many hours of labor." Spanked again.

"17 years, that's almost a two decade career in F1, not to mention karting before and endurance after." Another strike, this time harder. Jenson ignores your pleas, just like he ignores the wetness of your cunt. That would have to wait.

"Took me years to shed the playboy image, so much effort to be serious and reliable on Sky Sports now. And you could potentially ruin it. We can't have that, now can we, sweets?" He asks and smacks you one last time. He drags his nails against the redness of your ass, making you feel the sting of his punishment. Which wasn't finished.

Jenson tells you to be a good girl and mount him, facing the other way. You love how he positions his mouth right against your ear.

"Let me tell you about the opening. It's an open kept secret, but they're letting go of Danica. Backlash from the fans and all that. So I figured, why not get a costar I actually get along with?"

"Jenson, I have no credentials. The public knows me as your girlfriend, it's gonna give nepo sugar baby." You say, trying to ignore your partner's hands on the cotton of your panties. You hate bringing up the age gap as well, but maybe it will remind him why this is a bad idea.

"First of all, everyone knows you're dating me for my looks and sex appeal, not my money. Second, you've been learning while researching your little smutty romances. You've seen every race this season and actually made some interesting points. Why not try it out?" He asks. He's stripping you, leaving your pussy completely exposed atop his jean covered crotch. You try to argue that you'd be a terrible pundit, purposefully using that word to piss him off.

"You'd be a fucking stellar commentator, love. And also a very pretty one, not that it matters." He says, gripping your waist.

"Let me prove it." He turns on the TV and opens the Sky Sports app. He puts on a random quali from this year and mutes it.

"Tell me what's happening and you get a reward." Jenson says and you can feel him unbutton his pants under you. You start with a general overview of the season, and when a camera pans to a certain driver you try to give a little tidbit of information. Your boyfriend adlibs with you, his tender voice becoming more clear and "TV like". Surprisingly, you can follow what he's saying. Even when he slaps the tip of his cock against your clit.

"Keep going, you're on air after all. Don't expect me to carry all of the conversation now." He whispers in your ear as you go silent. You try, providing some more fluff about the country and cheating by asking Jenson about his experience there. He responds by spreading you open and slamming into you in one thrust. Then he actually goes into detail about the track and some challenges.

"Talk the fans through Q1 and I'll move." He says as you squirm in his lap. Jenson's hands grip your hips, making you go still.

In order to "motivate" you, he places one hand on your nipple and the other on your clit. You try your best. You comment on tire choices, and purple sectors. You prompt him to fill your gaps. You even get heated as the time runs out, unsure who'd make it. As soon as you announce the 5 drivers that are out, Jenson moves. The short break between Q1 and Q2 is hell, with your boyfriend absolutely going feral.

"Aren't you so good to me, huh sweets. Taking me so well when I fuck into you. Being the perfect little cock sleeve. Don't get too excited now, we're just starting out." He says, just about as Q2 is about to begin. Then TV Jenson is back, he's talking like you two have an audience. You're too busy trying to get off, pussy clenching over him. As soon as he feels you do that, he pulls out, stopping right at the tip.

"Behave or we're stopping right now." He says and you delve into your observation about the qualifying session. Jense is a full on tease now, sinking you down on him slowly, giving it to you inch by inch. Then he's buried to the hilt and he stops. You relax into your commentator role, despite him throbbing inside of you. He won't let up, purposefully moving his body forward to see a technicality.

"Need glasses, Mr. Button? I know eyesight goes with age, but you're only 44. " You tease and are met with him spreading your legs even more and landing a slap square on your clit. You half moan, half announce the drivers who are out and your "career" is cut short. Jenson presses you flat against the glass coffee table, loving how your breasts are smushed against it. He wraps an arm against your waist and fucks you in earnest. Tip brushing your cervix earnest. Thighs shaking, toe curling earnest. Moans so loud they drown out the fact that he's still commentating earnest. As somebody takes pole position, Jenson makes you come and when the interviews come to a close, he's spilling his seed inside of you.

"You know, if you don't want me writing you like a whore, you should stop acting like one." You say. And even though he's getting soft, you're pulled to Jenson's thigh, smearing his cum over both of you. Round 2 is more predictable than the fact that you did not try for that open Sky Sports position. Because your slot with your boyfriend would have to be moved to after midnight.

278 notes View Post

biblioteca-da-meia-noite

4 months ago

onlyangel4 lewis hamilton masterlist.

main masterlist

unexpected. smau. completed. (f. a.)

lewis hamilton x tattoo artist! reader

in which reader is the last person someone you expect to find in the paddock and that is what makes him drawn to you. or lando's tattoo artist friend visits the paddock to tattoo zak brown after the miami gp win and the internet goes mad.

part one. // part two. // part three.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

test drive. smau. (f. m.)

lewis hamilton x singer!reader

in which reader can not help but be inspired by her driver boyfriend and the internet goes wild.

here

83 notes View Post

biblioteca-da-meia-noite

2 months ago

come find me ⛐ 𝐂𝐒𝟓𝟓

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

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

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

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

The cake is lopsided.

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

They don’t.

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

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

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

“You do it with me,” he insists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you had Carlos.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll come to all my races?”

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hope Carlos gets everything he wants.

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

The trophy is heavier than Carlos expected.

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

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

And Carlos— Carlos searches for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked young. He was young.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t know that.”

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

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

“How long?” you whispered.

Carlos opened his mouth. Closed it again.

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

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

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

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

It’s been nine years since.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He follows you instinctively, like he always has.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You find out the way everyone else does.

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

For you, it's something else entirely.

Carlos Sainz signs with Ferrari, replacing Sebastian Vettel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ache lingers.

It always does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that’s not how it works.

Not for him. Not for you.

This is not fate. It’s heartbreak.

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

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

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

You don’t let him.

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

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

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

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

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

Like you are the answer.

After an eternity, he sighs and nods once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then there’s you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It took you long enough. ⛐

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biblioteca-da-meia-noite

2 months ago

Inappropriate - Lando Norris x Verstappen!Reader

Masterlist

Warnings: brief smut, sexual references, explicit language, alcohol, mentions of Jos

summary: Max is convinced that his sisters realitionship with Lando is inappropriate. The two of them testing his patience over and over again. But he will soon find out that them being apart isn’t much better. (ft. Pierre Gasly)

Inappropriate - Lando Norris X Verstappen!Reader

Max was in absolute terror. No he wanted to peel his skin off as he tossed and turned in his bed, desperately trying to get it to stop. Even covering his ears with his pillow from time to time, resisting the urge to get up and put and end to this immediately as he knew Kelly would be mad at him if he did so. But this was absolutely inappropriate, no it was disgusting. This was also his house after all. Why did you think it was fine to have sex here? Why did you even have to do it at all? Max cringed at the tought. Even more so because he knew, who was doing you.

The dutch driver had disagreed with his baby sister dating any of his friends from day one, especially not another driver. But along came innocent little Lando, only that he was not so innocent after all. It started kind of secretive, you only telling Max you were going out with someone. Knowing he‘d not be happy with it whatsoever. He had always lectured you about guys and their bad influence. He also never felt like anyone was worthy of you and even if you disagreed, Max felt like he was proved right when you had presented him who exactly you were dating.

„I‘m seeing Lando.“ you told your brother at lunch on the promenade in Monte-Carlo one day. The Red Bull driver, looking up from his menu furrowed his eyebrows. You were fidgeting with your white dress, trying to stay calm as you hoped your brother wouldn’t cause a scene. That was actually part of the reason why you brought him to a public place. You couldn’t exactly see his expression behind his black sunglasses, but you hoped it be a good one. Max's approval was the most important thing to you, even more important than your dads. Having been through everything togehter, you loved your brother with all your heart.

„You’re seeing Lando? Where?“ the dutch driver asked, unsure of what exactly he was hearing. You had to resist the urge to chuckle as you shook your head, was he seriously not getting it? Pressing your lips together you repeated your words „I‘m… I’m seeing him Max.“

Max expression turned stone cold in the matter of seconds, his breathing seemingly louder than normal as he placed down his menu card on the table before muttering under his breath „What?“

You could tell this wasn’t gonna be good but you had to get through this, having promised Lando you’d talk to Max after he wanted to literally do it on his own. Wanting to safe your boyfriend from getting killed you said you‘d take the matter in your own hands and arranged that lunch with your brother. And poor Max had attended it completely oblivious, not at all ready of what was to come.

„Lando. I‘m dat-" you started but where interrupted rather quickly.

„No I understood!“ Max stated rather harshly, taking of his sunglasses and looking around to see if someone was staring. You bit the inside of your mouth seeing his furious expression as Max hissed „You‘re absolutely not gonna see him!“

„I already did-"

„He‘s literally a man whore Y/n!“ Max said his voice extremely squeaky as you sighed. You knew Landos reputation but quite frankly you didn’t care, he was different with you „He hits once and then he drops you.“

You cringed, disgusted with your brothers statement, so naively you blurted out „No he didn’t!“

Max felt like throwing up, hearing you talk in past tense. You were his sister and the thought of you with Lando was enough to make him want to literally scream. So from the get-go, the driver did not agree with the relationship. Whenever he‘d see Lando and you he‘d walk the other way which was hard, considering you travelled everywhere with Max, working as an intern at Red Bull racing. Even your dad agreed with the relationship more than Max but you didn’t ever want his validation anyway. It was Max, who you cared about.

Word spreaded quick and soon enough everyone knew about your relationship with Lando. And you didn’t really care, happy you could finally be together in public without hiding.

„Baby!“ you squealed, jumping up and down as Lando stepped down the car. The cheers from around you ringing in your ears. The Mclaren driver immediately approached you taking off his helmet as his team cheered him on. You pulled of his revealing his messy curly hair and big smile. Throwing your arms around his neck as Lando smashed his lips onto yours.

„Congrats!“ you mumbled against his lips, people around you snapping photos of the celebratory kiss. Lando had just gotten P3 in Imola and everyone was happy for him. Well, everyone expect Max. He stepped out his own car, expecting you there at the front line with Kelly and his dad, like you always had been.

„Good job!“ Kelly cheered on Max, hugging him as he ran his hand through his sweaty hair. Looking around, hoping to find you with the team.

„Where’s Y/n?“Max yelled, trying to be louder than the people and music. Kelly eyes travelled somewhere behind him before shooting Max a weak smile. Max turned around, checking what his girlfriend had just seen and when he saw what it was, he wished he never had. His own sister, arms wrapped around Landos neck literally making out in front of everyone, celebrating the younger guys win.

„Is she serious!“ Max hissed looking at Kelly and his dad to see if they saw how inappropriate this was. You were a Verstappen after all but Jos just shrugged, patting his sons shoulder while Kelly had a little more helpful advice to offer „They’re young and in love Max.“

Even though Max understood the being young part, he strongly disagreed with the being in love. You weren't in love, especially not with Lando Norris. The guy literally had the maturity of a twelve year old and god was it testing Max's patience. Fast forward to Miami, the Red Bull driver was super happy to spend time with his family ahead of the race. When going out out for dinner, to which he had invited you his mood would change once again as he saw you enter the restaurant with the Mclaren driver attached to your hip.

„Oh I‘m getting the death stare again.“ Lando whispered as you two walked through the restaurant, passing a couple of familiar faces. You sighed looking at you boyfriend, his curly hair placed ever so perfectly as his white button up revealed his tanned chest. You knew even though Lando was acting like he wasnt bothered, somewhere in his heart it did bother him that Max seemed to dislike him so strongly now. Having always considered the dutch guy as a friend up until dating you. But Daniel, who knew Max quite well, had told Lando that it was understandable for the Red bull driver to act like this. He had went for the one thing that was so clearly off limits. Everybody knew how protective Max was over you and it had worked. Well, until Lando came along.

„It‘s gonna be fine baby.“ you whispered back, placing a soft kiss on his cheek which caused him to smile. Approaching the table where your family was sat along with everyone's partners. You greeted them all with a smile and a wave, giving Kelly a hug as you hadn‘t seen her in a while, having spent all your time here with Lando. The woman complimented you backless black dress and gave you a short heads up about your brother.

„Just so you know.“ Kelly whispered as the table of was too busy catching up with Lando. She looked over at Max as your eyes followed hers, the guy sitting there with his hands intwined, resting them on the table as he watched his father talk to Lando unimpressed „He is mad you brought him as he only invited you.“

„Seriously?“ you rolled your eyes sighing as Kelly shrugged her shoulders, sending you an apologetic smile. She knew Max would always always find a reason to dislike Lando, any inconvenience being used to his favor. You took a deep breath in as Kelly sat down next to Max again, her daughter painting on her high chair next to them. Lando pulled out a chair for you, right opposite Max gesturing you to sit down. So you sat down at the end of the table, Lando taking place right next to you.

„Hello Max.“ you put on a unamused smile, dissapointed in his behavior. He hadn’t even said hello to Lando, treating him like thin air. The brit could obviously feel the tension between you and your brother, placing his hand on your exposed thigh in order to calm you. He knew you and Max where actually quite similar, both extremely stubborn in wanting things your way. He loved that you were passionate but found it ironic that it was the very thing you disliked about your brother.

„Hello Y/n.“ Max smile was as fake as it could be as he leaned back on the bench with his arms crossed, still not looking at Lando once. It triggered something inside of you. Why could he not see you where happy? So after two glasses of champagne and a rather awkward first course of your dad asking Lando a million questions, you finally got it. Maybe it was the alcohol that made you think it was a good idea, deciding if Max didn’t wanna look at Lando you‘d just make him do so.

Luckily you were sat at the end of the table, out of your dads view and with your sister husband next to Lando who was to busy on his phone anyways. Landos hand still resting on your thigh awfully high you squirmed your legs a little, hoping the brit would notice. And of course Lando did as he looked at you with furrowed brows. Seeing the look on your face and you chewing on your lip immediately ringing his alarm bells. He cleared his throat trying to overplay your moving around, trapping his hand between your legs.

„No absolutely not Y/n!“ Lando whispered in your ear, awfully aware that Max could look any moment as the family was enrolled in some discussion about Mercedes performance this year. You sighed his face dangerously close to yours as you put on a pout. Your hands travelling under the table as they reached for Landos hand, pushing your dress aside and making him travel higher almost touching you. The brit clenched his jaw, cursing himself that this actually turned him on. Leaning over to you you once again he muttered in your ear „We can’t do this Y/n.“

A smirk in your lips, as you placed his hand over your private area only the material of your underwear between you. Lando took a deep breath in as he saw the look on your face, he was actually fucked and he knew it. He applied a little pressure as you whimpered slightly, now actually fully turned on. Completely having forgotten about your plan as you felt Lando slowly push your underwear aside, thanking god for the white cloth on the table, hiding what was happening. The brit leaned over to you, his voice all raspy as he muttered „This is on you baby. Don’t blame me.“

With that Lando started tracing circles on your clit with his fingers, making you clutch on to your chair with your hands overwhelmed by the sensation. Lando just sat there leaning back in his chair as if nothing was happening, continuing to listen to your fathers rant. You only now noticed Max's eyes on you. The Red bull driver looked at you with furrowed brows and a critical look on his face. Yours and Landos secretive whispering having caught his attention. You bit your lip, trying to resist the urge to make any sound as Lando picked up his pace. He was so very aware of Max's eyes on you but this was your idea, so you had to be punished. Lando ignored his own hard on as he felt your hand digging into his thigh.

Kelly had noticed Max tense up next to her as she looked at what was bothering the guy so much. When her eyes landed on you she seemed confused for a second but then seeing you squirm around, biting your lips and Landos arm seemingly somewhere on your side under the table, she immediately chocked on her water. You silently thanked god for it as it made Max turn towards her worried, making sure she was fine. Giving you the chance to turn towards your own boyfriend and mutter in his ear „Lando stop please.“

Lando had a mischievous smirk placed on his lips as his hand stopped moving. Insteading he ran his fingers through your wet folds stoping right above your entrance. And when you could feel his finger start slipping in you immediately pressed your legs together, causing the brit to chuckle „What baby? I thought you wanted this?“

You shook your head, your face flushed as you pressed you lips together sending Lando a serious look „I know but I can‘t.“

Lando chuckled rolling his eyes, he knew you were serious right now. Placing a soft kiss on your cheek before whispering „I know baby, I‘ll stop for now.“

You sighed relieved he was willing to let this go as he was normally quite serious when it came to punishing you. You‘d probably get it later, which was also kind of exciting. Kelly had finally calmed down as Max eyes fell back on you, overwhelmed with the situation. Seeing the Mclaren driver smirk at you as he whispered something which to Max's understanding was something like „You have to let me go though.“

You opened your legs allowing Lando to take his hand away, as he rearranged your panties. Pulling down your dress as his hand was placed on your thigh once again. Leaning back in his chair, like nothing had happened as you ran your hands through your hair, trying to collect yourself. Looking up to see Max look at you once again with his jaw clenched, looking severely pissed off, you innocently raised your eyebrows acting oblivious.

„That better not have been what it looked like.“

So you see, everybody would understand Max right? No one wanted to see their sister and her boyfriend act like horny teenager 24/7. From making out in front of him, to even hearing you two go at it at night, it was all too much for the dutch driver. And as you were a saint in Max's eyes he soon convinced himself that this was all Landos fault. His bad influence on you clearly evident. The amount of times Max had seen hickeys on your neck became uncountable. But that wasnt even the worst. It seemed like you and Lando had no censor whatsoever no more, which was completely disrespectful in Max's opinion. And then at the Spanish grand prix everything got sort of out of hand.

„Norris how‘s the girlfriend?“ Pierre spoke as he grabbed a water out the fridge of the break room. The guys where doing press today in different groups and of course Max had been thrown in with Lando. Her silently cursed himself, leaning against the wall drinking his Red Bull as he watched Lando sit on the couch surrounded by Charles and Pierre, Daniel still busy wrestling Yuki. The world champion shook his head at the level of immaturity in the room.

„Don’t talk about her Gasly.“ Lando warned Pierre, referencing the time where Pierre had actually tried to hit on you. Pierre was of course super drunk and put in his place by Max rather quickly. Well, he was punched in the face to be completely honest but that’s what he got for throwing himself onto you like that. Pierre chuckled, feeling like it was funny story now. He knew you had forgiven him for it now, you two even joked about it.

„Come on Lando! That was like so long ago!“ Charles laughed, placing himself on the couch next to Lando who was completely unaware of the fact that Max was standing leaning against the wall just a few meters behind them hearing every word they said. If he knew he probably wouldn’t have done and told what was about to come. As Charles wrapped his arm around the younger guy, looking at his phone as Pierre did the same from the other side.

„Oh, is that her?“ Charles wiggled his eyebrows looking at the picture on the phone which you had just sent Lando. The brit chuckled, opening the picture of you in one of his Mclaren shirts. He thought it was innocent, just you showing off how proud you were of him.

„Yes, it’s an inside joke look we have a lot of pictures-" the guy started, blissfully opening up his camera roll in order to show the guys what he meant. But the very first picture that appeared made Landos face drop and he went as pale as a ghost as Charles next to him started laughing like crazy causing everybody to look „Jeez Lando! That’s freaky!“

Pierre covering his mouth shocked, still staring at the screen. Lando couldn’t even react, because next thing he knew Max appeared behind him ripping the phone out his hand. The image engraved in his mind forever of his sister sitting on top of Lando in an orange bra and a Mclaren hat. Landos hand literally around her neck.

Charles laughter immediately stopped as he saw who exactly had just taken Landos phone while Pierre thanked himself for not having commented anything. Having felt first hand what angry Verstappen was like. Max felt nauseous as he turned off the phone, looking at Lando who just looked speechless. Had Max just actually seen that picture of you on top of him half naked? It was clearly evident what was happening in the picture which made everything even worse.

„Max-" Lando started trying to explain that he would have never showed this to anyone on purpose. But Max just shook his head, furious with Lando seemingly treating his sister like some girl he was just fucking.

Daniel had caught wind of the situation, letting go of Yuki as he approached the younger guys on the couch. Seeing Max look like he was about to kill someone, he knew he had to intervene and that was just right timing because just like that Max grabbed Lando by the collar of his Mclaren polo.

„Max dude!“ Daniel yelled, not condoling the violence while Pierre and Charles pushed Max back a little. Daniel using the chance to hold the dutch driver back.

„No he‘s a fucking idiot!“ Max yelled, clearly upset about this. Daniel nodded understanding the dutch guy, immediately recognizing that something inappropriate had been on that phone.

„I understand you're mad but right now‘s not the time man.“ Daniel tried calming his former teammate, while everybody was dead silent. Lando knew he had fucked up now. The chance of Max liking him now neraly zero and that for a valid reason.

„No honestly!“ Max said his voice nearly trembling as he looked at Daniel shaking his head. He held up Landos phone, which was turned off „That‘s my fucking sister!“

With that Max threw the phone towards Lando. The young guy catching it totally taken aback. Max looked at Lando one last time with his arms crossed and his jaw clenched before shaking his head and walking off, leaving the room evidently pissed off. Daniel sighed looking at the three young guys on the couch, especually Lando who he was disappointed in. He understood that Max felt like this was disrespectful.

„Seriously guys?"

When Lando had told you what happened you were furious with him. Not only that he was stupid enough to open it in front of Pierre and Charles but also you freaking brother. Knowing you were never gonna hear the end of this. But surprisingly Max didn't ever mention it to you again. Probably also because you had been mad at Lando the whole week and never had talked about him in front of your brother again. But you still felt like Max would normally be the one to lecture you.

„Y/n?“ Lando approached you when you were standing outside the Alpha Tauri hospitality waiting for Pierre as you had agreed to go to lunch with him. Feeling like talking to an old friend would distract you a little from Lando but here he was again. You looked at your boyfriend through your sunglasses, the sun way to hot on the pavement. Lando also sweating his ass of in his racing suit rearranged his hat „Can we talk?“

„No.“ you crossed your arms, not in the mood to talk to him right now. But Lando didn't give up, he just sighed taking a step towards you. Putting his hands on your waist as he trapped you between himself and the wall a pout on his lips as he saw your still stern expression „Come on baby. You can't seriously still be mad about-"

„Oh, trust me Lando.“ you clenched your jaw looking at your boyfriend and resisting the urge to touch his adorable face „I'm still mad!“

„I didn’t do it on purpose baby!“ Lando whined, throwing his head back his voice extremely high pitched. God, why did he have to be so cute? No! you were still mad at him. He had embarrassed you in front of your friends and your brother.

„No Lando! You should have been more careful. Do you know how embarrassing that is? Especially in front of my friends and my brother-"

„Jesus christ Y/n! It‘s not like Pierre and Charles haven’t seen a naked girl-" Lando hissed but stopped himself, knowing he had just said something incredibly stupid. The expression on the young guys face one of regret. You bit the inside of your lips, swallowing as you felt like you could literally start crying.

„So what I’m just some naked girl to you?“ you whispered, Lando closing his eyes cursing himself for his reckless choice of words. He just wanted you to see that it wasn’t that big a deal and that he didn’t want to do it. Instead he had made everything even worse. The two of you were interrupted by someone clearing their throat next to you as you looked to the right to see Pierre stand there in his white button up and with sunglasses on his head „You ready Y/n?“

You put your own ones down again, not wanting Pierre to see your teary eyes as you unwinded yourself from Landos grasp. Removing his hands from your waist as he grabbed your wrist once again. You looked back at his face, seeing he looked actually upset „Wait…Where are you going?“

„I’m going to lunch with Pierre.“ you stated coldly, knowing that Lando was sensitive when it came to you and Pierre being friends. After he had made clear indications he liked you, any boyfriend wouldn’t like it.

„Really Y/n?“ Lando clenched his jaw, feeling like you were doing this on purpose to hurt him. But you just shrugged, ripping your arm from his hold before turning towards Pierre who looked extremely uncomfortable with what he had just walked into.

„Really Lando.“ you just shrugged walking past Pierre, who pressed his lips together sending Lando an apologetic smile. But Lando wasn't amused as he looked at Pierre with his arms crossed. Disappointed the guy actually would do this. Pierre sighed before walking away backwards „Look mate it’s just lunch.“

Just lunch? The words drove Lando incredibly mad. After a long day of practicing he went back to his place, kicking of his shoes and heading straight to the shower before placing himself on his bed with his hair dripping wet. Turning on his phone to see his wallpaper a picture of you he had taken at the beach in Miami. God he loved your smile so much. Aimlessly scrolling through his instagram, he saw you had posted a series of pictures with the caption "When in Monaco". Mostly just things about your day at work at Red Bull but then the last two slides where the ones that made him wanna throw his phone against the wall. It was a picture of Pierre opposite you at lunch, drinking some orange drink while smiling into the camera and then another one of you at the beach with an Alpha Tauri hat on your head all smiles and giggles and tagged in the picture was none other than the french guy himself.

So much for going out for lunch, Lando thought as he scrolled through your comments. Lando was relieved that people also felt like you and Pierre hanging out was weird, as everyone wondered if you and Lando were fighting. Lando just knew he had to talk to you again but first he‘d need some sleep. The next day would be qualifyings after all.

„Y/n?“ Max knocked on the door of your bedroom, which sou had at his place as you were sat at your makeup table. Getting ready to go out. You looked at your brother, freshly showered standing in the doorway, Kelly behind him eavesdropping. The two of them just had a long discussion on about what was going on between you and Lando. You hadn't talked about the brit or hung out with him in over a week. Which was odd considering you were both in the same town. And your pictures with Gasly made them even more suspicious. Kelly feeling like if you two were fighting was all Max's fault and that he should be there for his sister. Max of course disagreed, telling her he wasn't to blame for the brits immaturity and that you two breaking up would have to come eventually.

„What Max?“ you asked and Max could hear you were upset by the tone of your voice. He walked imto the room as Kelly appeared in the door, seeing Max approach you. The guy put his hand around your shoulder in a comforting manner as he leaned down to her „Is everything okay?“

Kelly thanked the lord Max was seemingly finally doing the right thing she decided to give you some alone time closing the door behind her. You looked at Max, trying to not start crying as you put down your brush. The truth was that you were really not okay. You missed Lando, but you were incredibly dissapionted with what he had said to you.

So you just shook your head „No…“

„Is it Lando?“ Max asked, seemingly serious about his concern for you. You just nodded, wiping the corner of your eyes. It was hard for you to admit that Lando might actually be what Max had told you he was.

„What did he do?“ Max clenched his jaw, clearly mad at the guy that had made his sister cry. This was exactly what he was afraid of from day one. And he had told everyone, Kelly, his father and even you that it eventually end like this but no one listened to him.

„He just said some things.“ you chocked, your brother getting aggravated even more. He caressed your back, kneeling down next to you „What did he say?“

You shook your head wiping your tears, knowing you shouldn’t tell Max. He would get even more mad at Lando and you were scared he might actually hurt him by now. But Max didn’t let go, he raised his eyebrows continuing „Y/n tell me what he said.“

„He- He…“ you stuttered, trying to collect your thoughts as you looked at the floor. Too ashamed to look into Max's eyes „We were talking about that..that picture you know.“

Max swallowed, as he nodded. He of course knew what picture you were talking about.

„He didn’t even care about Charles and Pierre seeing it or how embarrassed I feel.“ you continued, trying to get to the point as it was rather awkward „He just said that it‘s not a big deal because the guys have seen plenty of naked girls. So now I understand that I’m just some naked girl to him.“

Max was furious. He had ranted to Kelly all night long on how shit guys were especially at your age. Kelly had told Max she was sure Lando didn’t mean that and that he should let the two of you sort it out.

Qualifying had been cut short, which you were kind of glad about. Knowing race day would be exhausting as it always was in Monaco. You were waiting for Max outside the Red Bull home, having spent the last 24 hour attached to his hip as he didn’t let you out of sight. Wanting to make sure you were fine at all times.

Max was gonna start P4 and right behind him was Lando, who wasn't doing well at all that day. The only thought on his mind being you and how much he missed you. He knew he should apologize but to mad you had gone out with Pierre. So he decided to keep his distance for now. His heart aching everytime he saw you that day, wanting nothing more than to hold you in his arms.

„Charles.“ Lando caught up to his friend, who was making his way out the paddock ,fans watching from aside. Charles looked at the Mclaren driver, shooting him a smile „Yes. Lando?

„Wanna get dinner together?“ Lando asked, rearranging his backpack as he ingored the yelling from people all around. The Ferrari driver sent Lando an apologetic smile „I would but I kind of...have plans.“

„Plans?“ Lando asked, scrunching his eyebrows. He knew Charles was hiding something from him. He just had no idea what it could be „What plans?“

„Alright don’t be mad though.“ Charles sighed, pursing his lips. The guy had no idea what had happened between Lando and you, but he knew you two were kind of having a crisis. Lando raised his eyebrows as he shook his head, walking alongside the Ferrari Driver „I won’t be mad I promise.“

„Well…“ Charles shrugged his shoulder, still contemplating whether or not to tell Lando about it but then decided it be the right thing „Pierre Invited Charlotte and me to dinner with him and…with Y/n.“

Lando spent all evening refreshing his instagram page, hoping he'd get to see something. He couldn’t handle the thought of you out with another guy on what seemed like a double date. You were still his girlfriend after all. You two hadn’t broken up so this was wrong. Then finally at around 11 pm a fan account posted a picture showing you next to Pierre at some restaurant. You were clearly wearing Pierres jacket unaware of the photo being taken. All smiles and happy. All the people in the comments asking what the hell was going on. Which Lando also started asking himself.

But Lando wasn’t the only confused one. Max couldn’t believe his eyes when he looked out his window that night. Watching Pierre Gasly drop you off, hugging you goodbye a little too long for his liking. The dutch driver actually felt like he was gonna go mad. Where you ever gonna learn? This was F1 biggest man whore. Even Lando was a better fit for you and that was hard for the dutch driver to admit.

When you entered Max's house he just stood there in the dark hallway with his arms crossed, looking like a literal father. You raised your eyebrows wanting to pass him but he stopped you grabbing your shoulder „Wait up missy.“

Oh god did he just actually call you that? You rolled your eyes, the alcohol in your system giving you quite an attitude. You were tired and wanted to sleep. You couldn‘t take Maxs bullshit now.

„What Max?“ you groaned, as Max scrunched his nose and shook his head.

„How much alcohol did you drink?“ he asked, as you looked at him annoyed. Why did it even matter, you were an adult after all. You unwinded yourself from Max's grasp but he still kept blocking your way. He felt like you owed him an explanation after all you had literally cried to him about your bad decisions just twenty four hours ago. Max who normally tried to keep his cool with you just had enough. As it felt like a switch had been flicked in him „You can not seriously go around the paddock and shag every driver that shows you a little attention. You know what that makes you look like. Like a-"

Max stopped himself as he saw the look in your eyes. He knew he had messed up. He didn't want to be the one to hurt you like this. You shook your head pushing past your brother as you made your way to your bedroom, going to sleep that night with a weird feeling.

Race day in Monaco was always special. But you feared you‘d remember this one for all the bad reasons. You now not only had to avoid one guy on the paddock but two. It was hard as you of course were working and Max was also there. But you spent most of your time inside, only walking around if really needed. You cursed yourself internally when Horner told you to get him his favorite salad for lunch. But hey, you were the intern so you had to.

Passing Max on your way out, who was too focused on preparations. Never ever letting his private life affect his racing.

Walking down the paddock, passing all the motor homes when you spotted Pierre. The french guy shooting you a smile as you approached him, embracing you in a friendly hug „Good morning, how are we feeling?“

You smiled, pulling back. Pierre was a great guy and the truth of the matter was that despite what people might have thought you two were really just friends. In fact the french guy had spenr all evening yesterday advicing you on how to work things out with Lando. He could obviously see how much you two loved one another and wanted it to work out for the two of you. He also agreed that Lando would have to apologize though, even if he didn’t mean what he said.

Talking about Lando. The Mclaren driver felt like he was losing his mind. He had almost not been able to sleep last night, every-time he closed his eyes the image of you snd Pierre engraved in his mind.

„I‘m fine thank you.“ you chuckled, and out the corner of your eye you could spot none other than your boyfriend. Leaning against a wall next to Daniel who was chatting with the mechanics. Lando looked rough, not like his usual happy and bubbly self. You didn’t even listen to Pierre anymore to focused on the boy who had stolen your heart. Knowing exactly what he was feeling right now, the crossed arms and the frown he was pulling giving him away. Something took over you right there and then as you abruptly interrupted Pierre, apologizing yourself before walking past him and heading straight towards Lando.

Checking the time on your watch, you saw there was enough time for you to go through with your plan. Lando couldn't believe his eyes when he watched you head straight towards him. To baffled and surprised to say anything you grabbed his upper arm, leaning into his ear and whispered „Don't say anything.“

Lando nodded like a puppy obeying your every word as you took his hand and lead him into the building. Leaving behind Daniel, who chuckled knowingly as the mechanics all shook their head. Young people.

In the backroom of the motor home, where no one usually was. You let the door fall close behind you as you turned around facing Lando. The guy too stunned to speak as he wondered what you were gonna do next. And then as you pushed him against the wall, he almost couldn’t believe it. Your lips crashing on his, your hands wrapping around his neck while Lando moaned into the kiss. He wanted to ask so bad what had changed but was scared to ruin the moment.

„I‘m still mad.“ you mumbled against his lips and Lando responded „Me too.“

„But I know you wouldn’t be able to race this worked up.“ you chuckled, feeling his hard on press against you. It was yours and Landos pre race ritual to give one another some kind of release. But this time it was different. You weren’t really here to help Lando out but little did he know. As you eagerly started pulling down his racing suit, hanging from his hips while he entered his tongue in your mouth, exploring every inch of it. Then with one swift motion your hand was in Landos pants touching him as he felt overwhelmed by the sensation.

„Fuck.“ he muttered, causing you too chuckle. Oh god if he couldn’t handle this, god save him from what was about to come. Pulling away as you looked at Landos puffy lips and messy hair. He was so totally at your ease it was endearing. You continued your plan by getting on your knees in front o the young guy. As he watched your every move with a clenched jaw. Soon enough his underwear was down and his hands buried in your hair ad you took his cock in your hand. Ever so slowly you licked his length before taking him into your mouth and then it was just waiting for the right time.

Lando was a moaning and groaning mess, his grip on your hair strong and firm as he let out a short „Fuck baby.“

As you watched his moans grow louder and his face scrunching up by every secon while you bobbed your head back and forward you almsot felt bad. Bad for what you were about to do. All so swiftly you pulled back, adding a little force so Lando would loosen his hold of your head which he did having no idea what was going on. He watched you confused as you got up, wiping the corner of your mouth „Glad to see that still works. Talk to me when you're ready to apologize.“

And than with that you left the poor guy behind, too shocked to say anything as he now knew he had to take care of his problem alone.

After a rather long day of racing, considering all the red flags you had agreed to go party with everyone. Knowing how fun these afterpartys could get. You were happy with Red Bulls work today and felt like you all deserved to celebrate. So you put on the shortest dress you owned and got ready with Kelly. All the while your brother tried calling Lando. Max had caught wind of you inviting Pierre with you and was not pleased. Even though most drivers where gonna be there, he felt like you going out your way to make sure Gasly was also there wasn’t a good thing. And even though he didn’t like to admit it, he knew the only person that could keep you from making a bad decision was annoying, childish and stupid Lando.

„Listen you little..I need you to talk to my sister.“

You downed what seemed like your 10th shot with Pierre as Charles cheered the two of you on. The party was in full swings and you were having the time of your life. All the while Max was sitting on the lounge with crossed arms, watching Gasly be way too friendly. He couldn’t believe Lando was actually letting this happen. The brit busy getting drunk in some corner with Daniel and a bunch of random women. Lando had gotten here with the plan to talk to you. But god, he was still so mad on how you had left him today that he just couldn’t do it. Plus he was so disappointed in Pierre and Charles that he went to rant to Daniel, who told him to just get drunk and forget.

When Max watched Pierre drag you to the dance floor and you literally grind your ass against the older guy he decided he had seen enough. Ignoring Kellys calls after him he pushed his way through people and headed straight towards Lando, who was sitting in some swinging chair in the corner with a drink in his hand and some random hat on, looking like he had a decent amount of alcohol in his system. Too wasted to even notice the random girls around him all thirsting over him.

„You!“ Max yelled over the music, causing everyone to look at him. Well expect Daniel, who was too busy making out with what looked like his girlfriend. Or maybe it wasn’t but Max couldn’t handle everyones problem right now. Lando looked at Max with wide eyes, clearly clueless in what was going on „You’re even worse than I thought!“

„What?“ Lando whined. his voice extremely high pitched. What had he done now? He had not even touched you! Landos drunken mind tried to come up with what Max's problem could be now „Is this about blow job? Because that was your sister-"

„Eww!“ Max scrunched up his face in disgust, hearing Lando talk about you. Lando soon realizing it probably wasn’t about that „Stop no! This is about you having to apologize to my sister now!“

Lando groaned, throwing up his hands in frustration „What? Why do I Have to-„

„Because Pierre is literally about to make out with her on the dance floor.“

That was it. Landos whole demeanor changed. It was like he had just sobered up within seconds as he jumped out his chair, stumbled over the table and pushed straight past Max showing his drink into his chest while doing so. Throwing his hat off as Max rolled his eyes, yelling after Lando to also apologize for him as he hadn't yet done so himself. He still hated Lando but the guy seemed like the lesser of two evils.

As Lando walked up to the dance floor, he could already spot Charles and Charlotte make out at the bar and just a few meters away from them there you were. Gasly's hands literally roaming your body as you were grinding up against him his face buried in your neck. You honestly didn’t even mean to dance with Pierre like this and he did neither probably. You were both just super drunk and not thinking clearly but then when you swiftly opened your eyes to see a pissed off Lando stand there with crossed arms you thought you might have just started having hallucinations. But opening them again for real and seeing your brother appear behind Lando, his usual disappointed stance you knew you weren't.

„Lando.“ you gasped, almost feeling busted. Nothing had really happened but Pierre still continuing to dance didn’t help make it look better as you stood there frozen in place. Lando clenched his jaw seeing where Pierres hand were wandering. Luckily Charles had caught wind of the situation as he ran over to you. The Ferrari Driver pulled his best friend away from you, dragging the stumbling guy away „Not your girl Pierre!“

Pierre didn't even disobey that's how drunk he was. Lando now took a step towards you a sad look on his face "Okay I apologize baby. I'm sorry for what I said"

"So am I." Max yelled behind Lando making you roll your eyes.

"I accept your apology." you chuckled, causing Lando to smile. The brit leaning in towards you and grabbing your upper arm before whispering "Now don't say anything."

You grinned, knowing he had just quoted you as you followed him past Max. Your brother sighing and shaking his head as you waved him goodbye. Not even ten seconds later he could see Lando press you against the wall and smash his lips onto yours. Max cringed at sloppy sight of it ad he turned around making his way back to Kelly, who sat there with a smirk on her face. With raised eyebrows the dutch guy sat down. Rubbing his knees with his hand as he could hear Kelly chuckle before she placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

„What?“ Max asked, having to resist the urge to smile.

„Nothing.“ Kelly giggled, before looking at you and Lando fully making out „You did the right thing Max. I‘m proud of you.“

„Yeah whatever.“ Max shrugged pretending to not care as he also looked at you Lando. Shaking his head ad he groaned „God he doesn't have to eat her up though?"

2K notes View Post

biblioteca-da-meia-noite

2 months ago

White Horse - Chapter 1: March 2023

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

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

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

Warnings and Notes:

....Do not expect particular quick updates on this, because it's a beast of a story. Also: kinda Charles bashing, but not really? You'll see.

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

A Bar in Montecarlo:

Max had come to the bar for a quiet drink, not to get his world flipped upside down. But then he spotted her.

She was standing at the counter, waiting for her drink, all soft confidence and effortless elegance. The kind of woman who didn’t need to try to turn heads—she just did. And Max, never one to let an opportunity pass him by, slid up beside her with his most charming smirk and opened his mouth.

And because apparently, he had actually listened the last time Lando told him all about the absolutely horrible Pick-Up-Lines that he had tried with middling success…that was what came out of his mouth.

“Excuse me,” he said smoothly, “but do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”

She turned, amused—

And Max nearly choked.

Because he knew her.

His brain scrambled for a second before his mouth caught up. “Oh, shit. You’re Charles’ little sister.”

Her entire expression changed. The amusement faded, her jaw tightening. “Wow,” she deadpanned. “That’s one way to ruin a moment.”

Max grimaced. “That’s not what I—”

She picked up her drink and turned fully toward him, raising a brow. “I do have a name, you know.”

He nodded quickly, recovering. “Right. Isabelle.”

“Good job,” she said dryly. “Want a gold star?”

Max huffed out a laugh. “Look, I just wasn’t expecting you. I see a beautiful woman at a bar, and my instinct is to flirt. Then I realize she’s my colleague’s little sister, and I panic.”

Her lips twitched. “And?”

“And… I’m still going to flirt with you,” he admitted, grinning. “But properly this time.”

She tilted her head, intrigued. “Oh?”

Max leaned in slightly. “Can I buy you a drink, Isabelle?”

She pretended to consider. “That depends. Are you going to keep calling me Charles’ little sister?”

He placed a hand over his heart. “I solemnly swear never to utter those words again.”

Her lips curled in the slightest smirk. “In that case, sure. Let’s see if you can impress me, Verstappen.”

Max had never been one to back down from a challenge. And something told him this was a challenge he’d never want to walk away from.

Max flagged down the bartender, ordering another round for both of them. Isabelle took a slow sip of her drink, watching him over the rim of her glass like she was trying to decide if he was worth her time.

He liked that. Liked that she wasn’t falling over herself just because he was Max Verstappen.

“So,” he said, leaning against the bar, “what exactly would impress you?”

She hummed, tapping a finger against her glass. “A conversation that doesn’t involve my brothers.”

Max smirked. “That easy?”

“You’d be surprised how many people fail that test.”

He could imagine. Charles was everywhere in the racing world, and by extension, so was Isabelle. It must be exhausting, always being seen as an extension of someone else.

Max took the challenge seriously. “Alright,” he said, shifting toward her. “Tell me something about you that has nothing to do with your family.”

She studied him for a moment, like she was assessing if he was genuine. Then, after a beat, she said, “I work in architecture.”

Max blinked. “Really?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I never thought about what you do.”

She smirked. “That’s because you’ve only ever seen me as Charles’ little sister.”

Max winced. “Okay, fair. But I’m interested now.”

“Are you?” She tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. “I have heard your name at work before.”

Max frowned. “You have?”

“Oh, yeah,” Isabelle said, taking another sip of her drink. “Apparently, you’ve been house hunting. One of my colleagues nearly had a meltdown over the idea of designing a place for Max Verstappen.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Wait… which project?”

She bit back a smile. “A penthouse. You toured it a few weeks ago.”

Max suddenly knew exactly which one she was talking about. He had liked the place, but something had held him back from committing.

Now, though?

Now, he was very seriously considering signing the papers just for an excuse to see her again.

He leaned in, watching her reaction closely. “And if I were to, say, buy that penthouse?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Then I’d know you had good taste.”

Max grinned. “That’s it?”

She shrugged. “That, and I’d probably have to endure my colleagues freaking out for at least a week.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, then. Guess I have some decisions to make.”

Isabelle rolled her eyes, but he caught the way her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile.

Yeah. He was definitely buying that penthouse.

Max drummed his fingers against the bar, pretending to think. "Alright, so let’s say I do buy that penthouse. Hypothetically."

Isabelle gave him a knowing look. "Hypothetically."

"Would I get a personal consultation?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "That’s not how it works."

"But if I had, I don’t know, questions about the design, or maybe some concerns about the layout, I’d need someone to talk to, wouldn’t I?"

Isabelle swirled the last of her drink in her glass, watching him with an amused glint in her eyes. "Max, are you trying to say you need my number for professional reasons?"

He grinned, tilting his head. "I mean, what if I need an expert opinion? You are the only architect I know."

She sighed in mock exasperation, but he could tell she was entertained. "I really shouldn’t encourage this."

"But you want to," Max countered, smirking.

Her lips twitched, and after a moment’s pause, she reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. "Fine. Give me yours, I’ll text you."

Max typed in his number so fast that she actually laughed. She typed something in her phone.

A second later, his phone buzzed with a new message.

Unknown Number: Congratulations on your completely unbiased, definitely not suspicious real estate decision.

Max chuckled. "So, what happens if I text you about things that aren’t penthouse-related?"

Isabelle lifted her glass to her lips and said, before taking the last sip, "Guess we’ll find out."

And just like that, Max Verstappen knew he was completely screwed.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

(Unknown Number): Hey, it’s Max.

(Unknown Number): Verstappen.

(Unknown Number): Just in case you know a lot of Maxes.

Isabelle: I don’t.

Max: Good. Would hate to have competition already.

Isabelle: Already?

Max: What can I say? I like you.

Isabelle: You barely know me.

Max: That’s true. But I’d like to change that.

Isabelle: …That was smooth.

Max: Was it?

Isabelle: Surprisingly, yes.

Max: Noted. I’ll add it to my very short list of smooth moments.

Isabelle: Very short?

Max: Tragically short.

Isabelle: I don’t know if I believe that.

Max: I promise, my sister would confirm it.

Isabelle: You have a sister?

Max: Victoria.

Isabelle: Right, I think I’ve seen her before.

Max: Probably. She’d probably like you, by the way.

Isabelle: Oh?

Max: Yeah. She has a good instinct about people.

Isabelle: And what does your instinct say?

Max: That I really, really want to see you again.

Isabelle: You’re very direct, aren’t you?

Max: Is that a bad thing?

Isabelle: No. Just… unexpected.

Max: Well, I can be subtle too.

Isabelle: Can you?

Max: Definitely. For example, I could subtly ask what you’re doing tomorrow night.

Isabelle: …Very subtle.

Max: Thank you. So?

Isabelle: I might be free.

Max: Good. Then I’ll subtly ask if you’d like to have dinner with me.

Isabelle: Are you always like this?

Max: Only when I really like someone.

Isabelle: …Dinner sounds nice.

Max: Perfect. I’ll send you the details.

Isabelle: Looking forward to it.

Max: Me too.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: I met someone.

Victoria: …Okay?

Max: And I think I’m in love.

Victoria: MAX.

Victoria: You literally just met her??

Max: Yes.

Victoria: And you think you’re in love?

Max: Yes.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Victoria: Max.

Victoria: WHAT.

Victoria: HOW.

Victoria: WHY.

Max: I don’t know, Vic. I just know. I met her tonight and I just…I just know.

Victoria: You’ve known her for one night.

Max: Yes.

Victoria: Max.

Max: Vic.

Victoria: Oh my god, you’re serious.

Max: Very.

Victoria: You’re actually gone for her already.

Max: Completely.

Victoria: …Okay.

Max: Okay?

Victoria: Yeah.

Victoria: I mean, I think you’re insane, but if anyone deserves to fall stupidly, recklessly in love, it’s you.

Max: …Thanks, Vic.

Victoria: You deserve to be loved, Max.

Victoria: For who you are. Not because you’re Max Verstappen, two-time world champion, but just because you’re you.

Max: …

Max: I think she sees me that way.

Victoria: Then hold onto her.

Max: I plan to.

Victoria: Is that why you’re texting me at midnight like a lunatic?

Max: …I may have also just bought that penthouse.

Victoria: MAX.

Victoria: YOU HAVE BEEN UNDECIDED ABOUT THAT PENTHOUSE FOR MONTHS.

Victoria: AND NOW YOU MEET A GIRL AND SUDDENLY YOU’RE BUYING IT???

Max: Her architecture firm is working on it.

Victoria: This is why people say Libras are intense.

Max: That’s astrology nonsense.

Victoria: SAYS THE MAN PLANNING A WHOLE FUTURE AFTER ONE CONVERSATION.

Max: I have a good feeling about it.

Victoria: MAX.

Max: What? You just said I deserve to be loved.

Victoria: YES, BUT I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D LOSE YOUR ENTIRE MIND OVER IT.

Max: Too late.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Victoria: You are actually the most ridiculous person alive.

Victoria: But if she makes you happy… then I’m happy for you.

Max: She does.

Victoria: Then that’s all that matters.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Emergency. Crisis. Disaster.

Emilie: That’s a lot of words. What happened?

Isabelle: I have a date.

Emilie: And that’s a disaster because…?

Isabelle: Because it’s with Max Verstappen.

Emilie: …

Emilie: I’m going to need a second.

Emilie:

Emilie: Okay, I’m back. WHAT???

Isabelle: We met at a bar. He asked me out. I said yes. And now I don’t know what to wear. Focus. Help.

Emilie: We met at a bar, he asked me out, I said yes—DO YOU HEAR YOURSELF???

Isabelle: EMILIE. FOCUS. OUTFIT.

Emilie: Right. Okay. Where is he taking you?

Isabelle: Some fancy restaurant. Not too fancy, but still expensive.

Emilie: God, of course. Okay. Simple but elegant. A dress that makes it look like you didn’t try too hard, even though you absolutely did.

Isabelle: Black dress?

Emilie: Obviously. And heels. You own some ridiculous ones. Wear those.

Isabelle: You are suspiciously good at this.

Emilie: Because I have taste. Now, more importantly—DO YOUR BROTHERS KNOW??

Isabelle: …

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: No, they do not.

Emilie: WHY NOT???

Isabelle: Because I don’t want to deal with it.

Emilie: You are dating CHARLES LECLERC’S BIGGEST RIVAL. YOU DON’T THINK THAT’S WORTH MENTIONING???

Isabelle: One date does not mean I’m dating him.

Emilie: YET.

Isabelle: I don’t think Charles would care.

Emilie: …That is the saddest sentence I have ever read.

Emilie: You don’t think Charles would care.

Isabelle: No.

Emilie: Are we talking about the same man??? The one who holds grudges against people for bad karting races from 15 years ago??

Isabelle: I am saying that I am basically invisible in my family, and therefore, he will not care.

Emilie: THAT IS SO DEPRESSING.

Isabelle: It’s just reality.

Emilie: No, it’s tragic. And when Charles inevitably does care, I am going to be so smug about it.

Isabelle: He won’t.

Emilie: He will. And when he finds out from Twitter instead of you, I am going to remind you forever that I was right.

Isabelle: Fine. If he does, I will buy you dinner.

Emilie: And?

Isabelle: And I will admit you were right.

Emilie: Good girl. But first, we need to make sure Max Verstappen is absolutely floored when he sees you tonight. Let’s pick out your dress.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: HELP.

Max: I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO WEAR.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Max: I’m serious, Vic. This is important.

Victoria: It’s one date.

Max: Exactly! First impressions matter. What if I wear something stupid?

Victoria: You wear team merch 90% of the time, so that’s a real possibility.

Max: NOT HELPING.

Victoria: Okay, okay. Where are you taking her?

Max: Nice restaurant. Fancy-ish but not too fancy.

Victoria: Alright. Dark jeans, nice shirt, jacket. Clean shoes.

Max: That’s it???

Victoria: Yes, you’re not walking a red carpet, Max.

Max: What if she thinks it’s boring?

Victoria: If she’s going out with you, she probably already knows you’re a little fashion-challenged.

Max: Wow.

Victoria: I’m just saying, if she agreed to a date, she clearly likes you. Just wear something that fits and isn’t Red Bull merch.

Max: I feel like you’re underestimating the stress of this situation.

Victoria: I feel like you’re underestimating the fact that she already said yes.

Max: …Good point.

Victoria: Obviously. Now go find a shirt that isn’t a team polo and try not to overthink it.

Max: No promises.

Victoria: You’re impossible.

Max: And yet, you still love me.

Victoria: Unfortunately. Now go. And don’t text me from the restaurant freaking out.

Max: No guarantees.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: Well????

Isabelle: Well, what?

Emilie: Isabelle. Do not play dumb with me. How did the date go??

Isabelle: …It was really nice.

Emilie: THAT’S ALL YOU’RE GIVING ME?

Emilie: I want DETAILS. Did he show up looking stupidly handsome? Was he nice? Did he make you laugh? Did you kiss him??

Isabelle: Yes, yes, yes, and Yes.

Emilie: YES??

Isabelle: I kissed him.

Emilie: !!!!!

Emilie: Details. Now.

Isabelle: It was after our date. He walked me to my door, and I just… kissed him.

Emilie: You just kissed him?? Who are you and what have you done with my overthinking best friend??

Isabelle: Shut up. I didn’t even think about it. I just did it.

Emilie: And???

Isabelle: And then he kissed me back.

Emilie: …That better not be the end of the story.

Isabelle: It was soft. And slow. And he cupped my face like I was something precious.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Emilie: Isabelle, my love. My dearest best friend.

Emilie: You’re done for.

Isabelle: … I know.

Emilie: And how did he look after?

Isabelle: Like he was trying very hard not to kiss me again.

Emilie: Oh, you’re so doomed.

Isabelle: I know.

Emilie: Tell me everything.

Isabelle: He was already at the restaurant when I got there, which was sweet. He pulled out my chair for me. He was nervous, which was insane to me because, you know, he’s Max Verstappen.

Emilie: Boy has driven through Eau Rouge at full speed, but a girl makes him nervous. I love this.

Isabelle: He kept looking at me like I was the most interesting person in the world. Like he actually wanted to hear everything I had to say.

Emilie: I love him already.

Isabelle: You love him?? Emilie, I might actually be in trouble here.

Emilie: Uh oh.

Isabelle: …He sent me flowers.

Emilie: WHAT.

Emilie: When???

Isabelle: They just got delivered.

Emilie: EXCUSE ME.

Emilie: You go on ONE date with Max Verstappen and wake up to FLOWERS???

Isabelle: Apparently.

Emilie: What kind?

Isabelle: Peonies.

Emilie: Belle.

Emilie: He is so in love with you.

Isabelle: It was one date.

Emilie: AND???

Emilie: The man sent you flowers the morning after like he’s starring in a romance novel.

Isabelle: Maybe he just does that?

Emilie: Girl. Be serious.

Emilie: Did he say anything with them?

Isabelle: There was a note.

Emilie: AND???

Isabelle: It just says ‘Last night was perfect. Can’t wait to see you again. – Max’

Emilie: I’M GONNA SCREAM.

Emilie: Max Verstappen is courting you.

Isabelle: Courting is a strong word.

Emilie: He sent you flowers. He is so gone for you.

Isabelle: …Maybe.

Emilie: So… second date?

Isabelle: Saturday.

Emilie: GIRL.

Isabelle: I know.

***

Isabelle Leclerc’s Instagram Post

Comments:

@/emilie_abadie: 👀👀👀

@/F1GossipQueen: That’s a very ‘I have a thoughtful boyfriend’ kind of flower arrangement.

↳@/paddockprincessx: Soft launch era????

@/leclercsiblingtea: If Charles doesn’t know who sent these, I need his live reaction immediately.

↳@/monacogossip: Why do I feel like this is someone wildly unexpected?

↳@/redbullsimpclub: Place your bets now, I’m saying it’s a paddock guy.

↳@/f1shenanigans: If this is from an F1 driver, I am losing my mind.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: Thank you for the flowers. They are beautiful.

Isabelle: And for yesterday. I had a really nice time.

Max: I’m glad you liked them.

Max: What’s your favorite flower? For next time.

Isabelle: Snowdrops.

Max: Snowdrops?

Isabelle: Yes?

Max: I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone whose favorite flower is snowdrops.

Isabelle: That’s a shame. They’re beautiful. And they bloom in the cold, when nothing else does.

Max : Like you, then.

Isabelle: …Are you trying to be charming, Max Verstappen?

Max: Is it working?

Isabelle: Maybe.

Max: Good.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Sophie: So… Victoria told me something interesting.

Max: She needs a new hobby.

Sophie: Max.

Max: What?

Sophie: Are you in love?

Max: …Maybe.

Sophie: After one conversation?

Max: No! After two conversations.

Sophie: Oh, well, that’s much more reasonable.

Max: Mom.

Sophie: Max.

Max: Look, I just know that it’s different. I’ve never felt like this before.

Sophie: That’s a big thing to say.

Max: I know. But I can’t explain it. It just makes sense.

Sophie: So how did the date go?

Max: …It was perfect.

Sophie: Now we’re getting somewhere.

Max: She’s funny, she’s smart, she actually listens when I talk about racing—like, really listens. And she doesn’t care about the other stuff. The money, the fame. None of it. She just likes me.

Sophie: That’s important.

Max: I know.

Sophie: So when do I get to meet her?

Max: When she doesn’t think I’m a crazy person for how fast I’m falling for her.

Sophie: I hate to break it to you, Max, but you bought a penthouse because her firm is working on it.

Max: …

Sophie: That’s what I thought.

Max: It’s a very nice penthouse.

Sophie: Of course it is.

Max: So you’re not going to say I’m insane?

Sophie: Oh, you are insane. But you’re also my son. And if this makes you happy, then I’m happy for you.

Max: Thanks, Mom.

Sophie: Now tell me, do I need to start planning a wedding?

Max: Goodbye.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale)

Arthur: Dinner at Maman’s, Saturday, usual time?

Charles: Yeah, I’ll be there.

Lorenzo: Me too.

Isabelle: I can’t make it, I’m busy.

Arthur: What’s Maman making?

Charles: Probably something with pasta.

Lorenzo: Didn’t she say something about lamb last time?

Arthur: Oh yeah, I think so.

Isabelle: Have fun!

Charles: See you all Saturday.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: Hey, if I were to ask for date advice, purely hypothetically…

Victoria: Oh my God.

Max: What?

Victoria: You NEVER ask for advice. This must be serious.

Max: It’s not that serious.

Victoria: You literally bought an apartment because of this girl.

Max: …That’s unrelated.

Victoria: Sure it is.

Max: So… hypothetically… if I needed some guidance, what would you suggest?

Victoria: Are you actually asking for advice, or are you just hoping I’ll make it easier for you by giving you a list of things not to do?

Max: ...

Victoria: That’s what I thought. Give me a second.

Victoria: Okay, here’s your DO NOT list:

Do not talk about tire degradation.

Do not mention iRacing, no matter how good your last stint was.

Do not wear a Red Bull hoodie.

Do not check F1 news during the date.

Do not turn the date into a competition.

Do not text me mid-date if you panic. Figure it out.

Do not propose.

Max: …That last one was unnecessary.

Victoria: I’m just covering all bases.

Max: I wasn’t going to propose.

Victoria: Good. Then this should be easy for you.

Max: The Red Bull hoodie rule feels unfair.

Victoria: Max.

Max: Fine. No Red Bull hoodie.

Victoria: Thank you.

Max: …Can I at least wear the cap?

Victoria: Max.

Max: Alright, alright. No cap.

Victoria: Proud of you. Now, go be normal.

Max: No promises.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: Hypothetically. If you were taking someone on a second date. What would you do?

GP: …Why are you asking me?

Max: Because you’re married!

GP: And?

Max: That means you’ve successfully dated someone.

GP: That does not make me a dating expert.

GP: Also, since when do you ask me for relationship advice?

GP: Who is she?

Max: …

GP: Max.

Max:

GP: MAX.

GP: WHO IS IT.

Max: Isabelle.

GP: Isabelle who?

Max: …Leclerc.

GP:

GP: MAX.

GP: CHARLES LECLERC’S SISTER?!?!?!?!?

Max: Yeah, she doesn’t really like being called that.

GP: MAX.

GP: DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH?

Max: Not particularly.

GP: HOW DID THIS HAPPEN.

Max: I met her.

GP: OBVIOUSLY.

GP: Where?! When?! How long has this been going on?!

Max: A few days.

GP: And Charles doesn’t know???

Max: I don’t think he notices much about her.

GP: Okay, that’s a whole other issue, but back to you.

GP: Do you have any self-preservation instincts?

Max: She’s nice. I like her.

GP: THAT IS NOT THE POINT.

GP: Do you realize the incident this could cause?

Max: If I wanted overreactions, I’d have texted Victoria.

GP: I AM REACTING APPROPRIATELY.

GP: What does Victoria think?

Max: She said, "You deserve to be loved."

GP: …Well, that’s suspiciously sentimental.

GP: But also, Charles is still going to kill you.

Max: You’re being dramatic.

GP: AM I?

Max: Are you helping or not?

GP: I AM TOO BUSY PROCESSING YOUR TERRIBLE LIFE CHOICES.

GP: Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. Let’s focus.

GP: You need a second date idea.

GP: That does not result in Charles Leclerc murdering you.

Max: I think you’re overestimating how much he pays attention to her.

GP: That’s between them. I am concerned for you.

Max: You’re being dramatic again.

GP: No, I’m being realistic.

Max: …I’ll deal with that when it happens.

GP: Unbelievable.

GP: Alright. Date ideas.

GP: What did you do for the first one?

Max: Dinner. Talked a lot.

GP: What does she like?

Max: Horses.

GP: Horses.

GP: You’re dating someone who likes horses.

Max: Yes?

GP: I feel like that’s relevant information I should’ve had sooner.

GP: Have you ever been near a horse, Max?

Max: Not really.

GP: Okay, no horse-related dates yet. You will get yourself killed trying to impress her.

Max: She’d find that funny.

GP: I wouldn’t.

GP: Let’s keep it simple. Somewhere quiet. Private. Where you can talk.

Max: I was thinking that too.

GP: What about a picnic?

Max: A picnic.

GP: Yeah. You get some good food, go somewhere nice, and just relax. No stress.

Max: Where am I supposed to find a picnic spot?

GP: You have a balcony, Max.

GP: You literally have a balcony with a view.

GP: Just set something up there.

Max: …That’s actually not a bad idea.

GP: Wow. Praise from the great Max Verstappen. I’m honored.

Max: Don’t get used to it.

GP: Okay, what kind of food does she like?

Max: She ordered pasta on our first date.

GP: That’s a start. You could order from the same place.

Max: Or I could cook.

GP: You could what?

Max: I can cook, GP.

GP: Since when?

Max: Since I lived alone?

GP: Okay, sure. But can you cook something that won’t poison her?

Max: Wow. Faith in me is at an all-time low.

GP: Just making sure she survives the night.

Max: I’ll make pasta. It’s simple.

GP: Fine. But don’t experiment. Stick to what you know.

Max: What do you think I’m going to do? Try molecular gastronomy?

GP: I wouldn’t put it past you.

GP: Okay, what else… You need drinks. Dessert.

Max: She likes red wine.

GP: Get a good wine, then. And dessert?

Max: She mentioned liking raspberries once.

GP: So get her something with raspberries.

Max: Got it.

GP: And what about ambiance?

Max: …

GP: Max.

Max: What?

GP: Do you even own candles?

Max: …Victoria gave me some once.

GP: Use them.

GP: And put some effort into setting the table.

GP: You know, for someone who acts like they don’t care about romance, you’re actually putting effort into this.

Max: …She’s worth the effort.

GP:

GP: Damn.

GP: Okay.

GP: You have to survive Charles finding out.

Max: I told you. I’ll handle it.

GP: Yeah, yeah. Just keep me updated.

Max: Sure.

GP: And if you need actual advice, ask Victoria.

Max: I did ask Victoria. She just sent me a list of things not to do.

GP: What was on the list?

Max: "Don’t talk about tire degradation. Don’t mention iRacing. Don’t wear a Red Bull hoodie."

GP: Solid advice.

Max: She also said, "Act normal."

GP: That one might be harder for you.

Max: Wow.

GP: Just being honest.

GP: So, do you have everything planned?

Max: Yeah. I think so.

GP: Good. Now all you have to do is not mess it up.

Max: Thanks for the vote of confidence.

GP: Any time.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: Soooooo... how was the date?

Isabelle: Good.

Emilie: …That’s it? "Good"? You had dinner with Max Verstappen, a man who has clearly lost his mind over you, and all you have to say is "good"???

Isabelle: Fine. Great. Amazing.

Isabelle: Happy?

Emilie: Better. But I’m gonna need DETAILS.

Isabelle: We had dinner, talked a lot, and then I stayed over.

Emilie:

Emilie: EXCUSE ME???

Emilie: YOU STAYED OVER????

Isabelle: Yes.

Emilie: As in "I fell asleep on the couch watching a movie and went home in the morning" stayed over, or "I am now intimately familiar with Max Verstappen's bedsheets" stayed over???

Isabelle: …

Emilie: ISABELLE.

Isabelle: Nothing happened.

Emilie: Oh my god.

Emilie: OH MY GOD.

Isabelle: I swear, nothing happened. It just got late and…

Emilie: This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Isabelle: I’m so glad MY love life is giving you entertainment.

Emilie: You don’t understand. I’ve been waiting for you to have an actual romance for YEARS. YEARS, ISABELLE.

Isabelle: You make it sound like I was living in a cave.

Emilie: Emotionally? Maybe a little.

Isabelle: Rude.

Emilie: True.

Emilie: But seriously. How do you feel?

Isabelle: …I don’t know. It’s weird.

Isabelle: He likes me. Like, really likes me. And I’m not used to that.

Emilie: Then get used to it, babe. Because that man? He’s already gone for you.

Isabelle: You think so?

Emilie: I KNOW so.

Emilie: Now tell me: does he have nice bedsheets, or do I need to stage an intervention?

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

GP: Well???

Max: Well, what?

GP: Don’t play dumb. How did it go?

Max: …

GP: MAX.

Max: It went well.

GP: That’s it? That’s all I get after coaching you through this?

Max: What do you want me to say?

GP: I want details. Did she like the food? Did you talk about tire degradation anyway? Did she laugh about your terrible jokes?

Max: She liked the food. No, I did not mention tire degradation. Rude.

GP: Growth. I’m proud of you.

Max: Thanks.

Max: The cats love her.

GP: …THE CATS?! MAX. That is NOT the update I was looking for.

Max: No, but it’s important. They don’t just like people.

GP: I was expecting romance, maybe a ‘we stayed up talking all night’ or ‘she laughed at all my jokes’—and you’re giving me ‘the cats love her’??!

Max: It means a lot! Jimmy and Sassy were literally fighting for her attention. She was just sitting on the couch, and they both climbed into her lap like she was their owner.

GP: …Okay, I’ll admit, that’s kind of a big deal. You’re in love, aren’t you?

Max: I mean… yeah.

GP: I knew it. The cats knew it. Everyone knew it. Charles is gonna lose his mind.

Max: That’s a problem for future Max.

***

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