SYNOPSIS Lando Norris Is Notorious For Being A Party Boy—a Fuck Boy, Even—with His Numerous Entanglements,

Hurricane - Part 5

{“I bought some from here last week. They were so good. The vendor said they were picked this morning. Can you imagine these with some fresh cream and a bit of sugar? Oh my goodness.” “Buy three cartons.” Max said, pulling out his wallet from his back pocket without hesitation. He wanted multiples of anything that made Emma smile like that.}

notes: no warnings. just vibes. max being soft for emma. thank you to my own personal writing therapist who routinely talks me off a ledge when i'm convinced this entire thing is trash @lestapiastrisgirl <3 pairing: max verstappen x emma meyer (female oc) word count: 6k

hurricane master list main master list ask me anything

Emma didn’t make it to her planned 9am pilates class the next morning, much to absolutely no one’s surprise. The headache that pounded behind her eyes the moment her alarm went off much too early had her silencing her phone. 

“Who did I think I was last night? Why in the world did you allow me to think I’d be human enough to make a 9am class, Verstappen?” Emma moans as she pads out into the kitchen a few hours later. She collapses theatrically into a chair at the kitchen counter, her head immediately falling forward, forehead resting against the cool marble. 

Max chuckles from his spot at the stove where he stands frying up some eggs. The breakfast this morning wasn’t exceptionally fancy, but the thought behind it was the same. “I tried to turn your alarm off in the car last night but you yelled at me. Something about how you’d need to sweat out all the alcohol you’d drank.” 

“I’m never drinking ever again.” She groans, tapping her forehead against the counter a few times. 

Max snorts, sliding two of the fried eggs onto a plate before sliding them over to Emma along with a fork. “How many times have you said that before?” 

Emma lifts her head off the counter to glare at Max, “More than five, less than ten.” 

Max pushed the eggs further towards her, encouraging her to eat. “I’m going to go on a run after I eat, do you want to come with me? Sweat out that alcohol like you wanted to last night?” 

“Don’t you use my words against me, I’m injured.” 

“You’re hungover.” 

“Same thing.” Emma snaps but there’s no bite behind her words. “You don’t have to hang out with me all the time during an off week, Max. I’m just your assistant.” Her face softens into something more serious, her voice dropping. 

“You are not just my assistant, Sunshine.” Max corrects, eyes serious. He was unwilling to allow Emma to self-deprecate like that, even this early in the morning. “You’re my friend who just happens to run my life with military precision. Besides, I like hanging out with you.” 

Emma grins, not bothering to hide her pleasure at his words. “Okay, fine but I if I pass out, you’re responsible for making sure I get home safe.” 

“Of course. Now eat, you need something in your stomach before you do any sort of cardio.” 

She shakes her head before popping a forkful of egg into her mouth, a satisfied hum scratching at the back of her throat. Max swallows thickly at the sound. “These are perfect. If this whole racing thing doesn’t work out, you should consider opening up a fried egg restaurant.” 

Max chuckles, cracking another few eggs into the pan for himself. He slots a few pieces of bread into the toaster before pulling out the butter and Emma’s favorite jam. The sheer domesticity of the moment has something deep in his chest aching with familiarity. Emma eating quietly as she scrolls through her social media feeds, Max standing at the stove watching over his own eggs. It was a silent glimpse into something he’d never known was possible for him. 

“Are you volunteering to be my taste tester?” 

“Just add it to my many different job titles: Emotional Support Assistant, Professional Egg Taster. My resume is going to be stacked after working for you.” 

The thought of Emma not working for him anymore sends a strange trill of anxiety through him. He sways at the stove a bit when the thought races through his mind. Between the way she’d leaned into him while he steadied her in the elevator last night and the way her hug had lingered a little longer than necessary when he finally was able to get Emma into bed, the way she’d become such a solid fixture in his life so quickly made Max’s head spin. 

When his eggs are ready, he slides them onto a plate before sitting next to Emma at the counter. They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, the quiet only broken by the sounds of toast crunching and forks clinking against porcelain. 

“Okay, I think I can do a short run without regretting my entire existence.” Emma says after popping the last bits of egg into her mouth, fork scraping against the now empty plate. “How long did you want to go for?” 

“Ten miles?” 

Emma nearly spits out the sip of orange juice. When Max doesn’t laugh, she shakes her head. “Oh, you’re serious?” 

Max chuckles. “Miami is next weekend. It’s hot and humid as fuck down there, I need to make sure my endurance is better than it was in Jeddah. I was dying after.” 

Emma’s mind flickers back to after the race in Jeddah. He’d been flushed such a deep scarlet, sweat making his blond hair stick haphazardly to his forehead. After the post-race celebrations, it had been straight into the ice bath for him, a little tradition that Emma didn’t mind being present for in the least. 

“Ten miles sounds ambitious for someone who’s main form of exercise last night was lifting my drink to my lips over and over…and over.” 

“You don’t have to come with me, you can stay here on the couch with Jimmy and Sassy. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.” 

Emma shakes her head, waving her hand dismissively. “No, drunk me was right. I need to sweat out all of my bad decisions from last night.” 

“You can spend the rest of the afternoon rotting on the couch. Crane wanted to stream some iRacing later, if that’s okay with you.” 

Emma shrugs as she moves towards the hallway. “Fine with me as long as you don’t start yelling at him again when he runs you into the wall.” 

“He did it on purpose!” Max protests, laugh rumbling in the back of his throat. 

“It’s a video game!” Emma argues back with a laugh before walking down the hall to get changed. 

Max just rolls his eyes before turning back to the dishes that need washing before they can leave. He tosses everything in the sink before filling it with hot water and soap, letting them soak so he can let them be this afternoon’s chores. 

It doesn’t take long and before Max is even finished wiping off the counter, Emma is back in the kitchen, dressed in a matching set of mint green leggings and sports bra. When he turns towards the sounds of her shuffling down the hall, he has to lean against the counter for support. There were several inches of bare skin between the bottom of the top she had on and her leggings. He swallowed thickly at the sight of her navy blue and red jeweled belly button ring. That was new, he thought idly, not minding one bit how it matched his colors. 

“Max, are you okay?” Emma interrupted his perusal of her body, eyebrow arched in quiet question. 

Max clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh..” He shakes his head, the thoughts springing up in his mind a bit spicy for this early in the morning. “Yeah. Yep, totally fine. You ready?” 

Emma reaches up, pulling her ponytail a bit tighter. “No, but lets go anyway.” 

With a chuckle, Max’s hand finds the small of Emma’s back as he leads her out of the apartment, happy to be moving towards the door so the temptation of doing other cardio activities with her doesn’t get a chance to take hold. “I’ll go easy on you, Sunshine.” 

Emma rolls her eyes, “Yeah. I’m sure you will.” 

Twitter user918 - anyone else see Max this morning in Monaco with that blonde? Who is she? >>> user000 - It looked like it was Emma, his new assistant.  >>>user0209 - he’s hanging out with his assistant on non-race weeks???  >>>user090 have you SEEN Emma??? If I were Max I’d never let her leave. User938 Are we sure they’re not actually dating? I swear I saw them flirting in the background of the most recent Red Bull video Yuki was doing.  >>>user102 can we normalize accepting that sometimes a man and woman are literally just FRIENDS. Besides, she’s his EMPLOYEE, that would be so weird.  >>>user999 idk about you but I don’t look at MY coworkers like Max looks at Emma.  >>>user019 @/user999 IKR??? Did you see the way he looked at her the last time he was streaming with Red Line? She handed him food during a break they had and he looked up at her with the most obvious heart eyes I’ve ever seen.  >>>user001 ya’ll are nuts user112 I hope she makes an appearance on stream this afternoon. Max always seems happier when she’s around.  

The familiar sounds of Max’s sim rig filled the quiet of the apartment later that afternoon. Emma scrolled on her phone as she listened idly to the hum of the computer fan, the click of the paddle shifters, and the focused murmur of Max’s voice as he chatted back and forth with the other guys that were on the stream. On the largest monitor, his virtual car navigated a challenging corner on the digital rendition of the track in Spa. 

Unseen by the thousands of viewers that were glued to the Twitch stream, Emma was sprawled out comfortable on the large sectional sofa behind his setup, Sassy curled up on her lap purring away happily. A half-eaten bowl of popcorn sat forgotten on the coffee table, the comforting voices of President Barlet and his staff softly filtered though the air from her laptop screen as she lost herself in an episode of The West Wing. 

The afternoon sun, now slung lower in the sky, cast a warm glow over the scene, a calm picture of relaxed domesticity that had begun to define the way Emma and Max existed together in their off-time. 

Suddenly, Max’s focused concentration seemed to waver for just a beat as a second, feminine voice was picked up by his sensitive microphone. He briefly muted, finger darting over the red button as his eyes flickered off-screen towards Emma, a small, private smily tugging at his lips as he spoke. 

The chat immediately exploded. 

user200 wait, who is he talking to??? User0990 I swear I just heard a girl’s voice in the background??? User009 spill the tea Max! Who’s the mystery woman that’s got you blushing like that???

Crane saw the comments flooding in as he watched Max’s video instead of the race he should have been paying attention to. “Oi! Max! No distractions, focus on the apex!” 

Max’s cheeks flushed slightly, a fact not lost on the chat, as he shook his head. “I am focused!” He argued after he unmuted himself. 

“You are not.” Emma called from the couch, hitting the pause button on her show. “He is not focused, Crane!” She called, enjoying the way Max’s head snapped back in her direction. 

Chat exploded when they heard Emma’s voice. 

User099 I HEARD HER AGAIN.  User334 who is it Max?! Come on, spill!!  User000 we’re not going to let this go until we see her.  User009 she even SOUNDS pretty.  User982 I bet its the same blonde that he was seen with this morning running in the marina.  >>>user334 he was WHAT??? 

Max sighed, shaking his head. “Relax guys, it’s just Emma. You know, my assistant? She’s just chilling on the couch.”

The chat went wild again, a flurry of new messages flooding the screen. 

User333 EMMA??? THEEEEEE EMMA??? The only one on Red Bull’s payroll that can tame the lion???  user003 oh to be a personal assistant to THE Max Verstappen and live in Monaco.  User020 wait, isn’t it sort of weird for his assistant to be at his apartment on a Saturday afternoon?  >>>user000 yeah, seems a bit unprofessional, no?  >>>user222 adults can be friends outside of work guys.  User100 COME SAY HI EMMA!!! >>>user888 yeah, we want to see the girl that’s got Max behaving in the media pen the last few races.  User928 idk guys. The way he looks at her is giving ‘I have the biggest crush on you’ instead of ‘I am very much your boss’ 

Max’s reluctance was palpable. He liked having this space, his online racing world, separate from his very really and increasingly complicated life with Emma. Sharing her with the outside world felt…intrusive. Like he was revealing a piece of him that he’d rather keep away from the prying eyes of the public. So much of his life was already fodder for public consumption. His relationship with Emma felt…different. Like it was something that needed to be protected. 

He muted again briefly before turning his head. “They want to say hi.” 

Emma’s brows knit together, “Who?” 

Max swept a hand towards his monitors. “Everyone.” 

“Is that cool?” 

Max nodded, eyes flicking back to where the chat was losing their mind. Crane and the rest of the guys were quiet, knowing not to push Max into revealing more of his private life than he was comfortable with. They were respectful with his boundaries even if the general public could be a little intense sometimes. “Only if you’re comfortable with it.” 

Emma contemplated her options for a moment before grinning. She’d chatted with Crane and the other guys before when they had played COD the other night off stream so she was comfortable with them. Her social media had been getting more and more popular since she’d started being spotted with Max in the paddock and on TV feeds during race weekends. While the attention was a little overwhelming, she admired the enthusiasm of the fans and knew they were important to Max. 

Emma surprised herself when she stood from the couch, pulling at the hem of the crewneck sweatshirt she’d pulled on over her bike shorts earlier after her shower. Leaning into the camera frame, she grinned at the lens, her gaze finding the stream as she waved at Crane and the rest of the crew. Her blond hair, freshly washed and hanging loose around her face, fell over her shoulder in a sheet of gold. Max didn’t move when it tumbled low over his shoulder when she got closer to where he was sitting. 

“Hi guys!” She waggled her fingers at the camera, smirk tugging at her full lips. 

Max sucked in a breath, the scent of her vanilla and honey shampoo wrapping itself around his senses. 

The chat exploded. 

User738 oh my GOD she’s gorgeous.  User928 no wonder Max was distracted  >>>user9298 If I were Max I’d never get ANYTHING done.  User0021 where is your crewneck from??? That color is perfection on you!!  User300 someone start a petition for Emma to become a regular on these. I’d watch anything she’s on.  User928 we need a hair tutorial PLEASE, your curls are perfection.  User918 No because why is Emma the best part of this entire stream tho???

Emma watched as the compliments flooded in, pink tinging the apples of her cheeks. She hadn’t expected to be so warmly welcomed by his fans. Max smirked too, secretly liking the chaos playing out in front of him after all. The reluctance to share Emma with the world was quickly replaced with a mixture of pride and inflated ego. 

“You guys are so sweet, thank you! The crewneck is ancient but I think I got it from Aritzia a few seasons ago!” She answered a few other questions quickly as the timer for the team’s break wound down. 

Eventually though, it was time for the next heat to start so Crane had to attempt to reign the chat back in before the next race began. Emma stood up straight, her hand resting on Max’s shoulder in comforting and surprisingly possessive gesture that not a single person on the stream missed or ignored. More than a few comments called out the way her fingers flexed ever so slightly into the soft fabric of Max’s old t-shirt.

“Crane, if you need me to keep Max in line from here, let me know. I’m right over there, three episodes deep in season seven of West Wing.”   

The chat continued to buzz with excitement long after Emma disappeared and the next race had begun. Max, though still thoroughly flustered, couldn’t help the small smile that lingered on his face. They liked her. Seeing her so easily win over this part of his world, a part he usually kept separate from his personal life was…nice. Really nice. He glanced over at Emma a few times while there was a pause in the action, watching her now that she was thoroughly engrossed in the episode that was playing on her laptop, a prickle of warmth and something that felt a lot like pride, swelled in his chest. 

Maybe sharing her wasn’t so bad after all. 

Maybe. 

If there was one thing Emma loved about living full-time in Monaco, it was the farmer’s market that set up shop every Sunday morning down the street from Max’s apartment. It was a touch on the touristy side but there were so many vendors that had local produce grown just over the border in France and Italy along with fresh seafood and other proteins from farmers and butchers. If she was home on a Sunday morning, you’d always find Emma down the street wandering through the stalls. 

This Sunday was no different. Emma was up before the sun had fully chased away the inky darkness of night, a quiet confidence in her movements as she pulled on a comfortable sweater and jeans. Her large tote bag, already filled with a few reusable shopping bags, sat waiting for her by the door. The apartment was still quiet, the only sounds keeping her company this early were the hum of the refrigerator and the distant lapping of waves against the harbor wall. Max was likely still fast asleep after his late-night streaming session with Red Line the night before. 

She didn’t mind though, going to the market alone. In fact, she embraced the quiet stillness that leaving the apartment this early afforded her. Miami was coming up and they were leaving early Wednesday morning to head to the States, so Emma was eager to have a bit more quiet time before she was catapulted into the chaos of a race weekend. 

As she reached for the door, the quiet was broken by the sound of Max’s bedroom door creaking open. He appeared in the hallway, hair adorably rumpled and sticking out haphazardly every which way, eyes still half closed as he squatted over at Emma. 

“Where are you sneaking off to?” He mumbled, voice thick with sleep. 

Emma turned, a soft smile on her face. “Just off to the farmers market, sleepyhead. Don’t worry, I’ll make you a proper breakfast when I get back. I shouldn’t be gone long. Any special requests? There was this spectacular little bakery there for the first time a few weeks ago, the croissants were half butter I swear. I can get a few? You liked the almond ones I got last time, didn’t you?” 

Max looked at her curiously, a bit stunned that she remembered how he’d preferred the almond filled pastries over the plain ones. He leaned against the doorframe, still slightly disoriented, as he considered her question for a moment. “Forget the list, Sunshine.” He murmured, pushing himself off the wall and shuffling back towards his bedroom. “Give me a minute and I’ll come with you.” 

Emma blinked after him, her mouth forming a perfect little O of surprise. “You don’t have to! I can go by myself.” 

“Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready. You’re always gushing about this market, I want to see what all the fuss is about myself.” 

Emma chuckled, shaking her head. “Okay, okay but hurry! If I miss those peaches from the farmer in Nice like I did last week, I’m going to be cranky.” 

Max shook his head before ducking into his room. “I’ll be quick. I don’t want to have a grumpy Emma on my hands all day.” 

***

The early morning air at the market was cool and crisp, a gentle breeze carrying the mingled scents of freshly picked fruit, flowers, and the salty sea air blowing in off the water. Sunlight dappled through the canvas awnings of the stalls, casting a golden glow on the colorful displays of produce and freshly cut flowers. Emma, with her tote bag slung casually over her shoulder, moved with a comfortable familiarity through the early crowd, her eyes bright as she examined plump tomatoes and fragrant bunches of herbs. 

Max followed dutifully behind, still blinking sleepily every once in a while. He’d stayed up much too late last night but the cool air but watching Emma duck between stalls without a care in the world was enough to pull him out of his tired haze. 

Emma stoped at a stall overflowing with vibrant strawberries, their sweet scent intoxicating. She carefully picked through the small baskets that held quarts and pints of the ruby red fruit, her brow furrowed in concentration as she made sure she was guaranteed to pick the best of the bunch. Max, who had been idly watching her from a few meters away, wandered over to see what she was concentrating so hard at. 

“Those look good.” He murmured, peering over her shoulder. 

Emma felt his presence before she noticed him standing behind her. He smelled faintly of his body wash she had bought him last week at the pharmacy, his warmth radiating off of him as he stood closely examining the strawberries Emma had clutched in her hands. She tipped her head up slightly to catch his eye, surprised that he was already looking down at her with a soft smile on his lips. The way her stomach flipped at the way Max was looking at her was something she couldn’t ignore, despite her every effort to do exactly that. She should not be liking the way Max’s blue eyes had been watching her all morning, the way he tracked her no matter where she was. 

The way she felt under his watch was dangerous. 

“I bought some from here last week. They were so good. The vendor said they were picked this morning. Can you imagine these with some fresh cream and a bit of sugar? Oh my goodness.” 

“Buy three cartons.” Max said, pulling out his wallet from his back pocket without hesitation. 

He wanted multiples of anything that made Emma smile like that. 

He paid the vendor and turned away from the stall at the same time Emma did, her shoulder brushing his with a casual tenderness that had his heart aching. She reached into the bag where the cartons of strawberries were, plucking a small one off the top of the pile. Emma paused before raising it towards Max’s lips. “Here, try. I swear, these are the best thing you’ve ever tasted.” 

Max struggled to keep the surprise off his face, feeling the way the tips of his ears turned pink at the casually intimate gesture. He obediently opened his mouth, sinking into the way the Emma’s dove-gray eyes sparkled as his lips closed around the proffered strawberry. The sweetness that burst across his tongue as he bit into the flesh of the fruit had Max’s eyes fluttering closed, a satisfied groan rumbling at the back of his throat. He was quiet for a moment, enjoying how closely Emma’s body was to his. 

“So good.” He murmured, his eyes never leaving hers in a way that had Emma’s stomach fluttering. The way he said it had her wondering if he was just talking about the strawberry though. 

After a few moments, Emma took a slight step away, unable to come up with any more excuses to remain so close to Max. She wandered away, towards a flower vendor, as Max watched after her. Something in his chest squeezed at the casual way she glanced over her shoulder, as if she was checking to make sure he was following her. He joined her a few beats later, watching as she examined a colorful bunch of tulips. 

“They remind me of home.” She murmured, plucking out a particularly stunning bouquet of pink and yellow blooms. 

Max was surprised at her comment, considering how she felt about going home and her parents attitude but he supposed even he could be nostalgic about the place that raised him, even if their hometown held painful memories for him as well. 

“Are you going to buy your girlfriend the tulips or will you just let her make heart-eyes at you until she purchases them herself?” The merchant teases from his place behind his table. 

Emma huffs a small laugh but doesn’t bother correcting the elderly man. Her head simply swiveled around and up to glance back at Max. “Yeah, do I have buy my own flowers today, Maxie?” She teased, grin stretching across her face. 

Max simply rolled his eyes, casual move belying the storm of butterflies creating a tornado in his stomach at the man’s assumption and the way Emma was playing along. “Who am I to say no to such a pretty woman?” 

The way Emma bit her lip in delight had Max stifling a groan as he reached back into his wallet, not for the first time that morning. The old man chuckled as he took Max’s credit card from him before turning away to wrap up the bundle of tulips that Emma had picked out.  

Twitter User928 I SWEAR TO GOD I JUST SAW A RANDOM BLONDE HAND FEEDING MAX VERSTAPPEN A STRAWBERRY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE MONACO FARMERS MARKET. I REFUSE TO BE NORMAL ABOUT THIS.  >>>user2008 random blonde? Was it Emma tho??? >>>User928 OH MY GOD IT WAS  >>>user2008 no FUCKING way 

Max never usually woke up to thunderstorms. The loud clash of titans in the sky was never quite enough to rouse him from his sleep. It wasn’t that he was a deep sleeper. It was just that the loud and bright storms that blew into Monaco in the spring never bothered him enough to be a burden. 

Until the night before him and Emma were due to leave for Miami. 

He didn’t realize what woke him up at first. It had been several hours since he’d turned in, leaving Emma alone at the piano while she worked out her last bits of nervous tension before heading to bed herself. Max had been deep asleep for a while, so when he was pulled from the deep, pristine lake of his dreams, the cobwebs of sleep took a bit longer to shake themselves from his brain. 

He blinked awake, sleep blurring at the edge of his vision as he reached for his bearings. 

His bed. 

At night. 

Rain beating against the windows, flashes of lighting streaking across the sky. 

Light shining under the gap in the doorway. 

That caught Max’s attention. He glanced at his phone: 2:24 am. There was no way Emma was still awake, right? He listened carefully, expecting to hear the now-familiar strains of the piano. She hadn’t seemed upset when he’d left her earlier in the evening, or else he would’ve stayed up with her. 

He sat and listened but was met with only the sound of the rain whispering against the windows and a distant crack of thunder. 

But the lights. There was a least one hall light on outside, maybe more judging by the stark brightness that crawled across the carpet in his bedroom. Max tugged on a shirt as he stumbled his way towards the door, limbs still stiff with sleep. 

The door creaked open and Max paused again. There wasn’t any sound of the piano but he did hear the gentle clinks and sounds of movement softly floating out of the kitchen. Surely no burglar would be making themselves at home in the light, preparing a sandwich, Max thought as he padded down the hallway towards the sounds. 

“Sunshine?” His voice was thicker than his vision, rough with exhaustion. 

Near the stove, Emma startled so suddenly she nearly dropped the baking sheet she held in her hands. “Max! Oh my God!” She gasps, clutching at her throat with a oven-mitt clad hand. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

Max’s eyes took in the scene before him. Every single inch of counter space was taken up by sacks of flour and sugar, mixing bowls of several different sizes, dozens of muffins and a few loaves of freshly baked bread. It was then that the smell of what was going on hit Max’s nose. Bread. Freshly baked from the smell of it. Yeasty and warm, slightly sweet at the end when you swallowed. Something sweet too, cinnamon like the perfume Emma wore. Spicy with a touch of earth. 

“Are you…baking at 2 in the morning?” 

Emma looked like a child who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Ummm…” Her eyes swung comically from left to right before flickering back to Max. “Yeah?” 

Max scrubbed at his face with his hands, struggling to figure out if he should be concerned or if this was normal behavior from the blonde. “Why?” 

Emma worried at her lip, the tips of her ears going pink. “You’re going to make fun of me.” 

Max walked towards the counter, the chair whispering against the tile as he pulled it out to sit. “I won’t make fun of you, I promise. Is everything okay? You were fine when I went to bed.” 

Emma’s gaze swung from Max’s towards the storm that beat against the apartment’s windows. “I really hate thunderstorms. I’m terrified of them, really.” Her cheeks heats at the confession, memories of being made fun of for being scared flickering through her mind. “And when one happens, the only thing that can calm me down is to bake. It helps me focus on something that I have total control over. The tunnel vision is…soothing.” 

Emma chewed at the bottom of her lip. She’d never told anyone that before. She’d always assumed her fear of thunderstorms was irrational. That’s what her mother had told her when she was little. There was nothing to be afraid of and she was being silly. Any big feelings she had were always minimized into ‘Oh, Emma’s being a drama queen today’ to discount her experience. So she’d learned to push them down, learned to cope the best way she knew how so she didn’t bother anyone else with her problems. And that coping ended up being baking.

Max watched from across the kitchen as Emma went somewhere in her head for a few moments. He could tell the way her eyes went unfocused and she paused as if a memory had taken hold and she couldn’t shake it. 

“Why would I make fun of you for being scared of something or figuring out a way to cope with that fear?” Max narrowed his eyes at Emma like he was trying to understand a piece of art. 

“Why wouldn’t you?” There was no sarcasm behind her question. It was genuine and that fact shattered Max’s heart into jagged splinters. 

Max rose slowly before rounding the counter, stopping right in front of Emma. He gently took the pan she held in her hand and set it on the stove before turning back to her. Max was so close, Emma could feel the heat of his breath skate over the top of her head. “It is not normal to make the people you care about feel insignificant and small at the expense of a joke, Sunshine. You do know that, don’t you?” 

Logically, Emma knew this was true. Knew that the way she was brought up, with it’s veiled bullying and penchant for sweeping things under the rug, was not normal but she couldn’t help feeling tied to that way of looking at the world. 

When she doesn’t say anything, Max continues. “I think that you finding a way to cope with your fear in a productive way is worthy of praise, Sunshine. This storm is loud and anxiety is valid.” Max pauses, a slight grin playing at the edge of his lips. He watched Emma’s eyes track the movement before they returned back to his. “And why the hell would I make fun of something that results in me having freshly baked bread for the rest of my life?” 

The implication hung heavy in the air as the atmosphere shifted into something close to snapping. The scent of warm bread and cinnamon seemed to become heavier, mingling with the electric charge of the storm that was baring down on them outside. Max’s gaze softened, his earlier teasing replaced by raw sincerity that made Emma’s breath catch in her throat. He saw the lingering hurt in her eyes, the ingrained expectation of ridicule. A wave of fierce protectiveness welled up in his chest, his only desire in that moment was making sure she understood how serious he was about her. 

Max shifted even closer towards Emma, closing the final distance between them. She tipped her head back slightly, her gaze locked on his, vulnerability shining in her eyes as she looked up at him. The rhythmic drumming of the rain against the windows faded into a distant buzz, the sound of her own heartbeat hammering against her ribcage the only sound echoing in her ears. 

Max’s eyes drifted down, almost against his will, to her lips. They were slightly parted, the dim light of the kitchen highlighting the delicate curve of the cupids bow Max often found himself starting at. He hadn’t intended to, hadn’t even consciously thought about what he was doing, but that undeniable pull, the magnetic force that both of them seemed powerless to resist, took over. 

He leaned in, the movement so slow it was almost imperceptible, his breath warm against her cheek. Max’s lips just barely brushed against hers, a feather light touch that sent a jolt of pure electricity zinging through Emma’s veins. It was a fleeting graze, a silent test of the waters that had been swirling into a hurricane since the moment he rescued her all those weeks ago. 

Before either of them could react, before the significance of what was happening could fully register, a deafening CRACK of thunder, closer and more violent than any that had shook the house that night, reverberated through the apartment. The lights flickered violently, and Emma gasped, instinctively jumping back as if she’d been physically struck. The fragile intimacy shattered as Max blew out a long breath, carding his fingers through his hair. 

Neither of them spoke for several moments, each contemplating what had nearly just happened. Tension thrummed in the air as Emma’s gaze fell to the floor. She lifted her fingers to touch her lips, almost as if she wanted to remember what the press of Max’s lips had felt like moments before. 

Max cleared his throat after a beat, fighting the suffocating heat that had blanketed the kitchen. “It’s late, Sunshine and we have a big weekend ahead of us. Is everything out of the oven?” 

Emma nodded, flinching slightly as another loud thunderclap rattled the windows. “Yeah. You go to bed, I won’t be able to sleep for hours anyway. I’ll stay away from the oven though, I’m sorry I woke you up.” 

“You should just try to get some rest…” 

Tears prick at the back of her eyes, the overwhelming situation in front of her almost too much to take. “I can’t…” She whispered, shame turning her neck red. 

“Do you want to lay down with me?” 

The question hangs the air and for a brief, terrifying moment, Max thinks he’s taken things just a step too far. 

“In your bed?” Emma asks, eyes wide. 

Max only nods.

Waits. 

“Okay.” She nods too. 

“Okay.” He repeats before reaching out to twine his fingers with Emma’s slender ones, tugging her out of the kitchen and towards his darkened bedroom. 

tag list: @alessioayla @addy-lol @changetyre @obxstiles @tvdtw4ever @joaofelixml @vickykazuya @47chickens @magnusstan @joannaln4 @nicooolsstuff @wakasays @slutforcoffein @ajordan2020 @widow-cevans @isagrace22 @simp4f1 @chertik-007vvv @mayax2o07 @scenesofobx @a-beaverhausen @glitteryturtledeer @halleest @sltwins @doesgekouwe @unknownmystery22 @honethatty12 @chaoswithus @sarahsobsession @liz140569 @sinfully-yoursss @ilove-tswizzle @lilbitchfromfaraway @irisesinthegarden @anayaverse @mynameisangeloflife @i-survived-a-shark-attack @smithieandy @fastandcurious16 @angelluv16 @sinfully-yoursss

Streamer Lando Masterlist

Just bc I'm extra gonna make an official master list for streamer Lando fics

She's Pretty Cute

Fan Favourite

Sore Loser

Kill It

Please Never Change

No More Sad Songs for Mr Norris

Never Going Out In Public Again

A Sweetheart Pt 2

Back from Dinner (Date)

Interruptions

Caught In It

It's Autumn Sunset

Yeah That's My Girl

He Knows He's Won

White Horse - Chapter 11: December 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, discussion of allergies.

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

EXCLUSIVE: MAX VERSTAPPEN ON LEGACY, LOVE, AND LIFE BEYOND THE TRACK

Max Verstappen has nothing left to prove. At just 26, the Dutch driver has secured his third consecutive Formula 1 World Championship, cementing his place among the sport’s greats.  A record-breaking season. The most dominant year of his career.

Sitting down with us in the aftermath of his 2023 season, Verstappen is more reflective than ever—about racing, his future, and, unexpectedly, love.

“I’m just really happy with where I am,” he says, leaning back in his chair with a rare, easy smile. “It’s been an incredible year, not just on the track but personally too.”

For a driver known for his laser focus and relentless pursuit of perfection, the mention of his personal life is intriguing. Verstappen has always been fiercely private, but for the first time, he opens up—just a little—about the woman who has been by his side through it all.

“She’s been amazing,” he says with a rare softness. “Just always there, supporting me. It makes a difference, having that stability, someone who understands what this life is like but also makes it feel normal. Racing is intense, it takes so much out of you, and having someone who understands that, who knows when to push and when to just be there… it makes a difference.”

There’s a softness in his voice that is unexpected, a rare glimpse into a side of Verstappen few get to see. While he doesn’t reveal her name, it’s clear she holds a special place in his life.

“I’ve been learning French,” he reveals, smiling. “It’s… a work in progress. But I hear it a lot at home now, so I’m trying. I think it’s important to make an effort, to meet someone halfway.”

The mention of home is deliberate—he’s no longer just passing through Monaco, but truly settling in. For a driver who once lived and breathed racing with little room for anything else, that shift is telling.

And when asked about his future outside of F1, his answer is telling: “Marriage with her? Yes, definitely,” he said with the certainty of a man who knows exactly what he wants. “One day, I want a family. I want kids. I think that’s something really special.”

Still, don’t mistake contentment for complacency. If anything, Verstappen seems more driven than ever. “I love what I do,” he says simply. “And I love coming home after, too.”

As Verstappen looks ahead to 2024, his goals remain the same: keep winning, keep pushing, keep proving that his dominance is no accident. But for the first time, it seems like he’s racing toward something more than just trophies. And perhaps, that’s what truly makes a champion.

Comments: 

@/F1Obsessed: MAX VERSTAPPEN. LEARNING FRENCH. FOR HIS GIRLFRIEND. WE HAVE WON.

@/RedBullRacingUpdates: “I hear it a lot at home now” HOLD ON. HOME?????? HE LIVES WITH HER?????

@/MonacoGossip: So Max has a girlfriend. He’s learning French. He hears it a lot at home. CONCLUSIONS ARE BEING DRAWN.

@/PitLanePrincess: No bc WHO is she. WHO is this woman who has Max Verstappen learning a whole new language.

@/SoftMaxxie: “She makes it feel normal” I’M SORRY BUT THAT’S SO CUTE I NEED A MOMENT

@​​DR3Stan: Max is really out here being domesticated and thriving.

@/CharlesFanatic: French. Girlfriend. Monaco apartment. squints at every French-speaking woman in the paddock

@/TheGridTea: The way he just casually dropped that he’s LEARNING FRENCH for her like that’s a normal thing. Max, sir, you are in love.

@/CheckeredHeart: Not me downloading Duolingo because if Max Verstappen can learn French for love, so can I.

@/OversteerQueen: The fact that he didn’t even realize he was basically confirming he lives with her… Max, babe, you’re so in love.

@/SoftLaunchDetective: I need to go through Max’s entire Instagram with a fine-tooth comb IMMEDIATELY. There must be something.

@/F1Troll: Duolingo about to see a spike in Dutch users trying to figure out what Max is learning.

@/DR3Honeybadger: “I hear it a lot at home” SO YOU’RE SAYING HE GOES HOME TO HER. MAX VERSTAPPEN GOES HOME TO HIS GIRLFRIEND.

@/BoxBoxBox: Max Verstappen being all “oh yeah, my girlfriend this, my girlfriend that” like we KNOW who she is. SIR, WHO??

@/FormulaHeartbreak: I thought I was prepared for soft domestic Max but I WAS NOT.

@/TifosiDrama: Charles Leclerc’s face when he realizes his biggest rival is learning his language for his mystery girlfriend.

@/SidepodShenanigans: Forget the championship, I need an in-depth investigation into WHO this woman is and how she has Max Verstappen willingly studying.

@​​/ChecoFan88: We’re never getting her identity confirmed, are we? Max is just going to keep saying “my girlfriend” like it’s a classified government secret.

@/F1Obsessed: MAX VERSTAPPEN JUST SAID “MARRIAGE WITH HER? YES, DEFINITELY.” HELLO??? WHO IS SHE???

@/LandoNorrisFanclub: I need someone to look at me the way Max Verstappen looks at his mystery girlfriend that none of us have ever seen.

@/GridGossip: Max Verstappen, the man who once said all he needed was sim racing and his cats, is out here talking about marriage and kids. Character development.

@/Formula1Fanatic: Max in 2021: “I don’t need friends, I have sim racing.” Max in 2023: “I want kids, a home, and a life beyond the paddock.” What did this woman DO TO HIM???

@​​LightsOutMax: This man used to refuse to even acknowledge personal questions and now he’s out here basically writing wedding vows. Love really changes people.

@/PaddockPrincess: If Max Verstappen, king of emotional repression, is out here openly talking about love and marriage… yeah, she’s the one.

****

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1Spotted: Pretty sure I just saw Isabelle Leclerc buying baby clothes…??? Is there a Leclerc niece/nephew we don’t know about? 👀

@/F1Updates: oh we’re COOKING today. someone get the conspiracy board out. it’s time.

@/ItsAboutDrive: Charles is gonna be an uncle????? 🍼

@/mclarenny: Wait wait wait Isabelle has a boyfriend??? Did i miss a chapter???

@/verstappensupremacy: me, knowing damn well who her boyfriend is, sipping my tea calmly 😌🍵

@/gridgossip: LECLERC BABY ERA INCOMING??? ISABELLE WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO US RIGHT BEFORE THE WINTER BREAK

@/f1blonde: If Isabelle Leclerc is pregnant and we don't even know who the dad is,  i'm going to personally storm the monaco royal palace

@/f1insiderz: to be clear: no confirmation of anything, she was spotted in a boutique, could be a gift, could be for someone else, could be NOTHING (we’re still gonna lose our minds though)

@/chequeredflag: me trying to stay calm: it’s probably just a present also me: ISABELLE LECLERC BABY ERA CONFIRMED 😭

@/charlesincrisis: charles: what a peaceful day

twitter: ur sister might be pregnant

charles: 🧍🏻‍♂️

@/reasonableracer: guys: take a breath. Victoria Verstappen is literally pregnant. And CHRISTMAS IS IN 24 DAYS. Maybe Isabelle is just buying baby clothes for HER FRIEND’S BABY. 

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)

Arthur: SOMEONE EXPLAIN WHY ISABELLE WAS JUST SPOTTED BUYING BABY CLOTHES??

Charles: WHAT???

Arthur: LOOK AT THIS. [attaches screenshot of a Twitter post: “Pretty sure I just saw Isabelle Leclerc buying baby clothes…??? Is there a Leclerc niece/nephew we don’t know about? 👀”]

Lorenzo: Isabelle. Tell me this is a joke.

Isabelle: Calm down. It’s not a big deal.

Arthur: NOT A BIG DEAL??? WHY ARE YOU BUYING BABY CLOTHES???

Isabelle: Because they’re cute?? 

Charles: …What?

Lorenzo: Isabelle, that’s not an answer.

Isabelle: I just like them, okay?

Charles: Wait. Is there something you need to tell us?

Arthur: OH MY GOD. ARE YOU PREGNANT?

Isabelle: No. 

Arthur: Then WHY are you buying baby clothes??

Isabelle: First of all, a friend of mine is pregnant, so I bought some as a gift. Secondly, I like baby clothes! I have a whole box of them at home!

Charles: A WHOLE BOX???

Arthur: ISABELLE. THAT MAKES IT WORSE.

Lorenzo: WHY DO YOU HAVE A BOX OF BABY CLOTHES WITH NO BABY??

Isabelle: Because I’ve been collecting them for years!

Charles: …Years??

Arthur: But… for what?

Isabelle: For when I have a baby one day??

Lorenzo: One day?? Isabelle, you don’t even have a boyfriend.

Charles: Yeah. Who exactly are you planning this baby with?

Isabelle: Excuse me??

Arthur: I mean… it’s a little weird, right? Collecting baby clothes for years when there’s no sign of a baby happening anytime soon?

Charles: It’s just… I don’t know, kind of pointless?

Isabelle: Wow. Okay.

Arthur: We’re just saying—

Isabelle: No, I get it. It’s weird because I have them. If someone else did, it’d be sweet. But because it’s me, it’s just sad and pathetic, right?

Lorenzo: We didn’t say that.

Isabelle: You didn’t have to.

Arthur: Come on, don’t be like that.

Isabelle: No, really. It’s fine. I’ll make sure to run all my future life choices by you three first so I don’t embarrass the Leclerc name.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: So… my brothers are currently having an absolute meltdown.

Emilie: What did you do? Actually, wait—what do they think you did?

Isabelle: Oh, nothing major. Just bought some baby clothes.

Emilie: …Are you pregnant?

Isabelle: NO!

Emilie: Okay, just checking! So why are they freaking out?

Isabelle: Because I told them I have a box of baby clothes at home, and now they think I’m insane.

Emilie: Pffft. That’s not insane. That’s just you.

Isabelle: THANK YOU.

Emilie: Seriously, I don’t know why they’re acting so shocked. You were the girl who had a wedding binder at thirteen and a full baby name list by fifteen.

Isabelle: It was color-coded.

Emilie: Of course it was. Because you plan ahead. It’s not weird—it’s just you being Belle.

Isabelle: It’s just a small box of things I’ve collected over the years…

Emilie: Honestly, I don’t get why they’re so weird about it. Like, I don’t want kids, but that doesn’t mean I think it’s strange that you do.

Isabelle: You don’t?

Emilie: I will personally never deal with sticky fingers or 3 AM crying, but you? You’re gonna be an amazing mom one day. And when that happens, I will spoil your kids rotten.

Isabelle: You’re the best.

Emilie: I know. Now, do you need me to help you pick out more baby clothes? Because I will fully commit to this.

Isabelle: I might have seen a few more things today that were cute.

Emilie: I’m in. 

***

Instagram Story: @/isabelleleclerc

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1Updates: LMAO, not pregnant, just buying Christmas presents for literally anyone with a baby. I can’t.

@/ItsAboutDrive: Sadly Charles is not gonna be an uncle 😭 Isabelle literally went on to Instagram to shut down these rumours

@/mclarenny: It’s honestly insane that we need a full IG story to clear up the rumors. Just let her buy a few baby clothes in peace…

@/verstappensupremacy: The fact she had to make that statement is just... wild. Why do we live in a world where women can't even buy baby clothes without everyone assuming they’re pregnant?

@/leclercslens: Honestly, it’s not even funny. If she was pregnant, it’s her news to share, and people jumping to conclusions is gross. Let her live her life!

@/gridgossip: LECLERC BABY ERA INCOMING??? ISABELLE WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO US RIGHT BEFORE THE WINTER BREAK

@/f1blonde: If Isabelle Leclerc is pregnant and we don't even know who the dad is,  i'm going to personally storm the monaco royal palace

@/chequeredflag: Imagine buying a gift for a baby and then having to do a whole Instagram story just because people have assumptions😭

***

The winter sun slanted low through the living room windows, casting golden stripes across the hardwood floors.

Isabelle sat cross-legged on the carpet, the lid of the old storage box propped up against the coffee table.

 Inside: soft cotton onesies, tiny knitted booties, delicate little cardigans wrapped in tissue paper.

 A tiny quilt she had picked up at a market in Paris three years ago, too lovely to leave behind.

She hadn’t meant to pull it all out today.

It had just... happened.

Maybe because the fight with her brothers was still lingering under her skin, the words they hadn’t said loud enough to name — weird, sad, pathetic — scratching at her confidence like sandpaper.

Isabelle carefully unfolded a tiny pair of socks, brushing her thumb lightly over the soft fabric.

She hadn’t even heard the door open.

"Hey," Max’s voice came, warm and familiar from behind her. "You’re back early."

She turned, startled — and froze.

Max stood just inside the doorway, gym bag slung over one shoulder, hair tousled, still a little flushed from training.

His eyes dropped to the scene in front of her. The open box. The tiny clothes.

Isabelle’s stomach twisted painfully.

"I—" she stammered, already rushing to shove the lid back on, to stuff the pieces away. "It’s nothing. I was just... cleaning. I should put this away."

But before she could, Max was there, crouching down beside her, one hand gently catching her wrist.

"Hey," he said, voice low. "You don’t have to hide it."

She looked at him helplessly, the shame still hot and heavy in her chest. "I know it’s weird," she muttered. "You don’t have to pretend."

Max just shook his head, slow and certain.

"It’s not weird," he said simply. "It’s you."

He reached into the box without hesitation, pulling out a tiny, soft grey onesie embroidered with a little fox.

He smiled — a small, real smile that made her chest ache.

"This is adorable," he said, running his thumb lightly over the fabric. "You’ve had all this ready. Just waiting."

Isabelle swallowed hard. "It’s stupid," she whispered. "I don’t even know if—when—"

Max set the onesie carefully on her knee, and took her face in his hands.

"You’re going to be an incredible mother someday," he said, steady and sure, like it was a fact written in the stars. "And it’s not stupid to dream about it."

Tears stung behind her eyes, burning hot and fast.

"I’m not in a rush," she said quickly, panicked, because the last thing she wanted was for him to feel trapped. "I’m not—this isn’t pressure, I swear—"

Max’s thumb brushed under her eye, catching the first tear before it could fall.

"I know," he said. "I know you’re not rushing. And I’m not scared."

He smiled again — small, crooked, devastating. "I want that with you. One day. When you’re ready. When we’re ready."

Isabelle let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch.

Max kissed her forehead, lingering there for a long moment, like he could press all his promises into her skin.

“I hope they have your heart,” he murmured.

“I hope they have your eyes,” Isabelle whispered, half-laughing through the emotion that suddenly welled up in her chest.

They stood there for a long moment — Max with his arm around her, Isabelle resting against his shoulder, the box of tiny dreams between them.

And for the first time in days, she didn’t feel silly for hoping.

 Didn’t feel foolish for wanting.

She just felt… safe.

 Held.

Seen.

***

The meeting was supposed to be quick.

 Just a light debrief before the holidays — finalize a few schedules, exchange terrible Secret Santa gifts, maybe sneak out early and pretend they were already on break.

It wasn’t supposed to turn into... whatever this was.

GP, casually flipping through his notes, glanced at Max and said, "You sorted your Christmas break yet, mate?"

Max shrugged. "Mostly."

Then, without warning, he pulled a folder from his backpack and slid it across the table like it was nothing.

"Also, this is for you."

GP raised an eyebrow, visibly suspicious. "What's this?"

Max leaned back lazily, arms stretched over the chair next to him. "Kitchen plans," he said. "Merry Christmas."

Checo, half-listening at first, glanced up. Kitchen plans?

GP cracked open the folder, frowning. Max was utterly relaxed, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

"Belle helped draw it up. Should make it easier," Max added, casual as anything.

Checo’s brain stalled on one word.

 Belle.

 Belle?

 Belle?

Across the table, Checo slowly straightened, feeling a weird knot twist in his chest.

 Surely Max didn’t mean—

 No.

 No way.

"Belle," Checo repeated carefully, watching Max’s face.

Max nodded once, calm and easy. "Yeah."

Checo looked at the folder again.

 Then at Max.

 Then back at the folder.

Slow horror dawned in the pit of his stomach.

"Belle like..." Checo said, the words dragging themselves out against his will, "Isabelle Leclerc?"

Max’s answering nod was small but smug. Proud, even.

"Yeah."

Checo stared at him.

 Dead silent.

 The realization hitting him like a slow-motion car crash.

"You’re dating Charles Leclerc’s little sister," Checo said aloud, more for his own sanity than anyone else's.

 Not a question. A statement. A grim acknowledgment.

Max’s smirk widened, barely restrained.

"Yes," he said again, almost cheerfully.

Checo just sat there for a long moment, frozen in place, wondering at what point in life he had taken the wrong turn that led him to this exact situation.

Charles was going to kill him just for knowing this information.

Max might survive because Max was Max. But Checo? Checo had a family to think about.

He valued peace. He valued survival.

Very, very carefully, Checo set his coffee down.

"You know what?" he said, pushing his chair back with slow, deliberate movements. "I don't want to know more."

Max tilted his head, amused. "You sure?"

"Completely sure," Checo said firmly, standing up like he needed physical distance from the absolute disaster this could become. "I value my life. I value my continued existence. I don’t want to be an accessory to whatever crime scene this turns into."

Max just chuckled under his breath, spinning his pen between his fingers like the smug bastard he was.

Meanwhile, GP was still utterly oblivious, flipping through the kitchen plans like he’d been handed the Holy Grail.

 "This is under budget," GP muttered, awed. "How the hell—?"

"She’s good at what she does," Max said simply, stealing a sip of his Red Bull like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of the room.

Checo rubbed a hand over his face.

 He needed a drink.

Maybe several.

"You’re dating Charles Leclerc’s little sister," he muttered again, mostly to himself. "And now she’s designing kitchens for your engineer. I’m just... I’m going to mind my own business. Completely. Forever."

Max gave him a bright, insufferable thumbs-up.

"Happy holidays," Checo muttered darkly, clutching his coffee like it might save him from the nightmare he was now complicit in. He turned and walked straight out of the meeting room, not daring to look back.

Some things, he decided grimly, were above his pay grade.

Max Verstappen dating a Leclerc was absolutely one of them.

He didn’t want to know more.

He didn’t want to witness more.

And if anyone asked later, Checo would simply say he had no idea, no involvement, no memory of any of it.

Survival first.

Questions never.

***

The kitchen was filled with the soft clatter of dishes and the hum of the coffee machine.

Belle leaned against the counter, scrolling absently through emails on her phone, half-listening to the quiet patter of the cats chasing each other down the hallway.

She still hadn’t decided what she was going to do next.

Quitting had been the right choice — she didn’t doubt that. But for the first time in years, she felt... unmoored.

No title to hide behind.

No company name to make herself sound important.

Just her.

Her phone buzzed, startling her slightly.

Unknown number.

Frowning, she answered.

"Hello?"

"Isabelle Leclerc?"

The voice was vaguely familiar. Polished. Professional.

"This is Daniel Moreau — you worked with us last year on the Chevalier renovation in Beaulieu?"

Her heart lifted in instant recognition. The Moreau project — one of the few she’d truly loved. A quiet, modern transformation of a historic villa. One where the client had listened. Trusted her.

"Yes, of course," Isabelle said, straightening.

"I hope I’m not interrupting," Daniel said warmly. "I just... I was hoping to get in touch with you directly."

Isabelle blinked. "With me?"

"Yes. I know you were working with Atelier Renard before, but I heard you’ve gone independent?"

She hesitated.

 Independent.

Was that what she was now?

"I—" She cleared her throat. "Yes. I’m no longer with them."

"Good," he said, without missing a beat. "Because between you and me, I wasn’t impressed with the rest of their work. You were the reason we kept moving forward…Frankly, we want to work with you. Not the firm. You were the reason the project went so smoothly last time."

Isabelle felt something flicker in her chest — a cautious, disbelieving warmth.

"We’ve bought another property," Daniel continued. "Another historic site. Needs sensitive handling. We were hoping you might be willing to take it on."

Her heart was hammering now.

They wanted her.

Not the company behind her name.

Not the brand.

Her.

"I—I'd love to hear more," she said, keeping her voice steady somehow.

They talked for a few minutes — broad sketches of timelines, budgets, expectations. Nothing binding yet. But real. Solid. Tangible.

When she finally hung up, she stood there for a long moment, the silence of the apartment pressing in around her.

And then it hit her.

She could do this.

Freelancing wasn’t just a fantasy.

It wasn’t some reckless, impossible dream.

She had clients who trusted her.

She had projects she could be proud of.

She didn’t have to disappear into someone else’s firm again.

She could build something of her own.

The realization settled into her bones, slow and sure and so much bigger than she'd expected.

From down the hall, she heard the cats yowl — something crashing into a wall — and a muttered curse from Max, who was apparently trying (and failing) to play referee.

Isabelle laughed under her breath, feeling something unfurl inside her she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

Real, solid hope.

Maybe she didn’t need a title to be important.

Maybe she just needed to bet on herself — finally, properly — and not be afraid of being seen.

***

Max wandered out of the hallway, barefoot, hair still damp from a quick shower after wrestling two hyperactive cats off the curtains. He found Isabelle standing by the kitchen counter, barefoot too, scrolling through her phone with that look he knew well — half-distracted, half-scheming.

She looked up when she heard him.

 And immediately, he knew.

Something had shifted.

Something good.

He crossed the room lazily, leaned one hip against the counter, and stole a sip of her coffee before she could swat him away.

"Alright?" he asked, pretending to be casual.

Isabelle bit her lip — that tiny, telltale smile she couldn't hide when she was excited.

"I got a call," she said.

Max tilted his head, setting down the cup. "Yeah?"

"Daniel Moreau. From the Chevalier project,” she said, voice careful, like she was still half-afraid to jinx it. "You know — the villa renovation project I did this year?"

Max frowned, sorting through his mental archive — and then remembered.

The client she’d actually liked. The one who sent her a handwritten thank you note. The one she had called reasonable, which for Belle was practically sainthood.

She’d talked about that project differently. Like it had meant something.

"He wants me to take on a new property," she said, almost breathless. "Not with the firm. With me. Freelance."

Max’s chest tightened in a way he hadn’t expected.

 Pride.

He grinned, wide and stupid, and grabbed her by the waist, lifting her off the ground for half a second before she squealed and shoved at his shoulders.

"Max!" she laughed, breathless.

He set her down carefully, brushing her hair out of her face.

"You’re a menace," she accused, cheeks pink, smiling anyway.

He just smirked. "And you’re brilliant."

Isabelle ducked her head, embarrassed, but Max didn’t let go. He never would.

"You’re doing it," he said, quieter now. "On your own."

She nodded, biting her lip again.

"It feels... real. Like maybe I can actually do it."

Max dropped a kiss on her forehead, easy and sure.  "You’re going to be brilliant, schatje. You always were."

Then, grinning wickedly, he added, "Although I guess this means you’re quitting your career as my trophy wife after, what, three weeks?"

Isabelle snorted. "You’re the one who said I should be a trophy wife while I figured things out."

"You were terrible at it," Max teased. "No gold digger instincts. No dramatic shopping sprees. You kept refusing to use the black card."

"I bought the cats toys," she said defensively.

"For like two hundred euros," Max deadpanned. "Pathetic effort."

Isabelle laughed properly then, tipping forward to rest her forehead against his chest.

Max wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head.

"You’re the worst trophy wife," he said affectionately. "But you’re the best everything else."

She hummed quietly against him, the kind of sound that always made something in him settle.

And just like that — without even thinking about it — a plan started forming in his head.

"You’re going to need space," he said, thoughtful.

Belle blinked. "Space?"

"A proper office," Max said casually, already picturing it. "One of the guest bedrooms. We’ll clear it out this week. Desk, shelving, everything you want. Set it up properly."

She stared at him, stunned.

"You—you don’t have to—"

He cut her off with a soft snort. "You're not freelancing from the kitchen table, Belle. You're not hiding your work anymore."

She bit her lip, eyes shining.

"You’re building something," Max said, voice low and certain. "And you’re doing it here. With me."

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: EMILIE

Emilie: Oh god.  What did the cats destroy?

Emilie:  Is Max in jail for killing your brothers? Do I need bail money?

Isabelle: No?? Not this time

Isabelle: This is GOOD news!

Emilie: 👀 I’m listening

Isabelle: Do you remember the Chevalier project??

Isabelle: The villa in Beaulieu with the modern restoration?

Isabelle: The client I actually liked??

Emilie: omg yes

Emilie:  The miracle project. 

Emilie:  The one with the client who sent you a thank-you basket instead of screaming about grout. 

Isabelle: YES

Isabelle: He called me. 

Emilie: Wait what??

Isabelle: He called me directly. Me. not the firm. 

Isabelle: He and his husband bought another property

Isabelle: A historic one and they want me to lead it

Isabelle: me-me

Isabelle:  not me-through-someone-else

Isabelle:  not “representing a firm”

Isabelle:  just me

Isabelle:  freelance

Emilie: OH MY GOD BELLE

Emilie: HOLY SHIT

Emilie: YOU’RE DOING IT

Isabelle: I think I am??

Isabelle:  I think I actually am 😭

Emilie: I’m so proud I could throw up

Isabelle: thank you

Isabelle:  I literally hung up the phone and just stood in the kitchen like. blinking. processing.

Isabelle: Max is already planning to convert a guest room into an office

Isabelle:  he was like “you’re not freelancing from the kitchen table, Belle”

Isabelle:  like it wasn’t even a question

Isabelle:  I think I almost cried??

Emilie: you deserve every bit of this

Emilie: the job

Emilie:​​ the space

Emilie: the love

Isabelle: 😭😭😭

Emilie: now

Emilie:  send me photos of this imaginary office

Emilie:  we're making mood boards

Emilie:  this is not a drill

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat (Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)

Lorenzo: Belle,  you’re getting the gifts sorted, right?

Arthur: And can you find a tree?

Arthur:  The one last year was kinda sad.

Charles: Maybe get the ornaments too?

Charles:  Some of them broke last year when Arthur dropped the box.

Arthur: NOT MY FAULT

Charles: Was totally your fault.

Arthur: Ok but Belle dropped it first and I just caught it badly.

Arthur:  Not 100% my fault.

Isabelle: I can get a tree.

Isabelle: But I thought we were all doing gifts separately this year?

Lorenzo: It’s easier if you just coordinate it.

Charles: Yeah like last year.

Arthur: You have the spreadsheets.

Charles: Exactly.

Lorenzo: I’ll send you money for my part.

Arthur: Same ***

Max knew Isabelle liked things to be done properly.

He just hadn’t realized how much of Christmas rested entirely on her shoulders—until he saw it for himself.

He leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms folded, watching as she moved through the room in a practiced, exhausted sort of rhythm. No music playing, no humming, no bright Christmas energy — just quiet determination.

The dining table was buried under piles of wrapping paper, tissue, and scotch tape.

 The counters were cluttered with cookie tins she had baked and labeled herself— and he knew she had stayed up until two in the morning last night finishing them.

"Belle," Max said quietly. "When was the last time you sat down?"

She didn’t answer right away, too busy fiddling with the tags on a stack of presents. Her movements were brisk, mechanical, like she was running on autopilot.

"I’m almost done," she mumbled.

Max pushed off the doorframe, crossing the room to her. "That's not what I asked."

Isabelle finally looked up at him, and he caught it then — the dark circles under her eyes, the way her shoulders sagged under the weight of it all.

"I have to finish," she said, voice soft but firm. "There’s still the place settings for dinner, and I have to make sure the boys’ gifts are packed up, and if I don’t do the grocery shopping today, no one will—"

She cut herself off with a frustrated little breath, pressing her fingers to her temple.

Max felt something sharp and angry twist in his chest — but not at her.

 At them.

 At the way her family didn’t even seem to notice how much she did. How much she gave.

"Why does it all fall on you?" he asked, gentler now.

Isabelle shrugged. A small, defeated motion.

"Because if I don’t do it," she whispered, "nobody will."

And Max realized, all at once, that Christmas wasn’t a magical time for Isabelle.

 It was work. It was duty. It was trying to make sure everyone else felt special, even if it meant breaking herself in the process.

He reached out and tugged the ribbon from her hands, letting it drop onto the table.

"Enough," he said quietly.

"But—"

"Belle." His voice left no room for argument. "Enough."

Her lip wobbled, just a little, and Max swore he felt his heart crack.

He pulled her into his chest, tucking her head under his chin, and just held her.

 Held her like he could carry the exhaustion for her, even if only for a moment.

"You don’t have to do everything," he murmured. "You shouldn’t have to."

"I just… I want it to be nice," she whispered into his shirt. "For them."

Max kissed the top of her head, fierce and aching with love, unable to come up with an answer to that.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: You know what’s actually insane?

Emilie: That you’re obsessed with my best friend?

Max: That Isabelle plans EVERYTHING and no one even notices.

Emilie: Oh. That. Yeah, it’s infuriating.

Max: Charles, Arthur, Lorenzo, their mom— they just assume things magically happen.

Emilie: The best part? If she ever didn’t plan something, they’d all just stand around confused like, “Oh, I thought you handled it.”

Max: And she’d probably still feel bad and fix it for them.

Emilie: EXACTLY.

Max: How has she not quit being the family event planner?

Emilie: Because she’s too nice. And apparently, someone has to be the responsible one.

Max: No, but really. Why is she the one who always has to book everything?

Emilie: Because if she doesn’t, nobody will.

Max: They’d just show up at an airport with no flights booked.

Emilie: Or try to go to a fully booked restaurant like, “Oh, you need reservations?”

Max: It’s actually painful to think about.

Emilie: The best was when Arthur’s girlfriend was like, “It’s so cute how he planned our anniversary dinner.”

Max: No. Don’t tell me—

Emilie: ISABELLE BOOKED IT.

Max: I refuse to believe this.

Emilie: She even picked out the gift.

Max: Arthur better be eternally grateful.

Emilie: Oh, no. He just went, “Oh yeah, great,” and moved on with his life.

Max: …I need a moment.

Emilie: I KNOW.

Max: Does anyone EVER actually thank her??

Emilie: Not really. They just assume she enjoys it.

Max: What if she doesn’t?

Emilie: Then she suffers in silence because if she stops, everything falls apart.

Max: I actually hate this.

Emilie: Welcome to my world.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale)

Pascale: Good afternoon my loves!

Pascale: Isabelle, have you finalized the menu for Christmas Eve yet?

Lorenzo: And did you book the restaurant for Christmas Day lunch?

Arthur: Also, did you grab the tree yet?

Pascale: Don’t forget to wrap the presents nicely this year.

Pascale:  Remember last year? Arthur’s wrapping was a disaster.

Arthur: HEY

Arthur:  you gave me like five minutes and no tape!!

Pascale: Also, Isabelle, can you remind everyone about the dress code for Christmas Eve?

Pascale: I want a nice family photo this year. No jeans.

Pascale: I want it to feel festive, but tasteful.

Arthur: CAN I WEAR A CHRISTMAS SWEATER WITH A DINOSAUR

Charles: Maman will actually murder you. 

Lorenzo: And you’re getting gifts for the cousins, right? Maman said you handled it best last year.

Pascale: And don’t forget to bake some of those little cinnamon cookies your brothers love!

Isabelle: Sure.

Isabelle: I’ll handle it.

***

The smell hit him first.

Warm, rich, spicy — the kind of scent that wrapped around your senses and pulled you straight into childhood memories.

 Max inhaled without thinking… and then frowned.

Cinnamon.

He stepped into the kitchen, fully expecting to find Isabelle humming or maybe sneakily sampling cookies fresh from the oven.

Instead, he found her hunched over the counter, moving carefully as she arranged rows of golden-brown cookies onto a cooling rack. Her sleeves were pushed up, her hair pinned back messily. There was flour on her cheek.

And a deep, angry rash beginning to creep up the side of her wrist.

Max's heart dropped.

"Belle," he said sharply, striding over. "What are you doing?"

She jumped, startled, nearly dropping the spatula.

"Max! You scared me."

He caught her hand before she could hide it behind her back. The rash was worse up close — red and inflamed, already beginning to welt. He knew the signs; Isabelle was allergic to cinnamon. Had been since she was a kid.

"You're having a reaction," he said, keeping his voice steady even as his blood simmered with frustration. "Why are you—?"

She gave a small, guilty shrug, trying to tug her hand back.

"It's just a little," she muttered. "It’s fine. I washed my hands a lot. I’ll take something after."

"Belle."

"They like them," she said, almost defensively. "Arthur, Lorenzo and Charles always ask for them. I didn’t want to disappoint them."

Max stared at her, the cookies cooling between them, the kitchen warm and bright but the air between them unbearably heavy.

"You’re allergic," he said, low and rough. "You're hurting yourself. For cookies."

"For my brothers," she corrected softly. "They don't even realize I can't eat them."

The words slipped out, unguarded, and Max felt them land like a punch to the chest.

They didn't even realize.

She baked them every year anyway.

Because she loved them. Because she thought that was what love meant — giving and giving, even when it cost her.

He closed his eyes, the fury, hot and immediate. 

All the work, all the care, all the quiet sacrifices—things her family didn’t even see unless they went undone.

Max opened his eyes and pulled a bowl away from her, setting it firmly on the counter.

"No," he said.

Isabelle blinked up at him, startled. "No?"

"No more," Max repeated. "You’re not doing this. Not for them. Not when it hurts you."

"But—"

Max cupped her face, ignoring the faint cinnamon dust on her cheek.

"I love how much you care," he said, voice low, steady. "I love how much you want things to be perfect for everyone. But you deserve someone who thinks about you, too."

He saw the way her throat bobbed, the way her lashes fluttered like she was trying not to cry.

"You don’t have to earn their love, Belle," Max whispered. "You don’t have to set yourself on fire just to keep them warm."

And for a long moment, neither of them moved.

 The oven beeped in the background, forgotten.

Finally, Isabelle sagged into him, her forehead pressing into his chest, her hands fisting lightly in his sweater.

Max wrapped his arms around her, holding her together because he knew she’d spent so long holding everyone else.

****

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: Your best friend is insane.

Emilie: I assume this isn’t about the fact she alphabetizes her spice rack?

Max: No.

Max:  She’s baking cinnamon cookies.

Max:  FOR HER BROTHERS.

Max:  SHE’S ALLERGIC TO CINNAMON.

Emilie: Oh god.

Emilie:  Again???

Max: AGAIN???

Max:  THIS HAPPENS EVERY YEAR???

Emilie: Max, breathe.

Emilie: Yes.

Emilie: She does it every year because Arthur and Charles expect it and she doesn’t want to “ruin Christmas.”

Max: THIS ISN’T FUCKING NORMAL.

Max:  SHE’S HAVING A REACTION.

Max:  FROM COOKIES.

Max:  THAT SHE IS MAKING FOR PEOPLE WHO DON’T EVEN NOTICE.

Emilie: Yeah.

Emilie: Welcome to the Leclerc family dynamic.

Emilie: You’re catching up.

Max: No.

Max:  Absolutely not.

Max:  I’m burning the cinnamon.

Max:  I’m throwing the cookies out the window.

Max:  I’m locking her in a room with antihistamines and telling Arthur to choke on store-bought biscuits.

Max:  How has nobody told her she doesn’t have to kill herself for them?

Emilie: Because she thinks love is earning your place.

Emilie: Not just existing and being enough.

Emilie:She’s never really had anyone who told her otherwise.

Max: She does now.

Emilie: Good.

Emilie: Because she deserves better.

Emilie: And if you ever need backup setting fire to the cinnamon cookies, I’m free.

Max: Might take you up on that.

***

Group Chat: Santa’s Elves

(Members: Max, Victoria, Tom and Sophie) 

Victoria: okay troops

Victoria:  Christmas dinner plan is a GO

Victoria:  assignments incoming

Tom: I’m ready

Tom:  already bought festive beer Tom:  and the good wine Tom:  you’re welcome

Sophie: 😂 Love the enthusiasm, Tom

Max: what’s my job? Max: …please nothing that involves cooking

Victoria: relax Victoria: you’re on babysitting duty Victoria: keep the kids alive while we finish food

Max: Easy Max:  i’m their favorite anyway 😎

Sophie: Confirmed.

Sophie:  The boys like Max better than Tom and me combined.

Tom: 😑 i’m buying more wine to cope

Victoria: Mom is doing the main course (queen)

Victoria:  I’m doing the cheeseboard and table set up

Victoria:  Tom’s on drinks duty

Victoria:  Max is kid-wrangling + ordering dessert from that bakery we like

Max: got it

Max:  will order tomorrow morning

Max:  anything specific?

Sophie: something chocolate. always chocolate.

Victoria: and something pretty for Instagram pls

Victoria:  priorities

Tom: if it looks good but tastes bad that’s your fault, Vic

Victoria:  you’re on thin ice

Max: if you two fight the kids are judging

Sophie: The kids already judge

Sophie:  you should hear the Luka critique Tom’s hot chocolate skills

Tom: As long as Max doesn’t set anything on fire we’re good this christmas

Max: no promises 🔥

***

Max’s suitcase was by the door, neat and ready, like always.

She sat on the edge of the couch, fingers curled around a mug of tea she wasn’t drinking, pretending the ache in her chest was just from the cold — not from the knowledge that he was leaving, and she was staying.

They had never made a big thing out of it. They had agreed months ago: Christmas with their own families.

 She hadn’t wanted to impose. And truthfully, she hadn’t thought she was allowed to want anything else.

Max crossed the room, zipping up his jacket, his steps slow like he didn’t want to leave either.

"You sure you’ll be okay?" he asked softly, crouching in front of her, his hand coming to rest on her knee.

Isabelle smiled, small and careful.

"Yeah," she lied. "It’s just a few days."

Max’s gaze didn’t move from her face. He was too good at reading her now — too good at seeing the spaces between what she said and what she meant.

"You’re dreading it."

It wasn’t a question.

She let out a quiet breath and looked down into her tea.

"They mean well," she said, which wasn’t really true. "They just... expect things. And it’s always a lot. No matter how much I do, it never feels like enough."

Max reached for her hand. He held it carefully, like it might crumble if he wasn’t gentle.

"You don’t have to do it all," he said. "You can say no."

Her throat tightened. "Not with them. You know that."

He didn’t argue.

Just brushed his thumb over her knuckles.

"You want me to stay?"

The words were so quiet she almost missed them.

Her eyes shot up to his, wide and startled. "What?"

Max smiled — soft, knowing. "I’d stay. If you asked."

And oh, she wanted to. God, she wanted to.

But she couldn’t be the reason he missed his family.

 The one that actually showed up. The one that divided the work. The one that loved him without conditions.

"You should go," she whispered. "They’ll be waiting."

Max nodded, though his hand didn’t let go of hers right away.

"You text me," he said firmly. "Whenever you need to. If it gets too much. If you just want to vent. Anything."

Isabelle nodded. "I will."

Max leaned in, kissed her forehead — slow and lingering — then pressed his mouth to her temple, like he was trying to pass all his steadiness into her through the skin.

"You come to me the moment you need a break, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered.

And then he was gone — suitcase in hand, footsteps echoing down the hall, the door clicking shut behind him.

She sat in the quiet, tea still untouched, the weight of the upcoming holiday settling back over her like a too-heavy coat.

A few days.

 She could survive a few days.

Even if it meant smiling through disappointment.

 Even if it meant being everyone’s glue while no one held her together.

She stared at the blinking Christmas lights, silent and still, and braced herself.

***

The pet carrier sat on the passenger seat, tiny but somehow loud, the small bundle inside meowing indignantly every few seconds.

"I know, I know," Isabelle murmured, glancing over as she pulled into the underground parking. "Almost there, little one. Just hold on."

The breeder had handed her the kitten that morning, wrapped up in a soft blanket, small and wriggling and so full of attitude that Isabelle had immediately thought, Yes. You’re perfect for us.

A Bengal — fiery little spirit, spotted coat shining under the winter sun, with eyes so impossibly blue they hardly looked real.

Max was going to lose his mind.

She smiled to herself as she carried the carrier carefully up the elevator to the apartment. The plan was simple: keep the kitten separated from Sassy and Jimmy for a few days. Let her adjust. Let them adjust.

Slow introductions, every guide said. Boundaries.

She set the carrier down in the guest bedroom, heart pounding with excitement.

"You have a few days to settle in before Max gets back," Isabelle whispered, unlocking the carrier door. "Nice and quiet. No stress."

The kitten immediately barreled out of the carrier, straight into her lap, climbing up Isabelle’s chest like she was a mountain to be conquered.

Isabelle laughed, steadying her with gentle hands.

"You’re trouble already," she murmured fondly.

She sat with the kitten for a while, letting her explore the little setup — litter box, toys, cozy blankets. Everything ready.

Then came the problem.

The door.

She had just cracked it open to slip out quietly when two familiar blurs appeared: Jimmy first, then Sassy, both clearly having heard the new sounds and smells.

Sassy sat elegantly just outside the threshold, blinking slowly. Jimmy practically vibrated with excitement, already chirping.

"Not yet," Isabelle whispered. "You’re supposed to meet her later, carefully, slowly—"

The kitten, of course, had other plans.

Before Isabelle could stop her, she wobbled toward the door on still-clumsy legs, let out one fierce little meow, and plopped herself directly in front of Sassy.

For a split second, Isabelle panicked, heart racing.

And then—

Sassy lowered her head slowly, gave the kitten a long, inspecting sniff... and purred.

Isabelle blinked.

 Jimmy, emboldened, bounded forward and nudged the kitten with his nose.

The kitten immediately batted at Jimmy’s ear, clearly delighted, and Jimmy flopped onto his side with a happy trill, inviting her to climb all over him.

Isabelle stood frozen, watching her careful, responsible plan unravel in real time — and somehow turn into magic.

The kitten was already nuzzling into Sassy’s side, purring like a tiny engine.

 Jimmy rolled onto his back, paws waving playfully in the air.

There was no hissing. No swatting. No stress.

Just acceptance.

 Immediate, unquestioning.

A soft lump rose in Isabelle’s throat.

They already loved her.

 No slow introductions needed. No hesitation.

Just home.

Isabelle knelt down carefully, heart full to bursting, and whispered:

"Well. That was easy."

The kitten squeaked and headbutted her hand.

 Jimmy chirped again.

 Sassy blinked at her like, obviously.

Isabelle laughed, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

Within minutes, the kitten was curled up between Sassy and Jimmy, purring so loudly her tiny body vibrated.

Belle pressed her hand to her chest, overwhelmed by how right it all felt.

Max was going to lose his mind. In the best way.

She snapped a quick photo — Jimmy snoring, the kitten sprawled across his paw, Sassy watching them both with regal approval — and saved it carefully.

Not sending it yet.

 Wanting Max to be surprised in person.

This — this little chaotic, purring pile of love — was the Christmas she wanted to give him.

Home.

 Family.

 Peace.

Exactly what he deserved.

Exactly what they deserved.

***

The house was warm with the scent of cinnamon and pine, the soft hum of holiday music playing in the background. Wrapping paper littered the floor as Victoria’s two-year-old son toddled between family members, showing off his new toy car, while her boyfriend sat on the couch, trying (and failing) to assemble a playset.

Max sat beside his mother, watching the scene unfold, a rare moment of quiet as the chaos of Christmas morning settled. He reached into the pile of gifts beside him and pulled out a simple, tasteful gift bag.

“Here,” he said, holding it out to Victoria. “This is from Isabelle.”

Victoria looked up from where she was helping her son unwrap another gift. “Isabelle got me something?”

Max shrugged like it was no big deal. “Well, technically for the baby.”

Victoria’s expression softened, and she took the bag, carefully peeling back the tissue paper. Inside was a collection of delicate baby clothes—soft cotton onesies, tiny knitted socks, and an elegant, hand-stitched blanket in muted pastels. She pulled out a small note tucked inside.

For your little girl, with love – Belle.

Victoria stared at it for a long moment before shaking her head with a fond smile. “Max.”

“What?”

She looked up at him, her eyes full of something knowing. “You know I love her, right?”

Max exhaled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I figured.”

“No, I mean it,” Victoria pressed. “She’s… she’s perfect for you.”

Their mother, who had been watching quietly, nodded in agreement. “She is.”

Victoria placed the baby blanket back in the bag, then met Max’s eyes again. “You should marry her.”

Max blinked, feeling his heart stutter for just a second. He didn’t say anything at first, just rolled the thought over in his mind—something he had already done a lot lately.

His silence didn’t go unnoticed. Victoria’s gaze sharpened. “Oh my God. You have been thinking about it.”

Max exhaled through his nose, leaning back against the couch. “I mean… yeah.”

Victoria lit up like a Christmas tree. “Max!”

Their mother smiled knowingly. “You love her.” It wasn’t a question.

Max ran a hand through his hair, a little overwhelmed but not denying it. “I do.”

“So what’s stopping you?” Victoria pressed.

Max sighed, shaking his head. “Nothing, really. I just—I want to do it right.”

Victoria hummed. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I don’t want her to feel like it’s rushed. Or that I’m just asking because things are good now, but I haven’t thought about what comes after.” He hesitated. “I know what comes after. And I still want it.”

Victoria’s expression softened even more. “That’s kind of the whole point of marriage, Max.”

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just… I don’t want her to doubt it, even for a second.”

Victoria gave him a long look, then smiled. “She won’t.”

Max exhaled, rubbing at the tension in the back of his neck. “She might. Her family—”

“Is a mess,” Victoria finished for him. “Yeah, I know. But that’s exactly why she’ll believe you. You’re showing her something different. Stability. Love. Someone who actually puts her first.”

Max swallowed, something tight in his throat. “Yeah.”

Victoria smirked. “Also, I’d pay good money to see Charles’ face when you tell him.”

Max let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’ll be… something.”

“You should do it at a race weekend. Really put him on the back foot.”

“Victoria.”

“What? It’d be funny.”

Max rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. His sister had a point, even if she was enjoying the idea of Charles' reaction a little too much.

After a moment, Victoria nudged him with her foot. “So? You gonna do it?”

Max sighed, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I think I am.”

***

Christmas with the Leclercs had always been... complicated.

Isabelle wasn’t naïve enough to expect magic anymore.

 Not after years of being an afterthought.

 Not after years of achievements brushed aside in favor of louder, brighter celebrations for her brothers.

Still— Some small, stubborn part of her had hoped this year would be different.

She had spent days picking out gifts — careful, thoughtful gifts — ones that showed she knew them, that she cared. A rare edition of sneakers from a brand Arthur loved. A custom wine set for Lorenzo. A framed photo restoration for her mother. A new golf carry bag for Charles, with his initials embroidered onto it. 

Things that mattered.

And in return? 

A wall calendar from her mother. (Dogs in silly costumes. Not even horses. Not even cats. Nothing she liked. The tag read simply: "For your office, so you can keep better track of things. Love, Maman.")

A  gift card to a random electronics store she never shopped at from Lorenzo. 

A keychain shaped like a tire from Charles. ("Because you’re a Leclerc too, Isabelle, you’re part of the racing spirit, right?") 

And then from Arthur, the piece de resistance: A crop top. Tight. Neon pink. (“Saw it on sale and thought — this is way more fun than all the beige you wear!”)

Gifts that said: We don’t know you. We didn’t try.

Isabelle kept her smile pinned in place all through the day, all through the polite clinking of glasses and the endless, thoughtless chatter.

She had smiled, folded it carefully, and said thank you.

Because that’s what she always did.

Be the good gril. The grateful quiet sister. Regardless of how much it hurt. 

Still, as soon as she could go…

Belle went home. 

The door clicked shut behind her with a final, hollow sound.

The apartment was silent except for the soft pad of paws across hardwood.

The kitten darted toward her first, meowing indignantly. Jimmy and Sassy followed, blinking sleepily from their place curled up on the couch.

Isabelle dropped her keys on the counter.

Kicked off her shoes.

She made it three steps toward the living room before her legs gave out.

She sank to the floor — cold against the wood — and buried her face in her hands.

The tears came fast. Hot. Helpless.

Not just for today.

For all the Christmases before it.

For all the years spent trying to earn a place she should’ve already had.

She didn't sob.

No messy gasps for air.

Just silent, shaking tears that soaked her palms and blurred the world around her.

The kitten crept onto her lap first, purring loudly, headbutting her arm. Jimmy slunk in next, nudging her side with his nose.

Sassy stretched lazily, then trotted over and curled against her knees.

They didn't ask for anything.

They just stayed.

Isabelle curled into the weight of them — warm and grounding — clutching the kitten to her chest like a lifeline.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into his fur. "I'm sorry for expecting anything different."

The cats purred louder, blanketing her in their soft, unbothered love.

Somewhere deep down, she knew Max would be home in a few days. He would take one look at her, see right through her smile, and pull her into his arms without asking any questions.

He always did.

But for now— It was just her. And them.

And maybe that was enough.

Maybe it had to be.

***

The days stretched out, slow and heavy.

Max wouldn’t be home until the 27th.

That left her in the quiet.

No clinking glasses. No forced smiles. No careful pretending.

Just her.

And the kitten, curled against her chest more often than not. And Jimmy, draped dramatically over her lap. And Sassy, perched like a soft guardian nearby.

She didn't even turn on the TV. The blinking Christmas lights stayed unplugged. The gifts — the ugly, hollow things — sat untouched on the kitchen counter, still half-wrapped.

Isabelle moved through the apartment like a ghost.

Feeding the cats. Watering the plants. Existing.

And the thing was... it didn't feel like peace.

It felt like grief.

Grief for the girl who had tried so hard.

Grief for all the years she had believed that if she just did a little more — gave a little more — loved a little louder — she would finally be enough.

She found herself curled on the couch one night, knees to her chest, staring out at the glittering lights of Monaco beyond the glass balcony doors.

The kitten kneaded her sweater, purring obliviously.

Jimmy snored softly against her feet.

And somewhere deep inside, a small, painful thought broke free:

"I can't do this anymore."She whispered it aloud, her voice cracking."I can't keep pretending it doesn't hurt."

Her chest tightened, her throat closing.

"I can't keep loving people who don't love me back the way I need."

The admission shattered something inside her.

It was terrifying — it felt like giving up.

But it also felt... honest.

Real.

Necessary.

She wiped at her cheeks with shaking hands, breathing hard.

The kitten headbutted her chin, making her laugh — a raw, broken sound.

"I need help," she whispered into the empty apartment. "I need... someone to help me figure out how to stop doing this to myself."

The kitten purred louder.

 Sassy hopped up onto the back of the couch and flopped across her shoulders with a regal little grunt.

 Jimmy rolled onto his back and batted at her ankle.

Not demanding. Not needing her to earn anything.

Just there.

Isabelle closed her eyes, letting the tears fall without fighting them anymore.

And when she opened them again — when she sat up, cradling the kitten against her chest — she wasn’t thinking about the next Christmas, or the next gathering, or the next thing she had to survive.

She was thinking about tomorrow.

One day.

One step.

Maybe she could call a therapist. Maybe she could start small — just talking. Maybe she could start choosing herself for once.

She wasn’t sure yet.

But for the first time, she wasn’t thinking "how do I fix them?" She was thinking "how do I heal me?"

***

The second he opened the door, Max knew something was wrong.

The apartment was dark. Too quiet, except for the soft, broken sounds he couldn't place at first.

He dropped his bag without thinking, heart thudding painfully against his ribs, and moved quickly down the hall.

And there she was.

Isabelle.

Curled up in a tight ball on the couch, knees to her chest, face buried in a pillow.

Crying.

Not loud, racking sobs.

 Not the kind of tears she could hide behind a tight smile and a polite "I'm fine."

The real ones. The ones she never let anyone else see.

Max's chest cracked wide open.

He crossed the room in two strides, crouching beside her without hesitation.

"Belle," he said, voice breaking. "I'm here. I'm here, Schatje."

She lifted her head slowly, her face blotchy and pale, her eyes swollen from crying.

And then, hoarse and desperate, she whispered:

"I need therapy."

Max swallowed hard.

"I need a therapist," she said again, voice trembling. "I can't—I can't do this anymore. I can't keep pretending it doesn't hurt."

Max didn’t say anything.

 He just gathered her into his arms, pulling her against his chest like she was something breakable, precious.

She clutched at his hoodie like a drowning girl grabbing a lifeline.

"I can’t fix it," she whispered against him. "No matter how good I try to be, it’s never enough. I’m so tired, Max. I’m so tired."

Max kissed her hair, his hands moving gently up and down her back, trying to soothe, to anchor.

"You don't have to fix anything," he murmured. "Not for them. Not for anyone. I'm so proud of you for saying it out loud, Belle. I'm so proud of you."

She sobbed then — real, gasping sobs — and he just held her tighter, rocking her gently like she was something he could shelter from the whole fucking world.

It was minutes, maybe longer, before the crying started to ease, the shaking in her body slowing to small, exhausted tremors.

Only then did he notice the movement out of the corner of his eye.

A tiny, curious kitten stood perched on the arm of the couch, blinking at him with wide, impossibly blue eyes.

 Spotted, fierce-looking, all attitude in a body that barely fit in his hand.

She meowed loudly, clearly offended at being ignored.

Max blinked, stunned.

"Belle," he said softly, half-laughing through the ache in his chest. "Is that—?"

Isabelle sniffled, curling closer into him.

"Your Christmas present," she whispered. "I got her for you."

Max smiled, the kind of smile that hurt because it was too full, too much.

The kitten — tiny menace that she was — marched straight onto his lap without hesitation, climbed up his arm, and flopped against his chest like she belonged there.

Jimmy and Sassy appeared a second later, trotting over with soft chirps, their tails high and proud. Like they were presenting the newest member of the family for inspection.

Max pressed another kiss to Isabelle’s hair and looked down at the kitten sprawled across him.

"She’s perfect," he said simply.

Isabelle let out a broken little laugh — the smallest flicker of something lighter — and Max kissed her again, over and over, soft and steady.

"You’re not alone anymore," he whispered against her temple. "You don't have to carry it by yourself. We’ll find you someone good. We’ll do it together."

She nodded against him, the tiniest, exhausted nod.

And Max stayed right there — one arm around Isabelle, one hand cradling the tiny, fierce little kitten — anchoring them both.

Because they were his family.

 And he was never letting them go.

***

The world slowed down after Christmas.

Not in the way it had when she was alone — heavy, suffocating — but in a quieter, gentler way.

Because Max stayed.

He didn’t try to fix her with grand gestures.

 He didn’t try to force her to smile or pretend she was okay.

He just took care of her.

Small, steady things.

Waking up early to make coffee before she even stumbled out of bed.

Filling the fridge with all her favorite food without asking.

Curling up with her on the couch, half-watching bad movies while the new kitten climbed all over them, fearless and bright.

They spent an entire afternoon sprawled on the living room floor, arguing over names.

"Sassy and Jimmy are named after Monaco clubs," Max pointed out, gently prying the kitten off his sleeve for the tenth time. "It’s tradition now."

Isabelle smiled — a real one, small and unsteady but there.

"Lilly, then," she said after a while, watching the kitten attack Jimmy’s tail with wild enthusiasm. "After Lilly’s."

Max grinned, reaching out to scratch behind the kitten’s ear.

She immediately tried to bite his finger.

"Perfect," he said. "A little chaos queen."

"Lilly it is," Isabelle said softly, scooping the tiny, purring bundle into her arms.

Lilly. Sassy.  Jimmy.

Home.

***

Four days after Christmas, Emilie showed up.

She barely made it two steps inside the apartment before pulling Isabelle into a hug so fierce it knocked the breath out of her.

"You should’ve called me," Emilie muttered into her hair.

"I’m okay," Isabelle said, though it came out thin.

Emilie pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes sharp. "You shouldn’t have to be."

Max gave them space, drifting into the kitchen with Jimmy and Lilly trailing at his heels. (Sassy remained queenly on the back of the couch, surveying her kingdom.)

Emilie spotted the pile of gifts Isabelle had dropped on the counter — the ridiculous calendar, the generic gift card, the keychain, the pink crop top — and went still.

She picked up the crop top between two fingers, like it might bite her.

"This," Emilie said slowly, "is an insult."

Isabelle laughed, but it cracked around the edges.

Emilie turned, her eyes blazing now.

"They don't deserve you."

The words landed harder than Isabelle expected.

Not because they were cruel.

 Because they were true.

She opened her mouth to deflect — to say it wasn’t that bad, that they didn’t mean to hurt her — but Emilie just shook her head.

"No. None of that. You gave them everything, Belle. Thoughtful gifts. Time. Care. And they couldn’t even be bothered to see you."

Isabelle felt her throat tighten painfully.

"You’re not asking for too much," Emilie said fiercely. "You’ve never asked for too much. You just wanted to matter."

The tears came fast and hot, blurring the kitchen into light and shadow.

Emilie stepped closer, squeezing her shoulders.

"You do matter," she said. "Just not to people who only know how to take."

Behind them, Max hovered silently, a plate of cookies in his hand, his eyes soft and steady.

He didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t add anything.

He just stayed.

Exactly what she needed.

Exactly what she deserved.

Later, after Emilie left with promises of vengeance and an ominous "Just say the word and I will rain hellfire on all of them," Isabelle curled up on the couch with Max, Jimmy, Sassy, and little Lilly wriggling between them.

Max pulled a blanket over both of them, tucking her into his side without a word.

Isabelle let herself lean into him, breathing him in — warmth and safety and home.

Maybe the family she was born into would never see her the way she wished.

But the one she was building?

The one that showed up — not because they had to, but because they wanted to?

That family was hers.

 And she was enough for them.

 Exactly as she was.

***

Masterlist Hello i’m L welcome to my ff masterlist

IN ALL FF READER IS AFAB, SHE/HER PRONOUNS BUT HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION AND NO BLOOD RELATIONS WITH ANY CHARACTER SO THAT IS INCLUSIVE

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OTHER CHARACTERS MASTRERLIST (TOP GUN, Stranger Things, HOTD, TLOU

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MARVEL - BUCKY BARNES X READER

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

-fever    (fluff/flirting)

-All the way Bucky told you ‘i love you’ (image, fluff, hurt/comfort) 

Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader (Revenge saga)

the stark!reader one shots are virtually all present in the same universe as are about my OFC called Revenge

Stark!reader facts

This are backgrounds info for my Stark!reader that are useful to have more insight for the one-shots that I publish. all can be read without this info but it helps make some of implied facts  in the one-shots more clear. 

-what the hell?   (stark!reader) (fluff/blurp)

-I wish he was here too (stark!reader) (fluff/angst)

-Rebecca (stark!reader) (fluff/minor angst)

-The Gala Part 1 2 3  (stark!reader) (fluff/angst) 

Tonight is your big come back to stark industries after your brother’s death. Thankfully Bucky will be by your side. (more focused on tony’s death and grief)

-Rogers! The Musical (Stark!reader) (fluff)  Ft. Clint Barton and Stark!Reader (Platonic, best friends)

As your best friend Clint is in town and his children want to go to see the new Rogers! The Musical you/stark!reader bring along your boyfriend Bucky and your friend Sam to the show

-Five Christmases in y/n stark’s life (fluff) (Tony Stark and Stark!reader (platonic, siblings) ft Steve rogers x Stark!reader)

You are tony’s sister this are five of your Christmas throughout your life. Mainly tony stark being cute and taking care of his little sister. 

-Your First Christmas with Bucky (Stark!reader) (fluff) 

-St. Valentine Day (stark!reader) (fluff)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT THIS IS FOR 18+ READERS

Relax (smut/fluff) (Inspired by The Gala)

TONY STARK AND SISTER!READER CENTRED FF MASTERLIST

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THE ORIGINALS - ELIJAH MIKAELSON X READER 

Most are of OriginalVampire/Witch!Wife!Reader (Theoretically all are in the same universe but is not a series or they don’t need info from other parts)

The more Klaus and BestFriend!Reader with implied Elijah x Reader are signposted as such

Klaus x best friend reader centred Materialist with elijah x reader

Headcanons

-Headcanons of being Elijah’s wife and an original (Part 2)

-Headcanons of being Klaus’s best friend (Part 2) 

-You and elijah falling in love when human (fluff)

-Children misfortunes info on your and Elijah children

More instalments in the Mikaelsons family x reader materialist

Images

-All the way Elijah told you ‘i love you’ (fluff/angst, hurt/comfort) 

Rewritten canon Scenes / reader insert

-Dinner with the Salvatore brothers (Mikaelson reader insert scene from TVD 3x13) (funny/comical image)

-Being daggered (reader insert scene from TO 1x01) (angst) (more Klaus centred)

-You and Elijah say goodbye (reader insert TO 3x22) (hurt/comfort)

-1492 (reader insert TVD 2x19) (fluff)

-1919 (reader insert TO1x15-16 flashbacks) angst and fluff

-Where it all started (rewrite TO 3x18) angst  

One Shots

-The Painting (fluff) 

-Vacation (fluff, canon divergent)

-St Valentine’s day, Really? (fluff)

-Bandits (hurt/comfort) 

-Muse (fluff, suggestive themes)

-It’s not your fault (hurt) 

-Three Christmases blurb (fluff blurb)

-5 times elijah was jealous (funny, fluff, angst, implied smut)

-Consequences (PURE ANGST)

-Cheating spell (angst with happy ending)

-4 times Elijah slept on the sofa (fluff and angst)

Long One Shots

 -A Mikaelson Christmas: - Morning - Day - Evening 

(family fluff, elijah x reader fluff, reader x bestfriends!klaus-rebekah)

-Marcellus: (Part 1) - (Part 2)

(family fluff, elijah x reader fluff, reader and bestfriends!klaus raising marcel)

Series

-Let her go: 1 2 3 4 5 (angst with happy ending, fluff flashbacks)

the hollow takes you. now elijah has to save you (TO 4.9-4.11 rewriting/reader insert )

-The lost daughter masterlist: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 (Angst) +blurbs on masterlist

Human AU

-Drunk (more klaus centred, elijah at end and start) 

-The birth (fluff)

Social media AU

-Mikaelsons + reader incorrect chats 1 (18 +)

-y/n, klaus and Elijah’s IG feed

Smut 

-Elijah NSFW head canons  (smut) 

MIKAELSONS FAMILY X YOU CENTRED FF MASTERLIST 

KLAUS AND YOU CENTRED FF MASTERLIST  (some include implied elijah x reader)

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SUPERNATURAL - DEAN WINCHESTER  X READER  MASTRLIST 

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send an ask or comment if you want to be added to a taglist

Follow us on AO3

Reading list and side blog @starkleilafavoritereadings . Ultimate favorite ff and suggestion in this post (work in progress)

overcooked

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: play overcooked they said, it’ll be fun they said.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i just can’t help write about the idea lando playing overcooked, so i did. hope you’ll enjoy this! :)

REMINDER: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 1k

WARNINGS: typos and ferrari strategy meme

Lando’s twitch stream was in full swing, and the chat was buzzing as you settled beside him, controller in hand.

“Alright, babe, let’s see how well we work together,” Lando teased, flashing you that signature grin. You rolled your eyes, already sensing that this game of overcooked might be more than what you bargained for.

You both dove into the first level, the kitchen chaos unfolding on the screen as you both tried to chop, cook, and serve orders with as much coordination as two people shared a life, but perhaps not a kitchen.

“Lando, the onions! You missed the onions!” You shouted, pointing at the screen as the virtual kitchen teetered on the brink of disaster.

“Relax, I’ve got this!” Lando replied, but his character was already running into walls, the pot burning on the stove. You could feel the frustration bubbling up, your competitive nature kicking into high gear.

You took charge of the kitchen, barking orders like a seasoned chef, while Lando scrambled to keep up. “Chop the onions faster, Lando!” You yelled as the kitchen timer ticked down. Lando, flustered, accidentally tossed the onions into the trash instead of the pot.

“Oops,” he said, trying to suppress a laugh.

“Oops?” You shot back, incredulous. “Lando, we’re running a restaurant, not a garbage disposal service!” The twitch chat exploded with laughter, and Lando couldn’t help but chuckle as well.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of trying to manage orders, avoid fires, and stop Lando from accidentally throwing perfectly good ingredients into the trash, you both managed to complete the level. The result? Two stars. You stared at the screen, eyes narrowing.

“Unacceptable.” You muttered, “this is unacceptable!” You declared, your voice suddenly dropping into a perfect Gordon Ramsay impression.

“Oh look, baby we got two stars! That’s not bad!” Lando said excitedly as he pointed on the screen.

“Not that bad? Are you kidding me, Lando?” You snapped, fully embodying the spirit of Gordon Ramsay. “We were all over the place! No communcation, no strategy. Honestly, what was that—your best effort? Do you want to serve that to people? Do you?!”

Your sudden intensity caught Lando off guard, but before he could say anything, you were now pacing back and forth in front of him. But before he could say anything, you were off on a tirade, launching into an elaborate explanation of your strategy. You gestured wildly, pointing at the screen, completely absorbed in your monologue.

“Okay, listen. First, you need to stay on your side of the kitchen. I’ll handle the chopping and the prep work—because clearly, you’re incapable of doing both without setting something on fire. We need to streamline the workflow. I’ll chop, you’ll cook, and we both plate. But!” You pointed at him, your expression deadly serious, “no more improvisation. We need to stick to the plan. No more running around like a headless chicken.“

Lando blinked and nodded at you, clearly taken aback by your sudden switch into full-on chef mode. He opened his mouth to respond but then quickly shut it, his eyes darting between you and the camera that was still live streaming every second of your tirade. The chat was exploding with messages, his fans throughly entertained by your unintentional transformation into a culinary dictator, and Lando knows better than to interrupt you when you’re in the zone.

“And another thing,” you continued, pointing to the screen like you were delivering the world’s most important TED talk. “Timing and synchronization is crucial. We need to strategize and work like a well-oiled machine, not a circus act, okay? I handle the chopping, you’ll cook, and we both plate. We’ll divide and conquer!”

The chat exploded, the fans losing it as she continued, hands flying everywhere in wild gestures. Meanwhile, Lando was trying his hardest not to crack up, the corners of his mouth twitching as he watched her go on.

“Babe…baby,” Lando finally managed to interject, struggling to keep a straight face. “You realize we’re live, right?”

You froze, eyes widening as you remembered the twitch stream, the hundred of his fans who had just witnessed your unhinged rant. Slowly, you turned to the camera, a sheepish grin spreading across your face.

“Oh…hi, chat,” you said, your voice suddenly much softer, the intensity draining from your expression. “I’m sorry for that. That was not very demure, very cutesy, and very mindful of me.”

Lando burst out laughing, nearly doubling over as he clutched his stomach. “I think you’ve been watching too much Hell’s Kitchen, love. Gordon Ramsay has become your new personality,” he teased, pulling you back down and sat you on his lap. You groaned, burying your face on his neck, as he put an arm around your waist, but even you couldn’t help laugh at yourself.

“Come on, let’s get you that three stars.” Lando said as he chuckled again. You settled down beside him and gave you a kiss on your temple.

The rest of the stream was just as chaotic as when you both started playing the game, filled with rage, frustration, and hilarious uncoordination. Orders were still missed, pots were still burning, and Lando’s character even managed to fall off the kitchen at one point, but you were both too busy laughing to care. By the end of the game, you hadn’t earned a single three-star rating that you had intentionally wanted, but the stream had been a massive hit, and the chat was flooded with memes of your intense strategy session.

As Lando ended the stream, he leaned over and kissed you on the lips, still chuckling. “We may not be the best team in overcooked, but I think we’re the most entertaining,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile played on your lips as you rested your head ok his shoulder. “Yeah, well, next time we’re getting three stars. I don’t care how long it takes.”

“Deal.” lando replied, wrapping an arm around you as you both relaxed, your own competitive sprit finally at peace—for now. “And can I say, it really turned me on when you started yapping.” His eyes wiggling, suggesting something that you knew fully well as you slapped him playfully on the chest.

“Oh shut up you.” You both laughed.

The kitchen might have been a disaster, but at least your relationship had survived the heat—well, barely.

twitter posts

Hurricane - Part Three

{Emma blinks in surprise but manages to hold eye contact with Max. “I wasn't aware 'emotional support assistant' was my new job title.” She quips, grin ghosting at the edge of her lips. For what feels like the first time all weekend, Max laughs. It’s loud and genuine and sends a shiver of pleasure dancing over Emma’s skin. He shakes his head, scrubbing at his tired face with his rough, calloused hands. “I don’t want to be alone and I don’t want to go with anyone else.” }

warnings/notes: no warnings in this one, its pretty fluffy. thank you to my writing therapist @lestapiastrisgirl for holding my hand as i crash out on a nightly basis and reassuing me that i do not, in fact, suck at this whole writing thing. pairing: max verstappen x emma meyer (fem original character) word count: 4.6k words

read hurricane on ao3 hurricane master list main master list ask me anything

Max slept in the next morning, something he didn’t often allow himself to do. He was drained from the past week, despite it being an off week, so he figured he had earned a little respite. Between the struggles he’d been having in the car since mid-last season to the drama around the second Red Bull seat, Max felt wrung out emotionally and just wanted to have a moment to breathe. Leaving Milton Keynes early the day before had been a start and even just one night in his own bed had him feeling back on the road to feeling better. 

The earthy scent of his favorite coffee brewing mixed with the smell of something sticky sweet drew him out of the deep sleep he’d been in. After coming home last night and hearing Emma play, the pair had spent a quiet evening with takeout and a movie before Max had turned in early, exhaustion from the week’s excitement making his bones ache. 

He’d woken up around 1am to the sounds of Clair de Lune floating through the cracks in his bedroom door and had stayed up longer than necessary listening to Emma play. It was a song he knew well and he had recognized it the second his eyes blinked open. His mother had played the song frequently when he was growing up along with a lot of classical music and the strains of the song provided him with a sense of nostalgic comfort that he’d been craving lately. The memories that the notes elicited grounded him in a way that nothing had been able to do in a very long time. 

The sunlight streamed into the bay windows that lined one of the walls of his bedroom as Max dug around in his closet for a clean t-shirt and shorts before wandering out to the open-concept kitchen. He paused in the archway, just out of Emma’s sight, as he watched her float around the kitchen. All four burners on the stove were switched on and Max strained to see that there were sausages and bacon sizzling away, what looked to be French toast nearly ready to be flipped, and scrambled eggs frying up in a pan. Two coffee mugs sat on the counter, one full of the dark liquid, the other sitting empty, presumably waiting for Max to wake up. 

Emma had on an ancient looking crewneck sweater, the vibrant crimson color faded to almost a purplish pink, sleeves shoved up above her elbows to keep them out of the feast she was in the middle of preparing. Half of her hair was tied up and away from her face, secured in place by a giant claw clip that managed to handle the thick locks without breaking. Her legs were nearly bare, the sleep shorts she wore were sinfully short, her mile long tanned legs on display for only Max to see. 

He swallowed thickly at the sight in front of him, the sheer domesticity of it making something in his chest ache for a life he never knew he yearned for. He’d never been one to dream about the day he settled down, got married, had kids and a home. It wasn’t him, wasn’t how he was raised. Jos always told him there would be time for that after racing and that if he allowed anything to get in the way of his laser sharp focus, Max’s career would suffer. 

The song Emma hummed in the back of her throat was familiar but not something he could totally place and the look on her face was open, bright, beautiful. She seemed so comfortable in his space, so at home in a kitchen that was usually sterile and bare and the way she brought life into Max’s home with barely any effort made Max’s chest ache in the most unfamiliar way. 

Max didn’t know how long he stood there, watching Emma move around his kitchen with a practiced grace that spoke of quiet confidence in a space where she felt like she belonged. It was heart achingly familiar and brightly brand new all at once, almost too much for Max to handle.

Eventually though, the spell was broken as Emma sensed she wasn’t alone anymore. When her eyes snagged on his frame, the smile that fluttered across her face nearly sent Max into cardiac arrest. 

“Good morning, sleepy head.” She teased, turning around to take the waiting coffee pot off the warmer and pour a generous amount into the waiting cup. “Milk? Sugar? There wasn’t any creamer in the fridge when you left so I didn’t know how you usually take your coffee or what to buy as a replacement.” 

The gesture was nice on the surface but Max knew there was an underlying anxiety to her monologue. From the short amount of time he’d spent with Emma, he’d clocked the fact that Emma was a textbook definition of people pleaser, almost to a painful level. She was constantly looking to him for approval, for confirmation that she’d done a good job or that Max wasn’t mad at her. The history behind those habits were an unknown to Max but he recognized a coping mechanism when he saw it.

“Whatever milk you have is fine. Sugar too.” 

Emma looked relieved as she turned to the fridge to get the small carton of milk. A bowl of sugar appeared shortly after too, in a ceramic dish that Max hadn’t even known he owned. They were quiet for a beat as Emma turned away to make sure the sausage wasn’t burning. 

“You’re in a good mood this morning.” Max commented over the rim of his mug, eyes not leaving Emma for a moment longer than necessary. 

Emma turned around, gaze instantly flicking towards the piano in the corner of the living room before darting back to look at Max. Those normally stormy gray eyes were bright this morning, happier than Max had seen them the entire time she’d been staying with him. A small smile tugged at the corner of Emma’s lips as she took a sip of her coffee. “Yeah,” She breathed, the sound sending a shudder down Max’s spine, “I guess I am.” 

There’s another lengthy pause, the silence blanketing the pair comfortably before Emma pushes a plate of French toast towards Max. “I know you’re probably on some sort of super strict diet for the season but once I start cooking it’s a little hard for me to stop.” 

Max grins as he stabs a piece of French toast with his fork before reaching for the butter. Emma slides the syrup over. “I think we can make an exception for this spread. Everything looks so good, Em.” 

Emma preened at the praise that tumbles from Max’s lips like it was the first time she’d ever heard a positive affirmation in her life. Not for the first time since Emma had come to stay with him did Max want to throttle whoever had caused her to behave like she was constantly making mistakes. 

 After one bite, Max hums, the sound low and satisfied, working it’s way across Emma’s skin. “And it tastes even better.” He says around the mouthful of food. 

As he digs into the plate Emma had piled high with food, his eyes wander around the expansive kitchen and living room. For the first time since arriving home, Max noticed something was different about his apartment. Nothing obvious, just a few quiet things that anyone else might’ve never notice. It was still his apartment of course. Nothing major had been moved or tucked away, it still felt like the place that he had settled into over the last few years.  

The cords on his sim right were a little more tidy, the brand new citrus candle that was burning low in the living room, the twin cat beds that had appeared underneath the piano while he had been gone. It made the apartment feel cozier somehow, like the place had been missing these small, gentle touches of a feminine hand. It should have had the hackles on the back of his neck rising, having someone that deep in the place he guarded so closely but having Emma there felt natural, like she was the last piece of the puzzle he’d been missing. 

Swaying a bit at the overwhelming realization, Max blinks and shakes his head in a desperate attempt to clear away the cobwebs of dangerous attraction that had no business being in on his mind. 

“I hope you don’t mind the cat beds I bought. Jimmy and Sassy kept trying to climb into the piano while I was playing and it was the only way I could keep them out and still practice.” Emma says halfway through the meal. 

Max grins in that genuine, open way does when he’s truly pleased. The corners of his eyes crinkled up, lips curling up in a lopsided boyish smile. “I appreciate you taking care of them, they’re social cats and I hate leaving them. They seem to be quite taken with you.” 

Emma leaned down scratch at Sassy’s ears after she had wandered into the kitchen as if she knew she was being discussed. “They kept me company while I had my quarter-life crisis on your couch for two days. We bonded.” 

“And what did you come up with while experiencing this crisis? Anything life changing?” Max hadn’t wanted to push last night to talk about the future. He hadn’t want to bring up Emma leaving because if he was being honest, and he quite often wasn’t with himself, he was enjoying having her here. It had been less than a week but she’d already imbued herself deeper into his life than he could have ever anticipated. 

“I’ve decided I’m going to marry rich and become a trophy wife.” She announced, eyes glittering as a wicked smirk kicked up at the edge of her mouth.

Max was so startled by her declaration, he choked out a laugh so loud Sassy went flying across the kitchen floor in a startled terror. 

Emma made a sound of offense before rolling her eyes. “I’m insulted you think my goal of being a trophy wife is so lofty. Am I really that hideous?”

When she sticks out her bottom lip in a pout, Max had to physically restrain himself to keep from reaching out and swiping his thumb across her outstretched lip, his fingers digging into the sides of his chair so hard his knuckles went white. Before he can come up with a response though, Max’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Reluctantly pulling it out, he’s unable to bite back the groan that starts in the back of his throat. 

“Everything okay?” Emma asks before popping a bite of bacon into her mouth. 

“Christian won’t stop emailing me about the stupidest shit after hours and on weekends. Marko too. It’s never anything important and most of the time could wait until I see them again.” Max frowns, reading the subject line: ‘NEW PR IDEAS FOR YUKI’. “I’m about to block them both.” 

Emma reaches out with her hand, motioning for him to hand over his phone, “I have an idea, can I try something?” 

Max easily slides the phone across the counter and watches, mesmerized, as Emma starts tapping away at his phone for several moments, her eyes fixed on the screen. As she works, she catches her bottom lip in between her teeth, nearly sending Max into another spiral so quickly he has to look away. 

“And…done! There you go, that should take care of your problems.” Emma looks up, sly grin stretching across her face as she hands back the phone. “I created a few rules in your inbox. Now anything that Christian and Helmut send you after hours will go directly into a separate folder instead of in your main inbox so you can choose when you want to look at their stuff instead of being bothered by their lack of boundaries.” 

Max tilts his head, eyes narrowed as he lifts his gaze from his phone to meet Emma’s eager expression. He’s quiet for so long that Emma shifts uncomfortably, wondering if she’d crossed a line. Maybe he didn’t like his things messed with. Maybe she had gone too far with her desire to help and it had made him angry. 

Why was she always messing everything up?

“Marry me.” Max mutters finally, half joking and half deadly serious and Emma blinks over at him. “Marry me and become my trophy wife, please.” 

Emma can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of her at the sheer ridiculousness of the request. “You’re insane.” 

Max just smirks, sinking into the sound of her laughter. It’s light, sweet, and everything that he craves as the sound rakes itself over his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I’m serious. You come in here, clean up my place and make it look like someone actually lives here, fill my fridge with all of my favorite things, and banish my bosses emails to a folder I never have to look at? That’s wife behavior right there, schat.” 

Emma’s cheeks go crimson but she manages to roll her eyes, “That sounds a lot like personal assistant behavior to me and if you need a lecture in the differences between wifey and assistant behavior, we have bigger problems on our hands, Verstappen.” 

“Then be my assistant.” 

Emma doesn’t have a response to that because she can’t quite tell if Max is still teasing her or not. The look on his face shifts into something more serious though and she struggles to catch up. She was still trying to recover from the faux proposal moments ago, the thought of marrying Max suddenly making her throat feel tight and cheeks feel hot. “Wait. What?” 

Max shrugs, feigning nonchalance as best as he can. “Horner has been after my ass for years to hire a personal assistant. He claims I miss too much and am spread too thin. To be honest, he’s probably just bitter I never return any of his emails but he does have a point.” He pauses, flipping his phone around in his hands as a way to channel the nervous energy buzzing through his veins. He hadn’t meant to ask her to be his assistant but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he didn’t want to take them back. 

“I don’t have any experience in your world, Max.” Emma says, worrying the corner of her lip. 

“You don’t need experience in motorsport to help me run my life. You need a job, a place to stay, a steady paycheck, right? I can give all of those things to you, Em. Let me help?” 

Emma drops her gaze away from Max’s for a moment, contemplating the offer. He was right, of course. She had nothing holding her back, no prospects. She’d spent the better part of the time alone in Max’s place searching for something, anything for her to do. Jobs that she was qualified for were few and far between in Monaco. The thought of going back to teaching and the politics that came along with it, made her stomach churn. Working for Max would save her from having to go back home with her tail tucked between her legs. 

“At least until you figure out what you want to do going forward.” He says quickly to fill the silence that filled the space between them. “You don’t have to be my assistant forever, just until you get back on your feet and decide what’s next.” 

A small grin ticks up at the corner of Emma’s lips and Max knows he’s got her.

“Alright, yeah.” She pauses, drawing in a deep inhale. There was a significant shift in the air as she studied Max sitting across from her, it was charged with something that neither of them were quite ready to face yet but they both knew was meaningful in a way they hadn’t ever anticipated.

“And who knows, maybe I’ll even find a rich race car driver to trophy wife me up, right?” 

Emma winks over at Max but the only thing that scuttles through his mind in response is ‘yeah, and that man will be me.’ 

The sun in Bahrain was relentless. While Emma considered herself relatively well traveled, she’d never been to the Middle East before. After going to Japan last week with Max, her head was spinning with how different her life had become literally overnight. 

After she had accepted Max’s offer, it had been decided that the easiest thing to do was hire Emma via Red Bull and pay her that way. This protected everyone involved and gave Emma the stability she’d been craving since being fired from her nightmare of a nannying job. It also gave legitimacy to her being in the paddock and the access to places where Max needed her to be. 

It was a simple enough job when it all came together. Manage Max’s email and personal schedule, make sure his meals were what his trainer needed them to be, when they needed to be there, ensure Jimmy and Sassy were visited by the pet sitter 3 to 4 times a day, handle his personal appearance requests that didn’t go through the Red Bull PR department. The tasks were easy for someone as organized and type A as Emma and she fell into the role seamlessly. 

Japan had been easy because Max had a mega weekend and the team was on the upswing. 

And then Bahrain happened. 

Emma was walking towards the parking lot of the paddock after the race Sunday night with another Red Bull employee when the shouts of someone calling her name stopped her in her tracks. The race had gone horribly wrong for Max and he’d told her to go ahead to the hotel without him because he’d be at the track for hours pouring over data with GP and the engineering team. Emma had wanted to get a head start on packing, for both Max and her anyway, so she had agreed and found a ride back with someone else. 

She turned around to see one of the PR interned sprinting after her, wild panic in her eyes. 

“Laurie, what’s wrong?” Anxiety fluttered in her chest briefly. Max had made it out of the car in one piece and as far as she was concerned her job was finished for the night.

Laurie struggled to catch her breath as stopped short of Emma and Rachel, the engineer she was getting a ride with. “Max. Refusing to do media. Won’t talk to anyone but you.” 

“What?” Emma shot a confused look at Rachel before returning her gaze back to the young woman. “Laurie, take a few deep breaths. Did you run here from the media pen?” 

Laurie nodded before dragging in a few more ragged breaths. It took a few more moments but eventually, her chest stopped heaving like she had just finished a marathon. 

“Ok, now slow down.” Emma started, placing a hand on Laurie’s shoulder. “What is going on? Where’s Max?” 

“He’s refusing to go to the media pen and do his interviews. The FIA officials are threatening fines, Horner is about to combust, and he says he’ll only talk to you.” 

Emma’s brows rose into her hairline as she exchanged another surprised look with Rachel. “Well, I guess I’m not going back to pack right now, am I? Go ahead without me, I’ll get a ride back with Max. Thanks Rachel.” 

Rachel nodded before wishing her good luck and turning back towards the parking lot. 

Emma turned back to Laurie, “Okay, where is he?” 

“Driver’s room.” 

“Okay, go to the pen and tell everyone Max wasn’t feeling well after the race. Blame the heat or something? And that he’ll be along in less than 20 minutes.” 

Laurie nodded before jogging off towards the media tent. Emma turned down a quiet alleyway on her way to Red Bull’s hospitality. 

It only took a few more minutes before she was standing in front of Max’s drivers room on the second floor of the suite. She’d spent most of her time in the room this weekend, watching the practice sessions and qualifying while working on getting Max’s inbox under control (something that was still a work in progress and causing her almost as many headaches as the driver who was currently throwing a tantrum). As she stood in front of the closed door though, there was a heavy air of anxiety and anger that hummed through the space. She knew what she’d find behind the door, had seen the way Max had looked furious when he’d gotten out of the car. 

Emma only had to wait a few moments after knocking softly to hear a strangled “Come in.” 

Pushing the door open with a gentle shove, Emma took a few steps into the room before spotting Max. Her heart ached when she saw the way he was folded in on himself, shoulders hunched, race suit still half-on, head in his hands. Despite it being a rough weekend for the team, Max had tried to take most of it on the chin. His temper had flared a few times here and there, a few stiff words for GP during the race, a few angry glances lobbed at a mechanic that happened to be in his way. No one had thought much of it as it happened. They were used to his moods, GP assured Emma a few dozen times there was nothing she could do to help. It was just something Max had to work through on his own. He’d done it before and he’d do it again. 

But this? The way he was curled in on himself like he wanted to shrink down to a size that couldn’t be seen, the way he refused to look up when Emma stepped into the room, the way his fingers gripped at his hair like he was trying to rip the pain away from his head? This was all a new side of Max that Emma had the feeling not many people had ever seen. 

In a flash, she was crossing the room before crouching in front of him. She doesn’t touch him, despite every inch of her body screaming that she should. She didn’t quite trust herself in that moment. Didn’t quite trust herself to be able to stop with a simple touch on the back of his hand. Emma was worried she’d want more and that? That was dangerous. 

“Max, what’s going on?” 

“I can’t do this.” He laments, eyes finally lifting up to meet hers. 

The pain and embarrassment sitting so plainly in his eyes had Emma’s heart squeezing painfully.  

“The car is just…I can’t drive it. I lost count of how many laps I spent stuck behind a fucking Alpine. An Alpine, Emma!” 

Emma nodded like she knew what that meant as Max stood to pace the small room. “Max,” She tries to placate, knowing that the time is limited and he was staring down the face of a hefty fine. “I bought you some time with the FIA but they’re out there yelling about fines and I think Horner might be close to having a stroke.” 

Max turns on her, eyes wild with rage and something else that looks a lot like anguish. “Well that makes two of us then.” He says miserably. “I’m not going to Jeddah.” 

The statement stops Emma in her tracks. “Wait, what? Max, I know the race was bad but you can’t just quit four races into the season.” 

“I’m not quitting, Em.” He says with a roll of his eyes and Emma resists the urge to swat at him for the sass. “I just need a few days to clear my head before I go straight into another race weekend.” 

“Okay, I can work with that. Let me get on the phone with your pilot and see what your options are while you’re doing media. I’ll figure out a place where you can go for a few days while I head to Jeddah to make sure everything is set up for you.” 

Max shakes his head, “No.” 

Emma pinches at the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes. “Oh, God bless it.” She sighs deeply, shaking her head. “The hell do you mean, ‘no’? You literally just said you didn’t want to go to Jeddah?” 

“I’m not going without you.” 

Emma blinks in surprise but manages to hold eye contact with Max. “I wasn't aware 'emotional support assistant' was my new job title.” She quips, grin ghosting at the edge of her lips.

For what feels like the first time all weekend, Max laughs. It’s loud and genuine and sends a shiver of pleasure dancing over Emma’s skin. He shakes his head, scrubbing at his tired face with his rough, calloused hands. “I don’t want to be alone and I don’t want to go with anyone else.” 

Again, Emma found herself narrowing her eyes in a vain attempt to understand the man in front of her. “That…makes no sense. You want to be alone but you want me to come with you?” 

“I don’t want to go with anyone else.” Max pouts. 

Pouts. The four-time world champion that was known to make even the most experienced mechanic cower pouts at Emma. 

“Will you go out to the media pen and not be a sarcastic brute to the reporters if I agree to this?” 

A sly grin slips onto Max’s face as he nods, realizing he’s won. 

Emma sighs, the fight draining out of her as quickly as the tension seemed to be leaving Max’s body. “Fine.” She relents, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “But you owe me, big time. I had planned to spend the next few days comatose in a hotel room doing nothing but watching bad reality tv and eating even worse takeout.” 

Max’s grin widens, the relief evident in his suddenly brighter eyes. “I promise I will make sure I buy you the best takeout wherever we end up and you can even pick the TV we watch.” 

Emma levels a pointed look at him as she throws a bottle of water his way, “And you! You will be polite out there. You will answer their questions, even the stupid ones, without rolling your eyes so hard you risk a sprain. And you will not, under any circumstances, blame Jack or Pierre for your…unfortunate race. Got it?” 

“Deal.” Max agrees quickly, already moving towards the door. The heavy cloud of anger that had clung to him all weekend seemed to have lifted, replaced by a restless energy that was something Emma could make work. “What are we thinking? Somewhere with a good beach? I haven’t spent a day near the ocean in too long.” 

Emma follows him, grabbing his discarded team jacket from the back of a chair before wrapping herself up in the oversized garment. “Hold your horses, Verstappen. You still have about fifteen minutes of explaining to do to a very angry and tired contingent of journalists. Lets get through that first and then your ‘emotional support assistant’ will work her magic and find us the perfect escape.” 

As the pair walks out into the paddock and towards the media tent, a small smile plays on Emma’s lips. Emotional support assistant. She had to admit, the title had a certain ring to it, even if it made her sound completely ridiculous. And if it meant seeing that genuine smile on Max’s face again, she was willing to take on the role. Jeddah could wait an extra few days. Some bad TV and questionable takeout with a surprisingly vulnerable racing driver suddenly sounded like a far more interesting proposition. 

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Little Enzo (2) - Charles Leclerc

Charles Leclerc x reader

Words: 6.3k

Summary: Charles keeps on turning your and Enzo's world upside down.  

Warnings: Nothing really just soft and fluffy Charles

Authors Note: So many of you have asked for it and I loved writing it so here you go, Part 2 to Little Enzo

It's not edited and English isn't my first language so be nice, please :)

Feedback is always very much so appreciated.  

Enjoy! ♥

"Mummy!" There was a soft knock at the door. If you hadn't been trying to read a book, you probably wouldn't have heard the knock and your son's hoarse voice. You were lying in a bed that was much too big for one person. The place next to you was empty.

"Come in, my angel." You put the book on your bedside table and when you look up your little man is already standing in front of you. His eyes still a little puffy but nowhere near as bad as they had been in the afternoon or rather early evening.

"Come here, darling." You open your arms wide for him and pull him onto your bed as he put his arms around your neck. "What's wrong? Why can't you sleep?" Enzo sat down on your lap covered with your blanket and looked at you with sad eyes.

"I- I- Do you think- Is Charles sad?" Your son played with your fingers but tried not to look you in the eye. You took a deep breath, wrapped your arms around your son's back and pulled him to your chest. His head found its perfect place in the crook of your neck.

"Oh my darling, I don't think he's very happy with the results and yes maybe he's a wee bit sad because of it." Enzo stretched his head so that he could look at you from the side. This gave you the perfect opportunity to give him a kiss on the forehead. You could see little tears forming in his eyes again.

Charles had competed in the last race before the summer break in Hungary that afternoon and his team had once again left him completely out in the cold with the strategy.

You and Enzo had watched the race from home. After it had looked so good at the beginning of the race and Enzo was beaming all over his face when Charles took first place in a great overtaking manoeuvre, your little angel couldn't hold back the tears when he noticed that Charles had slipped very far back.

"No my angel, don't cry. Charles is not alone. Pierre is with him and so is Carlos and after all he's coming home tomorrow." Your son had a hard time holding back the tears. A few rolled down his face anyway. Your words didn't seem to calm him down much.

"But Mummy, we're not there. Pierre and Carlos are just his friends, they don't like him as much as we love him." Your heart leapt and tears came to your eyes as you let your son's words sink in.

Only 10 months ago you were still worried whether Enzo would get used to living with Charles and living a completely different life than before, and now you were both sitting here in bed, half declaring your love for Charles.

"That's why he's even more excited to see you again tomorrow. But for that, you need to sleep that you're fit and you can hug him so hard that all the sadness of today fades away, ok?" Enzo looked at you with small eyes, his tears had dried again and a small yawn now came across his lips.

He nodded slowly and wanted to get up but you held the little one for a little while longer until you could hear him breathing softly and his eyes were firmly closed.

With your sleeping child in your arms, you tried to get up from your bed as slowly and carefully as possible, but then decided to just let him lie next to you. You turned off the bedside lamp next to you and snuggled up next to your son in the warm blanket you were now sharing.

Confused, you opened your eyes, not knowing why you had woken up. The room was still dark, so you assumed it was still the middle of the night. You turned over, careful not to wake your son, and were about to go back to sleep when you heard the front door open.

Your heart pounding, you picked up your phone and saw that it was two o'clock in the morning. With slow steps you opened the door and walked towards the living room and the entrance hall.

Looking around the corner you could see a person dressed in all black. Hoodie pulled over their head and looking at their hands, but standing with the back facing you, when suddenly something fell out of their hands, from the sound of it probably a phone.

"Putain." Damn. With a beat your heart calmed and you slowly walked towards him.

"Charles?" When he heard your quiet voice he turned around with his phone in his hand that he had just picked up. You could see the cracks in his screen that hadn't been there before.

His eyes were almost as puffy as Enzo's before he had fallen asleep and you could see in his face that he was just blank and lost.

"Damn. I woke you up. I'm sorry. Apparently I can't even do that." It broke your heart how lost and self-doubting the Monegasque stood before you. You had expected many things, but not this.

Without another word you closed the small distance that was still between you and took the Ferrari driver in your arms and you could feel directly how he sank into your arms and how an infinite amount of tension fell from his shoulders as he lost himself in your disguise.

For a while, the two of you just stood there, without saying a word and without moving. Eventually you slowly broke away from Charles and pulled him by his hand across the dark living room to the sofa, which was perfectly lit by the moon, so you watched him in the moonlight for a few minutes.

"You didn't wake me. Why are you here already? I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow." Charles lowered his head onto your shoulder and wrapped his arms around your torso.

"I just wanted to get home. To you. And Enzo. Just away from the track and away from the team, because otherwise I probably would have said or done something I'd regret later. I just can't see them right now." You could hear the sadness in his words. The sport and the team he actually loved were completely tearing him apart at the moment and it was leaving its mark.

"You have almost four weeks away from everything now. Take a deep breath in and out." You could feel his chest rise, hold the air in for a few seconds and then sink again.

Charles lifted his head from your shoulder and pulled you closer to him. He buried his nose in your hair behind your ear, closed his eyes and repeated the deep breaths a few times before opening his eyes again and looking at you.

"That was all I needed. You. Then tomorrow, if I can cuddle Enzo, the world will be back in balance for now." You couldn't help smiling a little, which Charles noticed immediately. He looked at you questioningly.

"You'll have to fight him for your place in bed right now. I let him sleep in our bed because he was even sadder than you. But not because you didn't win, he had already forgotten that by bedtime. He was worried about you." You put your hand to Charles' cheek, which was slightly flushed.

His eyes began to glisten with tears and for the first time since your boyfriend had walked in the door, the emptiness in his eyes filled. They filled with infinite, unconditional love.

"He didn't want you to be so sad and alone with your thoughts." Charles had to take that in for a moment and then pulled you all the way to him for a long passionate kiss. When he broke away from you again, this time he took you by the hand and walked with you to your bedroom.

Enzo had by now made himself completely comfortable over Charles' side of the bed.

Charles stopped in the doorway and tried to sort out his thoughts. He put his arm around your shoulder and pulled you to his side, your head now resting on his shoulder.

"I love you guys. You're all I need." He gave you a gentle kiss on your hair and then slowly detached himself from you to take off his clothes.

✨ Even though it had been almost a year since you had moved in with Charles and since he had first said those three words, you got butterflies in your stomach every time they passed his lips. Not even necessarily because of yourself, but because Charles had so much love for your son.

He had planned Christmas at your house for the whole family, so that Enzo's grandma and grandpa could come and not feel like strangers at his mother's house.

Shortly after New Year's he took Enzo on a boys' trip with Pierre, Max, Arthur, Lorenzo and a few other friends. While you also had to work, he still arranged for his mother to make sure you got a few quiet hours and booked a wellness hotel for you not too far from Monaco.

A short time later, he surprised you with a holiday to the Maldives. You had always wanted to visit the islands but had never had the opportunity until then. After two weeks in paradise, just the three of you, without any distractions, almost endless days of watching Charles and Enzo play in the pool or on the beach or in the sea, it was hard to get back into the daily routine.

The most beautiful thing for you, however, over the almost three months, was to observe how Charles was more and more not only the Ferrari driver for Enzo, but bit by bit became more, a permanent fixture in his life.

Charles had offered you over and over again to quit your job and find something else where you wouldn't have to spend so much time away from little Enzo. Even though you had toyed with the idea again and again, you didn't want to be dependent on Charles. Of course, you wanted it to be more of a forever thing between you, but that didn't change anything for you.

When the new season started and it looked very good for Charles at the beginning, Enzo was probably the happiest kid on earth. The races he couldn't watch from the track he watched either with you or with his grandparents from home.

At some races, especially in Europe, which unfortunately didn't go so well for Charles, Enzo was the first to hug Charles when he came back to the garage.

The media had noticed that too. While you had always somehow managed to remain largely unrecognised and thus keep your relationship between the two you, more and more questions arose about the little boy. When asked by the press, Charles had always just called him "his little superfan" because he knew you preferred to stay out of the public eye.

It was only after the Monaco Grand Prix at the end of May that pictures of you and Charles together picking Enzo up from pre-school surfaced for the first time.

At the Baku press conference, after consulting with you, he proudly announced what most of the drivers and staff in the paddock already knew.

"I've found someone very special and she came as a double with her son, who I've grown very fond of and who you've seen many times. But his mum wants to be kept out of the limelight as much as possible and I understand that, so I ask that you respect that."

You had been following the press conference on Instagram because you had to work that Thursday. After the press conference, the news surrounding Charles' and your relationship spilled over but thankfully most complied with Charles' request.

So it started that Enzo went to the paddock with Charles in the morning and you joined him a little later when you were able to sneak into the hospitality without being recognised.

You had asked Enzo again and again if it was ok for him because so many cameras were pointed at him but his beaming all over his face in the pictures sent to you by Charles, Arthur, Pascale or his grandparents were answer enough. ✨

You were already lying on your side in bed again when Charles turned off the bathroom light behind him and walked to his side of the bed.

He gently stroked Enzo through his hair and leaned down to press a kiss to the little boy's temple. You lay on your side, watching the situation with heavy eyelids.

"Hé, mon petit gars. Can I squeeze in there next to you?" Hey, my little man. Neither you nor Charles had expected an answer from Enzo as Charles tried to lie down on the bed next to him as carefully as he could.

"Daddy?" Charles stopped in his tracks and looked over at you, but you were already in tears, so that you could only see the two of them in a blur. You had to hold your hand over your mouth to keep from letting out a sob.

That was the first time Enzo had called Charles Daddy and you didn't know how much your heart had wanted to hear that until you heard the word from Enzo's mouth, even though he was half asleep.

"Can I lie down with you and Mummy?" Enzo immediately made room for Charles and waited until he was comfortably under his blanket only to make himself comfortable on his chest, one small arm around Charles' torso, the other on his arm. His eyes fell right back shut and his breathing steadied again.

"Don't be sad, Maman et moi, on t'aime quand même." Mummy and I love you anyway. The little boy's sleepy words warmed Charles' heart. He couldn't help a little tear himself, gave him another kiss, this time on his hair, and sought yours with one hand while he put his other arm around Enzo.

When he found your hand you gently pulled it to your lips and gave him a kiss on the back of his hand. That was pretty much how you had imagined heaven to be.

✨✨

After two weeks on Charles' yacht with his brothers and mother, Charles felt as good as new. Back home, he and Enzo set to work getting Arthur's old kart running again. 

While you were at work for the day, the two of them would drive, sometimes accompanied by Max or Arthur, or sometimes with both of them, to a track not far from Monaco.

Enzo found pleasure in Charles, Max and Arthur watching him and occasionally borrowing a kart and then all driving together.

"Maman, regarde, je ressemble à papa." Mummy look, I look like Daddy. Enzo stood proudly in front of you in his Red racing suit, his little helmet and gloves. You got down on your knees in front of him and stroked his shoulder. Charles stepped behind Enzo and put a hand on his helmet.

"Please be careful my angel." He nodded and hugged you before running to his kart which was already on the grid. Arthur was waiting for him there, helping him to get fully prepared for the race.

"Take it easy, ma chérie. They are all still small and just doing it for fun just like Enzo. Trust me, he will have the fun of his life today without taking it too seriously." Charles stood behind you and wrapped his arms around your torso and then intertwined his fingers in front of your belly. His head found its usual place on your shoulder.

"I guess you don't know him as well as we both think, then." Charles pursed his lips and looked at you from the side. "If he doesn't walk out of here a winner today, then the next few days are going to be hell for me. Then we can only hope that things go well for you in Belgium and that he gets out of his slump as a result." Charles had to laugh.

"That almost sounds like me when the races don't go well. But don't worry, two minutes with Pierre and the little man is laughing again."

Arthur patted Enzo on the shoulder once more and then came over to you before the race started. Enzo had started quite far in front and the race wasn't particularly long either but right in the first few laps he managed to pass two competitors. You were surprised how good your son was at driving.

Charles, still relaxed at the beginning, was on the edge of the barrier and cheered Enzo on all the time. Together with Arthur, who was standing next to you, you made a few little jokes about his brother, your boyfriend, who had said to you a few minutes ago "it's all just for fun".

15 minutes later the last round started and Enzo started it in second. Through some mistakes by others and many good manoeuvres by himself, he had made it from tenth place very far to the front.

It was the last corner that the first two entered almost at the same time. The boy in front of Enzo took it a little too far, which gave Enzo the chance to pass him and your little racer obviously took advantage of the mistake.

The chequered flag was waved and barely two minutes later Enzo came back to you and already through his helmet you could see his little eyes shining like two stars.

He jumped out of the kart towards you and Charles. You had both crouched down in front of him and he was in your arms. Charles helped him take off his helmet and before you could really look at him, he had thrown both his hands around your neck.

"Mummy, I won." His beaming warmed your heart but also made you realise at that very moment that this would not be the last time you would cross your fingers next to a kart track.

"I'm so proud of you, mon chérie!" You slowly read him off and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Enzo beamed at you again and pulled you closer to him once more to give you a kiss as well.

Arthur, who had been looking after the kart until now, put his arms around Enzo from behind and then lifted him onto his shoulders.

"Little warrior, you have to go to the award ceremony." Ever since Arthur had first met Enzo and they had played a game of knights together, he had given your son that nickname and never had you found the name more appropriate than it was at that moment.

The two of them waved to you and then made their way towards the podium where the others were already waiting for everyone to arrive.

Suddenly Charles grabbed your hand, turned you to him and his eyes were wide, nervousness in his voice as he found the right words, while the award ceremony was already starting and the third place winner was walking to the podium.

"Ok, wow, I didn't think it would come to this." You were still confused. The runner-up stepped up to the podium. "Please don't be mad at me." You looked at him questioningly and were about to follow up when the announcer made his announcement for Enzo.

"And a big applause for our winner, in his first race, Enzo Leclerc." You were beaming all over your face and cheering for your son who was overjoyed to step onto the top step of the podium. It wasn't until the second moment, just as Enzo was being presented with his trophy, that you noticed.

"Wait, Leclerc?" You turned to your boyfriend, stress written all over his face at that moment.

"I didn't think about it, just put the name in and it was only when I was handing in the form that I noticed it, then I thought, never mind, it's only important for those who get on the podium. I couldn't have guessed that our son would be so above average in comparison." Tears came to your eyes.  

"Our son." Charles looked at you in confusion. "You just called him our son, not just mine." Panic was now spreading in Charles along with the stress, you could see the colour leave his face and he suddenly stood white as a corpse before you. He had thought it had made you angry or somehow sad in connection with the mistake that had happened to him with the surname.

Before Charles could imagine any more scenarios in his head about how he had driven your relationship into the wall in one day and had to save it somehow, you grabbed his hands and pulled him towards you.

"Non, idiot." No, you idiot. You put his hands on your hips so yours could find their place on his cheeks. "You called him our son for the first time. Until now, he was always just ‘my son’ and sometimes I wondered if that would last forever, if you could never really see him as 100% yours."

Your tears had dried up again and some colour was slowly returning to Charles' face.

"Enzo doesn't have my surname either because you have to fulfil a few different things to go through with adoption, which I haven't managed to fulfil so far. I would be happy if we both, not just me, could have your last name someday for real."

These words went to Charles' heart more than he would like to admit, because he had also thought about it several times before. A wedding and an adoption.

He had looked into the subject of adoption on a lonely race weekend when you and Enzo couldn't travel with him, and he was aware that you probably hadn't been able to adopt Enzo until now. Since then he couldn't stop thinking how much he would like to marry you to make you a family, even on paper.

"Marry me!" Your eyes grew wide and you weren't so sure at first if you had heard Charles correctly, as he almost whispered the words between the two of you.

"Excuse me?"

"Marry me!" This time he said it louder and with more confidence.

"I love you Y/N and I know I want to stay by your and Enzo's side forever. I want to be Enzo's father and not just between us but on paper so I have rights and I'm not helpless when it comes to making decisions and I want to take care of you till the end of my days. So marry me, please. All I need is you. Enzo and you, you are my everything."

"Yes." You pulled him close and placed your lips on his. The kiss set off fireworks between the two of you. And the butterflies in your stomach danced like crazy with joy.

"I love you." Charles rested his forehead on yours and lightly touched your nose with his. His eyes probably shone almost as much as Enzo's. Thinking of the little one, you read off Charles. You turned to the podium but he was no longer standing there.

"Yay, Mummy and Daddy." You turned abruptly. There they both were. Arthur with Enzo once again sitting on his shoulders. Arthur gave you a round of applause while Enzo waved his trophy and your heart beat a little faster every time he got too close to Arthur's face with it.

Your cheeks flushed and Charles pulled you close again so that you could easily hide your face in the crook of his neck. Arthur lifted Enzo off his shoulders and handed him to Charles who placed him on his hip.

"We need to capture this moment." He took out his phone while Charles took Enzo to his other side that the little one was between you. "Besides, Enzo's grandpa owes me a hundred bucks."

You had just brushed aside some hair from Enzo's face when Arthur's words reached you. You looked at him confusedly smiling briefly as he took the photo.

"I'm sorry, what?" Arthur grinned at you.

"Well, last year when you couldn't come to Monza we made a bet. Don't ask me how we got on the subject but in the end it came down to me saying I know my brother and it wouldn't be much more than a year before you were engaged and Enzo's grandpa said he knows you and it would be at least two years or more before you took that step." He looked proudly back and forth between you and Charles, then grinned at you both and gave Enzo a high five.

"Easiest hundred euros in my life." You started laughing and couldn't help but shake your head. At least Arthur got on well with Enzo's grandpa.

Only when Arthur mentioned it did you realise that it had been almost a year to the day since you had met Charles in his mother's hairdressing salon. But you felt as if you had known the Monegasque for much longer.

Your heart felt at home with him, which is why it didn't surprise you why your 'yes' to his question came so easily.

✨✨

"Girls' night." Kelly came running into the flat with Luisa and Lily in tow as you opened the door. You got on by far best with the girls as their boys also lived here in Monaco and you had met up often.

It was Charles' idea that you meet up with them and just relax for an evening while he was still at home, because the next day his plane was leaving for the USA for the next race.

Charles sat on the sofa with Enzo, Max and Penelope. Max and Penelope had already come half an hour ago because it had taken Kelly too long until she was finally ready. While Charles and Max were playing FIFA, Enzo and Penelope were engrossed in some game together that involved both Enzo's cars and Penelope's mermaids.

"I can't remember the last time I went on a girls' night out." Luisa and Lily looked at each other.

"Well then, we definitely need to make this night memorable." Luisa took you by the hand and waved goodbye to the four on the sofa before pulling you out. Kelly gave Penelope a kiss before following Lily, who walked out of the flat after you and Luisa.

The bar wasn't that crowded as it was a weeknight and you were quite early. You were able to move around the dance floor without being constantly disturbed by others. Every now and then you took a break in your seating area, which Kelly had reserved.

You were glad that you had put on your sneakers. With high heels, this evening would definitely not have been so relaxed.

By ten o'clock the bar was getting a lot more crowded and you had decided that it was enough partying for now. Laughing together, you walked out of the club. Without paying attention to where you were going, because you were so engrossed in your conversation with Lily, you almost didn't notice that Luisa and Kelly were steering you towards the harbour.

It was only when they stopped in front of a yacht and you were forced to stop that you noticed where you were.

"Why are we in the harbour?" You looked more closely at the boat in front of you. "And why are we in front of Charles' yacht?" Kelly grinned at you and took you in her arms. Luisa and Lily joined in the hug and made it a little group cuddle.

When they let go of you, Charles magically stood in front of you.

"Bonsoir, mon amour." Good evening, my love. He nodded to the girls and took you by the hand before pulling you with him onto the yacht. Passing the middle section on the side, you accompanied Charles forward to the front of the boat where you couldn't believe your eyes.

On the small area that was normally made for lying down, there were a few candles that made just enough light for it to be perfectly romantic. Flowers were laid out all around it.

Charles stopped in the middle of the circle of candles and turned to you. He took both your hands in his and stood like that for a few minutes. His eyes probably reflected exactly what Charles could see in yours at that moment. Infinite, unconditional love. You knew what would pass his lips next.

"I know I've already asked you. But I'm of the opinion that you deserve better than just a proposal at the kart track out of the blue and especially without a ring." Charles knew perfectly well that even that had been good enough for you, you just wanted him and it didn't take much. But by now you knew him well enough to know that he wanted to lay the world at your feet and showed that in every possible way.

The Monegasque gave you a kiss on the back of your hand, then got on his knees in front of you. He let go of your right and took the left into both of his hands and gave it another kiss. This time on your ring finger, where in the next few minutes there would probably be a ring.

"You are my everything, my world, the most important and best thing that has ever happened to me in my life. You and Enzo have turned my life upside down and I love every moment of it. When I think of my future, I see you and me and Enzo and a few more siblings for the little one and it just makes me happy. And I hope you feel the same way and take me to be your husband?"

Charles knew your answer, but he still wanted to give you the chance to say it again. On the one hand for you but on the other hand for him as confirmation that you really meant your answer last time.

"I love you Charles and I want nothing more than to spend forever with you." A grin spread across Charles' face, then out of nowhere someone else stepped into the small circle of candles behind him.

Enzo came up to the two of you and stood next to Charles. He gave him a high five and then presented him with the most beautiful ring you didn't even dare to imagine in your dreams.

Charles put the ring on your finger and slowly stood up. He kissed you while you could already hear your friends cheering in the background.

Charles broke away from you a little, bent down to Enzo so he could hold the little one in his arms, and then wrapped you both in a loving hug.

"Our family." came over your lips as you gave Charles another little kiss on the corner of your mouth and then pressed one to Enzo's cheek as well.

As you turned to your friends you could see Lando and Luisa to your left, on your right stood Lily and Alex and from the top deck, a little above you all, cheering you on were Max, Kelly and Penelope.

✨✨

The pictures were just perfect.

Charles was still fast asleep on your chest as you scrolled through the pictures from the night before that Lily, Luisa and Kelly had sent you.

You stroked Charles gently through his hair and looked at the clock. It was time for him to get up. With a careful kiss on his forehead and a few loving, almost whispered words, you tried to wake your fiancé.

He then snuggled further against you.

"No, I don't want to." Charles slowly opened his eyes and looked at you beaming all over his face, only unfortunately the beaming didn't reach his eyes.

"I know it's not an easy season for you but only four more races and you'll finally be done with it." Charles sat himself up on his elbow next to you and gave you a kiss. He was so gentle and slow, you weren't used to that after last night.

Lando and Luisa had taken Enzo and Penelope to a small sleepover party. Actually, it had been planned that the two of them would sleep with Max and Kelly, but when they had seen Lando shortly after you had left the house with the girls, the two of them had begged Charles and Max to be allowed to at Landos place. Since the young Brit didn't mind and was on the same plane to America with Max and Charles today anyway, he had taken them both with him.

Charles now had your phone in his hand and was looking at the pictures the girls had sent you.

"I would so love to share it with the whole world." He looked at you warily from the side as he sent a few of the pictures to his phone.

Of course, over time fans had found your Instagram account, which was Private, and every now and then had taken and posted pictures of you at the track. Mostly they were very poor quality pictures. This would be the first real good quality picture people would get to see of you.

"I don't know." You stroked his cheek. "What if they rip me apart in mid-air like Kelly and just spread lies?" Charles dropped your phone on the bed between you and now sat up, against the headboard of the bed and pulled you to his chest.

"I don't think so. No matter who I've talked to so far, they've only ever had good words for the woman who must have raised such a great son. And no matter what anyone says, I love you and that won't change because I know you and I know the truth." You nodded slowly and nuzzled your head against his chest.

"Okay." Charles lifted your chin slightly with two fingers and looked at you questioningly. You broke away from him slightly to reach over to his bedside table where his phone had been charging during the night.

You handed him the phone and nodded at him.

Charles didn't need to be told twice. He chose the picture where he was holding Enzo in his arms. The little one had put his hand on your cheek and was beaming at you, just like Charles. Charles was still holding your left hand, where the ring was clearly visible.

"Call it magic, call it true. I call it magic when I'm with you."

Obviously it had to be a Coldplay quote he used to caption the picture.

✨✨

"Hey, Y/N! You look great, enjoy the race." You walked behind Charles into the paddock. Enzo as always on Charles' hand, by now too tall to sit on Charles' shoulders as he had always done when he was almost three years younger. 

You thanked the girls for their kind words and followed your husband towards the Ferrari Hospitality.

"Hey, world champion." Just before the entrance, Max met you. He gave your son a high five. "So if you ask me, you're clearly the better Leclerc World Champion." He winked at Enzo, but he went straight to defending his dad.

"Dad beat you though and you're already a two time world champion so he's better than you and therefore I'm better than both of you." Max acted as if the words hit him like a bullet in the heart.

As you had already guessed after his first race Enzo became even crazier than his father about karting. He practised every free minute he had and whenever Arthur, Charles, Max or Pierre were around, the first trip was to the kart track. This actually paid off and Enzo was able to win his first major title shortly after Charles had also won his first world championship title.

"Honestly, I don't even doubt it. If you were to race with us, we'd all look old. I mean, we trained you. It won't be long before we see you in Formula 1."

Max now turned to you. He put a hand carefully on your belly and beamed as he felt the baby kick.

"I see little Leclerc is doing well." He gave you a kiss on the cheek and then turned to Charles as you nodded to him.

"I do have hopes that your child will be born in the next week or two, robbing you of all sleep and allowing me to become world champion again." Charles and you both had to laugh at that.

"Honestly, man. I've got everything I could ever want. My wife, my son another kid on the way and I'm the current world champion." Charles looked at you and Enzo in love like the first day. "But still, nothing is going to change the fact that I'm going to make your life hell and try to get another title." He slapped Max lightly on the shoulder and twitched his eyebrows.

You couldn't help laughing again at the look on Max's face, who for a moment genuinely thought that Charles had less will than last season to become world champion.

But you could only agree with him about one thing. You put your arm around your sons shoulders and your other hand on your already rather large baby belly, while you beamed at Charles, who was taunting his friend and colleague.

Like him, you had everything you could have ever wished for. Your perfect little family.

✨✨

I hope you enjoyed it ♥

Taglist: @enjoymyloves @amsofftrack @ricsaigaslec

you're mine now

Charles Leclerc x Best Friend!Reader count: 3.1k words summary: Charles invites you over for a movie night, that ends on his kitchen counter, no clothes involved. a/n: explicit smut, so strictly 18+

It isn’t supposed to be anything more than friends hanging out. You know this, and you remind yourself of it as you pat down your dress, ignoring the winter chill your bare legs give you. Maybe sundress wasn’t the best option, but it was the most chill-but-still-sexy option you had in the closet.

You rang the bell and Charles opens the door.

He looks good, to say the least – his hair has grown out a little and the curls are making their way back, alongside the ease in his shoulders that he regains during the off-season months. He pulls you in for a hug, and you suppress the shiver his cologne gives you.

Charles kisses your cheek. “Stunning, as always.”

“You’re outdoing me.”

“You’re putting a dress against sweatpants and a tee? Sure.”

“Sweatpants and a tee on you are a different story,” you argued.

He laughs and leads you through the house, even though you could’ve made your way to the living room in the dark, if you had to. The conversation takes you to the bar where he pulls out a bottle of champagne too expensive for the occasion, and tells you about the week since the last race.

You are listening—you pull yourself out of your thoughts a few times—but all you can think about is how good he looks. It’s like you haven’t seen him in years, not months. His hair’s messy and you know he was taking a nap shortly before you arrived because there’s red marks on his face, and he hasn’t shaved in a few days and great, now you’re looking at his lips—

“Do I have something on my face?”

You down the champagne in your glass. “No.”

“Want a refill?”

“Yes. Please.”

He takes the bottle and begins pouring, and your eyes are glued to his biceps, and the way they’re stretching the shirt—

“There you go.”

“Are you going to judge me if I finish that one, too?”

Charles laughs. Your legs go jelly.

“Only if you let me catch up, first.”

Three glasses of champagne down—each—later, you’re sitting on the couch. It’s a little bit cold and you complain, and the heating’s turned up within moments. He returns to the couch and looks at you; you catch him adjusting his sweatpants as he retakes his seat.

“Your sofa’s not small, you know.”

“What’s the point of sitting further away?” he asks. “I need to be able to annoy you during the movie.”

“Sure. Let’s go with that.”

It’s Charles’s turn to pick a movie. He scrolls through the list, asking you if you’ve seen this one, or that one, and you respond with your mind half there, half on the champagne resting against the side of the couch. You pour yourself another glass and one for him, too.

“We’re going to need another bottle.”

Charles shrugged. “We could start doing shots.”

“Charles!”

“What?” He looks at you so innocently, so full of something, that you feel a shiver. It doesn’t help when he puts a hand on your bare calf, thumb moving just slightly. “Shots are for later, alright. Do you want more champagne or wine?”

You hesitate: champagne would be perfect, because that was absolutely delicious, but you also know how much it costs.

“Wine,” you say.

Yet when he returns with the bottle, it’s not wine he’s holding.

“Charles—”

“We can have more champagne if we want, okay? We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?”

He smiles as you clink your glasses together; something in your gaze grounds you, making you aware of every millimetre where his skin is touching yours.

“Us,” he says, and drinks to it.

He slots back into the spot at your side as his fingers absentmindedly brush your calves. It’s enough to keep you distracted – the way he’s sitting, or half-lying, you can clearly see the outline of the bulge in his sweatpants. He adjusts himself a few times, when he thinks you’re not looking, but it’s all you can see.

That, and the biceps, and the hair, and the slope of his nose that would feel so damn good against your—

You clear your throat. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Do you want an itinerary? The bathroom.”

“Don’t take too long,” he says. “The movie’s getting good.”

Ah, the movie. The one you’re definitely watching.

In the bathroom, you splash some water over your neck. Your face would’ve been better but you spent an hour doing a no-makeup makeup look and you’re not foolish enough to ruin it.

You think about it. It would be a lie to say you don’t.

You sit on the closed toilet and breathe, your hands on your thighs, itching to slip under your dress.

Behind closed eyes, you picture Charles on the couch, waiting for you. His hands are in his hair, making it messier, and you can just make out the outline of his—

Something cold touches the inside of your thigh. Your hand. You were about to—

It’s tempting. You can feel the pulsing, the need, the way your core responds to Charles’s every movement. If you took care of it here, and now, you’d be able to go through the movie without distractions. It wouldn’t even take long, considering how fired up you already are, and the image of your best friend so clear in your mind.

The outline gave you enough of an idea of what you’d expect. Of how it would feel in your mouth, between your legs, and maybe you could slip a finger in and think of it some more and—

“Y/N, you alright?”

Your hand flies to your mouth, masking the gasp. The other hand comes out from under your dress, the tip of your finger slick with your wetness.

“I’ll be out in a minute!”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, just… Just give me a minute.”

“I’m here if you need anything.”

The words made you leave out a long, controlled breath, willing your heart to stop racing. You promise you’d be out in a few seconds and when you hear his footsteps getting quieter, you wash your hands.

In the reflection, the woman looks as if she’s judging you.

“Shut up,” you tell her. “I know it’s bad.”

More water ends up on your neck and you dap it off with a bit of toilet paper. If Charles didn’t knock when he did, you probably would’ve gone more than just put a single finger in, and the thought of doing that while he sat across the wall is…

Exciting.

The whole place feels warmer as you make your way back to the living room. There’s a falter in your step – he’s sitting exactly the way you were picturing him. Even with the bulge still visible, if not as big as you supposed he could get.

If he knew what you were doing in his bathroom…

You slot back into your place, but make it so that no parts of your bodies are touching. If Charles notices, he doesn’t say anything.

He laughs along to the movie, and he’s enjoying it, for the most part, but it’s taking you every bit of self-control to keep your hands to yourself, when he’s so close. It’s not like you haven’t thought about this before—hell, you two even kissed on a dare when you were twelve—but this is different.

His attention is back on you as the movie ends. “You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know. You’re a bit quiet.”

“I was watching the movie.”

“Sure,” he says, though it’s clear he doesn’t believe you.

He’s close – so close you feel his breath on your lips. Your gaze flickers to his before you can help it and when you look up, your cheeks burning, he’s smiling.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

His hand’s on your calf—has it always been there?—and you swallow the lump in your throat. You hear the noise from the TV, the high-pitch of the fridge, and your own heart trying to beat its way out of its cage.

“We should, um.” You clear your throat. “Drinks?”

Charles follows you to the island counter, placing the glasses on it. You pour the champagne this time and your hand’s shaky enough you wonder if he’ll comment on it, but he doesn’t.

You look at his hands—his fingers—and remember that less than an hour ago, you were taking care of yourself in his bathroom thinking of these.

“Truth or dare,” you blurt out.

Charles laughs. “What are we, twelve?”

“Truth or dare. No backing out.”

“Fine,” he says. “Truth.”

“Boo. Pussy.” You swirl the champagne around your glass, thinking. “When’s the last time you had good sex?”

“Three weeks ago,” he answers.

“Good,” you repeat. Three weeks ago, he was texting you about a girl he hooked up with, who could barely hold a dick in her mouth without gagging. “Answer honestly.”

He leaned against the counter, blowing air out of his mouth. “I don’t know. It’s been a while. A few months, maybe? What about you?”

You smile. “The question was for you.”

“Fine. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“That’s not fair! You knew what I was about to ask.” When all you do is shrug, he shakes his head, but he’s smiling. His cheeks are a soft tint of red, and you wonder if they’d feel warm against your touch. “I can’t think of any good dares.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Seriously!”

“You’re boring,” you say. “I can think of one.”

“For yourself?”

You hum in response. “It’s getting hot in here.”

Charles was quiet for a few moments – you left the ball in his court, and it was up to him to accept it. If you weren’t already tipsy, you could’ve sworn his cheeks had gone redder.

On the counter, your hands were touched just the slightest bit, but the sensation ran down your spine.

“Okay,” he says, stepping the tiniest bit closer. “I dare you to take off your dress.”

Aware of your eyes on your body, you grab the hem of your sundress. It’s not often you can see him take you in piece by piece, cheeks reddening, eyes hazing over as if unsavoury thoughts are running across his mind. You slow down, stick your hip out a little, trailing your hands on your thigh higher, higher, higher—

You watch his Adam’s apple bobble as he swallows at the sight of your lacy underwear.

“Y/N—” he tries, but his voice gives out, deep and husky and so, so needy.

You tug the rest of the dress over, throwing it on the floor between you. His eyes are on your chest, with his tongue brushing over his lips. Even without needing to check, you know there’ll be an outline on his trousers – not once has a man looked at you like this without wanting to jump your bones.

You smile. Innocently. “Your turn.”

Charles hesitates, but only for a moment. His eyes dart to your face and whatever he finds there must agree with him, because he grabs the bottom of his shirt and tugs it over in one movement, dropping it on top of your dress.

Your heart beats in two places, looking at him like this. The light is dim and you could trace the abs on his stomach, the firmness of his pecks, even the shoulders, memorising it to make a statue of him in his mind.

The thought of him, bare, makes your mouth go dry.

“Sweatpants too,” you say.

He quirks an eyebrow.

“I’m in my underwear.”

“We’re both wearing two pieces of clothing.”

There’s the moment—the opening you’ve been waiting for—and you look at him in the eye, searching, until you see the way his lips are parted, the speed of his chest rising, the outline of his dick screaming to be let out, and you make your decision.

“Why,” you say, “when we could be wearing none?”

Charles’s eyes darken in a way you haven’t seen before. Gone was the gentleman, the strong man with a kind heart, and you think of him looking at you like this with his hands on your throat, pounding into you, and your knees buckle.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“We’ve been dancing around this long enough.” You hook your thumbs in the waistband of your panties. “I can do it, or you can.”

He crosses the distance between you in a moment, his body crashing against yours as he snatches you by the wrists, pulling them around his back. His mouth is against your neck and his breath sends shivers down your spine as he murmurs, “It would be my pleasure.”

He kisses you, then. His lips are soft against your skin they trail towards your collarbone, between your breasts. His hands are on your waist, now, just above the waistband, but travel behind your back as his mouth finds your nipple over the fabric of your bralette, pulling it in, the mixture of sensations making your body relax into his arms. Your hands are in his hair, now, tugging at it the way you’ve pictured yourself doing a million times, and he’s moaning against your breast, and you feel unravelled and you haven’t even done anything yet.

Charles pushes you against the counter and he pulls you up by the waist, and your legs wrap around him as if they were created for this. One hand on your chest tries to push you down but you shake your head, pulling one finger into your mouth, twirling your tongue around it as if it were a lolly.

“No,” you whisper. “I want to watch.”

“Fussy,” he says, dropping to his knees with a smile.

Your hands go back to his hair as he spreads your thighs with his hands, kissing the skin behind your knee, travelling inwards with soft kisses.

“Charles,” you moan. “I need—”

You gasp as his teeth sink into your thigh, followed by a kiss. “We’re doing this my way, princess.”

You’d protest—you’ve thought about this moment too often for it to go wrong—but his hand found your centre over your panties with soft, but confident strokes, with his mouth peppering kisses closer, and closer, and closer—

He kisses you over the fabric. He teases you, tongue flicking at your clit, and you tug his hair to tell him to hurry the fuck up and he parts your legs wider, pulling your panties to the side with his teeth and holding them there with his thumb. You feel his hot breath against your core, bare and exposed like this.

He looks up at you and you feel yourself melting into the sight. Those big green eyes, darkened with desire, his mouth an inch aware of your most private part…

You breathe out his name as if it were a prayer.

He smiles, satisfied, and burrows himself between your legs.

If heaven is real, you sure have died and gone to it, because your best friend is a master of the art of pleasure. He holds you steady against the counter as his tongue does the work even with your writhing and pleading for more, more, more, until he pushes a finger inside you, pumping and curling and it could be a minute or it could be an hour and your thighs are clenching his face and shaking, warms rushing through your body, and you breathe out his name again and again and again as he kisses you through your high, only pulling himself up from between your legs when your breathing steadied.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” he says, smirking.

You shake your head, with what little energy you had left, but the sight of him like this—the bulge still trying to escape his sweatpants—has you yanking his clothes down until his cock springs free, every bit the thing you’d hoped for and more.

You kiss the head, lightly, teasing, hearing Charles’s moan. His hand moves to the back of your head and you take him into your mouth, bobbing your head on it. He even tastes good.

He moans, again, grabbing a fistful of your hair, urging you to go faster, sloppier, and you do. You let him into the back of your throat, not gagging, and he starts moving into you, shivering as his eyes meet yours.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He lets out a moan, loud, and pulls out. “Get back on the counter.”

You do as told and then he’s between your legs, lining himself up at your entrance. Both of you are too needy, too excited, too drunk to worry about a condom, and he pushes himself in, but you’ve been waiting for this the whole night, and he slides in with little to no resistance.

He moans, again, in the crook of your neck. You arch your back into him and he starts pumping, head buried against you and hands planted on the counter behind you. Your nails dig lines into his back and he bites and sucks on the skin below your chin as he fills you up to the brim, over and over and over again.

“Charles,” you say against his ear, half-whisper, half-moan.

You feel him shiver.

“Yes?”

“I want you,” you whisper. “All of you.”

He looks at you and you give him a nod, and then he’s pumping into you faster, harder. You take his hand and drag it to your neck while lowering your back against the counter, biting onto your hand to suppress a moan as the new angle hits even deeper. Charles’s hand curls around your neck, just like you were imagining not too long ago, and his eyes bore into yours as you whisper his name, feeling yourself close, again.

It’s a few more pumps and a light squeeze on your neck and then your legs are shaking around him again and he moans, loud, guttural, as you feel the warmth of him spread inside you.

Charles does one last thrust and melts against your body, replacing your neck with more kisses, lazy this time, weary. Your hands are in his hair and you pull him up, your lips less than an inch away.

He kisses you. It’s tired, too, and sloppy, but you feel him twitch still inside of you, and his tongue explores your mouth. You can still taste yourself on it, and you remember how it felt, to have him buried between your legs, and you think, how could anyone give this up?

You couldn’t. You won’t.

“Charles,” you breathe out.

“Mhm?”

“You’re mine now.”

Such A Mystery - Part 3

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?

She wasn't fine. Colette was so far from fine that it wasn't even funny anymore.

And now her twin brother had decided to chime in with his own opinions, pouring oil into the fire. 

The thought of the media dissecting every word, every gesture, every expression was unbearable. And still, she couldn't stop herself from doomscrolling.

Colette was in a state of constant anxiety, unable to stop herself from scrolling through social media and the news articles. She knew it wasn't helping her, that it was only adding to her stress, but she couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from the screen.

Every article, every comment, every thread seemed to only add to her worry. The criticism, the speculation, the accusations...it was all too much. But she couldn't look away or stop herself from reading every word, no matter how much it hurt.

She was stuck in a vicious, spiralling cycle, seeking out the information, even though she knew it was bad for her. 

The hormones and the pregnancy symptoms didn't make it any better either. 

The hormones made her emotions more intense, her anxiety more pronounced, and the pregnancy symptoms only added to the stress and discomfort. She wanted desperately for it to end, but it seemed like it would never stop.

The worst of it all was the constant swirl of thoughts in her head. The worry and fear, the relentless stream of "what-if" scenarios.

And the most terrifying thought of all: what if her stress was hurting the baby? The idea that her anxiety could harm the little life growing inside her was a constant one, always at the front of her mind.

“Eat, Choupinette,” her mother insisted. Colette stared down at her plate. Porridge and fruit and whatever else was supposed to be good for her these days. 

But her appetite was nonexistent. The weight of everything that was happening, the thoughts and fears that were running through her mind...it made it difficult to even think about food.

"Eat, Choupinette," her mother insisted again, clearly concerned. "You need to eat something, for the baby's sake. You're too pale."

“I am..”

“You aren’t fine,” her mother cut her off with a disbelieving snort. "You're pale, you haven't been eating properly, and you look like you haven't slept in weeks."

"And don't even try to tell me that the pregnancy is doing that," her mother added, her tone firm. "I had three pregnancies, I know how tiring it is. This isn't just normal exhaustion."

Colette knew that her mother was right. The pregnancy, while exhausting, wasn’t the reason. It was the anxiety, the worry, the stress...it was all taking its toll on her.

But she also knew that there was nothing she could do about it. The situation was out of her control, even if it was affecting her directly.

It was her own fault why she was in this situation to begin with. 

“I was so stupid.” Colette's shoulders slumped as she muttered under her breath. Her mother shook her head, disagreeing with the assessment.

 "It wasn't the smartest thing," her mother admitted. "But the media is blowing it out of proportion. They're making an elephant out of a fly."

It was a sentiment that Colette wholeheartedly agreed with. But at the same time, she knew that the media was relentless in their pursuit of a story. 

And Colette’s and Max's relationship would be the juiciest scandal they had gotten their hands on in a long, long time.

“I don’t want this to fall back on Charles,” Colette whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.

Her brother had worked so hard to be where he was, at the pinnacle of motorsport…to drive for the team he loved so much. 

She didn’t want to get Charles into any trouble. It wasn’t his fault. It was all on her. And any scandal, any whiff of controversy, could potentially ruin everything Charles had worked so hard for.

Her mother's words were calm, but they hit hard. "Your brother is an adult," she repeated. "He can make his own decisions. And he was the one who decided he wanted to protect you. You didn’t force him to do anything, Choupinette."

Colette knew that her mother was right. Charles was a grown man, capable of making his own decisions. But that didn't make her worry any less.

Her phone rang, her hand immediately shooting out for it. It was Max. Her hand was almost shaking as she answered the call.

"Maxie," she breathed, relief and worry mixing in her voice.

Max's voice was gentle, a soothing balm in the storm of chaos that was swirling around her. "Hey liefje," he repeated, the affectionate nickname rolling off his tongue.

Colette closed her eyes for a moment, relishing the sound of his voice.

"What are you up to?" Max inquired, his tone soft. 

"I'm having breakfast with Maman," she replied, glancing at her mother, who was watching her carefully.  

There was a moment of silence on the line, but she could almost picture Max's expression. He was no doubt worrying just as much as she was, if not more. "How are you doing?" he finally asked, his voice laced with concern. 

Colette let out a shaky sigh, her emotions warring inside her.

She wanted to lie. Wanted to tell him that she was fine. But Max and her had made themselves a promise ages ago. If there was one thing that Max hated, then it was lying. Even little white lies like this. They didn’t lie. They didn’t sugarcoat. They told the truth. Regardless of how hurtful it could be. 

They told each other the truth. Always. 

“Tired,” she answered weakly. 

"I heard you've been stalking social media again," Max's voice was dry, a hint of disapproval in his tone.

"Charles should really mind his own business," she bit back, her irritation at her twin brother evident. There was just one person that Max could have learnt that from. 

There was a pause, and she knew that Max was choosing his words carefully.  "He's just worried," he said finally. "We all are."

Colette huffed, her irritation at being coddled smouldering. "I don't need everyone to worry about me," she retorted, her tone snippier than she intended.

"We're not doing it to annoy you," Max replied, his voice gentle but firm. "We're doing it because we care about you.  I'm worried about you, liefje."

Those words were like a knife through the heart. She could hear the worry and concern in his voice, and it made her feel guilty for being so snappy with him.

Sassy chose that moment to come to jump up on her lap and she petted the Bengal cat absent-mindedly as she made herself a home on Colette’s lap. 

"I know you are," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. I just..." she trailed off, unsure of how to put her mixed feelings into words. Sassy purred softly. 

"It's okay," Max reassured her, his voice low and soothing. "I know it's hard. But please, try to take care of yourself. For me. For Bébé."

Colette felt the tears well up in her eyes again. She wanted to tell him that she was trying, that she was doing her best. But the words lodged in her throat, replaced by a thick lump of emotion.

"I'm trying," she managed to say, hating how weak and shaky her voice sounded.

"I know you are," Max murmured, his voice full of understanding. "But you need to rest, to eat. You're not doing yourself or the baby any favors by skipping meals and staying glued to your phone."

Colette knew he was right. The lack of food and sleep was taking its toll on her health and her baby. But the stress, and the worry, it made it hard to find an appetite or to switch off her brain.

"I know," she whispered, feeling helpless and frustrated. Max sighed softly on the other end of the line. 

"I wish I could be there," he said, the longing in his voice palpable.

"Me too," she whispered, her heart aching with the weight of their separation.

"I hate being apart during all of this," he mumbled, a rare show of vulnerability from him. "I should be there with you, taking care of you, protecting you from all this damn media noise."

Colette's eyes welled with tears again at his words. "You are taking care of me," she reassured him, her voice thick with emotion. "Just hearing your voice helps more than you know."

"It's not enough," he retorted, his voice firm again. "I should be there, not just talking with you over the phone. I should be able to hold you, to make sure you eat and sleep properly."

Colette could picture the fierce expression on his face, the set of his jaw. She could almost feel the intensity of his gaze, his desire to protect and care for her. But she could also hear the frustration and helplessness in his voice.

"Max," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "It's not your fault. You're doing everything you can."

Max let out another sigh, a sound full of frustration and helplessness. "It doesn't feel like it," he mumbled, his voice betraying his emotions. "I feel so useless here, stuck continents away while you're dealing with all of this alone."

Colette's heart ached at his words. She wanted to assure him that he wasn't useless, that his support through the phone and the occasional visit meant the world to her. But she also understood how powerless he felt, how useless he must feel, miles and miles away from her.

"You're not useless," she said firmly, her voice steady despite the tears threatening to fall. "You're the only thing keeping me sane right now."

There was a pause on the line, and she could sense Max's turmoil on the other end. "I just wish I could do more," he said quietly. "I wish I could take all this away from you, the stress, the worry, the media. You shouldn't have to deal with all this alone."

Colette felt a fresh burst of tears at his words. She wanted to tell him that he wasn't Superman, that he couldn't fix everything, but she also knew that he would never accept that. Max was a doer, a problem solver. Watching her struggle from afar must be killing him.

"I'm not alone," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I have you. That's more than enough."

"It's not enough," he mumbled again, the stubborn set to his words making her smile despite herself. She could almost see the familiar stubborn pout on his face even from so far away. "I'm serious," he insisted, his voice firmer now. "I should be the one taking care of you and our baby, not just chatting on the phone."Colette let out a quiet sigh, a mix of amusement and frustration at Max's stubbornness. She loved that he cared so much, but at the same time, she didn't want him to feel guilty for something that was out of his control.

"Max," she said gently, trying to make him understand. "You do take care of us, even from miles away. Just knowing that you're there for me, that you love us, it means everything. We're a team, remember? We're in this together."

There was another silence on the line, and she could practically picture Max clenching his jaw. She knew that he wanted to protest, that he wanted to argue, to find a solution to make things right. But he also understood that there was nothing he could do right now but accept the situation.

Finally, he sighed, the sound a mixture of frustration and resignation. "Okay," he said quietly. "But promise me you'll try to eat and sleep properly. Promise me you'll take care of yourself and our baby."

Colette couldn't help the tears that rolled down her cheeks at his concern. She could hear the love and worry in his voice, the desperate plea for her to take care of herself.

"I promise," she whispered, her voice wobbly but firm. "I'll take care of myself. For you, for Bébé. I promise."

She would even let go of the fact that she was pretty sure that her family were babysitting her. When her mother went home after breakfast, it didn't take too long for Arthur to show up, happily ignoring her pointing out that he actually had work to do and instead he joined her on the couch watching re-runs of The Real Housewives.

Colette rolled her eyes at Arthur's unashamed enjoyment of the reality TV show. He had always been a sucker for messy drama, and the housewives provided plenty of that.

"You are ridiculous," she mumbled, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Oh, shut up," Arthur retorted cheerfully, his eyes never leaving the screen. "You love this show and you know it."

"I do not," Colette protested, but it sounded halfhearted, even to her own ears.

Quite frankly, she would rather watch fake drama on TV than think about the one happening in real life to her.

Bébé decided at that moment to kick her in her ribs again and she grimaced.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked her immediately.

Colette let out a wince as the baby kicked her again. "Yeah, just baby kicking my ribs again. It's getting more and more frequent," she mumbled, rubbing the spot on her stomach where the baby had kicked.

Arthur chuckled. "The baby's probably just feeling cramped. They want more space," he teased.

"Ha ha, you're hilarious," Colette replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

“Maybe the baby's just getting impatient and wants to come out already," Arthur said with a shrug, his eyes still glued to the screen.

"Don't even joke about that," Colette said, her tone serious. "I still have another month to go. He better stay in there until then.”

She still had around 4 weeks of pregnancy left. 

"Still thinking it's a boy?" Arthur asked her curious.

Colette nodded, her hand still resting on her stomach. "Yeah, I just have a feeling. Call it a mother's intuition," she said with a small smile.

Arthur rolled his eyes in amusement. "Or just wishful thinking," he teased her.  "Isn't Max convinced it's a girl?" 

Colette chuckled, thinking about Max's adamant belief that the baby was a girl. "Yeah, he is. He has ordered a bunch of dresses online," she said with a laugh. “And hairbows...so many hairbows…If it's a boy, I don't know what I'll do with all of them."

Arthur started laughing.

Colette shot him a playful glare. "Don't laugh at my predicament," she said, but the effect was ruined by the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Arthur couldn't help himself, bursting into another fit of laughter. "I'm sorry, it's just too funny picturing Max buying all those dresses and hairbows," he managed to say between chuckles. 

Her phone pinged again.  Colette huffed in irritation as Arthur picked up her phone before she could. "Hey, that's mine," she protested.

Arthur just shot her a cheeky grin. "Finders keepers," he teased, waving the phone just out of her reach. "Besides, no more doomscrolling for you," her younger brother told her seriously.

Colette rolled her eyes at his reprimand, but deep down, she knew he was right. "I wasn't doomscrolling," she mumbled petulantly, even though she knew it was a blatant lie.

"I just...People are making up opinions about me and my life and they don't know me," she said weakly. "That's why I don't even have a public Instagram in the first place, Arthur. I just want to live my life without worrying about what people are going to think..."

"What does it matter what they think?" Arthur asked her curiously.

Colette let out a frustrated sigh. "It shouldn't matter, I know it shouldn't," she said firmly. "But it does. Maybe it's human nature to care what other people think, I don't know."

She ran a hand through her hair tiredly. "I just don't want people to judge me, to make assumptions about my life and my decisions."

Arthur nodded in understanding. "I get it," he said softly. "It can be hard to block out the noise. But you have to remember that the only opinion that matters is your own."

Colette let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, tell that to the media," she mumbled, but there was no vitriol in her voice, just resignation.

Arthur huffed, shaking his head. "The media don't know what they're talking about. They just want the next big headline, the next scandal. They don't care about the truth."

Colette sighed, slumping back on the couch. "I just wish they'd leave me alone," she mumbled. "I just want to have my baby in peace."

Arthur patted her leg comfortingly. "Just focus on yourself and the baby," he said firmly. "Everything else is just background noise."

Colette nodded, taking a deep breath. He was right, of course. “They have this picture of me in their head, that’s very different from the actual person,” she said weakly. “And now they judge me for something that they don’t even know what it was, because it’s not public. They just take Russell’s word and run with it…”

Arthur's expression darkened as she vented. "I know," he said softly. "It's unfair and it sucks. But you can't let it get to you."

Colette sighed, rubbing a hand over her eyes. "I know. I know.”

"You don't owe anyone anything," Arthur said firmly. "You don't have to justify yourself to anyone. Max would say the same."

Colette smiled wryly at the mention of Max. She could almost hear his voice in her head, telling her the same thing.

She closed her eyes, picturing Max's face in her mind. He always knew what to say to keep her grounded, to keep her from spiralling into a dark pit of despair. She missed him, more than she thought was possible.

"I just wish Maxie was here," she muttered, her voice thick with emotion.

I’LL BE THE GIRL OF HIS DREAMS (MAYBE??)

pairings: oscar piastri x stan account!reader

warnings: none?

faceclaim: pam hughes / pamalaaam on ig.

summary: it is a truth universally acknowledged that a fast driver must be in want of a girlfriend—oscar piastri just didn’t expect his to be a twitter menace.

author’s note: jam is just a nickname that yn goes by online, which is good for security on the internet. stay safe kids !

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liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend and 20,838 others.

yourusername: girl date w/ bffname. jam, books and the winter air. what could be better?

view all comments

user1: WAHT?!

— user2: omg she wasn’t joking she’s actually that gorgeous.

user3: sorry you’re so pretty i’m taken aback. i assume that all ppl who argue online r hideous trolls but you’re clearly not. sorry. i apologise.

user4: did u buy your namesake?

— yourusername: ofc!! spent my paycheck on new ones. i’m the proud mama of two strawberry jams 😽

user5: LANDO LIKED YOUR POST

user6: literally drop the skincare routine rn or i’m calling the authorities.

– yoursername: genetics + water + spite <3

user7: girl what books did u get i need the haul

– yoursername: east of eden, the glass castle and some other classics!! i’ll post a proper vid later if you’d like <3

user8: lando liked… HE’S WATCHING.

– user9: he’s been watching. oscar is shaking.

user10: okay but imagine arguing with someone online and then finding out they look like this. i’d delete my account.

– user11: user3 already went through all five stages of grief in these comments.

user12: winter air is nice and all but i feel like oscar should be here warming you up just saying!!

friend: girl date and no invite?! feeling betrayed rn …. 😓

— yourusername: ur in australia but i apologise. we should have walked through land and sea. next time i see u i owe u a matcha for the trauma babe 😞

— friend: a decent apology. i accept it 😽

user13: she fights, she reads, she stuns… what CAN’T she do?

– yoursername: parallel park.

user14: not me zooming in to confirm this isn’t an ai-generated model.

– yoursername: sorry to disappoint, i’m very real and very chronically online.

user15: OSCAR GIRLIES R HOT WBK <3

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from: mclaren racing team@mclaren.com

to: jam jamdoesf1@gmail.com

subject: you’re invited – race weekend with mclaren

hi jam,

we hope you’re well. we’ve been following your incredible f1 content and couldn’t help but notice your… passionate defence of a certain quiet australian. it’s safe to say the team (and the driver in question) are fans.

we’d love to invite you to join us for the upcoming grand prix weekend as our guest. paddock access, behind-the-scenes moments, and yes – proper tea and snacks included.

let us know if you’re available and we’ll sort everything on our end, including travel and accommodation. we think you’ll have a lot of fun.

looking forward to hearing from you.

cheers,

the mclaren team.

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liked by alexandrasaintmleux, yourbff and 45,838 others.

yourusername: hotties make some noise! (all u haters that say matcha tastes like grass r BABIES!!!)

view all comments

user1: i would recognise my goat’s hand anywhere… by touch alone, by smell; i would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. i would know him in death, at the end of the world.

— user1: my boo bear. my king. my reason. my oscar.

— user2: lando get off ur burner.

— user3: ICB LMFOAJDHEISJDN ?!38393&:

user4: jam ily. u taste good in matcha too. multi-use queen <3

*liked by yourusername.*

alexandrasaintmleux: gorgeous girl 🤍 lovely meeting u!!!

— yourusername: says the most gorgeous girl in recorded human history. omg blushing rn 😝

user5: u could say cement tastes good and i’d try it.

user6: jam you’re so fine it’s honestly starting to feel like a personal attack

user7: OSCAR DATING AN F1 OBSESSED GIRL YASSSSS

— user8: me and jam as the mclaren wags. i can see it now.

user9: the middle pic is giving “soft launch” and i’m spiraling

— yourusername: it’s giving “he paid for the matcha so i had to post him”

user10: is ur name really jam?

— yourusername: not legally or professionally or personally but yea :)

user11: the way jam is so unhinged on twt but is the sweetest ever on ig needs to be studied….

— user12: like on twt when she threatened to pull up on that guy who was saying awful things about oscar and he deactivated all his socials??? vs on ig where she goes to farmers’ markets like a granny 😭

user20: if oscar doesn’t soft launch you back i’m rioting

— yourusername: pls i’d settle for him texting back within 3-5 business days

— user21: NOT OSCAR FUMBLING BAD BITCHES NOOOO

— user22: @/oscar GET UPPPPPP!!!!!

— user23: WTFFFFFFFFF STOP THIS MADNESS @/oscar

— user24: if i had a baddie like this i would do anything she asks… jam says jump? i say how high… oscar u need that energy NOW!!!!

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