White Horse - Chapter 17: May 2024 - Part 2
White Horse - Chapter 17: May 2024 - Part 2
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)
Summary:
Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.
She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.
But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.
Warnings and Notes:
we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent
As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble
Alexandra didn’t mean to become an investigator.
It wasn’t like she’d shown up to the Monaco GP Qualifying with a magnifying glass and a corkboard. But when you’d been dating Charles Leclerc long enough—and surviving his family dynamics even longer—you learned to pay attention. To the tone. To the silences. To the details no one else saw.
Which was why, as she sipped her matcha in the shaded calm of the Paddock Lounge, Alexandra looked across the table at Carmen Montero Mundt and said, without preamble:
“I think Isabelle has a boyfriend.”
Carmen snorted. “What?”
“I’m serious,” Alexandra said, leveling her with a look. “She has a Chanel bag and a new bracelet. And she isn’t flinching when her brothers snap at her these days.”
Carmen blinked, clearly caught off guard. “That’s… quite a list.”
“She’s glowing,” Alexandra continued. “Like, actual glowy skin, soft hair, new moisturizer who this kind of glow. And she’s started saying no to her brothers. You don’t wake up one day and grow a spine for no reason. Something changed.”
Carmen laughed, a little too loudly. “Okay, okay. I mean… that’s crazy, though. Right? Isabelle? Dating? In this paddock?” She waved a hand. “Wild idea.”
Alexandra narrowed her eyes.
Carmen looked away.
“You know something,” Alexandra said flatly.
“What? No. I just—”
“Carmen.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“You’re deflecting.”
“I’m being supportive.”
“You’re squirming,” Alexandra said, setting her cup down. “You know something.”
Carmen opened her mouth. Closed it. Fiddled with her sleeve.
“If I did know something,” she said carefully, “Charles would absolutely not be allowed to know.”
That was confirmation enough.
Alexandra leaned back, lips twitching. “Oh my God.”
“I didn’t say anything!” Carmen said quickly, holding up her hands.
“You just did,” Alexandra whispered, eyes wide. “She’s seeing someone. She is.”
“I never confirmed that,” Carmen insisted, eyes darting. “This is purely hypothetical.”
“But you said Charles can’t know,” Alexandra replied, voice low. “Which means it’s someone Charles would hate. So. Let’s play a game.”
“No games,” Carmen said immediately.
Alexandra smiled sweetly. “Is it Lando?”
Carmen visibly short-circuited.
Carmen choked on her coffee. “What? No!”
Alexandra narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Lando is—no. No. Absolutely not.”
“Is it Lando?!” Alexandra repeated, scandalized. “Oh my god.”
Carmen clutched her water bottle like it might save her. “Alex, I’m begging you—I didn’t say it was Lando!”
Alexandra’s brain was already spinning. “Wait. It’s someone in the paddock, isn’t it?”
Carmen made a noise that could’ve been a cough or a plea.
Alexandra gasped. “It’s someone in the paddock. You just confirmed it!”
“No I didn’t.”
“You totally did.”
“I absolutely didn’t.”
“You’re panicking, which means I’m right.”
Carmen buried her face in her hands. “I hate you.”
Alexandra grinned. “You love me.”
“I will never survive Charles finding out.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell him.”
Carmen peeked through her fingers. “You won’t?”
“No,” Alexandra said, a little too gleefully. “Because I want to figure it out myself. And then I want to sit front row for the chaos when Charles does find out.”
Carmen groaned. “You’re evil.”
Alexandra took a victorious sip of matcha. “Isabelle has clearly been holding out on us.”
She glanced across the paddock, just in time to catch a glimpse of Isabelle—composed, chic, wearing that ridiculous bracelet that no one on her salary bought herself—speaking calmly to a Ferrari engineer.
Alexandra smiled.
Game on.
***
Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, painting golden streaks across the navy-blue sheets. The faint hum of the city below filtered through the open balcony doors, mingling with the distant sound of waves hitting the rocks. The air smelled like salt, fresh linens, and a hint of Max’s cologne lingering on the pillows.
Isabelle stirred, shifting slightly beneath the covers. Before she could open her eyes, a warm hand slid over her waist, pulling her back against a familiar chest.
“Stay,” Max mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
She smiled, settling against him. “We have to get up soon.”
Max let out a low hum, nuzzling into the back of her neck. “Later.”
She turned in his arms, finally opening her eyes to find him watching her with that soft, drowsy expression he only ever wore in the mornings. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and there was a faint crease on his cheek from the pillow. He looked at her like he had nowhere else to be, like nothing in the world mattered but her.
His lips curved into a slow grin. “Happy birthday, Schatje.”
Warmth bloomed in her chest. “Thank you.”
Max propped himself up on his elbow and reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a small, velvet box. “I know you said no gifts until tomorrow, but…” He handed it to her. “I want you to have this today.”
Isabelle raised an eyebrow but took the box, flipping it open. Inside, a pair of delicate diamond studs glimmered in the morning light. Simple, timeless—exactly her style.
Her throat tightened.
“Max,” she whispered, brushing her fingers over one.
He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Your real present comes tomorrow,” he promised. “But I wanted you to have something for today, too.”
She swallowed past the lump forming in her throat. “I love them.”
Max grinned, looking satisfied with himself, before rolling over her to reach for his phone. “We have time before we leave. Do you want scrambled eggs?”
She laughed, pushing at his chest. “You just want an excuse to make a mess in the kitchen.”
“I would never.”
She let him pull her out of bed anyway.
***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie
Emilie: 🕯️ I have lit the ceremonial birthday candle 🎂 You have officially survived another year of Leclerc-related nonsense 🪩 Proud of you, love you, and am mentally blowing up balloons in your honour. (Also: do not lift a single finger today. Your brothers are on their own.)
Isabelle: It’s 6am. But thank you 🖤
Emilie: You’re welcome. Now go eat something sugary and dramatic and let Max spoil you.
***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen
Victoria: Happy birthday, Belle 💛 Victoria: The boys made you a card—well, Luka drew a race car and Lio ate half a crayon, but it’s heartfelt. 💛 Victoria: There’s cake waiting when you come up next ❤️We miss you.
Isabelle: Thank you, Vic ❤️ Tell the boys I love them. And I accept race cars with open arms.
***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Sophie Kumpen
Sophie: Happy Birthday, Belle! I know the day will be loud, but I hope someone takes a quiet moment just for you. You are thoughtful, steady, and stronger than you think. And you are so very loved. Thank you for everything you’ve brought into Max’s life. Into ours. We’re lucky to have you.
Isabelle: Thank you, Sophie. That means more than I can say.
Sophie: No need to say it. Just know.
***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Oscar Piastri
Oscar: Happy birthday, Belle! Lily says I have to include emojis so: 🎉🎂🧁💐 Thanks for adopting me into Monaco and teaching me how to not get run over by mopeds. (And how to find the best cheese…and saving my back from that couch.)
Isabelle: Thank you, Oscar 🧡 You were an excellent Monaco adoptee. Very teachable. Solid cheese instincts. 10/10 dodging reflexes. Good Luck today!
***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Lando Norris
Lando: happy birthday, belle!! i was going to say something cool and poetic but i’m not awake enough for that. you’re a legend even when you scare me a little. (in a good way.)
Isabelle: thank you, lando 🧡 You’re not so bad yourself—even when you’re making that face you make mid-qualy. Legend recognizes legend. Appreciate you. Good Luck today!
***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Lily Zneimer
Lily: 🎉🎂 HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY TO MONACO’S MOST UNDERAPPRECIATED GEM 💄👑 I hope today is full of peace, good coffee, and zero passive-aggressive family drama. (But just in case—it’s me. I’m your escape plan. Say the word, and we’re disappearing into McLaren hospitality with iced matchas and moral superiority.)
Isabelle: You had me at iced matcha and moral superiority. I’ll find you if the walls start closing in. Thank you, lily. Truly.
***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Daniel Ricciardo
Daniel: 🎈🎂 BELLE DAY!!! 🎂🎈
The only person I trust to emotionally manage Max Verstappen. Hope someone brings you flowers. And maybe a pony. If they don’t, I will personally cause a scene.
Isabelle: Thank you, Dan🩵 If a pony appears on my balcony, i’ll know who to blame.
***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Lewis Hamilton
Lewis: Happy birthday, Belle. I hope someone reminds you today how deeply you’re appreciated—not just for what you do, but for who you are. Thank you for keeping half the grid emotionally intact. Sending love.
Isabelle: Thank you! Sending love right back. Good Luck today! ***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Gianpiero Lambiase
GP: Happy Birthday, Belle. Hope today brings you at least half the peace you bring Max. (And maybe a cupcake that isn’t from a sponsor.)
Isabelle: You saying that means more than a dozen cupcakes. (Though, for the record, I am on the lookout for a non-sponsored one.) Thank you 🩵
***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Jos Verstappen
Jos: Happy birthday, Belle.
Isabelle: Thank you 🩵
***
The garage was buzzing already.
Ferrari reds were everywhere—technicians checking monitors, Charles pacing with purpose, Arthur trying to look official in his headset like he wasn’t a nervous wreck. Pascale stood just outside the garage in heels that defied logic, talking animatedly to a photographer. Lorenzo was in full PR mode, coordinating something Belle didn’t want to know about.
It was chaos. Familiar, electric chaos.
No one had said anything.
Not a word. Not a glance. Not even Arthur’s usual teasing “how does it feel to be ancient?” that she half-dreaded every year.
She didn’t know why she’d expected anything different. The race had swallowed them whole—Charles was starting on pole in Monaco. Nothing else existed. Not today.
Belle stood off to the side, near the rows of tire blankets, half watching the team run through final checks. Her arms were crossed loosely, her Ferrari pass swinging gently at her hip. She was calm. Mostly.
No one looked at Belle.
Not one person.
Not even the Ferrari comms girl who usually remembered these things and handed out team cupcakes with candles and Instagram captions.
Belle didn’t say a word about it.
She stood near the tire warmers, half-watching the screens, arms folded in her red windbreaker like she belonged—like she wasn’t a little hollow around the edges.
She didn’t need much. A nod. A quiet “happy birthday” from someone who shared her blood.
She wasn’t a child. But she wasn’t made of stone, either.
“Belle,” came a voice from behind her, low and steady.
She turned. Carlos.
He was already in his suit, helmet in his hands, gloves off. His brows furrowed as he stepped a little closer, angled out of earshot from the others.
“Did they really all forget?” he asked quietly.
Belle gave a noncommittal shrug. “Race day. Everyone’s focused.”
Carlos looked unimpressed. “You’re Charles’ sister. You’re part of this team.”
“Not when he’s on pole at Monaco,” she said, her voice smooth. Not bitter. Not angry. Just… flat.
Carlos hesitated. “I could say something.”
Belle looked up at him, her eyes steady. “Please don’t.”
Carlos turned to face her more fully. “Belle—”
“I mean it,” she cut in gently, but firmly. “Don’t tell them. I don’t want a pity cupcake rushed from hospitality at the last minute. I don’t want a half-hearted ‘Oh my god, I forgot!’ over Charles’ shoulder after he wins Monaco.”
Carlos clenched his jaw, visibly holding back the urge to argue.
Belle folded her arms. “Let them forget. At least then it’s honest.”
“That’s not how it should be.”
“I know,” she said, softly. “But it’s how it is.”
Carlos looked at her for a long moment.
A beat passed between them—quiet, unsaid, respectful.
Then Carlos exhaled, stepping back. “Feliz cumpleaños, Belle.”
“Gracias, Carlos.”
And just like that, he rejoined the team, already putting on his gloves, focus shifting toward the grid.
Belle didn’t move for a long time.
The noise swelled again. Charles laughed somewhere in the distance. Her mother was likely telling a cameraman how proud she was. Ferrari staff bustled past her, not one making eye contact.
Belle stayed silent.
She didn’t want fanfare. She didn’t need attention. But what she did want—to be remembered, without being the one to remind them—was clearly too much today.
So she folded her arms, stared at the screen, and reminded herself it was almost over.
And next year, she’d spend her birthday somewhere quiet. Somewhere far away from red walls and cheers that weren’t for her.
***
Group Chat: HELP ME
(Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso and Kimi Räikkönen)
Carlos: we have a situation.
it’s belle’s birthday.
and her entire family has forgotten.
including ferrari.
including CHARLES.
it is 20 minutes to lights out and not. one. word.
Oscar: I’m going to throw something.
George: You’re kidding. Please say you’re kidding.
Carlos: do i look like i’m joking?? she’s just standing there. like nothing’s wrong. like she’s not quietly dying inside.
Lando: okay well now i’m dying inside
Alex: I feel physically ill
Daniel: WHAT EXCUSE ME???
Lewis: You’re joking Please tell me you’re joking
Carlos: no. I asked her. no one said anything. not a text. not even a joke. not even her own mother.
Lando: is this a new low?? is this the actual lowest the Leclercs have ever gone??
Daniel: I’m in a race suit and I want to cry. WHAT DO WE DO??
Oscar: We should tell Max, right? Like. Surely he should know??
Carlos: If we tell Max he’ll cause a scene.
George: He would literally buy out all of Cartier Monaco mid-race and hand-deliver it to her at parc fermé.
Fernando: Do not underestimate that man.
Lando: we’re going to hell for this but do we… see how long it takes before someone notices?
Lewis: We don’t tell them. We watch and we wait. Let’s see how long it takes them to remember without her saying a word.
Mark: Ten bucks says they still won’t realise by the time Charles gets to the podium.
David: Make it twenty. I’ll double it if their mother starts crying and still doesn’t remember.
Alex: Yes. I want data. I want timestamps.
Daniel: I want Ferrari’s social team to panic at 8pm when they realise they posted five shots of Charles and zero birthday wishes for the sister in their garage.
Sebastian Vettel: We’ll make it up to her later. But let them feel this silence.
Carlos: She said not to tell them. she said—and I quote—“I don’t want a pity cupcake.”
Oscar: I respect her so much it hurts
George: She’s the most composed person I’ve ever met And they just… forgot
Nico H.: This is going to haunt me until I die
Alex: We need to do something. Like now.
Sebastian: Tell her we remember. That we care. Also—flowers. Immediately.
Mark: Seconded. No one ignores that girl on her birthday.
Nico R.: Are we sending a coordinated surprise or staging an intervention?
Oscar: What’s our over/under on how long it takes for Charles to realise
Alex: If he wins: never. If he DNFs: thirty seconds
Fernando: Either way, he’ll make it about himself
***
Text Messages: Carlos Sainz Jr. & Max Verstappen
Carlos: I know it’s race day. But I need to tell you something.
Max: Is Belle okay?
Carlos: She’s fine. She’s… not saying anything. Her entire family forgot her birthday.
Max: …What?
Carlos: No one said a word. Not Charles. Not her mother. Even Ferrari didn’t acknowledge it.
Max: You’re sure?
Carlos: I asked her. She shrugged it off. Said not to say anything. Said she didn’t want a “pity cupcake.” She’s just standing in the garage. Alone. Like she’s used to it.
Max: I’m going to kill someone. I swear to god.
Carlos: She said let them forget. She meant it.
Max: I can’t just do nothing.
Carlos: I didn’t say do nothing. I said let them do nothing.
Carlos: You do what you do best. You show up for her.
Max: I always do.
Carlos: I know. I just thought you should know before she pretends it didn’t matter.
Max: Thanks. I owe you.
Carlos: You don’t. But I’ll take beer.
Max: Done.
***
Max’s helmet rested against his hip like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground.
The garage was loud—buzzing with the usual tension of Monaco race day. The sound of compressed air guns, the low thrum of engines firing in intervals, the blur of pit wall calls and tire heat readings. But he barely registered it.
His whole body hummed with fury.
Not at Ferrari. Not at Charles.
Not even at the race.
At them.
Her family.
Carlos had texted him in a quiet moment, just minutes before Max was supposed to get in the car. He’d said it carefully, like someone diffusing a live wire.
She’s fine, he’d said. Her entire family forgot her birthday.
Max hadn’t spoken for a full fifteen seconds.
Not even Charles. Not Arthur. Not Lorenzo. Not her mother.
Not the people who called her sweet when she baked for them. Not the team that draped her in red when it suited their image. Not the brother whose name she still defended in interviews, whose wins she supported even when her own milestones went ignored.
Max should’ve expected it.
He had expected it, in a cynical, detached sort of way. He’d seen the patterns—how easily they forgot her. How quickly they looked through her. Belle had always been the quiet background to their spotlight. The steady one. The peacemaker. The girl who remembered everyone else’s birthdays.
But this?
On her birthday?
On the day Charles was starting from pole in Monaco—his home race, his fairy tale, his childhood dream teetering on the edge of reality—they couldn’t spare a moment to remember her.
Not even Arthur’s usual teasing. Not a cupcake. Not a card from Maman. Not a stupid “Happy Birthday” badge from Ferrari’s comms team.
Nothing.
She hadn’t said a word. She never did. She was standing in that garage—arms folded, expression unreadable, surrounded by people in red who didn’t see her at all. Like she was just a shadow of the name stitched into their driver’s suit.
Max hadn’t seen her yet. But he didn’t need to.
He felt it.
He always felt it when she was hurting.
He turned slowly, trying to quiet the storm behind his ribs, and found GP near the telemetry monitors.
“GP,” he said, low and tight.
GP looked up immediately, blinking at the look on Max’s face. “You okay?”
“No,” Max said. “But I’ll deal with it. I just needed to say it out loud.”
“Say what?”
“They forgot her birthday,” Max said. “All of them.”
GP went still.
“Her brothers. Her mother. Ferrari. All of them. Not a text. Not a smile. Nothing.”
GP swore softly.
“She told Carlos not to say anything,” Max added, jaw clenched. “Didn’t want a ‘pity cupcake.’”
GP didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
Max exhaled hard. “And Charles is about to win Monaco.”
The words tasted like ash in his mouth.
Because he couldn’t even bring himself to feel bitter about that—not really. Charles had worked for it. Earned it. Fought tooth and nail for years to cross this particular finish line. But the fact that his win would be the reason Belle went unnoticed? That the whole paddock would celebrate while she stood quietly in the shadows?
It made Max’s skin itch with something close to rage.
He hated them for it.
He hated how easily they took her for granted. How they smiled when she made their lives easier and then left her to disappear behind the noise.
And he hated that this would become a story Belle told herself—proof she wasn’t worth remembering. That her soft presence, her quiet kindness, her constant steadiness, somehow made her forgettable.
She wasn’t.
Not to Max.
Never to Max.
“I’m going to finish this race,” he said quietly, voice like steel.
GP met his eyes and nodded. “Yeah. I know you are.”
“And after that, I’m taking her home.”
“Good.”
Max didn’t move for a beat. He stared at the garage wall across from him, past the chaos of prep and the blinking monitors, and thought of her.
He thought of the way she still smiled at her family like she was proud of them.
He thought of the way she folded into his arms like it was the only place she was ever allowed to fall apart.
He thought of how easy it would be to make today better. To remember what they didn’t. To hold her hand and say, I see you. I always see you.
He pulled his helmet on.
***
Meanwhile on Twitter:
@/F1HistoryMaker: HE DID IT. HE FINALLY DID IT. CHARLES LECLERC WINS HIS HOME GRAND PRIX.
@/MonacoMagic16: I’M CRYING, YOU’RE CRYING, THE ENTIRE PRINCIPALITY OF MONACO IS CRYING.
@/RedFlagged: Ferrari actually didn’t ruin his race. Miracles do happen.
@/PitLaneProphet: Charles Leclerc winning Monaco is like a fairy tale finally getting its happy ending.
@/ScuderiaSimp: Charles crying, his team crying, the whole of Monaco crying, me crying in my living room—this is cinema.
@/RacingRoyalty: Not to be that person, but isn’t it also Isabelle Leclerc’s birthday today? Like… what a day for their family.
↳ @/F1Detective: So Charles wins Monaco on his sister’s birthday? This man really said, “Happy birthday, Isabelle, here’s the greatest achievement of my career.”
@/MonacoMonarch: Not to be dramatic, but I think the entire country of Monaco is going to declare today a national holiday.
@/ScuderiaFaithful: CHARLES LECLERC. MONACO GRAND PRIX WINNER. WE WAITED. WE SUFFERED. WE PRAYED. AND FINALLY, IT HAPPENED.
@/FerrariTifosi: Ferrari finally gave Charles a functional strategy in Monaco. I need a moment.
@/ScuderiaForever: CHARLES LECLERC WINS MONACO. I AM SCREAMING. I AM CRYING. I AM KISSING THE STREETS OF MONTE CARLO.
@/F1StatsGuy: Charles Leclerc becomes the first Monegasque driver to win the Monaco Grand Prix in 93 years. And all it took was years of heartbreak.
***
When Charles crossed the finish line, the world broke open around her.
The Ferrari garage erupted—screaming, fists in the air, champagne already being shaken loose from the back fridges. There were hugs, backslaps, high-pitched shouting in Italian. Team radios buzzed and clicked, Charles’ voice half-choked with emotion as he screamed in disbelief over the comms.
He’d done it.
He’d won Monaco.
His home. His heartbreak. His ghost track.
And Belle was happy.
Genuinely, undeniably happy for him.
She stood in the shadow of the celebration, just out of the camera frame, tucked near the telemetry screens with her arms loosely folded across her chest. Her lips were curved in something like a smile, her eyes glassy but bright. She clapped when the others clapped. She even let herself cheer when the Ferrari engineers surged forward like a wave.
She watched Arthur leap into Charles’ arms. Watched Pascale cry and kiss both her sons like the world had ended and been reborn in red and gold. Lorenzo filmed the moment on his phone with the focus of a man who would post it ten seconds later. The garage was shaking with joy.
And no one looked at Belle.
Not even once.
No passing “Happy birthday.” No late realization. No elbow nudge from Arthur, no cheek kiss from their mother. Not even the Ferrari comms girl with her clipboard full of media notes and scheduled shoutouts.
Nothing.
She didn't even know why she was still waiting. She should've known. She did know. But hope was funny that way—it always showed up, uninvited.
The hollowness wasn’t sharp. Just heavy. Just tired.
She felt it most when she watched Charles climb the fence to his team, red gloves in the air, face split in triumph. She felt it when the anthem played and the grandstands sang with him. She felt it in every photo she wasn’t in, every cheer she smiled through, every red flare that lit up the sky without once glancing her way.
It wasn’t malice. Just absence.
And Belle knew absence better than most.
Carlos found her at some point in the swirl of it all. He didn’t say anything. Just passed her a bottle of water, stood beside her for a while like a silent sentinel. She didn’t speak either. He didn’t need her to.
Later, when they followed the team up toward parc fermé, someone handed her a headset and someone else ushered her toward the group photo. She stood on the end. Smiled. Did her part. She had practice, after all.
She caught Charles’ eye once—just once—as he grinned like the world was finally giving him what he’d fought so long for.
After the photo, Belle quietly stepped away. Back into the shadows of the paddock. Back to silence.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t sigh. She just… breathed. Steadily.
She was proud of him. She really, truly was.
But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
***
Instagram Story: @/isabelleleclerc
***
He was waiting for her that evening. After the race…after the celebrations…she had texted him that she was on her way home…and he had come downstairs to wait in the lobby of the building they lived in…
He knew something was wrong the moment she stepped into the elevator with him and the doors closed.
Belle didn’t move like herself.
She was too still. Folded in. Shoulders curled inward like she was trying to disappear into the seams of her own body. Her hands were clutched in the sleeves of her windbreaker. Ferrari Red. Worn over a cream coloured ress.
She didn’t look at him—not when the doors opened, not when they slid shut. Just stood there blinking, like she wasn’t crying yet, but would be. Soon.
Max—who knew every version of her—recognized this one.
This was Belle when she’d given too much and received nothing back. When she’d swallowed every hurt and pretended it was fine until the silence pressed against her ribs.
She was unraveling. Quietly. Completely.
“Hi,” he said softly. Like a rope thrown out to sea. “I knew you’d leave early.”
She didn’t answer.
She took one small step forward.
Her knees buckled.
He caught her before gravity could.
She fell into his chest like the air had left her lungs. Her hands clutched at his hoodie—white-knuckled, shaking. Her face buried itself just beneath his collarbone. Her breath hitched, shallow and sharp. Not sobbing. Not yet.
But he felt it coming.
And God, he wanted to kill someone for it.
“They forgot,” she whispered.
Max closed his eyes.
“I know,” he murmured. “I know.”
“All of them. Maman. Charles. Arthur. Lorenzo. Even Ferrari.” Her voice caught on the name. “Not even a text. Not even a joke.”
His jaw tightened until it hurt.
Max wanted to scream. He wanted to take every single person who called themselves her family and demand how they could stand beside her and not see her. Not notice the way she always noticed them. How she remembered birthdays, anniversaries, meaningless preferences about milk and Spotify playlists.
Belle held the whole damn family together like an invisible thread. And they’d looked straight through her.
“They looked through me,” Belle whispered, her voice breaking completely now. “Like I wasn’t even there. Like I was just… invisible.”
Max wrapped his arms around her like armor.
“You’re not invisible,” he said fiercely, pressing his mouth to her hair. “You’re everything. And I see you, Belle. I always see you.”
She made a sound then—small and broken—and the dam burst.
She sobbed like it had been building all day. Her whole body shook against his. The kind of grief that wasn’t about one thing but all of it—every quiet dismissal, every missed moment, every time she’d made herself small so someone else could shine.
Max didn’t speak. Just held her. Let her cry. Let her fall apart the way no one had ever given her permission to do before.
By the time they reached their floor, her legs barely worked.
Max carried her inside.
He didn’t ask if she was hungry. Didn’t ask if she wanted to talk.
He filled the bath instead. Lit candles. Got her out of her Ferrari red windbreaker and the cream dress she had worn and into the water, slow and careful, like she might shatter if he moved too fast.
He washed her hair in silence. Brushed it back from her face. Whispered her name and little nothings—soft words meant to ground her, not fix her.
Belle didn’t say anything more.
She just curled into him, damp and shivering in one of his old Red Bull shirts, and shut down completely.
He got her into bed. Tucked the duvet around her like a shield. Slipped in behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, face pressed to the back of her neck. The cats climbed up and curled against her legs—silent, instinctive.
She didn’t move. Barely breathed.
But slowly, eventually, her breathing steadied. Like maybe the worst had passed. Or maybe she just couldn’t carry it anymore.
Max lay there, wide awake, rage blooming quiet and white-hot behind his ribs.
He thought of the garage. Of Charles laughing, soaked in champagne. Of Pascale gushing to a camera crew, pride sparkling in her eyes. Of Arthur pretending to be important in a headset and Lorenzo posing for photos.
Not one of them had seen her.
She’d stood there, right there, in her red jacket and her quiet grace and her heartbreak—and not one of them remembered.
Max hated them in that moment. All of them.
They didn’t deserve the version of Belle they so often took for granted.
And in the quiet, he made himself a promise.
They would never get to hurt her like this again.
Not by accident.
Not by carelessness.
Not by forgetting the girl who remembered everyone else.
Let them celebrate Charles. Let them flood Instagram with podiums and champagne and family pride.
He would be the one who never forgot her.
***
Group Chat: HELP ME
(Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso and Kimi Räikkönen)
Carlos:Charles still hasn’t realized.
Oscar: I thought he’d realize when Ferrari posted the celebration gallery.
Lewis: You’re telling me he looked at her IN THE GARAGE on her birthday, won the most emotional race of his life and still didn’t realize she was standing right there and it was her birthday??
Carlos: Yes. That’s what I’m telling you.
Daniel: WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM.
Alex: Everything.
Nico H.: This is the most committed man has ever been to the concept of obliviousness.
Mark: I think he deserves a prize for this.
Sebastian: A slap is a prize now?
Fernando: We should start a timer. See how long it takes him.
Lewis: We already are. George made a spreadsheet.
George: Currently it’s at around 16 hours.
Oscar: Should we… drop hints?
Carlos: Belle doesn’t want pity cupcakes. Remember?
David: What happens if he remembers a week late?
Lando: We release the tapes.
Alex: There are tapes???
Lando: There are always tapes.
Nico R.: How do we not tell him?
George: Because now it’s a scientific experiment and also a moral failing.
Sebastian: Also because if he finds out now, it’ll be a dramatic guilt spiral and Belle will have to comfort him and she deserves better.
Mark: Can we send her flowers anonymously again?
Sebastian: Already handled.
Oscar: We should send her a plaque. “Survived the Monaco GP and her entire family’s emotional incompetence.”
Lando: New merch idea???
David: I want in on that.
Kimi: this chat is insane
Daniel: That’s rich coming from you.
Kimi: tell leclerc he’s an asshole.
Carlos: She told me not to.
George: So we do nothing.
Oscar: Except passive-aggressively track it like the disappointed siblings she deserves.
***
Belle woke up in the quiet.
The windows were cracked open just enough to let in the early sea breeze. The city was still sleeping off champagne and street rubber. And Max… Max hadn’t moved.
He was lying beside her, still in the same hoodie he’d held her in last night, one arm curled protectively around her waist like he’d never once let go.
Her eyes were dry. Her throat sore. Her chest hollow.
But she wasn’t crying anymore.
Belle just felt still.
Slowly, she shifted beneath the blankets. Max stirred instantly, his hold softening so she could move, but his eyes opened the second she sat up.
“Hey,” he said, voice rough with sleep. “How do you feel?”
Belle pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them loosely. Her voice came out steady. Too steady.
“I’m done.”
Max blinked. “Done?”
“I don’t want anyone to say anything to them,” she said. “Not yet. Not today.”
“Belle…”
She shook her head. “I want to see how long it takes. How many days pass before someone notices.”
Max sat up beside her, eyes on her face. “That’s going to hurt.”
She nodded. “Yeah. I know.”
There was a long pause. The kind where most people would fill the silence with softness or sugar.
But not Max. He just waited.
“They forgot me,” Belle said. “And I think part of me always knew they would, eventually. I just didn’t expect it to be… so easy for them.”
Max’s hand brushed gently down her back. “You don’t have to forgive them.”
“I don’t even want to talk to them,” she said quietly. “Not right now. Not this week. Maybe not ever. I don’t want explanations. I don’t want excuses. I don’t want Charles saying he was too focused or Maman pretending she got the date wrong. I don’t want a retroactive Instagram post or some half-wilted apology bouquet.”
She turned her head and met Max’s eyes.
“I just want silence. Because that’s what they gave me.”
Max nodded once, slow and sure. “Then they get silence.”
She exhaled. Closed her eyes. Rested her cheek against his shoulder.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t bitter. She wasn’t even angry anymore.
She was just done.
She didn’t need to rage. She didn’t need to beg. She didn’t need to remind them why she mattered.
They should’ve known. And now, she was done teaching them how to love her.
The silence stretched again, but it felt easier now. Not so sharp around the edges.
Max stayed still for a moment longer, just letting her lean against him. Letting her breathe. Letting her exist without needing to perform for anyone’s comfort.
Then, he kissed the top of her head and stood.
Belle didn’t ask where he was going. She just stayed curled beneath the duvet, watching him move through the bedroom with quiet purpose.
When she finally followed the smell of something warm and toasty, the kitchen was already glowing with morning light. Monaco’s buildings gleamed gold just beyond the windows, and the sea sparkled like it didn’t know what day it was—or what it had cost her yesterday.
Max was barefoot, still rumpled from sleep, flipping something on the stove with quiet concentration.
Belle leaned against the doorframe. “You’re making pancakes?”
Max glanced over his shoulder. “Kind of,” he said. “You had a rough day. I figured a breakfast that doesn’t ask too much of you was a good idea.”
She blinked. “Pancakes ask nothing of me.”
“Exactly.” He nodded at the table. “Sit. I made tea.”
There were two mugs already waiting. Her favorite blend. A little honey on the side. A tiny bowl of berries that definitely hadn’t come from their fridge.
“Did you go out this morning?” she asked, touched but suspicious.
“I have resources,” Max said, which usually meant “I bullied someone over text until they delivered groceries before sunrise.”
Belle sat.
He placed a plate in front of her a moment later—pancakes with lightly caramelized edges, fresh raspberries (her favourite), and just a touch of powdered sugar. Not fancy. Not showy. But thoughtful.
Just like him.
Max sat across from her, sipping his coffee, watching her with the kind of quiet that meant he didn’t need to talk unless she wanted him to.
They ate in near silence. Belle didn’t finish everything. She didn’t need to. Max didn’t comment on it.
It wasn’t until he stood to rinse the dishes that he finally said, with a little smile tugging at his lips— “So,” he said. “Now that you’ve had coffee and carbs and emotional catharsis…”
Belle raised an eyebrow.
“…do you want your actual birthday surprise?”
She froze.
Max smiled, crooked and careful. “I know yesterday made it hard. And I didn’t want to push. But I have something for you. Well. Two somethings, technically.”
Belle narrowed her eyes. “Two?”
Max stood, offered his hand. “Trust me?”
She didn’t hesitate as she took it. “Always.”
He pulled her to her feet gently, not rushing her, not asking her to smile. Just kissed her knuckles and said, “Put on something comfortable. We’ve got a drive ahead.”
***
Text Messages: Oscar Piastri & Max Verstappen
Oscar: Hey. Just wanted to check in on Belle. How’s she doing?
Max: She cried herself to sleep yesterday. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her fall apart like that.
Oscar: Shit.
Max: Yeah.
Oscar: Is she… okay today?
Max: She’s quiet. Said she’s done.
Oscar: Done like…?
Max: She doesn’t want to talk to any of them. Doesn’t want apologies. Doesn’t want excuses. She just wants silence. Said it’s what they gave her, so she’s giving it back.
Oscar: She’s allowed to be done.
Max: Yeah. I’m not going to stop her.
Oscar: You shouldn’t. They don’t deserve her patience.
Max: They never did.
Oscar: Is there anything you need?
Max: No. I’ve got her. Just… make sure people don’t push her. Don’t try to fix it.. She’s drawing the line.
Oscar: Got it. Tell her we’re here if she needs anything.
***
Group Chat: HELP ME
(Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso and Kimi Räikkönen)
Oscar: Update from Max: Belle cried herself to sleep last night. And this morning she said she’s done with all of them.
George: …Jesus.
Lando: This is actually heartbreaking. I feel physically sick.
Carlos: She didn’t even look sad. That’s the worst part. She looked like someone who expected it.
Daniel: Max must be losing it.
Oscar: He is. But he’s also calm. The kind of calm where you know someone’s promising vengeance in five languages.
Lewis: And she still doesn’t want anyone to say anything to them?
Oscar: Nope. She just wants silence. Said it’s what they gave her, so she’s giving it back.
Alex: I’m going to scream.
George: How long do we think this goes before Charles realizes?
Fernando: Forever.
Mark: Until she is pregnant and married and they notice the child, maybe.
Sebastian: Even then, they’ll probably ask if it’s a friend’s baby.
Lando: She stood in the garage on her birthday and they all just looked past her. I can’t get over that.
Alex: And she didn’t say anything. She gave them every chance.
Sebastian: She gave them years of chances.
David: That’s the part I can’t get past. She was right there.
Carlos: I asked her if she wanted me to say something. She said, “At least this way, it’s honest.”
George: She always showed up for them. Every birthday. Every event. Every podium.
Sebastian: And they never noticed when she needed someone to show up for her.
Alex: I hope they feel that silence for a long, long time.
Mark: They will. Max will make sure of it.
***
The drive was short—fifteen minutes, maybe twenty with traffic—but Belle didn’t ask where they were going. She just watched the streets of Monaco blur past the passenger window, the sun bright against the water. Everything shimmered with the afterglow of race day.
The city was still coming down from its high.
Belle, however, was just beginning to breathe again.
When Max pulled onto a narrow road, Belle blinked. She knew the turn. Knew the uneven curve of the gravel path. Her heart tugged hard against her ribs.
“Max,” she whispered, sitting up straighter.
He parked, turned off the engine, and looked at her.
“We’re here,” he said softly.
Her favorite stables—one she had visited countless times over the years. Where she still had her twice weekly riding lessons.
“Max…”
He just smiled, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Come on.”
She followed him, her steps a little hesitant, excitement bubbling beneath her skin. The barn was already awake with morning energy—horses shifting in their stalls, soft neighs filling the air, the scent of hay and earth grounding her instantly.
And then she saw her.
A grey mare, soft-eyed and dappled silver, resting quietly in the corner of a sun-warmed paddock. She turned as Belle approached—calm, regal, familiar in a way that made Belle’s lungs forget how to work.
It was like looking through time.
She didn’t speak. Couldn’t.
Max moved beside her, voice low. “Her name’s Fleur. Short for Blanchefleur. She’s Blanche’s daughter.”
Belle’s knees nearly gave.
“I found her,” Max went on, voice low. “She was in Italy. Pregnant. Due in a couple months. Emilie helped me track her down.”
Belle’s legs went weak. She reached for the fence without thinking, steadying herself with one hand.
Fleur lifted her head and looked straight at her—calm, curious, and somehow impossibly familiar. Those eyes. That stillness. Belle hadn’t realized how much she missed that kind of stillness. The kind that didn’t expect anything from her.
“She looks like her,” Belle whispered. “Her eyes—God. Max…”
Max reached for her hand again. Her fingers trembled when they laced with his.
“I know I can’t bring Blanche back,” he said. “But I thought maybe… you could have a piece of her. And something for the future, too.”
Fleur stepped toward the gate, nosing at the wood gently. Belle lifted her hand without thinking, fingers trembling as she touched soft fur. The tears started behind her eyes, hot and dizzying.
“She’s beautiful,” Belle whispered. “She’s so beautiful.”
“She’s yours,” Max said simply. “Both of them are.”
Belle looked at him, wide-eyed, stunned. “You… bought her?”
Max nodded. “She’s yours. To ride. To keep. To just visit, if that’s what you want. You don’t have to prove anything to her. Or to me. Just be hers. Let her be yours.”
Belle didn’t know what to say. She only knew how it felt—like someone had placed the missing piece of her life back into her hands, quietly, without expectation.
Her throat closed up with emotion. “Max…”
“I know they’ve taken things from you,” Max said, his voice breaking just a little. “Blanche. Your birthday. The way they look through you like you’re air. I can’t give it all back. But I can give you this. Something no one can take away.”
Belle turned fully toward him—and that’s when he moved.
He sank to one knee in the sand, quiet and sure, pulling a small box from his jacket pocket. Her breath hitched.
He looked up at her like she was the only thing he’d ever wanted to protect.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Max said softly. “And I want to spend the rest of my life making sure you’re never invisible again. Not for a single moment.”
Belle didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Then he opened the box.
A ring. Elegant. Understated. An emerald set in gold—delicate and bold all at once.
She made a sound—barely a breath—and dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands flying to his shoulders, tears spilling freely now.
“Marry me?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
She pulled him into her arms, face buried in his neck, both of them kneeling in the sand and sunlight and soft smell of hay and horses.
“Yes,” she said again, just to say it.“Yes. Max. Of course, yes.”
Because this time, she wasn’t forgotten. She was chosen.
And Max had made sure of it.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes. Max. Of course, yes.”
***
More Posts from Biblioteca-da-meia-noite and Others
mother duck | carlos sainz social media au
pairing: carlos sainz x fem presenter!reader
carlos kissed her goodbye before she went to the rookie round table, he didn’t realise she’d come back with five ducklings of her own
MASTERLIST | TIP JAR
f1
liked by yourusername, pierregasly and 1,439,045 others
tagged: kimiantonelli, isackhadjar, jackdoohan, olliebearman & gabrielbortoleto
f1: head over to our youtube channel now to get to know our crop of new drivers at the rookie round table!
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user1: i have been moved
user2: more of this type of content please
user3: i think they could’ve gotten at least a couple of hours of footage here those kids love to talk
yourusername: not what i’ve been used to but a blast nonetheless!
kimiantonelli: you will be coming to all of the races, right?
kimiantonelli: right? please!
yourusername: yes, i will be there kimi don’t worry
kimiantonelli: omg yay!
user4: oh no… they’re attached…
user5: someone call carlos sainz, is he aware he’s become a father of five overnight?
carlossainz55: excuse me?
gabrielbortoleto: hi!
carlossainz55: no no no i don’t do all of this grid kid nonsense
isackhadjar: please don’t say that i have abandonment issues :(
carlossainz55: what ???
user6: bro sat back and watched charles adopt all the kids last season but now it’s his turn
user7: ollie is meant to be charles’ grid kid…
charles_leclerc: A ROBBERY?
carlossainz55: you can keep him !!!
olliebearman: you don’t want me 😢
yourusername: carlos don’t be mean to them!
carlossainz55: what the fuck is going on right now ???
user8: carlos left his gf for one 20 minute interview and now has kids ?
user9: ugh i’ve missed this chaos
jackdoohan: can we do all media with you @yourusername ?
yourusername: i don’t think so :(
jackdoohan: so not fair :(((((
jackdoohan: if we don’t have media with you can we at least come to dinner?
kimiantonelli: i’m free for dinner!
gabrielbortoleto: me too
isackhadjar: me three
olliebearman: can we get italian?
carlossainz55: nuh uh it’s date night tonight
kimiantonelli: *our date night
carlossainz55: no?
yourusername: come on carlos…
carlossainz55: fine! but just this one time
user10: it’s going to be a long season for mr sainz i fear
yourusername
liked by kimiantonelli, jackdoohan and 381,945 others
tagged: carlossainz55
yourusername: australia that’s a wrap on qualifying - a few surprises at both ends of the grid!
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user11: i am an old man who usually hates the fluffy stuff off of track but kimi going in for a hug in the media pen was very cute
user12: i think people forget just how young he is so it’s good he feels he has other people to go to in the paddock!
user13: his poor media handler looked very confused
olliebearman: can we definitely get dinner now :( talking to you in the media pen was probably the only good thing from today
yourusername: of course ollie! i know it was a tough day but you’ll get in the swing of it with the car
carlossainz55: i thought we were going to be able to shake them for dinner :(
olliebearman: CARLOS I AM IN DISTRESS PLEASE PAY FOR MY PASTA
yourusername: he clearly needs comfort!
carlossainz55: he doesn’t need comfort he’s trying to extort us
olliebearman: so you don’t love me enough to let me extort you?
carlossainz55: no?
user14: these rookies are cracking me up
user15: please strap them down in front of a camera and let them yap
gabrielbortoleto: did you see my save?
yourusername: i did! very impressive gabi
gabrielbortoleto: did you @carlossainz55 ?
maxverstappen1: so i mean nothing to you now?
gabrielbortoleto: NO! i love you max - did you see my save?
maxverstappen1: it was very impressive bubbles
carlossainz55: definitely not a ‘b grade’ driver
gabrielbortoleto: OMGGGG THANK YOU
maxverstappen1: i give up?
yourusername: i don’t really know what’s happening right now - but just go with it max, he still loves you he spoke at LENGTH about you to me just this morning
user16: these kids be attaching to anyone who looks at them
user17: they’re just like me for real
isackhadjar: looking forward to debriefing over garlic bread :D
yourusername: you were amazing today isack!
isackhadjar: hehehehehehehehe
carlossainz55: at least this one isn’t shouting at me
jackdoohan: what about me?
carlossainz55: you know what, you’ve bothered me the least so you’re my favourite
kimiantonelli: NOT FAIR
olliebearman: but i cycle?
gabrielbortoleto: but you liked my save?
isackhadjar: all i want is some garlic bread :(
yourusername: carlos! you can’t say one of them is your favourite - that’s not how kids work
carlossainz55: i never asked for this !!!
carlossainz55
liked by isackhadjar, olliebearman and 609,285 others
tagged: yourusername
carlossainz55: back in italy for imola and on a date with my favourite girl
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user18: carlos went to italy extra early so they could have dinner without the rookies intruding lmao
user19: bro is being haunted by five kids
user20: he’s better than me because i would crumble immediately
yourusername: no one else i’d rather be with
carlossainz55: i’ve missed being with you (just you)
yourusername: we’ve had just enough alone time i think
landonorris: gross
carlossainz55: not you too
landonorris: if you think about it i was technically your first kid…
carlossainz55: ONE NIGHT WITHOUT THIS NONSENSE PLEASE
user21: i think carlos might be losing his mind
alexalbon: oh he definitely is if his loud ramblings i can hear through the driver room walls
yourusername: i think he’s just like that?
carlossainz55: huh?
yourusername: you asked me on a date because you were talking to yourself loudly before our interview about ‘how pretty my smile is’
carlossainz55: my thoughts are loud!
carlossainz55: but in that instance i’m very glad they were screaming in my head
yourusername: i’m very glad too <3
user22: omg that’s such a cute/concerning meet cute
user23: the most carlos sainz thing ever i fear
kimiantonelli: i see our invite got lost in the mail?
olliebearman: and in kimi’s home country… that’s just cruel
carlossainz55: i would like ONE romantic night with the love of my life ALONE
carlossainz55: CAN I PLEASE HAVE THAT? I DON’T THINK I’M ASKING THAT MUCH
isackhadjar: you didn’t need to be that mean about it :(
kimiantonelli: i’m sorry, i just wanted to show you the best places in imola …
olliebearman: does this mean you don’t want to go cycling on thursday anymore?
jackdoohan: can i still go for coffee with y/n?
gabrielbortoleto: we just wanted to see you guys :(
yourusername: no my babies :((( we love you and of course we want to see you! we just need to have some alone time every once in a while
carlossainz55: y/n please stop feeding into this
carlossainz55: STOP SHOWING ME THE PHOTOS THEY’RE SENDING YOU OF THEIR SAD FACES
carlossainz55: FINE! WE’LL ALL GO FOR BREAKFAST TOMORROW NOW LET ME ENJOY MY NIGHT WITH Y/N
gabrielbortoleto
liked by kimiantonelli, olliebearman and 451,058 others
tagged: yourusername & carlossainz55
gabrielbortoleto: that was a big one! i’m sorry to the team but i’m happy to say that i’ll be okay and will be back for the next race. thank you y/n and carlos for coming and keeping me company in the hospital!
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user24: okay i know we’ve all poked fun at the grid kid thing and how it’s so funny that carlos hates it but for real, i’m glad they were in the paddock and were able to be there for him
user25: that makes all the jokey stuff so much better honestly
yourusername: we’re so happy you’re all okay gabi!
gabrielbortoleto: thank you for coming! i know i’m a bit of a drama queen but my parents couldn’t come from brazil so thank you for not leaving me alone :)
gabrielbortoleto: can we have a ducky sleepover?
carlossainz55: a what?
gabrielbortoleto: y/n calls us her duckies! so a ducky sleepover would be all of us coming over (and getting ice cream)
yourusername: i think that’s an amazing idea
carlossainz55: okay, okay. but i am never calling you guys duckies.
yourusername: just you wait baby :)
user26: his radio just reminded me how young him and all the other rookies actually are
user27: i want to just wrap them all up in blankets and tell them it’s all going to be okay
user28: good thing they have y/n and carlos to do that
alexalbon: he won’t tell you this but he did run back to his drivers room to get gabi a jumper and a blanket, he’s a softy for them really
yourusername: that's my man 🥰
kimiantonelli: we’re the five duckies so please refrain from flipping into the barriers again please and thank you
yourusername: kimi?!
carlossainz55: that’s not how we word these things kimi
kimiantonelli: woah i’m trying to lighten the mood
olliebearman: everyone has been a real debby downer today - like three of us got points! (this is a joke, i am happy you’re okay gabi)
gabrielbortoleto: bring the mood back down, i’ve got some more things i want to get with my sympathy points
carlossainz55: gabi???
gabrielbortoleto: fernando taught me to take advantage of anything and everything
carlossainz55: that sounds about right…
user29: why is fernando still at the scene of the crime
kimiantonelli: he’s old! he won his last championship before i was born!
fernandoalo_oficial: @carlossainz55 control your kid
carlossainz55: excuse me? after what you’ve taught gabi?
fernandoalo_oficial: oh don’t act so innocent carlito - did isack or did isack not steal all of the goodies from the media pen because he MANIPULATED the comms girls
isackhadjar: i DID NO SUCH THING
isackhadjar: i am just a nice guy!
jackdoohan: he distracted them and i took them!
fernandoalo_oficial: scoundrels
carlossainz55
liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 561,093 others
tagged: olliebearman, kimiantonelli & yourusername
carlossainz55: as much as they’re annoying - i love our duckies and it’s going to take more than one DNF to turn me against them
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user30: oh wow he is a changed man
user31: i fear this is a real mark of maturity because believe me i’d be crashing the fuck out (pun intended)
user32: i mean now he’s seen it back he defo knows that it wasn’t really any one person’s fault
olliebearman: I’M SO SORRY CARLOS
olliebearman: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FORGIVE ME
kimiantonelli: what about me ????
olliebearman: you are NOT the priority here
kimiantonelli: we have a ship name ??? does that mean nothing?
olliebearman: not right now? not when our cycling sessions are on the line?
carlossainz55: are you guys finished arguing now?
olliebearman: can you forgive me now so we can get back to arguing
carlossainz55: i told you guys there’s no hard feelings, we all got squeezed in the rain - stop stressing
olliebearman: okay thanks
kimiantonelli: thx
kimiantonelli: anyway
kimiantonelli: HOW DARE YOU NOT WANT MY FORGIVENESS FIRST?
olliebearman: omg you’re so self-involved
jackdoohan: you gonna let him say that kimi?
kimiantonelli: ME? SELF-INVOLVED?
isackhadjar: ollie i can hear him bitching from here…
olliebearman: GASP!
gabrielbortoleto: kimi… clearly he doesn’t care about the sanctity of bearnelli
kimiantonelli: i can’t believe this 😖
yourusername: right okay let’s calm it down boys
carlossainz55: no this is quite entertaining let them keep going …
yourusername: so you are the bad influence
carlossainz55: if we have to keep them around i might as well enjoy it
yourusername: really?
carlossainz55: the longer they argue and instigate, the less they are bothering us and i can actually spend time with my girlfriend
user33: this whole comment section is just one big familial domestic
user34: they are everything to me
user35: carlos can never retire now i’m sorry those are the rules
yourusername
liked by sebastianvettel, pierregasly and 892,304 others
tagged: kimiantonelli, olliebearman, carlossainz55, isackhadjar, gabrielbortoleto & jackdoohan
yourusername: omg all five of our duckies scored points and carlos was on the pdoium this weekend at silverstone!!! what an anniversary weekend, and our duckies remembered!
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user36: THE DUCKIES
user37: i don’t care how dumb the nickname is i love it so much
user38: free yourself from thinking everything is cringe
jackdoohan: so since you’re from silverstone, can we claim this as a home race so we can all say got points at home
yourusername: i’ve seen shakier logic from oscar so i’ll say yes!
oscarpiastri: RUDE
kimiantonelli: he’s just bitter because no one cares about his lil grid kid stunt in monaco anymore now we have y/n and carlos
oscarpiastri: omg ??? leave me alone
olliebearman: come say that to our faces 😡
jackdoohan: he won’t we out number him
iscakhadjar: 💪
oscarpiastri: you people are all like rabid dogs
carlossainz55: watch what you say about the duckies
oscarpiastri: this is crazy, you were the one who was constantly complaining about them
carlossainz55: yes well now i like them! and i don’t appreciate your tone
oscarpiastri: why weren’t you this nice to me as a rookie?
carlossainz55: eh?
gabrielbortoleto: he just likes us better!
carlossainz55: he’s not wrong…
oscarpiastri: fine! charles is a better grid dad anyway
oscarpiastri: and while we’re at it i’m gonna claim max as well
charles_leclerc: yeah i never complained about oscar, i took him in immediately!
maxverstappen1: i don’t know how i got roped into this but yeah - we’re better!
user39: you know what? sure
user40: i stopped asking questions a long time ago
user41: they got them gifts for their anniversary? that’s too fucking cute i can’t
user42: duckies you are so iconic
carlossainz55: i guess the duckies are good for one thing - gifts
yourusername: it’s definitely a perk!
carlossainz55: but i’ll deal with all of their chaos if it means being with you
yourusername: awwwww i love you too
yourusername: so much we have five kids before being married…
carlossainz55: is this a hint?
yourusername: i don’t know you tell me?
kimiantonelli: PLEASE DON’T PROPOSAL WITHOUT US THERE
jackdoohan: that is a threat
olliebearman: bagsy being a bridesmaid
isackhadjar: i know someone who can get you the eiffel tower?
gabrielbortoleto: omg my first wedding party !!!
carlossainz55: let’s all slow down for a second - i will propose but you little devils will not be involved…
yourusername: but they’re so cute 😢
carlossainz55: maybe… but only because i love you
fin.
note: kinda on fire today? i will be crashing in like two hours so i had to be productive while i could be
64.media.tumblr.com
White Horse - Chapter 12: January 2024
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, Me trying to write therapy sessions, Oscar being a lost little duckling.
As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble
It was still early when Isabelle woke, the pale winter light just beginning to slip through the windows. The apartment was hushed and still, the kind of quiet that usually came after a heavy snowfall — though Monaco was too warm for that kind of magic.
She padded out of the bedroom, still half-asleep, wearing one of Max’s sweatshirts that hung past her fingertips. Jimmy and Sassy trailed after her lazily, Lilly darting ahead like a tiny, excited shadow.
It wasn’t until she rounded the corner into the living room that she froze.
There, sitting in the corner, overlooking the harbour…was a piano.
But not just any piano. A baby grand.
It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t ornate.
It was warm, polished wood — beautiful and simple and steady, like everything Max touched.
The keys gleamed in the soft morning light, waiting.
Isabelle blinked hard, as if she might be dreaming.
There was no giant bow. No sign, no dramatic announcement. Just the piano, standing quietly, like it had always been meant to be there.
Like Max had known she would find it this way — in the quiet, when she was still soft and unguarded and half-wrapped in sleep.
She took a hesitant step forward, breath catching in her throat.
There was a small note propped against the music stand.
For you, Belle. Always for you. Love, Max.
Isabelle pressed a hand over her mouth, the tears coming hot and fast.
She crossed the room slowly, reverently, sinking down onto the bench. Her fingers hovered over the keys, shaking slightly.
It had been so long.
So long since she had allowed herself to want something without permission.
So long since something had been given to her without conditions, without expectation.
Just love.
Quiet, steady, unshakable love.
She pressed a key — soft, uncertain — and the note rang out, warm and clear, filling the apartment.
Behind her, she heard Max’s quiet footsteps.
He didn’t say anything, didn’t make a scene. He just wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin lightly on her shoulder.
"You deserve to have something that’s just yours," he murmured against her hair. "You always have."
Isabelle closed her eyes, the tears slipping down her cheeks freely now.
"I love you," she whispered, her voice cracking.
Max tightened his hold around her, steady and safe.
"I know," he said softly. "I love you too."
And Isabelle, sitting there with Max’s arms around her, her hands resting on her very own piano, finally believed it:
This life — this home, this love — was hers.
Not because she earned it. Not because she proved anything.
But simply because she was her.
Max’s arms remained around her, his warmth seeping into her skin as he rested his chin lightly on her shoulder. The soft echo of the single note she had played still hung in the air, but now, Isabelle felt a pull inside her, a quiet yearning to play something more.
Something just for herself.
She didn’t know where the courage came from, but it settled in her chest, gentle and slow.
With a shaky breath, Isabelle’s fingers moved to the keys again, more assured this time. She played a few more notes, her fingers awkward but familiar, like the rhythm was coming back to her slowly, like a memory she’d forgotten she had.
The melody was simple — a soft, gentle tune she used to play when she was younger, when she could escape into music without thinking of anything else. It was the first song she had learned, back when she’d felt light, before everything had gotten complicated.
Max’s arms tightened slightly around her as she played, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t interrupt. He just watched her, his eyes soft, as though she was doing something precious — as though she was gifting him something sacred.
Isabelle’s fingers danced slowly over the keys, a little uneven but full of heart, a fragile kind of beauty to the imperfect notes. The song wasn’t perfect. It was quiet, tentative, but that was okay.
She didn’t need to be perfect. Not right now. Not with him.
***
The building wasn’t intimidating.
It wasn’t cold or sterile or echoing like she half-expected.
It was just a quiet house with a blue door and a neat little garden out front, where someone had hung tiny bells from the trees. They tinkled in the breeze — soft, low, like a heartbeat.
Still, Isabelle’s hands were sweating.
She almost didn’t go inside.
She could so easily just turn around, pretend she’d gotten the date wrong, pretend—
No.
She wrapped her arms around herself, closed her eyes for a second, then pushed the door open.
The waiting room smelled like lavender. There were cozy chairs. A stack of puzzles on a low table. A woman behind the desk smiled at her — not a fake, forced smile, but a real one, warm and inviting.
"Hi, Isabelle," she said gently. "You can head right in. Second door on the left."
Isabelle nodded, throat too tight to say anything, and walked down the hall on shaky legs.
The therapist — Simone — was sitting in a wide armchair, a notebook balanced on her knee, wearing jeans and a knitted sweater. She looked more like someone’s favorite aunt than a stranger you were supposed to spill your soul to.
Still, Isabelle’s pulse thudded painfully against her ribs as she sank into the couch across from her.
"Take your time," Simone said, smiling. "We’re not in a rush."
Isabelle twisted her fingers together in her lap.
"I don’t really know how to do this," she blurted out.
Simone chuckled softly, not unkindly. "Most people don’t at first. That’s okay. You’re already doing it, just by showing up."
Isabelle blinked rapidly, her throat burning.
She hadn’t even done anything yet and she already felt like she might cry.
"Why are you here today?" Simone asked, her voice like a soft blanket.
Isabelle swallowed hard.
"Because..." Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Because I keep giving and giving, and it’s never enough. Because I bend myself into pieces trying to be what everyone else needs, and it’s still not enough."
Simone nodded, patient.
"And how does that make you feel?"
Isabelle let out a brittle, broken laugh.
"Small," she whispered. "Invisible."
The words tasted like blood and freedom all at once.
Simone didn’t flinch. She didn’t rush to fix it. She just sat with it, with her.
For the first time in a long time, Isabelle didn’t feel like she was crazy or dramatic or ungrateful.
She just felt... seen.
Over the next hour, she talked more than she thought she would. About Christmas. About her brothers. About the way she always tried to be good enough, even when she knew it would never matter.
She cried — ugly, gasping tears that embarrassed her — but Simone just handed her tissues and nodded, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
And when it was over, when Simone said "We’ll figure this out together, at your pace," Isabelle didn’t feel magically fixed or healed.
But she did feel a little lighter.
Like maybe she had put down one tiny piece of the weight she’d been carrying alone for too long.
When she walked out into the late afternoon sunlight, her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Max: Proud of you, schatje. Come home. I’m making tea.
Isabelle smiled, the first real, unforced smile she’d felt in days. Her chest still hurt. Her eyes were raw.
By the time she made it up the stairs to the apartment, her body felt heavy.
Not in the bad way, like it sometimes did after her family — no sharp shame slicing through her, no desperate scrambling to be more.
Just… tired.
Like she had finally let herself breathe and her bones didn’t quite know what to do with it.
The door swung open before she could even fish her keys out.
Max stood there, barefoot in sweatpants and an old hoodie, his hair a mess, like he’d been pacing or half-listening for her steps all afternoon.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Didn’t ask how was it, didn’t push for answers she didn’t know how to give yet.
He just opened his arms.
Isabelle didn’t think. She went straight into them, dropping her bag by the door, burying herself in the safe, solid line of his chest.
Max hugged her like he meant it. Like he wasn’t going anywhere.
He kissed the top of her head, slow and lingering, and murmured, "Tea’s ready."
She let him guide her gently inside, his hand warm and steady at the small of her back.
The living room was already set up — a big blanket draped across the couch, two steaming mugs on the coffee table, her favorite candle flickering in the corner. It was simple. Ordinary.
But somehow, it felt like the most extraordinary thing in the world.
Max handed her a mug and pulled her down onto the couch without letting go, tugging the blanket over both of them.
He didn’t say anything else — didn’t ask for explanations, didn’t try to "fix" her.
He just sat there with her, thigh pressed to thigh, his fingers slowly tracing mindless patterns over the back of her hand.
Isabelle took a shaky sip of tea. Chamomile, of course.
She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes.
And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she had to do anything to be loved.
She could just be.
Tired. Quiet. Raw.
Still loved.
Max pressed another kiss to her hair, then rested his cheek against the top of her head, like they had all the time in the world.
"You’re doing good, Belle," he murmured. "Really good."
A tear slipped free before she could catch it, landing hot against her cheek.
Not from sadness.
Not from exhaustion.
From hope.
She curled closer into him, letting herself be small, letting herself be held — no strings, no expectations.
***
Date nights at home had become Max’s favorite thing.
There was something about the quiet — no cameras, no pressure, just Isabelle curled up in one of his hoodies, bare feet tucked under her on the couch, the cats sprawled everywhere — that made Max feel more at peace than anywhere else in the world.
Tonight, after dinner and a movie, they were sitting on the living room floor, surrounded by empty plates and a half-finished bottle of wine. Sassy was asleep on the back of the couch. Jimmy was passed out belly-up by the coffee table. Little Lilly was chasing a stray sock like it was her mortal enemy.
It was perfect.
Until Isabelle turned to him, a mischievous glint in her eye.
"I want to try your sim," she said, like it was the most reasonable idea in the world.
Max blinked at her. "You... what?"
"You learned to ride a horse for me," she pointed out, nudging his knee with her foot. "The least I can do is try racing."
He stared at her, torn between immediate amusement and something warmer — because God, he loved her mind, the way she thought everything should be balanced, even when it absolutely didn’t have to be.
"You really don’t have to," he said, laughing.
"I want to," Isabelle insisted, already getting to her feet. "I’ll probably be terrible. But it’s only fair."
Max pushed himself up, grinning. "Okay, schatje. But don’t say I didn’t warn you."
Setting her up in the sim was half the fun.
She was too small for the seat, so he adjusted everything — pedals, steering wheel height — while she sat there pretending to be very serious, like this was a championship-deciding race and not just a bit of fun at home.
When she finally settled in, gripping the wheel with comically stiff hands, Max had to bite his lip to stop from laughing.
"Relax," he said, reaching over to gently adjust her hands. "You’re not trying to strangle it."
"I’m focused," she said with faux dignity.
"Sure you are," Max chuckled, stepping back.
He queued up a simple track — Monza. Long straights, easy corners. Should be safe.
Famous last words.
The lights went green, and—
Isabelle immediately floored the throttle, spun the car in a perfect 360, and smashed straight into the pit wall.
Max burst out laughing so hard he had to lean against the sim rig.
Isabelle sat there, blinking at the crumpled virtual front wing, utterly unimpressed. "That was... fast."
"You crashed before you even crossed the start line," Max wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes.
"Technical victory," she deadpanned. "I established dominance early."
He laughed even harder, stepping in to restart the session.
The second attempt wasn’t much better. She fishtailed through the first corner, cut across the gravel, and sent a string of bright orange cones flying into the air like fireworks.
Max could barely breathe from laughing.
"You’re worse than a rookie in a rental kart!" he managed to choke out, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.
Isabelle rolled her eyes, adjusting her seat with far too much concentration. "I have zero control sensitivity. I’m delicate. I’m used to steering horses, not turbocharged lawnmowers."
"You’re not delicate," Max laughed. "You’re a menace."
She turned to look at him, arching a brow. "You learned to canter. I can figure this out."
"Eventually," Max said, still grinning like a complete idiot.
He watched her with endless fondness as she barreled down a straight and completely missed her braking point, flying into a gravel trap again.
And the crazy part was — he loved this. Loved her. Loved that she didn’t care about being bad. Loved that she laughed just as much when she failed as when she succeeded.
She wasn’t trying to impress him. She was just... being with him. Sharing something. Meeting him where he lived, the way he had met her on horseback.
He crossed the room and crouched beside the rig, grinning up at her.
"You know," he said thoughtfully, "given your last name, I really thought you’d be better at this."
Isabelle stuck her tongue out at him and spun the car in another glorious, out-of-control loop.
"I contain multitudes," she declared, laughing.
Max laughed too, reaching up to pull her down into a kiss, his hand curling around the back of her neck.
"You’re perfect," he murmured against her mouth. "Even if you drive like an absolute disaster."
She kissed him back, smiling against his lips.
And honestly?
He wouldn’t have changed a thing.
***
Meanwhile on Twitter:
@/iracingwatchdog: uhhhh i just spotted max verstappen on a random iracing lobby and guys… GUYS. he’s driving like he’s never raced a car before 😭
@/iracingwatchdog: he just spun out entering the pit lane. THE PIT LANE.
@/iracingwatchdog: bro he’s oversteering like a maniac and braking about 10 years too late at every corner… i am concerned.
@/iracingwatchdog: MAX JUST FULLY MISSED TURN 1 AT MONZA AND BARELY EVEN TRIED TO RECOVER
what is happeninggggggg
@/iracingwatchdog: i swear to god this is either max trolling or he’s drunk there’s NO WAY this is real
@/raceweekpanic: are we SURE it’s max?? because the way this person is cornering looks like they’ve literally never played before
@/simteaworld alternative theory: one of the cats is driving 🐾
@/wheel2wheeltrash: nah imagine it’s his girlfriend or something trying it out for fun and none of us know 😭😭😭
@/SimRacingWorld: Can someone explain why Max Verstappen is driving in iRacing like he’s had 5 Red Bulls and no sleep??
@/f1teaaccount: ok so is max drunk, sick, or secretly letting a 5-year-old play because what am i WATCHING
@/verstappenupdates
HES SPINNING IN THE PIT LANE
I REPEAT
SPINNING
IN
THE
PIT
LANE
@/f1shenanigans: someone check on max like actually… he's driving like he’s never seen a car before 😭
@/paddockinsider: lowkey worried about max until i realized he’s probably messing around because he can
@mclarensupremacy
I’m starting a conspiracy theory that Sassy the cat is driving the sim rn and honestly it would explain a lot
***
Team Redline Stream Transcript
Luke Crane: (mock seriously) Max. We need to talk about yesterday.
Max: (laughing) Oh no. What now?
Gianni Vecchio: You know what. iRacing. Monza. Turn one. The pit lane. The gravel. Every single lap.
Chris Lulham: Bro, you spun in the pit entry and then reversed into the tire wall!
Gianni: We were watching it like, “he’s trolling,” but then it just kept getting worse.
Chat:
OMG HERE WE GO it was SO BAD max what happened max blink twice if you're ok were you racing blindfolded???
Max: (shaking his head, laughing) Okay, okay, listen… I wasn’t driving.
Chris: WHAT???
Luke: Excuse me??
Max: It was my girlfriend.
Chat:
AHHHH LMFAOOOOOOO she drove like a GTA NPC 💀 MAX WTF who is she 👀👀👀👀👀
Gianni: YOU JUST LET HER ON YOUR SIM?? UNSUPERVISED???
Max: I was right there! I was… supervising.
Luke: Max you call that supervision?? She took out a traffic cone on the straight.
Max: In her defense, she did say, “I don’t understand how people drive these turbocharged lawnmowers.”
Chris That’s a direct quote???
Max: Dead serious.
Chat:
crying turbocharged lawnmowers 😭 please marry her
Luke: So what, this was like a date night?
Max: Yeah. She said I learned to ride a horse for her, so she wanted to try racing. It was very… chaotic. But fun.
Gianni: How long did she last?
Max: Like an hour. I lost count of how often she crashed. Then we gave up and had dessert.
Chat:
real love 😭 i want what they have MAX YOU’RE WHIPPED tell her she’s welcome on track any time 😂 WHO IS SHEEEE
Luke: Okay but seriously… is she available for endurance races?
Max: Only if you want the race to end in flames. And a very dramatic DNF.
Chat:
FIA: investigating 10 second penalty for Max for emotional damage LET HER DRIVE AGAIN
Gianni: Okay but imagine she gets decent. We’re never hearing the end of it.
Max: (smiling) She doesn’t have to be good. She just wanted to try something that matters to me. That’s enough.
Chat:
😭😭😭 soft max is best max he’s IN LOVE i’m crying in sim rig
Gianni: Okay but next time we need a stream of this. For science.
Max: Absolutely not.
Chris: Chat: you know what to do. We’re starting a petition.
***
Charles liked running in the early morning. It was one of the few times Monaco felt quiet, like the city hadn’t quite opened its eyes yet. The sea breeze was cool, the streets were still, and the only sound was the rhythmic slap of his sneakers against the pavement—and Arthur huffing beside him.
“Don’t start sprinting again,” Arthur muttered between breaths. “It’s not a race.”
“You’re just slow,” Charles shot back with a grin.
They rounded a bend near the marina, heading up toward the promenade, when Charles caught sight of a familiar figure running toward them.
He blinked. Squinted. Then blinked again.
“…Is that Isabelle?”
Arthur straightened, peering ahead, his expression one of surprise. “Huh. Yeah.”
Isabelle was wearing leggings, a pale blue top, hair tied up, earbuds in. She looked… like someone who ran regularly, which was completely confusing. Since when had she been a runner?
Charles slowed his pace, waving her down as she approached.
When she reached them, she pulled out one earbud, her pace naturally easing. “Bonjour.”
Charles frowned. “What are you doing?”
Isabelle looked at him, unimpressed. “Running.”
“No, I mean—since when do you go running?” he pressed, still confused.
She blinked at him like the question was absurd. “Since always? You don’t own the rights to early morning runs, Charles.”
Arthur, who had been quietly observing, now chimed in, still catching his breath. “You run…?”
“Yeah,” Isabelle said with a shrug, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist. “I run. It’s good for you.”
Charles narrowed his eyes, skeptical. “You’ve never said anything about this before.”
Isabelle shrugged again, eyes darting between the two of them as if she was trying to decide how much of her life to explain. “You’ve never asked. I do Pilates too.”
Arthur blinked, still processing. “You do Pilates?”
Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “It’s good for my posture.”
“Since when?” Charles asked, sounding more bewildered with every word.
She gave him an unamused glance. “For a long time. I don’t broadcast everything about myself, Charles. Some things are private.”
Arthur was too stunned to respond, still panting. Charles stared at her as though he’d just discovered a completely different side of her he didn’t know existed.
“Where are you coming from?” Arthur asked, the question escaping before he could stop it.
Isabelle tilted her head, looking at them both like they were ridiculous. “Up near the gardens. Looped around twice.”
“Alone?” Charles asked, though there was a strange note in his voice — part concern, part disbelief.
Isabelle shot him a look that was sharper than he expected. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Before Charles could respond, another figure appeared from around the corner. Jogging steadily, sunglasses on, effortlessly matching Isabelle’s pace — it was Max Verstappen.
Charles’s jaw dropped as Max closed the distance between them, barely acknowledging either of them. Isabelle, as if the meeting of their gazes was the most normal thing in the world, smiled at him, still catching her breath.
“You dropped your pace on the last hill,” Max teased, grinning at her.
Isabelle rolled her eyes, clearly amused but playing it cool. “Only because you were chasing me.”
Max laughed, his tone warm and easy. “You were running like you were being hunted.”
Charles’s mind was racing. He turned to Arthur, then back to Max and Isabelle, his confusion deepening.
“Wait,” Charles said slowly, blinking, his words coming out slower than usual. “You… run together?”
Both Isabelle and Max spoke at the exact same time, their answers almost synchronized.
“No,” Isabelle said, a little too sharply.
“Not really,” Max added, shrugging with the same indifference.
Arthur blinked, staring at the two of them like he was waiting for the punchline to a joke he didn’t understand.
Charles’s frown deepened. He glanced at Arthur again, back to Max, and then to Isabelle. He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly lost for words. “Uh… okay.”
Isabelle had already popped her second earbud back into her ear, casually starting to jog away without waiting for a response. Max fell into step behind her, matching her pace without even looking back at Charles or Arthur.
“Monaco’s small,” Isabelle said casually, almost too casually, over her shoulder. “You’re bound to run into people.”
Max added, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Yeah. Total coincidence.”
Charles and Arthur watched them jog off, completely baffled. The faint sound of their footsteps fading into the distance left a lingering silence between them.
Arthur blinked. “Did… did you know she runs?”
“No,” Charles replied, shaking his head, still not sure if this was real life. “I didn’t.”
Arthur paused, frowning deeply. “Did she just… blow us off?”
Charles was still staring down the promenade where Isabelle and Max had disappeared. “I think she just did.” ***
Leclerc Brothers Group Chat
(Members: Arthur, Charles and Lorenzo)
Charles: Lorenzo, you will NOT believe what happened this morning.
Arthur: seriously
Arthur: prepare yourself
Lorenzo: what now 😭
Charles: we went for a run this morning
Charles: like normal
Charles: and we ran into ISABELLE
Arthur: RUNNING.
Charles: like properly Charles: workout gear Charles: earbuds Charles: focused
Lorenzo: ?? Lorenzo: What do you mean, running? Lorenzo: like… going somewhere or actual jogging??
Arthur: actual jogging Arthur: with proper form and everything Arthur: she even looped around the gardens twice
Lorenzo: SINCE WHEN DOES ISABELLE RUN???
Charles: EXACTLY we asked her and she just said “i’ve always liked it”
Arthur: she also said she does pilates Arthur: FOR HER POSTURE
Lorenzo: pilates??????????
Charles: i don’t even know what’s happening anymore
Arthur: why do i feel like she has five other secret hobbies and we’re just going to find out by accident
***
The room was the same — the quiet lavender smell, the cozy armchairs, the soft hum of a heater in the corner.
But Isabelle felt different.
Still nervous. Still shaky sometimes.
But a little less like she was walking into battle without armor.
Simone smiled at her, that same calm, steady smile that made it easier to sit down, to breathe.
"Last time," Simone said, crossing one leg over the other, "we talked about how much of your energy goes into taking care of everyone else. Your family in particular."
Isabelle nodded stiffly, hands twisted in her lap. It still hurt, even just hearing it out loud.
Simone leaned forward slightly, her voice soft but sure.
"I think it’s time to give you a little homework."
Isabelle's stomach twisted. She hated getting things wrong. Hated disappointing anyone.
But Simone must have seen the panic flash across her face because she smiled again, reassuring.
"This isn’t about getting a gold star, Belle," she said. "This is about learning where your responsibility ends and theirs begins."
She slid a small notepad across the coffee table.
Written at the top in neat, careful handwriting was a simple title:
“What am I responsible for? What am I not responsible for?”
Isabelle stared at it.
"I want you to start separating what's yours and what's theirs," Simone explained. "When your brothers expect you to fix Christmas dinner, or smooth over a fight, or carry their happiness—whose job is that, really?"
Isabelle swallowed hard. It sounded so simple when Simone said it. But it felt impossible, tangled up inside her chest.
"I don't know how to say no," she admitted in a whisper. "It feels... selfish."
Simone’s expression softened even further.
"Setting boundaries isn’t selfish," she said. "It’s self-respect. It's saying, I love you, but I also love myself."
The lump rose thick in Isabelle’s throat.
"For next time," Simone continued, her voice like a balm, "I want you to practice two things. First, notice when you feel resentful — that’s usually a sign a boundary is being crossed. And second..." She smiled gently. "Practice saying no. Even if it's just small things."
Isabelle let out a shaky laugh.
"I don't even know how to say no."
"You'll learn," Simone promised. "And when you do, you’ll realize the world doesn’t end. The right people won’t leave. And the wrong ones? Maybe it's okay if they get uncomfortable."
Isabelle stared down at the notepad, the words blurring slightly.
What am I responsible for? What am I not responsible for?
It felt terrifying. It also felt a little bit like hope.
Maybe she didn’t have to spend the rest of her life bending herself into shapes that hurt just to keep everyone else comfortable.
Maybe she could love her family — and still choose herself.
Maybe she could belong to herself first.
When the session ended, Simone walked her to the door with another reassuring smile.
"I know it’s scary," she said. "But you’re doing something incredibly brave."
Isabelle nodded, her heart hammering against her ribs.
And as she stepped out into the crisp winter air, notebook clutched tightly in her hand, she whispered to herself, barely audible:
"I deserve to take up space."
By the time she got home, Isabelle’s head was buzzing.
Not in the good way — not like excitement or energy — but heavy and slow, like she’d been carrying a backpack full of bricks all day.
The notepad from therapy was stuffed into her bag, the words “What am I responsible for?” still flashing in her mind.
She didn’t want to mess this up.
She didn’t want to be a disappointment — not to Simone, not to Max, not to herself.
The apartment smelled like dinner. Something warm, maybe pasta, simmering on the stove. She could hear Max humming under his breath from the kitchen, the low, tuneless kind of hum he only did when he was completely relaxed.
It made her chest ache.
Part of her wanted to collapse into him. To let him pull her into his arms and make everything quiet again.
But another part — a new part, small and shaking but there — whispered:
You’re tired. You need space. It’s okay to need something.
Isabelle hovered by the door for a second, her heart hammering. She could picture it already — Max’s face falling if she said no, the guilt swamping her, the inevitable backpedaling—
Max isn’t them, she reminded herself. Max loves you.
Still, her throat was dry when she said, "Max?"
He appeared around the corner, wiping his hands on a towel, smiling wide.
"Hey, schatje! How was—"
"I’m really tired," Isabelle blurted out before she could lose her nerve. "I don’t... I don’t think I can talk about it tonight."
She twisted her hands together automatically, bracing herself.
For disappointment. For hurt. For the shift in the air that always came when she wasn't exactly what someone wanted her to be.
But it didn’t come.
Max blinked, then immediately softened.
"Okay," he said simply.
No anger. No guilt-tripping. No but I made dinner or but I want to hear about it.
Just okay.
He crossed the room and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, careful like he knew she might break.
"Go get comfy," he said. "I’ll bring you a plate later, if you’re hungry."
And then — impossibly — he just went back into the kitchen, humming again, like it really was that easy.
Isabelle stood frozen in the doorway, something hot and unfamiliar prickling at her eyes.
He didn’t leave. He didn’t get mad. He didn’t make her feel like she was selfish for needing space.
He stayed.
The right people won’t leave.
Simone’s words echoed in her mind.
She didn’t have to earn her place here. She already had it.
Isabelle slipped into the bedroom, pulling on one of Max’s old hoodies, and crawled under the blankets. The exhaustion hit her fast now, uncoiling from the inside out — the good kind, the safe kind.
Just as she was drifting off, she felt the edge of the mattress dip.
Max’s hand slid under the blanket, finding hers.
He didn’t say anything. He just laced their fingers together, warm and steady.
And Isabelle, for the first time in a long, long time, fell asleep without feeling like she owed anyone anything.
Just loved.
Exactly as she was.
***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie
Emilie: Hey 💛 just checking in on you. How’s everything going?
Isabelle: Hi 🥹 I’m okay. It’s been… a lot.
Emilie: How’s therapy?? are you still going?
Isabelle: Yeah. I’ve had three sessions so far. It’s weird but good? I cry basically every time though.
Emilie: That’s not weird. That’s called “having emotions”, which you’re allowed to have, by the way 🫶
Isabelle: It’s just strange… to have someone actually ask about me and listen. Without making me feel like i’m being dramatic or selfish
Emilie: Because you’re NOT being dramatic or selfish. You’re just finally being heard. You deserve that, Belle, always have.
Isabelle: 🥹 Stop, you’re going to make me cry again…
Emilie: Cying is healing.
Emilie: You got any homework yet?
Isabelle: Yes. I have to practice “setting boundaries”... aka saying no without feeling like the earth will swallow me whole
Emilie: That sounds hard. But also?? You’re literally one of the strongest people I know. You can do this.
Isabelle: Thank you. Isabelle: Seriously, I don’t know what i’d do without you
Emilie: Probably still be apologizing for existing 💀
Isabelle: rude but true
Emilie: rude but said with love 💛
Emilie: I’m so proud of you, Belle. Emilie: like genuinely proud Emilie: doing the work is hard and you’re doing it anyway… that’s HUGE
Isabelle: Thank you Isabelle: it still feels messy most days but i don’t feel as stuck as i used to
Emilie: Good Emilie: because you’re meant to move and grow and thrive not stay trapped where they left you
Isabelle: i love you 🥹
Emilie: love you more 🫶 Emilie: also if you want to bail on family events ever again just say the word… I’ll stage a fake emergency for you anytime
Isabelle: emotional support getaway driver
Emilie: anytime. no questions asked 😌
***
He wasn’t even supposed to be there.
He’d gone to the grocery store because he was craving sour candy and he was bored — winter break was weird like that. Quiet. Too much time to think. Too much space to accidentally run into people you didn’t expect.
People like Max Verstappen.
Lando spotted him near the bakery section first.
And he didn’t clock it immediately because Max was just... standing there.
Looking normal.
Poking at a loaf of bread.
Holding a shopping list.
And not just any list — a handwritten one.
With little loopy letters.
With hearts over the i’s.
Lando froze.
No. No no no.
He hung back behind a display of discount panettone, peering around it like he was in a bloody spy movie.
Max was seriously grocery shopping. Like full-on, responsible adult grocery shopping.
Reusable bags. Price comparing brands of oat milk. Muttering something under his breath about "the blue cap one" being the one she liked.
She.
Lando’s stomach flipped.
He knew exactly who "she" was.
It was one thing to know Max and Isabelle were secretly together — a horrifying truth he and a select few others carried like a ticking time bomb.
It was another thing entirely to witness Max being... domestic.
He watched, slack-jawed, as Max tossed three different kinds of cat treats into the cart. Max. Verstappen. Choosing cat treats based on flavor preferences.
This was like spotting a lion delicately picking wildflowers.
Lando stared in horror as Max doubled back toward the dairy section, checking off items on his list with actual focus.
And — worse — smiling.
SMILING.
In the dairy aisle.
He ducked further behind the panettone display as Max approached, humming to himself under his breath — humming — like someone’s bloody husband.
Lando felt like he was watching a nature documentary. “Here, we observe the once-wild Max Verstappen in his natural habitat... the household aisle.”
He was still staring, frozen in existential terror, when Max looked up — and spotted him.
Their eyes met over a crate of oranges.
Lando gave a weak wave. Max raised an eyebrow like you good?
Slowly — calmly — Max pushed his cart toward him, totally unbothered.
"Forgot the sour candy, didn’t you?" Max said, smirking, like he could read his mind.
Lando nodded mutely, heart pounding.
Max tossed a bag of sour gummies into Lando’s basket — how the hell did he even know which ones Lando liked? — and said casually, "Don’t forget the fizzy ones. Belle likes those."
Belle.
BELLE.
Lando was spiraling internally, but he managed to squeak out, "Thanks," like a semi-functioning human being.
Max just grinned, patted the side of Lando’s basket like he was proud of him, and went back to selecting oat milk.
Lando stood there for a solid minute after Max disappeared down the aisle, trying to remember how to breathe.
***
Group Chat: HELP ME
(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo and Carlos Sainz Jr.)
Lando: guys Lando: GUYS
Oscar: what did you do
Lando: I just ran into max Lando: grocery shopping Lando: in MONACO
Daniel: ok? and?
Lando: NO. YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. Lando: HE HAD A LISTLando: AND TWO REUSABLE BAGS
Carlos: ...domesticated verstappen???
Lando: LIKE FULLY. Lando: he was holding a shopping list with her handwriting Lando: you know that girly loopy handwriting that screams “i color code my entire life” Lando: he was comparing products Lando: like price comparing
Daniel: I’m sorry is he...budgeting?? 😭😭😭
Lando: and he had cat treats Lando: THREE kinds Lando: one was fancy and he said “the little one likes the fish flavor” Lando: I’M PRETTY SURE HE MEANT THE KITTEN
Carlos: I can’t. I physically can’t. this is too much
Daniel: so we’re just casually accepting that max verstappen is out here being someone’s wife
Oscar: someone = isabelle… and we’re all going to die when charles finds out
Lando: do you think he’ll find out via grocery store gossip or die of shock first
Carlos: I’m still convinced max will just forget and casually say “I’m going home to belle” in front of charles and then disappear from existence
Oscar: disappear as in “dragged into the sea by Charles”
Daniel: ok but like we’re not going to tell charles right??? we’re just...vibing in terrified silence?
Lando: OBVIOUSLY
Lando: do I look like I have a death wish
Lando: the point is max was like smiling in the dairy aisle
Daniel: ew
Oscar: actually adorable
Carlos: horrifying
Lando: I swear he said “she likes the oat milk one with the blue cap” like it was a normal sentence Lando: I swear to god max has memorized her milk preferences
Oscar: this is worse than I thought
Daniel: this is SOFT max. we are witnessing rare footage.
Carlos: and when charles finds out we’re all getting hunted for sport
Lando: I’m buying a burner phone and changing my identity
Oscar: do we have a code word for “charles found out and is currently loading a very expensive revenge plan”
Daniel: I vote for “we’re going to karting”
Lando: no he’ll definitely follow us to karting
Carlos: I hate how real this all feels
Oscar: I’m scared
Daniel: as you should be
***
The café was tucked into a quiet street just outside the old town, all warm wood and soft sunlight. Isabelle arrived ten minutes early, notebook in hand, nerves tucked just beneath her ribcage.
She had worn a skirt and a simple, soft blouse — elegant but understated. Not stiff. Not corporate. Something that felt like her.
Daniel was already there when she arrived, seated at a corner table, waving her over the second he spotted her. Beside him sat a man with silver-streaked hair and warm eyes, dressed in a well-worn linen shirt and tortoiseshell glasses.
“Isabelle,” Daniel said, standing to greet her. “So good to see you again.”
He kissed her cheek in the French way, smiling genuinely. “This is my husband, Jules. Jules, this is the one I’ve been raving about.”
Jules smiled as he shook her hand. “So you’re the woman who saved our villa from becoming an Ikea catalogue. I’ve heard stories.”
Isabelle laughed, surprised. “I didn’t do much.”
“Oh, he lies,” Daniel said smoothly, sitting again. “You did everything.”
They chatted for a few minutes — light, easy — over coffee. Then Daniel pulled a slim leather portfolio from his bag and slid it across the table.
“The property,” he said. “We closed two weeks ago. It’s not a huge place, but it’s old, and charming, and in desperate need of someone with taste.”
Jules leaned in. “We want to keep the bones. No gutting. No flattening history just to make it sleek. We want to live in it — with it — not bulldoze it into something else.”
Isabelle flipped through the photos: stone floors worn smooth with time, shuttered windows, exposed beams, a crumbling courtyard begging for sunlight and life.
It was beautiful.
Quietly, undeniably beautiful.
She looked up. “This is lovely.”
“Exactly why we thought of you,” Daniel said, eyes lighting up. “You understood our last place before we even did. You made it feel like it had always been that way. And we’re hoping… you might do the same here.”
Isabelle hesitated, just for a beat.
Not because she didn’t want it.
But because, for the first time, it would be her name on the contract. Not Atelier Renard. Not a faceless firm. Just Isabelle Leclerc.
She drew a slow breath. “I’d love to take it on.”
Jules smiled like they’d just won the lottery. “Fantastic.”
“We’d like to do this properly,” Daniel added. “You send over your contract, your terms, your timeline. Whatever you need. No middlemen.”
No middlemen.
It echoed in her chest like a bell.
They wanted her.
Isabelle smiled, a real smile, warm and sure.
“I’ll have everything to you by Monday,” she said. “Thank you, both, for trusting me.”
Daniel raised his cup of coffee. “To new beginnings.”
Jules clinked his gently against hers.
And Isabelle sat there in the sunlit café, feeling something settle in her chest — not nerves, not dread, but something else.
Belonging.
Not borrowed. Not background. Not earned through endless overwork.
Just hers.
***
The kitchen smelled like coffee and something sweet — Max had left pastries out for them before heading off to the simulator for the afternoon.
Jimmy was asleep in the sunbeam by the window, Sassy perched on the back of the couch supervising the room like a queen, and Lilly, the kitten, was zooming around chasing a toy.
And for the first time in a long time, Isabelle didn’t feel... trapped.
She felt nervous.
Excited.
Hopeful.
Emilie sat at the table across from her, tapping a pen against the notepad between them.
"Okay," Emilie said, dramatic, "your empire needs a name."
Isabelle laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in weeks. "I wouldn’t call it an empire."
"Yet," Emilie corrected, grinning. "But give it a few years."
Isabelle shook her head fondly. "It's just a small thing. One single freelance project."
"One single amazing freelance project," Emilie said pointedly. "You deserve to put your name on it. Make it real. Make it yours."
Isabelle hesitated, tapping her fingers against her coffee cup.
She hadn't really thought that far ahead. It had been enough just to start — just to admit she didn’t want to do what everyone else expected anymore.
Now it was real.
"So," Emilie continued, flipping the notepad to a fresh page. "What do we want it to sound like? Fancy? Minimalist? French? English?"
Isabelle thought for a long moment.
"Simple," she said finally. "Something clean. Not... showy. Just... mine."
Emilie nodded. "Got it. Let's brainstorm."
They went through a dozen terrible ideas first — most of them jokes.
"Isabelle Designs" ("Sounds like a Disney princess is doing your kitchen.") "Leclerc Interiors" ("Too many racing people will show up expecting a trophy room.") "Isabelle’s Spaces" ("Cute, but also sounds like a daycare.")
They laughed through all of them, Isabelle feeling her chest loosen a little more with every bad suggestion.
After a while, Isabelle leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen against the pad.
"I kind of like the idea of using just a letter," she said slowly. "Something small. Private. Like... a little piece of me, but not all of me."
Emilie lit up.
"Okay. Like... 'Studio something'? Studio I?"
Isabelle wrinkled her nose. "Studio I sounds like a bad iPhone prototype."
Emilie snorted into her coffee.
"What about B?" Isabelle said quietly after a second. "For Blanche. For... for the parts of me I don’t want to lose anymore."
She expected Emilie to tease her, to say it was too sentimental.
But Emilie’s face softened instantly.
"Studio B," she said aloud, like she was tasting the words. "Simple. Clean. Yours."
Belle smiled — small, but real. Warmth bloomed in her chest.
Studio B.
It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t loud. It was hers.
"Studio B," she repeated, like she was daring herself to believe in it.
Emilie reached across the table, squeezing her hand.
"I love it," she said. "It’s perfect. Just like you."
Belle squeezed back, feeling a tear slip down her cheek before she could stop it — but it wasn’t a sad tear. It was something else. Something brighter.
This was hers. Finally, truly hers.
And she wasn’t going to let anyone take it away.
***
Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie
Max: Hey. Max: can you keep a secret?
Emilie: absolutely not. Emilie: but i’m listening. 👀
Max: I want to get Belle an engagement ring.
Emilie: MAX. EMILIAN. VERSTAPPEN. Emilie: IT’S ABOUT DAMN TIME
Max: Is that my full government name?
Emilie: It is when i’m screaming at you with love and excitement
Emilie: also—finally???
Max: Can you help me?
Emilie: Yes. Obviously. Emilie: Give me five seconds.
Max: Wait, what do you mean five seconds?
Emilie: [link] Emilie: this is a google doc i made six months ago: “Operation: Ring for Belle 💍🧁🐎”
Max: six MONTHS???
Emilie: You think i didn’t plan for this??? Emilie: Max, i’ve been emotionally preparing since June 2023
Max: …there are chapters
Emilie: Yes. Emilie: Chapter 1: styles she likes Chapter 2: what not to do (i.e. no silver, no dainty bands, and for the love of god nothing with hearts) Chapter 3: yellow gold & emeralds — because she literally cried once over a vintage emerald ring on instagram Chapter 4: sizing info — she’s a 50. Tab 5: sentimental inscriptions ideas (don’t look unless you want to sob)
Max: I’m scared and grateful
Emilie: As you should be Emilie: I take best-friend duties very seriously
Max: I want it to be right. Max: She deserves the right one.
Emilie: You’re already the right one, Max. Emilie: The ring’s just the bow on top.
Max: Thank you. Really.
Emilie: Anytime. Now go look at chapter 6. It’s where i’ve shortlisted ethical jewelers with custom design options. And yes, i’ve already contacted three of them for quotes.
Max: You terrify me.
***
Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase
Max: Hey. Quick question.
GP: usually not what you lead with when it’s actually a quick question
Max: Do you know anything about engagement rings?
GP: … what
Max: like buying one?
GP: Max
Max: yeah?
GP: are you asking me for engagement ring advice
Max: Yes.
GP: So you’re really doing it?
Max: Yeah. I’m gonna ask her.
GP: wow
Max: Is that a bad wow or a good wow?
GP: It’s a holy shit the kid grew up wow.
GP: and also a little bit of i’m emotionally unprepared for this wow
Max: you and me both
GP: Do you have any idea what kind of ring she’d want?
Max: Belle’s best friend gave me a Google Doc
Max: yellow gold emerald no silver no hearts nothing dainty she has opinions
Max: so like is there anything else I need to know? like when you bought your wife’s ring did you do something special? or is there a secret protocol I don’t know about
GP: Okay first of all GP: No one gives you a ring briefing before this GP: You’re just supposed to panic and hope you survive
Max: Fantastic
GP: secondly GP: Buy something that feels like her, not something that looks like everyone else’s.
Max: That’s helpful actually.
GP: Also make sure the setting won’t catch on her sweater sleeves or a horse’s reins or a cat collar or anything chaotic in her life
GP: You’re gonna be fine, Max. She’ll say yes. Belle loves you like mad.
Max: I love her like mad too
GP: I know GP: You’ve got this, champ.
Max: Thank you.
GP: Good luck GP: And send me a picture of the ring… for purely professional telemetry reasons
Max: Thanks, GP. You’re the best.
***
It started innocently enough.
Max had been the one to mention it, offhand, while they were having coffee one morning. "Oscar’s moved into Monaco properly now. He’s hopeless though. Doesn’t know where anything is."
Belle had laughed, imagining Oscar wandering the winding streets, politely stubborn, somehow getting even more lost.
But then, a few days later, she actually ran into him — standing outside a bakery near La Condamine, looking deeply confused and holding his phone at arm’s length like it had personally betrayed him.
She hesitated.
Watched him look like a lost little duckling.
Then sighed.
And crossed the street.
"Oscar?" she called gently.
He turned, immediate relief washing over his face. "Oh, hi! Uh—yeah. I’m… a bit lost."
Belle smiled, amused. "Where are you trying to go?"
"This coffeshop Lando mentioned. It’s like…orange?" he said sheepishly, questioningly. "Or at least I was. Now I’m not sure."
"You're two neighborhoods off," she said kindly. "Come on. I’ll walk you."
And somehow... that turned into the whole day.
Oscar was, as it turned out, endearingly awkward when he wasn’t behind the wheel of a car.
Polite. Curious.
Asking a thousand questions about bakeries, markets, hidden cafes, and which parts of town weren’t secretly tourist traps.
Isabelle didn’t mind.
In fact, she kind of… liked it.
She pointed out her favorite patisserie tucked between two apartment buildings — "best croissants in the city, no competition" — and the tiny flower shop where she bought fresh eucalyptus when she needed to clear her head.
She showed him the quieter marina, the one tourists didn’t know about, where the locals walked their dogs early in the mornings.
The secret bookstore hidden in an alley, where the owner always kept a stack of English novels in the back.
Oscar listened to all of it, nodding like he was mentally cataloguing every detail.
At some point, without either of them noticing, she started giving him advice.
"You need to learn the local market schedules. The Thursday one near Place d’Armes is the best for produce."
"Don’t bother driving on Grand Prix weekend. Just walk. It's faster and less stressful.”
"If you get lost, find the cathedral. It’s the easiest landmark to navigate from."
Oscar listened intently, nodding along, asking the occasional polite question.
At one point, standing on a sun-warmed stone stairway overlooking the harbor, he turned to her and said, almost out of nowhere, "I didn’t think I’d feel so out of place here."
Belle softened instantly.
"It’s normal," she said. "Everyone pretends Monaco’s easy. It’s not. It’s beautiful, but it can be... lonely too."
Oscar nodded, like that made more sense than anything he’d heard so far.
By the time they looped back near his building, Belle realized she had somehow collected Oscar like an extra pet — somewhere between Jimmy the cat and the tiny Bengal kitten they’d adopted weeks ago.
She didn’t mind.
Oscar was quiet, easy company.
And he had the kind of polite stubbornness that reminded her a little too much of herself at his age.
"You have a lot of notes," she teased, glancing at his phone.
"Survival guide," he said seriously. "Belle's Rules for Monaco."
She laughed. "Rule number one: Don't try to drive through the old town during tourist season."
He nodded solemnly. "Rule two: Always bribe the bakery lady with compliments."
"And rule three," Belle said, pretending to be serious, "If you get lost, just call me."
“This was really nice. Thanks, Belle.”
She blinked. “It’s no problem.”
“No, really.” He smiled, shy and genuine. “You didn’t have to do this. You’re, like, busy and important.”
Isabelle laughed softly. “I’m not that important.”
Oscar shrugged. “This helps. It makes it feel a little more like... home.”
Something warm settled in Isabelle’s chest.
“Good,” she said quietly. “That’s what it’s supposed to feel like.”
He smiled at her — wide and open and completely unguarded — and Isabelle decided, then and there, that she would keep an eye on him.
Not because he needed it.
But because everyone deserved someone who noticed when they needed a map, or a croissant, or just a quiet corner of the world to feel like they belonged.
Especially someone like Oscar.
***
Max found Belle curled up on the couch when he got home, one leg tucked underneath her, her laptop balanced precariously on the armrest, a cup of tea cooling beside her.
Jimmy and Lilly were tangled up at her feet, Sassy perched regally on the back of the couch like a disapproving queen. It was, Max thought, his favorite kind of scene: quiet, domestic, theirs.
He toed off his shoes, dropped his bag by the door, and made his way over to her.
"Long day?" he asked, leaning over to press a kiss to the top of her head.
Belle hummed in response, a soft smile tugging at her mouth. "Not bad. Eventful."
Max raised an eyebrow and flopped down beside her, draping his arm lazily across the back of the couch. "Eventful how?"
She closed her laptop with a click, setting it aside, and turned to face him fully.
"I ran into Oscar today," she said. "Outside La Condamine."
Max snorted. "Lost, was he?"
Belle smiled, fond and a little exasperated. "Completely. Poor guy looked like he was one wrong turn away from accidentally ending up in Nice."
Max laughed, low and warm, tugging her a little closer against his side.
"And let me guess," he said, grinning. "You adopted him."
Belle blinked innocently. "I just helped him find his way."
"You gave him the tour, didn’t you?"
"Maybe," she admitted, nudging him playfully with her shoulder. "Showed him where to get good coffee. The decent bakery. The secret bookstore."
Max shook his head, amused. "You gave him the locals only map. Schatje, you realize he’s yours now, right? He’s going to follow you around like a duckling."
Belle rolled her eyes, but her smile stayed. "He needed help."
Max watched her quietly for a moment — the way her hands moved absently, soothing Lilly as the kitten climbed onto her lap, the way she tilted her head like she was already mentally planning the next dozen things she could do to make Oscar's life easier without even thinking about it.
And something in his chest twisted.
Because he saw it then — saw the way Belle stepped into the spaces other people left empty. How she mothered, and guided, and steadied, without expecting anything in return.
She should have been someone’s safe harbor years ago. Should have been celebrated for it. Cherished for it.
Instead, her brothers — the ones who should have known — had treated her like she was invisible. Like she was just there, background noise to their louder, shinier lives.
Max’s fingers tightened slightly around her hand without meaning to.
Belle looked up, sensing the shift immediately. "What?"
"Nothing," he said, kissing her knuckles lightly. "Just thinking."
"That’s dangerous," she teased, eyes sparkling.
Max chuckled, but the weight stayed in his chest.
"You’re good at it," he said after a beat. "Being a big sister."
Belle blinked, startled.
He smiled, soft and real. "Oscar’s lucky you found him."
Her cheeks flushed a little, and she ducked her head like she didn’t know what to do with the compliment.
Max tugged her closer, until she was tucked under his arm properly, her head resting against his shoulder.
"You deserved better, you know," he said quietly, threading his fingers through hers. "From them."
Belle didn’t say anything — didn’t have to.
He could feel it in the way she leaned into him, the way her grip tightened just slightly, like she was holding onto the words she couldn’t quite say out loud.
Max kissed the top of her head again, lingering there.
She wasn’t invisible here. Not with him. Not anymore.
And if she wanted to collect stray drivers and teach them how to survive Monaco, Max would let her.
Across town, Oscar was probably still saving her emergency contacts into his phone, none the wiser that he'd just been unofficially adopted by Monaco's fiercest secret weapon.
***
Group Chat: HELP ME
(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo and Carlos Sainz Jr.)
Oscar: Guys. I think I accidentally got adopted by Belle today.
Oscar: It’s weird though? like she just helped me all day today?? Showed me around, got me coffee, told me which parts of monaco not to die in… like it was NOTHING
Carlos: Because that's just Isabelle.
Oscar: She’s SO NICE… like ridiculously nice
Carlos: Yep. Carlos: she’s the best of them
Oscar: and her brothers just forget she exists half the time????
Lando: it makes me SO MAD
Daniel: it’s so fucked up honestly Daniel: like how do you have someone like belle in your family and not treat her like a national treasure???
Oscar: They don't deserve her
Lando: They really don’t Lando: sometimes i think about it and it makes me actually want to fight them***
Masterlist 💖
Requests: Open!! 😼
started this for the lolz idk how max verstappen seduced me into writing fanfic again 10 years after my last piece (a one direction wattpad classic at age 12), with a full time job and living on the opposite side of the globe but here we go 🏎️🏎️ do NOT repost/translate my writing I only post on tumblr so lmk if u see anything sus 🤨
MAX VERSTAPPEN (F1) X READER.
♥️ Into It - smut, romantic
the one where you’re trying to seduce your loving, sweet boyfriend into giving it to you good and rough.
READ PART ONE HERE (4k word count)
READ PART TWO HERE (4k word count)
READ PART THREE HERE (2.5k word count)
♥️ Dark Paradise - smut, dark
the one where innocent virgin!reader has been pining after her older brother’s best friend!Max.
READ IT HERE (5.5k word count)
♥️ Wicked Games - smut, toxic
the one where you hate playboy! Max after he broke your heart in a toxic situationship, but you two can't stay away from each other.
READ IT HERE (3.1k word count)
♥️ Friends - smut, dark
the one where innocent, virgin!reader asks childhood best friend! Max to help her get a boyfriend.
READ IT HERE (3.3k word count)
♥️ Popular - smut, enemies to lovers
the one where reporter!reader apologises to Mad Max after always pissing him off in interviews for the views.
READ IT HERE (4k word count)
♥️ What You Need - smut, dark
the one where innocent virgin! Reader recently started dating RB driver, Daniel. But it’s his younger, faster and richer ex teammate Max who treats you better - and he won’t stop until you’re all his.
READ IT HERE (4k word count)
♥️ Gods&Monsters - smut, dark
the one where you’re Lewis’s innocent sister, and are desperate to be a driver. Even if it means obediently following the coaching of your family's enemy, Max Verstappen.
READ IT HERE (3.4k word count)
♥️ Earned It - smut, romantic
the one where you and your devoted husband, Max, are happily married with your three pets for years. One night, he surprises you by bringing up the topic of having a real baby.
PART ONE (5.7k word count)
PART TWO (7k word count)
♥️ Low Life - smut, dark
the one where Mad Max decides to get back at his antagonising boss by using his precious bratty daughter who's promised she'll save herself for marriage.
READ IT HERE (5.2k word count)
♥️ Into You - humour, romantic
the one where you’re Max Verstappen’s new race engineer. Great news for women in motorsport! There’s just one problem though…you’ve been secretly in love with the Dutchman for years.
READ IT HERE (3.2k word count)
♥️ Just Hold On, We’re Going Home - smut, romantic
the one where you and your fiancé, Max, grew up under the weight of demanding fathers. After a bad race where Max ends up in a low place mentally, you know how to make him feel better.
READ IT HERE (3.1k word count)
♥️ Cuffing Szn - smut, romantic
the one where you find your beauty under harsh scrutiny from Max's fans when you go public. He uses a rather…hands on method to prove you have nothing to worry about.
READ IT HERE (3.3k word count)
♥️ Streets - smut, humour
the one where you’re the exasperated PR Manager for notorious playboy!Max. But when you’re sick of cleaning up his PR messes, he offers a very practical solution to your problem.
READ IT HERE (4.7k word count)
♥️ Double Fantasy - smut, dark
the one where you’ve landed your dream job as a FIA executive as Toto Wolff's pretty daughter. You’re eager to become Lando’s girlfriend…until he hands you over as an apology gift to Max.
READ IT HERE (5.6k word count)
♥️ Haunted - smut, enemies to lovers
the one where you're Mercedes' new rookie driver, and your very late presentation makes your relationship with your rival, Max, turn upside down. Omegaverse AU
PART ONE (5.4k word count)
PART TWO (10k word count)
♥️ Girls Need Love -smut, romantic
the one where you’re Carlos’ younger sister, the inexperienced, shy princess of your family. But when you meet his friend Max, you can’t hold back your want anymore…and neither can he.
READ IT HERE (5k word count)
♥️ High For This - smut, dark
the one where you're Ferrari's princess and often fight the Dutch Lion in wheel to wheel battles. But on a night out, you find there's something in the air (or in your drink) that makes you give into secret desires for your rival, Max.
READ IT HERE (3.7k word count)
♥️ You Belong To Me - smut, dark
the one where you’re Charles’s baby sister, and have always had a crush on his childhood friend, Max, until he becomes your bully and worst nightmare. Now, years later, you meet again…and this time he won’t let you escape.
READ IT HERE (9k word count)
♥️ You Get Me So High - smut, dark
the one where you're a strategist for McLaren, and have plotted up many a plan that lead to Redbull's downfall this year. Max Verstappen isn't fond of your schemes, so when you fall into his sinful world of pleasure and partying, he can't resist a chance to ruin you completely.
READ IT HERE (4.1k word count)
♥️ Sweet Like Candy - smut, dark
the one where Max’s interest is finally peaked after months of boredom - by a angelic looking camgirl with a mouth of sin. Just wait till he finds out that you were the ex teammate’s sister he’d always assumed to be shy and innocent.
READ IT HERE (3.8k word count)
♥️ Paradise - smut, dark
the one where after retiring from his successful racing career, Max Verstappen goes on to be team principal of his equally successful racing team. Too bad he just can't stop thinking about putting his star racer - you - out of commission permanently by getting you pregnant.
READ IT HERE (1.8k word count)
♥️ Devilish - smut, mafia! au
the one where you're the people's princess, as the daughter of the Mayor of Monaco. And you're determined to put your family's enemies behind bars - the infamous Verstappen mafia. But there's a fine line between love and war...and you learn this the hard way with Max Verstappen, the Dutch Leuuw.
READ IT HERE (9.5k word count)
♥️ Birthday Sex - smut
the one where you're Max's best friend and are determined to find him the perfect birthday present since he's spoilt you every year on yours. Just when you're ready to give up, inspiration strikes when you overhear him complaining about the one thing he wants in bed.
READ IT HERE (3.3k word count)
♥️ Unforgettable - smut, dark
the one where Max trains his innocent best friend to take him perfectly. Too bad you had no idea how far your beloved childhood friend had taken you training, given how you were usually peacefully asleep in his bed when he began.
READ IT HERE (4.2k word count)
♥️ Slow Down - smut, Twitter! AU
You and Max Verstappen have recently gone public with your relationship, a true enemies to lovers tale as Redbull’s golden boy and Ferrari’s princess. The public still think it’s all a PR scam…until your sex tape gets leaked. Your fans lose it!!
READ IT HERE
♥️ Vegas, Baby - smut
You and Max both take racing victories in Vegas 2024, you winning your first F2 race and Max of course taking his 4th WDC. What better way to congratulate your good friend and teammate than rewarding him with post race sex at the club after party?
READ IT HERE
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
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.
***
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.”
redeemed | lando norris part 6
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a/n: hope you're all enjoying how this 'series' is turning out! if you have any ideas or would like something to happen, everything is welcome—even feedback. thanks for the love! <3
years ago 2021
lando
liked by danielricciardo and 239,912 others
lando: A good night
tagged: yourusername
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user1: OH MY GOD THEY’RE BACK???
user2: seeing Lando and Y/N together again is healing me 😭
user3: my emotional support friendship is ALIVE
user4: this post is giving 2019 energy and I love it
user5: their friendship is literally goals, don’t let this ever fall apart again pls
youbff: a historic moment. a monumental reunion
maxfewtrell: about time. Do I get credit for this???
carlossainz55: did she finally forgive you or did you just annoy her into hanging out again?
mclaren: We approve of this post 🧡
user6: It’s crazy how seeing them together again makes me feel like all is right in the world
user7: okay but how long before people start overanalyzing this? 🤭
user8: this better not be temporary, I suffered enough last time
user9: Next step: a Twitch stream collab. MAKE IT HAPPEN PLSSS
yourusername posted stories
yourusername
liked by maxfewtrell and 97,762 others
yourusername: Familiar faces, good times ❤️
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user1: THEIR FRIENDSHIP IS BACK I’M SOBBING
user2: bet Lando’s gf is punching the air rn 💀
user3: soft launch of the comeback era???
maxfewtrell: Finally, some peace in the world
carlossainz55: good to see you two acting normal again… I think?
user4: max is the #1 cheerleader for this reunion 💀
lando: relax
user5: He said ‘relax’ but he’s smiling SO hard in this pic
user6: Lando’s gf bout to deactivate after this one.
lando posted stories
lando
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lando: Some things don’t change
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user1: IT IS Y/N? RIGHT??? 👀
user2: noooo, that's y/n???
user3: your gf saw this and threw her phone across the room
user4: maybe is gf???
danielricciardo: oh we’re being mysterious now?
user5: lando posting like a man with something to say but not saying it 😭
user6: we’re gonna do the ‘are they / aren’t they’ thing again, aren’t we?
user7: he literally has a girlfriend??? wdym😭😭
user8: i’m scared to look at his gf’s likes rn
lando's pov
maxfewtrell posted a story
lando's pov
taglist @hadesnumber1daughter @harrysdimple05 @royaleaxis @angelluv16 @formulaal @chezmardybum @freyathehuntress @taylorrrrrrrrrrswiftttt @azuramicah @anayaverse @awritingtree @norrisainz33 @rbv3rstappen @clemson20 @mintdde0nu @blushmimi @atsumubabe @irisesinthegarden @screamingwines @starrxxgirl @thegalaxyisunfolding @taylorrrrrrrrrrswiftttt @kathenaaa @apollos-arc @mxm47max @geometric-circle @goldenharrysworld
tamed - max verstappen (1/4)
୨ৎ : pairing : max verstappen x fem!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : you're a top pr manager tasked with handling the infamous max verstappen, known for his fiery temper and controversial outbursts
୨ৎ : genre : romance, angst, humor ୨ৎ : tws : mild language, unserious bantering, suggestive humor, mentions of alcohol consumption. ୨ৎ : wc : 935
part one | part two | part three | part four | epilogue
You adjust your blazer, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles, and take a deep breath. Today's the day you finally meet Max Verstappen, your new and arguably most challenging client. As one of the top PR managers in the biz, you've handled prima donnas and hotheads before, but something tells you Verstappen is going to be a whole new level of difficult.
You stride into the Red Bull Racing headquarters, the polished floors and sleek design a stark contrast to the grit and grime of the racetrack. You're led to a sterile conference room, the air conditioning humming a monotonous tune. You settle into a chair, the leather cool against your skin, and pull out your meticulously crafted PR plan.
The door swings open abruptly, and in walks Max Verstappen. He's even more imposing in person than on screen. Tall, lean, with those intense blue eyes that seem to pierce right through you. He throws himself into a chair across from you, his expression a mix of boredom and irritation.
"So," he drawls, "you're the one they hired to babysit me."
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "I'm your new PR manager, Max. I'm here to help you manage your public image."
He scoffs. "Like I need help with that."
"Everyone can use a little help," you say calmly, meeting his gaze. "Especially when you have a tendency to say whatever pops into your head."
His eyes narrow. "Are you saying I'm stupid?"
"Not at all," you reply smoothly. "I'm saying you're... impulsive. And sometimes, impulsivity can lead to... PR nightmares."
He leans back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. "And you think you can control me?"
"Control you? No," you say with a slight smile. "But I can help you channel that energy, that passion, into something positive. Something that will make your fans love you even more."
He raises an eyebrow. "And what's in it for you?"
"A challenge," you admit. "And the satisfaction of knowing I helped tame the beast."
He lets out a short, harsh laugh. "Tame the beast, huh? Good luck with that."
You spend the next hour outlining your PR strategy. You talk about social media engagement, charitable partnerships, and even suggest some media training to help him handle those pesky interviews. He listens with a detached expression, occasionally interrupting with a sarcastic comment or a dismissive wave of his hand.
Just when you think you're making some headway, he drops a bombshell.
"Look," he says, leaning forward, "I appreciate the effort, but I'm not interested in changing who I am. I say what I think, I do what I want, and if people don't like it, that's their problem."
You take a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure. "Max, I understand that you value your authenticity, but—"
"Authenticity?" he interrupts, his voice rising. "You want authenticity? Fine. Here's some authenticity for you: I think this whole PR thing is a load of crap. I don't need you, or anyone else, to tell me how to behave."
He stands up abruptly, sending his chair scraping against the floor. "If that's all, I have a simulator session to get to."
He turns to leave, but you stop him. "Max, wait—"
He pauses, glancing back at you with an impatient frown.
"Just one thing," you say, holding his gaze. "You might not think you need me, but I'm here to stay. And sooner or later, you're going to realize that I'm not just some PR puppet. I'm here to help you, whether you like it or not."
He stares at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, a slow smile spreads across his face.
"You're feisty," he says, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "I'll give you that."
He turns to leave again, but just as he reaches the door, he pauses and looks back at you over his shoulder.
"Oh, and one more thing," he says, his voice low and husky. "Don't get any ideas. This is strictly professional."
And with that, he's gone, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding and a strange mix of frustration and anticipation swirling inside you.
You gather your things, a flicker of annoyance in your eyes. Max's arrogance is almost comical. He'll learn soon enough that you're not just some yes-man, here to stroke his ego. You're here to make him shine, whether he likes it or not.
As you exit the conference room, your footsteps echo in the hallway. You're about to head back to your temporary office when you hear voices drifting from a nearby room. It sounds like Max, his voice laced with that same dismissive tone he used with you.
Curiosity piqued, you slow down, your footsteps barely making a sound on the plush carpet.
"...told her I don't need some PR person breathing down my neck," Max is saying. "It's ridiculous. I know how to handle myself."
A chuckle from another voice, presumably one of his team members. "Yeah, well, good luck explaining that to Helmut after your last press conference."
More laughter.
"Seriously though," Max continues, "this whole thing is a joke. I'm not going to change who I am for some corporate sponsors or some uptight PR—"
He stops abruptly, and you hear the scrape of a chair. You realize you've been eavesdropping and quickly step away from the door, your heart pounding.
You continue down the hallway, your mind racing. So, Max thinks this whole thing is a joke, does he? He thinks you're just some "uptight PR person" who can't handle his "authenticity"?
You might not be able to change who he is, but you can certainly help him present a better version of himself to the world. And you're going to make him see that, even if it's the last thing you do.
© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.
max verstappen // mv1 fic recs
———————————— 🏎️🏎️ ————————————
one shots
misunderstood hero with a heart of gold - @harrysfolklore
“max verstappen has never been one to read books, but everything changes when he comes across a pretty booktuber who describes him better than anyone else did before”
two sides of the same coin - @monzabee
“the one where you try to convince yourself that you’re not falling for your teammate, but can’t help it when you realise that he is not that different from you after all”
a small request - @postracehair
“even world champions deserve love letters. after missing the mexico gp, you're determined to see max have a good weekend in brazil. maybe all it takes is a handwritten note”
my world (champion) - @italiangirlcoresblog
“the aftermath of the las vegas grand prix with max”
vegas baby - @neferaskingdom
“after winning his fourth world championship, max verstappen stuns the world with a live radio proposal”
work it out - @maxverstappendefender
“mclaren!rival x mv1 (max and reader had a little friends to enemies action, but they are stuck together now. maybe they will work out their issues...)”
the interview - @pucksandpower
“when you are given an assignment to interview someone, you can’t resist asking your boyfriend to be the subject … it’s just a shame that your professor doesn’t believe the interview actually happened”
christ-max - @harrysfolklore
“you invite your boyfriend max to spend christmas with you for the first time, however, your family doesn't quite believe you're dating a formula 1 world champion”
connection - @katsu28
“when a holiday gala that neither you nor max want to be at brings two people from vastly different worlds together, you find out that you might have more in common with the four time world champion than you think you do”
disturbing the peace - @pucksandpower
“an environmental activist disturbs the carefully constructed peace of max’s life and turns his whole world on its head (or in which environmentalism and being a menace both run in the vettel family)”
series
the yapping hour is upon us - @motorsportbarbie13
“in which max decides that maybe doing interviews isn't such a bad thing”
keep on rolling - @vivwritesfics
“lando's best friend having feelings for anyone on the grid? impossible, right? she worked with them, sharing her friendship with the grid with the world via the formulay/n youtube channel”
forbidden - @motorsportbarbie13
“in which you reconnect with an old friend, much to the dismay of your brother”
tamed - @jungwnies
“you're a top pr manager tasked with handling the infamous max verstappen, known for his fiery temper and controversial outbursts”
smau
she’s everything, he’s max - @menagerofmischief
“y/n leclerc starts soft launching a man and soon enough there are paparazzi pictures of the two of them except no one quiet believes that the princess of monaco would settle down with ... max”
we can’t be friends (wait for your love) - @fqlling4it
pt 2
friend of a friend - @norrisainz33
“max meets his dream girl through his friends good friend, pato o’ward”
put it all on red (bull) - @astonmartinii
“her brother won the race? does she know? does she care?”
crying in the club - @pomegranatesarchive
“how should one react when their boyfriend wins the world championship at the same time their brother loses it?”
max & the three musketeers series - @verstarppen
“mercedes’ is just a tiny bit worried about your dates with their archnemesis; once mick, lewis and george caught a whiff of your treason, they had to intervene and stop the villain from stealing their princess”
*these are part of my fic rec masterlist, please note none of these are written by me and the author of each story had been tagged! check out my f1 fic rec masterlist for other drivers!*
stream madness pt. 2
Lando Norris x Reader
Summary: Lando Norris embraced his now-public relationship as a chance to openly and unapologetically adore his girlfriend. Fans saw it as a win—though it came at the cost of Max F constantly getting roped into their antics.
Words: 4.8k
Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, suggestive dialogue
Protect Max
Fans were absolutely loving how Y/N had become a bigger part of Max’s streams. They got to see a side of her they’d never caught on social media and beyond the glimpses from the paddock with Lando.
It was just another day of chatting and gaming for the two during a break between races, the pair sat in an ever familiar room in Lando's place in Monaco, but with him absent as Max had mentioned he went out for training.
"We just agreed on not using grenades you cheat! Lando's rubbing off on you way too much. I don't like it" Max exclaims as his character on Counterstrike once again, gets killed by Y/N less than a minute into the round.
"Oh go cry about it Max, just admit I'm better than you" Y/N smirks as she grabs her water bottle to take a sip
"You cheated! I got absolutely knocked by that"
"Fine! You big baby, no grenades this time, promise" Y/N groans as they start another round
"they're so sibling coded" "not bob getting dethroned from being Max's gaming partner" "she's so gonna beat Max again this round"
“Okay, chat, no need to rub salt in the wound—by the way, I was the one who taught you how to play, you should be grateful—shit!”
Max was mid-sentence when Y/N sniped him, knocking him out of the game and securing yet another win—this time, fair and square.
“The student becomes the master,” she smirked, leaning back in her chair, clearly enjoying the moment.
"What's going on here?" the mic picks up Lando's voice before he even enters the frame.
"I'm absolutely dominating on counterstrike—did you just get back?" A playful smile spreads across Y/N's face as Lando walks into the room, standing behind her chair and gently massaging her shoulders.
"I've already showered and everything. Been here the past 30 minutes, you two were too busy bickering—I could hear you all the way down the hall," Lando chuckles, looking down at her with a cheeky grin.
He leans in, but Y/N quickly shifts away, avoiding the kiss.
"You're avoiding my kisses now?" Lando teases, his mouth hanging open in mock surprise.
"The stream, Lan..." Y/N mutters, a little pout on her lips, making Lando laugh softly.
"Alright baby, for our eyes only, yeah?" Lando smirks, leaning back down while reaching for the camera, his hand covering it just in time to hide their kiss.
"Hello?! My eyes! My eyes! What about Max’s eyes?!" Max's shout makes the two burst into laughter as Lando pulls his hand away, revealing Max’s face, twisted in utter disgust.
"lol poor max" "bet he misses P a lil extra today" "i think im going to cardiac arrest they're so cute"
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Snitches get stiches
The night before testing in Bahrain, Lando hopped onto Max’s stream for a few rounds, confident as ever. After absolutely schooling Max, he decided it was time to call it a night, shutting down his setup and stepping away.
What he didn’t step away from, however, was the chat.
Curled up in bed, phone in hand, Lando lurked—dropping smug messages every few minutes. No matter how much Max tried to ignore him, chat was loving it, egging Lando on as he tormented his friend from the shadows.
" 'Just take the L—' Mate, I did take the L. You’re the one still lurking in chat," Max laughed, shaking his head as yet another message from Lando popped up. "You have testing tomorrow, by the way."
Then, a new message appeared.
"Ed said he let you win this morning."
Max smirked, grabbing his phone. Without a word, he held up a finger to the camera and pressed dial. The stream went quiet as he waited. After a few rings, a familiar voice came through the speaker.
"Hey, Y/N, you alright? Sorry if I woke you. You’re in Bahrain with Lando, yeah?" Max finally said, his grin growing wider at the thought of absolutely snitching on his best friend.
"Hey, Maxie. No you're good, just in the other room catching up on work. Lando went to bed about an hour ago. Everything okay? Do I need to wake him up?" Y/N sounded concerned.
"Yeah, 'bout that... he’s wide awake, actually—just finished streaming golf with me. Wouldn’t leave my chat."
The pause on the other end was almost too satisfying. Max leaned back, waiting patiently, his smirk never fading. The sound of rustling and soft footsteps had him turning up the volume, bringing his phone closer to the mic. He even covered his mouth, stifling his laughter, determined to catch this golden moment in all its glory.
"bro is cooked" "oh no she's mad" "not max snitching on lando AGAIN"
"You’ve got testing tomorrow, Lan." "Fucking snitch, Max! Grow up!" Lando’s voice barely made it through, muffled. "You said you were going to bed an hour ago," Y/N said, clearly not amused. "Baby, I am in bed," Lando mumbled, his tone defensive. "You were just playing with Max—" "—For one round, my love. I’m in bed now, aren’t I?" "Don’t play me, Norris. Go to sleep, or I’m taking your phone away." “How am I supposed to sleep without you next to me, huh?” Lando’s voice was full of fake desperation, stretching the words out like he was pleading for a lifeline.
“Right, well, now I’m about to throw up,” Max interrupted, cutting through the conversation with his dry humour.
"Fewtrell, you knew better. shouldn't have entertained him when he asked you to play." "yeah that's right! you get him baby" "Didn't I say go to sleep? I'm telling Jon about this tomorrow" "This isn't over Max!" Lando manages to shout before the line cuts.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Taking her back
Lando, Max, and Y/N had been best friends long before Lando and Y/N started dating, and though Lando loved how well his girlfriend and best mate got along, there were times when his jealousy got the best of him.
"Baby, come on. You've been playing with Max forever!" Lando whined, his voice dripping with playful frustration. Both Y/N and Max paused their game, turning to see Lando dramatically sprawled out in the chair behind them, looking all sorts of pouty.
"Lan, you’ve been glued to your phone for the past two hours," Y/N teased with a laugh. "We’ve asked you to join us, like, a million times"
"That’s different!" Lando huffed. "I need you. Did you not miss me? It’s the first time we’ve seen each other in a week!" He gave them a puppy-dog look, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his adorable pout.
"A week’s not that long, mate," Max teased, unable to resist poking fun.
"Shut up, you dickhead. I wasn’t talking to you," Lando snapped back, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "You're only saying that because P’s been with you the whole time."
"Y/N is literally 6 feet away from you—" Max shot back, raising an eyebrow.
"—Yeah? And you’re about 6 feet away from getting punched," Lando retorted, his playful threat making everyone laugh.
"You’re so easy to wind up," Max said, shaking his head in amusement, clearly enjoying Lando's reaction.
"Very mature, you two," Y/N spoke up, watching the back-and-forth between Lando and Max with an amused smile.
"Baby, please, can we kick Max out? I need some me and you time," Lando groaned, rolling his chair closer to Y/N, his eyes full of exaggerated desperation.
"Lando, chat asked her to join my stream today," Max protested, raising an eyebrow. "You’re really gonna steal her away from them?"
"They’re stealing her away from me right now," Lando shot back, narrowing his eyes playfully at the camera.
"Alright, you big baby, one more round, then we'll leave Max alone," Y/N chuckled, turning to face Lando and gently running her hand through his hair.
"No. Now," Lando pouted, shamelessly showing just how needy he was, making Y/N laugh as she gave him a soft, teasing look.
"I'm about this close to bleaching my eyes and ears, mate," Max teased, smirking at the chaos unfolding.
"I'm about this close to kicking you out of my flat—" Lando leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at Max.
"—OKAY. Chat, my kids are throwing tantrums now, I think it’s time for me to go," Y/N sighed in defeat, sitting up straight with a playful roll of her eyes. "You two are impossible." She gave both of them an exasperated but affectionate look, knowing she’d have to be the voice of reason.
"boooo! not bob stealing y/n from us" "NOOO don't leave Y/N" "LN being selfish lol" "hes neeeedy"
Max let out a laugh as he read through the chat, clearly enjoying the chaos. "They're booing you, mate—yeah, chat! That's right! He’s stealing Y/N from us!" Max egged them on, his voice full of mischief.
Just as Y/N stood up from her seat, ready to leave, Lando grabbed her arm, pulling her back down onto his lap. He held her firmly by the waist, giving her a quick kiss.
Y/N gently shoved him, standing up again with a soft laugh, trying to hide the flustered look that had crept onto her face from his sudden move. Lando, now sporting a proud smirk, looked straight at the camera. "Gotta take my girl back now, chat," he said with a playful wink. "We’ll see you guys next time."
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Look at my girl
"Did you get the code? I sent it to you on WhatsApp," Lando said, setting his phone down and turning his attention back to his screen as he finished setting up the game.
"Yep, got it. We're using in-game mics, yeah?" Max replied, joining the lobby.
Before Lando could answer, a soft knock echoed through the room. He instinctively pulled off one side of his headphones, swiveling his chair to find Y/N standing by the door.
"I'm heading out now, bub" her voice carried through the mic, chat flooded with messages about how soft Lando’s gaze had just turned.
"Look at you all dressed up—where are you headed, my pretty girl?" Lando smirked, leaning back in his chair, eyes shamelessly trailing over his girlfriend.
A blush crept up Y/N’s cheeks as she shifted on her feet, slightly embarrassed by her boyfriend’s proud declaration. "I’m having lunch with Alex today, remember?"
"You look beautiful, my love," Lando murmured, his grin widening before turning back to his stream. "Chat, doesn’t Y/N look absolutely stunning?"
"Maate, start the bloody game!" Max groaned, dragging out the words in frustration.
Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Alright, Lan, I gotta go—they're arriving soon."
"Alex is picking you up?" Lando asked, tilting his head as he kept his eyes on her.
Y/N nodded. "Charles offered to drop us off at the restaurant. I'll bring you home food, and I’ll send you the menu when I get there."
Lando’s expression softened. "Have fun, my love. Text me if you need anything."
"Got it. Bye, chat—" Y/N smiled, giving a small wave as she stepped out the door.
"—What?! Hey, hey, no! Come back—baby, my kiss!" Lando whined, nearly pushing himself out of his seat, watching her leave with a dramatic pout.
She let out a playful groan but stepped back into the room, making her way toward Lando.
"Look at her, everyone—stunning," Lando grinned, taking her hand in his. "Alright, bye, gorgeous. Have a great time."
Y/N smirked, holding her hand up to the camera—mimicking the way Lando had covered it on a previous stream—before leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips.
"Thanks for that, Y/N, really appreciate the modesty," Max's voice rang through Lando's headphones, dripping with sarcasm. "Hope you do that to my eyes next time, yeah?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Don't look at my girl
Lando had been on Twitch for a good hour now, casually playing UNO with Max and a few other friends on who were on Discord. It was all easygoing banter, a way to kill time before diving into a more intense Tarkov session.
Y/N walked in not too long after, carefully balancing plates of food in her hands. Without looking up from his screen, Lando muttered a quick, “Thanks, love,” too focused on his cards to even glance her way.
It wasn’t until the chat suddenly exploded with rapid messages that his attention flickered toward the comments. His brows furrowed, eyes scanning the screen.
"hi Y/N" "okay hot mama!" "Y/N you look stunning babe" "can Lando fight?"
“‘Can Lando fight’—chat, what the fuck?” he scoffed, finally turning his head toward his girlfriend.
And then he saw it.
The slightly cropped, low-necklined tank top hugging her in all the right places, a sight he was very much happy to see, just not so happy to share with the rest of the world.
His reaction was instant. “Baby… where’s the rest of your shirt?” Lando whined, reaching out to tug at the hem of her top as if he could magically make it longer.
Y/N only laughed, swatting his hands away. “It’s literally just a tank top, Lando.”
“Yeah, and apparently, it’s starting fights in my chat.” He shot a glare at the screen before narrowing his eyes at her playfully.
As Y/N stood up, completely unaware of the way the camera was angled, she leaned forward slightly to grab something from behind the monitor.
Lando, ever vigilant with his quick reflexes, moved faster than ever, one hand darting out to cover her chest while the other reached for the mouse, ready to slam the stream off if necessary.
“Woah, woah—baby! Careful, please,” he blurted out, eyes wide as he practically shielded her from the world.
Connor’s laughter echoed through the call. “LN’s about to have a heart attack, mate.”
Y/N, finally realizing what had just happened, let out a soft laugh as she sat back down, napkins now in hand. “I was just grabbing these, bub. Calm down.”
Lando let out a dramatic sigh, clutching his chest like he’d just lived through a near-death experience. “Baby, please, I’m begging—could you put on a hoodie or something?” His voice was almost desperate, eyes flicking between her and the chat that was going absolutely feral.
Y/N raised a brow, arms crossing over her chest. “You’re overreacting.”
“Yeah, well, they’re not getting a free show,” Lando huffed, shooting a glare at the screen before rolling his eyes. With one last grumble, he finally turned his attention back to his game, picking up his fork to dig into dinner—all while side-eyeing the chat every few seconds.
Meanwhile, Max was wheezing through his mic. “I swear you just aged five years.”
Connor chuckled. “Bro’s fighting battles no one else can see.”
"still cant believe he was able to pull her" "Y/N leave him be with me" "she looks unreal" "lando better know how to fight"
Lando didn’t say a word, just stood up abruptly and rushed out of the room, leaving his friends confused as his turn in UNO was about to run out.
“Where’s he gone now?” Max muttered, clicking onto Lando’s stream, only to see Y/N sitting there, casually eating and playing in his place.
She simply shrugged, unfazed, taking Lando’s turn for him as she popped another bite of food into her mouth. A few seconds later, Lando reappeared, arms full, determination set on his face.
“Pick.”
“Huh?” Y/N blinked up at him, mid-chew.
“Pick one. Shirt, hoodie, or blanket?” He stood in front of her, dead serious, holding up the options like this was a life-or-death decision.
Y/N let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Baby, pick.” Lando repeated, unwavering.
“Lan, it’s really not that—”
Before she could even finish, he had already tossed the clothes onto the floor and made the executive decision himself, unfolding the blanket and draping it over her shoulders. “Right, blanket it is.”
Y/N sat there, wrapped up like a burrito, staring at him in amused disbelief.
Max was howling through the mic. “Mate, she’s looks like she's about to go to bed”
Lando glanced over at her, a proud grin spreading across his face as he admired his work. “There. Better,” he said, his tone smug but warm, clearly pleased with himself for making sure she was all cozy and covered up.
Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at how serious he was about it, “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” she teased, tugging the blanket a little lower, enough to free her hands.
“I’m just making sure you’re comfy,” he replied, his grin only widening. “Don’t want you catching a chill, do I?”
She shook her head, playfully rolling her eyes, but the smile she gave him was all warmth. “You’re something else, Lan.”
Lando only winked, clearly pleased with his efforts. “I try.”
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Rumour has it
It had only been a couple of weeks since Lando and Y/N had last been seen together in public, but the internet had exploded. Breakup rumors, theories about a fallout, and even claims of a “divorce era” started circulating among fans. Of course, Lando and Y/N found it all utterly ridiculous. But why not have a bit of fun with it?
Tonight, Max was streaming, and Lando was, as usual, by his side. The chat was absolutely flooded with questions and speculations, with fans wondering where Y/N had gone, why they hadn’t seen them together lately, and if they were still a couple. Usually, they wouldn't entertain it, but Lando couldn’t help but grin at the chaos as Max glanced at him, his face filled with mischief.
“Mate, you’ve been dodging questions for weeks now. People are asking if you and Y/N are okay. What's going on? Is it true? Are you in the ‘divorce era’ now?” Max teased, his voice full of drama.
Lando leaned back in his chair, groaning. “Oh don't even say her name around me. We're happily separated,” he said with exaggerated seriousness. He watched as the chat went wild, fans speculating whether he was joking or not.
"this is NOT funny im fighting for my life over here" "i honestly cant tell if hes serious pls" "stop asking ab their personal lives guys" "theyre clearly fine, look at him" "oh theyre fine lol"
Max laughed, clearly enjoying it. “Heard it here first chat, there you go”
Lando shrugged dramatically. “Sometimes, I still hear her voice"
Before Max could respond, the door behind Lando opened. Y/N walked in casually, wearing one of Lando’s hoodies, hair up in a messy bun. She stopped when she saw the camera, raising an eyebrow at Lando’s ridiculous grin.
“Hey, guys,” she said, giving the camera a casual wave.
"See! it's like she's still here” Lando pretends to wipe a tear
Max burst into laughter, while Y/N, confused as ever, attempts to read the chat. "Why are you guys talking about me like I've died?"
Lando looked at her with all seriousness. “Baby please. We're broken up remember, gosh keep up will 'ya"
Y/N nods, the expression on her face immediately switching from confused to locked in. "Oh— guys, being in this room right now pains me. I can't even look at him"
Max, lounging back in his chair with a smirk, couldn't help but shake his head. "You two were definitely eating up this breakup rumour stuff, huh?"
Lando and Y/N couldn't help but break, letting out small laughs at the comment. “Oh fuck yeah, we’ve been lying in bed, giggling like idiots, reading threads and watching tiktoks about it,” Lando said, acting like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“We purposely stopped liking each other’s posts and hid from the public" Y/N grinned, “And had so much fun doing it,” she added, sticking her tongue out at the camera.
Max threw his hands up. “You lot deserve an Oscar for this shit”
Lando, still grinning, nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, mate, you’re telling me— I had Carlos knocking at my hotel room at three in the fucking morning after reading some random breakup article online.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Not so subtle
It was well past 1 AM, but Lando was still wide awake, glued to his Twitch stream, deep into another round of Tarkov with his friends. The chat was slowly saying their goodnights, viewers logging off one by one—but Lando? He and the guys were more awake than ever, already planning a few more rounds like the night had just begun.
Y/N was not one to stop Lando from enjoying his alone time, but it was getting late. She had just finished yet another episode of her go-to comfort show—but sleep still hadn’t come. With a glance at the clock and a sigh, she finally got up, padding toward the other room. Maybe she could convince Lando to get some rest… or at least come fill the cold, empty space beside her.
“Baby… it’s late, come to bed.”
Y/N’s soft voice barely stood a chance against Lando’s, drowned out by his rapid-fire strategy talk and the sharp bursts of gunfire from his game. He didn’t even flinch, too locked in, too focused.
It wasn’t until she stepped closer, bathed in the soft glow of his monitors, that the chat began to stir, messages flooding in at the sight of her. Only then did Lando pull off one side of his headset, glancing up at her with a lazy smile.
“Hi, gorgeous. Thought you were asleep already,” he murmured, seamlessly giving out directions to his teammates in the same breath.
“Couldn’t sleep… You should come to bed now. It’s late.”
“I know, baby. Just give me ten minutes, alright?”
“Bedtime for little Lando?” Connor teased, earning a chuckle from Max and an eye roll from Lando.
“Shut up, Connor."
Instead of leaving, Y/N plopped down in the free chair beside him, mindlessly scrolling through her phone. She barely noticed how time slipped by—until she glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes had passed since Lando promised he’d be done.
“Lan, it’s been 15.”
“10 more minutes, baby. Just a little longer,” he mumbled, eyes still glued to the screen.
"he's so stubborn lol" "poor y/n" "listen to ur gf pls lando, im sleepy but i have fomo"
Another 15 minutes passed, and Y/N, now visibly annoyed, let out a sigh. “Lando.” No pet name. Just his name. Max chuckled on the other end.
“Mate, I’d log off now if I were you. Y/N is scary when she’s tired and cranky.”
Lando glanced over, taking in her tired expression. “Baby, go to bed, you look exhausted… I’ll be there soon, okay? C’mere, gimme a kiss.”
Smooth. A clear attempt to buy himself a little more time.
Y/N gave him a blank stare, then simply nodded before standing up. No protest, no further attempts to drag him to bed. Instead, she turned to the stream with a small smile.
“Okay… goodnight, guys. Have fun playing with Lan. Goodnight, baby.”
Lando blinked, a little surprised that his plan actually worked. He grinned up at her, feeling triumphant, until she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, her lips barely brushing his ear as she whispered.
“I was gonna let you have me any way you wanted tonight… your loss.”
His smirk vanished instantly, his head following Y/N's trail, now exiting the room.
"WHAT DID SHE SAY OMG" "look at his face she definitely said something" "bro is cooked lmao" "lando fumbled baaad"
Beyond distracted by what his girlfriend just whispered in his ear, he misses an opponent causing Max to get killed in game earning a battering of complaints
"Gotta log off now guys, goodnight" Lando, without saying a proper goodbye, had managed turn everything off, leaving both the game and his stream in record breaking time.
Max, watching Lando vanish without a word, quickly put the pieces together as the chat exploded with teasing. Realizing he could save his friend from some serious trouble, Max cleared his throat and leaned into the microphone.
“Bet she’s got him in trouble now. He’s probably getting an earful for keeping her waiting.” Max grinned, adding, “Man’s gonna need a serious apology when he gets off. You know how it is—no escaping when she’s upset.”
Even the chat could pick-up how he's working extra hard to save the his best friends from a PR nightmare.
"Max working extra hard tonight" "LN and Y/N got Max sweating bullets lol his face" "Max being the bigger man, respect" "Theyre bout to hear an earful from max too after this"
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Shameless
Chat was going wild. It was a random Friday night, no announcements, yet, somehow, Lando had appeared with his own stream. Even Max, mid-game, was caught off guard when the messages started rolling in, asking him to play with Lando.
Lando, sitting in his chair, still looked like he had just stepped out of the shower, his hair damp, he wore a matching grey sweatsuit and hoodie.
“What’s going on, mate? You’re back early. Thought you two were out for dinner?” Max’s unmistakable voice crackled through the speakers as he joined the group Discord, clearly catching onto the sudden shift in the vibe.
“Aye chat, Max is here! Yeah, mate, we were, but got back home and decided to hop on,” Lando cheered, clearly stoked to hear his friend's voice.
“Loving the enthusiasm, man. You seem happy tonight. You up for some golf?” Max chuckled, amused by the energy radiating off Lando.
“We can play whatever you want, Max. Feeling really lucky tonight,” Lando replied, a grin spreading across his face.
Max raised an eyebrow, eyeing him with a teasing smirk. “You’re worrying me a bit, mate. You sick or somethin’? Bit too happy for my liking.”
Lando just kept dancing and singing along to his music, looking even more upbeat, and Max couldn't help but laugh. “Alright, what’s going on with you, seriously?”
It was as if the universe had perfectly timed it—Y/N walked into the room, completely unaware that her boyfriend had already started his stream. She was wearing nothing but the white long-sleeved button-up shirt he had worn during their date earlier that night, the one fans had captured in photos. Her hair was slightly messy, giving her a carefree, just-rolled-out-of-bed look as she casually walked in.
"Lan, did you see my cleanser by any chance? It’s not in the bathroom." Y/N stood just by the door, just enough to be in frame of Lando’s camera.
As soon as she appeared, the chat went wild, and Max couldn’t help but laugh, not even attempting to rescue them this time. “Hey Y/N, my chat's saying Lando’s shirt looks better on you than it did on him.”
Y/N froze for a few seconds, her face turning bright red before she quickly dashed out of the room, her voice still audible through the mic as she shouted, “Lando Norris, you little shit!”
Lando, in too good of a mood to keep it together, couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, chat, calm down—we’re all adults here.” He leaned back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face as he wiped away a few tears of laughter.
After a beat, he stood up, still chuckling to himself. “I’ll be back in a minute, guys.”
He left the room, probably heading off to help Y/N find her cleanser, maybe even consoling her after the little reveal. The chat was buzzing with teasing comments, but it was clear Lando wasn’t too worried—he’d be back soon, and the situation was already too funny to be mad about.
"post sex stream is insaaane" "man was glowing, no wonder" "PR team fighting for their life after this" "Landos phone bout to blow up" "meeting being set up as we speak"
Lando returned, a smirk still tugging at his lips as he casually sat back down, as if nothing had happened. “Right, Max, what are we playing tonight?”
Max raised an eyebrow, eyeing his friend with a grin. “Look at him, so smug. Had a great night, didn’t you?”
Lando let out a laugh, shrugging nonchalantly. “Told you, mate, we went and had dinner.” He paused for a second, then winked at the camera, his smirk widening. “Just had to head home early to have some dessert.”
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