#engineer!reader

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redbullracing | jan 2024

tagged: ynln

liked by gp.lambiase, ynln, maxverstappen1, and others…

redbullracing as we bid a tearful goodbye to longtime redbull team member gianpiero lambiase, we also are giving a warm welcome to the new race engineer in garage 1, yn ln! yn spent the last two years working alongside GP and is the woman for the job. 

gp.lambiase: it’s been a great run of years, but i know yn will do great things! 

ynln: looking forward to a great season

maxverstappen1: time to chase number 4!

user: rip the epic radio duo

user: the end of an era

user: yn looks so young

| user: user she’s the same age as max 

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

f1radios | post pre season testing 2024

liked by user, user, user, and others…

f1radios some iconic messages between the new pairing in garage 1. i hope they keep this up all season. 

user: they’re both so sassy 

user: this is exactly what we needed

user: is it too soon to say i ship it? 

| user: user yes! 

user: ‘no comment’ i’m dead

| user: user i’m stuck on ‘have you tried turning the wheel’. she’s so funny

user: gp trained her well

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

ynln | bahrain 2024

tagged: maxverstappen1

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, lando, and others…

ynln someone tell this weirdo to stop stalking me

maxverstappen1: i am not stalking you. we work together 

| ynln: maxverstappen1 convenient excuse

| maxverstappen1: ynln i literally worked here before you!!

| ynln: maxverstappen1 sure you did

lando:  why does he actually look like a stalker here

| ynln: lando because hE IS!! i can’t go anywhere in peace

redbullracing: yn, please stop bullying max 

| ynln: redbullracing he makes it so easy :(

| redbullracing: ynln we know. try to restrain yourself, anyway

user: stop she’s so mean to him lmao

user: on track menace meets off track menace

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

maxverstappen1 | story bahrain 2024

tagged: ynln

and i’m the stalker

replies

ynln: excuse me? you invited me

| maxverstappen1: i would never do that

| ynln: you’re such a liar!! 

lando: mate, please 😂

| maxverstappen1: i can’t let her win

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

redbullracing | bahrain 2024

tagged: ynln, maxverstappen1

liked by ynln, maxverstappen1, user, and others…

redbullracing first hat trick for the new team in garage 1. great race! 

maxverstappen1: simply lovely day

ynln: great start to the year! 

user: max wdc 4 we are so there!

user: they’re so fun and also so good

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

ynln | story miami 2024

tagged: maxverstappen1, lando, charlesleclerc 

maxie and i came second to lando one-win. LANDO ONE WIN!!! 

replies

lando: i can’t believe i won!! 

| ynln: i’m having a hard time feeling upset about p2 because you finally won 😭

| lando: you’re coming out with us, right? 

| ynln: you know i’m an engineer and not a driver, right? 

| lando: come onnnn. it’ll be fun. and totally private!! 

| ynln: you’re a terrible influence 

maxverstappen1: we’ll get him next time 

| ynln: i know you’re happy for him too

| maxverstappen1: of course i am. i’m not heartless

| ynln: debatable 

| maxverstappen1: rude

oscarpiastri: you better celebrate me when i beat you and max, too

| ynln: you know it, koala boy 

| oscarpiastri: bully

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

f1gossip | miami 2024

liked by user, user, user, and others…

f1gossip leaked photos from a grid night out after norris won his first GP

user: oh to party with the f1 grid

user: not max and the gin

user: i love snaps of dj lando

user: call me crazy… that’s yn ln, right? 

| user: user no way. why would she be there? 

| user: user girl idk but i’m 100% certain that’s her

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

ynln | close friends 

never drink with maxie and lando. you will regret it. 

replies

lando: who knew you could party so hard

| ynln: i regret all my life choices 

maxverstappen1: never thought i’d see you chug vodka straight from the bottle

| ynln: please never speak of this again

| maxverstappen1: i will never let you forget it

| ynln: i hate you

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

 ynln | story 

pros of working with max: i get to fly air maxie

cons: max

replies

maxverstappen1: why are you so mean to me

| ynln: because it’s funny

| maxverstappen1: :(

lando: you’re so fucked for this 

| ynln: if i hate him hard enough he’ll never know! 

| lando: terrible strategy, good luck

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

ynln | story hungary 2024

koala boy won! woo hoo koala! 

replies

maxverstappen1: why are you a mclaren fan

| ynln: i’m not. i’m an oscar & lando fan

| maxverstappen1: not a max fan? 

| ynln: eh

oscarpiastri: we are going out tonight! 

| ynln: no thank you! 

| oscarpiastri: oh yes! you did it for lando, you’ll do it for me! 

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

ynln | close friends 

party animals 

replies 

maxverstappen1: you love us

| ynln: i love them…

| maxverstappen1: what do i have to do to get you to like me? 

| ynln: no comment

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

f1gossip | hungary 2024

liked by user, user, user, and others…

f1gossip fan submission of what looks like a heated argument between max verstappen and his race engineer, yn ln, outside a club in hungary. 

user: what is happening at redbull

user: uh…

user: this is why alcohol and coworkers don’t mix

user: redbull pr about to work overtime 

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

yn -> max 

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

f1radios | 2024

liked by user, user, user, and others…

f1radios it’s been 9 long races of terse radios, no chemistry, and steep performance decline for max and yn. what is happening 

user: well, they did fight in hungary

user: we had it made and now it has been unmade

user: what happened to my babies

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

f1gossip | 2024

liked by user, user, user, and others…

f1gossip a source from inside the paddock reported rumors that redbull race engineer, yn ln, is in talks with mclaren about a potential contract. this, after months of tension in the redbull garage, doesn’t surprise me.

user: yn literally bleeds redbull. no way she’d go papaya

user: okay seriously. what tf happened 

user: not to be that guy… but this is why coworkers shouldn’t be friends outside of work

| user: user this is a stupid ass take

user: can you imagine yn and oscar teaming up? legendary. 

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

“max?” you asked, opening the door to your hotel room. the last few months had been long and tense. qualifying had been an unmitigated disaster, as had the meetings that followed the session. you just wanted to sleep and have an overnight stroke of strategic brilliance. but here, at 11:37pm, was the source of all your stress and frustrations. “what do you want?”

“can we talk?” he asked. “not in the hall.” 

you stepped back and let him in, saying nothing. you really didn’t want to talk. he hadn’t said anything after forcing you to talk in hungary, so you really didn’t feel like hearing him out months later. 

but he was max, and you were weak. 

“i owe you an apology,” he started, catching you off guard. “for a lot of things, but mostly for pushing you in hungary and then going radio silent. i shouldn’t have done that.” 

“apology accepted. can i go to bed now?” 

“i’m not done,” he huffed a laugh, shaking his head at you. “i shouldn’t have pushed you away, not after i forced you to be vulnerable with me. and i regret it. not because it’s affecting the team and the race results, but because you are not you. and fucking hell, i miss you.” 

“i see you everyday, max. you can’t miss me.” you did your best to stand your ground and maintain an unaffected air. 

“i miss you being mean to me, because at least then i knew you cared.”

“your silence made your feelings on the matter perfectly clear.” 

“no it didn’t,” he countered. “because i should have been honest with you that day. instead, i sat on my feelings and let the situation grow and spiral into this.

“because i am so unbelievably in love with you, yn.” 

“don’t,” your said harshly, taking a step away. “don’t say it just because you think it’s what i want to hear to make it okay.” 

“seriously? you think that low of me? i’m a lot of things, but i’m not a liar.” 

“you can’t do this to me,” you whispered, chest aching. “you can’t ignore me for months and then show up at midnight and tell me you love me. that’s not fair.”

“i’m so sorry i hurt you,” he said, taking two steps towards you. “i’m so sorry i was a coward. i’m sorry that it took the threat of losing you to tell you how i feel.” 

“you’re reading gossip pages now?” you scoffed. 

“didn’t need to,” he retorted. “lando told me i need to get my shit together before i lose the best thing to ever happen to me.” 

“so you decided to tell me you love me? just so i don’t leave the team?! there’s something seriously wrong with you.” 

“i can’t lose you, idiot. you’re my constant, you’re my calm. you’re fucking everything to me. on and off track.” 

“your timing is convenient.” you glared, not letting your guard down for a second. 

“do you want to leave redbull?” he asked. “or are you running away from me because i’m an emotionally stunted dickhead?”

you said nothing. you both knew the answer, even if you were too choked by your pride to admit it. 

max reached for you, cradling your cheek in his palm. “because i love you and i can’t lose you. i know i fucked it, liefje. let me fix it. your sad eyes are killing me because i know it’s my fault.”

“you hurt me,” you admitted, losing your battle with the tears in your eyes. “i hate you so much right now. but i kept showing up. i kept putting you first because that’s my job. and every day it hurt more and more. every frustrated radio message twists the fucking knife because i’m paying the price for you being an ass.” 

“i know, and i’m sorry. i’ll be better, i promise.“

“i don’t trust you.” 

“i’ll earn it again,” he swore. “i’ll work for it. i’ll put you first.” 

“you should go. it’s late and we have a long, rainy day tomorrow,” you said, changing the subject. “i still need to find a magical strategy to save the race.” 

“i’ll save it. you do your thing and i’ll drive,” he told you. “and if i finish in the points, you can’t leave. i’ll do anything to fix what i broke. but you have to stay.”

“top five,” you countered. “you finish top five, and we can revisit this conversation.” 

“top five,” max agreed. he kissed your forehead lightly. “get some sleep, liefje.” 

“night, max.” 

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

redbullracing | brazil 2024

tagged: ynln, maxverstappen1

liked by ynln, maxverstappen1, user, and others…

redbullracing p17 -> p1. brilliant job from the garage 1 team! 

maxverstappen1: great day

| ynln: maxverstappen1 very wet, but simply lovely. 

user: honestly, nobody else could have managed this

user: yn strategy s tier

user: your honor, i adore them

user: max is almost to wdc 4 !!!

user: they are SO BACK!! that’s the driver engineer duo i know and love. 

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

ynln | close friends 

is p17 to p1 a good enough redemption? or should i make him grovel more? 

replies

lando: it worked? 

| ynln: of course it worked, you little fucking shit stirrer

| lando: weird way to say thank you, but you’re welcome! 

maxverstappen1: i’m about to win the championship, liefje. that’s for you. 

| ynln: not sure how i benefit from you doing your job…

| maxverstappen1: i missed being bullied by you

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

redbullracing | vegas 2024

tagged: maxverstappen1

liked by maxverstappen1, ynln, user, and others…

redbullracing MAX VERSTAPPEN IS YOUR 2024 CHAMPION OF THE WORLD!!! collecting his fourth consecutive title. 

maxverstappen1: already looking to number 5

ynln: wonderful season 

user: DU DU DU DU!!! 

user: he’s equal to seb!! HE’S EQUAL TO SEB!!! 

user: max and yn finally got their shit together 

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

maxverstappen1 | december 2024

tagged: ynln

liked by ynln, redbullracing, lando, and others…

maxverstappen1 took winning the championship to get her to admit she actually likes me. let’s do it again next year, schatje. 

ynln: i hate you

| maxverstappen1: ynln you love me

| ynln: maxverstappen1 i do 💙

redbullracing: admin did not plan for this… congrats, though! 💙

| user: redbullracing admin plz 😭

lando: finallyyyyy 

| ynln: lando nobody asked for your input 

| lando: ynln if it wasn’t for me you’d both still be pining. you’re welcome! 

| user: ynln lando exposed! 

danielricciardo: this is adorable 

user: i did not see this coming 

| gp.lambiase: user i did. 😌

user: should have known max was a simp 

| maxverstappen1: user and i’m not ashamed 

♡ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ⟡ ݁₊ ☆ ♡

Silverstone begins in Oxford.

More precisely, Silverstone begins with you standing in Toto’s kitchen at far too early an hour, holding your tablet in one hand and staring at your boyfriend like he has personally offended the laws of physics.

He stands by the coffee machine in a white shirt. White. Crisp. Sleeves neat, collar open just enough to be a danger to productivity.

His trousers are pale cream, tailored perfectly, because apparently Thursday media day requires the visual energy of a wealthy Bond villain with better emotional availability. His sunglasses wait on the counter beside him, polished and ready, as if they know they are about to become part of an outfit designed specifically to ruin your concentration.

You stop in the doorway.

The tablet in your hand goes dark.

Your brain, usually a reliable machine, makes a tiny helpless noise and leaves the building.

Toto looks up. Of course he catches you. He always catches you.

His whole face changes at once, that wide, pleased smile spreading over his mouth like he has just won qualifying by half a second.

“Good morning, Liebling.”

You blink at him.

He smiles wider. It's dangerous.

Terrible man.

“Coffee?” he asks, holding up your cup.

You stare at him for one extra second before your body remembers how legs work.

“Yes. Coffee. Obviously. That is why I came here.”

“Of course.”

He is enjoying this already.

You can tell.

That makes it worse.

You walk closer, trying to look normal. You are dressed for work because you are, thankfully, a sensible adult. Blue Mercedes team polo, special Silverstone edition. Team trousers. Trainers. Hair tied back. Badge hanging around your neck. Practical. Functional. Prepared for data, meetings, radios, and the usual chaos of a race weekend.

Toto, meanwhile, looks like he is about to step out of a vintage yacht advert and ruin three marriages by accident.

“You look very pleased with yourself,” you say.

“I woke up in a good mood.”

“I remember.”

His eyes flash.

You immediately regret saying anything.

The previous night returns to you in hot, shameless fragments.

His hands gripping your waist hard enough to make you feel owned. His mouth on your neck, your breasts, your stomach. Your fingers buried in his hair while he kept you pinned beneath him, murmuring filthy, soft praise against your skin like he knew exactly how badly you needed to hear it.

The memory of him between your thighs still lingers in your body — the heat, the pressure, the way he made you fall apart until your voice broke on his name.

And then later, when you were already breathless and boneless, he pulled you back against him again, kissed your shoulder, and ruined every responsible thought you had about needing sleep before a race weekend.

Toto Wolff, apparently, considers sleep optional when he has you in his bed.

Your face heats.

Toto sees that too. Naturally.

He crosses the kitchen slowly, coffee in hand, still smiling like a man who knows exactly what memory just passed through your head.

“Are you blushing before breakfast?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I’m under-caffeinated.”

“Convenient excuse.”

“Useful one.”

He sets your coffee down and pulls you into him by the waist before you can pretend to check your tablet again.

You barely manage a sound before he kisses you. Deep and warm.

Far too confident for a Thursday morning.

Your knees soften immediately, which is deeply embarrassing and also entirely his fault. One of his hands spreads across your lower back, the other rests at your waist, steadying you as if he already knows he has made your body forget its responsibilities.

When he pulls back, he looks even more pleased.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t.”

“And very sexy.”

You laugh, because that is absurd.

You, in a blue team polo, practical trousers, and trainers. Sexy. Sure.

“Yes, obviously,” you say. “Nothing screams desire like a woman ready to argue about tire models before nine in the morning.”

His thumb brushes over your hip.

“Exactly.”

“Toto.”

“What?”

“You are the only sexy thing in this kitchen.”

His eyebrows lift.

You look him up and down again, because you deserve the emotional damage at this point.

“That shirt is illegal.”

“It is a normal shirt.”

“No. That shirt is a public safety issue.”

He laughs, low and warm, and the sound settles right under your ribs.

You reach out without thinking and grab his ass.

The room freezes. You freeze.

Your hand stays there.

Toto looks down at you.

You look up at him.

Several thoughts pass through your head at once, and none of them form a useful sentence.

You, an introvert. You, a serious engineer. You, a woman who prefers quiet workstations and clean data over public displays of anything.

You have just grabbed Toto Wolff’s ass in his kitchen before breakfast.

Toto’s smile turns slow.

Very slow. Very wide.

“Oh?” he says.

You pull your hand back as if the fabric has burned you.

“That was an accident.”

“It was very precise for an accident.”

“I slipped.”

“On what?”

“Your ridiculous trousers.”

He laughs properly now, one hand coming up to cup your cheek as he leans down to kiss you again.

This kiss is softer. Fond. Still far too smug.

“I like this version of you,” he murmurs.

“You mean sleep-deprived and morally weakened?”

“I mean spontaneous.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“With me?” His mouth brushes yours. “Always.”

You groan lightly and push at his chest.

“Breakfast. We have to leave.”

“Yes, engineer.”

“Do not say that in that voice.”

“What voice?”

“That one.”

He gives you the coffee, still smiling.

Breakfast is quick because Silverstone does not wait for romance, even if Toto clearly believes it should.

He makes sure you eat something real, because of course he does. Toast. Eggs. Fruit. More coffee. He places everything in front of you with that quiet, bossy care he pretends is casual. You review data between bites. He steals one slice of toast from your plate and looks offended when you steal it back.

“I thought we share things now,” he says.

“We share a house, a schedule, and emotional damage from race weekends. You can find your own toast.”

“My own toast does not taste as good.”

“That is psychological warfare.”

“That is love.”

“That is theft.”

He takes your hand across the kitchen island and kisses your knuckles.

“Fine. I apologize for stealing your toast.”

You look at him suspiciously. “That sounded too easy.”

“I apologize because I already ate the other half.”

You stare.

He smiles.

“You are unbelievable.” you say.

“And yet well-fed.”

“You are not the victim here.”

“I rarely am.”

By the time you leave the kitchen, your nerves feel softer around the edges.

Silverstone still waits. Media day. Cameras. Questions. Paddock eyes. People watching you and Toto together, still fascinated by the fact that the Mercedes team principal and one of his engineers are officially a couple.

Some days you handle it well. Some days you want to disappear into a server room and become a rumor.

Toto knows. He always knows.

So when you check your bag twice, then your tablet, then your badge, then your phone, he says nothing. He simply takes your hand and leads you through the house toward the garage.

His Oxford house is quiet in the morning. Elegant. Warm. Lived-in in a way that still surprises you. There are racing photos, of course. Books. A few scattered things that prove he exists beyond boardrooms and pit walls. A jacket over a chair. A pair of glasses on a side table. Your spare hoodie folded badly over the back of the sofa because he once tried to “tidy” it and failed in a way that still feels endearing.

Then you enter the garage. And all coherent thought leaves again.

Because there, waiting under soft overhead lights, is the Mercedes 300 SL Gullwing.

Silver.

Iconic.

Absurdly beautiful.

You stop walking.

Toto takes two steps forward before realizing your hand has gone still in his.

He turns.

You stare at the car with wide eyes.

“No,” you say.

His smile begins immediately. “Yes.”

“Toto.”

“Yes?”

“You are not taking that to the circuit.”

“Why not?”

“Because it is a museum piece with doors.”

“It is a car.”

“It is a legendary car.”

“Exactly. It should be driven.”

You point at it like it may hear you.

“To Silverstone?”

“Yes.”

“On media day?”

“Yes.”

“With crowds?”

“Even better.”

You turn your head slowly toward him.

He looks delighted.

Like a boy. A very tall, very rich boy with access to an automotive masterpiece and absolutely no shame.

“We will arrive in style,” he says.

“We will cause traffic.”

“There is already traffic.”

“We will cause emotional traffic.”

“Good.”

You step closer to the car, your annoyance losing strength under the weight of pure mechanical admiration.

It is gorgeous.

You hate that he knows you think so.

The curves. The doors. The engineering. The history. The entire thing looks less like transport and more like a love letter written in metal.

You run your eyes over it, fascinated despite yourself.

Toto watches you watch the car.

“You can drive it again after the weekend,” he says.

Your head snaps to him. “Really?”

His grin turns smug. “There she is.”

You immediately recover.

“I mean. It is useful to understand the mechanical response.”

“Of course.”

“Purely educational.”

“Naturally.”

“And as an engineer—”

“As an engineer,” he repeats, stepping closer, “you need to drive one of my most valuable cars for research.”

“Yes.”

He kisses your forehead.

“You are adorable when you try to sound professional about classic cars.”

“I am not adorable.”

“You are.”

“I am a respected engineer.”

“You are my respected adorable engineer.”

“That sentence should get you fined.”

He opens the passenger door.

Upward.

The Gullwing door lifts like something from a dream, and for a second you forget to be irritated.

Toto sees your face.

He looks very satisfied.

“Get in, Liebling.”

You slide into the passenger seat carefully. The interior smells of leather, old engineering, and the kind of money that gets spoken about in hushed tones. Toto closes the door, then walks around to the driver’s side.

You watch him fold himself into the car.

That is the only way to describe it.

Fold.

He is too tall for this machine in a way that becomes almost theatrical. One leg in. A pause. Shoulder angle adjustment. Head dip. Careful hip movement. A final dignified drop into the seat.

You press your lips together.

Do not laugh.

Do not laugh.

Toto settles behind the wheel and looks over at you.

You fail.

A small laugh escapes.

He narrows his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You are laughing at me.”

“No.”

“You are.”

“You fit very… historically.”

He stares.

You smile sweetly. “Elegantly cramped.”

“I fit perfectly.”

“You entered the car in stages.”

He puts on his sunglasses.

A fatal move.

Now he looks hot and mildly offended.

“Respect the car.”

“I respect the car. I’m questioning the proportions of the man operating it.”

He starts the engine.

The sound fills the garage, rich and alive.

Your smile grows before you can stop it.

Toto sees that too. “Still questioning?”

You look at the dashboard, the wheel, the road ahead as the garage door opens.

“No.”

“Good.”

He pulls out smoothly.

Oxford morning light catches the hood of the car as you leave the house. The road stretches ahead, quiet at first, then busier as you move toward Silverstone. Toto drives with one hand on the wheel, relaxed, sunglasses on, white shirt catching the sun.

His other hand rests on your thigh. Warm. Casual. Completely distracting.

You tell yourself to look at the road.

You do.

For about four seconds.

Then you look at the car interior again, the gauges, the sound, the movement of his hand when he shifts.

“This car is ridiculous,” you say.

“Yes.”

“I love it.”

“I know.”

“I hate that you know.”

“I know that too.”

You smile out the window.

He squeezes your thigh once.

The closer you get to Silverstone, the busier everything becomes. Cars. Fans. Flags. People in Mercedes shirts. McLaren caps. Ferrari red. Union Jacks. Handmade signs. Phones already lifted before you even reach the main entrance.

Then they see the car.

The reaction is instant. People shout. Wave. Point.

Someone yells Toto’s name so loudly that you hear it through the closed window.

Toto smiles and lifts a hand from the wheel to wave, fully relaxed, fully used to this kind of attention.

You, however, sit a little straighter.

Then someone calls your name too. Your actual name.

You blink.

Another fan waves at you. Then another. Someone holds up a phone. A girl in a Mercedes hoodie grins and makes a heart with her hands.

You do not know what to do with your face.

So, naturally, your face chooses bright red.

Toto laughs softly. “You are becoming a celebrity.”

“I am absolutely not.”

“They know you.”

“They know I exist near you.”

“They know you are brilliant.”

“They know I once spilled coffee on a simulator printout and George saw it.”

“That too.”

You glare at him. “This is your fault.”

“Most good things are.”

The car slows near the circuit entrance, caught in a small queue. Fans press closer along the barriers, waving and filming. You feel your shoulders tighten. You want to be kind. You want to smile. You also want to crawl under the dashboard and become part of the car’s wiring.

Toto notices.

His hand leaves your thigh and finds yours.

He laces your fingers together.

Then, in full view of everyone, he lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles. Gentle. Unhurried.

Your whole face catches fire.

The fans notice. Obviously.

There is a wave of noise outside the car. Cheers. A few delighted screams. More phones lifting.

“Toto,” you hiss under your breath.

He lowers your hand, still holding it.

“Yes?”

“People can see.”

“I know.”

“You did that on purpose.”

“Yes.”

You stare at him.

He smiles, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, which makes him look even more smug.

“You are impossible.”

“You were nervous.”

“So your solution was to make everyone look at us more?”

“My solution was to remind you that you are not alone.”

That shuts you up. Annoyingly. Completely.

Your fingers tighten around his.

He brings your joined hands back to your thigh, keeping them there as the queue moves forward.

“Better?” he asks.

You look out at the fans again. They are still waving. Still filming. Still calling. But now it feels less like a spotlight and more like noise outside something solid.

Something held.

You nod once. “Better.”

His thumb strokes over your knuckles.

“Good.”

The car finally rolls through, past security, into the controlled chaos of the circuit. Silverstone opens around you. Motorhomes, transporters, team personnel, journalists, photographers already hunting for the first interesting moment of the weekend.

And apparently, a Mercedes team principal arriving in a 300 SL Gullwing with his engineer girlfriend counts as interesting.

Toto pulls into his assigned parking space with infuriating smoothness.

You sit for one second longer than necessary, still grinning at the car.

He notices.

“Admit it,” he says. “This was a good idea.”

“It was a loud idea.”

“A stylish idea.”

“A very you idea.”

He grins. “Exactly.”

Then comes the true entertainment — Toto getting out.

You unbuckle and climb out first, the Gullwing door lifting above you like a little mechanical miracle. Several people nearby glance over, impressed. You step out with what you hope is dignity.

Then you turn and watch Toto begin his exit.

It is magnificent.

First, one long leg.

Then a pause.

Then a careful shift of his shoulders.

Then a duck of his head.

Then the second leg.

Then a controlled rise to full height that makes him look like a skyscraper emerging from a very expensive envelope.

You bite your lip.

He straightens his shirt and looks at you.

“You are laughing again.”

“No.”

“You are smiling.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“Of getting out of a car?”

“It was a process.”

He closes the door carefully, then points at you with the full authority of a man who runs a Formula 1 team and has just survived vintage automotive gymnastics.

“One word to George and you walk.”

“I would never.”

“You would.”

“I absolutely would.”

His eyes narrow behind the sunglasses.

You smile.

He steps closer, hand finding your waist. “You are very bold this morning.”

“You started it with the white shirt.”

“That shirt has caused many accusations today.”

“It deserves them.”

He leans down, voice lower now. “And the trousers?”

You glance down. Then back up.

“Also guilty.”

His hand tightens briefly at your waist. “Careful, Liebling. We have a media day.”

“You should have dressed less provocatively.”

He laughs, warm and delighted, then takes your hand.

The walk into the paddock feels different this year.

Before, you would arrive slightly behind him. Careful. Professional. Quiet. Trying to create space where people would create rumors anyway.

Now he simply holds your hand. Like this is the easiest thing in the world.

He is the elegant team boss in white and cream, sunglasses sharp, stride confident. You are beside him in your blue Silverstone team polo, practical trousers, trainers, tablet bag over your shoulder, ready to disappear into data as soon as possible.

His girlfriend. Yes.

Also an engineer. Also the woman who has earned every step she takes through this paddock.

And the way Toto holds your hand says all of it at once. Just certainty.

You pass a group of fans near the entrance. They call for Toto. He waves. Someone calls your name again, and this time, with Toto’s hand warm around yours, you manage to smile and wave back.

It is small. For you, it feels huge.

Toto looks down at you. “See?” he says quietly. “Natural.”

“No. Terrifying.”

“Same thing in Formula 1.”

You laugh despite yourself.

He looks pleased.

A photographer calls his name. Then yours.

You both turn.

Flash.

Toto’s hand stays in yours.

When you continue walking, he leans closer and murmurs, “That photo will be everywhere in twenty minutes.”

You groan. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.”

He kisses your hand again, softer this time, with fewer fans close enough to scream about it.

Still, a few people notice.

You blush anyway. He smiles like Silverstone is already going perfectly.

“You are enjoying this far too much,” you mutter.

“Yes.”

“At least deny it.”

“No.”

You shake your head, but you are smiling now, and he sees it because he sees everything.

As you approach the Mercedes hospitality, the sound of the paddock grows louder. Staff greet him. Then you. A few people glance at the car behind you, still visible in the distance, gleaming like a very expensive mic drop.

George appears near the entrance, coffee in hand.

He looks at Toto’s outfit. Then at your blush..Then at the classic Mercedes in the background.

His eyebrows rise. “Subtle entrance.”

Toto smiles. “Good morning, George.”

George looks at you. “Did he choose the car?”

“Yes.”

“Did he say something about arriving in style?”

“Yes.”

George nods solemnly. “Very on brand.”

You point at him. “Thank you.”

Toto gives both of you a deeply unimpressed look. “I am standing right here.”

“We know,” George says. “The shirt is visible from space.”

You make a sound that might be a laugh and might be a cough.

Toto turns his head slowly toward you. “You find this amusing?”

“No.”

George sips his coffee. “She does.”

You look at George. “Run.”

George disappears immediately. Smart man.

Toto’s attention returns to you, but his expression is warm.

“Come,” he says, squeezing your hand. “Before my own team continues attacking my wardrobe.”

“You invited this.”

“I wore clothes.”

“You wore a statement.”

He leans down as you enter hospitality.

“And did you like the statement?”

You look up at him, at the sunglasses, the white shirt, the cream trousers, the stupidly pleased smile.

Then you sigh. “Yes.”

His grin turns victorious. “Good.”

“But I’m still driving the Gullwing after the weekend.”

He pauses.

Then lifts your hand and kisses it once more.

“Deal.”

You smile despite yourself.

And just like that, Silverstone begins.

With coffee, a classic car, a man who looks unfairly hot in white, fans screaming outside a Gullwing, your face burning bright enough to qualify as a paddock landmark, and Toto Wolff walking into another race weekend holding your hand like he has won something already.

Which, judging by the way he looks at you, he absolutely believes he has.

You think the world of your brothers, all three of them. Lorenzo has a special place in your heart because he’s the most like you: more grounded, more ‘normal’, even though your job is anything but normal most weeks. 

You grew up surrounded by cars, like your brothers. Your father gave you that passion, but you didn’t like racing— no. What you fell in love with wasn’t the fights, it wasn’t sliding off into a corner, it wasn’t  winning. It was the car. The machinery. You spent time with your father and brothers assembling and disassembling go-karts. Maintaining them. You remember the proud look on papa’s face when you figured out how an engine worked, right there, on the spot. It kills you not to remember what it was you understood that day. It kills you to have forgotten even a minute you got to spend with your papa because you thought there’d be more, infinitely more. 

You miss him. Terribly. You don’t think there’s a day that goes by where Hervé Leclerc isn’t on your family’s mind. You’re all doing it for him. Whether it’s Lorenzo, Charles, Arthur, maman, or you. All for him. 

You were still an engineer in training when he left. You remember not knowing whether your team would let you go to your father’s funeral and the tap on your shoulder from your boss telling you to go. You remember holding your maman’s hand as she sat crying, uncomfortably balanced on black heels you had never worn and never would again, and helplessly telling her that at least now he was at peace. You remember Arthur, dwarfed by a suit that was too big for him, with his red eyes and strands of hair falling on his face. You remember Lorenzo passing an arm over your mother’s shoulder and holding her firmly. But most of all, you remember watching Charles in his black suit and wondering how long he would delay his flight. Until the last minute. Until the last second. Charles is many things— an irritating younger brother, annoyingly good at everything, incapable of putting an outfit together— but anyone he cares about he fights for. To death. He showed everyone on that weekend. 

The four of you never doubted him. 

You got to F1 the same way everyone does: F3, F2, and then an opportunity in a backmarker team. You started with Haas and you’re convinced it’s partly thanks to Charles’ Ferrari links. It didn’t matter at the time: you soon proved your worth. You were ready and showed them what you were made of. 

That’s what Leclercs do. 

~

You don’t meet Lando on the paddock. You meet him in Monaco when you’re grocery shopping and he’s just out and about. He calls you the Leclerc sister and does so with that damning smile, like he’s not quite sure what he just said was nice, or appropriate, but he thinks he can get out of trouble just by smiling. 

You love his smile. 

That’s not all you love. 

You find yourselves at the same parties somehow. You smile at each other on the paddock. You get coffee once. And twice. 

You’re unsure about how fast it goes. You’re spotted together and forced to go public earlier than planned. Charles isn’t happy about it; less because it’s you and more because it’s Lando. He’s a funny guy, Charles says, I just don’t… ah, I don’t know. You never expected Charles to be happy about it, really. You’re fine with it; it’s tough when Charles is out battling your new boyfriend every week on the track. 

Arthur shrugs. He doesn’t really know Lando, so he doesn’t care, as long as you’re happy. Lorenzo says you know what you’re doing and it’s your life, your choice. 

You’re not sure you do know what you’re doing. The media, the scrutiny, the looks in the paddock… you hadn’t anticipated it would cause such a fuss. You’re just dating. You’re only one of many data analysts. You don’t often arrive together. Lando starts later than you do. Some weeks, you’re at the factory and not on the paddock. Most of all, your respective hospitalities couldn’t be farther away. You’re not even in the paddock on mobut st weeks, rather at the factory.  But see, you’re Lando Norris’ girlfriend. And somehow, that’s all they care about. 

You try to have the same mindset. You’re his, he’s yours, and that’s all you should care about. 

It’s easier when it’s just the two of you; sadly it doesn’t happen often. Every time you go out, there’s a journalist, a team member, something, someone. It’s like the world doesn’t want to leave you two alone. 

So, you come to cherish the moment you both go back to an apartment— his or yours— because then it’s just Lando and you. 

Lando likes sex. He expects it and gets disappointed when it doesn’t happen. He understands, he says, but the sad puppy eyes are hard to withstand sometimes. He knows he’s gorgeous, he knows it’s hard to say no to him. You often fold. One look, one kiss, one wandering hand, and you’re already taking off his clothes. 

See? That was good.  

You like him. You’re not far from loving him, but you’re scared of doing so. There are many hurdles, many external factors that prevent you from going all out. Your brother and Lando are now going all out on the track, incidents happening every other grand prix now. They share podiums sometimes, and that’s when you’re happiest, because then you can support both of them without feeling bad about it. 

Lando’s a sore loser. He often makes jokes about Charles, saying he’s as aggressive as Max, that he races unfairly. He often catches himself and fumbles an explanation; he didn’t mean it like that, he just meant that he was a hard racer and sometimes on the limit… too much… You stop listening when he gets like this. Lando is competitive. He’s a sore loser, and Charles hates losin,g too. They cope with losing differently. You brush off the comments and redirect the conversation. 

In those moments, conversation is rarely what Lando wants. 

~

A few weeks into your relationship, Lando admits he liked you from the start. He’s a little tipsy and when he leans in to whisper it in your ear, you can smell his aftershave and the vodka-coke he’s just drunk. 

It was your face, he says, and the thighs helped. But he really likes your mouth too. You make sure of that when you go down on him that night, making sure to make him moan and grip onto the armchair, wishing it was your hair instead. 

Things are going great. They’re steady. You work your ass off and so does Lando. When you finally have some time for yourselves, physical attraction takes over and you don’t really get to talk about what you are, where you’re going. It works just fine for you, mostly because you’re lacking time to stop and think. 

You’re in a good place. A loving boyfriend, on your way to your dream job (if you’re honest, you’re already living a dream, working with an F1 team so young), and your family’s doing well. Arthur enjoys his job as a Ferrari development driver, and Lorenzo is talking about marrying Charlotte. 

Everything is going well. 

Except that Charles and Lando are fighting for a championship. 

It doesn’t get better than that, really. Your brother finally has a car and a team that can give him what he wants most: a championship in red. Your boyfriend has the opportunity to win his first championship and silence everyone who ever doubted him. 

The problem is that you’re caught in the crossfire. 

They squabble on and off track. Lando makes comments that make your blood boil and you have to remember it’s the adrenaline talking, but it’s hard when he’s insulting your own brother and making snide comments about him. While the media and McLaren’s PR team scramble to interpret Lando’s words, you know exactly what he means. You know him too well. 

He often gets home in the worst mood. One night, he jokes and says you look just like Charles and that’s why he can’t get into it. It makes you feel like it’s your fault. Everything. Charles is Lando’s number one enemy, and it’s your fault. 

You try to calm him down first. You try humor, and? you don’t think my brother’s attractive?, you try to reason with him, we’re two different people, you try everything. But Lando pouts and pushes you off, then half-assly apologizes, say she’s not in the mood, and leaves you. 

You feel like shit. 

You don’t want to think that’s what Lando wants. 

But maybe it is. 

Everything he does starts irritating you. When he introduces you to Lily, Oscar’s girlfriend, he calls you the engineer girlfriend of mine, your equivalent to Osc, and it takes everything in you not to give him a piece of your mind right in the middle of that restaurant. It unnerves you to be referred to as a side piece, as a function. You think it might be because Lily wants to be an engineer in F1 as well, but it’s one of Lando’s comments that can be so easily misinterpreted that you’re not sure what to think. 

Lily is a gem. You strike a friendship. She reminds you of yourself and you think you would’ve been friends if you had met at school. She’s a few years behind you in her career, but you know it’s because you got lucky. You know that in a few years, you two will be having coffee in the paddock together. 

Your friendship with Osc’s girl doesn’t make Lando happy. That’s the impression you get. It’s like he’s jealous, and you can’t exactly place why. At first, you reassure him, then you tease him, up until the point you can’t take it and simply ignore his comments. You know Lando has his moods, and you know by now it’s useless to try and take him out of those. Better to wait it out and see him come over to apologize. 

~

Lando is good at apologizing, and he’s good at making you give him second, third, and hundredth chances. He recognizes it when he acts like a dick. He says he’s sorry, that it was the adrenaline, that he was tired… And you understand. It’s not like you’re above reproach either. 

You’re both flawed; but you make it work. 

The championship fight rages on, with Charles pulling away in front. Lando’s anxious about it. He says he’s not sure he’ll catch up, then goes silent. You tell him he can, that it’s possible, but apparently it’s not what he wants to hear. 

Often, you’re confused about him. 

He didn’t use to be like that. 

The sex is the last area where you know exactly what the other wants. Or, at least, you know what Lando wants. Needs. He’s not easy to please, but when it works it’s just perfect. One day, you really want to try anal. He laughs awkwardly and looks away, saying he doesn’t think it respectable. 

You want to think it’s because he’s respectful, a British gentleman, really. But part of you wonders if he’s not losing interest in you. If he’s just… not that attracted to you anymore. 

He gets broody often. That morning is when it all goes up in dust. 

It’s the Monaco Grand Prix and Charles took pole. Lando’s starting P2. It’s Monaco, you think, they’ll be careful. 

They’re not. 

Lando tries a stupid move on Charles, goes for a gap that doesn’t exist in those narrow streets, and satellites his car into the side of Charles, ending both their races. The grandstands are howling. Even from the Haas garage, you can hear the displeased growl of a people who just saw their little prince get unjustly put out of commission. For a second you’re worried about both of them, but Charles’ radio is broadcast and he’s cursing and you’re so, so happy to hear him even if he sounds angrier he’s ever been. And then Lando’s radio is broadcast and you nearly feel like throwing your headset at your screen. He left me no space.  

You can’t take it. 

It’s a red flag and you focus on the race but as soon as your job is done, you get out of the paddock and try to see either one of them. Charles because somehow you feel like you have to apologize, and Lando because you have to have a go at him. But what you find is a journalist, and you make the biggest mistake as of date. 

That was a stupid move from Lando. You don’t do that in Monaco. It could have ended up badly.  

The media goes wild. 

~

You sit in your childhood house table’s that night and you bask in that familiarity. Later, when it’s already dark outside, your brothers and you go out for a walk. You’re all wearing caps because the Leclercs are far too famous in Monaco for comfort, but with those caps, you can pretend you’re just four kids with big dreams. 

Charles breaches the subject first. Says he’s happy you support him. Asks if it’s alright with Lando. You say you haven’t spoken to him since, but McLaren’s PR team has tried contacting you, but you’ve hung up on them. You say you love them, all three of them, and that they’re your priority. Charles’s eyes get sad, and you know it’s not what he wanted to hear. 

You don’t care, because that’s what you meant. 

So, you don’t love the guy anymore? Arthur has the best questions, always does. 

Because that’s… that’s a fucking good question. 

You shrug. The summer air is nice, the breeze hitting your face, caressing it. If you loved him, you’d miss him, right? If you loved him, you’d send a text, right?

If he loved you, he’d send you one though.

But your phone is desperately silent. 

I don’t know, you say. We’ll work it out.

~

The summer break doesn’t help you talk to Lando. You only send useless texts to each other, hello how are you, what are you doing today, can we meet up, ah you’re busy, going back to the UK, visiting family, I understand. 

You spend time with your family too: your brothers, your soon-to-be sister-in-law, and it aches every time you see Lorenzo and Charlotte together, because you want that, you want that trust, you want that bond, and you know you don’t have it with Lando. You know it’s impossible to get it. Because Lando simply isn’t what you need, and you’re not what he needs either. 

Lorenzo asks you if you’re happy with him and you don’t know what to answer. You ask him if he thinks Lando’s the right guy for you, and Lorenzo’s faint smile tells you what you need to know. I can’t know it for you. You’ll feel it.  

You wonder how you feel right now. Lando still makes your heart skip a beat, but you’re not sure why, or how. You love him, you know you do. But you wonder if that’s enough. You still wonder if it’s the right thing to do. 

~

You’ve never been as eager to go back to work as you are right now. Lando finds you on the first day back and he says he’s been thinking. He apologizes, he’s so good at that, and you melt. You give in. 

No relationship is perfect, Lorenzo told you so, he, whose relationship is perfect. But you know he’s right. 

You arrive with Lando the next morning. He made an effort: woke up earlier so he could match your schedule. You hope he doesn’t expect you to do the same: you can’t be late to work like he can. 

Every day in that race week, he gets up early, every day a little more late, until Saturday where he just tells you to go without him. It’s fine, you think, he’s already made an effort since Wednesday, and he has to get his rest.

It turns out, Lando doesn’t do well in qualifying that day. He gets taken out in Q3 after making mistakes on his laps and exceeding track limits. He’s in the media pen and he looks like he’s going to cry any second. He babbles explanations, runs his hand down his face, simply says he’s out of it, that he’s tired. 

He says he didn’t sleep well.

And you take it personally. 

You think maybe it’s not your fault. Maybe it’s just an excuse. But that night he barely breathes a word to you, and when you confront him about it, he says yeah, I fucked up quali because I got up earlier for you all week. And that just leaves you speechless. 

I didn’t ask you to 

Well, I have to do it since it can’t be the other way around! 

We can arrive separately! 

One word leads to another. Sentences are thrown. It’s the first time you openly fight, and it’s the first time you’re both so heated about it. 

Other drivers’ girlfriends stay in their place a bit more.  

The room goes silent, like a blizzard just froze the entire hotel in place. You stare at the man in front of you and you wonder why you ever loved him, or why he ever loved you.  

I’m an engineer. That’s my place. I work here. I’m not your accessory, I’m not your mother, and I’m certainly not ‘just’ your girlfriend. I’m my own person. And if you can’t understand that… 

You can’t finish your sentence, but you don’t have to. Lando immediately backtracks, says he didn’t mean it. He apologizes, because he’s good at it. 

You go to sleep. He cuddles you.

You make love that night. It’s sweet and full of apologies. 

None of you say a word afterwards. 

Part of you wonders if he means his apologies. Part of you wonders if he’s still into you, if he still loves you. Part of you wonders if he’s staying with you for the sex. 

But deep down, you feel like you know the answer. He’s doing it so he’s not the only one out of twenty drivers to arrive at the track without a beautiful girlfriend at his arm. 

~

You two fall apart and you learn you’ve broken up when Lando answers a question about you and says you’re not together anymore. 

You feel like there would have been better ways to learn about it. 

You run to Lorenzo crying that night. Arthur is there too. By the time Charles arrives, all three of you are already quite tipsy. You get hugs and smiles. So much laughter. You get teased once you’re all too drunk to care. 

For the first time in months, you feel like you belong.

The next morning is tough. You wake up on Lorenzo’s couch with your foot pushing into Arthur’s cheek and a splendid view on Charles vomiting in the bathroom. There are better ways to wake up, but you can’t think of one at the moment. 

You’re not too hungover; you might be the Leclerc with the best alcohol tolerance since Pascale. Your brothers? They’re jealous. It doesn’t matter. Lorenzo and Charlotte are talking in the kitchen, hushed voices, and by the time you get there for a glass of water, you can see Lorenzo’s hand caressing Charlotte’s cheek, and the fond smile on his lips. 

It hits you suddenly that you’re not with Lando anymore. 

It hits you suddenly that you’re single. 

It hits you unapologetically. 

And you smile.

Because that’s what you can pursue and get now. What you couldn’t have had with Lando Norris. 

~

It’s a few years later, and you’re now an engineer at Scuderia Ferrari. You’ve moved to Maranello, and the Italian team has since won two divers championships and three constructors. The regulation change was tough, and you got recruited into the team mostly to support the technical department and try to find solutions so the car can challenge for podiums and wins again. 

Charles is still at Ferrari; you don’t think he’ll ever leave; and when you arrive every morning, you understand why. 

Today, you’re going back to Monaco for your niece’s birthday. Lorenzo and Charlotte’s daughter is your absolute pride and joy, and you’re… a dotting aunt. The little girl is spoiled rotten, and Lorenzo berates Arthur, Charles, and you on multiple occasions because of that. It’s true that her uncles are as bad as you are; possibly worse at times. 

You get out of the car and realize you forgot the bottle you had promised to bring. You swing by a supermarket, and fate has something in store for you. 

Lando. 

He’s there, like he was when you first met him. He’s as gorgeous as always, his hair still curling nicely and his eyes blue as ever. You say hi. He says hi. You exchange niceties, boring small talk. 

You pick a bottle and checks out. 

When you find yourself outside, he’s still here. He waited for you. 

Lando wants to talk. 

You have some time until the party, so you accept. 

You walk around the blocks. Your hand isn’t in his, and neither of you are saying anything. You know he’s dating someone else— a model, a singer, you’re not too sure and it changes often. It doesn’t sting. In fact, you prefer it. 

But then he stops. He turns and he look at you. It’s the look you know too well, it’s the sad puppy look, and you know what’s coming. 

Apologies. He’s so good at those. 

He says he was young. He acted like a dick. He’s changed now. He’s sorry. But isn’t he dating someone at the moment? 

He looks embarrassed and shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. He says he’s different. He’s a man now. He tries a joke that he realizes halfway through isn’t funny. You don’t budge. Your arms are crossed and you’re trying to still your heart. 

You don’t love this man. You don’t. But there’s still something. Something that’s never going to leave. What you had with him was intense. Special. It was the first time you felt so many emotions— as exhausting as it was. But you know it was bad. You know you don’t want that. You know you crave the quiet simplicity of a calm marriage. 

This isn’t Lando. 

He’s complex, he’s a wreck. He has issues, he’s insecure. He lashes out and immediately regrets it. He apologizes. He does that so well. But you can’t take it anymore.

You tell him you’ve moved on (you haven’t). You tell him it’s impossible (it could be). You tell him you’re not good for him, and he’s not good for you (that is true). 

He nods and accepts it. He understands and makes his puppy eyes. He tells you to have fun at the party, and it feels like an attack. 

It takes everything in you not to fall into his game, not to feel bad for him, sad for him. But you’re done prioritizing his needs. You’re done letting him manipulate you into forgetting everything that you are for him. 

You’re done with him. 

So when he leaves, expecting you to stop him, give him another chance, or feel sorry for him, you feel at peace instead. 

Another race day ending with a joyous celebration , the team's high spirit created an uplifting atmosphere as they all wandered around in and out of the garage at the end of the day .

The pit crew along with some of the engineers opted to stay out after celebrating yet another podium with Max leading the championship, the rest staying back to pack what's meant to be moved tonight and the rest is left for tomorrow , the Head engineer who stayed back along with technicians , and max who gave a quick preifing before he was whisked away for some interviews and the post-race conference are all revising today's data's making quick notes and packaging everything for later assessment .

Finishing up you turned to review everything one more time just to make sure everything is saved accordingly , satisfied with the work you packed your things ready to head out , collecting the freshly printed reports all tucked safely in your backpack . Looking down as you were about to head out , you found a little girl not older than 5 as she estimated holding hand of who seemed to be her little brother , around two years old , both looking awfully familiar , with wild blonde hair and Peircing pairs of eyes curiously taking in the buzzing engineers as they worked on the cars standing close to you .

Looking around you assumed they're either lost or wandered away from their parents as she found no one around beside her team , so you approached but not too close to startle them leaning down with a gentle smile " hello" both turned to you , the boy shuffled behind his sister who stepped up giving a wide confident grin " hi , I'm Lilly" sticking her hand out for a handshake "and this is Matthew" before turning her head to her brother whispering something that he nod at before he gave you a small greeting "hi" that got him a wide smile back "hello Lilly and Matthew, I'm Y/N , it's nice to meet you two . but what are you two doing here all alone ?" The girl shook her head and her brother did too pointing outside " papa , out there " his sister added " we're not alone , our papa is outside . We wanted to see the cars! " You gave them knowing look before asking "do you like them ?" They both nod enthusiastically "they're so so super fast!" giving them a wide grin "well , I'm glad you like them , I made them with my friends to go super super fast " both looked at you as if you told them you're Santa in the flesh, asking in awe "you made them!? " , " mhmmm" you hummed back "really?" , "Really , really" that got the little girl to ask you seriously "can you make me one too, please?" Giving her best puppy eyes for better effect, " I need a fast one like this so I can win when I go racing next year!" You gave it a thought for a moment before coming with an idea " how about I show you something first ?" The girl nod her head and took the hand you offered to her and her brother held her other hand all getting to the parked car , you moved closer while greeting a couple of passing by colleagues then turning to the little ones asking them " you want to sit inside?" With a nod she held up her arms being lifted to sit down inside the cockpit her small body was swallowed by the bulk of the machine , adjusting to perk her head up to look at you beside the car , her brother stepped up lifting his arms up demanding to be lifted too "up !" giving him a smile before picking him up hight earning a full belly laugh at the rush before settling him beside his sister who gladly made room for him to sit .

"So , what do you think? " They both gave an exited grins , Matthew raised his hands exclaiming happily" it's a big car!!" his sister nods with the same exited grin " it's soo coooool!" Before contemplating something and adding with a slight pout "but it's too big ! , I can't race in it , I can't see !, I won't be able to pass others in it!" , you hummed in agreement " yeah it's big because it goes on big tracks and race against other big cars it won't be good in small tracks " lilly nods in disappointment , you gave it a minute before exclaiming as you suggested " how about we make a few changes?" That got her attention as she asked hopefully "we can ?" . You affirmed in a very serious manner "of course we can , now who's up for making a new super fast race car " both exclaimed at that .

You all sat down in the corner away from the still working team , hunched over a big sheet on the ground , the kids sitting on both sides leaning into you all too focused on the task at hand pointing out details every now and then as they watched your quick and calculated lines as you sketched out the plan of what would be a go cart , soft music playing in the background causing you three to sway your heads and humm occasionally along the tunes playing out .

Not long after they were adding the finishing touches , looking content with the final product , a pair of footsteps approached before stopping before them , looking up you were greeted with a very amused Christian along with a disappointed Sebastian who had his arms crossed giving both of his kids a scolding look as they both tried to act innocent as if they didn't run off causing him to lose his mind . " now what do we have here?" Asked Christian looking between the three accomplices before him .

You sat back a torment going between you heart and mind , now it clicks to you why they looked so awfully familiar, the same wild hair , brilliant blue eyes that mirrored his , the confident yet polite attitude that they definitely got from him , now as he stood before you locking eyes with his that you dearly loved and missed , it took a minutes for all your walls to crumble again , and in an attempt to salvage what's left of your will , you turned to the kids giving them a smile as you still sat between them " alright now, what do we think?" They both gave you their approval before they turned to their father chatting his ears off as they dragged him to sit on the floor right beside you , both of you are hyper aware of how close you are , he relaxed while taking a look at their work as he nods along to their explanation , taking in the colors and scrambled writing on the sides topped with a bee drawn on the car's hood smiling fondly at your handwritten notes and instructions on the side , each note accompanied with a small bear or a flower that he knows was Lilly's idea .

Giving his praises and showing Christian next , letting them drive their attention to him explaining thoroughly each part and each scrap, he turned to you trying to get a better look only finding you looking away , your hair covering your face as you actively ignored his burning eyes . You went to stand but Christian beats you when he said in a thoughtful voice " that's a really good design looks like a winning cat to me ! , but it's missing something, what do you think kids ? " Both kids eyes lights up as Lilly asked " stickers?" Matthew nods rapidly as he pointed to the parked car not far away , Christian chuckled holding his hands out for them as they followed him eagerly " C'mon , that car won't be as nice without some good stickers, and I know we have them somewhere around here" they left but not before he gave Sebastian a subtle but pointed look before they turned the corner.

He took a deep breath before he turned to you , "hi" he tried to break the tense silence, you gave a quick glance at his direction with a curt nod " hello Sebastian" he winced at his full name but kept a brave face " how have you been?" You trained her eyes on the paper before you still avoiding his eyes " I've been alright" he nods and went on to speak but get cut off before he could utter any other word " just don't" you shook your head moving to collect the markers and pens scattered around them . But he wasn't backing down " please , Y/N . You can't keep on avoiding me like this , running away won't....." You paused your task asking him in furious voice " I'm the one ignoring you? " He shut his eyes in regret knowing that he messed up his chance with his choice of word's as you looked beyond pissed "Sebastian you cut me off the moment you signed the damned Ferrari contract! , That , let me remind you YOU didn't even tell me about or or about that you were leaving in the first place , and now when you have the guts to come around , you start with this!?" He tried to reach for your clenched hands but you backed away "I'm sorry" you scoffed " no Sebastian, you, don't get to be sorry " you turned to the work station throwing what you've collected into the holder before turning again in frustration "And for what exactly ? For leaving? For cutting me off ? For breaking your promises? for what Sebastian?" He stood too watching with defeat how you went on picking the papers and putting aside the kids work , trying to muster any courage he have left " I know that sorry won't ever be enough " you agreed " then don't bother with those empty words when you know they won't change anything " you stood in silence with your back facing him not seeing the hurt in his eyes as they stung as he took in you hunched shoulders and shaking hands " at least look at me " his voice more hoarse now and thick with defeat , you shook your head refusing to turn " I can't, you're not him anymore" your words gripped his heart throwing his hopes with the wind , but he didn't have the time to come with anything to salvage what's left as the kids came back each holding a sheet of stickers and some were on their cheeks as they returned to them with Christian not far behind , one look let him know how it went and he sighed heavily before approaching them .

The kids eagerly showed their bright stickers and handed them to their dad with Lilly asking him to boost her up to reach the work station to put the final touches, he Obliged sitting her up and before he could turn to do the same with Matthew the boy went up to you raising both his arms up for you with a wide smile " up , up!" You gave him a small smile picking him again with another boost up causing him to let a small giggle, sitting him beside his sister attempting to distract yourself by asking him quietly where he'd like to put his stickers , helping him carefully peel them and pressing them down where he placed them after looking each time for your approval of the placement .

the last thing you did was placing three more stickers on the side each have your names written beside it , Matthew picked a small car sticker after insisting on it , leaving lilly to pick a trophy with a star on the other side of her name and you chose a small wrench sticker each scraping your names and helping Matthew tracing his before you looked at it in accomplishment.

You rolled the design carefully looking for a sheet holder and you found a cardboard holder laying to the side , securing the lid and taking a marker from the table, you wrote on the lid and on the side then handed it out to lilly " here you go , now you have the right size to go out and pass everyone with no trouble " she took it eagerly holding it with both hands and showing a wide grip with a missing tooth as she thanked you purposefully.

You gave her a genuine smile happy that you could help . Before turning around picking your bag deciding it's time to go . You turned to them as they were watching you with curious eyes and Seb with longing ones that you ignored " alright people, it's time for me to head out " you approached the kids with your hand out for a shake " it's nice to meet you Lilly , I wish you all the best with your car " but the girl shook her head opening her arms for a hug instead " thank you miss. Y/N " you patted her back gently " you're very welcome lilly" turning to Matthew as he too reached out " and you too Matthew " you gave him a peck on the cheek causing him to hide his face as it turned red . giving them one last wave as you turned , moving in steady step towards the door and around the corner but you heard Sebastian call for you to wait . You tried to ignoring him but he moved fast to stand before you , yet you still refused to look at him " what do you want from me now ?" .

He looked at you with determination " to scream at me ! Blame me ! Yell at me for everything! But at least look at me again" . You stepped back at his burst before asking him " why did you came back ?" He took it as a win so he answered honestly " I'm almost me again, I'm almost back to my old self " you finally looked at his eyes but yours held nothing but sadness and unshed tears , you gave him a small smile " tell me Ian why did you left me , why did you break your promise?" He couldn't avert his eyes even when they stung from looking at your once again broken self because of him , he took a shaky breath " because I thought she was almost you" you gave him one last nod , leaving him standing in the empty hallway lost in years of pain and regret watching you walk away before turning to disappear around the corner and out of his sight .

Composing himself he went back to the garage, back to his kids and Christian who gave him a comforting pat on the back knowing it won't be easy to try to mend what he left behind for the life he had now . After a moment he turn to take something from behind the work station " it's only fitting for you to have this " handing him a black sheet holder with his name and number engraved on the lid , and on the side it has a small engravings that read " THE LAST LAP" causing his heart to sink even more knowing she kept the promise he made and failed to honour . Looking at his former principal with lost eyes waiting for him to say it was just a cold joke , but that didn't happen as he hod in confirmation , " she came to me and Adrian right after you left , gave a prototype and upgraded it each season in hopes you'd come back . It's just as fast if not more than the RB-19 " he looked back at the parked care before adding " you know , Last year she was ready to sign away her rights in every design she made if we were able to sign you for one last season , but you announced your retirement and rejected our contract , so no one touched it after her final upgrade last march , so it's better with you than anyone else . It's yours after all " they looked down at the holder both with different heavy minds . But the elder gave him a knowing smile " you know you can't just let her go this time too , it won't worth the hurt she went through the first time and she won't be able to handle it again . It's in your hands to choose her this time around instead of neglecting her for a perhaps " .