moments where you make small cameo appearances in drive to survive.
lando norris x f!reader ୨୧ word count : 2k ୨୧ warnings : language, panic attack, lando gets a little aggressive with a camera / cameraman, mentions of hate, drinking, slight suggestive comments (think that's all!) ୨୧ note : clip 6 is inspired by this first moment by @/f1-mcmuffin so thank you for reminding me that hot tubs exist 😆 and honestly that whole chapter in general helped me get inspo for how to write this chapter!! if you enjoy don't forget to comment/reblog! ୨୧ requested : yes!
part of the lando's heart series.
clip #1 – y/n packs lando's suitcase for him
the monaco sun shines in through the apartment. you are sitting on the floor – two suitcases opened and clothes, both yours and his, and you seem to be zeroed in on what you're doing. music softly plays through a speaker nearby.
the camera moves from you on the floor to show lando walking in, a fond look on his face as he watches you. he joins you on the floor, letting his legs cage you in as he presses his chest flush against your back.
"she always packs my suitcase – or at least double-checks it," lando says to the camera, arms around your waist as he mindlessly moves with you as you continue to fold one of lando's hoodies and place it in the packing cube. "i would literally be lost without her, probably would only bring one pair of underwear if she didn't double check," he adds, kissing your shoulder.
"you say that like it hasn't happened before," you tease quietly, the camera able to pick up your voice thanks to lando's own mic clipped to his shirt. "remember – spa last year? i had to go buy you a pack of underwear cause you only packed one."
"shhhhh~ don't expose me like that," he says, grabbing your hips and making you jump slightly with a small yelp. lando can't help but grin as you turn to give him an annoyed pout over your shoulder.
"don't be too mean to me or i'll make sure you only have one pair of socks this weekend," you tease. lando's grin doesn't disappear as he hugs you from behind, his head resting on your back.
clip #2 – lando forgets his pass
you are sitting in the passenger seat of the car, lando and his parents sitting in the back while jon drives. the camera catches lando leaning forward slightly to massage your shoulders the best he could.
when they get to the front of the line, you reach into your purse to take your pass out as you hand it to jon. lando's parents also hand him their passes so security can look at them. that's when you notice lando didn't give jon his pass.
"baby, do you have my pass?" he's asking you, giving your shoulder a nice squeeze. the camera catches your confused look as you turn to look at your boyfriend, and you notice that his mother also has a confused look on her face.
"what are you talking about lan? i don't have your pass."
"you don't? i thought you grabbed it."
"i thought you grabbed it, lando!"
that's when it settled in that lando didn't have pass. jon turned to look at the guard who was waiting.
"he doesn't have his pass," he tells the man, but the security guard can only shake his head.
"can't let him in without one."
"but he's a driver, his face is plastered all over the place," jon says and its during this exchange that you turn to look back at lando with a deadpan expression. he can only give you a boyish grin as he reaches for your hand to kiss it. completely avoiding looking at his mother's face.
jon and the guard continue to go back and forth; that's when you speak up, "it's okay, jon, we'll make lando get out, so we can continue. he can find his own way in."
"y/n!" you turn to look at your boyfriend with a serious expression.
"i'm serious, lan, get out and start walking. actions have consequences, even forgetful ones."
eventually, the guard lets you all in, but you don't fail to give your british lover one more deadpan look. still not able to believe the fact he forgot his pass.
clip #3 – hiding in lando's hoodie
the camera shakes a little inside the private jet, but easily captures lando stretched out in his seat. reclined back and eyes closed, but that's not all.
you were also spread out with him in the same seat. upper body completely hidden underneath lando's hoodie and one of his arms are draped protectively over you. a blanket thrown over the two of you as you both are clearly asleep.
when a sudden hit of turbulence rocks the jet slightly, the camera catches lando's face twitching as he mumbles something in his sleep. however, the turbulence seemed to have woken you up. your upper body moving slightly underneath lando's hoodie before you are suddenly appearing.
your hair is messy a little bit, ponytail half-falling out of its hold. you look around slightly, eyes locking onto the camera before you're shyly turning away to hide yourself back into lando. your movement seemed to have woken lando as he's looking at you with sleep-filled eyes.
"what's wrong?" he's asking softly, hand tracing up and down your back.
"i got hot," you murmur out as you lay back down, face hiding in his neck.
"i told you, you were going to get hot, but you insisted," he says, kissing the top of your head. you let out a groan in response which makes him smile. "go back to sleep baby, we still got a few hours before we land."
"already on it."
clip #4 – y/n's panic attack is caught on camera
your stuttered cry fills the air and it's obvious you're out of breath and upset. the camera tries to get a view of you as lando is quickly moving you through the back of hospitality.
lando's shoulders are tense, frown on his face as he opens a door before guiding you inside. the camera catches as he gently sits you down in a chair. "it's okay, baby, i'm here. breathe, y/n, i need you to breathe."
your eyes are frantic, glassy and your face flushed with tears. breath stuttering as you are clearly having trouble trying to stop. you focus mainly on lando, but then you make eye contact with the camera behind him and it's like you start panicking all over again.
lando is seen looking over his shoulder and immediately straightens up when he sees the camera. in one, two large steps he's in the camera's face. "get the fuck out right now," he hisses and the camera jerks as lando is shoving the camera away. "get fucking out. let her have a fucking moment of peace," he adds once again shoving the camera before slamming the door in the crew's face.
the netflix crew doesn't leave, still recording the door that separates them from you and lando, but the audio can still be caught.
"it's okay," lando says, voice a complete 180 from what it just was. "do you feel that, princess, my chest going in... and out... i need you to breathe with me." it can only be assumed that lando is trying to help you calm down. "i'm here for you, not going anywhere, y/n. i love you."
clip #5 – lando describes y/n
"who is y/n?" the producer asks while lando is sitting in front of them in the small interview room the show puts them in.
lando makes a face like he's thinking before quickly answering, "y/n is my partner. she comes to races with me, she helps me pack, makes me laugh, cuddles with me, she’s there with me through it all. i couldn't imagine my life without her."
it then cuts to show a clip of you and lando right before a quali. him standing in his race suit with you right in front of him. his race suit is only half-zipped and you smile at him softly as you fix. zipping it up the rest of the way before velcroing the collar.
"there," you say, running a hand over his chest as he grins at you. his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him.
"thank you, baby," he says, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of you mouth.
"good luck, lan," you tell him before you're reaching up to kiss his cheek.
it then cuts back to lando sitting in the seat, a fond smile on his face as he thinks about you. "she's my calm, always there before i get in the car and waiting for me with that pretty smile when i get out. y/n is my rock, truly, i would be a little lost without her."
clip #6 – landoyn in a hot tub 👀
you let out a small laugh as you feel lando press his lips to your bare shoulder. the heat from the hot tub creating a fine layer of condensation on your skin, and lando having you pressed flushed against him in his lap surely doesn't help. the camera catches his lips trailing from your shoulder and up your neck. slowly, like he's savoring the moment between you both.
"are you nervous for this next race?" you ask softly, knowing that if you didn't get him talking the netflix crew was going to have quite the footage in their hands. the type of footage that would, of course, give lando's pr team a full on nightmare.
lando lets out a small hum against your skin, "a little bit, but singapore is always a monster."
"i know..." you agree softly, remembering how exhausted he always is after that specific race. exhausted and dehydrated amongst other things. "you can do it though," you add, turning your head slightly to look him.
"i'll get a podium, for sure."
"oh? you think so?" you tease with a smile. lando lets out a dry laugh as he reaches behind him to grab the wine glass. taking a sip from it before he's handing it off to you and you are also sipping from it. "i think you can do it, baby," you finally add when you hand the glass back to him.
the camera focuses on how lando smiles at you as you turn to sit sideways in his lap. water sloshes around the two of you as lando's hand comes up to rest at the back of your neck, gently massaging it as his other hand rests under the water on your thigh.
"kiss?" he asks quietly – so quiet the audio almost doesn't pick it up. you can't help the smile that paints your lips as you nod before leaning in to kiss him. your hand traveling from his chest to his jaw as you kiss each other slowly.
the camera pans out before cutting to the next scene entirely.
clip #7 – y/n running to lando after a win
'lando has proven to be a force to be reckoned with. someone who clearly needs to be watched when on the track, you can't underestimate him anymore."
the camera was capturing lando already getting out of the car, parking in front of the first place spot. the crowd around him is loud – everyone cheering and screaming for lando as he poses before jumping down and running towards his team that are waiting for him behind the barrier.
when he gets done celebrating with them, lando tears his helmet off. balaclava coming off to reveal his sweat drenched head, curls messy and sticking to his forehead as his eyes are searching for something– someone.
"lando!" he immediately turns and the camera gets a clear view of you running towards him. he drops his stuff, arms open wide just in time for him to catch you. your lips immediately pressing to his, as he holds you close to him. he spins you both once, twice as your hands cup his jaw to keep him from pulling away.
everyone around you both is still cheering loudly, your legs wrapping around his waist as you hug him.
"that was for, y/n," he's heard saying over the roar of everything around you. "this win was for you," he tells you as you rest your forehead against his, tears running down your face as you kiss him again.
'especially when he's been given a reason to fight for something...'
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FIC SUMMARY ⋆˚꩜｡ ( max verstappen x girlfriend!reader ) ( 1.2k wc )
⤷ what happens when an independent girlfriend and a very gentlemanly, chivalrous Max Verstappen are in a relationship where, no matter how hard he tries, you just won't let him do things for you?
( my m. list | more of MV3 ) ( requests )
You were the kind of woman who did things for herself. Grew up that way. Not out of stubbornness, not really—it was more survival instinct turned second nature.
You opened your own doors. You paid your own bills. You drove your own damn car (with a valid license, thank you very much).
Max Verstappen, on the other hand, was a gentleman. Capital G Gentleman. He held doors, carried bags, and insisted on walking closest to the street, even if it meant getting hit by a rogue bird scooter or even Charles Leclerc.
Which is what made dating you . . . a little frustrating for him.
“You’re my girlfriend, schat,” he’d complained to you over and over, “I want to spoil you. Why won’t you let me do things for you?”
And you always laughed, sweet and low. “Because I can do them myself.”
“Yeah,” Max would huff, “But you shouldn’t have to.”
It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate it—it was that you weren’t used to it. That kind of gentleness had always felt like something from a storybook. But Max was different. He meant it. Every time he tried to make you feel like a princess, it wasn’t performative. It was just who he was.
Still, habits die hard.
Even tonight, after a perfect dinner date—wine, laughter, one too many appetisers—you walked yourself to the car like always. You were scrolling through your buzzing phone, a message from your best friend lighting up the screen as your heels clicked steadily against the concrete of the underground parking lot.
Max didn’t notice you had paused. With a hand in his pocket, he made his way over to the passenger door, expecting you to reach the handle before him like you always do.
Max didn’t realise you were a meter behind. Not really. He was deep in thought—his hand already reaching for the handle on your side, not expecting anything, just doing. His mind was somewhere between Should I take her to that little vineyard next weekend? and god, she looked good tonight, when he heard your steps stop beside him.
You looked up from your phone and raised a brow, amused. “Max?”
He blinked. “Yes, schatje?”
And for the first time . . . he’d opened the door for you.
You smiled. No teasing, no smug quip—just warmth in your gaze as you leaned forward, pressing the softest kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, baby.”
Max blinked again, stunned, and then—he grinned. No. He beamed. And as you slid into the seat, completely unbothered, Max’s mouth stretched into something close to villainous glee.
When he sat in the driver’s seat, he just took a moment, not even starting the car, but looking at you with this cute smile that slowly widened the more he looked between your eyes.
By the time he was driving through the roads of Monaco, he was full on giggling. A "Heh. Heheheheheh." escaped under his breath, a cartoon villain chuckle if you’d ever heard one. It grew louder, more triumphant. You loved it when Max laughed like this, a usual sight in his streams; scrunched nose and crinkled eyes with his teeth showing in his smile.
When he stopped at a red light, he was buzzing. “Did you see that?” he asked like he’d just won a Grand Prix. “I opened the door for you!”
You raised an eyebrow. “You did.”
“You let me.”
You snorted. “I was texting!”
“I won,” he said dramatically, head thrown back in glee as he started driving again once the light turned green. “That was the greatest moment of my life.”
“You literally won the world championship—”
“This is better.” He whispered like it was some sort of secret, “I have four of those championships, but I only have one of this.”
The whole way home, Max couldn’t stop smiling. Grinning like an idiot, eyes crinkled and squinted and nose scrunched, humming to himself like a ma man, eyes gleaming with chaotic joy. You leaned your head against the window, giggling every time he said something like, “I can die happy now,” or “Do you think there’s a trophy for Most Romantic Door Opening?”
But it wasn’t over.
Oh no.
As the car eased into the garage and the engine turned off, you moved to unbuckle your seatbelt. “Alright, come on—”
“NO.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Don’t move,” Max said, already leaping out of the car like it was on fire. “Don’t. Move. Don’t get out, don’t even breathe!”
“MAX—”
“I MEAN IT!” he shouted across the hood, which he had jumped on in hopes of getting to your side of the car faster than just walking around.
You watched, stunned, as your Formula One world champion boyfriend lunged across the hood like a man possessed. Dress shirt half-untucked, what a sight. he slid off the hood at your side.
You crack the door open and start to get out—but you are quickly shoved back in your seat with the door slamming shut in your face.
You blinked up at him, lips twitching.
He held up a finger, signalling “give me a second”, chest rising and falling as he straightened his shirt. Fixed his posture. Ran a hand through his hair like he was about to walk into a royal ball.
Then, with the gravitas of a knight, he slowly opened the car door.
“My lady,” he said with a bow, extending his hand.
You laughed. Laughed. It bubbled up from your chest and spilt out, uncontrolled. “You are so dramatic.”
“Shhh,” he whispered, eyes twinkling. “Take my hand.”
You did.
He helped you out like you were made of glass. Tucked your hand into the crook of his arm like you were royalty. Walked you up to the elevator, then your shared apartment like he was on some period drama set, absolutely giddy with pride.
You were still laughing when you reached the front door. Shaking your head.
“If this is how you get when I let you open one door,” you teased, “I’m never letting you open one again.”
Max stopped. Froze, his jaw dropped.
His face crumbled—comically horrified, like a man who had just realised he’d wished on a cursed monkey’s paw.
“No. No, no no no—wait. You can open some! Not all of them—I’ll pick which ones—WAIT, PLEASE DON’T TAKE THIS FROM ME.” The Dutchman shook you from your shoulders.
You cackled as you stepped inside, him following quickly in step, pleading dramatically. “I’m begging you, schatje. You can open the fridge. Open your own texts. But let me have the doors, PLEASE—”
“You’re so ridiculous,” you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck.
His hands slid to your waist, still pouty. “I’m ridiculous for you.”
You kissed him again, slow and sweet this time. “Fine,” you whispered against his lips. “You get the car doors.”
Max lit up again.
“I’m going to start timing myself,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. “Make it a sport. Beat my personal best to the passenger side.”
“You’re the fastest man in the world, Max,” you said with a grin. “Use your powers for good.”
Summary: Oscar's pregnant girlfriend wakes up with a craving and very hormonal about it which sends him on a mission to try and help by any means possible.
Author's note: This is not for vegans or vegetarians. Sorry guys.
Word count: 1.1k
Before they found out y/n is pregnant, it was like trying to raise him from the dead if y/n wants Oscar's attention. But something about her being pregnant has made his sleep much easier to disturb.
So when he hears y/n get up he stirs but doesn't move figuring that she just needs the bathroom and he learned the hard way that she might be awake but that doesn't mean she wants fussed over or even conversation.
But when he hears her beginning to sniffle and hiccups as she pats around the kitchen. So he gets out of bed and moves through to the kitchen.
"Baby? What's wrong?" He asks trying to hide his tiredness since y/n always feels guilty for waking him up.
"I'm so hungry." Y/n sniffles making him frown a little.
"Ok, ok. You don't need to cry. We can make you something to eat. What do you want?" Oscar smiles making her seem to only cry harder.
"Steak-I want steak, but I'm not allowed to have it the temperature I want it." Y/n cries now just surrendering to her emotions. "And-And I know it's stupid to cry over it but I can't help it."
Oscar doesn't even care that she thinks her crying seems silly. His main concern is getting her steak. It's 2 in the morning and they don't have steak in the apartment. In fact they have everything else he could possibly have stocked up on and yet he didn't think of steak.
"Give me a second, I'm just gonna pull on some clothes and I'll find a store and get you some steak ok? I'm gonna fix this."
"Oscar, it's 2 in the morning you can't go out-"
"You want steak at 2 in the morning. I'm giving you steak at...maybe half past 2 in the morning." Oscar declares as he walks back into the bedroom.
Y/n is still shedding tears feeling completely stupid but the need for a steak is actually distressing and it genuinely takes an emotional toll on her.
"Alright, baby. I'll be as quick as I can...if there's anything you want to snack on just to...see if it subsides the hunger till I'm back." Oscar states kissing her quickly and managing to wipe her cheeks free of the tears as best he can.
Y/n nods mumbling an "I love you" before she watches him head out. Part of her wants to go with him but if it takes longer than expected it's better for her not to be there crying beside him.
Oscar does end up going to Carrefour Market and thanks the universe for having steak. Probably not the best quality but it will do and he's already gotta be creative in how to make it taste good with it needing to be well done.
Y/n is still sniffling her way around the apartment when he gets back but he's back and he's got the steak.
"Ok-are you cooking?"
"I wanted some potatoes too." Y/n mumbles earning a soft smile. "I'm going to be obese by the end of this pregnancy."
"That's not true. The midwife said you hadn't gained enough weight last time you were there, so this is good. I'll finish off the cooking, you just sit ok?"
Y/n settles down and sighs softly as she watches him and smiles sadly while she watches him.
"I'm sorry." Y/n mumbles as Oscar puts the steak in the pan.
"Don't be sorry. I'm never sorry when I'm hungry." Oscar dismisses but y/n is clearly exhausted and hungry which are two things that are going to trigger emotions.
Oscar finishes up the steak with some garlic butter and places it on a plate before adding the potato wedges and sliding it across to y/n with a knife and fork.
"Want anything to drink?"
"Ummm...I should probably just stick to water." Y/n sighs earning a small nod as he moves to get her the water and she actually starts eating like a woman who has been starved. "Oscar...this might be the best thing I've ever eaten."
"I feel like that could be the cravings talking but I'm going to take that as a win." Oscar smiles as he sits down and just watches her.
Y/n keeps eating till she's done having a fleeting thought of offering Oscar some but honestly Oscar is unlikely to be hungry and y/n really just didn't want to share it in all truth.
"That was so good."
"Satisfied the craving?"
"Yes. One million percent." Y/n confirms before leaning over and kissing him. "Sorry, that was gross. Garlic kiss."
"I love your kisses. Garlic or not."
"Gonna have to brush my teeth again...I didn't think this through." Y/n grimaces since toothpaste has proven to be a new hurdle but it has to be done especially if she's going to have full meals in the middle of the night.
"Clean up can wait till morning." Oscar states then scooping y/n up like she's nothing. "Teeth then back to bed."
And that's exactly what happens, he stands with her as she gags her way through brushing her teeth and to both their relief she doesn't throw up the meal. Then they head to bed and y/n seems to pass out, completely satisfied while Oscar makes sure she's got her pillows in all the right places to keep her sleeping on her side before he manages to hug her with his hand resting on the small bump and admittedly he can't stop the smile on his face.
Other guys might be frustrated or annoyed, but he knows he's got responsibility for her pregnancy and he's not enduring the physical changes that she is. The least he can do is help her through these moment and support her.
Especially since he's not always there with her. But he'll do anything to take care of her when he's there and try to find ways to take care of her when he's not there. Which now he knows she craves full meals in the middle of the night, that's a new concern he has to handle when he's not there to drive out and get the food.
That's something to find solutions to in the morning.
Summary : if lando asked, she’d do it. that’s the problem. he knows she’d do anything for him, and he keeps asking anyway — until one misunderstanding, one missed sponsor meeting, and one final betrayal cost her everything.
Paring : lando norris x female reader
Warnings : angst, unrequited love, one-sided pining, emotional manipulation, being led on, humiliation, miscommunication, neglect, workplace fallout, getting fired, no happy ending,
If Lando asked for the moon, Y/N would have learned how to fly.
That was the embarrassing truth of her life.
Not that she loved him.
That had become almost ordinary to her, folded into the rhythm of race weekends and late nights and the humiliating little lift in her chest every time he said her name.
No, the embarrassing part was that he knew.
Maybe not every detail of it. Maybe not the nights she lay awake replaying things he hadn’t meant. Maybe not the fact that half her life had started arranging itself around his moods without her permission.
But he knew enough.
Enough to know she would stay.
Enough to know she would fix it.
Enough to know that if he smiled first and asked second, she would say yes before the question had even finished leaving his mouth.
He liked that.
That was the part Y/N hated herself for understanding.
He liked being wanted. Liked being taken care of. Liked the certainty of her, the way she was always there, always soft for him, always ready to make his life easier.
He liked the devotion.
He just didn’t care about the girl attached to it.
“Y/N.”
She looked up too fast.
Lando was leaning against the office doorway, cap in one hand, team quarter zip half undone, still sun-warm from outside. Pretty in the kind of thoughtless way that should have made a person less dangerous and somehow only made him worse.
He smiled the second he saw she was looking.
“There you are.”
Her pulse kicked.
“What do you need?”
His grin widened.
“See? That’s why you’re my favourite.”
Across the room, Mia didn’t even bother hiding her expression.
Y/N looked back down at her laptop. “You say that to get things.”
“Yeah,” Lando said easily, crossing the room. “And it works.”
He dropped into the chair beside her desk and pushed his phone into her hand.
Two schedule blocks. One sponsor appearance. One media stop. Same time.
Y/N closed her eyes for a second. “You said yes to both.”
He leaned back, stretching his legs out. “Probably.”
“Lando.”
“Definitely.”
She started fixing it while he watched her do it, perfectly relaxed now that the problem belonged to someone else.
After a second, he said, quieter, “I knew you’d sort it.”
That voice.
That exact voice.
Warm enough to feel personal. Light enough to deny later.
Y/N kept her eyes on the screen. “You always know I’ll sort it.”
“Because you always do.”
He said it like praise.
It wasn’t.
It was ownership.
She handed the phone back a minute later.
“There. You’ll have to leave the sponsor thing early.”
He looked at it, relieved. “You’re actually unreal.”
Then he looked at her.
Really looked.
And smiled in that lazy, devastating way that made it feel like he had chosen her out of every person in the room.
“Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Before she could stop herself, she smiled back.
That seemed to satisfy him.
Of course it did.
He reached out, brushed two fingers over her shoulder, and stood.
“Love you.”
Y/N froze.
Mia looked up immediately.
Lando had already made it halfway to the door.
He glanced back when he felt the silence.
“What?”
Y/N’s throat tightened. “What did you just say?”
His mouth curved.
“Relax.” He gave her a look like she was being sensitive on purpose. “You know what I mean.”
And then he left.
Mia waited exactly two seconds.
“He’s evil.”
Y/N let out a thin laugh.
“No,” she said, still staring at the doorway. “That would require effort.”
⁜
He led her on in ways that were hard to explain to people who hadn’t seen it.
Because it was never enough to be undeniable.
That was what made it so effective.
If he had kissed her once and regretted it, she could have hated him.
If he had told her outright that he liked the attention, she could have left.
If he had been careless enough to say I know you love me and I don’t care, at least there would have been honesty in the cruelty.
Instead, he gave her moments.
Little ones.
He would find her in crowded rooms and stand too close.
He would text her past midnight with you awake? and then, after she answered immediately like an idiot, follow it with need a favour x.
He would say things like I only trust you with this and you get me better than anyone here and stay with me for a sec in a tone soft enough to make her forget she was still technically at work.
He never promised.
He never had to.
Hope did all the labor for him.
One night after a sponsor dinner in Abu Dhabi, Y/N was outside by transport trying to reorganize cars when Lando came down the hotel steps with a brunette tucked under his arm.
He saw her and smiled.
“You’re still here.”
It was almost impressive, how he could make that sound intimate when all it really meant was good, the thing I need is where I left it.
“I work here,” Y/N said.
“Right.” He stepped toward her, lowering his voice as if this were something private. “Can you cover for me if anyone asks?”
Her eyes flicked to the brunette waiting by the car.
Then back to him.
“Cover what?”
He gave her that look. The one that said don’t make this difficult while still smiling.
“Just say I left early. Sponsor exhaustion. Whatever sounds official.”
Y/N stared at him.
For one awful second, he looked almost amused.
Then he softened, just a little.
“Please?”
There it was.
The tilt in his voice. The sweetness. The quiet confidence that she’d fold.
Because she always did.
Y/N swallowed. “Fine.”
His smile turned pleased.
“Knew I could count on you.”
Then he turned and walked back to the brunette without another thought, leaving Y/N standing there under the lights with her phone in her hand and her dignity somewhere under his tires.
That night, she lay in bed replaying knew I could count on you until she wanted to scream.
Not because it was kind.
Because it wasn’t.
Because it was certainty.
Because he knew exactly what she was and kept using her for it.
⁜
She asked him out on a Wednesday night.
Later, when everything had already gone wrong, Y/N would keep coming back to that moment and wondering if that had been the last clear warning she ignored.
The office behind hospitality was nearly empty. Most people had gone. The overhead lights were too bright, the air-conditioning too cold, the whole room suspended in that late-night stillness where everything felt more honest than it should.
Lando was sitting across from her desk in a hoodie, elbows on his knees, watching her rebuild the next day’s schedule because he’d changed his mind about three separate things and expected the universe to rearrange itself accordingly.
He looked tired.
Tired Lando was dangerous.
Softer. Slower. More likely to say things that felt true.
“You always take care of me,” he said.
Y/N kept typing because looking at him felt unsafe. “Someone has to.”
He smiled.
“No, but you do.”
She glanced up.
Big mistake.
He was already watching her with that unreadable softness he slipped into sometimes, the one that made her feel chosen and stupid in equal measure.
He tipped his head.
“You like taking care of me.”
It wasn’t a question.
And because she was tired too, because she was so tired of living inside things he could deny, Y/N heard herself say, “What if I do?”
He blinked.
Then smiled a little, like he thought she was being bold in a way that amused him.
“Then I’m very lucky.”
Her heart started racing.
There should have been a fire alarm inside her for moments like this. Some mechanism that said: he is doing it again. He is giving you just enough to keep you standing still.
Instead, there was only that awful bright hope.
She set her laptop aside before she could lose her nerve.
“Do you want to go out with me sometime?”
He frowned slightly.
“Out where?”
Her mouth went dry.
“On a date,” she said, because if she didn’t say it plainly now, she never would.
At that exact second, his phone lit up.
He looked down instantly. Swore under his breath. Grabbed it off the desk.
“Yeah, yeah, one sec...”
He scanned whatever message had come in, half-listening, already leaving her.
Then, distracted, he nodded and said, “Yeah, sure.”
Y/N stared at him.
“Really?”
“Mmhm.”
He was already typing.
She should have heard it then. The vagueness. The inattention. The fact that his yes had not landed on her at all.
She didn’t.
Or maybe she did and hope just drowned it.
“Okay,” she said softly.
“Text me,” he said, still looking at the phone. “Tomorrow’s a mess.”
And somehow she still went home glowing.
That was the pathetic part.
That a half-heard yes from a man who wasn’t even looking at her still felt like being chosen.
⁜
He didn’t show up.
Of course he didn’t.
Y/N sat alone at a restaurant in Monaco for forty-six minutes, checking her phone like each time might produce a different result.
Nothing.
No text.
No call.
No apology.
At minute fifteen, she told herself he was late.
At minute twenty-eight, she told herself something urgent had come up.
At minute thirty-four, she started to understand.
At minute forty-six, she knew.
He had never heard her properly.
Or worse : he had heard enough to answer and cared too little to remember.
The waitress came over with that careful smile people wore when they knew they were witnessing something embarrassing and wanted to pretend they weren’t.
“Would you like another minute?”
Y/N swallowed. “No. Just the bill.”
Her phone buzzed when she was halfway back to the hotel.
It was him.
For one stupid second, her whole body lit up.
Then she opened it.
need you to move tomorrow’s sponsor breakfast
She stopped walking.
That was it.
No sorry.
No where are you?
No I forgot.
Just need.
Y/N typed back before she could talk herself out of it.
you didn’t come
The reply took less than a minute.
to what?
She stared at the screen so long it dimmed.
That hurt more than anything else could have.
Not because he said no.
Because he didn’t even know what he had failed to show up for.
She typed nothing.
Another message came in.
seriously can you move the breakfast?
Then:
please
Then:
you know i wouldn’t ask if i had another option
Y/N laughed out loud on the sidewalk, the sound sharp enough to make a couple passing by glance at her.
There it was again.
The lie they both participated in.
As if she were the last option.
As if he didn’t come to her first because he knew exactly what she’d do.
She replied:
can’t. it’s mandatory.
He didn’t answer after that.
The next morning, he missed the sponsor breakfast anyway.
By afternoon, leadership knew.
By two o’clock, HR knew.
By two-ten, Y/N learned exactly what he had told them.
⁜
The conference room was too cold.
That was all Y/N could think at first, sitting across from the woman from HR and two senior staff members while they arranged papers in front of themselves and wore expressions that already had the decision built into them.
This wasn’t a follow-up.
This was a dismissal with good posture.
“There have been concerns,” the HR woman began, “about judgment and professionalism where Driver Norris is concerned.”
Y/N frowned. “What?”
The senior PR lead folded his hands. “Yesterday evening and this morning created a situation that we can’t ignore.”
Her stomach dropped.
“The sponsor breakfast?”
“In part.”
The HR woman looked down at her notes.
“We were informed that there may have been confusion caused by you regarding his evening plans, and that this may have contributed to him failing to attend his mandatory breakfast commitment.”
Y/N went still.
Not metaphorically. Not dramatically.
Literally still.
She stopped breathing for a second.
Then said, carefully, “I’m sorry. Confusion caused by me?”
The PR lead glanced away.
No one answered immediately.
That was answer enough.
Y/N’s voice came out thinner than she wanted. “What exactly did he say?”
The HR woman’s expression stayed neutral.
“That he believed there had been a misunderstanding created by you around a personal outing, and that his schedule may not have been communicated to him clearly enough afterward.”
The room went white at the edges.
There it was.
Not just that he’d missed the breakfast.
Not just that he’d forgotten her.
He had let them pin it on her.
Maybe because it was easier. Maybe because he’d been annoyed. Maybe because he hadn’t even thought through what it would do.
That almost made it worse.
Y/N laughed once.
The sound came out awful.
The HR woman softened slightly. “I understand this is upsetting.”
“No,” Y/N said, before she could stop herself. “You don’t.”
All three of them looked at her.
And because some final piece of her had already cracked open, the truth slipped out.
“He didn’t even know it was a date.”
Silence.
Immediate and complete.
Y/N shut her eyes.
Too late.
When she opened them again, the HR woman had gone very still.
“I see.”
No, Y/N thought.
No, you really don’t.
The PR lead cleared his throat. “This only confirms the blurred boundaries we’ve been concerned about.”
Blurred boundaries.
What a clean phrase for something that had ruined her so thoroughly.
By the time they said terminate your contract effective immediately, she was no longer really hearing them.
Badge revoked.
Apartment linked to role.
Access removed.
Pack your desk.
She nodded because her body knew how to perform compliance even while the rest of her was in freefall.
At one point, the HR woman said gently, “Why would you put yourself in this position for him?”
Y/N looked at her.
There were a hundred true answers.
Because he asked.
Because he knew.
Because he kept asking.
Because I loved him and he liked that more than he liked me.
Instead she just said, “I made a mistake.”
It was the smallest lie she had told about him.
⁜
She went to find him immediately.
Not because she thought he would fix it.
Not because she thought he would even be sorry in the right way.
Because she needed him to hear it from her.
Needed him to know that this one, at least, had landed somewhere real.
He was near hospitality, half-dressed for the next obligation, phone in hand, talking to someone from media while two sponsor reps hovered nearby.
He looked up when she said his name.
“Oh...hey.”
Hey.
Y/N almost smiled at that. The ordinariness of it. The complete mismatch between his tone and the fact that her life had just been taken apart because of him.
“I need to talk to you.”
He glanced at the people around him. “Can this wait? I’m about to...”
“No.”
That got his attention, briefly.
He stepped half away from the group, enough to suggest privacy without actually giving it.
“What happened?”
Y/N stared at him.
Then said it plainly.
“I got fired.”
His brows drew together.
“For what?”
She actually laughed.
There it was again. The confusion. The pure, undisturbed confusion of a man who had moved through his day never once imagining that another person’s world might have collapsed under the weight of his convenience.
“For you,” she said.
That made him frown. “What?”
“I got fired because you missed the sponsor breakfast. Because HR thinks I mishandled your schedule. Because apparently you told them I confused you about your evening plans.”
His expression changed.
Not enough.
Just enough to say he understood this might become inconvenient.
“Y/N, I didn’t...”
His phone buzzed.
He looked down.
Actually looked down.
At his phone.
While she was standing there trying not to come apart.
Something inside her went very quiet.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “One sec.”
He typed a reply.
One sec.
That was the line her mind would come back to later. The thing that would hurt in all the empty places long after the rest of it blurred.
Not the firing itself.
Not the date.
Not even the blame.
One sec.
As if devastation could hold.
As if she still existed in his life as something that would wait until he was finished with the important stuff.
Y/N let him finish.
Then, when he looked up again and said, “What were you saying?” with the faint impatience of someone trying to catch up to a conversation he’d half-missed, she just looked at him.
Really looked.
At the charm.
At the carelessness.
At the almost-boyish confusion that had gotten him forgiven by too many people for too long.
At the man who knew she would bleed for him and still found ways to ask for more.
“I said,” she told him quietly, “I got fired.”
He stared.
Then glanced over her shoulder because someone from media had just called his name.
He was already leaving again.
Even now.
Even here.
Y/N felt the last of her hope die so cleanly she almost mistook it for relief.
“That’s insane,” he said absently. “I’ll talk to someone.”
“No, you won’t.”
He frowned, distracted. “Why are you doing this now?”
That almost made her laugh.
Doing this now.
As if heartbreak had scheduling etiquette.
“Because you blamed me.”
“I didn’t blame you.”
“You let them.”
“That’s not...”
“Lando,” the media guy called again, closer now. “Now.”
He turned his head, annoyed.
Then looked back at Y/N.
And in that pause, that tiny split second where he clearly wanted this conversation to be over because he had somewhere else to be, she finally saw him as he was.
Not torn.
Not secretly in love.
Not scared of what she meant.
Just inconvenienced.
By her feelings. By her firing. By the timing of a mess he hadn’t meant to make and didn’t especially want to clean up.
He had always known she’d risk it all for him.
He’d just never thought that might become his problem.
Y/N stepped back.
He said her name, but only because she was moving away.
She smiled then.
Small. Sharp. Done.
“You should go,” she said. “You’ve got media.”
Something flickered across his face.
Guilt, maybe. Or annoyance. Or just the discomfort of being seen too clearly for the first time.
“Y/N...”
But she was already walking.
And the awful, perfect thing was that he let her.
Of course he did.
Because he always thought there would be time later.
hey love can you write something about lando and reader having a big fight over him being away so much at the moment, what makes her very uncomfortable and even a bit jealous. He does not get her point and all and it kinda escalates. But they have to go to a family event, so they try to play cool. But even there everything he says triggers her even more, to the point where she excused herself and gets outside for fresh air, of course followed by him where she breaks down because of all that arguing with the love of her life. You can decide the ending :)
The not so silent storm
Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader(y/n)
Warnings: emotional distress, intense arguing, jealousy, breakdown, angst with a happy ending
Summary: A massive argument over Lando’s brutal schedule escalates right before a family dinner. Trying to play cool for his mother’s birthday, his dismissive comments push you to a breaking point outside in the rain, forcing him to finally see your pain.
Requested: Yes/ Anon
Word count: 3973
Author’s note: Hii, this one got super emotional to write, i really hope it hits you right in the feels!! take care xx
Masterlist
The rain had been tapping a relentless, uneven rhythm against the large glass windows of the apartment for three hours, matching the anxious, thumping beat in your chest. The flat was quiet, too quiet, filled only with the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional distant splash of a car driving through puddles on the street below. It was a beautiful space, modern and sleek, with a panoramic view of London, but lately, it felt less like a home and more like a high end waiting room. And you were always the one waiting.
Lando was supposed to be home by four. It was now past seven. Your phone sat on the kitchen island, its screen dark and unblinking. You had already changed into the dress you were supposed to wear to his mother’s birthday dinner, a soft, elegant piece that you had spent an hour choosing, wanting to look perfect for his family. But as the minutes ticked away, the fabric felt increasingly heavy, almost suffocating.
When the heavy front door finally clicked open, the sound made you jump. Lando walked in, his shoulders slumped, his hair a bit messy from the damp air outside. He was carrying his duffel bag, throwing it onto the floor by the entryway with a tired sigh. He looked up, his blue eyes meeting yours, and for a fraction of a second, a flicker of guilt crossed his face before it was replaced by sheer exhaustion.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. “I am so sorry. The debrief ran incredibly long, and then traffic out of MTC was an absolute nightmare. I tried to radio through on a call, but my phone died halfway through the drive.”
You stood up from the sofa, smoothing down the front of your dress. You tried to keep your voice level, tried to be the understanding, supportive partner you always strove to be, but the emptiness of the apartment over the last three weeks had eroded your patience. “You could have charged it in the car, Lando. You always have a cable in there.”
Lando let out a sharp breath, walking past you into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. “I forgot the adapter, okay? I have had a million things on my mind. We are trying to figure out the balance issues with the car before the next triple header, and I am exhausted.”
“We have this dinner tonight, Lando,” you said, following him into the kitchen. You stood on the opposite side of the island, the marble barrier feeling symbolic of the distance between you lately. “It is your mum’s birthday. We talked about this. You promised you would be home early so we could drive down together and have a moment to breathe before we got there.”
“I am here now, aren’t I?” Lando replied, taking a long sip of water and setting the glass down with a slight thud. “I just need twenty minutes to shower and change. We will only be a little bit late. My family understands how my schedule works.”
“Your family understands, but what about me?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw and laced with the hurt you had been burying for a month.
Lando paused, looking at you properly for the first time since he walked through the door. His brow furrowed, a defensive edge creeping into his posture. “What is that supposed to mean, Y/N? I am working. I am doing my job. It is not like I am out partying.”
“You are never here,” you whispered, the honesty of it aching in your throat. “And when you are here, you are somewhere else. Your mind is always on data, or sims, or the next flight. I feel like a ghost in this apartment, Lando. I live here, but I am totally alone.”
“That is completely unfair,” Lando said, his voice rising a fraction. He stepped closer to the island, leaning his hands on the surface. “You knew what my life was like when we started dating. You knew the travel was insane. This is the peak of the season, and I am fighting for a championship. I need to be focused. I need you to support me, not start a fight the second I walk through the door.”
“I do support you,” you said, tears threatening to sting the corners of your eyes, though you blinked them back fiercely. “I fly to half the races, I sit in the garage for hours, I smile for the cameras, and I sit in this empty flat for weeks on end. But I need a partner, Lando. I need to feel like I matter more than a set of tyres or a simulator session. Yesterday, I saw photos of you at that sponsor event in Monaco, laughing and talking with all those influencers, and you couldn’t even send me a text to say you landed safely.”
Lando rolled his eyes, a gesture that cut straight to your core. “Oh, come on. Is this what this is about? The sponsor event? Those are obligations, Y/N. I am required to be there, I am required to talk to people. It is marketing. You are getting jealous over a PR media day?”
“It is not just the PR day,” you snapped, the anger finally overtaking the sadness. “It is the fact that you have energy for everyone else. You have energy for the sponsors, for the fans, for your engineers, for the media. You come home and you have absolutely nothing left for me. You treat me like an afterthought. I sit here wondering who you are with, what you are doing, and if you even miss me at all, because you certainly don’t act like it.”
“That is ridiculous and you know it,” Lando shouted, his face flushing red. He threw his hands up in frustration. “I am working my body into the ground for my career, for our future, and you are sitting here making me feel guilty because I have to talk to people at work? You are being incredibly clingy and insecure right now.”
The word clung to the air, sharp and poisonous. *Clingy. Insecure.*
You stared at him, feeling as though he had slapped you. The vulnerability you had just shared, the genuine loneliness that had been keeping you awake at night, had just been reduced to a character flaw.
“Insecure?” you repeated, your voice shaking. “I am uncomfortable because my boyfriend is a ghost in my life, and when he finally appears, he looks at me like I am a chore. If wanting to spend an hour of quality time with the person I love makes me clingy, then maybe I shouldn't be here at all.”
“Don’t do that,” Lando yelled, stepping around the island, his eyes dark with anger. “Don’t twist my words and make out like I am the bad guy because I am trying to win a world title. You are completely overreacting. You are making a massive drama out of nothing, and quite frankly, I don’t have the energy for this tonight. We have to go to my family dinner. My mum is expecting us. So just drop it.”
“I am not dropping it,” you said, your voice cracking as a single tear escaped down your cheek. “You don't get to just decide when a conversation is over because it is inconvenient for you. You don't get to ignore my feelings and then order me to put on a happy face for your family.”
“Well, you are going to have to,” Lando said coldly, turning on his heel and walking toward the bedroom. “Because I am going to shower, and we are leaving in fifteen minutes. Fix your face, Y/N.”
The bedroom door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the flat like a gunshot. You stood frozen in the kitchen, your hands trembling as you gripped the edge of the counter. The silence returned, heavier and more suffocating than before. You wanted to scream, you wanted to change out of the dress and leave, but the thought of upsetting his mother, who had always been nothing but kind to you, kept your feet glued to the floor. You wiped the tear from your cheek, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying to piece yourself back together before he came out.
True to his word, fifteen minutes later, Lando emerged. He was wearing a sharp, dark suit, his hair styled, looking every bit the pristine, successful athlete the world knew him to be. He didn't look at you as he grabbed his wallet and keys from the bowl by the door.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his tone flat, completely devoid of the warmth that usually defined him.
“Yes,” you whispered, grabbing your small clutch bag.
The car ride to his parents' house was an exercise in torture. The silence inside the luxury vehicle was deafening, amplified by the steady swish of the windshield wipers. Lando stared straight ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight enough that his knuckles were white. You looked out the passenger window, watching the streetlights blur into long lines of yellow and red through the rain. You wanted to reach out, to say something to break the tension, but the memory of him calling you clingy and insecure sat like a block of ice between you. Every time you thought about it, a fresh wave of resentment and hurt washed over you.
When the car finally pulled up the long driveway of the Norris family home, the house was glowing with warm lights. Several cars were already parked outside, indicating that the gathering was already in full swing.
Lando turned off the engine. He didn't get out immediately. He sat for a moment, staring at the dashboard, before letting out a long breath. He turned his head to look at you, his expression guarded.
“Look,” Lando said, his voice quiet. “We need to play cool inside. I don’t want my mum worrying, and I don't want my siblings asking questions. Just behave normally, please.”
*Just behave normally.* As if your heart wasn't breaking into a million pieces.
“I know how to behave, Lando,” you said, your voice dripping with a coldness you didn’t know you possessed. You opened your car door before he could move to get it for you, stepping out into the cool evening air.
By the time you reached the front door, Lando had caught up, his hand sliding to the small of your back. The touch, which used to bring you so much comfort, now felt burning and artificial. He put on a bright smile the moment the front door opened, and you forced yourself to do the same.
“Lando, Y/N, you made it,” Cisca, Lando’s mother, beamed, pulling Lando into a warm hug before immediately turning to you. “Oh, darling, you look absolutely beautiful. Come in, come in, out of the rain.”
“Happy birthday, Cisca,” you said, your voice remarkably steady as you hugged her back, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of her perfume. “You look lovely. I am so sorry we are late, traffic was quite bad.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it at all, Lando is always running on his own time zone anyway,” she laughed, ushering you both into the spacious living room.
The house was filled with chatter and laughter. Lando’s father, Adam, greeted you warmly, as did his brother Oliver and his sisters. The atmosphere was joyful, festive, and completely at odds with the storm raging inside your chest.
For the first hour, you managed to play your part perfectly. You stood by Lando’s side, letting his arm wrap around your waist, nodding and smiling as he talked to his brother about the upcoming races. To anyone looking at you, you were the picture perfect, supportive girlfriend of a racing superstar. But every time Lando’s hand tightened against your hip, or every time he laughed a bit too loudly at a joke, you felt a physical ache. It was a performance, an act designed to shield his world from the mess you were currently drowning in.
Eventually, everyone moved into the dining room for a buffet style dinner. You filled a plate with food you knew you wouldn’t be able to eat, your stomach knotted in tight anxiety. You sat at the long table, flanked by Lando on your left and his sister Flo on your right.
“So, Lando,” Oliver said from across the table, raising his glass. “The season is getting intense now. You must be feeling the pressure with the championship fight.”
Lando took a bite of his food, shaking his head with a confident smile. “Honestly, not really. I mean, the pressure is there, obviously, but I thrive on it. The team is working incredibly hard, and when you are in the zone, everything else just fades away. You just focus on the goal.”
You froze, your fork hovering inches above your plate. *Everything else just fades away.* The words felt like a direct jab, a public confirmation of exactly what you had argued about hours earlier. To him, it was a statement about his sporting focus, but to you, it was a reminder that you were part of the everything else that faded into insignificance.
“It must be exhausting, though,” Flo remarked, turning to look at you. “And for you too, Y/N. It must be hard with him being away so much. How do you cope with the constant travel and the long stretches apart?”
Before you could answer, before you could even form a polite, diplomatic response, Lando chimed in. He let out a light, airy laugh, a sound that made your skin crawl. “Oh, Y/N is fine. She gets a bit lonely sometimes, you know how she is, she gets a bit dramatic about the empty flat, but she manages. She knows it is part of the gig. She is used to it by now.”
The table offered a few sympathetic chuckles, moving the conversation along to something else, but your world ground to a complete halt.
*She gets a bit dramatic.*
He had just minimized your pain, your loneliness, and your private heartbreak in front of his entire family, turning your genuine distress into a cute, domestic quirk for dinner table conversation. He didn't even realize what he had done. He was sitting there, chewing his food, totally oblivious to the knife he had just driven into your heart.
You sat paralyzed, the noise of the dining room fading into a dull roar. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, the air in the room suddenly hot and thin. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't sit next to him for another second without screaming or crying.
Carefully, with trembling hands, you set your fork down on the edge of your plate. You forced a tight smile onto your face and turned to Flo. “I am so sorry, Flo, I just need to use the restroom quickly. Excuse me.”
“Of course, downstairs on the left, sweetie,” Flo said kindly.
You stood up, your legs feeling like lead. You didn't look at Lando, though you felt his eyes follow you for a brief second before he returned to his conversation with his father. You walked out of the dining room, your pace quickening with every step. You passed the bathroom, heading straight for the double doors at the back of the house that led out into the expansive garden.
You pushed the doors open, stepping out onto the covered stone patio. The cool night air hit you like a physical wave, and you took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to clear the suffocation from your lungs. The rain had slowed to a soft, misty drizzle, the cold droplets drifting under the patio roof and pricking at your bare shoulders.
You walked to the edge of the stone terrace, gripping the cold iron railing, staring out into the dark, expansive lawn. The tears you had been holding back for hours, for days, finally spilled over your eyelashes, hot and fast, tracing paths down your cheeks. You felt so small, so entirely disposable. You loved him with everything you had, but you were starting to realize that everything you had wasn't enough to compete with his world.
The sound of the double doors opening behind you broke the quiet of the night. You didn't turn around. You knew the footsteps.
“Y/N?” Lando’s voice called out, laced with a mixture of annoyance and confusion. “What are you doing out here? It is freezing, and you just walked out in the middle of dinner.”
You kept your back to him, wiping frantically at your face, trying to compose yourself, but the tears wouldn't stop. “I needed some air, Lando. Go back inside.”
“No, I am not going back inside,” he said, his footsteps coming closer until he was standing just a foot behind you. “What is wrong with you tonight? You are acting completely bizarre. My family is going to notice something is up. You promised you would play cool.”
The sheer insensitivity of his words snapped the final thread of your restraint. You whirled around to face him, your eyes wide and shining with tears, your chest heaving.
“Play cool?” you cried out, your voice cracking, though you kept it low enough not to carry back into the house. “How am I supposed to play cool when you sit there and humiliate me in front of your family, Lando?”
Lando blinked, genuinely startled by the intensity of your anger. He threw his hands out, his brow furrowing. “Humiliate you? What are you even talking about? I didn't say anything bad about you.”
“You laughed at me,” you sobbed, the first real sob breaking from your throat, making your shoulders shake. “You laughed and told your family that I get dramatic about you being away. You turned my loneliness, the fact that I lie awake every night wondering if you even care about me, into a joke. You told them I am used to it. I am not used to it, Lando. It hurts every single day, and you just dismissed it like it is nothing.”
Lando looked at you, the irritation on his face beginning to crack, replaced by a sudden, uncomfortable realization. “Y/N, it was just a joke. I didn't mean anything by it. I was just trying to keep the conversation light. I didn't want them worrying about us.”
“There is an us to worry about, Lando,” you screamed softly, the tears pouring down your face uncontrollably now. The weight of the past month, the fighting, the isolation, it all came crashing down on you at once. Your knees felt weak, your strength entirely evaporating. “Don’t you see that? We are breaking, and you are too busy trying to keep up appearances to notice.”
Lando stepped forward, his arms reaching out instinctively as he saw your posture crumple. “Y/N, hey, don’t say that.”
But it was too late. The dam had burst. You couldn't hold yourself up anymore. You slid down against the iron railing, sinking onto the cold stone floor of the patio, your hands flying to your face as you broke down completely. You sobbed heavily, your whole body shaking with the force of your grief, the sound muffled by your palms. You were entirely broken, undone by the agony of fighting with the person who was supposed to be your safe harbor.
“Y/N,” Lando whispered, his voice completely stripping of all anger, all defensiveness, all pride.
He dropped to his knees instantly on the wet stone beside you, heedless of his expensive suit. He reached out, his hands trembling as he gently pulled your wrists away from your face, forcing you to look at him. Seeing you like this, completely shattered on the floor, seemed to punch the breath right out of his lungs. His own eyes grew shiny, the harsh reality of what he had done finally piercing through his exhaustion and his focus.
“Hey, hey, look at me,” Lando pleaded, his voice breaking as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling your shaking body tightly against his chest. He buried his face in your hair, holding you so close you could feel the rapid, terrified beating of his heart. “I am sorry. Oh god, Y/N, I am so, so sorry.”
You didn't fight him. You couldn't. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, your tears soaking into the fabric of his collar as you gripped his jacket like a lifeline. “It hurts so much, Lando,” you choked out between sobs. “I feel like I am losing you, and I don't know how to stop it. I am so lonely.”
Lando held you tighter, his hands rubbing your back in frantic, soothing circles, his own tears finally escaping and wetting your hair. “You are not losing me. I swear to god, you are not losing me. I am an idiot, Y/N. A complete, selfish idiot.”
He pulled back just enough to look into your tear stained face, his hands cupping your cheeks, his thumbs gently wiping away the dampness. His eyes were full of a profound, agonizing regret.
“I have been so stressed, so consumed by the pressure, that I shut you out,” Lando said, his voice raw and trembling. “I took you for granted because you are the only stable, perfect thing in my life, and I thought you would just always be there. I didn't see how much I was hurting you. When I said those things inside, I wasn't trying to mock you, I was just scared. I was scared to admit to my family, and to myself, that I am failing you.”
You looked at him, your breath hitching, seeing the genuine devotion and terror in his eyes. The anger began to drain away, leaving only the profound love you had always carried for him.
“I don't need you to be perfect, Lando,” you whispered, your voice small and exhausted. “I just need you to be here. With me. Not just physically, but with your heart.”
“I am here,” Lando swore, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I am right here. I am going to fix this, Y/N. I will talk to the team, I will change my schedule, I will do whatever it takes. I can’t lose you. Winning means absolutely nothing if I come home to an empty flat because I drove you away.”
You closed your eyes, letting the comfort of his embrace wash over you, the cold rain falling around the patio suddenly feeling far away. He held you on the stone floor for a long time, whispering apologies, holding you until your shakes subsided and your breathing slowed.
Behind you, the double doors cracked open slightly, and Cisca looked out, her expression softening with deep concern as she saw her son on his knees, holding you tightly in the dark. Lando looked up, meeting his mother’s eyes. He gave her a small, tight nod, a silent plea for time. Understanding completely, Cisca offered a gentle smile and quietly closed the door, leaving the two of you alone in the quiet rain.
Lando kissed the top of your head, his arms still securely wrapped around you. “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered. “I will tell them you aren't feeling well and we need to go home. I want to take care of you.”
You pulled back slightly, looking at him, and for the first time in weeks, you saw the boy you fell in love with, completely transparent and entirely yours. You managed a small, watery smile, nodding your head. “Okay. Let's go home.”
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max verstappen x !antonelli popstar reader x kelly piquet
love doesn’t break loudly. it cracks in private—through reassurances you cling to, a knock at the door that steals the air from your lungs, a future that suddenly isn’t yours anymore. the world keeps cheering while you learn how to bleed quietly.
so you survive the only way you know how.
you show up for your brother, for the rookies who look at you like home. you turn your heartbreak into music and let millions hear what he did to you.
and somewhere between monaco nights and sleepless mornings, between people who watch you fall and people who refuse to let you, you find unexpected hands reaching for yours—steady, familiar, impossible to ignore.
this isn’t just heartbreak. it’s the moment you flip the switch—and everything changes.
fc : luvstruck on ig (++ a few pictures of madison beer)
(a/n) : omg the other day i was listening to my 21st century blues and so many ideas came to me! i fucking love raye UGH!!!!!!! warnings of infidelity, drinking, d*ug use, foul language, charles being horrible, etc etc. also someone asked for more max kelly poly and i will always come through!
You learn, very early on, how to exist in still photographs. How to angle your chin just enough that the light kisses your cheekbone. How to lean into Charles’s shoulder like it’s muscle memory and not a decision. How to smile softly instead of wide, because wide smiles are for people who are trying too hard.
With Charles, you never try. Vogue calls it effortless. The internet calls it soulmates. Ferrari’s PR team calls it gold.
The cover comes out on a Thursday. Black and white. You’re seated, long legs folded beneath you, silk slipping off one shoulder. Charles stands behind you, hands resting on the back of the chair like he belongs there—like he always has. The headline is something vague and romantic. Love at full speed. Something about balance. Something about fate.
Kimi texts you before it even hits your own phone.
why do you look like that
be normal please
also charles looks like he’s in love with you (gross)
You laugh out loud, curled into the corner of the couch in Charles’s Monaco apartment, feet tucked under his thigh. He’s scrolling through the comments already, thumb moving absently while his other hand rests on your knee.
“What?” he asks, smiling without looking.
“My brother is being annoying,” you say fondly.
“He adores me,” Charles replies easily.
“He tolerates you,” you correct, leaning in to kiss his jaw.
He turns his head just enough that your lips catch the corner of his mouth instead, and he laughs—soft, breathy, entirely unguarded. The sound still does something to you, even after all this time. Still makes your chest ache in that good, dangerous way.
At the track, you are untouchable.
You walk the paddock hand in hand, his fingers threaded through yours like a habit he doesn’t think about anymore. Ferrari red everywhere—your jacket with his number stitched into the sleeve, his hand warm at the small of your back when people stop you to talk. Cameras follow, always. You pretend not to notice.
Kimi trails behind you like a shadow, sunglasses too big for his face, trying very hard to look unbothered while absolutely basking in it. Sometimes Charles drapes an arm around his shoulders too, pulling him in like family, and Kimi pretends not to like it while leaning closer anyway.
With Kimi, comes the rookies. Naturally.
You take them out after the race—no team polos, no cameras, just a quiet restaurant tucked away from the marina. Charles orders for the table like he always does, knows everyone’s preferences by heart. You sit beside him, thigh pressed to his, his knee nudging yours whenever he laughs.
Isack argues with the waiter about wine pairings he doesn’t understand. Ollie steals bread off everyone’s plates and grins like he’s gotten away with something. Gabriel listens more than he talks, eyes bright, taking everything in.
“They are so spoiled,” Charles murmurs to you at one point, watching you reach across the table to fix Kimi’s collar without thinking.
“They’re kids,” you say. “Someone has to.”
He looks at you like that’s the most obvious thing in the world.
The night is easy. Loud. Warm. Wine stained and golden. Charles kisses your temple when you stand, pulls your chair out without being asked, keeps his hand on your lower back like a promise.
When you get home, he doesn’t rush you. You change into his hoodie—one of many that have become yours—and curl into his side on the couch while he watches race replays he’s already seen a dozen times. He presses a kiss to your hair, breathes you in.
“This,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “This is everything.”
You believe him. You believe him because there has never been a reason not to.
f1gossipgirls : charles caught cheating AGAIN? rumors are spreading after charles leclerc was seen with a mystery girl a few weeks ago that was most definitely not his fiancée, yn antonelli. the two have been together for over 3 years and just recently got engaged in the last year. however, with charles' track record, we wouldn't be shocked if this is true. 👀 stay tuned!
The rumors start small. A blind item. A tweet. A comment buried three replies deep under a photo of you smiling in the paddock. Someone suggests something careless, something ugly. You don’t see it at first—your fans are ruthless, protective, fast.
By the time it reaches you, Charles already knows.
“They’re nothing,” he says immediately, phone in his hand, expression calm. Too calm, you might realize later. “People talk.”
You nod. Of course they do. They always have.
“Look at me,” he says, turning your chin gently until you meet his eyes. “You know me.”
“I do,” you say, without hesitation.
He smiles then, relieved, kisses you slow and sure like he’s sealing something. You melt into it because you want to. Because loving him has always felt like stepping into warm water.
Over the next few days, the noise grows louder.
Paparazzi shots you don’t recognize. Anonymous accounts claiming things they can’t prove. Your name trending next to his in ways that feel wrong.
Charles never falters.
He calls you between meetings. Sends you photos of his espresso like he always does. Texts you goodnight even when he’s exhausted. When you ask—carefully, quietly—he answers without defensiveness.
“One time,” he says gently, shaking his head. “I didn’t even speak to her. They’re lying.”
You want to believe him so badly it almost hurts.
So you do.
You hold onto the way he reaches for you in his sleep. The way he still kisses your knuckles absentmindedly. The way he talks about the future like it’s a given—tours, albums, houses you joke about buying someday.
When he leaves for the Ferrari event, he kisses you longer than usual in the doorway.
“Don’t let the internet get in your head,” he says softly.
“I won’t,” you promise.
You mean it.
Three days later, someone knocks on the door.
It’s late afternoon. The light in the apartment is soft, diffused, catching on the edges of everything Charles owns—and everything you thought you shared.
She’s younger than you expect. Nervous. Hands clasped tight like she’s holding herself together.
“Is Charles here?” she asks.
“No,” you reply easily. Calmly. “He’s away.”
Her face falls. Just a fraction.
“Oh,” she says. Then, after a beat, “I didn’t know where else to go.”
Something inside you tilts.
You don’t raise your voice. You don’t cry. You don’t ask the question you already know the answer to.
Instead, you step aside.
“Come in,” you say.
You sit across from her at the kitchen island, legs crossed, posture perfect. She tells you her name—Valentina. She tells you she’s been trying to reach him. That she didn’t know about you at first. That she wouldn’t have come if she had another choice.
When she says the word pregnant, your stomach drops so hard you think you might be sick.
You don’t let it show.
You ask questions like you’re conducting an interview. Dates. Timelines. Certainty. You nod. You listen. You don’t interrupt.
When she finishes, you take a breath.
“Thank you for telling me,” you say calmly. “He’ll be back next week.”
She looks at you like she expects anger. Tears. Something loud.
You give her none of it.
“Come back then,” you add. “We’ll talk together.”
She nods, stunned.
When the door closes behind her, you stand very still in the quiet apartment. Your world hasn’t shattered yet. It’s just… shifted. And somewhere deep inside, something you loved without question has started to crack.
You become very good at pretending. It’s not hard, at first. You’ve been performing your whole life—on stages, in interviews, in love. You know how to keep your voice even, how to laugh at the right moments, how to answer I miss you with I miss you too and mean it just enough to survive.
You call him like you always do.
You text him updates you don’t need to share—what you ate, a lyric you scribbled down, a photo of the view from the balcony at sunset. You see him like a picture of yourself in public, engagement ring catching the light.
You don’t take it off. You tell yourself it’s strategy. Control. You tell yourself it’s so he won’t suspect a thing. But sometimes, when you catch the diamond in the mirror, you swear it burns.
To keep from unraveling, you work.
You lock yourself in the studio and pour everything you’re not allowed to feel into sound. You don’t write about him—not directly. Not yet. You write around the ache, around the rage, around the nausea that still hits you out of nowhere. You layer vocals until your throat hurts. You stay busy so you don’t have to think about the way your life split open the moment a stranger said pregnant in your kitchen.
When Charles tells you he’s flying home on Friday, you say, “I can’t wait.”
And you almost mean it—because at least then this waiting will end.
Valentina arrives right on time. She looks smaller in your living room than she did at the door days ago. Nervous again. You thank her for coming, offer her water, gesture for her to sit. The two of you wait together, side by side on the couch, an almost unbearable quiet filling the space between you.
When the door opens, Charles is already smiling.
He drops his bag, steps toward you out of habit, leaning in for the kiss he’s greeted you with a thousand times—
And stops. He sees her first. Then he sees you. Then he sees the ring. It’s on the coffee table. Placed there carefully. Intentionally. A small, glittering thing that once meant everything.
“—what is this?” he asks, voice thin.
You don’t stand. You don’t rush. You don’t soften your expression.
“Sit down,” you say.
He doesn’t want to. You can see it all over him—the panic, the denial, the instinct to charm his way out. But he does it anyway. Because something in your voice tells him this isn’t a conversation he gets to control.
You ask questions calmly. Methodically.
When did it happen?
How long did you know her?
How many times?
You look at Valentina when you speak to her. You look at Charles when you need confirmation. You don’t accuse. You don’t insult. You take notes in your head like you’re preparing a statement. When he finally says it—quiet, rushed, desperate—
“It was one time.”
You laugh. It slips out of you before you can stop it. A short, disbelieving sound. Almost amused. That laugh will follow him for the rest of his life.
“One time,” you repeat, shaking your head slightly. “That’s what you’re going with?”
He reaches for you then, finally losing his composure.
“Please,” he says. “I made a mistake.”
You stand.
“Get out,” you say, flatly.
“What?” he breathes.
“This conversation is over,” you tell them both. “You,”—you nod at Valentina—“thank you for telling me. He’ll contact you.”
Then you look at him.
“You,” you say quietly, “need to leave.”
“This is my apartment,” he says weakly.
You smile. Not kindly.
“Not tonight.”
You walk away before he can stop you. Down the hall. Into the bedroom. You shut the door and lock it, your hands shaking for the first time all day.
The moment you slide down against it, the sound rips out of you.
He’s at the door immediately.
“Please,” he says, voice breaking. “Let me explain. I can fix this.”
You scream for him to leave. You scream until your throat burns, until your chest hurts, until he finally goes quiet.
When the apartment is empty, you lose control.
You throw things. Pillows, books, clothes. You rip hangers from the closet and sob into the mess. You collapse onto the bed and cry until your body aches, until your face is wet and unrecognizable, until the room feels too big to breathe in.
Your phone buzzes. A text from Kimi. Something stupid. A joke. A picture of his dinner. Oblivious.
Your hands shake so badly you almost drop the phone. You scroll. You hit your mother’s name. She answers on the second ring. You don’t say hello. You just break.
The words pour out of you between gasps—rumors, lies, the door, the pregnancy, the ring on the table. You don’t filter. You don’t protect anyone. You tell her everything.
She talks you down with the steadiness only a mother has. Tells you to breathe. Tells you this isn’t your fault. Tells you to come home.
“I can’t,” you say hoarsely. “I just— I need space.”
She pauses, then agrees. Asks you to promise to check in. To not disappear completely.
You promise.
That night, you don’t sleep.
You pack. You write. You drink too much. You do things you know you shouldn’t. You leave behind anything that feels like him. You move quietly, like you’re already a ghost.
Before the sun comes up, you’re gone. You go somewhere very few people know about. Somewhere safe. Somewhere empty.
Your phone lights up constantly. You don’t answer. Except for Kimi.
When he finally calls, you pick up. He hears it immediately.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
You swallow.
“Nothing,” you lie gently. “Just… a rough spot.”
He doesn’t push. He trusts you. Always has.
“Okay,” he says softly. “I’m here.”
After the call ends, you open your laptop. You finish the song. The one you’ve been circling for days. And for the first time since everything shattered, you are able to hear the truth.
Isack sees it first. He’s scrolling through his phone half asleep, feet kicked up on a chair in the hotel dining room, when your name pops up on Instagram. No warning. No countdown. Just a still frame— red, mascara already smudged beneath your eyes, mouth parted like you’ve just finished crying.
black mascara out everywhere. more to come. xx
He sits up straighter.
“Kimi,” he says slowly. “Your sister dropped.”
Kimi looks up from his coffee. “Dropped what?”
They listen together.
All of them do—Isack, Ollie, Gabriel—crowded around a phone that suddenly feels too small to hold what’s coming out of it. The first verse plays, your voice low and cracked in a way Kimi has never heard before.
Once you see my black mascara
Run from you into my mama’s hands—
Kimi’s jaw tightens.
By the time the chorus hits, no one is pretending this is just another breakup song. This isn’t clever. This isn’t vague. This is a confession dressed up in couture and bloodied eyeliner.
You selfish man.
You’d understand.
Kimi feels sick.
The visuals start circulating next—screenshots, clips, people dissecting every line. You in black designer, bags under your eyes unapologetic. You alone. You breaking.
He tries to call you immediately. No answer. He texts. Nothing. Then the photos start appearing.
Paris, first. You stumbling out of a club at three in the morning, sunglasses on despite the darkness, mascara streaked, dress clinging to you like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. London. Laughing too loud. Head thrown back. Someone’s hand at your waist that isn’t familiar. Monaco. Red heels in the early morning light. Your hair wild. Your eyes empty.
You’re everywhere and nowhere all at once—moving so fast no one can catch you.
The internet calls it iconic. Kimi calls it terrifying. Seeing the one person who had always been strong for him, cracking at the seams in front of the entire world.
At the track, he doesn’t look at Charles. Not once.
He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t yell. He simply… removes him from his world. Walks past him like he’s invisible. Laughs with the rest of the drivers, answers questions, does his job—and never acknowledges the man who used to feel like family.
Charles hears the song alone.
He listens in his car, parked somewhere quiet, hands frozen on the steering wheel. Every lyric lands like a blow.
You made your bed.
Lied your lies.
And fucked my mind up.
He turns it off halfway through, chest tight, regret blooming so violently it almost knocks the air out of him. He didn’t know it could feel like this—to hear himself reflected back in your pain.
He tries to call you. You don’t answer.
Days later, Kimi finally gets through. Your voice is hoarse when you pick up, like you haven’t slept in weeks.
“Hey,” you say, too casually.
“Hey,” he replies, swallowing hard. “You okay?”
You pause. Just long enough that he knows the answer.
“I’m fine.”
He doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t call you out. Instead, he says softly, “You don’t have to come this weekend. If it’s too much.”
“No,” you say immediately. Too quickly. “Nothing will keep me from supporting you.”
When you show up to the paddock, the air shifts.
You’re dressed in black from head to toe. Tailored. Sharp. Sunglasses oversized, hiding whatever’s left of your eyes. You walk like you’re made of glass and steel all at once.
Kimi feels relief and heartbreak in equal measure. The rookies notice too.
Isack snaps when a journalist asks about Charles, his voice cold. “Ask him,” he says. “Not her.”
Charles tries to catch your eye. Tries to speak to you. Tries to apologize again and again in the quiet spaces between chaos.
You don’t look at him. Not once.
You catch Kelly’s eye across the paddock. She doesn’t approach. She doesn’t intrude. She just watches you carefully, like someone who knows what it looks like when a woman is drowning in plain sight.
That night, you sit on the bed in Kimi’s hotel room like you always have.
He watches you work—headphones on, laptop balanced on your knees, fingers moving like muscle memory. He listens to demos you’ve never played for anyone else. Dark. Heavy. Honest.
Finally, he asks, “What actually happened?”
You stop. Take a breath. And then you tell him. Not the PR version. Not the softened version. The truth. The constant lies. The girl. The pregnancy. Your diamond ring left on the table.
Kimi doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t rage. He just listens, eyes shiny, hands clenched tight in the sheets beside you.
When you finish, he pulls you into him like he did when you were kids. Like he still needs you to be his big sister—but right now, you need him more.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I should’ve known.”
“You couldn’t,” you say quietly. “I didn’t want to.”
He stays with you until you fall asleep sitting upright, your head on his shoulder.
The weeks after blur together. You’re a headline. A wreck. A spectacle. Heartbroken popstar spirals. Iconic post breakup era. She’s never looked better. Inside, you’re hollow.
At the event, the lights are too bright. The music too loud. You’re drunk, high, gone in the way only people who don’t want to feel anymore can be.
Kelly sees you immediately. Not as a wag. Not as gossip. As a woman who’s been here before.
She doesn’t judge you. Not once. She doesn’t ask questions. She just takes your arm gently, steers you out, gets you home.
She tucks you into a guest bed like you’re something precious. Fragile. You don’t remember any of it. But for the first time in weeks, you sleep.
You wake up slowly. Not with a headache. Not with panic. Just… awareness. The room is unfamiliar but calm—neutral colors, clean lines, the faint smell of coffee and something citrusy. Sunlight filters in through sheer curtains, landing gently across the bed like it’s afraid to touch you too hard.
You sit up, disoriented. For a moment, you can’t remember how you got here. Then the door opens. It’s Max.
He freezes when he sees you awake, clearly unsure if this is the right moment—or if there ever is one. He’s dressed casually, hair still damp, hands awkwardly shoved into his pockets.
“Hey,” he says softly. Not surprised. Not judgmental. Just there.
Your throat tightens.
“Kelly’s out for a bit,” he adds quickly, like he doesn’t want you to think you’ve been abandoned. “She… wanted you to sleep.”
You nod. Your body feels heavy, like gravity has been turned up.
“I can make coffee,” he offers. “Or tea. Or—uh—toast?”
The way he lists options like he’s afraid to choose wrong nearly breaks you.
“Coffee’s fine,” you murmur.
He nods and disappears without another word.
He doesn’t try to fill the silence. Doesn’t ask what happened. Doesn’t ask if you remember. He just sets a mug down near you, adds a small plate with fruit and toast like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
You sip. It grounds you.
“Thank you,” you say quietly. “And… thank Kelly. For me.”
He hesitates as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, reaching for your shoes.
As you head toward the door, he clears his throat.
“Hey.”
You turn.
“Just—” He pauses, searching for words. “Keep yourself safe, yeah?”
You swallow.
“And if you need somewhere to crash,” he adds, gentle but firm, “this place is always open.”
You nod. You don’t trust your voice.
Outside, Monaco feels too sharp. Too awake. You walk until your chest stops tightening, until you reach the building Kimi and Ollie share. Before you can knock, the door opens.
They’re already there. Neither of them say anything.
Ollie steps aside immediately. Kimi just pulls you in, arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.
You don’t speak. You just collapse onto the couch, curling in on yourself.
They follow.
Ollie stretches out on one side, solid and warm. Kimi settles on the other, instinctively pulling you closer. He reaches for the remote and puts on the show you used to watch together when you were kids—the one you all quote, the one that makes no sense now but still feels safe.
They don’t force jokes. They don’t ask questions. They just exist with you.
For a while, it almost works. Then there’s a knock. Sharp. Insistent.
Kimi and Ollie exchange a look. Kimi stands.
“I’ll get it,” he says, already knowing.
When he opens the door, Charles is standing there.
He looks wrecked. Hollow-eyed. Unshaven. Like someone who hasn’t slept and doesn’t deserve to.
The moment his gaze flicks past Kimi and lands on you, something in Kimi snaps.
“No,” Kimi says, stepping fully into the doorway. “Absolutely not.”
“I just want to talk,” Charles says quietly. “Please.”
Ollie moves without thinking, positioning himself between you and the door.
Kimi doesn’t hold back. His words are sharp, furious, protective in a way only a younger brother can be when he’s done pretending to be polite.
You sit up slowly.
“It’s fine,” you say hoarsely. “I’ll talk to him.”
Kimi turns, eyes wide. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” you say gently. “But I will.”
He studies your face, searching for cracks. Then he steps aside—barely.
In the hallway, Charles talks. He explains. He apologizes. He says words he should have said weeks ago. None of it helps. Every sentence just makes the ache worse.
“Please,” he says at the end. “I love you.”
You look at him for a long moment.
Then, quietly, “You need to leave.”
His face crumples. You don’t stay to watch.
Back inside, you collapse again, tears finally spilling over. Kimi sits on the floor in front of you, gripping your hands. Ollie wraps an arm around your shoulder and your head falls onto his.
Eventually, exhaustion wins. They fall asleep around you. You wait until the room is dark and quiet. Then you slip out.
The nearest club is loud and bright and wrong in every way—but it’s open.
You lose yourself in the crowd. In strangers. In noise. You don’t notice Max at first. He notices you immediately.
Sees the way you’re swaying. The unfamiliar faces around you. The little bag exchanged between hands. That’s enough. He’s beside you before you can protest.
“We’re going home,” he says, not unkindly.
You try to argue. You really do. But you’re too tired. Kelly is waiting when you arrive. The moment you see her, you break.
You cry and scream and sob into her shoulder like you’ve been holding your breath for weeks. Max stays close, steady, grounding.
Kelly takes you to the bathroom. Gently washes your face. Helps you change. She tucks you into her bed like it’s where you belong. When Max joins you, and Kelly curls in on the other side, you finally let go. They stay until your breathing evens out. Until you sleep.
You wake up slowly, blinking at the ceiling, disoriented again. For half a second you don’t know where you are, don’t know whose bed this is, don’t know why your chest feels tight in that awful, anticipatory way—like your body remembers before your mind does.
And then it all floods back. Being too gone to stand on your own. Max’s hand steady at your elbow. Kelly’s voice in your ear, calm and unafraid. Crying so hard your throat burned. Being held without questions. Without disappointment.
You inhale sharply and push yourself up on your elbows, panic flaring. You look left.
Max is asleep, turned slightly toward you, arm bent above his head, face bare and unguarded in a way the world never sees. No armor. No edges. Just a man sleeping.
You look right. Kelly, curled on her side, hair fanned across the pillow, one hand resting near yours like it had been placed there intentionally. Like she’d meant to stay close even in sleep.
Shame crashes over you all at once.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, already scrambling upright. “I’m so sorry—”
Kelly stirs immediately, eyes opening as if she’d been waiting for it. “Hey,” she murmurs, voice still thick with sleep. “No, no. Stop.”
You’re already halfway into an apology spiral, words tumbling over each other. “I shouldn’t have—last night was so inappropriate, I was a mess, I don’t even remember half of it, I—”
Max groans softly and rolls onto his side, blinking awake. He takes one look at your face—panicked, glassy, already bracing for rejection—and sits up.
“Hey,” he says gently. “Breathe.”
Kelly reaches up and brushes your hair back from your face, slow and deliberate, grounding. “You don’t need to apologize for surviving,” she says quietly. “Not here.”
Your throat tightens. “I dragged you into it. I was drunk and high and—”
“And heartbroken,” Max adds, not unkindly. “And not okay. That’s allowed.”
Kelly shifts closer, thumb tracing a soothing line along your cheek. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says, soft but firm. “Max found you. You are safe. That’s all that mattered to us.”
Your shoulders slump as the fight drains out of you, replaced by something fragile and raw. Tears well again, but this time they don’t feel desperate. They feel… relieved.
“I don’t want to be like this,” you whisper.
Max nods. “Then don’t be alone while you figure out how not to be.”
Something settles then. Something quiet and warm.
From that moment on, things change.
You stay.
One night turns into two. Two into a few. Your suitcase gets unpacked in the guest room without ceremony, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. No one makes a big deal out of it. No one asks for promises. They just… keep you.
You stop going out. The clubs fade into the background, their neon pull losing its grip. Instead, you wake up early with Kelly, drink coffee at the kitchen counter while she scrolls through recipes. You sit on the balcony with Max in the evenings, watching the light change over the water, not talking much at all.
You start writing again.
At first it’s ugly. Angry. Notes app paragraphs that read like open wounds. Lyrics scribbled and crossed out and rewritten until your hand cramps. You pour everything you swallowed into it—betrayal, grief, rage, disbelief. The humiliation. The love that didn’t disappear just because it was destroyed.
Eventually, it sharpens. You book studio time.
The breakup EP takes shape piece by piece, song by song, each one carving something out of you and leaving space behind. It hurts, but it hurts in a way that feels purposeful. Controlled.
One afternoon, the studio door creaks open and familiar voices fill the space.
“Well, this place smells expensive,” Ollie announces.
You laugh before you can stop yourself, turning to see Kimi, Ollie, and Isack crowded into the doorway like they’ve been dared to enter a haunted house.
“We were checking on you,” Isack says, suspiciously defensive for someone grinning that wide. “Professionally.”
“You are incapable of being subtle,” you tell them.
Kimi shrugs. “You love us.”
You do. You play them a bit of Flip a Switch. Just a snippet. Not even the full chorus.
Isack’s jaw drops. Ollie lets out a low “oh my god.” Kimi just stares at you, eyes dark and proud and a little furious on your behalf.
“That’s insane,” Ollie says. “Like… criminal.”
“You’re going to end careers,” Isack adds, delighted.
Kimi pulls you into a one armed hug. “You’re going to be okay,” he murmurs into your hair. “I hear it.”
When you get back to Max and Kelly’s that night, they’re exactly where you left them.
Kelly at the stove, hair tied up, music playing softly. Max on the couch, legs stretched out, watching old race reruns with the volume low.
They both look up when you walk in.
Kelly smiles first. Real, unguarded. “Hey.”
Max’s eyes scan you quickly—posture, expression, energy—and something eases in his shoulders. “You look good,” he says simply.
Healthier. Calmer. Less hollow.
Dinner is quiet. Comfortable. The kind of quiet that doesn’t beg to be filled. Plates clink. Someone reaches for the salt. Kelly talks about a recipe she wants to try next week. Max comments on a corner he still thinks he could’ve taken better in 2019.
Afterward, you help Kelly clean up. Water runs. Dishes stack. Conversation drifts easily, from nothing to everything and back again.
She presses a kiss to your temple before sending you off to rest. “Go sit,” she says. “You’ve done enough today.”
You curl up on the couch beside Max. The TV hums softly. You don’t really watch it. You just exist.
You feel his eyes on you and glance over.
He’s already smiling.
Not sharp. Not guarded. Just… fond.
He shifts closer, shoulder brushing yours. No rush. No pressure.
Kelly joins you a moment later, tucking herself against your other side, flipping on a movie and draping a blanket over all three of you like it’s second nature.
liked by olliebearman, kimi.antonelli, lando and 2,450,000 others.
f1gossipgirls : so...yn antonelli just released her ep and ended charles leclerc's career. just within four songs. HELP. many people are speculating that the "best friend" mentioned in flip a switch is none other than max verstappen, after the two have been seen together recently and he was spotted in one of her instagram posts.
—
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username007 : all the rookies in the likes PLEASE
username110 : if she is with max and kelly I WILL LOSE MY FUCKING MIND. how is someone this iconic???
username500 : the wag line- HELP.
username050 : "tell him im dead if he callin" your honor i love her.
username714 : the speech at the beg of flip a switch is my new life motto
A few weeks later, the world feels quieter in a different way. Not numb—never that—but steadier. Your breakup EP is out now, living its own life without you. The reception is overwhelming in the strangest, gentlest way. People hear themselves in it. They thank you for putting words to things they couldn’t say. You read messages late at night with Kelly’s legs draped over yours on the couch, Max half listening from the kitchen, pretending not to hover while still hovering.
Healing doesn’t come in waves anymore. It comes in inches. This morning, it comes in the form of tiny footsteps and a door flying open.
“GOOD MORNING!”
You barely have time to lift your head before Penelope barrels into the guest room and launches herself onto the bed, giggling wildly. Seven years old and made entirely of joy and chaos, she curls into your side like she’s been doing it her whole life.
“Hi,” you laugh, voice still sleepy. “Someone’s energetic.”
She nods furiously. “Do you wanna play Barbies with me?”
There isn’t even a second of hesitation. “Obviously.”
She cheers and drags you out of bed by the hand, pulling you down the hallway to her room. Barbie chaos ensues—tiny shoes everywhere, outfits strewn across the floor, dramatic voices and even more dramatic storylines.
Kelly peeks in a little while later, leaning against the doorframe with a soft smile. “Breakfast is ready.”
Penelope gasps like this is the best news she’s ever heard and sprints out toward the kitchen. You stay behind, kneeling to gather up the mess, lining dolls back up neatly.
Kelly watches you for a moment before stepping inside. “You’re really good with her,” she says gently.
You shrug, smiling to yourself. “I have a little sister. Comes naturally, I guess.”
She hums, crosses the room, and presses a kiss to your cheek. Then another to your temple. “I’m proud of you,” she says quietly. “For getting through all of it. You look… lighter. Healthier. And you’re so beautiful.”
Your chest tightens, but in a good way.
Breakfast is warm and noisy and normal. Penelope talks a mile a minute. Max listens with exaggerated seriousness, asking questions like her answers are the most important things in the world. You catch Kelly watching the two of you with something soft in her eyes.
Later, Penelope leaves with her father, and the apartment settles into a slower rhythm.
Max leans back in his chair. “Dinner tonight,” he says casually. “Somewhere nice.”
Kelly nods. “I’m in.”
He slides his card across the counter toward you. “You two go get ready. Salon, shopping. Make a day of it.”
You hesitate immediately. “You don’t have to— I don’t want to intrude on your date night.”
Kelly shakes her head before you can finish, stepping closer and kissing your cheek. “You’re not intruding. You’re invited.”
The day is light and easy. Hair, nails, laughter. Shopping turns into trying things on just to be silly. In one boutique, you freeze mid rack when you see a familiar face.
“Pascale?”
She turns, eyes lighting up instantly. “Oh, mon ange.”
She pulls you into a hug without hesitation. “You look so much better,” she says softly. “I’m so happy to see you like this.”
You swallow. “It’s good to see you.”
Her expression shifts—gentle but honest. “I’m so sorry for what he did,” she says. “I will always support you. Always.”
The hug lingers. When Kelly returns, Pascale squeezes your hands once more before leaving, smiling warmly at both of you.
Back at the apartment, Max watches from the couch as the two of you get ready. Kelly zips you into your dress, hands warm and steady. You stare at your reflection—really look at yourself—for the first time in a long while.
Kelly meets your eyes in the mirror. “Stunning,” she murmurs, then leaves a kiss—and a lipstick mark—on your neck.
The car ride is quiet in that comfortable, anticipatory way. Monaco at night glows outside the windows—golden streetlights, the harbor shimmering like it’s holding secrets. Max drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on Kelly’s knee. She keeps her fingers laced with his for a moment before reaching back to squeeze your hand instead.
“You okay?” she asks softly.
You nod. “Yeah. I am.”
And you mean it.
When the car stops, you realize immediately that the restaurant is… empty. No valet bustle, no voices drifting through open doors. Just warm light spilling out onto the sidewalk.
Max kills the engine. “I rented it out,” he says simply, like it’s no big deal.
You blink. “Max.”
He shrugs, a little bashful despite himself. “Didn’t want any noise. Or people watching.”
Kelly smiles at him fondly. “You always do this,” she murmurs.
Inside, the space feels intimate rather than grand. Candles flicker on every table, soft music hums in the background, and the windows look out over the water. It feels like a pocket of time carved out just for the three of you.
The waiter greets you quietly, already aware this is a slow night by design.
You sit between them. Kelly’s hand finds your thigh almost immediately—not possessive, just grounding. Her thumb traces small circles, absentminded, affectionate.
Conversation starts easy. Food. Music. A story Max tells about a race rerun he watched earlier that afternoon, animated in the way he only gets when he forgets to guard himself. You laugh more than you have in weeks. Real laughter. The kind that surprises you halfway through.
At one point, Kelly leans closer to murmur something in your ear about dessert, her breath warm against your skin, and you shiver—not from nerves, but from awareness.
She notices. Smiles.
Dinner stretches. Plates are cleared. Wine glasses refilled.
Eventually, Kelly grows quiet.
She squeezes your thigh a little more firmly. “There’s something I want to say,” she begins gently. “And you don’t have to respond. Not tonight. Not ever, if you don’t want to.”
Max turns slightly toward you, attentive but calm.
Kelly continues, voice steady. “I’ve always found you stunning. That’s not new. But what is new… is how deeply I’ve come to care about you. Watching you survive something that could’ve broken you—” Her voice softens. “It changed something for me.”
You swallow, throat tight.
Max nods slowly. “Same for me,” he says. “I didn’t expect it. Didn’t plan it. But you feel… right. Safe. And I know you’ve had enough people make promises they couldn’t keep.” He pauses. “We’re not asking for anything. We just want you to know you’re wanted. And protected. However you need.”
You stare at the table for a moment, then lift your gaze to them.
“I’ve never felt more safe than I do with you,” you admit quietly. “From the very beginning.”
Kelly’s eyes soften immediately. She lifts your chin with two fingers—not forcing, just asking—and presses a slow, gentle kiss to your lips. It’s unhurried. Tender. When she pulls back, she rests her forehead against yours.
Max waits until you look at him. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing beneath your eye like he’s memorizing you.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
You nod.
His kiss is just as careful. Just as warm.
The rest of the night is soft and sweet—shared desserts, quiet laughter, shoulders brushing, fingers intertwined. Kelly leans against you. Max rests his hand at the small of your back. No one rushes. No one asks for more than you’re ready to give.
When you finally leave, the world feels gentler. You don’t feel like you’re rebuilding alone.
You’re healthier now. Not in a fragile, tentative way—but in a way that feels earned. Your laugh comes easier. Your shoulders sit lower. Your anger no longer drives the car; it just rides quietly in the backseat, acknowledged but no longer steering.
You’re still sharp. Still powerful. Still you. And you’re happier than you ever thought you’d be—with Max and Kelly.
The three of you are a unit now. Not loud about it, not performative. Just… obvious. Easy hands. Shared looks. The way Max automatically reaches for your coffee order when he’s already up. The way Kelly tucks herself into your side without thinking, fingers lacing with yours like it’s muscle memory.
Kimi noticed first. He’d been suspicious—deeply so. He grilled Max like he was prepping for a cross examination, asked Kelly questions with the intensity of someone who loved you fiercely and wasn’t afraid to show it. Ollie, Gabriel and Isack followed suit, circling like overprotective satellites.
But what sold Kimi wasn’t words. It was watching Max step in front of you when things got overwhelming. Watching Kelly read your body language better than anyone else in the room. Watching them protect your quiet the way others had once taken it for granted.
He adores them now. Because they don’t just love you—they keep you safe.
You’re not “over” what happened. You don’t pretend it didn’t carve something into you. But it no longer defines you. It doesn’t shrink you. It doesn’t own your reflection when you catch yourself in mirrors.
You arrive at the race weekend calm. Grounded. You’re in Mercedes gear for Kimi, black and silver clean against your skin—but you’re walking hand in hand with Kelly, Max on your other side. It feels right. It feels real.
Charles sees you from across the paddock. And it’s like the air leaves his lungs.
He doesn’t hear the engines. Doesn’t hear the voices. All he sees is you—healthy, radiant, whole in a way he hasn’t seen since before everything shattered. And then he sees them. Your fingers intertwined with Kelly’s. Max leaning in to murmur something that makes you smile.
Then he sees Kimi with Max—easy, familiar, close. It hits him twice as hard.
Max wins the race. The moment the car stops, he’s already looking for you. He crosses the barriers, still breathless, helmet off, eyes bright—and kisses you first. Then Kelly. Quick, joyful, unashamed. The cameras catch it, but neither of you care.
On the podium, Max and Kimi stand together. Champagne sprays. The crowd roars.
You’re with family now—your family. Kelly at your side. Penelope clutching your hand. Kimi bouncing on his heels. Your little sister Maggie, all limbs and excitement, chattering nonstop.
Max finds you again after, lifts Maggie effortlessly onto his shoulders like it’s second nature. She squeals with laughter. Kelly squeezes your hand. Kimi and Max talk animatedly beside you, completely at ease.
And that’s when you see Charles again.
You slip away quietly.
He nearly jumps when you speak—like he doesn’t quite believe you’re real.
“You look…,” he starts, then stops. “You look happy.”
“I am,” you say simply.
There’s no anger left in your voice. No accusation. Just truth.
“I wanted to tell you,” you continue, “to forgive yourself. And live the future we thought we were building. I want you to be happy.”
His eyes shine. He nods, unable to speak. You press a gentle kiss to his cheek. Familiar. Final. And you walk away. Back to where you belong.
He watches Max kiss your temple. Watches Kelly lean into you. Watches Maggie laugh from Max’s shoulders. Watches Kimi throw an arm around both of them.
And it finally hits him. He didn’t lose you to revenge. He lost you to love. And you don’t look back.
SEEING IF HE'LL MELT INTO THE KISS ✶ OSCAR PIASTRI
❪ 𝟔𝟗𝟖𝒾 ❫ ｡ boyfriend!oscar piastri x fem!rea ✿ ◞ ◟ fluff oneshot established relationship 𓂋 𝘄 ｡ kissing, petnames 𝑙’ click ❞ ( based on this trend )
author's note. hi !!!! my first f1 fic ☺️ i love oscar so much bai
"absolutely not."
"oscar, please—"
"no. nope. not happening."
you're sitting cross-legged on the couch, phone in hand, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. oscar's standing in the kitchen doorway with his arms crossed, looking at you like you've just asked him to skydive without a parachute.
"it's just one tiktok," you plead, clasping your hands together. "one. i'll never ask again."
"that's what you said last time and i looked like an idiot for three million people."
"okay, but that one was cute. besides, you didn't look like an idiot," you argue. "you looked cute.""
he narrows his eyes at you, but you can see the corner of his mouth twitching. you've almost got him.
"but this one's different. you literally just have to stand there." you concede, peeking at him from under your arm.
he finally looks at you, those stupidly pretty brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. "stand there?"
"stand there."
"that's it?"
"that's it."
oscar studies you for a long moment. you give him your best innocent smile, the one that usually gets you what you want.
"fine. but if this ends up on the internet and people make fun of me—"
"they won't!" you're already scrambling up, grabbing your phone from the coffee table. "they're going to think you're adorable. because you are. now come here."
he follows you to the space near the window where the lighting's good, looking. you position him carefully, adjusting his shoulders.
"just stand normal," you instruct, propping your phone up on the bookshelf and angling it to catch both of you in frame. "like you would stand."
"this is how i stand."
you laugh, reaching up to smooth his shirt even though it doesn't need smoothing, just wanting an excuse to touch him. "relax, osc. i promise this one's easy."
he doesn't look convinced, but he does relax slightly, his hands settling loosely at his sides. you start the timer on your phone and rush into position next to him.
"okay so just—don't move," you say quickly.
"wasn't planning on it."
the timer beeps. you're recording.
you turn to face him, and oscar glances at you with those eyes, confused and suspicious and fond all at once. god, he's so pretty it's actually unfair. the afternoon light catches in his hair.
you reach for his right arm, lifting it up above his head.
oscar's confusion intensifies. his eyebrows furrow. "what are you—"
you stretch up and kiss him.
for a second, he freezes. his lips are soft and surprised against yours, his raised arm stiff. you can practically hear his brain short-circuiting, trying to figure out what the hell is happening, why you're kissing him mid-tiktok, what the point of any of this is—
and then something shifts.
his brain must catch up, must decide fuck it, because suddenly he's kissing you back. properly. his free hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone, and his raised arm drops to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer against him.
you make a small surprised sound against his mouth because this was supposed to be a quick kiss for the camera but oscar's kissing you like he's forgotten the camera exists entirely. his fingers spread against your lower back, and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.
your phone is definitely still recording.
you're definitely not thinking about it.
oscar's really good at this, at making your knees weak and your thoughts fuzzy. his hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, and you grab onto his shirt for balance because standing seems suddenly complicated.
"oscar," you mumble against his lips.
"mm?" he doesn't pull away, just kisses the corner of your mouth.
"the tiktok."
"what about it?"
"we're still recording."
he pauses, and you feel him smile. "your fault for kissing me."
"it was supposed to be a quick kiss!"
"should've specified that." he pulls back just enough to look at you, pupils blown. his lips are pink and slightly swollen. "this was the trend? kissing me?"
"lifting your arm up and then kissing you to see if you'd melt into it," you correct.
Summary- Max is new to being a single dad and is struggling, but maybe his miracle just walked through the door as the new PR manager. He can't help but wonder why she is so good with kids, and why she is a PR manager if she apparently doesn't have a degree in these things. Ch2 Ch3
warnings- angst!, a little fluff, cussing, descriptions of misscarege and cheating, slight descriptions of depression, blood. nothing else I can think of, lmk if I missed anything
WC- 3k
Note- This is just chapter 1. Chapter 2 is gonna be out in a few days, followed by chapters 3 and 4. This is proofread, but I can't promise it's perfect, so please kindly let me know if I missed anything
Being a single father is hard. Being a single father working full-time in the racing world with a 5-year-old daughter is very hard, and Max is just learning this.
For Max, all of this was new. He was still learning and struggling. That is emphasized by the fact that he showed up at the paddock with his daughter in tow and crying because the snack she wanted wasn't in her backpack. Now he's making a mental note to triple-check what she has in her bag. However, there's nothing he can do now. He has strategy meetings, PR events, and a car to drive. But right now, Lilly is having a full meltdown, and half of the paddock is staring at him blankly. He picks her up and takes her to his driver's room, patting her back.
“Shhh shhh shhh, baby, it's ok, take a deep breath,” he whispers, bouncing her on his leg, as she stops crying.
“Listen, Lilly, I can't get you apples right now, but once I'm done with work, I’ll get you one and some chocolate. How does that sound?”
“What about while I wait?” She hiccups,
"You can eat one of these," he says, reaching into the backpack to grab one of the other snacks he brought.”
Lilly pouts but grabs the trail mix with M&Ms anyway. Max takes a deep sigh, "I'm turning on Bluey," he says, getting some toys out for her. "I have an interview for PR, but I'll be back before my next meeting. Sounds good?" She nods, already coloring on the sheets he gave her. He walks out of his driver's room and sees Yuki waiting for him in the hall.
“Yo,” he greets and starts walking with Max. “Did you know we have a new PR manager starting today?”
“What happened to the old one? Did they leave already?”Max looks at him, confused.
“Kinda, they moved to PR for Moto GP.” Yuki states, “It happened like two weeks ago. We’re lucky we found one so quickly, but I've heard gossip that she doesn't have a college degree related to anything to do with PR or communications, so I don't know how good she'll be.” Max laughs, running his hand through his hair.
“Well, let's hope she is at least ok.” He can't help but think how annoying it's going to be if she truly doesn't know what she's doing, but he has to give her a chance before discarding her. He knows that.
–-
Your morning has been the definition of chaos. You didn't wake up later or anything, but your hair curler stopped working halfway through, your car wouldn't start, and you cut your hand open making breakfast. Luckily, you were still on time—10 minutes early, in fact—but you would have liked it to be more. You walk in the paddock, eating a slice of apple, looking for the two drivers. Before you can find them, it seems someone else finds you first.
“Hey! Are you the new PR manager?” You looked at him a little wide-eyed.
“Uhh, yes, that would be me! Do you know where the drivers are?” He laughed, pointing to a corner where you could see a very short man and someone else standing together.
You smile and thank him, walking towards the two, getting ready to introduce yourself. You tap the taller one on the shoulder, and when he turns around, you can definitely see the appeal of all those tweets you saw doing research into the team.
After a short pause to admire him, you see the slightly annoyed look on his face, probably because he thinks some random person just bothered him right before an interview, so you introduce yourself,
“Uhh, hi, I'm y/n. I'm supposed to be starting as your new PR manager today. I promise I'll put all my effort into being the best PR manager for you two.”
You look at them for a second, waiting for a reaction, before the shorter one, who you believe to be Yuki, starts laughing. “It's ok, you don't need to be so anxious around us,” he says, letting out the last of his laughs. He removes his hand from his stomach and holds it out. "I'm Yuki." You shake his hand before turning to the taller one.
“So that would mean your max? ” He nods, holding his hand out, “It does. I hope we can work well together.”
You smile at them both, deciding to talk a little before their interview, then go to find Laurent. Once you find him, he gives you a small tour of the paddock. When you reach the driver's room, you see a little girl playing with blocks in the room labeled Max.
"That's Max's daughter," he says, following your gaze. "She's a very sweet and smart young girl."
“Looks like it.”You smile.
“...Now that I think about it…That's what your degree and work history are in, right? Early childhood development and teaching?” You look at him, shocked for a second before realizing he's your boss. Of course he'd read your whole resume. You laugh,
“Yeah, it is very different than this work, huh?”
“I believe in your ability to do this job, or I wouldn't have picked you.” He pats your back, continuing your tour before circling back around to the offices where your desk lies in a little room with a great view of the track.
He hands you a company phone pre-loaded with social media, logged into the Red Bull accounts, and important phone numbers. He then leaves to let you get settled into the office and tells you you'll meet with Yuki and Max in an hour and a half.
You look around the small space. There’s a desk that has a fake plant and a Red Bull, and a shitty office chair. It's very generic, but you suppose that's probably how all offices look, at least you brought a few small pictures to make it feel like home. One of you and your siblings, and another of you and the first kindergarten class you taught. You set them both in the corner across from the fake plant you plan on replacing with a real one.
You get a little work done on your laptop before you have to leave for the meeting room. You grab your purse and laptop and head down the hall. You get there a handful of minutes before either of the drivers does and open your laptop, although it's not really needed. The point of this meeting is just to get to know them.
Laurent is the first to enter, followed by Yuki, who smiles and takes a seat, waiting for Max to enter. When he does, he has a small upset girl on his hip, the same one you saw in the driver's room. You vaguely remember hearing that he has a kid, but you wonder why she's not with her other parent right now.
You take a deep breath and get ready to introduce yourself. “Hello, I know we've already met, but my name is y/n, and I am new to the racing world, but as I already said, I will try my best to do well.”
There were a few seconds of silence before, again, Yuki breaks it.
“So this is new to you. What did you do before?”
“It was very different,” you let out a small sigh, trying not to think about it too much because you know it'll make you dejected. Yuki can tell almost immediately that you don't really want to answer, so thankfully, he drops it.
“Well, as you know, I'm Yuki, and that is Max, and the little girl behind him is Lily, his daughter.” She gives you a small wave. Ahh, finally something I know, kids. You kneel down to her level and wave,
“Hi, Lily, I'm y/n. I do what's called PR for your dad.” You smile at her as she slowly slides out from behind his leg.
“What's PR?” she asks, looking at you with a curious gaze,
“Well, I make sure your dad looks good on TV,” she smiles,
“Like Bluey?” You laugh, “Sure, close enough.”
“Do you have kids of your own?” he asks a bit surprised at how well you are with her. It's an innocent question, really, but it triggers something inside of you, taking you back to that day.
–
You're sitting at your desk, eating lunch while your students are at recess, when one of your friends walks in
"Hey y/n! Whatcha eating for lunch?” You smile.
“Well, don't judge me when I tell you a peanut-butter and pickle sandwich with Doritos.”
“No, I get it. Those pregnancy cravings go crazy!” she smiles, “When are you due anyway?”
“About 16 more weeks. I'm so excited for Alexander to be here!”
When your kids come back in from recess, you start your lesson. Your kids are still learning about the sound association. So you're doing an activity where you give them a Smartie every time they can make a correct association. You started to get some really bad cramps and didn't think it was a big deal, you were five months pregnant after all, so you rolled your seat over and sat down, still playing the game. The pain didn't stop for a concerning amount of time. When it finally went away, it was almost the end of the day. You were grading a few papers and finalizing a few details for some future lesson plans when your friend popped her head in the door.
“Hey, how are you feeling? You don't look very good, no offense.” She smiles, coming to sit beside you.
“Oh, I kind of feel bad. I’ve been having the worst cramps, and I REALLY have to pee, but I have to finish this first. Do you mind keeping me company?” you say, trying to get the last of the things done.
“Of course, girl, how much do you have left?” she asks, pulling a chair up to your desk and pulling her phone out.
“Just these last few,” you say, finishing as quickly and getting up. “I have to pee so bad it feels like I already started.” You laugh, grab your things, and head to the teacher's bathroom. When you pull your pants down, you immediately feel the wet in your underwear; it feels thick and cold like you just started your period, and your stomach drops. You feel sick just at the thought. You can't make yourself look down, too afraid of what you'll see. After too long, you take a deep breath and look down. Your heart shatters. It's blood, and a lot of it. Shakily, you pull your pants back up and walk out to your car as fast as you can You're in a daze, everything is blurring together as you get in your car. The drive to the hospital was silent. All you could think about is it's not true, IT’S NOT TRUE.
You walk into the hospital numb, not thinking, not hearing. Everything is fussy. You quietly and matter-of-factly tell the receptionist you think you're having a miscarriage, and she looks at you, shocked, calling a nurse out for you and rushing you back, all in a blur. The nurses are telling you that you have to deliver the baby who is no longer with you. It is the worst pain you've ever felt. He was supposed to come out crying, you were supposed to be exhausted every night when he cried and kept you up, and there wasn't supposed to be this much blood. It all happens quickly, from the nurse asking for your emergency contact to her telling you you could keep bleeding for the next month to your husband showing up and taking you home.
The whole time, all you can think is IT’S NOT FAIR! You always get to see parents walk in and out with their babies. You've always loved your students as if they were your own. You've always opened your heart and home to nieces and nephews, and you were finally going to have your own. You were supposed to be a great mother. It can't be true. This can't be how it happens. You want to be a mother, you want to be a great mother. Why does this have to happen to you?
You go back into class a week and a half later, and the students are worried, your co-workers are pitying you, and your husband has been… Distant at best. Nothing in your life is right, the world doesn't feel real anymore, nothing feels ok, and the little voices make you wish you could have made one of your own. Now, when the pregnant moms walk in, it makes you hate them instead of befriending them like you used to. You hate it all, this school, this town, yourself. The overly worried looks of coworkers make you sick. The blood still in your underwear makes you sob in the bathroom. Every minute feels like years. Everyone knows what happened, even if they pretend they don't. You know, things like this travel fast in towns like this. As the months drag on, you become less of a person, and your husband becomes more distant. He comes home smelling like perfume, but you don't care. Maybe it's your fault for not being able to deliver a crying baby. You know something is wrong, but you can't think about it it's too late to fix.
—
You quickly snap back to reality, avoiding thinking anymore about that haunted town and haunted home. You look up at Max, hearing the question ring in your ears a little, but muster the best smile you can,
“No, sadly.” You stand back up, looking at Yuki and Max.
Max can tell there's something wrong from the barely too long pause and the look in your eyes when you look up at him to answer, but he doesn't want to pry further. That's your business, not his, unless it starts to affect your work.
“Well, if you two have any questions for me, you can get a hold of me through the company phone.” They both nod. Laurent informs you all of a few videos and interviews he wants you to do throughout the weekend.
You start talking to them about ideas on how and when you can do these. When you head back to your office, you start managing a hospitality event happening at the next race, which is something that is completely new and overwhelming to do, but you're determined to do it right.
As lunchtime approaches, you desperately need a break. Grabbing your lunchbox, you take a small walk around that paddock, needing new scenery for your lunch. You pass by the driver's rooms and hear a child sobbing. You immediately know it's Lily and peek your head in the door. She's on the floor crying, and Max isn't even in the room. “Hey,” you say, taking a cautious step in “what's going on?” you ask, getting down to her level.
She stares back at you before letting out another small sob,
“Dad said I could have apples, and then—and then he said no and left me.”
You raise your eyebrow, knowing how kids can be all too well, so you don't fully believe her. “Well, I'm sure he'll be back soon. He wouldn't just leave you,”
“I want my dad.” she sobs. You sigh, moving a little closer and patting her back.
“I know you do, but let's take a deep breath. I may have something for you,” you say, still patting her back while you look at her and taking a deep breath in and out a few times till she calms down a little. When she stops crying, she looks at you.
“You have my dad?” You laugh, “No, but I do have apples.” You reach into your lunch bag and pull out the apple you were going to have, and she lights up.
“I can have that?” You nod.
“Yeah, if you want it,” you say, taking the sticker off. She nods, and you smile. “Do you want it cut into slices?” She nods again. You walk over to the small counter and start slicing it into pieces, taking the core out of each piece before putting it on a napkin and handing it to her. She happily takes a bite, kicking her little feet. She starts telling you a story about all the cats she apparently has at home, starting a small conversation between the two of you, before Max walks back in a little flustered. He looks at you for just a second too long, and you can't help but notice how fucking beautiful he is.
—
When Max walks in without the apples he promised this morning, it's almost an immediate breakdown. He had told her he'd forgotten and would be right back with apples, but she was still crying when he left. He thought she’d be fine for a few minutes, but when he came back, he could no longer hear her crying. He could actually hear her giggling, and when he walks into his driver's room, he stops in the doorway, seeing you slicing an apple for Lilly. He watches you carefully cut the core out before setting them down in front of Lilly, immediately starting a small conversation, and he sees how happy Lilly is and how good you are with her, and his heart jumps a little. Maybe it's because you look beautiful sitting on the floor there with Lilly, smiling at every word she says. Maybe it's because of how happy Lilly is. He doesn't know, but he does know it's not good. He can't develop feelings for the new intern on her first day, even if she is drop-dead gorgeous, even if she is inexplicably good with his kid. He has to take a deep breath before walking in and making his presence known. He locks eyes with you and immediately knows, FUCK, THOSE EYES ARE GOING TO DOOM ME. Maybe he's ok with it.
