#f1 fluff

Oscar never really considered the fact that so many people were unaware of his home life.

That he's married, he had a little boy at home with another baby on the way and they're settled into a routine and life together even with F1 shaking it up.

They met while they were young and he didn't see point in wasting time in prolonging their inevitable marriage and naturally Alfie came a few months after that.

"How are you feeling?" Oscar asks as he sits in the car on the way to the track.

"My back hurts a little but nothing to be concerned about." Y/n shrugs with a soft smile before sighing. "Alfie is down for his nap. So I'll call you later to chat with him."

"Thank you." Oscar smiles earning a small nod before she sighs softly looking at him. "What?"

"Nothing, I just miss my husband sometimes-and before you feel guilty, it's not about anything other than I am so turned on 24/7 right now."

Oscar almost chokes at her candour, though he recalls this part of her first pregnancy which he took great joy in being part of even if he was terrified about causing any damage or harming the baby.

"I'll make it up to you once I'm home."

"You really don't have a choice." Y/n states earning another laugh.

-

Oscar yawns as he walks in for a dinner that has been planned ahead of the weekend, they have these sorts of dinners a few times a year. The most famous being the Abu Dhabi end of season meal.

"Hey, mate. How you feeling?" George asks as the two McLaren drivers sit down but the question being directed at Lando.

"I'm good. Already looking forward to the weekend being over." Oscar sighs making George frown.

"Already having doubt in yourself?"

"No. God definitely not. But y/n is at a certain point in her pregnancy and I just want to be there for her." Oscar states casually making George's eyes bulge in shock. But he's not the only one since the table falls silent.

"You have a baby on the way?" Max asks making Oscar look around.

"Yes...I've got a toddler too. He's about to turn 2." Oscar smiles just thinking about Alfie.

"How did you never mention that? I've never even met your girlfriend." Lando states making Oscar clear his throat and shift a little.

"You never asked...My wife and I got married at the end of 2023." Oscar states making the table go into a sequence of questioning, some even accusing him of lying.

"I'm offended I wasn't invited." Lando huffs crossing his arms jokingly.

"Any other secrets? We're asking now." Fernando questions making Oscar think for a moment.

"No. I don't think so. Wife, toddler, baby on the way. That's everything I can think of." Oscar shrugs then frowning as his phone rings. "Her ears must be burning, I gotta take this."

He steps out knowing the group are going to question if any of them had any suspicion but not one of them realised just how little they knew about Oscar. An assumption that Logan may have been aware since he's known Oscar so much longer and at one point was very much considered near family.

"Hey, baby. Everything ok?" Oscar asks softly making y/n huff out trying to make a sniffle. "Y/n?"

"I have braxton hicks." Y/n hiccups making Oscar sigh, hating that he's not there to help but she's officially in the third trimester and the doctor is advising against her travelling especially so far. A short couple hours might be allowed but from Las Vegas to Qatar then Abu Dhabi for the final triple header to round off the season. "Where are you?"

"Nowhere important."

"Oh you're at that dinner. I'll-I'll call back later I don't want to-"

"You are my priority, especially if I can't be there physically. Anyway they're all processing the news that I have a wife and kids since no one knew."

"What? How did they not know?-I mean I know I try to keep out the way of people when I'm there, but we don't act like strangers." Y/n rambles. "Did they think you were single?"

Oscar smiles a little sensing her getting possessive over the idea these men might've thought that Oscar would be up for another woman. He's not sure if she'd usually be so offended at the idea of Oscar being single but maybe he should've figured that pregnancy would be a little more upset at the thought of her husband being assumed single.

"Don't worry, I'll make it very clear from here forward that no one else thinks I'm single." Oscar promises earning a hum. "You know...when I get back there is something to celebrate."

"Our anniversary I know. I might be pregnant but my mind hasn't lost me yet." Y/n smiles lightly.

"Leave it all to me. I've got some plans."

The talk for another 5 minutes before y/n insists Oscar get back to the meal and he promises that they'll be talking again later when the dinner is over.

He returns to find the food has arrived and smiles sitting down, though he doesn't get more than a couple bites before George has to ask more questions and Max joins him as a new father on the grid, he's intrigued about Oscar's own journey with fatherhood. Though he doesn't word it quite in that way.

"Got any pictures?" Lando eventually asks and Oscar is happy to provide since despite him not making it a priority to discuss his private life, he is more than happy to share is someone asks.

Everyone make assure to let Oscar know he has a beautiful family, Lando also makes sure to let him know that he's batting out of his league by bagging his wife. Obviously joking but Oscar will take the compliment to y/n.

"We're coming up to the anniversary, thankfully it falls after everything for the season is done." Oscar states earning a small smile from the group since it's really nice getting to know this side of Oscar.

Some of them even realised he wears his wedding ring on his right hand but none of them had thought anything of it earlier when they'd noticed. They definitely didn't think it was a wedding band.

It's not till later when Oscar is on phone call with y/n and Alfie is finally on the call. He's grinning and yapping away with Oscar, mainly gibberish that is an attempt at real words. Y/n and Oscar understand most of what he's saying but when he's especially excited and just talking to talk, he stops using words and make noises that sound like words but aren't.

Oscar captures a couple screenshots and y/n is about to hang up but he asks if he can stay on call for the bedtime routine with Alfie. Plus he just wants to talk to y/n alone and after saying goodnight to Alfie, y/n leaves him in his room. Oscar always have to credit y/n as the most amazing mum because she has got Alfie in a routine and he sleeps through the night almost every night without fail.

"You don't usually want to stay on call for so long. What's up?" Y/n smiles as she settles down with a donut to finish her day. Something in Oscar wants to comment about that choice of snack purely out of concern for her blood sugar (his inner athlete is so nutrient focused but pregnancy hormones don't give a fuck and he learnt that in the first pregnancy) but he also doesn't want to be hung up on and ignored.

"I just want some extra time with you. My beautiful wife." Oscar smiles softly while y/n immediately pouts. "I love you, baby. Not because we have kids together, not because we're married, not because of anything but because you are such an incredible person and sometimes I don't make it obvious but that's how I feel."

Y/ bursts into tears, having to cover her mouth to make sure she doesn't sob and trigger Alfie's reappearance.

"You dick. You did that on purpose." Y/n hiccups while Oscar smiles a little. "I love you too, and you might not make it obvious to everyone else. But you make just how much you love me obvious to me. I never doubt it."

"Well I spent the rest of that dinner bragging about you and our family without apology." Oscar states earning a grin. "I'll be home soon and you will not be lifting a finger. I've got a lot of daddy duties to make up for and you...should not have to be doing this stuff on your own with Alfie when you're this far along."

"Oscar..." Y/n warns since she has never allowed him to feel guilt about working and just doing what he has to for his career. "I'm fine. I miss you like hell, but I missed you like hell before we were married and before we had kids. Alfie is doing great. I'm doing great, baby is doing great. We're all great. You own me nothing."

"I owe you so much more than you realise" Oscar whispers suddenly before smiling. "I'm going to let you sleep. I love you, we'll talk tomorrow. I'm going to play padel."

"I love you too, talk tomorrow and have fun. Try to win...unless it's Carlos, Lance or Fernando. In which case accept a gracious defeat."

kimi.antonelli

liked by georgerussell63, yourusername and others

kimi.antonelliㅤon my way back home, in good company 🏆 (i had to return it to the real winner 😔)

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landoㅤ congrats dude! very deserved 👏ㅤ𖹭 by author

mercedesamgmotorsportㅤ you deserve this kimi! 🥹

sennabrasilㅤ incrível, kimi! 👏ㅤ𖹭 by author

⤷ username1 ㅤ ❤️🇧🇷🇮🇹

yourusernameㅤ thank you for returning my dad's trophy 😊ㅤ𖹭 by author

⤷ kimi.antonelliㅤ at your service, miss raikkonen 🫡

⤷ username2 ㅤ why are they like this???? 😭😭

⤷ username3ㅤ this is probably going to be my favorite niche joke 🤭

yourusernameㅤ congrats on the win btw!! u deserved ㅤ𖹭 by author

⤷ kimi.antonelliㅤ thank u bella 🤍

⤷ username4 ㅤ BELLA??????

⤷ username5ㅤ OH- kimi is shooting his shot

⤷ username6ㅤ they're so cute 💕

username7ㅤ kimi liking everyone who is congratulating him and only replying to ﹫yourusername 👀👀

⤷ username6 ㅤ AND he didn't even like mercedes' comment

⤷ username7 ㅤ my boy has his priorities straight and i respect that 🙇🏽‍♀️

yourusername

liked by kimi.antonelli, kimimatiasraikkonen, bestfriendusername and others

yourusernameㅤfeels like a romcom from the 2000s 🇮🇹🤍

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kimimatiasraikkonenㅤ👏👏ㅤ𖹭 by author

⤷ yourusernameㅤ🤍🤍

username1ㅤ it's so funny that raikkonen only comments with emojis

⤷ yourusername ㅤhe's just a simple man 😔

⤷ username1ㅤ OMG HI GIRL 👋🏻

bestfriendusernameㅤmy pretty girl!!

⤷ yourusernameㅤ🤭🤍

username2ㅤ she's so aesthetic 😍

username3ㅤnot kimi being the first one to like this 🤣

⤷ username4ㅤbro is desperate!!!

kimi.antonelliㅤ italy suits you well ㅤ𖹭 by author

⤷ yourusernameㅤoh do u think?? ☺️

⤷ kimi.antonelliㅤ yes miss raikkonen 🤍

⤷ username5ㅤthis is flirting??? are they flirting???

⤷ username6ㅤoooh i see 🤭🤭 kimi is getting bold!!

username7ㅤ she's so pretty ㅤ𖹭 by author and kimi.antonelli

⤷ username7ㅤ KIMI WHY DID U LIKED??????

kimi.antonelli

liked by yourusername, georgerussell63, maxverstappen1 and others

kimi.antonelli 🇮🇹☀️🌊

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username1ㅤwait didn't ﹫yourusername post the same photo on her dump???

⤷ username2ㅤwhat photo??

⤷ username1ㅤthe one on the second slide!!

⤷ username2ㅤOMG it's literally the same photo

username3ㅤi will pretend i didn't notice 🙈

mercedesamgmotorsportㅤ🇮🇹🤍

georgerussell63ㅤlooking good, mate!ㅤ𖹭 by author

username4ㅤgrande kimi 💪🏽

yourusernameㅤoh wowㅤ𖹭 by author

⤷ kimi.antonelliㅤ🤍

⤷ username5ㅤ👀👀

⤷ username6ㅤi don't know if they're doing it on purpose or if they just don't care about hiding it......

f1gossip

liked by georgerussell63, lando, username1 and others

f1gossipㅤ Kimi Antonelli has interacted several times with Y/N Raikkonen (Kimi Raikkonen's daughter) since joking about commenters getting his surname wrong when he won the 2026 Chinese Grand Prix. Fans are speculating that the two may be in a relationship, as they posted the same photo on their recent posts!

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username1ㅤwhy did george and lando like a post on a gossip page?

⤷ username2ㅤ i have a feeling they know something!!!

username3ㅤi think we'll all have to pretend to be surprise when they make their relationship public 😔

username4ㅤthey kind of look good together

⤷ username5ㅤ RIGHT??? they're so cute

username6ㅤi'll never get over kimi calling her miss raikkonen 💔

username7ㅤbwoah

username8ㅤkimi and y/n being in italy and posting the same photo... it really doesn't seem like much of a coincidence to me

⤷ username9ㅤbro... it's destiny

username10ㅤ to think it all started because they got kimi's name wrong

username11ㅤ and y/n saying that being in Italy made her feel like she was in a 2000s romantic comedy.......

kimi.antonelli

liked by yourusername, kimimatiasraikkonen, maxverstappen1 and others

kimi.antonelli date night with ﹫yourusername 🍝🤍

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yourusernameㅤuuh i thought we had an agreement not to post that picture of me 🤨

⤷ kimi.antonelliㅤbut u look so cute 🥰

⤷ yourusernameㅤyou're lucky you're cute and that i like you 🙄

⤷ username1ㅤSHE LIKES HIM??!!?!!?

username2ㅤGUYS GUYS PRETEND TO BE SURPRISED 😱😱

⤷ username3ㅤOMG 😱😱

⤷ username4ㅤOH WOOOW I CAN'T BELIEVE IN WHAT I'M SEEING 😱😱😱😱

kimimatiasraikkonenㅤ👏👏

⤷ yourusernameㅤdad???

⤷ kimi.antonelliㅤthis means you approve of me???

⤷ kimimatiasraikkonenㅤ👍ㅤ𖹭 by author

⤷ yourusernameㅤdad— 😭😭

maxverstappen1 congrats on your date, mate 💪ㅤ𖹭 by author

olliebearmanㅤyou didn't even invite me to the date 😔 i thought we had something 💔💔

⤷ yourusernameㅤoh hi ollie!!!

⤷ olliebearmanㅤoh HI Y/N 👋🏻👋🏻

⤷ username5ㅤguys wtf is this 😭😭

⤷ username6ㅤbearnellikonen 💕

username7ㅤnever thought i'd be alive to see kimi antonelli dating kimi raikkonen's daughter

⤷ username8ㅤas madonna once said "life is a mystery"

⤷ username9ㅤomg madonna mentioned ‼️

username10ㅤ they look so cute togetherㅤ𖹭 by author

yourusernameㅤbest date night!!!ㅤ𖹭 by author

⤷ kimi.antonelliㅤonly because it was with you bella

⤷ yourusernameㅤ🤍🤍

⤷ username11ㅤomg 😭😭

⤷ username12ㅤwhe he calls her bella >>>>>

𝒂𝒎𝒚'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 hii everyone! hru?? this is the first smau i have ever written, so please forgive me if there are any mistakes! i hope you enjoyed it! <3

liked by georgerussell63, landonorris and 206,378 others

yn.russell silverstone race weekends always hit different 🥹 big bro starting front row tomorrow and i couldn’t be prouder LETS GOOOO

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username1 the most iconic russell

username2 COME ON RUSSELL NATION

landonorris excuse me why didn’t you include a picture of your future husband here ??

↳ yn.russell lando your delusions are talking again

↳ username1 hey he ALWAYS does this

↳ username2 lando and yn’s banter will never get old

carmenmmundt Love you both ❤️

username3 LANDO BEING ANNOYING IN THIS COMMENT SECTION AS ALWAYS

charles_leclerc I see homeboy trying to shoot his shot again

↳ landonorris what are you talking about? we’ll get married

↳ yn.russell LANDO STOP 😭

username4 she’s the real paddock princess

username5 lando really said fake it till you make it

username6 GEORGIE BOY DID IT

georgerussell63 Love you so much little one 🤍 Also Lando, she’s still my sister

↳ landonorris and? she’s my girl 😍

↳ yn.russell STOP

liked by yn.russell, maxverstappen1 and 986,409 others

landonorris honey i’m hooooome 🇬🇧😘 picture by my favorite girl @/yn.russell

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username1 LANDOOOOO

username2 the papaya hat is killing me

username3 CALLING LITTLE RUSSELL HIS GIRL AS ALWAYS

mclaren Papaya forever 🧡

username4 manifesting lando and yn wedding

carlossainz55 Just wait until George finds you cabron

↳ landonorris he knows she’s my future wife

↳ georgerussell63 I HATE YOU

username5 DYING AT THIS COMMENT SECTION LANDO YOU HAVE NO SHAME

username6 lando and yn are my favorite platonic lovers (actually there’s nothing platonic about them we all know it)

username7 SO BOYFRIEND CODED

yn.russell lando i need you to look at me when i tell you this…

↳ landonorris yes i do darling 😍

↳ georgerussell63 I’m literally never letting you two fly together again

↳ username1 IM WHEEZING

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You're lounging in George's motorhome at the track, scrolling through your phone while he reviews data with Alex. Carmen is perched on the sofa beside you, both of you sharing occasional knowing looks at the boys' intense focus on lap times.

"Oh, by the way," you say casually, not looking up from your phone, "I won't be around for dinner tonight. Got a date."

The effect is immediate. George's head snaps up from the screen, Alex nearly drops his water bottle, and Carmen tries (and fails) to hide her amused smile.

"A date?" George's protective brother mode activates instantly. "With who?"

"That new marketing guy from McLaren," you reply, finally glancing up. "Jacob. You know, the one I was talking to at the paddock party last week?"

"The tall blonde one?" Alex pipes up, earning himself a sharp look from George.

"Not helping, mate," George mutters.

"He seems nice," Carmen offers diplomatically, though there's something knowing in her expression that you can't quite read.

"Speaking of nice," Alex says with a poorly concealed grin, "should we tell Lando? You know, since he's been planning your wedding since 2018 and all."

The friendship between you and Lando dates back to karting days, when you'd tag along with George to races. You were fourteen when you first met a tiny, curly-haired Lando who immediately declared you were "pretty cool for a girl." Despite George's protective big brother routine, you and Lando became inseparable during race weekends.

The marriage jokes started right when Lando was making his F2 debut. You were both hanging out in the paddock when he suddenly announced, "When we get married, our wedding colors have to be papaya orange. Because I know I'll drive for Mclaren"

"Bold of you to assume I'd marry you, Norris," you'd laughed.

"Please, you love me," he'd grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "Plus, I've already told my mum you're the one. Can't disappoint her now, darling."

That was the first time he called you darling, but it certainly wasn't the last. Over the years, the pet names multiplied - love, sweetheart, future wife - each one delivered with that characteristic Lando grin that somehow managed to be both cheeky and endearing.

But at the end of the day, he was Lando. And it was all jokes.

"He's probably too busy planning our honeymoon in papaya-colored paradise to care about my actual dating life," you said, trying to sound casual.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Carmen murmurs, just as the door bursts open.

Lando's characteristic energy walks in, his curls slightly messy from his helmet. "Hello lads! Future wife," he grins, making his way over and dramatically flopping onto the couch, his head landing in your lap like it's his designated spot.

"Comfortable?" you ask dryly, but your hand automatically goes to his curls.

"Very," he beams up at you. "Why's everyone looking so serious though? Did George finally realize his neck's too long?"

"Ha ha," George deadpans, while Carmen tries to hide her laugh behind her hand.

"Little Russell was just telling us she's got a date tonight," Alex announces, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding.

Lando sits up so fast he nearly headbutts you. "A what now?"

"A date," you repeat, watching as his face does a complicated journey before settling on forced nonchalance. "With Jacob from marketing."

"McLaren Jacob?" Lando's voice goes up an octave. "My Jacob?"

"He's not your Jacob," you roll your eyes. "And yes, that Jacob."

"The one who still can't figure out how to work the coffee machine?" Lando scoffs, repositioning himself to face you properly. "Come on, darling, you can do better than that. What happened to our sacred Friday night FIFA tournaments?"

"Sacred?" George snorts. "Is that what you call screaming at the TV when she beats you?"

"Oi, whose side are you on?" Lando throws a nearby cushion at George. "Besides, I let her win. Can't have my girl crying, can I?"

"Your girl?" you raise an eyebrow, ignoring the way your stomach flips at his words.

"Obviously," he grins, but there's something slightly off about it. "Who else is going to fulfill my mum's dreams of having you as a daughter-in-law?"

"I'm sure Jacob would love to hear about these marriage plans," Alex teases, earning himself a glare from Lando.

"He better watch himself," Lando mutters, then louder, "Where's he taking you anyway? Probably somewhere boring like that chain restaurant near the factory."

"Actually," you say, "he's taking me to that new rooftop place in town."

"The one I said we should try?" Lando looks genuinely offended now. "That's just... that's just rude, love. I called dibs on taking you there."

"When exactly did you call dibs?" Carmen asks innocently.

"In my head," Lando protests. "This is not fair."

You poke his side. "Jealous, Norris?"

"Of course I am," he says, and for a moment, his voice loses its playful edge. "Can't have someone stealing my future wife away. We've got plans, remember? House in Surrey, three kids, dog named Fernando..."

"You've really thought this through, haven't you?" you laugh.

"Been planning our future since I was fourteen, love," he grins, but there's something soft in his eyes. "Now, would you cancel on Jacob and have a proper movie night with your future husband instead?"

"Still not your wife, Lando," you remind him.

"Not yet," he corrects, "But I'm a patient man, darling."

"Okay this is getting weird," Alex chimes in, "Lando, we're leaving. Little Russell, have fun on your date."

"Right," Lando stands up, but his usual bouncy energy seems subdued. "Have fun with boring Jacob. But just remember," he points at you with mock seriousness, though something flickers in his eyes, "I'm not giving up without a fight. Can't let some marketing guy steal the love of my life, can I?"

"The love of your life?" you roll your eyes, ignoring the way your heart skips.

"Since karting, darling," he winks, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Come on, Alex, let's leave the Russell siblings to their protective brother-sister chat."

As soon as the door closes behind them, Carmen turns to you with raised eyebrows. "You really have that boy pining over you, you know that right?"

"Oh please," you wave her off, though your cheeks feel warm. "We're just joking around. We've been doing this since forever."

"Sure, sister, sure," George snorts, exchanging a knowing look with Carmen. "Because every guy I know plans out their future house in Surrey with their 'joke' wife."

"And names their future dog Fernando," Carmen adds.

"It's just Lando being Lando," you insist, but you can't help glancing at the door where he'd disappeared. "He jokes like this with everyone."

"Really?" Carmen leans forward. "Because I've never heard him call anyone else 'the love of his life' or 'darling' or plan out their wedding colors."

"Or look like someone kicked his puppy when they mention going on a date with someone else," George adds.

"You're both reading way too much into this," you say, standing up and grabbing your bag. "I have to go get ready for my date with Jacob."

"The date that Lando looked absolutely thrilled about," George mutters under his breath.

You pretend not to hear him as you leave, trying to ignore the way Lando's slightly hurt expression keeps playing in your mind.

Because it's all jokes. And he's just Lando.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 211,984 others

yn.russell great great night 😙

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username1 OMGG LITTLE RUSSELL

username2 she's so pretty its not fair

flonorris1 we need to catch up 👀

username3 HUHH DID LANDO FINALLY ASK HER OUT

username4 how did george allow her to go on a date

charles_leclerc Oblivious little baby russell

↳ yn.russell ?

↳ username1 EXPLAIN

iamrebeccad Prettiest girl 😍

jacob___ ❤️

↳ yn.russell 😘

↳ georgerussell63 I'm watching...

↳ username1 IM YELLING

↳ username2 WHATS GOING ONNN

landonorris the prettiest girl in the world and my future wife idc idc

↳ username1 lando have some class ffs

↳ yn.russell ENOUGH

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by carmenmmundt, jacob__ and 229,836 others

yn.russell snaps from the summer break 💙 happy happy

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username1 AN ICON

username2 i wish i was this pinterest feed coded

carmenmmundt Love you my girl !

username3 HOLD ON. THE SECOND PICTURE

username4 did she just soft launch 👀👀

username5 LITTLE RUSSELL HAS A BOYFRIEND ?????

username6 if her bf is not lando we don’t want it

alex_albon i know someone who’s NOT going to like this

landonorris my darling 😍😍 do u miss me as much as i miss youuuu?

↳ username1 HES SHAMELESS

↳ yn.russell STOP THIS MADNESS

georgerussell63 I know a lot of ways to make a crash look accidental

↳ yn.russell you’re literally not intimidating anyone BYE

↳ username1 SO SHE DOES HAVE A BF

jacob__ ❤️

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The sun is surprisingly bright as you make your way through the Zandvoort paddock, dodging various team personnel rushing around for Thursday preparations. The summer break was finally over and it was time for race cars again. You're just turning the corner when you hear a familiar voice.

"There's my darling!" Lando calls out, jogging over with his signature grin. "Thought you'd forgotten about your future husband during the break."

Before you can respond, he's pulled you into a tight hug. You catch a whiff of his familiar cologne, the one he's worn since F2, and automatically hug him back.

"How was your summer?" he asks, keeping an arm around your shoulders as he starts walking with you. "Did you miss me terribly? Cry yourself to sleep thinking about our FIFA rematch?"

"Actually," you start, feeling unexpectedly nervous, "I've got some news."

"Oh?" His eyes light up. "Did George finally admit his neck is abnormally long? Because I've been saying—"

"Jacob and I are officially together," you cut in quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. "Like, properly together. Boyfriend and girlfriend."

Lando's step falters slightly, his arm dropping from your shoulders. "What?"

"Yeah," you continue, fiddling with your paddock pass. "We kept seeing each other after that first date, and during the break... it just got serious."

"Serious?" His voice sounds strange. "How serious? When did this— why am I just finding out about this?"

"We wanted to keep it quiet at first, you know? But he talked to the higher-ups at McLaren today about dating someone connected to another team, and they're cool with it, so..." you trail off, watching his face carefully.

"Cool with it," he repeats slowly. Then, visibly forcing his usual grin, "Well, that's... that's great, love. Really great. Though I have to say, my mum will be devastated. She was really counting on those papaya-themed grandchildren."

But his joke falls flat, lacking its usual warmth. His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Lando—"

"No, really," he cuts in, running a hand through his curls. "I'm happy for you. Even if he is rubbish at making coffee. And boring. And probably doesn't even know your favorite ice cream flavor is mint chocolate chip, or that you secretly love watching those terrible reality shows, or that you—" he stops himself, clearing his throat. "Anyway. Good for you. Both of you."

You're about to respond when his race engineer calls him over.

"Duty calls," he says, already backing away. "But hey, tell Jacob he better treat my future wife right. Even if she's... not actually my future wife anymore."

He tries to wink, but it looks more like a flinch. Before you can say anything else, he's gone, leaving you standing alone in the paddock with an inexplicable heaviness in your chest.

But you immediately brush it off. Because at the end of the day, he's just Lando.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 276,504 others

yn.russell making it official 🤍 @/jacob___

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username1 OH?

username2 YALL HE WORKS FOR MCLAREN ??

username3 what happened to lando ?? the marriage proposal??

georgerussell63 About time you stopped sneaking around 🙄

↳ yn.russell shut up old man

↳ carlossainz55 Protective brother mode activated

carmenmmundt You guys look so cute! ❤️

↳ yn.russell love you xxx

alex_albon Well this is going to be interesting 👀

↳ landonorris mate.

↳ alex_albon what? I said nothing

username4 But what about Lando?? 😭 They were literally perfect together

usernsme5 nooo my ship is sinking

username6 the way lando looks at her tho…

jacob___❤️

↳ yn.russell 🤍

landonorris i guess i need to find a new future wife then 🤷‍♂️ applications open x

↳ danielricciardo i volunteer as tribute mate

↳ landonorris sorry mate you're not george's sister

↳ carlossainz55 You okay there buddy?

↳ yn.russell don't worry, you'll always be my favorite husband-that-never-was x

↳ landonorris 💔

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yn.russell has added to their stories

landonorris has replied to your story

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The Singapore night air is thick with humidity and celebration. The club's bass thrums through your bones as you watch Lando being congratulated for what feels like the hundredth time. He's practically glowing, champagne-drunk and victory-high, but something seems off about his smile.

"Babe, want another drink?" Jacob's voice pulls your attention back. His hand is possessively placed on your lower back, and you notice Lando's eyes flicker to it before he quickly looks away.

Across the VIP section, Alex nudges Charles, nodding towards where Lando is now aggressively stabbing at his ice with a straw.

"Subtle, mate," Alex smirks, sliding into the booth beside Lando. "Very subtle."

"Don't know what you're talking about," Lando mutters, but his eyes betray him, darting back to where Jacob is now whispering something in your ear.

"Ah, l'amour," Charles sighs dramatically. "It is painful, no?"

"Nothing's painful," Lando protests, straightening up. "I just won a Grand Prix, in case you forgot."

"And yet you look like someone stole your puppy," Alex points out.

"Or your future wife," Charles adds with a knowing look.

"She was never actually going to be my future wife," Lando says, but his voice lacks conviction. "It was just jokes. Always has been. She's George's sister, for fuck's sake."

"Right," Alex drawls. "So you wouldn't mind if I told you they're probably going to move in together soon?"

Lando chokes on his drink. "They're what?"

"He's joking," Charles quickly intervenes, shooting Alex a look. "But your reaction..."

"Means nothing," Lando insists, but his knuckles are white around his glass. "I just... I don't want her to rush into anything. As a friend. A protective friend. Who happens to be her brother's mate. And her future husband. But like, as a joke. Obviously."

"Obviously," Alex repeats dryly.

Suddenly, Charles straightens up. "Where did they go?"

The spot where you and Jacob were standing is empty. Lando's eyes scan the crowd, something uneasy settling in his stomach.

"Probably just getting more drinks," he says, but he's already standing up.

"Lando..." Alex starts.

"I just need some air," Lando cuts him off, making his way through the crowd.

The corridor leading to the outdoor area is quieter, the music muffled. That's when he hears raised voices.

"You're being ridiculous," Jacob's voice is sharp. "I was just talking to her."

"With your hand on her waist?" Your voice sounds tired. "While I was right there?"

"Oh, so I can't even network now? That's literally my job, YN. But I wouldn't expect you to understand that, since you're only here because of your brother."

Lando's feet move before his brain catches up.

"Everything alright out here?" His voice is deliberately light, but there's steel underneath.

"Fine," Jacob snaps. "Just having a private conversation with my girlfriend."

"Doesn't sound very private," Lando steps closer to you instinctively. "Or very pleasant."

"This doesn't concern you, Norris."

"See, that's where you're wrong, mate," Lando's usual playful demeanor is gone. "YN's wellbeing always concerns me. Future wife contract, remember? Legally binding and all that."

"We're still doing that joke?" Jacob scoffs. "Bit pathetic, don't you think?"

"Not as pathetic as hitting on sponsors' daughters while your girlfriend watches," Lando retorts, then softer, to you: "You okay, darling?"

The familiar pet name makes your chest tight. "I'm fine, Lando."

"Great, she's fine," Jacob moves to grab your arm. "Let's go."

"Touch her like that again," Lando's voice is deadly quiet, "and you'll be looking for a new marketing job. Might want to learn how the coffee machine works first though."

Jacob looks between you and Lando, jaw clenched. "Whatever. This is bullshit anyway. Call me when you're done playing happy families with your brother's friend."

He storms off, leaving you and Lando in charged silence.

"So," Lando finally says, attempting his usual lightness, "does this mean I can keep the dog name Fernando?"

You let out a watery laugh, and without thinking, he pulls you into a hug. You fit against him like you always have, his cologne familiar and comforting.

"My darling," he murmurs into your hair, then catches himself. "I mean... sorry. Probably shouldn't call you that anymore."

You pull back slightly to look at him. "You've been calling me that since we were teenagers."

"Yeah, well," he gives you a half-smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, "things change, don't they?"

The way he's looking at you makes your heart stutter. Has he always looked at you like that?

"Is he always like this?" Lando asks quietly, still holding you close. His usual playful tone is gone, replaced by something more serious than you're used to hearing from him.

"No, no," you shake your head quickly. Maybe too quickly, because Lando's brow furrows as he studies your face. "It's not— he's not usually... it was just a misunderstanding."

He's silent for a moment, his hands fidgeting like they always do when he's worried about something. "You'd tell me though, right? If he ever... if he's not good to you? Or tell George at least?"

"Of course," you try to smile reassuringly. "But really, today was just a bad night. Too much pressure, too much champagne..."

"YN," he cuts in, and the way he says your name instead of one of his usual pet names makes you look up at him. His eyes are intense, concerned. "Promise me."

"I promise," you say softly. "You're a great friend, Lando."

Something flickers across his face – so quick you almost miss it – before his signature grin returns, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Friend?" he scoffs, but his voice sounds slightly strained. "Future husband, remember? Can't have my darling dealing with drama alone. Bad for our future marriage prospects."

You laugh, and he joins in, but there's something heavy hanging in the air between you. Before either of you can say anything else, Alex's voice carries from the doorway.

"Found them! Everything okay out here?"

"Never better," Lando announces, stepping back and throwing an arm around your shoulders with practiced ease. But you notice how his smile doesn't quite match the one in all those podium photos from earlier. "Just reminding the future Mrs. Norris about our very legitimate marriage contract. Very binding. Legally waterproof and everything."

He's doing that thing he does when he's uncomfortable – talking too fast, jokes tumbling out one after another. But his hand squeezes your shoulder gently before he lets go, and you catch him glancing back at you as he bounces toward the club entrance, his "Let's celebrate my amazing win, shall we?" almost drowning out the sound of your heart beating too fast.

Alex watches the exchange with knowing eyes but mercifully says nothing, just offers his arm to escort you back inside.

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texts between george and yn

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liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 287,540 others

yn.russell british boy steps foot in mexico city and instantly thinks he's a local... who's gonna tell him

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username1 LANDO X LITTLE RUSSELL IS SO BACKKK

username2 he looks so cuute

username3 i know her bf is not going to like this

alex_albon he can't even keep tequila shots down. such a fake

↳ landonorris want to test that theory?

↳ charles_leclerc Poor little Lando Norris

username4 HELP SHES SO IN LOVE WITH HIM 😭

jacob___ 👀

↳ username1 i know he's JEALOUS

username5 the way yn's feed is like 60% lando

username6 MY PARENTS

landonorris why is my future wife so mean to me

↳ yn.russell LANDO

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Later that afternoon, you're sitting with Carmen in the Mercedes hospitality when George joins you, stealing a bite of your sandwich.

"Get your own food," you swat his hand away.

"Sharing is caring, little sis," he grins, then notices your expression. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," you say automatically, but Carmen raises an eyebrow.

"She's overthinking," Carmen supplies helpfully. "About Jacob."

"I'm not overthinking," you protest. "I'm just... thinking. Normal amounts of thinking."

"About?" George prompts.

You fidget with your paddock pass. "He wants me to meet his parents. After Abu Dhabi. Says it's time we got more serious."

George's expression shifts slightly. "And you want that?"

"I mean... yeah? I think so. It makes sense, right? We've been together for a few months now, things are good..."

"Are they?" Carmen asks gently.

"Of course they are," you say, but your voice lacks conviction. "The Singapore thing was just a one-off. He apologized. He's been really sweet since then."

"Sweet enough to make up for being a dick?" George mutters.

"George."

"Sorry, sorry," he holds up his hands. "Just... you don't sound very excited about meeting his parents."

"I am excited," you insist. "It's just... a big step."

"Not as big as naming your future dog Fernando," Carmen says under her breath.

You shoot her a warning look. "Can we not?"

"Not what?" George asks.

"Nothing," you say quickly. "Just... Carmen thinks I'm not fully committed because..."

"Because you still light up every time Lando calls you 'darling'?" Carmen finishes.

"That's not— he calls everyone darling."

"No, he doesn't," George and Carmen say in unison.

"I hate you both," you groan. "Look, Lando and I are friends. That's all we've ever been. The whole future wife thing is just our running joke."

"Sure," Carmen nods. "That's why he looks like someone kicked his puppy every time Jacob touches you."

"He does not—" you start, but stop when you catch sight of Lando walking past. He gives you a small wave and his signature grin, but something about it seems off.

"Doesn't what?" George prompts.

"Nothing," you shake your head. "I should go. Jacob's waiting for me."

As you leave, you hear Carmen say to George, "They're both idiots, aren't they?"

"Complete idiots," George agrees. "But at least they're consistent about it."

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liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and 298,605 others

yn.russell happy birthday to my favorite “future husband” 🎂 from stealing your caps in karting to stealing your FIFA records (still undefeated btw), you've somehow become one of my favorite people in this weird little world of ours. here's to many more years of terrible jokes, impromptu dance parties in the garage, and you pretending to let me win at everything (we both know I'm just better 😌). love you loads landolorian 🤍

ps: fernando the nonexistent dog says happy birthday to his future dad x

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username1 THIS IS TOO CUTE

username2 YOUR HONOR IM CRYING

landonorris still waiting for that marriage certificate darling 💍 also you definitely cheated at FIFA last time

↳ yn.russell sounds like someone's a sore loser

↳ landonorris sounds like someone's avoiding the marriage topic

↳ georgerussell63 get a room you two

↳ landonorris working on it mate

↳ username1 LANDO WTF

↳ username2 HE HAS NO SHAME

mclaren Happy Birthday @/landonorris! @/yn.russell when's the wedding?

↳ landonorris asking the real questions admin

↳ oscarpiastri I'll officiate

↳ landonorris DEAL

↳ yn.russell STOP IT

jacob___ 🙄

↳ landonorris problem mate?

↳ yn.russell boys.

↳ username3 THE TENSION

username4 why aren't they together yet??

username5 my heart can't take this anymore just date already

liked by username1, username2 and 3,976 others

f1.gossip Lando Norris and YN Russell spotted getting cozy at his birthday celebration last night. Swipe for more 👀

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username1 "just friends" my ass

username2 no because why does he look at her like she hung the stars

username3 wait where's jacob? 👀

↳ username1 apparently he left early...

↳ username2 he posted from a different party later that night

username4 george watching his best friend and his sister like 🧍‍♂️

↳ username1 he's been watching this slow burn for years poor man

username5 jacob watching these photos like 👁👄👁

username6 the way lando calls her darling more than her actual boyfriend does

username7 who's gonna tell jacob his girlfriend has better chemistry with lando in these photos than their entire instagram feed

username8 the "future wife" jokes don't seem so jokey anymore huh

username9 okay but can we talk about how she literally glows when she's around him?

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The afternoon sun filters through your apartment windows as you put the finishing touches on your makeup. You're going out to dinner with Jacob - another fancy restaurant, another chance for him to network while you smile politely beside him.

A knock at your door makes you pause. Opening it reveals Lando, holding a bag of takeaway and what appears to be your favorite ice cream.

"Oh," he says, taking in your dress and heels. "You're going out."

"Yeah," you adjust your earring, but can't help smiling at the familiar sight of him with food. "With Jacob. Remember?"

"Right," his smile dims slightly. "The boyfriend. Must've slipped my mind." He holds up the bags. "I brought provisions for our traditional post-race debrief. You know, where you tell me how amazing I was and I pretend to be humble about it?"

You laugh despite yourself. "Since when are you ever humble?"

"I'm incredibly humble. The most humble. No one's more humble than me," he grins, then peers around you into the apartment. "But seriously, can't you reschedule? I got your favorite ice cream. Mint chocolate chip, because I'm the best future husband ever."

"Still going with that, are we?" you ask, turning back to the mirror to check your lipstick.

"Always, darling," he follows you in, setting the food down and flopping onto your couch like he owns it. "It's legally binding, remember? Can't disappoint my mum now."

"I can't tonight," you say, checking your phone. "Jacob said he has something important to tell me."

"The one who made you cry?" Lando's voice loses some of its playfulness.

"That was one time," you defend, though without heat. "And he apologized. He actually told me he loves me last week. Says he wants us to be serious."

Lando sits up straighter, his usual energetic demeanor momentarily stilled. "And do you? Love him?"

"You don't know anything about my relationship, Lando," you say, but it comes out softer than intended.

"I know you," he counters, standing up and moving to lean against the wall near your mirror. "I know you scrunch your nose when you're trying not to laugh at bad jokes. I know you secretly love those terrible reality shows but pretend you're 'just watching them ironically.' I know you stress-eat ice cream when George has a bad race."

"That's different," you say, but you're fighting a smile.

"Is it?" he challenges, but his tone is gentle. "Look, I just... I want you to be happy. Even if it means dealing with boring Jacob who still can't work the coffee machine."

"He figured it out last week, actually," you laugh.

"Finally! Only took him what, six months?" Lando grins, then sobers slightly. "But seriously, if he makes you happy..."

"He does," you say, though something in your chest tightens. "Most of the time."

"Most of the time?" Lando raises an eyebrow. "That's not exactly a ringing endorsement, darling."

"Nobody's perfect."

"I am," he says immediately, making you laugh. "What? I'm just saying, our future children would have excellent genes. Plus, I make a mean cup of coffee."

Your phone buzzes - a text from Jacob asking where you are.

"I have to go," you say, grabbing your purse. "Lock up when you leave?"

"Fine," he sighs dramatically. "Abandon your future husband with melting ice cream. But just know, Fernando the dog is very disappointed in you."

"Still haven't given up on that name, huh?"

"Never," he grins, but something flickers in his eyes. "Save me some time this weekend? For proper FIFA revenge?"

"You mean so I can beat you again?"

"Excuse you, I let you win," he protests, following you to the door. "It's part of my long-term strategy."

"Which is?"

"Can't have my future wife thinking I'm bad at something, can I?" he winks. "Even though we both know I'm actually terrible at FIFA."

You shake your head, laughing. "Goodbye, Lando."

"Wait," he calls as you start down the hall. "Just... be happy, yeah? Even if it's with someone who took six months to learn how to make coffee."

"I am happy," you say, but even to your own ears, it sounds more like a question than a statement.

"If you say so, darling," he says quietly. "But just remember, the Fernando name reservation is still valid. You know, in case the coffee-challenged boyfriend doesn't work out."

You roll your eyes but can't help smiling as you walk away, trying to ignore the way your heart seems to be arguing with your head about exactly what - or who - makes you happiest. Behind you, you can hear him humming what sounds suspiciously like the wedding march, and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

Because at the end of the day, he's still Lando. Your Lando. Even if you're not quite ready to admit what that really means.

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liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 276,498 others

yn.russell last dinner date before heading back to the circus 🏎️ @/jacob___

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username1 ewww

username2 cute couple tbh

jacob___ miss you already x

↳ yn.russell ❤️

landonorris see you in las vegas darling x

↳ jacob___ can you not?

↳ landonorris sorry mate, contractual future wife obligations

↳ yn_russell boys. please.

↳ georgerussell63 🍿

↳ carlossainz55 Share some with me

↳ username1 LORD

↳ username2 THIS IS SO MESSYYYYY

username3 THIS COMMENT SECTION HAS ME IN TEARSSSS

username4 i feel like shit is about to hit the fan reaaaally soon

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"I just don't understand why you have to be there for every single race," Jacob's voice carries down the paddock corridor. "It's not like you're actually part of the team."

You're standing outside the McLaren hospitality, what started as a casual conversation having turned into yet another argument. "My brother races in F1, and Lando's one of my closest friends. Of course I'm going to be here."

"Right, Lando," Jacob scoffs. "Because God forbid you miss one of his races. Wouldn't want to disappoint your 'future husband.'"

"Don't do that," you say tiredly. "You know it's just a joke."

"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you'd rather spend time with him than support your actual boyfriend's career."

"Your career? I've been to every single marketing event you've asked me to attend. I've smiled and networked and played the perfect girlfriend."

"Perfect?" He laughs humorlessly. "You barely talk to any of the sponsors. You're too busy hanging out in the Mercedes garage or watching Lando's practice sessions."

"That's not fair—"

"You know what's not fair? Having a girlfriend who's more invested in other people's careers than mine."

"I didn't realize I was supposed to give up my entire life just because we're dating."

"Your entire life?" His voice rises. "You mean hanging around the paddock like some glorified fan?"

You step back like he's slapped you. "Is that what you think I am?"

"I think," he says coldly, "that you need to figure out what's more important - playing happy families with your brother's friends or having a real relationship with someone who's actually going somewhere in life."

"Hey!" A sharp voice cuts through the tension. George is standing there, face thunderous. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Just having a private conversation with my girlfriend," Jacob says stiffly.

"Doesn't sound very private to me," George steps closer, positioning himself slightly in front of you. "Or very respectful."

"George, it's fine," you start, but he cuts you off.

"No, it's not fine," he says, not taking his eyes off Jacob. "No one talks to my sister like that."

Jacob holds up his hands. "Look, this is between me and YN."

"Not anymore it's not," George's voice is dangerously calm. "I think you should leave."

For a moment, it looks like Jacob might argue, but something in George's expression makes him think better of it. "Whatever. Call me when you're ready to be a proper girlfriend."

As he walks away, George turns to you, his anger melting into concern. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," you say automatically, but your voice wavers.

"Come on," he wraps an arm around your shoulders, leading you toward his driver room. "Let's talk."

Once inside, you sink onto the couch while George grabs two water bottles. "How long has he been talking to you like that?"

"It's not... it's not usually that bad," you say, fidgeting with the bottle label. "He's just stressed about work."

"That's not an excuse," George sits beside you. "Has he said things like this before? About you being just a fan?"

You stay quiet, which is answer enough.

"YN," George's voice softens. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it's embarrassing," you admit quietly. "He's right, isn't he? I am just hanging around because of you."

"Stop," George says firmly. "You've been part of this world since we were kids. You understand racing better than half the people in the paddock. Hell, you probably know more about tire strategies than some of the engineers."

You manage a small laugh. "Only because you never shut up about them."

"Exactly," he grins, then turns serious again. "Look, being here isn't just about me. It's your life too. You've built relationships with everyone here. Carmen loves you, Alex considers you a little sister, and Lando..."

"Don't," you cut him off. "Please don't bring Lando into this."

George studies you for a moment. "Why not? He's your best friend."

"Because..." you trail off, not sure how to explain the complicated mix of emotions that surface whenever Lando's name comes up lately.

"Because Jacob's jealous of him?" George suggests gently.

"He's not... it's not like that."

"Isn't it?" George raises an eyebrow. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like your boyfriend has a problem with how close you are to someone who's been in your life a lot longer than he has."

"Lando and I are just friends," you say, but the words feel hollow.

"Are you?" George asks softly. "Because friends don't look at each other the way you two do. Friends don't have elaborate future plans including dogs named Fernando. Friends don't get that look in their eyes when the other person is dating someone else."

"George..."

"I'm just saying," he continues, "maybe Jacob isn't entirely wrong to be jealous. Just... wrong about everything else."

You're quiet for a moment, processing. "I don't know what to do."

"Yes, you do," George says simply. "You just need to be honest with yourself about what - or who - actually makes you happy."

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?" He challenges. "Because from what I just heard, Jacob doesn't make you happy. He makes you feel small. And my little sister," he squeezes your shoulder, "deserves someone who makes her feel like she could take on the world."

"Someone like Lando?" You ask quietly.

"I didn't say that," George grins. "But now that you mention it..."

You shove him playfully. "Shut up."

"Make me," he laughs, then sobers. "Seriously though, YN. You deserve better than someone who makes you question your place here. This is your home too."

You lean your head on his shoulder. "When did you get so wise?"

"I've always been wise. I'm the older sibling, remember?"

"By like two years!"

"Still counts," he says smugly, then adds more seriously, "Just... promise me you'll think about what I said? About being honest with yourself?"

"I promise," you say softly, even as your mind drifts to a certain curly-haired driver who's probably wondering where you are for your traditional pre-race FIFA tournament.

"Good," George stands up. "Now, want to go watch Lando absolutely butcher his quali prep? I heard he's still convinced he can take turn 3 flat out."

You laugh, letting him pull you up. "Some things never change, do they?"

"Nope," George agrees, but there's something knowing in his smile. "And some things are just waiting for you to realize they've been there all along."

As you walk toward the McLaren garage, you can't help but think about how some of the best things in life start as jokes - like a fourteen-year-old boy declaring you'll have papaya orange wedding colors, or a nickname that feels more like home than any other word in the world.

Maybe it's time to stop pretending it's all just a joke.

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liked by georgerussell63, carmenmmundt and 301,988 others

yn.russell my big brother just won in VEGAS!!! 🏆✨ from watching you race karts in the rain to watching you stand on top of the podium under those lights... i've never been prouder to be a russell. you deserve this more than anyone georgie. also thanks for letting me steal your champagne and ruin your hair before the photos 😘

ps: mum's crying, dad's crying, i'm crying, even fernando the dog is crying and he's not real x

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username1 I LOVE THEM SMMMM

username2 THIS IS MY FAMILY

georgerussell63 love you little sis ❤️ (but i was definitely the cuter kid)

↳ yn_russell keep telling yourself that x

↳ landonorris can confirm yn was the cuter kid

↳ georgerussell63 no one asked you lando

↳ landonorris just supporting my future wife mate

↳ yn.russell boys please this is george's moment

username2 THE WAY SHE RAN TO HIM IN PARC FERME 😭

username3 sibling goals fr

username4 ok but can we talk about how lando waited to celebrate with george until after yn had her moment with him 🥺

↳ username1 future brother in law behavior

username5 wait why isn't jacob in any of these photos? Wasn't he there?

carmenmmundt so proud of you both ❤️

↳ landonorris *all three of us

↳ carmenmmundt ?

↳ landonorris future wife = future family

↳ yn.russell this is GEORGE'S post omg

↳ landonorris sorry darling carry on x

charles_leclerc the russell genes are strong

↳ landonorris hopefully our kids get her genes

↳ georgerussell63 LANDO.

↳ yn.russell i swear to god

↳ landonorris what? just planning ahead 😌

username6 THIS COMMENT SECTION IS KILLING ME

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yn.russell has added to their stories

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The Abu Dhabi night is alive with celebration, the McLaren garage covered in papaya and champagne. But you're hidden away in one of the quiet corridors behind hospitality, mascara smudged, trying to muffle your sobs.

"There you are, darling! We've been looking everywhere for—" Lando's voice cuts off abruptly when he sees you. "YN?"

You quickly try to wipe your tears, but it's too late. His championship-winning smile vanishes instantly as he drops down beside you.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" His voice is soft, concerned. When you don't answer, he gently takes your hands away from your face. "Talk to me."

"It's stupid," you manage to say. "You should be celebrating. You just won the constructors'."

"Pretty sure the champagne will still be there in ten minutes," he says, thumb brushing away a tear from your cheek. "What happened?"

You take a shaky breath. "Jacob... he..." Your voice breaks.

Lando's expression hardens. "What did he do?"

"He broke up with me," you let out a bitter laugh. "Apparently now that he's secured a position at Mercedes for next season, he doesn't need the Russell connection anymore."

"He what?" Lando's voice is dangerously quiet.

"Turns out I was just... convenient. A way to get closer to Toto. To Mercedes." Your voice cracks again. "God, I feel so stupid."

"You're not stupid," Lando says fiercely. "He's the stupid one. He's worse than stupid, he's a complete—"

"I really thought..." you cut him off, fresh tears falling. "I actually thought he cared about me."

Without hesitation, Lando pulls you into his arms. You bury your face in his race suit, still damp with champagne, and let yourself break.

"I've got you," he murmurs into your hair. "I've got you, darling."

You stay like that for a while, his hands running soothingly up and down your back as you cry. The distant sounds of celebration feel like they're from another world.

"Want me to crash his car?" Lando finally asks, making you let out a watery laugh. "I could do it. Make it look like an accident. I am a professional driver, after all."

"Lando..."

"Or we could put laxatives in his coffee. Though he'd probably notice, since he still can't make a proper cup himself."

Despite everything, you find yourself smiling slightly.

"There's my girl," he says softly, then catches himself. "I mean... sorry. Probably shouldn't..."

"It's okay," you whisper. "I've always been your girl. Even if it was just as a joke."

Something shifts in his expression. "YN..."

"Don't," you pull back slightly. "Please. I can't... I can't lose you too. Not tonight."

He studies your face for a long moment, then nods, pulling you back against his chest. "You'll never lose me. Future husband contract, remember? Legally binding. Can't get rid of me that easily."

You close your eyes, breathing in his familiar scent. "Promise?"

"Promise," he kisses the top of your head. "Besides, Fernando still needs both his parents."

This gets a real laugh out of you. "We don't actually have a dog, Lando."

"Yet," he corrects. "We don't have a dog yet. But when we do—"

"His name will be Fernando," you finish with him, and for a moment, everything feels okay again.

"Want me to get George?" he asks after a while.

You shake your head. "Not yet. Can we just... stay here for a bit?"

"As long as you need," he says, and you can hear his heart beating steadily under your ear. "I'm not going anywhere."

In the distance, someone calls his name.

"Go," you start to pull away. "They need their champion."

"They can wait," he says firmly, pulling you back. "You need me more."

And maybe it's the way he says it, or the gentle kiss he presses to your temple, or how his arms feel like the safest place in the world, but suddenly you realize what everyone's been trying to tell you all along.

This was never just a joke to him.

And maybe, just maybe, it was never really a joke to you either.

But that's a revelation for another night, when your heart isn't quite so broken and his race suit isn't covered in your tears. For now, you let yourself be held by your best friend, your future husband, your Lando, as the Abu Dhabi night carries on without you.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 288,760 others

yn.russell back to my favorite job: professional thirdwheel 🏖️ (at least they feed me occasionally) @/georgerussell63 @/carmenmmundt

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username1 MY PARENTS

username2 wait... where's jacob? 👀

↳ username1 he unfollowed her last week 👀

↳ username3 tea incoming

georgerussell63 You love us

↳ yn.russell debatable

↳ carmenmmund We literally paid for your dinner

↳ yn.russell okay fine you're alright

landonorris need a fourth wheel? 👀

↳ yn.russell ...

↳ landonorris i'll bring snacks

username4 THE WAY LANDO COMMENTED SO FAST

username5 LANDO THIS IS YOUR CHANCE

username6 single little russell era is coming

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The winter sun is setting early, casting long shadows across your apartment. It's been a month days since Abu Dhabi, a months since Jacob revealed his true colors, and you're curled up on your couch in your comfiest sweats, surrounded by empty ice cream containers.

George and Carmen tried to cheer you up, making you tag along on their vacation, but now that you were back home, the sulking feeling inevitably came back too.

A familiar pattern of knocks at your door makes you groan. "Go away, Lando."

"Not a chance, darling," his voice calls back. "I come bearing provisions!"

"I don't need provisions," you call out, but you're already getting up to open the door. "I need to wallow in peace."

You open the door to find Lando, arms full of bags, wearing a ridiculously oversized hoodie that you're pretty sure belongs to George.

"Wallowing is officially cancelled," he announces, breezing past you into the apartment. "We're having a proper heartbreak recovery session."

"We are?"

"Absolutely," he starts unpacking the bags. "I've got all the essentials. More ice cream - mint chocolate chip, obviously. Every terrible rom-com Netflix has to offer. Popcorn. Those weird crisps you like that no one else understands. And..." he pulls out a bottle with flourish, "your favorite wine."

"Lando..."

"No arguments," he says firmly, but gently. "I'm not leaving you alone to cry over that coffee-challenged idiot."

"I wasn't crying," you protest weakly.

He raises an eyebrow at your clearly tear-stained face. "Right. And I'm not the most talented driver on the grid."

This actually makes you laugh. "Your modesty never fails to amaze me."

"I know, I know, I'm incredible," he grins, already making himself at home on your couch. "Now come here. We're starting with The Notebook because I know it's your guilty pleasure, even though you pretend to hate it."

"I do hate it," you say, but you're already curling up next to him.

"Sure you do, darling," he throws a blanket over both of you. "Just like you hate reality TV and actually love Jacob's boring marketing presentations."

You wince slightly at Jacob's name, and Lando immediately softens.

"Sorry," he says quietly. "No more mentions of He Who Shall Not Be Named. Though I still think we should put glitter in his car ventilation system."

"George already offered to have him banned from the paddock," you smile slightly.

"Good man, your brother," Lando nods approvingly. "Though my revenge plans are much more creative. I was thinking we could reprogram his laptop to only play 'Baby Shark' when he opens PowerPoint..."

You can't help but laugh. "You're ridiculous."

"Made you smile though, didn't I?" he says softly, and something in his voice makes you look up at him.

"You always do," you admit quietly.

He holds your gaze for a moment before clearing his throat. "Right, well, that's what future husbands are for, isn't it? Can't have my darling being sad. Bad for our wedding photos."

"Still going with that, are we?"

"Always," he says, and despite his light tone, there's something earnest in his eyes. "Someone's got to look after you properly."

"I can look after myself," you point out.

"Oh, I know," he grins. "But it's more fun together, isn't it? Plus, who else is going to appreciate your terrible taste in movies?"

"My taste is not terrible!"

"Darling, you genuinely enjoyed that film about the talking cats."

"It was artistic!"

"It was horrifying," he laughs, pulling you closer. "But I watched it three times with you anyway."

"Because you're a good friend," you say softly.

Something flickers across his face. "Yeah," he says after a moment. "The best friend you'll ever have. Even if you have questionable taste in everything except future husbands."

You roll your eyes but can't help smiling. "Speaking of questionable taste, weren't we supposed to be watching The Notebook?"

"Oh right!" he brightens, grabbing the remote. "Time to pretend you're not going to cry at the end."

"I never cry at the end."

"Darling, you've cried every single time we've watched it."

"Have not!"

"Have too! Remember last time? You got tears all over my favorite hoodie."

"That was one time!"

"One time this month, maybe," he grins, then softens. "It's okay though. My hoodies are always available for your tears. Even if they're about stupid coffee-challenged marketing guys who don't deserve them."

You lean your head on his shoulder. "Thank you, Lando."

"For what?"

"For being you. For being here. For..." you gesture at all the supplies he brought. "For everything."

He's quiet for a moment, then presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Always, darling. In sickness and in health, remember?"

"We're not actually married, Lando."

"Yet," he corrects, but there's something in his voice that makes your heart skip. "We're not actually married yet."

The movie starts playing, but you're more aware of his steady breathing, of how perfectly you fit against his side, of how safe you feel in this moment. And maybe it's too soon, maybe your heart is still too raw, but you can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, the right person has been here all along.

But that's a thought for another day. For now, you let yourself be comforted by your best friend, your constant, your Lando, as he quotes along with the movie and keeps you supplied with ice cream and terrible jokes until you're laughing more than you're crying.

And if you do end up crying at the end of The Notebook, well, his hoodie is already there to catch your tears.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and 291,483 others

yn.russell FIRST RACE OF THE SEASON. WHAT A RIDE !!!! lando winning and georgie on podium. ALEX P5 !!!! all of my boys killing it 🥺 so happy to be back, i missed this so much

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username1 LITTLE RUSSELL BIGGEST SUPPORTER

username2 SHE WAS SO HAPPY FOR LANDO OMFG

username3 still gutted for the missed mclaren 1-2 but GEORGE P3!!

carmenmmundt You almost broke my hand with all the squeezing !! Missed you so happy my girl 🤍

↳ username1 AHH LITTLE RUSSELL IS HEALING

username4 the way she JUMPED into lando's arms

ciscanorris My future daughter in law! It was so good to see you

↳ username1 AHH MAMA NORRIS CLAIMING HER

landonorris THAT WAS FOR YOU MY DARLINGGG

↳ yourinstagram 🥺

↳ username2 AHH SHE DIDN'T CORRECT HIM

georgerussell63 Love you sis, even tho you hugged Lando first

↳ yn.russell he won okay

↳ landonorris and i'm her future husband

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The Miami night air is warm and sweet, carrying the distant sounds of celebration from the post race party below. You're leaning against the balcony railing, watching the lights of the circuit sparkle in the distance, when familiar footsteps approach.

"There's my darling," Lando's voice is soft as he joins you. "Hiding from your adoring public?"

You smile, not looking away from the view. "Just needed some air."

The past few months flash through your mind - Lando showing up at your door with takeaway after particularly hard days, marathon gaming sessions that somehow always ended with you falling asleep on his shoulder, countless movie nights where he'd quote every line just to make you laugh. He never let you wallow, never let you retreat into sadness. Whether it was surprising you with your favorite coffee in the morning or sending you ridiculous memes at 3 AM, he was constantly there, slowly piecing your heart back together without you even realizing it.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asks, bumping your shoulder gently with his.

"Just thinking about everything that's changed since last season."

He hums in agreement. "Good changes though, right?"

You finally turn to look at him, really look at him. His curls slightly messy from running his hands through them - a nervous habit you've known since you were teenagers. But there's something different in the way he's looking at you now, something that makes your heart skip.

"Yeah," you say softly. "Good changes."

He takes a step closer, and suddenly the air feels charged with possibility. "You know, I've been thinking..."

"Dangerous hobby," you tease, falling into your familiar pattern.

"Very dangerous," he agrees, but his voice is serious. "Been thinking about how sometimes the best things in life start as jokes."

Your breath catches. "Lando..."

"Like when a fourteen-year-old boy tells this pretty girl she's going to be his future wife," he continues, taking another step closer. "And he keeps saying it for years, making it this big running joke, because it's easier than admitting that maybe, just maybe, it was never really a joke at all."

"What are you saying?" you whisper, though your heart already knows the answer.

He reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering on your cheek. "I'm saying that I've been in love with you since we were kids. I'm saying that every time I called you darling, every time I talked about our future dog Fernando, every time I claimed the future husband title - I meant it. All of it."

"Lando..." your voice wavers.

"I know it's only been a few months since... everything," he says quickly. "And if you're not ready, if you don't feel the same way, we can pretend this never happened. We can go back to just joking around. But I needed you to know that for me, it was never just a joke. You were never just a joke."

You stare at him, this boy who's been your constant, your safe place, your home for so long. And suddenly everything clicks into place.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he says softly, giving you time to pull away if you want to.

You don't.

His lips meet yours, gentle at first, like he's afraid you might break. But when your hands slide into his curls, pulling him closer, the kiss deepens into something that feels like coming home and falling free all at once.

When you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours. "So," he says, slightly breathless, "about that legally binding marriage contract..."

You laugh, the sound full of joy. "Still going with that, are we?"

"Always," he grins, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. "Though now I'm thinking maybe we should make it official. You know, for Fernando's sake."

"We still don't have a dog, Lando."

"Yet," he corrects, pulling you closer. "We don't have a dog yet. But we will. Right after the wedding. Which will definitely have papaya orange colors because I called dibs when we were fourteen and—"

You cut him off with another kiss, feeling him smile against your lips.

"FINALLY!"

You break apart to find George standing in the doorway, grinning like he just won the championship.

"Ever heard of knocking?" Lando grumbles, but he doesn't let go of you.

"On a balcony door?" George raises an eyebrow. "Besides, I've been watching you two dance around each other for months. Years, actually."

"Have not," you protest.

"Have too," both men say in unison.

"I hate you both," you mutter, but you're fighting a smile.

"No you don't," Lando says confidently. "You love me. You're going to marry me and we're going to have a dog named Fernando and—"

"Still with the dog name?" George groans.

"It's tradition!" Lando defends. "Tell him, darling, tell him how important traditions are."

You look between your brother and the boy - no, the man - who's been your everything for so long, and feel your heart might burst with happiness.

"Actually," you say slowly, "I was thinking maybe we could name the dog George."

"What?" both men exclaim.

You burst out laughing at their expressions. "Just kidding. Fernando it is."

"See?" Lando beams at George. "She agrees with me. Because she loves me. Because we're getting married. Because—"

"Because it was never really a joke?" you finish softly.

His expression softens as he looks at you. "Never."

"Right," George clears his throat. "I'm going to leave before this gets any more sickeningly sweet. But Lando?"

"Yeah?"

"Hurt my sister and they'll never find your body."

"Please," Lando scoffs, pulling you closer. "I've been planning our future since I was fourteen. I'm not about to mess it up now."

As George leaves, shaking his head but smiling, Lando turns back to you.

"So," he says, his eyes twinkling, "about those wedding colors..."

You silence him with another kiss, thinking about how sometimes the best love stories start as jokes, and how sometimes the person you're meant to be with has been there all along, calling you darling and planning your future with a dog named Fernando.

And maybe, just maybe, those papaya orange wedding colors don't sound so bad after all.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 201,384 others

yn.russell turns out some jokes become reality 🧡 @/landonorris (yes, we're actually getting the dog. yes, his name will be fernando. no, this isn't a drill - the future wife position has officially been filled, i love you my lando)

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username1 SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP IS THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENING??? 😭😭😭

username2 THE WAY I JUST SCREAMED IN THE MIDDLE OF STARBUCKS

username3 THE FUTURE WIFE JOKES WERE REAL ALL ALONG

georgerussell63 About bloody time 🙄 (but actually very happy for you both)

alex_albon the group chat can finally rest, no more "should I tell her?" messages from lando every 5 minutes

carmenmmundt The paddock's favorite love story

ciscanorris Finally! I've only been waiting for this announcement since they were teenagers 🥰

username4 the way this man has been calling her darling for YEARS and we all thought it was just banter 😭😭

username5 THE WAY I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS SINCE 2019

username6 ok but can we talk about how he's literally been manifesting this since they were TEENAGERS???

username7 this is actually the cutest thing ever like???? he's been planning their wedding since he was 14???? hello???

username8 the way george is probably somewhere being like "finally i don't have to pretend i don't see them flirting"

landonorris worth the wait, every single second❤️ love you darling x

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

It's a lazy Sunday afternoon in late summer, and you're curled up on your couch with a book when you hear Lando's key in the door. You smile, not looking up - he's been coming and going from your place so much lately that it feels more like his home than his own apartment.

"Darling!" his voice calls out, sounding suspiciously excited. "Close your eyes!"

"Why?" you ask warily. "Last time you had a surprise, it didn't end well."

"Just trust me!"

You sigh fondly, closing your eyes. "Fine, but this better be good."

You hear him moving around, and then something warm and furry lands in your lap.

Your eyes fly open to find yourself face to face with the most adorable chocolate Labrador puppy you've ever seen. The puppy immediately starts licking your face while Lando watches, beaming with pure joy.

"Lando..." you breathe, already in love with the wiggling bundle of fur. "What did you do?"

"Well," he drops onto the couch beside you, reaching over to scratch the puppy's ears, "I was thinking about how we've been together for months now, and living together basically even though we pretend we don't, and how there's this one very important member of our family still missing..."

"You didn't," you whisper, even as the puppy settles contentedly in your lap.

"I did," he grins. "Meet Fernando. Finally."

You look between Lando and the puppy - Fernando - feeling your heart might burst. "You actually named him Fernando?"

"Of course I did! I've been planning this since I was fourteen, remember?" His eyes soften. "Plus, I made you a promise, didn't I?"

"We're not married yet," you point out, but you can't stop smiling.

"Yet," he emphasizes, leaning over to kiss your cheek. "But really, I thought... I mean, we practically live together anyway. Might as well make it official. You, me, and Fernando."

You look down at the puppy, who's now snoring softly in your lap, then back at Lando. "Are you asking me to move in with you? Properly?"

"Maybe," he fidgets slightly. "Unless you think it's too soon? I know we haven't been together that long, but it feels like we've been building towards this forever, you know? And I thought, with Fernando here now..."

You cut off his rambling with a kiss. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll move in with you. Properly. All three of us."

His face lights up like you've just given him the best gift in the world. "Really?"

"Really," you laugh.

"You're ridiculous," you tell him fondly.

"You love it," he says confidently.

"I do," you admit softly. "I love you."

His expression melts into that soft look he reserves just for you. "I love you too, darling. Both of you," he adds as Fernando stirs and licks his hand.

Just then, your phone buzzes - a text from George.

"Oh no," you groan, reading it. "George is coming over."

"Perfect!" Lando brightens. "He can meet his nephew!"

"You did not just call our dog George's nephew."

"Of course I did! He's family now. Speaking of which..." he pulls out his phone, "my mum's been asking when we're bringing Fernando to visit."

Before you can respond, George's voice carries through the door. "Why is there puppy food in the hallway?"

Lando jumps up excitedly. "Ready to meet Uncle George, Fernando?"

The puppy perks up at his name, tail wagging as George opens the door.

"You didn't," George says, taking in the scene.

"We did!" Lando announces proudly. "Meet your nephew!"

"My... nephew?"

"Fernando Russell-Norris," Lando declares. "Well, technically just Norris for now, but that'll change once your sister finally agrees to marry me."

"Still waiting on that proposal, aren't you?" George smirks.

"All in good time," Lando winks at you. "Got to do it properly, haven't I?"

You watch George pretend not to be completely smitten with Fernando, while Lando chatters about all his plans for family weekends and teaching Fernando tricks. You can't help but think about how sometimes the best things in life start as jokes about future marriages and dogs named Fernando.

"Our little family," Lando says softly, pulling you close while Fernando attempts to climb into George's lap.

And as you lean into his side, watching your brother and your boyfriend argue about who gets to be Fernando's favorite uncle (while the puppy seems more interested in chewing George's shoelaces), you realize that this - this moment, this love, this little family - is better than any dream you could have had.

It's your reality. Your perfect, slightly chaotic, absolutely wonderful reality.

OSCAR PIASTRI ｡ you're wearing his gray hoodie again. the one he's had since his prema days, stretched out and faded.

"that's my favorite," oscar points out from the doorway, but he's already fighting back a smile.

"yeah?" you tug the sleeves over your hands. "want it back?"

"didn't say that."

he won't admit it, but you've seen him physically move his hoodies to the front of his closet where you can reach them easier. lando tried to borrow one once after a gym session and oscar deadpan told him "absolutely not, buy your own." but you? you've accidentally created a whole section of your wardrobe that's just his clothes.

you catch him staring as you flop onto the bed beside him. "what?"

"nothing." his ears go slightly pink and he's definitely fighting a smile. "just... bring that one back eventually? maybe?"

"no promises, piastri."

MAX VERSTAPPEN ｡ max is in full concentration mode, hunched over his sim rig with that death grip on the steering wheel. you can hear him muttering curses under his breath. never a good sign for whoever he's racing. you pad into his gaming room, and he doesn't even flinch.

"baby," he mutters, eyes still locked on the screen as he takes a corner. "there's snacks on the desk."

you weren't even looking for snacks but sure. you grab one and plop into the chair next to him, watching his concentration face. the little furrow between his brows, the way his jaw clenches.

"not now," one of his friend's voice crackles through his headset. "we're in the middle of—is that your girlfriend?"

"yeah," max says simply.

"mate, i thought you had a no-interruption rule?"

"i do."

"then why is she—"

"she doesn't count." he says it so matter-of-factly, like it's obvious. "different rules. now shut up, i'm trying to overtake."

KIMI ANTONELLI ｡ kimi's supposed to be asleep two hours ago. early morning training session, toto's orders, the whole responsible f1 driver routine. and he's got a sleep schedule that would make a monk weep. but he's still awake at 2am with you.

"and then she asked for oat milk after they made it with regular, are you even awake?"

"mhm." his eyes are definitely closed now. "she's... she's lactose intolerant?"

"go to sleep, kimi."

"no, no, i'm listening." he forces his eyes open, reaching for you blindly until his hand finds yours. "what happened with the coffee?"

"you know your manager would murder you if they knew you were awake right now," you whisper. "don't care." he tugs you closer, tucking his face into your shoulder. his words are muffled against your shirt. "tell me the rest. did she get the oat milk?"

"you're ridiculous."

"you're ridiculous," he mumbles. "keep talking. i like your voice."

OLLIE BEARMAN ｡ ollie's been glued to the soccer match for the past hour, practically vibrating every time they get near the goal. you've seen this level of focus exactly twice: now, and during qualifying. literally on the edge of the couch like he might fall off. you feel a little bad interrupting, but—

"ollie, do you think i should cut my hair shorter?"

his head whips around so fast you're worried about whiplash. "what? like how much shorter?"

"i dunno, maybe to here?" you gesture vaguely at your shoulders.

"wait, let me see." he's already grabbed the remote, muting the tv without a second thought. with this serious, concentrated expression. "hmm. i mean, you'd look beautiful either way, but—"

"GOAL!" the announcer's voice screams from the tv.

ollie doesn't even glance back. "maybe keep it long? but honestly whatever makes you happy. do you want to cut it?"

"ollie, they just scored."

"who—oh." he looks at the screen for half a second, then back at you. "it's fine, they'll replay it. so about your hair, have you thought about layers? or maybe curls?"

user IM SORRY BUT THOSE NAMES ARE KIND OF CUTE

user "she's says they are all ladies and need names because of it" 🤧🤧🤧 stop bc why is she so cute

user okay but like... what names are which cars 👀👀👀

user i think bertha is the land rover

user oh it HAS to be 🤣

user ARE WE JUST IGNORING THE FACT HE SAID "OUR CARS" AND NOT "HIS CARS"

user no bc the way i ascended after he said that 😳

user is dolly suppose to be like "dolly parton"?????

user well knowing that yn loves dolly and has inspired some of her austin looks after dolly... i wouldn't be surprised lol

user heather is so cvnty 🤏🤏🤏

user OMG YN LIKED THE VIDEO 🤯🤯🤯

user OUR CARSSSSSSSSSS 😭😭😭

user what did she name his f1 cars????

user he didn't say but i bet the mcl40 is called "little bitch"

📅 may 30, 2026

f1gossipofficial lando appeared on max fewtrell's stream along with max's girlfriend pietra pilao tonight. at some point fans were asking about y/n and where she was at and if she would be joining.

LN : "is y/n joining?" no, y/n is resting right now, i know you all have been curious about where's she's been, but she's fine. just taking a little break.

LN : "we miss her." if you miss her just go watch her videos – that's what i do when i miss her.

MF : you guys are attached at the hip though, mate.

LN : no, we spend time apart [sometimes], and so when i miss her, i watch her videos.

View all 8,467 comments

user STOPP 😭😭😭 not him telling us to go watch her videos if we miss her 😭😭😭😭

user yoooooooooo lando is such a SIMP

user what could she possibly be resting from 🤨 seems a little sus to me

user omg is she resting cause she's pregnant????

user oh lord don't even start with this 🙄🙄

user omg i hope she is 🤗 a little norris would be SO cute from them

user wait didn't she appear on the live for a few minutes tho?????????

user WAIT WHAT???? DID SHE??? WHEN??????

user it was like brief bc you can just BARELY hear lando talking to her

user you sure???

user i'm like 99.9% sure i heard her voice for a moment

user i just know that if yn was playing poker with them she would have beat all of them 😤😤😤😤

📅 june 3, 2026

clip #1 – lando teasing yn while they try to take a picture 🤧🤧🤧

you and lando are standing together, his arm around you and pulling you flush against him. the camera zooms out a little bit to show that there are several more people recording and taking pictures of the two of you.

you are looking at mclaren team member smiling as they take pictures. lando; however, is not looking and instead smiling down at you. when you glance up to meet his eyes, you immediately roll your eyes at him.

"lan! look at the camera, you dork!" you huff out which makes a few people around you both laugh. lando smiles at you, his arm around your waist moves so his hand is flat against your stomach.

"this is taking too long," he's heard mumbling before he's looking from you to the camera, finally, and allowing the mclaren member to take a few pictures of you both.

when you get your phone back, lando is still standing behind you – holding you close and you look at the pictures together.

"you look pretty goofy just smiling at me in this one," you tease as the camera recording you zooms in closer on you and lando.

the suddenly, the camera catches right as lando's hands grab at your waist and presumably squeeze them. you let out a small shriek, jerking away from lando. the british driver is caught laughing as an angry pout takes over your lips.

"you're soooooo not funny, mister," you say, but letting him pull you back closer to him. the video suddenly cutting off there.

💬 comments :

👤 : oh he was full on teasing her 🤭 i love them so much

👤 : the pout she gave him when grabbed her waist to tickle her 🤣 sorry for laughing at your pain girl 🤣

👤 : HIS HAND ON HER STOMACH

👤 : i love how they act like there's never any cameras around them

👤 : oh god could she be anymore cringe 💀 can't believe mclaren actually invited her as a guest 🙄 guess fucking a driver can really get you anything

♫ Black Eyed Peas · Don't Phunk With My Heart

cherryn 🍊1️⃣0️⃣0️⃣0️⃣🍊 mclarenf1 lando oscarpiastri

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lando 🧡🧡🧡 liked by author

lando so glad i got to spend this day with you ☺️

cherryn will def remember it 🥰

mclarenf1 glad you got to join us 🙌

cherryn thank you for inviting meeeeeeee

lnfour orange always looks great on you ma'am

cherryn ☺️☺️☺️

oscarpiastri glad to see you 🙂

cherryn STOP NOT THAT EMOJI AGAIN 🥹

cherryn 🫶🫶🫶🫶 (btw)

user once again laughing at how yn hates when oscar uses that emoji lmao

user its a constant battle for her 🤣🤣

ari.archive my wife lookin so sexyyyyyy in that first pic

cherryn thanks babe 💋

nicolepiastri looking very pretty 🧡

cherryn thank youuuuu can't wait to see you and lily 🫶

user THE FIRST SLIDE 😍 POSING WITH LANDO'S HELMET STOPPP

user i love that she attended the mclaren event 🧡

user OUR QUEEN IS BACKKKKKKKKK

user war is over 🥲🥲 didn't realize how much i missed her until just know

user why is no one talking about the last slide 🤣🤣🤣🤣

user yn is so iconic for that

user the all orange photodump is soooooo 🤌🤌🤌

user MOTHERRRRRRRRRRRR WE'VE MISSED YOU SO MUCH

user the etsy witch worked 😭

user what did you get an etsy witch for???

user to summon yn back online 😇

user i... don't think that's how etsy witches work

📅 june 4, 2026

clip #2 – YN IS WEARING LANDO'S MIAMI '25 HELMET 😭😭😭😭

when the clip starts, it catches you still on the back of lando's scooter – arms wrapped around his waist as you are holding on to him.

however, what catches the attention of fans around you two is that both you and lando are wearing two of his older helmets. lando wearing his hungary gp helmet from 2024 and you–

wearing his disco miami helmet from last year.

"omg her outfit is so cute!" a fan is heard saying right as the camera zooms in on your outfit as you step off the scooter and begin to take the helmet off.

you are filmed walking behind lando, his bodyguard, rich, walking next to you as he's holding lando's helmet. you are still holding the disco helmet in one hand, other hand coming up to fix your hair as you are seen chatting with rich.

your chanel crossbody bounces against your hip as you walk, hugging the helmet close as you wave to a few fans who shout your name. the hangyodon keychain suddenly appearing has a few fans gasping over how cute it looks with the chanel bag.

"I LOVE YOU Y/N!!" someone shouts loudly causing you to laugh as you turn to look in the direction it came from. at the moment, lando is seen turning his head as well before he's slowly down so he's right next now. you smile up at your boyfriend as you say something which makes him smile and laugh in response.

right before the clip ends, you walk past the person filming as they zoom in on you – trying to get a better look at you and also managing to catch the bedazzled 'juicy' written across the back of your shorts.

"SHE'S WEARING THE JUICY–"

💬 comments :

👤 : wait that's so cute that she wears his helmets too 😭😭

👤 : THE JUICY SHORTSSSSSSS SHE'S BACK MY QUEEN

👤 : omg this is my FAVORITE media day outfit of hers – i just love how casual it is

👤 : NOT YN WEARING HER FAVORITE HELMET FROM LAST SEASON LANDOOOOOO WE SEE YOU BOIIIIIIII

👤 : omg yn riding with lando on his scooter 🥺🥺 its giving toto and susie imo

👤 : a second day with a flowy top is she trying to hide something 👀

👤 : okay but like... why is she glowing more than usual????

clip #3 – yn leaving media day early????

the clip starts off zooming in on you and lando walking together, his hand resting on your waist. as you are seen nearing the exit gates, you stop to turn to lando who immediately leans over to kiss you. you happily bouncing on the balls of your feet as you kiss him back.

you pull away first, saying something to him as your hands casually run up his arms before he's kissing you one more time. you step away from him fully afterwards, smiling and waving at lando before you're turning and continuing to head towards the exit gates.

lando stands in the same spot, watching you walk away. the camera moves to try and find you in the crowd before panning back to lando who is still in the same spot. still watching you, and its assumed that when he moves it's because he can no longer see you.

the clip ends right as lando starts to walk back towards the direction of the mclaren hospitality.

💬 comments :

👤 : she doesn't usually leave early i hope she's okay

👤 : i wonder if she's going to spend time with her friend or something!

👤 : she probs just wanted to get pictures of lando and spend time with him before he did his media stuff – he's been pretty busy this past week so i assume they wanted time together

clip #4 – yn spotted on a yacht with her friend ari 🛥️👙☀️

the clip starts off panning over the water – lots of different boats scattered around the sea before its slowly zooming in on one specific yacht.

there – on the deck laid you and your friend ari sunbathing and enjoying warm weather. you were on your back while ari as on her stomach, scrolling on her phone. the two of you talking back and forth rather animatedly.

you are then seen getting up and heading slightly out of view of the camera before coming back to two waters and a bowl of something – easily setting it between you and ari. the two of you sitting across from each other as you chat and eat, you scrolling through your phone even before the clip suddenly cuts.

💬 comments :

👤 : she left media day to go sunbath on a yacht 💀

👤 : why does it look like she gained weight??? she better be carefully before lando leaves her 🤭

👤 : literally so glad that ari is with yn this week ☺️ esp since she's surrounded by lando's friends 😒

👤 : interesting how they didn't bother to invite p 🤨 especially since ari is also staying with yn and lando like max and p are 💀

👤 : i think you all need to get over the fact that yn and p just aren't going to be best friends like how you all want them to be – yn doesn't need to invite her boyfriend's best friend's gf to hangout when its clear she just wants to spend time with her own friend bsfr

👤 : okay but that break she took last week seemed to really help – she's glowing ✨

clip #5 – lando joining yn and her friend on the yacht after media day

the clip is short and shot from far away – the further it zooms in, the grainy the picture becomes.

however, its quite clear that lando is on the yacht and now in more casual than what he was wearing earlier in the day. you are also spotted sitting between his legs your body front pressed flush against his side.

the clip catches the exact moment lando captures your lips in a kiss. the setting sun painting the two of you in a grainy orange color before you're pulling away cuddling up into his chest.

the camera then briefly catches lando's hand resting against your stomach before quickly moving to rest on your thigh before the clip suddenly ends.

💬 comments :

👤 : whoa what was the hand placement at the end???

👤 : omgggggg my parents spending time together 🥺 i hope this race goes well for lando

👤 : you guys can't tell me she's not pregnant!! just LOOK at how lando puts his hand on her stomach 😳🤯

👤 : that kiss 🥺🥺🥺🥺 my fav grid couple everrrrr

👤 : great 😒 just another moment of f1 drivers calling the paps to take pictures of them 🙄 what a joke this sport as become

♫ TWICE · Ocean Deep

cherryn shabang 🌊☀️🦐

View all 749,390 comments

lando soaking up my pretty girl ☀️😎

cherryn 🫣

ari.archive honestly my favorite day in a while 💙

cherryn glad you had fun my love 💙

valentinexx YOU GUYS WENT ON A YACHT???? THATS IT NEXT YEAR IM GOING TO MONACO 😤😤

cherryn girlllllll why you acting like you can't just come visit???

valentinexx bc you and lando are constantly being gross and do NOT wish to get scarred again 😵

lando not our fault you don't know how to knock 🙄

valentinexx HEY!!! stay out of this 🫵🫵🫵

user what did valentina see 👁️👄👁️

rebeccadonaldson so pretty 💕

lilyzneimer 💕💕

kikagomes so pretty you don't even need to look at the camera 😳

cherryn you this smooth with pierre or just me 😜

kikagomes just you 😉🫶

user will NEVER get over when she posts pictures with her friends – literally my fav friend group ever

user song choice EATSSSSS as always queen liked by author

user ngl this is my fav genre of yn

ynupdates y/n's nail tech yayamonaconails just posted a several different nails she's done this week from clinets requesting the "y/n nails" which started back in monaco '24 when fans of y/n go to monaco in order to get their nails done at the same nail tech.

apparently, last year so many fans had made appoints that y/n was unable to make her own appointment but was able to get a last minute opening before quali day.

📷 credits to yayamonaconails

View all 6,290 comments

user wow some of you all just looooooove reheating yn's nachos huh?? some of these are a little too similar to her past nails

user wow glad yn is able to bring in business for her nail tech!

user omg i remember when that happened last year! yn had to do her own nails until she was able to get that appointment

user sooooo anyone else wondering how that "last minute" appointment 🤨

user i'll give you one guess and it starts with an L

user UGH those nails are so cute 😫 i'm so jealous of the people who get to go to monaco and get their nails done there

user will forever be jealous of monaco for having such an iconic woman living in it 😭 that place is too BORING for a whimsy girl like her

user lol couldn't agree more – that's probs why lando drags her everywhere when he travels

user i love the nails but only because i know who the inspo was for them – wish ppl could be original that's the whole point of yn's fashion content is be original and not copy 😔

📅 june 5, 2026

cherryn and ari.archive updated their stories !

♫ LE SSERAFIM · Saki (feat. Aliyah's Interlude)

cherryn 1-800-you-fucking-wish 🦷✨

View all 865,622 comments

lando 🔥🔥🔥🔥 liked by author

ari.archive omg who are those hot chicks in slide 7 🤭

withmia girl we know if probs took you 7 minutes to find a pose

ari.archive hater 😒

riabish glad we got to hangout 😍

cherryn absolutely ❤️

lnfour who the heck's saki 🤭 liked by author

user IS ADMIN A FEARNOT

hattiepiastri oh we need to go see le sserafim together

cherryn we doooooooooo 💕

user AND YOU ARE THAT GIRL YN 💕

user to have the talent you do to take pictures 😔

user LOVE FROM BRAZIL

user will always be jealous of your life girl

user I LOVE YOU YN ❤️

user i wonder if between hattie and yn if oscar is a k-pop fan yet lmaoooooo

user or a country fan based off what lando has says his music taste is

user THAT TOO

user oscar, the country k-pop fan 🤔

user girl just tell us if you're pregnant or not 🙄

user that's fucking weird of you to say i hope you know that

clip #6 – LANDO AND YN ARE ON A DATE 😍😍😍 YN LOOKS SO PRETTY

the clip starts with filming you and lando in his mclaren spider as he's driving down the street. through the windshield, its obvious that you and lando are dressed up as the mclaren drives past the person recording.

it cuts to a different clip to now show you and lando outside a restaurant and getting out of the car. the valet opening the door for you and you thanking them as you step out and turn to see lando coming up next to you. his hand immediately finding your waist as he guides you inside.

the clip then cuts for a third time, zooming in on you and lando sitting at a table together. you talking while lando is listening – nodding along while eating. a waiter then comes by and quickly refills your water before leaving, you take a sip before getting a bite of food as lando says something. his hand reaching across the table in order to hold yours, his thumb rubbing across your knuckles.

💬 comments :

👤 : stop cause that green dress looks so pretty on her

👤 : IS SHE DRINKING WATER???? OMG SHE IS PREGNANT

👤 : the way i literally just stumbled when i saw her in that dress

👤 : lando can't fight us all

👤 : can we please NOT film the two of them in public 😭

👤 : i find it SO funny how the two of them just left all their guests at their apartment to go on a date... honestly i don't blame them either lol

👤 : i wonder what name she gave this car 😍

👤 : oh i just know they fucked when they got home – i just can't prove it

📅 june 6, 2026

cherry just updated their story !

♫ Mitsuto Suzuki & Square Enix Music · Speed Demon

replies

lando nerrrrrrddd 🤓🫵

cherryn might be a nerd but remember you addicted to this nerdy 🐱

cherryn i would be nice to me if you still want it after this weekend 😁

lando damn 😔 i was just joking baby

user OMG IM SO EXCITEDDDDDDD

user and i'm once again constantly reminded that you're a NERD 😍 a hot and sexyyyy one

user FINAL FANTASY ANNNNNND RESIDENT EVIL 😍 YOU KNOW JUST THE WAY TO MY HEART

user ❤️❤️❤️❤️

clip #7 – lando walking with yn into hospitality after fp3

the clips starts off showing you and lando walking next to each other. lando – still in his race suit – has his hand resting on your shoulder as he easily guides the two of you through the crowd.

some fans passing by ask for a quick autograph and picture, which lando does before waving to the fans as you and him continue to walk. your hand coming up to adjust your purse, which is when the camera catches the glimpse of said item.

the chanel monaco helmet purse, but instead of the usual black or red color it comes in – its actually in the design of lando's helmet. the bright neon green with the black blobs standing out greatly and meant to be main attraction of the outfit.

when the two of you reach the mclaren hospitality, lando's hand moves from your shoulder to your hand as he easily helped you walk up the stairs before the doors are sliding open. the video cuts once you two disappear inside the bright orange hospitality.

💬 comments :

👤 : THAT BAGGGGGGGGGGG MAAM YOU ATE WITH IT

👤 : omg wait– is that an ACTUAL chanel bag?????

👤 : oh i'm OBSESSED with this outfit

👤 : yn's pinky toe is probs more stylish than me 😭

👤 : can yn pls style the other wags 😭 i'm tired of them being boring and having that lame stylist just putting them in whatever

clip #8 – yn watching quali from the balcony 😍

the camera is shaky as it is taken from the grandstand and immediately zooms into the balconies that are over the garages. the person filming has a clear shot of the mclaren hospitality – which is when the person zooms in on where you are clearly standing.

next to you is ari, the both of you leaning against the railing and chatting a little bit as you also seem to be focusing on watching quali that is happening below you. on the other side of you is lily who also seems to be in the conversation as even from so far, it still looks like she's talking as you and ari turn to look at her.

on the other side of lily is pietra, but its rather unclear if she's a part of the conversation too. that is until you are seen leaning back slightly from railing – mouth moving as pietra turns to look at you before nodding. you nod back before going back to look over the railing right as some of the cars are coming back around the track.

💬 comments :

👤 : omg this is the first time i'm seeing yn and p interact 😮

👤 : oh to be in their circle to know what they are talking about 🥹👂

👤 : HOWWWWWWW does she walk around in those heels????

👤 : DID YN JUST TALK TO PIETRA?????????? WHAT IN THE WORLD IS HAPPENING?????

👤 : why is always wearing heels if she's pregnant??? lets be a little more responsible here girly pop

landoyn4updates lando was at fan forum this afternoon signing things when a fan told him congrats on the baby; however, lando was quick to deny the rumors.

👤 : lando! lando! congrats on the baby, lando!!

LN : [looks towards fan's direction, shakes his head]

LN : there's no baby. please, don't say that to y/n.

📷 credits to yoyoynnie on twt

View all 19,289 comments

user okay but like... why did lando seem PISSED when that fan said congrats 😭😭😭

user that's what i was thinking!! he had a look like you just told him his dog died or something 😭

user no way that fan said congrats when it was just rumors 💀

user nooooooo him asking fans not to say that to yn too 🥺 that breaks my heart for some reason

user but why did he look traumatized by the fan congratulating him??

user maybe bc it was after quali??? he was probs just still upset about the results??

user nahhhh this def looked like something different

user no bc his reaction to the fan was weird 🤨

user i would be SO embarrassed if i was that fan 💀

user omg he looks so fucking hot

user well... at least we know she's not pregnant

user i bet that one person on twt who was SO sure yn was pregnant is screaming into the void right now

user and they were so sure of it too 😭

user the sigh of relief i just let out after watching this 😮‍💨

📅 june 7, 2026

clip #9 – yn entering the paddock 🤩 SHES DROP DEAD GORG GUYS

the camera is being taken from the fan forum and is incredibly shaky as it zooms in on where you are at the gate. you just got down scanning your pass, walking into the paddock and immediately waving as fans around the person recording start calling screaming your name.

"holy shit she's so pretty!" someone is heard saying.

you manage to get a few steps into the paddock before the camera is catching lando and rich, his bodyguard, coming down the walkway towards you. you smile once lando reaches you, your hands resting on his arms as he leans over to kiss your cheek before his holding your hand and the two of you are walking through the crowd.

"YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL TODAY Y/N!"

you turn to look over your shoulder – big smile on your face as you wave and give a quick finger heart towards the direction of the voice before turning back.

💬 comments :

👤 : but the fact lando went to go back and met her at the gate so they could walk together 🤧 MY PARENTS

👤 : does lando know she can walk by herself???? he's been extra clingy this weekend – its kind of weird 💀

👤 : where's ari??? didn't she come to the race as well??

👤 : she's in the video! you can see her walking next to yn

👤 : honestly – don't blame her for coming separately from lando lol – i wouldn't wear that and ride on the back of a scooter either 🤣🤣🤣

formulaonewags y/n stuns crowd at monaco gp today with her full chanel look!

View all 38,290 comments

user OH SHES STUNNING

user she's literally the best dressed wag at the entire race

user yeah you wish she was the best dressed 🙄

user and you wish you rode lando's dick like she does stfu 🙄

user waiting for that chanel ambassadorship any day now...

user lando is so fucking lucky

user MOMMY

user do you think her and the other wags have a peacock-off to see who gets the most attention for their outfits????

user if they do then its a constant yn vs alex vs carmen

user new challenger: kim k 💀

user her too if she shows up to anymore lmaoooooo

user if yn and lando ever need a third 🙋‍♀️ i totally volunteer as tribute

user yeah take a number buddy 😒

user she's not that pretty guys...

user probably prettier than you 🤭

user literally everything about this look is perfect – her best gp look of the season so far

user her monaco outfits always do manage to eat 🤩

user she's just like the rest of the wags when it comes to dressing up

clip #10 – yn giving lando a kinder before he goes to get ready for the race

the clip is filmed seemingly right outside lando's garage. there's about an hour until the race officially begins and the camera catches different mechanics and engineers moving around. but it also catches you and lando standing in the back.

in him in race suit with the top half hanging around his hips as he leans against the counter in the back of the garage. you and standing close to him, hand on his shoulder as he leans over to kiss you. you laugh shyly which makes him grin at you as you turn your back to the camera, your purse sitting on the counter as you quickly dig through it for something.

the camera catches your body perking up when you turn back to lando who is still watching with a fond smile. you then show him what's in your hand – the camera just faintly catching the blue and white wrapper. lando laughs, shaking his head before he's reaching to take the chocolate.

however, you smack his hand before carefully opening it and holding it against his lips. the two of you staring at each other before lando is slowly opening his mouth for you to push the sweet past his lips. you and then quickly dig through your purse once more before pulling out another one and happily eating it.

the clip catches the two of you giggling together, lando pulling you into a hug, his forehead against your own as you're kissing his cheek before hugging him back. the video ends right before a mclaren team member comes over to the both of you.

💬 comments :

👤 : what i would give to be in lando's place right now 😭😭😭

👤 : the two of them fucking giggling like teenagers 🥹

👤 : STOPPPPPPPP SHE HAD ONE FOR HIM AND HER 🥹🥹🥹

👤 : oh they are way too in love it makes me sick

👤 : i'm still shocked when in the beginning ppl use to say yn was just a rebound... clearly that's not the case almost four years later 🤧

♫ Bad Bunny · MONACO

cherryn créeme, los carros de F1 son más rápido' en persona 🖤🧡🤍

View all 993,389 comments

lando beautiful 🧡

cherryn thank you my love 🧡

lnfour paddock is a runway now 😍

mclarenf1 miss ceo reporting for duty 🫡

user ADMIN GET OFF THE INTERNET WE BEG

alexandramalenaleclerc stunning 🤍 liked by author

ari.archive MY WIFE 😍 liked by author

f1 we love seeing you work the paddock 😍

user ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

user girl you GOTTA stop make this joke

user MOMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYY

user at least lando has the greatest prize of all... y/n l/n

user AMEN TO THAT 🙏

user that first photo give SUCH lando.jgp vibes

user OMG IT DOES

user literally refuse to believe anyone BUT lando took that first one

user we believe you queen 🫡 must be crazy to experience it almost every weekend 😭

user the perks of being a wag 😭

user what do we believe???? i'm so confused??

user the lyrics in her caption – saying f1 cars are faster in irl

user oh

user she was decked out in chanel this entire weekend 😍 oh i bet some are JEALOUS over this 🤭🤭🤭

user our true queen of the paddock 😌 who kim k thinks she's being at the paddock

user NOT THE KIM K SHADEEEEEEEEE

user at least yn is nice to martin brundle 🥹

user omg wait i remember when brundle tried to interview yn back in 2023 🥺 you could tell that she was shy and caught off guard

user but at least she spoke to him 😭

user our mclaren ceo 🤩

user lando can't fight us all

📅 june 8, 2026

clip #11 – landoyn spotted on a yacht after the gp... 👀🛥️🥂

the camera starts out from far away before immediately zooming in on where you and lando are sitting. the video is grainy as hell, but you and lando can still be heavily made out as you are leaning into him. your backless dress showing off your bare back and, of course, lando's hand as he rubs circles on your lower back.

the both of you are happily talking with the other people at your table. you even laughing – head throwing back as the camera catches lando looking at you with a fond (grainy) smile before you're cozying back up into lando's side.

💬 comments :

👤 : LANDO YOUR HAND PLS SIR

👤 : oh that dress is so cute but i just KNOW she wore it for him

👤 : we are in 2026 people!! get better cameras 😤😤😤

👤 : are we getting party couple!landoyn back our lord and savior year of 2026 👀👀👀👀 cause i'm TOTALLY down for it

👤 : oh party girl!yn how i missed you 🤧

clip #12 – LANDO AND YN ARE AT THE CLUBBBBBBBBB

the camera is already focused on you and lando as you stand in the mix of people in the club. purple lights flashing around everybody as it zooms in slightly on you leaning against lando. your head on his chest as the two of you dance together, bodies flush as lando easily moves the both of you to the music.

you look at lando, smile on your lips as you say something to catch his attention. you say something again before he's nodding as you bring your drink to your lips. lando is then easily taking the cup and getting a drink as well before handing it back to you.

the camera catches as the british driver whispers something in your ear, you then looking over your shoulder before laughing and nodding.

💬 comments :

👤 : honestly, good for them for going out – esp lando after such a shit race

👤 : i NEED them to makeout and i'm NOT sorry for saying that 😤

👤 : at least we know she's DEF not pregnant now lmaoooooooooo

clip #13 – oh they are sooooooooo hot

the clip takes place in the same club the two of you have been spotted in. your back is pressed flush against lando's chest, his hands on your waist as you both move to the music.

at one point, lando even leans down with his face in your neck and your hand comes up to run through his curls and the camera tries to zoom in to get a better view of you and lando. when he lifts his head, you are smiling at him before he's kissing you.

you are caught laughing into the kiss as you turn to face him, arms wrapping around his neck as his hands grab your hips to drag you closer to him. the two of you continue to kiss – messy before lando is dragging his lips down your neck, and over your bare shoulder.

lando is caught kissing you one more time before the clip is suddenly ending.

💬 comments :

👤 : damn they are super hot together

👤 : MY PARENETTTTTTSSSSSSS HOW I MISSED THIS ERA OF THEM

👤 : they are so iconic

👤 : YES I FINALLY GOT MY MAKEOUT VIDEO

👤 : oh god they need to GET A ROOM 😭

👤 : they're once again fueling the dululus who obsess over their relationship

cherryn updated her story !

caption: ur welcome guys 🧡

replies :

user GOD BLESS THE LANDOYN NATION EVERYONEEEEEE

user a bisexual's dream

user THANK YOU MOTHER

user T-T-T--T-T-T-T-T--T THE DOUBLE BACK POSESSSSSSSSS

user girlllllll you've been holding out on us 😤😤😤

His heart hammers against his ribs in a frantic, unsteady rhythm that has nothing to do with athletic exertion. He walks the hallowed, clinically white halls, his PUMA sneakers squeaking softly on the polished floor. Every gleaming trophy in its glass case seems to mock him. Every larger-than-life photo of a past champion feels like a judgment.

He’s replayed the last few races in his mind a thousand times on the short drive over. Did he say something wrong in a debrief? Was there a clause in his contract he’d forgotten about? The car isn’t where it needs to be, but that’s not his fault. He’s been driving the absolute wheels off it, wringing performance from it that has no business existing. It has to be something else.

The door to the main conference room is slightly ajar. He pushes it open, the heavy wood swinging silently on its hinges.

And the room is not empty.

Seated at the far end of the impossibly long, gleaming mahogany table is a woman. No, not a woman. A girl, maybe? You look young. He can’t see your face properly, it’s angled down, illuminated by the soft glow of a tablet propped in front of you. Sunlight from the floor-to-ceiling windows catches in your hair, turning the strands into a halo of spun gold. You’re wearing a simple, cream-colored silk blouse and dark trousers. Elegant, but understated. Not the severe, high-fashion power suit of the usual corporate types who haunt these rooms.

He clears his throat.

You look up, and for a second, the air leaves his lungs. It’s not a dramatic, cinematic moment. It’s quieter, more profound. It’s the simple, jarring realization that he has never seen a face quite like yours before. It’s a composition of soft lines and sharp intelligence, your eyes — a deep, unreadable shade — holding his for a beat longer than is socially acceptable.

He blinks, recovering himself. New intern. Must be. Or maybe a junior marketing assistant, brought in to take notes. They’re always hiring bright young things from Bocconi University.

“Hello,” he says, his voice a little rougher than he intends. He strides into the room, dropping his phone and keys onto the table with a clatter. The sound echoes in the cavernous space.

“Hi,” you reply. Your voice is low, smooth. It holds a hint of an accent he can’t quite place, a musicality that makes the simple word sound like a melody.

He gestures vaguely towards the gleaming, state-of-the-art espresso machine in the corner of the room, a chrome beast that costs more than a decent road car. “Do you know how to work that thing?”

You follow his gaze. A small, almost imperceptible smile touches your lips. It’s not a mocking smile. It’s … amused. Curious. “I think I can figure it out.”

“Great.” He pulls out a chair, scraping it against the floor, and sinks into it. The anxiety is making him antsy, irritable. “An espresso, please. Doppio. No sugar.”

He doesn’t mean for it to sound like an order. Not really. It just comes out that way. He’s a man who lives his life in tenths of a second, a life of commands and instant responses. ‘Box, Charles, box.’ ‘Push now, push now.’ His request is just another line of code in a life run on efficient instructions.

From your perspective, the situation is almost comical. You’ve spent the last seventy-two hours in brutal, back-to-back meetings with lawyers and accountants, dissecting financial statements that could choke a supercomputer. You’ve been up since four this morning, preparing. The weight of your family’s legacy, a global empire built over four generations, rests squarely on your shoulders. You are here to negotiate the potential acquisition of one of the most iconic brands in human history.

And this man, this beautiful, anxious, impossibly famous man, thinks you’re here to fetch his coffee.

You could correct him. You could flash a sharp, cutting smile and introduce yourself, watch the dawning horror spread across his face. It would be easy. It might even be satisfying.

But where’s the fun in that?

Besides, there’s something about the raw tension radiating from him that intrigues you. He’s not just being arrogant. He’s terrified. You can see it in the way his jaw is clenched, the way his famous green-blue eyes keep darting towards the door. He’s a bundle of frayed nerves stuffed into a designer team-issue polo shirt.

So, you stand up. The silk of your blouse whispers against the leather of the chair. “Doppio, no sugar. Got it.”

Charles just nods, already lost in his phone, scrolling through motorsport news sites as if they might hold the answer to his impending doom. He doesn’t watch you walk to the machine. He doesn’t notice the quiet competence with which you operate it, the practiced movements that suggest you’ve made your own coffee a thousand times before. He just hears the comforting gurgle and hiss of the machine, the clink of ceramic.

You place the small, white cup and saucer on the polished table beside his elbow. The rich, dark aroma of the coffee wafts up, a stark contrast to the sterile air of the room.

“Thanks,” he mutters, not looking up. He picks up the cup, his long, artistic fingers — fingers that can tame a 1000-horsepower monster at 300 kilometers per hour — wrapping around the delicate handle. He takes a sip, the bitter liquid a familiar jolt to his system.

He risks a glance at you. You’ve returned to your seat at the head of the table, your attention back on your tablet. You look completely unbothered, as if serving coffee to distracted Formula 1 drivers is a perfectly normal part of your day.

The silence stretches. It’s awkward. He feels a prickle of something — maybe guilt? He was a little rude.

“Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat again. “I’m just … it’s been a long day.”

You finally look up from the tablet, your full attention on him. And when you do, he feels pinned in place. Your eyes are astonishingly perceptive. It feels like you can see right through the bravado, right to the frantic, panicked hamster running on a wheel in his brain.

“It’s not over yet,” you say softly.

The words hang in the air, cryptic and heavy. Before he can try to decipher them, the door swings open again.

John Elkann walks in, followed closely by Fred Vasseur. The shift in the room’s atmosphere is instantaneous. The air crackles with authority. John, with his patrician bearing and impeccably tailored suit, is the embodiment of quiet, immense power. Fred, by contrast, is a study in controlled chaos, his usual rumpled energy sharpened to a point.

Charles scrambles to his feet. “John. Fred.”

John gives him a curt, polite nod, but his focus, his entire attention, is on you. A warm, genuine smile spreads across his face, a sight so rare it’s like witnessing a solar eclipse.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice rich with Italian warmth. He bypasses Charles completely, walking to the head of the table where you are now rising gracefully from your chair. He takes your hand, bowing his head slightly to press a light kiss to your knuckles in a classic, courtly gesture. “It is a true pleasure to see you again. I trust your journey was comfortable?”

You smile back, a radiant, easy expression that transforms your entire face. “Perfectly, John. Thank you for accommodating us on such short notice.”

Fred is next, shaking your hand firmly. “Ms. Y/L/N. Welcome to Maranello. We are all very pleased you could make it.”

Charles stands frozen in place, a statue of dawning comprehension. The espresso cup feels slick in his suddenly sweaty palm. The gears in his brain are grinding, trying to connect the dots, but they’re moving through thick, syrupy dread. Y/N Y/L/N. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but he can’t place it. A sponsor? A new board member?

John finally turns to him, his expression now coolly professional. The warmth he showed you has vanished completely.

“Charles,” he says, his tone leaving no room for pleasantries. “Thank you for joining us. I believe you haven’t been formally introduced.”

Charles’s mouth is dry. He feels like a schoolboy called to the principal’s office.

John gestures from you to him. “Charles Leclerc, this is Y/N Y/L/N.”

There’s a beat of silence. Charles manages a tight, strangled nod. He still doesn’t get it. Who are you?

Fred decides to rip the bandage off.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” Fred says, his French accent thick, “is the CEO and Chairwoman of Y/L/N Holdings.”

The name clicks. Not from the business section of a newspaper, but from the high-octane world of finance and power that occasionally intersects with his own. Y/L/N Holdings. They aren’t just a company, they’re a modern dynasty. A colossal, family-run conglomerate with controlling stakes in everything from technology and pharmaceuticals to luxury fashion and green energy. They are spoken of in the same hushed, reverent tones as Berkshire Hathaway or LVMH. They don’t sponsor teams. They buy them. They buy the leagues the teams compete in.

Charles feels the blood drain from his face. Every drop. He feels light-headed, dizzy, as if he’s just stepped out of the cockpit after a 70-lap race in Singapore.

He looks at you. You, the woman he just ordered to get him an espresso. You, the head of one of the most powerful and influential private corporations on the planet.

And you are looking right back at him. Your expression is perfectly, maddeningly neutral, but he sees it. Deep in your eyes, there’s a flicker. A tiny, dancing spark of pure amusement.

He is so, so screwed.

“We are here today,” John continues, his voice a low drumbeat of doom, “to enter into preliminary discussions with Ms. Y/L/N about the future of Ferrari. All of it. The road cars, the brand, and, of course, Scuderia Ferrari.”

The room tilts on its axis. Charles physically grips the back of his chair to steady himself. Buy Ferrari? The idea is sacrilege. It’s unthinkable. Ferrari isn’t just a company; it’s a national treasure, an Italian institution. And this woman … this girl … she’s here to put a price tag on it.

His brain, which can process thousands of data points a minute during a race, is now stuck in a horrifying loop.

I told the potential new owner of the team to get me a coffee.

I told the woman who could soon be signing my paychecks to fetch me an espresso.

I treated her like an intern.

His career flashes before his eyes. The karting championships. The hard-won F2 title. The dream-come-true moment of signing with Ferrari. All of it, spiraling down the drain because he was too arrogant and too anxious to have a single shred of basic courtesy.

He’s going to be fired. No, worse. She won’t just fire him. She’ll make an example of him. He’ll be bought out of his contract and publicly humiliated. He’ll be forced to sign with Alpine. The thought is so horrifying it’s almost paralyzing. He can already picture the depressing blue and pink car, the endless midfield battles, the sheer, soul-crushing mediocrity of it all.

“Please, everyone, sit,” you say, your voice cutting smoothly through his internal spiral of terror.

John and Fred take their seats. Charles moves stiffly, mechanically, lowering himself back into his chair. He feels like a condemned man taking his place at his own trial. He risks another look at you. You’re arranging your tablet, your movements fluid and confident. You are completely in your element. You own this room. You might soon own him.

“Charles,” you say, your tone casual, as if the last five minutes haven’t just shattered his entire world.

He flinches, his head snapping up. “Yes?” The word comes out as a squeak.

You gesture towards the small white cup still sitting next to his hand. “How’s the espresso?”

The question is a stiletto, slid expertly between his ribs. It’s not an accusation. It’s a gentle, devastating reminder of his monumental blunder. John raises an eyebrow, a silent question passing between him and Fred. They have no idea what you’re talking about, but they can feel the sudden, specific tension radiating from their star driver.

Charles can’t breathe. His mind is a static-filled television screen. What is he supposed to say? ‘It’s great, thank you for your excellent service, Ms. Y/L/N, my potential future boss whom I have insulted beyond all repair’?

He looks at you, his eyes wide with a desperate, silent plea. Please don’t. Please don’t tell them.

A slow, secret smile finally breaks through your composure. It’s a breathtaking thing, a flash of warmth and mischief that lights up your face. You give him a tiny, almost imperceptible wink.

It’s not a reprieve. It’s a promise. I own you now.

“It’s … perfect,” Charles chokes out, his voice hoarse. “Thank you.”

You just nod, your smile vanishing as you turn your attention to John. “John, my team has reviewed the preliminary financials you sent over. I have some questions regarding the projected Q4 earnings for the automotive division before we move on to the Gestione Sportiva …”

The meeting begins. The words flow around Charles, a meaningless soup of financial jargon and corporate strategy. EBITDA, amortization, market capitalization, synergy. He hears none of it. All he can hear is the frantic thumping of his own heart and your voice, calm and authoritative, as you dissect the company he has dedicated his life to, piece by piece.

He sits there, trapped at the table, a ghost at the feast. He has to project an air of calm confidence, of being the franchise driver, the cornerstone of the team, while inside, he is screaming.

Every so often, your eyes drift from the financial reports and land on him. You don’t say a word to him. You don’t have to. The message is clear. He made a fatal error in judgment. He mistook the person with all the power in the room for the person with none.

And now, his future is in the hands of the woman he sent to get his coffee.

***

The drive back to his apartment is a twenty-minute exercise in controlled dissociation. Charles operates the vehicle on pure muscle memory, his mind a million miles away, replaying the meeting on a torturous, high-definition loop. The polite smile on John’s face. The concerned frown on Fred’s. And your eyes. Always, it comes back to your eyes, holding that glint of knowing amusement. That terrifying, brilliant spark that told him you saw everything.

He barely registers parking his car in the underground garage or taking the elevator up to his penthouse. The door to his apartment clicks shut behind him, and the sound reverberates in the sudden, oppressive silence.

His apartment is his sanctuary. A cool, minimalist space of clean lines, polished concrete floors, and vast windows that look out over the rolling hills of Emilia-Romagna. It’s a place of quiet and order, designed to soothe his perpetually overstimulated mind. A grand piano, a glossy black Yamaha, sits in the main living area, the only object that hints at the passion beneath his controlled exterior.

Today, the silence doesn’t soothe. It suffocates.

He doesn’t take off his shoes. He doesn’t put his keys in the bowl by the door. He paces. Back and forth, back and forth across the expensive rug, his phone clutched in a white-knuckled grip. His mind is a high-speed collision of worst-case scenarios.

He sees himself in a Haas, fighting for P17 with the kind of grim determination reserved for men whose dreams have died. He sees the pitying looks from his former colleagues, the triumphant smirks from his rivals. He sees the headlines: ‘LECLERC’S FERRARI DREAM ENDS IN MYSTERIOUS SPLIT.’

The wink. That tiny, devastating wink you gave him. It wasn’t a gesture of solidarity. It was a death sentence delivered with a smile. It said, ‘I know what you did, and I am going to enjoy this.’

He can’t take it anymore. He stabs at his phone screen, his fingers clumsy with panic. He starts a video conference, adding two numbers. Two faces pop onto the screen, one after the other.

First is Lorenzo. His face, a slightly softer, warmer version of Charles’s own, is etched with immediate concern. He’s clearly at home, a collage of photos held on by magnets visible on the refrigerator behind him. “Charles? What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Before he can answer, the second face appears. Nicolas Todt. His manager. His face is framed by the sterile white of an office, his expression sharp, analytical. He’s a man who deals in facts and contracts, not emotions. “Charles. This is unexpected. Is everything alright?”

Charles stops pacing and stares into the phone, his eyes wide and haunted. He runs a hand through his already messy hair.

“No, Nicolas. Everything is not alright,” he says, his voice tight and strained. “I need you to do something for me. Both of you.”

Lorenzo leans closer to his camera. “Anything, Charlou. What’s happened?”

Charles takes a deep, shaky breath, as if preparing to jump from a great height.

“I need you to start calling other teams,” he says, the words rushing out in a torrent. “Call Ayao Komatsu. Call James Vowles. Call anyone. I don’t care. Just find me a seat for next year. Any seat. I will drive a tractor if I have to, but my time at Ferrari is over.”

Silence.

Lorenzo and Nicolas exchange a bewildered look across the digital divide.

Lorenzo is the first to speak, his voice gentle, coaxing. “Okay, Charles, just … slow down. Breathe. What in God’s name are you talking about? You have a contract. A multi-year contract.”

“Contracts can be broken!” Charles almost yells, his voice cracking. He starts pacing again, the phone held out in front of him like a scanner sweeping a disaster zone. “There are clauses. Performance clauses, conduct clauses, clauses for bringing the brand into disrepute! I have probably violated all of them in the space of ten minutes!”

Nicolas’s eyes narrow. His professional calm is absolute, but Charles knows him well enough to see the flicker of genuine alarm. Nicolas deals with problems. For him to be alarmed, the problem must be monumental.

“Charles,” Nicolas says, his tone clipped and serious. “Stop talking about tractors and tell us exactly what happened. From the beginning.”

And so, he tells them. He recounts the cryptic email, the anxiety, walking into the empty conference room. He describes you. And then, he gets to the fatal moment.

“… so I asked her to get me an espresso.”

He says it flatly, the words tasting like poison.

Lorenzo’s mouth falls open. For a second, he looks like he might laugh, then he sees the sheer, unadulterated terror on his brother’s face, and the humor dies in his throat. “You … you asked her for a coffee? Charles, who is she?”

“She is Y/N Y/L/N,” Charles says, the name feeling like a curse. “She is the CEO of Y/L/N Holdings.”

Nicolas goes rigid. He says nothing. He doesn’t have to. The complete and utter stillness that comes over him is more terrifying than any outburst. He brings a hand to his mouth, his gaze distant. He is processing. Calculating. Running scenarios.

“Y/L/N Holdings,” Lorenzo repeats slowly, the name dawning on him. “The ones who just bought that biotech firm? And the fashion house? That Y/L/N Holdings?”

“The very same,” Charles says, his voice hollow. “And they are not here to buy a biotech firm, Lorenzo. They are here to buy Ferrari. The whole thing. John Elkann said it himself.”

A heavy, profound silence descends upon the call. Lorenzo just stares, speechless. Nicolas’s mind is clearly working at a thousand miles an hour.

“Mon Dieu,” Lorenzo finally breathes, summing up the situation with perfect, horrified simplicity.

“You see?” Charles cries, his voice rising with hysteria. “You see why it’s over? I didn’t just insult a sponsor. I insulted the potential new owner of the entire company! I treated her like a servant. And she knows it. When Elkann introduced us, she looked at me … and she winked. She is going to fire me. She will take one look at my contract and tear it into a million pieces. It will be her first act as owner. ‘Get the arrogant little Monegasque driver out of my sight.’ I can hear it already!”

Nicolas finally speaks, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Stop. Panicking.”

Charles stops, breathing heavily.

“First,” Nicolas says, holding up a finger. “You are not calling Haas. You are not calling Williams. You are the lead driver for Scuderia Ferrari, and we will not project that level of weakness and desperation. Is that clear?”

Charles nods mutely.

“Second,” Nicolas continues, his gaze intense. “Catastrophizing is a waste of energy. We have a situation. A … deeply unfortunate and incredibly stupid situation, but a situation nonetheless. And we will manage it.”

“How?” Charles demands. “How do you manage this? Do I send her a gift basket? What’s the protocol for offending a billionaire who is about to own you? Should the fruit be domestic or exotic?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Nicolas snaps, the first crack in his professional veneer. “This is not about gift baskets. This is about damage control and strategy.”

Lorenzo, recovering from his shock, shifts into his role as the practical older brother. “Okay. Okay. Nicolas is right. Panicking isn’t a plan. What did she do when you asked for the coffee?”

“She got it for me,” Charles whispers, the absurdity of it hitting him all over again.

“She just … said okay and made you an espresso?” Lorenzo asks, incredulous.

“Yes! No argument, no comment. She just did it. That’s what makes it so much worse! She was playing with me! It was a test, and I failed spectacularly.”

“Or,” Nicolas interjects, his mind piecing things together, “she has a sense of humor. Or she was amused by the absurdity of it. We have no data on her personality. We are operating blind.”

“So what do we do?” Charles asks, his voice small. He feels like a child again, looking to his older brother and his manager to fix a mess he’s made.

“We need to formulate an apology,” Nicolas states. “A direct, sincere, and immediate apology. This cannot wait. Every hour that passes makes you look more arrogant and unconcerned.”

“How?” Charles asks. “I don’t have her number. I can’t exactly send her a message on Instagram.”

“No,” Nicolas agrees. “This needs a more delicate touch. A formal letter is too cold. An email could be missed or feel impersonal. You need to do it in person.”

Charles recoils. “In person? No. No way. I can’t face her. She will just look at me with those eyes and I will simply … combust.”

“You will not combust,” Lorenzo says firmly. “You will act like a man and you will apologize. But Nicolas is right, it has to be handled carefully. You can’t just ambush her at her hotel. That’s stalker behavior.”

“We need to find out everything we can about her,” Nicolas says, already typing furiously on his computer, his eyes scanning a different screen. “I am looking at her professional profile now. Y/L/N Holdings is a private entity, famously secretive. But she has given a few interviews. Forbes, Wall Street Journal …”

“What do they say?” Charles asks, desperate for any insight.

“They say she is brilliant,” Nicolas reads, his tone grim. “A prodigy. Took over the family business at twenty-five after her father retired. Quadrupled its value in six years. Known for … ah. Here we go. ‘An unconventional but ruthless negotiation style.’ And here, another one calls her ‘the iron butterfly.’”

“The iron butterfly?” Lorenzo scoffs. “What does that even mean?”

“It means she is beautiful and delicate on the outside, but underneath she is made of steel,” Charles says miserably. “It means I am dead.”

“It means she is a serious businessperson who likely does not have time for the bruised ego of a racing driver,” Nicolas corrects him sharply. “Which could work for or against us. She might dismiss this as a trivial matter, or she might see you as an unprofessional liability.”

“So, what is the plan?” Lorenzo presses, bringing them back on track. “We need a concrete plan, right now.”

Nicolas leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers. The strategist has taken over. “Okay. Here is what we do. Step one: Charles, you are going to write an apology. Not an email. A letter. On proper stationery. You will write it by hand.”

“By hand?” Charles balks. “My handwriting is terrible.”

“I don’t care if you have to write it in crayon,” Nicolas says. “It needs to be personal. It needs to show effort. You will take responsibility. You will not make excuses about being stressed or anxious. You will state that your behavior was unacceptable, and you are extremely sorry. Nothing more. No groveling. Just a clean, sincere apology.”

Lorenzo nods in agreement. “He’s right. It has to be genuine.”

“Step two,” Nicolas continues. “I will reach out to my contacts. I will find out where she is staying. Not to ambush her, but to have the letter delivered by a professional courier tomorrow morning. It will be the first thing she sees. It shows initiative.”

“And step three?” Charles asks, a tiny, fragile sliver of hope beginning to form amidst the wreckage of his panic.

“Step three is the most difficult,” Nicolas says, his eyes locking with Charles’s through the screen. “You need to find a way to speak with her. Face to face. The letter opens the door. You have to walk through it.”

“But how? When?”

“Fred,” Lorenzo suggests. “You could go through Fred. Ask him to set up a brief, five-minute meeting. Say you want to properly welcome her to the team.”

Nicolas considers this. “It’s a possibility. But it also signals to Fred that something is wrong. He will ask questions.”

“It’s better than the alternative, which is Charles hiding in his apartment until he is formally dismissed via courier,” Lorenzo argues.

“I hate this,” Charles groans, sinking onto his sofa and burying his face in his hands. “I feel like I’m in a nightmare.”

“You are not in a nightmare. You are in a crisis of your own making, and you will deal with it,” Nicolas says, his voice hard but not unkind. “Now, listen to me, Charles. This woman, this ‘iron butterfly,’ she did not get to where she is by being petty. People have likely made far worse mistakes around her than assuming she was an intern. Your saving grace here might be the sheer absurdity of the situation.”

“And the wink?” Charles asks, his voice muffled by his hands. “What about the wink?”

“The wink is a data point we cannot yet interpret,” Nicolas says. “It could be mockery. It could be amusement. It could be her telling you she knows she has you at a disadvantage. It doesn’t matter. Your course of action remains the same. Humility. Sincerity. Professionalism. You must show her that the man who asked for the coffee is not the real Charles Leclerc.”

The call continues for another hour. They debate the exact wording of the letter. They discuss potential scenarios for a face-to-face meeting. Lorenzo provides emotional support, reminding Charles of every other time he’s faced adversity and come out stronger. Nicolas provides the cold, hard strategy, a road map out of the disaster.

By the time they hang up, Charles feels … not good, but fractionally less terrified. The panic has receded from a tidal wave to a manageable, if still treacherous, current. He has a plan. A fragile, desperate plan, but a plan nonetheless.

He is left alone once more in the echoing silence of his apartment. The setting sun casts long, dramatic shadows across the room, painting the walls in hues of orange and blood red.

He walks over to a sleek, modern desk and pulls out a sheet of thick, cream-colored paper and a fountain pen. It feels archaic, like preparing for a duel. He stares at the blank page for a long, long time.

How do you apologize for an insult that was rooted in such a misjudgment of a person’s entire being? How do you write a letter to a woman who holds your entire future in the palm of her hand?

He uncaps the pen, the nib scratching softly as he begins to write.

Dear Ms. Y/L/N,

He stops. It feels too formal, too cold. He crumples up the paper, the sound aggressively loud in the quiet room. He takes another sheet.

Dear Y/N,

Too familiar. A fresh wave of anxiety washes over him. He feels completely and utterly out of his depth. He is a man who understands braking points, tire degradation, and the delicate art of a qualifying lap. He does not understand this.

He gets up from the desk and walks over to the grand piano. He sits on the bench, his fingers hovering over the keys. He begins to play. A sad, melancholic Chopin nocturne. The notes fill the room, a language he is fluent in, a way to express the complex, swirling storm of regret and fear inside him.

He plays for her, the unseen, unknown woman who single-handedly overturned his world. The iron butterfly. He plays, and wonders if you can be reasoned with. He plays, and wonders if you have any idea of the chaos you’ve unleashed.

He plays, and he hopes, with a desperation he has not felt since his very first race, that you are a person who knows how to forgive.

***

It takes him three nights and seventeen crumpled sheets of paper to write the letter.

Each failed attempt is a monument to his anxiety. One draft is too groveling, another too stiff and formal. One sounds like it was written by a lawyer, the next like a panicked text message. He is trying to distill the entire, complex storm of his regret and terror onto a single page, and the task feels impossible.

In the end, exhaustion wins. On the third night, sometime after 2 AM, with the melancholic echo of another Chopin nocturne still hanging in the air from his piano, he gives up on trying to be strategic. He just writes.

The final version is short, brutally honest, and devoid of excuses. He writes that his behavior was unprofessional and inexcusable. He writes that he was deeply embarrassed by his own arrogance. He writes, simply, that he was sorry. He signs it, ‘Charles Leclerc,’ his signature a barely legible scrawl.

The next morning, a professional courier in a crisp, unmarked uniform picks up the envelope. Charles watches from his window as the courier’s scooter disappears down the winding Maranello roads, carrying his fragile paper-and-ink peace offering.

And then, the waiting begins.

It is a unique form of torture. For the next seventy-two hours, his phone becomes a source of constant, tormenting hope and crushing disappointment. Every buzz, every notification, sends a jolt of pure adrenaline through his system. He checks his email every five minutes. He has tense, circular conversations with Nicolas and Lorenzo, who can offer nothing but strategic patience, a concept entirely foreign to a man who lives his life in milliseconds.

“Any news?” Lorenzo asks, for the tenth time, on Wednesday afternoon.

“Nothing,” Charles says, pacing a well-worn path in his living room rug. “Silence. Maybe she never got it. Maybe her assistant threw it away. Maybe she read it, laughed, and set it on fire.”

“Or,” Nicolas cuts in, his voice a dry, calming presence over the speakerphone, “she is an extremely busy woman negotiating a multi-billion-dollar corporate acquisition and has not had a spare moment to deal with a contrite racing driver. The silence is not necessarily a bad sign, Charles. A swift rejection would have been worse.”

The logic is sound, but it offers little comfort. The silence is a vacuum, and his anxiety rushes in to fill it with horrifying possibilities.

Finally, on Wednesday evening, an email appears. It is not from you. The sender is ‘Office of the CEO, Y/L/N Holdings.’ The subject line is simple: ‘Meeting: Y/N Y/L/N & C. Leclerc.’

His heart stops. His hands tremble as he opens it.

The body of the message is brutally efficient.

Mr. Leclerc,

Ms. Y/L/N can see you tomorrow, Thursday, at 4 PM.

Location: The Terrazza, Fiorano Circuit.

Please be prompt.

That’s it. No pleasantries. No acknowledgement of his letter. Just a time and a place.

“The Terrazza?” Lorenzo says when Charles reads it aloud to him and Nicolas. “What is that?”

“It’s the rooftop hospitality suite at the test track,” Charles explains, his mouth dry. “It’s private. Exclusive. You can see the entire circuit from up there.”

“A neutral ground,” Nicolas muses. “No, not neutral. She chose the location. It’s her ground now. She is setting the terms of the engagement. This is a power move.”

“So, what do I do?” Charles asks, his voice barely a whisper.

“You prepare,” Nicolas says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You will be calm. You will be professional. You will wear something smart, but not a suit. You will reiterate your apology once, briefly. You will not ramble. You will not make excuses. And then you will be quiet and let her speak. And Charles, I cannot stress this enough: you will not, under any circumstances, beg.”

***

The next day, at 3:45 PM, Charles is in a state of quiet, spiraling panic.

He stands in front of his wardrobe, having already discarded three perfectly acceptable outfits. He has rehearsed his opening line in the mirror a dozen times, and it sounds more stilted and unnatural with each repetition. Nicolas’s final words echo in his mind: ‘Do not beg. Project confidence. You are an asset, not a supplicant.’

It’s good advice. It’s also completely impossible to follow. He feels like a supplicant. He feels like a condemned prisoner walking to his own execution.

He finally settles on dark trousers, a crisp white shirt, and a soft, unstructured navy blue blazer. It feels like a costume. The clothes of a man who is calm and in control, a man he is pretending to be.

The walk from the main Gestione Sportiva building to the Fiorano trackside suites is short, but it feels like miles. The late afternoon sun is golden and warm, casting long shadows across the immaculate grounds. In the distance, he can hear the faint, high-pitched scream of a junior driver putting an older F1 car through its paces on the track. It’s a sound that has been the soundtrack to his entire life, a sound of comfort and purpose. Today, it sounds like a eulogy for his career.

He takes the private elevator up to the Terrazza. The doors slide open with a soft hiss, revealing a stunning, open-air space. Glass walls provide an uninterrupted panorama of the legendary circuit below, its asphalt ribbon winding through the green Italian landscape. There are tasteful arrangements of lounge furniture, a sleek outdoor bar, and at the far end, a small, shaded table for two.

You are already there.

You sit with your back to him, looking out over the track, a glass of sparkling water on the table in front of you. You’re wearing a simple, elegant black dress that leaves your shoulders bare. Your hair is tied back loosely, and the gentle breeze plays with a few escaped strands. You look serene, a portrait of effortless power.

He takes a breath, the air feeling thin and sharp in his lungs. Be calm. Be professional. Do not beg.

He walks towards you, his expensive leather shoes making no sound on the stone tiles.

“Ms. Y/L/N?” He says, his voice coming out as a rough croak.

You turn. Not with a start, but with a slow, deliberate grace, as if you sensed him approaching all along. Your eyes, the same unreadable shade he remembers from the conference room, meet his. Today, they hold no trace of the amusement he saw before. Your expression is perfectly, terrifyingly neutral.

“Charles,” you say. Your voice is as smooth and cool as the marble table between you. “Thank you for coming. Please, sit.”

He pulls out the chair opposite you and sits down, his movements stiff. He feels like a marionette with tangled strings. He clasps his hands in his lap to stop them from shaking.

“Thank you for meeting me,” he manages. “And, I, uh, I hope you received my letter.”

“I did,” you reply. You take a slow sip of your water, your gaze never leaving his face. “It was … concise.”

He can’t read your tone. Is ‘concise’ good? Is it a compliment, or is it a criticism, implying it wasn’t groveling enough? The ambiguity is killing him. Nicolas’s carefully crafted script evaporates from his mind, replaced by a wall of white noise.

“I just wanted to say again, in person,” he starts, the words stumbling over each other, “that I am truly, truly sorry. My behavior was … there is no excuse for it. It was arrogant, and unprofessional, and …”

“I see,” you say, cutting him off cleanly. You set your glass down with a soft click. The sound is like a gunshot in the tense silence.

This is it. The calm before the storm. He can see it in your cool, appraising gaze. You’re just letting him squirm before you deliver the final blow. You’re going to tell him his apology is noted, but insufficient. You’re going to talk about brand values and professional conduct. You’re going to fire him with the same detached efficiency with which you ordered a sparkling water.

His mind flashes again to Alpine. He pictures the blue car, the French flags, the perpetual, soul-crushing battle for nineteenth place. He imagines explaining it to his family, to his friends. The humiliation. The failure.

Nicolas’s voice in his head screams, ‘DO NOT BEG!’

But Nicolas isn’t here. Lorenzo isn’t here. It’s just him, and you, and the vast, terrifying expanse of his ruined future.

Logic abandons him. Strategy flees. All that is left is raw, primal fear.

In a single, fluid movement that is born of pure desperation, he pushes his chair back and drops to his knees on the stone floor beside the table.

The sound of his knees hitting the ground is shockingly loud.

He looks up at you, his face a mask of utter panic. “Please,” he says, and the word is a ragged, broken thing. “Please, I am begging you. I will do anything. I will take a pay cut. I will do every single sponsor event, I’ll even do the terrible ones with the awkward photo-shoots. I will be the first one at the factory and the last one to leave. Anything. Just … please.”

He can feel the hot sting of tears welling in his eyes, a humiliation so profound it makes him dizzy. He lowers his gaze to the floor, unable to look at you. His voice cracks, shrinking to a horrified whisper filled with a very specific, very personal dread.

“Please don’t make me drive for Alpine.”

The silence that follows is absolute. It stretches for an eternity. He can hear his own heart hammering in his ears. He waits for your gasp of shock, your cold dismissal, the sound of you getting up and walking away in disgust. He is prepared for anything except for the sound that comes next.

Laughter.

It starts as a choked gasp, a sudden burst of air. Then it blossoms. It’s not a smirk or a polite chuckle. It’s a genuine, unrestrained, musical laugh. It’s a sound of pure amusement, and it fills the quiet air of the Terrazza.

He slowly, cautiously, lifts his head.

You are leaning back in your chair, a hand covering your mouth, but your eyes are squeezed shut and your shoulders are shaking with mirth. The cool, intimidating CEO has vanished, replaced by someone who looks … human. The sound is so unexpected, so completely at odds with the execution he was expecting, that his brain short-circuits.

“Alpine?” You finally manage to get out between waves of laughter, your voice giddy. “You think I’m going to force you to drive for Alpine?”

He just stares, still on his knees, utterly bewildered.

You take a deep, calming breath, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of your eye. The laughter subsides, leaving a bright, warm smile on your face. It completely transforms you. The ‘iron butterfly’ is gone.

“Charles,” you say, your voice still sparkling with amusement. “Get up. You look ridiculous.”

He scrambles to his feet, his face burning with a mixture of humiliation and profound confusion. He sinks back into his chair, his mind reeling.

“I … I don’t understand,” he stammers.

“No, I don’t suppose you do,” you say, your smile softening. You lean forward, your expression turning serious, though the playful light remains in your eyes. “Let me be perfectly clear so you can stop having a nervous breakdown. I was never going to fire you.”

He blinks. “Never?”

“Never,” you confirm. “Charles, let’s put the coffee incident aside for a moment and think about this like a business. I am here to potentially acquire one of the most valuable brands on the planet. My number one objective is to increase its value. What do you think would happen to the value of Scuderia Ferrari, to the morale of the Tifosi, to the stability of the entire organization, if my very first act was to fire the most popular, most beloved Ferrari driver since Schumacher?”

You lay it out for him, your tone crisp and logical. “It would be a public relations catastrophe. The fans would revolt. The team would be demoralized. The media would have a field day. It would be the single stupidest, most self-destructive business decision I could possibly make. My job is to build empires, Charles, not set them on fire for my own personal amusement.”

Relief washes over him in a wave so powerful it almost knocks the breath out of him. It’s a physical sensation, a loosening of every muscle in his body he hadn’t even realized was clenched. He sags in his chair, the tension of the last four days draining out of him, leaving him feeling hollow and incredibly foolish.

“Oh,” is all he can manage to say.

“Yes. Oh,” you echo gently. You watch him for a moment, letting the reality sink in. You let him absorb the fact that his career-ending catastrophe was entirely a figment of his own panicked imagination.

“But …” you say, and the word hangs in the air, pulling his attention back into sharp focus. You lean forward slightly, a slow, intriguing smile playing on your lips. The pragmatic CEO is receding again, replaced by someone else, someone he can’t quite figure out.

“The letter was a nice touch,” you say, your voice dropping a little. “And this …” you make a vague, graceful gesture towards the spot on the floor where he was just kneeling, “… was certainly memorable. I appreciate a man who isn’t afraid of a grand gesture, even a deeply misguided one.”

He feels a fresh blush creep up his neck.

“So,” you continue, your eyes locking with his. “While I’m not going to fire you … if you really want to make it up to me for the, shall we say, ‘unconventional start’ to our professional relationship, I can think of something you can do.”

He is so high on the dizzying cocktail of relief and humiliation that he’s not thinking clearly. All he knows is that this woman, this impossibly powerful and surprisingly amused woman, has spared him. He feels an overwhelming, desperate need to prove his gratitude.

He doesn’t even hesitate. Nicolas’s voice is a faint, forgotten whisper from a distant past.

“Yes,” he says, the word rushing out of him, full of conviction. “Anything. Whatever it is, I’ll do it. I promise.”

A slow, enigmatic smile spreads across your face. It’s a smile that holds a thousand secrets. It’s the smile of a woman who has just been handed a blank check. You’ve got him. You played the game, and you won.

“Good,” you say softly, leaning back in your chair and picking up your glass. “I’ll let you know.”

***

The two days that follow his meeting with you are a strange, surreal limbo. The acute, life-altering terror has been replaced by a low-grade, humming uncertainty. He is not fired. His career is not over. But his fate is still very much in your hands. He has signed a blank check made out to you, and he has no idea when, or for what, you will decide to cash it.

He throws himself into his training with a manic intensity, trying to sweat out the anxiety. He spends hours in the simulator, the familiar G-forces and whine of the engine a comforting cocoon. But even there, his mind wanders. What could you possibly want? A public endorsement of one of your companies? A series of mind-numbingly dull sponsor appearances? A donation to your favorite charity? His imagination, usually reserved for finding the perfect racing line through a complex corner, now conjures a thousand different scenarios, each more bizarre than the last.

The summons, when it comes, is not an email from a corporate assistant. It’s a text message, from a number he doesn’t recognize, that appears on his phone on Saturday morning.

Good morning, Charles. I have your assignment. Y/N.

His heart leaps into his throat. He stares at the message, his thumb hovering over the screen. His first assignment. It sounds ominous, like something out of a spy movie.

He types and deletes three different replies before settling on a simple, professional. Good morning. I’m ready.

The three little dots that indicate you are typing appear and disappear for a full minute. The suspense is excruciating. Finally, a new message pops up. It’s a location pin, dropped on a sprawling villa in the hills outside Modena. Below it, a short line of text.

Today. 2 PM. Dress code: casual. And durable.

Durable?

He stares at the word. Durable. What kind of assignment requires durable clothing? Is he going to be doing manual labor? Is this some bizarre, character-building exercise where he has to help landscape your garden?

He immediately calls Lorenzo.

“She wants me to go to a villa. She said I have to wear something durable,” Charles says, the words tumbling out in a rush of renewed panic. “What does it mean? Am I being hazed? Is this a thing that billionaires do?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, followed by the sound of Lorenzo trying, and failing, to suppress a laugh. “Charles, I don’t think the potential new owner of Ferrari is going to haze you. Maybe it’s a charity event? Building houses for the poor?”

“In a blazer?” Charles asks, gesturing wildly at his own closet. “What is durable casual? What do I wear?”

“Just wear some nice jeans and a polo shirt,” Lorenzo says, his voice full of amusement. “And Charlou? Try to relax. The worst is over. Just go, do whatever she asks, and keep smiling.”

***

An hour later, Charles is driving his Ferrari 488 Pista down a long, cypress-lined driveway, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The villa is magnificent — a beautiful, old stone building that has been tastefully modernized, with sprawling, impeccably manicured gardens. He can hear the faint sounds of music and … screaming? Not screams of terror. Screams of high-pitched, chaotic joy.

He parks the car and walks towards the garden, his stomach churning. He rounds a corner, past a large, sparkling swimming pool, and the scene that greets him stops him dead in his tracks.

The lawn is a jumble of primary colors. There are balloons everywhere. A massive, inflatable bouncy castle in the shape of a red racing car dominates the space. A long table is laden with cakes, sweets, and enough sugar to power a small city. And running, jumping, and shrieking through it all are at least two dozen small children.

It’s a sixth birthday party.

And standing in the middle of it all, looking completely in her element, is you.

You are not the CEO from the conference room or the serene woman from the Terrazza. Today, you are wearing faded blue jeans, a simple white t-shirt, and your hair is in a messy ponytail. You’re holding a small, dark-haired boy on your hip, and you are laughing, your head thrown back, as he whispers something in your ear. You look young, relaxed, and impossibly beautiful.

This is his assignment. This is what required durable clothing. He’s been summoned to a child’s birthday party.

You spot him then. Your eyes meet across the sea of chaotic children, and a slow, wicked smile spreads across your face. It’s the same smile he saw in the boardroom, the one that says, I own you. You nod your head, a clear instruction. Come here.

He takes a deep breath and weaves his way through the tiny, running bodies. He feels like a giant, clumsy oaf in this world of miniature humans.

“Charles,” you say as he approaches, your voice full of false, saccharine sweetness. “So glad you could make it.” You shift the little boy on your hip. “Adam, look who it is. It’s the man from the fast red cars.”

The little boy, presumably the birthday boy, Adam, stares at him with wide, solemn brown eyes. “Are you Charles Leclerc?” He asks, his voice full of awe.

“I am,” Charles says, forcing a smile.

“My aunt said you were coming,” Adam says. “She said you owed her a favor.”

Charles glances at you. Your smile is positively gleaming with triumph. “That’s right, sweetie,” you say, patting Adam’s back. “Mr. Leclerc was very, very naughty at work, and this is his punishment.”

Adam’s eyes go even wider. “Wow,” he breathes.

Before Charles can process the full, mortifying horror of being framed as a naughty employee to a six-year-old, Adam points a chubby finger at him and yells at the top of his lungs.

“EVERYONE! IT’S CHARLES LECLERC! THE REAL ONE!”

The effect is instantaneous. It’s like a switch has been flipped. Twenty-five tiny heads whip around in his direction. A moment of stunned silence, and then, a roar.

He is swarmed.

It is a tidal wave of small, sticky hands and loud, unfiltered questions.

“Are you really him?”

“Is your car here?”

“Can you go faster than a cheetah?”

“Why didn’t you win the last race?”

“My papa says you need to be more aggressive in turn one!”

“Can I have your hat?”

They hang off his arms, tug on his polo shirt, and pat his legs as if checking to see if he’s real. He is a human climbing frame, an island in a sea of relentless, six-year-old energy. He looks over their heads, a desperate, pleading look on his face, searching for you.

You are leaning against a large oak tree, arms crossed, watching the scene with an expression of total satisfaction. You raise your glass of lemonade to him in a mock toast.

He mouths the word, ‘Help.’

You just shake your head, your smile widening, and take a delicate sip of your drink.

The next two hours are the most grueling, physically and mentally demanding of his entire life. It makes a double-stint at the Singapore Grand Prix feel like a casual Sunday drive.

He is forced to give endless piggyback rides, his back screaming in protest. He is dragged into the bouncy castle, where he is mercilessly bounced upon by a pack of shrieking children until he is dizzy and gasping for air. A little girl with a formidable grip insists on braiding his hair, pulling it into tiny, painful knots. Another child, whose face is a smear of blue frosting, decides to use Charles’s very expensive white polo shirt as a napkin.

Throughout it all, you watch. You drift through the party, the perfect, doting aunt, chatting with other parents, cutting cake, but your eyes are always on him. Every time he catches your gaze, you give him a little wave, a silent, mocking encouragement.

At one point, he manages to extricate himself from a heated debate about whether a Formula 1 car could beat a T-Rex in a race and makes his way over to you.

“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” he says under his breath, trying to discreetly wipe a sticky handprint off his jeans.

“Is it?” You ask, your voice laced with innocence. “They seem to be having fun. Adam said it’s the best birthday party he’s ever had.”

“I’m not a party clown,” he hisses. “I am a professional athlete.”

“Really?” You say, raising an eyebrow. “Because from here, you look like a very expensive, and not particularly durable, piece of playground equipment.” You pat his arm. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think Nina wants you to be the horse for her princess carriage. Don’t keep her waiting.”

He is about to protest when a tiny hand tugs on his trousers. He looks down to see a small girl with enormous blue eyes staring up at him.

“Are you the horse?” She asks.

Defeated, Charles sighs. “Yes,” he says, his shoulders slumping. “Yes, I am the horse.”

The absolute low point of the afternoon comes without warning. He is on his hands and knees, being the aforementioned horse, with a determined little girl on his back. Adam is running alongside, directing the ‘carriage’ with wild, enthusiastic gestures.

“Faster, horsey, faster!” Adam shrieks with delight.

In a burst of sugar-fueled excitement, Adam decides to climb aboard as well. He takes a running leap, attempting to land on Charles’s back behind his friend. He misjudges the jump. Badly.

Instead of landing on his back, Adam’s small, bony knee connects squarely, and with horrifying accuracy, with the most sensitive part of Charles’s anatomy.

The world goes white.

The air leaves his lungs in a silent, explosive gasp. All sound fades to a dull, distant roar. The bright, sunny garden dissolves into a pinprick of light. He collapses onto the grass, curling into a tight, fetal position, unable to speak, unable to breathe.

The two children, oblivious to the catastrophic damage they have inflicted, simply slide off his back and run away, screaming with laughter, towards the cake table.

He lies there on the lawn, a fallen gladiator, felled not by a rival on the racetrack, but by a six-year-old in a superhero t-shirt. He can hear your voice, suddenly sharp with concern, cutting through the haze of his pain.

“Charles? Charles, are you alright?”

He cannot answer. He can only manage a low, pathetic groan.

He feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. He cracks open an eye and sees you kneeling beside him, the teasing amusement on your face completely replaced by genuine worry.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, your eyes wide as you realize what must have happened. “Adam, did you …”

He just shakes his head weakly, which is all the confirmation you need.

The party begins to wind down shortly after that. Parents arrive, collecting their exhausted, sugar-comatose children. The shrieks of joy are replaced by the tired whines of the homeward bound. The garden slowly empties, leaving behind a battlefield of discarded paper plates, deflated balloons, and one deeply wounded Formula 1 driver.

Charles is sitting gingerly on a cushioned patio chair, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity while his entire lower body throbs in agony.

You emerge from the house and walk towards him. You are holding something behind your back.

“The last of the guests have gone,” you say softly. Your voice is gentle, stripped of its earlier mockery. You sit in the chair next to him, a respectful distance away.

“My legacy,” he rasps, his voice still an octave higher than usual. “To be remembered as the Ferrari driver who was taken out by a six-year-old.”

A small smile touches your lips. “He’s got a mean right knee. We’re thinking of getting him into football.” You bring your hand forward. You’re holding a small, plastic bag filled with ice cubes, wrapped in a clean dish towel. You offer it to him. “Here.”

He stares at the bag of ice. “Are you serious?”

“Standard medical procedure,” you say, your expression unreadable. “It will reduce the swelling.”

He hesitates for a moment, the sheer, clinical awkwardness of the situation warring with the very real, very intense pain. Pain wins. He takes the bag of ice from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. The touch sends a strange, unexpected jolt through him that has nothing to do with the injury.

He carefully, discreetly, places the ice pack on his lap. The intense, numbing cold is a relief.

They sit in silence for a moment, watching the sun begin to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The quiet feels strange after the chaos of the afternoon.

“So,” he says finally, breaking the silence. He looks at you, really looks at you, in the soft, golden light. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

He asks it lightly, but the question is heavy with everything that has happened between you. The disastrous first meeting, the panicked apology, the agonizing wait, and this absurd, chaotic afternoon.

You turn to look at him. Your face is serious, your eyes searching his. The smile is gone.

“Yes, Charles,” you say, your voice quiet but clear. “You’re forgiven.”

The words hit him with the same force as the relief he felt on the Terrazza, but this time it’s different. It’s not just about his career. It’s … something else. It’s a feeling of resolution, of a strange, shared experience coming to an end. The blank check has been cashed. The debt is paid.

He should feel free. He should feel relieved. And he does. But he also feels a strange, unwelcome pang of disappointment. This bizarre connection, this weird power dynamic that has defined their every interaction, is over. Now, you will go back to being the untouchable CEO, and he will go back to being the employee.

The thought is surprisingly dissatisfying.

And that’s when the second-stupidest thought of his entire life enters his brain. The first, of course, was assuming you were an intern. This one is arguably worse. It is an idea born of pure, pain-addled, relief-fueled insanity.

He’s going to blame it on the groin injury. It has to be. The trauma must have temporarily rewired his brain, short-circuiting the part that controls self-preservation and common sense.

“Good,” he says, his voice a little shaky. “That’s good.” He takes a breath. “So, now that my career is no longer in jeopardy, and my future as a potential father is merely in question …”

He pauses. He can still back out. He can stop right there. It would be the smart thing to do. The sane thing to do.

He does not do the sane thing.

He turns to you, his expression deadly serious, and says the words.

“Would you be willing to go on a date with me?”

The question hangs in the quiet, twilight air between them, feeling both monumental and utterly absurd. He has just asked out the woman who is in the process of buying his team, the woman he mortally offended, the woman who used her nephew’s birthday party as a form of psychological torture.

You just stare at him. Your mouth is slightly open, your eyes wide with a look of pure shock. The cool, composed, in-control CEO is gone once again, replaced by a woman who has been rendered completely speechless.

And Charles Leclerc, for the second time in a week, realizes he is so massively, incredibly screwed.

For a long, silent moment, your brain refuses to process the words. The CEO part of your mind, the part that runs on logic and risk assessment and quarterly projections, is frantically searching for a protocol, a script for this exact situation. It finds nothing. There is no chapter in any business manual for what to do when your star employee, moments after being forgiven for a career-ending blunder, asks you out on a date while nursing a groin injury inflicted by your six-year-old nephew.

Charles watches the mix of expressions that flicker across your face. He sees shock, then disbelief, followed by something he can’t quite decipher — a flicker of confusion, maybe even a hint of vulnerability. He sees the precise moment your formidable composure cracks, not into anger, but into bewilderment.

His own mind is a siren, blaring a single, repeating warning: ABORT! ABORT! RETRACT THE STATEMENT!

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words coming out in a strangled rush. The relief has evaporated, replaced by a fresh, even more potent wave of horror. He’s done it again. He’s snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. “That was … stupid. I am so sorry. It’s the pain. I’m not thinking clearly. The ice pack must be restricting blood flow to my brain. Please, just … forget I said anything.”

He makes a move to stand up, to flee, to run back to his car and drive directly into the nearest canal.

“Sit down, Charles,” you say.

Your voice is quiet, but it carries an authority that roots him to the spot. He sinks back into his chair, his posture rigid with dread. He keeps his eyes fixed on a particularly interesting paving stone, unable to meet your gaze. He is preparing for the verbal evisceration he so clearly deserves.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, there is another long, heavy silence. He risks a glance up.

You are looking at him, really looking at him, with an intensity that feels like it’s peeling back layers of his skin. The shock has faded from your eyes, replaced by a deep, analytical curiosity. A slow, almost imperceptible smile is beginning to form at the corners of your mouth. It’s not the triumphant, mocking smile from the boardroom. It’s something else entirely. Something … intrigued.

“Let me see if I understand this,” you say, your voice a low, deliberate murmur. “You mistake me for an intern and order me to get you coffee. You then spend the next four days convinced I am going to ruin your life. You follow this up by literally falling to your knees and begging me not to send you to the Formula 1 equivalent of Siberia. And now, having been absolved of all your sins via trial-by-toddler, your very next move is to ask me on a date.” You lean forward slightly, your eyes sparkling with a dangerous light. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Yes,” he answers immediately, with profound sincerity. “Clinically. I am beginning to think I have a serious problem.”

The answer is so honest, so devoid of bravado, that it makes you laugh. It’s not the full, unrestrained laugh from the party. It’s a softer, deeper sound. A sound of genuine amusement.

“At least you’re self-aware,” you say, shaking your head slowly. “That’s a start.”

“So, that’s a no, then?” He asks, his voice small. He already knows the answer. It has to be no. It’s the only logical, sensible, professional answer.

You are quiet for another moment, your gaze drifting out towards the darkening hills. He can see the calculations happening behind your eyes. You are weighing the pros and cons, the optics, the sheer, unadulterated insanity of it all.

“Every professional instinct I have,” you say, turning back to him, “every single one, is screaming at me to say no. It’s inappropriate. It’s complicated. It’s a potential HR nightmare, assuming my acquisition bid is successful.”

His heart sinks. “I understand.”

“But,” you continue, and that single word electrifies the air between you, “I am also the woman who runs a multi-billion-dollar global corporation. I did not get here by always listening to my professional instincts. Sometimes, you have to take a calculated risk.” You give him a sharp, appraising look. “And you, Charles Leclerc, are nothing if not a risk.”

He doesn’t know what to say. He just stares at you, his mind a hopeful, terrified blank.

“Alright,” you say, a decisive glint in your eye. “I will go on one date with you.”

He blinks. “You will?”

“On one condition,” you add, holding up a finger.

“Anything,” he says immediately.

“You plan it,” you say. “No assistants. No PR teams. No reservations made by someone else. Just you. You choose the time, the place, the activity. And it has to be good. It has to impress me. And trust me,” you add, your voice dropping to a confidential whisper, “I don’t impress easily.”

It’s a test. Another one. But this one is different. This isn’t a punishment. This is a challenge. And if there is one thing Charles Leclerc understands, it is how to rise to a challenge.

A slow, genuine smile spreads across his face, the first one he’s felt in days that isn’t tinged with fear. “Okay,” he says, his voice full of a newfound confidence. “It’s a deal.”

***

He spends the next three days planning the date with the same meticulous focus he would apply to a race strategy. He dismisses a dozen ideas. A fancy, Michelin-starred restaurant? Too predictable. You’ve been to a hundred of them. A concert? Too loud, no room for conversation. A simple movie? Too impersonal.

He needs to show you his world. Not the glitz and glamour of the Formula 1 paddock, but the real, authentic heart of it. He needs to show you the man, not the celebrity.

On the evening of the date, a vintage, immaculately restored 1972 Ferrari Dino 246 GT in a stunning shade of deep silver pulls up outside your hotel. It is not a loud, aggressive supercar. It is a piece of art — elegant, timeless, and understated.

Charles gets out of the driver’s side. He is not wearing a team polo shirt or a designer suit. He’s wearing dark, well-fitting trousers, a simple linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and leather driving shoes. He looks relaxed, confident, and impossibly handsome.

You watch him from the window of your suite, a surprised, appreciative smile on your face. Point to Leclerc, you think.

When you come down to the lobby, he is waiting for you. He doesn’t say anything cheesy. He just smiles, his eyes lighting up when he sees you. You’ve chosen a simple, elegant navy-blue slip dress. It’s beautiful, but not ostentatious. You are meeting him on his level.

“Nice car,” you say, your voice dry, as he holds the passenger door open for you.

“I thought it was more appropriate for the occasion than my Pista,” he replies, a playful glint in his eye. “A little less … aggressive.”

The date begins not with dinner, but with a drive. As the sun begins its slow descent, he takes you out of the city, away from the familiar streets of Maranello, and up into the winding, cypress-lined roads of the surrounding hills. He drives the car with an effortless, fluid grace, the vintage engine a soft, throaty purr behind you.

This is his element. Here, on a challenging road, he is not the anxious, bumbling man from the boardroom. He is a poet in motion.

And he talks. He points out the ruins of an old castle on a distant hill. He tells you stories about growing up in Monaco, about the first time he ever drove a go-kart. He talks about the unique, almost unbearable pressure of driving for Ferrari, the weight of the entire nation’s hopes on his shoulders every other Sunday.

You listen, truly listen, asking questions that are sharp and insightful. You ask him not about his fame, but about his fear. Not about his wins, but about his most difficult losses.

In turn, you find yourself opening up to him in a way you rarely do with anyone. You talk about the immense, suffocating pressure of taking over your father’s company, the constant feeling that you have to be twice as smart and work three times as hard as any man in the room to be taken seriously. You tell him about the loneliness of being at the top, of having board members and employees, but very few true friends.

You discover that your two worlds, the high-stakes corporate boardroom and the high-G-force racetrack, are not so different. They are both places of immense pressure, public scrutiny, and a relentless, unforgiving demand for perfection.

He finally pulls the car to a stop at a scenic overlook. The entire valley is spread out below you, bathed in the soft, purple light of dusk. The lights of Maranello are just beginning to twinkle in the distance.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe.

“It’s my favorite place to come when I need to think,” he says quietly. “When the noise gets too loud.”

You sit there in comfortable silence, watching the day end. The unspoken tension between you has dissolved, replaced by a warm, easy sense of connection.

For dinner, he doesn’t take you to a place with white tablecloths and a sommelier. He drives to a small, unassuming building tucked away in a tiny village. It’s a family-run trattoria, with checkered tablecloths, mismatched chairs, and the incredible, mouth-watering smell of garlic and fresh pasta hanging in the air.

The owner, a stout, beaming woman in her sixties, greets Charles with a loud cry of “Carletto!” and pulls him into a smothering hug before planting two loud kisses on his cheeks. She looks at you, her eyes twinkling.

“And you must be the special girl he told me about!” She says in rapid, musical Italian.

Charles’s face flushes a deep, adorable shade of red. “Nonna Maria, per favore …” he mutters.

The meal is simple, and it is the best you have ever had. Fresh, handmade tortelloni, local wine served in a simple carafe, and tiramisu so light it feels like eating a cloud. You talk and laugh, and he tells you stories about coming here for the first time with Sebastian Vettel. You see a side of him you never could have imagined — the teammate, the brother, the local boy who made good.

By the time he drives you back to your hotel, the night is dark, the sky thick with stars. He walks you to the main entrance of the hotel, the grand, imposing doors a stark contrast to the warm intimacy of the evening.

Neither of you wants it to end. The thought of going back to your separate worlds, of you becoming the CEO and him the employee again, feels wrong.

“I’m not ready for this night to be over,” he says, his voice low. The confidence from the drive has been replaced by a soft, hesitant vulnerability.

“Neither am I,” you admit.

“My apartment is not far from here,” he offers, the words tentative. “If you’re not tired. I could … make you a drink?”

You smile. “I’d like that.”

His apartment is exactly what you would have expected, and yet it surprises you. It is minimalist and modern, with clean lines and breathtaking views, but it feels like a home. There are photos on a side table — him as a boy in a karting suit, him with his brothers. And in the center of the vast living space is a beautiful, glossy black grand piano.

He leaves you by the vast window overlooking the city lights and goes to the kitchen. You can hear the soft clink of glasses.

He returns a moment later, his hands empty. He looks nervous again, that familiar anxiety flickering in his eyes.

“Can I get you something?” He asks, his voice a little rough. “Some wine? Water?” He pauses, a hesitant, mischievous smile playing on his lips. He takes a breath, and the whole world seems to hold it with him. “… An espresso?”

The question lands perfectly. The callback is so unexpected, so brilliantly audacious, that you burst out laughing. All the remaining tension, all the awkwardness of your history, evaporates in that single, shared moment of humor.

“I would love an espresso,” you say, your eyes shining.

You follow him to the kitchen and watch as he stands in front of the gleaming, state-of-the-art machine — the same model from the Ferrari conference room. But this time, the roles are reversed. You are the one watching, and he is the one at work, his movements practiced and competent. He grinds the beans, tamps the coffee, and pulls the shot. The rich, dark aroma fills the kitchen.

He hands you the small, delicate cup. It is a perfect mirror image of that first, disastrous meeting. A full circle. A closing of a loop that you never knew you needed.

You take a sip. “It’s perfect,” you say softly, your eyes meeting his over the rim of the cup.

“I’m glad,” he whispers.

He takes the cup from your hand and sets it down on the counter. He doesn’t move away. He is standing so close now you can feel the warmth radiating from him. He lifts a hand, his fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is electric, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice barely audible, and the sound of your name on his lips is both an apology and a revelation.

And then he leans in and kisses you.

It is not a hesitant, questioning kiss. It is a kiss of absolute certainty, a culmination of every moment that has passed between you — the misunderstanding, the fear, the laughter, the forgiveness. It is tender, and it is passionate, a release of all the unspoken energy that has been crackling between you from the very first second he walked into that conference room.

You melt into him, your hands coming up to cup his face, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you tight against him. The world outside the windows disappears. There is only this room, this moment, and the incredible, undeniable truth that this impossibly complicated, slightly broken, beautiful man has somehow found his way straight into the center of your carefully guarded heart.

When you finally break apart, you are both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

You look up at him, a slow, playful smile spreading across your face as your quick, strategic mind finally catches up with your racing heart. You see the whole, absurd, wonderful trajectory of your story laid out before you.

You reach up and trace the line of his jaw with your thumb.

“So, Charles Leclerc …” you say, your voice a low, teasing murmur, the CEO returning for one last, brilliant power move. “What do you think is better for your public image? The driver who pissed off his future boss … or the driver who’s sleeping with her?”

He looks down at you, his eyes full of a light you’ve never seen before. The anxiety is gone, replaced by a natural confidence.

oscatpiastri LMAO admin just said ‘I’m so hungry, I could eat YN YLN’ and that was the face Oscar pulled😭😭 what kind of trauma did they unlock??

view all comments…

user I’M CRYING the man was flabbergasted

user I NEED TO KNOW WHO THAT IS IK YOU GUYS ARE GOOD AT STALKING

-> user I could only find a private acc with that name @.yourusername but there is no way to tell if it’s actually her

-> user wow you guys are quick

user oh to be able to read his mind rn

user admin chose violence today

-> user he looked so betrayed my poor boy💀

user how did admin even get such private information about Oscar?? like there is absolutely no history of a YN YLN anywhere in Oscar’s digital footprint

-> user I mean, that’s their entire job no? find things that get clicks and oscar’s past def does that

🔒 yourusername

yourusername university is slowly turning me into a hermit

view all comments…

yourfriend1 caption is so real dude

yourfriend1 one more class with professor brenner and I’ll actually break all of my good pencils

-> yourusername REAL

yourfriend2 movie binge night was so good we have to do it again

-> yourusername ‼️‼️

yourbestfriend girly you’re famous

-> yourusername fuck you mean by that?

-> yourbestfriend have you ever watched f1? does the name oscar piastri ring a bell?

-> yourusername YOURE FUCKING JOKING

yourfriend3 I’m so hungry I could eat oscar piastri🤔🤔

yourfriend4 what just happened

yourfriend5 the art faculty bathroom is actually so peak

yourfriend6 you’re so gorgeous one chance pls pls pls

TEXTS BETWEEN NICOLE AND OSCAR

TEXTS BETWEEN YOU AND YOUR BEST FRIEND

👤 OSCAR PIASTRI WANTS TO SEND YOU A MESSAGE

oscarpiastri: Hello YN, I’m not sure if you remember me, we went to kindergarten together. I just wanted to give you a heads up, incase you haven’t seen it yet. There is a video going around on the internet of the McLaren social media admin mentioning you in an interview and people are taking it all sorts of ways. I hope it doesn’t cause you any trouble, if it does, please don’t hesitate to reach out and I will take full responsibility for it. I hope you are doing well!

INSTAGRAM DIRECT MESSAGES BETWEEN YOU AND OSCAR

yourusername: Hello Oscar, it’s nice to hear from you! Thank you for the heads up, that’s really kind of you. I saw the video and the reactions, but don’t worry, it’s really no trouble. How are you? Maybe we could catch up? We haven’t seen each other for so long

oscarpiastri: Good to hear that it’s not troubling you. I’m sorry anyway. And I’d love to catch up. Are you still in AUS? I’m there from December until February, incase you are.

yourusername: Yep! Still an Australian resident:) I have a small semester break in Janurary, if that works for you?

oscarpiastri: Great! 👍

🔒 yourusername

yourusername touching grass because why am I doing all that over a MAN

view all comments…

yourfriend1 I just looked oscar piastri up and jeezus YN go get him or I will

yourbestfriend my girl is crushing on the f1 championship leader… i always knew you had big ambitions but I didn’t think they were that big

-> yourusername YOU REALLY ARE NOT HELPING IT

yourfriend2 we’ve lost her😞😞

-> yourfriend3 to a MAN of all things smh

-> yourusername YOU GUYS

yourfriend4 why do I have to be on an semester abroad right now of all moments I FEEL SO LEFT OUT

yourfriend5 she was crouching like that for a good 5 minutes btw

-> yourusername STOP EXPOSING ME

-> yourfriend4 why was she even crouching??

-> yourfriend5 he was texting her really dryly and she freaked out bc obviously that means he hates her and she wants to die and he should crash

-> yourfriend4 you are absolutely hopeless YN

-> yourusername I need to find friends that actually love me

yourfriend6 yk when you start dating you’ll have to open this insta to him and he’ll see how pathetic you are for him

-> yourusername WAIT THATS SO EMBARRASSING

🔒 yourusername

yourusername no idea what just happened I just know it wasn’t good at all I’M SO SORRY OSCAR WHEN I SAID I WANTED YOU TO CRASH I DIDNT MEAN IT

view all comments…

yourfriend1 you’re so unserious wearing a tshirt that says your tears don’t fall they crash around me after your CRUSH DNFED

-> yourusername gotta have some humour or I’ll cry

yourfriend2 I’m seeing this as a sign that he’s so obsessed with you that he does everything you say

-> yourusername THEN HE SHOULD LOCK IN AND WIN THE STUPID CHAMPIGNONCHIP OR WHATEVER

-> yourfriend2 CHAMPIGNONCHIP I‘M CHOKING

f1updates

f1updates oscar piastri when asked about the title fight and the support of family and friends for the race this weekend:

“I know a lot of things have to go right today, in order for me to win, but as long as it is a possibility, I will stay positive that I can do it.” Said the Australian. “I’ve got a lot of people here to cheer me on, my mum, dad and sisters, for one, but also an old friend, who I haven’t seen in a long time. They give me the strength to push one last time.”

view all comments…

user I KNOW HE CAN DO IT

user Norris needs to fuck off it’s Oscar’s turn

user I wonder who the “old friend” is🤔🤔

-> user YN YLN? I’m still not over that mystery

-> user that would be the plot twist of a century

user my entire body is vibrating like I just drank four gallons of coffee

user THIS IS STILL MY BOY

🔒 yourusername

yourusername ABU DHABI ARE YOU READY?

view all comments…

yourfriend1 HE WILL NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH HIMSELF WHEN HE SEES YOU

yourfriend2 wow😳

yourbestfriend forget that wanna be athlete and come home to your wife (me)

yourfriend3 your nervous f1 rambling made me invested as well, I’m rooting for the blonde with an attitude problem

-> yourusername max verstappen?

-> yourfriend3 that one, yes

yourfriend4 HOW ARE YOU FEELING ABT TODAYS RACE?

-> yourusername I’m fucking shaking bro, Verstappen idk you like that but please find the closest barrier and take that Norris guy with you

oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri lots achieved. lots learnt. coming back stronger next year

view all comments…

mclarenf1 we are so proud of you oscar🧡

user no one is in doubt that you’ll win the title one day

user not even Norris bottled this hard

user I don’t get why people are so harsh on him all of the sudden, have we all forgotten that he lead the wdc for half a season in his 3rd year in f1??

user op the man you are

user AURA

user oh 2025 you were so promising

yourusername still not sure if I understood it all, but I know that I’m incredibly impressed:)

-> oscarpiastri I’m glad you could make it🙂

-> user OMG IT WAS YN YLN

-> user he’s so awkward with emojis💀💀

-> user GIRL PLEASE OPEN YOUR INSTA I NEED TO BE PARASOCIAL

🔒 yourusername

yourusername nothing to sayyyy🧚‍♀️

view all comments...

yourfriend1 do we have to act normal now bc he can see the posts?

yourbestfriend you smart little finch, I recognise a thirst trap when I see one😛😛

-> yourusername BE QUIET

yourfriend2 RIP unhinged instagram posts, you will be missed😞

-> yourusername you guys are so dramatic

oscarpiastri I'm not sure if I want to look at the other posts

-> yourusername don't, just don't do it

yourfriend3 one man in your life and you have an entire rebrand smh 🤦‍♀️

yourfriend4 you? speechless? what have you done to my girl, oscar piastri🤨

yourfriend5 WHAT IS A MAN DOING HERE?

-> yourusername BE NICE

yourbestfriend my girl is gonna be a famous wag🥲

yourfriend6 he can take great pictures at least

f1gossip

f1gossip Oscar Piastri was sighted in Melbourne, Australia with a mysterious woman on his arm. Who do we think she is?

view all comments…

user NO😫

user oscar piastri daring rumours in the first weeks of 2026 what is going on

-> user I started to doubt his abilities

user cant even see her properly but i already know shes so pretty

user wait I think I’ve seen her before?? At the Abu Dhabi GP

yourbestfriend OMG MY GIRL IS ON A GOSSIP PAGE @.yourusername LOOK MY GIRL GOT PAPARAZZIED

-> yourusername GIRL DON'T PUT ME ON BLAST LIKE THAT

user i’m not ready for everyone to become parasocial about him all of the sudden

user not him wearing the fugly ass burgundy shirt on a DATE

-> user we don’t even know if it’s a date, could just be a friend

user did anyone see that comment from @.yourbestfriend?? they tagged a user named YN YLN….. coincidence???

-> user did I miss something?? who is that?

-> user there is a video of the mcl admin saying I’m so hungry, I could eat YN YLN and everyone and their mother has been trying to find out who she is and what correlation oscar has to her since then

-> user yeah and her account is private, so there’s absolutely NO WAY for us to find out anything about her

81_updates

81_updates Oscar Piastri, Mark Webber and friends on Melbourne Beach. Some fans even stated that Oscar was with a girl and they seemed to be very close🤔

view all comments...

user HOLD ME BACK

user I hate to say this, but I think oscar really does have a girlfriend now

user congratulations to whoever get’s to have that every night

user lmao the imprint on his chest looks like a 4

user god that girl is lucky

user I think it’s safe to say it’s YN

user oscar jack piastri I was unfamiliar with your game

🔒 yourusername

yourusername after being forced to participate in all of Oscar’s hobbies, I think it’s only fair if I force him to paint with me, right?

view all comments...

yourfriend1 turn that frown upside down😛

yourfriend2 you guys make me sick

-> yourusername jealousy doesn’t suit you babe💋

yourfriend2 and yes, that’s absolutely fair

yourfriend3 be honest, who won the race?

-> yourusername I love how much faith you have in me, but be fr who is winning the race? A girl who has known about f1 for 3 months or an actual f1 driver??

-> yourfriend3 he didn’t let you win? break up with him

-> oscarpiastri she told me not to let her win🤷 said it would be satisfying for her ego if she beat me on raw talent

-> yourfriend3 oh my sweet angel😞 THAT MEANS LET HER WIN

yourbestfriend no photo credit for the picture smh🙁

-> yourusername sorry babe, credit to you for pic 6, and to osc for literally every other one

oscarpiastri I don’t think you want to see the monster I create when I touch a pencil

-> yourusername as if I was graceful playing paddle

-> oscarpiastri you’d look beautiful while digging in dirt

-> yourusername HKDBHAYPQA

-> oscarpiastri are you ok?

-> yourusername just fine:)) my cat walked over my keyboard:))))

-> yourfriend4 you don’t…..have a cat?

-> yourusername SHHH

oscarpiastri and I did not force you

oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri 🔋☀️

view all comments...

user when hes good with words😍😍

user I’m so obsessed with his gf and I don’t know anything about her

-> user I think that’s part of the appeal

user KARTING OSCAR

user that looks suspiciously like a date🧐

user I can’t wait for them to feel more comfortable and reveal a little more about their relationship

-> user I’m so excited for her to attend more races next year

user I don’t think they will ever confirm anything you guys, this is all we’re gonna get THEY ARE JUST SO PRIVATE

user HES SO CUTE

The roar of engines fills your ears even through the headset as you watch Lando's McLaren navigate turn seven. P4. He's holding position beautifully, defending against the Ferrari behind him while keeping an eye on the gap ahead. You're leaning forward in the garage, hands clasped together, living every apex and straight with him even though he's out there and you're in here.

"Looking good," you murmur to yourself, though no one can hear you over the cacophony of the race.

The garage is organized chaos—engineers studying data streams, mechanics ready for a potential pit stop, team members moving with practiced precision. You've been to enough races that you know how to stay out of the way, tucked into your usual spot where you can see the monitors clearly. This is only lap twenty-three of fifty-two. There's so much race left to run.

You shift your weight, turning to grab your water bottle from the shelf behind you, when it happens.

Someone rushes past—you don't even see who—and their elbow or equipment case or something solid and unforgiving catches you directly on the side of your head, just above your temple. The impact is sharp and immediate, a burst of pain that makes you stumble sideways.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" The voice sounds distant, muffled.

You press your hand to your head instinctively, blinking hard. "It's okay, it's fine," you say automatically, because that's what you do. You don't make a fuss. You don't cause problems. Especially not during a race. "Really, I'm good."

The person is still apologizing profusely, but you wave them off with your free hand, forcing a smile. Your head is throbbing, a deep ache spreading from the point of impact, but you've had headaches before. You'll be fine. You turn back to the monitors, trying to focus on Lando's sector times.

But then you feel it.

Warmth. Trickling down the side of your face, sliding past your temple toward your cheekbone. You pull your hand away from your head and your stomach drops.

Blood. Your palm is covered in it.

"Oh," you say faintly, staring at your red-stained hand. "Oh, that's... that's not good."

The world tilts slightly, or maybe that's just you swaying. One of the team members—Sarah, you think, one of the communications coordinators—turns and her eyes go wide.

"Oh shit," she breathes, immediately moving toward you. "You're bleeding. You're bleeding a lot."

"It's fine," you try to say, but your voice sounds wrong even to your own ears. "I just need a—"

"Someone get the first aid kit!" Sarah calls out, and suddenly there are hands on your shoulders, guiding you to sit down on one of the equipment cases. "Don't move. Just stay still."

Your head is pounding now, a relentless throb that seems to pulse in time with your heartbeat. You can feel more blood running down, warm and wet, and when you try to focus on the monitors, Lando's car seems to blur and multiply.

"We need to tell Lando," someone says—one of the engineers, maybe.

"No!" The word comes out sharper than you intended, and you grab Sarah's arm with your non-bloody hand. "No, please don't tell him. Please. He's in P4, he's racing, you can't distract him. Please."

Sarah exchanges a look with the engineer, her expression conflicted. "You're really hurt—"

"I know, but he can't know. Not right now. Not during the race." You can hear the desperation in your own voice. "Please, Sarah. Promise me you won't tell him. He needs to focus. This isn't—it's not life or death, I just need it cleaned up. Please."

Another team member arrives with the first aid kit, and someone else is pressing what feels like gauze against your head. The pressure makes you wince, a sharp spike of pain that steals your breath.

"Okay," Sarah says finally, though she doesn't look happy about it. "Okay, we won't tell him. But we're calling medical right now, and you're going to let them look at you properly."

You nod, which is a mistake because it makes everything swim. "Okay. Yes. Just... don't tell Lando."

The next few minutes are a blur of activity around you. Someone is maintaining firm pressure on your head—it hurts, god it hurts, but you bite your lip and don't complain. You can hear the race commentary in the background, hear that Lando is still P4, still pushing. That's what matters.

The medical team arrives faster than you expected. They must have been nearby, probably stationed at the paddock. A woman with kind eyes and efficient hands takes over, carefully peeling away the blood-soaked gauze to examine your wound.

"That's a significant laceration," she says, her voice professionally calm. "You're going to need stitches. We should get you to the medical center, possibly the hospital."

"No," you say immediately. "I need to stay here. I need to watch the race."

"You're still bleeding quite heavily, and you likely have a concussion given the mechanism of injury and your symptoms. You need proper medical care."

"After the race," you insist, even though your head feels like it's splitting open and the garage keeps doing this annoying thing where it tilts to the left. "I'll go after the race. Just... just patch me up for now."

The medic looks like she wants to argue, but she applies a fresh pressure dressing instead, wrapping it around your head. "If you start feeling worse—more dizzy, nauseous, confused—you tell someone immediately. Understood?"

"Understood," you lie, because you already feel all of those things but there's no way you're leaving.

You try to focus on the monitors. Lando is still P4. Lap thirty-one now. The leaders are pulling away slightly, but he's managing the gap to P3 well. You watch his sector times, trying to calculate pit stop windows in your head, but the numbers keep slipping away from you like water through your fingers.

"How are you feeling?" Sarah asks quietly, crouching beside you.

"Fine," you say automatically. "I'm fine."

You're not fine. The throbbing in your head has evolved into something sharper, more insistent. The garage lights seem too bright, and there's a persistent ringing in your ears that has nothing to do with the engine noise. But Lando is racing, and you're not going to be the reason he loses focus.

Lap thirty-eight. Lando pits, and you watch the mechanics swarm his car with their practiced choreography. 2.3 seconds. Beautiful. He comes out still P4, and you feel a swell of pride that's immediately swamped by a wave of nausea.

You close your eyes, just for a moment.

"Hey," Sarah's voice sounds far away. "Hey, stay with us."

"I'm here," you mumble. "Just resting my eyes."

When you open them again, everything is blurry. The monitors show... you can't quite make out what they show. The numbers don't make sense anymore.

"What lap?" you ask, and your voice sounds strange.

"Forty-two," someone answers. "Are you okay? You don't look—"

"I'm fine," you insist, but when you try to stand up, your legs don't quite cooperate. "I just need..."

The garage tilts again, more dramatically this time. You reach out to steady yourself, but there's nothing to grab onto. Someone catches you—Sarah, maybe, or one of the other team members—and you hear urgent voices.

"She's going down—"

"Call medical back, now—"

"We need to tell Lando—"

"No," you try to say, but the word won't form properly. "Don't tell..."

The last thing you're aware of is the sound of engines, the roar of the crowd through the speakers, and the desperate hope that Lando doesn't know, that he's still focused, that he's still racing.

Then everything goes dark.

You wake up slowly, consciousness returning in fragments. There's a steady beeping sound. Antiseptic smell. Soft sheets. Your head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton, and there's a dull, persistent ache radiating from your temple.

Hospital. You're in a hospital.

"—should have told me immediately, I don't care what she said—"

That voice. You know that voice.

You force your eyes open, blinking against the fluorescent lights. The room swims into focus gradually: white walls, medical equipment, an IV stand beside the bed. And Lando, standing near the door, still in his race suit with the top half tied around his waist, his fireproofs underneath. His hair is messy, his face flushed, and he's clearly in the middle of an argument with someone you can't quite see.

"Lando," you croak, and your voice sounds like sandpaper.

He spins around so fast he nearly trips over his own feet. In two strides he's at your bedside, his hands hovering over you like he's afraid to touch you, afraid you might break.

"Hey, hey, you're awake," he says, and his voice cracks slightly. "Are you okay? How do you feel? Does your head hurt? Do you feel sick? Should I get the doctor?"

The questions tumble out rapid-fire, and despite everything—the pain, the confusion, the hospital room—you feel a smile tug at your lips.

"I'm okay," you say softly. "I'm fine, Lan."

"Fine?" His voice rises slightly, and you can see the fear in his eyes transforming into something sharper. "You're not fine. You passed out. You lost so much blood they had to—" He stops, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "And no one told me. I was out there racing while you were bleeding and unconscious and no one fucking told me."

"I asked them not to," you say quietly. "You were in P4, you were racing, I didn't want—"

"I don't care!" The words burst out of him, louder than he probably intended. "I don't care about P4 or the race or any of it if you're hurt. Do you understand that? They should have told me immediately."

You flinch slightly at his tone, and you feel your eyes starting to burn with tears. You don't want to cry, but your head hurts and you're confused and Lando is angry with you, and it's all too much.

The moment he sees your expression change, sees you wince and blink rapidly, his entire demeanor shifts.

"Oh god, I'm sorry," he says immediately, his voice dropping to something much softer. He sits on the edge of the bed carefully, finally touching you, his hand finding yours and gripping it gently. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout. I'm not angry with you, I'm just—" He takes a shaky breath. "I was so scared."

A tear escapes, rolling down your cheek, and he reaches up with his free hand to carefully wipe it away, mindful of the bandage wrapped around your head.

"When I came in after the race and they told me you were gone, that you'd been taken to hospital..." His voice is rough, raw with emotion. "I've never been so terrified in my life. And then they told me it happened during the race, that you'd been hurt and bleeding and I was just... I was out there completely oblivious while you were—"

His voice breaks, and he stops, pressing his lips together hard. You can see him fighting for composure.

"Lando," you whisper, squeezing his hand. "I'm okay. I'm right here."

He nods, but he doesn't look convinced. Instead, he shifts closer, and then he's carefully, so carefully, wrapping his arms around you. He holds you like you're made of glass, like you might shatter if he's not gentle enough. You can feel him trembling slightly.

"I thought I'd lost you," he murmurs into your hair, away from your injury. "When they said you'd passed out, that you weren't waking up right away, I thought—"

"I'm okay," you repeat, bringing your own arms up to hold him back, even though the movement makes your head throb. "I'm right here. I'm okay."

You stay like that for a long moment, just holding each other. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest, still racing, still elevated from the fear and adrenaline. Gradually, you feel him start to relax, his breathing evening out.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes are red-rimmed, and he keeps one hand on your face, his thumb stroking your cheek gently.

"Don't ever do that again," he says firmly. "If you're hurt, I need to know. Always. Promise me."

"I promise," you say softly. Then, because you can't help yourself, because this is how you two work, you add, "Though in my defense, I didn't plan on getting clocked in the head. It wasn't exactly on my race day bingo card."

You're trying to lighten the mood, to bring back some normalcy, to see him smile. But Lando doesn't laugh. He doesn't even crack a smile. Instead, his expression remains serious, worried, his eyes scanning your face like he's checking for any sign that you're not actually okay.

"Lan," you try again, "come on. I'm fine. See? Talking, conscious, making jokes. All the important signs of life."

"You needed twelve stitches," he says quietly. "You have a concussion. You lost enough blood that they were worried. That's not fine."

The weight of his words settles over you, and you realize just how serious this actually was. You'd been so focused on not distracting him during the race that you hadn't really processed the severity of your own injury.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I didn't mean to scare you."

He sighs, and finally—finally—you see his expression soften further. "I know. I know you were trying to help, trying not to distract me. But baby, you're more important than any race. You'll always be more important."

Your heart squeezes at that, at the sincerity in his voice.

"So..." you say after a moment, trying once more to ease the tension. "Are you going to tell me how the race went, or are you going to keep me in suspense? Last I remember, you were P4 and looking good."

Lando shakes his head slightly. "The race doesn't matter."

"It matters to me," you insist. "Come on, I got injured watching you race. The least you can do is tell me how it ended. Did you hold P4? Move up?"

He's quiet for a moment, and you can see him debating whether to tell you. Finally, he says, "I don't want you getting worked up—"

"Lando Norris, if you don't tell me right now—"

"I won," he says simply.

You stare at him. "What?"

"I won the race," he repeats, and now there's the tiniest hint of a smile playing at his lips. "P3 and P2 both had issues in the last ten laps. I managed to get past them both and won."

"You won?" Your voice rises with excitement, and then you immediately wince because that was a mistake for your head. "You won and I missed it? I missed your win?"

"You were unconscious in a hospital," he points out. "I think you have a pretty good excuse."

"But I missed it," you say again, and you can hear the disappointment in your own voice. "I always watch you cross the line. I've never missed a win."

"You muppet," he says, and there it is—that fond exasperation, that gentle teasing that means things might actually be okay. "You're upset that you missed the race while you were literally bleeding out?"

"I wasn't bleeding out—"

"The medical team would disagree."

"Okay, fine, but still. I missed your win, Lan. That's..." You trail off, feeling genuinely upset about it.

He laughs then, finally, and the sound is like sunshine breaking through clouds. "You're ridiculous. You know that, right? Absolutely ridiculous."

"It's not ridiculous to want to see my boyfriend win," you protest, but you're smiling now too.

"I'll win again," he says, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, carefully avoiding your injury. "And you'll be there for the next one. Conscious and not bleeding, preferably."

"Preferably," you agree.

A nurse comes in then to check your vitals, and she gives Lando a look that suggests he should probably leave. He ignores it completely, staying right where he is at your bedside.

"You should go," you tell him. "You probably have media duties, team debriefs, celebrations—"

"Already did the podium and the immediate media," he says. "Told them I had somewhere more important to be. The rest can wait."

"Lando—"

"I'm not leaving," he says firmly. "So you can stop trying to get rid of me."

The nurse finishes her checks and informs you that you'll need to stay overnight for observation, given the concussion and the blood loss. You nod, accepting this, and she leaves with a reminder to call if you need anything.

"You really should go celebrate," you tell Lando once you're alone again. "It's a win. You should be with the team."

"I am exactly where I want to be," he says, and there's no room for argument in his tone.

As the evening wears on, Lando refuses to leave your side. He pulls a chair up next to your bed, holding your hand, telling you about the race—the strategy calls, the overtakes, the moment he realized he might actually win. You listen, soaking in every detail, trying to picture it all.

"I wish I could have seen it," you say wistfully.

"They'll have the replay," he points out. "You can watch it a hundred times if you want."

"It's not the same as watching it live."

"No," he agrees. "But you'll be there for the next one. And the one after that. And all the ones after that."

When it gets late, properly late, you're starting to feel drowsy again—whether from the concussion, the pain medication, or just exhaustion, you're not sure. But Lando is still there, still in his race suit, still holding your hand.

"You should go back to the hotel," you mumble. "Get some sleep in a real bed."

"I'm fine here."

"Lando, you can't sleep in that chair."

"Watch me."

You look at him, at his stubborn expression, and you know he means it. He's not leaving. So you make a decision.

"Come here," you say, shifting over slightly in the hospital bed.

"What?"

"You heard me. Come here. Get in the bed."

"I'm not—you're injured, I can't—"

"Lando," you say firmly. "Get in this bed right now. It's part of my recovery."

"Part of your recovery?" He's trying not to smile.

"Absolutely. Doctor's orders. I need my boyfriend next to me to heal properly. It's science."

"I don't think that's how science works."

"Are you really going to argue with a concussed person? That seems mean."

He laughs, shaking his head, but he stands up. "If I hurt you—"

"You won't. Just be careful of my head."

He's incredibly gentle as he climbs into the narrow hospital bed, maneuvering himself so he's on your good side, away from your injury. It's a tight fit, but you don't care. You curl into him, resting your head carefully on his chest, and his arms come around you, holding you close.

"This is definitely against hospital rules," he murmurs.

"Then it's a good thing you're a rule breaker," you say, already feeling more comfortable, more settled than you have since you woke up.

"A race winner and a rule breaker in the same day," he muses. "I'm on a roll."

"A race winner," you repeat softly. "I'm so proud of you, Lan. Even if I missed it, I'm so, so proud."

"I know," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I know you are."

You're quiet for a moment, just listening to his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear. Then you say, "You know, this isn't your first win. You won the championship last season. You've won plenty of races."

"I know."

"But it still matters. Every win matters."

"Yeah," he agrees softly. "It does."

"And I'm sorry I missed this one."

"Stop apologizing," he says gently. "You're okay. That's all that matters. You're okay, and you're here, and everything else is just... noise."

You tilt your head up slightly to look at him, and he's already looking down at you, his expression soft and open and full of so much love it makes your chest ache.

"I love you," you whisper.

"I love you too," he says. "Even when you're being a stubborn muppet who won't let anyone tell me she's hurt."

"Especially when I'm being a stubborn muppet," you correct.

"Especially then," he agrees, smiling.

You settle back against his chest, feeling safe and warm and loved despite the hospital setting, despite the bandage around your head, despite everything. Lando's hand runs gently up and down your back in a soothing rhythm, and you feel yourself starting to drift.

"Lan?" you murmur, half-asleep.

"Yeah?"

"Next time you win, I'll be there. Conscious and everything."

"Deal," he says softly. "Now sleep. I've got you."

And with his arms around you, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you do.

The hospital room is quiet except for the soft beeping of monitors and the sound of your breathing synchronizing with his. Outside, the world continues—the racing season marches on, there are celebrations happening somewhere for his win, life moves forward. But in this moment, in this too-small hospital bed with your race-winner boyfriend holding you like you're the most precious thing in the world, everything is exactly as it should be.

You're okay. He's okay. And tomorrow, you'll watch the replay of his win together, and he'll point out every detail, and you'll celebrate properly. But for now, this is enough.

More than enough.