On Display
On Display
Day 10 → Exhibitionism 💋 Kimi Räikkönen
Warnings: 18+ content
Kinktober Masterlist
Kimi Räikkönen doesn’t care about most things. It’s not apathy exactly, it’s more like everything just slips right past him. He does his job, keeps his head down, says what’s necessary — and even then, not much more than that. It’s enough to keep him going, to keep the world at arm’s length, until you came along.
You're different. That’s what unsettles him.
You’re new, fresh out of university, assigned to be his Press Officer for Alfa Romeo Racing. The team was proud of themselves for hiring you. Young, capable, smart. You’ve been around Kimi for a few months now, and it didn’t take long for something to shift inside him.
He’s not sure when it happened, or how, but it did. And now he can’t stop thinking about you.
Today, the garage is bustling — mechanics clinking tools, engineers hunched over laptops. Kimi stands near his car, keeping himself at a distance like he always does. But then he hears it, a conversation drifting over the noise.
"She's way too young for him," one mechanic says, voice low but not low enough. "Kimi's over forty. She should be with someone … closer to her age."
Kimi doesn't flinch, but he narrows his eyes slightly. The other mechanic laughs, “Like who, you? Come on, man, you’d never have a chance.”
“I’m serious,” the first one continues, “She deserves someone who can keep up with her, you know? Someone who’s not … past his prime.”
Kimi's grip on his helmet tightens.
He knows how it looks — he’s been around long enough to understand how people see him. Quiet, cold, detached. The guy who doesn’t care about anything. But this? This stings more than he expected. He stands there, frozen, until he sees you at the edge of the garage, talking to another team member, completely unaware of the conversation happening just a few feet away.
Kimi makes up his mind instantly.
Without a word, he strides across the garage, brushing past people with a determined look in his eyes. You don’t notice him until he’s right in front of you, blocking your path.
“Kimi?” You ask, blinking up at him. “What’s-”
“Come,” he says, his voice low and commanding. It’s not a request. Before you can ask another question, he’s taken your hand, pulling you along with him. You don’t resist, but confusion paints your face as he leads you through the maze of the garage.
“Kimi, what’s going on?” You ask, struggling to keep up with his long strides. “Did something happen?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He’s too focused on getting to his driver’s room, away from everyone else, away from the noise and the looks. He doesn’t slow down until he reaches the door, pushing it open with one hand and ushering you inside with the other.
You barely have time to catch your breath before he shuts the door behind him, the soft click of the lock echoing in the small space. The room is quiet, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy outside, and you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.
“Kimi,” you say again, softer this time. “What is it?”
He takes a moment, staring at you with that intense, unreadable expression he always wears. But there’s something else behind it now — something sharper, more vulnerable.
“I heard them,” he finally says, voice rougher than usual.
Your brow furrows. “Heard who?”
“The mechanics.” His jaw tightens. “Talking about you. About us.”
You blink, taken aback. “What did they say?”
Kimi steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “That I’m too old for you. That you should be with someone else. Someone younger.”
You open your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off, his frustration spilling over. “They think I can’t keep up with you. That I’m not good enough.”
His words hang in the air, heavy and raw, and for the first time since you met him, Kimi looks … uncertain. It’s jarring, seeing him like this — the man who’s always in control, always so sure of himself, now questioning everything.
“Kimi,” you say softly, stepping closer until you’re just inches away from him. “That’s ridiculous.”
He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “Is it?”
“Yes,” you insist, your voice firm. “Why are you even listening to them? They don’t know anything about us.”
His gaze flickers, something close to doubt flashing in his eyes. “But maybe they’re right.”
You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you, though there’s no humor in it. “Right about what? That you’re too old for me?”
He doesn’t answer, but the look on his face says enough.
You take a deep breath, reaching out to gently touch his arm. “Kimi, listen to me. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. You’re the one I’m with, not them. And I’m with you because I want to be. Not because of your age, or your career, or whatever else they think.”
He stares at you, his expression softening just a fraction. “But you could have someone else,” he murmurs. “Someone … younger.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s affection in the gesture. “I don’t want someone else. I want you.”
Kimi stays silent for a moment, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure out if you really mean it. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, almost hesitant. “Why?”
You laugh, the sound light and teasing. “Do you really need me to list all the reasons?”
His lips twitch, the ghost of a smile threatening to break through, but he doesn’t let it.
“Fine,” you say, stepping even closer until you’re practically toe-to-toe. “You want to know why? Because you’re kind. Because you care, even if you don’t show it the way most people do. Because you make me laugh, even when you’re not trying to. And because when I’m with you, everything feels … right.”
His eyes soften, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. “You really think that?”
“I do,” you say, your voice sincere. “And I don’t care what anyone else says. They don’t get to decide what’s right for us. Only we do.”
Kimi watches you for a long moment, the weight of your words sinking in. Slowly, he reaches up, his fingers brushing your cheek in the gentlest of touches. It’s such a small, simple gesture, but it feels like everything in that moment.
“I’m not letting you go,” he says quietly, but there’s a fierceness behind his words that makes your heart race. “Not for them. Not for anyone.”
You smile, leaning into his touch. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
For a while, neither of you say anything. The silence isn’t uncomfortable; it’s warm, filled with everything unspoken between you. Kimi’s thumb traces slow circles on your cheek, his gaze locked on yours, and for the first time in a long time, he lets himself feel something. Something more than just the numb routine of racing, more than just the motions of his life.
It’s you.
You’re the difference. The one thing he never expected to care about, but now can’t imagine being without.
“They’ll keep talking,” he says after a while, his voice quieter now, almost resigned.
“Let them,” you reply, your tone defiant. “We know the truth. That’s all that matters.”
He doesn’t respond, but you can see it in his eyes — the way they soften, the way the lines of tension in his face smooth out. You’ve managed to calm him, to ease the storm raging in his mind. And that’s something no one else has ever been able to do.
Kimi exhales slowly, like he’s letting go of something heavy. He takes your hand again, this time more gently, pulling you toward him until your bodies are pressed together. His hand lingers on your waist as he pulls away slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. There’s a certain darkness there now, a fire that wasn’t present before. He’s calm, but there’s something electric beneath the surface. You can feel it.
Without breaking eye contact, he reaches behind him, and with a swift, almost careless movement, pulls the door to the driver’s room open. The quiet hiss of the hinges echoes in the small space, but it’s the sudden rush of noise from the garage outside that jolts you.
“Kimi,” you whisper, glancing toward the open door, “What are you doing?”
His gaze stays locked on yours, unwavering, and he says it, voice low and dangerous, “I want everyone to hear you cry my name.”
Your heart skips a beat.
“And I want them to see,” he continues, his fingers brushing along your jawline before tilting your chin up slightly, forcing you to meet his eyes, “to know what I can do to you. That you’re mine.”
There’s no question in his voice, no hesitation. He’s daring you, challenging you in a way that only Kimi Räikkönen can. The kind of challenge that pulls you in, that makes it impossible to say no, even if every part of you is screaming at how reckless, how exposed this could be.
“Kimi,” you start, but the words get lost as he steps even closer, the warmth of his body brushing against yours, overwhelming every other thought.
“You don't want them to know?” He asks, the faintest smirk pulling at his lips, though his voice remains steady. “You don’t want them to hear how you scream for me?”
Your breath hitches, and Kimi notices. He always notices. There’s that rare smile again, the one that barely shows but tells you everything. You’re his, and he’s about to make sure everyone knows it.
You glance again at the open door, the sounds of the team moving about just a few feet away — tools clanking, mechanics talking, engineers calling out data. They’re all out there. They could hear everything.
And Kimi doesn’t care.
His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, grazing the skin just above your hips, slow and deliberate. “I want them to know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the side of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “I want them to hear.”
The possessiveness in his voice is unmistakable. He’s not asking; he’s telling you, declaring it like an unshakable truth.
You’re his.
He guides you backward with a gentle but firm push until your back hits the wall. The sudden pressure makes you gasp, and before you can say anything, Kimi’s mouth is on yours. It’s not soft — it’s demanding, consuming. Every kiss, every touch is a statement. You belong to him, and now, he’s going to make sure the world knows it.
“Kimi, the door-” you manage to murmur against his lips, but he just kisses you harder, silencing any protest.
“I want it open,” he growls into your mouth, his voice rough with need. “I want them to see.”
His hands are all over you now, possessive, as if he can’t touch you enough, can’t get enough of you. He doesn’t care who hears, who sees. In fact, that’s exactly what he wants. He’s always been reserved, controlled — until it comes to you. With you, all of that falls away.
Kimi pulls back just enough to look at you, his breath hot against your lips. “Say my name.”
You hesitate for a moment, your eyes darting again to the open door. You can hear footsteps passing by, voices just outside, oblivious to what’s happening inside this room. But the way Kimi looks at you, the intensity in his eyes, the sheer force of his presence — it makes it impossible to resist.
“Kimi,” you breathe, soft at first.
He smiles, that dark, dangerous smile that sends your pulse racing. “Louder.”
“Kimi,” you say again, louder this time, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and need.
“Good,” he mutters, his hands tightening on your waist as he presses his body against yours. “They’ll hear you soon enough.”
And then he’s kissing you again, hard and fierce, his hands moving to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he presses you against the wall. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and you can feel the heat of him through the fabric of his racing suit.
The door is still open.
The thought lingers in the back of your mind, but it’s quickly drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of Kimi’s hands on you, his mouth devouring yours like he can’t get enough. You can hear the faint hum of voices outside, the occasional burst of laughter or the sound of tools clanging against metal, but it all fades away, drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears and the feel of Kimi’s body against yours.
He pulls away just long enough to look at you again, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. “You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough, filled with a kind of raw intensity that makes your stomach flip. “Only mine.”
“Yes,” you manage to breathe, your heart racing in your chest. “Only yours.”
And that’s all it takes. Kimi’s mouth crashes against yours again, and this time, there’s no holding back. Every touch, every kiss, every movement is possessive, claiming. He’s making sure that when you leave this room, there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind who you belong to.
But then, just as you’re about to fall over the edge, just as you feel like you might break apart from the intensity of it all, the door creaks. A shadow falls across the room.
“Kimi-” a voice starts, but it cuts off abruptly.
Your heart skips a beat, your eyes flying open as you realize someone’s standing in the doorway. Kimi’s race engineer, frozen in place, eyes wide in shock.
For a split second, the room is deathly silent.
“Kimi?” The engineer stammers, his voice filled with awkward confusion. “Uh … sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
But Kimi doesn’t move. He doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he turns his head slightly, just enough to glance over his shoulder at the stunned engineer, his expression as calm and collected as ever.
“What?” Kimi asks, his voice steady, almost bored, as if nothing unusual is happening.
The engineer’s eyes dart between the two of you, clearly flustered. “I, uh, I was just going to — there’s a … a data issue, but, uh … I’ll come back later.”
Kimi doesn’t respond right away. He just stares at the engineer for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nods, almost dismissively. “Do that.”
The engineer doesn’t need to be told twice. He practically stumbles over his own feet as he backs out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him with a hurried click.
The second the door is closed, Kimi’s attention is back on you, his hands tightening their grip on your hips. His eyes darken again, the fire from before rekindling as if nothing had happened.
“They’ll all know now,” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. There’s a possessive edge to his tone, something primal that sends a thrill through you.
“Kimi,” you breathe, your heart still pounding from the shock of being caught.
He smirks, leaning in to press a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Let them talk.”
And just like that, he’s kissing you again, his hands roaming your body with a kind of controlled urgency. There’s no hesitation, no pause to think about what just happened. It’s like the interruption never even fazed him.
He’s still in control, still completely focused on you.
“You’re mine,” he growls against your lips, and this time, there’s no room for doubt.
You are his.
And he’s going to make sure everyone knows it.
***
It’s late when the mechanic finally sits down on his worn-out couch, still in his travel clothes. The day had been long, filled with the usual chaos of a flying back home after a race weekend, and all he wants is to shut off his mind, sink into the cushions, and forget about everything for a while.
His phone buzzes on the coffee table, but he ignores it at first, figuring it’s just another group message from the guys. He’ll deal with that later.
But the phone buzzes again. And again. Three notifications in quick succession, and finally, he picks it up.
The screen lights up with a message from an unknown number.
New message: Open this. You’ll want to see.
His brow furrows as he reads it, curiosity piqued. He glances around his quiet apartment, feeling a strange sense of anticipation. He taps the message, and immediately, a video starts downloading. It’s taking its time — bad signal, probably. His thumb hovers over the screen, debating whether or not this is a good idea. Could be spam, or worse.
But something about the message, the cryptic tone of it, makes him wait.
The video finally finishes, and before he knows it, he presses play.
The screen flickers to life, and at first, it’s just a shot of a luxurious bedroom — modern, sleek, with low lighting and dark, rich colors. The kind of place he could only imagine staying in.
And then he sees you.
You’re there, on the bed, your body moving in a way that makes his breath catch in his throat. You’re wearing nothing but a thin, silk robe, and before he can process what he’s seeing, Kimi comes into view, shirtless, standing behind you. His hands are on your shoulders, sliding down your arms with a possessive, deliberate slowness.
“Holy shit,” the mechanic mutters under his breath, his pulse quickening.
In the video, Kimi’s voice is low and commanding as he leans in, whispering something in your ear that the mechanic can’t quite hear. But it doesn’t matter. The way you respond — the way your body reacts, arching slightly into Kimi’s touch — tells him everything he needs to know.
You belong to Kimi.
The mechanic’s hands tighten around his phone, his knuckles going white. He should stop watching, turn it off, but he can’t. It’s like he’s been pulled into something forbidden, something he knows he shouldn’t be seeing, but now that he has, he’s trapped.
Kimi moves around to the front of you in the video, tilting your chin up so you’re looking directly into his eyes. “Tell me,” Kimi’s voice rumbles through the speakers, clear and dominant, “who do you belong to?”
Your answer is immediate, breathless. “You.”
Kimi smiles, a dark, satisfied smile. “That’s right.”
The mechanic watches as Kimi pushes you gently back onto the bed, his movements fluid and controlled, like he’s done this a hundred times before. Kimi climbs over you, his body pressing down against yours, and the camera zooms in, catching every intimate detail — the way your hands slide up Kimi’s back, the way your lips part as you whisper his name, the soft moan that escapes when Kimi kisses your neck.
“Fuck,” the mechanic breathes, his heart pounding in his chest. He shouldn’t be watching this. It’s too personal, too raw. But he can’t look away. There’s something magnetic about the way Kimi moves, the way he commands your attention, your body, your everything.
In the video, Kimi’s voice breaks the silence again. “You’re mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” you whisper, your voice shaking, filled with a need that makes the mechanic’s stomach twist.
The mechanic shifts uncomfortably on the couch, feeling a mix of emotions he can’t quite pin down. Jealousy. Guilt. And something darker.
He hadn’t thought much of Kimi before — he’d respected him as a driver, sure, but as a man? He always thought Kimi was cold, detached. He hadn’t imagined that this version of Kimi existed — the one who could make you look at him like you were ready to fall apart, like nothing in the world mattered except him.
In the video, Kimi’s hands are everywhere now — your waist, your hips, your thighs. He’s slow, methodical, taking his time like he has all the control in the world. And maybe he does. The mechanic watches as Kimi’s lips trail down your neck, across your collarbone, lower still, until you’re gasping his name, your body arching off the bed in desperate, silent pleas.
“Kimi,” you breathe, and the mechanic feels it, the way you say his name like it’s a prayer, like it’s the only thing grounding you in the moment.
Kimi doesn’t respond, at least not with words. Instead, he pulls back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his gaze dark and possessive. His hand moves between your legs, and the mechanic can’t help but shift again, the tension in his body building as he watches. Kimi’s fingers are slow, deliberate, as he touches you, making you moan softly into the dimly lit room.
“Do you like this?” Kimi asks, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down the mechanic’s spine, even through the phone screen.
“Yes,” you gasp, your hands clutching the sheets.
“Louder,” Kimi demands, his tone firm but not unkind.
“Yes,” you cry out this time, your body trembling beneath him.
The mechanic’s chest tightens. He knows he shouldn’t be watching this. It’s too intimate, too raw, but there’s something captivating about the way Kimi has you — completely and utterly under his control. The way he commands your body, your voice, your everything.
In the video, Kimi leans down, his mouth capturing yours in a deep, possessive kiss, and the mechanic watches as you melt into it, your body relaxing into the bed as if Kimi is the only thing tethering you to the world.
It’s then that the camera angle shifts slightly, giving the mechanic a perfect view of your face — flushed, eyes half-lidded with pleasure, lips parted as you gasp for breath. Kimi’s fingers move faster now, more insistent, and the mechanic can see the way your body reacts, the way you tremble and arch under his touch.
“Kimi,” you cry out again, your voice breaking with need, with desperation.
Kimi’s response is immediate, his voice rough with satisfaction. “That’s it. Let them hear you.”
The mechanic’s heart pounds in his chest as he watches you unravel, your body shaking, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. He can’t tear his eyes away, even though he knows he should. There’s something intoxicating about watching you fall apart like this, knowing that it’s Kimi who’s doing this to you, who has you completely under his control.
The video continues, showing every intimate detail — Kimi’s hand tightening on your waist, the way your legs wrap around him, the way you moan his name over and over, completely lost in him. The mechanic’s throat feels tight, his skin prickling with a mix of emotions he can’t quite define.
In the video, you’re close — he can see it, the way your body trembles, the way your breaths come in short, desperate gasps. Kimi knows it too. His pace quickens, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers something the mechanic can’t make out, but it doesn’t matter. The effect is immediate. You cry out, your body arching off the bed as you fall apart beneath him, your voice breaking with pleasure.
The camera lingers for a moment, capturing the way you collapse back against the pillows, completely spent, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Kimi doesn’t move for a moment, just watches you, his hand still resting on your waist, his touch gentle now, almost reverent.
Slowly, he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, and the mechanic watches as you melt into him, your body relaxing completely. Kimi shifts, pulling you into his arms, your head resting on his chest as you come down from the high, your breaths evening out.
The video ends with that image — Kimi lying back against the headboard, his arms wrapped around you protectively as you rest your head on his chest, eyes closed, completely exhausted. His fingers move through your hair, a soft, almost tender gesture that the mechanic never would’ve expected from him.
For a long moment, the mechanic just sits there, staring at the blank screen of his phone. His heart is still racing, his skin prickling with the intensity of what he just witnessed. He feels … unsettled. He hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected Kimi to be so possessive, so dominant, and definitely hadn’t expected you to be so completely his.
He swallows hard, trying to push down the mix of jealousy, confusion, and something else that swirls in his chest. He feels like he’s seen something he was never meant to see — something private, something intimate. And yet, whoever sent this video wanted him to see it. Wanted him to know exactly what Kimi is capable of, exactly how well he can take care of you.
The mechanic leans back on the couch, letting out a long breath as he stares up at the ceiling. He knows one thing for sure: Kimi Räikkönen isn’t someone to underestimate.
And you — well, you’re his, in every possible way, and now the mechanic knows it too.
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So Good to Me
Charles Leclerc x Reader
Summary: Charles Leclerc is the perfect man for you … getting stopped on the street for a random TikTok challenge just serves to prove that even further
The warm Monaco sun beats down on you as you stroll leisurely along the bustling sidewalk, a canvas tote bag filled with fresh produce and flowers from the local farmer’s market hanging from your shoulder. The salty sea breeze wafts across your face, carrying with it the excited chatter and laughter of tourists admiring the luxurious yachts bobbing in Port Hercules.
You smile to yourself, relishing this perfect Mediterranean afternoon. Just a quick stop at home to drop off your purchases, and then maybe you’ll take a dip in the infinity pool on the terrace to cool off before Charles is done with-
“Excusez-moi, mademoiselle!” A young man’s voice breaks through your daydreaming. You glance over to see a twenty-something guy with a neatly trimmed beard, expensive-looking sunglasses, and a black t-shirt emblazoned with HUSTLE in white block letters. He’s holding a mini microphone and has his iPhone pointed at you, clearly filming.
A TikToker.
You sigh internally but force a polite smile.
“Oui, puis-je vous aider?” You reply in French.
“Ah sorry, I don’t speak much French! Do you speak English?” The TikToker asks eagerly in a British accent.
“Yes, I do. Can I help you with something?” You say, switching to English yourself. You just want to get home but you know these influencer types can be annoyingly persistent.
The TikToker grins. “Brilliant! I’m doing a social experiment for my followers. I was wondering — do you have a significant other? A boyfriend or husband perhaps?”
You raise an eyebrow questioningly but decide to humor him. “Um, yes, I have a boyfriend,” you answer simply.
His eyes light up. “Fantastic! And would you say your boyfriend loves you very much?”
You can’t help but chuckle at the boldness of this stranger’s line of questioning. “Yes, I would definitely say that. He loves me a lot,” you confirm, a soft smile playing on your lips as you think of Charles.
“Perfect! Okay, here’s the challenge,” the TikToker announces dramatically, staring intensely into his camera. “I want you to call up your boyfriend right now and ask him to send you some money. Doesn’t matter how much. But for every €100 he sends, I’ll give you €20 to keep for yourself. Let’s see how much he really loves you, shall we?”
You stare at this guy incredulously for a moment before bursting out laughing. Is he serious? He clearly has no idea who your boyfriend is. An amused smirk spreads across your face as you fish your iPhone out of your designer purse.
“Alright, you’re on,” you say confidently, already unlocking your phone and tapping on Charles’ contact. The TikToker looks surprised but excited that you actually agreed to his silly challenge.
“Put it on speaker phone,” he instructs, zooming his camera in on your phone screen which is now dialing Charles.
After a few rings, the warm, honey-smooth voice you adore comes through. “Allô mon amour, what’s up?” Charles greets you sweetly. “I’m just finishing up some simulator runs but I should be done soon to help with dinner.”
“Hey baby,” you reply, your voice automatically softening. “Sorry to bother you, I know you’re busy. But I’m out right now and I just passed by that little boutique near the casino, you know the one? And I saw the most incredible pair of shoes in the window. I swear they were calling my name.”
Charles laughs affectionately, the sound like music to your ears even through the cell phone speaker. “Oh yeah? The ones that were calling your name last week turned out to be, what was it, €900?” He teases.
You roll your eyes playfully even though he can’t see. “Okay, fair, but you know I hardly ever splurge on myself. I’m usually so frugal!”
“Mmhmm, whatever you need to tell yourself, chérie,” Charles says wryly and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Let me guess, you need to go get these dream shoes right now? Or else they’ll haunt you forever?”
“You know me so well,” you gush dramatically. “I promise I’ll pay you back though! I get paid next week and-”
“Hey, hey, stop,” Charles cuts you off gently. “Mon cœur, you never have to pay me back, you know that. I love being able to treat you and spoil you. You deserve the world. Never forget that.”
You feel yourself melt at his earnest words, momentarily forgetting you have an audience. “I love you so much,” you murmur. “Thank you for always being so good to me.”
“Right back at you, ma belle. Je t’aime,” Charles says tenderly. “There, check your banking app. Let me know if you need any more. And have fun shopping! I’ll see you at home in a bit, okay? À bientôt!”
You glance down at your phone as a notification from your bank pops up on the screen. Your eyes widen slightly when you see the amount Charles sent over, but you recover quickly.
“Thank you, baby. See you soon!” You reply before hanging up. You turn back to the TikToker who is gaping at you in disbelief. Casually, you turn your phone screen towards him and his camera so he can clearly see the notification that €10,000 has just been deposited into your account.
The poor guy looks like he’s about to pass out from shock. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, rendered speechless. You just laugh good-naturedly.
“Well, guess I won your little challenge, huh?” You remark, slipping your phone back into your purse. “Tell you what, why don’t you donate whatever money you were going to give me to a local animal shelter instead? I think it’ll be put to much better use there.”
The TikToker finally manages to pick his jaw up off the floor. He laughs shakily and nods. “Yeah ... yeah I can do that. Wow. Um, thanks for being such a good sport about this. And congrats on, uh, winning, I guess?”
You give him a friendly wink. “Anytime. Have a nice rest of your day!” With that, you turn gracefully on your heel and continue on your way back home, feeling rather smug and deeply appreciative of your wonderfully generous boyfriend.
“Wait!” The TikToker calls out after you. You glance back over your shoulder curiously. He hesitates before asking in an awed voice, “If you don’t mind me asking ... who the hell is your boyfriend?”
An enigmatic smile plays on your lips. “No one special really,” you reply breezily. “Just a guy who loves driving fast cars.”
You leave the gaping TikToker in your wake as you saunter off, already daydreaming about showing your appreciation to Charles later for being the most incredible boyfriend imaginable.
Maybe you really will splurge on those designer shoes after all … and pick up a little something special from the lingerie boutique next door while you’re at it.
Your smile widens. Just as a little thank you to your man, of course. Life is good when you’re in love with Charles Leclerc.
Always and Forever
Fandom: The Originals
Pairing: Mikaelson Family x Female!Reader (Platonic)
Summary: When your abusive ex-boyfriend shows up in New Orleans, you panic. Not wanting to burden the Mikaelson’s, you try and handle it yourself. When it all becomes too much, the Mikaelson’s are there to remind you that you are family and they protect their own.
Word Count: 3805
Warnings: TW description of past abuse, potentially triggering content, language, angst with a fluffy ending
A/N: This is only my third time posting my writing so feedback would be extremely appreciated!!! (Main account @hi-my-name-is-riley )
You like to think of yourself as an emotionally stable person. Granted, you have to drink a nasty liquid every day and wear jewelry to keep yourself protected from creatures that want to drink your blood, but, other than that, you do a great job balancing the normal and the crazy in your life, especially with the company you keep.
Because with them, crazy and normal are one and the same.
Walking into the crowded Mikaelson Compound, you feel like you’ve traveled back through time. You’re immediately greeted with the sound of live jazz and the sight of a multitude of individuals dressed in sharp suits and beautiful gowns. Taking in the view, you smile to yourself before going off to find the hosts of the evening.
It didn’t take long before you spotted two of the Mikaelson brothers. Elijah’s eyes met yours as you climbed the stairs to join them on the overlook, “Good evening, Y/N. Might I say you look absolutely beautiful.”
Waving him off, “You’re one to talk. You both look handsome tonight,” you returned the compliment, “But I can’t take all the credit. If it wasn’t for Nik’s hoarding tendencies, I would never have anything to wear to these shindigs.”
Nik chuckles, taking your hand in his and making you twirl, “You look better in this dress than the last owner ever could, love.”
You felt the blood rush to your cheeks and watched as the two brothers chuckled at your expense. You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “You two are the worst,” you mumbled.
Keep reading
Salt in the wound
a/n: go and listen to Salt in the wound by Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers and Lucy Dacus.
summary: After Stephen's accident you try to take care of him but he constantly crosses the line with you. One day he adds too much salt into your wound.
pairing: Stephen Strange x f!reader
warnings: angst, angst, angst, hurt no comfort.
You walked into his New York apartment where the now-familiar smell of cigarettes and cheap whiskey hung around. Piles of dirty and mostly broken dishes were the only thing on the kitchen counter. The man you loved was sitting at the table struggling to hold a pen.
“Let me help you” you said softly and approached him.
“No!” he yelled at you. You weren’t used to this, to him treating you like this. “Go. Away.” he snapped.
“I brought you some food” you sighed. You placed take-out Chinese food from his favourite restaurant in front of him. “I’m gonna clean a bit so you can rest” you send him a shy smile.
“Are you deaf or supid?” for the first time in a few days his eyes connected with yours. “You graduated from medical school at the top of your class so I suggest that you should visit a laryngologist. Dr Cronan, right?” you have never heard so much hatred in his voice. You stood there practically speechless.
“Stephen, I-, look” before you were able to finish he interrupted you.
“Can’t you form a fucking sentence?” he shouted “Poor y/n, feels the need to take care of the guy who she’s been fucking for a few months. Watch out, I might even cry” he continued.
Cruel silence filled the room, the only sound was coming from cold rain beating on large windows. You analysed his face and immediately realised that there isn’t even a slight sign of regret. He meant exactly what he said.
“Look” You took a deep breath “I know that your job was what gave your life meaning, something that made you feel complete, but there are other things that can give your life meaning” you said and came a little closer to him and tried to touch his face but before you were able to do so he pushed your hand away.
“Like what? You?” he scoffed. “You don’t mean a thing to me!” he yelled into your face. A loud thunderclap echoed in the room at the same moment as your heart broke into pieces. You loved him, you truly did. He used to be a beam of light in your day, but now, you couldn’t recognize him.
“This is the part where you apologise” you said.
“This is the part where you leave” he responded.
You took a few steps back and leaned against the wall. You closed your eyes and felt a tear falling down your cheek.
•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•
Eight months ago, after a thirteen hours-long operation, two brilliant neurosurgeons, you and Stephen, sat down on the floor of the operation room and laughed about the facial expression of the guy they just saved.
“God, I'm starving” you said in between laughs.
“Would you like to get out of here? I know a phenomenal Chinese restaurant a few blocks away” he offered.
“Only if you are paying” you playfully smacked his arm.
“It’s a date then” he smirked and helped you to get up.
It was late November night, and the streets of New York were almost empty. You walked next to him chatting about stuff you two liked. You were surprised you two had so much in common. Even though you were extremely tired, the night went smoothly and the food was truly phenomenal. When you two finally decided to leave the restaurant you noticed that the snow was falling.
“It’s the first fall of snow this year” you smiled and he came a little closer to you. Slow music from the restaurant you just left was playing in the background.
“Before you go, may I steal one dance from you?” he asked.
“How could I refuse such an offer?” you smirked.
He placed one hand on your waist and with the other grabbed yours. You were slowly dancing around, pretending that the world did not exist. He watched your face and how it glistened as the snow fell on it. He let go of your waist and carefully tucked your hair behind your ear.
“Y/n, can I kiss you?” he asked shyly. Instead of saying anything, you leaned in. That was the beginning of it all.
•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•
“Loving you Stephen is a prison and I was willing to buy my own chain” you whispered “I tried, I really did but I can’t handle this anymore” your eyes locked again with his. “This is a goodbye” you stated.
Deep down you wanted him to say that he’s sorry, that he’s going to change, that he needs you. You wanted to hear once again how much he loves you and how important you are but you knew that this is not going to happen. You grabbed your bag from the counter and left his apartment, walked into the lift and sighed deeply. Your world had just fallen apart but the one around you had to maintain peace. You put your sling ring on your fingers and drew a portal Sanctum Sanctorum where you were Master of the Mystic Arts and more importantly Sorceress Supreme.
MASTERLIST
The Red Baron ♦
Can you please do driver reader is literally the absolute Angel of the paddock and everyone adores her, she’s the cutest sweetest little bean that you can’t help but love, she’s a Redbull driver and Christian always fawns over her and talks about his ‘daughter’ ( it’s clear she’s the favourite ). Even the older drivers love her e.g kimi, jenson, Seb, mark. Platonic pleaseeee
Omg, that is such a sweet idea. I did the format a bit differently, hope you don't mind.
Enjoy reading and send me some requests!!!
-XoXo
The Redbull Princess
YN YLN was a known name in the motor sport world. Not only was she the youngest driver currently on the grid - only 19 years - but she is the first female to ever drive for RedBull. Not oy that, but also the only woman on the grid.
Despite having a different gender, the other drivers never treated her bad. In fact, one could say that YN got the whole "Princess Treatment" from the drivers and teams. Each driver has taken a special place in her life.
Exhibit A: The protective one
The paddock was buzzing with energy, reporters swarming like bees near the Red Bull garage. YN was prepping for her media rounds, already feeling the weight of the spotlight on her. As she stepped into the press pen, a group of journalists immediately approached, firing off questions.
"YN, how do you feel about the pressure of being the youngest driver? Do you think it affects your performance?"
Before she could answer, Max appeared out of nowhere, slipping between her and the reporters with a grin that was anything but friendly. "I think that's enough for now," Max said, his blue eyes narrowing. "She’s got a race to focus on. Back off."
The reporters, visibly intimidated by the reigning World Champion, quickly shuffled away. YN let out a breath of relief, nudging Max with her elbow.
"You know, I can handle them."
Max chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, steering her away from the crowd. "Yeah, but why would I let them bother you when I can have fun scaring them off?"
"You're impossible," she laughed. "But thanks."
Exhibit B: The gossip King
YN walked into the Ferrari garage, still buzzing from practice. She found Charles leaning against his car, drinking water. His face lit up when he saw her.
"Charlie! Did you see that move I pulled in turn 9?" she said, excitedly plopping down next to him.
Charles grinned, instantly slipping into gossip mode. "I did! Smooth as butter. But did you hear about Fernando's radio message? He was furious about the tire degradation. Drama!"
YN's eyes widened. "No way! Spill all the tea, Leclerc."
Charles leaned in, whispering. "Apparently, his engineer told him to manage his tires better, and Nando snapped, saying, ‘I am managing them!’" He mimicked Fernando’s accent, making YN burst into laughter.
Exhibit C: The helping hand
The young RedBull driver just exited her car, when she felt someone grabbing her Birking Bag. When she quickly turned her head, she was meat with the sight of Carlos not only caring her bag in his hands and her coat on his arm, but carring his own stuff as well.
"Carlito, what are you doing? You don’t have to carry all my stuff for me." she told him, after they started walking towards the entrance.
Carlos mate an irritated sound, before responding to her. "Nonsense, hermana. Your job is to win this weekend. So let me help you with all the other things, comprende?"
Before Carlos could get an answer, she threw her arms around him, whispering a small thank you in his ear.
Exhibit D: The personal chef
YN sat in the Red Bull hospitality area, poking at her plate of food with a discontented look. Yuki walked over, noticing her lack of enthusiasm.
"Not good enough for you, huh?" Yuki teased, sliding into the seat across from her.
YN scrunched up her nose. "I don’t know what it is, but I just can’t eat this."
Without missing a beat, Yuki stood up. "I’ll make you something. What do you want?"
Her eyes brightened. "Yuki, really? You don’t have to!"
He waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, you’re picky. I know that. What do you want? Miso soup? Onigiri?"
YN tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Onigiri sounds perfect."
Within minutes, Yuki was back, placing a plate of freshly made onigiri in front of her. YN took a bite and sighed contentedly. "You're the best, Yuki."
He grinned. "I know."
Exhibit E: The "annoying" prankster
YN was busy trying to make sure her helmet and gear were ready when suddenly, her entire backpack fell off the counter with a loud thud, spilling everything.
"Lando!" she yelled, spinning around, catching the British driver grinning like a mischievous child.
"What?" Lando said, feigning innocence, hands up. "It slipped."
YN gave him a look but couldn’t help the smile creeping on her face. Lando always knew how to lift her spirits, even if it was through relentless pranks.
"One day, Norris, one day!" she warned, pointing a finger at him.
"I’ll be waiting," Lando chuckled, before helping her pick up her things
Exhibit F: The shoulder to cry on
"I just can't believe it. I was so close. How did I manage to bin the car into the wall on the last corner" muttered the 19 year old. Her face pressed in Oscars neck, who was busy stroking her hair. He knew better than to interrupt her during her rant. Knowing it would help her when she got everything of her chest.
After a moment, she shakily breathed out. Oscar knew that the only thing he could do now was to let her fall apart while he would catch every piece of her.
And that's what he did. While she cried her heart out, Oscar held her close to him, rocking them slowly in a soothing matter. It felt like nothing could happen to her in Oscars arms. He would protect her from the outside world as long as she needed
Sometimes actions speak louder than words
Exhabit G: The fashionista
Lewis stood beside YN, eyeing her racing suit critically before smirking. "That’s not gonna work."
"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.
He pointed at her boots. "Those shoes? No way. They don’t match the rest of the suit."
YN raised an eyebrow. "I'm not trying to walk the runway, Lewis. I’m racing."
Lewis rolled his eyes. "You can do both. Come on, let’s get you a new pair of shoes. You’ll thank me later."
And true to his words, YN received a new pair of racing shoes only a few hours later. They certainly looked better than her old pair.
Exhibit H: The mother-hen
George was hovering near the buffet in the paddock, watching YN closely as she piled food onto her plate. He narrowed his eyes as she bypassed the salad section.
"YN, you need to eat more greens. And have you had any water today?" George asked, his tone dangerously close to motherly.
YN groaned. "George, I’m fine. I had water this morning."
"That’s not enough," he replied sternly, filling a glass and handing it to her. "Drink. Now."
She pouted but took the glass. "Okay, Mom."
Exhibit I: The proud dad
During a press conference, Christian Horner stood beside YN, smiling at the reporters. "You all know my daughter here is the star of the show," he said, gesturing towards YN.
YN blushed at the comment. "Christian!"
The reporters laughed, but YN knew Christian wasn’t entirely joking. He had taken her under his wing from day one, treating her like family. And she couldn’t have been more grateful.
Exhibit J: Bwoah
In a rare quiet moment, YN had somehow convinced Kimi Räikkönen — the Iceman himself — to do a TikTok trend with her. As the camera rolled, Kimi deadpanned his way through the trend, barely moving but somehow nailing it.
"Thanks for doing this, Kimi," YN said, grinning as they finished.
Kimi shrugged. "Bwoah, don’t mention it, kid. But don’t tell the other drivers that you are my favourite"
YN laughed. "Deal."
Not the same anymore
Summary: After ending his three-year-long relationship due to his friend’s influence, Lando tries everything to get his lover back.
Note: I’m back!!! The winner of the poll I set up was loud and clear! I hope all of you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! P.s buckle up this one is a long one!
Reader x Lando Norris
Genre: fluff/angst
I had been dating Lando for three years, and our relationship was everything I could have ever hoped for. We met at an event, our eyes locking from across the room. He was so handsome, his smile blinding, and I knew right then that I had to talk to him. Except I was too shy to approach him. At that moment it felt like the universe heard me and made Lando approach me. We talked all evening long and we hit it off instantly.
From that moment on, we were practically inseparable. We spent hours talking and getting to know each other, our bond growing stronger with every conversation. I still remembered vividly how he had made me laugh until my sides hurt, how he listened with genuine interest to every word I said.
I remembered the excitement and anticipation when he asked me out, the butterflies in my stomach when he first held my hand. It felt like a fairy-tale come true, and I knew from that moment on that he was the one for me. We shared so many moments of joy, of happiness, and even the occasional disagreement, but we always worked through them together.
At first, I tried not to worry, thinking it was just a phase, but the changes in him only became more pronounced. He was less responsive to my texts and calls, and he seemed to prioritize spending time with his friends over me. I felt lonely and confused, unsure of what had caused this sudden shift.
Lando invited me to his place, and I was excited. I thought he was doing just the same, planning to spend some quality time together.
However, as soon as we found ourselves alone, Lando's face was serious, and my heart started to pound. I knew something terrible was about to happen.
Lando sat down next to me, his gaze fixed on the floor. There was a long, heavy silence before he finally spoke.
"We need to talk," he said, his voice almost a whisper.My heart dropped. Those words... they were never good.
I sat there, feeling the dread settling in my stomach. I knew whatever was about to come couldn't be good. Lando took a deep breath, but his face remained serious.
"I think... we need to break up."
I felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. Break up? The words hung heavy in the air, and my mind struggled to process them.
"W...what?" I managed to choke out, my voice shaking slightly. "Why, Lando?"
He avoided my gaze, his fingers fidgeting nervously. "It's just... I need to focus on my career right now," he said, his voice robotic, like he was reciting lines. "Being in a relationship is a distraction, and I can't let it interfere with my goals."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He was throwing away our three years together with such ease, as if it meant nothing. I tried to reason with him, to remind him of all the happy memories we had shared.
"We've been together for three years!" I said, my voice rising in volume. "Why is it suddenly a problem now?"
"I need to be 100% focused," Lando insisted, finally meeting my eyes. "It's not just about the amount of time, y/n. It's about the current moment, and right now, my career is my priority." He sounded almost cold, like he was pushing me away.
I felt tears welling up in my eyes, but I fought them back. How could I mean so little to him, that he would discard our relationship so easily?
"What about us, Lando? What about everything we've been through together?" I pleaded, my voice shaky.
He remained stoic, his expression unchanging. "I'm sorry, y/n," he said, his tone lacking emotion. "But my mind is made up."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It felt as though he was a stranger, a shell of the man I had fallen in love with. “You don’t mean any of it! You’re just stressed.”
Lando seemed to snap. "My friends were right," he said, his tone sharp. "This is for the best. Now, I don't need the distraction of a relationship, and I'm better off without you."
His words felt like a stab in the heart, and I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. I wanted to defend myself, to challenge him, but his friends were the last thing I wanted to bring up.
But I couldn't help it. "Your friends?" I shot back. "They're the worst! All they care about is partying, drinking, and living off your money.”
Lando's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "Don't you dare talk about my friends like that," he snapped, his tone filled with resentment. "They're the ones who are always there to support me, unlike some people."
I couldn't hold back anymore, the emotions boiling over. "Unlike some people? Are you kidding me?" I retorted, my voice cracking. "Who was there for you when you were doubting yourself? Who stayed up late with you, listening to your worries, pushing you to keep going? Wasn't it me?"
He looked stung, but he shook his head, trying to uphold his cold facade. "That's not how things work," he said stiffly. "My career is my top priority, and I don't have time for anything else."
I felt my own anger rising to match his. "So, you're telling me three years of love, support, and understanding mean nothing to you? Just throw it all away for the sake of your career?"
Lando stood up, his face tense. "The decision is made. I don't need a distraction right now, and that's what you are. A distraction." His words felt like a slap in the face.
My heart shattered, each word breaking another piece of it. How could he turn our love into nothing more than a mere bother? How could he talk to me like this? But I couldn't let myself break down fully. Not here, not in front of him. I clenched my fists, trying to hold back tears and keep my composure.
"Fine," I said, my voice cold. "If I'm just a distraction, then go ahead. Focus on your oh-so-important career." I crossed my arms, trying to hide how much his words had hurt me.
"And you know what, Lando?" I continued, my voice rising. "Your friends? They're all using you. They're not true friends; they're just there 'cause you're famous and rich."
Lando's face twisted in anger at my words. "How dare you talk about my friends like that?" he sneered, his tone spiteful. "They're the ones who have supported me through everything. They're true friends, unlike you. Maybe that's why I'm better off without you."
My eyes narrowed. He had crossed a line. How dare he? "At least I never used you. I loved you for you, not for your fame or your money," I shot back.
He laughed, a humorless, bitter laugh. "Love? Please. You only liked being with a famous guy. The attention it brought you, the luxury. Let's not pretend this wasn't also about status for you."
I felt my fist clenching so hard it hurt. "You know that's not true," I said through gritted teeth. "I never cared about your fame or money. I loved who you were, or at least who I thought you were."
"Oh, really?" Lando challenged, his tone sharp. "Then why didn't you ever say no to the fancy parties or designer clothes I bought you? Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it."
I felt like my chest was tightening with every one of his accusations. How could he twist things like that, making it seem like I only cared about his money? It was so far from the truth. The minute those words left his mouth I knew it was his friends feeding him these lies about me.
"Those were gifts, Lando," I said, my voice cracking. "I loved them because they came from you, not because they were expensive!"
I didn’t let him speak as I grabbed my bag, my hands shaking with emotion. "Fine. Just don't contact me ever again," I said, my voice cold and void of emotion. "This is over. You’re not the same anymore.”
I walked out of his place, my steps heavy and numb. I didn't look back, afraid of seeing him or breaking down in tears. I just wanted to leave, to get away from his words that echoed in my head, and the painful ache in my heart.
As I stepped outside, the fresh air felt like both a relief and a cold slap in the face. I hailed a taxi, and as I watched the familiar streets pass by, I felt as though my old, happy life had shattered into pieces. I had given him everything, and he had thrown it all away for his stupid career. I would never make that mistake again, I promised myself.
Lando sat in his place alone after she left, the silence of his now-empty home weighing heavily on him. He started thinking about the breakup, feeling a pang of guilt, but quickly pushed it aside, remembering that he had chosen his career over her. It was for the best, he told himself, repeating what his friends had been telling him.
As the hours passed, the guilt started to fade, numbed by the pain and the alcohol he poured himself. He eventually called his friends, and they eagerly agreed to come over, happy to hear he had broken up with his now ex-girlfriend.
They arrived, with smiles on their faces, their eyes glinting with anticipation. "Finally, you get to live a little without that distraction!" one of them said, slapping Lando's back. "We're gonna party hard tonight, man! You deserve it."
Lando felt himself slipping into a numbing haze, the alcohol dulling his emotions and his conscience. He allowed himself to be guided by his friends, their words like sweet poison, promising him that he was better off without me, that he wouldn't miss her. They started planning their night out at a flashy new club, their enthusiasm infectious in Lando's alcohol-doused state.
Lando found himself nodding along, his resistance fading away with each drink. The idea of partying seemed like a good escape, a way to drown out the guilt and the loneliness. He convinced himself that tonight, he would let loose and forget, throwing himself into the nightlife and the company of his so-called friends.
As the night progressed, Lando found himself increasingly affected by the alcohol he had consumed. The world started blurring at the edges, and his thoughts became a jumbled mess. He grabbed his phone, his fingers clumsy as he fumbled with the buttons. After several clumsy taps and misdialed numbers, he finally managed to dial Max's number.
As the call went through, he heard Max Fewtrell answer from the other end. "Lando? What the hell, it's 3 am, are you drunk?"
Lando let out a chuckle, his voice slurred. "Heyyy, Maxxy," he said, his words tripping over themselves. "You sound so grumpy. Come ooon, I need to talk to youeee."
Max sighed, rubbing his eyes, trying to shake the sleep from his voice. "Lando, this better be important. I was trying to sleep, you know." His tone was annoyed, but the concern was evident under the surface.
Lando ignored Max’s tone, his mind swimming with alcohol-induced impulsiveness. "I need to talk, buddy," he said, his words stumbling over each other. "It's about y/n."
Max sat up in his bed, his annoyance fading in the face of Lando's evident distress. He cleared his throat, trying to sound more awake and alert. "Okay, Lando, I'm listening," he said, his voice steady.
Lando took a deep breath, his words slurred. "Max, I messed up, I really messed up," he slurred, his voice cracking. "I broke up with y/n, and man, I feel like crap. I miss her, Max. I miss her, and it... it hurts, Max, it hurts so much." The line of words came out in a jumble, the weight of his emotions too heavy to hide under his inebriated state.
Max let out a sigh, his concern growing with Lando's admission. "Okay, Lando, listen to me. Stay exactly where you are, and for god's sake, don't go anywhere else. Tell me the name of the club, and I'll come get you."
Lando mumbled the name of the club through the phone, his words a bit muffled. "It's... uh, it's called 'The Neon Lights.' It's that new club in town, very fancy. Can't miss the neon lights," he hiccuped.
Max sighed, rubbing his temples. "Alright, Lando. I'm on my way. Just don't do anything stupid. Just stay put and wait for me." Max quickly got dressed, leaving his bed behind for the task ahead.
Max drove as fast as he could, and reached the club soon. He spotted Lando right away. His best friend was sitting outside, next to a homeless man, laughing loudly in his inebriated state.
Max couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Lando's current predicament. He approached them, giving the homeless man a nod in greeting. "Alright, Lando, let's go," Max said, reaching out to grab Lando by the arm to help him onto his feet.
Lando tried to protest, but his words came out as a muddled mess. "No, wait! I was just having a talk with him!" he argued, hiccuping. He tried to pull away from Max, but his balance was too shaky. "He's a cool guy, Max. Look!" Lando gestured at the homeless man, his movements exaggerated.
Max shook his head, trying to keep his composure. "Lando, stop making a fool of yourself. Let's go, you're coming with me." He gently led Lando away, making sure he didn’t stumble and fall.
By now, a few people from the club were giving them odd looks, amused by the sight of an apparently famous driver being a mess outside. Max just focused on guiding Lando away, thankful no one had recognized him. "Come on, buddy," he said softly, his arms holding him steady.
Lando put up minimal resistance, his limbs heavy and uncooperative. He tried to protest but his words only slurred together, making it impossible to understand. His legs felt like jelly, and he let Max guide him to his car, his head spinning from the alcohol.
Once they reached the car, Max opened the passenger door for Lando, gently guiding him into the seat. Lando slumped in with a groan, his eyes flickering. Max secured Lando's seat belt, making sure he was as safe as he could be in his current state.
As they arrived at Lando's apartment, Max helped Lando out of the car, his feet dragging sluggishly. Walking him to his bed was a challenge, as Lando leaned heavily on Max. With effort, they finally made it to the bedroom, where Lando practically flopped onto his bed, groaning as his head spun.
Max was concerned about Lando, still inebriated and vulnerable. He grabbed some medication and water, placing them on the bedside table for when Lando woke up. He covered Lando with a thin blanket, making sure he wouldn't be cold in the night. He left quietly, making a mental note to check on him in the morning, closing the door softly behind him.
Max returned to Lando's place the next morning, his concern for him still lingering. He used the spare key Lando had given him and let himself inside the apartment. There was a noticeable silence, the aftermath of Lando's excessive drinking still hung heavily in the air.
Max was in the kitchen by the time Lando trudged down, looking half dead from the night before. His hair was tousled, his eyes bloodshot, and his face pale. He groaned as he spotted Max standing by the counter, a cup of coffee and a plate of breakfast ready.
Max watched as Lando slumped into a chair, cradling his head in his hands. "What the hell were you thinking, Lando? You were drunk off your ass," Max scolded gently, his voice laced with worry.
Lando winced as he lifted his head, his eyes squint to slits. "I... I don't know. Needed a distraction," he groaned, his voice hoarse. The alcohol had taken its toll, and he felt like death warmed over.
Max sighed, pushing the cup of coffee towards Lando. "There are better ways to distract yourself than getting drunk, Lando. What if the media had found out? You could have jeopardized your entire career."
Max paused, his gaze fixed on Lando’s disheveled state. "So who were you with last night? Who was irresponsible enough to let you drink in such a state, and then leave you alone in that condition?"
Lando rubbed his temples, trying to remember through his foggy memory. "Some friends," he mumbled, avoiding Max's accusing stare.
"You know, just some guys I hang out with sometimes. They were partying, and I... I don't know, I joined in." He paused, trying to compose himself. "Then I got drunk and they... they left."
Max’s eyes narrowed, seeing right through it. "Those friends, right? Are those the ones who always use you, Lando? The ones who take advantage of your fame?" His voice was sharp and filled with frustration, knowing exactly how those 'friends' manipulated Lando.
Max’s tone was hard as he continued, his questions probing deeper. "Did they invite you or did they just drag you along with them? Because I know how they are, Lando. They always take advantage of you. They use you for your money, your fame, and never really care about you."
Lando hesitated, his eyes downcast. He knew Max had a point. "I... they invited me," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "But I went because I wanted to forget. I wanted to forget her." His voice trembled slightly, the pain he felt creeping into his voice.
Max's ears perked up at the mention of y/n. "Is that why you broke up with y/n, then?" Max's tone softened slightly, realizing this was a sore subject.
"Because you wanted to forget her? To distract yourself from the pain?" He saw Lando wince at the mention of her name, and it confirmed his suspicions.
Lando swallowed hard, the pain in his eyes speaking volumes. "I... yes," he whispered. "I thought if I ended things, it would make it easier, but it's only made it worse." His voice shook with regret, the weight of his mistake heavy on his shoulders.
Max probed further, sensing there was more to this. "Were the friends the ones who influenced you to break up with y/n, Lando?" He had a feeling they were involved, knowing their toxic nature.
Lando shifted uncomfortably, not meeting Max's gaze. "They... they encouraged it, yeah," he admitted, his voice quiet, almost ashamed.
"They kept saying she was holding me back, that a relationship would only hinder my career, and I... I let them get into my head."
Max was furious. He had seen how much y/n loved Lando, how much she supported him at every turn, and now he had thrown it all away because of some 'friends' who didn't care about him. "They're the worst, Lando!" His voice rose. "They don't care about you, not like she does. She's been there for you, through everything. And you let them poison you against her?"
Lando closed his eyes, the reality of Max's words piercing through his foggy mind. Max was right. He had let himself be manipulated by his so-called friends, allowing them to turn him against the one person who genuinely cared about him.
"I know," he whispered, his voice choked. "I messed up. I'm an idiot."
Max sighed, his frustration mingling with a sense of compassion.
"You're not an idiot, Lando. But you made a terrible mistake. You let yourself be led astray by the wrong people. Those friends, they're poison. And y/n... she's the one who truly cares for you. You need to fight for her, Lando. Don't let them ruin what you and y/n had."
Lando admitted, his voice filled with regret and defeat. "It's too late, Max. She has blocked me everywhere. She doesn't want anything to do with me." His shoulders slumped, the weight of his mistake heavy on him. "She probably hates me now, and I don't blame her. I hurt her, Max. I don't think she'll ever take me back."
Max, determined to help Lando, decided to take matters into his own hands. He texted y/n, hoping to plead on Lando's behalf, but Max was met with a cold wall - she had blocked him too. Frustration welled up inside, knowing how much of a hole Lando had dug for himself.
"Lando," he said, his tone heavy, "She blocked me too. This is going to be harder than I thought."
Lando flinched as Max confirmed y/n had blocked him too. It felt like the finality of his mistake, like the door to reconciliation was slammed shut, and he had no way to open it.
"I can't blame her," Lando muttered, his eyes downcast. "I messed up so badly. She's got every right to hate me now."
Lando's phone suddenly buzzed with a text from one of his 'friends,' inviting him out again. But before Lando could even react, Max swiped the phone from his hand, angrily blocking them all.
Lando stared at Max, a mix of shock and annoyance on his face. "Dude, what the hell!" he exclaimed, trying to get his phone back.
Max's expression was serious, his tone firm. "Those friends of yours are poison," he stated, holding the phone just out of Lando's reach. "They're the ones who encouraged you to break up with y/n. They're not your real friends, and I'm not letting them influence you further."
Lando tried to reach for his phone again, his eyes blazing with frustration. "Max, please give me my phone. You can't just block them all! Those are my friends!" He sounded desperate, trying to justify something he knew deep down was wrong.
Max stood his ground, shaking his head. "No, Lando. Those friends are the reason we're in this mess right now. They don't have your best interests at heart. They only care about what they can gain from you. You need to see that!" His grip on the phone remained firm, not giving Lando any chance to retrieve it.
Lando, still hungover and angry, tried to make his case. "But... but they're the only ones who are there for me, Max!" Lando argued, desperation lacing his voice. "They're the ones who party with me when I feel down. They're the ones who go out to clubs while y/n stays home. They're just trying to look out for me."
Max's patience wore thin, his anger boiling over. He threw the phone at Lando with a snap, the device landing on the bed next to him. "Fine!" Max sneered, his voice cold. "Figure it out on your own, Lando. Seems you'd rather listen to those so-called friends than hear the truth. See how far they take you."
Lando flinched as Max threw the phone at him, feeling a mix of guilt and stubbornness bubbling inside. Max's words rang true, a painful reminder of the fact that he was defending his toxic friends over the one person who cared. But in his hungover state, he was stubborn, unwilling to admit his friends were the ones pulling him into a toxic pit.
"Fine!" Lando retorted, his voice rising. "I don't need you trying to control my life! And I don't need y/n. I can do whatever I want with my friends!" He grabbed his phone, clutching it tightly, his anger and resentment towards Max growing.
Max stormed out, leaving Lando alone in that moment, his thoughts swirling like a storm. Lando sat in silence, surrounded by the chaos he had created, and the weight of his choices. Max's absence left him with nothing but his own thoughts and the quiet, empty apartment, the reality of his situation setting in.
Days blurred together as I drowned myself in work, my fingers flying over the keyboard, creating numbers and reports that seemed like a lifeline in this sea of heartache. The silence of my apartment was too loud, so I stayed at the office, working until exhaustion took hold.
My best friend grew worried, her concern palpable, but I couldn't bring myself to open up. Who would even want to listen to my sob story, anyway?
I couldn't even bring myself to think about our breakup, the pain still too fresh. Work was my solace, a way to stay one step ahead of the thoughts that threatened to consume me. I tried to focus on the numbers, the deadlines – anything to avoid confronting the reality of my shattered heart.
But as much as I worked, the pain lingered, refusing to fade away. Every now and then, I'd find myself staring off into space, the memories of our time together flooding back. The sound of Lando's laughter, his warm touch, it all came crashing back in waves that threatened to crush me.
Lost in my own world, the sound of my best friend's voice finally broke through the fog of my thoughts. She had been calling my name for the past five minutes, but I hadn't heard a word, too consumed by my own internal battle. I blinked a few times, trying to shake off the daze.
She stood by my cubicle, her expression a mix of worry and concern. "Y/N, are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft. "I've been trying to get your attention for a while now."
I blinked again, trying to shake off the haze and focus on her words. "Yeah, I'm fine," I lied through clenched teeth, forcing a small smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "Just really focused on this project." I tried to sound convincing, but I couldn't meet her gaze.
My best friend gently urged, "Y/N, I'm here for you, whenever you're ready to open up. How about a girls' night out tonight? A chance to take your mind off things? You need a break."
Each word felt like a lifeline. She knew just what I needed, an opportunity to lose myself for a moment without the weight of the breakup suffocating me.
The distraction of a girls' night out sounded tempting. I'd have a chance to let go, to pretend things were fine for a while. "Okay," I softly agreed, a small hint of warmth amidst the pain. "A girls' night sounds great. Let's do it."
As the hours passed, I tried to focus on the preparations, changing into something comfortable after my long day of work. But as I stood in front of the mirror, my mind kept wandering, the memories of Lando and the happier times we shared together. I took a deep breath, locking those thoughts away at the back of my mind, and plastered on a smile.
We met at a nearby bar, the noise and laughter a stark contrast to the silence of my apartment.
My best friend tried to engage me in conversation, steering clear of any topics about relationships or exes. The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and I found myself sipping on my favorite cocktail, letting the alcohol blunt the edges of my pain for just a moment.
As the night progressed, my best friend knew something was still weighing heavily on me. She steered the conversation deeper, her eyes meeting mine in understanding. "Y/N, really, what's going on? I can see something's eating at you."
I sighed, taking another sip. The alcohol had loosened my tongue, and the pain I'd locked away started to slip out.
I hesitated for a moment, then the floodgates opened. The alcohol had loosened my tongue, and with each sip, the words poured out. "Me and Lando broke up," I said, my voice wavering. The pain I'd tried to hide finally came out in the open.
My best friend listened without interruption as I told her everything - the pain, the doubts, the sense of loss. She held my hand, her thumb running across the back of my hand in a comforting gesture, allowing me to release all the emotions I had been holding in.
The pain intensified as I allowed myself to acknowledge it again. "I still miss him," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper, "but I can't go back to him. Not after everything he put me through."
My best friend stayed silent, letting me take the lead, listening without judgment, offering reassurance with her hand, holding mine firmly.
Her words were gentle, yet comforting. "You're strong, Y/N," she said, squeezing my hands. "It hurts, and it's hard, but you'll get through this. I'm here for you every step of the way."
Her words provided solace, reminding me of my own strength, even when I felt like I was crumbling.
She was right; I had gotten through tough times before. This, too, would pass. I tried to hold onto those words, a glimmer of hope in the midst of hurt. I wiped away my tears, taking a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
After hours we decided to call it a night. As my best friend dropped me off at my apartment, the night's diversion ended, and the silence of my apartment fell heavily around me.
The momentary respite from the pain had come to an end, and the reality of being alone set in again. I tried to ignore the loneliness, the emptiness without Lando. Instead, I got ready for bed, trying to find solace in routine.
I reached for my phone in an attempt to distract myself from the memories that kept invading my thoughts. But as I opened it, I was met with a barrage of social media updates about Lando and me - our pictures together, speculation, and the truth I had been trying to escape. The pain hit me all over again as I saw others asking about our breakup, theories swirling around me.
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f1gossippoffical Trouble in Paradise? Fans have suspected that Formula One driver Lando Norris has broken up with his girlfriend Y/N. The pair have unfollowed each other on all platforms and haven't been seen together in months. This suspicion was confirmed after fans saw Lando getting drunk at a club without his partner, living his life. What do you think happened? Follow for more updates!
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loveformywags2 What? Is this confirmed? This can't be right?! 🥲
lalalandlando4 He deserved better anyways 🤷♀️
f1maniaclvr Do y/n and Lando know about this? 🤦♀️
pookielanscar481 It's just odd that he was seen being drunk out of his mind without her
mam4you81 That's what I was thinking... What if she broke up with him and he's drowning himself in alcohol?
nanalalaf14 Honestly I don't think so, I think he dumped her since he had stopped interacting with her on his socials while she still liked and commented on all his posts.
4everf1loca NOOOOO my sheilaaaaa 😭
As I scrolled through the comments, reading the theories about us, a bitter realization hit me. They were only seeing the surface, the façade we had carefully crafted for the public. If only they knew what had really happened, the pain, the reasons behind our breakup.
The comments were full of speculation and curiosity. People thought they knew our love story, but they knew nothing. They didn't see the fights, the lies, the coldness between us. Their theories felt like a slap in the face, mocking the reality of our relationship.
All I knew at this moment was that I should take the time to heal and not let anyone ruin this for me.
Months had passed since the breakup, and I had finally made significant progress in my healing journey. Though the memory of Lando and our heartbreak still lingered, I had come a long way. I had focused on myself, investing time in hobbies, spending quality time with my friends, and allowing myself to heal.
I had established boundaries, avoiding social media and news about Lando that would reopen the wounds. I started a new project at work, pouring my energy into something productive. Slowly, I felt like I was rebuilding myself.
Right now, I was sat with my best friend, enjoying lunch together. My phone buzzed with a notification from an old group chat I had almost forgotten about. It was the group chat I used to be part of, with Kika and Alex.
When I opened it, I was greeted with a flood of messages, the group hasn't been active ever since my break up. So I was curious to see what this was all about.
My best friend, curious, noticed the notification that I had checked my phone. She gave me a questioning look, asking, "What was that about?"
"It's an old group chat from two of my WAG friends," I explained. "They want to catch up during the next GP."
My best friend raised her eyebrow, visibly curious. "And are you going to go?" she asked, her voice gentle but eager to know.
"At first, I didn't really want to go because of... well, Lando being there," I admitted, a mixture of hesitation and bravery in my voice. "But then I thought why should I let him dictate what I do? I shouldn't be scared of him, right?"
I paused, my determination showing through. "So, yes, I agreed to go."
My best friend's face lit up with happiness as she heard my decision. "I'm so proud of you!" she said, her pride shining through. "You're not letting him hold you back or influence you anymore. That's such a huge step forward, and you should be proud of yourself."
For a moment, seeing my best friend's proud expression filled me with a surge of bravery. She was right; I wasn't letting Lando affect my decisions anymore. I was taking control of my life again, one choice at a time.
As I laughed with my best friend, the weight of Lando gradually faded into the background. We continued talking, laughing, and enjoying our lunch together. Lando's name didn't come up in conversation. For now, he was just a distant thought, overshadowed by the joys of friendship and healing.
Lando stood in the McLaren garage during the Silverstone GP, his entourage of fake friends surrounding him in his papaya-colored driver overalls. They joked, laughed, and offered their hollow support, all while he got ready for the race.
Amidst the laughter, Lando's thoughts turned to y/n. He missed her, the void she had left in his life was still present, gnawing at him. He had tried to reach out, creating new accounts, but he found himself blocked at every turn, silence his only reply. It was as if the universe itself was holding back any chance of them reconnecting, driving home his deepest fears and regrets.
Lando snapped out of his pensive state, focusing his mind back on the race ahead. He had a job to do, after all. With a firm tone, he told his friends to stay put, to relax and enjoy the race while he got ready. His determination was evident, a momentary distraction from his heart's constant ache.
Lando quickly realised that he had forgotten his phone. As he retraced his steps to retrieve his phone, he heard muffled voices from within his driver's room. Curious, he stopped before he entered, straining to hear the conversation inside.
Michael chuckled, his voice dripping with amusement. "Can you believe Lando was so stupid to break up with her?" Sam agreed wholeheartedly, a sneer on his face. "She was perfect for him, a distraction holding him back from his true potential."
Jake snorted. "Yeah, she was a total inconvenience, always nagging and taking up his time and money. Good riddance, I say."
They shared a cruel laugh, satisfied with their opinions. The conversation between Lando's fake friends revealed their true intentions - to have Lando's undivided attention, away from someone who truly cared about him.
They continued their conversation, mocking y/n's influence on Lando. Michael spoke with a mischievous grin. "It was a piece of cake convincing him. He ate up everything we said like a fool."
John snorted in agreement. "Yeah, we made sure he saw her as a hindrance. Now we have him all to ourselves, no competition."
James interjected, a cruel glint in his eyes. "We convinced him she was holding him back, that he needed to focus on his racing. We even convinced him she was just after his money. Classic play."
They chuckled, pleased with the web of lies they had spun. Michael added, "He doesn't even know what's good for him. We'll keep him under our control, keeping his attention and his wealth all to ourselves. He's too naive to see through us."
Sam, the schemer, couldn't contain his glee. "This has been the easiest con ever. Lando's so trusting, so foolish. We just have to keep filling his head with our lies, and he'll do whatever we want."
Lando, his heart heavy with the revelations, stormed back into the room, anger seeping through his every feature. His fists clenched, his eyes darkened in fury. He couldn't believe how easily he had been manipulated, how blind he had been to the deceit around him.
"How could I be so stupid?" he bellowed, staring down the group.
The group of fake friends froze, their faces stunned. They stared at Lando, wide-eyed, their laughter abruptly silenced. They hadn't expected Lando to return so soon, or to have overheard their malicious conversation.
Lando's voice trembled with a mix of fury and pain. "I can't believe I let you manipulate me like this!" His eyes burned with a potent blend of anger and regret. He stepped closer, his voice filled with a mixture of disgust and hurt. "You were behind all of this, convincing me to break up with her, making me think she was holding me back."
The friends, caught off guard, tried to scramble for excuses. But Lando's words cut through their attempts to justify themselves. Michael spoke up, his voice trembling, "We... we were just looking out for you, Lando. We thought she was holding you back. We wanted what's best for your career, that's all."
Sam chimed in, trying to appease Lando. "We were trying to help you, Lando. We saw how she was distracting you, taking up your time and money. You need to focus on your racing. You're our golden goose!" He forced a fake chuckle, hoping Lando would buy into the manipulation again.
Lando clenched his fists, his body trembling with fury. "You didn't care about what's best for me. All you cared about was having me all to yourselves, using me for my fame and money. You manipulated me, turning me against the one person who loved me truly."
Jake tried to interject, his voice oozing with false concern. "Lando, we did care about you. We just wanted to protect you from a bad influence. We didn't want you to be taken advantage of." He attempted a manipulative smile, trying to deflect the blame onto me.
Lando's voice rose in intensity, his anger boiling over. "Don't you Dare talk about her like that! She was the only one who genuinely cared about me, not you. You're just jealous because she didn't let you use me like you do. You're nothing but a bunch of leeches!"
Michael, emboldened by Lando's anger, smirked, his words sharp. "Don't you dare blame us. This is on you, Lando. You were the one who was too stupid to see through our facade. Now you've lost her because of your own damn foolishness, not our fault in the slightest."
Lando, seething with a mix of hurt and anger, quickly called the security guards. With a firm voice, he instructed, "Get these snakes out of here now!"
The security guards, recognizing the tone of a man pushed to his limit, swiftly entered, escorting the fake friends out of the garage. Lando stood there, watching them leave, a bitter taste in his mouth.
As the fake friends were forcefully escorted out, Lando was left alone in the garage, the weight of his emotions crashing down on him. The pain, the regret, the anger—it all slammed into him, finally giving way to the torrent he had held back for so long.
He slumped against a wall, his body trembling with the force of his emotions. Tears prickled in his eyes, his breath coming in ragged breaths.
As Lando sat there, the regret gnawed at him, growing sharper by the second. He thought about y/n, the love he had lost. The memories of their time together flooded his mind, and he berated himself for throwing it away. He blamed himself for listening to the friends who had manipulated him.
He thought about the love they shared, how he had let it slip through his fingers, shattered by his own foolishness and vulnerability to their lies.
Lando, still in a vulnerable state, decided to reach out to Max, despite their rocky past. He thought about the clubs and the disagreements they had had, but he had no one else to turn to now. With a mix of regret and desperation, he dialed Max's number.
Max picked up the phone, immediately sensing the desperation in Lando's voice. As Lando poured out his emotions and apologies, Max listened, his tone softening.
Lando confessed, his voice cracking, "I should have listened to you, Max. You were right about them, all along. I was a fool to listen to their lies and ignore you."
Max, surprised but relieved, replied, "I'm glad you realize now, Lando. Those friends were toxic. They used you, and I tried to protect you, but I understood, now." Max's words were sympathetic, understanding Lando's turmoil, even though they had their differences.
Lando confessed, his voice trembling with a mix of regret and desperation. "Max, I miss her, I miss y/n so much. I'll do anything to get her back, anything at all. It's the biggest mistake I've ever made."
Max fell silent, his concern deepening. He didn't know the extent of Lando's mistreatment of her.
The mention of y/n stirred worry in Max. He gently asked, "Lando, you know I didn't want you to break up with her. But why do you think you mistreated her? Can you tell me about that?" Max's tone was cautious, sensing that there was more to the story than he knew.
Lando hesitated, knowing he had a lot to unpack. Max's curiosity fueled a mix of fear and guilt inside Lando. He knew he had to come clean, even though it was painful to admit.
Taking a deep breath, Lando began to confess, his voice shaky. "I... I treated her badly, Max. I hurt her, ignored her, and took her for granted."
Max couldn't help but wince, knowing there was a deeper issue.
Lando's voice cracked with remorse. "They fed me lies about her. They convinced me that she was holding me back, that she wasn't good enough. I believed them, and I treated her poorly."
Max, as supportive as possible, tried to provide words of encouragement. "Lando, that's rough. You've made mistakes, but the first step is admitting it. You know you messed up; now it's about making amends."
He sighed, "Lando, remember that true love isn't about perfection. It's about growing together, learning from mistakes, and valuing someone despite their flaws."
He paused, his voice serious. "But you've got to show her you mean it. Words are easy, but actions will be your proof. Are you ready to do that?"
Lando, though shaken and determined, nodded, his voice firm. "Yes, Max. I'm ready. I want to prove it to her. I'll show her I've changed and that I'm serious about making amends."
Max and Lando continued talking, their conversation growing shorter as Lando had to prepare for the race. As they bid each other goodbye, Max reminded Lando, "Stay focused during the race. Clear your mind; that's important, too."
Lando, though his mind was heavy with emotion, took Max's words to heart. He knew he had to compartmentalize his feelings for now and focus on the race ahead. He focused on the tracks, his car, and his performance, pushing aside his turbulent emotions for the moment.
I stepped into the grand prix feeling a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. The grandstands, the roaring fans, and the smell of rubber and fuel in the air brought back a whirl of emotions. Seeing the tracks where Lando and I used to share moments filled me with nostalgia and a pang of heartache.
My thought were interrupted by two voices. Kika and Alex, my two closest friends, ambushed me with warm hugs, pulling me into their embrace. Their cheerful voices cut through the noise of the Grand Prix, and I felt a mix of relief and joy. It had been a while since we had been together.
"Y/N! You made it!" Kika exclaimed. "We've missed you so much!"
Alex chimed in, grinning widely. "We've been dying to hang out with you! It's been ages." She playfully pinched my cheek. "You look great, by the way."
"Oh, stop it! I didn't do anything special. You two, on the other hand, are the real stars here. Look at you!" I playfully nudged them both, my tone teasing and lighthearted.
Kika and Alex beamed, clearly enjoying the compliment. "Alright, alright, enough with the flattery," Alex said, feigning exhaustion. "We're here to have a blast. You ready for this?"
I sighed one more time while looking around before replying. "More then ready."
We made our way to our favorite hangout spot at hospitality. It was cozy, far from the chaos of the track. As we settled in, surrounded by comfortable couches and tables, a mix of nostalgia and anticipation washed over us.
"I've missed this place," Kika said, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "So many memories, right?"
We spent hours catching up, sharing stories, laughter, and heartfelt moments. The conversation flowed easily between us, like old times. Laughter echoed in the cozy space of the hospitality center, and our spirits were lifted. Time seemed to slip away as we bonded and supported one another. Eventually, the time came for Kika and Alex to head back out; their respective significant others were getting ready for their races.
Kika and Alex rose from their seats, their faces slightly apologetic. "We have to go," Kika sighed.
Alex nodded, adding, "Come find us later, okay?"
I gave them both a nod, understanding their commitment to support their boyfriends. "Of course, we'll catch up after the races. Good luck to them!"
Kika and Alex shared one last embrace, their hugs warm and reassuring, then they left to get to their respective spots by the trackside.
As they left, I was left to navigate the grandstands, finding my spot amidst the sea of fans. I blended into the crowd, the anticipation in the air as the racers prepared for their engines to start.
The race concluded, but it felt bittersweet. Lando's face was everywhere - on the screens, the winners' podium, the trackside banners. Seeing him in his natural element, celebrating victories, stirred mixed emotions in me. The pain of missing him and the hope of reconciliation blended together in a complicated mix.
After a bit, I decided that I needed to use the restroom so I headed that way. I made my way to the private VIP restrooms, my VIP pass granting me access. The restroom was clean and spacious, offering a respite from the noise outside. I checked my reflection in the mirror, taking a moment to compose myself.
As I exited the restroom, I was lost in my thoughts, only to bump into someone in the hall. I froze, instantly recognizing Lando's familiar voice. His figure stood in front of me, and I felt my heart skip a beat. His gaze met mine, and time seemed to stand still.
Lando called out for me, his voice filled with surprise, "y/n." His eyes held a mix of shock and tenderness, his voice holding a hint of the emotions he was trying to keep at bay.
As the words hung in the air between us, my heart raced. His presence was so close, the warmth of his voice sending a shiver down my spine.
I got out of my stance, trying to leave, I tried to walk past him, but Lando blocked my path, stopping me in my tracks. I felt a wave of emotions crash over me - pain, anger, hope, and a deep longing all mingled together. The intensity of it was overwhelming, and I tried to suppress it.
Lando's voice was hesitant and filled with vulnerability. "Y/N, please…can we talk? Just for a moment."
His request was sincere, his eyes pleading with me not to walk away.
I shook my head, my resolve firm. "No, Lando. I can't and I don't want to." I replied, my voice resolute. The pain from our breakup was still too fresh, and talking to him now would reopen wounds I wasn't ready to confront. I tried to move past him, my expression set with determination.
Lando's face fell, a mix of hurt and resignation evident. He saw my determination, my refusal to engage. He took a step closer, his words soft but desperate, "Please... just hear me out."
My frustrations boiled over. "Don't you think it's ironic? Now you want me to hear you out, when you never listened to me when you decided to end things," I retorted, my voice filled with a mix of anger and sadness.
Lando winced at my words, the truth of them hitting him hard. "I know... I made a mistake," he said, his voice tinged with regret. He was trying to find the right words, his eyes pleading with me to give him a chance.
Lando's expression twisted, the guilt evident on his face as he processed my response. The words cut deep, the truth behind them undeniable.
"A mistake?" I repeated, my voice dripping with bitterness. "You ruined me."
I continued, my words raw.
"I spent months wondering what was wrong with me, why you ended a relationship of three years for a fake friendship that didn't even last a year. Where are those 'friends' who supposedly supported you through everything? I don't see them here, Lando."
Lando looked down, ashamed. He had no answer. His fake friends were nowhere to be found, leaving him alone to confront the consequences of his actions. The weight of his mistake seemed to grow heavier.
He finally managed to gather his thoughts, his voice a mix of guilt and sincerity. "I messed up. I don't expect you to forgive me right now. But please, let me explain." He took a step closer, his regret etched on his face, silently begging for my understanding.
I raised an eyebrow, my words sharp. "Explain? What's left to explain? You threw away three years of us for a group of shallow friendships. What could you possibly say to make this better?"
Lando knew my words hurt, but he was desperate. "I was blind. I was a damn coward," he confessed. "I allowed myself to be manipulated by my so- called friends, and in the process, I hurt you."
He continued, his voice tinged with regret and shame, "I saw them as my real friends, but now I realize they only saw me as a way to elevate their social status." He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "They saw you as a threat, someone who could expose their true intentions. They convinced me you were holding me back, when in reality, they had me blinded."
His voice trembled as he continued, "I let myself believe their lies. They filled my head with jealousy, making me doubt our relationship, and I was stupid enough to listen to them." His vulnerability shone through, his emotions raw.
I nodded, my expression guarded. "I'm glad you've recognized your mistakes, Lando. But can you imagine the pain I've experienced because of them, because of you?"
My words conveyed a mix of grief and resentment. The hurt I suffered remained a palpable presence, a constant reminder of the pain he had caused.
Lando nodded, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He knew he couldn't take back what he had done. The time he spent believing those fake friends and ending our relationship had shattered something that couldn't easily be repaired. He understood the depth of my suffering, a consequence of his blind trust and foolishness.
Lando looked at me, his expression sincere, and asked if we could try again. He voiced his regret, hoping for a chance to make things right. The hope in his eyes was clear, but the weight of the past lingered between us. He wanted to rebuild, to fix what he had broken.
He pleaded with me, his voice filled with remorse. "I know I don't deserve a second chance, but I want us to try again. I want to prove to you that I've changed, that I won't let those fake friends influence me anymore. I'll do whatever it takes."
I shook my head, my voice resolute. "No, Lando. I'm still healing, and right now, I don't want to try again. I need time, space. I can't just forgive and forget in a snap."
My words were firm, expressing my current inability to jump back into a relationship after everything I had been through.
Lando, his voice filled with sincerity, looked into my eyes. His gaze conveyed the depth of his regret and determination. "I understand," he said. "I will wait for you, for ten years or more," he promised. "I'll be here when you're ready, no matter how long it takes."
As we concluded the conversation, Lando stood there, his heart heavy with the weight of our future hanging in the balance. He watched me leave, a mix of emotions coursing through him: regret, hope, and an ache of longing. He had to accept that he couldn't rush our healing process, no matter how much he desired to be by my side.
I walked away, my eyes misty, the past and the uncertainty of our future intertwining in my thoughts.
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f1gossippoffical Months after their break-up, Lando Norris and Y/N have been spotted after the Silverstone GP. Sources state that the ex-couple were arguing, what the argument was about is still a big question. Many suspected it was because of a third party being involved. Thoughts about this one?
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lazyformulaland Bro leave them alone, they're both adults. Let them solve this in peace ffs. 🙄
lvr4lan Noooo Lando honey this isn't you run!
wagslov4 Did he pick you yet ? 🙄
bbpiastri81 What the hell is going on
norriswithrizz4 This is insane, the main focus of formula one isn't even on formula one anymore smh 🤦♀️
4everyours4ln Y'all are too invested, leave my girl y/n alone.
momolew16 Forreal the girl didn't ask for this
closetofpeacefashion7 Exactly she was finally thriving and then this happend. It doesn't even look like she wanted to talk to him
mayyoushush8 Did she tell you that 🤨
closetofpeacefashion7 @mayyoushush8 Don't be stupid even a kid can see that 🥱
I decided to head back home, not forgetting to shoot Alex and Kika a quick message which they completely understood.
As I reached home, the weight of the evening's emotions crashed down on me. The conversation with Lando had stirred up all the hurt and confusion I had been suppressing. I felt emotionally exhausted and overwhelmed, unsure of what to make of it all.
The silence of my home only amplified my inner turmoil, leaving me to wrestle with my conflicted feelings.
A few days passed after the incident, I decided to move on with life and not let it bother me again. A perfect distraction? Drowning myself in my workload.
I arrived at work as I stepped inside the building, I was greeted by Linda, one of my co-workers.
Linda, approached me with a mischievous grin, her question catching me off guard. "Do you have a secret admirer, by any chance?" she asked, the curiosity palpable in her voice.
I stared at her, confused by her question, wondering why she would draw such a conclusion. I shook my head, puzzled by the idea. "What makes you think that?" I replied, raising an eyebrow.
Linda chuckled, her eyes sparkling with a hint of intrigue. She replied, "Have a look in your office."
Puzzled by her cryptic hint, I made my way to the elevator and reached my office. As I stepped inside, confusion lingered in my mind, wondering what I was about to find.
My eyes widened with shock and surprise as I entered the office, finding a massive bouquet of my favorite flowers. The delicate blooms filled the space with a sweet, comforting fragrance. Attached to the flowers was a note, mysterious and intriguing. My heart fluttered with anticipation as I reached for the note.
My fingers traced the delicate paper of the note, and as I read the words, they stirred a whirlwind of emotions. The poem was written in delicate script, the words flowing like music... and it was about love. Each line spoke of tenderness, trust, and a future filled with hope. The words were so beautiful, it was as if they were carefully chosen specifically for me.
The little poem, written with a tender brush of affection, read:
"From the morning dew to the evening's glow, My love for you continues to grow. Through shadows and light, in every season's rain, Our bond remains, a gentle refrain.
In whispers of joy and moments of peace, I hold you close within my heart's embrace. Each smile shared, each memory we weave, My love will remain a boundless pledge."
I was so confused, who could've been behind this? As I read the poem again, my mind wandered to Lando for a moment. I quickly dismissed that Idea. He had confessed that he couldn't write romantic words, finding them cringeworthy.
If it wasn't Lando, then who would have written such a poem?
As the day wrapped up, I found myself heading home, my mind still lingering on the mysterious poem. Entering my home, I sank onto the couch, exhaustion seeping through my bones. The softness of the cushions welcomed me as my thoughts played through my mind, trying to unravel the mystery.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sudden ring of the doorbell that echoed through my home. It was late in the evening, and I couldn't guess who might be at the door at such a time. With some curiosity and a hint of wariness, I got up to answer.
I went over to the door to open it and I was met with a delivery man. The delivery man handed me a massive bouquet of fresh flowers and a large box of chocolates. The fragrance from the flowers mingled with the scent of chocolate. The combination was almost overwhelming, leaving me baffled as I accepted the gifts.
Now I was even more confused, this bouquet was even bigger than the one from my office. And the weird thing was, that the chocolates I got were only my favorites.
I examined the box of chocolates, finding another note attached to the top. Carefully, I opened the wrapper, retrieving the note. Just like the previous one, it was written on delicate paper, filled with intrigue. I unfolded it, ready to read the message.
As I unfolded the paper, I was met with neat, elegant handwriting. The words held a romantic touch, and I felt a mix of anticipation and curiosity. The second poem spoke of tender love and adoration.
"Your presence brings light to every room, A symphony of grace in each simple bloom. Though we may walk separate paths in life, My heart's allegiance is a ceaseless strife."
I sat there, taken aback by the heartfelt words. They spoke of admiration and deep affection. Who could have written these beautiful poems and left them for me? The confusion deepened, and I pondered who could be behind the mysterious gestures.
Plagued by curiosity, I reached for my phone and called my best friend, hoping for answers. As the call rang, I prepared myself for a wave of questions, expecting her to know something.
My best friend's cheerful voice filled the call, answering instantly. "Hello?" She sounded cheerful as ever, not knowing the mystery I was about to unload on her.
I cut straight to the point, my tone slightly urgent. "Hey, I have a question. So, I've been receiving anonymous flowers, chocolates, and... poems." I paused a moment. "Any idea who it could be?" I asked, hoping for some insight.
She was silent for a moment, her surprise apparent. But then her voice brightened, and I could tell she had a theory. "Oooh, a mystery admirer?" she asked, half-joking, half-curious.
I sighed, rolling my eyes playfully. "Well, yes. It is somewhat mysterious." I replied, unable to hide the hint of unease in my voice amidst the flowers and chocolates surrounding me.
We delved into the mystery, discussing possibilities. From past crushes to unknown admirers, we contemplated various scenarios. But no concrete conclusion surfaced, leaving me even more intrigued and slightly frustrated.
That was until my best friend's insight sparked a new perspective. She pointed out that the mystery admirer seemed to know me well. They knew my workplace, my love for romantic poems, and even my favorite chocolates and flowers. It wasn't just a coincidence; they seemed to have a grasp on my habits. The timing of the delivery was eerily precise, appearing just when I arrived home.
My best friend continued, her voice filled with speculation. "It's not just the flowers and chocolates, it's the timing. They know your work schedule. It's almost like they're watching, waiting for the right moment."
I agreed, thoughtfully absorbing. "Yeah, that's been bothering me. The timing is too perfect. They either know my schedule or they're stalking me." I chuckled, trying to soften the situation with humor.
"Wait!" My best friend suddenly interrupted, a speculative glint in her eyes. "Could it have been Lando?"
The name hung heavily in the air, bringing our conversation to a halt.
I shook my head, quickly dismissing the idea. "No, probably not. Lando doesn't enjoy writing, especially not romantic poems. He always told me he found them cringe."
My bestie nodded, acknowledging my response. "Ah, right. He's not exactly the poetic type, is he?"
I grinned slightly, remembering Lando's disdain for poetic words. "Nope, definitely not. He'd rather punch a wall than write a poem." I joked, the idea of Lando writing a poem seeming far-fetched, even for a moment.
After a while of thinking and cracking our brains open, we ended the conversation, deciding to table the mystery for the moment. We said our goodbyes and hung up the phone, my mind still swirling with questions. I prepared for the night, the flowers and chocolates lingering in the background, their presence a reminder of the mysterious admirer.
Several months passed, and the mysterious gifts persisted, each one more thoughtful and personal. The flowers continued arriving, alongside a new addition - small, handmade tokens. Notes slipped into the bouquet containing thoughtful messages, while a box of my favorite chocolates came with a heartfelt poem.
I sought information, asking friends and family if they knew anything. They were taken by surprise and genuinely had no idea who was behind the surprises. The mystery deepend as everyone denied any involvement.
The mystery escalated. Along with the physical gifts, I discovered a surprise on my phone. Text messages arrived with miniature poems, each one carefully crafted and sweet. The sender's number remained undisclosed, leaving me baffled about the identity.
The mystery escalated. Along with the physical gifts, I discovered a surprise on my phone. Text messages arrived with miniature poems, each one carefully crafted and sweet. The sender's number remained undisclosed, leaving me baffled about the identity.
The messages, delivered alongside the tangible gifts, carried messages that resonated with my emotions and experiences. It felt almost as if this person truly knew me, yet remained hidden behind the anonymity of their identity.
It was that time again - our annual girls' night out. We always looked forward to these nights, a chance to let loose and have a blast in a vibrant club. I had my best friend beside me, ready to dance the night away. The only problem? My best friend chose a club that Lando used to go to every time. She reassured me that he wouldn't be here which I took her word for.
We strutted into the club, excitement filling the air. Music pulsed through the venue, the bass matching the rhythm of our hearts. The lights dazzled the dance floor, and we blended into the crowd, the worries of the day fading in the throes of the nightlife. We decided to hit the dance floor, letting go of any inhibitions as we lost ourselves in the music.
We danced with abandon, the beat pulsating through us, the rhythmic movements our shared language. The neon lights flashed, adding an electric charge to the atmosphere. As we danced and whirled, we felt liberated from the daily grind, living in the moment, lost in the music and the company of my best friend.
Later that night we both got thirsty, I made my way to the bar to get us drinks, when suddenly a man approached me. I could already smell the alcohol on him as he staggered towards me, a lopsided smile plastered on his face.
He smirked, his words coming out in a clumsy manner. "Hey there, pretty lady," he slurred, his tone oozing with an unwanted familiarity. He invaded my personal space, leaning in a bit too close for comfort.
I could feel the warmth of his breath, tainted with alcohol, against my cheek as he spoke. "What's a beautiful girl like you doing here alone?" He tried to flirt, his persistence evident even amidst his intoxication.
I tried to maintain a polite smile, stepping back slightly. "I'm here with a friend," I replied, my voice a mix of politeness and discomfort. I glanced at the bartender, silently praying for my order to arrive sooner so I could escape this uncomfortable interaction.
He chuckled, his intoxication making him clumsy yet bold. "Oh, come on. A pretty girl like you shouldn't be tied down to just one friend. You should let loose and have fun," he insisted, his words filled with a suggestive undertone.
I tried to end the conversation, giving him a firm but polite dismissal. "Thanks, but I'm good," I said, my tone leaving no room for further conversation. I discreetly inched closer to the bar, hoping he would get the hint and leave me alone.
Instead of taking the hint, he persisted. "Oh, come on. Don't be a party pooper. One drink won't hurt," he insisted, his words slurring even more. He took another step closer, trying to close the gap between us.
I felt a mix of discomfort and annoyance as his persistence continued. The smell of alcohol was overwhelming, leaving a cloying odor on the air. I tried to maintain my composure, not wanting to cause a scene but also wanting him to back off.
He took another step closer, his gaze lingering on me. I could see the effects of the alcohol on him - the unsteady steps, the glazed look in his eyes, the clumsy attempts at charm. He reached out, attempting to touch my arm, his gesture too familiar and unwelcome.
The guy got annoyed when I backed away. He reached out, his hand grabbing my arm with a firm grip, trying to pull me back. I felt a jolt of fear as he attempted to drag me.
His hold tightened, his voice a mix of frustration and insistence. "Come on, don't you know how to have fun? Just one drink, a little chat." He tugged at me, his alcohol-fueled stubbornness evident.
I felt a mix of panic and defiance. "Let me go, you sick prick!" I exclaimed, my voice strained. I glanced around, hoping for someone to intervene, but every face seemed lost in their own world, oblivious or uncaring about the situation. The loud music blared, making it seem as if no one could hear my cries for help.
The guy gripped my arm tighter, his eyes filled with a mix of drunken determination. He leaned in closer, his face twisted with frustration. "Why are you making this so difficult? Just one drink, come on."
He forced me into an empty, private room, his grip on my arm still strong, leaving me with a sense of dread. The music was a distant throb outside, leaving me more isolated in this unsettling scenario.
His grip faltered as someone unexpectedly appeared, a figure entering the room with a decisive move. Before the guy could even think of pulling me fully into the room, someone intervened, delivering a well-aimed punch to his gut. The guy groaned, doubled over in pain as he released his grip on me.
The guy fell to his knees, clutching his stomach as the force of the blow rippled through him. Confusion, pain, and shock replaced the smugness from before. I could only watch, relief washing over me as I realized I wasn't alone anymore.
The drunk guy, overwhelmed by the combination of alcohol and the punch, scrambled to his feet before stumbling out of the room, whimpering in pain. The sudden exit left me alone with the mysterious person who had stepped in to save me.
Lando rushed towards me, concern etched on his face. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" he asked, his voice filled with emotion. The warm green in his eyes held a mix of worry and relief that I was alright.
He reached for my arm where the drunk guy had grabbed me before, inspecting the area to check if I was hurt. I could feel the tenderness as he gently ran his fingers over the spot, ensuring I was unharmed. Lando then gazed at my face, studying it for any signs of distress.
I gently pulled my hand away, forcing a small smile to reassure him. "I'm okay," I insisted, my voice steady but guarded. His concern was palpable, and I could see the relief in his eyes as he saw that I was not physically harmed.
Lando seemed desperate, unwilling to let me leave just yet. He reached for my arm again, his grasp gentle but firm. "Please, just hear me out," he pleaded, his voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and hope.
My response came sharp, biting. "Why would I? You didn't try to reach out, didn't try to find me, or even show an ounce of concern until now," I shot back, my words laced with bitterness and resentment.
Lando's response came with a mix of frustration and hidden emotion. "I haven't tried? Since our last talk, I've done everything I could to win you back," he retorted, his words carrying a hint of vulnerability. "Who do you think sent you all those gifts? Who else would know your work schedule, your favorite foods, your love for poems? I know I said I hated them, but for you, I embraced them."
His words were layered with hurt and a desire for reconciliation. Lando finally confessed, "It was me, all along. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you forever, so I hoped my gestures would speak for me." The pain in his face was evident, his eyes pleading for understanding.
I stammered at his words, a mixture of surprise and confusion overwhelming me. Never in my entire life I would've thought Lando would do all of this for me. My mind raced as I tried to comprehend the lengths he had gone to reach me.
My voice trembled as I spoke, "So... you were behind those text messages as well? How...? But I blocked all your accounts, even the new ones. How did you manage to send me messages?"
Lando hesitated for a moment, his eyes fixed on mine as he confessed. "I bought a new phone with a different SIM card... just so I could message you." His answer hung in the air, the weight of his dedication palpable in the quiet space of the room.
He continued, his voice earnest, "I couldn't bear the silence between us, the distance. Even if you blocked me everywhere, I had to find a way to reach you, to express how I felt." The depth of his yearning and determination to keep the connection alive was evident in each word.
I remained silent, overwhelmed by his confession. Lando had gone to great lengths just to communicate with me, buying a new phone and SIM card, defying my attempts to cut off contact. The depth of his dedication was both touching and overwhelming. I couldn't deny the mix of emotions swirling within me.
Lando stood there, his eyes searching mine, desperate for a glimmer of hope. The air hung heavy with anticipation as he awaited my reaction, his vulnerability on full display, his heart on his sleeve.
I grappled for a response, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. "I... I'm still processing this," I managed to utter, my voice filled with a mix of hurt and confusion. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? Why let me think you didn't care?" I blurted out, a hint of betrayal seeping into my voice.
Lando's eyes filled with remorse, his shoulders slouching slightly. "I was afraid," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Afraid of being rejected, scared that you would push me away if I tried to talk to you and most importantly scared you would've moved on. I thought sending those gifts and messages would be a way to reach out without directly risking rejection."
I stared at him, taken aback by his honesty. His confession laid bare his fears and insecurities, exposing the vulnerability beneath his usually composed facade. But my hurt remained, the sting of his silence lingering.
I couldn't hide my feelings, and I let my resentment spill out. "But you let me suffer!" I cried out, the pain pouring out in my words. "I thought you didn't care, that you moved on, while I was here, hurting over our broken relationship."
Lando's face contorted with pain at my outburst, his shoulders sinking lower. He took a step forward, bridging the gap between us. "I know, I know," he pleaded, his voice filled with regret. "I was a coward. I let fear dictate my choices, and I hurt you in the process. I'm sorry."
I wanted to believe him, to fall into the comfort of his apology and the sweet gestures he had made, but the wounds of the past remained. The memories of his silence, his refusal to communicate, and the pain I endured still weighed heavily on my heart.
Lando saw the hesitance in my eyes, noticed the barrier I had put up. His expression pleaded with me, a mixture of sorrow and yearning. I could tell he wanted me to forgive him, to let him back in.
"Lando, I'm so conflicted," I confessed, my voice cracking. The wounds of the past still fresh, I couldn't let go easily. "How can I trust that you won't hurt me again? I've suffered so much because of you, how can I be sure you won't do something like this again?" I asked, hoping for an answer that would quell my doubts. The pain was still too raw to simply forgive and forget.
Lando's eyes filled with remorse, his face a mask of sorrow and guilt. He knew he had caused me pain and had no right to expect forgiveness so easily. He stepped closer, the gap between us becoming smaller. With a gentle voice, he spoke. "I don't ask for you to trust me instantly," he said, his voice tinged with sincerity. "I want to prove to you that I've changed, that I won't make the same mistakes again. Please, just give me a chance to show you."
I held his gaze, my eyes pleading for understanding. "I need some time," I implored, my voice shaky. "I can't just forget overnight. Give me the space to process everything, to heal." The emotions coursing through me were overwhelming, and I needed time to make sense of the rollercoaster of events.
Lando's response was gentle and resolute. "I will wait for you. Remember, even if it takes ten years," he said, his voice filled with sincerity and a hint of vulnerability. "I'll be here when you're ready, no matter how long it takes."
I looked back at Lando, his pleading eyes yearning for a reprieve. With a heavy heart, I whispered, "Goodbye," and reluctantly turned away. The music and lights faded as I weaved through the crowd, searching for my best friend who had remained oblivious to the emotional storm that had just unfolded between Lando and me.
I found my best friend in the crowd, her smile lighting up upon seeing me. However, her smile quickly faded as she saw the tears streaming down my face. Without a word, she stood up, concern etched on her face.
She wrapped an arm around my shoulders, gently guiding me towards the exit. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice filled with understanding. "Let's go home."
We stepped out of the club, the cool outside air a stark contrast to the stifling heat inside. We hailed an Uber, and my bestie decided to spend the night to provide comfort and lend an ear.
We settled into the car, the soft hum of the engine accompanying us as we made our way home. I took a deep breath, preparing to recount the tumultuous events of the evening to my best friend.
The Uber pulled up in front of my building, and we disembarked, the night's cool air a stark reminder of the emotional journey I had been through. We made our way into my house, the silence between us filled with anticipation.
We entered my house, the familiarity of the space providing a semblance of comfort. My bestie guided me to the couch, pulling a blanket over us as we settled in for what was sure to be a long night of conversation.
I poured my heart out, recounting every detail, from Lando's apology to the painful memories that still lingered. My best friend listened intently, her eyes widening in surprise and shock as she took in the emotional rollercoaster I had described.
She was stunned, her face reflecting the whirlwind of emotions that had unfolded. "Wow," she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't believe he did all that."
My voice trembled with uncertainty, "I don't know what to do," I confessed, my emotions a tumultuous mess. "I want to trust him, but it's so hard to ignore the pain he caused. It feels like a never-ending cycle of confusion and fear." I rested my head on my friend's shoulder, seeking solace in her presence.
She rubbed my back soothingly, her support an anchor that kept me from drifting further into despair. In a gentle yet reassuring tone, she spoke. "It's okay to feel conflicted. Trust is earned, and forgiveness takes time. Don't rush yourself. Take whatever time you need to figure out what you want." She held me closer, offering her presence as a grounding force amidst the chaos.
My best friend posed the question that echoed within me, "Do you still love him?" The question sliced through the air, digging deep into emotions I had tried to bury.
Hesitantly, I met her gaze, tears glistening in my eyes. "I… I don't know," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
My friend's words were honest, cutting through the confusion. She persisted, "That isn't an answer, y/n. It's a simple yes or no question." I remained silent for a long moment, my emotions swirling inside. Finally, after an excruciating pause, I whispered, "Fine, yes. Yes, I still love him." The admission hung in the air, vulnerable and raw.
My best friend looked at me, her eyes mirroring a mixture of understanding and support. "Give him a chance," she urged, her voice gentle yet firm. "Don't give in immediately. See how far he's willing to go. If he goes beyond just gifts and gestures, you'll know he's sincere.''
A wave of confusion washed over me, and I turned to her for clarification. "What do you mean, 'beyond gifts and gestures'?" I inquired, the words tumbling out in a whispered plea for understanding.
She seemed to gather her thoughts for a moment, then met my gaze with an earnest expression. "I mean, beyond just grand gestures. Beyond the gifts and the poems. Love is about more than just gestures. It's about genuine care, about being there for each other, through every high and low. It's about trust and communication. Those are the true tests of sincere love," she replied, her words wise and heartfelt.
She continued, her voice steady. "If Lando truly cares about you, he will show it in every aspect of his life, not just with grand gestures. He will prioritize your needs, respect your boundaries, and be there for you, even in the most ordinary moments."
Her words resonated within me, their truth echoing in my heart. It didn't matter if he had sent flowers or sweet poems. Love wasn't just about gifts; it was about presence, understanding, and unwavering support through life's tumultuous journey.
We continued talking for hours, my best friend's words sinking deep into my thoughts. Eventually, we decided to call it a day, both exhausted by the emotional rollercoaster. My mind whirled with questions as we prepared to say our goodnights.
Lando's dedication persisted. In the days that followed, his gestures remained constant. I noticed flowers and chocolates carefully placed on my desk each morning, a poem hidden amidst the petals, and a warm coffee waiting when I arrived in the morning, exactly how I liked it.
Today it was different. I heard a knock on my office door, I replied with a simple 'come in' as the person entered. Lando stood in my office doorway, his hands holding my favorite coffee and a neatly prepared lunch. He spoke softly, concern in his voice.
"I hope I'm not interrupting, but I know you can get forgetful about your nutrition while working. So I brought you something." The gesture warmed my heart, leaving me momentarily speechless.
His willingness to break away from his busy schedule, solely to ensure I took care of myself, touched me deeply.
"Thank you," I expressed gratefully, touched by his thoughtfulness. I had to ask him, curious about the sacrifice of his valuable time. "But aren't you busy? You still made time for this?"
Lando responded, his voice gentle yet sincere. "I'm busy," he admitted. "But I make time for you because you matter to me."
His simple yet powerful response struck a chord within me. In the midst of the busyness of life, he had made time for me, prioritizing my wellbeing. It spoke volumes about his devotion and care, that he was willing to sacrifice his valuable time just to ensure I wasn't neglecting myself.
The sincerity in his eyes and the way he stood in my office doorway, a small lunch in hand, felt overwhelming. It was as if he was trying to prove that he valued our connection more than the hustle and bustle of life.
In the weeks that followed, Lando's gestures became an integral part of my routine. He arrived at my office each morning with my favorite coffee, not missing a single day, even when I forgot it myself. During lunch breaks, he carefully watched over me, ensuring I ate, sometimes even bringing me delectable meals he prepared himself. He began helping me with paperwork, even when he didn't have the expertise—a gesture that left me touched.
Once, when I found a mouse in my apartment, he came at 4 a.m., not hesitating for a moment despite having an early flight.
His devotion continued. In the midst of his travels, he remained constant in sending me thoughtful gifts. The distance didn't seem to matter as his love crossed time and continents.
With each passing day, my heart opened up a little more. His gestures filled my heart with a mix of gratitude, warmth, and a hint of rekindling love.
It seemed like any ordinary day, with Lando on the other side of the world for a race. I was engulfed in my work, my focus solely on the paperwork, to the neglect of myself. Suddenly, my colleague Linda burst into my office.
Linda spoke with concern, her voice filled with worry. "You've been working nonstop. Come on, let's get something to eat." I protested, insisting on finishing my task first, but Linda's stern expression was unrelenting. I agreed reluctantly, rising from my seat. Little did I know, the world was about to spin.
As we walked, I started feeling dizzy, an unfamiliar sensation overtaking me. Linda's voice was heard from beside me. "Sweetheart are you alright?"
"No, no, I'm fine," I quickly reassured Linda, believing I had just stood up too quickly. Yet, before I could take another step, my world slipped away, and I plunged into the darkness of unconsciousness.
Linda witnessed the sudden collapse and hurried to my side, concern filling her voice. "y/n, are you okay?" she asked urgently, but I was unresponsive, the world around me fading into blackness.
The sound of voices echoed in the distance, Linda's voice calling my name. However, the comforting embrace of darkness held me captive.
As I emerged from the haze of unconsciousness, I felt a soothing yet firm hold on my hand. I groaned softly, my eyes slowly creaking open, reluctantly adjusting to the stark brightness of my surroundings.
As my vision cleared, I realized I was in a hospital room. The sterile environment, the soft hum of medical equipment, and the distinctive smell of antiseptic filled the air. I heard someone calling my name, I turned my head, my gaze drifting towards the source of the voice that called my name.
I blinked, still in a state of surprise to see Lando beside me. He looked at me with concern, his presence unexpected given that he was supposed to be on the opposite side of the globe. He spoke urgently, "How are you feeling? Should I call for a doctor?" His worry was evident in his eyes as he waited for my response.
Amidst the haze of confusion and exhaustion, my mind clung to one question. "What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice weak but filled with surprise. "You're supposed to be on the other side of the world."
His response caught me off guard, touching my heart amidst the whirlwind of emotions. "I'm you're emergency contact," he reminded me, and the realization set in.
He had crossed continents and time zones, arriving swiftly on his private jet, driven by his concern for my well-being. I had been asleep for 12 hours, and in that timeframe, he had made his way across the globe to be by my side.
The depth of his commitment touched my heart. Despite the demands of his career, he had flown across the world to be by my side, prioritizing my well-being above everything else. The knowledge that he was my emergency contact made a surge of warmth flow through me. It was a reminder of my significance in his life and the lengths he would go to for me.
I tried to compose myself, my voice still weak, I told him, "You shouldn't have done this. You have important things to attend."
Guilt tugged at me, knowing he had sacrificed his commitments to be here. His racing schedule, his career, everything seemed secondary to his concern for me in that moment.
Lando shook his head, his expression resolute. "I don't care, none of it matters as much as you do," he insisted, his gaze filled with sincerity. He reached out to gently hold my hand, his touch comforting. "Nothing is as important as you," he repeated, emphasizing his priorities.
His words struck a nerve, causing a mix of emotions to rise within me. Tears welled up in my eyes, his unwavering devotion filling me with a combination of gratitude and sorrow. I had doubted him, feared a lack of commitment, yet here he was, proving me wrong in the most dramatic way possible.
His presence in the hospital room, despite the distance he traveled, felt surreal. The sound of medical equipment beeping in the background seemed distant compared to the intense emotions swirling between us. Lando held my hand, his touch warm and reassuring.
In that moment of tender silence, Lando spoke again. His voice was soft, carrying a mix of concern and affection. He squeezed my hand gently, his thumb tracing small circles on my palm. "I was so worried," he admitted, his eyes locked on mine. "Seeing you here in the hospital... was terrifying."
His eyes mirrored the vulnerability he rarely displayed, raw emotions laid bare. The fear he had felt, the concern that gripped him, all visible in his expression. The reality of the situation weighed heavily between us, his emotions palpable and sincere.
I offered a reassuring smile, trying to ease his worries, though the weakness in my voice betrayed my fatigue. "I'm okay," I whispered, exhaustion evident in my words. My weak hand attempted to squeeze his in return, hoping to show my gratitude despite my physical state.
Lando's grip on my hand tightened, his thumb tracing comforting circles on my skin. His gaze remained focused on me, studying my face, searching for any signs of discomfort or pain. He was skeptical of my reassurance, his worry etched on his furrowed brow.
We delved into conversation, discussing random topics, our worries fading into the background. Our chat was filled with laughter and genuine connection. However, our peaceful moment was interrupted when the doctor entered the room for a routine check-up. The doctor informed me that I was discharged, giving me the okay to leave.
Lando assisted me in gathering my belongings, the tenderness in his gestures evident. He carried my bag and carefully guided me out of the hospital room. We paced side by side, making our way to Lando's car parked outside.
We traveled in a soothing silence, the weight of the hospital now off our shoulders. As we reached my place, Lando diligently helped me bring my belongings inside and prepared to leave. But before he could go, he paused and called my name, the sound breaking the tranquility.
I turned my attention his way, meeting his eyes with curiosity. "Yes?" I responded, wondering what was on his mind. His voice had held a hint of hesitation, as if there was something important he wanted to convey.
He inhaled sharply, the weight of his question becoming apparent. He spoke with vulnerability, "There's something I want to ask you. You're free to refuse, but I genuinely want to ask... Will you go on a date with me tomorrow?"
I was initially startled, but the anticipation in his eyes was evident. He swiftly added, "Only if you want it to be a date of course" I could see the sincerity in his gaze. A soft smile tugged at my lips as I accepted his invitation, my voice steady with anticipation. "Yes."
The relief and happiness that washed over Lando's face at my acceptance were evident. His shoulders relaxed, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "You'll go on a date with me?" he asked, a mix of surprise and joy in his tone. "Really?"
The vulnerability in Lando's voice hinted at the significance of my acceptance. He was eager to hear my confirmation once more, his eyes glimmering with hope. I smiled warmly, reassuring him, "Yes, I'll go on a date with you."
We bid each other good night, both feeling the exhilaration of the upcoming date. The way we acted mirrored that of teenagers experiencing their first date, a mix of excitement, nervousness, and anticipation. As we exchanged a final glance, our connection felt like a magnetic pull, both eager for the moment to come. The goodbye lingered for a few moments, filled with electricity.
The evening of our date arrived, and my best friend was diligently working on styling my hair, while I focused on applying my makeup. She fussed over my locks, while I carefully applied concealer and mascara to enhance my eyes. My outfit hung on the closet's door, chosen for the evening. The weight of my excitement made my heart flutter in anticipation of the night ahead.
My best friend, brushing through my hair as she styled it, spoke up. "You know, Lando really went above and beyond for you, don't you think he deserves a chance?" she said, emphasizing his efforts.
There was a pause as I met her gaze in the mirror, a mix of emotions coursing through me. I set down my mascara and turned to face her, the weight of her words settling.
She looked at me, waiting for my response, her eyes filled with a mix of encouragement and genuine concern. The reminder of Lando's efforts weighed heavily on my thoughts. He had shown dedication and cared for me, but my past fears and apprehensions lingered, making it hard to fully let go.
I took a moment, considering her words. Inhaling deeply, I nodded, offering a soft smile of agreement. "Yeah, I know," I admitted, my voice a mix of vulnerability and hope. "But it's... it's hard to trust after everything."
I voiced my intentions, my eyes glimmering with determination. "I want to give him a chance," I declared, my resolve strengthened. "Not just a chance, but an opportunity to show me that he's worth trusting." My past pain weighed heavily on my heart, but the hope in my voice was undeniable.
Her squeal of happiness filled the room, echoing her encouragement. "Oh my god, y/n! I'm so happy for you!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "You're doing the right thing, giving him a shot. He'll make you so happy!"
She grinned, her excitement infectious. "I can feel it in my bones, this is gonna be great. He's going to sweep you off your feet."
We concluded our primping, with my best friend leaving with a parting "keep me updated, and good luck!" The anticipation in my stomach intensified, a mix of excitement and nerves gripping me. I took another glance in the mirror, taking in my appearance one last time.
I was wearing a black off shoulder dress, that hugged my curves nicely. I paired it with the famous uncomfy YSL heels and matching purse. My hair was styled in a beautiful blow out flowing over my shoulders. I sighed one more time before grabbing my stuff.
The doorbell echoed through the room, signaling Lando's arrival with its gentle tone. My heart leaped in my chest, his presence just outside my door.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and then opened the door. Lando stood there, his presence immediately filling the space, and warmth spread through my chest. He looked handsome, his well-groomed appearance evident, but it was his warm eyes and gentle smile that greeted me.
Lando stood before me, a bouquet of vibrant flowers in hand. His expression was one of awe, his words momentarily lost. He managed to compose himself and spoke, his voice filled with admiration. "You look absolutely stunning," he said, his eyes drinking in the sight of me.
The flowers were a beautiful display of color, their delicate petals reflecting the soft light of the hallway. Lando held them out, offering them to me like a bouquet of promises. I extended my hand, taking them with a soft smile, his compliment making my cheeks flush.
We walked out together, arm in arm, the cold evening air washing over us. Lando guided me to his car, opening the passenger door and helping me inside as a gentleman. As we settled in, the city lights danced outside, casting a cozy ambiance in the car.
We arrived at the restaurant, a charming Italian bistro with soft lighting and a cozy ambiance. Lando got out, rushing to open my door, offering a hand to help me out with a soft smile. The scent of fresh herbs and garlic filled the air, a promise of a delicious meal to come.
We stepped inside, the warmth wrapping around us. The atmosphere was romantic, with soft music playing in the background. Lando guided me to a table by the windows, pulling out my chair before taking a seat himself. Candles flickered on the table, casting a soft glow over everything.
We settled into our seats at the table, the ambiance around us serene and inviting. The waiter approached, greeting us warmly and setting menus before us. The scent of fresh bread and delectable aromas wafted from the kitchen, fueling the anticipation for the meal ahead.
Lando spoke with confidence, knowing my preferences. "What do you want to get?" he asked, but before I could respond, he answered himself, "No, I know already. Let me guess... the carbonara." A smile tugged at my lips as he remembered my favorites so effortlessly. I replied, "You know it," a mix of affection and appreciation filling my voice. His attention to detail and memories of things I liked made my heart swell with warmth.
The night unfolded, filled with lively conversation and laughter. Time seemed to stand still as we lost ourselves in our connection, the sound of others around us fading into the background. It felt as if the world had narrowed down to just us, an intimate bubble filled with shared laughter, stolen glances, and shared stories.
As the night drew to a close, neither of us wanted it to end. Lando paid for the meal, and I thanked him with genuine gratitude. We decided to take a stroll, drawn to a nearby bench that offered a view of the water. As we settled onto the bench, the gentle moonlight illuminated the night, casting a silvery glow over the water's surface.
I broke the comfortable silence, my voice soft and sincere. "Lando?" I began, my words carrying heartfelt appreciation. "I really enjoyed today. Thank you," I expressed, my eyes glimmering with warmth as I looked at him.
Lando met my gaze, a soft smile playing at his lips. He spoke with sincerity, his voice filled with warmth. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he replied, his eyes mirroring the appreciation in mine. "It means the world to me that you had a good time. I truly enjoyed every moment with you."
I addressed the elephant in the room, acknowledging the immense effort he'd put in. "You know, you really have gone above and beyond for me these past months," I said, my tone sincere.
It had been a challenge to regain my trust, and Lando's consistent gestures had played a significant role in rebuilding it. His eyes glimmered with a mix of vulnerability and hope, absorbing my words.
Lando's voice was quiet as he responded, his tone sincere. "I know I have, but every moment of it was worth it," he confessed, his emotions clear in his eyes.
"I wanted to show you that you could trust me, that I would go to any lengths to earn your trust," he added, his voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and earnestness.
I continued, my questions flowing out. "What about after we get back together? Would you still care about me like this" I inquired, my eyes searching his.
Lando's expression shifted, vulnerability and sincerity mixing in his gaze.
"After we get back together, I want to cherish every moment even more," he admitted, his voice filled with sincerity. "I want to support you, care for you, and be there for you through anything. I want to keep building on the trust we have and make our relationship stronger than ever."
His sincere words found their way to my heart, a tenderness washing over me. The vulnerability in his expression, combined with his commitment to cherishing our relationship, stirred something within me.
I spoke up, my voice soft but filled with resolution. "I think," I began, "I'm ready to be yours again."
Lando stood up, his eyes wide with disbelief, his emotions overwhelming him. He wrapped his arms around me, lifting me off the bench in a tight embrace.
As he spun us around in a whirlwind of joy, he spoke with heartfelt conviction, "I won't disappoint you ever again. I love you so much."
His hands remained on my waist, a tender touch that seemed to anchor me. I felt a surge of warmth and contentment as I replied with a giggle that turned into laughter, sharing in Lando's excitement.
"I love you too, Lan," I confessed, my eyes glimmering with affection
Lando's grip on my waist tightened as he pulled me into a passionate kiss, a fusion of his emotions and desires. The softness of the moment contrasted with the intensity of our feelings, the kiss sending a surge of electricity through my body. I melted into his embrace, returning the kiss.
As the kiss intensified into a make-out session, I reluctantly pulled away, the reminder of Lando's fame echoing in my mind. However, Lando was unfazed, his response quick and resolute.
He shrugged off the potential consequences, insisting, "Let them see. I've got my girl back, and that's all that matters." His smile was filled with a mixture of certainty and passion as he pulled me back, their lips meeting once more in a toe-curling kiss that seemed to defy any outside concerns.
The moon shone down, lighting up the night as Lando wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close, and we walked back to his car. The air held a delicate sense of anticipation, and as we drove away, I nestled my head against Lando's shoulder, feeling safe and cherished.
Gratitude and affection swelled within me as I realized I had given Lando another chance, and that my heart had bloomed open once again. I smiled, my thoughts swirling with appreciation and love for the incredible journey we were about to embark on.
The end
♡ Where's My Chocolate?! | LN4
Summary: Where Lando has a massive chocolate addiction but his trainer put a ban on it. How's a man supposed to live without his Kinder Joys? or his Kinder Maxis? or his Kinder Eggs? or his-
LANDO NORRIS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST
Lando was practically vibrating with excitement as he unlocked the door to his flat. It was the off-season, the glorious time when he could finally eat what he wanted without Jon breathing down his neck about "his unhealthy eating habits" and "lack of diet discipline." The crown jewel of his freedom? The stash of Kinder chocolates meticulously hoarded over the year.
He burst into the kitchen, opened his sacred candy drawer, and froze. The drawer was half-empty. Half-empty.
Lando stared in disbelief, his hands gripping the edge of the counter like he was about to faint. He began rifling through the contents, counting and recounting the chocolates as though they’d magically multiply.
"Babe!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "Where’s my chocolate?"
Y/n strolled into the kitchen, holding a cup of tea, completely unfazed by the brewing storm. "Hi to you too, Lando."
He spun around, clutching a Kinder Maxi like a lifeline. "Don’t ‘hi’ me. My stash is gone. Did you—" He gasped dramatically. "Did you eat it?"
She blinked at him. "What? No!"
"Then who? The Easter Bunny?" he shrieked. "It was full last week!"
Sipping her tea, she said casually, "Oh, Jon called."
Lando’s face went pale. "Jon? My trainer, Jon?"
"Yep," she said, setting her mug down. "He told me to keep an eye on your candy consumption. Said something about ‘self-control’ and ‘preventing cavities.’ Apparently, you have a chocolate limit now."
Lando stared at her like she’d just betrayed him in the worst way possible. "You’re lying."
She shrugged. "Suit yourself."
"No," he said, his voice rising to a dramatic wail. "You can’t do this to me! I’ve been waiting all year for this! This is my moment!"
"Your moment?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Lando, it’s just chocolate."
"It’s not just chocolate! It’s freedom! It’s happiness!" He dropped to his knees, clutching a Kinder Egg like it was a dying bird. "This is cruel and unusual punishment!"
"Alright, Shakespeare," she said, stepping over him to close the drawer. "Get up. You’re not a toddler."
But Lando’s resolve was already solidifying. He wouldn’t be defeated so easily.
That night, Y/n woke to the sound of faint rustling. Bleary-eyed, she reached over for Lando, only to find his side of the bed empty. Squinting in the dim light, she followed the noise to the kitchen.
There he was, crouched in front of the candy drawer like some sort of gremlin, surrounded by half-opened drawers and cabinets. He was whispering to himself, "Where is it? Where did she put it?"
"Lando," she said, crossing her arms.
He froze, slowly turning his head to look at her. His eyes were wide and wild, his hair sticking up in all directions. "Oh. Hey. Fancy seeing you here."
She pointed at the mess around him. "What are you doing?"
"Uh, night yoga?"
"Yoga," she repeated flatly.
"Yeah, it’s great for flexibility," he said, attempting a stretch that ended with him knocking over a jar of flour.
"Get back to bed, Lando," she said, grabbing him by the arm.
The next day, Lando devised Plan B. He called Oscar.
"Mate, you have to help me," Lando whispered into the phone like a spy in enemy territory.
"What now?" Oscar asked, already regretting picking up.
"She’s hidden my chocolates. All of them. I’m dying here."
"And what do you want me to do about it?"
"Smuggle some Kinder Eggs to me. Discreetly."
Oscar sighed. "Absolutely not. She’ll kill me."
"Oscar, please! I’m losing my mind, mate!"
"And I’d like to live, thanks."
Lando groaned, hanging up dramatically.
The coup de grâce happened at Max and Kelly’s house. They had invited them both over for lunch, and for a brief moment, everything was going fine. That is, until Penelope came running into the room, tears streaming down her face.
"Uncle Lala stole my chocolates!" she wailed.
All heads turned to the pantry, where Lando was caught red-handed, stuffing his face with what was unmistakably Penelope’s stash. His cheeks bulged like a hamster’s, and he froze mid-bite when he saw everyone staring.
"Lando," Max said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That’s for my kid."
"I’m...uh...testing for poison?" Lando offered, his words muffled by chocolate. He was already edging toward the door, trying to shield his loot from view.
"Seriously?" Y/n said, marching over, her voice a mix of frustration and disbelief. "You’re stealing from a child?"
Lando clutched the Kinder Joys tighter, his eyes darting around the room like he was calculating an escape route. "You don’t get it! These chocolates—" he paused, clutching the candy dramatically to his chest, "—are essential. I need them more than Penelope does."
She threw her hands up in exasperation. "You’re a grown man, Lando! Have some self-control for once."
"Uncle Lala should go to jail for stealing my chocolates!" Penelope said with all the righteous fury of a five-year-old, pointing an accusing finger at Lando.
"If loving chocolate is a crime, then lock me up!" he declared, crouching lower and hissing dramatically at anyone who dared approach him.
"Oh my god," Max groaned, rubbing his temples. "I can’t believe I’m witnessing this."
Kelly crossed her arms, glaring at Lando. "You’re eating a five-year-old’s Christmas stash, Lando. Have you no shame?"
Penelope, who had been standing quietly until now, stomped her tiny foot. "Uncle Lala, give it back! Mommy says stealing is bad!"
Lando froze, looking genuinely wounded. "I’m not stealing," he said earnestly. "I’m redistributing the wealth." He paused, then added with a whisper, "For the greater good."
Max raised an eyebrow. "You’ve lost your mind. Put the chocolates down."
"Never!" Lando shouted, clutching the stash tighter and attempting to back into the pantry.
"Uncle Lala!" Penelope shrieked, rushing forward to tug on his arm. "You’re a meanie!"
"Lando," Kelly said, exasperated, "Give P her chocolates back please"
"I can’t!" Lando wailed dramatically, holding up an empty wrapper like it was his salvation. "I’ve been oppressed for weeks. Weeks! Do you know what it’s like to have Jon ruin your life?"
"I’m going to call Jon," she threatened, pulling out her phone.
"No! Not Jon!" Lando cried, dropping to his knees and scrambling to hide behind Max. "Anything but that! Please, I’ll do anything! I’ll eat kale. I’ll run an extra five miles tomorrow. Just don’t call Jon!"
Max stared down at him, torn between amusement and second-hand embarrassment. "Lando, mate, I think you’ve hit rock bottom."
Lando peeked out from behind Max’s legs, his chocolate-smeared face a picture of desperation. "This isn’t rock bottom. Rock bottom is no chocolate at all."
Penelope crossed her arms, looking unimpressed. "Uncle Lala, you’re being very silly."
"You’re right," Kelly said, scooping up Penelope. "Lando, apologize to my daughter and step away from the pantry."
He clutched one last Kinder Joy, giving it a sorrowful look. "I’m sorry, P. But you’ll understand one day. Love makes you do crazy things." He kissed the chocolate dramatically before surrendering it to Kelly.
The lowest point came a few nights later when she woke to Lando’s sleep-talking.
"Kinder Maxi...so creamy...so sweet..." he mumbled, drooling onto his pillow.
She stared at him, half amused, half exasperated.
By Christmas, she couldn’t take it anymore. The sight of Lando moping around the house like a sad puppy had broken her resolve. So, on Christmas morning, she led him to the kitchen, where a decadent chocolate cake sat waiting on the counter, accompanied by a wicker basket brimming with his favorite chocolates—Kinder Maxis, Kinder Eggs, and everything else she could get her hands on.
Lando froze in the doorway, his eyes wide as they darted from her to the cake. "What’s this?" he asked, his voice tinged with awe.
"Merry Christmas," she said, her smile soft but brimming with excitement. "It’s all for you."
His gaze flickered between her and the cake, his expression shifting from disbelief to pure, unfiltered joy. "You… you did this? For me?"
She nodded, and his lips parted slightly, his eyes shimmering as if he might actually cry. "You’re the best girlfriend ever," he choked out before pulling her into a bone-crushing hug, his arms wrapping around her as he swiped some of the chocolate frosting.
She laughed against his shoulder, the warmth of his embrace making her cheeks flush. "Do you love me more than chocolate now?" she teased, her voice light and playful.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his face alight with a cheeky grin. "That’s debatable," he said, dragging the words out as if he were seriously contemplating it.
Her eyes narrowed in mock offense as she gasped and pretended to reach for the cake. "Fine, I’ll just eat this myself—"
"No!" he yelped, grabbing her waist before she could step away. With a quick, smooth motion, he spun her around, his laughter filling the kitchen. "Okay, okay! I love you more."
She tilted her head, her lips quirking upward. "Prove it," she challenged, her voice daring but soft.
For a moment, the world seemed to pause. Lando’s grin faded, replaced by an expression so earnest it made her heart skip a beat. He stepped closer, his hands sliding up from her waist to cradle her face gently. His thumbs brushed against her cheekbones as he leaned in, his gaze locking with hers.
When his lips finally met hers, it was like warmth spreading through her veins. The kiss started tender, his lips soft and lingering as if he were savoring the moment. But then he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and the tenderness gave way to something more fervent. His hands moved to her hair, fingers tangling in the strands as he pulled her closer, pressing their bodies together until there was no space left between them.
Her hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweatshirt as she melted into him. She could feel his heart beating rapidly under her palm, matching the rhythm of her own. The faint taste of chocolate lingered on his lips, making the kiss feel all the more intoxicating.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other as they tried to steady themselves. Her cheeks were flushed, and Lando’s eyes sparkled with a mix of giddiness and something deeper.
"Alright, you win," she said, laughing softly as she looked up at him. Her voice was teasing, but her eyes held a warmth that mirrored his own.
Lando grinned, his dimples making an appearance as he leaned in to peck her lips again, quick and sweet. "How did you get Jon to agree to this?" he asked, his voice still slightly breathless as he glanced toward the cake.
She smirked, stepping back to grab a fork from the counter. "What Jon doesn’t know won’t hurt him."
His laughter was loud and unrestrained, echoing through the kitchen. "You rebel. I love it."
She handed him the fork, watching as he eagerly sliced into the cake. "Keep up with your training," she said, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter, "and I might sneak you some chocolates now and then."
"Deal," he said, shoving a forkful of cake into his mouth with a contented hum. He closed his eyes, savoring the taste before looking at her with a wide, chocolate-smeared smile. "Best Christmas ever."
Unremembered
Max Verstappen x Reader
Summary: imagine looking the love of your life in their eyes and seeing a stranger stare back — but Max doesn’t have to imagine, not when this is his reality
Warnings: serious injury and memory loss
The roar of the V6 engine fills Max’s ears as he navigates the twists and turns of the Zandvoort circuit. It’s the first practice session of the Dutch Grand Prix weekend, and Max is in his element, pushing his Red Bull to its limits.
Suddenly, his race engineer’s voice crackles through the radio. “Max, box this lap. Come back to the garage.”
Max furrows his brow, confused. “What? Why? The car feels fine.”
“Max, just box now. It’s important,” GP insists, his tone unusually stern.
Reluctantly, Max steers his car into the pit lane, frustration building. As he pulls into the garage, he notices an unusual flurry of activity. His performance coach, Rupert, is waiting with a grim expression.
“Max, out of the car. Now,” Rupert says urgently.
Max climbs out, yanking off his helmet. “What’s going on? Why did you pull me in?”
Rupert takes a deep breath. “Max, I answered a call on your phone while you were out there. It was the hospital.”
Max’s heart skips a beat. “The hospital? What”
“It’s about Y/N,” Rupert says softly. “She was in a car accident on her way here. It’s ... it’s serious, Max. They’ve taken her to the trauma center.”
The world seems to tilt on its axis. Max grabs Rupert’s arm to steady himself. “What? No, that can’t ... is she okay?”
Rupert shakes his head. “I don’t know. They didn’t give me details. But they said you should come right away.”
Without another word, Max bolts towards the exit. Rupert calls after him, “I’ll drive you!”
The car ride to the hospital is a blur. Max stares out the window, his mind racing. “This can’t be happening,” he mutters. “We were just talking this morning. She was excited to watch practice ...”
Rupert glances at him sympathetically. “Try not to assume the worst. Y/N’s tough. She’ll pull through this.”
Max nods numbly, willing himself to believe it. They screech to a halt outside the emergency entrance, and Max is out of the car before Rupert can even put it in park.
At the reception desk, Max’s words tumble out in a panicked rush. “My girlfriend was brought in. Car accident. Y/N Y/L/N. Where is she?”
The nurse types rapidly. “She’s in surgery right now. If you’ll have a seat in the waiting area, the doctor will come speak with you as soon as possible.”
Max paces the waiting room like a caged animal, running his hands through his hair. Rupert tries to calm him, but Max barely hears him. After what feels like an eternity, a doctor approaches.
“Are you here for Y/N Y/L/N?”
Max nods frantically. “Yes, I’m her boyfriend. Is she okay?”
The doctor’s expression is grave. “She’s out of surgery now. The accident was very serious. She has multiple broken bones and internal injuries. We’ve stabilized her, but ...”
“But what?” Max demands, his voice cracking.
“She suffered a significant head injury. There’s swelling in her brain. We won’t know the full extent of the damage until she wakes up.”
Max sways on his feet. Rupert steadies him with a hand on his shoulder. “Can I see her?” Max asks weakly.
The doctor nods. “She’s in the ICU. I must warn you, she’s heavily sedated and on a ventilator. It may be distressing to see her like this.”
Max follows the doctor down sterile hallways, his heart pounding. When they reach Y/N’s room, he freezes in the doorway. The sight of her lying there, battered and bruised, hooked up to machines, is like a physical blow.
He approaches the bed slowly, tears welling in his eyes. “Y/N,” he whispers, gently taking her hand. “I’m here. You’re going to be okay. You have to be okay.”
Hours pass. Max refuses to leave her side, holding her hand and talking to her softly. Nurses come and go. Rupert brings him coffee that goes cold, untouched.
As evening falls, Max notices her fingers twitch. He leans forward eagerly. “Y/N? Can you hear me?”
Her eyelids flutter, then slowly open. Max’s heart soars. “Y/N! Oh, thank God. You’re awake. How do you feel?”
But something’s wrong. Her eyes are unfocused, confused. She looks at Max blankly, then around the room in bewilderment.
“Where ... where am I?” She croaks, her voice hoarse from the ventilator tube that was recently removed.
“You’re in the hospital,” Max explains gently. “You were in an accident, but you’re going to be okay now.”
She frowns, struggling to process. “An accident? I don’t ... I don’t remember ...”
Max squeezes her hand reassuringly. “That’s okay. Don’t worry about that now. I’m just so glad you’re awake.”
But she pulls her hand away, shrinking back slightly. Her eyes narrow as she studies his face. “I’m sorry, but ... who are you?”
***
Max’s world comes crashing down with those three simple words. He stares at you, his mouth agape, unable to process what he’s just heard. The room suddenly feels too small, too hot, too bright.
“Who ... who am I?” Max repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. “Y/N, it’s me. It’s Max. Your boyfriend.”
You shake your head slowly, wincing at the movement. “I’m sorry, I don’t ... I don’t know you. I don’t remember having a boyfriend.”
Max’s heart shatters into a million pieces. He takes a step back, running a trembling hand through his hair. “Okay, okay,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “The doctor said there might be ... complications. This is just temporary. It has to be.”
You watch him warily, confusion and fear evident in your eyes. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Why can’t I remember anything?”
Max takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He needs to be strong for you, even if you don’t know who he is. “You were in a car accident,” he explains gently. “You hit your head pretty badly. The doctors said there might be some memory loss, but ... I didn’t think ...”
His voice trails off as he sees tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m scared,” you whisper. “I don’t remember the accident. I don’t remember coming here. I don’t even know what day it is.”
Max instinctively reaches out to comfort you, but stops himself, realizing his touch might not be welcome. “It’s okay to be scared,” he says softly. “But you’re not alone. I’m here for you, even if you don’t remember me right now.”
A nurse enters the room, breaking the tension. She smiles warmly at you. “It’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?”
You turn to her, relief evident in your voice. “Everything hurts and I’m so confused. I can’t remember anything.”
The nurse nods sympathetically. “That’s not uncommon with head injuries. Try not to worry too much. Your memories may come back gradually as the swelling in your brain goes down.”
Max interjects, his voice tight with worry. “But she will remember, right? This isn’t ... permanent?”
The nurse’s expression turns cautious. “Every case is different. We’ll need to run some more tests now that she’s awake. The neurologist will be by soon to evaluate her.”
Max nods numbly, feeling like he’s trapped in a nightmare he can’t wake up from. The nurse checks your vitals and adjusts your medication before leaving the room.
An uncomfortable silence falls. You fidget with the edge of your blanket, avoiding Max’s gaze. “So ... we’re together?” You ask hesitantly.
Max nods, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, for almost two years now. We live together in Monaco.”
Your eyes widen. “Monaco? But I’m ... I’m not rich. At least, I don’t think I am.”
Despite everything, Max can’t help but chuckle. “No, but I am. I’m a Formula 1 driver. That’s why we were here in the Netherlands. It’s race weekend, and you were coming to watch me practice.”
You shake your head in disbelief. “This is so strange. It’s like you’re talking about someone else’s life. I can’t imagine dating a famous race car driver.”
Max’s heart clenches at your words. He pulls out his phone, scrolling through photos. “Here,” he says, holding it out to you. “Maybe these will help jog your memory.”
You take the phone hesitantly, swiping through picture after picture of the two of you together. At the beach, at fancy galas, cuddled up on the couch. In every photo, you both look blissfully happy.
“We look ... so in love,” you murmur, your brow furrowed in concentration.
“We are,” Max says softly. “Or at least, we were. I still am.”
You hand the phone back, your expression troubled. “I’m sorry. I wish I could remember. You seem like a really nice guy, and clearly we had something special, but ... it’s all blank.”
Max swallows hard, fighting back tears. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. We’ll figure this out together, I promise.”
Just then, a doctor enters the room. “Ah, good to see you awake,” he says briskly. “I’m Dr. Smeets, the neurologist on your case. How are you feeling?”
You explain your symptoms and memory loss while the doctor makes notes. Max hovers anxiously in the background, hanging on every word.
“Well,” Dr. Smeets says finally, “the good news is that your physical injuries are progressing nicely. The memory loss is concerning, but not entirely unexpected given the trauma to your brain.”
“Will she get her memories back?” Max asks, unable to keep the desperation from his voice.
The doctor’s expression is guarded. “It’s impossible to say for certain. Retrograde amnesia can be unpredictable. Sometimes memories return quickly, sometimes it takes months or even years. And in some cases ...”
“Some cases what?” Max presses.
Dr. Smeets sighs. “In some cases, the memories never fully return. But,” he adds quickly, seeing the stricken look on Max’s face, “that’s relatively rare. The best thing you can do is be patient. Surround her with familiar people and places. Sometimes sensory triggers can help unlock memories.”
Max nods, clinging to that small hope. “Thank you, doctor. What’s the next step?”
“We’ll keep her here for observation for a few more days, run some more tests. After that, assuming there are no complications, she can be discharged to recover at home.”
After the doctor leaves, Max turns to you with forced cheerfulness. “See? That’s good news. You’ll be out of here soon, and then we can go home and work on getting your memories back.”
You shift uncomfortably. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that. Going ... home with you. I mean, you seem great, but you’re still a stranger to me.”
Max feels like he’s been punched in the gut, but he forces himself to nod. “Of course. I understand. We’ll figure something out. Maybe you can stay with your parents for a while?”
You nod, looking relieved. “That sounds better. I remember my parents, at least.”
An awkward silence falls. Max clears his throat. “Do you want me to call them?”
“Would you mind? I don’t even know where my phone is.”
Max steps out into the hallway to make the call, grateful for a moment to collect himself. When he returns, you’re looking out the window, lost in thought.
“They’re on their way,” Max says softly. “They’ll be here in a few hours.”
You turn to him, your expression softening slightly. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
Max shrugs. “Of course I did. I care about you, even if you don’t remember that right now.”
You study him for a long moment. “Can you ... can you tell me about us? How we met, what our life is like? Maybe it’ll help bring something back.”
Max’s heart leaps at the request. He pulls a chair closer to your bed and begins to talk, recounting the story of your relationship. How you met at a charity event, how nervous he was to ask you out, your first date at a little Italian restaurant in Monaco.
As he speaks, you listen intently, searching your mind for any flicker of recognition. But the memories remain frustratingly out of reach, like trying to grasp smoke.
“I’m sorry,” you say finally, interrupting his story about your first vacation together. “None of this is ringing any bells. It all sounds wonderful, but ... it’s like you’re talking about someone else’s life.”
Max tries to hide his disappointment. “It’s okay. The doctor said it might take time. We just have to be patient.”
You nod, but your expression is troubled. “What if ... what if I never remember? What if these memories are just gone forever?”
Max takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “Then we’ll make new ones,” he says firmly. “I love you, Y/N. That hasn’t changed. If I have to make you fall in love with me all over again, I will.”
You look at him, a mix of emotions playing across your face. “That’s ... that’s incredibly sweet. But what if I’m not the same person anymore? What if the me you fell in love with is gone?”
Max shakes his head vehemently. “That’s not possible. You’re still you, even if you can’t remember everything right now. The core of who you are, that hasn’t changed. I know it.”
You don’t look convinced, but you offer him a small smile. “I hope you’re right.”
Just then, a commotion in the hallway catches their attention. Your parents burst into the room, faces etched with worry.
“Oh, sweetheart!” Your mother cries, rushing to your bedside. “We were so worried!”
Your face lights up with recognition. “Mom! Dad!” You exclaim, reaching out to hug them.
Max steps back, giving your family space for their reunion. He watches with a mixture of relief and jealousy as you interact easily with your parents, the rapport between you unchanged by your memory loss.
After a few minutes, your father turns to Max. “Thank you for calling us, and for being here with her.”
Max nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Of course. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
Your mother looks between Max and you, sensing the tension. “Is everything okay?”
You bite your lip, looking uncomfortable. “Mom, I-I can’t remember Max. Or anything about our relationship. The doctor says I have amnesia from the accident.”
Your parents exchange worried glances. Your father puts a comforting hand on Max’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, son. This must be incredibly difficult for you both.”
Max nods, not trusting himself to speak. Your mother turns to you. “But surely you remember something? You and Max have been so happy together.”
You shake your head sadly. “I’m trying, but it’s all blank. I’m sorry.”
An awkward silence falls over the room. Finally, your father clears his throat. “Well, the important thing is that you’re going to be okay. We’ll figure out the rest as we go.”
Max nods in agreement, but inside, he’s screaming. How can he just stand by and watch as the love of his life slips away? But he knows he has to be patient, to give you space to heal and hopefully remember.
“I should probably go,” he says reluctantly. “Let you have some time with your family.”
You nod, looking relieved. “Thank you for staying with me. And for ... for everything.”
Max forces a smile. “Of course. I’ll be back tomorrow, if that’s okay?”
You hesitate for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, that’s fine. Maybe ... maybe you can bring some more photos? Or videos? Something that might help trigger my memory?”
Max’s heart swells with hope. “Absolutely. I’ll bring everything I can think of.”
As he turns to leave, you call out softly. “Max?”
He turns back, his breath catching in his throat. “Yeah?”
You give him a small, uncertain smile. “I’m glad I have someone like you in my life. Even if I can’t remember it right now.”
Max blinks back tears as he nods. “Always,” he whispers. “I’m always here for you.”
***
Max trudges into his hotel suite, the weight of the day pressing down on him like a physical force. He closes the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, eyes closed, trying to steady his breathing. The room is dark and quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of emotions swirling inside him.
He fumbles for the light switch, wincing as the bright overhead lights flicker on. The suite feels cavernous and empty without you here. Your suitcase sits untouched in the corner, a painful reminder of the plans you’d made for this weekend.
Max’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, seeing a flood of missed calls and messages. His team, his family, the media — all clamoring for information, for his attention. He can’t deal with any of it right now.
With trembling hands, he switches off his phone and tosses it onto the bed. He paces the room, energy thrumming through his body with nowhere to go. He should shower, should eat something, should call his manager and figure out what to do about the race weekend. But he can’t bring himself to do any of it.
Instead, he finds himself drawn to your suitcase. He kneels beside it, running his hand over the familiar fabric. Slowly, almost reverently, he unzips it. Your neatly folded clothes, your favorite perfume, the book you’d been reading on the plane — all these little pieces of you, reminders of the life you shared.
Max pulls out one of your sweaters, burying his face in the soft material. It still smells like you. And suddenly, the dam breaks.
A sob tears from his throat, raw and primal. Tears he’s held back for years, through every hardship and setback, finally break free. Max crumples to the floor, clutching your sweater to his chest as he weeps.
“Why?” He chokes out between sobs. “Why her? Why us?”
The tears keep coming, relentless. Max cries for the pain you’re in, for the memories you’ve lost, for the future that suddenly seems so uncertain. He cries for the little boy who was left alone at a gas station, for the young man who walked away from a horrific crash. He cries for every emotion he’s ever pushed down, every vulnerability he’s hidden behind a mask of determination and focus.
Through his tears, he hears a knock at the door. He ignores it, unable to face anyone right now. But the knocking persists, followed by a familiar voice.
“Max? It’s me. Open up, mate.”
Max considers pretending he’s not here, but he knows Daniel won’t give up easily.bWiping his face on his sleeve, Max staggers to his feet and opens the door. Daniel takes one look at his tear-stained face and immediately pulls him into a tight hug.
“Oh, mate,” Daniel says softly. “I just heard. I’m so sorry.”
Max breaks down again, sobbing into Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel doesn’t say anything, just holds him tightly, letting him cry it out.
Finally, Max pulls away, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he mutters, wiping his eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Daniel steers him towards the couch, closing the door behind them. “Nothing’s wrong with you, Max. You’re hurting. It’s okay to let it out.”
Max collapses onto the couch, feeling utterly drained. Daniel sits beside him, his usual joking demeanor replaced by genuine concern.
“Talk to me,” Daniel urges gently. “What happened?”
Max takes a shuddering breath. “She doesn’t remember me. She looked right at me and had no idea who I was. It’s like ... it’s like the last two years never happened for her.”
Daniel winces in sympathy. “That’s rough, mate. But the doctors think it’s temporary, right?”
Max shrugs helplessly. “They don’t know. It might come back, it might not. And even if it does, how long will it take? Weeks? Months? Years?”
“And you’re worried she won’t fall for you again,” Daniel says softly, understanding dawning on his face.
Max nods miserably. “What if she doesn’t? What if the girl I fell in love with is just ... gone? I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be around her when she doesn’t even know me.”
Daniel is quiet for a moment, considering. “You know,” he says finally, “when I first met Y/N, I thought you were crazy.”
Max looks up, confused. “What do you mean?”
Daniel grins. “Come on, mate. Mad Max settling down with a normal girl? I thought for sure it was just a phase, that you’d get bored and move on to the next model or whatever.”
Max bristles slightly. “Y/N’s not just some normal girl. She’s-”
“I know, I know,” Daniel interrupts, holding up his hands. “That’s my point. It didn’t take long for me to see how special she is, and how perfect you two are together. You bring out the best in each other. That connection, that spark — it’s still there, Max. Even if she can’t remember it right now.”
Max shakes his head. “You don’t understand. You didn’t see her in that hospital bed, looking at me like I was a total stranger. It was like ... like everything we had just disappeared in an instant.”
Daniel leans forward, his expression serious. “Listen to me. The memories might be gone for now, but the feelings? The connection you two have? That doesn’t just disappear. It’s still there, buried deep inside her. You just have to be patient and give her time to find it again.”
Max wants to believe him, but doubt gnaws at his heart. “What if she doesn’t want to? What if she decides she’s better off without me?”
Daniel scoffs. “Not a chance, mate. You’re Max fucking Verstappen. What girl wouldn’t want you?”
The joke falls flat. Max just stares at the floor, shoulders slumped. Daniel sighs, realizing humor isn’t the answer right now.
“Look,” he says softly, “I know you’re scared. But think about it this way — you’ve been given a chance to fall in love all over again. To experience all those firsts one more time. It’s not ideal, sure, but it’s not the end of the world either.”
Max looks up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “You really think she could fall for me again?”
Daniel grins. “Are you kidding? She fell for you once when you were an arrogant little shit. Now that you’re slightly less of an arrogant little shit, it should be a piece of cake.”
Despite everything, Max finds himself chuckling. “Thanks, asshole.”
Daniel’s expression turns serious again. “I mean it, though. You can’t give up. Y/N needs you now more than ever, even if she doesn’t realize it. You have to be strong for her.”
Max nods slowly. “I know. I just ... I don’t know how to do this. How to be around her when she doesn’t know me. When she looks at me like I’m a stranger.”
Daniel considers this for a moment. “Maybe that’s your advantage. You get to introduce yourself to her all over again. Show her the Max that she fell in love with in the first place.”
Max mulls this over. “I guess ... I guess that could work. But what if I screw it up? What if I say or do the wrong thing and push her away?”
Daniel claps him on the shoulder. “That’s where your friends come in. We’ve got your back. Whatever you need, we’re here for you. Both of you.”
For the first time since the accident, Max feels a spark of genuine hope. “Thanks. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”
Daniel grins. “Probably crash and burn spectacularly. But that’s why we keep you around — you’re entertaining.”
Max rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling now. “Seriously, though. How do I do this? How do I help her remember without overwhelming her?”
Daniel thinks for a moment. “Start small. Don’t dump your whole history on her at once. Share little stories, show her pictures. Let her get to know you again naturally. And most importantly, be patient. This isn’t a race you can win by pushing harder. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
Max nods, feeling a sense of determination replacing his earlier despair. “You’re right. I can do this. I have to do this. For her.”
Daniel smiles, seeing the familiar fire returning to his friend’s eyes. “That’s the Max I know. Now, have you eaten anything? Because I’m starving, and room service is calling my name.”
Max realizes he hasn’t eaten since breakfast. “Food sounds good,” he admits.
As Daniel picks up the phone to order, Max’s thoughts turn to you. He imagines you in that hospital bed, scared and confused. He makes a silent promise to himself, and to you, that he’ll do whatever it takes to help you remember. And if you can’t remember, he’ll make new memories with you, ones just as beautiful as the ones you’ve lost.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of food, conversation, and planning. Daniel helps Max sort through the flood of messages on his phone, crafting responses to his team and family. They decide that Max will skip the rest of the race weekend — his mind isn’t in the right place to drive safely, and you need him more than the team does right now.
As the night wears on, Daniel eventually leaves, extracting a promise from Max to call if he needs anything. Left alone, Max finds himself drawn once again to your suitcase. This time, instead of breaking down, he begins to pack a bag.
Photos, mementos, little things that might spark a memory — he carefully selects items to bring to the hospital tomorrow. As he works, he talks to you in his mind, imagining what he’ll say when he sees you again.
“I know you’re scared,” he murmurs, folding one of your favorite hoodies. “I’m scared too. But we’re going to get through this together. I’m not giving up on us, Y/N. Not now, not ever.”
As he zips up the bag, Max feels a renewed sense of purpose. The road ahead won’t be easy, but he’s ready to face it. Because at the end of that road is you, and a love worth fighting for.
Max crawls into bed, exhausted but no longer despairing. As he drifts off to sleep, his last thought is of you. Of your smile, your laugh, the way your eyes light up when you look at him. He holds onto these memories, these precious fragments of your life together, knowing that somehow, someway, he’ll find a way to share them with you again.
Tomorrow is a new day, a new chance to help you remember. And Max Verstappen has never been one to back down from a challenge.
***
The sun is barely peeking over the horizon as Max makes his way through the quiet hospital corridors. His footsteps echo in the empty hallway, the bag slung over his shoulder feeling heavier with each step. Inside are the stuffed versions of Jimmy and Sassy, and your favorite hoodie —his hoodie, really, but you’ve claimed it as your own.
As he approaches your room, Max takes a deep breath, steeling himself. He knocks softly before entering, not wanting to startle you if you’re asleep.
You’re awake, sitting up in bed and staring out the window. When you turn to look at him, there’s a flicker of recognition in your eyes, but it’s followed quickly by confusion.
“Max, right?” You say hesitantly.
Max forces a smile, trying to hide the pain those words cause. “That’s right. How are you feeling this morning?”
You shrug, wincing slightly at the movement. “Sore. Confused. But the doctors say I’m healing well, physically at least.”
Max nods, moving closer to the bed. “That’s good. I, uh, I brought some things for you. I thought they might help make you more comfortable.”
You eye the bag curiously. “Oh? That’s ... that’s very kind of you.”
Max sets the bag on the bed and starts unpacking. First, he pulls out the stuffed cats. “These are Jimmy and Sassy,” he explains. “Well, stuffed versions of them. They’re our cats. You can’t travel without these because you miss the real ones so much.”
Your eyes light up as you reach for the stuffed animals. “We have cats? I love cats!”
Max chuckles, a warmth spreading through his chest at your enthusiasm. “Yeah, two Bengal cats. They’re like little troublemakers, always getting into mischief. You adore them.”
You hug the stuffed cats close, a small smile playing on your lips. “Tell me about them?”
Max sits in the chair beside your bed, grateful for the opening. “Well, Jimmy is the older one. He’s very dignified, or at least he tries to be. But he has a weakness for cardboard boxes. No matter how expensive a cat bed we buy him, he always prefers a random Amazon box.”
You giggle at that, and the sound is like music to Max’s ears. He continues, “Sassy is younger and true to her name. She’s always chattering away, meowing at us like she’s telling us about her day. And she has this thing for water —she’ll sit by the sink for hours, just watching the faucet drip.”
“They sound wonderful,” you say softly, stroking the stuffed cats’ fur. “I wish I could remember them.”
Max reaches into the bag again. “Maybe this will help,” he says, pulling out the hoodie. “This is your favorite thing to wear around the house. Well, my hoodie that you’ve completely taken over.”
You take the hoodie, running your hands over the soft fabric. You bring it to your face, inhaling deeply, and for a moment, Max’s heart soars with hope. But then you shake your head.
“It smells ... familiar,” you say slowly. “But I can’t place it. I’m sorry.”
Max tries to hide his disappointment. “It’s okay. Don’t push yourself. The doctors said it might take time.”
You nod, but he can see the frustration in your eyes. “It’s just so strange,” you murmur. “I know things, like I know I love cats, but I can’t remember our cats. I know this hoodie is important, but I can’t remember why.”
Max leans forward, his voice gentle. “Hey, it’s okay. You’ve been through a lot. Give yourself time to heal.”
You look at him, really look at him, for the first time since he entered the room. “You’re being so patient with me. It must be hard for you, seeing me like this.”
Max swallows hard, fighting back tears. “It’s not easy,” he admits. “But you’re worth it. We’re worth it.”
A comfortable silence falls between you. You pull on the hoodie, snuggling into its warmth. “So,” you say after a while, “tell me more about us. How did we meet?”
Max’s face lights up at the question. “It was at a charity gala in Monaco,” he begins. “I was there representing the team and you were there with some friends. I saw you across the room and ... I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
You raise an eyebrow, a hint of a smile on your lips. “Oh really? Was it love at first sight?”
Max chuckles. “More like anxiety at first sight for me. I was so nervous to talk to you. I must have circled the room three times before I worked up the courage to approach you.”
“You? Nervous?” You say, sounding surprised. “But you’re a famous racing driver. Surely you’re used to talking to people.”
Max shrugs. “On the track, sure. But off it? Especially with beautiful women? I’m a disaster. But something about you ... I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t at least try to talk to you.”
You lean back against your pillows, looking intrigued. “So what happened? Did you sweep me off my feet with your charm?”
Max bursts out laughing. “God, no. I was a complete mess. I walked up to you, tried to say something smooth, and ended up knocking over a tray of champagne glasses. Drenched myself and nearly you too.”
Your eyes widen. “Oh no! That sounds mortifying.”
“It was,” Max agrees. “I was ready to run away and hide forever. But then you did something amazing. Instead of being upset or embarrassed, you started laughing. Not at me, but with me. You helped me clean up, made a joke about how I was smoother on the track than off it, and then ... you asked me to dance.”
You smile at that. “I did? That was brave of me.”
Max nods, his eyes soft with the memory. “It was. You later told me you thought I was cute when I was flustered. We danced for hours that night, talking about everything and nothing. By the end of the evening, I knew I wanted to see you again.”
“And the rest is history?” You ask.
“Not quite,” Max says with a grin. “I still had to convince you to go on a proper date with me. And let me tell you, dating a Formula 1 driver isn’t always easy. But we made it work. We’ve been together for two years now, living in Monaco.”
You absorb this information, your brow furrowed in concentration. “It sounds like a fairytale,” you say softly. “I wish I could remember it.”
Max reaches out, hesitating for a moment before gently taking your hand. To his relief, you don’t pull away. “You will,” he says firmly. “And if you don’t, we’ll make new memories. Even better ones.”
You squeeze his hand, offering a small smile. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
“I do,” Max says without hesitation. “Because I know you, Y/N. Even if you can’t remember right now, I know the person you are. Your kindness, your strength, your incredible spirit. That hasn’t changed. It’s still there, inside you.”
Tears well up in your eyes. “I want to believe you,” you whisper. “But it’s so hard. Everything feels so ... disconnected. Like I’m living someone else’s life.”
Max moves to sit on the edge of the bed, still holding your hand. “I know it’s scary,” he says softly. “But you’re not alone in this. I’m here, your family’s here. We’ll help you through it, step by step.”
You nod, wiping away a stray tear. “Thank you. For being here, for bringing these things. It means a lot.”
Max smiles, his heart swelling with love for you. “Always. I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. No matter what.”
Just then, a nurse enters the room. “Good morning,” she says cheerfully. “How are we feeling today?”
You turn to her, still clutching the stuffed cats. “A bit better, I think. Max brought me some things from home.”
The nurse smiles approvingly. “That’s wonderful. Familiar objects can often help in recovery. Now, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to step out for a bit,” she says to Max. “We need to run some tests and change some dressings.”
Max nods, standing up reluctantly. “Of course. I’ll be back later, if that’s okay?” he asks, looking at you.
You nod, offering a small smile. “I’d like that. Maybe ... maybe you could bring some more things next time? Anything that might help jog my memory?”
Max’s heart leaps at the request. “Absolutely. I’ll bring whatever I can think of.”
As he turns to leave, you call out softly. “Max?”
He turns back, his breath catching in his throat. “Yeah?”
“Thank you,” you say simply. “For not giving up on me.”
Max feels tears pricking at his eyes. “Never,” he says firmly. “I’ll never give up on you, Y/N. On us.”
As he walks out of the hospital into the bright morning sunshine, Max feels a renewed sense of hope. It won’t be easy, and the road ahead is still long and uncertain. But you’re still you, still the woman he fell in love with. And he’ll do whatever it takes to help you find your way back to him.
He pulls out his phone, sending a quick message to his team. He won’t be racing this weekend, or perhaps for a while. Some things are more important than Formula 1. Right now, his place is here, by your side, helping you piece together the memories of your life together.
***
The press room is buzzing with anticipation as Max takes his seat at the table. Cameras flash incessantly and the murmur of journalists speculating grows louder. Max’s face is a mask of calm, but inside, he’s a storm of emotions.
His manager, Raymond, leans in close before stepping away. “Remember, keep it brief. No details about Y/N unless absolutely necessary.”
Max nods curtly, his jaw clenched. The past few days have been a whirlwind of hospital visits, tense conversations with the team, and now this — facing the media to explain his decision to step away from racing.
The room falls silent as the press conference begins. A Red Bull spokesperson steps up to the microphone.
“Good afternoon, everyone. As you know, Max Verstappen has announced his decision to take a leave of absence from Formula 1 for an undetermined period. Max will now take your questions.”
The room erupts with raised hands and shouted questions. Max points to a familiar face in the front row.
“Max, can you explain the reasoning behind this sudden decision? You’re in the midst of a tight championship battle. Why step away now?”
Max takes a deep breath. “I understand this comes as a surprise to many. There are personal matters that require my full attention right now. I can’t go into details, but I assure you, this decision wasn’t made lightly.”
Another journalist jumps in before he can choose the next question. “But surely these personal matters could be handled while continuing to race? Many drivers balance personal issues with their careers.”
Max feels a flicker of irritation. “Every situation is unique. In this case, I need to step away completely. My focus can’t be divided right now.”
The questions keep coming, each one chipping away at Max’s patience.
“Is this related to your recent performance dip?”
“Are there issues within the team we don’t know about?”
“Some fans are accusing you of abandoning the sport. What do you say to them?”
Max answers each as calmly as he can, but he can feel his control slipping. Then, a question from the back of the room ignites the powder keg.
“Max, there are rumors that this is about a woman. Have you let a relationship interfere with your career?”
The room falls silent, all eyes on Max. He grips the edge of the table, knuckles white. For a moment, he considers sticking to the script, giving another vague non-answer. But something inside him snaps.
“You want to know the truth?” He says, his voice low and intense. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”
Raymond steps forward, a warning in his eyes, but Max waves him off.
“My girlfriend was in a serious car accident,” Max continues, his voice growing louder. “She’s in the hospital with severe injuries and memory loss. She doesn’t even remember who I am.”
The room erupts in gasps and furious scribbling. Max stands, leaning forward on the table.
“So yes, I’m stepping away from racing. Because the woman I love needs me. Because some things are more important than trophies or championship points.”
He’s shouting now, years of pent-up frustration with the media pouring out.
“You all sit here and judge me, speculate about my personal life, accuse me of abandoning the sport. But where were you when I was a kid, pushed to the limit by a demanding father? Where were you when I was struggling with the pressure of being the youngest driver in F1 history?”
The room is dead silent now, every journalist hanging on his words.
“I’ve given everything to this sport. I’ve sacrificed friendships, relationships, a normal life. And now, the one time I need to put something else first, you question my commitment?”
Max’s voice breaks slightly, but he pushes on.
“Y/N is fighting for her life, fighting to remember who she is. Who we are together. And you want me to, what? Leave her alone in a hospital room while I zip around a track?”
He looks around the room, meeting the shocked gazes of the journalists.
“So go ahead. Write your stories. Question my decisions. But know this — I don’t regret my choice. Not for a second. Because at the end of the day, the chequered flag won’t keep me warm at night. It won’t laugh at my jokes or hold my hand when I’m stressed.”
Max takes a deep breath, his anger giving way to a deep sadness.
“I love racing. It’s been my whole life. But I love Y/N more. And right now, she needs me. So I’m going to be there for her, every step of the way, until she’s better. Until she remembers us.”
He sits back down, suddenly drained. The room is still silent, the journalists too stunned to even raise their hands for questions.
Finally, a older journalist in the front row clears his throat. “Max, I ... we had no idea. I’m so sorry about Y/N. Can you tell us more about her condition?”
Max shakes his head, his voice softer now. “I’ve already said more than I planned to. Y/N’s privacy is important to me. All I’ll say is that she’s fighting hard, and I’m going to be right there with her.”
Another journalist speaks up. “You mentioned Y/N doesn’t remember you. How are you coping with that?”
Max runs a hand through his hair, considering his words carefully. “It’s ... it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. Harder than any race, any championship battle. To look into the eyes of the person you love most in the world and see no recognition ... it’s gut-wrenching.”
He pauses, swallowing hard. “But I’m not giving up. I’m fighting for us, for our memories, for our future. Even if I have to make her fall in love with me all over again.”
The mood in the room has shifted completely. Gone is the adversarial tension, replaced by a somber understanding.
“What can fans do to support you during this time?” Another journalist asks.
Max manages a small smile. “Just ... be patient. Understand that there are things more important than racing. And maybe, if you’re the praying type, keep Y/N in your thoughts.”
The Red Bull spokesperson steps forward, signaling the end of the conference. But Max holds up a hand, not quite finished.
“I want to say one more thing,” he says, his voice steady. “To any of you out there who might be going through something similar — don’t be afraid to step back. Don’t let anyone make you feel guilty for putting your loved ones first. At the end of the day, that’s what really matters.”
With that, Max stands and walks out of the room, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. As soon as he’s out of sight of the cameras, he leans against a wall, emotions overwhelming him.
Raymond approaches cautiously. “That ... didn’t go quite as planned.”
Max lets out a humorless laugh. “No, I suppose it didn’t.”
“You okay?” Raymond asks, genuine concern in his voice.
Max nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am. It feels ... good to have it out there. No more hiding, no more vague excuses.”
Raymond squeezes his shoulder. “You did good, kid. It won’t be easy, but people will understand now.”
Max’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out to see a flood of messages — from his team, his family, even other drivers. But one catches his eye — a text from your mom.
“Just saw the press conference. Y/N would be so proud of you. We all are. Come by the hospital when you can. She’s asking for you.”
Despite everything, Max feels a smile tugging at his lips. He turns to Raymond. “I’ve got to go. Y/N’s waiting.”
Raymond nods understandingly. “Go. We’ll handle things here. Give her our best.”
As Max walks out of the building, he’s greeted by a small crowd of fans. But instead of the anger or disappointment he expected, he sees understanding and support in their faces. Many are holding haphazardly thrown together signs with messages of encouragement for both him and you.
One young girl breaks away from her parents, running up to Max with a hand-drawn card. “This is for Y/N,” she says shyly. “I hope she gets better soon.”
Max kneels down, taking the card with a genuine smile. “Thank you. I’ll make sure she gets it.”
As he stands, the crowd starts to applaud. It’s not the roar of a race victory, but a softer, more meaningful sound. The sound of people recognizing a different kind of strength, a different kind of victory.
Max raises a hand in acknowledgment before getting into his waiting car. As the driver pulls away, he looks at the card in his hands. It’s a simple drawing of two stick figures holding hands, with the words “Get well soon Y/N! Max loves you ❤️” written in childish scrawl.
For the first time in days, Max feels a weight lift from his shoulders. The road ahead is still long and uncertain, but he’s not alone. He has the support of his team, his fans, and most importantly, he has you — even if you can’t remember him yet.
As the car speeds towards the hospital, Max makes a silent promise. To you, to himself, to everyone who’s supporting them. He’ll face this challenge with the same determination and focus he brings to the track. Because this is the most important race of his life — the race to help you remember, to rebuild your life together.
And Max Verstappen doesn’t lose races that matter.
***
Max stands outside your hospital room, the handmade card clutched in his hand. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself before knocking softly and entering.
You’re sitting up in bed, looking more alert than he’s seen you since the accident. Your parents are there too, gathering your things in preparation for your discharge tomorrow.
“Max,” you say, a small smile gracing your lips. It’s not the warm, loving smile he’s used to, but it’s a start. “We saw your press conference.”
Max feels a flush creep up his neck. “Ah, yeah. I, uh, might have gotten a bit carried away.”
Your mother steps forward, enveloping him in a hug. “You were wonderful, dear. So brave and honest.”
“Thanks,” Max mumbles, still not entirely comfortable with praise outside of racing. He turns his attention back to you. “How are you feeling today?”
You shrug slightly. “Better, I think. Still ... confused about a lot of things. But the pain is less.”
Max nods, moving closer to your bed. “That’s good. I, uh, I have something for you.” He holds out the card. “A young fan made this for you after the press conference.”
You take the card, examining the childish drawing with a soft expression. “Get well soon Y/N! Max loves you!” You read aloud. Your eyes flick up to meet his. “That’s ... very sweet.”
Max shifts uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. Your father, sensing the tension, clears his throat. “We’re going to go get some coffee. Give you two some time to talk.”
As your parents leave the room, an awkward silence falls. Max takes a seat in the chair beside your bed, fidgeting with his hands.
“So,” you say finally, “you’re taking time off from racing. For me.”
Max nods. “Yeah. I hope that’s okay. I know you don’t ... remember us. But I want to be here for you, however you need me to be.”
You’re quiet for a moment, considering his words. “It’s a lot of pressure,” you admit softly. “Knowing someone’s put their whole life on hold for me.”
Max leans forward, his eyes intense. “Hey, no. Don’t think of it like that. This isn’t a sacrifice or an obligation. It’s a choice. My choice.”
You nod slowly, but he can see the doubt in your eyes. “Tell me something,” you say suddenly. “Something about us. Something ... happy.”
Max feels a smile tugging at his lips as he casts his mind back. “Okay, how about this? Last year, after I won the championship, we took a vacation. Just the two of us, no teams, no press, no obligations.”
“Where did we go?” You ask, curiosity piqued.
“Bali,” Max says, his eyes lighting up with the memory. “We rented this amazing villa right on the beach. You were determined to teach me how to surf.”
A small giggle escapes you. “Did I succeed?”
Max chuckles. “Not even close. I spent more time eating sand than standing on the board. But you were so patient, so encouraging. Even when I was frustrated and ready to give up, you just ... you made it fun.”
“Sounds nice,” you say softly.
“It was more than nice,” Max continues, warming to the subject. “One evening, we were sitting on the beach watching the sunset.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I realized all the trophies, all the victories ... they didn’t compare to just being there with you, watching the sun sink into the ocean.”
You’re quiet for a long moment, absorbing his words. “We sound ... very happy together,” you say finally.
Max nods, blinking back tears. “We are. We were. We will be again.”
You reach out hesitantly, taking his hand. It’s the first time you’ve initiated contact since the accident, and Max feels his heart soar.
“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m being discharged tomorrow, and I don’t ... I don’t know where I belong anymore.”
Max squeezes your hand gently. “You belong wherever you feel comfortable. If that’s with your parents for now, that’s okay. If you want to try coming home with me, that’s okay too. There’s no pressure, no expectations. We’ll figure this out together, at your pace.”
You nod, looking grateful. “Thank you. For being so understanding. I know this can’t be easy for you either.”
Max shrugs. “It’s not. But you’re worth it. We’re worth it.”
A comfortable silence falls between you. Max is content to just sit there, holding your hand, savoring this small connection.
After a while, you speak again. “Can you tell me more? About our life together?”
Max’s face lights up. “Of course. What do you want to know?”
You consider for a moment. “What’s a typical day like for us? When you’re not racing, I mean.”
Max leans back in his chair, a fond smile on his face. “Well, you’re definitely the early riser between us. You usually get up first, make coffee. Sometimes you go for a run or do yoga on the balcony.”
“I do yoga?” You ask, sounding surprised.
Max chuckles. “Yeah, you got into it as a way to help me relax between races. Said if it could calm me down, it could work miracles for anyone.”
You laugh at that, a genuine, full laugh that makes Max’s heart skip a beat. It’s the first time he’s heard that sound since the accident.
“Anyway,” he continues, “I usually drag myself out of bed when I smell the coffee. We have breakfast together, usually something healthy that you insist I need.”
“Sounds like I take good care of you,” you observe.
Max nods, his expression softening. “You do. Better than anyone ever has.”
“What else?” You prompt, clearly engrossed in the story of your shared life.
“Well, if I’m training, you often come to the gym with me. You say it’s to support me, but I think you just like ogling me when I lift weights.”
You swat his arm playfully, a faint blush coloring your cheeks. “I do not!”
Max grins, delighted by this glimpse of your old dynamic. “Oh, you absolutely do. Not that I mind. I return the favor when you’re doing your yoga.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “What else do we do?”
“We cook together a lot,” Max says. “Or rather, you cook and I try not to burn the kitchen down. You’re teaching me, slowly but surely. We have this tradition of trying to recreate dishes from all the countries I race in.”
“That sounds fun,” you say, a wistful note in your voice. “Do we have a favorite?”
Max thinks for a moment. “There’s this amazing pasta dish we perfected after the Italian Grand Prix. You said it was better than sex.”
Your eyes widen. “I did not!”
Max laughs. “You absolutely did. Then you made me prove you wrong.”
You blush furiously, but you’re laughing too. “I can’t believe I said that!”
“Believe it,” Max says, grinning. “You’re full of surprises, schatje. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”
The word ’love’ hangs in the air between you. You grow quiet, your expression thoughtful.
“Max,” you say finally, “I want you to know ... I’m trying. To remember. To ... to feel what you feel.”
Max squeezes your hand. “I know you are. And it’s okay if it takes time. Or if ... if you never feel exactly the same way. We can build something new, if we need to.”
You nod, looking relieved. “Thank you. For understanding. For being patient.”
“Always,” Max says softly.
Just then, your parents return, breaking the intimate moment. Your mother smiles warmly at the sight of your joined hands.
“Everything okay in here?” She asks.
You nod, offering a small smile. “Yeah. Max was just telling me about our life together.”
Your father clears his throat. “Speaking of which, we should probably discuss arrangements for after your discharge tomorrow.”
You tense slightly, and Max can feel your grip on his hand tighten. “Right,” you say, your voice uncertain.
Max jumps in. “Y/N, remember what I said. Whatever you’re comfortable with. There’s no pressure.”
You nod gratefully. “I think ... I think I’d like to stay with my parents for a bit. If that’s okay?” You look at Max, worry in your eyes.
Max forces a smile, ignoring the pang in his heart. “Of course it’s okay. Whatever you need.”
Your mother steps forward. “Max, you’re welcome to visit anytime. We know how important you are to Y/N, even if she can’t remember everything right now.”
Max nods, grateful for their understanding. “Thank you. I’d like that.”
As the conversation turns to logistics of your discharge, Max finds his mind wandering. It’s not the outcome he’d hoped for, but he understands. You need time, space to heal and rediscover yourself. And he’ll be there, every step of the way, however you need him.
As visiting hours come to an end and Max prepares to leave, you call out to him.
“Max?”
He turns back. “Yeah?”
You hesitate for a moment, then say, “Thank you. For everything. And ... I’d like to hear more stories. About us. If that’s okay.”
Max feels a warmth spread through his chest. It’s not a declaration of love, not a magical recovery of memories. But it’s a start. A willingness to explore, to learn, to possibly fall in love all over again.
“Anytime,” he says softly. “I’ve got plenty of stories to tell.”
***
The Monaco apartment feels cavernous and empty as Max pushes open the door. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the soft padding of paws as Jimmy and Sassy come to greet him. They meow insistently, weaving between his legs, clearly searching for someone who isn’t there.
“I know,” Max murmurs, kneeling to scratch behind their ears. “I miss her too.”
He moves through the space, every corner filled with memories. Your favorite mug sits on the kitchen counter, lipstick stain still visible on the rim. A half-read book lies on the coffee table, your bookmark peeking out from the pages. Your scent lingers on the throw pillows on the couch.
Max sinks onto the sofa, and immediately, Jimmy jumps up beside him, headbutting his hand for attention. Sassy follows suit, curling up in his lap.
“At least I’ve got you two,” Max says softly, stroking their fur. “But it’s not the same, is it?”
He pulls out his phone, scrolling through photos of happier times. You and him on vacation, at race weekends, lazy Sundays at home. Your smile, so bright and full of love, now feels like a distant memory.
“Come on, Max,” he mutters to himself. “You can’t fall apart now. Y/N needs you to be strong.”
But in the quiet of the apartment, with only the cats for company, it’s hard to maintain that strength. For the first time since the accident, since the press conference, since leaving you at your parents’ house, Max allows himself to truly feel the weight of everything that’s happened.
A sob escapes him, then another. Soon, he’s crying in earnest, all the pent-up fear and frustration and loneliness pouring out. Jimmy and Sassy press closer, as if trying to comfort him.
“I don’t know what to do,” Max confesses to the empty room. “How do I help her remember? How do I make her fall in love with me again? What if ... what if she never does?”
The cats, of course, don’t answer. But their presence is comforting, a reminder that he’s not entirely alone.
As his tears subside, Max takes a deep breath, trying to center himself. He needs to focus, to come up with a plan. You might not remember your life together, but he does. And he’s determined to help you rediscover it, piece by piece if necessary.
He stands, moving to the bookshelf where you keep photo albums. Maybe he could put together a scrapbook of your relationship, something tangible for you to look through. As he reaches for an album, his phone buzzes in his pocket.
His heart leaps when he sees your name on the screen. He answers immediately, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice. “Y/N? Is everything okay?”
“Hi,” you say, and he can hear a note of confusion in your voice. “Everything’s fine, I just ... this is going to sound weird, but I needed to ask you something.”
Max sits back down on the couch, curious. “Of course. What is it?”
You hesitate for a moment before speaking. “I’ve been having these ... cravings. For food I don’t remember ever eating before, much less liking. And I thought maybe ... maybe they mean something?”
Max’s pulse quickens. Could this be a sign of your memories returning? “What kind of food?” He asks, trying to keep his voice neutral.
“Tomato soup,” you say. “And beef carpaccio. I know it sounds strange, but I can’t stop thinking about them. Do they ... do they mean anything to you?”
Max feels like his heart might burst out of his chest. “Y/N,” he says softly, “those are my favorite foods.”
“Oh,” you breathe, and he can hear the surprise in your voice. “I ... I didn’t know that.”
“The tomato soup is something my mom used to make for me when I was a kid,” Max explains, his voice thick with emotion. “And the carpaccio ... that was what we had on our first real date in Monaco.”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. “I don’t remember that,” you say finally, a note of frustration in your voice. “But I can almost ... almost taste it, you know? Like my body remembers even if my mind doesn’t.”
Max nods, even though you can’t see him. “That’s good, Y/N. That’s really good. It means the memories are still in there somewhere.”
“Maybe,” you say, sounding uncertain. “I just wish I could remember more. It’s so frustrating, having all these ... these echoes of a life I can’t quite grasp.”
“I know,” Max says soothingly. “But this is progress. We just have to be patient.”
You sigh. “You’re right. I just ... I feel bad, you know? You’re being so patient and understanding, and I can’t even remember our first date.”
Max’s heart aches at the sadness in your voice. “Hey, no. Don’t feel bad. This isn’t your fault. We’re in this together, remember?”
“Yeah,” you say softly. “Together.”
There’s another pause, and Max can almost picture you biting your lip, the way you do when you’re thinking hard about something.
“Max?” You say finally. “Can you ... can you tell me about our first date? The one with the carpaccio?”
A smile spreads across Max’s face. “Of course. It was about a week after we met at that charity gala. I was so nervous, I must have changed my shirt five times before picking you up.”
You laugh softly. “You, nervous? I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it,” Max chuckles. “You had me completely flustered. Still do, if I’m honest.”
He launches into the story, describing how he’d taken you to a small, intimate restaurant overlooking the harbor. How you’d laughed at his attempts to pronounce the French dishes, how your eyes had lit up when you tasted the carpaccio.
“You said it was the best thing you’d ever eaten,” Max recalls. “But I barely tasted the food. I just couldn’t believe someone as amazing as you was interested in me.”
“Max ...” you start, your voice soft and a bit uncertain.
“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I don’t mean to push. I know this is all still ... complicated.”
“No, it’s okay,” you assure him. “I like hearing these stories. They help, even if I can’t remember them myself yet.”
Max feels a warmth spread through his chest. “I’m glad. I’ve got plenty more where that came from, whenever you want to hear them.”
“I’d like that,” you say. “Maybe ... maybe next time we could do it in person? If you’re not too busy, I mean.”
“Y/N,” Max says seriously, “I’m never too busy for you. Just name the time and place, and I’ll be there.”
You laugh softly. “Careful, I might hold you to that.”
“Please do,” Max says, meaning every word.
As you say your goodbyes, Max feels lighter than he has in days. It’s not a magical fix, not a sudden return of all your memories. But it’s progress. A willingness to explore, to learn, to possibly fall in love all over again.
An idea strikes him as he ends the call. He quickly pulls up a food delivery app on his phone, searching for restaurants near your parents’ house. Finding one that offers both tomato soup and beef carpaccio, he places an order, adding a note.
A taste of our memories. Hope this helps satisfy those cravings - Max
As he completes the order, Max feels a surge of hope. It’s a small gesture, but maybe it will help trigger more memories. Or at the very least, it will show you that he’s thinking of you, that he’s here for you in whatever way you need.
He looks around the apartment, seeing it with new eyes. Yes, it’s empty without you here. But it’s not a sad emptiness anymore. It’s a space waiting to be filled again, with new memories alongside the old.
Max scratches Jimmy and Sassy behind the ears. “What do you think, guys? Should we start planning how to win your mom’s heart all over again?”
The cats purr in response, and Max chuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Even if you can’t remember everything yet, your body remembers. Your heart remembers.
And Max is determined to help you rediscover every beautiful moment of your life together, one memory at a time. Starting with a bowl of tomato soup and a plate of beef carpaccio.
***
The shrill ring of his phone jolts Max awake. He fumbles for it in the darkness, heart racing as he sees the caller ID: your mother.
“Hello?” He answers, voice thick with sleep but mind rapidly clearing.
“Max, I’m so sorry to wake you,” your mother’s voice comes through, tense and worried. “It’s Y/N. She woke up about an hour ago and she’s ... she’s not okay.”
Max is already out of bed, fumbling for clothes. “What’s wrong? Is she hurt?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” your mother assures him quickly. “She’s just ... she’s crying and she keeps saying she needs you. We can’t calm her down. I know it’s the middle of the night, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You did the right thing,” Max says, pulling on a shirt haphazardly. “I’m on my way. Can you put her on the phone?”
There’s a rustling sound, then your voice comes through, small and broken. “Max?”
His heart clenches at the pain in your voice. “Y/N, I’m here. What’s wrong, liefje?”
“I don’t know,” you sob. “I had this dream and now everything hurts and I can’t ... I can’t remember but I know I need you. Please, Max. I need you here.”
“I’m coming,” Max promises, already dialing his pilot with his other phone. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just hold on, okay?”
“Okay,” you whisper. “Please hurry.”
As the call ends, Max is already rushing out the door, barely remembering to grab his wallet and keys. He calls his pilot as he takes the stairs two at a time, not willing to wait for the elevator.
“Frank, I need the jet ready as soon as possible. We’re flying to-” he rattles off the name of your parents’ hometown. “How fast can we be in the air?”
“Mr. Verstappen, it’s the middle of the night,” Frank starts, but Max cuts him off.
“I know what time it is. This is an emergency. How soon?”
There’s a pause, then Frank sighs. “Give me 30 minutes. I’ll call the crew.”
“Make it 20,” Max insists. “I’ll double your rate.”
“We’ll be ready,” Frank assures him.
Max ends the call as he reaches his car, peeling out of the parking garage with a screech of tires. His mind races as fast as the car, worry for you overwhelming everything else.
What could have triggered this? You’d been doing better, or so he thought. The memory of food had seemed like progress. But now ...
He shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the road. Getting to you safely is what matters now. Everything else can wait.
Max makes it to the airport in record time, barely bothering to park properly before he’s sprinting towards his private jet. Frank meets him at the stairs.
“We’re fueled and ready,” he says. “Weather looks clear, we should have a smooth flight.”
“Good,” Max nods, already climbing the stairs. “Let’s go.”
As the jet takes off, Max finds himself unable to sit still. He paces the cabin, checking his phone every few seconds even though he knows there’s no signal at this altitude.
The flight attendant approaches cautiously. “Mr. Verstappen? Can I get you anything?”
Max shakes his head, then reconsiders. “Actually, yes. Coffee. Strongest you’ve got.”
She nods, retreating to the galley. Max resumes his pacing, his mind a whirlwind of worry and speculation.
What if you’d remembered something traumatic? What if this setback undid all the progress you’d made? What if ...
He forces himself to stop that line of thinking. Catastrophizing won’t help anyone, least of all you.
The flight seems to take an eternity. As soon as they land, he’s out of his seat, barely waiting for the stairs to fully deploy before he’s racing down them.
A car is waiting, arranged by his ever-efficient team. Max barely registers the driver’s greeting as he slides into the backseat.
He recites the address tersely. “As fast as you can.”
The drive is a blur of streetlights and quiet suburban roads. Max’s leg bounces nervously, his hands clenched into fists.
Finally, mercifully, they pull up to the familiar house. Max is out of the car before it fully stops, racing up the front steps.
Your father opens the door before he can knock. “Thank God you’re here,” he says, ushering Max inside. “She’s upstairs.”
Max takes the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding. He can hear muffled sobs coming from your old bedroom.
He pauses at the door, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Then he knocks softly. “Y/N? It’s me. It’s Max.”
The sobs quieten slightly. “Max?” Your voice comes through, small and uncertain.
“Can I come in?”
There’s a pause, then: “Please.”
Max opens the door slowly. The room is dimly lit by a bedside lamp, casting long shadows. You’re huddled on the bed, knees drawn up to your chest, eyes red and puffy from crying.
The sight of you so distressed nearly breaks him. In two long strides, he’s at your side.
“I’m here,” he says softly. “I’m right here.”
You look up at him, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “Max,” you whisper, and then you’re launching yourself into his arms.
Max catches you, holding you close as you sob into his chest. He strokes your hair, murmuring soothing words.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Gradually, your sobs subside, replaced by hiccuping breaths. Max continues to hold you, rocking slightly.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks gently.
You pull back slightly, wiping your eyes. “I had this dream,” you start, your voice hoarse. “It was so vivid. We were ... we were in a car, I think. And there was a crash and I couldn’t ... I couldn’t reach you.”
Max’s heart clenches. Is this a memory of your accident trying to surface?
“It felt so real,” you continue. “And when I woke up, I was so scared and confused. I couldn’t remember where I was or why you weren’t there. I just knew I needed you.”
“I’m here now,” Max says, cupping your face gently. “I’ll always come when you need me.”
You lean into his touch, closing your eyes. “I’m sorry for making you fly out in the middle of the night.”
Max shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. There’s something different there, something Max can’t quite identify.
“Max,” you say slowly, “I think ... I think I remembered something.”
His breath catches. “What did you remember?”
You furrow your brow, concentrating. “It’s not clear. Just ... feelings, mostly. But when you walked in, when you held me ... it felt familiar. Safe. Like ... like coming home.”
Max feels hope bloom in his chest. “That’s good, schatje. That’s really good. It means the memories are still there, even if they’re hard to reach right now.”
You nod, then yawn widely. The emotional toll of the night is clearly catching up with you.
“You should try to get some sleep,” Max says, moving to stand up.
But you grab his hand, holding him in place. “Will you ... will you stay? Just until I fall asleep?”
Max’s heart swells. “Of course. As long as you need.”
You scoot over, making room for him on the bed. Max kicks off his shoes and lies down next to you, careful to maintain a respectful distance.
But you close that distance, curling into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed. Like the accident never happened.
“Tell me a story,” you mumble, already half-asleep. “About us.”
Max smiles, wrapping an arm around you. “Okay. How about the time we tried to teach Jimmy and Sassy to swim?”
You make a soft sound of agreement, nuzzling closer.
As Max recounts the tale of your misadventures with the cats and a kiddie pool, he feels you relax against him, your breathing evening out.
He continues the story even after he’s sure you’re asleep, partly out of habit, partly because he’s not ready for this moment to end.
Eventually, he falls silent, just listening to your steady breathing. He knows he should leave, go sleep in the guest room or on the couch. But he can’t bring himself to move, to break this fragile peace.
Just a few more minutes, he tells himself. Just a little longer.
Before he knows it, sunlight is streaming through the windows. Max blinks awake, momentarily disoriented. Then he feels you stir against him, and everything comes rushing back.
You lift your head, looking up at him with sleep-clouded eyes. For a moment, just a moment, Max sees recognition there. The look you used to give him every morning.
But then you blink, and it’s gone, replaced by confusion, then embarrassment.
“Oh God,” you mutter, sitting up quickly. “Max, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you here all night.”
Max sits up too, trying to ignore the ache in his heart at the loss of contact. “It’s okay. I wanted to be here.”
You run a hand through your hair, not meeting his eyes. “Last night ... it’s all a bit fuzzy. Did I ... did I say anything? About remembering?”
Max nods slowly. “You said being with me felt familiar. Like coming home.”
You’re quiet for a long moment, staring at your hands. “I wish I could remember more,” you say finally, your voice small. “It’s all still so ... jumbled.”
Max reaches out, then stops himself, unsure if the touch would be welcome. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out together.”
You look up at him then, a small smile on your face. “Together,” you repeat. “I like the sound of that.”
There’s a soft knock at the door, and your mother pokes her head in. “Oh good, you’re both awake. Breakfast is ready if you’re hungry.”
As you both stand to head downstairs, Max feels a mix of emotions. Disappointment that the night didn’t lead to a magical recovery of your memories. Hope at the small signs of progress. And an overwhelming sense of love for you, memory or no memory.
He knows the road ahead is still long and uncertain. But as he watches you smile at something your mother says, he feels more certain than ever that it’s a road worth traveling.
Because even if you can’t remember all of your history together, you’re still you. Still the woman he fell in love with. And he’ll spend every day helping you rediscover that love, one memory at a time.
***
The rhythmic clanging of weights fills the air as Max pushes through another set of bench presses. Sweat beads on his forehead, his muscles straining with each repetition. Rupert stands nearby, counting softly and offering encouragement.
“Nine ... ten ... good, Max. One more set and we’ll move on.”
The sharp ring of Max’s phone cuts through the gym’s atmosphere. Max grunts, arms shaking as he finishes his reps.
“Can you grab that, Rupert? Might be important.”
Rupert nods, retrieving the phone from Max’s gym bag. “It’s Y/N’s parents,” he says, eyebrows raised.
Max’s heart skips a beat. “Put it on speaker,” he says quickly, sitting up on the bench.
Rupert answers the call, holding the phone out between them. “Hello? This is Rupert, Max’s trainer. You’re on speaker.”
“Oh, hello Rupert,” comes the familiar voice of your mother. “Is Max there? We have some news.”
“I’m here,” Max says, leaning closer to the phone. “What’s going on? Is Y/N okay?”
There’s a pause, and Max feels his anxiety spike. Then, your father’s voice comes through, barely containing his excitement.
“Max, it’s ... it’s incredible. Y/N says she can remember. Not everything, but ... a lot. She woke up this morning and it was like a flood of memories just came back to her.”
The words hit Max like a physical force. He stands abruptly, forgetting the weight still balanced precariously on his legs. It crashes to the floor with a deafening clang, missing Rupert’s foot by mere inches.
“Whoa!” Rupert yelps, jumping back. “Easy there, Max!”
But Max barely notices. His entire world has narrowed to the voice coming from the phone. “She ... she remembers? Are you sure? How much does she remember?”
Your mother’s voice comes back on. “It’s still patchy, but she remembers you, Max. She remembers your life together, your home in Monaco. She’s been talking about the cats all morning.”
Max feels his knees go weak. He sits back down heavily on the bench, his head spinning. “Can I ... can I talk to her?”
“I’m afraid she’s with the doctors right now,” your father explains. “They want to run some tests, make sure everything’s okay. But she’s been asking for you. We thought you’d want to know right away.”
Max nods, then remembers they can’t see him. “Yes, of course. Thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll take the jet, I can be there in”
“Actually,” your mother interrupts, “Y/N has been asking to come home. To Monaco. She says she misses you, and the cats, and ... well, her life with you.”
Max feels a lump form in his throat. “She wants to come home?” He repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.
“If that’s alright with you,” your father adds quickly. “We understand if you need time to prepare, or if you think it’s too soon”
“No!” Max exclaims, perhaps a bit too loudly. He clears his throat. “I mean, no, it’s not too soon. It’s perfect. I can send the jet for her right away. If ... if that’s what she wants.”
He can hear the smile in your mother’s voice as she responds. “It is. She’s quite insistent, actually. Says she wants to sleep in her own bed.”
Max feels a grin spreading across his face. “I’ll make the arrangements right away. Can you have her ready to go in ... let’s say five hours?”
“We can do that,” your father confirms. “And Max? She’s ... she’s really excited to see you.”
Max swallows hard, emotion threatening to overwhelm him. “I can’t wait to see her too. Thank you both, for everything.”
As the call ends, Max looks up to see Rupert grinning at him. “So,” his trainer says, “I’m guessing our workout is over for the day?”
Max laughs, a sound of pure joy and relief. “Yeah, I’d say so. Sorry about almost crushing your foot.”
Rupert waves it off. “Small price to pay for good news like that. Go on, get out of here. Go prepare for Y/N’s homecoming.”
Max doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s already dialing his pilot as he rushes towards the locker room. “Frank? I need the jet ready as soon as possible. We need to pick someone up ...”
That evening, Max is pacing the length of his — your — living room, unable to keep still. He’s tidied the already immaculate apartment three times, checked on the cats twice, and changed his shirt four times.
Max takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He sinks onto the couch, and immediately Jimmy jumps into his lap.
“Hey, buddy,” Max murmurs, scratching behind the cat’s ears. “Mama’s coming home. You excited?”
Jimmy purrs in response, kneading Max’s leg. Sassy, not to be left out, appears from nowhere and curls up next to them.
“Yeah, me too,” Max says softly. He looks around the apartment, memories flooding back. Your first night here together, nervous and excited about taking this step. Lazy Sunday mornings cuddled on this very couch. The time you tried to teach him to dance in the living room, both of you laughing so hard you could barely stand.
The next hour crawls by at an agonizing pace. Max alternates between sitting rigidly on the couch and pacing the floor. He checks his phone obsessively, waiting for updates.
Finally, blessedly, his phone rings. It’s his pilot. “We’ve landed, boss. Y/N’s parents are helping her into the car now. Should be at your place in about 20 minutes.”
Max feels his heart rate double. “Thanks, Frank. Until next time.”
The next 20 minutes are the longest of Max’s life. He stands by the window, watching the street below, waiting for the familiar black SUV to appear.
When it finally does, Max feels like he might pass out. He watches as the car pulls up, as the driver gets out to open the back door. And then ... there you are.
You look tired, a bit pale, but to Max, you’ve never been more beautiful. You look up at the building, a soft smile playing on your lips. And then your eyes meet his through the window.
Max feels his breath catch in his throat. Because in that moment, he sees it. Recognition. Love. You’re really back.
He’s at the door in an instant, yanking it open just as you step off the elevator. For a moment, you both freeze, taking each other in.
“Max,” you whisper, and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.
“Y/N,” he breathes, and then you’re in his arms.
He holds you tightly, burying his face in your hair, breathing you in. You cling to him just as fiercely, and he can feel your tears soaking through his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” you murmur against his chest. “I’m so sorry I forgot you.”
Max pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his hands cupping your face. “Hey, no. You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re here now. You’re home.”
You nod, a watery smile on your face. “I am. I remember, Max. Not everything, not yet. But I remember us. I remember loving you.”
Max feels tears spill down his cheeks, but he doesn’t care. He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “I love you so much, liefje. God, I was so scared I’d lost you.”
You shake your head, your hands coming up to wipe away his tears. “Never. You could never lose me, Max Verstappen. Not really.”
And then you’re kissing, and it’s like coming home after a long, difficult journey. It’s familiar and new all at once, and Max never wants it to end.
A loud meow interrupts the moment. You break apart, laughing, to see Jimmy and Sassy winding around your feet, demanding attention.
“Oh, my babies!” You exclaim, kneeling down to scoop them up. “I missed you too!”
Max watches, his heart so full it feels like it might burst. This is what he’s been missing, what he’s been fighting for. You, here, in your home, with your little family.
As you straighten up, cats in arms, Max wraps an arm around your waist. “Welcome home,” he says softly.
You lean into him, a contented sigh escaping your lips. “It’s good to be home.”
Max knows there’s still a long road ahead. Your memory isn’t fully restored, and there will be challenges to face. But right now, in this moment, with you in his arms, he knows everything will be okay.
Because you remembered. You came home. And together, you can face anything.
***
The neon lights of Las Vegas blur into streaks of color as Max races through the city streets, his Red Bull car a blur of blue and red and yellow. The roar of the engine fills his ears, but it can’t drown out the beating of his own heart. This race feels different, more important than any he’s ever driven before.
As he navigates a tight corner, Max’s mind flashes back to the conversation that led him here...
“Max, you need to go back,” you had said, your voice gentle but firm. “Racing is part of who you are. I’m better now, and I want to see you out there doing what you love.”
Max had shaken his head, pulling you closer on the couch. “But what if something happens? What if you need me?”
You had laughed, a sound that still made his heart skip a beat. “I’ll always need you, silly. But I don’t need you hovering over me 24/7. Plus,” you added with a mischievous grin, “I miss seeing you in that race suit.”
Now, as he pushes the car to its limits, Max feels a renewed sense of purpose. He’s not just racing for himself anymore, or for the team. He’s racing for you, to make you proud, to show you that your faith in him wasn’t misplaced.
“Max, you’re pulling away,” GP’s voice crackles through the radio. “Gap to P2 is now 3.5 seconds. Keep this up, mate.”
Max grunts in acknowledgment, too focused to form words. He knows you’re watching from the garage, probably biting your nails like you always do during his races. The thought makes him smile behind his helmet.
Lap after lap, Max maintains his lead. The famous Las Vegas Strip becomes a blur of light and shadow as he speeds past the iconic hotels and casinos. In the back of his mind, he remembers your excitement when you found out about this race.
“Vegas, Max! It’s going to be incredible. Promise me we’ll stay a few extra days after the race?”
He had promised, of course. He’d promise you the moon if you asked for it.
As the final laps approach, Max’s concentration intensifies. He’s been in this position before, leading a race, victory within grasp. But it’s never felt quite like this.
“Two laps to go,” GP informs him. “You’ve got this. Just bring it home.”
Max takes a deep breath, visualizing the remaining track in his mind. He can almost hear your voice, the way you’d whisper “You’ve got this” before every race, a private moment just for the two of you amidst the pre-race chaos.
The last lap arrives, and Max is in the zone. Every turn, every straight, every gear change is perfect. As he rounds the final corner, the chequered flag comes into view.
“Yes!” Max shouts as he crosses the finish line, pumping his fist in the air. The team erupts in cheers over the radio, but Max is waiting for one particular voice.
“Brilliant drive, Max!” GP exclaims. “Absolute masterclass. How does it feel to be back on the top step?”
Max takes a moment to catch his breath, emotions threatening to overwhelm him. When he speaks, his voice is thick with feeling.
“It feels ... it feels incredible,” he says. “But this win, it’s not for me. It’s for Y/N.”
He can hear the surprise and emotion in GP’s voice as he responds. “That’s beautiful. I’m sure she’s over the moon right now.”
As Max begins his cool-down lap, he continues, knowing his words are being broadcast to millions around the world, but speaking only to you.
“Y/N, liefje, this one’s for you. For your strength, your courage, your unwavering support. You pushed me to come back even when I wanted to stay home with you. You believed in me when I doubted myself. This victory is yours as much as it’s mine.”
He pauses, swallowing hard. “I love you, Y/N. More than any trophy, any championship. You’re my biggest win.”
As he pulls into parc fermé, Max can see the team gathered, ready to celebrate. But his eyes scan the crowd, looking for only one person.
And there you are, pushing through the throng of mechanics and officials. Your eyes are shining with tears, but your smile is radiant.
Max practically leaps out of the car, not even bothering with his helmet. He meets you halfway, sweeping you up in his arms and spinning you around.
“You did it!” You exclaim, laughing and crying at the same time. “Oh Max, I’m so proud of you!”
Max sets you down but doesn’t let go, pressing his forehead to yours. “No, we did it. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
You shake your head, still smiling. “This was all you, Max. I just watched from the sidelines.”
“You’ve never been on the sidelines,” Max says firmly. “You’re the reason I’m here. The reason I push myself to be better, on and off the track.”
Before you can respond, the team descends upon them, whooping and cheering. Max is pulled away for the podium ceremony, but his eyes never leave you.
The champagne flows, the anthems play, but it all feels like a blur to Max. All he can think about is getting back to you, celebrating properly.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity of photos and interviews, Max is able to escape back to the team’s hospitality area. You’re waiting for him, a glass of champagne in hand and a proud smile on your face.
“There’s my champion,” you say softly as he approaches.
Max pulls you close, not caring who might be watching. “I meant what I said on the radio,” he murmurs. “This win is yours.”
You laugh, a sound that still makes his heart soar. “Well, in that case, I guess I should start preparing my acceptance speech for the Prize Giving Ceremony.”
Max grins, playing along. “Oh yeah? And what would this speech entail?”
You pretend to think for a moment. “Let’s see … I’d like to thank the academy, and of course, my incredibly handsome and talented boyfriend, without whom none of this would be possible ...”
Max laughs, feeling lighter than he has in months. “Handsome and talented, huh? I like the sound of that.”
You smack his arm playfully. “Don’t let it go to your head, Verstappen. I’ve seen you first thing in the morning, remember?”
“Hey, I thought you said I was cute when I’m all sleepy and rumpled,” Max protests.
“Cute, yes. Handsome is a stretch,” you tease.
Max clutches his chest in mock offense. “You wound me. And after I just dedicated my win to you and everything.”
You soften, reaching up to cup his face. “It was beautiful, Max. Really. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
Max turns serious, covering your hand with his own. “You existed. That’s more than enough.”
You stand there for a moment, lost in each other’s eyes, the celebration continuing around you unnoticed.
Finally, Max breaks the silence. “So, about that promise to stay a few extra days in Vegas ...”
Your eyes light up. “Oh, you remembered! I was hoping you would.”
Max grins. “Of course I remembered. I was thinking... maybe we could make it a bit more special than just a few extra days?”
You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “What did you have in mind?”
Max takes a deep breath, suddenly nervous. This wasn’t how he’d planned to do this, but standing here with you, flush with victory and love, it feels right.
“Well,” he says slowly, reaching into his pocket, “I was thinking maybe we could celebrate our engagement.”
Your eyes widen as Max drops to one knee, pulling out a small velvet box. The noise of the celebration fades away, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble.
“Y/N,” Max begins, his voice shaky but determined, “these past few months have been the hardest of my life. But they’ve also shown me, without a doubt, that you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. Through good times and bad, wins and losses, I want you by my side.”
He opens the box, revealing a stunning diamond ring. “Will you marry me?”
You gasp, tears filling your eyes. For a heart-stopping moment, Max fears he’s misjudged, moved too fast. But then you’re nodding, a radiant smile breaking through the tears.
“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, Max. A thousand times yes.”
Max slips the ring onto your finger with trembling hands, then stands to pull you into a passionate kiss. The team, finally noticing what’s happening, erupts into cheers and applause.
As you break apart, breathless and giddy, Max rests his forehead against yours. “I love you. More than I ever thought possible.”
You beam up at him, your eyes shining with happiness. “I love you too. Always and forever.”
As the team swarms around them, offering congratulations and calling for more champagne, Max holds you close. This, he realizes, is his true victory. Not the race win, not the trophies or the championships. But this moment, with you in his arms, promising a future together.
***
Emma settles into her favorite armchair, a steaming mug of tea on the side table and Max Verstappen’s newly released autobiography in her hands. As a long-time fan of Formula 1 and Max in particular, she’s been eagerly anticipating this book.
She flips through the early chapters, smiling at familiar stories of Max’s rise through the ranks of motorsport. But it’s the chapter titled “The Race of My Life” that catches her attention. This, she knows, is where Max will finally open up about the period when he stepped away from racing — a time that had puzzled and worried fans.
As Emma begins reading, she’s immediately struck by the raw emotion in Max’s words.
I thought I knew what pressure was. The weight of expectations, the split-second decisions that could mean victory or defeat. But nothing in my racing career could have prepared me for the day I walked into that hospital room and saw the love of my life look at me without a hint of recognition.
Emma feels a lump form in her throat. She remembers the press conference where Max had revealed the reason for his absence, but this ... this is different. This is Max laying bare his soul in a way she’s never seen before.
In that moment, I realized that all the trophies, all the victories, all the adoration from fans — none of it mattered. The true test of my life wasn’t on any track. It was right there, in that sterile hospital room, facing the possibility of losing the one person who saw me not as Max Verstappen the driver, but just as Max.
Emma finds herself blinking back tears. She’s always admired Max for his skill on the track, his determination, his fierce competitiveness. But this vulnerability, this raw honesty, shows a side of him she never knew existed.
The chapter continues, detailing the days and weeks following the accident. Max describes the pain of seeing you struggle to remember, the hope that would flare with each small recognition, and the crushing disappointment when progress stalled.
I’ve faced some of the best drivers in the world, pushed myself to the absolute limit of human capability. But nothing — nothing — has ever been as challenging as sitting by her bedside, day after day, telling her stories of our life together and seeing no spark of remembrance in her eyes. It was like watching the person I loved most in the world slip away, inch by inch, and being powerless to stop it.
Emma has to pause her reading, overwhelmed by the emotion. She tries to imagine what it must have been like for Max, known for his control and precision on the track, to face a situation where he had no control at all.
As she continues reading, she’s struck by Max’s honesty about his own struggles during this time:
There were moments — dark, terrible moments — when I wondered if it would be easier to walk away. To accept that the woman I loved was gone, replaced by this stranger who wore her face but didn’t know my heart. The guilt I felt for even thinking such thoughts nearly crushed me. But I realized that true love, real love, isn’t just about the easy times. It’s about choosing to stay, to fight, even when every instinct is screaming at you to run.
Emma finds herself nodding, moved by Max’s profound realization. She remembers following his career, cheering his victories, sympathizing with his defeats. But this … this feels like she’s truly seeing the man behind the racer for the first time.
The chapter takes a turn as Max describes the day you started to remember:
When she looked at me that day, really looked at me, and I saw recognition in her eyes — it was like winning every championship, every race, all at once. No podium celebration could ever compare to the joy of hearing her say my name, of feeling her arms around me, knowing that she remembered us, our love, our life together.
Emma feels tears rolling down her cheeks now, unashamed. She’s always been moved by stories of love and perseverance, but knowing this is real, that it happened to someone she’s admired for so long, makes it all the more powerful.
As the chapter nears its end, Max reflects on how this experience changed him:
I returned to racing eventually, but I was never the same driver … or the same man. I had faced my greatest fear and come out the other side. I had learned that there are things more precious than any trophy, more thrilling than any race. I learned the true meaning of love, of commitment, of fighting for what really matters in life.
Emma closes the book, needing a moment to process everything she’s read. She feels like she’s seen a completely new side of Max Verstappen, one that goes far beyond the confident, sometimes brash young driver she remembers.
Picking up her phone, she opens Twitter, scrolling through reactions to the book. It seems she’s not alone in her emotional response. Fans and fellow drivers alike are sharing their thoughts.
Just finished @Max33Verstappen’s book. I’m in tears. What an incredible story of love and perseverance ❤️
Always respected Max as a driver, but this book shows what a truly remarkable person he is.
Emma adds her own tweet to the mix.
Thank you, @Max33Verstappen, for sharing your story. You’ve shown us that the greatest victories in life often happen off the track 🥺
She picks up the book again, turning to the final pages of the chapter. Max’s closing words resonate deeply.
In the end, life isn’t about the races you win or the records you break. It’s about the people you love, the bonds you forge, the differences you make. My greatest achievement isn’t any trophy or title. It’s the life I’ve built with her, the love we’ve nurtured through good times and bad. That’s my true legacy, and it’s one that will last far beyond when the chequered flag last waves for me.
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