F1 Fanfiction - Tumblr Posts

F1 Masterlist

Prove It: Max Verstappen x Reader

Completed

Blurbs can be requested

Prove It Part 1: Max Verstappen x Reader

Prove It Part 2: Max Verstappen x Reader

Prove It Part 3: Max Verstappen x Reader

Prove It Part 4: Max Verstappen x Reader

Prove It Part 5: Max Verstappen x Reader

Prove It Part 6: Max Verstappen x Reader

Prove It Part 7: Max Verstappen x Reader

Prove It Part 8: Max Verstappen x Reader

Prove It Part 9: Max Verstappen x Reader

Prove It Part 10: Max Verstappen x Reader

Prove It Part 11: Max Verstappen x Reader

Prove It Part 12: Max Verstappen x Reader

Prove It Part 13: Max Verstappen x Reader

Prove It Part 14: Max Verstappen x Reader

Prove It Part 15: Max Verstappen x Reader

Prove It Part 16: Max Verstappen x Reader

Prove It Part 17: Max Verstappen x Reader

Prove It Part 18: Max Verstappen x Reader

Short Stories for Prove It

The Babysitters

Rowan’s First Visit

Taglist for Prove It: @savannah-elliott @chiogarza @citylights31 @fic-for-readers @clubworldchampions @idkiwantchocolatee @starjane312 @valkryejh @readerselegance @alunski @mk15x @xheera @xaviersgifted @frenchyjuju @rysmatias @suckerforspace @justmemewriting @japanesekel @love-all-things-writing @dorisfantasyworld @imaginemrvel @zxlla @s00nfloweronfyre @withyoutilltheendofthismess @lukehemminxxs @lovingroscoee @reillykwatson @watermel0nsugarhigh @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @callmequeenbeee @hannahholland1811 @dr3lover @lu-morningstar @lebritneeey @5secondsof-beforeyouexit @zealousfarmfirepatrol @mayhemories @dudde-44 @lanki-bts @christianaevans

The Girls: Charles Leclerc x Reader

The Girls Part 1: Charles Leclerc x Reader

The Girls Part 2: Charles Leclerc x Reader

The Girls Part 3: Charles Leclerc x Reader

The Girls Part 4: Charles Leclerc x Reader

The Girls Part 5: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Taglist for The Girls:

Tags that aren’t working:  @watermelon1299 @sweet3poison @88red88 @infamousmany @cippyo @sophiachiodelli @starlightoctavia @ln15 @adorerdj @fromthedeskofjoii @ar333f1 @callmequeenbeee @starbucksthings @ninnypoosworld @starxqt @poofy-baby-unicorns @escapingrealityagain @jazztime @sueesstuff @coucou123

Tags that are working:

@untitled92260 @disneydaydreameralways @zxlla @thrsdyschld @purpledianezzzzzz @lovingroscoee @bilbobag9ins @way-to-eat-all-the-chips-kip @withyoutilltheendofthismess @chiogarza @simpforpierre @scottmctominbae @octaviareina @lindsaytriestowrite @starjane312 @savannah-elliott @sanne-p @o0itsjustme0o @eleanorbvb @permanentllyharry

@dr3lover @piceous21 @citylights31 @xoxoloverb @lebritneeey @sweetlittleorchid @soomanybands @raaaaabzzz @heyitskay-21  @5secondsof-beforeyouexit @xox-moon-xox @tall-tanned-tattoo @fredsandlokiswhore @fictional-l0v3r @valkryejh @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @starjane312 @hannahholland1811 @b-orderline @puthaydestroyer @theplobnrgone @dudde-44 @lmao-liz @herpes-free-since-05 @leclerc16s @fictional-l0v3r @hes-club @kyomihann @compulsiveshit @markluv4u 

The Girls Info: One part will be at least 3,000 words. As I’m a college student and I work, I don’t know when updates will be or how frequently they will be. I’m hoping I will be able to update once a week or every other week.

2 Years: Max Verstappen x Reader

1:58 am - lando norris 

Lando norris x fem!reader Summary: 1:58 am the time he walked out of your life or 1:58 am the time he walked back into your life Warnings: hurt/comfort. angst. fluff. max is max fewtrell, italics are flashbacks a/n: put my playlist on shuffle and started writing! Hope you like it send me requests if you want an idea to be written! 

☆☆☆☆

1:58 am the exact time he walked out of your shared apartment leaving you alone, tears cascading down your face as you wondered why he went away. 

Your knees gave out as you sank to the couch, tears blurring your eyes as you opened your phone, your heart clenching as you looked at the photo of lando that lit up the dim room. Immediately you opened your email drafting  a letter of resignation to send to all the quadrant members. 

Placing your phone down, you began to walk around the apartment, memories flooding your mind 

The rain hit the windows harshly causing you and Lando to look at eachother “we're gonna get soaked” he laughed. You'd gone out for dinner and decided it was a good idea to walk to to the restaurant completely forgetting how brutal the UK weather can be 

“I guess we'll have to run home. You wanna race me lan?”

“You don't stand a chance” he smirked at you as he took your hand and led you to the door. 

He was right, you couldn't win,completely drenched hair dripping you finally caught up to him trying to catch your breath ”you could've let me win arsehole” 

“Where's the fun in that baby” he took your hand, and as if on queue music started playing from the car parked on the side “let's dance” 

You're not much for dancing but for him you did. And so you danced in the rain, laughing like a bunch of idiots. Lando pulled you in for a sweet kiss which you gladly reciprocated, until you jumped the honk of a car breaking you apart.

“Do you want to come home or are you just gonna keep standing in the rain all night?” max called 

“Oi you muppet you played the song didn't you? You should’ve shouted us before” 

“Believe it or not i actually like you two together so i gave you a cute moment don't worry i got pictures and videos so i expect a thank you”

“Thank you max” you giggled at his antics and pulled lando to the car 

You placed the frame face down not wanting to remember anymore, the hole in your heart only growing as you continued to roam through the dark halls, leading to your bedroom. Checking your phone one more time pleading for a message a call anything to tell you that he was okay and that he was coming home 

☆☆☆☆

Nov 20th was the date. 2 weeks. 14 days. Complete radio silence. Your resignation had not gone down well. Max showing up to your place pleading with you to come back saying Lando was an idiot for what he did and how you shouldn't throw 3 years of hard work at quadrant because Lando was being a dipshit. Ria and the boys spammed you with messages.you told them you’d finish all the videos scheduled this year but after that you were done. You couldn't work with him anymore. 

How could you go back? 9 years of friendship and a 4 year relationship down the drain like it meant nothing. you’ve been there since the beginning. You held him while he cried and celebrated with him after a good race. But most importantly you loved him. You thought he loved you too. 

Dread consumed you as ria dropped off your abu dhabi paddock passes reminding you that quadrant scheduled a video filming the last race of the year from the mclaren garage. You had no choice but to go. It was work after all. So you packed your bags (full of Lando's hoodies that still smell like him) , got on the plane and checked into your room on wednesday night.Declining offers to go out because you knew he'd be there and you weren't ready to face him yet. 

Saturday rolled around (too quickly) and you were getting ready to go to the paddock to watch quali. The Mclarens had been looking unbelievable this weekend, the progress they've made throughout the year clearly showing with both of the drivers being at the top in both fp1 and fp2. Your mind wandered to the possibility of Lando winning a race. Your heart clenched. A knock on your door brought you back to reality. “Are you almost ready, love quali is starting in 30 minutes? The cars waiting in the lobby ” ria spoke through the door. You grabbed what you needed and headed out. 

As predicted, Oscar finished fp3 in p1 with Lando just behind. Your heart rate was skyrocketing as you walked closer to the McLaren garage.Max knew how hard this was for you so he pulled you aside “i've known you for 9 years. I know when you're not okay. I know this is hard but this is the last time you'll be with us. Forget lando. I mean quadrant. Aarav, steve, ethan ,niran, ria, me the people you've spent the last few years with building this brand so enjoy yourself. I may be Lando's best friend but you know you'll always have me.” 

Tears pooled in your eyes as you hugged him pouring everything into it not being able to answer him verbally. You wiped your tears and continued to walk to the garage with Max next to you. 

Luckily Lando was already in the car when you got there so you settled into the familiar garage missing the feeling of watching live from the garages. Quali  went past in a blur and now all you could focus on was Lando's car going round the track setting purple sectors all around. Screams erupted as he crossed the finish line and secured pole position. Hugging all your friends and fully embracing the moment.

Lando soon made it back into the garage and Max gave you the heads up so you could go back to the hotel. You knew you'd have to face him tomorrow but maybe tomorrow you would be ready. You settled into bed and hoped you would be okay and drifted off to sleep. 

Loud knocking woke you up. Looking around for your phone you checked the time. 1:58 am. Walking up to the door thinking it was just ria you pulled on a hoodie and opened the door.You wrong. Lando stood on the opposite end of the door. Bags under his eyes and his cheeks more hollow than you remembered  he just stood there defeated. Until he finally broke the silence that consumed all the air around you

“Can I come in?” 

Who Had A Cookie?

Blurb: One where you're the f1 drivers manager, and when all the boys seem to have eaten a 'magic cookie' you're the one who needs to clean up all the mess.

Notes: I was inspired by the one greys anatomy episode lol but I thought this was a funny concept. This is also my first fic I’ve posted in 6 months!! I found it in my drafts and decided to post! Enjoy xx

Warnings: well mention of drugs, might be some swearing but other than that nothing lol Platonic!reader x f1 drivers and a little bit of reader x Charles leclerc

Who had the cookies?

You loved charity events, especially f1 charity events. You loved your job for giving you the opportunity to attend these events. A very easy night if you say so yourself, babysitting twenty grown men, what could go wrong? Especially when cameras and fancy investors are around they behave all on their own, leaving you to relax, and indulge in some free champagne.

“Y/n.” your name was mumbled behind you, startling you as your attention now shifted to your assistant.

You knew something was wrong by the way she was twiddling her fingers, her black nails contrast to her white dress as she brings her left index nail up to hold between her teeth.

“Jenny? Spit it out.” You stood up straight, urging your assistant.

She stands up straight as if she's trying to muster up some sort of courage, she looks around before she leans in closer to you, you can almost hear her shaky breaths.

“There were some cookies… and erm, well they were placed in the drivers dressing room, and I don’t know how they got there. I mean, I certainly didn’t sign them off so this is no way my fault and-“ she was talking a mile a minute you couldn't even understand her.

“Jenny!” You took her hands that were waving in the air and bought them back down to her chest.

“Take a deep breath and tell me what’s wrong?” you said sternly. 

“Don’t fire me… please.” You could see the tears brimming in her eyes, but the anticipation was killing you, you windened your eyes and stayed quiet so she could carry on.

“There were compromised cookies gifted to the driver's dressing room.”

“And?”

“And- and now the tin is empty, as in they've all gone. The cookies have been eaten y/n. Cannabis cookies.”

Your hands ran to your mouth as your eyes immediately darted around the room to look for anything out of the ordinary.

The room was spinning as you whipped your neck around in different directions.

George russel was the first to catch your attention.

He looked fine…he was leaning against a wall, chewing…

He was chewing on a cookie.

“Oh my god.” You started to push through the crowd of people in the hall.

“George! Drop that cookie!”

George’s eyes lit up when he saw you, one of his many managers. You could see the cookie crumbs falling from his mouth as he smiled, chocolate smudged around the corners of his lips.

“Y/n, you have to try these cookies!” He desperately said, holding up his half eaten cookie. But much to his dismay you slapped it out of his hand, letting it fall right to the floor. George’s lips downturned and your name fell in a groan from his lips as he looked at his cookie on the floor.

“Spit.” You held your hand out, as gross as it was.

“I will not!” He sassed you as you pointed your finger at him, eyebrows furring trying to be as intimidating to the six foot man as possible. George sent you one of his signature smirks as he swallowed the mouthful of cookie in one large gulp.

“George, those are not regular cookies-“

“Tell me about it! Send from the heavens.” he smiled, almost robotic, like the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Your own eyes widened as you realised one of your clients was stoned.

Completely and utterly stoned.

You were fucked.

You could feel Jenny breathe behind you, she let out a small giggle at George's actions causing you to turn and scowl at her.

“Grab him and take him to the dressing room, and don’t let him talk to anyone. lock him in there and then come back to help me gather anyone else who had had a cookie.”

She nodded as she grabbed George’s arm, telling him they were going on an adventure, George happily complying.

You sighed as you looked for anyone else.

You were at a very high class charity gala in Monaco. This night was about to be ruined and you were about to be fired for letting your drivers get out of control and well, high.

You decided making an announcement on the stage was your best bet, walking through the crowds of people you felt someone grab your arm.

“Y/n!” Lando Norris. 

He giggled as he said your name. Making him repeat himself.

“Y/nnnnnn.” He covered his mouth to stop the giggles. “Sorry, just, why does your name sound so weird?”

You had to try so hard to keep your face straight at the boy's child like giggles.

“Why are you laughing like that?” Carlos walked over, playing his arm over his wobbly ex teammate.

“Carlos!” you and lando both said in unison.

“Your hair is so soft, like fur.” Lando said as his hands made their way into Carlos's long brown locks. Carlos eyes widen as he looks at the boy then back at you, trying to pull Landos hands out of his hair.

“Carlos, did you have a cookie?” You eyed up the Spaniard.

“What cookie?” He frowned at you.

“Ugh, thank god! Landos had a erm.” You leaned into him so no one around would hear, “Some of the drivers have eaten cannabis laced cookies.”

Carlos’ head turned as he looked back at Lando, eyes widening.

“Take him back to the dressing room please, just lock him in there with George, and if you see anyone else take them with you.” 

Carlos just nodded, letting his mate lean on him as he dragged him to the back of the room.

You let out a sigh of relief, that was three out of a possible twenty.

Only seventeen more to find.

You walked up to the stage, grabbing the mic, tapping it slightly.

“Hello, everyone. I hope everyone is having a good night, erm, could all formula one drivers that have eaten a cookie this afternoon please meet back in the dressing room, important meeting. Thank you.” You smiled at the crowd, you could hear the whispers as you stopped off the stage. 

“Y/n?” 

Max. 

“I had a cookie, and I don't feel too good, like - like i'm not here, i've been over there.” He pointed to the corner of the room, “and I thought I was dreaming y/n. I dont know whats happening to me?” He looked panicked as he clutched onto your upper arm.

“You're okay max, you had some magic cookies.”

“Magic cookies?”

“Just come with me okay?”

He nodded his head vigorously as he followed you though the crows, clutched to your hand like a toddler. 

You noticed Daniel on the way, opting to grab him too.

“Danny!”

“Hello.” he had, in a very nonchalant tone, unlike his bubbly self. He was definitely stoned.

“Are you okay?”

“I feel great.” he smiled, but his eyes didn't quite catch up to him.

You grabbed his arm and dragged him along with max.

“Y/n? Where are we going?” Max asked anxiously.

“To sit down.”

You dragged them both into the room, when you got in there you could see George sat curled up on the window seal, lance was sat back against the wall staring at the floor. Seb was giggling at Mick who had all of a sudden become hyper aware of his body, saying he could feel his ‘skin’.

Pierre was touching his face in the mirror while Yuki was at the snack table. 

You let out a relieved sigh as Jenny had managed to capture some of the drivers, a few turning up after hearing your announcement. 

“Okay boys go play.” You pushed Daniel and Max into the room. 

“Dan, dan, danny, daniel.” Pierre called Daniel over to the mirror. “Why don't I look like me?” Pierre asked daniel. 

Pierre gasped and turned to a very relaxed Daniel, placing his hands on his shoulders.

“Daniel, do you think I look weird?” Panicked. 

“Coolllll.” Daniel replied as he smiled straight though pierre.

“You're right, I'm too cool to care.” Pierre nodded and turned back to the mirror to straighten out his shirt.

“This room is full of some very… high men.” Seb looked at you with raised eyebrows.

“Seb? Please tell me-”

“I didn't. Don't worry. I'm watching my weight.” he winked at you. “I'm happy to look after these guys while you get the others?”

You replied a quick thank you as you quickly shut the door, bolting back into the hall. Then you realised, opening the door back open and peering through, 

Where were Lando and carlos?

You rushed back out, looking down the bottom of the hallway, choosing to search the rest of the building, you came to the fire escape stairs where you found a curled up charles rocking back and forward. 

“Charlie?” you gently called out as you crouched down next to him, placing a hand on his knee.

“Y/n?” He quietly replied. 

“It's me, it's just me. How are you feeling?” you gently asked him.

“I- i don't know, i've never felt like this before.” He said raising his head, his eyes bloodshot and skin pale, he had a cookie.

You smiled at him as you brushed his fallen hair back from his forehead.

“You're going to be alright, come with me okay?”

You pulled him up to his feet where he looked down at you, sniffing before a little smile climbed his face.

“You're so pretty y/n.” You giggled at the boy as you took his hand and made your way down the steps to the drivers room.

“Like a princess.” he added, his hands waving in the air.

“Thank you, charlie.” you giggled.

“Charlie,” he smiled, “have i ever told you how much i love it when you call me that, charlie.” he smiled and repeated the nickname again, leaning his head on your shoulder as you both made your way down the stairs.

Charles lightly sighed as you pushed him into the drivers room, “Where are you going?” Charles whispered, pulling on your arm.

“I'll be back in five minutes okay, Seb will look after you.”

Charles nodded his head to look for seb, you both grimace when you saw mick with his head in the trash can, seb rubbing his back as pierre and yuki giggle at him in the corner. 

You walked back out the room when Jenny was running up to you, “Y/n! Huge problem, Carlos and Lando are on the stage!”

Ou barge past her and walk into the room to see Carlos with a mic in his hand, Lando leaning into him in fits of laughter.

“All I'm saying is, I race really fast cars, like that's super cool, right? There's only twenty of us that do that. So cool, im so cool, im a cool guy.'' Carlos giggled as he spoke about himself on stage.

“You could die? I could die? Imagine that! The world would be so sad, my smooth operator.” Lando giggled at the nickname and then started to sing. 

And before you knew it they were two verses deep into smooth operator, Carlos opting to show off his opera skills at one point. 

You jumped on the stage taking the mic out of Carlos' hands and putting your hand over it so you could whisper shout in his ear, “You said you didn't have any cookies!”

Carlos snickered as he looked at Lando who gasped and held his hand over his mouth.

“You lied to y/n?” Lando giggled. “Oh man you're in so much trouble.” Landos face dropped as he leaned into carlos’ face, “she looks mad, we should probably run.”

Carlos nodded along with the boy when you grabbed both of their arms, “Nope. No more running, you're coming with me.”

Carlos shook his head like a caught child and both men giggled as you pushed them off the stage, apologising to the crowd before handing the mic back to the dj. 

“Y/n!”

You sighed as your name was called for about the fifth time that night, this time though, it was serious.

Zac Brown made his way over to the three of you, a scowl on his face and his arms crossed over his chest. Lando straightened his posture as Carlos crossed his arms and impersonated Zac, Lando caught onto this and all of a sudden the boys were in crying fits of laughter again. You winced as Landos cackle echoed through the hall, catching the attention of people around.

“What. The. Hell?”

“I can explain.” you winced at the man.

“What is going on here?” He eyed up his driver and ex driver, who he presumed had too much to drink.

“They're high. Someone laced some cookies and I'm so sorry, I have the situation under wraps, they won't be a problem anymore.”

But when Zac started to laugh along you realised maybe it wasn't just some of the drivers who had had some cookies.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.” You grabbed Zac as well as Lando and Carlos and dragged them back to the dressing room.

“Y/n, Your back!” Charles made his way over to you, engulfing you into a hug.

“Y/ns back!” Max screamed as he fell off the sofa, plunging his way into your arms along with charles.

“Hey get off her, she's my manager!” Max shoved Charles hand that was loosely placed on your shoulder. 

“She's mine too!”

While the two men started to fight over your attention you scanned the drivers that were in the room. Jenny had managed to catch the majority and even some of the drivers that weren't high had opted to help.

Max shoved Charles in hopes he would let go of you, instead causing you to stumble back into the arms of someone else.

“Okay okay, we get it, she's pretty but you're suffocating her, and she won't be very pretty when she's dead on the floor.” a spanish accent can be heard behind you. 

Fernando unwrapped both men as they both started to profusely apologise about ‘nearly killing you.’

You rubbed your hand over your head after smiling at Fernando in a thank you as he sent Charles and Max to the food table.

“You look stressed.” he said with a smirk as you both watched the men in the room.

“I need a cookie.” you joked, your eyes on mick who was still throwing up.

“I could always make you some.” he shrugged.

You laughed at the man before your eyes widened in realisation, you turned to him, face like thunder, “You!”

He threw his hands up in the air, “In my defence i didn't mean for anyone to eat them. It was a total accident.”

Your mouth agape you turned to look at the Spaniard ready to scream every curse word you know. He sensed your anger, “it was an honest mistake y/n, trust me. You think I would have wasted all of them cookies on these people on purpose.”

Your eyes darted daggers and Fernando understood you were really mad, in an attempt to lighten the mood he pointed at Yuki and Pierre who were having the time of their lives giggling like two school girls in the corner.

“You have to admit, it is kinda funny,” he said.

A smile crept on your face as you giggled, it was kinda funny.

Yours and Fernandos giggling soon stopped when you saw Max and Checo arguing in the corner.

“I think Max is about to punch Checo for taking the last slice of pizza.” you said.

“Shit.”

Pequeña

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Fernando Alonso x Webber!Reader

Summary: a brutal breakup leads you right into the arms of one of your father's oldest friends (or in which being sooooo normal about Fernando Alonso runs in the Webber family)

Warnings: 18+ content, age gap, taking advantage of an emotionally vulnerable state, breeding, and pregnancy

You sit hunched on your bed, knees pulled up to your chest as tears stream down your face. Your mobile vibrates again and you swipe away another message from your now ex-boyfriend without reading it. How could he do this to you? You thought what you had was real.

Your thoughts drift to home, to your family thousands of miles away in Australia. You long for your dad’s comforting embrace and your mum’s reassuring words. But they’re so far away. You feel painfully alone in this strange English city where you’ve come to attend university.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re dialing a familiar number. It rings three times before a warm voice picks up. “Hola pequeña! What’s wrong?”

“N-Nando ...” You sniffle, trying and failing to keep your voice from cracking. “He … he cheated on me.”

There’s a pause before Fernando responds, his Spanish lilt taking on a protective edge. “That little hijo de puta. I’ll kill him myself.”

You let out a watery laugh. “No, don’t do that. I … I just miss home. Miss my family.”

“Say no more, pequeña. You’re coming to stay with me for a bit, yeah? Can’t have you all alone like this.”

You hesitate, wiping at your tears. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose ...”

“Impose?” Fernando laughs. “My favorite girl? Never. I’m sending a car to get you right now.”

“No, no, I can drive myself-”

“You’ll do no such thing in this state,” he chides. “Driver’s on his way. Go pack a bag.”

You open your mouth to protest again but think better of it. Fernando can be extremely stubborn when he wants to be. “Okay, okay. Thank you, Nando. Really.”

“De nada, pequeña. I’ve got the guest room all ready for you. We’ll get through this together, yeah?”

His soothing Spanish accent is already making you feel infinitely better. You know Fernando has been close with your family for years, has watched you grow up into the young woman you are today. He’s always treated you like his own daughter.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say, meaning it. Spending time with Fernando is guaranteed to lift your spirits. “Your place in Silverstone, right?”

“That’s the one. Get packing and don’t worry about a thing. I’ll see you very soon.”

You hang up and immediately start throwing clothes and essentials into an overnight bag with a renewed sense of hope. Fernando always knows just what to do to make you feel better.

Two hours later, you’re being ushered into the backseat of a sleek black sedan by a courteous driver in a pressed suit. He takes your bag and stows it in the trunk before sliding behind the wheel.

“Miss Webber? I’ll be taking you to Mr. Alonso’s residence now.”

You nod, suddenly exhausted from all the crying. The driver seems to sense your melancholy because he doesn’t try to make small talk.

The English countryside whips by in a blur of green fields and quaint villages. Before you know it, the sedan is pulling up to an impressive brick estate surrounded by beautifully manicured gardens.

The driver lets you out and leads you up to the front door, which swings open before you can knock. Fernando stands there in a soft white sweater and dark-washed jeans, arms open wide.

“Pequeña!” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he pulls you into a fierce hug. “Welcome, welcome.”

You breathe in his comforting scent of sandalwood and citrus as he rubs soothing circles on your back. “I’m glad you came,” he murmurs.

He ushers you inside and you can’t help but gape at the tasteful, modern interior decor. It’s bright and airy, with huge windows offering views of the impeccable gardens beyond.

“This place is incredible, Nando,” you say, trailing behind him as he leads you through the spacious living room towards what appears to be the kitchen.

“You like?” He grins over his shoulder. “I had it remodeled not too long ago. Here, have a seat.” He pulls out a barstool at the huge kitchen island.

You take a seat, settling your elbows on the cool granite surface as Fernando busies himself at the stove. “So,” he says without turning around. “Tell me everything, from the beginning. Don’t leave out a single detalle.”

You sigh, resting your chin in your hands as Fernando starts pulling ingredients from the fridge. “Well, it started a few weeks ago. ..”

You recount all the little things that, in hindsight, were red flags: the constant emailing and texting, the unusually long nights “studying” at the library, the bizarre excuses. Fernando listens intently, occasionally tossing in a sympathetic “maldito idiota” or an indignant shake of his head.

Finally, you get to the part where you finally confronted your now ex about his shady behavior … only to have him confess that he’d been cheating on you for months with some underclassman sociology major.

By the time you’ve finished, your voice is thick from holding back a fresh wave of tears. Fernando sets down the knife he was using to chop vegetables and comes around the island to pull you into another hug.

“Oh, pequeña,” he murmurs into your hair. “Lo siento mucho. You didn’t deserve any of that, you hear me?”

You just nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Fernando rubs your back again before pulling away, hands on your shoulders so he can look you square in the eyes.

“Listen. That boy?” A feisty glint enters his warm hazel eyes. “He’s a fool, a complete and total imbecile for hurting someone as incredible as you. You’re so brave, so strong, so full of life ...” He tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “And any man should consider himself the luckiest in the world to have you in his life, you understand?”

You manage a watery smile and nod again. Leave it to Fernando to know exactly what to say to begin mending your broken heart.

“Good.” He straightens up, clapping his hands together decisively. “Now dry those tears, pequeña. I’m making my famous seafood paella for dinner tonight and I’ll need my best assistant chef!”

You let out a surprised laugh, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks. “You know I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

“Nonsense!” Fernando waves a dismissive hand as he returns to the cutting board. “Everyone can learn with a little guidance from Chef Nano, no?”

The next couple of hours pass in a blur of cheerful chopping, stirring, and laughing as Fernando walks you through the steps, nudging you gently whenever you veer off course. It’s impossible to stay weighed down by your sadness when he’s cracking jokes in that irreverent way of his and peppering you with silly kitchen nicknames.

By the time you’ve portioned out the fragrant saffron rice studded with shrimp, mussels, and clams into bowls, you’re doubled over in a fit of giggles from Fernando’s dramatic retelling of his past Formula 1 antics.

“... And then this crazy Australian madman comes barreling into the pit and just starts laying into me!” He throws his hands up, eyes dancing with mirth. “If Charlie hadn’t stepped in, I think your old man really might’ve killed me that day!”

You shake your head, still laughing as you take your first bite of the paella. It’s absolute perfection, the flavors melding together in an incredible symphony on your tongue. “My dad really went after you?”

“Oh yeah,” Fernando chuckles, digging into his own bowl. “We were like two crazed animals back then whenever we were on the track together. Couldn’t stand each other.”

There’s a lull as you both focus on eating for a few minutes. When you’re pleasantly full and satiated, you sit back with a contented sigh.

“Nando, that was hands down the best paella I’ve ever had.”

“You flatter me too much.” He waves a hand, but you can tell he’s pleased. “Just wait until tomorrow, when Chef Nano teaches you how to make the perfect tortilla Española, eh?”

The idea of getting to spend more time with Nando and being cooked for brings a genuine, untroubled smile to your face for the first time in days. This is just what you needed to start healing from your recent heartbreak.

***

As you help Fernando clear the dishes, a comfortable silence settles between you. He pours you both generous glasses of his favorite Spanish rioja and you retire to the plush living room sofas.

Fernando settles into the overstuffed armchair across from you, stretching out his lean legs as he takes a sip of wine. “So, pequeña ...” He fixes you with that warm, piercing gaze. “What is it you really want? In a man, I mean.”

You pause, considering his question as you swirl the ruby liquid in your glass. “I … I’m not sure I know anymore, to be honest. I thought I had it all figured out with ...” You trail off, unable to even say your ex’s name without a pang of hurt lancing through you.

Fernando reaches over to pat your knee comfortingly. “Hey, no more tears, okay? That pendejo is in the past. I’m asking what your ideal partner would be like going forward. What do you want, need, deserve from a man?”

You take a fortifying sip of the bold, peppery wine before responding. “I think … more than anything, I just want to feel cherished. Valued. Like I’m the most important person in his world.”

Fernando’s expression softens. “Oh, pequeña. You have such a big, beautiful heart. Of course that’s what you want — to be adored and treated like the incredible woman you are.”

You duck your head, warmth blooming in your cheeks at his praise. “I don’t know, Nando. Maybe I’m just being naive or asking for too much ...”

“Claro que no!” He leans forward, pinning you with an intense look. “You’re allowed to want those things, pequeña. You’re allowed to be selfish when it comes to your heart and what you need to be truly, deeply happy.”

His words resonate somewhere deep within you and you find yourself nodding slowly. “You’re right. I am allowed to want someone who makes me their whole world and never takes me for granted, aren’t I?”

“Exactamente.” Fernando reaches over to grasp your hands, his calloused fingers engulfing yours. “And let me tell you — any man who doesn’t give you that is un verdadero idiota. You deserve to be cherished, worshipped, put up on a pedestal every single day.”

His dark eyes burn with conviction, lips pressed into a serious line. You find yourself unable to look away, mesmerized by the sheer intensity of his words and manner.

“You deserve everything, pequeña,” he continues in a low, gravelly tone. “A man who makes you his whole priority, who loves you with every fiber of his being. Someone who will lay the world at your feet.”

Fernando reaches up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb stroking over the apple of your cheekbone reverently. The calloused pad of it sends a shiver racing down your spine.

“Someone who looks at you and can scarcely breathe for how lucky, how blessed they are to have you in their life ...”

His face is so close to yours now, his warm breath caressing your lips. You’re completely transfixed, body thrumming with barely restrained tension and … anticipation?

Fernando’s next words are barely more than a hoarse rumble. “I will cherish you, pequeña. Always. Allow me to show you how a real man adores the woman he loves.”

And then his mouth is on yours, hot and insistent and tasting of wine and desire. You gasp into the kiss, frozen for a split second before melting against him, kissing him back with equal fervor. Your hands slide up to tangle in the soft strands at the nape of his neck as he angles his head, deepening the heated exchange.

Fernando groans low in his throat, the vibrations shooting straight to your core. His large, nimble hands come up to frame your face, holding you in place as he takes his time thoroughly exploring your mouth, nibbling at your lips, stroking his talented tongue against yours in a way that has you whimpering into him.

He pulls away slightly and you chase his lips with a soft keen of protest. Fernando chuckles darkly, nosing along your jaw.

“Patience, pequeña,” he rumbles against the sensitive skin just below your ear. “As sweet as that gorgeous mouth is, there are so many other parts of you I’ve been longing to taste ...”

A full-body shudder wracks you at his words, at the sheer need and promise lacing his tone. Part of you is stunned by how quickly the atmosphere between you has shifted, how easily you fell into his passionate embrace.

But a much larger part — the part that has admired and idolized this man since you were knee-high — is utterly intoxicated. Delirious with the knowledge that the love you’ve secretly harbored for Fernando for years is, impossibly, reciprocated.

His mouth is trailing hot, openmouthed kisses along the column of your throat and you tilt your head back with a wanton moan, reveling in the rasp of his day-old stubble against your sensitized skin.

“N-Nando ...” You try to put a protesting note in your voice, but it comes out a pleading whine instead. “Are you sure about this? I’m … I’m just a kid to you.”

He rears back to pin you with a look so full of naked want it makes you squirm. “You stopped being a kid a long time ago, pequeña,” he growls. “I’ve been watching you grow into this gorgeous, fiery woman and it’s taken everything in me not to take you into my arms like this until now.”

His hands roam down to palm your waist, fingers flexing possessively against the dip of your sides. You’re breathless, dizzy, wondering if you’ve stumbled into some incredible, wildly realistic dream.

Because surely this — with your longtime crush, the older man you’ve harbored forbidden fantasies about pulling you flush against his strong frame and lavishing kisses up the side of your neck — cannot be real. Can it?

“It’s real, pequeña. So, so real,” Fernando croons, as if reading your mind. He frames your face again, searing you with another passionate kiss that steals your breath and chases away any remaining doubts. “Feel how real it is,” he murmurs, guiding your hands down to the firm evidence of his arousal straining against the soft denim.

You whimper into his mouth, tentatively palming the thick bulge. Fernando hisses in a sharp breath through his teeth and breaks the kiss to press his forehead to yours. His eyes are tightly shut, long lashes fanning across sunkissed skin.

“F-fuck, pequeña,” he chokes out in a ragged voice. “Been dreaming of those little hands on me for years.”

Something inside you shifts at his confession, like a dam of long repressed want and need cracking open. You suddenly feel bolder, empowered by the effect you’re having on this man — this god among men who you’ve put on a pedestal for so long.

Maintaining heated eye contact, you slowly drag your hand up the length of his erection in one firm stroke that has Fernando’s hips jerking up as he curses vehemently in Spanish.

“Like this?” You rasp, a blatant challenge in your tone as you repeat the motion.

Fernando’s eyes flash hungrily and then he’s surging forward again, capturing your lips in another punishing kiss that leaves you lightheaded and alight with lust.

“Just like that, mi amor,” he growls when he releases your mouth with a final nip at your lower lip. “Now it’s my turn to cherish you ...”

With that, he loops an arm behind your knees and rises in one smooth, powerful motion, hoisting you up into a secure bridal carry. You yelp in surprise, hands flying up to cling to his broad shoulders.

“Nando! What are you, mmph-”

Your protest is cut off by his mouth slanting over yours in another heated kiss. Fernando maneuvers you easily as he starts carrying you towards the staircase, hiking your dainty linen dress up around your thighs.

“I’m making good on my promise, pequeña,” he murmurs hotly against your swollen lips. “Bedroom. Now. Going to lay you out and cherish every sweet inch of that gorgeous body, just like you deserve.”

Unbidden, a soft whine slips from your throat at his heated words. You tighten your grip on his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle there as a fresh wave of arousal floods through you, hot and insistent.

Fernando chuckles darkly, adjusting his grip on you as he starts up the stairs. “That’s it, let me hear how much you want this too.”

You open your mouth to respond but only a needy whine escapes as Fernando hitches you higher in his arms, the movement causing delicious friction against your core.

“I want, ngh-” Your words dissolve into another needy noise as Fernando nips at the juncture of your neck and shoulder in reprimand.

“Use your words, pequeña,” he rumbles against your tingling skin. “Tell me what you want.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before he’s kicking open a door and striding into what must be the bedroom, depositing you gently onto the plush center of an enormous bed. Fernando looms over you, chest heaving as he rakes his heated gaze over your prone form in a way that makes you shudder.

“Nando, I … I want you,” you finally manage, fighting past your shyness to meet his burning stare. “Want you to cherish me, cherish every part of me, like you promised.”

Fernando’s eyes darken further at your words and he slowly, purposefully begins lifting his sweater, never looking away from you.

“Good girl,” he praises in that deep, gruff tone that has your thighs pressing together instinctively. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

He shrugs off the soft knit, revealing a toned, hair-dusted chest and abdominal muscles carved from years of intense athletic training. You can’t help but drink in the display of his powerful body as he reaches for the buckle of his belt.

Fernando doesn’t miss your frank appraisal, a cocky smirk tugging at his full lips. “Like what you see, pequeña?”

You bite your lip and give a small, shameless nod. His grin widens and with a few deft flicks of his wrist, Fernando’s belt is undone and sliding free of its loops. You watch, rapt, as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and boxer briefs in one smooth motion.

“Then no more teasing,” he promises in a low, heated rasp. “Tonight you’ll have as much of me as you can handle.”

With that, Fernando pushes his trousers and underwear down over his hips in one go, springing free in all his thick, flushed glory. Your eyes widen and you suck in a sharp breath at the sheer size of him, mouth going dry with naked want.

Fernando steps forward until he’s standing at the edge of the mattress, gloriously nude and incredibly aroused. He crouches down, bringing himself eye-level with your flushed face as he reaches out to gently take your hands in his calloused grip.

“Are you sure, pequeña?” He searches your gaze intently. “Because once I claim you, mark you as mine in every way … there’s no going back. I won’t ever let you go.”

His raw confession hangs in the heated air between you. You meet Fernando’s fiery gaze without faltering, threading your fingers through his in silent acceptance. His eyes blaze and then he’s surging up over you, capturing your mouth in another searing, all-consuming kiss as he slowly, reverently hikes your dress up and divests you of your last remaining garments.

You wind your arms around his thick neck, holding him close as Fernando settles between your splayed thighs with a low, guttural groan. He rears back just enough to pin you with another scorching look, stealing your breath.

“You’re mine now, pequeña,” he vows roughly, guiding his thick length to your slick entrance. “And I’m going to spend all night cherishing this sweet body, just like you deserve ...”

Fernando braces himself above you with one powerful forearm, using his free hand to grip your thigh and hitch your leg higher around his lean hips. You keen softly as the new angle allows him to sink even deeper, filling you up so deliciously.

He drops his forehead to yours, dark eyes locked on your parted lips as he starts rocking into you with slow, measured strokes. Each deliberate grind of his pelvis against yours has you whimpering, nails raking down the flexing planes of his back.

“That’s it, pequeña,” Fernando croons, punctuating his words with a sharp roll of his hips that has you crying out. “Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”

You try to muffle your sounds against his broad shoulder, but Fernando isn’t having it. He slides the hand not braced on the mattress up to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head so your mouths are a hairsbreadth apart.

“No, no … I want to hear every gorgeous, needy little noise,” he rumbles, lips brushing yours with each scorching word. “Want to hear you begging for more of my cock, stretching you so perfectly ...”

A desperate whine slips free at his filthy words, your walls fluttering around his rigid length in defiant response. Fernando rewards you by capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his talented tongue teasing against yours as he picks up the pace of his thrusts.

You moan brokenly into his mouth, legs locking around his narrow waist as Fernando sets a rhythm of steady, pounding strokes. Each slick glide has you building higher and higher, pleasure bordering on overwhelming. It’s so much after so much time without, yet somehow not enough.

You tear your lips from his with a ragged gasp, throwing your head back against the pillows. “M-More, Nando! Please … ah!”

Fernando grunts in approval at your needy plea, hips snapping forward to bury himself deeper. “As you wish, pequeña ...”

He sits up further on his knees, using the new leverage to drive into you with increased force and intensity. The lewd noises of your joining fill the air — skin slapping against skin, your cries of pleasure mingling with Fernando’s low groans of exertion.

Part of you feels like you should be embarrassed by the wanton sounds spilling from your lips. But a much bigger part is just reveling in the indescribable feeling of being taken apart so thoroughly by this incredible man’s skilled body.

Fernando hooks an arm under one of your knees, nearly bending you in half as he leans down to mouth hot, openmouthed kisses from your collarbone up the slender column of your throat. You keen wildly, fingers spasming against the rippling muscles of his back.

“Do you want it harder, pequeña?” He growls the filthy words against the racing pulse point under your jaw. “Want Papi to fuck you just like the needy little girl you are?”

A choked whimper is all you can manage in response, rendered incoherent by his merciless onslaught against that sensitive cluster of nerves deep inside you.

Fernando’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk against the side of your neck and then he’s driving into you with renewed vigor, hips pistoning in short, brutally powerful snaps that quickly have you keening. Your nails leave stinging welts in their wake as they drag down Fernando’s glistening shoulders and back, but he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“That’s it, taking me so well,” he grits out through clenched teeth, each word punctuated by a nasty grind of his hips that has you crying out. “Such a good girl for Papi, con esas caderas tan estrechas ...”

His dirty Spanish murmurs nearly do you in, shooting white-hot sparks of pleasure-pain arcing across your nerve endings. You swear your vision nearly whites out entirely when his calloused fingers find your swollen bud, stroking firmly in tight, rapid circles that have you keening.

That familiar, coiling tension is rapidly becoming too much to bear. You can feel your orgasm fast approaching, building and building with each punishing thrust into your greedy little hole and stroke against that hypersensitive bundle of nerves.

“Nando, Nando,” you pant, clutching desperately at his flexing biceps as your thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably. “I’m gonna, ah, fuck, I can’t-”

Fernando’s response is a series of harsh Spanish curses that would make a sailor blush. His mouth crashes against yours in a searing, messy kiss, swallowing your cries as he fucks you right through your release.

Wave after relentless wave of excruciating ecstasy crashes over you. You tremble and wail into Fernando’s mouth, pulled taut as a bowstring as he milks every last exquisite pulse from you with those sharp, unforgiving snaps of his hips.

Just when you think the pleasure searing along every nerve ending will break you into pieces, Fernando’s rhythm falters. He rears back, baring his teeth in a feral snarl that sends a fresh shock of desire arrowing straight to your core.

“Going to fill you up now, pequeña,” he grits out in a gravelly tone laced with strain. “Make you nice and, ah mierda, messy with Papi’s cum ...”

The sheer filth of his words, combined with his furious tempo draws animalistic whimpers from deep in your chest. You lock your ankles at the small of his back, taking him deeper as he starts to lose control.

“Please, Nando!” You beg shamelessly, reaching up to dig your fingers into the straining chords of muscle in his back and shoulders. “Please cum inside me, wanna be yours, wanna-”

Fernando cuts off your fervent cries with a harsh growl and then he’s slamming home one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills molten heat deep in your convulsing channel with a stream of strained Spanish curses.

You shudder and cry out at the incredible sensation of being filled so completely, holding him flush to you while he pulses and throbs. Fernando captures your lips in another searing kiss, fucking his tongue into your mouth in time with the shallow rolls of his hips as he spends himself.

Just when you think the incredible intensity of his release will never end, the shrill trill of a ringtone shatters the sweaty, panting silence of the bedroom.

Fernando goes rigid above you, finally breaking the fevered kiss with a curse that shoots straight to your over-sensitized core.

“Fucking hell, now?”

His tone is one of pure annoyance as his darkly tousled head whips towards the nightstand where his mobile is ringing incessantly. One large hand flexes against the sheets beside your head, ready to simply ignore the call.

Until, that is, he sees the caller ID and his entire demeanor shifts from one of irritation to something more sheepish. He immediately sits up on his haunches, the movement tugging at your overstuffed, abused entrance in the most delicious way and drawing a helpless whimper from you.

Fernando fixes you with a heated look, plush lower lip caught between his teeth as he drinks in your disheveled, satisfied state sprawled wantonly across his rumpled sheets. Only then does he make a sudden, aborted movement to grab the still-ringing phone, gaze flickering down to where you’re obscenely joined.

“Don’t you dare pull out,” you pant in warning, clenching down hard around him as he shifts to reach for the mobile. Fernando groans explosively at the vice-like grip, arm falling back to brace himself against the mattress.

“Insatiable,” he accuses with a dark chuckle. He somehow manages to snag the still-trilling phone without dislodging himself and you shamelessly squeeze down even tighter in petty retaliation. Fernando tosses you a smoldering glare that makes heat lick along your nerve endings before he finally answers.

“Hola?” His deep voice is rougher than usual, gravelly from the thoroughly ravished state you’ve put him in.

“Fernando! Mate, it’s me.” Your father’s crisp Aussie tone immediately filters through the speaker and you inadvertently clench down again in panic.

Fernando’s lips peel back in a mild wince before smoothing back into that trademark smug grin of his. He drops his free hand to splay possessively over your lower abdomen, thumb rubbing idle circles into the soft, oversensitized skin there as he regards you with dark, hooded eyes.

“Mark!” He greets your father with forced nonchalance, even as the pads of his calloused fingers dip dangerously close to where you’re still intimately joined. “What can I do for you?”

There’s a pregnant pause during which you can practically picture the slight frown creasing your dad’s brow at Fernando’s strange tone. “Er, sorry to bother you, Nando. I was just ringing to see if my daughter made it to you alright?”

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes going wide as Fernando’s lips quirk up in a devilish smirk. Instead of answering right away, he drags the tip of one finger agonizingly slowly through your damp curls in a wordless warning.

Biting your lip to stifle a moan, you obediently stop clenching your internal muscles, allowing Fernando to sink that few extra incredible inches back inside you with a roll of his hips. His eyes burn with smug satisfaction when you keen softly at the feeling of being so deliciously full.

“She arrived safe and sound,” Fernando finally replies, voice gone low and rough in a way that has your thighs trying to clench instinctively. He holds you open by digging the heel of his palm against your mound, lips twitching when you whimper. “I’m taking very … very good care of her. You don’t need to worry.”

Another pause from your father’s end, this one even longer. You can picture the perplexed furrow in his brow deepening as he tries to figure out the strange undercurrent in Fernando’s tone.

“Right … well, good then. I just wanted to check in and make sure she got there okay after that whole mess with her asshole of an ex.”

You shudder at the memory, hips shifting restlessly against Fernando’s calloused palm in a plea for friction, pressure, anything. He simply watches you squirm with darkly glittering eyes, lazily rubbing his thumb in soothing little circles just below your navel.

“Trust me,” Fernando finally rumbles, voice gone low and graveled in a way that sends a shiver of desire arcing down your spine. “Your little girl is being very well looked after, in every way.”

Your cheeks burn hot at the blatant innuendo lacing his words. Fernando’s smirk widens, like he enjoys seeing you so flustered, before he continues in a tone of exaggerated innocence. “She’s been … quite the handful, really, but I don’t mind.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you shoot him a betrayed look, clenching reflexively around the thick length still sheathed snugly inside you. Fernando arches one artfully sculpted brow as if in challenge, using his free hand to firmly grip one of your thighs and wrench your legs obscenely further apart in clear retaliation.

You muffle a whimper into the sheets as the new position allows him to grind deeper, that delicious friction quickly unraveling your will to stay quiet. You can already feel the coil of need building rapidly once more with each shallow roll of Fernando’s hips.

“What was that?” Your dad’s mildly bewildered voice suddenly crackles over the line, jarring you back to the reality of the situation.

Cheeks burning with a mixture of arousal and mortification, you blindly grasp for one of the pillows to muffle the series of pitiful noises now spilling past your lips as Fernando ups the intensity of his thrusts.

He leans in closer until the two of you are practically nose-to-nose, teeth sinking into that plush lower lip when you instinctively tighten around him like a velvet vise. Fernando’s eyes roll back briefly before fixing back on you, dark and fathomless as the depths of the Mediterranean.

“Nothing to worry about over here,” he pants through gritted teeth, one hand leaving its bruising grip on your thigh to curl around the back of your neck and pull you into a searing, filthy kiss designed to swallow any incriminating sounds. “Like I said. Just … taking very good care of your little girl.”

There’s one final confused little hum from your father before the line clicks off with a hollow beep. Fernando instantly drops the phone and slants his mouth hungrily over yours once more, all thoughts of the call instantly forgotten as he resumes fucking up into you with renewed vigor.

“My little girl, aren’t you pequeña?” He grates against your lips, punctuating each word with a scorching grind of his hips that has sparks bursting behind your eyelids. “Going to be a good girl and cum all over Papi’s cock again, sí?”

You can only nod wildly in agreement, nails raking down his broad back as that incredible tension inside you winds tighter and tighter. Fernando swallows your cries with his wicked, talented mouth, until finally you go rigid in his arms, back arched as your release rockets through you like a shockwave.

This time Fernando doesn’t even attempt to stifle your hoarse, animalistic keening, merely rearing back to watch in fascination as your complexion colors and your eyes roll back. He growls your name like a prayer, hips snapping erratically as he uses your convulsive flutters to chase his own high. Fernando’s chiseled features contort in pleasure, teeth sinking into his own lip hard enough to draw blood when you bear down with the vise-like strength of your release.

“F-Fuck … gonna … gonna fill you up again,” he grits out, thick cock jerking deep inside your molten depths. “Make you … gonna ah … make you mine forever this time, pequeña ...”

The gravelly promise in his tone somehow penetrates the sweaty, lust-hazed cocoon surrounding you. Your eyes fly open just in time to witness Fernando’s own clenched shut, jaw dropped in a growl as he buries himself to the hilt with one final, bruising grind of his pelvis.

You cry out at the incredible sensation of his release flooding your already stuffed channel with scorching ropes of thick seed. Fernando lets out a shuddering moan of pure gratification, hips working in short, shallow thrusts to pump every last pulse of his sticky essence into your greedy little womb.

When the last tremor of his climax has wrung through him, he drops bonelessly on top of you in a sweaty, panting tangle of sated limbs. You whimper quietly at the delicious feeling of his weight pinning you to the mattress, his softening length still lodged snugly inside as the two of you bask in the afterglow.

Fernando nuzzles into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, pressing lazy, opened-mouthed kisses to your slick, overheated skin. His talented fingers trace abstract patterns up and down your sides, touch reverent as his gravelly voice rumbles against you.

“Going to get you nice and full, pequeña. Fill you up again and again until my baby takes ...”

A violent shudder wracks through you at the filthy promise in his words. Fernando chuckles darkly, gathering you closer against his sweat-slicked chest as his hand drifts down to cup your lower abdomen with tender possessiveness.

“That’s it, let it sink in,” he croons, fingertips rubbing in gentle circles. “My seed taking root deep inside this sweet little womb, putting a baby in your belly ...”

He punctuates the words with a firm press of his palm that has you gasping, walls fluttering greedily around the thick shaft still impaling you. Fernando makes a noise of deep approval low in his throat.

“Going to keep you just like this,” he vows in a tone that brooks no argument, hot and heavy against the sensitive shell of your ear. “Barefoot and pregnant in my bed, that gorgeous body swollen and glowing with my hijo ...”

You whimper at the image his words conjure up — your belly rounded and stretched taut with Fernando’s child, heavy breasts leaking as you cradle his son or daughter. Fernando husks out a laugh at your reaction, nosing along the line of your jaw until you meet his heated gaze.

“You like that idea, don’t you pequeña?” His eyes glitter with a mixture of desire and predatory satisfaction. “Being tied to me forever, in the most permanent way possible?”

You can only nod dumbly, suddenly rendered mute by the depths of your own yearning. Of course you want that — to carry this incredible man’s legacy inside you for all the world to see. To belong to him, completely.

Fernando rumbles his approval against your swollen lips, cupping the back of your head to angle your mouth for a tender, lingering kiss. When he finally breaks away, you try to chase his mouth with a breathless whimper of protest.

“Shh, patience, pequeña,” he murmurs indulgently, thumb stroking over your slick lower lip. His eyes are dancing with dark promise. “You’ll have plenty of time to take your fill of me in the coming months while I breed you over ...”

He kisses the words into the hollow of your throat, teeth grazing the rapid flutter of your pulse point.

“... and over ...” Fernando rolls you onto your back in one smoothly powerful motion, settling his weight over you as he lips trail a blazing path down your abdomen.

“... and over again.” His tongue dips briefly into your navel before he nuzzles lower, nose nudging through your damp curls until his warm breath ghosts over your overstimulated sex. You suck in a ragged gasp, thighs trembling with anticipation as Fernando glances up at you from under those ridiculously long lashes.

“Until it finally takes,” he finishes with a wicked grin before ducking down to swipe one firm lick through your folds. You nearly black out from the electric shock of pleasure-pain, broken cries echoing through the bedroom as Fernando sets to work thoroughly mapping every intimate inch of you with that devilishly skilled mouth and tongue.

True to his filthy promise, Fernando keeps you until the first rosy hints of dawn are just beginning to lighten the horizon outside, thoroughly ravishing your helpless body over and over again until you’re boneless and incoherent with satiation.

It’s only when the first few birds have begun to chirp their morning songs that he finally relents, blanketing you with his solid weight one last time. Fernando’s lips are kiss-swollen as they trail up the line of your throat to find yours in one more long, thorough kiss that leaves you totally plundered.

“Sleep now, pequeña,” he rumbles against your parted mouth, gathering you close as his hand drifts down to splay possessively over the slight tautness of your lower abdomen. “Let my release take nice and deep inside you ...”

You slip into unconsciousness to the sensation of Fernando’s calloused fingertips rubbing soothing circles over your skin and the imprinted promise of his low, sleep-roughened vows.

“I’m going to put a baby in you, pequeña. Going to breed you so full of my children until you’re round and glowing with them … that’s a promise.”

***

Six Months Later

Fernando can’t keep the swell of pride and possessiveness from blooming in his chest as he guides you through the paddock with a supportive hand on the small of your back. His dark gaze keeps flickering down to admire the swell of your belly peeking out beneath the flowing summer dress you’ve chosen for today.

He feels like a conquering king surveying his latest prize as you waddle adorably at his side, the golden sunlight caressing your features and lending a rosy flush to your glowing complexion. Fernando has never seen a more beautiful, ethereal sight than you in this moment — rounded with his child, your body transformed by the life blossoming within.

His hand subconsciously moves to cup the subtle curve of your belly as you pause to allow a team member to pass. Fernando feels a fresh surge of scorching desire and smug satisfaction race through his veins when you instinctively cover his hand with yours, cradling his palm against the taut swell.

“Easy there, pequeña,” he rumbles with a wolfish grin, leaning in until his lips brush the delicate shell of your ear. “We’re in public, remember? Wouldn’t want to give these pendejos an eyeful of how insaciable my little girl has become since getting knocked up ...”

A delightful shiver visibly ripples through you at his words, those gorgeous eyes fluttering shut for the briefest of moments before fixed back on him blown wide and dark with rekindled want. Fernando lets out a low chuckle of approval, arm winding around your waist to pull you flush against his side.

Just then, a familiar figure comes striding around the corner, brows low and thunderous as they zero in on the embrace Fernando has you locked in. Mark Webber falters mid-step as he takes in the rather obvious changes to your body, chin dropping in a comical picture of dumbstruck shock.

Fernando can’t resist angling the two of you forward just enough to emphasize the prominent curve of your belly straining against the flowy fabric of your summer dress. He watches your father’s expression morph from surprise, to confusion, then slowly … realization as the pieces begin to click into place.

Within seconds, Mark’s eyes have narrowed to slits of rage, mouth curling back in a snarl of anger as he picks up his pace and stalks towards the pair of you. Fernando’s own smug expression slips, features settling into a hard mask as he angles his body slightly in front of yours on instinct.

“You motherfucking piece of shit-” Your father snarls, face taking on an alarming reddish hue as he rears back and swings at Fernando.

Fernando manages to sidestep the worst of the blow at the last second, feeling only a glancing impact against his left cheekbone before Mark closes in again with balled fists raised. Behind him, you let out a strangled cry of dismay, reaching out helplessly to grasp at the back of his shirt.

“Dad, no! Fernando, please-”

But Fernando is already sinking into a fighting stance, knees slightly bent and weight evenly distributed. He blocks another wild swing from Mark with ease, allowing the Australian’s momentum to carry him past so Fernando can land a swift, open-handed punch against the side of his head.

The sharp retaliatory crack has Mark stumbling sideways, snarling like an enraged animal. For one brief, wildly intense moment, the two former rivals simply square off — sizing one another up like they’ve done a hundred times before on various circuits when they were both still competing.

From anyone else, Fernando might have been able to laugh off this overreaction, shrug it aside as the misguided anger of a hotblooded father learning his young daughter is now expecting. But this is Mark Webber — a man who has proven himself as fiery and formidable an opponent as they come.

Fernando won’t admit it aloud, but a tiny thrill of excitement races through him at the prospect of a proper throwdown with his old nemesis turned friend. He throws you a quick glance over his shoulder, assessing if he needs to move you further away before the situation escalates.

You surprise him by shaking your head adamantly, those beautiful eyes blazing with protective fury of your own as you plant yourself squarely in between the two men.

“Fernando, don’t hurt him,” you plead, gaze flickering between him and the bristling Aussie now clambering back to his feet. “He’s just-”

“Being a bloody psychopathic bastard,” Mark spits, wiping a hand across his rapidly swelling lip. His hateful glare lands accusingly on the prominent swell of your middle. “Fucking hell , Nando. She’s just a kid-”

Fernando feels his own temper ratcheting up several notches at the venom and dismissal lacing the other man’s tone. He takes an aggressive step forward, forcing you back behind the shield of his powerful frame.

“Don’t talk about her like she isn’t here to defend herself,” Fernando growls, unconcerned that they’re rapidly drawing an audience from the swarm of crew personnel surrounding them.

He arches a challenging brow at your father’s scathing glower. “What’s wrong? Upset that while you were off galivanting around the globe, I was putting a baby in your daughter’s belly?”

Mark lets out an outraged roar, lurching forward to throw another wild haymaker that Fernando easily ducks under. You cry out in distress, hands coming up to grip at Fernando’s biceps from behind as you try to bodily pull him away from the furious Australian’s reach.

“Both of you, stop!” Your shrill voice cuts through the tense alleyway, causing both men to pause for a split-second and glance towards you. “Nando, don’t provoke him! And you-” You aim an accusatory finger at your seething father. “Lay one more hand on Fernando and I swear to god-”

Whatever heated threat you were preparing goes unvoiced as a sudden aura of pain visibly ripples across your features, brow furrowing and lips parting on a pained gasp. Your hands instinctively fly down to cradle your belly, entire body locking up with tension.

Fernando’s heart leaps into his throat as he recognizes the clear signs of distress from months spent doting upon your every subtle twinge and discomfort. Immediately, his previous temper fades into a dull, distant roar easily overshadowed by the all-consuming need to ensure your well-being.

“Pequeña?” He’s at your side in an instant, gripping your upper arms to steady you as a light sheen of perspiration blooms on your brow. “Breathe through it, mi amor … just breathe, okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” you manage in a tight voice. “Just a twinge. The excitement is probably too mu-ahh!”

You gasp again, nails digging punishingly into Fernando’s forearms as your knees threaten to buckle. All hints of masculine posturing flee his mind as Fernando smoothly sweeps you up into a secure bridal carry, heedless of the soft whimpers of discomfort now trickling past your parted lips.

He locks eyes with a stunned Mark over your bent crown, gaze impassive and steady. “You heard her. The excitement is too much. We’re leaving.”

Without waiting for a response, Fernando swivels on his heel and marches back the way you’d originally come with you cradled protectively against his chest. He keeps his strides measured and unhurried, but still manages to put a fair amount of distance between the pair of you and your father’s petulant anger in a matter of moments.

Once you’ve rounded a quiet corner alcove, Fernando gently lowers you to a relatively secluded stack of equipment crates, bracing your lower back and guiding you into a seated position.

“Wait here,” he murmurs against your hairline, dropping a fleeting kiss to the rapidly dampening strands stuck to your brow. Fernando’s fingers ghost down to cradle your belly once more, silently assessing for any areas of increased tension. “I’ll be back in just a moment with some water and a physio, alright?”

You nod weakly, squirming to rest back against the cool metal behind you as another pained grimace flits across your features. Fernando feels his heart clench at the wretched, lost expression clouding your eyes.

Cupping your cheek, he tilts your chin up until you meet his heated gaze. “Don’t look so afraid, pequeña. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

Fernando leans in until his nose brushes against yours, allowing the familiar closeness and the scent of his cedar and bergamot cologne to soothe you. “Our little one is just reminding us who’s boss, that’s all. But Papi’s here … I’ll take care of both of you, sí?”

You manage a weak smile at that, some of the tension bleeding from your delicate features as you nod against his palm. Fernando presses one more lingering kiss to your brow before reluctantly pulling away.

“I’ll be right back, mi vida. Just breathe deeply for me in the meantime.”

With one final reassuring caress to your belly, Fernando turns on his heel and strides back out into the bustling paddock area. His jaw is set in a tense line, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he mentally catalogs which team staff he needs to track down.

Rounding a corner, Fernando very nearly barrels straight into the rigid form of your father standing there with arms crossed, clearly waiting to waylay him. The Aussie’s expression is thunderous, eyes blazing with hurt and undisguised fury.

“So that’s it then?” Mark bites out in a tone of barely restrained aggression. “You’ve gone and knocked up my little girl. My own daughter, Nando ...”

Fernando holds up a dismissive hand, in no mood to allow your father’s misplaced anger to provoke another confrontation — not when you’re so clearly in distress. “Don’t start with me again.” His tone is low, brooking no argument. “Your daughter is safe and being well looked after, that’s all that matters right now.”

With that, he moves to sidestep around Mark, only to find his path blocked by the other man’s broad chest as he steps directly into Fernando’s space. The former World Champion narrows his eyes warningly, feeling his temper ratcheting back up in the face of such insolence.

“Look, you arrogant Spanish prick,” Mark growls, lips peeling back in a menacing sneer. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but-”

Fernando abruptly cuts him off with a harsh bark of humorless laughter, dark eyes glittering dangerously. “A game?” He shakes his head slowly, expression one of vaguely disbelieving contempt. “You really think that’s all this is to me? Getting one up on you by deflowering your little girl and leaving her pregnant, alone, and disgraced?”

The other man flinches almost imperceptibly at the crass words, clearly thrown by Fernando’s frank disdain. The Spaniard presses on relentlessly. “Any man who would treat a situation like this so flippantly doesn’t deserve to consider themselves a real man at all — let alone a father.”

Mark’s face has turned an alarming shade of puce, whether from shame or sheer unchecked rage Fernando neither knows nor cares. He simply crowds further into the Australian’s space, heedless of how their chests nearly brush with each harsh exhalation.

“Make no mistake, I love that woman and the child she carries more than life itself,” Fernando states with conviction, cadence low and gravelly. “If you’re asking whether I intend to be there for them both as a partner, as a father … my answer is simple.”

He pauses just long enough to allow the weight of his next words to truly sink in.

“For as long as your daughter and my children will have me, you couldn’t pry me away from their sides with a fucking crowbar.”

Fernando holds your father’s seething gaze for one final beat, satisfaction lancing through him at seeing the other man seemingly robbed of his righteous anger. With a curt nod, he finally moves to brush past the speechless Australian without another word —intent on fetching the physio like he had originally set out to do.

Because in the end, Mark Webber’s approval means less than nothing to Fernando. All that matters is rushing back to your side and ensuring your safety and comfort. You and the new life blossoming within you are his entire world now.

As if to reaffirm the point, you suddenly appear around the corner, one hand braced protectively under the swell of your abdomen.

“Nando,” you breathe in a tremulous voice, blindly reaching for him. “The little one misses you ...”

Fernando instantly abandons all thoughts of confronting Mark, or retrieving a physio, or anything else as he rushes to gather you up in his arms once more. He cradles you tenderly to his chest as your fingers twist almost convulsively in the fabric of his Hugo Boss shirt, dark eyes wide and pleading.

Fernando glances down at you cradled protectively in his arms, heart clenching at the distressed furrow of your brow and shallow, panting breaths.

Readjusting his grip, he dips his head to murmur a string of soothing Spanish endearments against your sweat-dampened hairline as he carries you through the winding labyrinth of the paddock. His strides are measured but purposeful, not rushing — he needs to get you somewhere quiet and comfortable to recover from the ordeal.

Finally, Fernando spots a secluded alcove tucked away behind a cluster of tires. He quickly guides you over and gently lowers you onto an emptied workbench, cocooning you against his broad chest.

“There, there, pequeña,” he croons, lips brushing your brow. “Just breathe nice and deep for Papi, just like we practiced ...”

You nod weakly, fingers reflexively flexing against the solid planes of Fernando’s abdomen as you struggle to pull in deep gulps of air. He deftly tugs the neckline of your summer dress aside to expose more of your flushed skin, using the hem to dab away the perspiration beading on your chest and throat.

“That’s it, mi vida,” he praises in that dark, soothing timbre. “Just like that, easy does it ...”

Slowly, the tension bleeds from your features as the worst of the discomfort subsides. Fernando doesn’t dare loosen his supportive embrace, nor does he tear his increasingly heated gaze away from your parted lips as each measured exhale puffs across his skin.

“Better now?” He murmurs, thumb tracing the delicate arch of your cheekbone reverently. A rosy blush stains your complexion when you nod meekly, lashes fanning across those glorious cheekbones.

“Good girl,” Fernando rumbles, helpless not to drink in the gorgeous picture you make — cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes glazed with lingering stardust. He grips your jaw in a firm caress, tilting your chin up until your gazes lock.

“Because I must admit,” he husks softly, gaze darkening to molten whiskey. “Seeing you like this, with my child safe inside you … has me feeling quite possessive, pequeña.”

You shudder visibly at his words, tongue darting out to wet those plump lips in a blatant show of want. Fernando doesn’t miss the subtle gesture, allowing his gaze to dip briefly to track the slick path your tongue carves before fixing back on your rapidly dilating pupils.

“Would you like that, hmm?” He lowers his voice to a sensual rumble, skimming his thumb across your lower lip in a wordless command for access. “Having Papi show you just how adored, how cherished you and our little one inside you truly are?”

A whimper catches in the back of your throat as you readily accept the gentle press of Fernando’s calloused digit between your parted lips. Your eyes flutter shut on a trembling exhale as he slowly begins to glide the thick pad of his thumb across that heavenly softness, careful not to scrape the sensitive skin with his nail.

“That’s it, pequeña,” he growls, a tad hoarse as desire visibly burns behind those long lashes. “Suckle for me, let me take care of you both nice and proper ...”

Fernando rocks forward ever so slightly, allowing the swollen curve of your belly to brush against his solid abs with each tiny shuddering breath you drag in through your nose. He keeps up the lazy, hypnotic strokes of his thumb until you’re completely transfixed — hips shifting restlessly against his thighs and soft, muffled mewls escaping past the seal of your swollen lips.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, voice pitched low enough to rasp straight through you and ignite every raw nerve ending. “So sweet and responsive for Papi … going to reward that gorgeous little mouth in just a moment, I promise.”

You whine wantonly around his thumb in response, eyes fluttering back open to reveal pupils blown wide with naked yearning. Fernando chuckles indulgently, thumb tracing the delicate bow of your lower lip one final time before retreating fully.

“So eager,” he tuts without any real admonishment. Leaning in close, he angles his head to brush kiss-swollen lips against the outer shell of your ear. “Don’t fret, pequeña. I’ll take such good care of both of you right here, right now ...”

Fernando drops a lingering series of kisses along the line of your jaw, letting his lush mouth trail lower and lower with each heated murmur.

“Will remind you exactly who you belong to … who made you … who put this child in your belly ...”

His final words are an exhale ghosting out across your thundering pulse. Fernando immediately latches on with his teeth, nipping and sucking a series of stinging, possessive marks into your sensitized flesh that has you arching against him with a strangled cry of pure bliss.

Out here, cloaked in the shadow of the paddock where anyone could stumble across the two of you — your father included — and discover just how thoroughly Fernando has claimed you. The taboo thrill of it all is utterly intoxicating.

As your trembling fingers find purchase in his clothes, dragging him nearer with insistence, Fernando feels that familiar molten lick of possessive pride unfurl deep in his core. You are his now, fully and completely — mind, body, and soon … family.

Just the way it was always meant to be.

Unexpected Arrival - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

Warnings: none. Pure cheese!

Part one here

After unexpectedly giving birth in Max’s driver room, you get used to life with a new baby!

Tagging: everyone who wanted a part 2 - @vivwritesfics @shelbyteller @madd1115 @dreamerrosie @mbioooo0000

Lando came further into the room and leant at your side. “How the hell did you keep this quiet?” He gently ran his finger over the little girls cheek.

You shook your head, still not understanding the situation fully yourself, still in shock.

Max looked between you and Lando, torn between what to do. He didn’t want to leave you and his newborn daughter, but he also knew he had duties to fulfill. Truth be told, he didn’t give a shit about the trophy and podium ceremony, nothing else really mattered in that moment other than his family.

His team manager appeared at the door then, alerted by the commotion and whispers. He crouched in front of the pair of you, staring at the baby clutched to your chest, “I heard the news but I didn’t believe it! Max, we can get the podium done now and then you’re free. Debrief and media duties can wait.”

He looked at you and then his daughter, ”I have to go, but I’ll be right back,” he promised as he leaned in and placed a kiss to your temple and a gentle kiss to the crown of your baby’s head. “I won’t be long.”

You nodded, understanding he still had stuff to do and no one could have expected this. You didn’t even know how you were going to announce it to the world, however you knew it probably wouldn’t be a secret for much longer with Lando knowing. If he had it his way, he’d probably announce it like the birth from the Lion King.

Lando helped Max to his feet, giving him a clap on the back before he pulled him in for a hug, “congratulations, mate.” With a hand on each other's backs, they walked out of the room and you were left alone with the medics.

One of the medics replaced the space Max had just left, “we need to get you to the hospitals now.”

”No,” you said firmly, “I’m not going without Max.”

“There’s no sign of bleeding and both mom and baby are stable, so we could wait?” the other medic suggested.

You turned your attention to the TV that was still playing in the background as you heard the podium ceremony begin and the tannoy announce the winners. You didn’t care who was in the room with you, all that mattered in that moment was your daughter. Cuddling her closer to your chest you explained what was happening on screen, not that she knew or understood anything that was going on. ”That’s uncle Carlos, he’s in third place,” you explained, “and that silly man there is uncle Lando, you’ve already met him. Don’t listen to a word he says.”

Then Max appeared on screen, his smile wide as he climbed on top of the podium. “And that’s your daddy, he’s champion of the world. He loves you so much already, more than you’ll ever know.”

The Dutch National anthem played and you couldn’t describe the look on Max’s face, it was a moment you wanted to capture forever in your mind. Lando absolutely covered him in champagne, celebrating more than his win, although the rest of the world was yet to find out about your little miracle.

Max practically ran back to your side, he rushed around cleaning himself the best he could and changing into a clean pair of jeans and sweatshirt while the medics got you and your daughter secured on a stretcher.

Suddenly it dawned on you that the moment you stepped out of those doors, the cameras would be on you, Max and the baby. Call it motherly instinct but you wanted to protect your baby at all costs, this isn’t the introduction you wanted for her to the world.

You didn’t have to worry though. That girl had an army behind her and she didn’t even know it. Lando stood at the door, a grin spread across his face. Sure, he’d told the entire grid, but as you were wheeled out of the drivers room, an army of Ferrari red, papaya and blue stood shielding you from any prying eyes. Sure, the news was out but you and Max had just that little while longer of it just being the three of you until you were ready.

Call it pregnancy hormones, but you couldn’t help it as a tear escaped your eyes. The trip to the hospital was quick and before you knew it you were there. With you and the baby checked over and safe, the three of you were left alone in the room.

Max was on the bed with you, his arm wrapped protectively around the pair of you. His eyes were filled with so much love as he stared at your daughter.

“She’s perfect,” you said as she gently fussed in your arms.

She stilled quickly enough as Max ran a finger up and down her cheek, “shh, you’re okay baby.”

“We need to think of a name. We can’t keep calling her baby!”

Now that was a whole other issue. Most people had at least 8 months to think of a name, and now you had to name this little stranger.

“What about Amelia?” you suggested.

The pair of you looked down at her but she didn’t look like an Amelia.

“How about, Lily?” Max supplied this time.

She gave a little gurgle at that.

“Well, I think she likes that!”

“Lily Sophia Verstappen,” you added the middle name.

“It’s perfect,” Max replied, his voice full of emotion as he pulled you both closer.

The next day you were allowed home, well to your hotel room until you could take Max’s jet back, both with a clean bill of health. Your hotel room was filled with gift baskets from all the teams on the grid. There was a red baby grow and a teddy wearing a Ferrari shirt from Charles and Carlos, a Red Bull onesie from uncle Checo. There was a papaya coloured baby grow that you knew you’d have to put the baby in to send pictures to Lando. You basically had a baby grow or bib from every team on the grid, which you knew Max would begrudgingly put her in (he loved it really). You may be biased but the stuff from your Red Bull family was the best, a kangaroo plush from Danny, Yuki got you the most beautiful decals for her room that wasn’t even set up and of course the mini race suit onesie from Checo.

After a few days of it just being the three of you and you’d settled into a routine with Lily, you were ready to announce Lily Sophia Verstappen to the world.

La Regina

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Charles Leclerc x Schumacher!Reader

Summary: a girl raised at her father’s knee goes from rising star to princess to queen (or in which becoming a legend runs in the Schumacher family)

You bounce excitedly in the passenger seat of your papa’s car as he pulls into the parking lot of the karting track. At 5-years-old, you’re too young to race officially, but he promised to let you drive some practice laps after the scheduled competition today.

“Remember, Maus, listen closely to the instructors and stay safe out there,” Michael says, ruffling your hair affectionately before getting out.

You scramble out after him, having to jog to keep up with his long strides across the parking lot. You reach to take his hand, but freeze when a small crowd starts converging around your papa. Men in bright vests are rushing over, cameras flashing rapidly.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” You ask, startled by the commotion.

Before Michael can respond, a curly-haired woman thrusts a baby into his arms. “Oh my god, can you just hold her for one second? I need a picture!”

Your papa looks bewildered but graciously cradles the infant, giving an awkward smile as more and more people start shoving pieces of paper and pens in front of him.

“Excuse me, please, I have my daughter with me today,” he tries saying over the chaos, but no one is listening.

You shrink back, overwhelmed by the pushing crowd and flurry of voices pleading for autographs and photos. Where did all these people come from? This has never happened before when you’ve gone karting with your papa.

Sensing your unease, Michael gently passes the baby back to its mother and kneels down in front of you. “Hey, it’s okay, Maus. Why don’t you wait for me over there?” He gestures to a bench off to the side.

Part of you wants to cling to him, scared of all the strangers crowding around so aggressively. But you also don’t want him to have to worry about you on top of everything else. You nod bravely and make your way through the throng to the little bench, watching apprehensively as your papa tries politely handling the requests.

After what feels like forever, the crowd finally starts dispersing, though a few linger behind like stubborn cats begging for scraps. Michael shakes the last few hands and accepts some papers to sign before gratefully escaping over to you.

“I’m so sorry about that, Maus,” he says, looking apologetic as he plops down on the bench. “I didn’t expect such a scene on what’s supposed to be our fun day.”

“It’s okay, Papa.” You lean against his side, still a bit rattled but comforted by his familiar warmth. “Who were all those people? Why did they want your … uhh …“ You can’t quite remember the word for the scribbles people ask famous people for.

“Autographs,” Michael supplies with an amused chuckle, wrapping an arm around you. “And they wanted photos too, I suppose. I’m … well, I’m quite a famous racecar driver.”

You cock your head, trying to process this concept of your papa being some kind of celebrity. As far as you’re concerned, he’s just your goofy, loving dad who takes you karting and makes the silliest voices for all your stuffed animals at home.

“Really? Like the famous famous people on TV?” You’ve seen the paparazzi swarming the actors and musicians during awards shows, but you’d never imagined that could happen to your own papa.

Michael nods, drawing you closer with a squeeze. “Yes, somewhat like that, though it’s a bit excessive at a small karting event.” He laughs again and brushes some of your wayward hair from your face. “But you’re right, to you I’m just Papa. I don’t expect anything more from my favorite Maus.”

You beam at the affectionate nickname, all the earlier stress melting away. Who cares if strangers want your papa’s autograph or photos? All that matters is you two spending the day together like always.

“Can we go get our karts now?” You ask eagerly, bouncing a little on the bench. “I want to show you how fast I can go!”

“Of course!” Michael jumps up and scoops you into his arms with a playful growl, making you shriek giddily. “My little speed demon is going to leave me in the dust.”

He swings you up onto his shoulders and you cling on tightly as he strides toward the pit area. A few more people spot him and make a move closer with cameras and sharpies extended, but seem to think better of it when they see you perched up high.

The two of you spend the next couple hours karting together, trading places taking warm up laps and cheering each other on. At one point, a young attendant working the pit area approaches Michael somewhat nervously.

“Um, excuse me, Mr. Schumacher?” He’s clutching a crumpled baseball cap in one hand, ducking his head shyly. “I’m just such a huge fan, would you mind taking a photo and signing this for me after your session?”

Your papa smiles kindly at the young man and takes the cap. “Not at all, no problem.” As the attendant walks away, looking elated, Michael turns to you with a wink. “See? That’s how you politely ask for an autograph.”

You giggle and mime zipping your lips. “Don’t worry, Papa, I won’t let the fame go to my head when I’m a famous racecar driver too someday.”

Scooping you up once more, Michael presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek. “That’s my girl. Now, last few laps — let’s see who can go the fastest without ending up in the grass!”

As evening starts falling, the two of you make your way back through the now nearly deserted lot after returning the rental karts. Most of the other karters have cleared out, leaving just you two strolling unhurriedly back to the car.

“Well Maus, despite the, uh, overexcited fans, I’d call this day a success,” Michael says, swinging your joined hands idly. “We both had our fun on the track, and I think you handled that crowd back there like a champ.”

You smile up at him, still so proud just to be his daughter. “I don’t care about all those other people, papa. As long as I have you, that’s all I need.”

Stopping beside the car, Michael crouches down and cups your face in his calloused racing palms, looking at you with such fierce adoration.

“Maus, you have me, always. No matter what happens out there,” he gestures vaguely at the empty track, “When I’m with you, I’m just Papa. My greatest accomplishment, my biggest award, is being your father. Verstanden?”

You launch yourself into his arms, hugging as tightly as you can. “Verstanden, Papa. I love you.”

“Ich liebe dich mehr, Maus,” he murmurs, pressing his cheek to your hair. “Now, what do you say we go get some victory ice cream?”

As the two of you climb into the car, you can’t keep the smile off your face, practically glowing with contentment. Sure, maybe your papa is some big famous racecar driver that everybody wants a piece of. But really, he’s just your papa — and you’re his whole world.

***

The ringing of the house phone cuts through the tense silence like a knife. You shrink further into the couch cushions as your mother rushes to answer it, shoulders visibly taut.

“Hello? No, I cannot make any comment at this time. Yes, I understand there is interest but-” Corinna breaks off, rubbing her temples wearily. “Please respect our privacy as a family right now. Thank you.”

She hangs up and leans against the wall, eyes slipping shut for a brief moment. Before she can even draw a full breath, the phone rings again, shrill and insistent. With a muffled curse, your mother snatches it up.

“What? I told you, I cannot give any statements! This is a private matter. How did you even get this number?”

You watch apprehensively as she responds again, her voice rising in distress. In the days since your papa’s skiing accident, it seems like the entire world has been hounding your family, desperate for any scrap of information.

On the TV across the room, the endless cycle of news reports drones on lowly. Images of your papa’s broken, still body being rushed from the slopes into a helicopter. Flashing advancer texts speculating on his chances of recovery from the traumatic head injury.

It makes you feel ill.

Beside you on the couch, Mick sits blank-faced, looking nearly as pale and worn as your mother. At 14, he understands the gravity of the situation all too well. Your big brother has always idolized your papa, hoping to follow in his racing footsteps one day as well. The thought of him not being there to see the realization of that dream is devastating.

Gina is curled up in the armchair, her shoulders shaking every so often with muffled sobs. At 16, she’s arguably been taking this the hardest of all you kids. She keeps her face stoically dry in front of your mother, but you can see how red and puffy her eyes are from constant crying.

As for you, at 11-years-old, you’re somehow both numb and feeling everything all at once. Part of you still can’t fully process that this nightmare is real. That your hero, your papa, could be lying comatose in a hospital, hovering between life and death. The other part of you is overwhelmed in a tsunami of terror, panic, anger, sadness — any and every emotion crashing through you at all hours.

“Kids, I’m so sorry about this,” your mother says, defeated, as she rejoins you in the living room after ending her latest call. The bags under her eyes seem to have deepened further overnight. “I know this is incredibly difficult and intrusive. But your papa is … he’s a public figure. People are concerned.”

“Incredibly insensitive is what they’re being,” Gina spits, uncurling herself from the chair enough to shoot your mother a resentful look. “We’re going through actual hell and all these people care about is getting a sound bite for the evening news!”

Corinna looks pained but doesn’t rebuke her. “I know, liebling, I know. But your papa has millions of fans all over the world who have followed his career for decades. Whether we like it or not, they care about him … and about us by extension.”

You think back to that day at the karting track all those years ago when you first realized your papa was what people called “famous”. How all those strangers clamored around him so aggressively just for a photo or an autograph. That level of fandom seemed exciting and novel at the time, when you were just a naïve 5-year-old. Now you see it for how intrusive and violating it is, this sense of entitlement people have to the private life of a public figure.

The phone starts ringing again, shattering the fragile quiet. Your mother squeezes her eyes shut and makes no move to get it this time. After four rings, the call goes to voicemail. A moment later, the tinny sound of an Italian voicemail being left blares through the speaker.

“Scusi, scusi, please, if there is any update on the condition of the great Michael Schumacher, any information at all! We are all holding vigils and saying prayers, but we must know how he fares! The world is watching and waiting!”

The words, pleading and demanding all at once, are like a slap across your face. The man’s voice is laced with such desperation, as if your papa’s life is mere entertainment to be consumedby the masses. You feel abruptly furious, incensed that a stranger’s morbid curiosity is given the same weight as your family’s anguish.

“Turn it off,” Mick mutters through clenched teeth, hunching over on the couch. “Just turn it off, Mama.”

Corinna nods numbly and reaches to end the voicemail, her mouth set in a grim line. Buzzing fills the room again as the TV drones on, the reporters’ voices a dull roar that you can no longer discern actual words from as your ears ring with white noise.

The shrill ringing of the phone cuts through once more, like a record scratching in your brain. Your mother flinches violently, hands coming up to clamp over her ears as she squeezes her eyes shut, finally at her breaking point.

Unable to watch this torture anymore, you surge to your feet and storm across the living room. You rip the phone from its cradle and hurl it against the far wall, the plastic casing shattering loudly. The ringing blessedly ends, leaving only an eerie silence in its wake.

Mick and Gina stare at you with wide, stunned eyes. Your mother simply deflates, sliding down the wall to the floor as the adrenaline drains from her body. For several beats, no one dares breathe too loudly. Then, Gina starts to shake her head slowly, tears slipping free.

“Brava,” she murmurs, the barest hint of approval in her voice.

Your mother doesn’t scold you for the outburst. She merely reaches out a hand, silently beckoning you closer until you slowly cross the room again and sink to your knees in front of her. She cups your face in her palms, her own cheeks glistening with fresh tears.

“You’re right, liebling, you’re right,” she whispers brokenly. “This is about our family, not … not the world thinking they’re owed something.”

She pulls your head against her shoulder and you cling to her tightly as she begins to weep in earnest, great shuddering sobs wracking her whole frame. Gina scrambles over and tucks herself against your mother’s other side, and soon all three of you are tangled in each other’s arms, letting the tidal wave of grief crest over you.

Mick stays frozen on the couch, watching over your huddle with dark, haunted eyes. For the first time since this ordeal began, the four of you are united in simply feeling, truly letting yourselves shatter. No more putting on brave faces or pretending to be okay — from this moment, you can finally grieve as a family behind closed doors, blockading out the rest of the cruel, prying world.

Later that evening, after crying yourselves into an exhausted stupor, you drift up the stairs and sequester yourself in your bedroom. You bypass the framed photos of your papa on your nightstand, the sight of his bright smile and twinkling eyes too searing at the moment. Instead, you sink to your knees in the middle of the floor and clasp your hands tightly, bowing your head to murmur desperate pleas.

“Please, please let my papa be okay. I don’t care about all his fame or the stupid reporters. I just want him to get better and come home to us. He’s not just the famous Michael Schumacher to me. He’s Papa. He’s my whole world.”

The words spill out in a torrent, all the fear and longing you’ve been bottling up for the better part of a week erupting forth. You plead to any higher power that may be listening, bargaining away your future, your dreams, anything — as long as your papa pulls through this nightmare.

How many times had you taken for granted those moments of him just being your dad — making you pancakes on Saturday mornings, dozing on the couch during family movie nights, playfully tossing you into the pool when you grew too whiny in the summer heat? You’d give anything to have those simple, precious daddy-daughter moments back.

“The world can have his trophies and titles,” you whisper fiercely, tears slipping free to patter on the carpet. “I don’t care about any of that. I just want my papa. Please, please bring him back to us.”

You curl in on yourself, forehead pressing into the floor as your shoulders shake with silent sobs. All the adoring fans, the fawning media, the hangers-on clamoring for a piece of his glory — they only know the manufactured public persona of Michael Schumacher, legendary racer and famous celebrity. But to you, he’s always just been the quiet hero tucking you into bed at night, the gentle presence reading stories in funny voices, the mighty protector pulling you in for all-encompassing bear hugs.

You miss that wonderful, silly, tender father more than anything in the world. You don’t give a damn about his racing accolades or his fame. You just desperately need your papa back home where he belongs — with his family, the people who loved and treasured him most as simply Michael.

Just Michael. Your one and only papa.

The raw ache of that longing consumes you utterly. You lay there amid the fading light from your bedroom windows, dreams and memories of your papa flickering behind your eyelids as you plead to any benevolent force that may be listening. All you want is the chance to make more joyful memories with him, to hear his rich laugh, to keep basking in his unconditional love for years and years to come.

Please, you beg the universe silently, one last time. Please let this nightmare end. Don’t let the brightest light in my world be extinguished before its time.

Let me have my papa back.

***

A tense hush has fallen over the dining room table, the clinking of utensils against plates the only sound cutting through the thick silence. Gina avoids everyone’s eyes, pushing food around her plate listlessly. Mick stares down at his half-eaten dinner, jaw working like he’s chewing over something weighty. You pick at a bread roll, too knotted with anxiety to muster much appetite.

Your mother is the one to finally break the stifling quiet, clearing her throat. “Kids, I know these last few weeks have been … incredibly difficult for us all.”

You risk a glance up at Corinna. Her eyes are tight at the corners, her mouth a taut line. Just like all of you, the constant vigil at your papa’s bedside, combined with the relentless badgering from the media, has clearly taken its toll.

“But we have to keep trying to be a family, yes?” She reaches across the table to grip your hand. “We’re all Michael has right now. We have to … to stick together for him.”

You nod numbly, swallowing hard around the lump in your throat at the reminder of your papa’s unchanged condition. The waiting, the not knowing if or when he’ll wake up, is a special kind of torment you wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Mick abruptly shoves his plate away, the porcelain scraping loudly across the wood. You all flinch a little at the harsh sound.

“I’ve been thinking ...” he starts, then seems to reconsider his words, shoulders tightening fractionally. “Well, Y/N, you know how I … how I race under Mama’s last name?”

You frown slightly, uncertain where he’s going with this. “Betsch, yes. Because you wanted to make your own name without the expectation and pressure of being Michael Schumacher’s son.”

He dips his chin once, looking almost pained. “Exactly. And I think … I think maybe you should consider doing the same.”

The words sit heavy and convolulenting between you all like a sack of wet cement. You blink dumbly, hardly comprehending what he’s suggesting at first. When the implication hits you, you actually recoil as if he’d slapped you across the face.

“What? No. No, absolutely not, Mick. How can you even say that?”

“Y/N, just hear me out,” he pleads, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. “With Papa … with what happened, the paparazzi and the fans, they’re going to be watching our every move even more than before. Especially you since you’re planning to continue competing-”

“Don’t you dare make this about his condition,” you spit, fury thrumming through your veins like struck lightning. “And of course I plan to keep racing — it’s what Papa would want! I’m not going to hide from his name like it’s some shameful thing!”

Gina is watching the exchange with wide, startled eyes, her food forgotten. Mick runs an agitated hand through his hair, shaking his head firmly.

“It’s not about hiding or shame, it’s about protecting yourself! Don’t you see how crazy things have gotten? All the reporters harassing us, the fans leaving awful messages online hoping for updates ...”

He leans forward, expression almost desperate. “If you race as Betsch, you can compete without having that extra spotlight. You can just be a normal kid on the track without people peering in.”

Heat rushes up the back of your neck in waves of humiliation and rage. How dare he insinuate that inheriting your papa’s legacy is some kind of burden to be shrugged off? That the name Schumacher is a burden to bear rather than a badge of honor?

“I’m not you, Mick,” you bite out, fists clenching beneath the table. “Maybe racing under Mama’s name helped you deal with the pressure better and that’s fine. But I’m proud to be Michael Schumacher’s daughter! And if people can’t respect that, if they think it means they own a piece of me, then they can go to hell!”

“Language!” Your mother gasps, both appalled and slightly impressed. But you ignore her admonishment, too fired up to rein it in now.

“What, you think pretending to be someone else is going to spare me from living in Papa’s shadow anyway?” You shake your head adamantly, leaning across the table towards Mick. “It’s not, and you know it. Even if I raced under a fake name, everyone is still going to know exactly who I am and make comparisons.”

Slamming your palms on the table, you surge to your feet, chair screeching harshly against the floor. All the pain and uncertainty of these past few weeks is bubbling over into bitter, biting words.

“So why should I hide it? Why can’t I take pride in my name and my heritage? Maybe it’ll mean more scrutiny, but it’s a million times better than feeling like I have to be ashamed! Like I can’t fully honor Papa and make him proud!”

Chest heaving, you stare down a wide-eyed Mick, almost daring him to challenge you further. He seems to read the conviction blazing in your eyes, features softening into chagrin.

“You’re right ...” he murmurs with a wince. “You’re right, Y/N, I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

You hold his repentant gaze for a long moment before deflating back into your chair with a muted thud. In the ringing silence, you can hear your mother’s soft sniffles from the far end of the table. When you look over, she has her head bowed, hands pressed to her eyes as she cries quietly.

“M-Mama?” Gina ventures in a small voice, reaching across to grasp her mother’s wrist. “What’s wrong?”

Corinna lowers her hands, swiping at the tears streaking her cheeks. When she meets your bewildered gaze, her expression is a complicated brew of pride and heart-wrenching sadness.

“Nothing is wrong, liebling,” she assures Gina with a watery smile, before turning back to you. “Y/N, you’re so much like your papa, do you know that? So brave and determined … so full of that same fighting spirit.”

She dips her chin, lips trembling faintly. “He would be so proud to hear you defend his name like that. To see you ready to take on the weight of wearing it, regardless of what the world throws at you.”

More tears spill forth, but she brushes them away impatiently with the backs of her hands.

“But liebchen, you have to understand … Michael spent decades bearing that scrutiny and expectation. People analyzing his every move, always under a spotlight so harsh it burned. I never wanted that for any of you.”

Sliding her chair back, your mother crosses to kneel before you, cradling your face gently between her palms. Her eyes are shining but intensely serious, almost pleading with you.

“The Schumacher name casts such a long shadow, one so great that your own light can be eclipsed before you ever have a chance to properly shine. I don’t want you smothered by that burden, mein schatz. I want you free to make your own amazing mark on this world, completely unchained.”

You feel your throat grow tight at her words, the weight of them ringing so true and terribly sad. You reach up to circle your fingers around her wrists, holding her hands to your cheeks like vices.

“I know, Mama, I know,” you whisper roughly. “But that light you want me to shine? Papa is the one who sparked it inside me in the first place.”

You meet her watery gaze steadily, willing her to understand the conviction taking root inside you.

“The joy and passion I have for racing doesn’t come from some anonymous dream. It comes from him — from the nights he spent giving me a play-by-play of his biggest victories, from the days we spent at the karting tracks making memories, from everything I want so desperately to honor.”

Leaning forward until your brows nearly touch, you let the pleasing words spill out directly from your heart.

“So please, please don’t ask me to race as anyone other than your daughter, yes, but also proudly as Michael Schumacher’s daughter. That name isn’t a burden or a shadow to me. It’s something I want to carry forward and make blaze even brighter.”

Your mother’s eyes slip shut as she draws in a shuddering breath. For a long moment, she simply holds your face cradled in her palms, seeming to bask in your impassioned words. When her eyes finally open again, they are overflowing with a fierce tenderness.

“Oh liebchen,” she murmurs, voice thick with an odd mix of grief and wonder. “You are your father’s daughter through and through. So determined, so unafraid to face the world head on ...”

She strokes her thumbs along the apples of your cheeks, swiping away the dampness there. “I only hope he knows just how brightly his fire still burns in you. How it is living on in the most brilliant way.”

Surging up onto her knees, your mother pulls you into a fierce embrace, tucking your head beneath her chin. You cling to her tightly, drawing strength from her warmth, her tireless support and love. Over her shoulder, you can see Mick and Gina watching silently, their own eyes overly bright.

When your mother finally leans back, cupping your face once more, her expression has regained some of its usual firmness and resolution.

“Very well, then,” she nods, offering you a watery but determined smile. “If you truly feel ready to take on the world, to claim that name and legacy as yours, then we will face it together. As a family.”

She rises lithely to her feet, drawing you up along with her. Gathering Mick and Gina in with the sweep of her arms, she folds you all in her protective embrace, holding your foreheads together in the center.

“You may be Schumachers, but that name does not define or limit you,” she declares, quiet but firm. “It is simply one part of your identity, one piece of the incredible legacy you inherited. What you choose to make of it, how brightly you make that legacy burn, is up to you alone.”

She pulls back just enough to meet each of your eyes in turn, her own gleaming with resolute pride.

“So let them watch, let them scrutinize and sneer and make their judgments. You will simply keep chasing your passions and living your truths. Yes, the world may know you as Schumachers, but you alone will define what that name represents, now and for generations to come.”

***

The roar of the engines fades as you cross the finish line, taking the chequered flag. The broadcast team erupts in excitement.

“Unbelievable! Y/N Schumacher has done it — the daughter of the legendary Michael Schumacher wins the Formula 2 championship in her rookie year!”

You can hardly believe it yourself as you start your cooldown lap, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The pit crew is cheering wildly, holding up the #1 sign. Your race engineer is on the radio, his voice cracking with joy. “You’re a champion, Y/N! A first-year champion!”

“What an incredible drive from the young German. Shades of her father with that relentless determination and racecraft. She’s carried on the Schumacher name proudly.”

As you return to the pit lane, you spot Mick getting out of his own car. He has a huge smile on his face, eyes shining with pride. You take a moment to drink it all in as you bring your car to a stop and he’s the first one there, ripping off your helmet so he can hug you tightly.

“You did it! I’m so proud of you!” He’s beaming as he pulls back to look at you.

“Aww, Mick ...” You blink back happy tears, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what you’ve accomplished. “I couldn’t have done it without you pushing me every single race.”

Mick shakes his head dismissively. “This was all you. You were the faster driver this season, plain and simple.” His face falls a little. “I really thought I had you there at the end, but you just wouldn’t give up.”

You grin cheekily. “Of course not! I’m a Schumacher — we never give up.”

“What a beautiful moment between the siblings. You can see the immense pride Mick has for his sister, despite coming up just short of winning the championship himself.”

The rest of the team surrounds the two of you, lifting you both up onto their shoulders as the celebrations kick into full gear. You lock eyes with Mick over the sea of smiling faces and he winks at you contentedly.

Later, after you’ve returned to the garage, you find a quiet moment alone with Mick. He pulls you into another hug, this one more lingering.

“I really am so happy for you, Y/N. You’ve worked so incredibly hard for this.” Mick’s voice is thick with emotion.

You squeeze him tightly. “Thank you, Mick. That means everything coming from you.”

He pulls back, cupping your face fondly. “I remember when we were kids, dreaming of following in Papa’s footsteps. And now look at us!”

You laugh, a few happy tears spilling over. “I know, it’s crazy! I couldn’t have done this without your help, you know. You’ve been by my side every step of the way.”

“A storybook ending for the Schumacher siblings. Y/N cementing herself as a future star, with her older brother not far behind.”

Mick shakes his head adamantly. “No, Y/N, this was all your talent and determination. I just got a front row seat to watching greatness in the making.” His eyes are shining with sincerity.

You throw your arms around his neck, struck by how lucky you are to have such an amazing brother. “I love you, Mick. Thank you for always believing in me.”

He hugs you fiercely. “I’ll always believe in you. You’re a champion now, but I know this is just the beginning for you.”

The team arrives then, champagne bottles in hand and ready to continue the celebration. You pull back and grin at Mick mischievously, cracking open the first bottle with a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you … for now.”

The bubbly liquid sprays everywhere as you both dissolve into laughter, reveling in this perfect moment of sibling bonding and love. Mick pulls you into a wet hug, so proud and grateful to share this with you.

“And an iconic image — the Schumacher children celebrating a Formula 2 title just like their father did in the upper series so many times before. A changing of the guard, with the name Schumacher set to dazzle racing fans once more for years to come.”

Later that night, after you’ve showered off the champagne and slipped into comfy clothes, there’s a soft knock at your hotel room door. You open it to find Mick standing there, shifting awkwardly.

“Hey, you’ve got a second?” His eyes are slightly red-rimmed, like he’s been crying.

“Of course, what’s up?” You gesture him inside, concerned by his demeanor.

Mick enters slowly, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. He seems to be struggling to find the words.

You rest a hand on his arm. “Mick, you can tell me anything, you know that.”

He nods jerkily, finally meeting your eyes. “I really am so happy for you, Y/N. You have no idea how much it means to me to see you accomplishing your dreams.” His voice catches with emotion.

“But?” You prod gently.

Mick’s eyes water again. “But … it’s also really hard for me. This was my dream first, you know? To become a champion like Papa.” He swipes at the tears angrily. “And now you’ve beaten me to it. I’m just … I’m struggling with that a bit.”

Your heart clenches at his quiet admission. You pull Mick into a tight hug, rubbing his back soothingly. “Oh, Mick … I’m so sorry. I never wanted to take that away from you.”

He shakes his head against your shoulder. “No, no, it’s not your fault at all. You earned this, fair and square. I’m just … dealing with some complicated emotions, I guess.”

You push him back by the shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes intently. “Mick, listen to me. You are one of the most naturally gifted drivers I’ve ever seen. This is not the end for you, not even close. You’re going to be a champion too, I know it.”

Mick seems to deflate slightly at your words, the tension easing from his shoulders. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” you state firmly. “We’re going to take this to the top level together. And we’re going to make Papa even more proud than he already is.”

A slow smile spreads across Mick’s face. “Together,” he repeats, reaching out to take your hand and give it a squeeze.

You squeeze back reassuringly. “Always together. You and me, just like when we were kids. We’re a team, remember?”

Mick nods, the brightness returning to his eyes. He seems lighter now, the melancholy cloud lifted by your words of encouragement.

On impulse, you throw your arms around him again, nearly knocking him over with the force of your hug. Mick laughs delightedly, squeezing you just as tightly.

“Thank you, Y/N. I needed to hear that from you,” he murmurs shakily into your hair.

You pull back just enough to grin at him cheekily. “What are little sisters for?”

Mick lets out a surprised bark of laughter, warmth and affection shining from every part of his expression as he gazes at you fondly. “You’ll always be my little sis, champion or not.”

It’s your turn to laugh, swatting at his chest playfully. “Well this little sis just kicked your ass this season, so show some respect!”

Mick’s eyes crinkle with mirth. “I’ll remember that for next year, believe me.”

***

It’s a crisp autumn evening at the Schumacher family home in the Swiss Alps. You’re curled up on the plush couch in the living room, flipping through a magazine while your brother paces back and forth anxiously.

“Will you please sit down?” You ask, eyeing him over the top of the pages. “You’re making me dizzy.”

Mick runs a hand through his tousled blond hair. “Sorry, I’m just … worked up, I guess.”

You set the magazine aside. “About what? We haven’t had a race in weeks.”

He stops his pacing to face you. “You know the season’s almost over, right? And Haas still hasn’t said anything about re-signing me for next year.”

“Oh, Mick.” You offer him a sympathetic look. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time. You’ve had a solid season.”

Mick flops down next to you, deflating a little. “I don’t know. There are so many other options on the table. What if Haas decides to go a different direction?”

“Then you’ll find another seat,” you say firmly. “Any team would be lucky to have you behind the wheel.”

He manages a half-smile. “Thanks. I just wish I had your confidence sometimes.”

“What can I say?” You flash him a cheeky grin. “It’s a gift.”

The peaceful moment is shattered as both of your phones start ringing in unison. You exchange a puzzled look before digging them out.

“My manager,” Mick says, furrowing his brow as he answers. “Hello?”

You do the same, pressing the phone to your ear. “Hey, Nicolas, what’s up?”

For the next few minutes, you and Mick are silent, listening intently with rapidly changing expressions — yours elated, his crestfallen. When you finally hang up, Mick is staring at the floor, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Well?” He asks, voice tight. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

You take a deep breath, trying to tamp down your surging excitement. “Ferrari wants me for next season.”

Mick’s face falls even further, if possible. “You’re kidding.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this!” You can’t keep the grin from overtaking your features. “Can you believe it? Driving for the Scuderia! It’s a dream come true!”

“Yeah, for you maybe,” Mick mutters darkly.

You blink at his tone, smile fading slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He drags a hand down his face wearily. “Haas declined to re-sign me for next year.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “What? No, that can’t be right!”

“Afraid so.” Mick’s voice is flat, resigned. “They said something about … needing to bring in fresh blood or some bullshit excuse.”

You scoot closer, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “Mick, I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”

“Don’t be.” He tries for a nonchalant shrug, but it comes off as dejected. “At least one of us is moving up in the world.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?” You protest. “We’re teammates! We were supposed to take on Formula 1 together!”

Mick snorts humorlessly. “Looks like that’s not going to happen after all.”

An uncomfortable silence stretches between you. You open your mouth, searching for the right words of reassurance, but come up empty. How can you comfort him when your own dream has come true at his expense?

“Hey.” Mick’s somber tone breaks the quiet. “I’m happy for you, you know. Really, I am.”

You meet his sincere gaze, feeling your eyes start to well up. “I know. But that doesn’t make this any less shitty for you.”

He manages a rueful smile. “What can I say? I’m a realist.”

“So what are you going to do now?” You ask quietly.

Mick lets out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the couch cushions. “Keep grinding, I guess. Look for another seat, any seat, even if it’s not in F1 next season.”

“You can’t give up on F1!” You protest instantly. “You’re too good for that, Mick.”

“Am I, though?” He lets out a mirthless chuckle. “Face it, Y/N, you’ve always been the better driver. This just proves it.”

You shake your head adamantly. “That’s not true at all! You’re every bit as talented as me.”

“Then why did Ferrari pick you instead of me?” There’s no accusation in his words, just weariness.

You falter, mind churning as you search for an answer that won’t come. “I … don’t know.”

“Exactly.” Mick closes his eyes briefly. “Maybe it’s for the best. At least this way, one of us still gets to live out the Schumacher legacy and race for Ferrari. Carry on the family name, you know?”

“But you’re a Schumacher too,” you say, feeling your throat start to tighten with unshed tears. “It should be both of us out there, not just me.”

Mick reaches over to give your hand a comforting squeeze. “Hey, don’t cry about it. I’ll be okay, really.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” You swipe angrily at the moisture gathering in your eyes. “It’s not fair, Mick. It’s just not fair at all.”

He levels you with a look that’s decades older than his years. “Life rarely is. You know that as well as I do.”

You fall silent, unable to formulate a response. He’s right, you realize with a pang. The two of you, of all people, should understand that success and failure often go hand-in-hand, even for the most talented competitors.

Pursing your lips, you lean forward and pull Mick into a fierce hug. He tenses for a split second before wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“I’m still so proud of you,” you murmur into the crook of his neck. “No matter what happens, you’ll always be my incredible big brother.”

Mick lets out a shaky exhale against your hair. “And you’re the most badass little sister a guy could ask for. Ferrari has no idea what they’re in for.”

You pull back just far enough to meet his eyes, emboldened by the warm affection shining in them.

“Just promise me one thing?” You ask.

He arches an eyebrow quizzically. “What’s that?”

A mischievous grin tugs at your lips. “That you’re not going to take it easy on me whenever you’re back on the grid.”

***

You take a deep breath as you pull your sleek new Ferrari up to the iconic factory in Maranello. This place holds so many memories — some joyful, others bittersweet. Your father cemented himself as a legend here, and you can’t help but feel the weight of that legacy on your shoulders now more than ever.

The door swings open and there stands Fred Vasseur offering you a warm smile. “Y/N, welcome home.”

You return the smile, unable to mask the flood of emotions. “It’s good to be back, Fred.”

He gestures for you to follow him inside. “I’m sure this place brings back quite a few memories.”

“You have no idea,” you murmur, taking in the familiar sights and smells. The rosso corsa that coats every surface, the scent of machinery and high-octane fuel … it’s intoxicating.

A tiny you runs through the hallways, giggling madly as your frantic mother tries to catch up. “Mick! Y/N! Get back here this instant!”

Mick peeks out from behind a workbench, sticking his tongue out at Gina, who playfully swats at him. You spot the perfect hiding spot — a massive green recycling bin tucked in the corner ...

“Y/N? Are you still with me?” Fred’s voice breaks you from your reverie.

You shake your head. “Sorry, got a bit lost in thought there. This place just … feels like stepping into the past.”

Fred nods knowingly. “I can only imagine. But today is about your future with the team.” He leads you through the winding corridors, pointing out various departments. “Over here is aerodynamics, that hallway takes you to the design labs ...”

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Your father’s voice echoes down the corridor, his tone playful but tinged with desperation. You stifle a giggle from your hiding spot as his footsteps draw closer.

“Michael, any luck?” That’s Paolo, one of the mechanics. You chance a peek and see half the team has been enlisted to search for you.

Your dad scrubs a hand over his face. “She’s too good at this game. Should’ve known better than to play hide-and-seek in a place this size.”

You chuckle softly at the memory, prompting a curious look from Fred. “Sorry, just … reminiscing again.”

He gives you an easy grin. “By all means, feel free to share. I’d love to hear some of those old stories.”

You take a breath, composing yourself before launching into the tale. “Well, there was this one time when I was maybe … four or five? Mick and I were causing an unholy ruckus as usual, and Papa suggested a game of hide-and-seek to wear us out. Big mistake on his part.”

Fred’s eyes crinkle with amusement. “Let me guess, you proved to be a master hider?”

“You could say that.” You grin mischievously. “I found this big recycling bin, crawled inside, and stayed completely silent while the whole team tore the place apart looking for me. Papa was just about to call in the overalls for backup when Paolo finally peeked in the bin.”

Fred throws his head back with a hearty laugh. “I can just picture your poor father’s face when they found you! He must’ve been both relieved and completely exasperated.”

You nod. “Oh, he wore that particular blend of emotions often when we were young terrors around here.”

The two of you continue chatting amicably as Fred shows you around the various facilities — the simulator room, the engine workshop, even the gym and physiotherapy center. With each new area unveiled, another flood of nostalgia washes over you.

You and Mick sprint into the wide-open workshop, engines and miscellaneous car pieces scattered all around. Gina is closing in, her longer legs giving her an advantage.

“Got you now, you little gremlins!” She scoops Mick up with one arm, then turns her sights on you.

You let out a shriek of laughter, dodging around a massive piece of equipment as your mother joins the chase. “Come here, Maus! It’s time for your nap!”

You shake your head furiously. “No nap! No nap!”

Corinna’s hand finally snags the back of your shirt, and you erupt into a fit of giggles as she pulls you into a hug ...

“That’s some smile you’ve got going there,” Fred notes with a wry grin. “I take it another happy memory?”

You give an embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. Just … remembering how this place used to be our personal jungle gym. Mick, Gina, and I would run absolute loops around Mama while she tried to wrangle us for nap time.”

Fred chuckles fondly. “I can picture three tiny terrors leaving chaos in their wake.” His expression softens. “It must be incredibly special to be back here after all these years. To follow in your father’s footsteps like this.”

You swallow hard against the swell of emotions. “It’s … overwhelming, if I’m being honest. But in the best possible way.” You glance around at the familiar setting with new eyes. “These halls practically raised me. And now … now I get to write my own chapter here.”

Fred gives your shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “You’ve got a long road ahead, but I have complete faith you’ll make us all proud, Y/N.”

You straighten your shoulders, giving him a determined nod. “I’m ready.”

As you follow him further into the factory, you can’t help but revel in the rush of coming full circle. Yes, this team, this place, is indelibly woven into your childhood. But now … now it’s time to create new memories.

To race.

To win.

To become a legend.

***

The crowd outside the Ferrari headquarters swells as you emerge from the famous red doors for the first time as an official Scuderia Ferrari driver. Shouts and cheers erupt from every direction, fans pressing forward eagerly with pens and photos clutched in their hands.

“Over here, Y/N!”

“Un selfie, per favore!”

“Can you sign this for my daughter?”

You plaster on a polite smile, trying to graciously oblige as many autograph and photo requests as possible. But the throngs only grow more insistent, hands grabbing at you from all angles as the crowd closes in. Your heart races and you feel yourself starting to panic at the lack of personal space.

“Per favore, let her breathe!” An insistent voice cuts through the commotion in lightly accented Italian.

The crowd parts slightly as a familiar, lean figure pushes through — your new teammate. His green eyes meet yours with a reassuring look as he plants himself firmly by your side.

“Give her some space!” Charles barks out in English this time. “She can’t breathe!”

You shoot him a grateful glance as the fans reluctantly take a step back. Charles gently takes your arm and pulls you out of the scrum.

“Sorry about that,” he says with an apologetic smile, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. “I know how intense they can be around here.”

“No, thank you,” you reply earnestly. “I was about two seconds away from an anxiety attack.”

Charles chuckles. “Well, we can’t have the new driver cracking under pressure on day one.”

You make a face at his teasing remark. “Watch it, pretty boy.”

Laughing, Charles puts his arm around your shoulders in a friendly gesture. “Come on, I know just the place to escape the madness for a bit. Dinner’s on me.”

He guides you across the plaza and down a side street to a cozy trattoria — Ristorante Montana, known as the unofficial “Ferrari restaurant” frequented by team members. As you enter, a stout woman with a warm, welcoming smile emerges from the back.

“Ah, Charles! Welcome back. And this must be ...” Her eyes widen as they land on you. “Oh, la piccola principessa is all grown up!”

Flustered, you open your mouth to respond, but the woman has already swept you up in a tight embrace.

“Rossella, you’re smothering the poor girl!” A elderly man’s voice calls out in amused rebuke.

“Hush, Maurizio, and pour us some wine!” Rossella releases you and holds you at arm’s length, beaming. “Michael’s little girl, all woman now. I’ll never forget the first time your father brought you in here as a bambina.”

She gestures to a framed photo hanging on the wall of a much younger Rossella standing next to Michael, who is holding a grinning toddler — unmistakably you.

“He was so proud,” Rossella continues misty-eyed. “Just like I know he would be of you today, following in your father’s footsteps.”

You swallow hard, touched by the warm welcome and memory. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Charles watching you with a soft smile.

Rossella shifts gears abruptly, all business. “Now, what will you two have? The usual for you, Charles? And for you, la principessa, I insist you try the gnocchi al ragú. Just like my nonna used to make it.”

As Rossella whisks off to the kitchen, Maurizio appears with a bottle of deep red wine and two glasses.

“To new beginnings,” he toasts with a wink, pouring for you and Charles.

You raise your glass to clink against Charles’ with a smile. “New beginnings.”

Over pasta and wine, you and Charles fall into an easy rapport, bantering back and forth as the weight of the evening’s earlier stress dissipates. You find yourself repeatedly distracted by the dimpled grin that lights up his face whenever he laughs at one of your quips.

“So is this a regular hazing ritual you put all the rookies through?” You ask innocently. “Get them away from the crowds and ply them with wine so they’re too drunk to be nervous on day one?”

Charles barks out a laugh. “You’ve found me out! Although I do seem to recall my own initiation being a lot harder. Maybe I’m going soft in my old age.”

“Old age? You’re what …12?” You retort, eyes dancing with mirth.

The waiter arrives with the dessert menu, but Rossella shoos him away.

“No, no menu. I’m bringing you the tiramisu to share. My secret recipe.”

Charles groans in delight. “You’re a legend, Rossella.”

She pats his cheek affectionately before disappearing again. A comfortable silence falls between you and Charles as you each take a bite of the rich, velvety tiramisu.

“Mmmm, this is literally heaven,” you murmur happily.

Charles hums in agreement around another forkful.

Your eyes catch movement out of the corner and you turn to see Rossella returning, carrying a large framed photo under her arm. She sets it down on the empty chair next to you with a proud grin.

It’s a glamor shot of you from a recent photoshoot for Vogue Italia — hair and makeup impeccable, lips parted in a secret smile as you gaze directly at the camera.

Rossella rests a hand on your shoulder. “For me, bellissima? So we can hang la principessa right next to il padre.”

Touched, you take the proffered sharpie and scribble out a quick inscription before signing your name with a flourish at the bottom.

“Grazie mille,” Rossella breathes, throwing an arm around you to squeeze you against her ample frame. “You’ve made this old heart very happy tonight.”

When she finally releases you, you see Charles watching you both with a soft, almost wistful expression. You raise your eyebrows at him in question, but he just shakes his head with a smile.

As you and Charles prepare to depart, Rossella calls out once more. “You come back soon, eh principessa? I have more pictures to collect.”

You throw her a wink over your shoulder. “D’accordo, d’accordo. We’ll be back soon!”

Out on the street, you pause, conscious of the evening rapidly drawing to a close. You turn to Charles, studying him properly for the first time. His deep green eyes crinkle at the corners as he meets your gaze.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely. “Really. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t swooped in to rescue me back there.”

Charles shrugs nonchalantly, but his expression is kind. “We look out for our own in Ferrari. That’s what teammates are for, no?”

A beat passes, the momentary tension thickening between you. Then Charles seems to catch himself, clearing his throat.

“Anyway, I should let you get going before your handlers send out a search party. Need me to call you a car?”

“No, no I’m good,” you reply quickly, trying to mask your disappointment at the night ending. “My performance coach has the car around front.”

You start to turn away, then impulsively pivot back. Rising up on your toes, you throw your arms around Charles’ neck and pull him in for a brief, platonic hug.

“Seriously, thank you,” you murmur in his ear. “For everything.”

As you pull back, your faces are just inches apart. Charles’ eyes are warm, his gaze intense. For a dizzying moment, you’re certain he’s going to kiss you. Then just as suddenly, the moment passes and he steps back with a friendly smile.

“Anytime, princesse. I’ll see you bright and early next week for our first time running the SF-23 on the simulator.”

With a wink, he turns and saunters off down the street, hands shoved in his pockets in that effortlessly cool way of his. You let out a long breath, flustered and exhilarated all at once.

Your performance coach has indeed been waiting with the car, looking mildly concerned. “Everything alright?”

You flash her a bright smile, practically skipping to the car. “It is now, Mara. It absolutely is.”

Your first day as a Ferrari driver was certainly more than you bargained for. But as you settle into the plush leather seats, you can’t wipe the silly grin off your face. Something tells you this new chapter with the Scuderia is going to be an adventure — in more ways than one.

As Mara pulls away from the curb, you catch a final glimpse of Charles striding confidently down the street. Even from a distance, you can make out the dimpled smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Leaning back against the headrest, you think back to the memory of his arm slung casually around your shoulders and sigh contentedly. Yes, you have a feeling this is just the beginning of what’s shaping up to be a very interesting partnership with Charles Leclerc.

***

Sebastian looks over the wine list, pretending to be engrossed in selecting the perfect vintage as he peers over the top of the menu. His eyes are fixated on the entrance to the upscale Italian restaurant, waiting for Charles and you to arrive.

This had better work, he thinks to himself. The two of you have been making googly eyes at each other for months now, but are both too stubborn to make a move.

Finally, the hostess leads Charles and you into the dining room. Sebastian ducks down, pulling the brim of his fedora lower over his face and adjusting the fake mustache he’s wearing as a disguise. He watches as the hostess shows Charles and you to an intimate table for two by the window, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating your faces.

“There must be some mistake,” Charles says, looking around in confusion. “I was under the impression we were meeting Sebastian here for dinner?”

You look equally perplexed. “That’s what he told me too. He said to meet at 8 o’clock sharp.”

“Well this is just awkward,” Charles runs a hand through his tousled hair. “Should we wait for him or ...”

Before you can respond, the waiter arrives with a basket of bread and butter. “Good evening, my name is Gerardo and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“Actually, we’re still waiting on-” Charles begins, but the waiter cuts him off.

“Ah yes, Mr. Vettel asked me to inform you that he will be unable to join this evening after all. A last minute obligation came up. He insisted I take excellent care of you both and that the evening is on his treat.” Gerardo smiles broadly. “So what will you have to drink?”

Sebastian smirks to himself at his cleverly orchestrated ruse from his secluded table in the back corner. He watches with bated breath as a flustered Charles and you exchange an awkward look.

“I’ll have a glass of Chianti,” you say finally, breaking the tension.

“Make that two,” Charles adds with a resigned sigh.

As Gerardo heads off to grab your drinks, an uncomfortable silence falls over the table. “You know, we don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Charles says, ever the gentleman. “I’m sure there’s been some misunderstanding.”

“Don’t be silly,” you reply, offering him a warm smile that makes Sebastian’s heart melt a little. “It would be rude to ruin the evening Sebastian so carefully planned, even if he’s not actually here to enjoy it.”

Charles visibly relaxes at your acceptance of the situation. “You’re right, of course. If it’s a free dinner, we would be fools to turn that down!”

You both share a laugh, finally breaking the ice. Sebastian feels a swell of pride watching the two of you start to let your guards down around each other.

Over the next hour or so, Sebastian is delighted to see Charles and you become more at ease, trading jokes and stories over several delectable courses of pasta, veal, and freshly baked focaccia. He’s never seen either of you look so lighthearted and carefree, nor has he witnessed two people connect on such an organic, genuine level before. It’s positively magical to behold.

Gerardo arrives once more, this time bearing a decadent slice of torta della nonna for you to share for dessert. “Compliments of the house,” he announces with a wink before departing.

You immediately dig into the lemony confection with gusto. “Oh my god, this is dangerously good,” you moan through a mouthful of pastry cream and flaky crust.

Charles tries and fails to stifle a laugh at your unabashed enthusiasm. “You’ve got a little ...” he gestures vaguely at the corners of your mouth.

“What? Where?” You ask, attempting to wipe the stray crumbs and smears of powdered sugar from your cheeks.

“Here, let me,” Charles says softly, reaching across the table with his cloth napkin.

Sebastian watches with bated breath, his heart pounding in his chest, as Charles tenderly swipes the napkin along your lips, his thumb grazing your cheek in the process. The moment seems to last an eternity, the two of you locked in each other’s smoldering gaze.

Then, ever so slowly, Charles leans across the table towards you. Sebastian can scarcely breathe as he witnesses the magnetic pull drawing the two of you together. This is it, this is finally happening, he marvels silently.

Sebastian lets out an inadvertent yelp of glee and instantly slaps his hands over his mouth. A table of nearby diners turns to gawk at the strange mustached man.

“Ahem, sorry! Hairball,” Sebastian rasps out in a terrible Italian accent. He slinks down in the booth, burning with embarrassment as the other patrons slowly turn away with disgusted looks.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Charles and you also turn towards the commotion, the heated moment effectively ruined. Damn it, he was so close!

You and Charles eventually turn back towards each other, the awkwardness having returned. “We should, uh, probably ask for the check soon,” Charles mumbles, unable to meet your eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve got an early training session in the morning anyway,” you reply, the disappointment evident in your voice as you stare down at the table.

Inwardly cursing his rotten luck, Sebastian motions for the bill and slips his black credit card into the folder when Gerardo brings it. He knows the only way to redeem this night is to insist you and Charles stay for one more drink. Maybe add a little more wine confidence to help reignite that spark you both nearly combusted over just moments ago.

As Gerardo whisks away to process Sebastian’s payment, the older German steels his nerves. He removes his ridiculous disguise, straightens his tie, and makes his way over to your table with purpose.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Sebastian asks with an exaggerated wink as he reaches you. “It appears Mr. Leclerc and Miss Schumacher were stood up this evening. For shame!”

“Ah, Seb!” Charles laughs in surprise at seeing his friend and former teammate. “We should have known you were behind this madness.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “You’re a menace! I can’t believe you tricked us like that.”

Sebastian claps his hands together and flashes you both a devilish grin. “What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic who cannot abide two clearly smitten people tiptoeing around each other any longer. Now, Gerardo is going to bring you the finest Barolo they have, on my dime, and you are going to remedy this sexual tension situation once and for all over another bottle or three!”

Charles opens his mouth to protest, but you laugh delightedly and nod towards Sebastian. “You know what, I could go for another drink. What do you say, Charles?”

The older Ferrari driver seems to wilt under the weight of your brilliant smile, Sebastian can’t fault the man for that. “Ah, what the hell,” Charles shrugs, throwing his arm around the back of your chair. “Let’s see where this night takes us!”

Sebastian settles in, pouring you all generous glasses of the deep ruby wine when Gerardo delivers it. He may be getting on in years, but his matchmaking job has only just begun. One way or another, he’s determined to ensure his two protégés quit stumbling over each other and finally discover the romance that’s been blossoming under their noses all along.

Sipping his wine, Sebastian gazes at you and Charles, sees the tenderness flickering in both your eyes as you lean in closer together over the candlelight. He smiles contentedly to himself.

Mission accomplished.

***

The paddock is mostly deserted at this late hour, the muffled sounds of the teams packing up drifting in from the garages. You linger near the Ferrari motorhome, watching Charles sitting alone on a stack of tires, shoulders slumped. He’s been increasingly withdrawn these past few days leading up to the Japanese Grand Prix.

You approach slowly, not wanting to startle him. “Charles? You okay?”

He looks up, managing a small smile when he sees you. “Hey, mon amour.”

There’s a weariness to his voice that tugs at your heart. You take a seat beside him, letting your arm brush against his in a subtle show of support. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Charles is silent for a long moment, pulling his helmet off and turning it over in his hands. “It’s Suzuka,” he finally says, so softly you have to lean in to hear him. “Being back here … it’s difficult.”

Your brow furrows. Right, this is where Jules Bianchi crashed, his accident eventually proving fatal. Charles had been incredibly close with his mentor and godfather. “I can’t even imagine how painful this must be.” You cover his hand with yours. “Having to race on the same track ...”

“I relive that day over and over.” Charles’s accented voice is thick with emotion. “I can still see the footage of his car slamming into the crane, like it’s burned into my mind. He was my friend, my godfather, like a brother to me. And now every year, I have to come back to this place that took him from us far too soon.” He squeezes his eyes shut, a stray tear escaping.

“Oh, Charles ...” You wrap your arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. His body is rigid at first before melting against you, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him tightly as his breath hitches with suppressed sobs, your own eyes stinging. How many times has he bottled up this grief, putting on a brave face for the world?

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur, stroking his back. “I can’t imagine the pain you’ve carried all these years. But Jules wouldn’t want you torturing yourself like this.” You pull away enough to frame his face with your hands, meeting his reddened eyes. “He’d want you to keep living, to keep pursuing your dream that he helped nurture. He’d be so proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”

Charles manages a watery smile, covering one of your hands with his. “You’re right. Thank you, chérie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He leans in, resting his forehead against yours with a shuddering sigh. “I just miss him so much some days. Like an ache I can’t shake.”

“I know.” You brush away the dampness on his cheeks with your thumbs. “Believe me, I understand that ache all too well.”

A crease forms between Charles’s brows as he regards you intently. “Your papa.”

You give a solemn nod. “Everyone talks about him like he’s gone. But he’s not, he’s still here, still breathing. It’s just … he’s not the same man I grew up with anymore.” You blink back tears of your own. “Sometimes I’ll see flashes that remind me so much of how Papa used to be. And then that illusion is shattered and I’m grieving all over again for the person he was.”

Charles’ arms wrap around you fully, tucking your head under his chin. “I can’t imagine how hard that must be. Seeing those glimpses of the man he was, only to have that hope ripped away.” He presses his lips to the crown of your head. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

You let out a choked laugh. “Yeah, definitely doesn’t feel like it most days.” Pulling away, you try for a smile. “But we Schumachers are fighters. We don’t stay down for long.”

“That’s my girl.” Charles grins, cupping your face and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “I’m lucky to have you by my side through all of this craziness. I don’t know what I’d do without your support, especially this weekend.”

“Are you kidding?” You turn to fully face him, clasping his hands in yours. “Charles, you’ve been my rock too, you know that? Signing with Ferrari this year, following in my father’s footsteps … the pressure has been immense. But you’ve never let me crumble under it. You’re always there with a laugh or a hug or some silly joke to make me smile even on the hardest days.”

Charles’s grin turns lopsided, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always makes your heart flutter. “Well, someone has to keep that ego of yours from inflating too much, future champion.” He leans in until his lips are a mere breath from yours. “But in all seriousness, we’re in this together, okay? No matter what the future holds, I’ll always have your back.”

“I know,” you murmur, feeling his words like a soothing balm over the parts of your heart still aching for your father as you once knew him. “And I’ll always have yours. We’re a team, on and off the track.” You close the distance between you, kissing him deeply.

Charles returns the kiss with fervor, his fingers threading through your hair to hold you close. The worries plaguing you both seem to temporarily fade into the background amid the warmth and solidity of his embrace. When you finally break apart, breathless, his emerald gaze holds an intensity that steals the air from your lungs in the best way.

“Je t’aime,” he murmurs, the endearment like a vow falling from his lips. “No matter what happens out there tomorrow, or any other race day, that will never change. You and me against the world, princesse.”

You flash him a coy smile, feeling desire begin to simmer low in your belly. “Is that a promise, Mr. Leclerc?”

“Mmm, I can make it one if you’d like.” Charles waggles his eyebrows, making you giggle as his hands roam freely over your back and sides, pulling you flush against him. His voice drops to a husky whisper. “Maybe I can find more convincing ways to pledge my devotion once we’re back at the hotel.”

“I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to that,” you say breathily, leaning in to nip at his lower lip in a way that makes him groan. “Though if memory serves, I seem to recall you saying something about honoring the team’s curfew tonight?” You trail openmouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw. “Wouldn’t want to be … sleep deprived before the race.”

Charles’s fingers flex against your hips as he lets out a shuddering breath. “You’re really testing my willpower here.”

“Payback for all those times you’ve tortured me.” You punctuate the statement with a sharp nip to the sensitive skin below his ear, making him jerk against you with a strangled sound. Pulling back, you smirk at the glazed look in his eyes. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

He blinks slowly, then his gaze narrows in a way that makes heat flare across your skin. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that later.” His voice is low, almost a growl that sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“I look forward to it.” You lean in until your lips are nearly brushing his again.

“Tease,” Charles accuses, though his kiss quickly swallows any further retort.

You lose yourself in the press of his mouth, the exploring glide of his hands over your body, the undeniable chemistry that still sometimes takes your breath away. When you finally break apart, gasping for air, you stay wrapped in each other’s arms, foreheads resting together.

“Thank you,” Charles murmurs after a long beat of comfortable silence. “For always knowing how to pull me out of my own head. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“That’s what partners are for,” you say simply, brushing back the silken strands of chestnut hair falling over his forehead. His eyes are so warm, so full of love and adoration, you feel it envelop you like a cozy blanket. “I’ll always be here to lean on, just like you are for me.”

Charles catches your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your palm. “And I’m grateful for that every single day. Facing the good times and bad, together.” His thumb strokes over your knuckles. “I know Suzuka will never be easy, not with the weight of the memories here. But you make the burden feel lighter. Like no matter what, I’ll be okay as long as I have you by my side.”

You lean in, brushing a featherlight kiss across his lips. “Always. No matter what the future holds, you’re stuck with me, Leclerc.”

A slow, utterly content smile spreads across his face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He steals another lingering kiss before glancing toward the pit area, where the last few stragglers are packing up for the night. “As much as I’d love to keep you all to myself, I suppose we should try to get some rest before tomorrow.”

Sliding off the tire stack, he offers you his hand, that warm gleam still dancing in his forest-colored eyes. “Though maybe we could indulge in a long, hot shower first? You know, to … unwind after such an emotionally draining evening.”

You raise an eyebrow at his transparent attempt at nonchalance, but can’t help a smirk from tugging at your lips. “Why, Mr. Leclerc, are you propositioning me?”

“Would that be so terrible?” He tugs you into his arms, leaving a trail of teasing kisses along your jaw. “After all, we did have quite the … charged conversation just now. I’d hate for all that pent-up tension to distract us on track tomorrow.”

You let out a breathless giggle as his wandering hands and lips leave tingles across your skin. “Well, when you put it that way … I suppose a nice, relaxing shower could be just what we need to clear our heads.” Looping your arms around his neck, you meet his heated gaze through lowered lashes. “Lead the way, liebling.”

Charles’ responding grin is nothing short of wolfish. “With pleasure.” Scooping you up in his arms, he heads for the parking lot at a swift pace, leaving the weight of Suzuka and its ghosts behind for the night.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you bring your Ferrari across the finish line, tires smoking from the incredible pace. Your race engineer’s voice crackles over the radio, congratulating you, but the words are drowned out by the thunderous cheers echoing around the Autodromo Nazionale Monza.

You can hardly believe it. Your first season with the Scuderia and you’ve just won the Italian Grand Prix — on the hallowed ground that your father once ruled. The sea of fans decked out in red is a sight to behold, celebrating wildly as you complete the cool-down lap.

Pulling into parc fermé, you kill the engine, the high-pitched whine slowly dying away. Undoing the straps, you clamber out, still trying to process what just happened. This is really real.

“You!”

The familiar voice makes you turn. It’s Charles, beaming from ear-to-ear despite settling for second place today. He pulls you into a massive hug, squeezing you tightly.

“I can’t believe you just did that! Amazing drive!”

You laugh, giddy with joy and adrenaline. “I still can’t believe it either! Everything just … clicked.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Charles chuckles, ruffling your sweat-damp hair. “You were incredible out there. Absolutely brilliant.”

Hearing the praise from your boyfriend means everything. You know how hard he’s worked, how much he’s sacrificed to get this far. And he’s still your biggest supporter.

The two of you finally pull apart as the rest of the team makes their presence known, congratulating you with bearhugs and massive pats on the back. You did it — you brought the victory home for Ferrari at the Temple of Speed.

After the chaos of the post-race celebrations dies down a little, it’s time for the podium ceremony. You can’t wait to stand up there, basking in the adulation of the wildly passionate Tifosi. As you make your way out with Charles and the third place finisher, the crowd’s cheers swell to a new eardrum-bursting level.

Climbing the steps, you take your spot on the top level, heart racing as you look out over the endless sea of fans. The air is filled with brilliant red smoke, passionate flag-wavers creating mesmerizing patterns. You’ve seen Grands Prix in Italy before, but being up here, having actually won — it’s on another level entirely.

Speeches are made, anthems are played, and then it’s time to crack open the podium champagne. As the bottles are picked up, a rolling chant starts building in the grandstands:

“La Prin-ci-pess-a! La Prin-ci-pess-a!”

The sound shakes you to your core. Tears instantly spring to your eyes.

Charles, beside you on the second step, grins and nudges you. “Listen to them! You’ve done it — you’ve made them fall in love with you just like they did with your father.”

Looking down at him with misty eyes, you mouth, “Thank you,” so overwhelmed that you can’t speak. He slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close. The two of you share a soft kiss as the chanting grows louder and louder.

As you pull back, gazing out over the surging tide of humanity, faces beaming up at you in adoration, it finally sinks in. This moment — winning at Monza for Ferrari, with Charles by your side, the Tifosi embracing you wholeheartedly — is beyond anything you ever could have dreamed.

The emotions pour out in waves of joy and pride and disbelief. You raise your bottle high, echoing the chants and cheering your heart out to the crowd. They roar back even louder, feeding off your energy in the way that only this group of diehard fans can.

Once the champagne showers subside, giddy fans whistling at you and Charles canoodling on the podium, it’s time to head back down. But the celebrations are just getting started. The team wants to keep the party going.

On the drive over to Maranello, you find yourself sandwiched in the backseat between Charles and your race engineer, Ricky. Everyone is grinning like maniacs, high on the thrill of victory, singing drinking songs at the top of their lungs.

“Solo per lei! Principessa di Monza!” Ricky bellows, gently elbowing you. The rest join in, filling the car with the chant of “Only for her! Princess of Monza!” You can’t stop giggling, leaning into Charles, deliriously happy.

Once you finally roll up to the factory, the party spills out of the car and into the streets. The entire workforce has turned out, waving huge Ferrari flags, beating drums and sounding air horns in celebration. You’re immediately swarmed, being passed from hug to hug as champagne is sprayed in joyful arcs.

They finally manage to sweep you, Charles, and most of your garages inside the factory, where long banquet tables have been set up in the main hall. An enormous cheer goes up as you enter, sparkling wine sloshing from hastily poured glasses all around you.

The meal that follows is a total blur — amazing food, flowing alcohol, raucous toasts, and the happiest pandemonium you’ve ever witnessed. You keep getting tugged from conversation to conversation, everyone wanting to hear how the race played out from your lips. Charles sticks by your side the whole time, looking on with sheer pride.

At one point, you end up going shot for shot with Fred Vasseur, the team principal pouring vodka like his job depends on it. “La mia principessa!” He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears of joy. “You’ve made us all so proud today!”

He hoists his glass. “To our Princess! The Princess of Monza!”

The chant starts up again all around you. “La Prin-ci-pess-a! La Prin-ci-pess-a!”

You beam at them all, squeezing Fred’s hand. No words can describe this feeling, being embraced so completely by your team — your family. This is what you’ve dreamed about since you were a little girl. Following in your father’s footsteps, bringing glory to Ferrari, carrying on the legend.

The party rages on long into the night. At some point, you lose track of time completely, delirious with exhaustion from the whirlwind of emotion.

You come around for a moment, blinking in the dim glow of the factory lights. There’s quiet rumbles of laughter around you, echoing off the walls. Looking around blearily, you realize you’ve been tucked into a makeshift bed fashioned from a pile of Ferrari t-shirts, nestled in one of the car assembly spaces.

Charles is there too, cradled against your side, one arm wrapped protectively around you. The rest of the team — your PR officers, engineers, mechanics, everyone — is strewn about in similar nests, all of them totally conked out.

With a contented sigh, you snuggle deeper into Charles’ embrace, feeling his lips brush the top of your head. This bizarre, wonderful scene seems to encapsulate everything about being part of the Ferrari family. It’s chaotic and overwhelming and unlike anything else in the world.

But most of all, it’s home.

As you start to drift back to sleep, savoring the lingering scent of champagne and motor oil, one final chant echoes in your head:

La principessa di Monza.

La principessa di Ferrari.

***

11 Months Later

The last few laps feel like they’re happening in slow motion. Every turn, every gear shift, every tiny input to the steering wheel is magnified tenfold as the circuits count down. The pressure is immense, but you’ve been here before. You can do this.

“Stay calm, stay focused,” your race engineer’s voice crackles over the radio. “The calculations look good. Just bring it home steady.”

Nodding to yourself, you downshift entering the stadium section, the roar of the massive crowd surrounding the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez swelling in your ears. This is it — your chance to join the likes of motorsport’s greatest heroes by winning the Formula 1 World Championship.

Your first victory at Monza, being crowned the “Principessa di Ferrari” by the adoring Tifosi, was a dream come true. But this … this is what you’ve worked towards since you were old enough to understand what your father achieved. To etch your name into the history books forever.

The laps tick by agonizingly. Every time the pitboard comes into view, your heart rate spikes. But you’ve got a comfortable gap to second place, managing the race perfectly. Just a few more corners now.

“Final lap, final lap,” your engineer calls out. “Looking brilliant. Stay comfortable and you’ve got this!”

You suck in a deep breath to steady your nerves. Out of the sweeping Curve 3 and onto the pit straight, the crowd’s thunderous cheers are reaching fever pitch. You can see the seas of red-clad fans absolutely losing their minds, knowing the woman they idolize is about to achieve immortality.

Crossing the finish line, you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding for what feels like ages. The emotion is overwhelming — a combination of pure elation, disbelief, and total exhaustion.

You did it.

World Champion at last!

You cruise around, yelling unintelligibly into the radio as the celebrations kick off around the circuit. There’s confetti in the air, smoke flares going off in brilliant shades of red, and a full-throated roar that could probably be heard all the way back in Europe.

Pulling into parc fermé, you switch off the car, letting the weight of the moment sink in. Tears of joy prick at your eyes as the magnitude of your achievement hits home. Ever since you were a little girl, running around watching your papa, this has been the ultimate dream for you.

And now, it’s finally happened. You’re a World Champion. Just like him.

The first person to reach you is Charles. He comes sprinting over from his own car, bounding past the marshals without a second look. One glimpse of the huge smile plastered across his face is all it takes for you to dissolve into giggles and delirious tears.

“You did it! You brilliant, brilliant woman, you did it!” He shouts, grabbing you up in his arms and spinning you around in a whirlwind hug.

“I can’t believe it, Charles! It felt like a dream … like it wasn’t really happening!”

You’re both laughing and crying at the same time, drunk on the euphoria of the moment. Clutching each other tightly, you press your foreheads together, trying in vain to compose yourselves.

“I’m so proud of you,” Charles murmurs, gazing at you with adoring eyes. “You worked so incredibly hard for this. You deserve everything.”

Surging forward, you capture his lips in a searing, passionate kiss. For a few brief moments, the two of you are alone, lost in the depth of your emotions and your all-encompassing love for each other. Nothing else in the world matters but this perfect second frozen in time.

You finally break apart, breathless, when the rest of the team sweeps in to congratulate you. They swarm around in a laughing, whooping mass, jumping up and down, hugging, chanting your name over and over.

“To our champion! The Queen!”

The cry comes from Antonio, one of the veteran mechanics who’s been with the team since your papa’s days. He clasps your hands tightly, gazing at you with pride.

“Sei la regina! The Queen of Ferrari!” He hollers over the raucous din, tears shining in his eyes. “Just like your father, you’ll reign forever!”

Your eyes start brimming over again, overwhelmed. The tears roll down your cheeks, smearing streaks of sweat and grime from the race. But you can’t stop beaming.

All at once, the rest of the crew picks up on Antonio’s declaration. Their cheers and chants coalesce into one booming refrain:

“La Re-gi-na! La Re-gi-na!”

The sheer adulation washes over you in waves, every face beaming up at you in utter reverence. You find yourself struggling to take it all in. In a few incredible seasons, you’ve elevated yourself into the realm of legend in their eyes.

Charles wraps his arms around you from behind, steadying you as your knees start to go weak. You can feel his smile radiant against your neck as he cheers and whoops right along with the rest of them.

“You hear them?” He chuckles, kissing your temple. “It’s all for you, mia regina! My Queen.”

Hearing your love, your partner, your other half call you that sets off a fresh round of giggles and sobs. Turning in his embrace, you loop your arms around his shoulders, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him deeply.

When you finally part, you look out over the still-roaring crowd, many of them carrying elaborate signs with intricate drawings depicting you as a regal sovereign. Some have fashioned ornate crowns out of random merch and foam, holding them high. Others set off flares and smoke bombs in Ferrari red.

For a moment, their euphoric cheers fade into the background, drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the rush of blood in your ears. Closing your eyes, you let the enormity of the moment wash over you, embracing the pride and humility and disbelieving joy.

This is your coronation. The new ruler of the Scuderia — la regina di Ferrari.

“La Regina di Ferrari! La Regina del Mondo!”

You can only chuckle in disbelief, Antonio and Ricky carefully taking your hands to hoist you up onto their shoulders in throne-like celebration. Charles is right by your side, standing vigil as your King Consort.

As the party spreads out around you, confetti and smoke filling the air, you look out across the ecstatic crowd. All you see are fervent faces, worshiping you as their new Queen of the World.

It’s a delirious scene that you never, ever could’ve imagined. And yet it feels so natural, so right. Like you were born to be in the center of this storm of jubilation. This is your true home.

And now, you’ve taken your rightful place as its ruler.

Mexico City burns long into the night in tribute to the newly-coronated Queen. Tomorrow, the party will likely continue all the way back to Maranello. But in this moment, you’re lost in the swirl of ecstasy, allowing yourself to be swept up in the currents of adoration.

La Regina di Ferrari.

La Regina del Mondo.

***

Eight Years Later

Jules can barely contain his excitement as you and Charles help him into the little red race suit. He’s practically vibrating with energy, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

“Easy there, petit coureur,” Charles chuckles, ruffling Jules’ hair affectionately. “We’ll get you suited up and on the track soon enough.”

“I’m gonna beat everyone!” Jules declares confidently. You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

“That’s my boy,” you say with a wink. “Just like your Papa and me.”

Charles grins and pulls Jules into a hug. “We’ll see about that, won’t we? Today’s just for fun though, remember? No official points or anything.”

“I know, I know,” Jules says impatiently. “But I’m still gonna win!”

You laugh and swing him up into your arms, peppering his face with kisses until he squeals with delight. “Whatever you say, liebling. Now let’s get you out on that track!”

The three of you make your way out to the karting circuit, hand-in-hand. You can already see a small crowd starting to form along the fences, phones and cameras at the ready. A familiar scenario, even at such a low-key local event.

“Mama, Papa, look!” Jules points excitedly. “Those people want to take pictures!”

“That’s right, schatzi,” you say gently. “Your Papa and I are pretty well known in motorsports.”

“Like movie stars?” His eyes go wide.

Charles laughs. “Something like that, I suppose. More like … really famous racecar drivers.”

“Whoa ...” Jules seems to be processing this new realization. “You’re the best ever, right? The bestest?”

You share an amused look with Charles. “Well, we’ve had our fair share of success,” you hedge.

“Your mother is a multi-time World Champion,” Charles says proudly. “As am I. We did pretty okay, I think.”

“Woooaahh!” Jules looks absolutely awestruck, like his little mind has been blown. It’s both adorable and bittersweet — your own child, only just now grasping the level of your accomplishments and fame.

The crowd has grown considerably by the time you reach the pit area, people pressing against the barriers in hopes of getting a glimpse of the royal family of Maranello. A small team of event staff try valiantly to keep order, but it’s a losing battle.

“Excuse me! Y/N! Can we get a photo?”

“Charles! Over here, please!”

“Oh my god, is that little Jules? He’s so cute!”

Jules clings a bit closer to you and Charles, startled by the commotion. You pull him protectively against your side.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “Just some fans who are excited to see us.”

Charles gives the crowd a regretful smile and a small wave before ushering you both past the security team and into the pit area. The calmer, more controlled setting seems to ease Jules’ nerves.

“Why were all those people yelling and taking pictures?” He asks with a small frown.

“Like I said, we’re pretty famous racers,” Charles explains patiently. “A lot of people know who we are and want our autographs or photos with us.”

“Like celebrities!” Jules says, the admiring light returning to his eyes.

You laugh and ruffle his hair again. “Something like that, yeah. Your Papa and I have had a very successful racing career over the years.”

“The best careers,” Charles amends with a wink at you. “Multiple world titles each.”

“World titles?” Jules looks utterly baffled by the concept. “Like … the best in the whole world?”

“Exactly,” you confirm, feeling that familiar swell of pride. “We were the fastest drivers in the world, for a few years at least.”

“Whooaa ...” Jules seems torn between awe and disbelief. “You’re like … superheroes!”

You and Charles both crack up at the adorable comparison.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Charles laughs, “but I suppose to some we come pretty close, eh?”

He scoops Jules up and swings him around, making him shriek with laughter. You watch them with a content smile, suddenly aware of how blessed you are to have this life — your incredible husband, your precious son, the career successes you both achieved. It’s more than you ever could have dreamed.

“Alright,” Papa says, setting Jules back down. “Why don’t you go grab your kart and we’ll get you out on the track? Think you can take on the world champions?”

Jules gives a determined nod, that familiar fire blazing in his eyes — the same look you’ve seen in your husband’s familiar green ones a thousand times over the years. “You bet! I’ll show you how it’s done!”

With one last hair ruffle, you send him scampering off excitedly. Charles slides an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“He’s something else, isn’t he?” He murmurs against your temple. “So much like us at that age. I can already tell he’s going to be a hell of a driver someday.”

You lean into his embrace with a contented sigh. “He is … and just look at how the crowd reacted to him. He’s barely grasped that we’re famous, and now he’s already getting mobbed himself. Our little star in the making.”

Charles makes a rueful sound. “We’re going to have to get used to that, I suppose.”

“Oh, I think we can handle it,” you say lightly. “We’ve had plenty of practice being in the spotlight, after all.”

He laughs and drops a kiss to your hair. “That’s true enough. As long as we stick together, we can get through anything.”

“Exactly.” You turn in his arms to face him properly, cupping his jaw tenderly. “You, me, Jules … nothing else matters as long as we have each other.”

Charles’ eyes are warm with devotion as he gazes down at you. “My soulmate. My family. How did I ever get so lucky?”

He leans in to kiss you, slow and sweet, the rest of the world temporarily fading away. You lose yourself in the familiar comfort of his embrace, the love you share-

“Ewww, gross! Stop kissing!”

You break apart with a laugh to find Jules making over-exaggerated gagging noises nearby.

“And the moment’s ruined,” Charles teases, keeping an arm looped around your waist.

You bend down to Jules’ eye level with a mock stern look. “You just wait until you’re all grown up with a sweetheart of your own. Then you’ll understand.”

He scrunches up his nose theatrically. “Never! Girls are gross!”

You and Charles share an amused look.

“If you say so,” Charles chuckles. “Now let’s get that kart fired up.”

Jules’ entire demeanor shifts in an instant, that fierce competitiveness surfacing once again. He scrambles into the cockpit of his little kart and takes firm hold of the wheel, looking suddenly years beyond his age.

“You’re going down!” He declares brazenly. “I’ll leave you both in the dust!”

And just like that, the proud parents are replaced by your familiar racing mentalities — the thrill of competition, the desire to win. You share a conspiratorial grin with Charles.

“Is that so?” He taunts playfully. “In that case, no more taking it easy on you two.”

You bend down to kiss Jules’ forehead, unable to resist a parting quip. “Promise you won’t be sad … because Mama always wins.”

With that, Charles heads off to grab his own kart, leaving you and Jules alone for a brief moment. He looks up at you with shining eyes.

“You’re my hero, Mama,” he says simply. “And Papa too. I wanna be just like you when I grow up!”

You feel your heart swell fit to burst, filled with more love than you could possibly put into words. Bending down, you pull your beautiful little boy into a fierce hug, eyes shining with unshed happy tears.

“Oh liebling … you already are. You’re everything we could have dreamed of and more.”

You press a lingering kiss to the top of his head, overwhelmed with affection. When you finally pull back, there are indeed tears shining in your eyes.

“Now go show your parents what you’ve got, baby,” you say with a watery smile. “I can’t wait to see you out there.”

Jules gives you a determined nod, eyes blazing with that trademark fire. “You got it, Mama! Get ready to lose!”

With that, he slams down the visor on his helmet and revs the little engine. You step back with a laugh, watching him peel out onto the track with all the confidence and flair of a seasoned pro. Like parents, like son indeed.

By the time Charles rejoins you, his own kart idling beside yours, Jules has already completed a couple of warm up laps. You can’t resist shooting Charles a smug grin.

“Well, well … looks like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. He drives just like you.”

Charles snorts, clearly trying to downplay his obvious pride. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s all your genes coming through.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a sudden commotion from the fences draws your attention. The crowd has grown even larger, people pressing against the barriers with raised phones and voices calling out excitedly.

“Oh my god, it’s them!”

“They’re so cute together!!”

“Over here, please! This way!”

You share a resigned look with Charles as event staff rush to try and control the growing swarm.

“This is what it’s going to be like from now on, isn’t it?” You murmur. “Our little family, constantly in the spotlight.”

Charles shrugs, slinging an arm around your shoulders as he watches Jules blaze by. “What else is new? We’ve been there our whole careers. At least this time, we get to share the fame together … as a family.”

You lean into his side with a contented smile. Out on the track, Jules whips past in a blur of determination, completely unbothered by the fawning crowd. Just a little boy living out his dream, regardless of who his parents might be.

“You know what?” You say softly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Charles drops a kiss to your hair as the roar of the crowd and engines swells around you. “Me neither, mon amour. I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

formula one ✩ m.list

# ᴄʜᴀʀʟᴇꜱ ʟᴇᴄʟᴇʀᴄ :: cl¹⁶

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ʙᴏᴛᴛʟᴇ :: Finally feeling familiar with the heartbreak and love songs she has composed, the world's golden girl discovers that love is trickier than it looks—even more so when it comes in the form of a green-eyed Monégasque.

ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ : ᴘᴀʀᴀɴᴏɪᴅ :: The fact that you have to work as a Formula One driver's assistant for your final college grade is not the worst of your problems; the true issue is that no one told you that you would become a emotional support human for him.

ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ :: Monaco is the jewel in the crown, a world of expensive cars, casinos, and sheer luxury that conceals the true reason for its name; who imagined that a night of joy would finish with blood on your hands.

# ᴄᴀʀʟᴏꜱ ꜱᴀɪɴᴢ :: cs⁵⁵

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ᴍᴀx ᴠᴇʀꜱᴛᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ :: mv¹

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ : ᴡʀᴀᴛʜ :: Who would have thought that a mistake on your application could cost you your dream job? And that in the end you would end up as an assistant to a one time world champion struggling to control his anger issues.

# ᴅᴀɴɪᴇʟ ʀɪᴄᴄɪᴀʀᴅᴏ :: dr³

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ :: ln⁴

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ :: After discovering that he is in love with his best friend, Lando is determined and will do everything he can to prove to her that he is the right man for her. [ coming soon ]

ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ : ʟᴜꜱᴛ :: After graduating from college, you land a job assisting a Formula One driver, but nobody told you that this particular driver would be an absolute nightmare and that your job would basically consist of babysitting him.

# ᴏꜱᴄᴀʀ ᴘɪᴀꜱᴛʀɪ :: op⁸¹

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ : ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ :: Being hired as his assistant to help him during his second year in Formula One, you discover that the reason he has trouble expressing what he wants is not that he lacks the ability to do so, but that he is too prideful to do so.

# ʟᴇᴡɪꜱ ʜᴀᴍɪʟᴛᴏɴ :: lh⁴⁴

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ɢᴇᴏʀɢᴇ ʀᴜꜱꜱᴇʟʟ :: gr⁶³

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ᴘɪᴇʀʀᴇ ɢᴀꜱʟʏ :: pg¹⁰

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ꜱᴇʙᴀꜱᴛɪᴀɴ ᴠᴇᴛᴛᴇʟ :: sv⁵

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ᴍɪᴄᴋ ꜱᴄʜᴜᴍᴀᴄʜᴇʀ :: ms⁴⁷

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

# ᴀʟᴇx ᴀʟʙᴏɴ :: aa²³

ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

ᴛᴇᴀᴍ ʀᴀᴅɪᴏ :: the disease series! all drivers have one, and the reader is always an assistant!

© mrslestappen :: please do not copy my work!

Disease : paranoid ✦ cl16

summary: The fact that you have to work as a Formula One driver's assistant for your final college grade is not the worst of your problems; the true issue is that no one told you that you would become a emotional support human for him.

pairing: charles leclerc x assistant!reader

tags: protective charles? tooth rooting fluff + angst, mention of insecurities, simp!charles, slow burn, charles has a lot on his shoulders + a bit paranoid.

# part one : would you?

# part two: [ October 10 ]

# part three :

# part four :

# part five :

# part six :

# part seven :

The art of blood ✸ cl16

summary: Monaco is the jewel in the crown, a world of expensive cars, casinos, and sheer luxury that conceals the true reason for its name; who imagined that a night of joy would finish with blood on your hands.

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

tags: violence, fluffy + angst, charles is crazy (a little) mafia au! protective + possessive charles = simp, bad thoughts, blood and mentions of killing, multiple mafia families (drivers)

# part one : [ soon ]

# part two :

# part three :

# part four :

# part five :

# part six :

Disease : paranoid ✦ cl16

summary: The fact that you have to work as a Formula One driver's assistant for your final college grade is not the worst of your problems; the true issue is that no one told you that you would become a emotional support human for him.

pairing: charles leclerc x assistant!reader

tags: fluff + angst?, caring charles (tiny bit) + comfort, bad thoughts.

# part one - next part [ series masterlist ]

Everything feels unreal. You're watching the mechanics work in the garage, and the only thing you can think is: has red always been such a pretty color?

It was the first race of the season, and you didn't have much to do yet, they told you that you just needed to make sure that Charles did everything that they asked him to do, and that was easy, thanks to him.

“Have you seen my notebook?" Charles asks as he looks around to see if he can catch a glimpse of the tiny notebook somewhere, you let out a chuckle, grab your purse from the floor and give him what he needs. 

“How is it that you always have everything I need?” he took the notebook from your hands and opened it “I try my best” he gave you a knowing look.

Charles still remembers the first time he saw you at the Ferrari headquarters in Maranello, you had just signed your contract with them and he had just been told that he had a new assistant. 

You were quite awkward and a bit clumsy when he first struck up a conversation with you. He learned that this was your first job, and he made a mental note to make you feel welcome, and also he didn't want you to leave him like the others. 

He tried his best to make you feel as comfortable as possible before the season started, he was patient and generally nice, which was what you really needed at that moment. 

When you made your first mistake and didn't tell Charles that he was supposed to be in a meeting, he took the blame and told Fred that it was his fault. 

You thought he would be angry, but he just said "It's okay, everyone makes mistakes" and in that moment you thank the angels for making him such a nice person. 

"Thank you, Mr. Leclerc" 

"None of that, we are a team you and I, if you ever need help just come to me." 

That was a month ago when you were still new and walking on eggshells trying not to make any mistakes, luckily you got better after all your final grade depended on it. 

"Have you eaten today?" Charles asks, handing his notebook back to you, just needed to check something he thought he should comment on the car in the next meeting they will have. 

"I haven't, but I was about to do so," you told him as you walked out of the garage with him beside you, trying your best not to look at him to see his face, which probably had a disappointed look on it. 

"I thought you said you already ate." 

"I did." 

"What did you have?" 

"Coffee," you mumble softly as you enter the Ferrari hospitality, "that's not food y/n," he scolds you again, you already lose count of how many times he does this.

Charles grabs a plate and starts to put different kinds of fruit on it, "you already ate," he nods, "This is for you," you try to grab the plate out of his hands, but he stretches his arm as high as he can to make sure you don't have a chance to grab it. 

"It's my food, let me grab what I want," he ignores you, grabs your wrist, and walks over to one of the tables. 

He pulls out a chair for you and you sit down, he puts the plate in front of you and sits across from you, motioning for you to start eating, which you do, but not before giving him the meanest look you can.

You take out your phone and play a YouTube video while you eat, it is a bad habit and Charles has told you several times but he still watches with you. 

When you put the phone at the right angle so that you and Charles can see the video without any problems, you notice that he is not watching.

“Mr. Leclerc" you called him but he didn't answer, you sighed softly, you know he heard you. 

"Charlie?" 

"Yes?"

"You have to stop doing that," he tilted his head as if he didn't know what you were saying, "I shouldn't call you that," "Why not?" "Because you're my boss.”

"There's nothing wrong with calling me that, besides it makes me feel old when you call me Mr. Leclerc."

"You are old" 

"I'm twenty-six." 

The look you gave him was enough to make a dramatic gasp come out of his mouth, you were already used to his tactics so you didn't apologize for calling him old. 

When the alarm on your phone went off, you grabbed it and stopped it before it could keep ringing, "Time to go, you have a meeting," you said as you handed him his notebook that he needed for to take notes. 

He gave you a quick thanks, but you grabbed him and raised your hand, he gave you a pout, but you shook your head at that, he took his phone out of his pocket and placed it in your hand, "it was worth the try," he muttered to himself. 

✦ ✦ ✦

While you were waiting for Charles' meeting to end, you took out your laptop and started to finish the assignment you were supposed to send for this month. 

You were quite happy when your professor told you that all you had to do was to send in a report on what you had done, the experience you had gained, and what you had become better at, for your monthly assignment. 

It was a pretty easy assignment since you were traveling around the world and learning things that you didn't even know existed, and since this was your first job, it was easier for you because you were learning a lot of new things. 

“Y/n?" You took your eyes off the computer and looked at the person calling your name, you tilted your head as if to ask if they needed anything but they shook their head and motioned with their hand towards the hospitality door. 

You quickly grab your things and walk to the door to greet your friend, "Did you see what Professor Brown posted in the announcements?" You shake your head and ask, "Is it something important?" "Depends, he wants us to take pictures of what we have been doing lately." 

It didn't sound too bad, if the assignments continued to be like this, you were pretty sure you'd get an easy A. 

"Did you do it?" You ask her, "I did," she nods, "but I came here to tell you because I know sometimes you don't check the announcements," you give her an embarrassed smile, "I'm not that bad," you mutter softly, and she gives you a look, which you shrug off. 

"Well, I'm going back, I'm pretty sure Lando is already out of control again, see you, take care," she gave you a quick hug before walking quickly towards the McLaren hospitality. 

You watched her go and sighed, taking your phone out of your pocket, ready to take some pictures to send with the assignment, "Hey, have you seen Andrea?" You jump a little at the voice next to you, "Don't do that, and yes he’s in your driver's room, are you okay? You've been acting weird since yesterday" you ask him with concern evident in your voice, but he quickly shrugs it off and tells you that he is fine. 

You make a mental note to ask him later. "I'm going to exercise, go to my driver's room if you need anything, okay?" You nod, take his phone out of your purse and hand it to him. 

He quickly says goodbye and walks away before you can say anything else to him, you have noticed that Charles has been acting strange since you arrived in Bahrain. 

You have been meaning to ask him about it, but every time you get the chance he seems to run away, which is so unlike him. 

You snap out of your thoughts and head back into the hospitality area, ready to take some pictures and send off the assignment. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Practice one is about to start and everyone is running around making sure everything is perfect. The only thing that seems not to be here is the driver. 

"Y/n, where is Charles?" Fred asks, you want to shrug your shoulders but then you remember that this is your job, and you should know where he is, you look at him and tell him you're going to get Charles, and he gives you a thumbs up.

You look for Charles everywhere, including his driver's room and the hospitality area. Has he left? You were pretty sure you saw him a few minutes ago.  

How can a person disappear so quickly? you even ask people from other garages and they haven't seen him. 

You tried to call him, but his phone was dead, it didn't even send you to voicemail. 

"Y/n!" You hear someone yell your name and quickly turn your head towards Carlos, he seems out of breath, and you can see his chest rising and falling faster than normal.

"Charles is in my driver's room, I don't know what happened," he said, but that was enough for you to start running towards the Ferrari driver's room. You still shouted a thank you to Carlos and that seemed to have caught the attention of other people who looked at you strangely.

But you did not care about that, you needed it to find Charles and to make sure that he was ready to get into the car. 

You reach the driver's room trying to catch your breath as much as you can, you probably look terrible with hair sticking in your face from how much you've been sweating, you want to kill him for making you suffer like this.

You were now outside Carlos' driver's door and you could hear soft mumbling, was he talking to himself?

You knocked softly on the door and waited for an answer, when you got none you decided to open the door. 

"Charles how can-" you couldn't continue as Charles was lying on the floor with his hands on his head rocking back and forth as if trying to calm himself down, your thoughts of scolding him left you just by seeing him in such a vulnerable state.

You walked as slowly as you could and bent down to his level. You grabbed one of his hands, and that was enough for him to look at you quickly. 

"I'm sorry - I can't, it's going to be like last year," he said quickly, you know from what you heard that last year was not a good one for Charles, the car didn't seem to work for him at all, you didn't know he was that affected by it, and now looking at him you didn't want him to feel that way. 

He's such an amazing person and always so happy and joking with you, but he was hiding a lot of things that had hurt him and you couldn't let that happen.

"Hey, you can do this, okay?" both your hands grab his face and you give him a tiny smile, "I can't..." you shush him and try to get as close to him as you can, were you allowed to hug him? You did not know, but at that moment he probably needed it. 

"Hey, those bad days don't define you, you're amazing and such a talented driver, last year the car wasn't good, let's leave that in the past, okay? This is a new opportunity and you're going to show everyone who Charles is, you're going to make them eat their words, so go and destroy them, champ". 

That seems to make Charles' worries melt away a bit, you told him to take a deep breath with you, and when you felt that he was better you slowly let him go. But that seems to be a wrong move, because when you do, Charles seems to look at you as if you took something away from him, but you ignored it. 

"Okay champ get up, time to make jaws drop with your amazing driving" you joked and you were quite happy because you could see the corner of his mouth move up a bit. 

"Thank you, Mon ange" 

"None of that, we are a team, you and I, remember?" 

He nodded and in that moment he let himself look at you while you smiled at him, he felt as if your smile had the power to melt away his worries leaving behind a feeling of peace, in that moment he was grateful for you, he took a deep breath and let it out, there was nothing to worry about.

He's pretty sure this season will go well with you by his side because you wouldn't leave him, would you?

Scuderia :: @evie-119 @tempo-rary-fix @spookystitchery @boiohboii @halleest @itsjustkhaos @aphroditeisamilf @vicurious28 @lozzamez3 @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @heyheyheyggg @teamnovalak @fakeplastiqtree @michelleyw81 @lillyssh-tposts @these-books-are-ruining-my-life @kqliie @deliciousfestsalad @biitch-with-wifi @xohollie01 @charlesleclerc2003 @loloekie @elliegrey2803 @steamy-smoker @doesnt-care @delululeclerc @vip-access @theseerbetweenus @haikyuen @arian-directioner @marvelfangirl04 @melagem02 @rach3164 @zucchinimalfoy @scopeiguess @landoslutmeout @reiofsuns2001 @badussybumper @nixily @forevercaffeinated-lee @i-wish-this-was-me @gabys-gabs @entr4p3 @trouble-sistar @thef1diary @puttyly @solo2leo @f1and1d4eva @liliummz

Team radio: I hope you like! it I feel I could have done better but English is not my first language but I will do my best to improve, I will keep practicing and improving my writing every day.

The art of blooming ❀ ln4

summary: If lando could describe you in any way, he would probably say that you're beauty with brains but have no experience in romance, which is fine because he is happy to assist you with the latter.

pairing: lando norris x reader

tags: tooth rooting fluff (a lot) angst (tiny bit) + self doubt, lando = cutie, good communication, understanding + protective lando.

# part one : [ October 22 ]

# part two :

# part three :

# part four :

# part five :

# part six :

# part seven :

scuderia: @charlesleclerc2003 @evie-119 @leclercbuzz

Charles Leclerc x Princess of Monaco!Reader - Social Media AU

I combined multiple requests for the reader to take a stand against Xavi with my little royal twist that I hope you enjoy 🩷

affection (between friends) ❀ ln4

summary: some love stories that should just be so obvious aren’t so simple—sometimes, what it takes for two people to realize their feelings is an unexpected third.

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

contains: smau and written parts, best friends to lovers, one night stands, accidental pregnancy, poc faceclaim, smut in mentioned chapters, clueless lando and reader, secret child trope, slow burn(ish?), mutual pining, slightly emotionally unavailable lando, angst.

all titles in this series are based off of songs <3

i. clueless

ii. the need to know (18+)

iii. awkward

& more to come…

Can we please please get Kevin catching mick smelling reader’s hair as she stands with her back to him in the elevator on the way to a conference then Kevin makes it his mission to tease mick about it till he confesses 🥺

As Y/N stood in the elevator with Mick Schumacher, she could feel his gaze on her. As the elevator stopped on another floor, a group of people entered. As they squeezed in, Y/N found herself pressed up against Mick. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, and she blushed.

Suddenly, she heard Kevin snickering behind her. She turned around to see him smirking at Mick.

"What's so funny?" Y/N asked.

"Nothing," Kevin replied, still grinning.

But Y/N knew something was up. She turned to Mick and saw him blushing furiously. Mick looked down at his feet, unable to meet her gaze.

Y/N giggled, feeling a surge of excitement. She had always found Mick cute, and knowing that he had been sniffing her hair made her heart flutter.

As they exited the elevator, Kevin whispered to Mick, "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

But he couldn't resist teasing Mick about it. Over the next few days, he made sly remarks about Mick's "hair fetish".

Kevin decided to have a little fun with Mick. He started teasing him about it, making suggestive comments and winking at Y/N. Mick blushed and tried to deny it, but Kevin could see that he was uncomfortable.

Eventually, Kevin told Sebastian about what he had seen. Sebastian knew that Mick had feelings for Y/N, but he had been too shy to make a move. Sebastian and Kevin decided to help Mick by pressuring him to confess his feelings to Y/N.

They started dating soon after, and Kevin and Sebastian couldn't have been happier for them. Mick was grateful to have such good friends, who had helped him muster up the courage to confess his feelings.

Eventually, Kevin approached Sebastian Vettel, one of Mick's close friends. He told Seb what he had seen in the elevator, and Seb agreed to help him get Mick to confess his feelings.

Together, they hatched a plan. Seb invited Y/N and Mick to dinner, along with Kevin and a few other friends. During the meal, Seb kept steering the conversation towards relationships and love.

"So Mick, have you ever been in love?" he asked.

Mick looked uncomfortable. "Uh, I don't know..."

Y/N could feel her heart pounding. She wondered if Mick was thinking about her.

"What about you, Y/N?" Seb asked. "Have you ever had a crush on anyone?"

Y/N blushed. "Maybe..."

Seb grinned. "I think Mick has something he wants to tell you."

Mick's eyes widened. "What? No, I don't..."

But Kevin cut him off. "Come on, man, we all know you do"

Mick turned bright red, but Y/N couldn't help but feel flattered. She looked at Mick, and he met her gaze.

"I... yeah, I have a crush on you," he said, finally confessing.

Y/N felt a surge of joy. She had been hoping he felt the same way.

They spent the rest of the evening talking and laughing, and Y/N couldn't stop smiling. As they left the restaurant, Mick took her hand and they walked together, the beginnings of a new relationship blossoming between them.

They started dating soon after, and Kevin and Sebastian couldn't have been happier for them. Mick was grateful to have such good friends, who had helped him muster up the courage to confess his feelings.

As a motorsport enthusiast, attending the World Rally Championship as a journalist was a dream come true. The adrenaline rush from the roaring engines, the whizzing cars, and the thunderous applause of the crowd filled me with excitement. I had covered several races in the past, but this one was special. It was the race where the veteran world champion, Carlos Sainz Sr, was making his comeback after a long hiatus. The scorching sun beat down on the gravel roads of the World Rally Championship, creating a cloud of dust that hung in the air.

Armed with my notepad and camera, I eagerly made my way through the bustling crowd, ready to capture the thrilling moments of the rally.

Among the sea of passionate fans, my attention was drawn to a familiar face. It was Carlos Sainz Jr, one of the most successful Formula 1 drivers of all time. There was a spark in his eyes as he watched his father, the legendary veteran world champion, Carlos Sainz Sr, prepare for the race. A surge of excitement filled my chest as I realized that fate had brought me closer to this racing dynasty.

As a journalist for a Spanish sports newspaper, I had the privilege of interviewing the esteemed Carlos Sainz Sr. With my heart pounding, I approached him and introduced myself, expressing my admiration for his illustrious career. His eyes crinkled with a warm smile as he observed my dedication and passion for motorsport.

As the rally began, I immersed myself in the electrifying atmosphere. I documented each turn, jump, and slide with the utmost enthusiasm. Little did I know that Carlos Sainz Jr was observing me from a distance, his curiosity piqued by my unwavering love for the sport.

Days turned into nights, and the competition intensified. Carlos Sainz Sr showcased his unmatched skill and experience, dominating the rally with finesse. The crowd erupted in cheers as he crossed the finish line, securing yet another victory.

In the aftermath of the race, the journalists gathered for post-race interviews. Among them, I found myself face-to-face with Carlos Sainz Jr. There was an instant connection between us, as if we shared a common language in the realm of motorsport.

We spoke about our shared passion, our favorite racing moments, and the challenges we faced in pursuing our dreams. Carlos admired my dedication and determination, recognizing the fire within me. It was then that a bond began to form, transcending the boundaries of a chance meeting.

In the weeks that followed, Carlos and I kept in touch, we built a life centered around our shared love for motorsport, with our paths forever intertwined, our conversations growing deeper and more meaningful. He became not just a legendary driver but also a trusted confidant and source of inspiration. Recognizing my dream to become an F1 journalist, he offered his unwavering support, connecting me with influential figures in the industry and providing invaluable guidance.

With Carlos's guidance, I stepped into the world of Formula 1 journalism. I traveled to various circuits, capturing the spirit of the sport through my words and photographs. Our friendship blossomed into a love fueled by our shared passions and mutual respect.

Together, we experienced the highs and lows of the racing world, celebrating victories and consoling each other during challenging times. Carlos's unwavering support and belief in me never wavered, becoming the wind beneath my wings as I pursued my dream career.

As the years went by, my byline graced the pages of prominent sports publications, and my work became recognized in the world of motorsport journalism. But my success was never a solitary achievement. It was a testament to the love and guidance I received from Carlos Sainz Jr, the man who had seen my potential and nurtured it with unwavering dedication.

Driven by love, passion, and unwavering determination, we forged a bond that transcended the racetrack. And as we stood together, side by side, I knew that I had found my own champion, not just in the world of motorsport, but in the depths of my heart.

One day, as we were watching a race together, Carlos Jr turned to me and said, "I have a surprise for you." He took me outside, and there it was - a rally car with my name on it. He had arranged for me to participate in the next race, and I was thrilled. I trained hard, practicing my driving skills, and analyzing the track.

On the day of the race, my heart was pounding as I stepped into the car. The roar of the engine drowned out all other sounds as I sped through the track, negotiating the twists and turns with ease. The finish line was in sight, and I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins. And then it happened - I won the race, and Carlos Jr was waiting for me at the finish line.

We embraced each other, our hearts filled with joy and passion. We had embarked on a journey filled with challenges and victories, both on and off the track. As the sun set on the race track, we looked forward to the future, a future filled with love, adventure, and of course, motorsports.

In the months that followed, Carlos Jr. and I kept in touch. We shared

Together, we embarked on a whirlwind adventure, traveling to races across the globe, each doing what we loved the most. Carlos Jr.'s influence and connections in the racing world opened doors for me, allowing me to interview some of the greatest drivers in history. I relished the opportunity to share their stories and bring the thrill of F1 to fans worldwide.

As our bond grew stronger, we found ourselves falling deeply in love. Carlos Jr. introduced me to the rest of the family. Over dinner one evening, Carlos Sr. revealed with a smile, "I knew from the moment I saw you both together that you were destined to be together. Love and motorsport, it's a combination that can't be beaten."

On a lazy Sunday afternoon, surrounded by the laughter of our children, Carlos turned to me with a twinkle in his eye. "Do you remember the day we first met?" he asked, his voice filled with nostalgia.

I nodded, a smile spreading across my face. "How could I forget? It was the start of the most incredible journey of my life."

Carlos Sr., who had been listening intently, chimed in, "I always knew you two would end up together. Love is like racing; sometimes, you just know."

And as we basked in the warmth of our shared memories, I couldn't help but be grateful for the magical moment that brought us together—the day our racing hearts collided and forever merged into one.

Hope you having a good day, could you do leclercxsister with all her brothers and she has epilepsy and has a seizure at a race and her brothers confort and help her. Hope this fits in with you’re guidlines 💛

Why do you only ask me for her to be sick?? poor yn 🫠🫠

pd.: i dont know about the seizures so i searched in google

The sun shone brightly over the Leclerc family estate as Y/N, the youngest Leclerc sibling, stepped out of the grand house, a leash in her hand. At her side was Eric, a beautiful golden retriever trained to assist her during her epilepsy episodes. Today was a special day; her older brothers, Arthur, Lorenzo, and Charles, were all together, along with their respective companions.

Y/N's epilepsy had presented challenges in her life, but she was determined to never let it define her. Her brothers had always been there for her, supporting her every step of the way. With their love and care, Y/N felt invincible.

As she approached the courtyard, she spotted Charles, her closest confidant, talking with their trainer and performance coach, Andrea. They conversed animatedly in French.

Y/N smiled and called out, "Charles! Andrea! Bonjour!"

Charles turned around, a wide grin forming on his face. "Ah, Y/N! Bonjour. Are you ready for our training session today?"

Y/N nodded, her enthusiasm evident. "Of course! I'm always ready to train with the best coach and brother by my side."

Andrea chimed in, his Italian accent coloring his words. "Sei pronta? (Are you ready?)

Y/N nodded again, feeling a surge of determination. "Sono pronta! Grazie, Andrea. (I'm ready! Thank you, Andrea)

They made their way to the training area, a spacious field surrounded by lush greenery. The sound of laughter and conversation filled the air, as Lorenzo, the oldest Leclerc brother, and Joris, Charles's photographer and friend, joined them.

Arthur, the youngest of the Leclerc brothers, bounded towards Y/N, his energy palpable. "Y/N, Eric! Are you guys ready for an adventure?"

Y/N chuckled. "Always, Arthur. But you better keep up with me this time!"

With that, they embarked on a day of fun and training. Y/N's golden retriever companion, Eric, stuck close to her, always alert and ready to assist whenever an episode occurred.

The Leclerc siblings displayed their competitive sides, engaging in friendly races and challenging each other with various physical activities. Amidst the laughter and playful banter, Y/N's condition was never forgotten.

YN felt a sudden aura, a warning sign of an oncoming seizure. She held onto Eric tightly as her vision darkened and her body grew weak, Eric sensed her distress and immediately sprang into action. He guided her to a safe spot, gently nudging her to sit down. The others gathered around, their concern etched on their faces. Charles, always vigilant, rushed to her side, offering a supportive arm.

Andrea quickly sprang into action, speaking to YN to keep her calm and reassured. "Stai tranquilla, YN. Siamo qui con te" (Stay calm, YN. We're here with you)

Lorenzo and Arthur knelt down, worried expressions etched on their faces. "We've got you, YN," Lorenzo said softly, gently stroking her hair.

As the seizure subsided, YN gradually regained consciousness, blinking away the fog in her mind. She saw her brothers and the others surrounding her, their faces filled with love and concern.

"Merci, everyone," YN whispered, her voice filled with gratitude. "I couldn't ask for better brothers and friends."

Joris patted her shoulder gently. "You're a warrior, Y/N. Don't forget that."

With their unwavering support, Y/N gradually regained control. She stood up, her resolve firm. "Thank you, everyone. Let's keep going."

And so, they resumed their activities, alternating between training sessions and lighthearted games. The bond between the Leclerc siblings grew stronger with each passing moment.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm orange glow over the estate, Y/N reflected on the day's events. Despite her condition, she felt a profound sense of strength and belonging. She knew that her epilepsy was not a weakness but rather a part of her story, one that her brothers and their companions embraced fully.

With the Leclerc family's unwavering love and support, Y/N knew she could face any challenge life threw her way. Together, they were an unbreakable force, bound by blood and an unyielding bond.

As they gathered for a group photo, Y/N looked at her brothers and their companions, her heart filled with gratitude. With a smile that radiated pure joy, she whispered, "Je vous aime tous. Grazie per essere qui con me. (I love you all. Thank you for being here with me)

In that moment, surrounded by her loved ones, Y/N felt invincible, ready to conquer the world.

Hi, could you write one about Logan? Where the reader appears for the first time in the paddock and then Logan talks about her in the interview after the race because everyone is surprised that he has a girlfriend? Thank you so much

The scorching sun bore down on the bustling Formula 1 paddock as the engines roared, filling the air with excitement and anticipation. Among the throngs of people, a young woman named Y/N stood nervously, her eyes scanning the area for a familiar face. This was her first time attending a race with her boyfriend, Logan Sargeant, one of the rising stars of the F1 grid. Y/N felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness as she stepped into the vibrant paddock for the very first time. She clutched onto Logan's arm, seeking comfort and grounding amidst the unfamiliar surroundings.

Logan, with his infectious smile and boyish charm, was a force to be reckoned with on the track. But behind closed doors, he was a gentle and loving partner to Y/N. Only a select few individuals were aware of their relationship. Logan's teammate, Alex Albon, and his close friend, Oscar Piastri, had been let in on the secret. The couple had decided to keep their relationship private, away from the prying eyes of the media and the unpredictable world of Formula 1.

The time had come for Logan's post-qualifying interview, and Y/N's heart raced with a mix of excitement and nerves. She watched as the reporter approached Logan, their voices carrying over the ambient noise. The interviewer began with the usual questions about Logan's preparations for the race, his training routine, and his thoughts on the race.

Logan answered with confidence and passion, showcasing his dedication to the sport he loved. The atmosphere around them was electric, capturing the attention of everyone nearby.

"Logan, congratulations on a fantastic qualifying session. You've really impressed everyone out there today, any special plans for this weekend? Any loved ones cheering you on?"

Logan's eyes glinted mischievously as he turned to face the crowd. "Actually, I do," he replied, his voice steady yet filled with excitement. "This weekend, I have someone very special by my side. It's my girlfriend’s first time in the paddock, and I couldn't be happier to have her here with me."

A hush fell over the paddock as all eyes turned toward Y/N. She felt the weight of the moment and smiled, taking a small step closer to Logan. The surprise on the faces of the other drivers and team members was priceless.

The rest of the day flew by in a blur of congratulations, interviews, and warm greetings from well-wishers. The other drivers, thrilled by the revelation, teased Logan relentlessly about his newfound love life.

As night fell, a vibrant atmosphere enveloped the paddock. The drivers and their significant others gathered for a celebratory dinner. The clinking of glasses and cheerful laughter filled the air as Y/N and Logan settled into a table surrounded by their friends.

"So, Logan," teased Lando Norris, grinning mischievously. "How long have you been hiding this lovely lady from us?"

Logan chuckled, his arm draped affectionately around Y/N's shoulder. "It's been a while, actually. But I thought it was time to let the cat out of the bag."

"Lucky Logan," Carlos Sainz chuckled, a twinkle in his eye. "We thought you were the lone wolf of the grid. Who knew you had a secret girlfriend all this time?"

The room erupted in laughter, and Logan couldn't help but blush, his arm draped protectively around Y/N. "Hey, I like to keep my personal life private," he replied with a grin. "But now that the secret's out, I can say I'm the luckiest guy in the paddock."

"About time," Daniel Ricciardo chimed in, raising his glass. "To Logan and Y/N, the newest power couple of the paddock!"

The room erupted in cheers and applause as glasses clinked together. Y/N's heart swelled with warmth and joy, feeling incredibly lucky to be a part of this tight-knit community.

Throughout the evening, the banter and camaraderie between the drivers and their partners continued, cementing Y/N's place among them. She felt a sense of belonging, knowing that she had found her own family within the adrenaline-fueled world of Formula 1.

As the night drew to a close, Logan squeezed Y/N's hand, his eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you for being here with me, Y/N. This day wouldn't have been the same without you."

Y/N smiled, her heart overflowing with love for the man beside her. "I'm just happy to be by your side, Logan, through the highs and lows. This is only the beginning of our incredible journey together."

And so, in the world of Formula 1, where dreams are pursued at breakneck speeds, Y/N and Logan Sargeant stood as a testament to the power of love and support—a force that could overcome any challenge on and off the track

Heyy if ur requests are open could you do Logan x reader and he’s asking like checo or another married driver on how to propose to you?

Logan Sargeant stood at the edge of the track, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he watched the other Formula 1 drivers whizz past him. But amidst the thrill and intensity of the race, his mind couldn't help but wander to a different kind of finish line—a lifelong commitment with his high school sweetheart, Y/N.

It had been six incredible years since they first met in their high school corridors. Their love had weathered the storms of long-distance and the challenges of Logan's racing career, and now Y/N had joined him in Europe after graduating high school. She pursued her studies there and often accompanied Logan to the races whenever possible. But this time, due to studying circumstances, she couldn't be there with him.

As Logan prepared for the race, he knew it was the perfect opportunity to seek advice from his fellow drivers, who had become his close friends over the years. He approached Sergio Perez, Kevin Magnussen, and Nico Hülkenberg, the married trio who had successfully navigated the complex world of love and racing.

"Hey, guys," Logan greeted with a nervous smile, "I need your help with something important."

The three drivers exchanged curious glances before Sergio spoke up. "What's on your mind, mate?"

Logan took a deep breath and explained, "I want to propose to Y/N, but I'm not entirely sure how to go about it. I mean, she means the world to me, and I want it to be something special."

Kevin leaned against the pit wall, thoughtful. "Well, when I proposed to my wife, Louise, it was during a romantic trip we took together”, Kevin pondered for a moment before speaking up “I believe the key to a memorable proposal is personalization. Make it unique to your relationship. Think about your journey together and the things that matter most to both of you."

Nico nodded in agreement. "Simplicity can be very powerful ”Nico chimed in, "and timing is crucial. Find a moment when Y/N is relaxed and happy, a moment when she least expects it. That element of surprise will make it even more special."

Sergio grinned, "Don't forget to capture the moment, my friend. Hire a photographer or arrange for someone to discreetly capture the proposal. You'll both want to relive that moment for years to come."

Listening to their experiences, Logan's mind raced with possibilities. Each story had its charm, but he wanted something uniquely theirs. He thanked his friends for their advice, knowing he needed to find his own path.

Checo leaned forward, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Well, Logan, you could surprise her during one of her visits to the race. Have her join you on the starting grid just before the race begins and propose right there, in front of everyone. It'd be a moment she'll never forget!"

Logan smiled at the idea, picturing Y/N's shocked but delighted expression. "That could work. But I want it to be more personal, something intimate."

Kevin chimed in, his blue eyes gleaming with excitement. "How about taking her to a romantic dinner? Find a beautiful spot in Europe, perhaps a seaside restaurant overlooking the ocean. Get down on one knee as the sun sets and ask her to be your wife."

Nico nodded in agreement. "That sounds like a classic and timeless proposal. You can't go wrong with that, mate. It's all about the moment and making her feel special."

Logan pondered their suggestions, grateful for their input. He imagined the love and surprise in Y/N's eyes as he proposed in a picturesque setting. But deep down, he knew there was something missing. He wanted the proposal to be meaningful and personal, reflecting their shared journey.

A memory flashed through Logan's mind—the first time they met, back in high school. They were just teenagers, navigating the challenges of adolescence together. Their love had blossomed amidst exams, school dances, and dreams of the future.

Suddenly, inspiration struck like lightning. "I have an idea," Logan exclaimed, excitement bubbling inside him. "What if I take her back to our old high school? The place where it all began. We could relive our memories, and amidst it all, I'll ask her to be my wife."

Checo, Kevin, and Nico exchanged glances, impressed by Logan's idea. "That's brilliant," Checo said, a wide smile forming on his face. "It's sentimental, nostalgic, and shows just how much your journey means to you both"

Feeling grateful for their support and wise words, Logan thanked his fellow drivers. With newfound clarity, he set about planning the perfect proposal.

As the race began, Logan's focus shifted back to the track. He weaved through the pack, his mind replaying memories of his relationship with Y/N. From their first kiss under the stars to their endless support for each other's dreams, they had grown together in every way.

As the laps ticked by, Logan's determination to create a memorable proposal only intensified. He thought about their shared passion for racing, their unwavering support for one another. And suddenly, it struck him—a way to combine their love for each other and the world they both cherished.

As the checkered flag waved, Logan secured a points finish, his elation matched only by the joy that awaited him off the track. He rushed back to the pit, his heart pounding with excitement.

The following week, Logan executed his plan. "Y/N," Logan said one evening, his voice filled with anticipation, "I have a special surprise for you. We're going on a trip."

Her eyes widened with curiosity. "A trip? Where are we going?"

Logan grinned mischievously. "It's a surprise. Just pack your bags, and trust me, you won't be disappointed."

Days later, after along flight across the ocean, they found themselves in their hometown. Y/N couldn't help but feel a wave of nostalgia wash over her as Logan drove towards their old high school.

"What are we doing here?" Y/N asked, her eyes searching for answers.

Finally, they arrived at the old school courtyard—the very place where they had shared their first kiss. The sun bathed the surroundings in a warm, golden glow. Logan took Y/N's hand and gazed into her eyes, his voice filled with love and conviction.

"Y/N, from the moment we met, I knew you were the one. You've been my biggest supporter, my rock, and my best friend. Every moment we've shared has been a treasure. I can't imagine my life without you. Will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?"

Tears shimmered in Y/N's eyes as she nodded, overcome with joy. "Yes, Logan! A thousand times, yes!"

The old high school courtyard echoed with their laughter and cheers as they embraced, sealing their love with a passionate kiss.

Unbeknownst to her, Logan had discreetly arranged for a small group of close friends and family to witness the magical moment. Applause erupted, and the sound of cameras clicking filled the air as Logan and Y/N celebrated their engagement.

As the sun set on that unforgettable day, Logan and Y/N knew that their love story had taken another beautiful turn. Together, they embarked on a new chapter, ready to face the challenges and triumphs of life as partners, just as they had done throughout their journey from high school sweethearts to F1 stars.

Heeeey! Can you write about the first time that the reader meets Logan’s mom?

The bright Florida sun cascaded down on Palm Beach as Yn stepped out of the airport, her eyes squinting against the intense rays. She took a deep breath, soaking in the unfamiliar scents of the humid air. This was her first trip to the United States, and she couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and nervousness. She adjusted her glasses and clutched her bag tighter, reminding herself that she was about to meet Logan’s parents for the first time.

Her relationship with Logan had blossomed over the past four months, ever since they met in the UK where she lived. They connected instantly, and she fell deeply in love with the charming and talented F1 driver. Logan had always spoken fondly of his family, particularly his parents, Madelyn and Daniel, and his older brother, Dalton. But as Yn hailed a taxi to their luxurious Palm Beach residence, doubts began to creep into her mind.

"We're here," Logan said, his voice filled with excitement. "I can't wait for you to meet my family."

"What if they don't like me?" she worried, her Italian accent evident as she muttered to herself. "What if they think I'm not good enough for you?"

Logan chuckled, pulling her closer. "Trust me, they're going to love you. Just be yourself, and everything will be fine."

Taking a deep breath, Y/N followed Logan through the bustling airport. She was anxious about meeting his parents.

The taxi ride felt endless, the anticipation tightening Yn's chest with each passing mile. When she finally arrived at the Sargeant mansion, her heart raced even faster. She took a deep breath, muttering a silent prayer for strength and confidence, before knocking on the grand entrance door.

The door swung open to reveal Logan's mother, Madelyn. She had a warm smile that instantly put YN at ease. "You must be YN!" Madelyn exclaimed, pulling her into a gentle hug. "Logan has told us so much about you. Please, come in."

"Mom," Logan said, his voice filled with affection. "This is Y/N. Y/N, meet my mom, Madelyn."

Y/N offered a shy smile as Madelyn turned her attention toward her. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Sargeant," Y/N greeted nervously.

Madelyn laughed gently, putting a hand on Y/N's arm. "Please, call me Madelyn. None of that 'Mrs. Sargeant' stuff. We're family now."

“Dad, this is Y/N," Logan introduced, his voice filled with pride. "Y/N, meet my dad, Daniel."

"Welcome to our home, Yn," Daniel greeted. "Logan has told us so much about you. You can call me Daniel, and this is my eldest son, Dalton."

Y/N nervously extended her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sargeant."

Daniel gently clasped Y/N's hand and shook it warmly. "Please, call me Daniel. We're delighted to finally meet you, Y/N."

Dalton, who shared a resemblance to Logan, grinned and shook Yn's hand. "Nice to meet you, Yn. Logan has been talking nonstop about you. I'm glad we finally get to meet”

Logan playfully pushed his older brother, Dalton, away. "Dalton, stop embarrassing me."

Dalton turned his attention to Y/N and offered her a friendly smile. "Nice to meet you, Y/N. I've heard so much about you, as I said Logan can't stop talking about you."

Y/N blushed, feeling a wave of warmth wash over her. "It's great to meet you too, Dalton. Logan has told me a lot about you as well."

The conversation flowed naturally as they sat down, sipping on refreshments. Yn found herself feeling more at ease, realizing that her worries were unfounded. The Sargeant family genuinely cared for Logan's happiness, and it showed in their warmth and acceptance.

After dinner, Logan took YN for a stroll along the beach. The waves crashed against the shore as they walked hand in hand, the moon casting a gentle glow over them.

"You were so nervous earlier," Logan said, squeezing YN's hand. "But look how well it turned out. My family adores you."

YN smiled, her heart filled with happiness. "I was worried they wouldn't like me because of our differences."

Logan stopped and turned to face her, cupping her face with his hands. "My family values the person you are, not where you come from. And they saw the same incredible person in you that I fell in love with."

Tears welled up in YN's eyes as she wrapped her arms around Logan, embracing him tightly. "I'm so grateful to have you in my life," she whispered.

Logan held her close, their hearts beating as one. "You belong with me, YN. No matter where we come from, love conquers all."

As they walked back to the house, hand in hand, YN knew that she had found a second family in Logan's. The journey to Palm Beach had brought her love and acceptance beyond her wildest dreams. Together, they would face any challenges that lay ahead, knowing that their love could overcome any obstacle.

And so, in the embrace of Logan's love, YN's anxieties faded away, replaced by the joy and excitement of a future filled with laughter, shared dreams, and the unwavering support of a loving family.

Over the next few days, Yn immersed herself in the Sargeants' lives. They took her sightseeing, showed her their favorite local spots, and shared countless stories, laughter, and heartfelt conversations. Yn discovered that despite their wealth and privilege, the Sargeants were grounded and compassionate people.

One evening, as they gathered around the dinner table, Yn couldn't contain her gratitude any longer. She looked at Logan's parents, her voice filled with sincerity.

"Madelyn, Daniel," she began, her eyes shimmering with emotion, "I want to thank you for welcoming me into your home and your family. I was so worried that I wouldn't fit in, but you've made me feel like part of the Sargeant family."

Madelyn reached across the table, grasping Yn's hand gently. "Yn, dear, we're happy to have you here. It's not about wealth or status; it's about the love we share with our children. Logan loves you, and that means the world to us."

Daniel nodded in agreement, his eyes filled with fatherly pride. "You've brought so much joy into Logan's life. We can see how much he cares about you, and that's what matters."

Yn's heart overflowed with warmth as tears welled up in her eyes. Logan's family's acceptance meant everything to her. In that moment, she knew she had found not only the love of her life but also a second family.

As the days turned into weeks, Yn's trip to Florida became a cherished memory. She formed a deep bond with the Sargeants, and the distance between her humble Italian origins and their luxurious lifestyle seemed to vanish. Yn realized that love transcends societal boundaries and that the warmth of a genuine connection was worth more than any material wealth.

On her last day, as they prepared to say their goodbyes, Yn hugged each member of the Sargeant family tightly. Tears of gratitude streamed down her face.

"Thank you for everything," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "I will cherish these moments forever."

Logan held her close, his voice filled with love and reassurance. "Yn, you've won over my family's hearts, and you've captured mine completely. I'm so lucky to have you in my life."

With bittersweet farewells, they left the sunny Palm Beach to having to go to the cloudy UK, carrying the love and acceptance of the Sargeant family with her. As she boarded the plane, she knew that her connection with Logan and his family would only grow stronger, transcending borders and cultures.

Yn was no longer a girl from a humble family; she was a woman deeply loved by the Sargeant family, with a heart that knew no boundaries.