Does Ferrari Reset Charles’ Brain Winter Soldier Style After Every Session Because It’s Crazy How

Alain still got these dreams, from time to time, about the past, about him...

bgm: 李琦 - 金玉良缘 & The Dø - Dust it off

If we had to do it all again, I think I'd say to Ayrton, 'Listen, we're the best, we can screw all the others!' With a lot of intelligence, it could have been such a good dream.

—— Alain Prost (in 1998)

carlos: my kind of people, love for free. i'm a free lover.

➤ OBLIVIOUS | F1 SMAU + FIC

pairing: f1 grid x albon!reader (platonic!)

summary: the f1 drivers make the mistake of saying they're always aware of their surroundings, so you start an Instagram account to prove them wrong...by seeing how long it takes them to realize you're taking photos of them.

warnings: none!

➤ MASTERLIST

Liked by alex_albon, georgerussell63, and others

visacashapprb Do your F1 drivers know when we're recording them? Or anyone, for that matter? Seems like the answer is yes! 

↳ yn_albon really @/alexalbon? 

↳ alex_albon I am very observant, thank you very much 

↳ yn_albon we'll see about that

↳ fan44 there's literally paparazzi footage of the drivers every other day, of course they notice, they just pretend like they don't

_

Liked by yn_albon and others

oblivious_f1_drivers the guys said they know when they're being photographed, my camera roll says otherwise

↳ mclar_win Oscar's side eye is crazy 

↳ brocedes this HAS to be like George or someone proving a point

↳ oblivious_f1_drivers George wishes he was me

↳ fan16 this is either a prank or a stalker...watch out guys

_

Liked by alex_albon and others

oblivious_f1_drivers first up: dumb and dumber 🧡 i should start timing how long it takes for them to notice 

↳ alex_albon if I end up in one of these, I'm telling everyone 

↳ oblivious_f1_drivers no promises

↳ f1_fantatic alex, our chronically online king

↳ fan44 oscar and lando together = fork found in kitchen

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Liked by alex_albon and others

oblivious_f1_drivers in the lead as always, Max Verstappen comes in first by taking two days to notice!

↳ mclar_win max always has to be first, doesn't he?

↳ fan44 no wonder he looks so happy 

↳ mad_maxxx why is the second picture lowkey...

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Liked by alex_albon and others

oblivious_f1_drivers i got too cocky 😔 tried to go for the super close up and got caught :( current record: three days

↳ fan16 so both Max and Charles now know your identity??

↳ oblivious_f1_drivers they've already been sworn to secrecy

↳ carcarcar who could this be?? charles was happy to see them so it wasn't a stranger

↳ f1_fanatic i mean, alex is lurking in the likes 👀

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Liked by alex_albon, yn_albon, and others

oblivious_f1_drivers idk what made him more mad, the fact that he crashed or the fact he caught me

↳ alex_albon we had a promise 

↳ oblivious_f1_drivers i literally said no promises

↳ alex_albon get ready to give up this account 

↳ mclar_win it has to be George, right? 

↳ carcarcar if it were George he'd be smiling liked by oblivious_f1_drivers

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Liked by lando, georgerussell63 and others

oblivious_f1_drivers a week and a half for Mr. Lando Norris! i would've taken more but this man was too excited to catch me

↳ lando See? I'm very observant

↳ oblivious_f1_drivers it took you a week and a half to catch me

↳ oblivious_f1_drivers even alex got it in less time 

↳ alex_albon hey!

↳ georgerussell63 any chance I can beg for immunity?

↳ oblivious_f1_drivers send me photos of oblivious drivers, and then maybe we'll talk

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Liked by alex_albon and others

oblivious_f1_drivers someone tipped him off...at least I snuck one in

↳ alex_albon 😇

↳ oblivious_f1_drivers we could've had something, alex 

↳ alex_albon you're the one who broke their promise 

↳ oblivious_f1_drivers I NEVER PROMISED

↳ alex_albon wait why are you that close to lance in the third photo 

↳ alex_albon answer your texts!!

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Liked by lando, oscarpiastri, and others

oblivious_f1_drivers what's this? oscar finally noticed? after TWO WEEKS? enjoy all the photos

↳ oscarpiastri listen we have a lot to do during race weeks 

↳ oblivious_f1_drivers like pay attention to your photographers??

↳ oscarpiastri that's not even your job

↳ nicolepiastri so it's not just me being ignored?

↳ oblivious_f1_drivers @/oscarpiastri text your mom or I'm stealing her

↳ oscarpiastri will do 🫡

↳ brocedes so we KNOW its not a photographer

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Liked by alex_albon, georgerussell63 and others

oblivious_f1_drivers looks like we're not the ONLY oblivious ones #/hacked #/alexandgeorgehaveyourphone #/thebetteralbon

↳ yn_albon GEORGE???

↳ georgerussell63 why are you mad at me?? be mad at alex!

↳ alex_albon yeah george, how could you do this?

↳ f1_fanatic the albon siblings causing trouble on track as usual 

↳ lando payback for having to look over my shoulder all week

-

You hold your hand out to Alex, who reluctantly drops your phone into your palm. Sometimes, you think, people forget you were actual siblings, who had just the same amount of fun annoying each other as any other pair of siblings in the world. The only difference, however, was that your brother happened to be a world-famous F1 driver, and you were a journalist trailing him around all day. 

So honestly? You were perfectly within your rights to post all those silly photos of him and his friends. After all, it was something to occupy you in the rare moments you weren't hearing about being an Albon, or growing up around all the drivers, or waiting for Alex to come to an interview ten minutes late because you couldn't really say anything about it.

"I can't believe you," You direct both towards Alex and George, checking to make sure they didn't mess with anything else on your phone. 

You had to give them some credit in their retaliation. Alex must have been sneaking photos of you all week, and then airdropped them to your phone to put onto your Instagram account. You'd never say that out loud, however.

Lord knows he didn't need the extra ego.

"Me?" Alex asks, looking rather insulted. "You're the one out here taking photos of us secretly." 

"You're the one who said you weren't oblivious. I've seen you walk into a pole! Be serious." There's a joke to be made about him walking into poles yet never getting pole, but that's a bit too harsh, even for you. 

"Be serious?" Alex parrots, rubbing a hand over his face. "Be serious! You are so lucky you're family, or I would've kicked you out of the paddock by now." 

With the same grin you'd been pulling on him since you were a kid, you force him to reconcile with the fact that he actually did this to himself. "Unfortunately, you did also get me a job with F1, so you couldn't even kick me out if you tried." 

"I'm sure they'd let me kick someone out if I needed to." He mutters, shaking his head, and before you can open your mouth, he raises a finger. "We're not making another bet about this." 

George, finally content with how the conversation has ended, speaks up. "I can't believe it took Oscar so long to notice." 

"I know, I thought it would be Charles." Alex answers honestly, and George pauses for a moment before turning to you.

"Should I be concerned I never caught you taking pictures of me?" His expression is stuck somewhere between the horror of potentially not noticing you and relief that you might have excluded him, considering the deal you struck up. To your surprise, George actually did supply you with oblivious photos of the drivers, a sort of double blackmail you can't wait to spring.

And, while he hasn't ended up on the account yet, there's still time.

He did help steal your phone, after all. He will pay. "I just didn't get to post yours. You're also pretty oblivious." 

"No, I'm not!" He says, pointing down at your phone. "We checked the camera roll, there was nothing of me on there!" 

"You think I'd leave those on my camera roll?" You ask with the same grin, now pointed at him. "Oh, I keep my secrets much more guarded, thank you." Alex offers a look, and you shove his shoulder. So maybe he had a point about you leaving your phone unattended around a man who knew the password and knew you ran a secret account, but still! "This secret doesn't count." 

"I'm sure it doesn't," Alex says with a laugh before leaning in closer. "Any good ones of George?" 

"Got one of him picking his nose?" 

With a screech you can only describe as inhuman, George loses all the colour in his face. "You do not!" Then, as he reaches for your phone, both you and Alex take a step back. "Albons, don't do this to me!" 

You and Alex are running before George even has a chance to catch up. 

It's a rare time Alex ever actually beats George in a race.

-

Liked by lando, alex_albon, and others

oblivious_f1_drivers my cover has been blown :( it was fun while it lasted

↳ alex_albon I'm really glad I got you hired as a journalist and not a photographer, these are terrible

↳ oblivious_f1_drivers ow??

↳ oblivious_f1_drivers I can't even be a nepo sister in peace

↳ isackhadjar oh come on 

↳ oblivious_f1_drivers your expression captures how I feel, it deserves the first slide

↳ georgerussell63 hey, i thought we had a deal 

↳ alex_albon you made a deal with george and not me??

↳ oblivious_f1_drivers @/georgerussell63 the deal ended when YOU STOLE MY PHONE 

a/n: my friends have started playing photo tag on campus, which is the only way i can describe where this came from - enjoy?

instead of racing each other, max and george are just gonna start aggressively making out in front of the rest of the grid

Ayrton's odyssey to reach Alain side—

you're going to die in your best friend's arms.

crush - richard silken // planet of love - richard silken

The people's (Alex's) princess

PRINCESS GEORGE IN THE DIANA REVENGE DRESS

To George, with love Alex

Summary:

To escape his Papa Seb’s matchmaking ambitions, Alex invents a lover named George whom he claims to have met during his travels abroad. He writes fake love letters addressed to “George,” a nobleman he assumes lives far enough never to receive them. But fate has other plans. Unbeknownst to him, the real Lord George Russell does receive those letters and  starts replying out of sheer boredom… and then, curiosity… and eventually, something warmer, something deeper. Because if you're a Bridgerton, love will always find its way — even if delivered by accident.

The twenty-second time Lord Sebastian Vettel tried to match his son, Alex Bridgerton, to a duke, a viscount, a marquess, or a tolerably handsome baron, Alex did what any reasonable, slightly dramatic Bridgerton would do.

He lied.

“Oh, Papa,” he sighed, artfully flopping onto the chaise lounge like a tragic poet in mourning. “I simply can’t. My heart is already… otherwise occupied.”

Papa Seb, perched with a teacup and his spectacles halfway down his nose, narrowed his eyes. “Occupied by what? That box of macarons you keep under your bed?”

Alex placed a trembling hand over his chest. “No,” he said, voice laced with deep melancholy. “By a man.”

Cue stunned silence in the grand Bridgerton salon.

Carlos, who had been cooing to baby Ben while feeding him mashed peaches, froze mid-spoon. The spoon missed Ben’s mouth entirely and landed with a soft plop on his tiny nose.

Even baby Ben blinked at Alex in horrified confusion, as if he understood the weight of the announcement and found it... questionable.

Charles blinks.

“A man?” Lord Mark Bridgerton, ever the soft-spoken Dada, blinked and almost dropped his embroidery.

Daniel choked on his tea. “Wait. What man?”. Max rubs his back while looking at Alex confused.

“Yes,” Alex said, ignoring them all and shifting dramatically to gaze out the rain-dappled window. “We met during my travels. In the summer. Or spring. There were violets blooming.”

“You were in Dover for four days,” Daniel deadpanned.

“Well,” Alex sniffed, refusing to acknowledge this minor factual detail, “it was a very meaningful four days.”

“Does this person know about this love?” Kimi asked, not looking up from his deck of cards.

“Of course,” Alex countered.

Lewis, the eldest, pinched the bridge of his nose so hard one might think he was performing exorcism. “I cannot believe this is happening again. Are you seriously fabricating an entire love affair to get out of one dinner with Lord Halifax?”

Alex’s eyes fluttered. “I cannot stomach Lord Halifax’s sideburns, Lewis. They curl like malevolent tendrils. I should not be punished for having standards.”

Dada Mark was already pulling out the monogrammed stationery. “So… what’s his name, this tragic romance of yours?”

Alex paused. He scanned the bookshelves. Too literary. The globe? Too geographical. And then—a memory—a ball months ago, a man with floppy brown hair and aristocratic cheekbones. He remembered the name because he made fun of it afterward.

“…George,” he said with a flourish. “Lord George.”

“You made that up,” Lewis said flatly.

“On the contrary,” Alex said, already scribbling his first letter. “He’s as real as my love.”

………

That night, Alex penned the letter with the passion of a misunderstood poet and the flair of a man who had just evaded a scandalous engagement.

My Dearest George,

Though the violets may no longer bloom and the sea no longer sigh beneath our feet, my thoughts are with you always. How cruel the world is, to keep us apart. And yet, how sweet is your memory, tucked into every heartbeat.

Yours in eternal longing, Alex (P.S. Papa wants me to marry a baron with sideburns. I’d rather throw myself into the Thames.)

He handed the letter to the footman and smiled serenely.

He assumed it would never reach anyone.

It did.

……

George Russell, heir to the Earl of Woburn and reluctant participant in the London season, was enjoying the most ordinary of afternoons when a footman delivered the most extraordinary letter.

He blinked at the delicate, cream-coloured envelope with its dramatic cursive and overuse of sealing wax. It smelled faintly of bergamot and—was that… rose water?

“This must be a mistake,” George muttered, peering at the name again.

George Private & Confidential To be opened by none but he whose smile ruined me once by the violets

“…What in the hell,” he said, already concerned.

He opened it.

My Dearest George,

Though the violets may no longer bloom and the sea no longer sigh beneath our feet, my thoughts are with you always. How cruel the world is, to keep us apart. And yet, how sweet is your memory, tucked into every heartbeat.

Yours in eternal longing, Alex

(P.S. Papa wants me to marry a baron with sideburns. I’d rather throw myself into the Thames.)

George blinked.

Then he blinked again.

“…I have never even seen a violet in my life.”

He reread it. Slowly. In full. He laughed. Then stopped. Then laughed again. Then stared at the signature.

Alex

Just Alex.

No title. No surname. No context.

George Russell was receiving anonymous love letters from a poetic madman.

Worse—he liked it.

…..

He should have tossed it away.

He could have ignored it.

But George, bored out of his mind in a house full of aunts talking about gout and dowries, instead picked up his quill and wrote back.

Dearest Alex,

I regret to inform you that I have no memory of any violets, nor the sea sighing beneath us—unless you are referring to that dreadful inn where I once sprained an ankle.

That said, I find your letter… unexpectedly charming.

Do avoid the Thames if possible. The smell is truly appalling.

Yours, out of sheer curiosity (and mild concern), George

(P.S. Tell me more about this baron with the sideburns. I’m invested now.)

……..

When the letter arrived—delicate cream paper, the seal slightly crooked—Alex Bridgerton nearly fainted.

But instead, he took a long sip of tea, turned to his family at breakfast, and with the serene calm of a man about to spontaneously combust, said,

“Oh. That must be from George.”

Carlos, spoon halfway to baby Ben’s mouth, froze. The spoon trembled. The mashed apple plopped sadly onto Ben’s bib.

“George?” Carlos asked, voice climbing three octaves.

Ben blinked at his father. Then at the apple. Then at his other dada, Charles, and held up his chubby arms in betrayal.

“Your son prefers to be fed by emotionally stable people,” Charles muttered, plucking Ben into his arms.

Lewis put down his fork with the finality of a man preparing for war. “You’re telling me—” he said slowly, glaring across the table, “—that your imaginary lover has written you back?”

“He was never imaginary,” Alex said loftily, tearing the envelope open with a butter knife and way too much flair.

Daniel spat his tea. Lando choked on a croissant. Kimi didn't react, but quietly reached for the brandy.

Max, Daniel’s husband, who hadn’t spoken in ten minutes, muttered, “I knew something was off the moment I saw the handwriting. That's not the script of a man with a sound mind.”

Alex unfolded the letter with trembling hands .

Carlos did drop the spoon this time.

Lewis: “YOU REALLY HAVE A LOVER?!”

Daniel: “Okay but wait, this is gold.”

Lando: “I still refuse to believe this.”

Alex, somehow smug through the panic gripping his lungs, said, “As you can see, our love story continues to blossom.”

Ben, chewing thoughtfully on Charles’s finger, offered a soft, “Bah.”

Charles replied, “Exactly.”

…..

“To my dearest, most infuriating George…”

Alex wrote, at midnight, by candlelight, in a full robe, like the tragic heroine of a gothic novel.

He paused. Nibbled on his quill. Sighed dramatically.

“I saw a violet today. It made me think of the way you say ‘ankle injury’ with such disdain. I fear I am incurably attached to your sarcasm.

Yours, hopelessly, Always Yours.” — Alex.

He sealed it with trembling fingers and absolutely no plan for what to do if George ever asked to meet.

…….

Meanwhile, across town, Lord George Russell, who’d never intended to reply to the first letter, was now halfway through one of his own.

“You call me yours so easily. It should alarm me… and yet it doesn’t.”

He tapped his pen thoughtfully. “Who are you?” No surname. No address. Only the letters. Dozens now.

Some romantic. Some teasing. Some so poetic that George had once gone on a walk in the rain, just to feel the heartbreak properly.

He didn’t know who this “Alex” was. But he knew how “Alex” wrote about him.

And damn it all, he liked being adored.

……

Back home, Alex’s lie had become an unstoppable force.

Carlos had created a color-coded timeline of this fictional relationship on the drawing room chalkboard. Charles had edited the grammar in all the letters. Lando had re-enacted several dramatic readings with Ben as George.

And Daniel had declared, “If this becomes a scandal, I want front-row seats and my own Whistledown column.”

Lewis remained in a constant state of unblinking suspicion.

And when Alex received a pressed violet with the next letter, Daniel screamed: “OH MY GOD, HE’S IN LOVE WITH YOU.”

Alex: “He doesn’t even know who I am!”(Yes, he revealed it after  very thorough investigation by his brothers) Carlos: “Yes but he’s in love with the idea of you, which is worse!”

Ben, sitting on Charles’s lap, clapped. Unclear if in support or despair.

…….

💌

"Shall we meet, then? At the Masquerade Ball this Friday. You’ll know me by the violet on my lapel. Wear a violet on your lapel too. Yours (terrifyingly so), —G."

When Alex read those words, he dramatically fainted onto the divan. Dada Bridgerton (Mark) stepped over him. Papa Seb muttered, “I knew this would happen.” And Ben, nestled in Carlos's arms, dropped his rattle in horror.

…..

The Bridgerton brothers immediately held an emergency strategy meeting.

Lewis, exhausted but determined:

“I’ll be behind the curtain. If he proposes anything indecent, I jump out.”

Daniel, sipping brandy:

“I’ll be by the punch table. For emotional support. And snacks.”

Carlos, rocking baby Ben:

“I’ll blend in with the orchestra. Ben will wear a tiny top hat for camouflage.”

Kimi, unbothered:

“I’ll be napping under the buffet table. If anything happens, just scream.”

Lando, casually loading a fake pistol:

“I’ll be in the garden. Just in case we need to bury any evidences..”

Papa Seb, reading a newspaper upside down:

“This is the most entertained I’ve been in years. Proceed.”

…..

The moment Alex stepped into the ballroom of Lady Tsunoda’s Spring Soirée, his pulse stuttered. The air shimmered with candlelight, the swell of strings, and the press of high society — but all he could focus on was the man standing by the French windows with a violet in his lapel.

Tall. Dressed in emerald green. Honey-brown curls kissed by the chandelier’s glow. That had to be him.

George.

Their eyes met — two strangers who had been lovers in ink before ever meeting in person.

Alex walked forward, each step measured, his heart thrumming a sonnet against his ribs. George turned, his expression polite at first… and then slowly warmed, the realization blooming in his eyes like spring’s first crocus.

"You came," George said softly.

Alex gave a lopsided smile. “I did. And you… you look nothing like how I imagined.”

George blinked. “Oh?”

Alex leaned in slightly, teasing. “You're far more gorgeous.”

George laughed, and it sounded like wind chimes on a May afternoon. “And you… you’re ethereal.”

Their fingers brushed — accidental, electric. A song started. Neither spoke. They simply moved together, seamlessly, like a dance they’d been practicing their whole lives across parchment.

“I must ask,” George murmured mid-waltz, his palm resting at Alex’s waist, “was it really Dover? With the violets?”

Alex chuckled nervously. “Let’s just say… the violets were real, even if Dover wasn’t.”

George arched an eyebrow, amused and intrigued. “Then I suppose we are both liars… in the best way.”

They twirled once more, the world narrowing to just two hearts that beat in perfect measure. When the music ended, neither stepped away.

“May I court you properly?” George asked, voice quieter now. “With less ink. And more dances.”

Alex, cheeks flushed and chest full, nodded. “Yes. Yes, you may.”

And from the corner of the ballroom—

Carlos dropped Baby Ben’s spoon again. Daniel screamed. Kimi had climbed into the floral centerpiece to hide better. Lewis was already reaching for his dueling gloves. And Baby Ben? He turned to Charles, raised his arms, and silently demanded a less dramatic family.

…….

Lord Whistledown’s Society Papers

“An Ethereal Union: The Wedding of Lord Alex Bridgerton and Lord George Russell”

Dearest Readers,

In a turn of events that has melted even the coldest hearts of the ton, the mysterious “letter lover” match has blossomed into the wedding of the season. Lord Alex Bridgerton and Lord George Russell exchanged vows beneath a canopy of wildflowers, their courtship no longer confined to ink and parchment but flourishing in joyous matrimony.

The ceremony was nothing short of ethereal—an intimate gathering that balanced Bridgerton flair with Russell’s understated grace. Siblings were seen dabbing at their eyes, Baby Ben clapped enthusiastically, and even the ever-skeptical Lord Lewis appeared genuinely pleased.

One can only wonder what tales will follow this union, but for now, the ton raises its glass to a love that transcended letters and bridged hearts.

Forever your faithful gossip, Lord Whistledown

williams resolutely standing by not bringing upgrades this year and getting closer to the front running cars every week is getting increasingly funnier btw. this is a story about believing that other people are shitter than you, don’t believe in yourself, believe that everyone else is worse x