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mishappeningss · 9 days ago

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MORE THAN A DRIVER

CHAPTER SEVEN

more about driver!yn

formula one + female!driver!reader smau + irl

Drive to Survive 🏎️ — Episode 5

Diving into YN LN’s internal world. Taking you deep inside and the world around her — the loneliness, determination, and the small moments that weigh heavier than podiums.

Mercedes HQ — Early Morning, 5:45

The Mercedes building hums with subtle life — the faint false of machinery, the low murmur of voices filtered through walls, the soft tap of trainers on concrete.

Inside the simulator bay, the air smells faintly of coffee. Fluorescent lights cast a pale glow on the control panels and the polished glass walls separating tech teams from the pods.

YN LN sits motionless in the dim cockpit of the sim, the leather seat molded perfectly to her frame. She’s alone here, but the silence presses down like an unseen weight.

The pod vibrates as the virtual track floods the screen. Lap after lap, she carves through invisible lines through Monaco’s streets. Her focus is absolute, but the toll is showing: a faint crease of weariness lingers beneath her eyes.

YN LN: DTS Interview

“People see the podiums and the smiles on camera, but no one sees the moments questioning if I belong here.”

Her voice breaks slightly, but she masks it quickly with a dry chuckle.

“I’ve spent most of my life proving I’m not just a girl in a boy’s world. Now I have to prove I’m not just a driver who got lucky.”

Cafeteria — Noon, 12:21 PM

The hum of conversation floats beneath the clatter of trays and this hiss of espresso machines. YN sits alone at the corner table, headphones in, picking at her food with slow, deliberate bites. Her phone vibrates repeatedly.

A message lights up from Lando.

yo u ignoring me again?

i brought croissants and coffee for the team

did u at least smell the coffee

She types back quickly.

one coffee for yourself lol

thx for the croissants tho, bribery noted

As she chuckles slowly, George slides into the seat opposite her, tray in hand, “Three sim sessions before lunch? Overachiever or just terrified?”

She shrugs, “Maybe a little of both.”

George smiles knowingly, nodding at her, “Carlos is swinging by later — said he’s ‘on recon’ for Ferrari.”

She doesn’t reply. Her eyes flicker to a nearby TV screen cycling through headlines. One blares: “‘Mercedes’ Rookie Phenomenon — Genuine Talent or PR Stunt?”

She looks away quickly, breathing out slow.

Mercedes Briefing Room — Late Afternoon, 4:35 PM

The room feels colder here, illuminated by the harsh glow of monitors displaying the Monaco race footage. Lewis stands by the screen, pointer in hand, dissecting her moves.

“Watch this corner, You break later than Max. You weren’t reacting, YN. You were dictating the race.”

YN shifts, tucking a strand behind her ear, “Still… sometimes it feels like everyone’s waiting for me to fail. To slip.”

Lewis’ gaze softens as he looks at his teammate.

“Then prove them wrong. Over and over. They’ll have to respect you. Not as a woman, as a racer.”

They lock eyes — a rare moment unspoken solidarity.

Behind the scenes with the Netflix crew — Early Evening, 6:00 PM

The paddock is quieter now. Most of the buzz has died down — most drivers are gone or deep in post-race meetings. But in the far corner, the camera crew is still working.

Soft light floods the space as production assistants shuffle around, whispering notes and checking battery levels. Two crew members, a camera operator and a sound tech lean near a lighting rig, mid-conversation.

“You hear what YN said? About crying every podium?” He glances around, cautious. There’s no one in earshot. Supposedly.

The sound technician shrugs, “Yeah, it never made the cut. Team wants her ‘tough and focused.’ Just clean lines and hard edits.”

He says it like it’s a shame, because it is.

“But that’s the real story, isn’t it? She feels it all. And still shows up like it’s nothing.”

A beat.

And then —

A shadow shifts in the corner.

Footsteps. They both freeze slightly when they see her: YN, walking slowly past the rows of production gear, fingers curled loosely around the zipper of her jacket, eyes locked straight ahead. She hadn’t been there a moment ago, but she is now.

She pauses. Just for a second. Long enough to make them nervous. She doesn’t confront them, doesn’t bristle, doesn’t fake a smile.

Then she turns her head slightly, eyes calm and amused, “It’s not like they didn’t like what I said, they just didn’t think people would care.”

She says it like it’s doesn’t bother her. But the weight behind the line is obvious. She walks off, the crew behind her exchanging wide-eyed glances, neither of them saying what they’re both thinking.

Gym — Night, 9:12

The gym is nearly empty. YN pounds the treadmill, her breath syncing with the beat in her headphones. On the TV screen above her, articles debate:

“Is YN LN Mercedes’ brightest hope or just a media darling?”

Her pace quickens, jaw clenched. Every step echoes determination.

Sim Room — Late Night

The room is dark except for the pale glow of the sim screens. YN leans forward, fingers dancing over the wheel. The city skyline twinkles far below through the window.

She pulls out her phone and scrolls through old MotoGP footage — a younger, braver version of herself, fearless in the wind.

Her fingers hover over the share button, then decisively deletes the clip.

YN LN: DTS Interview

She stares at the camera, a quiet intensity in her eyes, “It’s time to start to show them what I’m made of.”

YN’s apartment — Early Morning

She lies on her couch, phone resting on her chest. Her last text of the night from Lando reads:

bet u miss me already

She smiles, eyes heavy but clear.

tf u on about

not yet anyway

Silverstone awaits. And a storm of expectations that won’t wait quietly.

lewishamilton

liked by yourusername, and others

lewishamilton Proud of everything you are, everything you’ve done, and everything you’re becoming.

Keep going, yourusername. You’re just getting started.

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yourusername wait let me cry

username this generation has yn and lewis. we are so blessed

username screaming crying throwing up. this is MY DUO.

lando been that girl since day one 👊

username can someone hold me pls this is so SWEET

username the way he always uplifts her without need to say too much >>>

helloooo! i thought an emotional and real chapter would be great next. sometimes, we forget they're real people and not just characters we see on our screens. next chapter, silverstone's waiting for her!

if you're enjoying and would like to see more, leave a comment to be added to the taglist! if u wanna know more about our lovely driver!yn leave a message in my inbox :)

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thank u for loving more than a driver x

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moonastro · 8 months ago

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groom persona chart

industria in the houses (389)

what is a groom persona chart? this chart exhibits qualities that your husband will have and possible placements that can be seen in their chart. it is simply a chart all about your spouse in a woman's chart. the asteroid groom can be identified using the code 5129.

asteroid industria which can be brought up using the code 389. it represents what type of career or profession your future spouse may have and be in.

<<<<lets get into the house placement of the asteroid industria and what it means in likes of the career of your spouse!!!>>>>

˚˖��˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚READINGS AVAILABLE (DM ME)˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚˖˚

industria in 1st house: this field that your spouse is in can be a representation of their ego and their self, the job that he has can tell a lot about him. he can really identify as his job so can be very focused at work and can almost create a whole personality trait out of his work. always mentioning that he's working and so on. can take pride in his job and may rarely change jobs as can relate too much to the job that may not have the guts to let go of it. his job can be a focal point of his life meaning that his life evolves around his job and not the other way around. its all he ever talks about, can never have the time to do anything else but work.

⊹₊⟡⋆depending on what sign or aspects that are present with industria can tell us more details about your spouses career. so if in scorpio- can include hard labour, conflicts within the job, some unhealthy attachments related to the job, job related to metal, knifes, blood, skin and organs/meat. if in aspect to the sun- job can be related to sweat, training, masculine energy, lots of mean working at that job, a high efficient job, jobs related to, production and behind the scenes. if aspected to mars- job related to metal, hard labour, muscle, sore body, problems to health, slaughter, conflict, high esteem, arguing.

industria in 2nd house: for this placement, the field that your spouse can be a part of are working in the section of basic needs, meaning that this job can be involved with working with food, clothing, water, shelter and money as those are the survival needs that humans need. a job in culinary, cooking, nutrition, such as a dietician, chef, cook. a nurturing and guiding job so this can mean being in the field of taking care of others and making them comfortable.

⊹₊⟡⋆ depending on the aspects and signs can influence the depth of the career. so if mars is aspecting the asteroid- hard labour, sweat, muscle building, arguments, conflict, confidence, tiredness. in Aquarius- online, socials media, influence, IT, communal, crowd speaking, job related to a big crowd, inspiring job.

industria in 3rd house: fields related to this placement can include trips, having opportunities to travel while working, being involved in the local media and being known locally, so being a part of the news, journalist, news reporter, counsellor, therapist, transportation worker such as a taxi driver, uber, bus driver, coach driver etc. may have a lot of communications involved or lots of talking and sharing is involved in the job, like for example sharing information, passing on ideas, carrying on a procedure etc. may work at an education system that works with younger people, lower education assistant, teacher, advisor, principle etc. may develop or attract a lot of contact throughout this job as he may meet loads of people in a day, may create this restlessness energy also that is associated with this job.

⊹₊⟡⋆ depending on what aspects are influenced and the sign its in can tell us more depth into the position of your spouses career. if in gemini-job related to communities, writing, social media, advising, teaching, developing, tech, vehicles, travel. if in capricorn- business, manager, supervisor, head of department, boss, ceo. aspecting the moon- home carer, nurse, doctor, job related to emotional intelligence, home provider, he can have a stable job that gives a steady pay check, nurturing.

industria in 4th house: for this placement, your spouse may be in the filed correlated to security meaning that this can be a job of stable flow of wages and income. this job that your spouse is in can create stability for other people as well so working on building s better home place for people like architect, real estate, flooring company, movers people, furniture related, designer, interior and exterior designer. working with families so a counsellor, nurse, doctor, and anywhere else related to hospitality and taking care of people in general and creating a comfortable and caring atmosphere. this job can come very naturally for your spouse and it can actually be a field that he chose because of his interests and by being very good at what he does, it can come at ease to him.

⊹₊⟡⋆depending on the sign or aspects related to the asteroid can give us more insight on the career. so if its aspecting saturn- job related to labour, stable long hours, dedication and concentration so can be a routine based job, lots of stress. if in cancer- job related to curing people, helping people, cooking, acts of service, creating a comfortable environment, cleaning, house related job.

industria in 5th house: this placement can indicate a career associated with creative and novelty related such as wedding planner, wedding photographer and so forth, this job can be quite risk taking and can require a lot of confidence and effort, perhaps even willpower also. working with children or around children is possible, having a job that is considered childish or easy and simple. this job can include a lot of projects and tasks involved in it. this job of his can also be a hobby of his and thats why it may seem like it is easy to him anyway. this career can be considered as fun and very playful, can be a genuinely fun and exciting job for your spouse. this could also be a passion of many, this job that your spouse may have can be desired by many people and it can be considered as the job of successful people.

⊹₊⟡⋆ if aspecting venus- beauty, music, musician, dancer, working with high brands, working with successful people and collaborating with many, luxury, sweets, fashion, make up, skin. if in pisces- hospital, travelling, flight attendant, pilot, getting a job offer in a foreign land, a boat driver, acting, music, artist. in aries- fast paced, action oriented job, conflict, arguments, jobs involving competition and envy, vehicles, camera.

industria in 6th house: careers that can be associated with this placement are jobs that are health related, such as taking care of the body and examples include fitness trainer, dietician, working in the gym, personal trainer, perhaps even a doctor, nurse and other health related professions. a job that requires lots of empathy and seeing a lot of people being hurt and having no control over it. a job that can fee like you are stuck. also a job related to pets, animals so working with them or working to heal them and caring for them. this job may require your spouse to sacrifice a lot also, either if its family time, assets, and so forth.

⊹₊⟡⋆ if in aspect to neptune- job related to illusions, drugs, alcohol, addiction, an addictive substance, movies, job related to being easily influenced. in scorpio- knives, cutting, metal, surgery, blood, transformational occurrence, occult, secrets, deep. in libra- beaty, food, sweets, influence, changes, discoveries, a job related to co working and working and partnering with other people.

industria in 7th house: the career of your spouse can be related to awakenings and getting humbled almost, this field of work can be a change in their life's perspective and can often change also from time to time, this may also mean that he can change industries also. a career that involves reactions and feedback which means that the customers feedback can mean a lot to this jobs inquiry. perhaps even feedback is what gives the job business as well. jobs that might be on mention are small business, online seller, plumber, nail technician, driving instructor and so forth. any job that requires a good feedback in order to flow customers in. this job can be involved in equality and discoveries, anything to do with cases and technologies also. working in big tech companies or perhaps even having personal assignments assigned to them. such jobs that fit into this category are lawyer, crime scene detective, detective, research company, personal assistant, business owner and so forth.

⊹₊⟡⋆ aspecting the sun- jobs related to managing, fame, organising, being a leader, being a monitor person, security guard, labour job, working around a big crowd, influencing. in scorpio- meat, skin, surgery, mystery, secrets, keeping it low and confidential.

industria in 8th house: a career that your spouse may have is something to do with duty and receiving orders from someone such as working for someone or being involved with the military and army. a job that has a lot of respect and a job that respect is likely. a lot of rules and especially a lot of regulations can be in set at your spouses job that your spouse may have to follow. a high diligence and secretive career. career involved with death and inheritance perhaps its them working at a death insurance company, a person who organises funerals and so forth. any job that may organise or be in charge of inheritance cheques also. he may work somewhere where contracts are involved and most likely can be working for government rules and the system of the government also.

⊹₊⟡⋆ aspecting pluto- strictness, possessiveness, unhealthy habits, jobs to do with addiction and control. aspecting saturn- dedication, jobs related to being a leader and being discipline, a job that takes long hours and takes hard work to complete.

industria in 9th house : so your spouses field of specialty may be include a lot of travel, lots of moving about the place and always experiencing something new. this job may have needed a source of higher education so your spouse may needed to go to university or college in order to get a degree of some sort to have this career. this career may be a high success field meaning that he is very good at what he does although may not realise it. may work with a lot of people from different backgrounds and different atmospheres, may have seen everything or it may feel like it as his job can be quite diverse and challenging. this field in that your spouse can be in can include a mass media attention, or may have access to a mass media meaning that he can be very influential and quite powerful with his position in his career.

⊹₊⟡⋆depending on aspects and the sign that industria is in can really make a difference in what the actual career is. lets say its in taurus- beauty, singing, financial building, banker, investor, chef. say if it is aspecting saturn- long hours, labour, professionalism, seriousness, hard concentration is involved in his job. if in gemini- social media, writing, using new ideas, quick and sharp thinking/mind, quick outcomes, fast approach.

industria in 10th house: so your spouse field of work can be related to high status and high attention. this career may require him to deal with a lot behind the scenes and deal with most stuff by himself, a very personal yet public job. can have a big leadership position, a very guarding yet important role. may have a standard that needs to be kept in this field. maybe a certain appearance may be kept such as clothes, hairstyle, what to wear and not wear, perhaps even control on weight and what can be done to the body and what can not. a very high demanding job, very high stress. lots of control and this can be a very controlling job. also there can be competition in this career, whether its amongst your colleagues or its a high competing job to access.

⊹₊⟡⋆depending on the sign and aspects that are occurring to this asteroid can tell us more about what career they may have. so if uranus is aspecting industria- internet, social media, high following online, high online consumption, high tech, uncontrollable atmosphere, sudden changes, sudden doings, no control. if aspecting the ascendant- appearance, high maintenance, beauty, body, accessories, personality.

industria in 11th house: this career can be associate with working with groups of people, people that they may feel familiar with also. this can be a job where he works in his community where he helps out people that he knows. this job may also be a voluntary job that he signed up for. this can be a very peaceful yet shared experience career, lots of advice may be given in the job and especially a lot of shared creative ideas may be talked upon. the colleagues of your spouse may be very friendly and the whole atmosphere of the job can be very friendly and comforting. job that is involved in beauty and the internet. especially a career that involves high tech and computers.

⊹₊⟡⋆ in gemini- transport, vehicles, bicycles, a job related to teaching, social media influencer, local community, if aspecting jupiter- teacher, mentor, librarian, author, influencer.

industria in 12th house: this career of your spouse can be detail based and can require lots of memorisation and delivering of details. this job can be of sections meaning that it requires completion of one assessment in order to be able to be carried onto the next one, you cant just skip ahead and things like that. this career of your spouse can be involved into efficiency and order and by that this may mean that their job is done efficiently and there may be different ways of doing that job. there can be a value of perfection and cleanliness related to the job. there can be high expectations and pressure that is linked to this job of your spouse. anything to do with health and especially mental health, remedies, consultations and seeking advice. lots of research and techniques can be used in his career.

⊹₊⟡⋆depending on the sign and aspects of the asteroid it can influence more depth into what specific profession he can be a part of. in scorpio- can be related to research, writing, astrology, transformational work, deep messaging, cutting, mining, occult teachings. if in taurus- beauty, singing, voice, dancing, finance, bank, assets, job related to food, cooking, meal preparations, fluctuation themed such as investments and stock markets. associations to mercury- job can be related to text, writing, teaching, travelling, changing positions, speech, social media, vehicles, exchanges. aspects to the sun- job related to fame, spotlight, ego exchange, being themself, high position, knowing their way around things.

Guysss, im glad to be posting this, i really want to get back with posting regularly but have so much to dooo- its never ending. anyway, thanks for reading and have a lovely rest of your day.

#groom persona chart #persona chart #astrology #astrology observations #astrology signs #astrology community #industria #asteroid astrology #asteroid observations #astro #astro community #astro notes #astro observations #astro placements

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giuseppe-yuki · 8 months ago

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birthday celebration?

normal!max verstappen x billionaire!reader

w.c.: 3.8k

warnings: suggestive material, curse words, danica patrick (?), sassy and jimmy slander (sorry i love them irl i promise)

part of my money, money, money!universe

summary: yesterday was max's birthday. the press wants to know: you guys went all out to celebrate, right?

a/n: so yesterday was actually my birthday 🤭 i tried my best to post this before it hit 12 as a birthday treat for y'all, but it didn't really work out... consider this a late birthday post + max 4 wdc celebration :)

p.s. this is NOT the money, money, money spinoff that i promised- i'm working on that i swear🤞🥲

picture credits from pinterest :)

to say the driveway up to the gala building was crowded was an understatement. if you looked out the window of the very expensive rolls royce you were currently seated in, you could spot at least five rosso corsa ferraris and like, three jet black lamborghinis within a meter from you. to be honest, you had to give props to your private driver, daniil, because there was no way you could have strategically maneuvered the car onto the jam-packed road without causing a rather exorbitant pileup of supercars. next to you, on the plush leather seats, was your boyfriend in his freshly pressed, custom fitted suit that you had your assistant buy just for the event. he sits there politely with his hands folded together, wide blue eyes blinking at you innocently. he looked mighty handsome, and if you weren’t currently sitting in a car with a billion cars, paparazzi, and influential figures right outside, you certainly would have done some not-so-appropriate things to max right then and there.

instead of doing said things and traumatizing your poor private driver, you quickly glance at your phone.

a bold 5:10 flashes across the screen, in front of your lockscreen of max curled up in bed with jimmy and sassy.

shit.

you were scheduled to do some press stuff outside the event around 5:20, and had to be inside by 5:45. if the queue of cars of ahead of you didn’t hurry up, you would probably be late, and it wouldn’t be a good thing if the ceo of redbull herself was late to her own redbull gala.

max, like the sweet, observant boyfriend that he is, peers down at his own phone, notes the time, then tilts his head at you.

“do you want to just run up to the entrance?” he asks, pocketing his phone. “i’m sure it’s not too far, and i don’t want you to be late for your pr stuff!”

that didn’t sound like a bad idea.

after notifying daniil, you and max slip out of the vehicle, much to the surprise of the people in the cars around you. once you squeeze out of the crowd of exotic cars onto the sidewalk, max takes your hand and bolts his way towards the grandly decorated stairs of the gala in the distance.

unfortunately, you might have misjudged the distance to the entrance, because you both end up a little moist from sweat by the time your heeled feet reach the red carpet-lined stone stairs that lead up to open double doors- the entrance to the gala. lining the stairs are multiple cameras and interviewers, met-gala style. you are sure these are the pr interviews that your assistant was talking about, judging by the sprinkle of red-bull sponsored athletes chit-chatting to a few press members along the stairs and groups of photographers sending off bright flashes with their high-tech cameras. to your right, a man you recognize as sergio perez nods slowly as his interviewer animatedly gestures to a picture of sergio diving into what looks like a pool with a mexican flag wrapped around him. directly in front of you stands daniel ricciardo posing in different silly positions, much to the delight of the gossip magazine paparazzis that were probably having a field day photographing him. next to you, max ecstatically pulls on your dress and points to your left to the esports content creator, ludwig, who laughs loudly to your left as he banters with an excited looking man with a rather large microphone in hand. you haven’t really looked into ludwig’s content, but you often saw max watching his streams while you were in your online meetings, so if he liked ludwig, you guess you did too.

you attempt to quickly pull max towards the top of the stairs towards the entrance to the gala in an effort to completely avoid doing your media duties, but you are unfortunately stopped within the next twenty seconds by your own interviewer, a lady in the brightest pink outfit you had ever seen in your life.

“heLLO!” the lady says rather enthusiastically. “danica patrick, reporting for tmz!”

“er, hi!” you respond, a little less enthusiastically. max, half-hidden behind you, gives a light wave to the camera.

unperturbed, she flashes you both a toothy, unnaturally white smile at you both and places a microphone towards her glossy lips.

“so, miss redbull ceo! it’s so nice to meet you!” she remarks, “and you look absolutely flawless today!”

you give her and the camera a tight smile.

“thank you,” you respond, as if you didn’t have two drops of sweat going down your neck and a slightly dirt-dusted gown from the sprint from your car.

she nods, and then as if just realizing max’s presence, snatches him out from his half-hidden position behind you.

“and you!” she exclaims, looking max up and down. “you must be the boyfriend! max-” she checks her notes- “verstappen! yes, i’ve heard so much about you!”

your boyfriend blinks at her, nervously twiddling the redbull pin that was pinned to his lapel.

“okay,” he says after a beat of silence.

the lady nods, and scribbles something down in her notes as if max had something absolutely life-changing, before turning back to you.

“so, i’ve received the news that yesterday was max’s birthday,” she proclaims. “and i was just wondering what’d you guys did to celebrate! as a successful ceo, you must have went all out, huh?”

seriously? you think. what of question is this? you get to interview a ceo and this is the best thing you can come up with?

when you hesitate a second before answering, she probes, “rumor has it that you both went to bora bora yesterday...”

as if it knew that today was your boyfriend’s birthday, the bright rays of the monaco sun shined a golden beam of light straight onto max’s hair, lighting the blondish-brown strands into a little halo around his head. even if it feels like a creep to just stare at his peaceful face, you can’t help but gaze a little too long at his pouty lips, long eyelashes, and light stubble. from the corner of your eye, you can see one of his devilish cats balancing precariously on the bedframe. you clock it as sassy, who you knew, unfortunately from experience, loved to pounce on max’s face in the morning when she was feeling a little hungry. sassy meows at you innocently before proceeding to crouch in a position, ready to pounce. jimmy watches at the end of the bed, doing absolutely nothing as you fight for your life trying to wave sassy away without waking up max.

like the absolute devil sassy is, she leaps off the bedframe, claws extended, right at max. with your lightning quick reflexes that should earn you a seat in the redbull f1 team that your company sponsors, you snatch the bengal cat out of the air before she gets a chance to maul your boyfriend and send him to the emergency room on his birthday.

she hisses at you, teeth bared, and you just about catapult her out of the open window next to the bed.

instead, you take a deep breath. you deduce that max probably wouldn’t like to wake up finding out that his cat was a pancake on the streets below his apartment, probably ran over by someone’s ferrari pista. instead, you opt for a less extreme “fuck you,” that you hiss right back at sassy.

like he sensed someone threatening his baby, your boyfriend shifts around.

“whadyou say?” max mutters from the pillows behind you.

you whip back to face your boyfriend, simultaneously shoving sassy away from you.

max rubs his eyes sleepily and uses a hand to block the sun that now shines into his eyes. you try not to stare again at his eyes that light a warm whisky brown in the beams of sunlight that seep through his fingers. it cannot be legal to look this good.

“nothing,” you dismiss.

leaping forward, you wrap your arms around him in a hug.

a surprised look crosses his face, but he leans into your embrace anyways.

“do you know what day it is, maxie?” you ask, voice a little muffled from being pressed into the crook of his neck.

max takes a shockingly long time to respond.

“um… saturday?” he says slowly.

you give him a weird look.

“well yes…but it’s also your birthday!” you exclaim.

“oh!” he laughs, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “i totally forgot!”

“no way,” you say incredulously.

“yes way,” max replies, tucking you into his side with an arm around you.

leave it up to your boyfriend to forget his own birthday.

“well,” you state after a beat of silence of looking at the popcorn ceiling of his apartment. “good thing we still have, like, sixteen hours left to do whatever you want- and we basically have unlimited budget- so go crazy!”

“hmm,” he says.

“anywhere you’d like, really- bali, the hamptons, paris, dubai, maldives, bora bora,” you suggest helpfully. “or all of them?”

max thinks for second.

“how about monaco?”

you blink confusedly.

“so… right here?”

“yeah,” he responds.

you shrug.

“sure, that’s fine too!”

deborah, or danica, or whatever her name was, babbles on as you and max stand on the stairs awkwardly.

“an inside source has also relayed to us that you might have bought your boyfriend an abt audi rs6, legacy edition for his birthday- an insanely rare and expensive car which only has 200 made in the entire world!

an abt-legacy what? you can’t help but think, what the hell was that?

once you get dolled up with your 12-step get-ready process and max pulls on his usual clothes (white shirt + unfortunate-looking skinny jeans), you both hop in max’s trusty little yellow renault clio rs. of course, like the cat lover he was, max refused to accept any expensive material gifts from you, and instead requested to visit the cat shelter as a birthday “gift.” you guess you would probably have to return the tag heuer watch in your bedside drawer that you had gotten him plus the keys to that yacht that was currently sitting in the monaco bay that you thought he would like.

max whistles a cheerful tune as he types in the cat shelter address onto his phone’s navigation app as you try your best to think of the best way to approach your assistant and tell him to return the yacht that he might have spent the last week negotiating with some old rich prick to buy. his phone makes a small “ding” and prompts him to back out of the tiny garage underneath his apartment, which he does with surprising ease. the ride to the shelter is pretty smooth, except that tiny part where this dumb guy with an all-black ferrari with a red ‘16’ on the side runs the red light, almost t-bones your boyfriend, and then proceeds to stop diagonally in the middle of the road with the most rancid parking job.

your boyfriend walks into the cat shelter with you in tow. he passes right past the front desk, waves to the man playing sudoku on his phone, and then proceeds navigates the halls like he’s been there a million times. (actually, he might have) you pass row after row of cats in little kennels that your boyfriend somehow knows the names of, before coming to a stop in front of a young lady filling little formula bottles with milk. she has at least three cats worth of cat fur all over her paw-print sweater.

“max!” she remarks, looking a little too thrilled to see him. “how are you? i haven't seen you since, like, last tuesday!”

looking to you, her smile drops significantly.

“oh, and… who is this?”

“hi, i’m max’s girlfriend,” you articulate, answering her question. you reach your hand out to shake, but she pointedly ignores it.

“great…” she says fakely. “um, so how may i help you guys?”

max seems to not notice. instead, he has a wide smile pasted on his face.

“well, it’s actually my birthday today, and i would like to spread kindness by making a donation to my favorite cat shelter!” he announces.

ten minutes later, you find yourself signing a check that is made out for the ��monaco meow manor.’

max twiddles his pen around his fingers.

“how much should i put it down as?” he asks, pen hovering above the empty line on the check.

you shrug.

“i don’t know, it’s your birthday, maxie. you choose.”

the lady who was obviously into max and the sudoku guy at the front eyes the both of you from their place at the front desk.

you watch as max writes down a 3300 on the piece of paper. he glances at you quickly. when you raise an eyebrow at him, he turns back and adds two more zeroes at the end. but, then he proceeds to place the commas all wrong.

“that says 3,300,00, max,” you say, pointing to the obviously misplaced commas.

“oh,” he says. “i can’t really erase it- it’s pen.”

the lady, whose scowl has disappeared, and the guy, who sudoku puzzle has long been abandoned, whips around after hearing this number, jaws dropped.

ignoring them, you take the pen from max’s hand.

“here,” you say, adding another neat zero to the end of max’s blocky numbers so it reads 3,300,000.

“okay, great, thanks!” your boyfriend says, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

he then turns to the lady and hands her the check.

“here’s the check. i hope all the kitties in here can all live long healthy lives and get everything they ever need!”

the two people at the desk look like they are about to pass out.

the lady clutches at the check with a white-knuckled hand and profusely thanks the pair of you.

you fight the urge to roll your eyes. oh, now she pays attention to you.

max, oblivious, beams, before taking your hand and leading you back out to his little yellow car.

“helping the kitties- check!” he declares.

you can’t help but smile and pull max into a searing kiss in front of the little cat shelter that was about to become the best-funded feline sanctuary in monaco, and most likely france too.

you don’t even have a chance to respond to danica’s inquiry about the complicated-sounding car that you supposedly “bought” for max before she rambles on.

“i bet you bought your little boyfriend the most luxurious foods too!” she spouts. “wagyu beef, spaghetti with saffron, caviar- ooh! maybe a glass of moët?”

“i’m not telling youuuuu!” max trills, leaping around the tiny living room of his monaco apartment with his phone held high above his head.

you don’t know whether to start raging in annoyance from your place on the scraggly carpet or to laugh at your boyfriend twirling on the lumpy sofa, phone screen purposely held away from you. jimmy only aggravates the situation by butting his head directly at your shin.

“max! is it a crime to want know what we are going to eat for dinner??” you shout, exasperated.

max somehow does a perfect pirouette off of the sofa (???) and smiles at you.

“no, but it should be a crime to look so pretty,” he says, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. you try and bat him away, but he is faster. he leaps up, cackling, and bolts away. his apartment isn’t that big, just his kitchen, living room, and his single bedroom, so you take your time hoisting yourself off the carpet. you resist the urge to punt jimmy away from your shin like a football, and instead gingerly step over him before sprinting over to max’s bedroom.

he awaits behind his bedroom door, and literally tackles you to his bed, pinning you underneath him.

its hard to stay mad at max when he’s giggling like a little kid and looking at you with those impossibly blue eyes that crinkled in the corners while he laughs.

“i hate you,” you say with no heat.

“mhm, i’m sure you do,” he says, all the sudden sobering up. he leans his head down and nips at your neck.

you both know where this always leads.

max’s white shirt disappears within seconds like the sight of a f1 car by the grandstands, and soon enough, yours does too.

before you can do anything, though, the doorbell rings.

your boyfriend pulls off of you, albeit hesitantly.

“foods here, i guess,” he says, pulling his shirt back on like he wasn’t about to whip off his pants two seconds ago.

you roll your eyes as max goes to fetch the food while you get presentable again.

when you pad into the kitchen, you genuinely expect to see the world’s best chef tossing vegetables a meter in the air, considering how secretive max was about the birthday dinner you both were having.

instead, max sits at the table with a ripped bag that displays a tell-tale green ubereats sticker, along with a few black plastic boxes that takes up half of the table space.

your boyfriend rips the lids off with a flourish, showing you the contents.

“my favoriteeeeeeee!” he chirps, gesturing to thin slices of beef carpaccio laid out prettily in the container, fragrant tomato soup in another plastic bowl, and two cupcakes.

it was kind of a weird combination, but hey, if max liked it, you weren’t gonna argue with it.

you grab utensils for the both of you, and dig in.

when the dregs of the tomato soup is all that's left in your bowl, the beef carpaccio is reduced to a few stray capers and lemon juice, and the wrapper is all that’s left of the cupcake, you lay back contently in your chair.

“you know, “ you state, “i could’ve flyed in the best beef carpaccio maker in the world, the best tomato soup chef ever, and like, gordon ramsey for the cupcakes and had them make this for you.”

“eh,” he says, also laying back in his seat, feeling full and happy, “ubereats from the restaurant three blocks down is honestly just as good too.”

danica was still not done.

“the parties must have been wild for max's birthday, too!” she raves. “with your influence, i bet all the celebs were there! kim k, rihanna, carlos alcaraz, oprah winfrey, lebron james, johnny depp, billie ellish- shall i go on?

no, you think to yourself. no, you shouldn’t.

feeling content, you flop onto max’s bed. your boyfriend slides onto the mattress next to you, allowing you to snuggle into his soft body. you inhale the smell of his cologne, and a feeling of content drapes over your body like a warm blanket.

“happy birthday, again, max,” you mutter, voice muffled in his chest. you slowly slide a hand suggestively into his shirt.

“thanks,” he says. he pauses a moment before getting up, effectively making your hand drop out. “i think i’d like to play a video game right now.”

“oh,” is all you can think to say. you loved your boyfriend very much, but sometimes he just could not understand context clues.

“are you sure?” you ask as he sets up his gaming system, loading in f123. “we could do something else…” you trail off slowly, seeing if he could pick up what you were putting down.

“yeah,” he says, eyes trained on the tv. he scrolls through a bunch of men in racing suits, and you spot a like, two with your company’s sign, big and bold, across their chest. huh, you kind of forgot your company sponsored f1. you squint your eyes at the white lettering displaying their names- sergio perez and daniel ricciardo. they seemed like pretty successful dudes, looking at their stats. max clicks on daniel’s profile, and jumps back onto the bed next to you as the loading screen pops up, still oblivious to your intentions.

you let him zoom through a track named mug jello or something like that for the better half of an hour before making another move, since it was his birthday, after all.

“do you want to watch netflix and... chill?” you suggest, nudging max.

“one second,” he responds, as the stopwatch thing at the side of the screen turns entirely purple. a checkered flag fills the screen, and the guy with the redbull racing suit appears, drinking champagne out of a shoe. “woohoo!” he says, beaming down at you, who has now draped yourself over his lap. “i won!”

you blink at him. how was being in his lap not obvious enough?

“oh, yeah, sure, we can watch a movie.” he says hurriedly, misjudging the seriously? look on your face.

max gently moves you out of his lap as he changes the tv channels to netflix.

when he turns back around, you have your shirt off, sitting suggestively on the bed.

your boyfriend laughs.

“is it really that hot in the room? i can turn on the ac if you want,” he offers helpfully.

reaching over, he opens his window, effectively blasting your semi-naked body with a blast of cold monaco wind that frequented the coast at night. you swear to god, if you get sick tomorrow-

you finally give up your attempts after max switches on a film called “crazy rich asians.” you snuggle into him innocently as the movie starts, and honestly, the beginning is kind of good.

you are right in the middle of the scene where the movie’s main character, rachel, is getting a makeover by her friend, peik lin, and her ridiculous family when you catch max staring at you.

“hey, baby,” he whisper-yells, nudging you.

“mmm?” you respond, fully intrigued as Rachel tries on dress after dress.

“do you want to..?”

you don’t really comprehend what he is saying as you are too focused on an intense emotional scene that pops up on the screen.

“huh?” you say distractedly.

max’s mouth latches to your neck.

you manage to tear your eyes away from the screen to realize what max is doing.

oh.

you notice are still shirtless and your boyfriends hands were now wandering to places that were not so family-friendly.

damn it, you curse silently, the movie was just getting good!

still, you can’t help to give in to max’s urges.

pretty soon, the screen glazes over in black. a prompt pops up: are you still watching?

the brunette interviewer beams at you and max, awaiting a response. the microphone that she holds is shoved a little too close to your face for comfort. seeing your silent form, her face drops into a scowl.

“no comment?” she sniffs in disdain.

turning to max, she prods the microphone towards his lips.

“you?” she snaps.

your boyfriend shrugs.

“all i can say is that my birthday yesterday was simply lovely.”

taglist: @sunny44 @taliya8346282844eliviahdgdajs @xjval @fellowwomenlover @ironmaiden1313

@phobiccneel @comicalivy @amz824 @gloriousartisanpastacroissant @mastermindbaby

#f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf fic #f1 imagine #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #mv1 x y/n #mv1 x you #mv1 x reader #📝

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miaaaxxz · 12 days ago

Text

Unfinished Business | OP81

previous part | next part

summary: Pressure mounts as secrets and lies unravel beneath the surface. Frustration brews between two people caught in a web of betrayal, forcing them to confront harsh truths about the race, their careers, and each other.

word count: 2.3K

pairing: oscar piastri x alpine strategist!reader

warnings: smut!!!

It wasn’t subtle.

Walking into the Silverstone paddock side by side, not touching, not smiling, just matching strides was enough.

They didn’t need to say a word.The silence between them screamed louder than any headline.

She felt it first, that static buzz in the air. The moment awareness shifted. When a dozen heads turned just slightly, enough to make it obvious they were being watched.

Oscar felt it too. His cap was pulled low, almost comically so, but it couldn’t shield him from the rising tide of attention.

“They’re staring,” she murmured.

He didn’t look at her. “Let them.”

Phones tilted upward. Screens flicked open. Someone whispered her name.

“She’s Alpine.”

“What the hell is she doing walking with Piastri?”

“I thought she got cleared.”

The whispers slid beneath her skin like glass. Her black Alpine jacket was soaked at the shoulders, and each cold drop felt sharper than it should have. She didn’t flinch. Not outwardly. But her fingers were clenched into fists inside her pockets, knuckles white, fingernails digging crescent moons into her palms.

She’d made it to the garage before she realized she hadn’t spoken a word since they left. Oscar brushed past her in silence, already heading toward his engineers.

And then there was Matthieu, the head strategist.

Waiting. Arms crossed. Face unreadable.

He didn’t nod. Didn’t greet her. Just tilted his head toward the door behind him.

“Inside.”

The word was a razor.

She followed, jaw tight.

The briefing room was dim and suffocating, like it always was before qualifying , stale coffee in the air, stress in the walls. She pulled off her jacket with more force than necessary, flinging it over the back of a chair like it had betrayed her.

Matthieu didn’t sit.

Didn’t even move.

“I told you to keep your head down,” he said flatly. “You walk through the paddock with him like it’s a red carpet.”

Her spine straightened. “He’s a McLaren driver. I’m not chained to the garage. We were walking.”

“It wasn’t walking,” Matthieu snapped. “It was a statement.”

She stared at him. “A statement?”

“People talk. They already think you’re compromised.”

Her mouth twisted. “Because I exist near him? Because I breathe the same air?”

“Because somehow, your voice made it into their sim files last week,” he said coldly. “Because after everything, you stroll through one of the most watched paddocks of the season beside the very driver they think you’re feeding data to.”

“I’m not feeding anyone anything—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It should matter.”

“You think the media gives a shit about facts?” He stepped closer, voice still low but lethal. “They want a headline. You just gave them one.”

She blinked, slow. “So what, you want me to disappear?”

“I want you to remember you’re a strategist,” he said. “Not a celebrity. Not a driver’s shadow. You build numbers. You win races from the walls, not the headlines.”

A beat.

“I wasn’t part of the story,” she said, quieter now. “Until someone dragged my voice into a file I didn’t touch.”

Matthieu’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re too emotional,” he said. “You’re letting proximity cloud your judgment.”

Her voice cracked. “You think this is about him?”

“I think this is about you wanting to be seen.”

"Do you think I am a seeker attention?"

Matthieu stepped back. Final. Decisive.

“You’re off strategy for qualifying and race. Effective immediately.”

The words didn’t compute at first. “What?”

“You’ll assist from the tech trailer. No radio. No pit wall. Jules will call for Pierre.”

Her throat burned. “I’ve built every call for him this season. Every tire window. Every delta. You trusted me.”

“Then earn it back. Quietly.”

She stared at him, not blinking.

And then, slowly, walked out.

જ⁀➴

She wasn’t even allowed near the pit wall.

No headset. No channel. Not even a glance from the engineers she used to call by name.

They hadn’t said it out loud, they didn’t need to. The message was clear: she was a liability now. A risk too public. Too emotional. Too close.

So she’d watched the race from the back of the Alpine garage, arms crossed, headset silent, heart muted.

It had been raining. Not enough for chaos, but just enough to complicate everything and that, once, would’ve been her domain. Her data. Her call. She would’ve thrived in that mess.

Now she was just… watching.

And still, somehow, giving more than she got.

Pierre crossed the finish line in P6. A solid result. Decent points. A clean race in difficult conditions. She nodded once, to herself. Quietly proud. Quietly… bitter.

Because the cameras, the cheers, the headlines they weren’t for Alpine.

McLaren took another 1-2.

And Oscar, Oscar should have won.

He’d driven like a man possessed. Fast. Precise. Ruthless in the rain. He led almost the entire race, defying every challenge, commanding the field like he had something to prove.

Until a mistake that cost him 10s penalty

She heard it before she saw it.

"Piastri. Ten seconds penalty"

Her breath caught.

Not because she was invested. Not because she still watched him when she wasn’t supposed to.

But because she knew ,exactly , how much that would break him.

The win was gone. Lando took it , his home race, the roar of Silverstone behind him like thunder. Oscar crossed second. Still on the podium. Still leading the championship.

But it would never taste the same.

She stood in the corner of the Alpine motorhome long after the race ended. Her lanyard hung limp at her collar, headset untouched. No one came to talk. No one congratulated her for P6. No one blamed her, either.

It was worse that way. Like she no longer mattered enough to blame.

Like she wasn’t even there.

જ⁀➴

She had barely made it back to the hotel room before the weight of everything crashed into her.

She didn’t cry ,not yet ,but her hands were shaking as she locked the door behind her. Her breath came fast and sharp, and every object in the room felt like a threat , the lamp, the glass on the counter, the TV remote. Her fingers hovered over each one, willing herself not to hurl it across the room. Not to break something. Not to become someone she wouldn’t recognize.

Her career had been built on control.

And now all she felt was chaos.

It was almost 2 AM when she heard the knock.

Sharp. Then again louder. Angrier. Relentless.

She opened the door just enough to see him.

Oscar. Wet hair plastered to his forehead, shirt damp at the shoulders, jaw tight.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, voice low. “Someone could see.”

He didn’t flinch. “Thought we stopped hiding. Remember?”

A beat. Then she stepped aside.

It was strange seeing him there, in her space , not tucked in some shadowed corridor or hidden in the back of a motorhome. Just him, here, as if they were something real. As if they’d earned the right to exist without consequences.

She closed the door behind him, silence stretching too far, too tight.

“I was pulled from debrief.”

The words came suddenly, sharp as a crack in glass.

He turned. “What? When?”

“After the walk through the paddock,” she bit out. “Apparently I was ‘fueling the drama'’”

She laughed, but it was a cruel sound. Hollow.

“Do you know what it feels like to give years of your life to a team, to spend sleepless nights poring over data, building strategy, fighting to be heard and then to be shoved aside like you were never part of it at all?”

“I lost the race,” he said flatly.

Her eyes snapped to his.

“No,” she said. “You lost a win. I lost my career.”

He exhaled, sharp. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” she snapped.

“Turn this into some scoreboard. You think this is easy for me?”

“You’re still driving!” Her voice rose. “You’re still leading the championship, you’re still on every headline and every podium , I had to watch it all from the fucking back of the garage"

She laughed again ,this time more bitter than before.

He stepped closer. “That’s not fair.”

She didn’t back down. “Neither is getting benched for something I didn’t do. Neither is working twice as hard for half the recognition. Neither is losing everything because someone thinks you might be compromised.”

“You think I haven’t been torn apart too?”

“You think you’ve been torn apart?” Her voice cracked. “You still have a seat, a team, a career. You still get to show up and matter. You still get to race.”

“You don’t understand,” he growled.

“No,” she snapped. “You don’t.”

Silence.

Hot. Thick. Buzzing in the air between them like static before a lightning strike.

“I fucking miss you,” he said suddenly, voice rough, like the words cost him something.

She stared at him. Felt the air shift. Her lungs collapsed under the weight of everything unsaid.

“I miss us. Or whatever the hell we were. Whatever the hell this is. Even when we were hiding in hallways or pretending not to care. Even when it hurt.”

Her bottom lip trembled. Just once. Barely there.

But he caught it. And something inside her buckled.

“I can’t—” she began, but it broke halfway through, like glass shattering under pressure. “I can’t keep pretending this didn’t cost me everything.”

His voice gentled. “Then stop pretending.”

That was all it took.The tears hit like a wave, sudden and devastating , hoarse sobs, the kind that ripped out of her throat before she could swallow them. She sank down against the bed, hands clutching the edge like it could anchor her, but it didn’t. Nothing could.

He moved before he could think, dropping beside her, his arms wrapping around her before she could push him away, not that she tried.

She buried her face in his chest, gasping through it all , the fear, the grief, the betrayal, the bone-deep exhaustion of fighting for every inch in a world that wanted her to fail.

And for once, she let herself fall apart.

જ⁀➴

Hotel room — 03:38 a.m.

Silence. Just the hum of the AC, the distant traffic, and the shallow way she was breathing against him, eyes puffy and red, hair stuck to her face. Oscar didn’t say anything at first. He just ran a slow hand through her hair like he was trying to calm something wild. Maybe in her. Maybe in him.

“I know I said I’d drop it,” he murmured. “But I don’t think I can. I don’t think this ends here.”

Oscar didn’t move. Didn’t shift or twitch. He just held her as her breathing slowly returned to something steadier not quite calm, but no longer trembling.

Her head was still pressed to his chest. His shirt was damp from tears. His heartbeat was quick, but not erratic ,just there, grounding.

Her fingers loosened their grip on his shirt.

And for the first time since she walked into that cursed paddock, she let herself breathe fully.

“I didn’t mean to cry like that,” she said, voice hoarse.

Oscar's hand moved gently over her hair, slow and rhythmical.

“You don’t have to apologize. Not to me.”

She let out a broken laugh.

“I don’t even know who I am without all this. Without Alpine. Without strategy. I built my life to belong there. And now I’m watching it fall apart from a folding chair in the tech trailer.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. But his hold around her tightened.

“You’re more than a fucking job title.”

She looked up then. Eyes still wet, but sharper now.

“Yeah? And what about you? If you weren’t leading this championship, if you weren’t Oscar Piastri F1 driver, what would they see?”

He flinched. Just slightly.

“Nothing,” he said. “They’d see nothing. That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

Her throat closed up again.Because it was.The same truth that haunted her.

They both sat in it ,that truth, that weight and it ached.

“I’m so fucking tired,” she whispered.

“So am I.”

Their eyes met. Tired and angry and bruised in ways they didn’t have names for.

And then,the air shifted.

She leaned back just a bit. Enough to look at him fully. Her hand hovered at his jaw, her thumb tracing a spot near his cheekbone without thinking.

There was so much emotion in her face : anger, confusion, pain.

But also something else.

Something unspoken that had been simmering under everything for far too long.

He looked at her like he couldn’t breathe. Like just seeing her unravel like this was enough to undo him.

“We shouldn’t,” she said.

“I know,” he murmured. “But I don’t care.”

And then they were crashing into each other.

Lips meeting in a kiss that was anything but soft. Her fingers twisted in his hair. His hands gripped her waist like he was afraid she’d vanish.

It wasn’t slow.It wasn’t careful.It was all-consuming.

Clothes were pushed, pulled, ripped her hoodie discarded, his shirt yanked off over his head. She gasped when his hands found her skin, but didn’t stop him. Didn’t want to.

Because this wasn’t about tenderness.

It was about release. About losing themselves in something real after years of pretending.

“Fuck—” she hissed when his mouth moved to her neck, biting down a little harder than he should’ve. She pulled his head back by the hair and kissed him harder, nails dragging across his back.

He growled, actually growled , into her mouth.

She shoved him toward the bed, and he went willingly, lips never leaving hers. She climbed onto him, breath ragged, eyes dark.

“This doesn’t fix anything,” she said between kisses, like a warning. Like a confession.

“I don’t want it to fix anything.”

His voice was low. Dangerous. Honest.

“I just need you.”

She needed him too and that was the worst part. The part that hurt more than it should’ve.

He rolled them over, hovering above her, and for a second one, brief, fragile second their eyes locked.

Something unspoken passed between them.And then it was gone.

His mouth was back on hers, bruising, biting, claiming. Her legs wrapped around his waist as their hips found a rhythm that was fast and messy and full of everything they hadn’t said. Her nails clawed into his back, his hands pinned hers above her head. She moaned into his mouth, raw and unfiltered.

It was need. Not romance.But it was real.

Every thrust was a scream. Every kiss a plea. Every breath shared between them a white-hot thread of pain and want and desperation.

And when they finally collapsed sweaty, shaking, wrecked there were no words.

Just panting. Trembling.

And when it was over, when they were tangled in damp sheets and the silence was less brutal, more human she was the first to speak.

A whisper, ragged:

“I didn’t tell you everything.”

Oscar blinked up at the ceiling, chest still rising unevenly. “Yeah. Me neither.”

She turned her head slowly toward him, eyes swollen from crying, lips raw, voice barely more than air.

“Alpine... they’ve been watching you since the second you left.”

He looked over at her now.

She sat up against the headboard, dragging the sheet around herself, suddenly cold.

“I found out weeks ago. Way before the leak,” she confessed. “They were trying to push this idea internally that McLaren had been stealing strategic frameworks. Data patterns. Pit window models. Things I wrote.”

Oscar’s brows furrowed. “What?”

She nodded, jaw clenched. “They were building a narrative. Nothing solid just whispers, enough to cast doubt. Enough to suggest someone was... passing intel.”

He sat up too, sheet sliding low across his waist. He didn’t touch her, but she could feel the tension rolling off him again, a storm barely held back.

“And they were going to blame you,” he said slowly.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

That was answer enough.

Oscar exhaled hard, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fuck. So the leaks wasn’t just some accident.”

She turned to him, eyes searching his. "I didn't know they were going to put me in.What did Lando tell you? ”

She knew. Of course she knew. He hadn’t told her everything ,never had. But that was just like him: trying to protect Lando, trying to keep the team’s fragile balance intact. She understood the loyalty, the unspoken code between teammates.

Oscar’s mouth twisted. His voice came out low and bitter.

“He was on a call during that conversation. He told me it was background , that he didn’t realize his mic was hot, but later he admitted it wasn’t just random.”

Her stomach dropped.

“He was talking to someone. Someone who did him a favor months ago"

Oscar’s voice grew harder.

“They told him he owed them. When the time came, he’d just have to listen.”

Her throat tightened.

“Listen to what?”

“To me. To us. They asked if I’d mentioned anything off record. If I was acting strange. They wanted to know if you were... manipulating me.”

Her mouth parted in disbelief. “They used him.”

“And Alpine used you,” he said bitterly. “Sending you on that day to talk with me. Not saying anything, just letting the image speak for itself. They knew it would look suspicious. Knew exactly what narrative it would feed.”

!!! This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and organizations depicted are entirely fictional or used in a fictional context. Any resemblance to real-life strategies, decisions, or conspiracies is purely imaginative. No harm, disrespect, or false implication is intended toward any real persons or teams.

@luvs4haechan @emneedshelp @thepassionatereader @paaarrriiiii @formula1fordisaster @vinylphwoar @virtualperfectioncat @sltwins @lost-library-of-violets @18racecar81

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fangirlfuel · 3 months ago

Text

Stolen Seconds

---

You hadn’t seen him in over a year.

Not in person, anyway.

He was still everywhere—on screens, in headlines, on race day broadcasts where you’d catch glimpses of his focused face and the way he adjusted his gloves with the same precise movements he used to have when holding your hand.

Carlos Sainz.

The man who taught you what passion looked like when it was on fire. The one who kissed you like he had forever, then walked away like it meant nothing.

---

Your story began in Monaco.

You weren’t from the glamorous circles he moved in—you were a data analyst, a junior embedded with the Ferrari tech team through a collaboration with your firm. It wasn’t supposed to be permanent. A three-month exchange, max.

But then you met him.

He was… unexpected.

Not just charming—most drivers were—but kind. Observant. Grounded.

He noticed things. The way your hands fidgeted when you were nervous, the way you bit your cheek when you were deep in thought. He asked about your family. Your dreams. Your stupid Spotify playlists.

You never stood a chance.

Neither did he, really.

Your romance wasn’t loud. It was late-night texts in hotel rooms, stolen glances between engineering meetings, and long conversations in empty paddocks. He was so achingly real with you, it felt like a world apart from the cameras and curated smiles.

But being with him meant compromise.

He was constantly gone. Racing schedules swallowed time. Public appearances consumed weekends. And you, ambitious and determined, refused to be the girl who gave up her career for a man who might not stay.

So when it ended, it wasn’t with screaming.

It ended with silence.

A text he sent after a fight left unresolved.

Maybe this isn’t working anymore.

You never replied.

---

And now, here you were, badge clipped to your lanyard, standing inside Ferrari HQ in Maranello, as part of a high-stakes project aimed at refining race strategy in the final stretch of the season.

You thought you were safe. Your role was on the tech side—data modeling, AI-assisted forecasting. Far from the drivers. Far from him.

Until Team Principal Benedetto walked in during your third day and said, “We’re restructuring the ops support teams. You’ll be working directly with Carlos Sainz for the remainder of the season.”

You blinked. “Sorry?”

He smiled as if this were a gift. “You’re the best for the role. And Carlos trusts you already, no?”

You didn’t answer.

But fate did.

---

Barcelona was the first weekend you had to be physically close.

It started off stiff. He said hello. You nodded. Conversations were technical, clipped, overly formal. You worked well together, which was cruel.

He remembered your working style. Still gave you space when you got lost in your data. Still deferred to your insights before making a decision. Still looked at you like he saw things no one else could.

On Sunday, after a rough qualifying, you found him pacing in the back of the motorhome. Everyone was scrambling to rethink tire strategy. You tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

“Softs for the start,” you said. “Trust me.”

His eyes searched yours. “You always say that.”

“And I’m usually right.”

He paused, then—God help you—smiled.

“Still smug, I see.”

“Still annoying,” you shot back, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you.

And just like that, the ice began to melt.

---

It was gradual, the way you began orbiting each other again.

Coffee runs became casual check-ins. Meetings bled into offhand jokes. One night in Zandvoort, you walked back from dinner alongside each other instead of taking separate cars.

He talked about his father, his doubts, the pressure of legacy. You told him about your promotion, the offer to move to the States, the way your apartment still smelled faintly of his cologne no matter how often you washed the sheets.

Then came the night in Singapore.

A disaster race looming, data unclear, and the strategy team deadlocked.

You stayed up until 3am rerunning simulations. Found a window—risky but potentially race-changing. You didn’t run it by the lead strategist. You went to Carlos directly.

“If you want to win, this is how,” you said, shoving the numbers at him.

He studied them. Then looked at you.

“Do you still believe in me?”

You hesitated. Then: “Yes.”

And he nodded.

And he won.

---

After the race, you avoided the cameras, ducked into the operations tent and buried yourself in data again.

Carlos found you there.

His suit was half unzipped, still smelling of sweat and champagne.

“You saved my race,” he said.

You shrugged. “You drove it.”

He stepped closer. “We make a good team.”

You finally looked at him. Really looked.

“Maybe we always did.”

He smiled, a sad sort of smile. “I was stupid. Back then.”

“So was I.”

“Can I try again?” he asked. “Not to fix the past. Just… to know you now?”

You didn’t answer right away.

But you stood.

And took his hand.

And this time, it wasn’t stolen seconds.

It was a new start.

One you both chose.

---

Found this when I was scrolling through my drafts, forgot about it , this was like the short Idea I saved in my drafts telling myself that I I'll develop it later but I completely forgot about it. 😅

---

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koalapastries · 3 months ago

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Hey, well done for getting to 500!!! You deserve it!! (Even if I’m so late with the congratulations 😭) Could I request a male!reader with chronic pain and Oscar Piastri? If you’re comfy with it maybe r uses crutches or just a mobility aid in general?

thank you anon!! (also dw i am very late to the celebration anyway-) i love asks where reader is disabled/chronically ill/uses aids or assistive tech. they give me a very good opportunity to project :D

oscar is such a good boyfriend for you. not once has he ever doubted you when you tell him your pain levels—well, except when he thinks you're lying and saying they're lower than they actually are because you don't want to be a burden.

your crutches have never ever ever been a problem for him, nor will they ever be. he doesn't care if you can technically walk a little without them or not. he knows they help you and they make life easier for you. he's also very happy to make snarky comments to anyone who thinks you're faking, or dramatic, or "too young to be sick". nobody is gonna be making fun of your aids on his watch.

if any of the paddock guests, no matter how famous, give you hard time for them, oscar will get mclaren to ban them. he'll also understand if you just can't manage to make it to a race. even if you're literally in the hotel room and just have to walk to the elevator and then to car. he knows that even walking from your bed to the bathroom can be extra painful on your bad days.

depending on the nature/cause of your pain, oscar will move hell and high water to make the paddock as accessible for you as possible. whether that means getting rid of stairs into his garage, adding extra places for you to sit down and take a break if you need to ... he even keeps a drawer in his driver's room clear every weekend you're with him so you can put meds or heat/ice packs or braces or whatever you need to make you comfortable in it.

he would also 100% help you decorate crutches if you wanted to. stickers, fancy tapes, glue and glitter, literally whatever will make you feel more comfortable using them.

overall, oscar is the best with your pain and your crutches. the most supportive boyfriend to ever be a supportive boyfriend.

#vinnie.fics #vinnie's 500 #f1 x male reader #f1 x reader #oscar piastri x male reader #oscar piastri x reader #disabled!reader

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thatchrollostan · 7 days ago

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i imagine modern au!Levi would go for a classic or simple car, something timeless and straightforward, without all the flashy, high-tech features modern cars come loaded with. it's not that he’s incapable of figuring out the tech, surely he could learn it if he cared to, but to him, a car’s purpose is purely functional. as long as the wheels rotate and it drives perfectly, that’s enough. he has no interest in parking assists, AI driving systems, and mostly the car doors that take forever to open and close. he’s got eyes, hands and skills for that himself. i could easily picture him behind the wheel of a classic Ford.

and you can bet his car is always spotless, gleaming under the light like it just rolled off the showroom. his meticulousness doesn't end there, it extends to how he maintains his car. he changes the oil regularly, takes it in for regular checkups, and refuses to wait for anything to break before repairing or replacing it. even when it comes to fuel, he tops off the tank when it’s only half empty, never letting it run low.

the interior, it’s eerily clean, maybe even doesn't have any personal touches. everything looks exactly as it did on day one, and people mistake it for a brand-new vehicle even if he’s had it for years. Levi takes pride whenever someone says that

he’d probably learn to drive as soon as he reached the typical age for it. he probably would resent authority (bratty enough?), refusing to get a license and happily speeding on good days. eventually, he’d get pulled over and slapped with a fine, and purely for the sake of practicality, he’d decide to get his license. from then on, he’d keep an eye out for cops. on bad days, if he gets pulled over, he’d flip out his license like he’s flipping off the officer

whenever he drives people around, someone inevitably jokes, “can you even reach the pedals?” the first few times, it irritates him. after that, he just plays along, deadpanning "no, i can’t. matter of fact, i recently crashed it." then he’ll hit the gas just enough to give them a good scare

when a group trip comes up, Levi’s first suggestion is always to use someone else’s car. he doesn’t mind driving, but he’d rather keep his own car out of it. but if he HAS to bring his car, be prepared for the death glare and an exhaustive list of rules. no eating or bringing smelly food inside, no drinks except water, don’t scrape the door frame with your dirty shoe wears while getting in or out, keep your feet off the seats, and absolutely don’t touch the windows. violate even one of those rules, and Levi won’t hesitate to kick you out of his car. while he might exaggerate his list of car rules, part of him does it on purpose. if it makes people think twice about riding in his car, that’s mission accomplished as far as he’s concerned

he’s also not above a bit of mischief as a driver. sometimes he’ll deliberately drive at a snail’s pace just to mess with people who are in a rush. other times, he’ll drive like a man possessed when he’s got anxious passengers in tow. but despite his quirks, Levi’s actually an excellent driver when he wants to be. he’s a master of parallel parking and handles a car with skill and precision, if he’s in the mood to, lmao.

#levi is a sexy driver #levi #levi ackerman #shingeki no kyojin #levi aot #snk #levi headcanons #levi ackerman headcanons #aot #attack on titan

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techdriveplay · 1 year ago

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2024 Audi Q8 60 TFSI e - TDP Review

The 2024 Audi Q8 60 TFSI e represents a bold step forward in the luxury SUV segment, combining the power and performance of a turbocharged petrol engine with the efficiency and versatility of a plug-in hybrid system. This model is designed for those who crave speed and luxury without compromising on sustainability. Having spent a week behind the wheel, the Q8 60 TFSI e proved to be impressively…

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xoln04f1xo · 2 months ago

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He’s a hot-headed street racer, you’re the new cop in town. After chasing him for months, you're forced to work together on a city charity race. Sparks (and tires) fly.

Pairings: Max Verstappen x Reader

Warnings: kidnapping, betrayal, trauma triggers, emotional manipulation, fighting

WC: 3.9k

Divider Creds: @strangergraphics

You hadn’t meant to look.

At least, that’s what you told yourself when you cracked into the file.

It started with a login. Then a search. Then a redacted flag you weren’t supposed to have clearance for.

Then... a name.

VERSTAPPEN, MAX INTERPOL RECORD – ACTIVE STATUS: CLASSIFIED DUAL HISTORY – UNDER REVIEW ACCESS TIER: LEVEL 5 OR ABOVE

You were Level 4.

But you also knew someone in tech who owed you a favor.

So you opened it.

And everything changed.

The criminal record came first.

Juvenile offenses. Two sealed.

One open: illegal street racing across multiple European borders.

Charges dropped. No time served. But a note.

“Informant status confirmed. Operational assistance requested. Recruitment initiated.”

You scrolled.

Interpol had offered him a deal.

No prison time - in exchange for infiltration.

You went cold.

Then you opened the cop file.

And the bottom dropped out.

Three blown undercover ops. One fatality. Accusations of unauthorized contact with suspects. "Operates beyond protocol. Risk-prone. Problematic loyalty." Final note: “Despite field issues, asset delivers results. Keep under supervision.”

You sat there, in the ops room, heart thudding.

Max Verstappen wasn’t a cop.

He was a weapon they pointed at criminals and hoped wouldn’t misfire.

And now you were working with him. Sleeping two desks away. Sharing space. Secrets.

And once, a kiss.

You shut the file.

And wished you hadn’t opened it.

The charity race was supposed to be clean.

Fundraiser for injured officers. Flashy cars. VIP donors. No field ops. No weapons.

Just show up, smile, and race.

You and Max were paired in the last-minute “co-driver” category.

Of course.

The second you saw him in his fire suit, leaning against the car like a smug billboard ad, you wanted to punch something.

“Let me guess,” he said. “You saw it.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t flinch. “The file. Everyone eventually does.”

Your jaw clenched. “So you’re not going to lie?”

“Why bother? You already decided what you think.”

You stepped closer. “You worked with criminals. Cut deals. Burned teams.”

“And I got results,” he shot back. “Which is more than most rule-followers can say.”

“You’re reckless. Dangerous. Half the station wants you gone.”

“And yet…” He stepped toward you too. “Here I am. Still your partner. Still the guy who pulled you out of a burning safehouse last week.”

You stared at him, furious. “You played everyone. You’re not a cop... you’re just a criminal in uniform.”

That did it.

His smile dropped.

Something dark flickered in his eyes.

“You think I wanted this job? That I like being the department’s blunt instrument?”

He turned away, pacing.

“You have no idea what they offered me. What I gave up to do this. You read my file, fine... but you didn’t read why.”

“I don’t care about the why,” you snapped.

That was a lie.

But it felt good to say.

He stared at you like he’d been punched. Then nodded once, sharp. Cold.

“Well,” he said. “Race starts in ten. Don’t worry — I’ll drive.”

You didn’t answer.

You walked.

Right off the track, out of the paddock, into the maze of vendor tents and VIP booths. You needed space. Air. Distance.

You didn’t see the van until the back doors swung open.

You barely had time to shout.

The needle hit your neck.

And the world went black.

TWO DAYS LATER...

The precinct was unusually quiet for a Monday.

Max was leaned over a caseboard, flipping through reports that weren’t sticking.

Something was wrong. He felt it in his chest.

But he didn’t know what it was until Moreno walked in, frowning.

“Hey.”

Max looked up. “Morning.”

“Where’s your partner?”

Max blinked. “She’s not in yet?”

Moreno shook his head. “Didn’t show yesterday either.”

“Maybe she’s sick,” Max said.

Moreno checked his phone. “I called. No answer. Texted too. Nothing.”

Max’s stomach twisted.

“She would’ve told me,” he said slowly.

Moreno raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

Max stood up.

The unease in his chest had turned to ice.

“Get me her last GPS ping,” he said.

Moreno looked surprised. “You think..?”

“Just fucking do it,” Max snapped.

Moreno rolled her eyes and left without saying a word.

Max pulled out his own phone.

No texts.

No calls.

Not even that sarcastic “don’t die” she always sent after messy raids.

Something was wrong.

Really wrong.

He looked at her desk - empty. Her gear still there.

Unclaimed.

Cold crept down his spine.

Then Moreno returned, face pale.

“She pinged last at the race venue.”

Max froze. “That was two days ago.”

“Yeah,” Moreno said quietly. “And her car’s still there. But she’s not.”

Max’s blood went cold.

And suddenly - everything else in the room didn’t matter.

She was gone.

And he had no idea where to start.

Other Chapters

Click here for more!

Taglist: @livelaughleclerc --- @cmleitora

Join Taglist -> here!

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charles-leclerizz · 1 year ago

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Rapid Fire Challenge: Aisha vs. Max

Aisha and Max go head-to-head in a rapid-fire question challenge. With only seconds to answer each question, they'll reveal fun facts, preferences, and more. Who will come out on top?

reading time : 8 mins 15 seconds

word count : 1.6 k [ 1650 words ]

warnings : swearing, lewd and suggestive wording, crack, not proof read

Masterlist · 🪷 Aisha · 🪷 Porsche F1 Team · 🪷

" What the fuck are you wearing?" Max looked Aisha up and down, his trademark red bull can clattering into the hollow bin next to him as he watched Aisha run a confused hand down her front before glancing cautiously back up at him.

She arched a brow at him and tugged at her strapless top, " clothes ? "

Max snorted and reached out to poke her slightly exposed mid-driff, " or lack thereof . "

Was the aggravating man wrong? Perhaps not.

In Aisha's opinion, it was a perfectly splendid ensemble. Another one of her brand parter's had generously offered her a two piece outfit, a long, flowing silk skirt that shimmered a classic Porsche silver- paired with a tight cotton, corset top that accentuated her chest with a ruffled middle piece of taffeta.

To others, it may seem over the top.

" You have the same outfit everyday. it's like you're trying to be an NPC ." Aisha plucked at his red-bull jersey with a scrunched up nose, " it's not my fault that brands love to gift me pretty things and you… well . " she fluttered her fingers at his slightly-looser-than-normal tight jeans.

" Hmm .. " he hummed, tempted to flick the stack of dainty, amrapali golden chains that sat delicately on her collarbones, " whatever you say. I'm sure Lando appreciates your outfit . "

" And what's that meant to mean ? "

" - Excuse me ? "

" Just saying - "

" Saying what ? Are you just jealous that I can pull of colours unlike you, who stays about monochromatic as a pair of granny panties . "

" Woah-h-h, big words for miss 'I'm here cause I couldn't get a modeling gig ' "

" - Excuse me ? "

" Oh, just because I have the assets - " she gestured at her breasts and face, "- to do modelling, you're bitter ? don't worry, we can get you a push up bra from Forever 21. You'll fit right in"

" Excuse me ? "

" - What ? "

" We're ready for you, " an onset assistant, who looked too scandalised for her own good, motioned for them to step into the filming room.

They mouthed silent insults and unnecessarily pointed to one another, as they pushed through the inconveniently small door.

" And… we're stuck. this is all your fault max . " aisha hissed, crossing her arms as selflessly as she could muster whilst being pressed chest to chest with an equally uncomfortable Dutchman who propped a palm up- just above the crown of her head on the short doorway.

" my fault ? " he retorted, face growing redder with each second they spent sharing breath, " you're the one with india's remaining crown jewels on her person ."

" well maybe if your entitled ancestors didn - "

" oh shut up, it was the british and you know it . "

Luckily, the assistant had noticed their predicament and rushed over to undo the deadbolt lock to the second door, allowing the two to stumble away from each other.

They had thankfully remained silent as the rest of the filming crew grew more and more entertained with their squabbling, merely following the polite instructions and taking their seats as denoted by the white, masking tape markers stuck onto the plush seats.

" ROLLING "

" Welcome back everyone to a new season of formula 1 ! " the chirpy interview babbled to the largest camera before turning to the drivers who sat in line with her, watching her neutrally as they both accepted small, clip on microphones.

" Today we have … " she trailed off, giggling at Aisha who struggled to slip on the clasp of the tech in her hand, the plastic mechanism clacking obnoxiously at each failed attempt.

" Max, from our very own red bull garage ," she turned to max, who was already set himself up and was now sitting straighter in his tufted, indigo seat. He waved at the camera and politely smiled.

The interviewer glanced at Aisha as she victoriously gasped and raised her hands happily when the microphone stayed put, tucked between her skin and top, " … and aisha, rookie of the season down from porsche . "

Aisha waved at the camera, a serene smile playing on her lips.

" We're here to play a quick fire round of questions with the grids current champion , " she gestured to max, " and this years fresh meat . " she pointed her stack of cards at aisha.

" I'll be asking you both questions about each other, and whoever guesses correctly the fastest, will win a point . it's all about testing if your racing chemistry translates to real-life friendship ! "

" What friendship ? " max deadpanned, fiddling with his fingers.

" Can we do this one thing without you letting people know you hate me ? or is it too hard for the 3X world champion to multi-task ? "

The interviewer's eyes ping-ponged between them before her grin became artificially wider and she screeched a shrill, " Let's begin ! "

" alright max, what is aisha's favourite track to race ? "

the driver jumped at his name and the camera lens zoomed into his determined expression as he glanced between aisha's anticipatory face and the air, as if he were begging the particles for the answer.

" one second "

" she's said this before.. " he tried, clapping his hands nervously.

" i have, " aisha shrugged, egging him on.

" it was one of those times where she wouldn't shut up. "

" two seconds "

" come on max, it's so easy, i've raced there in f2 as well ... "

" yeah- cause i had the f2 races on while i was training, "

" three seconds "

" wow you're bad at this, " aisha huffed out, landing back against her chair with a relaxed flop.

max bounced his knee, forcibly shutting his eyes and harshly pressing his fingers into them as he pieced together his answer, " it's... shit... is it ?.. suzuka ? "

"- oh for fuck sake ! "

" - you are correct ! one point to max "

CURRENT SCORE : 0 - 1

" okay, aisha, If max could race in any era of Formula 1, past or present, which one would she choose ? "

" how come i get the piss hard one ? "

" cause you'll never actually get hard otherwise.." max mumbled.

" oh fuck off. "

" language guys, our editors aren't paid enough to censor all of this ."

aisha hooked her ankles together before leaning forward and hummed thoughtfully, " maybe... i don't think he's even mentioned this..." she plucked at her dangling earring as she continued to oscillate in recollection.

he shrugged, " i don't think i have actually."

" one second "

" wait... wait..." aisha hurried out, holding her palm out, " i have to choose wether he's too egotistical for my geuss.."

" oh please, " max sassed, " take your time, i'm sure my ego has alot to dissect. "

aisha scrunched up her face sourly, " yeah it does- like your unsolved daddy issues. "

" always the daddy issues ." he threw his hands up, " atleast be creative."

" two seconds "

" okay okay, hmmm, the 2021 season ? " aisha screwed her eyes shut, just incase she was wrong, " he would love to relive his first WDC . "

" that is..." the interviewer patted her legs quickly, continously creating a monotonous beating sound, " correct ! point to aisha . "

CURRENT SCORE : 1 - 1

" last one for max, if he gets this one, he wins, if not, then aisha gets a chance . "

max nodded determinedly, his mouth set in a hard line, "ready."

" wow, okay, " the interviewer gawked at his statue-like intensity, " uhm, what is aisha's pre-race ritual . "

aisha kicked her chin up, ready to watch max blubber over his last question, nobody knows her pre-race ritual, she was diligent enough to keep it hidden.

" so, i know she calls her parents around.. an hour before the race, " he paused mid-way to grin like a cheshire at her increasingly suspicious look, " and, i also know she has a playlist she listens to, mostly hozier.. but, without fail she.." max snaps his fingers, the final peice flickering to life like a broken tube light, "... she always.. can i say this ? "

aisha's face popped, cheeks flushing dangerously quickly, " can he ? "

" i.." the interviewer looked out the small tech crowd behind the camera who all gave her the same, confused shrug, ushering her to continue, " i assume so."

" she always wears.. ehm.. a pair of white underwear ." he mumbles the last phrase, avoiding eye-contact with anyone within the room whilst scratching the back of his neck.

" max ! " aisha smacked his shoulder in outrage, "wha- i mean why- but how ? " she spat out, her words merging within eachother until they tumbled out in an unintelligble spew.

" we didn't get that, she wears what ? "

" white.. undergarments, " max hesitantly answered.

the interviewer blinked a few times before gulping heavily and clearing her throat, " well thats a gross violation ! but let's just gloss over that. "

CURRENT SCORE : 1 - 2

" and for the sake of not continuing this hell-game, max is the winner. congratulations. " she clapped her hand gently against her queue cards.

"yeah.. well done.. bro " aisha muttered, dissociating from her surroundings to protect herself from further embarrassment that may just allow her already erratic heart to jump out of her ribcage.

" i don't feel like a winner," max joined her monotone lilt, eyes wide and wet, maintaing an unwwavering stare at the white wall that stood proud behind the myriad of wires.

MUTUALS GET INSTANT TAGS [@vroomvroomcircuit, @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon, @lorarri], OTHERS [@weekendlusting, @woozarts, @mellowarcadefun, @paintedbypoetry, @33-81, @kazuha-pista-badam, @inejghafawifesblog,d3kstar, @itsjustkhaos, @tremendousstarlighttragedy, @xoscar03,@nichmeddar, @sisinever], IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, PLEASE SEND IN AN ASK !

#f1 #f1 fanfiction #Max Verstappen #Max Verstappen imagine #Max Verstappen fanfic #Max Verstappen fluff #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 fic #f1 drabble #f1 fandom #f1 x female reader #f1 fluff #f1 smut #f1blr #[darlingwrites]#[formulaforlove]

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