#Pre-Fight Press Conference

[popsixsquishcicerolipschitz]

UFC 299: Pre-Fight Press Conference

[sonjackcarl]

[norrisainz33]

the call || platonic grid & gr63

☆ summary: y/n y/l/n gets a call up to race for alpine with 6 races left in the 2024 season and she’s got something to prove.

☆ pairing: platonic!grid x crush!george russell x rookie!female!reader

☆ fc & warnings: no fc. some hate comments and poor grammar on my end

☆ a/n: i was inspired by franco and liam getting called up to race for the remainder of the season and here we are. no hate to este bestie, just pretending dw. this is not supposed to be accurate to exactly how things have been playing out. smau mixed with writing!!

part 2 | part 3

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

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f1: 🚨 breaking: y/n y/l/n will be racing under the number 95 for alpine for the remainder of the 2024 season alongside pierre gasly. y/n’s first race will be the united states grand prix. this is the first time since 1992 that a woman has raced in a grand prix format - this will be a historic weekend.

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user1: this is the best thing to ever happen to me you don’t understand

pierregasly: ready to attack the rest of the season with you ynuser!!

ynuser: here’s to a strong finish 💪🏻

alpinef1team: we can’t wait to have our girl on track!

user12: they really think a woman is going to be any better than what they had??? please….

user1: oh you are miserable. get out of here

georgerussell63: epic! ynuser i am so proud of you

ynuser: 🤍 see you in austin

user2: i can’t believe im witnessing a woman f1 driver in my life time. i am crying real tears of joy

landonorris: from our karting days to f1. you are amazing ynuser! looking forward to being on track with you

ynuser: so glad to be racing with you again lando 🤍

user3: this is monumental

user6: we got a woman in f1 before gta6

✿

you sat in silence staring down at the paperwork in front of you. everyone had long since left returning to their duties, allowing you to process what you had just been told. “it’s really happening,” you whispered feeling tears welling in your eyes. you were about to become an f1 driver - a real life f1 driver!! and no, not just a reserve driver who did nothing but the sim all day every day. your shoulders sagged as you blew out a sigh. “it was all worth it,” you thought back to the years of blood, sweat and tears put into racing — from leaving the comfort of your childhood home to go karting in europe, to watching your parents give up everything to make sure your dreams came true, to finding yourself in f1 academy where you won the championship, to fighting for a chance to race in f2 and becoming the only woman to finish in the points - you had given everything to this sport and you were finally getting your chance.

you picked up your phone and dialed your best friend. “y/n? hi! did you have your meeting yet?!”

“i’m going to drive the rest of the season,” you said softly.

“WHAT?!” your best friend practically screamed into the other end of the phone.

“i’m taking the second alpine seat!!! im going to be starting in austin.” the tears of happiness started falling now.

“oh my god y/n/n!!!! YOU DID IT BABY YOU DID IT!” you could hear your best friend jumping up and down in excitement.

“i did it.”

✿

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user1: i can't explain to you how excited i am to see you on track this weekend y/n

pierregasly: jealous you got the media duties with the horses and not the american football team like i did.....

ynuser: HAHA idk why they didnt send us together

pierregasly: they knew our joint slay would be too much to handle

user7: as a young woman in a male dominated field... thank you for representing us. i love you and i am so proud of you

yourbff: my flight lands in exactly 1 hour and i am shaking with excitement

ynuser: if you think you're shaking with excitement you should see me... just got word im in the pre race press conference with george and max v......... pray for me girl

yourbff: okok we knew this was going to happen. of course they'll want to talk to you!! you're the new face on the grid

ynuser: is it bad to admit im afraid?

yourbff: admitting you’re afraid just means you’re human y/n. you're allowed to feel

ynuser: idk what i'd do with out you

yourbff: you'll never have to know! now go get ready!! i'll be there just in enough time to make the conference start.

yourbff: p.s your media day fit absolutely ate that dress and the cowgirl hat was lethal. f1 should be thanking you for being such a baddie

georgerussell63: howdy ms y/n

ynuser: howdy georgie --- see you at the press conference 🙂‍↔️

georgerussell63: looking forward to it

landonorris: NEIGHHHH

ynuser: lando?

landonorris: sorry was pretending to be one of those horses so you'd pay attention to me

ynuser: hahahahaha you muppet. ive missed you

landonorris: i missed you too y/n/n! believe it or not i miss fighting it out on track with you too. ready to smoke ya just like i did in our karting days

ynuser: i mean you are in a mclaren and have a lot of practice so id certainly hope you were faster than me

landonorris: well when you put it like that its not as fun.......

user9: bought an alpine hat and am bedazzling a shirt with your name on it as we speak

✿

the alpine pr team had wasted no time sitting you down as soon as you got to austin. they ran through what to expect from your media duties, how to respond to any and all questions that might be thrown your way and how to save face if needed but somehow as you sat down on the iconic white couch and looked out at the crowd of reporters forming in front of you, you felt all of that training start to fail you. the nerves were taking over as george and max took their spots to your right. you were thankful when the british driver gave you a reassuring smile and a slight nod letting you know it was ok.

"good afternoon and welcome to the 2024 united states grand prix!" the interviewer beamed at the camera before turning his attention to the three of you. "today we are joined by max verstappen, george russell and formula 1's newest driver, y/n y/l/n."

the interviewer started by asking max about the championship and how he was feeling about lando continuing to close the gap. you used that time to steady your breathing, knowing a question was headed your way at any moment. "y/n, first of all, i want to say congratulations!" the interviewer grinned and you smiled back. "you are coming into this season with only 6 races left and a rather tall order to get up to speed quickly for some points and fight for a seat on the grid in 2025. how are you feeling about it all?"

you sighed, relieved at an easy first question, "thank you! i'm trying to take it all in stride. it's definitely a tall order because these guys have had 19 races to get a feel for their cars, work with their teams, and solidify their standings… i'm going to have exactly one free practice to learn everything before heading into sprint qualifying and i think that puts me a little bit on the back foot. though, i am more confident than ever that i can pull out some points and finish this season strong for alpine."

the interviewer nodded along intently as you spoke, "do you think being the first female in formula 1 since 1992 also puts you a bit on the back foot?"

this. this was the type of question you were dreading. you knew what it was like to be questioned about your skills purely because you were a woman, it had been happening throughout your entire life but that didn't mean it still didn't get to you. you picked your mic back up but before you could say anything into it, george was already speaking, "i don't think thats a fair question to ask. her being a woman has nothing to do with her racing, let us not forget that she is here for a reason. y/n has an incredibly impressive resume and i'd be happy to recite it for you if you need the reminder."

*george fcking russell. the man that you are* you thought as a smirk formed on your face. "thank you george," you said managing to keep your voice steady as you continued, "i don't think being a woman puts me on the back foot at all. it's 2024 - i think we're past the point of asking questions like this. I may be the first woman in way too long to race in a grand prix but i certainly will not be the last." you put the microphone down, daring the interviewer to say something in return but instead he turned his attention back to max and kept it there for the remainder of the session which you weren't mad about at all.

✿

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ynuser: p9 baby!!!!!! i scored two points!!!! cota - thank you for the love and for an incredible first weekend in formula 1. i will never forget you 🤍

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user9: best weekend of my life!!!! first gp i’ve ever been to and i got to meet you at the fan zone!! i couldn’t have asked for more

alpinef1team: try not to say goat challenge failed

ynuser: 🤍🩷

user10: i sobbed watching you cross the line

pierregasly: points points points points

ynuser: you next bestie!!

pierregasly: we’re going to both score big this triple header i just know it

user13: i love how these two have become instant friends. i hope alpine doesn’t split my family up in abu dhabi

user44: history - we’re watching you make history

francisca.cgomes: i don’t think you understand how attached i am to you now y/n

ynuser: and i don’t think you understand how much i love you kika. legally you have to come to all the rest of the races please and thank you

francisca.cgomes: for you? done!

pierregasly: um? hello?

ynuser: im sorry p.. look away

yourbff: i have no words. i love you more than life itself

ynuser: i love you - thank you for being there

landonorris: statement MADE

ynuser: 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

georgerussell63: i’m so proud of you im about to openly weep

ynuser: we can openly weep together

carlossainz55: congrats y/n!

ynuser: thank you carlos 🤍

francolapinto: viva y/n!

ynuser: viva franco!

lewishamilton: 🤍🤍

ynuser: 🩷🩷

user15: noticing so many of the drivers here supporting her is everything

user4: and the fact that so many of them are praising her efforts and talking so highly of her in interviews 🥹

user15: everyone loves her (except for the rbr duo, did you see her and checo having words after that race?)

user4: omg yeah grandpa was pissed but honestly he’s probably just worried she’s going to take his seat

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user9: pretty, talented, smart … you’re the whole package

landonorris: hell yeah it does. the car will be here in about an hour! meet us in the lobby?

ynuser: yes!! assuming we shouldn’t come down too early since we run the risk of people being down there?

landonorris: yeah, no more than 5 mins before

user10: hottest person on the grid no doubt

georgerussell63: blimey i’m excited

ynuser: me too! i need a drink after this weekend

georgerussell63: you better get used to it y/n! this is your life now

ynuser: and i’m glad it is 🤍

user14: i think i have a crush on you

oscarpiastri: hi

ynuser: hi oscar!! did lando send you the details for tonight?

oscarpiastri: yes he did!

pierregasly: me and kika are ready to GO

ynuser: me and y/bff are too! let’s get this party started

user11: keep this momentum going into mexico y/n!!

user4: we needed a chronically online it girl in this sport so bad im so glad you’re here

✿

george poured you another glass of champagne as you giggled, "i should really be sick of champagne by now but i don't know that i ever will be."

"well thats good y/n/n! you're going to be drinking a lot more of it soon enough," george said loud enough that you could hear him over the music. the club was packed with more people than you would've expected for sunday evening especially a sunday evening in texas but here you were in a packed club chugging champagne with old and new friends. oscar, lily, carlos, rebecca, lando, george, pierre, kika, franco, charles and alex all came out with you and y/bff and you were honestly a bit shocked by the turn out. though you should've known that lando and george were not going to let you celebrate by yourself.

you had grown up with the two of them on the karting track and you even managed to be in f2 in the same year george won the championship. they meant a lot to you -- you looked up to them since the start so to have their unwavering support now that you made it to f1 meant more than you could express. none of this was going to be easy but being surrounded by a strong support system would make it a lot less painful.

you smiled up at george as he downed the last bit of his cocktail, intently watching as the last little bit dripped from the side of his mouth. you took a big gulp reminding yourself of the room of people around you. that was another thing that was around since your karting days... your massive crush on george. while you both had seen other people between now and then, there was no doubt that it was still alive and well. but as far as that was concerned, it was a bit of a one sided crush. it's not that george had ever told you outright that he wasn't interested, you just never had the guts to tell him and he only ever made one move and has been ignoring that it happened since. the closest you two ever got to something more than friends was the night after he won the f2 championship. you two were inseparable during that season so when he asked you to come with him back to his hotel room after his massive party, you didn't think twice about it. you two flopped down onto the bed with your takeaway meal fresh in front of you and the tv turned on to some animated movie you couldn't remember the name of. george was sitting close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off of his body from where he gently was resting against yours. "y/n/n," he whispered causing you to look up at him, "i love you." you smiled, having heard him say this many times.. he was your best friend after all. "I love you too!" you responded and before you could process what happened, his lips were on yours. and unfortunately for you, thats about where that ended. george realized what he was doing and absolutely panicked, begged you to forgive him and to not talk about it again so thats what you did. but on nights like this one, where he was looking fine as ever... it was hard not to long for him.

"helllooooooo earth to y/n!!!" lando almost shouted pulling you out of your thoughts.

"yes, yes! hi!" you rolled your eyes taking the drink out of his hand.

the rest of the night passed in a blur of celebrations, laughs and champagne. things were looking up and you couldn't be more excited for what the future held for you. you had done it. your dream had come true.

✿

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alpinef1team: 1 down. 2 to go. mexico city, here we come!

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: omg if you made it this far... thank you for reading!!! likes and reblogs are massively appreciated. i'm thinking of making this a series with y/n racing in the last few races of the season. if you liked this, let me know so i can judge if this will get a part 2!! much love 🫶🏻

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[x1asirene]

f1 driver!caleb as your bf headcanons | sfw ver.

✧ f1 driver!caleb is red bull's golden boy—charismatic in press conferences, lethal on track, and fiercely loyal to the team that gave him his shot. he’s not just known for his precision in overtakes—he’s known for making it painfully clear who he races for. whether he’s fighting for pole or brushing off reporters with sharp charm, the paddock knows one thing for sure: caleb doesn’t go anywhere unless you’re coming with him.

✧ f1 driver!caleb has a delicate imprint of your lipstick, outlined in permanent white, marked on the left side of his helmet visor. it started as a joke after you kissed it pre-race once, but he had it painted on for good—says it’s his version of a lucky charm, but truthfully, it’s just because you’re part of every win he wants to have

✧ f1 driver!caleb will drag you to go-kart tracks at the weirdest times—midnight, early mornings, off-season—and let you win every single time while acting defeated. but if you so much as raise an eyebrow and say, “that’s the best you’ve got, mr bull?” he will race you like you’re his fiercest rival on the grid. dirty tricks, blocking, drifting—full-on war. and he grins the whole time.

✧ f1 driver!caleb refuses to let you wear the standard guest badge. instead, he loops his official paddock pass—his photo, name, team credentials, everything—around your neck like it’s a VIP tag and a public declaration rolled into one. “you’re not a guest,” he tells you. “you belong here, pipsqueak. with me.”

✧ f1 driver!caleb’s car number, gloves, and suit is the date you two got together—an easter egg that fans didn’t catch until long after you went public. when asked about it, he says, “best day of my life,” and “figured i’d carry it into every finish line.”

✧ f1 driver!caleb doesn’t go quiet out of spite after a bad race—he just retreats into his own head. for hours, he replays the race, watches the telemetry, pinpoints every wrong move. you don’t take it personally. you just wait in the hotel room or his driver room until he’s ready—when he appears, he always finds you, folds himself into your arms, and murmurs, “i needed to fix myself before i came home to you.”

✧ f1 driver!caleb tucks little love notes, charms, and silly scribbles you give him into his race suit—usually inside his glove or chest pocket. he swears it brings him luck, even if he rolls his eyes when you tease him for it.

✧ f1 driver!caleb keeps a photo strip of the two of you tucked into his passport. it’s old, a little faded, and taken in a cheap booth before you ever went public. he says it’s the one thing that reminds him where home is when he’s traveling 200 days a year.

✧ f1 driver!caleb gets slightly distracted on track if something reminds him of you—your initials on a fan’s sign, someone playing your favorite song over the loudspeakers. it throws him off for a second. just a second. but he smiles.

✧ f1 driver!caleb has a habit of tapping twice on your thigh with his fingers. in the car, during interviews, while watching telemetry—it’s his way of saying “you good?” without speaking.

✧ f1 driver!caleb brings you along not just to races, but to test days, simulator runs, promo shoots—because he performs better when you’re around. even just knowing you’re waiting in the hospitality suite steadies him. “when you’re here, i don’t miss a corner.”

✧ f1 driver!caleb uses his official race calendar to plan your rest time—circling breaks, underlining low-pressure weeks, building in spa days and lazy mornings for you. he treats your mental health like it’s part of his race prep.

✧ f1 driver!caleb has delayed his own departure for a grand prix just to wait for you to finish packing. his team knows better than to question him about you or schedule things too tight when you’re traveling together. “she’s coming, or i’m not going.”

✧ f1 driver!caleb hates traveling to races without you. he’ll sulk the entire flight, complain to his race engineer, and text you nonstop from the paddock. “it’s not the same without you,” he’ll say, phone resting on his chest like a lifeline between debriefs.

✧ f1 driver!caleb only follows three accounts on Instagram: you, @F1, and @redbullracing. no teammates, no sponsors, no friends. just the sport, the team, and you. when asked about it in interviews, he shrugs and says, “what else do i need? that’s everything i race for.” (he’s lying—he has a private alt where he follows dog accounts, meme dumps, absurdly niche tire compound theories—and the best of all, five nights at freddy’s theory pages. you’re the only one who knows about it—he once begged you not to expose his comment under a post that said, “what if freddy fazbear ran sylus’s tire strategy?” with, “freddy fazbear would’ve double-stacked mediums in the rain like a war crime and still outplaced him.”, and “hard compound freddy would’ve never let ferrari cook. be so fr rn.”)

✧ f1 driver!caleb isn’t afraid of confrontation when it comes to your name being in someone else’s mouth. the moment he hears another driver make a crude comment about you—even if it’s behind closed doors or in front of the cameras—he’ll call them out, cold and sharp: “keep my girl’s name out of your fuckin’ mouth, or you won’t be walking back into that damn paddock.”

# do not repost, translate, or upload my work to any other platforms. tumblr reblogs are welcome and appreciated, but reposting outside of this blog is not permitted !

— ✦ © @ x1asirene, tumblr 2025 ✧

[pucksandpower]

Live Like We Want To

Charles Leclerc x Wolff!Reader x Lewis Hamilton

Summary: there’s only one thing harder than keeping a relationship between two of the paddock’s most prominent figures hidden … keeping a relationship between three of the paddock’s most prominent figures hidden

Warnings: 18+ content

Based on this request

The drivers settle on the awkwardly shaped white couch, microphones clipped carefully to the collars of their shirts, waiting for the pre-race press conference to begin.

Lewis fiddles with his Mercedes cap, lost in thought. Lando and Daniel banter back and forth, Lando ribbing Daniel about his recent attempts to be artsy on Instagram and Daniel giving as good as he gets.

The moderator steps up to begin the press conference. After a few standard questions about the track and the upgrades the teams have brought, it’s time for the driver questions.

A reporter looks over at Lewis. “Lewis, you and Y/N seem very close lately. There’s been speculation you two might be dating. What do you say about that?”

Lewis opens his mouth but before he can respond, Daniel jumps in. “Oh come on, we all know Lewis is way too old for Y/N! She needs someone younger and spicier.” He winks at the camera.

Lando chuckles. “Too right, mate. Y/N deserves a fun guy who actually knows how to have a good time, not someone almost eligible for a senior discount.”

Lewis forces out a rehearsed laugh. “Hey now, I’m not that old!”

“Face it, the age gap is just too much. She needs someone closer to her own age, like me!” Lando says with a grin.

“You?” Daniel scoffs. “Please, Y/N needs a real man to show her a good time, not some baby-faced kid.”

“Who are you calling a kid?” Lando shoots back. “I’m mature for my age!”

Max, who has been quiet up until now, suddenly pipes up. “Actually, I think Y/N and I would make a great match ...”

The other drivers swivel their heads to look at him. “You?” Daniel says in disbelief.

“Why not?” Max shrugs. “We’ve got a connection.”

Lewis grits his teeth, struggling to stay quiet. He wants to tell them all to back off, that you’re taken. But he knows he can’t reveal the truth about your relationship, as much as it pains him to stay silent.

Lando laughs. “Mate, she’s way out of your league!”

“Oh yeah? I could get her if I wanted to,” Max says defensively.

Daniel grins and claps Max on the back. “Ooh, those are fighting words! You don’t stand a chance.”

Max crosses his arms. “Maybe she likes a bad boy. I’m more exciting than any of you.”

“Exciting? You?” Lando pretends to yawn. “All you ever think about off the track is sim racing! That’s not exciting, it’s dull.”

“Hey! Sim racing is very intense and takes a lot of skill,” Max says indignantly.

Lewis has finally had enough. “Alright guys, maybe we should change the subject. I’m sure Y/N can decide for herself who she wants to spend time with, without all of us bickering over her.”

Lando ignores Lewis and looks back at Max, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I bet I could get Y/N to go out with me before you can.”

“You’re so on!” Max says.

Daniel shakes his head. “Woah now, let’s leave the poor girl out of your competition. Especially since neither of you have a chance anyway.”

“Oh really? I suppose you think you’re the obvious choice?” Max says sarcastically.

“Obviously!” Daniel replies with a cocky grin.

As the three younger drivers continue with their posturing, Lewis pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly. He catches the moderator’s eye and nods, signaling it’s time to move on.

The moderator clears his throat. “Alright, next question ...”

After the press conference ends, Lewis hurriedly gathers his things. As he’s walking out of the media center, Max catches up to him.

“No hard feelings about all that, mate?” Max says sheepishly.

Lewis musters up a smile. “Of course not. It was all in good fun.”

“Cool.” Max nods. “For what it’s worth, I don’t actually have a thing for Y/N. I was just messing around back there.”

“I know, I know,” Lewis says, clapping Max just a tad too hard on the shoulder before turning to go. Over his shoulder he calls out, “May the best man win!”

Max laughs and shakes his head as Lewis walks away.

Lewis enters the Mercedes garage and immediately spots you chatting with the engineers. His heart skips a beat like it always does when he sees you. A vision in a crop top and skinny jeans, your hair cascading over your shoulders as you lean over a data sheet, nodding intently.

So beautiful.

You glance up and spot Lewis. Your face lights up, a radiant smile spreading across it. Lewis grins back, the stress of the press conference fading away.

He waits until you’re done talking to the engineers, then pulls you discreetly aside. In an empty meeting room, Lewis wraps you in a tight embrace.

“Hi baby,” he murmurs, nuzzling your hair.

You cling to him. “I missed you. How was the press conference?”

Lewis hesitates. “It was … interesting.”

You pull back to look at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Well, there were some questions about us. Our relationship.”

Your eyes widen. “What did you say?”

“Nothing! Don’t worry, I didn’t reveal anything. But the other drivers jumped in with their opinions.”

You groan. “Do I even want to know?”

Lewis runs an agitated hand through his hair. “Well, apparently I’m way too old for you. Daniel, Lando, and Max all started competing over who would be your best match.”

You snort. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I know, I know,” Lewis says. “I wanted to tell them you’re mine, but ...”

“You did the right thing keeping quiet,” you say gently, taking his hands in yours. “We knew this wouldn’t be easy, keeping our relationship a secret.”

Lewis sighs. “I just hate not being able to claim you as my girlfriend in public. Having to pretend I don’t care when other guys flirt with you.”

You squeeze his hands supportively. “I know. But my dad would freak if he knew I was dating you. He’s so overprotective. And the press would have a field day if they found out Lewis Hamilton was seeing Toto Wolff’s daughter.”

“You’re right,” Lewis says. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

You smile softly at him. “Just think, one day we won’t have to hide anymore. We’ll be out and proud for the whole world to see.”

Lewis grins. “I look forward to that day.” He pauses, gazing at you tenderly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper.

Lewis glances around quickly before pulling you in for a passionate kiss. All the stress and frustration of pretending melts away as your lips meet.

You come up for air a few moments later, both flushed. “We should get back before someone notices we’re gone,” you murmur.

Lewis nods reluctantly. “See you after quali?”

“Definitely.” You give him one more quick peck then slip out of the room, back to the bustle of the paddock.

Lewis watches you leave, his heart full.

One day there will be no more hiding. One day you’ll be free to share your love with the world.

He just has to be patient. You’re worth the wait.

***

You’re sitting outside of Mercedes hospitality between practice sessions, chatting with Mick Schumacher. Mick is eagerly telling you about his experience getting to take the W15 out in FP1 that morning when Charles Leclerc wanders over.

“Hello Y/N, Mick,” Charles says with an easy smile.

“Oh hey Charles, what’s up?” You say casually, hoping he makes this quick. Ever since that silly press conference, Charles has been popping up everywhere trying to get your attention.

“Not much. You’re looking beautiful as always,” Charles says, ignoring Mick and focusing his gaze on you.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Um, thanks?”

Mick glances between you two and starts to stand up. “I’ll give you guys some space.”

“No, stay!” You say quickly, grabbing Mick’s arm. You turn back to Charles. “Did you need something?”

“Just wanted to come say hi, see how you’re doing.” Charles drags over a chair and sits down close beside you. Too close.

You slide your chair away ever so slightly. “I’m fine, thanks. Just hanging with Mick.”

Charles nods, but his eyes stay fixed on you. “Have you given any more thought to grabbing dinner sometime? I know this great little restaurant in the city, very private and intimate.”

“That’s really nice of you, but I’ll have to pass,” you say politely. Mick looks back and forth between you two, a faint smirk on his face.

Charles pouts. “Come on, it would be fun! No pressure, just two friends enjoying a nice meal.”

You resist the urge to laugh. Does he really think you’re that naive? “Sorry Charles, but I’m going to be really busy this weekend. Raincheck?” You have no intention of ever taking him up on the offer, but maybe it will get him to back off for now.

“Playing hard to get? I like it,” Charles winks.

You bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying what you really think. Time for a subject change. “So, you feeling good about the race this weekend?”

Charles sighs, finally moving away from the topic of dating you. “I think the car has potential, but Red Bull are still the ones to beat.”

You nod. “Very true. They have been especially dominant here the past few years.”

“We’ll see what happens. Maybe I can get pole and shock them all,” Charles says with a smile.

You chat about racing for a few more minutes before glancing at your phone. “Oh shoot, I have to get going. Meeting with my manager.” You stand up quickly. “See you later Charles. Bye Mick!”

Charles grabs your hand as you start to walk away. “Leaving already? At least let me walk you to your garage.”

You pull your hand back, perhaps a bit too forcefully. “I’m fine, thanks. Stay and chat with Mick!” You give them a little wave before briskly walking off.

As you make your way through the paddock you hear footsteps behind you. Glancing back you see Charles jogging to catch up with you. You bite back a groan.

“Y/N, wait up!” Charles calls after you. He hurries to your side, slightly out of breath. “Sorry, I just thought I should properly apologize for being so forward back there. I don’t want you to feel pressured or uncomfortable.”

You stop walking and turn to face him. “It’s okay, Charles. I know you didn’t mean any harm.”

He looks relieved. “Good, I’m glad. The last thing I want is to upset you.” He shuffles his feet, looking down shyly. “I really do think you’re amazing, Y/N. Any guy would be so lucky to be with you.”

You soften a bit. As persistent as he is, you know Charles is a good guy at heart. “Thank you. I think you’ll find the right girl someday.”

“Well, I was rather hoping the right girl was standing in front of me now,” Charles says earnestly.

You shake your head. “Charles ...”

“I know, I’m being too bold again,” he says. “Please, just consider it? One dinner. If you hate it and never want to see me again, I’ll accept that.”

You hesitate. Maybe it would be easier to just go, let him down gently in person. But no … that’s too risky. If word got out it could compromise everything with Lewis. As much as you want to set Charles straight, you just have to keep playing hard to get.

“Like I said, just too busy right now,” you say firmly. “I should get to my meeting.”

Charles nods, looking slightly dejected. “Of course. Well, the offer stands. I’m not giving up that easily.” He smiles and heads off with a small wave.

Over the next two days Charles remains persistent, finding excuses to talk to you in the paddock and complimenting you endlessly on social media. You continue dodging his invitations, letting him down as gently as you can.

Sunday morning you’re doing a photoshoot for British Vogue, posing on the track. Charles happens to walk by as you’re finishing up. He saunters over and leans on the barrier, watching you intently. The photographer notices him hovering and suggests you take a quick picture together.

Charles immediately hops the barrier and throws an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in close. You plaster on a smile as the camera flashes.

“Beautiful! What an attractive couple,” the photographer gushes.

You extricate yourself from Charles’ grip. “We’re not … I mean we’re just friends,” you mutter.

“My mistake!” The photographer says. Charles just grins.

After the photoshoot ends you try to make a quick exit but Charles catches up and falls into step beside you.

“One picture together and we’re already mistaken for a couple! It must be a sign,” Charles says playfully.

You resist rolling your eyes again. “Clearly you’re not getting the message here. I’m not interested in anything beyond friendship.”

Charles just smiles wider. “Ah, but friendship is the basis for any lasting romance. I’m happy to start as friends and see where it goes.”

You stop walking and turn to him. Time for some straight talk. “Charles. Listen to me. I do not want to date you. At all. Please stop asking.”

Charles’ smile finally falters slightly. “I see. My apologies, I clearly misread the situation.”

You feel a twinge of guilt at his crestfallen face. “It’s alright. I know you didn’t mean any harm. Let’s just forget it and move on.”

Charles nods, looking thoughtful. For a moment you think maybe he’s finally going to back off. But after a pause he says, “Well, since romance is off the table for now, friendship it is.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Is this guy for real?

Oblivious to your incredulous expression, Charles just keeps talking. “The season’s almost over, but I look forward to seeing much more of you next year when Lewis is my new teammate.” He winks.

It takes you a second to process his words. When they sink in your eyes go wide. “Wait, Lewis is joining Ferrari next season?”

“Oh, has it not been announced yet?” Charles grins mischievously. “My mistake. Forget I said anything.”

You grab his arm. “Charles, tell me!”

He mimes zipping his lips.

You groan in frustration. “Ugh, fine. Keep your secret for now.” You’ll get the truth out of Lewis later.

Charles just smiles innocently. “See you around, friend.” He strolls off with a little wave, finally leaving you in peace.

You shake your head as you watch him go. Next year is sure to be interesting with Charles around. But you take comfort knowing that no matter what, you and Lewis can get through it together.

***

The 2025 season kicks off in Melbourne. You’re wandering the paddock under the bright Australian sun, dodging TV crews and trying not to get run over by the team scooters zipping every which way.

As you pass by the Ferrari garage you peek inside, spotting Lewis talking to some engineers. He glances up and meets your eye, giving you a subtle smile before returning to his conversation.

Your heart flutters at the sight of him. It’s been nonstop media obligations since arriving in Albert Park and you haven’t had a moment alone with Lewis yet. Between his big move to Ferrari and the speculation about your relationship, you’ve been the center of attention.

You linger nearby, hoping to snag a private moment with Lewis. As you hover just outside the garage you hear footsteps approaching. Glancing over you see Charles strolling up, looking effortlessly cool in his team kit.

“Well hello there,” Charles says with a grin. “Come to wish me luck before qualifying?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling back. “You caught me. I snuck over to send positive vibes your way.”

Charles chuckles. “I knew you couldn’t resist coming to see me.”

You shake your head amusedly. Same old Charles. “Actually I was looking for Lew-” you stop yourself just in time. “Um, just wandering around saying hi to everyone!”

Charles’ eyes gleam knowingly but he doesn’t call you out on your near slip-up. “Of course. We’re happy to have Lewis join the Ferrari family. Should be a fun season.”

You nod. “Definitely. I might have to frequent the Ferrari garage more often,” you add teasingly.

“You’ll always be welcome here,” Charles says. “In fact, there’s an open seat on my side of the garage. You’re more than welcome to join.” He smiles invitingly.

You hesitate, tempted despite yourself. Before you can respond you hear Lewis calling Charles from inside the garage.

“Charles! The debrief is starting soon, let’s go.”

Charles turns back to you with an exaggerated sigh. “Duty calls. But think about my offer, yeah? Plenty of races left this season for you to cheer on your favorite driver.” He winks before jogging into the garage.

You catch Lewis’ eye as Charles brushes past him. Lewis gives you a questioning look, silently asking if you’re okay. You smile reassuringly before blowing him a subtle kiss and walking away.

Over the next few races you find yourself spending more time with Ferrari than you expected. You tell yourself it’s just to support Lewis in his first season with a new team, but a small voice in your head whispers that it’s really to see Charles.

Despite your better judgment, you can’t deny enjoying Charles’ flirty banter and shameless pursuit of you. And clearly he doesn’t intend to back down now that Lewis is his teammate. If anything, Charles seems more determined than ever to win your affection.

By the time the Chinese Grand Prix rolls around, you’re dangerously close to having a full blown crush on Charles. Sitting in the Ferrari garage watching him joke around with the mechanics, you have to refrain from staring at him too obviously.

After qualifying, you wait around hoping Lewis or Charles have time to sneak away for a bit. You spot Lewis first and flag him down. He follows you to a secluded spot behind the paddock.

“Great lap today,” you say, rising on tiptoes to kiss him congratulations.

Lewis smiles against your lips but you can tell his mind is elsewhere. “Thanks love. Listen, can we talk?”

You pull back, brow furrowing in concern. “Of course, what’s up?”

Lewis runs a hand over his face. “I wanted to ask how you’re feeling about this whole situation with Charles.”

You tense up slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And if I’m being honest … I’ve noticed some looks going the other direction as well.” Lewis keeps his voice neutral and non-accusatory.

You bite your lip. No point lying to him. “I’m sorry. I tried to ignore him at first but he’s just so charming and persistent. I swear nothing has happened between us though!” You add hastily.

Lewis rubs your shoulder reassuringly. “I believe you, don’t worry. But it seems there might be some mutual attraction there, even if you haven’t acted upon it. I think we should discuss that openly.”

You nod slowly. As nerve wracking as this conversation is, you appreciate Lewis’ calm approach. No jealousy or accusations, just honest communication.

“You’re right,” you say. “I’ve been trying really hard not to, but I can’t deny feeling drawn to Charles.” You look down, ashamed to admit it out loud.

Lewis lifts your chin gently. “Hey, it’s okay. Emotions aren’t always rational. I’m not upset with you.”

You smile gratefully. “You’re the best, you know that? What did I do to deserve someone so understanding?”

“Just got lucky I guess,” Lewis says with a wink, making you laugh. His expression turns serious again. “But we should figure out what to do moving forward. Any ideas?”

You take a deep breath. Time to put all cards on the table. “Well, there is one possibility. But it’s a bit unconventional ...”

Lewis raises his eyebrows. “I’m open to anything. What were you thinking?”

You rush out your words before you lose your nerve. “What if we brought Charles into the relationship? As in, invited him to be with us?”

Lewis’ eyes widen in surprise but he doesn’t immediately shoot down the suggestion. “You mean the three of us, together? Huh.”

He looks thoughtful. You fidget nervously awaiting his verdict. This could make or break everything.

Finally Lewis meets your anxious gaze. “I admit that’s not what I was envisioning … but I’m not opposed to at least exploring it.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Really? You’d be open to trying?”

Lewis nods slowly. “If we all discussed it openly and set clear boundaries, I would consider it. I want you to be happy, Y/N. Even if that means expanding our relationship.”

You throw your arms around him. “Thank you. You have no idea how much it means to have your support with this.”

Lewis hugs you tight. “Of course, love. We’re in this together.”

You chat excitedly about the possibility of bringing Charles into your private world. It’s risky, but maybe just crazy enough to work.

“Why don’t we invite him up to the penthouse tonight and see how the chemistry is?” Lewis suggests.

Your pulse quickens at the thought. “I think that’s a great idea.”

Lewis kisses you softly. “Alright then, it’s a date. I think you should go talk to Charles.”

Tonight will determine if you move forward as a trio or close the door on this tantalizing new dynamic. Either way, you’re grateful to be exploring it together with the man you love.

***

You smooth down your dress for the tenth time, nerves and excitement warring within you.

Tonight’s the night.

Taking a deep breath, you glance around the penthouse one more time. Candles cast a soft glow, music plays quietly in the background, and wine chills on the counter. Time to see if this fantasy can become a reality.

Lewis emerges from the bedroom looking unfairly hot, designer shirt hugging his muscular frame. He wraps you in his arms from behind, meeting your anxious gaze in the floor-length mirror.

“You ready for this, love?” He asks, lips brushing your neck.

You shiver and lean back into him. “I think so. Are you sure you’re okay with it though? We can call it off if you’ve changed your mind.”

Lewis smiles reassuringly. “I haven’t. We’ll take it slow and see how it feels. No pressure.”

You smile back gratefully. “Have I mentioned lately how amazing you are?”

“Mm, feel free to say it more,” Lewis teases, making you giggle. He kisses you tenderly. “Let’s do this.”

Right on cue, the doorbell rings. You and Lewis exchange one more weighted look before going to answer it.

You open the door to find Charles standing there, looking ridiculously handsome as always. His eyes widen almost comically as he sees Lewis over your shoulder.

“Lewis! What are you doing here?” Charles stammers out.

You bite your lip to hide a smile. “Why don’t you come in?”

Still looking baffled, Charles steps inside. You lead him to the sleek living room, Charles glancing around in confusion.

“Have a seat,” Lewis says kindly. Charles perches on the edge of the grey suede couch, visibly wondering what the hell is going on. You and Lewis sit across from him on the loveseat.

“So … is one of you going to explain what’s happening?” Charles asks slowly.

You look to Lewis. “Maybe you should start?”

Lewis nods and turns to Charles. “Right, so I’m sure you’re very confused about all this. But there’s something Y/N and I need to tell you.”

He reaches over and takes your hand. You give it a supportive squeeze.

“Y/N and I are together. Romantically,” Lewis reveals. “We’ve been dating in secret for over two years now.”

Charles’ eyes bug out of his head. “You two are … WHAT? Since when?”

“Since midway through the 2022 season,” you explain gently.

“But … but ...” Charles splutters. He looks between you and Lewis, dumbfounded. It would be comical if you weren’t so nervous.

“I know this must be shocking to hear,” you say. “We’ve had to keep it very quiet.”

Charles drags a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand. If you’re together, why am I here?”

You glance at Lewis. “Go on,” he says with an encouraging nod.

You turn back to Charles. “Well, the thing is … we’re very attracted to you too, Charles.”

Charles freezes, eyes zeroing in on you. “You … you are?” He whispers.

You nod, holding his gaze. “I tried to ignore it, but I have feelings for you. And Lewis and I have discussed exploring what it would be like if the three of us … were together.”

Charles just stares, mouth agape. You start to worry you’ve broken him.

“Charles?” You prompt gently. “Thoughts?”

Charles visibly shakes himself. “I just … I need a minute here,” he mutters. He puts his head in his hands, taking a few deep breaths.

You nod understandingly and fall silent, letting the information sink in. After a tense minute, Charles lifts his head.

“So you two want to try some kind of … polyamorous relationship? With me as your shared boyfriend?”

“Only if you’re interested,” Lewis clarifies. “We know it’s unconventional.”

Charles chews his lip thoughtfully. “And you would be okay sharing her?” He asks Lewis.

Lewis squeezes your hand. “It’s not about possessing her. It’s about all of us wanting to explore something together. I trust you both.”

Your heart swells with love for this incredible man. Charles looks touched as well.

“I appreciate you putting your trust in me,” Charles says earnestly. “This is a lot to process but … I’m open to trying.” He looks between you and Lewis. “I want this. If you’ll have me.”

Joy and arousal flood your body hearing those words. You glance at Lewis to confirm.

He smiles. “We want you, Charles.”

Charles’ eyes darken. He stands up from the couch and closes the distance between you. Gazing down at you, he brushes his fingers along your jaw. “Can I kiss you?” He asks softly.

You nod, heart hammering in your chest. Charles’ hand slides into your hair and he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is electric, your body lighting up everywhere you touch.

After a dizzying minute you break apart, flushed and breathless. Charles rests his forehead against yours, his eyes burning.

“I want you,” he whispers. “I want this.”

Your pulse racing, you turn and pull Lewis into a passionate kiss. You pour all your need and love into it, leaving no doubt that you want him just as much.

Lewis’ eyes are dark when you separate. Without a word, he stands and holds his hand out to Charles. Charles takes it immediately. They stare at each other for a weighted moment before Lewis reels him in for a searing kiss.

You can only watch, utterly mesmerized by the sight of the two gorgeous men exploring each other. They kiss aggressively, hands roaming over backs and arms. Finally they break apart, panting.

Charles turns to you, eyes blazing. In two strides he’s kneeling before you, hands on your thighs.

“Tell me you want this,” he rasps out. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I want this. I want this so much,” you affirm breathlessly.

Charles surges up to capture your lips again. Lewis moves behind you, peppering kisses down your neck and shoulders. Sandwiched between them, you’ve never felt more alive.

You have a fleeting thought that you should slow down, take things step by step. But as their hands and lips worship your body, reason melts away.

Tonight you’ll explore each other fully and forge this new bond that transcends convention. Tomorrow you can discuss logistics.

Charles kisses you hungrily while Lewis deftly unzips your dress, letting it slip to the floor. His hands glide over your newly exposed skin as Charles trails kisses down your neck to your lace-clad breasts.

Lewis reaches around to unclasp your bra, freeing your breasts to Charles’ eager mouth. You gasp and arch into his touch as his tongue swirls around one nipple, then the other.

Lewis captures your lips in a passionate kiss, swallowing your moans of pleasure. His hands roam your body, caressing your hips and rear before slipping into your panties. You keen against his mouth as his fingers find your slick heat.

Charles kisses his way down your trembling body until he’s kneeling before you. Locking eyes with you, he slowly peels off your panties. Lewis moves behind you, arms wrapped around you, hands still working their magic between your legs.

Charles parts your thighs and dives in hungrily. You cry out at the feeling of his mouth on you, the dual sensations pushing you quickly to the edge. Your pleasured screams echo through the penthouse as you come undone between these two incredible men.

They lay you gently on the plush rug, hands and mouths continuing to ignite fires across your hypersensitive skin. You reach for them frantically, needing to feel them too. Together you undress them with eager hands until all three of you are bare and flushed with need.

Lewis kisses his way down your body until his head is between your legs, stubble scratching deliciously against your inner thighs. His talented tongue gets to work, licking and sucking your sensitive bud as you grasp his braids, back arching off the rug.

Charles moves up your body to take a hard nipple in his mouth, fingers tweaking and plucking the other. The near-overstimulation makes you see stars, crying out louder as Lewis’ fingers join his mouth in driving you to euphoria.

As you come down from your high, panting and trembling, Charles captures your lips in a messy kiss. You taste yourself and your favorite body oil on his tongue as he grinds his hard length against your hip. Guiding him up further, you take him in your mouth eagerly, reveling in his groans of pleasure.

Lewis slides up behind you, hardness nudging your entrance. He pushes into you slowly, filling you up exquisitely. You moan around Charles in your mouth as Lewis sets a steady rhythm. Charles’ eyes are nearly black watching Lewis take you from behind.

Charles gently pulls out of your mouth, moving down to kiss Lewis passionately. Their tongues tangle as Lewis continues rocking into you. The erotic sight makes you clench around Lewis. Sensing you’re close, he reaches around to circle your clit until you shatter again.

As you float back down, Lewis slips out from behind you and lays on his back. You straddle him eagerly, taking him back inside your slick heat. Charles moves in behind you, grasping your hips. Feeling his tip brush your back entrance, you glance back and nod consent.

Charles pushes into your other hole slowly as Lewis praises you for taking them both so well. Sandwiched between their hard bodies, filled so exquisitely, you feel worshipped and desired. They find a synchronized rhythm, driving you higher until you’re screaming out your pleasure again.

Lewis follows you over the edge, your pulsing muscles milking him dry with a growl. Charles takes over, pounding into you relentlessly until he stills, spilling deep inside with a choked cry.

You collapse together in a satisfied, breathless tangle of limbs. Trading soft kisses and caresses, you bask in the afterglow of this new bond forged in passion. Staring into your boys’ sated eyes, you know you’ve found something extraordinary.

For now, you are content to let passion consume you, losing yourself in two sets of hands, two mouths worshipping every inch of you.

Tomorrow can wait. Tonight, your world has expanded to make room for three.

***

The new season is in full swing and your blossoming relationship could not be going better. Stealing moments alone is a challenge, but the time you spend together makes it all worthwhile.

The only downside is how difficult it is for Charles to hide his feelings for you in public. While Lewis has had practice concealing your relationship for years now, Charles is still learning restraint. His affection for you shines through in lingering looks and subtle touches that don’t go unnoticed.

During one pre-race press conference, things come to a head. You’re standing just off stage, watching proudly as Charles and Lewis field questions.

A reporter looks over at Charles. “Charles, we’ve noticed Y/N hanging around the Ferrari garage a lot this season. Any insight into why the daughter of the Mercedes team principal spends so much time with your team instead?”

Charles tenses, panic flashing across his face. Before he can respond, Pierre Gasly pipes up from the end of the table.

“She’s always welcome to spend time with Alpine too!” Pierre says with a playful wink your direction. “Our garage door is open for you anytime, chérie.”

Charles’ hand clenches into a fist under the table. You can see him biting his tongue, holding back from saying that you’re taken.

Lewis discretely reaches over and lays a calming hand on Charles’ arm. Charles takes a deep breath, the brief touch grounding him.

“Y/N is friends with many drivers, not just myself,” Charles says evenly. “She offers encouragement to everyone on the grid.”

You let out the breath you’d been holding. Crisis averted, for now. But the reporters look unsatisfied with Charles’ generic response.

One speaks up again. “Come on Charles, you two seem especially close lately. Anything you want to tell us about the nature of your relationship?”

Charles’ eyes flick towards you. He opens his mouth but hesitates.

Lewis jumps in. “Like Charles said, Y/N is a supportive friend to all the drivers. We’re lucky to have her around.” He steers the conversation to less dangerous waters and the questions about you cease.

After the press conference, Charles makes a beeline for you. Taking your hands, he searches your face anxiously.

“I’m so sorry. I nearly slipped up and exposed everything. I just couldn’t stand Pierre flirting with you like that.”

You smile reassuringly, touched by his protectiveness. “It’s okay, you stopped yourself in time. I know it’s not easy.”

Lewis joins you two in your hidden corner. He squeezes Charles’ shoulder comfortingly. “You handled it well, babe. I know firsthand how hard it is to stay silent.”

Charles sighs. “I don’t know how you’ve done this for so long. Lying about the woman I lo-” He stops himself. “About someone so important is torture.”

Your heart skips a beat. Lewis meets your gaze, equally affected by Charles’ unspoken words.

Taking Charles’ face in your hands, you kiss him sweetly. “I’m so lucky to have not just one, but two incredible men willing to go through all this for my sake. I promise, it won’t be forever.”

Charles relaxes into your touch. Lewis moves behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing the top of your head. Charles covers Lewis’ hands with his own. The three of you share a quiet, tender moment before stepping back out into the bustle of race day.

That evening after the race, the three of you finally have time alone back at the hotel. Lewis pours champagne while you massage the tension from Charles’ shoulders.

“What Pierre said today was out of line,” you murmur. “But you have nothing to worry about. I’m all yours, in every way that matters.” You press a kiss to his neck.

Charles twists to capture your lips. “I know. It just drives me crazy seeing other men try to take what’s mine.” His tone is playful yet possessive in a way that makes you shiver.

“Let them flirt all they want,” Lewis says, handing Charles a glass of champagne. “She only has eyes for us.”

You and Charles both smile at Lewis’ quiet confidence. Taking your glass, you raise it in a toast. “To the apples of my eye. Here’s to a long future together.”

You clink glasses and sip, eyes locking over the rims. Setting your glass aside, you take each of their hands in yours.

“I know keeping this secret isn’t easy. But it will be so worth it in the end, when we can stop hiding and be together openly. We just have to be patient a little longer.”

Lewis squeezes your hand, emotion shining in his eyes. “You’re worth the wait, darling.”

Charles cradles your face adoringly. “A thousand times over.”

Your heart swells being surrounded by such unwavering love and support. Despite the challenges, in this moment, everything feels exactly as it should.

The rest of the night is spent getting lost in each other, reaffirming the bonds between you. Fingers intertwined, bodies moving as one, you bask in the oasis you’ve created amidst the pressures of your public lives.

Tomorrow you’ll go back to pretending, dodging prying questions and curious stares. But here, cocooned in this hotel room, you’re simply three people entwined by love. Partners promising without words to stand united until the day your relationship can step into the light.

For now, secrecy is a small price to pay for a love unlike any other.

***

The azure waters of the Mediterranean glisten under the Sardinian sun as you lounge on the deck of the yacht. Lewis rubs sunscreen slowly over your shoulders, his touch sending tingles through your body.

Charles emerges from the water, rivulets streaming down his toned chest. He joins you on the loungers, shaking his wet hair playfully over you and Lewis. You squeal and swat him away, laughing.

These past two weeks sailing around Sardinia have been pure bliss. Finally you can be as affectionate as you want, stealing kisses and cuddling close without worrying who might see. You’ve explored every inch of this yacht and each other’s bodies. After keeping your relationship under wraps, it’s glorious being so free.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” you sigh contentedly.

“Soon, love,” Lewis says, pulling you close. “Just have to get through this season.”

Charles nods, trailing his fingers down your arm. “It will all be worth it in the end.”

You smile softly at them both, heart swelling with love. “You’re right. As long as we’re together.”

You while away the rest of the afternoon trading lazy kisses and caresses, basking in the sun and each other.

That night, fireworks burst bright over the inky sea. You tilt your head back against Charles’ chest, watching the rainbow sparks. Lewis nuzzles your neck from behind, arms wrapped around your waist.

“I love you both,” you whisper as gold and purple light up the sky. Charles kisses your temple while Lewis squeezes you gently. You’ve never felt so full of love and joy.

Then, you all fly to Lewis’ villa in Brazil for the rest of summer break. The days pass in a carefree blur — lounging by the pool, sunset walks on the beach, and passion-filled nights tangled together in bed.

Charles cooks dinner shirtless one evening, playfully feeding you and Lewis bites as you sip wine. Lewis pulls you into an impromptu dance around the kitchen, the three of you laughing breathlessly.

“If only this could never end,” you say wistfully, pulling them in for a group hug.

“One day, baby,” Lewis murmurs, kissing your hair. Charles rubs your back, gazing at you tenderly.

You etch every moment into your memory, from languid mornings waking up between them to romantic picnics at sunset on the beach.

If only you could freeze time and stay in this private paradise.

But of course, time marches on. Before you know it, the break ends and you’re headed to the Netherlands for the start of the second half of the season.

Walking through Zandvoort a friendly distance from Charles and Lewis, everything feels different now. You have to stop yourself from being too openly affectionate, hyperaware of prying eyes.

Lewis senses your tension. “Soon this will all be out in the open,” he reminds you softly. The secret aspect still weighs on you all, but the promise of a future without hiding lifts your spirits.

On Thursday, just a few days before the race, you’re leaving the motorhome when your phone explodes with notifications. With a sinking sense of dread, you open social media to see leaked paparazzi shots plastered everywhere — the three of you kissing on the yacht, Lewis’ hands blatantly grabbing your rear in Brazil, you and Charles making out poolside.

You stagger back against the wall, blood rushing in your ears. This is a nightmare. Your private oasis shattered, your relationship outed in the most public, scandalous way possible.

Charles exits behind you and his face pales seeing your expression. Lewis comes around the corner a second later and you wordlessly show him your phone screen.

“Fuck,” Lewis swears. “Where did these come from?”

“I don’t know, they’re everywhere,” you say shakily.

Charles peers over your shoulder, jaw clenched. “We’ll figure it out later. Right now we need to get you out of here.”

You’re confused only for a second before you hear the swell of voices and footsteps rapidly approaching. Security won’t hold the media mob back for long.

Charles and Lewis spring into action, flanking you protectively as you hurry back towards the entrance. Halfway there, the dam breaks as reporters and cameras flood the paddock. You freeze like a deer in headlights.

Chaos erupts, cameras flashing, mics shoved in your faces, everyone shouting questions at once. Charles and Lewis shield you from the onslaught, yelling for security. Two guards appear and help navigate you through the frenzy back into the Ferrari motorhome.

You collapse on the sofa, heart pounding. Lewis paces angrily while Charles punches the wall. “Fuck! We were so careful,” he rages.

You blink back panicked tears. “What do we do now?”

Lewis sits and pulls you into his arms. “We face it head on. No more hiding. We own this together.”

Charles kneels before you, clasping your hands. “I’m with you no matter what. We’ll get through this.”

You cling to them, anchoring yourself. As long as you have each other, you can survive the storm.

You’ve just managed to catch your breath when the door flies open. Your head whips up to see none other than your father storming in, fury etched on his face.

“What the HELL is going on here?” He thunders.

You shrink back against Lewis. This is already a disaster — but your enraged, overprotective father finding out like this? You brace yourself as his glare pins you in place, demanding an explanation.

Toto slams the door behind him, eyes blazing like you’ve never seen before.

“Would someone like to explain what the hell is going on?” He shouts. “Because I leave for a few weeks and suddenly my daughter is splashed all over the tabloids in compromising photos with her secret boyfriends!”

You shrink back against Lewis, tears pooling in your eyes. He wraps a protective arm around you.

“Toto, let’s all just take a breath and talk about this,” Lewis says calmly.

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!” Toto snarls, pointing a finger at Lewis. “You are supposed to be teammates and instead you’re … you’re ...” He splutters, at a loss for words.

“We’re in a relationship,” Charles says firmly, taking your hand. “The three of us.”

“A relationship?” Toto looks apoplectic. “She is my daughter!”

“Who makes her own choices,” Charles shoots back. “She’s an adult.”

Toto ignores him, glaring at Lewis and you. “I trusted you with her. And this is how you repay that trust?”

Lewis squeezes your shoulder gently before standing up to face Toto. “I understand you’re upset. But our relationship isn’t about you.”

“The hell it isn’t!” Toto shouts. “I am her father!”

“Stop yelling at them!” You cry out, tears spilling down your cheeks.

Toto falters slightly seeing your distress. Charles pulls you into his arms, stroking your hair and glaring at Toto.

“Can’t you see you’re upsetting her?” Charles snaps. “She doesn’t owe you an explanation.”

Toto looks back and forth between the three of you, anger warring with confusion. Lewis takes a cautious step toward him.

“I know this is a shock,” Lewis says evenly. “But we didn’t intend for it to come out like this.”

He gestures for Toto to have a seat. After a tense moment Toto sinks into the armchair, face still thunderous. Lewis sits back down beside you.

“Help me understand this,” Toto says tightly. “Clearly this … arrangement has been going on behind my back for some time.”

You take a shaky breath. “We’ve been together since the start of the season. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, but we knew you would react badly.”

Toto drags a hand down his face. “You cannot expect me to be happy about this. My daughter dating two men at once? One of whom used to be my employee?”

“We don’t need your approval,” Charles says firmly. “All that matters is that we love each other. Right?”

He looks at you and Lewis. You both nod, Lewis taking your hand supportively.

“She’s right,” Lewis tells Toto. “We don’t need your blessing. But we want you to understand this is real, not just some fling or scandal.”

You look pleadingly at your father. “Please Vati, try to understand. I’ve never been happier than with these two.”

Toto stares back stonily. The silence stretches on. You feel Charles and Lewis tense on either side of you, bracing for Toto’s wrath.

Finally Toto sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “You’ve always been my sweet girl. My only wish is for your happiness and safety.”

He levels Charles and Lewis with a piercing look. “If either of you two hurts her, they’ll never find your bodies. Understand?”

Charles and Lewis both nod rapidly.

“We would never,” Lewis vows.

“Good. See that you don’t.” Toto turns back to you, expression softening. “This will take some adjustment. But I suppose if you’re happy ...”

“I am, I promise,” you assure him.

Toto shakes his head. “Well, try to keep the sordid details to yourself please.”

You huff out a wet laugh, wiping your eyes. “Deal.”

Toto nods stiffly and stands. Looking between the three of you, his face settles into resignation.

“I will do my best to … adjust to this,” he mutters. “But no funny business at the track!”

He points sternly at Charles and Lewis again. They both work to keep straight faces.

“Of course, totally professional at all times,” Lewis promises solemnly.

“Hmm. We’ll see.” Toto heads for the door. With his hand on the handle, he turns back.

“You’re still my little girl. I just want you safe and happy.”

You smile tearfully. “I know. Thank you.”

With a grunt and final glare at Charles and Lewis, Toto takes his leave.

The moment the door shuts, you collapse into their arms in relief. Laughing and crying all at once.

“That could have gone worse,” Charles remarks.

Lewis chuckles. “He only threatened us a little bit.”

You kiss them softly. “I can’t believe you stood up to him for me.”

Charles caresses your face. “Always.”

“We meant what we said — we’re in this together, no matter what,” Lewis affirms.

You cling to each other, coming down from the emotional rollercoaster. The worst is over. Your relationship is out in the open now. The media will have a field day, but you can weather any storm with your men by your side.

“So ...” you say with a watery laugh. “Who wants to handle the press release?”

***

The news of your relationship with Lewis and Charles has sent shockwaves through the paddock. You knew it would be a scandal, but the sheer scale of the reaction has been overwhelming.

Thankfully you’ve had each other to cling to through the firestorm. Their love and support keeps you strong in the face of snarling reporters and leering drivers.

In the Ferrari garage a few days later, Lewis has his arms wrapped around you, placing gentle kisses to your hair as you discuss weekend plans. Charles is in the engineering room, focused on prep for the upcoming race.

The two of you are in your own world together when Lando sheepishly approaches. "Hey mates, can I talk to you both for a sec?"

You tense instinctively and Lewis’ arm tightens around you protectively. But Lando’s face is regretful, not leering. “What’s up?” Lewis asks calmly.

Lando shuffles his feet. “I just wanted to apologize for all the times I hit on Y/N and crossed the line. I feel proper ashamed about it now that I know she was with you two. You deserve better from a friend.”

You and Lewis share a surprised look. Before you can respond, Pierre joins Lando, gazing at you repentantly.

“I want to also apologize,” Pierre says. “It was wrong of me to overstep boundaries and disrespect your relationship. I’m sorry.”

You bite your tongue, holding back what you really want to say. As usual, they’re ignoring you and directing apologies to Lewis instead.

Sensing your reaction, Lewis speaks up. “We appreciate you owning up to it, but I think Y/N deserves your apologies more. She’s the one you objectified and disrespected with the unwanted advances, after all.”

Lando and Pierre have the decency to look abashed. “You’re completely right, that was thoughtless of me,” Lando says. “I’m truly sorry for ever making you feel uncomfortable or pressured, Y/N. It won’t happen again.”

Pierre nods. “Please accept my sincere apologies as well. I should have been more considerate of your feelings and respected your privacy.”

You give them a stiff smile. “Thank you. Just please think about how your words and actions affect women as fellow human beings, not just as conquests or property.”

Lando and Pierre both nod earnestly before excusing themselves. As they walk away Lewis kisses your temple. “Well handled, love. How are you feeling?”

You sigh heavily. “I appreciate the apologies, but it still stings that they only considered your feelings initially, not mine.”

Lewis makes a sympathetic noise and hugs you close. “You deserve so much more respect. I’m sorry this has all been so ugly.”

You cling to him, drawing strength from his unwavering support. “As long as I have you and Charles, I can face anything.”

Lewis is about to reply when footsteps approach again. You tense, but it’s only Charles this time. His smile fades seeing your expression.

“Everything okay here?” He asks, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You explain what just happened with Lando and Pierre. Charles’ eyes flash. “They are lucky I wasn’t here. I would have had a thing or two to say about them disrespecting you like that.”

You smile softly, touched by his protectiveness. “My heroes. However would I cope without you two defending my honor?”

Lewis tickles your side playfully. “We have to protect our lady’s virtue!”

You swat him away, laughing. Charles kisses the top of your head. “Joking aside, you never have to tolerate that behavior again. Not with us here.”

“I know,” you reply, snuggling into them happily. "My gallant protectors."

***

“Home sweet home,” you declare as the car pulls up the long driveway to your family’s sprawling Swiss estate.

Lewis lets out an impressed whistle from the backseat. “This is incredible!”

“Just wait until you see inside,” you grin at him in the rearview mirror.

You had kept putting off bringing Lewis and Charles here but it was finally time for them to see where you grew up.

They grab your bags as you lead them inside the grand foyer with its sweeping marble staircase. Lewis and Charles gaze around, taking in the ornate moldings and priceless artwork adorning the walls.

“I know it’s a bit ... much,” you say self-consciously.

“Are you kidding? This place is amazing!” Lewis crows, his voice echoing off the high ceilings.

You give them a brief tour of the endless sitting rooms, home theater, indoor pool, and your father’s meticulously organized garage housing his impressive car collection.

Finally you bring them upstairs to the family bedrooms. With a deep breath, you push open the door to your childhood room.

Lewis and Charles follow you in, peering around with interest at the spacious suite with its canopy bed, plush seating area, and panoramic mountain views.

You watch nervously as Lewis wanders over to your bookshelf and Charles admires the view from the French doors. Waiting for their judgment, you feel self-conscious about your privileged upbringing.

Suddenly Charles points to your wall and turns to you with a grin. “Well well, what do we have here?”

You follow his gaze to the life-size posters still occupying prime real estate on your wall, relics from your starry-eyed teen years. A young Lewis from his early Mercedes days gazes broodingly down, next to a smirking teenage Charles in his Prema race suit from back in F2.

“Oh god, I can’t believe I forgot those were there!” You groan, covering your rapidly reddening face.

Lewis chuckles, coming over to wrap you in a hug. “Aww, someone had a little crush, did they?” He teases.

“It was years ago!” You protest through your fingers.

Charles pries your hands away, smiling affectionately. “It’s cute you were our fan. Never be embarrassed for having good taste in drivers,” he winks.

Lewis kisses the top of your head. “Don’t worry love, we won’t give you too hard a time about it,” he says magnanimously.

You snuggle into his embrace. “How lucky am I to have manifested my crushes into reality?”

“The lucky ones are us,” Charles murmurs, stroking your hair and kissing you tenderly.

Lewis tips your chin up to meet his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. You cling to each other, the outside world fading away.

Eventually you lead them hand-in-hand to your massive bedroom balcony overlooking the mountains. The summer air is fragrant with the smell of wildflowers.

Settled together on the cushions, you snuggle between Lewis and Charles as they take in the stunning panoramic views.

“It’s so beautiful and peaceful here,” Lewis sighs contentedly. “Thank you for bringing us with you.”

You squeeze his hand. “Thank you for wanting to know every part of me.”

Charles wraps an arm around you, meeting your eyes sincerely. “Of course we do. Your soul is what we fell in love with first and foremost.”

You have to blink back tears at his words. Being with them has taught you that real love runs far deeper than surface trappings.

Overwhelmed with emotion, you pull them close, kissing each with all the love and gratitude overflowing inside you.

As the sun dips behind the mountains, setting the sky ablaze in stunning hues of orange and purple, you curl up safely between the two men who see, know, and love the real you. The only home you’ll ever need.

***

The warmly lit dining room of your family estate is filled with the clink of silverware and hum of conversation as you share an intimate dinner with your father, stepmother Susie, younger brother Jack, and your loves.

Despite your anxiety, the evening has gone smoothly so far. Toto seems impressed with Lewis and Charles’ maturity and devotion to you. Susie dotes on them like a surrogate mother. Only Jack seems bored, pushing food around his plate.

During a lull in the conversation, Toto turns to Lewis. “It’s remarkable what you are accomplishing at Ferrari this season. Good to see you on top of the podium again.”

Lewis smiles. “Thank you, Toto. It’s been incredible.”

“Still, I was surprised when you first told me you were leaving Mercedes,” Toto remarks. “I didn’t fully understand what prompted such a sudden departure.”

He levels Lewis with a probing gaze. You freeze nervously, grasping Charles and Lewis’ hands under the table. You’ve managed to avoid telling your father the real reason for Lewis’ change in teams. But it seems that reckoning has arrived.

Lewis meets Toto’s scrutinizing look evenly. “Well, as you know, Mercedes has strict rules against relationships within the team. It began impeding my personal happiness. So I sought more freedom elsewhere.”

Toto’s eyes narrow, glancing between the three of you. “And when exactly did this personal happiness begin?”

You hold your breath. Lewis says simply, “During my third to last season with the team.”

There’s a long, fraught silence. Jack glances around confused while Susie presses her napkin to her lips, no doubt hiding a small smile. She’s always been your most enthusiastic supporter.

Toto’s face slowly turns an alarming shade of eggplant purple. He points an accusatory finger at Lewis. “You! You were already involved with my daughter during your Mercedes contract?”

Lewis nods calmly. “We couldn’t be public about it then. Your rules left us no choice but secrecy.”

Toto turns his glare on you. “So while I was managing Lewis’ negotiations, you were ... were ...” He seems unable to form the words.

You lift your chin. “Yes, Vati. We’ve been together since mid-2022. I’m sorry we couldn’t be honest about it at the time.”

Toto looks back and forth between you and Lewis, jaw clenched. The whole table is frozen, awaiting the eruption.

Finally Toto thrusts his chair back and begins pacing angrily. “This whole time ... right under my nose! With my star driver, in clear violation of team rules and ethics!”

He rounds on Lewis. “I treated you like family! Supported your career, fought for your contracts. And you betrayed me by sneaking around with my daughter behind my back!”

Lewis faces Toto’s tirade calmly. “I apologize for any perceived deception. But we couldn’t deny our hearts.”

He takes your hand, gazing at you adoringly. Charles clutches your other in solidarity.

Toto drags a hand down his face. “Unbelievable. I thought I knew you, Hamilton.”

Finally you can't stay quiet any longer. “Vati, stop,” you implore. “I know you’re upset, but don’t blame Lewis. We fell in love, simple as that.”

Toto sighs, looking between your determined face and Lewis’ sincerity. His anger slowly deflates.

“Bärchen, you will always be my little girl,” he says gruffly. “I just want to protect you.”

He turns back to Lewis and Charles. “But I can see you both genuinely care for her. That’s all that matters in the end.”

You smile hopefully. “So you’re okay with this?”

Toto holds up a hand. “Let’s not get carried away. I am still adjusting to the idea.” He narrows his eyes at Lewis and Charles. “No messing about, you hear me? My girl deserves the utmost love and respect.”

“Of course,” Lewis says seriously as Charles nods in agreement.

“Good. See that it stays that way.” Toto sits back down with a huff. An awkward beat passes before conversation resumes again.

Later, as you all say goodnight, Toto pulls you into a hug. “They really make you happy, hmm?”

You nod, eyes shining. “Beyond words.”

Toto pats your cheek affectionately. “Well then, I suppose that’s what matters.”

You kiss his cheek in gratitude. No matter how overprotective your father can be, you know he just wants you safe and loved. With Lewis and Charles by your side, you always will be.

***

Seven Years Later

The Ferrari garage is buzzing with activity as race day gets underway at the Italian Grand Prix. You stand with Lewis among the controlled chaos, keeping one eye on your enthusiastic children weaving through the mechanics’ legs.

“Be careful, Lou!” You call out as your daring five-year-old Louis takes a corner a little too sharply, his Ferrari cap nearly sliding off his wild wavy hair.

Lewis shakes his head in amusement. “He’s as spirited as his Papa.”

You grin proudly at your son, the spitting image of Charles, as he zooms around mimicking pit stops. Your little three-year-old Helene clings shyly to her daddy’s leg, peering up at the action with wide brown eyes that are the mirror image of Lewis’ own.

Charles emerges from the engineering briefing and makes a beeline for you. Sweeping you into his arms, he greets you with a passionate kiss. After over seven years together, the sparks between you still ignite instantly.

Pulling back, Charles grins at your slightly disheveled state. “Hello to you too,” you laugh breathlessly.

He winks before turning to give Lewis a tender kiss. Your unconventional family drew some skepticism at first, but your extraordinary love has proven unshakeable.

The kids chorus “Papa!” and attack Charles’ legs. Laughing, he scoops them both up, kissing their heads. “Are you ready to cheer for me, my little racers?”

Their enthusiastic cheers draw amused glances from the team. You soak it all in — your little family, together forever.

Charles reluctantly sets the kids down to focus on pre-race prep. You feel a phantom flutter in your belly, though you know it’s still too early for it to be real. Grasping Lewis’ hand, you share a private smile. Baby number three is on the way.

The race begins in a blur of excitement. Charles aces the start, quickly pulling into the lead. Louis abandons all decorum and just starts screaming “Go Papa!” at the top of his lungs. Chuckling, you and Lewis take turns occupying your hyperactive son so as not to distract the crew. Shy little Helene contents herself hugging a Ferrari-themed teddy bear, peering intently at the screens showing her Papa as he speeds around the Autodromo Nazionale Monza.

The laps tick by, Charles fending off the competition masterfully. As he crosses the finish line to claim victory on home soil, Louis and Helene are jumping and cheering loudly. The passion for racing already runs strong.

Back out in the paddock after the podium celebration, you and Lewis balance the kids on your hips as reporters head straight for the two of you. The questions are familiar after years in the spotlight.

“Lewis, what’s it like spending almost every weekend at the track despite your retirement five years ago?”

“I love it,” Lewis smiles, bouncing a giggling Helene. “Getting to support my husband and spend time with my family, it’s very fulfilling.”

“And Y/N, how do you manage the kids and your husband’s demanding career?”

You grin. “We make it work. We’re so proud of Charles and feel lucky to be by his side through it all.”

On cue, Helene pipes up “Papa is the best racer!”

The reporters chuckle. One asks, “How do you feel seeing Charles continue to build his legacy with Ferrari?”

“I couldn’t be prouder,” Lewis says, genuine emotion in his eyes. “He’s taken the team to new heights and really made his mark. Seeing him succeed means the world.”

Louis suddenly grabs the mic, yelling “Are we done yet?” You have to stifle your laugh.

“I think that’s our cue to wrap up,” you grin sheepishly, gathering the rambunctious children in your arms. Blowing kisses to the laughing media, you make your exit.

Back in the privacy of the motorhome, your unconventional but beautiful family shares celebratory hugs and kisses. Charles rests his hand gently on your belly, his face lighting up when you confirm the news.

“Baby number three on the way!” Lewis crows, sweeping you into an excited embrace.

Louis and Helene cheer, demanding another sibling immediately. You laugh giddily, leaning into Charles and gazing at the pure joy on your husbands’ faces. Your hearts swell with love.

This life you’ve built together has faced skepticism, but your extraordinary bond conquers all. Gazing into their eyes, you know without a doubt you were destined for each other. Hand in hand, side by side, forevermore.

***

18 Months Later

You finish strapping a squirming Cosette into her car seat, smoothing down her hair that is the spitting image of your own. “There we go, my little princess. Time to go see Opa Toto!”

Cosette babbles happily, waving her chubby fists. At just over a year old, she is the perfect blend of you and Charles, with your lips and nose and his vibrant green eyes.

Louis and Helene are already buckled into the backseat, their patience for the short drive to your father’s house wearing thin. “Hurry up!” Louis cries. “I want to show Opa my new race car!”

“We’re coming, hold your horses,” you laugh, sliding into the passenger seat beside Charles. Lewis is meeting you there after stopping at home to grab a few extra toys and changes of clothes for the kids’ overnight stay.

During the short drive, Charles keeps resting his hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing distracting circles. You try your best to keep your breathing even. After all these years together, just the slightest touch from your husbands can still ignite that spark instantly.

You pull up the long driveway to find Lewis’ car already parked outside the stately lakefront home you grew up spending summers in. Before you can even unbuckle, the front door swings open and Toto comes striding out, arms open wide.

“My lieblinge!” He booms as Louis and Helene barrel into his embrace.

You lift Cosette from her carseat and Toto takes her gently, eyes crinkling with delight. “And there’s my littlest liebling,” he coos, nuzzling her soft curls.

Lewis joins you all outside, greeting Toto with a warm hug. “Thanks again for watching the kids tonight, Toto. We really appreciate it.”

“Of course, of course! They’re my grandbabies, it’s my honor,” Toto declares, ushering everyone inside.

Soon the kids are happily playing on the living room floor as you and Susie chat over tea. Lewis joins Toto out on the back patio, no doubt talking about the current state of the team as always. Charles wanders in from the kitchen and comes up behind you, massaging the knots from your shoulders in that way he knows you love. You have to bite back a moan, not wanting to scar your family. Susie just smiles knowingly into her tea cup.

Too soon it’s time to head out for your rare adults-only evening. You pry Louis away from showing Toto his toy car collection and scoop up a sleepy Cosette. Helene hugs you tightly around the legs.

“We’ll be back to get you tomorrow, sweetheart,” you assure her, kissing the top of her head.

Lewis takes his turn hugging the kids while Charles checks his watch. “Reservations are in 30 minutes, we should get going soon.”

You pass a sleepy Cosette to Toto and he cradles her gently. “We’ll hold down the fort, you three go and have an enjoyable evening.” He gives Lewis and Charles a stern look. “But not too enjoyable, hmm? Keep it respectable.”

Lewis just grins as Charles steps up and claps Toto on the back. “Oh don’t worry, we’ll be very respectable. Just having a nice dinner while we discuss when to start working on baby number four.” He winks cheekily at Toto while you and Lewis have to stifle your laughter at the mortified look on your father’s face.

Charles dodges Toto’s half-hearted swat and pulls you and Lewis in close. “Come on, our romantic evening awaits.”

You bid one more goodnight to the kids before letting Charles usher you out the door, his hand resting possessively on your lower back. The drive to the restaurant passes enjoyably, laughter and teasing flowing freely. For one night, you have the rare opportunity to just be yourselves, simply three lovers.

At the upscale restaurant, you’re shown to a cozy corner table lit by flickering candles. Charles orders an expensive bottle of wine while you and Lewis peruse the menu. His foot trails slowly up your leg under the tablecloth and you have to resist the urge to jump him then and there. After years together the flames still burn hot, stealing passionate moments whenever you can.

Dinner passes enjoyably, full of laughter and flirty touches. Afterwards you stroll hand-in-hand along the lakefront, the starry sky reflected on the rippling water. Lewis pulls you into a dance right there on the path, the three of you swaying and giggling drunkenly together. Passersby stare but you’re oblivious, caught up in your own private world.

Eventually you make your tipsy way back home, shedding clothes on your way up to the master bedroom. They lay you down reverently in the middle of the expansive bed, hands and mouths immediately reacquainting themselves with every familiar curve and hollow of your body. Soon you’re panting and writhing between them, their dual caresses pushing you rapidly towards euphoria.

“Need you ... both ... now,” you manage to gasp out. Without hesitation Charles is kissing you hungrily while Lewis repositions himself behind you. You cry out as they join your bodies seamlessly, swiftly bringing you to the peak again and again. Their stamina and synchronicity even after all these years together never fails to leave you awestruck.

Much later, sated and pleasantly sore, you rest comfortably sandwiched between your husbands. Their hands caress you languidly as you all come down from your highs together.

“We certainly made the most of our kid-free night,” Lewis chuckles, dropping a kiss to your shoulder.

You hum contentedly. “It was heavenly. But I can’t wait to get our babies back tomorrow.”

“Me too,” Charles agrees, trailing his fingers down your arm. “Our family is everything to me.”

You smile softly at him, heart swelling. “Our lives turned out pretty perfectly, didn’t they?”

Lewis nods, his eyes drifting around the bedroom that over the years has become a shrine to your shared journey — photos of race wins, kids’ drawings, and candid shots of your unlikely love filling every surface.

“Beyond anything I could have dreamed,” he murmurs. “Being with you both, raising our babies together ... it’s more than I ever imagined was possible.”

Charles kisses you tenderly. “We’re so lucky to have this extraordinary love.”

You cling tighter to them, emotion welling in your chest. “Every day I’m grateful we followed our hearts and created this life together.”

They hum contentedly, holding you close between their warm, solid bodies. No more words need be said. After so many years, your souls are intertwined seamlessly by the incredible bonds of your love.

Come what may, you know without a doubt that you were destined for each other. And you would choose this unconventional but beautiful life with them every single time.

[honeydippedfiction]

Hi Cici! Can I request angst/fluff Joe x reader from the pre-relationship prompt no 10. They’ve broken up but they still love each other. Reader’s mom invites Joe to dinner and they reunite after 2 months. Can you make it a happy ending pls?

"Hey, my mom wants to know if you're coming to family dinner tonight?" "Isn't it weird for me to come? We broke up two months ago, baby." "Okay, I'm not going to lie, you're giving me mixed signals. I'm telling her you're coming.”

Ayyye it’s a bad bitch birthday y’all, BIG 24🤪🤪 sorry for not posting yesterday, things got a little crazy. But here’s some Joey to make up for it, love yaaa😚💋

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

#10. "Hey, my mom wants to know if you're coming to family dinner tonight?" "Isn't it weird for me to come? We broke up two months ago, baby." "Okay, I'm not going to lie, you're giving me mixed signals. I'm telling her you're coming.”

Joe Burrow x black!femreader

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

They didn’t fall apart all at once.

No one slammed a door. No one shouted across the kitchen table. There were no ultimatums thrown like grenades, no harsh words hurled in the heat of anger. Instead, it was quiet—the kind of quiet that creeps in like cold air through an open window. The kind you don’t notice at first, until one day you realize you’re shivering.

That was how it ended.

Joe was deep into the off-season grind—film study, conditioning, meetings with coaches, and early press obligations. He kept saying he was fine. That he was just busy. That he was trying to be better.

And Y/N—she was trying too. Trying to be patient, trying not to count how many texts went unanswered. Trying not to take it personally when he forgot the dinner reservation she'd made for their anniversary. Trying to convince herself that love was supposed to bend under pressure. That he’d come back to her when the weight lifted.

But weeks passed. Then more. And with every day, she felt herself slipping from his periphery—like background noise to a life she used to be centered in.

They had their final fight on a Wednesday night.

She had waited for him to come home after practice, her dinner long cold on the stove. She’d spent hours rehearsing how to talk to him gently, how to ask for more without sounding like she was demanding it. But the second he walked through the door, eyes heavy and voice detached, the words scattered.

“You don’t see me anymore,” she’d said quietly, arms folded across her chest.

Joe had stopped mid-step, the key still in his hand.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You’re here,” she said. “But you’re not with me.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Y/N, I can’t give you all of me right now. You know what’s on the line this season.”

“And what about what’s on the line with us?” she asked, voice cracking under the weight of her restraint. “I’m not asking for your whole career. I’m asking for a place in your life that doesn’t feel optional.”

That hit something tender. He flinched. But then the wall came up. That impenetrable, practiced calm he wore in press conferences and on fourth downs.

“I’m doing the best I can.”

“No, Joe,” she said, tears burning at the edges of her vision, “you’re doing the best you can for you. And I’m just collateral damage.”

The silence after that was louder than any shouting match could’ve been. He didn’t chase her when she walked out. She didn’t call when she packed her overnight bag. Neither of them said goodbye, but they both knew what it meant when days passed and no one reached out.

It was the kind of breakup that didn’t feel like a clean cut. It was a tear—uneven, ragged. The kind you keep running your fingers over, hoping the skin will knit itself back together.

But it didn’t.

Not for a while.

✧○♥ꊞ♥○ꊞ○♥ꊞ♥○✧✧○♥ꊞ♥○ꊞ○♥ꊞ♥○✧

Two months later, and she could still hear the last thing he said as she closed the door behind her:

“I don’t know how to love you right now.”

And she, broken in ways she didn’t have the words for, had only whispered back:

“Then you don’t get to love me at all.”

✧○♥ꊞ♥○ꊞ○♥ꊞ♥○✧✧○♥ꊞ♥○ꊞ○♥ꊞ♥○✧

The late summer heat in Cincinnati was starting to soften into something more bearable—less suffocating, more nostalgic. The kind of weather that whispered of changing seasons, even if the days still clung to a sticky kind of warmth. The breeze carried the faintest hint of something crisp, something about to end or maybe about to begin.

Y/N stood barefoot on the concrete balcony of her apartment, her toes curled against the cool surface. The skyline stretched hazy in the distance, the sun dipping behind buildings like it didn’t want to be seen anymore. She cradled her phone loosely in one hand, thumb tracing the edge of the screen, debating—for the fifth time in the last half hour—whether to call him.

Inside, her living room was quiet except for the distant hum of the ceiling fan. Her dinner sat untouched on the coffee table, congealed now, the takeout box slightly ajar. The text from her mother still glowed at the top of her screen like a dare:

“Tell Joseph to come to dinner tonight. I’m making gumbo and peach cobbler.”

No context. No awareness—or maybe just willful ignorance—of the two-month silence between them. As if she hadn’t sobbed into her mother’s arms the night after the breakup. As if Joe Burrow was still part of the family like he’d always been.

She hadn’t answered right away. She’d stared at the message, then scrolled back through old texts she’d never deleted, some of them still marked unread even though she could recite them by heart.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see him. That was the problem—she did. Too much. Still.

The phone felt heavier than usual in her hand. Her finger hovered over his name in her contacts—Joey 🏈💬. Stupid nickname. Stupid emoji. She hadn’t changed it.

Then, finally, she sighed and hit Call.

It rang twice.

“Hey,” his voice came through, low and quiet. Familiar, even with the rougher edge that hadn’t been there before.

“Hey,” she echoed, her voice tighter than she meant it to be. She bit the inside of her cheek, suddenly conscious of the stretch of silence folding around them.

There was faint movement on his end—something shifting, a soft thud, maybe the creak of his old leather couch. Then, the sound of him exhaling.

“My mom wanted me to ask if you’re coming to family dinner tonight,” she said at last, her eyes fixed on the pink glow of the skyline. “She’s making gumbo. Peach cobbler too.”

Another pause. Longer. Deeper. She imagined him in that familiar kitchen of his, leaning on the counter, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when he didn’t know what to say.

“Isn’t it weird for me to come?” he said, eventually. His voice dipped lower. “We broke up two months ago, baby.”

That word—baby—landed like a pebble tossed into still water. It rippled through her, sudden and unwanted, stirring up everything she had tried to settle.

Y/N blinked hard, gripping the balcony railing.

“Okay, I’m not gonna lie, you’re giving me mixed signals.” Her tone was brisk, a shade too light. “I’m telling her you’re coming.”

She expected him to push back. Say don’t. Say I can’t. But he didn’t. He was quiet for a second, then—

“I’ve missed her cooking,” he said, soft. Almost too soft to hear. “And... I’ve missed you.”

Her breath caught. Her fingers curled tighter around the railing.

“You don’t get to say that, Joe,” she said quietly. “Not unless you mean it.”

There was a rustle on the line. She could almost see him now—jaw clenched, brow furrowed, eyes somewhere on the floor.

“I do mean it.” His voice cracked. Just a little. “I think I always meant it. I just didn’t know what to do with it.”

That stopped her. Her chest ached. She closed her eyes, the breeze brushing loose strands of hair against her cheek.

“You don’t get to act like you’re the only one who didn’t know what to do,” she murmured. “We were both lost, Joe.”

He was silent.

Then: “Can I come early?”

The question hung in the air between them.

She opened her eyes. The sky had shifted to deeper gold. The city looked softer, like it had been smudged at the edges.

“You want to come early?” she repeated.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just us. For a bit. If that’s okay.”

Y/N swallowed. Her pulse thudded in her throat.

“Okay.”

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

The line went dead.

She stared at the screen, the call log glowing like it knew something she didn’t. Her fingers trembled slightly as she lowered the phone. Inside, her untouched dinner looked sad and irrelevant now.

Y/N walked back in, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. She caught her reflection in the mirror above the couch and paused, brushing her hair back, eyes searching her own face as if trying to remember what he used to see there.

Maybe it was still there.

She changed out of her oversized T-shirt into something more neutral—simple. Familiar. A soft tank and jeans. Nothing that screamed I want you back, but not indifferent either.

Then she waited.

And twenty-three minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

✧○♥ꊞ♥○ꊞ○♥ꊞ♥○✧✧○♥ꊞ♥○ꊞ○♥ꊞ♥○✧

The Burrow name didn’t exactly go unnoticed in the city, and yet somehow, It was nearly dusk when Joe turned onto the quiet street, unnoticed, where Y/N’s childhood home stood. The tires of his SUV crunched against the curb as he parked across from the house, letting the engine idle for a few seconds longer than necessary.

The porch light glowed faintly against the darkening sky, casting long shadows across the yard. Through the front window, he could see the flicker of movement—people laughing, passing plates, a burst of someone’s high-pitched voice.

It had been two months. And yet, pulling up to this house felt like a reflex. He’d spent entire holidays here. Off-seasons. Weeknights. Lazy Sundays. Y/N’s mom treated him like a second son, and her cousins never passed up an opportunity to challenge him to a basketball game in the driveway.

But this was different.

This was after.

Joe took a breath, then another, resting his forehead briefly against the steering wheel. His fingers flexed around the neck of the wine bottle he’d brought as a peace offering. He wasn’t sure who it was really for—Y/N’s mom, or Y/N herself.

He climbed out of the car and made his way up the porch steps.

The door opened before he could knock.

“Joseph!” Y/N’s mom greeted him like no time had passed at all. She pulled him into a hug that squeezed the breath out of him. “Lord, you still don’t call me enough.”

“Sorry, Mrs. L,” Joe said with a sheepish grin. “I brought wine?”

“You trying to bribe me?” she asked, plucking the bottle from his hands. “It’s working.”

Inside, the air was rich with spices—onion, celery, garlic, and heat. The gumbo simmered in a cast iron pot on the stove, and laughter echoed from the living room. The house felt alive.

He stepped into the kitchen, heart stuttering when he saw her.

Y/N stood at the stove, stirring the pot with one hand, her face turned slightly toward the doorway like she’d felt him arrive. She wore a faded Spelman sweatshirt and jeans, her curls piled loosely atop her head. The sight of her sent something crashing through his chest—grief, want, familiarity.

She turned slowly, her gaze meeting his.

“Hey,” she said, her voice soft, careful.

“Hey,” he replied.

He hadn’t seen her in person since the breakup. Not really. There had been a brush of arms at a team event she helped organize. A glimpse of her car leaving his building. But not this—proximity, silence, her voice spoken only for him.

The tension between them was thick enough to chew.

Joe stayed out of the way during dinner, letting the family orbit him while Y/N moved through the room with practiced grace. Her cousins grilled him about the season. Her aunt complimented his posture. Her mom forced second and third helpings onto his plate. It was familiar, even comforting.

But beneath it all was the undercurrent—the absence they had tried to hide. Y/N laughed, but she didn’t look at him when she did. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were in the same room, breathing the same air, but the space between them held a history neither of them had figured out how to put down.

✧○♥ꊞ♥○ꊞ○♥ꊞ♥○✧✧○♥ꊞ♥○ꊞ○♥ꊞ♥○✧

The table was set like it always had been—cloth napkins folded with care, the good dishes pulled from the cabinet where they were only ever used for holidays or homecomings. The gumbo simmered in the center, rich with heat and spice, and the peach cobbler cooled on the counter, its sugar crust still bubbling at the edges. The dining room glowed under the soft dome light, as if trying to pretend this was a normal evening, like dozens before it.

Y/N sat across from Joe. Her mother took the head of the table, ladling out generous portions as if she hadn’t just dropped a grenade into the calm of their lives by inviting her daughter’s ex-boyfriend to dinner without warning.

“So, Joseph,” her mom said, tone light but watchful. “How have you been, sweetheart?”

Joe looked up from his bowl, spoon poised mid-air. He swallowed whatever he'd been about to say, then offered a polite, measured smile.

“I’ve been good. Busy. Camp started a few weeks ago, so… full days. A lot of film. A lot of lifting. You know how it is.”

Her mother nodded, scooping more rice onto her plate. “Of course. You look tired, though. You getting enough rest?”

Y/N watched him glance briefly her way—just a flick of the eyes, quick and unsure.

“Trying to,” he said. “There’s always a lot on my mind this time of year.”

Y/N’s mother made a small sound of agreement, something between a hum and a sigh. “Well, I hope you’re eating enough. You always forget to feed yourself when the season starts. Y/N used to nag you about that constantly.”

“Still does,” Joe said, before he could stop himself.

The words hung there. They were soft. Not accusatory, not hopeful. Just… factual. Like a line from a shared history that neither of them could quite stop quoting.

Y/N pressed her lips together, reached for her glass of water, and took a long sip.

Y/N glanced at him without meaning to. He looked… different. The kind of different you only notice when you haven’t been allowed to look for a while. His hair was a little shorter, jaw sharper from preseason grind, but the tired under his eyes was the same. It always showed in August.

Her mother, of course, kept talking. “Well, you’ve certainly been busy. I saw you at the Met Gala.”

Joe blinked. “You did?”

“Oh, please,” she said, waving a hand. “The moment your photo hit the internet, Y/N was showing me every angle of that suit. That blue-on-blue? Absolutely gorgeous. You looked gorgeous.”

Y/N choked on her water.

Joe’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Did she now?”

Y/N shot her mom a look. “I didn’t show you every angle.”

“You showed me enough,” her mom said, sipping her wine with barely disguised mischief. “He looked good. That suit was beautiful. Right, Y/N?”

The silence that followed was immediate and awful.

Y/N cleared her throat. “It was fine.”

“Fine,” Joe echoed, grinning now. “Wow. High praise.”

“You were styled well,” Y/N said carefully, stabbing her gumbo a little too aggressively. “Good tailoring. No complaints.”

Her mother beamed, delighted. “See? I raised a woman who knows a good lapel when she sees one.”

Joe laughed, shaking his head. “I’m putting that on my résumé.”

The laughter that followed was brief but real. And that was somehow worse.

Because for a moment, it felt like nothing had changed. Like they were still together. Like she could still reach under the table and rest her foot lightly against his like she used to when the conversation got too long and his mind started to wander.

Y/N didn’t reach. But she remembered.

“Your mom must’ve loved that look,” her mother continued. “She’s always said you clean up well.”

“She did,” Joe said. “She kept trying to get me to pose like I was on a cologne ad. Said I looked ‘mysterious.’”

He glanced across the table at Y/N.

“I didn’t feel mysterious. I felt like an idiot trying not to sweat through my shirt.”

Her mother looked between them but didn’t comment. She simply passed the hot sauce down the table.

“And your parents?” she asked instead, ever the master of casual redirection. “They doing okay?”

“They’re good,” Joe replied. “My mom says hi, by the way. She, uh… she was surprised when I told her I was coming here tonight.”

Y/N’s mom raised her brows, but her smile never wavered. “Was she now?”

He nodded, then hesitated. “Yeah. But I think… I think she was happy. Said it was nice to hear your name again.”

That landed differently. Softer. Slower.

Y/N’s fork paused mid-scoop, gumbo dripping back into the bowl. She didn’t look up.

“Tell her I said hello,” her mother replied, folding her napkin neatly in her lap. “And next time she’s in town, she better come over for coffee.”

“I will.”

They fell into silence for a beat—just the clink of silverware and the low hum of crickets outside the open window.

Joe took a bite, then set his spoon down.

“This is amazing, by the way,” he said. “I’ve missed your cooking.”

“You always did eat like you hadn’t seen food in days,” her mom teased gently. Then, with a glance in Y/N’s direction: “I don’t suppose you’ve managed to cook anything for yourself, have you?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, grateful for the normalcy of the jab. “I’ve cooked.”

Joe coughed into his napkin. “Microwaving Trader Joe’s doesn’t count.”

“I will kick you under this table, Burrow.”

He laughed—really laughed—and the sound hit her like a memory wrapped in sunlight.

Her mother just smiled, sipping from her glass of wine. “Well, some things haven’t changed.”

No one answered that. They didn’t have to.

After a moment, Joe reached for the breadbasket and passed it across the table to Y/N, the edge of his finger brushing hers.

She didn’t pull away.

✧○♥ꊞ♥○ꊞ○♥ꊞ♥○✧✧○♥ꊞ♥○ꊞ○♥ꊞ♥○✧

The lingering warmth of the evening wrapped the apartment in a quiet afterglow. The game blared from the living room as the rest of the group settled in front of the TV—familiar voices and laughter floating through the air, as if time hadn’t shifted beneath them. Y/N's mother, settled in her usual chair, clapped occasionally and cheered for a team she only pretended to follow. Her father, reclined with his legs up, seemed content enough just to be part of it all. The familiar hum of the house felt like a strange balm, smoothing over the awkwardness between her and Joe, even if they weren’t quite done with it yet.

But Joe, ever the gentleman—or maybe just trying to stay busy—hung back. As the others crowded into the living room, he made his way to the kitchen, where Y/N stood at the sink, sleeves pushed up, water steaming around her wrists. The clink of ceramic plates met the gentle trickle of running water.

“Hey,” she said, a quiet murmur as he began to collect the leftover dishes from the table, a familiar rhythm between them. “You don’t have to do that,” she said

Y/N didn’t immediately turn to look at him. Her hands worked in practiced motions, setting dishes into the sink, rinsing them with a quiet determination. The hum of the faucet seemed to fill the silence between them. She shrugged, still focused on the task at hand. “You didn’t have to come over.”

Joe paused. His hands, still holding a plate, lingered in the air. He let out a soft exhale, then placed it gently into the soapy water. “You didn’t invite me. She did.”

Y/N’s lips curved slightly in that half-smile he knew so well. “She made that pretty clear,” she said, her voice carrying an edge of humor, as if she were trying to dismiss the awkwardness that hung between them like a fragile thread.

“But you called me,” Joe said, his voice lower now, quieter.

Y/N set a plate down with a little more force than necessary, the sound sharper in the otherwise calm room. She didn’t look at him, but her words were steady. “Because I knew she wouldn’t leave me alone until I did.”

Joe stepped closer, moving to stand beside her at the sink. The space between them was small but charged, the faintest brush of his arm against hers making the hairs on the back of her neck rise. The scent of his cologne, familiar and warm, mingled with the steam from the water. He kept his voice just above a whisper, careful not to break the fragile silence. “You could’ve just texted me.”

She finally turned, meeting his eyes. Really meeting them—no distractions, no excuses.

“I wanted to hear your voice,” she said, so softly it barely reached the space between them.

That was all it took. The weight of her words broke open everything they’d been carefully avoiding for months. Joe’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The kitchen felt suddenly smaller, the noise from the living room faint in the background like a distant memory.

“I didn’t want us to end like that,” Joe said, his voice rougher now, as if he were confessing something he hadn’t known how to say until this very second.

Y/N pressed her lips together, swallowing hard. Her gaze dropped to the sink, the water swirling in lazy spirals. She was quiet for a moment, but when she spoke, her voice was tight. “Then why did we?”

Joe looked down, his jaw flexing as he considered the question. His fingers lingered on the plate he was holding, not sure what to do with it now.

“I thought I couldn’t give you what you needed,” he said, the words coming slow, weighed down with regret. “I thought if I loved you less, if I focused more on... everything else, I could keep my life from falling apart. And if I focused more, maybe I could be a better version of myself. But I was wrong. Because the whole time I was trying to make everything perfect, I... I loved you more than I thought I could. And that scared the hell out of me.”

Y/N held her breath as she absorbed his words, the rawness of them striking deep inside her chest. She glanced down at her hands, the wetness of the spoon she held reminding her of everything she’d lost in the silence between them.

“You hurt me, Joe,” she said, her voice a little smaller than she’d intended, her fingers trembling as they held onto the spoon. It was hard, even now, to say those words without feeling the weight of them.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’ve hated myself for it every day since.”

Y/N’s gaze softened, the hardness in her chest giving way to the tenderness she’d been guarding for so long. She turned toward him, her breath steadying, though her heart was racing. “What do you want from me?” The words felt like a plea, but she couldn’t keep them back. She needed to know.

Joe stepped a little closer, the space between them shrinking. He reached out, hesitated, then lowered his hand to his side. “I want another chance. I want to make it right. I know it won’t be easy, but I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m here, Y/N. I’m all in, every day. Win or lose.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The room felt too small now, too close. She could hear the beating of her heart, the faintest sound of the game still playing in the background. But it was distant. Fading.

She wiped her hands on the dish towel slowly, the fabric rough under her fingertips. She exhaled a long, tired breath, not ready yet to make a decision, but not quite ready to say no. Not yet. “Well...” she murmured, the words slipping out with a quiet finality. “We can talk about it... after cobbler.”

Joe looked at her, eyes softening, and he couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him. It was light, genuine—like a weight had been lifted, if only for a moment.

“Deal,” he said, his voice low but filled with relief.

Y/N turned to step toward the living room, but just before she reached the doorway, she felt him move behind her. His hand found her wrist, gentle but insistent, and in a swift motion, he pulled her back. Without a word, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumb grazing the line of her jaw.

She froze for a heartbeat, caught between hesitation and something stronger—something she hadn’t let herself feel in months.

Then, slowly, carefully, he kissed her. It was soft at first, almost tentative, as if they were both unsure of the ground beneath them. But soon, the weight of it grew—layers of longing, regret, and the faintest trace of hope filling the space between their lips. It felt like the world was holding its breath.

And just as Y/N thought she might let herself fall completely into it, the sound of her mother’s voice—loud and unrestrained—broke through the quiet like a gong.

“Oh, finally!” her mom cheered from the living room, her voice so high-pitched with excitement that it echoed off the walls. “I’ve been waiting for this! Now you two can get started on those grandbabies!”

Y/N pulled back immediately, her face flushing crimson. She looked at Joe, embarrassed and wide-eyed, but he only laughed—his deep, genuine laugh that sent a flutter through her chest. His arms circled her, pulling her close, and in that moment, it wasn’t just the awkwardness of the situation that made her heart race. It was the warmth of him, the steadiness she’d always found in his arms.

“Well,” Joe said, his voice low and teasing, “I guess we better get started, huh?”

Y/N buried her face in his chest, both mortified and relieved at the same time. But as he held her close, she knew, deep down, that this was just the beginning.

[tinycoffeeroom]

lover boy | daniel ricciardo

face claim: none ♡

request: here !

pairing: daniel ricciardo x f!reader

requested: congrats on 1k!!!! can i order a macchiato with daniel where theyre like a little bit secret and they super joky with each other? maybe they decide to go official and kiss in front of fans?? 100 shots of fluff too please! thank u!!!

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Private not secret. That’s how you could describe your relationship with Daniel to some extent. He would gush about his “loving girlfriend” in interviews and on social media but he’d never revealed who the girl who stole his heart was. 

It worked for the both of you. He got to keep you all to himself, and you got to live some sense of normality outside of being flown all over the country to support him on race days. 

The two of you were huddled in hospitality, enjoying the kiss of cold air the building provided against the blistering Bahrain heat. Clad in a VCARB shirt and linen trousers, any fan currently floating around the paddock would simply think you were an employee, and given how Daniel liked to make everyone around him laugh, seeing the two of you giggling in the corner wouldn’t raise too many questions. 

Nudging you with his shoulder, he throws his head back in a loud laugh as you crack another terrible dad joke, your eyes unable to pull away from the length of his throat, the way his Adam's apple bobbed deeply with every guffaw. 

“Why do I keep you around?” He speaks through ebbing chuckles, a hand hidden on the small of your back under the shirt. 

Shrugging, you swipe your hair back playfully. “Because I’m smart, funny and have a great rack.”

You track Daniel’s eyes as they draw down to the V of your shirt. Since he had a few inches on you, he had an unobstructed view to what he crudely describes as his favourite stress relievers. 

Glancing back up to meet your eyes, he grins at the way you jokingly raise an eyebrow at him. “You sure do, it’s a shame I haven’t seen them properly in so long.”

Rolling your eyes, you tap a finger under his chin, lifting his head from where it had dipped to glance down your shirt again. “You saw them this morning, drama queen.”

He presses a hand to his forehead, head rolling back as if he were a damsel in distress. “It’s been 84 years…”

Using your hand still in the air, you smack his hand off his forehead softly, scoffing lightheartedly. Hand darting out to capture yours, he pulls it down to where it’s hidden between the two of you, thumb stroking absentmindedly across the back of your hand. 

“Give me a peek?”

Squeezing his hand, you glance left to right as if considering it. Fighting the smirk on your face as his eyes light up at the possibility. “Dan, I’m not getting my boobs out in the middle of hospitality. If you can wait until the hotel tonight however…”

Trailing off, you raise your other hand to rest gently against his chest, fingers tapping along to the thump of his heart underneath. 

He groans, body twisting from side to side slightly like a child about to throw a tantrum. “Babe, it’s hot as balls out there. I’m gonna be so tired tonight.”

Patting his chest, you grin cheekily up at him. “So I’ll be doing all the work, like most race weekends.”

Gasping dramatically, he rests a hand over yours, pout on full display. “You wound me.”

Before you get a chance to rebut, one of the media managers pops her head around the corner, spotting the two of you. “Daniel, we have to be at the pre-race press conference in 20 minutes. Chop chop!”

She throws a friendly smile your way, head nodding once as a greeting. Waving back at her, your attention is dragged back to your boyfriend as he huffs softly, giving the woman a thumbs up as he drops his hand back to the small of your back to guide you to the entrance. 

Before he steps outside, he turns to face you, lips puckered. Raising a hand, you pat his lips once, huffing as he tries to nip at one of your fingers. “Nuh-uh, big ol’ windows right there lover boy, anyone could see.” 

He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, eyes wide and softly following the lines of your face. “Let them, I’m tired of hiding you.”

“Don’t use those cow eyes on me, that’s evil.” Sighing, you can’t stop your lips from matching his wide smile, the two of you locked in a silent conversation through eye contact. 

It’s been a long 3 years, sneaking around, going outside for dates separately and hiding in the back corners of restaurants. Wearing whichever teams shirt he’s racing under to use as an excuse to be there. You think about how it could be, the way it would feel to hold his hand in the paddock and give him a good luck kiss before he goes off to race. 

He sees right through you, able to read you like an open book. “So?”

Reaching behind you, you pull his hand from your back, linking your fingers together. “I’m tired of hiding too.” Heart racing at the way his smile turns fond, you pull yourself closer to him. “Need to let everyone know I bagged a hot Aussie.” 

A voice calls from beside you. “Didn’t know you were dating Oscar?”

Looking across, a smirking Lando meets your eyes as he leans against the doorway, the door propped open behind him. 

“Oh, ha ha. Very funny, short arse.” Daniel uses your linked hands to drag you next to him, hand leaving yours to smoothly slide along your back and rest on your hip. “What brings you to our humble abode?”

“I’m on the pre-race conference with you, thought we could walk down together.” 

You coo at the pair, hands clasping in front of you. “Landan reunited, how cute!”

You can almost feel how hard Lando rolls his eyes, mimicking your words back to you in a high pitched tone. Swatting at his shoulder, he holds his hand up in surrender, backing out of the doorway. 

“Daniel, 10 minutes! We’re gonna have to speedwalk!” The media manager breezes past the pair of you, clapping Daniel on the back as she passes. 

You grab his collar, pulling him in to drop 3 kisses against his lips. Feeling his other hand come to rest on your hip, you smile against his lips. Pulling away minutely, you let your eyes roam over the way his have crinkled at the sides, bright grin on display for all to see. “Go, you’ve got business to do. I’m gonna go get a piece of that cheesecake we were eyeing in catering.”

His hands squeeze your hips gently before he pulls away fully, stepping through the open door to join Lando and the media manager. 

Watching him leave, you laugh as he shoves Lando playfully, the two of them bickering as they walk down the paddock. 

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The media manager is too engrossed in her phone to care what Daniel and Lando are talking about, the two of them discussing the upcoming race quietly. 

“Oh yeah, look at you, all official and shit. Only took you 3 bloody years! Did nearly throw up at the three kisses thing though, a nod to your race number?”

Daniel hums, beaming as he thinks back to when you’d first started the official unofficial pre-race ritual. 

[FLASHBACK]

It had been a hard 2021, filled with highs and lows in his papaya car. Just after missing out on points in Zandvoort, you had come to find him in his drivers room before Monza. 

A long spiel of a pep talk later and a short pre-race nap later, he’d been about to leave, race suit hanging from his hips. Slipping your hands under his fireproofs, you leaned up, talking through kisses. 

“You.” Kiss. “Got”. Kiss. “This.” Kiss. 

On the final kiss, he’d grabbed your face, thumbs skimming across your cheeks, suspending you in that moment until the need to breathe outweighed his need to kiss you. Pulling away, he dropped a final kiss to the bridge of your nose, the smile you always loved to see plastered across his face. 

“I love you.” At that point, you’d only been together a few months but it felt like the perfect moment. Watching as you grinned back at him, flushed cheeks hot under his hands, he was sure he’d gotten it right.

[FLASHBACK]

He shoves Lando jokingly as he points out the way he was flushed from his cheeks all the way down his neck. “Partially, and it’s also a way of saying I love you.” 

Lando fake gags, narrowing his eyes at the lovesick expression on Daniel’s face. “I miss when you were single.”

Raising an eyebrow as he turns to face the younger man, his eyes flicker up briefly to make sure they were in the right spot for the conference. “Because I was lonely like you?” 

Lando scoffs, opening the door for the media manager to step through, eyes still glued to her phone. “Rude. But yeah.” 

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a/n: the first of the 1k celebrations and we're kicking it off with danny ric!! reqs for this event are open til july 18th so request while you can (or even after, my inbox is always open <3)

[madridfangirl]

So near, yet so far

(Jude bellingham blurb. Some fighting, some fluff, some missing each other.)

‘Stop being a baby & pick up the phone.’

Jude searched for his phone blindly when it pinged, while lying face down on a pillow, saw the message from his girlfriend, then put the phone away on the side-table.

She had sent that message after four missed calls throughout. He knew she had seen him online and would have understood that he was avoiding her on purpose.

Good, he wanted her to realise that. After everything she put him through.

The phone rang again, disturbing his sulky mood. He didn’t even look up this time.

‘Fine. Remember this the next time I don’t pick up your call.’

In this department, Jude could dish it out but absolutely could not take it himself. He always went nuts when she even remotely avoided him, following her around like a lost puppy. In fact, their whole fight had started from this.

Ananya was having a super tough day at work yeaterday. She was roped in on a deal last minute and the Managing Directors of their team had to pitch next afternoon. Which meant it was all hands on deck for the whole team. All day and most of that night.

That same day, Jude had a fantastic session at training, scoring bangers for fun, nutmegging teammates like child’s play. Especially Cama - he’d never let the boy live it down. For all his snake like agility, Jude had still managed to nutmeg that silky smooth footballer. And had even secured the video of it, which he had immediately sent to Ananya, along with a few others with his shooting.

Later, Carlo had called him to the side and praised him for his sharpness. He even invited him to accompany Carlo for the next pre-match press conference. It was a big Champions league away night, which meant it was a high-profile presser that Jude was being entrusted with.

It had been a great day overall. Plus he was having a great hair day as well, & took a couple of selfies in the gym (shirtless, sweaty, just what she liked) which had immediately made their way to her inbox as well.

She was supposed to get off work sooner today, given her MDs were due to travel the next day. He had no idea the pitch had to completely be overhauled at the last minute and that she was dying at work while he was having a gala time.

When he didn’t get any response even when he got home in the afternoon, he started to wonder if something was off. If he had missed some important day or did something or said something he wasn’t supposed to. But he couldn’t think of any such thing.

‘Hey, just checking in, all good?’

One hour went by. No response. 

‘I’m home, what time will you get here? Italian is good tonight?’

This was a harmless enough message, or so he thought. 

‘Talk later.’

That was all she had time & energy to type back.

Food was the last thing on her mind when she saw his message. She was surviving on two apples and 5 cups of coffee all day and would probably have to pull an all-nighter by the looks of it, on a day when she was supposed to get done by 6 pm. An anomaly. A massive anomaly in her line of work. But Satan was intent on ruining her happiness. 

Her team was cooped up in the conference room while her MD was on a zoom call from his mansion on the outskirts of the city, spelling out 1000 changes to the formatting while sipping a glass of red wine. 

One day, she’ll get there too. But till then, she had no choice but to slog her ass off. Like the rest of her team.

In the middle of that, her phone kept buzzing. She just put it on silent and threw it in her bag. Her plans for the evening all but forgotten. 

It was 6:30 pm already, and Jude figured she would have left by now. So he made the cardinal sin of calling her, twice. 

‘Are you ok?’

Still no response. 

‘Are you mad at me?’

He started to get worried now. And called Roma. Who was also in the room with Ananya, as frazzled as her friend, as knee deep in work as the rest of them. 

Her phone was on silent too. The executive director absolutely hated any sounds when they were all cooped up together like this.

30 mins later, they finally got up for a pee break, first in over 5 hours. Ananya and Roma rushed to the loo with their bags, looking at their phones at the same time.

5 missed calls, 15 messages between the two of them. All from Jude.

Ananya was furious. She was actually hangry, which made her even more irritated with this. Even her family knew not to bother her when she was having a tough day at work, just one message was enough for them to know she’d be out of reach for a while. Jude knew that too, but still had bombarded the both of them. And what in god’s name was he doing calling Roma? It just made her look stupid in front of her friend. She didn’t like people calling her friends to check in on her, a pet peeve since childhood.

But this boy just didn’t understand.

The said boy happened to call again just then.

‘Yes?’

‘Oh hey - finally. Where were you?’

‘On Mars.’

‘Huh?’

‘Where do you think I could be, Jude? Obviously I’m working.’

‘But, I thought you were getting free early today.’

‘Yeah, not happening.’

‘When you will get done?’

‘No idea. Not anytime soon.’

‘But…we had the whole evening planned, food is also on its way.’

‘Let me go say that to my MD and maybe he’ll let me go’

The crankiness and sarcasm in her voice was increasing with every passing second. And Jude couldn’t help but wonder if it was anything more than work that was causing that.

‘Ok gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow?’

Wait what? So she was seriously not coming home all night?

‘We are travelling for the match tomorrow.’

‘After than then.’

‘International break. This was the last night before I’m on the road for 12 days.’

‘After that then.’

Her voice was curt and her attention was elsewhere, like she was barely even listening to him anymore.

‘Are we good? You’re not mad at me for something?’

‘Oh for the love of god not everything is about you. I’m dying here. DYING. You’re not important right now. I told you I was busy, so pls try to understand.’

Jude was silent. She hadn’t said she was busy. She just said talk later. How was he supposed to decipher this is what she meant? How could she be cross with him for this?

‘Bye now. See you when I see you next.’

‘Bye.’

He stared at his phone long after, and at the screen where a game of FIFA was loaded, waiting for her. The food was on it way too, which he called to cancel immediately.

It was next evening. He was in the team hotel after a long flight. But still, 24 hours later also he was in a pissy mood. 

Ananya had worked all night, came back in the morning, slept for a few hours and was back in office now, on standby while the MD meeting was going on in London.

She finally got some time to focus on her irritated boyfriend, who she was trying to reach for the last 2 hours, and finally sent this message to get his attention.

Silent treatment was beyond his coping ability, they both knew that perfectly well.

‘Sure - be more mean to make up for being mean earlier.’

‘I wasn’t mean to you. I was just busy.’

‘Yeah right.’

‘Jude - I didn’t sleep all night. Didn’t have a proper meal in 24 hours. So of course I was on edge.’

‘You said I wasn’t important to you.’

‘Not important in that moment.’

‘Same thing.’

‘Big difference.’

‘Even after everything you’re still talking to me like this.’

‘How else should I talk?’

‘Like you want to make it up to me?’

‘Make it up to you?’

‘Yes. Massively.’

‘I should make it up to you coz my work is sucking the living life out of me right now? Sure, that makes sense.’

‘You forgot yesterday was the last day we had together in almost 2 weeks.’

‘It was not in my control. What could I have done?’

‘Could have felt bad for not being with me? Like I was feeling bad? Five seconds for that was too much to ask for?’

That made her take a pause. She was still learning to cope with the mad pressure that came on sprints like these, and didn’t always react in the most even-tempered way. Could she have taken a minute to talk to him softly and explain the situation? Possibly yes. But she was still leaning the ropes and all the first-year associates were as frazzled as her. Heck she only had 1 minute for a pee break, which is when she spoke to him. Why couldn’t he understand that pressure, when she understood his work pressures and how the weight of the whole world was on his shoulders at times?

‘You needed to be here to understand what it was like.’

‘Darling - I know what professional stress is.’

‘It’s different for you.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You are Jude fucking Bellingham.’

‘And don’t you think that means 100x pressure?’

‘No. Because you’re not some first year associate who is expected to work 16 hours a day, 6 days a week with near-perfect output.’

She could hear him breathing heavily at the other end. But he didn’t say anything, neither did she.

This was one of those moments where their crazy schedules got to them. As did the high-pressure of their jobs. For no particular fault of either of them. They were both fiercely ambitious, and driven in their careers. Which meant personal life suffered at times.

Ananya always wondered till what point would this be sustainable. If he’d turn around one fine day and would want more from her. That more was not in her control to give. Unless she sacrifices her dreams.

‘We’re going in circles.’

He broke the eerie silence. Another thing he wasn’t too fond of. Awkward pauses made him uncomfortable.

‘Yes we are.’

‘Did you manage to get some rest?’

‘Slept for a few hours. You?’

Jude was a sound sleeper otherwise but for the life of him could not sleep on a plane well. 

‘A little bit.’

‘Match is day after right? You should get some rest.’

‘Yeah, will crash soon.’

He didn’t want to sleep before talking to her. But he absolutely didn’t want to be the one making the call.

‘The presser was nice.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Could have smiled a bit more. Your fan pages were waiting for classic Jude happy face.’

‘Nothing to smile about in my life.’

‘Stop being dramatic.’

‘Stop being mean. And stop being so far away.’

The sincerity & longing in his voice melted her on the spot.

‘Babyyy.’

He immediately felt lighter.

‘What I wouldn’t give to hold you right now.’

Sleeping without her being next to him just wasn’t the same anymore. He slept better now when she was in his arms.

‘Me too sweetheart, me too.’

She could use a Jude hug too. Desperately. And a nice, long, peaceful sleep. But no relationship was perfect, this was something they just had to deal with.

‘Say something nice.’

‘I love you my dashing boy.’

‘More.’

‘So cute. So sweet. So sexy.’

‘More.’

‘One of the best players in the world.’

‘One of the best?’

‘Yes. The best midfielder though.’

Jude didn’t push further, knowing this was the best he’d get. She wouldn’t lie when it came to football. Not even to him or for him. This was enough for now.

‘Missing you.’

‘Me too, babu.’

Jude loved it when she used this particular Hindi word of endearment for him, which was the equivalent of baby. She often used many such words when they were snuggled together & she was cooing to him, explaining the meaning of each of them. He understood quite a few by now.

‘I can’t sleep. What do I do?’

‘Keep talking to me. And hug a pillow.’

‘Way ahead of you.’

They both hugged pillows while sleeping now, when they were not next to each other.

‘Now tell me about yesterday.’

Excitement seeped back into his drowsy voice, but the exhaustion was evident. Midway through, he started slurring some words and a few minutes later he was almost asleep, while still mumbling things to her.

‘Honey, put the phone down, turn off the light & get some rest, yeah?’

‘Yeah, ok.’

He mumbled, already near crashing.

‘Sweet dreams.’

‘Mmmm will dream of you, beautiful.’

With that, the phone dropped from his hand, while the lights were still on and the TV was on mute. But it didn’t matter. He got what he needed, so did she.

...........................................................

Wanted to do a realistic comfort fic, for all the madness happening around us.

Hope you liked it! Wrote this in 2 hours so not edited properly.

[libraryofloveletters]

Chapter One: United Front

Jenson Button x Teammate!Fem!Reader

Warnings: new teams, friendships are being built and brought down at the same time, jenson is a bit unsure how to feel now that the spotlight isn't on him, jealously, championship fights are coming from inside the house, so many feelings, the basis of the story is being built here, the initial sweetness wears off.

Word Count: 2,520

Author's Note: welcome to the new series! I promise I will try to be consistent, I'm excited to see what's in store.

Bound By Fate Masterlist

--

Young and naive; the headline that covered all the front pages from the moment you stepped foot on track.

You, y/n l/n, were all but 22 years old when you had your Formula One debut. Mclaren had been good to you, Ron was more than happy to have you on the team - young, fresh talent, no one does it like you.

The first year had been painstakingly hard, it was a big jump from test driving. A fuck up on a closed track doesn't have a much of an impact as one on a full, live track with thousands of people watching. It took you a few tries - Australia, Malaysia, China, Bahrain and Spain before you found yourself in sunny Monaco.

Your first points, your first podium finish. It was insane to think you managed to get your first points and podium on the same day.

That was the day you knew you were doing what you were supposed to be doing. That you did deserve your spot there and you were going to do everything in your power to prove to everyone that you were worthy of it.

You proved your worth, despite getting a late start on your point scoring, you managed to rack up 73 points over the course of the season. By the end of it, you were all but 4 points short of the championship podium. Speaking of championships, you remember the day as if it was yesterday.

The rain brought a sense of excitement with a tiny bit of fear. You and Lewis were starting P6 and P7 and the current championship contender, Jenson Button was in P12. All he needed to do was score 5 points, needing to move up from P12 to P4. He didn't do it coming in one place short but still winning the championship by a landslide, washing Sebastian and his own teammate, Rubens, out.

When the news broke that Jenson would be moving to Mclaren, you felt every emotion possible; happy, sad, nervous, scared, calm.

You had no idea what you were in for, unsure if you two were going to get along or if he'd be an arrogant stuck up prick. Up until that point, you had very minimal contact with Jenson. A hi and hello in passing, a chat at press conferences; you weren't part of the inside jokes or the hang outs, you were there to race and that was that.

It took only the pre season and before you knew it, the two of you clicked like the last two pieces of a puzzle.

"When your drivers get along, it's easier to work, to fight for wins, for championships." Jenson read the quote from Ron, a bass added to his voice as he paced the length of your hotel room. The two of you had returned from dinner not too long ago; a post podium tradition you've built in a short time.

"He'd be pissed if he heard you," you tell him, sitting cross legged on the bed. Jenson shrugs, tossing the newspaper he picked up from the lobby onto the nightstand, flopping down next to you.

"Oh well," Jenson tells you, looking over at you. "Good job today, I don't think I told you."

You two had come in P1 and P2, Jenson taking second place as he's done the last 3 races.

"Yeah, thanks." You smiled, "you did well too."

The two of you had been in contention for the championship all season, fighting for P1 and P2 back to back all season. This was your second season as teammates and you were having a better run than the first time. The first season, you were close, right behind Sebastian and Mark; you in P4 and Jenson in P3.

It was a year of dominance for McLaren, for you and for Jenson.

Despite what the reporters were predicting, you and Jenson were as close as always, nothing but 4 single points separating the two of you.

4 points was all that separated the two McLaren drivers going into the summer break, you in P1 and Jenson in P2. You had one more race before the break, a chance for Jenson to push himself into the first place spot for the break.

You weren't giving in.

Friends or not, you had cemented yourself in the P1. You belonged there, you worked too hard to let it go. You'd do anything to make sure you stayed there, playing dirty if need be.

--

You and Jenson find yourself sitting apart from each other, Sebastian and Fernando between the two of you. There's a sea of reporters in front of the 4 of you; the 4 drivers in the first 4 slots of the championship.

All but a few points keeping all of you apart, it really was anyone's game at this point.

The first reporter speaks, starting the questioning. "Jenson, as we head into the summer break, do you feel confident that you can secure those 4 points and ultimately beat your teammate in the standings?"

Jenson chuckles, glancing over at you. "It's possible, 4 points isn't a lot but knowing y/n, she's going to put up one hell of a fight."

You smiled at his response, nodding. Sebastian chuckles, nudging you with his shoulder. He knew you just as well as Jenson did, the two of you have had it out on track. You gave it your all every race, you didn't have anything to lose.

The same reporter added another question but directed to you now. "Y/N, with the upcoming race this weekend, do you plan to give Jenson a bit of a break and let him secure those 4 points, or will you be pushing hard to keep your position ahead of him?"

You picked up the mic, "why should I give him a break? I know we're teammates but we're not fighting for the good of the team, we're both in contention as of right now. Both Jenson and myself are here to win, a win is a win. I know Jenson wouldn't give me a break, so I'm not planning on giving him one."

The reporters seem to be eating up the answers from both you and Jenson, the spotlights were on you two. There's a few more questions being asked.

You and Jenson are the picture of perfect teammates, or at least, that's what you want everyone to believe. On the surface, you're both laughing, exchanging inside jokes, and giving off all the right signals of camaraderie. But beneath the surface, something's shifting; something neither of them seems to notice yet.

Small moments linger too long, words are said with just a touch more edge, and there's a tension in the air that no one can quite put a finger on. The rest of the room feels it, though, the subtle cracks beginning to show, the invisible divide growing wider with each passing moment.

It’s only a matter of time before it all comes to a head, and when it does, no one will be able to pretend it was ever fine.

Dismissed from the press conference, you find yourself prepping for the race, going  through your usual routine. You get dressed, pull your hair back into a braid and you get yourself hyped for the race and always, you wait for Jenson, the two of you heading to the grid together.

P3 for you and P2 for Jenson. Sebastian was on pole with Fernando in P4 along with the rest of the cars lined up behind you.

It was windy and grey, you looked up at the sky, trying to see if the rain would come down. Your engineer, Mac, tells you not to worry about the weather. If need be, you'll pull in and switch to wets.

You didn't like this.

There’s a gnawing feeling in the back of your mind, your stomach twisted in on itself. A sense that something’s off, but you can’t put your finger on it. Everything looks fine on the surface, but there's something about the way the air feels thick.

You can’t shake the sense that something is about to go wrong. You just don’t know what or how.

It’s like waiting for a storm you know is coming but can’t quite see. The feeling lingers, heavy, and all you can do is wait for the shoe to drop, knowing it’s only a matter of time.

You look up at the sky once more, the grey clouds rolling in over the Hungaroring, you can't help the unsettling feeling that's creeping up on you.

There's a hand on your shoulder, bringing you back to the present. Jenson stood in front of you with a cheeky smile, "taken up bird watching, y/n?" He asks.

"Shut up," you huffed, smiling at him with your arms folded over your chest. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Good luck." You smiled and Jenson returned the smile. "Yeah, you too."

You put your helmet on, getting into the car. Last minute checks to make sure comms were working and everything was in order. You go over weather changes and the plan with Mac once more before he pats your head, giving your shoulder a squeeze and the grid clears off.

You couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom. One last look up at the grey clouds, the fans standing around with umbrellas and ponchos in case of the rain. Your focus on the lights ahead.

3..

2..

1..

Lights out.

It’s been a tough race, the kind that keeps you on the edge of your seat. The three of you, fighting tooth and nail for P1, constantly swapping positions. Every lap felt like a high-speed chase between you, Jenson, and Sebastian. You had the advantage at some points, then Jenson would slip past, and Sebastian was always lurking, waiting for any opening.

The intensity of it was like nothing else, the tension thick with every corner.

Just as the race was reaching its peak, the skies darkened. What had been a perfect, dry track quickly turned into an unpredictable nightmare.

The rain began to fall, light at first, then harder, turning the surface into a slip and slide. Drivers were forced to change, and the pace slowed dramatically. Every move became a calculated risk, and tire management was now as crucial as ever.

With the rain coming down harder, the decision was made: time to pit for wets. The pit crews were ready, and as you peeled off into the pit lane, the world outside seemed to blur. Tires were changed quickly, but it was a crucial moment, getting it wrong could cost you.

When you rejoined, the race was no longer about who was fastest, but who could keep their cool as conditions got difficult.

In the end, it was Sebastian who managed to hold on, keeping P1 until the checkered flag waved. You pushed hard for that last minute move, and came in just behind him to secure P2. Jenson held his ground, taking P3, making it a tight top three right to the finish.

Despite not getting the win today, the results put you in a good spot.

With that P2 finish, you still managed to maintain your lead in the championship standings, staying ahead of Jenson and Sebastian as the midseason break rolled in.

It’s a small gap, but it’s enough.

You head into the break in P1, with the knowledge that you’ve got what it takes to hold onto the top spot. The competition is strong, but the battle is far from over. Every point counts, and you’ve just set the stage for what promises to be a hectic and messy second half of the season.

You all stand together for the photos at the top of the podium, the bright flashes of cameras filling the air. There’s something different about Jenson.

You can feel it, a subtle coldness coming from him, a distance that wasn’t there before. As you glance his way, you catch his eye for a split second, but instead of him acknowledging it, he quickly turns to speak to Sebastian, his attention fully on the German.

The moment is brief, but it leaves a strange feeling lingering.

You tell yourself it’s probably nothing, just the exhaustion from such an intense race. Emotions run high after a race like that, and maybe the tension is just getting to everyone. You try to brush it off, chalking it up to the pressure of the day, the fatigue that comes with giving it everything on track. But even as the photos continue and the celebrations roll on, you can’t help but wonder if something's changed.

The 3 of you together for a photo, covered in confetti, champagne and rain, there are smiles on your faces, your arm around Seb, bottle of champagne in your free hand. Jenson's focus is on Sebastian, he doesn't even so much as look at you.

After the podium, you head straight to the press pen, where interviews are lined up and the usual buzz of reporters fills the air. You and Jenson are across from each other, each doing separate interviews, the distance between you both oddly noticeable now, the tension from before the race smothering everyone in its vicinity.

The reporter in front of you smiles and asks, “How’s everything going? How are you feeling after today’s race?”

You nod, trying to keep things positive, even if there's a strange weight hanging in the air. "I’m good," you say, smiling. "Happy with the points, happy for the team. A double podium is a good result, and we’ll take it."

Meanwhile across the pen, Jenson’s interview seems to take a different turn. When Jenson was asked about his race, he didn't hold back.

“I wish I’d been P1," he says bluntly. "But I’m focused on the bigger picture. The championship is what matters. What other drivers get in the standings? Doesn’t make a difference to me.”

The reporters picking up on the contrast, turn back to him. “Y/N had some nice things to say about your drive today," one of them says.

Jenson barely looks up, his response flat. "I’m sure she did," he mutters, brushing it off without a second thought.

It’s a small moment, but the tension in the air is palpable. Everyone in the room feels it, the growing divide between you and Jenson.

Somehow, you’re the only one who doesn’t see it. For you, it’s just another race, another round of interviews. The contrast between the two of you couldn’t be more apparent.

You, still smiling, still positive, unaware of the ice that’s slowly creeping into Jenson’s tone. You had no idea what was brewing just beneath the surface. You hadn’t picked up on the subtle shift; the small moments when Jenson used to smile at your jokes, the times he’d offer advice after races, the camaraderie you thought you shared.

Now, it was like you were looking at a stranger.

But it’s clear to everyone else that something’s shifting, and the cracks are starting to show.

---

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[helvegen-s]

ten millimeters

an Oscar Piastri one-shot

Summary: for ten years, they were rivals—pushing, challenging, never backing down. But one night, after a race that changed everything, the line between them finally shatters. Now, with nothing left to hide behind, they’re forced to face the truth. Because this was never just about racing—it was always about them.

Word count: 12k (patience, my friends, patience)

TW: car crash, strong language, sexual content

A/N: enjoy this because I’ve pulled out all my hair trying to write something, and this is what came out. I wanted to be consistent with my updates, but my peanut brain doesn’t seem to agree… I LOVE OSCAR WITH ALL MY HEART

other drivers content will be coming soon...

have in mind that English is not my first nor my second language, excuse any mistakes that you might find

masterlist

Lena Bauer had learned to navigate a world that had always seemed determined to challenge her. For as long as she could remember, her life had revolved around a single purpose: winning. Not for recognition, not for glory, but because victory was the only language she understood. She grew up on the circuits, under the scorching sun of karting tracks, with grease-covered hands and her heart pounding in her throat every time she put on her helmet. She never knew how to be anything other than a racer. And she never wanted to be.

Oscar Piastri, on the other hand, was the kind of driver who made speed look effortless, who turned precision into an art form. Always methodical, always analytical. His talent wasn’t explosive but constant, like a sharpened blade that, over time, became a lethal sword. While Lena raced with fire in her eyes and fury in every maneuver, Oscar was all calculation and patience. He was the cold storm that swept through without ever raising its voice.

They met as children, on a karting podium where Lena, holding her trophy high with a fierce smile of satisfaction, turned to find him watching her. The second-place finish didn’t seem to bother him. There was no anger, no envy in his expression—only a silent acknowledgment: she had been better this time. Only this time.

From that moment on, their paths became intertwined with the inevitability of a storm and the certainty of an impending collision. They grew up together, chased each other through every category, overtook one another in championships that carried them across continents. And when they finally reached Formula 2, their rivalry became something heavier, sharper. There was no room for two drivers like them. Not when both were willing to risk everything to win.

That season, the incident happened. Silverstone. Final laps. They were fighting for victory in a battle anyone else would have called suicidal. But neither Lena nor Oscar were the kind to back down. She forced him to the limit, leaving barely ten millimeters between his car and the barrier. Ten millimeters that decided a race, a championship… and a wound that never quite healed.

Oscar was out. She won.

And when she stepped out of the car, she didn’t look for him. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she knew what she would find: the icy fury of someone who never forgets.

Now, in Formula 1, the world celebrated her arrival. The first woman in decades on the grid. Red Bull’s great promise. The one person Oscar Piastri couldn’t simply ignore. And when they faced each other again at the pre-season press conference, he knew nothing had changed.

Lena smiled, tilting her head slightly, radiating that overwhelming confidence that challenged him without the need for words. Oscar held her gaze, impassive, but Lena saw what others couldn’t: the spark of defiance in his eyes, the shadow of Silverstone still lingering in his expression.

They weren’t done. Not even close.

The calendar marked the beginning of a new season. And with it, the restart of a war that had never truly ended.

Oscar had been through enough qualifying sessions to know that the real battle was never against the stopwatch, but against one’s own limits. But that Saturday, as he adjusted his gloves inside the cockpit and his engineer’s voice crackled through the radio, he knew his fight went beyond that.

His fight had a name. Lena Bauer.

The engines roared with the restrained aggression of caged predators as the cars rolled out onto the track. Bahrain was always treacherous in qualifying—the temperature dropped at night, the wind carried sand onto the asphalt, and finding the perfect balance between speed and control was a game of absolute precision. But Oscar wasn’t worried about that. His focus was on the Red Bull number 95.

From the first flying lap, he knew. She was there.

He didn’t need to check the times to understand it. He felt it in every corner, in every fraction of a second flashing on his lap delta. The way his McLaren glided over the asphalt with surgical precision, chasing a shadow that always seemed just out of reach.

Lena.

She had always been like this. Infuriating in her brilliance. Relentless in her determination. She never raced to be among the best, never to collect points or secure a decent result. She raced to win. And that, though he would never admit it out loud, was what drove him insane.

In Q2, as the sun fully set and the track reached its peak, the battle became a silent duel. Red Bull versus McLaren. Lena versus Oscar. Just like so many times before.

On his final attempt, he gave it everything. Every apex traced with a surgeon’s precision, every gear shift perfectly timed. The car danced on the asphalt, the engine roared in his ears, and for a few fleeting seconds, he thought it was enough. That this time, finally, he had been faster.

Until he saw the screen.

Lena Bauer – P1 – 1:29.771Oscar Piastri – P2 – 1:29.784

Thirteen milliseconds.

He let out a bitter laugh inside his helmet—a mix of disbelief and resignation. Lena wasn’t just fast. She was ruthless.

When he stepped out of the car and walked toward the media pen, he saw her.

Lena removed her helmet with that effortless ease that always got under his skin, golden strands of hair falling onto her forehead, a lopsided grin that spoke of victory without a single word. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and Oscar felt a rush of frustration and adrenaline pulse through his chest.

"Almost, Piastri."

Her voice carried that teasing lilt that had haunted him since karting—provocation wrapped in feigned lightness.

Oscar shook his head, running a hand over the back of his neck, suppressing the smirk threatening to surface.

"Keep an eye on your mirrors tomorrow, Bauer."

Lena arched an amused brow.

"For you? Doubt it."

She turned before he could reply, leaving him with the retort stuck in his throat and a certainty seared into his skin.

The race hadn’t even begun. The season had only just started.

But his war with Lena Bauer had been going on for years.

Sunday morning.

The Bahrain paddock had been awake since early, humming with the charged energy of the season’s first race day. The desert breeze carried the distant roar of engines in warm-up, the ceaseless chatter of engineers fine-tuning strategies, and the omnipresent presence of cameras, ready to capture every moment.

Lena Bauer walked with the natural confidence of someone who belonged in this world. Dressed in her Red Bull race suit, the sleeves tied around her waist, the team’s logo gleaming under the sun, she looked exactly like what she was—the pole sitter for the first race of the year.

Everyone greeted her as she passed. Mechanics, engineers, members of other teams. The other drivers, gathered near the interview area, welcomed her with grins and playful remarks. Charles Leclerc said something to her in French that made her laugh, Lando Norris held up a hand for a high-five that she returned without hesitation, and even Fernando Alonso gave her an approving glance.

But not everyone seemed thrilled about her presence.

Oscar Piastri watched her from across the group, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set tight. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t greet her.

And she, as always, noticed.

Lena loved it. The way he was the only one who didn’t smile, the only one who didn’t treat her with that easy camaraderie she shared with the others. The way he seemed incapable of ignoring her, no matter how hard he tried.

Before she could tempt him any further, someone approached with a microphone.

"Lena, no one expected you to take pole in your first-ever F1 qualifying. Did you?"

She smiled, tilting her head with an almost insolent ease.

"Yes."

The journalist hesitated, as if expecting a more modest answer—something more typical of a rookie in the category. But Lena saw no need to fake false humility. Why should she?

"So, did you have a perfect lap last night?"

"No," she replied naturally. "It was a good lap, but not perfect. I can find more pace."

The journalist's eyes widened in disbelief, and out of the corner of her eye, Lena caught Piastri's movement. He had heard her. And even though she couldn't see his expression, she could imagine the tension in his jaw, the irritated disbelief in his eyes.

She didn’t turn to look at him. Not yet.

"And how are you approaching today's race? You'll be starting from pole, but Red Bull and McLaren have been pretty evenly matched all weekend."

Lena tilted her head, letting the question hang in the air just a second longer than necessary. Then, she smiled with the same unwavering confidence.

"The good thing about starting from pole is that I don’t have to worry about what’s happening behind me. I just have to be the fastest. And I already am."

She felt Oscar's gaze on her profile like a sharp knife.

Oh, how she loved this.

The starting grid was a perfectly orchestrated chaos. Engineers and mechanics moved around the cars in their final preparations, photographers captured every expression on the drivers' faces, and the air buzzed with the anticipation of the first race of the season.

Lena was at the center of it all.

Standing next to her Red Bull, her helmet still tucked under her arm and sunglasses covering her eyes, she radiated absolute calm. While everyone around her talked, gave instructions, or checked data on screens, she remained still, unaffected by the noise. Only when Helmut Marko approached to say something in a low voice did she nod slightly—but even then, her expression barely changed.

A few meters away, Oscar Piastri watched her.

Unlike her, he wasn’t still. He rolled his gloves between his hands, rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath. Not because he was nervous, but because his body had felt ready for battle from the moment he stepped out of the car after qualifying.

He knew he shouldn’t be looking at her. He knew he should be focusing on his own race. But he couldn’t help it.

He saw her shake Christian Horner’s hand, smile at someone from the FIA, wave Lando off as he passed by. All of it with that infuriating ease, as if this wasn’t the first race of her life in Formula 1, but just another Sunday.

The contrast to his own energy was suffocating.

Oscar was tense, alert, his pulse already racing before even getting in the car. Lena, on the other hand, seemed immune to everything. As if the pressure didn’t affect her. As if starting from pole on her debut meant absolutely nothing.

And the worst part was that he knew it wasn’t empty arrogance. He knew she meant it.

By the time he realized he had been staring at her for too long, he quickly shifted his focus back to his McLaren, trying to regain his composure. But just then, Lena turned around.

She found him instantly.

With a lazy movement, she pulled off her sunglasses—just enough for him to catch the playful spark in her eyes.

"Nice view, isn’t it?" she said casually, tilting her head toward her own car. With her sunglasses in hand, she pointed to the number 95 engraved on the Red Bull’s carbon fiber. "I hope you dream about it tonight."

Oscar clenched his jaw.

"And I hope you enjoy the scenery while it lasts. In a few laps, the 81 is all you’ll be seeing."

Lena smiled, and it was worse than any verbal provocation.

"Oh, I will enjoy it."

And with that, she turned away, handed her sunglasses to an engineer, and put on her helmet with the ease of someone who had no doubt she would still be there when it was all over.

Oscar, for his part, couldn’t remember ever wanting the starting lights to go out this badly in his entire life.

The lights went out.

The force of his McLaren propelled him forward, reacting on instinct, every fiber of his body focused on the first corner. He knew that if he wanted to win, if he wanted to snatch victory from Lena Bauer, he had to do it now.

He saw her move quickly, shutting the inside line with relentless determination. But Oscar wasn’t a rookie. He knew she expected him to back off, to take the corner from the outside and settle for second place.

He didn’t.

He planted his foot on the throttle, keeping his car glued to hers until the very last millimeter before braking. He downshifted at the exact right moment, slid his car to the absolute limit, and emerged from the corner with his front wing just inches ahead of hers.

For a second, he thought Lena would squeeze him out, that she’d return the favor at the next turn. But she didn’t.

His engineer was shouting something over the radio, but Oscar barely heard it. All he saw in his mirrors was the Red Bull clinging to him, Lena refusing to give up even a fraction more than necessary.

The race was a war of attrition.

Lena was never too far. She kept the pressure on at all times, making him fight for every tenth of a second, every corner, every lap. When McLaren told him to manage his tires, he barely held back a disbelieving laugh.

Managing tires with Lena Bauer breathing down his diffuser was like asking a lion to share its prey.

But he did it.

Against all odds, against everything he feared, against the constant threat of her presence in his mirrors—he crossed the finish line first.

He won.

The victory cry he let out over the radio was pure relief.

When he returned to the pit lane, when he jumped out of the car and let himself be swept away by the adrenaline of the moment, he felt that all the effort, all the anger, all the desperate need to beat her had been worth it.

Until he saw her.

Lena was already out of her car, pulling off her gloves with an expression that was…

Happy.

No frustration. No anger. No trace of the bitter sting of defeat he knew so well.

She was smiling, radiant, as if finishing second had been exactly what she wanted. As if the fact that he had beaten her didn’t bother her in the slightest.

And that, more than anything else, infuriated him.

Because if it had been the other way around—if he had finished second—the poison of defeat would have eaten him alive. He would have replayed every tenth he lost, every mistake, every moment where the race slipped through his fingers. He would have obsessed over it until he could fix it.

But Lena Bauer didn’t.

Lena Bauer was celebrating.

Lena Bauer was laughing with her team, joking with Verstappen, flashing a dazzling smile at the cameras.

When she stepped onto the podium, when she shook his hand with exasperating ease, when she offered him a casual "Good job" with not a hint of resentment, Oscar felt victory crumble in his hands.

Because if she didn’t care about losing…

Then how the hell was he supposed to defeat her?

Melbourne, on a thursday night.

Oscar hated these kinds of events.

It wasn’t just the formality, the uncomfortable suits, or the forced smiles. It was the feeling of being trapped in a place where performance didn’t matter, where it didn’t matter how fast you were on track if you didn’t know how to play the other game—the one of image, politics, public relations.

And Lena Bauer knew exactly how to play it.

Since she had arrived, he had watched her move through the guests with an irritating ease. She greeted journalists by name, laughed with other drivers, answered questions with that mix of boldness and charisma that made her impossible to ignore. Meanwhile, Oscar stuck to the bare minimum—interviews, sponsor photos, the occasional neutral comment. But he couldn't help feeling like a shadow in comparison.

Of course, the press wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to put them together.

“Oscar! Lena!” A journalist called out. “Can we ask you a few questions together?”

It was inevitable. Ever since Lena had joined F1, their rivalry had been exploited to exhaustion. It wasn’t just that they had both been rookies at the time—it was the fact that they had competed against each other since they were kids, that they had clashed in every category they had raced in. The narrative wrote itself: two exceptionally talented drivers, destined to fight side by side for their entire careers.

People loved it. Oscar… not so much.

“Of course,” Lena replied without hesitation, smiling with exasperating ease.

Oscar had no choice. He stepped up beside her, adopting the neutral expression he usually wore in these situations.

“It’s been a few races since Lena made her F1 debut, and it seems like the story remains the same between you two—always fighting each other. What’s it like to meet again in the top category after so many years of competing together?”

“Fun,” Lena said with a grin.

Oscar let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Oh, absolutely thrilling.”

Lena shot him a quick glance before continuing.

“Actually, it is,” she insisted, turning back to the journalist. “We’ve always pushed each other to the limit. I expected nothing less from Oscar in F1.”

“Would you say your rivalry is the most intense on the grid right now?”

Oscar was about to give a diplomatic answer, but Lena beat him to it.

“Oh, without a doubt. Don’t you think so, Piastri?”

Oscar looked at her. She was still smiling, but there was a glint in her eyes he couldn’t quite decipher. Was she enjoying the moment, the attention, the story the media kept feeding? Or was she enjoying how much it annoyed him?

“If by intense you mean the most annoying, then yes,” he muttered, earning laughter from the journalists.

Lena placed a hand over her chest, feigning offense.

“How cruel. And here I thought we were almost friends.”

Oscar clenched his jaw.

The interview continued with the same dynamic—Lena allowing herself bold answers, comments that bordered on provocation, while Oscar remained more reserved, letting her take the spotlight. It wasn’t that it bothered him exactly. It was more that he found it frustrating how effortlessly she navigated this world, as if she had been born to be in the spotlight.

“And what about this weekend’s race?” another journalist asked. “Will it be another wheel-to-wheel battle between you two?”

“If Piastri can keep up, maybe,” Lena replied with absolute ease.

Oscar exhaled slowly through his nose, keeping his eyes on her.

“I’d be more worried about myself if I were you.”

“Oh, I do,” she said, her smile feigning innocence. “That’s why I enjoy it so much.”

Before Oscar could respond, he felt something on his arm.

Lena had linked her arm through his with the utmost ease, as if she had been doing it her whole life. Her hand rested lightly on his forearm, but the sensation of her touch hit Oscar like an unexpected blow.

It unsettled him how easily she invaded his personal space without warning. But what truly caught him off guard was his own reaction—because instead of pulling away, instead of tensing up like he usually did in these situations, Oscar felt his body lean, almost imperceptibly, toward her.

It wasn’t intentional. He wasn’t even aware of it until it happened. But when he realized, his first instinct was to tense, to regain his composure.

However, before he could, Lena shifted slightly toward him, and Oscar felt the light tug of her grip, the way her thumb brushed against the fabric of his sleeve. There was no ulterior motive in her gesture—at least, not one Oscar could identify with certainty. Just a bold confidence, a way of reminding him—with the simplest action—that she had no problem getting close, erasing the lines between them whenever she felt like it.

And the worst part was that it worked.

The journalists, of course, didn’t let the gesture go unnoticed.

“Well, it seems like your relationship isn’t just about rivalry,” one of them commented lightly. “Clearly, you’ve known each other for years.”

Lena shrugged, as if the question was unnecessary.

“Of course. Piastri and I have been fighting on track since we were kids.”

“And we still are,” Oscar added, dismissively.

The journalists nodded, satisfied with the response. From the outside, their relationship looked exactly as it was supposed to: two rivals with years of history, who understood the dynamic between them perfectly. Friends, perhaps. Or at least, competitors who respected each other and enjoyed the challenge.

That was what everyone saw.

But Oscar… Oscar felt something else.

The light weight of Lena’s hand on his arm. The brush of her thumb against the fabric of his sleeve. The way she leaned slightly toward him when she spoke, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

There was nothing strange about the gesture. It wasn’t flirting. It didn’t have some hidden intention.

And yet, something inside Oscar clicked.

It was sudden and unsettling, a strange sensation slipping into his chest before he could block it out. It wasn’t attraction—not exactly. It was more like recognition, a realization that Lena could cross certain boundaries with him without his body reacting with the automatic rejection he usually had toward anyone who got too close.

She did it without thinking, with exasperating ease. And the worst part was that he didn’t think about pulling away either.

There was no logical reason for it.

The cameras were still rolling, the journalists were still asking questions, the fans who would watch the interview later would interpret it as just another amusing moment between two lifelong rivals. No one would notice anything unusual.

No one except Oscar.

And that was what irritated him the most.

The atmosphere in Melbourne was different.

Oscar felt it in every corner of the paddock, in every fan chanting his name, in every Australian flag waving in the grandstands. He had imagined this moment countless times, but living it surpassed all expectations.

P3 in qualifying. It wasn’t pole, but it was a solid position. He was ready. He knew exactly what he had to do.

As he walked through the paddock corridors, his mind was focused on strategy, on the start, on every detail that could make the difference. And then, as he turned a corner, he saw her.

Lena was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, gaze distant. It looked like she was waiting for him, though with her, one could never be sure.

"Ready for the big day, huh, Piastri?" she said in her usual tone, one that hovered between provocation and amusement.

"Always," he replied without hesitation.

She nodded, sizing him up for a moment that felt longer than necessary. Then, unexpectedly, her expression shifted.

"You’re going to have a great race," she said, without a trace of irony. "This is your home. Make sure you take a good memory from here."

Oscar blinked, caught off guard.

It wasn’t the comment itself that surprised him, but the way she said it. Without that ever-present edge of defiance. Without the sharpness of their eternal rivalry.

She seemed… sincere.

Before he could find a response, Lena continued, her voice carrying a casualness that didn’t quite match what she had just said.

"And well, it’s a bit surreal, isn’t it?" she added. "We went from fighting in karts on forgotten tracks in the middle of nowhere to this. You, at your home race. P3. In front of thousands of people cheering for you."

She paused, as if unsure whether to continue. But then she gave the smallest of smiles, briefly lowering her gaze.

"I’m proud of you, Piastri."

The air grew heavier in Oscar’s lungs.

He wasn’t sure what unsettled him more—her sincerity, the fact that it was coming from her, or the way his chest tightened slightly at her words.

Because it wasn’t just anyone saying it.

It was Lena.

And for some reason, that affected him more than he was willing to admit.

Oscar felt his throat close up for a fraction of a second.

Lena was already straightening up, ready to leave as if she hadn’t just knocked him off balance with those words. As if she hadn’t just said something that would stay in his head for who knew how long.

He couldn’t let it end just like that.

"Lena."

She stopped, turning her head slightly, one eyebrow raised in question.

Oscar swallowed. He wasn’t good at these things, but he couldn’t let her be the only one to speak.

"You’re going to have a great race too."

His voice was steadier than he expected, though inside, he was still trying to regain balance from the whirlwind Lena had just left behind.

She blinked, surprised. For a moment, Oscar thought she would mock him, throw a sarcastic remark to break the tension. But she didn’t.

Instead, Lena smiled. Barely—a flicker of a smile, quick and almost imperceptible, but genuine.

"I know," she replied, with the certainty of someone who had never doubted herself.

And then, without another word, she turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Oscar remained there a moment longer, the echo of her voice still ringing in his ears, an unfamiliar sensation settling in his chest.

It wasn’t exactly confusion. It wasn’t just surprise.

It was something deeper. Something more unsettling. Something he wasn’t sure he liked.

And the worst part was that no matter how much he tried to analyze it, he knew he wouldn’t be able to shake it off when he pulled his visor down and lined up on the grid.

The lights went out, and Oscar reacted on instinct.

The McLaren catapulted toward the first corner, the roar of the engines around him creating a deafening symphony. He held firm in P3, protecting the inside as Verstappen and Leclerc fought ahead.

But there was no time to relax.

Lena was there.

Almost glued to his rear wing, waiting for the slightest mistake to strike.

Ten millimeters.

That was the space Oscar left her in every corner. Just enough not to crash—but no more than that. If she wanted the position, she was going to have to take it by force.

The pressure was relentless. Lap after lap, Lena attacked. She tested the outside at Turn 5, then the inside at Turn 9. She threw herself into every braking zone, making sure he felt her presence like an unyielding shadow.

On lap 23, McLaren called him into the pits. The stop was fast, flawless. He came out just ahead of Lena, who had stopped a lap earlier.

But she wasn’t done yet.

Turn 3.

Oscar saw the Red Bull in his mirrors before she even made the move.

Lena dived down the inside with surgical precision, with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how far they could push.

He reacted instantly.

Defended aggressively, leaving precisely ten millimeters between their wheels. Ten millimeters between keeping the position and losing it. Ten millimeters between personal victory and defeat.

The crowd was on their feet.

Side by side, they accelerated toward Turn 4.

Oscar held the line. Barely.

Ten millimeters more, and she would have been the one emerging ahead.

Ten millimeters more, and it could have ended in disaster.

But it didn’t.

Oscar kept the position.

When he crossed the finish line in second place, the radio exploded with his team’s cheers.

"Well done, Oscar! P2 at home, incredible race!"

He let out a shaky breath, a laugh escaping his lips. It wasn’t a win, but it was a solid podium—a result any driver would dream of achieving at their home race.

As he climbed out of the car, the roar of the Australian crowd engulfed him. People chanted his name, a wave of applause that sent chills down his spine as he raised his arms in gratitude.

But then, before he could fully process it, he felt an impact against his side.

Lena.

She had walked up with a grin stretching from ear to ear and, without warning, threw her arms around him. A spontaneous, unrestrained gesture, with no trace of their usual hostility.

Oscar froze completely for a second.

He could feel the fabric of her race suit against his, her arm firmly wrapped around his back.

The cameras caught everything.

Photographers fired away, the images already circulating online, ready to send fans into a frenzy.

And the worst—or maybe the best—part was that Oscar didn’t react with his usual stiffness.

He didn’t pull away. He didn’t try to escape.

Almost without realizing it, he returned the embrace.

Ten millimeters.

That was what separated them on track.

But here, there wasn’t a single one.

A couple of hours later, Oscar settled into his airplane seat, resting his head against the window and staring into the darkness of the night sky. The muffled roar of the engines and the dim cabin lighting gave everything an unreal feel, as if he were suspended in a limbo between two worlds.

He should be exhausted. He should be enjoying the moment. P2 at his home race, the crowd chanting his name, champagne spilling over the podium.

And yet, the only thing occupying his mind was the feeling of Lena’s embrace.

It was absurd.

He had raced past her so many times on track—always on the edge, always brushing against each other with surgical precision. Always breaking each other down, searching for every tiny advantage, pushing to the limit.

But he had never felt her like this.

Close. Present.

No helmet. No barriers.

A few minutes earlier, as he boarded the private jet with Lando, he had barely exchanged any words with him. He knew his teammate was probably waiting for him to comment on the race, the podium, something. But Oscar had said nothing.

And Lando, being Lando, wasn’t about to let it go.

"Alright, are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to figure it out myself?"

Oscar blinked and turned his head, meeting his teammate’s curious expression. Lando was watching him from the seat next to him, one eyebrow raised.

"Nothing."

"Yeah, sure," Lando scoffed, crossing his arms. "I know you well enough to tell when something’s eating you up. You haven’t said a word in two hours, and you just finished on the podium at home."

Oscar sighed. Lando wasn’t going to drop it easily.

"I’m tired," he tried to dismiss.

Lando clicked his tongue, clearly not buying it.

"So it’s Lena."

Oscar felt a jolt of discomfort run down his spine.

"What?"

"Come on, mate." Lando turned fully in his seat, resting an arm on the backrest. "I saw it. We all saw it. Since when do you and Lena Bauer hug like you’re best friends?"

Oscar clenched his jaw.

"It was just… the moment. You know how she is."

Lando studied him, as if trying to unravel something beyond his words.

"Yeah, I do. But you didn’t react the way you usually do."

Oscar looked away, uneasy.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Lando smirked, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Oh, I think you do."

Oscar didn’t respond. He just stared at his reflection in the window, barely visible against the darkness of the sky.

Lando was right. He knew.

But admitting it out loud was another thing entirely.

Because if he acknowledged what he felt—if he put it into words—then he would have to face it.

And Oscar wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

The problem with Lena Bauer was that she had always been there. Always by his side, always in his way. From karting to Formula 2, and now at the pinnacle of motorsport. Always ten millimeters from him.

Always too close.

And yet, never as much as now.

Oscar ran a hand over his face, exhaling in frustration.

"It’s nothing," he muttered at last, more to himself than to Lando.

His teammate didn’t even look up from his phone.

"Whatever you say."

The cabin fell into silence again. The hum of the engine, the flickering overhead lights, the gentle sway of the plane cutting through the night.

Oscar closed his eyes.

But in his mind, he didn’t see the race. Or the podium. Or the crowd chanting his name.

He only saw Lena.

Her smile.

The warmth of her embrace.

The sound of her laughter, echoing in his chest like an unfamiliar vibration.

The way she looked at him, seconds before letting go, that mischievous glint in her eyes—like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Like she knew what she was doing to him.

And maybe she did.

Maybe Lena Bauer had always known.

Oscar arrived at his Monaco apartment with the deep relief of someone who, after weeks of traveling, noise, and adrenaline, finally had a couple of days to himself.

He dropped his suitcase by the door, kicked off his shoes without much care, and exhaled slowly as he scanned the space. His apartment was exactly as he had left it—neat, quiet, welcoming.

Peace.

That was what he needed.

He had planned these days with precision: sleep in without worrying about schedules, cook something decent instead of relying on paddock catering or airport food, and maybe, if he felt like it, go for a walk along the harbor. But most of all, rest.

He collapsed onto the couch with a satisfied sigh, pulled out his phone, and started scrolling mindlessly. Messages from his team, social media notifications exploding with podium photos from Australia, a couple of texts from Lando sending him ridiculous memes. Nothing urgent.

He was about to put his phone down when a new notification popped up on the screen.

Lena Bauer.

He frowned.

It wasn’t like they never talked outside of race weekends—well, actually, they didn’t much—but if Lena was texting him directly, it had to be something important.

He swiped to open the message, and what he found made him blink a couple of times.

Lena: "pastri pls i need help, im movin and the fookin couch dosnt fit in the elevator. i swer i tried with max, charls, even russel but aparntly evryone decidid to disapear at the same time. so now im stuk and if i try to do this alone ill eithr break my spine or end up trapd under it n die. u dont want that on ur consiense do u?? pls be a decnt human bein n help me, ill buy u a bier or idk a whole pizza if thats wht it takes 😭🙏 also if u say no i will haunt u 4ever just so u kno."

He blinked again, trying to process the grammatical crime he had just read.

For a second, he considered ignoring it. After all, he had spent weeks traveling, racing, training. All he wanted was to sleep in his own bed, eat something decent, and not move a single muscle for the next forty-eight hours.

But then he pictured Lena, somehow attempting to haul a couch up the stairs, probably cursing in three different languages, and with a ninety percent chance of actually managing it out of sheer stubbornness.

He sighed.

Oscar: "Give me 15 minutes."

His phone vibrated almost instantly.

Lena: "thankiu ily"

Oscar let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. But as he put his shoes back on and grabbed his keys, he couldn’t ignore the strange warmth that settled in his chest at those three little letters.

No.

Lena Bauer definitely had no idea what she was doing to him.

Oscar arrived at Lena’s building with the address she had sent him in a message. He didn’t need to call her or let her know he was there; the commotion in the stairwell was already guiding him straight to his target.

There she was, locked in battle with a couch.

The piece of furniture was stuck on the first landing, wedged at an angle that defied all logic. Lena, sweating and with the sleeves of her T-shirt rolled up to her shoulders, was pushing with all her strength, muttering German curses under her breath. Every time she tried to turn it, the couch got even more stuck.

Oscar stood at the entrance, arms crossed, watching in silence for a few seconds.

"Are you winning?" he finally asked, the calm tone of someone arriving at a crime scene after the disaster had already happened.

Lena let out a frustrated huff and rested a hand on her hip, momentarily conceding defeat.

"Too late. It’s already knocked me out."

Oscar stepped closer, analyzing the situation with a critical eye. He crouched down, measuring the space, and within seconds, he was already formulating a plan to get the couch out without demolishing the building in the process.

"You tried lifting it sideways, didn’t you?"

"Of course I did," Lena shot back, rolling her eyes. "Do you think I’m an idiot?"

Oscar didn’t respond to that. In his mind, the scene spoke for itself.

"Alright," he said simply. "Then we’re doing this another way."

He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, getting ready for the task.

"What’s the plan, genius?" Lena asked, leaning against the railing with her arms crossed.

"First, we’re going to rotate it. But instead of pushing, we tilt it upward and slide it at an angle."

Lena eyed him skeptically.

"That sounds exactly like what I already tried."

"Yeah, but I’m not going to let the couch win."

Just before getting to work, Oscar couldn’t resist.

He pulled out his phone, and with the ease of someone who already knew exactly what they were going to do, opened the camera and pointed it at Lena.

She, standing there with her arms crossed, brows furrowed, and the couch hopelessly wedged in the stairs, looked like a live-action meme.

"What are you doing?" she asked, somewhere between suspicion and exasperation, hearing the shutter click.

"Documenting the moment," Oscar replied with a smirk, not even glancing up from his phone as he typed a caption.

Lena immediately straightened, trying to snatch the phone from him.

"Don’t you dare."

But it was already too late.

Oscar turned the screen toward her with a triumphant look before posting the photo to his Instagram story. In the image, she was in all her glory—sweat on her forehead, absolute frustration on her face, and the couch putting up a fight.

The caption read:

"The pole position never resists her, but feng shui is a different story."

Lena let out an outraged groan.

"Delete that. Right now."

"It already has likes."

"How long has it even been!?"

"Twenty seconds."

Lena shot him a deadly glare, but Oscar, unfazed, slid his phone back into his pocket, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Alright. Now, let’s deal with the couch."

Lena muttered something in German that probably wasn’t a compliment but gave in.

They worked together, though "worked together" was a generous way to put it. Oscar directed the operation with methodical patience, while Lena tried to brute-force her way through at every opportunity.

"Stop, stop, stop," Oscar said, halting when she attempted to push with her shoulder. "If you do that, you’ll just jam it even more."

"Or I’ll shove it through once and for all," Lena countered, trying again.

Oscar let out an exasperated sigh.

"Lena, please."

She huffed but eventually relented and followed his instructions. With a bit of coordination—and a lot of corrections from Oscar—they finally managed to get the couch past the first flight of stairs.

Once they set it down on the next landing, Lena collapsed onto one of the cushions with a dramatic sigh.

"I am never moving again," she declared, staring at the ceiling. "I’ll die in this apartment."

Oscar leaned against the wall, crossing his arms with a smirk.

"Could’ve been worse."

Lena turned her head to look at him in disbelief.

"Worse? How? With the couch tumbling down the stairs and taking someone out with it?"

"For example."

Lena let out a breathless laugh.

"Give me five minutes, and we’ll keep going."

Oscar nodded, though deep down, he knew this was going to take longer than expected.

When they finally managed to squeeze the sofa through the apartment door, Oscar collapsed onto it with a heavy sigh, feeling the exhaustion take over his arms.

“I thought lifting weights at the gym had prepared me for anything,” he muttered, massaging his forearm.

Lena, leaning against the wall as she tried to catch her breath, let out a breathy laugh.

“Yeah, well, two-meter sofas have their own agenda.”

For a few moments, only their labored breathing filled the space, along with the distant hum of the city drifting in through the open balcony. Now that the sofa was in place, the frantic energy of the moment faded, leaving behind something else entirely.

Oscar ran a hand through his hair, feeling his shirt sticking to his skin.

“You said there was beer.”

Lena raised an eyebrow.

“Are you implying I don’t keep my promises, Piastri?”

Pushing off the doorframe, she disappeared into the kitchen. Oscar took the opportunity to glance around the apartment. It was practically empty, save for a few stacked boxes in the corner and the sofa they had just hauled up by sheer force.

There were no paintings on the walls, no decorations—just the space in its purest form. He didn’t know why, but it suited Lena. Practical. Functional. Nothing that wasn’t strictly necessary.

She returned with two beers in hand, tossing one at him without warning. Oscar caught it on reflex, shooting her a pointed look, but she only smirked before dropping onto the sofa beside him.

“Don’t look at me like that. If you’d dropped it, that would’ve been on you.”

Oscar shook his head, but he couldn’t suppress a small smile.

Silence settled between them again as their bottles popped open. They drank in sync, both gazing out at the balcony, where Monaco’s lights shimmered against the night sky.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either.

It was that strange middle ground, where their usual dynamic wavered between familiarity and something Oscar hadn’t quite figured out yet.

“I didn’t think you’d move here,” he finally said, breaking the silence.

Lena turned the bottle in her hands.

“Neither did I, until I didn’t have much of a choice. Monaco is convenient. No taxes and all that.”

“Yeah, that’s why we all end up here.”

She shot him a lazy smile.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m still not sold on it. I prefer places with more soul.”

Oscar took another sip, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

“And where has more soul, in your opinion?”

Lena leaned her head back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if the answer was written somewhere in the empty room.

“Berlin. Maybe London. Maybe somewhere where no one knows who I am, where I can disappear for a while.”

Oscar nodded slowly, though he wasn’t sure he entirely understood. He had never felt the need to disappear.

“So why didn’t you go to one of those places?”

Lena turned to look at him, studying him for a moment before shrugging.

“I guess, in the end, I like having a little bit of chaos nearby.”

The way she said it, without thinking, made Oscar pause for a second longer than necessary.

Because she said it while looking at him.

He held her gaze for a beat longer, sensing something in her words that unsettled him, though he couldn’t quite place what it was.

Lena was the first to look away, refocusing on her bottle, drumming her fingers lightly against the glass.

“Anyway, thanks for the help.” Her tone was back to its usual lightness, as if the last few minutes of conversation hadn’t happened at all. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come. Probably left the sofa downstairs and used boxes as chairs.”

Oscar let out a quiet snort.

“That could’ve been a creative solution.”

“Nah. I want this place to at least somewhat resemble a home.”

He frowned slightly, something about the way she said “home” not quite sitting right with him. Like the word felt foreign to her.

“Isn’t it?”

Lena turned to him again, eyes sharp, as if seeing more than she let on. Then she smiled, but it was one of those smiles that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Not yet.”

Silence returned between them, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. Oscar took another sip of his beer, feeling the cool liquid slide down his throat as he tried not to overthink everything they had just said.

Outside, Monaco continued to glow like a movie set. Inside, Lena shifted on the couch, tucking one leg under the other as she turned toward him.

“By the way, how long are you staying before you have to travel again?”

Oscar blinked at the abrupt change of topic but decided to play along.

“A couple of days. Why?”

“Because now that you’ve helped me with the sofa, it’d be a waste not to take advantage of your handyman skills.”

Oscar eyed her suspiciously.

“Lena…”

She held up her hands in mock innocence.

“Nothing complicated. Just a few more things. A table. A couple of chairs. Maybe a bookshelf.”

“You want me to do your entire move?”

“No, I want you to help. Not the same thing.”

Oscar sighed, but he couldn’t stop the corner of his lips from twitching slightly.

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

Lena tapped his arm with her bottle, as if sealing a deal.

“We’ll see.”

The following days tested Oscar’s patience.

What initially seemed like a simple favor—helping with a few pieces of furniture—quickly spiraled into something much more chaotic. Lena had absolutely nothing organized. Her boxes were stacked haphazardly in the living room, some half-open, others sealed with an absurd amount of tape.

“Why do you have so many boxes when you basically live in a paddock all year?” Oscar asked the day she dragged him back to her apartment under the pretense of “just helping me move one thing.”

“I don’t know, most of them are books.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

“You read?”

Lena shot him an offended look.

"Why do you say that like it’s some kind of miracle?"

"I don’t know. Do you see how you write in your phone? I just never pictured you sitting still long enough to read."

"I have my quiet moments, Piastri. Few, but they exist."

He wasn’t entirely convinced of that—until he saw the stacks of novels, biographies, and even a few technical essays in Lena’s moving boxes. It was a chaotic mix of genres, ranging from thrillers to books on applied F1 mechanics.

"You actually read all of this?" he asked, pulling out a book on aerodynamics with pages filled with handwritten notes in the margins.

"Most of them. Some were gifts I never got around to reading."

Oscar shook his head in disbelief before opening another box. That was how they spent the afternoon—drifting from one conversation to another, moving furniture back and forth, and pausing every now and then when Oscar, with infinite patience, had to explain the correct way to use a power screwdriver.

"Give me that. You’re making me nervous," he muttered at one point, taking the tool from her hands before she could drill straight through the table they were working on.

"You’re such a control freak," she shot back, crossing her arms.

"I’m efficient."

By the end of the day, Lena’s apartment was still far from organized, but at least she had a table, chairs, and a bookshelf that wouldn’t collapse at any second.

They both collapsed onto the couch with a tired sigh.

"Tell me that’s the last of it," Oscar mumbled, eyes closed.

Lena elbowed him.

"Almost."

He groaned.

"I knew you were lying to me."

"Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad. Besides, I gave you beer and free food—what more do you want?"

Oscar cracked one eye open, amused.

"A written contract guaranteeing you won’t drag me into this again."

Lena stuck out her tongue.

And for some reason, Oscar realized he wouldn’t mind coming back.

The next few days in Monaco passed far too quickly. Before he could even process it, he was back to his usual routine—simulator sessions, meetings with engineers, workouts, flights to the next circuit.

But something had changed.

It was subtle, like background noise he couldn’t quite tune out. A recurring thought creeping in at the most unexpected moments—while reviewing telemetry data, while pulling on his gloves before heading out on track, while trying to fall asleep in yet another uncomfortable hotel bed.

Lena.

Not because he was analyzing her as a rival. Not because he was trying to figure out how to beat her on track.

Just because she was there.

Because every time he scrolled through Instagram, he stumbled upon clips of their interview together, the comments flooded with people loving their dynamic. Because every time he opened WhatsApp, their chat was never too far down the list. Because every time someone mentioned her name in a conversation, he felt something close to… anticipation.

And now, when he arrived at the paddock, he found himself looking for her without even realizing it.

The next Grand Prix was a brutal reminder of why he couldn’t afford distractions.

From the first practice sessions, it was clear that the margins were razor-thin. Red Bull had the edge, sure, but McLaren and Ferrari were right behind, waiting for any opportunity. And amid all the tension, there was Lena—with that infuriatingly relaxed attitude that somehow managed to get under his skin.

"Ready to lose again, Piastri?" she teased with a smirk when they crossed paths near the hospitality area before qualifying.

"I’m not losing today," he shot back, folding his arms.

"We’ll see about that."

And they did.

Qualifying was chaos. Session after session, the times tightened until there was barely any room for error. In the final moments of Q3, Lena put in a blistering lap, claiming provisional pole. Oscar was still on his flyer, pushing the limits of the track with every turn.

When he crossed the line and saw his time flash on the board, adrenaline surged through him.

P1.

On race day, the tension on the grid was almost tangible.

Oscar was on pole, Lena right beside him in P2. From inside his cockpit, he could see her through the visor of her helmet—leaning slightly forward, hands resting on the wheel, fingers barely perceptibly tightening around the grips.

He knew her too well. He could tell she was planning something.

He also knew she wouldn’t give him a single inch.

When the lights went out, the world shrank to the sound of his own heartbeat and the deafening roar of the engines.

His start was good. Hers was better.

They went wheel to wheel into the first corner, neither backing down, neither willing to be the first to yield.

The battle raged on for lap after lap. Every overtake was met with an immediate counterattack. Every attempt to pull away was thwarted by the other’s relentless defense.

And then—it happened.

It wasn’t a major mistake. It wasn’t a desperate move.

It was a matter of… ten millimeters.

Oscar tried to close the door in a high-speed corner, expecting Lena to back out. But Lena never backed out.

Their rear wheels touched.

And in the blink of an eye, both cars were out of control.

The world spun in a blur of radio static, gravel, and the sickening crunch of carbon fiber meeting the barriers.

The impact was brutal. Not in sheer force, but in the inevitability of it.

Their cars—now little more than shattered debris scattered across the runoff—were the culmination of something that had been brewing for years.

When Oscar tore off his steering wheel and sat up in his seat, the deafening roar of the crowd was muted by the blood pounding in his ears. His hands, still shaking with adrenaline, unfastened the harnesses with a sharp tug.

He jumped out of the car.

And there she was.

Lena had already climbed out of her Red Bull, brushing dust off her fireproof suit as if the crash hadn’t fazed her at all. But Oscar knew better. He saw the tension in her posture, the way her fingers curled into fists, the tight clench of her jaw as she swallowed down barely contained frustration.

They locked eyes in silence, their breathing still ragged, the echoes of the crash still hanging between them.

Around them, track marshals rushed in, ensuring they were both unharmed, stepping between them before either could do something they might regret.

There was no need for words.

What had just happened wasn’t a mistake.

It was the result of every on-track clash, every maneuver pushed to the limit, every time one had tried to prove they could beat the other.

It was the inevitable outcome of ten years of war.

When they were taken back to the paddock, the tension between them was so thick that even the FIA officials seemed to want to stay out of it. Their team principals were too busy analyzing replays of the crash, debating over the radio, searching for arguments to either defend or condemn what had happened.

So they were left in a room. Alone.

The silence was suffocating.

The only sound was their breathing—still ragged, still laced with fury.

Oscar ran his hands through his hair, exhaling sharply, trying to steady the storm of emotions tearing through him.

But when he looked up and saw her standing there, arms crossed, eyes burning, brows furrowed in pure defiance…

He knew.

This wasn’t about the race.

It had never been just about the track.

And then, the storm broke.

The door shut behind them with a sharp thud.

Silence.

Heavy, stifling, ready to shatter.

Lena ran a hand over her neck, clenching her jaw, her breath still unsteady. She didn’t know if it was from the crash, the anger, or the lethal combination of both.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she snapped, her voice rough.

Oscar, who had been standing with his hands on his hips, turned his head toward her like he’d been waiting for the first shot to be fired.

"What’s wrong with me?" He let out a dry, incredulous laugh—a sharp, cutting sound. "Are you fucking kidding me? You shoved me into the wall, Lena."

"Oh, fuck off. You left me with no space first."

"There was no more space to give you."

"There’s always space, Piastri, but of course, if you're the one who has to yield, suddenly it becomes fucking nonexistent."

Oscar took a step toward her.

"Oh, I’m sorry—should I applaud you? Should I fucking bow for your sacrifice? If you want to win, maybe try not launching yourself like a goddamn kamikaze."

"And maybe you should try driving like you don’t have a stick up your ass!"

The air crackled between them.

The crash, the scrape of tires, the sound of shattered carbon fiber—it didn’t matter.

What mattered was everything behind it.

Years and years of pushing each other to the edge. Of locking eyes and knowing neither of them would ever back down. Of a rivalry so deeply poisoned that they no longer knew whether they wanted to beat each other or destroy each other.

Oscar took another step.

Lena didn’t move an inch.

"You always do this," he muttered, voice lower now but no less intense.

"Do what?"

"Put me in this fucking situation."

Lena tilted her head, a razor-sharp smile curling her lips.

"Don’t play the victim. It’s not just me."

"Oh, no?"

"You know it’s not."

Oscar clenched his jaw. Lena saw the tic in his temple, the way his fists tightened and relaxed, like he was holding something back—something he had no fucking idea how to deal with.

"Admit it pisses you off," she murmured.

"What pisses me off?"

"That I have you so figured out I know what you're feeling before you do."

Oscar let out a tense, fractured laugh.

"You have no idea what I’m feeling."

Lena stepped closer.

A single damn millimeter.

"Of course I do."

A flicker in his jaw.

"No. You don’t."

"I know it’s not about the race."

Oscar swallowed.

"Shut up."

"I know it’s not about the fucking crash."

"Lena."

"I know you want to kiss me."

Oscar felt something drop in his stomach—an unfamiliar, furious vertigo.

"Shut up."

Lena laughed, but there was no amusement in it. Only a blade, only the undeniable certainty that she was right.

"Why? Because it pisses you off to hear it out loud?"

Oscar gritted his teeth.

"Because it’s bullshit."

"No, it’s not."

"Yes, it is."

"Oh, really? Then why—"

She leaned in just a fraction more, pushing him without even touching him.

"Why do you look at me like that every time we’re on track?"

"I don’t look at you in any way."

"Why do you pick fights over stupid shit, but never over what actually gets to you?"

"Because you’re unbearable."

Lena clicked her tongue.

"Liar."

Oscar felt something in his chest pull impossibly tight.

"Drop it."

But she didn’t.

"Why can't you stand it when others congratulate me? When someone else says I did well?"

Oscar didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Because the answer was there, lodged in his throat, so obvious it almost made him sick.

Because the truth was spilling through the cracks of his denial, seeping into the fractures of his damned mind until everything fell into place.

It wasn’t competitiveness.

It wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t that she won.

It was that she was there, always, messing up his existence since they were kids.

It was that every time he saw her passing him, he felt something that made no sense.

It was that when she laughed, with that smile that was so unmistakably hers, his chest tightened.

It was that he had spent years convincing himself that all he wanted was to beat her, when what he really wanted was to touch her.

And she knew it.

Lena saw the shift in his face, in his dark, glinting eyes, in the way his breathing turned just a little deeper.

"See?" she whispered.

Oscar ran his tongue over his lips, his fists clenched, his pulse pounding at his temples.

"No," he said.

But it sounded like what it was—a lie.

Lena smiled, but it wasn’t mocking. It was something heavier, more dangerous. Something that sent Oscar’s pulse racing.

"Yes," she whispered. "You see it."

Oscar didn’t move, but he didn’t step back when she leaned in closer. Ten millimeters less.

"Shut up."

His voice came out rough, ragged, completely useless.

"Make me."

Oscar swallowed hard.

The air between them was thick, suffocating. No space. No escape.

They had spent years fighting. Years pushing each other to the limit. Years forcing themselves to believe that all they felt was anger, rivalry, fury.

But fury didn’t burn like this.

Fury didn’t make his hands tingle with the urge to grab her.

Fury didn’t leave him like this, with his jaw clenched and his thoughts in complete chaos because Lena was so close, because he could feel her breath, because he knew—he knew—this was inevitable.

"Say you don’t want this."

Lena’s voice was a challenge, a provocation that curled down his spine.

Oscar closed his eyes for a second.

If he said it, maybe they could pretend this never happened.

That none of this existed.

That they could keep waging their damn war on the track without the truth tearing them apart.

But when he opened his eyes, when he saw the way Lena was looking at him, something inside him just… gave in.

The last barrier shattered.

The final ten millimeters disappeared.

And Oscar kissed her.

The impact was brutal.

No hesitation, no second-guessing, no restraint. Just pure momentum, an inevitable collision that trapped them in a fierce, definitive moment.

Lena gasped against his mouth, startled but not resisting, because her fingers clenched in the fabric of his race suit, pulling him in, seeking more, seeking everything. Oscar didn’t think. He couldn’t. His body reacted before his mind could process it, before he could remember that just minutes ago, he had been shouting at her.

That they had been arguing, that they had been furious, that they had spent years hating each other.

But had they really?

His back hit the wall, and he barely had time to catch his breath before Lena kissed him again—deeper, hungrier, as if they had just crossed a line they would never be able to step back from.

"Son of a bitch…" she murmured against his lips, but she didn’t sound angry. She sounded defeated.

Oscar squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold on to something, to any rational thought that could pull him out of this whirlwind.

But everything was Lena.

Her breath, her scent mixed with the adrenaline of the race, the feel of her hands gripping his neck.

He wanted her with an intensity that terrified him.

His entire world narrowed down to this moment, to this kiss, to the small, shaky exhales slipping from her mouth when he deepened it.

Lena laughed, barely a whisper against his skin.

"I knew I was right."

Oscar clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around her waist on instinct.

"Don’t ruin it," he growled.

But she did anyway.

"I always knew you’d break one day," she whispered, with a shameless confidence that should have infuriated him.

But there was no anger left in him.

Only this.

This vertigo, this need.

This something that had been pushing him for years—something that, now he understood, had never been hatred.

Lena pulled back just a fraction, her gaze locked on his. The last traces of defiance were still in her expression, but something else had seeped through the cracks.

"And now what, Piastri?" she asked, her voice lower than usual.

Oscar ran his tongue over his lips, still trapped in the spiral of what had just happened.

He looked into her eyes, at her swollen lips, at the shadow of a smile threatening to return.

And then he knew.

"I have no fucking idea."

Lena laughed, and Oscar kissed her again.

The door creaked open.

Oscar and Lena pulled apart at the last second, his pulse still hammering in his ears. Lena recovered faster—she lifted her chin, ran her fingers along the collar of her race suit, and slipped into her usual mask of arrogant indifference, as if they hadn’t just been pressed against the wall, devouring each other with the urgency of people who had waited too long.

The FIA steward entered, oblivious, an iPad in hand and the frown of someone who had spent too much time analyzing replays.

"Alright, both of you need to give your statements on the on-track incident. Bauer, you first. Piastri, wait here."

Lena cast a quick glance at Oscar before moving.

A fleeting look, barely a couple of seconds. But enough.

He held her gaze, trying to read what wasn’t being said.

No regret. No hesitation. Just something sharp, expectant.

When Lena turned and walked out of the room, her scent still lingered in the air.

Oscar ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly, as if that could restore control over something he had lost a long time ago.

Ten millimeters.

They had crossed them.

And there was no turning back.

Oscar was still pulling off his gloves when Andrea intercepted him in the hallway.

"Doctor. Now."

"I'm fine."

"Doctor. Now."

Stella’s look left no room for argument, so Oscar let out a frustrated sigh and nodded, peeling off the top half of his race suit as he followed.

But his mind wasn’t on the medical check-up.

She had slipped away.

Lena was already gone when he finished his statement, and no matter how much he searched for her among the crowd of mechanics, team principals, and paddock staff, she was nowhere to be found.

And the scene in that room—the heat of her breath, her lips mere millimeters from his, the echo of her voice tearing apart every excuse he had tried to hide behind—kept replaying in his head like a damn broken record.

"Piastri."

Oscar blinked, realizing he was already in the medical room. A doctor stood in front of him, pointing at the examination table.

"Sit down."

"Is Lena here?"

The doctor raised an eyebrow.

"Bauer? No, she already came through. She’s fine."

Oscar pressed his tongue against his palate, frustrated.

Where the hell had she gone?

He climbed onto the table without complaint and let them check his blood pressure and reflexes, but he barely paid attention. His mind was still trapped in that room, in the way Lena had looked at him before walking out.

Because now he knew.

She had been right.

And that pissed him off. It pissed him off so much.

But what pissed him off the most was that, despite everything—he wanted to see her again.

The flight back to Monaco was a blur.

He didn’t remember packing, leaving the circuit, or walking through the airport with the team. His body moved on autopilot, repeating mechanical gestures, nodding at the right moments when someone spoke to him. But his mind was elsewhere.

The corner. The impact. The fire in his chest when he saw Lena’s helmet move inside the car, when he saw her climb out unscathed.

The room in the paddock.

Her sharp voice. The way she had stepped closer. The way she had disarmed him effortlessly, ripping a truth from him that even he hadn’t realized.

By the time he landed in Nice, his jaw was so tense it ached.

He got into the waiting car without bothering to say anything. The radio played in the background, a mix of music and news, but he didn’t listen. His own silence was louder.

He got out at his building and took the elevator up with the same inertia that had carried him through the last few hours. When the doors opened, he walked to his apartment, disabled the alarm, and stepped into the dimly lit space.

The room was silent except for the faint murmur of the sea in the distance.

Oscar dropped his suitcase by the door and stood still in the middle of the living room.

The weight of everything crashed into him all at once.

He exhaled, running a hand down his face.

He knew sleep would be impossible.

He didn’t even think. He just pulled out his phone, opened their chat, and sent his location.

He hit send before he could second-guess himself.

Seen.

Nothing else.

No message. No reaction.

Just the damn double blue check marks, glowing on the screen like a reminder of how much of an idiot he was.

Oscar clenched his jaw and tossed the phone onto the table. He sank onto the couch, head tipped back, staring at the ceiling.

It had been a bad idea.

No, it had been a fucking terrible idea.

What the hell was he thinking?

He shut his eyes. The crash. The fight. The kiss.

Everything they had held back for years had exploded in that room. But now, after the frenzy of the race, after the adrenaline and the rage, all that was left was the emptiness.

The hum in his chest wouldn’t quiet.

And then the doorbell ringed.

Oscar opened his eyes.

He froze.

Didn’t move at first, as if his brain needed a few extra seconds to process it.

Doorbell. Again.

This time, he got up. Walked to the door, feeling his own pulse in his fingertips.

He opened it.

Lena.

Standing in the doorway, that same unreadable glint in her eyes.

They didn’t speak.

They didn’t need to.

She stepped inside, and he shut the door behind her.

And then, everything unraveled.

The moment the door clicked shut, the silence between them became unbearable.

Lena didn’t wait. Didn’t hesitate. She reached for him first, hands gripping the front of his shirt, dragging him down into a kiss that was anything but soft. It was raw, demanding—filled with every word they hadn’t said, every feeling they had swallowed for years. Oscar barely had time to react before instinct took over. His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him, as if the space between them was something offensive, something that needed to be erased.

She tasted like adrenaline and defiance, like the echoes of their fight still lingered between their teeth. He could feel her pulse hammering against his fingertips, mirroring his own. Every inch of his body was wound tight, coiled with tension that had nothing to do with the race and everything to do with her.

Lena backed him into the living room, their steps clumsy, uncoordinated in a way that betrayed just how frayed their control was. They hit the edge of the couch, and Oscar barely managed to turn them, pressing her back against the armrest as his weight settled over her. She didn’t protest. If anything, she arched into him, fingers threading through his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

A shiver ran down his spine at the sensation, sharp and electric. It made him want more.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his breathing ragged. Her lips were swollen, parted, her chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. There was something wild in her eyes, something reckless and unguarded, and it hit him like a punch to the gut.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Lena smirked, tilting her head just slightly. “Are you going to overthink this, Piastri?”

Oscar exhaled sharply, something close to a laugh escaping him. “Shut up.”

She did. But only because his mouth was on hers again, deeper this time, his hands roaming over the familiar lines of her body with a newfound urgency. The couch wasn’t enough. The room wasn’t enough. He needed more. Needed all of her.

Without breaking contact, he lifted her, ignoring the way she gasped in surprise before her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. He carried her through the dimly lit apartment, only stopping when her back hit the bedroom door. The impact made it rattle, but neither of them cared.

He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing hard. “Tell me to stop.”

Lena’s fingers traced the edge of his jaw, her touch softer now, more deliberate. Her voice was quieter when she answered. “I won’t.”

That was all he needed.

The door gave way behind them, and they stumbled inside.

And then, everything really unraveled.

Clothes hit the floor in a messy, frantic rhythm. Hands moved with the kind of desperation that only years of restraint could create. Oscar traced the curve of her spine with his fingertips, committing every detail to memory. Lena’s breath hitched when his lips found the sensitive skin of her collarbone, her fingers tightening around his shoulders.

The night stretched on, filled with whispered names and stolen breaths. Every touch, every movement was a conversation in itself, a language they had long denied speaking. And when they finally collapsed together, bodies tangled in the sheets, neither of them spoke for a long time.

Because for once, there was nothing left to say.

The room was quiet now, save for the rhythmic sound of their breathing and the distant murmur of the sea drifting through the open window. A soft breeze ghosted over their damp skin, cooling the lingering heat between them.

Oscar lay on his side, his fingers tracing idle patterns along Lena’s bare waist. He watched as goosebumps rose in the wake of his touch, fascinated by the way her body reacted to him even now. She didn’t move, only observed him in silence, her dark eyes half-lidded, unreadable in the dim light.

He followed the curve of her ribs, the dip of her stomach, moving slowly, deliberately. There was something intoxicating about it—about this rare, quiet moment where neither of them had to fight or prove anything. Here, in the sanctuary of tangled sheets and shared breaths, they were just themselves.

Lena exhaled softly, shifting slightly under his touch. ““How long?” she finally asked, her voice quiet but firm.

Oscar knew exactly what she was asking. He exhaled slowly, his fingers stilling against her skin.

“Always.”

Lena’s lips parted slightly, but she said nothing. Oscar turned on his side to face her fully, his eyes scanning hers for any sign of hesitation.

“Since the first race. Since before I even knew what this was,” he admitted, voice rough. “I thought it was competition. I thought it was rivalry. I told myself that wanting to beat you was all there was. But it was more than that. It was always more.”

She held his gaze, unreadable for a moment, then let out a quiet breath. “I hated you for so long,” she murmured. “Or at least, I wanted to.”

His lips twitched slightly, but there was no humor in it. “You think I don’t know that?”

She huffed a short laugh, shaking her head. “I told myself it was just about winning. About proving I was better. But then, when you weren’t there, when you moved up first, it felt… wrong. Like something was missing.”

Oscar’s fingers curled around her wrist, thumb brushing against her pulse. “I felt it too.”

Lena swallowed, then shifted closer, their foreheads nearly touching. “I don’t know what to do with this,” she admitted. “I’ve spent so long pushing it down, convincing myself it didn’t matter.”

Oscar’s grip tightened slightly. “Then don’t push it down anymore.”

A beat of silence.

“And if it ruins everything?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar inhaled sharply, then pressed his forehead to hers. “Then at least it was real.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if letting the words settle. When she opened them again, something in her expression had shifted. Resolved. Certain.

“No more running,” she said.

His fingers tangled with hers beneath the sheets. “No more running.”

And this time, when she kissed him, it was slow. Certain. Like something inevitable finally falling into place.

A few moments passed before Lena broke the silence again, a smirk playing at her lips. “I have to say, for all that tension, you weren’t half bad.”

Oscar scoffed, his fingers tightening slightly on her waist. “Not half bad? That’s all I get?”

She let out a soft laugh, tilting her head. “I don’t know… I might need another round of evidence before I make my final judgment.”

Oscar groaned, burying his face in her neck, his laugh muffled against her skin. “You’re impossible.”

“You like that about me,” she teased.

He lifted his head, meeting her gaze with something softer now, amusement and something deeper mixing together. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I do.”

She sighed, stretching out beneath him. “God, I can’t believe it took us this long.”

Oscar leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to her shoulder. “Guess we were too busy trying to destroy each other.”

“Healthy,” she deadpanned.

He chuckled. “Extremely.”

Another pause, comfortable now, before Lena turned her head to look at him again. “So… what now?”

Oscar traced a lazy circle on her hip. “I guess we figure it out.”

She snorted. “That sounds dangerously close to a plan.”

“I can be responsible sometimes.”

Lena raised an eyebrow. “You literally just sent me your location instead of saying actual words.”

Oscar sighed dramatically. “Fine. Not my best moment.”

She grinned. “But it worked.”

He smirked. “Yeah. It did.”

And as the night stretched on, tangled together in the quiet of the room, the weight of ten years finally felt lighter.

@smoooothoperator @freyathehuntress @gold66loveblog

[flemingology]

Alexia blurb request…? r just needs a hug. Alexia comes home and reader to throws themselves in her arms.

home in your arms ─ alexia putellas x reader

warnings: none

wc: 469

It had been a grueling day. You missed your alarm and then woke up to an empty bed, Alexia having left for training two hours or so earlier only adding to your grumpiness. The Spanish midfielder had been so kind to use all the warm water for her shower, leaving you with ice cold water to wash your hair and body in. You almost got ran over on your bike on your way to work, and then soon realized you forgot your lunch at home that your girlfriend had prepared for you. Your afternoon was jam-packed with meetings that seemed never ending, everyone seemingly wanting a piece from you today and you just couldn't find it in you anymore to give back.

So when you finally arrived home, you wanted nothing more than a hug and a kiss from your girlfriend. Your keys falling to the floor right as you went to open the door nearly were your final straw, but you managed to compose yourself with a deep breath and an imaginary pat on the back. You opened your door and called out for your lover, but you received no response. You scanned around the house and looked for her in room after room, before it dawned on you that she had a couple formalities to attend tonight. A pre-game press conference, some media bits here and there and a final tactical meeting only pushing back the cuddles on the couch that you were so desperate for.

You plopped down on the couch with a defeated sigh and soon fell into a late afternoon nap, not able to fight the drowsiness that overcame your senses the second you sat down.

It wasn't long after that Alexia came home, she too feeling the exhaustion from a long day – a long week –, and hoping to find some comfort in your arms. She opened the door and called out for you but heard nothing in response, but soon her eyes found you lounging on the couch. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she slowly made her way over, leaving her shoes and coat on the ground for her to pick up later. She laid herself down as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake you, but you stirred nonetheless when you felt the couch dip beside you.

"You're home," you grumbled tiredly, nestling your face on the blonde's chest as she wrapped her arms around you. "Mhm, I am." Alexia pressed a soft, tender kiss against your forehead and it wasn't long until you both dozed off together, seeking comfort in each other's embrace and sleeping away the remnants of what had been a very long day. After all, when you had Alexia to come home to, you knew you would make it through it all.

[adascore]

The Missed Swap

pairing: alexia putellas x england!reader

warnings: swearing. reader receives a push. jealous alexia. mentions of alexia doing her acl.

author's note: finally finished this!! love writing about the complexity of their rivalry!

part 1 | masterlist

•••••••

The press conference room was filled with all sorts of journalists; Spaniards, Brits or just avid women's football researchers who were hyped about the upcoming friendly between Spain and England.

Between Y/N and Alexia rested only a few metres, their respective coaches accompanying them. Sarina and her captain sat composed waiting on the start of the conference, while their opposition exuded a calm confidence that would have intimidated any other pair.

Despite the heartwarming interaction at the Champions League final a month prior, there was no evidence of any kind of friendship as the two star players avoided each other's eyes, and any traces of the camaraderie from Turin seemed distant.

In an attempt to break the ice, Alexia discreetly sought a glance from the striker, hoping for a sign of recognition or acknowledgment, but the Spaniard was only met with a polite smile from Sarina.

The midfielder felt almost stupid for having looked forward to this, seeing her again after Turin. She'd hoped it was the start of a change, one where they could talk to one another without the forced formalities and could even become friends.

Yeah, she felt incredibly stupid.

The moderator signaled the start of the pre-match press conference. ''Good morning, everyone. Welcome to the press conference with Spain coach and captain Jorge Vilda and Alexia Putellas, as well as England coach and captain Sarina Wiegman and Y/N Y/L. We are going to start with the questions.''

The first few minutes were standard; asking about the expectations, main thoughts about the opposition, how they were all feeling about the upcoming European Championships, etc. The four of them answered all the questions directly and in a diplomatic manner.

However, it was a certain Spanish journalist that decided to shake things up. ''Hello, everyone. This question is for Alexia,'' the man spoke up in his native language, ''after the Champions League final, we witnessed, what seemed, an emotional interaction between you and Y/N. Would you say your relationship has changed since then? Or was it just a moment for the camera's? Will it have any impact on the game tomorrow?''

Alexia maintained her diplomatic tone, carefully choosing her words. ''Good morning. The final in Turin was an intense and emotional moment for both of our teams. With Y/N, we share respect for football, the game. Now, we are here to represent our countries in preparation for the Euro's.''

The reporter, undeterred by the captain's media-trained answer, pressed with a sly smile. ''But is there a good relationship between you two? There seemed to have been a connection of some sorts.''

''I understand there might be interest in our personal relationship, but I want to focus on our match tomorrow.'' She answered with poise, not entertaining the controversy he was trying to stir.

Y/N couldn't help but smirk at the journalist's persistence. Despite not understand their language, it was clear Alexia hadn't given him the satisfaction of actually answering his question.

The moderator urged for someone else to take the microphone, quickly wanting to move on before it became more of an issue. The word was then given to an English journalist.

''Hi, for the Daily Mail,'' he greeted them, Y/N having to fight the urge to roll her eyes at the mention of for which news outlet he worked for, ''for Y/N, uh, many of the players of the Spanish team play for Barcelona, and we all saw what happened last month. Do you think their defeat had something to do with your presence or maybe that the rivalry between you and Alexia Putellas was a factor in that?''

Y/N raised an eyebrow at the loaded question, but remained composed. ''Every match is different, and Spain is also different from Barcelona. Football is a team sport, and the outcome of a match depends on a lot of different factors. I don't think it is fair to attribute the result of a match to the presence or absence of a single player. I mean- I'm a footballer, not a witch.'' She concluded her answer with a lighthearted joke, relieved it caused some of the tension in the room to disappear.

''A question for both the coaches,'' the conference moved on again, ''how do each of you feel about another meeting between Alexia and Y/N? They're not just the star players of your teams, but also of women's football. Does it add any excitement or pressure to the match?''

Sarina responded first. ''Well, every match is a great opportunity to have good battles, as a group or as individuals. They're both exceptional talents so it will be a treat to watch for all of us, but the main focus is on the team performance and preparing for the European Championship next month.''

Jorge nodded, seemingly agreeing. ''Individual matchups add excitement, but the success of the team remains a priority.''

The press conference concluded not much later, the four of them alleviated they could get up and leave.

As they exited, Y/N and Alexia found themselves walking side by side, albeit a bit awkwardly. The corridor felt like a neutral ground, free from the scrutiny of the media.

“They're always searching for stuff…” Y/N broke the silence, still somewhat frustrated over the questions about their personal relationship.

Alexia nodded in agreement, her expression reflecting a similar feeling. “Yeah, so stupid.”

The quietness returned, both women unsure of what to say.

“Congrats on winning the league again, by the way.” Alexia rambled, the words leaving her mouth like a speed train.

Y/N smiled, appreciating the attempt to continue the conversation. “Thanks, you too.”

“Thank you.” The midfielder hesitated, a subtle struggle visible on her face.

Alexia sighed, searching for the right words. “Look, about Turin…”

Y/N raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “What about it?”

There was a pause as they walked, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

“I wanted to talk more, you know, after the match.” She admitted, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

The England captain slowly nodded. “Ah, yeah, it looked like that, but then your coach whisked you away.” She awkwardly laughed.

“I don't know why he did that, it probably felt as weird to me as it did to you,” Alexia responded, “but I just wanted to thank you for your words, cause… you didn't have to come up to me, but you did.”

Y/N smiled warmly. “You really don't have to thank me. I know what it's like as captain, it's tough. It just felt like the right thing to do.”

“What you said about our growth and stuff, it means more than you think, you know, to the team.” The Spaniard quickly added the last bit, not wanting to get too sentimental.

“I'm glad if it brought a bit of comfort to your team. I meant it, you guys have really made a great transition.” Y/N wasn't by any means a great loser, but she would always give a team credit when it's due.

Alexia nodded appreciatively. “Thanks. I'm, uh, excited about tomorrow.”

The England captain grinned, feeling a subtle shift in their dynamic. "Yeah, it should be a good game.''

“Yes, it should. Hopefully it goes my way this time.''

Y/N loudly laughed at Alexia's words, taking the Barcelona midfielder by surprise. ''I didn't know you were this funny, Putellas.''

Alexia chuckled, a genuine smile breaking through.

“Y/N…”

The striker turned back to where the call of her name came from, and she was met with the hesitant face of Sarina.

She gave her coach a hand motion that said ‘I'm right there, let me wrap this up'. The Dutchwoman seemed to understand as she gave both players a nod.

“Uh, I gotta go- team stuff, but I'll see you tomorrow then.” Y/N bid goodbye.

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

Alexia watched her rival leave, eyes roaming over her athletic figure that was adorned in an England training kit that seemed to highlight every curve of her body.

The Spaniard had to shake herself out of her daze, not knowing what came over her.

As she turned to head in the opposite direction, she refocused herself on the game ahead and realized she had to put aside the emotions and complexities that seemed to find her every time she encountered the England captain.

It had already cost her one match, she wouldn't dare let it happen again.

The score wasn't reflective of how exciting and high-pressing the match actually was. Neither side had scored, but there had been plenty of great chances.

It also included a lot of fouls, specifically on the English captain by the Spanish players.

Y/N found herself on the receiving end of another rough challenge, this time from Carmona.

As the referee's whistle pierced through the stadium, signaling the foul, Y/N couldn't contain her frustration. “Fucking cunt.” She muttered under her breath.

The Real Madrid defender, catching wind of the insult, didn't take it lightly. “What did you say?” She exclaimed, responding with a push.

The striker didn't budge, simply giving her an unimpressed look. “I said you're a fucking cunt.” She repeated her words, not one bit intimidated.

The tension escalated, and the players from both teams rushed to get involved.

More of the Spanish players stepped in to defend the young player, throwing insults at Y/N. While the England players tried to form a protective barrier around their captain, not shy of vulgar words themselves.

Amidst the chaos, Alexia took a step forward, signaling to her Spanish teammates to calm down. “That's enough.” She told Olga, placing herself in-between the Brit and the defender.

“Let it go, it's just a friendly. No need for this.” Her authoritative tone resonated, and she managed to diffuse the situation.

Olga, still visibly upset, reluctantly stepped back, but mumbled some more Spanish swear words that had Patri giving her a light push.

Alexia, with an apologetic look, turned around to address Y/N, but Rachel intervened, pulling her captain away from the aftermath of the chaos.

“We need to take more advantage of the counterattacks, we're just giving everything away.” Rachel immediately focused back on the game, whispering her thoughts.

Y/N caught Alexia's intention, but let it go, redirecting her attention to the unfolding match.

In a retaliatory turn of events, Georgia committed a foul against Alexia.

The England captain didn't want it to escalate the way it had only a few minutes before, so she quickly addressed her teammate.

“G, tone it down!”

The midfielder gave a thumbs up and an apology to Alexia, which the Spaniard accepted.

The final whistle blew, ending the intense encounter with a draw. Both sides were disappointed not to walk away with the win, but the result felt right to the match.

As the players exchanged handshakes and words of sportsmanship, Y/N and Alexia found themselves facing each other once more.

“Good match.” They chorused, shaking hands with a content smile.

“I guess it didn't really go your way this time.” Y/N chuckled, recalling Alexia's words from the day before.

The midfielder laughed, relieved there was no tension between them anymore. “It was tough today. Great defense from your team.”

“Thanks, your attacks warranted it.” The Brit playfully rolled her eyes.

They walked together towards the officials to shake their hands, making small talk about the match.

“Hey… your shirt…” Y/N switched topics, pointing at the red Spain jersey.

“Yeah?” Alexia's eyes widened slightly, almost beaming at the fact that the striker would want to swap shirts.

“My teammate, Katie, she's quite the fan and would you do me a favor and like, ask her to exchange kits? She didn't get to play today and it would really cheer her up.”

A tinge of red colored Alexia's cheeks as she realized her misinterpretation. “Oh, uh, yeah, no problem.”

“You don't have to, if you want to keep the shirt.” Y/N noticed the slight expression change in the opposition's face.

“No, I really want to. I'll ask her, no big deal.” Alexia quickly brushed it off, embarrassed by her own thoughts.

“Thank you so much, it will mean a lot to her. Usually she's a chatterbox, but…” The striker trailed off.

Alexia nodded, finding it a sweet gesture of the rivaling captain.

“Uh, actually, could you do the same? One of the younger girls, Claudia, really looks up to you and would appreciate the shirt.”

The midfielder saw her younger teammate lingering not too far from where they were standing, not subtle in observing the captains' interaction.

“She's the small girl that's standing behind you.” Alexia smiled, laughing as Pina pretended to look at the crowd once she caught her Barcelona teammate watching her.

Y/N followed her eyes and gave Claudia a wave, which the girl shyly returned.

“I‘ll ask as well,” she softly responded, “uh, so I'll see you in the Euro's final then?” Y/N grinned, teasingly.

“Yeah, I'll see you there.”

As they parted ways, each player headed toward the teammate they had promised to exchange shirts with.

“ALEXIA PUTELLAS TEARS ACL BEFORE WOMEN's EUROS”

Y/N read the headline in utter shock, in disbelief that the Spain captain had tore her ACL in training, the day before the start of the tournament.

“You heard about Putellas?” Jill interrupted her thoughts, joining her in the lounge that had been set up for the team.

“Yeah.” She nodded, closing her phone.

“I feel for her.” The Manchester City player sympathized.

Y/N remained quiet, wondering how Alexia was doing- mentally then.

“Are you two friends?” Jill inquired, confused by the captain's silence.

She looked at her older friend, lifting her shoulders. “I don't know. We're not enemies.”

Intrigued by the cryptic response, Jill couldn't resist probing further. “You guys were laughing with each other after the Spain match.”

“Yeah, and?” Y/N chuckled, uncomfortable by her teammate's stare.

The midfielder raised an eyebrow. “What's the story?”

“There is no story, we just had a laugh.” The captain retorted.

“You used to shut down like a toddler whenever someone mentioned her, and now you're acting like buddies together. What happened, Cap?” Jill was properly confused on what the status was with the two football stars.

“I won, that's what happened.” Y/N opened her phone again, hoping her response was enough to satisfy Jill's curiosity.

The older one frowned. “Won what?”

“I won the final. Champions League. She lost.” It was a vague clarification, they both knew that.

“And that makes you friends?”

Y/N sighed, sensing the skepticism in Jill's tone. “You don't get it, Scott- be glad that you don't.”

“So what if you hadn't won?” Jill asked, a subtle gravity behind her question.

Y/N took a moment before responding, contemplating the hypothetical scenario. “There was no way I would have lost that final. Not in a hundred years.”

“So humble you are.” Her teammate sarcastically commented.

The captain dramatically winked at the older woman.

“But seriously… what is that?” Jill made a gesture with her hand, as if she was physically pointing between her and Alexia.

“Don't know, I guess she isn't as pretentious as I thought she was.” Y/N answered, recognizing the wrong perspective she had of the Spaniard.

Jill raised an eyebrow. “She probably thought the same of you.” She laughed.

“I guess so.” The younger player admitted. “Should I send her a message? Like wishing her well or something?” Y/N asked Jill, holding up her phone.

She looked at the striker's phone, considering the suggestion. “Why not? I can't think of one player who wouldn't be happy to get a message from you.”

“Alright…” Y/N mumbled, opening Instagram and pulling up Alexia's account.

Jill glanced at her screen. “You don't even follow her!” She scoffed.

The captain looked from her screen to Jill, and back to her screen. “Yeah, and?”

“Follow her, and send the message.” The midfielder instructed.

“Are you my boss?” Y/N playfully rolled her eyes, but followed up on Jill's instruction.

| Y/N.Y/L: hey, heard about the injury. hope you're doing alright, and know that a lot of people are behind you. take care ❤️

“Good enough for Miss Scott?” Y/N asked her teammate.

Jill nodded, approvingly. “Look at you, extending an olive branch.'' She teased.

''An olive branch? We never had any problems.'' The younger one frowned, as an olive branch usually meant for there to have been a conflict.

The Manchester City player chuckled at her confusion. ''Well, it's a nice gesture. I'm sure she'll appreciate it.''

Y/N shrugged. ''It's a serious injury, she's at least out for like 8-9 months. I can't imagine her not playing with Spain and Barca.''

Jill nodded, a similar sympathetic look on her face. ''Yeah, I just hope she comes out better of it.''

''She will.'' Y/N said, voice full of confidence.

It was still Alexia. La Reina. She would not be taken down easily.

Meanwhile, freshly arrived in her home country, Alexia finally unlocked her phone after a long and hectic day. A certain notification stood out, it couldn't be could it?

She could feel her heartbeat as she saw the message from Y/N. She hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether to open it immediately or not. Alexia edged herself, answering everyone else's messages before getting to the Brit's.

After an eternity, she decided to open and read it as her curiosity got the better of her.

Alexia's eyes softened as she read over the words. Y/N's DM was not something that anyone hadn't told her before, but her rivaling captain had taken the time to wish her well and that meant more than Alexia was ready to admit yet.

| alexiaputellas: hey, I am back home now so doing better! thank you for your words and good luck at the tournament! ❤️

The captain stared at her phone, pondering on how their relationship had changed so much- at least to the point where they were sending messages to one another. Yet, here they were, exchanging words beyond the constraints of the game.

She couldn't deny the intrigue she had towards the striker. The phenomenon that was the England captain was unexplored territory for the Spaniard. Everything she had though before about Y/N all seemed to fade as she got more and more glimpses of who her rival actually was.

As Alexia wondered about the new dynamics, her train of thought was interrupted by a new notification.

| Y/N.Y/L: that's great to her! too bad we can't meet in the final now

The Catalan smiled, her fingers swiftly moving over the screen to compose a reply.

| alexiaputellas: yeah, maybe another time!

| alexiaputellas: if you do play against Spain, I don't want you to win, though 😉

| Y/N.Y/L: ooooohhhh, im gonna play extra harder against them now :)

| Y/N.Y/L: are you coming back to England to watch them?

| alexiaputellas: yes, after I've had my surgery!

| Y/N.Y/L: good luck with that, btw

| alexiaputellas: thank you ☺

The messages continued on for a while, mostly staying on the joking side. Alexia appreciated the unexpected distraction Y/N provided for her, her torn knee having become forgotten for just a few moments.

Their next meeting came 2 weeks later as England took on Spain in the quarterfinals. Y/N was wary about meeting their team still quite early on in the tournament, but it would be a great test for them, and not having Alexia on the pitch could only be a benefit to the English- even if it happened due to unfortunate circumstances.

The match was intense, reminiscent of their friendly match the month before. In the 54th minute, England fell behind, conceding a goal. The pressure only intensified as the entire team and stadium looked at their captain, in serious need of a solution.

Y/N screamed more motivation at her teammates, applauding and praising every pass and chance they made. Fortunately, Ella managed to equalize, and Georgia had everyone going crazy as she put one extra in the net during extra time.

The striker jumped into the young midfielder's arms, yelling inaudible things as they celebrated her world of a goal. ''You're a legend, G!''

''Come on, girls! We can do this!'' Millie exclaimed, clapping her hands to hype everyone up to keep their lead.

''Keep pressuring them! It's in our hands now! You're doing amazing!'' Y/N joined in, her infectious energy working on the team as they all nodded and got back to their spots on the pitch.

The whistle blew and the entire squad could feel a huge weight leaving their shoulders, relieved this tribulation was over and they could focus on the semifinals.

In the post-match rituals, Y/N glanced towards the Spanish team. A bittersweet realization struck her- the victory was nice, but a part of the competition was missing without the direct face-off with the Spanish captain. She almost forgot her colleague would not be on the pitch to shake hands with, or to analyze the match with.

She tried finding her in the crowd, but Alexia must have already made an escape to the locker rooms. The Brit didn't blame her, she probably didn't want to stick around to see a rival team celebrating knocking their team out. 

Half an hour later, Alexia watched Irene stroll into their changing rooms- one of the last players to arrive, holding a white England shirt in her hand.

Her curiosity got the better of her and she approached her fellow captain on the other side of the room. ''Irene, who did you swap with?'' She asked.

Irene grinned, unfolding the jersey as Y/N's name and number was displayed in front of Alexia's eyes. ''Our favorite girl,'' Irene sarcastically said, the England player had caused a lot of damage to both of the women, on club and international level, ''she asked me. You just can't say no to that face, can you?'' The defender chuckled.

A subtle flicker of disbelief crossed Alexia's features as Irene continued chatting about the exchange. The realization that Y/N had chosen to swap shirts with the older woman stung a bit, sparking an unfamiliar emotion in her. Perhaps, it was a fleeting sense of envy for the seeming connection that her and Irene had. The Spaniard had played against the Lyon striker numerous times during her stint at PSG.

Despite her attempt to keep a neutral expression, Alexia's reaction was far from enthusiastic. ''Oh, that's great.'' She replied, her tone a bit more dejected than she had wanted.

Irene noticed the shift in her teammate's demeanor. She raised an eyebrow and shot a look at Alexia. ''Something on your mind?'' She questioned, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she sensed there might be more to the midfielder's reaction.

''No, nothing at all. Just… surprised.'' Alexia forced a smile, attempting to downplay the jealousy. However, her eyes betrayed her.

The defender raised an eyebrow, her grin only widening. ''Surprised? Why? We've known each other for a long time, played against her a bunch of times.'' She responded casually, enjoying whatever was happening at the moment.

''Yeah, true. Well, good for you.'' Alexia nodded, trying to mask her unease with a nonchalant tone.

The Barcelona player chuckled, starting to recognize what this might be about. She held up the England shirt, a teasing glint in her own eyes. ''You want it? I still have a Lyon one from a few years ago.'' She playfully extended the jersey towards Alexia.

The midfielder shook her head, again forcing herself to laugh. ''No, no. It's all yours, don't even want it, anyway.'' Alexia waved off the offered shirt with a dismissive gesture.

''Alright, whatever suits you.'' Irene smiled, placing the shirt in her own bag.

She left the blonde alone, walking back to where she had settled before the defender had waltzed into the room.

Alone with her thoughts, Alexia couldn’t shake off the uncomfortable feeling. Watching Irene prance around with Y/N’s shirt left her with a strange mix of emotions that she hadn’t dealt with before, or at least not when it pertained to her teammate and rival.

What puzzled her even more was why Y/N had never asked her for a shirt swap. She wondered if their rivalry and everyone’s comparisons of the two, overshadowed the possibility of something more- whatever that something more was. Did the England captain only see their interactions through the lens of competition?

Alexia grappled with a simple yet difficult question: did she want Y/N to ask for a shirt swap or did it bother her more that she didn’t seem to be considered for one?

[holyblonded]

Why do I think barca and us media media admin love and hate estrella at the same time like she is a meme material and gives a lot of hilarious content but at the same a pr disaster fighting against opposition fans or trolls on twitter or sharing something she shouldn't share or giving away transfers ( her twitter is banned and alexia threatened to change estrella's insta password if she doesn't behave)

— barça and uswnt’s media teams love estrella because she’s a content goldmine. she’s effortlessly hilarious, always up to something, and her antics rack up millions of views. but at the same time, she is their biggest headache.

— she’s for sure pure meme material—whether it’s her trash-talking on the pitch, her chaotic celebrations, or just her unfiltered personality in interviews.

— “estrella, what’s your pre-match ritual?”

— “i look in the mirror and tell myself, ‘you’re the main character, go make everyone suffer.’”

— her post-match interviews are always a nightmare. one time, after beating real madrid, she accidentally let it slip that barça was signing someone before the club announced it.

— cue the entire media team scrambling to delete clips before they went viral.

— but of course, they still went viral. estrella’s mouth is faster than their damage control.

— and don’t even get started on her twitter. she was constantly fighting opposition fans, trolls, and sometimes even journalists.

— when someone called barça overrated, estrella quote-tweeted them with, “ratio + your club could never.”

— another time, a rival fan said she wasn’t that good, and she responded with a video compilation of her cooking their team.

— barça’s media admin saw that tweet, sighed, and just closed their laptop.

— eventually, alexia banned her from twitter after she got into too many arguments.

— while estrella is technically media trained, she don’t exactly listen to her training.

— she has gotten into many arguments in instagram comment sections leading to her not having access to her instagram for periods of time

— fans can always tell when she's gotten her socials taken away cause her captions go from "put a k on them ‼️" with a picture of her and vicky with the fours up to "Another good game in the books! 1 goals and 3 assists! Visca Barça!" and they start a revolt in the comments

— "free our stargirl 🗣️"

— "stargirl's banned again? 💔💔"

— this actually happens so often that she made a second account with the username @estrella2fast4defenders but the username changes a lot so no one can catch on

— she only follows the younger players, olga, and alba on the account but some on die hard fans are on it cause they found it

— barça’s media admin, carla, prays before every press conference, hoping estrella won’t say something wild.

— but deep down they know she will. it’s an endless cycle for everyone

[simpforpeterp]

bucky barnes x oc

True Blue - Series Masterlist

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✧˖* *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✧˖* *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✧˖*

you say you’re a winter bitch but summer’s in your blood, you can’t help but become the sun.

summary: Post-Endgame, everything’s fractured, worlds, teams, people. Bucky Barnes is trying to figure out what freedom even means, and Bianca Delgado, the most powerful Avenger no one really talks about, is hiding from the fallout of her past. She’s sunshine and sharp edges, a walking contradiction with too many secrets behind her smile. He’s quiet and coiled, still fighting ghosts in every shadow. Neither of them is looking for someone. But they keep finding each other anyway.

featuring: late-night training sessions, reluctant vulnerability, Thunderbolts playing chaos matchmakers, and two tired people learning how to be a little less alone. takes place post thunderbolts pre thunderbolts post credit scene

warnings: descriptions of sparring/fighting? eventual smut, PTSD, slight age gap but not relevant to the story

Chapter 1: Stay Open

“I didn’t come here to fix you. I came here because I know you better than I know those guys and I needed a minute to not put up as strong of a front.”

Chapter 2: I Know You

“I’m not. But Barnes is annoying and stuck up so he needs to get laid. And I think he needs to get laid by a pretty ball of sunshine.”

Chapter 3: Say It

“So no, I don’t trust a team formed out of desperation, wrapped in shiny branding, and built on the assumption that the public won’t notice the strings being pulled. I don’t trust a leader who thinks a press conference is the same thing as a mission briefing.”

[mysicklove]

i had the most unhinged thought and raced to your inbox because i need this demon expelled from my body asap. hawks coming home from the worst day of patrol, everything went wrong and he had to speak up at a press conference, play the part of perfect, and all he wants is to melt into your touch. you can see it in his eyes, the dark circles, and the weary tilt of his smile. "baby bird," his voice is hoarse, "need you to hurt me tonight," so he can finally unravel. you're the only one he wants to be perfect for. okay goodbyeee 💀

𝐔𝐍𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐕𝐀𝐒

Pairing: Masochist! Hawks x Gn! Sadist! Reader

CW: face slapping, lots of blood, cock stepping, kicking, bruising, cock slapping, heavy degration, loss of air, mean reader, tons and tons of tears, scratching, mouth spitting, no mention of safe word but keep in mind it is there !!!

A/N: anon im sorry i totally changed ur thing, i just saw masochist hawks and sprinted. the demons wrote this, not me. dont look at me everyone. HEED THE TAGS

it was a way to blow off steam. something that he looks forward to, just some time where he doesn't have to think anymore. only feeling he has the stinging sensations and the tears that prick his eyes. it was an embaressing obsession he had. he loved pain.

Keigo walks to the bedroom, his hero costume tattered, and dark circles under his eyes. he is exhausted, but coming to you for your touch. pulling you close to him, and mumbling into your neck how bad he wants you to hurt him. till he bruises and bleeds. till every thought just disappears except for you.

and so you pull away, and slap him. it makes him tumble backward, and his yellow glasses fall off. he touches the tingling feeling on his face, blood spilling out from the skin caught on your wedding ring. you dont let up, sending another loud smack across his face, and this time he does fall to the ground, landing on his ass.

tears prick at his eyes, and he can feel his lip tear open. the taste of blood coats his mouth and he gulps, looking up at you for more.

he feels your foot jab onto his clothed cock and he keens, wincing up at you. "w-wait," he stutters, throwing his head back when your press even harder. "fuck!"

"wait? you want me to wait? after you begged for it like a dog?" he is squirming under you, tears now streaming down his face as you dig your foot into his pants.

"'m sorry. sorry—you are going to kill me!" he pleads, hands trying to dig themself into the carpet to fight back against the pain.

you sigh, and let up, instead using your foot to push at his chest, causing him to fall over and onto his back. "take off your clothes, Keigo," you mumble, taking a seat on the bed with crossed legs and staring down at him.

"okay. okay. I will. Just give me a minute!" he pants, tearing off his jacket and shirt as fast as he can. he knows something is coming, you werent playing nice.

you dont give him enough time, he reaches for his pants, and without hesitation you slam your foot into his stomach. he goes tumbling backwards and lands on his side, curling into a ball and panting. his eyes are wide and he is gripping onto his adomen. it surely will leave a huge bruise tomorrow. but thats not what he is worried about, he cant breathe.

"awww, did you get the wind knocked out of you? that's what happens when you move too slow," you tease, as you take in his appearance. he trembles in front of you, looking up at you in fear. tears drip down his cheeks and onto the ground, as he tries and fails to catch his breath.

you giggle at him, padding over to him. he flinches at the footsteps, bracing himself for another kick, but you just begin to unbutton his pants, pulling them down. "useless thing, arent you. cant follow any directions," you coo, now tearing off his boxers.

his cock springs out, tip red and leaking pre cum. "such a pervert! you sick fuck, keigo. who gets hard from getting beat?" you land another slap to his thigh, and his whole body jerks.

you smile at the red handprint, glancing back at him to see him beginning to drool. its coated red from the blood from his cheek and lip. he's is still heaving from the kick, eyes wide, and body gasping for oxygen.

"say Hawks do you get turned on when you are losing against villains? pop a boner like a freak for anyone who hits you?"

his eyes flash to you and he is shaking his head desperately. his words are breathless, "no. no. 'm not a freak!"

a quick, but harsh slap to his cock. he jumps again, globs of tears falling quicker. "fuckkkkk," he whimpers, shaking his head back and forth. his whole body shakes, and fingers dig into his own skin.

"you liar! do you want to be kicked again?"

"no no no no. im sorry. im sorry! im a freak. a pervert who likes to get hit. im sorry," he sobs, reaching for your ankle for comfort. you slap it away and he hisses, rubbing the back of it with a sniffle.

but you smile at him and lean over to sit on his chest. his head is still lolled to the side and his body racks with sobs. "shhhhhhh. so whiny Keigo. thanks for admitting it. my disgusting pervert. here, a reward."

you grab his face, hard enough to bruise, and force him to look up at you. his eyes are half shut in a wince, but he tries to force them open to look at you. you pry his mouth open, lean forward, and drop a glob of spit into his mouth.

he doesnt hesitate to swallow it, opening his mouth up again and sticking his tongue out to show you its gone. "th-thank you," he whimpers, and you smile fondly at him.

you hands trail up and down his down his body, sending vicicoius red raised scratchmarks along his pretty skin. "now, pervert....what should we do to this pretty canvas?"

he grins up at you, tears still dripping, and blood staining his cheeks and lips, but still stars in his eyes. "anything."

[umf1]

george russell is interviewed during the press conference on media day, miami - may 1, 2025 (transcript under the cut)

Interviewer: "Welcome back to Miami, everybody. Part two of our drivers press conference. Closest to me, Nico Hulkenberg, then George Russell and Lewis Hamilton." [time jump] Interviewer: "George, let's bring you in now. Three podiums from the opening five races. Is that a tally that matches with your pre-season expectation?" George: "No, I think it's probably better than our pre-season expectations, to be honest. The pace has fallen out where we thought; that step behind McLaren, and then a close fight with Red Bull and Ferrari. And we've been doing really well to get those podiums and we're nicely P2 in the teams championship, but I don't think it necessarily means we are the second fastest team. I think sort of on average we've been the third fastest team. We saw obviously Charles had a great race last week, and obviously Max also the last couple of races, but we've just been nicely consistent and picking up points." Interviewer: "Consistent, yes, but it looked like Saudi was the most difficult-" George: "Yep." Interviewer: "-of the races so far. Having had a chance to debrief with the team, what conclusions have you reached?" George: "I mean, tires were too hot, really, so that was a big problem, and I think just pushing a bit too hard to try and keep up with the front two. And Charles put in a really strong race and I was probably driving too quick for what the tires and the car was capable of, and then we dropped off a cliff. So not too sure how this weekend's going to pan out, because I think in terms of temperatures and the tires, it'll be relatively similar to Jeddah. So we'll have to wait and see, and see if any of the learnings we've taken from last week we can translate into a bit of performance. But I'm confident the quali pace will sort of be there or thereabouts, but it's the race pace, there's a bit more of a question mark." Interviewer: "Alright, George, thank you for that."

[QUESTIONS FROM THE FLOOR:] Journalist: "Yeah. Craig Slater, Sky Sports. Question for Georgee, actually, with your GPDA hat on: President Mohammed Ben Sulayem has said that after constructive feedback with drivers, he's looking at making improvements to the rules that govern driver conduct issues and so on. Just wanted to know, do you think that's a very positive step, George." George: "Yeah, I mean, conceptually, yes. But obviously we want to see these things put into action, rather than saying 'we're considering things.' We all consider a lot of things. We're clear we want changes, and once they are implemented, then we'll comment on it. But for the time being, it's being considered, so the words don't mean anything until the change has been made." [NOT SHOWN:]

Journalist: "Tom Cary, The Telegraph. One for Lewis and George. Just to put to you the question about fatherhood – I know you’re not dads, but do you feel it could change Max as a person and as a driver? Do you have any hope that it might distract him?" George: "Yeah, I think we’re all professionals, but this is a personal part of your life. I guess for anyone who's had a kid, it’s a pretty special moment. So yeah, all the best to him. As Nico says, I think for many people it probably brings things to your life. I know what it's like when I see my nieces and nephews – they're not my kids, but they bring me so much joy when I spend time with them. And you've seen drivers in the past win championships and races who’ve got kids, so I don't see it changing anything on his professional level."

Journalist: "Molly Hudson, The Times. A question for George: Just following up on Craig's question from earlier. The President’s Instagram post mentioned constructive dialogue. Have you actually had any dialogue with the President? Because I think after the open letter you said there hadn’t been a response. So did it come as new news to you reading it on Instagram?" George: "I mean, in short, yes. I mean, collectively we've not spoken any further since the open letter that was sent out. So whether that is the response – I'm not too sure. As I said, it’ll be great if changes were made and the drivers were at least heard. I think it's just in the best interest for the sport and ensuring that some common sense is applied to these situations. As I said, I think all of us, we can comment on it when we see the action being taken rather than just the consideration."

Journalist: "Jon Noble, The Race. George, another one. You’re one of the few drivers who've raced with the cooling vest this year. But some drivers want to race with it but can't because it adds too much weight onto their car. If it’s not declared from the GPDA’s perspective, does something need to be done to ensure everyone’s operating on the same playing field on this? Because obviously not all cars weigh the same without ballast." George: "Yeah. I mean, I feel fortunate that I’ve had the chance to run with the cooling vest. It’s not perfect yet, but it’s definitely an improvement, I feel. Every car is also different – I think every cockpit runs at different temperatures. I know we've seen our cockpit getting up to 60 degrees before, and I think the heat hazard is at 31 degrees, I believe, or 30. But when you compound that with the sunlight and the temperature of the cockpit, it is like a sauna in the race car. So yeah, I don’t know. We've not collectively spoken about it, and not everybody's in favour to run it – which is also fine. Somebody made the point recently – like football players on a cold day, some people are wearing gloves, some people have got short sleeve shirts on – and that should be the driver’s choice. Maybe the heat hazard should be reduced slightly because we've not yet gone over it. Saudi was hot, Bahrain was hot, here – maybe it could be adjusted by a few degrees."

Journalist: "Jenna Fryer, Associated Press. Some of the drivers have talked about some of the turns." George: "Yeah. I mean, I enjoy coming to Miami. It’s a crazy race. The circuit is quirky. That tight section – we don’t love it, but it's different. You know, the same like in Baku – we don’t love the castle section, it’s so tight and very challenging, but you don’t want every circuit to be the same either. It’s an amazing race. It's improving every year. Things are looking better as well – driving to the paddock, it looks pretty cool. And where all of the team garages are set up inside the stadium – they’re the experts, we just drive the cars. It should stay like that."

Journalist: "Graham Harris, Motorsport Monday. Question for all three of you – but George mainly. The GPDA is a formal body of the drivers, but you don’t seem to have a formal relationship with the FIA, with structured meetings where you can actually sit down and come out and say, "we talked about this face to face." You're resorting to open letters and that type of thing. Do you think that position should change?" George: "I mean, it’s… I feel it's like unprecedented times we’ve been in over the last 18 months with what’s been changed and what’s happening. I think when the GPDA was founded years ago, it wasn’t really to talk about politics – it was to talk about safety, improvements of the sport, improvements of the racing. Especially myself – I find myself talking about topics that I didn’t really have any intention of talking about. But we find ourselves in a time where we're not focused on the things why we’re all here. We're here to go racing, we’re here to create the best show for the fans, to have the fastest cars, the safest cars, the best technology, the best engineering – and yet we talk about fines and punishments and swearing. So yeah, maybe something should change. We're open to it, but we just ultimately want the best for the sport."