#and that's just from this drivers parade | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yuramour · 1 month ago

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I THINK HE KNOWS — F1 GRID

synopsis. trying to keep your crush on a certain driver a secret isn't exactly easy. but do they know about it, or not? pairing. f1 grid x reader (ft. mv1, yt22, ln4, op81, gr63, cl16, lh44, dr3, aa23, cs55, ih6, jd7, eo31, ka12, ob87) genre. fluff, headcanons warnings. mild secondhand embarrassment, maybe some suggestive themes, mostly coworker!reader, some of these are noticeably longer than others. my bad word count. 3k-ish (200-ish each)

note. this slowly devolves into silliness. alsoooooo, im tryna have a more consistent upload schedule, but i did just get a job and im taking online classes over the summer, so like, its hard to find the time to actually sit down and write. i'm trying, tho!! hope you guys enjoy this one :p

MAX VERSTAPPEN

۶ৎ completely oblivious

of course, it was glaringly obvious to everyone but max. everyone else saw the way you immediately stopped whatever you were working on to stare at him whenever he wandered into the red bull garage. ever since you started working for red bull as an analyst, you had the biggest crush on max. at first, it was just a harmless thing, blushing whenever he was in your general vicinity, your coworkers giggling and elbowing you whenever he walked into the room. the teasing from your coworkers was really the most annoying part at first. but now? the most annoying part by far was how max was just apparently totally oblivious to the fact that you liked him. you weren't even keeping it a secret anymore like you were at the beginning. you'd all but asked him out at this point. but he had absolutely no idea. it wasn't until charles teased him about how you stared at him during the driver's parade that max realized. it took him aback at first, but trust he'd never felt more dumb than when he realized you were in fact hitting on him all that time. asks you out the next time he sees you.

YUKI TSUNODA

۶ৎ has a suspicion

he could be wrong- maybe. but for the past several months, yuki's had a feeling that all those times you've brushed against him in the hallway, stared just a little too long during team debriefs, and laughed a little too hard at his jokes meant you saw him as a little more than just a coworker. it's hard for him to keep to himself- you haven't actually said anything that would indicate that you like him, so he doesn't want to bring it up. which sucks for him, because he really likes you, too. the way your hand feels on him when you pat him on the back after a race, the way your voice sounds when wishing him luck, the way your eyes soften when they meet his- it gives him butterflies. but he doesn't want to tell you. maybe he's just scared of rejection- because what if he's wrong? what if you don't actually like him? you have to be the one to tell him first. his imposter syndrome refuses to let him make the first move. he's elated when you do- a grin breaking over his face, a soft "i knew it" slipping from his lips.

LANDO NORRIS

۶ৎ thinks you hate him

maybe it's just the way you show affection- but lando thinks you can be a little...mean. not just a little mean- really mean. lando genuinely thinks you hate his guts. the way you refuse to make eye contact with him, the way you practically flee the room whenever he enters- he's convinced you have something against him. lando's a sensitive soul, he can take things a little personally. and you're perfectly content letting lando think you hate him if it means he never finds out ab out your stupid little crush. on another note, lando's absolutely flabbergasted when oscar makes a passing comment about your little crush on him- leaving both of them confused; lando because he was convinced you hated him, and oscar because he thought your crush was so blatant. oscar was right, of course. you just have a rather elementary way of navigating your crushes on people. lando practically corners you about it the next day, your violent blush and stuttering at the sudden confrontation telling him all he needed to know. he asks you out properly and nicely after that.

OSCAR PIASTRI

۶ৎ he knows but you have no idea he knows

oscar clocked your crush immediately. he's an observant guy. but he's so incredibly normal about it. you have absolutely no idea that he knows. the thing is, he thinks he's being obvious about liking you back. he'll open doors for you, give you his coat when you're cold, open energy drink cans for you, and he thinks it's incredibly obvious. the problem? you just think he's the kind of guy that'd do all that stuff anyway. because he's just so relaxed with it. it goes on for MONTHS. you both thinking you're being plainly obvious about your feelings for each other, and oscar just simply not wanting to be the one to make the first move. lando eventually knocks some sense into him- telling him to just ask you out because you're obviously not going to be the one to initiate it. as soon as he does, you're taken aback- not having expected oscar to be into you, too. but of course he was. how could he not be?

CHARLES LECLERC

۶ৎ thinks its all platonic

charles thinks that you're just a good friend- his best friend. doing things that all best friends do. of course a best friend would drop everything because he asked you to go out and do something. of course a best friend would go out of their way to come to all his races. of course best friends hug each other for extended periods of time after a bad race. he thinks you're just his best friend. because none of his other friends really do things like that- you must just be that good of a friend! right? no. of course not. you are head over heels in love with charles and you always have been. and he's never noticed. to be fair, you didn't exactly want him to. you were scared of the rejection you'd face if he ever found out. he's the charles leclerc. why would he go for you? even if you were his best friend. funny enough, it's his mother that ends up spilling your secret. charles thinks she's just joking at first, but once he realizes she's not, he's absolutely mortified. not only because he never realized it, but because he's felt the same about you for years, thinking you only saw his as a friend. calls you over immediately and confesses everything.

LEWIS HAMILTON

۶ৎ he knows, but doesn't say a word

lewis, ever the gentleman, notices your crush immediately, but chooses to keep it a secret. because you obviously don't want him to know about it, otherwise, you wouldn't be keeping it a secret. he thinks its charming more than anything. completely endeared by the way you immediately blush and look away whenever he makes eye contact, scurrying away like a little mouse whenever he ever so politely asks you to do even the most miniscule task. he didn't have any feelings for you at first- but the more time he spends observing you, the way you interact with others, your kindness, your individuality, he falls for you slowly but surely. you know lewis is a good man, so when he asks you to go to dinner with him, you think it's just to show his thanks to you for being such a hard worker. when he tells you how he feels about you, you feel like you're about to melt out of sheer embarrassment. lewis watches the blush take over your face with a soft laugh, your reaction reminding lewis exactly why he liked you in the first place.

GEORGE RUSSELL

۶ৎ thinks it's just a joke

even if you are so completely blatantly obvious about having a crush on george, he just thinks you're kidding. any time you openly flirt with him, he just laughs along and takes it as a joke. it gets to a point where you're all but telling him to his face that you're in love with him, and he's just like "haha, good one!" straight up, for a man that's so in love with himself, you think he'd be able to take a hint. but no. he's blind to the truth. and he's like this for MONTHS. you are LAYING IT ON, and he just does not understand that you are being 100% for real. only gets it when you literally corner him and tell him blatantly to his face that you are genuinely actually into him. he's both flabbergasted and overjoyed bc this rich boy gets zero play.

KIMI ANTONELLI

۶ৎ he has NO idea

silly silly boy. despite the fact that you've followed him around the world since you were kids, been by his side the entire time, through his best and worst days. he just doesn't see it. and you'd never tell him, of course. you value your friendship too much to ruin it over a stupid little (not little at all) crush. but still. who tf basically puts their entire life on hold to follow their best friend around the world? either someone who's in love, or someone who's just that good of a friend. in your case, it's the former. but unfortunately, kimi thinks you're the latter. he doesn't even realize he's in love with you until he's talking about you to ollie one day, just absolutely gushing about you and ollie's just listening like "...😐 you're stupid." after kimi realizes how he feels, he tries to keep it to himself, but accidentally lets it slip out one day while talking to you. to his ABSOLUTE SHOCK (idk how it was a shock he's lowkey blind), you feel the same about him.

ALEX ALBON

۶ৎ he knows & is very obvious about it

he KNOWSSSS. AND YOU KNOW HE KNOWSSSSS. unfortunately, as an employee for Williams, you know that dating a driver is looked down upon at the VERY LEAST. so despite the fact that you keep it as professional as possible, any and every time you so much as make eye contact with alex, this mf giggles. like, actually giggles. like a middle schooler. you don't even really know how he knows. but you suspect that carlos told him after you let it slip to him one day that you thought alex was cute. but nevertheless, you never let your interactions go beyond relaying basic information and wishing him luck before a race. but one weekend, you and alex end up with you hotel rooms booked right next to each other, somehow leading to alex basically living in your room all weekend. after that, it's all longing stares across the garage and holding hands in secret.

CARLOS SAINZ

۶ৎ totally blind to it

i think he just likes to think that you're a very kind and respectful person. like, he says jump and you ask how high, type shit. despite the fact that you try to keep it a secret at first, you realize that he is truly never going to get it unless you start like, actually putting the moves on this man. he thinks you're just a really nice person until one day it just slaps him in the face that you're literally obsessed with him, and he just feels SO stupid bc of it. like, you are all but offering to literally become his personal maid and he hasn't realized until now??? not very smooth operator of him. when he suddenly starts flirting back to you, you realize the vibe switchup IMMEDIATELY and you know he's clocked you</3 he asks you out on a casual coffee date at a cute quiet little cafe and it's very sweet and fluffy and eughhhh i hate (love) him so much.

ISACK HADJAR

۶ৎ again, thinks you hate him

poor baby thinks you getting red in the face and cutting the conversation off early whenever he tries to talk to you is indicative of you hating him and not of you getting flustered by his mere presence. he's pacing back and forth wondering what he could have possibly done to make you hate him, meanwhile you're in the other room pacing back and forth wondering how the hell you're ever going to be able to tell him you're basically in love with him. isack eventually decides to just be as nice as possible; getting you coffee, doing his best to make your job easier for you, complimenting you whenever he notices you've done your hair differently or whatever. unfortunately, this may or may not make things worse bc you have no idea how to take a compliment and just mumble a "thanks" and immediately leave the room whenever he does so. eventually, one of your coworkers talks some sense into you and convinces you to tell isack how you feel. shocked and elated don't even come close to describing how isack feels when you finally confess to him. relationship immediately starts from there, and he's basically obsessed with you and giving you allllll the words of affirmation.

JACK DOOHAN

۶ৎ thinks its just "bestie vibes"

again. stupid boy. stupid dumb boy. let me set the scene; you and jack have in fact been best friends for as long as you can remember. you weren't even into him at first, but after not seeing him for a while, and all of a sudden, he comes back as an accomplished formula driver, not to mention he's like, half a foot taller and significantly more ripped than he was the last time you saw him, something definitely changed in the way you looked at him. but of course sweet oblivious jack is just happy to hang out with his best friend again after so long. the two of you take a trip to the beach not too long after he gets back, and you have to physically stop yourself from staring at his abs for too long. ofc he just thinks you're looking at him so longingly bc you missed your best friend (him) so bad. that same night, the two of you get a little drunk and you accidentally call him hot to his face. oops! he thought about it for a solid ten seconds before he realized that he, in the back of his mind, thought the same about you. i just love this himbo so bad okay :(

OLLIE BEARMAN

۶ৎ he WANTS you to, but has no idea

to ollie, you were just so fucking cool. always so poised, level-headed, always cool under pressure. and he was absolutely head-over-heels for you. he practically followed you around like a lost puppy everywhere you went. not just because he's always getting lost at social events, but because he wanted to be near you as much as he physically could. to ollie, you were totally and completely out of his league. he wanted so badly for you to notice him as more than the guy that you were getting paid to basically babysit and make sure he doesn't say anything stupid to the media. little did he know, you'd been charmed by his cute smile, sweet demeanor, and puppy-like tendencies since the day you met him. he thinks he's seeing things when he starts noticing the blush that creeps up on your cheeks whenever he says something sweet. "wishful thinking" he tells himself. he swears he's dreaming when you knock on his hotel room one night and say that you have a secret to tell him. and he practically dies from happiness when he wakes up the next morning with a text from you confirming that you meant it when you told him you liked him.

ESTEBAN OCON

۶ৎ he's SUSPICIOUS of you

what do you want from him?? why are you so nice to him? what are you planning?? are you, the sweet alpine employee that says hi to him every morning in the paddock with that cute little smile spying on haas for your team??? he notices the way you come to the haas mobile home to "visit your friend" that works for the team. every time you wish him luck on the race in passing, he narrows his eyes and nods curtly, suspicious of the way you always happen to bump into him. little does he know, he keeps seeing you around because you have the biggest crush on him. you're close with a couple of the guys on the haas pit crew, and they've been trying for months to get esteban to notice you. which he has. just not in the way that you hoped. it all comes to a head when esteban relays his suspicion to your friends on the haas team, all of whom are absolutely flabbergasted that that's the conclusion he came to. they couldn't possibly let him go on thinking that. esteban is completely floored when they tell him you're always hanging around not because you're spying for alpine, but because you have a crush on him. immediately pulls you aside the next time he sees you and apologizes for being so unwelcoming towards you. he takes you out for an apologetic dinner, and realizes you're actually really great :p

DANIEL RICCIARDO

۶ৎ he knows and you know he knows

not only does he very obviously know, he teases you about it. you're too stubborn to give him the satisfaction of telling him flat-out how you feel. that's exactly what he wants. so you let him tease you, taking the shit-eating grins, flirtatious jokes, and the way he gets just a little too close for comfort in stride. you absolutely refuse to give him any kind of confirmation when he leans in, going "come on, i know you like me a little bit." it gets to a point where he's gotten on your nerves so much, you're not even sure if you even like him anymore or if you're just so stubborn, you can't even admit it to yourself anymore. it goes on for literal years. you think it's finally over when daniel leaves red bull. finally, you can let go of your stupid crush and live the rest of your life in peace knowing you won't have to deal with the australian ever again. but no. of course not. despite the fact that he was now in renault, he would come sidling up to the red bull mobile home just to flash you that shit-eating grin with a painfully flirty "how you doing?" all that time while he was in red bull, the possibility that he liked you back hadn't even crossed your mind. you thought he was just kind of a dick, teasing you for being into him. turns out, he was just waiting for the moment you weren't working for the same team so he could ask you out properly. "surprised" doesn't even begin to cover how you were feeling after he told you after the 2019 season was over.

taglist: @bear-yawns @revelauver

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verstappenverse · 4 months ago

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Breaking Point

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Driver!Reader

Summary: Your rivalry with Max Verstappen is legendary, but behind your fierce performances a chronic condition is slowly wearing you down. When Max starts to uncover the truth he has to decide, win the title at all costs or protect the one person who may have come to mean more than it.

7.9k words / Masterlist

The crowd was deafening. Cheers, chants, and the rhythmic pounding of drums thundered through the air as you stepped onto the flatbed truck for the drivers' parade. Flags waved like wildfire, and fans pressed up against the barricades, screaming your name with faces painted in your colours. You gave them a wave, heart thudding not from nerves, not exactly.

The season wasn’t just heating up it was boiling over.

Roughly a third of the way through the calendar, the championship fight had already narrowed to two names. Yours and Max Verstappen’s.

The sport’s fiercest rivalry in years was dominating headlines, you’d traded podiums and paintwork, elbows out at every corner, and now, as you glanced across the flatbed and spotted Max surrounded by cameras your stomach twisted.

This wasn’t just about racing anymore.

The rivalry had been brewing for years and had in turn become infamous "the clash of titans," they called it. A new golden age of Formula 1. The media couldn’t get enough of the drama: two elite drivers, one championship, and absolutely no love lost. But they didn’t know the full story.

Because the truth was your battle with Max wasn’t only happening on the track.

You were hiding something. Something big. And if Max, or anyone, found out you weren’t sure you’d even make it to the final race, let alone walk away with the title.

You shifted your weight, careful not to wince. The pain had become familiar, a dull hum beneath your skin, a reminder with every breath that you were running out of time.

Max was only a few feet away now, stepping up onto the flatbed at the last second with his usual casual confidence. His race suit hung open at the neck, fireproofs damp with sweat already, and yet he looked unbothered, cool, collected, irritatingly calm.

As much as you sometimes hated to admit it, you’d always respected him.

“Ready for another close one,” he said, flashing you that infuriatingly smug smile, “or are you finally going to give me a little room today?”

You raised an eyebrow, already steeling yourself for the mental game he always played before a race.

“Room? I didn’t realise this was bumper cars Verstappen. Keep pushing me like you did last week and I’ll send you into the gravel.”

Max chuckled, the sound surprisingly light. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried. But we both know you’re going to be glued to my rear wing for half the race, just like usual.”

A twinge of frustration flared in your chest. Max knew how to get under your skin. His self-assuredness, his relentless confidence, it felt like he was mocking you, but that wasn’t what really stung.

What hurt was that he was probably right. You were slipping. You could feel it, the sharpness in your driving dulled by something you couldn’t control. The exhaustion was creeping in, and the physical pain was harder to ignore with each race.

You knew you were hiding it well enough from the cameras, the media, even your team, but for how much longer?

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant, “don’t get too comfortable up front. You won’t see me coming.”

Max studied you for a moment, his blue eyes narrowing just slightly. There was something indecipherable in his expression, a flicker of curiosity or concern, but it was gone before you could pin it down. He shrugged and gave a nod.

“We’ll see.”

As he turned away, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Max didn’t know. No one did. You still had time to figure things out, time to win this race, this championship, before everything came crashing down.

The race had been brutal.

Max’s Red Bull stayed just barely ahead, the gap flickering between eight-tenths and half a second, a cruel reminder of how close you were, and how far. Every time you lunged, he countered. Every time you found grip, he found more, but as the final laps closed in, it wasn’t the tyres or the fuel or even Max that started to wear you down.

It was your own body.

The first flare of pain hit you under braking at Turn 6 a stabbing bolt in your ribs that nearly made you lift. You ground your teeth, forced your foot down harder, trying to drive through it. But it didn’t go away. It spread. Fast. Each breath felt like knives slicing through your chest, stealing oxygen, focus, control.

Your hands clenched the wheel in a death grip, sweat slicking your gloves, vision starting to grey at the edges. You were spiraling.

Not now. Not here.

You clenched your jaw, gripping the wheel with white knuckles. You’d been fighting this for too long. Too many sleepless nights, too many doctor’s visits in secret. The diagnosis had been a shock, a harsh reminder of how even the strongest athletes could be brought down by something they couldn’t control.

Chronic pain, they’d said. Something to manage, not to fix. And no one could know, not your team, not the press, and certainly not your rivals. If they did, it would be seen as weakness.

Weakness wasn’t an option.

“Come on, come on,” you muttered, the corners felt tighter, your vision slightly blurred at the edges, but you couldn’t afford to back off. Not now.

Max was just ahead, his rear wing taunting you down the straight. You pushed harder. Too hard.

On the second-to-last lap, you misjudged the corner. A split-second of lost focus, and your tyres hit the curb too hard, sending the car into a brief spin. By the time you regained control Max was already crossing the finish line.

The race was over.

Max had won.

The car coasted to a stop, and all you could do was sit there, helmet still on, pulse thudding in your ears, pain radiating like a siren call through your ribcage.

You’d lost. You slammed your fist into the steering wheel, the pain in your ribs now radiating with every breath. It wasn’t just the defeat. It was the knowledge that you weren’t at your best. That you might never be again.

As you climbed out of the car you could feel the weight of disappointment settle over you like a cloud. The team surrounded you, offering words of comfort and encouragement, but none of it really sank in. Your mind was elsewhere, consumed by the fear that had been growing in the back of your mind for months.

Max approached, still wearing his helmet and with a glint of triumph in his eyes. He pulled it off, sweat-drenched hair sticking to his forehead, and gave you a nod.

“Hell of a race,” he said.

You forced a smile. “Yeah. You got me this time.”

“This time?” He raised an eyebrow, his usual teasing tone creeping back. “I’ve been getting you quite a bit lately.”

You laughed, but it came out more like a cough. “Don’t get used to it.”

Max’s gaze lingered on you, more intense now. His eyes flickered down to your waist, where you’d been subconsciously holding your side. You quickly dropped your hand, straightening up.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice lower now, a little less casual.

“Yeah, just… just tired,” you lied, trying to sound convincing. “Long race. Long season”

Max didn’t say anything for a moment, then he shrugged, a small smile returning to his face. “Right, well, rest up.”

But the way he looked at you, you knew he didn’t entirely believe your answer.

The following weeks were grueling. Training sessions were harder than they’d ever been, your body refusing to cooperate despite your best efforts. Every stretch, every weight rep, every sim session pushed you closer to the edge. What used to be routine now felt like punishment, your body refusing to respond, refusing to bend without protest.

You spent more time in physiotherapy and doctor's offices than you did on the track, always in secret, always through back doors, under fake names on appointment logs, always careful to keep up the facade of strength. You couldn’t afford questions. Couldn’t afford whispers.

But the cracks were showing. And Max… Max was noticing.

At first, it was nothing, just the way he watched you more closely during press events, his eyes narrowing whenever you winced or shifted uncomfortably. The casual questions about your health, disguised as jokes. You tried to brush it off, deflecting with humor, but Max wasn’t stupid. He was as sharp off the track as he was on it. He saw patterns. He felt when something was off. And now, you were off and he was tracking it like telemetry data.

“Lose a fight with your seat insert?” he’d ask when you sat down a little too slowly.

You brushed it off every time. “Just sore from carrying the team,” you’d quip. But his eyes would flick to your side, or your hand when it rubbed a phantom ache across your ribs, and he didn’t laugh like he used to.

One evening, after a particularly brutal qualifying session where you’d barely managed to secure P7, Max found you behind the hospitality motorhomes, still in your race suit, half hunched over with one hand braced on a railing, trying to catch your breath without drawing attention. You straightened when you heard his footsteps, but it was too late.

“You’re not okay,” he said bluntly, his usual playful tone absent.

You blinked, surprised by his directness. “What are you talking about? I’m fine.”

Max crossed his arms, his expression hardening. “No, you’re not. I’ve seen you, the way you’ve been moving, the way you’ve been driving. Something’s off.”

“I’m just tired Max, it’s been a long day,” you sighed, trying your best to divert the conversation, but Max wasn’t having it.

“Cut the crap. This isn’t tired. This is different. You’re hurting” he said, his voice firm. “What’s going on with you?”

You hesitated. No one had pushed this far before, not even your team. The truth burned on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to say it. Just once. To let someone else hold the weight of it, even for a second. But then you saw the season flash in your mind, what you’d risk, what you’d lose if it all came crashing down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied, turning to walk away.

Max grabbed your arm, not hard, but enough to make you stop. “You can trust me, you know,” he said quietly, his voice softer now. “If something’s wrong…”

His words hung in the air, and for a brief moment, you almost caved. Almost.

But then you remembered what was at stake. Your career. The championship. Everything.

You pulled your arm away. “I’m fine Max. Let it go.”

Max looked at you for a long time, his eyes searching yours. But eventually, he nodded, stepping back. “Alright. For now.”

You turned and walked away, but the pit in your stomach only grew, because Max was getting closer to the truth, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep running from it.

The race in Monza was supposed to be your redemption. After a brilliant quali this was a chance to prove you still had what it took to win, to show Max and everyone else that you weren’t done yet. That the whispers, the doubts, the endless speculation about your decline were nothing but noise, but it quickly became clear that your body had other plans.

The pain was worse than ever, radiating from deep within your chest and flaring through your ribs every time you hit a kerb or took a high-speed corner. You gritted your teeth and kept pushing, but by lap thirty your arms were trembling. Sweat clung to your skin beneath the race suit, and your hands shook as you tried to keep a steady grip on the wheel.

Max was behind you, closing in. Not just with raw pace but with that ruthless, unrelenting pressure he was known for. He was waiting for a mistake.

Your vision began to blur somewhere around lap forty. It took everything just to stay on the racing line, and then suddenly the rear snapped. The car spun. Your world whipped around in a blur of colours and screeching tires before the impact came, jarring your entire body and sending pain lancing through your ribs like a knife. The barrier caught you hard on the left side. The engine cut out and smoke billowed. Your hands were trembling as you ripped off your gloves and undid the harness.

As you sat in the wreckage of your car, the pain in your chest now unbearable, you couldn’t help but feel the crushing weight of defeat. It wasn’t just the end of the race. It was the end of the illusion. You weren’t okay. And no amount of pride or stubbornness could mask it anymore.

You felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. This wasn’t the place to break down. Not here, not now.

By the time the medical car got you out, you were biting the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out. You waved off their questions, said you were fine, but you weren’t even sure what fine meant anymore.

The walk back to the paddock felt longer than the entire race weekend. Your helmet dangled from one hand, your other pressed tightly against your ribs beneath the suit. But later as you walked back through the paddock Max was already there, he was leaning against a stack of crates just outside the Red Bull motorhome, arms crossed, cap pulled low, but when he spotted you, he straightened immediately. His expression shifted the moment your eyes met

You barely had time to react before he was in front of you, one hand reaching for your arm, the other hovering like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure where it wouldn’t hurt.

“Come with me,” he said under his breath, glancing around.

Before you could argue, he was already steering you gently but firmly into a quiet corner away from curious eyes.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he asked, voice sharp with worry. “You should’ve pulled into the pits. You could barely hold the car straight by the end.”

You opened your mouth, tried to say something, anything, but no excuse felt good enough. So you said the only thing you could.

“I didn’t want to stop.”

Max ran a hand through his hair, pacing half a step away before turning back to you.

“You’re done hiding this,” he said firmly, stepping closer. “Whatever it is, I’m not letting you keep it to yourself anymore.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words didn’t come. Instead, you just stood there, the pain and exhaustion finally catching up to you.

Max looked at you for a long moment, then took another step closer. “You can barely stand,” he muttered. “Jesus, I knew something was wrong. I could see it in how you were driving, you never make mistakes like that.”

“I’m fine, this is none of you business Max” you tried, but the words were weak, barely more than a whisper. They sounded pathetic even to your own ears.

“No. You’re not,” he snapped, louder this time. “You’re not fine. You could’ve been seriously hurt. Or worse, do you not get that? You put the car in the wall going 200 and then walked back here like nothing happened, like you didn’t just scare the hell out of me—” His voice caught, and for a moment, it was like the weight of what he wasn’t saying hung between you. “Do you even understand how close that was?”

“I didn’t mean—” you started, but he cut you off with a frustrated breath.

“You didn’t mean to? That’s not good enough,” he said, voice sharp with emotion. “You drove knowing you weren’t okay. You risked your life because what? You didn’t want anyone to know you’re hurt?”

He exhaled hard, stepping back like he needed to breathe or else he might say something he couldn’t take back.

“I thought I was going to see you being pulled out of that car unconscious,” he said, his voice low now, broken at the edges.

You stared at him, your own throat tight, unsure what to say.

His expression softened, as his hand came up, hesitated, then landed gently on your shoulder. Warm. Steady. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

He watched your eyes flicker, like you were on the edge of bolting, and his voice dipped, almost pleading. “Please.”

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t argue.

It was late that night when you finally told him. You sat together in the shadows, tucked in a forgotten corner behind your hospitality unit, your back against the cool metal wall, your legs stretched out.

Max still hadn’t left your side. Not after the crash. Not after the walk back. Not even after you tried to brush him off the fifth time with a tired excuse.

He just stayed.

And maybe that’s why the words finally came.

Of all the people you could tell, Max Verstappen probably wasn’t the smartest choice. He was your fiercest rival. The one person you’d spent the better part of your career trying to beat, trying to outdrive, outlast, outdo in every possible way. You had a whole history of near-misses and podium scuffles and tension thick enough to choke on. So why him?

You should tell your physio. Your team principal. Your family. Your press officer even. Anyone but Max.

But instead here you were, in a dark corner of Monza, unloading your deepest vulnerability to the one man who’d spent the year trying to beat you.

And yet… something about it felt right.

Maybe it was the way he looked at you, not with pity, not even surprise, but understanding. Quiet and real and grounding. Like he got it, in some strange way. Like there was some unspoken language between you, forged through years of competition and split-second decisions and shared silence in the paddock long after the fans went home.

You hated how easy it felt with him.

And God, that scared you.

Because you didn’t want to need anyone, especially not Max, with his impossible standards and his cutting sarcasm and the kind of intensity that could burn through stone. You’d built entire walls around yourself to survive in this sport, and Max Verstappen was one of the only people who had ever seen behind them.

“Why are you even here, Max?” you asked before you could stop yourself. “You didn’t have to stay.”

He turned to you, eyes meeting yours in the dark. “Yeah,” he said simply, “I did.”

And damn it, there it was again, that thing. That something between you that neither of you ever named, never acknowledged, but always felt. It lingered in the way you pushed each other harder than anyone else. In the way he always found your eyes on the grid. In the way you could never quite root against him, no matter how badly you wanted to beat him.

“I have chronic pain,” you admitted, your voice small, barely audible over the distant hum of a generator. “It started last year. Nothing major at first, twinges, tightness… easy to write off, but it got worse this season. I’ve been hiding it, trying to push through, but… it’s not working anymore.”

Max didn’t speak. He turned slightly to face you, legs bent at the knees, arms resting loosely on them. He didn’t rush you, he just listened quietly, his usual brashness gone, didn’t interrupt, didn’t ask questions, he just let you talk.

“I’ve been hiding it from everyone. From my team. From you. I’ve been managing it or trying to, physio, meds. I thought I could push through, like always. Just grit my teeth and keep racing. I thought for a while maybe it was all in my head” You let out a hollow laugh. “It’s not.”

Max’s jaw tightened, but still he said nothing.

“I didn’t want anyone to know. If the team found out, they’d pull me. If the media knew, they’d crucify me. And you… I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”

That’s when he finally spoke.

Max frowned at that, shaking his head. “Weak? You’ve been racing like this all year and you think that makes you weak?”

You laughed bitterly. “I haven’t won in months, Max. I can barely finish a race without screwing up. I put it in the wall today. That’s not strength. That’s pathetic.”

Max sighed, leaning back against the wall, his gaze fixed on the night sky. “You’re not weak,” he said after a long pause. “You shouldn’t have been in the car today. Hell, you shouldn’t have been in the car for the last few races. You’re stubborn as hell, but not weak.”

You let out a breath. Your whole body ached. Not just from the crash, but from months of pretending.

Max sighed, leaning back against the wall, glancing up like he was searching for the right words. “You’re not weak,” he said again, softer this time. “You’re just tired. And in pain. That’s not the same thing. You’ve been shouldering something most people wouldn’t even start a race with. And you kept going. Alone. That’s not weakness. That’s something else entirely”

You looked away, jaw tight, trying to keep the emotion from spilling over. It was one thing to admit it. It was another to have someone see it.

Max moved closer “You should’ve told me... or someone at least.”

“I didn’t know how,” you whispered. “I didn’t want to make it real. Saying it out loud makes it feel like it wins.”

He shook his head. “No. Saying it out loud means you’re still fighting. And you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

You smiled, a small, grateful smile, but it didn’t last long.

“So what’s the plan?” He asked.

You blinked. “The… what?”

He shrugged, but there was nothing casual in the way his eyes locked onto yours. “You said it’s getting worse. You can’t keep racing like this. So what’s next?”

You looked down, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know. I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

“Then let’s figure it out,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You shook your head. “Max, this isn’t your problem.”

“You think I waited for you after every race, checked in between flights, watched you limp through interviews because I was just being nice?”

You looked up, and he was right there, eyes blazing.

“I care about you, and you trusted me enough to tell me,” he said, softer now, like it hurt to say it too loud. “That means this is my problem. Whether you like it or not.”

Your throat tightened. “It’s not that I don’t want you here Max. It’s just… I’ve been carrying this for so long, I don’t know how to let someone else in.”

He gave a small, almost sad smile. “Then start with me.”

You hesitated. “Even if the plan means stepping back? Even if it means disappearing from the grid for a while?”

“None of that matters,” he said. “What matters is that you’re okay. That you’re healing. That you’re not destroying yourself just to prove you belong, because you already do."

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking in. He was right, of course. You’d been fighting this battle on your own for too long, and it was killing you. But asking for help… it still felt like admitting defeat.

Max was quiet for a moment, then he looked at you, his expression serious. “You need help. Real help. You can’t do this alone anymore. Taking time for yourself doesn’t make you weak either, please believe that.”

You let out a shaky laugh, blinking back tears. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” he admitted. “But I’ll be there, every step of the way. If you let me.”

“But if I stop now…” you whispered, “…it’s over isn’t it? I stop, and they’ll replace me. And even if I get better… what if I don’t get the chance to come back?”

Max shook his head. “No, it’s not. You take the time to get better, to figure out what you need to do. And when… when not if you come back… you’ll be stronger.”

You looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. For all the years of rivalry, the banter, the competition, you hadn’t expected this.

You let out a shaky breath, blinking back tears. “You really think I’ll get the chance?”

“I think you’re one of the best drivers on the grid,” he said, without hesitation. “And I think anyone who’s seen you drive knows that. This isn’t the end. Not if you don’t let it be.”

You dropped your gaze to your hands, suddenly overwhelmed by how much you'd just given him. “You know this changes things right? You knowing.”

“I know,” he said. “But not in the way you think.”

You looked up at him again.

“I’m not gonna see you as anything less because of this,” he said firmly. “If anything, I respect you even more… if that’s possible. Even if I hate that you didn’t tell anyone sooner.”

“You could use this against me, you know,” you said quietly. “If you tell anyone…”

Max met your gaze, his blue eyes steady. “I won’t.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You won’t?”

Max shrugged. “I’m competitive, not cruel. If I’m going to beat you, I want to beat you at your best.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any hint of deception, but there was none. He was being honest.

For the first time in months, you felt a flicker of hope.

Maybe you didn’t have to fight this alone anymore.

“Thank you,” you said finally.

He gave you a small nod, then reached over and nudged your knee with his own. You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t stop smiling. Not this time.

The decision to step back wasn’t easy.

It didn’t happen in one dramatic moment. It was a slow, aching acceptance, drawn out over sleepless nights, quiet tears in hotel bathrooms, and the gnawing worry for the future that refused to be silenced. It took soul-searching. And honesty, the brutal kind. With yourself. With your team. And, surprisingly, with Max.

Somehow, over the course of the ordeal, Max had become your anchor. The rivalry that once defined your relationship had softened, twisted into something far more complicated. He listened without judgment, pushed when you needed it, and called you out when you tried to pretend you were still invincible.

“I think you’re brave enough to admit it,” he’d said one night, “and I think you’re strong enough to come back.”

That stuck with you.

So when the decision was finally made, it wasn’t with fireworks or fanfare. Just a quiet nod to yourself, a shaky breath, and the understanding that sometimes stepping away took more courage than staying in the fight.

You announced it publicly just before the next race weekend, standing in front of a press room full of cameras and microphones that never seemed to miss a tremor in your voice. You told them a half truth, the version of it you were ready to share.

You needed time. Time to heal. Time to breathe. Time to come back stronger.

The media response was predictable. Headlines spun into chaos. Speculation ran rampant. Some questioned your drive. Others called you finished. They debated what was “really” wrong, but through it all, Max stayed silent.

Not once did he give the press a quote. Not once did he betray what he knew. Even when reporters tried to bait him, digging for scraps of scandal or sympathy, he deflected effortlessly changing the subject, shutting it down with a single look.

You’d never been more grateful.

As the weeks turned into months, you watched the races from the sidelines. At first, it felt like slow torture. Your body rested, yes, but your heart ached. Frustrated because every fiber of your being missed the track, the competition, the sheer thrill of racing. And yet, there was relief too, quiet and unfamiliar. You were no longer holding yourself together with adrenaline and fear. For the first time in ages you were breathing without pretending.

Max of course continued to dominate the championship. Beneath the cold stats and glowing headlines, there were moments that didn’t make it into the press, moments that were just for you. He’d call or text, checking in, making sure you were doing okay.

He’d text after qualifying, sometimes just a one-liner:

Track’s a mess. U would’ve hated it.

A call between flights, memes sent at 2AM with no context, only to be followed by a simple you okay? And sometimes no words at all, just a photo of the garage, or the view from his balcony, or his cat curled up on a travel bag, like he was reminding you that life was still moving and you were still part of it.

He didn’t ask invasive questions, he never pushed, but he always checked in. Subtly. Consistently. Like clockwork. Like he was making sure the world hadn’t swallowed you whole while he was out there conquering it.

It was strange, at first, getting used to the version of Max who wasn’t trying to out-qualify you or bait you in press conferences. This Max was… patient. Steady. A little sarcastic still, the texts always came with a dose of dry humour, but there was warmth beneath it, a quiet sort of care.

And you found yourself replying more than you expected, telling him small things. That your shoulder finally didn’t ache when you lifted your arm. That you missed the smell of burning rubber. That you’d accidentally called your physio by your engineers name out of habit. That you'd tried your first ever Red Bull drink and hated it much to his chagrin.

The friendship that formed was easy in ways nothing else in your life was.

It didn’t demand anything of you. There was no pressure to be strong or fast or okay. With Max you didn’t have to pretend, he never told you what you should be feeling, he was just there in anyway he could be, again and again, until you started to wonder what life had even looked like before he was in it this way.

One evening, late after another one of his perfectly executed wins you picked up your phone and typed out a message. You hesitated before pressing send, unsure why you felt nervous. Maybe it was because lately your heart beat faster than it used to when you saw his name light up your screen. Maybe because this was all still new, this version of you, this version of him, this version of you and him.

Because you’d spent your whole career learning how to stand alone. How to keep everyone at arm’s length. Rivals were rivals. Friends were rare. And Max… well Max had never fit neatly into either box.

Congrats on the win. Just don’t get too used to it alright? I’ll be back soon.

You hovered over the send button for a second longer, wondering if he’d see through it. If he’d hear what you weren’t saying.

I miss it.

I miss you.

I don’t know what this is, but it’s starting to matter.

The reply came almost instantly.

Looking forward to it. But seriously take your time. We’ll settle this on the track when you’re ready.

There were no fireworks in the message. No confessions, no overreaching sentiment.

But it meant more than he probably knew.

You leaned back on the couch, phone still in your hand, the hum of the television playing highlights in the background. For the first time in months, you felt something like peace settle over you.

You didn’t know when you’d be back. Or if you’d ever be exactly the same driver you were before, but you didn’t feel alone anymore.

The new year and the new season came around quick, and finally after what felt like a lifetime of recovery, rehab, and soul-searching, you were ready to return to the grid.

It wasn’t easy. It never would be.

The pain hadn’t vanished. Some days were better than others, but you knew by now that it would always be there, lingering under the surface like a shadow. What had changed was how you dealt with it. You’d learned to listen to your body, to recognise the difference between pushing your limits and hurting yourself.

Telling your team hadn’t been easy either. There were long, uncomfortable meetings behind closed doors, doctors’ reports and second opinions, legal clauses and moral dilemmas. Everyone had the same questions: Was it safe? Were you sure? Could you handle it if it went wrong again?

You didn’t pretend it was foolproof. There were no guarantees in motorsport but there never has been. You looked them all in the eye and told the truth, you were ready, and more importantly you promised that if it ever got too much again, you’d say something. No more silence. No more hiding.

What surprised you most was that they said yes. That they took the risk on you. And somewhere in the mess of nerves and determination, that gave you a quiet sort of strength.

By the time race week rolled around, your nerves were frayed and your heart was racing before you even set foot in the paddock. But the second you did, something clicked. The smells, the sounds, the adrenaline in the air it all came rushing back.

And then there was Max.

He was one of the first people to spot you as you walked through the paddock gates, your jacket tied around your waist, race bag slung over your shoulder. He made a beeline towards you grinning like a kid.

“About time you showed up,” he said, his usual cocky tone back in full force.

You rolled your eyes. “Miss me that much Verstappen?”

He stopped in front of you, eyes glinting. “Maybe. Or maybe I just got bored winning without any real competition.”

“Careful,” you said, nudging his arm with your elbow, “you’re starting to sound sentimental.”

He grinned. “Don’t get used to it. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

But then, softer, barely audible beneath the bravado he added, “It’s good to see you back.”

You looked at him for a moment longer than necessary, trying not to let the warmth in his voice get to you. But it did. It always did now.

The race that day was one of the hardest of your career. Every lap was a war between muscle memory and the cautious voice in your head. Every corner was a test of discipline, control, trust in your body. And when you crossed the finish line just behind Max you didn’t care that it wasn’t a win. You didn’t care that your suit was soaked with sweat. You’d made it. You’d done it.

You were back.

As you climbed out of the car, your chest heaving, Max was already striding toward you. He didn’t wait for the cameras to move. Didn’t play it cool. He pulled off his helmet, a wide grin stretched across his face and pulled you into a crushing hug.

“Not bad for your first race back,” he said, cheeks flushed, eyes alive with adrenaline, “but next time I expect you to give me a real challenge.”

You shot him a look, wiping the sweat from your brow. “Oh, don’t worry,” you said, breathless but smiling. “I will.”

The weeks following your return were a whirlwind, races, press conferences, back-to-back simulator sessions, long nights with your physio, and an endless stream of media narratives. They called it the comeback of the season, painted you as the fighter, the underdog, the miracle story. But you knew the truth.

It was hard. Every lap still demanded more from you than it ever had before. And the only constant, familiar and infuriating, was Max.

The rivalry between you had never been sharper. He didn’t go easy on you. If anything, he pushed harder, drove aggressively when you were in his mirrors, blocked with precision that made you curse into your radio. But even through the heat of battle, there was something else brewing.

It was in the way he waited for you after races now. The way his calls came after rough weekends without needing an explanation. It was in the long glances across the paddock. The casual shoulder bumps that held just a little too long. The way you both kept pretending it was nothing, even when it clearly wasn’t.

Max had always been your toughest competitor, but now… now, he was something more. He wasn’t just the guy pushing you on the track. He was the one who had stood by you when things had fallen apart. He had seen you at your worst and hadn’t walked away. He was the one who knew how bad your ribs hurt when the track leaned right. The one who’d stayed the night when you cried after a brutal practice in Singapore. The one who never once told you to be stronger, he just reminded you that you already were.

One late evening after a draining Friday practice session, you found yourself next to him on a concrete wall in the far end of the paddock, away from everyone you sat shoulder to shoulder.

The track was silent now. The stars were barely visible, but the moon hung low and bright, casting long silver shadows over the empty circuit.

“You ever think about how weird this is?” he asked.

You looked over at him, brow raised. “What’s weird?”

He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “This. Us. Sitting here. Talking. Not trying to rip each other’s heads off. You didn’t even call me a smug bastard today. I’m starting to worry.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Yeah it is a little strange. Guess we’ve come a long way.”

“Seriously though,” he said, his smile fading into something quieter, more sincere, “I never expected this.”

You tilted your head. “Expected what?”

“This... us. I’ve always kept people at arm’s length. Easier that way, you know? Just focus on racing. Keep everything else out.”

You swallowed, something catching in your throat. “Well, to be fair you were kind of an asshole when we first met.”

He let out a soft laugh, the sound light but a little sad. “I still am sometimes.”

He looked at you again, longer this time, the silence stretched on, not awkward, but heavy

“I think about it sometimes,” he murmured. “If things were different. If we weren’t in this job... or if we didn’t have to pretend...”

“Do you?” you asked, barely above a whisper. “Pretend?”

He hesitated for a heartbeat too long. “Every day.”

The air between you crackled. Your hand was resting next to his on the wall, your pinkies brushing lightly, and neither of you moved away. You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say.

“Max…” you began, not sure if it was safe to say what had been sitting on the tip of your tongue for weeks.

“Anyway,” he said, standing and stretching, slowly as if reluctant to break the moment. “We’ve got a race tomorrow better get some sleep.”

And as he turned to leave, his hand brushed against yours, deliberately this time and he let it linger just long enough to send your pulse racing.

You watched him disappear down the paddock, your heart a tangle of adrenaline, but this time it didn’t feel like an open ending. It felt like the beginning of something that had been slowly building, quietly, stubbornly, undeniably and now, finally, it was starting to take shape.

Your first win of the season felt like a dream. The chequered flag waved, the crowd roared, and for a moment, the entire world blurred into a rush of relief and triumph.

You’d done it. You’d won again.

You didn’t even get your helmet off before Max was there, grinning like he hadn’t just spent seventy laps trying to ruin your life.

“You actually made me work for that one.”

You pulled off your helmet, shaking out your hair, heart still pounding from the final laps. “Admit it you were sweating.”

“Oh, I was sweating,” he said, stepping closer. “Just not only because of the race.”

Your brows lifted, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Wow. Bold move, Verstappen you flirting with me now?”

He shrugged, eyes dropping to your mouth for half a second too long. “Been doing that for a while. You’re just slow.”

You let out a breathy laugh, half exhausted and half completely wrecked by the way he was looking at you, like you were the finish line and he’d been chasing you all season.

Later you stood on the top step of the podium, champagne dripping down your fireproofs, heart pounding as the anthem played. And right next to you, among the flashes of cameras you caught Max looking at you. Not with envy. Not with rivalry.

With something else entirely.

Pride. Awe. Maybe even something dangerously close to love.

You thought that was it. The end of a perfect day, but long after the night fell silent there was a knock at your hotel door.

You opened it to find Max standing there. Freshly showered, hair damp, hoodie half-zipped over a soft t-shirt, eyes impossibly blue in the hallway light.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, hands in his pockets, gaze flickering from your face to your bare feet, then back up.

“You gonna invite me in?” he asked eventually, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips.

You stepped aside, pulse quickening as he walked in.

The room was quiet. You were still in the oversized team tee you wore to bed, the one that fell to your thighs and smelled faintly of fuel and champagne.

“You okay?” you asked, closing the door gently behind him.

He nodded. “Yeah just... couldn’t sleep.”

You tilted your head. “You? The king of sleeping through debriefs?”

He gave you a look. “That was one time.”

You smirked, walking over to the small kitchenette to grab a bottle of water, needing something to do with your hands. “So what’s really going on?”

Max didn’t answer right away. He moved toward the window, looking out over the glittering city lights, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve been trying to figure out what the hell to say to you for weeks,” he said finally.

You froze, the cap of the bottle halfway twisted. “Yeah?”

He turned, and the look on his face was... different. Unarmored.

“You winning today,” he said softly, “it made everything harder.”

You frowned. “Harder?”

“Because I keep telling myself to keep this simple,” he went on, walking toward you now, slow and careful. “Just racing. Just rivalry. Just… whatever it’s always been between us.”

Your heart pounded louder with every word.

“But it’s not that anymore,” he said, stopping just a few feet away from you. “Hasn’t been for a while.”

You swallowed hard. “So what is it then?”

He looked at you like he wanted to memorise every inch of your face. Like saying the next words out loud might break him open.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he said, voice hoarse. “And it terrifies me.”

The air left your lungs. The words hit you like a gut punch not because they hurt, but because they were so impossibly vulnerable coming from him. For a second, you just stood there, blinking at him.

“Max…”

“I didn’t come here expecting anything,” he said quickly, “I just… I needed to say it. Because watching you win today, watching you come back from everything and still be that fucking brilliant made me realise that if I don’t say it now, I might never get the chance. When you won all I could think about was how much I wanted to be the first person you saw after you crossed that line.”

The room felt suddenly too small, the silence between you too loud.

You swallowed again. “Max—”

“I know what you’re gonna say,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “That it’s too complicated. That there’s too much at stake. But you can’t stand there and tell me you haven’t felt it too. Don’t do that to me.”

His voice cracked at the end, and it shattered something inside you.

Silence stretched, thick and fragile.

Of course you had felt it. You felt it in every late-night phone call. Every text that made your chest ache. Every glance across the garage. Every time his car sat just ahead of yours on the starting grid and you felt more pride than envy.

You stepped closer.

“I was afraid,” you admitted. “I didn’t want to ruin what we already had. We worked so hard for this friendship, for trust, and wanting more felt greedy. Like it might cost me the one person who never looked away when things got ugly. You reminded me who I was when I forgot. And I—I didn't want to risk losing that. Losing you.”

He gave a breathless laugh, almost disbelieving. “You think I could ever go back to before… to pretending?”

Your hand brushed against his.

He didn’t pull away.

Neither did you.

“I feel it too, of course I do.” you whispered. “You were there when everything fell apart. And you stayed.”

He reached for you then, not to kiss you, not yet, but to cradle your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently along your cheekbones.

“I’ll keep staying,” he said. “As long as you’ll let me.”

And that was it.

You leaned into him, your hands gripping the front of his hoodie, and kissed him like you’d been holding it back for far too long. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was deliberate. His hands found your waist, gentle at first, then firmer, like he’d been holding himself back for so long, unsure if he was allowed to want this. But now that the dam had broken, he wasn’t going to pretend anymore.

You kissed him like you meant it. Your lips moved with his like you already knew the rhythm, like your bodies had been waiting to catch up with what your hearts had already decided.

When you pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, he was smiling.

“So,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours, “does this mean I can stop pretending I only text you for tyre strategy talk?”

You rolled your eyes, and kissed him again just to shut him up.

And just like that, the noise of the world faded, the lights outside blurred, and for the first time, your heart wasn’t racing because of fear, or pressure, or pain.

It was because of him.

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5sospenguinqueen · 5 months ago

Text

Surprise! | Charles Leclerc x Haas! Reader

Summary: Surprise! Charles got married without any of the Grid knowing. Surely his new wife can’t be the one driver who practically ignores his existence.

Warnings: fluff, an inability to fully understand black cat energy

Requested: yes by anon. apologies but it wouldn’t let me view the pins so i hope this matches your vision

Faceclaim: Leah Halton, and some random pinterest pics

F1 Masterlist

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its_yn just posted

liked by kevinmagnussen, lance_stroll and others

its_yn belgium 2024

8,558 comments

charles_leclerc lovely necklace

→ its_yn thanks.

→ user1 he tries to hard but she makes it clear that she does not like him

→ user2 can you blame her if that’s what he counts as flirting liked by arthur_leclerc

user3 caption really gives us the bare minimum of her media contract

user4 love how we get the basics from her. like yes, honey, give us nothing

kevinmagnussen i play a mean harmonica

→ its_yn sure

→ alex_albon she told me her ears were bleeding

→ kevinmagnussen i’d say she hurt my feelings but what else is new?

→ user5 can’t even be nice to her teammate

haasf1team our two favourite people

user6 she gives off such black cat energy

user7 people think she’s rude but she’s actually really shy with a dry sense of humour

→ user8 this! when you meet her, she’s so lovely but she goes really red

user9 we stan a low energy girly

charles_leclerc just posted

liked by carlossainz55, lewishamilton and others

charles_leclerc spa day before the summer break

9,660 comments

user10 not charles posting a pic of him puling the same pose he hit when yn ignored him at the driver’s parade

→ user11 we love a self aware king

→ user12 no because the ducked head and the hair fiddle is literally what he did when she turned her back on him

user13 the things i would do to be y/n. i don’t know how she can resist

→ user14 it’s almost funny because he tries so hard to flirt with her and she just doesn’t respond

user15 i’m not being delusional but i don’t think y/n was ignoring him. i think he made her shy

→ user16 i support you 100% because he grinned at her, she immediately turned and it looked like she was trying not to smile liked by charles_leclerc

→ user17 charles is just as delulu as we are

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its_yn just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri and others

its_yn summer break

6,099 comments

landonorris a smile would be nice

→ its_yn nothing in my life to smile about

→ charles_leclerc could i change that?

user1 i love that charles always comments on her posts and she barely ever responds

→ user2 she never even likes his posts, aside from the monaco one

→ user3 the only one that matters

arthur_leclerc he’s too busy freaking out about the flower being red; his symbolic colour

→ scuderiaferrari yes, drag his ass

→ haasf1team we also have red fyi

→ scuderiaferrari don’t make this about you

user4 max and y/n are literally the definition of giving only what their contract demands

user5 guys, she’s on a yacht. who is well known for their yacht? charles leclerc

→ user6 they’re millionaires. they probably all have one

→ user7 she said in a recent interview that she didn’t

charles_leclerc just posted

liked by its_yn, maxverstappen1 and others

charles_leclerc my summer break was one to remember

16,334 comments

user8 why has he used y/n’s filter on these pictures?

→ user9 coincidence, i think not

→ user10 she doesn’t own the filter

→ user9 yes she does

user11 wait, y/n liked this? this is only the second post of his that she’s ever liked

→ user12 this feels significant and i can’t quite tell why

carlossainz55 what is this? you did not tell me about this?

→ carlossainz55 charles, hello?

alex_albon so our sim racing together meant nothing to you??

georgerussell63 we milk goats together and you don’t tell me you’re engaged

→ charles_leclerc *married

→ landonorris and you were the goats !

pierregasly i get not telling the others but to not even tell me??

→ charles_leclerc you gossip!

→ pierregasly with you!

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

its_yn just posted

liked by pierregasly, landonorris and others

its_yn you 🖤

10,144 comments

user1 pardon?

user2 so we don’t even know the basic info about this lady but we now know she has a partner?

→ user3 must be serious if she’s willing to share it with us

user4 can’t even make a joke about charles leclerc crying in his room because he’s married??

user5 i genuinely deluded myself in thinking charles and y/n would end up together but now he’s eloped and she’s soft launching some rando

user6 i want to live in the multiverse where charles and y/n are together

user7 but charles and y/n were meant to become the manifestation of the sunshine/grumpy trope

user8 it's the fact that arthur isn't even commenting/teasing charles

→ user9 we've truly lost what could've been

user10 is that an engagement ring??

charles_leclerc just posted

liked by alex_albon, f1 and others

charles_leclerc what’s better than one leclerc? two! now that the season is done, we can go on our honeymoon baby

18,147 comments

its_yn ❤️❤️

→ user11 oh so she is just like that

→ user12 had us convinced she didn’t like our boy but she was so in love with him that she couldn't speak to him in public without blushing

→ user13 she used his colour for the hearts instead of hers!

→ user14 she’s so down bad

landonorris omg we have an actual smile from y/n? the world must be ending

→ its_yn shut up. let me be happy

→ kevinmagnussen didn’t know you knew how to be

→ its_yn this is why you weren’t invited

lilymhe lost my girl to a man who goes vroom

→ alex_albon excuse me?

→ charles_leclerc excuse me?

→ its_yn @/lilymhe 💋

scuderiaferrari can we hire your wife to make us more of those jackets?

→ haasf1team she’s already hired as our driver??

→ sucderiaferrari i think we’ve already proven that we get access to all leclerc’s. we’ll build her a seat or something

user15 everyone say thank you charles because he’s actually giving us loads of content of our girl, who usually gives us nothing

→ user16 and he’s making her more sociable, look how many times she’s commented on this post alone

pierregasly i wish i was surprised but i knew i caught you kissing months ago! i just didn’t think she would marry you

→ charles_leclerc you have hurt my feelings

→ its_yn @/pierregasly count your days

→ pierregasly i miss when you didn’t talk

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

Requests open but slow

tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25 @sillyfreakfanparty @justaf1girl @piastri-fvx @teamnovalak

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neferaskingdom · 8 months ago

Text

♡ You're Doing Amazing Sweetie | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: George finds out and the only thing Y/n can do is hide and pray that George doesn't take out Max on track.

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

Y/n paces anxiously near the monitors while Charles and Lando loiter as if they had all the time in the world. Charles had his arms crossed, his race suit tied around his waist, and Lando was demolishing a plate of snacks meant for the Ferrari engineers. Y/n had been hiding out in the Ferrari garage since the paddock opened to avoid crossing paths with George.

“Okay, tell me the truth—how screwed am I?” Y/n asks, whipping around to face them.

“Oh, monumentally,” Lando replies through a mouthful of cookie. “Like Titanic levels. Possibly Pompeii.”

Charles nods along solemnly. “Also George is definitely plotting something. He walked by earlier muttering to himself like a Bond villain.”

“Fuck” Y/n groans pacing faster.

“You do realize hiding here makes you look guiltier, right?” Lando says, biting into another cookie

Y/n glares at him. “What do you want me to do? Parade around the paddock with a sign that says ‘Yes George, I am the mother of Max Verstappen’s future spawn’?!”

Charles snorts so hard that his espresso nearly spills. “Please don’t. George would spontaneously combust.”

“Plus technically speaking this is your fault,” Lando says, jabbing a finger at her.

She raises an eyebrow. “My fault? I’m not the one who told the entire world, ‘If it weren’t for the baby.’”

“That part was clearly Max’s fault,” Lando interjects, not looking up from his plate. “But this whole ‘let’s date secretly’ thing? Yeah, I’m blaming you for that one.”

“Excuse me?” Y/n shoots back.

“Don’t get defensive,” Charles says, holding his hands up. “But we told you this would end in disaster. And now? Look at you. Hiding in my garage like some kind of fugitive because George looks like he’s ready to blow up Redbull’s hospitality. You should have told George the second you two realized your relationship was serious.”

Y/n groans, tugging at her hair. “What’s done is done and I can’t change that now can I? And I’m here because I obviously can’t stay at the Mercedes garage if I want to avoid my brother and staying at Redbull is a deathwish. Imagine what’ll happen if he catches us both in the same place. I just hope George doesn't do anything stupid in public”

“Why do you think we’re here?” Lando says, grinning as he gestures to himself and Charles. “We’re like the UN Peacekeepers of the paddock. We’ll keep them both separate and make sure nothing happens today.”

“Like that's very reassuring,” Y/n mutters.

As the drivers line up for the national anthem, Y/n stays glued to the monitors, trying to keep a low profile. George, however, was impossible to miss.

“Great,” she mutters to herself as the camera pans to him. His jaw was clenched, his expression thunderous. It looked like he was barely holding himself together.

Oscar was hovering near George, subtly blocking him every time he shifted toward Max. Y/n couldn’t help but feel sorry for the Aussie, who looked like he’d accidentally wandered into a battlefield.

From his other side, Lando was casually draping an arm over his shoulder as if trying to calm him down. Instead, it seems to piss off George even more as he tried to shrug him off with a sharp glare, but Lando remained latched on.

“Please let this be over,” Y/n pleads at the screen.

The tension only escalated as the drivers headed to their cars. George made one last attempt to corner Max, and Y/n’s heart leaped into her throat.

“Oh no. Oh no. Don’t do it,” she whispered at the screen.

Oscar, ever the unwilling mediator, once again intercepted George, his hands up in a placating gesture. Y/n let out a relieved breath as George backed off, though he still looked furious.

She slumped back into her seat, her nerves frayed.

“Just one race,” she muttered to herself. “One race without drama. Is that too much to ask for?”

The drivers climbed into their cars, and the screen cut to the grid formation. Y/n felt a brief moment of peace, knowing that for the next couple of hours, George and Max would be too busy driving to tear into each other.

f1teaspill posted:

f1teaspill: Tensions are at an all-time high after today’s race! George Russell’s post-race interview took a dramatic turn when a journalist brought up Max’s cryptic baby comment and rumors about George’s sister. 😱 After repeatedly trying to dodge the question, George snapped, delivered a firm warning about personal boundaries, and stormed off.

The paddock drama just keeps escalating. Fans spotted George glaring at Max throughout the national anthem, and it seems like Oscar and Lando had to play paddock security to keep the peace. What’s your take on all this chaos? 🍼👀

Post-Race Interview Transcript:

Journalist: George, P5 today—a decent result to round out the season. Can you walk us through how you’re feeling about the race and the team’s performance?

George: (nodding) Yeah, it was a solid race. Not quite the result we hoped for, but the team worked hard all weekend. We gave it our best shot with the car we had. Of course, as a driver, you always want more, but I think we made the most of the opportunities we had out there.

Journalist: Fair enough. And, of course, today marks the end of an era with Lewis Hamilton’s final race for Mercedes. What’s it like to share this moment with him? Any reflections?

George: (pauses, visibly emotional) It’s bittersweet, really. Lewis has been such a huge part of the team and the sport as a whole. He’s not just a teammate but also a mentor and a legend in Formula 1. Sharing the garage with him has been an honor. I think I speak for everyone at Mercedes when I say we’re incredibly grateful for everything he’s brought to the team and wish him all the best for what comes next.

Journalist: Well said. Now, George, I have to shift gears a bit—there’s been a lot of chatter about some off-track tension. During the national anthem, fans couldn’t help but notice you glaring at Max Verstappen. Care to address that?

George: (stiffens, smile faltering) I wasn’t glaring at anyone. I was focused on the race, like I always am. People are reading into things that just aren’t there.

Journalist: Really? Because from the footage, it looked quite... pointed. And after Max’s comments yesterday about making peace with you ‘because of a baby,’ it’s hard not to wonder—

George: (cuts in, voice tight) I don’t see how that’s relevant to today’s race.

Journalist: (pressing) George, fans are speculating nonstop. Is it true? Is your sister having Max Verstappen’s baby?

George: (visibly bristling, voice rising) I think we’ve strayed far enough from the purpose of this interview. This is about Formula 1, about racing—not gossip or baseless rumors.

Journalist: With all due respect, George, Max’s words weren’t exactly cryptic. He was talking about a baby and making amends with you. Surely, you can understand why people are curious.

George: (snaps, voice sharp) Curious or not, it’s none of anyone’s business. This is supposed to be a post-race interview—not a soap opera recap. The media needs to learn where to draw the line. We’re here to race, not have our personal lives dissected under a microscope.

Journalist: But George, the fans—

George: (interrupts sharply) No. Enough. The media needs to maintain boundaries and stop meddling in our personal lives. I’m done here.

(George rips off his team cap, storms away from the interview pen, and disappears into the paddock, leaving the journalist and cameras stunned.)

Comments:

user: George was NOT here for the nonsense today. That ‘draw the line’ speech? ICONIC

user: Honestly, respect to George for standing up for himself. The journalist was pushing way too hard. Let the man race in peace user: Never seen George this mad before 😳 What is going on in the House of Commons???

user: Why do I feel like this confirms the baby news? Like he didn’t deny it, and his reaction was TOO intense

user: Respect to George for standing up to the journalist, but let’s not lie—he 100% confirmed the drama with that reaction. 🍼

user: Okay, but imagine George finding out about the baby at the same time as us 😭

user: George looked like he was going to deck Max during the national anthem. Thank you, Oscar, for literally being a human shield

user: No but why did George look like he was seconds away from body-slamming Max during the anthem? Lando had to literally hold him back 💀

user: Okay, but the real question is… what BABY? Whose baby? Did George even KNOW about this baby before today?!

user: Theory time! 1. Max and Y/n were dating in secret. 2. George didn’t know about the baby and is spiraling. 3. Netflix is eating GOOD

user: Imagine being George and learning about your sister’s alleged baby from Twitter

user: Lewis’ last race with Merc and THIS is what George has to deal with. Poor guy’s gonna need therapy after this season

user: The way everyone’s ignoring this is also Lewis’ last race with Mercedes 💀. George snapped so hard we forgot to be emotional

user: Lando probably whispered something dumb like ‘You’re doing amazing, sweetie’ while George was vibrating with rage

user: F1 isn’t just a sport. It’s a reality TV show with occasional car racing

Max stood under the glare of the cameras, trying to look composed despite the post-race fatigue gnawing at him. P6 wasn’t what he’d wanted, but at least he’d avoided the chaos brewing elsewhere in the paddock—or so he thought.

“So, the strategy was clearly compromised by the penalty,” the journalist asked, her tone probing. “Do you think there was any way to recover from that?”

Max nodded slightly, his words coming out measured. “Yeah, it was tough. We lost track position early, and once you’re in traffic—”

“Sorry to interrupt.”

The voice was eerily calm, almost polite, but it carried a weight that immediately silenced the conversation. Max turned to see George standing there, his posture casual but his jaw clenched tight.

The journalist blinked, clearly taken aback. “Uh, George? We’re in the middle of—”

“I need a moment with Max,” George cut her off, his tone civil but firm. He glanced at Max’s PR manager with an unnervingly calm smile. “I hope you don’t mind.”

The PR manager hesitated, looking between Max and George. Max let out a quiet sigh, already resigned to whatever was about to unfold. He gave a small nod. “It’s fine. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Before anyone could say another word, George’s hand clamped onto Max’s shoulder. It wasn’t rough, but it left no room for argument.

Max allowed himself to be steered away, his body language slumping slightly as though accepting his fate. George didn’t say a word as he guided Max through the paddock, weaving past mechanics and team personnel. A few glanced their way, their curiosity piqued, but no one dared to intervene.

“Are you going to say something, or are we just walking in ominous silence?” Max finally muttered, keeping his tone light but knowing full well George wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

George didn’t respond, his grip tightening slightly as they turned into a quieter corridor behind the team hospitality units.

“Okay,” Max said with a dry laugh, “this is starting to feel like a bad cop drama.”

George stopped abruptly, spinning Max around and slamming him against the wall. The thud echoed in the empty space, and Max winced slightly but didn’t resist.

“We need to talk,” George said, his voice low and steely, every word laced with barely contained anger.

Max met his gaze, his usual unflappable demeanor faltering under the intensity of George’s glare. For a moment, the air between them was thick with tension, unspoken words hanging heavy in the silence.

Taglist: @ilovechickenwings @spooky-librarian-ghost @diaryofarandomkid @rd14 @hc-dutch @96mcobo @grussellsprout @tremendousstarlighttragedy @awritingtree @shelbyteller @diorbrxtz

@henna006 @freyathehuntress @nichmeddar @formulaal @sleutherclaw

@anilovessadbooks @mangotaitai @vtryy @finn-dot-com @sarahsobsession

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sunshinecal · 1 month ago

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okay but what is going on with f1 drivers lately… everyone’s acting like they’re lowkey in love with george russell 😭

max called george very beautiful during pre-race media, in front of everyone like it was no big deal??lewis took a picture of george during the driver parade using a HAAS camera—like he didn’t even care it was from another team, he just HAD to take the shot. and then he posted it on twitter. I’M LOSING IT. and of course, during the national anthem… oscar was right there next to george, holding the umbrella. as always.

like… what’s happening to them… i’m not complaining as a certified george-centric enjoyer but still… suspicious behavior 😌 he really is the people’s princess 🤭

#gax #russtappen #geoscar #britcedes #gewis #george russell #max verstappen #lewis hamilton #oscar piastri

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fairylando · 4 months ago

Text

SIMPS SPOTTED🫵

#lando i can see your 32 TEETH SMILE from here #get a GRIP🫵#also carlos... you do know you can get closer #no??#no need to stretch all the way over baby #just scooch closer😔#kimi is seeing his future AND ITS BRIGHT #SHHSHSHS #carlos sainz jr #carlitos #landino #lando norris #carlando #formula 1 #f1 #bahrain gp 2025 #drivers' parade

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be4chywritez · 5 months ago

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matchmaker | oscar piastri

oscar piastri x fem!reader

You needed a date for a wedding, and somehow, Oscar Piastri ended up in the role. It was supposed to be pretend—just for the weekend…

"Please," you’re quite literally gripping Lando’s arm, borderline begging. He shrugs you off like you’re a minor inconvenience. “No.”

You groan, throwing yourself back against the couch in his driver’s room, where you’ve been holed up, waiting for his PR manager to call him. "Lando, do you want me to die?"

His eyes flicker up from his phone, unimpressed. “Hmm.”

You straighten up, determined. “So let me get this straight,” Lando says, finally putting his phone down to actually look at you. There’s a flicker of amusement in his expression, which gives you hope. “Your bum of a boyfriend dumped you last week, but your cousin still expects you to bring a plus one.”

You tuck your hair behind your ear and nod.

“So you decided to recruit me as your fake boyfriend for…” He holds his hand out, and you quickly place your phone in his palm, the virtual wedding invitation already open. His brows lift as he scans it. “Three days in the Maldives?”

You nod again, putting on your best “Please do this, or I’ll die” face.

Lando gives you a flat look. “Absolutely not.” He shoves your phone back at you like you just asked him to commit a felony.

You let out a strangled groan, throwing your head back. “Why not?”

“Because, one, I have better things to do than play house with you in a five-star resort.”

“Rude.”

“Two,” he continues, ignoring you, “I’m not an asshole like all the muppets you’ve dated. Which means I have self-respect.”

You narrow your eyes. “That feels like a personal attack.”

He grins. “That’s because it is.”

You groan, flopping against the couch dramatically. “Come on, Lando! You know my family—they’ll rip me to shreds if I show up alone. And my ex is going to be there.”

That gets his attention. His lips curl like he just smelled something bad. “That dickhead? Why?”

“Because he’s the groom’s best friend,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “So not only will I be subjected to my cousin’s judgmental stares, but I’ll also have to watch my ex parade around, acting like breaking up with me was the best decision of his life.”

Lando leans back, arms crossed. “Yeah… still not seeing how that’s my problem.”

You glare. “Wow. Remind me why we’re best friends?”

He grins. “Because I’m incredibly charming and bring joy to your life.”

You grab a pillow and chuck it at his face. He dodges it effortlessly, still smirking.

“Fine,” he says, stretching out his legs. “I won’t go. But I have a better idea.”

You blink, wary. “…I’m listening.”

Lando’s grin turns absolutely devious. “Entice Oscar.”

Your brain short-circuits. “I—excuse me?”

He shrugs. “You’re hot. Oscar’s a guy. Use your powers.”

You gape at him. “Lando—”

“He’s got the personality of a brick, but he’s a good guy. And more importantly, he’s free.” Lando pauses, then grins. “Probably.”

You groan. “You think I can just bat my lashes at Oscar, and he’ll agree to drop everything and play my fake boyfriend?”

Lando looks at you like it’s obvious. “Yes.”

You stare at Lando like he’s grown a second head. “You want me to seduce Oscar into coming to my cousin’s wedding?”

“No, no,” he says, waving a hand. “I want you to persuade him. The seduction is just a bonus.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Lando, be serious.”

“I am! You’re underestimating the power you have. Oscar is a man—he’s not immune to a gorgeous woman asking for a favor.” Lando leans in like he’s telling you the secret to life. “You just have to be a little… convincing.”

You roll your eyes so hard you almost see your brain. “Oscar doesn’t even like me like that.”

Lando snorts. “He doesn’t have to like you like that. He just has to like you enough to say yes.”

You open your mouth to argue but stop because, annoyingly, Lando has a point. You and Oscar have always been friendly—he’s quiet, polite, and unbothered by your chaotic energy. You wouldn’t say you’re close, but there’s mutual respect.

…Would he say yes?

Lando must see the wheels turning in your head because he grins. “So, you’ll ask him?”

You sigh dramatically. “Do I even have a choice?”

“Nope.” Lando pops the ‘p.’

You glare, but he just stretches lazily, reaching for his phone again, looking very pleased with himself. “You better pray he agrees, Norris. If he says no, I’m coming back and making your life hell.”

Lando doesn’t even look up. “Yeah, yeah. Go work your magic, bombshell.” he chuckles to himself, “Use your assets,” his finger wiggles towards your chest you give him a shove before getting up.

You flip him off as you grab your bag and storm out.

—

You’re not sure why you ever listen to your idiot best friend.

Sitting at some semi-fancy restaurant, you adjust the hem of your dress, cursing Lando under your breath. He had insisted you wear something “enticing,” which meant your neckline was just a little lower than usual, and the dress hugged your figure in a way that was definitely deliberate. You had rolled your eyes at him, but you still wore it. Because, unfortunately, he had a point—if you were going to convince Oscar Piastri to drop everything and play pretend with you in the Maldives, you needed to come prepared.

Oscar sits across from you, looking painfully neutral as he stirs his drink. He’s dressed casually, his posture relaxed but his expression unreadable. You can’t tell if he’s amused, confused, or simply waiting for you to get to the point. Probably all three.

You clear your throat. "So, Oscar."

His eyes flick up from his glass. "So, you."

You flash your most charming smile. "How do you feel about tropical destinations? Luxurious resorts? The opportunity to make me eternally grateful?"

Oscar blinks, then exhales through his nose like he already regrets being here. "Lando put you up to this, didn’t he?"

You scoff, feigning offense. "Excuse me? I am a grown woman fully capable of making my own questionable decisions."

Oscar’s lips twitch. "Uh-huh. And this questionable decision is... what exactly?"

You lean forward slightly, resting your elbows on the table. "My cousin’s wedding. Three days in the Maldives. I need a date."

Oscar stares at you like you just told him you need a kidney. "...And you’re asking me?"

"Lando said no," you admit. "But! He also said—and I quote—'Oscar’s a good guy, probably free, and susceptible to a pretty face.'"

Oscar shakes his head, muttering, "I’m going to kill him."

"Join the club." You sigh, shifting in your seat. "Look, I know this is random, but I’m in a bit of a situation. My ex is going to be there, my family is impossible, and showing up alone is basically social suicide. You’re my best shot at making it through the weekend with my sanity intact."

Oscar tilts his head slightly. "I feel like I should be offended that I'm your second choice."

"Think of it this way—you’re my best choice now."

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. "And what exactly do I get out of this?"

You smile. "A free vacation. Fancy food. The satisfaction of knowing you single-handedly saved a poor, defenseless woman from familial humiliation."

Oscar arches a brow. "Defenseless?"

"Okay, maybe not defenseless," you concede. "But I am in distress."

He considers you for a long moment, eyes scanning your face like he's trying to decide just how much trouble you're about to be. Then he sighs, leaning back in his chair. "Fine. I'll do it."

Your eyes widen. "Wait, really?"

"Yes, really. Before I change my mind."

You break into a grin. "Oscar, you are officially my favorite person."

"Don't make me regret it," he mutters, but there’s the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

—

The reality of what just happened doesn’t fully sink in until you’re back in Lando’s apartment, flopping onto his couch with an exaggerated sigh. Lando, who’s mid-game, barely glances up from his controller.

“Mission accomplished?” he asks, lips twitching.

You groan, rubbing your temples. “Yes, but at what cost?”

Lando barks out a laugh. “What, he agreed? Just like that?”

“Not just like that,” you huff. “I had to work for it.”

Lando smirks. “Did you bat your lashes?”

“I—shut up.”

He grins. “See? Told you he wouldn’t say no.”

You groan, throwing a pillow at him, which he expertly dodges. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Lando just laughs. “Oh, you’re definitely gonna fall for him.”

You roll your eyes so hard they nearly get stuck. “I am not.”

“Uh-huh.”

You ignore him, crossing your arms. “This is just a business arrangement.”

“Sure.”

A pause. Then, “...Do you think he likes me?”

Lando cackles. “Oh, this is going to be interesting.”

—

The next morning, you arrive at the private airport, where your cousin has so generously arranged a jet for you. Because, of course, she has—she wouldn't be caught dead flying commercial.

Oscar is already there when you arrive, leaning against the sleek black car that brought him. He’s in a plain white tee and jeans, looking effortlessly put together, while you, in your carefully curated “I woke up like this” airport outfit, feel like you’re trying way too hard.

You clear your throat as you approach. "Ready to be my fake boyfriend?"

He pushes off the car, giving you a once-over. "Not sure I’m prepared for the mental toll, but sure."

You flash a grin. "Too late to back out now."

Minutes later, you’re settled inside the jet, the flight crew making final preparations. Oscar takes the seat across from you, stretching out like this is just another day at the office.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “we should probably set some ground rules.”

Oscar raises a brow. “Ground rules?”

“Yeah, you know. Boundaries. Expectations. What we need to do to sell this.”

He nods, intrigued. “Alright. Lay it on me.”

You tap a manicured finger against your chin. “Obviously, we have to be affectionate. Hold hands, sit close, the occasional casual touch.”

Oscar hums. “Got it.”

You hesitate for a split second before adding, “Kissing might be necessary.”

His expression doesn’t change, but you swear you see his fingers twitch against his knee. “Necessary, huh?”

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand. “Can’t half-ass it, Piastri. If we’re going to be convincing, we have to be all in.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he nods, a little slower this time. “All in.”

You smirk. “Good. Now, pet names. Do you have a preference?”

For the first time, Oscar looks mildly flustered. “A preference?”

“Yeah. Babe, honey, love—what feels natural to you?”

His ears turn pink. “I—uh—does it matter?”

You grin, victorious. “Of course, it matters. We have to sell this.”

Oscar clears his throat. “I’ll—uh—defer to you on that.”

You tilt your head playfully. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

His jaw tenses as he looks away. “This is going to be a long trip.”

You smile to yourself. Oh, this is going to be fun.

—

Oscar shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden deep dive into fake relationship logistics. He scratches the back of his neck. "I don't know... whatever you usually use?"

You hum, tapping your chin. "I feel like 'babe' is a safe bet. It’s cute, casual, and doesn’t sound forced. Thoughts?"

He shrugs. "Babe works."

You squint at him. "That was suspiciously easy."

Oscar raises a brow. "Would you rather I argue?"

You consider it for a second, then shake your head. "No, actually. Let’s keep this cooperation going."

The flight attendant swings by to offer drinks, and you order champagne—because if you're going to be fake engaged in the Maldives, you might as well start indulging now. Oscar, ever the responsible one, sticks with water.

As you sip your drink, you eye him over the rim. "We should probably come up with a backstory."

Oscar exhales. "A backstory?"

"Yeah, like, how did we meet? How did you fall madly in love with me? What’s our adorable, rom-com-worthy relationship story?"

He gives you a look. "Can’t we just tell the truth?"

You scoff. "Oscar, the truth is that we vaguely tolerate each other, and Lando bribed you into this."

His lips twitch. "He didn’t bribe me."

"He used me as bait," you correct, waving a hand. "Which, frankly, makes me feel like a sacrificial lamb."

Oscar finally cracks a small grin. "Fine. What’s our story?"

You think for a moment, then snap your fingers. "We met at a race. Lando introduced us. You were immediately obsessed with me."

Oscar’s brows lift. "Obsessed?"

"Enamored," you say dramatically. "Hopelessly in love. Couldn’t take your eyes off me."

He leans back, arms crossed. "Right. And you?"

You smirk. "Oh, I thought you were hot, obviously."

Oscar blinks, and you swear you see the ghost of a smirk. "Obviously."

You wave a dismissive hand. "But I made you work for it. You had to woo me. Beg me to go on a date with you. You sent flowers, love letters—"

"Now it’s just getting unrealistic," he interjects, shaking his head.

"Excuse you," you gasp. "I am 100 percent love-letter worthy."

"I don’t doubt it," Oscar says, amused. "But I’m not a love-letter guy."

You narrow your eyes. "What kind of guy are you then, Piastri?"

He thinks for a second, then shrugs. "I just say what I mean."

Something about that answer makes your stomach flip, but you shove the feeling down, refusing to analyze it.

"Fine," you say, shifting in your seat. "No love letters. But you were still the one who chased me. That’s non-negotiable."

Oscar hums. "We’ll see."

You squint at him. "What does that mean?"

But he just reaches for his water, eyes twinkling with something unreadable. "Guess we’ll find out."

The flight settles into a comfortable lull. You lean back in your seat, stretching your legs out as the cabin lights dim to a soft glow. The hum of the engine, the occasional clink of glasses from the flight attendants—everything feels oddly serene.

You glance at Oscar, who’s scrolling through his phone, his fingers moving idly over the screen.

"Okay," you say, breaking the silence. "We’ve got the basics down, but we need details. What’s my favorite thing about you?"

Oscar looks up, clearly unimpressed. "You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be."

"This is called preparation," you counter. "What if someone asks me? I can’t just sit there and say, ‘Uhh… he drives really fast for a living?’ That’s boring."

He sighs, setting his phone down. "Fine. What is your favorite thing about me?"

You purse your lips, pretending to think. "Your freckles."

Oscar blinks. "My freckles?"

You nod, fully committing now. "Yeah. It’s cute. Gives you that whole boy-next-door thing. Makes you seem less… stoic."

His expression remains neutral, but you don’t miss the way his fingers twitch slightly against the armrest.

"Alright," he concedes. "Your laugh."

Your brows lift in surprise. "What about it?"

Oscar shrugs. "It’s loud."

You huff. "That’s not exactly a compliment, Piastri."

"It is," he insists, a small smirk playing on his lips. "It’s loud in a way that makes people turn their heads. Infectious, I guess."

You stare at him for a second, thrown off by the sincerity of it. He doesn’t look away, just meets your gaze like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t just say something that made your stomach do an actual somersault.

You clear your throat. "Not bad. We’ll go with that."

Oscar simply nods and goes back to his phone, as if the moment didn’t just knock you slightly off balance.

You shake it off, taking another sip of your champagne. You need to keep this light. Playful.

"Okay, next question," you say, regaining composure. "Do we have pet names for each other, or do we stick to babe?"

Oscar sighs like you’re exhausting him, but you catch the flicker of amusement in his eyes. "You can call me whatever you want. Just not ‘Oskie.’"

Your grin is immediate. "Oskie, huh?"

"I said not ‘Oskie,’" he warns.

"Which means I absolutely have to call you that now," you tease. "Oskie, my love, my darling, my sweet baby angel—"

Oscar groans, tilting his head back against the seat. "I regret everything."

You giggle, nudging him with your knee. "Relax, Oskie. It’s just for show."

He levels you with a look, but there’s a reluctant twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Yeah. This might actually be fun.

The moment you and Oscar step into the grand hotel lobby, the air shifts—opulent chandeliers, the distant hum of chatter, and a lingering scent of fresh lilies. You barely have time to admire the luxury before a voice cuts through.

“There you are!"

You turn to find your cousin, Jaime, impeccably dressed, exuding the kind of politeness that borders on distant. You force a smile, the kind reserved for family obligations rather than genuine excitement.

"Hey!" You feign warmth as she pulls you into a quick, stiff hug. "Long flight, but we made it."

Her eyes flicker to Oscar, assessing. "And this must be...?"

"Oscar," you introduce smoothly, feeling his presence steady beside you. "My date." The word feels foreign, like you’re testing it out.

Your cousin nods approvingly but doesn't press. "Well, everyone's eager to see you. Welcome dinner’s in an hour. Dress formal."

With a parting nod, they’re gone, leaving you to exhale sharply.

Oscar leans in slightly. "That was... efficient."

You snort. "That was warm, for them."

—

The dining hall is grand, but the atmosphere is stiff. Soft clinking of silverware, murmured conversations, and a painfully polite undercurrent. You navigate it with the ease of someone used to playing a part. Oscar, ever composed, fits right in—but you notice his occasional side-glances, quietly observing the interactions around him.

Dinner is a blur of introductions, pleasantries, and forced smiles. Your cousin’s polite but detached, and other family members either fawn over Oscar’s "charm" or barely acknowledge him. You catch yourself watching him too much—how effortlessly he handles conversation, how his fingers drum lightly against his wine glass, how his eyes flick to you in between bites like he's making sure you're okay.

And then, mid-conversation, your stomach twists.

Across the table—your ex.

Oscar follows your gaze, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t ask, but something in his posture shifts, a subtle straightening of his shoulders. You force yourself to look away, laughing at something someone else said, even if you didn’t quite hear it.

Oscar leans in slightly. "You alright?" His voice is low, just for you.

You nod quickly. "Yeah. Just—family stuff."

He doesn’t push, but his presence alone steadies you.

—

By the time you make it to your shared room, exhaustion settles in. The suite is beautiful—large windows, a sprawling view of the ocean, and... one bed.

Of course.

You stare at it for a second too long. Oscar, setting his bag down, follows your gaze and huffs a soft laugh. "Guess we’re really committing to this."

You roll your eyes, flopping onto the edge of the mattress. "I’ll build a pillow wall."

"You do that," he says, smirking as he pulls out clothes from his bag.

—

After the long day, a hot shower sounds like heaven. You grab your toiletries and slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind you—at least, you think you did.

Steam fills the space as you let the water wash away the tension. You take your time, fingers combing through your hair, mind drifting—until a sharp intake of breath jolts you.

You whip around.

Oscar stands frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth slightly open—because, oh god, the door wasn’t shut.

For a split second, neither of you move. Then—

"Jesus—!"

"Oh my god—!"

Oscar spins on his heel so fast he nearly crashes into the doorframe. "I didn’t— You didn’t— The door—"

"OUT!"

"Yep, leaving—" He slams the door shut behind him, making the walls rattle.

You stand there, naked and fuming, heart pounding.

He saw you.

Oscar Piastri just saw you in all your glory.

And somehow, that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is the fact that you are still fuming about it while he’s probably out there pacing in distress.

So naturally—because you are you—you decide to make it his problem.

You grab your towel, wrap it around yourself with maximum dramatic aggression, and storm out of the bathroom, still damp and seething.

Oscar, who is currently standing in the middle of the room looking like he’s processing war flashbacks, snaps his head toward you.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!” You throw your arms out, the towel barely hanging on.

Oscar rubs a hand down his face, still looking vaguely traumatized. “I DIDN’T KNOW THE DOOR WAS OPEN! Why are you yelling at me?”

“Because you just got a full view of me! And you—you stood there!”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!” Oscar yells, exasperated. “Do you think I wanted to walk in and just—just—” He gestures wildly, face bright red.

“Oh, so now you’re disgusted by me?” You slap a hand on your chest, gasping dramatically. “Wow. Wow, Oscar. First, you see me naked against my will, and now I’m offensive to look at?”

“That is not what I said!”

“Fine,” you huff. “You’ve seen mine—show me yours.”

A beat.

Oscar just stares at you.

The room goes dead silent.

Then—

“WHAT?!” His voice cracks so hard it’s almost impressive.

You cross your arms. “I’m just saying—it’s only fair.”

“NO, IT IS NOT.” He takes a full step back, looking at you like you’ve lost your mind. “Are you—are you actually insane?”

“You’re not even a little bit sorry,” you accuse.

“I AM EXTREMELY SORRY,” Oscar says, voice still too high-pitched. “But that does not mean I’m about to just—just whip it out for fairness' sake!”

You narrow your eyes. “Coward.”

Oscar looks like he’s going to pass away on the spot. “You need to calm down.”

“I am calm.”

“You are not calm.”

You huff, throwing yourself onto the bed in frustration. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”

“I will,” he says, still clearly panicked. “And what I want is to go on a walk before I lose my mind.”

You wave a dismissive hand. “Enjoy your guilt walk.”

He lets out the most exasperated sigh and grabs his jacket, throwing the door open. “Unbelievable,” he mutters as he steps out, slamming it shut behind him.

You flop onto your pillow.

Oscar Piastri has seen you naked.

This weekend just keeps getting better

.You’re already in bed when the door creaks open again. You don’t move, pretending to be asleep, but you feel him hesitating near the doorway.

A beat.

Then—

“…Are you still mad?”

You peek one eye open. Oscar is standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking a little less mortified but still deeply uncomfortable.

“I mean,” you say flatly. “I did offer you the chance to make things even.”

Oscar groans, dragging a hand over his face. “Can we never speak of that again?”

You roll onto your side, watching him. “You gonna apologize properly?”

Oscar exhales through his nose, looking pained. “I’m sorry for walking in on you.”

You raise an eyebrow.

His jaw clenches. “And for… standing there… like a stunned idiot.”

You nod, satisfied. “Good. Now, was it at least a nice view?”

Oscar makes a strangled sound, turning bright red. “I hate you.”

You grin. “Goodnight, Oscar.”

“Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath, flipping off the light before climbing into bed.

There’s a very obvious space between you both.

But you swear, in the silence, you hear him exhale a quiet, amused chuckle

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the gentle waves lapping against the side of the yacht. The rest of the wedding party was scattered across the deck—some lounging, others chatting, a few already a little tipsy off midday champagne. It was the kind of scene that should have felt easy, carefree. And yet, you found yourself standing near the railing, swirling a mimosa in your hand, more caught up in your own thoughts than the view.

Oscar stood beside you, arms folded as he stared out at the horizon. He wasn’t much of a talker in group settings, but you could tell he was at least trying. Making the occasional polite comment, responding when spoken to. But right now, with just the two of you tucked away in your own little corner, the silence stretched comfortably between you.

You turned slightly, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. The sun had deepened the color of his skin, freckles even more pronounced, and a few strands of his hair stuck out from the salty wind. He looked good—too good.

God, this was bad.

"You okay?" Oscar’s voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, eyes flicking toward you.

You forced a small smile. "Yeah, just… taking it all in."

He hummed, nodding toward the water. "It’s nice out."

You exhaled, your grip tightening on your glass. You weren’t sure what it was—the warmth, the soft lull of the boat, the way he stood just a little too close—but something in the air shifted. You should have backed away. Should have made some sarcastic comment, broken whatever was lingering between you. But instead, you found yourself tilting your head, eyes tracing the sharp edge of his jaw, the way the sun kissed his cheekbones.

He turned toward you slightly, and for a second—just a second—you thought he might say something. But instead, his gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there, before quickly darting away.

Your heart did something stupid in response.

Stop it. He’s pretending.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to look away, to focus on the horizon instead of the way your skin burned under his proximity. This was a game. A favor. Oscar wasn’t yours.

But God, in moments like this, he sure felt like it.

Slipping out onto the balcony of your hotel room, you pulled your phone out and hit Lando’s contact, bringing it up to your ear. It barely rang twice before he picked up.

"Well, well, well," Lando greeted, amusement dripping from his voice. "If it isn’t my favorite wedding guest. Tell me, how’s fake married life treating you?"

You groaned, leaning against the railing. "Lando, I’m freaking out."

"Freaking out how?" he asked, clearly entertained.

You hesitated, running a hand through your hair. "I think—I think I might actually like him."

There was a pause. And then, Lando burst out laughing.

You scowled. "I’m serious!"

"Oh, I know you are," he wheezed. "Which is why this is even better."

"It’s not funny!"

"It’s hilarious," Lando corrected. "You—Miss ‘I Only Fall for Walking Red Flags’—are catching feelings for Oscar Piastri. Do you know how ironic that is?"

You groaned again, slumping against the railing. "It’s not ironic, it’s a crisis. I need to shut this down."

"Uh-huh. And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"

"I don’t know! Ignore him? Avoid eye contact? Wear a chastity belt?"

Lando snorted. "Or, and hear me out, you could just bone him and get it over with."

You gasped. "Lando!"

"What?" he said, feigning innocence. "I’m just saying, you’re obviously into him. And unless I’m reading this wrong, he’s clearly into you, too."

Your stomach flipped at that. "He’s not."

Lando scoffed. "Please. The man looks at you like he’s one second away from writing poetry about your existence."

You went silent, chewing on your lip.

Lando sighed dramatically. "Look, I love you, but I also know you. And you overthink everything. Just—don’t let your brain ruin this, okay?"

You exhaled slowly, closing your eyes.

It was easier said than done.

If your family wanted to see you madly in love, you were going to give them madly in love.

Oscar played along seamlessly. His arm stayed wrapped around your waist, his lips brushed your temple whenever someone was watching, and he let you intertwine your fingers with his under the table. The whole thing was a production, and your family ate it up.

Your cousin grinned at you over the table. "I’ve never seen you like this."

"Like what?" you asked, taking a sip of wine.

"In love," she said, nudging your arm. "I mean, I always knew it’d take someone special to tie you down, but I have to say—Oscar’s a good one."

You nearly choked. Across from you, Oscar raised a brow, clearly amused.

"She’s right, you know," Oscar said, his voice just smooth enough to be believable. "I am a catch."

You gave him a look. "Don’t push it."

He smirked, and God help you, you almost smiled back.

The wine had made you bold. Which is why, when you and Oscar got back to the room, you turned to him with a wicked grin.

"I wanna go swimming."

Oscar frowned. "Right now?"

"Yes, now," you said, already reaching for the zipper of your dress.

Oscar’s eyes widened. "Okay—hold on—"

Too late. The dress hit the floor, and you were already reaching behind your back, unclasping your bra.

"Jesus Christ," Oscar muttered, immediately looking away.

"You’re so dramatic," you giggled, stepping out of your underwear.

"I cannot believe this is happening," Oscar groaned.

You shot him a grin over your shoulder before sprinting toward the water.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," he muttered before stripping off his shoes and following you in.

The water is warmer than expected, but the chill of the night air still prickles over your bare skin. You drift further out, arms moving lazily through the gentle waves, laughter spilling from your lips as you spin in the water. The world feels hazy, edges blurred by the wine humming in your bloodstream.

Oscar stands at the shoreline, arms crossed, shoes abandoned somewhere in the sand. His tie is loosened, top buttons undone, and he looks… worried.

"You've had your fun," he calls out, voice edged with both amusement and exasperation. "Come back before you float off to sea."

You giggle, flicking water in his direction even though he’s too far for it to reach. "I’m a great swimmer, thank you very much."

He sighs, running a hand down his face. "That’s not the point."

"Then what is the point, Piastri?" you tease, bobbing in the water, eyes glinting under the moonlight.

"The point is you’re naked, in the ocean, while very, very drunk," he deadpans. "And I’d rather not be responsible for fishing you out when you inevitably start shivering and regretting all your life choices."

"Such a fun-sucker," you pout, but as you kick your legs, you realize he’s right—your body is starting to feel the cold. You open your mouth to say something snarky but, before you can, a wave rolls under you, pushing you forward. You yelp, momentarily losing your balance, and in an instant, Oscar is in the water.

The splash is sudden, and you blink as he surfaces, suit pants soaked, dress shirt clinging to his frame. "Oh my God," you laugh, "you didn’t have to—"

"Let’s go," he interrupts, tone firm but gentle. He reaches for you, steady hands finding your waist, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. His grip is warm, solid, and when your eyes meet his, something flickers there—something unspoken.

"You’re always saving me," you murmur.

"Yeah," he says, voice quieter now. "And you’re always making me."

His hands skim your arms, guiding you closer, and before you can stop yourself, before you can think—

You kiss him.

It’s clumsy, tasting of wine and saltwater, but it’s real. For a second, just a second, he doesn’t pull away. But then—

"Not now."

His words break through the haze, his hands steadying you as he gently leans back. His breathing is uneven, eyes darker than usual, and his grip lingers longer than it should.

"Not now?" you repeat, heart hammering.

He exhales, thumb brushing over your wrist before he shakes his head. "You’re drunk."

"So?"

"So, no."

You stare at him, something aching in your chest, but before you can argue, he’s already peeling off his soaked dress shirt, draping it over your shoulders. "Come on," he says, softer this time. "Let’s get you back."

—

The walk to the hotel room is quieter than expected. Your head is buzzing, but not from the alcohol anymore. Oscar’s hand is on your back, steady but cautious, and you swear he’s holding his breath the entire time.

Inside the room, he sighs, running a towel through his damp hair. "You should change before you freeze."

You glance down at yourself—shirt clinging to your skin, legs still damp. "Right," you mumble, fingers fumbling with the buttons.

He clears his throat. "I’ll turn around."

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. As you reach for your pajamas, the moment lingers—charged, unspoken. He stays at the door, hand gripping the handle like he’s holding himself back.

Before you climb into bed, you glance at him. "Are we gonna talk about it?"

His jaw tenses. "Go to sleep."

You scoff, flopping onto the mattress with a huff. "You’re annoying."

"And you’re drunk," he mutters.

Silence settles. The air between you feels heavier now, something shifting in the space that wasn’t there before.

As you close your eyes, you hear him exhale sharply. Then, softer—almost hesitant—

"Goodnight."

—

Oscar is already up, standing near the window, arms crossed over his chest. His posture is stiff, tense in a way that makes your stomach twist.

"Morning," you mumble, voice hoarse from sleep.

"How are you feeling?" His voice is controlled—too controlled.

You stretch, groaning. "Like I got hit by a truck. A truck full of wine." A dry chuckle escapes him, but it’s short-lived. The weight in the air hasn’t lifted. He’s not looking at you, and it’s driving you insane.

You sit up, rubbing your face. "Okay, what’s with the whole brooding thing? You’ve barely looked at me."

His jaw tightens. "We should probably just… move past last night." You blink, caught off guard.

"Move past it?”

"It was a mistake." The words sting.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, suddenly much more awake. "A mistake?" you echo, trying to keep your voice even.

"You were drunk."

"And?"

"And I don’t want it to mean something to you when you weren’t thinking clearly."

A bitter laugh bubbles up.

"Right. Because I obviously wouldn’t want you sober.

He finally looks at you then, and for a split second, you see it—hesitation, conflict. But it’s gone as quickly as it appears.

"Let’s just get ready," he says. "It’s your cousin’s wedding day."

You watch as he disappears into the bathroom, the door shutting with a little too much finality. Your chest feels tight.

So, that’s how it’s going to be.

Fine. If Oscar Piastri wants to pretend like last night didn’t happen, then you can play that game too.

—

The ceremony is beautiful, but you barely register it. You go through the motions—smiling, clapping, taking pictures—but your mind is elsewhere.

Or rather, on someone else.

Oscar is right beside you, ever the perfect fake date, but there’s a difference now. Last night changed something. His touches are still there—his hand resting on your lower back, the way he leans in when someone asks about your “relationship”—but they’re measured.

Restrained.

It drives you insane. Dinner stretches long, speeches are made, and the wine is poured generously.

You lose track of how many times someone toasts to love. Somewhere between courses, you lean into Oscar, letting your hand linger on his thigh, just to see if he’ll react. He does. His muscles tense under your touch, but his expression remains neutral.

You tilt your head, voice saccharine. "You’re acting weird."

"I’m acting normal," he replies, sipping his drink.

"No, you’re acting like I’m going to pounce on you at any second." His lips press into a thin line.

"You’re drunk again." You scoff, swirling the wine in your glass.

"Not drunk, just… enjoying myself."

"Yeah, well," he exhales, setting his drink down. "Try not to enjoy yourself into another late-night swim."

You smirk. "Would you come save me again?" His gaze flickers to yours, and for a moment, you swear you see something crack in his resolve. But then he shakes his head, amusement ghosting over his lips.

"You’re insufferable."

"And you love it," you counter, grinning.

But he doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks away, fingers curling against his knee. Something in your stomach flips.

—

The flight home is silent. Not awkward, but not easy either.

You sit beside Oscar, arms crossed, staring out the window as the plane hums beneath you.

Last night, after too much wine, you had curled into bed, still in your dress, and barely registered Oscar pulling the blanket over you before he turned off the lights.

Now, in the harsh light of day, everything feels… off. You glance at him.

He’s focused on something in his hands, jaw tight, lost in thought.

You shift. "So… are we gonna talk about it?" He doesn’t look up. "There’s nothing to talk about."

A sharp laugh escapes you.

"Right. Of course. Because nothing happened."

His fingers twitch. You lean in slightly. "You kissed me back." His eyes snap to yours, sharp and unreadable.

"You were drunk," he repeats, but there’s something strained in his voice now.

You shake your head. "I know what I felt."

"Look, we had fun," he says, voice measured, like he’s carefully constructing each word before it leaves his mouth. "Let’s not make it something it wasn’t."

Something tightens in your chest.

"Something it wasn’t," you repeat, more to yourself than to him.

Oscar sighs, shifting in his seat. He’s trying to be logical. Practical. But all it does is make you want to shake him.

You lean in closer, lowering your voice. "You can lie to yourself all you want, Oscar, but don’t sit here and lie to me."

His eyes flicker to yours, something unreadable in his expression. "I’m not lying."

You huff out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Right. Sure."

Silence.

The cabin hums around you, the quiet murmur of other passengers filling the space between you both. You grip your armrest, fingers drumming against the plastic.

Then, barely above a whisper, he mutters, "I don’t want to be just another guy you move on from."

The words hit you like a slap.

Your breath catches in your throat. "What?"

Oscar’s jaw is clenched, his knuckles white where they grip his knee. He won’t look at you.

You stare at him, feeling the weight of what he just admitted settle deep in your bones.

He thinks you’ll move on. That he’s just another name to add to your list of failed romances.

Your lips part, but no words come out. Because if you say it—if you tell him he’s wrong, that he’s different—then you’ll have to admit what you already know deep down.

That this isn’t just fun for you. That he’s not just a placeholder in your life.

And that terrifies you.

So instead, you turn away, staring out the window, swallowing the words that sit heavy on your tongue.

And Oscar doesn’t push.

Because maybe he’s just as scared as you are.

—

The apartment is eerily quiet when you get back.

You toss your suitcase into the corner, kicking off your shoes with more force than necessary. You don’t even bother unpacking.

The second you flop onto your bed, your phone buzzes.

Lando.

You stare at the screen before sighing and answering.

"You sound like shit," he greets.

"Good to hear your voice too," you deadpan.

"Okay, spill. What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Liar."

You close your eyes, pressing the heel of your palm to your forehead. "Oscar’s just—"

"A dumbass?"

A small, exhausted laugh escapes you. "Something like that."

Lando hums. "Yeah, well. He’s probably overthinking everything, as usual."

You groan. "Why do I even like him?"

"Oh, so you do like him?"

You freeze.

Shit.

Lando cackles. "Wow, that was too easy. You’re down bad, huh?"

"Goodbye, Lando."

"Wait, wait—"

You hang up, throwing your phone onto the bed.

You don’t want to talk about it. Not with Lando, not with yourself.

But that doesn’t stop you from replaying every moment in your head. The way Oscar had looked at you. The way he had pulled away. The way he had felt—warm, solid, real—before he decided to shove it all aside.

You groan, rolling onto your stomach, willing yourself to stop thinking about it.

Then—

A knock at the door.

Your heart jumps.

You already know who it is before you even open it.

And when you do, Oscar is standing there, looking like he’s been battling himself the entire way over. His hair is damp from a run, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Neither of you speak for a moment.

Then, finally, he exhales. "Can we talk?"

You stare at him, pulse hammering in your ears. His face is flushed—whether from the run or something else, you’re not sure—but his eyes are fixed on you, searching, hesitant.

A thousand responses run through your mind. You could tell him to leave. You could pretend like you don’t care. You could close the door and shut him out the way he’s been shutting you out since the wedding.

Instead, you step aside.

He takes the silent invitation, brushing past you into the apartment. You close the door behind him, arms crossed over your chest as you turn to face him.

Oscar runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I shouldn’t have said that on the plane.”

Your jaw tightens. “Which part? The part where you called last night a mistake, or the part where you assumed I’d just move on like none of it mattered?”

He flinches.

“Yeah,” you say bitterly. “Thought so.”

He looks away, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

You scoff. “Then what did you mean, Oscar? Because from where I’m standing, it sounds a lot like you’re trying to push me away before I can do it first.”

His silence is answer enough.

You let out a humorless laugh, throwing your hands up. “Jesus, do you even hear yourself? You act like I just bounce from guy to guy, like I don’t—” You stop yourself, shaking your head.

His eyes snap to yours. “Like you don’t what?”

Your breath catches.

This is it.

The moment you either tell him the truth or let him walk away.

You swallow hard. “Like I don’t feel anything for you.”

The air between you shifts, thick with unspoken words. Oscar’s expression falters—just slightly—but enough for you to see it. The cracks. The hesitation. The part of him that wants this just as much as you do but is terrified of it.

Then, quietly, he murmurs, “Do you?”

Your chest tightens. “Do you?”

Oscar exhales sharply, his shoulders slumping. He takes a step closer, eyes flickering between yours. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

The confession is barely above a whisper, but it’s enough to send your heart into overdrive.

You search his face, trying to find any trace of doubt, but all you see is exhaustion. Hope. Something deeper than either of you are willing to name just yet.

Slowly, you take a step forward, closing the distance. “Then why are you running from it?”

He swallows hard. “Because if I start… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

Your breath catches.

And then, before you can overthink it, you reach for him.

Oscar doesn’t hesitate.

His hands find your waist as your lips crash into his, months of pent-up tension unraveling between you. It’s not soft, not tentative—it’s messy and desperate and real. His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you tangle your hands in his hair, grounding yourself in the way he feels, the way he moves against you like he’s been waiting for this just as much as you have.

He backs you up until you hit the wall, his body pressing into yours. His lips move from your mouth to your jaw, down to the curve of your neck, and you tilt your head to give him more room, exhaling a shaky breath.

“Oscar,” you murmur.

He stills, his forehead resting against yours, breath heavy.

You don’t realize how hard your heart is pounding until there’s a beat of silence, both of you just standing there, catching your breath.

Then, softly, he says, “Not a mistake?”

You shake your head, fingers tightening in his shirt. “Not even close.”

His lips brush against yours again, slower this time, as if committing this moment to memory.

And for the first time in days, everything finally makes sense.

—

The paddock is a blur of movement—mechanics rushing between garages, team personnel checking final details, and the distant hum of engines roaring to life. It’s race day, and the energy in the air is electric.

You’re standing outside McLaren’s hospitality, wearing Oscar’s team shirt—his number printed on the back, the fabric slightly oversized but comfortable. Sunglasses perch on your nose, shielding your eyes from the midday sun as you scroll through your phone, waiting.

Then, an arm slings around your shoulders.

“Ah, there she is.”

You don’t even need to look up to know who it is.

“Lando.”

“Missed me?” he asks, squeezing your shoulder before dramatically sighing. “Probably not, considering you’ve been suspiciously unavailable for the past month.”

You roll your eyes, prying his arm off you. “Sorry for not prioritizing you over my boyfriend.”

Lando fake gags. “Ugh, don’t say it like that. Makes me feel like I’ve lost you forever.”

You smirk. “You have.”

“Pain,” he mutters, clutching his chest like he’s physically wounded.

Before you can retaliate, another familiar presence appears beside you.

“Are you harassing her already?”

You turn, smiling as Oscar steps up, looking effortlessly cool in his race suit, sunglasses on, and a drink bottle in hand. His free arm loops around your waist instinctively, pulling you against him.

Lando makes a disgusted noise. “Oh, this is repulsive.”

You tilt your head. “What is?”

“That,” he gestures vaguely at you and Oscar. “The… the couple-y standing. The arm thing. The way he’s looking at you like you hung the damn stars in the sky.”

Oscar raises a brow. “Would you rather I not look at my girlfriend?”

“Correct.”

You laugh, leaning into Oscar slightly, just to be extra. “I think someone’s just mad he’s the third wheel now.”

Lando scoffs. “I am not—”

“You absolutely are,” Oscar cuts in, smirking.

Lando glares between the two of you. “I hate this. I hate whatever is happening here.”

Oscar just shrugs, looking smug as hell. “You’ll get used to it.”

Lando grumbles something under his breath, kicking at the ground like a child. You swear you hear him mutter disgusting as he dramatically turns away.

Oscar chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “I think he’s struggling.”

You grin, watching Lando dramatically flop onto a nearby bench. “Oh, he definitely is.”

But hey, you were enjoying every second of it.

#be4chywrites #f1 x reader #oscar #osc #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri

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jamminvroomvroom · 1 year ago

Note

4k celebration

i want to see feral lando. dom lando. choking and degrading and rough lando. maybe a bad race, maybe flirting with another driver. weeknd vibes lando. rough rough rough lando.

heat.

ln x fem!reader - 4k celebration

in which lando fucks you until the sun comes up :)

i am. feral. there are no words to describe how unhinged i am over this, this is super self indulgent and i cannot thank you enough anon hehe - lemme know what y’all think ily! <3

songs to set the mood: earned it by the weeknd, novacane by frank ocean, heaven angel by the driver era

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, pwp with a bit of plot, choking, crying, swearing, overstimulation, neck? riding? (hehe), degradation, a slap or two, soft dom!lando, also not so soft dom!lando (he switches up a bit), just feral unhinged vibes

2k words

foreglow:

the glow of light appearing in the sky preceding sunrise

the sunrise casts a tangerine foreglow over your bodies, the bed, everything the light can touch.

lando’s slumped against the headboard and you’re sprawled over his lap, legs hooked over his, with his hand working between your thighs.

it’s been hours. he’s had you spread out for him, countless positions and locations utilised. you were paying for your behaviour over the race weekend, but really, it was all his fault.

he’d been too cocky, looked too good, the australian air getting to his head. you’d been glowering at him since you’d arrived in the land down under, watching in erotically charged horror as he paraded around looking, to put it simply, slutty. tight shorts, arms out, neck on display for all to see. his fucking neck. god, it looked so thick, flexing every time he turned to smirk at you. the heat rendered you delirious, and so did he.

and you couldn’t even think about that fucking daddy bracelet he’d been sporting.

you decided you needed payback, in the form of some carefully constructed, harmless flirting with everyone from the mechanics to the guys on the pit wall old enough to be your father. but lo and behold, it worked, and that’s how you found yourself in this position.

the position in question?

being fucked every which way lando deemed fit until the sun came up.

“you learnt your lesson yet, baby?” lando grunts into your ear, pinching your clit between his fingers.

your thighs are soaked, shaking uncontrollably, and your head has lulled back against his shoulder. you’re breathing heavily, your back flush against his front and he’s restless. you’ve lost count of the number of orgasms you’ve been pushed to.

“lan.” you breathe, eyes fixated on the bracelet adorning his wrist. the kitschy trinket sends liquid fire down your spine and you spasm as he continues to swirl his calloused thumb over your clit.

“that’s not an answer.” he tuts, slipping his fingers through your slit until he’s circling your weeping entrance. you’re coated with slick, some of it his from where he’d fucked you up against the wall a good few hours ago. “have you,” he kisses your shoulder, trailing his fingers that were digging into your hip up your belly. “learnt your lesson?” his teeth sink into your flesh at the same time he pinches your nipple.

you gasp out a cry of his name, slurring incomprehensibly, “yes, yes, ‘m sorry, i’m so sorry.” you sob. his chest rumbles cruelly with laughter and you’re hurtling towards another release, the overstimulation making it easy for him to get you off.

“that’s all you needed to say, honey.” lando coos condescendingly.

as if he’s rewarding you for owning up, two of his fingers sink into your entrance, sliding deep. the sound of your wetness sends your eyes rolling back as he scissors his digits in and out of you, speeding them up into a delicious grind. you’re a mess in seconds, slumped into him as close as can be. kisses over your neck soothe you and you feel the wet rush of your release approaching quicker than you can comprehend it. you gush all over his fingers, dripping down his wrist, coating that annoying fucking bracelet.

“there you go, baby. so good for me.” he whispers, slowing his thrusts. “can you turn over for me? want you to look at me.”

you pant as you wriggle around in his arms until you’re straddling his lap. you can feel yourself dripping on him, his thick length sliding between your folds. the exhaustion renders you languid, ready to let him do just about whatever he wants to you next.

lando cups your breast, stroking gently over your nipple while he runs his tongue all over his long fingers. he loves to make you watch, torturing you until you’re needy for another release.

“you think you can do a few more for me?” lando smirks, bringing the fingers that he’d just licked clean to your other breast, fiddling with your other nipple. he has you rolling your hips against him, inadvertently chasing another high already. he loves it, revels in how he can reduce you to this, so desperate that you’re grinding down on his cock, a wet mess in his lap, all for him.

“yeah, lan.” you nod profusely, your tired eyes locked with his. the early morning sun hits them enticingly, making them sparkle green in the warm light. he looks disgustingly gorgeous like this, soft and yours, resting against the headboard, curls spilling over his forehead and into his eyes. if you didn’t know that he was mulling over a million twisted ideas in his brain that involved resorting you to tears of pleasure, you’d think he looked adorable.

“good.” he grins. “not even nearly done with you.” he looks evil; your thighs clench around his hips.

without moving you off of his lap, he uses his strength to slide down the bed until he lays flat. he beckons you to crawl up his body, and you find the strength to wriggle over him, thighs resting on either side of his neck when he stops you.

“you gonna slide your pretty little cunt over my neck?” lando asks, wrapping his huge hands around your thighs. you gulp, staring down at him dumbfounded. “don’t look at me like i’m crazy, baby. you think i don’t see you staring at it with that special little look in your eyes?” he teases. “get to fucking work, i’m not gonna ask again.”

hesitantly, you lower yourself against his his skin, flaming red with embarrassment and lust. you can’t lie and pretend that you aren’t utterly enticed by this, that you aren’t leaking down your thighs at the prospect of sliding your pussy along his tanned, flexed flesh. the adventurousness of the escapade makes your legs tremble, nerves eating you alive, but it’s all worth it when you feel that first glide.

you curse out, loud and breathy, the new sensation creating lewd sounds between you. he’s obsessed, staring up at you in mischievous awe as you rock your hips backwards and forwards. you tangle one hand in his hair, tugging hard in sheer desperation, while the other hand balances you against the headboard so you don’t crush him. he guides your hips like he wants to die like this, suffocated by you and everything you have to offer him.

“oh my fucking god.” you choke out a moan, jaw hanging agape as you continue to slide against him. every time you move forwards, you feel the delectable prickle of his trimmed facial hair scratching against your inner thighs and your eyes squeeze shut each time, pure pleasure bubbling in the pit of your belly.

“you have no idea how fucking good you look.” lando rasps, digging his fingertips into the meat of your thighs. you’re so tense, teetering on the very edge. the strength he possesses, his composure while you’re sitting on his fucking neck makes you throb.

you gaze down at him, feral, and it does something to him, because he’s yanking you up onto his parted lips, burying his face as far as it will go. you yelp, collapsing into the headboard as he holds you down on his tongue, lapping up your mess.

“can taste us.” he mumbles into the flesh of your cunt, barely audible, but you hear it and it makes you shiver. you black out as your orgasm hits, your ears ringing as bliss courses through your limp body like a delicious electric shock. your nerves are shot when he rolls you onto your back.

“fucking heaven.” lando groans, crawling over you as he licks his lips.

he’s invigorated by the taste of you, how spent you are, and how it’s all his fault. you can’t string a sentence together, but you’re grabbing at his toned body like you’re begging silently for more, anything. he needs to drive into you, fill up up, make you remember that your little games will always lead back to this, the reminder that you’re his.

“you sensitive, honey?” he growls, hand sliding between your legs while his necklace rests in the valley between your breasts. you whimper at the sensation, overloaded, nodding. you both know you need more; he needs more. “tough.”

lando practically folds you in half when he fucks into you, giving you no solace in adjusting to him. he ruts into you hard, fast, unrelenting as he sinks deeper and deeper with every thrust.

“you’re gonna behave from now on. you don’t need to make me jealous for me to fuck you.” he grunts. his slaps your hip, the harsh snap leaving a sting that has you convulsing. “this is what you deserve isn’t it? whoring yourself out because you were a wet mess for me all weekend.”

you whine his name, sobs wracking your body. he feels utterly divine hammering into you like life itself depends on it. you’ve lost track of where he stops and you begin, stars behind your eyes that turn into butterflies festering in your belly. you’re so full, flushed beneath him, gushing every time he opens his dirty fucking mouth.

“crying for me, love?” he mocks, lowering himself to get even closer to you, his tongue finding your tears tracks and licking the salty residue away until you’re shuddering.

“please, lando, please, told you i’m sorry.” you plead, begging for something undisclosed, but it’s okay, because he knows exactly what to do with you.

“be fucking quiet.” lando coos once more, sickeningly unsympathetic.

but you can’t help it, whimpering out his name, begging for some form of relief, or mercy, or for him to just fuck you impossibly harder. how can you be quiet when he’s tearing you so perfectly apart?

lando doesn’t like being disobeyed, so when you continue to sob, loud and lewdly, his hand finds it’s way to the base of your throat. your jaw goes slack, wheezing at the intense rush you get when he squeezes slowly, and you can’t help but let go.

“fucking- lando!” you writhe.

“i know, baby, i know.” he shushes you, hooking your leg even higher so that he can bury himself as deep as possible.

you spasm hard, impossibly tight around him and he stutters, collapsing you both hard into the mattress. you hold him so, so tight as he cums, shooting into you. you can feel him leaking out of you already, white hot, and laying there in a heap of sweat and adoration. he breathes a laugh, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“are you okay, honey?” he whispers, kissing your collarbone.

“just peachy. a bit knackered.” you giggle, tangling your fingers into his damp curls.

“so, you liked the bracelet then?” he teases, nose bumping against your cheek as he raises his wrist to your eye line.

“i think it needs a clean.” you wrinkle your nose, thinking about what the beads had been exposed to over the last few hours.

“let’s shower, hm? then we can watch the sunrise.” lando suggests, sitting you up slowly.

“you’re gonna need to carry me.” your legs are still quivering.

“anything for you.” he says, hand over his heart.

45 minutes later, the sun is sitting pretty, high in the sky.

7:26am, the clock reads. the melbourne skyline glimmers hot with the rise of a new day.

you’re snuggled into his side, wet hair cooling the heat of damp skin. your eyes flutter, barely fighting the urgent need to sleep.

“you have no idea how much i love you.” lando caresses your stringy locks, pushing the hair from your eyes.

your bare bodies mould together, basking in the orange of the dawn.

“love you.” you mutter, brushing your lips against his chest in an open mouthed kiss. “promise i’ll start behaving.” you snicker.

“but baby, you know i love it when you’re bad.”

“okay, i’ll remember that… daddy.” you retort, a teasing lilt to your tone.

he ignores the way his blood rushes south, too conscious of your exhausted body - and his own - to climb on top of you and fuck you until the sun sets once more.

“get some sleep.” he whispers through gritted teeth.

you sink into sleep while he watches over you. the view from the hotel room is gorgeous, breathtaking, but why would he give it even a millisecond of his attention when he has you?

head? empty.

taglist

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xshadowdelta · 10 months ago

Text

DESFILABA EN MILÁN

Yoo Jimin (Karina) x Male Reader (6K Length)

Being the son of the president and owner of one of the most famous multinational companies in the entire world had an infinite number of advantages, but one stood out above the rest. The economic power you wielded was practically inexhaustible, which led you to a life of luxuries and whims, since you won the race against the rest of the sperm.

Living in a mansion, having a driver and bodyguard, attending private schools, and one of the best universities in the world, having a huge guaranteed job, and rubbing shoulders with some of the most important people on the planet. Although the latter was sometimes more of a drawback than an advantage, depending on how tedious the matter at hand was.

And that was what had brought you here, to Milan, Italy, in what was known as Milan Fashion Week, a show whose date was marked on the calendar of everyone who was interested in this whole panorama.

It's not that it was your first time attending an event of this caliber, but it was your first time dealing with something related to fashion, a topic that you hardly knew anything about and that didn't interest you too much, to be honest.

Why were you here then? Simple, because of one of your father's contacts. The world of business was not simply about making money with your company, offering a quality product, managing your employees and going home to sleep every night, no, it went much further.

Everyone should start from the bottom, and once you have managed to reach the top, the difficulty lies in staying up there, which is something that experts always say. And to achieve this objective, alliances are needed, partners if you prefer, in order to build a powerful and, at the same time, faithful network of contacts.

One of the most powerful designers at the show belonged to your father's network of contacts, and therefore also to yours and your company's. Attending this parade was nothing more than a business commitment to strengthen the relationship between you two.

However, the CEO of the company, that is, your father, was closing a deal with a new investor in the USA, and his busy schedule prevented him from traveling to Europe precisely at that time. And there is where you came in, your position as heir, your father's current right-hand man, and future president meant that these tasks fell on you.

You had to admit that you were a little nervous. The crowd of celebrities didn't surprise you, you had been to places like this before, but the fashion world used to bring together a lot of, no offense, snobs.

Since your childhood, you have dealt with thousands of these types of people. You were seasoned in a thousand battles against posh children of rich parents who believe they are the center of the universe, just because the guy they called dad once fucked their mother without wearing a condom in a gas station bathroom, and he ended up having success with some banal bullshit. Luckily, you hadn't turned out that stupid.

You witnessed the parade from the guest area between a young actor who was beginning to emerge in Hollywood and a Formula 1 driver. Experiencing this type of event from the inside perhaps would eliminate your prejudices and change your way of seeing them, nothing could be further from reality.

You still couldn't understand how there were people willing to not only wear such extravagant outfits and clothing, but also pay for them, a negligible sum of money for you, obviously, but it wasn't for 99% of the population.

Hours passed and the moon, along with a blanket of stars, beautifully illuminated the sky of the city, in accordance with the end of the event and the subsequent celebration, one of those famous after-parties that the great figures used to chat, get to know each other, and, of course, do some business.

However, that night, it wasn’t among your tasks to sign any new contracts with anyone there. Luckily for you, your father was lenient in this matter. Attending the event, interacting a little bit with acquaintances, and having the freedom to leave after completing said mission.

“I can’t believe my eyes. Look who is here, it's my good friend's little boy!” You caught a glimpse of a quirky guy, approaching you with his arms open.

There was the culprit of this little trip through the Italian country, your father's old partner, a man with long gray hair, about 60 years old, extremely thin and whose body was surrounded by who knows how many animal skins are in danger of extinction.

“It is a pleasure to see you again, sir.” You lied as he hugged you, patting your back. “I thank you for the invitation on behalf of my father, I am sure he would have loved to be able to attend.”

“Ah, that old father of yours, he continues to work too much, it's time for you to take over.”

“It is difficult, sir, we also want him to rest, but you know how stubborn he is.” At that moment, one of the waiters approached you with a tray full of champagne glasses, which you both took.

You continued talking for a while, mostly about your impressions of the show and the work you were involved in lately, taking advantage of the moment to introduce you to other designers and moguls and even some of the models who had paraded on the scenario.

“The last time I saw you, what were you, 16 years old? But look at you now, you are already a man, and you will carry on your shoulders the weight of a huge brand, it is a weight that is not inconsiderable at all. Have you not thought about having a good woman to help you?”

“I think I'm still young for that, sir, but it's certainly something I haven't considered at the moment.”

“There are countless women here and each one stands out in something: power, beauty, intelligence…I could introduce you to whoever you wanted.”

You were beginning to feel uncomfortable because of the direction the conversation was taking. Although it is true that your father gave you freedom on that topic, from time to time he had dropped a comment about it. Without a girlfriend and a large fortune, you were a good catch, of course, but also the perfect target for fortune hunters. However, that didn't stop you from having fun sometimes.

You scanned the place with your gaze, doing a quick sweep of the people that came into your visual range. You then stopped at a girl who stood out above the rest in your perception.

She had Asian features, a bright dark hair and was wearing a very elegant black dress that was tight to her body. Her face was simply beautiful, somewhat pale, but certainly beautiful, as if she were the human representation of a goddess, and her body had perfect proportions, highlighted perfectly by that small dress. She was chatting cheerfully with one of the models at the show, and her smile left you speechless.

The old man next to you also observed the girl since your gaze had been lost in her, and they didn’t have a plan to return to their initial position. He gave you a playful smile and placed a hand on your shoulder. That touch was enough to make you come back to earth.

“Be careful, kid, you know what they say, the devil wears Prada.”

The designer left you there confused with those words while he went to greet another of his guests, but your eyes were still focused on that young girl. You took a long drink of your champagne, finishing it instantly and leaving the glass on one of the nearby tables to begin walking determinedly in the direction of the girl.

Sadly for you, a third person blocked your way by putting an arm around your shoulders. You tried to free yourself from that grip until you realized who it was, one of your old university classmates, the son of a great businessman in the automotive world.

He spoke to you animatedly for a few minutes in which you didn’t pay him a single second of attention while your eyes tried not to lose sight of the figure of that girl, now hidden behind the body of your friend.

You wanted to interrupt him and say something, but you also didn't want to be disrespectful. That was your mistake, was what you thought when he dragged you from there to introduce you to another group of people while you watched how you were moving away from your goal.

Suddenly you found yourself caught up in a loop that lasted about a couple of hours, about meeting new personalities, stupid conversations about business that you would have participated in another time, but not right now when your head was in somewhere else.

You managed to get out of that group with the typical excuse of having to use the bathroom, and you dove into another amount of people trying to escape. You walked through the huge room where the party was taking place while your eyes moved restlessly from side to side.

After a few long minutes, your search was unsuccessful, and you sighed in defeat, thinking that perhaps that girl had already left the party. Your left hand grabbed a strand of hair from your bangs, twisting it angrily, while your right hand held the elbow of your other hand. If you had been alone, you would have let out a frustration yell.

It was then when you noticed how a hand gently touched your back, making you turn on your feet, coming face to face with the owner of your thoughts. You relaxed the expression on your face that could not hide its surprise at seeing her standing there looking at you with a smile, as if a halo of light illuminated only her, dazzling.

“I've been waiting for you all night.” She said this, making a small pout with her mouth. That completely unnerved you. The unknown girl made the first contact. Was she waiting for you?

"How is…"

“I noticed how you looked at me.” Shit, you had been so freaking obvious. Your cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, thereby increasing the volume of her giggle.

“Yoo Jimin, but you can call me Karina.” She offered one of her hands to you, you shook it in greeting, indicating your name back.

Both of you started talking at that moment. You learned that she came from South Korea and that she was dedicated to music and entertainment, specifically being a K-pop idol in a group known as Aespa along with three other girls. You knew little about the subject, but if she was part of it, it was definitely something interesting to investigate in the future.

She told you that she assisted this event as an ambassador for the Prada brand, you smiled then remembering the old man's words, but you still had to decipher the second part.

“And will you stay for a long time in Italy?” You asked.

You were supposed to fly back home tomorrow, but your private plane could wait as long as necessary.

“Oh, well, the truth is that tomorrow I'm going back to Seoul.” It made you sad to know that, and it seems that she noticed it because she got a little closer to you to whisper something in your ear.

“But that doesn't stop us to make this night indelible.” The sensual tone of her voice combined with her perverted smile gave you the clue you needed, there was the devil.

The journey from the place of celebration to the place where you were staying seemed eternal. During the trip, you couldn't help but ogle Karina, you were so obvious that she could only laugh and say “cute”.

You gave her way to your suite, walking around it in amazement, as if she hadn't been in hundreds like that before. On one of the occasions when she turned around and faced you, you grabbed her hips, pulling her towards your body to kiss her passionately, something she responded immediately with the same intensity.

“You don't waste time, I like it.” She said playfully, giving you another kiss.

“It's not like I have much.” You replied by lowering your hands to her butt, massaging it a bit, making her sigh against your lips.

“We have the whole night, tiger, we are going to have a great time.” She commented, letting out a moan when she felt your lips attacking her neck. You gave her buttocks a squeeze, appreciating that you agreed with her statement.

You grabbed the hem of her dress and lifted it up pulling it over her head and leaving her in just underwear, and her hand quickly went to the bulge in your crotch caressing it over your pants.

“God, it looks so big, I can't wait to have it in my mouth.” A shiver ran through your body, forcing you to undress as fast as you were allowed, making Karina laugh loudly.

Now with both of you covered only by your underwear, her hands traveled to your chest, caressing it as she reached up to kiss your lips again. In response, your hands distributed slow and gentle caresses along her bare back, taking advantage of the situation to unhook her lace bra. Your torsos were separated enough for the garment to fall to the floor due to gravity.

She took your hand and led you to the bed, where you took her by the waist, causing you both to fall gently lying on the bed, with her under you, still enjoying your kisses.

One of your hands went up her body to her voluptuous breasts, grabbing and kneading one of them at the same time as your tongues surrounded each other inside your mouths.

You moved away from her lips, eager to taste her tits, introducing one into your mouth, savoring it for a long time while your hand caressed her other mound, even going so far as to lightly pinch her nipple.

“Beautiful…” You whispered, offering the same treatment to her other boob.

“Are you saying it to me or my tits?” She asked, pressing your head against her breasts even more.

"Both." She smiled at your answer and shifted on the bed, moving freely, walking on four over the sheets, watching you with a feline gaze that made you rev up the speed.

She completely surrounded your body, being you now the one lying face up on the bed, opening your legs to allowing her to stand in the middle. She lay on top of you, with her face pressed against your crotch, raising her butt giving you an unbeatable view.

She stuck out her tongue to lick the huge bulge that was pushing the fabric of your boxers toward the ceiling, threatening to tear it if it wasn't quickly released. She continued kissing your abdomen, leaving a trail of kisses gradually rising to your chest at the same time that her hands were playing with your member, still inside its lair.

She was playing with you, it was obvious, and you needed her as soon as possible, impatient and anxious, but you refused to show weakness, if Karina wanted to play this game then you would both play.

She went back down to your bulge, there was a part of your gray boxers that had turned into a darker color as some drops of pre-cum had escaped from your tip as a result of Karina's constant teasing. Realizing this she smiled widely with malice knowing that she had won this first round.

She bit with her teeth the elastic of your boxers, pulling them down, lowering them until your hard and throbbing penis was finally free. Karina looked at your naked cock in amazement, bringing her face closer, beginning to spread small kisses along your length.

She rested her elbow on your thigh, measuring your penis with the length of her arm. “Holy fuck, it's so much bigger than I thought. I have never faced one like this” She admitted without stopping kissing it, sticking out her tongue to lick the entire surface, making it wet.

“Come on, I'm sure you could have any boy you wanted…” “You’re not wrong, that's why I have you.” She responded, winking at you.

Meanwhile, your brain was beginning to malfunction due to the pleasure that her lips and tongue were giving you down there. “In that case, be careful and don’t choke yourself.”

Your comment was clearly a joke, but Karina, who was now moving her closed hand around your penis up and down masturbating you, stared at you with a planning in her head.

“There is nothing I want more right now than to choke on this damn cock.” She said in a very hot tone increasing the pace of the handjob making you moan louder.

You swallowed, getting even more excited. You had been with other women before, but Karina gave you an unknown vibe until this moment. She was beautiful, she was sexy, and she was aware of it, and there is no animal more feared by men than a confident and self-assured woman.

A spit came out of the woman's mouth directly onto your cock, which was already completely wet and the movement of the female hand on it was beginning to cause watery sounds.

“I can't wait any longer.” Karina whispered to herself, leaning over your cock, surrounding your tip with her lips and putting as much as she could into her mouth.

She stayed like that for a few seconds adjusting to the size of your penis and proceeded to lower her head a little more until she managed to put the entirety of your dick in her mouth.

You clung tightly to the sheets when shocks of pleasure ran through your body as you noticed how you reached her throat in one go. “God, Karina, you're crazy.”

She would have answered you if her nose wasn't brushing against your lower abdomen at that moment. She was too busy cupping her cheeks to grant you as much pleasure as possible inside her mouth.

After a few seconds of holding her breath she released your member, completely covered in saliva now. Karina coughed a few times but quickly went back to engulfing your cock.

You could see how Karina's head went up and down on your cock in a frantic manner, driving you crazy. Your member did not stop throbbing in the intimacy of her mouth and several strings of saliva were coming out of the girl's mouth meanwhile she was sucking you, starting to make a mess on your lower zone.

You had enough time as spectator and decided to join the action by taking Karina's head in your hands, helping her swallow your cock deep in her throat, causing her to dig her nails into your thighs. You held her hair in one of your fists while she continued to sink again and again on your crotch without any type of modesty.

You removed your hands, and she got separated from you, breathing heavily, but instead of leaning back and walking away, she buried her head between your balls to lick and suck on them, taking them into her mouth.

Karina continued giving love to your balls while now her both hands were masturbating your long member at high speed with enveloping movements, twisting your penis with pleasure.

She switched from your balls to your cock again, sucking you harder than before, swallowing your penis as much as she could and moving her head more desperately, producing erotic sounds from the depths of her throat.

She let out a large stream of saliva from her mouth against the lower part of your abdomen and your thighs, kneeling on the bed and taking her own tits in her hands, making them swing before your attentive gaze, some of the saliva falling on her breasts.

You sat up a little until you reached her and grabbed her breasts, with a movement of your hips you introduced your penis between them, bouncing your hips and masturbating yourself by using her tits.

This surprised her at first, but she quickly changed her expression to a one much more lustful, staring at you, biting her lower lip, and watching as you enjoyed the massage between her breasts.

Your cock covered on saliva was leaving her tits all sticky and messy, but favoring the sliding of your penis between them.

“Please don't cum yet, I need so much more from you.” Karina moaned, squeezing the sides of her breasts with her knuckles, thus imprisoning your cock, which made you moan.

You lowered your head to kiss her lips, and you placed your hands on her shoulders, starting to move your hips faster. In response, she stuck her tongue out to lick and caress the tip of your cock each time you passed through her breasts.

She held her tits tightly and moved them without mercy or compassion, now they were no longer two huge pieces of meat that shook roughly on your manhood as if they meant nothing more than that, with the only mission of offering you pleasure. “FUCK Karina! Stop or I’m going to explode!” You screamed in ecstasy of lust, doing your best to retain the liquid that was pooling at your tip and threatening to overflow.

She didn't let go of you immediately, no, that would have been too compassionate of her, she slowly reduced the pace making the last caresses feel excitingly deadly. Even so, the damage done to you was remarkable, because the tip of your penis covered in a whitish color was irrefutable proof. With a playful smile Karina bent down to lick your tip and with it those small drops of semen that were peeking out, licking her lips noticeably.

“It tastes so delicious, I can't wait to get the full load.”

You had managed to stabilize your breathing and your emotion just when she threw herself at you again, kissing your lips like a beast and your hands explored each other's body with total freedom, directing one of your hands to her panties to which she began to curve her body rubbing her crotch against your hand.

“I'm so wet.” She made a fake moan, trying to provoke you. “I'm pretty sure you could sink that whole cock into my pussy so easily right now.” Her eyes, her mouth and her entire body were breathing fire, and you weren't afraid of getting burned.

“And what are you supposed to be waiting for?” You played along, murmuring close to her ear as you pulled down her panties and she kicked in the air until she sent them flying away from the bed. “Help yourself.” You gave her another effusive kiss while holding your hard, erect member, offering her a clear sign.

Karina then sat on you, a few inches from your penis, in fact, it was now held upwards, resting on the girl's stomach, and you couldn't have a better view of her at that moment.

She licked the palm of her hand, then running it over your tip, rubbing it insistently in circular motions. One of your eyes closed trying to resist, you were trying to avoid having to beg her at all costs. You were lucky that she was madly horny and couldn't stay playing with you much longer.

She rose just enough to be able to insert the tip of your penis into the entrance to her pussy, slowly descending, allowing you full access to her interior in one go.

A long sigh left her mouth once her butt made contact with your thighs, staying still for a few seconds staring at the ceiling with her eyes closed and a smile on her face. Your hands caressed her thighs, going up to her hips and abdomen, leaving one of your hands lightly pressed against her stomach.

She looked down to make direct eye contact with you while still smiling. Her hands handled yours on her stomach, moving it gently over it.

“I can feel you perfectly…you're so fucking big inside me.” She moaned, beginning to rock back and forth in small movements, without breaking your skin-to-skin contact.

Each time the distance was greater, leaning back and returning forward until it collided with the palm of your hand, a sensation so wonderful that you couldn't describe it in words.

“You're so tight, I could cum at any moment.”

At that moment, Karina's hips began to rise and fall on your cock, riding you and giving you the vision of how your cock entered and left her pussy, each time more abruptly.

“Sorry darling, I would love to have a creampie from you, but sadly today it will be impossible.” She said between moans as she continued bouncing over your dick.

You had to be careful then, you thought internally, letting yourself be carried away more and more by the pleasure, grabbing and squeezing Karina's tits in your hands that were bouncing in the air with ferocious movements.

She rode you harder and faster with each ride. Now placing her feet on the bed and squatting over you, your hands traveled to her ass, pushing yourself even further, making your cock enter even deeper inside her, stirring her insides and making her scream with pleasure.

She continued like this for a few more minutes until suddenly she opened her eyes and mouth wide, suppressing a moan, and made eye contact with you again, completely clouded by pleasure.

“I'm cumming.” She announced riding your cock now in a crazy way and as if those words had turned on a switch in you, you also responded, giving the best you had.

“Fuck yes, just like that make me cum please, please, please…” The way she begged you, her face twisted with pleasure, her body trembling on yours. If there was a paradise after death, it must be something like this.

“Shit shit shit shit!” She screamed, standing on the bed and making your penis come out of her pussy, rubbing her hand frantically against the folds of her pussy, letting out a powerful jet of fluids over the sheets and over part of your crotch and abdomen. You couldn't believe what you had just experienced, Karina had squirted directly on you.

She fell to her knees on the bed, exhausted, trembling, with her legs closed as well as her eyes, breathing heavily, trying to recover from that intense orgasm.

You approached her from behind, surrounding her body in a hug and placing a kiss on her shoulder. She turned to you, smiling with a tired expression.

“That was…”

“The hottest thing I've ever seen in my life.” You interrupted her. “We can rest if you need it.”

Karina glanced at you over her shoulder before leaning over the bed, resting her palms and knees on the sheets, bringing her butt closer to rub against your cock.

“You said it yourself before…we don't have much time.”

You automatically groped her buttocks, and in response, she moved her ass at a faster pace, as if it were a dance. You grabbed your cock and lined it up with her entrance, penetrating her again, making you both moan again.

Karina's twerking didn't stop, not even when your hands gripped her waist, turning your thrusts into much more carnal movements, and causing your own hips to crash hard against her ass every time you buried your cock deep inside her.

The movement of the girl's ass was simply hypnotic, it seemed that her entire body was a sensual spectacle, made by and for the enjoyment of the sexual act.

Her moans of pure pleasure and her desperate pleas asking you for more and more did nothing but heat up the atmosphere even more, and increase your body temperature along with your lust.

You raised one of your hands and let it fall on Karina's buttock in a loud spank to her ass. She let out a small squeal and turned her head to look at you, with lasciviousness in her eyes that you had never seen before.

“Use my body all you want, tonight I'm yours.”

Without a shred of self-control to stop you or make you think at all, you grabbed a handful of her hair in your hand, pulling it back, making her moan. Karina's body sat up until her back was pressed against your torso. With your other arm you totally surrounded her stomach while your hips did not reduce the pace of the thrusts.

One of her arms wrapped around your head as you began to kiss and lick her neck. Your hand let go of her hair and held one of her breasts tightly, pressing her closer to you to prevent her from falling forward but taking advantage of the moment to squeeze it between your fingers.

After a few minutes you released her from your grip, returning to the initial position, not lasting too long there as you immediately pressed one of your hands on her back, forcing her to lie completely face down on the bed.

Your hands tightly gripped the sheet on each side of her head, your thrusts were deeper, burying the entirety of your cock inside Karina, who for some time could not stop moaning uncontrollably.

She tried to silence her moans by biting the sheet, but you instantly leaned gently on her to bring your mouth to her ear and whisper.

“Don't even think about it.” You said, putting a hand on her neck and making her turn her head to remove the sheet from her mouth. “I want to hear you scream.” You whispered in her ear, giving her another spank on her ass.

Karina left that position and turned around on her back, opening her legs for you, while you looked at her with some confusion in your expression. You could see how some tears welled up in her eyes.

“Do you want me to scream?” With the help of her hands, she opened the folds of her pussy, showing you how it was completely wet and dripping. “Then fuck me properly!”

She did not show anger, but her voice and expression were completely authoritative. You smiled when you saw her in that state and bent down to reinsert your member into her pussy.

Despite all your attacks on her tonight, her pussy was still fucking tight, squeezing your hard cock to the point of satiety. That didn't stop you from continuing to pound into her as if it were the last thing you were going to do in this life.

You continued attacking her mercilessly, lowering your head to lick her breasts and then going up to kiss her lips, while your fingers pinched her nipples.

You grabbed the back of her neck as your cock ceaselessly disappeared inside her body, and she rolled her eyes due to the pleasure she was receiving.

“Fuck me please, fuck me please, FUCK ME!” She desperately demanded while you felt the walls of her pussy contract.

You came out of her, replacing your cock with your fingers, rubbing her folds in the same way she had done some time ago, achieving the same result, another huge jet of fluids straight from her pussy.

You didn't give her time to rest this time, as you grabbed her legs, pulling her to the edge of the bed, holding her body in your arms to lift her up and make her hug your body with you standing.

It seems that despite being tired, she anticipated your idea and surrounded your waist with her legs and your neck with her arms, also lifting her butt, allowing you to insert your penis into her more comfortably.

You grabbed her ass and started rocking her body upwards, making her bounce on your cock incredibly. Your moans were silenced by your lips, devouring each other without mercy.

After a while you noticed how your legs were wobbly, your hands were clinging tightly to her butt and once again your penis seemed ready to unload everything you had inside.

“You're going to cum for me, right? I want your cum all over me” Karina smiled mockingly on your lips, caressing your hair and your cheeks, you could only nod your head.

“I need to make a mess in that pretty face you have.” She smiled widely.

You separated her from your body, being careful not to fall, and she quickly knelt in front of you, leaving her head at the height of your penis, which you were stroking violently while Karina waited for you on the floor, sticking out her tongue.

You finally released yourself and large streams of semen fell onto Karina's beautiful face, covering it almost entirely in a matter of seconds until you were completely empty.

“Fuck, you came so much.” Karina exclaimed, trying to clean the mess you had caused on her face with her hands, taking the opportunity to lick her fingers in the process.

On the other hand, you were exhausted, panting heavily trying to recover from the tremendous effort you had just made. Even so, you noticed some pressure on your member again, you looked down to discover Karina grabbing it with one hand.

“Let me help you.” She whispered, putting it back into her mouth and making movements with his tongue trying to collect as much of the fluid remains as possible, cleaning it.

“I'll be right back.” She said, standing up and walking past you towards the bathroom, earning a spank on her ass as a tip and turning to give you a satisfied smile before disappearing out the door.

You fell onto the bed, emitting a tired sigh, closing your eyes for a few moments, and seeking to rest your body. After a while you felt the bed move next to you, you opened your eyes and turned your head to the side, seeing how Karina, also now lying next to you, was looking at you penetratingly.

She smiled at you and came close to your body. You put an arm around her shoulder, allowing her to lie on your chest, which she caressed with the palm of her hand. With your free hand, you lifted her chin towards your face to kiss her sweetly.

Karina circled your neck and settled into her position, making the kiss increasingly passionate and needy, to the point where she was practically lying on top of you again. You broke apart, panting and smiling at each other.

“Can't we stop the time?” You asked, making her giggle. She approached your lips again, this time kissing you very slowly.

“Thank you for tonight, I really needed something like that.” She let her head fall between the crook of your head and your shoulder, and you hugged her, pressing her body against yours.

“I guess it all ends here, right?” You asked, caressing her hair, and she turned to you, planting a soft kiss on your cheek.

“I'm sorry…but let's do this.” She said, getting out of bed and walking over to grab something from her bag, a cell phone, and walked back to you. “Give me your number, let's stay in touch, you know, in case we meet again.” She said, winking at you and handing you the device.

"I'd love to." A huge smile formed on your lips as you recorded your contact on Karina's agenda. Once you finished, she snatched the phone from you, throwing it somewhere nearby on the bed, and climbed on top of you, kissing you again desperately.

“There are still a couple of hours until my flight departure, I have to be at my hotel before my staff wakes up, or I will be in trouble.”

“It's more than enough for me.” You whispered before returning to devour each other with renewed energy, it seems that your dreamy night still had another chapter to be written.

#kpop smut #male reader #smut #aespa smut #karina smut #karina x reader #aespa x reader

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oscarpastryfan · 1 month ago

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why is George Russell living the Y/N reverse harem life this season?

the championship leader Oscar awkwardly flirted with George several times (banana incident and shoe sizes) and has taken an additional role as George’s resident umbrella holder. George literally had an umbrella before the driver’s parade in Austria but still made Oscar hold one for him.

he is having a divorced couple navigating their first year co-parenting Kimi subplot with Max.

in Monaco, George made his childhood best friend Alex pay for his dinner in revenge. the dinner date was exactly like the lyric “he be feeding me pasta and lobster.”

George said that the bill was still not settled with Alex and guess what, three DNFs in a row for poor Albono since Monaco…

Lando was seen in the background of George’s interview nodding in agreement like a lovesick puppy not once but TWICE.

George for the second time matched quali times with Max in Barcelona.

he posted a pic of him playing padel with Oscar and Daniel where it honestly looked like he either wet his pants or he just went into heat.

in Canada qualifying press conference, both Max and Oscar said that maybe his braking was so good is because of his feet AT THE SAME TIME.

George had several driver’s Zendaya laughing at him in Austria.

an airport lady complimented him for looking so georgous.

Max said on a public fanstage that George is “very beautiful” while George and Kiki were both backstage.

Lewis sat next to him in dinner and took a camera from Haas to take a cute picture of George in the space jacket. He then posted it on his twitter. since Haas didn’t post it, it probably meant Lewis had to ask them for the picture himself afterwards.

i’m excited to see more of this subplot play out. i bet that charles would be the next one to join the reverse harem. also, i probably missed some moments because there has just been so many.

#in this essay i will #george russell #f1 #gr63 #f1 rpf #gax #gewis #britcedes #rustappen #geoscar #galex #norrussell #danorge #oscar piastri #max verstappen #lewis hamilton #alex albon

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5sospenguinqueen · 9 months ago

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The Wrong Bull | Mark Webber x Interviewer! Reader

Summary: Mark was enjoying a private relationship with his favourite F1 interviewer. Until the internet started shipping you with his biggest rival

Warnings: Malaysia 2013. A lot of fabrication ie made up insta names. Swearing. Suggestive content. Indulgent blurb because who doesn’t like the idea of needy/possessive Mark.

Requested: No

F1 Masterlist

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its_yn just posted

liked by markwebber, f1 and others

its_yn happy malaysia grand prix weekend! i’m very happy to be in the paddock this weekend bringing you the insight on how our eleven teams are doing

6,622 comments

danielricciardo can’t wait to see you. always bring me the most interesting questions

→ its_yn and you always bring me the most random answers

user1 my fave interviewer. i love the way she lovingly bullies the drivers. they’re always so engaging with her

jensonbutton now that’s a handsome man

→ its_yn thank you, i try

→ danielricciardo but i’m the one with random answers?

user2 i’m so happy you’re in the paddock. you have the best rapport with the drivers and always have the best interviews with them

skysportsf1 when all the drivers beg for you to be there, we can’t say no

→ its_yn aw, you guys. i knew you loved me really

→ sebastianvettel of course. the prettiest interviewer we have

→ user3 oh, well then, get in there vettel

→ user4 sebastian making his move

user5 vettel winning on and off the track

user6 no way he bagged the hot sky sports presenter

user7 okay but the way she was smiling at him

→ user8 and the way he looked at her? talk about heart eyes

user9 if they need a third or a dog, i can bark

user10 ngl i thought jenson button was going to win her over

user11 okay, let’s chill a second guys. they just entered the paddock together

→ user12 we might be seeing the beginning of their relationship! how can any of us be calm. used to pray for times like these

→ user13 yes but we don’t want to scare them off before we get confirmation

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Back resting against the wall of Mark's driver room, legs curled beneath you, you flipped through your notebooks. Going through your notes, you occasionally jotted something down, deeming it worthy of potentially mentioning during any interviews later. The sound of the lock turning had your head snapping up in time to see Mark's tall stature fill the doorframe. His eyes landed on you instantly, and he wriggled through the small gap he had created, blocking you from view of whoever was on the other side. A few short sentences later, Mark had managed to provide an adequate excuse to be alone. The door shut with a quiet click and Mark assured you it was locked.

"What are you doing here?" Mark questioned, the soft smile on his face assuring he wasn't opposed to the sight of you in his room. "Shouldn't you be out bothering more important people?"

"More important than you?" You shot back. "I've been put in charge of the post-race interviews today so I've got a bit of a break."

Mark took note of your jacket hanging on the back of his door, and your shoes at the foot of his massage table. His things surrounded by your things. And he was warmed by how comfortable you were here. In an endeavour to find some peace admit the chaos of the paddock, you took refuge in his room. The notion stoked the little fire of possessiveness within him.

"So, you're just going to hide out here until the race?"

Your pile of snacks, the circle of papers around you, and his jumper hanging from your frame told him all he needed to know. He just wanted - no, needed - to hear you say it. Especially after he'd overheard some of the drivers teasing Vettel during the Parade. About you, and the internet's speculations. And how if the German ended up on the podium, then how could the "pretty interviewer" say no to a date. So, regardless of the fact that it was his name and number splashed across your body, he still needed to hear you say it. To confirm that you were his and his alone.

"Until I'm needed, then yes," you smiled, watching as he slowly approached.

The white fireproof clinging to his muscular arms flexed as he placed them on either side of you. His race suit was wrapped around his waist precariously, looking ready to fall apart with a slight tug.

He angled his head down towards you, cheeks dimpling when he grinned. "And if I say you're needed right now?"

Your arms looped around his neck, pulling him down to close the small gap he had left between you. "What exactly am I needed for, Mr Webber?"

His eyes darted down to your mouth, watching as your tongue darted out to wet your lips. Before you could register that he'd moved, his mouth was on yours, moving against you and swallowing your surprised squeak. His arms wound themselves around your midsection, pulling you closer. The warmth of his body pressed into you instantly, and you melted into his touch.

Sliding your hands into his hair, you tugged at the short strands so as to pull him off you in order to catch your breath. As he didn't need oxygen more than he needed you, Mark's lips continued moving. His lips moved across your jaw, under your ear and down to the fluttering pulse in your neck, leaving a fiery path as he moved. A whimper was pulled from you when he sucked gently, your back arching into him. Paper crinkled beneath you when he lowered you onto the bed.

"Mark," you moaned, "you don't have time."

"Shh," he whispered against your skin, crawling atop you, trapping you between his body and the massage table. It gave a groan of protest but he paid it no mind.

Not when your hands slid under his fireproofs, stroking the heated skin of his abdomen before trailing lower. With one pull, the knot of his race gave way, removing the cushioning that had prevented his hard length from pressing into you. A throaty groan escaped him when you rolled your hips against him.

Mark chuckled at your sudden eagerness. "What happened to not having enough time?"

"You shouldn't be so tempting."

Knowing that you craved him as much as he did you had Mark reconnecting your lips, moving with more fervour. Your lips parted, allowing his tongue to slide against yours. His hips jerked against you when you pulled his bottom lip into your mouth, sucking gently. Mark's hands slid down your hips, reaching around to palm your ass and pull you flush against him. The throbbing in his underwear intensified.

Two sharp raps on the door made your eyes snap open, fear flitting across your face when the door handle rattled. Mark pressed closer to you once more; not in lust but worry that someone would see you in the dishevelled state he had created. That was a sight for his eyes only.

Another knock came before a deep voice called out for the driver. "Christian wants to see you for a pre-race chat."

"What, now?"

"Yeah."

Mark groaned before looking down at you. Lipstick smeared, cheeks flushed and blotches darkening on your neck. He wasn't sure he could go outside. The image of you like this would stay with him, making him strain against the fabric of his suit.

"Go, my love," you whispered, tying his suit back around his waist, ensuring the arms carefully concealed the problem you had created. "And try not to collide with your teammate."

Well, the mention of his biggest rival this year was one way to soften him.

"You'll still be here when I get back? Before I jump in the car?" He pleaded.

He knew the answer. Of course he did. The routine had been the same for the past two years but, as before, he needed the verbal reassurance.

"And why would I do that?" You teased, snickering when the 6'1 man in front of you started to pout.

"Because how else would I get my pre-race kiss?"

"You could always ask Vettel."

The look on Mark's face turned from faux sadness to something much darker. You yelped when his teeth sunk into your neck before he pressed a soothing kiss on the mark he'd left (yes, I laughed at that). Shooting you a wink, he dashed out the door, and you were left alone once more.

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user1 seb really turned on the charm with this one

→ user2 he got away with defying team orders, won the race, and decided to win the girl

user3 they would make such a cute couple though

user4 idk how yn managed to keep her calm, interviewer face on because if 3x wdc winner sebastian vettel spoke to me like that, i’d be giggling and twirling my hair fr

user5 okay i wasn’t a fan of the sebastian/yn train earlier but this interview may have convinced me

user6 i love how she’s trying to stay unbiased but you can see that she’s impressed with vettel’s racing today

→ user7 i actually thought she was a bit short with him for a change

→ user8 no i agree. her energy felt off. usually she laughs when they’re flirting

user9 did anyone else see webber watching them in the background?

→ user10 vettel needs to sleep with one eye open

user11 everyone talking about sebyn but i swear she kept looking behind him at mark

→ user12 mark defo smiled at her when they made eye contact

→ user13 bfr, she’s clearly into seb here

f1 just posted

liked by its_yn, redbullracing and others

f1 and it’s a 1-2 for red bull! oh, sorry, was that meant to say 2-1?

9,222 comments

redbullracing that’s our bulls

→ user1 i didn’t realise we celebrated defying team orders

→ user2 oh please. sebastian was faster. mark needs to just accept that

its_yn well done, team red bull

→ user3 it’s okay, sis. you can say well done to the love of your life for winning

→ user4 vettel getting a celebration better than a champagne shower later

user5 f1 is foul for this lmao

→ user6 love how they used the pics where mark looks the most pissed off

sebastianvettel very good race. well done, team

→ user7 he sounds so polite like he’s not a certified track terror

user8 i’m in love with admin today. they knew what they were doing with this caption

jensonbutton has anyone heard from mark since the podium?

→ fernandoalonso he’s yapping my ear off until all the conferences are done

user9 poor mark. he looked ready to throttle seb when they were doing interviews

→ user10 omg was that the one where seb was flirting with yn??

→ user9 yes! webber was stood behind him looking murderous. so hot

user11 not to be one of those but i saw yn comforting mark after the race

→ user12 before or after her flirty interview with seb?

→ user13 not fans trying to push yn and webber based on their 3 interactions when all this seb and yn content is right there

user1 sorry but no one can convince me that she didn’t just have a celebration romp with vettel

→ user2 yes! got to celebrate his win properly haha

→ user3 when he asked if she had plans later knowing she’d end up in his driver’s room

user4 dishevelled clothes, messy hair and her red lipstick from the morning gone? did someone say driver’s room sex

user5 she really does look like she got dicked down good

user6 it’s the fact that almost everyone from the garage has left and she still got caught, bless her

user7 no because imagine angry sex with mark webber after that race

→ user8 oof, i never saw mark that way before but his face on that podium has me feeling some kind of way

→ user9 i love how everyone is thinking of seb and your magnificent brain thought of mark

→ user7 i’m just saying, if i had to pick between the blonde twink or the angry, tall aussie, i know who i’m going with

user10 okay but imagine it was mark’s room she snuck out from. seb stole his win so mark stole his crush

→ user11 revenge, hate sex

user12 did anyone else see the two marks on her neck during the interviews earlier though? i don't think post-race was the first taste miss thing got today

user13 damn, i always thought vettel would be good but he looks like he did a number on her

markwebber just posted

liked by redbullracing, danielricciardo and others

markwebber please can you stop "shipping" her with the wrong bull. she’s mine

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its_yn and has happily been yours for two wonderful years

→ user1 they’ve been together for two years?!

→ user2 excuse me, two years and they kept it from everyone?!

fernandoalonso does this mean i lose elite status as the only one who knows?

→ jensonbutton you knew!

→ lewishamilton of course he knew. although i feel a little blindsided

user3 no because i was fighting in the trenches for mark and yn whilst y’all were pushing the sebyn agenda

user4 who taught him to take the most romantic photos ever

→ markwebber yn did

→ its_yn i trained him good, ladies, so back off

redbullracing members of the garage have asked that you keep any noise in the driver’s room to a minimum. please and thanks

→ user5 so she did get her back blown out after the race by angry mark

→ user6 living my dream

→ its_yn i see you. he’s not for you anymore

jensonbutton genuinely did not see this coming. ngl, i was convinced yn was with seb

→ redbullracing so did we. we got sucked into all the twitter theories. they made a convincing case

→ its_yn @/redbullracing we had to disclose our relationship to you?

→ redbullracing i know. that’s how convincing they were

→ markwebber @/christianhorner how do i file a complaint about admin

user7 the height difference between them 🥰

→ user8 the height difference between them 🥵

danielricciardo well, there go my chances

→ markwebber you’re too young for her, mate

→ danielricciardo yes but clearly she has a thing for aussies

→ its_yn just the one ;)

user9 no wonder he was angry. seb stole his win and then poor mark had to watch him flirt with his girl

→ user10 and watch as the entire internet shipped his girlfriend of two years with that win-stealing man

sebastianvettel oh

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