#lewis: i know that laugh... i know that look... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

formulafanfics13 · 2 days ago

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Caught in 4K - LN4

Masterlist

Singapore was thick with heat.

Not just the kind that clung to your skin and soaked through your fireproofs, but the kind that pulsed beneath the surface, coiled under media obligations and sponsor smiles. The start of a race weekend was always a circus.

And today's press conference had started fine.

Routine questions. Engine upgrades. Strategy speculation. Softball questions from regional outlets about heat and tyre wear.

Until: "Lando," said the journalist in row two, voice sweet but too sharp, "can you clarify the identity of the girl you were seen leaving a club with in Monaco last Friday? Because that... wasn't your girlfriend, right?"

The whole room tilted.

Every driver on the panel turned to look at him.

Max blinked. Charles's jaw twitched. George raised his eyebrows so high they nearly disappeared into his forehead. Even Logan leaned forward slightly, like did we just hear that right?

Lando froze. He didn't laugh. He didn't blink. He didn't deflect. He just froze.

A beat of silence. Then another.

"I-what?" he said, voice cracking slightly. "I don't know what you mean."

But it was too late.

The moment had already hit the airwaves. The broadcast team clipped it instantly. Every screen in the McLaren hospitality lit up with that one sentence, "Because that wasn't your girlfriend, right?"

And she was watching. Right there. Still wearing her pass, tucked into a McLaren hoodie, one leg folded under her on the hospitality lounge sofa. Water bottle untouched. Phone buzzing like it knew.

The room went still.

The intern by the coffee machine slowly turned away. One of the McLaren engineers looked up from his laptop and immediately looked back down. A PR rep muttered "Jesus Christ" under their breath and quietly started typing at lightning speed.

She didn't react. Not outwardly. Not yet.

But the colour drained from her face. Just a little. Her lips parted. Her eyes stayed on the screen as Lando sat there in Monaco lighting, visibly panicking.

"I uh- look, it was nothing. I don't know where that came from."

"Was it someone from your team?" the journalist pressed. "Because the photos don't-"

"There are no photos," Lando cut in, too sharp. Too defensive. "And it's got nothing to do with the race, so I don't know why-"

"Just to clarify," came another voice from the back of the room, soft, curious, twisting the knife, "are you denying you were in Monte Carlo last Friday?"

"Fuck's sake," he muttered under his breath.

Oscar, sitting three seats over, didn't say a word, but looked absolutely horrified.

Carlos turned in his chair, openly staring. Lewis's eyebrows were drawn low, unreadable.

And her? She stood. Slowly. Quietly.

Didn't say a word. Didn't cause a scene. Just walked out of the hospitality suite, sunglasses still perched on her head, water bottle still clutched in one hand.

The silence in the press room was deafening.

Not actual silence, there were still flashes from cameras, the faint clatter of someone adjusting a mic stand, but it was the kind of emotional silence that thickens the air. That presses on the skin.

The kind that happens when everyone knows a line's just been crossed.

Lando's ears were ringing.

He didn't even know what he'd said anymore. He could feel the heat rising in his neck, crawling up to his ears, bleeding out onto the surface of his skin like panic sweat. His knee bounced under the table. He shoved one hand into the pocket of his jeans to stop it from shaking.

To his left, Max leaned back slightly in his chair. His expression was unreadable. Arms folded. Eyes fixed not on Lando, but somewhere just past him, like he didn't want to look directly at him.

Charles didn't bother hiding it. He stared straight at him, brow furrowed, mouth twitching at the corners like he wanted to speak but knew it wasn't the moment.

Oscar sat two seats over, shoulders drawn in like he was visibly cringing. He'd pressed his mic button earlier to answer a question and hadn't let go. Just sat there now with the light still on, lips tight, staring at the table.

Even Lewis was quiet. Still. Watching.

He didn't need to say anything. The disappointment was in the stillness of his posture, the way his jaw tensed, the way he slowly crossed one leg over the other and refused to acknowledge the camera in front of him.

No one joked. No one teased. No one saved him. Because they all loved her.

The grid didn't agree on much, not on strategy, or teams, or who was most likely to go three-wide into turn one without warning. But when it came to Lando's girlfriend?

They all liked her.

She was warm. Funny. The kind of girl who remembered birthdays and asked about injured wrists and meant it. The kind who brought baked goods to debriefs. Who sat quietly in corners of hospitality with headphones on during practice so she wouldn't distract anyone. Who made shy interns feel like someone saw them.

She was real. And she loved him.

Everyone knew it. Which is why they were all sitting there like this. Silent. Frozen. Judging.

Across the paddock, the team principals were spread across the hospitality food court. Casual post-practice energy. Espresso cups. Sliced fruit. Soft chatter over contract talk and tyre allocations.

They were watching the press conference on the mounted screen above the coffee bar.

Christian Horner had just lifted his cappuccino when the question hit:

"Lando, can you clarify the identity of the girl you were seen leaving a club with in Monaco last Friday? Because that... wasn't your girlfriend, right?"

The room stopped.

"What the fuck-" Fred Vasseur said around a mouthful of melon.

Zak Brown, who had been halfway through pouring oat milk into a to-go cup, missed the mark entirely. The milk hit the counter. He didn't even blink.

Guenther stared at the screen like it personally offended him.

"I'm sorry," Andrea Stella said to no one, "is this live?"

It was. The red corner light said ON AIR. The McLaren badge gleamed under studio lighting. And Lando? Lando looked like he'd seen a ghost.

The camera had cut to him close-up now, face tight, lips parted, hands twitching.

Christian was the first to say it. Quiet. Icy. "Idiot."

Otmar shook his head. "She's in Singapore."

"She's here, in the garage," Andrea added, quieter.

Across the room, Toto said nothing. He didn't need to. His jaw was locked. Eyes on the screen. Arms crossed.

A full storm brewing just behind his calm.

Because he'd met her. He'd spoken to her. He'd liked her. And now he was watching a young man with the world at his feet unravel it in real-time, with cameras rolling and microphones hot.

Back in the press room, the moderator tried to redirect.

"Right, let's move on, next question is for George-"

But the tone was already gone.

No one laughed. No one followed. The boys stayed quiet.

And Lando? He stared at the floor, the hum of his mic still live, the press lights suddenly ten times too bright.

The press conference ended without ceremony. No jokes. No fist bumps. No post-interview banter.

Just a quiet "Thank you" from the moderator and the soft clatter of mics being turned off. Journalists filed out slowly, their expressions somewhere between smug and stunned. Even the PR officers didn't linger, they all had damage control to do.

Within minutes, the room was empty. Except for the boys.

Lando sat in his chair like the air had left the room. Hands in his lap. Shoulders curled in. Face pale, eyes unfocused.

No one said anything at first. Then Charles stood. Paced once. Twice. Hands fisting at his sides like he couldn't physically sit still with the rage building in his chest. "What the fuck was that?" he finally snapped.

Lando blinked. Looked up. "I didn't, I wasn't thinking-"

"Yeah, no shit."

Max exhaled heavily. "You couldn't have lied better?"

George leaned forward on his elbows. "Are you serious right now?"

Oscar didn't speak. He just sat there, arms folded, face unreadable. But he wouldn't look at Lando. Not once. Eyes locked on the empty glass of water in front of him, jaw clenched so hard it looked painful.

"Is it true?" Carlos asked.

Lando didn't answer.

"Lando."

He nodded. Slowly.

Charles stepped back like he'd been slapped. "You cheated on her?"

"Yes."

Max's voice was low. Flat. "How many times?"

Lando hesitated. "...More than once."

The silence that followed was visceral. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just final. Like something had split. Like something important had broken between all of them.

Lewis stood from his seat slowly. Walked over to the table and picked up his water bottle without a word. He looked at Lando. Just looked. Then shook his head once, slow, disgusted, and turned away.

Oscar finally spoke. His voice was soft. But it hit like a sledgehammer. "She loved you, man."

Lando didn't move.

"She defended you. Every time someone talked shit. You had everything. And you just-"

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.

And that's when the door opened. Zak Brown walked in first. Andrea Stella followed. They were both mid-conversation, casual, but clearly not happy.

Zak stopped walking. Andrea's smile faded instantly. They both looked at the boys, then at Lando, still seated, still hunched, still small.

"Someone want to tell me what's going on?" Zak asked carefully.

No one answered. Charles sat back down, arms crossed tightly. George glanced at the ceiling like he couldn't believe what was happening. Oscar finally stood and walked toward the door, shoulder brushing Zak's on the way out. "Ask him," was all he said.

Zak looked at Lando. So did Andrea.

"...Well?" Zak asked. "What's the truth?"

Lando opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, "It's true," he muttered. "The question they asked me. It's true." He took a shaky breath, "They asked about a girl in Monaco. She wasn't my girlfriend. I... I cheated."

Silence. Andrea blinked.

Zak didn't move. He just stared. "And you're telling me," Zak said slowly, "you knew she was here. In our hospitality. Wearing our badge. Watching our press feed. And you still let that question hit the air without having the fucking decency to handle it like a man?"

Lando didn't answer.

Andrea exhaled sharply. "Jesus Christ."

Zak ran a hand through his hair. "How many times?"

Lando flinched. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I didn't think it would come out like that-"

"But it did, Lando," Andrea snapped. "It came out. On air. In a press conference. In front of twenty drivers and the whole paddock and her."

Zak's voice dropped. "You embarrassed her. You embarrassed us. And you made this team look like a fucking joke."

Lando swallowed. "I'm sorry."

It was quiet. Weak. Useless. Zak didn't accept it. He just turned to Andrea. "We need a plan. Now. Before this buries us."

Andrea nodded grimly. "Start with a written apology. Then someone finds her."

They both walked out without another word. The door shut behind them. And Lando? Still sitting in the same chair. Alone now. More alone than he'd ever felt in his life.

She didn't remember how she got to the back lot. Only that she'd walked out of McLaren hospitality in a daze, staff looking anywhere but at her, the air around her thick and too hot and silent. The world buzzed but her ears were ringing. The camera crews had moved on. Practice was over. No one followed her.

She ended up behind the paddock tower, a place few people wandered, shaded and quiet, empty folding chairs leaned against a chainlink fence.

She sat down in one. Hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Sunglasses on. Phone off. Still. Just still. Until a shadow fell across her. She looked up. Lewis.

No press smile. No soft grin. Just calm, serious Lewis, hand outstretched, voice low. "Come on, darling."

She blinked. Her lip quivered. But she stood. He didn't say anything else. Just placed a hand between her shoulder blades and guided her out of the alleyway, through the maze of back corridors, past catering, past loading trucks.

And when they turned the next corner, Toto. And George. Waiting by a private gate behind Mercedes.

She stopped walking. Her heart broke all over again.

Toto didn't speak. He just opened his arms. And she stepped into them. Buried her face in his shirt. Let herself breathe again.

George rubbed her back. Lewis placed one hand on her hair.

It wasn't dramatic. She didn't sob. But her fingers curled in Toto's shirt like she was drowning and he was the only dry land she could remember.

"Come," Toto said after a moment. "Let's go somewhere quiet."

His office was cool. Clean. A small fan hummed near the floor. There was tea on a side table, untouched. A monitor still glowed with timing sheets.

She sat on the low leather couch. Lewis and George stayed near the door. Toto sat across from her.

None of them rushed her.

After a while, she whispered, "I didn't know what to do."

Lewis crouched beside her. His voice was gentle. "We can book you a flight tonight. We can get you out of here by morning. Or we can get you somewhere else to stay. Whatever you need."

She shook her head. "I'm supposed to be staying with him."

Silence. George looked at Lewis. Then at Toto.

She kept her voice quiet. "He's in the hotel. We're sharing. I just, I don't know what I'm allowed to do. I don't want to... I don't want to cause more mess."

George stepped forward. Sat beside her. "Then don't stay with him."

"I don't have another room."

"Yes, you do," he said simply.

She looked at him.

George gave her a soft, crooked smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "You're staying on the Mercedes floor."

She blinked.

"I'll bunk in with Lewis. He's used to my snoring."

Lewis chuckled, a little tired. "Sadly, I am."

Toto nodded once. "We'll have the room ready in ten minutes."

"But-"

"No arguments," George said gently, nudging her shoulder. "You think we're letting you sleep next to him after what he did? You think we're gonna let you fall asleep wondering if you're even allowed to be angry?"

She swallowed hard.

"You're staying with us. End of discussion," Lewis added.

"And if he tries to find you," Toto said, voice low and final, "he comes through this team."

Something about that made her breath catch. She nodded. Whispered, "Thank you."

George leaned over and pulled her into a hug. "You don't owe us anything. But you're not alone, alright?"

Lewis kissed the top of her head. "Get through tonight. We've got you."

And Toto? He didn't say anything else.

He just placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it the softest squeeze. A promise in silence.

#f1 fanfic #f1 fluff #f1 smut #f1 grid x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic #lando norris #lando x you #lando x reader #ln4

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theonlyonesora · 2 days ago

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Naked Truths and Saltwater

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

The yacht rocked gently on the soft belly of the sea, nothing but deep blue and silence all around you. No paparazzi, no race engineers, no noise but the sound of water lapping against the hull and the quiet plink of your toes splashing in the ocean.

You were perched on the edge of the yacht, bikini-clad, sunglasses sliding down your nose, hair still wet from a lazy swim. Lewis sat beside you, arm draped over the railing, sun glinting off the golden brown of his skin.

“This is the first time I’ve had an actual break in... months,” you murmured, kicking your legs like a kid. “I forgot what bored felt like.”

Lewis chuckled, head tilted back to soak in the sun. “You? Bored? You just made a sea creature out of grapes and toothpicks twenty minutes ago.”

You grinned. “Sir Grapesea was a masterpiece.”

“RIP,” he laughed, glancing toward the discarded snack plate. “Eaten too soon.”

There was a beat of silence before you heard the unmistakable splash of water… and then the sound of elastic snapping.

You turned your head just in time to see Lewis shimmying out of his swim trunks, casually tossing them to the deck like it was just another Tuesday.

“…Did you just get naked?” you blinked.

He stretched luxuriously, fully nude and unbothered, dipping his feet back in the water like he was not stark naked on a multi-million-dollar boat in the middle of the sea.

“Why not? No one’s around. The fish won’t mind,” he said, looking over at you with a relaxed smile.

“You’re literally naked,” you said again, brows raised, trying very hard not to laugh. “And I’m still in a bikini. This feels unbalanced.”

“We could fix that,” he teased with a wicked grin.

You snorted, swatting his shoulder. “Stop it. I am not getting arrested because you wanted to skinny dip in international waters.”

“You can’t get arrested in international waters,” he argued.

“You absolutely can,” you replied, grinning. “And I don’t trust you not to flash a passing cargo ship.”

He laughed so hard he almost slid off the railing. “You make it sound like I’m some pervy sea pirate.”

You nudged his foot with yours. “You are a pervy sea pirate. Just a very hot, charming one with too many tattoos and not enough clothes.”

He leaned toward you with a soft, amused smile, brushing your wet hair from your cheek. “You love it.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into him, cheek against his shoulder. “Yeah. I really do.”

And so you stayed, two bodies sun-kissed and tangled together over blue water — talking about nothing, laughing at everything, and knowing that this, the quiet absurdity of it all, was love in its purest form.

You knew something was wrong the moment you stepped onto the dock.

Not “the-yacht-is-sinking” wrong — but Lewis Hamilton just broke the internet wrong. His phone hadn’t stopped buzzing for the last ten minutes. Yours had gone nuclear. A notification avalanche: missed calls, texts, memes, and God help you, trending hashtags.

Lewis squinted at his phone, thumb scrolling.

Then he laughed.

That easy, low chuckle that made your stomach twist — the one that usually meant he was about to be smug about something wildly inappropriate.

“What?” you asked slowly.

He tilted the screen toward you.

#HamiltonHangsLoose #FreeTheChampion #Sun’sOutBunsOut #SheDidn’tEvenBlink

There, clear as crystal, was a paparazzi photo taken with a long lens. You and Lewis on the yacht — you in your bikini, hair messy from the ocean, sunglasses on. Him?

Fully naked. Legs in the water. Arms relaxed behind his head. A picture of serenity… and butt cheeks.

And the caption on the most viral tweet?

“The way she’s so calm about Lewis Hamilton sitting next to her fully naked??? I would’ve passed away on the spot. #Envy #TheyAreTooComfortable #MarryHerBro”

You covered your face with your hands. “Oh my God.”

Lewis just grinned. “That’s a pretty good angle of me, to be fair.”

“Your entire ass is on Twitter, babe.”

“I know,” he said, tapping at the screen. “I just sent the photo to Roscoe’s Instagram with the caption ‘Dad’s summer bod.’”

You stared at him, horrified. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Of course I am,” he shrugged. “You look hot. I look free. The world can deal.”

Your phone buzzed again — a message from your best friend:

"Explain the naked Lewis thing or I will pass out."

Then another:

“She’s not even flinching. The way she’s drinking coconut water while he’s airing it all out??? I aspire.”

And another:

"THIS is the energy I want in a relationship. Unbothered. Bikini x buttcheeks dynamic."

Even the gossip accounts were spiraling:

DeuxMoi-style post: “Anonymous tip: Lewis and his girl are definitely used to this. You don’t look that calm next to a naked man unless it’s happened many times before. Just saying.”

TikTok voiceover edits:

That night, Lewis posted an Instagram carousel with the caption: "Sun, sea, peace… and maybe a bit too much freedom 🌊☀️😂" The second slide? A zoomed-in crop of your unimpressed expression and his bare back, blurred tastefully with a peach emoji.

You tossed your phone on the bed, groaning into the pillow. “I’m never showing my face in public again.”

Lewis wrapped his arms around you from behind, whispering against your neck, “Too late. They’ve already seen my best side.”

You rolled your eyes. “You are the worst.”

He kissed your shoulder. “And you love me anyway.”

Yeah. Unfortunately, you really did.

It was the post-race press conference in Monaco, and the energy was buzzing.

Lewis had just pulled in a solid podium finish. He looked sharp in his race suit, sunglasses pushed up in his curls, calm and collected… until the third journalist asked the question.

"Uh, Lewis,” the reporter began, struggling to hide a grin, “firstly — congratulations. Secondly, I have to ask: how does it feel to not only land on the podium but also trend worldwide for… let's call it, ‘a breezy lifestyle choice’ on a yacht?”

A wave of laughter erupted in the room. Even the translators chuckled.

Max smirked immediately, leaning into his mic. “I told him to wear sunscreen, not take his entire suit off.”

Fernando didn’t even look up, just deadpanned, “At his age, you’d think he’d be more careful with exposure.”

Lewis held up a hand, grinning despite the very obvious blush creeping up his neck. “Okay, okay—look, I was on my yacht, with my girlfriend, in the middle of the sea. If that’s a crime now, we’re all in trouble.”

“Butt cheeks out, Lewis,” Max added, snorting. “Fully out.”

The room erupted again. A few journalists tried to keep it professional, but the hashtag #FreeTheChampion had over 40 million views on TikTok, and it was impossible to ignore.

Another reporter, more serious, leaned forward. “But jokes aside, Lewis — this is the first time fans have seen you that relaxed, and with someone that... close. Is it safe to say you’re in a relationship?”

Silence.

Lewis hesitated just for a second. Then that rare, soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“I guess it’s not much of a secret anymore,” he said quietly, adjusting his mic. “She’s… incredible. And she’s been there for me in ways people don’t see. The photo—yeah, it was funny, but that moment was us just… being. No pressure, no world watching. Just peace. And love. I’m really happy.”

The room collectively melted.

Max leaned over again, voice full of smug glee: “Bro. Did you just confess your love during a press conference?”

Fernando leaned back, arms crossed. “Romantic and naked. A dangerous combination.”

Lewis chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly flustered now. “I should’ve known better than to sit next to these two.”

Later that evening, a clip from the conference would go viral — not of the race highlights, but of Lewis saying “I’m really happy” with that soft, boyish smile, your name on everyone’s lips, the internet swooning again.

And just to stir the pot, you posted a single story: A peach emoji. Nothing else.

Max replied:

“Can’t take you two anywhere.”

Fernando reposted it with:

“Legends only.”

Lewis? He just reposted it with a heart and the caption: “Still the best view I’ve ever had.”

...

Should I do about other in particular? Tell me what you think!

#x you #x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lewis hamilton #lewis #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x reader #lh44 #lh44 x reader #fanfic #one shot #imagine #formula one imagine #formula 1 imagine

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sydwritess · 2 days ago

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Premier Night

Lewis hamilton x fem!reader

Summary: After the Canadian race, you and Lewis fly straight to his penthouse in NYC, spending some time together before the big f1 movie premier.

Second Person POV

Notes: requests are open!

You and Lewis had left his hotel in Montreal a couple of hours ago. You were waiting at the airport for Lewis's plane to arrive, he brought you to a hanger that was out in the airfield, both relaxing inside while you waited.

"You alright there?" Lewis said, putting his hand on your bouncing leg.

"Hm? Oh yeah. Just fine." You smile.

"You don't have to be nervous, this is normal." He smiled.

"Oh yeah... normal. Yeah I always hang out in private hanger's waiting for a private jet to come fly me anywhere. It's always fun." You say sarcastically.

"You know what I mean. It's just a plane." He said quietly, chuckling under his breath.

"With fancy leather seats and flat screen TV's?"

"No TV's just your phone." He said.

"Oh, well.... I guess that's okay then, right? Make's it more normal." You say.

"Relax. Charles is going to be with us. So it will be like a... slumber party." He said, raising his head at the thought.

"Right. Right." You laugh. The both of you wait longer, until you hear a plane fly in, slowly rolling up to the hanger.

"Ready?"

"Yeah." You say.

He gently grabs your hand, leading you to the staircase up to the plane. You walk up with him, the person standing at the top grabs your bags and follows you into the plane.

"See? Normal." He says.

"Normal." You repeat.

He slightly laughs and you two sit together at a small table. You sat in silence, when Charles suddenly appears on the plane.

"Hey mate." Lewis said, shaking Charles hand.

"Nice plane." Charles said, sitting across from you and Lewis.

"I know. Normal, right?" Lewis asked. You turn your head to him and teasingly roll your eyes.

"Y/n, you have any?" Charles asked.

"Oh yeah, a ton." You smirked.

"Really?" Lewis and Charles asked in unison.

"Yup. I got a blue one, a red one, a green one, and one that has my name on it, in big, bold letters." You say.

"Oh, so just lowkey." Charles joked.

"Exactly." You point. The three of you laugh.

When everything is situated, the plane takes off, flying down to New York.

It was a quick flight, only and hour to get there. When you finally landed, you got all of your bags, making your way slowly through security.

"This takes for ever. Why do we have to do this!" Charles whinned.

"What do you have something to hide?" Lewis teased.

It took another twenty minutes to get through security, and all of you went outside the airport. Personal security following the three of you out.

You got led to Charles got led to his car and you got led to Lewis's.

"Wow, you must really be special. You got a chauffer and everything." You say, getting in the back seat of the car with Lewis.

"Oh you know how it is." He laughs.

"I never knew you were that famous." You tease. He laughs and places his hand gently on your leg, sitting closer to you.

"Have you ever been to New York?" He asked.

"Jeez, you make it sound like I'm uncultured." You say, smiling.

"Oh really? What places do you know about then." He asked.

"Top of the rock, Statue of Liberty, Central Park, Manhattan, Empire State Building, Pier 17, Twin Tower memorial, Summit one Vanderbilt, Brooklyn Bridge, Public Library Flagship...." You pause, looking at Lewis as he just give you a wide grin.

"I can keep going." You smirk.

"You want to name the street address's to?" He said, you playfully smack him in the arm.

"Why? Are you mad because I know about New York?" You ask.

"Excuse me Miss. but I live there." He says.

"Don't you live in Monaco?"

"Yes... and here."

"Hmm. That screams rich people vibes."

"I am not rich."

"Mhm, okay." You say, smiling.

The drive to his house was around an hour long, you guys got to drive past some historic sight's, shops and different parts of the city before arriving to his house.

You both got out of the car, grabbed your bags and made your way up through the apartment building. Arriving at the top floor.

There were big, ceiling to floor windows in the living room and dinning room, having a full view of the city.

"Do you want anything to drink?" Lewis asks, walking into the kitchen.

"No I'm okay. Thank you." You say. You slowly walk over to the dinning table, sitting down at it while looking out the window.

You could see everything. The Empire State Building, all of the different buildings surrounding that. From afar you could see across the river to Jersey City.

And from the living room, if you looked out just right, you could see the Statue of Liberty far away.

Lewis came back, sitting next to you.

"Are you excited for the premier tonight?" You ask.

"Yeah, I think it will be cool. At night and all." He said.

"What are you wearing?"

"A pink suit top thing, with black pants." He smiled. You nod.

"What about you?"

"Me? I'm- I'm not going." You say slowly.

"Since when?"

"Since I'm not in the movie?" You question.

"Well you are going. You'll be my plus one." He smiles.

"No, I am just here to be here. It's your night." You say.

"And I want my night to be with you." He says, standing up.

He walks over to the door where the suitcases are, he grabs both and starts walking down the hallway to his room.

"Come on!" He shouts, you get up, walking behind him into his room.

He set's the suit cases up on his bed, opening them and standing in front of them. You sit on his bed, looking as he paws through the clothes.

He lays out his suit neatly on the bed, and then starts looking through your suit case.

He looks through all of the clothes, pulling out multiple dresses, laying them next to his suit.

"What exactly are you looking for?" You ask.

"The perfect dress for you." He says, smiling widely.

"Come here." He waves over. You walk over and stand next to him.

He gently turns you by your shoulders to a nearby full body mirror.

"How about this?" He asks, holding up a long black dress.

"I don't know. I don't even know what this is about!" You say, throwing your hands up in slight frustration.

"The f1 movie, duh."

"I know, but like what are other people wearing. Other girls." You say quietly.

"They are probably wearing something that screams 'I'm at a premier.'"

"You pick." You say, looking up at him.

"Okay, but I will make you look amazing." He says.

He starts holding up dresses slowly, one by one, aligning them with your body.

"This... this is perfect." He says, holding up a long, light pink dress.

It was thin strapped, slightly dragging on the floor, a slight corset look at the chest and waist area, and a low v-cut. Something casual but stunning.

"What- whatever you think." You say.

He smiles at you through the mirror and hands you the dress.

"You really want me to put this on now?"

"Yes, I want to see how it looks." He said, smirking. He slowly pushed you into the bathroom and closed the door behind you.

You quickly changed into the dress, taking one last look in the mirror before stepping out. Lewis was sitting on the bed but stood as soon as you walked out.

"So?" You question, looking down at the dress and then back up at him.

"You look beautiful." He says, smiling widely.

"Thank you." You say shyly. "You should try your suit on." You say, directing your hand to his outfit.

He quickly grabs his suit and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door.

You slowly walk over to the mirror in the bedroom, gliding your hands slowly down the dress, looking over it.

You look at the whole thing, attempting to fix your hair as well, but nothing really fits.

After about five minutes, you see Lewis walk back out, walking over to you at the mirror.

"So?" He repeats.

"Well, don't you look beautiful." You tease, he lots out a small laugh.

"You look handsome." You say seriously.

"Thanks. What are you doing with your hair?"

"I don't know. It looks... weird." You say, picking up pieces and letting them fall.

"You could let me do it." He suggests.

"You? Do my hair?"

"Yeah, why not? It could be fun." He smirks.

"Okay... why not." You smile.

"But on one condition." He says, holding up a finger. "You have to let me pick what to do."

"Okay now I'm scared." You joke.

"Don't be. It'll be the best hair treatment you'll ever have." He says, walking into the bathroom.

You giggle at him as you wall back into the main area, sitting back at the dining table where you were.

He quickly rushes out after you, grabbing supplies after supplies, going back and forth from the bathroom to the table, until he stops.

"What about your hair?" You ask.

"It's fine. Plus, I already have many of these events to go to between races." He says, shrugging it off.

"Yeah but still, it's important." You say.

"Don't worry about me. Let's just worry about you." He says lowly, and starts doing your hair.

"Last I checked, this wasn't about me." You laugh.

"Alright... but what would you even do with my hair?"

"I could..." You sat there thinking for a moment. "Put it up for you?"

"See, there's nothing that could be done." He said you could feel his smirk from behind you.

"Okay, well, it is already hard when your hair is twisted. If I wasn't, I could do a lot." You say.

"Is that right?"

"Yeah, it is." You say, smiling.

He continues to do your hair, using multiple products, heat tools, everything. It was around 30 minutes when he finally started putting everything away.

You follow him back to the bedroom and look in the mirror. Your hair was in a tight slick back, a high ponytail at the top with curls.

"This looks really good." You say, looking at it closely.

"Thank you. I accept cash or card." He says sarcastically, holding out his hand. You laugh at him lightly.

He laughs as he goes into the bathroom to do his hair. He takes around five minutes before he comes back out.

The both of you walk out into the main area, getting your purse and your shoes on.

"Are you ready?" He asks.

"Yeah, let's do this." You smile.

He leans down towards you, giving you a quick kiss before grabbing your hand and walking out together.

Hey loves! Sorry for the rushed ending, this was supposed to be done the night of the premier but look where that got me! Comment to be added to the F1 tag list! Requests are open for anyone!

Tag list:

@latay7 @mimisweetz

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pa1strifies · 2 days ago

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the alcott: it ain't me, babe

pairing: jack doohan x driver!reader

summary: jack accepts a bet to make you fall. he didn't expect to actually care. you didn't expect to trust him. now neither of you can tell what's real, and what was a part of the bet.

main masterlist ✷ series masterlist ✷ ch.1 ✷ ch.3

warning: some misogynistic stuff, toxic bet, all lowercase, jack's japan crash is mentioned (and slightly overdramatised), use of yn

a/n: this might not be the best chapter (i personally don't like it tbh)

china had come and gone. it had been a decent weekend, close to points. and yn had secured a podium in both sprint and feature race.

he wanted to talk to her during the driver’s parade but she was discussing the sprint performance with lewis and he didn’t want to come off as annoying.

on media day in japan, lando spotted him coming in, and reminded him of the bet and joked “mate i told you what you’d get if scored a date but you never said what happens if you lose”

“well you didn’t really ask you know” jack replied, not wanting to add a clause to the agreement.

“yeah. hows the bet going then? talked to her yet?”

“sorta.”

“well that is unexpected” lando says laughing.

“what do you mean?” jack says, confused.

“i mean she is a bitch. she never talks to anyone but estaban and lance. pathetic”

jack doesn’t say anything.

“well this is my stop, good luck” walking to the mclaren garage.

he continued walking, when he saw you talking to liam infront of the redbull garage, after he’d been dropped.

liam looked dejected, ranting, and you listened to him, consoling him.

a day later, he saw a clip of you defending liam, “he is a really talented driver and motorsports is very cut throat and he has proven himself before, and i think he will do it all over again.”

free practice 2: you were on an out-lap, making your way through the circuit. when right in front of you, a car had gone off.

“hey a car has just gone off. who’s that?” you ask concerned.

“yn its an alpine. we’re not sure.” your race engineer responds.

you slowed down almost to a halt, checking up on the driver, who didn’t respond.

“are they okay?” you asked. “there is no response yet. please bring back the car.”

yn didn’t listen to her engineer, she jumped out of her stopped car, running to the crashed car.

she sees the number 7 out of the corner of her eye, she knew it wasn’t pierre, so it had to be jack.

she pulled her visor up “hey are you okay?”

“i’m alright.” he replies, voice not clear through his visor.

he’d unfastened his seat belt but was struggling to get out of the car, she helps him get out.

she and the marshals steadied him and helped him into the medical car.

jack was not okay. he’d gone through a 30g crash, but all thats running through his mind was you.

you running over to help him, ignoring the rules and going out of your way to help him.

after the race jack found you again.

“yn” you turn around.

“hi. you okay?” still concerned about him.

“um yeah.” he paused “uh thanks for helping me. that crash was really stupid and all my fault and-”

“hey jack.” you cut him off.

“these things happen. just keep your chin up okay?” patting his shoulders awkwardly.

“yes ma’am”

“please don't call me ma’am. im 24” you laughed softly.

“uh sorry” he apologises, his hand slightly scratching the back of his neck.

“and jack?” your voice shifts, soft yet firm. “yes” he asks, inquisitively.

“don’t apologise a lot. people will use that against you.”

taglist: @the-navistar-carol @landorris@sainz0fthetimes @anunstablefangirl (taglist is on)

#the alcott #jack doohan #jack doohan x reader #jack doohan imagine #jack doohan x you #jack doohan fanfic #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fic #f1 x reader angst #f1 angst #formula 1 angst

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onboardsorasora · 2 days ago

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corporate free use... part 4??

part 3 is here moar sex pollen lmao but also.... quarterly orgy anyone? ish

Daniel cursed as Max’s hole clenched around him. He tweaked a nipple, loving the flush on his chest as he laid out on top of Daniel’s desk, moaning loudly. Max was glorious, all pale, soft skin and filthy pink mouth.

Right now he was whining and writhing and Daniel was fucking into him with abandon.

The door opened and Jenson walked in with an incredulously raised brow.

“Mate, we have a meeting.” Still, he was unbuckling his belt as Max watched him with hazy eyes.

Daniel flashed a sweaty curl from his brow. “Sorry, mate– forgot. Pollen.”

“Again? Dan, you’ve got to stop accepting dubious food.”

“No, not me.” Daniel groaned, grinding his hips in a way that had Max moaning. “Him.”

Jenson’s other brow raised with his first.

“What happened?” Jenson cupped Max’s jaw, swallowing when he licked at his fingers.

“He was on the 4th floor when… fuck Nando started spraying the place.”

Max whined and Jenson shushed him before releasing his trapped dick and feeding it into Max’s waiting mouth.

“Fuck.” Jenson sighed as Max worked him. “Isn’t Nando starting the festivities a little early?”

Daniel nodded, Fernando was. But truly, who was there to stop him? If you went on that floor now, you’d get pollen’d and no one was gonna answer the phone or an email when the quarterly orgy began. He was just speeding up the process.

“Guys, avoid the fourth floor–” Lewis walked in and stopped short at seeing his two directors working over his tech manager.

“Max got pollen’d” Jenson groaned. Daniel grunted as he came, clutching at Max’s hips.

“You in or out Lew?” Daniel asked, stroking Max’s cock and watching his come leak out of Max’s hole.

“Its early but…” Lewis muttered, taking off his suit jacket. He walked over to Daniel’s desk while unbuttoning his slacks.

“Need me to start you off?” Daniel asked quietly, just short of whispering in Lewis’ ear or nibbling at said ear.

“Mmm no, I’m good. Later though.” Lewis hissed as he sunk into Max’s hole. Max moaned around Jenson’s cock, spurting come up his chest.

They shared Max until he was satiated, panting on the couch completely dazed and fucked out.

“Man, that was a good amuse bouche.” Jenson stretched his arms over his head. Lewis and Daniel looked over at him from where Daniel had been sitting bare assed on his desk, listening to something Lewis said.

“Did you get pollen’d or something, should we be worried?” Lewis asked, amused.

“Nah but I did take some of Nando’s treats that he’d been handing out this morning. Daniel laughed, knowing his friend was running on enough viagra to fuck a harem. Nando didn’t do anything in small doses.

“Is that why you wanted a meeting this afternoon? You jumped into battle real quick there.” Daniel pointed out.

“You think I don’t see how you hoard Max and Lando? And are you two fucking around again? I feel so left out.” Jenson complained, pointing around accusingly.

“Well, we’re all here now. What do you want?” Lewis asked, scratching his ear.

“On your knees Ricciardo. It's been a while since I got to ruin you.” Jenson pointed to the ground in front of him, Daniel rolled his eyes and smirked.

“You could have just asked, Jense.”

“That’s what the meeting was for! I had plans! Your sweet arse is mine and Lewis can watch. Maybe I’ll let you suck him off.”

“Sounding like a dictator there, Jense.” Lewis got comfortable in Daniel’s office chair, throwing a leg over the arm and stroking himself lightly.

“Oh no no my friend. Daniel here will be my dick taker.” He thrusted his cock in Daniel’s mouth before he could comment on the terrible pun. Lewis watched eagerly as Jenson fucked Daniel’s mouth with abandon. It had been a while since they all fucked together. Daniel always took it so well for them.

It wasn’t long before Daniel’s nose was pressed against Lewis’ taint as he ate him out while Jenson prepped him eagerly.

At some point Max arose from his cat nap, cock red hard and horny. Lewis motioned him over and took him in his mouth just as Daniel groaned when Jenson fucked into him. Max watched with wide eyes as his directors fucked each other, moaning loudly when Lewis swirled his tongue in a way that had Max’s knees buckling. Daniel looked so hot getting fucked, Max knew he was seeing something even Lando never got to experience. He never thought he’d ever think this, but thank goodness for sex pollen.

#corporate free use #maxiel #dewis #daniel/jenson #slagclaren #lewis/max #jenson/max #all holes in use pretty much lmao

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littlepinkbirdie · 2 days ago

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Between Every Breath

The drive to the hospital felt both too fast and far too long.

Every bump in the road rattled through you like thunder. You gripped Lewis’s hand with one and the car door handle with the other, eyes shut tight as another contraction rolled through.

“We’re okay, babe,” he kept saying, voice soft but certain. “You’re doing amazing. Just keep breathing. You’ve got this.”

You didn’t speak until it passed. “If they make me fill out paperwork first, I will riot.”

He laughed, relieved to hear your voice. “Duly noted.”

The second your foot crossed the hospital threshold, the nurses were there. One brought a wheelchair, but you waved her off.

“I need to walk. I need to move.”

Your mom nodded knowingly. “That’s good. That’s your body working with you.”

You were checked in and led to a birthing suite — warm lights, soft colors, and the faint scent of lavender from a diffuser someone had thoughtfully set up.

The nurse took your vitals, confirmed your dilation, and smiled gently.

“You’re progressing beautifully. He’s on his way.”

You breathed through another wave, leaning on Lewis, forehead to his chest as he whispered, “Just like that, love. You’re safe. I’m right here.”

For the next hour, you walked the hallways.

Your mom and sister flanked you while Lewis stayed glued to your side, his hand under your elbow when you stumbled or froze through a contraction. You stopped every few minutes to breathe, to sway, to cry quietly into his shoulder when the pain hit hard.

Other people passed by — doctors, nurses, patients — but they faded into a blur. It was just you and him.

“You're doing it,” he said each time, forehead pressed to yours. “He's coming to us. One breath at a time.”

Back in the room, a nurse brought in a birthing ball. You eased onto it slowly, arms resting on the edge of the bed, rocking gently back and forth while Lewis kneeled in front of you, rubbing slow circles into your lower back.

Your sister offered you ice chips, your mom squeezed your hand.

His mom sat nearby, eyes shining, hands clasped. She didn’t speak much — just kept offering a steady, quiet presence that somehow made everything feel less overwhelming.

Your dad paced a little. Your brother peeked in once, panicked, said, “I don’t know what to do with my hands,” and was immediately handed a coffee run assignment.

After a while, the nurse came in and gently encouraged you to lie down for a while — not to stop the movement, but to help your body rest for what was ahead.

Lewis helped you settle into the bed, elevating your knees with pillows and brushing your damp hair off your forehead with trembling fingers.

“You’re so strong,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “You’re doing the hardest thing in the world, and I swear you’ve never looked more beautiful.”

You didn’t have the energy to reply — you just wrapped your fingers around his wrist, holding him close as another contraction tightened deep through your spine.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away.

He stayed.

Counting your breaths. Rubbing your arm. Letting you grip his hand hard enough to leave nail marks. Wiping your tears and reminding you that you weren’t alone. That your son was almost here. That you were doing it.

The room quieted again. Monitors beeped steadily. A nurse dimmed the lights. And your family — your sister on one side, your mom on the other, Lewis in front of you — became your anchor.

It hurt.

It was hard.

But you’d never felt so held in your life.

#lewis pullman x reader #lewis pullman #dad lewis pullman

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inaudible-summoner · 2 days ago

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"Ha ha forty, that's a funny joke." Carmen stated before exiting, everyone shared in a laugh, even Lawrence, after all who'd believe that one?

Lawrence would commit it to memory, he'd pull out a walkie talkie. And move it to a specific frequency. But the oddest part was that he'd have Juno's hand grab it and a weird whirling noise could be heard. "...You there?...Alot's happened since we last spoke...I know you're busy, I think—we found a way to solve the problem of the fae guard. If you're in Africa still can you...help us? Find grandma and grandpa on dad's side again...if you guys could meet us towards a couple weeks from now- we can make alot of food, water and medication...love you bro; take care of yourself." He'd hang up, knowing Lewis was busy and or possibly asleep.

He noticed Crowe standing nearby, placing the talkie back in his jacket. "Sorry....didn't mean to drag you into that parasocially." Lawrence was planning in his own way. With a shake of his head he's look away semi embarrassed about all he said.

"Sounds great. I love to cook too. My parents taught me since I was..about six? Gosh fourty years ago." Crowe spoke of being in her late forties so casually brfore grinning.

"I can supply the food, while my parents' pharmaceutical company can supply a load of medications, probably not enough to resupply an entire world, but enough for that copy ability to get a real head start." She had no doubt that Hayato and Safiya would immediately begin supply runs themselves the moment they found out about an entire Earth in need. Not to mention that Ai Jian would jump at the chace to help them build that town. Though before she could bring it up the topic of were to go for the flour and other supplies for the cakes came up. A laugh for the ready made meals and zealots being poor cooks escaped her lips.

"Yeah I can see them not having the best cooking skill. So all the spices are probably sitting there unused the poor things." She shakes her head, imagining the "feast" of unseasoned slop before getting back to a more serious demeanor. "I'll need advice on what'll be the most convincing monster to conjur illusion wise. But after that it'll just be a matter of prepping the spell. Which wouldn't take too long."

When everyone else left, she too remained on deck, taking in all of the sights and preparing the groundwork for her illusion magic.

#anestofmuses #]| Otherworldly mess |[#➳♖ ic ♖

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fairylando · 2 months ago

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i genuinely don't know what's worse: the way carlos looks at lando when he succeeds in making him laugh, lando zendaya laughing or lewis just admiring their mating ritual?

#lewis: i know that laugh... i know that look...#'i think ive seen this all before'#i genuinely think lewis is always extremely amused by these two puppies #carlitos #carlos sainz jr #landino #lando norris #lewis hamilton #lew lew #carlando #formula 1 #f1 #miami gp 2025 #driver's parade #also to me lewis literally birthed lando (in my f1 family tree)#THAT'S DAD🩷#LIVE LEWIS HAMILTON REACTION #carlando's mating rituals

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russilton · 1 year ago

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This remains my favourite kind of Britcedes photo: George and Lewis beaming at each other, and a 3rd party looking exhausted

#george russell #lewis hamilton #britcedes #gewis #Kendal Jenner was also in this photo but I’m not dealing with that or her if I don’t have to #I also stg earlier one of the accounts posted George and Kendal as “omg the duo we didn’t know we needed’ and it’s just #this photo cropped to her and George #I think they’ve deleted it but you have to laugh bc he’s not even looking at her #he’s staring at Lewis

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jungwnies · 2 months ago

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f1 grid | serving yourself less (tiktok trend)

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : serving your formula one boyfriend more than you serve yourself

୨ৎ : genre : comedy - tiktok trend ୨ৎ : word count : 1547

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : i got a final exam tmrw and i already know im beyond cooked

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

immediately looks at your plate, then at his, then back at yours.

“that’s it?”

scoops food onto your plate without asking. “you didn’t see me doing that.”

mutters under his breath the whole time: “ridiculous. you think i’m gonna eat all this while you nibble on two leaves?”

makes you sit down while he fixes you a proper plate.

“you’ll thank me later when you’re not starving in two hours.”

yuki tsunoda

jaw drops. full betrayal.

“why is your plate sad? do you hate food?”

takes food off his plate and puts it on yours like he’s rescuing it.

“you need to eat or u will be grumpy. and you know what happens when you're grumpy.”

glares at your plate for the rest of the meal to make sure you don’t sneak food back.

will literally feed you if he has to.

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

stares at your plate like you’ve just insulted everything he stands for.

“darling... that’s not a meal. that’s a sad sample.”

immediately puts his fork down. “what’s going on? why are you eating like a bird?”

gives you a speech about nutrients. you don’t even make it five minutes in before he’s switching your plate with his.

“eat. i’ll make us smoothies after. with oats. and peanut butter.”

glares at anyone else at the table who doesn’t say anything.

kimi antonelli

freezes mid-bite and just blinks at your plate.

“...wait, is that all you’re eating?”

awkwardly tries not to panic but can’t stop glancing at your food.

“you want some of mine?” pushes his whole plate toward you like a puppy offering a toy.

you say you’re not hungry and he goes quiet.

five minutes later: “okay but… what if i just gave you half of everything i have?”

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

eyebrows instantly scrunch together.

“bébé… where’s the rest?”

literally keeps waiting for you to go back for more.

when you don’t, he starts panicking gently: “is this about something? are you okay? are you mad at me?”

puts things from his plate on yours like it’s no big deal.

whispers “please eat, i hate when you don’t” like you just told him you’re leaving forever.

kisses your temple and goes “merci” when you take a bite.

lewis hamilton

side-eyes your plate with a little smirk.

“you planning to go back for seconds… or is that a cry for help?”

smooth as hell while sliding his fork over to your plate, spearing some of his food, and holding it to your mouth.

“open up, baby. i know you're hungry.”

if you say you’re not, he tilts his head and gives you the look.

“don’t make me get up and fix you a real plate. because i will.”

makes you finish at least half of his meal too, while rubbing your back the whole time.

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

stares at your plate. then stares at you.

“what’s that?”

full dramatic gasp. clutches chest. “you’re joking. that’s the appetizer, right? where’s the rest?”

scoots your plate next to his and starts transferring food over like it’s a formula one pit stop.

“you’re not doing this ‘cute portions’ thing again. eat properly or i’ll call your mum.”

makes airplane noises while feeding you a bite just to be annoying.

you try to glare but you’re laughing too hard to stop him.

oscar piastri

doesn’t say anything at first, just silently eyes your plate… then yours again.

“that’s... all?”

furrows his brows slightly. “is something wrong? are you okay?”

super calm but will not let this slide. adds food to your plate like he’s just “helping,” not completely panicking inside.

casually: “you can finish mine too if you want.”

when you finally take a real bite, he visibly relaxes and says, “thank you” like you just took your meds.

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

pretends not to notice at first.

then eyes your plate like it's personally disrespecting him.

“you’re kidding. right? that’s not dinner. that’s—snack behavior.”

takes your plate, loads it up himself, and hands it back without a word.

“eat,” he says, deadpan.

if you protest, he hits you with the eyebrow raise and mutters something in Spanish under his breath like “mi vida está loca.”

cuts your food into pieces and says “better” while sipping his wine like the crisis has been handled.

lance stroll

instantly frowns when he sees your plate.

“hey… where’s the rest?”

full concerned rich boy mode: “did the chef mess something up? do you want me to order something else?”

scoots closer and starts offering bites of his meal.

“you want a bite? actually—here, have all of it.”

if you take even a few bites, he goes, “that’s my girl” and kisses your forehead like you just saved his life.

100% sneaks extra dessert onto your plate later. plays innocent when you call him out.

ʚ・williams

alex albon

dramatic gasp. like cartoon-level gasp.

“okay, what is that? no really, explain. is that a bite? a sample? a decoration?”

“i’m calling your mom. i’m calling your best friend. we’re staging an intervention.”

takes your plate and starts adding food while lecturing you.

“you’re hot and smart but your portion control is a war crime.”

kisses your temple like he didn’t just drag you and says, “eat up, pretty girl.”

continues feeding you from his plate like a clingy golden retriever boyfriend.

carlos sainz

freezes when he sees your plate. stares at it. stares at you.

“is that all you’re eating?”

you shrug. he sighs and sets down his fork. full concerned boyfriend mode.

“mi amor, that’s not enough. seriously.”

pushes his plate toward you and waits until you take a bite. then goes soft.

“tienes que comer bien, cariño.” (you have to eat well, darling.)

“te necesito fuerte y feliz, no con hambre.” (i need you strong and happy, not hungry.)

spoons extra food onto your plate every time you’re not looking. smiles like he’s done nothing.

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

gasps like you just insulted his entire bloodline.

“wait wait wait. THAT’S your plate? you’re kidding.”

points at it dramatically. “someone get the girl a real meal!”

piles food on your plate himself while mumbling, “she thinks that’s gonna get her through the day? she’s insane. adorable. but insane.”

offers to feed you personally if it means you’ll eat more.

“open up. no, seriously. i’m not letting you leave this table hungry.”

won’t let it go for a week. “remember when you tried to survive on three leaves and half a tomato?”

esteban ocon

doesn’t say anything right away. just side-eyes your plate with increasing concern.

“is that enough? are you sure? you’re sure?”

when you insist it’s fine, he just sighs and very gently starts moving food from his plate to yours like it’s a covert operation.

“just in case you get hungry later,” he says softly.

watches you eat like a hawk. when you finish, he smiles like it’s a personal win.

mutters to himself in French the entire time — something suspiciously close to, “elle va me rendre fou.” (she’s going to drive me crazy.)

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

does a double take. then slowly turns to you.

“so you hate food now? or is this performance art?”

chuckles but immediately adds more food to your plate. “this feels illegal.”

makes jokes the entire meal, “you need a magnifying glass to see that portion.”

but side-eyes you so hard every time you put your fork down.

halfway through, scoots his plate between you both. “just share mine. easier.”

whispers “you’re actually feral for that” in your ear, but kisses your cheek while handing you a bite.

isack hadjar

absolutely scandalized.

“quoi?! that’s not dinner. that’s—what is that!”

full-on offended. places a hand on his heart like you’ve betrayed his entire French culinary heritage.

literally gets up and remakes your plate. “you eat what i give you. this is criminal.”

gives you a “look” every time you try to protest. you know the one.

softens immediately when you take a real bite. “bon. merci, mon cœur.”

kisses your head like a reward and mutters, “don’t scare me like that again.”

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

immediately dramatic. like, eyebrows raised, jaw dropped, wine glass in hand.

“you trying to break my heart? because that’s what this is.”

pokes at your plate with his fork. “this is… decorative. c’est rien.”

slides his plate next to yours and starts serving you from it.

“eat, mon ange. i need you strong enough to carry this relationship.”

flirts relentlessly until you give in.

“you’ll eat for me, right? be my good girl?”

smirks like he just won the Monaco GP when you take a real bite.

jack doohan

doesn’t say much. just blinks at your plate.

“is that enough?”

you say yes. he nods.

five minutes later he’s quietly refilling your plate like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“i just thought you might want more.”

casually puts a piece of his food on your fork and waits.

won’t push you, but his quiet worry is palpable.

kisses your temple when you finish and mumbles, “thank you,” like you saved his appetite.

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

raises an eyebrow. says nothing for a full thirty seconds.

“...that’s it?”

sips his drink, pretending not to care. he cares so deeply it’s physically hurting him.

eventually breaks. sighs and says, “give me your plate.”

doesn’t ask — just starts adding food to it.

“you’ll thank me when you’re not lightheaded later.”

kisses your forehead once and mutters something like, “don’t do that again, yeah?”

gabriel bortoleto

visibly stressed.

“babe? love? angel? why is your plate empty?”

starts rapid-fire listing all the food options: “do you want rice? bread? i can go get something else—”

won’t start eating until you’ve got a full plate.

watches you take every bite like he’s tracking your hydration levels too.

ends the night making you tea and saying “you scared me,” while cuddling you for the next three hours.

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harrysfolklore · 8 months ago

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misunderstood hero with a heart of gold - mv1

summary: max verstappen has never been one to read books, but everything changes when he comes across a pretty booktuber who describes him better than anyone else did before

word count: 8.2k + social media posts

folkie radio: another one of my babies finally sees the light of day 🥹 this fic is really special and i was lowkey gatekeeping it but i feel ready to share it, plss take care of it <3 i hope you like it

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Max Verstappen was bored.

It was late and he was alone in his hotel room. He had a race the following day and he knew better than staying up late. His team was already on his ass for sim racing at ungodly hours of the night when he had a race, but nevertheless, he was bored and not sleepy yet.

He scrolled through his phone, not really paying attention to what popped up on his Instagram feed, Tiktok for you page or Twitter timeline.

After a few minutes, his finger landed on the YouTube app, one that he barely used if he was completely honest, but for some reason he never deleted it.

A bunch of videos showed up on his main page, most of them about F1, gaming, fitness or cats. He scrolled through the thumbnails absentmindedly until one title caught his eye: "Formula 1 Drivers as Romance Book Character Tropes."

Max had no idea how that video ended up in his suggestions page. He wasn't much of a reader—he had only read two books in his entire life, for crying out loud— but curiosity got the better of him. He clicked on the video.

The screen shifted to a bright and lively setup, where a young woman with vibrant energy and a contagious smile greeted her viewers. "Hey everyone! Welcome back to my channel. Today, we have a fun video where I'll be pairing Formula 1 drivers with romance book tropes!"

Max found himself smiling for some reason, he thought she was really engaging and funny — and really pretty—. He leaned back against his pillows, more intrigued by the second.

"As some of you might already know, books are not my only passion, I'm also a huge Formula 1 fan since I was a little kid thanks to my dad, so I thought it would be fun to do a little crossover of my two obsessions."

Max grinned again, finding himself oddly invested in this unexpected combination of romance literature and Formula 1. Or maybe just mesmerized by the pretty girl who was talking on his screen.

"Let's begin with Mercedes," she said, clapping her hands together, "Lewis Hamilton is definitely our 'Charming Prince Charming.' He's got the looks, the talent, and that air of royalty about him."

Max chuckled, thinking it was a fitting description for his rival.

"Now for George Russell," she continued, "I'm going with 'The Boy Next Door Who Grew Up Hot.' I mean, have you seen his glow-up?"

Max chuckled again, nodding in agreement. George had indeed transformed quite a bit since his Williams days.

"Moving on to Ferrari," she continued enthusiastically. Max wondered if that was her favorite team on the grid, "Charles Leclerc is our classic 'Childhood Best Friend You've Always Had a Crush On.' He's got that sweet, familiar charm, but with a spark that makes your heart race every time you see him."

Max raised an eyebrow, surprised by the change in description. He had to admit, it fit Charles quite well.

"And for Carlos Sainz," she paused dramatically, "he's either our 'Older Brother's Best Friend' or the 'Bad Guy Who's Mean to Everyone but His Sweetheart', just think about it, he's got that rugged exterior, but you just know he's a total sweetheart deep down."

Max laughed, realizing she had Carlos pegged perfectly. He watched with growing interest as she continued.

"Now, let's talk about McLaren," she said with a sparkle in her eye. "Lando Norris is our 'Adorkable Comedian Who Steals Your Heart.' He's funny, relatable, and has a way of making you fall for him before you even realize it," Max grinned at the description of his good friend, "And Oscar Piastri... he's 'The Shy Genius.' Quiet, reserved, but incredibly talented and intelligent. He might not be the loudest in the room, but he's someone you'd definitely want on your side."

Max nodded in agreement, thinking of how Oscar had impressed everyone since joining McLaren. She continued pairing each driver with a character trope, she described Daniel as the "Life of the Party with a Sensitive Soul," highlighting his infectious energy and hidden depths. Pierre was dubbed the "Resilient Underdog," emphasizing his ability to bounce back from setbacks. Yuki was described as the "Fiery Spitfire with a Soft Center" and Logan was labeled the "Rookie with Untapped Potential," suggesting a character arc of growth and discovery.

With each driver's description, Max's anticipation grew. He found himself eagerly awaiting his own characterization, both curious and slightly apprehensive about how the pretty girl with an obsession with books and Formula 1 would describe him.

When she finally got to Red Bull, he sat up a little straighter, his interest piqued.

"Now for Sergio Perez," she said, "he's our 'Loyal Wingman Who Deserves His Own Happy Ending.' Always there to support, but with a story of his own waiting to be told."

Max nodded, thinking it was a pretty accurate description of his teammate.

"And finally, saved the best for last," she said, her eyes twinkling, "we have Max Verstappen."

Max held his breath, oddly nervous about how this stranger would categorize him.

"Max is our 'Misunderstood Hero with a Heart of Gold,'" she said with a warm smile. "Often perceived as cold or distant, but actually deeply caring and protective of those close to him. He's the type who shows his love through actions rather than words."

Max felt his cheeks warm significantly. This description caught him completely off guard. It wasn't the usual 'aggressive driver' or 'arrogant champion' narrative he was used to hearing. Instead, it felt... true. Uncomfortably true. He wasn't sure how to feel about being seen so accurately by a stranger.

As the video ended after she said her goodbyes, Max found himself staring at his phone screen, replaying her words in his mind, his thumb hovering over the comment section. He had never left a comment on a YouTube video before, but something about this one compelled him to break that habit.

After a moment's hesitation, he tapped the comment box and began typing, Once he was done, he paused, reading over his words. It felt strange, almost vulnerable, to acknowledge her characterization of him. But there was also something liberating about it. He added a thumbs-up emoji at the end and hit 'Post' before he could second-guess himself.

As Max set his phone down and settled into bed, a small smile played on his lips. He had a important race the following day, but all he wanted to think and dream about was the pretty stranger who had somehow seen through his carefully crafted public persona.

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liked by username1, username2 and 10,725 others

f1gossip “I went to bed early last night. Just listened to the team’s orders, you know?”

Max Verstappen for media day today, however he left a comment on a YouTube video around 2:46 am 😭

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username1 HES SOOOOO

username2 the fact that he left a comment on a BOOKTUBER’S channel MAX VERSTAPPEN YOU DONT EVEN READ BOOKS 😭

username3 he looks so pretty tho

username4 MAX WE ALL SAW YOU

username5 max was actually checking which romance trope is him according to booktubers

username6 HES SO RANDOM

username7 max’s search history: lestappen as fictional couples

liked by username1, username2 and 102,438 others

ynreadsbooks in honor of max verstappen x3 world champion commenting on my latest video (which is insane to say out loud wtf) should i do another f1 themed video?? any suggestions?

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username1 YES QUEEN

username2 that max comment was so random but so real

username3 max verstappen, the man who has read two books in 27 years watching booktubers was not on my bingo card

username4 @/maxverstappen1 you favorite youtuber will do another video about you

username5 BOOKS WITH RACING THEMES

username6 books inspired by f1 circuits would be fun

username7 @/maxverstappen drop a suggestion

maxverstappen1 started following ynreadsbooks

liked by username1, username2 and 15,836 others

f1gossip Max Verstappen was seen outside of a bookshop in Monaco today !

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username1 BABYYYY

username2 max ??? bookshop ????

username3 WHAT SHIFTED

username4 he thought it was jimmyz

username5 HEELPP what is he doing there

username6 hello i work there. he arrived with a list of books in hand that he wanted, he bought around 15 action and fantasy books

↳ username1 FOR REAL???

↳ username2 max said book girl summer

↳ username3 this is so random

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If someone had told Max that this year he would spend his summer break reading, he would've laughed at their faces. Yet here he was, lounging by the pool in his Monaco house, a book in his hands and a smile on his face.

As he turned the page of "The Martian," the latest sci-fi recommendation from YN, Max couldn't help but reflect on how different this summer break was.

Usually, his days off were filled with lavish yacht parties, exclusive clubs, or intense training sessions and hours of sim racing to stay sharp for the second half of the season. But now, he found himself eagerly devouring books and spending hours chatting with YN about plots, characters, and everything in between.

As the weeks passed, Max found himself growing increasingly close to YN, despite never having met her in person. Their text conversations flowed effortlessly, ranging from in-depth discussions about the books they were reading to playful banter about racing and life in general.

Max was surprised by how much he enjoyed her company, even in this digital form. Her wit, intelligence, and genuine interest in his thoughts beyond his racing persona were refreshing. He found himself sharing things he rarely discussed with others, and looking forward to her messages became a highlight of his day.

He also thought she was absolutely gorgeous.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed with a new message from her.

Max chuckled, about to reply when he heard the doorbell. He remembered Lando and Daniel were coming over for dinner. As he got up to let them in, he quickly typed a response, telling her that he would talk to her later.

"Well, well, well," Daniel's voice boomed as Max opened the door. "If it isn't the newly minted bookworm of Formula 1!"

Lando peered around Daniel's shoulder, "I half expected to find you wearing glasses and a sweater vest, mate."

"Very funny, guys. Come in," Max rolled his eyes as he stepped away from the door.

Ever since his friends noticed his brand new habit, they took it upon themselves to tease him whenever they could. As they made their way to the backyard, Daniel spotted the book on the lounger.

"The Martian?" he read, picking it up. "Isn't this a bit advanced for your reading level, Maxy?"

"Ha ha," Max deadpanned, snatching the book back. "It's actually really good. It's about this astronaut who gets stranded on Mars and has to use science and engineering to survive-"

"Whoa, whoa," Lando interrupted, holding up his hands. "Who are you and what have you done with Max Verstappen?"

Daniel draped an arm around Max's shoulders. "I think our boy here is trying to impress a certain bookish YouTuber. What was her name again? YN?"

Max felt his cheeks warm. "It's not like that. We just... talk about books and stuff."

"And stuff," Daniel repeated, wiggling his eyebrows. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

Max rolled his eyes, trying to brush off their teasing. "Seriously, it's not like that. We just have a lot in common."

Daniel and Lando exchanged knowing glances before bursting into laughter.

"Sure, mate," Daniel said, patting Max on the back. "Whatever you say."

They settled by the pool, beers in hand, and started chatting about the upcoming races and their plans for the rest of the summer. Despite the playful ribbing, Max found himself genuinely enjoying their company. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his friends.

As the evening wore on, the conversation eventually circled back to Max's books and his little friend on his phone.

"So, Max," Lando started, a mischievous glint in his eye, "have you color-coded your bookshelf yet? Or are you more of a chronological order kind of guy?"

"Nah, mate. I bet he organizes them by how many times YN has mentioned them," Daniel chimed in, "Top shelf is probably her favorites, right Maxy?"

Max felt his cheeks flush, but he couldn't help grinning. "You two are impossible."

"When are you finally going to meet her in person anyway?" Lando said, sipping from his beer.

Max shrugged nonchalantly, trying to hide the slight flutter in his chest. "I don't know. That's not something I've really thought about,"

He lied. In truth, the thought of meeting YN had crossed his mind countless times. The idea of finally seeing the girl who had captivated him with her intelligence, humor, and beauty made his heart race. He'd catch himself daydreaming about her smile, wondering if it was as warm and infectious in person as it seemed in her videos. But he wasn't ready to admit that to his friends just yet.

Lando and Daniel exchanged a look, clearly not buying Max's nonchalant act.

"Oh come on," Lando scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "You expect us to believe that? You've been glued to your phone for weeks, mate."

"I bet he's already planned their first date," Daniel leaned in, "What'll it be, Max? A romantic book reading by candlelight? Or maybe a visit to the library?"

Max felt his cheeks heating up again. "It's not like that, guys. We're just friends."

"Friends who talk every day and have you blushing like a schoolgirl," Lando teased, nudging Max with his elbow.

"I do not blush like a schoolgirl," Max protested, knowing full well that his face was probably bright red by now.

"Sure, sure," Daniel said with a wink. "Just friends. So, have you at least thought about inviting her to a race? You know, show her what you do when you're not reading about Mars?"

"Why would I invite her to a race, that would be weird," Max protested again, "And she already knows what I do, she's a fan of the sport."

"Man, you're so stubborn sometimes," Lando rolled his eyes at him, "If you like this girl, why don't you invite her to a race? It could be a great way to finally meet in person."

"And who said that I liked her," once again, Max's defensive self came through.

Daniel and Lando shared an exasperated look before turning back to Max.

"Come on, mate," Daniel said, his tone gentler now. "It's pretty obvious. We've never seen you this invested in someone before. Not to mention, you're reading books voluntarily for the first time since... well, ever."

"It's written all over your face," Lando said, shaking his head. "You like her, and there's no shame in that. You light up every time your phone buzzes. It's kind of adorable, actually."

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew his friends were right, but admitting it out loud felt like a big step. "Okay, fine. Maybe I do like her. But it's complicated, you know? We've never even met in person."

"That's exactly why you should invite her to a race," Lando insisted. "It's the perfect opportunity. She gets to see you in your element, and you get to finally meet face-to-face."

"Plus," Daniel added with a mischievous grin, "if things go well, you can always show her your trophy collection. I hear that's a great way to impress the ladies."

Max couldn't help but laugh at that. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"Maybe," Daniel shrugged, "but I'm also right. What have you got to lose?"

Max pondered this for a moment. The idea of meeting YN in person both thrilled and terrified him. What if they didn't click in real life the way they did over text? But then again, what if they did?

"I'll think about it," Max finally conceded.

Lando and Daniel exchanged triumphant grins.

"That's our boy," Lando said, patting his back.

After a few more beers and food, Lando and Daniel left.

As the night deepened, Max found himself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The conversation with Lando and Daniel kept replaying in his mind. His phone sat on the nightstand, silent but somehow still demanding his attention.

Max's thoughts raced. Should he text YN? Invite her to Zandvoort? The idea made his heart beat faster. He imagined seeing her in person for the first time, wondering if her smile would be as pretty as it was in her videos. But doubt crept in too. What if things were awkward? What if the chemistry they had online didn't translate to real life?

He rolled onto his side, eyeing his phone. The urge to reach out to her was strong, as it always was. Max realized that Lando and Daniel were right - he did like her. A lot. The thought of meeting her filled him with equal parts excitement and nervousness.

Taking a deep breath, Max grabbed his phone. Before he could overthink it, he started typing.

Hey YN, hope I'm not messaging too late. I was wondering if you'd like to come to the Dutch GP at Zandvoort? It's the first race after the summer break, and my home race. Thought it might be fun if you could make it.

He hit send before he could second-guess himself. The wait for her response felt eternal. When his phone finally buzzed, Max's heart leapt.

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liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 286,375 others

ynreadsbooks this week’s video will be delayed for some ~personal reasons ☺️

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username1 GIRL

username2 ARE YOU GOING WHERE I THINK YOU’RE GOING

username3 f1 x books this is literally me

username4 hot girls support max verstappen

username5 ahh if she’s going to the gp i’ll be so happy bc she’s a huge fan

username6 the way roles reversed and now max is his fan 😭

redbullracing We can’t wait 💙

↳ username1 REDBULL???

↳ username2 AHHH THEY PROBABLY INVITED HER

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As Max headed to Zandvoort Circuit for the Dutch Grand Prix, he felt the familiar weight of expectations settling on his shoulders.

The second half of the season loomed ahead, and the pressure to maintain his championship lead was on. He knew the team was counting on him to deliver strong results, especially at his home race where the orange-clad fans would be out in full force.

But amidst the pressure and responsibility, there was another emotion bubbling up inside him - a giddy excitement that he couldn't quite contain.

The thought of finally meeting YN in person after months of texts, calls, and shared book recommendations made his heart race in a way that had nothing to do with driving at a car at a very fast speed.

As he drove to the track, Max found himself smiling at random moments, his mind drifting to imagine what it would be like to see her smile in person, to hear her laugh without the filter of a phone call.

Max realized that for the first time in a long while, he was looking forward to a race weekend for reasons that extended beyond the track.

Unfortunately, his busy schedule kept them from meeting right away. Media commitments, team briefings, and practice sessions consumed his time, leaving him feeling frustrated and guilty for not being able to see her sooner. He sent her a quick message apologizing for the delay, promising they'd meet after qualifying.

As he made his way to the garage, a familiar voice called out behind him.

"Oi, Max! Ready for the big day?"

Max turned to see Daniel jogging up to him, his trademark grin in place.

"Yeah, should be a good quali," Max replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't talking about qualifying, mate. Your special guest arrives today, right?"

Max felt his cheeks warm. "How did you even remember that?"

"Please," Daniel scoffed. "It's all you've been talking about for weeks. So, have you met her yet?"

"No, my schedule's been packed. We're supposed to meet after quali."

"Ah, saving the best for last, eh?" Daniel's grin widened, "Smart move. Nothing like the adrenaline of a good qualifying session to make a great first impression."

"Or to completely mess it up," Max muttered.

"Hey, none of that," Daniel clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll be fine. Just be yourself. She already likes you for who you are, remember?"

Max nodded, feeling a bit reassured. "Thanks, Dan."

With a deep breath, Max headed into the garage, Daniel's words echoing in his mind.

Qualifying went smoothly, with Max securing a front row start to the delight of the Dutch fans. The cheers of the home crowd were deafening as he climbed out of the car, but his mind was elsewhere.

After the post-qualifying interviews, Max sent YN a quick text letting her know that he was free now and she let him know that she was around the hospitality area.

As he walked towards there, Max spotted YN standing near one of the motorhomes, looking around with wide eyes. She hadn't seen him yet, and for a moment, Max just watched her, taking in the sight of the girl who had been on his mind for months now.

She was even more gorgeous in person than he had imagined.

Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she took in the bustling paddock around her. The way the sunlight caught her hair, the gentle curve of her smile as she observed everything with wonder - it all took Max's breath away.

He noticed little details he couldn't have seen through a screen: the way her eyes sparkled, the subtle freckles across her nose, the graceful way she moved as she looked around.

Taking a deep breath, Max walked over, his heart pounding. "YN?"

She turned, her face lighting up with a radiant smile that made Max's breath catch. "Max! Finally!"

They moved toward each other, and without hesitation, Max pulled her into a hug. The embrace felt natural, as if they'd done this a hundred times before. He was aware of how perfectly she fit in his arms, the subtle scent of her perfume, and the warmth of her body against his.

"It's so good to finally meet you," he murmured into her hair. "I'm so sorry it took so long, this weekend's been crazy."

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with understanding in her eyes. "It's okay, Max. That qualifying was amazing! I've never experienced anything like it."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. Come on, let me show you around."

He took her hand and he was struck by how natural it felt. Her fingers intertwined with his perfectly, and a warm sensation spread from their joined hands throughout his body.

They strolled through the paddock, Max pointing out the various team motorhomes, the garages, and the media center. YN was all wide-eyed fascination, asking questions and soaking in every detail. As they walked, Max found himself relaxing more and more, his previous nerves about their chemistry being gone fading away.

As they rounded a corner, they nearly bumped into Lando Norris. Who couldn't help but smirk at the sight of their hands intertwined.

"You guys met already!" he cheerfully said, "You must be YN."

Her cheeks flushed, clearly surprised that Max had mentioned her to his friends. Max felt a warmth spread through his chest at her reaction.

"Yeah, this is YN," Max said, unable to keep the smile off his face, "Meet Lando, the perpetual pain in my ass."

"Nice to finally meet the girl who's got Max reading," YN laughed, and Lando extended his hand, "Quite the accomplishment."

"Nice to meet you too, Lando," YN said, shaking his hand. "I've enjoyed watching you race, I'm a big fan. Congrats on the pole position."

"Cheers," Lando replied, then turned to Max with a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, has he bored you with car talk yet, or has he actually remembered how to discuss books?"

Max rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Shouldn't you be preparing for tomorrow, Lando?"

"Alright, alright, I can take a hint," Lando chuckled. "Enjoy your tour, lovebirds!"

As Lando walked away, Max felt a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. He glanced at YN, relieved to see her smiling.

"Sorry about him," Max said, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Lando has a way of making everything awkward."

YN laughed softly, her eyes twinkling. "It's fine. He seems like fun."

They continued their walk, finally making their way to the rooftop terrace of the Red Bull hospitality area. The view was stunning, offering a panoramic look at the circuit and the sea of orange-clad fans below.

"This is incredible," YN said, leaning against the railing and taking it all in. "Thank you for showing me around, Max."

"Of course," Max said, standing beside her. "I'm really glad you could come."

They stood there for a moment, enjoying the view and each other's company. Max felt a sense of contentment wash over him, the stress of the weekend melting away in her presence.

"Max," YN said softly, turning to face him. "I know this weekend is important for you, and I don't want to be a distraction. But I'm really happy to be here and to finally meet you."

"You're not a distraction," Max replied, reaching out to take her hand again. "You're the best part of this weekend, honestly."

They shared a smile, Max was well aware of the butterflies that fluttered on his stomach and the high school girl blush his friends teased him about, but he didn't care. He felt happy with the pretty girl who had been his source of comfort for months, finally face to face.

"You know," YN said softly, "when I made that video calling you a misunderstood hero with a heart of gold, I never imagined I'd get to see it firsthand. But being here, seeing how you are with your team, with the fans… I was right about you, Max Verstappen."

Max felt a warmth spread through his chest at her words. He had always been guarded about his public image, but hearing her perspective meant more than he could ever imagine.

"I'm glad you think so," he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "You know, that video... it changed things for me. Not just because it led to us talking, but because it made me reflect on a lot of things."

"Who would've thought," YN said with a smile, "When I recorded that video, I never thought you would ever see it, let alone have an impact on you and let alone lead us to talking and me being here."

"Everything happens for a reason, right?"

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liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 301,257 others

ynreadsbooks best experience ever. thank you, thank you, THANK YOU 🥺💙

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username1 OMFGGGG

username2 no one deserved this more than her for real

username3 SHE MET MAX TOO?? DESERVED

redbullracing Come back soon! 😉

username4 red bull finally inviting people who actually love the sport

username5 GIRL WE NEED A VLOGGGG

username6 omg how did this happen spiiiill

↳ ynreadsbooks let's say i got invited by the world champion

↳ username1 WTF

↳ username2 so MAX invited her not redbull help he really did become a fan after that video

danielricciardo Hope to see you around soon, love ! 👀

↳ username3 how do i sign up for this

username7 THAT PIC OF MAX IS SO BOYFRIEND CODED

maxversteppen1 Thank you so much for coming and making this day special ☺️

↳ username1 OMG MAX

↳ username2 i'd be screaming if i was her

liked by charles_leclerc, ynreadsbooks and 1,028,479 others

maxverstappen1 Enjoyed every moment in Zandvoort with this amazing atmosphere and the best company 🧡

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username1 KIIING

username2 how can a man be so babygirl

username3 all smiles even tho he finished p2

danielricciardo 🦁🦁

landonorris Simply lovely

↳ username1 menace

username4 bro who got you smiling like that

ynreadsbooks ❤️

↳ username2 biggest max girlie

↳ username3 WE NEED THAT VLOG

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When it came time for YN to leave the Netherlands, Max insisted on driving her to the airport himself. The car ride was filled with comfortable silence and soft conversation, both of them trying to stretch out their remaining time together.

Despite their short time together, Max found himself completely smitten, captivated by YN's intelligence, humor, and the way her eyes lit up when she talked about books or reacted to the thrill of the race.

He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was head over heels for her.

As they stood in the departure terminal, Max felt an overwhelming urge to kiss her. He hesitated, his heart racing, but ultimately settled for a long, warm hug, breathing in her scent and committing it to memory. As he watched her walk through security, he already found himself missing her presence.

Now, a week later, Max was in Monza for the Italian Grand Prix. The day had been busy with media commitments and team meetings. Finally back in the quiet of his motorhome, Max flopped onto the couch, feeling drained but content. Without thinking, he reached for his phone and hit the FaceTime button next to YN's name.

Her smiling face appeared on the screen, and Max felt an immediate surge of warmth.

"Hey, you," she said, her voice soft and welcoming even through the phone's speakers.

"Hey," Max replied, unable to keep the grin off his face. "How's your day been?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Editing videos, reading, missing the excitement of the paddock," YN teased. "How about you? Surviving the media circus?"

"Barely," Max groaned dramatically, "I swear, if I have to answer one more question about RedBull and their big mess, I might go mad."

YN laughed, the sound making Max's heart skip a beat. "Poor Max. Whatever shall we do to take your mind off your beloved team?"

"Well," Max said, shifting to get more comfortable, "I've been reading that new sci-fi book you recommended. 'The Martian-like Odyssey to Titan,' or whatever it's called."

"'Project Hail Mary,'" she corrected, "And? What do you think so far?"

"It's incredible!" Max's eyes lit up, "I mean, the science is fascinating, and the way the main character problem-solves is just... I don't know, it reminds me a bit of what we do in racing, you know? Constantly adapting, finding solutions on the fly."

"That's exactly why I thought you'd like it! The way Andy Weir writes about scientific problem-solving is so engaging."

They dove into an animated discussion about the book, Max marveling at how easily conversation flowed between them, how YN's passion for books was infectious. As they talked, a thought that had been brewing in Max's mind for days suddenly surfaced.

"YN," Max said, his voice softer than before. "There's actually something I've been wanting to ask you."

"Oh? What is it, Max?" she tilted her head, curiosity evident in her expression.

Max took a deep breath, suddenly feeling like he was about to qualify for a crucial race. "Well, I was wondering... have you ever been to Monaco?"

"No, actually, I haven't," YN's eyebrows raised in surprise, "It's always been on my travel wish list, though. Why do you ask?"

Max felt his heart rate pick up. He'd rehearsed this moment in his head countless times over the past few days, but now that it was here, he found himself fumbling for words.

"Well, you see, I have a two-week break coming up before the Baku GP, and I was thinking... maybe... if you're free, of course, and if you'd like to... you could come visit me in Monaco?"

The words tumbled out faster than he intended, and Max felt a blush creeping up his neck. He watched YN's face carefully, trying to gauge her reaction. His mind raced with possibilities - what if she said no? What if this was too forward?

YN's eyes widened, and for a moment, she seemed at a loss for words. "Oh, Max, that's... wow. That's really sweet of you to offer."

Max, sensing a hint of hesitation, quickly added, "You could stay at my place. I have plenty of room, and it would be great to have you around. Plus I have two adorable cats that I'm sure you'd love."

YN's expression softened, a mix of excitement and uncertainty in her eyes. "That sounds amazing, Max. But… are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose on your personal space or your time off."

Truth was, Max wanted to spent every free moment he had with her, but he wasn't sure how to let her know without sounding too forward or like a creep, so he just pressed on.

"You wouldn't be imposing at all, I promise. I really want us to spend more time together, away from the craziness of the race weekends. And I'd love to show you around Monaco."

He watched as YN bit her lip, considering his offer. The silence stretched for a moment, and Max found himself holding his breath.

"If you're not comfortable staying at my place," he added quickly, "I could book you a hotel room, or there are some great Airbnbs with amazing views of the harbor. Whatever makes you feel most at ease. I just… I really want to see you again."

As he spoke, Max realized just how true his words were. The thought of having YN in his space, sharing meals, exploring the city together - it filled him with a warmth he couldn't quite describe. It was more than just attraction; there was a comfort in her presence that he craved.

YN smiled, a warm look in her eyes. "You really mean that, don't you?"

"I do. Look, I know it might seem like a big ask, but I just... I can't stop thinking about how much fun we have together. And Monaco is beautiful this time of year. We could go for drives along the coast, have dinner at some amazing restaurants, or just relax by the pool if you prefer. No pressure, just... us. And well, the cats."

Max held his breath, waiting for her response. The thought of having YN in Monaco, of being able to spend uninterrupted time with her away from the pressures of the race weekend, made his heart soar. He imagined showing her his favorite spots in the city, maybe taking her out on his boat, or just lounging by the pool and talking for hours.

"Alright, Verstappen, you've convinced me. But I have one condition."

"Name it." Max grinned, relief and excitement washing over him.

"If I'm staying at your place, you have to let me cook my infamous waffles for breakfast. They're a secret family recipe, and I guarantee they'll be the best you've ever tasted."

"Deal," Max's smile widened, a burst of joy exploding in his chest. "But I warn you, I take my waffles very seriously. They better live up to the hype."

"Oh, they will. And I can't wait to meet the cats."

As they continued to chat and make plans for YN's visit, Max felt a warmth spreading through his chest. The prospect of having YN in his home, of waking up and knowing she was just in the next room, of being able to spend lazy mornings together over homemade waffles - it all seemed almost too good to be true.

He found himself imagining what it would be like to have her there. Would she curl up on his couch with a book? Would they watch the sunset from his terrace? Would he finally get the courage to kiss her?

The thought made his heart race. He remembered the moment at the airport when he had wanted so badly to kiss her goodbye. This time, he promised himself, he wouldn't let the opportunity pass by.

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The day of YN's arrival in Monaco had finally come, and Max felt like a giddy teenager preparing for his first date.

In the days leading up to YN's visit, Max had found himself unusually preoccupied with preparations. He wanted everything to be perfect for YN's stay. He'd bought new sheets for the guest bedroom, making sure they were the softest he could find. He'd stocked the fridge with an array of foods, unsure of her preferences but making sure to have options. He'd even gone so far as to buy a small collection of books he thought she might enjoy, arranging them carefully on the nightstand in her room.

The morning of her arrival, Max woke up early, his stomach a knot of excitement and nerves. He double-checked everything one last time - fresh towels in the bathroom, extra toiletries in case she forgot anything, a vase of fresh flowers on the kitchen counter to brighten up the space. He felt almost silly with how much effort he was putting in, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted everything to be perfect for the girl he was smitten with.

As the time to leave for the airport approached, Max found himself pacing, checking his watch every few minutes. He'd planned the route to the airport meticulously, factoring in potential traffic to make sure he'd be there in plenty of time. Just as he was about to grab his keys and head out, the doorbell rang.

Confused, Max paused. He wasn't expecting anyone - he'd made sure to clear his schedule completely for YN's visit. Frowning slightly, he opened the door to find Lando standing there, a wide grin on his face.

"Lando? What are you doing here?" Max asked, glancing at his watch.

"What, can't a mate drop by for a visit?" Lando replied, trying to peer past Max into the apartment. "Thought we could hang out, maybe play some FIFA."

Max shifted awkwardly, blocking the doorway. "Lando, mate, I'm actually just about to head out. I can't hang out right now."

"Oh, come on," Lando's grin faltered slightly, "Just for a bit? We haven't had a proper catch-up in ages."

"I'm sorry, I really can't," Max insisted, glancing at his watch nervously. "I have to pick up a friend from the airport."

Lando's eyes narrowed suspiciously, a mischievous glint appearing. "A friend, huh? Is it that your book dream girl? You're flying her out over here?"

Max felt his face heat up, a blush creeping up his neck. He tried to deny it, but his reaction gave him away.

"It is! Oh man, this is brilliant," Lando's eyes widened in delight, "Max Verstappen, blushing like a schoolboy over a girl."

"Shut up," Max grumbled, but there was no real annoyance in his voice. He couldn't help but smile.

"So, YN is finally gracing Monaco with her presence," Lando teased. "No wonder you've been so distracted lately. When do I get to hang out with her?"

"You don't," Max rolled his eyes, "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go."

"Alright, alright," Lando stepped aside, still grinning. "But I want details later, yeah? And tell YN I said hi."

Max waved him off, hurrying to his car. Despite Lando's teasing, he couldn't wipe the smile off his face. The excitement was bubbling up inside him again as he drove to the airport.

As he parked and made his way to the arrivals area, Max felt his nerves almost making him want to throw up. He found himself fidgeting, alternating between pacing and sitting, his eyes glued to the arrivals board.

Finally, he saw that YN's flight had landed. His heart rate picked up as he watched the doors, scanning the crowd for her familiar face. And then, suddenly, there she was.

YN emerged from the arrivals gate, looking a bit tired from the journey but still radiant. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and when they landed on Max, her face lit up with a brilliant smile.

Max felt his breath catch in his throat. He raised his hand in a small wave, a grin spreading across his face as he walked towards her.

"Hey, Max," she said as she reached him, her voice warm and slightly breathless.

"Hey," he replied, suddenly feeling shy. "How was your flight?"

Without thinking, he pulled her into a hug. As he wrapped his arms around her, breathing in the scent of her hair, he felt a sense of rightness wash over him. It was as if all the pieces were falling into place.

"It was good, just long," she hugged him back tightly. "I'm so glad to be here though."

As they pulled apart, Max found himself reluctant to let go completely. He kept one hand on her back as he reached for her suitcase with the other. "Here, let me get that for you."

"Always the gentleman," YN teased, but her smile was soft and appreciative.

As they walked towards the exit, Max found himself stealing glances at her, still hardly believing she was really here. "So, um, I thought we could grab some lunch if you're hungry? Or if you're tired, we can head straight to my place so you can rest."

YN considered for a moment. "Lunch sounds great, actually. I'm starving, and I'm too excited to sleep just yet. I want to see Monaco."

Max chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at her enthusiasm. "Lunch it is then. I know just the place – it has a great view of the harbor."

As they made their way to Max's car, chatting easily about YN's flight and Max's plans for her visit, Max felt a sense of contentment he hadn't experienced in a long time. The nervousness from earlier had melted away, replaced by pure happiness.

Loading YN's suitcase into the trunk, Max caught her eye and smiled. "I'm really glad you're here, YN."

She returned his smile, her eyes sparkling. "Me too, Max. Me too."

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username1 AWEEE

username2 those are cute kittens

username3 those look like max verstappen's cats

username4 JIMMY AND SASSY VERSTAPPEN??

↳ username1 how CRAZY would it be

danielricciardo Don't hesitate to shout if he's much trouble

↳ username2 HOLD ON??

↳ ynreadsbooks he's just fine don't worry 😅

↳ username3 IS SHE REALLY WITH MAX??

↳ maxverstappen1 I'm not trouble...

↳ username1 OMFGGG

↳ username4 THIS PLOT TWIST

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Three days had passed since YN's arrival in Monaco, and Max couldn't remember a time when he'd been happier.

True to her word, YN had cooked her infamous waffles for breakfast on the second morning of her stay. As Max had taken his first bite, his eyes had widened in surprise and delight. The waffles were light and crispy on the outside, yet fluffy on the inside, with a perfect balance of sweetness and a hint of vanilla. He'd declared them the best he'd ever tasted, earning a proud smile from her.

The days that followed had been filled with laughter, conversation, and exploration. They'd spent hours by Max's pool, talking about everything and nothing. YN would often bring a book, reading aloud passages that she found particularly interesting or amusing, while Max listened, content to hear her voice and watch the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about something she loved.

They'd explored Monaco together, with Max showing YN his favorite spots and discovering new ones together. He'd taken her to the Monte Carlo Casino, where they'd marveled at the architecture and people-watched. They'd strolled through the streets of Monaco-Ville, the old town, where YN had been enchanted by the colorful buildings. They'd even spent an afternoon at the Oceanographic Museum, where YN's enthusiasm for learning had been infectious, and Max had found himself just as excited as she was about the marine life exhibits.

Throughout it all, Max felt himself falling deeper for her. It wasn't just her beauty or her intelligence that captivated him, but the way she saw the world. Her curiosity, her kindness, her ability to find joy in the smallest things - it all made Max see his surroundings through new eyes. He found himself noticing details he'd never paid attention to before, appreciating moments he might have otherwise overlooked.

What struck Max most was how easy and right it all felt. There was no pressure, no awkwardness. Being with YN was as natural as breathing. They could talk for hours without running out of things to say, but they were also comfortable in silence, simply enjoying each other's presence.

As they returned from another long day of exploring the city, both Max and YN retreated to their respective rooms to change into more comfortable clothing. Max opted for a soft t-shirt and sweatpants, relishing the feeling of being relaxed and at ease in his own home.

When he emerged from his room, he found YN already settled on his couch, her legs tucked under her, a book in her hands and one of his cats curling beside her. She was wearing one the t-shirt she picked the night she arrived when she realized she forgot to pack pajamas. It was too big for her frame but Max felt like melting knowing she was wearing his shirt.

The sight made Max's heart skip a beat. There was something so intimate and domestic about the scene - YN looking completely at home in his space, in his clothes, absorbed in a book as if she'd always been there.

Max couldn't help but smile, a warmth spreading through his chest. He found himself wanting this view in his life every day - coming home to find YN there, comfortable and content. The thought both thrilled and terrified him. He'd never felt this way about anyone before, never wanted to intertwine his life so completely with another person's.

YN looked up from her book, catching Max's gaze. Her lips curved into a soft smile. "Hey. Want to join me?"

Without hesitation, Max crossed the room. Instead of sitting next to her, he surprised both of them by lying down on the couch and resting his head in her lap. He looked up at her, his eyes vulnerable. "Would you read to me?"

YN's expression softened, her eyes twinkling with affection. "Of course," she said, her free hand moving to gently run her fingers through his hair.

Max closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation. He felt her shift slightly, getting comfortable, and then her voice filled the air, soft and melodious as she began to read.

Max's lips curved into a smile. "Emma," he murmured. "I remember you mentioning it was one of your favorites."

YN paused her reading, looking down at him with surprise and pleasure. "You remembered that?"

"Of course," Max opened his eyes, meeting her gaze. "I remember everything you tell me."

A huge grin appeared in YN's face, and she bent down to press a soft kiss to Max's forehead. The gesture was so natural, so tender, that it made Max's heart flutter.

As she continued to read, her fingers still combing through his hair, Max found himself only half-listening to the words. Instead, he was acutely aware of every point of contact between them - the warmth of her lap under his head, the gentle touch of her fingers, the soft cadence of her voice washing over him.

In that moment, Max realized with startling clarity that this was what he wanted for the rest of his life. Not just the glamour of racing or the thrill of victory, but this - quiet moments of intimacy, the comfort of being with someone who understood him, who made him want to be better.

He reached up, gently taking YN's free hand in his own, intertwining their fingers. She paused in her reading, looking down at him with a question in her eyes.

"YN," Max said softly, his voice filled with emotion. "I'm really glad you're here."

She squeezed his hand, her smile radiant. "So am I, Max. So am I."

As she resumed reading, her voice mixing with the soft sound of the Mediterranean breeze outside, Max closed his eyes again, a sense of peace settling over him. Whatever the future held, he knew that this moment, this feeling, was something he'd cherish forever.

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ynreadsbooks monaco you're the dream 🤍

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username1 GIRL

username2 THIS ESCALATED QUICKLY

username3 how do you go from max randomly commenting one of your videos to this

username4 girl we can tell that's max dw 😭😭

username5 YOU OWE US A TWO HOUR STORYTIME VIDEO

username6 anything you want to tell us best friend?

username7 she just had a book and a dream fr

landonorris Has he bored you yet?

↳ username1 IM DYING

↳ username2 she really masterminded her way into the f1 circle

↳ ynreadsbooks he's nice, makes good smoothies 😉

↳ maxverstappen1 Good to know that ❤️

↳ landonorris I'm disgusted

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As the final day of YN's stay in Monaco dawned, Max found himself feeling so many bittersweet emotions. The past week had been nothing short of magical, and the thought of it coming to an end left a hollow feeling in his chest. She hadn't even left yet, and already he missed her.

For their final day, Max had decided to take YN out on his yacht. He wanted their last hours together to be special, just the two of them away from the bustling streets of Monaco. As they prepared for the day, packing a picnic and gathering sunscreen and towels, Max couldn't help but reflect on the past week.

Daniel and Lando had teased him mercilessly about his sudden disappearance from their usual hangouts. They'd made jokes about Max being "whipped" and how he'd fallen hard for his "YouTube dream girl." But Max didn't care. He was too happy, too caught up in the bubble of joy that surrounded him and YN.

As they boarded the yacht, the Mediterranean stretching out before them in shades of turquoise, Max felt a pang in his chest. This perfect week was coming to an end, and he wasn't sure he was ready to face reality again.

Once they were out on the open water. YN leaned over the railing, a look of wonder on her face.

"This is incredible, Max," she said, turning to him with a dazzling smile. "I can't believe I'm here, experiencing all of this."

Max moved to stand beside her, their shoulders brushing. "I'm going to miss you," he said softly, "This week has been… I don't even have words for it."

"I'm going to miss you too, Max. So much. But you know I have to go back home. I have videos to make for my channel, work stuff to catch up on…"

Max nodded, understanding but not liking it. "Maybe you could make a video about 'A Week with an F1 Driver'? I'm sure your subscribers would love that."

YN laughed, playfully shoving his shoulder. "Oh yes, I'm sure that would go over well. 'Day 3: Watched Max eat his bodyweight in pasta. Day 5: Learned that F1 drivers are actually big babies when they lose at Mario Kart.'"

"I am not a baby!" Max gasped in mock offense. "I'm just… competitive."

"Uh-huh, sure," she teased, her eyes twinkling. "Is that why you pouted for an hour after I beat you?"

"I did not pout," Max protested, but he was grinning.

"You know, it's still surreal to me that a random video I published got us here. If someone had told me a year ago that I'd be spending a week in Monaco with Max Verstappen, I would have laughed in their face."

Max reached out, caressing her cheek softly. "I'm glad you made that video," he said softly. "I'm glad I stumbled across it. I can't imagine not knowing you now."

As they stood together on the boat, the gentle rocking of the waves mirroring the tumultuous emotions within them, Max found his gaze drawn to YN's lips. They were slightly parted, soft and inviting. His heart raced as he lifted his eyes to meet hers, a silent question in his gaze.

YN's eyes, warm and full of affection, met his. A small, knowing smile played at the corners of her mouth, and in that moment, it was all the permission Max needed.

With a gentle tug, he pulled her closer, one hand coming to rest on the small of her back while the other cupped her cheek. Time seemed to slow as he leaned in, their breaths mingling in the space between them. And then, finally, their lips met.

The kiss was tender at first, a soft exploration. But as YN's arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair, it deepened into something more passionate. Max poured all of his pent-up emotions into the kiss - his joy, his longing, his hope for what they could be.

When they finally parted, YN's eyes were sparkling. "You know," she said, a playful tone to her voice, "I've been waiting for you to do that all week."

Max couldn't help but laugh, a mixture of relief and happiness bubbling up inside him. "Really? All week, huh?"

"Mmhmm," she nodded, her smile widening. "I was starting to think I'd have to make the first move myself."

"Well," Max said, his voice low and teasing, "allow me to make up for lost time."

With that, he pulled her in for another kiss. This one was different from the first - more confident, more passionate. His hands roamed her back, pulling her flush against him as her fingers tangled in his hair. The world around them faded away until there was nothing but the two of them, the taste of salt on their lips, and the warmth of the setting sun on their skin.

When they broke apart this time, both were slightly dazed. Max rested his forehead against YN's, unwilling to put any distance between them.

"I really like you," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "More than I've ever liked anyone before. This week with you… it's been incredible. I don't want it to end."

YN's hand came up to cup his cheek, her thumb gently stroking his skin. "I really like you too, Max," she replied, her voice equally soft. "These past few days have been like a dream."

Max pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes. "I know you have to go back, but… I want to make this work. Us, I mean. If that's something you want too."

"I do want that. Very much. It might not be easy with our schedules and the distance, but I think you're worth it."

"We'll figure it out," he said, determination clear in his voice. "I'll come visit you when I can, and you can come to some of my races. We'll make time for video calls, and I'll text you so much you'll get sick of me."

YN laughed, the sound like music to Max's ears. "I don't think I could ever get sick of you," she said, her eyes twinkling. "But I'm holding you to that promise about the races. I expect VIP treatment, Mr. Verstappen."

Max grinned, pulling her close again. "For you? Always," he murmured, before capturing her lips in another kiss.

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The month following YN's stay in Monaco had been blissful happiness for both YN and Max. Their parting at the airport had been bittersweet, filled with lingering kisses and tight embraces. They had spent a good hour cuddling in Max's car in the airport parking lot, neither wanting to let go.

"I'm going to miss you so much," YN had whispered, her face buried in the crook of Max's neck.

Max had tightened his arms around her, breathing in her scent. "I'll miss you too. But we'll see each other soon, I promise."

When they finally managed to separate, their goodbye kiss had been passionate and filled with promise. As Max watched her disappear into the airport, he already felt a piece of his heart leaving with her.

In the weeks that followed, they took every opportunity to be together. Max would fly to YN's home during his breaks between races, often arriving exhausted but immediately revitalized by her presence.

Their reunions were always intense, filled with desperate kisses and roaming hands as they made up for lost time. But it was the quiet moments that Max treasured most - waking up with YN in his arms, her sleepy smile the first thing he saw; cooking breakfast together, stealing kisses between flipping pancakes; or simply sitting in comfortable silence, each lost in their own tasks but finding comfort in the other's presence.

Now, as they walked hand in hand through the paddock in Austin for the USA Grand Prix, Max felt a sense of pride and joy unlike anything he'd experienced before. Having YN by his side at a race weekend, this time as more than just a friend, felt right in a way he couldn't fully express.

"This is incredible, Max," YN breathed, squeezing his hand. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

Max grinned, his heart swelling with affection. He loved seeing the paddock through her eyes, rediscovering the magic that he sometimes took for granted.

"Wait until you see the track," he said, pulling her closer. "And the sound when all the cars start up… there's nothing like it."

They paused for a moment, watching as a group of mechanics wheeled a set of tires past them. Max took the opportunity to really look at his girl. She was radiant in the sunlight, her hair catching the light and her eyes sparkling with excitement. He couldn't resist leaning in to place a soft kiss on her cheek.

YN turned to him, a playful smile on her lips. "What was that for?"

"Do I need a reason to kiss my girl?" Max replied, his voice low and teasing.

She laughed, the sound music to his ears. "I suppose not. But maybe save some for later? We are in public, after all."

"You're killing me," Max groaned dramatically. "How am I supposed to focus on racing when you look like that?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll manage," YN teased, patting his chest. "After all, I hear you're quite good at this driving thing."

Their playful banter was interrupted by a familiar voice calling out. "Oi, Verstappen! Finally decided to grace us with your presence?"

Max turned to see Daniel approaching, his trademark grin in place. Lando was close behind, an equally mischievous look on his face.

"Hey guys," Max greeted, unconsciously pulling YN closer. "You remember YN, right?"

"Ah yes," Daniel's grin widened. "Nice to see you again, love."

"It's great to see you too, Daniel," she smiled warmly. "And you, Lando."

Lando's eyes darted between Max and YN, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "So, Max, finally managed to seal the deal, huh?"

Max felt his cheeks heat up, but before he could respond, YN jumped in.

"Oh, he did more than that," she said, her tone light but with a hint of something that made Max's pulse quicken. "He's been quite… impressive."

Daniel let out a low whistle while Lando burst into laughter. Max couldn't help but join in, marveling at how effortlessly YN fit into his world.

As they chatted, Max couldn't keep his hands off YN. He found himself constantly touching her - a hand on the small of her back, playing with her fingers, rubbing her arm softly. Each touch was like a spark, reminding him of their passionate reunions over the past month.

He thought back to their last meeting, just a week ago. He had flown to her place straight after he was done with some meetings in Monaco, exhausted but desperate to see her. The moment he stepped through her door, all fatigue had vanished. They had barely made it to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in their wake. The memory of her skin against his, the taste of her lips, the sound of her gasps and moans… it was enough to make him want to whisk her away to his motorhome right now.

Max was pulled from his thoughts by the approach of another familiar face. Charles Leclerc was walking towards them, his trademark charming smile in place.

"Max! Good to see you, man," Charles said, clapping Max on the shoulder before turning his attention to YN. "And who might this lovely lady be?"

Without hesitation, the words tumbled from Max's lips: "This is YN, my girlfriend."

He felt the girl stiffen slightly beside him, and for a moment, panic flared in his chest. Had he overstepped? They hadn't explicitly discussed labels yet. But when he glanced at YN, she was smiling warmly at Charles, her hand still firmly in Max's.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Charles," YN said, shaking his hand.

Charles raised an eyebrow at Max, a hint of surprise in his expression. "The pleasure is all mine. I hope you're enjoying your time in the paddock."

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, they parted ways. Max led YN towards his driver's room. Once inside the relative privacy of the small space, YN turned to him, a playful glint in her eye.

"Girlfriend, huh?" she said, her tone light but with an undercurrent of something Max couldn't quite identify.

Max felt a flutter of nervousness in his stomach. "I… yeah. I mean, if that's okay? I know we haven't really talked about it, but…"

YN stepped closer, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. "It's more than okay, Max. I was just surprised. We've been in this beautiful bubble, and hearing you say it out loud… it made it feel real in a way it hasn't before."

Max let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. His hands found their way to YN's waist, pulling her closer. "It is real," he said softly. "I've never felt this way about anyone before. Feels like you're everything."

Her eyes softened, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. "You're everything to me too, Max. I love you."

The words hung in the air between them for a moment, both realizing it was the first time either had said it. Then Max surged forward, capturing YN's lips in a kiss that was equal parts tender and passionate.

When they broke apart. Max rested his forehead against YN's, his eyes closed as he savored the moment.

"I love you too," he whispered. "God, YN, I love you so much."

YN's answering smile was radiant and she pulled him in for another kiss.

"So," he said, his voice husky, "ready to watch your boyfriend win a race?"

YN laughed, the sound filling the small space and Max's heart. "Always," she replied. "My misunderstood hero with a heart of gold."

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formulafanfics13 · 20 hours ago

Text

Another Day, Another Look II- Toto Wolff 🔥

Masterlist || Part 1 || Part 3

as requested <3

Kimi didn't even look up when George tossed the bag of crisps on the bed. He just kept sitting there, slouched on the edge of the mattress, hood up over messy curls, thumbs tapping half-heartedly at his phone screen like he was reading but not replying. His entire body said tense, the way teenage boys get when they don't know what the fuck they're feeling, but they know it's not nothing.

Lewis came back from the bathroom with wet hands, drying them on the front of his hoodie. He caught George's eye, a small shrug, then sat down on the other bed, across from Kimi.

"So," George said lightly, cracking the crisps open with a pop. "You rich now?"

Kimi blinked. "What?"

"The new contract. The pay. You're, like, officially on Daddy Mercedes' payroll now, yeah?"

Kimi huffed a laugh. "Shut up."

Lewis grinned, voice gentle. "He's right, though. It's a damn good contract."

George tossed him a crisp. "Don't act like you're not gonna buy something stupid with it. Like a boat or a vending machine or a lizard or some shit."

"I'm not mad about the contract," Kimi muttered.

Lewis tilted his head. "You sure?"

Kimi didn't answer right away. He picked at the edge of a water bottle label. Peeled it in one long curl. Then said, softly, "I'm not mad at her either."

George blinked. "You're not?"

"I knew this was gonna happen," Kimi sighed. "It's just... the kind of shit she does."

George leaned back. "What, fall into offices with Team Principals?"

Kimi cracked a smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes. "She's always gone for older guys. It's a thing. Ever since she was sixteen."

Lewis didn't say anything, but his expression sobered.

Kimi glanced up. "I'm not mad at her. I'm not. I just don't want Toto thinking I-" He stopped himself. "That I put her up to it. Like I sent her in to flirt so I could get a raise."

George scoffed. "Mate. You really think Toto fucking Wolff would fall for that?"

"I think people think worse things," Kimi muttered.

"You think Toto does?" Lewis asked.

Kimi shrugged. "I don't know."

Lewis shook his head immediately. "No. He doesn't."

Kimi looked up again. "You sure?"

"I'm sure."

It was quiet for a second. George blinked. "Wait, did Toto say something to you?"

Lewis scratched the back of his neck. "He just said... he knows you didn't ask her to. That it wasn't about you."

George narrowed his eyes. "And what was it about, then?"

Lewis paused. Thought. Then said quietly, "Honestly? I don't think even he knows."

Kimi didn't answer. He just leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling like maybe it had answers. Like maybe it was safer to look up than down at the screen of his phone, where her name sat unread, her last message unsent, a green bubble glowing like a fuse.

The silence stretched again until George cleared his throat and said, "You know what? I'm gonna leave you with your emotional support uncle."

Kimi rolled his eyes. "Where are you going?"

George smirked. "Gonna go see if there's any minibar vodka in my room." He grabbed his jacket, slapped Kimi on the foot as he passed, and disappeared into the hallway with a lazy wave. The door clicked shut.

Kimi let out a breath.

Lewis stood, wandered to the desk, and poured two glasses of the hotel's shitty complimentary water. He handed one over. Sat back down. "Can I say something?" he asked.

Kimi shrugged. "You're thirty-nine. I'm seventeen. You can say whatever the fuck you want."

Lewis huffed a laugh. "Fair." He sipped. Then looked at Kimi. "Toto doesn't think you manipulated anything," he said softly. "If anything... he thinks she played him."

Kimi blinked.

Lewis kept going. "He was quiet, after. Strange. Kind of like he couldn't believe what happened."

Kimi's voice was tight. "Did he tell you what happened?"

"No. But he didn't have to."

Kimi stared at the floor. "Do you think I should talk to her?" he asked.

Lewis didn't answer right away. Then, gently, "Do you think you'd say something you'd regret?"

Kimi was quiet. Then nodded.

Lewis clapped his shoulder. "Then wait."

There was a beat. And then, a ding. Kimi's phone lit up. He didn't move to grab it. Just stared at the screen like it might burn him.

"Is that her?" Lewis asked.

Kimi nodded. Lewis watched the notification disappear. "Do you want to know what I think?" he said softly.

Kimi glanced at him. "No. But you're gonna say it anyway."

Lewis smiled faintly. "I think she's grown. Maybe not smart yet. But grown. And I think she doesn't ask for things she doesn't want."

Kimi looked down at the floor. "She said please."

Lewis tilted his head. "What?"

"In the hallway. To Toto. She said please."

Lewis's face didn't change. But something behind his eyes flickered. Knowing. Complicated. He stood. Gave Kimi's shoulder a final squeeze. "Get some sleep."

And then he left. Kimi sat in the quiet.

Phone buzzing again. Her name. A second message. Still unread.

And 35 minutes away, down in Oxford, Toto Wolff stood alone in his living room. Staring at the bar cart. Tuxedo shirt unbuttoned. Tie discarded. Hands braced on the countertop like he was keeping himself from slipping.

Because no matter how calm he'd been earlier, no matter how carefully he cleaned her, he could still taste her perfume on his mouth.

Mercedes HQ had never felt this full.

There were children trailing engineers down the production floor. Spouses balancing champagne flutes while gaping at the wind tunnel. Retired mechanics giving talks beside massive screens projecting brake telemetry in high-def. Staff from every division walking their families around the place like it was an extended Christmas dinner, and everyone was trying just a little too hard to behave.

The whole thing reeked of good PR and polished shoes. But Kimi wasn't thinking about that. He was gripping his sister's wrist like she might fucking bolt.

"Come on," he muttered under his breath, dragging her across the marble-tiled atrium and straight toward a pair of familiar figures. George, tall and bouncing on the balls of his feet like he was half-wired, and Lewis, calm and smiling beside him, surrounded by four different teenagers in matching STEM t-shirts asking him about rear-wing flex limits.

George spotted them first. "Hey-"

Lewis turned, eyes catching on Kimi, then on her. He smiled. "Afternoon."

"Hi," she said warmly.

George raised an eyebrow. "Older Antonelli. The troublemaker, right?"

Kimi huffed. "Shut up."

She laughed, light, innocent, but her cheeks flushed. Just slightly. Just enough.

Lewis tilted his head. "Good to see you again."

She nodded. "You too."

George narrowed his eyes, playful but sharp. "You sticking close to Kimi all day or gonna start climbing boardroom tables again?"

Kimi stepped in. "She's being good."

"I'm trying," she said with a faint grin. "He's just not letting me go anywhere."

"She's not," Kimi muttered. "I don't trust her."

"Fair," George replied, smirking. "I wouldn't either."

She just smiled and let her brother keep hold of her wrist.

The day unfolded like it was meant to. Tours. Talks. Photos. Factory walkthroughs. At one point, she found herself chatting to Lewis' step-mother about carbon composites while two seven-year-olds tried to crawl into a prototype simulator. Another hour passed. Kimi still hadn't let her stray more than five meters.

They had talked about it. The night after the contract. After the hotel. She'd texted. He'd answered. Slowly at first. One sentence replies. Then longer ones. Then emojis. Then photos. Then a voice note that she definitely wasn't meant to replay as many times as she had.

She hadn't told Kimi any of that. But he wasn't stupid. "Stop smirking," he muttered as they walked toward the presentation stage.

"I'm not."

"You are. And it's suspicious."

"You're paranoid."

"I'm seventeen," he muttered, tugging her toward the side of the temporary stage where the engineers were finishing setup for the drivers' talk. "You're twenty something. It should be you babysitting me. Not the other way around."

She grinned. "So let me go."

"Absolutely not."

She stood off to the side, crossed her arms, and watched Lewis, George, and Kimi step up to the platform. That was when she felt him. Not saw. Not heard. Felt.

The air behind her shifted. The faintest brush of warmth. The scent of cologne. A presence you could lean into without turning. Then a hand. Big. Flat. Confident. Settling low on her waist, fingers spreading gently over the fabric of her dress. She inhaled, a little too sharp. A little too late.

And then his voice, low and warm, directly against her ear, "You look beautiful today."

She didn't move. Didn't dare. Just stood there. Breathing.

"You've been very quiet," he murmured.

"Well, your driver was holding my wrist hostage."

A soft breath of amusement. "We'll fix that," he said. "Come find me in my office at the end of the day."

She swallowed. Nodded once. His hand didn't leave her waist.

Instead, he squeezed, brief, possessive, and then stepped past her with the most casual pivot in the world, jacket perfectly pressed, voice smooth and easy as he approached a pair of adults near the simulator stations.

Her mother. Her father. She watched, stunned, as Toto shook hands with both of them. Charmed them. Warm, polished, even. No trace of the man who had just whispered you look beautiful into her ear like he was seconds from devouring her.

Kimi's dad smiled. Her mother touched Toto's arm as she laughed. Toto didn't even glance at her again. Not once.

And she was left by the stage. Thighs tense. Lungs tight. Watching her baby brother talk about downforce while their Team Principal very, very politely seduced her family.

And within five minutes, her phone buzzed.

TW: office will be left unlocked after 5. lock the door after you.

She stared at it. Then at him. Then at her own reflection in the polished chrome panel next to the stage. And smiled.

By the time the clock hit 5pm, the factory was quiet. Silent, almost. Only the low hum of lights overhead and the distant clatter of some late-shift cleaner echoing faintly down the polished corridor.

Toto's office door was closed. But not locked. Yet.

She stepped in without knocking. Without pausing. Without saying a single word. And he didn't look up right away. He was seated behind the wide glass desk, tie loose, top button undone, flipping half-heartedly through a stack of documents that didn't seem to be holding his attention. His body was still. But his foot tapped once under the desk.

She shut the door behind her. Click. The lock turned. And only then did he lift his eyes.

It was subtle. That shift in posture. That slow glance up from the paper to the girl. But the second he saw her, standing there in the quiet, backlit by soft amber hallway light, eyes locked on his, the whole room changed.

He didn't smile. Not yet. But he did smirk. The kind that curled at one side. Quiet and dangerous. The kind that said, I've been waiting for this. He pushed his chair back slightly. Just enough. Legs spread. Arms resting on the desk edge.

And she moved. No words. No hesitation. She walked forward, dropped her bag on the floor without looking, and stepped between his knees.

Toto's hands stayed where they were. Barely. She climbed onto him, one knee on either side of his thighs, settling into his lap like they'd done this a hundred times. Like his body was hers.

And maybe it was. He inhaled. Sharp. Quiet. His hands lifted slowly, one to the curve of her waist, and the other, to the back of her neck. Firm. Possessive. Spreading through her hair like he owned every strand.

"Scheiße," he muttered under his breath, voice low and reverent.

She said nothing. Just stared down at him from where she sat, breath uneven, lips parted slightly, thighs tense around his legs.

His thumb stroked the base of her skull. "You came," he said, soft.

She blinked. "You told me to."

That made him smile, not smirk, a smile. Like she'd just confirmed something sacred. "And you listen now?" he murmured. "Just like that?"

She tilted her head. "Only when you ask nicely."

His hand tightened at her neck. Not hard. Just enough to feel it. "I didn't," he said.

"No," she whispered, leaning forward just slightly. "You didn't."

He caught her jaw with his other hand. Held her still. Studied her. "You're sure?" he asked. "You want this again?"

She kissed him. No hesitation. No answer. Just her mouth on his. Hot. Deep. Open. It was slow at first. Controlled. But only for a second.

Because the moment he groaned, that low, broken, tired sound, everything snapped. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her down harder against him, his hips already shifting forward, cock straining beneath her even through the fabric.

She gasped into his mouth. He bit her lower lip "Fuck," he muttered, voice guttural now, teeth against her jaw. "You've been driving me fucking insane."

"Good," she breathed, rocking once against him.

He grabbed her hips and stilled them. Hard. "Stop."

She blinked, panting. "What?"

His eyes were dark. Focused. Hungry. "You don't get to tease me now."

"I'm not-"

"You climbed into my lap," he said, fingers digging into her waist. "Locked the door. Straddled me in my own office."

Her breath hitched.

"You're mine now," he said. "So you stay still until I say otherwise."

She shivered, then, slowly, painfully, nodded.

Toto's hand moved back to her neck. Held her there. His other traced down her spine, settling low, dragging her closer until her forehead pressed against his.

They sat like that. Breathing. His cock hard beneath her. Her thighs trembling above him. Everything silent.

Until he whispered, "You're going to regret wearing this dress."

And she whispered back, "Good."

He didn’t speak when he lifted her off his lap. Didn’t ask. Didn’t check. He just dragged her forward on the couch by one arm until she was kneeling on the rug, legs spread wide between his shoes. He looked down at her. Quiet. Steady. Then said, low and brutal, “Open your mouth.”

Her lips parted instantly. She didn’t blink. He stared like he was about to ruin a cathedral.

“Good girl,” he muttered, voice gravel now. Then he reached down. Undid his belt again. Slower this time. Deliberate. She was breathing heavier already, eyes flicking to the waistband of his trousers, the dark line of fabric underneath. And when he pulled himself free? He was already hard again.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “So good.”

She nodded, lips still parted.

“No,” he said. “You don’t get to nod.”

She swallowed. Tried again. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir.”

That made something in his face flicker. Barely. A spark behind the eyes. And then he was cupping the back of her head, guiding her mouth forward, cock pressed to her lips as his other hand tilted her chin.

“Suck,” he ordered.

She did. God, she did. Her mouth was hot. Soft. Tongue already swirling as she hollowed her cheeks and took him in deeper. Toto groaned low in his throat. “Fuck- good girl.”

She moaned around him, and it vibrated up his spine. He grabbed her hair tighter. Started fucking her mouth slowly. Measured. Every thrust was timed like a heartbeat. He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. The only sounds were her gagging softly, her lips stretched wide, the wet suck of her mouth around his cock.

He was watching her face the whole time. “Look at me,” he growled. “Eyes up.”

She glanced up, big, glossy, ruined, and he almost came right there. Her mascara was smudged. Her mouth was slick. And still, she held his stare like she wanted to drown in it.

“You like being used, don’t you?”

She whined around him.

He pulled her hair harder. “Say it.”

“I love it,” she gasped around his cock. “I love being used by you.”

He grunted, pushed deeper. “Fucking knew you would.” He fucked her mouth harder now. Faster. Not merciless, but close. Enough to make her choke just a little, enough to make her thighs clench, enough to make her eyes water. And she took it. Like she’d trained for this. Like it was what her mouth was made for.

Then he pulled out suddenly, dragging her up to her feet with one rough jerk, spinning her around and slamming her chest-first against the window. The Brackley test track glittered in the distance behind the glass. Her tits were pressed flat to the cold pane. She gasped.

Toto kicked her feet apart. “Hands on the window. Don’t fucking move.” She obeyed. Immediately. Shaking. The tension in her legs made her whole body tremble.

He yanked her dress up again, then over her head. She was naked now, exposed to the whole test track. To the sunlit sky. To him. And then he was behind her. Hot. Tall. Hard. The head of his cock pressed to her soaked entrance again. “You want this?” he asked, one hand curling tight around her throat from behind.

“Yes,” she choked out.

“Louder.”

“Yes!”

He slammed into her in one vicious thrust. She screamed. “Fucking take it,” he growled into her neck. “You begged for this.”

And she did. He fucked her like a man possessed. No slow build. No teasing. Just relentless, punishing thrusts that made the glass fog in front of her. Her breath smeared across the window, lips open in silent moans as her whole body was jolted forward with every stroke.

Toto didn’t hold back. He gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. Slammed into her so deep she saw stars. Groaned in her ear like he was trying to mark her from the inside out.

“You know what I’m going to do?” he hissed, voice pure filth. “I’m going to keep you bent over every fucking desk in this building. My office. The sim room. The boardroom. Anywhere you smirk.”

She gasped, legs shaking.

“I’ll fuck the attitude out of you every time,” he snarled. “Until you can’t walk without remembering who owns you.”

“Please-Toto-please-”

“No,” he growled. “Not yet.”

He fucked her harder. Faster. Filthier. And then he stopped. She sobbed. “Turn around,” he ordered.

She stumbled back, dazed, flushed, covered in sweat. He caught her. Pulled her into his chest. Lifted her onto the edge of the desk again. Spread her legs.

Looked her dead in the eye. “Now you’re going to come on my cock,” he said. “While you look me in the fucking face.”

He slid back into her in one brutal thrust. She screamed his name. He gripped her jaw. “Keep your eyes open.”

“I can’t-”

“You can.”

And she did. She came like she was possessed. Clawing at his shoulders, eyes locked on his as the orgasm tore through her like a live wire. She didn’t just moan, she cried. The kind of wrecked sob that came from being split open in every way.

Toto fucked her through it. Didn’t stop. Drove deeper. Dripped sweat onto her collarbone as his own breath hitched. He was close. So close. Then softer he asked, “Where do you want it?” he panted.

“Inside.”

“Fuck-”, and he came. Deep. Hard. Filling her with every last pulse, groaning into her neck, hands tangled in her hair like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.

They collapsed together. Chest to chest. Breath to breath. The office was wrecked. Window fogged. Her dress slightly torn. Her body trembling.

Toto brushed her hair from her forehead. Kissed her temple. “I’m not done with you,” he whispered. “Not even close.”

She smiled. Weakly. Glorious. “Good.”

He smiled too. Dark. Full of promise. Then reached for his phone. “Dinner,” he said. “You’re coming with me. No arguments.”

She didn’t argue.

She just leaned forward, whispered into his ear, “Only if you fuck me again after dessert.”

He was still catching his breath, shirt half unbuttoned, the skin of his chest slick where she’d clawed him, and that smirk was back. Not the quiet, measured one he used for boardrooms. Not the faintly amused one he gave to George when he crashed the simulator for the third time. No, this was different. Slow. Possessive. Filthy in its calm.

She was still perched on the edge of his desk, legs trembling, thighs glossy with him. Her shirt was hanging off one shoulder, hair a mess, lips swollen and jaw bruised where his fingers had held her. She hadn’t moved since he came inside her, hadn’t wanted to.

And Toto, steady as ever, stepped back with the kind of calm only men who live in high-stakes warfare could pull off. “I have something for you,” he murmured, walking to the cabinet near the corner of the room.

She blinked, dazed, trying to reassemble the alphabet in her head. He opened the door with a soft click, reached into the shelf where he kept a few emergency shirts, black Mercedes-branded team kit, crisp and soft and washed a hundred times over, and pulled one out. Turned. Walked back to her.

Held it out. “Put this on.”

She stared. It looked like nothing in his hand. But it was one of those long cuts, meant to layer under jackets. She took it with a weak grin, unfolded it slowly. “This is going to fit me like a dress.”

“Good,” Toto said simply, stepping back. “You’ll look like you belong to me.”

Her breath hitched. No teasing. No flirting. Just the plain, brutal honesty of a man who already had her.

She stood, wobbling slightly. He reached out, steadying her with one palm flat to her waist. She peeled off her ruined shirt and slipped the tee over her head. It fell past her thighs, soft cotton against her raw skin. It smelled like fabric softener and Wolff. She tugged the hem down, glanced at her reflection in the glass. No underwear. No bra. Just his shirt and her own skin, still sticky with him. “This isn’t exactly dinner attire,” she murmured.

Toto didn’t respond. He was staring. The kind of stare that made her throat close. Like he was considering bending her back over the desk. Again. Instead, he leaned down. Picked up her bag, the structured little tote she'd dropped beside the couch when this all began, and handed it to her gently. She took it with slow fingers, watching him.

And then he kissed her. Not her mouth. Not her neck. Her forehead. Soft. Careful. Reverent. Again. Like she was more than what they'd just done. Like he’d just taken her apart and was putting her back together again with one press of his lips.

“You ready?” he asked, voice low.

She nodded.

Toto reached for the lights, turned off all but the soft desk lamp, and opened the door for her with a hand pressed to the small of her back. They stepped out into the hallway. It was quiet. Not empty. Just enough hum in the distance that they had to keep their voices low. Her bare thighs brushed under the hem of the oversized shirt as they walked, and Toto stayed close. Close enough that his hand could return to her waist if she stumbled. Close enough that when they passed an intern headed toward the lift, the poor boy stammered so hard he dropped his clipboard.

Toto didn’t even blink. Just kept walking beside her. One long shadow. One smirk pulling at his mouth.

“Where are we going?” she asked softly as they approached the back staircase.

“Private dinner,” he said. “Not far.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Hotel suite?”

His eyes cut sideways. “You’ll see.”

She didn’t press. Just followed him down the stairs, past the service corridor, through the executive exit where a blacked-out Mercedes EQS waited with the engine humming low and the back door already open.

He helped her in. Slid in beside her. And as the door shut and the glass privacy partition rose behind the driver’s seat, she looked down at the shirt she was wearing, his shirt, oversized and clinging to her bare skin, the hem brushing her thighs, her nipples faintly visible through the cotton.

Toto glanced over. Rested a hand on her knee. And said, “You’re not going to need anything else.”

The car slipped through the Oxford countryside like a whisper. Trees blurred under a pale dusk sky, fields edged with fences older than most empires, and every few miles, the kind of estate you didn’t see unless someone let you.

She watched the land pass by in quiet awe, thighs still sticky beneath Toto’s Mercedes shirt, bare legs curled on the leather seat as her hand rested on the armrest between them. She hadn't said much. She didn’t need to. The air between them was charged and oddly calm. Wrecked and reverent. There was no shame in the silence, just tension coiled like a spring.

By the time they turned off the private road and wound up the drive, her breath hitched without permission. The house wasn’t just big. It was imposing. Built of pale stone and tall glass, the front stretched wide with sharp geometry and soft curves, like someone had cross-bred Bauhaus with old Viennese money. The garden lights were on. Warm. Clean. Minimal. The kind of quiet, curated wealth that didn’t need to try to impress you.

It just was.

Toto opened her door. Handed her out like she was something to be escorted. His palm on her back stayed a second longer than necessary. He didn’t say anything until they crossed into the wide, high-ceilinged entryway. She caught a glimpse of dark marble floors, a floating staircase, some kind of abstract sculpture on the wall that looked more like a blade than art.

Toto tossed his keys into a minimalist tray near the door and turned to her. “I’m cooking,” he said, calm.

She raised a brow, still barefoot, still in nothing but that oversized shirt. “You cook?”

“I do,” he said, already walking toward the kitchen. “I enjoy it. It’s an act of control.”

Of course it was. She followed. The kitchen was almost clinical. White walls, matte black cabinets, brushed steel appliances that buzzed in expensive silence. A sleek island, a double stove, three bottles of wine already chilling in a marble cooler. It was unreal. The kind of space designed by someone who didn’t cook for convenience. He cooked to perfect.

He turned to her and gestured to the far end of the kitchen table. “Bag?”

She handed it over. He placed it gently on the chair, like it mattered. Like everything she brought into his space should be treated with intention. Then, he looked at her. Just once. And before she could ask 'what now?' his hands were on her hips again, lifting her effortlessly onto the edge of the counter beside the stove.

Her bare thighs hit cool quartz. She gasped.

His palm spread across her lower stomach. Firm. Controlling. Like he needed to feel her breath move beneath his skin. He stepped in between her knees, gaze darkening as he took in the sight of her. Bare legs. His team's shirt. No bra. No panties. Nothing but soft heat and sin curling beneath her skin.

She let her hands brace behind her on the counter, head tilting to meet his stare. Then, with a slow smirk, she murmured, “You know I’m gonna drip all over your expensive countertop, right?”

Toto didn’t flinch. Didn’t smirk. Just looked at her, eyes quiet and locked. And said, “Good.”

Her breath caught. His hand slid lower. Between her legs. Parting them with obscene confidence, two fingers dragging through the slick mess between her thighs, just once, just enough to make her gasp and jolt.

He pulled them away. Shining. Then wiped them, deliberately, against the inside hem of his own shirt. “Let me see what I've done to you,” he said, turning casually toward the fridge.

She was speechless. And he? He was already pulling vegetables from a drawer like he hadn’t just fingered her against the counter and claimed her mess like a signature.

“I’m making risotto,” he said over his shoulder. “With asparagus, lemon, and parmigiano.”

“Okay,” she breathed, trying not to melt into the cabinetry.

He opened a drawer. Poured oil into the pan. Grabbed a chopping board. Every motion was exact. Clean. He cooked like he led. With ruthless control and unhurried confidence. The kind of man who could dice onions with the same hands that had choked her until she screamed.

“You’re going to sit there and behave,” he said calmly as he heated the pan. “You don’t touch yourself. You don’t squirm. You don’t even cross your legs.”

She gripped the edge of the counter. “And if I do?”

Toto smirked faintly, throwing the rice into the pan. It sizzled. He stirred once. Then turned to her, cocking his head. “Then I stop cooking,” he said. “And you go to bed hungry.”

She blinked. His smirk grew. And she whispered, “You’re evil.”

“I’m efficient,” he said, squeezing half a lemon into the pot without breaking eye contact. “Now be a good girl and sit there looking ruined while I make you dinner.”

And fuck, she did. She stayed there. Legs spread. Skin damp. Watching him. Salivating at the smell of garlic and lemon and her own arousal pooling beneath her. Every so often, he would glance sideways. Just enough to remind her: I see you.

He plated the food with terrifying elegance. White ceramic. No garnish wasted. He brought a dish to her, placed it beside her knees.

Then reached for a wine glass. And poured.

She reached for the fork, still wide-eyed and on the edge of spiralling, and before she could taste anything, he stepped forward again, between her thighs, pinning her to the counter with one slow drag of his palm over her bare inner thigh.

“Eat,” he said softly. “You’re going to need your strength.”

Her breath hitched again. Because dessert? Dessert was going to be her screaming his name against the window of his bedroom while he made her come so many times she forgot her own.

And Toto? Toto was already planning it. Down to the fucking second.

The light was soft. Morning filtered in through the tall, sheer curtains, casting a pale golden wash across the wide expanse of the bedroom. The bed itself was obscenely large, more square than rectangle, with pillows in disarray, sheets pushed down, and one thick white duvet half-spilled onto the polished oak floor.

She stirred. Bare. Every inch of her was sore in the best way. Muscles low in her back tight from being bent forward too long, thighs trembling from overstimulation, throat dry from begging. She barely remembered making it to the bed after the second round on the kitchen counter. All she remembered was his voice, quiet, sharp, “You’re not done yet, not until I say you are,” and then darkness, moaning, glass fogged, her legs shaking in his arms as he came inside her again.

And now? Now she blinked blearily, curling deeper into the scent of crisp white linen and clean masculine heat. He was already awake. Toto sat beside her, shirtless, in nothing but black boxers. His long legs were folded at the knee, one arm stretched lazily across the headboard, the other holding his iPad at a casual angle. His glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, hair still slightly rumpled at the temples.

And when he saw her eyes flicker open, he smiled. That soft, knowing morning smile. No smirk. No sin. Just quiet satisfaction. The kind of expression that made something warm and stupid bloom in her chest. “Guten Morgen,” he murmured, voice gravel-soft.

She let out a groan and curled toward him, face pressing into the warm plane of his chest. His arm folded around her instantly, palm spreading wide over her bare spine, tugging her into his side like he’d never known the bed without her in it. He kissed her hair. Then, like it was just another line in his morning briefing, said, “Your phone has been pinging for the last hour.”

She groaned again, deeper this time, like the universe had reached into the perfect post-sex cocoon and stabbed her in the ribs.

Toto chuckled low and reached for the device on the nightstand, offering it to her without letting go. “It was vibrating across the floor. I was two minutes from confiscating it.”

She cracked one eye open, took the phone with a pout, and unlocked it. A blur of texts. WhatsApp. Three missed calls. FaceTime Incoming: Kimi.

She whined. Toto smirked. “You don’t have to answer,” he offered, calm.

She looked at him. He nodded once. Permission. And something else. Let him see. So she sighed. Hit accept. Rolled onto her back so her shoulders pressed into the pillows, the thick white duvet tucked strategically over her chest, one bare arm still curled around Toto’s stomach. The call connected. And Kimi’s face filled the screen.

“Where the fuck have you-” he started. Then froze. Dead silent. Because there she was. In bed. In his bosses bed. Hair messy. Skin flushed. Shoulders bare. Covered only by expensive white linens and the thick arm of his literal team principal curled behind her neck.

Kimi blinked. Swallowed. Froze again. Then made a noise so viscerally horrified it felt like the end of time. “You’ve got to be joking me.”

Toto didn’t flinch. Just smiled calmly and angled the camera slightly to better show his face. “Good morning, Kimi.”

Kimi closed his eyes. “No.”

She started laughing. Not cute giggles. Cackling. Actual chaotic laughter, breathless and broken by little whines of I can’t believe this is real.

“I FaceTimed you,” Kimi said, still frozen, still blinking at them both like they were a crime scene. “I thought you were dead. Or kidnapped. Or-”

“I was kidnapped,” she said smugly, curling further into Toto’s side.

Toto kissed the top of her head again. “Not kidnapped,” he corrected. “Held in strategic captivity.”

Kimi looked like he aged five years. “You’re naked.”

“You can’t see anything.”

“I don’t want to see anything!”

Toto nodded, calm as hell. “Then hang up.”

Kimi didn’t. Instead he covered his face with one hand and said, “You knew I was going to call.”

She blinked innocently. “I did not.”

“You absolutely did. You answered this call while naked in the arm of my boss.”

Toto looked pleased. Kimi groaned. “I’m deleting your contact.”

“No you’re not.”

“I’m blocking your number.”

“You’re FaceTiming me again by Tuesday.”

“I need therapy.”

“You need to stop calling me before noon.”

Toto chuckled again. “Kimi. I can arrange for Mercedes’ team psychologist if you’re emotionally impacted by this.”

Kimi flipped him off. She laughed harder. And Toto? Toto just pulled her closer, pressed his mouth to her hair again, and mouthed against her skin, “My girl.” And Kimi, sweet poor fucking Kimi, could do nothing but stare in real-time at the exact moment his big sister became a Wolff.

106 notes · View notes

loafysainz · 4 months ago

Text

🎥 HANDING MY BOYFRIEND MY PANTIES AT DINNER AND GET HIS REACTION

carlos sainz, lewis hamilton, lando norris, max verstappen, charles leclerc, oscar piastri, george russell × reader! warn: 18+, smut, minor dni insp by this trend

Carlos Sainz

Carlos Sainz was a patient man.

But not when it came to you.

He had spent the entire evening watching you, his dark brown eyes tracking your every move. The way your lips wrapped around the rim of your wine glass, the way you crossed and uncrossed your legs under the table, the way you leaned forward just enough to tease him with the barest hint of cleavage.

Carlos had been holding himself back. Barely.

And you? You were about to push him past his limit.

The restaurant was elegant—low lights, soft music, the hum of quiet conversations surrounding you. Carlos sat across from you, dressed in a perfectly tailored black button-down, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, veins prominent as he lazily toyed with his glass. He looked so effortlessly sexy, so unfairly attractive, and you couldn’t help but wonder how far you could push him.

You shifted in your seat, heart pounding, as you subtly reached under the table. You hooked your fingers into your panties, slowly, discreetly, slipping them down your legs, the cool air against your bare skin making you shiver.

Carlos was oblivious, swirling his wine, licking his lips as he studied the menu.

And then—casually, with a small smirk—you reached across the table and placed your panties in his hand.

Carlos froze.

His fingers curled around the fabric instinctively before he even realized what he was holding. He blinked, looking down at his palm.

A beat of silence.

Then another.

And then—oh, fuck.

His entire body tensed. His jaw clenched so hard you thought it might crack. His nostrils flared as he exhaled a sharp breath, his grip tightening around the delicate lace like he was resisting the urge to crush it in his fist.

Slowly—so slowly—Carlos lifted his eyes to meet yours.

Dark. Heavy. Predatory.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at you, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths.

And then—his voice, deep, low, almost a growl—

“Dime que no hiciste lo que creo que hiciste.” (Tell me you didn’t just do what I think you did.)

You tilted your head, pretending to be innocent. “What do you think I did, cariño?”

Carlos inhaled sharply, his fingers flexing around the lace before he shoved it into the pocket of his trousers. His knee bounced under the table, his entire body buzzing with tension. He dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head with a dark chuckle.

“You’re testing me,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You sipped your drink, biting back a smirk. “Maybe.”

Carlos exhaled a slow, measured breath. His fingers tapped against the table, his eyes flickering down to your lap, realization sinking in.

“No panties,” he murmured. His voice was rough, thick with something dangerously close to desperation. He swallowed hard, shifting in his seat like he was physically struggling to stay put.

You crossed your legs slowly, watching the way his jaw ticked. “Mmm.”

Carlos let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Eres un problema, ¿lo sabes?” (You’re a fucking problem, you know that?)

He adjusted in his seat, exhaling harshly. “Now I have to sit here. In this restaurant. Acting normal. While I know you’re sitting there…” His voice dropped, dark, his accent thickening. “All wet. All needy.” He licked his lips, eyes burning with heat. “For me.”

Your breath hitched.

Carlos saw. And smirked.

His knee suddenly pressed against your thigh under the table, firm and possessive, making your pulse skyrocket.

“I should drag you to the bathroom right now,” he muttered, voice thick with frustration. “Make you sit on my lap. Make you ride me slow. Until you can’t stay quiet anymore.”

Your stomach dropped.

Your entire body burned.

Carlos chuckled darkly at your reaction. “Oh, you like that idea?” He tilted his head, his fingers twitching like he was fighting the urge to reach for you. “Would you like it, hmm? Biting your lip, trying not to moan? Knowing that if you make one sound, everyone in this restaurant will know what I’m doing to you?”

You clenched your thighs together instinctively, and Carlos noticed.

His smirk widened, his knee pressing even firmer against you.

He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.

“You started this game, amor.” His voice was a low, dangerous whisper. “Now you have to deal with the consequences.”

Your stomach flipped.

Carlos sat back, stretching his arms over the back of his chair, looking like the picture of relaxation—except for the way

his hands curled into fists, like he was using every ounce of self-control to stop himself from grabbing you.

“You better eat fast,” he muttered, his leg still pressed against yours, his eyes still devouring you.

“Because the second we leave this restaurant?” His voice was gravelly, dripping with hunger.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

—

Lewis Hamilton

Dinner with Lewis was always an experience. He had impeccable taste—whether it was in fashion, cars, or five-star restaurants with private dining rooms that catered to the elite. Tonight was no different. The restaurant was dimly lit, with an intimate atmosphere and a view of the Monaco harbor glistening under the night sky.

Lewis sat across from you, wearing a tailored suit with no tie, the top few buttons of his crisp shirt undone to reveal just a hint of his tattoos. He looked like a damn dream—effortlessly cool, his jewelry catching the soft candlelight, his full lips curving into a smirk as he listened to you talk.

And you? You were about to make things very, very interesting.

The idea had been teasing you all night. The way Lewis had kept his hand on your thigh during the car ride here, the way his deep, smooth voice sent shivers down your spine, the way he knew he was irresistible and used it against you. It was time to turn the tables.

You shifted in your seat, pretending to adjust your dress while slipping your panties down your thighs, letting the lace pool at your ankles before discreetly stepping out of them. You balled them in your hand, heart racing with anticipation.

Lewis was mid-sentence, swirling his wine glass lazily, when you reached across the table and placed the delicate fabric in his palm.

His fingers closed around it instinctively before realization set in.

He blinked, lifting his hand slightly under the table, his expression unreadable at first. And then—oh, then—that signature smirk spread across his lips, slow and devastatingly sexy. His tongue flicked out to wet them, eyes dragging from the panties to your face, amusement flickering behind the heat in his gaze.

“You’re bold tonight, love.” His voice was low, almost a purr.

You took a sip of your champagne, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Lewis exhaled a slow breath, shaking his head. “Oh, you know exactly what I mean.”

His fingers tightened around the lace before slipping them discreetly into the pocket of his blazer.

He leaned forward, his gaze dark and smoldering. “So, what’s the plan, then? You expect me to just sit here, act normal, knowing you’re sitting across from me with nothing underneath that little dress?”

Your lips curled. “That was the idea.”

Lewis chuckled, the deep sound sending a shiver down your spine. He adjusted in his seat, exhaling sharply. “You’re playin’ dangerous, babe.”

“And what are you gonna do about it?” You batted your lashes at him, knowing full well you were poking the bear.

Lewis’s jaw clenched, his eyes dropping to your lips before flicking back up. He lifted his glass, taking a slow sip of wine, his demeanor calm—too calm. That was the most dangerous sign of all.

The waiter arrived, placing your entrées in front of you, completely unaware of the silent war happening at this table.

Lewis picked up his fork, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake off whatever thoughts were running through his mind.

But then—oh, fuck.

You felt the softest brush against your thigh.

Your breath hitched.

Lewis smirked, casually cutting into his steak like he wasn’t dragging his fingers up the inside of your leg beneath the table, like he wasn’t making his way higher and higher with every passing second.

You shot him a glare, shifting in your seat, but that only made him chuckle. “Something wrong?” he asked, voice innocent.

Bastard.

His fingers brushed the apex of your thighs, barely teasing the sensitive skin, and you had to fight the urge to clamp your legs shut.

You inhaled sharply, gripping your fork a little tighter. “You’re really gonna do this here?”

Lewis tilted his head, lips curving. “You started it.”

His touch disappeared just as quickly as it came, leaving you throbbing, your skin hot, your body desperate for more.

And that’s when you knew you were in trouble.

Lewis sat back, stretching out his legs, the picture of relaxed confidence. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, then leaned in slightly.

“When we get back to the hotel…” His voice was a dark promise, smooth as silk. “You better be ready for me, baby.”

Your stomach flipped, heat coiling low in your belly.

Oh, you were so screwed.

Dinner suddenly felt like a countdown to something far more delicious. And by the way Lewis kept stealing glances at you—like he was barely holding himself back—you had a feeling he wouldn’t be ordering dessert.

At least, not at the restaurant.

—

Lando Norris

Dinner with Lando was never boring.

He had a way of making everything fun—whether it was cracking jokes, teasing you, or finding little ways to touch you every chance he got. Tonight was no different. You were at a high-end restaurant in Monaco, overlooking the water, Lando sipping on his cocktail as he playfully nudged your foot under the table.

He looked good—hair slightly tousled, wearing a fitted black suit with no tie, the crisp white of his shirt accentuating his tan skin. The top two buttons were undone, just enough to tease you with a glimpse of his collarbone.

And right now? He had no idea what was coming.

So, you decided it was time to turn the tables.

The restaurant was buzzing with quiet conversations, the candlelight casting a soft glow over the table, and Lando? He was completely oblivious, sipping his drink, scrolling through the menu, looking criminally good in his tailored black suit.

You took a slow breath, pretending to shift in your seat, your hands disappearing beneath the table. Your pulse thrummed as you hooked your fingers into your panties, dragging them down your legs, over your heels, and slipping them into your palm.

And then—casually, innocently—you reached across the table and pressed them into his hand.

Lando took them instinctively, still half-distracted, his thumb brushing over the fabric—soft, lacy, unmistakably not something that belonged in a restaurant.

He froze.

His blue eyes flicked down at his hand, then up at you.

His breath hitched. “No.” His voice was a strangled whisper. He blinked, like his brain couldn’t quite process what just happened. He looked back down at the lace, gripping it between his fingers, and then back at you—eyes wide, pupils blown.

“No fucking way.”

You just took a sip of your drink, acting

completely unfazed. “Something wrong?”

Lando let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his curls. “Are you—” He exhaled sharply. “You didn’t just—” His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. “Tell me you’re fucking with me right now.”

You bit your lip, shaking your head.

Lando’s jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap. His grip on the panties tightened before he hastily shoved them into the pocket of his blazer, his fingers twitching like he was fighting every single urge running through his body.

His leg bounced under the table. He dragged his hands down his face. “You—” He let out a low, breathy laugh, but it was strained, like he was hanging on by a thread.

“You little—” His voice cut off, his head tilting back slightly as he inhaled through his nose.

You could see it. The shift. The way his entire demeanor darkened. The way his hands clenched into fists like he didn’t trust himself to keep them to himself.

And then, he leaned forward, eyes locked onto you, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re gonna fucking regret that.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

The waiter arrived at that exact moment, asking if you needed more wine, completely oblivious to the absolute meltdown Lando was having in real-time.

Lando barely glanced at him, his jaw clenched so tight his words were almost clipped. “No. We’re good.”

The moment the waiter left, Lando shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. “I hope you realize,” he muttered, “that I now have to sit through this entire dinner with a fucking hard-on.”

You smirked. “Poor baby.”

His eye twitched.

His knee suddenly pressed against the inside of your thigh under the table, firm, possessive, making you inhale sharply.

Lando smirked at your reaction, his fingers twitching as if debating whether or not to reach for you. “No panties. Just sitting there. All pretty. Knowing what you just did to me.” His voice was dark. Husky. “You’re playing a dangerous fucking game.”

You swallowed, shifting slightly, pressing your thighs together, and Lando noticed. His smirk widened.

“Ohhh,” he murmured, tilting his head. “You think you’re in control here?”

He leaned in, voice dropping even lower, lips barely an inch from your ear.

“Just wait till we get back to the hotel, baby,” he whispered. “I’m gonna make sure you feel what you just did to me.”

Heat coiled in your stomach.

Lando sat back, stretching his legs out, exhaling slowly. His fingers drummed against the table, his eyes flickering over your body, taking his time, like he was memorizing you.

“Eat your dinner, baby.” he muttered, shifting in his seat again, adjusting himself. “After we done this. You’re mine.”

Your entire body burned.

And suddenly, dinner felt like the longest fucking event of your life.

—

Charles Leclerc

You knew exactly what you were doing.

Charles Leclerc was the perfect mix of sweet and sinful—soft when he loved you, but intense when he wanted you. He could melt you with just a smile, but when he needed you? When you pushed him too far? That was when he became dangerous.

Tonight, you were playing with fire.

The restaurant was romantic—low lights, soft music, a flickering candle between you. Charles looked breathtaking across the table, his white button-down slightly unbuttoned, his hair tousled in that effortless way that made your fingers itch to run through it. His green eyes sparkled in the dim light, his lips curling in a small, amused smile as he sipped his wine.

You wanted to see how far you could push him.

So, while Charles was distracted, you reached under the table. Your fingers brushed the hem of your dress, heart racing as you slowly—so slowly—slid your panties down your legs. The soft lace glided over your thighs, your knees, pooling at your ankles before you kicked them off.

Charles was still flipping through the menu, completely oblivious.

You swallowed a smirk, reached across the table, and—without a word—placed the fabric in his open palm.

Charles didn’t react at first.

Then—

His fingers froze.

His eyes flickered down, scanning the lace in his palm, his lips parting slightly.

Then—very slowly—he lifted his gaze to yours.

His breath hitched.

His jaw tensed.

His entire body went rigid.

“Mon amour…” His voice was a whisper, but there was something different about it. Something deep, something dark.

You tilted your head innocently. “Yes, baby?”

Charles exhaled sharply, his hand disappearing under the table as he shoved the panties into his pocket. His fingers twitched against the fabric, his entire body suddenly filled with nervous energy.

“No.” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “No, you—” His voice broke slightly, and he cleared his throat, leaning forward.

“You are telling me…” His accent was thicker now, deeper, as he swallowed hard. “That you are sitting here. With nothing under your dress.”

You nodded, biting back a smirk.

Charles groaned. His head fell back slightly, eyes fluttering shut as he muttered something very fast in French under his breath.

Then he looked back at you—his pupils blown, his breath uneven.

“Baby,” he whispered. His voice was soft, but there was a raw edge to it. His hand found your knee under the table, his thumb brushing slow circles against your skin. The touch was gentle, but his grip was firm.

Possessive.

His fingers inched higher.

You gasped softly.

Charles inhaled sharply, his hand freezing before it could go any higher. His jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white.

“No,” he muttered. “No, I can’t—” He cut himself off, exhaling harshly.

His eyes were burning.

“You’re making this very difficult for me, mon amour.”

You smirked. “That’s the idea.”

Charles let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Incroyable.” (Unbelievable.)

Then—so suddenly—he grabbed his napkin and dropped it on the floor.

“Oh,” he muttered, completely unconvincing. “How clumsy of me.”

Your eyes widened. “Charles, don’t—”

Too late.

He dipped under the table.

Your heart stopped.

“Charles—” Your breath hitched as you felt the ghost of his lips brush against the inside of your knee.

Then higher.

And higher.

Your entire body tensed.

His hands rested on your thighs, warm and steady, his breath hot against your bare skin.

Your pulse skyrocketed.

“Charles,” you whispered, barely breathing.

His voice came from under the table, low and teasing. “What is it, chérie?”

Your hands gripped the tablecloth, panic and desire swirling together in your chest. “You need to come up.”

He hummed. “Do I?”

His lips skimmed the inside of your thigh.

Your breathing stuttered. “Charles—”

Then—

A loud noise from the kitchen made him jolt.

His head smacked against the underside of the table.

“Merde!” (Fuck!)

He shot up so fast he nearly knocked over his wine glass, his cheeks flushed, his hair messy, his lips red.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, trying not to laugh.

Charles groaned, rubbing the back of his head. “I hate you.”

You giggled. “You love me.”

His eyes darkened.

“Oh, mon amour,” he murmured, leaning forward, his voice dripping with promise.

“You will regret this when we get home.”

Your stomach flipped.

Charles smirked.

Then he picked up his menu, casually flipping through it like he hadn’t just been under the table.

Like he wasn’t still rock hard.

Like he wasn’t about to absolutely destroy you the second you were alone.

You swallowed hard.

You were so screwed.

—

Max Verstappen

Max Verstappen was competitive in everything.

On the track, he was ruthless. In life, he always wanted to win. But in the bedroom?

He didn’t just compete—he owned.

And tonight, you were playing with fire.

The restaurant was high-end, filled with soft chatter and the occasional clink of wine glasses. Max sat across from you, looking effortlessly sexy in a black dress shirt with the top few buttons undone, his strong forearms resting on the table. His blue eyes flickered up from his menu, locking onto yours with that signature intensity.

“Why are you smirking?” he asked, voice laced with suspicion.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you reached under the table, heart pounding as you hooked your fingers into the sides of your panties. Slowly—so slowly—you slid them down, feeling the lace brush against your bare skin.

Max had no idea what was coming.

Once the fabric was off, you balled it up in your hand and reached across the table. “Here,” you said casually, dropping the delicate lace into his palm.

Max’s brows furrowed. His fingers curled around the fabric, and then—

His entire body went still.

His grip tightened.

His jaw locked.

You saw the exact moment realization hit. His ocean-blue eyes darkened, flickering between the panties in his hand and you, sitting there, completely bare under your dress.

Max inhaled sharply. “Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice was low—dangerously low.

You leaned forward, eyes playful. “Something wrong, baby?”

Max’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers disappearing under the table. He shoved the panties into his pocket so fast you almost laughed. His

other hand gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white.

“Tell me,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Are you sitting here, at this table, with nothing under that dress?”

You nodded.

His nostrils flared.

“Jesus Christ.”

You smirked. “Cat got your tongue, Max?”

His gaze snapped to yours, and suddenly, the air between you changed.

The playful energy shifted into something heavier.

Something dangerous.

Max leaned forward, his voice low and sharp. “You think this is funny?”

You shrugged, enjoying the way his grip tightened on the table, his breath growing uneven. “A little.”

He exhaled through his nose, his jaw clenching so tight it looked painful.

Then—so suddenly—he sat back, a slow, wicked smirk curling his lips.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Game on, liefje.” (Sweetheart.)

Your stomach flipped.

Max shifted in his seat, stretching his legs

out under the table—until his knee pressed firmly between your thighs. Your breath hitched, your body going rigid as he applied the lightest pressure.

Your eyes widened. “Max—”

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “What? Something wrong?”

His knee pressed harder.

You swallowed hard, your breath stuttering as heat flooded your body. “You’re evil.”

He grinned, completely unbothered. “And you’re an idiot if you think I’m letting you get away with this.”

His fingers drummed casually against the table as he continued, voice slow and taunting. “You know, I was going to take my time with you tonight.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “But now?”

His voice dropped even lower.

“Now, I have no choice but to ruin you.”

Your entire body shivered.

Max smirked. He knew exactly what he was doing.

His knee pressed higher, his strong thigh now between your legs, keeping you right where he wanted you. “Look at you,” he mused, his accent thick, teasing. “So quiet all of a sudden. Where’s that bratty attitude now, huh?”

You glared at him, but the effect was lost

when your breath hitched at the way he was touching you.

Max chuckled darkly. “Oh, baby,” he murmured. “You just made the biggest mistake of your life.”

Your mouth went dry.

Max picked up his menu, pretending to study it, but his knee stayed right where it was.

The worst part?

He acted like nothing was happening.

Like he wasn’t pressing you against the chair.

Like he wasn’t completely hard under the table.

Like he wasn’t planning a thousand ways to make you pay for this

the second you were alone.

You shifted in your seat, desperate for some relief.

Max caught it immediately. His grip on the table tightened, his breathing sharp.

Then—so quietly only you could hear—he whispered, “Do that again, and I swear to God, I’ll drag you into the bathroom right now.”

You froze.

Max’s smirk was lazy, but his eyes?

His eyes were pure fire.

—

Oscar Piastri

Oscar Piastri was a problem.

No, Oscar was a problem because he was impossible to read.

When he was mad, he didn’t explode—he got quiet. When he was turned on, he didn’t stumble over his words or blush—he became dangerous.

And tonight?

You had just challenged him.

The restaurant was sleek and modern, the

kind of place that matched Oscar’s cool, composed energy. He sat across from you, dressed simply in a fitted black shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the veins on his forearms. His fingers tapped against the table absentmindedly as he scrolled through the wine menu, completely unaware of what was coming.

You shifted in your seat, heart pounding as you reached beneath the table. With slow, deliberate movements, you slid your panties down, feeling the soft lace brush over your thighs, your knees—until they were off completely.

Then, with a calm smile, you reached across the table.

“Here,” you murmured, dropping the delicate fabric into his open palm.

Oscar didn’t react immediately.

His fingers curled around the lace, his grip firm but unreadable. His eyes flickered down, scanning the fabric like it was nothing more than a business card someone had handed him.

Then, finally, he looked at you.

And fuck.

His brown eyes were steady, calculating—sharp.

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t smirk, didn’t blush, didn’t flinch.

He just… stared.

Long enough that you shifted in your seat, suddenly less sure about what you’d just done.

Then—slowly—he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table.

His voice was quiet. Calm.

“You’re not wearing anything under that dress.”

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed. “No.”

He hummed, nodding slightly as he tucked the panties into his pocket like they were nothing. Then he picked up his menu, flipping through it as if this was just another casual dinner.

Your stomach flipped.

That was it? No teasing? No reaction?

Oscar glanced up, catching your slight frown. His lips curled into the smallest smirk.

“You expected me to crack, didn’t you?”

You hesitated. “Maybe.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?”

You blinked. “I—”

Oscar shut his menu, setting it aside. Then—so suddenly—he reached across the

table, gripping your wrist. Not rough. Not forceful.

But firm.

His thumb brushed against your pulse.

You knew he could feel how fast it was racing.

His voice dropped, calm and cold.

“You think you can just hand me your panties and expect me to lose control?”

You swallowed.

His grip tightened.

“No, baby.” His voice was deadly soft. “That’s not how this works.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Oscar exhaled through his nose, sitting back like he wasn’t currently ruining your entire life with just his voice.

Then—just to be cruel—he leaned in slightly, dropping his voice so only you could hear.

“I’m going to finish my drink.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Then we’re going to leave.”

Your thighs clenched together.

Oscar smirked. He noticed.

“And when we get home,” he murmured, “you’re going to get on your knees and apologize.”

Your breath hitched.

Oscar leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered, picking up his glass and taking a slow sip.

Then, just for fun, he tilted his head and smirked.

“Still think this was a good idea?”

You were so screwed.

—

George Russell

George Russell was a gentleman.

Polite. Well-mannered. The kind of man who held doors open, pulled out your chair, and kissed the back of your hand just to see you blush.

But there was a danger in that charm.

Because underneath all that posh, British elegance?

George was ruthless.

And tonight?

You were about to learn just how much.

The restaurant was candlelit, expensive, and filled with the quiet hum of conversation. George sat across from you, impossibly handsome in a tailored navy

suit, the top two buttons of his shirt undone just enough to tease. His Rolex gleamed under the soft light as he picked up his wine glass, fingers wrapping around the stem with effortless grace.

You watched him, heart pounding, as you slowly—deliberately—slid your hands under the table.

George didn’t notice at first. He was reading the menu, his brows slightly furrowed, completely unaware that you were currently slipping off your panties in the middle of a five-star restaurant.

Your breath hitched as you finally pulled them free, the delicate lace pooling in your hand.

“George.”

Then, with a coy smile, you reached across the table.

He looked up, eyes warm. “Yes, darling?”

You placed your panties in his open palm.

George blinked.

His fingers curled around the lace, and for a moment, he just stared at you, completely unreadable.

Then—so slowly—his lips parted, his tongue briefly darting out to wet them.

His jaw ticked.

You smirked. “Something wrong?”

You saw the exact second realization hit—the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, his grip tightening just slightly around the fabric.

George exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “You are unbelievable.”

You leaned in, tilting your head. “Why? Is Mr. Russell flustered?”

His eyes darkened.

“No,” he murmured, voice low. “I’m just debating whether I should take you home right now or make you suffer first.”

Your stomach dropped.

You watched him, heart pounding.

George sighed dramatically, slipping the lace into his suit pocket like it was just another accessory. Then, as if nothing happened, he picked up his wine glass and took a slow, deliberate sip.

The way his jaw clenched as he swallowed. The way his fingers tapped against the table—controlled, measured. The way he refused to break eye contact.

Then—so suddenly you almost gasped—he leaned forward, his voice silky smooth.

“Tell me something, darling,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Are you currently sitting there, at this table, with nothing under that pretty little dress?”

You swallowed. “Yes.”

George grinned.

Not his usual, charming smile.

This was something else.

Something dangerous.

“Good girl.”

Your breath hitched.

George hummed, pleased with your reaction. He reached for his drink again, bringing it to his lips before pausing—his smirk deepening.

Then—so casually it ruined you—he whispered, “Spread your legs.”

Your eyes widened. “George—”

“Shh.” He took a slow sip of wine, eyes twinkling with pure amusement. “You wanted to play, love. Now be a good girl and listen.”

Heat flooded your body.

You hesitated for half a second too long.

George raised a brow. “I’m waiting.”

Your breath came in short, uneven bursts as you obeyed, shifting slightly in your seat, thighs parting under the table.

George’s smirk turned positively wicked.

“Such a good girl.”

Your entire body shuddered.

He leaned back, completely unbothered, pretending to scan the menu.

Meanwhile, you were a mess. Your skin burned. Your pulse raced. Your thighs trembled because holy shit—he wasn’t even touching you, and yet, you were completely at his mercy.

Then—just to ruin you—George tilted his head, voice smooth as silk.

“You know,” he mused, “I was planning on taking my time with you tonight.”

You clenched your fists in your lap.

He grinned. “But now?”

He placed his menu down.

“Now, I think I’ll take you home and remind you exactly who’s in charge.”

Your breath hitched.

George chuckled, reaching for his drink once more.

Then, with a wink, he murmured,

“Finish your wine, darling. You’re going to need it.”

END

hshshshsh idk why but my drafts keep posting themselves?? Like, I’m literally just editing them then it suddenly posted?!? And if not that, sometimes my drafts just disappear :( like wtf?? hshshshs its soooo annoying.

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sydwritess · 14 hours ago

Text

The Life of Racing Pt. 4

Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: through it all, the racing, the media, the meetings. What matters to Lando the most is you. His home life is just as important as track life. Some days, he doesn't balance it easily. But through it all, the both of you try. Going through some challenges, but always coming out together, hand in hand again.

Second Person POV

Warning: swearing

Notes: my first F1 series! Requests are open!

01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08

It had only taken an hour to get to New York, being so close from Montreal. Everybody started getting off the plane, bags in hand, crowding the exit.

You waited by your seat, not wanting to get involved with the crowd yet. Once it died down, you started making your way forward, eventually exiting the plane.

You were walking through the airport, the crowd separating in their own ways. You just wanted to make it to your hotel for the night so you could get ready.

The airport was busy, security lines filled, people shopping and eating their just because, the homeless people. Just what you thought. It wasn't any different.

You looked at the address of the hotel. It was downtown. You walked outside the airport, standing off to the side and going on your Uber app.

"Y/n, you need a ride?" A voice says next to you. You look over to see Lewis standing there.

"Uh, sure. Yeah, thank you." You say. He nods, and you start walking to his car. You put your bags into his car and got in, he started driving to your hotel.

"So... you and Lando, huh?" He asks, his voice cutting sharply through the silence.

"How do you know?" You say quickly.

"Lando wasn't exactly quiet on the plane." He said, a smile forming on his face.

"Damn." You whisper. "Please don't tell anyone. He can't afford to get fired or, worse, or something -" You say.

"I won't, I promise." he says, putting his hand up from the wheel slightly.

"It's not that I'm ashamed of dating him, but..." You pause. "You see all the shit Horner's going through." You say quietly.

"Trust me. I do. It's not pretty." He laughs out. You nod your head and look out the car window.

He drove you down through the city, reaching the hotel. he parked the car and you sat in there. Not getting out.

"Do you... do you still- you know." You say quietly. He looks at you confused.

"Do you still smoke when you're nervous?" You ask.

"No, that was a couple of times in the past." He says. You sigh slightly.

"Why? What's going on?" He asks.

"I just... I don't know, maybe it's stress. But I can't like calm down. Whether it's at night, restless nights. Or at work, or just... anywhere, I guess. I don't know, people say that I'm too on edge sometimes." You say.

"Well, first of all. I wouldn't listen to them unless you see it yourself. And second... do you think that's the best way?"

"Look, I've trying multiple fucking things, a fucking north pole's list long of things and none of them work." You say. He let's out a slight laugh.

"There's this place my friend works at. On West 33rd Street," He says. You nod.

"Thank you." You say you open the door and step out of the car.

"Y/n."

"Yeah?"

"Just... don't get into much. Once a month. That's your limit. Once every other month at that." He says, pointing to you and smiling.

"I know. I won't." You say. You shut the door and get your bags out of the back before walking into the hotel.

"Hi, Y/n Y/l/n, should be one of the top floors." You say.

"Yep, I just need you to sign in here, and here's your card." The lady says. You sign on the tablet and take the card.

You walk over to the elevators and click the button. The doors open, and you walk inside, clicking the top floor button. The elevator slowly rises up, taking a couple of minutes before you finally reach your floor.

You walk down the hallway, reaching your door quickly before walking in. The room was small, which you didn't mind. You drop your bags down and take out your phone to look at the time.

4:30 P.M. You had three hours before you had to be down to time square. You grab your keys and your phone and walk out of the door.

You go down the elevator and through the lobby, walking outside and through downtown. It was only a couple of blocks until you reached 33rd Street.

You walk down it, seeing the shop lit up. You walk inside, the bell ringing. No one was in there, only the shop owner.

You look around, not even knowing what to do. Or to get.

"You must be Lewis's girl, huh?" The guy asked behind the counter.

"Friend. Just a friend." You say.

"Okay... what are you here to get? He said it's your first time buying." He said. You walk over to the counter, standing across from him.

"Yeah... I have no idea." You say longingly.

"Well, what's the main reason you need a buy?"

"Uh- I just feel like, nervous all the time, overwhelmed, maybe." You say, he nods his head.

"Can't sleep at night, just... restless."

"Restless or awake?"

"Just restless. I'll be tired but can't go to sleep. The people I talk to say I'm on edge all the time." You say.

"Alright, give me one second." He says.

He starts slowly walking around the shop, looking at everything he has. You let out a deep breath, staying at the counter.

"Alright." He says, walking back over to you.

"I got this." he says, putting a jar down on the counter.

"And these. Do you know how to do this?" he asks, placing papers down on the counter.

"Yeah, not that clueless." You say.

"Alright. And since you're good friends with Lewis... family friends discount comes to 29.30 dollars." He says.

"Thanks." You smile. You give him the money and grab your bag, walking out of the shop.

You quickly shove the small bag in the pocket of your hoodie and walk down the street. You reach the hotel again going up to your room.

You unlock your room door, shutting it quietly. You walk over to your bed and put the bag down.

You look around the room more, and you notice a door there. You didn't even notice it before. Suddenly, you hear a knock come from it.

You slowly go over to it, opening it slowly. On the other side, Lando stands there, once again, a big smile plastered on his face.

"Hey, Roomie." He smiles, walking to your side of the room.

"Hey?" You question.

"Isn't this nice. A doorway between our rooms." He said, sitting on your bed.

"You requested it, didn't you?" You ask, shutting the door and going over to your suitcase.

"No, it's just the luck of God love." He smirks. You laugh slightly, opening your suitcase and going through your clothes.

You finally find a dress to wear for tonight. It was somewhat tight fitted but ruffled, making it loose looking. It was kind of see-through to and strapless, but one shoulder was covered by the fabric, making one arm into a sleeve.

You went into the bathroom to put it on. Meanwhile, Lando was exploring your room, acting like it was a different country. You fixed the dress just right, folding it where it needed to be folded, and adjusting the sleeve.

You walk out of the bathroom and go sit at the desk, grabbing your hair supplies on the way.

"Oo, what's in here?" He asks aloud. He starts going through the bag from the smoke shop. The one you hoped he wouldn't pay attention to.

"Wait... your smoking?" He asks. You snap your head around to face him.

"It's - it's only to help me sleep." You say your body freezing.

"You can't sleep?" He asks.

"No... not really."

"Why haven't you told me?"

"I haven't really had time to. We have to hide from like everyone. And when someone does look at us, they think that were together." You say.

"But we are together."

"I know, but they don't know we are." You say, turning back around in the chair. You continued doing your hair. The room was silenced.

"So why don't we show them we are." Lando says.

"What?"

"Tonight. We show up and say we're together." He says.

"Cute."

"I know... you've told me many times before." He said flattered.

"Lando-"

"Please? Look, if we get fired, then so be it. If people give you a hard time, then I'll say it was my idea. If people want to assume shit, then let them assume it." He says.

You sat there thinking. Silent.

"I'll be back." He said, walking back into his room. He was gone for around ten minutes when he came back, full suit on and hair somewhat done.

He walked over to you as you just finished your hair.

"Let me do this. If they have something to say about it... then we'll shut them down." He said, wrapping your arms around you lightly.

"Okay." You say. He smiles before patting your shoulders.

"We have a good hour right?" He asks.

"Yeah, why?"

"Want to smoke?" He suggests, holding up the jar.

"Not here, are you crazy?" You say.

He sighs. "Fine, but later. We'll have a party." He says, smirking.

You finished getting ready for the event, Lando was ready in ten minutes, doing nothing but watching you. Once you're ready, you leave the hotel. You and Lando were in the elevator, almost to the lobby.

"Alright, so do we get the triple chocolate muffin before pictures or after pictures?" He asks. The door opens, and you both walk out.

"Your really hung on that muffin aren't you?" You tease.

"It's sounds good!" He expresses. You make your way to his car. You walk out to it, get in a drive off.

You quickly get to Rockefeller Center. You both walk in and go to the elevators. Instead of clicking the up button, Lando clicks the down button.

"Oh my God." You say quietly, smiling. He looks back at you and smiles.

You both get in the elevator, slowly descending down. You reach rock bottom quickly. You go down the hallway filled with people and reach the shop.

"Wow, look at all of these options." Lando says, mesmerized by the bakery. You stand back and let him order. The women get's the muffin quickly, and he pays and walks towards you.

"You should really have a bite. It's so good." He says, his mouth full of food.

"We need to go." You laugh out.

The two of you rush down to the elevators, getting in one and going all the way to the top floor.

"That... was the best muffin I've ever had." He said.

"Is that your new liking?" You ask.

"Remind me to order a dozen of these before we leave." He says you can't help but laugh.

It takes a while to get up to the top. When you do, you step out of the elevator into the hallway. There were benches inside where people were sat.

"Ready?" He asks, holding up your hand.

"Not with that mess." You say, pointing to the chocolate on his hands.

"Oh shit- can I just- uh." He looked around and found a towel dispensary. He takes one, wipes his hands, and throws it out.

"You are such a man, child." You say, giggling at him. He grabs your hand, walking you out to the balcony where you saw every driver there. Oscar was the first to see you.

"I fucking new it mate." He smirked.

"Good at keeping secrets." Lando said.

"Not that good." He said, turning to you. "I mean - just gawking at you every second he could, like - he was in a trance." Oscar said, smiling widely.

"You can go fuck right off." Lando joked.

"That's your fault." You say.

"Ah, amigo. Veo que finalmente conseguiste a la mujer de tus sueños." Carlos says, opening his arms, walking up to the three of you.

Lando just smiled widely.

"And she took me to get a triple chocolate muffin." Lando said, shaking hands with Carlos.

"Ah, I bet you heard non-stop about that." Carlos says, looking at you.

"Sadly." You say.

Lando and you jump around the balcony, talking to multiple other drivers before picture time. The cameraman had each person stand in a specific spot and a specific posture.

You and Lando stood of bext to each other towards the end. Multiple pictures were taken before you were free to go again.

"Mate, you ready for this premier? Time square shut down just for is." George smirked, looking at Lando.

"Yeah, I know. That's great." Lando smiled. He and George talked for another five minutes or so until Lando started pulling you away back inside.

"What are you doing?" You giggle as Lando grabs your hand and pulls you to the elevator.

"Going down to the bakery before we leave." He smirks.

"Oh my god." You mumble, smiling at him.

The elevator doors quickly open and you two start slowly going down to the basement again.

"You know... now that were official official." Lando said.

He wrapped his hand around your waist, pulling you closer to him and slowly kissing you. You hear the sleeve of his other arm rustle and look over to see him flipping off a camera in the corner of the elevator.

"Oh my." You laugh out. He smiled before kissing you one last time. Just in time for the doors to open.

You both quickly walk down to the bakery and inside.

"Yeah, hi. Can I just have your whole stock of those muffins there." Lando asks the women, pointing to the chocolate muffins.

She nods politely and starts grabbing the tray, more then 15 were on there. She quickly boxes them up, and Lando paid for them, grabbing the bag and walking back out.

You went back to the elevator and slowly rose to ground level.

"You seriously need to try this." Lando said, mouth full of food and bakers box open in his hands.

You laugh slightly before taking a small bite of his.

"What- hey no no no! That's my muffin!" He whines. You giggle at him.

"When you stop wiping your shoes in my car, I'll get my own muffin." You say, smirking.

You walk out of the elevator and through the lobby of the building.

"Wow, you really did buy the whole stock." Carlos said, catching uo with us.

"Mate, these are the best muffins I'll ever have." Lando said. He closed the box and put it back in the bag, walking our to the car and putting it in there.

You and Lando got in his car, driving off to the premier downtown.

Hey loves! Pt. 4 is here! Hope you like! Comment to be added to the tag list! Requests are open!

Tag list:

@mimisweetz @landofotographyy

@latay7

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