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dpr-stay · 2 years ago

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Through the years | D.K

Doh Kyungsoo x f1driver!Reader

Warnings: Swears, a lot of crack

WC: 9.1k (ik, kill me now)

Howdy Cowpeople! This one is... hefty. This wasn’t supposed to be as long as it was but when I get in a groove... I think I made it obvious but I just wanted it to be over L O L. This one is pretty niche, but hopefully it can be enjoyed by both sides as it is a driver!reader.

(I didn't edit this, whoops)

2015

“Can you explain this picture?” The reporter asks, hovering in front of you with a phone in hand. The crappy quality is amplified as they have zoomed into the point where the picture is unrecognizable. You squint your eyes to see it and can’t make out quite what they’re trying to show.

“Sorry, w-what is that?” You ask, drawing back and squinting your eyes, resisting the urge to close them from exhaustion. Whoever decided it would be a good idea to do interviews after nearly 100 continuous laps in some barely held together race car with no break was a sadist. No other explanation.

“Oh! It’s a picture of you in a car with a guy.” The reporter said eagerly and shoved the phone your way. You briefly looked at the camera, an unimpressed look on your face, before turning back to the phone and squinting again.

You paused for a minute and drew back, your face still scrunched up, and exhaled.

“Nahhhhhh.” The drew out word left your mouth.

The reporter’s head tilted and they frowned.

“But it is! It’s you in Seoul after the Japanese Grand Prix!” He continued, looking very determined. You plastered a confused expression on your face.

“I’ve never been to Seoul before.” His face dropped and he turned back to his phone, as though trying to rationalize what he was hearing.

“Have you just taken a picture of… two random people in a car? To me it honestly doesn’t even look like anything cause it’s so zoomed in but to each their own.” You finished your words with a shrug.

“No, my source told me that that was 100% you! They said they saw you get in the car at the airport.” He continued on, undeterred by your flat disregard.

“I hate to say it, your contact’s wrong. I’ve never even set foot in the country.” You shrugged before turning to your PR manager who was gesturing for you to leave, with rather forceful movements. That was to clue you in that you were in trouble. With her personally or with the boss man, you didn’t know.

“Lovely to see you again, though.” You smiled and held your hand over. The interviewer tentatively took it and you exchanged good-byes before you turned around and left to go onto more interviews. The glance you exchanged with your PR manager told you that you were lucky you had not been caught out on your multiple lies and you heaved a sigh of relief to yourself.

Being the only female driver in a heavily male dominated sport was incredibly stressful. Add to that the eyes of reporters trying to find you doing anything remotely weird to spin it into a scandal and you had a lot of things to worry about. Especially since you had just started a relationship with a highly coveted Kpop singer which you were determined to keep under wraps.

You both had a bet running with each other. The first person to reveal the relationship would lose. There was no consequence but your pride, something which both of you had a bit too much of.

And so, a game was born. It simultaneously made you more careful of revealing your relationship while also making it a fun game.

This also meant that you had to start constantly lying to reporters to get out of tricky situations. Surely nothing bad could ever come from this.

2016:

“How does it feel to be a key contender for the championship?” Asked a reporter, directing it to, of course, Lewis Hamilton, who was sat beside Daniel in a panel of drivers. You were sat on the other side of Daniel, the small desk in front of you reaching for miles on either side.

As Lewis gave the carbon copy response that he had given to every interviewer so far, Daniel leaned over to whisper in your ear.

“I’m surprised they haven’t called him out on that yet.” He then reached for his plastic water bottle and took a sip. You considered this for a second before leaning to his side and answered, not turning your face from the crowd of reporters.

“I’m surprised they haven’t called you out on your disgusting trim.” He jolted forward at this unprompted attack on his hair and the choking sound he emanated drew attention from all in the room, all watching him with curious eyes as he tried to regain his breath.

“You alright mate?” Lewis asked, one of his eyebrows arching.

“Y-yeah I’m fine.” Daniel replied, waving his hand, eager to have attention off of his spluttering. It took a while but eventually all the cameras were aimed back at Lewis, so Daniel took the opportunity to elbow you hard in the side, your reaction being to topple off your chair dramatically. Usually one for the dramatics, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen Daniel want the cameras off him so much.

Hidden behind a small desk, you could only hear the questioning tones calling out your name and see Daniel’s slightly panicked face urging you to get up and back on your chair. With one single hand, you reached for the desk and slowly pulled yourself up.

You released a deep breath as you hauled yourself into your seat and turned to face the crowd of reporters who were looking at you. With a grand hand gesture, you motioned for them to continue with their interviews and turned slightly to Daniel with a smile. He shot you back an exasperated glance before your name was called from the crowd of reporters. You looked towards the reporter and he began speaking.

“So, as you’re the only female on the grid I feel the need to ask, if you could date any of the drivers, who would it be?” The eager face he had contrasted with your entirely unimpressed face. You could hear Daniel begin to start speaking and you could feel the defensive energy emanating from the rest of the drivers on the panel, but before any of them could interrupt with scathing criticism about the misogyny that permeated the question, you replied to the reporter.

“Literally none of them, I’d rather die.” Your response was met with general silence before Daniel started laughing as usual.

“Really? You wouldn’t fancy any of them?” The reporter asked, almost in disbelief.

“No!” You said almost equally in disbelief.

“I’m fine with what I have at home!” You added on after a second.

“Are you saying you’re in a relationship???” The reporter was on the edge of his seat, others shoving their microphones and cameras trying to get a good shot. You dramatically pondered that for a second before replying.

“I wouldn’t say that, I just have other things at home.” You said that and then leaned back, shrugged, and didn’t say anything else into the mic even at the reporters continual uproar as they took in the implications of that statement.

You, luckily, were able to avoid the increasingly weird questions by just not answering and smiling. You weren’t as lucky to miss the smirks thrown your way by the other drivers.

2017:

“It doesn’t count!” You said in disbelief, aiming it at the microphone of your phone.

“Mmm I’d say it counts.” Kyungsoo replied back teasingly, his voice echoing into your AirPods.

“You can’t go back on your word!! You said it was fine last year!” You were sitting at a table in your company's hospitality, having a conversation with Kyungsoo on the phone, blissfully unaware of the interviews going on outside the building which had a clear view into the small area.

“Yeah but it’s been two years, one of us has to call it quits soon.” Your face contorted before Kyungsoo quickly amended his statement.

“The bet! The bet! Sorry, that came out the wrong way.”

You just shook your head, a small smile growing on your lips.

“You bastard, you had me a little worried.” He scoffed in response. He had been speaking quietly into the phone as he was hiding in a closet in the SM building, taking a break from practice to talk to you. A true charmer.

“As if.” He replied shortly, a loud scuffling heard on his side.

“One second.” He said, as a banging sound came through into your headphones.

“Come on Hyung! Get off the phone and come back before someone else finds you!” Kai’s voice could be heard through the door. A pause before the banging started again.

“Also tell her I said hello!” You giggled at the younger man’s words and Kyungsoo’s sigh in response.

“I’ll call you after the race, do your best, I love you.” Kyungsoo muttered into his phone before shouting back to Kai something about respect and to shut up. It just made you laugh more.

“I love you too, practice well and I’ll call you soon.” You finally said in response after the yelling died down.

“Bye.” He said before quickly tacking on another “love you” and then he hung up.

After he hung up you just stared at your screen for a second with a smile you would 100% not call radiant on your face. It was quickly wiped off when your PR manager popped up out of nowhere and started talking about interviews, causing you to switch to English as you stood up and followed him.

However, the interview still captured your little moment and the conversation preluding it. You knew this because, when you went back to your phone after the race, Baekhyun had sent you a picture of your smile through the tinted glass with a smirking emoji as well as a picture of Kyungsoo on the floor in the closet in the dark talking to you on the phone, not to mention the hounding you got at the next press conference.

2018:

You knew it was risky to do a live in your own apartment, especially since you were in a completely different country than where you were claiming you were.

But your PR team wanted you to do it, and you couldn’t exactly tell them no, even if you were currently lying to them about your circumstances. You were a bit worried that something unexplainable might happen like the South Korean national anthem suddenly blaring but what you weren’t worried about was the person who you were living with coming back and interrupting your live.

Kyungsoo was at practice and, while you were ok with him skipping it to talk to you on the phone, you didn’t want him to skip it now, as you had been promised a few days without any interruption if he went to every practice. So he was at practice and you were fulfilling all your expected PR duties for the next couple of days, which included the live.

Regardless of your hesitations, you set up your phone on your coffee table facing the entrance to your home and sat on the couch before turning on the live. Immediately people joined, flooding the chat and making your phone vibrate.

“Uhhh hello everyone.” You awkwardly greeted as you tried to think of things to say. Kyungsoo would be fantastic at this, you couldn’t help but think, always having to do live’s with his members.

“How’s everyone’s days been?” You settled on and watched the responses roll into the chat. You noticed a few drivers had joined your live and even a few of the boys from F2 and F3 were watching, which you thought was pretty nice of them considering it was mainly you rambling for around 30 minutes.

Your manager wanted you to do an hour minimum for the live and the time seemed to stretch for years, you continuously making small talk and occasionally replying to comments. You even snuck in a few jokes for the other drivers before, around the 55 minute mark, a sound came from your end.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you wondered where the noise was coming from, looking around the apartment. Quickly standing up, you looked around the apartment, making a lighthearted joke about ghosts as you nervously tried to find the origin of the sound.

You realised that sound was the wrong key being put in the lock as soon as you registered the sound of the correct key being put in.

As Kyungsoo opened the door, you made the biggest leap you think you have ever made. It would’ve had to have been around 4 meters surely. Somehow you had leapt onto the coffee table, knocking your phone down. Kyungsoo was staring at you weirdly as you violently gestured at him to shush. He raised an eyebrow.

“Are you ok?” He asked, his deep voice sounding as lovely as ever. You took a second, contemplating your options in this circumstance before coming to a logical conclusion.

You started to scream.

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!” Kyungsoo’s face shifted to one of confusion as yours was full of desperation.

“YOU CRAZY PSYCHO! GET OUT!!” You continued to yell in perfect English, a contrast from his peaceful question, and gestured for Kyungsoo to close the door, which he did, albeit very confused.

As soon as he closed the door, you maneuvered yourself so that you weren’t facing him and quickly picked up your phone from underneath you.

“Oh my god, what just happened.” You said, showing the camera your roof. You picked up the phone and started fidgeting with it.

“‘Are you ok?’ Yeah I’m fine, I just gotta figure out how to change the locks. I’ll uh.. I’ll get back to you guys. See you later.” You said absentmindedly, as you ended the live.

You paused for a second, sat back on your heels, and sighed, staring up at the roof. The sound of footfalls reached your ears and you didn’t react when Kyungsoo placed a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m not losing this bet.” You mumbled, staring at the ground. An incredulous laugh left him at that as he reached his hand further and brought your face to look at him. A smile that there was no other way to describe but goofy was spread across his face.

“You’re still thinking of that?” He asked and you nodded.

“I take our bet very seriously.” You said before he slightly shook his head, gave you a kiss on the forehead, and moved towards the kitchen.

You picked yourself up and moved to the dining table as he started work in the kitchen. And, as he made a delicious dinner that you both enjoyed, you started to field off your PR team asking who was in your house and ignoring the comments wondering why the guy was speaking Korean in the middle of England.

2019:

It was approximately ten minutes before you had to be in the car and ready to go, and you were half-way there. You had your fireproofs and race suit on and you were being herded towards your car by a crowd of engineers. Strategies and specifics were being directed at you and you could only nod and act as though you were absorbing what they were saying.

Even after four years on the job some people felt they just couldn’t rely on you. Honestly, they should just let you do your thing, you knew what you were doing.

No! God, ever since Kyungsoo had joined the military you’d been irritable and quick to anger on the track. Your poor engineers were trying their best to get through to you, likely because they wanted to keep their jobs, but you’d been incredibly closed off since after you got back from the honeymoon.

Oh yeah, you got married. During a break and right before Kyungsoo was scheduled to start his enlistment, you got married down in a small courthouse with only a few people from either side. You had your family, a few close friends, and a few drivers while Kyungsoo had his family, a few close friends, and the whole of EXO.

It was very emotional and intimate, but that was how you’d describe your relationship so you were very happy with it. You were also extremely happy with the week get-away in the middle of nowhere in New Zealand that followed after, a week of people not recognising both you, farmers markets, and sheep. Lot’s of sheep.

But ever since he’d flown off to do his duty to his country (and shaved his head, no one should look that good with a shaved head) and you’d flown to your next race, you’d been incredibly… angry.

You didn’t know if it had to do with not seeing Kyungsoo for the better part of two years or having that split immediately after the wedding, but what you did know was that it was affecting your racing so you had to snap out of it.

Being dragged back to the present you quickly hopped in the car and performed all of your checks on the steering wheel and adjusted things while people flitted around outside the car, adjusting things and making sure the car was in proper state.

After a quick radio check, the call to start up for the formation lap (you were in P11 after a pretty dodgy qualifying) was relayed and all around you could hear car’s engines coming to life. You glanced at your engineers and snapped down your visor at their nod, starting the car.

Before you pressed the throttle something quickly came to mind. You rapidly gestured for one of your engineers to come close to you, incredibly conscious of all the cars revving around you. The poor engineer almost sprinted to you as you started to fiddle with the zip of your racesuit, the gloves you were wearing prohibiting you from unzipping it.

The engineer's face was comically concerned and he slowly reached forwards before you looked up and grabbed his outreached hand. His face immediately went to one of shock as you made his hand grab the zip and unzip the front part of the suit.

Choosing to ignore the cameras capturing this interaction you continued unzipping it till it lay around your collarbones, hoping the cameras don’t catch any of your naked shoulders. The engineer's face then relaxed as he saw the necklace around your neck and he quickly reached in, almost leaning over the car, to move your necklace around your neck till the latch was in front of him.

He cautiously unlatched the necklace before zipping up your race suit. You immediately relaxed as the pressure around your neck was relieved. Before he could retreat back to the crowd of engineers, you grabbed the hand that wasn’t holding your necklace and slapped it appreciatively with your other hand.

He retreated as you powered up the car and started to move it forwards, letting all the cars that needed to go before go before you started to move.

Your team radio started up as you were leaving the pit lane.

“You all had us very confused there.” Your race engineer said as you started your cruise around the track.

“Yeah, sorry I completely forgot about it. But I thought it was better to take it off.” You said, pressing down on the throttle.

“He better not lose that though. I want that back at the end of the race.” You subtly threatened, suddenly thinking of the rings that were attached to the necklace. You hoped that maybe the cameras hadn’t seen your wedding and engagement rings but you knew there was no chance they hadn’t not captured it. Oh well.

“I don’t know if you’ll get it back by the end of the race.” Your engineer said, her tone almost sarcastic.

“What’s that mean?” You asked, letting the car cruise.

“You’ll probably be killed by your PR team first.” She said bluntly. So bluntly it made you laugh.

“I’ve got a race to focus on.” You reminded her, leaving out the part that you had a race to think of an excuse as to why you have two rings attached to a necklace around your neck.

And you did think of an excuse, wearing the necklace proudly during post-race interviews and saying it was a family heirloom that had been passed on to you by your grandma whenever you were questioned about it.

The moment still went viral though, people questioning the relationship between you and the engineer. It went viral enough to that you had to suffer through teasing by Daniel and his accomplice Max Verstappen (you didn’t know how the kid knew you were married but you suspected it had something to do with an annoying Australian) not to mention the shit being talked in the EXO group chat you were in.

I mean seriously, all of those guys are millionaires, does Chen have nothing else to do with his time than bully the wife of his bandmate?

2020: (sorry Alex)

Somehow you got signed to RedBull on a year contract. Not to say you weren’t grateful for the opportunity but you were definitely a bit confused. But anyway, you let bygones be bygones and now you had a 22 year-old dutch nuisance under your wing.

He was a great kid but god, was he traumatized. You were convinced he’d never seen a healthy family dynamic, so you were more than happy to let him see how you and Kyungsoo functioned. Or at least how you functioned when he was not in the military.

You kind of felt like a life coach for the kid, telling him when he was being taken advantage of or when he should continue with something. You’d been woken up plenty of times in the middle of the night by him drunkenly whining into the phone about wanting to go “home”, something neither of you commented on when he woke up on your couch the next day.

So, safe to say, you’d practically adopted a child without the permission of your husband.

This extended to on the track as well, you’d gotten into a few mild disagreements with Jos Verstappen after his cruel comments which often involved you looking at him angrily and him shit-talking you in interviews about you being a woman. You’d often have to refrain from saying that you’d always be more of a man than him, but alas, you didn’t want to get kicked from your seat.

You knew that Max was extremely appreciative of your dynamic, even commenting on it a few times during interviews, saying that he was very happy to have you as a teammate. After that interview you almost felt like you and his lover, Daniel, were able to give him some sort of an idea of what a normal family relationship should look like.

This sentiment was definitely reinforced when a loud knocking on your Monaco apartment door happened in the early afternoon. It was a weekend with no race, so you were soaking in relaxation. You were having a nice bubble bath after having read for the whole morning, so you were hesitant to hop out of the bath.

The knocking persisted however, and with a sigh, you got out of the bath and wrapped a bathrobe around you before loudly yelling you’d be a minute. You tugged on some sweats which weren’t yours and put your hair in a towel before eventually making your way to the door.

You might’ve taken more than a minute, but it didn’t matter when you opened the door and were greeted with the image of Max Verstappen on his knees, face pressed into the expensive hallway carpet. What a sight to see, the prodigy and most highly anticipated driver of his time, lying face-first on the floor.

“What the fuck?” You asked, immediately crouching down to his level after a quick glance to see that none of your neighbors had left their apartments to check on the banging (pretentious, self-concerned people).

You rolled him over, your confusion doubling as you took in the remorseful look etched across the young man's face, almost tripling as you took in the barely concealed tears in his eyes. Your heart ached though and you pulled him up so that he was sitting on his knees.

“I’m so sorry.” He muttered as your face contorted in confusion. What had happened? “Come inside Max.” You said quietly, helping him up from his spot on the floor and leading him inside, locking the door after you both. Leading him to the couch, you left him after putting the throw blanket over his shoulders, and went to make both of you a tea.

You noticed your phone constantly vibrating on your kitchen counter and quickly chucked it on do not disturb, not checking the notifications because you were more concerned with your teary teammate.

After grabbing the teas you made your way to the couch, setting them down on coasters on the coffee table, before sitting on the edge of the ‘L’ piece of the couch, so you were facing Max. You grabbed his hand from his lap where he had been nervously picking at his nail beds.

“What’s wrong Max?” You asked calmly, bringing his hand to your lap to stop him from hurting himself. He looked up at you, a few tears having rolled down his cheeks.

Whatever had happened had fucked him up. You didn’t think it was a fight with his dad, he’d sadly become pretty unresponsive to those. You briefly considered him losing his seat but shook that off, he was doing exceptionally well.

Maybe you’d lost your seat and he was sent to deliver the news. That would make more sense, especially as your phone was blowing up. You hadn’t been performing very well, but you didn’t think they’d drop you from your seat midway through the season, especially during a season as turbulent as this one.

It was the only reason that made sense though, so you prepared yourself for the news that you would be unemployed. Maybe you’d go back to F2 or maybe IndyCar? Or you could just move to South Korea and live there permanently, letting Kyungsoo fulfill his passion for acting and singing while you did a few kart races to occasionally quench your thirst for adrenaline.

That actually didn’t sound too bad, though you’d definitely have to discuss it with Kyungsoo when he got back from enlistment, which meant around 5 months of unemployment. But hey, you had the money and so did Kyungsoo.

Max snapped you from your thoughts of the future by clearing his throat.

“You don’t know?” He asked, curiously glancing up at you. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“No…” You said, conveying your confusion. “Should I?”

“Have you checked your phone recently?” Yep, you were definitely getting fired. You should probably start packing now. Maybe Daniel could get his seat back? You shook your head in response to his quiet question.

“I’ve just been reading all morning.” Max nodded, a small ‘ah’ leaving his mouth as he stared at the floor. He reached for his tea, his hand leaving your lap. You narrowed your eyes at that, following his movements as he sipped, a gasp immediately leaving his throat as he burnt it.

You immediately cussed and sprung up from your couch to grab a glass of cold water, running back to the couch and giving it to Max, watching as he gulped down the glass. When he finished he turned back to you and thanked you, before pausing for a second and bursting into another round of tears. You placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re really freaking me out Max. Can you please tell me what’s wrong?” You asked gently, trying to make him catch your eye.

“Promise you won't hate me?” His small voice asked and you internally crumpled at his vulnerable question. Honestly you never thought you’d end up gentle-parenting a teammate like he was a child of yours, especially since you were only like 5 years older than him, but here you were, caring for him like family.

“Yes, I won’t hate you Max.” You repeated as he finally caught your eye. He took a deep breath before starting to speak.

“I was doing an interview for the press and they started asking questions about other drivers and my relationship to them. They then asked about you and I said that I’m really close to you and etcetera.” Ok, seems pretty normal so far. At least you weren’t getting fired, hopefully.

“And they asked if I see you more as a mother figure or a romantic interest.” He said before quickly turning his eyes away. This confused you before you clued in.

“Oh Max.” You said quietly and he turned back to you. “I’m flattered you feel that way but I am married and I am loyal-”

“No, no, no!” He said, louder than he’d ever spoken in the time since he was on the floor. His cheeks had turned bright red as he looked in your eyes.

“No, I didn’t say that I saw you romantically!” He quickly amended and you breathed a sigh of relief, smiling.

“Ok, that’s good! I didn’t want our friendship to be awkward.” You said, looking at him for a response. He just grimaced and averted his gaze. You gestured for him to go on confusedly and he began speaking again.

“And I said more like a mother-figure.” A statement which made you feel positive things you don’t want to address. “Then I may have accidentally said that, even though I haven’t met him, I see your husband as more of a father-figure as well.” He quickly rushed the last part out and you sat, stunned.

The room went silent while you processed what he told you. Fuuuuckkk. How much trouble were you going to be in? I mean the team knew, but this wasn’t something you could pass off as your grandmother's rings. This was undeniable proof that you had a husband. God press days were going to suck after this unless you could somehow make an excuse.

As time went on he seemed to collapse in on himself, the energy quickly switching to something you didn’t like.

“To be honest I thought you were going to tell me I’d lost my seat.” You said and Max’s head snapped up. “What?” He asked, disbelieving.

“Yeah I know, crazy.” You laughed, dragging out the last word, trying to establish a more relaxed aura in the room.

“No, why haven’t you kicked me out yet?” It was at times like this you really wanted to punch Jos Verstappen in the face. You made an over exaggerated confused face, hoping the fact that that had never gone through your mind was on display in your face.

“Max, why would I do that?” You asked, your voice very quickly becoming soothing.

“Why aren’t you mad at me? You’ve spent years hiding this! You should be yelling at me!” He said, standing up. You tried, in vain, to get him to sit down by gently calling him, but he started pacing.

“I’ve just ruined your chances at revealing this yourself, at ever having another peaceful day in your marriage, and all you can do is make a joke?!” He almost started yelling, clenching his fists. You got fed-up and yelled his name, calling his attention to you.

“You’re in my house as my guest. You will not tell me what to do or how to handle situations. Sit your ass down.” You yelled, your voice incredibly commanding. He followed your instructions and sat smally in front of you.

“Max. It was eventually going to come out. I don’t mind. I’d much rather it come off handedly from you than maliciously leaked by a random instagram page.” You said and he looked up, almost looking close to tears. You frowned before bringing the boy up into a hug. You stayed like that for a few minutes before you had to ask a question.

“You didn’t reveal who he was though, no?” You asked, still in the hug. You felt Max shake his head and you silently fistpumped behind his back. It wasn’t your fault, so it technically didn’t count and you hadn’t lost the bet.

You were right, by the way, press days were soon filled with questions about your mystery husband instead of your racing. But it was fine, you were somehow able to twist it as though you’d made a joke about having a husband and Max took it seriously.

Phew.

2021: (sorry latifi)

“And so today you will be reacting to fan edits of yourselves!” The lady behind the camera finished, prompting you and George to look at eachother. It was early in the season and, even though you’d raced together for a few years, you weren’t exactly close, being that before pre-season meetings, you hadn’t ever talked. At all.

This meant he didn’t know much about your personal life or the whole ‘husband’ thing. Which was fine, you’d tell him in your own time, when you felt your friendship was strong enough. He seemed to be a great kid, though you were determined to not adopt another grown child, especially after the look you got from Kyungsoo when you mentioned the fact you may have ‘accidentally’ had Christmas with Max Verstappen.

But hey, they had finally met during February and it was almost like a Dad saying that his daughter can’t adopt a cat while simultaneously cuddling with the cat. Kyungsoo, against his better judgment, had instantly attached to Max and now you were battling for the position of being his favourite driver. Which you were totally not bitter about (you said your favourite EXO member was Sehun in retaliation and he changed your mind very quickly).

Back to the present, the people behind the camera placed a tablet on the table in front of you. It was open on the photo gallery and you could already see some very flattering videos saved to the device.

“You wanna go first?” You asked, and George nodded before picking up the tablet and scrolling through the photo library. He closed his eyes and landed on one. Loud music immediately began playing from the device, you think ‘London Boy’ by Taylor Swift, and you both watched in varying states of horror as photos and clips of him flashed on the screen.

As the video ended you both accidentally made eye-contact. Now, as an almost 28 year old woman, the simple gesture of looking into your teammate's stricken eyes should not have made burst out laughing as hard as you did. But, god, George’s eyes were expressive. In fairness he also did laugh, though he probably was confused as to why you were laughing so much.

After you caught your breath you could only utter out,

“Your face...” Before peeling back into giggles again. He started laughing again as well before putting the tablet down. In doing so, he accidentally swiped the tablet and the Backstreet Boys started playing, an edit of the 2019 rookies playing as the video.

This chain event caused you to start gasping, the sheer ridiculousness of the videos catching up to you. George only took one look at the tears forming in your eyes before he was also wheezing out harsh breaths from laughing.

It took around 2 minutes for you to look at each other without laughing and, for you both to be able to pick up the tablet without giggling, it took another minute or so. You eventually began scrolling through the tablet, laughing at some and ‘aww’-ing at some of the sad ones.

Eventually a video came up with the background music to ‘Give it to me’ by Sistar, an edit of you that was hot but had you gasping at the lyrics.

“What?” George looked over to you, curious as to why there was another noise that came out of your mouth than laughing or a strained ‘why?’.

“The audacity!” You said, as the music continued playing.

“What..?” George asked, more confused than previously.

“Do you want to know the lyrics they’ve just edited me to?” You asked, looking over at him, your voice pretending to be offended.

“What?” He said, his tone changing again to have a sort of goading lilt.

“Will I even get married before I turn thirty.” You said with an air of finality, turning to glare at the camera, your jaw dramatically hung open. George gasped mockingly.

“How dare they!” He said sarcastically and you nodded eagerly.

“I know right!” You responded beginning a stereotypical mean girl impression. “How dare they!” After that little fiasco, you both kept scrolling and laughing (a notable example of this being when an edit of George crying came up, him pushing your shoulders as you continued to laugh).

Eventually the video was being wrapped up and George was preparing to do a sort of sign off when he paused and turned to you.

“I know we aren’t incredibly close…” He started and you prepared for a multitude of questions. You didn’t know him well enough to predict what he might say, so you went over your predisposed answers to questions in your head.

You knew he wouldn’t ask anything uncomfortable, like about your relationship status, or anything really weird, like how many socks do you wash at once. But that left a gaping probability for mildly-weird or mildly-uncomfortable questions. You hoped he wouldn’t ask that, but you were still prepared to be asked if you threw out your receipts or kept them.

“But I didn’t know you knew Korean. How did you learn?”

Oh. Fuck.

You did not have an answer for that. How the fuck did you not have an answer for that? You definitely should have had an answer for that. Oh wait, you didn’t have an answer because you promised yourself not to tell anyone that you could speak Korean so that you didn’t get that question!

The real, close-friends answer was that Kyungsoo had taught you over a range of years and that you’d taken courses so that you’d be able to talk to his friends and family. However you didn’t have a PR approved answer because you’d never thought that you’d need one. Time to put your problem solving skills to the test.

“Uhhhhh…” You said, staring confusedly at George, aware of the seconds that had passed while you were internally monologuing. You hoped your expression didn’t convey the level of gob-smacked that you felt but you think it did because George’s face contorted to be one of worry.

“If that’s a sensitive topic or something you don’t have to answer!” He quickly said as though he was trying to fix the situation. You’d later learn the George thought before your video that you were kind of ‘fucking terrifying’ (his words) and that he was scared he’d screwed up by asking you this and one of his ‘hero’s’ (his words) wouldn’t ever want to talk to him again.

“Nah, nah. It’s ok.” You waved him off, desperately trying to think of something. Oh! You knew exactly what to say.

“Basically I just have this really good friend who is Korean and I asked him to teach me for fun.” You said simply, before realising that wasn’t good enough considering your reaction.

“I was trying to hide how good I’ve gotten to try and surprise him but I guess it’s ok.” You said, a small smile on your face. George relaxed from his tense state and nodded, a small smile playing onto his lips as well.

“Ah that’s cool. Sorry to spoil the surprise.” You waved him off again and he continued the video’s outro.

Another good save, you really oughta be hired to problem-solve. And by problem-solving you mean lying to the media. And George. Poor George.

2022: (yeah the timelines don’t match, don’t call me out pls)

A loud banging sounded against your hotel door. You groaned, dropping the book onto your chest from where you held it up. Glancing angrily at the door, you rolled out of bed and stomped over to the entrance. You ripped open the door and prepared to start reaming the person on the other side before letting out a high-pitched scream.

You were in Japan for the Suzuka GP. You always didn’t like the Japanese GP because, even though you were incredibly close to Kyungsoo, your schedules never lined up so you could never see him.

That fact really grinded your gears, but it’s what you get when you try to schedule something with SM Entertainment. A decisive ‘No.’ What a great company. To be honest, was Willaims really any better?

No. No they weren’t. That mere fact infuriated you enough to make you scream. However, it wasn’t the reason you were currently screaming. That was because, standing in your doorway in the middle of the team hotel, was Kai.

You hadn’t seen him in a few months, you both had busy schedules, so the man appearing on your doorstep was miraculous. You didn’t think of why he was there, or how he got there. You just threw your arms around him and gave him a hug.

“Oh my god!” You screamed, before immediately regretting it and quickly pulling him into your hotel room before someone came out of their rooms and wondered why he was in front of yours.

“Hi!” He said, laughing as he let himself be pushed into your room despite the fact he could pick you up and throw you.

“What are you doing here?” You asked changing your pulling into a hug, squeezing the younger man as though he was your child. You had a serious problem with that, treating men almost your age as children. But Kai was more of a brother than a child, to be quite frank. That distinction just meant that he really really bugged you.

“I have a concert tomorrow and I thought I might just stop in.” He said, a smile on his face. “Though it is only me, sorry.”

“That’s ok!” You said, still in disbelief one of your closest friends was on your doorstep.

“Does Kyungsoo know?” Kai smirked in response to your question. That was answer enough in itself and you slapped Kai on the shoulder.

“You should’ve told him! He might’ve come.” Kai gasped in mock offense.

“What am I not good enough? Would you really prefer your husband that much?” He continued in mock offense and you dead-panned him. He just laughed in response.

“I did have to tell the company I was coming though, and they asked me to film a TikTok with you.” He quickly rushed out and you groaned, staring at the sky. What was up with all of these people wanting you to do TikTok’s?! You had all of your team's PR people constantly chasing you with a camera and now you had Kai asking for a video.

“Fine.” You ground out and Kai grinned, purposely ignoring your annoyance.

“Fantastic!” He said and quickly whipped out his phone, launching into his plans of what to film. Your only artistic input was that he had to cool it on the filters or else you wouldn’t film.

The video started with the familiar sound of Peaches by Kai and a hand knocking on your hotel door, you opening the door curiously. As the chorus sounded, you recorded Kai dancing in your doorway, incredibly aware of the chance of any of your colleagues walking into the hallway and wondering what the fuck was going on.

The video continued after the chorus, Kai recording you slamming the door in his face with a confused expression. The video then ended with a still image of the both of you doing a heart together with your hands and you let Kai go rampant on the filters, hearts and sparkles flying around on the screen.

When you watched it back, Kai waiting at your side eagerly to see your reaction, you did your best to hide the laughing fit you had in reaction to the monstrosity. You couldn’t quite hide the gasps that were leaving you though and Kai frowned.

“It’s perfect. I love it.” You said, through your giggles and he smiled.

“I know. It’s fantastic.” You only nodded because you couldn’t trust yourself to talk, a small whine escaping through your lips at the struggle of not laughing.

“Do you want to see the caption?” He asked and you violently nodded your head.

“Please.”

“P15 but still P1 EXO-L.” He read out and you just hung your jaw open. “You bastard!” You laughed out.

“I put it in Korean as well.” Your only response was to hit him, hard, while still laughing and shaking your head.

“Should we run it by your PR team before posting?” Kai asked, taking a serious note. You looked to him and sucked in air through your teeth.

“Nahhhh.” You replied and he shrugged, and clicked post.

“I should probably tell Kyungsoo you were here before he finds out through the internet.” You said, reaching for your phone. Kai nodded vehemently.

One phone call later, an angry Kyungsoo and an apologetic Kai later, the TikTok was making its rounds and your phone was blowing up, your poor PR agent about to have a heart attack.

On that delightful note Kai left your hotel room, farewelled with a minute long hug and a well-wish for his concert, and you were left to phone your PR agent who just screamed into the phone for 10 seconds before actually speaking.

Of course, during the press releases for the rest of the season, you talked about how much of an EXO-L you were and how close of a friend you were to Kai. This didn’t come without dating rumours but, due to one poorly angled camera shot of your disgusted face when a reporter suggested dating to your face, that was shut down pretty quickly.

Still no one had shipped you with the other EXO members though, so you weren’t even close to losing the bet. (Though you had been asked which EXO member was your favourite, which you responded to with a smirk.)

2023:

It was a good race, you finishing P4 which was a huge improvement since last season. Your team was on top of the moon as were you, smiling from ear to ear. You were currently in the press area, getting asked questions left and right about the car and your performance.

You were adequately responding to each question, sometimes looking questioningly your PR agent when you weren’t sure how to respond. A loud crash sounded through the area that drew the attention of most in the area as a reporters chair fell to the ground. They had jumped up at something on their phone and, like everyone else in the pen, you were wondering what had them so fired up.

Then their eyes darted up and made eye-contact with you. Your internal monologue quickly changed from questioning to a repeated loop of ‘Oh no. Oh no.’ as they advanced your way, moving like a predator stalks their prey. They thrusted their phone under your nose, the shitty little mic attached to it capturing every breath you took and the many cameras in the area capturing your wide eyes.

The reporter addressed you by name before starting to speak.

“Do you know of a man by the name Doh Kyungsoo?” They asked and your world cracked. What on earth had happened? How did they know? All you knew was that it was time for the one acting class your mum had made you take to try and sway you from racing to come to full effect.

“I think he’s from that band Kai’s in, yeah?” You responded after a second of fake pondering. The reporter's eyes narrowed like a hawk.

“You wouldn’t say you were close? Not close enough to get married perhaps?” The reporter asked, clearly trying to stir the pot. Oh my god, was this a prank? How the fuck did they know? How were you supposed to play this off? Would this jeopardize your career?

“Uhhm no…?” You said, incredulously, fixing them a scandalized stare. They sarcastically nodded.

“Oh really? Then what’s this?” They said and shoved their phone closer to your face till you saw a picture of you and Kyungsoo on your wedding day. How did they get this? Had one of your small circle leaked something?

You tried not to let the bewilderment you felt show on your face.

“I’m sorry? Are you trying to pass this off as real? It’s obviously photoshopped! I’m so tired of people trying to fabricate a story of me dating every person I’ve interacted with!” You finally snapped, letting a few years of pent up tension out in this moment. The reporter only continued to smirk.

“Oh really!” They said and you wanted to punch them and their snooty little face. To try and display this, your face fell into one of contempt.

“Is that why this image was posted to Doh Kyungsoo’s official instagram account with the caption ‘Sorry for making you lie to the press for eight years!’?”

They got you there, dam.

Your jaw dropped open, the corners of your mouth rising at the pure hilarity of this situation.

“Excuse me?” You asked, grabbing the phone off the reporter and tapping back onto the post. They were right, Kyungsoo had posted to his official instagram that exact post. It was a carousel post with pictures taken of when you’d lied to the press about him, from the initial lying about being in Seoul to a picture of your ringed necklace to a picture of you smirking after being asked which EXO member was your favourite.

You couldn’t help but release a laugh, your hand traveling to cover your open mouth. Why did he post this?

Wait.

This meant you won the bet. Your head shot up to stare at a camera.

“I won the bet.” You said quietly. The reporter snatched their phone back and stared at you confused.

“What?” They asked and you whipped your head to them, a large smile spreading across your face.

“I won the bet!” You said eagerly, reaching out to grab their shoulders and rock them back and forth.

“I won the bet!!” You ignored how they shook you off, turning to your PR Agent instead and grabbing them and lifting them up. They hurriedly tapped your back as you lifted them, as though signaling you to drop them, but you ignored that and started spinning them around.

“I actually can’t believe it, oh my god!” You snapped out of it and dropped your PR Agent, immediately running out of the media pen and back to your driver room, pulling your necklace out of your racesuit and pulling your rings off, placing them back on their correct fingers.

You quickly packed everything up, ignoring the ringing of your phone as your team tried to get you to go to more press conferences and briefings, and you got out of there, on the first plane to Seoul you could book.

When you arrived, after a long plane trip filled with excitement and pictures being taken of you, decked out in your team's merchandise as you sat buzzing in your seat, your phone was completely blowing up, messages from everyone in your contact list and more. You turned it off (you’d deal with it later) after calling an uber to your apartment.

You were jittery the whole ride, hoping that, despite the time of night, Kyungsoo was still awake. When you arrived outside your apartment building, you felt all the tension in your body ease, and you looked up to see the light on in your window. You smiled and took your suitcase handle in hand and ventured into the building, greeting the old lady at the desk.

Riding the lift up to your apartment nearly had you pacing and you almost ran down the hallway towards your door, quickly knocking. You felt the reverberations in the floorboards as Kyungsoo walked over to the door and a sense of euphoria filled you at the familiarity.

The door was barely open before you launched yourself at Kyungsoo, his heavenly laughter filled your ears as he caught you. You quickly found yourself in a kiss before pulling back and peppering kisses all over his face, finding his giggles more lovely than his singing.

You both pulled back just to look in eachothers eyes and you smiled simultaneously.

“I love you.” You muttered, the happiness from the day finally catching up to you.

“I love you too.” He whispered, tilting his head before going in for another kiss.

“You know.” He began later that night, when you were just lying in bed cuddling together. You turned your head from its position on his chest to look at him, his eyes remaining on the roof.

“I think I won in the end.” You immediately reared your head back, prepared to object at the sheer wrongness of his answer. He anticipated this though and dropped his hand from where it was combing through your hair to your mouth. He also dropped his head as to make eye contact.

“You stuck by me through everything. Even though you had to lie almost every day and had to listen to millions of rumours about me with other people, you still stayed with me. You learned a whole other language just to know people who knew me. Nothing I will ever say will ever put into perspective how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me. The way you’ve loved me will be comparable to nothing other than how much I’ve loved you.” His heartfelt speech made your head vibrate and a few tears left your eyes at his words, him kissing each one away.

You whined deep in the back of your throat and he released a laugh at your response.

“You could’ve just said ‘I love you’.” You said quietly.

“That’s true too.” He said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

ahh it's over! dividers from this post btw, it's 11:59 pm let me sleep.

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miercoooles · 9 months ago

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Old WIP reveal

because I miss writing :3 || based on this song "Plastic Love"

Dating wasn’t for you, you had that figured out years ago. But you were foolish enough to try it once more as you reached your twenty-seventh birthday.

Almost eight months ago before your birthday, you stumbled upon a driver when you were invited by Red Bull Racing as a special guest due to the nature of your occupation (a famous model). As you two chatted and interacted throughout the whole weekend, you found yourself enamoured that you carelessly handed your personal phone number to him.

As months passed by, you two got closer and eventually connected into a much more intimate relationship until one day he asked if he could court you, you obviously said yes. And so it began, the days and months have turned into courtship and secret dates away from the paparazzi.

The day of your birthday came around and you answered him, he happily smiled and asked permission to kiss your lips to which you agreed. You thought that it finally broke the curse of your restlessness once you are tied down, you were proven wrong almost immediately.

Note: you can choose any driver you want ^^

Note 2: should I continue this?

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uramakimochi · 8 months ago

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me for the past week and i'm so fucking maddd

STOP👏TAGGING👏XREADER👏IF👏YOU👏USE👏AN👏OC👏NOBODY👏 FUCKING👏ASKED👏FOR👏THAT👏OKAY???

The wrong thing is not the fact that you write a story with an oc, no, that's not the real problem, really.

IT'S JUST THE FACT THAT YOU USE THE WRONG TAG SO YOU HOPE MORE PEOPLE READ YOUR STORY. BUT BELIEVE ME IT'S JUST FUCKING ANNOYING 'CAUSE WE AREN'T ABLE TO FIND THE RIGHT FICS IF YOU KEEP DOING THIS!!!

There are people who like to read more stories with ocs than reader inserts, so use the fucking right tag go reach that community and stop spamming your stories among ours.

I don't think you get it but, you know, the purpose of fanfics with reader insert is to make the reader imagine her/himself as the mc of the story. The best part of these fics is the fact that EVERYONE can be included in them.

SO WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE TO RUIN THEM BY MAKING THE MC A PERSON THAT LOOKS COMPLETELY DIFFERENT FROM THE READER AND EVEN HAS A NAME THAT IS NOT THEIRS?

Not to be dramatic but i hate y'all.

And the fact that it's always the same fandoms and we all know who we're talking about...

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rex-rambles · 5 days ago

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➤ PROUD | MAX VERSTAPPEN

pairing: max verstappen x wife! reader, kimi antonelli + max + reader (platonic)

summary: kimi gets his first podium, max finds you crying in a bathroom, and you both realize you want to start a family together

wc: 2.6 k

warnings: none! a few innuendos on max's part

➤ MASTERLIST

You had been married to Max long enough to recognize when his focus shifted. When he stopped paying attention to useless questions, when a car caught his eye, when he heard someone saying something wrong about anything, really. It was the subtlest of changes, the softest of looks, but you saw the way he turned, just slightly, when the TV in the motorhome played a clip of the rookies, talking about pressure and the reality of F1.

He watched from the corner of his eye, his notes still in hand, so that anyone who might walk by would think he was deeply focused, and not distracted by a simple broadcast. You, however, know better.

You push off the counter of the small coffee bar, coming to take the hat from his head, and rake your hand through his hair instead.

He smiles slightly at the action, letting his attention break to look up at you. "Do you think they miss their mums?" You ask, eyes finding the broadcast. Max would've been about their age when he started, so young, so full of dreams. You weren't that much older than them really, but it was still enough to be daunting.

Being 18, like Kimi, was the time of little independent steps, going away to university, starting something new. Becoming a world-famous F1 driver when you're not even old enough to drink in some countries had to be quite the trip. "What?" Max responds, now turning to give the TV his full attention. "The rookies?"

"They just look so young." Doing all this, on their own. They might have teams and managers and fellow drivers, but it had to be terrifying. "It's got to be hard, away from family like that. And on Father's Day, too."

"I didn't miss my parents," Max says, returning to the notes in his lap as he lies. He can never look at you when he does. You never pressed about his childhood, though all you can imagine is that poor boy, charting across Europe alone to do all of these races, with all the stress. It can't be good for children, even if they are racing prodigies. "I turned out fine."

There's a beat of silence where you don't answer, and he lets out a soft breath.

"Fine, relatively speaking." He corrects. "Besides, with all the karting and F2 or F3, they're used to travel."

"Even when they're still in school, poor things." Max glances back at the TV as the clip of Isack hugging Lewis's dad plays, and your heart dislodges in your chest. That's a lot of pressure, something that never goes away with F1, or at least you've never seen it leave Max. He was becoming a beacon for the rookies, maybe because of it. He probably knew better than anyone how to handle that sort of pressure, the lifestyle change.

Someone walks by, cutting through the moment, and you and Max just look at each other as you wait for them to leave. There was so much more to be said on this kind of topic, specifically behind closed doors, but there was more than just Max being a good mentor that played into it. Finally, the person leaves, and Max returns to his notes. "If you're worried about their education, you could help them with their homework."

"Maybe I can cook them a nice meal. You can have them over." Max laughs, then, getting up from his chair to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close to him. The move startles you, so quick and so in public, but you lived for these stolen moments. Max was always like this when he knew no one could see. Little bursts of energy, the hidden romance that was best protected when others weren't around. You didn't mind by now, really. You'd rather your kisses be private than spread across Instagram. "What?"

"You are something else," He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Worry about me for a change, hm? Where's my home cooked meals?"

"They're a treat for when you win," You say as you press a quick kiss to his lips before finally pushing away. The last thing you needed was some photographer walking in on you two. "So go lose, yeah? Saves me from having to do the dishes."

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he prepares to go, and you're struck by a feeling you can't quite describe. It's a strange sort of love that twists in your gut, almost complete but not quite. Loving Max was always just a full-bodied feeling, that some small part of it missing was obvious. It wasn't nerves, though the butterflies still came out as he raced, as he battled for second place.

It wasn't anger, or concern, or sadness, no strange emotion you couldn't place. Instead, it just felt like you were waiting for the last piece to click into place, even if you didn't realize what it was. Max gets second, and the win doesn't really fix it either, though you're happy he placed well. He probably wasn't the most enthused at George's first, but then, as the racers settle, you realize who came in third:

Kimi.

Little Kimi, with his homework and the pressure and now, you realize as you watch the nearby Mercedes garage, without his parents.

That must be awful, you find yourself thinking as your heart sinks further into your stomach. What a race to miss, to have no one there to celebrate. The big screens catch your eye as you see Max approach Kimi, and for a moment, the world pauses as Max pulls him into a quick hug that feels like it might last forever.

That's the missing piece, you think.

Max had always been so good with kids. Whether his little nieces or nephews, or teenagers like Kimi, he had a way with them. He was patient, and funny, and kind, and welcoming. He was saying something to Kimi as your visions swims before you, a mix of emotions that truly catch you by surprise.

It's pride, and heartbreak, and knowing.

That could be your son someday. Maybe he had just done well on a test, or won a competition, you didn't care, and Max was hugging him like a father would. You turn back toward the Red Bull garage's bathroom, quick to try to calm yourself, but it's no use.

Max would make a fantastic father one day, and for the very first time, you realize that's something you can pursue.

There was something going on with you lately. Max hadn't really had too much time to notice it, with the triple headers and your work schedule, but you were just...softer. Not in a bad way, and not in a way he'd ever vocalize, but you were just so utterly irresistible and sweet. He didn't want to get out of bed, didn't want to leave your side, didn't even mind hearing you talk about ridiculous things like rookies being lonely and the best parks near his apartment.

But there was something brewing under the surface, and he didn't really know what.

Then again, he also just got 2nd place, and you're not at the barrier to greet him, so he doesn't really have time to focus on that either. He chalks it up to the crowds crushing in to get to George and Kimi, both for George's first win of the season and Kimi's first podium, both of whom refuse to stop smiling, especially once they get to the podium platform. Even from up above, however, Max can't seem to spot you. He can always find you in a crowd, a skill he prides himself on.

You were wearing one of his hats, and a cute little white dress, so it should be easy, but you're not with his team, not with the crowd.

Nowhere.

Finally, when he gets back to his driver's room, and it's empty, does he start to worry. "Have you seen-" He barely gets the word out before one of his attendants is gesturing towards the restroom with a strange expression, and Max panics at the thought of you being sick, of something being wrong, and he quickly knocks on the door. "Love? You okay?"

"Shit, Max-" Your voice sounds hoarse and Max's heart breaks at the thought of you being sick while he was out celebrating, but when you open the door just a crack, he realizes it's something else entirely. "Sorry, sorry, I'm a mess."

You let him into the restroom, a small space considering it's just a little side room, but that sort of invasion of each other's space had never bothered either of you. What does bother him is the tear-tracks on your cheeks, the way you laugh sadly as you try to wipe away the evidence. "What's wrong?"

You crying is not the most uncommon sight in the world, but the last time you cried at one of his races was because he won his fourth championship title. Maybe you were crying over how poorly he was doing? Maybe something terrible happened? "The video-"

"What video?" Max rushes out, coming to cup your face in his hands. "I swear, if anyone said anything-"

"You hugged," You say with another soft laugh, now truly confusing him. Max tries to wrack his brain for the last time he hugged a woman that might be taken as him cheating, and then what it might take for you to have a mental break. "And his dad wasn't there."

"What?" Then, the pieces click into place. "Kimi?" You nod, sniffing softly as you wipe at your nose with a tissue. "You're crying...because I hugged Kimi?"

"Our little baby got his first podium."

Our.

Little.

Baby.

Oh shit. "Are you pregnant?"

"What?" That seems to snap you from your tears, looking up at him before reaching out to smack his arm. "No! I can be emotional without being hormonal!"

"I wasn't saying that," He soothes, though he finds himself somewhat saddened by the answer in a way he never thought he would be. "You just called him our baby."

"He's your baby," You joke, covering your face with your hands. "He won and you hugged him, and his parents are here, and he's probably so happy I just...I can't. How could you not cry? He worked so hard!"

Max slowly wraps his arms around you and gently rocks you, unable to stop the growing smile on his face. Only you could get emotional about another man getting on the podium. You'd probably be like this for all the rookies, he thinks. He'll need to start packing more tissues. "But you didn't come to watch." I missed you, he wants to say, but right now is not about him.

"I didn't want anyone to see me like this and take it wrong." You say, muffled by his shoulder. "If I saw him in person I'd probably start bawling."

"Well, you should go congratulate him if it moved you to tears." He says, somewhat teasing, somewhat not. It was a very big thing for Kimi to finally get on the podium, and you were right. He worked hard to get here, taking third place in a way many other drivers couldn't currently.

Maybe crying over it was a bit much, but being proud? That was understandable. "Give me your sunglasses."

"Anything for you," He says, reluctantly pulling the sunglasses he'd hung on his shirt collar and handing them out to you. You walk, then, hand in hand through the garages before reaching Mercedes, which Max realizes is somewhat enemy territory, but for you, he doesn't mind. Kimi is off to the side to take pictures with some of the mechanics, all beaming ear to ear, and he hears you sniff beside him. "Hey, Kimi."

Kimi looks up with a grin, and you offer a small wave. "I just wanted to come congratulate you," You say, and Kimi immediately goes in for a hug, which somehow makes Max more emotional as he watches it.

That's the missing piece, he thinks, what he wasn't getting about the tears.

You were always so good with kids. Whether Max's own nieces or nephews, or teenagers like Kimi, you were always so good with them. Even now, Kimi sinks into your arms like you're his mother, like it was the kind of hug he needed. You already were so patient with Max, you had to be with children, so warm and honest and welcoming. Kimi could be your kid someday, maybe after having a hard day, or maybe after a good one, just needing comfort.

You would be an incredible mom someday, and as Max had said earlier, he'd do anything for you. A little baby, clad in Red Bull gear, with his hair colour and your eyes, it would be perfect.

Anything you make would be perfect. "I'm so proud." You say as you pull back. "Your parents must be so proud! Third! You're first podium!"

"You're going to make me cry," Kimi sniffs, and Max watches your bottom lip tremble. "No, no, don't cry too!"

"Alright, alright." Max wraps his arm around you, pulling you into his side. "Both of you."

"Emotions are meant to be felt!" You say stubbornly, a reminder Max has had to hear plenty of times. You had never made him feel guilty when he got angry, never made him feel like he couldn't be sad. It was the sort of thing a parent should have said to him as a kid, the sort of thing that would make you a fantastic parent now.

"You know what they call you?" Kimi says, more to Max than you. "Mother Hen. Now you are Mother and Father Hen."

You tense in Max's arm, and he softly laughs. "We're adopting him." You state bluntly, looking up to Max. "Can we adopt all of them?"

"Bit late to adopt, I think." He says, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. "We'll just have to make our own."

"Hey!" Kimi says, hands flying to his ears like an actual kid as he laughs.

"You can be our babysitter," Max continues, reaching out to shake hands with the boy, who happily shakes it back. You, on the other hand, are shooting Max a rather strange look. "What? It'll be good for him to have a normal job for once."

"We can all take turns," Kimi agrees eagerly. "Ollie and I-"

You finally laugh, shaking your head as you take a step back, and Max doesn't blame you. Those boys probably got into more strange situations than Max did at that age, which is saying something. "There is no way both you and Ollie are looking after them. That is a recipe for disaster waiting to happen."

"What's a disaster waiting to happen?" George asks, and now it's Max's turn to tense. He was very good at being civil, good at hiding it too, but that didn't cut the tension in the air.

"Ollie and Kimi babysitting for us." You answer for him, head coming to lean back against Max's shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. It's the sort of admissions that would make headlines if it got out, but considering what Max was planning on tonight?

Probably wasn't too early to announce the baby.

"Babysitting?" George echoes, shocked. "Are you expecting?"

"Not currently," Max says before he can help it. "Give it about nine months."

"Max!" Your face flushes red, smacking at his arm, and he takes it as his cue to leave. "You are unbelievable!"

"Congratulations, Kimi." Max says as he leads you away, trying hard not to laugh as both Kimi and George exchange looks. "George."

You wave goodbye, turning around to look at them, and Max keeps his arm around your waist to drag you backwards. "You both did so well! You better celebrate tonight."

"I think you are celebrating enough for the both of us." Kimi answers, and George turns on him like a scandalized mother.

You laugh as you turn back around, and Max finds that he missed the sound. You crying was easily one of the things he hated most in this world, meaning your laugh is one of the things he loved the most.

Your hand slips into his, offering a squeeze. Only when you're finally out of earshot, the rest of the crews and the microphones and the eavesdroppers hidden away, do you tug harder on Max's hand, drawing his attention. "Do you mean that? About starting a family?"

"Like I said, anything for you." Then, after a beat, "We're not naming our kid Kimi."

"I know," You answer, leaning up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. "I was thinking George."

a/n: KIMI PODIUM! didn't realize i was a kimi fan until i genuinely got emotional at seeing him come third.

#➤ rex works #➤ mv1 #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fluff #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fluff #f1 imagines #reader insert #dad max verstappen #f1 fanfic

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no-144444 · 2 months ago

Text

the oscars- o.piastri

꩜ summary: you bring your own oscar to the oscar's!

꩜ pairing: married! oscar piastri x actress! fem! reader

꩜ a/n: just realised i never posted this and it has been sitting in my drafts for over a month and a half ish lol

I want you to come with me.

Those words had run through his head like a fucking jack-hammer for weeks. What did that even entail? Acquiring a tux, sure. He could do that. Learn all the names of the people he could potentially meet, any celebrities or old co-stars he’d probably met but didn’t remember. Again, he could do that. Sit beside you all night and let you be your wonderful self as he got a first class seat and bragging rights about the fact that he was yours, he did that all day everyday.

So why did this feel so different? He’d been to award shows before. Not the award show, but motorsports ones. You’d come as his date. The world knew about you two. He’d gone to the BAFTAs with you one year. He should be fine. He knows he’s just there to hold your hand all night and make sure you don’t forget to eat something, but this just feels… different. This was the Oscars. The one night all of Hollywood steps out in their very best, hoping to get something back. And you were nominated in 3 categories.

“Fix your bowtie,” Hattie fussed over him as he rolled his eyes. You’d even invited his whole family. You weren’t super close with yours and they hadn’t really supported your career, but the Piastri’s had. Nicole went to every premiere you offered her, sometimes flying last minute just to be there to support you. He remembered how touched you’d been when she showed up at your Cannes debut, you called him crying that night, not even knowing what to do with yourself because you thought it was just so nice. You were 14 then, but you were 24 now, and you weren’t just his girlfriend, you were his wife. You were officially part of the family, even though you had been from the moment he’d brought you home. He started playing with his ring, a nervous habit he’d picked up since getting married.

“It is fixed,” he snapped back as she fiddled with it. “Mum said it looked fine-”

“I wasn’t looking at you when I said that!” she called from the other room. Oscar rolled his eyes again.

“Your eyes are on swivels today,” Mae teased, looking up from her phone. Oscar fought back rolling them again, and instead went for a scoff.

“I’m the only reason you guys are even coming,” he scoffed, Hattie still fixing his tie. Mae’s jaw dropped in offence.

She gasped. “Excuse you! I think Y/n would still invite us even if you guys got a divorce.”

A shiver went up his spine at that thought. Leaving you? He couldn’t do it. He knew in his bones he’d adore you until he was old and grey, and probably a while after that too.

“She definitely would,” Eddie added, walking in. “Plus, she’s dressed now, if you want to see her.”

Oscar tried to pull away from Hattie, but he just got choked by his bowtie, resulting in a fit of coughs and a gaggle of laughter from his sisters.

He heard a chuckle he knew all too well and he turned his head. You were radiant. A burgundy formal gown, your hair exactly the way you loved it, and that wonderful look in your eyes. The one he saw when he woke up next to you. The one that made him blush no matter how long you’d been together. “You alright there?” you questioned.

He chuckled and Hattie finally finished with his bowtie, so he turned to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his lips to yours as he lifted you off the ground- just slightly. You grinned against his lips and he felt the panic that had been building completely subside. You pulled back as your feet reached the ground again, and chuckled. “Do I have lipstick?” he asked, a question he asked most days. You nodded, but Mae got up to take a photo, giggling at her brother with you. It didn’t bother him. You finally just wiped it off and smiled at him.

“What do you think?” you asked, pulling back and giving him a spin. You showed off the low back and he knew he’d be ripping this dress off of you tonight. He swore the breath was knocked from his lungs every time you looked at him, but truly, you were breathtaking.

“I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the entire world,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Oh yeah?” you smirked. He nodded.

“Oh yeah.”

The Red Carpet was as overwhelming as usual, but he enjoyed watching his sisters interact with the few fans of theirs that were there. He watched you with so much love and pride in his eyes, so much so that Tim had to nudge him to remember to walk on and not just stand in the back of your photos looking at you lovingly. When you finally finished up, you grabbed his hand as he led you into the auditorium.

“You still have my speeches?’ you questioned. He tapped his chest, signalling that it was in his breast pocket. You smiled. “Thank you.”

“Always,” he smiled back. “Forever.”

As soon as your moment began, it ended, because Nicole pulled you away to go talk to people and he fucked off to the dinner table. He watched as you worked the room, animatedly speaking to people as he watched on from his seat at the table, thoroughly enjoying his food.

It was his dad who pulled him out of his daze, asking how he was feeling.

“I’m fine,” he nodded, only slightly lying.

Chris smiled. “She’s going to win ‘em, I bet you.”

“She will,” Oscar nodded. “Her work has been incredible this year.”

“You’re telling me,” he chuckled. “I cried for three days over the Outrun.”

Oscar laughed out loud as his dad shook his head. “I know what you mean.”

Just then, Oscar caught your eye from the other side of the ballroom and you smiled at him, waving. He waved back. You were a vision in burgundy. He swore to go he was going to get heart palpitations from how beautiful you were.

“Starting soon now,” Tim clapped his hands on Oscar’s shoulders. “Better be ready with those acceptance speeches.”

Chris smiled at Tim. “Took the words out of my mouth,” he chuckled. “Also have to practice your shocked face. Even though we all know she’s going to win every single one of them,” Chris tapped his leg. “Like how she pretends to be shocked when you win.”

Oscar laughed, his cheeks going red. Why was he being embarrassed by his own father and step-father at the Oscars right now? He wanted you back, you could always calm them down, make them less… whatever they were.

“Busy?” you asked, coming up to the table, your question directed at him. He stood up immediately.

“Not at all,” he shook his head, the boys behind him chuckling like schoolgirls. He took your hand and you led him to the foot of the stage, squeezing his hand.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you whispered, leaning to his shoulder. “Thank you for coming.”

“I'm so proud of you,” he smiled, his hand sneaking around your waist to pull you closer. He loved this. These quiet moments between all the hustle and bustle of your own lives. The room melted away behind you as you both stared at the stage you hoped you’d end up on tonight, but he knew you would. “I’ll always come.”

You chuckled. “You said cum.”

He rolled his eyes, the soft moment between the two of you, now abruptly over due to his choice of words. He looked down at you and you laughed at his unimpressed stare. “I love you?” you offered, cupping his cheek.

“I guess I love you too,” he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours gently, but quickly- as to not get lipstick all over his mouth.

“And the nominees are; Anora, written by Sean Baker. The Brutalist, written by Brady Corbet, Mona Fastvold. A Real Pain, written by Jesse Eisenberg. , September 5, written by Moritz Binder, Tim Fehlbaum; co-written by Alex David. The Substance, written by Y/n Y/l/n,” the crowd cheered and he felt your hand squeeze his just a little tighter. “And the winner is… Anora, written by Sean Baker!”

Despite the loss, you stood and clapped for him. Oscar joined you, though he thought you should’ve probably won. You both sat back down as his speech began and he took your hand again. “You alright?”

You nodded beside him, your eyes fixed to Sean and his speech. “There’s still like 4 hours left, don’t worry.”

He chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to your hand. Ever the positive person.

“And the nominees are; Anora, Sean Baker. The Brutalist, David Jancso. Conclave, Nick Emerson. The Outrun, Y/n Y/l/n. Wicked, Myron Kerstein,” you tensed beside him. “And the winner is… Y/n Y/l/n, The Outrun!”

And the room stood for you. He felt like he was in slow motion. You both stood up at the same time, a bright smile on your face (he was sure he looked ridiculous), and you turned to him and you hugged him.

“Holy shit,” you whispered. He smiled back, nodding.

“You fucking did it,” he cheered as he pulled the speech out of his pocket. “Go accept it.”

You nodded and started your descent down the stairs. The entirety of Hollywood was on their feet for you. You’d been working in the industry since you were a kid. Everyone knew how wonderful you were. Only he got to see it everyday. He watched, pride practically spilling from every pore as you stood up on that stage, taking the award in your hand, the sheet of paper in your hand. You looked up, a teary smile on your lips. “Wow,” you breathed out, looking at the room, but your eyes immediately met Oscar’s, and you both smiled again. “Hello, and thank you,” you started. “Umm… alright, speech- yes!” you unfolded the piece of paper in your hand and took a deep breath. “Well… first of all, I’d like to thank the academy, because this-” you held up your award. “Is incredible. And next, I’d like to thank my family. Nicole, Tim, Chris, Hattie, Eddie, Mae,” Oscar was already tearing up, and he was sure his mom was at the floodgates stage of it all. “You’ve been so incredibly kind to me over the past decade. You took me in when I was just a random 14 year old your son or brother was dating, and you gave me a family, and I'll always be grateful. Next, I’d like to thank my husband-” he felt a tear fall down his cheek and he knew there were about twenty cameras on him. There were a few cheers from the crowd. “- Oscar, you’ve made me insanely happy, and you’re my everything. But you’re also the only person I’ll ever let in my editing room. I love how curious you were at the start, and now, how effortlessly you help me. Truly, this is half yours-” you chuckled, and so did he. “No matter what. Whether you were coming in from a race weekend, totally exhausted, or just come back from a run, you’ll sit beside me in silence and help me make it all work. I don’t think you understand how much that means to me, so, thank you. I love you all, thank you!” you finished off, just wiping the small tear that had fallen away, as the crowd rose for you again. Oscar was a goner, tears falling freely as he tried to wipe them away. God, you were too kind. He adored you.

The night ended at 3am, you walked away with two Oscar awards, and one Oscar. He was grinning the whole time, too. Couldn’t stop. You won Best Editing and Best Supporting Actress. His family were elated and you giggled on the way back tot he hotel as you watched videos of them react to you winning, since they weren't sitting beside you.

Both you and Oscar were exhausted, so you fell into bed, immediately tangling with each other and knocking out.

He ran a hand through your hair as he lazily closed his eyes. "Y/n?"

You hummed against his skin, sign enough that you were slightly conscious.

"I adore you," he whispered, the silence of the room seeming even quieter in the dark. You looked up at him through tired eyes, a soft smile on your lips.

"I feel it," you smiled. "And I love you too."

Best night ever.

mclaren masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

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formula1andbeyond · 3 months ago

Text

Favourite colour - Carlos Sainz Jr

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x PiastriSister!reader

Summary: You are Oscar Piastri’s older sister, who decided to wear blue to a race. Carlos Sainz accidentally mistakes you for a Williams crew member. Hilarity ensues.

Wordcount: Smau (aka no idea)

Warnings: None, I think? It's just fluff

A/N: Just as I finished this, half of it disappeared. So idk if the plot makes sense now. I tried to fix it, but couldn't remember everything so (I cried. Smau's takes way to much time)... If your name really is Katherine… use your imagination please hahaha. Also, I know there are more Piastri sisters, but I only use Hattie because I am lazy. Timeline? Don’t know her. Don’t think about it hahaha

...

Liked by NicolePiastri, OscarPiastri and others

Y/nPiastri: Outfit so good, Carlos Sainz though he was my boss🕶️

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User738: GIRL🤤

User43: Slay mama

User76: So, let me get this straight, Carlos thought you were someone who works at Williams racing, just because you’re wearing blue…? (Liked by Y/nPiastri)

Y/nPiastri: @/user76 he claims we look alike🙄

Lilymhe: This is hilarious🤣🤣🤣

HattiePiastri: Mom is too busy laughing to comment

NicolePiastri: I am not. You look beautiful honey, but that shirt... Carlos is excused.

User34: Not Nicole Piastri favouring Carlos over her oldest child hahahah

NicolePiastri: @/user34 I am a Carlos Sainz fan first, mother second🤭

...

Liked by CarlosSainz, NicolePiastri and others

OscarPiastri: Happy birthday to my amazing sister, Katherine. You’re a mess. Love you❤️

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Y/nPiastri: Shut up, i hate you.

Y/nPiastri: No, im sorry. I dont hate you. Thank you little brother❤️ Love you too🥰

User334: OMG Carlos liked this hahahaha

HattiePiastri: Happy birthday queen! 🥳🥳🥳

User34: Not Carlos in the likes!

User29: I thought her name was y/n???

User99: Oh, my sweet summers child hahahaha

User56: Fumbled so hard he had to stalk her brothers insta.

CarlosSainz: Williams blue is a good look🧢

User3: CARLOS! I AM GAGGED

HattiePiastri: This feels inapropriate...

Y/nPiastri: I just happen to LIKE BLUEEE😭😭😭

...

Liked by Mclaren, HattiePiastri and others

Y/nPiastri: Making sure no one thinks I work for them this time📙🥕🧡

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User19: A MAN?!?!?

lilyzneimer: Beautiful🧡🧡🧡

HattiePiastri: So just so we agree, I will be borrowing that Hermes bag🥰

Y/nPiastri: In your god damn diggity daggity dreams little child🔪 HattiePiastri: So what I'm hearing is a maybe...?

CarlosSainz: You look better in blue🫐

user500: Horny on main I see...👀 user45: MR SAINZ!😂

User58: Don't think you can hide him away in the last photo. Who is the guy?????🔍

User30: WIld idea, but what if that is Carlos? That would be such a hilarious turn around🤔

User38: @/user30 I like your delulu User77: No, but she might have a point. He's been commenting on all posts about her. And he's always in the likes... User30: OMG I'm not alone in my delulu!!!

…

...

Liked by user49, user284 and others

F1updates: Carlos Sainz was spotted on a walk in Barcelona hand in hand with Oscar Piastri's older sister, Y/n!🤯🤯🤯

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User1: THIS IS GOLD

User94: What is thiiiiisssss

User301: Did not see this coming🤔

User48: They are so stunning😍😍😍

User795: She is wearing THAT shirt!!!👕

...

Liked by CarlosSainz, NicolePiastri and others

Y/nPiastri: Hard to say no when blue is my favourite colour💙

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CarlosSainz: It really is your colour🦋

Lilymhe: Alex claims he figured it out weeks ago

Y/nPiastri: Girl, I didn't even know weeks ago hahaha

HattiePiastri: I knew you couldn't afford that hermes bag on your own😶🕵️‍♀️

NicolePiastri: Best day of my life❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Lilyznimer: Congrats you two! Oscar is slowly loosing his mind looking at this

User355: Nicole Piastri must be loosing her marbles!!!

NicolePiastri: Haven't stopped crying since she told me

User94: GOALS🥅🏁

user89: This is the old money blueprint

User30: The most stunning couple😍

...

BONUS:

Liked by CarlosSainz, OscarPiastri and others

Y/nPiastri: Finally got to meet Katherine from Williams Marketing!

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HattiePiastri: Oh, I think Carlos might be excused...🔍

NicolePiastri: Didn't know I had yet another daughter...

User16: This is actually hilarious

User55: Now I feel bad for making fun of Carlos

Lando: What do you mean. This is the same person???🥸

CarlosSainz: I can tell the difference now, mi amor💙

OscarPiastri: You can? Because I'm actually struggling

Y/nPiastri: OSCAR DON'T RUIN THE MOMENT

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 3 months ago

Text

Trophy Boyfriend

Word count: 450

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Lando Norris fully embraces his role as Y/n L/n’s devoted trophy boyfriend, happily standing in the background while she steals the spotlight.

________________________________________________________

Lando Norris had a lot of titles to his name—Formula 1 driver, McLaren’s golden boy, future world champion (hopefully). But none of them mattered quite as much as the one he held now: Y/n L/n’s boyfriend.

It was a role he took very seriously. Not because he was the main character in this relationship—he wasn’t, not even a little. Y/n was the main event, the superstar, the reason photographers nearly toppled over themselves trying to snap pictures when they walked into a room together.

She was everything. And he was just… well, Lando.

He didn’t mind.

“I love this dress,” he said, watching Y/n twirl in front of the mirror. It was something sleek, designer, probably gifted by a brand that wanted her to post about it.

“You think so?” she mused, adjusting the straps.

“I think,” Lando said, sliding his hands around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder, “that every single person at this event is going to wish they were me.”

Y/n laughed, rolling her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“No, I’m right.” He grinned. “I’m literally dating you. Do you know how crazy that is?”

She turned in his arms, smoothing a hand through his curls. “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“I mean, look at you,” he continued dramatically. “Gorgeous. Talented. Everyone loves you. And then there’s me—your little trophy boyfriend.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Little?”

“Well, figuratively.” He leaned in closer, voice dropping. “Not literally.”

She smacked his chest, but he could see the way her lips curled up. “Behave.”

“Never,” he murmured, stealing a quick kiss before she could stop him.

The gala was exactly what Lando expected—Y/n’s show, and he was just happy to be a part of it.

People flocked to her the second they arrived, showering her with compliments, gushing over her latest projects, asking for pictures. Lando, in the meantime, sipped his drink and stood a little off to the side, perfectly content to let her shine.

Occasionally, she would reach back for him, lacing their fingers together like a silent reminder: You’re still my favorite person here.

He liked that.

At some point, a well-meaning (but oblivious) businessman clapped Lando on the back and said, “Must be nice, huh? Being with someone like Y/n.”

Lando just grinned. “Mate, I wake up every day and wonder how I pulled it off.”

It was true. He had no delusions about who the star was in this relationship. Y/n walked into a room and owned it, and Lando? He was just happy to be the guy holding her purse when she needed both hands to take a picture.

And honestly? Best gig ever.

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ijustwannabecool · 18 days ago

Text

White Flag - PT. 2

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Driver!Reader

Summary... Two exes on the same team. They broke up before the season started. Now they’re forced to work together through 23 races, 5 continents, and one very awkward off-season.

A/N: I'm sorry it took so long to post part 2. I just got really into it and I wanted to keep writing on here but I reached my Tumblr limit, so I might have to post a part 3 soon lol... but here you guys goooo.. I hope you guys enjoy it and part 3 will be post soon.

Part 1 - Read before you read this part :)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Ferrari’s media team knew a goldmine when they saw one.

Two top-tier drivers. Former lovers. Now teammates.

It wasn’t just a headline—it was content. It was clicks. It was drama wrapped in designer race suits.

“From lovers to rivals: Leclerc and Y/L/N gear up for 2025.” “Scuderia's Spiciest Season Yet: Can Ferrari's new duo keep it professional?” “Breakups and Burnouts: How tension off track might fuel fire on it.”

Charles wanted to strangle someone every time he saw one of those headlines. But the PR team only leaned in harder.

The official campaign slogan?

"Two hearts. One team. One goal."

It made him sick.

They paired them for every promo shoot. Every sponsorship feature. Every “day in the life” segment.

You would smile like it meant nothing. Laugh politely when the hosts made jabs about “familiarity.” Maintain a neutral distance.

Meanwhile, Charles was unraveling.

They wouldn’t even let you use separate PR handlers.

“Unity,” they said. “Cohesion,” they insisted. “It sells,” they didn’t say—but didn’t have to.

One day, they were forced to film a bit where they stood back-to-back, arms crossed, smirking.

Charles hadn’t realized how intimate standing back-to-back could feel until you shifted slightly, your shoulder brushing his just barely, and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

You didn’t react. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like it hadn’t meant everything once.

------

Australia

Melbourne was warm. Too warm for a black polo, but the Ferrari dress code didn’t care about comfort.

Charles adjusted his collar and checked his reflection in the mirror one last time before stepping into the media room.

Youwas already there.

Of course you was.

Hair pulled back. Aviators on. Red polo perfectly tucked. Smiling as you leaned over a table to sign posters for the fan zone.

He hated how effortlessly cool you looked. How unbothered.

The moment the press spotted you together, the room buzzed.

Click click click. Leclerc. Y/L/N. Ferrari’s power pairing. Exes on the grid. Tension or teamwork?

Charles forced a smile as you were called forward.

“Let’s get a joint shot for the socials,” the team rep chirped.

You stood next to him, closer than you’d been since that night in Monaco.

“Hi,” you said under your breath, not looking at him.

He swallowed. “Hi.”

Click.

“Closer,” someone said.

Charles didn’t move. You didn’t either.

More clicks.

“Tell us,” a reporter grinned, “what’s it like sharing a garage with someone you used to share—”

You cut in, voice honey-sweet but razor sharp. “We share a team, not a past. And the only thing we’re focused on is winning.”

That shut them up. But the damage was done.

The soundbite was already being clipped, posted, quoted.

Back in the Ferrari hospitality tent, Charles found you alone by the espresso machine.

“I hate this,” he said quietly.

You turned, eyebrow raised. “The coffee?”

“This circus,” he gestured to the media tent. “The narrative. Us being—this.”

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have walked away.”

It wasn’t cruel. Just honest.

And it landed like a gut punch.

Before he could say anything else, the comms manager appeared.

“You two are up next for the Sky Sports segment. Smile, yeah?”

You walked off without another word.

Charles followed, knowing that for the next ten minutes, they’d have to pretend it didn’t still hurt.

------

The garage smelled like burnt rubber and nerves.

It always did on Saturdays, but this time it wasn’t just the usual pre-quali tension. It was you, three meters away, head bowed as a race engineer adjusted your headset, lips moving into the comms.

Charles wasn’t looking.

Except he was.

He always was.

“P2 and P3 look tight this weekend,” Fred Vasseur said, walking in with his clipboard. “If we want front row, we’ll need clean laps and clean heads.”

He looked directly at both of you when he said it.

Neither responded.

Q1 went smooth. Q2 went tense. Q3… was war.

Charles radioed in first. “Tell her not to back me into dirty air.”

His engineer’s voice crackled. “You’re two seconds behind her. You’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, and last week I was ‘fine’ and I hit traffic.”

“We’ll relay it.”

A beat later: “She says tell him to stay out of her mirrors and focus on his own damn lap.”

Charles snorted inside his helmet. “Copy.”

Back in the garage post-Q3, the timing screens lit up.

P2 – Y/L/N P3 – Leclerc

Silence.

A few claps. A few murmured congratulations.

You walked past him to grab a towel. “Nice lap.”

He grabbed his own. “Yeah. Yours was better.”

“Guess I still know how to deliver under pressure.”

There it was.

He turned, a bit too fast. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

You looked at him finally. Really looked.

Helmet off. Hair damp with sweat. Eyes fierce.

“You tell me, Charles.”

They finished P4 and P5.

Missed the podium by a few seconds.

Not a bad result, but not what Ferrari needed. Not what they needed.

The debrief room was cold, sterile. Screens flickered with sector data, lap comparisons, tire degradation stats.

Fred stood at the front, running through post-race notes.

Charles sat across from you.

You hadn’t spoken since the grid.

“Turn 11. Charles, you lost time on Lap 39. What happened?”

He shrugged, eyes flicking to you. “Dirty air. Wasn’t willing to risk taking her out.”

Your jaw tightened. “I gave space.”

He laughed under his breath. “Sure.”

“Okay,” Fred cut in quickly. “Let’s keep it constructive.”

Silence again.

Until you spoke, clear and direct. “We need a cleaner release strategy. And if he wants space, tell him to earn it next time.”

Charles’s head snapped up.

Fred sighed.

“Got it,” the strategist muttered. “We’ll review.”

The debrief ended five minutes later.

Charles stood.

So did you.

Your eyes met again, tired, sharp, something dangerously close to familiar.

But you walked out first.

Again.

-----

Bahrain

The room was packed.

Media day in Bahrain always felt intense, but this year? It was a feeding frenzy.

Two Ferrari drivers. One very public breakup.

The FIA insisted you sit together. "Transparency," they said.

Charles on the far left. You beside him. Lando, Carlos, and Oscar completed the row—but all eyes were on red.

“So,” a reporter grinned. “Ferrari’s newest pairing—how’s the vibe in the garage? Awkward breakfasts? Shared playlists?”

Lando laughed into his mic. “They sit further apart than the hard and soft compounds.”

You smiled politely. “It’s been professional. We’re both here to drive, not to relive 2023.”

Charles nodded. “We communicate what we need to. That’s what matters.”

A second reporter jumped in. “Y/N, any lingering tension after qualifying in front of Charles last week?”

Your eyes flicked to Charles, then back to the mic. “Only the competitive kind.”

Someone in the back raised a hand. “What’s your biggest strength as a driver?”

“Focus,” yousaid quickly.

“Control,” Charles added.

Lando snorted. “That didn’t age well.”

Y/N cracked a small smile. “Didn’t know you were a relationship therapist now, Norris.”

Charles almost laughed.

Almost.

After the panel, they filed out in silence.

Until Charles caught up to you near the paddock entrance.

“You handled that well,” he said quietly.

You kept walking. “Didn’t stab anyone with a mic, so I’d say yes.”

He glanced at you. “Look, I know we’re not… whatever we were. But if you ever want to talk—really talk—”

“I’ll let you know,” you replied, then turned into the Ferrari hospitality tent.

But your steps slowed just slightly, like part of you wanted to look back.

Charles didn’t follow.

Not yet.

-----

The floodlights buzzed overhead, casting the Bahrain circuit in an artificial glow. The air was dry. The engines roared.

Ferrari lined up P3 and P4. Charles ahead. Y/N behind.

“Smooth launch,” the engineer said. “Respect the plan. Strategy window opens Lap 11.”

You both confirm over radio.

And for the first ten laps, it was calm.

Until the tire degradation started to hit.

“Box, box,” said your race engineer.

You dove into the pits first, fresh mediums. Charles stayed out, covering the undercut.

Lap 12, he came in. Rejoining nose to tail.

Lap 16. The chaos began.

You had better grip. Charles was still defending.

The paddock held its breath as you launched down the inside into Turn 4.

Too late. Too hot. Too close.

“Whoa! Y/N just dove on Leclerc—”

“Contact?”

“Nearly!”

Charles had seconds to react, jerking the wheel just enough to give you space without going off.

You held the line. You didn’t touch. Barely.

Over team radio, silence.

Then Charles’s voice: “Tell her next time, commit or back off. No half-measures.”

One lap later: “Tell him thank you for not wrecking us both.”

Ferrari pit wall didn’t breathe again until Lap 57.

Crossing the line in P4 and Charles P5.

Clean. Barely.

But something had changed.

-----

The debrief room was tense.

Fred stood at the front with his tablet. “Let’s talk about Lap 16.”

Neither spoke.

Fred looked at you. “Too aggressive.”

He looked at Charles. “Too stubborn.”

“I gave her space,” Charles said flatly.

“Barely,” you muttered.

Fred exhaled. “Look, I don’t care what happened last year. Right now, we need points. Not pride.”

More silence.

Until Charles glanced at you. “That move… it was good.”

You blinked. “You sure? I thought I nearly ruined your race.”

“You didn’t. I adjusted. Trusted you would finish it clean.”

Tilting your head. “You trusted me?”

He nodded once. “Didn’t want to. But I did.”

Something soft flickering inside.

Fred cleared his throat. “Great. Now bottle that energy for Saudi.”

-----

Saudi Arabia

Jeddah at night was pure adrenaline.

Fast. Narrow. Dangerous.

You had qualified P5, Charles in P3. Both knew this track didn’t forgive mistakes. But neither expected what happened on Lap 22.

Yellow flag. Then red.

Oscar Piastri had gone into the wall. Marshals flooded the track. Everyone filed into the pit lane.

And just like that, the race paused mid-chaos.

Yanking your helmet off, pacing near your car.

Charles was sitting on the halo of his own, elbows on knees, gloves still on.

Fred walked over with the strategy lead. “We’re flipping it. You two are going hard tire to the end. But we need to control the restart.”

With a raised a brow. “As in… team orders?”

“No,” Fred said. “As in teamwork. You box first. Charles follows. You go aggressive. Charles defends.”

Charles finally spoke. “That’s risky.”

Fred stared at you both. “Only if you don’t trust each other.”

A pause.

Charles looked at you. “You okay with that?”

You held his gaze. “Can you handle being rear guard?”

His mouth twitched. “Can you handle being first out?”

You smirked. “Try and keep up, Leclerc.”

They fist-bumped. Small. Wordless.

But it meant something.

Race restart. Lap 25.

You launched. Clean getaway. Charles slotted in behind you perfectly.

The next 15 laps were chaos.

McLarens attacking. Mercedes on alternate strategy. George on softs, trying to divebomb.

But Charles covered you like a shield. Blocked every move. Clean. Aggressive. Masterful.

And when you crossed the line P2, Charles P3—it felt like more than just a podium.

It felt like healing.

----

The media pen was buzzing.

Carlos was talking to Sky Sports. Lando had already thrown his cap into the crowd.

You slipped into the corner of the garage, helmet still in hand, flushed cheeks cooling off under the LED lights.

Charles found you there. Silent, soft-footed, holding two water bottles.

He passed you one without a word.

You took it. “Thanks.”

He sat beside you, not too close. Just enough.

“You raced beautifully,” he said after a beat.

You looked at him. “You covered for me. Better than anyone else could’ve.”

He smiled. “We were a good team today.”

You tilted your head. “Today?”

He met your eyes, quiet. “Let’s start with today.”

For once, you didn’t push.

Just nodded, capped your water, and whispered, “Okay.”

----

Japan

Charles hated qualifying at Suzuka.

He used to love it. The rhythm. The corners. The history. But today, nothing clicked.

His rear snapped loose in Sector 1 twice. Oversteer in the Esses. Lock-up into Degner 2.

Q2: Eliminated. P11.

He didn’t even wait for the interview. Just pulled off his helmet and stormed into the back of the Ferrari garage.

You managed P3. But you didn’t celebrate.

You saw him disappear, saw the stiffness in his shoulders, the way he didn’t even speak to his engineer.

So you followed.

You found him in the corner, still suited, gloves off, jaw clenched.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he mutters without looking up.

But you step closer anyway.

“I’m not here to lecture you,” you say gently. “I’m here because I’ve had days like this too.”

His head turns, but his eyes don’t meet yours yet. “It was the car. It was me. It was—everything.”

You sit beside him, close but not touching.

“Look at me,” you say.

He does. Slowly. Hesitantly.

“You’re not done. This was just Q2. You still have tomorrow. We’re a team, remember?”

He doesn’t say anything for a second. Then quietly: “We are now.”

You nod once. “Then let me help. Whatever you need.”

He exhales, like something in him unclenches for the first time all day.

“I’ll need a miracle start.”

You smirk. “Good thing I’m not using mine.”

He laughs, just barely.

But it’s real.

Charles made up four places in the first ten laps.

Another two by Lap 38.

Finished P5. You held onto P4 despite tire drop-off and a late push from Hamilton.

Not their strongest weekend. But they walked away with points.

In the post-race cooldown room, you nudged his elbow lightly.

“You still think you needed a miracle?”

Charles gave a tired grin. “Might’ve had one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “From who?”

He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t have to.

------

It started as a joke.

Some Sky Sports producer thought it would be hilarious: "Charles and Y/N, do a mock argument for a TikTok—act like you're squabbling over setup or who's the favorite child at Ferrari.”

You both agreed. Begrudgingly.

They set up two chairs. One mic. A ridiculous prompt: “Pretend you’re in a team meeting and the other person won’t stop interrupting.”

The cameras rolled.

You fold your arms and cock your head at him. “If you’d actually listen to the data for once—”

He cuts you off. “If you didn’t divebomb every corner like it owes you money—”

“Oh please,” you laugh, playing it up. “Just admit you hate being second best.”

“Only to Verstappen,” he fires back smoothly.

The crew laughs.

You don’t.

Not really.

You lean in slightly, voice lower now. “That supposed to be a dig?”

He doesn’t break character—but something shifts in his eyes.

“You tell me,” he says. Still smiling. But not really.

You glance at the producer. “You got what you needed?”

“Yeah, that was gold.”

You stand. Walk off.

He follows, slower.

Outside the garage, just far enough from the cameras, you spin on your heel.

“What the hell was that?”

He shrugs. “It was a joke.”

“No, that was you throwing a jab while we’re still smiling for the world.”

He frowns, crosses his arms. “You said play it up.”

“I didn’t say twist the knife.”

Silence.

You hate this part. The stillness after anger. The too-honest parts neither of you mean to say.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You nod, jaw tight. “I know.”

You don’t talk the rest of the night.

But the next morning, there’s coffee on your table with your name scribbled on the cup.

And one word underneath it.

“Sorry.”

The race was messy.

Two safety cars. A virtual. DRS trains for half the grid. But somehow, you both came out of it ahead.

P3 for him. P4 for you.

Twenty-seven points for Ferrari.

In the hospitality tent after media rounds, you find him standing at the espresso bar, towel around his neck, half-buttoned race suit still clinging to his waist.

He turns when he hears your footsteps.

“You always drink coffee after a race?” you ask, grabbing a water.

He grins. “It’s tradition.”

“You qualified tenth and still made the podium. That deserves something stronger.”

He lifts his cup. “Double shot.”

You roll your eyes but smile. “WDC standings?”

He shrugs. “I’m third. You’re fourth. Two points between us.”

You raise your brows. “Still can’t believe I let you overcut me.”

“Let?” he repeats.

“I was being generous.”

He smirks. “Call it generosity when I’m leading after Austria.”

“You wish.”

Lando walks by and hears the tail end.

“Oh my God,” he mutters, dramatic. “Just snog already. The tension is exhausting.”

Carlos snorts behind him. “They’ve been like this for months.”

You and Charles glance at each other. Then look away.

You sip your water. He drinks his espresso.

Neither of you says what you're thinking.

But it's loud in the silence.

----

Miami

Miami was madness.

Neon everything. Celebs everywhere. Race suits clinging in the humidity. Cameras flashing like it was the Met Gala instead of a Grand Prix.

You’d qualified P4, Charles in P6 after a rough Q3. Grid penalties had bumped you both up a row.

Ferrari was flying under the radar. No drama this week. Just quiet consistency.

But the paddock? Loud.

“You know there’s a TikTok calling us ‘the parents of the grid’?” you ask, sliding into your seat for the drivers’ parade.

Charles adjusts his cap, smirks. “We’re barely speaking some weeks.”

You grin. “Exactly. Divorced parents.”

“Who share custody of Fred.”

You laugh, full and real, and it makes him pause for half a second. Just watch you.

“I like when you do that,” he says quietly.

You blink. “What?”

“Laugh like you don’t hate me.”

“I never hated you.”

He nods slowly. “I know. I just made it easy to pretend.”

The truck jolts forward. You look ahead again.

But your smile doesn’t fade.

The race was brutal.

Hot track temps. Double-stacked pit stop. A late safety car.

Y/N crossed the line P2 after a perfectly timed overtake on Checo. Charles held off George for P4. Nearly lost it on the final lap.

Back in the paddock, the post-race buzz is everywhere.

Champagne. Sunglasses. Music thumping somewhere from a sponsor tent.

Carlos walks over holding two beers. Tosses one to you, hands the other to Charles.

“To the newlyweds,” he jokes. “Still pretending you don’t like each other. Cute.”

You clink bottles with Charles without even thinking. “We’re just co-parenting Ferrari, remember?”

Charles grins. “The healthiest toxic duo on the grid.”

Lando, passing by, yells, “Divorced but still sleeping together vibes!”

You almost choke on your beer.

Charles? Just smirks and takes a sip.

----

They barely talked in Imola. Just strategy meetings and quiet nods between corners. No drama. No fireworks. Just a solid P3 for Charles, P5 for Y/N. Business as usual.

But Monaco?

Monaco was different.

The tension in the air was tighter. The roads narrower. The stakes—personal.

It wasn’t just another race for Charles. It was his race. His home. His curse.

Everyone knew it.

Race Weekend – Saturday Quali

You watched from the monitors in the Ferrari garage, suited up but still, hands clenched at your sides.

Charles had gone purple in Sector 1.

“Come on,” you murmured under your breath. “Come on, Charles…”

The team radio crackled as he crossed the line.

P1.

Pole position.

He’d done it.

You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

When he came back into the garage, helmet off, jaw tight but eyes bright, you were one of the first to meet him.

“You did it,” you say, the corners of your mouth lifting before you can stop it. “Finally.”

He grins—really grins—and for once, doesn’t guard it.

“I did.”

You nod. “Go win the damn thing.”

He looks at you then—really looks—and says quietly, “I’ll try. But either way, thanks.”

You shrug, but your heart stumbles.

“Don’t thank me yet. It’s still Monaco.”

Sunday – Race Day

He leads from lights to flag.

No technical failure. No strategy blunder. No crash.

Charles Leclerc wins the Monaco Grand Prix.

The grandstands explode. The team jumps the pit wall. Red flags wave in the sea of blue.

He pulls into parc fermé and slams both fists on the halo of the car.

He’s yelling something, words swallowed by noise, but it’s pure release.

You watch it all unfold from the pit wall, tears stinging behind your visor.

Later, when he comes back to the garage, hair damp from champagne, cheeks still red from adrenaline, he finds you waiting with a towel in your hand.

“I knew this one meant everything to you,” you say, holding out the towel.

He takes it, breathless. “You cried?”

“I didn’t cry.”

“You definitely cried.”

You glance away. “It’s allergies.”

“Bullshit,” he says, laughing. Then quieter: “Thank you. Again.”

You tilt your head. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did,” he says. “You believed in me.”

You don’t answer that. You don’t have to.

Because it’s written all over your face.

Later That Night – Ferrari Hospitality

The party is in full swing. Champagne, laughter, blurry sponsor reps trying to dance.

You sit off to the side with your engineer, nerves humming low in your gut.

“You ready for Spain?” he asks.

You force a smile. “Sure. First home GP with Ferrari? No pressure.”

“Cameras will love it. Fans too.”

“Yeah. Just hope I don’t crash it into Turn 5 and cry on national TV.”

He laughs, but you don’t.

That’s when Charles walks by. Slows down when he catches the look on your face.

He waits until your engineer steps away, then slides into the seat beside you.

“You nervous?” he asks.

You nod. “Terrified.”

He sips from his drink. “Good. That means you care.”

You let out a breath. “This is the first time I’m going back to Barcelona and not just racing, but representing Ferrari. It’s not just about me anymore.”

He leans back. “You know how many times I’ve tried to win Monaco? How many times I choked on it?”

You nod slowly.

“This year, I stopped racing it for everyone else. I drove it for myself.”

You look at him.

“You should do the same,” he says. “You don’t owe anyone perfection. Just honesty.”

You blink. “What if I mess it up anyway?”

He shrugs. “Then you mess it up. But it’s yours to mess up. You don’t have to earn your seat. You already did.”

You smile. Really smile this time.

“Was that… support?” you tease.

He grins. “Don’t get used to it.”

You clink your plastic cup against his glass bottle.

“To not crashing.”

-----

Barcelona

Barcelona was hot.

Not just the weather, but the noise, the chaos, the sheer pressure of it. The home crowd roared every time Y/N’s face flashed on a screen. Every time she passed pit lane. Every time she stepped into frame beside a red car with her name printed on it.

It was her first Spanish Grand Prix as a Ferrari driver.

And everyone expected magic.

Quali – Saturday

P1: Y/N P2: Charles P3: Lando

You’d nailed it. Sector after sector, perfect lines, clean exit out of Turn 10, a final push in Sector 3 that put you on provisional pole.

Then the radio crackled: “P1, Y/N. That’s P1. You’re on pole.”

The team cheered.

Charles clapped from parc fermé. Genuinely. Unreservedly.

“You good?” he asks later, bumping your shoulder lightly in the garage.

You shake your head. “No. I’m gonna puke.”

He laughs. “That’s how you know you’re about to win.”

You glance sideways. “So you’re rooting for me?”

He leans closer, voice low and calm. “I’ve always rooted for you.”

You freeze just a second too long. But he doesn’t push.

Just walks away, leaving you with your heart in your throat and butterflies in your stomach.

Sunday – Race Day

The stands were a blur of red and yellow. Spanish flags waved alongside Ferrari ones. Your name echoed down every straight.

Charles held P2 the entire race. Defended like hell when Checo threatened. Managed tires. Covered DRS zones.

But the focus was on you.

Lap after lap, you pulled ahead. Clean. Precise. Brilliant.

And when you crossed the finish line...

P1. Home race. Home win.

The crowd erupted.

You screamed into your radio. Your engineer cried. The Ferrari garage lost its mind.

And somewhere just behind you, Charles smiled the way only someone truly proud could.

The room is ice cold. But your skin is still burning.

You’ve barely sat down when the water bottle is shoved into your hand and the towel lands in your lap.

Charles is the one who passed them to you. He’s standing across the room now, sipping his own water like it’s no big deal, like he didn’t just defend for half the race so you could run free.

“I can’t feel my legs,” you mumble, still breathless.

He leans against the wall. “I’m pretty sure the Spanish anthem gave me goosebumps.”

You laugh softly. “My parents were in the grandstand.”

“I saw them on the big screen,” he says. “Your mum looked like she was crying.”

“She probably was,” you reply, squeezing the towel. “She always said if I won in Barcelona, she’d throw a shoe at someone out of joy.”

He chuckles. “Tell her to aim for Zak Brown next time.”

You snort. Then pause. Then say, quieter now, real. “Thanks. For racing clean. For not pushing too hard.”

His gaze softens.

“You earned it,” he says. “I just stayed out of your way.”

You look at him, and for once it doesn’t hurt. It just feels right.

Like you’re finally starting again. Not as what you were, but something new. Something steadier.

The door opens. A staff member calls you both out to the podium room.

He offers you a hand to stand.

You take it without hesitation.

In parc fermé, after the cooldown room, after the media, you found each other again.

“I didn’t puke,” you tell him, dazed, half-laughing.

He steps forward, curls messy under his cap, cheeks still pink from the sun and emotion.

“You won.”

“I won.”

His arms open without a word. And you fall into them.

For a second, the noise fades. The cameras disappear. It’s just him. Just you.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispers, so quiet no one else could hear it.

You squeeze him tighter. “Thank you.”

Then you pull away, wipe your eyes, and grin. “Next up: Austria. You better keep up.”

He smirks. “I’ll try. La Reine rouge.” (The red queen)

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “You’ll get it translated later.”

-----

Austria

Austria was supposed to be serious.

Sprint weekend. Short, brutal track. No room for error.

But somewhere between the mountain air, the pasta night in the Ferrari motorhome, and Charles finally wearing that stupid team polo with one too many buttons undone…

Things started to feel fun again.

Driver Dinner – Friday Night

It’s the kind of night that doesn’t feel like work.

The sun’s dipping behind the mountains. The restaurants terrace is strung with soft lights and red napkins folded into fancy shapes none of you can pronounce. Someone from the kitchen is overcooking garlic bread. Carlos is already on his second glass of wine. And you?

You’re trying to act normal.

Trying really hard not to notice how Charles looks across the table with his sleeves pushed up and that laugh that used to be yours echoing across the space like it never stopped.

“So,” Carlos says, swirling his glass like he’s in a telenovela. “Be honest. Which one of you is better at keeping secrets?”

You blink. “Why?”

He gestures between you and Charles with a dramatic flair. “Because there is clearly something going on here, and I refuse to be the last to know.”

You raise a brow. “Carlos.”

He leans forward. “Y/N.”

Across the table, Charles is fighting a smile. “Maybe we just communicate better now.”

Lando chimes in, grinning. “Yeah, like when you told her over radio today to stay off your rear wing?”

You toss a piece of bread at him.

“I was racing,” you say. “It’s called banter. Learn it.”

Carlos winks. “Banter is foreplay.”

You nearly snort water through your nose.

Charles? Doesn’t deny it.

He just shrugs, relaxed in a way he hasn’t been all season.

“And besides,” he adds casually, “If we were secretly back together, you’d think we’d be dumb enough to flirt in front of you lot?”

Silence.

Then Giuliano: “Honestly, yes.”

The entire table erupts.

You laugh so hard you actually slap Charles’s shoulder.

He looks at you with that damn twinkle in his eye.

And for a second.

Just a second,

It feels like it used to. Like before Monaco. Before the silence. Before the pretending.

You’re quiet again by dessert.

Carlos is now deep in a debate with an engineer about which gelato flavor is elite. The others are trading sim rig horror stories.

You sip your drink and feel someone watching you.

When you glance up, Charles is already looking away.

But you caught it.

And that smile you’ve been holding back?

It finally escapes.

Sprint – Saturday

Short, sweet, chaotic. Charles finishes P3, you take P5 after getting squeezed wide by Oscar.

But it’s Sunday that really sets the paddock buzzing.

Race Day – Sunday

Lap 18. Team radio.

Engineer: “Charles, pace is good. Y/N behind on same strategy.”

Charles: “Tell her to stay off my rear wing. It’s not a date.”

A beat of silence.

Y/N (radio): “Could’ve fooled me, Leclerc. You’re blushing.”

The Ferrari garage loses it.

PR rep facepalms. Fred mutters something about needing holy water.

Post-race: P2 (Charles), P4 (Y/N).

Lando tweets: “Y/N and Charles flirting over radio like it’s Love Island.” Carlos reposts with: “Soft launch confirmed? I need mom and dad back together..."

Later That Night – Back at the Hotel

You get a message.

Charles: “Nice overtake today. Also, you’re the one who was blushing.”

You reply: “Shut up. Go to sleep.”

But you smile the entire time you type it.

---

Silverstone

Silverstone was grey. Not raining. Not sunny. Just stuck in that British limbo where the air feels like it might cry at any moment.

You arrived early. Charles didn’t.

And that -that- was unusual.

He was always early. Always first in the sim room. First at track walk. First in the debrief seat with his notebook and highlighter like some overachieving student.

But this weekend, he was quieter.

And you noticed.

Thursday – Media Day

The questions were more pointed than usual. You’d placed P1 in FP1. Charles, P6.

You kept getting asked about “momentum,” “confidence,” “beating your teammate.”

He kept getting asked about pressure.

And still, you sat side by side for the press conference.

“You good?” you whisper before it starts.

He shrugs. “I’m fine.”

You nudge his knee under the table. “That’s not an answer.”

He looks at you. Really looks.

And that’s when you realize how tired he is.

Not physically. Emotionally.

You nudge again, gentler. “Hey.”

He exhales. “I’m okay. Just… not here yet.”

“Then where are you?”

He doesn’t say it right away.

Then he murmurs, “August. In a quiet place. Without cameras.”

You blink.

“Summer break?” you ask.

He nods.

You pause. “Where?”

“Southern Italy. Friend’s place near the coast.”

Your stomach dips.

“…You’re kidding.”

He frowns. “Why?”

“I-” you bite your lip. “Booked an Airbnb ten minutes from there. Like. Two days ago.”

You stare at each other.

Then he chuckles. “Of course you did.”

“Pure coincidence,” you insist, suddenly hot in your race suit.

“Sure.”

You glare. “I didn’t even know where you were going.”

“I never said you did,” he says, that stupid smug grin appearing.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t make this a thing.”

“Too late,” Carlos says from three seats over.

Saturday – Quali Day

It’s wet. Classic Silverstone.

Charles struggles in Q2, nearly bins it at Stowe. You hold pole for a heartbeat before George snatches it in the dying seconds.

You’ll start P2. Charles, P6.

Back in the garage, he rips off his gloves a little too sharply.

You wait.

And then...

“You’re allowed to be frustrated,” you say, stepping in quietly.

“I’m not frustrated,” he mutters.

“Charles.”

He looks up. Wet curls flattened to his forehead, eyes sharp and tired.

You lower your voice. “It’s not a weakness to feel disappointed.”

He laughs, short and bitter. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I think you’re hard on yourself,” you say. “I think you punish yourself for things the car can’t even control.”

You step closer.

“And I think I hate seeing you like this.”

That stops him cold.

You watch him swallow hard, jaw clenching like he wants to say something but won’t let himself.

“Thanks,” he says softly. “For… whatever that was.”

“Support,” you say.

“Feels dangerous coming from you.”

You smile. “Only if you let it be.”

Sunday – Race Day

The track dried up. The race was electric.

George retired early. You led for half the race. Charles clawed back place after place, hungry like he hadn’t been since Monaco.

Lap 48: You were running P1. He was P3, chasing Lando.

Lap 51: He took P2.

Final lap: Both Ferraris on the podium.

P1: Y/N. P2: Charles. P3: Max.

Ferrari drowned in red smoke and champagne.

Post-Race – Cooldown Room

“You’re two for two,” he says, walking in still half out of breath.

You blink up at him from the bench. “And you’re creeping up on me in points.”

He tosses you a towel. “Scared?”

“Not of you.”

You grin. He does too.

You take a sip of water. “That thing you said the other day.”

“What thing?”

“About August. About being somewhere quiet.”

He nods.

“You still want that?”

He tilts his head. “You offering company?”

You pretend to think about it.

Then shrug. “Pure coincidence, remember?”

He grins. “Sure.”

----

Hungary

Hungary was a slow burner.

Tight corners. Technical turns. Strategy-focused. No chaos unless the weather invited it.

And the weather?

Was knocking.

The forecast kept flipping. Every five minutes a new update. Cloud cover, yes. Rain? Maybe. Thunder? Possible.

You were P3. Charles, P4. Both cars strong. Steady. Waiting for the right storm.

Saturday – Night Before the Race

Dinner was quiet. Everyone focused. No wine this time. No Carlos antics. Just calm.

You sat beside Charles by accident.

Or maybe not.

You didn’t speak much. But your knees brushed under the table.

And this time?

Neither of you moved.

Race Day – Sunday

Lap 28.

The rain hit.

Just as soft as it started, it threw the whole race into chaos.

Slippery pit entries. Unplanned stops. Everyone scrambling.

You both pitted perfectly.

And for fifteen laps—you led.

Charles ran P2. Again. Right behind you. Shadowing you. Protecting you.

Team radio stayed mostly silent.

Because neither of you needed words anymore.

Final Result: P1 – Y/N. P2 – Charles. Ferrari 1-2.

Three in a row for you.

And for the first time all season, it felt like you could breathe.

Post-Race – The Rain Comes Back

The cooldown room was a blur.

Then the podium.

Then the interviews.

Then the chaos.

And finally, finally, you were alone.

Or at least, you thought you were.

You step outside the back of the hospitality tent, just for a minute. The air is wet. The rain’s light but steady, misting your hair, cooling your face.

You close your eyes.

“You always do this?” a voice says behind you.

You open them. He’s there. Leaning on the wall. Drenched.

You exhale. “Needed a minute.”

He walks over. No umbrella. No jacket. Just him.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod slowly. “I think I am.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t believe it.

But he wants to.

You pull in a breath. “Feels like everything’s moving so fast. Like one minute I’m terrified and the next I’m winning. Again. And people keep looking at me like I’ve already become the person I’m supposed to be and I’m just—”

You stop.

He steps closer.

“You don’t have to be her all the time,” he says softly.

You blink.

“You can just be you. With me.”

The silence after that stretches. Soft. Real.

Then you say, “You ever think about us?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Every day.”

You’re not sure who moves first.

Maybe him. Maybe you.

But suddenly, his forehead is pressed to yours, the rain dripping from his lashes, and it’s like the entire world slows down.

No cameras. No team. No finish line.

Just you and him and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you never stopped being something.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

He closes his eyes.

“I never stopped.”

And that?

That’s the moment.

Not dramatic. Not loud.

Just true.

Summer Break Begins

The coast of Southern Italy was slow. Lazy waves. Salty air. Golden light. The kind of place where the world paused and no one expected anything from you.

You both booked different villas.

Ten minutes apart.

You told the team it was coincidence. You told yourselves it was, too.

But the second night, you were at his place. And neither of you left much after that.

Day 1

The sand is cool beneath your feet as the sun dips low on the horizon. The sky’s turning pink. He’s walking beside you, barefoot, jeans rolled, one hand swinging lazily between you like he wants to reach for you but won’t unless you do.

“I hated seeing you win,” he says, so suddenly you stop.

You look at him.

“Not because you don’t deserve it,” he adds. “But because I wasn’t beside you when you got there. Not really.”

Your throat tightens. “That was your choice.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “And I’ve regretted it every day since.”

You walk in silence for a while.

Then he says, “I missed you. As a person. As my person.”

You don’t answer with words.

You just take his hand.

And this time?

He doesn’t let go.

Day 3

He says he has a plan. You say you don’t do boats. He says you’ll survive.

You show up in a linen dress and sunglasses. He’s already shirtless, smirking.

The water is impossibly blue. The sky cloudless. It’s just the two of you, a bottle of wine, and playlists you didn’t know he still remembered.

He drops anchor somewhere secluded, switches the engine off, and the only sound left is the sea.

You both lie on the sunpad, close but not touching.

Until he shifts.

And suddenly he’s above you, eyes searching yours, hand gently pushing your hair back.

“You’re staring,” you whisper.

“I’m allowed,” he says. “I used to wake up next to you.”

You reach up. Let your fingers graze his jaw.

“What are we doing?” you ask.

He swallows. “I don’t know. But I don’t want to stop.”

When his mouth finds yours—it’s slow. Familiar. Desperate in a quiet way. Like both of you are afraid you’ll vanish again if you rush it.

You don’t sleep with him that day.

But you fall asleep beside him on the boat, curled under a towel, head on his chest.

And when you wake up, his hand is still in yours.

Day 5

It’s after dinner. Wine-soaked. Candle-lit. You’re sitting on the terrace of your villa, legs in his lap, playlist humming low in the background.

He hasn’t kissed you yet today.

Not because he doesn’t want to.

But because he needs to say it first.

“I want this,” he says. “You. Us.”

You stop playing with the hem of his sleeve.

“But I want it right,” he adds. “No hiding. No fear. No thinking you’ll disappear again.”

You nod slowly. “I want that too.”

“But not yet?” he guesses.

“Not yet,” you whisper. “Let’s keep this just ours a little longer.”

He leans in. “You’re already mine.”

You pull him into a kiss before you can cry.

And when he carries you inside that night, it’s not hurried. It’s reverent.

You undress each other like unwrapping something fragile.

When he finally sinks into you, it’s not lust. It’s homecoming.

Slow. Deep. Whispered names. Fingers tangled. Lips pressed to shoulders.

You don’t speak much.

You don’t have to.

You’ve already said everything.

Day 8

You come back from the beach to find fairy lights strung across your villa’s patio.

A record player spinning something French. A small table set for two.

He walks out from the kitchen barefoot with a dish he clearly didn’t cook.

“Let’s pretend we’re normal for one night,” he says.

You laugh. “We’re not even pretending we’re not dating.”

He grins. “No cameras. No PR. Just you. And me.”

Dinner turns into dancing.

Dancing turns into kissing.

Kissing turns into bodies pressed against the wall, then the bed, then every surface you can reach.

He makes you come twice before the words even leave his mouth.

“I love you.”

It’s breathless. Honest. Like he’s been holding it for months.

You look at him, sweaty, wrecked, completely yours and say it back.

“I love you too.”

---

When the break ends, you pack separate bags.

Fly separate flights.

Walk into the paddock for Race 12 side by side but not touching.

Just friends.

But at night?

You take the long way back to your motorhome.

And sometimes, when you knock?

He’s already opening the door.

------

Netherlands

The sky over Zandvoort is cloudy. The ocean breeze rolls in from the dunes. The grandstands are orange. Loud. Buzzing. Everyone’s talking about Max.

But the paddock?

The paddock is talking about you.

You arrive with sunglasses on, hoodie up, hair slightly wind-swept from the private car ride you didn’t take with Charles. Definitely not. You walked in separately. Your PR manager made sure of it.

But your lips are a little too pink. Your smile a little too soft.

And when Charles walks in ten minutes later with the same sunglasses, same wind-swept hair, and that ridiculous barely-there smirk?

Yeah.

People notice.

“You think they know?” you murmur beside him as you both wait at the Pirelli media wall.

“I think they’ve always known,” he replies. “We just stopped giving them a reason to guess.”

You lean closer. “You remember the rules?”

He recites, low: “No lingering touches. No inside jokes. No heart-eyes.”

You grin. “And?”

He shrugs. “No fucking in the simulator room.”

You elbow him so hard he coughs.

Free Practice – FP2

He follows you out of the garage. Your helmets tap as you pass in the pit lane. Subtle. Routine.

Except he looks at you just before you pull away, and the cameras catch it.

Reddit explodes: "That was not a 'just friends' glance."

Quali – Saturday

You’re faster. He knows it.

Your engineer radios in, tells you your Sector 2 is purple.

Charles’s voice cracks through your earpiece: “Beautiful lap. Go get pole.”

You do.

And later, when he finds you in the back of the motorhome, towel slung around his neck, hair still damp, he doesn’t touch you. Just smiles.

“You’re glowing,” he murmurs.

“So are you,” you say back, even though he didn’t win a thing.

Race Day – Sunday

It’s wet. Again. Light drizzle, slick tires.

You start P1. Charles P3.

Lap 28, you're both leading a Ferrari 1-2.

No drama. No fighting. Just clean, perfect coordination.

P1: Y/N. P2: Charles.

Three wins in a row. Four total. The championship is no longer a dream...it’s real.

Post-Race – Press Room

“So,” a journalist starts, “what’s it like racing alongside your friend Charles Leclerc, week after week?”

You smile.

He smiles.

You glance at him, just for a second too long.

And when you answer-

“He’s… steady,” you say. “He’s where I look when I’m overwhelmed. And when I cross the line first, the only person I want to see waiting is him.”

He turns his head. Slowly.

His eyes are soft.

His voice even softer.

“I feel the same.”

Your PR rep nearly faints.

Back in the motorhome

You shut the door behind you.

His hands are in your hair before you even breathe.

Lips locked. Breathless.

He breaks the kiss to whisper:

“Friends don’t do this.”

You grin against his mouth.

“They do now.”

-----

Monza

Monza isn’t just a race.

It’s home.

Not your home. But his. And by now, it feels like yours, too.

The Tifosi line the track like a sea of worship. Flags wave from balconies. Flares smoke up the sky. Every face wears red.

The pressure? It’s unbearable.

The love? Unmatched.

Friday – Media Day

The questions are nonstop.

“Can Ferrari win at home?”

“Can Y/N hold her WDC lead?”

“Can Charles challenge for a win without team drama?”

No one asks about your friendship. Not directly.

But when a Sky Sports reporter jokes that you and Charles are "dangerously in sync lately," Charles just smirks.

You?

You sip your water and smile.

The same smile you gave him this morning in bed.

Saturday – Quali

Pole goes to Max. You qualify P2. Charles nails P3.

But the radio moment during Q3?

That’s what stirs the internet.

“Let him know I’m pushing,” you tell the team.

A beat.

Then his voice: “You’re always pushing. That’s what I love about you.”

Silence.

Then a clumsy, “I mean. On track.”

You say nothing.

But you’re laughing inside your helmet.

And so is he.

Reddit is on fire within five minutes.

“That’s what I love about you”? HELLO? TELL ME THEY’RE NOT DATING AGAIN I DARE YOU

Sunday – Race Day

It’s chaos. DRS trains. Tire degradation. Early pit stops.

But somehow, it’s still a Ferrari 2-3.

P2: Y/N. P3: Charles.

Max wins. Again.

But the crowd doesn’t care.

Because Ferrari is on the podium.

Because you’re on the podium.

Because when the national anthem plays, and Charles looks at you, not like a teammate, not like an ex, but like everything. The whole world sees it.

Post-Race – Parc Fermé

You throw your arms around him before anyone else can.

You don’t kiss him. Not quite.

But your face is so close that the cameraman actually gasps.

His lips brush your cheek. His hands grip your waist. And when you pull back, flushed and breathless, he whispers:

“A couple more races.”

You nod.

“Then we stop pretending.”

Garage – 45 minutes later

Carlos finds you both tucked in a back corner.

“You two are so bad at hiding things,” he mutters, peeling a banana.

“We’re not hiding anything,” you say.

Charles nods, deadpan. “We’re just teammates.”

Carlos raises a brow. “Teammates don’t leave lipstick on each other’s necks.”

You slap Charles with a towel.

He just smiles.

-----

Azerbaijan

The streets of Baku are slick with heat. Everything’s close here. No space to breathe. No space to run.

You’ve been riding high for weeks.

Wins. Points. Glances in motorhome hallways. His hand on your lower back when no one’s watching. The kind of soft love you’d forgotten how to feel.

So maybe you’re not prepared when it happens.

Friday – Paddock Arrival

You spot her before he does.

Tall. Blonde. Sharp sunglasses. One of those PR-model hybrids who floats between teams and beds with the same trained smile.

You know her name. Everyone does.

Élodie.

TAGLIST:

@angelluv16 @angstynasty @hisashifrey @mynameisangeloflife @evalynkillgrave @lorena-mv33 @frenchtwistedd

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bunny-jpeg · 3 months ago

Text

not second best

max verstappen

tags: smut/pwp, redbull driver!reader, teammates au, jealousy, possessiveness, missionary, dirty talk, rough sex

"if you could be teammates with anyone else, who would it be?"

you stood in front of the camera and thought on it for a moment before you answered, "oh, easy! i'd choose charles! i'd say we're pretty close and i'm hopeful this year is the year we wins... but he'd have to beat me first!" then winked at the camera with your hands on your hips.

your teammate, max, was behind the camera and his ears were burning. he knew the question was a joke, but he didn't want to see his favourite teammate be on the same team with his most loathed rival.

in the hotel room, max's hand lingered across your back a little more as he guided you away from your hotel room and towards his. his nose brushed against your neck, taking in your scent before he went to open the door.

when he got the door closed behind you two, his hands were on you once more. his lips at your neck and between kisses he asked, "you'd pick, charles, huh?"

you squeaked, "they said pick someone else." you looked into max's eyes, "we're already teammates." and your eyes went a little wide as he pressed himself further against you. you two have had sex before, it was no secret - with the amount of time you spent together it was inevitable.

"could have picked anyone else." he said lowly as he rubbed up against you further and touched your chest, "you know how i feel about him. how he gets under my skin. i wouldn't want anyone to be on the same team as you. you're mine."

you knew his reaction was overbearing, but you knew that max deeply cared for you. he yearned for you deeply. the thump of his heart was in time with how much he adored you, needed you. so the idea of charles taking you away from him only poked at something in his brain.

you gasped when he bit into the skin of your neck, you knew it would bruise. but something curled in your gut as you felt the a certain lust wash over you.

"you're red bull or nothing." he said lowly, "by my side, or off the track." he said as he started to play with the front of your jeans, "i don't want charles to get the wrong idea, so tonight. i'm going to make sure you firmly remember who you belong to." he placed another kiss on your neck before you ended up in the bedroom and on the bed.

you could have said no, you could have stood your ground and had him slink away with his tail between his legs. but there was something about the domineering max that just made you wet. the looked in his eye, cold, commanding. he looked like the villain that everyone thought of him as.

you took off your branded t-shirt and you felt his gaze linger on your breasts. he licked his lips and you got your bra off, slowly your jeans came off too along with the rest of your under garments. socks throw in two different directions and your panties on the other side of the bed. max was quicker to get undressed before he got on top of you in bed. he pushed you up against the pillows and gazed down at you.

his cock was fully erect. you knew he got off to submitting you under him. he told you once that he liked when you posed a challenge on the track because that meant he could fuck you harder. a real champion can take anything, he told you once when he had you in a headlock and bullied your poor pussy.

"look at you." he said as he hiked your hips up closer to him, "see, this is what no other driver can have. you're just so sweet on the track, you're their little star. but you need someone to actually keep you safe. and charles would never do that." max said lowly and rubbed the tip of his cock up against you, "too trusting. you should only be trusting me."

you swallowed, "please, max." you held onto the pillows under your head and you lifted your hips a little to give him better access to your cunt. you were wet and max knew it. he loved that he carried that bit of control over you, easily making you soaked between your legs.

he remembered after a rough practice he spent what felt like half an hour rubbing your cunt through your driver's suit and he knew that you raced the next round with stickiness between your legs. risky move, but max had to plant those seeds early.

that after formula one, you wouldn't become an engineer or a reporter, or whatever else ex-drivers seemed to do. no, you'd be max's wife. and hopefully married after after that season ended.

he looked at you and licked his lips. you met his gaze as he sank his cock into you. you arched your back a little and he relaxed against you. and so did you. he planted his hands on either side of you, he leaned in to kiss you on the lips as you wrapped your legs around him.

"look at you." he said.

you shifted yourself on the bed a little and reached for him. your arms wrapped around his neck. you held on while he moved against you. pleasure moved through both of you. you loved the feeling, even with max's harsh words, you still felt affection for him. both as a teammate and a lover.

"i'm always looking out for you." he said, he drank in the sight of your face, "i want you well, i want you safe. and i want you as mine." his strokes started to move faster, he felt a slight fire in his gut from the feeling of his cock buried inside of you slick pussy.

you were on birth control, but still it was a risk to take you this way. to have him bare inside of you. but, it eased his jealousy just a little bit to know that he was the only man to ever take you this bare. to take you as his, all his.

"please, max. it feels so good." you encouraged him as you held on tighter, the pleasure was growing in your core as he rutted against you. there was something about how his cock moved inside of you that hit all the right areas that made your eyes roll a little out of pleasure.

"you don't know what you do to me." he said lowly, "i don't want you to ever think about having another teammate ever again. i want you to only need me by your side. matching cars, matching uniforms." matching last names.

he continued to thrust into you, he held onto the bedding a little tighter and felt the sweat at his brow. it was hot between you two. the movements of him against you only had you holding onto you tighter.

"max. fuck."

"i know, it feels good. you love how you feel under me. do you like being my teammate?"

you nodded and your nails nipped at the back of his neck as you held on, you swallowed before you said, "i love being your teammate, max. you know that!"

"do you want another teammate? want another man to fuck you the way i do?"

you shook your head, "never. never in a million years. i want us to win the constructor's this year!" you arched your back a little when his cock nudged against just the right spot that made you feel tingly all over. he laid another heated kiss on your lips and continued to fuck you quickly and roughly.

the headboard slammed against the wall from the force that he was fucking with you. you whined into the kiss and he held onto your hips tightly, you were pinned under him while he fucked you. he felt your body quake under him, the feeling of heat under your skin. you were the sparks in his brain and the fuel in his blood.

fucking you was the same intensity as driving. except he could let his mind grow hazy with each powerful thrust. to know you'd never want another meant the world to him, to know that you were all his. you moaned against his lips and clawed down his strong back.

you didn't last much longer. you broke the kiss and made a strong yet whiny noise as you came around his cock. you arched your back and squeezed your eyes shut as you climaxed. it only spurred him on, it made his heart hammer along with yours. the pleasure flooded your head and after you reached your peak, you let go of him and let him have his wicked way with you.

"beautiful." max said as he continued to fuck you strong thrusts. he left himself feel all of you, every inch of you felt warm under him. you were sweaty and hot. he licked his lips and the pleasure throbbed in his body.

"please, max. i'm sorry that i made that comment. i knew i couldn't pick you." you whined.

max kissed at your neck, "next time, pick someone else. alex, george, even carlos. just not charles, i won't let that sweet talker take you from me." you could feel the possessiveness in his tone.

he knew he was close, with a few more heavy thrusts he finished inside of you. he groaned under his breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead. your cunt fluttered around him and he drank in the feeling. you felt amazing, warm all over and so soft. he knew he had to have you always.

"perfect." he cooed before he pulled out and laid out next to you in bed. he cupped your face with his large hand. those large hands on your soft skin. he leaned in, "tell me again."

you opened your eyes and asked, "tell you what?"

"that you don't want charles."

you shook your head, "i don't want charles. only you, max." and you curled up closer to him. his touches were more gentle, the jealous beast in him calmed down. for now.

"if you could be teammates with anyone else, who would it be?"

you thought about it for a moment, the reminder of last time tickled in your gut. but quickly you looked back to the camera and said, "i'd have to pick, lando! he got really close to the wdc last year, but if we were teammates he'd have a little more competition."

and you knew behind the camera, max verstappen was seething. <3

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mynicosensesaretingling · 2 years ago

Text

Lost in the moment (part 2)

Nico Rosberg x fem!reader

Summary: After their friendship ended unexpectedly, Nico and (Y/N) continued their lives on different paths, but what happens when they meet again? (part 2 of 2)

Warnings: Once again a little angst, female reader

Note: I was honestly surprised how well the first part of this fic was received. Thank you all so much for your feedback!

(part 2 of 2)

Find part 1 here: https://www.tumblr.com/mynicosensesaretingling/733720166569033728/lost-in-the-moment-part-1?source=share

Hope you enjoy <3

The years that followed were a relentless storm for both Nico and (Y/N), each navigating their separate paths with the ghost of their past lingering.

Nico’s championship victory and the soon-following retirement propelled him into the dazzling spotlight of Formula 1, becoming a charismatic figure both on and off the race track.

However, the memory of that final race continued to linger in the back of his mind, a bittersweet victory tainted by the absence of someone he had considered a confidante. Someone he had loved. Of course, he had seen the notifications of her calls once the celebrations had stopped. But whereas at first, he didn’t call her back simply out of spite and having been hurt, the more time went by, the more he feared actually hearing her speak his suspicions of having been betrayed into existence.

Meanwhile, (Y/N) on the other hand, had to face the daunting task of fighting her way back into the world of reporting. Having lost her job at Countdown Magazine , the young woman found herself feeling lost in the working world. The void left by Formula 1 was a constant ache, a reminder of the dreams she once had to forfeit and the pain of not having been there for Nico during his triumphant moment was an emotional wound that refused to heal, casting a lingering shadow on her achievements. However, she found that her luck hadn't completely run out, for after a few unsuccessful jobs, she was offered a position as a reporter for a small, upcoming motorsport journal called The Racing Project.

Although over the years both Nico and (Y/N) followed a similar career path, their paths did not actually cross until the much-anticipated Las Vegas Grand Prix.

The stage was set, the racetrack buzzing with fervour, as Nico stood filming a live segment in the paddock, delivering his commentary with practised ease. The cameras captured every word he spoke, but his mind was elsewhere. As he scanned the crowd, his eyes unexpectedly fell upon a familiar figure- (Y/N).

Time seemed to halt, the cacophony of the racing world drowned by a flood of memories and emotions. Nico’s heart quickened its pace, a turbulent storm surging within him. The very sight of his former friend, after all these years, sent his thoughts spiralling into a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

The ex-racer stumbled over his words, a subtle tremor in his voice betraying the storm of emotions raging inside him. “And…and as we witness this….um, remarkable race unfolding before us,” he managed to continue, though the words suddenly felt foreign on his tongue.

Nico couldn’t tear his gaze from (Y/N)’s form, caught between the past and present. The weight of their shared history bore down on him, each moment they had shared flashing through his mind like a movie reel. His eyes conveyed a mixture of surprise, longing and a hint of regret for the years of silence, that had separated them.

The subtle changes in Nico’s demeanour didn’t go unnoticed by the camera and crew. His usual composed demeanour wavered, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability surfacing in his eyes. The inner conflict that churned within him was evident to those who knew him well, a battle between the duties of the present and the ghosts of the past.

As the blond shrugged to maintain his composure, the words of the commentary became a blur as the realization that (Y/N) was back in his life hit him. He tried to regain his focus, attempting to steer the commentary back on track, but the presence of (Y/N) in the crowd continued to pull at the threads of his composure.

It wasn’t until the segment was finally finished, that Jenson, who had moderated the segment along with Nico and was well aware of the history between him and the female reporter, leaned in and whispered, “I didn't know that (Y/N) is working as a Formula 1 reporter again after her sudden release just before your championship race.”

Jenson’s statement led revelation to hit Nico like a tidal wave. The pieces of the puzzle all of sudden fell into place, and the weight of misunderstanding and regret bore down on him. “Excuse me.” Nico stuttered out, freeing himself of the broadcasting equipment before hurriedly plunging into the bustling crowd, determined to confront the past.

Rushing past crew members and paddock guests, his blue eyes scanned the crowd with restlessness before finally landing on the all-too-familiar shape of (Y/N).

“(Y/n),“ he called out, his voice carrying the echoes of years of silence.

Upon hearing his voice call out to her, the woman turned, eyes widening in surprise, before narrowing again in anger. The air around them was suddenly buzzing with the electricity of unspoken words and unresolved feelings. “Nico,” she replied coldly, her voice betraying a simmering anger beneath the surface.

Nico took a cautious step closer, the atmosphere fraught with tension. “I…I didn’t know. I thought you used me for stories. I didn’t know what happened that day.” his words came out rushed, as he struggled to keep up with his own thoughts. Lifting her chin, (Y/N) crossed her arms, a defensive gesture as she glared at him. “Well, glad you’ve figured it out by now.” her voice cut through the noise of the racetrack. “I lost my job, Nico. I lost everything I had worked for, and you didn’t even bother to hear me out. You think an apology fixes this?”

Nico reached for (Y/N)’s hand, a silent plea for understanding and forgiveness. “My mind was too clouded by the fact that you weren’t by my side during my victory, to be able to think rationally. I should have known.” he tried to explain himself, voice haunted by the regret of misplaced assumptions.

(Y/N) pulled her hand away from his grasp, a scoff escaping her lips. “Known? I would’ve never expected you to just know. But you should have asked, Nico. You didn’t give me a single chance to explain myself. Instead, you just disappeared.” with the last word, she jabbed an angry finger at his chest.

Nico opened his mouth to respond, but (Y/N) cut him off “ You don’t get to just waltz back into my life after all these years and expect everything to be okay. You have no idea what it was like for me, losing my job and feeling abandoned by my best friend.”

The man’s face fell, the reality of the pain he had caused written across his features. “(Y/N),please. I didn’t know the truth, and I-”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, her voice sharp.”You didn’t bother to find out. You just assumed the worst, and I won’t just forget that.”

The tension between them was palpable as they stood there, the racetrack humming with the distant roar of engines. Whereas (Y/N)’s eyes held a mixture of anger and hurt, Nico felt the weight of his past choices pressing down on him. The heavy silence between them was once again interrupted by her voice, the anger now morphed into frustration. “You made your choice back then.” She sounded defeated. Nico struggled to find the right words, his chest tight with regret. “I messed up. I should have trusted you, and I’m sorry.”

Unwilling to meet his gaze, (Y/N) turned away. “Sorry doesn’t erase the past, Nico. I don’t need your apologies now, I got work to do.”

The gravity of her words hung heavily between them.Once determined to seek reconciliation, Nico faced the consequences of his assumptions.The racetrack, witness to their shared highs and lows, now became a battleground for a different kind of race- a race against time to repair the fractured bond between them. As they lingered in the charged silence, a new layer of tension emerged. The unspoken truth of feelings that had never found a voice in the past now hovered between them. They had danced around something more profound than friendship, an undercurrent of emotions that had remained buried.

Deciding to try a different approach, Nico’s tone softened. “Remember that night when I waited for you in the pouring rain?”

As she turned back around to him (Y/N)’s eyes flickered with curiosity, a hint of vulnerability breaking through her defensive stance. “What?”

Nico’s eyes nervously searched hers, an unsure, almost shy smile on his lips. “I stole that umbrella from Toto and to this day I am unsure of whether I was more nervous about waiting for you or the possibility of Toto finding out I was the reason he got drenched to the bone.”

A breathless chuckle broke through her frown, the sound like music to Nico’s ears. “You stole an umbrella from your boss, just so you could go on a walk with me?” her voice was laced with amusement and disbelief. “Mhm,” he hummed in response, his smile widening into a grin, blue eyes sparkling as he thought back to that very evening. “I actually hid around a corner for like 10 minutes, because I could hear how on edge he was, asking crew members about where his umbrella went.” A genuine laugh escaped (Y/N) at that, eyes glistening as she was hit by a wave of nostalgia. There was another moment of silence between the pair, although this time it felt more intimate.

“You know that when it came to us it was never about the job right?” her voice was barely louder than a whisper and if Nico hadn’t already been paying such close attention to her, he would have surely missed it.

His eyes bore into (Y/N)’s, the weight of her words sinking in. The revelation hung in the air, an unspoken truth that had shaped their past interactions. With her vulnerability laid bare, (Y/N) waited for Nico’s response, the air heavy with anticipation. In that moment the racetrack seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of them suspended in an emotional crossfire.

Nico, grappling with the unexpected confession, searched her eyes for clarity. The realization hit him like a thunderbolt. Their unspoken connection had always transcended the confines of a professional relationship, a truth buried beneath the surface of camaraderie and shared passion for Formula 1.

Studying his face, (Y/N) could watch as a myriad of emotions played across Nico’s face- surprise, regret and a hint of realization.

“(Y/N)”, he murmured, his voice tinged with astonishment and understanding, as his brain struggled to find the right words.

The woman’s gaze wavered, and she nodded, a mixture of sadness and acceptance in her eyes. “You were so focused on the rivalry and the championship, that I didn’t want to complicate things. I thought, maybe one day…” Her voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken “one day” hanging in the air.

Nico’s mind raced, grappling with the weight of missed opportunities and the realization of their connection has been far more profound than he had ever comprehended. “I had no idea. If I had known, I would have-” She cut him off, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “It’s in the past Nico. We can’t change it now.” Shaking his head, the blond reached out, tentatively taking (Y/N)’s hand and this time she allowed their fingers to intertwine, a silent acknowledgement of the emotions that had lingered, unspoken for years. “(Y/N), I wish I had known. I wish I had seen it then.” She met his gaze, the raw honesty of the moment reflected in her eyes. “We were caught in the whirlwind of the Silver War, and I didn’t want to be another distraction.”

Nico’s thumb gently traced circles on the back of her hand, as his gaze locked onto hers. “You were never a distraction, (Y/N).” Nico’s voice was stern. “If anything, you were the constant that I failed to appreciate.”

As they found themselves standing at the crossroads of what could have been and what might still be, their hands lingered together, a silent testament to the depth of their connection. The unspoken feelings that had been tucked away for years now demanded recognition, weaving an intricate tapestry of emotions.

Nico took a step closer, his heart pounding with a mixture of uncertainty and hope. “Do you think we could start over…try to make up for the time we lost?”

(Y/N) looked up at him, eyes meeting his, and he thought to see a flicker of hope in their depths. “Nico-” she sighed clearly conflicted “It’s not that simple. We’ve both changed.”

He nodded a sense of gentleness in his understanding gaze. “I know, but what if we explore what we have now?” he leaned in a little closer, hand reaching up to gingerly cradle her cheek. “Let’s start from here, from this moment. Forget the misunderstandings, the lost chances and see where this takes us.”

The warmth and sheer softness of his touch seemingly eased the mental conflict within (Y/N)’s mind and a tentative smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Will you steal another umbrella from Toto?” her question was accompanied by a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

The suddenness of her request made Nico knit his brows in confusion. Taking a second to process the question, this time it was him, who laughed in disbelief.

"Yes.” he chuckled, thumb tracing her cheekbone, loving eyes studying her face as to memorise every single feature. “I'd happily steal yet another one of Toto's umbrellas for you." Underneath his gentle touch, Nico could feel her timid smile grow into a cheeky grin. "Well, then I am happily willing to give us a second chance."

As they stood there, enveloped in each other’s presence, the soft glow of the racetrack’s lights painted their faces in a warm hue, mirroring the warmth that radiated between them. “I never thought I’d feel this way again,” Nico admitted, gaze still fixed on (Y/N) as if she held the answers to questions he’d never dared to ask.

“I’ve missed this” he muttered softly “Talking to you, being here, it feels like coming home.” (Y/N) felt the words dancing on the tip of her tongue but unable to escape. Her heart fluttered as she realized there were no words adequate to convey how she felt. With a quiet resolve, she slowly leaned in, breath mingling with his. Nico’s eyes widened slightly in surprise before softening, understanding dawning upon him. Time seemed to pause as her lips met his in a tender, feather-light kiss. It was a silent confession and a promise for the future.

Drawing back, a rosy hue dusted (Y/N)’s cheeks and if her heart hadn’t already been racing before, it certainly was now upon seeing the lovesick smile on Nico's face.

“Welcome home, Nico.”

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paucubarsisimp · 8 months ago

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being a girl includes staying up till 3AM bc it’s already past your bedtime to read more “x readers” because you know you’re going to miss your alarm anyway.

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dreamauri · 3 months ago

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If reqs are open we get some more Oscar one shots?? just binged them all lmao 🙏🏻🙏🏻

♪ — 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗖𝗛 𝗪𝗔𝗟𝗞 oscar piastri x girlfriend! reader ( fluff ) fic summary . . . Oscar Piastri might seem like a stoic Kimi R reincarnation but really, he's a sweetheart who carries you so you don't sand in your shoes (549 words)

( main naster list | more of oscar piastri ) ( requests )

The sky is painted in soft shades of pink and orange, the kind of sunset that makes everything feel a little bit dreamlike. The waves roll onto the shore in a lazy rhythm, brushing against the sand with a whisper. It’s the kind of evening that begs for long walks and quiet confessions, but instead, you find yourself cradled in Oscar’s arms, held securely against his chest.

“You know, I could walk,” you point out, but you make no effort to move.

Oscar glances down at you, his expression neutral but his grip tightening just the slightest bit. “You didn’t want sand in your shoes.”

You huff, both amused and endeared. “That was, like, ten minutes ago. I didn’t think you’d actually carry me the whole time.”

He shrugs, adjusting his hold effortlessly. “Not a big deal.”

But it is, in the way that matters. In the way he does things for you without a second thought, never making a fuss about it. You rest your head against his shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of salt and sunscreen clinging to his skin. The gentle rise and fall of his breathing is as steady as the waves.

Eventually, he slows to a stop, setting you down carefully on a patch of sand untouched by the tide. His hands linger for a fraction of a second before he lets go. “Better?”

You nod, slipping off your shoes and wiggling your toes into the cool, damp sand. “Much.”

He watches you for a moment, his lips barely twitching in what might be the ghost of a smile, then extends his hand. You take it without hesitation, fingers fitting perfectly between his as you step toward the water’s edge.

The tide kisses your ankles, cool and refreshing. You hum in contentment, swinging your intertwined hands slightly as you start talking—about anything and everything. About how the sunset reminds you of a painting you once saw, about the funniest thing that happened at work last week, about how you read somewhere that seagulls mate for life and isn’t that kind of sweet?

Oscar doesn’t say much, but he listens. He always listens. His thumb moves idly over the back of your hand, grounding you in the moment. Every now and then, he hums in acknowledgment or squeezes your fingers lightly, little signs that he’s with you, that he’s absorbing every word.

After a while, you stop, tilting your head up to look at him. The golden light of the sunset softens his features, his brown eyes reflecting the sky’s fading hues. “You’re quiet.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I usually am.”

You roll your eyes, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. “Yeah, but…what are you thinking about?”

He’s silent for a beat, then, with that same quiet certainty that defines him, he says, “You talk a lot.”

You open your mouth, ready to protest, but he beats you to it, his fingers tightening around yours. “I like it.”

The words are simple, but they settle warm in your chest, spreading through you like the tide coming in. You smile, squeezing his hand in return. “Good. Because I’m not stopping.”

“Didn’t think you would.”

And so you keep talking, and he keeps listening, walking side by side as the ocean sways in time with your laughter.

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theonottsbxtch · 7 months ago

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MISS YOU BABY | MV1

an: i need a hug from max verstappen stat, based off this request! thank you for sending it :)

summary: max thought his girlfriend was missing his final race during his triple header, little did he know she'd planned to come and visit all along.

wc 3.6k

The hotel room she was in was quiet.

She sat cross-legged on the bed in a dark hotel room that mirrored his, only three floors below, making sure he couldn’t see her surroundings. Her phone was propped up against a pillow, and Max’s face filled the screen, his hair still damp from the shower, tousled and messy. He looked worn-out but managed a small, tired smile just for her.

"I’m sorry, Max. I really tried to get time off, but there was just… no way," she said, the fib slipping from her lips with surprising ease. "I wanted to be there with you. Especially now."

Max exhaled, leaning back against his headboard. “I know. It’s alright.” His voice softened. “I just miss you, is all. It’s been a rough couple of weeks.”

She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek, wishing she could reach through the screen and wrap her arms around him. "You’ll get through it, though. You always do."

"Doesn’t feel that way." He laughed, but it was brittle around the edges. “I feel like I’m letting everyone down. The team, the fans… you.” His eyes searched the screen, as if he might find a solution hidden somewhere in her gaze.

"Never me." She leaned closer, her face so near to the camera that she could see her reflection in his eyes. "I’m so proud of you, Max. Always. No matter what."

For a moment, he just looked at her, his expression softening, and the tension she’d seen in his face for days seemed to melt, just a little. "I wish you were here," he murmured. "I swear, you’re the only thing that keeps me sane sometimes."

She swallowed, feeling her heart pull toward him with a force that was hard to resist. "Soon, I’ll be back with you. Just… hold on a bit longer, okay?”

She gazed at his face on the screen, her heart swelling as she watched the way his eyes softened every time he looked at her. She knew he was tired and worn down, but in this moment, he looked at peace.

"I love you, Max," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

He closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him, and when he opened them again, there was a warmth there that seemed to cut through the miles between them. "I love you, too," he replied, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "More than you know."

She tucked her hair behind her ear, feeling her cheeks flush, and nodded. "Get some sleep, alright? Big day tomorrow."

He grinned. "Yeah, yeah. You, too. Dream about me, okay?"

She laughed, rolling her eyes, but her heart skipped all the same. "Always. Goodnight, Max."

"Goodnight, love."

With a final smile, she ended the call, letting the screen go dark as she leaned back into the pillows, her heart fluttering with anticipation. She’d hardly been able to sleep on the plane ride here, and she could already tell tonight would be the same.

Still, the thought of finally seeing him in person tomorrow kept her too giddy to care. She’d surprise him at the track, slipping through the garage just as he arrived, or maybe even at breakfast if she could manage it without spoiling the surprise. Her mind spun with ideas, each more elaborate than the last, but all she really wanted was to see his face light up when he realised she was there.

Pulling the covers up to her chin, she let her eyes drift closed, replaying the moment over and over in her mind, savouring the thought of his reaction. She loved him fiercely, and she knew that being here—no matter how much of a secret she’d had to make it—was exactly where she was supposed to be.

As she finally began to drift off, her last thought was simple but bright, shining like a promise: Tomorrow, he’ll know.

And while she was glad she held onto the secret.

The following morning she wished she’d told him earlier.

She woke to the faint glow of her phone on the nightstand, her morning alarm. Blinking herself awake, she squinted at the screen and saw Max’s name, followed by the time—5:02 a.m.

Heading to the track early today. Miss you already, wish you were here.

She smiled, feeling that familiar warmth spreading through her chest. But then her heart sank a little. She’d been hoping to catch him in the hotel this morning, maybe surprise him over breakfast. Now, with him already gone, she'd have to adjust her plans.

Throwing back the covers, she got up and went to the window. Rain streaked down the glass in thick, heavy drops, and the sky was a murky grey. The weather was only supposed to get worse throughout the day; she knew that’d make things complicated, especially for an outdoor track. She had no clue if her surprise would even be worth the stress of navigating the drenched, crowded paddock.

After a moment’s hesitation, she tapped her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she reached the name she wanted. She dialled, and after a few rings, Max’s assistant, Sophie, picked up.

“Hey!” Sophie greeted, sounding pleasantly surprised. “What’s up? Did you make it in?”

“Yes, I’m here!” she whispered, unable to contain her excitement. “I wanted to surprise him before he heads out on track, but with this rain… do you think I should even bother?”

Sophie sighed sympathetically. “Honestly, it’s a mess out here. They’re saying the rain’s going to be even heavier by the time qualifying starts. He’ll be in back-to-back meetings until then, and I’d hate for you to sit in the rain, just to get a few minutes with him.”

She nodded, glancing out the window at the sheets of rain. “So you think I should wait?”

“I’d say hold off until right before the race,” Sophie replied. “He’ll have a short break, and I think he’d love the surprise then. Plus, everyone’s less frantic between qualifying and race prep.”

“Good point,” she agreed, a little disappointed but knowing Sophie was right. The track on a rainy race day was chaos, and if she could avoid it until the right moment, she’d have a better chance of actually spending time with him. “Thanks, Sophie. Let me know if anything changes?”

“Will do! He’ll be so happy to see you,” Sophie said warmly. “Hang tight, okay?”

As she hung up, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement, knowing the surprise would be even more perfect with the wait. So she ordered herself a coffee, sat by the window, and watched the rain pour down, imagining the look on Max’s face when he’d finally see her just before the most important race of the weekend.

The rain hadn’t let up by the time she arrived at the track, the skies dark and moody, the air thick with humidity. She’d navigated her way through security and weaving lines of drenched fans, her heart racing as she got closer to Max’s garage. But by the time she finally made it, he was already in the car, helmet on, visor down, his focus entirely on the track ahead.

Her heart sank a little as she scanned the bustling garage, hoping for some last chance to catch his eye. But he was already strapped in, a crew member leaning in to give him a final check before he rolled out. She spotted Sophie in the corner, scribbling something down on a clipboard, and made her way over to her.

“Hey,” she whispered, feeling the dampness of the rain still clinging to her hair and clothes. “I… I just missed him, didn’t I?”

Sophie looked up and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, he was swamped the moment he got here. They barely had time to get him settled with all the delays.” She gestured to the grid display above them, where Max’s name glowed beside the stark “P17” position. “Rough start, but he’ll be glad to know you’re here.”

She nodded, feeling a pang as she glanced at his car just as it rumbled to life. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel, even from a distance she could see the tension there. She let out a breath, feeling a swell of pride and worry all at once. “Well, I’ll be here watching, then.”

Sophie handed her a headset, which she slipped on just in time to hear his engineer’s voice crackle through with the first instructions as they prepared for the start. The rain was relentless, turning the track into a slick, treacherous maze, and she felt her stomach twist as the cars peeled out onto the track for the formation lap. Max’s car trailed near the back, but she knew he’d fight, as he always did, with a ferocity she both admired and feared in moments like this.

The race began, a chaotic blur of spray and metal, the cars kicking up rooster tails of water, visibility nearly zero as they fought for position. She gripped the edge of her seat as the laps ticked by, heart pounding with every close call. It quickly became clear that the conditions were only worsening, drivers struggling to keep their cars on track, a few even skidding off into barriers with loud, bone-jarring crashes. Her hands tightened around the headset as Max navigate his way forward, battling his way to P10, then P6.

And then, just when the tension seemed to reach its peak, there was a deafening crash, followed by a sudden hush as the red flag went up, halting the race.

Her breath caught in her throat. The screen above replayed the incident—a skidding into the barrier that had caused an emergency stop. The seconds felt like hours as she waited, desperately searching for a glimpse of his car on the feed. Finally, there it was, intact, safe. Relief flooded her, and she felt her shoulders sag.

The race restarted after the delay, and she watched in awe as Max took advantage of the reshuffled positions and tire changes, surging forward with a newfound intensity. Lap by lap, he clawed his way through the field, passing car after car with a precision that made her heart race. It was as if he’d transformed, harnessing every ounce of his frustration from the last few races, channelling it into something extraordinary.

The garage erupted in cheers as he moved into P3, then P1. She stared at the screen, hardly daring to blink, her heart racing as he crossed the finish line in first place, drenched in rain and glory.

She could hardly believe it. From P17 to P1. He’d done it.

Forgetting herself, she laughed, a sound of pure joy, her heart swelling as she watched him slow down, the victory finally sinking in. She couldn't wait to see his face when he finally realised she was here, to be the first person he’d see when he stepped out of that car, soaked and grinning, finally at the top.

Ripping her headset off, she followed the crew as they ran out to parc fermé, her heart racing as fast as the roar of the crowd. The team, buzzing with excitement, parted slightly as she joined them, nudging her to the front so she’d be the first face he saw. She could barely breathe as she caught sight of Max’s car, now still, the rain glistening on its blue-and-red bodywork.

With all the force he had he climbed out, pulling off his helmet to reveal damp, messy hair and a face lit up with exhilaration and disbelief. For a moment, he simply stood there, taking in the shouts of the crowd and the blinding flashes of cameras. And then, his gaze landed on her.

His eyes widened, his exhaustion and surprise giving way to pure joy. Without hesitation, he broke into a run, crossing the slick tarmac with the kind of speed and determination that made her heart leap. She barely had a second to react before he wrapped her in his arms, his lips crashing against hers as he pulled her close, his hands pressed firmly against her back, as if he still couldn’t believe she was real.

“You came,” he murmured breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look at her, his face filled with awe and happiness.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she replied, her voice trembling with emotion, brushing a wet strand of hair from his face.

He smiled, a bright, unguarded smile that melted her heart. “God, I needed this. I needed you.”

And then he kissed her again, a kiss filled with all the missed moments and the words they hadn’t been able to say, the thrill of his victory mingling with the fierce love they shared. She felt the rain soak through her clothes, the crowd and the noise around them fading as they held each other, his arms wrapping around her as if he could protect her from the rest of the world.

“I still can’t believe it,” he whispered against her lips, his forehead resting against hers, his hand gently brushing her cheek. “P1. And you’re here.”

She laughed softly, her eyes shining. “You deserve it, Max. I knew you could do it.”

He held her close, a triumphant laugh bubbling from his chest as he buried his face in her neck, and they stood there in the pouring rain, lost in each other, savouring the victory and this long-awaited moment they both knew they’d never forget.

As the noise of the cheering crew and fans started to swell around them, Max pulled back slightly, brushing his thumb across her cheek, his gaze lingering on her face as if he was trying to commit every detail to memory.

“I have to go,” he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. “The interviews, cool-down room, podium… but wait for me? I’ll meet you in my driver’s room as soon as I can.”

She nodded, understanding but already missing the warmth of his arms. “I’ll be waiting. Go,” she whispered, giving him a small smile. “Enjoy every second—you deserve it.”

He pressed one last, lingering kiss to her forehead, then turned and jogged off to join the waiting crew, helmet in hand, while she stayed rooted to her spot, watching him disappear into the crowd. Her heart swelled with pride as she trailed after the team to watch his interviews, his beaming, breathless face glowing with pride and energy as he spoke about the gruelling conditions and the unbelievable climb from P17 to P1.

Then came the cool-down room, where she watched from the sidelines as he bantered with the other drivers, sharing exhausted smiles and congratulatory claps on the back, the weight of his achievement settling in as he finally let himself relax a little. She couldn’t help but smile, feeling as though she could burst with joy just watching him, his eyes sparking with energy even as he looked ready to collapse from exhaustion.

And finally, the podium. She felt the crowd’s excitement echo through her as she looked up to see him standing tall, drenched from head to toe, a bottle of champagne in hand. When he raised it in victory, the crowd erupted, and she joined them, cheering at the top of her lungs as he sprayed champagne with abandon, laughing as he celebrated with the other drivers. His eyes swept over the crowd, and when they found hers, he gave a subtle nod, a silent promise that he’d be back with her soon.

After the podium, she made her way to his driver’s room, her heart fluttering as she paced the small space, the thrill of the day lingering in every fibre of her being. And then, finally, the door swung open, and there he was.

He looked completely worn out, his hair still damp and messy, his fireproof undersuit clinging to his skin. But his smile was bright, and his eyes lit up the moment he saw her.

Without a word, he crossed the room, pulling her into his arms, his lips finding hers in a soft, exhausted kiss. She melted into him, her arms wrapping around his neck as he held her close, the adrenaline and joy from his victory radiating between them.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” he whispered against her ear, his voice low and hoarse. “Winning today… and having you here with me. It’s everything.”

She brushed a strand of damp hair from his face, smiling as she traced her fingers along his cheek. “You did it, Max. I’m so proud of you.”

He took her hand, pressing it to his heart, his eyes never leaving hers. “None of it would mean anything without you,” he said quietly, his voice steady.

She felt her eyes sting with tears, overwhelmed by the depth of his words. “I’m here,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ll always be here.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world slipping away. He stroked her hair, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, as if savouring each moment.

“Let’s get out of here,” he finally murmured, his voice warm and soft, “celebrate somewhere a little less chaotic.”

She laughed, nodding. “Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”

They headed back to his hotel, hand in hand, a peaceful quiet settling over them as they left the track behind. Once in the privacy of his suite, he gave her a lingering kiss, then smiled, nodding toward the bathroom. “Give me a few minutes to wash off all the champagne and… probably half the track dust,” he said with a laugh.

She grinned, watching as he disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the suite a moment later. While he showered, she took the opportunity to pack up her things from her own room, gathering her scattered belongings quickly. The thrill of being close, of finally sharing a space for the night, filled her with a warmth that had nothing to do with the tropical heat outside.

By the time she returned, he was out of the shower, towelling off his damp hair, his expression softening as he took in the sight of her standing there with her things. Without a word, he crossed the room and took her bags from her hands, setting them by the closet as he gave her a smile that made her heart skip.

Once they’d both changed into fresh clothes—she’d opted for a simple dress, and he in casual jeans and a loose shirt—they slipped out of the hotel through a side exit, making their way to a tiny, tucked-away Brazilian restaurant that had been recommended. The place was hidden, small enough to be missed by the crowds, with soft, low lighting that created an intimate, cosy atmosphere. A few locals lingered around tables, but they paid little attention to the couple as they took a corner table in the back.

They ordered caipirinhas and he reached across the table to hold her hand, his fingers tracing gentle circles on her skin as they laughed over silly little things, shared stories from the past few weeks, and spoke of things beyond racing, beyond work, just slipping back into the easy flow they always shared. The food was rich and delicious—small plates of feijoada, grilled meats, and pão de queijo—everything flavorful and homey.

He leaned across the table, his eyes warm and filled with that familiar spark, as he watched her speak, clearly savouring every moment. “You know,” he said softly, “I think this is the best victory celebration I’ve ever had.”

She squeezed his hand, smiling back at him. “Same here. I missed just… being with you like this.”

They stayed until the restaurant closed, lingering over the last bites of dessert, letting the night stretch out as long as possible. Eventually, they headed back to the hotel, the city streets now quiet and still beneath the soft hum of streetlights.

Once back in his room, Max changed into a pair of soft pyjama bottoms, leaving his chest bare, his skin still warm from the shower. She slipped into one of his t-shirts, the fabric soft and oversized, the scent of him comforting and familiar. When she stepped out the bathroom, he was already waiting for her by the bed, his gaze softening as he took her in, a gentle smile curving on his lips.

Without a word, he reached for her, lacing his fingers through hers as he pulled her close, guiding her to the bed. She sank into the mattress beside him, and he wrapped an arm around her, drawing her against his chest, his fingertips trailing absently over her shoulder. She nestled into him, feeling his warmth seep through her, a cosy silence wrapping around them.

They lay there, tangled together, her head tucked beneath his chin as he gently traced circles on her back, his breath even and steady. He tilted her chin up, his eyes searching hers for a quiet moment before he leaned down, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss, filled with a tenderness that said everything words couldn’t. She kissed him back just as gently, savouring the intimacy of being close like this, the world beyond these walls feeling miles away.

When the kiss ended, he pressed his forehead to hers, a soft sigh escaping as he held her close, one hand settling over hers, fingers intertwined. They stayed that way, her head resting against his heartbeat, lulled by the steady rhythm.

Finally, they drifted off, still tangled in each other’s arms, wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of just being together. As the night settled around them, Max couldn’t help but smile, holding her a little closer as he slipped into sleep, his heart full and light.

Max couldn’t have wished for a better weekend.

the end.

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