abudhabby29-blog - Tumblr blog

abudhabby29-blog · 9 days ago

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Baby Ricciardo

MV33 X Ricciardo!reader

Sorry this took me ages to post! Pictures are not mine and credit is given to those who took/edited them. Also this is in no way meant to represent any of the real life people- they are their own person and have their own relationships. Also, I know there is the controversy over Max and Kelly but I think they are the cutest so I couldn't write her poorly! This is all fake lol.

Summary: Daniel sister's does the ultimate sin and falls in love with her brother's best friend. Years of pining and other disastrous relationships play out.

Max was nervous.

Not something that happened when he was in the cock pit of the car, no, that was natural for him and didn’t phase him one bit.

What made him nervous was definitely when he first laid his eyes on Daniel’s younger sister hanging out in the Red Bull garage.

Laughing with an engineer and fixing her hair that was tied up with a red bow, dressed down in jeans and a Red Bull shirt.

He was only eighteen and she was gorgeous.

For some reason Max never expected Daniel to have any siblings, he definitely gave only child energy from him—but boy was he wrong.

And it couldn't be a brother to make his life easier, he had to have a sister, a painfully beautiful one at that.

When Daniel first introduced him to you, he was all but speechless as you flashed him a perfect smile and told him he was a natural born driver and gave your brother a run for his money.

Both in talent and in his abrasive demeanor.

Max blushes and he left the race having a new crush.

—

Baku 2018 was the next time that you actually had time to travel to a race, finally being able to step away from your studies. Daniel had been begging you to take some time off to come see him during his busy schedule.

There were promises of flying first class and a place in the Red Bull garage, and you couldn't say no to your older brother.

Everything was going fine, until you could feel the shift of energy in the garage, and by the looks of it, Dan and Max were fighting it out on track.

Not in a friendly competition way, a way that looked like they were trying to kill the other.

"What the hell is he doing?" You heard one of the engineers whisper as you watching the chaos playout on the screen in front of you. Max was aggressively defending against Daniel.

Fuck. You knew Dan enough to see how this would play out. Your brother would refuse to let up on Max, and Max was naturally aggressive on the track. Hungry for the win, even to the detriment of his own team.

Watching in horror as Dan crashed into the back of Max's car, sending them both of the track with smoke behind them.

The shit definitely hit the fan with the two of them, and the look on Christian's face as he walked away from the pitwall let you know that the two of them would be getting quite the stern talking to and that was putting it lightly.

"Those shits, they are fucking ageing me I swear, Goddamit." The team principle spat out, rubbing at his head, no doubt having a major migraine setting in.

"I'm going to medical," you told him. Not wanting to cause him anymore stress.

Dan was the first person you saw, wrapping him in a big hug, you sighed out of relief. Letting go of him you did a once over, just to be sure that the medical team hadn’t missed a cut.

“I’m glad you’re okay. It looked intense.”

“If anything, he got the worst of it.” Dan stressed the word he, like Max was the devil and saying his name would curse him.

“I’m sure he did, but this is on both of you.” You stressed, patting him on the shoulder and went to leave him. Ready to make your next stop.

“Where are you going?” He questioned. Eyebrows raised and dark eyes questioning you, looking irritated that you weren't going to stay by his side until he was cleared.

“To see Max, idiot. I care about both of you and you guys are making it so hard for me.”

“You’re my sister.” He said, because family should come before his teammate, but at the end of the day he knew that he was being dramatic--he was the only true adult in the situation.

“And he’s my friend. At least play nice. He could be your future brother in law on day.” You winked and quickly left, listening to him sputter in shock and slight disgust.

God, Daniel could only imagine the pair the two of you would actually make if you officially started dating—or even admitted to having feelings for one another.

They would give him a run for his money, and he would probably start balding from stress.

—

While Max and Daniel’s friendship grew, so did yours. However, it was only a matter of time until your brother decided to make his exit from Red Bull to a new team.

Max, although young, was starting to be the priority of Red Bull and your brother wasn’t made to be a second driver. He was made to win and he couldn’t do that with Max getting priority treatment.

Surprisingly, when Dan left Red Bull the prior teammates friendship only got stronger.

Dan went to Renault and Pierre filled his seat.

Pierre was nice enough and was always friendly towards you, but was always confused when he found you in the Red Bull garage chatting happily to Max and not with your brother a few garages over.

He was never the biggest fan of Max, and couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that a beautiful girl would listen to Max rant endlessly about the rear wing.

Pierre found it even more strange that you would alternated teams each race weekend to make sure you showed supports to both Dan and Max. He was even more confused when he called you Max’s girlfriend and you just laughed and shook your head.

Charles informed him later on that the two of you were in fact ‘just friends’. The eye roll Charles gave confirmed that the two of you were just oblivious idiots.

You would find yourself after races heading back to Max’s hotel to order room service and play fifa.

“And did you-“ Max interrupted what you were going to say next, rolling his eyes and answering the question you hadn’t even finished asking.

“Yes," he huffed, almost offended that you would even ask him. "I got you a burger and fries, no onion or lettuce. And yes I got you extra ketchup.” Max watched proudly as you smiled and practically glowed at him memorizing your order.

“You’re the best.”

You resisted the urge to lean over and kiss him. God, you wanted so badly to. But what would Daniel think? What would the fans think if they ever found out?

“And the best driver.” Max said proudly.

You rolled your eyes at his statement. “Ahh, I resent you for that.”

Max froze, like he had forgotten that Daniel had left the team because of him. One that had been his family before Max all but came in and ruined it.

“Hey—" you put a reassuring hand on his arm. "I’m only joking. I know the sport is cutthroat. He doesn’t blame you.”

It was a shit situation, and shitty things happened all the time to good people. You were just happy that Dan had a seat and was able to continue doing what he loved.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, uncomfortable by the conversation.

“Seriously, Max. It’s not your fault and neither of us blame you.” You added on, making sure that he knew that you and Dan still appreciated him.

Did it suck that Dan had to leave the team he always wanted to win a championship with? Yes. But life isn’t always fair and in motor sports it was even worse.

“You know, that…yeah. Thank you.” He said, almost looking nervous, like for some reason you would even think about never speaking to him again because Dan decided on his own accord to leave.

A knock at the door drew your attention away from him.

“For what it’s worth, Red Bull is still my favorite team.” You winked and kissed him on the cheek, hopping up from the bed to grab the room service from the front door.

—

You were twenty-two now, and Max had a girlfriend who was much older than both of you and had a kid. One who was impossibly adorable.

You tried to hate Kelly, but it was impossible. She was beautiful, sweet, and always tried to involve you in any conversation she was having to make you feel more comfortable when the photographers were obviously taking photos of the both of you.

“Are you okay?” Kelly placed a gentle hand on your arm. Noticing that you were all but glued to the spot you were standing, as stiff as a statue watching the bright lights flash at you and people call out questions to both you and Kelly.

“Yeah, I...yeah. Is it always this weird for you?” You tilted your head to the photographers and she just smiled a little sadly at you.

Obviously, you were photographed with Daniel and even the occasional picture of you and Max made it to publication, but you were not use to having grown men constantly follow you down the paddock and ask what you were wearing.

You didn’t necessarily enjoy it, and don’t know how Kelly put up with it, but her father was famous and she was probably raised for this. Plus it helped that she was effortlessly gorgeous and dressed in designer from head to toe.

But you were always a little too awkward and not always photogenic. Plus, it was obvious by your outfit choice that you were not planning on having unwanted attention on you. It would be embarrassing to see you dressed in an oversized Enchanté, jean shorts, and Birkenstock sandals, coffee in hand, next to Kelly who was gracefully wearing a vintage Chanel.

“Yeah, it is but Max usually tells them to fuck off.” Kelly chuckles at the choice of words Max uses to tell the paparazzi off, and you wouldn't expect anything less from him.

You also laugh. “Of course, he hates that shit. I know when they get P in photos he’s even more pissed.”

Kelly watched as your eyes lit up talking about how caring her boyfriend was to watch after P, and how you only ever had kind words to say about Max. Even when his actions were controversial.

She knew that look. It was the same look she had for Max before they officially got together.

—

Max found you behind the garage, a frown on your face and seriously looking at your phone. You only had that look at your face when you were fighting via text.

“Boy troubles?” Max bumped his shoulder against yours. Watching as you furiously texted on your phone. Large paragraphs showing up on your screen from both you and the person on the other side.

You let out a heavy sigh.

“You could say that.”

“Give it here. Let me see.” Max said reaching out for your phone, reluctantly you handed it over.

Watching closely as he scrolled up, eye brows furrowing at the messages.

“This fucker talks to you like shit,” Max said. Handing the phone back to you.

You avoided his gaze, knowing that he was in fact right. Your current boyfriend had been treating you like shit for ages but you figured it was easier to stay than leave.

“Yeah, but I-“

“Does Daniel know?” Max asked, because there is no way your older brother would let this treatment fly.

“No, obviously--Dan would kill him.” You stated the obvious. "I'll handle it myself."

“Good! You don’t deserve this. I hope you know that you deserve better.”

“Max, we’re headed out. You coming?” Kelly waked over to where the two of you were standing behind the Red Bull garage to get a moment of privacy.

She kept her distance from where you two were standing, like she didn't belong and didn't know what to do.

You pushed any thought of Max out of your mind, he was just a friend. Your brother's best friend, and his girlfriend was standing just a few feet away.

“Yeah, one second.”

Max kisses you on the top of your head. In a friendly way-because of course it would never be anything more than that.

“Seriously, don’t let him treat you like that. Or he’ll have to deal with me.” You laughed at the terrible wink he threw your way.

Kelly watched the interaction and patiently waiting for Max to join before they left for the night.

Taking a moment to think it over, you sent an “it’s over” text and blocked the assholes number.

Max was right, he usually was.

—

Holy shit, watching the impact of Max into the barrier had you holding your breath, hands shaking from the anxiety of him not responding to any radio calls and not making any movement to get from the car.

You felt the PR manager grab your arm in a painful grip. The two of you rarely spoke, but everyone in the garage was holding their breath waiting for a response on the other end.

They called out for Max again over the radio.

Silence.

Tears threatened to fell from your eyes. There was no way he co-

The sound of painful groaning came over the system, like all the air in his lungs had been knocked out and he was gasping desperately trying to catch his breath.

Your hands covered your mouth, tears of relief falling from your eyes.

“Fuck. Oh my god.” You voice in relief, not wanting to even mention for a moment that you didn’t think he was getting out of the car alive.

“Danny-“ You said, barely able to whisper his name. He stopped you mid sentence, seeing the terrified look in your eyes.

“Let’s go, I’ll drive us.”

It took over an hour for the two of your to arrive to the hospital. Max telling you that the two of you didn’t need to come, and you just rolled your eyes. Because where else would you be?

“51 Gs and a concussion. Maybe a broken rib?” He gave you guys the same information the doctor gave him.

“Yeah, no shit. Your head hit the tire barrier.” Daniel rolled his eyes, use to Max’s usual cold exterior when he was injured. Not wanting any sympathy from those around him.

Like he saw it as some kind of weakness.

“You need to drive more safe.” You pointed you finger at him accusingly.

“Sure, like it was my fault.” He rolled his eyes with attitude. Wincing when he moved to adjust on the bed, his head felt heavy and the room looked hazy.

"Ugh," he groaned, closing his eyes to try to stop the oncoming nausea. Your heart pangs with worry, which quickly turned to anger.

“Don’t get an attitude with me. Both you and Lewis need to check your egos! I swear to God if you die being fucking stupid, I'll resurrect you to kill you myself."

Daniel wasn’t surprised by your random burst of anger, it happened anytime that Max put himself into a dangerous situation.

There was a knock on the door, Kelly was here.

“Oh,uh-“ you moved away from Max’s bedside.

Kelly stepped over to comfort Max and you backed up. Not wanting to get between their interactions. Because if he was your boyfriend, you would be wanting to make sure he was okay.

But you two were just…friends.

“We were just leaving. Feel better, Maxie.” Daniel said.

Max gave the two of you a weak wave as you exited the room. Noticing how you didn’t even say goodbye to him.

—

“Oh my god, oh my god. Holy shit!” You were jumping up and down watching Max finish the race and becoming world champion. Beating Lewis, but just barely.

You could hear Max yelling throw the radio and Kelly was clapping excitedly.

“He did it.” A singular tear ran down your face and the team went to go meet Max to celebrate.

With respect, Kelly went first and kissed him on the helmet. The team slapping his ass while he passed them making his way over to you. Were you were practically buzzing with excitement.

“You fucker! Oh my god!” You yelled, throwing yourself into his arms. He lifted you off the ground in the tightest hug, arms wrapping firmly around your waist.

“Look at you. World champ, huh?”

“Yeah. Shit, I can’t fucking believe it.” You figured tears were still running down your face when his gloved thumb lifted to wipe them from your face.

He placed you back on your feet and you gave him a light punch to the chest. Max faltered, not knowing what to do next.

The moment was oddly intimate and the world was watching. All cameras focused on Max. This was his time.

If you were his girlfriend, you would be kissing him. Your eyes lingered on his lips a little too long, but you came to when realizing that there were multiple cameras to pick up the interaction.

The last thing you needed was speculation on social media about the two of you. Well…more than there already was.

You cleared your throat to speak up.

“Go see your girl, champ.”

—

Twenty-four and you were standing awkwardly at the bar waiting to order a drink. The club was loud and packed of people here to celebrate Max.

He just turned twenty-five and was celebrating yet another championship.

You watched as Lando took cute photos of Max and Kelly with flowers that he bought for her. It was sweet that he always wanted to celebrate her even when it was a party for him. He was selfless like that. No one ever treated you like that, like you were priceless.

And seeing the way he kissed her pulled at your heart in a weird way, and now you desperate needed more alcohol in your system.

“Hey sis, why the long face?” Daniel strolled over to where you were standing looking at the stressed look on your face and how you uncomfortably shifted from one foot to the other.

When he walked up he saw the look on your face when you say Max and Kelly were already all over each other in the VIP section.

“It’s too loud and I just want a fucking shot!” You huffed, irritated and slightly overwhelmed.

“Woah,woah.” He held up his hands defensively. He hadn’t expected you to lash out like that. It was out of your character, but you were a little drunk after all.

“Is it because-“ Dan started to ask but was cut off by a bone crushing hug you were receiving. He smiled watching two of his favorite people interact.

“You’re here! I didn’t think you were going to make it pass the pregame at Lando’s! He told me you drank three bottles of champagne.”

Max squeezed you once again and let you go, giving you a one over. The only sign that you were even remotely drunk, other than your slight irritability was the red cheeks and nose that always gave you away.

“The lady would like three shots of tequila.” Max asked the bartender.

Daniel wrinkled his nose at the order.

“That’s not just for me right?” Your stomach churning at the idea of doing three tequila shots. You would surely be spending quality time with the hotel toilet tonight.

“No, it’s for all of us. Drink up, Dan!”

The three of you downed the shots.

Multiple more followed that same night and you found yourself outside the club seeking some fresh air.

“I think I love him,” you whispered. Like saying it too loud would scare you or Max would hear your secret confession, but he had left you with Daniel hours earlier to prioritize Kelly and antagonize Charles.

Dan wrapped you in a safe hug and put his chin on top of your head.

“I know.”

—

“Now, Daniel,” the interviewer looked at where he was standing on the stage in front of hundreds of fans. Max on one side and Checo and Yuki on the other.

He waited for the question to come.

“How do you feel about the close relationship Max has with your sister?”

A picture of you and Max pulled up on the large screen. It was from a trip you all took to Italy four years ago.

You were sitting next to Max on the yacht he had rented for the trip. His arm wrapped around your shoulder and pressing a firm kiss to your cheek. Your hand placed on his cheek.

The picture definitely made you two look more than friendly with one another and it didn’t help that he and Kelly had just split up a few months ago after two years together.

She never made a public statement and neither did Max, it seemed to be one of the more admissible splits between any of the drivers and their significant others.

It seemed to be mutual decision but the media would never believe that. They wanted to make you the villain in this story, and it irritated Daniel.

“Yeah, it doesn’t bother me. They had been close for years and have always been good friends.”

“Yes, but—“

Max interrupted the interviewer and anyone could tell he was pissed.

“I don’t know why my personal life is being brought up and out on screen. It has nothing to do with racing, ask us about that or don’t speak.”

—

“It’s fucked up, pissed me off. Daniel should’ve just told them to fuck off.” Max said heatedly, sitting behind you on the new sofa he had just gotten for his apartment.

You say cross legged in front oh him on the floor. Picking at a piece of the carpet to entertain yourself. Sassy was cuddled up sleeping in your lap and you refused to move. This was the first time in years that she had shown you any affection.

Jimmy however, was a daddy’s boy, sitting behind Max on the edge of the sofa softly flicking his tail happily back and forth, occasionally tickling the back of Max’s neck when the soft fur brushed against it.

Max gave Kelly all the things she had picked out for he to decorate her new place with, so it called for new furniture, and he didn’t have particularly good taste in well…much of anything.

“Come on, it’s not like...you know—“ you tried to spit out that it wasn’t weird for the media to ask, they have been for years. Even when he was with his ex.

“Know what?”

“You know.” You stressed. Now Max was just even more confused.

“No I don’t.”

“Know that I-“ you pause, trying to gain some confidence to confess what you had been holding back for years. “That I like you. You moron.”

Max’s mouth dropped open a little, like he didn’t know. And that this was his first time ever hearing about it. Like you hadn’t been giving him the most obvious heart eyes for the past ten years.

“I..” and before you could fully prepare yourself he leaned forward and grabbed your face in his hands. Pulling you in for a passionate kiss that you had waited too long for.

He tasted like cinnamon.

The angle that he was kissing you at hurt your neck, but you couldn’t care less.

He pulled away and gave you the sweetest smile.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?I would’ve done that years ago.”

Now it was your turn to be shocked.

You hit his knee in playful irritation.

“I figured it was pretty fucking obvious.” You shot back a playful smile on your face. How could he honestly not tell? Especially when you were younger and followed him around like a puppy.

You even stayed in the Red Bull garage to support him when Dan left. You figured he would’ve known and just didn’t care.

"I just--I thought you knew."

Max, if anything, felt more clueless than he ever did in his entire life.

Of course you liked him after all this time. Each birthday you remembered, each surprise gift you gave him, coming to see him after a bad race just to sit in silence and watch cartoons.

Only someone who truly loved another person would do that. And that person was you.

You were his person.

—

"Max, who is that?" Leclerc pulled Max's attention away from the crowd he was currently waiving at on the drivers parade, to the phone screen that was brightly lit up in his left hand.

He had changed the photo a few weeks ago to one that you had sent to him. Wrapped up in one of his sweaters and smiling brightly at the camera.

He had taken it one night when you were just relaxing out of his patio, offering you his sweater when you got cold. It was oddly domestic for you two, but felt so normal at the same time.

"Fuck- that's baby Ricciardo?" The Ferrari driver whispered, catching a better look at the photo, a shit eating grin pulling across his lips. "I knew it."

"Yeah, yeah--" Max nervously scratched at the back of his neck, but Charles wasn't letting him out of the conversation that easily.

"It's about fucking time. Pierre told me that you two have been in love for a long time.”

Curse Pierre and his need to tell Charles everything.

“I’m happy for you.” Charles clapped his hand on Max’s shoulder. “But does Daniel know?”

“Of course. He was the first to know. She wouldn’t have lied to him.” Max admitted shyly.

Daniel had been ecstatic when the two of you fessed up to dating. Although the two of you would no doubt drive him insane, there was no one that could make his sister happier than Max.

Max was a good guy and Daniel had always seen that.

Charles smiled. It was nice to see that he was happy and finally realized that the two of you were a perfect match.

A text came through on Max’s phone screen, taking his attention away from Charles.

baby: good luck today champ. I love you!

Champ🏆: I love you too. See you when I get home.

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abudhabby29-blog · 10 days ago

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look me in the eye | pt.1

pairing: max verstappen x rbr!engineer!reader

summary: the rb21 seems unfixable but that might not be the only reason max verstappen wants you around.

a/n: kind of angsty? think this will be two parts. 2k-ish words!

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The paddock is full of wind and empty promises. Bahrain's desert nights hold no warmth for those who find themselves at war with machines. Under the harsh lights of the Red Bull garage, your hands are stained with grease, burnt rubber and fuel having become your signature scent. The RB21 sits before you so still, like a child being yelled at. It's internals are exposed, betraying the effort you have poured into it. Another night. Another battle against the unworkable.

You wipe your forehead and the action leaves a dark trail.

"It's not you," Max's voice is acute in comparison to the exhausted engineers around you. "It's the car."

You sigh and rub your hand across your face again, leaving a another streak of oil on your cheek. "I've been through every possible variation of the floor. I've checked the suspension settings, even the cooling package. Nothing sticks. It’s like-"

"-like trying to control a wild animal?" he offers, a small smirk at the corner of his lips.

You huff. It could be a laugh, on some other day, but right now there is no humor in the situation. "More like taming a hurricane with duct tape."

Max leans against the workbench. His arms are crossed over his chest. Even under the brutal garage lights, even with this stupid car that no one but him can drive with some semblance of control, he's certain. "Well, you're still making it work."

That earns a scoff from you. "You make it work, Max. I just throw everything at the wall and hope something sticks."

His gaze sharpens, and it seems to pierce right through you. You, not just an engineer, but as a person who's given up everything to this job, to this team, to him.

"That's not true," he says quietly. "You don't just try. You build. You fix. You see what no one else does. And I-" He catches himself here, unsure how appropriate it'll sound. "I trust you."

The words, from him of all people, settle in your chest like an anchor. Trust is not given freely in Formula One; it is earned, lap by agonizing lap, through victories and through failures. You are not his race engineer. You're just another member of his team. There, hardly noticeable.

You doubt anyone outside RBR, outside the engineering teams, knows your name. Max Verstappen does, though, and that counts for something.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Australia is supposed to be a fresh start.

A new track, a chance to see if anything has changed. But as you watch Lando Norris cross the line in first place, with Max trailing behind in P2, your stomach sinks. The celebrations begin almost immediately. Confetti, cheers, McLaren mechanics embracing as if they had won the championship itself. You want to slap someone. In it feels like they have. They have proof that their car is faster, that their work is paying off in a way yours isn't.

Still, you push it down. Max fought for this podium, and you owe it to him to be happy.

When he walks into the garage, you're already there, waiting with the rest of the team. He’s drenched in sweat, his fireproofs clinging to his skin. He should be tired, but the familiar sharp focus is in his eyes, even now. He's always noticing things.

You force a smile and clasp his shoulder.

"P2, Max. You dragged that car through hell for it."

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. "It wasn't easy." Max gives you a small smile. The way it doesn't fully turn up at the ends of his mouth betrays how tired he really is, despite playing it off. "You gave me something to fight with."

You nod. Your smile doesn't reach your eyes either. The noise of celebration around you turning to static. He sees it. Of course he does.

Max opens his mouth to say something else, but he's getting pulled away again for some interviews.

Later, when the festivities have died down, he finds you outside the garage. Away from the crowd. You sit on a stack of worn-out Pirelli tire blankets, staring at the ground. The sound of approaching footsteps doesn't startle you.

"What are you doing out here? No alcohol?" he asks. He always speaks sharply, concisely, reassured. Not anymore-Max is asking you now as he would a frightened animal. Don't run, it's as if he's saying, please stay.

You let out a breath. The weight of the race, the season, all of it pressing against your ribs. And then, before you can stop yourself-

"You're right," you murmur. "The McLaren is faster. We lack the pace."

The answer doesn't come right away. He's standing there, watching you with what might be regret. Because those are his words from mere hours ago, right after the race. A loose admission in the media pen, thrown out without a second thought. Max was happy with his race, not elated but he did things and the car was in the way and he forgot momentarily about all the work. He likes to be truthful with his words but he's slipped up.

And now, you're here, breaking yourself apart over them.

Max crouches down in front of you. His elbows rest on his knees. "That doesn't mean you failed."

You shake your head. "Feels like it."

He doesn't know what to tell you. Sorry? I'm sorry I said that. I was mad at the car. It wasn't about you.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, hesitantly, he reaches out and rests a hand against your forearm.

"You don't give up," he says. "I don't. We adapt. We adapt."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Shanghai is a lesson in patience.

The RB21 struggles on the mediums and the first stint is agony. You were worried about the lack of pace, the way the tires degrade faster than they should be. "We set out to do our pace, which was a fair bit slower than the cars around us," he later tells the reports, frustration just beneath the surface. "I'm trying not to destroy the tires."

Your stomach knots as you watch the sector times, the data painting a bleak picture. But when the switch to hards comes, something shifts.

There, the grip. There, a chance.

Lap by lap, the car becomes drivable. Not perfect, not dominant, but workable. And Max, as always, wrings everything out of it.

It's not a podium but after the disqualifications, it becomes P4. A bittersweet relief.

You find him outside your hotel room. The soft, golden glow of the hallway lights casts shadows across his features, sharp angles of exhaustion softened by something else.

"You know," you say as you close the door behind you. "For a man who just got handed an almost-podium, you're not looking very victorious."

His mouth twitches. "Doesn't feel like one, does it? I didn't earn it."

You tilt your head, considering. "Maybe not. Still, you can't count yourself out. Drinks?" You drum your fingers against the already-open minibar.

Max turns his head to look at you. "You always say things like that."

"I actually don't encourage you to drink that much," you defend.

"No. I mean, like you actually believe in all this." He gestures vaguely around as if the world of Formula One is something that can be captured in a single movement. "In the fight. Things turning around."

You shrug and take out a bottle. "Sure I do."

He studies you for longer than necessary, then shakes his head with a soft chuckle. "Crazy talk."

You feign offense and hold the drink close to your chest. "I am an engineer, Max. I deal in hard data and numbers. You're the intuitive one."

"Right." He eyes you, ever the skeptic. "Yet here you are, like a motivational quote board."

You grin. "Maybe I'm just trying to keep you from spiraling."

Max exhales through his nose, amused. "And here I thought I was keeping you from losing hope."

"Guess we're just stuck with each other then."

“Could be worse." His voice is lower now, the teasing edge giving way to something quieter.

The banter fades and here's a chance for you to do something. To let it sink in, to grasp the awful rawness of the moment. You don't know how.

"'least it's not Russell," you tell him. He flinches. It's small but doesn't slip your sight and you feel bad for making fun when he's trying to have a serious discussion. "Sorry. Feelings, hard. You know," you continue, "I think you actually had fun today."

His lips press together as if he's about to deny it. Instead, he relents. "Maybe a little."

"A miracle," you murmur.

"Don’t tell anyone."

You smirk. "Your secret's safe with me. Maybe we should hold off on the alcohol. Tipsy me isn't as trustworthy."

"I don't know about that." Max pretends to think. "Why don't we find out?"

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

When the sun wakes you up, Max has already managed to stumble back to his own room. Not entirely true. You just know he's no longer piss-drunk in yours.

Truth be told, you aren't as reluctant to spend time with him as you once were. His arrogant nature has softened with time. He's funny sometimes. But that isn't the only reason.

Red Bull was a hot mess the end of 2024. It is still one. You aren't out of options. You are friends with a friend who is friends with a head at McLaren and the offer sounds pretty good right now.

It's just a question of Max or Lando or Oscar. Or maybe there isn't a question at all.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Suzuka's next on your bucket list.

Red Bull's struggles have been the focal point of every media outlet, every discussion framed around whether the once-dominant team can claw its way back to the top.

You're in the motorhome, scrolling through your laptop, catching up on the latest coverage. A celsius-sorry, RB, but they just taste better- is by your side, half-finished. Then you see it. An interview, Max's face filling the screen, his expression as sharp and serious as ever. The reporter has just finished asking a question, pushing for insight into the difficulties he's been facing.

"It’s not easy," Max admits with his arms crossed. His Red Bull cap is pulled low over his eyes. "The car is… not where we want it to be. It's difficult to drive, unpredictable in certain corners, and sometimes it feels like I'm fighting it more than driving it."

You frown slightly, fingers tightening around the device. You've heard this before. You know all about his frustration, his honesty. It's a good trait that helps you know what to work on, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

Then his tone shifts.

"But," he continues, "we're making progress. My engineer...she's putting everything into this car, finding solutions where it seems like there are none. Every race, every session, we're understanding it better. I have hope for the next races. Still very tough, but I trust her-sorry, them. We'll get there."

Oh, what a slip-up. Your breath catches. Max's face is slightly flushed. He definitely knows what he said.

You do too. Trust. He said it so simply.

You replay the clip, once, twice, and with every repeat, something warm coils in your stomach. The world hears his frustration, but you hear something else: recognition, appreciation. He sees what you do, what you give.

The corners of your lips curl into a smirk as you set the laptop down.

"Well," you say to yourself. "That was certainly something."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You don't know why you bring it up now, in the middle of the hospitality lounge, of all places. Maybe it's the exhaustion, maybe it's the way Max looked at you after the interview aired-like you were the only thing holding this team together. Like you were holding him together.

So you say it.

"I think I'm leaving next year."

Max, halfway through sipping his water, freezes. His fingers tighten around the bottle, knuckles turning white.

"No."

It’s not a question. Not even a reaction. Just a flat-out refusal.

You exhale, bracing yourself. "Max-"

"No," he repeats, louder this time. He sets the bottle down with a sharp thud, standing up so fast his chair scrapes against the floor. "You’re not leaving."

You stare at him, startled by the sheer force behind his words. "It's not up to you."

His jaw clenches, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He looks like he's physically holding himself back, like if he doesn't control it, he might actually go berserk. At any other time you would be aware of the other engineers in the room, pretending not to notice whatever's going on, but he's taking up all of your attention right now. Subtlety is pushed to the back of your mind. "You can't leave," he says, voice rough. "Not after everything."

You swallow and your voice is still not steady. "Max, you know how bad this year has been. The car is-"

"I know how bad it is," he snaps. He steps closer. "I know better than anyone, because I'm the one driving it. But you-" Max exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "You're the only one who makes it better."

Your heart stutters.

He’s staring at you now, eyes burning. You can't read what's behind them. "Every time I think this car is undriveable, you fix it. Every time I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle, you find a way to make it work." Max shakes his head, almost laughing. But it's humorless, frustrated. "And now you're telling me you want to leave? What am I supposed to do with that?"

You take a shaky breath. "Max, I-"

"You can't," he says again, and this time, his voice cracks. "Not you."

Max Verstappen has never been what people call a sentimental man. Right now, he looks as if tears are no longer foreign to him.

You should tell him it's just a thought, that nothing is decided yet. But the way he's looking at you-desperate, almost pleading-makes it impossible to lie.

So you say nothing. You give him that.

And Max? Max steps even closer, until there's barely any space between you. His gaze flickers down-to your lips, to the unsteady rise and fall of your chest-before meeting your eyes again.

"Stay," he murmurs. "Please."

And God help you, you don't know if you can say no.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: going back to my true roots as a narrative writer don't let this flop please xx

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abudhabby29-blog · 17 days ago

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𝙈𝘼𝙓 𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙋𝙋𝙀𝙉 𝙁𝙄𝘾 𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙎.

— hello everyone !! welcome to the last part of the poll series, lmk if you guys want another one, seeing as my f1 fic recs were so popular !! thank you all again for so much good comments and positivity, it makes me so happy that people enjoy my silly little fic comps ;D. enjoy !!

my poll fic recs !!

— oscar piastri fic recs — lando norris fic recs

[or check out my f1 drivers fic recs]

• my most favorite reads = 🩷

— blurbs and short writings

• tacky tree by @landososcar 🩷

• all i want by @verstappen-cult

• too many kisses by @verstappenverse

• circles back 2 you by @giuseppe-yuki

— oneshots/imagines

• serve by @theonottsbxtch

• my birthday, my love by ↑

• my peace by ↑

• don't wanna be saved by ↑ 🩷

• forever and always by ↑

• mi novio, max verstappen by ↑ 🩷

• teen idle by ↑ 🩷

ann's (@theonottsbxtch) writing is some of the best things that has grazed the earth's surface, which is why i added her BEAUTIFULLY written max fics for everyone to enjoy, you're welcome. ALSO i love love love her f1 driver eye descriptions i read them and i just stared at a wall for like 5 minutes js thinking about them 😭😭 please read them they're so good: here

• she's always a woman by @starkwlkr

• birthday celebration? by @giuseppe-yuki

• secret admirer by ↑

• green light, red flag by @landoughnut

• made with love by ↑ 🩷

— series

• snap out of it by @diqldrunks

➜ part two

— smau

• girl, so confusing by @astonmartinii

• put it all on red (bull) by ↑ 🩷

• rb admin by @leclercwriting

• blowing smoke by @afterglowsainz

• friends by ↑

• positions by ↑

• crying in the club by @pomegranatesarchive

• enemies or lovers by ↑ 🩷

• please date my sister in law by ↑

• miami baby by @norrisainz33

final "chunk" of the poll fic rec series, tell me your feedback i really want to improve my quality of work 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️as always, thank you all SO MUCH !! as always, have an amazing day/night 🌞🧡

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abudhabby29-blog · 18 days ago

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if you’re like me and you only watch f1 for free, here are some free sites you can watch it live at:

sportshub.stream - this is my personal favorite

totalsportek.pro

sportsurge.club

thehomesport.net

weakstream.org

there are also free apps you can watch it in:

Live player

strym tv - you need a code to watch in this app so you just press the + sign on the upper left corner, choose “Import playlist from URL” and paste this url http: //movitv. pro just remove the spaces

all of these have ads and if you have access to VPN, you might want to use it but i’ve tried all these links and app last season and hadn’t gotten a virus.

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abudhabby29-blog · 19 days ago

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𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙈𝙐𝙇𝘼 𝟭 𝙁𝙄𝘾 𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙎.

— note: hello !! here's my first shot at making a fic rec, so please give me feedback on what i can improve. thank you sm !! i hope you enjoyy 😺 😺

• 🩷 = my most favorite reads !!

𝙊𝙎𝘾𝘼𝙍 𝙋𝙄𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙍𝙄.

— blurbs and shortwritings

• untitled by @maxlarens

• summer break shenanigans by @clemsnovalak

• the little things by @avawritesthings

• had me at hello by @be4chywritez

• human heater by @pastryfication

• new meetings by @no-144444

— oneshots/imagines

• first time for everything by @katsu28

• decode by @keerysfreckles 🩷

• cold coffee by @tsunodaradio 🩷

SORRY BUT COLD COFFEE HAS GOT TO BE, HAND DOWN ONE OF THE BEST WORKS I HAVE EVER READ. tysmm @tsunodaradio for this absolute masterpiece 🙏

— smau

• imperfect for you by @afterglowsainz

• on the mend by @fastandcarlos

• secretly yours by @paddockletters

• yeah, my wife by @lewisvinga

• grogeous by @piastappies 🩷

𝙇𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙊 𝙉𝙊𝙍𝙍𝙄𝙎.

— blurbs and short writings

• little spoon by @mirohlayo

• sorry, chat by @tsunodaradio

— oneshots/imagines

• better than the novels by @drgnsfly

• d.n.f by @norrisradio 🩷

@norrisradio i love your work sm, if yall have time read their stuff it's so good

• redline by ↑

• pick your poison, babe by @tsunodaradio

— smau

• camera girl by @forza-pastry 🩷

• how do you turn this thing off? by @povlnfour

• party time by @norrisainz33

• next in line by @piastrisun

• secret but not private by @italiangirlcoresblog

• dj got us falling in love by @astonmartinii 🩷

𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝙇𝙀𝙎 𝙇𝙀𝘾𝙇𝙀𝙍𝘾.

— blurbs and short writings

• retail therapy by @maxtermind

• tiktok trend by @russellsppttemplates

• in sickness and in cramps by @agentstarkid

— oneshots/imagines

• new recruit by @purinfelix

• dogsitter by @pomegranatesarchive

— smau

• 1-800-help-me-park by @httpsserene

• comeback by @harrysfolklore

• (piano) keys to your heart by @astonmartinii 🩷

𝙈𝘼𝙓 𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙋𝙋𝙀𝙉.

— blurbs and short writings

• drunk in love by @pucksandpower

• what are you doing? by 🩷@thepitlanepress

• this... is a french braid by @ipushhimback

• put me down by @thepitlanepress

— oneshots/imagines

• christmax by @harrysfolklore

• fluorescent by @scuderiahoney 🩷

• born to run by ↑

• always walk me home by ↑

• pick you up by ↑

— smau

• a night to remember by @oscarp-writes

• cute funny looking child by @pomegranatesarchive

• out of time by @afterglowsainz

• friend of a friend by @norrisainz33 🩷

• ending the war by @princepiastri

𝘾𝘼𝙍𝙇𝙊𝙎 𝙎𝘼𝙄𝙉𝙕.

— blurbs and short writings

• carlos sainz being hopelessly in love: a compilation by @harrysfolklore

• clingy by @vivwritesfics

• the dad who stepped up by @jungwnies

• sfw alphabet by ↑

• happy birthday! by @uglyducklingofthe2000s

• prank wars by @n0vazsq

— oneshots/imagines

• come find me by @tsunodaradio 🩷

— smau

• you and me by @sainzzreputaticn

• hand of gold by @pomegranatesarchive

• big news by @norrisainz33

• is it over now? by @afterglowsainz

• secret by @harrysfolklore 🩷

𝙔𝙐𝙆𝙄 𝙏𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙊𝘿𝘼.

— blurbs and short writings

• making dinner with yuki by @yukinss

• calm by @multicohn

• what about me? by ↑

• lover boy by ↑

• nightmares by ↑

• best friends "brother" by ↑

— oneshots/imagines

• i believe in miracles by @tsunodaradio

• love at first flight by ↑ 🩷

• almost by @norrisradio

• the one with the baby by ↑

— smau

• short king by @harrysespresso

• #1 defender by @lewisvinga

• short royalty by @rqsie63

𝙁𝙍𝘼𝙉𝘾𝙊 𝘾𝙊𝙇𝘼𝙋𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙊.

— blurbs and short writings

• good journalism by @purinfelix

— oneshots/imagines

• holly jolly faking by @julietsf1

• just for the weekend by @purinfelix 🩷

• lost and found by ↑

— smau

• challenge accepted by @hugleclerc

• nepo boyfriend by @harrysfolklore

• spanish or vanish by @papayadays

• i like me better by @taasgirl

IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR TYSMMM !! have a great day/night 🩷🙈

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abudhabby29-blog · 20 days ago

Text

if you’re like me and you only watch f1 for free, here are some free sites you can watch it live at:

sportshub.stream - this is my personal favorite

totalsportek.pro

sportsurge.club

thehomesport.net

weakstream.org

there are also free apps you can watch it in:

Live player

all of these have ads and if you have access to VPN, you might want to use it but i’ve tried all these links and app last season and hadn’t gotten a virus.

8K notes · View notes

abudhabby29-blog · 22 days ago

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roommate from hell - oscar piastri (4/5)

୨ৎ : pairing : oscar piastri x gn!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : forced into an accidental roommate situation, oscar and you struggle with clashing habits, sarcastic banter, and unexpected tension…until frustration turns into something much deeper.

୨ৎ : genre : romantic comedy & light angst (barely...) ୨ৎ : tws : forced proximity, mild conflict, emotional tension, and mutual pining. ୨ৎ : wc : 1242

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

You paced around your room, phone pressed to your ear as your friend tried very hard not to laugh at your situation.

"So let me get this straight," they said, their tone already way too smug for your liking. "You overheard Oscar telling Lando that he doesn’t know if something is happening between you two, and now you’re spiraling?"

"I'm not spiraling," you said, stopping mid-step. "I just—Why did I even care what he said? I don’t like him. He doesn’t like me. We’re just… tolerating each other at this point."

Your friend hummed in a way that made it very clear they did not believe you. "Uh-huh. And tell me, when he said he doesn’t know if he feels something, what did you want him to say?"

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

That stupid sinking feeling was still sitting in your stomach, the same one that had hit you the moment Oscar didn’t say he felt something. Because, for some reason, you had wanted him to.

You groaned. "I hate this."

"You hate realizing you have a thing for your roommate?"

"He's not—" You paused. "Oh, my God. I don’t have a thing for him."

Your friend snorted. "Right. You just spent the last fifteen minutes freaking out over nothing."

You flopped onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. "I’m not freaking out. I just… Maybe I got used to him being around."

"Uh-huh."

"And maybe it’s kinda nice that we get along now."

"Mhmm."

"And maybe—maybe—it was kinda shitty to hear him sound so unsure about me when I was kinda sure about him."

There was a pause.

Then, finally, your friend said, "Babe, you’re so screwed."

You groaned, rolling onto your stomach. "I know."

You did your best to shake off the whole feelings crisis after that, but something about it still lingered in the background. You weren’t weird around Oscar, but you definitely weren’t normal either.

And it didn’t help that he was completely unbothered. He went about life as usual—making coffee for two without a word, leaving his gym bag in the hallway, making sarcastic remarks at you over dinner. You had convinced yourself that nothing had changed, even though it absolutely had.

The only real difference was that now, you were hyperaware of him.

The way he smelled when he came home after a workout. The way he concentrated when playing some mindless game on his phone. The way he leaned against the counter when talking, all relaxed and casual.

It was fine. It was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

Almost a month had passed since the roommate disaster began, and suddenly, Greg was back in your lives.

It started with an envelope on the counter, casually placed there like it wasn’t about to cause problems.

You stared at it, then at Oscar. "What’s this?"

He didn’t even look up from his phone. "Greg dropped it off while you were out."

You hesitated before picking it up and reading the note attached.

Greg had finally gotten your security deposits back.

Which meant you were no longer stuck in this apartment together.

Which meant if you wanted, you could leave.

Oscar looked up when you went quiet, glancing at the note in your hands. "Oh."

You blinked at him. "Yeah."

Neither of you said anything for a second.

Then, finally, you cleared your throat. "So, I guess this means we don’t have to keep sharing the place if we don’t want to."

Oscar nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Another pause.

Neither of you moved.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. "Do you… want to move out?"

Oscar’s gaze flickered to yours for just a second before he shrugged. "I don’t know. Do you?"

You didn’t answer right away.

You should have said yes. You should have said you were looking forward to getting your own space again, to not having to deal with the thermostat war or the way he left his shoes directly in front of your door.

But for some reason, you hesitated.

For some reason, you weren’t entirely sure.

"Guess we’ll figure it out," you said finally, setting the envelope back down on the counter.

"Yeah," Oscar said, his voice unreadable. "Guess we will."

The weirdness settled in after that.

Not bad weird. Just… weird.

You noticed how neither of you acknowledged the envelope again after that conversation. It sat on the counter for two days, untouched, like a silent reminder that things had to change but neither of you wanted to be the first to say it.

You still moved around each other in the apartment like normal, still bickered over stupid things, still stole his hoodies, still watched bad reality shows on the couch.

But it felt… different.

Like there was something else hanging in the air between you.

And Oscar noticed.

At first, he didn’t say anything, but you caught him watching you a little longer when you were talking, tilting his head slightly like he was trying to figure something out.

Then, one night, after dinner, he finally said something.

"You’ve been weird lately," he said, watching you over the rim of his water glass.

You nearly choked on your drink. "Excuse me?"

He set his glass down. "You heard me."

You frowned. "I have not been weird."

"You have," he countered, completely unfazed. "You’ve been acting… different. Quieter. Less annoying."

Your face deadpanned. "Less annoying?"

"Yeah." His lips twitched, like he was enjoying this. "Almost like you’ve been thinking too much. And not about how to sabotage my thermostat settings this time."

You scoffed, trying to act casual. "Maybe I just ran out of energy to deal with your deeply flawed way of living."

Oscar leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. "Maybe."

There was a pause.

Then he said, "Or maybe it’s about the deposit letter."

You immediately busied yourself with wiping an already clean spot on the counter. "Why would it be about that?"

Oscar didn’t answer right away. When you glanced up at him, he was watching you carefully.

"You tell me," he said simply.

You felt something in your stomach twist.

For a second, you thought about just admitting it. About saying I don’t know why I haven’t packed my bags yet. I don’t know why I don’t want to.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you forced a smirk, grabbed your cup, and turned toward your room.

"Well," you said over your shoulder, "if you think I’m being weird, you should’ve said something sooner."

Before he could respond, you disappeared into your room, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

You exhaled, leaning against it for a second.

What the hell were you doing?

It was just a lease. Just an apartment. Just a temporary situation that had somehow turned into something too comfortable.

You were supposed to leave.

You were supposed to want to leave.

But now, with the deposit in hand and the option finally there, the idea of not seeing Oscar every day, of not sharing space with him, of not arguing over the smallest things just for the fun of it…

It didn’t feel as easy as you thought it would.

And judging by the way Oscar had been watching you, you weren’t the only one feeling it.

You climbed into bed, forcing yourself to ignore the feeling.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, you’d bring it up.

Maybe.

Or maybe you’d just wait for Oscar to do it first.

taglist : @sugarfreerbr , @no-144444 , @window-to-nothing , @judelina , @littlegrapejuice , @formulaal , @spikershoyo , @eclipsedcherry , @whispersofthewild , @1-queenofpotatoes-1 , @obxstiles , @poppysrin , @a-beaverhausen , @blakebearsblog , @fastandcurious16 , @imdyinghelpplease , @reginalaufeyson-holmes , @percy-jackson-fan909 , @bavo-delta-eccho , @chloes-book-corner , @edgyficuselastica , @wierdflowerpower , @briefkittenearthquake , @saachiep81 | (comment to be added ... bolded couldn't be tagged)

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abudhabby29-blog · 22 days ago

Note

hi love!! when is the next part of ‘you were never not mine’ going to be uploaded?? i am in loveeee

SCENE 7 :: WE'LL PAY THE PRICE, I GUESS ↳ you were never not mine — carlos sainz ༉‧₊˚✧

★ : pairing :: carlos sainz x reader ★ : genre :: angst; smut; fluff ★ : words :: 3.8k separated by a hidden emotional turmoil, carlos and y/n navigate the complexities of co-parenting their twins amidst the high-stakes f1 world. amidst paddock visits and personal healing, will they go further apart or find their wayback to each other? ★ : a/n :: i made lots of social media posts/texts for this but decided to scratch it and write it at last. shows the dynamic or carlos and y/n more than anything. it's mostly nsfw so yeah enjoy? writing is a bit dusty and not proofread

( series masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request )

The first thing you feel is warmth. A hauntingly familiar one.

Not the kind from blankets or the sun creeping in through the curtains, but something heavier, something real, something that wasn’t making you sweat but making your chest ache.

Slowly, you registered the weight of a hand resting on your hip. The press of soft lips against your cheek. A breathy chuckle against your skin when you scrunch your nose but don’t wake up.

You don’t have to open your eyes to know who it is.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and raspy from sleep, lips grazing the corner of your jaw before trailing lazily toward your lips.

You make a sleepy sound in protest, burying your face into the pillow. “Go away.”

He hums, amused at your cheeks burning up, but doesn’t back off. His fingers tighten slightly at your waist as he leans in again, brushing his nose against your cheek before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. “Never.”

Your brows furrow, eyes still closed when you hear an exhale of breath. “What’s wrong?”

Carlos sighs again, shifting slightly, making the blanket move and suddenly you realize why he sounds so strained. His arms are awkwardly folded at his sides, barely moving, like he’s trapped.

That’s when you register the tiny limbs sprawled across both of you and you pursue your lips in order to not burst out laughing.

One of your twins is half on Carlos’s chest, little fingers fisted into his shirt, while the other is wedged between you two, his foot pressed right into Carlos’s stomach.

“Ah,” you whisper, taking in the sight. “You’re stuck.”

Carlos groans dramatically. “Sí, and my arm is asleep.” He tilts his head toward you, lips brushing your temple as he speaks. “I have been trying to wake you up, but someone wouldn’t move.”

You smile sleepily, your fingers finding their way to his naked chest, gently tracing patterns over his skin. “You could’ve just moved them.”

Carlos gives you a look, like you’ve suggested something ridiculous. “And risk waking them up? I love them but it’s too early...”

One of the twins stirs slightly, mumbling something incoherent before curling further into Carlos. He stiffens. “This is a dangerous game, baby. We have to get them back to their room before they take over completely.”

You glance at them, at the peaceful little faces snuggled into the safety of their dad’s arms, and suddenly, you don’t feel like moving. But Carlos nudges you gently.

“Come on,” he whispers, “help me.”

Carefully, you both begin the delicate mission of untangling yourselves from your children. Carlos shifts first, expertly maneuvering one twin into your arms before you slide out of bed. He follows immediately after, scooping up the other in one practiced motion.

It comes so naturally to him that it has your poor stomach twisting.

The hallway is dim, the house still quiet as you make your way to their room.

Carlos walks ahead of you, stepping lightly, a hand cradling the back of your son’s head to keep him from stirring. You follow, watching as he nudges the door open with his foot before stepping inside.

There’s a soft glow from the nightlight. The room is neat, save for a few scattered toys and a forgotten stuffed animal on the floor.

You place the first twin into his teddy bear-shaped bed, tucking the blanket over him gently.

Carlos lays down the other twin in his race car bed, brushing a stray curl from his forehead before stepping back beside you.

For a moment, you both just watch them.

“They move so much in their sleep.”

“Like their dad.” You smile, whispering back.

Carlos nudges you playfully with his elbow, making you stifle a laugh before he tilts his head toward the little red car bed. “We should change that color, you know.”

You arch a brow at him. “What, so my baby can have a McLaren instead?”

Carlos scoffs, his eyes pointed at you in disbelief. Only you really could find humor in joking about that so early in the morning.

You bite your lip, stifling another laugh. “So dramatic.” He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “I’m serious.”

Carlos doesn’t argue further, choosing to ignore the mention of Oscar. Instead, his fingers ghost over your wrist, a barely-there touch, before he gently takes your hand in his. His thumb runs absentmindedly over your skin, slow and deliberate.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice softer now.

He’s leaning down to press a kiss to the twin nearest to him as you do the same but when you turn your head toward him, your heart skips slightly at the way he’s looking at you warm, familiar, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

Good, you didn’t want him anywhere but here either.

You hesitate, but Carlos doesn’t rush you. He just tugs lightly at your hand, pulling you with him, step by step, back toward your bedroom.

The moment you cross the threshold, his hands settle on your waist, guiding you back onto the mattress. He follows soon after, his body fitting easily against yours, like he was always meant to be there.

Neither of you speak for a moment. The world outside is still.

Then, quietly, almost hesitantly, you hear him say, “I missed this.”

The words steal your air and your throat tightens as you look at him. He looks exactly the same, his familiarity making you relax but at the same time, he’s so different. It didn’t make any sense and you hoped your brain wasn’t fucking with you right now.

When he watches you lose yourself in your head, Carlos kisses you slowly, like he has all the time in the world, like he wants to feel every second of this

His lips brush over yours, not demanding, not urgent. Just there, waiting, savoring. His hands move with purpose, tracing familiar curves with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch.

And okay, you feel the shift immediately. He’s been yearning for this. The way his breathing is almost non-existent and his hands are secured around your hip.

This isn’t about erasing the past or proving something.

It’s about being here, in this moment, together because being anywhere else would be a crime. The last time you guys were together had been rushed. Pathetic. Desperate.

It had been hands fumbling, mouths clashing, bodies colliding in a mess of need. A frantic attempt to reclaim something you both thought had been lost forever.

You hadn’t spoken much then, just whispered names and broken sounds, drowning in something neither of you had been ready to name yet.

Carlos exhales against your lips, his forehead pressing to yours. "You’re so beautiful," he whispers, voice raw, like the thought physically hurts him.

Your fingers slide into his hair, tugging gently, warning him to tone down the cringe. "You always say that." Rolling your eyes you hum as he sucks at your pulse point. Eyes closing.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, thumb grazing the curve of your jaw. "Because it’s always true."

That makes you shiver beneath him, and it’s not from the cold.

Carlos kisses his way down your body, slow and reverent, his hands steadying you as he moves. When he reaches the hem of your shirt, he hesitates, fingers curling into the fabric.

He looks up at you. Waiting. It makes your heartbeat race and you curse yourself in your head as you nod.

Not giving you enough time to overthink, Carlos lifts your shirt over your head, his gaze never leaving yours. But the moment his gaze travels down towards your flesh, his expression changes.

His breath stutters. His entire body stills.

You know exactly what he’s looking at.

His fingers twitch at his sides, like he wants to touch you but doesn’t trust himself. His lips part, a shaky breath slipping through, and then-

Then his eyes glass over.

You watch the moment it hits him, the realization that your body carries proof of everything you went through without him. How you have to live through it everytime you catch a glimpse of your naked self.

The scars are faint now, healed over time, but they’re still there. Marks of the past. Marks of pain. Marks of life and loss. The one you made together but you lost alone.

Carlos presses his lips together, his jaw tightening like he’s trying to stop himself from breaking. But it’s no use.

A tear slips down his cheek and it makes your heart clench.

"Babe," you whisper, reaching for him, but he shakes his head quickly, closing his eyes like he needs a second to pull himself together. And you nod to no one in particular.

Then, very gently, after moments that felt like forever, he touches you.

His hands are warm, calloused, shaking as they trail over your stomach, mapping out the places he never got to hold, the changes he never got to witness. He traces one of the scars with his thumb, his breathing uneven, his shoulders trembling.

“I… I-” His voice cracks. He swallows, blinking rapidly, his thumb pressing slightly firmer against your skin like he’s trying to ground himself. "I should have been there."

You freeze for a second. Of course, he should have been. You remember it like yesterday, when he was on the way to the airport. You called him because it hurt. The hurt was killing you and he dismissed it with a simple,“Please visit the doctor, sweetheart.”

Before he was on the flight while the doctors cut open the baby from your stomach only to find that…

You shake your head. It was too dark, you never want to relive it. Cupping his face, you wipe away a stray tear with your thumb. “You’re here now.” It was pointless to think about it now. You have let that hold you back, too much. You deserved to be more than that.

Carlos lets out a choked breath, half a laugh, half a sob which pulls you back to the present.

He presses his forehead to your stomach gently, lips brushing the scars like a silent apology.

Your fingers thread through his hair. “Do you still want me?” you ask softly. It was heartbreaking to be this vulnerable with him again,“I need to know, Carlos.” Maybe you could have worded that better but the need for physical intimacy was too overwhelming.

His hands squeeze at your waist, as if the idea of letting go physically pains him. "You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted."

You gasp when you realise it, and suddenly, you’re the one who can’t breathe.

You’re pulling him up immediately, guiding him back to you. His lips crash against yours, but there’s still nothing rushed about it, just aching, consuming want.

When you reach for the waistband of his sweats, he lets you. When you push him back onto the mattress, he mutters a ‘yes, please’. When you straddle him, lining up yourself against him with slow, deliberate movements, his breath shudders beneath you.

Carlos is breaking apart beneath your hands, but he lets you put him back together.

His hands grip your hips, but you set the pace: slow, deep. Making sure he feels all of it. The first roll of your hips is met with a broken sound from his lips.

The second, with a whispered, "I love you."

By the third, he’s crying again.

You lean forward, brushing your lips over his, swallowing his shaky breaths. "It’s okay," you whisper. "I’ve got you."

Carlos exhales sharply, fingers digging into your thighs. "You feel so-" He cuts himself off with a strangled sound, his body shuddering beneath you. "I don’t deserve this."

"Maybe." You press your forehead to his. Was that mean? Maybe. But you weren’t gonna hide or lie. Not anymore. "But you have me anyway."

Carlos lets out a cracked geoan, his arms wrapping around you, holding you as close as humanly possible as you move together, slow and steady. You grind against him and he lets you do whatever you want.

When you finally reach the edge, you press your fingers against your swollen clit but Carlos quickly replaces it with his own, pushing up to increase the speed as he takes back some control.

You let go and cry out as his teeth sink to your shoulder, your nails gripping his back, as your back arches. It feels so good that you’re almost sad to have come. The climax ends in contracting your muscles making him shake before he weakly tries to pull you up.

You whine and push down, relieved that he’s still inside you. He groans again, forehead pressed to yours like he never wants to leave but he’s shaking all over,”Baby, I’m gonna-”

"You don’t have to pull out."

Carlos stills.

For a second, you think maybe he didn’t hear you, but then his entire body tenses and you feel his sticky release fill you up.

His eyes snap open, wide and searching, like he’s trying to make sure you’re serious. His lips part slightly, his breathing suddenly uneven.

"What?"

Your fingers slide into his hair, a small, nervous smile tugging at your lips.

"We’re way past worrying about that now."

Carlos doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

You can feel the exact moment it registers.

His hands tighten on your waist, his breath shaking as his mouth opens like he wants to say something but can’t find the words. His eyes flicker over your face, as if he’s waiting for you to laugh, to tell him this is a joke-

But you just hold his gaze, nodding softly.

“Yeah.”

And that’s when it happens.

Carlos’s hands fly to your hips, and suddenly, he’s flipping you onto your back to regain control as if he just wasn’t having a breakdown. You gasp in shock, his body hovering over you, protective, panicked, completely wrecked.

“Y/N.” His voice is low, almost scolding, but you can hear the shake beneath it. His jaw tightens, eyes darting over your face like he’s checking, searching- like you might disappear if he looks away. "You- are you serious?"

You cup his face, thumbs smoothing over his cheekbones. "Carlos- "

"You should have told me." His voice is raw, laced with fear he’s trying so hard to bury. "You- fuck, cara, you should have told me."

Your breath catches at the way his hands clench into the sheets beside you, at the way his forehead presses to yours, like he’s holding himself back from completely falling apart. THis was also a breakdown, just a mental one this time.

“You know now,” you whisper.

Carlos lets out a shaky exhale, his fingers twitching like he wants to touch you but is afraid to.

“You almost- ” He swallows hard, closing his eyes for a second, as if the memory of what happened last time is too much.

He shakes his head. “No, I'm so fucking sorry for doing this to you. You can’t- I can’t go through that again.”

Your heart clenches. “Carlos- ”

“Y/N,” he breathes, pulling back to look at you fully, his hands framing your face, thumbs brushing over your skin like you’re something delicate, something he’s terrified of breaking. “You don’t understand. I- I nearly lost you."

His voice breaks on the last word.

You inhale sharply.

Carlos’s throat works, his breath heavy and uneven. "I wasn’t there. I didn’t even fucking know- " His eyes squeeze shut, his entire body trembling as he shakes his head, "...and if it happens again- "

"It won’t," you whisper, cupping his jaw.

He exhales a quiet, pained laugh, his eyes snapping open. "We don’t know that."

You pull him closer, pressing your lips to his softly, trying to erase the ghosts he’s drowning in.

Carlos doesn’t kiss you back at first. He’s too stiff, too overwhelmed, his hands still holding your face like he’s checking if you’re real.

Then, you whisper against his lips, "I want this, Carlos."

He lets out a low, strangled sound, like the weight of those words is too much.

“The doctor said it’s all safe,” you say again, voice soft but sure.

Carlos’s jaw tightens. His hands fall to your waist, his thumbs pressing into your skin like he needs to feel you, anchor himself in you.

"You- " He stops himself, inhales sharply, then exhales, voice barely steady. “You want this?”

You nod, firmly. Funny how he only focused on that part. “With you? Always.”

Carlos searches your face, like he’s still afraid, like his body is still buzzing with the panic of almost losing you again. But then, his forehead presses back to yours, and he breathes you in- breathes this in- and something shifts.

Something clicks.

His lips brush against yours, soft, hesitant, pleading.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers.

"You won’t. I want you."

Carlos lets out a slow breath, presses a kiss to your shoulder, then another to your collarbone. His hands move slower now, gentler, as if relearning you, as if making sure you feel every single touch.

And this time, when he pushes inside you again, it's not desperate, it's deliberate.

Carlos moves like he’s memorizing you, like he’s worshiping every inch of you, like he’s trying to replace every painful memory with this.

His lips find yours in the quietest confession, his hands gripping your waist, steadying himself as his forehead presses against yours.

His voice is barely a whisper.

"I love you."

You whimper, nails digging into his back, pulling him closer, deeper.

His lips find your throat, pressing kisses so slow and sweet it makes your chest ache.

Carlos shudders against you, his breath uneven, his arms shaking as he moves with you, not just in you, but with you. You are quick to reach your finish, too overstimulated to take time. Your walls sucking his orgasm out of him.

And when he finally lets go, when his body tenses and his hands clutch you tighter, it’s not panic that follows.

It’s relief. It’s acceptance. It’s home.

Carlos is heavy on top of you, completely boneless as he breathes against your shoulder. His weight is comforting, his warmth all-consuming, and for the first time in what feels like forever…

Everything feels right.

Your fingers move lazily through his hair, nails scraping gently at his scalp. Carlos hums at the sensation, pressing one last, slow kiss against your shoulder before pulling back just enough to look at you.

His eyes are still soft, heavy with emotion, but there’s something else now. A sort of calm that wasn’t there before.

“You’ve ruined everyone for me.” Carlos exhales, lips quivering into a tired smirk.

You make a face, pushing at his chest as if he wasn’t piecing you back together minute by minute. “You’re so dramatic.”

Carlos grins, rolling onto his side, but he doesn’t let you go completely. His hand slides over your stomach, fingers tracing absentminded shapes against your skin.

At least he doesn’t look panicked anymore.

“In this forever now, huh?” he murmurs and your heart stumbles.

You cup his jaw, pressing a kiss to his lips, slow and deliberate. “We as in us, Alisa and Oscar?”

“For fuck’s sake, baby,” His eyes flutter shut for a second, like he’s calming himself down, before he exhales.

You bite back a smile, arms wrapping around his neck. “You are a big boy, you can take it.”

“Only for you.” He nips at your bottom lip, grinning when you gasp. "You’re stuck with me now, cariño."

And for the first time in months, you believe it.

For the first time, there’s no uncertainty, no lingering fear that this will fall apart again. Just Carlos, tangled up with you, holding you like he’ll never let go.

It’s perfect. It’s peaceful- your phone suddenly rings and you both groan.

Carlos drops his head onto your chest dramatically. “Ignore it.”

“It could be important.”

“I am important,” he grumbles, voice muffled against your skin as he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth.

You snort, pushing his head away before reaching over to grab your phone from the nightstand, only for Carlos to groan louder. “C’mon.”

“You’ll live.”

Carlos lazily kisses your shoulder again, completely unbothered as you listen to Lily, until you freeze. His lips pause against your skin, instantly aware of the way your body tenses beneath him.

Your heart is pounding.

Carlos lifts his head, brows furrowing as he watches your eyes dart across the screen.

Then, quietly throws in a,“What’s wrong?”

You swallow hard, blinking at the text message shared with you, lighting up your phone screen.

BREAKING: Alisa speaks out about her relationship with Carlos Sainz.

The world tilts.

Carlos’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t even have to read all of it to know that it’s bullshit, it’s revenge. Revenge for what he did to her but he knows, it’ll hurt you more.

"She gave a statement."

Carlos snatches the phone from your hands, sitting up immediately, he doesn't want you to read this. You watch the way his shoulders lock up, the way his fingers tighten dangerously around the device.

He stares at the screen. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

And just like that, it’s happening again.

The world, which had just felt steady, just felt right, is crumbling beneath you.

Carlos inhales sharply, shaking his head. "No."

You press a hand to your stomach as you bend over to read the part highlighted, the part making noise, your chest tightening. It was the part you never wanted anyone to know.

No, no, no. Carlos thinks.

It was supposed to be over. It was supposed to be your turn to be happy.

Carlos curses under his breath, throwing the phone onto the bed like it burned him. He rakes a shaky hand through his hair, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before turning to you as you speak.

“Why would she- she… it wasn't a miscarriage-”

You swallow, unable to talk, your fingers fisting the sheets beneath you, your own breathing suddenly uneven.

This isn’t just gossip. It’s your life. This isn’t just drama. It’s your real life.

This is Alisa, with the entire world watching as lies are being spread about your stillborn baby that was ripped from you too soon.

This is your past mistakes, Carlos’s past mistakes, coming back to ruin everything.

Again.

Carlos watches as you struggle to breathe, as your shoulders shake, as your hands tremble against the blankets.

And for the first time in a long time…

You see it in his face.

The same panic you felt when he walked away for that race. The same helplessness he wore when you left.

Like no matter how hard you hold on, the universe is determined to have you fall apart.

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abudhabby29-blog · 25 days ago

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Update masterlists

Just updated my favorites stories, so here it is:

FAVS 2 - LOGAN SARGEANT FAVS 3 DANIEL RICCARDO FAVS 4 LANDO NORRIS 10.0 FAVS 4 LANDO NORRIS 11.0 *new* FAVS 5 - PATO O`WARD 3.0 FAVS 16 - CHARLES LECLERC 20.0 FAVS 18 - LANCE STROLL FAVS 22 - YUKI TSUNODA FAVS 23 - ALEX ALBON FAVS 26 - COLTON HERTA 1.0 *new* FAVS 33 - MAX VERSTAPPEN 4.0 FAVS 44 - LEWIS HAMILTON FAVS 47 - MICK SCHUMACHER FAVS 55 - CARLOS SAINZ 2.0 FAVS 81 - OSCAR PIASTRI 3.0 FAVS 81 - OSCAR PIASTRI 4.0 *new* FAVS 87 - Ollie Bearman 1.0 MAX FEWTRELL 1.0

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abudhabby29-blog · 27 days ago

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MATCH MADE IN HELL PT1 | MV1

an: i am slowly finally finishing off all my requests and this was one of them, i had so much fun and my dear friend loved reading this so i hope i did justice to the request. anyway max hmu x

wc: 2.2k

part two | part three

THE CHAMPAGNE WAS STILL STICKY when she found out.

She had spent the past hour celebrating—laughing, grinning until her cheeks ached, drinking in the sight of thousands of fans chanting her name. World Champion. The first female Formula 1 World Champion. The words tasted sweeter than the bubbly that had been poured over her head on the podium.

And then it all shattered.

She hadn’t even been looking for it. Her phone had been left abandoned in the motorhome while she basked in the euphoria of her win. It was only when she returned, still buzzing from the adrenaline, that she saw the messages. A handful of texts from a friend, a link, and a simple message that made her stomach turn cold.

I’m so sorry. You deserve better.

Curious, still lightheaded with joy, she clicked the link.

And there it was. Photos. A grainy shot of Nathan at a club in Monaco three months ago, another in Dubai during the summer break, then one just last week in Austin. Always with the same woman. A brunette with legs for days and a familiar smirk. Someone from the team, if she wasn’t mistaken.

Her throat closed up, fingers trembling as she scrolled, every image a knife to the gut. It wasn’t just a drunken mistake. It was calculated. Repeated. Lied about.

Nathan fucking Donovan. Her teammate. Her fiancé. The man she had trusted with her heart, her career, her future.

The sound of the paddock outside was muffled, drowned out by the rushing in her ears as she dropped her phone. For years, she had turned down every offer from Red Bull. They had been calling since her first podium, since her first win. They had wanted her, but she had always said no. Because of Nathan. Because she had wanted to win with him. Because they were a team, a partnership, a power couple.

She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.

She had been a fool.

By the time she lifted her head, the decision was made. She wiped her damp hands on her race suit and reached for her phone. The Mercedes crest on her chest suddenly felt suffocating, like a brand that no longer belonged to her.

Her fingers moved with a steadiness that surprised her as she typed out a message to her agent.

Call Red Bull. I’m ready to talk.

That was six months ago.

Now, she had her foot down on full throttle, fighting her teammate.

The roar of the Red Bull RB20’s engine vibrated through her bones as she flicked the car into the corner, tyres screaming as they clung to the edge of grip. Ahead of her, her teammate—Max Verstappen, two-time world champion and an arrogant bastard on his best days—held position, defending like his life depended on it.

It had been like this all season. A relentless, brutal fight for the title. They had the fastest car on the grid, Red Bull’s latest engineering marvel, but they weren’t teammates in any real sense of the word. No teamwork. No cooperation. Just war.

And she was winning.

Six months ago, she'd walked out of Mercedes with her head held high, ringless finger curled into a fist. The world had lost its mind. The media had spun its stories, her ex-fiancé—Nathan Donovan, lying, cheating, spineless piece of shit—had played the heartbroken victim, and the fans had taken sides. But she hadn’t cared then, and she didn’t care now.

Let them talk.

She’d spent years at Mercedes, loyal to a fault, standing by Nathan’s side because she’d thought they were a team, on and off the track. And he’d thrown it away. Lied to her face. Made a fool of her.

So, she’d made sure to humiliate him in return.

Signing with Red Bull had been the first strike. The second had been selling the place they lived in, after all it was in her name - not her problem that he had nowhere to live for two months.

Now, the third was coming—because with two races left in the season, she was leading the championship. And Nathan? A non-factor.

The thought made her press harder on the throttle. The car twitched under her, skimming the edge of disaster, but she held it steady. She was close. A tenth behind Verstappen, closing fast.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” her race engineer crackled through the radio.

She smirked.

Too late.

The gap was nothing now. Less than a tenth.

She was right on Max’s gearbox, weaving slightly in his mirrors, making sure he knew she was there. The car felt alive beneath her, the Red Bull’s aerodynamics biting into the tarmac, begging to be unleashed.

Final lap. Final sector.

Max was still defending, but she could see the cracks. He was too focused on keeping her behind, positioning his car to block, reacting rather than attacking. And that was his mistake.

She took the wider line into the penultimate corner, knowing he’d cover the inside. Then, in a move that was either genius or madness, she lifted off ever so slightly, making him think he’d done enough—before throwing everything into the exit.

Tyres screamed, her car twitched—then hooked. She got the drive she needed, rocketing past him just before the final turn.

Too late for him to do anything.

The chequered flag waved. She crossed the line first.

“YES!” Her own voice rang through the radio, pure adrenaline and triumph. “Fucking get in!”

Her engineer was shouting in her ear, the Red Bull garage was on their feet, and somewhere, she knew, Nathan was watching. Watching as she won. Watching as she proved, once again, that she was better than him.

The thought made the victory even sweeter.

She pulled up into parc fermé, hands shaking with the aftershock of adrenaline as she switched off the car. A second later, Max’s Red Bull rolled in beside her, stopping with just enough aggression to make his frustration clear.

She smirked.

Helmet still on, she climbed out, raising a fist to the cheering crowd before stepping onto the scales. Cameras flashed, capturing every second. She could already imagine the headlines.

She turned just as Max yanked off his helmet, dark blonde hair a mess, jaw clenched. He took one look at her, exhaled sharply through his nose, then muttered, “Fucking hell.”

She grinned. “That’s what you get for leaving the door open.”

His eyes narrowed. “That was not a door. That was a crack in the wall.”

She shrugged. “Still got through, didn’t I?”

Max let out a sharp breath, shaking his head, but there was something else in his expression. Not just frustration. Something almost… impressed.

He wouldn’t admit it. Wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. But she could see it, clear as day.

And the best part?

No matter how much of an arse he could be, she knew one thing for certain: he hated Nathan as much as she did.

banner-

The post-race press conference was the usual mix of adrenaline, exhaustion, and barely concealed hostility.

She sat in the middle, winner’s seat, hands wrapped around a bottle of water, pretending to listen as the moderator rattled off formalities. Max was to her left, arms crossed, jaw still set in frustration. Charles—third place finisher—was on her right, mostly just happy to be there.

The first few questions were routine. Race strategy, tyre management, overtaking opportunities. She answered smoothly, flashing the occasional smirk at Max whenever someone mentioned her overtake. Each time, his jaw tightened just a little more.

Then, inevitably, someone brought up Nathan.

A journalist from one of the more sensationalist outlets leaned forward, microphone in hand, voice dripping with feigned innocence.

“Amazing drive today, congratulations. Obviously, this is a huge result in the championship fight, but I have to ask—do you think your performance this season has been motivated at all by… personal matters? Specifically, your past relationship with Nathan Carter?”

The air in the room shifted.

She had heard a lot of bullshit in these pressers, but this? This was almost impressive in how blatant it was.

She opened her mouth, already crafting the sharpest, most dismissive response possible—

But Max got there first.

He leaned forward, elbow on the table, voice dripping with casual disdain.

“Yeah, mate, I’m sure she’s leading the championship because of her ex. Not because she’s fucking fast or anything.” He raised a brow. “You want to ask me if my performance is motivated by my tragic breakup in 2022? Or is this just reserved for women?”

Silence.

The journalist blinked, momentarily stunned. Then stammered, “I—I was just—”

Max tilted his head. “Just what?”

She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting back a smirk.

The moderator swiftly cut in, moving things along, but the damage was done. The clip would be everywhere within the hour, and Max knew it. He settled back in his chair, arms crossed once again, looking completely unbothered.

She glanced at him, just briefly.

Still not friends. But maybe, just maybe, a little less like enemies.

After the press conference, she barely made it two steps out the door before Max fell into step beside her.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he said, casually twisting the cap off his water bottle.

She snorted. “For what?”

He gave her a pointed look. “For shutting down that absolute cunt before you could say something that’d get you fined.”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

“Clearly.” He took a sip of water. “But I like watching them.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. She wasn’t about to admit it, but watching that journalist’s face crumble had been the highlight of her day—besides the win, obviously. And Max had delivered it with all the effortless arrogance of a man who lived to piss people off.

They reached their driver rooms, the doors right next to each other. She pushed hers open, stepping into the quiet, adrenaline still thrumming in her veins. Her suit was damp with sweat, her body still buzzing from the intensity of the race, but it was a good feeling. A victorious one.

She had just pulled her race suit down to her waist, reaching for a towel, when she heard a door open behind her.

Not hers.

Max’s, probably—except the footsteps that followed weren’t his.

A slow, deliberate clap echoed through the room.

“Well done. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

Her entire body went rigid.

She turned.

Nathan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, face carefully neutral—but his eyes gave him away. Cold. Calculating.

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “What the fuck do you want?”

Nathan stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind him. “You need to cut the shit.”

She laughed, crossing her arms. “You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific, mate.”

His jaw tightened. “The comments. The narrative you’re letting people run with. It’s damaging my reputation.”

“Your reputation?” She arched a brow. “Pretty sure you did that yourself when you stuck your dick where it didn’t belong.”

His expression flickered, just for a second, before the mask slipped back into place.

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer. “I have lawyers. You keep dragging my name through the mud, and I’ll make sure it costs you.”

She tilted her head. “Is that a threat?”

He shrugged. “A warning.”

She scoffed, turning away, but he kept going.

“I mean it,” Nathan said, voice dropping lower. “This little act of yours—playing the scorned woman, running off to Red Bull like a child—it's pathetic. You think people actually respect you? They’re laughing at you.”

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay calm.

“Must be humiliating,” he continued, almost conversationally. “Knowing you were just something to pass the time. A placeholder.”

Her fingers curled into fists.

Then he said it.

“Fucking whore.”

The door slammed open so hard it bounced off the wall.

Nathan barely had time to react before he was shoved backwards, his back hitting the wall with a dull thud. A forearm pressed hard against his throat, holding him in place.

Max.

His entire body was tense, his usually sharp, arrogant expression now twisted into something far more dangerous.

Nathan made a strangled noise, trying to push him off. “What the—”

“Say that again,” Max said, voice low, lethal.

Nathan swallowed, his eyes flicking to her.

Max pressed harder. “Go on. I fucking dare you.”

Silence.

Nathan was many things—arrogant, selfish, manipulative—but he wasn’t stupid.

Max held him there for a moment longer, just to make a point, then finally let go, stepping back like Nathan wasn’t even worth the energy.

Nathan straightened his shirt, swallowing whatever insult he’d been about to throw. His eyes flicked between them, then he scoffed. “You two deserve each other.”

Then he turned and walked out.

The second the door shut, the room was quiet again.

Max exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the tension. “Fucking hell.”

She blinked at him, still processing what just happened. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He turned to her, dark eyes unreadable. “Yeah, I did.”

And then, just like that, he walked out, leaving her standing there, pulse racing, wondering what the hell just happened.

part two...

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore

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abudhabby29-blog · 1 month ago

Text

what happens in vegas, does not stay in vegas | ch. 01

pairing: oscar piastri x leclerc!reader

summary: down in the dumps after a big loss, your brother charles decides to stay in instead of going out to party, believing his fellow drivers would keep you from doing anything dumb while out on partying on the vegas strip. that was his first mistake. the next morning his wakes up to the news that you’ve went and gotten yourself married, but who could possible be stupid enough to take advantage of charles leclerc’s baby sister?

warnings: talks about men being creeps. drinking. lando and oscar being proper gentlemen, reader's age is not specified but its mentioned she's in her twenties! reader has everyone wrapped around her finger, oscars antisocial.

word count: 5.1k (my best so far)

authors note: okay soooooo, yes i did already post the first chapter of this series, but i hated it, sorry! so i rewrote it and this was the result, i promise this version is so much better, feedback is also appreciated :) enjoy! i also wrote half this while recovering from wisdom teeth removal, so if there’s any misspelling let’s just blame it on that. reblogs, comments, or feedback of any kind is always greatly appreciated!

series masterlist + playlist

| next chapter ->

Charles Leclerc was a lame, little, whiny baby, loser. And you would’ve said it to his face…if he wasn’t giving you his card so you can buy drinks and souvenirs all night.

It was the Sunday of the big race in Vegas Nevada, coincidentally the first time you'd been in the States, and like any irresponsible twenty-some-year-old would be, you were more excited about the after-party then the actual race.

"Are you sure you don't want to join?" you shouted towards the hotel bedroom, you had your small setup in the bathroom, you pulled down your dress slightly and adjusted your hair before slowly stepping out of the hotel bathroom.

Charles perked up from his phone, shooting you a small smile, he had placed four in the race, something you found impressive (granted you found anything your big brothers did impressive) while he did not, hence him being a debbie downer and refusing to join you, and his fellow drivers on a night out at the Vegas strip.

"I'm sure, Piccina" Charles sat up, pushing his card towards you on the white bed sheets, "Just be careful?"

You nodded eagerly placing this card carefully into your wallet while smiling at the nickname, Piccina, meaning tiny, it had been your nickname ever since you were little, and him using it gave you the comfort of knowing he wasn't secretly mad at you for ditching him while he was down in the dumps.

"Who's going again?" Charles chimed from behind you as you adjusted yourself in the mirror.

You hummed, thinking, "I know Lando for sure."

Charles snorted, muttering, "That wasn't a question."

"I think Oscar, Carlos..." you paused, hoping you didn't hit a nerve, but he simply nodded, "Max might show up...Franco's a yes, Lance, Fernando, and maybe Pierre?" you turned to him with a smile.

Charles shook his head slightly, "Pierre's staying back with me."

You shot him a funny look, "Date night?"

Charles's laughter rang out in the room, he pulled a pillow from behind him and shot it at you, "You're not funny!"

You stood up, throwing the pillow back at him, "You sure are laughing!"

Two stood around for a few more minutes, with Charles refusing to let you leave out alone, insisting you waited for Lando to pick you up. You groaned, "He's taking forever!"

"I don't care!" he matched your tone, "Its dangerous, you could get mobbed or something."

"And having Lando is going to help that, how?" you rose a brow, and his awkward silence made you smirk in triumph.

He huffed, rolling his eyes, "He won't help with the fans, but he’ll help if some creep tries touching you."

You couldn't argue with that.

Just as you were going to try and argue your way out of the door, again, a small knock rang throughout the room.

You beamed, skipping over to the door, as you opened the door, Lando snapped his head up, a whistle leaving his lips, "Looking good, Leclerc!" he cheered as stepped into the room slightly. You smiled as you gave him a slight spin.

"Thanks Lando," Charles joked, you slapped his arm slightly, rolling your eyes, "You know he was talking about me."

Charles rolled his eyes as he and Lando 'bro-hugged' while you went around the room making sure you had everything you needed.

'"Okay, I'm ready!" you cheered, walking over to the two men. Charles nodded, looking you over once more, Lando made his way out the door.

"You got everything?" Charles checked, you nodded brightly, leaning over to give him a hug, "Phone? Charger? Bandaids? Condom?—“

"Charles!" you shrieked, feeling your body heat up as you heard Lando's faint giggle.

Charles held his hands up in defense, "I don't like talking about it either, but I rather you be safe."

You groaned, taking small steps towards the door, "Yes, Charles I have everything."

Charles smiled, holding the door open for you and you stepped out and stood by Lando, "Good. And remember if you need anything, call me."

"Sir yes, sir!" you saluted jokingly.

Charles turned to Lando, "Keep her safe, alright?"

"Sir yes, sir!" Lando mocked you, Charles rolled his eyes as you and Lando burst into laughter.

"Very funny.." was the last thing he muttered before shutting the door in your face.

☾

You and Lando walked side by side in the busy streets of Las Vegas, your eyes shone brightly as you took in the new scenery. When you were younger you didn't necessarily get to travel much because all the extra money went to karting and competitions.

You never complained, even when you had to give up your own dream of being a Formula One driver so Charles could have his chance. He was a great talent, everyone in the family recognized that, and you eventually got over your silly dream.

Since that day when you were ripped apart from your passion, Charles promised he would grant every wish you ever wanted. ‘We’ll go the States and eat everything!—And I’ll buy you everything because I’ll have money from Ferrari!’ he said as he wiped your tears from your puffy cheeks. You knew he only said that because he felt it was his fault you didn’t get to live out your dream. And although you would never admit it to anyone, because it made you feel like a horrible sister, sometimes you did resent the decision made by your family— you had talent too. Why was Charles the only one who got the chance to be great?

"Never been to Vegas?" Lando's voice cut through the silence, he was carrying bags and bags of all types of items, clothes, souvenirs, jewelry, you name it. You had really gone crazy. Since you had about an hour to waste until you were all supposed to meet up, you decided to get all your shopping done early.

You had wanted to hold the bags, but Lando instead he do it, saying it was the 'gentlemen' thing to do.

"No." you breathed out with a smile, "I don't get all the hate this place gets, it's beautiful."

Lando snorted, "I've never heard that said about Vegas before."

"People aren't as deep and sentimental as me Lando, you should know that by now," you wiped a fake tear from your eye and Lando burst into laughter.

You smiled, eyeing the bags in his hands once again, "Are you sure we shouldn't take this stuff back to the hotel?"

Lando nodded, pulling the bags closer to him, "We have a private area in the club, we can put them there."

You 'oohed', "Private area huh?"

"Only the best for Ms. Leclerc," he smirked.

"Oh please," you laughed, "You just don't want anyone to record you getting wasted."

"Okay, maybe that too."

You shook your head as you and Lando crossed the street, you caught a glimpse at the club down the strip, "So who's officially going?"

"I know Oscars going."

"Because you bribed him?"

"Yes."

You and Lando both giggled, swerving in between people, "Carlos is going..." Lando eyes you carefully.

You held your hand up, "What happens with Charles and Carlos on track is none of my business...plus they're like a bipolar couple, they'll be back to charlos in no time."

Lando thought for a second before nodding, "That's why carlando is better."

You shook your head with a smile and Lando continued, "George is going, so is Alonso, Max, Franco, Yuki, and Lance."

"No Alex?" you questioned.

Lando shook his head, "He said he's taking Lily on a 'supes romantic vegas date."

You awed, before frowning, "I need a boyfriend."

Lando smirked, turning to you, "You know I have the perfect guy—“

"Lando!" you heard a familiar accent shout near you. Both you and Lando snapped your head up to see Carlos waving widely at you two, while the others pretended not to know him.

"Carlos!" Lando shouted, lifting his arms up, the multitude of bags almost smacking you in the face.

You would think they hadn't seen each other in years with the way they embraced each other, you could only watch in amusement before you felt a slight tap on your shoulder.

Turning around you came face to face with Oscar Piastri, he just got cuter each day, "Hi." he mumbled as he pulled you into a soft hug. "I didn't see you today, and I didn’t want you thinking I was being rude or avoiding you.”

"You? Rude? Never," you mumbled with a smile and he patted your back softly, "I didn't think you would make it.." you pulled back and he shot you a questioning look, "I don't mean to offend but this doesn't seem like your type of place."

Oscar smiled, and you two started to make your way into the booming club, with Oscar's hand resting on your back, you made sure to greet everyone with a smile.

"It's not!" he yelled so you could hear him, while also making sure he wasn't too close to your ear. "Lando bribed me!"

You nodded, laughing, "Yeah he told me! How much did he give you?"

Oscar's face burned red—not that you could see it—"It wasn't really a..money bribe!"

You turned to him confused, but before you could ask him to clarify, you were both halted when Lando seemingly appeared out of nowhere, making you both pause.

Lando already seemed off his rocker, eyes moving side to side widely, "I'm going to get drinks!" he yelled, shoving all of your bags into Oscar's arms, who took them in surprise, "Our area is over there—" both you and Oscar turned to where he was pointing simultaneously, "Have fun okay?" he shot you two a big thumbs up before getting lost in the crowd.

You and Oscar both stood still for a moment before you slowly turned to each other, "How is he already drunk?" you asked, trying to take the bags from Oscar's hands, but he simply swerved around you, nodding up to where Lando pointed previously.

"I can take those, you know?" You yelled over to Oscar as you started climbing the stairs up to the top portion of the club, you could hear the big change in volume as you got higher.

Oscar gave you a funny look, "What type of man would I be if I let you carry these heavy bags?"

You didn't have an answer. It was a big culture shock when you realized men weren't exactly like your brothers, your brothers always treated you like gold. But once you went out to the real world, you were quick to realize that was not the norm.

Oscar took a slight peak into the bag, "What exactly did you buy?"

"Lots of things with my name on it," you laughed, taking a seat on the sofa next to the big group of drivers, who all acknowledged your existence with a smile. You watched as Oscar followed in your steps, taking a seat next to you, his knee touching yours.

"Examples?"

"You name it... license plate, shirts, bracelets, necklace."

"A true Vegas staple." Oscar nodded in approval, turning his whole body toward you.

You beamed, turning toward him as well, eager to keep to conversation going, "So...how do you feel about the race?"

Oscar laughed slightly, taking a peek behind you, "Probably a lot better than your brother."

You nodded with a pursed smile, "Probably,"

"Is that why's he's not here?"

You shrugged slightly, "Maybe. He said he just wasn't feeling it, but who knows?"

"Do you think they'll stay mad at each other for long?" Oscar's voice was now a quiet whisper, clearly trying to avoid attention.

You shook your head, "We have a flight back home tomorrow night, they'll be fine by then." you know that because you had told Charles that if they didn't fix their problem before said flight, you wouldn't be going home with them, you could not deal with that awkwardness. And Charles would do anything for you, so of course he and Carlos were going to make up.

Oscar perked up, smiling at you, "I'm going home on that flight too."

Your face lit up, "You live in Monaco now right?"

Oscar nodded bashfully, he had made the move early that year, during the ‘Leclerc-Piastri adopted son’ situation. He was very quiet about it, so he didn’t expect you to know about it—or frankly, care. “Y-yeah, I thought it would be better with all the traveling.”

“And the tax-evading.”

Oscar let out a loud laugh, no doubt catching the attention of others scattered around the room, you watched him cackle with a smile. “How are you liking it?” you asked.

Oscar sobered down slightly, a grin still present, “It’s not home…but it’s….Monaco.”

You threw your head back with a smile, “It’s better when you get past all the cars and celebrities.”

Oscar nodded, “One of my first days I went hiking," you remember seeing the picture he posted, all sweaty, your eyes widened at the memory, and you shifted flustered "It was nice."

"I can show you some better places if you'd like?

"Really?" Oscar's eyes were wide, full of excitement.

You nodded proudly, "Of course, I've given everyone here a tour of the city, I'm a great guide if I do say so myself."

The lights in Oscar's eyes diminished slightly, for a second, there, he thought he was special, he coughed awkwardly, "Oh yeah?"

You eyed the group behind you, "Since everyone here apparently loves tax evading, I've taken it upon myself to teach them about my home."

Oscar giggled slightly and you contained, raising your brow, "I'm surprised I haven't seen you around, I see George at least three times a week."

Oscar flushed, and this time he was sure you could tell, "Oh I..." he sucked his teeth, "I.. don't really leave my house."

You started at him with squinted eyes for a moment, "...Because of the fans?"

"No...no."

"Because you don't have a car?" you asked, recalling the photo of him riding a bike around the city months ago, you would've thought he would've bought a car since then, or at least borrowed one.

"I have a car."

You laughed in confusion, "Okay then why?"

Oscar shrugged, playing with the ends of his sweater, "I just don't really like to go out."

"Like ever?"

"I go to... grocery stores."

"Oh, Oscar..." you sighed, and the man jumped to defend himself.

"I play sim a lot!...and that's like talking to people?..."

You winced, "Is it though?"

Oscar sighed, looking down at his lap, "...No..."

You pursed your lips, patting his knew softly, "Its okay Oscar...I'll make sure you go out more."

Before he could respond, Lando's loud cheers emerged from the staircase, and Oscar felt your attention slip away from him.

"I'm back, and I bring drinks!" Lando shouted as he hurried over to the group, a tray filled with drinks in his hands. The others cheered. The drink was purple, and it seemed to be fizzling as everyone took one.

"What is this?" Lance blinked up at Lando, who shrugged, Fernando took a small sniff before pulling back in shock; the others looked at him in worry, as he coughed, waving everyone off.

"I have no idea!" Lando yelled, and the other slowly started to put the drink down, "The bartender just told me it would make us forget who won the race tonight!"

Just like that, everyone had picked their glasses back up and quickly swallowed down the drink. Georges's face went black as he rolled his eyes, taking a small sip of his drink, "Assholes.." he whispered.

☾

"You have really pretty eyes..." Oscar slurred as he watched you lay down on the couch, he sat on the floor, legs crossed over each other as he stared into your face.

You hummed, "People say me and Charles have the same eyes..."

Oscar blinked, "Charles has pretty eyes..."

There was no one left awake in the 'private' area, the men were either down on the dance floor, or asleep on the ground, such as Lance, Franco, and Yuki.

The drink had no effect at first, so everyone felt confident drinking another....and another...and another, and before anyone knew it, everyone was far gone, way far gone.

You giggled, bringing a drunken smile onto Oscar's face. You continued to giggle before your face turned serious.

You turned to Oscar with a glare, Oscar visibly jumped, "Do you have a girlfriend, Oscar?"

Gaping in shock, Oscar shook his head like crazy.

Your glare hardened, "I'm gonna need you to say it."

"I don't have a girlfriend." Oscar replied instantly.

You stared for a couple more moments before a bright grin took over your face, "Thank god!" you giggled before turning serious once more, "It seems like everyone is dating someone, and it makes me feel lonely." You quickly (with a small struggle) sat up from the couch, grabbing Oscar's hand.

“At least you don't have a girlfriend.”

Oscar, the most out of it he's ever been, swayed side to side, “I want to be your girlfriend.” he mumbled, pressing a soft, delicate kiss to your hand.

You giggled, throwing your head back, “Not girlfriend! Boyfriend silly…and I don't think whiny baby Charles would like that…”

Oscar sat up straight, “I don't care what Charles thinks,” he did, he really, really, did. “He shouldn't control your life.” In any other situation, Oscar would never say anything like this, in fact, one of the primary reasons he never man up and asked you out (other than the fact that he was sure you did not like him that way) was because he wasn't sure Charles would approve. And if he didn’t have Charles’ approval, then what was the point in even trying?

“He just thinks he knows best,” you mumbled through a frown. “He doesn't control me…does he?”

Oscar slipped his hands away from you, moving his arms widely “No! No…I’m dumb, Charles would never control you..”

But it seemed like you weren’t listening anymore, your eyes dazed, “If Charles does control me, then I should do something to get him back..” you turned to Oscar with a glare, he knew you well, you were thinking of ways to get back at Charles..for something he didn’t even do. “For being evil…”

Oscar laughed, shaking his head, “Charles isn't evil!” You joined him in the laughter. Before your face went blank, “What were we talking about?”

Oscar decided not to indulge in your evil sibling rivalry plans, “You were telling me how you wanted a boyfriend.”

You gaped, pointing at Oscar, “You're right! You know Oscar…you would be the perfect boyfriend!”

Oscar's cheeks went pink, “I would?” he mumbled bashfully.

You nodded proudly, “Mhm..you are very respectful..you've never stared at my ass, unlike some of the drivers..” Oscar’s mouth opened in shock with a million questions running through his mind, but you didn’t give him time to react, “And you're funny, not like joke funny,” Oscar tried to not let an offended expression take over his face, “But like expression funny. And I’m sure you’d give the best kisses…and! You look like you’d never forget an anniversary.”

Not to toot his own horn, but you're right, Oscar had a great memory, and if it was your anniversary, he would never forget it.

You’re face lights, “I have the best idea!” you squealed, standing up and pulling Oscar up with you, you both stumbled. You pulled on his jacket, bringing you face to face, “We should get married!”

The grin on Oscar’s face was electric, “Yes!” he shouted, accidentally waking up Yuki, who shot up from the cuddle pile on the ground with wide eyes, you two were too focused on your own bubble to notice him.

You gasped, gripping onto Oscar tighter, “Really? You’ll marry me?”

Oscar gripped onto your shoulders, shaking you back and forth tightly, “Of course I would! I’m not stupid!”

“Oh I have to tell Charles! He can’t miss my wedding!”

Oscar nodded, watching with a beaming smile as you pulled out your phone, opening it up before you slowly put it down with a frown.

“I can’t tell Charles.” your eyes unintentionally watered, “He won’t let me.” You slowly sat down on the small couch.

Oscar slowly sat next to you, trying to hide his dimmed energy, “Don’t worry about..” he mumbled, “I can wait.” I’ve already waited six years, he thought, what’s a couple more?

“But you shouldn’t have to wait!’ You groaned, quickly standing up, “We’re getting married tonight!” You stomped your foot, “I’ll just take lots of pictures so Charlie doesn’t miss it!”

Oscar’s light returned, he accepted the hand you held out for him, “Let’s go get married, Oscar!’ you cheered, leading him down the club stairs.

Yucki watched you two leave, his face full of confusion, he groaned, laying back onto the ground while rubbing his eyes, “Married? Charles is going to kill him.”

☾

“I still can’t believe you let the little princess go out without you,” Pierre mumbled through his bites of popcorn.

Charles rolled his eyes, grabbing another handful of the cornels, “She doesn’t have to be with me all the time, she’s growing up and wants to go out alone.”

“Okay…but with Lando?”

“Lando wouldn’t dare touch her. He knows I would throw him into the barriers.”

Pierre and Charles were lying in bed, a popcorn bucket lay in the middle of them, while a french romance movie played in the background.

Pierre nodded after a pause “You know who I’m worried about?”

Charles leaned over to look at the man, “Who?”

“That Australian creep.”

Charles furrowed his brow,”...Daniel?’

Pierre shot him a look, “No, not Daniel. Oscar.”

Charles shot up with a choked laugh, “O-oscar?” he threw his head back with a loud laugh, “O-oscar?”

Pierre watched him with an unamused face, waiting for him to sober, which took longer than you would think.

“Oscar?” Charles shook his head with a smile as he laid back down, “No..Oscar…” he giggled, “No.”

Pierre scoffed, “You underestimate him..I’ve seen it,” Pierre’s eyes unfocused, “He is always staring.”

Charles shrugged, throwing up a kurnell before catching it in his mouth, “Piccina is pretty…people always stare.”

Pierra shook his head sharply, “No…Oscar stares like he is trying to read her mind or something.. I’m telling you Charles, he is creepy.”

Charles waved him off, “Trust me. Oscar is the last person who would do something to piccina.”

☾

“I still think this is a bad idea..” Lando slurred as he took off his shirt lazily.

Max nodded in agreement, pulling up his suit pants, “Mhmm..” his head rolled back as he giggled, “Charles is going to blow up,” he made a boom sound.

“At least Oscar finally grew his balls and asked her out...” Lando giggled, looking over to where you and Oscar stood near the chapel. Oscar was adjusting your veil while you played with his tie.

“Does it count if they're both drunk?” Max asked.

Lando thought for a moment, “Maybe..”

After dragging Oscar down to the dance floor, you two found Max and Lando, who you both let know of your plans to get married. You only needed one of them (to be a witness) so you could legally get married. But they both insisted on joining you.

You and Oscar were going all out (as out as you could be with a notice of maybe forty minutes) and that included a dress, veil, and suits for Oscar and the groomsmen (Max and Lando)

“You look gorgeous..” Oscar sighed, gazing down into your eyes.

“You look good too,” You giggled, tightening and untightening his tie. Maybe it was the nerves of doing something so taboo, but you needed something to fidget with.

“Are you sure about this?” Oscar asked, looking behind as the Elvis priest started to set up his whole thing.

“Yeah..” you sighed. In another situation you would’ve never even brought up the conversation of you being lonely, much less getting married in a Vegas chapel, but you were completely out of it, and to be fair, so was Oscar, Max, and Lando.

Speaking of which, the two groomsmen made their way over to you, and patted Oscar on the shoulder, “It’s time.” Lando sang slightly, pushing Oscar to stand on the side of the Elvis priest. Lando followed after him.

Max grinned down at you, giving you, “You ready?” he giggled.

You beamed, wrapping your arm around him as ‘here comes the bride’ started playing softly.”Sure am!”

☾

There was something so scary about waking up in a room you didn't recognize.

The light was blinding, and it just made your hangover headache ten times worse. You groaned, squinting as you slowly sat up from the unrecognizable bed.

Panicked, you looked around the room–it was trashed, with bottles of wine, and bed sheets scattered everywhere. In terror you looked down at yourself, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of your clothes still on your body. It was not your clothes, fitting at least five times too big, but still, you took that as a good sign.

Slowly you inched off the bed, and there you noticed there was someone else in the bed, face down, with his arms sprawled out. It was a man. You panicked for a moment, he couldn't be dead, could he?

Carefully, you walked around the bed and squatted to take a look at who it was, the sight made your stomach churn, "Oscar?" you whispered to yourself.

What were you doing in Oscar Piastri's room of all places?

Omg, had he kidnapped you? You laughed to yourself. No, it was more likely that you kidnapped him.

Shaking your head, you decided to leave, the horror it would be if anyone caught you leaving Oscar’s room, the media would go crazy, you’d have to figure this all out later. You stared at him for a small second before making your way to the room, accidentally crushing a piece of paper that lay on the ground.

You winced, turning to make sure the sound did not wake Oscar up, it didn't. With a sigh of relief, you tiptoed out of the room, missing the wedding dress that was neatly hung on the door.

As you stumbled through the hotel hallway, you felt all kinds of dirty. Yes, you still had clothes on, but that did not necessarily mean you two didn't do anything. Yikes. You just prayed that Charles hadn't heard anything about this.

It was in this moment that you thanked Carlos Sainz, their small fight was the reason Charles didn’t go out. It was more than likely he didnt see anything.

Taking your hotel room key out of your bra (safe keeping), you turned the corner of the hotel, gasping in horror at who you saw pacing up and down your room door. Your brother, Charles.

His head snapped up at the sound of the gasp, his eyes red and swollen. He did not waste any time running over to you, his pupils were wild as he scanned you up and down multiple times, he was rambling in French, making your head spin by the sheer volume of his voice.

You shushed him, squinting, "Charles.. calm down please."

He pulled you in a tight hug, "Calm down? How can I calm down! You disappeared and didn’t answer your phone, and I have to find out through Instagram that you got married!" Pause.

You pulled back from the hug, feeling the room spin, "What?" you whispered, although he didnt seem to hear you.

"And listen mon cœur, if you love him then it's okay. We're not mad—just, why didn't you tell us?" He looked down at you with a frown.

You shook your head violently, holding up a finger,

"No no, Charles, what are you talking about?" His sadness quickly turned to confusion, "You got married?"

Your eyes went comically wide, "What!?" you yelled, not caring about your volume.

Charles took a step back, "You disappeared all night and Max posted to social media pictures of your wedding being married. You.. don't remember?"

"No Charles I don't fucking remember!" you shouted in horror, patting yourself down for your phone, just your luck, it wasn't on you.

"Oh my god.." you groaned, shutting your eyes."What's wrong? You don't remember getting married to your secret boyfriend?"

You looked up at your brother blankly, "Charles, I don't have a secret boyfriend."

Charles tilted his head, slowly speaking, "...Then who did you marry?"

You chose not to answer, letting him piece the puzzle together himself.

"You got married to a stranger? What is wrong with you?”

"I was drunk!" you threw your arms up in defense.

"Oh, you were drunk!" Charles asked ironically, "I get drunk all the time and I don't get married to random strangers!"

"You act like I wanted this to happen!" You two bickered, not noticing the awkward Australian slowly making his way towards you two.

"Well, you don't seem as freaked out as you should be!" Charles shouted.

"I'm still processing this!" you whined, stomping your feet, just then you two heard a cough. You swiveled around only to come face to face with Oscar, his pale cheeks lit with fire, "Oscar," you smiled, nudging Charles.

Charles looked up at Oscar in confusion, giving him an unsure smile.

"Sorry to interrupt," Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, before presenting two items, your phone, and a piece of slightly crumbled paper,

You gasped, taking the phone with a smile, but before you could thank him, Charles spoke up,

"Why do you have her phone?" his voice was low, and no amusement was present.

You looked at Oscar with wide eyes, shaking your head slightly, Charles could not find out that you two had spent the night together, no way he would take that well.

With all the ruckus, you yourself hadn’t managed to piece the biggest puzzle together. Maybe if you were in a better headspace and realized that it was Oscar who you had drunkenly married, you would have stopped Oscar from even being near Charles.

Oscar swallowed thickly, blinking, before he could even mutter a word, the paper in his hands was ripped away. The panic was clear on his face, as he tried to reach for it, but to no avail.

You watched in confusion as Oscar clearly started to panic, you glanced back at your brother who was staring down at the piece of paper with never seen before anger.

"What is it?" you mumbled, looking down at his hands, it was a certificate, you slowly read it, dreadfulness morphing quickly.

This document certifies OSCAR JACK PIASTRI & Y/N LECLERC, were united in marriage in the LITTLE LAS VEGAS WEDDING CHAPEL.

Oh shit.

Charles glanced between you and Oscar, whose mouth was pressed tightly.

"You took advantage of my sister?" Charles whispered, and Oscar's eyes widened along with yours.

"No, Charles–" you tried, but Charles had already crumpled the marriage certificate and thrown it to the side.

"You took advantage of my sister?!" Charles yelled, and the next thing you knew, Charles was on top of Oscar, his fist landing on his beautiful face.

taglist: @stopeatread @freyathehuntress @morganalatina21 @sltwins @nichmeddar @landossainz @f1daydreamer @no-144444 @delululeclerc @weekendlusting @rifran @lunamelona @awritingtree @shimmermotorsport @sp1rl @teamnovalak @piastri-fvx @bowielovesyou @mastermindbaby @widow-cevans @anotherapollokid @nxlx96 @koibleufish @bokutos-babyowl @charlesgirl16 @mayusaatma @isotopemylove @sadiemack9 @nataliambc @bravo-delta-eccho @theseerbetweenus @woozarts @theblueblub @armystay89 @suns3treading @thisbitxhs-blog

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abudhabby29-blog · 1 month ago

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🎐 ˚⋅ masterlist

in-progress works have a ⋆ next to them

lando norris

xoxo, gossip girl: you kind of popped into lando's life out of nowhere-and he loves it. but there's no such thing as being private when you're dating a formula one driver. sorry, did i say dating? i mean when you're friends.

we keep this love in a photograph: toto wolff's daughter and his golden boy, kimi antonelli. match in heaven, right? despite all the cute pics taken of you and kimi over the years, it turns out you might like boys behind the cameras more.

⋆ UPCOMING: lando x timothee chalamet ex!reader

franco colapinto

⋆ UPCOMING: franco x director!reader

max verstappen

"number one girl" series: one two three the story of ynmax is a very, very heated topic riddled with holes and chock full of conspiracies: a couple and split to rival brocedes. it’s mostly an a f1 thing, though, until you release an album and the internet tries to deduce what ruined a decades-long friendship.

lewis hamilton

⋆ "when we first met" series: one two you’re at the shanghai grand prix to watch zhou guanyu, your brother’s close friend, race at his home gp. now, what about the other driver in ferrari red?

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abudhabby29-blog · 1 month ago

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reckless driver ☆ mv1

genre: photographer!reader, angst, moody!max, yearning, jos hate club

word count: 9.9k

Switching to be Max’s personal photographer wasn’t a planned note on your agenda. Neither was him opening up. A lot of things weren’t, therefore, making his growing crush on you catch him completely off guard.

inspired by reckless driving, lizzy mcalpine !

cherry here!...would it be a regular cherry fic if it didn’t hurt ya just a little bit?

All he knew was how to be perfect.

It has nothing to do with his looks, doesn’t even mean this in a condescending way. The perfect shade of watercolor eyes. The perfect mix of dirty blond hair. The perfect color of pink that taints his lips. The perfect curve of his nose. This had nothing to do with that.

For fucks sakes, Max! Jos grits his teeth tightly, marching closer and closer. The accelerator is there for a reason!

From a very early age, Max’s vocabulary grew an excessive amount, but again, it mainly had to do with how many curse words he could count based on angry verses his dad would often spit at him. By the time he was five, he knew them all, and he knew them by heart. Something inside of him became almost immune to all of that. The hurtful comments, the hatred behind his eyes, the annoyance of not being the best. There was nothing he couldn't handle. And if he remembers well enough, then he can still vividly hear the conversation between his parents.

Just one more, Sophie. Maybe then, if we’re lucky, we’ll have another boy. One that actually has potential.

He swore to be the greatest in that very moment. No matter how much he wanted to give up, he never would. Not when he was constantly put down by his own father, or when the nerves ate him alive, making his skin crawl—no. He wouldn’t give into being a failure. Wouldn’t satisfy them ever.

So, he prayed. He prayed every single night for the new baby on the way to be anything but another boy. Let it be a girl, let it be an alien, let it be anything but a boy. Because even though he was just a kid, he knew that if there was another opportunity for Jos to train another son of his, he’d take it, and Max would be left as some unfinished project.

And lo and behold—it was a girl.

He never really knew true happiness until that very moment. He cried a whole lot when he first held Victoria and everyone thought it was adorable, but no one knew just how much this meant to Max. He would continue to be his father’s main focus, and that’s all that mattered. He would craft himself to be the winner he knew he needed to be in order to get a solid smile from him, even just once. Either way, a few years later his parents wound up getting a divorce, so all was good.

Now, at this very moment—he had finally done it.

Being a World Champion felt the way he knew it would: unreal.

Yes, the fireworks and the cheers were a part of that, but the warm hug from Jos was what really made it all worth it. All the snarky comments, all the panic attacks, all the isolation growing up—it was all worth it.

That’s a good boy! Jos yelled, rustling his sweaty hair before grinning widely. That’s how you do it!

He wishes to remember this moment until the day he dies, and hopefully, if he's lucky enough, a bit after that. Whatever the case might be, he’s content, but now there’s something new.

Higher expectations.

You were born to be the greatest, Max. You were destined to outbeat those who are stupid enough to think they have a chance against you. They don't. No they fucking don’t because you, Max Verstappen, are one hell of a lion. Jos takes a sip of champagne, swallowing harshly and not at all quietly. And you wouldn’t want to fuck that up, now would you?

The answer is no. No way in hell would he let his father’s affection slip away. Not when he’s been dreaming of it for so long. He’s worked—and he’s worked hard—for this. There’s nothing, nor anyone, who would matter as much as Jos Verstappen and being the best driver there could ever be.

But then—just then.

You came along.

You should have said no. Looking back at it now, you really should have said no.

And yet. You couldn’t have possibly known that from the very beginning.

Funny enough, you started off as Checo’s photographer. You loved it. He was easy to work with. Not only was he nice to you, but so was his family. The work environment was healthy and fun. Your dream job, really, there was nothing to complain about.

But one by one, from a nearby corner—always a nearby corner—you watched as Max’s photographers rapidly lost their minds and quit. It’d start off with a scowl from him and end with a huff from them, dropping their expensive cameras and leaving without sparing a second glance.

It isn’t until photographer number eight where things really do take an unexpected turn.

For you.

“What do you say?” Christian’s voice booms with need.

You blink hazily. “I-I’m not too sure. I mean, Checo and I work so well together…”

“No, I know what—and trust me, I feel bad for doing this—but we’re really counting on you. You get along with everyone. Everyone loves you! Who’s to say Max won’t?”

“And what if he doesn’t?” you fight back. “Then what? I quit too?”

“First of all, he will. And second of all, that won’t be necessary because he’ll love you.”

“You’re that confident?”

“I am.”

You sigh, rolling your tired neck before looking back at him. “Well, I’m not. I need to think this through.”

The Red Bull principal nods. “Of course! You need time, of course. But please—you’d be helping us all. Especially Max.”

You’d be a liar if you were to say that his words hadn’t stuck with you. What did he mean by ‘especially Max’? Was it to get the wheels spinning? If it was, then it was definitely working.

Adjusting your camera strap that hangs around your neck, you stare off into the distance as if you might find the answer somewhere in between the clouds. And maybe you did find it. The answer, you mean. You were one hundred percent certain now that you wanted to stay with Checo, you just didn’t know how to break the news to Christian who has done so much for you ever since you started working at Red Bull.

“I heard about the offer,” a deep voice rumbles next to you, making you jump with fear, clutching your camera towards your chest like some sort of secret weapon. The Dutchman remains unbothered, taking in the same sunset as you once were. “Christian tends to do that. Put people on the spot. I hate that about him.”

In a way, you’re sort of surprised by him even speaking to you or that he even knows about your existence. Over the past few years, you’ve only interacted with him a couple of times. Once, when he won his first championship. Twice, when he won his second. And thrice, when he won his, well…third. And they were all due to the awkward congratulatory hug you felt yourself forced to give since everyone around you was doing the same.

Other than that, you had no reason to cross paths with him despite working for the same team. You two always stayed on opposite sides of the paddock, but it was never intentional, it was just the way things played out. Until now.

“You really shouldn’t say you hate the man who's making your dreams come true,” you whisper, struggling to find your own voice.

Max hums. “All I said was that I hate that about him, not that I hate him as a person.” A beat. “And for your information, he isn’t the one making my dreams come true—I am.”

“He gave you a chance—”

“A chance he knew someone else would have taken if it weren’t him.” That shuts you right up, silence lingering. Seeing as you both were standing on the terrace overlooking the paddock, you two watched as Christian and Checo converse with one another, hands on their hips like some kind of businessmen. “I worked hard to get to where I am, so please, don’t give him all the credit when we both know that's not true.”

More silence. “Listen, I think I’m going to—”

“Turn him down and continue working with Checo?”

Your voice catches. “W-what?”

The Dutchman clicks his tongue, like he’s got you all figured out. Three conversations over the past three years and he thinks he has you all figured out?

“I can’t say I blame you. You don’t think we’ll work well together, and quite frankly, I would agree. We wouldn’t. You’re too…nice.”

You have to laugh. “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“It’s supposed to be the truth,” he’s ricochets.

Turning towards his tall frame, you huff, hair washing over your face before faking a tight smile. “And you’re too…complicated.” Something about the way his gaze darkens at your words makes you want to back down like some shivering dog, but miraculously, you remain still. “And that’s not a compliment.”

“Didn’t sound like one.”

“Well because it’s not.”

He’s not too far from you, and honest to God, that made you shake more than you intended. There was something about him—there always was. Even though you never really worked close to him, you knew there was something there, hiding between the crease of his brows, and now, standing this close to him, you can see it all in a new perspective.

Max releases a breath, bored and unexplainable. Runs a hand through his hair, turns his face for a second before connecting his gaze back to yours. “Look, you appear to be a sweet girl, but…I think you should turn down Christian’s offer.”

“Why?” He’s taken aback. You catch it the moment his lips twitch in the slightest. You tilt your head, urging him to answer. “You must have a reason, so what is it?”

“You’d hate working with me.”

“And you get to decide that?”

Max rolls his eyes. “Have you enjoyed this conversation so far?”

“No.”

“Then you probably wouldn’t enjoy our time either. And I’d just rather not waste my time on you finding out. No offense.”

“No, no, none taken,” you respond sarcastically. By now, Christian and Checo have spotted you both, secretly hoping there was some sort of friendship forming. They wave cheerfully and you mimic their movements.

“I hope we get along—I really do,” you say with a smile as you wave enthusiastically over at Christian who lets out a whistle and sends you an excited thumbs up.

His jaw clenches.

“If not, you’re really going to hate having me around.”

By now, you’ve completely understood why every other person has quit on him.

Your blood boils deep inside your veins for the millionth time in the past hour. His large hand covers his face as he continues speaking with his engineers. They all look back at you, half-amused, half-pitiful. They grimace when you try once again to get a picture of him, only to get shut down by him spinning around to make you face his back.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter beneath your hot breath, glaring harshly to the point you feel a migraine growing, pounding the sides of your head. Marching off, you cross over to Checo’s side of the garage, watching as he discusses his strategies with a couple of his crew members. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he responds, flashing a bright smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Pleading for you to take me back?” He laughs, eyes crinkling, freckled nose scrunching with humor. “It feels like I’ve signed my life away.”

“Ah. Come on. It can’t be that bad. Give him some time.”

“It’s been a month!” you exclaim. “What more does he need?”

The Mexican driver’s eyes soften, feeling bad for the swap neither of you wanted, but knew was necessary. Checo knows how patient you can be, how sweet and caring you tend to act towards those you truly care about. And right now? He worries you won’t ever reach that point with Max.

A heavy sigh. “Max isn’t much of a talker, you know that. But maybe—in order for him to get comfortable around you, he needs you to do something that the other photographers didn’t bother doing.”

Your stomach churns. “Like what?”

He smiles warmly. “Getting to know him.”

Maybe Checo was right. Maybe all Max needed was a friend—someone to talk to.

Sliding back to your side of the garage, you sheepishly walk over to the grumpy Dutchman. Currently, he’s sitting down on the floor, back pressed against the wall, scrolling through his phone. “C-c-can I talk to you?” you ask, nervous fingers lacing through the hoop of your jeans.

He doesn’t bother raising his gaze. “Can you even talk to begin with?”

“S-sorry?”

This time, he does look up, looking past his lashes. “Your stutter.”

Lamely, your mouth opens, only for you to find it drier than the Sahara Desert. The crack of your voice is a clear indication over your weak attempt to speak and that just makes you a blushing mess. Fuck him. You took several speech therapy classes to try and get rid of it, but him pointing out a stutter you thought has gotten better over time makes you want to be photographer number nine.

You glare—hard. You mentally go over your dialogue and that itself makes you feel small. Embarrassed. So, instead…you don’t say anything at all.

There’s a reason no one likes to work with him.

And you think you just found out.

Some days are easier than others. Some days are harder.

Today?

Today was awful.

“Jesus Christ, Max! What the fuck was that?” Jos yells, nearly pressing his face against the Red Bull driver who stands close by, watching him flinch in the slightest before regaining composure. You’ve heard rumors—plenty of them. Between mechanics, between Checo and a few other bystanders, you heard them all. How Jos’ behavior was unbearable to deal with, especially when it came to him and Max. You just never thought you’d witness it firsthand.

“My brakes weren’t working,” he replies, holding eye contact that would have left you in a coma. “It was never my intention to crash.”

“See, you say that, and yet everytime I come and visit, you always seem to be messing up one way or another,” Jos hisses, face beet red, and a splash of saliva spraying over Max as he grits his teeth, taking a step back. “I’m confused—do you want to lose the Championship this year or what?”

“No,” the Red Bull driver fires back, firm and quick. Blue eyes translate to a darker shade as they look to where his dad wears a mocking smile. “I’m winning that title, don’t worry.”

Running a hand against his stubble, Jos rolls his eyes before releasing a tired breath. As if he’s the one working endless hours. As if he’s the one who just crashed against the wall at a terrifying speed he couldn’t decrease even if he tried. As if he’s the one with the bruised temple.

Everything was just always about him.

“Don’t bother resting until you figure out how to fix all the shit you’ve caused.” Sharp eyes narrow. “Got it?”

“Got it,” Max whispers, watching as he storms off without even saying goodbye to anyone else that wasn’t Christian himself. So much for having him around. Frustrated, he angrily yanks his gloves off, throwing them against the wall and walking the opposite direction.

Something tells you to leave him alone—let him be. You get why he’s upset, but you checking up on him probably wouldn't help. Also, you're supposed to be mad at him, right?

And yet.

“Wait up!” you gasp, out of breath.

Clenching his jaw, he stops dead in his tracks, turning to look at you with accusing eyes. “Why are you following me?”

“I just…” Coming to a stop as well, you wince at your sudden side stitch. “He shouldn’t have yelled at you that way,” you finish, analyzing the way his body stiffens. “Especially in front of everyone.”

Blue orbs flicker past your figure for a second, then he lets out a lopsided smile. “I bet you enjoyed it, though. You know? Because I’ve sort of been acting like a dick towards you…” The small smile disappears, replaced with a thin line.

“I didn’t,” you find yourself admitting. His brows raise up with surprise, and even you’re surprised to be telling the truth. You should feel good about this moment—someone finally told him off, someone finally put him in his place. But you felt none of that satisfaction. If anything, you felt bad. Swiping your tongue against your lips, you purse them awkwardly. “And you haven’t been a dick. He has.”

And for the first time—he laughs.

You blink, bewildered at the sound, but he doesn’t seem to notice that. “Like father, like son, right?” he jokes, making you feel like this was all some sort of fever dream. He continues, squatting down against the wall until he sits down completely against the cold pavement. “Your perspective about me has suddenly changed, or what?”

Hesitant, you choose to sit across from him, tucking your legs beneath your butt. His eyes close, smiling softly. Though I doubt it, he mumbles. “I just think I had you all wrong, that’s all.”

“Yeah?” he encourages. “Why?”

You swallow. “Well…because—now it all makes sense. Why you’re so cold towards everyone, I mean. You do get it from your dad, but it’s also not your fault.”

“My dads not the problem,” he hums. “I am.” Your legs are slowly becoming numb, buzzing like a thousand ants are crawling on them, but you don’t dare move an inch, scared of ruining the moment of him being so honest despite being allergic to it. “I let him down constantly and he’s just being…candid.” His eyes open, focused like he’s known you’ve been here all along, sitting across from him. “The issue here is that no one seems to get that. And that’s fine, but I do.”

“C-c-can I…” you cringe at the sound of your stutter, biting harshly down against your sore tongue. You expect him to laugh—make fun of you in any way possible—hold it over your head…but he doesn’t. Instead, he waits patiently for you to feel comfortable enough to continue your question. Your chest loosens up, along with your anxiety. You never thought he’d help with that. “C-can I ask you a q-q-que—”

“A question?” he finishes your sentence, you feeling immensely grateful. You nod. “Sure,” he answers.

Repeating the question over a couple of times, you find yourself feeling more and more comfortable around him and it’s only been a couple of minutes. “Why do you belittle me?”

There’s no way of hiding his shame now as his head hangs low, dirty blond hair hugging the sides of his face with a thin layer of sweat, a purple bruise forming due to his crash of high impact. A tsk. “I want you to know that I don’t hate you. Regardless of what you might think.”

You nod, paying close attention.

He shrugs. “But I just don’t think we’ll work well together.”

“That’s it?” you ponder, genuinely lost. “You haven’t-t-t even given me a chance to prove myself. Maybe we can?” A beat. “Or maybe you’re not telling the w-whole truth.”

A playful scoff erupts from this throat, ignoring your comment. “You’re right. I haven’t given this a fair shot.” A calm look paints his normally stoic features. “And it doesn’t seem like you’ll be quitting anytime soon.” Reaching out to swat his race boot, you smile, eyes crinkling. The Dutchman chuckles. “So maybe we should start getting along, no?”

“I agree,” you comment, straightening your shoulders and extending your legs, instantly feeling a wave of relief from the pressure. “I-I-I’d like t-that.” Pause. Your smile stretches. “I’d like that very much.”

What you know now is obviously something you didn’t know back then.

So realistically, you fell into a friendship that ended like most.

Complete, utter disaster.

As time went on, Max started to change for the better. His glares turned into soft smiles, his monotone voice turned into something that was more untroubled. He was starting to become someone you consider a friend, and you couldn't help but wish he felt the same way too.

“Come out and have a drink with us,” you say, carefully cleaning your lens with the back of your shirt. He looks up from where he packs his things into a small duffel bag. You nod enthusiastically. “Come on, it’s my birthday and I want you there. Celebrate my birth, celebrate your win—it’ll be fun.”

“I don’t like to party,” he confesses, scrunching his nose like the thought alone makes him want to puke. “Never have, never will. Happy birthday, though.”

“You’re no fun,” you mumble, placing your camera back into your own bag. “I wish you’d be more fun.” A beat. “Wait. What do you do for fun?”

“I don’t have any. I just…live a quiet, peaceful life whenever I’m able to.” He throws his bag over his broad shoulder. “I like it better that way, anyways.” With that, he walks out of his driver's room.

Gathering the rest of your things quickly, you chase after him, struggling to keep up with his long strides. “It’s okay to have a quiet life if that’s something you want, but, I don’t know…” You turn the corner, soft hair whiplashing. “Aren’t you able to…well, put that aside for special occasions?”

“Like what? Your birthday?”

You blush heavily. “Well—no. But maybe yours? I know it’s coming up. What are you gonna do then? Stay home working on a crossword puzzle?”

“Not necessarily. Perhaps I’ll read a book, who knows.” Still walking towards his car, he momentarily turns back to look at you, watching as your cheeks glow bright pink. He smiles before turning back. “I’ll make sure to let you know.” Unlocking his car, he raises a brow. “You coming?”

“Can’t,” you pant softly. “Promised Checo that I’d help him find a gift for Carlota.”

“His daughter or his wife?”

Seeing as they share the same name, you can’t help but giggle. “I’m actually not sure.” Flashing one last smile, you wave sweetly. “I’ll make sure to let you know!”

He keeps his eyes on you, watching as you jog towards Checo who laughs as you trip over a nearby rock, nearly falling. Max laughs to himself, feeling an unfamiliar burst of happiness. But that all flies right out the window as soon as his phone buzzes deep inside his pocket, making him groan.

“Hey, Dad.”

He ends up texting for your birthday and you end up doing the same. You end up going out to party and he ends up staying home. Point is, you do exactly what you two said you were going to do, so when a last minute texts comes through at midnight, you’re low key appalled.

Max, 12:00pm

Are you home?

He knows where you live because you once told him. You’re just surprised he remembers.

Yeah? Where are you?

Max, 12:04pm

Come outside. Bring a sweater.

The ocean roars loudly as you two make your way closer towards the shore. The breeze is ice cold, but you aren’t complaining. He is, though.

“Shit. It’s freezing.”

A giggle. “Need a jacket, princess?”

Sending a deadpan expression, he shrugs you off, choosing to sit close enough to see the waves, but far enough to not get wet. “I don’t want you to make a big deal out of this, but…I got you something.”

“Max,” you coo, admiring the film camera he hands you as if it’s nothing. But it’s not nothing because when it comes to him it means everything. “This must’ve cost you a fortune,” you whisper, fingers tracing the rim of the black camera that shines against the moonlight. “You shouldn’t have.”

“And you shouldn’t have stuck around. But you did. So…thank you.” The tides grow louder, making him do the same. “I never really said it, but I’m grateful for having you as a friend.”

You freeze and he seems to notice what he said, too.

“Co-worker?” he tries, cringing.

You relax. “F-f-friend sounds better.”

And there it is again, that warmness that only seems to appear whenever you’re around. It should be alarming, but at this point it's not. If anything, it’s normal.

“Now I feel like shit,” you speak up, bumping your leg against his. He hums. “I didn’t get you anything for your birthday. And if you know anything about friendships, then you’d know that presents are a vital thing.”

“Don’t fret. I don’t need anything else other than…” he trails off. “How was your birthday, anyways?”

You don’t notice his sudden shift. Or maybe you did. Either way, he doesn’t know. You snort. “Got shit-faced, what else do you expect? Though, I faintly remember Abby kissing the bartender, so that was cool.” When he fails to recognize the name, you roll your eyes as if you’re dealing with a third grader. “Checo’s photographer? She’s awesome. Has her own car.”

It’s his turn to laugh now. “And you don’t?”

“Nope. But God, I wish. Maybe one day.” You dig your feet deeper into the sand, twisting your lips before smacking them as if that might help hydrate them. You squint an eye. “I’m barely home, so there’s really no need for one yet. I can sense you wondering.”

“I was,” he admits. Swallowing, he mimes your movements. “I’m barely home, either.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Do you?” he returns with no response.

You ponder. “I know I miss my parents. My sister. But other than that, no—maybe not.”

“I don’t either.”

“But I thought you were a homebody?” you accuse.

“Well, I am, but…I miss my home. The place I paid for with my own money.”

“What home don’t you miss, then?”

“The one my parents tried to convince me and my sister that it was. We had all the family portraits and the typical white picket fence, but it just never felt like home to me. And I don’t miss that.”

“Oh.” Just oh.

“Yeah,” he follows with a raspy voice. “Oh.”

Tugging the jacket closer to your chest, you shiver. Surely your nose is burning bright pink and your lips are chapped, but nothing felt better than this moment for some reason. “I don’t like your dad,” you mumble beneath your breath, hoping the wind would hide your confession, but if it didn’t, you wouldn’t care.

It didn’t.

Scoffing, Max nods. “Yeah. Me neither.”

“I don’t like the way he speaks to you. It’s not—normal.” A beat. “Do you think it is?”

“I do,” he hums, blinking slowly as he watches the way a bird gets caught in the wind, trying to lurch forward but only getting sent back. “You get used to it.”

“You shouldn't have to,” you whisper, brows pinched up with concern. “I know I said you were a complicated person, but you’re not. And—and I just don’t want you to think that it’s true.”

He’s the first to disconnect his eyes from yours, feeling a burning sensation forming in the depths of his throat. It’s not completely unknown, he’s felt it many times when he was a kid. The only difference was that he used to feel it behind his eyes as well. Which is why it catches him off guard this time around—years later.

“You’re not like him, Max,” you say with reassurance. Blue eyes soften up, feeling a rush of emotions. This is something he didn’t even know he needed. Tilting his head, he opens his mouth lamely, words getting stuck like a boy and not a man. You smile tenderly. “And I hope you know that.”

He drives you back home that night despite saying you’d be fine walking back. You fall asleep for the next thirty-minutes, and he overthinks through all of it. Fingers tap against the steering wheel, taking occasional glances to where you breath softly.

“I told you to bring a sweater,” Max groans once you enter his car. “You’re going to freeze to death.”

You wave him off. “I think I’ll survive.”

As soon as you arrive at the beach, you’re quick to rub your hands against your skin, wishing to have some sort of blanket. With a knowing look, the Dutchman rolls his eyes, slipping off his jacket and placing it over your shoulders.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Thanks,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek, suppressing a smile.

Hearing his teeth chatter, he blows his cheeks out, squinting his eyes when a particular gust of wind slaps him across the face. “Shit. It’s freezing.”

“Need a jacket, princess?” you tease, enjoying the way his lips form a snarl.

You giggle.

It’s his favorite jacket, the one you’re wearing.

It’s his favorite because of that.

“I’m fucked,” he whisphers to himself, grinding his teeth until he feels them squeak. He tries to focus on the road, but that seems to be the most difficult task in the world when he has you right besides him. And he isn’t thinking anything sinisterly dirty—he’s not—but instead, he’s dreaming.

I can be different, he thinks to himself, repeating the same words over and over. I can be someone she likes. If I try hard enough, I can do that. Planning ahead was always something he hated, but just thinking about it now makes his veins rush with excitement. As if the possibility of you might exist somewhere down the line.

You said some things he never thought he’d hear, because to be quite honest, he never thought someone would understand him the way you have. For the longest time, he thought a fucked up person like him could only get with an equally fucked up person or simply he’d have to live by himself for the rest of his life.

And here you came, proving him wrong.

He doesn’t realize how fast he’s going, how he’s pressing hard on the gas. Not until you groan. “Fuck. Are you alright?” he asks with concern as soon as he hears your head thud against the window from his jerky turn at the roundabout.

“Yeah.” A beat, then a giggle. You rub your head. “This is gonna bruise.” He winces, taking a glance. Keep your eyes on the road, you laugh, but he can’t. Not when your eyes crinkle the way they do. Like your eyes have a dimple of their own. He’s never seen that on anyone else. “We’ll be twins,” you state as some sort of lame joke. And it does the job because he’s quick to let out a chuckle.

“Sorry,” he apologizes.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Pulling up to your house, you go in to unbuckle yourself before slipping the jacket off. He shakes his head. “Keep it.”

“That wouldn’t make any sense,” you try. “I’m already home, I’ll be fine. Put it on.”

“Well I’m not cold anymore,” he pushes back. “It’s fine, really. I have plenty—what’s one missing?”

“It's freakishly soft,” you debate, furrowing your brows with concentration. “Okay. Thanks, Max.” Grabbing your film camera, you let out a shy smile. “For this too. Just—for these past few hours. I had fun.”

“Yeah,” he hums gingerly, running his hand along the steering wheel. “So did I.”

This grabs your attention, ears perking up like some German Shepard. “Am I dreaming? Did Max Verstappen just say he had fun? With me?” you interrogate, eyes shining.

He groaned, tossing his head against his seat. “I take it back—”

“You can’t do that—”

“I take it back,” he repeats firmly, but the amusement poured into his accent tells you otherwise. “Now get out of my car.”

You poke your tongue out at him before raising your hands up defensively. “Drive safe,” you shout over your shoulder as you walk towards your house, backward. “Oh! I almost forgot to ask!” Rushing to his side of the car, you signal for him to roll his window. He does, quirking a brow. You grin. “Let me take you out.”

His heart thuds. Pulses. Skyrockets.

It’s a scary feeling.

You beam. “Yes! As your birthday present! Let me take you out. Just you and I.”

“You and I?” he repeats robotically, blinking with round eyes.

A nod. “Yeah. Just like today. You took me out and gave me an amazing gift. Let me do the same for you.” Pause. “Please?”

It dawns on him that this is the first time a girl has asked him to hang out. Whether it’s romantic or not, it doesn’t matter, and the way you bat your cartoon eyes makes him spiral, feeling his breath hitch. “Y-y-yeah,” he finds himself saying. “Sure. Why not?”

“You only turn twenty-seven once,” you hum. Like that might seal the deal besides the fact that he’s already accepted.

The Dutchman chuckles nervously, fighting the urge to just…God.

“You only turn twenty-seven once,” he agrees, sharing a tight smile, hands gripping the leather wheel.

Your plans end up getting pushed back due to your guys’ tight agenda. The season is tough on not just him, but the entire team. McLaren is thriving, sometimes more than Red Bull, and that has everyone feeling on edge.

Chewing your nails, you watch as Lando crosses the finish line, nearly a minute ahead from the Dutchman. You know he’s not going to want to talk about it, but he will. He has to.

Because Jos is here.

“You’re getting quite comfortable on that second step,” Jos says tauntingly. He’s not yelling—not like the other times—and somehow, that just makes him scarier.

“I’m not,” Max defends as he rubs a sweaty hand against his face. His hair is longer than usual, so that doesn’t help the awkwardness he feels when he has to push it back. “We still did good—”

“Good is not good enough,” he hisses, pressing a finger against his son's suit, making him take a step back before he regains composure. “Unless it is. For you, I mean.” Silence. “So what? Is it?”

“No,” Max mumbles, fighting the urge to push him back. He’s thought about it—many times. And maybe he’s reached his limit, and maybe he can do it…

But he’d never dare to in front of you.

Blue eyes quietly plead for you to leave. And yes. That would be the wisest thing to do right about now, but your feet betray you. They’re super glued, you begin to suspect. Why else would you not be able to move?

“You used to be so good,” Jos points out, eyes only getting sharper. “What happened? What’s distracting you? Who’s distracting you?”

Max’s eyes flicker for a second—just a fucking second—to where you stand, paralyzed, and he prays he doesn’t notice it. But he does.

Turning to face your small figure, Jos lets out a shallow laugh, a confused expression mapping his wrinkled face. “Are you serious?”

“I—” Max tries, but is waved off by his massive hand.

“A crush isn’t going to get you anywhere, Max, come on, you know this.” Jos rubs his eyes, aging quickly. “Especially with a girl like her.”

“I-I-I,” you stutter, feeling your face grow red. Swiftly, this makes you feel as dumb as when you first met Max, but somehow worse.

A million times worse.

“Y-y-you what?” Jos mocks your stutter, walking closer to where you stand. “You what?”

“H-h-he doesn't like me. So, there’s no need to…w-w-w—”

“Worry,” Max fills in, marching to stand in between you two, and you immediately feel your shoulders relax, but your breath continues to struggle to find its way out of your system. “There’s no need to worry. I just had a bad race, it happens. It’s no one’s fault.”

“Except it is!” Jos finally screams, spraying his saliva with every punctuation, something you’ve come to realize happens when he gets fired up, which nearly occurs every time he's here. The only difference is that this time, you’re caught in between the argument. Jos breathes heavily, chest puffing. “It's someone's fault, and I’ll lay it out for you since you can’t seem to take responsibility—it’s your fault.”

“No, it’s not,” you protest from behind Max, feeling courage quickly expand through your ribs because you knew that wasn’t true. “It’s no one’s fault.”

But someone like you is invisible to someone like Jos Verstappen.

Ignoring you, he gets rid of that last step that separates Max from himself, faces inches apart from one another. And it’s terrifying how similar they are. Their eyes, their nose, their lips. The only thing separating them from being twins was Max’ kindness.

“Say it’s your fault,” Jos orders with a solid and demanding tone. “Say the crash was your fault and that you fucked up.”

You’re breath catches once again, frantic eyes darting to where Max clenches his fists before letting them relax.

“The crash was my fault—”

“It's all your fault,” Jos adds.

The Red Bull drivers lips twitch. “The crash was all my fault…” A beat. “And I fucked up.”

“Max,” you whisper, gingerly grabbing his hand. He flinches at your touch and pulls away as soon as his dads eyes linger down to where you two connect. You wither.

“Get your act together,” Jos threatens with fury before walking out, slamming the door behind him.

You jump at the unexpected sound. No one speaks, no one moves, no one dares to acknowledge what just happened.

Max Verstappen lands second on this week's podium, Crofty announces, pulling you away from the daze you were stuck in. Max’s gaze switches over to the T.V. as he stiffens. Say, what are the chances he wins this year's Championship against Lando Norris who seems to be having the time of his life in that McLaren?

“You did good out there—”

“No. I didn’t.” He looks away. “But that won’t matter because that Championship is mine.”

Mine.

You notice he’s reverted back to his old habits the moment he gets snappy. The moment he starts blocking everyone out, including you. You sort of saw it coming, but still—it hurt. And it took you a moment to realize, realize why it burned so much.

You loved Max Verstappen.

He’d always been unapproachable. Spine-chilling, even. But ever since you two started talking to each other as more than strangers, you realize he was none of that. He had once been kind, once been sweet, but this was all Jos’ fault. Weeks went by—months, even—and all you ever really did was snap pictures of him on the stimulator. That’s it.

It’s as if your friendship never even existed.

It came as no surprise when he failed to pick up your phone calls and texts. He was awfully good at doing that. By the time you were a month away from the Championship, you had stopped trying.

Max can feel the awkward tension he had created. It sat there between you two every time you followed after him like a dog on a leash, timidly taking his picture, afraid of getting the wrong reaction out of him. It had happened a couple of times in the past, when you first started working for him, so it seemed you were trying to prevent history from repeating itself. The slight sting in his chest took a jab at him every time without fail.

Vegas was typically a good time for both the drivers and people like you. You’d be the first to admit how easy it is to get lost in the gist of it all.

Except this time around, it was hard to live through it.

Hey. You home?

Max groans, rubbing his eyes until they’re wide awake, picking up his phone.

Max, 12:00pm

Are you okay?

A minute scrolls by.

I have your present.

The first thing he notices is his jacket. His initials are sewn onto the sleeve. He didn’t even know that was a thing, but the sight of it made his stomach flip. “Looks good on you,” he compliments as soon as he enters your car. You chuckle.

It’s a nice jacket. The best one I own.

He notes how smooth you drive, like a grandma. You’re precise with your turns, ahead with your signals—extremely observant.

“See how I steer the wheel,” you speak up, wiggling a neat brow. “Unlike you.”

“I said I was sorry,” he laughs, getting a reminder of the last time you two were together. “How’s the bruise?”

“Nearly gone.” A beat. “How’s yours?”

He smiles, remembering about his own. “Nearly gone.”

“Told you we’d be twins.”

You take him to a nearby park. It’s lame, I know, you apologize, wincing shyly. I’m not good at this, but I hope your present makes up for it.

“This is great,” he eases your nerves, seeing how they scribble across your face. “This is my first time at a playground, actually.”

Your eyes widen as soon as you sit down on the yellow swing. “You’re kidding, right?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Huh.”

He takes a seat on a nearby swing, following your soft kicks against the sand. “My dad preferred to have me on the race track than waste my time on anything else.”

This gets an eye roll out of you, soft wind fanning your face as you kick back and forth. “That explains it all.” He shuts his eyes momentarily, enjoying the silence. Far enough away, he can hear the city—but that’s the least of his worries.

You’re the first and only one to give me a childhood so late in life. Round eyes flicker towards him where he digs his shoes into the sand, not worried about the uncomfort it'll cause. If it weren’t for you, I probably would’ve gone my whole life without knowing what a playground is like.

The thought alone is saddening. Your mind makes up an image of young Max, looking into the distance at every other kid who runs towards slides and monkey bars as he straps his helmet and slips on his gloves, longing to know what it’s like to have a normal youth.

“Don’t feel bad.”

Your lip wobbles. “Don’t make me feel things, then. Why would you say that?”

“I thought we could open up to one another,” he jokes, but you can hear his seriousness in it. That’s all he’s needed, after all—someone to talk to. “Should I shut up from here on out?”

“No,” you reply rapidly, gripping your hand around the metal chain. “Don’t you ever shut up.”

His smile relaxes, eyes opening as he tilts his head, then looks up ahead at the moon. And it’s one of those nights where it’s scarily white—almost too much. One might think it’s a flashlight, by the way it shines, but there’s a clarity to it that makes it easy to admire. “I don’t think I love my dad.”

You try not to let out a reaction. “You don’t mean that.”

“No…” He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “I think I do.” A shrug. “I respect him. A tiny bit, but I do. But love?” A bitter scoff. “God, I don’t even think he loves me.”

“Sure he does—”

“He loves my success,” he cuts you off. “And it’s embarrassing how everybody knows it.”

Neither of you are swinging anymore. Gathering your thoughts, you look down at your lap, inspecting your dirty shoes. “If it helps, I love you, Max.” In a heartbeat, his blue eyes dart towards you, seeing the way you breathe evenly. “Is that surprising to you?” He doesn’t answer. He couldn't answer. And boy did he want to. Smiling tenderly, you nod. “It’s not that hard, really.” You begin to swing again, as if you didn’t just drop the biggest bomb on him that left his heart in his throat, beating at an abnormal speed. “Not when you’re so patient with me.”

The chain squeaks, making him snap out of his daze, blinking harshly. “I hate my stutter. I’ve had it tugging at my leg since I was eight. Don’t know what caused it, but it’s been there, trust me. So, when you made fun of it a while back, I thought to myself: this guy is a real douchebag.”

Shame pours within him as he recalls that interaction. Checo had told him about his photographer's stutter and how hard it was to hold a conversation with her at first, but the longer they worked together, the more he found it endearing. And that’s exactly what Max felt the moment you became his photographer at a stage in his life where he still didn’t know you all that well other than the fact that you carried your camera like a newborn baby.

“I’m so—”

“Don’t be,” you cut him off. “I don’t hold grudges. Plus, you’re quite helpful now that you’re used to my stammering, don’t you think?”

Guilt fuels him as he apologizes with his eyes. “I shouldn’t have mocked you. Ever.”

“Probably.” A hum. “But the way you read my mind makes up for it.”

He’s been doing a lot of that, without even realizing it. He concludes your sentences without batting an eye about the words you’re trying to get out, trying to express. And in all fairness, you hadn’t noticed it either, not until Checo pointed it out.

That’s how normal it had become.

“My stutter was my number one insecurity growing up.” Connecting your gaze back to where he’s already looking, you draw your eyebrows in with gentleness. “And you made it go away.”

Before he can think his words through, he opens his mouth. “I love your stutter.”

You blink, bewildered at the comment. Then—you laugh.

“Thanks?” Your volume increases. “Never heard that one before.”

Screwing his eyes shut, he shakes his head, grimacing at the sound of his voice replaying inside his crowded mind.

“What I’m trying to say is that I love you,” he rambles, much faster and correctly this time, making you stop your laughter, eyes going wide once again. “Is that surprising to you?” he whispers, awaiting a response with anxiety dripping from his fingertips that clench around the chain that loops around the swing, giving it security.

“You mean as friends, right?” you ask carefully, making his stomach drop.

“I don’t think friends think about each other the way I think about you,” he confesses, out of breath by the sudden shift he’s caused. “I see you differently.”

As soon as your lips part to say something, he pleads silently as if saying: please, just hear me out. And that’s exactly what you do.

He’s standing right in front of you now, pacing back and forth like some football coach as you watch him like a clueless cheerleader who sits on the sidelines. He clears his throat after a lengthy minute.

“I noticed you first when you walked into your interview four years ago.”

Your mind races back to a moment in time where your camera was significantly cheaper and your dreams were larger than life.

He nods, watching as you recollect the memories that were tucked in the far back of your brain, like it didn’t matter for the longest time, which to be fair, it hadn’t.

“You were supposed to be my photographer.”

Your brows furrow, completely lost by his words. “What?”

His large hands run through his shaggy hair from his slumber that you had ripped him away from. “From the very beginning, it was supposed to be you and me. But…”

Neat brows narrow down harder. “But what?”

Max stops his pace, killing his tracks that lands him right in front of you looking up at him with innocent eyes. He sighs. “I said I didn’t want you working with me.”

“Oh.” A beat. “It’s always been this way, then? You not wanting me near you?”

“For a while,” he says quickly before cringing. “But now that we’ve worked together, I realize the mistake I made. How many years it could’ve been us…”

“What’s the real reason?”

Flinching, he squirms under your focus. “What?”

You nod, encouraging him. “You always said it was because you didn’t think we would work well together, and look at us now—we have.” Leaves rustle from the dozen of trees that wrap around the park. “What was the actual reason?”

He’s known the answer to this question from the moment you joined the team, more specifically, Checo’s. He knew the answer to the question the moment he crossed that finish line, claiming his first Championship like the greedy man he was carved out to be by his own father.

He’s just not sure how you’d take it. Coughing awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck, he avoids eye contact. “I knew you’d distract me.”

Your stomach twists like a licorice. “Oh God—have I?”

“No!” he yelps, but the defense he guards up like a soldier lets you know that that’s nowhere close to being true. You shrink, increasing the distance between you two. His palms begin to sweat. “You haven’t—”

“Your dad was right,” you whisper. “I have been a distraction to you. That’s why you’ve been having such a weird season compared to the previous ones…”

“No,” he presses firmly. “The car has changed, that’s why I’ve been driving differently, it has nothing to do with you.”

But you don’t seem to engage with his words, instead, you shake your head like an angry child who never gets their way at the candy store. “How can you love me when I’m the reason your dad puts you down every chance he gets?”

It’s like you forced your fingers in at an open wound, one he tends to forget is there when he’s with you, but when you mention it's existence, he remembers why he dreads it so much.

“He talks to me like that because he’s a shitty dad, not because of you,” he says, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “I liked you the second year I won my Championship. The first time you said my name.”

“Congrats, Max,” you say with an awkward smile after you pull away from an even more awkward hug. “You did good.”

“I was infatuated by you the third year I won my Championship.”

“You can’t keep firing your photographers,” Christian lectured him with a tired voice, making his accent sound ten times stronger. “Especially when we don’t even have their replacement.”

“I haven’t found one I like,” he says as he watches you walk by, heading towards Checo with a bright smile, bragging about a recent setting that puts your old photos to shame. He looks away when you turn towards his garage, as if you felt his eyes on you. “It’s not my fault.”

“No, young man, it is,” the team principal presses, letting out a tired sigh. “You need to mature with the idea of having one, if not—”

“If not what?”

“If not…uh…we’ll…” Christian looks around for a while before turning back to the Dutchman. “We’ll have to take a different approach.”

“Yeah?” Max questions with amusement. “Which is?”

Christian shrugs. “Swapping Checo’s photographer with yours.”

This makes the Dutch physically recoil. “I’ve told you a thousand times already—it would never work out. She’s too…happy all the time.”

“And maybe that’s exactly what you need.”

Max lets out a shaky breath, watching your chest rise and fall as if you find it harder to breathe with every passing second.

“And I haven’t won my fourth,” he begins with a light smile and an even lighter tone. “But I already know that I love you.”

This is it. The last smile of his. Of that soft dimple of his that caught you by surprise the first time you saw it. It's the last time because you know that whatever happens after is going to ruin it all.

“I love you—”

“I don’t.”

His lips run dry, forcing a small chuckle like he didn’t hear you right. “I’m—I’m.” He smiles hesitantly. “B-but you said…” No more wind circles around you. “You said it.”

“I know.” You wince, brushing your hair back, annoyed with it by now. “I know I did, but…Max. I didn’t mean it in that way.”

The blue eyed Dutch takes a step backward, noting the uncomfortableness the sand is causing his feet to feel now that the adrenaline is gone. “What do you mean?” he murmurs with embarrassment. “What do you mean?”

Licking your lips, you focus on a tree that stands behind him, how fucked up looking it was. As if someone stabbed it over and over again until it bled wood chips.

“I do love you—but as a friend.”

“Why, though?”

“Friendships last longer,” you respond, like you’ve had the answer sitting on the tip of your tongue for the longest time now. “Relationships don’t.”

“Ours could,” he tries, feeling pathetic. “I’m good at everything. I bet I’ll be good at a relationship, too.”

“A relationship is not a game, Max,” you argue, your voice slightly raising, making him clench his jaw. “And I’m sure you think it is because you're such a perfectionist, but it’s not that easy. There’s a lot of dedication that goes into it.”

“Then I’ll be dedicated to you,” he says. “Heart, body, and soul. I swear. Just—give me a chance.”

“I can’t…”

“But why not?”

“Because all I see is a friend!” you shout, regretting it instantly. His skin loses its natural color, switching to a ghostlike state. His pink lips snap shut like a bear trap. And his furrowed brows revert back to their usual place. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you massage your temples that suddenly feel painful.

“We’re so different from one another, Max. Your life is written down, from birth to death. And you know you’ll live a good one. And mine—mine is constantly changing. I mean, look at it. A few months ago I was working with your teammate and now…”

He remains silent, patiently watching your lips move with every word that pinches his feelings like the biggest bully. “The love I hold for you is there…but not the same way yours is there for me. Your life moves fast, and I’m barely even able to keep up with a conversation with this fucking stutter that appears most times with others, but very few with you.”

Still nothing. Just his eyes focused on this jacket now, like he's already reclaiming it. “And I really do thank you for that, I do. But I thank you the most for letting me get to know you for who you really are. Not who you pretend to be or what others say you are—and I wish I could reciprocate, but…I just… don’t.”

An eternity passes by, it feels like. He doesn’t even know how long you two have been standing here now, but the sunrise is a clear indication that it’s been forever. And he doesn’t feel tired, nor does he feel upset…

He just feels dumb.

“I get it,” he finally speaks up. “We view each other differently and that’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, but—”

“It's not your fault,” he repeats, wearing a warm smile, hoping you'd believe his lie. That and he doesn’t think he can handle much more. All he wants to do is go back home. “I’m just glad I had someone to talk to for a while. And, well—I’m sorry. I must have gotten confused by the situation. Maybe I don’t love you, who knows. I probably just got excited, you know? Went my whole life without having an interaction like ours, maybe I’m convincing myself to believe in something that was never there to begin with. For either of us, that is.”

I just got excited, is all.

He did end up winning his fourth Championship the way he said he would. You did end up taking that perfect picture as he stood on that podium, shining as bright as his golden trophy. Jos was happy, Christian was happy, the entire team was happy, but you and Max?

Blue eyes lock with yours, feeling the differenceness between it all. He still loves you, he realizes. He wasn’t confused after all. But neither were you.

All you saw was your best friend, and now you’re not even sure you have one anymore. You two no longer hang out, you barely even speak to one another despite spending most of your days together. He still smiles at you from time to time, but it’s not the same. Nothing could ever be.

And it was a soul crushing thing to realize.

“Congratulations,” you muffle against his race suit as you hug him without your arms fully wrapping around him and his hardly wrapping around you. “This is your moment, Max.” A beat. “No one else’s.”

You’re talking about his dad. He knows that.

Chuckling, he nods. Like he’s sure of that now. That all his success is his, and his alone. That you have finally managed to matter the most in his life—not his trophies, not his father’s respect.

You.

Pulling away, he still feels your invisible hug linger on him in a way he can’t explain and neither could you. You dig into your pocket, pulling out a silver bracelet.

“Your birthday gift.”

Right. You never got the chance to give it to him after the last real conversation you two ever had. After that, both of you ignored the fact it ever even happened, and in a way, he was grateful for that, but that didn’t stop it from stinging. Looking down at it, he reads the engravement, feeling his heart take a last lap.

To my favorite open book. With love.

He laughs, clutching his fist around it. “I’m nowhere close to being an open book, but…thanks. I love it.”

You giggle, eyes crinkling with tears as you brush them away. “Not at first, but—eventually. It takes time.”

The cheers rise, but neither of you acknowledge them. Not even when they chant his name, over and over.

“You’ve peeled me,” he admits, nearly whispering. “Completely.” Your breath hitches, sucking in that breath that cost to take in. Max shrugs with a gentle grin. “You’ve peeled the lemon,” he jokes with a shaky breath of his own, blue eyes switching to a darker shade that makes your limbs go weak. “So—do your fingers burn?”

You force a laugh. The kind that makes your head tilt just a bit before tippy toeing to give him a proper kiss on the cheek. He goes still.

“I wish they did. That’d make my decision much easier to go through.”

With that, you step away, the Dutch immediately being over taken by journalists, photographers, the FIA, the drivers—everyone except the only person he really wants there celebrating with him.

His mind is racing faster than his Championship winning car. What decision? What could you possibly mean by that—

Christian embraces him, ruffling his sweaty hair as he pours a bottle of champagne over his head, laughing with glory. Max shakes his head, leaning down to ask the only question that ever made his heart break before he ever even got a response.

“Did she quit?”

Christian knows exactly who she is, but what catches him by surprise is how agitated he appeared to suddenly get. The team principal shrugs. “We’ll find you a new one!”

“No,” Max whispers in disbelief as he tries to find you from a distance, but all he sees are flashing lights that begin to cut his patience thin. “No.”

I wanted her.

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