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oscpiastri81 · 18 hours

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fresh out the slammer [guilty as sin part five] | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x sainz!reader

no court cases, no ferrari PR jail... i'm sure nothing will happen, right?

MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 1,289,405 others

tagged: olliebearman, francocolapinto & pepemarti

f1: THERE IT IS!!! The 2025 grid is set with Ollie Bearman at Haas, Franco Colapinto at Williams and Pepe Marti at Sauber.

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user317: HOLY SHIT

user318: i hate to celebrate someone losing their job in this economy but FUCK THAT MAN WOO HOO WELCOME TO UNEMPLOYMENT CARLOS SAINZ

olliebearman: can't wait to get started (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

user319: when are you going to recruit pepe and kimi to the leclerc family agenda

pepemarti: y/n has been my celeb crush since i was like 13 (sorry charles) so trust me idc about the spanish guy

olliebearman: he fully doesn't play about y/n, he even tries to read poetry (key word being tries)

pepemarti: you can shame me all you like but i think y/n would appreciate the effort

yourusername: you would be correct !

pepemarti: OMG ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

charles_leclerc: i'll take you in if you promise you're over your crush on y/n, it would be very inappropriate

pepemarti: I AM I SWEAR

user320: i know carlos gotta be sick seeing the spanish youngster freak out more about his sister

yourusername: i fear he has bigger fish to fry right now

user321: @carlossainz55 BOO! did i scare you? i'm a job application

user322: being on the internet as a sainz fan gotta be torture at this point

user323: former delusional carlando fan here! he brought this upon himself lol

maxverstappen1: evil may be conquered but these three and kimi look like prime candidates to join the united front of hating

yourusername: we gotta get them started while they're young

charles_leclerc: i fear we don't have enough room in the house for all these kids

francocolapinto: do we really need the aussie?

oscarpiastri: i was here before you ???

yourusername: we can get bunkbeds?

olliebearman: does leo really need him own room

charles_leclerc: WATCH THAT TONE

kimiantonelli: i'm quite small if that helps

yourusername: looks like we have a new favourite

pepemarti: ????????

user324: see? carlos loses his job and suddenly all is good in f1 again... coincidence? i think not.

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, alexalbon and 1,945,209 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, olliebearman & kimiantonelli

yourusername: and the pieces all fall into place ...

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user326: this is a level of motherism we have yet to see in f1

user327: and mother in a literal sense these ones take her up to like five grid kids and one dog

maxverstappen1: don't erase her cat godson and goddaughter

yourusername: leo is almost fully cat trained ( ≧ᗜ≦)

albonpets: do not even think of coming for our brand

yourusername: which one am i talking to?

albonpets: HORSEY

yourusername: ... okay then

charles_leclerc: seriously?

yourusername: i'm not going to fight a (my favourite) albon cat charles, i may have the sainz last name but i'm NOT carlos

charles_leclerc: it'll be leclerc before you know it

yourusername: (˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶)

user328: no because at this point i can fully picture carlos having an argument with a cat

albonpets: we're down to tussle for y/n

user329: i'm dying, carlos lost so bad ALBON PETS ARE SHADING HIM

user330: guys are we ready for monza tho? y/n and charles fully back, the united front of hating back, italy don't play about charles... carlos girl i'd sit this one out it doesn't even matter that you're driving the red car

maxverstappen1: at least it won't be me being booed for once

carlossainz55: i'm not a bitch. if people want to boo me they'll only expose themselves as sheep

oscarpiastri: BAAAA

olliebearman: BAAAA

francocolapinto: BAAAA

kimiantonelli: BAAAA

pepemarti: BAAAA

charles_leclerc: parenthood is so precious

carlossainz55: you think i care that these little runts like you guys? they'll be out the sport faster than your other little pet american

logansargeant: at least i'm pretty

francocolapinto: sorry i can't hear you over my williams seat - you really thought that was gonna be yours huh 🤔

user331: obsessed with how carlos has just resorted to name calling because his only 'ammunition' against y/n is that she always wanted to marry charles and didn't want to work

user332: if that's illegal LOCK ME UP BABY

yourusername: they nearly did 😭

user332: oh yeah my bad g

charles_leclerc

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and 4,398,400 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: fresh out the slammer

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user333: LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOO

francocolapinto: VAMOSSSSSS

user334: this was actually insanely poetic, ferrari i'm still angry at you but thank you for this genius strategy

user335: today you are excused, tomorrow we go back to hating

user336: the north remembers

yourusername: never in doubt starboy - i love you, you deserve this so much

charles_leclerc: i love you more, this win is for you after everything we've been through

yourusername: you're too sweet - it's all you baby and the win is all yours, my prize is being. yours

charles_leclerc: so glad we could have all of our REAL family around us today

yourusername: i love you all ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

oscarpiastri: i guess if there's anyone to lose to here, it would be my grid dad

francocolapinto: if you don't want the P2 i'll gladly take it off of your hands

yourusername: okay babies let's calm down and celebrate that we ALL scored points today

olliebearman: thanks mum and dad

pepemarti: did you guys see my F2 podium (๑>◡<๑)?

charles_leclerc: we did!

yourusername: well done pepe :3

pepemarti: hehehehehehheheheheehehehe

maxverstappen1: oh boy got out of ferrari jail and now we're ALL being subjected to the conjugal visits

charles_leclerc: stay outta my business

maxverstappen1: BROTHER 4 MILLION PEOPLE IN YOUR BUSINESS

yourusername: and four million people know my man is off limits

yourusername: @carlossainz55 stop paying instagram models to flirt with my man

charles_leclerc: @carlossainz55 what money are you using for this i had to close my DMs

user337: HE'S PAYING INSTAGRAM MODELS TO TRY AND FLIRT WITH CHARLES THE VERY GUY WHO HAD HIS CHILDHOOD RIVAL DELIVER LOVE LETTERS WHEN HIS PHONE WAS TAKEN ???

oscarpiastri: we never said carlos was smart

f1tea

liked by user339, user340 and 11,943 others

f1tea: the ramifications of the sainz civil war may be a lot worse than previously feared. carlos sainz does not have a seat for the 2025 f1 season and doesn't look like he'll be chosen for a reserve role either with bridges with red bull firmly burnt. however, one of the biggest effects of this 'war' has been on those who still choose to associate with carlos. it's been reported that mclaren have had to turn down a number of sponsors after they asked that it is only run on oscar's car and that lando norris is not seen with the brand. do you think we'll see lando jump ship from carlos or will mclaren become a safehaven for sainz?

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user341: mclaren? a safe haven for carlos sainz? the same mclaren that houses the first child of y/n and charles? i'd like to see them try

user342: finally the carlando PR spin is dead

user343: they way they both thought that was their ultimate get out of jail free card and now it's like incriminating

user344: isn't this all getting a little petty now? like y/n and charles are together and carlos doesn't have a seat? what's the point of keeping all of this drama going?

user345: tbf this 'drama' was never going away the moment they exposed themselves for trying to use their daughter/sister as bait to further carlos' career

user346: if that wasn't downright criminal then unlawfully suing your daughter/sister for everything she rightfully earnt WAS

user347: yeah just because 55 fans and the sainzs themselves want to bury that loss doesn't mean it's not like one of the first things that come up when. you google carlos - of course sponsors are not gonna want ANYTHING to do with that

user348: poor lando getting caught in the petty crossfire

user349: i mean he was shit slinging at y/n after austria and that girl has levels of voodoo only taylor swift can better

user350: he's also a grown man who has seen this all go down behind the scenes so he's made his bed and has to lie in it

user351: the way the sponsors are just piling up for charles as well karma really is doing a number right now

user352: his charm is so universal that oscar is becoming one of the most marketable drivers as well

user353: no but as someone who was on the ground at monza, it's BAD like people were wearing their sainz merch with the 55 or spanish flag covered up

user354: oh he got them acting like middle aged football fans it's BAD

user355: at least they haven't started burning stuff yet

user356: if he takes out charles i fear it won't take long

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 1,452,097 others

yourusername: my new poetry and letter collection, the alchemy, is out today and you guys already made it a new york times bestseller. my heart is so full! the last couple months made me feel like i would never get to love so thank you for showing me that everything is possible x

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user357: ma'am i am in love with you

user358: get in line buddy

charles_leclerc: i will run all of you over

maxverstappen1: thank you for the dedication, it was a traumatic time for us all

yourusername: you simply could've not read my private letters to my lover?

maxverstappen1: and where's the fun in that?

yourusername: a pigeon wouldn't have done this to me...

maxverstappen1: yeah well a pigeon also hasn't been your best friend for years and doesn't have a couch and cats to comfort you

yourusername: you make a good point

user359: she's really out here making me believe in love

charles_leclerc: the most talented woman in the world, i'm blessed to be on the receiving end of such words

yourusername: writing is so much easier with a muse like you

charles_leclerc: you're making me blush

user360: sure if my boyfriend was a greek god i'd also write good poetry

charles_leclerc: no you couldn't, not like her

yourusername: (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

lewishamilton: congratulations y/n, what an achievement! however, i do think the real achievement here is getting this grid to read a book

georgerussell63: excuse me?

alexalbon: ... you got me but i wanted the tea ☕️

charles_leclerc: APPRECIATE THE POETRY PEOPLE

alexalbon: funny how the letters were back and forth... but none of yours made it to the book

yourusername: ALEX :(

charles_leclerc: i didn't want my sad ramblings to drag down her shine - i thought you would get that seeing how bad you are at golf compared to lily

lilymunhe: oop.

user361: where are the children

yourusername: eating my cake :(

maxverstappen1: they're actually being really cute and are all sat in a circle reading it (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

charles_leclerc: gotta make sure they can read none of us finished school

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55 and 2,309,450 others

tagged: maxverstappen1 & carlossainz55

f1: LAST LAP SHUNT! Carlos Sainz takes Max Verstappen out in baku and the two did not mince their words on the radio

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user363: not to be dramatic but that's lowkey attempted murder

user364: at this point carlos is trying to ACTUALLY recreate that list of crimes meme

user365: let's get his ass in JAIL then

oscarpiastri: if i speak i'm in big trouble

carlossainz55: speak it big man - if you wanna act like a big guy back it up

oscarpiastri: okay you are a narcissistic misogynist who can't bear being told no. you are a talented man but without your name you would be nowhere but you lack the selfawareness to be grateful for where you are which is why you don't have a job. you are reckless and dangerous and the very few friends you have will drop you when you no longer serve a purpose in f1

user366: oh shit babe came out swinging

oscarpiastri: i'm hearing a lot of CRICKETS?

oscarpiastri: exactly - pussy.

user367: thank you franco colapinto for bringing back drivers with zero media training

user368: once again i am asking for proximity chat in f1

user369: the sweet souls on twitter would NOT be able to handle it

yourusername: bro tried to assassinate my best friend but i'm the problem

carlossainz55: stop being so dramatic, if anyone was to purposely hurt someone it would be max - look where he came from

yourusername: first of all FUCK YOU

yourusername: second of all, max is stronger than you ever will be, how dare you try and use his childhood against him when you know he's nothing but a gentle soul

yourusername: thirdly, by this logic the reason i'm such a 'gold-digging back-stabbing whore' is because of YOU GUYS

user370: i am absolutely losing it at the fact that carlos is furiously typing these at the fia HQ

user371: i know his PR officer is TIRED

francocolapinto: sorry our uncle got sniped but we did also get points @olliebearman

olliebearman: JUST TO SAY WE WENT TO SEE MAX AND HE IS OKAY BUT YES THANK YOU FOR THE POINTS

yourusername: guys lets keep the inside thoughts inside

francocolapinto: so you're not proud of us (╹ -╹)?

yourusername: I AM, I AM, WE ARE (charles is on the podium he'll tell you later)

francocolapinto: ( ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ )

olliebearman: ( ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ )

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri and 1,387,300 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: i lived bitch

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user372: they're gonna have to do a little more than that to take down the united front of hating

user373: 50g can't stop the grind for these dudes

maxverstappen1: i would call that man a bitch with my last breath

user374: them celebrating the end of carlos' career by doing a mukbang is killing me

user375: when the funeral food be good as fuck you be forgetting who died

carlossainz55: you guys really are so pathetic

maxverstappen1: i didn't try to pimp out my sister, make her homeless then sue her but that might just me be

maxverstappen1: also the data will prove what we all know btw

carlossainz55: that you're reckless just like your daddy?

maxverstappen1: at least i can admit my dad is an asshole and i distanced myself, your dad is just as much a bitch but you gotta parade him around because no one else can bear being around you

carlossainz55: the only bad thing my dad ever did in his life is help bring the spawn of satan into the world

maxverstappen1: whatever, enjoy your race ban bozo

user376: is max suggesting ... it was on purpose

user377: if it was carlos might just be as dumb as they all say because fool was about to get a podium

yourusername: THEY CAN'T GET RID OF US BITCH

maxverstappen1: you're a sick motherfucker if you're enjoying this sainz disasterclass well i only just got out of the medical centre 🤧🤧🤧

charles_leclerc: no but deadass we're sorry you got taken out

maxverstappen1: someone had to be the mercutio to you people's romeo and juliet

maxverstappen1: PLEASE DO NOT KILL YOURSELVES AFTER I'VE GONE THROUGH ALL THIS SHIT FOR YOU

yourusername: we can't leave you with all these kids

charles_leclerc: yeah that's a lot of kids to inherit

user378: christian horner i hate you but you gotta get on your zoom

oscarpiastri: where's my congratulations 🤨

maxverstappen1: @yourusername @charles_leclerc yeah you can keep your kids

charles_leclerc: we're proud of you oscar (don't beat me again)

yourusername: well done oscar (your verbal takedown was particularly impressive as well)

oscarpiastri: 🤭🤭🤭

fin

note: lol i'm back. i was busy with work and then in hospital. but we all love guilty as sin? will get to tagging soon one sec

#charles leclerc smau

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oscpiastri81 · 1 day

Text

# F1 GRID — OOPS, WRONG PERSON !

MASTERLIST !

REQUEST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ you decide to pull a prank by “butt-dialing” your boyfriend.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ tiny tiniest bit of angst, barely proofread.

003. NOTE !

✯ i loveddd this request, so much fun to write! hope you all enjoy it because i don’t know if it’s quite as good as i intended. also, this is LONGGG so please let me know if you liked it 🫶

word count : 5,6k

★ CARLOS SAINZ

Carlos is genuinely surprised when he sees your name pop up on his phone, a facetime call incoming. Still, he doesn’t hesitate in answering. Whatever it is you might have to say must be important given the fact that you usually avoid making calls. Texts or face-to-face conversation being more your style.

What he doesn’t know, is you’re trying to keep your giggles to yourself. You have your back-up phone in hand, recording a TikTok trend you saw and decided to attempt with your boyfriend.

When Carlos answers, you pull yourself together and start speaking as if you were in the middle of a conversation. You wonder if the wall can see the idiocy of what you’re doing, if it’s judging you as you sit alone in your room whilst pranking your boyfriend.

“Amor?” Carlos asks, greeting you still slightly confused as to the reason for your call. You grin at his voice, your camera pointing to the ceiling so it seems like an accident.

“Honestly, I think I would tell him no,” you say to nobody in particular, making up a conversation.

“Hello? What’s going on?” He asks again, but you pay him no mind.

You continue your prank as best as you can, “I don’t know… I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of commitment,”

Carlos doesn’t respond instantly, but he gets the feeling that you’ve accidentally called him. He doesn’t hung up, no, he’s too nosy to do that. So, he keeps quiet in hopes that you continue whatever conversation you’re having.

“Do you think he would be mad?” You ask to your wall, “He’s really sweet, but that would anger anyone.”

What? He asks in his mind, trying to fill in the blanks to your conversation. Are you talking about him?

“He asked me the other day if I liked silver or gold better, isn’t that a sign?”

Oh, you so are talking about him.

When the realisation hits, he’s kind of sad. He didn’t ask it with the intentions you are insinuating, but you would really say no if he asked you to marry him? He can’t help but have his feelings hurt.

“I just don’t want to rush things.”

The silence on the other end of the phone is deafening. You would think he hung up if you weren’t so intently watching the screen on your phone. You feel slightly bad about the kind of conversation you’re having. A fake conversation, but still, you feel bad.

Deciding he’s had enough, Carlos hungs up. He won’t listen in on your conversation any longer, it’s doing him no good. He’s left with a bitter taste in his mouth, a weight crushing onto his chest as he ponder over your words. He didn’t know you felt that way, and truthfully, he could’ve gone on for longer without knowing.

Immediately, you call him back. He’s tempted to ignore the call but twice can’t be a coincidence.

“What?” He asks quickly after answering, when he sees your face his harsh frown softens but his tone doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you say, dragging the y, “It was a prank, mi vida.”

He freezes for a second and then lets out a sigh of relief, “It was?”

“Yes!” You exclaim, showing him your second phone, “Say hello to TikTok.”

“You scared me,” he says with a shake of his head, “I thought you were being serious.”

“Never,” you firmly respond, “Can’t wait to be Mrs. Sainz,”

He smiles at the sudden shyness of your voice, “Well, that’s a relief then,”

You laugh at his words then suddenly stop, “Wait, Carlos, what do you mean?”

He looks at you as best as he can through a camera lens, then laughs and blows you a kiss.

“Carlos! What do you mean?” You ask more desperately, searching for answers but he just laughs and says his goodbyes.

You are left with your mouth agape when he hangs up. The video is certainly funny, and you can’t wait to edit out the more intimate ending and post it. But you’re left with a nervous yet exciting feeling at the pit of your stomach.

Perhaps the prankster ended up being the one pranked. Though you hope it’s not a prank.

★ CHARLES LECLERC

You await Charles’ response to your facetime call, patiently sitting down on your bed and your other phone in hand, ready to record.

When your incoming call appears on Charles’s screen, he instantly answers. He loves to hear from you, especially when he’s away from you and misses you deeply.

“Hello, mon chou,” he says, smiling at the camera and then slightly frowning when he notices that your camera is completely black.

“Okay, so I’ll see you at seven, right?” You ask your bear plushie, smiling at the ridiculousness of the prank.

At your words Charles’ mood dips, trying to understand what you;re saying or better yet, who you're speaking to.

“I’m so excited to see you,” Maybe it's cruel to play such games when you're thousands of kilometres apart.

You know how much Charles misses you, how gruelling being so far away from home is to him. It is to you as well, being separated from your boyfriend tears your heart apart each time, but you decide that maybe spicing things up a little could be just what you need.

"Wait, who are you talking to? Is someone else there?” He asks, fidgeting with his hair and straightening up from where he was sitting.

You pretend to ignore his voice and continue with the prank, “Yeah, he’s in Canada right now.”

Your boyfriend is now agitated at your words, though he prides himself for his calmness in tense situations he's not sure how to act right now. Should he hang up? Shout so that you perhaps hear him? Or stick around for the call and understand who you're talking to?

“No no, don't even worry about him,” you have to stifle your giggles, looking at the plushy in front of you who has served as your faithful company while Charles is away.

He leans in closer to the camera, tilting his head slightly, trying to understand what’s going on. “Amour, who’s there with you? Is someone else there?” he asks, a little louder this time, but still in that soft, slightly panicked tone.

It takes everything in you not to break character, but you want to see how far you can go. And hey, if you can pull this off maybe an acting career is not so far away.

“Honestly, it gets so boring around here but you make it better.”

Charles’ lips part as if he’s about to say something, but he hesitates. You can see him wrestling with his emotions. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the confusion and a bit of hurt are written all over his face. He glances away from the screen, clearly feeling awkward. “I mean... if you’re busy, I can call you later?” His voice is soft, polite as always, but there’s a hint of insecurity creeping in.

Finally, you can’t keep up the act anymore, and burst into laughter.

His eyes widen in realisation, and his face immediately softens with relief. “Wait, is this a joke?!” His hand goes to his chest, and he lets out a nervous laugh. “Mon dieu, I thought you were serious for a second! I was so confused.” He laughs now, more freely, shaking his head.

You grab your phone, fixing the angle so he can finally see you and just how alone you are in your room. “Yeah, it was just a prank. You should’ve seen your face!”

The giggles you're letting out make Charles smile, finding it endearing how such a simple thing entertained you.

He groans playfully, clearly relieved but also slightly embarrassed. “You really got me... I didn’t know what to think! I was about to ask if I needed to fly out and speak with you!” He chuckles, running a hand through his hair again, his smile back and wider than ever. “But honestly, don’t do that again, chérie. I was about to lose my mind!”

You laugh, wiping a tear from your eye. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t resist! You were so confused, it was hilarious!”

He shakes his head with a grin, still amused, but now there’s a more serious note in his eyes. He leans a little closer to the camera, his voice softening. “I’m glad it was a joke, but you had me really worried for a second there. I didn’t know what I would’ve done if it was real...” He trails off, his expression turning thoughtful, like he’s truly imagining what it would feel like if you were talking to someone else.

You smile, feeling a bit guilty for messing with him. “I would never do that to you, Charles. It was just a prank.”

He breathes out a little sigh, then flashes you a tender smile that could melt anyone’s heart. “I know, I know. I trust you... but still, you’re so important to me.” His voice drops to a softer tone, his vulnerability shining through. “You don’t know how much I care about you. When I thought you might be talking to someone else... I don’t think I could’ve handled it.”

His sincerity catches you off guard, and your heart swells. Before you can say anything, he smiles again, a little sheepish now. “But anyway, good prank. I’ll give you that.” He points a playful finger at the screen. “Just remember, payback’s coming!” His grin is wide, but there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, pretending to be unbothered. “Oh really? What are you going to do?”

Charles smirks, leaning back in his chair. “You’ll see. You’ll never know when it’s coming, but when it does, you’re going to regret pranking me!” He winks, but it’s clear he’s more than happy to let this prank slide for now.

Then, his voice softens again, and he gives you a look that’s pure affection. “But seriously... don’t scare me like that again. I like knowing I’m the only one you’re FaceTiming.” He smiles, his dimples showing, his face a mix of relief and playful charm.

You can’t help but laugh. “Okay, okay! I promise, no more pranks like that.”

“Good,” he says with a final grin, looking like he’s truly at ease again. Then, he blows you a quick kiss through the screen. “Now, tell me what you were actually doing before you called me. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

★ LANDO NORRIS

It’s late afternoon, and you’re feeling mischievous. You decide to pull a prank you saw earlier on TikTok on Lando. You know he will be caught off guard, and that’s exactly what you’re going for.

You set your phone on the couch, deliberately calling Lando without actually answering the FaceTime. Then, in a casual voice, you start the prank, pretending to have a conversation with someone else.

“Yeah, it was so fun hanging out last night. You’re hilarious!” you say, just loud enough for Lando to hear through the FaceTime call. “I can’t believe we stayed up talking for so long!”

On the other end of the line, Lando picks up immediately. Your contact name makes him smile, wondering what you’re about tell him. But when the call goes through, he’s confused, staring at your screen which faces the ceiling. “Wait… babe? Hello?” he says, glancing around as if trying to figure out what’s happening. He leans in, his brows furrowing when he hears you talking, but not to him.

“Yeah, it was so fun hanging out last night. You’re hilarious!” you say, just loud enough for Lando to hear through the FaceTime call. “I can’t believe we stayed up talking for so long!”

His eyes go wide as he looks closer at the phone, confusion spreading across his face. He shifts in his chair, trying to process what he’s hearing. “What? What’s going on? Who are you talking to?” he asks, his voice growing more anxious.

You continue the conversation, making it sound even more flirty. “Yeah, I didn’t expect to have that much fun either. You’re really something else.”

Lando's heart rate definitely spikes. He leans forward, the panic starting to creep into his voice. “Wait, wait, who’s there? Who’s she talking to?” He mutters to himself, wondering why the hell you can't hear his panicked voice but what he's more worried about is who you're talking to.

“I’ll text you later, okay? Maybe we can hang out again soon?” you say, keeping your tone light and playful. “Yeah, it was really great seeing you. I’ll talk to you later!”

By now, Lando’s freaking out. He’s still staring at the phone screen, but you can see the uncertainty and jealousy building. He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a nervous laugh. “Okay, this can’t be real. Am I being punked or something? Who the hell are you talking to?” He leans in closer, almost yelling now. “Babe! Hello! Can you hear me?!”

You pretend not to hear him and keep talking to the imaginary guy. “Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow. Can’t wait.”

He finally breaks, face twisting into disbelief, and he throws his hands in the air. “Are you serious right now? Who the hell is this guy?!” His voice cracks, and he’s clearly spiralling at this point. “Babe! BABE! Who are you talking to?! Are you with someone else?!” He’s practically on the edge of his seat, completely panicking.

You can’t hold back anymore and burst out laughing, picking up the phone.

Lando’s eyes are wild as he sees you finally holding the phone properly. “Wait… what? What’s going on? Who are you—” He stops mid-sentence as he realises you’re laughing, and it slowly dawns on him. “Oh my god.” He slumps back in his chair, groaning dramatically. “Noooo, don’t tell me this was a prank!”

Still laughing, you nod. “Yep! You got butt-dialed, babe.”

His face is still frozen in disbelief. “Are you joking right now?” he asks, his voice going up an octave. His hand is over his chest like he’s trying to calm his racing heart. “You seriously just made me think you were talking to another guy?”

“Uh-huh,” you reply, barely holding back more laughter.

He leans closer to the screen, his eyes wide. “I’m literally sweating! My heart was in my throat, and you were over here just… casually chatting with some ‘guy.’” His voice cracks a little as he says “guy,” and his dramatic reaction makes you laugh harder.

“Oh, come on, it was just a little prank,” you tease.

Lando shakes his head, looking somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Little prank? I was literally about to start a fight with the air! I’ve never been so confused in my life!” He lets out a long, dramatic sigh, slumping back in his chair. “I’m in shambles right now. I’ve been emotionally attacked.”

You try to stop giggling, but his over-the-top reaction just keeps it going. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give you a heart attack!”

“Too late,” he says with mock seriousness. “The damage is done. I might need to lie down after this.” He pauses, staring at you with narrowed eyes, a small smirk forming on his lips. “You owe me big time.”

You roll your eyes, still smiling. “Oh, really? And what exactly do I owe you?”

Lando crosses his arms, feigning deep thought. “Well, first off, you owe me a massive apology. And then maybe…” His eyes light up as the thought hits him. “You can take me out for a nice dinner, pay for dessert, and— oh! I’m thinking a full day of pampering.”

You laugh, raising an eyebrow. “Pampering? What do you think this is, a spa?”

He grins, leaning back in his chair and looking more relaxed now. “Hey, I deserve it after what you just put me through. I was about to show up at your place ready to fight some random guy I didn’t even know existed!”

“Alright, alright,” you say, playfully rolling your eyes again. “I’ll pamper you. But just this once!”

Lando’s grin grows wider. “Deal. But I’m definitely getting you back for this, by the way. Just so you know.”

You can’t help but laugh at his scheming. “I’d expect nothing less from you.”

He tilts his head, his eyes softening slightly. “But seriously, don’t scare me like that again, okay? My poor heart can’t take it.” His voice drops into a teasing whine, but there’s a touch of genuine relief there too.

You smile, feeling a little guilty now. “I promise, no more butt-dial pranks.”

Lando sighs in mock relief, then grins. “Good. Now that we’ve got that settled, I’m expecting that pampering session to start soon. I’m thinking back rubs and snacks. Lots of snacks.”

You shake your head with a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it,” he says cheekily, winking at you.

★ LEWIS HAMILTON

It’s late in the evening, you’re lounging on the couch, scrolling through social media when a mischievous idea pops into your head: prank Lewis. It’s been a long week for him, and you know he’s probably relaxing after a day full of meetings and training. That makes it the perfect time to catch him off guard.

Picking up your phone, you set it on the couch beside you, face down, so it looks like a genuine mistake. Then, with one quick swipe, you FaceTime him. The phone rings a few times before Lewis picks up. You can see from the tiny preview screen that he’s in the hotel, leaning back in his chair, probably unwinding after the busy day he's had.

At first, he looks confused when he sees the camera pointing at your ceiling. “Babe?” he calls out, his voice soft and curious. “Did you call me?”

You ignore his soft voice, pretending you don’t realise you’ve called him. Instead, you start the staged conversation with your "friend” who really just is an unbothered Roscoe, who's resting by your feet and not paying much attention to anything.

“I don’t know, I just feel like things with Lewis aren’t working anymore,” you say with a sigh, making your voice sound hesitant, like you’re deep in thought.

On the other end, you can hear Lewis pause, his confusion evident as he watches the ceiling of your living room on the screen. “Wait, what? Did I just hear that right?” he mumbles, his voice soft but tinged with concern.

You continue, not responding to him, staying in character, “It’s just been really hard lately. Like, I know he cares about me, but it feels like we’re growing apart, you know?” You make your voice sound vulnerable, as if you’re spilling your deepest thoughts to this imaginary friend.

Lewis sits up straighter, his face showing a mix of confusion and worry now. He leans toward the screen, trying to get your attention. “Babe? What’s going on? Who are you talking to?” His voice is still calm, but there’s a note of urgency creeping in.

You keep the fake conversation going, pushing it a little further. “I mean, I love him, but sometimes love isn’t enough. We’re just in different places, and I don’t know if we’re going to make it.”

Your boyfriend’s eyes widen and he rubs a hand over his face, his composure starting to slip as the weight of your words sinks in. “Wait, hold on, what are you talking about? You don’t think we’re gonna make it? Babe, what’s happening?” His voice is louder now, more strained, and you can see the confusion and hurt beginning to cloud his expression.

You almost put a stop to your prank right there, but you decide to push through. So, you ignore him, still talking to your imaginary friend, “I’ve been thinking about ending things for a while, but it’s just so hard. He’s so sweet, and I don’t want to hurt him, but I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine.”

Lewis blinks, and you can see him processing your words, his heart clearly sinking. His mouth opens slightly, but he’s struggling to find the right thing to say. “No, no, this can’t be real,” he whispers to himself, shaking his head.

You glance at the screen briefly, seeing the growing panic in his eyes, but you push the prank a bit further. “Yeah, I’m going to talk to him soon. I just hope he understands.” You add a small, fake sigh. “I don’t want to hurt him, but I don’t think we’re right for each other anymore.”

He lets out a shaky breath, his calm exterior cracking even more. “Babe, talk to me. What’s going on? Is this how you really feel?” He’s practically pleading now, his voice full of emotion. You can see the vulnerability in his eyes as he tries to make sense of everything.

Finally, unable to hold it together any longer, you burst out laughing and grab the phone. “Oh my god, Lewis, it’s a prank!”

For a moment, Lewis just stares at you, blinking in complete disbelief. Then, slowly, realisation dawns, and he lets out a long, exasperated sigh, slumping back in his chair. “No way… are you serious? You were just messing with me?”

You nod, still laughing. “Yeah, there’s no friend. I wasn’t talking about breaking up with you. I’m so sorry, my love!”

He rubs his face with both hands, trying to process everything. “Wow… okay, you really got me.” He exhales sharply, clearly relieved but still a bit shaken. “I thought I was about to lose you here. My heart was racing.”

“I’m sorry!” you say, giggling. “I didn’t mean to freak you out that much, I swear.”

He chuckles softly, though you can see the relief still lingering on his face. “You really had me going, babe. I didn’t know what to think.” He pauses, then looks at you with a mix of amusement and reproach. “I was ready to drop everything and come find you.”

You grin, feeling a little bad now that you can see how worried he really was. “I didn’t mean to push it that far! It was just supposed to be a little prank.”

Lewis shakes his head with a smile, the tension starting to fade. “Alright, alright. It’s all good. You got me. But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook so easily.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s my punishment?”

He leans back, crossing his arms with a playful smirk. “I’m not sure yet, but I’m definitely getting you back for this. And trust me, when I do, you’ll never see it coming.” His eyes glint with mischief, though there’s still that hint of vulnerability lingering in his expression.

You laugh, still feeling a bit guilty for putting him through that emotional rollercoaster. “Fair enough, I’ll be ready for whatever you’ve got planned.”

He chuckles, his smile softening. “Just… no more pranks like that, alright? You really freaked me out.” His voice lowers, and you can tell he means it.

You nod, giving him an apologetic smile. “I promise, no more fake breakups.”

Lewis grins, though his eyes are still warm with lingering emotion. “Good. Because if we’re going to have a serious conversation, I’d rather it be in person.” He winks, his usual calm confidence starting to return.

“Deal,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes, relieved that he’s taking it so well.

He sighs dramatically, then chuckles. “You’re lucky I love you, babe. Because if anyone else tried that on me…” He trails off with a smirk, but you know he means it.

“I know, I know. You’re the best,” you tease, still smiling.

“Yeah, don’t forget it,” he says, his voice light, but you can tell he’s glad the whole thing was just a joke.

★ MAX VERSTAPPEN

Max’s phone buzzes with a FaceTime call, and he glances at the screen, seeing your name pop up. It’s unusual for you to call directly; you typically prefer texting or face-to-face conversations. So, he’s immediately curious about what might be urgent enough to warrant a call.

You place your phone face down on the couch and dial Max’s number. The phone rings a few times before he picks up, his face appearing on the screen. He’s clearly winding down after a long day, his hair slightly tousled and a relaxed look on his face.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asks casually. You can see he’s expecting a normal call.

Instead of responding, you start chatting as if you’re talking to someone else. “Yeah, it was great seeing you tonight. I didn’t expect to have such a good time.” You add a flirty tone to your voice, trying to sound casual.

At first, Max stays silent, his expression shifting from relaxed to puzzled. After a moment, his eyes narrow, and he leans closer to the screen. “Who are you talking to?” His voice is direct, with a calm demeanour that contrasts the intensity in his eyes.

You continue with the prank, keeping up the pretence. “I know, right? It’s been so long since we’ve had a chance to hang out like this.” You give a small, playful laugh.

Max’s face tightens slightly, and he sits up straight, clearly not pleased. “Seriously, who is that? Who are you talking to?” His tone is calm but authoritative.

“I’m glad we could hang out,” you say softly, using the same voice you use when you want to sweeten Max. It’s a tone reserved only for him, and that only makes him more frustrated.

He watches you intently, his patience wearing thin. “I’m not playing games. Are you going to tell me who this is or not?”

You can see his frustration building as he waits for a response. When you don’t immediately answer, he makes a decisive move. “You know what? I’m ending this call.” He starts to hang up, but then pauses, his eyes narrowing even more. “Actually, I’m coming over. I want to see who you’re talking to.”

Before you can react, he’s already starting to disconnect. Realising the prank might be escalating, you quickly grab the phone and try to calm him down. “Wait, Max, it’s a joke! I was just messing with you!”

Max freezes mid-disconnect, his eyes widening with a mix of relief and disbelief. He straightens up, a sarcastic grin spreading across his face. “Oh, a joke? Perfect timing. I was just about to come over and give your ‘mystery guy’ a piece of my mind. You know, because clearly, he needed a crash course on what it means to mess with my girlfriend.”

You burst out laughing, trying to explain yourself. “I’m really sorry, Max. I didn’t think it would get this intense.”

He rolls his eyes dramatically, still grinning. “Yeah, because nothing says ‘I’m just kidding’ like a full-blown emotional crisis. I’m sure your ‘mystery guy’ would’ve been thrilled to meet the real Max Verstappen, all dressed up for a confrontation.”

You giggle, feeling a bit sheepish. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far. I just thought it would be a harmless prank.”

Max raises an eyebrow, his sarcasm in full swing. “Oh, of course, harmless. I mean, who needs peace of mind when you’ve got surprise pranks, right?”

You laugh, trying to diffuse the situation. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll make sure to keep my pranks a bit less intense next time.”

He smirks, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Unless you want me to come over and give you a live demonstration of what happens when you prank a racing driver. Spoiler alert: It involves a lot of very fast revenge.”

“Noted,” you say with a grin. “I promise, no more surprise drama.”

Max chuckles, his sarcasm giving way to genuine amusement. “Good. Because I was about to start practising my ‘disappointed boyfriend’ speech. And trust me, it’s a work of art.”

You laugh again, feeling relieved that he’s taking it well. “I’ll avoid any more pranks that might warrant a speech.”

“Perfect. Now, let’s talk about something less dramatic— like how you’re going to make it up to me. And I don’t mean another prank.”

You laugh, ready to move on from the prank. “I’ve got just the thing. No more surprises, I promise.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Good. And remember, I’m always keeping an eye out for any more ‘mysterious’ calls.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say with a laugh.

★ OSCAR PIASTRI

You’re feeling cheeky and decide to pull a prank on your boyfriend by pretending to butt dial him. You carefully set up your phone, ensuring it calls Oscar automatically. You place the phone on a table and begin your act, speaking loudly enough for him to hear clearly through the call.

You make sure to put on a show, talking loudly enough that Oscar will definitely hear it. As soon as he picks up, you begin your “conversation.”

“Oh hey! So glad you called,” you start, making your voice bright and cheerful as if you’ve been waiting for this call. “I just have to tell you, last night was absolutely amazing!”

Oscar, on the other end of the call, answers with his usual calm demeanour. He sees your name on the screen and answers with a mix of curiosity and amusement. His face remains composed, but you can sense him starting to analyse the situation. He listens intently, trying to figure out what’s happening.

“I’m so glad we got to hang out. It’s not every day you meet someone who can keep me laughing like that,” you say, your tone warm and engaging. You emphasise the casual nature of the conversation, hoping to make your boyfriend think it’s a genuine chat.

Oscar’s gaze is fixed on the screen, his eyes narrowing slightly as he listens. He remains eerily quiet, giving you the sense that he’s deep in thought, piecing together the details of your conversation. His face is a mask of calm curiosity, but there’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

“Absolutely, we need to do it again soon. How about dinner tomorrow? I’ll text you the details,” you continue, maintaining the pretence. You keep your tone light and breezy, almost as if the conversation is too engaging for you to notice his reaction.

Oscar’s smirk starts to form, his mind piecing together the clues. He leans back slightly in his chair, his composure unshaken. He’s clearly caught on to the prank, but he maintains his cool, waiting for the right moment to reveal his awareness.

“I hope you’re done with your other conversation,” he finally says, his voice smooth and collected. “We can talk later when you’re free from your… other commitments.” His calm tone and subtle smirk indicate he’s caught on, but he’s letting you have your fun for now.

You immediatly start laughing, realising that Oscar has seen right through your prank. “I didn’t expect you to catch on so quickly!”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying the reveal. “I had a feeling something was off, your conversation was a bit too perfect.” He gives you a playful wink. “Nice try, though. I have to admit, you had me intrigued for a moment there.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” you say, still grinning. “I was hoping to give you a little challenge.”

He leans back in his chair, his smile broadening. “Challenge accepted. You managed to get a rise out of me, which is no easy feat. But now that I’m in on the joke, I’m planning my own comeback.” His tone is light-hearted but filled with a hint of mischief.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” you say, still grinning. “I was hoping to give you a little challenge.”

His smirk widens into a charming grin. “Challenge accepted,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with playful mischief. “But since you managed to prank me, I think it’s only fair that I get to return the favour.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by his confident tone. “Oh, really? And what do you have in mind for your comeback?”

Oscar leans in a bit closer, his gaze softening. “Let’s just say that next time we talk, I might have a surprise of my own for you. Something that’ll make your heart race in a way that’s far more thrilling than any prank.” He gives you a knowing look, his voice lowering to a teasing whisper. “I’m all about keeping things exciting.”

Your heart flutters at the flirtatious undertone in his voice. “Is that so? I’ll have to be extra vigilant then. I wouldn’t want you to catch me off guard again.”

His eyes sparkle with affection. “Oh, don’t worry. I love a good challenge, especially when it means I get to see that beautiful smile of yours when you’re surprised.”

You blush a little at his words, “I might have to prank you every day if I get you this sweet after.”

“I’m alway sweet,” he teases, laughing at your flusteredness.

“Yeah, you are.”

“Anyway, are you getting home later today?” You ask, hoping to see your boyfriend after weeks of him being away.

“Yes, I’m aching to see you,” he confesses, smiling at you.

“Me too.”

“See you then, my little prankster,” Oscar says with a laugh.

You roll your eyes at the nickname but you’re endeared by it all the same. “See you soon.”

#f1 grid

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oscpiastri81 · 1 day

Text

He Cheats On You In A Dream : ̗̀➛ F1 Texts

summary: when your boyfriend cheats on you, only in a dream, you can't help but still take your anger out on him in real life too

featuring: lewis, max, lando, george, oscar, charles, carlos and daniel

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

#f1 grid

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oscpiastri81 · 2 days

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Between Us - OP81

Request from anon - Can you please write about Oscar in a secret relationship with reader and they are sneaking around only to eventually be caught? Maybe reader is the daughter of a team principle or sister of another driver?

Norris!reader

Word count: 3.1k

No part 2 requests please

Y/n would argue that Lando set this up really, but there's also a doubt in her that Lando would not actually be impressed for her to be dating a driver. Even Oscar.

So she decided it was just for the best that Lando not know and Oscar agreed it would be the right way it hand the relationship. At least for in the short term.

The only problem is they didn't agree what the short turn is vs the long term for each of them.

But so far 4 months is definitely the short term for them and they're just...sort of enjoying the secret.

"I'm enjoying you having more interest in F1." Lando comments as y/n walks into the paddock with her. "And don't say-"

"Now you're a race winner it's not embarrassing." Y/n shrugs cutting him off anyway.

Oh siblings. Charming little things.

Y/n grins at Lando as he shoots her a dirty look before finally breaking into a smile since really he expected nothing less as a reply to him.

"Anyway who says I'm here for you? Maybe I'm here for Max? Or Lewis? Or Oscar?"

"Not Carlos or Charles?" Lando hums making her grin at him. "You better be here to support McLaren."

"Sure, whatever you say." Y/n hums making him roll his eyes. "I guess I'll just have to support Oscar today then. Plans to break into Red Bull unit for free Red Bull ruined."

"I take it back I'm not enjoying you having more interest in F1 anymore." Lando states earning a small laugh from her before they walk into the McLaren unit and y/n spots Oscar who seems to always arrive before Lando and he's already settled himself down with a breakfast. "Alright, I'll see you later. I know it's hard but try not to annoy anyone."

"Asking too much." Y/n smiles as Lando kisses her cheek then jogging to his drivers room while y/n moves to grab some breakfast since the team always lets her grab some food before she decides to play into the "Lando's little sister" role and sit down next to Oscar appearing as if she's just being an annoyance towards her brother's teammate. "Hello. Alright if I join you for breakfast?"

"You look like you've already made yourself comfortable." Oscar jokes earning a small hum. "We might need to get you your own McLaren team kit at this rate."

"Oh god no. I don't think papaya is a colour I can pull off. As good as you look in it."

That earns a blush and a mini victory for her since any reaction like that from your boyfriend is a win really.

"How are you feeling about the weekend?" Y/n asks making Oscar puff out a small breath for a moment.

"Honestly, just focused on getting more wins." Oscar states earning a small nod.

"That is what you are here for I suppose." Y/n hums almost playing her role too well. "You'll definitely get more wins. I know you will."

Oscar smiles flushed again at her words and confidence in his abilities.

Lando does tend to immediately forget about the presences of his little sister, so he makes it easy for Oscar to get away with certain things.

"Are you leaving now?" Oscar asks knowing she tends to leave before either of them.

"Yeah, figured I'd beat the rush." Y/n smiles making Oscar nod before he gives her a small hug, having perfected the move of sliding his hotel room key into her bag in the process before he moves back and she gives her a wave.

"I'll see you, have a good night." Oscar nods earning a smile before she looks at him for a moment.

Y/n smiles heading out and actually being caught by Lando who does give his sister a quick hug while heading back to the McLaren unit for the team meeting.

By the time y/n gets back to the hotel and lets herself into Oscar's room she's ready to unwind. And because she actually did hit the jackpot with Oscar, she smiles seeing he laid out some clothes of his for her to wear.

She just gets changed and sighs sliding into his bed then just smells like him.

"Should I call security and say a stalker broke in?" Oscar questions making her jump and sit up from the bed. "Were you smelling the bed?"

"It smells like you." Y/n pouts earning a hum before he opens his arms and she grins standing up on the bed to climb onto the Aussie before he drops them forward.

"I hate not being able to do this whenever I want." Oscar groans then moving to kiss her while y/n grins underneath him. "But we definitely can't tell Lando."

"What did he say?"

"We did some media video. He said it'd be over his dead body he'd let you or your sisters date a driver then looking at me pointing a find and said "including you"." Oscar states earning a small pitiful laugh.

"There's no pressure about it, baby. We're hardly working on a deadline." Y/n smiles watching Oscar look up at her. "Lando doesn't have the balls to do anything when the day comes. He's just trying to play the scary older brother."

"You think he knows?"

"Lando? No. He'd confront me the moment he suspected something...he's not the brightest when it comes to catching onto things even when they are obvious. So even if we stopped hiding it so much, he'd take a while." Y/n smiles running her hand through Oscar's hair. "Even if you couldn't take him in a fight. I definitely could."

Y/n might be joking but he actually thinks that might be the truth.

"Are we just staying here for the rest of the night?" Y/n asks softly earning a huff.

"No. I need to shower and I want you in there with me."

"So demanding."

"Hey, where were you last night?" Lando asks making y/n look up from her phone since she'd beat him to the paddock.

"What do you mean? I was in the hotel." Not a lie.

"I knocked on your door to ask if you wanted to come for dinner with me and Carlos then you're nowhere to be found. Or you were ignoring your door." Lando frowns making her shrug a little.

"I thought you meant night night. In the evening I took myself out for a walk and dinner. Am I not allowed to do that?" Y/n questions making him settle a little from whatever state he'd got himself worked up to. "I know you're protective over me but I am capable of leaving the hotel in a foreign country."

"Well can you tell me next time? I do like to know that you're alright and not off being murdered somewhere or something." Lando grumbles sitting down with her. "Where did you go?"

Fuck.

"Just a sandwich shop. Then found a park to sit in and people watch." Y/n shrugs earning a small nod.

Lando ends up eating breakfast with her in the unit before heading off to do FP3 and he warns her that he wants to see her actually there in the garage since for practice she does like to keep herself in the unit to watch most of the time.

After the race weekend, y/n said her goodbyes to Oscar the morning before the race and to Lando after the race before heading to the airport for a flight back to Nice where Oscar is actually waiting for her.

When she sees him waiting in the airport carpark, y/n is actually pretty exhausted although she flew business class and was more than comfortable.

"Oh my baby." Oscar smiles picking her up as she gets to his car. "How was the flight?"

"Actually quite comfortable. I watched a movie and ate some of the food which wasn't the worst." Y/n sighs making him hum at her placing her down and beginning to pick up her luggage to put it in his car. "How was your flight?"

"It was pretty good but private jets tend to be a comfortable flight." Oscar smiles then kissing her as he wraps his arm around her closing the boot of the car lifting her slightly as he carries her to the passenger side. "I'm just happy to have you here as all mine."

Oscar isn't a man of many words but he certainly does always say the right thing to make y/n melt. It really moments like this she would love to make a post that just screams and brags about the fact her boyfriend is just the most perfect person on the planet.

"Let's get back." Oscar smiles making her nod kissing him again, still ever so slightly being held off the ground as he opens the door for her.

Mondays and Tuesdays are by far y/n's favourite days with Oscar. Especially over the summer months because she doesn't have university and Lando welcomes her to join him for races. Although a minor issue is that Oscar has invited her to join him.

"You're really going to spend the whole time at the hotel?"

"Well...not the whole time. I'll just not be at the track or around the paddock."

Oscar doesn't want to say that it means he'll be wanting to rush back to the hotel as quick and as much as possible over the weekend but it wouldn't be so bad for what he could plan for when he's in the hotel with her.

"What is that look?" Y/n frowns noticing Oscar small smirk over his thoughts.

"Nothing. Nothing. I was just thinking you could explore and do while I'm not there." Oscar shrugs as she hums then lying her head in his lap while he plays with her hair. "I have been thinking...what about we tell him at the start of the summer break."

"What tell him then leave immediately?" Y/n snorts not seeing the grin but she can sense it.

"It feels like he could use the time to cool off and we can just enjoy being together."

"Alright...on one condition."

"Anything."

"I get to soft launch us before we tell him.-Just subtly." Y/n states looking up at him earning a small smile and nod.

"You could've done that months ago. I don't know why you think you need my permission for it." Oscar laughs lightly before she shoots up.

"Really?"

"Yeah, go for it." Oscar confirms making her gasp and grin. "I don't know how you'll explain it to Lando."

"Oh please I'll put it in a photo dump. I already know he doesn't look at all of them." Y/n shrugs beginning to choose her photos.

Y/n was actually so right about Lando liking the post and not clocking on to Oscar's faceless featuring in it. And while some of his fans who follow her seemed to notice the soft launch, it didn't catch Lando's attention.

And the weekend of her hiding in the hotel did result in her being spotted by fans, but again that went under Lando's radar.

It's a couple more weeks before y/n and Oscar are due to let Lando know about the relationship but y/n can't help but continue to drop hints wondering when Lando will notice or feel that he needs to know since there's a good chance he's deciding it's just none of his business.

Just today she's posted a selfie of Oscar's hand squishing her face and his blurred face making it hard to identify him as he was moving in for a kiss. It's actually one of her favourite photos of them so of course she has to share it with the world.

Now either Lando is purpose ignoring or genuinely not looking at her social media posts because he's not said a word. Maybe he's trying to play the respectful brother role in waiting for her to tell him about her current partner.

"I think fans are going to catch on before Lando does." Y/n comments as she steps into the shower with Oscar, smiling when he immediately pulls her over closer to himself.

"You think?" Oscar hums as his warm hands hold her body gently turning her to have her back to his front.

"Oh 100%." Y/n nods the feeling of his lips just gently kissing her shoulder. "I'm beginning to think I could've hard launched us and he wouldn't have noticed."

Oscar laughs at that before pulling her under the water to get her hair wet since he does loves her hair wash days because she always lets him use her shampoos which admittedly smell nicer than his.

After the shower Oscar decides he wants to get some stuff from the shops and since Lando is in Woking, y/n doesn't need to worry about him seeing her around with Oscar.

"Sorry. I know it's rubbing it in your face that I'm doing this. But I'm buying chocolate." Y/n smiles earning a small laugh from her boyfriend.

"You get whatever you'd like. I won't be offended." Oscar assures her before noticing some young women who seem to be fans and hesitant on asking for a photo and when they do, Oscar can't possibly say no.

"I'll take it." Y/n smiles when the girls try to figure out who the appointed photographer is while Oscar shakes his head at her. There's a good chance they won't recognise her. A lot of people don't.

Y/n takes the pictures and actually captures the girls seeming to recognise her and try to figure out where they recognise her from before she hands the phone back and Oscar tells them to have a nice night. It's only when they step away that y/n hears them gasp and utter "that's Lando's sister".

"Caught." Oscar whispers to her while guiding her down another aisle.

They didn't take long to grab a few more things then heading to Oscar's apartment and setting up for binge-watching some tv show of y/n's choice because generally Oscar doesn't care so long as y/n is happy with whatever is on the tv.

Y/n is half asleep when there's a knock at the door and her head lifts at the disturbance and Oscar frowns since he's not expecting anyone which means it can only be one of his neighbours, who he hasn't had an issue with but this might be the night of change.

"I got it, you just stay here." Oscar whispers gently moving her to rest on the back of the sofa rather than on him.

Y/n curls in on herself watching Oscar with lazy eyes as he disappears but the moment heartens the front door. She is very much awake.

"Is y/n here?" Lando questions earning an immediate no since Oscar doesn't waver under pressure even when Lando looks like he might choke Oscar out. "Y/N! I know you're in there. Get here now."

Now there's two options, get up and hide or get up and face her brother. The first option might lead to Oscar being put in a more awkward situation while the second option might lead to her being dragged out of there if Lando is feeling mad enough.

In the end she decides to take the risk.

"Hey...Lando." Y/n smiles appearing admittedly not in the best way since she's adorned in Oscar's clothes and if Lando was feeling especially protective before he's definitely not happy now. "I thought you were in Woking."

"Oh so that makes this ok?" Lando questions then huffing as he looks between them. "When?"

"When?" Y/n frowns earning an eye roll. "Oh right, well about...a few months."

"Why don't you come in to talk about this?" Oscar offers making his teammate look at him sharply. "-Or stay here?"

"Lando get inside, you're being ridiculous." Y/n mutters making him step inside before Oscar closes the door feeling Lando's gaze burn through him as he walks in.

And a minute later they're all in the living room.

"So what the hell?" Lando questions earning a sigh. "No. No. You don't get to sigh at me like I'm unreasonable. You two both hid a relationship with each other from me."

"We did. But for good reason...we knew you'd freak out and we wanted to make sure it was something serious before we told you." Y/n states while Oscar lets her do the talking. "Look, you don't have to be happy but...I'm happy and you're not going to ruin this."

That makes Lando frown and she is sure he's going to argue with her but he deflates and looks at Oscar.

"If you ever upset her, I'll hit you without mercy-on track with my car." Lando threatens earning a small laugh while y/n smiles getting up and hugging her brother.

"Thank you! Thank you thank you." Y/n beams as he just grunts at her. "Alright, you need to go though because I was abut to fall asleep and it's late."

"Wow." Lando scoffs then shaking his head as he looks at Oscar. "I don't even know how to deal with that."

"Because I'm the best, now go on. You get yourself out of here." Y/n smiles patting his back. "We can talk about this at the next race weekend which I can finally attend and not pretend I hardly know Oscar."

"So now I have to witness it. It was bad enough when I caught the two of you walking around earlier."

"Oh that's how you knew? I thought it might've bene the fans who saw us. Anyway, we'll regroup at the race. For now you're kind go an unwanted third wheel."

"So rude." Lando grumbles as y/n smiles ushering her brother towards the door. "You better be keeping it all PG."

"Yeah, of course." Y/n states trying to keep her laugh at bay before Lando is finally out the door as she smiles at him.

"See you later mate.' Oscar smiles giving a wave.

"Love you, bye!" Y/n adds then closing the door and looking at Oscar. "That went fine. Could've been much worse."

"Could've been better."

"Yeah...but could've been worse." Y/n shrugs with a small smile. "Alright, baby. Bed time for us."

"I might need some time to get my heart rate to drop." Oscar jokes then picking her up as her legs wrap around his waist and groaning. "But how about we throw that PG rule out the window."

"That I can definitely get behind." Y/n giggles cupping his face while he carries her into the bedroom.

#oscar piastri

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oscpiastri81 · 2 days

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PRE SEASON INTERVIEW; op81 [smau]

nav | inbox (open) | main masterlist

a/n: gonna try really hard to post my requests! everything’s been so bleh but we’re gonna fix that! (starting with interviewer!reader bc she’s my safe space)

cw/tw: none!! lilli this is all bc of the pics you sent me 🤭

(part one | part two)

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ

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liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren and 528,296 others

yourusername ✓ i was supposed to be interviewing oscar piastri today to keep you fed with papaya content during this boring summer break. key word: supposed. he kept on running away 😕

64,625 comments…

user4 STOP THIS CANNOT BE REAL

yourusername ✓ as real as my heartache 😔

user5 bad oscar 😡

yourusername ✓ exactly 😔!!! see @/oscarpiastri 😌 they’re on my side

oscarpiastri ✓ YOU FOLLOWED ME AROUND FOR AN HOUR 💀

yourusername ✓ I WOULDNT HAVE HAD TO IF YOU JUST DID WHAT I ASKED 🙄

landonorris ✓ she crazy…

yourusername ✓ oH

landonorris ✓ um... hi

yourusername ✓ hi.

user6 LANDO RUN!!!!

landonorris ✓ 🏃💨

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oscar taglist 1 (lmk if you want to be added); @llando4norris @mharmie-formula1 @mixedribbons @formula1-motogpfan @tallrock35 @mel164 @awritingtree @littlegrapejuice @daemyratwst @sheslikeacurse @futuref1-wag @tinyhrry @lokideservesahug @ricciardonut @sumlovesjude @emryb @ems-alexandra @pausmoon @dear-fifi @silkenthusiasts @yesmanbabe @hwalllllllelujah @saachiep81 @sunlithearts @spanishcorndogs @gr1mes-cc @yukiotadako @evie-119 @kissesandmartinis @thebookbakery @merchelsea @booksandflowrs @sinfully-yoursss @gigigreens @alilstressyandlotdepressy @itsss4t4n @agmoon03 @noemidude @forza-charles @dullypully @poppysrin @1800-love-me @alilstressyandlotdepressy @bookishnerd1132 @heavy-vettel @hangingwiththestars @suns3treading @theonottsbxtch @coff33andb00ks @thebookbakery @p1astrisgirl @urfavnoirette @esposasatoru @il0vereadingstuff @op81-ln4 @ravisinghs-wife

#oscar piastri smau

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oscpiastri81 · 2 days

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Wild Goose Chase

Oscar Piastri x soulmate!Reader

Summary: in which Oscar is terrorized by the soulmate goose of enforcement … until he runs into you (literally)

Oscar Piastri is not one to get flustered. It’s kind of his thing — cool under pressure, calm in the face of chaos, composed when the world around him loses its mind. But right now, he’s seconds away from losing his.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters under his breath, scanning the area around the paddock, eyes darting from side to side.

The coast looks clear, but Oscar knows better by now. The stupid goose is lurking somewhere, probably eyeing him like he’s the world’s most wanted criminal. He barely makes it five steps before he hears the familiar, grating honk.

“Oh, come on!” Oscar yelps, whirling around to face the persistent bird. Sure enough, there it is, waddling towards him like it owns the place, beady eyes fixed on him with the intensity of a predator stalking its prey. “What do you want from me?”

The goose doesn’t answer, obviously. It just keeps coming, wings fluttering slightly as if gearing up to make his life a living hell for the umpteenth time that day. Oscar takes a cautious step back, then another, but the bird matches his pace, honking louder, as if it’s mocking him.

“This is ridiculous,” he mumbles, glancing around for any sign of help. But the paddock is nearly deserted — most of the crew are inside, probably watching the CCTV footage of his latest goose chase and having a good laugh at his expense. He sighs, resignation settling in as the goose inches closer, its beak snapping in a way that’s far more menacing than it has any right to be.

“Fine, you win,” Oscar concedes, hands held up in surrender. “But you’re not biting me again.”

He takes off, jogging towards the gate that leads out of the paddock, hoping to shake the bird off. It’s a fool’s hope, really. The goose gives chase, honking triumphantly as it gains on him. Oscar barely makes it through the gate before the bird nips at his ankles, forcing him into a full-on sprint down the sidewalk.

“I don’t even know where I’m going!” He shouts over his shoulder, like that might actually make the goose reconsider its life choices. It doesn’t. Of course, it doesn’t. The bird just keeps at it, relentless as ever, as if this is its sole mission in life.

Oscar rounds a corner, nearly colliding with a group of tourists who scatter like pigeons at the sight of the manic goose. He mutters an apology, hardly slowing down as he bolts across the street, narrowly avoiding a car. The goose, undeterred by traffic, flies over the vehicle and lands in front of him, honking like it’s conducting some kind of victory parade.

“Alright, alright, I get it! Just leave me alone!” Oscar’s practically pleading now, breath coming in short bursts as he darts into a nearby alleyway, hoping to lose the bird in the maze of narrow streets. But the goose follows, nipping at his heels like a relentless shadow.

He’s so busy looking back at the bird that he doesn’t notice you — at least not until he crashes into you, the impact sending you both sprawling to the ground. Time seems to slow as he twists mid-air, instinctively trying to cushion your fall with his own body. He hits the pavement first, the breath knocked out of him as you land on top of him in a tangle of limbs.

“Ow,” you groan, pushing yourself up on your elbows, blinking down at him in confusion. “What the hell was that?”

Oscar’s too winded to answer immediately. He blinks up at you, dazed, trying to process what just happened. The goose, victorious, waddles in front of you both, honking one last time before it saunters off as if it has better things to do.

“Did … did that goose just attack you?” You ask, incredulity coloring your voice as you roll off him and sit up.

Oscar finally catches his breath, nodding as he pushes himself into a sitting position beside you. “Yeah,” he pants, running a hand through his hair. “That’s … been happening a lot, actually.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed. “Seriously?”

“Unfortunately,” he replies, shooting the retreating goose a glare. “It’s like it has some kind of vendetta against me.”

You can’t help it — you laugh. It’s a startled, slightly hysterical sound, but it quickly turns into something genuine as you take in the absurdity of the situation. Oscar joins in, the tension in his shoulders easing as the laughter bubbles up between you.

“This is so weird,” you say, shaking your head as the laughter dies down. “I’ve never heard of a goose doing that before.”

“Neither have I,” Oscar agrees, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “But here we are.”

There’s a beat of silence as you both catch your breath, the ridiculousness of the situation settling in. Finally, you look at him, curiosity shining in your eyes. “So … what’s your deal? Did you, like, offend the goose gods or something?”

Oscar chuckles, shaking his head. “Not that I know of. I’m just trying to do my job, and that bird’s decided it doesn’t like me.”

“And what’s your job?” You ask, genuinely curious now. “Are you, like, a bird whisperer or something?”

He laughs again, this time a bit more ruefully. “No, nothing like that. I’m a driver. For McLaren.”

You blink, clearly not recognizing the name. “Is that, like, a taxi service?”

Oscar blinks back at you, momentarily stunned into silence. “No, it’s … it’s Formula 1. Racing.”

Your eyes widen in realization. “Oh! Right, that makes sense. Sorry, I don’t really follow sports.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, waving off your apology with a grin. “Most people don’t get chased by geese for a living.”

You smile at that, the tension between you easing into something more comfortable. “So, what brings you here, then? Besides being terrorized by a bird, I mean.”

“Just in town for a race,” he replies, glancing around as if the goose might come back at any moment. “But, uh, I didn’t expect my biggest challenge this weekend to be a goose.”

You laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this is happening right now. You’re probably the last person I’d expect to crash into on a random street.”

“Believe me, the feeling’s mutual,” Oscar says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But, I guess if I had to crash into someone, I’m glad it was you.”

You raise an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk playing on your lips. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Oscar opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, the goose makes a reappearance, honking loudly as it charges at him again. His eyes widen in alarm, and he scrambles to his feet, pulling you up with him. “Because you might be able to help me get rid of this thing!”

You yelp in surprise as he grabs your hand, dragging you along as he takes off down the street. The goose gives chase once more, honking furiously as it flaps its wings in a bid to catch up.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” You shout, barely keeping pace with him as he pulls you around a corner.

“Not a clue!” Oscar admits, breathless but grinning as he glances back at you. “But it’s either this or let the goose win!”

You can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation catching up to you again. “Okay, okay, I’m in! Let’s outsmart this goose!”

You round another corner together, darting into a small park in the hopes of losing the bird in the greenery. The goose, however, is nothing if not persistent, and it’s not long before it spots you again, honking in triumph as it barrels towards you both.

“Any bright ideas?” You ask, glancing around frantically for an escape route.

Oscar scans the park, his mind racing. “There!” He says, pointing towards a small, man-made pond. “If we can get across that bridge, maybe we can lose it in the water.”

You nod, and the two of you take off towards the pond, the goose hot on your heels. As you reach the bridge, Oscar lets go of your hand, urging you to go first.

“Ladies first!” He shouts, grinning despite the situation.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as you sprint across the bridge. Oscar follows close behind, and for a moment, it seems like the plan might work. But then the goose decides it’s had enough of running and takes flight, swooping low over the water and landing directly in front of you on the other side of the bridge.

“Seriously?” You exclaim, skidding to a halt as the bird blocks your path, its beady eyes glinting with what can only be described as malicious glee.

Oscar stops short beside you, hands on his knees as he catches his breath. “Okay, new plan,” he says between gasps for air. “We … we try to reason with it.”

You stare at him like he’s lost his mind. “Reason with a goose? Are you for real?”

“Do you have a better idea?” He shoots back, straightening up and taking a cautious step forward. “Hey, uh, Mr. Goose? We, uh, we come in peace. There’s no need for any more … biting or chasing or-” He flinches as the goose lets out a loud, aggressive honk, cutting him off mid-sentence.

You try not to laugh, but a snort escapes anyway, earning you a sidelong glance from Oscar. “I’m just saying,” you whisper, “this is probably the weirdest thing I’ve ever been a part of.”

“You and me both,” he mutters, still watching the goose warily. “Okay, new plan … again.”

“Run?” You suggest, but there’s no real conviction in your voice. It’s clear neither of you has much hope of outrunning the bird, especially now that it’s in full attack mode.

“Actually, I was thinking maybe we just …” Oscar hesitates, then sighs, “Sit down.”

“Sit down?” You’re incredulous, but he’s already lowering himself to the grass, crossing his legs like he’s about to meditate. The goose, now only a few feet away, seems puzzled by this new development. It tilts its head to the side, honking softly, almost as if it’s confused.

“Worth a try,” Oscar says, motioning for you to sit beside him. “I have no idea if this will work, but we’ve tried everything else.”

You give him a skeptical look but eventually lower yourself beside him, crossing your legs and mirroring his posture. The goose blinks, looking between the two of you, as if it’s trying to figure out what the catch is.

For a moment, nothing happens. The three of you sit there, locked in a bizarre standoff, with you and Oscar on one side and the goose on the other. Then, to your surprise, the bird takes a cautious step forward. Then another. And another, until it’s standing right in front of you both, its head tilted as if it’s studying you.

“What now?” You whisper, barely daring to breathe.

“I don’t know,” Oscar admits, his voice just as low. “Maybe … maybe it just wanted us to stop running.”

You exchange a glance, both of you too stunned to do much more than sit there and wait for whatever’s going to happen next. The goose seems to consider you for a long moment before it lets out a soft honk — nothing like the aggressive sounds from earlier. Then, with a final bob of its head, it turns and waddles away, disappearing into the bushes on the other side of the pond.

“Did that just happen?” You ask, still half-expecting the bird to reappear and resume its attack.

Oscar blinks, as if coming out of a daze. “I think … I think it gave up.”

You look at him, and then suddenly the absurdity of it all hits you like a tidal wave. You laugh, loud and unrestrained, doubling over as the stress and tension of the chase evaporate. Oscar joins in, his laughter rich and full, and before you know it, you’re both lying back on the grass, staring up at the sky, tears streaming down your faces.

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” Oscar says between fits of laughter, his voice filled with disbelief.

“Neither can I,” you manage to gasp out, wiping away the tears from your eyes. “What even was that? I feel like I’m in some kind of weird dream.”

“Tell me about it,” Oscar says, finally catching his breath. “I’ve faced some crazy stuff on the track, but this … this takes the cake.”

You both lie there in silence for a moment, the sky above you turning a soft shade of orange as the sun begins to set. The chaos of the day feels far away now, replaced by a strange sense of peace that settles over you both.

“I’m glad I crashed into you,” Oscar says suddenly, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

You turn your head to look at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nods, his eyes still on the sky. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I could’ve done without the goose situation, but … I don’t know. Maybe it was worth it.”

You smile, a warmth spreading through your chest. “I guess if a goose had to chase you down, it’s kind of nice that it led you here.”

“To you,” he adds, his eyes meeting yours, something unspoken passing between you.

The air between you shifts, the playful banter from earlier giving way to something more serious, more charged. For a moment, neither of you says anything, just holding each other’s gaze as the reality of what’s happened settles in.

“Do you think …” you start, then hesitate, unsure of how to put it into words. “Do you think the goose was trying to, I don’t know, tell us something?”

Oscar chuckles softly, but there’s a seriousness in his eyes as he nods. “Maybe. I mean, it’s a pretty crazy thought, but after everything that just happened … I don’t know. It’s almost like it was trying to push us together.”

“Like fate or something?” You suggest, half-joking, but there’s a hint of curiosity in your voice.

“Yeah,” Oscar agrees, the word hanging in the air between you, heavy with meaning. “Like fate.”

Another silence falls, this one filled with unspoken possibilities. Then, slowly, Oscar reaches out, his fingers brushing yours. It’s a small gesture, tentative, but it sends a jolt of electricity through you.

“Maybe this is going to sound weird,” he says, his voice a little unsteady, “but I feel like I’ve been looking for something — or someone — for a long time. And today … I don’t know, it feels like maybe I found it.”

You swallow, your heart pounding in your chest. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, like he’s seeing you — really seeing you — for the first time. And it makes you wonder if maybe he’s right. Maybe all of this wasn’t just random. Maybe the goose, as ridiculous as it sounds, was trying to show you both something that you wouldn’t have seen otherwise.

“I think maybe I have too,” you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar’s eyes light up at your words, and he squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that’s both comforting and intimate. The connection between you is undeniable, and for the first time all day, the world feels like it’s stopped spinning out of control.

“So what now?” You ask, a small smile playing on your lips.

“Well,” Oscar says, a grin spreading across his face, “how about we get out of here? Maybe go somewhere the goose can’t follow us.”

You laugh, nodding in agreement as you both stand up, brushing the grass from your clothes. “I like that idea.”

Oscar doesn’t let go of your hand as you start to walk away from the park, the warmth of his palm against yours sending a thrill through you. As you leave the park behind, you glance back over your shoulder one last time, half-expecting to see the goose watching you, but it’s nowhere to be seen.

Maybe it’s gone for good. Or maybe it’s just done what it needed to do — bringing you and Oscar together in the most bizarre, unexpected way imaginable.

“So,” you say as you walk side by side, your steps in sync, “where do we go from here?”

Oscar looks at you, his smile soft and genuine. “Wherever we want.”

And just like that, the world feels right again.

#oscar piastri

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oscpiastri81 · 3 days

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Unfinished Business

Ghost!Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: you arrive in Monaco expecting a once-in-a-lifetime vacation and you certainly get one — a fairytale romance with a Monegasque Prince … from the late 19th century

The gentle hum of a luxury sedan fades as you and your three best friends step out onto the sun-drenched streets of Monaco. The air is thick with anticipation and the salty tang of the Mediterranean. Your eyes widen as they trace the elegant facade of the Palais Grimaldi, its pale stone walls gleaming in the afternoon light.

“I still can’t believe we’re actually here,” Mia breathes, her voice tinged with awe. “An all-expenses-paid trip to Monaco? It feels like a dream.”

You nod, unable to tear your gaze from the intricate architecture. “It’s even more beautiful than the pictures,” you murmur.

Zoe hefts her designer luggage. “Well, ladies, shall we see if the inside is as impressive as the outside?”

As your group approaches the grand entrance, a smartly dressed concierge greets you with a warm smile. “Welcome to the Palais Grimaldi. You must be our contest winners. We’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

“That’s us!” Olivia chirps, practically bouncing with excitement. “I’m Olivia, and these are Mia, Zoe, and Y/N.”

The concierge, whose name tag reads ‘Philippe,’ bows slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your suite.”

As you trail behind Philippe through opulent hallways adorned with priceless art and glittering chandeliers, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve stepped into another world — or perhaps another time. The weight of history presses in around you, whispering secrets from centuries past.

“The Palais Grimaldi has quite a storied past,” Philippe explains as he leads you up a sweeping marble staircase. “It’s been home to Monaco’s ruling family for over 700 years.”

“700 years?” You echo, your mind reeling at the concept. “That’s incredible. Has it been a hotel for long?”

Philippe chuckles. “Oh no, mademoiselle. The palace only opened its doors to the public a few years ago. It’s still used for official state functions, but the family decided to share its beauty with the world.”

Mia leans in close, her voice low. “I bet these walls have seen some scandalous things over the centuries.”

“More than you can imagine,” Philippe says with a wink. “If these walls could talk ...”

As you reach the top of the stairs, a long corridor stretches before you, lined with ornate doors. Philippe stops before one and produces an old-fashioned key with a flourish. “Your suite, ladies.”

The door swings open, revealing a space that takes your breath away. Soaring ceilings, silk wallpaper, and antique furnishings create an atmosphere of timeless luxury.

“Holy. Crap.” Zoe’s usual composure cracks as she takes in the opulence. “This is insane.”

Olivia immediately flops onto one of the plush sofas. “I’m never leaving. You’ll have to drag me out kicking and screaming when the week is up.”

You wander to one of the tall windows, mesmerized by the view of the sparkling Mediterranean. “I can’t believe we get to stay here for a whole week.”

Philippe clears his throat. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Your luggage will be brought up shortly. Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything at all.”

As the door closes behind him, your friends erupt into excited chatter.

“Did you see the size of that bathroom?” Mia gushes. “The tub is practically a swimming pool!”

Zoe is already examining the ornate writing desk. “Look at this. It’s probably worth more than my entire apartment.”

You run your hand along the silk-covered walls, feeling a strange thrill as your fingers trace the intricate patterns. “It’s like stepping back in time,” you murmur.

Olivia bounces on the bed, giggling. “Well, I for one plan to enjoy every modern amenity this place has to offer. Who’s up for raiding the mini bar?”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a whirlwind of unpacking, exploring every nook and cranny of your suite, and planning your itinerary for the week ahead.

As evening falls, you find yourself drawn back to the window. The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues of pink and gold. The principality below comes alive with twinkling lights, promising endless possibilities.

“Earth to Y/N!” Mia’s voice breaks through your reverie. “We’re thinking of heading down to the hotel restaurant for dinner. You in?”

You turn from the window, smiling at your friends. “Absolutely. Just let me freshen up a bit.”

In the bathroom, you splash some water on your face and reapply your lipstick. As you study your reflection in the ornate mirror, a strange sensation washes over you — almost as if someone is watching. You shake your head, dismissing the feeling as jetlag-induced imagination.

Rejoining your friends, you make your way down to the restaurant. The maître d’ leads you to a table with a stunning view of the moonlit gardens.

“I propose a toast,” Zoe says, raising her glass of champagne. “To friendship, adventure, and a week we’ll never forget!”

You clink glasses, the bubbles tickling your nose as you sip. As your friends chatter excitedly about their plans for tomorrow, your gaze drifts to the gardens below. For a moment, you could swear you see a figure in old-fashioned dress moving among the hedges. You blink, and the apparition vanishes.

“Y/N? Hello? Anyone home?” Olivia waves her hand in front of your face.

You snap back to attention. “Sorry, what?”

“I was asking what you wanted to do first tomorrow. Beach or shopping?”

You consider for a moment. “Actually, I was thinking about taking a tour of the palace. I’d love to learn more about its history.”

Mia grins. “Ooh, good call. Maybe we’ll run into a handsome prince.”

You laugh, but something in your chest flutters at the thought. “I don’t think that’s very likely.”

As the evening wears on and the wine flows freely, you find your thoughts continually drifting back to the palace and its centuries of secrets. By the time you return to your suite, a pleasant exhaustion has settled over you.

You bid your friends goodnight and curl up in your luxurious bed, the Egyptian cotton sheets cool against your skin. As you drift off to sleep, the last thing you see is the moonlight streaming through the window, casting ethereal shadows on the walls.

In your dreams, you wander the halls of the palace. Everything is hazy, like looking through frosted glass. You turn a corner and come face to face with a young man dressed in 19th-century finery. His eyes, a startling shade of green, seem to pierce right through you.

He opens his mouth as if to speak, but no sound comes out. A profound sadness radiates from him, tugging at your heart. You reach out, wanting to comfort him, but your hand passes through him like smoke.

You jolt awake, heart racing. The room is bathed in the soft glow of pre-dawn light. You sit up, running a hand through your tousled hair.

“What was that?” You whisper to the empty room.

As the sun begins to peek over the horizon, you can’t shake the feeling that your dream was more than just a product of your imagination. Something about this place, about that mysterious figure, calls to you in a way you can’t explain.

You slip out of bed and pad to the window, watching as Monaco comes to life below. Whatever secrets the Palais Grimaldi holds, you’re determined to uncover them. Little do you know, this is just the beginning of an adventure that will change your life forever.

***

The Monégasque sun beats down relentlessly as you and your friends lounge by the hotel’s exclusive rooftop pool. The glittering Mediterranean stretches out before you, a canvas of blue punctuated by gleaming white yachts.

“Now this is what I call a vacation,” Mia sighs contentedly, adjusting her oversized sunglasses.

Zoe nods in agreement, not looking up from her book. “I could get used to this kind of luxury.”

You smile and close your eyes, trying to focus on the warmth of the sun and the gentle lapping of the pool water. But there’s a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can’t shake off.

Olivia notices your furrowed brow. “Y/N, what’s up? You look like you’re solving world hunger over there.”

You hesitate, unsure how to explain the strange occurrences of the past few days. “It’s nothing, really. I just ... have you guys noticed anything weird happening in the palace?”

Mia perks up, always ready for gossip. “Weird how?”

“Well ...” you start, then falter. How can you describe the way your hairbrush moved across the dresser on its own? Or the whispers you heard in the empty library? “It’s going to sound crazy, but I think there might be something ... supernatural going on.”

There’s a moment of silence before Olivia bursts out laughing. “Supernatural? Come on, Y/N. I know you’ve always been into that ghost hunter stuff, but this is a five-star hotel, not a haunted house.”

Zoe looks up from her book, her expression skeptical. “Are you sure you’re not just jet-lagged? Or maybe it’s all that rich food we’ve been eating.”

You feel a flush creeping up your neck. “I know how it sounds, but I swear, strange things keep happening. Last night, I saw a man’s reflection in the mirror, but when I turned around, no one was there.”

Mia sits up, suddenly interested. “Ooh, was he hot?”

“Mia!” Zoe admonishes, but there’s a hint of amusement in her voice.

You sigh, realizing how ridiculous you must sound. “Never mind. You’re probably right, it’s just my imagination running wild.”

But as the day wears on, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. Every shadow seems to hold a secret, every creaking floorboard a whispered message.

That night, as your friends snore softly in their beds, you find yourself wide awake, staring at the ornate ceiling. The moonlight filtering through the curtains casts eerie shadows on the walls, and the silence of the night seems to pulse with an otherworldly energy.

Unable to bear it any longer, you slip out of bed and into a robe. Your bare feet are silent on the plush carpet as you make your way to the door. You pause, hand on the doorknob, heart racing. Are you really going to do this?

Taking a deep breath, you step out into the dimly lit hallway. The palace is different at night, the opulence muted, shadows deepening the corners. You walk aimlessly, letting your instincts guide you through the maze-like corridors.

As you round a corner, a chill runs down your spine. At the end of the hallway, you see a figure. It’s only for a split second before it vanishes around the next bend, but you’re certain it was the same man you saw in the mirror.

“Wait!” You call out, breaking into a run. You turn the corner, but the hallway is empty.

Breathing heavily, you lean against the wall. “I’m losing my mind,” you mutter to yourself.

“I can assure you, mademoiselle, that your mind is quite intact.”

You whirl around, heart leaping into your throat. There, standing before you, is the man from your dreams and glimpses.

He’s of average height, with wavy dark hair and piercing green eyes. His clothes are old-fashioned — a tailored suit that wouldn’t look out of place in the late 19th century. But the most shocking thing is that you can see right through him to the painting on the wall behind.

You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. The ghost — because what else could he be — holds up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Please, do not be afraid. I mean you no harm.”

His voice is gentle, with a slight accent you can’t quite place. Despite your terror, you find yourself oddly calmed by his presence.

“Who ... what are you?” You manage to whisper.

The ghost bows slightly. “I am Prince Charles of Monaco, at your service. Or at least, I was Prince Charles. Now, I’m not entirely sure what I am.”

You blink, trying to process this information. “Prince Charles? But that’s impossible. The current Prince of Monaco is Albert.”

Charles smiles sadly. “You are correct. I’m afraid my time as prince was cut rather short. I died in 1894.”

“1894,” you repeat, feeling light-headed. “So you’re ... a ghost?”

“It would appear so, yes.” Charles looks down at his translucent hands. “Though I prefer to think of myself as ... temporarily disembodied.”

Despite the absurdity of the situation, you feel a laugh bubbling up in your chest. “Temporarily disembodied? That’s one way to put it.”

Charles’ eyes crinkle with amusement. “I find a touch of humor helps in most situations, even death.”

You shake your head, still struggling to believe what’s happening. “Why can I see you? Why now?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Charles admits. “I’ve been bound to this palace since my death, unable to move on. Most of the time, I’m invisible to the living. But occasionally, someone comes along who can perceive me. You, mon chérie, seem to be one of those rare individuals.”

You take a step closer, fascinated despite your lingering fear. “So all those strange things that have been happening ...”

“My apologies,” Charles says, looking sheepish. “I’m afraid I got a bit ... overeager when I realized you could sense me. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Well, mission not accomplished,” you say dryly. “I’ve been terrified for days.”

Charles’ expression turns contrite. “I am truly sorry. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to interact with anyone. I forgot how alarming it might be.”

You study him closely. Now that the initial shock has worn off, you’re struck by how young he looks — no older than his mid-twenties. And there’s a sadness in his eyes that tugs at your heart.

“How did you die?” You ask softly.

Charles’ face clouds over. “That, I’m afraid, is a rather long and complicated story. One that I’m not entirely sure I understand myself.”

You’re about to press further when a noise down the hallway makes you jump. Charles holds a finger to his lips and gestures for you to follow him. He leads you to a hidden door behind a tapestry, revealing a narrow servants’ staircase.

“Quick, in here,” he whispers.

You hesitate for a moment before ducking into the passageway. Charles follows, closing the door behind you. In the dim light filtering through cracks in the wall, you can barely make out his ghostly form.

“Why are we hiding?” You whisper.

“The night guards,” Charles explains. “They wouldn’t take kindly to a guest wandering the halls at this hour. And I’d rather not have to explain why you’re talking to thin air.”

You nod, seeing the logic. “So ... what now?”

Charles gives you a mischievous smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Well, since you’re already up and about, how would you like a private tour of the palace? I can show you things no living guide knows about.”

The sensible part of your brain is screaming that this is insane. You should go back to your room, crawl into bed, and pretend this was all a vivid dream. But the adventurous part of you, the part that’s always longed for magic and mystery, is practically buzzing with excitement.

“Lead the way, Your Highness,” you say with a grin.

Charles’ smile widens. “Please, call me Charles. I think we’re a bit beyond titles at this point.”

He starts up the narrow staircase, and you follow close behind. As you climb, Charles begins to speak in a low, melodious voice.

“This palace has been the heart of Monaco for centuries. Every stone, every timber holds a piece of history. There are secret passages like this one crisscrossing the entire building — escape routes, trysting spots for illicit lovers, hiding places for treasures.”

You emerge from the staircase into a small, circular room at the top of one of the palace towers. The view of Monaco at night is breathtaking, the city a glittering jewel box beneath a canopy of stars.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe, moving to the window.

Charles stands beside you, his presence cool but not unpleasant. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Even after all these years, it still takes my breath away. Well, metaphorically speaking.”

You turn to look at him, struck by the wistfulness in his voice. “It must be hard, watching the world change around you while you stay the same.”

Charles nods slowly. “It is ... challenging. But it has its compensations. I’ve witnessed history unfold, seen my beloved Monaco grow and flourish. And occasionally, I get to meet fascinating people like yourself.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks and are grateful for the darkness. “I’m hardly fascinating compared to a ghost prince.”

“I beg to differ,” Charles says softly. “You saw me when no one else could. You followed me up here without hesitation. That takes a special kind of courage and openness to the extraordinary.”

For a moment, you’re lost in his intense gaze. Then you remember that he’s, well, dead, and clear your throat awkwardly. “So, um, what else can you show me?”

Charles seems to shake himself out of a reverie. “Ah, yes. Follow me. There’s so much to see.”

The rest of the night passes in a blur of hidden rooms, secret passages, and Charles’ stories. He tells you about the palace’s construction, about the triumphs and tragedies of the Grimaldi family, about the small, everyday moments that history books never record.

As the sky begins to lighten with the first hints of dawn, you find yourself back in the hallway near your suite. You’re exhausted but exhilarated, your mind whirling with everything you’ve seen and learned.

“I suppose I should let you get some rest,” Charles says, a note of reluctance in his voice.

You stifle a yawn. “I suppose so. My friends will be wondering where I am if I’m not there when they wake up.”

Charles nods, then hesitates. “I ... I hope this won’t be our last conversation. It’s been so long since I’ve had someone to talk to.”

The vulnerability in his voice tugs at your heart. “Of course not. I still have so many questions. Like how you ended up ... you know.”

“Another time,” Charles promises. “For now, sleep well, Y/N.”

As you watch, his form begins to fade. Just before he disappears completely, you could swear you see him wink.

You slip back into your room, your mind racing. As you crawl into bed, you wonder how on earth you’re going to explain any of this to your friends. But one thing’s for certain — your vacation in Monaco just got a whole lot more interesting.

***

The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange and pink. You stand on the balcony of your suite, outwardly admiring the view, but your mind is elsewhere. Your friends’ voices drift out from the room behind you.

“Y/N? Y/N!” Mia calls. “Are you coming to dinner or what?”

You turn, plastering on a smile. “Actually, I think I’ll skip it tonight. I’m not feeling very hungry.”

Zoe frowns, concern etching her features. “Are you okay? You’ve been acting strange all week.”

“I’m fine,” you assure her quickly. “Just ... taking in all the history of this place, you know?”

Olivia rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Only you would come to Monaco and spend all your time geeking out over old buildings instead of hitting the beach.”

You laugh, but it sounds forced even to your own ears. “What can I say? I contain multitudes.”

As your friends file out of the room, Mia lingers behind. “Seriously, Y/N, is everything alright? You know you can talk to us about anything, right?”

For a moment, you’re tempted to spill everything. But how could you possibly explain Charles? “I’m fine, really,” you insist. “Go enjoy dinner. I’ll see you later.”

Once they’re gone, you wait a few minutes to ensure the coast is clear. Then you slip out into the hallway, your heart racing with anticipation.

You make your way to the library, which has become your usual meeting spot. As you enter, you see Charles materializing near the fireplace, a warm smile lighting up his translucent features.

“Good evening, Y/N,” he greets you, his voice as smooth and rich as aged whiskey. “I trust you’re well?”

You can’t help but smile back. “Better now,” you admit, then immediately feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “I mean, you know, because ... history and stuff.”

Charles chuckles, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Ah yes, the fascinating history and stuff. Shall we delve into more of it tonight?”

You nod eagerly. “What do you have in store for me this time?”

“I thought we might explore the east wing tonight,” Charles says, moving towards one of the bookshelves. “There’s a passage behind this Voltaire that leads to some rather interesting places.”

As he speaks, Charles reaches for the book, his hand passing right through it. A flicker of frustration crosses his face.

“Allow me,” you say softly, stepping forward to pull the book. The shelf swings open, revealing a narrow passageway.

Charles bows slightly. “After you, mademoiselle.”

You enter the passage, Charles’ cool presence right behind you. As you walk, he begins to speak, his voice low and melodious in the confined space.

“This passage was built during the reign of Prince Charles III — my grandfather,” he explains. “It was meant as an escape route in case of invasion. Monaco’s sovereignty was often threatened in those days.”

“But not anymore?” You ask, ducking under a low-hanging beam.

Charles sighs. “Monaco’s position is more secure now, but it wasn’t always so. In my time, we were constantly navigating a delicate balance between France and Italy, trying to maintain our independence.”

You emerge into a small, octagonal room with windows overlooking the sea. Moonlight streams in, casting everything in a silvery glow.

“This was my private study,” Charles says, a note of wistfulness in his voice. “I spent many hours here, dreaming of what Monaco could become.”

You turn to him, curious. “What kind of dreams?”

Charles’ eyes light up with passion. “I wanted to modernize Monaco, to bring it into the new century. We were so dependent on the casino for revenue — I wanted to diversify our economy, improve education, and implement new technologies.”

“That sounds incredibly progressive for the time,” you say, impressed.

Charles nods. “Some thought too progressive. There were those who resisted change, who wanted to cling to the old ways. But I believed — I still believe — that progress is essential for survival.”

As he speaks, you find yourself drawn in by his enthusiasm, his intelligence. This isn’t just some stuffy old royal — this is a man with vision, with dreams that were cut short far too soon.

“What stopped you?” You ask softly.

Charles’ expression clouds over. “Ah, well, dying tends to put a damper on one’s plans.”

You wince. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no,” Charles interrupts gently. “It’s alright. It was a long time ago.”

An awkward silence falls. You move to the window, looking out at the moonlit sea. “It must be hard,” you say eventually. “Watching the world change around you, unable to participate.”

You feel Charles move closer, his presence cool at your side. “It has its challenges,” he admits. “But it also has its joys. I’ve seen Monaco grow and flourish in ways I never could have imagined. And now ...” He trails off.

You turn to look at him. “And now?”

Charles’ gaze is intense, making your heart race. “And now I have the pleasure of sharing it all with you.”

You swallow hard, acutely aware of how close he is, ghost or not. “I ... I’m glad,” you manage to say. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Charles.”

He smiles, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “Nor I you, Y/N. In life or in death.”

The moment stretches between you, charged with unspoken emotions. Then Charles clears his throat (do ghosts need to clear their throats?) and steps back.

“Come,” he says, his tone lighter. “There’s much more to see.”

The rest of the night passes in a whirlwind of secret rooms and hidden treasures. Charles shows you a concealed vault where the crown jewels were once kept, a forgotten ballroom with faded frescoes on the ceiling, even the old dungeons deep beneath the palace.

Throughout it all, Charles regales you with stories — some historical, some personal. You learn about the political intrigues of 19th century Monaco, about Charles’ childhood pranks, about the hopes and fears he had for his country’s future.

As dawn begins to break, you find yourself back in the library, reluctant for the night to end.

“I suppose I should let you get some rest,” Charles says, echoing his words from your first meeting.

You stifle a yawn. “I suppose so. But I don’t want to go.”

Charles’ expression softens. “Nor do I want you to. But your friends will worry if you’re not there when they wake.”

You sigh, knowing he’s right. “Will I see you tomorrow night?”

“I’ll be here,” Charles promises. “I’m not going anywhere, after all.”

As you watch him fade away, you’re struck by a realization that both thrills and terrifies you. You’re falling in love with a ghost.

The next few days pass in a blur. During the day, you go through the motions with your friends, trying to show enthusiasm for the beaches, the shops, the nightlife. But your mind is always elsewhere, counting down the hours until you can see Charles again.

Your friends notice, of course. How could they not?

“Okay, spill,” Mia demands one afternoon as you all lounge by the pool. “Who is he?”

You nearly choke on your drink. “What? Who’s who?”

Olivia rolls her eyes. “The guy you’re obviously sneaking out to meet every night. Don’t think we haven’t noticed you coming back to the room at dawn.”

“I ... I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammer.

Zoe puts a hand on your arm. “Y/N, we’re your friends. You can tell us anything. We’re just worried about you.”

You look at their concerned faces and feel a pang of guilt. You hate lying to them, but how can you possibly explain the truth?

“It’s not ... it’s not what you think,” you say finally. “I’ve just been exploring the palace at night. It’s quieter then, easier to imagine what it was like in the past.”

Your friends exchange skeptical looks.

“Right,” Mia says slowly. “And this has nothing to do with the ‘supernatural occurrences’ you were going on about earlier?”

You force a laugh. “Of course not. That was just my imagination running wild. I’ve just been ... really into the history of this place, that’s all.”

Olivia shakes her head. “If you say so. But Y/N, this is supposed to be a fun vacation. Don’t spend the whole time with your nose in a history book, okay?”

You nod, grateful they’re not pushing further. “You’re right. I’ll try to be more present.”

But that night, as your friends sleep, you find yourself slipping out once again, drawn to Charles like a moth to a flame.

He’s waiting for you in the library, a book hovering open in front of him. As you enter, he looks up with a smile that makes your heart flutter.

“Ah, Y/N,” he says warmly. “I was just refreshing my memory on some of Monaco’s more obscure laws. Did you know it’s technically illegal to wear stiletto heels in the palace?”

You laugh, some of the tension from earlier melting away. “Seriously? Why?”

Charles grins. “Apparently, they damage the floors. It was enacted in 1898, four years after my ... departure. I always wonder about the story behind laws like that. What outrageous incident prompted such a specific prohibition?”

You settle into a nearby armchair, tucking your legs underneath you. “Maybe a scorned lover stabbed someone with a stiletto?”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up. “My, what a violent imagination you have. I was thinking more along the lines of a clumsy debutante wreaking havoc on the ballroom floor.”

“Boring,” you tease. “My version is much more exciting.”

Charles chuckles, the sound warming you from the inside out. “I suppose I can’t argue with that. Your mind is a constant source of fascination to me.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Oh? How so?”

Charles moves closer, his form shimmering slightly in the moonlight streaming through the windows. “You see the world in such a unique way. You’re not bound by the conventions and expectations of my time. It’s ... refreshing.”

“I could say the same about you,” you reply softly. “You’re nothing like I would have expected a 19th-century prince to be.”

Charles’ smile turns wry. “Ah, but I’ve had over a century to adapt and learn. Though I must admit, much of modern life still baffles me. Perhaps you could explain to me the appeal of this ‘Instagram’ your friends keep mentioning?”

You laugh, launching into an explanation of social media that leaves Charles looking both intrigued and mildly horrified. The conversation flows easily from there, jumping from topic to topic with the effortless rhythm you’ve come to cherish in your nightly meetings.

As the hours pass, you find yourself moving closer to Charles, drawn in by his warmth (metaphorical, of course — he’s actually quite cool to be near) and charm. You’re acutely aware of every movement, every fleeting expression that crosses his face.

At one point, Charles reaches out as if to touch your hand, then seems to catch himself, pulling back with a flicker of frustration crossing his features.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “Sometimes I forget ...”

You swallow hard, your heart aching. “It’s okay. I ... I wish you could too.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with unspoken longing. Charles’ eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the impossibility of your situation crashes over you like a wave.

“Y/N,” Charles begins, his voice rough with emotion. “I-”

But before he can finish, a noise in the hallway makes you both freeze. Footsteps are approaching the library.

“Quick,” Charles whispers urgently. “Hide behind the curtain.”

You scramble to conceal yourself just as the door opens. Through a gap in the heavy fabric, you see a security guard sweep his flashlight around the room.

Your heart pounds in your chest as the beam of light passes inches from your hiding spot. After what feels like an eternity, the guard seems satisfied and leaves, closing the door behind him.

You wait a few more moments before emerging, your legs shaky with leftover adrenaline.

“That was close,” you breathe.

Charles nods, his form flickering with agitation. “Too close. Y/N, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be putting you in these situations. If you were caught ...”

You shake your head vehemently. “No, don’t say that. I don’t care about the risk. Being with you, learning about you and your time — it’s worth it.”

Charles’ expression softens, a mix of affection and sorrow in his eyes. “You’re extraordinary, do you know that? But I fear ... I fear I’m being selfish, keeping you to myself like this.”

You take a step closer to him, wishing more than anything that you could take his hand. “You’re not keeping me anywhere I don’t want to be.”

The words hang between you, charged with meaning. Charles opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it again, conflict clear on his face.

Finally, he says, “It’s nearly dawn. You should go, before your friends wake.”

You nod reluctantly, knowing he’s right but hating to leave. As you reach the door, you turn back to look at him one last time.

“Charles,” you say softly. “I ... I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

He smiles, but there’s a sadness in it that tugs at your heart. “I’ll be here. I’m always here.”

As you make your way back to your room, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions. You’re falling hard and fast for a man who’s been dead for over a century.

It’s impossible, it’s insane, and yet ... you wouldn’t trade these moments with Charles for anything in the world.

But as you slip back into bed, the first rays of sunlight peeking through the curtains, a nagging doubt creeps in. How long can this go on? What happens when your vacation ends? And most troublingly of all — what aren’t you seeing in your infatuation with this charming ghost prince?

***

The musty scent of old books fills your nostrils as you hunch over a stack of historical tomes in the palace library. Sunlight streams through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. You’ve been here for hours, your friends long since departed for a day of sunbathing and shopping.

“Find anything interesting?” Charles’ voice makes you jump. You look up to see him materializing near the bookshelf, a curious expression on his translucent face.

You sigh, rubbing your tired eyes. “Nothing concrete yet. There’s frustratingly little information about your death in these official histories. It’s always just ‘Prince Charles died tragically young’ with no details.”

Charles moves closer, peering at the book you’re reading. “Ah, Gustave Saige’s ‘Monaco: Ses Origines et Son Histoire’. A rather dry read, if I recall correctly.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “You’re not wrong. But I thought it might have some clues.” You hesitate, then ask, “Charles, why don’t you just tell me what happened? How you ... died?”

A shadow passes over Charles’ face. “I wish I could. But the truth is, my memories of that time are ... fragmented. I remember tensions rising, arguments with the council, and then ... nothing. Just waking up like this, bound to the palace.”

You reach out instinctively to comfort him, your hand passing through his arm with a chill. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how frustrating that must be.”

Charles gives you a sad smile. “It’s been my reality for over a century now. But I must admit, your determination to uncover the truth has given me hope I haven’t felt in a very long time.”

Your heart swells at his words, even as a pang of guilt hits you. Are you really doing this for Charles, or for yourself? The thought of him finding peace and moving on fills you with a complicated mix of emotions you’re not ready to examine too closely.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you turn back to your research. “Well, if these books aren’t giving us answers, maybe we need to look elsewhere. You mentioned arguments with the council. Were there records kept of those meetings?”

Charles’ brow furrows in concentration. “Yes, there would have been. Minutes were always taken. But they would have been considered sensitive documents. Not something you’d find in the public library.”

You lean forward, excitement building. “So where would they be kept?”

“There’s an archive room,” Charles says slowly. “Hidden behind the throne room. It’s where the most confidential state papers were stored.”

You’re already on your feet, shoving books back onto shelves. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

Charles holds up a ghostly hand. “Not so fast, Y/N. That room has been sealed for decades. It’s not somewhere a tourist can just wander into.”

You deflate slightly, but your determination doesn’t waver. “Then we’ll have to find a way in after hours. You can get me there, right?”

Charles looks conflicted. “I could, but Y/N, if you were caught ...”

“I won’t be,” you insist. “Please, Charles. This might be our only chance to find out what really happened to you.”

For a long moment, Charles studies your face. Then he sighs, a sound tinged with both resignation and admiration. “Very well. Meet me here at midnight. I’ll show you the way.”

The hours crawl by as you wait for night to fall. You make a show of going to bed early, claiming a headache to avoid your friends’ plans for a night out. As the clock strikes twelve, you slip out of your room and make your way to the library.

Charles is waiting for you, his form glowing faintly in the moonlight. “Are you sure about this?” He asks one last time.

You nod firmly. “Let’s do it.”

Charles leads you through a maze of corridors and hidden passages. Your heart races with every creak of the floorboards, every shadow that might be a security guard. Finally, you arrive at an ornate door hidden behind a tapestry.

“This is it,” Charles whispers. “The archive room.”

You reach for the handle, but it’s locked. “Damn,” you mutter. “Any ideas?”

Charles frowns, concentrating. “There used to be a spare key ... ah!” He points to a small crevice in the intricate woodwork. “Try there.”

You feel around and, to your amazement, your fingers close around a small key. With trembling hands, you insert it into the lock. It turns with a satisfying click.

The door swings open, revealing a room packed floor to ceiling with shelves of documents. The air is thick with dust and the smell of old paper.

“Where do we even start?” You whisper, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information.

Charles moves to a section near the back. “The council records from my time should be here. Look for anything dated 1894.”

You begin sifting through stacks of yellowed papers, careful not to damage the fragile documents. Minutes pass in tense silence as you search.

Suddenly, Charles’ voice cuts through the quiet. “Y/N, over here. I think I’ve found something.”

You hurry to his side. He’s pointing at a leather-bound ledger. You carefully open it, coughing slightly at the dust it raises.

As you scan the pages, your eyes widen. “Charles, this ... this is incredible. It’s a record of council meetings leading up to your death. Look at this entry from two weeks before: ‘Prince Charles continues to push for radical reforms. Concerns raised about stability of the principality if plans proceed.’”

Charles leans in, his face a mix of emotions. “I remember that meeting. It was ... heated. Keep reading.”

You flip through more pages, your heart pounding as the story unfolds. “There’s more. ‘Prince’s proposed changes to casino regulations deemed unacceptable. Alternative measures must be considered.’ Charles, this sounds like ...”

“A conspiracy,” Charles finishes, his voice hollow. “They were plotting against me.”

You reach the final entry, dated the day before Charles’ death. Your blood runs cold as you read it aloud. “Situation untenable. Drastic action required to preserve Monaco’s interests. God forgive us.”

A heavy silence falls over the room as the implications sink in. Charles turns away, his form flickering with agitation.

“They killed me,” he says softly. “My own council ... they murdered me to stop my reforms.”

You feel tears pricking at your eyes. “Charles, I’m so sorry. This is ... it’s unthinkable.”

Charles is quiet for a long moment, then turns back to you with a determined expression. “We need to take this ledger. The truth needs to come out, even after all this time.”

You nod, carefully closing the book and tucking it into your bag. As you do, something catches your eye. “Wait, there’s something else here.”

Behind where the ledger was sitting, you spot a small leather pouch. You open it carefully, gasping as several folded papers and a small object fall out.

“What is it?” Charles asks, moving closer.

You unfold one of the papers with trembling hands. “It’s ... it’s a letter. From you.” You begin to read aloud:

“To whoever finds this, I fear my time may be short. I write this in haste, knowing that forces within Monaco seek to silence me. My efforts to modernize our beloved principality and free us from our dependence on gambling have made me enemies in powerful places. If anything should happen to me, know that it was not an accident. The proof of their treachery is contained within these documents and the vial of poison they intend to use. I pray this never sees the light of day, but if it does, may it bring justice and push Monaco towards the future I envisioned.”

You look up at Charles, tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. “You knew. You tried to protect yourself.”

Charles nods slowly, his own eyes shimmering with ghostly tears. “I ... I remember now. I wrote this the night before ... before it happened. I must have hidden it here, hoping someone would find it.”

You carefully gather up the documents and the small vial, adding them to your bag with the ledger. “We have to make this public, Charles. Your murder, the cover-up ... people need to know the truth.”

Charles looks at you with a mix of gratitude and sadness. “You’re right, of course. But Y/N, you must understand what this means. If the truth comes out, if justice is served ...”

“You might be able to move on,” you finish, your voice barely a whisper. The thought sends a dagger through your heart, but you force yourself to continue. “That’s ... that’s a good thing, right? It’s what you’ve been waiting for all this time.”

Charles moves closer, his hand hovering near your cheek as if he could wipe away your tears. “It is. But I find myself reluctant to leave, now that I’ve found something — someone — worth staying for.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Charles, I ...”

Before you can finish, a noise in the hallway makes you both freeze. Footsteps are approaching.

“Quick,” Charles whispers urgently. “Behind that cabinet.”

You scramble to hide, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure it must be audible. The door to the archive room creaks open, and a beam of light sweeps across the space.

“Hello?” A gruff voice calls out. “Is someone in here?”

You hold your breath, pressing yourself further into the shadows. After what feels like an eternity, the guard seems satisfied and leaves, closing the door behind him.

You wait a few more moments before emerging from your hiding spot, legs shaky with adrenaline.

“That was too close,” Charles says, his form flickering with agitation. “We need to get you out of here.”

You nod, clutching your bag with its precious cargo close to your chest. “How do we get back?”

Charles leads you to a hidden panel in the wall. “This passage will take you directly to the guest wing. Hurry, before the guard comes back.”

As you step into the secret corridor, you turn back to look at Charles. “What happens now?” You ask softly.

Charles’ expression is a complex mix of emotions — hope, fear, sadness, and something that looks a lot like love. “Now, mon chérie, we bring the truth to light. Whatever comes after ... we’ll face it together.”

You nod, your throat tight with unshed tears. As you make your way back to your room, your mind races with the implications of what you’ve discovered. You’ve found the key to setting Charles free, to bringing him the peace he’s been denied for over a century.

But as you clutch the bag containing the proof of his murder, you can’t help but wonder: at what cost? The thought of losing Charles, of never seeing his smile or hearing his laugh again, fills you with a grief so profound it takes your breath away.

As you slip back into your bed, the first rays of dawn peeking through the curtains, you know that the hardest part of your journey is yet to come. You’ve uncovered the truth, but now you face an impossible choice: keep Charles with you in this half-life or set him free and lose him forever.

***

The golden light of a Monaco sunset streams through the windows of your hotel suite, casting long shadows across the room. You stand before the mirror, adjusting the elaborate 19th-century gown you’ve rented for the evening’s ball. Your fingers tremble slightly as you fasten a delicate necklace, your mind a whirlwind of emotions.

“You look absolutely stunning,” Charles’ voice comes from behind you. You turn to see him materializing near the balcony, his eyes wide with admiration.

“Thank you,” you say softly, your heart aching at the sight of him. “I wish you could really be there tonight, dancing with me.”

Charles moves closer, his form shimmering in the fading sunlight. “As do I, ma chérie. But I’ll be with you in spirit, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as tears prick at your eyes. “Always with the jokes, even now.”

“Well, one must maintain one’s sense of humor, even in the face of ... impending departure,” Charles says, his light tone belied by the sadness in his eyes.

The word hangs heavy between you. Departure. In just two days, you’ll be leaving Monaco, returning to your life back home. The thought fills you with a grief so profound it’s almost physical.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” you blurt out, the words escaping before you can stop them. “I could stay. I could find a job here, an apartment. We could-”

“Y/N,” Charles interrupts gently, “we’ve discussed this. You can’t put your life on hold for a ghost.”

You turn away, blinking back tears. “But what if I want to? What if being here, with you, is the life I want?”

Charles is quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is thick with emotion. “My dearest Y/N, you cannot imagine how much I wish things could be different. But I am tied to this place, to this half-existence. You have a whole life ahead of you, full of possibilities and adventures. I won’t let you sacrifice that for me.”

You whirl back to face him, frustration bubbling up. “Shouldn’t that be my choice to make?”

“Perhaps,” Charles concedes. “But it is also my choice to refuse to be the anchor that holds you back. You deserve so much more than stolen moments with a specter.”

The truth of his words cuts deep, even as you want to rail against them. You slump onto the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling the weight of your elaborate costume.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whisper.

Charles moves to sit beside you, the mattress not even dipping under his non-existent weight. “Nor I you. But perhaps ... perhaps this is why we found each other. Not for a lifetime, but for this moment. To bring truth to light, to right an old wrong, and to experience a love that transcends time itself.”

You look up at him, struck by the depth of emotion in his ghostly eyes. “When did you get so wise?”

Charles grins, a hint of his usual mischief returning. “Well, I have had over a century to work on my philosophical musings.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as a tear escapes down your cheek. Charles reaches out, his hand hovering just above your skin in a gesture of comfort.

“Come now,” he says gently. “Let’s not waste our last evening together in sorrow. You have a ball to attend, and I, for one, am eager to see how the modern world interprets the grandeur of my era.”

You nod, standing and giving yourself one last look in the mirror. “You’re right. Let’s make tonight a night to remember.”

As you make your way down to the grand ballroom, you can feel Charles’ presence beside you, a comforting coolness in the warm evening air. The sounds of music and laughter grow louder as you approach.

You pause at the entrance, taking in the transformed space. The ballroom has been decorated to recreate its 19th-century splendor, with crystal chandeliers, elaborate floral arrangements, and guests in period costumes whirling across the dance floor.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe.

“Indeed,” Charles agrees, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “Though I must say, some of these costumes are rather ... creative interpretations of the fashion of my time.”

You stifle a giggle as you spot a guest in what appears to be a mash-up of Victorian and Edwardian styles. “Well, not everyone can have a ghostly fashion consultant.”

You make your way into the crowd, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Your friends spot you and wave enthusiastically.

“Y/N! Over here!” Mia calls out. “You look amazing!”

You join them, smiling as you take in their costumes. “You all look great too. Are you enjoying the ball?”

Zoe nods enthusiastically. “It’s like stepping back in time. Can you imagine living in an era like this?”

You feel Charles’ amusement radiating beside you. “Oh, I don’t know,” you say airily. “I think it might have its charms.”

As the evening progresses, you find yourself swept up in the festivities. You dance with several partners, all the while acutely aware of Charles’ presence, watching from the sidelines.

During a lull in the music, you manage to slip away from the crowd, finding a secluded alcove near one of the large windows.

“Having fun?” Charles asks, materializing beside you.

You nod, a bit breathless from dancing. “It’s wonderful. But I wish ...”

“You wish I could truly be here,” Charles finishes for you. He holds out his hand in an old-fashioned gesture. “Well, my lady, may I have this dance?”

You glance around, making sure no one is watching, then place your hand over his incorporeal one. As the music starts up again, a slow, romantic waltz, you begin to move together.

It’s a strange sensation, dancing with a ghost. You can’t feel Charles’ hand on your waist or his fingers intertwined with yours, but somehow, you move in perfect synchronization. For a few precious moments, it’s as if the rest of the world fades away, leaving just the two of you, swaying to the music.

“I love you,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Charles’ eyes widen, then soften with an emotion so deep it takes your breath away. “And I love you, Y/N. More than I ever thought possible.”

As you gaze into each other’s eyes, lost in the moment, a sudden chill sweeps through the room. The lights flicker, and a murmur of confusion ripples through the crowd.

Charles stiffens, his form becoming more translucent. “Something’s wrong,” he mutters, looking around warily.

Before you can ask what he means, a commotion breaks out near the center of the ballroom. Guests are backing away from a spot on the dance floor, pointing and gasping in shock.

You push your way through the crowd, Charles right behind you. As you reach the cleared space, your blood runs cold. Three ghostly figures have appeared, dressed in outdated formal wear, their faces contorted with rage and fear.

“Impossible,” Charles breathes beside you. “It’s them. The council members who ... who murdered me.”

As if hearing his words, the three ghosts turn towards you. Their eyes widen in recognition as they spot Charles.

“You!” One of them snarls, his voice echoing unnaturally in the stunned silence of the ballroom. “How are you here?”

Charles steps forward, his own form becoming more visible to the shocked onlookers. “I could ask you the same question, Lord Beaumont. Or should I say, murderer?”

A collective gasp runs through the crowd. Hotel staff are rushing about, trying to maintain order, but everyone’s attention is fixed on the supernatural drama unfolding before them.

“We did what was necessary,” another ghost, a portly man with a walrus mustache, blusters. “You would have ruined Monaco with your radical ideas!”

“Ruined?” Charles’ voice rises in indignation. “I was trying to save our principality, to secure its future beyond the whims of fortune and gambling!”

The third ghost, a thin man with a pinched face, sneers. “And in doing so, you would have destroyed the very thing that made Monaco unique. We couldn’t allow it.”

You find your voice, anger overcoming your fear. “So you murdered him? Your own prince?”

The ghosts turn their baleful gazes on you. “And who are you to question the affairs of state from a century past?” Lord Beaumont demands.

“She,” Charles says, moving to stand beside you, “is the one who uncovered your treachery. The proof of your crimes has been found.”

A murmur runs through the crowd. You see hotel management huddled in a corner, speaking urgently into phones. In the distance, you can hear police sirens approaching.

“It doesn’t matter now,” the portly ghost says dismissively. “We’re long dead, beyond the reach of earthly justice.”

“Perhaps,” you counter, your voice stronger than you feel. “But the truth will be known. History will remember Prince Charles as the visionary he was, and you as the small-minded murderers who cut his life short.”

As you speak, a strange energy begins to build in the room. The three ghosts start to flicker, their forms becoming less substantial.

“What’s happening?” The thin ghost cries out, panic in his voice.

Charles steps forward, his expression a mix of pity and righteousness. “You’re facing judgment at last, gentlemen. Your unfinished business is complete. The truth is out.”

With a howl of despair, the three ghosts begin to fade away. In moments, they’ve vanished completely, leaving behind a stunned silence.

As the implications of what’s just happened sink in, chaos erupts in the ballroom. People are shouting, phones are out recording, and security is trying desperately to maintain order.

But you only have eyes for Charles. His form is starting to shimmer, becoming more translucent by the second.

“Charles,” you gasp, reaching for him. “What’s happening? Are you ...”

He looks down at his fading hands, then back up at you with a sad smile. “It seems my unfinished business is complete as well. The truth is out, justice, in some form, has been served.”

“No,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face. “Please, not yet. I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

Charles moves closer, his hand hovering just above your cheek. “My dearest Y/N, meeting you has been the greatest gift. You’ve brought light to my long darkness, and given me peace I never thought I’d find.”

“I don’t want you to go,” you sob, your heart breaking.

“Nor do I wish to leave you,” Charles says softly. “But perhaps this isn’t truly goodbye. I don’t know what lies beyond, but I do know this — a love like ours transcends time and death itself. Somehow, someway, I believe we’ll find each other again.”

You manage a watery smile. “You promise?”

“I swear it,” Charles vows. He leans in, and for the briefest moment, you swear you can feel the ghost of a kiss on your lips. “Until we meet again, mon amour.”

And with that, Charles fades away completely, leaving behind nothing but a lingering chill in the air and the memory of a love that defied all boundaries.

As the commotion swirls around you, police and hotel management trying to make sense of what’s happened, you stand still in the center of it all. Your heart is breaking, but there’s also a sense of peace, of completion.

You touch your lips, still feeling the echo of that impossible kiss, and whisper to the empty air, “Until we meet again, Charles.”

In that moment, surrounded by the trappings of a bygone era and the chaos of the present, you know that your life has been forever changed. Whatever comes next, you’ll face it with the strength and love Charles gave you, carrying his memory in your heart until, somehow, someway, you find each other once more.

***

The Mediterranean sun bathes Monaco in a warm glow as you climb the steps to the Palais Grimaldi. Five years have passed since that fateful summer, but your heart still quickens as you approach the familiar facade. You adjust the strap of your messenger bag, filled with research materials for your graduate thesis on 19th-century Monégasque politics.

As you enter the palace, now partly converted into a museum, you’re struck by how much has changed. Plaques and displays line the halls, detailing the history of the Grimaldi family. But your eyes are drawn to a new addition: a whole wing dedicated to Prince Charles and his progressive vision for Monaco.

You pause before a large portrait of Charles, your breath catching in your throat. The artist has captured his piercing green eyes perfectly, that hint of mischief in his smile that you remember so well.

“It’s remarkable, isn’t it?” A voice beside you says, startling you from your reverie. “How much history these walls have seen.”

You turn, a polite response on your lips, but the words die in your throat. Standing next to you is a young man who could be Charles’ twin. The same wavy dark hair, the same chiseled jawline, and most strikingly, those same intense green eyes.

For a moment, you forget how to breathe. “Charles?” You whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

The young man looks at you curiously, a small smile playing on his lips. “Well, yes, but I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. Have we met before?”

You blink rapidly, reality reasserting itself. Of course this isn’t your Charles. It can’t be. You clear your throat, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, you just ... you look remarkably like someone I used to know. I’m Y/N.”

The young man’s smile widens, and he holds out his hand. “Charles Leclerc. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

You shake his hand, trying to ignore the jolt of electricity that runs through you at his touch. “Leclerc? As in the Formula 1 driver?”

Charles nods, looking slightly sheepish. “The very same. Though today I’m just a tourist like anyone else, enjoying a bit of home between races.”

“Home?” You ask, intrigued despite yourself.

“Born and raised in Monaco,” Charles explains. “Though I admit, I haven’t spent as much time in the palace as I perhaps should have. It’s quite fascinating, especially this new exhibit.”

You nod, turning back to the portrait of Prince Charles. “It really is. The prince was quite a remarkable figure. His ideas were so ahead of their time.”

Charles steps closer, studying the portrait. “You seem to know a lot about him. Are you a historian?”

“A graduate student,” you explain. “I’m here on a research grant, studying 19th-century Monégasque politics at the International University of Monaco.”

Charles’ eyes light up with interest. “Really? That sounds fascinating. I’ve always been interested in history, especially the history of Monaco. It’s a small place, but it’s played such an outsized role in European affairs.”

You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “It really has. Prince Charles, in particular, had some revolutionary ideas about diversifying Monaco’s economy beyond just gambling. If he hadn’t died so young, who knows how things might have turned out?”

A shadow passes over Charles’ face. “Yes, his death was quite tragic. And mysterious, from what I understand. Wasn’t there some recent discovery about the circumstances?”

You nod, your heart racing as you remember that night five years ago. “Yes, documents were found that suggested he was actually assassinated by members of his own council who opposed his reforms.”

Charles shakes his head, looking troubled. “How terrible. To be betrayed by those closest to you, all for wanting to make positive changes.”

“It was a different time,” you say softly. “Change is always frightening to those in power.”

Charles nods thoughtfully. “True, but it’s also necessary for growth. Monaco has come a long way since then, but I sometimes wonder if we couldn’t be doing more to realize Prince Charles’ vision.”

You look at him in surprise. “That’s ... that’s exactly what I’ve been thinking in my research. The prince had ideas about sustainable development and diversifying the economy that are still relevant today.”

Charles grins, and for a moment, the resemblance to your Charles is so strong it takes your breath away. “Great minds think alike, it seems. You know, I’ve been looking for ways to use my platform as an athlete to promote positive change in Monaco. Perhaps we could compare notes sometime?”

Your heart skips a beat. “I’d like that,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m always happy to discuss history with someone who’s genuinely interested.”

“Excellent,” Charles says, pulling out his phone. “Why don’t we exchange numbers? We could meet for coffee and continue this conversation.”

As you input your number into his phone, you can’t help but notice a small charm dangling from it — a miniature racing helmet. “That’s cute,” you comment.

Charles looks at it and chuckles. “Ah, yes. It was a gift from my mother. She says it’s for luck, but I think she just worries about me on the track.”

The casual mention of his mother sends a pang through your heart. This Charles is very much alive, with a family and a life of his own. You have to remind yourself that he’s not the same person you knew, no matter how similar he might seem.

“Well, it seems to be working,” you say lightly. “You’ve had quite a successful season so far. Won your home race, if I’m not mistaken.”

Charles looks pleased. “You follow Formula 1?”

You shake your head. “Not really, but it’s hard to miss the news when you’re living in Monaco. The Grand Prix is quite an event.”

“That it is,” Charles agrees. “You know, if you’re interested, I could give you a behind-the-scenes tour of the circuit sometime. It’s quite fascinating from a historical perspective as well. The race has been run on essentially the same streets since 1929.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Are you always this charming with strangers you meet in museums?”

Charles grins, a mischievous glint in his eye that’s achingly familiar. “Only the ones who can discuss 19th-century political reform with such passion.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Well, in that case, how can I refuse? A tour sounds lovely.”

As you continue to chat, moving through the exhibit, you’re struck by how easy it is to talk to Charles. He’s knowledgeable and curious, asking insightful questions about your research and offering his own perspectives on Monaco’s history and future.

At one point, you pause before a display showcasing some of Prince Charles’ personal effects. Among them is a small, ornate pocket watch.

“Beautiful craftsmanship,” Charles comments, leaning in for a closer look.

You nod, a lump forming in your throat as you remember your Charles checking a similar watch during your midnight explorations. “It’s a shame it’s not working anymore.”

Charles tilts his head, studying the watch intently. “Actually, I think it is. Look closely at the second hand.”

You peer into the display case, and to your amazement, you see the tiny hand ticking away steadily. “You’re right! How did you notice that?”

Charles shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed. “I’ve always had a thing for timepieces. Comes with the racing territory, I suppose. Hundreths of a second are everything on the track.”

You shake your head in wonder. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I try to keep things interesting,” Charles says with a wink. Then his expression turns more serious. “You know, it’s strange. Being here, learning about Prince Charles ... I feel an odd connection to him. Almost as if I knew him somehow.”

Your heart races at his words. Could it be possible? You push the thought away, reminding yourself that such things only happen in fairy tales. “Well, he is your ancestor, in a way. All Monégasques are connected to the Grimaldi family, aren’t they?”

Charles nods slowly. “True, but this feels different. When I look at his portrait, it’s almost like looking in a mirror. And his ideas, his passion for progress ... it resonates with me in a way I can’t quite explain.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Maybe some things are just meant to be. Some connections transcend time.”

Charles looks at you intently, and for a moment, you swear you see a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “Perhaps you’re right. It’s a comforting thought, isn’t it? That the past isn’t really gone, just ... waiting to be rediscovered.”

You’re saved from having to respond by the chiming of the palace clock, signaling the approach of closing time.

“Oh, I didn’t realize it was so late,” you say, glancing at your watch. “I should probably get going. I have a meeting with my advisor in the morning.”

Charles nods, looking slightly disappointed. “Of course. But we’re still on for that coffee and circuit tour, right?”

You smile, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest. “Absolutely. I’m looking forward to it.”

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, Charles touches your arm lightly. “Y/N, I know this might sound strange, but ... I feel like we were meant to meet today. Like some force in the universe brought us together.”

You look into his eyes, so familiar and yet new, and feel a spark of hope ignite in your heart. “I know exactly what you mean.”

He smiles, and in that moment, you see not just the Charles of the present, but echoes of the Charles you knew and loved. “Until we meet again, then?”

The phrase, so similar to your Charles’ last words, sends a shiver down your spine. “Until then,” you agree softly.

As you walk out of the palace and into the warm Monaco evening, your mind is whirling. You can’t shake the feeling that something extraordinary has happened, that a promise made long ago is somehow being fulfilled.

You pause at the top of the steps, looking back at the palace that has played such a pivotal role in your life. As the setting sun gilds the stone facade, you allow yourself to imagine, just for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, some loves really are strong enough to transcend time and death itself.

With a smile on your face and hope in your heart, you descend the steps, ready to embrace whatever new adventure awaits. After all, in a world where ghosts can fall in love and centuries-old mysteries can be solved, anything seems possible.

And, as the promise of a new beginning beckons, you can’t help but feel that the best chapters of your story are yet to be written.

***

The sun-drenched streets of Monaco buzz with excitement as Sofia, a die-hard Scuderia Ferrari fan, makes her way towards the Palais Grimaldi. Her red Ferrari cap and matching team shirt make her stand out among the tourists, but she doesn’t mind. She’s here on a mission: to soak up every bit of Monaco’s rich racing history.

As Sofia enters the palace-turned-museum, her eyes widen in awe at the opulent surroundings. “Wow,” she breathes, spinning slowly to take it all in. “Talk about living like royalty.”

She wanders through the exhibits, pausing occasionally to read plaques or admire artifacts. But her mind keeps drifting to thoughts of sleek racing cars and the roar of engines. That is, until she rounds a corner and comes face to face with a large portrait that stops her in her tracks.

“No way,” Sofia mutters, stepping closer to the painting. Her brow furrows as she studies the face of the young prince depicted. “That’s ... that’s impossible.”

Just then, a tour group passes by, led by an enthusiastic guide. Sofia catches snippets of the commentary.

“... Prince Charles, one of Monaco’s most progressive rulers ...”

“... tragically died young under mysterious circumstances ...”

“... recent discoveries suggest he may have been assassinated ...”

Sofia’s head is spinning. She pulls out her phone, quickly pulling up a photo of Charles Leclerc, her favorite driver. She holds it up next to the portrait, her jaw dropping at the uncanny resemblance.

“Excuse me,” she says, tapping the tour guide on the shoulder. “This Prince Charles, when exactly did he live?”

The guide smiles, always happy to share historical tidbits. “Prince Charles ruled briefly in the late 19th century. He died in 1894 at the young age of 26.”

Sofia’s mind races. “And has anyone ever noticed how much he looks like Charles Leclerc? The F1 driver?”

The guide’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “Ah, you’re not the first to notice that similarity. It’s become quite a popular topic of discussion lately. Some even joke that Leclerc is the prince reincarnated.”

Sofia laughs nervously. “Right, of course. Just a coincidence, I’m sure.”

As the tour moves on, Sofia remains rooted to the spot, her eyes darting between her phone and the portrait. It’s more than just a passing resemblance. The shape of the eyes, the curve of the jaw, even the hint of a mischievous smile — it’s all pure Leclerc.

Lost in thought, she doesn’t notice someone approaching until a voice beside her says, “Fascinating portrait, isn’t it?”

Sofia jumps, turning to see a young woman standing next to her. The newcomer is dressed casually in a flowing sundress, a messenger bag slung over her shoulder.

“Oh, um, yes,” Sofia stammers. “It’s quite ... striking.”

The woman smiles knowingly. “Let me guess. You couldn’t help but notice the resemblance to a certain Formula 1 driver?”

Sofia’s eyes widen. “You see it too? I thought I was going crazy!”

The woman laughs, a warm, genuine sound. “Trust me, you’re not crazy. I’m Y/N, by the way. I’m doing some research here for my graduate thesis.”

“Sofia,” she replies, shaking your hand. “So, what’s the deal? Is Leclerc secretly a time-traveling prince or something?”

You chuckle, but there’s a strange look in your eyes that Sofia can’t quite decipher. “I’m afraid the explanation is probably much more mundane. Many Monégasques have some connection to the Grimaldi family. It’s likely just a case of strong genes persisting through the generations.”

Sofia nods, but she’s not entirely convinced. There’s something about the way you’re looking at the portrait, a mix of fondness and melancholy, that piques her curiosity.

“You seem to know a lot about this,” Sofia probes gently. “Are you a big history buff?”

You smile, turning away from the portrait. “You could say that. I’ve been studying Prince Charles and his era for my thesis. It’s a fascinating period in Monaco’s history.”

Sofia’s about to ask more when she notices someone approaching over your shoulder. Her eyes go wide, and she has to stifle a gasp.

You turn to see what’s caught her attention, and your face lights up. “Charles! I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

Sofia’s jaw drops as Charles Leclerc himself joins you, greeting you with a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek. He’s dressed casually in jeans and an oversized hoodie, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, but there’s no mistaking that face — especially not when it’s right next to the portrait of his doppelganger.

“I had some free time between meetings and thought I’d stop by,” Charles explains. “How’s the research going?”

You launch into an explanation of your latest findings, and Sofia watches in fascination as Charles listens intently, asking insightful questions and offering his own thoughts. It’s clear this is far from the first time they’ve discussed the topic.

Finally, Charles seems to notice Sofia’s presence. “Oh, I’m sorry, how rude of me. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Sofia manages to close her mouth, which had been hanging open in shock. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m Sofia. I’m a huge fan, Mr. Leclerc.”

Charles grins, shaking her hand. “Please, call me Charles. Always nice to meet a tifosa.”

Sofia gestures weakly to the portrait. “I was just ... I mean ... has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like ...”

Charles and you exchange a look that Sofia can’t quite interpret. Then Charles turns back to her with a wry smile. “Once or twice, yes. It’s quite the coincidence, isn’t it?”

Sofia nods, still feeling like she’s stepped into some kind of twilight zone. “Coincidence. Right.”

You clear your throat, seemingly eager to change the subject. “So, Sofia, are you here on vacation?”

Grateful for the change of topic, Sofia launches into an enthusiastic description of her plans for the next week. As they chat, she can’t help but notice the way Charles and you interact — the casual touches, the inside jokes, the way your eyes continually find each other. There’s clearly a deep connection there.

At one point, Charles excuses himself to take a phone call. As soon as he’s out of earshot, Sofia turns to you with wide eyes. “Okay, you have to tell me. What’s the real story here? How long have you two been together?”

You laugh, a slight blush coloring your cheeks. “Is it that obvious? We’ve been seeing each other for a few months now. We met right here, actually, in front of this very portrait.”

Sofia’s romantic heart melts a little at that. “That’s so sweet! But come on, you have to admit, the resemblance is freaky. And the way you two were talking about history ... it’s like he lived it or something.”

You get that strange look in your eyes again, a mix of secrecy and wonder. “Charles has always had a deep connection to Monaco’s past. It’s one of the things that drew us together.”

Sofia’s about to press for more details when Charles returns, slipping his arm around your waist with casual familiarity.

“I hate to cut this short,” he says apologetically, “but I’ve got to run to a sponsor meeting. Y/N, we’re still on for dinner tonight?”

You nod, smiling up at him. “Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll see you at eight.”

As Charles says his goodbyes and leaves, Sofia watches him go with a mix of admiration and lingering confusion. She turns back to you, determined to get to the bottom of this mystery.

“Okay, I know this is going to sound crazy,” Sofia starts, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “but is there any chance ... I mean, has anyone ever considered the possibility that Charles might be, I don’t know, the reincarnation of Prince Charles or something?”

You pause for a long moment, and Sofia holds her breath, half-expecting you to laugh in her face. But instead, you give her a small, enigmatic smile.

“The universe works in mysterious ways,” you say softly. “Sometimes, the past has a way of coming back to us in forms we least expect. Who’s to say what’s possible and what isn’t?”

Sofia’s mind reels at the implications. “So you’re saying ...”

You hold up a hand, your expression turning more serious. “I’m not saying anything definitively. But I will say this: getting to know Charles — the Charles of today — has been like rediscovering a part of history I thought was lost forever. Whether that’s due to reincarnation, cosmic coincidence, or just the magic of human connection, I can’t say for sure. But I do know that it feels like a second chance at something extraordinary.”

Sofia listens, enthralled. It’s like something out of a movie or a romance novel. “That’s ... wow. I don’t even know what to say.”

You laugh, the sound tinged with wonder. “Trust me, I know the feeling. Life has a way of surprising you when you least expect it.”

As you chat a bit more, Sofia can’t help but feel like she’s been let in on some grand secret. The way you talk about Charles, about history, about the strange twists of fate — it’s all so fantastical and yet, standing here in the shadow of that eerily familiar portrait, she can’t quite bring herself to disbelieve it entirely.

Finally, you glance at your watch and sigh. “I should get going. I’ve got to prepare for dinner soon. It was lovely meeting you, Sofia.”

Sofia nods, still feeling slightly dazed. “You too. And ... thanks. For sharing all of that. It’s given me a lot to think about.”

You smile warmly. “Just keep an open mind. You never know what kind of magic you might encounter, especially in a place like Monaco.”

As you leave, Sofia turns back to the portrait of Prince Charles. She studies it intently, trying to reconcile the historical figure with the modern-day race driver she admires so much.

“Second chances,” she murmurs to herself. “Who’d have thought?”

With one last look at the portrait, Sofia continues her tour of the museum. But now, every artifact seems to pulse with new significance. The weight of history feels more present than ever, intertwining with the present in ways she never could have imagined.

As she steps out of the museum and into the bright Monaco sunshine, Sofia finds herself looking at the city with new eyes. The sleek modern buildings and ancient narrow streets no longer seem at odds, but part of a continuous, living history.

She thinks of Charles Leclerc, of the mysterious Y/N, of a long-dead prince whose legacy seems to echo through time. And as she makes her way towards the harbor, where she knows the Monaco circuit snakes through the city streets, Sofia can’t help but feel that she’s stumbled upon a story far greater and more magical than any single victory.

With a smile on her face and a newfound appreciation for the mysteries of the universe, Sofia sets off to explore more of Monaco. After all, in a place where princes can become race drivers and love can transcend time itself, who knows what other wonders she might discover?

#charles leclerc

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oscpiastri81 · 4 days

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Fluorescent

• Max Verstappen x driver!reader •

Summary: Motorsport is a dog eat dog world, and you know that better than most. It’s not often you meet someone who understands, who shines a light on all the darkness, but Max might just be the perfect person for it. 8.8k words

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, misogyny (both external and internal, not by Max), mild suggestive content, my only vague knowledge of motorsport in general

The first time you come face to face with Max Verstappen, you already know his name. But when he says your name before you even introduce yourself, you’re a little surprised. Maybe a lot surprised.

“Hi, Max,” you say, scraping yourself back together. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Honestly, you hate that you’re so starstruck by him. Sure, he’s a two time F1 world champion. You respect the hell out of him, partially because you know how hard he’s worked to get there. You’ve been in the Motorsport world nearly as long as he has, just in a different way. In different circles- or ovals, or dirt tracks, in whatever kind of car you can get your hands on, mainly Indycar and endurance racing. You’ve been watching his career from afar, though. He likely only recognizes you from the Red Bull jacket you’re wearing, the company being one of your main sponsors. Which is fine. But then he asks how your last race went, and names the actual event without missing a beat, and you start to wonder.

“It was good,” you say, feeling the grin break out across your face. “That last lap, turn-“

“Turn two!” Max says excitedly, eyes lighting up.

You don’t have time to question the fact that he’s seen at least part of your race before he’s off on a tangent, hands dancing through the air as he talks. In his element, suddenly, lit up bright like he is when he talks to his fellow drivers, in the background on tv broadcasts during race weekends. Max is impressive at all times, but Max talking about racing is bright and electric. He draws you in like a current.

At some point, the two of you sit down at a nearby table, electing to ignore the rest of the guests Red Bull invited for you to sweet talk. At some point, Max flags someone down and asks for drinks- a gin and tonic for him, your favorite for you. At some point, you realize it’s been nearly an hour, the party is winding down, and a person you think is probably Max’s publicist is headed your way.

You nod towards her, brows raised at Max. “I think we might be in trouble.”

Max is halfway through explaining his racing team side project. He turns, hands mid air, and frowns, shaking his head at the woman. She nods in response. He waves a hand in your direction, brows raised, and you hide a laugh behind your hand. He’d rather talk to you than whatever she wants him to do. Probably not saying much, but an honor nonetheless.

She walks closer, and they talk quietly for a few seconds. Max sighs heavily, slumping in his chair before he turns to you. She’s smiling politely at you while he pouts.

“I have to go,” he says.

You nod in understanding. “I probably should, too. I’m sure I’m supposed to be schmoozing some big wig exec and batting my eyelashes. You know.”

He nods solemnly and picks up his glass. You do the same, clinking them together.

“To all the eyelash batting we can handle,” he says, giving you half a grin. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, see you soon,” you say, even if it isn’t true.

…..

Max Verstappen may be electric, but his car is absolutely on fire. You see it for the first time from across the Red Bull garage in Miami, all sleek lines and navy blue, every part so perfectly engineered. There’s a flurry of activity around it, and you crane your neck to catch glimpses- of the front wing, of the seat, of the steering wheel. You want to see it all, but you don’t dare move any closer.

“He doesn’t bite, you know,” Max says, suddenly at your side.

You blink at him, startled. “Who doesn’t?”

“The car,” he says, with a smile. “Rocky.”

“Your car is a boy,” you state. It’s actually quite unsurprising.

“Yeah. The whole sexy girl name for a car thing was weird,” he shrugs. “So. Rocky.”

You smile softly. “Well, Rocky is a sexy car.”

Max’s smile widens. “Yeah. Come closer.”

He hooks his hand in the crook of your elbow for just a second, just to nudge you closer. You go willingly. The crowd of people in Red Bull attire part like the Red Sea for him. He’s right, it’s even better up close. You lean to peek into the cockpit, at the complicated steering wheel and the footwells.

You squint at the gap between the halo. “You know, Indycars have the aeroscreen. Not sure I could get used to things flying at my face again.”

He nods, eyes lighting up. “I was going to ask you- how do you like that? You drove before they added them too, of course. The halo was an adjustment for us-“

“We were against it, at first,” you say, nodding. “But the safety of it-“

“Sure, sure- doesn’t it get hot? We have a race in Qatar this year-“

And it’s just like the night you met- like a match in grass, off and running like a wildfire. And you realize what the difference is between him and most of the other guys you interact with in this world when you jokingly ask if you can take Rocky out for a spin.

“No,” he says, eyes lit up. “I’m afraid you’d beat me, and then I’d be out of a job.”

He means it, is the thing. You’re sure you wouldn’t beat him, at least not on your first lap in the car. But he thinks that highly of you, of your skill. It makes your stomach twist in the best way.

There are a lot of guys out there who think women don’t have a place in motorsport. But Max, who got half his racing passion from his mother, who used to tweet Susie Wolff, who’s always shown support for the women in the series… Max is different.

“You can sit in it, though,” he says, nodding towards the car.

You tilt your head. “Nah. The first time I sit in one of these cars, I wanna drive it.”

Max laughs, bumps his shoulder against yours. “Yeah. It’s a good moment. Save it for then.”

He asks you for your number before you leave Miami, standing in the hotel lobby waiting for a shuttle to the airport. You save his number and figure he’ll forget he has yours by the time he gets on the plane. But he texts you when he gets back to Monaco, a picture of his two cats, curled up on his lap. In the background, the TV is on, and a Red Bull YouTube video is playing. You know what it is because it’s one you’re featured in, taking one of their show cars for a few laps around a track, showing off for the cameras.

Your new biggest fans, he’s captioned it. Then a second text comes through. I’m still number one, though.

…..

Max calls you for the first time the night after the Indianapolis 500. You almost don’t answer, because you’re bone tired and not looking to speak to anyone, but it’s Max. You swipe to pick up.

“Hello?” You say, sitting up slightly against the headboard.

“Hi,” he says, bright and cheery. Like this is a completely normal occurrence. “How are you feeling?”

You laugh. “Like I just drove 500 miles without power steering.”

He laughs at that, and the noise makes your heart stir. You check the time- it’s nearly 9 pm. Which means-

“Why are you up so early?” You ask, frowning. “Or still up so late? It’s got to be, what-“

“3am,” he answers. “Don’t know. Probably all the Red Bulls I drank after the race.”

You sigh in commiseration. “Been there.”

Max hums. “Congrats, by the way.”

You scoff. “I barely made the top ten.”

“But you did,” he says. “10th from 18th. Impressive.”

“You won Monaco today.”

“Yesterday, technically, so it’s old news.” he says, dismissively. “Besides, you can’t pass there. I would have had to really mess up to lose. I watched your race. It was impressive.”

“You watched?” You ask, sitting up a little straighter, some weird jolt of adrenaline running down your spine.

“Of course,” he says. You hear him muffle a yawn, and you and smile softly. “It was a good race.”

“You sound bored,” you tease.

“You sound like you’re deflecting,” he retorts. “I mean it, you know.”

You sigh, running your finger over the mountains and valleys of the comforter. The TV is playing in the background, something mindless and boring that was supposed to put you to sleep an hour ago. Maybe you can put on a replay of Monaco, fall asleep to the sound of Max winning.

“I know,” you answer him. “I am proud. It’s just. It’s over now.”

The Indy 500 isn’t just a race- it’s a spectacle. They call it the Month of May, with events leading up the race spread over the weeks before it. It’s all been building- the tension, the adrenaline, the electricity. And now, 250 laps later, it’s over. And while many of your competitors will be back in a racecar next week, you won’t. Just a guest driver for the biggest spectacle, left to try and leverage this into a full time seat for next year. It hurts.

He blows out a breath. “Yeah. That’s tough.”

Tough. That’s an understatement, but you’re sure he knows it. He just doesn’t know how to say it. Max has spent his career getting every chance possible. He skipped a whole feeder series. And here you are, stuck clawing for every opportunity to drive a racecar. Two drastically different lives, and yet-

“You didn’t go out to celebrate,” he says.

“Celebrate 10th place?” You ask.

“No,” he says. “Celebrate the end. Even when you’re sad it’s over, you can be happy it happened.”

“‘Max Verstappen, you cheesy motherfucker,” you giggle. “Did you steal that from a motivational sign?”

He laughs right back. “No. I would never. I am a poet, you know. Secret side job.”

You laugh at that- a full laugh that shakes your shoulders and chest. The two of you talk for a little longer, but Max’s pauses get longer and his words softer and rounder. You know he’s falling asleep, so you say goodnight.

You stare at the ceiling for a couple minutes after he hangs up, and then you pick up the phone again. This time, you’re the one to make the call. Max is right- you can celebrate the end. You’re sure someone’s hosting a party, somewhere, whether it’s in celebration or in pity. Besides, a bit of tequila fixes everything.

…..

You spend your time between sponsor appearances and endurance races doing a mix of things- training, asking sponsors, calling race teams, calling your management to see if they’ve heard back from race teams. The whole nine yards. You spend what time you have leftover after that posting bullshit on social media that has your fans- despite your frustrations, you do have fans- highly entertained. You post about gym workouts, about the sand still stuck in your shoes after a video shoot driving a car across dunes for Red Bull, and about a glitch you had while playing iRacing that sent you careening across one of the tracks. An hour after the iRacing tweet, you get a text from Max.

Max: You have a sim?

You: yeah! was a covid thing & I kept it around.

Max: Are you busy Tuesday?

You’re not, so he sets up a private iRacing group, and the two of you add each other on Discord, because, in Max’s words, it’s more fun when you can talk shit. He answers the call, but seems to struggle with something- there’s a lot of static, some typed out expletives in the chat, some of them in Dutch, leaving you to google the meaning. But finally, after a few minutes of microphone feedback-

“— hear me now?” he says, raspy voice spilling through your headphones.

You jump, a bit startled. “Oh, yeah! There you are!”

“There you are,” Max echoes. You swear you can hear the smile in his voice. “Sorry. Technical difficulties.”

“Cat chew the wire?” You ask.

“No, they would never,” Max replies. “This one was all on me. Anyways. Where should we race?”

The two of you pick a level playing ground- a track you’ve both raced at before, Circuit of the Americas. He tells you about one trip to Austin while the race screen loads, something about cowboy hats and boots that were too tight. You hum in sympathy as you fidget with the buttons on your sim steering wheel.

“Nervous?” He asks. When you make a questioning noise, he laughs. “I can hear you messing with the wheel.”

“You’re too perceptive,” you grumble. “But yeah, of course I am. I’m racing Max Verstappen.”

He hums. “And I’m racing you. Good news is, we’re the only ones who’ll see any of it.”

“So I could send you into the wall turn one and you wouldn’t have any proof,” you suggest.

“Sure,” Max answers. You swear his voice drops an octave on the next sentence. “But you won’t.”

The cars appear on the screen before you have a second to reply. You swallow down your words and your nerves and steel yourself for the start, finding you’re more nervous for this than any recent race start you can remember.

When the lights go out, though, it disappears. It’s not about Max anymore, not about his voice in your headphones, not about the way he yelps when he nearly bottles it at the start. It’s about you and the steering wheel in front of you, the -albeit fake- course on the screen. It’s about keeping the rear end of Max’s car in your sights.

Until lap 10, when he speaks up again. “How’s the dirty air?”

You’ve left your mic open. You know he hears your scoff. You roll your eyes a little bit, but you have to focus back on the track for the next turn. “You mean the dirty pixels?”

“That sounds like something different,” he echoes back. “It’s not that kind of game.”

“Should’ve put you in the wall when I had the chance,” you snark, shifting gears, eyes narrowed.

“You wouldn’t, though,” he says, firmly.

It’s a side of him you haven’t seen much, having interacted with him at events before this. He’s confident, sure, but this is different. So open. Easy. You wish you could see his face. Could see the look in his eye, the raised brow, the part of his lips when you-

“Fuck!” He yelps, and you break into laughter as you nudge the nose of your car past his. “Where the fuck did you-“

“Hey, pixel COTA is pretty accurate!” You say, feeling the excitement buzz in your bones.

“How did you-“ he huffs. “I’ve never made a pass work on that turn!”

“I’ll teach you later,” you promise. “After I beat you.”

The Max that everyone talks about would be fuming mad, driving angry, chasing you down. But this Max- your Max, you catch yourself thinking- is anything but. He’s happy. He’s laughing. The love of racing. You know the feeling.

Two laps later, he figures out your trick and passes you back for the lead. You trade off a couple times, but in the end he sees the checkered flag first- of course he does, it’s Max. When you log off it’s nearing midnight, even later for him.

“Past my bedtime,” he says, and you laugh.

“Nothing a little morning Red Bull won’t fix,” you suggest.

“Yeah. Hey,” he says. Then pauses. Like he’s unsure- the first time he’s been unsure all night. “Are you busy the weekend of June 30th?”

The weekend of the Austrian GP. You flip through the calendar on your nearby desk, but you’re pretty sure you’re free.

You fiddle with the paddles again. “No. Are you?”

He laughs. “A little. In Spielberg, you know. Wanna come?”

You’ve been to races before. You’ve been at one earlier this year. As a guest of Red Bull. Which is different, right? It’s definitely different. Those have been scheduled appearances and promotional opportunities and a publicist reaching out to your publicist. This is… this is Max, inviting you.

“Yeah,” you say, not bothering to hide your grin. He can’t see it anyways. “Sounds like fun.”

“Lovely,” he says. “I’ll text you, then.”

“Cool,” you agree. “Talk soon.”

…..

If the race in Miami was a cool experience, Austria is ten times the excitement. You step off the plane on Wednesday, grab your luggage, and find a man waiting for you with a sign with your name on it. Then there’s a fancy car ride to an even fancier hotel near the track. Max texts halfway through your drive from the airport, asking if you’re in yet. You reassure him that you’re on the way. He apologizes for the long trek from the airport, and you send him back a picture of the glass of wine you’d been handed, and a message that says: endurance driver, remember?

The drive there is beautiful. The racetrack is nestled in the green hills just outside of Spielberg. You gaze out the window the entire time, enamored with the countryside. As you near the hotel, you catch a glimpse of the iconic bull statue, and it makes your smile grow. It’s weekends like these that make you thrilled about racing all over again.

You step out of the car at the hotel and someone is already rushing over to unload your luggage. It feels strange. You stretch a bit, breathe in the fresh air, and when you turn around Max is standing there, waiting, hands in his pockets. He’s smiling, too. You can’t help but smile back.

He greets you with a hug and a kiss brushed against each cheek- how European of him, you think. His cheeks are flushed rosy pink, from sun or something else, you’re not sure. His hair glitters golden in the sunlight. It’s only been a little over a month since you last saw him, but he looks different- more tan, maybe. You ask what he’s been up to.

“Had a week off,” he tells you a few seconds later, “between Canada and here. Spent a lot of it on a boat.”

“Fancy,” you tease. “I was in New York. Watkins Glen.”

“I saw the race,” he says. Your heart flutters when you look up at him, at the eagerness in his gaze. “Bullshit move that other team pulled in the last stint.”

You let out a stream of air through pursed lips. “Mhm. But we’d have lost it anyways.”

Max shakes his head. “Not if you’d been behind the wheel at the end.”

You laugh, shake your head at him, and turn to grab your bags. They’re gone. You blink, perplexed.

“They’ve taken them up to your room for you,” Max explains, nudging your side. “I know you’d probably like to get settled in, but would you want to get dinner after? With me, I mean?”

When you turn back to look at him, you’re a little bit surprised. Max Verstappen looks nervous. He’s rocking back and forth from one foot to the other, hands shoved in his pockets. Like he’s unsure. You’ve never known him to be unsure. You’ve watched him make calculated move after calculated move on the track and off it, too. It’s your first sign that he feels it too- the butterflies in your gut, swirling up into your chest, threatening to choke up your throat.

“That would be really nice,” you say, softly.

The grin that breaks across his face is infectious.

Max is still nervous in the lobby an hour later, still hesitant when he offers you his arm and walks you towards the hotel restaurant. But one gin and tonic and a couple appetizers later, he’s the Max you’ve come to recognize again- lit up, bright, electric. He’s animated and funny and his cheeks are even redder than before.

By the time the entrees show up- which look delicious, of course- he’s different. Easy, you think again. Like when the two of you raced against each other. His guard is down. He’s open- it shows on his face. This is the Max not many people get to see. The biting comebacks and confident remarks are gone, replaced with such a genuine curiosity it nearly knocks you breathless.

“What’s your goal, for racing?” He asks, softly.

He’s moved his chair halfway around the round table, just to be a little closer to you. So the two of you can talk quietly and be heard. So he can nudge his shoulder against yours when you say something funny.

You smile. “I’ve got a lot of them.”

“What’s next?” He asks. “Besides stealing Rocky from me.”

“That’s actually why I’m here this weekend, you know.”

“I do, I’m one step ahead of you,” he says, pointing at your nearly empty second glass of wine. “You’d never drive drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!” You squeak, though you wonder if the looseness of your syllables gives you away a little bit.

“Tipsy, then.”

“Sure.”

“Your next goal,” he reminds you. “After Rocky.”

You hum, shoving a bit of pasta around on your plate. “Trying to get a permanent seat in Indycar next year.”

He nods. “Instead of just for the 500 and a couple extra races here and there.”

“Yeah,” you nod.

“Is it hard?” He asks. Your gaze flickers up to meet his, and he chews on his lower lip. “I mean. You are a good driver. Very good. They should be flocking to you, of course.”

“I’m a good driver, for a woman,” you say, softly. Max’s brows furrow. “That’s what someone said in a meeting last week. For a woman.”

Max sinks lower in his seat. You rub your thumb against the silky fabric of the tablecloth. Suddenly, you feel out of place. It’s nothing Max did. It’s just a reminder of how he’s at the top of his game, at the top of your shared sport, while you fight tooth and nail for every opportunity. Max has overcome his own hardships to get there, you know it. But it doesn’t take the sting away from yours.

“I did the feeder series, but there just wasn’t a seat available to make the jump,” you explain. “So for a bit it’s just been all about getting drive time whenever I possibly can.”

“I know some of the other drivers, you know. I would offer to try and pull some strings,” he says, “but I get the feeling you wouldn’t like that.”

You smile at him, because despite it all, he really does get you. “I would not.”

He nods. You nod back.

And then you sigh. “Sorry. I brought down the mood.”

He shakes his head. “I asked. Because I wanted to know.”

Still, you change the subject. He lets you. The ease seeps back in. You forget that the two of you are drivers- for a while, it’s just you and Max in that warm, comfortable bubble. And maybe that means more than he really knows.

You order another drink after dinner- Max switches to water but insists he’s fine to hang out, just needs to not be hungover the next day. You venture out onto the open patio behind the hotel. Down the hill, you can see the racetrack, lit up in the dark night. The Bull, the logo you share with Max, seems to float above it, silhouetted. You kick your heels off, pull your feet up onto the chair. Max sinks down next to you, dragging his chair closer.

If it was easy on the sim and even easier at dinner, here, it’s like you’ve known him forever. The night chill makes you shiver. He slips his jacket off, drapes it over your shoulders. You lean into him, your head against his upper arm, bridging the gap. He sighs happily.

“What’s your goal?” You ask. “Just gonna drive F1 cars until you’re old and grey?”

His responding laugh shakes his shoulders. “God, no.”

He tells you, then, what his plan is. All the other things he wants to get the chance to do. He tells you about that crash, Silverstone, 2021. How he’d seen others crash but never understood until that moment- that there is more to life than Formula 1, that even though he’d worked his whole life to get there, there was more he wanted to do after it. You’re amazed that someone who’s two championships in, barreling headfirst towards a third, still wants more. When you tell him that, he laughs again.

“I also just want to retire and play iRacing and let myself get fat and old,” he says.

“And spend more time on the boat,” you suggest.

He hums. “Maybe. If I could spend it with the right people. Person. You know.”

You wonder, for a fleeting moment, if he means you. If you could fit into that puzzle. If he really is feeling it the way you are. But the moment feels so nice, so comfortable, that you’d hate to say the wrong thing and ruin it.

“Sounds perfect,” you say.

You nearly fall asleep there, leaning on him. But he laughs when your head starts to slip, walks you up to your room, carrying your heels for you like a real gentleman. He kisses your cheeks again, bids you goodnight. He has to be at the track early tomorrow. You wonder, really, how much you’ll actually see of him the rest of the weekend before you leave for home. But maybe tonight will be enough to hold you over.

You spend most of the rest of the weekend being wined and dined by Red Bull hospitality, which is honestly hilarious to you, considering that they already pay you- though you suppose it’s a different marketing branch, different budgets. You watch the practices with eager eyes, taking in one from the viewing area and one from down in the garage. There’s something electric about watching them zip around on track, something adrenaline spiking about the quiet of the garage until the cars come rolling back in.

Max has a team dinner that night, but he texts you when he’s done, and asks if you’re still up. You’re at the pool for a late night swim, the only person still daring to even be in the water. He joins you ten minutes later, not dressed for a swim. You grin up at him from the edge of the water, your arms on the pavement.

“How’s the car feel?” You ask.

He grins. “Feels good.”

He must be right- qualifying goes well for him. He puts it on pole. You celebrate after with salads and electrolyte drinks. It’s nice to go to a race with no obligations, no media duties. To enjoy motorsport for the love of motorsport. Watching Max, cheering for Max, makes it all the more fun.

You find out just before the race starts that your pass will get you pretty much anywhere, so you sneak into the grandstands, up at the highest level, to watch the start. It brings you back to the very beginning. Suddenly, you’re a wide eyed little kid again, sitting in the grass at the Indy 500, feeling your bones rattle as the cars roared by. At that moment, part of the crowd at the largest sporting event in the world, you knew you wanted to be behind the wheel. In this moment, you know you’ll never be satisfied watching from the sidelines.

You tell Max that, after the race, after he wins and gets his trophy and gets doused in champagne. And he nods in understanding, squeezes you into his chest, tucks his chin atop your head.

“Hold onto that feeling,” he reminds you. “That’s how you’re going to beat them all.”

Your flight leaves late the next afternoon. In the morning, Max knocks on your door with one more trick up his sleeve. You slip into the passenger seat of yet another fancy car and head down the road from the hotel, driving around the outskirts of the racetrack. The circus is already packing up to leave town, equipment being loaded onto trucks. Max pulls into a parking lot- a karting track covered with Red Bull logos. You start to laugh.

He’s apparently booked the whole place out for the morning- it’s just the two of you and a couple staff members. He helps you pick a kart, because “they’re not all equal, of course,” and sends you off to get suited up and put on a helmet. You meet him on the track, buzzing already.

“You ready?” He asks, patting the top of your helmet.

“Are you ready to eat my dust, Verstappen?” You taunt.

Even behind the helmet, you can tell he’s smiling.

It’s been a while since you’ve been in a vehicle this small, but you adjust pretty quickly. The two of you do a warm up lap and then line up at the start, tiny engines raring to go. And the track is new to you, but when the lights go green, it almost feels like muscle memory. Two laps in and you’ve found the racing line. 5 laps in and you start to challenge Max. By lap 10 of 20, you’ve taken over the lead.

When you see the checkered flag first and skid to a stop shortly after the line, you can already hear him laughing. He climbs out of his kart and walks over to slap the side of your helmet affectionately. You can see his crinkled eyes where he’s flipped the helmet visor up.

“Again?” He asks.

You nod, feeling that rumble deep in your chest. “Again.”

You could stay forever, but Max drags you out of the kart around lunchtime, both of you grinning ear to ear. In the year so far, you’ve done a handful of endurance races, a NASCAR race on a dirt track, and competed in the Indy 500, and yet this is what’s brought that thunder back to your bones. You know Max feels it too. Racing for the joy of it. For the fun of it. Just to prove you can still do it. No obligations, just speed and pavement and rubber.

“Let’s call it the Bull Shit Cup,” Max suggests, over sandwiches at some restaurant just a few minutes away from the track. “Make it an annual thing.”

“Okay,” you agree. “You owe me a trophy for it, then. I won, fair and square, even though I could have pushed you off in turn one, and nobody would’ve known.”

“You could’ve,” he agrees. “But you wouldn’t.”

He looks at you with a smirk, blue eyes through long thick lashes, and you hate to admit that he’s right. You would never. You like him too much to send him careening into a wall just to win a race. You care for him too much. Your stomach twists.

You think about kissing him, in the car, before he drops you off at the airport. His hand is on your knee, where it’d fallen when he stopped to listen after telling you an animated story full of hand gestures. It’s probably meant to be a signal, him touching you like this. But you chicken out when he pulls up to the curb. Probably for the best, anyways.

Then Max leans over, cups your cheek in his hand, and presses a soft, sweet kiss to your cheek. Just one. Very not European. Different from the others. His hand stays put, thumb brushing against your skin. You take a breath, try to steady yourself.

“Thanks for having me,” you say. “It was really fun.”

“Thanks for coming,” Max says back.

“I’d invite you to my next race,” you say, quietly. “But I think you’ll be in Qatar that weekend. Or still recovering.”

Max pouts. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

You sigh. “Well. It’s okay. I’ll see you soon, I’m sure. At some event, or something.”

“Right,” Max agrees. “We’ll find something.”

The flight home leaves you exhausted and empty feeling. You do your best to shake it off, but you worry missing Max is the type of feeling that sticks around.

yourusername: danke Austria, danke redbullracing, and danke maxverstappen1

maxverstappen1 You’re welcome back anytime

redbullracing thanks for being a good luck charm!

liked by maxverstappen1

…..

There’s a gala in New York, one that’s full of people with important names with deep pockets. You end up there, nursing a glass of awful wine, trying to flatter your way into the important conversations. You’re mildly successful a couple times, and manage to make some good connections. Your publicist will be proud. You just hope one of them works out how you’d like.

You’re up at the bar, trying to decide what else to order, when someone says your name. You recognize the voice, but it’s the tone, too. Everyone else who’s said your name tonight has had expectations for you. The way Max says it is different, though you can’t quite put your finger on how it’s different. You just know.

Max smiles at you when you turn to him. His hand falls to your lower back, smoothing over the black silk of your dress as he leans over the bar. He orders a gin and tonic for himself, and a very expensive sounding glass of wine that he hands off to you. You take a sip and smile, relieved when it tastes good.

“This old man ordered a drink for me,” you tell him, whispering conspiratorially. “It was awful, but I had to finish it.”

Max scowls, his eyes scanning the room like he’ll be able to spot the man in question. “Old men usually do have bad taste.”

“I suppose that explains why he was talking to me,” you laugh.

Max doesn’t laugh. “No, I think that may be where he got it right.”

Max keeps his hand on your lower back and leads you through the crowd. You let him. After a night full of trying to make a name for yourself, you’re quite ready to let someone else be in control for a few minutes. You don’t even question where he’s taking you until you end up on the rooftop, the glittering lights of New York City spread out across the open space in front of you. There’s a small garden, a few chairs, a sparkling blue pool, and absolutely no other humans to be seen.

“Oh, wow,” you say, quietly. “Are we supposed to be up here?”

Max shrugs, makes his way over to a patio chair, and sits down. “Don’t know. All I know is I couldn’t be there much longer.”

You nod in agreement and sit down next to him, kicking off your heels. He smiles and sheds his suit jacket, taking a long sip of his gin and tonic. He toes off his dress shoes, too. Then he sighs dramatically.

“Tell me about it,” you say, letting your shoulders drop. “I’ve been called sweetheart and had my shoulders touched far too many times tonight.”

Max blinks. “I could tell you were getting uncomfortable.”

You don’t really have time to process that- to process that he was watching, that he cared enough to notice, that he maybe came over to save you from it all. All thoughts about that go out the window when he starts to loosen the buttons on the collar of his shirt. The bow tie he had on falls to the ground, atop his jacket. The cuff bracelet he’s wearing follows. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. He’s so close you think you could count his eyelashes. You take a sip of your wine.

“I didn’t think you were going to be here,” you tell him. “My publicist said…”

He smirks and blinks a couple times, lashes tangling together. “You asked your publicist if I would be here?”

You swallow and shrug. “Maybe. It’s nice to have a familiar face.”

His smirk grows. “Tell me about it. I asked my publicist, too. If you’d be here, i mean.”

You turn farther towards him, your legs falling over the edge of the chair. His hand brushes against your bare knee. The strap on your dress slips down your shoulder, and you watch the way his gaze traces your bare skin. Then he looks over your shoulder, towards the pool.

“Maybe we should cool off,” he suggests. “Take a swim.”

“I don’t have a swimsuit,” you tell him, thinking back to the bag you’d packed and if there was anything in it that could substitute.

He shrugs, his finger tracing a featherlight circle against your knee. “We can go in our underwear. I won’t tell if you won’t.”

You’re about to tell him you’re not wearing a bra when you hear the rooftop door swing open. The smirk slips off his face, melting into frustration. His hand fully rests on your knee, now, thumb and pointer finger pressing into the inside of your thigh.

“Max?” Someone calls out. His publicist, you think.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I’m here.”

“Yeah,” she calls back. “But you should be downstairs.”

He lets out a long, heavy sigh. You do the same and push yourself up to sit, slipping your shoes back on as he starts to gather his things. He tugs the dress shoes on with a wince, pulls the jacket on and straightens the lapels. The buttons on his shirt and the bow tie are next, his fingers soft and pale in the night light. You want to feel them on your skin again.

He stands. You do the same. The bracelet is sitting on the chair, glinting gold, and you grab it and then hold it out to him. He smiles softly and takes a couple steps to close the distance.

“I’m sorry we didn’t have more time,” he says. His cheeks are red as he takes the bracelet and turns it in his hand.

“We’re busy people,” you tell him.

He nods, but the frown stays etched on his face. You shiver when his hand trails up your shoulder and slides the strap of your dress back into place, and a trail of goosebumps follow his touch. He reaches up, then, and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, too.

“Max!” The woman calls from the doorway. He groans.

“You should go,” you tell him, even though you want him to stay.

He nods, and then he grabs your wrist. Before you can even realize what he’s doing, the bracelet is around your arm instead. Your breath catches in your chest, your heartbeat kicking up a notch. His cheeks are redder, now, but the smile is back on his lips.

“Hang onto this,” he says. “Until I see you again.”

You nod, holding yourself taught so you don’t lean up to kiss him. He disappears a second later, and you’re left to down the last of your glass of wine, wondering if he’d wanted to kiss you, too.

When you return to the party, you find it’s easier to talk to the important people with the weight of his bracelet on your wrist, and the weight of his gaze on you every time you find him in the crowd.

maxverstappen1: Champions 🙌

yourusername huge congrats, Max! ❤️💙 & well done to the whole team

liked by maxverstappen1

…..

Vegas is glitz and glamor and bright blinding lights. Max hates the whole spectacle with every fiber of his being and never forgets to remind you of that fact. You listen attentively to his complaints over the phone in the week leading up to the race. You get it. He wants to race, that’s all. Not be presented like some celebrity, even if he is one.

Then the race happens and he has a good time, and his opinion seems to change.

You’ve spent your weekend in Vegas, watching from the sidelines and trying not to seem bitter in all the promo content they have you do. At least some of it involves driving a rally car around in the Nevada desert- not a bad bonus. Max texts you and tells you the day after that he saw some of the footage, that you looked badass. Despite being in the same city as him, despite being two floors down in the same hotel, you don’t talk to him in person until after he’s crossed the finish line in first place in the earliest hours of Sunday.

It’s a fleeting moment. You’re still in the garage by the time he gets back from the podium. He’s soaked in champagne, lit up like a neon sign. He makes his way through a crowd of Red Bull employees, thanking everyone. You stick to the sidelines, to the walls, not wanting to get in the way. It’s his race, his celebration.

But he spots you and beelines for you, hand already outstretched in your direction. You grab on, eagerly, let him pull you into orbit, into a half hug, face crushed against his chest. He smells like car- like engine exhaust and gasoline and adrenaline. You grin up at him. He stares down at you, eyes wide. The atmosphere feels thick. Like you could cut the tension with a knife- suddenly, you understand that saying in a way you never have before. The garage is filled with activity, but there the two of you are, a fixed point in the middle of the chaos. He’s staring, still, like he doesn’t know what to say but he can’t look away.

You’re wearing his bracelet. His fingers trace over the metal where it hangs on your wrist, but he doesn’t make a move to take it back. He just smiles and presses his thumb into the gap on the underside, skin against skin.

Someone tugs at his elbow and calls his name, loudly.

“I have to go,” he says.

You laugh. “I know.”

When he gets pulled away and lets your hand drop, you swear you feel an actual spark.

You slip away, then, to head back to your room. You have dinner and watch the race recap- there’s a lot you miss, standing in the garage. When you check your phone, you have a barrage of missed notifications bearing his name.

He’s out at a club and asking you to join. You don’t know how to explain how much is riding on your public image right now- sponsors, fundings, support. It’s a part of motorsport he wouldn’t really understand, at least not at the level you do. But he’s kind when you say you can’t, asks if he can stop by, and shows up quickly after you say yes, even if it is late. Nobody sleeps in Vegas. You may as well add yourself to that list.

He’s a little tipsy when you open the door to your hotel room- he has every right to be. He’s holding himself taught, but when he sees you in the entryway he loosens up, gaze going soft.

“Hi,” he says, quietly.

“Congrats,” you tell him. “It was a good race.”

“I… I don’t want to talk about racing,” he admits. “I just wanted you.”

You blink at him, silhouetted by the fluorescent hotel hallway light. There’s a bull on his jacket, on the shoulder, tiny, but it’s there. A constant reminder of the thing that ties the two of you together. You step aside to let him in, let the door swing closed behind him. The air crackles around you, goosebumps rising on your arms. He runs a hand through his hair, his other hand falling to his hip.

“Tell me you feel it too,” he asks, almost begs.

You kiss him as a reply- you lean in and up, wrap your arms around his neck, hold on for dear life when he kisses you back. He’s warm and he tastes like gin and he still smells like the racetrack, like melted rubber that even a shower can’t scrub away. You like it that way. He won the race, but he just wants you. You let him back you towards the bed as you fiddle with the zipper on his jacket.

“I feel it,” you say, when he breaks away for a second, gasping for air. “Fuck, Max-“

He hums, dipping down to mouth at your jaw, your neck, your pulse point. “I know.”

His skin is hot on yours, hotter still the more the two of you get undressed. He gets you laid out on the bed beneath him, takes you apart with skilled precision the way he drives his precious car. But things get heated, and the composure slips away. He gets more open, eyelids fluttering as he gives in to you, too, as you wrap around him and pull him in. Your Max appears, the bravado of a race day melting away, leaving everything you love about him in its place.

Afterwards, he kisses you just to kiss you, holding you in his arms in the bed. You’re both freshly showered, teeth brushed, and he seems to have no plans to go anywhere. You’re happy, even if it might make the morning awkward, even if he needs to leave early the next day for Abu Dhabi.

You realize, then, that you never congratulated him on his championship, other than the comment on the instagram post you know he didn’t even write. But he didn’t want to talk about racing, so you don’t say anything. You just rest your head on his bare chest, his arms banded tight around your middle. You can hear the soft thud of his heartbeat. Steady, now. You wonder if his heart had kicked up a notch earlier, when yours did, if they beat in sync for just a moment.

“Do you ever get scared?” You ask, drawing a nonsense shape on his skin, just under his collarbone. “Or are you numb to it?”

He hums. “Not often, but. There’s this moment. Right before the lights go out. Where it hits me, what I’m doing, how absolutely stupid I am to put myself in that car.”

You nod in understanding. “I’ve had that. How do you get past it?”

He laughs, shrugs. “I don’t. But then the lights go out and I drive anyways.”

He traces shapes across your skin while you listen to his soft breaths.

“I was scared tonight, too,” he tells you, while you rub your eyes and he twists his fingers with yours. “When I knocked on your door. So I think sometimes being scared means you’re doing something good.”

“Me too,” you admit.

Then you lean up to kiss him again, and what little fear that was left melts away when he kisses you back. You can feel the smile on his lips. He leaves in the morning with a toothpaste tinged kiss to your lips and a promise to talk soon. You try to convince yourself he’s telling the truth.

yourusername viva Las Vegas!

maxverstappen1 🕺

liked by yourusername

…..

You wait for him to reach out and try not to be upset when it doesn’t happen right away. His schedule must be insane. He’s probably jet lagged and exhausted and being thrown into the next race weekend far too quickly for his liking. You get it.

When he finally calls, three days after you wake up with him, you pick up on the second ring.

“Hi,” you say.

He lets out a soft sigh. “Hi. I’m sorry I had to leave so quickly. And that it took so long to call.”

You’re a bit relieved that he’s jumping right into it. Not shying away, not pretending like it didn’t happen. You’ve been trying not to think too much about it- your bare skin against his, the way the rise and fall of his chest feels against your cheek. It’s stuck in your head, though.

“It’s okay,” you say, quietly. “You’re a busy man.”

“Not too busy for you,” he says, the words stilted. Like he’s not sure how to get his point across. “I want to spend more time with you.”

You want it too, but. “Max…”

He sighs. “I know. I know things are not simple.”

You laugh. “That’s an understatement.”

“But look at us,” he says.

You reach up, press your finger to the mark he left on your collarbone a few days before, just to feel the ache.

“Has anything you’ve ever done been simple?” He asks.

You blink, suddenly a bit taken aback. He’s got a point, you suppose. From the very beginning, you’ve been fighting an uphill battle, swimming against the current. And yet, you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“I live by this sort of motto,” you tell him. “That the best day of your life is right on the other side of the hardest thing you’ve ever done.”

You think of Max, of all the stories you’ve heard about him. Of anger running deep in his bones. Of fighting for everything he’s ever wanted and still being hungry for more. You know the feeling all too well. You've had your fair share of your own races gone wrong, of angry debriefs with the team, or wanting to hurl your helmet at the wall and say fuck it all. You’re a bit envious that he could give in to the feeling. You don’t hold it against him, though.

“Yeah,” he says. You can hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah.”

“How about you call me when you’re done in Abu Dhabi,” you suggest. “And we’ll figure it all out.”

He hums. “How about you tell me where you want to go and I book a couple plane tickets.”

Your heart twists in your chest. “I… My schedule is about to get a little crazy.”

“It’s the off season,” he points out. “You’re supposed to be on vacation.”

“I know.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I have a good reason. I have meetings and some interviews and some travel-“

“Oh my god,” Max says, quietly. “You got a seat.”

“Shh!” You say, though you can’t fight the grin that slips across your lips. “God I hope you’re alone- I’m really not supposed to talk about it-“

“-I called you, of course I’m alone-“

“-Oh, are you going to ask what I’m wearing?” You tease.

“You’re trying to change the subject,” he says.

You sigh and nod, even though he can’t see you. “It’s like the lights are about to go out and I’m realizing how crazy I am. But on a bigger scale.”

He sighs in response. “I wish I was there with you.”

“You have a race to win,” you tell him. “You know. Good things on the other side of hard days. I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will,” he says. So sure of it. Like he’s known it for years, like he’s known you for a lifetime. Kindred souls, matching sparks in your chests. “And as soon as you’re ready, you call me and tell me everything.”

“Okay,” you agree.

“And then you tell me where you want to go,” he adds. “And we book the tickets. To celebrate the end of the waiting.”

You could cry. You don’t, but you could.

“I think I’d go anywhere with you,” you tell him.

“Okay,” he says. Now you can really hear the smile in his voice. “I’ve never been to anywhere, but I hear the weather is lovely.”

“Now you’re deflecting,” you tease.

“Mhm,” he agrees. “I’m saving all the sappy shit for when I can say it to your face.”

…..

You spend a week in mid-December on a beach with Max, with nothing but the sun and him to worry about. He holds true to what he said on the phone. He picks you up from the airport, drives to the hotel with his hand laced with yours. And then, in the safety of the hotel room balcony, looking out over the ocean in the dark of the night, he pulls you close.

“I’m proud of you,” he says. “I’ve been amazed by you since the day we met. And I know it won’t be easy, but I’ll go anywhere with you, too, if you let me.”

He’s being vulnerable. You can feel his heart racing under your hand, pounding at his ribcage. So you lean up, press your lips to his cheek in a very not European way.

“Nothing good is ever easy,” you say.

He smiles, and you swear it’s bright enough to light up the night sky. And then he kisses you and lights you up from the inside, too.

For the rest of the trip, the two of you leave your phones on do not disturb, leave the TV in your hotel room turned off, leave the outside world, the fast paced shit, behind. For a few days, it’s just him.

You’ve known him for nearly a year, known of him for far more than that. And the two of you are nowhere near done yet- the finish line is still miles ahead. But you find that there’s something in Max that you didn’t know you were missing the entire time- he has that spark, too. The hunger to just keep driving. To push past the moment of fear and find the good on the other side. He’s been one of your biggest supporters since the day you met- since he complimented your driving.

“Now that the season’s over,” you say to him one night at dinner, over the rim of your cocktail glass. “Can I drive Rocky?”

He laughs and hooks his foot around your ankle under the table. “Sure. But only if you let me drive yours.”

You suppose it’s a fair trade.

a/n: fun fact! the karting track with the Red Bull theming really does exist near the track in Austria. so. new travel bucket list item added. anyways. hop you enjoyed! if you made it this far, ty so much for reading!!

Taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @arian-directioner @racingheartsposts @sakuramxchii @mynamejeff5 @c-losur3 @casperlikej @the-navistar-carol @everyonesluvah @jsjcue @ggaslyp1 @si1ver06 @nicole01-23 @andruuu28 @coffeehurricanes

crossed out urls are ones I was unable to tag! to be added or removed from this list, just drop me an ask/message!

#max verstappen

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oscpiastri81 · 4 days

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If I Was a Worm

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: would you still love me if I was a worm?

Max leans back on the plush leather couch, his eyes fixed on the TV screen where a football match flickers. The living room is bathed in the warm glow of evening sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. You’re curled up beside him, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Max?” You murmur, breaking the comfortable silence.

He hums in response, his fingers idly playing with a strand of your hair. “What’s on your mind?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. The question that’s been nagging at you feels silly now that you’re about to voice it. But curiosity wins out. “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

Max’s hand stills. He looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “A worm? Like, an actual worm?”

You nod, fighting back a smile at his bewildered expression.

He lets out a short laugh. “Where did that come from?”

“Just answer the question,” you insist, poking his side playfully.

Max runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to process this unexpected turn in conversation. “I mean ... I guess? But why would you be a worm?”

You shrug, sitting up to face him properly. “It’s hypothetical, Max. Just go with it.”

He sighs, a mix of amusement and exasperation in his eyes. “Alright, fine. If you were a worm, I’d ... I’d buy you the best soil? Make sure you had plenty of leaves to eat?”

You can’t help but giggle at his attempt. “That’s sweet, but not quite what I meant.”

Max groans, throwing his head back against the couch. “I don’t know how to love a worm! What do worms even do?”

“They wiggle,” you offer helpfully, demonstrating with a wave of your hand.

He captures your wiggling hand in his, intertwining your fingers. “Okay, so you’d wiggle. And I’d ... watch you wiggle?”

You burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all. Max joins in, the tension in his shoulders easing as he pulls you closer.

“I’m serious though,” you say once the laughter subsides. “Would you still love me? Even if I wasn’t ... me anymore?”

Max’s expression softens, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. “Is that what this is really about? You’re worried I wouldn’t love you if you changed?”

You nod, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “I know it’s silly ...”

“Hey,” Max says gently, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “It’s not silly. And to answer your question: yes, I’d still love you. Worm or not.”

“Even if I couldn’t talk to you anymore? Or hug you? Or do any of the things we do together?”

Max is quiet for a moment, considering. “I think ... I think love isn’t just about what someone can do for you. It’s about who they are, their essence. And that wouldn’t change, even if you were a worm.”

You feel a warmth spreading through your chest at his words. “That’s ... actually really profound, Max.”

He grins, a hint of pride in his eyes. “I have my moments.”

“So you’d be okay with having a worm girlfriend?” You tease, lightening the mood.

Max laughs, shaking his head. “I mean, it would definitely make my life interesting. Imagine trying to explain that to the press.”

You adopt a mock-serious tone. “Max, is it true that your girlfriend is now a invertebrate?’“

He plays along, mimicking his media voice. “Yes, it’s true. But I can assure you, she’s the most beautiful earthworm you’ve ever seen.”

You both dissolve into giggles, the earlier tension completely dissipated.

“Seriously though,” Max says once you’ve caught your breath. “Where did this worm thing come from?”

You shrug, a bit embarrassed now. “I don’t know. I was just thinking about how much our lives have changed since we got together. And how they might keep changing. I guess I wanted to know if there was a limit to ... us.”

Max’s expression turns thoughtful. “I get that. Our lives are pretty crazy sometimes.”

“Understatement of the year,” you mutter.

He chuckles. “Fair enough. But you know, through all the craziness, you’re my constant. My home base. That wouldn’t change, even if you grew an exoskeleton.”

You raise an eyebrow playfully. “Worms don’t have exoskeletons.”

“Same difference,” Max says with a dismissive wave. “The point is, I love you. All of you. Not just the parts that are convenient or easy.”

You feel a lump forming in your throat, touched by his sincerity. “Even the parts that ask weird hypothetical questions?”

“Especially those parts,” he assures you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “They keep me on my toes.”

You snuggle closer to him, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. “Thank you for humoring me.”

“Always,” Max murmurs. “Though I have to ask ... why a worm? Why not like, a cat or something?”

You laugh. “I don’t know. It just popped into my head. Plus, a cat would be too easy. You already like cats.”

“True,” he concedes. “But at least a cat could watch races with me. What would a worm do all day?”

You pretend to consider this seriously. “Worm things. Soil aeration. Composting.”

Max nods solemnly. “Ah yes, very important worm business.”

“Hey, don’t mock my hypothetical worm life,” you protest, poking his chest. “I’d be a very accomplished worm, I’ll have you know.”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t dare question your worm credentials.”

You both fall silent for a moment, the absurdity of the conversation sinking in.

“We’re ridiculous, aren’t we?” You say finally, unable to keep the smile off your face.

Max grins. “Completely. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You lean in to kiss him, feeling a rush of affection for this man who can make even the silliest conversations feel meaningful.

As you pull away, Max’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “You know, if you really want to be a worm, I could always bury you in the garden ...”

You gasp in mock outrage. “Max Verstappen, don’t you dare!”

He laughs, pulling you closer. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Though it might be fun to see you wiggle ...”

You swat his arm playfully. “Keep it up and you’ll be the one sleeping in the garden tonight.”

Max’s expression turns serious, though there’s still a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “You know, all this worm talk has got me thinking ...”

“Oh?” You say, curious about where he’s going with this.

He nods, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. I’ve realized something important.”

You wait, eyebrow raised expectantly.

“If you were a worm,” Max says slowly, building suspense, “you’d be the prettiest worm in the world.”

You groan, burying your face in his chest to muffle your laughter. “That was terrible.”

“But true,” he insists, chuckling. “You’d leave all the other worms in the dust. Or ... soil, I guess.”

You look up at him, shaking your head fondly. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it,” Max says confidently.

And as you gaze into his warm, playful eyes, you can’t deny it. You do love it. You love him, in all his goofy, sweet, sometimes infuriating glory.

“Yeah,” you admit softly. “I really do.”

Max’s expression softens, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “And I love you. Worm or human or anything in between.”

You lean into his touch, feeling a deep sense of contentment wash over you. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he says firmly. “Though I have to admit, I’m pretty fond of this current version of you.”

You smile, your earlier insecurities fading away in the warmth of his gaze. “Me too. I think I’ll stick with being human for now.”

“Good choice,” Max murmurs, pulling you in for another kiss. “Though I bet you’d make a cute worm.”

#max verstappen

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oscpiastri81 · 4 days

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Reputation - Max Verstappen

Summary: It's not secret that y/n Wolf is no stranger to a few of the drivers and now she sets her sights on Max. But will he actually give her what she wants or will he be the one to resist her?

Wolff!reader

Sidenote: I actually mixed up which song inspired me initially so this is inspired both by Bad Reputation by Shawn Mendes and Hooked by Why Don't We

Themes/warnings: Daddy issues, reader can be hostile at points

Word count: 4.5k

No part 2 requests please

Y/n Wolff has been duped the "rebellious daughter of Toto Wolff" and has actually done some damage to Toto's carefully crafted public image. Not that she cares. Unless it gets her ban from F1 then she'll do as she pleases and she's proven that.

Today she's arriving at the paddock with her most recent target. That being none other than Lewis Hamilton himself, who fell for those siren eyes when she batted them in his directed. Turns out that if she wants someone, it's almost impossible to avoid the effect she manages to have on everyone.

Max only glances at her but the few seconds of eye contact are enough for him to realise why so many of the other drivers have so easily fallen for her.

She's got a magnetic draw with only her eyes. Even a few seconds have managed to leave his mind blank of everything but her.

Not that he'll be another victim falling for her short lived affection. Fallen soldiers already include Lando and Charles, now she's really hit her dad where it hurts by not only choosing an older man, but the one driver on the grid who is in a silent war against Toto. His departure to Ferrari was not the start of his and Toto's woes and everyone within the grid knows it.

It all started when they refused to give Lewis the contract he wanted which then motivated him to go F1 one seat shopping and landed him with a very nice deal with Ferrari who was willing to pay bank for the 7 time champion.

Common knowledge within the paddock is also that y/n and Toto haven't been on speaking terms for years now despite consistently seeing each other because y/n doesn't shy away from attending F1 and never has. All communication between the father and daughter goes through Susie.

However, Max quickly learns that one look can be enough for y/n to decide her interest is caught.

"Hey, Max." Y/n calls catching him as he walks out the Red Bull unit to leave for the day.

"Hi, y/n..." Max greets hesitant to even indulge her with conversation. Mainly because he knows that the effect she actually has is an effortless effect so when she is trying, it's like men are putty in her hand. "Did you need something?"

"Is there anyway I could get possibly maybe get a ride with you to the hotel? I'm pretty sure we're staying in the same one and Lewis is staying late to look at data. Lando and Charles have already left and...you've never seemed too threatening to ask for help when I might need it."

Max can't tell if y/n is trying for his attention or not, but the siren act seems to have been retired at the moment. So maybe she really just is asking for help.

"Yeah, I can get you back to the hotel." Max nods with a small but awkward smile.

He's actually been warned by Lando that y/n should not be underestimated, she knows exactly what she's doing. But it looks like she is genuinely just needing a ride. Even if she got other intentions behind her request, he isn't as easily won over as Charles, Lando or Lewis who...in Max's humble opinion don't exactly play hard to get or put much effort into not giving her exactly what she wants from them.

"I thought you were a talker, you're really quiet." Y/n jokes earning a small smile. "It had been quite a long day actually now I'm thinking about it. Makes sense that you're not really in the talking mood."

"I don't think you've ever talked this much to me. I'm a little shocked." Max shrugs and y/n seems to shrug a little mirroring his gesture. "You must be a big fan of F1. Your life seems to revolve around it."

There's a brief moment where he's sure he sees an unreadable emotion flashes behind her eyes but she recovers too quickly for him to get a proper idea of whether it was anger or not.

"Something you can relate to." Y/n hums earning a smile before Max opens the door of the car that's already got a driver waiting for him since Max prefers to be driven around than drive himself for race weeks.

"So how are you and Lewis?"

"Me and Lewis?" Y/n questions in amusement but her tone really makes him feel like he just made a colossal error. "We're really good. but there isn't really much to say about him."

"No? I thought you two were dating or..."

"Please don't play stupid with me, Max. It's not going to save any feelings I know exactly how everyone in F1 looks at me." Y/n states with a sigh earning a slightly uneasy expression. "As much as I appreciate your politeness there's no point beating around the bush. I'm more than aware of my image both private and public."

"Everyone likes you." Max smiles making her look at him for a few beats before she starts laughing and for some reason it dawns on Max that he doesn't think he's ever heard her laugh before. Even while drunk she just smiles making gives someone an amused huff that could be considered a substitute of a laugh.

Thankfully the car arrives at the hotel and they step out walking into the lobby towards the lifts together. To his surprise he discovers their suites are on the same floor.

"Well thank you for the ride. It's been nice actually talking to you. It felt overdue for us to actually talk to each other." Y/n smiles as he walks her to her room then she hesitates as she opens the door. "I wouldn't mind...talking for a bit longer with you."

On instinct looking into those eyes that seem to have returned to their usual siren gaze than almost draws him in. But a distant echo his own internal voice yanks him back from the daze he'd fell into.

"Maybe another time." Y/n smiles noticing his hesitation, or more accurately mistaking his memorisation over her as hesitation. "Thank you again though. you have a good night."

"Y-eah, you too. I'm sure I'll see you again over the rest of the weekend." Max nods as she hugs him then stepping away and disappearing into her room, out of side before he gets another word out.

Suddenly he understands why Charles, Lando and Lewis have all so easily fallen under the effect of her. Even the lingering smell of her perfume is something he doesn't want to move away from, but he manages to force his feet to move just on the chance she knows he's not moved from outside her door.

Y/n arrived with Lewis again the next morning and Lando just so happened to be talking to Max when she and Lewis passed by. Her not sparing Max a glance while Lando instantly noticed the Dutchman's gaze glued on y/n.

"I never imagined y/n would get you hooked...she's addictive mate. The worst type of drug."

"What do you mean?-I mean I'm not, I've spoken to her once and been on nights out with you and her but I'm not...interested. But what do you mean she's addictive?"

"She knows what she wants a man for and she's very good at making you feel like it's all you want. Then she rips it away."

"Sounds like you got your heart broken."

"Didn't get far enough for it to be like that. But she's not interested in a man who wants her as anything more than a means of sex and torturing her dad."

Daddy issues make sense.

"Was it you or Charles first?"

"Me. Carlos said she's just went for upgrade after upgrade when she went from me to Charles to Lewis. You're the reigning champion and a major rival...guess you're like the final boss of sleeping with F1 drivers."

"Not going to happen. I'm not interested in just sex."

And that’s true. Max has never been interested in temporary people in his life. If he were to be another driver who falls for y/n then really he’d want it to be worth his time and even if in the end it didn’t work out, he’d never go into it in the first place if her only intention was for him to be just another driver.

Lando does notice Max's careful wording though. He's not interested in just sex, but that doesn't mean he's not interested in y/n. Although he won't be calling Max out for it.

"I'll see you on track, mate." Lando states earning a nod before he takes off.

Meanwhile y/n is sitting with Lewis after Toto caught Lewis for conversation and completely ignored his daughter.

Now Lewis isn't stupid he knows exactly what y/n is doing and he knows he's a pawn in her game. But unlike Max, he does actually enjoy just having sex with y/n. However, in moments like this he can't help but comment or more so ask.

"What happened between you and your dad?"

If Lewis thought this was about to be a therapy session, he was clearly highly mistaken because the atmosphere of permafrost makes an instant wave to regret hit Lewis for asking.

Truth be told he's not the first to make sure an error of judgement in thinking it's his place to ask. Charles was very much given the cold shoulder when he tried to tell her that she should make the effort to repair the damage between her and Toto. Obviously losing his own father makes him want to encourage anyone to remain close to theirs but it was not something he found to be productive in effort.

"I should leave you to get on with stuff. Wouldn't want to be distracting or get in your way." Y/n states not even making the effort to address what he just said. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah...Yeah." Lewis sighs watching her walk out though Susie does catch her and seem to perk her back up.

Despite everyone assuming that Max stays away from social media because he doesn't do any of the posting on his accounts but actually he's very much a user of social media. Hence why he knows all the memes and the famous moments circulating.

One thing he's seen all of is her posts with the other drivers she's now famously hooked up with. Pictures of her and Lando, or her and Charles or the more recent moments captured of her and Lewis.

She very much gives a "she looks absolutely beautiful um-and he's there" which is impressive to achieve even with Lewis.

However, Max made a slip up that y/n couldn't help but notice. Mainly because his fans pointed it out.

"I don't mean to tease, but liking a post on my Instagram from a year ago is a little scandalous." Y/n states as Max steps out the Red Bull unit actually ready to go home for the weekend since the race is finished and everyone is leaving for the day.

"It was from a year ago? I didn't notice." Max questions casually earning a small smile. "Would you like a ride back to Monaco?"

"Bold to assume I'm going to Monaco."

"You should come to Monaco." Max states making her smile quirk. "Unless you have other plans."

Max has actually decided that if y/n is going to show a new interest, maybe he should play ball and play her better at her game than she does. Because he's realised that maybe she does have an aim to him to fall victim as another man on her list of men to hurt her dad, but he's got other plans.

"I'd love to come back to Monaco." Y/n smiles then shifting. "I have to grab my luggage from the hotel."

"No problem." Max nods making her begin to walk with him.

Unsurprisingly, headlines were filled y/n and Max being spotted and leaving together while they were still in the air.

Of course there's nothing nice about her in the headlines or reports. Just more tearing int her character, criticism she's validated and told them they're free to think whatever they like of her.

Really Lewis knew his time was limited with y/n and he knows he was just another card in the shuffle of ways to hurt her dad. The moment he asked about what happened with between her and Toto was really a point of make or break. But maybe she could've let him know.

Plus after Max's public rejection of Toto time and time again, he is a target that is more salt to the wound. Ferrari might be taking Lewis, but Red Bull ended Mercedes dominance.

"The fact you're a man who loves cats explains so much." Y/n comments as Jimmy allows y/n to pick him up, a privilege that not even Max is often allowed.

Guess she has the same magnetic effect with males across different specifies.

"That feels like an insult."

"Do you see cats as a bad thing?" Y/n asks making him immediately shake his head. "Then why would it be a bad thing?"

"A lot of people don't like cats." Max murmurs earning a spark of amusement behind those eyes before y/n places the cat down and sighs looking around the apartment.

"You really live the life of a champion." Y/n smiles then moving towards him again. "So you got me here, what are we going to do now?"

Max is sure this woman has to have some sort of super power. Her close proximity is intoxicating and it does unlock some sort of...uncontrollable need to give her exactly what she's asking for.

"Max?" Y/n whispers standing very close in front of him and making him snap out his daze.

"What do you want to do?" Max asks making him look down at her.

She doesn't even have to say anything. The glaze over her eyes speaks for itself and the urges he's feeling actually leads him down the exact hole he didn't want to fall down. But sex one time before he continues with his plan can't do that much damage.

Turns out sex with y/n is well worth the hype. But Max just wants to keep her there, he's already emotionally invested in this woman and he doesn't care what it takes. He'll show her how much she can be valued and how much good a relationship with him could be.

It hasn't taken him long to figure out that it doesn't matter what happened between Toto and y/n, knowing won't change the fact that the outcome of it has lead to her being too insecure to think she's valued for anything more than sex.

When Lando was involved with Lando, the Brit told him that y/n would never spend the night unless she was so drunk that she could hardly walk and he insisted on her being somewhere that he knew was safe. She was always gone by morning.

Yet here she is, sleeping soundly next to Max. Unguarded and unmasked. Vulnerable and unknowingly a little more exposed.

Max suspects this is how she is at her core,

Admittedly it's an ungodly hour in the morning and he suspects she might intend to leave as soo as she wakes up. There's not much evidence so far to say that she's treating him any different to the rest of the drivers she's slept with.

She's going to be work.

But there's something in Max that is willing to be patient and insistent with her. He just wants to give her what she thinks she isn't enough to deserve.

Max gets up leaning over and kissing her which does make her stir before settling again, nuzzling down into the bed.

Of course the bliss was short-lived and y/n proved to be very on brand when she appeared in Max's kitchen to say goodbye.

"I have a flight I have to catch. Got some things I have to do. But I'll see you at the next race." Keeping her cards close to her chest and giving nothing away, not even what the reason for her leaving is. He sort of has a respect for her commitment to her art of never letting anyone get too close.

"You're always welcome to come back before then." Max states not wanting to push her too much. He's got a plan, it'll work out but moving too quickly will only scare her.

Y/n quirks a small smile before her phone goes off and she sighs seeing her taxi is there.

"Thank you, this was fun and we will definitely be doing it again. You take care."

Y/n didn't come back around before the next race but she didn't hide her interest in Max and while Max was being warned by his team right left and centre with even Helmut questioning y/n's intentions for the Dutchman.

"You know, you are so beautiful." Max comments as y/n lies next to him slightly dazed by the number he's just done on her and her expression says enough for him to know she isn't amused, nor does she find it funny that he's saying such a thing. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Act like I'm the crazy one for thinking you're beautiful."

Y/n laughs forcing herself to get up as she begins to feel herself get flustered and starts pulling on clothes, uncaring of how badly she really needs to clean up. Aftercare can be an afterthought for once she's out of here.

"Y/n, stop." Max instructs earning her attention and an expression of annoyance. "Just...don't freak out because you got a compliment."

"I'm not freaking out." Y/n scoffs rolling her eyes before she stands up. "Jesus Max, this is sex. There hardly even has to be an attraction between us for it to be good. I'm not fishing for compliments just because you got your dick wet."

"You don't have to fish for them for me to give you them anyway." Max shrugs not letting her upset faze him as she looks at him. "Stay."

Y/n frowns at him, assessing what she thinks his motive is.

"I have to go." Y/n mutters earning a smell smile and nod.

"Ok, I'll see you later." Max states making her swallow thickly before she rushes out of there, grabbing the few things she had with her.

Max kind of knew that y/n would come back trying to prove that she's unbothered and that this really us just about sex for her. She's just back to prove that she can have sex no strings attached.

However, Max noticed a shift and actually...over the next few races, she really started to show up not quite so eager to leave. And though it was still obvious she was more than happy to see the question pissed Toto off when he was asked about her involvement with Max.

Of course Toto tried to get Susie to talk to y/n about it, or maybe Susie tried talking to her about it, sometimes it's hard to tell. But y/n only shot the conversation down saying that she didn't need to discuss anything about Max and that she'd let Susie know if that changed.

"Would it be alright if I stay here?" Y/n yawns as Max moves around his bedroom.

"If you want to."

"Thank you." Y/n mumbles before she rubs her eyes a little while Max smiles a little to himself in victory.

And that's the trigger point of change and suddenly she's hardly anywhere but at Max's side. For weeks she's just there and Max is enjoying it while not making any mistake.

But eventually it all seemed to come to a head. Not with Max though, with Toto.

"Y/n, please." Susie tries rushing after y/n with Toto actually following slightly further behind as y/n marches out the Mercedes unit, tears being wiped off of her cheeks.

"Don't. Don't you dare." Y/n spits snatching her hand from her stepmom's hand reaches for her.

"Let her go. There is no point in trying anyone." Toto dismisses also not really wanting a family drama to be laid out in the paddock.

Y/n looks at her dad for a few beats and he feels a wave of realisation that he's really lost her, the pure hurt in her expression. Then she steps towards him point a finger.

"You are dead to me." Y/n spits and clearly people hear because there's a few gasps but she is beyond caring about their problems being left behind closed doors.

Y/n marches away, having to leave the paddock and just get herself to the hotel. And that's actually where she curls up but it's not long before there's a knock on the door and she sighs getting up and moving to the door.

She hard gets the door open before she's scooped up and a familiar scent hits her.

Now usually she'd reject at attempt at physical affection. But from Max in this moment, she can't find it in herself to reject him.

"It's ok." Max states and suddenly she's slapped in the face with a level of emotional that she's long since shown in front of someone. Aside from earlier today but Toto really brings out the worst of her.

Max kicks the door close before sighing and moving to lift her legs up around his waist then moving her back to the bed.

"I don't want to talk about it." Y/n whispers making Max sigh.

"You don't have to, but I'm here for you even if you do want to." Max assures her while y/n sniffles a little hearing him.

It takes a while before she finally seems to find her voice and sighs sitting up, which is when Max half expect her to use him as an outlet by initiating sex but instead she looks at him then swallows back what appears to be a very big lump in her throat slumps forward against him again.

"He actually spoke to me directly for the first time in like 3-4 years? And he taste that he was willing to work thinks out if I was going to stop acting like a whore who set out to embarrass him by sleeping around with all the drivers. Then he said he could forgive if I stopped actually hooking up with you and flaunting it around with no shame."

Max can assume that she won't be doing that given their position but actually it wasn't as if she came running to him. He came to her and he caught her in a vulnerable moment of weakness where she needed comforting. But maybe this is going to be the moment things end.

"I don't know how I share half a genetic code from him. He's always been the worst dad and a waste of my time." Y/n mutters then trying to control her quivering lip, eyes shining and body shaking a little as she takes in a very broken up breath, sniffling as she does so. "I wanted to talk to you today but he caught me first and fucking ruined it."

"You did?"

"Yeah."

So that's either a really good thing or a very bad thing. He's not entirely sure.

"About?"

"I was going to...I was going to ask if we could maybe go on a date or something?" Y/n mumbles making Max smile at her. "Alright don't get too excited."

"Too late." Max shrugs then sighing. "I've been waiting for the moment you realised this isn't another fling."

Y/n smiles a little taking in a deep breathe before she giggles and leans down kissing him.

"You are easily the only man in my life worth any amount of time and attention. But...maybe some privacy moving forward would be smart. I don't want people to keep thinking that I'm using you against Toto."

"We can be as public or as private as you like." Max shrugs earning a small nod. "Do you want to get something to eat? You've cried a lot. I think something greasy and unhealthy and comforting is the best food."

"Already top tier boyfriend. I clearly overlooked how good I could've had things with you." Y/n smiles making Max smile back at her. "You must be hungry too after that race...I'm surprised you weren't flying out of here first thing."

"Perks of a private jet. I can choose when I want to use it to go somewhere." Max shrugs earning a small eye roll. "Room service?"

"Yes."

The relationship only start ahead of the last few races of the season, and y/n was there supporting Max in ways she hadn't previously and the world seemed to clock onto the fact that y/n wasn't being so obvious anymore.

Her and Max's dynamic has changed and rather than just those siren eyes drawing him in for the kill. Y/n's whole mood changed actually and while she doesn't necessarily want to credit Max entirely for it...it's hard not to.

Admittedly Max sort of wanted to encourage her to settle the feud with her dad but learning more, he realised the better option for was the father and daughter to just stay away from each other. So instead he's just made sure he gives her as many reason to forget about him as possible.

Especially because the Dutchman has really made her feel valued. He's proven that she absolutely does deserve love and actually she's started to genuinely believe him.

But now the season is over, Max has sort of just locked them away for a Christmas and New Year together than is with the cats and with each other.

"I do think a Christmas spent with you is proving to be the best Christmas yet." Y/n smiles as she lies in bed. "And loads of undisturbed sex to waste the holiday is definitely not a bad way to spend it."

"I definitely have to agree." Max smiles then sighing. "Now, how about we try and figure out how to make some Christmas dinner?"

"I have a feeling we're going to fail, but it'll be fun failing trying to make a Christmas dinner with you." Y/n nods then standing up. "I'm almost tempted to do it naked but honestly I think I might be too tempted to pounce on you if there's not layers I have to get off of myself and off of you first."

"I love you."

"I love you too...and Jimmy and Sassy who will have to join in for the Christmas dinner."

"Definitely." Max confirms since he spoils those cats like real children and maybe he loves y/n all the more for being the same as him in that respect.

He really believes the two of them found their most unlikely of pairing. And yet here they are just enjoying their life together a few months into a relationship that y/n absolutely didn't imagine would last long or ever get this season. Yet Max waited, he patiently kept her in the picture and didn't let her just run off when the dynamic started to shift in a way that made her a little scared.

#max verstappen

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oscpiastri81 · 4 days

Note

Your cocktail idea is so good! Can you do a violet fluff for Max verstappen with prompt "How do you always know exactly what I need?" "I pay attention." ? I feel like max would def be the person to remember absolutely every little detail about someone he cares for🥲

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

3. "How do you always know exactly what I need?" "I pay attention."

��Hey, babe, do you know where that dress of mine is?”

Max frowned a little as he reached to pause his game, pulling his headphones off to rest around his neck before he turned to see where you were standing by the doorway, looking a bit frazzled and stressed out.

“What?” He asked, his brows furrowing in concern as you rubbed your hands over your face before letting out a groan.

“Ugh, that stupid blue dress that I love,” you groaned as you rounded the living room, towards the SIM set up he had in the corner. “The one you got me from Mexico, remember? I was thinking of wearing that to that coworker’s fancy dinner thing this weekend but I can’t find it anymore. I swear I saw it just the other day but I’ve been looking for hours and I can’t find it.”

“The one with the strings on the back?” Max questioned, watching as you nodded solemnly. “Oh, I sent that to the dry cleaners with my suits last week.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I sent it last week when I told you I was getting all of my suits dry cleaned,” Max repeated with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “You said the other day that you were thinking of wearing that one.”

Your eyes softened. “And you remembered?”

“Yeah, of course,” he murmured with a small frown. “It’s that coworker you hate, no? You said you wanted to wear a dress that you felt comfortable in and knew you looked good in. You always say the blue one is your favourite too, so I sent it off.”

“You are not real,” you murmured fondly.

“You also said to Victoria that you love wearing that silver bag with it so I put it on the top shelf of my wardrobe so the cats wouldn’t get to it,” Max added as a passing thought. “Knowing Sassy, she will have a sixth sense that you’ll need it that day and rip it to pieces.”

“How do you always know exactly what I need?” You questioned, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I pay attention,” Max shrugged.

“I love you,” you breathed out before leaning down to press a smacking kiss on his cheek. “Like, a stupid amount.”

Max snorted but happily accepted your affection. “I love you a stupid amount, too.”

“Glad it’s reciprocated,” you murmured, nuzzling your face against his neck as he pulled you down onto his lap, the game long forgotten by now.

“I was also thinking you could take one of my cars too,” Max added with a cheeky smile. “As a proper fuck you to your coworker.”

You sighed happily. “You are literally perfect, Max Verstappen.”

He beamed back in response.

#max verstappen

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oscpiastri81 · 4 days

Note

can you do a text thing where the reader wants to break up after a fight or says like we are over and how the drivers react to that? (They don’t actually break up)

'we need a break' with f1 drivers

★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri

( texts masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request )

★ : a/n :: never done a text fic this big. feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

#f1 recs

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oscpiastri81 · 4 days

Text

Fake It 'Til You... Confess? - Liam Lawson x Verstappen! Reader

Summary: RBR are preparing fans for the announcement that Liam will be replacing Perez in 2025. And how do they propose to gain more interest in him? By having him fake date Verstappen’s sister.

Fluff. Touch of angst. Fake dating

Requested: Yes by @biancathecool (here)

Blurb halfway down. Not proofread

F1 Masterlist

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ynverstappen just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes and others

ynverstappen my brother still comes to me and goes “wanna see something cool?” and then makes me watch as he does something uncool #silverstonegp

3,301 comments

maxverstappen1 excuse me. i got a trophy. how is that not cool?

→ ynverstappen because i had to listen to the british anthem

→ landonorris again. how is that not cool?

user here before liam

→ user he always gets to posts so fast, are we sure they’re not dating?

→ user just childhood besties

liamlawson30 the coolest thing i saw this weekend was you

→ ynverstappen obviously

→ user i love the dry verstappen humour

danielricciardo that’s because you spent the weekend in the wrong bulls garage. i could’ve shown you my cool scooter tricks

→ ynverstappen no. the last time you tried to show me a wheelie, you hit me in the ankle

redbullracing yn representing us in the last pic

→ user admin keeping it real

user definitely the hottest verstappen sibling liked by liamlawson30

→ user they say childhood besties but their internet behaviour says down bad

ynverstappen posted a new story

liamlawson30 replied stop making me seem like a fan → also i can’t believe you posted the makeup pic. i said you could do it so long as you didn’t show anyone! → ynverstappen be for real. you let me do it so i’d sit in your lap → liamlawson30 no ‘cause you smell

redbullracing replied bestie, are you aware that your entire insta story is just liam lawson? → ynverstappen are you aware i’d support ferrari if not for max and liam → redbullracing ouch → ynverstappen yeah, my bad. too far

jackdoohan replied (pic 2) i’m tired of this grandpa → but for real, he looks like you’ve destroyed his soul → ynverstappen you’ll be next if you keep bullying me

user so you go to watch max race in hungary yet spend the entire weekend with a guy NOT driving?? (seen 2 hours ago)

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Hungary GP

Fingers drumming on the table, Liam swung on the hind legs of his chair, eyes frantically darting to the door of the meeting room every time he heard a noise. At the other end of the table, the head of PR for RBR whispered back and forth with the legal rep. The pair of them glanced his way every now and again.

“So sorry I’m late. Christian kept talking to me about ‘the Tik Tok’ and I couldn't figure out how to get away.” A blur of blonde burst into the room, cheeks flushed with exertion. “Liam, legs on the floor. You could lose your tongue that way,” she reprimanded.

“I knew you cared about me.”

Noticing the three other people in the room, her smile slipped and she straightened, attempting to look more presentable. (And less like she’d run through the RBR factory). Being called to a meeting with the head of PR, a legal representative, your best friend and his manager, usually implied that you’d done something wrong.

“Thank you for joining us, Miss Verstappen.”

“I’m sorry if me posting pictures of Liam on my Instagram with mean captions caused problems. I swear I didn’t mean for Twitter to-”

“Relax. You’re not in trouble,” assured Liam's manager, a fond smile on his face.

Plopping into the seat next to Liam, she frowned when he offered her a forced smile. Not his usual blinding grin.

“Quite the opposite, in fact. Your friendship with Liam has gained traction amongst the fans. They seemed quite invested in your closeness.”

This time when she turned to look at her friend, he looked out the window, feigning interest in a passing bird.

“As you know, Liam has signed a contract to replace Checo for the 2025 season-”

Liam braced himself, preparing for a blow that never came. Instead, he turned to find her glaring daggers at both him and her brother.

“Actually, I didn’t know because Max and Liam take their NDAs seriously, and don't tell me a thing.”

A flicker of a smile crossed the legal representatives face but the PR manager remained impassive, eager to get this over with. “Yes, anyway, as I was saying… Mr Lawson will be joining the team as a fulltime driver next year. Whilst the team are overjoyed to have him, many of the fans have been speculating-.”

“More like begging,” remarked Liam's manager. The driver was starting to regret asking him to attend the meeting in support.

“-for Daniel to come back. We’ve been drumming up a few ideas on how to get the fans more interested in Liam.”

“Have you met him? All you have to do is stick him in a room full of fans and let them talk to him. He’s charming.” She defended, outraged at the idea of him not being interesting enough for the fans. He wanted to reach over and grab her hand, hold her close. But he hadn’t done that before and he couldn't start now. “Don’t let that go to your head,” she whispered to him, eyes twinkling.

“We couldn't agree more. We were hoping we could rely on your help to show the public that.”

“Of course. Anything you need.”

Liam winced at how eager she was to help him, hoping that the next few minutes wouldn’t ruin the strong bond of friendship. Not having her in his life would be worse than not having a seat next year.

“Perfect. We were hoping that in order to garner some more interest in Liam, we would tease the fans with an insight into his personal life. With your consent, of course, we’d like to hint at the beginnings of a relationship between you and Liam. Fans have already proven that they love your friendship and want more.”

“Wait, what? You want us to fake date?”

He couldn't decipher the tone of her voice, and was terrified to turn and look at her face. Holding his breath, he silently pleaded for her to say more.

“The internet is currently obsessed with public figures soft launching their relationships. You don’t have to come out and say that you’re in a relationship. But, maybe post each other a bit more. Hold hands when you go out together. Flirty comments left on Instagram. Maybe posts that hint of both of you being involved with someone without showing who.”

“And you’re okay with this?” She turned to Liam, hand touching his for the first time since they were kids. His skin flamed at the contact. “You’re comfortable with being paraded around like this?”

“It couldn't hurt, right? Everyone wants Daniel in that seat and I’m just a rookie.”

“You’re more than that,” she whispered to him, before turning her attention back to the RBR team members. “How long do we have to do this for?”

“Everything is outlined in the contract. We’ve asked that you spend the weekend together in Spa, and then post some dates over the summer break. We can reconvene again the week before Zandvoort, and go from there.”

“When will you announce Liam? He has signed the contract, right? You can’t renege on that?”

“No, we can’t. He’ll be announced the week after Monza.”

“Show me where to sign.”

No hesitation. No doubt. Just undying loyalty for her friend. Liam’s heart stuttered painfully in his chest, bringing forth all the feeling’s he’d tried to repress. The Red Bull reserve driver was getting everything he wanted. Except the most important part wasn’t real. It was nothing but a legally binding contract with an expiration date. He only hoped his friendship didn’t have one as well.

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

Liam Insta - soft launch (have)

liked by ynverstappen, redbullracing and others

liamlawson30 just things in spa

4,040 comments

ynverstappen whoa, you didn’t tell me you had a girly friend, i thought we were bffs 💔

→ liamlawson30 i talk but you never listen

→ user stop trying to throw us off the scent. we know that’s yn

→ user ouch but his response was kinda bitchy

→ user yn and liam falling out because liam moved on?

maxverstappen1 watch your hands

→ user nah ‘cause this confirms that it’s yn

→ maxverstappen1 no, there’s just children on this app (lando)

→ landonorris hey! i’m older than your sister

→ ynverstappen not mentally

user @/redbullracing look he even wears team gear on weekends, now give him a seat

user liam lawson soft launching a woman and not a contract? could my heart break any more?

redbullracing pr said you’re not supposed to publicly grope women

→ liamlawson30 i privately groped but publicly shared

→ ynverstappen ew you mean someone actually let you touch them?

→ liamlawson30 yes. i know that’s a foreign concept to you but

user max and liam interacting? i smell future teammates

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

ynverstappen just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, alexandrasaintmleux and others

ynverstappen summer break with my favourite people (oh, and liam)

40,33 comments

landonorris you said i was your favourite boy the other day :(

→ ynverstappen you bought me a waffle, i’d have said anything

→ jakckdoohan is this why you offered to marry me when i gave you a hotdog last weekend?

user anyone noticing liam and yn have been posting each other a lot more lately

→ user thank you! i know they’re friends but they’ve defo been spending more time with each other recently

→ user he's not as smiley though?? anyone else noticed?

victoriaverstappen i’m sorry but is that you being nice to max in front of people?

→ ynverstappen shh, it’s the wine he gave me. he said grape juice makes me nice

→ liamlawson30 he was right

user ngl but all of yn’s recent posts have made me more interested in liam lawson

→ user haha same, i only followed him because people kept saying he was dating her

francisca.cgomes minha linda amiga

→ ynverstappen jij bent mooier

maxverstappen1 whoa, is this you being nice to me on the internet?

→ ynverstappen why do you and vic act like i’m evil to you?

→ maxverstappen1 you pushed me into the pool the other day fully clothed

→ liamlawson30 and flung your mother’s spaghetti at his white shirt

→ user i’m sorry but liam at verstappen family dinner?

maxverstappen1 just posted

liked by kellypiquet, landonorris and others

maxverstappen1 ☀️

3,316 comments

user liam lawson, what are you doing here

ynverstappen liam looks like his mum told him to smile for a picture to his Oma

ynverstappen also, i took loads of nice pics this summer, why not one of those

→ liamlawson30 my smile is because i’ve been kept captive and i’m begging for someone to save me

→ ynverstappen max ain’t gonna help ya

user i’m conflicted. on one hand, i can’t imagine max liking liam dating his little sister but on the other, i can’t imagine yn’s “friend” making the summer dump

redbullracing we love a post that has not one but two bulls in

→ ynverstappen release your hold on them (the cap is starting to smell)

→ user liam lawson for RBR “25 confirmed?

user no because now i’m convinced liam and yn are dating because he managed to make it to max’s summer dump?

landonorris save that poor boy from your sister

→ maxverstappen1 hey, he chose her. he has to deal with her now

user i need liam to join rbr next year just so i can publicly watch his relationship with yn unfold

user everyone commenting on how liam should be scared to be max’s brother in law but imagine being 🤮 jos’ 🤮 son in law

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

liamlawson30 just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, jackdoohan and others

liamlawson30 a seat for 2025 and a best friend for life, what more could i guy want

5,540 comments

ynverstappen for life?! no one told me that when i said for reals, it would mean eternity

→ liamlawson30 foreverrrrrr

→ ynverstappen can i return you?

→ liamlawson30 the contract said no take backsies

ynverstappen i knew you liked my ass

→ liamlawson30 obviously

jackdoohan finally. he’s been pining after you for years

→ ynverstappen exposed!

→ liamlawson30 i already told her that so ha

→ user yes but you didn’t tell us that!!

francisca.cgomes i can’t believe you left me for a man

→ ynverstappen the pr team said i had to

→ redbullracing stop exposing us

landonorris can’t believe it took fake dating for yn to admit to real feelings

→ ynverstappen lando!

→ liamlawson30 lando knew you liked me?!

→ user fake dating?!

→ landonorris oops. now i’m in trouble with everyone

user anyone else noticed max hasn’t commented? i know we joked that he would run liam off the track but…

→ user oop nevermind

maxverstappen1 just posted

liked by charlesleclerc, redbullracing and others

maxverstappen1 he fell first, she fell harder. and i fell off my chair when i heard that these idiots fake dating led to them actually falling in love

4,733 comments

ynverstappen i can’t believe you made an entire post with pics of me and my boyfriend. obsessed much

→ maxverstappen1 worth it to bully you

→ user boyfriend! we’ve had the use of the word boyfriend!

redbullracing can’t wait to see our bulls on track next year

→ user i can’t tell if i’m happier for yn and liam content or max and liam teammate content

user i love when they give max access to his social media

liamlawson30 all i see is a couple who slays

→ ynverstappen you look so good as a cozy cone

→ liamlawson30 kachow :)

→ ynverstappen my lightning mcqueen

→ liamlawson30 my sally

→ maxverstappen1 actually she’s more of a mater

danielricciardo stole my seat and my max :(

user gossip so good that charles leclerc had to follow

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

A/N: Sorry this took so long. I ended up making it a lot longer - almost made it into two parts - because I had so much angst in here haha. Until I remembered the request wasn’t angsty so had to remove a lot.

Tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119

#liam lawson

486 notes · View notes

oscpiastri81 · 6 days

Text

Summary

Quinn Hughes x Elementary school teacher! Reader

Fics

Simple Truths Pt. 2

Quinn and his best friend are in love with each other. The confession is a bit messy, and there's some misunderstanding, but what's best friends to lovers without some chaos?

How It All Began

Quinn's family finally finds out that the two of you are together. General chaos and fluff ensues.

The Best Summer Ever

First summer at the lakehouse. And it's the best summer ever. Our favorite teacher cannot wait to spend the rest of her summers with Quinn.

Blurbs

Twenty's and Ice Cream

3 Times Quinn Almost Proposed +1 Time He Actually Did

Misc.

BFF'S 4 Life

More proposal thoughts

#quinn hughes

260 notes · View notes

oscpiastri81 · 6 days

Text

OBSESSED ─── franco colapinto in which everyone is obsessed with the grid's youngest couple — fc43 x f! reader

francolapinto and yourusername via instagram

liked by alex_albon and 98,74,989 others francolapinto we're the word of the town yourusername comments to this post have been disabled

francolapinto via instagram

liked by yourusername and 98,74,989 others francolapinto unforgettable experience ! thank you @/williamsracing for having me and @/alex_albon for answering all the questions patiently 😂💙

view all comments

yourusername soo proud of you 🥺❤️

francolapinto thank you for coming today ! my luck charm ❤️

williamsracing grat first race ! many more to come 💙 liked by francolapinto

alex_albon good job out there and if you have anymore questions feel free to contact cause apparently my girlfriend has left alone me for yours 😂

francolapinto mine won't even pick up my phone 😞 alex_albon welcome to the lonely boyfriends squad

arthur_leclerc good job kid ❤️

francolapinto you're like 2 years older than me? arthur_leclerc and your point is?

kimi.antonelli glad you didn't crash or else yn would've killed you 😂

francolapinto my biggest fear is not crashing it's yn killing me 😂

oliver33o welcome to the premature drivers squad 😂❤️

francolapinto it's you and kimi who's premature i'm 21

landonorris you were flying out there kid 🧡

francolapinto thank you lando !

username he's got his lucky charm out there

username this guy has talent cause ain't know way he pulled that tracktor to P12 in his first race

username VAMOSSSSS

username great race franco !!!

username not lily leaving alex for yn lmao 😭

username let's gooo francooo

username lmao not franco saying he's glad he didn't crash or else yn would've killed him 😭

lilymhe via instagram story tagged : youusername and francolapinto

#franco colapinto

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oscpiastri81 · 8 days

Text

Born To Run // i.

cowboy!max verstappen x reader // part i of ii.

Summary: Everyone, including Max, says he’s too much for you. You find yourself determined to prove them all wrong. Your summer on the ranch is set to be one to remember. 5.1k

warnings: sexual content (minors do not interact, 18+ PLEASE!), alcohol/ intoxication, strong use of language, implied unspecified age gap, public sex, oral sex fem receiving, and max is a little mean (oops). if you would like further clarifications on the warnings PLEASE send me a message!

title from Born To Run by Bruce Springsteen, but also from Springsteen by Eric Church, which references… Born To Run by Bruce Springsteen. for mood setting, see also: She Calls Me Back by Noah Kahan and You Should Probably Leave by Chris Stapleton

One of your favorite parts of the summer is the first couple days after you get to your uncle’s ranch. You spend your summers there, helping tend to the gardens and some of the animals in exchange for a breath of fresh air, some time away from the city. You’re in college, now- your last official summer break before real adulthood kicks in- but you’ve been coming here since you were barely able to walk, sometimes with your parents, sometimes without. This year, it’ll just be you. It’s freedom, the way you like it best.

You first see him out in one of the pastures, on horseback, helping round up a wayward bunch of cows. He’s laughing, head flung back, sunlight dancing on his skin. He even sounds pretty, you think, leaning on the fence and watching. You’ve changed into a dress for dinner, your muddy clothes washed and hung out to dry. The cows are being difficult. He doesn’t seem to show even an ounce of frustration.

You’re startled when someone speaks from behind you- It’s Maddy, one of the long term ranch hands.

“Who’s that?” You ask, gesturing at the man.

Maddy whistles lowly and shakes her head. “Don’t even.”

“Don’t even what?” You ask, blinking back at her.

“Get started,” Maddy says, waving a hand dismissively. “You know the saying, too much horse? He’s too much cowboy for you.”

You pout, turning back to look at him. “He seems nice enough.”

He’s climbing off his horse, chatting with another one of the guys. Maddy blows out a breath through pursed lips, and you lean farther on the fence, resting your chin on your hands. The man takes his hat off and runs a hand through his sweat damp hair, and the sunlight glints off the blond strands. You sigh, and Maddy shakes her head.

“Serious, sweets. You don’t wanna go down that road. Max is…,” she sighs and never finishes the thought. Max. It’s a nice name, short and sweet. “Why’d you come out here, anyways?”

“Dinner’s ready,” you say in a dreamy tone.

Maddy groans happily, then whistles loudly, the sound making all the guys turn their heads. “Suppertime!”

You meet Max’s eyes from across the field. The sun is low in the sky, white fluffy clouds dotting the blue above your heads. He grins just a little wider when he looks at you, you swear. He tips his hat to you and then he nudges his horse, taking off across the pasture, kicking up a cloud of dust behind them.

Every Friday, your aunt makes dinner for all the staff, with your help. You all sit down at tables in the backyard and fill up on home cooking and fresh food from the garden. They’re your favorite nights of the week. At dinner, you find that Max is sweet, just like you’d predicted. He says his please and thank yous, his sirs and ma’ams, he smiles kindly at everyone he talks to. He’s friendly, he takes his hat off before he sits down at the table, he’s a perfect gentleman. Maddy must be crazy. How could he ever be too much?

Ten minutes into dinner, you think maybe you know what she meant. You’ve ended up across the table from Max, a few seats down- completely on purpose, on your part. You want him to be able to see you. And he does- fork full of salad halfway to his mouth, he pauses, tilts his head at you, and smiles.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Max says, dropping the fork to reach his hand out across the linen tablecloths. “I’m Max Verstappen.”

You introduce yourself when he takes your hand in his. You see his eyebrows raise when he hears your last name- he’ll know you’re related to his boss, now, but he’d said his last name, so you’d felt the need to do the same. His hand is warm and calloused against yours, and your cheeks grow hot.

“You live here?” He asks.

You wiggle your hand side to side. “For the summer. I help out in the garden, do odd jobs around the ranch. Then in the fall it’s back to college.”

Max raises one brow, leans back in his chair, and crosses his arms over his chest. “Knew you were a city girl,” he says.

“Yeah?” You ask, playing along. “What gave it away?”

He shrugs. “You’re too soft,” he says.

It’s not really an insult, but for some reason, it sounds like one coming from him.

…..

You don’t see Max again for a while, except from a distance, you in the garden, him out in the pastures on horseback. The way he rides is enchanting, like he was born to do it, like a natural. Some people just have it in them, your uncle had said.

It rains for three days straight, and the creek at the back of the property floods like it always does. When the water goes down, Maddy invites you out to a bonfire with everyone on a Friday night, a rare week when they’ve been given a Saturday morning off. You agree eagerly, and you head down just after dinner. You’re greeted by the people who know you, the ones who’ve been coming here for years, who’ve seen you grow up. Someone hands you a bottle of alcohol- you don’t ask what it is before you take a pull. Someone whistles lowly. You turn, and find Max’s blue eyes, lit up by the fire.

“Got something to say?” You ask, hand on your hip.

He shrugs and grins. “No ma’am.”

You roll your eyes and walk away, taking the bottle of tequila with you. Down at the river, Maddy’s floating in the current. You decide she’s a better companion than Max and head for her instead. You pull your dress over your head to reveal your swimsuit, and you slip into the water, sighing at the feeling. The bottle of tequila is abandoned on the bank.

It’s a good night for this- just on the right side of too warm, the water just the right temperature. You take turns swinging off the rope swing, and you laugh and joke and bask in the last remaining sunlight. When the sun goes down, you join the circle around the fire, ending up next to Max completely on accident.

He leans close and nudges his thumb against your arm. “You know, for a city girl, you fit in well.”

You huff and roll your eyes. “I’ve been coming here my whole life. You’re the outsider here.”

He hums softly. When you glance at him, he’s smirking. It makes your blood boil, but worse than that, it makes you want to kiss the smirk right off his face. You hate how easily he seems to get under your skin. To try and drown it out, you reach for the bottle of tequila again.

By the end of the night, Maddy’s gone, and the only person who seems to even notice you’re still there is Max. When you nearly spill the remains of the bottle into the river, he dusts his hands off on his jeans, reaches for your wrist, and starts to walk away with you in tow.

“Time for bed,” Max says, gesturing at you.

You blink, trying to clear your vision, stars swirling above Max’s head as the two of you pop out of the woods and into the open field. “Where’re you takin’ me?”

“I’m taking you home,” he says, almost gently.

Taking you home. You like the sound of that. You think. If he means it how you hope. Maybe you could get it out of your system. Just one good fuck and you could stop watching him when you should be tending to the garden.

“Are you taking me home?” You ask. “Or taking me home?”

“What?” He asks, voice wavering. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what ‘m asking,” you say, voice slightly wobbly.

Max stops in his tracks, eyes wide, brows furrowed. He drops his grip on your wrist. You’re halfway back to the house, standing in the grass of one of the fields. You’re too drunk to care about being seen, or what’s in the grass- you just want Max to answer you.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he says, firmly. “If that’s what you’re asking.

You let out a whine and nearly stomp your foot, your whole body growing hot just at the words. “Why not?”

He’s looking at you with an unreadable expression. He’s still in his work clothes, button up shirt and faded jeans, hat still perched atop his head. You could reach up and take it off him, if you wanted, if he’d let you. Maybe undo a couple buttons on his shirt. You wonder if his skin would taste like salt, like the sweat you’d seen beading on his upper lip earlier in the day.

“Because you’re drunk,” he says, scratching at his jaw, stubble scraping under his fingers.

“So what?” You say, blinking up at him.

His face twists into a scowl. “So what, you’re drunk?”

You shrug. Behind him, you can see the house. The kitchen light is still on, the glow pulling you in like a moth to a flame. You hope your aunt and uncle are asleep. He takes a lurching step towards you, and you lose your breath when he cups your jaw in one hand, thumb brushing against your skin.

“I’m not fucking you while you’re drunk,” he says. “I don’t know where that came from or who said it to you, but you deserve better than that.”

“Okay,” you reply, suddenly entranced by his blue eyes, bright even in the low light of night.

He manages to herd you up to the house without laying another finger on you, which is a huge disappointment, honestly. He hangs back while you walk up the steps, staying out of the light. He’s worried about being caught with you. Something twists in your stomach at the implication, at what they would think. Nothing happened- it wouldn’t be worth the humiliation, really. But the sitting room is empty, and so is the kitchen. You’re safe, probably.

“G’night,” you call out softly over your shoulder.

When you turn to look, he’s already gone.

…..

There’s exactly one bar within a 30 mile radius of the ranch, and you know it well. It’s near and dear to your heart. Maddy yells at you from the wide open barn doors one night and invites you out with them, and of course, you say yes. You’re in need of a stiff drink, some loud music, and maybe a little bit of dancing.

She picks you up at the house in her truck. The only seat that’s left is the back passenger seat, the others taken up by other ranch hands. The wind whips through the open windows as she peels out of the driveway, kicking up a cloud of dust that you know will have your aunt clicking her tongue and rolling her eyes.

Maddy cranks the volume on the CD player. The first year she came to work here, the radio died, and she became reliant on CDs. Then the player stopped ejecting CDs, leaving her copy of Born In The USA trapped, doomed to spin and play through the half broken speakers forever and ever. Bruce Springsteen’s voice rings out over the rattle of the half broken bumper.

The bar is packed, as expected for a Saturday night. Ranch workers do long hours, longer weeks, but Sunday morning is always a time of rest, no matter how few of them bother going to church. Everyone’s here, from your uncle’s 72 year old neighbor Etta to the kid who works the cash register at the gas station. This is the place to be- the only place to be.

It means Max is here, too. It takes you a while to spot him, surprisingly- he blends in well, in his dark shirt, faded jeans, boots and cowboy hat, he looks like everyone else in this place, in this town, in this state. You’re two drinks in, another one in your hand, when you see him. He’s leaning against the bar, leaning close to some girl you’ve never seen before. She’s just his type, probably- long hair, dirt on her jeans, a real life all American girl. You hear his voice echoing in your head- city girl, too soft- and you take a swig of your drink. When you look back at him, he’s staring at you, smirking. You roll your eyes and turn away.

You have a good time, despite Max’s words bouncing around in your head, bringing with them a bit of a feeling of not belonging here. You mingle with the guys from the ranch that you already know, the ones who’ve been working there for years. You dance with one of them when he asks politely, accept a drink from another with a sweet smile, perch yourself on a stool and watch them play pool. You’re laying it on thick, because it’s fun, and because you can feel eyes on the back of your head. Max is watching from across the bar, even as that same girl hangs off his arm and grins up at him. You’re not sure what to make of it.

He doesn’t come near you, doesn’t speak a word in your direction. He just watches, like he’s lying in wait. It would piss you off if it didn’t turn you on so much. You wonder if he notices when you kiss one of the guys on the cheek after they win. You wonder if he sees the way you pull the top of your sundress down just a little bit. You wonder if he sees you pout at someone to buy you a drink, if that would work on him, if he’s checking you out the same way this other guy is.

He doesn’t come close until the end of the night, when they turn on the lights and you’re sure you smell like tequila and cheap beer. Maddy disappeared with a guy from another ranch and left you with her keys, but you’re definitely not fit to drive. You wobble a bit when you stand up from the barstool, and suddenly there’s a strong grip on your side, steadying you. You flinch and try to wrench yourself away.

“Don’ touch me,” you slur, twisting to face whoever it is. You come face to face with Max, and you scowl. “‘Specially you. Don’t you have manners, cowboy? Don’t touch a lady without permission.”

Max rolls his eyes and snatches the keys from your hand before you can blink. “Who the fuck was going to let you drive?”

“I wasn’t gonna drive,” you insist, scowl deepening. “Was gonna find someone to drive me. Give me the keys.”

He ignores you and starts to walk away. As he brushes past you, he reaches for your wrist and tugs gently. You follow, only because he has the keys and his grip is warm and you can feel his thumb pressing into your pulse point. Your breath hitches. He drags you out of the bar, and the cold air hits like a slap to the face, waking you up.

“Hey,” you snap, stopping and tugging your arm from his grip. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you home,” he says.

“What happened to the girl who was all over you?” You ask, too drunk to stop yourself. “She was giving you fuck me eyes, you know. You’re not gonna take her home?”

He scoffs and reaches for your arm again, and you tug it out of reach, crossing your arms over your chest. You know the motion pushes your tits together, and you see his eyes flicker down to sneak a peek. You grin. He rolls his eyes.

“No,” he says, jerking his head towards the parking lot. “Come on.”

“Did you already fuck her in the bathroom, is that why?”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “No.”

“You could take me home, you know-“ you start.

He fixes you with a stern glare that has your face heating up, your stomach churning. You’re coming on too strong. He doesn’t want you like that, and now you’re drunk and acting insane and- he’s just trying to make sure you get home safe. He thinks you’re some stupid city girl who can’t hold her liquor and was going to drive drunk, and you would never-

“I really wasn’t going to drive,” you say, and his face softens. “I would’ve slept in the truck if I had to.”

“I know,” he says softly. ��Let’s get you home, yeah?”

You nod. “You’re good to drive?”

He nods. You let him take your hand this time, instead of grabbing your wrist, and you try not to get used to the feeling of his calloused palm against yours.

By the time you leave the parking lot of the bar, there are three other people in the backseat, and a few in the bed of the truck, too. Max is a careful driver, though you’re sure part of that is because of the people in the back. He stops at another ranch and one of them climbs out, and then he stops at the bunkhouse at your uncle’s ranch before he steers the car up towards the house. It’s just the two of you. The CD is still spinning, playing quietly through the speakers. He puts the truck in park in front of the house, kitchen light glowing, and you feel like you’re going to be sick.

Instead, words slip past your lips. “I’m sorry. For being… weird. Forward.”

Max scoffs.

“I know. Understatement.” You shrug, reaching for the door handle. “I just. I read the signals wrong. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

You open the door a crack and then freeze when his hand falls to your thigh, gripping tight, burning hot even through the fabric of your dress. Your breath is caught in your chest. You turn to look at him, his face half illuminated, half shadowed.

“You didn’t,” he says.

You swallow. The air is thick with humidity and tension. “Didn’t what?” You ask.

“Make me uncomfortable,” he says, softly. “Or read the signals wrong.”

You pull the truck door shut and turn towards him in your seat. His hand never leaves your leg, his eyes never leave your face, not even when you lean towards him, just slightly. Your heart is in your throat.

“But you told me no, after the river,” you mumble. “And then tonight…”

“You were drunk,” he says. “And you’re drunk again. And you’re too good for me. You deserve better. But…”

“But?”

“But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, and your skin lights on fire. His fingers dig into your leg, and you hope to god he leaves a mark. “Bet you taste sweet as honey, too.”

Blood roars in your ears so loud you barely hear the words you say next. “Maybe you should find out for yourself.”

He grins, and then he shakes his head. He releases his grip on your leg and exchanges it for a light smack against the outside of your thigh. If you were sober, you’d call him out for it, but right now, it just sends a shock through your system.

“Time for bed, honey,” he says, and in a trance, you open the door again and head inside.

In the morning, you wonder if you imagined it all. But when you bring coffee out to the cowboys on Monday, he blushes red as the tomatoes in the garden, and you know it was real.

…..

5 days go by. 5 days of watching out the window while he works, 5 days of pining, 5 days of avoiding him at all costs because if you’re being honest, you’re nervous. But then it’s Thursday afternoon, and he walks into the barn while you’re already standing there, and suddenly your heart is pounding in your chest.

He leans against one of the walls, crossing one foot over the other, arms folded over his chest. “You’re avoiding me.”

You shrug, leaning over to brush a bit of dust off your boots before you lean against the opposite wall. You don’t meet his eyes. “Wonder why that would be.”

He huffs. “If you want to be a brat, I can go.”

Your cheeks are burning, and you finally look at him, a glare set in your eyes. He’s smiling, the asshole, barely containing his amusement. Maybe you don’t want him, maybe he’s a jerk, maybe- he uncrosses and recrosses his arms, and you watch his muscles twitch under the fabric of his shirt. You swallow.

“I already told you what I want,” you mutter.

“Oh, good, you remember that,” he retorts.

“I wasn’t that drunk,” you snark back.

“Drunk enough to say it out loud when you can’t even look me in the eyes now,” he says, taking a step away from the door. “Come on, say it like a big girl. Ask me again, sober, like you did before.”

Your heart is in your throat, now. He looms over you, eyes sweeping up and down your body. It’s then that you realize how short your dress is, how close he is, how much you really do want him.

“Max,” you whine, almost petulant.

He tilts his head. “Can’t you ask nicely? Where are your manners?”

You blink up at him, once, twice, three times. His cheeks are rosy red, pupils blown wide. He smells like sweat and sunshine and man and you can’t get enough of him. His hat sits low on his brow, plush lips just barely parted, like he’s waiting for something. You can’t stand it anymore, can’t play this game with him forever.

You reach up and take the hat off his head, and he groans. When you put it atop your own head, he blinks slowly. His hand falls to your hip. It makes you feel like you’re burning up, even through the fabric.

“Fuck me,” you whisper, leaning up to put your lips close to his ear. “Will you do it if I say please, Max?”

His hand squeezes at your hip harshly, and his mouth falls open. And then he’s kissing you, shoving you up against the wall of the barn, and you barely have time to wrap your arms around his neck before he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth. He kisses like no boy you’ve ever kissed before, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, what buttons to press, just how to touch you to have you seeing stars before he’s even begun. He slips his hand lower from your waist and under your skirt, sliding up your thigh, and you whimper into his mouth. His other hand slams against the wall next to your head to try and steady himself. You arch your back, pressing your chest to his, melting when he shifts so one of his legs is slotted between yours, and you-

There’s a shout, then voices, headed your way. Max rips himself away from you, leaving you gasping for air, lips already parting to whine about it. He snatches his hat off your head.

“Max,” you pant, and he blinks harshly, taking another full step back from you. “Wait, Max-“

“Later,” he hisses. “Just- we’ll talk later, okay?”

Then he disappears from the barn, leaving nothing but empty air and a bit of beard burn behind him.

…..

You don’t talk later, really. Max is a rollercoaster. He kisses you in the barn and then ignores you for 24 hours. He sits next to you at the Friday night dinner and slides his hand up your thigh under the table, far too high to be anywhere near polite, and then ignores you the next morning when you bring out coffee, too busy talking to one of his buddies. He finds you in the barn a different night and wraps his arm around your waist, pulls your back to his front, and kisses your neck until you’re bracing yourself on the workbench in front of you, and then at the slightest noise outside, he’s gone. It’s maddening. It’s like he can’t make up his mind.

“You’re too young,” he says, one night.

The two of you are standing out in the fields, watching the sun sink low over the horizon. He has his hands in his pockets.

“Right, because you’re ancient,” you reply.

“Are you even twenty one?” He asks.

“I was in the bar the other night, wasn’t I?”

“College kids get fake IDs.”

“I’m perfectly legal,” you answer, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. “In every possible way.”

He spins you around, presses you up against the fence, and kisses you. You’re amazed the grass doesn’t catch on fire from the heat of it all.

…

You meet him and the rest of the crew down by the creek another night, and this time you catch him watching when you wade in the cool water in your swimsuit. He doesn’t bother looking away, just keeps watching and grins, making your face heat up. He must know what he does to you, must know how he makes you feel, and it’s so unfair.

You dry off and slip back into your dress a while later. He lends you his flannel when the sun slips down and you shiver in your spot, sitting on the ground and leaning against his legs. He’s sitting in a camp chair behind you, and every so often, you feel his hand against your shoulder. You try not to read into it.

Someone pulls out a guitar and starts to strum. You turn to him.

“Can you play?” You ask. He shakes his head, and you hum. “Then what’s your cowboy party trick?”

He tilts his head at you, brows furrowed. “What?”

“You know, like… the guitar, darts, bull riding,” you say, gesturing at him. “What makes you cool?”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and speaks softly, close to your ear. “The only guys who need party tricks are the ones who can’t pull a girl without them.”

You scoff and slap his knee. “Then maybe we should find you a trick, cowboy.”

He reaches out and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “Nah. I think I’m doing just fine.”

You glare up at him, hoping he can see it even in the dark. He laughs. You roll your eyes.

“But I am pretty handy with the rope,” he says, and then he winks.

You blink up at him, and his shoulders start to shake. You cross your arms over your chest and turn to stare at the fire again, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of asking exactly what he means, or if he’s offering. Behind you, his leg shakes with his laughter.

…

Another afternoon, he pulls up behind you in his truck while you’re walking down the dirt road and calls out a “hey, honey.”

This leads to you climbing into his truck with him, and a short drive to a more secluded area. Then he gets you in his lap, his hands on your hips, and kisses you senseless. You can feel him getting hard underneath you. It makes you ache. You chase after his lips when he starts to pull away, his hands still holding you tight.

“I don’t come back,” he tells you, lips brushing yours.

“Okay,” you mutter. Then you pause. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t come back,” he repeats. You huff. “I won’t be back here next year. I’ll be… I don’t know, but it won’t be here.”

Some cowboys stay at one ranch their whole careers. Others wander the Wild West and never go back to the same place twice. You should’ve known Max would be a runner.

“Okay,” you say, again. “What does that have to do with anything?”

He shrugs. “You deserve someone who’ll come back.”

And. He says it, but then he hauls you close and kisses you again, so. You choose to ignore it.

…

On a Saturday night, at the bar, you lean over to whisper “come on,” in his ear.

He’s nursing a gin and tonic. “Gonna have to be more clear what you’re asking for, honey.”

You giggle, draped over his shoulder in the dark corner of the booth. Nobody’s looking, and even if they were, they wouldn’t care. Your hand rests on his shoulder, your chin resting atop your hand, your lips brushing his ear. He shudders.

“Meet me in the bathroom in five?” You ask.

He groans, eyelids fluttering, and turns towards you, nose to nose. He’s so close you swear you can feel his breath. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek.

“You’re better than getting fucked in a bar bathroom,” he says. When you raise a brow and open your mouth to protest, he winces, and adds, “you’re better than this bar bathroom, and I’m not fucking you here, and you’re drunk.”

You sit back and cross your arms over your chest petulantly. You can see the smirk on his lips from the corner of your eye, but you don’t bother to call him out on it.

…

Max is a rollercoaster, but you grow tired of being stuck on the ride pretty quickly. He kisses you and touches you and then he pulls away. No matter what, he won’t fuck you. He’s always got an excuse. It’s driving you up the walls.

“You are driving me nuts,” you say through gritted teeth, three days later, when you look up and find him leaning on the garden fence, watching you pull weeds.

“Think it’s the other way around, honey,” he says, shaking his head. “You look pretty like this.”

You look down at yourself, at the dress you’re wearing, at the way you’re kneeling on the ground. Your face gets hot, and you wipe the dirt from your hands onto your apron.

“Then do something about it,” you snip, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist. “Or would you rather just stand there and stare?”

He whistles lowly, and you try to pretend the sound doesn’t send a shiver down your spine. “City girl’s got an attitude, huh?”

You huff, push yourself up off the ground, and gather your things. You’re not just going to sit here and let him ogle you, let him think up fantasies to get off to later like you know he’s probably doing. He knows what you want, he’s admitted he wants it, too, but he won’t give in, and you’re so over it. He thinks you’re the one with the attitude, but-

“Hey, honey,” he says, just before you start to walk away. You turn over your shoulder, squinting at him, the evening sun straight over his shoulder.

“Yeah, Max?” You answer, hating how anticipatory you sound.

He looks at his watch. “Meet me at the river in an hour?”

You blink. Your heart skips a beat. Then you nod. He nods back. You wait for him to walk away, picking a couple more tomatoes off the vine. Then, once he’s out of sight, you take off running through the tall grass, all the way up to the house. Your hands shake with anticipation the whole time you’re getting ready. It feels a bit ridiculous, but you can’t help it- something is in the air, some sort of current, crackling beneath the surface. You just hope you get to find out exactly what it is.

part ii. coming tomorrow @ 3pm EST!!

a/n: thanks for reading! hope you enjoyed! fair warning, part two kicks things up a notch in terms of +18 content. see you all tomorrow!

#max verstappen

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