suddenyearning

[suddenyearning]

The more things change, the more they stay the same | 2011 -> 2024

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that camera angle 🫣

[suddenyearning]

Sort of Mary Poppins/The sound of music AU in which Max is the tired and overworked dad and Daniel is the nanny.

Max finds Daniel through an online babysitting site and it's kind of suspicious about his incredible reviews, but Daniel doesn't ask as much as some other babysitters for two kids, and Max doesn't have time to look for someone else, so he calls him.

The things is Max's kids are like him: smart, stubborn, a bit mouthy, a little possessive, very protective of their spaces, their routine and, most importantly, their dad. They keep making babysitters run away, because they're "difficult": sometimes just out of the sole crime of being clever kids hard to entertain, sometimes because the person acts wrong, either to them or about Max. One time a babysitter closed the cats out on the balcony because she didn't want them "under her feet" and they made her life hell until she quit on the spot by the time bedtime came around.

So yeah, Max has a hard time finding new babysitters, but Daniel accepts to come for an interview.

The first thing Max notices about him is the big baggy hoodie, not very appropriate for a job interview in his opinion, the second is his smile. He's undecided on his judgment until Daniel greets him by saying "oh you are younger than me! and two kids already? You kept busy, mate" and Max decides Daniel is the most unprofessional babysitter he's ever met.

But he is busy, has a few very long days coming up at work, and he doesn't have time to look for someone else, so he hires Daniel. He tells himself it's just until the end of the week, and if Daniel doesn't run on his own, Max will fire him and find someone else.

Except that Daniel seems perfect.

The kids adore him. He is a bit too laid back for Max's tastes, doesn't really believe in being strict, but he can get the kids to do their homeworks, eat their dinner and even take a bath. When Max sits down with the kids for a few minutes before they go to sleep, they can't seem to stop gushing about how cool and fun and amazing Daniel is.

So Daniel stays.

Max doesn't see him too much at first, but then his work eases up a little and he's home more often, and he can hear how he interacts with the children, and he's so. kind. He's fun and cool and amazing like the kids say, but above all he's kind. He talks to them gently, treats them like real people, listens to what they say even if it's the most absurd made up scenarios.

And that makes Max feel things, because obviously Daniel is hot, he has eyes, he has noticed before, but watching him interact with his kids changes things.

Which is a problem because as lonely and touch starved Max is, he could never have Daniel like that, and why would Daniel want him anyway? Max has nothing to offer. So he pines, and he is ardently jealous of both the kids for getting to spend time with Daniel and Daniel for how much time he has with the kids, and how much they love him.

One time the kids get sick, and Max takes time off of work because despite needing the money his kids do come first, but Daniel comes to help anyway, and they have the chance to spend time together, and it's hard because they just click. Daniel makes Max feel a little less stressed, makes him laugh again in a way he feels like he hasn't done in a long time, and it's awful because it just makes Max fall harder.

And then Daniel's contract is up and Max asks him to stay and Daniel says no.

Max is heartbroken, is already dreading having to tell the kids, but Daniel tells him he will find someone else to work for because he doesn't want Max and his family to be work. He wants them, if they want him, to be family.

And then they kiss and live happily ever after xx

[suddenyearning]

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(Most neurotic guy in the world voice) I like to chill and have fun

[suddenyearning]

alex | aus gp 24 | 📸 mark sutton

[suddenyearning]

Prompt: maxiel + rejected by your crush + in an earthquake 😂

you are so funny for this I only wish I could fully match the energy. the not fic prompt list WILL be for fic prompts and there’s nothing it can do abt it.

can I offer you vague maxiel with a side of dosh

are you okay?

Daniel stares at the text from Max, confused. He’s just woken up, the sun peeking through the edges of the blackout curtains in his LA bedroom. Max’s name stands out to him among his other notifications, a couple of news alerts he almost never actually looks at and some other messages he’d really rather ignore. Max though, that’s interesting.

yeah all good here mate. a bit shaken up I guess but that’s how it goes sometimes

He hits send before he can overthink it. It’s nice that Max is checking in, he’s been doing it more often than Daniel expected after Singapore. Sometimes the attention grates on him, but Daniel tries to remember Max isn’t the type to act out of pity for anyone.

Daniel can’t be bothered to do the timezone conversion to figure out what Max might have been doing when he sent the message. It’s likely that he’d already left Abu Dhabi, but Daniel isn’t sure if he would have been on his plane or already back in Monaco. He’s not sure how sober Max would have been in any of those situations, considering how the season ended. No matter the answers, it’s an odd text. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Daniel realizes it is a very odd text indeed. He’s talked to Max about Josh a bit, but he doesn’t remember really going into detail. It would have felt weird, not really the type of thing he talks about with Max.

wait how did you even know? did someone say something? He hits send on the text while Max is still typing, his follow up comes through at almost the same time Daniel’s delivers.

okay happy to hear it. I was a bit worried for you because it looked bad so glad you are okay

This only raises additional questions. Daniel sits up fully in bed, starting to feel a bit sick as Max’s next message appears. I read the news of course, hard to miss this everyone is talking today

Daniel’s thumbs move faster than his brain can process whatever the hell Max is talking about.

what do you mean? were there pictures??

He thinks back to last night, with Josh after the game. It was cool to watch Josh play in LA, fun to see him on Daniel’s turf. They were out in public celebrating the win, but it’s not like Daniel had done anything then. He had waited until they were alone before he had done anything incriminating and potentially friendship ruining. Hadn't he? He’d been drinking, enough to make an unwise decision, but surely not enough to completely forget his surroundings like that.

He googles daniel ricciardo josh allen, unable to wait for Max’s response. The news articles at the top are all normal, just saying that Daniel had been at the game again. It would have been at the top of the search if there were pictures, Daniel doesn’t think it’s conceited to think so.

Max’s reply pings across the top of his screen, yes a few but none of your neighbourhood

He’s beginning to feel like he's really missing something.

Okay what are you talking about? he sends and then swipes into his thread with Josh before he loses his truth-seeking energy. The texts there are less confusing but still headache inducing. Didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea, like a brother to me, Hailee, no hard feelings, love you buddy. In summary, Josh is too fucking nice. Daniel knew this, it’s part of why he kissed him last night. Even though he knew about his girlfriend, and of course Josh is so nice that having a girlfriend is an issue. Stupid of Daniel not to realize.

His phone buzzes in his hand, breaking Daniel out of his self pity reverie.

I’m talking about the earthquake. you should not spend so much time in LA maybe.

are you not talking about the earthquake?

[suddenyearning]

Max during F1 testing in 2014. By Mark Sutton.

[suddenyearning]

Wouldn't it be crazy...if carcar in the situational prompt list no. 60... one/both of them being hit with truth spell/serum

They’ve all been through it. Oscar isn’t special, or any more special than the nineteen other people who share a track with him. On the cusp of breaking into Formula 1, every one of them had someone who sat them down, acted all nice, like a friend they hadn’t seen in years, then pried them open to get a glimpse of anything rotten. Oscar’s just thankful it was Mark. Someone who Oscar knew cared for him, for real, and this way he could look past the interrogation and assign it some form of kindness. In true form, Mark had gone about it in the most awkward way possible, as only someone who hated doing the questioning as much as he hated doing the answering could, and that at least hadn’t made Oscar’s skin crawl.

Hey, uh, kid. Is there anything you think I should know? Uh, romantic, or otherwise?

Even then, he’d been defensive. His past life wasn’t for sale, newly minted F1 driver or not. The girl he dated for longer than he should have, the guy he kissed in maybe too public of a place. Even in the face of Mark’s sincerity, he’d been torn between honesty and mortification.

He doesn’t know why the memory’s popping up right now. It’s Vegas, and so many things happen in Vegas that outside of the race, not a single other thing bears significance anymore. Oscar doesn’t question it when she gestures him over, or when she points to a deck of cards, laid out on a low table like a trap. Something in the air here shakes out his sensibilities, loosens his tongue.

“Will you tell me who will win?” He pauses, backtracks. She might not even know who he is. There are no cameras around. “I could place a bet if you help me.”

“You aren’t a gambling man.” Her voice is strong, rich like an anchorwoman, completely unlike how he’d expected her to sound. “And anyway, you’ll live it out, tomorrow.”

Oh. So she does know.

The furrow between his eyebrows he cancels out with a bland smile. He gets the impression he should leave.

“I could tell you other things.”

“What other things?” It’s good to keep his mind distracted on the eve of a race. He’s always said that. Has he always said that? Well. He’s saying it now.

She draws a card. “The Fool.”

“Not a good start,” Oscar says. “I think I’m gonna—”

“Inexperience and improvisation,” she says. Her teeth are wondrously bright, straight like gravestones lined up in a row. “Not bad, all things considering.”

All things considering, being how this season is going? What does she know.

“I’ve read this somewhere before,” Oscar says. If it’s a fight she wants.

“The Suit of Swords,” she continues, as if she hasn’t heard him. “A logical mind and a spoken word.”

“You have a preplanned deck, for anyone who walks pass.”

“The Tower. Misery, distress. Unseen catastrophe.”

Oscar grits his teeth. “And then you use the same cards, in the same order, for every person. You’re purposely vague.”

“The Three of Wands. Stepping outside of comfort. Persevering.”

“Everything you say can apply to anyone,” Oscar says. This is as combative as he gets. “It’s all a trick.”

“Ah,” she says, and for a second, Oscar thinks he’s broken through, that she’ll snap at him, shoo him away. “But the Seven of Swords, reversed. A turning point. Starting anew.”

“I’m leaving,” Oscar says. Getting distracted on the eve of a race is folly. He’s always said that. Said that to Carlos, only a month or so ago.

“Only one remedy, for someone as recalcitrant as yourself.”

“I’m leaving,” Oscar says again, tongue like cotton. His feet stay right where they are.

She presses the last card into his hands. That video that had gotten viral years ago, the one where you could hand literally any item off to someone who was speaking on the phone. A shoe, a burger, a baby. This feels weightier than a baby. Oscar’s fingers open and close around the card, a wind-up doll dancing along to someone else's tune.

“Norris is winning tomorrow,” she says.

“Oh, fuck off.”

--

They both went into it with the exact same intentions: to come out of it perfectly intact. It was such a foolish notion from the beginning that they were unwilling to allow any heartbreak over it. So stubbornly, wholeheartedly, they worked their damnedest to come out of it perfectly intact.

If he can look past the way his heart wobbles in his chest whenever Carlos so much as looks his way, Oscar will say it’s been a success. He goes to bed, wakes up, races, while forgetting the intimate press of Carlos’s lips against his. They have a renegotiated new normal, the distance between them adjusted to a boring meter. Just close enough so as not to appear frosty, but far away enough that their shoulders can’t possibly accidentally bump.

“Oscar,” George greets cordially. “Feeling good about today?”

“Like hell I am,” Oscar says, with all the earnestness of a puppy still learning how to use its paws.

Multiple calculations flicker across George’s face. Like how much he actually wants to get into it, and how best to weave his way out of it.

“Chin up,” George says, then turns to Alex.

Oscar rolls his eyes. Catches himself doing it, and makes a concerted effort to pull his eyeballs back down into place. It isn’t like him to be so careless with expression. People act like honesty’s a virtue, then jump back like it could scald the moment it pops up in conversation. He sidles away, and finds himself waving at the crowd, a painless armlength from Carlos.

He suddenly, fervently, hates night races. He’s exhausted. It must be why. When Carlos opens his mouth, says something entirely cordial and normal, like How are you, Oscar’s tongue wriggles itself and lets loose.

“I miss you,” he says. The words are out before Oscar can clap a hand over his mouth. “I feel like shit and I miss you.”

“Right,” Carlos says. Still waving at the crowd, but with his shoulders pushed all the way up to his ears. “And I’m Cleopatra.”

“You’re more beautiful than—aw fuck.” He actually bites his tongue. To stop himself from talking. He needs to stop talking.

“Oscar,” Carlos says. He looks a second away from bolting, except there’s not much place to go, being on a moving bus. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Recalcitrance,” Oscar recites. “And an inability to be honest. Fuck. Fuckkkkk.”

“I’m serious, Oscar. If this is some mind game, you can drop it, yeah? We’re both adults. We can be adults about this.”

“I can’t,” Oscar says pleadingly. “I can’t stop thinking about you and I can’t stop wishing it could be different even though I know I was the one who—”

“Enough,” Carlos says, more hurt than Oscar’s ever heard him. This is what honesty does? Oscar should have burned those cards in front of that woman. “You can’t do this now, it’s not fair. After all you said before, you don’t remember that?”

“I lied, I’ve been lying,” Oscar says. “But I can’t now, apparently, you have to believe me.”

“I don’t have to believe anything,” Carlos says. “I don’t need you fucking up my race.”

“Lando’s going to win,” Oscar says miserably.

“You’re an asshole,” Carlos says, then goes to shoulder his way into some other group, and return to waving at the fans, leaving Oscar now a very painful one, two, three, four, five meters away.

--

Lando—wins? Then gets his win stripped away because of some penalty, moving Max up into first, Oscar into second, and Carlos into third.

She’s right, but only on a technicality. Oscar doesn’t want to give her that. And anyway, second place is pretty damn euphoric. He also gets to spray Carlos with champagne. Soak Carlos with it. Pretend the crinkles on Carlos’s face are for him.

He’s not thinking about his lack of filter when there’s a mic shoved up into his face.

“Obviously, I feel for Lando. It’s never a nice experience when you think you have something, but you don’t.”

Behind him, Carlos is waiting to give his interview. In front of him, the reporter’s face is suitably sympathetic.

“I mean, obviously, sometimes. It’s not even your fault. But sometimes—it is?”

“Right,” she says. “About the penalty, right?”

“Uh huh, the penalty. Sometimes it’s totally your fault. When you push people away.”

“You mean off the track?”

“Yeah, off the track,” Oscar nods fervently. He needs to buy this lady a bottle of wine, bless her. “But Lando will recover, the team will come back stronger.”

“Are you happy with your podium today?”

“Of course,” Oscar says. “I’m happy Carlos was up there with me. He deserves it. I’m happy he’s getting these podiums with Ferrari, so they can see—”

What they’ve given away, what they’ve pushed away.

Carlos is suddenly closer, behind him. Hand on Oscar’s lower back, subtle enough that no one else can see. Chiding, but gentle.

“—see him celebrate with this team.” Safer, but no less true. “I’m. Uh, very happy.”

“Right,” she says. “Just one more thing.”

“Ay,” Carlos says, in that lovely, good-natured way of his. “Is my turn now, no?”

“Of course,” she laughs, utterly charmed. “Oscar, thank you for your time.”

Carlos’s hand on his hip feels almost protective, the way he nudges Oscar away from the pen. Go, go. Button it up. You’re not for sale. Go.

--

Carlos examines the card under the neon glow of the strip. The waxy paper’s almost see through when he holds it up. You stare too long and in the end, you find you’re just looking directly at the lights, hurting your eyes. Unsurprisingly, when Oscar took him to where the woman had her little table set up, she wasn’t there.

“I think you got sold some snake oil.”

“I didn’t buy anything,” Oscar says.

“But you’re being made to pay,” Carlos says, grinning. “I’ve never heard you like that before. I’m happy for Carlos, just like that! To the media too. Impressive.”

“Go on,” Oscar says. “Kick a guy when he’s down.”

“Sorry,” Carlos says, sounding like he means it. Oscar’s heart does that pathetic quiver before it rightens itself. Carlos is always so quick to retract his claws, the moment he thinks he’s drawn blood. “It’s just, you know, kinda nice, having you like this. You’re never like this.”

“You could.” Oscar swallows. Prays that he has it in him to be brave. “Ask me anything now. I wouldn’t be able to lie.”

Carlos looks at him, before looking down at his feet. “That’s cheating, no?”

“For you?”

“No,” Carlos says. “For you. You’re cheating, like this.”

Ah. If Carlos had been anyone else, maybe he could have just asked and spared them both the trouble. Something like, Hey, hey. Be honest. Do you have feelings for me? Instead, Carlos hands the card back. Unwilling to go for the jugular. Classic Carlos.

Oscar wants so much to take his hand.

He clears his throat. “Do you remember. Uh. Before you started in F1. Did you ever have to. Like. Go through all of your past with anyone? Tell them who you dated and stuff?”

“Ah,” Carlos says. “Eh. Well. My Dad mostly already knew everything.”

“I think Mark wanted the ground to swallow him up, asking me.”

Carlos giggles. “I bet you were very embarrassing.”

“I, uh. Wasn’t very honest with him.”

“Good,” Carlos says.

“Good?” Oscar says, like some lost puppy.

“Yes, good,” Carlos says seriously. “It’s not for anyone else.”

Oscar waits for Carlos to ask, even while knowing Carlos never would. Not like that. Ball’s in Oscar’s court, as they’d say. For when he finally works through his recalcitrance and inability to be honest. I don’t want to reveal you to the world. Risk you in the slightest, Oscar wants to tell Carlos. That’s why I said all that I said. That’s why.

The card’s not strong enough for that. Not when Carlos, who’s equally as stubborn, refuses to invoke its magic. He’s protective like that, Carlos. Oscar offers him a wobbly smile, an olive branch. All that he can give right now. Generous that he is, Carlos allows the distance between them to shrink to something almost friendly, almost enough to bump shoulders.

--

Just for the fun of it, Oscar goes back, a couple of hours before he’s due at the airport.

She’s there now, of course.

“I don’t need this anymore,” he says, placing the card back onto her table.

She tuts at him like she’s disappointed, but shuffles the card back into her deck anyway.

“Also, Lando didn’t win.”

“Boy,” she says. “Do you think I actually watch Formula 1? Run along now. Do this your own way.”

“I will,” he says. “Thanks, I guess?”

She laughs. Grins at him in a way that’s both sinister and encouraging. Were her teeth always gleaming gold? “Your flight’s going to be late,” she says.

“Oh, fuck off.”

[suddenyearning]

"What would you tell small Max?"

"I wouldn't tell small Max anything because small Max was not worried about anything. Small Max was just loving life: driving quadbikes, go-karts, motocross bikes, having fun with his friends, not enjoying school. Honestly? That's the beautiful part of it. You shouldn't tell him anything and just let him live his life. I wish I could see myself with small Max. It was a good time."

[suddenyearning]

CARLOS SAINZ Don’t Blink S5 EP8 - Italian GP Week.

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wdym the only person on the grid who helped max’s championship campaign isn’t there ?☹️☹️☹️☹️

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[FRANCO] media day, vegas gp 2024

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Take a sneak peek inside Alex Albon's training camp

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this guy will NOT stop meowing on stream

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actually genuinely curious about this because anecdotally I think I've seen a shift, maybe even in my own reading patterns

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#giving it all