#300 Km/H

[dergarabedian]

Hot Sale: Avon ofrece descuentos de hasta 55%

Del 8 al 10 de mayo se realizará la edición 2023 del Hot Sale, la actividad organizada de la Cámara Argentina de Comercio Electrónico (CACE), y la marca Avon participará en forma oficial con promociones de dos unidades por una, paquetes de productos seleccionados y descuentos de hasta 55%. Continue reading Untitled

[neonshadows9000]

Anybody else that doesn't trust auditory signaling? Just me? Okay.

So today I adjusted my tyre pressure (it was wayy too low, like I need 2.7 bar and I had 1.9) at a gas station and the pump was built so you'd select the desired pressure, connect the nozzle and the pump would signal with a beep when the tyre is at that point. On one side of my car I could still double check visually (as in constantly look at the display) but on the other side my car was of course in the way so I had to completely rely on the beep. Now, the beep was loud enough to hear and everything, but it's just one beep. If it were a little melody or smt it would be different but with just one beep what if it's just somebody's phone or the machine signaling a problem or I just imagined hearing it cause I was specifically waiting for it? The display stops showing the pressure when the nozzle comes off so I couldn't double check afterwards.

Logically, I heard the beep exactly like with the other tyres, but now I'll just constantly think 'What if I disconnected too early and now the tyres are unevenly pressurised? The beep did seem to come quicker with the last tyre. Should I have taken the time to place the car the other way around to double check?'

It's such a stupid problem to have literally why does my brain do this instead of putting that energy into processing people's sentences before I ask them to repeat.

[calamitydaze]

Confused/fascinated anon here i read your pinned post and it felt like getting hit by a truck going 300 km/h on a highway

no don’t worry i didn’t think you meant it in a bad way! :^) i was just surprised cause i didn’t think it was anything strange but maybe i’ve been frog boiled— and it’s always interesting hearing about myself/my blog from outside perspectives i enjoy it ^__^

[souvenir116]

Max and Charles 🤝🏻 fixing the mirror while going 300 km/h in Suzuka, same corner

[octuscle]

Gas Stop

Max was drenched in sweat. He had been given a high-powered Mercedes at the airport in Frankfurt and was now speeding along the Autobahn on his way to Stuttgart. The speedometer showed 180 km/h. The German Autobahns were murderous. He hadn't been here for 20 years, shortly after graduating, and had the impression that driving behavior had become significantly more aggressive. 190 km/h. Suddenly, a headlight flashed in the rearview mirror. A Porsche was not even a meter behind him. Startled, Max yanked his steering wheel around and pulled the car into the middle lane of the highway. The Porsche accelerated and sped off, followed by a Ducati whose driver revved up the engine powerfully. Damn, Max was now driving over 200 km/h, but the two speeders must be doing well over 250 km/h.

Max's knees were shaking, his hands were sweaty. There was a rest stop in five kilometers. He needed a coffee. And a toilet. He took his foot off the gas. The speedometer needle dropped counterclockwise toward 100 km/h. The exit came up. Max braked. Thank God, now a break!

The Ducati that had just overtaken him was standing in front of the wash rooms. At least it had an Italian license plate, Max had noticed. Motorcyclists who race at such speeds are all suicidal, Max thought, shaking his head, as he paid the fee to use the toilet at the entrance barrier. He stood at a urinal, unzipped his fly and peed. Someone approached from behind and stood right next to him, although the toilets were otherwise deserted. Max concentrated on the urinal in front of him. But given the smell coming from next door, it was hard for him to do so. Leather, sweat, cigarette smoke. Normally rather repulsive. But now? At this moment? Somehow arousing. His cock was getting hard.

He heard the sound of a zipper opening. A long zipper, not the short one of a pair of trousers. The smell of sweat became more intense. He carefully turned his head. The guy next to him was the motorcyclist. He had unzipped his suit, so not only his cock was exposed, but also his sweaty T-shirt, from which the chest hair on a muscular chest peered out. Max stared in the direction of the stallion next to him. He couldn't help it. He made eye contact with his neighbor. He began to jerk off his uncircumcised cock. “Fucking?” he asked. German, with a heavy Italian accent. Max didn't speak German, but he understood that. The stallion pissed, kept jerking off and left, using his boner like a signpost. Max followed without a word, his boner also sticking out of his pants. The Italian stallion went into a stall, stood against the wall and held his cock out to Max, grinning. Max understood. Even though the floor was wet with piss, he knelt down and began to suck the balls first and then the cock. Damn, the smell, the taste of salt and musk made him so horny. He had the biker's firm, leather-clad ass cheeks in his hands and the cock in his face. His own cock bumped against the toilet bowl. Shit, had the beast always been that big? The fabric of his jacket became heavier. The rustling of fabric became the creaking of leather. The thoughts in his head began to blur. Shit, somehow it always felt like this when he sucked Andrea's cock. The two were motorcyclists out of passion. And every gas stop was also time to cum. Speeding along the highway at almost 300 km/h not only released adrenaline but also testosterone. Lots of testosterone. And a lot of it Andrea squirted into Massimo's face now.

“Another espresso, Mimo?” Andrea asked. Massimo grinned. ‘Mimo’ was what his mother had always called him when he went to kindergarten. Andrea and Massimo had known each other since then. No one except Andrea was allowed to call him Mimo. “Is that a question? A break without jerking off in the bathroom and espresso is not an option!” The two had been best buddies for almost 20 years. But not gay. Jerking off and sucking off only ever without eye contact!

Pic by @ki-kink

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

bar hopping •·.·''·.·•

summary: you take lando to a desi club.

‹𝟹 ln x desi!reader ⊹ ࣪ ˖

‹𝟹 fluff + humour ⊹ ࣪ ˖

masterlist ☾☼

lando had been to his fair share of clubs around the world, whether it was ibiza, or monaco, or even vegas. but honestly, nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared him for what he was about to experience in what you called, a "desi bar."

you had told him once during one of the many clubs you went with him after a race that while you loved partying as much as he did, the essence of a desi club was just completely different. so, he insisted that you drag him to a hidden gem of a bar in the heart of the city to prove your point. and, you did. it was a place you had sworn up and down would “change his life.” he had nodded along, expecting the usual—maybe a few neon lights, a decent dj, overpriced drinks.

instead, he was in a whirlwind of color, sound, and pure, unfiltered energy.

the bass thumped through the air, not with the usual edm beats he was used to, but with the unmistakable opening of kala chashma. the moment the first notes hit, the entire crowd erupted in cheers. glasses were lifted, voices shouted in perfect synchronization, and then—lando’s brain short-circuited.

because everyone, literally everyone, started doing the same dance moves.

it reminded him of the cowboy bars that daniel used to pull him to back when they were teammates.

“what—what is happening?!” he yelled over the music, eyes wide as he watched a sea of people drop their sunglasses onto their faces in unison and break into the hook step.

“this song is a bop,” you shouted back, grinning. “and this is just the beginning.”

safe to say, lando was slightly afraid.

lando spun around, watching in disbelief as strangers moved like they’d rehearsed this a thousand times. everyone was weirdly in sync, as if everyone had been to the same dance class to learn the same dance steps to the song. he swore the bartender was grooving while making drinks as well.

before he could even fully process it, you grabbed his wrist. “come on, norris. time to earn that reflex training of yours.”

he barely had time to protest before you pulled him into the middle of the crowd, seamlessly slotting the two of you into the choreography. you moved effortlessly—hips swaying, hands snapping into perfect formation, feet gliding across the floor with precision- as if you had been doing this since you were a child. meanwhile, lando? lando looked like a baby giraffe trying to separate its legs.

“why does everyone know this?!” he gasped, fumbling through the steps.

“it’s in our blood, love,” you teased, before you continued screaming the lyrics again.

to be honest, lando was sure that almost everyone at the bar was a bad singer if he heard them individually. he knew his girlfriend definitely was. but hearing them sing collectively, it sounded so harmonious, he had half a mind to record it and send it to martin for inspiration.

but, lando was not a quiter. so, lando huffed, determined now more than ever. he was a formula 1 driver. he had lightning-fast reactions, could handle a car at 300 km/h. surely, surely, he could handle some synchronized dancing.

…he could not.

he most definitely could not.

“left, lando! no—your other left!”

“i am going left—wait, no, never mind!”

his attempts were tragic but earnest. the crowd around him was equal parts entertained and encouraging. a group of aunties on the side cheered him on, while a group of guys dramatically mimed his worst mistakes, cackling. but he was committed now. he refused to be defeated by bollywood.

just as he managed to vaguely get a move right, the song switched.

“oh, you���re not ready for this one,” you grinned mischievously.

the opening beats of ghungroo started, and suddenly, the energy in the room tripled. the crowd seamlessly adapted to the new choreography, the transitions smooth as butter. lando really only had one question. how??? lando barely had time to breathe before he was swept into another whirlwind of movement.

and then—you taught him the hook step, gesturing for him to “break” the ankle bells like hrithik roshan had done in the official choreography.

lando blinked. “i have to—what?”

“just trust the process!” you laughed, and continued with the steps.

with the focus of a man attempting a daring overtake, he did it. he did the hook step. and for a moment—just a moment—it felt like the entire room cheered just for him.

by the end of the night, lando was sweaty, exhausted, and hooked. all he wanted was to go back inside and dance all night. he wanted to learn every choreography possible. he briefly wondered if jon would allow him to train by dancing instead of his usual weights and stuff.

as you both stumbled out of the bar, he turned to you, breathing hard. “that… was insane. i loved it.”

“told you it would change your life,” you laughed, handing him a bottle of water.

he took a sip, still dazed. then, suddenly, his face broke into a grin. because really, there was no stopping him now.

“so… same time next weekend?”

you laughed. “you’ll have to learn naatu naatu next time.”

lando groaned. he knew the song. he had watched the music video way too many times. it usually played on youtube on their tv when the two were cleaning. he knew just how many times he stopped and stared, transfixed at the speed that they danced. “oh god. i might need a pit stop halfway through that one.”

later, videos of lando attempting to dance to bollywood went viral. and all that people said was, "how to find a white boy in a brown bar."

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

this has been on my list for soooo long, and im sooo happy i finally got to write it. anyways, i hope you like this! im sorry it took me so long to write this one! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @greantii ; @anamiad00msday ; @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @justaf1girl ; @peterholland04 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry

[bignaz8]

The Brazilian skydiver Luigi Cani executed one of the most important jumps of his life in the Amazon.

On this occasion, the holder of the world record for the smallest parachute jump in the world, took more than 100 million seeds - from 27 species of trees native to the local biome - to a remote deforested area in the heart of the Amazon region.

When Luigi got within 6,500 feet of the deforested area, he plunged at 300 km/h, reached the seed box in free fall and released the seeds at the correct height to ensure precise and even distribution.

The seeds collected for the project have a germination rate of over 95% and do not require human intervention to germinate, so in a few years, we will see the fruits of this unprecedented action.

[thepersonnamedsam]

learning how to drive - sv5

pairing: sebastian vettel x genz!driver (platonic), 22 grid x genz!driver (platonic)

summary: you may have your super license to drive your f1 car, but driving outside the paddock? not really your thing

word count: 1k

warnings: nothing really

note: the genz!driver is maybe 17/18 and does not have a drivers license. i have no idea about driving a car, so just ignore that part

masterlist / taglist

The second the grid had found out that you had not yet made your driver’s license, they were joking about it. You’re driving at 300 km/h every second Sunday, but you are not driving at a normal speed on the roads? What was wrong with you? Actually, you had a fair reason not to drive on the streets, you were scared. You feared hitting another car, or someone hitting you. You were scared of ignoring road signs or missing a stop sign. 

“Our youngster is scared to drive, are you not racing this weekend?” Lando had made fun of you the most, finding it funny that the younger driver was not driving a normal car. Daniel had a laugh or two with it as well, but always hoping you’d know he was only joking. Even Max cracked a joke, never really participating in bullying the driver, as he respected you very much and saw himself in you at some times. But when Danny starts to joke, Max was fast behind him laughing silently along.

George, Alex, and Charles were trying to be encouraging but they were still making jokes about it. “Should I get you tomorrow? We can share a ride, as you can’t drive”, George laughed, and you just stared at him annoyed. You still agreed, every single time he asked you. 

You were grateful for your friends, but they were still annoying like nothing in your life was. So, when Seb noticed your fear, he felt bad for you. He wanted to help you; that’s why he offered to teach you how to properly drive. Not in an F1 car, but in a worn-down Subaru Outback H6-3.0. The car belonging to his father and was the perfect car to learn to drive in. It was a manual car, it’s important to know how to drive stick. The car was old, so if you kissed a wall, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal.

“Seb I’m scared, what if I hit someone?”, your concern laced your voice. Seb sighed, already explained to you that you were first going to practice on an empty parking lot and not actually going on the road. You had done your theoretical driving test and passed, with flying colors, but starting your practical driving lessons? You just couldn’t do that. 

You sat in the car, both hands on the steering wheel, arms so outstretched Seb’s arms were hurting. “Just relax, y/n, everything is going to be fine. You are fine and you got this, it’s not your first time driving, remember? It’s your job to drive”, Seb tried to calm you down. His left hand touching your right arm and guiding it to a comfortable level. 

“Okay, now first press the coupling and shift the stick to neutral. That’s it, good job”, he told you, telling you what to do. “Now you step slowly on the gas, slowly, yeah?” You were doing it; you were driving the car! And the more time you spent in the car with Seb, the easier the driving got. You were just so happy. 

The next time someone mad a comment about your normal driving, you bit back. When Carlos approached you, already smirking you knew what was going to happen. “Hey y/n, do you think you could drive me to the paddock tomorrow?” His eyebrows wiggling like crazy. You had to hold back your smile. “Uh, yeah sure, I mean I can try, right?”, you answered him. Carlos looked at you with surprise in his eyes. He nodded; nut sure what to expect the next morning. 

When you texted him, that you were outside, he didn’t think you would be waiting for him in a Ford Mustang 1966, your first self-owned car by the way. He looked pretty stunned as he opened the door to the passenger seat. He whistled at your car and made a comment such as ‘Nice one’. So, you started the car and drove him and you to the paddock. The hotel wasn’t far away, but there still enough time to show him your new learned driving skills. You still weren’t technically allowed to drive on your own, not having attended the driver’s test yet. But no one had to know that you drove five minutes without supervision. Carlos was now there to supervise you. 

You passed him your phone; it was connected to a Bluetooth speaker. “Choose what to listen to, but don’t play Smooth Operator, or I’ll be singing to you the whole time”, you laughed at him. He was just aimlessly picking a playlist and pressing play. Kilby Girl by The backseat Lovers started to play. Nodding your head to the beat of the song, Carlos was actually a bit scared of you losing focus. But you didn’t, you arrived safely at the paddock where Seb was waiting. He had a huge grin on his face, proud of you to actually drive with someone else other than him. He hugged you, whispering how proud he was of you in your ear. You smiled; Seb was definitely your comfort person. 

Later that day, when an interviewer asked about your driving skills off the track, it had become a meme, thanks to some of the drivers, you answered honestly: “Sebastian has helped me learn to overcome my fear of driving outside the paddock. He sat with me in a car, for hours and explained everything to me. It’s hard to believe I got my super license before my actual driver’s license, but it’s fine. It’s something more to add to my resume.” 

Seb was standing behind the camera, smiling and feeling proud. He held up his two thumps and outstretched them to you. You smiled as well and bid your goodbyes to the nice interviewer. You were glad to have Seb as your mentor and you made sure to tell him that enough. 

[sixdegreesofbali]

Honestly, I'm seriously angry over this whole swearing thing.

You're gonna tell F1 drivers who are going 300 km/h in high stress/adrenaline situations that they can't say 'fuck' over the radio?

Cause let's face it, 'fuck' is the worst word Max said on the radio in Hungary. So they can't even say that anymore?

Are you kidding me? Sorry, but I for one like hearing the passion of these drivers. You really want to watch a bunch of PR robots afraid to open their mouths? So I guess they should all start saying 'blimey' from now on? (sorry George)

F1 is getting less appealing to watch by the day. I'm not joking.

[merpmonde]

60 Years of the Tokaido Shinkansen!

On 1 October 1964, a railway line like no other opened. Connecting Tôkyô and Ôsaka, paralleling an existing main line, the Tôkaidô New Trunk Line had minimal curves, lots of bridges, zero level crossings. Striking white and blue electric multiple units, with noses shaped like bullets some would say, started zooming between the two cities as at the unheard-of speed of 210 km/h.

This was the start of the Shinkansen, inaugurating the age of high-speed rail.

The trains, with noses actually inspired by the aircraft of the time, originally didn't have a name, they were just "Shinkansen trains", as they couldn't mingle with other types anyway due to the difference in gauge between the Shinkansen (standard gauge, 1435 mm between rails) and the rest of the network (3'6" gauge, or 1067 mm between rails). The class would officially become the "0 Series" when new trains appeared in the 1980s, first the very similar 200 Series for the second new line, the Tôhoku Shinkansen, then the jet-age 100 Series. Yes, the 200 came first, as it was decided that trains heading North-East from Tôkyô would be given even first numbers, and trains heading West would have odd first numbers (0 is even, but never mind).

Hence the next new type to appear on the Tôkaidô Shinkansen was the 300 Series (second from left), designed by the privatised JR Tôkai to overcome some shortcomings of the line. Indeed, the curves on the Tôkaidô were still too pronounced to allow speeds to be increased, while all other new lines had been built ready for 300 km/h operations. But a revolution in train design allowed speeds to be raised from 220 km/h in the 80s to 285 km/h today, with lightweight construction (on the 300), active suspension (introduced on the 700 Series, left) and slight tilting (standard on the current N700 types).

Examples of five generations of train used on the Tôkaidô Shinkansen are preserved at JR Tôkai's museum, the SCMaglev & Railway Park, in Nagoya, with the N700 prototype lead car outdoors. It's striking to see how far high-speed train technology has come in Japan in 60 years. The network itself covers the country almost end-to-end, with a nearly continuous line from Kyûshû to Hokkaidô along the Pacific coast (no through trains at Tôkyô), and four branch lines inland and to the North coast, one of which recently got extended.

東海道新幹線、お誕生日おめでおう！

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Bertone Z.E.R., 1994. ZER for Zero Emissions Record a futuristic reinterpretation of the Abarth 750 Record conceived and created to yield the highest performance levels in the electric car sector. The ZER (which has a Cx of 0.11) set the world one-hour-long distance record (199.822 km), and broke the 300 km/h barrier, setting the new world speed record for electric cars (with a top speed of 303.977 km/h)

[loquarocoeur]

currently obsessing about max’s new merch being baby clothes.

like.

if i wanna imagine charles panicking the hell out of himself because he sees a baby bodysuit emblazoned #MV1 in their living room and does not realize it’s actually samples for max’s new merch and sits max on their couch when he comes home to have The Talk™️, it’s totally my right.

i’m very fond of Charles “Max, of course i wanna have babies with you but we’re too young for that and we still have 15 years of racing at 300 km/h every weekend and we should talk about it first and-“ Leclerc and Max “okay but that’s just merch. everything is an opportunity to sell. wait you said you wanna have babies with me????” Emilian Verstappen.

Aalfjsjal there's no way to make a line of baby clothes without getting at least a tiny bit of baby fever👀😂

[shitapril]

I really do think it's unfair in some parts to interview drivers right after races - of course you want to hear from the drivers first-hand their thoughts in that very moment, but these are also the same people who've just gotten out of a car having driven it at 300 km/h, high on adrenalin, and emotion if there were any incidents.

naturally, they're going to be strung out and worn, and will feel wronged because up until then they've only seen their point of view, literally, and they will say things they don't necessarily mean and then will have to take back later. hell, we all say things we don't mean at our best sometimes - only these men have the eyes of the world on them and weight to their words.

which is not to say we should give them complete grace regardless of what they say beacuse some of them do say very stupid things that are not okay and plain pomposity, but until there's some change that miraculously gives the drivers time to cool down and have time to actually talk, I think we just have to be gracious and not pounce on whatever is being said and twist it to support fan narratives, villianize your least-favourites, and victimise your favourites.

[retromania4ever]

300+Km/h... Crazy Speed 🏁

[linnitheo]

Under the Checkered Flag

Max’s POV

The hum of engines filled the paddock, a familiar yet electrifying sound that coursed through Max Verstappen’s veins. Race day. It was a sensation he never got used to; the adrenaline, the anticipation, the pressure. He thrived on it. He was at the top of his game, the youngest world champion, leading Red Bull with precision and grit. And yet, amid all the controlled chaos of the F1 world, there was one thing — one person — who could make him feel more alive than the thrill of racing.

You.

You were unexpected in every way. A PR consultant initially, brought on board to handle the escalating media frenzy around his rising fame. You weren’t starstruck; if anything, you seemed immune to the glitz of the F1 world. No, you were sharp, quick-witted, and completely focused on your job. But Max had a way of breaking down barriers, and it didn’t take long before you were spending time together beyond just the track. He’d find reasons to hang around the media center, just to catch a glimpse of you juggling journalists and managing Red Bull’s image with effortless grace.

The morning of the Italian Grand Prix was no different. Max was already dressed in his race suit, helmet in hand, and ready to get to work, but his eyes scanned the paddock, searching. When he saw you, phone to your ear, clipboard in hand, he couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face. You caught his gaze and rolled your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Focus, Verstappen,” you mouthed, a playful challenge.

“Always,” he mouthed back, though he knew his focus was already split.

Y/N’s POV

You hung up the call, trying to maintain your professional facade as you made your way through the throng of engineers, drivers, and media. Working with Max was unlike anything you’d expected. The guy was a force of nature on track, but off it, he had a way of drawing you in with that intense stare and unguarded charm.

It had started innocently enough — late-night debriefs that turned into long conversations about everything but racing. You found yourself laughing more, lingering in his motorhome even when your job was done. Max was magnetic, and resisting him felt impossible.

The paddock was bustling, everyone operating on a tight schedule as the race loomed closer. You found yourself watching Max more than you should, captivated by the way he moved with a casual confidence, like he owned the place. And maybe he did. He’d made it clear he was the one to beat this season, and his rival, Charles Leclerc, was hot on his heels.

Your heart beat a little faster as you watched him step into his car, every movement precise and deliberate. He looked up and caught your eye one last time before the helmet went on, a silent promise in his gaze.

You wanted him to win. Not just because it was your job to ensure Red Bull maintained their stellar reputation, but because you wanted it for Max. You wanted to see that victorious smile that reached his eyes, the one that was just for you when the cameras weren’t looking.

The lights went out and the race started, cars darting off the line with a deafening roar. You were on your feet in the garage, eyes glued to the screens as Max surged ahead, taking the first corner with the precision of a master. It was a tough race — Leclerc was relentless, the Ferraris faster on the straights, but Max was tenacious, finding grip where there was none, pushing his car to the absolute limit.

A collision on lap 38 had everyone holding their breath. Max and Leclerc side by side, neither willing to back down. You bit your lip, watching as Max held his ground, the two cars nearly touching at 300 km/h. Your heart pounded, fear mixing with exhilaration.

Max’s POV

Max could feel the pressure mounting. Leclerc was right on his tail, and the Ferrari was fast, too fast. But Max wasn’t about to let this one slip away. He had the inside line, and he was going to use it. They were wheel-to-wheel through the chicane, and for a moment, it felt like everything slowed down. He could hear his engineer in his ear, but it was white noise. This was it — the moment of truth.

Leclerc made a desperate lunge, but Max held firm, squeezing him just enough to make his point but not so much that they’d both end up in the gravel. It was aggressive, it was bold, but it was clean. He was through, and as he glanced in his mirrors, he saw Leclerc had backed off, finally conceding.

Max’s heart was racing as he crossed the finish line, the checkered flag waving above him. He did it. Another win. But as the adrenaline began to fade, his thoughts immediately drifted to you. He parked his car, the victory cheers filling the air, but his eyes were searching the garage, looking for you.

Y/N’s POV

The garage erupted in cheers, but you barely registered it. Max had done it. He’d held off Leclerc and crossed the line first, and you couldn’t contain the rush of emotion that surged through you. Relief, pride, something else you couldn’t quite name but felt every time you saw him.

You pushed through the throng of team members and media, making your way to where Max was climbing out of the car. He was surrounded by cameras, microphones thrust in his face as reporters fired off questions. But then his eyes found yours, and the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you.

He pushed past the reporters, striding toward you with purpose. Before you knew it, his arms were around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. For a moment, you didn’t care who was watching. It was just you and Max, and the unspoken connection that had been building between you.

“You did it,” you whispered against his ear, feeling the tension in his body slowly release.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he replied, his voice low and sincere.

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. There was something there, something beyond the rush of victory. You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly his lips were on yours, the kiss hard and fast, filled with the pent-up energy of the race and something more.

It wasn’t until you pulled away, breathless and slightly dazed, that you remembered where you were. The cameras were still flashing, the reporters still talking, but none of it seemed to matter. Max’s thumb brushed against your cheek, a small, intimate gesture that made your heart flutter.

“Guess the secret’s out,” he said with a chuckle, glancing at the cameras.

“Seems that way,” you replied, trying to catch your breath.

Max grinned, his hand still on your cheek, and for a moment, you saw the boyish charm that lay beneath the fierce competitor. He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours.

“I’m glad,” he whispered. “I’m tired of hiding how I feel about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the vulnerability in his voice something you hadn’t expected. You nodded, unable to find the right words but knowing exactly what he meant. This wasn’t just a fling, or a distraction. It was real, and for the first time, you let yourself hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d found something worth holding on to.

Max’s POV

Max didn’t care about the cameras or the questions that would come later. All he cared about was you, and the way you looked at him like he was more than just a driver, more than just the face of a team. With you, he felt seen — truly seen. And as he held you close, he knew one thing for certain: this was just the beginning.

With you by his side, he could take on the world, both on and off the track. And as the crowd cheered and the cameras flashed, Max Verstappen, the fierce, unrelenting racer, found something he hadn’t even realized he was missing.

Home.

With you.

END

[redclercs]

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

xi.it’s okay we’re the best of friends

— the one where all you do is think about the feelings that you hide.

warnings: guys, my brain was failing during this so not really proofread, also please pretend the dress is the same in both pics lol, alcohol consumption. 2.5k words.

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softyn FIRST POST SINCE MAY AND MOTHER WANTS US DEAD

ynstars I LOVE YOU SO MUCH SLAY

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lecsainz516 whose wedding is this, charles and carlos were there too

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THE COMMENTS FOR THIS POST ARE LIMITED.

August 5th, Madrid, Spain.

WHEN Charles said you needed to make new memories in Spain to replace the bad ones, you didn’t have a wedding in mind. However, with the rollercoaster that is your life as of lately, you don’t swim against the current anymore. Just going with it is not a bad way to live when you’re still trying to reach the surface and get away from the wreckage.

Things aren’t good. Not yet. The press is still having a field day with all that he said, she said merry go round. Aidan and Victoria are fighting to play the victim and Mia Kim is on a mission to paint you as the worst sister-in-law who could have ever existed. Which, to be fair, paints her in a weird Freudian light.

But things are better than they were the last time you were in Spain. And that’s something to be grateful for.

“Are you sure?” You asked Charles on FaceTime for the third time that night two weeks ago, he had just asked you to be his plus one to one of his Ferrari mates’ wedding. “Are you a hundred percent sure they won’t mind?”

The last thing you wanted was to feel like an intruder, and with the type of attention you carry around like a dark cloud over your head, ruining someone’s special day was not an experience you wanted to add to your repertoire.

“Of course they won’t mind, soleil.” Charles assured, he was still in Hungary after the Grand Prix. “Tommaso told me I could bring anyone, and I want to bring you.”

The last time you saw Charles in person was in New York City, almost two months ago. It doesn't mean, of course, that you stopped communicating. Whenever Charles is on his phone, you can be certain you'll receive a text, a picture or a random iMessage drawing. You handle time zones as best you can without sacrificing too much sleep time, especially for the one who has to drive a car at 300 km/hr.

Although he insisted on you coming to any Grand Prix of your choice, you thought it best to stay away from the paddock for a while. Plus, you had some work to do. You didn't love Talk Shows while promoting, most hosts did horrible, unfunny jokes, and you were the butt of a lot of them, but if being in some of them helped you to speak about your situation and dismiss whatever rumor Victoria, Aidan or Mia (or just about half the internet) had going on, you were willing to make the sacrifice.

You were also willing to attend a complete stranger's wedding just to see Charles again, but you didn't want to give that thought the depth it demanded from you. Not in the seven hour flight from New York to Madrid, and not now, as you're getting ready for Charles to pick you up to go to the wedding.

Your blue dress is frankly magnificent, and you are aware of how good you look, but it doesn't hurt that the first thing Charles does when the doors to the lift open, is compliment you. Well, to be fair, the first thing he does is gather his thoughts and try not to feel stupid after basically picking his jaw up from the floor.

"You look gorgeous," Charles says, clearing his throat. His sudden anxiety makes you chuckle, as his Adam's apple bobs up his neck. "I missed you so much, soleil."

You are mildly disappointed when he doesn't hug you the way he did back in New York, and you dismiss the feeling almost as quickly as it appeared. Although his words linger in the air, he missed you, and you did too.

"I don't want to ruin your hair," he explains, as if he's read your mind, and smiles wider.

"Right," you shake your head, it was obvious. "You look pretty good yourself, Charlie," you add, always trying to return the compliment, and only managing to make it awkward.

There is something about men in suits that makes them twice as attractive, and it's unfair when it comes to someone like Charles, who is already way too handsome as it is.

"Thank you," Charles is always nice enough to accept your half-assed, anxiety induced compliments. "Shall we?"

You nod, and when he offers his arm to lead you to the car, you link yours through it taking a breath so deep, it makes your lungs ache.

"Do you like weddings?" Charles asks as the engine of his car roars to life. A red Ferrari is the only way you manage to describe it, afraid of getting details wrong. Although you're certain Charles would patiently explain anything you needed to know about it, you don't ask.

"Everyone likes weddings," you reply, setting both hands on top of your knees. "Right?"

Charles chuckles and shrugs, "I guess so,"

You love weddings, except when you're expected to be the bride.

"Charles," you pat his shoulder and he takes his eyes off the road for the briefest second. "Are you completely sure the bride doesn't mind my presence?"

You don't want to give yourself some sort of importance you don't deserve—the bride has more important things to worry about—but particularly nervous about how your presence will be received at the celebration.

"Seriously, y/n," Charles soothes, his right hand leaves the steering wheel and searches for your own blindly, accidentally landing on your empty lap. He takes his hand back immediately, red creeping up his neck. "It's fine." he resolves, his sight way too focused on the road now.

"Alright," you whisper, smoothing the skirt of your dress. "Alright."

Both of you remain silent the rest of the way as you take in the Spanish landscape and Charles drives like his life depends on it. You promised yourself you'd ask for as much information on the happy couple as you could, but your voice is lost in the pit that opened in your stomach.

And the evening is just beginning.

It's after the ceremony, at cocktail hour that you find everything out about Tommaso and Bárbara thanks to none other than Carlos Sainz, who seems to really have a thing for gossip and also, for making fun of you for crying during the vows.

"Leave me alone, Carlos," you warn for the last time, this time threatening him with your closed fist. "Not my fault you don't have a heart in that big-ass chest."

This makes him laugh harder, and even Charles chuckles against the lip of his whiskey glass.

"I miss you so much around the paddock, y/n!" Carlos sighs, patting the place above his heart. "For real."

You click your tongue. "Sure you do,"

Carlos and you talk a lot less than Charles and you do, of course. But if Charles calls you during whatever free time he has while in the Ferrari Suite, you can trust Carlos to insert himself in the conversation.

"And a lot of the other drivers do too," Carlos' tone is mocking again, and you glower at him.

"Stop picking on me," this time you punch him on the shoulder.

"I'm being serious. Lando has a crush on you,"

You talked to Lando a few times, mostly when he and Carlos were being boys and hitting each other in the balls outside the Ferrari Suite and Lando made small talk as he tried not to touch his private parts. A crush is an exaggeration, Lando just told you he thought you were cool for making movies.

"Why don't we take some pictures?" Charles suggests before downing the rest of his whiskey. You don't miss the look he gives Carlos.

"Why not?" you smile at Charles, shrugging. The place is beautiful and you would love to have a memory of this whole thing that you can go back to.

"I'll catch up with you guys," Carlos calls as you two walk away, uninterested in the impromptu photoshoot.

Charles directs an annoyed look at him again and then makes it go away to return his attention to you.

"What was that?" you ask, taking Charles' arm again for him to lead you to where the rest of the guests are more scattered and won't photobomb your pictures.

"What was what?" Charles lifts an eyebrow, forever the expert at playing dumb. Or, not really.

You shake your head, this is another deep thought you don't want to venture into. There is enough of this weird tension already, and you're not sure if Charles feels it too.

─────────

"Your girlfriend is beautiful," a lady is patting your hand, a gentle smile on her face as she looks at Charles. She's the spouse of another Ferrari team member, and the first thing she did was compliment your dress before even asking for your name.

"Oh, I'm not—"

"We're just friends," Charles clears up, gentle as well. "But y/n really is beautiful."

The woman raises both eyebrows and laughs, an 'oh you kids' snicker that isn't unkind. "Of course, of course."

It's the first time of many during this party that Charles has to say you're not in a relationship, and it seems to get easier every time the words come out of his mouth.

Although it's true, you're not sure why it nags at you.

You cry again during the couple's First Dance and verbally threaten Carlos to leave you alone as you wipe your tears carefully, doing your best to keep your makeup intact. He laughs, but takes your threat seriously and remains quiet. This whole Tom and Jerry thing is amusing but he doesn't want to actually make you angry.

A few songs in, after you're done bickering with Carlos and you have finished your third glass of champagne, Charles asks you to dance with him.

An slowed-down version of Sixpence's 'Kiss Me' plays as you take the dance floor. You blame your giddiness on the fact that you finished that flute of champagne in record time.

"What is it?" Charles questions, smoothly placing one hand on your hip while the other holds your palm. His thumb runs up and down the curve of your wrist.

"What if I step on your foot?" you retort, looking up at him. That's only one thing that makes you nervous, although you know how to dance. You took lessons for both Supercut and Parisian Valentine.

Laughter bubbles from Charles' chest and you join in, although this makes you even more nervous. It would be stupid to say you don't see how handsome he is, even if he's just your friend.

"I won't mind," Charles promises, and his fingers press a little harder against your hip bone.

"Okay, then."

It's obviously not a complicated endeavor to sway around the dance floor with Charles, he lets you set the pace, lacing your fingers together after you spin back to him.

"Thank you for coming with me, soleil," he says in a low voice. You can smell the alcohol in his breath although it's been a while since he stopped drinking, he still has to drive you back to your hotel. "I really missed you these two months."

"I love weddings. Thanks for inviting me," you squeeze his shoulder, the contrast of your manicured nails against his shirt distracts you momentarily from the fact that you can feel his breath against your jaw.

It's the second time today that you miss the chance to tell him you missed him too, and you know he notices it by the way he leans away.

The song ends before your tongue decides to respond to you again and Charles lets go of you. A few seconds feel like an hour as you stare at each other, unable—or unwilling—to say anything of what either of you really want to say.

"Care to dance?" a guy with longish hair and dark eyes is offering you his hand now, as a faster song starts and the lights around the room turn brighter.

You break eye contact with Charles and when you look at him again, he just nods, taking a step back to your assigned table.

"Sure," you tell the guy, a tense smile on your face. "Let's dance."

The ride back to your hotel is silent again, and you're too tired to find a way to fill it.

Charles' energy has shifted and this makes your stomach turn. Your anxiety worsens every time you feel someone is 'off' towards you, and that someone being Charles makes it a hundred times worse.

He takes the elevator to your room with you, placing his hand gently in the middle of your bare back to let you in first.

"We're okay, right?" you whisper, looking at your distorted reflections on the silver wall of the cubicle.

You see Charles' reflection frown and then his face turns to you. "Of course we're okay, y/n. Is something wrong?"

You shake your head, the loose strands of your bun tickle your nape. "I'm just wondering."

Charles is never bothered by your need for reassurance, not even when he needs reassurance himself. That he's not being a complete and absolute moron by wanting the woman all the boys want to dance with, and holding onto that little slither of hope that he might have a chance with her. He's the one standing next to you after the party, still.

"We are okay. Didn't you have fun today?" he asks, pushing those thoughts aside. You're friends. Just friends.

"Of course I did!" you inhale sharply, "I just— nevermind." you take your hand to the back of your head, already tired of the half undone bun that threatens to give you a headache.

"I had fun. I always have fun when I'm with you," Charles follows you out of the elevator and down the hallway to the third door marked with a 3321.

You're still struggling to find the exact hairpin that holds your hairdo together, and Charles pinpoints it almost at the same time as you do, pulling it out swiftly to make your hair fall down your shoulders.

It's a meaningless gesture, Charles hasn't given it a second thought or stopped walking. But a shiver runs down your back as his knuckles graze your nape.

"Thanks, Charlie." You say, swallowing.

"Of course," Charles puts the pin inside the pocket of his trousers with a shrug.

You stand in front of the room for a minute, having a stare down again as you rub the back of your head.

"Thank you again for today, Charles." you're the one to break the silence, keycard already between your fingers. "I had a great time."

"I'm glad, soleil." Charles his dimples appear when he smiles and your breath hitches when he leans towards you. It feels like you've been showered with ice cold water. "Good night, y/n," he says and presses his lips against your cheek.

"Good night, Charlie," you wave him goodbye from the door as he walks back to the lift.

The feeling of his lips against your skin is there, even after you've washed your face and tucked yourself into bed.

─── team principal radio: ❝thank you for reading! surprisingly, i don't have much to say this time other than i really hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that I appreciate each one of you dearly!♡❞

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