#I will probably miss a race or two or three over the summer

[charles-leclerc-official]

will u write race analyses this year queen?

Yes!

I have been working out a new format that I think will be more manageable for me.

Summer might be tricky because I am gonna be out of service for multiple days at a time, but aside from that yes.

I think I have decided to stay far more Ferrari focused, so we'll be looking in depth at Charles' and Lewis' races each weekend and also where the SF-25 is at.

And then if there is something else important for other drivers probably post separately about that if it bears discussion (ie Max vs Lando on track battles etc)

Staying focused on the team and taking glances at other drivers/teams when relevant.

Bare minimum we must talk about Charles' race. Also super super interested to see where the car lands this year, this car is critical to Ferrari's immediate future.

But yes I am very excited to do more technical talk this season with you all!

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - Part 3

In which you and Max spend the next six months just being obsessed with each other.

Warnings: A little angst, but not 'break up with you' angst, just 'i really fucking miss you' angst so it's okay. And fluff. Tooth achingly sweet fluff. Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 4.4k plus a shit ton of social media posts. - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 2 - Master List

(a/n before we begin: Probably one more part to this. Thinking of doing an 'after Max gets you back to the hotel post-race' part to wrap things up nicely if anyone wants to see that.)

Monaco May 2024

F1GossipOfficial posted

34,028 likes F1GossipOfficial Seems as if our favorite Red Bull driver and sunny little podcaster are getting closer! The pair was spotted around Monaco this week ahead of the Monaco Grand Prix. The pair have been seen publicly a handful of times since Max made an appearance on her podcast The Yapping Hour in late April, most notably at the Miami Grand Prix at the beginning of the month and then the week later in New York City where she is based. Everyone who sent in photos said the pair were super cozy and seemed lost in their own world. user0299 she's only with him for the clout and money. Her little podcast was dying out and she latched onto Max like a leech. >>>user5572 go touch some grass my man. Her podcast is consistently the number 1 listened to show on all platforms all the fucking time. user9938 they are so cute, i can't handle it user4530 I saw them at dinner the other night and oh my GOD. They sat on the same side of the table even though it was just the two of them. He held her hand underneath the table all through dinner and I don't think either of them stopped smiling or looked anywhere else but at each other the entire night. >>>user39948 they are so fucking perfect oml

Canada June 2024 yourpersonalinsta posted

493,928 likes liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, totowolff, and others yourpersonalinsta Over the moon to have been able to be with you for this win in Canada, Maxie. user299 MAXIE?! I have no one to talk to about this redbullracing our good luck charm strikes again! >>>user456 Red Bull calling her theirs??? Love this for her. maxverstsppen1 thank you for always being in my corner liefje ❤️ >>>user394 how am i supposed to be normal after reading this??? user8827 Not Toto in the likes trying to get on her good side so Max signs with Merc in 2026 >>>user778 HAHA can you imagine??

Amalfi Coast August 2024

maxverstappen1 posted

987,409 likes liked by yourpersonalinsta, redbullracing, yourdad and others maxverstappen1 summer break with this gorgeous girl user458 they are my royal couple yourpersonalinsta wishing we were back on that boat rn instead of on different continents :( >>>maxverstappen1 just a few more weeks until Singapore, schatje. >>>user4938 this is my roman empire >>>user024 mom and dad are sad so i am sad too

October 2024 Austin, Texas

You hadn't seen Max in over three weeks. Three very, very, very long weeks. And not to be dramatic or anything but you felt like you might actually pass away if the Uber that was currently picking it's way through very heavy Austin traffic drove any slower.

While the sleek Mercedes SUV waited at a red light, your gaze drifted away from the navigation system showing the the heavy traffic all around you towards the busy city streets around you. Whoever had decided to schedule an Eminem concert, a huge college rivalry football game, and a Formula 1 race all in the same city on the same weekend should have their head examined.

Fixated on the crowd on the sidewalk outside, you mull over the last six months of your life. It has certainly been a whirlwind, that was for sure. If someone had told you back in the beginning of May that you'd be on your way to your sixth Grand Prix of the year to watch your boyfriend race in Formula 1, you would have laughed in their faces. Because really, when you sat back and considered it, the fact that you had gone from being a fan of the sport and interviewing Max on a professional level to dating him in under six months was absolutely wild.

While you attended races whenever you could, you found yourself more often than not called to the other side of the world to attend to your flourishing career. In the last six months you had ping ponged around the globe, bouncing between weekends with Max and over scheduled weeks filled with work, interviews, and meetings. Some days you just wished that things were simpler and you could just dedicate yourself to following Max around from city to city but you knew that Susan B Anthony would roll over in her grave if you gave up everything for a man so quickly, even a man as amazing as Max Verstappen.

You brush aside the thought of leaving your work because in the end, all that is is a simple fantasy brought on by you missing the man that has become the center of your universe lately.

After attending the Singapore GP with Max, you had spent a few extra days with him in Asia before needing to fly home. While Max did have nearly an entire month break from racing, he couldn't follow you to New York like he had intended. After coming back from the summer break, Max's luck had started to slip and the car had deteriorated. He hadn't won a race in months, the car was an absolute tractor, and Lando was gaining on him in the Championship. He had needed to spend every extra moment he had in the sims and with the engineering team trying to salvage the season.

While Max had been in Europe, you had been in the US recording episodes with Heidi Klum, Wayne Gretzky, and finally Kylie Kelce. Heidi had been in LA, Wayne in Florida, and Kylie in Philly so you had spent most of the last three weeks on the road. As the SUV inched closer to the COTA track, you realized you couldn't remember the last time you'd set foot in your apartment.

Exhaustion seeps into your bones as the realization washes over you. You loved the life you lived, wouldn't trade it for the world but sometimes, in these quiet moments you wished for a break, a chance to go home, wherever that even was now, and just rest.

Your phone buzzing beside you pulls you back to the present. Ysou struggle to shake off the mind numbing melancholy that's settled over you like a thick woolen blanket before answering the call. "Hi baby." You sigh, knowing who it is without even looking at the caller ID.

"What's wrong?" Max's voice is sharp on the other end, effortlessly reading your tone.

You shake your head, chest tightening with anxiety. "Just..." You search for the right words. "tired is all. I just realized I can't even remember the last time I spent a night in my own bed."

"Oh, schatje." Max sighs, knowing how grueling this schedule is as he lives it as well. "Do you want me to have the jet take you home? It's at the airfield still."

Tears collect in your eyes as your chest squeezes painfully. "No, I just want to see you." You whisper, afraid if you raise your voice you'll start to cry.

"How far are you from the track?"

You pop your head around the SUV's headrest to check the nav system. "Not long. Five minutes. I can see the giant observation tower from here."

"Have the Uber bring you right to the paddock gates. I have a car here and a few hours before any media duties. I'll take you back to the hotel myself and we can take a nap together, okay?"

Your entire body sags with relief at his words. If there was one thing that Max was good at, it was taking care of you. He didn't hem and haw or waver on a plan of action. He saw what you needed and made sure that you were taken care of. The way the burden of everything that you had silently carried for years shifted towards Max the moment you landed in Miami all those months ago was something that would shock you for years to come.

"Okay." You whisper, swiping at a single tear that managed to escape.

You have a few moments to collect yourself before the Uber stops at the entrance to the paddock. From your seat in the back, you spot a familiar blonde head that belonged to your Dutch boyfriend waiting for you. You're suddenly simultaneously bursting with excitement and beside yourself with grief as the anxiety that has gnawed at you over the last 24 hours fully consumes you at the mere sight of Max.

Max has you out of the car and into his arms before you can barely catch your breath. The moment you inhale that uniquely Max scent something inside you shifts and becomes crystal clear. You didn't need Max to have his jet take you home because you already were home. It sounded cliche in your head and it probably was, but you knew there was some truth to it: somewhere over the last six months your home had shifted away from your apartment in New York to wherever Max was.

Max tightens his grip around your waist, settling his chin on your head while you stay buried deep in his neck, you realize that home isn't a place any longer. Home is a person now and Max is that person. You don't have to go home to New York to rest, you just have to be in Max's presence. With him, you are utterly and completely safe and secure. For someone who spends 99% of her time 'on' and performing, being able to come home to Max and just switch it all off, allowing him to lead and take over, is the most powerful form of rest you could have ever dreamt of.

Max nods at the driver as he unloads your luggage, arms still locked tight around you. He can feel you melt into him, like you've been waiting for this moment since the last time you saw him. He knows that for him at least, this is true. Everything else in his life is completley falling apart. The car sucks, they had to ditch the special livery for this weekend becuase the fucking paint had the potential to make the car too heavy and slow. Lando has been on a tear lately, that McLaren a complete rocket ship and the only reason Lando hasn't overtaken him in the championship is thanks to some spectacularly shitty calls from the McLaren pit wall.

The only bright spot in Max's day is you. Your voice, your touch, your face. Any bit of you he gets on a daily basis is what keeps him going right now. As he had stood on the curb just moments before, desperately and not so patiently waiting while watching the black Mercedes SUV creep down the street towards him, it had felt like cruel and unusual punishment after being apart from you for so long.

And now? Now you were back in his arms and he drew in the longest breath he could, taking in the scent of your perfume and laundry soap that he had missed so keenly while he'd been working, and he simply couldn't get enough.

Max pulls away slightly, so he can see your pretty face but what he sees in your eyes nearly breaks him. Pain and longing hang heavy in your eyes and there is nothing Max wouldn't do to make all of that go away for you. Fingers tip your chin up towards him so he can finally get his lips on yours, a soft sigh escaping your mouth when he makes that first contact.

You swear it's like a cool drink of water in the middle of a humid heatwave in July, the way Max kisses you with such relief and passion and affection. Like he's trying to tell you through his kiss how much he adores you, how much he's missed you, how much he craves you.

"I love you." Are the first words he says to you and your breath catches in your throat. It isn't the first time he's said those words, Max had said them first all those months back when he brought you home to Monaco. It had been quick, probably too quick by the world's standards, but it just clicked between the two of you and the words had tumbled out of Max like it was the most natural thing in the world. The reason the words had your breath catching in your chest was because of the ferocity behind them, like he could tell how bone tired you were from all the travel over the last few months and he was desperate to remind you why you were doing all of this. Why the two of you were doing all of this together and apart. It was for moments like this, moments where you were attached to each other in the middle of the busy paddock parking lot like no one else existed.

"I love you too, Max." You whisper, dusting your lips over the stubble that was scattered over his jaw. "Can we go take a nap now? I'm so tired."

yourpersonalinsta posted

348,209 likes liked by kyliekelce, maxverstappen1, assistantshannon, and others yourpersonalinsta home is wherever you are (tagged: maxverstappen1) user098 mad max is no more, there is only soft cuddly boyfie max user0399 this is the cutest thing i've ever seen user000 god i am so single maxverstappen1 love you baby >>>danielricciardo SIMP >>>maxverstappen1 absolutely >>>user9938 it kills me that he is loves her so boldly and loudly. girl hit the mfing jackpot. (liked by author)

It's not your alarm that fully wakes you up on Friday morning. It isn't Max's either. But as you try to untangle your limbs from Max's and search for the source of the ringing, you can't help but curse whoever is interrupting the slow sleepy cuddles that had been progressing into something more heated for the past 20 minutes.

You nearly spit you're so mad when you see the caller ID.

"John." You growl, sitting up in bed as Max settles himself back against the mountain of pillows beside you. "It is 8 in the morning on a Friday the day after I saw my boyfriend for the first time in over three weeks. I swear on all things good and holy, this had better be good."

John, to his credit, didn't even scoff at the threat. He'd been your business manager for going on four years now and was used to your early morning attitudes.

"She said yes."

You sit up, back going ramrod straight as the three words clang through you. "What?" You hiss.

Beside you, Max struggles to sit up too, alarm coursing through him at the panic in your voice.

"Tree just called me five minutes ago. Said that Kylie had sent her the episode and wouldn't stop gushing about how amazing you were and how you were the perfect person to do this interview on the end of the tour and everything. Tree said Taylor watched your episode with Michelle and Queen Maxima too, said they were the best interviews she's ever seen. Everything is a go."

Your entire world tilts as what John is telling you fully sinks in. "Taylor Swift's agreed to come on the show?" You voice is weak, heavy under the weight of the news John is telling you. Your hands tremble at the thought of what this means for you. For your career.

Beside you, Max sucks in a breath at your sentence, fully aware of how big of a moment this is for you. Pride soars through him as he watches literal sunshine dance across your face, your smile as bright as the Texas morning light. "Schatje." He whispers, pulling your free hand towards his lips. Your eyes dart over to him and you grin at him, kicking your feet a little, completely unable to hide your excitement.

"She also said yes to your suggestion of a behind the scenes vlog on your channel ahead of the release of the episode. Thought the idea was marketing gold. You've got full access to everything for the entire week."

Before you had landed Kylie Kelce on the show, you and John had made a silly, pie in the sky request to Tree Paine not even thinking that it would go anywhere. When Kylie had agreed to do an episode, a request that had actually been made to her people months before John had contacted Tree, the idea of maybe, just maybe you might be able to land Taylor after had grown a bit. You hadn't told anyone of the request, not even Max, because you didn't want to be embarrassed if it didn't work out.

"There's only one problem." Your heart stops and you grip at Max's hand for support. You knew there had to be a catch. "They want you in Toronto by Sunday."

"Wh-what?" Your stomach plummets through the floor. You had just gotten to Austin last night and now you were going to have to leave again? You were supposed to spend the entire triple header with Max. Three weeks of solid time with him had been the only thing getting you through the previous three week separation. You two had even planned to go visit your parents in Michigan between Austin and Mexico later next week.

"The first concert is Monday and Tree wants you to get as much content as you can and has asked you be there at 9am Monday morning."

You head spins. "Oh-okay." There's a giant Max shaped hole in your heart at what you have to agree to, simply exhausted by the fact that you're going to have to pick up and leave again so soon. "Okay. We'll figure it out."

"Do you want me to have Shannon make flight arrangements?"

You glance over at Max, who senses your apprehension. "Let me talk through it with Max and see what we can figure out. I'll call you in a few hours, okay?"

"Sounds good. Congratulations, kiddo. This is huge."

You smile despite yourself, excitement and anxiety winding their way through your chest making it a little hard to breathe. "Bye John."

You gently place your phone back on the bedside table before turning to Max, bracing yourself for the good and bad news you have to deliver.

"The beginning of that call looked phenomenal but now you look like you're going to be sick." Max observes, pulling you into his lap.

You shudder against when his lips graze your neck, dropping a kiss to his forehead. "Taylor Swift agreed to come on the show and to let me do a weeks worth of behind the scenes of her Toronto shows."

"Baby, that is amazing. This is going to be huge for you and the show!"

You nod, a bit dazed by all of this information you have to process. "But they want me there by Sunday night so I can start first thing Monday." Sadness edges into your voice, the dread of having to leave Max again begins to sink in fully.

"When should Greg have the jet ready to take off then? You'll probably want to leave before the end of the race to beat traffic, yeah? Although I suppose we could find you a helicopter to take you from the track to the airport."

You stare at Max like he's grown three heads. His voice is so nonchalant despite him suggesting he rent you a helicopter that all you can do is blink at him for a few moments. "Just...just like that? You're on board with it? You're not upset?"

Max scoffs, pulling you closer so he can rest his head on your shoulder. His arms go tighter around your waist as he gives you a kiss on the cheek. "Why would I be upset? I'll do anything I can to help you live out this dream, schatje. You know that. This is the biggest thing to happen to your career since you had F1 racing legend Max Verstappen as a guest."

The giggle that tumbles out of you has the tension in the room popping like a soap bubble. "You're ridiculous."

"And yet, you're still here." Max finds your lips then, the kiss full of reassurance and confidence. Of course he was disappointed you were going to be leaving in 2 days and he wasn't sure when you'd be back with him but this opportunity was too good to miss. "I'd never forgive myself if you missed spending a week doing what you love with one of your favorite artists because of me. Of course I'll miss you but you need to do this. So tell me, when should I have the jet ready to get you to Toronto?"

yourpersonalinsta story post

story replies: user8882 ARE YOU THERE FOR ERAS TOUR??? user029 what are you up to ma'am??? user837 wait. first kylie's on the show and now you're in Toronto the same week as Taylor. ARE WE GETTING A TAYLOR EPISODE OH MY GOD.

TheYappingHour posted

876,029 likes liked by maxverstappen1, taylorswift, alexandrasaintmleux, and others theyappinghour Toronto, you were stunning! Can anyone guess who our next guest on the show is going to be??? Behind the scenes vlog dropping next week ahead of a very very special two part episode set to drop later this month. user928 oh my god, everyone stay calm, it's happening. user020 IS THIS FOR REAL??? I will never recover maxverstappen1 so proud of you my love >>>yourpersonalinsta couldn't do it without you, maxie >>>user928 if there's one thing Max is going to be, it's the first one in the likes and comments on anything his girl does. (liked by yourpersonalinsta) >>>user0298 may this kind of love find me one day

Excerpt from Episode 59 of The Yapping Hour featuring Taylor Swift:

You: Speaking of what you do in your down time, can we talk about how supportive you are of your boyfriend and show up for him despite the Brad's and Chad's hating every second of it?

Taylor: It's so silly to me, how much everyone hates it. When I show up at the game, I'm just like every other significant other. I'm not there to take the spotlight away from anyone, I just want to watch my man play!

You: Oh my God, I totally get it. It's so strange to me the way some fans can't handle someone like you who has a whole other identity outside of who you're dating, showing up to support the person you love.

Taylor: It's like, relax! I'm just here to watch my boyfriend catch a ball!

You: Right? Just let me enjoy watching 20 cars drive around in circles in peace please!

Taylor: You two are so cute though. Trav was watching the race in Monaco a few months back, right after he invested in Alpine, and there was that one shot of you and Max after the end of the race in his garage and you were giving him a hug. I love how loudly you love him and how public he is about you. It's refreshing.

You: Oh gosh, thank you. Yes, he is so supportive of everything I do, just like Travis is. It's such a comfort, isn't it? *Taylor nods* He actually stayed in Austin an extra day so I could use his jet to come up here.

Taylor: Trav was supposed to go to that race but got caught up in training stuff. It looked like so much fun.

You: Have you ever been to a race? Either of you?

Taylor: I haven't but Travis went to the Las Vegas race last year. Said it was the one of the biggest parties he'd ever been to.

You: You'll have to come this year then! It's in a few weeks!

Taylor: I'll talk to Trav and see if we can make it happen.

TheYappingHour posted

1,039,928 likes liked by maxverstappen1, taylorswift, kikagomes, and others theyappinghour What an absolute whirlwind of a week and a half. Spending time with your favorite artist, seeing her in her element, and then spending a few hours talking about everything from what it's like to live such a public life to how important it is to have a supportive significant other. I simply can't wait to share the behind the scenes vlog dropping at the end of this week and then the episode later this month. Taylor, you are a dream of a human being and we are so happy to have had this opportunity. Can't wait to see you and Travis at a race! taylorswift You are such a sweetheart! So glad we got to spend time together this past week! Can't wait to hear the episode my love! kikagomes how does it feel to live my dreammmm bestie??? >>>yourpersonalinsta kiks omg i will never recover from this!! maxverstappen1 Proud of you, as always lifeje. >>>yourpersonalinsta can't wait to see you so so so soon baby

"And he doesn't expect a thing?" You glance up at the ticket counter where the airline employee has begun to call first class. You stand, phone still pressed to your ear, pulling your carry on behind you.

"Nope!" On the other end, Max's PR manager Sophie giggles conspiratorially. "He was just complaining to GP ten minutes ago how he couldn't believe they didn't have more flights from Sao Paulo to Paris. He said he was considering upgrading his jet to one with longer range so he could fly private next time."

You roll your eyes but chuckle. If you were a drama queen, your boyfriend could be the drama king to match sometimes. Although you didn't blame him to be quite honest. After leaving Austin mid way through the race, you had missed the Mexico race entirely. The plan had been for you to fly down to Brazil for the Sao Paulo race but editing and press had taken much longer than you had anticipated so now it was Saturday night and you were boarding a 9 hour flight from New York to the South American country.

Only, Max didn't know that. Max thought you were getting on a flight to Nice via Paris before driving to Monaco where he'd meet you sometime late Monday night or early Tuesday morning. Joke was on him though, you had finished everything up and had called Sophie for help to get you down to Brazil just in time for Sunday's race.

"He's such a baby." You murmur as the flight attendant leads you to your seat.

"He is beside himself missing you." Sophie says and you can hear the smile in her voice. "Just make sure I'm around when he sees you for the firs time, okay? He's going to lose it."

Laughing, you hoist your suitcase into the overhead bin before settling down in the luxurious lie flat seat that will be your bed for the next nine hours. If everything goes right, you'll land in Brazil just as the postponed qualifying is finishing up and will be able to watch the entire race in person.

"Thank you for helping coordinate this, Soph. I really appreciate it."

"Anything to get Max out of this slump he's in!" She replies brightly.

A few minutes later, you hang up the phone and type out a quick text letting Max know you're boarding the flight. Luckily, the flight from New York to Paris is roughly the same time as the flight to Sao Paulo so he doesn't bat an eye when you tell him you'll be unreachable, only telling you that the doorman to his building is expecting you and to make yourself at home in his apartment in Monaco when you get there before he does.

************************************************************************

It is absolutely raining cats and dogs when the car Sophie hired pulls into the track after what feels like a lifetime of travel. Right after they served dinner on your flight, you took a sleeping pill and passed out for the duration of the flight, only waking up once the pilot turned on the overhead lights, signaling your arrival.

A quick text to Sophie alerts her to your arrival and she says she'll come and meet you outside the paddock with an extra umbrella. The driver that picked you up from the airport will take your luggage to the hotel where Max and the team are staying. When the car stops in front of the paddock gates, you spot Sophie immediately.

"Soph!!" You shout the moment you stumble out of the car, limbs a little stiff from the long car ride. Sao Paulo traffic is a beast in the best of weather but in a downpour like this? Nightmarish.

Sophie opens her arms to embrace you, "Oh I am so glad you're here. He is an absolute nightmare right now."

You grimace, knowing exactly why. He'd be starting P17 in a few hours. Between the team having got caught behind a red flag during Q2 and his 5 place grid penalty, it was a nightmare scenario for Max. All of this was compounded by Lando's win in the sprint yesterday and the fact that he was starting on pole today.

"Alright then, lets go. Maybe I can talk him down off a ledge before the race starts."

Sophie grins because she knows you'll be able to do just that. If there was anyone who could calm Mad Max down and bring him back to earth after the kind of morning the team had had today, it was you.

As you weave your way through the crowded paddock, the heavy rain simply not a deterrent to anyone at the track today, Max is in the garage considering the merits of scratching his eyeballs out so that he doesn't have to run this fucking race today. Everything is wrong. The car is terrible. Still. The FIA seemed to have a hard on for fucking up his weekend. Lando was on poll. And worst of all, he really fucking missed you. There was still several days between him and being reunited with you but if he could have just walked right out of the paddock and onto a plane to get to wherever you were in that moment, he would have. The only thing that seemed to settle him during these times lately was your steady presence in the garage. He didn't even need you to say anything, just knowing that you were around, within arms length if he needed you, did something to calm him like nothing else could.

He's talking to GP, actually, he's grumbling at GP when a familiar flash of hair and bright smile catches his eyes. Perfect, he thinks miserably, now I'm imagining her in the garage. I've gone full unhinged obsessed boyfriend, haven't I?

Imagine his shock when he actually hears your voice. "Max." You call out softly, hands clasped in front of you as you wait at the edge of the garage beside Sophie.

Max simply blinks a few times, as if he's trying to figure out if he's hallucinating or if you're really standing in front of him. His heart hammers in his chest when everything finally clicks into place. GP doesn't even bat an eye when Max walks away from him, mid sentence, before crossing the garage in a few short strides.

Max isn't usually one for intense public displays of affection, especailly in the garage and neither are you. There's a level of professionalism he likes to maintain while racing and you have always respected that but when Max sees you standing in front of him, practically drowning in one of his sweatshirts, hair wet and messy from walking through the paddock in the rain, he can't stop himself from scooping you up in his arms. Burying his head in your neck, he inhales deeply. So deeply that his lungs pinch with pain from the way he's trying to commit the way you smell to memory.

"You're here." He murmurs, voice thick and heavy with emotion. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to meet me in Monaco?"

Max sets you down, not really wanting you out of his arms but wanting to move you to a quieter part of the garage. Behind you, Sophie, GP and the rest of the team discreetly shuffle away to give you two a bit of privacy.

"I knew how hard the last two races were for you and I just..." Pausing, you have to wait for a moment for your hands to stop shaking. You've been running on sheer adrenaline and caffeine for what feels like the last three weeks now and the emotion of the moment catches up to you. "I just wanted to be here for you."

Max lowers his lips to yours, covering them in a kiss that is all longing and white hot heat. He keeps the kiss just this side of tame enough for the garage, not wanting to draw the ire of Christian but he had needed to taste you then. His hand comes up to cup your face while the other slips around your waist, pulling you in closer to his body. He's slightly damp from how wet it's been this morning but none of that matters now that you're back in his arms.

"I missed you so much." He murmurs, blue eyes practially sparkling down at you, he's so happy. It's been weeks since he's felt like this. Settled. Like he can take on the world. For the first time in what feels like forever, Max has a sense of determination that wraps itself around him. Like the championship isn't all but lost to Lando. Like the car isn't going to be terrible today, even though he might not even finish in the points. Like everything he's gone through the past few months on the track is all about to end because you're finally here and if anyone can bring the team luck, it's you.

"I love you." You whisper into his chest. "Now, let's go show the world why you're about to become a 4 time world champion, yeah?"

And that's exactly what he does.

yourpersonalinsta posted

938,398 likes liked by redbullracing, taylorswift, yourdad and others yourpersonalinsta we are SO back, baby!!! What started out as a nightmare of a day turned into a generational drive for the history books. P17 to P1 and I cannot believe I was there to witness it. Max, I am proud of you beyond words. You and the entire team deserve this win today. I love you to the moon and back, Maxie. (tagged: maxverstappen1) taylorswift what a race! Trav and I caught most of it before the game today. Congratulations!!! >>>yourpersonalinsta hope to see you in Vegas in a couple of weeks! >>>user928 oh my god, new bestie duo unlocked!? maxverstappen1 words fail to describe how much I love you baby. Thank you for always being in my corner and never giving up on me, even when I want to give up on myself. Love you to the ends of time, schatje >>>user928 i am SOBBING. Boyfriend Max is my favorite Max.

Tags: @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99

[takes1]

p.2 bratty tsukishima x manager!reader enemies to lovers

warnings. nsfw. m!masturbation at the end. midterms mentioned. minors DNI content. misinterpretation of emotions. tsukki not knowing how to handle a crush. enemies to lovers. or maybe enemies with benefits, i haven't decided yet. manager!reader. tsukki being so incredibly horny. tsukki not understanding facial expressions. sexual frustration. male masturbation + implied previous. kiyoko being a friend. yachi being a friend. 1.7k words notes. 3 more parts planned! ask to be added to the taglist if you don't want to miss one! links. PART ONE HERE. PART THREE . PART FOUR. FINAL PART. masterlist for mha. my ao3. masterlist for haikyuu

Despite your iced latte being mostly just water by now, you still sucked it down in desperation to get every ounce of caffeine you could. Midterms were just around the corner and one of your most difficult classes involved writing a 10-page scientific paper.

You had the whole semester to do it, so the dread you felt now was the amalgamation of months' worth of opportunity that you could've and should've used to work on it.

Thankfully, you didn't have to churn the majority of this thing out alone.

"What the hell does ameliorate mean." Kiyoko asked, though her soft frustration was starting to sound more like a statement now.

Yachi took every opportunity she could to stop doing her work, including this one. For her, there was less pressure to do perfectly on her finals since she had another two years to get those top marks.

She scanned her laptop screen for a moment, lips perched on the lid of her strawberry refresher: "Ameliorate means... To... make something bad or unsatisfactory better."

Kiyoko muttered something about how it still didn't make sense. Of course it wouldn't- she was taking an organic chemistry course.

The plan as it stood now was to rot in this spot all day until hunger moved you, so you all made an event out of it by putting on something cute, grabbing some coffees and pastries from a cafe nearby, and settling into this local library.

It wasn't planned, but you all simultaneously chose to wear skirts and cute summer tops. The mutual reaction of humor helped ease the pain of having to study all day. Suffering together was preferable to suffering alone.

The chance finally came again to stretch your legs and find another vaguely relevant reference to add to your bibliography.

With a rewarding, careful stretch, you rose out of your chair and took your time walking up and down the aisles to find something to support the fifth theory you'd written about so far.

Midterms were one stressor, but you weren't afforded the privilege of having tunnel vision over it.

Qualifiers were just around the corner, and you had the Tokyo training camp to prepare a load of equipment and personnel logs for.

As you selected a thick novel from a shelf above your head, you let out a small sigh.

The front matter described a concept you could start to look into and fluff up to your liking for the paper. Your mind fell back to the team, and how you wanted to do well on these exams so you'd have less to worry about going to Tokyo.

The side of your face was growing warm, probably from the East-facing window to your left, so you raised the back of a cold hand to cool yourself down.

You were just deciding to take this book back when, in the process of dropping your hand, you caught a blur of blond hair and glasses in the corner of your eye.

Your stomach jolted, heart starting to race, and an uncontrollable surprise took over your features.

Tsukishima was sitting, leaned over a table on his elbows, his head twisted all the way to the side to look at you over his shoulder.

You quickly looked back to the shelf and sucked in a breath. God, that must've looked so lame- you regretted every millisecond of that reaction and prayed he wouldn't ever bring it up.

He hated you. You didn't want anything to do with him. There was no pleasant exchange to get out of saying hello, or even acknowledging each other. It's not like you were friends.

Why was he even here? You started to get worried, but realized that he did ride the same train back with you after practice in the evenings.

Now you were really remembering. He got off one stop before yours and always moved to create the most space possible between you. You usually didn't see him again until he got off. Even then, you didn't care enough to look for him anymore.

You glanced back to him, expecting to now have to speak to him after you'd exchanged a mutual acknowledgment of each other's presence.

He was staring. But... that wasn't exactly the right word for it.

He was distracted. You wondered if he knew who you were, because you'd never seen him stare at you for more than a few seconds.

His brow wasn't pinched like usual. It was relaxed- in fact, everything about him was relaxed. The way his head was held in his hand, the loose grasp on his pencil, the subtle part of his lips. The lazy, yet measured scan of his eyes.

There was a reddish tint at the tips of his ears and highest points of his cheeks. It was astoundingly easy to notice, since he was so fair-skinned.

A strong chill ran up your spine when he finally made eye contact with you. Even then, it took a glance down to the book clasped against your chest, then back up for him to really notice your gaze and stiffen right up.

That new side of him vanished in an instant. It was replaced with a brief, stone-cold glower before he turned back to his own midterm work.

On the stiff walk back to your table, you smoothed your skirt out and pulled on the edge a bit before sitting back down.

It took a minute of silent sitting to even begin to unpack what you felt.

"Do I look stupid?"

Yachi instantly piped up, "Of course not! You're very pretty!"

"You really shouldn't waste your breath asking," Kiyoko glanced up at you.

It was brief but it rested your immediate insecurities.

"Why?" Yachi, once again, wanted nothing more than to just hang out and talk.

Another surge of chills. It was sickening.

You put your head in your hands, elbows on the table. "Mm-mm, it's just-..." You thought to tell them, but held back at the last second, "I dunno."

Another big sigh and you were back to typing to take your mind off of it. You'd have plenty of time to see what this spun into once you were free from this academic prison. It was too confusing right now.

Kiyoko didn't read into it, but Yachi lingered until 1) it was obvious you simply didn't want to disclose and 2) an abnormally tall boy from school walked past your table. She watched him watch you on his way towards the exit.

Her eyes narrowed with keen intuition.

the keen intuition in question:

Kei felt himself practically melt against the closed door of his bedroom. Breathless from a difficult and quick walk home, he fumbled with the tie of his sweatpants and the lock on the door concurrently.

"Finally," He sighed with a desperate laugh, "Fuck..."

His bag hit the floor with a sharp and careless thump. He stepped over it and fell onto his back on his mattress, a long arm stretched toward his side table for some lotion.

It was useless trying to study after that. Library or home, it didn't matter unless he could fuck this one out.

This time he didn't have to stalk your Instagram to spark his imagination; it was already running rampant with filthy ideas of what he'd do to you in that short skirt.

An ignored, aching erection sprang out of his waistband as he pushed it down and out of the way.

Light grey sweatpants had (for the first time in his life) ended up being a shit idea. All he could worry about on the 20 minute walk back was if anyone could see the tip of his cock tucked up just under his shirt.

Every shirt was too short. Every pair of pants was too big in the middle.

His slippery hand was beautiful relief. He was quick to get himself lubricated, and quicker to pump in slow, twisting motions to the image of you reaching, reaching, reaching up to that book on your tippy toes.

All the worry in his tight brow washed away in crashing waves of steady-growing pleasure.

Soon he didn't care about the harrowing journey home, the threat of midterms, nor the growing dread of that training camp.

It was just you.

It felt like fate that he got the only chance anyone might ever have to see the curve of your ass just under the hem of your skirt. You were able to get that book all too quickly.

If everything were different, he would've gotten it for you. You would've thanked him, kissed him on the cheek- he would've pulled you in for a heated, raunchy kiss with a hand palming you closer. He would've savored the view of you spread on the table for him -homework long forgotten- and his massive hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. It was a library, after all.

He seethed and stalled for a moment--, "a-ahh- Mm..."

His cock twitched hard with the need to cum, but he stopped just soon enough.

An oversized hand was holding the base; he looked at his other dry one, then closed his eyes in an eager but fruitless attempt to visualize just how they'd look on your thighs. Fuck, anywhere at this point.

Just one touch, that's all he wanted. He never let himself get close enough to even consider it, but my god, the internal struggle he made to stay away was commendable.

His tight, lightly sweaty stomach flexed with effort as he slowed down again.

You were so quick to switch up when it came to him. He could tell he had a special place in your heart, the way your lips pursed into a small frown and your eyes narrowed when he tested you.

It was out-of-this-world cute from his vantage point. A smile might just kill him.

"Mmm, fu-ck," He croaked, mind circling back to today.

His chest swelled with a shaky inhale- he smirked at the thought of you finding out about his terrible secret, how you would punish him for his unprofessional behavior. You were so pretty when you got mad.

The breath caught in his throat. He wasn't even thinking about the skirt when he finally came all over his stomach. Just that pretty face of yours did it for him.

taglist:

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thanks for the support!!

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[formulaforza]

💐 hi my wonderful birthday girl !! so i was thinking about a dress coded lewis blurb (because i was born a lewis and ts girl) where they just get drunk together and there’s teases flying and stuff. keep it as brief as u wish <333

—you can take it off

lewis hamilton x merc!reader summ. thank you stephy i love u bad <3 inspo from... ur never gonna believe it... this. hope it's up to your standards my love. 2.7k (kind of got out of hand)

You were half-asleep and half-drunk the night of the Belgium Grand Prix. The air was cool, recycled like all air seems to be in hotels, smelled of too-strong perfume and was filled with the dull noise of elevator jazz. What had begun as a before-we-go-to-bed night cap in the hotel bar with Bono had turned into a seemingly never ending addition of guests. 

Valtteri was first to join—never could pass up the opportunity to give you shit, to offer you job postings at Alfa Romeo that weren’t job postings at all—and with him around, there’s no casual drinking. You don’t try to keep up, not really, because you know you don’t stand a chance, but also because he would never let you. After all these years of being just a few months younger than him, he still calls you kiddo, still promises to call your parents when you’re out after dark, and always sends you a text after a race with some… questionable strategy decisions you’re catching flack for online. 

A brief appearance from Toto and Susie, just long enough for them to know they had no business trying to go drink for drink with Valtteri, and then they’re wishing all three of you a wonderful summer break and retreating to whatever room is considered prestige enough for Motorsport’s it-couple. 

And then there was Lewis, the last to arrive, who never called you kid, who never viewed you as one. He sits adjacent you in the red, high back leather booth and takes up a seat and a half, the toe of his shoe brushing against the side of yours, flashing you apologetic puppy dog eyes every time he bumps against yours. 

It’s somewhere between drink number five and six that Lewis gets his first, insists on a toast to the summer break that officially began… six hours and fifty-three minutes ago. For a long season this and a too-short summer break that, you lot had a mouthful of things to complain about, but a million more to be grateful for. “To not having work for a month,” Lewis proposes, clinking his glass against yours, offering a quick wink and holding it up properly over the table. 

“To no racing-talk for a few weeks,” Bono adds, clinking his glass against Lewis’. 

“To summer-fucking-break,” Valtteri chimes in, laughing at himself before the rest of you get the chance to match it. 

“To summer fucking break,” you repeat because you know there’s no better way to sum it all up. 

Unlike the other two, you slowed down when Lewis joined, wanted to give him time to catch up, to give yourself time to meet him somewhere in the middle. A glass of water and a virgin rum and coke and another water and the night is still young. 

“First summer break as the big boss, kiddo,” Valtteri remarks, and you have to squint to hear him through the alcohol-induced thickening of his accent. 

“That’s right!” Bono laughs. Your cheeks run hot at their mention of your title, of your promotion following James’ departure earlier in the season. Lewis smiles against the rim of his glass, bumps his foot against yours and doesn’t give you apologetic eyes. No, he raises his brows so slightly you think you’re the only one that notices, which is probably exactly the way he intended it to be. “Little miss queen of strategy is making the big money now, got any big travel plans?”

Lewis clears his throat, and your eyes dart over to his almost instinctively. “You’re staying in London, yeah?”

He’s right. Your summer-break plans consist of four weeks of trying to remember what it feels like to do nothing, failing at that task pathetically, and spending the rest of the time meticulously picking apart every call you’ve made all season and imagining the million and one things you could’ve done differently and their billion and two outcomes. 

You pick apart the drink napkin, tear it into tiny little pieces. “Yeah, yeah. Just staying home, catching up with friends and family,” you clarify, try not to sound as pathetic as you feel. It’s hard not to when you’re sitting next to the guy who spends his offseason snowboarding in Antarctica with his celebrity friends and his weeks off traveling to Paris fashion week for front row seats next to supermodels. Anything you say would sound pathetic to someone who makes thirty-five million a year. 

“I love it,” he nods, stares right through you and into your soul so you know he’s being genuine. “That’s awesome.”

You nod, swallow hard, purposely angle your body away from his, to the rest of the group. “What about you guys?”

Lewis laughs, soft, quiet, completely under his breath. The kind of laugh that deserves to be bottled into a jar and kept on a shelf for safe keeping. You know he’s always laughed like that, even before he knew you, but in the last few months it just feels different. Good different, like he’s laughing just for you now instead of everyone else too. 

You know you’re crazy, that he’s just Lewis being Lewis and you’re just single for the first time in a long time and also drunk. Not half drunk anymore, just drunk—even if you do think you’re meeting him in the middle, you’re not. He’s just chasing after. 

“Back home, too,” Bono concludes. “Take a breather, might head up to the country with the family.”

“You’ll take pictures, yeah?” Lewis asks, starts to pick up the pieces of your napkin tear pile and move them in front of him like a kid who isn’t patient enough to share or destructive enough to rip up his own. You watch in your peripheral, the way he fiddles with the wet paper, gets it stuck to his fingertips. You can’t laugh, so you don’t, but you want to. You think he knows you want to. 

Bono scoffs, nods while swallowing a sip of his drink—something dark, something pungent. Not what you would have pegged him for ordering, even after knowing him as long as you have. “So I can compare with the likes of you lot and,” he turns to Lewis, leers around you to emphasize the eyeline, “your million dollar vacations or,” and then the other way, back to Valtteri, “your olympic cycling events?”

Valtteri smiles, swirls his drink—gin, you think. Expensive. “Yes.”

“No chance.”

“I’ll be sure to send you a picture of me having a meltdown when I think about our side pods from the beginning of the year,” you chime in, because it’s not like they all don’t know you well enough to know exactly what you mean by spending time with friends and family at home.

 “What sidepods?” Lewis chuckles.

“Fucking exactly,” you add, mirror his mannerisms without even realizing it, all the way down to readjusting in your seat when you’ve had your laugh. 

“Could be worse,” Bono offers. “Could be last year.”

Lewis nods, holds his drink up in the direction of Valtteri across the table. “We never should have let you leave.”

He smiles, weak, lips  pursed. “I could have told you that.”

The night continues on, all drinks and laughs and yawns, occasional remarks that it’s about time I head up, followed by another round, another joke, another comment about this, that, or the other thing. 

You’ve always liked Lewis when he’s a little tipsy. He lightens up a bit, you can actually watch the stress drip from him like sweat, all the titles and the wins and the losses, they all just fall away when he’s relaxed like this. You’ve always liked him like this. Always. Before he was king of the world and before he was the prodigal son and every moment in between. 

After every joke he makes—or, after every comment he makes that he thinks could be considered a joke—you find yourself laughing, because it’s Lewis and you have a crush on him and of course you do. And, without fail, everytime you laugh, he winks, like you’re in on some inside joke even though he’s making it to the whole table, like there’s some double meaning to all of his words that are meant just for you, just for the two of you to understand. 

Somewhere in it all, it comes back to Lewis, because, well, it always does. “Is your back still bothering you?” Bono asks, and you think you already know the answer. You think you know, because you can’t remember the last time you;d seen him take careful consideration of his posture when he sits. Not even now is he sitting up straight, with his legs perfectly spread a shoulder’s width apart and his feet flat on the floor. Instead, he’s taking up more room than he needs to, all relaxed and comfortable on the leather booth bench. 

He swipes his thumb over the  condensation of his glass, looking up from the action at you, and then to Bono. “No, no. All good there.”

“All good?” Bono prods, because he was on the receiving end of a year and a half of complaints from Lewis.

Lewis nods, clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “No Paracetamol in a month.”

Across the table, Valterri chimes in. “None?” 

“None for my back,” Lewis says, and the whole table laughs. You just watch him, though, because who laughs better than he does? You could wax poetic about it without a second thought, the way that his lips upturn and his cheeks round and his eyes crinkle and go soft in a way that makes you feel like you’re the funniest person in the world even when you’re not making a joke. The way that his smile is brighter than anyone’s you’ve ever seen, and the way that if you look at it for too long, you think about how it would feel to run your finger along the gap in his teeth. 

“That’s what I thought,” Valtteri mutters off the end of his laugh. “You're getting old.”

“Not too old to make half a million.”

The entire table’s heads fly to him. You gasp, an embarrassingly wide smile on your face. “You didn’t!” You almost yell, smacking his upper arm with a weak hand. 

He mocks your gasp, makes it somehow more dramatic and over the top and laughs sweetly, shrugging your hand off his arm and letting his hand fall to your leg, bumping your foot with his again. “I didn’t.” The table chuckles, you pout, and then you realize that his hand is on your thigh, that it’s staying there quite comfortably, and that you mind it less than he does. 

“Don’t be a tease,” you sigh, take a swig of your drink. Your knees are suddenly weak, like you know you wouldn’t be able to stand up if you wanted to. It’s like he can sense your change but can’t quite read it, because then he’s moving his hand back to his own lap, interlocking it with the other and resting it there.

 He nods, suddenly shy, suddenly guilty. “It’s as good as done.”

Valtteri laughs. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” You hear what he says, but you’re not listening, not really. Lewis stares into you like he wants to look anywhere else—apologetic eyes and a fear he’s taken a misstep. He hasn’t, you want to tell him. You haven’t, put your hand back, please. Silently, you try to convey what shouldn’t dare be spoken. “I’ll believe it when pen is on paper.”

He snaps his eyes away from you, back to Valtteri. You don’t follow suit, stay fixed on him, on trying— hard—to get your message across. “I’m telling you, they’re announcing it after the summer break.”

“Whatever you say, Mate.”

Bono nods around a mouthful of alcohol, sets his half-empty glass down with an incidental thud. “Who’s to say we still want your geriatric ass?”

Lewis raised his interlocked hands from his lap, to the tabletop, resting his elbows on the wood grain and rattling the empty glasses when he does it. He leans in towards the center of the table, even though the only person separating him and Bono is you. “Would you tell Schumacher ‘no?’”

“What was that?” You ask, your words a convenient excuse to lean in closer, to settle into a spot that much closer to him without raising any brows. To brace for the shift, you leave your hand on his thigh with less subtly than your original movement, but it’s okay. It’s okay—only Lewis knows where your hands are, and you don’t want it to be subtle, don’t want anything to be lost in translation. “I can’t hear you over your ego,” you smile, and your fingers dance up his leg just a few, careful inches. 

He drops back into his seat, drops his hands back into his lap. Under the table, he grabs yours and laughs, but it’s stifled, stunted, not quite relaxed. “Very funny,” he humors, and moves your hand back. His stays too, though, and he crosses one leg over the other under the table. His thumb moves over the fabric of your slacks in shudder-worthy circles. 

“Someone’s gotta check you,” you smile, nod in the direction of your tablemates without ever looking away from him. “These two won’t.”

Bono scoffs.“Are you kidding?”

Your smile grows. “How do you want me to answer that, Peter?”

“Damn,” Lewis laughs so hard he coughs. “She Peter-ed you. That’s cold.”

“You’re the one comparing yourself to Michael fucking Schumacher,” Bono scolds. 

“I didn’t say that, but,”

“But!” You interject. 

“But,” Lewis laughs, threatens to continue even though all at the table know he won’t, knows that no matter how often the media and the girlfriends and the friends and the family tell him he should put himself up there with the greatest, he’ll never quite see himself in the same light. “But it’s about time I head up, I think.”

“Ah, see,” Valtteri chuckles. “Old man Hamilton can’t hang.”

“No, he can not,” Lewis remarks, pulling his phone and his hotel keycard from his pocket, setting the latter on the table and if you were feeling a little crazier than you are, you’d swear he nudges it ever so slightly out of his bubble and into yours. He types away rapidly at his phone, and you try to pay attention to the jokes Bono and Valtteri throw around, the pokes at Lewis they make, but suddenly you’re feeling like it’s a good time to head up, too. You try to shake the crazy, to leave it with your backwash in the final sip of your drink, and you do. You do.

You do, but then he’s slipping his phone back into his pocket. He’s leaving his glass just beyond his keycard and telling you to feel free to finish it. He’s saying his goodbyes while he moves out of the booth and his hotel room key is still sat on the table next to you. It stares at you—the hard, thin plastic. Stares at you in its white paper pocket with the intricate printing of the hotel label and dares you to look at him when he walks away. 

You do, begrudgingly, subtly, and his eyes are already on yours. They’re expressionless, and yet, say so fucking much. You hold the remainder of his drink in his direction before downing it in a single gulp and then he winks at you. He looks at his keycard on the table, and then to you, and then he winks, and you’re sure you’re absolutely crazy. 

You swallow. 

“Oh, fuck,” Bono says, reaches over you to grab the keycard from the table. It’s like you were zoned out and he snapped in front of your face, the way it pulls you from Lewis to the table. “He forgot his key.”

“Oh,” you squeak, and then louder, “I can take it to him.”

“No, no, It’s okay,” Bono says, and he makes you stand up to get out of the booth. “I should be heading up anyway.”

“Really,” you half-insist, trying to convince him you can handle it without letting him in on why you’re convincing him. “It’s no problem.”

Bono pulls out his wallet, flips through the pockets of it and fiddles with his bills. “Our rooms are right by each other,” he insists, tosses his share onto the table. “I got it.”

“Okay,” you nod, accept your defeat. “Yeah, I should be heading up, too, I guess.”

[coco-loco-nut]

High Flyer - Part 3

pairing: charles x reader

summary: life never goes as planned, as evidenced by a phone call mid race

a/n: thank you so much for the request 🫶 its given me an idea for a fourth part too

masterlist series masterlist requests open

——————————

There is nothing more that a driver looks forward to more than breaks, and you were practically counting down the days until the summer shutdown.

Not that you don’t like racing, you love racing, but you miss your bed and home in Vence, just outside of Nice. You and Charles chose the property due to its proximity to Monaco and the space to grow your family in the future. The garage space also helps with your car collection.

You started searching the property soon after your elopement, and you closed on it quickly. It even was the site where your official wedding ceremony was held, a relatively small and intimate gathering of close family and friends. The backyard made for the perfect backdrop, and it was nice to have a dinner with everyone to celebrate.

“Is that Charles? Can I say hi?” Arthur pops his head into your drivers room as you are on the phone.

“Of course, don’t take too long,” you pass off your phone, watching your brother-in-law’s face light up. Arthur hands back the phone after a couple minutes so you can finish your conversation.

“I don’t have too long left,” Charles sighs, not wanting the call to end.

“I know, deployment and F1 don’t really mesh well. Are you flying soon?” you ask, the hole in your heart growing as the end of the call gets closer.

“It will be over before we know it. I have a flight scheduled soon, training for a mission. What are you doing for break?” Charles asks, trying to get a little more conversation in and a feeble attempt to distract you from his job.

“I’ll travel with Arthur for a week, he is keeping the location a surprise, then I’m hosting the boys for a few days,” you didn’t really plan much.

“That sounds nice. My call time is almost up, I love you,” Charles says sadly.

“We will talk soon, I love you more,” the connection ends and you frown at your phone, already missing him.

“Even if he isn’t here, you have the next best thing right here,” Arthur grins and you can’t fight your smile. The two of you have grown close, you would disown your grid kids for him if necessary.

“Espressos?” you ask, needing a boost of energy.

“This isn’t Haas,” Arthur teases Ollie, who is patiently waiting for a Macchiato.

“Can’t a boy visit his grid mom?” Ollie smiles as you hug him.

“Of course, but no stealing strategies,” you say, happily taking your espresso from the barista.

The three of you chat until Ollie gets called back to Haas. As the self-proclaimed empty nester in the paddock, you enjoy when your boys stop in.

The race weekend drags on, and on, and on, until you finally get to the race. Each lap is one lap closer to your break.

A reporter noticed your eagerness for break before the race and asked you about it.

“Well, I’m no spring chicken anymore. My body and mind is looking forward to a few weeks off to relax and rejuvenate. I’m not as young as my kids are, they could probably race for a few more weeks back-to-back before needing the summer break,” you joke. Seven seasons in is a long time for motorsport, the average career in F1 is around 8 years - not that you plan on retiring any time soon. Ferrari will probably have to drag you out of Maranello when you are old and grey. Legit grey though, not Oscar and Jack joking that you have a grey hair and making you freak out.

Your manager, Nicholas, watches from the garage, standing with Arthur as they watch you closely. On lap 32 your phone begins buzzing with a call, and without really looking at the number he answers is.

“Nicholas Todd speaking for Mrs. Leclerc, how can I help you,” he answers almost robotically.

“This is an urgent message for Mrs. Leclerc regarding her husband, can she be on the phone?” A voice replies, sounding overly formal. Nicholas shifts a little nervously, glancing at the screen.

“Not at the moment,” he replies, Arthur looks at him, curious as to what’s happening. Nicholas catches sight of Arthur and hurriedly adds to his statement. “I can put you on with Mr. Leclerc’s brother,” he says, earning a satisfied response from the caller. Arthur curiously takes the phone, stepping into a quieter spot.

“Arthur Leclerc speaking,” he says a little warily.

“Good Afternoon Mr. Leclerc, your brother, Charles, has been wounded in a training incident and is currently being transported back to France for recovery,” Arthur listens carefully as the necessary details are conveyed.

“I will pass the message along to Charles’ wife, will you be notifying our mother?” Arthur asks, receiving confirmation of the next people that will be notified. As the call ends, Arthur’s mind kicks into crisis mode.

“What was the issue?” Nicholas asks, watching as you have a stellar overtake for P3.

“Charles is wounded, he’s being evacuated for recovery,” Arthur does his best not to panic. He knows that Charles must be okay for it to just be a phone call, but he can’t help but worry. It doesn’t help that you are none the wiser as you drive.

“Shit. Do you think we should pass the information along to her now?” Nicholas also goes into crisis management mode.

“No, she’d want to pull out of the race and it’s almost over. I’ll talk to the team, book the earliest flight back to Nice that you can,” Arthur instructs before searching for the PR team so they can get you out of media duties. Fred is his next stop, catching the team principal as soon as the race ends.

“I can’t get her out of the podium, but I can make sure she gets out of everything else,” Fred promises, sending Arthur on his way to intercept you.

“Great drive,” Arthur smiles as he hugs you.

“Thanks,” you eye him warily. “Something is off, what are you hiding?”

“Something happened, Charles is fine, I will tell you more about the call after the podium,” Arthur says, sending your mind in a spin.

“What happened?” you press, heart rate rising. Arthur walks with you to the cooldown room.

“I don’t know exactly, he’s injured but he’s okay. I promise I will tell you more right after the podium. Nicholas is rebooking our flights now and Fred is getting you out of the post-podium duties,” Arthur tries to soothe you. You feel a little numb as your brain tries to process everything without panicking.

“He’s okay?”

“It wouldn’t have been a phone call if it were serious,” Arthur says, trying to reassure himself too.

It seems to be enough for you to mask your worry with a nod.

“Meet me in my drivers room after the podium,” your voice is a little shaky as you part from Arthur. You feel numb throughout the ceremony, leaving as soon as champagne starts to be sprayed.

“I called Maman and booked a hotel near the base, our flights have been successfully updated,” Arthur says as you get back.

“Thank you,” you pull him into a tight hug.

“What are brothers for?” Arthur says, melting into your hug a little. You’ve never gotten ready to leave the paddock so quickly or packed a hotel room, but you soon find yourself on a plane back to Nice.

Pascale awaits the two of you at the airport, a coffee in her hand for you. You didn’t sleep on the flight at all. Even though that you know Charles is okay, you can’t fight the anxiety and fear the courses through you.

“Hi sweetheart,” Pascale hugs you after handing you the coffee.

“Wow, I thought I was your favorite child?” Arthur jokes, earning an eye roll from Pascale.

“I love all my biological children equally, I just happen to love Y/n more,” Pascale says cheekily, making you chuckle.

“Don’t let Enzo and Charlotte hear that,” you say, happily taking a seat in the car. Arthur sits in the back with you since Lorenzo is in the front seat.

“It’s a party in here,” Arthur smiles, trying to liven up the car.

“Phenomenal drive,” Lorenzo looks back at you.

“Thanks,” your tired smile is enough to end the conversation. The gentle sway of the vehicle as Pascale is enough to make you fall asleep.

As you are asleep, Arthur gets a text from Charles letting him know that he’s back on base. Arthur sends back a picture of you sleeping against the window, cozy in one of Charles’ hoodies, as well as when you will be there to visit. Your phone buzzes with a good night and congratulations text from Charles, but you don’t stir. The exhaustion of the day hit you hard and you couldn’t fight it any longer.

Arthur carries you to your hotel room while Lorenzo and Pascale worry about the luggage.

You wake up to sun peeking through the blinds. Arthur is sprawled out on the queen bed beside yours, lightly snoring into the pillow. You turn and see your phone plugged in on the nightstand. Scrolling through your notifications you see the text from Charles. A smile tugs at your lips as you quickly fire off a reply. An alarm starts going off, making you jump a little.

“No,” Arthur groans, barely conscious while pressing snooze. Silently you get out of bed, finding your suitcase and retrieving everything you need for a shower.

The hour creeps by as you anxiously meet up with the family and go to the base. Following the directions, you make your way to the hotel room Charles is being kept in for the moment. As you reach the door, the sterile environment surrounding you, you feel a wave of nerves consume you. Almost like you are a little kid.

“Go ahead, I need a second,” you whisper to Pascale who gently squeezes your hand and offers an understanding smile.

“It’s scary, we will be inside waiting for you,” Pascale says, entering behind Lorenzo and Arthur. “Y/n will be here in a moment, she had to take a call,” Pascale buys you time. She knows how scary it is seeing the person you love hurt. You let your heart rate settle before stepping into the room, watching Charles’ face light up when he sees you.

“Mon ange,” Charles whispers as you lean in to kiss him.

“You aren’t allowed to scare me like that,” you smile, a tear threatening to escape.

“Now you know how I feel when you drive,” Charles replies, reaching up and pushing back a piece of hair.

“I feel like we are intruding,” Lorenzo jokes. Charles awkwardly shifts to the side of the bed, pulling you down with him. Pascale creates an excuse that involves them stepping out for a moment, giving you and Charles a quiet moment alone.

“Hey, I’m here. I’m alive and well,” Charles grabs your hand, pressing it to his heart.

“I know, it just isn’t what you want to hear first thing after a race,” you feel yourself relax as you rest your head on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat reassuring.

“I think I might leave after my commitment,” Charles admits softly, drawing your eyes up to him.

“Next year?”

“I want to be with you, help build our future, maybe even be a stay at home dad one day,” Charles runs a hand through your hair.

“I could always hire you to be my private jet pilot,” you suggest.

“But then I couldn’t be with you mid flight,” Charles winks, making you flush.

“Cheeky,” you lightly nudge him.

“Let’s not worry about what I will do career wise yet,”

“My full time WAG,” you chuckle, letting out a sigh of content when Charles pulls you close.

“When I get discharged today I can go home and recover. I just have to do paperwork remotely and come back for medical appointments,” Charles reveals, drawing your eyes back up to him.

“Really? Is it wrong to say that I’m glad it’s summer break?” you ask, hand moving up to play with the ends of his hair.

“No, it is nice to be home with you,” Charles agrees. He leans down and you tilt your head up so your lips can meet his in a soft kiss. Charles lets out a soft groan of content as his mind wanders to the few weeks ahead of you while he heals.

“We brought food,” Arthur breaks your quiet conversation. The rest of the morning is spent eagerly awaiting discharge. When you do eventually get home, Pascale helps to get Charles settled while Lorenzo cooks dinner. You and Arthur prep the guest rooms so they can stay the night.

“Sorry you had to cancel the trip,” you apologize to Arthur who just shrugs as he puts the pillowcase on a pillow.

“That’s okay, we can go during the next break. I think I’ll go back to Monaco for a bit then come back here when the boys get here,” Arthur says, not fussed about missing the trip.

“I’ll let you settle in,” you leave the room, going to your own so you can change into sweatpants and a hoodie.

Charles beat you to it, you open the door to see him shirtless with sweatpants sitting low on his hips. You catch yourself staring hungrily until you snap out of it.

“Sit back down on the bed, how are you even standing without crutches,” you chastise him, closing the bedroom door behind you before crossing the room.

“Putting my weight on one leg works well enough,” Charles grins, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you towards him.

“Well you shouldn’t be doing that when you just had surgery on the ankle,” you frown, trying not to look at your ridiculously hot husband in front of you. His hands slip under your shirt, traveling up your back. Shivers run down your spine as one hand slides forward.

“Hmm, well maybe I should just lay down then and let you do the work,” Charles murmurs huskily, as you glance at the door.

“We’d have to be quick,” you reply quietly.

“5 months without you, I’m pretty sure I can be quick,” he smiles, letting you take over. His rough hands gliding across your skin as you straddle his waist.

“I guess we should rejoin them before they get suspicious,” Charles sighs, pressing a kiss to your head as you snuggle into his side.

“I guess so, but tomorrow afternoon we will have the whole house to ourselves,” you grin, rolling away to throw comfy clothes back on.

“I can’t wait,” Charles pulls on the hoodie that you tossed to him as well as some shorts.

“Use the crutches,” you narrow your eyes as he stands up, likely planning on just hopping to the kitchen.

“Or I could use you as my support,” Charles takes the crutches from you. You glance down at the cast encompassing his ankle.

“Are your feet cold?” you frown, brows furrowed with worry.

“I’m okay, if something hurts you will be the first to know. I promise,” Charles tries to ease your worry. You nod as there is a knock on the bedroom door.

“Dinner is ready kids,” Pascale says as you open the door.

“Thank you, Maman. We were about to come down,” Charles answers before you can.

“Take it easy,” you stress. The first two weeks are important to recovery and you know he isn’t great at sitting still. Pascale watches you fuss and she feels her heart warm at how careful you are with each other.

“Took you long enough,” Arthur says, mouth half full. Lorenzo fights a laugh as Pascale scolds him.

“We were busy,” Charles smirks. You whip your head towards him, smacking his shoulder.

“Charles,” you gasp, voice a mix of scolding and being scandalized.

“What?” he says innocently as you sit at the table.

“Enough, let’s enjoy this meal,” Pascale says, taking in the sight of all her children minus Charlotte.

“Oh, I have the perfect bottle of wine for this, I’ll be right back,” you quickly stand up, going to find the bottle.

“So when am I getting a grandchild?” Pascale looks at her three boys with a raised brow. Arthur chooses that moment to closely study the rug beneath the oak table.

“This decor is quite nice, I like that vase,” Arthur says.

“Charlotte and I aren’t even married yet,” Lorenzo protests, turning the attention to Charles.

“Buying our home was the first step, but we are waiting for Y/n to at least win the championship first,” Charles shrugs.

“Doesn’t she have a good lead right now?” Lorenzo asks, a smile smile playing on Charles face.

“Is she? I had no idea,” he says slyly.

“She could probably drive for the first few months of pregnancy,” Arthur interjects, feeling left out.

“If she has the smoothest pregnancy ever that is,” Pascale adds.

“Alright, let’s not rush it that soon. We will discuss it over winter break,” Charles shuts it down.

“Discuss what over winter break?” you ask, holding a bottle of wine and four glasses in your hands.

“When you and Charles are going to have a kid,” Arthur answers first as you sit down.

“Ah. Yes, no plans of being pregnant mid-season. Not really keen on missing a whole season either,” you say, pouring the wine.

“Where’s mine?” Charles asks as everyone gets a glass but him.

“No wine with your medicine, mon amour,” you tell him.

“We don’t even need to be here, you have his care handled,” Lorenzo chuckles.

“He will be locked down,” you joke.

The night passes quick and soon you and Charles are home alone for the first time in a long time. You take the opportunity to get in a run while Charles takes a nap, but when you get home he is in the kitchen.

“Hey, I’m making us lunch,” Charles greets you as you pull off your headphones.

“Yum. I’m going to take a quick shower then I’ll be back,” you say, eager to clean the sweat off you.

The two of you quickly fall into a routine. Charles for the most part rests, keeping his ankle propped, but he does occasionally join you in the gym to keep active a bit. He also does his best to help you clean and prep the house for the group of guys who are crashing your home.

“All of our privacy, gone so fast,” Charles pouts while you make a bed.

“I know, it’s only for a few days though,” you try and find the bright side. Summer break is passing quickly and a part of you doesn’t want to race again just yet.

“I have a meeting with my commander tomorrow morning,” Charles says. You pause, the white sheet in your hand going taught as your hand grips it tighter.

“What about?”

“I’m not sure, maybe about the medical check yesterday,” Charles plays it cool, but you can hear the concern in his voice.

You shove the sheet under the bed, making it slightly more aggressive than before. “You don’t think-“

“It’s possible. The check went well, I’m making progress healing, but I will still have to go through PT and make other clearances for fly again. I still have three months of recovery and some more physical therapy on top of that,” Charles says.

“But you’d still have time left in your commitment,”

“I know, I just need to be ready for anything they may say,” Charles sighs.

“I’m right by your side, whatever happens,” you take his hand. Charles gives you a small smile, heart swelling at the support.

“Thank you, mon ange. Now, tell me all about how you are going to win this year,” you finish making the bed and sit down on the edge. Charles sits beside you, hand sliding down your palm to interlock your fingers.

“I’m trying not to think about it or really speak on it. I feel like the past few years it’s been like a dangling carrot, just out of reach. I want it so bad but I’m so nervous that I won’t get it,” you admit, feeling like a bit of weight is off your shoulders. It doesn’t help that you haven’t signed a contract yet for the next year and beyond.

“You are the best driver I know. You are persistent and resilient, you have worked so hard to get to this point. If you don’t win your fans will still love you just the same as they will when you do win and I will love you even more regardless of the outcome,” Charles returns your support. You feel the warmth of his free hand brush away a stray tear on your cheek.

“There is no one else that I want to go through life with other than you,” your voice breaks slightly, thick with emotion.

“I feel the same way. I love you more and more every day,” Charles leans closer to you, a feeling from deep within telling him that everything will be okay.

[rhaenella]

CL16 & MV1 | Charm Offensive

pairing: charles leclerc x max verstappen

genre: one shot ✿

summary: max missed charles terribly over summer break and does everything in his power to talk to him

warnings: none (just a healthy dose of awkward mutual pining)

word count: 4,250

masterlist

also posted on ao3

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

“I got you something—or, well actually, I got Leo something.” 

Pinched between his thumb and forefinger, Max held up a tiny, round-shaped charm with thin lines running crisscross over its surface. Charles stepped closer, squinting at the shimmering object.

“Is that–”

“A miniature stroopwafel to pimp up Leo’s collar?” Max nodded, dropping the silver accessory in the Monegasque’s palm. “Yes, it is.”

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

It was Sunday, August 25th, 2024, and Max Verstappen, three-time Formula 1 World Champion—usually as cool as they come—was nervous. Actually nervous. And not because of today’s home race or the shitty car his team was forcing him to drive this season, or the fact that said team was slowly breaking apart at the seams—no, it was because of his main rival. Charles Leclerc. The Sun of Maranello. Il Predestinato. 

Spa was the last time they’d spoken. A brief and, like most of their interactions, awkward goodbye marking their separation for the long Summer break. Max had known that after they would fly back to Monaco—each on their own—he wasn’t likely to hear a word from Charles until the Dutch Grand Prix. And he’d been right. Four weeks of radio silence ensued. He’d heard nothing. Zilch. Nada.

It had been absolute torture.

Finally it was race week again, at Zandvoort no less. Max’s home turf. But Thursday rolled by… then Friday… On Saturday the Dutchman was sure he’d get the opportunity to talk to Charles. But alas, Max got P2 and Charles P6, which meant no post-Quali catchup for the two drivers. Because of course not… Those odds were rarely in his favour nowadays. Therefore, Max had to turn to more dramatic measures and that included going to the Ferrari motorhome himself, waltz in like he had every right to be there (he hadn’t), and play his final card (aka the ultimate excuse): to meet Leo Leclerc and give him and his daddy a gift he’d been keeping in his back pocket for months now.

It was also the main reason for his nerves. One glance around the Ferrari red motorhome and Max’s stomach dropped a little. He stuck out like a sore thumb in his white fireproofs and blue racing suit still hung low around his hips. Thankfully most of Ferrari’s pitcrew and employees were already geared up in the garage, getting ready for the race. However, the few people that were present immediately ceased their conversations upon his entrance, and downright gawked at him, confusion written all over their faces. No one said a word, but the question on everyone’s mind was loud and clear: what the hell are you doing here?!

Max sighed discreetly. You don’t wanna know… he thought to himself.

Forcing a smile, he gave them all a friendly wave as he walked past them in the direction of where the drivers’ rooms must be, the confidence in his gait surprising even himself. He didn’t have much time to spare, for the race’s opening ceremony would start soon and all drivers were obligated to attend. Luckily, Max quickly found the correct room, and once he did, he couldn’t help but snort as he read the nameplate. Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc — Illegitimate Prince of Monaco. Carlos’ doing, no doubt. Chuckling, Max knocked twice and waited. It was too late to second-guess his actions now anyway, best to just get on with it. And accept that he was probably going to make a fool of himself. Not even ten seconds later, the door swung open, revealing the man himself, all suited up for the race. Except for his bare feet.

“Max?” Charles frowned, glancing down the corridor, looking even more confused when he realised that it was just him. “What are you doing here?”

Max’s smile faded a little, his nerves getting the better of him as he awkwardly shifted his weight. Oh, for fuck’s sake, man up! 

“I came to see Leo. I still haven’t met the little lad,” he explained, squinting past Charles to see if he could spot the cute puppy inside. “Can I come in?”

Charles didn’t move as he studied him for a moment, effectively blocking Max’s way into the very private room. He didn’t buy the lousy excuse for a second, but surprisingly enough, still seemed to consider letting him in. After what felt like an eternally long minute, he made up his mind and moved aside. “Yeah, sure.”

Max managed a smile. “Thanks.”

He stepped inside, letting his eyes travel over the minimalist furniture—a couch, table with chairs, a bed—as well as Charles’ clothes and other belongings scattered around. But no dog. Not even a dog bed. Or toys. Max turned around, his puzzled eyes landing on Charles who had just closed the door behind him.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you but Leo isn’t here.”

“What do you mean?” Max frowned. Then why did you let me in?

“He’s back home staying with my mother, likely peeing all over her new floors,” Charles laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “So, uhm, I guess you’ve risked a rumour spree for nothing.”

“Oh… Okay… I see.” He really didn’t, though. Then his frown deepened. “Wait. What rumours?”

“About you being here? At Ferrari?” Leclerc tilted his head like it was obvious. “Or did you not think about the consequences of you showing your face here?”

Max stiffened. Yes. No… In all honesty, he had tried very hard to not think about it. But Charles was right. Him being here was only going to add more fuel to the fire that was his relationship with the Ferrari driver. Not that he cared about what the public thought per se. However, he did care about what Charles thought of it. So why did you let me in?!

“I have, but–”

“You don’t give a shit about what they write,” Charles finished with a smile.

“No, I don’t,” Max huffed a laugh. “Do you…?”

“I mean, not really. It’s always rumours versus truth anyway. And the truth is ultimately the only thing that matters, right?”

“It is,” he nodded. But what was the truth between them? 

They were silent for a moment, their gazes locked, almost like they were in a ‘who will blink first’ competition. Charles broke first, shaking his head as he chuckled softly. “You’re really gonna make me ask, huh?”

“Ask me what?”

“About the rumours… If there’s any truth to them.”

Max blinked. Was Charles actually straight up asking him about their…? Oh, fuck.

“So, is there?”

A swarm of butterflies erupted in his stomach, his racing mind scrambling for an answer, but he couldn’t—he simply couldn’t. Charles raised a quizzical brow when all Max did was stare, prompting him to say something. He shook himself, and with great difficulty managed a deflective: “Uhm, I don’t–uhm… How do you feel?” 

Smooth, Max, very smooth…

Charles canted his head. “How do I feel about the future, you mean?”

The future. Us. All of it. Max swallowed, then nodded. “Yes… the future.”

“Hell, I don’t know, Max,” he threw up his arms, chuckling lowly. “I honestly haven’t the faintest idea. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, Oh,” he laughed again, walking up to him. “You never told me how you really feel, so how the fuck should I know what the future holds?”

Max’s eyes never wavered from Charles’ approaching form, who stopped merely a few paces away, his green eyes softening as he looked him up and down. Apparently able to read all of his thoughts and feelings with a single look.

“Look, I get it. That feeling of uncertainty. The constant fight between your head and your heart. Asking yourself whether this will ruin everything or not. I truly get it…” Charles spoke, sincere, pausing for a moment to let those words land. “But whatever you decide, staying at Red Bull or not, I’m sure you’ll–”

Wait… What?

“Hold on a second,” Max held up a hand, alarmed. “At Red Bull… You’re talking about the future of my career?”

Charles’ eyes narrowed. “Yes? What else did you think we were talking about?”

Max felt the temperature in his cheeks rise. God, how could he be so stupid?! Of course, Charles was only talking about his career. That’s what everyone else was speculating about in the press. Not this thing between them. Whatever the hell that even was.

He needed to backtrack. And quickly.

“I–uhm, never mind,” Max shot him a crooked smile. “Thank you… for your words. Uhm, you’re right, it has been on my mind quite a bit lately, and yeah… I have struggled with it.”

It was an optimistic attempt. It truly was. But Charles knew him better than most other drivers on the grid—growing up together, they’d been through it all. The good and the bad. Naturally, he saw straight through Max’s act. But when the Monegasque’s own cheeks tinged a soft pink and he started fidgeting with the clasp of his race suit, Max knew he had nothing to fear. They were both two emotionally-unintelligent idiots, completely incapable of revealing their true feelings. And right now, Max was grateful for it. 

Charles cleared his throat. “Right. Like I said, I get it.”

“Yeah, I know…” Max mumbled, following his lead to swiftly move past the slip-up. “Ferrari’s not been doing much better lately, are they?”

“Tell me about it,” he sighed, his eyes immediately darkening, even as part of him was grateful for the change in topic. “After winning Monaco… I was on such a high, and next thing I know it’s all gone to shit again. It almost seemed like one curse was lifted only for another to settle down over me. And just… Sometimes I don’t understand the team’s decisions anymore, you know? As if I can’t rely on them like I used to. Well, as much as I ever could.”

Max nodded sympathetically. He knew that feeling—that burden—all too well unfortunately. Not being able to deliver and perform to your maximum capacity because your team screwed up on strategy. Or worse, back at the factory. Meanwhile it’s you who gets the blame in the eyes of the masses. He also knew that that last bit weighed especially hard on Charles.

“Has it been on your mind as well?”

“What? Leaving Ferrari?”

“Yeah.”

“Hell no.”

They both laughed, the last bit of uneasiness disappearing like snow in the sun. Leaving, staying… It was never that simple, and they both knew it. The history either driver had with their team, their second family really, was not easily cast aside. Call it loyalty, or faith in what they both knew their teams could achieve, but those were the facts. However none of that stopped Max from poking his rival, just for the heck of it.

“Really?” he smirked. “You’re not even considering it a teeny-tiny bit after I’ve lapped you twice in the last four races?”

“Twice?!” Charles scoffed. “You got your facts wrong, mate. It was just the one time in Silverstone. Granted that was one time too many, but still.”

Max held up his hands in mock surrender. “Oh shit, you’re right, I’m sorry…”

“Thank you.” 

“Although… you have to admit, I got pretty fucking close in Austria too.”

Charles rolled his eyes, trying not to smile. “Oh my god, shut up.”

“Fine, fine, I will,” Max bit his lip, looking down to hide his amused smile.

That’s when something curious caught Charles’ eye. A white, powdery substance was sprinkled over the front of Max’s blue team cap, causing his lips to stretch into a full smile this time. Max, the paddock’s ultimate neat freak, seemingly had no clue he’d been walking around with a dirty hat, and somehow that made it even more adorable.

“Hey, what’s that on your cap?”

Max looked up and startled—surprised to see that Charles had managed to silently sneak up on him, and was suddenly standing right there. He didn’t give him much time to think about his question either as he was already lifting his hand to gather some of the white powder off the rim with his finger. Charles sniffed it, and his brows lifted. 

“Cocaine?! You sneaky little boy. So that’s your secret, hm?”

“What?! Fuck off,” Max snorted, bringing his own hand up to see what exactly was on his cap.

He grinned, licking his finger. “Nope, never mind. It’s too sweet for cocaine.”

“Uhu, and how would you know?” 

He shrugged, smiling coyly, and Max chuckled, examining the white powder on his own fingers. Realising what it must be, he exclaimed: “Oh, I know what it is! They made me participate in a PR event at the poffertjes stand earlier today, some of the powdered sugar must have landed on my cap…”

He was about to take it off to clean but Charles stopped him. 

“Wait,” he murmured. “Let me.”

Not waiting for permission, he stepped further into his space, close enough that Max could feel Charles’ breath tickling his skin. His heart rate ticked up, like it would during ‘lights out’ at a race start, and he quietly held his breath. 

Leclerc’s teeth sank into his lower lip as he gently brushed the sugar off of Max’s blue hat. As if enchanted, Max’s gaze swept over Charles’ delicate features, from his perfect cupid’s bow all the way up to his birthmarks—savouring this rare moment where he could study them up close. However, once Charles was satisfied—which was way too soon for the Dutchman’s liking—he immediately stepped back, nodding once. 

“You’re all good.”

“Uhm, thank you.”

They exchanged a brief smile before a curious look passed over Charles’ features, effectively yanking the Red Bull driver out of his all-consuming thoughts.

“I thought you did that last year, by the way. Making, uhm… poffertjes?”

Max’s eyes lit up. He remembered? 

“No. Last year was stroopwafels… But speaking of those,” he grinned, fetching something from his back pocket. He would’ve almost forgotten his little gift. “I got you something—or, well actually, I got Leo something.” 

Pinched between his thumb and forefinger, Max held up a tiny, round-shaped charm with thin lines running crisscross over its surface. Charles stepped closer, squinting at the shimmering object.

“Is that–”

“A miniature stroopwafel to pimp up Leo’s collar?” Max nodded, dropping the silver accessory in the Monegasque’s palm. “Yes, it is.”

“Oh my god!” A wide smile broke on his face as he turned the little stroopwafel in his hand. “It’s so cute! Thank you! You didn’t have to…”

“You’re welcome! I stumbled upon it a couple months ago when I was visiting my family and I just had to–”

“A couple months ago?!”

Max pressed his lips together, nodding shyly. “Yeah, now do you see why I had to meet Leo today.”

“You could’ve dropped by in Monaco too, you know.” Charles’ eyes glimmered knowingly. “You didn’t have to wait all this time.”

“I know, but,” Max shrugged, trying to come up with another awful excuse. “It’s only fitting. To give it here, I mean. In Zandvoort. Because, well, it’s a Dutch delicacy, and I thought that would make it extra special if I would give it–”

His rambling was promptly interrupted by Charles wrapping his arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace. Max froze for a moment, his pulse spiking to unprecedented levels. Somewhere in the back of his mind he couldn’t help but wonder if his team would still deem him fit to drive like this. This… bloody yearnful state. When he finally found his wits, he returned the hug, boyish grins painting both their faces. Yeah, this was definitely worth the trip into Ferrari territory. No doubt about it.

All too soon, they had to pull apart. Except this time, Charles didn’t move too far away from him.

“Thank you, Max. Truly. I love it so much. I’m sure Leo will too,” he smiled at the Red Bull driver, whose cheeks were once again flushing. “And please don’t hesitate to drop by after Monza. You’re welcome any time to meet him,” he added with a wink.

Max didn’t know what to say. He was completely stunned to silence. The man before him, who refused to follow him on social media, who had given him the cold shoulder on more than one occasion whenever they crashed together on track, who, if it wasn’t for groupchats, would never have given Max his phone number, was now openly inviting him to ‘drop by’? Flirting, even? What the hell was going on today? There must be something in the air, he thought. There has to be.

Much to the amusement of his rival, Max opened and closed his mouth several times, his brain once again failing to form any coherent sentence. But he ultimately didn’t have to, for he was saved by the bell. Or, rather, the ringing of his phone. Scrambling to get the device out of his pocket, Max looked at the screen to see who was calling him. GP. Great fucking timing, mate, he grumbled internally. Why he was suddenly so annoyed that his engineer ruined their (his) very awkward moment, he didn’t know. 

Or did he?

Shaking his head, Max shoved his phone back into his pocket, and glanced up at Charles, who cleared his throat and gave him a small smile. The intensity of their previous moment officially lifted. Thanks, GP. 

“Don’t you need to get that?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Max said, sounding anything but.

The time until lights out was dwindling with each passing minute, but Max didn’t want to leave their little bubble just yet. Outside, there were expectations, a nagging pressure to perform—to not let all those fans that showed up just for him down. In here, it was just them. A different kind of pressure for sure, but one Max relished nonetheless, and wasn’t ready to say goodbye to yet. Because really, he didn’t know when—if he would have this again.

As if Charles could read his mind, a careful hand found Max’s bicep. “Are you ready?”

“For the race?”

He nodded.

“Of course.” It wasn’t a lie. Racing itself was never an issue, not when you were born to do it like they were. “As much as I can be. I mean, this car… it’s just,” Max shook his head. “It’s obviously not where we want to be, but I’ll make sure to maximise its potential the best I can.”

“And not crash,” Charles smiled.

“That’s always step one.”

“The most important one, really,” he quipped, striding over to the couch to put on his shoes.

“Exactly,” Max agreed, running a hand down his face. It really was time to get going, or else they’d be late. “I just hope those updates are gonna pay off soon.”

“Ugh, me too. That Summer break was nice to recharge and all, but now I want nothing more than to get back in the car, and the sim this week, to learn as much as I can and make sure we don’t fuck up next weekend. We simply cannot afford any more mistakes.”

“I feel you... However, that break could’ve lasted another week or two, if you ask me.”

“Hm, maybe you’re right,” he grinned. “It wasn’t that awful to relax a little and forget about the last few races.”

Max chuckled. “Yeah, it definitely looked like you enjoyed yourself.” 

Charles’ head shot up, instantly making him realise his mistake. Damnit. You fucking idiot!

“And how would you know about that?”

“Oh, uh, I see things… online… when, uhm, scrolling, every now and then…” And liking your friend’s instagram posts like a truly seasoned, inconspicuous stalker.

His hand went up to his ear, tucking a piece of way too short hair behind it. Only, Max realised that fact a little too late. Like always. Jesus… He really needed to stop acting like a flustered schoolgirl, this was on the cusp of getting embarrassing now.

“Right,” Charles trailed off, fastening the clasps on his shoes with a knowing smile. 

He knew damn well Max regularly checked his social media, even without following him. He himself did the exact same thing. Not that he would ever let him in on that secret, seeing Max Verstappen all flustered was far too enjoyable.

There was a knock at the door, making both their heads turn simultaneously. Max let out a long, deep breath, genuinely happy with the interruption this time. But of course that didn’t go unnoticed by Charles, who chuckled as he made his way to the door. 

“Coming!” he called, still grinning widely as he opened the door on a very angry-looking assistant.

“Why are you still in here?!” the woman shrieked, startling both drivers. “The ceremony is about to start. You can’t miss the national anthem, you know this! Get your stuff and let’s go!”

Charles opened his mouth to answer but at that moment Max’s phone started ringing, claiming everyone’s attention, and consequently revealing his presence. The Ferrari employee bristled something inaudible and pushed her way inside, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw what the reason was for the delay. Or rather; who.

“What the fuck is Verstappen doing in your–”

But Max ignored the scary woman and opted to finally pick up his phone instead. It was Christian calling this time. Which did not bode well.

“Max, where are you?! No one’s been able to reach you. You should’ve been on the grid ten bloody minutes ago!”

Max winced, his right eardrum shuddering thanks to Christian’s tinny voice screeching in his ear. His eyes locked with Charles’ from across the room, who grimaced painfully and mouthed, “We should probably go.” 

Yep. They probably should. 

Or risk getting another reprimand by the FIA. But in this season, neither of them had the luxury to gamble on such a risk.

“Max, are you there? Do you hear me?! You need to get over here, NOW. You are not allowed to miss the national anth–”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you, Christian. I’m on my way!” And with that Max clicked off, bolting towards the door. “Let’s go,” he declared, clumsily hurrying past Leclerc’s fuming assistant. 

Charles snatched his cap and dashed after him. “Right behind you!”

“You better run fast or you won’t make it!” the woman yelled after them. 

But they were already gone, sprinting out of Ferrari’s hospitality like madmen. Once outside, the drivers zigzagged through the paddock, trying their best not to run into fans, journalists, or flashing cameras. Max glanced at Charles, his mouth curving into a wry smile. They would surely be trending topic in no time now, there was no way around it… 

Helmut was going to be absolutely thrilled. Ha.

Charles felt his stare, and looked to the left. “Just so you know, if we get called to the stewards, I’m blaming you.”

“What do you mean? I thought you appreciated my gift.”

“I do! But not when it leads to a grid penalty!”

Max laughed. “You can’t have it all, my friend.”

“Watch me,” Charles winked. Laughing when it nearly caused Max to run straight into two fans on their way to the paddock club.

“Shit, sorry about that. Are you okay?”

The fans’ eyes widened when they realised who they’d run into. Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc. In the flesh. They could scarcely believe it.

“Hey! What are you two doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be on the grid already?”

“Yeah,” Max nodded sheepishly, still facing the couple as they continued in that direction.

“You’re gonna be late,” one of them pointed out. “Duncan Laurence is all set and ready to go.”

“Fuck… Really?”

If he wasn’t mistaken, that was the artist performing the anthem this year. Shit, shit, shit… The thought of Helmut no longer brought a smile to his face. The Austrian would likely murder him for this little stunt.

“Yeah, you gotta hurry, man!”

Max pulled a face. “We know… Thanks… Oh, and uhm, enjoy the race!”

The two fans watched the drivers gain speed again and shared an amused look, deciding to switch to Dutch.

“Thanks! En succes zo, Max!”

“Ja, zet die Monegask weer als vanouds op een ronde!”

Max laughed awkwardly and gave the fans a thumbs-up as they rushed on towards start-finish where he could already hear the music playing loudly. No Wilhelmus yet, thank god. They might just make it on time.

Charles glanced back over his shoulder, frowning. “What did they say about me? She said ‘Monegasque’, didn’t she?”

“She did… Are you sure you wanna know?”

He rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Okay then,” Max pursed his lips. He knew better than to argue with him. “She said to make sure to lap you… like old times.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah…”

Scoffing, Charles whirled around, running backwards now. “Vous rêvez, madame! Ça n’arrivera plus jamais!”

Max winced. “You realise we’re not in America, right? People tend to speak multiple languages here.”

Now it was his turn to shrug. “Do I look like I care?”

“Eh, you kinda do,” Max snorted, studying his rival as he turned back to face him, Leclerc’s mouth twitching into his signature, lewd smile.

“Oh really? And what do you see exactly?”

They slowed their pace once they crossed pitlane and entered the track. They made it! The crowd roared at the sight of the two star drivers, especially with one of them being their national hero—the reason why anyone was even here today; why Zandvoort was back on the calendar. But Max wasn’t thinking about any of that as he gazed into Charles’ eyes, too in awe of the fire blazing brightly in those mesmerising green orbs. Only one word came to mind to describe what he saw:

“Passion.”

****

a/n: thank you for reading this little story! and special thanks to my dearest french translator @xeresmalfoy !! as always, feedback is adored <3

translations:

En succes zo, Max! — And good luck in a minute, Max!

Ja, zet die Monegask weer als vanouds op een ronde! — Yeah, lap that Monegasque again just like old times!

Vous rêvez, madame! Ça n’arrivera plus jamais! — You wish, lady! That won’t ever happen again!

[valeriianz]

8 for the smutty thingy? 👀

(vroom vroom wheel wheeel gasoline vroom vroom speed speed 🏍️🏍️🏍️wuuuuuuu)

*arrives 9 months late, crawling out of the floorboards covered in blood* hi 🌼i hope you like this lol

from a prompt list: A and B are on a motorcycle trip. The constant movement, vibration and touching is getting them excited.

--------------------------

Dream curses under his breath, nearly tripping over his long legs as he slows from a run to a miserable walk, exhaling a loud groan of misery as he watches the bus take off from the stop he had meant to be at just two minutes ago.

Checking his watch, Dream wonders about ordering an Uber, or telling his date he’d be 20 minutes late. He wonders if that’s kosher; arriving late to a second date. Being late to a first date was more unforgivable– first impressions and all that, and Dream had been punctual then. 

Before he can truly overthink it, Dream decides maybe 20 minutes wouldn’t be the end of the world; he can wait for the next bus.

He’s walking back to his apartment, a block away, drafting the apology text in his mind, when he spots his downstairs neighbor coming out of his building. 

Dream unconsciously combs a hand through his hair just as the man looks up, spots Dream, and smiles.

“Hey, neighbor.”

“Hello,” Dream greets back. He’s still a little out of breath and he can almost feel the flush high on his cheekbones from the sprint he’d just attempted.

His neighbor– Hob, his name is Hob– gives Dream a brief once-over as he closes the distance between them.

“Miss your bus?” He rolls a large motorcycle helmet around and around in his hands.

Dream watches him, finally coming to a stop before Hob, just outside their apartment building.

“Yeah. How did you know?”

Hob shrugs, looking down at his helmet. “I saw you leaving.”

Dream blinks. You were watching me?

He hadn’t seen Hob as he raced down the stairs, his light jacket fluttering behind him as he tore around the corner and feebly tried to chase down the moving bus. So it makes Dream curious… if Hob watched him as much as Dream did.

Hob’s main mode of transportation was his motorcycle. The sound of it roaring to life, Hob revving the throttle, became a sort of pavlovian response in Dream. He’d rush to the window as soon as he’d hear it start, nearly pressing his nose to the glass (or opening the window altogether) just to catch a glimpse of Hob tearing out into the street. Sometimes Dream would be lucky, and catch Hob just as he exited the building, watching how the man would swing one strong leg over the large bike, settling himself in, getting comfortable.

It was Dream’s biggest guilty pleasure, watching Hob on his bike. There was something inherently erotic about the whole thing; Hob mounting his bike in his torn jeans and leather jacket. Dream could almost feel his grip on the handlebars, his fingers through Hob’s hair as he slicked it back to slip his helmet on. It felt so silly, getting excited over something as mundane as sitting on a bike. And it probably would have been… if Hob wasn’t anything but mundane.

Hob had carved out a home in Dream’s subconscious from the moment they met.

It had been when Dream was moving in. It was a hot summer day and unfortunately the building didn’t have an elevator, which meant multiple trips up and down the stairs, lugging boxes and directing his sister, Dee, how to turn the couch around a corner. Dream felt his legs starting to protest in earnest not 15 minutes into going up and down three flights of stairs. Coupled with the August heat, he had felt himself getting delusional as well. It was the only excuse why, on his ninth, tenth, or twentieth trip back up the stairs, with a heavy box of books in his hands, Dream kicked open the door to his apartment– wondering why Dee had shut it– and halted in the doorway.

The first thing Dream had seen was a large flatscreen TV, potted plants everywhere, a huge black leather couch, and a shirtless man on the floor.

Judging by the rock music that was playing, and the man’s position on the floor– on a mat– he had been working out.

And Dream had stared, the fact that this wasn’t his apartment hadn’t yet entered his muddled brain. So what he blurted out was,

“Do you come with the apartment?”

The man on the floor– sweaty, tan skin, hair everywhere, oh my god– rearranged himself to sit on his butt with his hands flat on the floor, an easy smile on his handsome face.

Then Dream’s words came back to him, making him flush from his hairline all the way to his shaking fingers still clutching the box against his chest.

“Wrong apartment,” the gorgeous, half-naked man said, his eyes were chocolate brown and so warm. “2F. You’re right above me.” He helpfully pointed a finger up to his ceiling.

“Right…” Dream eloquently said. His arms were beginning to shake from the strain. “Sorry. Uh…”

Suddenly the stranger, his new neighbor, was standing and making his way to Dream. A broad chest and corded biceps commanding all his attention and wiping Dream’s brain clean.

“Would you like a hand with that?” He gestured to the box and, before Dream could say no, thank you. I am perfectly capable of carrying my own items into my home, the man gently moved his hands under the box.

Dream allowed him to take it, his shoulders sagging in relief. The man nudged his head.

“Lead the way?”

As easy as that. The man introduced himself as Robert “But you can call me Hob, all my friends do,” said with a wink and a grin. Dee had given Dream sideways looks the rest of the afternoon, pleased with the additional help and all too aware of the besotted glimmer in her brother’s eyes.

It’s only been a few months since then, the humid summer heat transitioning blessedly into crisp, cool autumn and giving Dream plenty of time to get over his silly little crush on his downstairs neighbor.

Except that… he’s pretty sure Hob likes him, too.

“You were watching me?” Dream says aloud, deciding, fuck it. He was feeling bold today.

Hob laughs guiltily, ducking his head.

“Maybe,” his smile morphs into a grin. “Where are you headed? I can give you a ride.”

Dream’s heart trips in his chest, hope curling around his stomach and kicking up a swarm of butterflies.

This is not the first time Hob’s offered Dream a ride on his bike. Dream always declines, nerves getting the better of him but also, he truly had a fear of motorbikes. And he would always let Hob know, too, how “that thing is a death trap,” before turning the corner to wait at his usual bus stop.

Dream had never been on a motorcycle in his life and truly had no interest in starting now. Except… he does have an interest.

In Hob, specifically.

So, taking a breath to steel himself, Dream at last nods, his own lips cracking into a wide smile at the baffled look that passes across Hob’s face.

“What?”

Hob laughs softly, shy. Dream could lose himself in that laugh, it never sounded condescending or cruel… just always full of joy and ease. 

“Just happy that you finally said yes.”

Something swoops in Dream’s stomach. Elated but also a flicker of anxiety creeping up his spine over what he’d just signed up for. Not only facing one of his biggest fears, but also realizing that he’ll be wrapped around Hob, on his bike, finally able to feel how warm he would be against his chest and between his legs…

“Wait right here,” Hob’s smile is dazzling now. “Let me grab another helmet.”

Dream waits. He takes out his phone, staring at the contact for the man he’s meeting up with, and considers canceling. It would be rude, especially with such short notice. But Dream can’t deny how utterly atrocious company he’ll be, thinking about Hob the entire time.

Before Dream can make a decision, the heavy front door to the building slams shut and Dream looks up to see Hob jogging down the stairs, making his way back to Dream and tossing him a helmet.

Dream barely manages to catch it, the reality of the situation settling into his bones and suddenly freezing him to the spot.

“You look nice by the way,” Hob shoots the compliment easily, smiling as he walks past Dream to where his bike is parked at the curb just a few steps down the sidewalk. “Where are you headed?”

Dream’s legs move on autopilot, following Hob and swallowing his unease.

“Uh, Verona’s. On Main street.”

There’s a brief hesitation in the way Hob turns towards Dream once they reach his bike, his eyes flickering with something Dream isn’t able to parse.

“Oh. The Italian restaurant?”

Dream nods and he doesn’t miss how a thoughtful expression crosses Hob’s handsome face, his brows creasing slightly before he turns again, touching the handlebars before he resigns himself to something and swings a leg over the bike’s seat.

He scoots up slightly. 

“C’mon.” Hob slips the helmet over his head, obscuring his visage and turning halfway to pat the seat behind him. It’s a large bike, and there’s plenty of room for Dream to swallow his nerves and shove his own helmet on and slip onto the seat.

The helmet is tight, but not uncomfortably so. Dream can hear himself breathe, which brings attention to how terrified he is, his heart rate drumming wildly.

“Closer,” Hob pats Dream’s knee and then his side. “Don’t get self conscious on me now.” His tone is light, cheery. Probably to ease the worry of Dream being a passenger on a motorized death sentence. 

Dream holds his breath as he slips down the seat, nestling his crotch against Hob’s ass and pressing his chest into his back. Fuck, fuck, fuck–

“Arms around me,” Hob instructs, seemingly unaffected by Dream’s shaking hands ensnaring around his middle.

Dream does as instructed, wondering if Hob can hear how his nerves are screaming in a frightening mix of arousal and trepidation.

He doesn’t watch how Hob starts the bike, suddenly it’s just on. Igniting with a roar and an idle sputtering that makes the entire vehicle vibrate and makes alarm bells shriek in Dream’s ears. He tightens his grip around Hob, arms and legs.

Dream thinks he feels Hob chuckle. 

“Hold on tight.”

Dream does not need to be told twice.

Hob’s leg kicks back, his wrist flicks gently and he’s pulling out of his parking spot, his head on a swivel as he checks behind him and front, before the engine truly snarls to life and lunges into the street.

Dream squeezes Hob’s middle as their speed increases, his head pointed down against Hob’s shoulder as he fights down the urge to scream. Hob is so warm and firm in his embrace, and Dream can feel the wind whipping past him, the motorbike vibrating under him, and the muffled sounds of the motor in his thick helmet.

It’s exhilarating, and terrifying. Dream gasps loudly as they make a turn, his grip on Hob becoming impossibly tighter as they zip through traffic.

“You alright back there?” Hob yells, his helmet turning slightly.

“K-keep your eyes on the road!” Dream shrieks. 

Hob laughs, his head facing forward again. The sound of Hob’s laughter, even muted by their helmets and the wind, compels Dream to relax. He takes a chance to lift his head, watching the scenery speed by, and bit by bit Dream unwinds, breathing in through his nose and out his mouth. He focuses again on Hob, how comfortably Dream fits against his backside, how calm and loose he is operating the bike, as if having a human-sized constrictor crushing his sternum and thighs is nothing.

Dream takes a deep breath, his pulse jumping as they hit a bump and his crotch unintentionally pushes against Hob’s ass (which, now that Dream is calming down, he’s able to notice how softly and teasingly it cushions his narrow hips). He turns his head, resting the side of his helmet against Hob’s shoulder as he unclenches his fingers from Hob’s jacket and instead carefully slips his hands inside of it. His hands still shake slightly, but the warmth from Hob’s body– prominent even through his shirt and the cool wind– eradicate that tingling feeling in his knuckles from gripping for too long.

Dream exhales, his eyes fluttering shut as he gives his trust completely to Hob. There is still that flicker of fear, but as the minutes drag on, Dream becomes used to the bike. 

And, unfortunately– Dream feels himself flush– he is aroused. 

It is easier to focus on how embarrassingly flustered he swiftly becomes, his breathing coming out shaky and labored, his cock taking interest now in Hob’s plump ass, even between two layers of jeans. The bumps in the road and the vibrating seat certainly don’t help.

Before he knows it, Hob is slowing, and when Dream opens his eyes, they are at the restaurant.

Dream blinks. He had forgotten that he was going on a date. And not with Hob.

“Here you are,” Hob announces, bending a leg out to prop up the bike.

“Ah, thank you…” Dream coughs slightly and swallows. He does not untangle himself from Hob. He feels his neck heat up as, all at once, he realizes he’s hard.

He wonders if Hob can feel it, he certainly brings no attention to it. Doesn’t shove him off or give any further indication of their current location.

“You, ah… are you meeting someone?”

The bike is idling, their helmets still on, so Hob has to raise his voice, and it makes Dream flinch. But he doesn’t take off his helmet. Or move. He merely nods. Hob somehow catches it in his peripheral.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He shakes his head and Dream’s stomach clenches.

“What’s wrong?”

Hob laughs, but it’s not the usual carefree laugh that Dream so often thinks about, fantasizes about hearing late at night, alone in his bed, taking himself apart to visions of Hob smiling and laughing and moaning in delight as he touches Dream all over–

“I had no idea you were– you know– taken.” His voice is quiet, guarded. “Wouldn’t have been so obvious.” His fingers clench around the handlebars. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable? Ah… something lights up within Dream, a surge of confidence rushing through his veins. 

“I am not uncomfortable,” Dream says simply. He takes a steadying breath and tightens his hold around Hob, his fingers digging into his ribs and– throwing caution to the wind– cants his hips up just enough to bring attention to his erection pressed against Hob’s ass.

Dream can hear the sharp catch in Hob’s breath even through the helmet.

“And you weren’t being ‘obvious.’ If you were, I would have taken the opportunity to make my interests known much sooner.”

A hand covers one of Dream’s, making his breath hitch. Hob’s head turns to look over his shoulder.

“Then who is waiting for you?” He inclines his head towards the restaurant.

“No one.” It might be cruel, but Dream realizes there is no one else he’d rather be with at the very moment. He doesn’t want to wait a moment longer now that he knows the longing in his chest is reciprocated. Dream wants to keep the man in his arms and never let him go.

Dream squeezes his thighs around Hob and hooks his chin over Hob’s shoulder, their helmets tapping together. 

“Take me home, Hob.”

Dream can feel how Hob’s breathing has picked up, his back flexing against Dream’s chest as he wastes no time in retracting his foot from the ground and speeding back towards home.

[starsfic]

Grandpa and Great-Uncle AU: The Beginning

Summary: An hour after Shermie agrees to go to Gravity Falls, his son asks him to take his grandchildren.

AO3/ Ko-Fi

-_-

An hour after he hung up the phone, it rang again.

"Hello?" Shermie said. He wondered if it was Stanley, wanting to hammer out some last details or canceling the plans. "This is Shermie-"

"Uh, hey dad," Mark didn't sound as steady as he usually did. In fact, he sounded on the verge of tears. Shermie straightened up, concern rising. Mark calling upset was so common by now that his back didn't hurt after two years. "Uh, it's Mark... something happened..."

Ah, shit. With the state of his son's marriage, Shermie had to guess. "Did you or Ariel leave with the kids?"

"No," His daughter-in-law spoke up, her voice muffled. There was a sob in her voice that made Shermie want to hang up and drive over. However, it was ten in the evening and Piedmont was an hour away. "I fucked up and I said something really nasty to Mark and Mason..." There was the faint sound of her blowing her nose. "Mason overheard me saying something nasty about him and Mabel to Mark."

Oh. Oh boy.

"This is why I told you-"

"I know, Dad," Mark said before Shermie could start on again about marriage counseling and divorce. Everyone in the family knew that this relationship was a ticking bomb that would hurt the twins. "We know. That's why we called."

"We were hoping that you could take them for the summer," Ariel said, sounding much calmer now. "We don't want them to get caught up in the middle of us being shitty about each other." The foul language made Shermie raise a brow, but he stayed silent. At least they were taking responsibility and getting the twins out of the blast radius. "I- We know it's a lot to ask..."

"But, I would say yes," Shermie had to interrupt. "But I'm actually staying the summer with Uncle Stanley."

There was a pause. "Really?" Mark said, sounding baffled. "I thought he didn't want any of us visiting because of how dangerous the supernatural stuff could be." That decision had been made after the one and only visit to Gravity Falls that Mark had when he was three and nearly got abducted by fairies. It hadn't solely been Stan's decision, but Shermie had agreed.

"He...He said he needed backup because of how old he's getting and how busy the Shack is, plus how the portal's coming along," Shermie tried not to tremble at the memory of Stanley's voice, thick with so much regret and anguish that he was tempted to drive to where Filbrick was buried and smash his gravestone. "But, he's not doing well mentally. He didn't say it, but I know he's having a hard time, especially with how long it's been." It would be thirty years tomorrow. "I'm going to go to see what I can do, if I can maybe talk him into walking away."

Probably not, but he had to try. Stanford Pines wasn't worth this.

"Maybe the twins might help?" Ariel said, interrupting his thoughts. "You know how excited he got when he visited them in the hospital."

Oh, yeah. At the memory of Stan's elbow in his face, his nose ached.

But Stan had been delighted when he realized that there was a second pair of twins in the family. Shermie's favorite picture was of him holding the twins, their mom hugging him.

"I'll have to ask him. Give me a second." He hung up and his fingers trembled as he typed in Stan's number. Shermie wasn't sure if it was hope or anxiety, but he held his breath as it rang.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Stanley, um...Here's the thing. Mark and Ariel want Mason and Mabel out of the house during the summer," Shermie said, trying not to panic as he said it all in one breath. "I told them that I was going to be visiting you and Ariel suggested I take them with me to-"

SMASH.

Shermie jolted at the noise, dropping the phone. He scrambled to grab it, his heart racing at an uncomfortable rate. "Stanley?!"

"Sure, bring them!" There was another smash. "I've missed the little gremlins. I can take them fishing." Another smash. "I didn't really get to do that with Mark when he visited."

"What are you smashing?"

"Oh, my beer." There was a thump. "Anyway, let me know when you guys are coming. I have to set up the attic and find the spare bedroom and find my cigars." And with that, the line went dead. Shermie blinked before he started dialling Mark's number.

Well, that was a hell of a yes.

"Hello? Dad?"

"He said yes."

[signmyheart]

Changed

Pairing: Fred Weasley X reader X George Weasley

Summary: Every year, you spend summer at the house of your best friends, Fred and George Weasley. But this year is different; at the end of the summer, when there are only a couple of weeks left until Hogwarts, you decide to spend it with your boyfriend of three years, Draco. Then something you never could've imagined happens, and you can't bring yourself to tell anyone your big secret. Nor will you ever be the same.

Trigger warning!!: if i decide to make another part it'll probably get dark

1 - Just the beginning

"Seriously Y/n your not actually gonna go spend the rest of your summer with that Malfoy degenerate, right?" Fred asked in a joking manner, but he became a little more serious when he saw you packing your clothes. You sigh getting up from your knees and take a deep breath in.

"Freddie, that degenerate, is my boyfriend, and I have to spend at least a little time with him. I've been with you pair all this time." You smile softly, looking up at them through your hair. Fred curls his eyebrows, while George frowns with concern. You couldn't understand why they were so worried, you'd been with Draco for around 2 years now. That's more than enough time to prove he's trustworthy.

"Hey... I promise it'll be okay, you two. I'll see you guys in no time when we go back to school." You smile reassuringly, reaching out to touch both of their arms. The twins look at each other and then quickly look at you. You think there's something they want to say, but when Geroge opens his mouth, Fred shoves his elbow into his ribs. 

"Sure thing but while we have you here..." Fred looks at George and they smile mischievously. 

"We're gonna have way more fun with you than that rich snob!" George shouts throwing you over his shoulder and racing down the stairs, Fred following closely behind snickering obnoxiously. The way he held you with such ease caused blood to rush to your face.

"Oi! Let me down" You scream through giggles. He plopped you down on your feet, but not without ruffling your hair. Molly and Arthur smile at you three from the living room. With them, Hermione Ron Harry, and Ginny. Geroge sets you down and you smile with an idea.

"Blimey if that's not love I don't know what is," Ginny whispers over to Mione who pauses her knitting to grin back at her.

"Guys, what in the world is that?" You furrow your eyebrows and point outside the kitchen window. The twins whip their heads around and you struggle to contain your laughter. Before they realize what you've done you bring your hands up and slap the back of their necks. In unison, they groan.  Before they turn around you're already out of the house. The summer breeze is refreshing, like it brings you back to life and you can't help but smile harder.

You run into the field of daisies on the other side of the Weasely house trampling beautiful flowers under your feet. You inhale deep gulps of air before sitting down to watch the sunset. You expected the twins to be right behind you but it took them a while to catch up with you. You hear their footsteps behind you and you smile to yourself. 

"I can't believe you guys fell for that." You giggle quietly wrapping an arm around your legs leaving the other one to pull at the grass beneath you. Each brother settles beside you close enough that your legs touch. Anyone else might think it's weird how inseparable you three are but that's how you liked it, feeling safe trapped between your best friends. 

"So you're really leaving us dearest y/n" Fred spins around to lay in front of you and George. He pretends to wipe a fake tear from the corner of his eye. 

"Yep, don't miss me too much boys!" You tease. The three of you sit there a comfortable silence overtaking you guys until George speaks up.

"Y/n, if Draco does anything to hurt you I swear I'll beat him silly." 

Your eyes widen slightly and you look at Fred who gives you an 'idk?' kinda look. You turn to look at him, the look on his face is well flat-out scary, you couldn't tell what it was, jealousy? Anger? Maybe both but it scared you.

"Don't say stuff like that your scaring me Georgie." Trying to ease whatever was going on with a quiet chuckle. 

"I'm serious Bunny you know we have your back," Once again in shock, you looked at Fred who this time propped himself up with his arms. 

"what's wrong with you Georgie did you have some kind of spiritual foresight or something?" Fred jokes.

"You know what forget it!" George brings his knees up and covers his face with a very muscular arm. 

"C'mon we're almost gonna be in our 6th year relax a bit, will ya?" The twins notice you've quieted down and observe your flustered state.

"You haven't called me Bunny in ages... I almost forgot about that nickname." Your cheeks are a little pink as you fumble with a daisy. George laughs to himself remembering where it came from.

"I remember when we first met you and you always held on to that stuffed rabbit, even at dinner. No matter how much everyone teased you. It took you up until your second year to let the damn thing go." Goerge recalls and it only makes you blush harder. The plush bunny was the last thing your father gave you before he passed away. You shuttered thinking about his death inching impossibly closer to George.

"Oh yeah! Gods was that bloody thing ragged, looked like it'd been through hell and back." Fred added on, you glared at him. He shot back up.

"Ouch!" He yelped in pain rubbing the spot where you slapped his leg.

"Don't gotta be so rough bunny." 

"Yeah well, you don't have to be such a prick, Frederick." George snorted beside your small frame. When did he get so big? From the side of your eye, you admire George as he laughs. 

"Don't worry Georgie I got it, I can handle myself just fine." You added making sure he knew that he'd gotten his point across. Fred laid back down this time putting his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. You guys watched the sunset set talking about anything and everything the entire time.  You wish you could go back to that moment. ...

i just needed to write

[abrunettefangirlnerd]

Hurricane Agatha

Prompt: Back in season 1 hurricane Agatha hits the Outer Banks. You are a pogue trying to enjoy your best summer with your friends. John B, Pope, and JJ (I know he didn’t in the show) decide to try surfing her waves. You’re worried about JJ because he isn’t answering his phone. You stop by his house even though you know he doesn’t like you coming over.

Pairing: JJ Maybank x reader

              The wind blows violently against your hair as you run towards JJ’s house. JJ normally texts you back within minutes and he always answers your calls. You know the phone towers are probably down but nothing will put your mind at ease till you know that he isn’t out running around in the storm.

“JJ,” you whisper stepping into his house. You know all about his father and the last thing you want is to piss him off.

              Walking into JJ’s room you find the bed empty and his surf board missing. Those damn boys! You think to yourself. They would rather risk their lives to get in a few waves than stay safe. You are going to kill them if the hurricane doesn’t do it first.

“Who’s here!?” JJ’s father shouts from somewhere in the house. “Don’t you dare think you can squat here through the storm!”

              Heart racing in your chest, you try to calm down and think of what to do. JJ has a window in his room but it hasn’t been opened in years. He hates using it as a route of escape because it squeaks up a storm. Though maybe the real storm will be enough to overpower its noise. You make a break for it and attempt to lift the window up enough to climb out.

              A hand wraps around your ankle and pulls you from the window. Flipping over you come face-to-face with your boyfriend’s drunk father. Due to circumstances you two have barely interacted, it’s possible he has no clue who you are. A fact that becomes very much apparent when you feel a cool sting against the side of your face. Slightly dazed, you try and recall JJ’s manic ramblings about getting the upper hand on an attacker.

You collide your free heel to the side of his knee. His grip on you loosens enough to wiggle yourself free. You forget about the window and head straight for the front door. Making your way to your car, you start it up and head the course toward the Chateau. The pain begins to subside in your cheek but his dad sure knows how to throw a punch. Luckily you don’t think he collided with your jaw, so it’s not broken. Hopefully JJ won’t be too mad that you showed up there.

Finally reaching the Chateau you see three bodies making their way back into the house. You sigh in relief seeing that they are all safe. But soon that relief is replaced with rage that they are that stupid. You march yourself up to the house and wait for them to join you.

“What the hell where you guys thinking?” You semi-shout as you hear the door open. “You could have been killed. JJ I have been looking all over for you!”

“Hey hey, babe.” JJ tries to calm you down. “We are fine, you don’t-“

              He stops mid-sentence as he takes a few steps closer. The skin around your cheek has already started to bruise over and become tender. You wince as his fingers lightly graze over your skin. Looking into his eyes you can see that his are glossed over in building tears.

“Y/N,” JJ’s voice is very low and quiet. “Did you go to my house?”

              You didn’t respond and averted your gaze, but confirming all the same. Backing away from you, JJ throws an empty beer bottle across the room and lets out a painful cry. JJ leans himself against the wall and takes deep breaths to calm down.

“Did he hurt you anywhere else?” JJ’s voice is calmer than you’d expect.

“No,” you answer immediately. “I am really sorry JJ.”

              Warm salty tears fall down your face. A sob escapes your lips as you feel a sting from your tears graze over your swollen cheek. Two sturdy arms wrap around your torso. Even when you can’t see, you know they belong to JJ. You repeat that you are sorry over and over through your sobs.

“Don’t you dare be sorry.” JJ whispers into your ear. “Please baby. It’s not your fault, it’s mine. I am so sorry.”

              JJ picks you up and carries you into the spare bedroom. You are grateful to be away from the awkward gaze of John B and Pope. You are close with both of them but you’ve always been more comfortable with JJ even before you started dating.

              He lays you down on the bed and slides next to you. Placing a kiss to your forehead, JJ tells you he will be back in a moment. As quickly as he leaves, JJ is already back with a bag of frozen peas. JJ slightly presses them to your bruised cheek. Biting your lip, you try to suppress a sob but there is no luck. It escapes pass your lips like those before but soon the cool bag begins its soothing magic.

              JJ resumes his previous position next to you on the bed and pulls your body close to his. You feel his fingers brush through the top of your hair in soothing strokes. His legs tangle with yours as he places soft kisses on the tip of your nose. You know that JJ is blaming himself for this and you hate it. This is all your fault. You should have known he would avoid home at all cost. Though you know that if you bring it up again JJ won’t listen and continue to blame himself.

“I remembered what you told me.” Your voice is so quiet as sleep begins to take over your senses. “I remembered about what you said about how to hit the knees if the ankle isn’t accessible.”

“I’m sure you did great baby,” JJ looks down at you with a lazy grin.

              You know that it will take a little while for you and JJ to come to terms about what happened tonight. From all of JJ’s injuries and stories about his father you knew the man was nothing good. Though hearing about it and experiencing it are two very different things. You managed to get away without too many hits but you know that JJ is not so lucky. It takes weeks before you stop immediately crying at the sight of any discoloration of his skin. JJ tries to tell you it barely hurts but you know that is total bullshit. Only good thing that came out of this is that JJ wants to teach you more about how to defend yourself. He always wants to be there to protect you but he knows now that won’t always be the case, and he is so proud of how well you can handle yourself.

[astroboots]

RSVP

Summary: A prequel to Homecoming set 10 years before. The moment Santiago realizes he's missed his chance with you.

Homesick masterlist | Homecoming Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist

We invite you to share with us a celebration of love for the wedding reception of William Miller and Abigail Jackson.

Santiago stares down at the invitation. It's a showy calligraphy font with lots of rounded gold-gilded curves offset with the pink blossoms, roses and carnation in the background of the card.

A bit tacky for his tastes, and personally he'd probably would've opted for something much simpler, but luckily he's not the one on the hook and three hours from getting married.

He leans back against the car seat, trying to make himself more comfortable, eyes drifting to the side mirror that gives him a decent angle of your front door.

Thirty minutes.

He's been sat in this car for thirty. Whole. Minutes.

You never take this long to get ready for anything. The normal routine is: throw on the cleanest shirt and jeans combo you have on hand. Or if you're feeling really fancy, a dress you have abandoned and forgotten in the corner of your closet before you jump into the car, applying makeup as best as you can, while he drives you to where you two need to go.

He's never had to sit in a car waiting for you for half an hour while you get ready.

Not for your graduation.

Not for your first job interview.

Heck, not even when you were a bridesmaid to your best friend's wedding (because you'd both overslept and you ended up clumsily pulling on the bridesmaid's gown in the backseat while he was racing down the highway to the hotel where the bride was staying with minutes to spare).

So why on earth you would need this long to prepare for Ironhead's wedding reception is beyond him. There's hardly going to be any royalty there.

Santiago sighs, reaching over the dashboard to change the radio station when from the corner of his eyes, you've finally decided to grace him with your presence. In the side mirror, he sees you locking up the front door and approach the car.

The pale blue of your dress sways in the mirror.

Santiago is confused. You're wearing a new dress. One he knows he's never seen before on you.

It's a pretty little thing. Sheer blue lace, and a flowing line that hugs your hips flatteringly. The fabric of the summer dress flutters in the wind when you walk, the edges of the skirt flirting with your thighs as it rides up slightly and he can feel his brows arch in question as you approach the passenger side of the car.

"That's new," he says, as you open the door and scoot into the passenger seat.

You look up at him as if you don't know what he's talking about, and when he gestures at the dress, you just shrug, like there's nothing unusual here to see.

"It's a wedding reception Santiago, what else am I going to wear?"

He catches you inspecting your makeup in the mirror, your chin tilted upwards as your lips part to make sure the red lipstick and gloss on top hasn't smeared.

It feels surreal somehow, like he's wandered into a house of mirrors at a funfair. It's you, but you're behaving like something alien to him.

As he starts the car and pull out the driveway, the thought vaguely occurs to him that he needs to rewatch Body Snatchers, because he's pretty sure this is how it starts.

Still, you do look very pretty.

"The dress looks good on you," he tells you when the car's at a standstill at a red light.

The corners of your lips curve into a soft smile, and you look so happy that Santiago tells himself that if you have gotten body-snatched, he's just going to have to learn to co-exist with aliens now.

It's a big gathering held in a beautiful garden space. There are all the usual trappings of a Pinterest wedding fare. Fairy lights hung up in trees. Pink balloons and mason jars scattered on rustic looking wooden farm tables that he knows must've cost a leg and an arm on Will's paltry salary check.

His body is tensing. Leg itchy and Santiago feels like he can't stand still in one spot. The lingering pain in his right knee acting up again. The last surgery should have fixed it, and the surgeon had warned him it's probably psychosomatic at this point, but whether it's real or make-believe doesn't help Santiago when the pain is there.

There's a lot of familiar faces from the army here, which Santiago doesn't love.

It's not something he does, bring you around where that world can sink its contaminated claws into you. He doesn't want you near it.

Doesn't want you to hear the confusing military jargon, and have to explain what "Dependa means", or to have one of his "buddies" refer to you as a "civilian".

He never likes it when you're reminded that out of the eight to ten months he's gone for the year, there's a dividing line separating your life from his that you are not part of.

Doesn't want you to be faced with the fact that when he's not here next to you, he's not your Santiago. He's not the guy you grew up, the one you always beat at Street Fighter and used to run a racketeering at the local pool hall for pocket money.

Doesn't want you to think of the fact that when he's out there, he's committing war crimes under a legal technicality courtesy of Uncle Sam, the way some dumb misguided 18-year-olds were shipped to both your motherlands once upon a time and burnt it down with napalm and bullets some decades ago.

Fuck, he doesn't want you to be here. Should never have invited you.

But Frankie had accidentally blabbed about Will's wedding last week, asking, in front of you, who Santiago was bringing as his plus one. You had looked up at him with such big excited eyes, because you fucking love weddings, and you are always his plus one. What was he supposed to say? No?

It's so uncharacteristically clumsy of the man and Santiago swears, if Frankie wasn't his best friend, he could've killed him for that.

Santiago scans the space, spotting more pink flower arrangements, carnations and pink tulips and hydrangeas, it looks like a pink confetti bomb went off in this space.

Under a large tree of heavy branches carrying pink cherry blossoms, Santiago spots the very culprit he was thinking of. Frankie is leaning against the thick trunk. He's looking as uncomfortable as ever in the big crowd, obviously hiding away so he doesn't have to make mindless conversation with the other wedding guests. Shoulders slump so low, the man looks like he's trying to shrink into the tree.

Santiago shakes his head. It's hard to ever stay mad at Frankie. He couldn't even if he tried.

Jutting out his arm, Santiago looks to you as your arm curl around his. The unbending tension in his neck seems to melt away when you are pressed to his side. He can feel your sun-warmed skin brushing up against him, as the two of you make your way over to Frankie.

"Hi Frank," Santiago greets.

Frankie looks up, those big brown eyes fill with absolute relief at seeing a friendly face. The man is all soft smiles as he lets out a long exhale, the tension fizzling out of his frame.

"What you don't like weddings?" Santiago teases.

From Santiago's side, you slip out your hand where it's looped against him arm, and wave at Frankie despite that you're not even two feet away from each other. You're acting a bit awkward, your greeting a bit stiff. There's a warm and almost nervous smile on your face that makes Santiago raise a questioning eyebrow.

"Hi Frankie," you say and your voice is all soft and buttery and breathless.

Frankie's eyes darts towards you and when the man sees you, he looks like he damn near swallowed his whole damn tongue.

It's bizarre.

Both of you are acting strange.

From the outside looking in, it probably looks innocuous, just two good friends having a conversation, catching up after not having seen each other for several months.

Except it's not. Something is different. He can tell because he knows you both so well. Something is just slightly off.

Santiago sips his beer as Frankie's telling you about how much he liked the book you lent him before he got shipped off. He's recanting how he'd read them in his mosquito filled tent, while sitting in the back of a truck waiting to be transported to another town. He's telling you the bits and pieces of his everyday life on the other side that Santiago never shares with you, and Santiago doesn't know how to feel.

The fact that Frankie can so easily share that part of his life with you, without batting an eye, like it's the easiest thing. The fact that you're nodding and smiling, responding with details of your daily life at school and work, like it's no big deal.

There's no dividing line between you and the two of you act like all of this is completely normal.

Except it's not normal.

Because Frankie's taken off his cap and he's no longer hiding under it. As at ease with you he might seem, he's also nervously running his fingers through his hair over and over again while he talks to you. He can't take his eyes off your face, tongue darting over his bottom lip while he's staring at your mouth while you laugh.

And you? You're smiling and laughing with your whole face as you listen to Frankie's story. It's a smile so big and bright and unrestrained in a way that Santiago's always thought was reserved just for him.

And he doesn't know how he feels about that either.

Santiago is watching Frankie's eyes trail over your collarbone down to your legs. Eyes rounding into big saucer and the effect is almost cartoonish. It makes Santiago want to roll his eyes, this man never could rein back his appreciation for a good sundress.

And oh.

Oh.

This is why you're wearing a new dress.

Santiago blinks, feet rooted to the ground, stupefied as the realization hits him.

You wore this for Frankie.

You took half an hour to get ready for Frankie.

You were excited to come here... For Frankie.

Santiago is the third wheel.

And he finally figures out how he feels about that. 

Like shit. 

That’s how he feels about it. 

Not that Santiago lets it show. He smiles, he nods, he cracks jokes with the two of you. Makes jabs at Frankie and teases you, like there’s nothing wrong. 

Still he smiles, he smiles so wide and so fake his fucking cheeks hurt with the muscle ache of it. Smiles like there's nothing wrong. Like his whole fucking world isn’t imploding before his eyes and he’s watching it burn down to a crisp to the background ambiance of the warm afternoon sun and the live music of a string quartet. 

Dramatic? yes, doesn't make it any less true for him.

Fuck, his knees hurt.

Santiago’s eyes roam over the space filled faces that are all smiling and laughing. Everyone’s happy. Drinking and eating and laughing. In this intimate space, surrounded by a crowd of people celebrating life and love, he’s never felt more lonely in his life. 

He feels like he’s drowning, head held under the surface. There’s a claustrophobic pressure hugging his ribs and his lungs squeeze painfully tight. He can’t fucking breathe, and he wonders if he could die here without anyone noticing that anything is wrong and--

“Santiago.”

His eyes blink, focusing in on your worried face as you’re peering up at him. “Are you ok? You look a bit pale.” 

“Uhm, yeah sorry. I…”

Your eyes are staring back at him, piercingly sharp. They feel like a scalpel held against his raw tender skin poised to make an incision. 

He looks away, unable to hold your gaze, eyes flittering over the crowd. “Sorry, I think I see someone I know that I have to say hi to… and catch up with.”

“Oh yeah?” Frankie throws a look over his shoulder, “who did you spot?”

Santiago scans the space for a familiar face, any familiar face that will serve as an exit route.

There’s Jones, his former captain back in the early days. The asshole who used to call Santiago ‘pretty boy’ derisively, and make him do pull ups until he felt so sick that the contents of his breakfast would end up outside of his body again.

To his left, Will is making the rounds from table to table, greeting and thanking the guests for coming. Will is too busy, which isn’t an option. 

“Jones,” Santiago murmurs, and the moment he says it, Santiago already knows he made a mistake. 

Frankie’s face scrunches up in distaste. “What are you talking about? That guy is an asshole. You hated him back in the army, why do you wanna catch up with him?"

Santiago laughs it off, because he can’t very well tell Frankie the truth. That Santiago feels the walls closing in and needs to get away from the two of you. So he makes up a cheeky lie. 

“Guy owes me money.” He pats Frankie on the shoulder, and juts his chin in your direction. “Keep her company for me will ya?”

He turns to leave, and for a brief moment his eyes catch yours.

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on Santiago's part, but he swears that for the first since you arrived, your smile falters. There’s something in your expression, the way your brows scrunches up, hands hovering mid-air as if you’re about to reach for his sleeve, that tells him you don’t want him to go. 

A snide critical voice in his head thinks he’s delusional. He’s just reading into something that isn’t there. Because why would you care? You’re perfectly happy in Frankie’s company.

In this moment as Santiago stands here before his former captain, he is regretting every single decision in his life that has led him here.

That he was a dumb naive teenager at the age of 17 that was tempted by a shopping mall recruiter to go "see the world" by joining the army. That he ended up in this man's regiment. That he didn't RSVP Will's invitation with: 'thank you but no thank you'. That in all his years of being in close range fire he somehow hasn't ended up with hearing damage that would have spared him from listening to this man talk.

Santiago glances over to where he had left you and Frankie half an hour ago, because he can't even be bothered with the pretense of acting even vaguely interested in what Captain Asshole has to say.

Santiago's been observing the two of you throughout. At first, it was awkward between the two of you. Because even though the two of you are no strangers to one another, usually Santiago is always around to play intermediary when there's a lull in the conversation.

You were hugging yourself, eyes darting to the ground, feet shifting. Frankie wouldn't stop running his fingers through his goddamned hair even as it started to look like a bird's nest that's fallen off a tree. The two of you were standing some distance apart, and Santiago cringed inwardly at the scene...

But if Santiago is being completely above board and honest... there's a small tiny sliver of a piece of him that was happy about that. That there's still a space for him between you and Frankie.

It doesn't stay that way of course. As the evening goes on and the harsh bright Florida sun starts to dim, the fairy lights flicker to life. It bathes everything in that romantic soft amber light against darkening canvas of the sky.

Frankie lends you his old worn jacket as you start to shiver. Then gradually, you two are inching closer and closer until you're standing shoulder to shoulder.

Santiago gets to witness it in real time, how the space between the two of you is closing (as is his place between you). He doubt he could physically squeeze himself between you even if he tried.

It's never gonna be a pleasant feeling to know that his best friends have just made him redundant. He knows that, and running away the way he did was probably not the most mature thing he's ever done. But now that he's seeing it from a distance, he can see how happy you two look. He has two seeing eyes after all.

For the first time in a long time, Frankie looks completely at ease. There's a soft glow to his cheeks as he's looking at you, utterly besotted, and you're smiling so wide your eyes are crinkling at the corners.

Santiago takes another sip from his beer, and despite the sickly sweetness, the beverage still warms his stomach. There are worse things in the world than seeing the two people he loves the most in the world happy, even if he's not the reason for it... right?

He peers out over the setting sun, squinting against the amber brightness and even among the buzzing crowd he can pick up the sound of your laughter distinctly from everything else. It's all he can hear.

It's funny how he never saw it before. But the two of you would be perfect for each other.

Frankie’s a bit quiet, and maybe he’s a little bit shy sometimes and takes a while to open up. But he doesn’t run away from his problems. Not like Santiago does. He’d never leave you if things started to get too serious or too hard; Santiago’s not sure he could make that same promise. But he knows Frankie can. Santiago knows how good Frankie would be to you.

And you? Just looking at the two of you now, he can see how Frankie's comfortable around you. Practically lighting up like the Rockerfeller center. Frankie looks like someone took an electrical socket and plugged it into him and he's buzzing and alight as he talks to you, Santiago can't remember the last time he's seen Frankie so animated... so at ease. Except maybe when he and Frankie are left to their own devices, during downtime, just the two of them, without having to hold a weapon in their hands.

"Captain! Mind if I borrow Pope here for a second?"

Santiago blinks out of his reverie to see the man of the hour, the groom himself in front of him.

Like a guardian angel descending from the heavens, Will stands with the sun glowing behind him, the golden boy.

The Captain nods, patting Will on the back, making some crude and off-handed and inappropriate joke about how "it's all downhill from here" not even a handful of hours after the man's nuptials.

Will doesn't smile, just juts his head with a nod, as they both watch the man depart. Then when he's out of hearing range, Will turns to Santiago.

"What the fuck were you doing with that guy?"

Santiago sips his bottle, and tips his head in the direction where the two of you are sitting. "Just wanted to give the two of them some space."

Will turns around and observes the two of you.

"Right," Will says, but his tone is gruff and serious, grinding his teeth as he observes. Will has never been the type to make any comments about anyone's personal lives, it's not his style.

"It's not my place to say something," he starts, then he stops, mulls it over as if deciding whether he's really going to say something.

The man shakes his head, then takes a deep breath. "Look, just... are you sure about this?" Will says.

It's all he says, he doesn't flesh out what he means. Just looks Santiago dead in the eye, with that sober Ironhead expression that he's so famous for.

Santiago doesn't pretend he doesn't know what Will is talking about. The man is smart. Santiago's not going to condescend him and play the game of the dumb best friend who doesn't realize he's in love with his best friend. It'd be like spitting in the man's face.

Instead Santiago takes a deep breath, and down the rest of his beer.

In front of him, Frankie's waving his hand so animatedly he nearly knocks over a canape tray from a waiter that was walking by behind him, and you're having a laughing fit over it.

Santiago doesn't know the answer to Will's question. He doesn't know what there is to be sure or unsure about. But he does know one thing... The two of you look good together.

Who is he to be in the way of that?

After all, Santiago has always had hang ups about how no one is good enough for you. Because you are his best friend and you deserve the best, and if Santiago is not gonna pull his head out of his own ass, at least Frankie will always take care of you and be there for you.

Frankie is a good man. A patient man, a kind man. The type of man he wishes he could be sometimes. He'd be better for you than Santiago thinks he ever could be. 

Who's to say this isn't going to be the best thing that's ever happened to the three of you?

"Yeah man," Santiago says as he tears his eyes away from the two of you. "I'm sure."

Credits and Dedication: To @thirstworldproblemss who already had to see this angst-fest a year or so ago and have to deal with my constant angsting over these three for funsies.

A/N: Sloppy written angst before I go on a two week hiatus as we're on a long holiday to get away from the rain and enjoy some sunshine on the Amalfi coast! I love you guuuuuys!

Follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[cauliflowertree]

you fill my lungs with sweetness—james potter.

summary: day at the beach with james.

word count: i’ll add later. it’s short tho.

fanfic no. 050

midday at the beach—you were sprawled across your towel, arm across your face blocking the sun from your eyes, listening to the shallow waves lap against the sand a mere few metres away from you. the air was warm, holding you in a comforting embrace you’d missed these long months, especially after a particularly cold spring.

surprisingly, the beach was rather deserted. but, you supposed, after a moment thinking on it, it wasn’t so unusual for people to be at work on a tuesday afternoon and children to be in school in early june, despite the luscious weather. it was a pleasant surprise, really, for it meant you had the beach mostly to yourselves.

“hey,” james said, standing over you.

opening your eyes, you saw james holding two ice lollies, one orange and one blue. he held out the orange ice lolly to you and you accepted gratefully, sitting up to eat the little treat.

“have you exerted yourself now?” you asked.

james had been playing in the water for nearly three hours before he had gone to buy you two something cold to eat. you’d joined him for a while, but had spent the last hour reading and sunbathing. relaxing.

“probably. at least for ten minutes.”

“only ten?!” you laughed, juice from your melting ice lolly slipping down your chin as you did so.

“what?! i love the beach,” he defended himself, chuckling.

“we should have bought you a sand bucket and goggles.”

“next time, my love,” he beamed. “we will be coming back, you can be sure of that.”

you giggled, licking your ice lolly again, not doubting for a second that you would become very familiar with this beach and the town around it over the summer. not that you minded in the slightest. james had a way of making everything fun, even if you had previously thought it to be the worst idea on the planet—he would show you otherwise.

“finished,” said james, slipping the ice lolly stick in your bag so he wouldn’t forget it later. “what are you laughing at?”

“you’ve- you’ve got blue all over your lips and tongue,” you sniggered, putting your stick in the bag as well.

“have i?” he laughed, trying to wipe it away. “am i getting it?”

“no!” you giggled, leaning over to try to see if you could wipe it away with your thumb, but to no avail.

“maybe if you kissed me, that might make it go away,” he winked, leaning his body weight on his arm and his head on his shoulder.

he looked up at you mischievously, a smirk growing on his face—it made you fold, like always, so easily. leaning down, you kissed him softly and slowly, lingering there for a long moment before pulling away.

“i don’t think that worked,” you whispered.

“no?” he asked innocently, leaning in again, caressing your neck.

you shook your head before his lips met yours again, this time kissing quicker, a little flurry. and when he pulled away, it was no different, just as the two of you knew it wouldn’t be. and then james jumped up, pulled you up with him and declared a race, ignoring the blue that stained his skin.

“what does the winner get?”

“another ice lolly,” said james.

you nodded firmly, getting into position. james counted down from three slowly, and when he reached one, the two of you set off towards the ocean. james, with all his lean muscles and quidditch training physique, had the upper hand. you both knew this from the start, but it didn’t matter. because you knew as soon as he reached the water, he’d chant and cheer and boast, waiting for you to follow him in. and then he’d pick you up and twirl you around, rustle up your hair, probably dunk you in the water, and then demand his ice lolly.

because he was always declaring a race. whether it was back to your dorm, back to your house, to the shop down the street, to the tree in the distance. and this was always how it went. and you didn’t care that you always lost, because at the end, you’d always get a twirl and a kiss.

🏷 @imabee-oralizard @finns-arm-is-mint @inkluvs @basicallyjustmuggleremuslupin @corp0real @undead90relive @lee-says-things @flesh--amnesiac

[hollywoodsargeant]

Could you do a sunglasses ranking please?🙏

YES. okay. so this is considering all of the pairs of sunglasses he wears that i am aware of... if there's more. well. i probably just thought they were one of these (or i forgot about them) but logan is a big sunglasses guy (self-proclaimed) like i don't think there is or ever will be a race where he doesn't wear sunglasses at some point. so ofc i have opinions about all of them

i'll put it under. a read more bc this post is excessive. open for logan sunglasses + thoughts

these are p1. i think i have mentioned that these sunglasses specifially are my favorite of is... i don't really know why but they're my personal favorite. and he wears them a pretty decent amount so i see this as a win (also that picture of him in monaco in the polo shirt makes me so stupid thought you should know)

i think i like the. idk what the word is. the little strip above his nose. idk. i don't wear sunglasses man i just have a lot of opinions about them

second place... These. just based on what i've seen i feel like he wears these ones the most. they're the origin of my "i love a man in big ugly sunglasses" bc they are kind of. Large. and for what it's worth i know these are the sunglasses he has in his GQ video where he says he can't live without sunglasses. maybe they are his favorite. who knows

final step of the podium. whatever the fuck these are. i don't think he ever wore them outside of this specific merch shoot? but i like them. maybe i'm just blinded by the fact that i like this merch shoot... that first pic is in like. every single post i've done where someone asks for my favorite logan pics. good one man. FOR REASONS...

this post is about SUNGLASSES sorry. i like these sunglasses. but i'm not entirely convinced they're real

fourth is these! if i have ever referred to these as my least favorite i mean they're my least favorite out of the three pairs of sunglasses i feel like he wears the most. (which is my first and second place + these) but i don't think he's worn these ones in a bit? like both of these photos are from F2. i know he wore them in jeddah two years in a row bc i had a whole thing about them

so not the point. even if he hasn't worn them in a while. not my favs. it's still logan so i will still eat it up but. i prefer the other ones

fifth? fish. i like these pictures. the are definitely a function over fashion thing for once (he has said he like sunglasses bc they're a good fashion statement... like okay... guy who wears the same quarter-zip every race week...) i have only ever seen him wear them when he's on a boat. i doubt he would ever wear these to a race see prior mention of fashion and all his other sunglasses i think are like. expensive. remember when i said i don't wear sunglasses yeah idk

i like the fisherboy in him. happy summer break logan put these sunglasses back on and go fishing thanks

and last i have. whatever these are. mostly at the bottom bc i don't think he's worn them since prema? but also they're kind of a lot. maybe i'm just crazy but i think he looks better in the darker sunglasses than he does these ones... anyways. i think these ones have been retired since f3. replaced. but they're included on this list bc i found this picture in my camera roll

since i did throw this one on the end. i am SURE... there are older pairs of sunglasses he doesn't wear anymore that i missed. my ranking is mostly of those three (which i put 1-2-4) but even above that mostly the top two. i feel like he alternates between those two. but i get irrationally happy when he wears my favorite ones because. Well. they're my favorite...

[elisysd]

37. Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements?

Masterlist - Previously -Next

Chapter soundtrack: Chasing Pavements - Adele

He had begged Christian with all he had to not say anything, to make him think he had misunderstood what Ethan had unintentionally revealed. He would have groveled at his feet if needed but he managed to persuade Christian to keep it to himself.

“I don’t like that, Ethan.”

“It won’t change anything, Christian! Unless something big happens, Kyle will be world champion and Ludwig P2. You won, so what does it change if Julia works or not with her dad? Actually, think of how it could benefit you! Now you know that whatever upgrades Ferrari is bringing, Julia worked on them. You can see by yourself how an amazing asset she will be to the team!”

“You’re a clever man, Ethan. Really clever. I like how you think. And you have a deal. Give me her phone number, I’ll give her a call tomorrow but in the meanwhile, I’ll have our team in the factory drafting her proposal.”

“Thank you Christian. For everything.”

“She hasn’t accepted, yet. I’ll try my best to have her but nothing is signed.”

“So you really want her?”

“I want to win. She is talented. I want to only work with the best so I’m going to do my best to have her and I won’t settle for a no.”

Julia was about to sleep when her phone rang. She expected to see Ethan’s name show up but was thrown aback when she saw an unknown number on the screen. She let it ring. She was a bit mad to not have been able to reach Ethan despite trying multiple times. She had sent him a text as soon as the race was over but barely got a thank you back. He had ended up, three hours after the end of the race, telling her that he was busy and would call her on his way to Brazil the next day. It was not helping Julia as she was supposed to meet with the woman in charge of decorating the vineyard for the wedding with her mom but she would try to fit the call in her hectic schedule. But when her phone rang a second time with the same number, she got curious and picked it up.

“Hello? Julia Leclerc here, who is it?”

“Julia, hello, Christian Horner here.”

“Chris… Christian? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I know that you are looking for a new job in F1 and I have an opening in the team, I was wondering if it is something that would interest you.”

She didn’t know what to say, it was probably the last thing she expected to hear.

“I… I mean, it’s very nice but I’m still contractually attached to Skoda…”

“2 millions.”

“Two what?” she couldn’t help but gasp. It was more than ten times what she was worth to Skoda.

“You would work in a direct relationship with our factory. Not only working on the development of the car but also on the conceptualisation of the next one. You would have a whole team under you. How does that sound.”

“I… I mean… why? I’m really flattered but… I don’t have experience….”

“Because Skoda never gave it to you but I know how to recognise talent and potential when I see it, and you miss Leclerc you are a diamond that needs to be polished.”

“I… I don't know what to say…”

“You would have your own car, we will take care of the accommodation, of course you would be needed on the tracks during race weekends. You would be closely working with Maserati as well. It’s going to be a lot of work, I won’t lie. A lot of hours but it’s also a professional challenge that I wouldn’t offer to anyone. You would be dedicating your life to the team.”

“I’m flattered to be considered, don’t get me wrong but… gosh it’s a lot. I don’t know if I’m up to the task.”

“I understand. I don’t need an answer straight away. I’ll give you the summer break but I’ll need to know by September.”

When she hung up, she let out a huge sigh that she was not aware she was holding back. Ferrari was her dream, her dad, the ultimate goal, all that she had ever done in her life was to end up at Ferrari. In her head it was out of the question to go anywhere else. She had always made decisions with her heart. Like her dad. Sure it cost her to miss some nice opportunities in the past but she had never regretted them, because she knew why and where they came from. But her own team, building her own car or at least participating in it? That was another dream of her, one she always thought she would achieve at Ferrari once she would have proven herself. But now Christian was offering everything she was dreaming of on a silver plate. But it wasn’t for Ferrari. That night she didn’t sleep very well.

It was the first thing she told her mom when she woke up the next day and if Lyanna was not already sitting, she would have fallen on the floor.

“Julia… That’s…”

“Unexpected? Incredible? Frightening? Exciting? Weird? Yeah, I know. I’m freaking out.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I… I don’t know…”

“But you are considering it, right?” Lyanna asked.

“I mean… I have to. It’s probably an opportunity that comes once in a lifetime. For someone like me, I mean.”

“You deserve it, Ju’. It’s just weird… Christian never does things out of kindness; he always has a hidden agenda. I don’t say that he doesn’t think you are the right choice and you wouldn’t be able to do it. But you barely have experience, you never proved what you could do with a car that he would be aware of…”

“That’s what I don’t understand. Why me?”

“Don’t you think Ethan could have pleaded your case?”

Julia would be lying if the thought didn’t cross her mind. After all, Ethan once promised to help her get out of her situation in Skoda back then but as he had never really talked about it with her, she thought he had moved on. But maybe she was wrong after all. She hoped he had not intervened. It was bad enough that she was thinking she would get in Ferrari because of her dad. If she were to accept the job in Lamborghini it would be because of her boyfriend. When would she finally have something that she deserves?

“I hope he didn’t…” she confessed.

“I hope so too.” her mom replied.

She would have liked to ask him if only she could get a hold of him. She really had, once again, the feeling he was ignoring her. No matter her texts or calls, they were left unanswered. And she knew he was not very busy, he was laughing in Ludwig's stories. She ended up giving up. She was tired of going after him and to answer him in seconds when he was calling her. It was about time he put on some work in their communications attempts.

It took days before he finally texted her, being unusually elusive when she told him she had something to announce. When she finally was able to reach out to him, it was only for him to tell her that he would probably need to cut short the call as he had a dinner to attend to with Chloe.

“I won’t be long then. I received a weird phone call a few days ago. You wouldn’t happen to know what it was about, right?”

“Why would I?” he replied, defensively.

“I don’t know? Maybe because he's Christian and that he offered me a job in Lamborghini. And not just any job. It’s big, Ethan.”

When she heard the long silence on the other side of the line, she knew he was already aware. She clenched her jaw and tried to contain a sigh.

“I’m going to ask you an answer and I want the truth. Did you or did you not ask Christian to offer me a position?”

“Julia…”

“It’s yes or no.”

“Yes, but…”

“How could you?” she said in a laconic voice. She was not mad at him, in a way she expected it and she didn’t know if it was something good or bad.

“I just wanted to help. I meant it when I said that you were talented and that you were wasting it away back then. I just talked to Christian, asked him to offer you something. I didn’t know it was going to be that type of position, I swear. It’s all you.”

“So you do know everything…Was it the reason why you avoided me lately?”

Another pause but if she closed her eyes it’s almost as if she could picture him trying to find a way out of the situation.

“Partly. I didn’t want to have to lie to you or I didn’t want you to get mad at me if I was telling you that I knew about the proposal. I needed time to think about the situation. And…”

“I’m not mad, Ethan. I just wish you would have told me. I wish you would talk to me more often… I feel you are distancing yourself from me and I don’t know why. What did I do?”

“It’s not you. It’s all me.” he tried to reassure her.

“That’s a very cliche line to use…”

“I heard you on the phone in Buenos Aires. Congratulations Martin. I was on my way to say congrats to your dad and I heard you…”he finally confessed.

“Ethan…. not again.”

“I know! Believe me, I know. It’s just… I can’t help it, okay? He makes you laugh, he makes you smile, he would be the perfect son-in-law. He is every moms’ dream. And me? I ignore you, I know I make you cry, I can be an ass when I want. I’m not perfect and I try to be the best for you because you deserve it, but… no matter how hard I try to change, the old me always comes back. I just want to make you happy but sometimes I wonder if you wouldn’t be happier without me.”

It was her turn now to be completely speechless. She had guessed that sometimes Ethan was doubting himself, that under that pile of arrogance there was an insecure guy that was trying to hide it by showing that he was better than everyone. But by now, she knew him better than that. She knew how hard it was for him to always get compared to his dad, she knew the pressure he was under. Pressured by the media, his team and most of all, himself. He wanted to be remembered for who he was not for who his dad was.

“You make me happy. But lately, I felt so alone in this relationship. I want to be there for you and I want us to talk about these things and find solutions together. But I can’t do that if you don’t talk to me and if you shut me out. I’m trying to work on myself to be more open to you, I know I’m not perfect either, but if I do something that hurts you, I need you to tell me.”

“I’m trying, Julia. I swear I do.”

But he didn’t tell her that he was not trying too hard because deep down, a part of him believed that this relationship wouldn’t work out, no matter how much they would try. And he was fighting this little voice every day. He loved her, why wasn’t it enough. He wanted the first part of the season to be over. He wanted to go home to her, to have her in his arms so he could control the situation. Not having her near was driving him crazy. He hoped that all his doubts and interrogations would be cleared once home. And he hoped that confessing to her would make their relationship stronger.

He ended up hanging up and Julia couldn’t help but have a bitter feeling about the conversation. She could see how the lack of communication was starting to be a major problem but despite how much she wanted it to work, she was starting to get tired of it. How could she feel so close to someone and at the same time so far away? She needed to see him, she needed to feel him. So, in a desperate attempt to try to find a solution she booked an impromptu flight to Canada. She wanted to surprise him and maybe they could have a real and deep talk about the situation.

Her eyes wandered on her desk to find Ethan’s flat keys. She played with them for a while, contemplating the idea of going there to work a little. She needed a little space to think. Think about Christian’s offer, think about her future at Ferrari, think about her relationship, think about herself for once. She packed a bag with a few things and told her mom she would be away for a few days. Seeing how her daughter was conflicted, Lyanna didn’t try to reason with her.

When she arrived, it was cold and dark. She started with opening the shutters and the window and unpacked the groceries she had picked up on the way. She rummaged a little through his cupboards to find them mostly empty. She knew he was barely there and didn’t see the point of making the flat feel homely. She went to his bedroom and went through his drawers. She didn’t know what she was searching for, even if she was searching for something. She just wanted to feel him, somehow. As if his place would give her an indication of what he wanted from her. She went to his bedside and opened the drawer to find a frame. Turning it she almost dropped it. It was a bigger picture and with a higher quality of the picture of her and Louis in the karting competition they had gone to, the very first time they went out with both families.

Looking at it she knew she had made the right decision to follow her heart and to give them a chance. Something beautiful between them was there, under the surface, if they managed to break it she knew deep down that it would become the greatest thing in her life. But they still had a long way to go.

She stayed at his place until the Sunday race, comfortably sitting on the sofa. But unfortunately the race went short for Ethan that had to DNF during the formation lap after his team detected a failure on his engine. Julia didn’t even watch the race, spending the two hours on the phone with him, trying to find the words to console him.

“I want the summer break to be there already. I’m tired, I’m sick of hearing what people are saying. I’m not dumb, I see the look on their faces. They don’t have to say anything, I know they are thinking about my dad. Do you know what I heard a journalist telling someone in the paddock? That Maserati was thinking of not renewing my contract. That’s bullshit but I’m tired of the false rumors and I’m tired of feeling alone. I want someone to have my back for once.”

“I have your back.” she said.

“No offense Julia, but I meant someone that matters.” hearing her silence he was quick to add, “Someone that matters in the sport, I meant. You matter but it’s different.”

“In every season there are ups and downs. You hit a down after a few races but I’m sure you’ll come back stronger after the break.”

“Only two races and then it’s your parents' wedding. I thought about something…”

“Dangerous.”

“Shut up. Kyle is taking Romy to the Maldives, it’s a surprise don’t say anything, that means I don’t have any other plans. Would you like to go somewhere? Anywhere, I don’t care as long as it’s with you.”

“Ethan Verstappen, is that an attempt at romanticism?” she joked.

“Haha. Very funny. What do you think?”

“I think it would do me some good. I think I need it, too.” she confessed.

“Did you think about Lamborghini’s proposal?”

“I did, yes. And I'm just as lost and confused. I don’t know what to do… This job is my dream, this is everything I worked so hard for, all my life. But it’s not for the team I want. It would be like betraying my dad if I was accepting.”

“I’m going to play the devil’s advocate here. Do you think your dad would give you such a position in the next three to five years if you were working there?”

Julia knew the answer. Her dad had always been a firm believer of ‘if you work and prove yourself hard enough, things will go your way’. She knew that she would eventually have the same kind of position in the team, but not as fast as what she could have if she was saying yes to Lamborghini.

“I’m not stupid, I know that I can’t dream of something better than what Christian is offering. I’m not naive.”

“I know your love for Ferrari and I respect it but… close your eyes and imagine that: you, building the fastest car of the grid and me in that car. We could be world champions, Julia. Together. I don’t think Ferrari has what it takes to fight for the title. Not next year and probably not the year after. So yeah, sure you get to work with your dad, but in Lamborghini you would work with the best of the best. You would fit so well. And you would be working on both Maserati and Lambo cars.”

“Sounds like a very good dream.”

“With a very nice paycheck as well.”

“You are messing with my head.”

“At the end of the day, I want you to be somewhere where you feel like your skills are valued. I want to see you thrive. If you think you’ll fit better at Ferrari, I’ll support you. But blue would be a very nice color on you.”

“So, you won’t get mad if I end up choosing my dad. “

“I won’t.”

“Even if it means I’ll get to work closely with Martin?”

“Don’t push it.”

“I’m serious though. If I end up choosing Ferrari, I need to know that you’ll still trust me and that you won’t throw a tantrum every time I’ll be near him. Because it will inevitably happen.”

“Do I hate the idea? Absolutely. Do I trust you with him? I do. But don’t ask me to trust him, I won’t.”

“I can survive knowing you trust me.”

The next week was spent in a blur for Julia. Her mom had to fly to Los Angeles for a few meetings, leaving her in charge of the house, her brother, working on what areas they could try to improve on with her dad and still making arrangements for the wedding. She had so much things going on that she didn’t have time to call Ethan. She was running on her third coffee of the morning after spending a night dreaming on what it would be like to move to England and work in the Lamborghini’s factory with the team, maybe even crossing paths with Kyle or Ludwig at the coffee machine. It had been a really sweet dream, when her dad rang her for their weekly meeting about the car.

They spent the hour talking about the data until Charles caught Julia daydreaming.

“Ju’, are you still with me?”

“Uh? Yeah… Sorry, I was elsewhere. I’m listening.”

Charles stopped sharing his screen and stared at her.

“Did your mom finish driving you crazy with the wedding?”

“Actually, it’s almost done. Most of the things are booked. The venue, the hotel, the orchestra and the catering. Now it’s just details but mom handles most of them. I’ll have the bridesmaids fitting the day after tomorrow.  I can’t wait.”

“So, if it’s not that, what’s wrong?”

Julia bit down on her pencil, trying to find the right way to tell her dad about the opportunity from Lamborghini.

“I… I’ve been approached by a team to work with them.”

“You wouldn’t tell me if you were not seriously considering it.” he said after a pause.

“It’s Lamborghini. And it’s a pretty big contract.”

“Of course it is… Christian when I’ll catch you…” Charles mumbled.

“I didn’t want to hide it from you and risk him saying anything to you and learning it that way.”

“I want you to work with me, Julia. That’s always all I’ve ever wanted. Not only because you are my daughter but because you have the mindset to work for Ferrari. You know the history, you know the challenges, you know the teamspirit. You fit there. I’ve always imagined you next to me on the pitwall.”

“You want me to be a race engineer?” she asked, surprised. She had never thought that it would be something that she could be qualified for.

“I wanted you to work in the engineering department first but always thought that you would be much more useful on that wall. The way you see the races and analyze them… you have what it takes. I wanted you to work on the next car and his upgrades as a junior engineer. For two or three years, just so you can still learn how the factory works and our process. I thought you could participate in the after races debriefs and the setups meetings. And then, when you would be comfortable with all of that, I would have asked you to move to the pitwall. As race engineers. I thought Martin could use your patience and calm, he is a little reckless sometimes. I was going to give you a contract by the end of october, so you could officially start straight away. I’m already negotiating with Skoda to buy back your contract with them. So, now you know. The question is, did Christian offer you better than that?”

It confused Julia even more than she already was. Her, being a race engineer in the future? That was totally different from what she had always imagined. It was a challenge, it would force her to come out of her shell, she would get the attention for sure. She could recognise her dad in this. How he always pushed her hard to go beyond her limits. Christian was offering her stability, something she knew she would thrive in. Her dad was offering her a challenge, something out of her comfort zone. And she didn’t know what to choose.

“Would you hate me, if I wasn’t choosing Ferrari?”

“Of course not. I would be disappointed, of course. But I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to make a decision based on how I would react, Ju’. I want you to think of you. Choose what will make you the happiest. Don’t worry about me.”

She nodded before changing the subject.

“Could you maybe arrange me a paddock pass for Montreal? I want to surprise Ethan… I miss him.”

“You don’t even have to ask. You know I always have one ready for you.”

It’s with a smile that she ended the call, her heart and her mind less heavy. She couldn’t wait to go to Canada even more after the Mexican GP results that had once again been an occasion to celebrate for Ferrari after a beautiful podium for Elijah. Ethan had a nice race managing a nice P6 that gave him a little smile after the last few ones that had taken a toll on him. And Julia couldn’t wait to go to Canada to surprise him. She hoped that they would finally be able to talk things through and to spend some quality time together. That’s all she wanted and all she needed.

Author's note: So Julia decided to go to Canada! How do you think it will go? Will Ethan be happy to see her or mad? And she has a pretty big dilemma ahead... What would you do if you were in her shoes? What do you think will happen next? Let me know your theories, I love to read them.

Don't hesitate to leave a comment or an ask, as well as reblogging and leaving a like. Besides the fact that I absolutely love to read you, it helps a lot for the story to find its audience. I also have a taglist for this story, so if you want to be added so you never miss a chapter, let me know.

Taglist:

@herondalism @aundercover @musingsbyshreya @karmabyfernando @reengard @mycenterfold @smoooothoperator

[httpiastri]

https://www.tumblr.com/httpiastri/750131786833608704/this-took-way-longer-than-expected-but-im

hi again!! pepe’s stream has actually been deleted bc twitch deletes streams after 7 days unless they’re some special twitch streamer (??) i think? but even then, i think those streams also only stay up for about a month or so unless the streamers themselves save it or something but i’m not too sure tbh 😓😓

i’m just grateful that we have the timestamps listed out and stuff so we don’t forget the very special moments in his stream but it is very unfortunate that we can’t just go back and rewatch the whole thing again (actually really heartbroken and upset about this☹️☹️) i have some screenshots of the moments i mentioned and then like some screen recordings of a few moments like his little dance and him cursing and then one of him making some weird sound in reaction to a moment in quali or during the F1A watch along (i forgot which 😭😭) so i’ll probably just be rewatching those over and over again and holding them close to me while i wait for the day where he decided to bless me and stream again (and i PRAY that that day comes soon because ive just started a new school and i miss the little racing filled bubble ive been living in for so long)

anyway i hope you’ve had a lovely weekend so far jackie!! if you ever stumble across one of my posts on tumblr (unlikely, but always possible, because i do sign off with the same emoji) say hi!! if your weekend hasn’t been that good so far then i do hope it gets better and that the week ahead is far more amazing and beautiful than the ones before!!

- 🪷

i had no idea twitch does that?? that's so rude 😠 that's actually such a bad feature shsjdshdj im heartbroken :(

but yes i feel you, let's be thankful that it happened instead of crying because it's gone 💔I MISSED OUT ON SCREEN RECORDING THE DANCE ??? but i have like 20 clips of cute pepe laughter so 🥰🥰 but yes i hope he understands how much we adored that stream and how much we crave another one… 🥲

(a new school? so exciting!! hope you have a lot of fun and make a lot of new friends 😚 but god yes, like my life is 50% racing (in my head) these days but i cant wait for the summer to arrive just because i miss the crazy racing bubble i was in for like three months…. pepe would definitely help out with fixing that rn 🫶)

also just gonna include your next ask here bcs it's the same theme:

you're making me so curious? omg?? now im gonna be searching through all of tumblr just to find a post with your emoji 🥺 i def will say hi if i find you !!!

also omfg. i just realized something…. i have this board on pinterest with pics of random couples & so on that remind me of my fave drivers, and each driver has their own like board in the board. all of them are named with the driver's initials, his number and two emojis, and !! guess what emoji i have for pepe???? ofc it's the freaking lotus flower 😭 idk i just wanted to share this, thanks 😚

hope you have a lovely day/night/morning/anything whenever you see this !!! and hope you have a lovely week <33

[acourtofthought]

I feel like SJM missed an opportunity by not making Az’s mate an illyrian (if his mate is Gwyn). Or at least half illyrian. Not Emerie since their personalities just wouldn’t mesh well together. We really could have gotten deep into the conflict + have a pro-illyrian pov. Because Az is pretty much avoiding all illyrians and I feel like having an illyrian mate (who doesn’t hate that she’s illyrian) would make Az want to get involved.

Tbh the whole illyrian situation pisses me off. Rhys and Cass have “hopes” for their people but don’t see the issue that for centuries said people have been fighting and dying to protect Velaris - a city they didn’t even know existed and can’t set a foot in. And let’s face it… I love Rhys, but he’s protecting Velaris, not the Night Court. The whole idea of him being High King is ridiculous - he’s literally the only High Lord whose court is divided in three and he only gives a fuck about one third of it.

Maybe I’m biased but the only character I can see as a potential High King is Lucien. Especially since his mate is Elain. They’re both strong and will probably grow in power (love your theory about Elain having goddess-like powers btw!!) but they’re much more compassionate than Feysand.

I think you made a lot of excellent points.

It definitely looks as if SJM has made Gwyn and Az very compatible, but I think it would have been meaningful if she had been Illyrian. I appreciate that SJM writes diversity in her main pairings (mating canonically white characters with those that are POC) rather than making both characters of the same race but in Az's case, I think him falling for an Illyrian would have made a lot of sense and it would be nice to have two POC main characters ending up together.

I love that though Lucien originally had prejudices against humans, he ended up living in the Human Lands with human friends which will make him more sensitive to why Elain struggled so much with the loss of her humanity. We've witnessed those prejudices disappear in the way he speaks about Jurian and Vassa.

Az has very strong (negative) emotions about the Illyrians regardless of the fact that his best friend is Illyrian (and the other is half Illyrian). Obviously that's not been enough to change his mentality. But falling for a female who felt a true connection to their culture (I imagine there has to be some female who appreciates it while also acknowledging that changes need to be made) would force him to see things in a way that being mated to a non-Illyrian never will. Even if he makes his peace with the Illyrians, he can always keep one foot in / one foot out with them.

And I do think Rhys would not make sense as High King. It's not that he wouldn't be capable because he actually would. But it's going to take more than a couple of years of Rhys taking off his mask for everyone to believe he is who he says he is. There would still be too many suspicions surrounding him and his court for others to feel comfortable following him.

But Lucien.....

I have no doubt Day would follow him, especially after he and Helion learn of what they are to one another. Spring for sure, especially if Elain has any say in it after her book. Rhys doesn't want the position and Lucien has repeatedly shown he's trustworthy. I think Eris would be a bid in to support Lucien. Not only does he seem to want to make amends over the past but he grew up with Lucien and is aware of how intelligent he is. That leaves Winter, Dawn, and Summer. We don't know what they think of Lucien but we do know he has contacts in all courts and I really don't know of anyone outside Beron (and the sons) and maybe Az who has any real issue with Lucien. Not to mention Lucien will now have strong connections to the Human Lands through Queen Vassa and maaayyyyybe someday King Jurian. He's a fighter when necessary but spent his youth learning the ways of not only his court but others through the friendships he'd made.

If SJM goes the High King route, there really is no other character who is canonically more in a position than Lucien. And if he and Elain end up together, I don't think her ability to "convince people to do anything with a few smiles" is going to hurt the publics perception of the duo.