#What was the water in Abu Dhabi?

[ladyvictory22]

Logic: Yes it was the best moment because the season ended

Delulu:

The best moment was Toto the NIGHT in Abu Dhabi...then Christian when they ask him about THE PHOTO

I have to remember that THE PHOTO was taken at the NIGHT in Abu Dhabi :)))

[theemporium]

[2.6k] following the aftermath of the impromptu vegas wedding, little leclerc and max navigate married life. and charles is still not coping well with the whole situation.

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“Does this mean I get to sit in the Red Bull garage in Abu Dhabi?” 

Charles’ head snapped around, his jaw clenched and his nostrils flaring. And if he wasn’t currently on hold with the fifth lawyer he had contacted in the last hour, you could’ve sworn he would’ve jumped over the bed and smothered you with the pillow you were currently holding to your chest. 

“Don’t give me that look,” you muttered as you rolled your eyes. “Maybe I want a change of scenery. I’m always in the Ferrari garage.”

“You’ve seen the Alpha Tauri and the Alpine garage too,” Charles retorted. 

You shot him a blank look. “That’s because you have Pierre watching over me like a stalker.” 

“No, he’s just being your friend,” your brother tried again. 

“So him barking at the mechanic who was just getting me water had nothing to do with the promise you made him keep?” You countered, watching as a flush of pink spread across Charles’ cheeks. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he scoffed with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“Liar, Pierre told me about the promise,” you mused, watching as his face burned even brighter at your admission. 

As it would turn out, finding a last minute lawyer to completely null and break the marriage was much harder than Charles ever intended it to be. And after he was practically forced to halt his attempts until the race had passed, the high of P2 didn’t seem to thwart your brother’s efforts in completely shattering the connection between you and Max Verstappen. 

He had spent every free and waking moment trying to sort out the mess, including now contacting lawyers back in Monaco to get involved. And yet, the boy seemed to be getting nowhere. 

“Shouldn’t you be focused on the last race of the season instead of this mess anyways?” You continued as your eyes glanced over at the clock on the wall. “We need to leave for the airport soon. I don’t think they are going to hold the jet because you’re phoning divorce lawyers—even if you’re Charles Leclerc.” 

“You seem eager to stay married to him,” Charles grumbled under his breath as he narrowed his eyes at you. “Is there something you’re not telling me? Was this planned? Have you been seeing him for a while now?” 

“Are you hearing yourself right now?” You shook your head, letting out a huff as you pulled the pillow closer to your chest. “How come Yuki isn’t getting as much shit as I am?” 

“Because Yuki is not my sister,” he stated simply, pausing for a moment before he continued. “Plus, Yuki and his partner seem very happily married.” 

You perked up a little. “Wait, you know who he married?” 

“Well no,” Charles admitted, his brows furrowing together. “But he must be, no? He’s been happy ever since the wedding. They must be keeping it private.” 

“Apparently he didn’t even tell Pierre,” you said to your brother, leaning back against the headboard with a sigh. “Maybe he’s embarrassed with who he married.” 

“Can’t be more embarrassing than marrying you—OW!” 

“Don’t say stupid things then,” you snapped back at him with an innocent smile on your face. “You’re just pissed I got married before you.” 

Charles’ glare hardened. “No, I’m pissed because you got married in Vegas of all places.” There was a pause. “And the fact you practically married a stranger!”

“Max is hardly a stranger, you’ve known him since you were like five years old!” You argued back.

“Still a stranger!”

“You are so dramatic,” you commented. “Maman accepted it, why can’t you?”

“Maman is confused,” Charles muttered with a crease between his eyebrows. 

You raised your brows. “Did you say that to her?”

Charles’ face paled a little. “Well no—”

Your grin widened.

Charles blanched. “Don’t you dare!”

You cackled as you reached for your phone. “This is payback for disrespecting me and my husband!” 

...

...

“I don’t understand why I have to be blindfolded.”

“It’s a precaution insisted by Christian.”

“Do all wives have to be blindfolded then?”

“The ones with the former name Leclerc do.”

You pressed your lips together to hide your smile as you wrapped your arms around Max’s bicep, letting him lead you into the Red Bull garage with the black cloth tied over your eyes. You knew you probably didn’t have long until Charles came running to drag you out of the Red Bull garage and back to the red side, so you took up Max’s offer in the meantime. 

You didn’t count on Christian Horner being two steps away from Red Bull’s very own Christian Grey to his garage guests. 

“Does this mean I get to blindfold you when you come to the Ferrari garage?” You asked, your voice lighthearted and your tone teasing. 

“It is one of the scenarios I would let you blindfold me,” Max answered and it took everything in you to not suddenly halt your steps. 

“Max Verstappen, you little flirt,” you said as you let out a disbelieving laugh, hoping the boy hadn’t turned back to look at you when you could feel your face heating up. 

“You’re my wife. Surely I’m allowed to flirt with you now,” the Dutchman retorted, his hands moving to rest over yours as you two finally came to a stop. 

“You’re saying you wouldn’t have flirted with me before?” 

“That feels like a trick question,” Max snorted before his fingers nimbly undid the knot behind your head, letting the blindfold fall away from your eyes as he stood in front of you with an almost smug look on his face. “But I would have flirted with you if I didn’t think your brother would have my balls for it.”

“So you just married me instead,” you retorted with a smile of your own.

“What can I say, I don’t half-ass things,” he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“I should have known you give the vibes of a Vegas wedding kinda guy,” you remarked as you blinked a few times, getting used to the shift in light as you began looking around the garage. It didn’t look too different from the Ferrari garage, but it was still intriguing to witness it all. 

A different team. A different car. A different work ethic. 

After so many years with Ferrari, it felt like being in a foreign country as you stood amongst so much blue.

“What kind of wedding would you have wanted?” 

The question snapped you out of your daze, whirling your head around to look at the Dutchman with a curious expression. You waited to see if a witty remark was going to follow, but he continued to stare at you expectantly and you realised he was genuinely waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “I mean, I know my mother always wanted me to have a fairytale wedding at some pretty venue in a white dress and—”

“I didn’t ask what wedding your mother would have wanted, I asked what wedding you would have wanted,” Max interrupted, and your lips parted a little in surprise. 

“A fun one,” you replied. 

Max’s brows furrowed together. “A fun one?”

“Yes, a fun one. You asked me what wedding I would want and it’s a fun one,” you repeated with a nod of your head, smiling a little at the visible confusion written across his face. “Everybody always talks about weddings being so intense and stressful and that’s just…not me. I don’t care about where it is or what season it’s held in. I would just want to be with the people I love and I want to have a good time.” 

He nodded, his lips pressed together as though he was processing your answer. “Surely the Vegas wedding fits that.”

“It would have if my family and friends were there,” you said, laughing a little. “Despite the dinner invite, Maman will probably string me up for not getting married with her there.”

Max’s eyes widened comically. “Wait, she was serious about that?” 

You snorted. “She’s already sent me the menu.”

“I am actually having dinner with your mother?” Max hissed and, for the first time in your life witnessed with your own eyes, you could have sworn he looked nervous.

“She won’t bite,” you laughed. 

“Oh my god, I am meeting your mother.”

“Well, she does want to meet the man I married.” 

“Oh my god, I am meeting your mother as your husband.”

...

...

“Be honest: would you have made me a bridesmaid at your wedding?” 

You blinked, looking up from the burrito bowl you had managed to grab from Ferrari’s catering before you looked at the blond across from you. 

“Or a bridesman. Whatever you call it,” Logan continued as he looked at you expectantly. 

You stared at the American with a fairly blank expression, though it didn’t seem to do much to his eagerness for you to answer the question. Though, you didn’t know why you were surprised about the whole thing. The last week had been Logan throwing random questions at you, Arthur laughing at your facial expressions and Oscar deeply sighing at the whole interaction. 

“You weren’t even invited to the wedding,” Oscar pointed out, poking about the salad bowl he had. 

“Neither were you,” Logan retorted.

“And thank god for that, Lando showed me the pictures,” Oscar grumbled with his nose scrunched up. “I would have been traumatised for life if I witnessed it with my own two eyes.” 

“Hey,” you frowned, kicking your foot out under the table until you hit his shin. “You know what, I’m suddenly excited not to see either of you during the winter break.”

Oscar snorted. “Sure.” 

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Logan piped up, his attention shifting to you once again. “Would you let me?”

“Depends,” you answered honestly as you leaned back in your seat. “Would you want to do a speech?”

Logan scoffed. “Obviously.”

“Then no,” you replied almost instantly.

The boy gaped at you. “What? Why not?”

“Because I don’t trust you,” you stated simply before you glanced over at Oscar too. “Neither of you, if I’m being honest.”

Oscar’s brows furrowed together. “Woah, what did I do?” 

“Existed,” you grumbled under your breath, only for the Australian to be the one to kick your shin under the table this time. “Ouch!”

“Not so fun, is it?” He grumbled back at you. 

“You didn’t even have a speech at your wedding! Surely no speech is worse than a bad one,” Logan added, far too invested on a speech you doubted he could even write.

“That’s not true. Yuki did a speech,” you told him.

Both boys’ raised their eyebrows. “He did?”

“Probably, seems like something he would do,” you shrugged. 

“Or maybe his partner gave it,” Oscar added. “Whoever that may be.”

“I can’t believe he still won’t tell us,” you said with your lips turned downwards. “In the Red Bull garage, Christian even asked him and he just giggled before running off.” 

“Maybe he’s a private guy.”

“You were in the Red Bull garage?” 

“Your difference in priorities are baffling,” you noted with an amused expression. “Yes, I was in the Red Bull garage. And Yuki being a private person is a load of bullshit. He’s the biggest gossip on the grid, he’s just sneakier than everyone else.”

“Which means he would hide it better,” Oscar pointed out. 

“At least Yuki would let me say a speech at his wedding,” Logan muttered under his breath.

“Would he though?”

“Shut up.” 

“I’m just saying—”

“You know what, I hope Lando scars you with more photos from her wedding,” Logan threatened, staring at the Aussie with narrowed eyes.

“Hey, my wedding photos aren’t that scary!” You frowned.

“The one of Max’s tongue down your throat says otherwise.”

“I am literally trying to eat my salad, can both of you shut up?”

...

...

“So, are we gonna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“Your wedding.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Ha! Sure!”

Max’s brows furrowed together as he lifted his head, only to find the Australian staring at him already. They had both been huddled in his driver room in between meetings and practise sessions, enjoying some peace and quiet before the social media team tried to rope them into some weird activity. However, what Max assumed would be a mostly silent hangout where he could read over some data quickly devolved into the older Australian making little remarks until he finally gave in and put his tablet down.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh nothing,” Daniel said as he gave the boy a casual shrug, though his grin only seemed to widen in response. Max was about to open his mouth, to tell him that was fine before he returned to his work, but the Aussie already began speaking again. “I just think it’s such a funny coincidence that your childhood crush is now your wife.”

Max froze, his cheeks instantly heating up at his words. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“No? The conversation where you told me you had the fattest crush on Charles’ little sister growing up and used to constantly try to impress her on the karting races she visited doesn’t ring a bell?” Daniel continued, feigning innocence despite the fact he could see Max’s face growing pinker by the second.

“I think you have the wrong person,” Max said as he cleared his throat, suddenly finding his tablet interesting once again even though the numbers and words on the screen were practically gibberish to his whirling mind.

“And the conversation where you couldn’t stop talking about how pretty she was when you bumped into her in the paddock on Charles’ first Formula One race?”

“You must have imagined that conversation.”

“What about the time you ignored that famous actor because Lando told you he flirted with her when he visited the Ferrari garage?”

“I have no recognition of that.”

“And the time you—”

“Is there a point to this?” Max suddenly interrupted him, his face feeling as though it was on fire and his heart beating wildly in his chest and the smug look on his friend’s face was doing little to help the feelings bubbling in his stomach. 

“I am just waiting to see when you’re going to admit you masterminded this whole thing,” Daniel said to him, so sure and blunt about the statement.

“I didn’t mastermind anything,” Max said with a frown. “We got drunk and we got married in Vegas. Many people have done it before us. Many people will do it after us too.”

“And the fact she was your first love?” Daniel questioned.

“She was not,” Max scoffed, pausing for a moment before he continued. “And even if she was, I don’t like her like that anymore.”

“Oh, of course,” Daniel snickered under his breath. “So I am assuming you’re rushing to help Charles find a divorce lawyer then?”

Max paused for a few seconds too long. “Yeah, I mean. After the last race, obviously. My focus needs—”

“To be on a race that has no effect on your life other than adding another trophy to your shelf?” Daniel teased. “As if you couldn’t be talking to lawyers on the radio whilst racing with your eyes shut.”

“It’s just not a priority right now,” Max huffed out, clearing his throat a little.

“Uh huh,” Daniel laughed, shaking his head. “You know, usually the first step is a date, not marriage but I am going to respect whatever lil’ mastermind plan you have concocted in your head.”

Max let out a whine, throwing his head back. “I don’t have a plan!”

Daniel raised his brows. “So inviting her to watch the race from the Red Bull garage is just a random act of kindness to the enemy then?”

“She’s my wife, not the enemy. And it’s not random at all.”

Daniel snorted.

“Oh fuck off,” Max grumbled. “This is why you weren’t invited to the wedding in the first place.” 

“Actually, you did—”

“Shut up.”

...

liked by arthur_leclerc, oscarpiastri, landonorris and 261, 738 others

yourusername season over and out🫡gonna go bully charles with the dutch national anthem for three months now

view all 13,547 comments

landonorris that's just evil

yourusername shut up or i will bully you too

landonorris why are you so rude when i am literally your personal photographer

yourusername you still made me pay for dinner

user IS THAT MAX???

user omg not the red bull/ferrari contrast

user i wonder how charles is taking this

arthur_leclerc still badly

oscarpiastri i have been begging for you to wear a mclaren cap all year

yourusername keep begging, loser

user the montagues and capulets could never

logansargeant i'm taking the blue as williams support too

maxverstappen1 keep telling yourself that

yourusername be nice

user HELP THE WAY HE IS PROTECTING THE RED BULL BLUE IN THE COMMENTS

user this is my roman empire

charles_leclerc take this down

yourusername no

charles_leclerc take this down please

yourusername still no

maxverstappen1 too much red

yourusername you said i looked good in red :(

maxverstappen1 i said you looked good in red bull merch, get your facts right

yourusername someone's cranky after all the shots last night

user THEY HAVE JUST ACCEPTED THE MARRIAGE AND BLATANTLY STARTED FLIRTING ON MAIN STOP

charles_leclerc why would you say this

.

[sxcretricciardo]

IN TIME

Daniel Ricciardo x reader

"Danny, you need to come to terms that might be a possibility." You say. You're now almost 9 months pregnant with Daniel's baby. Your due date is next weekend, which is also the weekend of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, the last of Daniel's F1 season. The thought of not having your boyfriend of four years by your side in the most important day of both your lives terrifies you, but you came to terms that might be a strong possibility.

Daniel sighs and says "I know... Just the thought of it makes me nauseous." His eyes are fixed on the road in front of him as he drives.

"If it happens, it's gonna be okay, I promise you." You say, squeezing his free hand in reassurance.

"I just want to be there, that's all." He says.

"I know, love. I don't want anyone but you there too, believe me. But you have a good chance of coming third in the championship and I don't want you to give that away." You say, giving him a soft smile. You know Daniel has been working his ass off this season to be on that podium and it all comes down to this last race.

"Thank you for your support, sweets." He says, giving you a forced smile.

"We're not gonna overthink this, okay? If it happens next weekend, then it happens. If it doesn't, even better. She'll come when she's ready." You say, putting your hand on your belly.

"She's a daddy's girl, I know she'll wait." He says, smiling.

"Okay, yeah." You say and roll your eyes.

He laughs and continue the journey to the nearest McDonald's. Your baby girl has been craving a Big Mac for days now, and since Daniel came home for a couple of days, it's the best opportunity to finally eat one with your boyfriend.

-one week later-

Danny was right. Your due date was yesterday and your baby girl is still warm and cozy inside your belly. Daniel boarded the plane and is now in his way to the house. You are now sitting on the couch waiting for him, your hand is gently rubbing your belly.

You hear the door open and then close. Danny calls out to you and you tell him that you're in the living room. He comes in and sits on the couch right next to you, his head immediately falling gently on your belly, as he hugs you and your unborn daughter.

"Thank you for waiting, princess." He says, kissing your belly. He lifts his head and then kisses you on the lips.

"How are you feeling?" He asks.

"Just feeling a bit discomfort but besides that, I'm okay." You say, your hand going to his hair to massage it. You can only imagine your daughter having the same brown curly hair as Daniel.

After that, you guys have a nice dinner and get ready to go to bed. In the middle of the night, you start feeling some major pain and get up from the bed, trying to not wake up Daniel. You make your way to the kitchen and grab a cup of water.

You breath in heavily, after another wave of pain goes trough your body. Suddenly, you feel a warm rush spreading between your legas. You freeze, realizing that your water just broke. Panic mixes with excitement as you realize that the moment you've been waiting for is finally here.

"Danny?" You shout, so Danny could hear you from the kitchen. When you don't hear any movement or response, you shout again, a little bit louder. You hear a "What? Where are you?"

As you answer him, you hear running from the bedroom. Two seconds later, he's right in front of you, hair messy from the bed and his eyes adjusting to the light.

"What? Are you okay?" He asks, with panic in his voice.

"I think it's time." You say. Danny looks at you, up and down and then sees the water on the floor.

"Okay, okay, don't panic. We got this." He says and walks to you, helping you to the bedroom so you can change into a new pair for panties and pants. He grabs the hospital bags and guides you to the car.

As each contraction grips you, you sink into the passenger seat, clutching the handle tightly. Danny's hand rests on your shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze with every surge of pain. The world outside blurs as he speeds towards the hospital, each bump in the road jolting you further into the reality of labor. Despite the discomfort, there's a sense of unity in the confined space of the car, a shared anticipation of the life-changing moment awaiting you both at the end of this ride.

Stepping trough the hospital doors, a surge of nervous energy courses trough you, mingling with the intensity of each contraction. The familiar scent of antiseptic mixes with the sounds of bustling activity, signaling that our journey to meet our baby girl is entering the final stage. Leaning on Danny for support, you make your way to the labor and delivery unit, each step bringing you closer to the moment you've been waiting for.

After the nurses hook you to the machines and the doctor checks on you, the time seems to stop. Every minute that passes by feels like an eternity, because of the amount of pain you're in.

Danny whispers sweet things in your ear as he holds your hand. You squeeze it tightly as the contractions are getting closer and closer.

"I might break your hand." You joke, as you feel another contraction hitting.

He smiles and says "I love your capacity of making jokes trough something like this."

"It helps with the pain." You say and laugh.

When it's finally time to push, you surrender to the overwhelming power of your body, pushing with all of your strength as you feel your baby inching closer to the world. The room fades away, consumed by the raw intensity of the moment, as you focus all of your energy on bringing your baby into the world. Every fiber of your being strains with effort, yet there's a sense of calm within you. A calm that Danny always made you feel, even trough the hardest times. He's your rock, the calm to your storm, as cheesy it may sound.

Then, in an instant that stretches into eternity, you feel the release as your baby girl emerges, a rush of emotion flooding trough you as you hold your newborn daughter against your chest.

You start to let out tears of joy, as you look in the eyes of your baby. Danny cries into your neck and then kisses your head. When he finally holds her in his arms, he can't stop crying.

"She's beautiful." He says, looking at you. You smile at him.

And now, your family is complete.

-

instagram

danielriciardo We are thrilled to announce the newest addition to our team: Beatrice Grace Ricciardo 🐣🩷 After 8 long hours of labor, our hearts raced with excitement as we welcomed our little champion into the world. yourusername you are such a brave and strong woman, thank you for making me the happiest man alive. I love you 🤍 #borntorace

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landonorris can’t wait to meet my favorite niece 🥹 already bought her so much papaya merch

-> yourusername she’s a Ferrari fan ❤️

-> scuderiaferrari our warmest welcome to our newest and youngest fan!

-> danielriciardo she’s my fan 🥺

maxverstappen1 congratulations 😘

visacashapprb a warm welcome to our youngest team member and congratulations 💗

georgerussell63 the cutest little princess, can’t wait to meet her 😊

[eternally-racing]

blind spot | lando norris (+ logan)

genre: angst (maybe fluff if you squint)

pairing: lando x reader and some logan x reader

wc: 1.7k

warnings: none

summary: at the end of season party, feelings and frustrations seem to spill over for Lando when he spots you with another driver.

----

It’s the post race party in Abu Dhabi and there’s a certain lightness filling the room. No matter whether this was a good season or a bad season for each driver, it was done and that alone was reason enough to celebrate. 

You’re used to spending the races you get to watch in McLaren hospitality thanks to your lifelong friendship with Lando. He says you’re his good luck charm, so even on weekends where you can’t make the travel work out you still find yourself up at ungodly hours in the morning to cheer him on. It’s been nice that being friends with Lando has allowed you to make friends with some of the other guys on the grid, like George and Alex, but you haven’t really put yourself out there at all. You’re here for your best friend, so you make good on your promises to stick next to him all throughout the race weekend. 

Today is an exception though, as Max has dragged Lando up to the DJ booth with him and there’s only so long you can spend right in front of the speakers before you get a headache. He hasn’t noticed your absence but that’s unsurprising to you - the club is the one place where you and Lando seem to really have your differences. He lives for the energy; the big crowds, the loud music, the people, while you’d rather get drunk on a bottle of wine at home while watching an old movie if you had the choice. For a minute, you consider leaving Lando behind to do exactly that, but you can see his smile even from across the room and you would hate to accidentally take that away from him. Instead, you figure if you’re going to be here longer, another drink from the bar wouldn’t hurt. You’re swirling your straw around in your drink while sitting at the bar, feeling the bass pound through your seat as you take in the sights of all the drivers and their friends roaming around. It’s nice to see them all that free, and you don’t notice a familiar duo on the grid creep up on you until you feel a tap on your shoulder. 

“Oh hey Y/N, I wanted to introduce you to Logan, my teammate,” is what Alex says casually to you over the music roaring through the club.  There’s suddenly a dirty-blonde haired boy in front of you with a charming smile, and something about him makes your heart race. He reaches his hand out to greet you and you can feel your cheeks warm up, and you don’t think it’s from the vodka cran that you’re holding onto. 

You and Logan get along like two drops of water as you find yourself settling into a booth with just him for the night. You talk about your families, your favorite tv shows, your deepest hopes and regrets. It’s been a while since you’ve ever connected with someone like this. It’s like when he looks at you he really sees you, which is something you’ve always wished for from someone else. The two of you are in your own world as you’re chatting away, so much to the point that you don’t notice a familiar curly haired boy approach your booth. 

“Time to go Y/N, you’re drunk.” 

Lando leans onto the table with both hands and you can see the way that he’s staring at you that he’s dead serious, the only thing is you’re not sure why.  You offer him a smile as you reply back to him.

“I’m fine with Logan, thank you though.” 

There’s a painfully awkward silence falling over you three. Lando doesn’t accept no for an answer, and he’s already reaching for your wrist to pull you up to him. It starts to frustrate you because you’re nowhere near drunk and Lando knows that too. Drunk Y/N would be dancing up on a table pounding back shots of tequila, definitely not sitting here chatting with a really nice guy. You stop Lando by placing a hand over his and he looks up in shock at your actions. 

“She said she’s good, mate.” Logan interjects firmly from the other side of you, and even you tense up knowing that Lando is not going to like that tone. 

Lando doesn’t even look Logan in the eye and is staring directly at you. You mouth “what are you doing” to him while he keeps staring you down like you’ve committed a crime. 

“You don’t wanna start this Sargeant, I promise you that.” Lando curses, his eyes still never leaving yours.

Lando’s statement has you clenching your jaw and your mind is spinning as you try to interpret it. In the short time you’ve spoken to Logan you’ve learned a lot about him - he was kind, thoughtful, and already felt like an outsider on the grid, so there was absolutely no reason for Lando to be acting like your bodyguard against him right now. 

The pacifist in you just wants this whole interaction to be over, so you go to pick up your purse and give Logan a look that says “sorry, I have no idea what he’s doing” before you stand up to join your best friend. Lando was someone you could never say no to, no matter how hard you tried. 

Logan offers the man a tight lipped smile before bringing his drink to his lips. Your heart hurts knowing that he already struggles with making friends on the grid and you’re sure that spending tonight with him hasn’t helped that at all. Lando’s going to hear it from you, for sure, you’re just hoping you can keep it in until you both get back to the hotel. 

Lando doesn’t spare another glance to you while you’re rummaging through the contents of your purse, and you keep your distance from him too. His jaw is still clenched like it would be after a bad race, only this time you don’t want to reach out to caress his cheek to help him. Lando fucked up tonight, and maybe you did too but the frustration of everything was becoming too much.

It’s when Lando turns back to get the last word in and says “stay away from my girl” do you finally lose it. 

You scoff “your girl?? I wasn’t your girl when you were doing body shots off that girl in the corner 20 minutes ago.” Suddenly you’re breathing heavily as you’re staring back at Lando with an equally angry look. This season has made you feel one thing - you may be Lando’s best friend but you’ll never be his girl, so hearing those words echoed back at you made you see red, knowing that Lando didn’t feel the same way. 

When your voices start to elevate further Logan quietly excuses himself from the situation when he realizes that it’s much bigger than just Lando being pissed at him for talking to you tonight, and neither of you even seem to notice as you’re too busy flinging words at each other. 

There’s a certain fire behind Lando’s eyes and an emotion you can’t quite place. You two have argued of course, but over stupid things like what type of takeout you were gonna get and who would have to take out the garbage. But you’ve never yelled at each other like this. 

“Why are you doing this, Lando?” your voice is laced with exasperation and you still can’t even look him in the eye. 

“It’s for your own good, you don’t get it” 

You mumble under your breath that you can see good or bad for yourself completely fine, something that has Lando rolling his eyes as he tightens his hold on your wrist.

“I”m not the one who doesn’t get it. You think you know everything. But news flash Norris, you don’t” 

You only use Lando’s last name when you’re in a bad mood, and it’s an immediate indicator for the curly haired man that you’re picking a fight. It’s a miracle nobody has noticed the two of you arguing as he’s basically dragging you through the crowds of people on the dance floor like you’re a little kid being put in timeout. Maybe you could never hate Lando, but man do you really dislike him at this moment. 

“I can name anything about you Y/N - favorite color, favorite food, favorite movie, try me.” 

You can tell he’s dead serious as he stops in his tracks and turns back to face you. He’s not moving until you answer his challenge, so you give in to his request begrudgingly with some rapid fire questions. You have to admit that he answers your questions almost expertly - nailing all of them. There’s one question he’s bound to get wrong, and  somehow the words that have been stuck on your tongue for so long finally slip out and hit the curly haired boy in front of you.

“What about the fact that the ENTIRE grid can tell that I’m in love with you and the only person who doesn’t get it is you -  did you know that, Lando?” 

The look on Lando’s face as you say it tells you everything you need to know. Of course he had no idea, he never looked as closely at you as you did to him. He’s stuttering and mumbling his words and you don’t have the patience to listen to him be flustered over this. Or maybe it’s that you don’t want to hear him reject you for real. 

“You don’t need to say anything.” You say firmly “you’ve made it abundantly clear over the last year about how you feel.” Around you the crowd doesn’t seem to pay any attention to your spat and that’s the most reprieve you’ll be able to get out of this situation. 

“I’m leaving, Lando.” you sigh and your voice cracks slightly  “and don’t you dare think of following me” 

It all seems to happen so fast. It’s a long, sad, empty Uber ride back to the hotel as you try to hold in your tears in the backseat. You know you told him no, but a part of you wishes that Lando would’ve fought for you, that he would’ve followed you out into the rain and you both could’ve made up right then and there. But life isn’t a movie, and 

that’s become evidently clear on this drive. 

It’s only once you’re cocooned under your blankets that you have the courage to finally check your phone. There’s only 1 message on your home screen…

And you hate yourself for it, but it’s not from the boy you wanted it to be.

---

author's note: honestly im not 100% happy with this piece and i don't can't exactly pinpoint why, but i wanted to share it with you all anyways in hopes that someone enjoys it! i'll keep working on making even better fics in the future :) Until next time! - Em <3

[everythingne]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ wing damage, chapter one (mv1)

Eldest of the Halliwell girls, Y/n (or Nadine) gets her heart broken by the man she’s supposed to wed in six months. Four years of love slipping down the drain faster than she can try and grasp at the remaining water droplets.

But... not all hope is lost as far as the f1 community is concerned and they might be right, since Max seems to be trying to get a little closer to his team owners eldest daughter.

max verstappen x influencer!halliwell!reader / fc: sophia la corte (and various ginger women on pinterest.)

warnings & notes: cheating, mentions of alcohol, small age gap (24-27), strong language, probably inaccurate f1 information, using a name as a placeholder for y/n bc i’m not typing that every time, dates are off by two days in the beginning. deal.

EDIT: I love nadine too much to scrap her story even tho christians a BITCH, so for all intents and purposes in this fic, congrats! a spice girl now owns oracle red bull racing 😭

(part two!)

“Do you want me to confront him?” Max asks, sitting down next to me in the paddock. His hand comes to squeeze my knee, my father rubbing my back as he deletes every photo—every memory of Jacob Taylor from my phone.

Four years down the drain.

My friends back home at my apartment are currently bagging up his stuff. Both Mona and Ally will move in with me, just like college again, once his stuff is empty. My bare apartment will soon be filled with our old nick nacks but i can hardly be happy about it.

Cheated.

The man who spent 50k on an emerald cut four karat ring with a real gold band, cheated? The man who cried when his mom told him she loved me, cheated? The man who cancelled an entire film set because it conflicted with my schedule, cheated? The man who won over the hearts of not only Geri Horner, but Christian Horner? He was the one who cheated?

Jacob was (strong emphasis on the was) the highest standard I ever held. Now, I didn’t even know what standards to have anymore. Anyone could be a cheater. I never stood a chance.

“It’s fine, Max.” I say softly, wiping at my face again to try and make it look less like I’ve been sobbing since I found out as soon as the plane touched down two days ago. The paddock is buzzing, qualifiers getting ready to start for the first GP. The warm Bahraini sun beats down on the track and I can see the heat wiggling above it. Even in March it’s as hot as summer over here, and part of me misses the gloomy, smoggy streets of London right now.

“It’s not fine!” Max groans at me, throwing his head back in exclamation. I know he’s sick and tired of hearing me say it for the thousandth time, but if I say it’s not fine, I’ll break down. And we can’t have that.

“Max,” GP's voice calls before Max can go on another tirade about killing Jacob. Max turns and I can see the hesitance in him to leave my side. He’s been like this since I met him the first day he raced with Red Bull years back—instantly the two of us clicked. When the days got hard, or his dad got on his back a bit too much, I would appear by his side and with a tiny smile somehow I'd fix everything. After I became his sort of 'chauffeur' when one of our drivers got sick in Abu Dhabi his first year, and we got stuck in an hour of traffic with nothing to do but talk, we became basically glued to each others sides.

I think having my unwavering support made a lot of the transition into Red Bull easier for him. And in moments like these, where he's watching me with a keen eye, I don’t know how I lived so long without his calm presence at my side. I was only a five years old when my Mom bought Red Bull Racing, it’s been my entire life, and every racer who has passed through our team has never stuck to my side like Max Verstappen has.

“Go.” I nudge his knee when I see his hand twitch and hover by his helmet, eyes darting to me and then GP who waits in the doorway, so I supply, “I’ll be here when you get back.”

Max nods, giving me a departing hug before he gets up and starts tugging his racing suit on. Immediately my mother replaces him, turning my head to card his hands through my hair.

“Oh, honey.” Geri coos, squeezing my arms as she lets me lean into her, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t do anything wrong, Mama.” I sigh, leaning into him and letting his wrap his arms tight around me.

“No, I trusted that boy. That’s what I did wrong.” She says back, before handing me back my phone. We sit like that for a long time, people passing us without asking. Everyone knew. I had found out the same way they all did—on social media. Jacob didn’t even have the balls to tell me himself. Fucking coward.

Eventually someone calls my mother away for some celebrity, sp I force myself to sulk off to a hidden corner where I can munch on chocolates and watch Max from a little tv. Not as good as my usual perch next to my Mom, but I don’t need the public seeing me the day I find out my fiancé of several years had been cheating almost the whole time. With his co-star.

Fucking hell.

nadinehalliwell

liked by maxverstappen, danielricciardo, charlesleclerc, and 124k others...

nadinehalliwell: before and after max won

tagged: bbhalliwell

gerihalliwell: love u lots mini ginger spice!!!!

⤷ nadinehalliwell: mama ill cry </3

charlesleclerc: maman says hello and that she will have wine for you when you come to monaco

⤷ arthurleclec: nadine you are very beautiful do not let a man win -- maman

⤷ thenadinehorner: OMGGGG <3<3<3 XOXO MAMAN JE VOUS AIME TELLEMENT

bbhalliwell: bahrain was NOT ready for the halliwell girls !!

maxverstappen: you and your sister together is recipe for disaster

⤷ danielricciardo: bet they're planning ur downfall.

⤷ nadinehalliwell: beware both of u 🔪

I knew returning home to my apartment was going to be hard. I had spent a few days with my mom and Bluebell home in Nottingham.

Being in my mothers had been refreshing enough to start and heal my heart. I also learned that my mom was really fucking good at healing, it involved a lot of wine and a lot of cursing.

My apartment in Monaco had been a home full of happy memories of moving in with Jacob, and our time living together everyday I wasn’t at grand prixs and he wasn’t on set. Memories of our families and friends together with us, and now it would be just me.

So empty. Alone. White walls with no decorations anymore. Just staring at me, closing in slowly.

Opening the door I sucked in a breath of pure agony. My mother's warm hand around my shoulder a soft reminder that even if I felt abandoned, I wasn’t alone. Not by a long shot. And as the door clicks open, my hand finds the lights instinctually, and my eyes widen to dinner plates.

“Welcome home!” a chorus cheers and I laugh, all my of old friends circled around the end of the foyers hallway, wine glasses and soju bottles in hand. I can’t even speak as tears fill my eyes and the girls run to me, waving my mother off. She kisses my hairline, tells me she'll text me when she gets home, and shuts the door as my friends cart me into the kitchen and wipe my tears and fix up my messy hair with giggles.

“Tonight!” One of my friends—eventually I source the drunken giggles to Ally, “we will make you so hot and sexy, he will regret it.”

“And if he comes crawling back!” It’s Mona now.

“We will rip his dick off!” Marija shouts and the girls raise shots to me.

“Guys—what is all of this?” I can’t help but laugh, and then the three look at each other and smile.

“So… you’ve heard of a revenge dress, right?” Ally says slowly, and it all clicks.

nadinehalliwell

liked by maxverstappen, charlesleclerc, christianhorner and 976k others..

nadinehalliwell: ‘little black dress, who you doin it for?’ 🖤

tagged: monanotlisa, allycameragirl, marijaswrld

maxverstappen: Is this that ‘hot girl era’ thing?

⤷ charlesleclerc: i think so.

monanotlisa: absolutely sexy. as per usual.

allycameragirl: FUCKKK UR HOT 🖤🖤

landonorris: one direction???

⤷ nadinehalliwell: ofc you know it’s one direction.

⤷ landonorris: cannot tell if this is a compliment or not but thanks ?

marijaswrld: 🧎‍♀️ < me

[f0point5]

I had the time of my life, with you

Companion piece to the Max Verstappen x bestfriend!reader social media au

✨Set in Abu Dhabi 2021, right before the race✨

A/N: So it turns out setting myself deadlines actually works lol. I still have a love/hate relationship with these pieces. But, I have a special place in my heart for this one because I had the title in my head since like the second week of the smau and I didn’t use it for any other chapter because of that. And also it’s an Easter egg because in the AD bonus part Y/N uses it as a caption for her Instagram post as an Easter egg for Max ;) we love a mastermind. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little ramble.

You thought you knew tension. You thought, growing up like you did, you were more than familiar. The eerie silence, the glazed expressions as your mind tries to protect you from close the chaos is, the pit in your stomach, that heaviness of breath, that feeling of cold that goes down to your bones no matter the weather.

Fucking hell, were you wrong.

You’ve never known tension like this.

The garage is thrumming with energy. Everyone is going about their business quicker, deeper, quieter, than it seems like they ever have. The grandstands are filling up, music blasting over the speakers. There’s a palpable electricity in the air. You’ve been shivering all day, unable to get warm enough even in a jacket in the desert heat.

You wrap your arms around yourself as you wind through along the narrow corridors behind the garage to the small room that Max has been hiding in. For the first time in a while, you knock instead of going straight it.

You’ve barely seen him all day, he’s been pulled this way and that for a hundred interviews and briefings, ducking the Netflix crews who’ve never been so sycophantic. They made him a villain, and now they lurk like there’s blood in the water in case he becomes the hero. Selfishly, you’ve missed him, and when you’d said as much to Christian, he’d just nodded to the back of the garage.

“He’s taking a couple of minutes to himself,” Christian had said, fixing his gaze on you. “But you should go and see him,”

So you had. And as you heard a gentle “Come in,” over the noise of drills and loud dance music and stepped inside, you realised why.

This was tension, you thought as your eyes fell on Max. He was on the small couch, hunched over, elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped together almost as if he were praying. It’s like you can see every muscle in his body pulled taut under his fireproofs. He doesn’t even raise his head when you come in, but you suppose he glances at your shoes to know it’s you.

You close the door behind you, leaning against it. You’re not sure why, but it feels like you’ll bother him less from over here.

“Hey, champ,” you say, mustering a smile in case he looks at you. He doesn’t, at first. His eyes stay on the ground, and then, painfully slowly, his head lifts.

His eyes are still your favourite colour, his hair is still a bit too long, he’s still unshaven because he couldn’t be bothered even though he might be looking at pictures of this night for the rest of his life. He’s still Max.

“It’s a bit early for that,” he says, his half smile as delicate as yours. Yeah, still Max.

“Respectfully, I disagree,” you tell him crossing your arms over your chest as he looks up at you. “Since I can remember you’ve wanted to be a champion, and since I can remember, I knew you would be. That nickname is twenty years in the making,”

His eyes drop to his hands again and your heart drops with them. You’re trying so hard to say the right thing, but it was arrogant to think you ever had a chance. What experience in your frivolous existence would help you know what to say at a time like this. You wonder if you should just leave him to it as you fold your bottom lip between your teeth to chew at it as another shiver wracks your body.

“Twenty years,” Max says quietly, making you look over at him again. “It’s a long time,”

“Yeah, it is,” you reply, nodding even though he’s not looking at you. You edge closer to him, and when he doesn’t react, you take a seat beside him. Not as close as every cell in your body tells you you need to be, but as close as you feel like he’d want right now.

“You don’t understand,” he says with a sigh.

You don’t respond, because you know you don’t. You’ve never committed to anything, loved anything, lived for anything, like this. This dream of his has outlived marriages, outlasted memories, predated a friendship that feels like it has been going on forever. It’s the only thing Max has ever wanted. You’ll never be able to understand, because no matter how much you love him, he loved racing first.

“Tell me what to say, Max,” you almost beg as you reach towards him. You can’t even hold his hand, so you just place yours on his wrist, fingertips resting against his skin at the edge of his sleeve.

You glance over at him, naively hoping he will look over at you and tell you what he needs from you. Because you’d do anything.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he just says, “I’m sorry,” in a small voice the brings a lump to your throat.

You shake your head. “Don’t be. I know I don’t understand. No one can. Not me, not Christian, not Stan, not even your dad. You’ve outclassed your whole support system here,” you say this last part with a laugh, but it’s true. He’s alone now more than ever, he’ll stand on that top step alone, too. “We’re all so proud of you, you know,”

“I know,” he mutters, and it kind of breaks you how dismissive he is, even if you know why.

“Do you?” You ask him, leaning a little closer to him, but he doesn’t react.

He just continues staring at his hands as he untangles them, his left fingers curling backwards until they brush over your hand on his wrist, and you hastily slot your fingers into his as he lets out a heavy breath.

“Yeah.” He says, sounding more resolute this time.

“And you know that we’ll be proud of you, even if-“ you can’t even bring yourself to say it. “We’ll be proud of you regardless.”

“I know,” he says, “but it’s not enough,”

Despite yourself, you let out a frustrated sigh. “Max, I know that it’s not a trophy, but-“

“No,” he says, squeezing your hand to silence you. “It’s not that. I mean that it’s not enough, to come second.”

You grip his hand tighter as he lets out a laboured breath, his head lifting so he can stare straight ahead where the Dutch flag is pinned to the wall.

“We didn’t do all this to come second.” His voice is low and reverent. “My mum, Vic, I took so much from them. My dad gave up his whole life for this. You put your life on hold for this. It can’t all be for nothing,”

He’s never really said it, but you know what he means - this win is owed. He owes his mother a marriage, his sister a father, and his father a career. And none of that is in his gift, but if he can weigh a championship against all that sacrifice, then maybe he will be forgiven. Maybe for the first time in a long time, he’ll race with a clean slate. Without wondering whether he was worth the life he cost those around him, and the life he cost himself. And you want that for him. God, you want that more than anything.

You reach for him before you can stop yourself. Space be damned. You cup his cheek in your free hand and force him to look at you.

“Max, It won’t be for nothing.” You promise him, your nails pressing gently into his skin as if you’re trying to hold onto him. Like he might float away. “Not to me. Not to anyone who loves you. Even if you don’t win today, even if you never do, even if you shunt on the first lap. I had the time of my life with you this year. Being there for you will never have been for nothing,”

He wants to believe you, you can see it. But even if he believes that you all think that, he doesn’t think that. How do you tell him it’s worth it, when you both know there’s only one way for him to prove it?

“Do you want me to drive?”

Your question catches him off guard so much as that he snorts his laughter. You feel the air against your face as he falls back against the couch.

“I’m serious,” you say, grinning as you watch him. “I’ll put on the suit and the helmet and do the race for you, like Mulan. I did the track walk, I know where I’m going. Vaguely, anyway ,”

You’re making a meal of this mediocre joke, but you’ll do anything you can to keep him as carefree as he looks right now. With his head thrown back and the colour returning to his cheeks as his shoulders shake.

“Engel,” he says, his head lolling in your direction, “You really think you have a better chance of winning than me?”

You reach over to move a stray strand of hair away from his forehead, and his eyes follow your fingers.

“No, I don’t,” you say, letting your hand slide through his hair to rest on his jaw. “Because you, Max Emilian Verstappen, know how to win races better than anyone.”

Your thumb brushed across his stubbled cheek and he leans into it instinctively, just like the cats. The smile you give him feels more like one you remember, and the ones he returns reaches his bright eyes.

“Alright,” he says with a shrug.

He gets to his feet in one smooth movement, pulling you with him towards the door by your entwined hands that you’d quite forgotten about. He must have, too, because when he notices he squeezes your hand to get you to look up at him. When you do, your breath catches in your throat, and for the first time all day, you feel warm.

“I better go and win, then,” he says lightly, pulling the door open.

No one will you believe you, but you know then that you’ll be looking up at him on that podium tonight, when he’ll be a world champion.

“You will.”

Tag list

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[rosegasly]

Lavender Haze.

⇢ summary: “I like your stupid face. It’s so stupid. It’s so… I like it. Can I touch it?”  ⇢ genre: tipsy & risqué  ⇢ pairing: max verstappen x best friend reader ⇢ a/n: taylor inspires all my titles i'm a basic bitch like that

You should know by now that you are terrible with alcohol after one too many puking sessions and horrible hangovers. Still, when Max—your reigning best friend, now world champion—crossed the checkered flag in Abu Dhabi, there was no other way the night was going to end. 

 Feeling the burn of bile creep up your throat again, you push forward on your knees, clutching the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl with all your might as you throw up what feels like days worth of food. 

 The cool touch of said best friend’s hand rubbing soothing circles across your back is as much a relief against your scorching hot skin as a knife moulded with thick, unadulterated guilt that is digging into the gaps of your rib the longer you are awake and thinking. His other hand busy holding your hair back over your head. While your thoughts aren’t entirely coherent, the fact that you are ruining what is probably Max’s best night yet isn’t exactly lost on you either. 

Tears sting your eyes as your stomach finally settles, only a hollow sinking feeling where there was once turbulence, and you can’t decipher if it’s the lack of food or the drunk realisation of what a shitty friend you make at the moment. 

 “i am sorry,” the apology comes out meek, liquid pooling into your eyes and blurring your vision. 

 “Schatje,” his voice is every bit the affection, love and exasperation that you don’t deserve and you tuck your face away between the protective curl of your arms over the toilet bowl. If you were a little less drunk, maybe you’d be disgusted, but all you want to do right now is hide away so you can’t see the forgiveness swimming in his gaze. 

 “You trying to hide the running mascara? Come on, you know you can do worse,” Max teases and the sound coming out of you is equal parts sob and snort. 

 Strong arms curl across your chest, resting slightly above your breasts and your heart goes into overdrive as you sit there torn between feeling grounded by his presence and your stupid crush rearing its head again to mess with you. “You gonna come out of the toilet bowl anytime soon?” 

 His breath tickles the shell of your ear as his chin finds home on the curve where your neck meets your shoulder and you can’t hold back the shiver that races through you at the warm sensation. 

 With a firm tug he pulls you back, your head lolling to the side of his chest and burying itself in his warmth and safety. 

 “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

 Another steady pull and he has you on your feet, guiding you to the sink nearby. The angle of your neck turns awkward as you wrap your arms around his waist, face still nuzzled against his signature white tee secured tight between the clench of your fingers. 

 Touch as gentle as it can be, he holds your chin, tilting your face towards the basin and you wordlessly turn the tap on. You are half tempted to drink the water but stop yourself from following through on that urge, gargling and washing the acidity from your mouth instead. 

 The angel of a man you blessedly call your best friend drags your ass out, giving you bottled water which you finally gulp down like the parched woman you are. Sated and no longer reeking of bile, you nuzzle back into Max’s chest, half-formed apologies spilling from you in an endless stream. 

 He keeps quiet, allowing you time to let things off your chest. After years of being there through the others most vulnerable, he knows you better than he does himself and as much as the sight of your pink, blotchy cheeks and drunken apologies makes his chest tight, he realises how much you need it. The weight of unsaid words always weighs heavy on your shoulders, and he has never cut you off when you open up. Instead, choosing to console and talk through those thoughts after. 

 What seems like hours, but is probably only minutes later you finally bring yourself to move away from his chest, the death grip you had on his shirt loosening enough to allow you to look up. 

 In the club’s dim lighting, out of focus, eye to eye, crystal blue spilling into the dark of your eyes, your grip on reality slips a little more. 

 “I like your stupid face. It’s so stupid. It’s so… I like it. Can I touch it?”

 Dark lashes shutter your view of the endless blue as Max blinks, a little taken aback before a smile breaks out. Rosey lips and pinker cheeks and the faint dusting of freckles over the bridge of his nose and high of his cheeks. It’s him. With every breath, you breathe him. Amidst all the cigarette smoke and stale of old carpet under your foot and the sweat in the air; all you register now is him. Max. Your best friend. The one person you would give up everything for, knowing he would do the same. 

 “Go ahead. Touch me.” You can’t tell if his voice has gone lower, deeper, or if you have just pressed yourself too close to him. The vibrations from his chest travelling to you through yours from where they are against each other, not a hair’s breadth of space in between as you near. The lines between close and too close blurring in your inebriated state of mind. 

 The last thing you see before your eyes fall shut is the blue of his. Cerulean and crystal, the faintest blue in the light, edges coloured a dark green in the shadows and its endless. Their depth, his gaze, the twin pounding of both your hearts, the heavy breaths and the sweat from the humid club over your skins. 

 His lips are every bit as soft as you had imagined them to be. Sweet like your most beloved candy, light as a feather as they brush against you. Hesitant, then sure. Worried for what could be lost but realising what could be gained. Gentle, then a little more forceful as your back slams against the wall and you groan. 

 It’s relief. It’s desperation. The way you have starved to touch him, have him feel you. Breathe in his exhales; let them become one in you to make them yours. Kissing him to mark him yours, having him in your arms and knowing you could never let go. 

 He grinds into you and it’s dirty and messy, more the high of your hip bones and the thick of his jeans than anything else, but his fingers still dig into the curve of your waist almost painfully. His ragged breath making you shiver when his nose grazes your skin and you hear more so than feel him inhale your scent. 

 He bites your lip and licks it better. You tug his hair, then caress his face. 

 It’s sexual and innocent and when its finally too much and you can no longer hold your collective breaths, you smile instead. Your lips curled into a smile over his grin and it’s suddenly okay. Everything the night has been and every sleepless night that you two have spent tormented over unreciprocated feelings leading up to it. 

[leclsrc]

reciprocate ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, pwp, very very filthy, fem!reader

word count: 4.5k

You have trouble maintaining your vow of Max celibacy when you’re on vacation together. (part 1 here)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because… sexual tension like tons, dirty talk, masturbating, descriptions of sex, kissing, SEXUAL TENSION.

hope you like it everyone! :) req’d and i was gonna make this a drabble, but it kinda grew. kind of gives way for a part 3, so lmk if u would wanna read thaaat...?

You’re bored more than several times over the dry, chilly stretch of winter break.

With not much to do, you’ve taken to traveling before you settle back into reporting on what different teams are doing to prepare for March. It’s all car prep, helmet design, new advancements, some drama on budget breaches. But that all comes in the condensed end of February, so now you’re wandering around, aimless.

The invite comes after Christmas and before New Year’s. It’s also last minute, and you would’ve normally rejected it, but Lissie had managed to convince you despite yourself, so you text Daniel a thumbs-up, greenlighting his proposition to jet off to Monaco.

“I’m starting to think I should’ve just said no,” you mutter, dumping a bundle of clothes into your suitcase. Across you, equally busy, Lissie scoffs. 

She looks up from where she’s busy folding something, then, “In what universe would anybody want to pass up on a free Monaco trip where we can spend the entire week drinking our body weight in cocktails and swimming it off?”

You laugh, nodding in semi-agreement. It’s not Monaco, you want to tell her. It’s because everybody’s going, even Max. “You’re right,” you say instead, making a show of being excited. 

It didn’t seem the slighest bit sane to be going on a non-work trip where Max was going to be around. Your first tryst, barely a month ago, before the grand prix in Abu Dhabi, had given way to three days straight of retiring to his room, foregoing afterparties, and then, after deciding to go to one, sneaking back off and fucking in his room after just an hour of dancing.

Max is just as insatiable as you are, and it scares you—because it took every ounce of resistance from you to sit him down and affirm the statement that the constant sex was a bad idea. Outside of his room, outside his bed, you two still maintained the same caustic relationship, but the sex became like clockwork, and you could tell it wasn’t the best idea.

“We need to stop the sex,” you’d said, setting it down firmly. “It’s—it’s getting in the way of work.” 

“It really isn’t. You still have no problem calling me out after races and then getting fucked less than an hour later,” he said.

“I’m serious, it is. And if not now, it will.”

He’d shrugged. “Fine.”

“It’ll be easy,” you’d said sharply. “For me, at least.”

It feels like cosmic karma, then, when you’re told by Lissie that Max’s room is beside yours.

—

Almost funnily, Max’s is the first face you see after you’ve settled in your hotel room. You see him first, and then notice he’s joined by Daniel and Lando, at the bar near the beach where everyone else in your little group is hanging out. You make eye contact that you tear away from instantly, willing yourself to ignore him.

Daniel notices you first when you show up to order yourself a drink. “Swam yet?”

“Nope,” you say. “Think I’ll join the girls and tan today.”

“Just glad you finally accepted the invite,” Daniel comments. “Lissie told me you almost bailed for some weird reason.”

Your eyes dart over to Max, who’s drinking whiskey. He’s already looking at you, gaze cutting. You clear your throat and look away. “I thought it wouldn’t be the best idea, but I’m about three drinks away from loving it here.”

The small talk continues, and you even get your drink, but eventually Daniel and Lando are too enticed by the sunset water, running off and yanking their shirts off on the way. You shuffle nervously on the barstool, just two seats apart from Max.

“You’re here the whole week?” He asks, not looking at you. 

“I am,” you say, leveling his tone of nonchalance.

He makes a noise of petty disapproval, leaning back. From where you sit, you get fleeting glimpses of how he looks, and it isn’t helping your vow of celibacy. He’s big, which, while you knew this, still sends a throb of arousal through you. The tight tee he wears does nothing to hide what’s underneath, and his arms give you the impression that he could just throw you onto a bed or slam you against a wall like it’s nothing.

(Two things you could personally attest to, but that’s besides the point.) You’ve only just begun to get used to not having sex with him, but you’re starting to think you should get on the next flight off, because the thoughts creeping into your head of his hands, his tongue—

A cry of your name grabs your attention, and you blink, turning your head. Farther up the beach, Lissie and Lily are waving their hands around, calling you. “Let’s swim!” Lissie orders. “Now!”

“Bit busy there, were you?” Max asks, smirking. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, downing the rest of your cocktail and jogging over to your friends. Absently, you hear him chirp another teasing remark behind you—hope you drown. The abrasive remark lets the remainder of your scandalous thoughts filter out for the time being. You’re positive, though, that they won’t be gone for the whole two weeks.

You stop in front of Lissie to undo the clip in your hair when Lily asks nonchalantly: “Why’s Max staring at your ass?”

“Lil, oh m—” You swat her playfully. “Don’t just say things like that!”

“Sorry! Jesus. It was a serious inquiry. Guy’s eyes are glued. Don’t you hate each other?”

You resist the urge to turn around and maybe get in a dig of your own, but clear your throat and shrug. “You’re hallucinating. I’m sure he’ll have some random girl in his hotel room later tonight, anyway.”

You don’t miss the way Lily’s face is still etched with lack of conviction, but you tug her toward the beach anyway, splashing around and playing frisbee with the Daniel, Charles, and Lando. At some point, talk of clubbing arises through the six of you, and at Lando’s insistence, you all agree to meet up somewhere to get hammered later. A warm Monegasque welcome, Charles had dubbed it. 

A sluice of nerves slide across you when you hear Charles relay the idea to Max, and the latter reply with a fuck yes count me in. 

You learn a few short hours later that Monaco lives up to its predestined reputation as a nightlife beast, greeting you with vigor and sophistication. You’d been here before, but mostly for work—the immense drinking, dancing, and occasional drug is still a novel experience. Evidently, though, the drivers have little trouble settling into it, accepting and ordering shots and extravagant bottles like they’re nothing.

You’re off work, you figure, and you have no concrete responsibilites tied you as of the moment, so why not join in? 

Lissie is drunkenly slurring something into your ear, about how some guy is flirting with her but he’s a 6 at best and maybe I should just make out with him to make him feel better hey wait maybe he’s an 8 actually no 9, maybe 9.5 max—no he’s a 10 I’m fucking him bye, and Lily is pissed, likely being taken care of by Alex.

Charles had upheld a promise to remain sober, but said nothing of bringing a girl home, which he’d successfully pulled off just twenty minutes ago. Lando’s obviously busy spinning the tunes at the DJ booth behind you, howling with excitement every time he plays something he likes. Which, you realize, leaves you with Daniel.

You fix the hem of your tiny dress, throwing back another shot. Your tolerance doesn’t allow for alcohol to permeate fast; it goes slowly, and never results in too much of a headache, thank the Lord. You’re pleasantly buzzed, but you want more courage, more gravitas. A timely wish, considering you haven’t quite learned how much of a party monster Daniel is.

He leans in closer. “I bet you three shots of vodka you’re not kissing someone tonight.”

“I’ll take the opposing side,” you say, laughing. “Nobody here is doing it for me.”

“A gentleman’s agreement!” He hollers, waving a passing waiter over and ordering shots for people to share.

Although you’re in a roped off area of the club, there are still people walking around and crowding the area, including a girl who’s seated on Daniel’s lap. She whispers something mumbled and low into his ear, and you roll your eyes at his equally flirty response, pinching her thigh and kissing her neck. 

He turns back to you after, like it’s a casual conversation. “How can nobody ‘do it for you’ in a Monaco nightclub, man?”

There’s a question you can answer, but woefully won’t. You change the subject instead, cupping two shots. “How about you and I just do three shots each?”

“Make it four,” he says challengingly. “And take a hit.”

“Already did, Danny,” you refute. You’d smoked half a joint before drinking anything, not wanting to get too caught up in the crossfade. You’re half sure somebody in the group took molly, but your mouth is zipped all the same. “Come on, four shots.”

“Up, up,” he pauses, thinking. “Two shots of Patron vodka—and two of Clase Azul.”

Agreeing, you search for the liquor on the lit-up table, throwing the vodka back with relative ease and then standing up to do the last two. You stumble when you place the glasses back on the table, shaking hands with Daniel and moving about to shake off the alcoholic taste in your mouth.

You pass by Lando, and he flips you off from his place at the DJ booth, but eventually you meander your way to the bar instead, wedging yourself into an empty alcove that only houses a storage room door. It’s quieter, and here you can start to feel the alcohol in your system. You lean back against the wall, and just as you wished, a guy eventually approaches you.

He’s cute(ish), tall(ish), and charming(ish), and even in your hazy mind he registers as passable and definitely way too drunk and overconfident to be approaching somebody as hot as you. His arm wraps around you, toys with the flimsy strap of the minidress you’d worn today. His accent is clearly touristy and American when he asks, “What, bored tonight?”

“Little bit,” you say lowly, leaning back and letting your lips curl up into a smile. “Nothing is really exciting.”

He hums drunkenly. “I could be exciting. Show you something exciting.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you say, playing into him. “Tell me more.”

“I could tell you lots of things in my hotel room.” He smiles. “Don’t you want to have fun?”

“She’s had plenty, mate,” a voice unmistakably Dutch says, and pride wells up in you for having had your plan succeed so beautifully. You blink, reaching an arm out to gently push the guy out of the way—and meet eyes with the one behind him. Taller, broader, and evidently more sober than either of you, Max looks pissed (more than usual, at least.) “Piss off.”

“Christ, had I known she had a boyfriend, I wouldn’t’ve approached, man. Let’s all be calm.”

Max waves him off dismissively and approaches you, a glint of concern shadowing the irritance in his eyes. “This some kind of plan of yours?”

The alcohol has begun to rush through you. You’re hot, flushed all over, thinking of all the times you’d been in this position, purposely testing Max’s limits so he could test yours, albeit differently.  

“Dunno what you mean,” you say. Your gaze slips downward, to the big, rough hand wrapped around the glass of whiskey. You want them on you. Then they meet his again.

“Sure,” he says, unconvinced. “You’re having a lot of fun prancing around like you’ve no responsibilities.”

“Lighten up,” you insist boredly. “It’s called a vacation. It’s for letting loose.”

“Are you letting loose enough?” He asks, suggestive.

“Max.” You lean forward, and the movement lets him see more of your chest, or what your dress allows. He coughs. 

“No.” But despite himself, he’s leaning downward, too, his gaze stuck on your lips. “You told me yourself. It gets in the way of work.”

“This isn’t work,” you say, nerves hammering through you.

“Been looking after you all night, it might as well be.” His voice is cold and serious. He steps forward, effectively caging you against the wall with how bulky his frame is. “You need to be careful. I had to pry that asshole off of you.”

“What if…” You trail off, tilting your head back so you’re making searing, unbreaking eye contact. “That’s exactly what I wanted?”

You’re both frozen in place, staring up at him with the kind of coy you only get when you’re tipsy like this. Wide eyed, lip bitten, and dress riding up—this is exactly how Max likes you. Ready for him to wreck. One jerk of his knee in between your legs and you’re his. He considers other options: a light grip around your neck, or even just a hand on your waist would render you weak, too.

“You test me too much, Y/L/N.” You feel hazy from the way he says your name, in the way he always does—formal, professional, like you’re in the paddock interviewing him again. You can feel yourself growing wet. 

But you’d gotten yourself into this mess. You wore this dress, took those shots, let that guy flirt with you in hopes that Max would come over and give you his time of day. Deny as you might, you know deep down this is exactly what you were waiting for. You press a palm to his stomach, feeling the hard surface there, fisting it in his shirt. 

He grunts, lets his hand cover yours. “Schatz,” he says, guttural.

He lets your lips meet, but when you lean in for a proper kiss, he stands back up to his full height. One look in your eyes lets him realize you’re sufficiently sober, and he turns and walks away.

—

A volleyball hits your shoulder for the third time today.

Prior to that, it’d hit your forehead twice, putting an effective end to your beach volleyball winning streak. Beside you, Lando lets out a strangled cry of defeat.

“The volleyball legend is tapping out!” Daniel hoots from a nearby lawn chair, mimicking the racing commentators you’re all familiar with. 

“Piss off,” you say. “I’m off my game, too tired.”

You wave a dismissive hand to Lily and Alex and they flash thumbs up signs. You squeeze a bottle of water into your mouth, needing release from the thoughts plaguing your mind. The events of two nights ago weigh terribly heavy, annoyingly so, on your mind. 

Not Max himself, you argue. His voice. His touch. They’re so irresistible to you. The way he’d grunted out the pet name he reserved for sex, the way his hand was so much rougher, bigger than yours.

Absently, you wonder, if he hadn’t stopped it—what would’ve happened then? He must’ve been resisting his strongest demons to put an end to the flirting like that. Any other time, you think, it would’ve gone differently.

He’d crowd you against the wall, press hot, whiskey-flavored kisses to your neck. He’d drop his glass, uncaring if it shattered; he could pay for fifty of those and then some. You picture his big hands roughly feeling you up, pressing against your panties, asking if you wore them just for him. Mumbling about wanting to taste you, get on his knees and have your pussy right here, for his tongue only. You picture his fingers, nimble, yanking away the lace and pushing into your cunt, kissing your jaw, moving, moving, until you’re fully in an open-mouthed kiss, messy and dirty, just how he likes you. He’d say something mean. Do you enjoy being a slut, letting all these people watch me take care of you? You’d nod. It’s true, you do, humping his fingers and chasing release. You picture his dick, hard and thick, big like the rest of him, pressed against your bare thigh, and—

“Your gelato!” Lissie hollers crankily, waving a cone of coffee ice cream in front of you that’s begun to melt and stick to her fingers.

“Thinking of sum’in, mate?” Lando’s amused, sunglasses-clad face comes into view.

You flip him off and apologize to Lissie, attempting to enjoy your ice cream before you descend into a state of craziness. The beach day passes with additional moments of blank stares, though none to a worrying degree. Most of your friends chalk it up to you waking up late or spacing out thinking of work, thankfully. 

But, at least, you think. At least this just proves that you and Max can stick to your vow of celibacy. Right?

—

Max is never usually one to eavesdrop, but when he learned from Lily earlier in the week that your room was adjacent to his, he couldn’t help but become more conscious of it. Two days of silence, the occasional TV noise, and some stumbling provide nothing, so he’s since stopped paying attention. Between you two, you’re the one always out on the shore anyway, so there’s nothing much for him to listen to.

Tonight is different.

You don’t usually make noise—and he’s generally speaking here. You’re not a loud person. Even with the aid of a mic, your voice is composed, on the edge of quiet, during paddock reports. So why can he hear you so clearly now? The walls are a bit thin, sure, but something else contributes to it.

Something else, like maybe you’re doing all this on purpose.

The shuffling on the other side of the wall grows louder, then he hears your faint, breathy whimpers. He pauses, sitting a bit more upright on his bed, curiosity piqued, anticipates something else. Your whimpers grow louder, passing through the walls with relative ease. 

He could totally tune this out, maybe put on a movie, hell, leave the room for a late night walk or a drink somewhere.

But he’s rooted to his spot, listening intently, wanting to hear more of you. He hears it then, so breathy at first he almost doesn’t. Max.

Your moan. He blinks, feeling himself grow hard. Maybe he didn’t hear it right, but then he hears it again: Oh, Max. Please. Wanna, wanna— 

He palms at his dick through his sweats, swearing under his breath. You sound exactly like you do when you’re underneath him, two lithe hands wrapped around his wrist, begging for release, for his tongue, for his fingers. You’d been so sure, so high and mighty when you sat him down and demanded the sex stop, but here you are fucking yourself on your fingers, moaning his name.

Barely even ashamed, he tugs his dick out, already drooling with precum. He uses it to ease the glide of jerking off. Max, you say again, louder this time, higher. He remembers your conversation clearly, your solemn voice when you told him you couldn’t ever have sex again with the way it interfered with your jobs. The way you slid in a snide remark about how it’d be an easy challenge for you.

He can’t help but be amused, fucking his fist and listening to your moans, growing in volume as you near your climax. He wants to ask if your fingers are as good as his, as his tongue, his cock. He knows you’ll say yes but think the opposite. You’ve always grown so weak around him.

Gonna cum, he hears again. 

He pictures you writhing on your bed, eyes rolling back, fist half-bitten to try and silence yourself. Your thighs are probably shaking, brows knitted together, tongue lolling out—he jerks himself faster, panting, chest sweaty. It’s your last, loud moans that send him over the edge. 

I’m cumming, Maxie, fuck—! He swears under his breath, cum spurting out all over his fist. He catches his breath, pursing his lips, squeezing his eyes shut. Tries to purge himself of his thoughts of how you might look right now and retreats into his bathroom.

It doesn’t work.

—

Lando personal phone 30s ago

Lissie wants her own bacardi and could you get doritos too x

And a box of condoms pls mate xx

“One more Bacardi and a bag of Doritos,” you dictate boredly. Who knew a high profile, all expenses paid vacation in one of the richest countries in the world would still entail the mandatory grocery run? “…And condoms.”

Max turns from where he’d retrieved the rum, a brow raised in question. “Sorry?”

“Lando, not me,” you defend, holding two hands up. You two had been the unlucky pair who drew short straws and were thus stuck with a long list of niche items in an empty convenience store not far from your hotel. Outside, the sun’s already gone, leaving behind traces of orange in an otherwise dark sky. The group had decided to stay nearby and drink instead of going out tonight, since you’d all been at a club basically every other night anyway.

You review each of your baskets. “Seems like this is all,” you conclude, “except the condoms, which we’ll get at the counter.”

“Did Lando specify a… brand?” Max asks, pacing to the cashier. There are already some on display, with varying features and sizes. 

You recheck your phone. “Nope. Just get anything.”

“Alright, then.” Max picks up an XXL condom box and waves it around. “For Little Lando.”

Irritated, you roll your eyes. “Be reasonable, Max.”

“You said get anything!”

“You’re so annoying,” you fume. You catch sight of the cashier looking uncomfortable with the tension between you and Max and figure the situation needs to deescalate. “Okay. Fine. Whatever, just get something reasonable. Put that back.”

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘reasonable,’” he says teasingly, clearly trying to push your buttons.

“Just get a standard condom box.”

“What is a standard co—”

“Get the ones you normally use,” you say, realizing the words after they leave your mouth.

The cashier coughs.

Shrugging, Max grabs the familiar box off the shelf and tosses it, emptying both your baskets right after. His face is amused when he turns and you see him again, but you’re both wordless while the payment goes through and you exit together. The car ride back to the hotel is quiet, stuffy, and tense, your arms crossed over your chest and Max’s occupied with both of the plastic bags.

“I’m surprised you remember what condoms I use.” He says with a smug smile when you’re both in the elevator. He’s parked his car on the basement floor, so you need to get to the lobby. You watch the lights signify what floor you’re on, waiting desperately for the ground floor button to glow yellow.

Still annoyed, you humor him despite yourself. “Why’s that?”

It dings yellow right as he responds. “You’re always begging for me to cum inside you, anyway.” 

The doors open but neither of you move. Max watches you grow flustered and take a deep breath. “You’re a sicko,” you declare, walking out. He follows you with a laugh, knowing he’s right.

You meet the group outside the lobby, where they’re already piling onto a yacht, big enough for everyone. It’s ridiculously huge and expensive-looking, bobbing softly by the dark water. Charles emerges from the upper tier and waves to you and Max with a goofy grin.  

After you help spread and deposit the groceries on the table, you walk around, finally detaching yourself from Max’s side. Eventually drinks ebb around the group, shots and crude cocktails that are fed to you like water. Buzzed with warmth and courage, you move to the back of the boat where there’s a ladder to swim, grunting when you find Max already there.

You clench your cocktail. “What’re you doing?”

“Preparing to swim, what’s it look like?”

“Oh.” You pause. “I didn’t know you could swim.”

You down the rest of your drink, leaning against the side of the boat and watching as he sheds his shirt and jumps into the ocean. Some of the water splashes onto you, and it’s cold, sending goosebumps throughout your body. He surfaces, hair darkened from being wet and smile dopey. A few strands of hair stick up. 

“Wanna join?”

“Over my dead body,” you say, taking a seat and dripping your legs instead. 

“The water’s nice.”

“It’s frigid,” you counter. “You should be wearing a snowsuit, dumbass.”

“How mean,” he says, diving underneath and surfacing again. “You’re too chicken, is all.”

Emboldened, by the buzz of alcohol maybe, the music, or—most likely of all—Max’s teasing, you nod. “Chicken?”

You get up, legs dripping, and pull your shorts down, tugging your tiny tank top off right after. You’re left in your bathing suit, and watch as Max’s eyes lock onto your tits, spilling out of your bikini top. His gaze is slow on you, like it’s his first time seeing you like this.

You step onto the cool ladder to avoid jumping, your back turned to Max’s as you feel more and more of your body submerge into the freezing water. You turn, taking a seat on one of the rungs. Max swims toward you, wiping a hand over his face. 

“Not a chicken. But I’m not going any lower,” you say firmly, in the water from the waist down. “It’s too cold.” 

“I’m fine having you like this,” he says lowly, his voice thick with desire. He cages you in, two big hands on either side of the ladder. For leverage, your legs wrap around him. You’re so close together. After days, weeks, of resisting.

You release a shaky breath, staring at him, his shoulders, his hands.

“How’s your vacation been?” He asks, lips near your ear.

“Fine,” you say. “Fun.”

“Bring anyone to your room?” You shake your head; he persists. “So you’ve had no luck there, then?” 

“None at all,” you say blatantly.

“S’that why you’ve been…” A hand leaves the ladder to squeeze your thigh. “Moaning my name while fucking yourself?”

Your eyes widen, blinking, undeniably caught. You open your mouth to formulate a defense but you can’t. “What are you talking about?”

“Aw, don’t be shy, schatz. You were the one who kept insisting we swear off sex, but I think you’re starting to miss me.”

He presses two fingers to the crotch of your bottoms, rubbing softly. It’s enough to let you whimper. “Max—”

“You keep prancing around in tiny bikinis, skirts, tops. Is it on purpose, hmm? I can’t stop thinking about claiming you. On my bed, my balcony, over any surface.”

He quickens his fingers, and you whine. It feels so good, reminiscent of how wicked he is in bed. You picture it—being bent over the side of the boat, his hands big on your waist, cock sliding in and out of you.

“Feels s’good, Max,” you breathe.

“Does it?” He asks, egging you on. You nod, gripping his wrist—your hand’s still circled around it when he yanks it away.

“But remember what you told me? Before the break?”

“I—fuck,” you mutter, frustrated. “Please.”

“They were your words, not mine, schatz,” he says, easygoing as he dives back underwater, leaving you alone and sexually frustrated. You curse lowly. It’s going to be a long rest-of-the-week.

[the-offside-rule]

Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing) - Fairytale of New York

Prompt: The Fairytale of New York

Warnings: cursing

Y/n threw a pot into the sink. "What's your problem?" Max asked, typing away on his phone. Y/n chuckled as if he told a pathetic joke. "What's right, do tell me Max." Max set his phone aside. "Well I don't know if you don't tell me." She stopped washing the pot for a second. "You've just been on the phone all day and it's the 25th of December. Couldn't you not text Lando or Daniel and spend spend a little time with me?" Max scoffed and returned to his phone. "You're just being selfish, I haven't seen them since Abu Dhabi-"

"Selfish? I'm selfish? You might not have seen Max and Daniel since Abu Dhabi but I haven't seen you since the week before Jeddah!" Max rolled his eyes. "Just let me finish this conversation and I'll get back to you."

"You shouldn't have to get back to me. You should prioritise the ones you love!" Y/n shouted. Max waved her remarks away. "You always do this-"

"You always start fights! I don't know what else you want from me Max-"

"How about listening? That would be a good start!" Max snarled. She spun around and pointed a wooden spoon at him. "Don't you dare say I don't listen. I listen to every single little detail about your day and whenever I tell you about mine, you go off saying I'm not thinking about you." Max had found he backed up a bit sinnce she followed him with the spoon. "Oh poor, poor Maxy baby, I didn't listen to what he ate for breakfast in the Red Bull hospitality and I just had to know whatf it was, didn't I?" He was shocked, lost for words. They'd fought before, obviously but he'd never heard her speak in such a venemous tone."

"Y/n, let's just talk about this-" Y/n cits him off with a laugh. "Oh now you want to talk?" Max nodded. "Honestly, go fuck yourself." She threw the spoon back into the water ans stormed off to their bedroom, locking the door behind her and lying down.

Max leaned onto the counter. Why was he like this? She was right, he should tell her she was right but he always felt the urge to fight. Eh

He turned and looked towards the tree in the kitchen. It twinkled and glimmered, highlighting the tin self and baubles. She did a good job decorating it. Max didn't even help. He looked at all the lovely decorations, each ever so beautiful. His eyes however, landed on one particular bauble, with the word New York 2017 written on it. He arched an eyebrow. They met in 2017, they'd never been to New York, what on earth was this? He turned it and saw a photo of them on Christmas Eve, going on Christmas Day. Max looked ever so drunk and Y/n, well as usual looked perfect. He smiled at the memory as it came flooding back to him, the very night they met, the first Christmas they had knowing eachother and one of many.

Max stumbled out of the bar with insults being hurled at him in French, English and many other languages, most he couldn't understand. He sarcastically lifted his hand, shaped as though there was an invisible bottle kr glass in it. "Happy Christmas and a Happy New Year to you too mate!" he shouted. Max was drunk, too drunk and his father was back in the Netherlands for the time being, meaning Max was spending this Christmas in particular alone. He walked for a little while until he heard some singing. He looked around, confused as to whether it was the radio or someone on the street and as he finally found the woman, bundled up in warm clothes with a guitar on hand, he found that it was in fact on the street.

Max sat on the curb beside her and looked up at her. She sang so effortlessly. Her hair blew in the wind. She looked phenomenal and his stares didn't go unnoticed by the busker. "What? Are you just going to stare?" the girl asked. Max smiled as he held his chin up with his hand. "I can't help it. You sound like an angel." The girl began blushing furiously and decided to pack up her guitar and head home since it was getting colder by the second. "Wait, where are you going?" Max asked as he watched her pack her stuff up. "Away from you." Max tumbled up and began walking towards her. "I don't want to come across as weird or creepy but your voice is very beautiful." She was taken back by the compliment. "Why would that come across as creepy? It's a nice little compliment." He gave a dopey smile.

"We're in New York! It's the most romantic city in the world!" Y/n arched a brow. "Isn't Paris- We're not even in New York- nevermind. Just-" she gestured forward. "let's go." Max took her hand into his and walked with her down the Monaco coast. She stared at his hand. She didn't exactly expect to catch feelings with this questionable looking boy so quickly but here she was, happily holding hands with him as different Christmas songs played in the back. "Do you like Christmas?" Max asked. She could only shrug her shoulders. "I don't know. It always depends on my mood."

"How do you mean?" he asked. "Well, it depends mainly on-" She was cut off by a gasp. "Listen!" They fell silent, listening to T be meoldy of The Fairytale of New York playing. "Yeah, it's a nice song." She arched a brow. "No, it's my favourite song. Come, come." He ushered her towards him, begining to dance with her. "Why is it your favourite song might I ask?" He shrugged his shoulders. "I think it's because I can actually curse in this song." She giggled. "Of course, I don't know why I wouldn't expect anything less of you." Max continued swaying to the song, twirling her around every so often. "Aw, the song is ending." Max pouted. "Not yet though, we can keep on dancing." The continued on dancing, little by little until the music stopped and a local bar started a countdown to Christmas day. The pair excitedly counted along and then, once the bells rang out, they kissed in the corner outside the bar. "Oh wait, kissing at midnight is for New Year's, isn't it?" Max asked. Y/n laughed loudly, louder than she'd ever laughed before. "You did, but I don't mind doing this again for New Years."

Max walked towards the bedroom and knocked the door. "Y/n? Are you in there?" Max asked. The only respons ehe got was a muffled, "Go away." He opened the door and saw her, laying with red, puffy eyes. She'd obviously been crying. "Aw, Y/n-"

"Don't baby me Max. I'm your girlfriend, not your child." Max arched a brow. They shared a look and burst into laughter. "I'd hope you weren't my child." He rubbed her back. "You know what I mean though. Don't talk to me like that." Max nodded. "Okay. I don't want to fight, not on Christmas." Y/n scoffed. "That's all we ever do nowadays." Max swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry." Y/n sat up. "You don't know how much I sacrificed to actually date you." Y/n mumbled. "My dad literally kicked me out. He didn't like you one bit but I still decided to be with you." Max sighed. "I know and I'll never forget that." The room fell silent. Neither dared say a word·until Max finally broke the silence. "I love you." He whispered. Y/n felt a smile creep onto her face.

"I love you too." She muttered back. Max rubbed her leg a bit. "If it makes it any better, I finished the dishes." She grinned. "It makes it a little better. At least now we can relax and actually spend some time together." Max leaned forward and kissed her nose. "You know I love you to pieces." She nodded. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Merry Christmas Y/n."

"Merry Christmas Max."

[honeybadgercomeback]

Not Yet Goodbye

Saying goodbye to colleagues is hard, especially when you know they don’t want to leave. So yes, you’ve been hiding from Daniel while he’s saying goodbye to people in the garage before his last race. But he won’t let you away without a final conversation.

—

You’d never revealed your feelings.

Originally it had been a point of pride - you co-ordinated race weekends for McLaren, determined to not fall for the faces you saw every weekend. Sleeping with someone who was one of the hundreds of faces you saw in all corners of the globe was a catastrophe waiting to happen. When it was one of the men whose employment and the sponsors he brought in meant you could keep your job, then you were even more determined. You could drool from afar, watch from a distance, but your crush would remain a crush.

But this was Daniel’s last race, and your heart was breaking at the realisation you wouldn’t be spending any time with him next week. You wouldn’t hear him call your name to ask a question about setup, wouldn’t see the wide grin that had become oh so rare. Wouldn’t get another hug after a winning race, wearing one shoe as he hopped back to his drivers room. It was November in Abu Dhabi, and you were about to stop having Daniel in your life again.

Most of your job was done and you could finally take a deep breath. Usually at this point on a Saturday you’d be planning your next flight, leaving almost as soon as the checkered flag went to the next race destination, but this time you’d just be going home to England.

He’d been saying goodbye to people all weekend, some friends in the MTC had sent photos of him there with everyone. He’d gone to every person individually to thank them, and you didn’t think you’d cope with that. You didn’t want to cope with it.

It was funny, you didn’t even think he knew your name for the first few weeks. Lando vaguely knew of you, waving and nodding to you as you rushed around to make sure everything was as it should be. He’d been in the same meetings as you about logistics, you’d explained the scenarios that would take place moving from Bahrain to Italy and how things would operate. He’d asked questions Lando and Carlos never had about how the cars would be packed away and what ways it would change, and you’d appreciated getting to explain how you worked and what you did.

This time was different. The paddock was buzzing for the end of the year and you were avoiding someone who’d been your friend. You’d heard the news he was moving to Red Bull and were delighted for him, but you’d still miss him. So you kept your head down, staring at your reports and working out exactly what was needed in your job to keep things going and get everything back to base when the race finished.

It wasn’t until after qualifying that you were cornered as you walked out of the paddock, badge around your neck, when photographers were suddenly all around you and you realised Danny was striding up to you.

“Want a ride to the hotel?” He asked and you shook your head, but he didn’t take no for an answer as you ended up in his McLaren driving to the hotel you were all staying in.

“I didn’t think I’d get a chance to talk to you. I’m not gone yet, you don’t need to avoid me.”

“I’m not avoiding you…” you trailed off, staring out into the dark night. There were lights on the water from the boats that you tried to focus on instead of the man beside you.

“But every time I try to talk to you you magically have something to do?”

“I’m bad at goodbyes. Ask Carlos, I didn’t say it to him until I saw him in a Ferrari shirt.”

“So when I turn up next year in a Red Bull shirt you’ll say it then?”

“Maybe.”

It was awkward, the drive nearly over when Daniel pulled over, the engine switching off as you stayed staring at the windscreen.

“Will you at least look at me?” He was uncharacteristically quiet and you turned, emotion visible on his face.

“I’m gonna miss you, Danny. More than I thought I would.”

You tried smiling sadly at him, pasting what you thought was a proper smile on your face.

“We can get lunch in the paddock next year? I’ll sneak you into Red Bull hospitality for catering!” It made both of you laugh, the shared jokes around the paddock surrounding that topic not lost on either of you.

“As long as you bring me Tim tams. You got me hooked, did anyone bring any with them?”

“Box of them in my room for you, I asked Mum to bring them with her.”

You were actually smiling now, and his face lit up into the grin you knew so well. Danny’s hand cupped your cheek, long thumb running over your cheekbone as you looked at him.

“Can I?” It was so intimate, the tension rising between you as you stared into his brown eyes.

“Daniel…” you leaned up, and he leaned down to kiss you.

In the quiet of a hotel room you’d let yourself imagine what kissing Daniel Ricciardo would be like. But you never thought your first kiss would be nervous in his car, his hands pulling you closer as you ran fingers through his curls, a slight groan from his throat as they caught. You couldn’t help but grin against his lips as you separated breathing heavily. Daniel paid his sweaty forehead against yours.

“I wanted to do that for a while.”

“Me too.”

The silence was interrupted by his phone ringing, Daniel picking it up and shaking his head.

“Hey Mum…yeah. I’m nearly there. Is there space for someone else? I gave someone a lift back to the hotel, she hasn’t eaten yet. Perfect, we’ll be there in five.” He hung up and turned to you to see your wide eyes. “You never eat in the paddock. And Mum’s never stopped talking about how nice you were to them when you met them, so c’mon.”

How could you reject him when he smiled at you like that? Instead you nodded and settled down so he’d finish driving. Before you got out of the car it was a squeeze of your hands as you got ready to head in.

Dinner was wonderful, a glass of wine your limit because of work the next day. You’d met every Ricciardo who was there at one race or another. Getting to spend time with them outside of a professional setting was an experience you weren’t prepared for, but it was a private room where nobody from work would see you yet. Drinking and laughing with everyone was a lot of fun, Daniel’s arm around the back of your chair making it clear that there was something between you. Grace’s eyes were glancing between the two of you and the easy way you interacted, but you just smiled until it was time for you to leave, waving goodbye. Daniel squeezed your hand in goodbye to make you smile.

The next morning was manic, everyone wanting Danny’s attention and to give him support. You stuck to your plan and got the dismantle list together as you let the chaos unfold around you. It was nice to relax and unwind while everyone else was busy. Michael stood behind you as you worked.

“He’s up in his driver room, asked if you were around.”

“I didn’t think he’d want to be disturbed?” He shook his head, watching you closely.

“You’ve never disturbed him. Go say hi.”

It was easy to slip away and to his room. Two knocks and the door opened for him to see you, his characteristic grin on his face.

“I thought you were ignoring me.” If you hadn’t spent so much time together you’d think he was joking, but instead you knew it was the little insecurities creeping out.

“I didn’t want to distract you.”

“Never.”

He leaned over to kiss you, a smile between the two of you as you separated.

“I wanted to kiss you goodbye last night, but I didn’t think you’d want me to in front of my parents. But I want this to be more than the weekend.”

“So do I.” You leaned up to press your lips to his, sealing your words with a kiss. “I believe in you, Daniel. And I want to believe in us. Outside all this chaos and the paddock we’ve got something. I’ll see you after the race, ok?”

“Definitely.”

He gave you one final kiss, eyes shining and his hand squeezing yours as Michael came around the corner to see the two of you standing there.

“Sorry lovebirds, he’s needed in the garage. Glad to see you’ve finally done something about this tension.”

“Was it that obvious?” You asked, your face starting to heat in embarrassment.

“Lando owes me money, he was convinced neither of you would do anything about it. I figured you would though.”

“Thanks?” Dan said, squeezing your wrist in goodbye before going out. You took a moment to get yourself together before heading out, all smiles thanks to the cameras you knew would be lurking around the garage. No matter what was happening in your personal life it was work that needed to come first.

Standing around in the garage and watching the cars get ready to leave never failed to take your breath away. It was beautiful, the way it seemed like abject chaos but was a tightly choreographed moment. Your orange and black shirt was on display and someone had stuck a Stetson on your head for Danny. He spotted you and smiled. Once everyone was back from the pit lane you found yourself beside Danny’s family. His mother reached over for you to tuck you in with the family.

“How long have you kept that quiet?” She asked as the cars started their formation lap.

“I’m not sure what you—“

“I know my son well. The way he was last night isn’t anything new, so how long have you been together?”

“Last night. We’re still working it out, but we said it just as you called him. We’re working out what’s going on. But it could be something.”

Telling the mother of the man you’d kissed all of four times that you were starting something was hard, but her smile was worth it. You caught sight of a camera watching you as you’d been speaking, nerves hitting you around what people could say seeing you there. It wasn’t unusual to have paddock gossip. But this felt different. It felt special.

Your heart was in your throat as the group of you watched the race. Daniel pitted only once, the mechanics coming in and out for him and Lando as you stared. The screens showed just how close Seb was to him. You hated not wanting Seb to pass him out but those final seconds and watching Danny make P9 made the garage erupt in cheers. Both drivers in points, Daniel making up four places, it was as good a performance as you could dream of. Arms wrapped around you as you cheered and jumped up and down.

The monitors showed him doing donuts alone and you smiled at the display. It didn’t take long for him to arrive back to the garage. You slipped out of the family area to go pretend to be working and keep things private as possible. Grace squeezed your arm as you left, a smile between the two of you.

The garage was a hive of people starting to break down, tyres being returned to Pirelli and people starting to get ready. There were parties happening but you weren’t in the mood for them, too focused on keeping an eye on what was happening.

A hand clasped your wrist and you turned, Daniel standing there and pulling you into a kiss.

“Hey,” you murmured, too aware of the crowds around you despite the wall hiding you.

“I’m not worried if you’re not.”

“Not yet?”

He separated and smiled, awareness clear on both faces. It was beginning to get even busier, parties starting up and down the paddock.

“Come out with me tonight?” He asked and you nodded. “We’re doing a family dinner tonight, Mum wants you there. Michael will be there too. Please? And we can talk about a relationship later? This isn’t just an end of year thing for me.”

You smiled, gripping his hand tightly.

“It’s not just for me either. Let’s go out.” He was surprised as you held onto him to leave your little cubby, eyes on the two of you in the garage.

“I owe Michael so much money,” Lando groaned as he came over and stared at your hands.

“Why were you betting on us anyway?” Daniel asked, his spare hand lifting up his niece.

“What else were we supposed to do? It was a boring year really.”

You just laughed, Daniel pulling you in for a kiss on your forehead. No matter what happened next year with your jobs it felt right, and that’s all you cared about.

[f1-giuki]

million dollar man by lana del rey, charlos, angst or smut, or maybe both???💖💖

JESUS CHRIST ANON THIS CONSUMED IN WAYS I DIDN'T KNOW WERE POSSIBLE! i love the charlos unhealthy dynamic so much so this was so good to write!!!💖💖 Hope you like it! <3

million dollar man - prompt post

-

Carlos washes his face with cold water in the bathroom next to his driver's room. It's a strange late afternoon. His last Abu Dhabi late afternoon with Ferrari. And he will forever associate it with grief and the salty taste of cum in his mouth. That sums up his days in red accurately.

He's had many last times over the past few months, but the departure is sinking down on his shoulders at that specific moment. It feels like his final hour. His last dance.

He’d laugh if he really thought about it. He walked in thinking to be Ferrari's new exotic flower, a pretty and lethal asset, but it didn't work out that way, even if he tried damn hard. Carlos wasn't the chosen one, he wasn't a good enough reason to keep. Not like him, who's lying down naked on his little red sofa. Thoroughly fucked and spent, but brilliant, a million-dollar man, who stole his heart and somewhat broke it. Carlos couldn't stop him, even if he wanted to.

Charles was weird. Overly curious and overly sexual with him, giving him bedroom eyes during meetings with sponsors and tales of his grief on the plane, as they held hands in fear of crashing down.

Carlos always thought that was fitting for them. Freakish boys with big fears and big mouths.

Fuck if Charles' mouth was big, always talking so much shit, always mouthing at his neck. Carlos let him do whatever he pleased. Could he complain? Having his heart broken by Charles Leclerc on a random weekday felt so good that he kept on seeking such cracks and tears. Carlos bit the hand that fed him with too much pleasure.

Charles got the world, the racing, the people on his side. He loved being the object of desire of millions of people, and he loved considering Carlos one of them, just luckier than most since he got to put his hands on his diaphanous skin.

Carlos had been in love for a while, as Charles was in love with being worshipped and adored. He loved telling Carlos how good they looked together, while they fucked in the bathroom of a Ferrari event. Corrupted. Sold and property of the devil.

Carlos cries in the bathroom as the light over his head flickers. He missed Mclaren, he missed Lando and feeling like a big brother, like he knew everything. He felt like a man.

But he will miss Ferrari, and mostly Charles. He'll miss having his head between Charles' thighs and his wheels inside the sidepods of his car. He will miss not knowing anything, feeling like a child.

He sniffs a little thinking about the broken kiss they shared as Charles came in his hand. Will he be able to feel so much again?

“Are you coming back or what? They're looking for us, Carlos!” Charles calls for him, breaking his reverie.

Carlos looks at himself in the mirror one last time before sighing and drying his tears off with his palms. His eyes are swollen and his nose is red. Charles always said he looked handsome crying. 

“One for the money, two for the show…” He mumbles before putting on a brave face and walking into the other room.

He lost and he has to say goodbye. 

[bellezaycafe]

Get Your Shit Together - Chapter 8

genre: 2024 and onwards AU, with the 2024 starting grid.

pairing: Romantic!oc x that triangle y’all voted on. Platonic!oc x the whole grid.

warnings: swearing, mentions of physical crimes, discussions about gangs, mentions of bars and alcohol. Besties arguing. talk about the accident in chapter 4.

context: Part 1 and Masterlist…

comments: this is a little bit of a time skip filler chapter. But it also sets up Oscar's feelings. I went for the whole he fell first/he fell harder but instead of about each other, about Sadie.

Oscar was frustrated. Very frustrated. It was a description that barely covered how he felt.

He knew his team could see it, and knew equally that they had no idea how to handle it. They had worked with drivers who exploded far quicker than him did but Oscar never so much as boiled.

The calmest man on the grid was simmering away and no one knew what to do.

It was Thursday, and Oscar was already in Abu Dhabi, prepping himself for media day, but it had been over a week since the trial had started.

Someone’s safety had never mattered to him so much before. Oscar wasn't surprised at the feeling, Sadie was dealing with some very dangerous people. The Australian was surprised at how it had consumed him. He was pacing. Pacing.

“For fucks sake!” Came Pato’s voice through the wall between their driver’s rooms. “I can hear you, Oscar! I love you man, but go for a run or something!”

And Oscar did just that. He didn’t even put headphones on. He just knocked on the wall twice to let Pato know he’d heard him and left.

Oscar pushed himself. Hard. He ran and he ran and he ran. Nothing mattered but his feet drumming against whatever surface he found himself on. He kept running and running until someone pulled their e-scooter up right in front of him.

“Shit,” he halted abruptly. “Sorry, I-“

“What the hell, Piastri?” It was Max.

“I needed to move,” he muttered.

“You've been running for an hour. You're going to exhaust yourself before the weekend even starts. What’s wrong?”

"It's Sadie," he admitted on a deep breath.

Max, pulling his Red Bull cap off, swept a hand through dirty blonde hair. "I haven't heard."

"Me neither."

"She can look after herself."

But Oscar noted the tightness to the Champion's jaw and a raised eyebrow told Max just as much.

"Let's go." The Dutchman muttered and led the walk back towards the hospitalities.

"What?" Oscar pressed.

"Nothing."

Frustration rippled in his gut again. "You two love to hide things."

"Get over it. These aren't my secrets to tell."

"Fine."

There was an uncomfortable silence but Oscar hoped it would prompt Max to say something about Sadie. Anything.

It worked.

"She congratulated you on Qatar."

"I wish I could thank her."

"Maybe you can one day."

"At this rate, that's a big maybe."

"Yes, but there is a chance."

"And I'll hold onto it," Oscar promised. He had promised himself something similar when she'd driven away from his mother's house.

The rest of the walk was silent until Pato, surrounded by three of McLaren's media team, saw them.

"There he is!"

And Oscar was handed a bottle of water, a wrap and thrust into discussions for that week's Youtube content.

----$----

"That's P3, mate," Oscar's engineer relayed and he let out a massive sigh of relief.

"Thank you everyone," he said into his radio. "That was a hard one. Thank you to everyone in the garage and back at the factory."

"Well done, Oscar. You've ended fourth overall." Came Zak Brown's voice.

Oscar couldn't find the energy to respond. He pulled his car to a stop in front of the 3 sign. He saw Charles and Max holding each others forearms, their helmets together and a string of laughter and shouts coming from the two. Oscar hauled himself out of his car and flipped his visor up.

The McLaren mechanics pulled him into massive hugs and slaps to the helmet. He laughed and laughed, the sound bubbling from him in surprised bursts.

He had beaten Lewis Hamilton, George Russel and Carlos Sainz. In a McLaren, he'd outlasted, outpaced, outmatched both the Mercedes and a Ferrari. And he'd done it consistently enough to end fourth. Fourth overall.

Max turned and, Charles mimicking the gesture, beckoned him over. He joined them and the elation in his heart could not be matched. He may have earnt P3 before, hell he'd gotten a better result the weekend before, but he was standing, laughing, with the confirmed champion and the runner up. Oscar was standing with them.

Time blurred as they made their way to a cool room, and then to the podium. Up there, holding his trophy with a broad smile on his face, Oscar had a thought that stuck with him.

I wonder if Sadie is watching.

----$----

She was.

Sadie smile at her phone, amidst the pitch black of her bedroom at 2 am in Melbourne. Max, the man she'd ego-checked all those months ago, was a four-time World Driver Champion and, smiling broadly beside him was Oscar Piastri. The feed cut to Lando, looking up at Oscar and Max with more pride on his face than Sadie had thought possible. His teammate, and his friend were both up there and grinning down at him.

Even though the screen Sadie could see the laughter in Oscar's eyes.

She hoped that she'd be able to congratulate them in person one day. Maybe one day.

----$----

Angst is coming. Idk when, but it is. Plus, I haven't made y'all any promises about comfort and I won't.

Taglist;

@snubug @cmleitora @izzy-marvel @aquangxl @morenofilm @viennakarma @simpingcorner

[ditttiii]

lavender haze

⇢ summary: “I like your stupid face. It’s so stupid. It’s so… I like it. Can I touch it?” 

⇢ genre: tipsy & risqué 

⇢ pairing: max verstappen x best friend reader

⇢ w/c: 1.3k

⇢ a/n: all my f1 fics have been moved onto @rosegasly​. all future f1 updates will be posted onto my side only. 

masterlist

gif? completely unrelated. i just find him ridiculously attractive drenched in post race sweat and disheveled

You should know by now that you are terrible with alcohol after one too many puking sessions and horrible hangovers. Still, when Max—your reigning best friend, now world champion—crossed the checkered flag in Abu Dhabi, there was no other way the night was going to end. 

 Feeling the burn of bile creep up your throat again, you push forward on your knees, clutching the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl with all your might as you throw up what feels like days worth of food. 

 The cool touch of said best friend’s hand rubbing soothing circles across your back is as much a relief against your scorching hot skin as a knife moulded with thick, unadulterated guilt that is digging into the gaps of your rib the longer you are awake and thinking. His other hand busy holding your hair back over your head. While your thoughts aren’t entirely coherent, the fact that you are ruining what is probably Max’s best night yet isn’t exactly lost on you either. 

Tears sting your eyes as your stomach finally settles, only a hollow sinking feeling where there was once turbulence, and you can’t decipher if it’s the lack of food or the drunk realisation of what a shitty friend you make at the moment. 

 “i am sorry,” the apology comes out meek, liquid pooling into your eyes and blurring your vision. 

 “Schatje,” his voice is every bit the affection, love and exasperation that you don’t deserve and you tuck your face away between the protective curl of your arms over the toilet bowl. If you were a little less drunk, maybe you’d be disgusted, but all you want to do right now is hide away so you can’t see the forgiveness swimming in his gaze. 

 “You trying to hide the running mascara? Come on, you know you can do worse,” Max teases and the sound coming out of you is equal parts sob and snort. 

 Strong arms curl across your chest, resting slightly above your breasts and your heart goes into overdrive as you sit there torn between feeling grounded by his presence and your stupid crush rearing its head again to mess with you. “You gonna come out of the toilet bowl anytime soon?” 

 His breath tickles the shell of your ear as his chin finds home on the curve where your neck meets your shoulder and you can’t hold back the shiver that races through you at the warm sensation. 

 With a firm tug he pulls you back, your head lolling to the side of his chest and burying itself in his warmth and safety. 

 “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

 Another steady pull and he has you on your feet, guiding you to the sink nearby. The angle of your neck turns awkward as you wrap your arms around his waist, face still nuzzled against his signature white tee secured tight between the clench of your fingers. 

 Touch as gentle as it can be, he holds your chin, tilting your face towards the basin and you wordlessly turn the tap on. You are half tempted to drink the water but stop yourself from following through on that urge, gargling and washing the acidity from your mouth instead. 

 The angel of a man you blessedly call your best friend drags your ass out, giving you bottled water which you finally gulp down like the parched woman you are. Sated and no longer reeking of bile, you nuzzle back into Max’s chest, half-formed apologies spilling from you in an endless stream. 

 He keeps quiet, allowing you time to let things off your chest. After years of being there with the others most vulnerable, he knows you better than he does himself and as much as the sight of your pink, blotchy cheeks and drunken apologies makes his chest tight, he realises how much you need it. The weight of unsaid words always weighs heavy on your shoulders, and he has never cut you off when you open up. Instead, choosing to console and talk through those thoughts after. 

 What seems like hours, but is probably only minutes later you finally bring yourself to move away from his chest, the death grip you had on his shirt loosening enough to allow you to look up. 

 In the club’s dim lighting, out of focus, eye to eye, crystal blue spilling into the dark of your eyes, your grip on reality slips a little more. 

 “I like your stupid face. It’s so stupid. It’s so… I like it. Can I touch it?”

 Dark lashes shutter your view of the endless blue as Max blinks, a little taken aback before a smile breaks out. Rosey lips and pinker cheeks and the faint dusting of freckles over the bridge of his nose and high of his cheeks. It’s him. With every breath, you breathe him. Amidst all the cigarette smoke and stale of old carpet under your foot and the sweat in the air; all you register now is him. Max. Your best friend. The one person you would give up everything for, knowing he would do the same. 

 “Go ahead. Touch me.” You can’t tell if his voice has gone lower, deeper, or if you have just pressed yourself too close to him. The vibrations from his chest travelling to you through yours from where they are against each other, not a hair’s breadth of space in between as you near. The lines between close and too close blurring in your indebted state of mind. 

 The last thing you see before your eyes fall shut is the blue of his. Cerulean and crystal, the faintest blue in the light, edges coloured a dark green in the shadows and its endless. Their depth, his gaze, the twin pounding of both your hearts, the heavy breaths and the sweat from the humid club over your skins. 

 His lips are every bit as soft as you had imagined them to be. Sweet like your most beloved candy, light as a feather as they brush against you. Hesitant, then sure. Worried for what could be lost but realising what could be gained. Gentle, then a little more forceful as your back slams against the wall and you groan. 

 It’s relief. It’s desperation. The way you have starved to touch him, have him feel you. Breathe in his exhales; let them become one in you to make them yours. Kissing him to mark him yours, having him in your arms and knowing you could never let go. 

 He grinds into you and it’s dirty and messy, more the high of your hip bones and the thick of his jeans than anything else, but his fingers still dig into the curve of your waist almost painfully. His ragged breath making you shiver when his nose grazes your skin and you hear more so than feel him inhale your scent. 

 He bites your lip and licks it better. You tug his hair, then caress his face. 

 It’s sexual and innocent and when its finally too much and you can no longer hold your collective breaths, you smile instead. Your lips curled into a smile over his grin and it’s suddenly okay. Everything the night has been and every sleepless night that you two have spent tormented over unreciprocated feelings leading up to it. 

 You fall into his arms as much as he does into yours and it’s like the last of your puzzle pieces slot into place. 

[bestedoesmeow]

Hi!! I found Charles Leclerc fic on my notes app so why not share it with you!

CHARLES L. X reader

Plot is, you were Max’s ex gf who was working as a health staff at Haas F1 team but he broke up with you suddenly, without saying anything. After a while Charles and your friendship grew strong and turned into a relationship and he proposed. Story tells a day from your life after the engagement.

There are french words I used. I translated them from translator so if there is any fault forgive me lmao

Hope you enjoy it waiting for your comments!

TW: kissing, mentions of s3x

* Under The Influence

You encountered Max as you were making your way back to your paddock not long after word of your engagement had spread. And it had only been two months since that devastating scene in his car that you could still clearly recall how your heart ached when you heard his words coming at you out of the darkness and how he made you hate yourself for once again trusting him. You didn't deserve any of those things, words, or revolting conduct. He was strolling you by quickly, his ocean blue eyes glistening with rage. You wanted to smack him in the face, kick him in the balls, and shout at him how much you detested him. Rather, you changed your direction and took a big breath in order to get lunch and visit Charles. It was never an easy thing to digest for you but Charles had always been by your side. All of the harsh media comments and paddock conversations. You thought you were no longer able to bear the weight on your shoulders, so you gnawed on your lips and fingernails all night long. Then, though, you realized that you were actually mistaken. Despite the fact that everything was Max's fault, you were confident he hadn't even sued himself for what happened.

You saw how kind and respectful someone's heart can be while being dedicated to his work as the days went on, and your love and respect for Charles grew day by day.

'' Bienvenue mon amour, I missed you, haven't seen you around the paddock all day.''

Charles said as he drank from his water bottle while wearing a fireproof suit. After being placed under his shoulder, you quickly reached out to kiss him on the cheek. However, he quickly put his hands at the sides of your neck and pulled you into a passionate kiss that could cause you to melt on the ground. That man definitely knew what he was doing. Your lips attracted to each other first like you two were seeking it. His hands were gently massaging your neck while they were moving in time with one other. You let your hands gently flutter through his hair and let him put his tongue inside your mouth. You didn't care at all if anyone was watching as you stood in the middle of the field. You couldn't move because you were so startled. His tongue was gliding slowly on yours as you drifted away to take a breath .

''I'll stop by your hotel tonight before leaving.''

'' Okay.'' You replied as he kissed the top of your head. After that intense moment, you grabbed lunch at Carlos and Charles' trailer while watching the two teammates' favorite television show Money Heist. You could have thought about that hateful look in Verstappen's eyes and how it made you feel just an hour ago, but instead you just enjoyed the company of your two favorite people and their little fights, as well as Charles' joyful chuckles.

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

'' Je serai la à 8 heures' Vous avez une urgence ?''( I'll be there at 8 pm is there an emergency?) Charles arrived at your hotel an hour after you left the racetrack, as you were packing your luggage in your hotel room and he was on the phone in his sweatpants. You had left the paddock about six in the morning. When he hung up the phone, you sat down next to him on the bed and began playing with his hair. You were leaving for Abu Dhabi the following day, and he had thought it would be nice to spend the night out in Mexico. However, after that phone call, it seemed nearly impossible for you two to do that. In addition, you were concerned that something was wrong with his family.

'' Is there something wrong Charles?'' You said trying to figure things out from his facial expressions. He turned his face to you half way and grabbed your hand, playing with his hair and gave it a kiss before starting to speak.

'' It's on Ferrari, nothing to worry about cheri, I am sorry that I have to go. I promised you the night but-''

'' Oh, cut the bullshit Leclerc, its okay I am glad there is nothing wrong, you go to the meeting I'll wait for you to finish with it even if it'd be too late we just do Netflix and chill huh?''

'' I can't wait to come back to hotel and spend the night, bébé, Je vous aime.''

You loved to hear his French accent while talking English but while talking his own language it was almost a lullaby to your ears. You looked at his half open eyes before kissing him on his lips. 

 '' Also can't wait for to kiss you without having anyone around, slowly, peacefully.''

You smiled at his words before touching his nape. '' You are gonna be late, C'mon.''

He let a little chuckle and took his wallet, car keys with his phone before heading to the door. 

'' See you, then.''

'' See you, yes.''

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

When you finished eating dinner and taking a shower, it was about ten o'clock. While using your Mac to watch The Office, you were dressed in a team sweater with pajama bottoms. You believed it was probably Charles when you heard a nearly silent knock on your door. Even though you didn't want to admit it, you really missed Charles. His demanding schedule and your busy schedule prevented you from spending time with him in the paddock, and you were equally as eager for the coming winter break. You practically sprinted to open the door.

'' I am sorry for being late. I suppose we can still watch Netflix and relax?

''I prefer to spend the night with you alone tho, I was not really in the mood to go out. Charles hugged you tightly before putting his nose to your hair and inhaling deeply of your shampoo.

'' You smell délicieuse, you took a shower?''

As you see him took off his sweater and staying in his white t-shirt, you nod in agreement.

''You're hungry? Room service is available.''

He pulled you from your hand onto the bed and remarked, "No, no, I had dinner honey, what are we watching?" Before pulling you onto his top, he laid on the bed.

''On the drive here, I waited for that exact moment.''

You made yourself comfortable on top of him before letting him kiss you as he wished. In any case, he was the greatest, and you loved to feel the warmth of his hands, body, and tongue. You were playing with his cotton-soft hair while his hands made steady, slow, tease-inducing movements on your back. You adored how he felt beneath your fingertips. He quickly moved over to you and smirked at you. He touched you under your hoodie and asked,

''Puis-je.''

"You are in charge."

[keelt9]

Chapter 11

Masterlist

The fog is heavy but the wind becomes stronger and the sunlight starts to appear clearly between the clouds.

“IT'S FREEZING!” Charlotte screams, rubbing her hands together after letting her bow in the ground. “Hug me!”

She crashed her body against mine taking all the air of me.

This is the third week we have been practicing outdoors, and the weather is the coldest in months, but as everyone knows the first qualification will be in the second week of January, the weather could be worse.

Two hours after Liam and Robert took mercy on us and drove back to the federation with hands cold, feet freezing. As we arrive Charlotte and the youngest boy run inside for something warm, making everyone laugh.

Inside the Christmas decorations were already set, and from time to time a Christmas song played. Our big tree has the classic ornaments, tiny arrows, bows and targets.

“10 minutes and we have some stretching exercises.” Robert announced.

“Y/N, hi…mhm, you have a visitor.” Carol, the receptionist told me as I reached the entrance reader.

“Oh, it must be the reporter.” Liam said. It's the third time we posted this interview for a mismatch of agendas.

“No, is…am, well is in Liam's office.” We look at each other and walk straight there.

In his office, Checo was sitting tapping his feets in the ground, he saw us and pressed his lips together with a smile. 

“Hi.” He raised his hand; Liam and I observed each other perplex.

“You don't have to.” Liam said before greeting him. 

After I opened the door the last time I saw Max, a representative of Red Bull was expecting to talk with him, without realizing helping me to end the conversation. 

I stopped answering his calls, just replied texts, the necessary ones.

“It's ok.” He nodded and said goodbye, unsure about leaving me alone. 

We remain in silence until I talk first. “It's an easier way, huh?” I refer to find myself in the federation.

Checo chuckles. “Violet refused to tell me your address.” 

“Coffee?” Checo shook his head. “Tea? Water? A Red Bull?” He laughs.

“I'm fine thanks, I just came to give you these.” He extends a small envelope. 

I take it and open it, the VIP pass for the paddock Abu Dhabi.

“I’ve known Max for years, he pretends to be fine, and maybe he is, still in the big picture something is off.” I close the envelope. “Two successful GP for him, but I don't know, he is expecting.”

I played with the small stamp. “We broke up, you know that, right?”

I choke my head but he giggles. “I don't intend to be Cupid or anything like that just…it would be nice having you there, at the end of the season.” 

My eyes narrow. “You'll be my <guest.>” He giggles. “He wouldn't know if it makes you feel comfortable, but yeah, you win a lot of hearts in the garage.”

Robert knocked the door and opened, greeting Checo before speaking to me. “Sorry, but we’re about to start Y/N.”

“I have to leave, just thinking about it.” I nodded and walked to the door with him. “Oh! Y/N, believe me, he doesn't know how to give up.”

“The line is a colored red toast.” Matt put an aid band in over my chin. “The struggles of winning.”

I push him, laughing. “What? You are in your best shape, I'm not the only one who said that to you.”

Last week, in the fundraiser tournament I received a lot of praise, good comments and the hopes of success, besides we got huge sponsors and a boost of confidence.

“But we need to rest.” It's our last day before a deserved days off. We won't have Christmas vacation just the important days but with the qualifier just around the corner of New Year, taking days off is a huge risk.

“I owe you an apology.” I choke my head. “I put so much pressure on you in the qualifier, it wasn’t the right thing to do. I’m sorry.” Matt downs his head, I pout, and passes my arm around his waist. 

“I need that, hard to admit but I needed it.” We walked to the exit. “It’s ok. I feel a strange mix between relief but an unpleasant pressure on my chest.” 

He denies with his head. “Where are you going these days?” I told him about my conversation with Checo, and he insisted that I should go, reminding me of my own words. I always support Max, before, now and in the future.

“To Nanny.” He scoffs. 

My grandmother years after my grandfather died found a nice man, Aaron. At her birthday dinner, she told us she will move with Aaron to his house, outside of the town. Aaron is a well-off old man, who built a small empire around milk. Now, the two of them live free of worries in a house far away from everything.

“You mean to isolate yourself.” I punched him in the arm. “Auch. Say hi to Nanny for me, ok?” 

“Got it.” 

Mia keeps throwing clothes at my bag, angry. She’s been like that since I told my family about my break up with Max.

“I can do it myself, God.” Mia rolls her eyes but sits in my bed, grabbing her phone just for seconds later, leaving it aside.

“You’re not like that.” I roll my eyes too, packing the bands. “Y/N, you fight for what you want, this… this… this is shit.” 

“MIA!” She held my stare, a dignified answer from her.

“Lie to you, but you think we don’t realize you lock up in the basement for watching the races late at night or early in the morning, you keep that bright smile in every photo of Max, that you can’t avoid stop put the damn little heart at ever edit or video of him, fine!” She stands and walks to my door.

“You know this won’t be easy and you take it. For Christ sake, you defend this from dad.” Mia is challenging me. “You know what happened? You start to get terrified about how much you love him and that you could do something to hurt each other, but hey…” She takes a deep breath.

“Go on, and keep lying to you!”

Mom appears in the door killing eyes to Mia as she goes to her room and closes it, loudly.

I take a deep breath and mom watches me. “Let it go mom.” I tossed my hair. “Sometimes I even get angry with myself too.”

The sound of the wheels on the gravel where enough for Nanny appears in the door smiling and opening her arms. I let all the invisible weight I had she take it from me.

“Hi, little girl.” She kisses the side of my head. “Strong as always.” I chuckle, and she lets me go because Aaron hugs me too.

After they started their relationship Aaron sees us as the granddaughters he always wanted, spoiling us every chance he can.

“Are you ready to relax?” I laugh but he caresses my face. “It’s all right, you’re pretty far away from everything.” 

Next morning I woke up to the delicious smell of just made coffee. I slept for more than 10 hours and I felt refreshed; when I leaned out of the window only a green field welcomed me, and a stinging memory started to relieve.

Trying to let it pass as a memory, I got down to the kitchen where Nanny is in her classic apron hands at work, doing my favorite dish. “There you are!” 

“Omg, I should keep a diet Nanny.” She takes importance with her hands and winks at me.

“Are you saying no to my french toast?” Since we were kids Nanny always made us french toast. As we grew up, it became my favorite dish because it always reminds me of endearing moments in family.

“Coffee?” Aaron asked me and I nodded. Nanny put the plate in front of me and the mere scent is making me drool.

I cut a piece and prepare to taste it. “You know, days ago I received a strange package. At the beginning I blamed Aaron and his late night shopping but no.” 

This is heaven, I’m melting at the first bite. “You’re improving your mascarpone cream, Nanny. Sorry, I'll listen.”

She put her elbows facing me. “Then I saw the address and I thought it was you.” I raise my eyebrows. “It came from Monza.”

I froze but she smiled at me tenderly. “You know me sweetheart, I called to the number that came in the top of the box, that strangely directed me right to a woman who asked me to wait a couple of minutes for her to link the call to the right number.” 

I look at Aaron who has calming eyes on his face, encouraging me to keep listening.

“After a couple of minutes, a young male voice introduced to me…” Nanny smiles. “And tell me inside is the recipe and a few ingredients that I couldn't find here to prepare my classic french toast.” 

In Monza, Max took me to a special cafe where I swear I ate the best filling of french toast, and I bet him that with the touch of Nanny it would taste like heaven. 

“I thought he was a psycho or something like that.” I laugh seeing her smiling and Aaron rolling his eyes. “I told him that but he introduced himself <properly>.” 

“The asshole who made your amazing granddaughter struggle in already hard times.” I look lethal at Aaron but he raises his hands. “That’s what he said.”

“How he…” Nanny chuckled before answering. 

“Mia told him the address and the way he can come.” I blink and open my eyes so big.

“Wh… What?” Nanny keeps making the french toast. 

“Called like a bartering. I told him if he was dumb the last thing he could do was learn how to properly prepare french toast and the next time don’t burn the kitchen.” 

How could she know?

“They talked for hours!” Aarod stands and picks up his cup of coffee. “The bill for the phone will cost a fortune!” Nanny and I laugh. “He came a week ago, almost set the kitchen on fire but I think he learned something.”

“What am I trying to say darling is, we respect your decision, we do, but hey… It will be nice if you are there.” Nanny carness my head. “Also, no one has to know, like obligatory.”

“A thief of recipes, granddaughter and precious ph…” Nanny threw blueberries to Aaron.

<ONE MORE TIME, MAX VERSTAPPEN IS THE WORLDWIDE CHAMPION OF F1!>

I can see his small bump fist in the air through the screen, and hear the fragments of his radio communications, cursing from happines. When the ceremony ends, all his team cover him in champagne before hugging him and pat his head and back to congratulate him.

“There you are!” Checo sneaks into the garage of Ferrari. Of course he gives me a VIP pass but he’s smart and got a favor from Charles who gladly accepted hosting me, didn't ask any other questions, just agreed.

“I’m sorry for making you take a long flight.” Checo hugged me but I shook my head. 

“It’s all right, I mean…” I raise my hands. “It's a totally different experience.” 

“I think she’s wearing the right color, now.” Charles walks closer to us, pointing at the red cap I’m wearing. 

Checo rolls his eyes. “Ready?” Charles smiled at me softly before we left the Ferrari garage.

I walked through these corridors a lot of times. I learned how it works but this time there was a party in Red Bull Garage, the protagonist, Max Verstappen. He has a huge smile on his face all wet but could care less, Checo walks ahead and hugs him but I can see he whisper something to him, making Max start to search all over the garage with anxiety.

All in their own world but he saw me, running to me. I scoff because he stands in front of me clenching his fist unable to know if hugging me is the right thing to do, I pull him as I put his arm around me; Max shutter for a second until he puts both of his arms around my waist and like always he lifts me from the ground.

“I’m so proud of you.” I whisper to him, hiding my face in his neck. I guess all the people saw us because I heard shouts and claps around us. 

Slowly he puts me on the ground but he grips my hand so I can follow to the back room. I saw Violet who smiled at me and winked at me.

Inside of the room, I see him trembling and hug him one more time. 

“Congrats Champion.” This time it was his turn to hide his face on my neck. “You really think I will miss this?”

He smiles on my neck. “Thank you, thank you for coming.” 

I close my eyes, allowing me to enjoy the moment. “I am already fighting in the first place for being your fan.”

He splits, still grabbing me by my waist. “My grandmother could be a little talkative and you overcome like a champ.” His cheeks turned a soft pink. “Thanks.”

He breathed in slowly. “Sch… Y/N, I…”

“Where have you been?” Christian enters the room, happiness screaming from his face. “Your family is looking for you.” 

I take a step back for Christian hugs Max one more time.

“I'll be there in a minute. I just…” Max looked at him but I interrupted him.

“Go, I'll have to go anyway.” Both looked at me with incredulity.

“What?” Asking the same question. 

I chuckled. “My coach will kill me, no one knows I'm here and in two days I have to do my training.”

Christian smiles. “One more day Y/N, I bet Max is dying for you to stay here.”

“It's ok, go, you must be celebrating. I have a flight to take.” Thankfully more crew of Red Bull enters looking for them. He couldn't respond just smiling and being dragged for his team, in the middle of screams, and a lot of noise.

Max turns around several times, the last thing I want him to have from me before going to celebrate is teary me, so I keep smiling all the time, a honest smile about how happy I'm from him.

“If you need anything let me know, all right?” Checo hugged me and gave me a new T-shirt, mine clearly wet. “Have a safe flight.”

I looked down at the shirt, of course, it’s Max’s T-shirt.

Violet makes me jump standing next to me. “Thank you.” She gave me a polaroid. “He was acting… odd, and swore you won't come but…” Her voice cuts. 

“I'll support him, always.” I sighed. “I have to go, thank you so much for everything Violet.”

She hugs me tighter. “Can I help you with something else?”

I shake my head. “Go, you must be celebrating too.”

I walked back slowly through the garages, like a goodbye, standing next to the track where a few people from each team stood there.

“I guess it's goodbye?” Alexandra said, walking closer to me. “Are you ok?”

I noticed the knot on my throat and tears accumulating in my eyes. 

“I left more than I thought with him.” Alexandra grabs my hand. “Thank you so much for not leaving me alone.” 

I see the polaroid in my hand. “Do you need something?” I wipe the tears and look at her, and notice Leo in her arms.

“No, I'll be fine, right Leo?” She smiles but her eyes focus on something at my back.

“I reached you, a hundred people working here and…whatever.” A breathless Charles. “A car is waiting for you to take you to the airport and then a jet will take you home.” Charles said petting Leo.

“Oh, no please, I don't want to cause you trouble.” Both of them smile.

“Carlos will take us home.” Charles hugs me. “I'm sorry I can't do more.”

That was enough for me to cry, until Leo licked my hand.

“Oh god I hate to cry.” All giggle. “I'd better go before my eyes turn more fluffy.”

“Don't forget to send us the tickets for the competition.” Alexandra smiles at me; she already mentioned their intention to go to the qualifiers.

“You don't have to, I mean I understand…” Charles grabs her hand.

“Are you joking? Taking him out, we are your number 1 fans.” I laugh. “Call us when you're at home, ok?” 

I nod and give them a kiss for goodbye.

“Yeah, she looks better in red.” Alexandra jokes as I patt Leo, before walking away.

“We're talking seriously about the tickets!” Charles screamed before I disappeared, this time breathing out slowly like if I just shot an important arrow, hoping I hit the right spot.

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

One more to go… 🥺 

I’ll probably do a small poll, but I happily read you if you have a suggestion. I have something in mind too.

[targaryenluvs]

satellite | charles leclerc

<3 briefly based on satellite by hs :)

SUMMARY: the one where charles tries to stay away after your falling out.

WARNING: angsty angst, swearing, drunk stuff, fluff, jealousy, and overprotective-ness (dickhead charles and ASSHOLE LANDO ladies and gents)

PAIRING: charles leclerc x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.1k - somewhere in the thousands     

A/N: the first part was supposed to be just a one shot but people asked for a p2 so here! and i didn’t proof read lemme know if there are any mistakes

tags: @sheslikeacurse @dan3avacado @miinqrii @honethatty12 @pleasedontfollowimlost

(just the people who asked for p2 i can definitely make a permanent taglist just let me know! enjoy <3)

PART 1

It had been a few months since that night.

Five months to be exact.

Since then you had gotten over it. Over him. 

Which is what you told everyone despite the fact that you knew it wasn’t true. He crushed you. Your life came crumbling down on you in that club. And somehow he moved on particularly quickly. By Abu Dhabi his smile was back on his face, and a new girl on his arm. 

And she made your blood boil.

With her perfect self. Perfect hair. Perfect everything.

And what sucked even more than Charles moving on with lightning speed?

The fact that she was truly perfect. She was a literal angel. She was an elementary school teacher close to Charles’s Monaco apartment. And their supposed meeting made you want to gouge your own eyes out when thinking about it. They had met whilst Charles was babysitting for a friend of his, the couple being absolutely knackered from taking care of their trio of terror that Charles was kind enough to offer to take their eldest, Brina, to school. 

And when he came back to pick her up he was met with a crying Brina sitting in her lap. Her being Elena. Elena Seour. A 23 year old French woman, with brown hair and gorgeous dark brown eyes. 

How ironic. She was quite literally Y/n L/n 2.0! But not that the similarities ever resonated with you.

It was hard. Smiling to everyone, nodding, 

“Yeah it’s been a while, I’m okay.” 

“I’ve been doing great! Focusing more on work, I’m good.” 

“It’s been a while since I talked to him but yeah, overall life’s fine, I’m great.”

I’m okay. I’m good. I’m great.

Somehow those words always tasted bitter in your mouth. You always hoped that bitterness would fade away. But it had been so long, and there it was. A reminder, that you were anything but fine. 

You were walking through the streets of Monaco. 

Everything was calling out to you. The small city was bustling and bubbling on the Friday afternoon. The sun was dipping behind the crystal waters to your right as you continued your brisk walk. The taste was gone, you couldn’t be more happy, a weight of your shoulders.

You had your headphones in and were listening to music. It was calming. For the first time, in a long time, you felt at ease, peaceful. But of course that was disrupted as your best friend Spotify decided to blast ‘Kiwi’ by Harry. Which would’ve been fine despite the fact that you were in a more relaxed mood. Which prompted you to open up your phone and scroll through your thousands of playlists. 

Your hand hovered over one playlist.

‘CHAR AND Y/N/N <3′

There it was, that bitter taste.

For some stupid reason you clicked on it. But honestly, you were surprised. Not by the silly music taste comprising of ABBA, Coldplay, Harry Styles, Zayn, Kendrick and Taylor Swift to a bunch of French artists you had no clue about. But by the fact that it did nothing. Your eyes weren’t tearing up, your heartbeat the same, everything the same.

And that comforted you. You were getting better. 

But you weren’t so sure if you wanted to listen to the playlist and fall off the idea of getting better and into the dark abyss that was Charles. 

Charles Leclerc.

His smile, laugh, hair, horrifying fashion taste-

No! No, no, no. Not happening.

Your stomachs rumbling brought you back to the present day as you got out of the playlist and decided on Zayn’s “Mind of Mine” album. You continued to walk as you searched up near-by restaurants which were still open. And there it was. The echoing laughter of the gods above as the only open restaurant was-

Of course, how surprising! And not only was that annoying but the fact that the two of you had your birthday there not even six months ago felt like a slap in the face. 

Toujours. Forever.

It’s just a restaurant. It’s not like you’re going to his apartment and knocking on the door or anything Y/n. Calm the fuck down. 

You reassured yourself as you turned around and made your way to the place.

What you hadn’t prepared yourself for was the fact that you had entirely forgotten the fact that not only had Toujours been your favourite restaurant in the city but also a certain Monegasque’s.

So it was entirely shocking when you walked in and spotted the Ferrari driver through the glass sliding doors in the back. He looked gorgeous as always. The golden hour light did nothing to deter you from looking at him, it drew you in. He was wearing a white dress shirt with black pants, his blazer no where to be seen. He was reading a magazine, whilst holding onto a glass of what you assumed was alcohol but from where you were you couldn’t tell.

What did shock you was when Elena returned to the seat in front of him. His jacket draped over her shoulders, with a wide smile on her face.

The warm smile of hers was not reciprocated. 

Which piqued your interest.

The hostess returned, “We have a table ready for you Miss! Follow me.” You nodded and smiled before following her along. 

You wondered how it would be like to die by glass. Just a shard of glass to eye. Or the neck. Or the head. Each one of those options seems more friendly as you listened to Elena drone on and on and on and-

You get the idea.

Of course the only available table was next to them. 

You were sitting with your back to Charles as was he. You thanked god that he was fixing his cuff whilst you were seated. You were nowhere near ready to talk to him. Being so close in proximity to him already had your heart beating out of your chest, ready to leap and run. God you wished you could run.

But your protestant stomach thought the opposite.

Your nose scrunched in disgust as the waitress walked past with white wine. God you hated white wine. So you were even more disgusted when the glass was placed in front of Charles, to which he grabbed it and downed the entire glass. He also hated white wine, whilst Lando loved it. Which always resulted in you and Charles ganging up on him while teasing him.

“I swear to god it’s not even that bad for fucks sake Charles!”

Maybe he had a bad race week? You hadn’t been especially paying attention to Formula One since the split, only every focusing on Lando and Daniel the few times you did pay attention in the week. 

Your eyes flicked up as the waitress walked to your table with your order. God had you missed the food here. You were having a cheat day. Which Charles obviously took a bit too literally a few months ago.

So when she placed the Pizza Margherita on your table you had to refrain from kissing her out of gratefulness. The smell was intoxicating. You had also ordered Garlic bread and Mozzarella sticks. 

“Miss?”

“Hm?” 

“I said there’s an open table inside if you’d like. I can bring this all in.”

You nodded profusely. Anything to get away from Miss Chatty behind you. You took it all back. She wasn’t perfect, she was eager. Way to eager. She hung onto every word of Charles as if he was a god. Which he is but still. She was far to kind, to optimistic all the time. And god was she whiny.

“Charles you’re going to be gone for so long.”

“Charles I’m going to be so lonely.”

“I want you home please.”

She would never shut up. And she also didn’t grasp the concept that Charles was a Formula One driver. Him being busy is the first thing you have to come to terms with in order to be in a relationship with him. And you knew how much Charles hated whining. Well only a certain type of whining. By the way his muscles were tensed which was very appealing to see, you could tell he was at his breaking point. Charles had always hated being away from you, as did you hate being away from him. But you understood. The amount of effort, sacrifice and most of all time that he had put into his career. And you were always supportive, no matter what. However Elena seemed to cling onto him. She quite literally was acting like the children she cared for. Pouting her lips whilst begging him to stay with her.

“It’s just one race, why can’t you stay?”

Is this bitch for real?

The quiet music was soothing as you ate. But you couldn’t help but glance over at the couple outside ever so often. Once you were finished with quite literally all of your food safe to say you were ready to fall into a coma. Food coma that is.

And as you were gathering your belongings to leave, shouting from outside had caught your attention. 

“You always put it over me! Everything over me! Your team, career, Carlos, Lando, Arthur everyone!” 

“Ma carrière est tout! C'est comme ça que je paie ton appartement. Vos vêtements. Ta voiture. Je te donne tout ce que tu veux ! Tout le temps! Je n'ai même pas fêté la deuxième victoire de Carlos à cause de toi ! Tu m'entraînes loin de ma vie et tu m'enfermes comme si tu me possédais. God I do everything for you. Is it not enough?” 

My career is everything! It’s how I pay for your apartment. Your clothes. Your car. I give you everything you want! All the time! I didn’t even celebrate Carlos’s second win because of you! You drag me away from my life and lock me up like you fucking own me. 

“I told you to not speak in languages I don’t fucking know! I don’t give a shit about the money okay? I want you! But you don’t want me. I know it. Don’t even try to deny it okay? I see the way you look at her. When she walks by with Lando in the paddock, god you don’t even try to hide it.”

“How the hell is this about Y/n now-”

“It always is! You love her not me. You never have. You liked the idea of being with me, to get over her. It’s all about her!”

“Tu es fou.” You’re fucking crazy.

The unmistakable sound of a hand striking his face.

“I’m not stupid, I know that much French asshole.”

A teary eyed girl ran past you and you thanked god she didn’t look your way.

 Charles was sitting down again. His head in his hands. And you found yourself glossy eyed. He looked miserable. He took his head out of his hands and leaned his back, looking up at the sky.

Charles found himself thinking of you. Where were you? 

And how the hell did he get here. 

The second month he had resorted to a jab or two.

God if he could take it all back he would.

And that’s how he found himself in a bar at 2 am in the morning with Pierre, Lando and Max all around him, drunk too. Him and Lando were still iffy. Lando gave him a piece of his mind almost every day he saw the man on track after the breakup for the first month. 

The third was hateful death stares from across the paddock. 

The fourth resulted in awkward small take.

The fifth had them in an okay spot. Ever since Lando had learnt of Y/n being better in general seeing her smile return had him over the moon. Even if he was still annoyed at Charles seeing the wreck that he was had him sympathetic. 

“I don’t even- I’m not even sad over Elena. I-is that fucked?” 

“Slightly mate, but overall even after dating her you saw her about a week each month so it wasn’t t-that big of a relationship so it’s okay. You’ll be over it soon.” Lando consoled the driver.

And that had Lando and Pierre totally sober. 

“I just want my Y/n.”

After months of Charles being with Elena and re-assuring his friends and family that he was okay with out her, he was back in square one?

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me man.” Pierre sighed. 

“What?” Charles asked as he raised his head from his arms on the table only to be ushered back to his original position. 

“Shh Charlie. Ce n'est rien, rendors-toi d'accord?”

Nothing. Go back to sleep ok?

You had been twirling the umbrella in your Virgin Cocktail for the past five minutes. The club wasn’t really your scene, hasn’t been since that night. You were bored out of your mind and had no idea what to do. Seeing Charles so, broken? Exhausted? You had no thoughts to describe it. 

After a few drunken protests he was asleep. Lando and Pierre sighed in relief. 

It just hurt. You hated seeing him so down, always have.

So when your turned to inspect your surroundings and saw Charles laid across a booth to your right with Pierre and Lando slowly getting out of the booth to go to the bathroom you had to hold your head. How the hell had you run into him twice already?

And all of a sudden you were sitting by his head, and your hand brushing the hair out of his face.

“Y/n?” Pierre questioned.

“Pierre!” You smiled as you got up and wrapped him in a hug, Lando joining shortly afterwards. “What’re you doing next to Charles?” And all of a sudden your shoes became extremely interesting as you gazed at them. “I- I was just- Fuck I have no clue. I just, I miss him.”

“Y/n, as one of Charles’s best mate, I have to say that he misses you. Too much. Honestly? I think he’s still mentally at that club. Replaying it over and over. How he could’ve handled it better. Why he did what he did. He’s beating himself up over everything. Elena was just a distraction and he doesn’t even realize he’s still on you half the time. Elena looks exactly like you, brown hair and eyes, short and so on. He needs closure which I don’t think he ever got, neither did you. I loved the two of you together even if you guys were so sickeningly sweet it made me regret ever being against the two of you. But as your best friend? Since we were kids?”

Whatever he was about to say was going to hurt and you knew it.

“If you take him back I will never forgive you.” 

You never thought anything could ever rival how you felt that night but Lando always proved you wrong.

“How could you say that!” You shouted.

“He hurt you! He fucking hurt you bad. I was there for you! I held you when you cried, I dragged you of bed when you threatened to punch me in the face if I even took the covers off of you. When you teared up when finding his sweatshirt I threw it away! I will not let you go back to him if you don’t know for sure how he won’t cheat again. I can not, I will not let it happen again. Y/n you deserve so much more that some cunt who cheats.” Lando rambled on.

“I appreciate you Lando you know that. I love you, you have always been there for me no matter what. But if I want to get back with Charles that would be my choice. I am not a child, you cannot boss me around or make decisions about my life. Yes he hurt and I will forever be grateful to have had you there to get me through everything but Charles is not an idiot. If we did get back together there is no way in hell would he cheat again and I know it. I know Charles in ways that you will never.”

“You obviously didn’t know him well enough since he cheated on you. And you’re fucking going back to him like a fucking idiotic girl.”

Smack.

“How dare you. Fucking using my shit? My past against me? I don’t give a single shit if you don’t want me with Charles I am a grown fucking woman and I will do as I please. When you’ve finally got your head screwed on straight come talk to me like a normal fucking friend would, otherwise?” You looked him in his eyes.

Somehow you again ended up on a balcony for fresh air. “Y/n.” “Fuck off Lando.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me.”

“Y/n.”

Your head shot up as you turned around. Charles was standing there, and you couldn’t stop yourself from hugging him as tight as possible. 

“I missed you. I missed you so fucking much it hurt.”

“I missed you too. I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry for everything ma chérie.” 

He held your face with his hands on each cheek before resting his forehead with yours. “I missed you. These past few months have been fucking awful. God not even racing made me feel better. You have no clue how much I regret everything that happened that day. I felt so stupid, kissing some random girl when I had the most beautiful girl already. I have no clue why I did it, being drunk is no excuse. You never ever deserved any of the shit I put you through. You were always patient with me and I will be patient with you.”

You looked up into his eyes. God you missed his eyes.

“Je serai patient, je t'attendrai mon cœur.”

I will be patient, I will wait for you my heart. 

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Did you just quote Harry Styles?”

“Don’t wait. I’m here, right here spinning out waiting for you.”

“Of course. He’s my husband y’know?”

“Oh really? So do I have to fight this guy to get to you ma chérie?”

“Of course! Good luck Char, he’s really hot.” 

“Is he now?” He laughed as he tickled your sides whilst you swatted his arms and tried to wriggle away to safety.

“Mon ange please!” You cried.

His heart was intact again. 

The nickname had sirens going off in his head, leaving him wondering if this was even real. Did he seriously have you back again? He did. 

And he would love you forever, always waiting for you.

Round and round.

Satellite.