#charles leclerc x reader x max verstappen

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | proposals

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested) : he surprises you... with a ring.

୨ৎ : genre : romance & fluff ୨ৎ : tws : suggestive themes ୨ৎ : word count : 4586

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : a plead for more fluff, your prayer has been answered!

ʚ・max verstappen

“is it just me, or has max been acting weird lately?” you asked your friend as you absently fiddled with the hem of your jacket in the paddock. max was preparing for qualifying, and despite your effort to focus on the hum of activity around you, your thoughts kept circling back to him.

your friend shot you a curious look. “weird how? do you think he’s hiding something?”

you shrugged, letting out a small laugh to downplay your growing suspicion. “i don’t know… it’s not like he’s being distant or anything. he’s just been—antsy. like he’s waiting for something. it’s weird.”

your friend raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your overthinking. “maybe he is hiding something,” they teased. “or maybe you’re just overanalyzing.”

you huffed out a laugh, but the thought lingered.

later that evening, you met max for dinner at a cozy restaurant tucked away from the usual chaos of race weekends. the two of you had managed to carve out this little slice of normalcy amidst the whirlwind of his career, and you always treasured it.

but tonight, something felt different.

max was his usual self—sweet, attentive, and playful—but there was an edge to him, like he was holding his breath. you’d caught him glancing at you more than usual, his leg bouncing slightly under the table.

you set your glass down and decided to just ask. “alright, max, what’s going on? you’ve been acting—”

before you could finish, the lights in the restaurant suddenly dimmed.

“what the—?” you muttered, looking around in confusion as candles flickered to life on the table.

and then, from the shadows, a few familiar faces emerged—your closest friends, your family, all smiling warmly at you.

your breath caught. “what is happening?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you turned back to max.

but when your eyes met his, he was no longer sitting. he was kneeling.

“max…” you started, your heart pounding as he smiled up at you, his blue eyes shimmering with emotion.

“let me talk before you say anything,” he said with a soft laugh, his voice slightly shaky but full of warmth. “i know i’ve been weird lately—sorry about that. i’ve just been planning this day over and over in my head. i wanted it to be perfect because…”

he took a deep breath, and you saw the slightest tremor in his hands as he held out a small velvet box. “because i love you more than i can put into words. you’ve changed my life in ways i never thought possible, and i can’t imagine spending another moment without you by my side. so…”

he opened the box to reveal a stunning ring, and your eyes blurred with tears. “will you marry me?”

for a moment, all you could do was stare, your hand covering your mouth as you tried to process everything. and then, in true fashion, you couldn’t help but joke through the overwhelming emotion.

“max, get up. you’re embarrassing me!” you said, laughing through your tears.

he laughed too, his cheeks flushing. “let me finish my speech, will you?”

you nodded, still grinning as he continued.

“i’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. you’re my everything. my partner, my best friend, my world. i don’t care if this is embarrassing because i’d embarrass myself a thousand times over if it meant i could call you mine forever.”

his words hit you right in the heart, and by the time he asked again, “so, will you marry me?” you could barely get the words out through your tears.

“yes,” you whispered, then louder, “yes! of course!”

the room erupted into cheers as max stood, slipping the ring onto your finger before pulling you into his arms. he kissed you, softly at first, then with all the love and relief he’d been holding back.

as your friends and family gathered around to congratulate you, max leaned close to whisper in your ear, “i told you i wasn’t being weird for no reason.”

you laughed, leaning your forehead against his. “you’re still a little weird, but i love you anyway.”

and from the way he smiled at you, you knew this was just the beginning of forever.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

“let me take you to italy early,” lewis said, his warm brown eyes fixed on you as he tried to convince you. “we can explore the city together before i have to make my debut with ferrari. just us.”

you hesitated, glancing out the window at the familiar, cozy gray skies of home. “but my home is here, baby,” you murmured, your voice soft. “here in the uk.”

lewis reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “i know,” he said, giving you that boyish smile that always made your heart melt. “but this’ll be different. just one week, before the madness starts again. come on, let me steal you away.”

you sighed, knowing full well that he’d already won you over. “alright,” you relented, a small smile tugging at your lips. “but only because it’s you.”

the trip was nothing short of magical.

lewis took you through the heart of italy, weaving through cobblestone streets and picturesque piazzas, his excitement contagious. he made you try every local delicacy, promising it was “for the full experience,” and insisted on taking candid photos of you when you weren’t looking.

midweek, he brought you to the ferrari factory. his face lit up as he showed you around, the glint in his eyes a mix of pride and anticipation. watching him interact with the team, you couldn’t help but feel a swell of admiration for him, knowing how much this new chapter meant to him.

and then came the last night.

lewis had insisted you get your nails done that morning, though he was unusually cryptic about why. “just trust me,” he said with a wink before leaving you to pamper yourself. when you got back to the hotel, you found a stunning dress laid out on the bed, a handwritten note from him resting on top.

“wear this tonight. no questions. xx lewis”

dressed and ready, you stepped into the car he’d arranged, and after a short drive, you arrived at the most breathtaking spot. the sun was setting, casting a golden glow over a lush hillside. string lights twinkled softly above a blanket spread out on the grass, surrounded by candles. a picnic was perfectly arranged, and standing in the middle of it all was lewis, holding your favorite flowers.

“you look stunning,” he said, his voice low and full of admiration as you approached. he kissed your cheek before leading you to sit.

the evening was perfect—good food, laughter, and stories shared as the world seemed to fade away around you. but as the night settled into a quiet calm, lewis stood and gently pulled you to your feet.

your brows furrowed as you looked at him, but before you could say anything, he was already lowering himself onto one knee.

“lewis…” you whispered, your hand flying to your mouth as he pulled a small box from his pocket.

“i’ve been thinking about how to say this for weeks,” he began, his voice steady but full of emotion. “you’ve been my rock, my partner, my everything. through all the highs and lows, you’ve been there, and i don’t know how i ever got this lucky.

“joining ferrari, starting this new chapter—it’s exciting, but none of it matters without you by my side. you make me better in every way, and all i want is to spend the rest of my life with you, sharing every moment, every adventure, every quiet night.”

tears welled in your eyes as he opened the box, revealing a stunning ring that caught the flicker of the candlelight.

“so,” he said, his smile soft and nervous all at once, “will you marry me?”

for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, overwhelmed with love and disbelief. finally, you managed to nod, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“yes,” you whispered, your voice breaking before you said it again, louder this time. “yes, lewis. of course.”

he slipped the ring onto your finger, standing to pull you into his arms as you laughed through your tears. “i love you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

and as you looked out over the beautiful italian countryside, wrapped in his arms, you knew this was the start of something even more incredible than you could’ve ever imagined.

ʚ・george russell

“you know,” you said, laughing as you took another bite of your lunch, “my friends keep saying the craziest thing lately.”

george glanced up from his plate, his blue eyes twinkling with curiosity. “oh? what have they been saying?”

“they keep telling me you’re going to propose to me,” you said, laughing even harder at the thought. “isn’t that wild?”

the laughter caught in your throat when george, mid-bite, choked on his food. his eyes widened slightly as he reached for his water, and you watched him with a raised brow.

“are you okay?” you asked, stifling a laugh.

once he recovered, he looked at you, a little too intently. “i mean… if i were going to propose, would you be mad?”

you tilted your head, smiling softly. “of course not, my love. but you’ve been so busy lately. i know you wouldn’t be planning something like that right now.”

george nodded, his expression unreadable. “right… of course.”

but something in his tone made you pause.

over the next few days, the idea seemed to follow you everywhere. your friends weren’t letting up, either.

“why would he ask you to get your nails done?” one of them asked pointedly.

“and your hair,” another chimed in. “he’s definitely planning something.”

you shook your head, laughing off their theories, though you couldn’t deny the tiniest flicker of curiosity. still, george had been acting a little… shady. subtle, but shady. you chalked it up to his usual busy schedule, brushing off the idea of anything more.

at least, until a few days later.

the beach was stunning, a secluded stretch of soft sand meeting endless waves that shimmered under the setting sun. you’d been surprised when george suggested a quiet getaway, just the two of you. he said it was to relax before the season picked up again, but something about the way he kept fidgeting had your nerves on edge.

as you walked along the shore, the golden light casting an ethereal glow, george suddenly stopped.

“wait,” he said, reaching for your hand.

you turned to him, your brows furrowing slightly. “what’s up?”

he smiled, a nervous but endearing smile, and before you could ask again, he was down on one knee.

your heart stopped.

“george,” you breathed, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

“alright,” he began, grinning up at you. “first off, i have to say, i cannot believe you didn’t catch on. you’re usually much more observant, love.”

your jaw dropped, half in shock and half in amusement. “you’re making fun of me now?”

he laughed, but his expression quickly softened. “i’m serious, though. i’ve been thinking about this moment for a long time. you’re my everything—my partner, my best friend, the person i want to spend every moment with. i love you more than i can put into words, and i can’t imagine life without you.”

tears welled in your eyes as he pulled out a small velvet box, revealing a sparkling ring.

“so,” he said, his voice steady and full of emotion, “will you marry me?”

for a moment, you just stared at him, overwhelmed by the weight of the moment. finally, you nodded, tears streaming down your face. “yes, george. of course, yes!”

he slipped the ring onto your finger before standing and wrapping you in his arms. you laughed, still in disbelief, as he pressed his lips to yours.

“i can’t believe you,” you said between laughs, your head resting against his chest. “you really planned all of this?”

“i did,” he said, smiling down at you. “and i’d do it a hundred times over just to see that look on your face.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

“hermosa, would you like to go out for dinner on friday?” carlos asked, his voice soft as you stood by the mirror, finishing up your nightly routine.

“dinner? on friday?” you repeated, slipping into bed beside him, a smile tugging at your lips. “i’d love to, amor.”

carlos leaned over, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead. “perfecto. the season starts soon, and i want to spend as much time as i can with you before it all gets busy again.”

you smiled, feeling your heart melt a little more—like it always did with him.

the days passed quickly, and soon friday arrived.

carlos, as always, had everything meticulously planned. he’d picked out your outfit—a stunning dress in your favorite color—and, true to his usual thoughtful self, made sure his suit coordinated perfectly. if you wore a red dress, carlos would find a way to incorporate red into his look, whether it was his tie, pocket square, or even the lining of his jacket. it was one of those little things that made him so uniquely him.

“you look breathtaking,” he said as he helped you into the car, his eyes filled with nothing but admiration.

“and you match,” you teased, running your hand along his lapel. “as always.”

he grinned, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “siempre,” he murmured.

dinner was perfect—an intimate table for two at a beautiful restaurant with warm candlelight and soft music in the background. carlos, ever the gentleman, kept his focus entirely on you, listening intently as you talked and making you laugh with his playful jokes.

but as the evening came to an end, something about his energy shifted. he seemed more nervous than usual, though he tried to play it off.

“let’s take a walk,” he suggested as you both stepped outside.

the air was cool, the streetlights casting a golden glow over the cobblestone street. you didn’t think much of it until carlos suddenly stopped in front of the restaurant, turning to face you.

“carlos?” you asked, confused as he reached for your hands.

his dark eyes met yours, filled with an emotion so raw it took your breath away. “hermosa,” he started, his voice a little unsteady. “there’s something i’ve been wanting to say for a long time now.”

before you could process what was happening, he was down on one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket.

gasps and murmurs rose from the small crowd of onlookers nearby, but all you could focus on was him.

“i love you,” carlos said, his voice stronger now, filled with certainty. “i love everything about you—your laugh, your quirks, the way you care so deeply for the people around you. i love how you notice the little things, how you make every day feel special just by being in it. and i want to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you make me.”

tears welled in your eyes as he opened the box, revealing a ring that sparkled even in the dim light.

“will you marry me?” he asked, his gaze never leaving yours.

for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. and then, with a tearful laugh, you nodded.

“yes, carlos,” you whispered, your voice shaky but sure. “of course, yes!”

cheers erupted around you as he slid the ring onto your finger and stood, pulling you into his arms. he kissed you deeply, his smile pressed against your lips.

“you had one choice,” he teased quietly, a playful glint in his eyes.

“and it was the right one,” you replied, grinning through your tears.

as he held you close, you couldn’t help but think about how every little detail he cared about, every thoughtful gesture, every look, and every word all came together to make this moment so perfectly, beautifully carlos.

ʚ・charles leclerc

“ma chérie, you look beautiful,” charles said with a soft smile as he grabbed your hand and spun you gently, making your dress twirl. he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear before planting a playful kiss on your neck. “but you’d look better with it off,” he teased, his voice low and flirtatious.

your jaw dropped in mock offense as you lightly smacked his chest. “charles!” you laughed, shaking your head. “keep it in your pants, baby.”

he laughed, his green eyes sparkling with mischief as he pulled you into his arms. “are you ready to be on the yacht for the first time since we’ve been back in monaco?”

you nodded eagerly, your smile wide. “of course i am. there’s nothing better than being with you on the sea.”

charles smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “je t’aime.”

“i love you too, amore,” you replied softly, leaning into him.

the two of you headed to the yacht, the sun casting a golden glow over the sparkling water. when you arrived, the crew greeted you warmly, and the yacht began to drift away from the dock, leaving monaco’s skyline behind.

charles took your hand, leading you up to the second level. as you stepped onto the deck, you gasped. a beautifully set candlelit table awaited, complete with a chilled bottle of wine and a server standing by. the soft glow of the candles reflected off the water, creating a magical ambiance.

“charles,” you breathed, looking around in awe. “what is this?”

he smiled, his gaze full of adoration. “i thought you deserved to be spoiled, ma chérie. it’s been too long since we’ve had time like this together.”

he pulled out your chair, helping you settle in before taking his own seat across from you.

“charles, this is really beautiful,” you said, your voice full of gratitude.

“anything for you, cherie,” he replied, his accent making the words sound even sweeter.

dinner was perfect, the two of you sharing laughs, stories, and heartfelt conversation. charles seemed especially thoughtful, his gaze lingering on you more than usual.

after the last course, he shifted in his chair, his demeanor becoming more serious yet still soft. “you know,” he began, his tone quieter, “being with you has been the best part of my life. i know i’ve been busy, and sometimes i’m not always there as much as i should be.”

you tilted your head, confused by the sudden shift in conversation. “charles, what’s going on?”

he stood up slowly, reaching into his pocket. your heart began to race as he pulled out a small velvet box, his fingers trembling slightly.

“mon amour,” he said, dropping to one knee in front of you.

your hand flew to your mouth as tears welled in your eyes.

“i’ve thought about this moment every day,” he continued, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “i love everything about you—your quirks, the little things you do when you think no one is watching, the way you make me feel like the luckiest man alive just by being by my side. i love your flaws, your strengths, all of it. it’s everything i’ve ever wanted in my life, forever.”

your tears spilled over as he opened the box, revealing a dazzling diamond ring that sparkled even in the candlelight.

“i want to spend the rest of my life with you, cherie. will you marry me?”

for a moment, you were too overwhelmed to speak, your emotions taking over. finally, you nodded, laughing through your tears. “yes, charles. yes, of course!”

the smile that broke across his face was brighter than the stars above as he slipped the ring onto your finger. he stood, pulling you into his arms and kissing you deeply, your tears mixing with his own.

“i love you,” he whispered, holding you close as the yacht gently swayed with the waves.

“i love you too,” you replied, your heart full to bursting.

and as you stood there together, the sea stretching endlessly around you, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be—with charles, forever.

ʚ・lando norris

“lando, you’re being so distant. like, what is your issue?” you asked, crossing your arms as you sat in the passenger seat, watching him grip the wheel a little tighter than usual.

“it’s nothing, i promise,” he replied quickly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

but you couldn’t help the way your mind spiraled. “are you cheating on me?” you blurted out, your voice sharp and accusing.

lando slammed on the brakes, pulling the car over abruptly. he turned to you, his wide eyes filled with disbelief. “cheating on you? are you serious right now?”

“well, then why are you acting so weird!” you fired back, feeling frustration bubble over.

“i’m not cheating on you,” he said firmly. “and stop saying such irrational things before i crash the car!”

you huffed, crossing your arms tighter as he merged back onto the road. the tension hung thick in the air, but there was something about his tone that made you pause—he wasn’t just annoyed; he seemed… nervous.

after a few more silent minutes, the car pulled up to a secluded garden bathed in golden afternoon light. you frowned, glancing around.

“where are we?” you asked, the irritation in your voice softening as you took in the beauty of the place.

lando parked and stepped out, rushing around to open your door. he offered you his hand, and though you hesitated, you took it.

as you stepped into the garden, the feeling in your chest shifted. it was just the two of you—no other people, no distractions. the air was fragrant with blooming flowers, and butterflies flitted lazily in the sunlight.

your stomach fluttered as you glanced at lando, who was unusually quiet. he scratched the back of his neck, his signature nervous tell. that’s when it hit you—this wasn’t just a random outing.

“lando…” you started, your voice softer now.

but before you could finish, he turned to you, his cheeks flushed. “look, i know i’ve been acting weird,” he admitted, running a hand through his messy hair. “and i’m sorry. it’s just… i’ve been planning this for weeks, and i was so nervous i’d mess it up.”

you blinked, your heart pounding as he dropped to one knee, pulling a small box from his jacket pocket.

your hand flew to your mouth as your suspicions were confirmed, and a wave of emotions hit you all at once.

“i love you,” lando began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “more than anything. you’ve been with me through everything—the ups, the downs, the crazy schedules, the late-night arguments about absolutely nothing.” he let out a nervous laugh, and you felt tears well up in your eyes.

“you’ve seen the best and the worst of me, and somehow, you still choose to love me. i don’t want to imagine my life without you in it. so, here i am, asking you to make it official.”

he opened the box, revealing a ring that sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight.

“will you marry me?” he asked, his voice soft, almost vulnerable.

you couldn’t stop the tears from spilling as you nodded. “yes, of course, yes!”

lando let out a breath he’d clearly been holding, slipping the ring onto your finger before standing and pulling you into a tight hug.

“i can’t believe you thought i was cheating on you,” he teased, his playful smirk returning as he kissed your temple.

“well, you were acting suspicious!” you shot back, laughing through your tears.

he chuckled, holding you close. “yeah, because i was scared out of my mind. do you know how hard it is to hide something this big from you? you’re nosy.”

you swatted at him lightly, grinning. “i’m observant.”

“sure you are,” he teased, leaning down to kiss you again.

and in that quiet, magical garden, with the sunlight casting a golden glow around you, everything felt absolutely perfect.

ʚ・oscar piastri

the great barrier reef had always been a dream of yours—a place you’d talked about endlessly. and, being the proud australian that he was, oscar had promised to take you the moment the season ended. true to his word, here you were, surrounded by vibrant coral and schools of colorful fish, the water shimmering like a painting brought to life.

oscar had gone all out, arranging a private guide and setting up everything to ensure the trip was perfect for just the two of you. it felt special, even more magical than you’d imagined.

after a long snorkeling session with the guide, you emerged from the water, still adjusting your snorkel mask as droplets streamed down your face. you caught sight of oscar standing on the sand, waiting for you.

but something was different.

your heart skipped a beat as you noticed him—barefoot, dressed in a loose white button-up and tailored shorts that made him look effortlessly handsome, his usual chill vibe intact. the sun cast a golden glow over the scene, and your breath caught when you realized he wasn’t just standing there.

he was on one knee.

your hands instinctively went to your snorkel mask as if to tear it off, realizing you were standing there in a dripping swimsuit, goggles pushed awkwardly onto your forehead, and hair probably a complete mess.

“wait… what are you doing?” you stammered, feeling your cheeks burn despite the cool ocean breeze.

oscar grinned, his calm demeanor never faltering. “what does it look like i’m doing?” he teased lightly. “just wait—don’t touch the mask. you look perfect.”

“perfect?” you let out a half-hysterical laugh, glancing down at yourself. “oscar, i look ridiculous!”

but he shook his head, his eyes soft and full of adoration. “no, you don’t. you look like you. authentic. beautiful.” he took a deep breath, his fingers curling tightly around a small box in his hand.

“being with you has made my life so much better,” he began, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “you’ve made even the craziest, busiest days feel worth it. and i knew this was where i wanted to do this because it’s so… us. a little chaotic, but amazing.”

tears stung your eyes as the reality of the moment hit you.

“i want to spend my life with you,” oscar continued, his usual calm exterior cracking just enough for you to see the emotion behind his words. “snorkel masks, messy hair, and all. so… will you marry me?”

you couldn’t help but laugh through your tears, nodding fervently. “yes! of course, yes!”

oscar slipped the ring onto your finger before standing and pulling you into his arms, the warmth of his embrace grounding you as you tried to process the whirlwind of emotions.

“you know,” you sniffled, “i can’t believe you proposed to me when i looked like this.”

oscar chuckled, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. “i wanted it to be real. and let’s be honest, you’d never let me live it down if i’d done something boring or predictable.”

“well, you’re right about that,” you teased, your grin wide as you leaned in to kiss him.

“besides,” he added, his tone playful now, “even with a snorkel mask on, you’re still the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen.”

you rolled your eyes, laughing, but you couldn’t deny that this moment, messy and perfectly imperfect, was so perfectly you two.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[loafysainz]

🎥 SENDING DIRTY TEXT TO MY HUSBAND AROUND BUNCH OF PEOPLE

cast: carlos sainz, lewis hamilton, lando norris, max verstappen, charles leclerc, oscar piastri, george russell × reader!

warn: 18+, smut, minor dni

hope you guys enjoy it!

carlos sainz

Carlos is sitting at the dinner table, surrounded by his family, deep in conversation with his father when his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, expecting something harmless—until he sees your message:

"I can still feel you from last night. My legs are shaking just thinking about it. Maybe you should do something about it later, mi amor."

He chokes on his drink, eyes widening as his mother pats his back, oblivious to the heat rushing to his face. His fingers tighten around his phone as he clears his throat, throwing you a sharp look from across the table. You, sitting there sweetly, sip your wine like you didn’t just set him on fire.

Carlos leans closer, voice low but urgent. "Cariño, you can’t do this to me here."

But the way his jaw clenches, the darkening of his eyes, tells you he’s already planning his revenge for later.

lewis hamilton

The music is loud, drinks flowing as Lewis chats with a few celebrities in the VIP lounge. He’s mid-sentence when his phone vibrates. Casually pulling it out, he takes a quick glance—then freezes.

"I miss having your hands all over me. Maybe we should sneak out and you can remind me how good they feel?"

His lips part slightly, tongue running over his teeth as he exhales sharply. He tilts his head back, taking a slow sip of his drink, but his grip on the glass tightens.

You’re across the room, acting innocent, but when his gaze meets yours, he smirks. Oh, you’re in trouble now.

Lewis leans against the booth, texting back, “Meet me in five. Don’t bother fixing your dress. I’ll ruin it anyway.”

lando norris

Lando is laughing, lining up his shot, when his phone dings. He doesn’t think twice before checking it—only for his eyes to nearly pop out of his skull.

"Imagine me on my knees for you right now. Bet you wouldn’t be able to focus on your little golf game, huh?"

He fumbles his club, nearly dropping it as a deep red flush spreads over his face. The guys around him notice immediately.

“Lando, you good, mate?” Max Fewtrell grins.

“Uh—yeah, yeah, just—uh, hot out here, isn’t it?”

You wink at him from the golf cart, and he shoots you a warning look, shifting awkwardly as he tries to compose himself.

Later, he grabs you by the waist, voice low and desperate. “You’re so dead when we get home.”

max verstappen

Max is in the hospitality lounge, joking with Christian and a few engineers, when he checks his phone under the table. His body stiffens immediately.

"I can still taste you on my lips. Wonder if you'd rather me use my mouth somewhere else next time."

He nearly drops his phone. His face is unreadable, but you know him too well—the slight clench of his jaw, the way he shifts in his seat.

Christian nudges him. “Something wrong?”

Max clears his throat. “No. Nothing.” But his ears are red.

You catch his eye from across the room, biting your lip playfully. He exhales through his nose, tapping out a reply:

"Hotel room. Now."

charles leclerc

Charles is lounging on the deck, drink in hand, surrounded by his friends when his phone lights up. He checks it—and immediately sits up straighter.

"I wish I were sitting on your lap right now… but not in a way that’s appropriate for this party."

His breath hitches, fingers tightening around the glass. He shifts, crossing his legs to conceal his growing problem. His brother Arthur notices.

"Charles, pourquoi tu fais cette tête?" (Why do you look like that?)

"Rien," he mumbles quickly, shoving his phone into his pocket.

You smirk, and he glares at you before texting back, “Keep playing, mon amour. See what happens when we get home.”

oscar piastri

Oscar is laughing with his engineers when he checks his phone. His face immediately changes.

"You looked so good this morning. Wish I’d had more time to be on top of you before you left."

His breath catches in his throat. He coughs, nearly choking on his drink. Andrea Stella raises a brow.

"You okay, Oscar?"

"Yep. Fine. Just—uh, spicy food."

He doesn’t dare look at you, knowing the second he does, he’s screwed. Instead, he sends a quick text back:

"You better be naked when I get back."

george russell

George is the picture of politeness, sipping his tea while his mother chats about the weather. Then his phone vibrates.

He checks it discreetly—only to nearly spit out his drink.

"Wouldn’t it be fun if I slipped under the table right now and made you lose composure in front of everyone?"

His grip on the cup tightens, and he clears his throat loudly, shifting in his seat. His mother eyes him.

"Everything alright, love?"

"Yep, just—uh—just remembered something from work."

You blink innocently at him from across the table, and he clenches his jaw before texting back:

"You are absolutely wicked. But don't worry, I’ll make you beg for mercy later."

END

you can share your thought/ideas my box always open!! 🤍

[trashytracktales]

Texting the F1 grid

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ previous post ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✧₊⁺ prompt ──── “Can you send me a picture of yourself?”

✧₊⁺ featuring ──── Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Liam Lawson, Kimi Antonelli, Carlos Sainz, and Yuki Tsunoda.

✧₊⁺ rating ──── fluff/humor

✧₊⁺ category ──── F/M

✧₊⁺ warnings ──── flirty behavior, suggestive language.

✧₊⁺ date ──── Feb. 3, 2025

✧₊⁺ a/n ──── Next one-shot is on the way, it’s just that I’ve slept 8 hours in the past 3 days, and it takes a while to edit when eyes are burning oop 🙂↕️

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[amirasainz]

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl ♥️

The Nurse and her Racer

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon as Yn hurried through the bustling paddock of the Monaco Grand Prix. The air was thick with the scent of fuel, burnt rubber, and the faint tang of espresso from the hospitality suites. Ferrari’s scarlet banners fluttered in the morning breeze, and the hum of engineers fine-tuning the cars filled the air. Yn, as always, was in the thick of it, her medical bag slung over her shoulder and a warm smile on her face. She was the heart of the Ferrari team, the one person everyone turned to when they needed comfort, care, or just a listening ear.

But today, something was off. Charles, their golden boy, was missing.

“Where’s Charles?” Yn asked, glancing around the garage. The usually lively Monegasque driver was nowhere to be seen. Lewis, leaning casually against a counter with a cup of tea in hand, raised an eyebrow at her.

“Didn’t you hear? Poor Charlie’s down with the flu,” Lewis said, his voice tinged with amusement. “Fred decided to bench him for the weekend. Can’t have him passing out in the car, can we?”

Yn’s heart sank. Charles had been looking forward to his home race for weeks. She knew how much it meant to him. “Is he okay? Has anyone checked on him?”

Lewis smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Funny you should ask. Fred’s sending you to his apartment to take care of him. Seems like you’re the only one he trusts to handle our precious Charles.”

Yn blinked, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Me? Alone? At his apartment?”

Lewis chuckled, clearly enjoying her flustered reaction. “Oh, don’t look so nervous. It’s just Charles. Besides, I think he’ll be thrilled to see you. He’s been giving you those puppy eyes for months now.”

Yn rolled her eyes, though her heart skipped a beat. She and Charles had always shared a special bond. He was sweet, kind, and endlessly charming, and she couldn’t deny that she had feelings for him. But she had never acted on them, and neither had he. It was an unspoken thing, a quiet understanding between them.

“I’m just his nurse,” she said firmly, though her voice wavered slightly.

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “Sure you are. Just don’t forget to take care of Leo too. That dog’s more protective of Charles than Fred is.”

---

An hour later, Yn found herself standing outside Charles’ sleek, modern apartment in Monte Carlo. She took a deep breath, smoothing down her scrubs and adjusting the strap of her medical bag. Before she could knock, the door swung open, revealing a very sick-looking Charles. His usually bright eyes were dull, his hair messy, and his cheeks flushed with fever. He was wearing a loose hoodie and sweatpants, looking far from the confident F1 driver the world knew.

“Yn?” he croaked, his voice hoarse. “What are you doing here?”

“Fred sent me,” she said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “You look terrible, Charles.”

He managed a weak smile. “Thanks. I feel terrible.”

Behind him, Leo, Charles’ dachshund, trotted over to Yn, wagging his tail excitedly. She bent down to scratch his ears, earning a happy bark from the little dog.

“At least someone’s happy to see me,” she teased, straightening up and giving Charles a gentle smile. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

Charles groaned but didn’t argue. He shuffled back to his bedroom, Leo following closely behind. Yn took in the apartment as she followed him. It was spacious and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the Mediterranean. But it was also surprisingly cozy, with photos of Charles’ family and friends scattered around, along with a few racing trophies.

She helped Charles into bed, fluffing his pillows and tucking the blankets around him. He watched her with half-lidded eyes, a soft smile on his face.

“You’re too good to me,” he murmured.

“It’s my job,” she replied, though her cheeks warmed at the way he was looking at her. She busied herself with taking his temperature and checking his vitals, her touch gentle and professional.

“You’re burning up,” she said, frowning. “Have you taken anything for the fever?”

Charles shook his head. “I forgot.”

Yn sighed, rummaging through her bag for some medication. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

He chuckled weakly. “Maybe. But you’re here to take care of me, so I’ll be fine.”

She handed him the pills and a glass of water, watching as he swallowed them. Leo jumped onto the bed, curling up at Charles’ feet and giving Yn a look that seemed to say, I’ve got this.

“You should rest,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

Charles hesitated, his eyes searching hers. “Will you stay with me? Just until I fall asleep?”

Her heart melted at the vulnerability in his voice. “Of course,” she said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Charles shifted slightly, making room for her. Before she could protest, he reached out and pulled her down beside him, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her neck. Leo wiggled closer, pressing himself against her side.

“Charles—” she started, but he cut her off.

“Please,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. “Just for a little while.”

Yn’s resolve crumbled. She relaxed into his embrace, her hand resting lightly on his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath her palm, and she could feel the rise and fall of his breathing. Leo let out a contented sigh, his tail thumping against the blankets.

For a while, they lay there in silence, the only sound the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Yn’s mind raced, torn between her professional instincts and the feelings she had been trying to suppress. Charles’ arms around her felt so right, so natural, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same way.

“Yn?” Charles’ voice was barely a whisper, drowsy from the medication.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for being here. It means a lot to me.”

She smiled, her fingers gently stroking his hair. “Always, Charles. Now go to sleep.”

He hummed in response, his grip on her tightening slightly. Within minutes, his breathing evened out, and she knew he was asleep. Leo let out a soft snore, his little body rising and falling with each breath.

Yn stayed there, her heart full, knowing that this was where she was meant to be—right by Charles’ side, taking care of him, loving him. And maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way.

---

The rest of the weekend passed in a blur. Yn stayed with Charles, nursing him back to health and enjoying the quiet moments they shared. By the time the race was over, Charles was feeling much better, and the sparkle had returned to his eyes.

As they stood on his balcony, watching the sun set over the Mediterranean, Charles turned to her, his expression serious.

“Yn.” he said, taking her hand in his. “I need to tell you something.”

Her heart raced, but she nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“I… I really like you. More than just as my nurse. You mean so much to me, and I don’t want to hide it anymore.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she smiled up at him. “I like you too, Charles. More than you know.”

He grinned, pulling her into a tight hug. Leo barked happily, wagging his tail as if he knew exactly what was happening.

And in that moment, Yn knew that her life was about to change in the best way possible—with Charles by her side, and Leo as their loyal protector.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Aftermath - Chapter 5

Aftermath - MV33 - Chapter 1 Aftermath - Chapter 2 Aftermath - Chapter 3 Aftermath - Chapter 4 Master List

When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make something out of nothing for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.

warnings: this chapter contains language and descriptions that illustrate abuse (mental and emotional). please don't engage with my work if you find any of the topics triggering. lando is, once again, an absolute asshole in this. i'd also like to point out that this is a character i am writing, i in no way am insinuating or implying the real lando is like this in any way.

pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader

word count: 4k or something like that?

(Everyone say ‘thank you’ to @lestapiastrisgirl for beta reading and helping me through late night plot crisis so this can come out today!!)

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source It's been months since @/Lando and @/MissLeClerc have been spotted togtether and we're starting to wonder...are they even together anymore?! Lando was spotted out alone in Monaco, looking annoyed at fans calling his name while his (ex???) girlfriend was papped out and about with none other than...Max Verstappen. Again. Rumors about the LeClerc sister and Dutch driver started to swirl right around the time her and Lando stopped being seen out in public...What do we think, chat??? Has little miss leclerc finally ditched the cocky British pilot for a new Dutch beau??? user029 maybe she got tired of having to parent her boyfriend??? user220 if it's true, she's really upgraded. 4 time world champion vs...what??? 4 time race winner. please. user0298 he never supported her art or anything, i'm not surprised she's moved on. max always looks smitten with her.

“Lando, you have got to get this under control.” The head of McLaren’s communications team hisses, her glare shooting daggers at the driver who’s just walked into the the hospitality building ahead of the race in Belgium. 

Lando glances up from his phone, face pale and eyes worried. “How the fuck am I supposed to control what the gossip pages post?” 

Marina throws her hands up in the air as she paces, her McLaren team kit wrinkled from lack of sleep thanks to the British driver. In the four weeks since your argument with Lando after Austria, things have only gotten worse. You’re still not talking to him and he still hasn’t figured out where the hell you’re living. You’re not staying with Charles and Alexandra or Jade, he’s been subtly watching both buildings. He knows you’re still in Monaco because you’ve been papped out with your family and friends but most maddeningly Max Verstappen. 

Everyone seems to have noticed you’re not living with Lando anymore, your appearances in his streams have dwindled down to nothing. Fewtrell has had to start banning people form his chat because they won’t stop asking about you and what’s going on. Everyone knows that something went down but you’re straight up refusing to behave like an adult and come back to Lando, where you belong and it’s infuriating. 

“You can’t, obviously.” Marina sighs, sitting down at one of the high top tables in the middle of the suite. 

Around her, the Thursday afternoon crew of engineers and communications people buzz, all prepping for their weekends. Everyone seems to be acting normal but Lando can feel their glares on his back as he walks through the building. They all know he’s causing the entire team grief by causing so much drama with you, taking the attention away from the decent start to the year they’d had before all hell had broken loose a few months ago. 

“But,” She continues, leveling a glare at Lando. “You either need to bite the bullet and release a joint statement with her announcing your breakup or you need to get her to the track this weekend and make a big show of a united front. It’s up to you Lando, but you need to do something. I can’t keep saying ‘no comment’ whenever we’re asked about the distraction this is causing the team.” 

Lando pulls at his curls, like hell he’s going to admit that you’d left him. He supposed he could go rogue and release a statement without you. That way he could control the narrative and try to get the fans back on his side if he made something up like a cheating scandal or something. The moment that the thought flutters through his mind, he forces it out. For some fucking reason, the fans seem to have a soft spot for you and it’s maddening. Lando knew there was no way he could get public opinion on his side, not with how he was getting ripped apart on socials right now. 

“We’re not broken up.” He bites out, taking a sip out of his water bottle as he contemplates what he can do. 

Marina glances up from her phone, brow lifted in question. “That’s not what it looks like here.” She turns her phone towards Lando and shows him a photo of you descending the stairs of a private jet that’s just landed in Belgium. In front of you, already down the stairs and waiting on the tarmac for you is your brother with Leo cradled in his arms. 

And behind you? A fiery rage burns bright and hot in Lando’s chest when he sees who’s behind you. 

Fucking Max Verstappen. 

The look you’re giving him makes his heart twist and for the first time since this entire thing began, Lando actually misses you. He misses the way you used to smile up at him like that, like your entire world revolved Lando and no one else. He missed the way your eyes would follow him around a room, how your body would center towards his. The way you looked at Max was how you used to look at him and it made jealousy twist violently deep in Lando’s gut just looking at the photo. 

“I’ll take care of it.” Lando spits before stalking off to the privacy of his drivers room. 

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source Alexandra, Charles, and his little sister were seen arriving in Belgium this afternoon on Max Verstappen's private jet. It's yet another instance where the LeClerc sister was spotted without boyfriend Lando Norris, sparking new breakup rumors. Neither party has confirmed if they're still together, with McLaren PR insisting that the personal lives of their drivers are off limits. user019 honestly, I'm here for a LeClerc sister & Max relationship. >>>user028 me too. at least Max seems to actually like her, unlike Lando user0029 I mean, we all can see it. Why can't they just confirm it already??? user2333 fully on board the 'get her away from Lando train' ROOTING FOR YOU MAX!!! Get your girl!!! user029 my friend was out at the restaurant they were all at a few weeks ago and said that Lando crashed the dinner but left after a few minutes looking PISSED. >>>user029 honestly, Lando is kind of unhinged rn. get over her my man, move onnnnnnn!

“I can’t believe you got me to agree to come this weekend.” You grumble as you follow Max towards the paddock gates Friday morning before practice. 

“You’ve barely been to any races this year and it’s almost the end of July!” Max shoots over his shoulder, grinning like an idiot he’s so happy you decided to come this weekend. 

“I was at Monaco!” You protest lamely, shoving your elbow into your brother’s ribs when he laughs. 

“You live in Monaco, that doesn’t count Little Dove.” Charles chuckles, rubbing at the sore spot where you’d just assaulted him. 

“Whatever.” You mutter, rolling your eyes. 

After arriving in Belgium last night, you had gone straight to your hotel room, needing a bit of alone time ahead of what you were sure was going to be a stressful weekend. As usual, you’d been papped arriving on Max’s jet, which you were certain Lando had seen because the moment you had checked your messages in the SUV Max had rented for your little group, there had been a text waiting for you from him. 

I know you probably don’t want to see me and I get that. I’m sorry, from the bottom of my heart. Can we please get together this weekend and talk? Somewhere neutral if that’s what you want…

As you settled into the hotel room that was yours for the weekend, a war was being fought in your brain. On one hand, you didn’t trust a single thing coming from Lando’s mouth. Not a single thing. He hadn’t given you any reason to trust anything that he said for months, so why should you start now? But on the other hand…

On the other hand, you and Lando had so much history. His message seemed remorseful. You knew everyone in your life would kill you if you even entertained the idea of getting back with him but somewhere deep in your chest a little voice was saying maybe you should hear him out. He was finally leaving you alone, finally backing off, why did he have to pop up right when you thought you had finally gotten him fully out of your system?

You didn’t tell anyone Lando had texted you. Had been texting you all morning as well. You knew no one would understand. But you also hadn’t returned a single text either. The energy that responding to Lando would take was something that you just didn’t have today. 

Your little group is captured by photographers as you walk in, a few even call out your name asking where you’ll be spending your time this weekend. Since dating Lando, you liked to split your time between the McLaren garage and Ferrari but this weekend was going to be different. Your VIP pass had Charles’ face and name on the back, not Lando’s. You had credentials from Ferrari like normal but this morning, Max had also slipped a Red Bull card around your neck, telling you if you got sick of looking at all that red this weekend, you could spend time with him. 

“Are you going to come to the dark side this weekend and use those Red Bull credentials to whip up some gossip?” Max murmurs in your ear, watching as Charles trots off ahead of you after Leo. 

You bump your shoulder with his, rolling your eyes and laughing lightly. “Stop.”

Mischief plays in Max’s pale blue eyes as he smiles down at you, enjoying the way your cheeks flush under his attention. Ever since the race in Austria a few weeks ago, you and the Dutch driver had been spending a lot of time together, all casual but he’d really begun to look forward to the nights you spent curled up on his couch eating takeout and watching bad reality tv with him. 

Before he has a chance to reply though, he sees the color drain from your face as you freeze in the middle of the sidewalk. Whipping his head around, Max searches for what, or more accurately, who has spooked you. He already knows who he’s looking for so when his eyes settle on the McLaren driver standing just outside the sliding glass doors of the McLaren hospitality building across the paddock, his stomach lurches. 

You had known you’d see Lando this weekend. How could you not? This was literally his workplace too. There was no way to avoid him, you knew that but you hadn’t expected to see him so quickly and before you had managed to work out how to respond to his text from the night before. 

Your brother is between where you stand and McLaren’s hospitality so he clocks Lando staring after you at about the same time as you and Max. Turning on his heel, he scoops up Leo and makes a bee line back to where you stand, utterly frozen. 

“Dovie.” Max coos in your ear, twining his fingers with yours in an attempt to pull you out of the state you’re in. “Hey, sweet girl, look at me.” 

You ignore him, gaze locked on Lando’s frozen frame. 

Charles steps in between you and Lando, instantly cutting off your line of sight. This seems to yank you back to reality and your brother snaps into action. “Shit. I’ve got a meeting in five minutes. I don’t want her alone.” Your brother sounds panicked, like the way you’re just staring blankly ahead is really freaking him out. 

So, he improvises. “Here, take Leo and go take a walk. There’s tons of open space on the other side of the paddock.” Charles presses the small dog into your hands and you drop your gaze away from Lando for the first time in several moments. 

Your gaze drops to where your hand is still clutched in Max’s larger one. The steady warmth from his presence grounds you, allowing you to pull in a full breath for the first time in several minutes. 

“No, she’s not going off on her own.” Max cuts in, tone sharp. “I’ve got some time before I need to be in the car. Come stay in Red Bull with me until practice, then you can watch from my garage, okay?” 

The force of his words leave little wiggle room for argument and Charles can’t help but smirk a little. He should have known Max would step right up to make sure you were taken care of. 

“Yeah.” You agree weakly, finally tearing your gaze away from Lando, who is still starting at you, light eyes sharp and observant. You can feel the way his gaze drops to where Max’s hand is curled around yours possessively. “Yeah, that sounds good.” 

Without waiting for Lando to get any more ideas like wanting to try to come talk to you, Max tugs on your hand. He knows you well enough by now to know that you need a distraction and you need it fast. “Come on, you said you wanted to stir up some gossip this weekend, well here’s your chance.” 

You laugh despite yourself, nuzzling your face into Leo’s soft fur. “I’m keeping the dog.” You tell your brother as you allow yourself to be led away by Max. All Charles does is nod, relieved to know that you’re in good hands while he’s busy. 

missleclerc posted

24,029 likes liked by maxverstappen1, charlesleclerc, redbullracing, and others missleclerc in my defense, I was kidnapped ☝🏻 maxverstappen1 whatever, you wanted to be there. >>>missleclerc lies. It was a hostage situation. >>>maxverstappen1 is that what the kids are calling it these days? >>>user299 chat, are they flirting in the comments??? WE CAN SEE YOU TWO charlesleclerc can't believe you subjected your nephew to this. please make sure you take a shower before dinner tonight. >>>missleclerc rude. user0209 ya know, I'm kinda here for this ship. >>>user987 did you see how utterly distracted Max was during the one interview where she walked past him? couldn't take his eyes off her >>>user0209 lando's gonna be crashing out after seeing that interview tonight >>>user3443 GOOD. bro deserves it

“I think you may need to roll me up to my room after that dinner.” You groan, rubbing at the food baby making your black leather skirt pinch painfully at your hips. 

After qualifying Saturday evening, when the boys were all finished with their media and team duties, Max had insisted that you, your brother, Alexandra and himself all go out to dinner. He’d wanted to insist it just be the two of you but he wasn’t blind to the gossip you two had stirred up in the paddock Friday afternoon so he’d figured bringing your brother and his girlfriend along would be a bit safer. 

“I think I ate my weight in spaghetti.” Alexandra groans beside you as you plod towards the front doors of the hotel. “Carry me up to the room please, Cha?” She coos, throwing her arms around your brother’s neck as if she can’t go on one step more.

 Charles laughs, snaking his arms around her waist and pulls her close, dropping a kiss on her forehead, a gesture so tender and intimate you have to turn away. Your gaze immediately connects with Max who is standing a few paces behind your brother and his girlfriend. A small smile tips up at the corner of his full lips when you make eye contact at him and your stomach swoops at the affection for you in his eyes. 

You’re imagining things, you think instantaneously. There’s no way Max sees you as anything other than a friend, after everything that you’ve endured while he’s watched. How could anyone like Max be attracted to someone who had spent an entire year drowning in a failing relationship? It was likely a pity smile, something he gives you because he feels sorry that you haven’t found what your brother has found in Alexandra. 

“There you are…” A smooth British accent interrupts your thoughts, jarring you out of your spiral. “You stopped answering my texts.” Lando says pointedly as he joins your little group in the lobby of the hotel. 

Your eyes shutter closed as you blow out a breath. You had been hoping to avoid this confrontation all together but it was just another nail in the coffin of why Max wouldn’t even want to begin to get involved with you in the first place. Why would he willingly want to be with someone who was still so intertwined with her ex still? You’ve spent so long with Lando, were so intertwined with him it would certainly be easier to just go back to him, wouldn’t it? Maybe he was all you deserved after wasting three years of your life. 

“I was at dinner, Lando. It’s rude to text during a meal.” You carefully control the tone of your voice, not wanting to instigate yet another public altercation with him. 

“Ah, yes. I’m sure the company was riveting.” His eyes flicker over to where Max stands, stiff and unmoving, the smile that he’d just been showering you with totally gone from his face. “So, what do you say, can we finally talk like two adults?” 

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Norris.” Charles cuts in, voice sharp and short. 

“I think your sister can answer for herself, LeClerc.” There’s a challenge in Lando’s eyes that you don’t miss and you know you have about five seconds to diffuse the situation before it gets out of hand. Again. 

Placing your hand on Lando’s elbow, you tug him away. “If you promise to chill out and actually listen to me, we can go to the bar and get a drink. One drink, Lando. Can you do that?” 

If you had been looking at Max then, you would have seen the light flicker out of his eyes. He’s grateful that his hands are tucked away in his pockets when he hears your words because the way the ball up into tight fists would be embarrassing had anyone seen it. He wants to say something, anything, that might convince you to not walk away with him. He wants to tell you how he’s feeling, how this afternoon with you in his drivers room and then garage was the best start to a race weekend he’d had in recent memory. He wants to beg you not to go with Lando. 

But he can’t. He can’t because he still hasn’t worked up the courage to tell you how he feels. Max is stuck in this painful sort of limbo where you two spend time together and he craves any bit of attention he can glean from you but it’s not enough for him to risk your fragile state of being right now. He knows you’re still recovering from leaving Lando. Three years is a long time to spend with someone, even if the last year was as painful as Lando had made it for you. He knows you’re not ready for him to tell you how he’s feeling but he’s afraid if he doesn’t, you’ll go running back to Lando. 

While the internal debate about what to do with his feelings rages on inside, Max watches as a cat-like grin spreads slowly across Lando’s face. He’s won. Lando’s won and they both know it. 

“Of course, baby.” 

You bristle at the name but without the energy to fight him, all you do is roll your eyes. Max’s mask of indifference somehow staying in place when he hears the nickname, but it tears him up on the inside. He’s not sure how he manages it. 

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Thanks for dinner, Max.” Taking a step towards Max, you fold yourself into him, enjoying the way his arms come around your waist without hesitation. The hug is firm and he holds onto you for several moments longer than necessary. 

 “I can stay down here if you want me to.” He murmurs in your ear, his breath tickling the shell of your ear, sending a cool shiver of pleasure down your spine. 

“I’m a big girl, I can handle him.” 

“It’s not you I’m worried about.” He responds, looking down at you. You’re surprised to see a stark look of concern all over his face, like he’s genuinely worried about you. 

“Max, I’m fine. It’s just one drink.” 

But Max knows Lando. It’s not just going to be one drink. But what other choice does he have? Reluctantly, he releases you and takes a step back, forcing himself out of arms length. You instantly miss the grounding warmth of his body and fight to keep your expression neutral. 

Max watches you walk away, shoulder brushing with Lando’s and has to resist the urge to rub at the painful clenching sensation that wraps itself around his heart. 

“You don’t have to watch her leave.” Charles murmurs, standing off to the side with a worried looking Alexandra. They both share Max’s opinion that this is a bad idea but like Max, what else can they say?

Max scrubs at his face, suddenly so overwhelmingly exhausted that all he wants to do is climb into bed and sleep until the race tomorrow. “What am I supposed to do, Charles?” He throws his hands up in defeat as you disappear around the corner just as Lando’s arm slips around your waist. “I don’t have a single claim on her, she’s not mine to miss.” 

His stomach twists painfully at the thought of having to go back to his hotel room knowing you’re touching him. 

“She won’t go back to him.” Charles says with more confidence than Max can muster up himself. “She’s been doing so well lately and we all see it’s partially because of you, mate.”

“Don’t give up on her, Max. Not yet.” Alexandra offers quietly, stepping closer to Charles before reaching out and placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “She’s stronger than we all think but she’s going to need your patience right now. It’ll be okay.” 

The way it physically hurt watching you walk away had alarm bells ringing in Max’s head. He hadn’t realized just how attached to you he’d become in the time since you’d left Lando and it terrified him. If you went back to Lando tonight, he had this gut feeling he’d lose you forever and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to endure that. 

Max barely sleeps that night, tossing and turning for hours trying to convince himself he hadn’t just watched you walk right out of his life again. He knew he was, once again, getting ahead of himself and that he needed to wait before going into full spiral mode but he couldn’t quite get himself there. 

By the time he’s downstairs in the hotel lobby the next morning, waiting for the car that Red Bull had hired for him, he’s exhausted and on the brink of biting someone’s head off. 

“You doing okay over there, Verstappen? You seem a little…irritated.” 

Max turns and has to stifle a groan. “Why can’t you just leave well enough alone, Lando?” 

Lando has the nerve to look confused, brows furrowing as he tilts his head to the side. “I have no idea what you’re on about, mate.” 

It takes every ounce of control Max has honed over the years not to punch the British driver square in the face. “Why are you so fixated on her now that she’s finally trying to get away from you?” 

Lando smirks, quick and ugly, before he shakes his head. “See, now that’s where you’re wrong Max.” He reaches over and pats at Max’s shoulder patronizingly. “I don’t think she really wants to get away form me anymore. Not after last night.” 

It feels like the breath has been sucked out of Max’s lungs at Lando’s words. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He hisses, heat creeping up his neck. 

“You’re a smart man, Max. Use that big brain of yours. I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Lando grins like the Cheshire Cat as he shrugs. “Oh look, my ride’s here. Good luck out there today, Verstappen.” 

Without waiting for a response because he knows full well he’s caught Max completely off guard, Lando saunters off, hands deep in his pockets, without a second look back at the Dutch driver. 

Tag list: @shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164

[scriptedinkbyxim]

Past the Finish Line: The Final Lap [CL16]

After heartbreak leaves her lost once again, (Y/N) finds unexpected solace in Charles Leclerc’s friendship. Through adventures and quiet moments, he helps her rediscover herself and the beauty of life. As their bond deepens, she learns that love can be gentle, joyful, and transformative.

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x Sainz! Female Reader, Ex! Max Verstappen x Sainz! Female Reader, Sainz! Female Reader x Brother! Carlos Sainz, Sainz! Female Reader x Sainz! Family.

Warnings: Existential Crisis, Alcohol consumption, Talks of sex but nothing explicit, Pregnancy (not reader), Smut. This is LONG.

A/N: Hi, Xim here. Here is one of the alternative endings of "Past the Finish Line" short series. English is not my first language so apologies in advance for any mistake. I should've probably divided this in 2 parts. There won't be more parts.

Part. 1 | Part. 2 | Part. 3 | Lando’s Ending

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

Some hearts didn't break all at once; they lingered, unraveling thread by thread until you stood bare, wondering how you'd lost everything without even noticing. (Y/N) had always imagined that moving on would feel decisive, like flipping a page or slamming a door. But it wasn’t. It was waking up back in her home town with no echoes of the past, only to realize that silence could be louder than chaos. It was standing in the middle of your own life and feeling like a stranger, as though someone else had written your story, and now you'd been handed the pen without instructions.

Madrid was beautiful—warm stone streets that basked under golden light, the scent of churros lingering near small cafés, and a city that pulsed with a rhythm unapologetically its own. People moved through its streets with purpose, laughing, living, thriving. She had hoped that immersing herself in this symphony would drown out the stillness of what she’d left behind. But it hadn’t. And that realization gnawed at her.

Madrid was supposed to represent freedom, yet here she was, caged by her doubts.

She was seated on the couch opposite by the window, arms crossed, watching the city unfold beneath her. The life she had with Max had once seemed infinite, like a story that would never find its final chapter. And when it did, it ended not with a dramatic conclusion but with a quiet disintegration. Eight years woven so tightly together had left their marks — not just on her heart but on her very sense of self.

The late afternoon sun filters through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long golden streaks across the polished wooden floors of her new apartment that bore the marks of a fresh start, yet it still clung to echoes of an old life. The golden hues of the Spanish sunset cast long shadows over her sparsely decorated living room. The furniture was minimalist and modern, but devoid of the personal touch that made a place feel like home. Long gone were the days of lavish Monaco views and Max’s meticulously curated spaces. Now, it was just her, a city bustling with life beyond the walls and an uneasy silence that seemed louder with each passing day.

Manuscripts, marked by hasty edits and half-formed ideas, lied scattered across the large oak desk by the window. A mug with remnants of cold tea sat forgotten beside them, its faint bitter aroma mingling with the crisp scent of the busy city air entering through the partially opened window.

Pushing herself off the couch she starts pacing in the middle of the room, barefoot and restless, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, staring at the blank page on her laptop screen, its emptiness mocking her. A dull ache gnaws at the pit of her stomach—a feeling she can’t quite name but knows all too well.

Despite the quiet, her name was far from forgotten. The books she had written during her time with Max — stories drafted in the rare quiet moments between chaotic schedules — had finally seen the light of day. At first, releasing them felt like closure, a testament to creativity surviving under pressure. The drafts she'd tucked away while navigating his demanding world had been polished and sent into the world, gaining modest acclaim. But now, with nothing left in the drawer, she was left staring at blank pages, wondering if the well had run dry.

Her eyes flicker to the shelves lined with her books, tangible reminders of the words that once flowed effortlessly from her mind to the page. Words born from passion, heartbreak, and love. But now nothing comes.

She rubbed her temple, frustration prickling beneath her skin. Was her creativity dependent on being in love, even if that love had been turbulent? Max had always been a storm—thrilling, consuming, and impossible to ignore. The drafts she completed had blossomed in the eye of that storm, but now there was only calm, and her imagination wilted in the stillness.

(Y/N) sighed, eyes flickering to a framed photograph of her family on the bookshelf. Carlos' arm was slung over her shoulders, their smiles wide and carefree. Moving back home was supposed to be a new chapter.

Madrid hummed outside — the distant chatter of evening commuters, the rustling of leaves in Retiro Park not far from her building. Yet even this vibrant city seemed unable to spark something within her, she felt untethered, as though the story had ended, and no one had told her how to begin the next one.

Maybe she’d fooled herself into thinking love had nothing to do with her creativity. The thought gnaws at her pride, but deep down, she wonders if there’s truth to it. Eight years of love and shared dreams had fueled her stories. Now, without that intensity, without him, she feels hollow. It had been flawed, chaotic, and ultimately unsustainable, but it had shaped her in ways she couldn’t ignore.

Now, even after months, she wasn’t sure who she was without the scaffolding of that relationship holding her up. The books she'd published were proof of that. Stories born between Max’s races and media obligations had been completed only because she'd clung to something familiar when everything else spun wildly out of control after their breakup. Those books had been a testament to survival, but now she feared they were the only testament she'd ever have.

Her fingers traced the cool glass of the window as she closed her eyes, breathing in slowly. Love wasn't supposed to consume creativity, was it? But maybe it had. Maybe being in love—even a flawed love—had been a constant spark, lighting her imagination. And without it? She was adrift.

She shook her head, frustration bubbling to the surface. No, that couldn't be true, she couldn’t let those years define her. There had to be more within her, waiting to be untapped. She just didn’t know how to find it.

Her gaze drops to her phone on the coffee table, the screen dark. No messages. Not that she’s expecting any. The social invitations have long dwindled since she distanced herself from the F1 paddock and its orbiting social circles.

The thought of Max flickers uninvited into her mind. Not the heartbreak or the messy end but something simpler—a mundane morning memory and flashes of her life with him came unbidden — the way he knew her order without asking, the absentminded kisses when he passed by, the shared glances that spoke volumes.

“Two sugars, no milk,” Max had said with a smirk, handing her a perfectly prepared cup of tea. He had known every detail about her preferences without needing to ask. How she didn't like eggs (or breakfast in general), the way she hated loud chewing, her favorite obscure indie novels—he knew it all.

And now? She was sitting across from strangers on awkward dates who didn’t even knew her favorite color.

Her recent foray into dating had been nothing short of disastrous. One man had talked about cryptocurrency the entire evening; another had wrongly corrected her grammar during casual conversation, not knowing she was a published author. Each date left her more exasperated than the last. How could she possibly start from scratch when she’d been with someone who knew her so completely?

Then her thoughts shift briefly to Lando. Sweet, charming Lando, who had always been there as a friend. After Abu Dhabi, he had wanted more, offering solace and companionship. But it had been too soon—her heart too raw and fractured to entertain the idea of love again. She’d turned him down gently, grateful for his understanding. Now, seeing him happily moved on with someone else brought a bittersweet ache to her chest. She was genuinely happy for him, but it only highlighted her own stagnant state.

The sharp trill of her phone breaks her reverie. Y/N hesitates before picking it up. A text from her editor appears on the screen.

Any updates on the manuscript?

Her stomach tightens. She types out a vague response before tossing the phone back onto the couch. Pressure mounts like a weight on her chest, but no amount of staring at the blank page will summon the words.

The apartment feels suffocating. The neatly arranged furniture, the spotless countertops—it all mocks her. She needs air, movement, something to shake her out of this creative and emotional paralysis. Taking her jacket, she grabs her keys and steps out of her flat, the cold breeze brushing against her skin.

Her hometown thrived around her, beckoning her to move forward. (Y/N) wanted to answer that call, to find inspiration in the world again. But as much as she hated to admit it, part of her wondered if she was still waiting for something—or someone—to show her how.

There’s also a part of her that wants to escape, to run until she finds something—anything—that makes her feel alive again. She just doesn’t know where to start.

φ

The kitchen at the Sainz family house was alive with the comforting hum of quiet conversations, the soft clink of silverware against porcelain, and the low, rhythmic shuffle of feet against the terracotta tiles. The aroma of freshly baked bread and sizzling meat wafted through the home, mingling with the faint citrusy scent of polished wood that always lingered in the air.

The house itself was warm, familiar, and steeped in history—a tapestry woven with laughter, loud debates over races, and countless family gatherings. Yet today, (Y/N) felt oddly out of place within it, like a guest in her own life.

She stood near the window of the living room, watching the late afternoon sun stretch shadows across the manicured lawn. Her mother, Mercedes, was bustling in the kitchen with the same fervor she reserved for holidays, even though this was just a casual gathering. Or so (Y/N) had thought. Carlos Sr. had his arms crossed, already assembling the dinner furniture outside, a portrait of patriarchal pride.

She leaned against the doorframe, watching them, as if caught between two worlds. She was in her childhood house, surrounded by the people she loved the most, but part of her still felt distant, untouchable. They had noticed it too, of course. Her parents always had a way of seeing through the cracks, even when she didn’t speak of them.

Her sister Anna flitted through the space like a hummingbird, effortlessly balancing conversations and helping with the setup. And then there was Carlos, her older brother, who had insisted on this gathering like it was some divine intervention meant to jolt her back to life.

"You can’t just keep hiding, hermanita," he had said over the phone, his voice tinged with concern. "It’s time to come back. The paddock misses you. I miss you."

She knew he meant well, but the idea of returning to the Spanish Grand Prix—facing the paddock, the whispers, the memories—felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, uncertain if the fall would break her or set her free.

Still, she had agreed to this family gathering as a compromise. Baby steps, she told herself. One evening surrounded by the people who loved her, even if their well-meaning concern sometimes felt suffocating. Eventually she decided on moving deeper into the living room, unable to avoid her parents’ gentle but insistent attention.

Her Father raised his eyes as she passed by, offering her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but she could see the tenderness beneath. He’d always been perceptive, sometimes too much for her liking, but today it felt... different. There was a weight in his gaze that made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t been in months.

Mercedes wiped her hands on a dish towel, her movements fluid and sure, before looking up at her. “Sweetheart,” her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts, soft and careful as always. “How have you been feeling? Really?” Her tone laced with the same concern that had been in her eyes ever since (Y/N) had arrived at the family home, looking... hollow.

It was the way her mother asked—the concern in her eyes, the almost imperceptible line between her brows—that made (Y/N) shift uncomfortably on her feet. She knew what her mother was asking. She didn’t have to speak it aloud. The same question that had echoed in the silence of Mallorca, after the breakup with Max, had come back again, lurking like an unspoken shadow.

“I’m fine, Mum,” (Y/N) replied, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was the same smile she’d been wearing for weeks now. A protective barrier, a shield to keep them from seeing the truth. She didn’t want to admit it, not here, not now. “Just working on some new ideas. You know how it is.”

Carlos Sr. looked at her over the rim of his glass, his expression both knowing and gentle. “You’ve always been a creative soul, cariño. We know. We’ve all been wondering how the new book is coming along.”

(Y/N) froze, the warmth in her chest suddenly turning cold. Her father’s words were simple and innocent, yet they cut through her carefully constructed defenses. She shifted uncomfortably, her gaze flicking toward the window. The question about her writing felt like a gentle prod, a reminder of the woman she used to be—a woman who poured herself into her work. But these days, her words felt trapped somewhere between her heart and her mind. How could she explain that to her parents? That the words wouldn’t come, that the inspiration she had once relied on now felt... foreign.

"It’s... it’s coming slowly," she said after a beat, her voice not quite convincing even to herself. "I’ve been... taking a break."

Mercedes moved towards her, a subtle concern creeping into her expression. She touched (Y/N)’s arm gently, her grip warm and steady. "A break is fine, but we’ve all seen how much writing means to you," her mother said, her tone soft but purposeful. "What’s really going on, hija?"

(Y/N)’s chest tightened at the underlying question. It wasn’t just about the book anymore; it was about everything that she’d been avoiding—her own brokenness. The world she had once found solace in, whether it was through the pages of her books or the comforting embrace of Max’s presence, had all crumbled, leaving her questioning if she could ever find that peace again.

She glanced at the gentle understanding in her mother’s face. It was almost too much to bear, how easily her parents could read her, how much they cared. She turned her gaze down to the floor, as if trying to avoid their eyes.

“I’ve… been trying to figure things out,” (Y/N) murmured, her hands wringing in the soft fabric of her blouse. “But I don’t have the same… inspiration. Not like I used to.”

Carlos Sr. nodded slowly, then took a quiet sip of his wine. “Maybe it’s time to step out of that shadow, hija. We’ve been through this before. After everything with Max…” he trailed off, and she could feel the air in the room shift.

Her stomach twisted, and her throat tightened as her father spoke the name she hadn’t let escape from her lips in months. Max. So effortlessly woven into the fabric of her past, felt like a raw wound when it was spoken. It wasn’t that she hated him—she didn’t. But the memories of their time together, once so sweet, now felt tainted, stained by the ache of loss and betrayal.

“Dad…” (Y/N)’s voice was low, but the tension in it was palpable. She forced a smile again, as if to reassure them, but it faltered almost immediately. “Can we not talk about that right now?”

Mercedes reached out, placing her hand gently over (Y/N)’s. The touch was gentle, steadying. “Cariño, you can’t keep carrying this alone. We’re your family. We’re here for you, always.”

She blinked, her throat constricting as the weight of her mother’s words settled on her chest. She wanted to tell them everything, to confess how lost she had felt, how lonely she had become, but the words stuck in her throat. What good would it do them, to see their daughter broken once again? They had already seen the aftermath of her heartache. She couldn’t bring them back to that place.

“I’m not…” She shook her head, trying to form the words but failing. “I’m just… I’m fine.”

Mercedes squeezed her hand, her voice soft but insistent. “You don’t have to carry the world on your own. But it’s okay to lean on us when you need it.”

Her father’s gaze was gentle now, understanding. “You’ve been cooped up in this house for too long. It’s time to get out there again, to find your spark. You don’t have to have it all figured out right away. But don’t let yourself hide away.”

The conversation lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. (Y/N) didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she closed her eyes, briefly allowing herself to sink into the warmth of her parents’ concern. But just as quickly, she drew back, pulling away from it. The last thing she wanted was to load them more than she already had.

(Y/N) felt the heat of tears burning at the back of her throat, but she blinked them back. "I’m fine, really. I don’t want to worry you.”

The truth was, she didn’t want to burden them with her creative drought or the gnawing fear that maybe her inspiration had dried up along with her love life. They deserved to see her thriving, not grappling with existential questions about her identity and purpose.

Suddenly her siblings appeared, entering the intervention. Carlos walked over to her, his large hands settling on her shoulders with the kind of care only an older brother could provide. "We can see it," he said gently, his deep voice carrying the weight of years spent growing up together, understanding her. "We saw you when you came back from Hungary, and we’re seeing it again now. You’re not fooling anyone with that smile of yours."

There was a long silence, one where (Y/N) could only hear the steady rhythm of her own breathing, trying to collect herself. The weight of Carlos’ words hung in the air between all of them, both soothing and heavy. He wasn’t pushing her. He wasn’t trying to fix anything. He just wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone.

"Maybe... maybe you should go to the Spanish GP, you’ve never missed that race" Anna said softly, as though sensing the moment had come for something more direct, but still with an encouraging tone. "It’s been a while, (Y/N). And you’ve been away from the paddock for so long. Carlos needs you there. We all miss seeing you there."

(Y/N) bit her lip. It wasn’t the suggestion she’d been expecting. She’d been trying to avoid the very thing they were suggesting—returning to the world she had once inhabited with Max, with all the expectations and emotions that came with it. But as she glanced at her mother’s face, her warm, understanding eyes, she knew this wasn’t about the race. It wasn’t about Carlos either. This was about helping her reconnect to something real, something she’d always loved.

Her father nodded, as if confirming Anna’s words. "You’ve always had a way of making the world feel... lighter," he said with a small, knowing smile. "Maybe it’s time to find that spark again."

The words stung, more than she anticipated, and yet they held a certain kind of truth. She’d been hiding, cocooning herself in the aftermath of everything—Max, the breakup, the uncertainty. Perhaps it was time to stop running from it, to stop shutting out the world around her.

(Y/N) drew in a shaky breath, then nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly. "I’ll think about it."

Her parents exchanged a look, one of silent understanding. Mercedes placed her hand over (Y/N)’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We’ll be here no matter what, cariño. Just... don’t stay hidden forever."

Desperate for an escape, (Y/N)'s eyes darted to the front door as the bell rang. "I'll get it," she said quickly, seizing the opportunity to flee the conversation.

She padded through the hallway, her sandals tapping softly against the tiled floor. The house hummed with the distant sounds of conversation. As she walked toward the door, she didn’t know that the moment she opened it would bring everything she had been trying to bury crashing back into her life. She was expecting a neighbor or maybe a delivery.

Instead, standing on the threshold was Charles Leclerc.

He looked different somehow—more rugged, perhaps, or maybe it was just the way time had softened her perception of him. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as though he’d driven with the windows down, and he held a bottle of wine in one hand, his stance awkward but charmingly so. His fitted button down linen shirt was paired with tailored beige trousers that hugged his lean frame.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world seemed to narrow, blurring everything but the man in front of her. Her heart stuttered in her chest, caught off guard by his appearance.

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

Charles shifted his weight, a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Surprise?" he offered weakly.

(Y/N) blinked, trying to shake herself free from the spell. "I... I didn’t know we were expecting guests."

"Apparently, neither did I," he admitted, lifting the bottle slightly. "Carlos invited me. Said something about finally making good on his promise of cooking for me before his home race."

Of course, she thought wryly. Her brother had a knack for orchestrating situations without informing anyone of his grand plans.

Before she could respond, Carlos’s voice boomed from behind her. "Leclerc! You made it, amigo!"

Charles’s face lit up with genuine warmth as Carlos strode toward them, clapping him on the back with the familiarity of old teammates.

"You’ve kept me waiting for those burgers long enough," Charles joked, his Monegasque accent adding a melodic lilt to his words.

"Come on in, man. Don’t just stand there."

Carlos's presence broke the spell, and she finally stepped aside, allowing Charles to enter. As he brushed past her, she caught the faint scent of his cologne—clean and crisp, tinged with something subtly masculine.

Her fingers clenched at her sides as she tried to steady herself. It was just Charles, she reminded herself. The same Charles who had been a friend, nothing more. Yet the weight of their shared history — or lack of it — lingered in the air, unspoken but palpable.

As the two men exchanged playful banter, (Y/N) found herself retreating toward the kitchen, needing a moment to collect herself. Her mother glanced up from arranging a platter of grilled vegetables.

"Who was at the door?"

"Charles," Y/N said, keeping her voice steady.

"Ah, Charles. Such a lovely and handsome young man," Mercedes said with a smile. "It’s good to see him again."

She nodded absently, her mind still swirling. This gathering had just taken an unexpected turn, and she wasn’t sure how to navigate it.

When the gathering moved outside, laughter and conversation filled the space like a comforting balm. Carlos now stood by the grill, expertly flipping burger patties, his brow furrowed in concentration. The rich sizzle of meat met the crackle of flames as he turned to Charles, who lounged nearby with a glass of wine in hand, looking far too relaxed for someone who had been enduring a season of relentless competition.

The golden afternoon light stretched lazily over the expansive gardens of the estate, dappling the neatly trimmed grass and casting soft shadows beneath the ancient olive trees. The scent of grilled meat and vegetables lingered in the warm air, mingling with the earthy aroma of wild rosemary and lavender that fringed the garden paths. Birds chirped in the distance, their melodies blending seamlessly with the occasional bark from Olive and Piñón.

“See, I told you I’d make these burgers one day,” Carlos declared with a triumphant grin, his Spanish accent thick with pride.

Charles chuckled, the sound warm and effortless. “I didn’t think I’d live to see the day. You’ve been promising me these since we first started being teammates.”

“Well, better late than never, no?” Carlos shot back, flipping the final burger onto a platter and gesturing for Charles to grab the buns.

“Touché,” Charles admitted, standing to assist. His white linen shirt billowed slightly in the breeze, now with the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms that bore faint tan lines from countless hours under the sun.

Nearby, (Y/N) watched them from a shaded corner of the garden, her arms loosely crossed over her chest. She hadn’t intended to linger, but there was something mesmerizing about seeing the easy camaraderie between her brother and Charles. For years, their rivalry had been palpable, a tense undercurrent in the paddock, but now that Carlos had moved to Williams, there was a genuine warmth between them that hadn’t existed before.

It was strange, seeing Charles here, outside the context of race weekends and press conferences. He seemed lighter, more grounded. And yet, there was still that familiar glint in his eyes — a mixture of mischief and sincerity that had always made him impossible to ignore. With one look at his piercing green eyes came the sudden rush of memories—the podium dedication he’d made to her at Abu Dhabi and his raw, heartfelt confession at Monza months ago, still engraved in her mind.

From the moment I met you, I wished you were single. I wished I had a chance to show you what you deserved, to make you happy in ways he never did. Because if you were mine, I would never take you for granted. Not for a single second.

Carlos caught sight of her and waved enthusiastically, polling her away from her thoughts. “¡Hermana! Come here, you have to try these. They’re my masterpiece.”

Reluctantly, she made her way over, her sandals brushing softly against the grass. Olive trotted alongside her, tail wagging happily.

“Masterpiece might be a stretch,” she teased, arching a brow as she approached. “But I’ll humor you.”

“Trust me, you won’t regret it,” Carlos assured her, placing a perfectly assembled burger into her hands. “I should open a restaurant.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she quipped, taking a tentative bite. The burst of smoky flavor was immediate, and she couldn’t help but hum in appreciation. “Okay, I’ll admit — this is pretty good.”

Charles grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Careful, Dolcezza. His ego doesn’t need any more inflation.”

Carlos scoffed, clearly pleased with himself. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

As the conversation flowed around her, she kept glancing at Charles, his presence both familiar and disarming. There had always been an ease between them, a mutual understanding that didn’t require words. And yet, the events of the past year lingered in the spaces between their conversations — unspoken, but not forgotten.

At some point, Carlos excused himself to check on their parents, leaving her and Charles standing together beneath the olive trees. The breeze rustled the leaves above them, casting dancing patterns of light and shadow across the ground.

“So, long time no see” Charles began, cringing internally at his own words, “how have you been?,” his tone tentative but curious

She hesitated, the question hanging heavily in the air. She had grown so used to deflecting, to offering rehearsed answers that kept people at arm’s length. But Charles had always had a way of coaxing honesty from her, his sincerity like a balm against her defenses.

“I’ve been… surviving,” she admitted quietly, her gaze fixed on a distant point beyond the garden. “It’s been strange, trying to figure out who I am without all of that.”

Charles nodded thoughtfully, his expression devoid of judgment. “I can imagine. Eight years is a long time.”

“Too long, maybe,” she murmured, her voice tinged with bitterness. “I keep thinking… What if I wasted all that time? What if I don’t know how to be me without him?”

“You didn’t waste it,” Charles said firmly. “You loved, you learned, and now you get to decide what comes next.”

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over her. “I’ve tried dating again, you know. But it’s been a disaster. None of them know me — not really. They don’t know how I like my tea or that I hate when people leave wet towels on the floor. It’s exhausting, starting over.”

Charles’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “Starting over is hard. But it’s also freeing. You get to redefine everything.”

She let out a scoff. “I’m not sure I even know where to begin.”

There was a pause, filled only by the rustling of leaves and the distant chatter of her family. Charles’s gaze never wavered from her, steady and grounding.

"Maybe you just need a change of scenery," he suggests thoughtfully. "New experiences, new adventures." His tone is playful but sincere.

Y/N frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you can come with me sometimes,” he said simply. “Let’s do things you’ve never done before. Adventures, experiences, whatever you need to rediscover yourself. No expectations. Just two friends figuring out life,” he offered, his voice gentle but resolute. “Let me help. Let me show you the world—no strings attached.”

(Y/N) hesitates, skeptical. "Charles, I don't need distractions."

"It's not a distraction. It's a chance to rediscover yourself," he counters gently.

She stared at him, disbelief flickering across her features. “You’re serious?”

“Completely,” he assured her. “I’m not saying I have all the answers, but I can promise you this — I won’t let you get stuck in the past. And who knows? Maybe you’ll even find some inspiration along the way.”

(Y/N)’s heart ached with a mixture of hope and skepticism. The idea was tempting, but it also felt daunting. She had spent so long retreating into herself after Abu Dhabi, afraid to face the world. Could she really step out of that shadow?

“I don’t know, Charles,” she said hesitantly. “What if I’m just… broken?”

He shook his head, his gaze unwavering. “You’re not broken, (Y/N). You’re just in transition. And that’s okay.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy with possibility. She bit her lip, torn between fear and the faint glimmer of hope Charles had ignited.

"You don’t have to decide now,” he added softly. “Take your time. Think about it. The offer’s open for you to take it.”

She nodded slowly, her mind swirling with thoughts. What exactly did Charles mean by that? Was he offering her the world — a chance to rediscover herself beyond the weight of heartbreak and lost years? Or was there a double meaning hidden in his words, a subtle invitation to take him, too? The idea lingered, unsettling yet alluring. Her heart clenched, torn between longing and uncertainty. There was something about him — the steadiness he offered without pressure or demand — that made the prospect feel less terrifying and perhaps even worth considering.

Her gaze flickered to him, standing there with his quiet confidence. She couldn’t deny how good Charles looked now, the late afternoon golden light catching in his tousled hair, tracing the sharp angles of his face and the warm sincerity in his eyes making it impossible to look away. He was devastatingly handsome, effortlessly so, but she shook the thought away. That wasn’t what she needed right now. Love and romance had only ever anchored her to someone else’s orbit, and she was desperate to learn how to stand on her own two feet again. No, this was about her — about finding her footing in a world that still spun without Max.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, the words laden with unspoken gratitude.

Charles nodded, trying to mask the nervous thrum in his chest. He hadn’t planned this proposition at all, when the words poured out of his mouth they did with anything but friendship in mind — or at least that’s what he told himself. She didn’t need a suitor, and he had no intention of becoming one just yet. But somewhere, deep down, he held onto the faint hope that maybe, someday, things could be different. For now, he wanted to see her smile again, to help her find joy in places she hadn’t dared to look. If that was all he could give, he would do it gladly.

“For what?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“For… being here,” she admitted. “For not giving up on me.”

Charles smiled, warm and sincere. “Always Dolcezza.”

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting the garden in hues of pink, lilac and gold, (Y/N) felt something shift within her — a tentative step toward healing, toward rediscovery. And though she didn’t have all the answers, she knew one thing for certain: Charles’s new friendship was a lifeline she hadn’t realized she needed.

And maybe, just maybe, it was enough to take that first step back into the world.

φ

The Spanish Grand Prix weekend arrived cloaked in tension and nostalgia, casting shadows over (Y/N)'s resolve. The echoes of roaring engines and the unmistakable scent of burning rubber filled the air, stirring something deep within her. Long gone were the days when she walked these grounds with Max by her side, but the memories lingered like ghosts, clinging to the edges of her consciousness. The paddock buzzed with life — journalists, mechanics, and fans moving in a chaotic symphony. Headlines about her disappearance from the F1 world had swirled for months, masked by the temporary excuse of her book releases. But now that she was out of drafts, that facade no longer held weight.

Her family had convinced her of attending, rallying around Carlos as he embarked on a new chapter of his career with Williams. She couldn’t disappoint them, even if the thought of stepping back into this world filled her with trepidation. The familiar sights and sounds were both comforting and suffocating, each corner a reminder of what she had lost — and what she still hadn't found.

Slipping away from her family’s watchful gaze, she maneuvered through the bustling paddock toward the Ferrari motorhome. Determination fueled her steps; she had made a decision and intended to give Charles her answer. Their conversation at the Sainz family gathering a few days ago had lingered in her mind, a flicker of possibility in the midst of her existential crisis.

The motorhome loomed ahead, a sleek fortress of crimson and black. She took a steadying breath before pushing the door open and stepping inside. The hum of machinery and muted voices filled the space, but she was focused on one destination — Charles’s driver room. Her knuckles brushed against the door, but before she could knock, it swung open.

There he stood, shirtless, a towel slung casually around his neck. Drops of water clung to his skin, catching the light and tracing the defined contours of his torso. (Y/N)’s breath hitched involuntarily, her gaze wandering before she could stop herself. The toned lines of his abs, the faint trail that dipped lower —

Heat flooded her cheeks, and she whipped her head to the side, staring determinedly at the wall.

“Ah, désolé,” Charles said, clearly amused. “Didn’t expect visitors.”

“I—uh—didn’t know you were... busy,” she managed, her voice strained.

He chuckled, the sound warm and teasing. “You’re welcome to wait while I put a shirt on, but I won’t be offended if you enjoy the view.”

Her eyes snapped back to him, narrowing despite her embarrassment. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And yet you’re still here,” he teased, stepping back to let her in.

She turned her back to him, focusing on the framed photos lining the wall. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, but she willed herself to stay composed.

“I came to give you my answer,” she said, her voice steadier now.

Charles’s tone shifted, softening with genuine interest. “Oh?”

“I’ll do it. Your proposal, I mean,” she clarified quickly, avoiding any implications. “Just as friends, right? No expectations.”

There was a beat of silence, and she dared to glance over her shoulder. Charles had pulled on a shirt, but his expression was unreadable — a mix of surprise and something warmer.

“Deal,” he said, though the flicker of disappointment was almost imperceptible.

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel, heart racing. “See you around, Leclerc.”

As she walked away, she heard his laugh echo down the hall, rich and genuine. Her lips twitched despite herself, but she scolded her wandering thoughts. This was about reclaiming her life, not falling for someone new.

The race itself came with a brilliance that matched the electric atmosphere of stands roaring to life under the blistering Barcelona sun. The atmosphere thrummed with tension and excitement, the grandstands a sea of colors waving flags and banners. The familiar scent of Fuel lingered in the air, mingling with the electric energy of thousands of fans who had come to witness the spectacle of speed and adrenaline.

The Williams garage was a sea of blue and white, her family buzzing with excitement. Carlos was in high spirits, determined to make his mark with his new team. Y/N stood among them, trying to soak in the positivity, her heart pounding in sync with the engines revving on the grid.  The familiar thrill buzzed through her veins — a visceral reminder that no matter how much time passed, no matter how far she tried to run away, racing was in her blood. She was a Sainz, after all. Fuel ran through her veins. The roar of twenty engines was like music, each note vibrating through her bones.

Her eyes drifted to the grid as the cars lined up, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Carlos’s Williams gleamed under the Spanish sun, a blue-and-white beacon of determination. Her heart swelled with pride for her brother, who was ready to prove his mettle in front of their home crowd.

Further ahead, the scarlet Ferrari of Charles Leclerc sat poised, an emblem of precision and power. (Y/N)’s gaze lingered on him longer than she intended, but there was something magnetic about the way he carried himself — composed, yet fiercely competitive. He had pole position, and judging by the determined set of his jaw, he wasn’t about to give it up without a fight. Charles had always commanded attention, and today was no exception. His focused expression, the way he carried himself — it was magnetic. She shook her head, chastising herself for the distraction.

The lights went out, and the race exploded into motion. The deafening roar of engines filled the air as the cars hurtled toward Turn 1. She gripped the edge of the pit wall, her pulse racing as Carlos made a clean start, holding his position against a charging midfield.

Charles, meanwhile, launched flawlessly, defending his lead from a fast-approaching Red Bull. The battle at the front was fierce, every corner a test of nerves and skill. Her breath hitched as Charles defended aggressively into Turn 3, forcing Max Verstappen to back off. The precision with which he navigated the track was mesmerizing — a dance on the edge of control.

Lap after lap, the race unfolded with heart-stopping intensity. Carlos fought tooth and nail, executing daring overtakes and defending his position with the tenacity of a seasoned warrior. The Williams team buzzed with energy, their optimism growing with every successful move he made.

(Y/N)’s chest tightened with pride as Carlos surged forward, climbing the ranks with a calculated aggression that mirrored their father’s rally racing days. The Spanish crowd roared with every overtaking maneuver, their support palpable.

“Come on, Carlos,” she whispered under her breath, willing him to keep pushing.

At the front, Charles was locked in a strategic battle, fending off relentless pressure from the Red Bull behind him. The tension was unbearable, each sector split flashing on the screens like a countdown to chaos.

“Hold him off, Charles,” (Y/N) murmured, her voice barely audible over the noise.

And he did. Lap after lap, he maintained his composure, extracting every ounce of performance from the Ferrari. His lines were precise, his braking perfect. Watching him was a masterclass in control and determination.

As the final laps approached, the pit wall became a hive of nervous energy. Carlos was holding steady in P5, a remarkable feat for Williams, while Charles was on the brink of victory.

“Last lap,” a voice crackled over the team radio.

(Y/N)’s heart was in her throat as the cars thundered around the circuit one final time. Carlos defended fiercely against Kimi Antonelli’s Mercedes behind him, refusing to relinquish his position.

Up front, Charles crossed the line, taking the checkered flag with a triumphant roar from the Ferrari garage. The crowd erupted, a sea of red waving in celebration. (Y/N)’s breath caught as she watched him pump his fist in the air, his victory securing him a commanding lead in the championship.

Carlos crossed the line moments later, claiming a solid P5 finish. The Williams garage erupted into cheers, the team hugging and clapping in celebration. (Y/N)’s father, Carlos Sainz Sr., had tears glistening in his eyes as he embraced his son, pride radiating from every pore.

(Y/N)’s heart swelled, a lump forming in her throat. This was what racing was about — the triumphs, the struggles, the moments that made your heart race and your spirit soar.

As the podium ceremony commenced, (Y/N) found herself drawn to the spectacle. Charles stood tall on the top step, his smile wide and genuine. The Monegasque national anthem played, and she couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride for him.

But then Charles caught her gaze. The world seemed to blur as he winked, playful and confident, just as he had in Abu Dhabi. He lifted the winner’s trophy, signaling to it and then to her. Her breath hitched, her heart doing an involuntary flip. The underlying implication wasn’t lost on her, and heat crept up her neck. 

Damn him.

The paddock was winding down as Y/N prepared to leave with her family, the adrenaline of the race still thrumming in her veins. Carlos's strong finish and Charles's victory were still vivid in her mind, their accomplishments filling her with a pride that was both fierce and bittersweet. Yet beneath that rush of excitement, there was a nagging weight — something unspoken clinging to her like the humidity in the Barcelona evening.

As they made their way toward the exit, she patted the pockets of her blazer and realized she had forgotten her airpods.

“I’ll catch up,” she told them, waving off her parents' concerned looks.

Her sister Anna raised a brow. “You sure?”

“Positive. It won’t take long.”

With a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, she turned back toward the garages. The corridors were quieter now, the frenzied chaos of race day fading into the hush of impending night. Shadows stretched across the pavement, mingling with the lingering scent of burnt rubber and sun-warmed asphalt.

She moved with purpose, her heels clicking against the ground, determined to retrieve her forgotten item and rejoin her family. But as she rounded a corner, her steps faltered, breath catching in her throat.

Max.

He stood just a few paces ahead, his familiar figure sharp against the backdrop of the fading sun. His stance was casual, hands tucked into his pockets, but there was a tension in his posture that spoke of years of high-stakes racing and battles both on and off the track. Beside him stood Kelly, her hand resting on her rounded belly, the fabric of her dress clinging to the unmistakable curve of pregnancy.

The engagement ring on her finger caught the light, gleaming like a taunt.

Time seemed to warp, stretching painfully as (Y/N) stood frozen in place. Her heart clenched, a visceral ache that she hadn’t felt in months. Her breath hitched, but she forced herself to take a steadying inhale. This was life now. Max was no longer hers, and she had no right to linger on what could have been.

Kelly noticed her first, offering a polite but wary smile. “(Y/N),” she greeted warmly, if a bit cautiously. “It’s been a while.”

She forced a smile onto her lips. “Kelly.” Her gaze flickered to Max, whose blue eyes held a mix of surprise and unreadable emotion. “Max.”

He nodded, his voice low. “(Y/N).”

The air was thick with unspoken memories, the kind that lingered even after months of distance. Kelly shifted slightly, her hand instinctively moving to her belly.

(Y/N)’s stomach twisted, but she forced a polite smile.

“It’s good to see you. Almost didn’t recognize you — you’ve been off the grid.” Kelly offered a warm, yet cautious smile.

“I’ve been... busy,” she answered vaguely.

“Yes, I get that. I’m almost due,” she said conversationally, her tone gentle but perhaps too aware of the weight of the moment. “We’re having a boy.”

She did the math without meaning to — nearly ten months had passed since that devastating breakup in Hungary. He must have been with Kelly not long after their relationship ended. Her chest tightened as the realization sank in — While she was drowning in loss at Mallorca, Max had moved on swiftly, almost immediately.

Her heart clenched again, but she schooled her expression into something resembling polite interest. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Kelly said softly. “Well, I’ll give you two a moment.” She glanced at Max before excusing herself, leaving them standing awkwardly in the fading light.

Silence hung between them, heavy and oppressive. Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, unsure of what to say. The last time they had spoken, emotions had run wild, raw and unfiltered. Now, there was only a strange hollowness where their bond had once been.

“You look well,” Max offered, his voice tentative.

“So do you,” she managed, her voice steadier than she felt but betraying a flick of bitterness. 

They stood there, the weight of their history pressing between them.

He shifted on his feet, his gaze flickering to the ground before meeting hers again. “I’ve seen the headlines about your books. It’s impressive, Y/N. I’m happy for you. You’ve always deserved success.”

There was a tinged irony to his words. He thought she had moved on, found success and fulfillment. How wrong he was, If only he knew, she thought bitterly. Her creative well had run dry, and inspiration eluded her like a phantom she could no longer grasp. But she wouldn’t let him see that.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “I’m glad things are going well for you too. Kelly seems… wonderful.”

“She is,” Max admitted, though his tone was gentle, not boastful. “And I’m happy.”

There it was. The confirmation she hadn’t realized she was dreading. He had found happiness without her, built a new life with someone else. And while it stung, it was also freeing in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

“I’m happy for you too,” she said sincerely, even though her heart ached with the weight of those words. “You deserve it.”

Max’s expression softened, a hint of sadness flickering in his eyes. “We had good times, didn’t we?”

“We did,” she agreed, her voice thick with emotion. “But it was time to let go. We weren’t happy anymore.”

He nodded, as if accepting the truth they both knew but had never spoken aloud.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for. Take care (Y/N),” he said earnestly.

“You too Max. I hope you keep finding happiness,” she replied, meaning every word.

They stood there for a moment longer, the past finally settling between them like dust after a storm. There was no animosity, no bitterness — just closure.

As they parted ways, (Y/N) felt a strange sense of relief wash over her. Max was no longer hers, and perhaps he never truly had been, always focused on racing before anything else. Life had moved on.

Her steps were lighter as she made her way back toward the exit, where her family waited. But as she walked, her mind buzzed with thoughts — not of Max, but of the future.

The rest of the night blurred in a haze of music and flashing lights. Her siblings had dragged her to a club, determined to celebrate Carlos’s strong finish where she drowned her thoughts in drinks, dancing with reckless abandon. The ache in her chest dulled with each beat of the music, but it never fully disappeared.

By the time she stumbled back to her hotel, head spinning and heart heavy, clarity struck through the fog. A message from Charles lit up her phone:

Looking forward to our adventures. Let’s make them unforgettable.

Her lips curved into a faint smile. Perhaps it was time to let the past go and embrace whatever came next. Max had moved on, and now it was her turn.

And with Charles by her side, perhaps the world wasn’t so daunting after all.  With that thought, she drifted into sleep, the Barcelona night stretching before her, filled with possibility.

φ

He had been persistent but never overbearing. After the Spanish Grand Prix and her unexpected agreement to his proposal, they'd fallen into an easy rhythm of back-and-forth messages, planning adventures that had drawn her out of the numbness she'd felt for so long. 

Through playful back-and-forth texts, Charles kept his promise, planning and curating a series of adventures meant to push (Y/N) beyond her comfort zone. Their conversations brimmed with excitement, teasing suggestions of daring escapades and quiet explorations alike. Despite his meticulous planning, Charles always left room for spontaneity — a gentle reminder that this journey was as much about rediscovering freedom as it was about seeing the world.

It didn’t take much convincing for Carlos, her ever-enthusiastic older brother, to jump on board with the idea. Thrilled to have his baby sister along for the rest of the season, Carlos welcomed her presence in the paddock with open arms, insisting that her infectious energy would be a good-luck charm for Williams. Between races, Charles kept his promise, inviting her to explore the world in between the chaos of race weekends.

Monaco, naturally, had to be their starting point — Charles’s hometown and the most iconic GP on the calendar. Once tainted by memories with Max, now revealed itself in a fresh light under Charles' guidance. From swimming in crystal-clear waters and hiking through hidden trails to discovering quaint cafés, gardens and cobblestone streets tucked away from tourist eyes, the quiet hum of the city beneath a golden sunset sparked her creativity anew became her new canvases of inspiration. Charles had a way of turning the familiar into something magical, making even the simplest corners feel new, showing her a side of the city she had never known, despite having lived there in the past for years. They wandered through markets brimming with vibrant produce, shared quiet conversations by the harbor, and laughed as they stumbled upon paths even Charles hadn't ventured down before. 

Slowly, (Y/N) realized how different these experiences felt — Charles never dictated where they should go; he merely invited her, always giving her the choice. There was no pressure, no expectation. Just an open hand and an easygoing smile that made her want to say yes, not because she had to, but because she wanted to. And with each step, she found herself not only rediscovering Monaco but also piecing together fragments of herself she thought she'd lost.

On Race day the streets of the principality buzzed with life, electric in the aftermath of Charles’s monumental win. His second victory on home soil had sent the principality into a frenzy, and celebrations stretched from the marina to the glittering rooftops of luxury hotels. Music pulsed from every corner, mingling with laughter and the clink of glasses. The scent of salt and champagne lingered in the air as she danced under the starlit sky, the glow of the city casting golden reflections on the water.

Charles was never far from her, his presence grounding even amidst the chaos. He had abandoned his race suit for a tight black shirt that clung to his lean muscular frame. His victory grin hadn’t faded, and every so often, their eyes would meet across the throng of people, a spark passing between them that neither dared to acknowledge.

Her body swayed to the rhythm of the music, heart thrumming with a mixture of exhilaration and the heady buzz of too much champagne. Charles had handed her a flute earlier, insisting on a toast, and she hadn’t stopped since. The warmth in her veins made her bolder, lighter.

At some point, their dancing had become closer, the line between friendship and something more blurring with every brush of skin. His hand lingered at her waist, hers resting against his shoulder. The world narrowed to just the two of them, the music fading into a distant hum.

Tentative touches became deliberate—a graze of wandering fingers, a fleeting press of hips. Their breath mingled as they moved, the space between them charged with unspoken tension. (Y/N) felt a heat rise within her, unfamiliar and thrilling. Her gaze flickered to his lips, and for a moment, she wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

But then the spell was broken.

“Hey,” a voice slurred from beside them. A man, short but broad-shouldered, stumbled slightly as he addressed her. His grin was too wide, his eyes glassy. “Wanna get out of here? My hotel’s just up the street.”

(Y/N) blinked, the daze of champagne clouding her judgment. The suggestion hung in the air, tempting in its simplicity. She opened her mouth, words teetering on the edge, but Charles stepped in before she could respond.

“I think she’s good right here,” he said, his tone polite but firm. His hand tightened around her waist, anchoring her.

The man’s grin faltered, but he shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He stumbled off into the crowd, leaving a strange silence in his wake.

(Y/N) exhaled shakily, the reality of the moment crashing down on her. “Thanks,” she murmured, her voice unsteady. “I think I almost said yes.”

Charles’s brow furrowed. “You don’t have to explain.”

“No, I do.” She ran a hand through her hair, suddenly feeling exposed. “It’s just… after Max, I don’t really know how to do this anymore. I mean, I’ve only ever been with him. Sexually, I mean.”

Charles’s eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his features. “You don’t have to—”

“We started dating when I was sixteen,” she continued her drunken rambling, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “After we broke up, I just… I wasn’t sure how to approach that with anyone else. Even strangers.”

Her confession hung between them, raw and vulnerable.

Charles’s expression softened, his gaze warm. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Y/N. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for your choices.”

She looked away, the sting of embarrassment creeping up her spine. “It just makes me feel... stuck. Like I missed out on something.”

He hesitated, then reached for her hand, his touch gentle. “You haven’t missed out on anything. And you’re not stuck. You’re figuring things out.”

She nodded, grateful for his understanding. But what she didn’t see was the flicker of something darker in his eyes—a primal instinct he fought to suppress. The idea of her innocence, her vulnerability, stirred something deep within him, something he knew he had no right to entertain. He clenched his jaw, silently berating himself. His role was to help her, not corrupt her.

“We should get out of here,” he said, his voice steadier now. “Walk it off.”

She agreed, and they made their way down the quiet path along the harbor. The water lapped gently against the docked yachts, their reflections shimmering under the moonlight.

“Thank you,” she said softly, breaking the silence. “For saving me back there.”

“Anytime,” he replied, his lips curving into a faint smile.

Their footsteps echoed against the pavement, the tension between them easing into something calmer. Yet beneath the surface, something had shifted. They both felt it but neither spoke of it.

The days that followed were filled with new experiences—From snorkeling in crystal-clear waters off the Amalfi Coast to hiking through mist-shrouded mountains in Switzerland, each experience had been a step toward rediscovering herself and bringing them closer, their connection deepening with every shared laugh and quiet moment.

Skydiving marks a pivotal turning point. The rush of free-fall strips away her fears, and when Charles grips her hand in exhilaration after landing, their shared laughter feels louder than the rush of wind. And always, at the end of the day, she would say the same thing.

 “Thank you, Charles.” 

And he would smile, knowing that those two words carried more weight than she could ever express.

It was a slow burn, this thing between them—unspoken but undeniable. And neither of them was in a hurry to define it.

The build up tension eventually bursts one evening in Monaco. The sea breeze curled through the open terrace of her hotel room, carrying the scent of salt and lavender from the Mediterranean gardens nearby. The quiet hum of life in Monaco faded into the background as (Y/N) leaned against the cool iron railing, her gaze fixed on the shimmering waters below. Shadows danced across the cobblestones, mingling with the golden hues of dusk.

Her phone buzzed on the table behind her. Without looking, she knew who it was. (Y/N)’s lips curved faintly as she picked up the phone.

“Still up for tonight, Dolcezza?”

“I’m not sure I’m prepared to face whatever madness you have planned this time.”  She half-joked through the phone.

“Madness? Moi? I was thinking something simple—just a quiet night by the sea. Bring a jacket. It might get cold.”

Her heart did an inexplicable little flip. His voice always carried that light, teasing tone, but beneath it was something steady, something that had become a source of comfort she hadn’t realized she needed.

“See you soon. Charlie”

She slipped into a light sweater, its soft fabric brushing against her skin, and made her way to the rendezvous point Charles had suggested—a hidden cove far from the bustling streets of Monaco.

When she arrived, the scene took her breath away. The cove was illuminated by lanterns Charles had strung up along the rocky outcrop, their warm glow reflecting on the gentle waves. A blanket was spread across the sand, complete with a small picnic basket.

“You really know how to set the mood,” she teased as he turned to greet her.

Charles grinned. “Only the best for you.”

Her pulse skipped. It was so easy with him—this banter, this comfort. Yet there was always an undercurrent of something more, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to confront.

They settled onto the blanket, the soft hum of the waves filling the space between their conversations. Charles poured them each a glass of chilled rosé, his fingers brushing against hers as he handed her the glass.

“To new adventures,” he toasted, his eyes gleaming in the lantern light.

“To getting out of my comfort zone,” she countered, clinking her glass against his.

They drank in silence, the wine crisp and refreshing. The conversation flowed easily, touching on everything from their favorite childhood memories to the absurdities of life in the public eye. Charles’s laughter was infectious, and she found herself leaning closer, drawn in by his warmth.

As the night deepened, the air grew cooler. (Y/N) wrapped her sweater tighter around herself, but Charles noticed.

“Here,” he said, draping his jacket over her shoulders. The scent of cedar and something distinctly him enveloped her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice softer than she intended.

He smiled, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze.“You've thanked me a hundred times,” he says softly, his voice tinged with warmth. “But I need to say it now — thank you for letting me share this with you.”

Waves lap gently at the shore, a rhythm that mirrors the pulse between them. Charles breaks the comfortable silence.

She turns to him, heart thudding against her ribs. “I think I needed this more than I realized.”

His gaze searches hers, steady and sincere. “I told you, you're not broken, dolcezza. You're just finding your way again. And it's beautiful to watch.”

Her breath catches, the vulnerability between them palpable. He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the touch lingering. Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. The tension that had been simmering beneath the surface now crackled like a live wire.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, his voice low.

“Of course.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

The question, once a source of frustration, now feels gentle and filled with possibility. So she laughed softly. “That’s random.”

“Humor me.”

She considered it for a moment. “It used to be blue, but right now?... I think it might be rosso corsa.” She whispers.

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Good choice.” And then he laughs, softly with realisation, a sound that warms her chest. 

The air thickened, charged with anticipation. (Y/N)’s heart raced as he shifted closer, his knee brushing against hers. His gaze dropped to her lips, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them.

She knew this was a crossroads. She could pull back, retreat into the safety of friendship, or she could lean into the unknown, take the leap she’d been too afraid to take.

Charles’s breath fanned across her cheek, warm and inviting. Her resolve wavered, and before she could overthink it, she closed the distance between them.

The first brush of their lips was tentative, testing. But then something shifted. The kiss deepened, fueled by the unspoken emotions that had been building between them. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing against her skin, while her fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt.

Time seemed to stand still, the world fading into a blur of sensation. The taste of wine lingered on his lips, mingling with the heady thrill of finally giving in to what had been simmering between them.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, (Y/N) searched his eyes, finding a reflection of her own disbelief and wonder.

“Thank you,” she whispered, the words carrying a weight they never had before.

Charles’s smile was soft, his thumb tracing a gentle path along her cheek. “I think that one was for me.”

And perhaps it was. For love, for healing, for taking a leap into the unknown. They sat there, wrapped in each other and the promise of something new. For the first time in a long time, (Y/N) felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be—no longer defined by the past but open to whatever the future held.

The air hums between them, electric and inevitable. Slowly, as though drawn by an unseen force, she leans back in. He meets him halfway, his lips brushing against hers. The kiss is tentative at first, testing the waters, but it deepens with a sweetness that speaks of promises and newfound beginnings.

And it started here, with him.

φ

As the 2025 season progressed, so did Charles and (Y/N)’s relationship, quietly blossoming amidst the chaos of race weekends, media scrutiny, and the exhilarating highs and lows of F1. To the public, she was simply there to support Carlos, her older brother, cheering from the Williams garage as he fought for solid points finishes. But those in the know — a select, trusted few — were aware of the subtle glances, hidden smiles, and fleeting touches exchanged between them whenever they thought no one was looking.

Spending time with Carlos came naturally; he was her steadfast brother and protector, the anchor in the storm that the paddock could sometimes be. But she also found herself forming bonds with Charles's inner circle. Joris, his easygoing friend with a sharp sense of humor, and Andrea, his dedicated trainer with a heart of gold, quickly grew fond of her. They saw her not as an extension of Charles but as someone worth knowing in her own right. Unlike Max’s friends, who had once treated her as just ‘Max’s girlfriend,’ Joris and Andrea asked about her life, laughed at her witty comebacks, and genuinely enjoyed her company.

As summer break arrived in August, Charles proposed a plan: the first half with his family and friends, the second half with hers. “Balance, no?” he had teased, grinning that signature mischievous smile.

The first part of their holiday unfolded on a sun-drenched yacht along the French coast. It was the first time she would meet his family as his girlfriend, and nerves prickled under her skin as they sailed toward the gleaming vessel anchored off the shoreline.

“They’re going to love you,” Charles assured her, his hand warm on the small of her back as they stepped onto the deck.

His mother, Pascale, was the first to greet them, her embrace warm and genuine. Lorenzo and Arthur followed, their easy smiles dissolving any lingering tension. Even Charlotte and Jade, Lorenzo and Arthur’s girlfriends, welcomed her with open arms, immediately drawing her into their conversations.

Those days were filled with laughter, good food, and playful banter. Pascale watched with quiet contentment as (Y/N) fit seamlessly into their dynamic, her laughter blending effortlessly with the family’s joy. As the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, Charles found himself alone with his mother, leaning against the railing as they watched Arthur and (Y/N) teasing each other over some inside joke.

“You’re happy,” Pascale observed, her voice gentle.

Charles smiled, his gaze softening as it lingered on his girlfriend. “I am.”

“She’s the one for you, isn’t she?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes. She is.”

Pascale’s hand found his, squeezing it reassuringly. “Then hold on to her.”

The second part of the summer break took them to Costa Rica, where the Sainz family had gathered for their annual vacation. Charles joined them as “just a friend,” but Anna’s knowing glances and (Y/N)’s parents’ perceptive gazes told a different story. Her father, Carlos Sainz Sr., was particularly watchful, his protective instincts never far from the surface.

On the last night of their vacation, as the sun set over the ocean and a warm breeze rustled through the trees, Anna cornered her while their parents poured glasses of wine on the terrace.

“So,” Anna teased, her grin mischievous, “first Max, now Charles? Is this a pattern with Carlos’s teammates?”

(Y/N) groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “Please don’t start.”

Their father’s brows furrowed with concern. “Charles is a good man, though?”

“Yes,” she said earnestly. “He’s… he’s different. Good-hearted. I wouldn’t be with him otherwise.”

Carlos Sr. nodded slowly, his expression softening. “Even if you’re my baby girl, you’re an adult now. I trust your judgment.”

Their mother, Mercedes, chimed in with a playful smile. “Carlos is too blind to notice the way Charles looks at you, but a mother always sees these things.”

Heat crept up (Y/N)’s neck, but there was a warmth in her chest too — the kind that came from being seen and understood.

After the summer break, she continued traveling alongside Charles, her days filled with the thrill of races and the quiet joy of shared moments with Charles. But when the Azerbaijan GP arrived, she found herself unable to attend.

Charles had a disastrous race, and when she called to comfort him afterwards, his voice was strained, disappointment heavy in his tone.

“I just needed you there,” he admitted quietly, the vulnerability in his voice tugging at her heart.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll be at the next one. Promise. ”

But Charles had never been one to wait when something mattered to him. The very next day, a knock at her front door in her flat startled her.

Opening it, she found Charles standing there, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder, his expression both tired and determined.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice breathless.

“I needed to see you,” he said simply.

The city of Madrid pulsed with its usual rhythm, but inside the sanctuary of (Y/N)’s flat, time stood still. Curtains drawn to keep the world at bay, soft amber light from scattered lamps casting a warm glow across the living space, they existed in a bubble of their own making. Charles had arrived days earlier, seeking refuge from the relentless pressures of the championship fight. His usual composed demeanor had cracked under the weight of expectations, and she had seen the exhaustion lingering in his eyes the moment he stepped through her door.

She hadn’t asked questions. He didn’t need to explain.

They simply were, moving through the quiet, sacred spaces of her home with an ease that spoke of their deepening connection. Mornings were spent curled up on the couch, her head resting against his shoulder as they sipped coffee in comfortable silence. Afternoons drifted by with music playing softly in the background, their conversations meandering through light-hearted banter and moments of raw honesty.

And then there were the nights — when the world faded completely, leaving only the two of them.

Charles had always been tactile, his touch a grounding force. His fingers would trace absent patterns along her arm as they talked, his gaze steady and filled with something unspoken. She cherished these quiet moments, grateful that he didn’t push her away when the pressure mounted.

On one such evening, the air thick with the scent of rain from an earlier storm, (Y/N) sat beside him on the floor, their backs against the couch. Her hand rested atop his, their fingers loosely intertwined. The TV flickered with muted images, forgotten background noise to their hushed conversation.

“You’ve been quiet,” she murmured, turning her head to study him.

His jaw clenched, the flicker of tension evident. “Just thinking.”

“About the championship?”

He nodded, exhaling slowly. “It’s… a lot.”

“I know,” she said softly, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. “But you don’t have to carry it all alone.”

His eyes met hers, the vulnerability there making her heart ache. “It’s hard not to.”

“You have me,” she reminded him, her voice firm despite the tenderness in her tone.

A faint smile curved his lips. “I know. And I’m grateful for that.”

The weight of the moment hung between them, heavy yet filled with an undercurrent of something more profound.

That night, as shadows danced along the walls and the city hummed beyond the windows, something shifted within (Y/N). Love had always been a treacherous thing for her, tangled with fear and uncertainty. But with Charles, it was different — steady, grounding, a magnetic force that pulled her closer until resistance felt impossible.

She wasn’t afraid anymore. Not with him.

“I’m ready,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the soft hum of the night.

His brow furrowed in question. “For what?”

“To give myself fully to you.” Her gaze was unwavering, filled with quiet resolve.

Charles’s breath hitched, the weight of her words sinking in. “Are you sure?” he asked gently, his voice thick with emotion.

In response, she cupped his face, her lips capturing his in a kiss that spoke of love, trust, and a fierce determination to show him just how certain she was. The world fell away as the kiss deepened, their souls blending in a way that felt as if the universe had been leading them to this very moment.

There was nothing rushed, nothing uncertain. Only a shared love for what they were building together.

Their breaths mingled in the dimly lit room, the air thick with the scent of rain and something deeper – the raw energy of love made tangible. Charles's fingertips traced delicate lines down the curve of her spine, memorizing every dip and rise as though she were the map to a world he'd only just begun to discover.

(Y/N)'s heart pounded against her ribs, not from nerves but from the overwhelming beauty of the moment. There was no hesitation, only the quiet surrender of two souls drawn together by something far greater than desire alone.

Soft whimpers escaped her lips as his kisses trailed from the hollow of her throat to the curve of her shoulder, each press of his mouth leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. Her hands roamed across the taut expanse of his back, feeling the strength that lay beneath his smooth skin.

"Charles," she breathed, his name a prayer on her lips.

He lifted his head, his gaze searching hers, eyes darkened with lust but still gentle, always gentle. "I'm here," he promised, voice thick with devotion.

And he was. Fully present, fully hers.

Their mouths met again, the kiss deepening into something that spoke of trust, love, and a longing to give and receive without barriers. Time ceased to matter as they moved together, their bodies finding a rhythm that was both instinctual and sacred.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, anchoring herself to him as waves of sensation coursed through her. His quiet groan reverberated against her skin, a raw and unfiltered sound that spoke of how deeply he felt this moment too.

Every touch, every breath, every whispered plea was a testament to their journey — from heartache and uncertainty to this place of unshakable connection.

There was a reverence in the way Charles held her, as though she were something precious, something fragile and infinite all at once. And she met him with equal tenderness, her touch a vow that she was no longer afraid to love, no longer afraid to be loved.

Their bodies moved as one, a seamless blend of giving and receiving, of exploration and certainty. Skin slick with sweat, limbs entwined, they surrendered to the moment, their souls blending in a way that transcended the physical.

As they reached the peak of their shared passion, (Y/N) buried her face against his neck, her breath warm against his skin. Charles's grip on her tightened, his chest rising and falling with the force of his emotions. 

Their hearts beat in sync, the world outside fading until there was nothing but them, suspended in a moment of pure, unadulterated love. When the intensity ebbed, they remained tangled together, their bodies still pressed close, unwilling to break the connection.

Later, as they lay tangled in the sheets, their breathing slowing to a harmonious rhythm, Charles pressed a kiss to her temple. “I love you,” he whispered, the words slipping out unbidden but utterly true.

Emotion welled in her chest, too overwhelming for words. Instead, she whispered back, “Thank you.”

The unspoken meaning hung in the air between them — Thank you for loving me. Thank you for teaching me to love the world again. Thank you for never giving up on me.

They remained cocooned in their sacred space for the rest of his small break, limbs tangled together as they moved through her apartment with an intimacy that spoke of shared promises and future dreams. The outside world buzzed with tabloids and speculation, but inside these walls, there was only them.

Charles's laughter echoed through her flat, a sound she had grown to treasure. Blissfully unaware of the outside chaos, they spent lazy mornings in bed, afternoons cooking together, and evenings wrapped in each other’s arms. 

But, as with all things, their idyllic bubble was not meant to last.

Carlos had remained blissfully unaware of their rendezvous as well — until he didn't.

The door burst open without warning, the clatter of keys echoing through the space.

“(Y/N)?” Her older brother's voice rang out, loud and insistent, muttering about forgotten golf clubs.  “You here?”

Y/N’s heart plummeted as panic surged through her veins, realizing the situation they were in — her topless frame, straddling a shirtless Charles on the couch.

“Shit,” she hissed, scrambling to grab the nearest blanket.

Carlos rounded the corner, his eyes widening comically as he took in the scene. His jaw dropped, words failing him entirely.

Charles, ever the composed one, cleared his throat, his expression caught between amusement and mild embarrassment. “Hey, mate.”

Carlos blinked once. Twice. Then his eyes narrowed. “No. Absolutely not.” Then pointing an accusatory finger at them. “What the hell is going on here?”

(Y/N) groaned, burying her face in Charles's shoulder. “Kill me now,” she muttered.

Charles's laughter rumbled against her, and despite the mortifying situation, she couldn’t help but smile.

Their little bubble had burst, but as she met Charles's gaze, filled with love and unwavering support, she knew one thing for certain — whatever came next, they would face it together.

“Carlos—” she started, her face flaming with mortification.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing, Leclerc?” Carlos cut her off, his tone a mixture of disbelief and overprotective outrage.

Charles raised his hands in mock surrender, though a mischievous grin tugged at his lips. “I swear, this isn’t what it looks like.”

Carlos crossed his arms. “It looks like you’re corrupting my sister.”

“Well... then it’s exactly what it looks like,” He quipped, earning a groan from (Y/N).

“Mon cœur,” she warned under her breath, though she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips.

“Mon cœur?,” Carlos arched his brow and threw his hands up in exasperation. “First Ferrari, now my family? Is nothing sacred?”

Charles stepped forward, his expression softening. “Look, mate, I get it. You’re her big brother and you want to protect her. But I’m serious about this. About her.”

Carlos’s eyes flicked between them, his protective instincts warring with something softer. “You’d better be.”

“I am,” Charles said firmly. “I love her. A lot.”

Carlos sighed, his shoulders relaxing. “Fine. But if you mess this up, I’ll—”

“I won’t,” Charles promised, cutting him off.

Carlos grumbled something under his breath before pointing a finger at (Y/N). “You’re still a menace for dating this one”

“But a happily in love menace,” she shot back, grinning at Charles, who squeezed her hand and gave her a tender kiss.

Carlos shook his head, muttering in Spanish as he walked toward the fridge. “I need a drink. Please get dressed, both of you.”

As soon as he was out of earshot, Charles let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “That went... better than expected?”

And when Carlos finally came around, grumbling but supportive, (Y/N) knew they had turned a corner.

φ

The Yas Marina Circuit gleamed under the relentless winter desert sun that loomed high over the Abu Dhabi circuit, casting a shimmering golden hue across the paddock, the race track pristine asphalt shimmering in the heat. Palm trees swayed gently in the dry breeze, a picturesque contrast to the storm of emotions brewing across the paddock. The air crackled with anticipation, as if the universe itself held its breath for what was about to unfold.

Abu Dhabi, the final race of the 2025 Formula 1 season, would crown a champion.

There was an almost palpable tension in the air, a mixture of nerves and anticipation crackling like static electricity. The entire racing world was here to witness history, as three titans of Formula 1—Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, and Max Verstappen—stood tied for the championship title. Three contenders stood on the precipice of glory. They were tied in points—a statistical rarity that had the world captivated. 

Everything came down to this. One race would decide it all.

And she was by Charles’s side.

(Y/N) had never imagined returning to the paddock in this capacity, not just as Carlos's sister or a writer finding inspiration but as Charles’s girlfriend. Officially. Publicly.

Speculations about their relationship had swirled for months, fueled by cryptic sightings and fleeting moments caught by eagle-eyed fans. But today, there was no hiding. She was there for him, fully and unapologetically.

Charles needed her, and that was all that mattered.

The media frenzy had already begun the moment they stepped off the private jet. Camera flashes exploded, reporters clamored for interviews, and whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire. The speculations that had brewed for months were finally confirmed.

She had never seen Charles quite like this — his usual composure strained by the weight of what lay ahead. Yet, even amidst the chaos, he never let go of her.

(Y/N) stood beside him, her fingers intertwined with his as they walked toward the Ferrari motorhome. Despite the sweltering heat, a chill prickled her skin. His grip on her hand tightened, grounding her amidst the chaos of media day. Journalists swarmed, microphones thrust forward like weapons, but Charles navigated it all with a grace honed over years in the spotlight.

“Charles, how are you handling the pressure of this championship-deciding race?” one reporter asked, voice sharp with urgency.

He smiled faintly, though tension lingered in the corners of his eyes. “It’s a privilege to be in this position. I trust the team, and I’m ready to give it everything.”

During media day, (Y/N) stayed close, offering quiet support as Charles navigated interviews and press obligations. His calm demeanor masked the storm of emotions she knew raged beneath the surface, but every now and then, his thumb would brush over her knuckles, grounding himself through her presence.

At one point, a journalist asked him about the championship pressure and his life off-track blending with his career.

“And what about your personal life? There’s been speculation—”

The reporter’s question hung in the air, heavy with implication.

Charles's eyes flicked to (Y/N), who stood trying to blend into the background. But there was no hiding from the attention today. Charles' gaze softened despite the tension etched into his features. “I’m lucky to have the love of my life by my side on this journey,” he said simply, his voice steady but filled with unspoken emotion.

The words lingered in the air, shimmering with significance. She knew then that no matter the outcome of this race, their story had already reached a place of triumph.

The statement echoed in her mind, leaving her breathless.

Love of his life.

Her heart fluttered, warmth spreading through her chest. Despite the nerves gnawing at her, Charles’s unwavering confidence in their relationship steadied her.

As they moved through the rest of the media obligations, (Y/N) remained by his side, offering quiet support. As they walked back toward the Ferrari motorhome, a figure caught her eye—Max Verstappen, standing by the Red Bull garage. He glanced their way, his expression unreadable, but there was no animosity, no lingering resentment.

It was strange how time had softened the edges of their shared past. Max had found his own happiness, now a devoted husband and father. And she... she had found something even more precious: peace.

Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. They had both moved on, and in doing so, had found better versions of themselves.

Charles's hand tightened around her waist, drawing her back to the present. She smiled up at him, grateful for the love they had nurtured, steady and sure.

Later, as the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and rose, they found a brief moment of peace. Charles leaned against the railing of the motorhome terrace, the cityscape sprawling behind him.

(Y/N) joined him, their shoulders brushing. “How are you feeling?” she asked softly.

He exhaled, the weight of the day visible in the slump of his shoulders. “Nervous. But with you here... better.”

She smiled, touched by his honesty. “You’ve got this, Charles. I believe in you.”

He turned to her, eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you, amore.”

As the final light faded from the sky, casting the circuit in shadows, (Y/N) felt a sense of calm wash over her. Whatever happened tomorrow, they would face it together.

Race day arrived with a crescendo of anticipation.

The grandstands roared with excitement, a sea of red Ferrari flags waving fervently with a palpable sense of electricity in the air. 

(Y/N) stood with Charles in the moments before he suited up, their pre-race ritual unfolding in quiet intimacy.

His forehead rested against hers, eyes closed as he drew in steadying breaths. The roar of the crowd faded into the background, leaving only the sound of their synchronized breathing.

“No one deserves this more than you, mon cœur,” she whispered, her voice unwavering despite the butterflies in her stomach. “You’re Il Predestinato for a reason. Go show them what you’re made of”

A faint smile curved his lips. “Only if you’re here when I cross the finish line.”

“Always.”

The weight of the moment hung between them, heavy yet charged with possibility.

Charles pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before stepping back, his expression fierce with determination. “For us.”

The race itself was a blur of adrenaline and chaos. Engines roared, tires screeched, and the tension was suffocating. (Y/N) sat with Charles’s family in the Ferrari garage, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Pascale offered her a reassuring smile, but even she couldn’t hide the nerves. Carlos had joined them after a devastating DNF, his attempt to overtake Lewis ending in a dramatic crash that took both drivers out of contention.

“He’s got this,” Carlos said firmly, his presence a steady anchor beside her. “Charles is the best driver on that track.”

(Y/N) nodded, though her heart raced with every lap.

The battle between Charles and Max was relentless, neither giving an inch. Overtakes, defensive maneuvers, and nail-biting near misses kept everyone on edge.

Her breath caught as Charles made a daring move, taking the lead with only a handful of laps remaining. The Ferrari garage erupted into cheers, but she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think until the checkered flag waved.

And then it happened.

Charles crossed the finish line, victorious.

The radio crackled to life, his voice breaking with emotion. “We did it... We did it!”

Tears streamed down (Y/N)’s face as she listened to his overwhelmed gratitude.

“And thank you,” Charles added, voice thick. “Thank you, dolcezza. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Her heart swelled, pride and love intertwining in a way that left her breathless.

"This is your moment. It's all yours, Charlie.” She managed to answer between sobs. "Go claim your victory. I’m so proud of you mon cœur.”

The Ferrari crew spilled onto the track, and she ran with them, Charles’s family and friends close behind. As he parked the car, time seemed to slow.

Charles sat there for a moment, helmet still on, the weight of his achievement sinking in.

For my father. For Jules. For the team. For (Y/N).

He removed his helmet, scanning the crowd until his eyes found her. Everything else faded away.

She reached him just as he climbed out of the car, and without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms. Their lips met in a kiss that spoke of triumph, love, and everything they had fought for together.

The cameras captured it all, but neither of them cared.

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips, tears mingling with her smile.

“Thank you,” he said, voice raw with emotion.

The podium ceremony was a blur of celebration. The Monegasque anthem played as Charles stood on the top step, the championship trophy held high.

He glanced down at (Y/N), his signature wink accompanied by a playful point to the trophy and then to her.

She laughed, heart full, and blew him a kiss.

Charles’s chest swelled with joy, the memory of last year flashing in his mind. How far they had come. How much had changed.

Subtly, his thoughts drifted to the engagement ring hidden in his luggage, a promise waiting to be made.

As the champagne sprayed and the crowd roared, (Y/N) reflected on her journey.

Before Charles, she had been lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty. But he had put her back on track, not by leading her but by standing beside her, showing her that love didn’t have to be a battlefield — it could be a haven.

He had taught her to stand on her own again, to rediscover the beauty of life.

And she loved him for it.

Past the finish line, there were only possibilities. And with Charles by her side, she was ready to keep discovering the world — and herself — all over again.

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

A/N 2: For those who wanted a more concise endings, here is It how things Will have turned out If (Y/N) choose Charles. Now I want him to show mw arround the world and be my personal Monaco guide as well. Also Carlos obliviousness and his realisation are priceless. I thik this ending it's a little more realistic than the Lando's one, if my ex of 8 years left me I would be pretty upset too. I got a little bit carried away and this ended up being longer than what I had initially expected. I had the Lando's version direction clearly in my head so I just put it into words, but I didn't knew what to do with Charles, so I just kept writting untill I was satisfied. Still, I think I like this ending better. What is the one you prefere?

You can check Lando's ending here.

Love You - Xim

Tagglist:

@cmleitora

[weekendlusting]

A TALE OF FAME

pairing ꪆৎ charles leclerc x ahaana patel ᥫ᭡. f1 driver x bollywood actress au

chapter ꪆৎ 3

summary ꪆৎ she's everything, and he just drives.

note ꪆৎ no hate to any characters used in the story, none of what i write reflects on how they actually are. all my love, happy reading.

prev

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Charles Leclerc sat in his hotel suite, fingers drumming impatiently against the glass of whiskey in his hand. He wasn’t even drinking it—just swirling the amber liquid in the dim light of his room, as if the motion itself could steady his thoughts.

Alex was late. Of course, she was. She had a way of dragging things out, prolonging the inevitable, believing that if she held on long enough, reality would bend to her will.

He heard the sharp knock at his door and exhaled slowly before getting up to open it. Alex stood there, all too put together—her blonde hair in effortless waves, her lips curved in a knowing smirk, like she already thought she’d won whatever game she was playing.

“Chéri,” she purred, stepping past him without waiting for an invitation. “Miss me?”

Charles shut the door and ran a hand through his hair. “Sit down, Alex.”

She turned, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. “Oh? We’re being serious now?” She strolled over to the couch, sitting with the grace of someone who still thought they held all the cards.

Charles didn’t sit. He remained standing, arms crossed, his jaw tight. “I told you this was over.”

Alex let out a soft laugh, tilting her head as she crossed her legs. “And yet, you called me here. Mixed signals, don’t you think?”

“I called you here,” Charles said, voice measured, “because you don’t seem to get it. We are done, Alex. Finished.”

Her smile didn’t waver, but something flickered in her eyes. “Are we?” she said smoothly. “Because I keep hearing your name next to mine. The media still calls me your girlfriend. You haven’t exactly rushed to correct them.”

Charles clenched his fists. “I shouldn’t have to. We broke up. You just refuse to accept it.”

She leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “Or maybe you’re just confused. Maybe this—whatever this little tantrum is—will pass, and you’ll realize that I am the only woman who truly understands you.”

Charles let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Tantrum? You think I’m throwing a tantrum? Alex, I am exhausted.”

Her smirk faltered slightly, but she masked it quickly. “Exhausted of what?”

“Of you!” His voice rose, exasperation lacing every word. “Of the mind games. Of the manipulation. Of the constant need to control everything, including me.” He pointed at her. “You think if you show up enough times, if you insert yourself into my life over and over, I’ll just—what? Change my mind?”

Alex’s eyes darkened. “I wouldn’t have to insert myself into your life if certain people weren’t trying to replace me.”

Charles exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And here we go.”

She stood, arms folding as she stepped closer to him. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Charles. That little actress you’ve been parading around—Ahaana.”

Charles’s eyes snapped to hers, his posture stiffening. “Ahaana has nothing to do with this.”

Alex scoffed. “Please. You think I don’t see the way you looked at her that day?” She stepped closer, voice dripping with venom. “She is nothing. She’s a novelty. A shiny new toy for you to play with. And once the excitement fades, you’ll realize what I’ve always known—you and I are inevitable.”

Charles’s jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. “You are delusional, Alex. And actually fucking crazy if you think that Ahaana has anything to do with this.”

Her lips curled. “Am I?”

“Yes,” he snapped, stepping forward, closing the space between them. “I have never—never—been more certain about anything in my life. We are over. I am breaking up with you. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you.”

She inhaled sharply, but before she could speak, Charles continued.

“You want to know why? Because I see you now. For who you really are. You’re not the woman I fell for—you’re a version of her, twisted and bitter, clinging onto something that doesn’t exist anymore.” He exhaled harshly. “You’re right about one thing. I do look at Ahaana differently. Because she isn’t like you.”

Alex’s face twisted, her hands curling into fists. “She will never be me.”

“Thank God for that.”

The silence between them was thick, charged with something dangerously close to hatred. Charles had never wanted to hate Alex—had never even imagined he could—but looking at her now, seeing the pure, unfiltered malice in her eyes, he realized he might be close.

She straightened, lifting her chin. “You’ll regret this.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I won’t.”

She stared at him, something almost desperate flickering across her features, before she masked it with indifference. “Fine,” she said. “Have it your way.”

Charles said nothing. He just watched as she turned, her heels clicking against the floor as she stormed toward the door. But before she left, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

“This isn’t over,” she said, voice eerily calm.

And then, she was gone.

Charles stood there for a long moment, his heart pounding, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms.

But then he exhaled, shaking his head, as if shedding the last remnants of whatever hold Alex had on him.

For the first time in a long time, he felt free.

Meanwhile not too far away,the hotel room was bathed in soft hues of twilight, the warm amber glow of the setting sun spilling through the sheer curtains. Ahaana sat curled up in a chair by the window, her phone resting idly on the armrest. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of a coffee mug, long gone cold. The day had been uneventful, yet her mind was anything but still. The ghosts of the past lingered in the shadows, whispering doubts, tugging at old wounds she had worked so hard to forget.

India.

Film city.

Even the thought of it sent a strange chill through her veins. It wasn’t fear—not exactly. It was the weight of something unfinished, something unresolved, lurking in the corners of her memory. The industry that had once been her playground had also turned its back on her when she had needed it the most. And yet, here she was, being offered a way back in.

What the fuck is happening? She sighed to herself, rubbing her temple.

The phone buzzed suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the screen, expecting yet another half-hearted PR email or a message from her manager. But instead, a name lit up the display, and for the first time that day, she felt something shift inside her.

Varun Dhawan.

She hesitated for only a second before answering. “Hello?”

“Finally! Madam has answered my call.” His voice was light, teasing, filled with the familiar warmth that had always made her feel like home.

Ahaana huffed out a small laugh. “Hi, Varun.”

“Hi, she says. That’s all I get? After ignoring me for days?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“Really? Because Karan and I were starting to think you had developed some severe phone phobia. Should we be concerned?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Me? Never.” His tone dropped slightly, losing some of its playful edge. “Ahaana, you know why I’m calling.”

Her smile faltered. Of course, she did.

“You and Karan are relentless,” she muttered, leaning back against the chair.

“Because we believe in you,” he countered immediately. “And because we know you still love this. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

She exhaled slowly, staring out at the dimming sky. “It’s not that simple, Varun.”

“Yes, it is.” His voice softened. “You were born for this, Ahaana. And you know it. Whatever happened before—”

She stiffened slightly. “Let’s not talk about that.”

There was a pause, as if he was choosing his next words carefully. Then, he sighed. “Fine. But don’t let the past dictate your future. You’re not that person anymore.”

She wanted to believe that. She really did.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know. And we’re still your people, Ahaana.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. She had spent so long pushing everything away, convincing herself that she didn’t need anyone, that she had forgotten what it felt like to have people who cared. People who wanted her back.

Then, before she could respond, another voice chimed in from the background. “Has she said yes yet?”

Karan Johar.

Ahaana let out a small laugh despite herself. “Karan, are you eavesdropping?”

“I don’t eavesdrop. I supervise.”

Varun snorted. “He’s been pacing for the past ten minutes, by the way. I think he might actually combust if you say no.”

Karan’s voice came through again, a touch more serious this time. “Darling, you’re a star. Stop dimming your own light.”

Ahaana stared at the city skyline, a myriad of thoughts swirling inside her. But for the first time in a long time, the hesitation didn’t feel quite as heavy. Maybe Varun was right. Maybe Karan was right. Maybe it was time to stop running.

She inhaled deeply, a quiet moment of clarity settling over her. Then, she spoke.

“Okay.”

A beat of silence. Then Varun whooped so loudly she had to pull the phone away from her ear. “YES! Ladies and gentlemen, she’s back!”

Karan’s relieved sigh came through the speaker. “Finally. I was this close to staging a full intervention.”

Ahaana laughed, shaking her head. “You two are impossible.”

“And you love us for it,” Varun quipped.

She did. More than she cared to admit.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time to come home.

The gang had game nights far too often then they'd like to admit, Max and Kelly were ofcourse there, Ahaana was there, Carlos and Rebecca joined, Lando somehow always inserted himself in even though everytime he cheated and got himself uninvited. Even Alex Albon and Lily joined them from time to time, but couldn't make it this time and Charles was with them for the first time ever.

The night was young, but the energy in the room felt like the start of a Grand Prix itself—fast, loud, and filled with the potential for absolute disaster. The gang had gathered in Max’s hotel suite for a game night, and true to form, it had already descended into chaos.

“I’m telling you, Lando cheats,” Ahaana declared, pointing an accusatory finger at him as he smirked from his spot on the couch. “There is no way you won that round fairly.”

Lando, lounging back with all the ease of someone who had just scammed his way into victory, dramatically placed a hand on his chest. “How dare you? I am an honest man.”

“Honest, my foot,” Kelly interjected, shaking her head. “Even Charles saw it, didn’t you?”

Charles, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past few minutes, blinked. “Huh?”

“See? He wasn’t even paying attention,” Lando scoffed. “Probably too busy thinking about how free he is now that he’s finally dumped his psychotic ex.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Rebecca, who had been stacking poker chips, froze mid-motion. Max, who had been snickering at Lando’s misfortune, raised a brow. Ahaana, who had been preoccupied trying to figure out how Lando had managed to win five rounds in a row, looked up.

“You finally did it?” Carlos leaned forward, grinning. “You actually told Alex to get lost?”

Charles exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. “It was not exactly smooth.”

“Of course, it wasn’t,” Max said. “She’s like an overly attached leech.”

Kelly winced. “Oof. Harsh, but fair.”

“I don’t even want to know the details,” Lando said, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Actually, no. I do. Tell us. In detail.”

Charles groaned. “Why are you all like this?”

“Because this is the most entertainment we’ve had all season,” Rebecca quipped. “Now spill.”

Charles rolled his eyes, but he recounted the story of his final conversation with Alex. The room responded accordingly—with gasps, laughter, and a few muttered curses aimed at Alex’s name. When he finished, Ahaana just shook her head, unimpressed.

“She’s delusional,” she said simply. “Absolutely delusional.”

“I would’ve paid money to see her reaction when you told her it was over,” Max admitted, grinning.

Charles smirked. “It was… satisfying.”

“Okay, enough about the she-devil,” Lando said, stretching. “Let’s get back to the game before Ahaana starts accusing me of cheating again.”

“You do cheat,” she said without hesitation.

“I do not—”

“Lando, you have a history of cheating at literally every game we’ve ever played,” Max said, unimpressed.

“I prefer to think of it as strategic improvisation.”

“Strategic bullshit,” Rebecca muttered.

The next hour was filled with absolute mayhem. There was yelling. There was a near-brawl between Carlos and Lando over an Uno reverse card. At some point, Kelly got so frustrated she threw a playing card at Max’s head, which only made him laugh harder. Charles, for the most part, found himself entertained just watching it all unfold.

Ahaana, in particular, seemed to come alive in the chaos. Her laughter was light, effortless, and every time she rolled her eyes at Lando or tossed a witty remark at Max, Charles found himself watching her just a little too long.

“Alright, alright,” Ahaana said, throwing her hands up in surrender after another brutal loss. “I need a break before I throw Lando out the window.”

“Jokes on you,” Lando said. “I’d land gracefully.” To which Max snorted.

Ahaana got up and stretched, and that’s when she casually dropped, “Oh, by the way, I officially start shooting for Jigra in 17 days.”

The room went silent.

“What?” Max was the first to react, blinking.

“You’re actually going back?” Lando added.

Rebecca gasped. “Finally! You’re returning to the big screen!”

Ahaana smiled, a little softer this time. “Yeah. It’s time.”

There was a beat of silence before Max, ever the older brother figure, crossed his arms. “Are you sure?”

She looked at him, understanding the weight behind his question. “I am.”

Max studied her for a long moment, then exhaled. “Alright. If anyone gives you trouble—”

“I know, I know.” She grinned. “I’ll call my attack dog Verstappen.”

He smirked. “Damn right.”

After a long round of jenga and then stuffing their faces in food, the last slice of pizza appeared on the table, and the room instantly went silent, all eyes locked on it.

Ahaana leaned forward, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Well, look who’s in the spotlight now.”

Carlos didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been eyeing that slice for the last ten minutes.”

“Oh, please,” Ahaana shot back. “You just noticed it now because it’s the last one.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna fight over pizza? This is an all-time low, even for you.”

“Shut up, Lando,” Carlos grumbled. “It’s mine.”

Max chuckled from the side. “This is gonna be good.”

Ahaana picked up the slice like it was some sort of prized possession. “I’m just saying, I’ve had a long day. So I think I’m entitled to this.”

Carlos shot up from his seat, but Ahaana held the slice just out of reach, her smirk widening. “Nice try.”

Max shook his head, watching the two of them. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve seen all week.”

Ahaana, sensing victory, took a deliberate bite of the pizza. “Too slow, boys.”

Lando leaned back, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”

Later that night, after the raucous energy had settled slightly, Charles found himself watching Ahaana from across the room. She was laughing at something Lando had said, her head thrown back, eyes crinkled in amusement. The dim lighting softened her features, casting warm shadows over her skin, making her look almost ethereal.

He didn’t know when it started, this quiet admiration of her. Maybe it was when she first walked into his life with that effortless confidence, like she belonged in every room she entered. Maybe it was when he realized she wasn’t just sharp-tongued but also deeply, frustratingly kind. Or maybe it was moments like this, when she wasn’t doing anything extraordinary—just laughing, existing—and yet, she managed to pull his entire attention like a force of gravity.

There was something in the way she carried herself—unapologetic, bold, yet with an underlying grace that was hard to ignore. She was an enigma, a storm and a lull all at once. And he was starting to realize he liked that about her. A little too much.

“Are you staring at Ahaana?”

Charles nearly choked on his drink. He turned sharply to see Max smirking at him, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“No,” he denied, a little too quickly.

Max hummed, unconvinced. “Sure. And I’m a level headed person when angered.”

Charles groaned. “Can you not?”

Max chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Oh no, mate. I definitely can.”

Across the room, Ahaana caught his gaze, a small, soft smile playing on her lips. Charles smiled back but quickly looked away because he was scared his blush would be way too evident, but the warmth on his face lingered and Ahaana caught it anyway, chuckling a bit at the very handsome man, which Charles heard.

Yeah. He was in trouble.

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ᝰ.ᐟ third part! hope you guys like it!

next

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tags @seonghwaexile @bookishprophecy @justadesirebel @peterholland04 @bakingpiastries @ricciardosheart @mikefaistgf @sp1rl @charlesgirl16 @leila-030304 @uhcalli @blahblechblah @phobiccneel

comment to be added to taglist

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© weekendlusting

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[emmyf1]

ACCIDENTALY SENDING THEM NUDES ~ F1 TEXTS

✮ sumarry: you send them nudes by accident

✮ starring: max verstappen, charles leclerc, carlos sainz jr., sebastian vettel, lando norris, oscar piastri

✮ warnings: maybe little suggestive??

🌷requests are open🌷

🚨ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE🚨

@emmyf1 - please don’t copy or rewrite my works on any other app, this is my original work

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Abu Dhabi GP part 2

Masterlist

Trigger Warning- slow burn of increasing themes including sexism, SA, depression, and implied grooming

Returning to the paddock in the morning, I made my way over to Max, my heart swelling with a mixture of excitement and happiness for him. As I approached him, I couldn’t help but notice the proud smile on his face, a grin that could light up the whole paddock. It wasn’t just the usual confidence I’d grown accustomed to seeing on him—it was something deeper, something more personal. He’d recently announced that he was going to be a father, and it was clear that the news had changed him.

“Max,” I called out, a grin pulling at the corners of my lips.

He turned toward me, his eyes brightening when he saw me approaching. “Hey, hey! You know, I was just waiting for you to come over. You’re one of the few people I’m actually letting say congrats first,” he teased, pulling me into a brief hug.

“I’ll take that as a big compliment,” I joked, my smile wide. “Congratulations, though. I know how big of a deal this is for you.”

“Thanks. It’s... well, it’s everything,” he said, his voice softening just for a moment. Then, as if the weight of his words hit him, he gave a playful shrug. “Guess it’s a whole new chapter, huh?”

“Definitely. I’m so happy for you, Max. You’re going to be an amazing dad.” I could feel my heart swell with warmth as I said it. He deserved all the happiness in the world, and knowing that he was about to experience this new chapter of life brought a contentment I hadn’t realized I needed.

He grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little nervous. But hey, if I can handle a racecar, I can handle another little one, right?”

“Of course,” I chuckled, reaching out and giving his shoulder a squeeze. “But seriously, you’ve got this. Just look how well you have done with P so far.”

I hung around for a bit longer, chatting with a few other drivers, congratulating them on their season’s success and the upcoming race. It was a strange feeling, moving through these conversations now. After everything that had happened, after the battle I’d fought, it felt like I had finally found a space where I truly belonged. I was part of this grid, not just as a competitor but as a person they respected. And that made all the difference.

Eventually, I excused myself from the small group and made my way to my driver’s room. The quiet space felt like a refuge, a place where I could let my thoughts settle and regain my focus before the next race.

Once inside, I took a deep breath, running my hands over the smooth surface of my helmet bag. It felt like a lifetime ago when I first started designing this helmet, trying to find the perfect way to express everything I was feeling, everything I had been through.

With a slow, deliberate motion, I unzipped the bag. The familiar smell of paint and resin greeted me, mixed with a slight trace of rubber from the tracks I’d raced on. Inside, my end-of-season helmet sat, waiting for me.

I lifted it out carefully, like it was a treasure, and set it gently on the desk. News design had always been personal, this time it was a mix of everything that had defined my season. The white background was a stark contrast to the intricate tiger stripes that adorned the sides. They weren’t just any stripes—each one was purposeful, a symbol of the tracks I’d conquered, the battles I’d fought, and the victories that had come from resilience.

Some of the stripes were just outlines, tracing the shape of the tiger’s face, while others filled in fully, their bold black lines representing the fierceness I had found in myself. The flags from each track where I’d finished first were woven into the design, carefully placed within the outline stripes. It was my way of paying homage to the races that had defined me this year—the places that had witnessed my comeback, the moments when I’d pushed through my hardest battles.

But it wasn’t just about the victories. There was a blank space at the top of the helmet, an empty void. Through it, the words “My Future is Racing” stood in bold letters, the promise of what lay ahead, what I was still striving for. It was my reminder that this wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning.

And then, on the back, there was the large shadow of a gold turtle, the image filling the space with its quiet strength. The turtle, which had become something of a personal symbol for me over the last few months, sat there as a testament to my journey. Slow, steady, but always moving forward. Always evolving. But most importantly it was a symbol of my mother who would always be with me. 

I ran my fingers over the intricate design, feeling the raised edges where the paint had hardened, and for the first time in a long time, I felt something close to peace. This helmet wasn’t just a piece of equipment—it was my story. Every stripe, every detail, every word and image had been a part of me, and now, it felt like it was ready to tell the world who I had become.

I stood there for a while, staring at it, letting the weight of the season settle on me. I had done it. I had survived. And now, I was stronger.

I reached over and grabbed the helmet again, holding it close to my chest for a moment. I had a race to prepare for. But more than that, I had a future that was just beginning, and I was ready to face it, no matter what came next.

The tension was palpable in the paddock as the grid lined up for the final race of the season. The sun was high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the track, and the sound of engines roaring to life reverberated through the air. There was something almost electrifying about this race, as if the entire season had been building toward this moment. I could feel my pulse quickening, the adrenaline already starting to course through me. This was it—my final chance to prove to everyone, and more importantly to myself, that I belonged here.

As I sat in the cockpit of my car, I could hear the roar of the engines around me, but all I could focus on was the task at hand. The past was behind me; this race was a clean slate. I had nothing to prove to anyone but myself. I was ready. The lights went out, and we were off.

The first lap was a blur of motion, tire screeching, cars jostling for position. I rocketed off the line, weaving through the pack, feeling the g-forces pushing me back into my seat as I hit the first few corners. Every instinct I had honed this season kicked into overdrive, and I could feel the momentum building within me. I was so in the zone that I barely noticed the chaos unfolding ahead.

Max Verstappen and Oscar Piastri, two cars ahead of me, were engaged in a fierce battle for position when disaster struck. As they approached a tight corner, their cars locked wheels and slid out of control. Max’s car bumped into Oscar’s, sending both of them into a spin. It was like time slowed down as I saw them coming toward me, but in a split-second decision, I veered to the right, avoiding the wreckage by inches. My heart skipped a beat, but my focus never wavered. I couldn’t let this moment slip away from me.

With the first lap behind me, the adrenaline surged even higher. I was in the midst of the battle now, dodging traffic, threading the needle between cars, and making every pass count. I could feel every turn in my bones, the weight of each corner, the rush of acceleration on the straights. This was what I lived for. This was where I thrived.

The laps ticked by, each one blurring into the next as I pushed harder and harder. I was in P5 by the midway point, but the top four were just within reach. Lando Norris was in P3, looking steady as ever, and I could see Carlos Sainz just ahead in P2. But the car beneath me was coming alive, responding to every flick of my steering wheel. I knew I could do this.

With every corner, I reeled in the pack. I was finding my rhythm, my flow. I overtook car after car, my confidence growing with every successful pass. The crowd was roaring, their cheers reaching my ears even through the helmet, spurring me on. I pushed harder, trusting in the car, trusting in myself.

By lap 50, I had made my way into P2. Lando was just ahead of me, and though he was a formidable competitor, I could see the slightest hint of pressure in his driving. I wasn’t going to hold back now. The finish line was within reach, and all I had to do was give it everything I had.

As I came up behind him on the penultimate lap, I could hear his radio crackling with instructions, the team urging him to keep his pace steady. But I wasn’t going to let up. I lined up my move, staying tight behind him as we approached the final stretch. My heart was pounding in my chest, my hands steady on the wheel, my mind laser-focused. I had one chance.

With a burst of speed, I pulled out from behind him on the final straight, going for the inside line as we approached the final corner. My tires screamed against the tarmac, and I felt the car sliding slightly, but I held it together, cutting across the apex with precision. For a moment, time seemed to freeze as I passed Lando and shot into the lead.

Crossing the finish line in P1 was like nothing I had ever experienced before. The world seemed to come to a halt as I threw my fist up in victory, my heart hammering in my chest. I had done it. I had won my final Grand Prix of the season.

Lando came in right behind me in P2, and Carlos Sainz rounded out the podium in P3. The sound of the engines dying down was replaced by the roar of the crowd, their cheers shaking the very foundation of the circuit. The celebration was already underway, but I couldn’t help but feel a sense of overwhelming relief. This was my moment. This was what I had fought for.

I climbed out of the car, my hands shaking from the sheer intensity of it all. I stood on the halo, the crowd erupting into cheers. The adrenaline was still coursing through my veins, but it wasn’t until I saw the camera flashes and the thousands of fans shouting my name that I realized what this victory meant. 

Landon reached me with a huge grin plastered on his face, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Without saying a word, he handed me my new all-black cowboy hat. It wasn’t just any hat; this one had been decorated with Aston Martin green gemstones, perfectly matching the team’s gear. The contrast of the black hat with the vibrant green accents made it stand out, almost like it had its own presence.

I balanced the hat carefully on my helmet, trying not to mess up the celebratory moment. My fingers were still buzzing from the victory, but I felt a surge of joy when I grabbed the flag from Landon. The US flag. It was tied tightly to a pole, and as I waved it above my head, the crowd's energy seemed to intensify. Cameras flashed, capturing the moment from every angle, and I took a few seconds to savor the moment. This was my victory, and I was going to share it with everyone who had believed in me.

As the flashes slowed, I took the flag off the pole, the fabric still rippling in the wind, and handed it back to Landon. He smiled, nodding in approval, and I felt a sense of pride wash over me. But the real fun came next.

With a cheeky grin, I jumped off of the car, the adrenaline still buzzing in my veins. I unfurled the flag and draped it around myself like a cape, letting it fall over my shoulders as if I were some hero emerging from a battle. The colors of the flag were vivid and bold against the backdrop of the circuit, and I twirled a little, letting the fabric catch the breeze.

Lando came over first while I was removing my helmet and balaclava, his smile wide as he clapped me on the back. “You did it! You really did it!”

I grinned, barely able to contain my excitement. I placed the cowboy hat back on my head before responding sarcastically. “Yeah sure, I won a race again, But you my friend just won the constructors team championship!” I said, turning to give him a quick hug yet unable to contain my adrenaline as I bounced a little.

Finally we were on the podium and handed our awards. The US national Anthem echoed through the circuit before finally ending as the more exciting part came. 

Carlos and I had whispered a small plan to each other beforehand. I was super excited to put our plan into action. I grabbed the bottle, shaking it up with a grin, and before Lando could even react, I drenched him in champagne just as Carlos did the same from my left. His laughter echoed through the air as I sprayed him from head to toe, the bubbles foaming up as he tried to shield himself. “You look great in champagne, Lando!” I laughed, my heart light with joy. 

The crowd was still roaring, but there was something more important in that moment—the team had done it. McLaren had finally taken home the Constructors’ Championship, and Lando was grinning like the Cheshire cat. “I can’t believe we finally did it!” he shouted, wrapping me in another hug. I laughed and quickly responded. “I am so proud of you and Oscar for finishing the fight so strong!”

Carlos joined the hug soon after, a proud smile on his face as we celebrated together. The atmosphere was electric, a mix of excitement, joy, and pride. This was what it was all about. It wasn’t just the individual victories—it was the team effort, the long road we had all traveled to get here.

I stood there, on the top step of the podium, looking out over the sea of fans who had witnessed the culmination of my rookie season. I had fought for this, and now, I was holding the trophy in my hands. It felt like the start of something incredible, the beginning of a journey that I couldn’t wait to continue.

But for now, I took a moment to let it all sink in. The cheers, the champagne, the podium—all of it. I had earned this. This was my victory, and it was only the beginning.

The post-race interview began, the energy in the room was electric. The top three finishers—Lando, Carlos, and me—sat side by side, basking in the glow of the race's excitement. The usual round of questions came through: How did you feel about the race? What was going through your mind during those final laps? It was light, easy stuff, designed to keep the mood celebratory.

But then, as expected, the big question came. The interviewer, a woman with a big smile and an even bigger curiosity, turned to me with a gleam in her eye.

"So," she began, "your helmet today was an interesting touch, hinting at something big for your future in racing. Any chance you’d like to share what’s next for you?"

The question hung in the air, and I could feel the weight of it. My eyes flicked over to my PR manager, who was standing off to the side, looking calm but focused. She gave a subtle nod, signaling that it was time.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself for the big reveal. "Yes," I said, the word hanging in the air as my heart raced. "I’ve signed a contract with Cadillac for 2026. I’ll be joining them when they enter the grid, but for the 2025 season, I’ll be loaned out to VCARB to help them finish strong in these current regulations before the big changes come. I’ll be working with them to help find the places they may want to improve while also helping train a driver they are thinking about making their reserve or 2026 driver. I can’t tell you more than that when it comes to VCARB as I don’t even know who they are basically asking me to mentor or what role I am mentoring him to do best.” That was a lie of course but I loved a little mystery and I am sure their media tema would love to keep some mystery still. “This is a huge step forward in my career, and I’m incredibly excited about what’s to come."

The moment I finished speaking, I felt a rush of emotions. There was relief in finally being able to share this chapter of my story, but there was also something else—hope, excitement, and pride.

Carlos, sitting next to me, let out a loud, joyous laugh. "Aha! That’s amazing!" he exclaimed, his usual smooth confidence replaced by genuine enthusiasm. "I’m so glad to hear that you’ll still be around! You’ve been a fierce competitor, and it’s going to be even better having you on the grid next season."

Lando, sitting on the other side of me, gave me a playful shove. "I knew you weren’t going anywhere," he teased, a grin on his face. "I would’ve missed you too much. Who else am I going to mess with during race weekends?"

I laughed, appreciating the lightheartedness they brought into the moment. "Well, now you have even more reason to train hard, huh?" I replied, smiling warmly at Lando who looked confused before I responded again. “Can’t mess with me if you aren’t on my level.” This caused laughs to erupt around the room, the most noticeably being Lando who covered his face in embarrassment. 

"But seriously," Lando added, his voice softening just a little, "I’m really happy for you. You deserve this. I don’t know what we would’ve done without you next season."

Carlos nodded in agreement, his smile genuine. "You’re going to be a real asset to VCARB. We all know how tough it’s been for them, but with you there? They’ll definitely be making waves. And then, in 2026 with Cadillac, you’ll be unstoppable."

I smiled at both of them, feeling a deep sense of camaraderie. "Thanks, guys," I said, my heart full of gratitude. "Having you both here makes all of this even more special. You’ve been such great friends, and I couldn’t have asked for better people to share this journey with."

The interviewer smiled, clearly impressed by the camaraderie among us. "Sounds like the grid is about to get a lot more exciting with you around, huh?" I nodded, feeling the excitement bubbling up once again. "Definitely. It’s going to be a wild ride, but I’m ready for it. And I can’t wait to see how everything unfolds."

As the interview wrapped up and we stood to leave, Lando gave me a quick side hug. "See you out there, future Cadillac champion," he joked, winking at me.

Carlos gave me a fist bump, his eyes filled with respect. "We’ll be seeing you, no doubt. And you better bring that fire to the grid next season." The room seemed to buzz with energy as I sat smiling, the weight of the future feeling lighter now that I’d shared it with everyone. 

The night was alive with energy, the celebrations wild and unrestrained as the entire paddock let loose. The adrenaline from the race still pumping through my veins, I couldn’t help but feel free, the weight of the past season finally starting to lift off my shoulders. People were cheering, laughing, dancing—everything was so vibrant, so alive. It felt like a world away from the intensity of the circuit, and for once, I let myself fully indulge in the freedom, the joy of it all.

Alcohol flowed like it was water, glasses clinking around me in toast after toast. I felt light, tipsy but happy, letting the music take over as I danced with my friends, lost in the excitement of the moment. I wasn’t thinking about the past. I wasn’t thinking about the things that had tried to break me. I was just living in the present, in this incredible victory.

But then, of course, as the night wore on, the crowds became a little more chaotic. People spilled out from the bars and clubs, mixing together in a sea of celebration. The music grew louder, the lights flashing in an almost hypnotic pattern. I had found Max earlier in the evening, sharing a laugh with him and a few others, but now, as I stood in the middle of the crowd, it became hard to spot him.

The buzz in the air shifted. I could feel it in my chest. My senses heightened. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe just the lingering unease that had followed me through the past season. But then I saw him.

A man—someone I didn’t recognize—was making his way through the crowd. His eyes locked onto mine, a smirk spreading across his face. Something about the way he looked at me made a shiver run down my spine. It was as if he knew something about me, something I didn’t want him to know.

His presence reminded me too much of Henry—the way he exuded a sense of control, a sense of entitlement. The way he was acting like I owed him something, like I was just another piece in a game he was playing. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and my stomach twisted. I tried to brush it off, but the encounter left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I wanted to get away from him—fast.

In the crowd, I started moving, pushing through the throngs of people, my heart pounding a little too fast for comfort. But my vision kept flickering back to him, his eyes following me like a shadow. He wasn’t going to stop, I realized. He was going to keep coming closer, keep circling until I was backed into a corner.

Panic started to rise in me, a feeling I hadn’t let myself truly experience in a long time. I pushed through the crowd again, trying to find someone—anyone—to break the tension. That’s when I finally spotted Max again, or at least I thought I did. His familiar figure was just ahead, but in the chaos, I lost sight of him before I could reach him.

The frustration bubbled up. The fear mixed with confusion, and my mind started to race. I wasn’t about to let myself spiral again. Not now, not in front of everyone.

But just as I began to panic, my phone buzzed in my pocket, a lifeline in the midst of the crowd. I pulled it out quickly to check who it was—Lando. The message was simple: Where are you?

I felt my chest loosen a little, just knowing someone was looking for me. I typed back, trying to keep myself steady: lost in the crowd, send help lmao

Before I could type any more, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun around, ready to react. But it wasn’t the man from before. It was Franco, a look of concern on his face as he pulled me into a quick, tight hug.

“You good?” he asked softly, his voice steady, calming, like a balm to the rising anxiety in my chest.

I nodded, trying to keep it together. “Yeah. Just needed a minute.”

Franco didn’t let go of me, but his presence was grounding. I felt the tension in my body begin to ease, even if just a little. “I know something has affected you but I am here now, you don’t have to say anything, I’m just here,” he murmured into my ear as he gave me a small soft hug.

I pulled back just enough to see his face. “Thanks,” I said quietly, feeling a strange mix of relief and something else—something warm, safe.

But before I could say anything more, another voice cut in. Lando had appeared from behind Franco, his usual cheeky grin on his face, though it didn’t hide the concern in his eyes. “There you are! We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said, his tone light but with an underlying edge of worry.

“I’m fine… now, I’m fine now that you two are here with me.” I replied, allowing myself to be honest with them. The past few minutes had left me feeling rattled, but now, with Franco and Lando here, I couldn’t help but feel a little more secure.

“You know we’ve got your back, right?” Lando added, his expression serious for a moment. “We’re not letting you out of our sight again.”

I smiled, the tension in my body slowly dissipating as I realized just how lucky I was to have people like them looking out for me. They didn’t have to care, didn’t have to be there for me like this. But they were.

Franco stepped back slightly, glancing between Lando and me. “We’re staying with you tonight. No arguments.”

And somehow, even though I was the one who was supposed to be strong, it was exactly what I needed to hear. It wasn’t about being strong on my own. It was about knowing I had people to lean on.

Lando wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and Franco placed his hand on the middle of my back, both offering me a kind of comfort that, despite my earlier unease, made everything feel a little bit better. We walked together through the crowd, the sounds of celebration continuing around us. And as I walked through the crowd with Franco and Lando flanking me, I realized just how far I had come—and how much further I was ready to go.

The crowd around us was cheering, music was blasting, and the air was thick with excitement. Yet, amidst all the noise and the chaos, I found myself focusing on the quiet moments between Lando and I, those small exchanges where our eyes locked just a little too long or where the corners of our mouths twitched upward at the same time.

Lando’s presence was comforting, grounding in a way I hadn’t expected. Since the Vegas crash, he had been there, providing an anchor when I needed it most. Now, celebrating together felt… different. I couldn’t help but wonder if something deeper was quietly blooming between us. I caught his eye as a slow song began, and for a second, the noise of the crowd seemed to fade. I smiled, and he returned it with that knowing grin that made my heart race. It felt almost like an unspoken connection, a quiet bond that neither of us had put words to, but one that was palpable all the same.

Before I could dwell on it for too long, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I found Franco standing there, grinning widely. "Hey, I just wanted to say, that race—was incredible," he said, his eyes alight with admiration. There was something in the way he said it, like he was seeing me in a new light.

"Thanks," I replied, my voice softening as I looked at him. "It felt like everything finally clicked today."

Franco nodded, his eyes not leaving mine. "Yeah, I could see that. You’ve come a long way." His gaze lingered a little longer, and I couldn’t help but feel the warmth between us. It wasn’t just the celebration, it wasn’t just the race—it was something unspoken that seemed to grow stronger the longer we stood there.

For a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the room. The world around us slowed, the noise dimmed, and all that mattered was the shared understanding between us. But just as I was about to say something, the spell was broken.

From behind, I heard an all-too-familiar voice—drunken and loud—"Oi! What’s going on here?" Liam stumbled into our little bubble, his eyes narrowed, and a playful but protective smirk on his face. "Don’t think I didn’t see that, Y/N. What do you think you’re doing, huh?" His tone was teasing, but there was an edge of possessiveness in it.

I let out a small laugh, but before I could say anything, Hannah appeared beside him, her expression a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "Liam," she said, her voice firm but gentle, "you’re drunk. Let them be." She turned to me, her eyes softening. "Can you talk some sense into him? He’s been talking about you like you’re his lost puppy for the past half hour."

Liam pouted, his arms crossed over his chest. "I’m not drunk!" he protested, but his slurred speech said otherwise. "I’m just looking out for my best mate here. You can’t just steal her away, boys." He pointed to Lando and then Franco, who each raised an eyebrow in response but remained silent, clearly amused by the situation.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. "Liam, I’m not being stolen away. I’m not sure I could be stolen if I tried," I said with a playful wink. But my words only seemed to confuse him more.

Hannah sighed, shaking her head. "Just, come on. Let’s get you something to drink so you can calm down before you make a fool of yourself." She turned to me and smiled apologetically. "Sorry about this."

Liam’s pout deepened, but he finally let Hannah lead him away, though he shot me one last confused glance. As he stumbled off with her, I turned back to Lando and Franco, who were both watching me with soft smiles on their faces.

"Don’t worry," I said to them, shaking my head with a laugh. "Liam’s just protective. He’s like a big brother who doesn’t know how to share his toys."

Franco laughed, but there was a knowing look in his eyes as he added, "Well, it seems like you’ve got a lot of people looking out for you."

Lando chimed in, his voice teasing, "Guess that’s a good thing, huh? Just be careful—Liam might come back and try to hide you away in some hidden sanctuary."

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile forming on my lips. "Let him try."

The moment was lighthearted, but something about it made my heart flutter. Lando, Franco, and even Liam—though drunk and ridiculous—had all been there in their own ways. It felt like more than just a victory in the race. It felt like a new chapter was unfolding in ways I hadn’t expected.

Helping Liam back to the hotel room was no easy feat. The moment we stepped into the hallway, his weight became a deadweight. Hannah and I shared a look of exasperation, but underneath it, there was an unspoken bond that made this all feel oddly familiar. We had done this before, back when Liam had first been called up to F1. His excitement and nerves had been a mixture of pure joy and overwhelming tension, and we'd found ourselves stumbling through late-night talks and drunken strolls across hotel corridors more times than I could count.

Tonight, though, the mood was different. He was drunk, but there was something behind his eyes, something deeper, that made the whole situation feel heavier than it should. We had been so used to his joking nature, the sarcasm and laughter, but tonight—well, tonight, he was different.

I smiled at Hannah as she helped support Liam's other side. "Remember when he got that call? The one to race in F1? He was practically shaking, and we couldn’t even get him to eat dinner that night."

Hannah chuckled softly, her eyes softening with the memory. "How could I forget? I thought he was going to throw up just from the excitement. He didn’t sleep for two days."

I let out a quiet laugh as we managed to shuffle him into the hotel room. Liam was mumbling, half incoherent, and definitely not in the mood for a joke now. The energy in the room had shifted, the weight of the night sinking in with the silence that followed.

When we finally got him onto the bed, we let him flop onto his back, the bed creaking under the shift of his weight. He let out a loud sigh, his eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to focus on the ceiling before ultimately falling onto me. But there was no humor now in his face. Only something deep and aching.

Hannah sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, watching him with concern. I stood near the door, waiting, unsure of what was coming next. I was ready to laugh it off, ready to tell him that he was just drunk, and it would all be fine in the morning—but then, something in the way he stared at me stopped me.

"Liam?" I said softly, my voice low, trying to gauge where his mind was at.

He turned his head slowly, blinking at us like he was seeing us for the first time. The tears welled up in his eyes, and my heart dropped. He wasn’t drunk in a carefree way anymore. This was something deeper, something raw, and it made me uneasy.

"I… I need to say something," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I… I’m so sorry."

I frowned, stepping closer to the bed, sitting down beside Hannah. "Liam, what are you talking about?"

His face twisted, his hands trembling as he reached up to rub his eyes. "I—when I caused the crash in Vegas, I—" He let out a shaky breath. "I thought I… I thought I just—hurt you. Or worse… killed you, Y/N."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I hadn't expected this. He had always been the jokester, the guy who tried to keep everything light, but now—now I could see the weight of the guilt and fear he had been carrying for the last month. His words were slurred, but the meaning behind them cut straight to my core.

"Liam," I started, my voice barely above a whisper, trying to keep the crack out of it, "It was an accident. You didn’t mean for that to happen."

His eyes locked with mine, full of guilt and pain. "But I did cause it. I never should’ve been that aggressive during a practice session. I saw you flipping… I saw you, and I thought—" His breath caught in his throat, and his voice faltered. "I thought I just ruined everything. I thought I lost you forever."

The weight of his words hung in the air like a thick fog, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. The racing world could be so harsh, but I had never realized just how much it affected the people closest to me.

I reached out, my hand gently resting on his shoulder. "Liam, listen to me. I’m here. I’m okay," I said softly, trying to reassure him even though I wasn’t sure if I was comforting him or myself in the process. "That crash—it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident. Nothing more."

"But I still felt it," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Every time I see you, I’m reminded of how close I came to losing you."

Hannah sat quietly beside him, her eyes soft and full of understanding. She knew what this meant. She had been through this with Liam before. The weight of racing, the pressure of what we do, and the responsibility that came with it, often left us carrying invisible scars that nobody else could see.

"You need to forgive yourself," Hannah said gently, her hand squeezing his. "It wasn’t your fault, Liam. You’re one of the best people we know, and this is just… one of those things that happened. You can’t carry it forever."

I nodded in agreement, my voice steady now. "You’re not alone in this, Liam. You never were. You’ll never lose me. Not like that."

He closed his eyes, a few tears slipping out. He didn’t say anything more, but I could see the relief slowly washing over him. The guilt, the fear, all of it—it wasn’t going to go away in an instant, but maybe this was the first step toward healing.

"I’m sorry," he mumbled again, his voice barely a whisper. "I just didn’t want to lose you."

"You haven’t," I reassured him. "And you won’t."

We sat there for a few more minutes, letting the weight of the moment settle in. Hannah continued to comfort him, and I stayed close, watching the man who had been there for me through thick and thin slowly let go of the burden he had been carrying for far too long.

Eventually, his eyes fluttered shut, and the alcohol seemed to lull him into a fitful sleep, his body relaxing into the bed. The room was silent for a moment, save for his steady breathing.

I leaned back, letting out a soft sigh. "He’ll be okay," I said to Hannah, though I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince her or myself.

She nodded, her eyes soft. "He will be. You’ve got each other."

And in that moment, with the faint hum of the hotel air conditioning and the quiet of the night around us, I felt a sense of calm I once never thought possible. Being here with my two childhood friends, sharing a moment that reminded each of us, just how much we were willing to do for each other. "I’m here, Liam," I whispered, more to myself than anyone else. "And I always will be."

[love44lew]

day two: halloween costumes

彡drivers sebastian vettel, max verstappen, franco colapinto, lewis hamilton, charles leclerc, jenson button

彡genre scenerios/hcs

彡summary what couple costumes would the two of you choose

၊၊||၊ yall could imagine this was originally for october but im not waiting a whole year so valentines it is ၊၊||၊

彡warnings none!

————-

sebastian vettel - beastboy and raven

beastboy and seb, it was meant to be. hes always a plotting menace just like his counterpart, causing hellfire everywhere he goes but still maintaining his goofy funny personality. you two matched each other when it comes to goofiness but raven is beastboys love, so it would only make sense if you were to be her.

max verstappen - anakin and padame

anakin is seen as a villian. from anakin to darth vader, from max verstappen to mad max. the fierce lion within him attacks his prey on track. with you though, hes a completely different person, you bring out the soft pouty baby within him, his padame ♡︎

lewis hamilton - superman and batwoman

it doesn’t really make sense, you tried to convince him that batman and superwoman would work better especially because in the comics and animation because they have a little tension going on but he simply refuses to be batman, he was just not having it. “i cant betray superman, i would be betraying myself!” its whatever, you didnt mind the sexy batwoman latex that the costume required.

jenson button - mr and mrs fox

hes definitely watched the movie multiple times before and he loves it to death

charles leclerc - princess and the frog

he frog !! you swan !! to be honest, this was almost ray and evangeline but i dont really know how y/n would dress up as a star

franco colapinto - mortica and gomez

same case as jb, he loves the addams family and also he sees a lot of himself in gomez

[jungwnies]

tamed - max verstappen (5/4 - epilogue)

୨ৎ : pairing : max verstappen x fem!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : as whispers in the paddock shift from max verstappen's on-track antics to his unexpected romance with you

୨ৎ : genre : romance, angst, humor ୨ৎ : tws : media scrutiny, public attention, workplace romance, mentions of temper, light teasing ୨ৎ : wc : 1382

part one | part two | part three | part four | epilogue

fast forward a few months, and the paddock buzzed with a very different kind of speculation. the whispers about max’s fiery temper and on-track spats had been replaced with hushed chatter about the two of you. the sharp-edged world of formula 1 had softened ever so slightly, now crackling with curiosity about the driver who seemed to be transforming right before everyone’s eyes.

you and max had settled into this new dynamic with a surprising, almost natural ease. while there were still plenty of playful digs and sarcastic retorts, they were now wrapped in an undeniable intimacy—a bond forged through both the chaos of the paddock and the quiet moments that only the two of you shared.

the other drivers had taken notice too. daniel ricciardo, as mischievous as ever, would throw you exaggerated winks and nudge max with an elbow whenever you passed by. charles leclerc, ever the gentleman, always made sure you had the best seat in the hospitality suite, even if max tried to grumble about it. and even lando norris, the king of cheek, had toned down his teasing just enough to drop the occasional sincere compliment—though, true to form, it was usually followed with a grin and a sly, “don’t tell max.”

later that evening, after the paddock chaos had dwindled, max invited you to join him for a walk along the marina. the sun was dipping low on the horizon, painting the water in shades of gold and orange, and a soft breeze carried the scent of the sea. you thought nothing of it at first—max often liked to escape the buzz of formula 1 when he could. but as the two of you wandered past the quiet rows of yachts, his usual confidence seemed… off.

he kept stealing glances at you, his hands buried deep in his pockets, and his usual sharp wit was replaced with uncharacteristic silence. finally, you decided to break it.

“alright, verstappen,” you teased, nudging him lightly. “you’re being weird. what’s going on?”

max froze mid-step, his face instantly flushing a soft pink. “weird? i’m not being weird,” he said quickly, his voice jumping an octave. “you’re weird.”

you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “really? that’s the best you’ve got?”

he groaned, muttering something in dutch under his breath before turning to you with a determined—albeit slightly panicked—look. “okay, fine. i… i need to say something.”

you tilted your head, fighting back a grin. “go on.”

max looked out at the water, as though hoping the answer to his internal struggle would magically appear in the waves. he then turned back to you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “so, uh, you know how you… um… exist?”

you blinked, stifling a laugh. “how i exist?”

“yes! like, you’re here, and you’re… you, and i’m…” he gestured vaguely to himself, his face now beet red. “me. and, uh, that’s good. i mean, it’s great. you’re great.”

you bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing outright. “wow, max. that’s… really something. please, continue.”

he groaned again, raking a hand through his hair. “okay, look. what i’m trying to say is—ugh, why is this so hard?” he stopped walking and turned fully to face you, his hands now animated as he stumbled through his next words. “i like you, alright? not in a ‘you’re my pr manager and keep me from saying stupid stuff in interviews’ way. like, i actually like you. like, in a ‘let’s do non-work things together, and i’ll pay for dinner, and maybe we kiss at the end’ kind of way.”

you stared at him, your lips twitching as you tried not to burst into laughter. “non-work things, huh? very romantic.”

“i’m serious!” he blurted, his hands flying up. “i like you, and i want to take you out. on a date. like a real one. with food. and wine, if you’re into that. or beer. or water, whatever you want!”

by now, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. a laugh escaped you, and max’s face somehow turned even redder.

“stop laughing!” he said, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “i’m trying here!”

“i’m sorry,” you managed between giggles. “it’s just… max, that was the most chaotic confession i’ve ever heard.”

he sighed, shaking his head but laughing softly too. “yeah, well, you make me nervous, okay? are you happy now?”

your laughter faded, replaced by a warm, affectionate smile. “max, you don’t have to be nervous around me. and for the record…” you stepped closer, your voice softening. “i like you too.”

his eyes widened slightly, the nervous energy melting away as a slow, relieved smile spread across his face. “you do?”

you nodded, biting your lip to keep from grinning too wide. “i do. but i do have one condition.”

“name it,” he said immediately.

“you’re not allowed to say ‘non-work things’ on our date. ever again.”

max chuckled, finally relaxing as he reached out to take your hand. “deal. but for the record, you’re still weird.”

you rolled your eyes, squeezing his hand as the two of you began walking again. “yeah, yeah. says the guy who just admitted he’s terrified of asking someone out.”

“not terrified,” he corrected with a smirk. “just… bad at it.”

...

one afternoon in monaco, the two of you wandered through the paddock hand in hand, the sun warm on your skin. max glanced down at you, a rare softness in his eyes.

"you know," max said, squeezing your hand gently, "i never thought i'd enjoy having my personal life plastered all over the media."

you laughed, bumping his shoulder playfully. "well, you have me to thank for that. i'm a pr genius, after all."

he chuckled, pulling you closer. "that you are. but it's more than that, y/n. it's… easy with you. even with all the cameras and the gossip, it just feels… right."

you leaned into him, a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the mediterranean sun. "it feels right with you too, max."

as you continued your stroll, you encountered a group of journalists, their cameras clicking and questions flying.

"max, y/n," one reporter called out, "how does it feel to be formula 1's newest power couple?"

max, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, pulled you closer and replied, "well, she hasn't crashed my car yet, so i'd say it's going pretty well."

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help but laugh. "very funny, max."

another reporter asked, "y/n, how do you handle max's temper?"

you smiled, glancing up at him with a playful smirk. "let's just say i have my ways of keeping him in line."

max feigned a look of indignation. "hey, i resent that!"

the reporters laughed, scribbling down notes and snapping photos. you and max, comfortable in the spotlight, played along, your banter a mix of genuine affection and playful teasing.

later that evening, as you sat on the balcony of your hotel room, overlooking the sparkling harbor, max turned to you with a soft smile.

"you know," he said, his voice low and sincere, "i never thought i'd find someone who could handle me, who could challenge me, who could make me laugh… and who could tolerate my terrible jokes."

you laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder. "well, you're lucky i have a soft spot for grumpy drivers with questionable humor."

he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a warm embrace. "i'm the lucky one, y/n. i never thought i'd find someone like you."

you looked up at him, your heart overflowing with love and happiness. "and i never thought i'd fall for someone like you, max verstappen."

he leaned down and kissed you, a soft, lingering kiss that spoke volumes.

as you stood there, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, you knew that this was more than just a fleeting romance. this was a love story built on mutual respect, playful banter, and a shared passion for life, both on and off the track. and as the formula 1 circus continued its whirlwind journey around the world, you and max would face it together, hand in hand, ready to take on whatever challenges came your way.

taglist: @residentdemonhunter , @nctislifue , @kqliie , @loveitwhenhelies , @edgyficuselastica , @chirasama , @widow-cevans , @comicalivy comment to be added

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[vettelsvee]

MY TORTURED DRIVERS DEPARTMENT VOL. VII ⸻ LOVER A Formula 1 fics compilation based on Taylor Swift's songs from Lover

This compilation will include short stories about all Formula 1 drivers (current of retired) of your choice. To request one, just send me a message on my Tumblr inbox with the driver you want me to write about alongside the song that will inspire the fic. The ones in bold are already chosen and will be written as soon as possible <3

These works will be driver x reader and will be, mostly, written fics and SMAU.

Taglist is open for all of you who want to join me in my very own tortured drivers department! Just let me know in the comments!

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

1. LOVER ─ Sebastian Vettel x Reader He loves you. You love him. You have each other and that's all for you... or that's what you think until two pink lines appear on a pregnancy test

2. THE MAN ─ Daniel Ricciardo x Race engineer!Reader (requested by anon!) You recently became the first ever race engineer in Formula 1. However, even your colleague and mate steps up for you, all they do in the press and even in your team is pissing you off

3. PAPER RINGS ─ Oscar Piastri x Reader Your best friend became your boyfriend, and now you just throw him indirects about how much you want to marry him, so he makes something else while he waits for the right time to pop the question

4. FALSE GOD ─ Driver of your choice x Reader ⋆ SMUT You both go to a costume party organized by one of your friends dress as Greek gods. You know nothing about each other, except that he's a false god whose identity you're willing to discover

[goldsbitch]

Twelve Grapes

-chapter 7, part 2 - A bit of a bad boy

It's no coincidence Cruel Summer came out that year...

or - ✨ Austria 2019.✨

word count: reasonable warning: hard racing

Two entire races go by before he gets so much as a glance from Charles. In both of those, Charles ends up ahead of Max. It feels like getting personally kicked in the balls. Max plays the PR game the best to his abilities and self-control, but behind the scenes, it's a total mayhem. Anyone who questions him about anything receives a snapshot answer. He hands out sarcastic comments like Halloween candy. The only time he laughs is when he beats Daniel in their little video game nights.

The first week, Max loses all remaining inhibitions and keeps blasting Charles' phone up with calls and texts. Unhinged amount of advances, jokes and random questions. No reaction.

The second week, he goes radio silent and tries to get hold of Charles around the paddock. He never goes looking for other drivers after the race, especially when they get to stand on the podium and he doesn't. As always, restraint regarding Charles never comes as easily. However, the Monegasque is always two steps ahead of him.

Alas, finally, they end up next to each other in a post-qualifying media pen in Spielberg. Max is not subtle about trying to catch Charles' eye. For a brief moment, he does. It turns his stomach over immediately. Max searches Charles’ face like it holds an answer, some kind of hidden message buried beneath the surface, but there’s nothing. Not a flicker of hesitation, no softness, no ghost of the Charles he used to know. They used to share a look that would say it all. No trace of that now.

His expression is cool, unbothered, a perfect mask of professionalism. The same way he looks at a journalist asking a pointless question, or a sponsor he doesn’t particularly care about. Detached. Uninterested.

Max wants to do anything else than be swamped by useless questions now. Not when he's eating crumbs in the form of overhearing Charles' voice. He has to force himself to even look at the journalist standing in front of him, let alone take in what she has to say. Charles, on the other, does not seem to share this problem. His voice is passionate, excited and his words land like a punch in the face. Max can't see it, but since he'd studied Charles from every angle possible, to be able to picture his smile clearly, just based on the tone. It's the nonchalant, I'm-the-world's-sweetheart smile that always works on everyone. Max is secretly present on social media, he has seen the fan edits of his - well, not boyfriend apparently.

"Charles, you seem to be on a great run of form lately, have you and the team at Ferrari found good rhythm after the unfortunate Monaco Grand Prix?"

Max has heard many things on that topic from the restless Reb Bull strategists. All of them flaunting ideas and theories around, none of them realizing what Max knew. That the magic fuel Charles is running on is spite. He asks the journalist in front of him to repeat the question, while he focuses on Charles' answer.

"Ah, you know how it is...The start of the season has been challenging. Changing teams, new environment...All of this takes time to process. But, I am stronger than ever. I've cut away all unnecessary distractions keeping me from being locked in on the target and pulling me to the wrong direction. With the amazing team I have - I am finally recognizing myself in the mirror after few strange months."

Charles must know that he can hear every word coming out of his mouth. Max's blood boils and freezes at the same time. He doesn’t react. Giving away anything more seems like a direct pathway to hell.

He stands there, nodding absently to whatever the journalist in front of him is saying, his mind busy with reading in between the lines, Charles' words echoing through the media pen like a fucking death sentence.

Distraction. That’s all he's reduced him to. His heart beats like it's about to go to a fight. The realization settles in his stomach, cold and heavy. He tilts his head slightly, just enough to catch Charles in his peripheral vision.

He’s still talking, crafting the perfect story. His posture is easy, he's leaning closer to the reporter than one probably should, his voice is smooth and warm. It has the word likable written all over it.

It's hardly a surprise that the reporters eat up every single sentence he says, playing up to be the golden boy everyone wants him to be.

And maybe he is. Charles keeps getting better and better at this - playing the part, giving people what they want. He’s charming and sharp, smart enough to be a goddamn PR dream but ruthless enough to keep them all at arm’s length. Except he wasn’t like that with Max.

No. With Max, he was real. Unfiltered. Messy. The kind of Charles who picked fights just to feel something, who grabbed Max’s face like he couldn’t breathe without kissing him, who pressed his forehead against his in the middle of the night and whispered things he could never say in the daylight. The kind of person who acted on what his heart desired, instead of what reason demanded. That's not the Charles standing next to him.

Something inside Max cracks. It doesn’t come in a rush - it settles, careful and slow, a icy coldness spreading through his chest.

Fine.

If Charles wants to erase him, to pretend he was just a mistake, Max will make him remember. Not with words. Not with apologies or late-night texts, stupid fucking phone calls or dangerous public driving.

Tomorrow, on track - where it’s just the two of them, where he can't pretend or avoid him endlessly. Charles will feel exactly what happens when you try to push Max Verstappen away. If he wants to pretend Max was just a distraction, Max will remind him that distractions don’t just disappear into thin air.

"It's great to be on pole, but points are tomorrow. But of course, the idea of a first win is something you can't not get exited about," he hears the last part of yet another one of Charles' speeches and this time he smiles. Time to prove everyone wrong. Make the damn strategists happy for once again.

//

It's hell. Pure, unfiltered hell. Charles arrives in Maranello in a state of a complete breakdown. He was running on some sort of manic fuel the whole Monaco drive. All was somehow bearable - until Max stopped chasing behind him. The absence of his headlights in rear-view mirror worked like a bomb detonator. He is a crying, miserable mess the whole drive. One time he has to stop over, because his breath gets stuck in the lungs and it sets his head into a dizzy spin. He collapses onto his bed in the small Maranello safe house and spends the night fighting terrifying nightmares.

After losing the next day by being glued to his phone, waiting for Max to call for one more time, he decides he can't take that anymore. He missed his chances. Ran away, fucked up everything and tired Max out. He knows him - if he stopped calling, he stopped caring. Charles can't bare himself to get to be the one to make the desperate move, especially after he let so blatantly known that he's totally under Max's spell. He cried in front of him. Nearly begged - but who knows, the whole conversation is becoming a blur, like an old tape wearing thin from being rewound too many times, the sound glitching, words distorting until they barely make sense anymore. So, the first evening after the fight, he blocks Max's phone number. This way, he can still hope that he is trying to reach him and he does not have to stare the unbearable truth in the face. That Max does not, in fact, call anymore.

He completely drowns himself in work. His trainer has to remind him to eat, even though the thought of food makes him sick. He's floating around, allows the team to handle him about and keeps his focus on racing exclusively. Because, that is the only means of communication with Max he's got left. On track, nothing changed. They still cruise around each other, expertly read each other's moves and for once, it all works out in Charles' favor.

The irony of him finally getting a grip on racing when he feels like he'd rather jump under the car instead is not lost on him.

The first step into the paddock after their fight feels heavier than it should. No matter how much he tries to shake it, there’s still a glimmer of hope that he and Max can fix this. But hope, in all its twisted absurdity, only makes him avoid Max more. Because, if this is suppose to be the end, he wants prolong this uncertain period as much as he can. His own misery is becoming the only thing he has left from Max and if that is the truth, he will cling on it. It's him and Max. Any reminder of that is better than nothing.

Red Bull ring. Half of the grandstand is covered in eye-searing orange, the other in signature deep blue that keeps haunting him. They are all waiting for him to fail. He can't. If he has to suffer, because of his feeling towards the Dutch driver, so should everyone else. No matter how mellowed down their devotion to Max might be compared to his own.

It's scorching hot. As is should be in hell anyway. Charles is sitting in his car, front row providing a clear view to the task ahead. Beat Max on track. It's like he can't see any other of the remaining eighteen cars. Lights out and away we go. The all familiar noise of roaring engines makes his ears hurt. His reaction is perfect, almost divine. He launches forward, sliding through the first turn like a man possessed, and when he glances at his mirrors, Max is gone. Buried in the chaos behind him, swallowed by his own mistakes. A chuckle bubbles up in Charles’ throat, raw and breathless, nearly manic again. This is what he wants. Him being able to prove that he is sharper, better and faster when giving as similar chance as Max. Not only that. To himself, and in extension Max too, he needs to prove that he can exist without Max fucking Verstappen.

He flies away, leaving the rest of pack behind. It's only in lap two where he figures out that Max fell five places down. There is a momentary wave of sorrow, one intrusive idea about Charles wanting to be the only to beat him, regretting that other drivers are doing so too. But they're both on their own. Max would never share this sentiment towards him. Whatever Charles is doing must be working, because it looks like he got into Verstappen's head. He's slowly extending the lead, keeping Bottas in a safe distance, far enough no DRS.

Ten and few more laps later, he notices Max working way up the field quite effectively. He keeps calm, because with every car Max passes, Charles makes up a second on Bottas.

Max's got the fastest lap now. Charles is managing tires, bracing for the future. Pit stop - the one thing he truly fears - gone right. He's in a completely calm and periodic rhythm, none of the cars providing a real challenge. He prays to the gods of racing for no mechanical failure this time. Destiny owes his at least that. Give him the right tools, he won't ask for help when all it lies on is his own abilities. He's making his way through the traffic, lapping cars and occasionally looking behind his back at Verstappen fighting Bottas. And after few more laps of this routine - Max is the first car on his tail. Charles expected nothing less. He digs into everything he has - not only in him, but in the car as well. The whole race was just a prep for this moment. Barely four seconds. Max is faster, a fact his dearest fucking engineer feels the need to point out, as if he couldn’t see it himself. But quick math tells Charles he should survive this. 3,8. 3,6. For Charles, there really is no other car on the track than Max's. The others are just annoying little gravel stones, hitting his visor and robbing Charles of clean air. A half of a second is lost only by having to cruise between them. He tries his best to stay cool. One final wish goes towards his tires.

He gives it all. Five final laps and the gap is dangerously close to one second. He spends what feels like two years stuck between Pierre, who's suppose to let him through and Max who is closing in on him. Two Red Bulls. Please, Pierre. This is the first time Charles regrets not telling his friend about the love affair. He knows Pierre is instructed to make it as hard as possible for Charles to get through while keeping it all legal.

"Verstappen behind, one second."

"Leave me alone."

And then - it's on.

It's like he can feel Max breathing down his neck. The DRS is inevitable. Max is inevitable. Charles defends for his life. He forces him to have to go around the outside, off the racing line. Turn 4 is the Achilles heel and Charles survives the first time they pass it through.

But he knows Max. Understands the way he moves, instinct in perfect symphony with logic, calculating every weakness...No stone left untouched. Why should Charles be the exception. He remembers the way he looked at Charles the first time they kissed - half a dare, half a warning. It's the way he uses his touch - firm, yet gentle - to bend Charles into whatever shape he wants. 

On the next lap, Charles watches his mirrors, waits for the lunge. This time Max doesn’t go for the outside. No, this time, he comes from inside, slicing through the turn with an aggression Charles thought he was ready for. It’s all so quick, just like their fallout. 

The wheels are millimeters apart. Charles tries to force him wide, but Max refuses to back off. Of course he does. Max has never learned when to let go. Never knows when to stop taking.

And then, it comes again.

Max is right there, alongside him, closer this time, pushing, forcing. Charles grips the wheel tighter, body locked in, blood roaring in his ears. He doesn’t lift. He doesn’t yield. Max doesn’t either.

A nudge. A shove. Space shrinking into nothing. Everything slows.

He’s back at the Monaco apartment, late at night, Max’s voice low against his neck. “If I have to take a win from you, will you ever kiss me again?” Charles had laughed, breathless. “You already take everything from me.”

Charles barely registers the moment his tires leave the track, but he feels it. The smudge of gravel beneath him, the split-second loss of control, the sheer force of what Max has done.

Max’s fingers curled around his wrist in a hotel hallway, yanking him back to the room before they could be seen, grinning like it was a game. "You can’t get enough of me," Charles had scoffed. "Give me all you have, Charlie," Max hummed in between kisses.

The back of Max’s neck in the early morning, hair still damp from post sex shower, heartbeat steady under Charles’ hand. "Would you ever crash into me?" Max had asked once, drowsy, barely awake. Charles had said no. Max had never answered.

The car snaps back into control just before he spins. Charles feels it all in his arms, his whole body resisting the centrifugal pull. No. It takes him half a second to realize what just happened. The next half is spent knowing, with absolute certainty, that it wasn’t fucking legal. Max robbed him. They have to make him give the place back.  Charles grips the wheel so hard it might break, breath coming short and sharp. His visor feels suffocating, the heat pressing in from all sides. He should have known. Should have known Max would take everything.

He genuinely can't remember the rest of the race.

Just like that, it's over, he's getting out of the car and his own disbelief is preventing from believing any of this is real. His mind stayed back somewhere around Turn 4 and he's having something he thinks others describe as out of body experience. He understands there are words coming out of his mouth, but no one is in control of them. They roll of automatically and he's only aware that most of them are about the stewards having to have a look at the move.

He is painfully aware of the cameras in the cooldown room. That is the only thing grounding him and not flying into a shout festival with Max. The words he has reserved for this man are intended for him and his ears only. Survival mode kicks in and he tries to ignore him as much as he can.

He'd prefer getting punched instead of having to stand on this podium. Any attempt from people trying to congratulate is met with a face one does not forget. Max's smile is impossible to ignore, bright and shamelessly arrogant, the kind of grin that demands to be seen. Mercilessly cuts through like a knife.

Charles sees the way Max points at the Honda logo on his race suit, exaggerating the motion, playing up the moment. A distant memory flickers in. Charles remembers when Max came home one day, irritated after yet another Red Bull PR lecture about mentioning Honda at every possible opportunity. Max had rolled his eyes, complaining about contractual obligations, flapped himself on the couch and refused to talk. So, Charles came up with a game, with hopes of turning the mood around. Say it so much they beg you to stop. He still remembers Max’s mischievous smirk, the way they looked at each other every time he did that. Now? It feels like Max deliberately twisting the knife he shoved into Charles' guts. As if Charles isn't standing right there, watching it all, bleeding out behind a forced expression. Max took it all. No one would be mad or surprised if he hadn't won today. It means he did all of this on purpose. Inflict as much as he possibly can. Something he appears to be very good at.

Someone puts the dreaded Dutch anthem on and every note drags on and on.  Charles stares to the deep hills, avoiding the crowd below. His nails pressing so hard his racing suit he’s surprised there isn’t blood between his fingers. This is the sound he will die to. The tune that will crawl inside his skull, rot there, and play on an endless loop. If there’s a god waiting for him at the end of it all, this is what they'll hum as the gates get shut in his face.

Max is right there, right fucking there, barely an arm’s length away, standing taller, chest out, sweat still clinging to his skin like it’s something to be proud of. Charles doesn’t dare look at him. Doesn’t trust himself not to flinch, not to break. The heat between them is unbearable, suffocating, a reminder that not long ago, Max had pressed against him in a different way. The hand he now had to avoid from accidentally brushing against is the same one that used to grip Charles like he was something for Max to own.

He knows Max doesn’t even think about that. Not now. Not while he stands here, grinning like he was made for this moment, swimming in the praise from crowd that loves him, while Charles stands frozen beside him, barely holding himself together.

The anthem swells, the final few notes longing out like they’re mocking him, and Charles forces himself to swallow, forces the bile back down his throat. He knows it's over. Deep down inside, he stopped hoping for stewards standing by him.  Another mistake and he looks down the crowd. Roars of people suffocating him, stealing the air directly from his lungs and among all of those, one face stands out. Everyone is looking at Max, apart from this person, who's unmistakable smirk reminds him so scarily of the smirk he used to love. Jos Vestappen is unashamedly staring down at him, even though he's several meters below him. For the first time, he sees the resemblance between Max and his father.

He calls himself stupid about fifty times. The door for Max would not have opened if he hadn’t allowed it. He got burned once. It can’t happen again. Things have to change. He has to change.  The champagne tastes like a spoilt milk, Charles does everything in his power to get out of the podium stand as quickly as possible. He will go on to the stewards with his team, even though he knows the battle is lost. If there is one thing he is grateful for, it's the crying Honda spokesman, that wiggles in between him and Max for the final photo. Charles is spared of the final blow - feeling Max's cruel hands on his back again.

//

The come down of emotions is quick. He did it. Snatched Charles' first victory right from his hands. Celebrated so loudly, encircled Charles so efficiently he was sure he must be getting claustrophobic. Killer instinct called upon him and he gave in completely. Charles can't rely on ignoring him. He won't go away without a fight, without destroying him. Max is hardly a sappy dreamer, but all of today feels like it was written long time ago and he was just following the script. Charles is sitting by his right side during the press conference - exactly where he belongs. There is an evil joy Max feels from having him so close during his first win of this season. Charles has no choice but to endure every second of it. Weeks of silence, of trying to erase Max from his life, and yet, here they are. No matter how hard he tries, he can't escape him.

The questions roll in. "How does this win compare to the ones he's had before?" Oh, he has many words he can't say out loud. The reported receives some basic technical summary, but what he really wants to say - scream, shout to the world - is that this win feels sweeter than any candy, he's reclaiming his strenght back and Charles can try as much as he can, but Max proved today that he won't back down.

"When did you start to think the win was possible today?" Easy. Once the door shut behind Charles when he ran away. When his smug smile started to haunt Max in every waking moment. When he heard the words, his former lover, calling him a mere distraction.

Next question is aimed at Charles. General, basic, nothing out of the order. He steals one glance. A thunder of a feeling he can't name properly shoots through him. His bloodshot eyes, purple lips and hands with practically no nails left on them scream the truth louder than anything else. It's the moment Charles finally speaks, his words rolling out of his tongue when Max's heart stops. It is probably unrecognizable for the crowd of journalist in front of them, but he knows this tone. It's the utterly broken one. His words make sense, it's composed and measured, but the accent creeps in and gives away all. Just like it did whenever Charles felt unsure about their love affair. His voice is soft, too soft for a post-race fatigue. Max has to put his head down, to hide behind his cap for a moment. He hears Charles gulp and surprisingly it's that what breaks Max. Numbness descends over him. Next question is aimed at Valtteri and for once, he's glad.

Max sinks in. He tries to stop the guilt from drowning him. For once, this is a battle he can't win. The darkest worry Max always had about himself is that he it too ruthless. Can't see the line until he's way past by. Cruel, calculating monster, that will destroy anything or anyone standing in his way. Suddenly, he find himself regretting it all. His move was over the top, but he can't admit that now. This wasn't racing anymore, this personal vendetta, childish anger spree, because Max can't have what he truly wants. Maybe it's sadly better this way. By forcing Charles to hating him, he will make sure he stays far away from him. Max knows he'd crumble apart, had Charles given him any inclination that he wants him back. That man could probably ask for anything and he'd give it to him. Max is not strong enough to resist Charles. He's also just proven how much of a selfish dick he can be when things don't go this way. The reality of him coming to the conclusion, that Charles hating him instead of loving him might be safer and better option for the Ferrari driver is a hard pill to swallow. Max had spent years perfecting the art of fighting for every inch, of clawing his way to the top no matter the cost. And now, sitting here, drowning in his own victory, he wonders if the cost this time was too high. Max knows his actions today bought him all the time in the world to wallow around this idea. Because, it's obvious Charles can't stand him anymore. He finally sees Max for what he is. His father's son.

Another question, particularly snarky one comes at him and Charles together and something inside Max takes over. He's saying words, explaining the nature of his specific overtake and it takes him everything he has to prevent his voice from shaking. He ends up defending himself again, but the doubts flood his consciousness. Charles finally throws in a sarcastic comment, calling the move illegal, and something ugly inside Max likes it. If Charles has to hate him, let it be like this - spiteful, angry, not distant and indifferent. At least anger means he still cares, even if it’s in the worst way possible.

He will forever admire Charles for being able to sit through this, so strong and still.

We never gave up, he hears himself saying. His only hope is that Charles won't give up too.

"Charles, do you feel like this one has been stolen from you?" Yes. Obviously. Once again, Max questions the sanity of everyone in the room. Another punchy note about the legality of the overtake and Max revels in it.

"Will you stop being the polite driver you are?" Is this the first time people watched Charles racing? A polite driver? The menace that would rather have them crash into the barrier than get overtaken? The driver Max had to pull out his dirtiest trick only to get a chance on getting in front of him?

"On track I'm a bit of a different person than in the car." Max has never disagreed with something more in his life.

------- @chezmardybum @biancathecool

[the-offside-rule]

Out of Her Depth - Chapter 1 - Factory Settings

Out of Her Depth: The Masterlist

Poll number 2: love interest

Saoirse O’Reilly lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of her new flat in Maranello. The glow from the streetlights outside filtered through her curtains, casting long shadows across the room. She wasn’t sure how long she had been lying there, unmoving, lost in her own thoughts.

Hours, probably.

She let out a slow breath, shifting onto her side, then onto her back again. Sleep wasn’t coming. Her mind was too loud, too full of what ifs and don’t mess this up. Her eyes fluttered closed, forcing herself to relax. A few moments later, her alarm blared. She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. So much for sleeping.

With a sigh, she got up, stretching as she walked to the kitchen. She was exhausted, but there was no time to dwell on that. Today was another day at the Ferrari factory, and she had to be sharp. She grabbed a quick breakfast, leaning against the counter as she ate. Her nerves were creeping up on her again.

She had started her Formula One career at eighteen with Alfa Romeo, the youngest driver on the grid in 2022 and 2023. Then came the Ferrari reserve driver role last year— the waiting game. She had spent endless hours in the simulator, pushing herself, proving herself. The engineers liked her, the factory staff respected her, and when Carlos left for Williams, she got the call-up.

It should have been the happiest moment of her life. And it was, but ever since then, she had been a nervous wreck.

She shook off the thought, finishing her breakfast before heading to her room to get dressed. Black jeans, a Ferrari team polo, and her usual silver jewelry. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, frowning at a few stubborn pimples that had decided to make an appearance. With practiced ease, she dabbed on some concealer, blending until they were barely noticeable. Good enough.

She grabbed her keys and headed to the front door, pausing for a moment before stepping outside. And then she saw it. Her brand-new Ferrari. The car was temporary, just something to use until her actual one arrived, but it still made her grin like an idiot. It was finally starting to sink in. She wasn’t just some kid in a simulator anymore.

She was a Ferrari Formula One driver.

Saoirse took a deep breath, gripping the keys a little tighter. Time to get to work.

The drive to the Ferrari factory was short, but Saoirse still spent it mentally preparing herself. The racing was one thing—that, she could handle. But this? The media, the attention, the scrutiny? That was a whole different challenge. She pulled into the car park and took a deep breath before stepping out of her car. Waiting just inside the entrance was Sylvia, Ferrari’s head of public relations, dressed in her usual sharp attire and holding her phone. She smiled warmly as Saoirse approached. "Good morning, Saoirse." Sylvia greeted, falling into step beside her. "Buongiorno." Saoirse replied, glancing behind her as a camera crew trailed after them. Sylvia noticed and smirked. "Everything okay?" She asked. "Wondering if it’s Ferrari or Netflix." Saaoirse replied. Sylvia gestured subtly. "Both. See? Two cameras."

Saoirse exhaled through her nose, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. She was used to cameras—there were always cameras in Formula One—but she had never been the focus like this before. It was different.

As they walked through the factory, staff members greeted her with nods and smiles. She recognized some faces from her reserve driver days, but this time, the way they looked at her had shifted. She wasn’t just a promising young talent anymore—she was their driver now.

They reached Vasseur's office, and Sylvia knocked before pushing the door open. Fred looked up from his computer, his usually stern expression softening into a smile when he saw her. He stood, crossing the room, and pulled her into a brief hug. "Salve, Saoirse." He said warmly before pulling back. "Have you been keeping up with your Italian lessons?" Saoirse nodded. "I haven’t stopped them."

"Bene." Fred seemed pleased. He turned to Sylvia. "Would you mind asking one of the girls to get her a coffee, Sylvia?" Sylvia nodded and slipped out, leaving Saoirse alone with him.

Fred gestured for her to sit as he leaned back in his chair. His sharp eyes studied her for a moment before he spoke. "So, how are you feeling? Is your new apartment okay?" Saoirse relaxed slightly. "Yeah, it’s nice. Different, but nice."

"And everything else?" He pressed. "The transition from reserve to full-time?" She hesitated for a moment before nodding. "It’s… a lot. But I’m getting there." Fred gave a small, knowing smile. "Good. We will make sure you have everything you need. Charles should be coming in later, but before that, I want you to spend some time getting more comfortable with the factory. Beyond the simulator." Saoirse tilted her head. "You mean, actually interacting with people?"

"Yes, exactly."

At that moment, Sylvia returned with her coffee, handing it over with a small smirk. Saoirse took a sip, then sighed. "Fine. But if Netflix catches me looking awkward, that’s on you." Fred laughed. "You will survive." She wasn’t so sure, but for now, she’d take his word for it. "Well, I'll let you go and get comfortable. Ciao."

After finishing her coffee, Saoirse followed Sylvia down the hall toward the room where she’d be fitted for her new race suit. "So, you were already fitted before Abu Dhabi-" Sylvia explained as they walked, the ever-present camera crew trailing behind. CBut we need to make sure everything is perfect for the season." Saoirse nodded, rolling her shoulders. "Yeah, wouldn’t want to find out my suit doesn’t fit on race week." Sylvia smirked. "Exactly."

When they arrived, a team of Ferrari staff was already waiting with her custom suit laid out. The familiar red fabric, the Scuderia Ferrari crest, her name stitched in clean white letters—it was all hers now. She changed into it quickly, smoothing out the material before stepping in front of the mirror. And then she grinned like an idiot. She couldn’t help it. Seeing herself in this suit, officially as a Ferrari driver, felt surreal. Sylvia caught her expression and smirked. "Starting to sink in?" Saoirse nodded, still staring at her reflection. "Yeah… I think it is."

"Good. Because you’ve got a busy day ahead." Saoirse turned, arching a brow. "Do I at least get a break?" Sylvia hummed, pretending to think. "Of course. It will be a little bit more laid back for you this year." Saoirse exhaled dramatically. "Fine. Hit me." Sylvia grinned. "That’s the spirit." She led Saoirse toward the media setup, the cameras ready to capture every moment. For the first time all day, Saoirse felt the nerves fade away. Maybe she could get used to this.

[powderpinkprincess]

Hey everyone! ❤

I'm currently writing my master's degree thesis in psychology, and as a topic, I chose something that I deeply love and am very good at — fangirling! :)

If you are a European fan over 18, I would be insanely grateful if you could help me by filling out a 15-minute survey that I need. (I do not ask for any information that could identify you.) You can find it here with all the information I can provide about my senior thesis: https://pszppke.qualtrics.com/jfe/form/SV_9AAAvEMv8E1SWQm

Thank you so much! Dóri

[folkwhoreberry]

a sneak peak at my notes app - the f1/pjo!au folder :