#climb 2 become champion

[zia-the-weirdo]

“Oh boy I wonder what day it is”

The group of jesters about to beat my ass:

[hhaechansmoless]

LIGHTS OUT PT.1

pairing: f1driver!haechan x PRmanager!femreader

genre: fluff, angst, romance

description: Haechan, bold, aggressive and unrelenting, is back after a narrowly missed opportunity to become the world champion in 2024. This time, he's set his sight on making it all the way to the top. You, as his newly appointed PR representative, are assigned with the task of keeping up with a world of high stakes, unpredictable twists and well, him.

warnings: strong language, stressful situations, descriptions of car crashes and physical exhaustion, slowburn, honestly quite f1 heavy

w/c: part 1 - 17.8k part 2 - 15.8k

glossary

a/n: its here after so long cries. I loved writing this so much!! it's heavy on the f1 technicalities and races and stuff so I hope I've done justice to that. So excited for this season to start (not a red bull fan so in no way am I manifesting max 5th but !!! haechan <3). The number of tabs and informatory articles and vids I watched to make this as authentic and real as possible will haunt me but I would not have it any other way. This is for all my f1 + kpop fans, but to those who are only a part of one, hopefully you will fall in love with the other. The glossary, I think, will help a lot for those who don't watch f1 so I'd suggest keeping that tab open as you read this. I truly hope you guys love this as much as I do! comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3 (if you want to be notified for pt 2, i don't have a taglist yet so u can just write a comment/dm/ask!)

BAHRAIN, PRE-SEASON TESTING, DAY-1

 February 26th

Well, that Mercedes is fast on the straights, Haechan thinks as he swoops into the slipstream. The heat is already getting to him. He’s sure he had asked for the evening time slot. Maybe he’ll talk with his engineer about this as soon as he gets out of this godforsaken car. To be fair, it isn’t godforsaken, not really. In fact he has an inkling that it’s far from that as he watches his delta on the screen blink green— faster than his last lap— but nowhere near the times posted by Mercedes and Ferrari. 

“Am I good to overtake?” Haechan speaks into his radio.

“Let’s take it easy. No need to exert too much Haechan. Sector 1 and 2 look good, let’s shave a tenth off in sector 3 and we’ll box to check the metrics.”

Three laps later and fifteen minutes to lunch, the roar of the engine grows louder as the RB21 pulls off the main straight and into the pit lane. He comes to a stop and the mechanics swarm the car, taking off its wheels and pushing it into the garage. Haechan climbs out of the cockpit removing his navy blue helmet and balaclava, hair ruffled up. You think of walking over to him. You really need to introduce yourself and inform him about the media before he heads over to lunch, but for the moment you stay back, eyeing him. 

He looks pissed and it’s definitely the sandbagging. That’ll be one question the journalists will definitely ask and Haechan cannot respond in the way you think he will now. Helmet still in hand he walks over to the pitwall to discuss with his engineers. You look around his side of the garage and everyone looks drained. It’s been a long day and Haechan has had quite a lot of feedback on the car, which is good, you suppose. But the team is tired and it’s obvious that they long for the break before the grind starts again with his teammate.

Haechan and his senior race engineer walk back into the garage and you overhear a part of their conversation as you pick up your work phone and your small notepad before trailing slightly behind them.

“At least Mercedes remembers how to build a car again,” His engineer tries to lighten him up, “Don’t worry, our simulations predict our raw times will be faster anyways.”

Haechan mutters something and finally sets his helmet down on a desk next to his car. You take this moment to walk up to him.

“Hello. It’s time to go to the media pen.” You smile slightly as he turns around to look at you for a second before nodding and following you out. 

“The media will definitely ask about the comparatively slow pace. You should probably-”

“I mean, why would they even ask about pace during testing, really?” He interjects, and you realize the bite of irritation is still present.

“Look, they’re not looking for the truth, they’re just looking for attention grabbing headlines. You don’t have to give them this energy. Play it cool please, it really matters what you say in there.”

Now you think he’s annoyed with you as well, as he finally tilts his head to look at you, “So what do I say?”

“You’re supposed to look like you know something they don’t. Keep it simple, confident, and let them wonder. Say something like…” You glance at your notes and repeat your carefully crafted line:  “‘Testing is about data, not lap times. We’re happy with the direction we’re heading in, the team is constantly making improvements, and the real test will be race day.’”

You come to a halt outside the pen and stare at him. For a moment he seems to want to push back, but to your good luck he sighs, “All right, I’ll play along this once. Get your mic ready Ms….” He trails off , already ahead of you, “Wait, who are you again?” Haechan looks over his shoulder and you shake your head. 

You exhale, “Your new PR rep.” But he’s already gone and you scramble for your phone to record him as you push past others to make your way to the journalist he’s talking to.

God may the whole season not be this way.

AUSTRALIA, ALBERT PARK GRAND PRIX CIRCUIT

Thursday, Media day March 13th

It’s a pleasant day, Haechan thinks as he steps out of his motorhome. A little too early in the morning but pleasant nonetheless. Johnny, his personal trainer, closes the door behind him, shutting out the chilly air from the air conditioning inside. 

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Johnny whistles, swinging an arm around Haechan’s shoulders.

Haechan shrugs, “Same old, to the hospitality and then I think I have a meeting with the engineers before media duties start.”

Johnny watches as Haechan taps his ID against the scanner at the entrance, the soft beep barely audible over the sudden clicks of cameras. A few photographers are stationed near the barricades, lenses focused on the driver as he enters the paddock. He watches as Haechan subtly straightens his back, unconsciously adjusting the collar of his polo.

“Smile a little man,” Johnny teases, “Don’t want them thinking you already regret your choices.” 

Haechan scoffs, shaking his head but it works as the corners of his lips lift up slightly. “Would be surprised if they haven’t already decided that, seeing our testing results.”

“Oh yeah, about that. I heard you’ve got a new P.R manager now. Seems like the team’s going about a different plan for this season eh?”

“Can’t say I like it very much,” He sighs, “And yeah, I met her during testing. Think I have a meeting with her team as well. God help me escape from the bullshit I’m about to say in the press con today.”

“She’s that bad?” Johnny raises his brows.

“No, I mean. The team strategies aren’t up to her, are they?” Haechan breathes out as they make their way to the Red Bull hospitality centre. Climbing up the stairs, he notices the Mercedes hospitality beside theirs, Kim Doyoung standing outside conversing with his manager. He catches Haechan’s gaze and waves making Haechan walk over to him. Johnny waits outside, pulling out his phone to make sure Haechan’s practice sessions are scheduled timely for the weekend. 

Haechan jogs back over in a minute or two. Johnny holds the door open when the younger speaks again, “It’s just that, I know the car is quicker than we expected and a lot better than last year but at the same time, I haven’t driven at my full potential yet and it’s giving me a hard time seeing where I stand.”

Johnny can’t do anything but nod in sympathy.

“And honestly? Doyoung seems quite confident. He’s more laid-back than usual, you know? Was joking around with me. It’s been a while since I’ve seen their team like that.”

“Well,” Johnny laughs, softly pushing him into his meeting room, “Good for him, he hasn’t had a car worthy of his potential for a good few seasons, has he?”

Haechan hums, slightly unconvinced and cautious before he shakes himself out of it, “Where will you be until I get out?” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie as he turns around to face Johnny.

“I don’t know. I was thinking of making new friends. Maybe that new PR lady of yours if she’s around.”

—

“Now, coming to you Haechan. Last season was quite a close one, I mean, you managed to keep the fight up till the last 4 races. At a point I’m sure we all thought we’d see a new world champion in 2024. How do you suppose this season will turn out? Do you think that you have a car that can challenge for the drivers championship again? Where do you think the improvements have been made compared to last year?”

“Well, improvements have been made everywhere… That’s the aim, is it not? Last year, towards the end it got a bit hard. We had issues with the floor and made a few strategic mistakes. But I think over the winter break, the team’s been working really hard and we’re confident that we can put up the fight this season too.”

“You have a new teammate this season, Lee Jeno. How will the team dynamics work out between you two? Do you think that, apart from other teams, your teammate could be your biggest opponent?”

“Yeah, Jeno’s done a great job at VCARB so it’s nice to see him here now. I mean, we’re both here to push the team forward. At the end of the day, we both want the same thing. If he’s my biggest opponent then that just means we’re doing something right.” Haechan laughs.

As the moderator moves on, Haechan zones out, fingers unconsciously tracing the outline of the two bulls on the can in his hand. He’s pulled back in when he's mentioned in one of Mark's questions.

“Towards mid season last year it was almost a three way championship fight. It was quite exciting to see Haechan and you pit against each other. After all, we've been seeing the two of you compete with each other in all the junior series too. How did it feel to reach that high rung with a friend?”

“We spoke about it during that time, actually.” Mark grins, “We've basically grown up competing with each other but to do it in F1 really felt like we were close to making it. I look forward to it this year too.”

“We should bet on it!” Haechan winks at Mark making the other drivers and the reporters chuckle, “It's about time one of us gets used to losing, you don't think?” 

Walking out of the press room, Haechan is slightly surprised when you appear right beside him.

“How'd I do?”

“Not bad,” you answer absentmindedly, scrolling through your notes, “The question about Jeno, you handled very well. The one about Mark, though? I think it's a very easy opportunity for these journalists to twist your words.”

“I was just joking, he knows that.”

You hum, “He does, but really, these people are out for drama and you just gave them a nice headline.”

Haechan scoffs, “They should thank me then, don't you think? First media day of the year and it's probably the most interesting thing they've heard.” 

He turns towards you when you laugh. “See! you do think that I'm funny.”

“I met your trainer this morning, by the way. Don't know why he suddenly came up to me. But you have some blind fold challenge to do for the F1 youtube channel and he's told me to tell you to be careful. Do not bump into anything, please. And try to be yourself there, I guess.”

“Woah, I've never had a PR person tell me that before. You're kind of nice, ____.”

“And you remember my name. We’re both making progress, I suppose.” You've come outside now and there are significantly more photographers than there were when you first came. 

Haechan, slightly ahead of you, stops and turns around, walking backwards. “Hey! That was once and you didn't even introduce yourself to me.” 

“Didn't have the time,” You shrug, “All the best. The challenge is being filmed near Alpine’s hospitality. You're doing it with Lee Chan. I have to head back to the hospitality for a second but I'll be there by the time you're done.”

—

Sunday, Race Day March 16th

The red bull garage looks quite empty without the cars and the mechanics. The pit walls are a bit too high for you to see from the garage but you’re sure they must be setting the car up on track. This isn’t your first gig in the PR industry, but it’s your first time in this sport and you can’t help but observe the remaining strategists and engineers in awe as they move around with calculated aim. There’s still about 15 minutes until the race begins but the air crackles with excitement and expectations. 

You hear clattering behind you and panic for a second. You did make sure to stand in a corner where you wouldn’t be in the way of anyone’s job. But upon turning, you notice that it’s Haechan who accidentally drops his phone.

You still as he catches your eye. What are you supposed to do at moments like this? You don’t have any important information to tell him, but you feel like you’re meant to be saying something. Would he want you to speak to him at such a crucial time? You stride over anyways.

Haechan slides his headphones off when he sees you approaching.

“Hey. Aren’t you supposed to be outside for the national anthem soon?” You quip.

He checks the time on his lockscreen and grimaces, “Well, yeah, shit. Don’t want to get fined on the first race, do I?”

You purse your lips before nodding. He takes his headphones off and thrusts them in your hands. You stare back at him, confused. 

“Give them to Johnny when he gets here, please. My phone too. He’ll be here in a few minutes, I suppose. I need to go.” He points at the garage door. You nod again, slowly, and he does too before inching towards the pitlane.

“Hey!” You yell as he’s almost out the door, making him turn around, “Win this thing, yeah? I’d rather hear questions about that than listen to another round of ‘holding back’ narratives.” You think you might pray for him, although you doubt he needs it.

Haechan simply winks.

—

When the helmet goes on and the overalls zip up, Haechan becomes an entirely different person. The transformation is almost immediate — he’s focused, determined. On the screen inside the garage, you’re a little stunned at how his eyes, the only visible part of him, are incredibly hard and intense. His gloved hand pushes the visor down and he steps into his car. The crew around him is finalizing the last of their car checks and as they move away and back into the pitlane, the crowd almost quietens for a moment.

“Radio check.” Haechan hears through his earpiece and the final step is complete. Like clockwork, he feels his mind clearing up, revising last minute strategy. He fires up his engine, hears the muffled roar of the others around him.

“Loud and clear,” He responds. The green lights come on near the starting line.

“Formation lap begins.”

The next two minutes go by in a flash, and before he knows it, Haechan lines up to the second grid position. To his right and slightly ahead at P1 is Choi Seungcheol’s Ferrari. Behind and next to him are the Mercs of Joshua Hong and Kim Doyoung. He knows that Seungcheol is already being considered for the season’s favourite before it even starts. With the insane qualifying lap that he put up yesterday to the driver’s championship wins from the last four seasons, it’s obvious that he’s the one Haechan should be aiming for.

The grid falls silent as the last car positions itself. Haechan’s hands tighten around his steering wheel. The first red light flicks on.

One…two…three…four…five.

He's always thought that the following two seconds before the start are the most cruel and crucial. The final preparation.

“And it's lights out for the first time in 2025, here at Albert Park circuit! Seungcheol successfully manages to keep his lead, heading into the first turn there, and OH! Haechan comes close but it is not quite enough as he slips back into 2nd position.” The commentator begins.

In the garage, the team, you notice, has already set up the tires for both drivers. The mechanics have set up chairs and are beginning to settle down, helmets on and ready for the show. You inch a little closer to the screen, eyes flying to the pitwall once to look at Haechan's race engineer already beginning to talk and check in with him.

You don't know the specifics of what goes on behind the scenes, honestly. So you can only imagine what goes on at the pitwall. 

Lap 15 comes around in no time and you hear the other cars pitting to change their tyres. Looking at the screen, you realize the Ferrari and Haechan are still out, within a second of each other but a good 5 seconds ahead of Doyoung’s Mercedes and Jeno’s red bull. The mechanics have been watching the fight between Doyoung and Jeno for third place, but they get up now and rush over to where the tyres have been kept, pulling them out and preparing themselves for a pitstop, Haechan’s, you assume. 

By lap 37, everything seems to be going fine for you. There hasn’t been anything notable and you’re glad for it. Haechan and Seungcheol, known for being aggressive drivers, are surprisingly keeping in clean, which means less awkward questions for Haechan to deal with. It’s only the beginning of the season, you think. People won’t question him too much if he doesn’t win. Right now, you know there isn’t much that can happen to prevent him from getting on the podium. 

By lap 37,  things are not going fine for Haechan. He was supposed to get ahead of the Ferrari in the first ten laps, but God, Seungcheol is making it hard. Three times now, he’s tried to overtake him on turn 13 but every single time he comes up short. 

“How are the tires feeling, Haechan?” His engineer asks.

“Fine, I think I can go for a few more laps.” He’s approaching turn 13 again, “What’s the gap ahead?”

“0.96s, DRS has been enabled.” 

Haechan decides against using DRS and instead goes off the race line, making the Ferrari move outwards to block him. He fakes out, hoping to catch the inside of the turn, but it’s tight and Seungcheol is quicker in blocking him again. 

For a split second, Haechan feels the rear end of the car shifting and he instantly steers in the opposite direction to bring it back under control. 

As they approach the pit entry, a marshal holds out a lap board. 20 more laps to go. With the way the Ferrari is going, Haechan figures he should probably pit before for the undercut . But just as he thinks that, he sees Seungcheol swerving into the pitlane. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Seungcheol's in the pits, when do you think you’ll come in?” His engineer’s voice cuts him off.

“What tyres is he on?”

“He’s going on a pair of mediums. It might be close at the exit, watch out.”  Haechan looks into his rear view mirror and sees the Ferrari exiting the pitlane. Haechan leads the race now, but Seunghcheol is right on his tail, not more than a second behind.

Haechan adjusts his grip on the steering wheel as he nears turn 3. Don’t want to lose the position as soon as we get it, do we Haechan?

“Taking the inside line is a bit of a risk, Ferrari 0.7 behind you.” 

Turn 4 is close. Too close. If he gives Seungcheol the outside line now, it’s over. All he’s left with now, is coming up with a good defence. 

The RB21 is really quick in the corners, the audience realises as he accelerates even while approaching a turn, trying to maximise the gap before the heavy braking. Haechan slams the brakes at the last moment possible. The Ferrari is close now, almost at par with his rear wheels. For a moment, it feels like he’s got him now, but Haechan gets on the throttle early, trusting the Red Bull’s grip to carry him through. Inside line, now.

He asks for the gap again. It’s too small, far too small for his comfort but it isn’t like he’s left with any choices. On turn 4, again the Ferrari gains on him. 

You think it's a sight to see, honestly. Two cars, almost parallel to each other, who’ll come out as the winner? You hope they don’t touch, that nothing bad happens.

Haechan thinks that he’s- Fuck there’s no time for thinking really, PUSH. His legs are starting to hurt from all the accelerating and braking but he grunts through jaw clenched tight beneath his helmet. He doesn’t have time to think about fatigue, about the burn creeping up his calves. Seungcheol is right there, matching him move for move, waiting for the slightest opening.

Turn 5 is fast. Barely a turn at all if you’re brave enough. Haechan keeps his foot planted, resisting the instinct to lift, trusting the downforce to hold him steady. The car twitches slightly under him, tires screaming against the asphalt, but he holds firm.

Seungcheol does the same.

Shit.

“Gap?”

“0.4. He’s still in DRS range.”

Of course he is.

The DRS detection line is approaching fast. If Seungcheol stays within a second, he’ll have a straight-line speed advantage down the next stretch. Haechan makes a split-second decision—move slightly off the racing line, force the Ferrari into dirty air, disrupt his momentum.

It works. Seungcheol hesitates for just a fraction of a second, and that’s all Haechan needs.

He launches out of Turn 6, flat-out now, heart hammering as he glances at his mirrors. The Ferrari is still there, still menacingly close, but Haechan has bought himself a few more meters of breathing room.

“Choi has a 5 second time penalty for speeding in the pitlane. Well done, gap is 0.8.”

Haechan almost sighs in relief. A five second penalty is great — if he manages to keep him behind the entire time — that is.

“Where is Jeno?” He asks, maybe there could be a Red Bull 1-2 for the first race of the season, after all.

“Jeno is 3.4 behind you.” Holy shit, it could actually happen.

The next 6 laps are uneventful, but Haechan’s thinking hard now. He’s just lapped a Sauber and there’s going to be more cars in front now, less clean air. 

“Who has the fastest lap?”

“It’s Choi, he did a 1.24.” 

“I’m coming in now, put me on softs.”

This time you turn your head away from the screen and stretch your neck to see outside. You can’t see him, not with the twenty something mechanics surrounding his car, but the pit stop is quick, so quick. One moment he’s here, the next he’s not. The screen shows you he’s on the softs. There are ten more laps to go. It’s looking great.

“Choi is in the pits to serve his penalty.”

Haechan’s a bit confused when he hears this. Why risk losing more positions. But he doesn’t have the time to worry about Ferrari’s strategies when the damn Aston Martin in front of him isn’t giving way. He looks to the side to see the blue flags flashing, so really-

“What the fuck is he doing?” Haechan complains over the radio, voice sharp with frustration. The Aston Martin should’ve moved by now, but it’s still hugging the racing line, forcing him to adjust his approach into turn 5.

“Blue flags are out. He needs to move,” his race engineer reassures him, but Haechan can hear the slight edge in his voice too.

“I know he needs to move—”

The Aston finally veers slightly right, but not enough. Haechan has to lift off the throttle to avoid contact, losing precious tenths in the process.

“Fucking finally,” he mutters as he sweeps past, but the damage is done.

“Gap to Choi?”

“4.2. You lost a few tenths there.”

He exhales sharply. It could be worse.

Nine laps to go. His tires feel good, grippier. The car is responding well, but he needs to make up time.

He flicks the mode switch on his steering wheel. A little more power.

“Going for the fastest lap,” he announces, fingers tightening over the wheel.

He barely hears his engineer’s response as he throws the car into turn 9, carrying more speed than before. The speedometer climbs—290, 295, 300 km/h—before he slams the brakes hard into turn 11, trusting the downforce to do its job. 

 Less than a minute from then, you see Haechan’s name on the screen flash purple. Fastest lap 1.23.056

The next two laps go by in a blur, his focus razor-sharp. Each turn, each braking zone - perfect. His engineer is giving him updates, but he barely registers them.

Then—

“Yellow flag, turn 6. Stay sharp.”

Haechan’s heartbeat spikes.

“What happened?”

“Looks like a Williams spun out. Shouldn’t be a safety car.”

He presses his lips together. Good. A safety car would ruin everything.

Five laps to go.

His eyes flick to the steering wheel display. His lap time delta is in the green. He can get the fastest lap again.

“Mode push?”

“Not required. You already have the fastest lap.”

He ignores his engineer.

Into turn 9, he keeps his foot flat on the throttle. The RB21 flies. He brakes late into turn 11, the car dancing on the edge of grip, but it sticks. His heart pounds as he floors it again.

Purple sector two.

With three more laps to go, he’s stopped seeing the Ferrari in his mirror, instead, now it’s the other Red Bull. 

“Gap to Jeno?” He’s a little excited now. It’s been a while since he’s had to compete with a teammate.

“1.4. Keep it clean, please.” 

So Jeno’s out of DRS. Haechan isn’t too worried. His tyres still feel great and Jeno’s tyres won’t be doing too good as he’s back on the hards. But just to be safe, just to get that gap, he goes a little faster.

Back in the garage, the Red Bull team are at the edge of their seats. The first race of the season and both their drivers are on the podium. You think everyone’s hoping they don’t crash into each other, mess up on the last few laps.

On track, Haechan hears his engineer through his earpiece, interrupting a few seconds of silence, “Fastest sector 1. You’re doing good. Gap to Jeno is 3.2. 

He doesn’t respond. There’s no room for distractions now. Just focus.

He can see the line in the distance. The finish line.

“Two laps left. You’re 3.0 ahead of Jeno.”

The pressure’s mounting, but Haechan blocks it out. There’s no way he’s letting the lead slip now. He can almost feel the podium beneath his feet, the thrill of a victory, the rush that’s been missing since last season.

“Careful with the rear. Stay focused.” His engineer’s voice is calm, but it’s clear he’s watching closely. The car’s rear is loose, and Haechan can feel it through his grip, but he steadies himself, resisting the urge to back off.

The final lap.

Haechan’s heartbeat echoes in his ears as he sees the final lap board waved. He’s so close now. He can almost taste the champagne.

Haechan is cruising through, and you can’t see his car on screen anymore. You suppose they’ll show him again when he nears the finish line but right now, Seunghcheol isn’t far from Jeno. And with his older tyres, Jeno seems to be struggling. You aren’t really concerned. If this lap goes well, which it definitely will, your job for tonight might just be over. There won’t be questions that are too awkward, maybe other than the slightly rude remark Haechan made behind the Aston. But it was the Aston’s fault, so he won’t be on the receiving end of criticism.

You’re snapped from your momentary distraction when you see the mechanics cheering, jumping off their stairs and running to the pit wall. You smile, slowly moving a bit closer. They’re holding onto the grills as Haechan zooms past the chequered flag.

Must be great to watch both their driver’s finish well, You think as you back off. You’re going to need your ID pass for the media pen and you’ve left it in the hospitality. You think you might have to brush up some of the lines you’ve written down too. You won’t have much time before the post-race conference.

Haechan can hear the roar of the crowd as he crosses the finish line. He eases off the throttle, the adrenaline still coursing through him as he begins his cool-down lap. He lets out a little laugh, hearing the congratulations through the radio. First race, first win of the season. It feels great.

Behind him, he sees Jeno’s car and slows down a little more to let him catch up. Through the radio he can hear the cheers erupting in the garage. He looks to his right and shoots a thumbs up to Jeno, who returns the gesture.

The pit crew awaits. The podium awaits. He’s back.

JAPAN, SUZUKA INTERNATIONAL RACING COURSE

Tuesday April 1st

Tucked away on a quiet street, the ramen shop is smaller than you expected. You hesitate at the entrance, glancing at your phone to double-check the address before stepping inside. The air is thick with the scent of broth and garlic, warmth settling over you as you take in the cramped space. 

The restaurant, if you could call it one, is so small that it only houses about four two-seater tables. The person at the counter asks you if you'd be alright with sharing a table with someone and you agree. She leads you to a man in a bucket hat and a leather jacket, head bent as he scrolls on his phone and when she asks him if he'd be alright with it, he looks up. And God, are you surprised?

“Haechan?”

He stares at you for a moment, mouth hanging open before he nods at the waitress and gestures to you to sit down. You're still a bit confused as you shrug off your coat and drape it across the back of your chair. You tell the waitress your order before finally turning to Haechan who smiles politely, albeit a little flustered.

You exhale loudly, “Well, it is a bit awkward outside of work, isn't it?” 

Haechan agrees and laughs softly, “How come you're here though?”

“I had a friend recommend it to me. She's been here before a few times and said she really liked it,” You scrunch your nose,  “What about you? It doesn't really seem like the place where you'd bump into an F1 driver, eh?”

“Me too. I mean, a friend recommended it to me the first time I visited Suzuka and I've been coming here ever since.”

You hum in response, letting your gaze wander around the tiny shop. Every table is occupied, pairs of diners hunched over steaming bowls, the quiet murmur of conversation blending with the occasional clatter of chopsticks against ceramic. The air is thick with the rich, savory scent of garlic and simmering broth, making your stomach stir in anticipation. Across from the open kitchen, two small windows are propped ajar, letting in a crisp evening breeze that carries the faint sounds of the street outside.

Haechan watches you take it all in. It feels a little weird to not have you talking to him all the time about his schedule or about what he has to say about certain things. It's also weird to see you not on a call, talking to the media or press. He's never observed you, really, and it's only now that he realizes you might be around his age.

His order comes first and you ‘ooh’ at the way steam rises off the soup in the bowl. Haechan turns to take off his jacket. His left hand is out and as he struggles a little to get the right one out, he meets your eyes and you both look away, slightly embarrassed.

“Forgive me for being a spoilsport, but are you really allowed to be eating ramen?” You ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

Haechan is in the middle of taking his third bite as he stoops, holding his chopsticks mid-air, “I'm…not.” He tilts his head before eating.

You raise an eyebrow.

“You know, I think… in order to do your job, which includes protecting my reputation, you should probably not spill about this encounter to Johnny.”

You scoff, shaking your head at him, making him smile before going back to his bowl.

“Did you first come here when you debuted?” You ask after a minute or two of silence.

Haechan nods, “The first time I came, my friend actually brought me here because I was feeling quite depressed after the race,” He chuckles to himself.

“I remember,” you say, “You crashed on the last lap, didn't you? It would've been the first podium of your career if you hadn't.”

You can see the astonishment in his eyes as you continue, “If you ask me, it was an insane thing to do, almost get on the podium while driving an alpha tauri.”

“How do you remember that?”

“Well- I don't exactly remember it, but I had to look you up thoroughly before I started my job, you know?” You joke.

“Hmm,” He plays along, “What else do you know about me, miss PR?” 

You lean in a little, like you're about to tell him a secret, “Reports say you have a dog back at home that does not like you. At all.”

Haechan blinks, caught off guard, “Hold on- What?”

You nod solemnly, slumping back into your chair, “Apparently, he ignores you when you come home and only listens to your mum. And uses you for treats. That’s a real betrayal if you ask me. I’ll get the article down as soon as I can. We can’t have you looking like someone who dogs hate,” You think out loud to yourself, suppressing a grin, “No, that would be real bad media attention.”

Haechan groans, setting his chopsticks down, “I can’t believe that made it onto your research.”

“What can I say? I’m quite thorough with my work.”

He shakes his head, but there’s a small smile tugging at his lips. “For the record, he does like me. He just… has a weird way of showing it.”

“Sure,” You shrug, eyes drifting towards the bowl the waitress sets down in front of you. “Ohh, that looks so good.”

The two of you settle into silence as Haechan focuses on finishing his bowl while you only begin digging into yours. It’s different from when he sees you in the paddock. Usually, you’re always behind him or beside him, holding out your phone to record what he says or always note taking and calling the media. You’re the epitome of a professional, so he thinks that right now, you’re different too. Much more relaxed and less uptight about everything. He’s gotten a bit used to seeing you all polished, always in control, moving from one task to another but here, you’re just.. you?

The thought lingers for a second before he pushes it away. He glances at you and almost laughs at the way you’re trying to push your bangs away while holding your chopsticks. You look up and mumble a small ‘what?’.

“Are you always like this?” 

“Hey!” You sound a little offended, “I can have a lot of fun outside of work, how would you know?”

“Well, I can imagine.” Haechan laughs, “Off work, professionalism out the door, am I right?”

“Yes, yes, you are. I don’t really care who you are right now,” You sigh before noticing that he’s done with his food, “Aren’t you going to leave?”

Haechan hesitates, “Nah, it’s getting late. I’ll leave with you. Aren’t we headed to the same place anyways?”

You nod slowly, “Don’t you have anywhere else to go? I don’t want to hold you back.”

“I come here every year. After a point there’s not going to be much to see. Unless of course, you have plans to go somewhere.”

“Not that I know of,” You purse your lips, “By the way, I heard you landed here yesterday. How come you’re so early?”

“I flew to Seoul from China and stayed there for a week, but my family are going on vacation this week so I thought, why not come visit one of my friends here, who’d want to see me instead of lazing around at home like the pathetic, uninvited, firstborn son that I am.” He dramatically sighs.

You breathe out a laugh, “You’d probably like to have a home grand prix, wouldn’t you?”

“Obviously,” Haechan rests his elbows on the table, looking out of the window, “If you win, that is. Otherwise it's honestly a shit load of pressure. There’s always going to be the stress of underperforming in front of your home crowd. But the support would be nice. It’s great in Austria too, you know, as Red Bull’s home race but that’s what makes it so important. Doing well in front of a home crowd is like the best feeling in the world.”

You nod thoughtfully, absorbing his words as you continue eating. “I get that,” you say. “The crowd’s energy level is just different, I suppose.”

Haechan leans back in his chair, looking relaxed now that the weight of the conversation has lightened. “Exactly. It’s like they’re all there for you. Even when everything’s falling apart on the track, their support is like fuel. You could be in the middle of a mess and they’ll still cheer for you like you’re winning.”

You smile at the way he says it, not expecting him to be so genuine about it. “Must feel nice to have that.”

He shrugs but there’s a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I guess. It’s also a lot to live up to.”

Haechan is in the middle of telling you about his first race in Monaco when the waitress who was serving you walks up to you two.

Sheepishly, she asks, “Excuse me, I hope you guys enjoyed your meal, but we’ve got a bit of a line outside. If you’re done, would you mind giving up your seats? I’m so sorry!”

You and Haechan look at each other in embarrassed surprise, and quickly get up, gathering your coats and belongings. You thank the girl (who meekly apologizes again) and hurry out of the shop.

Outside, in a slightly chilly street, Haechan emerges from behind you and stares at you for a second before bursting into laughter. You, still in your flustered state, take a few moments before joining him.

“I’ve never,” He manages in between, “been asked to get out of a restaurant, that too, so politely!”

“I don’t think she recognized you, actually,” You grin, “If she had, then you’d force me to work a bit overtime. Imagine me having to call up journalists and tell them, ‘No guys, Haechan is a very considerate person, it happens to the best of us. He was incredibly sorry.’”

He shudders before tilting his head in the direction of his hotel. “Let’s go?”

“Mister millionaire, I need to go in the other direction.”

Haechan’s lips form an ‘o’ before he nods,  “Well, see you on Thursday then!”

You sigh, “You bet. Please show up early, you have a lot of things to do.”

AUSTRIA, RED BULL RING

Thursday, Media day June 26th

Haechan doesn’t really mind these games. In fact, he prefers them to the ones that he does with Jeno. No offence to him really, but he thinks Jeno’s a bit unfunny. When he says bye to you before entering the filming room, he’s more than happy to see the VCARB guys. Vernon’s humor is quite deadpan, which Haechan can’t say he understands most of the time, but he has a hilarious laugh, like a flock of geese and Haechan laughs more because of that. And Chenle. Haechan cannot get started with this guy. He once trained Chenle when he was still in F2 and in that one week, he’d found another slightly louder version of himself, albeit a little less sarcastic and more innocent.

Haechan is however surprised to see the reserve drivers and the F1 academy drivers. Had you forgotten to mention it, or was he not paying attention? Well, shit. He thinks. He was going to give it his all, get into his competitive spirit but now he’s got to put up his experienced senior face. He greets them before sitting down with Chenle. They wait for the camera team to set up the room before they’re divided into teams.

Chenle and Haechan are put in the same team, but Jeno complains, saying that they’d both be too strong together. So with a dramatic sigh, Haechan lets him go, taking Vernon with him. As the admin sets up the question placards, Haechan looks back at his team and is satisfied. He’s got Vernon, who might(?) be good at games. Sion, their reserve driver is on his team and another driver from the F1 Academy. She looks smart, Haechan thinks as he turns back around. 

“Alright, guys,” the challenge host says, pulling the group’s attention back to the screen. “For the first game, we’ll be testing your knowledge of your fellow drivers. We’ve got a series of close-up images of drivers’ eyes. Your task is simple: guess which driver each pair of eyes belongs to. Are you ready?”

The group cheers out in response. The first photo flashes on the screen.

Haechan has his hand near the buzzer already, but he hesitates. The other team hits theirs.

“Jisung?” Chenle’s a bit unsure too.

“1 point to team 2,” The host nods, surprising everyone. 

“How did you guess that?” Jeno stares, making the younger one shrug, “I don’t know, the thin eyebrows?”

The next one comes up and Haechan instantly answers, “That’s Mark. Like. For. Sure.”

buzz. “Kim Doyoung.”

The rounds continue with some lighthearted bickering. Jeno's team gets a couple of points here and there, but Haechan’s team remains in the lead. The last challenge turns out to be ‘Guess who said this.’ Haechan’s a bit stumped, he doesn’t know these too well and he doesn’t think the younger drivers do either. Vernon nods confidently, though, so maybe they could win this thing.

“Okay,” The host sighs, “Starting off easy.”

“I’m going to touch Doyoung’s rear wing.”

Sion hits the buzzer before Haechan can, surprising him. “That was Haechan, right?”

Haechan nods, impressed as the host increases their points.

“The engine feels good, much slower than before. Amazing.” It brings a laugh out of everyone before the F1A driver from Jeno’s team answers, “Alonso.”

“Okay, last question guys,” The host announces, “Assuming team 1 can finish this off, that is.”

“Is there even a point for that?” 

“I’ve heard this before,” Haechan hears Chenle mumble from the other side. He looks at his team, shrugging to say that he does not know the answer sadly. 

Vernon seems to be lost in thought, “This one’s old, it was either Hamilton or Seungcheol. Shit, I can’t remember which one though.” The room is weirdly silent and Vernon seems to notice, lowering his voice, “It was after a disappointing race… probably a p10 or p11 finish. Doesn’t it seem like something Seungcheol would say?”

“You would know,” Haechan encourages, “Go for it.”

Vernon presses the buzzer. The host waits.

“It’s Choi Seungcheol, isn’t it?”

“Are you asking me?” The host jokes.

Vernon shakes his head, “No. It’s Seungcheol.”

“And you are right!” The host smiles, making Haechan’s team erupt into cheers.

After wrapping up the shoot, the entire Red Bull family gathers outside the hospitality to take a group photo. Haechan remembers this weekend has the F2 and F1A races too and wishes the junior drivers good luck before heading back into the hospitality.

Haechan doesn't think you'll be in any of the meeting rooms, nor does he think you've headed back to the hotel. You're usually there next to him after all his schedules end, so he's perplexed to find you absent. He doesn't need to look for you, really, because his media activities for the day are over which means you've got no business with him for today. He should head over to the garage, see what the engineers are doing, poke around there, but instead he finds himself walking into the cafeteria. 

Haechan is relieved to see you there, getting back to your seat with a cup of espresso in your hand while the other holds onto your phone as you speak. He's sure you'll end up spilling your coffee and jogs towards you, taking the cup from your hands.

You look at him quizzically before returning to your conversation, “Yes, I understand it's your job but you need to understand, this is my job too. Your headline was just purely misleading. I mean, all he said was that the other driver was being slow and hindering everyone else. Really, there's nothing going on that is as malicious as you make it seem!” You pull the chair harshly before sitting down. 

Haechan just stands there with your coffee still in hand, not sure what to do.

“Yes, yes. I'm not asking you to take it down, just edit it a little better. You can't twist words like that, you know? Even if it is your job, Sir.” You grit out before smiling like the journalist can see you, “Yes, we appreciate it. Thank you and have a great day.”

You think about slamming your phone down. But there are others in the cafeteria, so you control yourself. Reminding yourself to unclench your jaw, you look around for your coffee before you see Haechan standing next to you, staring like a kid that's been yelled at.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” You sigh before taking the cup from him, “Aren't you supposed to be back at the motorhome? I'm done, so you can escape from me for at least the remaining half of the day.” You try to joke, but he looks at you like a kicked puppy.

“Hey, I'm sorry for… whatever conversation you just had. I'll try to control what I say, I guess.”

“No it's—” Your frustration that was slithering away creeps back again, “Why would you apologize? You're allowed to say such simple stuff without being used for clout and stupid headlines.”

He stays silent, and you wonder if you came off too harshly. So you try to talk a little more, make him feel a bit more comfortable, and show him that you are not mad. Where did all your professionalism go? We're still at work.

“Honestly, a lot of sports blogs do this. Most of the time it's not an issue. But this guy, this is the fourth time I'm calling him to take it down. He's so stubborn about it and the worst part is his columns have absolutely no ounce of any truth in them.”

Haechan sighs, “Thank you.”

You shrug, eyeing him, “It's just my job. How did your challenge go?”

He perks up at the mention of the games, “My team won,” Haechan grins, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

“Really, Haechan, why are you still here?” You shake your head, but you're smiling a little, so Haechan considers it a win too. 

He’s thinking of a valid answer to give you, because in reality he doesn't know either, when he sees Johnny walking in. “I was just waiting for Johnny. We have a training session. What are you going to do, since I'm done for the day?” He abruptly stands up.

You get up along with him, downing the remnants of your espresso, “I have other stuff to do. I need to go over that interview that you gave in the morning before it's sent over for publishing and I need to look up a few journalists that may show up tomorrow or on race day and…” You wonder why you're telling him all this, “I have a lot of things to do, Haechan. Have fun at training, I'll see you tomorrow after the practice sessions.”

—

Friday, post FP2 June 27th

The walk to the media pen is quieter than usual. Haechan’s strides are long and fast, and there’s a stiffness to him that you can’t ignore. His hands are tucked into his pockets and his gaze flicks down to the ground every now and then.

He hasn’t said much since stepping out of the car. You were silent as he listened to the debrief, as he nodded along, as he left without saying much, and you are silent now too as the two of you walk up to a sky sports interviewer. 

Jeno is already up first, finishing off his interview. He sounds relaxed and confident. 

"Yeah, I think the car felt great today. We found a good rhythm early on, and I’m happy with where we’re at, heading into tomorrow. Obviously, there's still a lot of work to do, but the team’s done an amazing job."

Haechan exhales sharply, looking away as you gesture for him to step forward. 

“Remember, it’s just Friday. Just practice.” You murmur to him. He gives you the slightest nod before facing the reporter. The first question comes immediately.

“Haechan, you were second fastest in today’s practice, but it looked like you were struggling a little more than your teammate. What happened?”

He takes a beat to answer, “Yeah, I think- well, obviously, Jeno’s had a great session and it’s looking good for the team this weekend. For me, I think there’s a lot more pace left on the table, hopefully we’ll look at the data and try to put it all together for tomorrow.”

“The McLarens seemed to be struggling with their pace in both practice sessions today. Do you think your situation might be similar?”

Again, a pause. “I wouldn’t say it’s a huge concern. The tyre degradation did seem a little unpredictable today, so I was having to manage more than I would’ve liked to. It’s not ideal, but there’s time to fix it before qualifying and the race itself.”

“Last question, Haechan. Do you think with Jeno topping both sessions today, does this shift the dynamic inside the team at all? Is there an added pressure that you feel, heading into this home grand prix.”

The question lingers in the air for a second longer than it should have. Haechan’s expression doesn’t change much, but you see it — the brief twitch in his eyebrow. 

“I mean, from the team perspective, it’s great for us. It’s the home race for the team and both of us are hopefully going to be up front. Obviously, both of us want to be ahead of each other. Today just wasn’t quite there for me, but we’ll see where we are tomorrow.”

He chooses his words carefully, in a way that doesn’t feel like himself. A part of yourself is proud, this was a good response, answering without really answering. But he’s clearly upset.

The interviewer thanks him, wrapping it up before Jaehyun steps up behind him. As Haechan steps back from the mic, you fall into step behind him. You have to go back to the hospitality to gather your things before you can head to your hotel, but it doesn’t feel right to leave Haechan right now. You have a feeling he has something to say.

When you’re out of the media pen, you realize it’s starting to drizzle. That can’t be too good, you suppose. A rainless weekend would be more ideal, more safer. Hopefully this weather won’t continue into tomorrow and the day after. But it’s not just the chilly weather that makes the air heavier.

“Good answers,” You say, trying to look at his downturned face.

He doesn’t reply immediately, glancing at his hands, flexing them before tucking them into his pockets again. When he does reply, Haechan’s voice comes out quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

“If I told you something, would you keep it to yourself? Not give it over or use it to— I don’t know— make me seem more humane or something when people write articles that I don’t seem to care about anything.”

You’re taken aback. It hurts you a little, but what he says is valid. Has someone done that to him before?

“I would,” You nod, “Keep it to myself, I mean.”

He kicks at the pavement, “Jeno was really quick today and it’s bothering me more than Ferrari’s pace.” That much is obvious, but it settles down on his chest in a way that he can’t shake off.

You hum in acknowledgement. This is what’s sitting with him. Not being second itself, but the gap. The fact that for the first time this season, it’s someone in the same car, who is ahead of him. You think of that night in Suzuka. All this at their team’s home race too. Of course he’s bothered.

“Tomorrow’s another day.” You remind him.

“Yes, but-”

“And if tomorrow also isn’t your day, then you have the race itself.”

He exhales, unlocking his phone to study the FP2 times once more before locking it. “How are you getting back to your hotel, by the way?”

“I think the shuttle might have already left, so maybe a taxi. I still have to go back to the hospitality.”

“The rain’s going to get heavier,” He sighs, “You might not be able to catch one.”

“I’ll wait it out,” You shrug, “You’re not heading to your motorhome?” 

“I was, but if you’re waiting it out, might as well do the same.”

You glance at him, unsure, “You don’t have to.” But you find yourself thinking that you wouldn’t mind if he does. Guess he does grow on you.

“I know.” His response is simple. He doesn’t meet your eyes and for a moment looks up at the darkening skies above, the wind is picking up, carrying the smell of damp asphalt. Haechan feels nauseous. What if the conditions are the same? You’re already struggling with the pace, Haechan. What if you fuck it up in the one race that matters the most to everyone?

The two of you are a little wet by the time you walk into the hospitality cafeteria. The paddock is quieter now, with most of the day's work being over. A few mechanics remain in the garage, chatting in low voices as they finish up for the day. Inside, the warmth is immediate and you almost sigh out of relief. The hum of the coffee machine and the gentle clattering of dishes as the kitchen staff clean up make the whole place seem too peaceful for a race weekend. You wipe away the drops of water on your team jacket at the entrance before turning to look at Haechan. He doesn’t seem to know what to do when he’s not running from meeting to garage to training to meeting at all times. 

“You can go ask a staff for something to eat, if you want. You must be hungry, no?”

He shakes his head, “I think I’ll just have a coffee.”

You shrug, “Help yourself, I need to go up to grab my things.”

Haechan doesn’t move right away, staring at the coffee machine for a long moment as if unsure what to do. Then, with a soft sigh, he pulls his hands from his pockets and walks over to the counter. He’s not really looking at anything—and you’re hit with the realization that he might be trying to not be alone with his thoughts right now.

“I won’t be long,” you add, feeling the need to fill the quiet.

Haechan doesn’t look up, but you see the tension in his shoulders dissipate a little as he nods. “Take your time.”

—

Sunday, Race Day June 29th

If Haechan was irritated by the P3 qualifying last night, he’s beyond upset now. But there’s no time and he really needs to get out of his misery and get his head back in the game before the race begins, which is any moment now. He breathes out heavily, trying to calm himself down as the first red light turns on. It could’ve been worse. It’s only two people that you need to overtake. Use the corner.

At lights out, Haechan’s whole body tenses. His car surges forward, but his reaction time isn’t quicker than Jeno and Doyoung so he remains in third place. His focus sharpens as he begins to climb the gears. He’s pushing for the next position and turn 1 is his easiest chance. Even if the gap between Doyoung and him widens after the turn, he can close it on the straight.

Haechan is usually quite aware of his surroundings. Usually while going into turns his eyes are always flitting between his two mirrors. But today, he looks ahead. He knows Jaehyun is there, tucked right behind him, but what he doesn’t expect is for Jaehyun to turn so late. 

The hit comes hard. A sudden, violent shove to the rear end of his car, that sends a shock through his entire body.

Haechan’s heart races as his hands instinctively grip the wheel tighter, trying to regain control, but the car is sliding, spinning off track. His vision blurs.

As Haechan and Jaehyun’s car spin, the former going off the track, the Red Bull garage erupts in shock. Jaehyun’s Ferrari straightens out and rejoins the race, but Haechan remains there. It feels like forever to you as you ball up your fists. Come on, move!

The engineers are already analyzing the damage, but you know what’s coming next—the media frenzy. Your mind kicks into overdrive, fingers hovering over your notes. If he’s out of the race, you need to prep statements. If he’s still in it, you need to track every lap.

A voice crackles through the team radio.

“Haechan, are you alright?”

A beat. Then, a burst of static, an exhale.

“I’m fine.”

Haechan swerves his car into the right direction and re-enters the track. You release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The mechanics shout out their encouragement.

He’s still in it, at least. You know what’s next for you— a new narrative to prepare.

As for Haechan, he has one hell of a comeback to make.

“What position am I in?” Haechan asks, even though he knows the answer. He sees the Williams in front of him but he needs to hear it.

“P20. There’s no damage to the car. Please push.”

P20. Dead last.

The words make his jaw clench. Haechan flicks his engine mode and slams his foot on the throttle. Ahead, the Williams is too slow, too cautious. He’s past it before the lap is even done.

P19.

Next, the Haas. He catches it on the straight, ducks behind into its slipstream and overtakes it at the next turn.

P18.

In sector 2, he reaches the VCARBs, caught in their own battle. Haechan takes advantage of their hesitation into turn 3 and dives down the inside. It’s risky and close but he does it, two cars in one move.

P16.

Every move is by instinct now. An Alpine, another Sauber and Haas. One by one he picks them off. 

He outbrakes the second Williams into turn 3.

P12.

You look up from your laptop, hastily recording all his overtakes. He’s got the fastest lap now, and it’s his fourth time doing it. You’re worried, definitely, but awe masks it momentarily as you watch Haechan set purple sectors everywhere. Within five laps he’s made it to 12th place. It’s not in the points, yes. But he’s capable and you know it. It’s only a matter of time before he nears the top and time— he has a lot of it.  

P10 comes a little easily too. Na Jaemin, seemingly struggling with his engine in the Aston gives Haechan the way and Park Jisung in the first McLaren, who is way off his game this season— seeing how he’s outside of the points— is not the hardest person to overtake.

A much needed pit stop by lap 47 halts his progress and leaves Haechan stuck in at P10. Ahead of him, the second Alpine pits handing him the P9. On the straight, he comes into DRS range and overtakes Lee Chan’s Aston Martin. 

By lap 58, Haechan is up into P7. This is where it starts to get hard.

The gap ahead to Seungcheol in P6 is a little over 4 seconds. It’s nothing impossible, but Haechan can feel the pressure build up now. There’s been a rhythm to his driving up until now. He’s been pushing and edging and taking advantage of every silly mistake someone makes. But Seungcheol, even in his current form, is no slouch and neither is his car. The Ferrari holds its place through the corners and the last thing Haechan wants is to waste time.

He closes in quickly, making it a matter of when and not if he can overtake Seungcheol. When they come into the straight at the beginning of lap 59, Haechan is right behind the Ferrari, DRS open and ready to pounce. He pulls out and presses the throttle hard, determined to make it out in front before the first turn. Seungcheol, surprisingly, doesn't put up much of a fight.

“Haechan, that is P6. Incredible work, mate. Car ahead is Jaehyun.”

You’re back in the hospitality by now. Haechan’s name has been climbing up the list consistently and his speed is incredible. But you can’t afford to celebrate yet. It’s a home race and one car is still not on the podium. Red Bull expects more than just a decent result. They want to win this and you know the sponsors are watching every move. Your phone buzzes—a quick reminder that the press conference is scheduled in thirty five minutes. Regardless of how the race turns out, he needs to be ready to answer questions.

Coming into lap 71, the last lap, Haechan is beyond frustrated. Jaehyun has been holding steady for the entire race, but so has he. It’s been a long fight, and he is not giving it up to settle behind the person who fucked it up for him, really. 

The gap between them is small and with only a few corners left, Haechan watches Jaehyun’s line like a hawk. The Ferrari takes a defensive stance, but on turn 9, Jaehyun takes a slightly wider exit than normal, and it’s the crack Haechan’s been waiting for. He dives down the inside, braking late but with precision, getting alongside Jaehyun through the turn. Jaehyun can’t fight back.

Haechan forces him wide into the last turn.

P5.

—

Post Race, Driver’s room.

You walk down the hallway towards Haechan’s room. The paddock buzzes with the press and most of the mechanics and engineers are out celebrating Jeno’s win in front of the garage. You and Haechan are going to be late for the media if he hasn’t freshened up by now.

“Haechan, I’m coming in,” You inform, knocking twice. He doesn’t answer.

The door is open anyways, so you push it, tucking your phone into your pocket before you truly realize the sight in front of you. 

Haechan’s freshened up, alright. He’s showered and is in his normal clothes, towel hanging from his neck as he looks out of the window.

“Are you,” you pause, “coming to the media pen like this?”

You regret even asking, because you think you know his answer, and God, no. No no no, don’t say it. Please come to the pen.

“I’m not going today, sorry Miss PR.” Haechan shrugs, his voice low, flat and lacking the charm he usually has.

Your stomach drops, “Haechan… Haechan, you know you have to. It's part of the job.”

He doesn’t turn to look at you, doesn’t speak. His clothes look comfortable but you can see his tensed arms and spine despite them. He wears his disappointment like a heavy cloak, heaving him down.

"Look, I get it. I know you're upset," you say, your voice softer now, "but this is about more than just you. It's about the team, the sponsors, everything. I need you to come with me. We’ll get through it, and then you can walk away. I promise."

When he doesn’t respond immediately, you’re taken over by the insane urge to slap yourself. Not what we wanted to say! 

You enter the room fully, the door clicking softly behind you. 

“If it gets you into trouble, I’ll talk to them later. I can’t do this right now.” Haechan’s voice wavers slightly.

You hesitate, but only for a moment.

"Why are you always trying to hold it together?" you ask, crossing the room towards him. "You don’t have to be perfect all the time, Haechan. You don’t have to just swallow it down and keep going like nothing’s wrong."

He scoffs, “That’s very ironic of you to say. You’re literally my PR manager. Isn’t it your job to make me look like the perfect person all the time?” He bites back, harsher than you expect.

You stop in your tracks, taken aback. He’s never lashed out at you like that before and all you can do is just stand there and let his words hang in the air between you two.

“Okay,” You slump back, walking over to the couch and sitting down. “Fine. I’ll tell them you’re not coming.”

Haechan finally looks at you, a little surprised. You think he was expecting you to fight back more. You expected yourself to fight back more.

“But Haechan, my job isn’t to make you look perfect. It’s to help you handle all the shit that comes with your job without you having to worry too much about people attacking you for reasons that don’t even matter most of the time.”

He seems to realize the weight of your words as he comes to sit beside you.

“Today did not go the way you wanted it to, and I may never understand what is on your mind or what you go through every time.” You exhale, “But if you want me to listen, I will.”

Haechan sits quietly beside you, his fingers drumming lightly on his knee, eyes focused on the floor. The faint sound of the paddock celebrations filters through the walls, but it feels distant and irrelevant.

After what feels like an eternity, Haechan speaks. "I just... I don’t know anymore," he admits, his gaze drifting toward the window. "It feels like I’m fighting so damn hard, and for what? A P5? I was supposed to do better. I feel like I’ve let everyone down... And Jaehyun’s starting to catch up with me in the driver standings. He’s close, you know? Really close. And now my teammate’s done better than me at our home race and it wouldn’t have been too much of a problem if I was on that damn podium too.”

“I don’t think you’ve let anybody down. Today’s race doesn’t discount everything else that you have won for the team this season. It may be hard for you to believe right now, but trust me. What matters is that you move on from this. Everyone has their lows. It’s just one race, Haechan.”

“But it’s… it’s the team’s home race.” He exhales.

“Fuck the home race, then.” You shake your head, “Everyone believes in you, Haechan. Your mechanics, your engineers, Johnny, me. This is just one race out of 24. You can do this.”

Haechan looks at you then, his expression still clouded with frustration but you can tell your words got through.

"Thanks," he murmurs, and it’s almost a whisper, but you catch it.

You nod, offering a small smile. It’s not out of relief or pity, but understanding.

“I’ll take care of the media stuff,” you say, rising to your feet. “I’ll smooth things over. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Haechan doesn’t respond right away, but as you reach the door, you hear him speak again, quieter this time.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

You tilt your head slightly, watching him. “You think that’s the worst I’ve dealt with?”

Haechan lets out a small, tired laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Probably not.”

You smile, finally turning to leave. “Didn’t think so.”

“I mean it though. I shouldn’t have proj—”

You raise a finger making him stop, “It’s okay, I know. Get some rest, Haechan.”

UNITED KINGDOM, SILVERSTONE CIRCUIT

Tuesday July 2nd

Lee Haechan (RB) : Hey… Are you in the UK rn? This may be wayyy out of line but Johnny kind of dared me to go to this baking workshop thing like LONG ago and um he agreed to come with me. But he’s got some sort of emergency, so he’s in the states rn and um so he can’t make it… So I was wondering if you wanted to LOL! [18:26]

You: well, it would be a waste of money if you didn’t go, wouldn’t it? [20:25]

Lee Haechan (RB) : Whew almost thought you wouldn’t reply Does that mean you’ll come? [20:26]

—

Wednesday

“Hey, you’re right on time.” Haechan greets as you walk over to the pergola he’s under, “The instructor just left to get the ingredients, but this place is huge so she might take like 10 to come back.”

“Huge it is,” You agree, putting your purse down and sitting beside him. 

The pergola you two sit under is just one of the many you saw on your way here. Tucked into its own corner, its beams entwined with vines and fairy lights that haven’t flickered on yet. The garden (it’s bigger, but you don’t know the appropriate term for it) seems to be divided by tall, clean-trimmed hedges, giving the entire place a maze-like look. Surprisingly, it’s a sunny day and this is the perfect place to be out. A gentle breeze ruffles the leaves overhead.

From behind the hedge to your right, bursts of laughter and chatter spill over, from a larger group, you assume. You hear the clinking of utensils against mixing bowls and turn to Haechan.

He’s already looking at you, leant back, arms stretched over the bench’s backrest. For a moment, he holds your gaze before looking away, eyes sweeping over the surroundings. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

You hum, “Makes me wonder why Johnny would dare you to come here. Do you know what we’re going to be making?”

Haechan eyes you a little sheepishly, “Well, to be honest, you were a little bit late and I had to choose for us.”

You roll your eyes, “Okay, but this was like almost an hour away.”

“I did offer to pick you up,” He mumbles.

“Yeah,” You nod, “But you’re probably staying at the headquarters which is literally on the other side of the city. Didn’t want to make you drive too much.”

“You’re kind of… too nice to me.” Haechan grins, getting up as the instructor comes back, “It’s great! My friends usually don’t pass up on a chance to make me suffer.”

You laugh, shaking your head, “Well aren’t you glad I’m here then.”

“Oh,” He starts, but you interject him.

“Thank you for coming, I know. You’ve said it about four times already.”

“Well, I feel a little bad.”

“Don’t be, I’m sure I’ll have fun too. I’ll let you know, I might be nice to you now but I’m a little mean when it comes to tasting.” You grin.

The instructor sets the menu in front of you and your grin only widens. “I love strawberries, apple pie and churros. You didn’t make bad choices after all.”

Haechan laughs softly before handing you your apron, “Thank god.”

The instructor gives you two the basic rundown and gives you a small pager to page her over if required before leaving you two to it. As she starts walking away, Haechan starts flipping through the cookbook, opening up to the first recipe. 

“I think we should make the churros in the end. Should we start with the pie first? It’ll take time to bake.”

You nod, wrapping the apron’s waistband around you, “Have you ever made apple filling before?”

“No, but I’m good at like bread and pasta and stuff so I think I’ll be fine with the dough? Unless you want to-”

“We make a great team, because I’m bad at that stuff,” You throw a thumbs up at him, moving over to the other side of the table where the apple basket is. 

Haechan laughs as he picks out all the ingredients he needs, “Should we make a little extra of everything so that we can take some home?”

You pause, “Sure, but do you think the two of us would be able to down an entire pie?”

He shrugs, “If we don’t then it’s just more to take home. We could make an extra one and like half it? The tins aren’t too big. Hey, it says you need 4-5 apples for one pie so maybe take like 10?”

You thank him and start sectioning and measuring your spices before you get to the apple skinning when Haechan walks over to your side. You hum, wondering if he has any questions.

“You’d take way too much time to skin 10 apples on your own. The dough won’t take me too long.” Haechan quips, reaching in front of you for the peeler. 

Halfway through peeling the apples, a thought passes through your mind when Haechan brings up Johnny. In shock, you drop your peeler onto the table before turning to look at him.

“Haechan,” You gasp, “Are you allowed to eat all this?” 

Before he can answer, you’re already pacing up and down, the back of your wrist pressing against your forehead. If you’d remembered earlier, you could’ve convinced him to not go. Holy shit, you pause. You could be the reason Haechan’s weight is off this weekend.

Haechan lets you worry for a moment before piping up, “It’s only Wednesday. Johnny knows and he’ll be back before tomorrow evening so that we can have a workout session that’s a little more intense.” He tosses the cut apples into the pot.

“Still, should we cut down on something?” You stress, pushing him over to his dough making station.

“Nooo,” Haechan drags out, “It’s alright.”

“What if you don’t fit into your race suit?” You challenge as you slowly walk back to your pot that you’ve put all your apple slices in. The spices are already in there and all you have to do is turn the flame on. 

Haechan sighs as he flicks the remnants of flour on his fingers at you, making you flinch, “Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours, come on.”

You still for a second, hoping the heat you feel creeping up your neck isn’t as obvious as it feels. Trying to play it off, you roll your eyes, “Whatever you say, I guess.”

Haechan doesn’t look up from his bowl but you can tell his smile widens. You shake your head, turning back to your apples that are beginning to cook slowly.

—

The pies rise steadily in the oven, the smell of cinnamon and apples clouding the air. You’re not sure if it’s because of the light inside. Leaning forward on your knees, you stare into the oven. The actual baking process is the worst according to you, but maybe you’re just a little impatient. You hear Haechan cluttering around with utensils before he stands next to you, shoulder brushing yours as he copies you.

“You know, I think we did a pretty good job. I tasted the cookie dough and it’s great too.” Haechan muses beside you, wiping his hands on a towel, “Well, I did. You just cut and measured stuff.”

You gasp, standing up straight to look at him, “Excuse me? Who prepared the filling?”

“What are you going to do with just filling? You need dough and honestly I think you’d be really bad at that.” Haechan scoffs but you see the playfulness in his eyes.

“You can’t have a pie without filling, and I made the strawberry compote too, come on!”

“You could!” Haechan defends, “It would just be a really thin, weird shaped cookie.”

You don’t know how to answer that and so you sigh in defeat. He’s moved on to scooping the strawberry shortcake cookie dough into the pan and you force your eyes to drift from the way his bangs fall into his eyes. It’s not like you’ve never noticed before, but there’s something about seeing Haechan at ease, lips pressed together in focus, brows knitted as he carefully shapes each cookie. It’s different from when he’s in his element on track. That determination and focus that he has are so different from now. Haechan’s sleeves are rolled up just enough to show his forearms and you have to mentally slap yourself from thinking about how they flexed while he kneaded the dough.

You’ve always known it, but he’s quite good looking, if you admit. The thought makes your heart stutter, and you blink rapidly, shaking yourself out of it. You’re here to bake, not… whatever this is.

“By the way,” You clear your throat, “did we use all the strawberries? I wanted to taste one.” 

Haechan pauses, “Yep.” He pops the ‘p’. You hear the timer ring for the pies. “Guess you were too busy.”

“Seriously?” You mutter, a little dejected, “It’s fine. I’ll get the pies.”

“Oh, hey, take the mittens. Wait, I’ll bring them.” You hear Haechan call out as you open the oven handle. He appears by your side, holding out your mittens.

“Here,” He says, voice closer than you expect. You turn to thank him, and just as the words are about to leave your mouth, he swiftly plops something past your lips.

Your eyes widen in shock, taste buds suddenly flooded with flavour— sweet, a little tart and unmistakably strawberry.

Haechan grins, eyes swimming with amusement as you process what just happened. “Found it,” he says with a casualness that makes you want to throw the mittens at him.

You finish chewing, the initial surprise fading into a mix of exasperation and something else that makes your chest feel strangely tight. “You—”

“I knew you wanted one,” He shrugs, a self satisfied smirk plastered on his lips.

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms. “You’re just so…”

“Not my fault you’re easy to surprise.”

You huff, shaking your head as you finally grab the mittens. “You’re lucky these pies smell too good for me to be mad at you right now.”

His laughter follows you as you open the oven, but you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you for a moment longer. And you definitely don’t miss the way your heart stumbles again, just a little, before you shake it off and focus on not dropping the pies.

—

Saturday, Qualifying July 3rd

“How’s the car feeling?” Johnny asks as he sets down Haechan’s plate in front of him.

“It’s fine,” Haechan grimaces at his food, making Johnny sigh, “Better than last week. So much better. The team made some updates.”

“Don’t make that face.” Johnny rolls his eyes, “I let you off for eating all those damn sweets. You reap what you sow.” 

He expects Haechan to bite back, but all he gets in return is an absent minded hum. He looks up from his phone to see Haechan looking around the cafeteria and sighs inwardly. 

“Who are you looking for?” Johnny questions, making Haechan snap his head back to him before poking at the quinoa on his plate. 

“No one,” Haechan mumbles.

Johnny raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press him and goes back to his phone. The cafeteria buzzes with the usual lunchtime chatter. The mechanics and engineers too, seem to have come up for their lunch break before qualifying. Johnny looks up at Haechan for a second when he seems to realize that the driver usually eats lunch in his room, in order to focus and calm his mind. 

Before he can question it, Haechan pipes up, “How’s your sister and her baby, by the way?”

“She’s fine. And my nephew? Oh god, he is so cute. Wait let me show you a photo,” Johnny gushes as he scrolls through his photos, “Thanks for letting me go, actually. I mean, I did you a favour too. Didn’t you take your PR girl with you?” He looks up to see Haechan distracted, eyes flicking around the room again.

“Ah,” Johnny sighs, shaking his head, “So that’s what’s on your mind?”

Haechan glances at him before stuffing a forkful of grilled chicken in his mouth, “What? Show me the photos.”

Johnny slides his phone over, still staring at him. “It makes sense really,” He says to himself, “You took her out when I cancelled. You don’t want to eat in your room anymore, you keep looking around for her.”

Haechan freezes, his fork already halfway to his mouth. He sets it down, trying to play the cool game, but Johnny knows Haechan and frankly with the way he’s scratching his neck right now while fervently scrolling through his photos, he already has his answer.

“Your nephew’s really cute.” Haechan says, a little too loudly, “I’d love to meet him one day.”

Johnny leans back in his chair, arms crossed and grins a little wider than what Haechan would’ve liked to see. “Anyways, where is she? Seems like you two have gotten close.”

“Well, she’s around me a lot and it’s been like what—five months—already. Of course we’d be friends,” Haechan rolls his eyes. He meant for it to come out very coolly, but he ends up sounding a bit defensive. “And I don’t know where she is. I don’t need to see her until after quali.”

“Mhm,” Johnny teases, “You don’t need to see her, but you want to. I get it.”

“Oh, shut up,” Haechan hisses, getting up from his seat, “You’re distracting me. I’m going to go back to my room. Throw out my plate for me, will you?”

“Are you sure I’m what’s distracting you?” Johnny calls out behind him, earning a few looks. He laughs while looking around, “Oh it’s nothing, he’s just a little worried about qualifying.”

—

Post qualifying

“Haechan, congratulations on pole position,” The reporter chirps, “If you could step up to the mic, please.”

“Thank you,” Haechan gives a small smile, waiting for the questions.

“The Red Bulls seemed very strong today and yesterday, you know, over the practice sessions and qualifying. Jeno qualified with a P3. Anything new about the car? Has anything changed since Austria?”

“Yeah, well, the team had already been working hard on bringing an update to the car so it’s been feeling good this weekend. Hopefully we can use it to give the team a 1-2 finish again.”

“You’ve been on the podium multiple times here in Silverstone, but you’ve never won before. What’s different this time and what do you think about your chances for tomorrow?”

“Silverstone has been slightly challenging for me in the past, but every year is different, right? The team has made some great progress with the car. I think personally, I feel more in tune than I did last weekend. This is our best shot yet. Of course it’ll be a tough battle, but I think we’ll be able to make the most out of it tomorrow.” Haechan nods, “Also, they do predict a little rain here, every year. Always makes it more exciting.”

The reporter laughs along with him, “Of course. Now my last question. You weren’t here last weekend, so I didn’t get to ask you.”

You can see Haechan stiffening up. You did talk to him about the possibility of reporters or journalists asking about Austria. Hopefully he remembers.

“In Austria, you had that incident with Jaehyun on lap one. With the title fight heating up between you two, how do you feel about something like that happening at such a critical point in the season? Does it change the way you approach racing with him, or was it just a racing incident?”

No matter how Haechan answers this, you know it’s going to stir up drama. It’s about time anyways, with the championship fight set up between the drivers and the teams. You lightly tug Haechan’s hand, hoping it’s out of frame or even just subtle enough. He notices.

“It was unfortunate. I had a lot to unpack after that race,” Haechan begins, “It was frustrating, especially since we both know how much is at stake. I mean, it’s tough out here… I think we’ve both had a fair share of things not going our way. But yeah, it’s a championship fight and I’m not here to back down. Keeping it clean is ideal of course, but I don’t mind some hard racing. It is a part of the game after all. We’ll see how the rest of the season plays out.”

“You did well,” You mutter to him as the two of you leave the media pen after a few more interviews.

“Oh thanks, I learnt from the best.” Haechan chuckles. You smile.

“No, I mean. Even in quali and everything.” You look up at him. 

His lips are stretched in an easy smile and he looks more collected and composed today. You haven’t seen this type of confidence ooze off him in a while, so today, it makes you glad.

“I feel good too, honestly.” Haechan admits, “I think I got too into my head last time and it just never works out like that. I’ve done this so many times and just because there’s a championship win looming over my head does not mean I crumble under the pressure of it all.” He dramatically sighs.

“Well,” You quip, “Don’t be too confident. After all that you’ve said today, you’d make it really hard for you and me to answer if you didn’t win tomorrow.”

Haechan stops in his tracks, turning to you, “Are you telling me to win?”

“Would I tell you to lose?” You question, squinting at him.

“No, but are you telling me to win for you? So that you don’t have to deal with those articles?” He has a smirk on his face that one half of you, the more sane half wants to punch off.

“I didn’t say that. But if you happened to win, everyone would be pleased.” You shrug nonchalantly. 

Haechan laughs, “Everyone includes you.” 

“It does.” You sigh before fastening your pace and walking ahead of him. You don’t understand why he’s doing this, but it sucks. It sucks and you don’t think it's professional and- Shit your face is probably red right now. 

“Hey! Hey, I’ll win it.” Haechan grins as he catches up to you, “For the team, and the championship, of course.”

You nod sternly, “Yes, exactly.”

“And,” He begins as you reach the entrance to where the motorhomes are parked, “For you. Thanks for walking me back!” He runs off before you can pretend to get mad at him. You roll your eyes, fanning your face as you walk away.

Around the same time, the next day, you walk away from the celebrations for a second, feeling your phone ping in your pocket. Perfect timing, really, because you’d rather not get champagne all over you.

Someone’s sent you an article. You click on the link.

Haechan dominates Silverstone for maiden win, Vows: ‘I’m not here to back down’. Ferrari falls short again as title hopes begin to falter.

You shake your head, turning towards the crowd formed in the centre of the garage as they attempt to douse the man of the hour in champagne. You watch as Haechan shrieks, trying to dodge his head mechanic who has another, completely filled bottle in his hands. His overalls are already soaked, and his hair sticks to his forehead as a result of Jeno pouring champagne over his head on the podium.

For a second, Haechan’s eyes search around until they land on you. When they do, his eyes widen ever so slightly and he beams. Teeth out, cheeks full and eyes almost closing.

You can’t help but smile back. Your heart skips a beat, multiple beats, you think. You hope no one notices the way your cheeks are burning up right now. You hope he doesn’t notice it. Looking away, you tuck your phone back in. You need to head back up, gather your things and head back home. You’d promised your family you’d visit and conveniently you have almost a week and a half off before you travel again.

To your (unknown) dismay, Haechan does notice. 

ITALY, AUTODROMO NAZIONALE MONZA

Saturday, Qualifying September 6th

Rumours around the paddock don’t start baselessly, so when you overhear news from Jaehyun’s PR manager, a senior of yours from college, it shocks you. Choi Seungcheol, Il Prescelto, the chosen one, Ferrari’s lion… talks of leaving?

Haechan is even more astonished when you accidentally let it slip in front of him. 

“That’s…” He tilts his chin, thinking hard, “That’s not possible, is it? I mean, he’s been with them for so long. He’s got them those four drivers championships. There’s no way he’d leave.”

“I don’t know Haechan,” You sigh, dragging a hand across your face, “I wasn’t even supposed to tell you this. Listen, this is the last-”

“Last thing I need to worry about, I know.” He shakes his head as he slips on his racing shoes. 

The two of you are in his dressing room, about fifteen minutes before qualifying starts. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to be here, but you find yourself pacing nervously while he adjusts his gear. 

“I don’t even know why I’m saying this,” You bite your lip, trying to find the right words, “It’s just- She told me that there’s been a lot going on in their team, between the drivers, something, I don’t know.” 

Haechan nods as he stands up and walks over to you, moving you out of the way by your waist to grab his helmet. Your brain short circuits for a moment before you wrangle it back into control. You’re trying to tell him something. Stop it. You can’t help the way your stomach somersaults at the smell of his cologne.

“Haechan,” Your voice is stern and it makes him stop, hand on his helmet on the shelf. It’s not an ideal position, at all. You can imagine what it would look like if someone walked into the room right now, one hand on the shelf, the other unconsciously on your waist. Haechan is too close to you. You clear your throat, swallowing as he moves away muttering an apology. There’s an air of disappointment and confusion surrounding you two and you know it. There are things unsaid and undone, but now is not the time.

“I think you’ve noticed already from the practice sessions but they’re fighting within themselves.” You sigh, hoping the shakiness in your voice isn’t too obvious.

“Yeah, the team told me in the briefing session. I thought it was just some silly teammate banter, though.”

“Hopefully it is. But just stay safe out there, okay?” 

Haechan's heart warms at the concern in your voice.

“Always, I know. It's alright.”

“I'll see you after quali then. All the best,” You muster a small smile. You don't think he could go faster than your heart is beating right now, to be fair, but you hope he does.

Haechan hasn't told you this yet, but as he gets into his car in the garage, he thinks you already know his intentions. He needs to out qualify both the Ferraris today. Especially Jaehyun. Haechan is not one to leave favours unpaid and the only way he can return Jaehyun’s is by ruining his home race too. The fabled Italian grand prix, with the thousands of tifosi here. He’s not going to mess up Jaehyun’s race like the latter did in Austria, no. He’s better than that and besides, he needs a clean race, if not for himself, if not for the team, then for you. No, Haechan’s going to make sure he ruins it by winning.

His engineer gives him the green light to fire up the engine and leave the garage. As he swerves out into the pitlane, he almost scoffs into his radio. In front of him both the Ferraris leave their garage, blazing red and engines roaring. 

If there is an issue between the two of them—like you said there might be— then as long as they don’t crash into him, maybe it’ll work out in his favour after all.

His engineer's voice crackles through the radio, “Haechan, all clear ahead. There’s not much traffic at the moment so let’s make this lap count.”

“Copy,” Haechan replies.

He accelerates into the first chicane, overtaking the Ferraris who still seem to be warming up. He’s always found the breaking zone at turn one a little tricky, but he powers through it into the second part of the chicane. 

Exiting sector 1 into turn 4, Haechan hears on his radio, “That’s a purple sector 1. Keep going.”

The Red Bull flies through the straight in sector two, his speedometer reading a speed of 310 km/hr as the Parabolica, the temple of speed, looms ahead. It’s the final corner before the stretch to the finish line, the trickiest of them all. 

His rear wheels fight for grip as he brakes late into the corner, dropping down a gear. Haechan keeps his foot steady, accelerating just as the car begins to straighten. The Parabolica is deceptive—too early on the throttle, and the back end kicks out. Too late, and he loses time.

“Purple sector 2.” His engineer informs him.

Haechan exhales as he approaches the finish line, keeping the car steady. The final moments of the lap feel like they take forever, but he thinks he’s hit all the marks. He crosses the line and steps off the throttle, slowing down due to an increase in the number of cars at the entrance. 

“So?” He asks into the radio.

“Haechan, that is provisional pole for you. Well done mate, all purple sectors.” 

Haechan grins, “Alright, heading back to the pits.”

He stays in until the end of Q3. It’s slightly surprising that no one has out-qualified him yet, but who is he to complain? Haechan sits on one of the seats at the pitwall, watching the others qualify. He doesn’t exactly feel threatened by any of their lap times but with 10 minutes remaining, Seungcheol sets a lap time that is only a second off of his. He gets back to the garage after seeing that, zipping his overalls and putting his helmet and balaclava back on, Haechan settles into his seat. The mechanics are on standby but Seungcheol comes back into the pits and the session ends with no one outdoing him. There’s a sense of confidence in Haechan as he climbs out of his seat again, taking off his helmet to high five some of his mechanics.

Pole in Monza. He’s ahead of both the Ferraris in their home ground. It’s a huge advantage for both championships. All he needs to do now is convert that pole into a win.

—

Sunday, Race Day September 7th

The best thing about home races, Haechan muses, is the home crowd.

But they're not cheering for him, no. It's more of an encouragement for Seungcheol to go quicker. Outrun the bull that's coming for you. But Seungcheol is on the straight with old tires and Haechan is right on his tail with fresh hards on. 

The overtaking opportunity shows itself easily. There's not much one can do on a straight with a car that has DRS enabled behind him.

Haechan can hear the disappointment in the crowd as he overtakes the Ferrari, the groans loud enough to penetrate through his helmet and the engine’s loud rumbling. He smirks, taking the lead of the race again. There’s nothing like disappointing the Tifosi.

Exiting the first chicane, in his mirrors, he sees both Ferrari’s close to each other. Almost too close. They’re fighting, red against red, sparks flying as they push their cars to the limit. There’s no teamwork in sight, no sense of strategy—only two drivers who refuse to yield.

Haechan knows that kind of desperation. The kind that you need when you’re trying to prove yourself to someone. It just seems like the wrong moment for this, though, with the constructors easily on the line.

Haechan’s engineer cuts through on the radio, “Ferraris fighting for P2 behind you. Keep your head down and focus.”

“Copy.” He replies, eyes flicking back his mirrors once again. Both of them are driving recklessly and he does not want to be around to get stuck in debris if they do end up crashing into each other.

In the garage, you watch Jaehyun lock up on screen as he dives into a turn, lunging for the overtake. Seungcheol defends hard, leaving barely any room. They almost touch again but come out the other side unscathed. The shot widens and you see Haechan already a good few seconds ahead of them. Relief courses through you as he keeps his pace steady, pulling away from the chaos behind him.

At the exit to turn 2, Jaehyun dives outside but Seungcheol moves to defend a split second too late. Jaehyun’s rear wheel hits the curb hard and sends his car into the air. You feel time slow down before gravity overtakes again and Jaehyun’s Ferrari crashes down on top of his teammate. Jaehyun’s rear wheel runs up against the cockpit of Seungcheol’s car as they drive off track and the commentary box goes wild, their voices frantic.

“Oh my word! Massive crash between the Ferraris! Are both the Scuderia cars OUT of their home race?” Even with earplugs on, you can hear the roar of the fans in the grandstands as the shock settles in.

The slow-motion replay shows Jaehyun’s car hanging in the air for a split second before slamming down on Seungcheol’s halo.

“Look at that! The halo is doing its job there, saving Seungcheol. But what a terrifying impact!”

The replay shifts to the aftermath—the two Ferraris tangled together, sliding helplessly into the gravel, debris scattered across the track.

“And it’s confirmed,” The commentator begins, “Both Ferraris are out of the race at Monza! Can you believe it? In front of the thousands of Tifosi here, it has been a nightmare of a weekend for Ferrari.”

“Is everyone alright?” Haechan asks his engineer. He’s seen the impact of the accident behind him. It couldn’t have been great.

“Uh yes, both drivers are safe. Red flag, Haechan. Please slow down and come back to the pits. They’ve ordered a restart.”

Once he's back in the garage, the tension is thick. The pit crew is busy, checking the car over one last time. Haechan leans back against the wall, the weight of what just happened pressing down on him. Two Ferraris out in a spectacular crash—he can't help but feel a mix of relief and unease. They were close to each other. It could've been him, too, if things had gone differently.

But his engineer walks up, data flashing on the screen in front of him and it grounds Haechan. The race isn’t over yet and he cannot afford to lose focus. With the restart, although he’ll still have the advantage, it could be an opportunity for anybody else. Especially Jeno, who’s now been promoted to P2 after both the Ferrari’s crash out.

“There’s no need for you and Jeno to battle it out,” He hears his strategist say. “Since Ferrari is out, it won’t affect your driver’s standing much, so focus on the constructors. You should try to win, of course, but keep it clean, please.”

Haechan nods. The restart is coming soon. He needs to get back into the car. 

As he walks back to the desk near his car to pick up his helmet, he sees your figure, bent over your laptop, typing away. You're scanning through the data, probably double-checking something, or maybe working on a report for the team. He notices the way your brow furrows in concentration, how you’re so focused on your work. It's a stark contrast to the chaos of the garage around you, but it’s also strangely calming.

The weight of his helmet pulls him back into the present. He’s got a job to finish. 

Just as he climbs back into his seat, he looks at you again, almost instinctively with no thought behind it. But for a brief moment you catch his gaze and give him a small nod, encouragement maybe. You can’t see his face, but he throws a small smile anyways. He’s alright and he’s safe, just like he promised.

Back on track, the restart is smooth. Haechan reacts quickly, gets off the start line nicely and has nothing but clean air ahead. There’s nothing that could go wrong now, and with that sentiment, he completes the last three laps remaining.

As he crosses the finish line, Jeno’s red bull right behind him, the silence from the crowd is deafening. Their disappointment is palpable, but Haechan frankly does not care. There is nothing like hearing a crowd go silent at their home ground and he’s proud to be the reason for it.

When he makes his way onto the podium a few minutes later, the boos echo in his ear. It’s nothing new, after all, this is what a non-Ferrari winner is subjected to here. It makes him smile a little. Haechan knows the score. They’re mad, but Red Bull and him are winning. So he waves at the crowd, keeping his composure. He’s not the favourite, but well, sucks for them.

—

Post Race 

When Haechan steps out of the shower, the cool air of the room hits him, and he reaches for a towel, drying his face and neck before rubbing it over his hair. His damp curls fall in waves, still slightly messy from the helmet. There’s a lingering exhaustion in his bones, but he knows you’ll be here any second now to take him to the drivers press conference and he can’t be late to that. 

He slips on the team’s jersey just as you knock on the door. “It’s open.” He answers loudly.

“Hey winner,” you say, stepping in just a little. “We’re running out of time. Are you ready?”

“Almost,” Haechan mumbles as he rubs his hair with his towel, “My hair just won't dry and I can't find another towel.”

You bite your lip as you look around. Ideally, there should be a hair dryer here but you can't see one in plain sight. “If you don't have a hair dryer then do you want me to go ask Jeno if he has one?”

“No, wait. I think I remember seeing one in the closet. Shit, I was just in a rush and didn't think about it.” Haechan shuffles around before pulling it out of his closet.

You watch him for a minute but as he fumbles around with it, you're starting to get a little impatient. The conference has probably already begun and while it's not uncommon for a driver to arrive a little late, you'd prefer the two of you to not be completely off time.

“Haechan, can you just sit down?” You sigh, taking the dryer from his hand and gently shoving him down. 

Haechan, through his slight panic, registers that you're standing above him, between his legs, one hand gently pulling and ruffling his hair as you attempt to dry it as quickly as possible. 

He thinks it's impossible how every once of exhaustion leaves his body, instead being replaced by the awareness of how close you are to him right now. It could be the heat from the hair dryer, or the air blowing onto his face but he knows the real reason why he feels frazzled is you. 

Haechan's breaths come out slightly laboured. He's had a thousand moments where his heart beats at the speed of his car, but it's always been for a split second. When he loses control of his front or rear tyres, when he spins out, when he drifts a little too much, when another car gets too close to him. They end quickly though and he brings himself back into control.

But you. God, you stick him in this never ending cycle of losing his damn cool when you do things like these. And yeah, he tries to play it cool by coming off bold. But you catch him off guard multiple times. Haechan wonders if he's reading this situation right. 

“They might ask you about Ferrari.” You interrupt his thoughts.

See! He thinks to himself. You do things like drying his fucking hair for him which he believes is completely unprofessional and not at all in your job description. He isn't complaining, no, never. But then you follow it up by suddenly becoming professional and it confuses the hell out of him. But Haechan can't say anything because he's a coward when it comes to actually telling you how he feels, so he nods and looks up at you as you turn off the dryer.

“Just be careful to not sound too cocky. You've earned a good advantage, but there's going to be a lot of Italian press and media and they won't really like it.” You stare him down and Haechan can only swallow and nod as he gets up to leave. 

He thinks you'll follow him as he leaves but to his surprise, you stop him. You hate being late and he knows that. So he turns back to look at you quizzically.

You pause for a second not knowing how to do this before you decide to fuck it all and lean forward to give Haechan an awkward hug.

He freezes as your arms encircle his shoulder. Your mango and hibiscus perfume that he’s asked you about before has an addictive scent, filling his senses and sending his mind into overdrive.

“Good job today,” You mutter, “On winning, on staying safe, everything. I'm sure it'll all work out.”

Haechan is still speechless as you leave him, your face burning as you rush to leave the room.

He stares at you as you speed walk through the corridor, before stopping and motioning for him to come too. How the hell is he supposed to answer questions about the goddamn car after you pull something like that and make sure you're stuck in his head instead of the things he's supposed to say?

He takes a deep breath, willing his heart to slow down. It’s just a hug. A pat on the shoulder. Completely normal, right?

…Right?

[mv1simp]

Haunted ♥️ Part 2 of 2

Alpha!Max Verstappen x Reader (Omegaverse AU)

READ PART ONE HERE

it’s where we go, it’s what we'll be (I know if i’m onto you, you must be onto me)

As Mercedes’ rookie female driver, you garner a lot of media attention, even more when you reveal you haven’t presented. You don’t care about true mates or presenting - all you wanted was the championship. You’d be a lot closer to it, if it wasn’t for the dominating Alpha Max Verstappen. But after your late presentation, you two realise there’s a lot more to your bond than competition.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, size kink, primal themes, dom!Max, Sub!Reader, enemies to lovers. WC: 10k

After the scandalous events of the rooftop, where you and the tall blond Alpha had ended up in an intoxicating kiss, you take your avoidance of Max to the next level. You remain glued to George, furtively glancing from side to side in case your cocky rival decides to appear and terrorise you off the track. Your teammate found your sudden paranoia rather amusing, tousling your curls and making you puff your cheeks up and pout. Max watches the scene unfold with narrowed eyes as he walked into the interview room, finally catching a glimpse of you for the first time in two weeks. He notices you're wearing your jacket fully zipped up despite the warm weather - probably because his hickeys still littered your neck, he thinks smugly. Although next time he’d have to leave some so high up you couldn’t hide them and your loser teammate knew exactly who you belonged to. The possessive though rises up within him before he could even process it, as his inner Alpha seethed at seeing another driver touch his Omega so familiarly. The cameras don't miss the steely glare the Dutch champion delivered to the British Mercedes driver. It gave commentators something to speculate about and ask if Verstappen was threatened by Russell ahead of today’s race in Zandvoort?

And their commentary got even more heated during Lap 31 as they watched the Redbull driver slow down his leading pace, clipping George’s Mercedes car in a sharp and aggressive movement. It sent the Brit spinning into the barricade, letting you take his place in P2 instead. Afterwards, George had found him in the Parc Femme, parked comfortably in P1, and demanded to know what the hell that had been for, mate. Max just coolly told him to keep his greedy hands off what didn’t belong to him. George looked at him, confused, but chose not to argue with the clearly pissed off and aggressive smoky scent Max was radiating.

The cameras ate it up, thinking Max was referring to how George had come dangerously close to taking the Dutchman’s home race trophy. But you knew better, side eyeing Max dubiously when you gingerly sat next to him for the post race interview. You focused on getting through the questions, ignoring how handsome he looked in his white fireproofs, all sweaty and muscly post race, his tousled blonde locks contrasting his intense blue eyes. His large arm lay draped across the back of the couch, and you swore you could feel the heat radiating to your back even through the sofa cushions.

Again, post interview, you hurriedly sprinted away without daring to look Max in the eye. Your self control was getting more fragile every night you spent away from him. You could tell what your body ached for, with every wet dream becoming more vivid, making you ache and drip all down your legs for a man that you hated. And it was this Alpha's name was on your lips when you couldn't take it anymore, choosing to relieve the tension with a buzzing vibrator, praying that it’d be enough to settle the desperate omega inside you. Spoiler alert - it wasn’t, judging by the way you’d had to grip the interview sofa with clenched fists to stop yourself from climbing onto the man next to you and guiding his lips back onto yours, then to your neck, then maybe your sensitive nipples-

You don’t get far with that particular train of dirty thought as you’re yanked into a passing RV motor home. You'd been so distracted you don’t realise you’ve walked into the Redbull plot - and ended up falling right into the home of the one driver you'd been trying to avoid. Because Max goddamn Verstappen is in front of you, your Alpha the slutty inner omega croons, telling you to enjoy the way his strong, tall frame has you caged against the now locked door. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you immediately regret it as you get an burst of Max’s heady scent. Now carefully only taking shallow breaths, you demand he backs the hell off, because you aren’t interested in whatever games he wants to play, you don’t want him.

Really, prinses? the handsome Blonde huskily murmurs into your ear, making you tense when he bends down, inhaling your deliciously sweet scent. You nod furiously, adamantly protesting how truly, you didn’t need him for anything, you’re a strong capable Omega and the entire concept of this ridiculous fated mate bullshit is sexist and outdated-

He chuckles, voicing his agreement that you’re undoubtedly the strongest Omega he’s ever had the misfortune - or blessing, now - of meeting. A good match for the strongest Alpha here, hmm? He teases. But it’s too bad you didn’t need your Alpha for anything, he muses, because he was so ready to help his pretty little mate with anything she wanted, that she needed. Especially that ache in her virgin cunny that just doesn’t seem to go away no matter how many toys she uses?

You yelp, blushing, brown doe eyes wide as you look up at Max in shock. You're half mortified that he knew and half extremely turned on by his suggestion. You’re stammering out your questions, asking how the hell did he know about that, had he been doing some creepy possessive Alpha male stalking-

Max laughs, the genuinely happy sound sending butterflies swirling through you. The soft side to the competitive driver made you so crazy for him, for getting to have both sides whenever you wanted while the rest of the grid got his wrath. No, schat, he reassures with a teasing smile, there was no creepy stalking.

Then he explains how, leading upto the claiming, mates were often given visions when the other was thinking intensely about them - in an effort to help them find each other. And once the mating bond was complete, this two way channel became fully established between an Alpha and Omega. Like a constant shared stream of consciousness, he explained patiently, but able to be closed off when one wanted to, only leaving the most intense emotions to radiate down the bond rather than every thought. You pondered the information curiously, not having come across this in your desperate research after finding out you were Max’s mate. So, this means I could technically get inside your head during a race and figure out your race strategy?

Max grins at your adorable expression, reminding you that he, too, could be inside your mental walls during a race. As you pout cutely, cheeks puffed, he can’t resist the urge to gently press a kiss to your forehead. The sweet gesture makes you tense again, but this time it's because you’re about to cross the line you’d told yourself you were never going to do again. You couldn't resist your desire for your Alpha in this moment, not when you've spend night after night failing to ease your frustrations and he's right here. Standing on your tiptoes, you meet Max's soft lips with your own, eyelids fluttering as his skilled tongue sweeping against yours has sparks shooting down to your aching core. As he easily lifts you up, bringing you over to the sofa and sitting you down to straddle his lap, you remember a missing detail in his explanation. You didn’t say, you say with a blush when he pauses your steamy make out to toss his fireproof shirt off, noting how you’d cast a wandering gaze to his broad chest. Biting your lip, you continued- you didn’t say how you knew about me being a…virgin.

You look down, suddenly shy, missing the predatory glint in Max’s eye as he pulls you flush against him and devilishly purrs Oh, that? I could taste it on the slick you ruined my pants with last time, prinses. Saved yourself all for me, yeah?

Your surprised gasp is cut off by him deeply kissing you again, your hands now eagerly running along his thick, swollen shoulders and neck. Oh, the real thing was so much better than anything you could have dreamed up. You help Max undress you in between desperate kisses, an undertone of urgency to feel his large palms on your bare skin. You flush cutely under his hungry gaze as he pauses to admire the sight of you in his lap.

You're in a pretty baby pink lace set you’d had on underneath your Mercedes suit, and you let our a whine from the intensity of his darkening blue eyes. You nervously shifting your arms to cover yourself up but he doesn’t let you, keeping a strong grip on your wrists with one hand so he can enjoy the delicious view. Your Omega is going into overdrive now, and you’re desperately grinding on his thick thigh again, hoping he’ll resume running his hands along your waist or flex his thigh to help send you over the edge. But he doesn’t to any of that. Instead, he just leans back with a smug expression, enjoying the sight of you trying and failing to get yourself off on his lap.

Huffing in annoyance, you try to redirect his hands to your hips, indicating that you wanted him to take over and bounce you up and down his leg with that brutish strength of his, but he easily deflects, telling you he needed to hear the words, schatje.

Ugh, so goddamn arrogant - apparently finding out he was your mate did nothing to keep his ego in check. Make me cum, Verstappen - it’s just this once, you demand, making his eyes narrow at your bratty tone. He’d need to teach his Omega some manners, clearly. Resting his face against his propped up hand, he watches you with an almost bored look as he deepens his scent, making it even more headier and stronger. Now, you struggle to think clearly through the fuzziness you’re now feeling, overwhelmed with how sensitive you feel after inhaling him. You're dripping all over his muscled thigh as you throw your head back, whining, hoping to tempt him with your open neck. Again, Max looks uninterested by the show you’re putting on, drawling out a like I said, prinses, you’re going to have to ask me nicely.

You lose the game within seconds as you hand over the control to him on a silver platter, pleading for him to please, please help take the ache away, Max. He hides his pleased smirk behind the palm he’s leaning on, making you desperately whine for him a few more times before finally touching you.

So that’s how you find yourself spread out on his sofa, delicate bra ripped off you so he could climb on top of you to twist and lick your sensitive nipples, making you arch into his wicked mouth. He’s running his long fingers along your slit through your ruined panties, ever so gently, making you teary from how badly you need him to do more. The sight of you crying out of desperation for him turns Max on in ways he hadn’t realised were possible. He’s doing everything he can to hold himself back from ramming his hard cock into you right there, knowing you’d never forgive him for taking your precious virginity like this. So he tortures you in other ways, by kissing in between your breasts, licking at the bruises that have formed from his strong grip, and then continuing down, down, to your cute soft tummy and then-

Oh, Max! You moan his name sweetly, over and over again as he runs his large nose along your swollen folds, inhaling deeply and growling at the honey sweet, unclaimed scent that awaited him. Even then, he only pulls your soaked lacey panties to the side to leave antagonisingly shallow kitten licks.

You have no idea how he’s managing to keep his composure while you’re practically falling apart. And then he tells you that you’d been a very bad Omega, ignoring your Alpha for two weeks and then letting other horny Alphas put their dirty hands all over you. So if you wanted him to help you now you’d have to beg me for it, prinses.

You give in so easily, sultrily moaning your rival’s name as you beg Maxie, please kiss me down there, please, your tongue feels so good, I need it to cum-

Smirking at having ruined his mate, his rival like this, he stops his torture and buries his face between your thighs, eating you out like a starved man. You’re so loud, crying and begging for him as he thrusts his wicked tongue in and out your puffy folds that he has to slip his fingers into your open mouth for you to suckle on and keep quiet. As much as it drives him wild to hear your sweet moans, he’s mindful of the buzzing paddock just outside, and how anyone standing too close would only have to catch one whiff or hear one breathy moan to figure it out. He’d kill anyone who got to hear the precious sounds you were making - they're all for him, and him only. Fuck, he should have used something other than his fingers though, because now you’re eagerly sucking and drooling all over them and it’s sending lightning bolts to his already hard cock, as he imagines you sucking him there instead.

Ripping off your soaked panties, he meanly stuffs them into your open mouth, making your eyes widen but successfully muffling your moans. You don’t get to be annoyed by his filthy move, though, because he’s using his fingers to now fuck your tight pussy, hissing at how tight you were for him, prinses, you’re going to feel like heaven around his cock when he claims you.

You moan uncontrollably at the thought, fresh slick gushing out from your core and straight into his waiting mouth. You're pulling at his soft blonde locks, your teary doe eyes meeting his intense blue ones as he looks up at you, still flicking his talented tongue over your clit. You won’t ever ignore your Alpha again, hmm?

You nod frantically, breathlessly agreeing yes, yes Maxie, I promise I'll be good for you and he rewards your good behaviour with further kisses and licks along your slit, the filthy sounds of him messily eating you out filling the air. And then you're cumming, screaming his name as the most intense orgasm you've ever had overwhelms you, squirting your slick all over his lips and couch. Dropping your head back against the sofa, you struggle to stay awake as you come down from the bliss, taking deep gasps of air as Max had gently removed your makeshift gag.

After a few minutes, though, you dazedly realise that you can't close your legs because Max is holding them wide open across his shoulders, his large hands gripping your soft thighs. Lifting up slightly to look at him, you feel your face flush at the hunger in his icy blue gaze as he takes in how pretty you looked when coming undone for him. You can take another one for me, right schat? He croons, eyes never leaving yours as he smirks darkly and leans down, making sure you see him dragging his wide tongue through your puffy, overstimulated folds.

Your eyes widen again, because no, you did not think you could handle another mindblowing orgasm like that and walk out of the motorhome on two legs- Shhh, prinses, you promised to be good for me, remember? And he makes sure you stick true to your word by cumming again, desperately moaning his name, now completely ruined with the need for your Alpha.

You hadn't been able to avoid Max after that. What girl could, after having her pussy worshipped and eaten out like it was the best meal on the planet? Instead of your automatic scowl or snappy retort at him though, you now would go pink at the sight of him, at his captivating blue eyes, remembering how they'd been intensely fixed on yours as he kissed your most innocent areas. Or when you'd look at his veiny arms and thick hands, remembering how they'd held your shaking thighs open for him. No matter how many suppressant tablets you'd double up on, or deep breathing exercises you would do before entering the paddock, you couldn't keep your inner slutty Omega's desires at bay. Your team had noticed your odd behaviour too, with George sniffing the back of your neck briefly one day and commenting that you smelt different. You spun around, paranoid that your sweet Omega scent had started showing, but George had hummed thoughtfully and said you smelled deeper and warmer these days, like burnt amber. Maybe you’re going to have a second presentation as an Alpha? he joked, missing the panicked expression on your face when he inadvertently described your scent taking on Max’s whenever you two would see each other.

Meanwhile, Max’s behaviour towards you had started changing, not just behind the safety of closed doors but in public view as well. It started at the media conferences, where you two would often be next to each other as race winners. The FIA loved to stoke the flames of the Redbull-Mercedes rivalry by giving you an opportunity to argue with each other easily due to proximity. You’d both certainly fallen into the trap a few times, making news headlines and viral videos, but now Max’s aggression towards you had changed to something far more…you didn’t know how else to describe it, except for protective. Now the ones met with Max's hostility would be reporters anytime they directed sexist questions to you or implied that your driving wasn’t good enough for F1, that you were only here for representation.

You’d been very irritated at this particular theme of questioning that had starting occurring more frequently as you won more races. Distracted, you hadn’t even realised how involved your rival was getting in your affairs - until your publicist set her iPad in front of you to play the most recent viral interview. Even before she clicked play, the cover photo made your heart flutter. It was a side profile shot of you on the media couch, arms crossed and an obviously upset expression on your face as you looked on towards a rude journalist. Max sat next to you on the semi circular couch, facing the camera front on. The angle captured the way his large arm was slung across the back of the sofa to just graze your shoulder. At that time, you remember thinking his heat radiating through the cushions had felt soothing. His legs were spread apart in a show of casual dominance but the dark expression on his face clearly reflected how the journalist was going to be meeting the fangs of the Dutch Lion if he didn’t stop talking. And when your publicist pressed play, you saw how Max’s observant eyes flickered to your upset face when it was clear you’d grown sick of the tirade of frustrating questions, ones that you’d normally sassily retort to and earn laughs for, but were now getting overwhelmed with. And then he had intervened, smoothly cutting the next rude question off with a equally aggressive response, saying that really, shouldn't they be asking Max if he'd slept his way to P1 - given he actually won the race?

You'd thought for sure your publicist was suspicious there was something going on. But to your surprise she's beaming and telling you it was great PR to see the Mercedes princess get along with Redbull's Mad Max. Since it had gone so viral it wouldn't hurt for the two of you to get along and be photographed more, yes? You mutely nodded, still half bewildered that she hadn't snapped her fingers at you to say Aha! I knew it, you're his Omega! Perhaps you were getting a touch over paranoid.

So when Max had found you at the end of the day, asking if you wanted to come to dinner with him, you said yes, knowing that your PR manager would be internally giving you a thumbs up. Opening his car door for you, Max noted your glassy stare and tired expression from the race and constant pestering questions afterwards. He drove you to one of his favourite local places, a warmly lit Turkish eatery with falafel and barbecued meat. And it was discreet, too, no one looking your way which you were thankful for, given how casually dressed you were in a hoodie and jeans, too tired to dress up for any stray cameras. Max didn’t seem to mind your simple attire, of course, wearing a practically identical one. The restaurant had just the sort of comfort food you'd been craving and you moaned into your kebab, telling him thank god the Dutch had learnt to bring back food from places they'd tried to colonise.

He chuckled, giving you a warm smile that made you blush a bit from how handsome he looked. You avoided those intense blue eyes of his and tucked back into your kebab, changing the topic to ask him what his other favourite spots in the city were growing up. After paying, despite your protests to split, he offered to drop you back to your hotel. You'd had a lot more energy on the way back to take in your surroundings, noting how confidently Max manoeuvred the steering wheel with one hand as he talked, the other resting on the console. When he pulled up to your accomodation, ready to walk you in, you gently tell him not too. The media backlash would be bad towards you as a female driver if they saw you with a guy going into your hotel. Max scowled, the icy fire returning to his eyes as he was reminded of the sexist standards you'd been dealing with all day. You instinctively reached for his hand on the console, making his eyes flick towards where your small fingers grasped his much larger palm. Thank you, Max, you say genuinely, for dinner and also for helping out with the media stuff today. I can normally handle it, but today...you trail off, a frustrated look on your face. I know you can handle it, Max reassured firmly, his fingers intertwining in yours, but that doesn't mean you should always have to do it alone. Trust me, it gets old really quick. And on the days you're over it, I definitely don't mind telling all those assholes to fuck off.

You giggle at his words, telling him you know this is why they call you Mad Max, right? He watched you laugh with a pleased expression, his inner Alpha content at having taken care of his Omega. As you start to open your car door, once again turning down his offer to walk you in, you hesitate and glance back towards him. Then, quickly, almost as if you knew you would lose the courage to do it if you overthink it, you press a kiss to his cheek, letting your cloyingly sweet scent wash over him so he knows how satisfied you feel with him. And then you're sprinting out the car, hightailing it through your hotel doors with a single nervous glance backwards to Max, who watches you with suddenly dark eyes and a tight grip on the wheel.

The papparazzi don't catch wind of that night's dinner, but as Max and you start seeing each other more regularly under the guise of him taking you to his favourite restaurants, it’s only a matter of time. Pictures blow up online overnight of you two after a Spanish dinner back in Monaco, as Max caught onto your preference for spicy foods. You’re thankful that you’d chosen to dress up a bit that night, in a cute white summery minidress with tie up bow straps and matching heeled sandals. You’re admiring the shot of you, emerging first from the restaurant, thinking you actually looked pretty in the paparazzi shots for once. But your eyes widen at the second photo when you swipe next. Max emerges behind you, and his much larger and taller figure makes for a very protective figure at your back. In fact, he does look like he could be a bodyguard, with the comfortable hoodie he’s wearing that stretches across his broad shoulders and highlights his muscular build. The angle of the photo means only the back of Max’s blonde head is captured, and subsequent pictures continue keeping his face obscured but show him holding your Dior bag for you - having automatically put his hand out for it when you’d gone to the bathroom earlier while he paid. You can see why the flood of comments are asking who the Mercedes’ driver’s hot new bodyguard was?! He’s so well trained! and that this is the height difference every girl deserves!! Is she finally on a date?

You feel a bit flustered, a foreign sensation fluttering in your chest at seeing how natural you and Max look together. The viral dinner photos then turn into a full blown PR scandal the next day, where a fan leaks a picture of you two at dinner from another angle. You're smiling sweetly up at Max when he opens his car door for you, his large palm resting gently on your lower back. This one was a bit harder to explain, and you anxiously bite your lip as you scroll through the new comments, which say things like the mystery Blonde bodyguard last night was MAX VERSTAPPEN??? HER LITERAL RIVAL THROUGH THE WHOLE ROOKIE YEAR? and that this was so enemies to lovers coded!!

You don’t think this is what your PR manager meant when she said she wanted to see more positive interactions online of you with the Redbull driver. But to your surprise, she seems very pleased with the outcome. And she makes it clear to Toto and George, who both had reacted suspiciously to the pictures, asking why you were suddenly so friendly with the dickhead Alpha who’d tried to run you off the track not once but twice?

Their overprotective stances relax a little when your PR manager assures them that it was all good media and that you were acting under her orders. The Redbull team was in on it too, apparently, with both your and Max’s publicists seen giggling as they reposted various memes of the two of you being seen together. You promise Toto and George that Max has surprisingly been nothing but the perfect gentleman. But they still caution you not to let your guard down, because if Max found about about your closely guarded secret of being an Omega….

You laugh nervously, because really, the closely guarded secret was now the fact that the dominant Alpha they wanted to protect you from was actually your mate. But you hadn’t lied - Max had been acting like the perfect gentleman lately. You were surprised by how much you got along with the Dutchman these days, enjoying dinner conversations filled with your mutual interests and laughter at each other’s jokes. Racing, obviously, continued to be a hotly debated topic - but now it seemed to be less of an explosive argument and more like two good friends bickering. You told him this one night as he drove you home - that although it was obviously the right thing to do, you were still grateful that he hadn’t become the over territorial, controlling Alpha mate you’d been scared of. Actually, I - you blush a bit - I actually think this is kind of…nice. I feel like you always know what I’m thinking or feeling without me having to say it. But not in an intrusive way...It's more like knowing I always have someone who will understand?

Max grins at you as he responds warmly, reassuring that it was exactly the same for him, schat. Guess the biology of the mating system did pay off after millions of years evolving, huh? he gently teases, making you roll your brown doe eyes, but you're smiling. Turns out you spoke too soon about the Dutch Alpha, though.

Because the very next week, he pissed you off to no end, resulting in many heated arguments. It started with him pointedly glaring at one of the sponsors who approached you and asked if you’d accompany him to an upcoming gala. You said yes, of course, thinking it would be a good opportunity to source funding for your team - and your boss Toto agreed, pleased. As you got ready for the black tie evening in a hotel room upstairs from the gala in the ballroom, your stylist ducked out after getting a phone call. You assumed she’d returned a few minutes later when you hear the door open, and you called out that you’re In the bedroom, could you please have a hand zipping up the dress?

You’re standing in front of a floor length mirror, pressing your hands to your full chest to hold up the off shoulder beautiful silk evening gown you were wearing. Your doe eyes widen in surprise when it’s not your stylist, but a tall figure dressed impeccably in a well fitted suit that comes behind you in the mirror. Max!? you gasp, confused as you whirl around at his sudden appearance and ask him why he was here. He explained that he’d run into your stylist in the elevator, and she said she had some emergency or the other…asked me to come up and give you this. He holds up a velvet jewellery box, clearly containing the matching accessories for your outfit. Your stylist had mentioned earlier she’d loaned the perfect set of jewels to match the opulence of the gala.

Oh, you say, blushing a bit at the new development but declining when he notes your expression and offers to go hunt your stylist back down. No, that’s okay, I’m sorry to ask but would you mind…you trail off, feeling shy about asking him to zip you up. Despite how steamy things had gotten between the two of you before, this felt far more romantic and intimate. Max hmms, his deep voice rumbling through his broad chest, and gestured for you to turn around with an unreadable expression on his face.

You try to keep you eyes firmly on the ground, staring at the sparkly strappy heels you’re wearing, but you can’t stop your gaze from looking up when you feel Max’s large hands brush against your silk dress. You find his intense gaze is already on yours when you meet his blue eyes through the mirror. He slowly slides the zip up, and you swear you can feel static electricity crackle from how much tension is in the air. When he reaches the top, his fingers brush against your bare back, making you gasp as a jolt runs through you.

Sorry, he murmurs, eyes still locked in on yours through the mirror, but he doesn’t sound like he is in the slightest. His heated gaze then wanders over your smaller form, taking in your blushing face and soft curls that are pinned up, how your dress fell attractively off your shoulders, revealing your elegant neck and collarbones. His gaze lingers there for a long moment before it moves down to take in how your luscious curves are highlighted in the flattering, tight dress. You feel flustered by Max’s attention on you when you’re dressed like this, and quickly busy yourself in opening up the jewellery box - only to gasp at the diamond set that’s revealed.

Where on Earth did she find this? you saw in awe, entranced by the multiple sparkling diamonds that make up the choker-style necklace. You’d have to give your stylist a raise, because you’d never seen such a unique and lavish cut of jewellery in any store. Max shrugs, expression inscrutable as he watches you admire the jewellery you were going to wear tonight. When you struggle to clasp it together behind your neck, shyly looking up at him again in the mirror, you find him already watching you again. He offers his hand out to you for the necklace. May I?

If there was tension before, now it’s so thick that you would need a knife to cut through it. You watch Max’s massive, veiny hands brush across your collarbones as he loops the necklace around. You’re expecting his touch this time, but it doesn’t make it feel any less electric. Warmth spreads through you at seeing how small and delicate your neck looks with Max’s palm across it - a far more effective choker than the delicate jewellery he clasps, you think, unable to suppress the desire that’s swirling in you. Max’s lips are almost brushing your ear from how close he’s standing as he leans down, the high heels you’re wearing giving you a boost to meet the much taller Alpha. And he looks so handsome tonight, his dark suit accentuating his thick legs and swollen biceps, contrasting against his light features and gorgeous blue eyes. You can’t deny that the Dutch Lion is an incredibly attractive man, just your type.

All done, he whispers huskily in your ear, almost teasingly brushing his fingers along your bare collarbones and making you flinch before he pulls away, smirking lightly at your reaction. You look so beautiful, schat he murmurs lowly, the sight of you in the diamonds and silk positively angelic. You turn to face him, wanting to say thank you but the words become stuck in your throat as you see how dark his blue eyes are. Your lips are tantalisingly close, and for a second you’re both leaning in, breaths mingling-

When your stylist loudly re-enters the hotel room, full of apologies for her absence. You immediately move away from Max, avoiding his eyes, the moment broken and your heart racing as you let yourself be guided out the door. You avoid Max like the plague the rest of the evening, rattled by how overcome you’d been earlier, ready to kiss him not in a moment of your usual sexual frustration but rather out of genuine passion. You aren’t ready to admit that you’ve started to feel something deeper for the Alpha, terrified of what it would mean for the future. So you laugh and charm your way through many conversations with sponsors throughout the night, diligently staying by your date’s side, even when you can feel Max’s sharp eyes narrowing at your back and sending shivers through you. Your date is certainly taken with your dolled up appearance, complementing you endlessly. You notice early on he keeps glancing down repeatedly at the stunning choker you wore, like many of the partygoers who’d been admiring it. Assuming that maybe he’d been the one to loan out the set to your stylist for the night, you thanked him for it, but with a strained smile he tells you it wasn’t him. He excused himself, saying that you had his apologies, he wouldn’t have asked you to accompany him tonight if he’d known.

You have no idea why your date was suddenly acting strange and decide to get some air on the balcony, the refreshing night breeze blowing across your warm cheeks. You’re tracing the necklace, perplexed at why everyone seems enamoured with your choice of jewellery tonight. Sure, the diamonds were luxurious, but this was a charity gala in Monaco - surely the guests were used to such opulence?

You feel the hair stand up on the back your neck before Max joins your side, murmuring that you didn’t look like yourself with such a serious expression instead of your usual shit-eating grin. What, scared off your date already? You’re pulled out of your train of thought immediately, the earlier tension with him diffusing as you scowl at his teasing - but there’s no real anger. You end up talking to him for over an hour on the balcony, laughing and enjoying how easy conversations with him are compared to the more stifling, tedious ones you’d been having indoors. As you’d gone to bed that night, you found yourself feeling happily content with the recent development in your relationship with the Dutch Alpha.

But that all changed the next morning, when you woke up to a million notifications buzzing on your phone - the latest one being an ominous “Call me” from Toto. Confused, you start going through your social media, trying to make sense of what’s happening - and your doe eyes widen in shock when you realise just why everyone had been unable to stop looking at your neck last night. Because it turns out the stunning jewels you had been wearing weren’t just some loaned Tiffany’s set your stylist had picked up. No, they were none other than a custom-made, half a million Euro worth, piece of aristocratic jewellery that had been passed on from Omega to Omega in Max Verstappen’s family.

The media had gone ballistic. Headlines like Mercedes rookie driver looks dazzling in Verstappen family jewels and F1 champion Max Verstappen lays claim on his rival driver! fill every newspaper, magazine and gossip forum. And to make it even worse, there’s an undeniable chemistry in the accompanying photo someone had taken of you two on the balcony that night. You look the very picture of a mated couple with how close you stood, him leaning down to intently watch you talk animatedly about something. And those godforsaken diamonds glimmered around your bare neck for all the world to see, proof of his claim on you.

As if you would ever accept the title of being a Verstappen Omega after what had happened to Max’s mother in the very same career.

You’re so incredibly pissed that you’re seeing red for the next few hours, ready to go knocking at Max’s apartment and scream at him for setting you up like this. You had no idea why he’d done this, and with a start you realise the horrible emotion you’re feeling is betrayal, because you’d thought Max actually understood and respected your ambition to be a F1 driver. So instead, you block all his calls when he finally wakes up that morning and decide to see your boss, knowing it’s time to have a long overdue conversation.

Toto watches you silently as you stand before him in his Monaco office, taking a deep breath before confessing that you’d found out soon after your presentation that you had a true mate. Unfortunately, that mate just happened to be Max goddamn Verstappen, and you had no plans to proceed with any sort of relationship with him whatsoever, you tell Toto firmly. I admit my recent friendship with him made me lower my guard, but now- your voice trails off, the hurt clear in your voice, before it becomes resolutely firm again. But now it’s crystal clear that the only thing I should be focusing on is the championship.

Toto closed his eyes with a sigh, leaning forward and pinching his nose. He didn’t speak for a few minutes and you nervously shuffle, but you never anticipated what he said next. Because instead of firing you or yelling at you for hiding this, he said that there was no point running away from your true mate - even if it was an Alpha as distasteful as that brutish Redbull upstart, he says venomously. But despite his sour tone, your boss explains that you two had been lucky to find your true mate at such a young age - he’d had to wait till his second marriage before he found Susie, he reminds you.

You frown, not having expected your normally strictly professional boss to give you personal advice. You’re a great driver, Toto says, ruffling your hair. I admit, I am not a fan of your choice of boyfriend, but if you two have already known you were mates for months and your performance has been outstanding…I have no issues with it. You widen your eyes, immediately protesting and saying Verstappen is absolutely not my boyfriend-

Sure, sure your German boss says, rolling his eyes and showing you to the door. Just be thankful that all this media exposure about you two being a couple actually seems to be drawing the sponsors in instead of scaring them off, like we’d thought.

He cuts off your adamant refusal with a gentle push out his office door. See you at the practise track on Monday, da? Don’t come smelling like that Dutch dog. He closes the door in your bewildered face, muttering something about how kids these days will be the death of him.

Reassured that your job was still secure for now, you take a moment to recheck your phone which you’d been anxiously avoiding all morning. To your surprise, you found that Toto had been right - while there were obviously some negative and sexist articles about you sleeping your way into F1 and seducing the drivers, the overwhelming majority of the media seemed to be going crazy with excitement at the prospect of the first couple who drove within F1 together. It seemed the public still believed you to be Unpresented and romantically involved with the Alpha Redbull champion. They media had not yet caught onto the fact that you were actually Max’s Omega - but you knew it was only a matter of time before that secret was out in the open.

Determined to delay that particular PR scandal for as long as possible, you finally return to your apartment, already knowing who would be waiting. Max stands with a tense jaw and crossed arms outside your front door, immediately turning towards you as the elevator doors ding open. You pointedly ignore him as he begins talking to you animatedly, instead unlocking the door and walking into your apartment. He follows you in, apologising about what had happened but you’ve tuned him out, looking disinterested as you slip off your sneakers and head to your kitchen. Max’s yapping trails off at this point, the normally in command Alpha now appearing uncharacteristically nervous as he looks at you.

Schatje? Can you say something? He says, looking worried now. If you weren’t so mad, you think you might even find his soft blue eyes and scrunched brow rather cute. But you’re still very furious, letting Max know just how fucked up it had been to find out the necklace you’d been wearing had actually been his goddamn family heirloom. Wearing his choker around your neck like a collar, what, like I’m your property? A pretty pet to be put on display for the strongest Alpha? Not to mention that it’s been worn by all the Omegas in your family, you hissed at him. You’re lucky no one has started accusing me of secretly being one yet!

Max absorbs all your anger, apologetically telling you he admits not disclosing history of the necklace had been a bad idea, a mistake that he promises he would never make again. You can feel the genuine sorrow and guilt at having hurt you radiating off him. Feeling calmer now, you ask him just why he’d given you the choker to wear. You’re not my property, Max says firmly, blue eyes now steely. And I wouldn’t ever want you to feel like that. But you’re mine, just like I’m yours. I wanted to make that clear to any other Alpha who may be...interested. And trust me, there were more than a few.

Your jaw drops as you realise his intentions, and you’re completely floored. So basically, you were just jealous I was there with another guy? A sponsor? Max runs a hand through his tousled locks, now looking a bit embarrassed and you finally take in his appearance. He was still dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, with cat slippers - clearly having gotten straight up and driver to yours. Despite your initial anger, you feel yourself soften a bit when he tells you it was mostly just instinct that made him take the necklace out of the family safe when he heard you’d be attending with a date. If I couldn’t be seen publically as your date, then I wanted to be able to offer you something else - and that necklace has been gifted to the Omegas that the Alphas in my family have been courting for the past few hundred years. Not as a collar of ownership - he adds hastily, already knowing where this could end up - but rather an offer to you that I could provide and take care of you however you like. If you’ll have me, of course. His blue eyes find yours, studying your reaction closely to his tempting invitation.

You take in his words, finding a warm flush spreading through you at the foreign idea of having an Alpha like Max promise his loyalty and dedication to you, and only you. There was something about your normally prideful rival admitting his jealousy, his possessiveness, that awoke your inner Omega. She purred at the thought of your Alpha wanting to publically declare you as his, consequences be damned. You decided to move on for now, telling him wryly that next time there might be better ways of handling his jealousy than pawning out his half a million Euro necklace.

Smiling, relieved at your extended olive branch, Max can’t resist a cheeky you’d seemed to love the diamonds last night though? You flush at the teasing, telling him there was no need to bring that up and that reminds you, it was way to expensive to just be sitting on your dresser like that and you needed to return it-

Keep it, Max says, icy fire in his eyes now as his usual assured tone returns. It was almost meant to be gifted to my Omega. It’s yours, now, just like the rest of me. Your heart flutters at his declaration, and you counter that okay, okay, but could he at least store it in his safe again for now, you did not have the contents insurance to cover it if you got robbed? Conceding, Max agrees to your compromise, and your offer to stay for breakfast as well.

Smiling at how adorably excited he looked after earning your forgiveness, you’re humming to yourself as you return to the kitchen after collecting the necklace from your bedroom. You find Max standing still, a small bottle in his hand - that you realise were actually your heat suppressants. He looks perplexed at the label, looking up at you, asking Why you had these? You feel defensive at his demanding tone. What? Obviously I’ve been taking them this whole time, especially with the way you keep trying to rile me up every race.

Max looks completely floored at the new information that you’ve been suppressing your scent, your biological reactions to him. And then he connects to dots to say you hadn’t had a real heat then? After your presentation? You eye him a little suspiciously, asking him where he was going with this but he impatiently prompts you to answer him. I haven’t, you huff, cheeks pink. I haven’t had my first heat yet.

Max’s blue eyes darken at your words, his grip on the bottle tightening so much that it actually gets crushed under his hand. He tells you that you should stop taking these suppressors immediately, that delaying your heat was going to make it much more painful for you when it finally happened. You should pick a safe time and place to come off them, let your heat happen naturally and-

No fucking way, Verstappen you say, rolling your eyes. What, just cause you want to hear me beg for your help again, huh?

Yes, Max says rather straightforwardly. I’ve been dreaming about the day you let me claim you properly. You blush a bright pink, hating how your stomach did backflips at his possessive words, remembering how insanely mind-blowing your sexual experiences have been with him so far. You can’t deny that it's been a recurring theme in the vivid dreams you've been having, that have become more and more frequent and realistic every time. They've left you wondering what your first heat would be like...and how it would feel if you let Max fuck you through it.

But still, you firmly deny his proposal, telling him to shut up because there’s no way you can stop suppressants in the middle of the season. He wisely chooses to bite his tongue at your raised eyebrow, instead putting himself to work mixing pancake batter before you kick him out, still irritated with his thoughtless demand of stopping your suppressants.

But your words come back to haunt you much sooner than you anticipated - two race weekends later. You've been avoiding coming within a 10 feet radius of Max, especially with how rabid the media have gotten, wanting to interrogate the two of you on your relationship status. You only give brief, clipped media-trained answers, saying you were here to be a racing driver and not some gossip column celebrity.

It's almost hilarious how quickly your facade crumbles, barely onto Lap 11 of the race. You'd already been feeling unwell in qualifying the day before but chalked it off as nerves from the scrutiny of thousands of eyes on you. You even took a triple dose of suppressants that morning, blatantly ignoring the health warnings on the label. You'd had to get a fresh supply after Max practically crushed all your old ones to dust, and you scowl just thinking of the memory. Goddamn arrogant Alpha, thinking it all revolved around him, around the relationship - when your first priority was always going to be the world championship. Just like you were certain his priorities lay. Why should you have to sacrifice your career just because you're an Omega?

The universe laughs at your determination, and on that fateful Lap 11 the rising dizziness you'd been feeling becomes stronger as you approach your rival's Red Bull car ahead. The closer you get to him, the more your head spins, and as you come within a couple metres - the crowd screams in excitement and shock as an involuntary shudder through your body almost makes you spin out.

And suddenly you can't breathe, or think, or do anything else because it hits you all at once. Max. Your inner Omega croons, calling out for her Alpha, the man preselected to provide and care for her in every way. And somewhere on the other end of the bond, you feel that heady, intense aura of your mate responding to the call. I'm right here. You're safe.

You almost lose all control of your car as the most intense, burning need you'd ever felt in your life overtakes you completely. And you only want one thing - your Alpha, Max. With a screech of the tires, your car goes barrelling into the barricades, safely cushioned amongst the rubber. Luckily, you aren't hurt, dazedly yanking off your wheel and belt as you stumble out of your car, ignoring the frantic messages over your team radio. You keep your helmet firmly on, trying desperately to focus on taking one step in front of the other and get off this track, no longer caring about the massive fine you were going to get slapped with for disrupting the race.

You barely remember what happened next, keeping your eyes closed and clenching your fists because of how much your head pounded. Blood rushes to your ears, your veins chanting for Max, Max, your Alpha, you needed him-

Your team is tripping over themselves in a rush to come grab you as you stumble to the Mercedes garage. But when quite a few of them freeze, staring at you in shock, you finally realise that you couldn't hide your secret anymore. Because the delicious, sweet scent of an unclaimed Omega in her primal heat radiated off you in thick waves. You're crying at how distressed you feel, thankful for the helmet hiding your reaction. Toto appears at some point, pulling you into his side to navigate through the crowd. There's people talking around you rapidly but you can barely piece together their words, and then you hear Toto's strong voice cutting through it, speaking to you with his authoritative voice. Your Omega hones in for a second, taking in something about getting you out of here, to a safe location for a few days- but then you lose interest, because this isn't the Alpha that you so desperately wish was by your side right now.

You're being led quickly to a discreet car around the back end, and your boss is impatiently ushering you towards it, pausing for a second to yank your helmet off so you can hear him better. Bad, bad idea - he takes one look at your flushed, dazed face before he swears, stumbling back when your sickeningly sweet smell hits him now that your neck is exposed. You reach out instinctively, wanting him to stay by your side and protect you through this confusing mess but he turns around stiffly, pressing his hand to his nose to block out any scent.

Your manager - a Beta - steps in and guided your distressed figure into the backseat, whispering reassurances to you that it was all going to be okay. The last thing you remember is Toto's face as he turns to see your car drive off, his face tense. With a jolt, you realise that the unfamiliar darkness in his eyes was a response to your heat, because it was so strong it had even affected a mated Alpha.

A few hours later, you're well away from the racetrack. Your manager had somehow managed to smuggle you onto an emergency chartered jet to take you back to Monaco. But instead of letting you rest in the comfort of your apartment, she insisted you go shower and clean up while she packed a bag. You spend a good 30minutes under the icy cold shower, enjoying the relief against your skin which had started to become very warm. But your temporary relief is put to an end when you're once again ushered out, into another car, and then she's driving you out towards the Italian farmlands outside of the city.

You don't recognise the double storied terracotta house she pulls upto in the late afternoon, in the middle of a sprawling vineyard without any other houses visible for miles. You confusedly ask her what was going on as she helps you into the house, letting you rest on the sofa as she makes sure all the windows are locked shut. Turning on the AC to maximum, she turns to explain you were in a safe house, a good 45 minutes away from the nearest inhabitants of a rural Italian village.

It's actually a very cozy place, with a traditional exterior but modern interior, the kitchen fully stocked and high grade security locks on the windows and doors. For you to spend your heat safely, your manager says firmly. She makes you promise that you'll stay inside, and not to be scared, because no one knows you were here - not even Max. She hesitates, then, looking sympathetic at your flushed figure as you start burning up uncomfortably despite the aircon. It'll be a painful, getting through this first heat alone. It's a pity you and Max weren't able to work it out before it started...but maybe next time. Leaving your phone plugged in for any emergencies, she leaves, telling you she'd return in a week's time.

And then you're finally alone. The sheer exhaustion of the day hits you, the realisation that the whole world had seen, had smelt the secret you'd been hiding. You fall asleep on the sofa, wanting to forget it all and escape. When you wake a few hours later, the sun is setting over the horizon. You're not sure what woke you up, and then your brain catches up the suddenly unbearable heat radiating from your body. You shrug out of your outer layers, still panting despite being left in a thin camisole singlet and tiny shorts. You needed some air, it was so goddamn hot -

Ignoring your manager's warning, you unbolt the front door and step outside into the dusky twilight. Your senses are still muddled, feeling fried from the aching heat, but then a few seconds later you feel yourself regaining some clarity. You think it was the evening breeze that soothed you - but your inner Omega hones in on something else carried over in the breeze. A smoky, amber scent fills you senses, and makes you suddenly gush an embarrassing amount of slick into your panties.

And when you turn to look at the source, you see your Alpha agitatedly prowling towards you through the grapevines, his dusty Jeep parked haphazardly behind him. He comes to a stop a few metres away, watching you intensely with a tilt of his head, his own chest rapidly rising with deep pants. The sight of the Dutch Lion has the desperate need to be fucked going overdrive within you, and his low growl carries across the gap as he catches a hint of how delicious your slick in heat smells. Missed me, my sweet Omega? Max murmurs, velvet voice deep as he takes in your bare neck and inviting breasts as you breathe him in.

But your little game isn't over yet, and in the brief moment of sanity you're asking him how the hell he had found you? Eyes darkening at your shaky voice, ice blue eyes roaming over your barely dressed figure, he huskily murmurs a What do you think? I just followed the delicious scent of my Omega in heat. There was no way in hell I was finishing that race as soon as you called for me through the bond.

Your heart beats even faster at his confession. You hadn't known the Dutchman had given up his position in P1 to come to you. You'd find out later too that the Redbull driver had stormed into the Mercedes garage minutes after you'd left, demanding to know why you'd been smuggled away from him. And he'd taken one look at Toto Wolff's face, seen his eyes overcome with desire at smelling you, Max's Omega...and promptly seen red. It had ended up taking 4 Alphas to separate the Dutchman from the German team principal, and that was after Max had gotten three strong blows in. The FIA were going to be gleefully rolling in cash from the amount of fines they were sending the latest grid couple's way.

But you weren't aware of any of that in the present. All you could think about was how he'd made you wait hours today. It had been pure torture when he should have been by your side, reassuring you, taking care of you in the way only he can. You test him one more time, telling him if he'd come all the way here thinking you were going to get to fuck me then he was going to be disappointed. You weren't going to let an Alpha who was late to his mate's first heat lay his claim, you say with a sniff.

You smirk coyly at the warning rumble in Max's chest at your stubborn challenge. Then, in an instant, you're taking off, sprinting like a wild rabbit through the vineyard fields as the full moon lights the way. Your body is moving on instinct, and you've heard of this before, the Priming - the final test an Omega performed to see if the Alpha was able to keep up with her, to catch her successfully and make her his mate.

You laugh excitedly, the sound travelling in the air, when you look back and don’t see him anymore. You think you've outsmarted him when you cut through a hidden pathway, almost at the edge of the field and into the woods-

When a large, muscled arm knocks the wind out of you when it wraps firmly around your waist and yanks you back. And then you’re pressed into a warm, hard body with a possessive hand snaking around your neck, and you know your game is over. You gasp when Max bends down to your level, your tiny frame barely brushing his upper chest. He turns your chubby cheeks with his large hand to meet his intense, hungry gaze. The last flecks of the beautiful ocean blue have completely disappeared as darkness swirls in Max’s eyes. I’m going to claim you now, my sweet little Omega he purrs, enjoying how your tits bounce up and down as you pant in response to in his intoxicating, dominating scent.

And when you bite your lip, your doe eyes completely glazed over with lust as you tilt your delicate neck back invitingly, he knows you’re finally all his. Licking a stripe up the column of your throat as a teaser of what was to come, he smiles at the shaky hitch in your breathing. More slick drips out of you, drenching your panties and making you press your thighs together desperately. Smirking now, he teases you as he presses that big nose you adore against your collarbone, his deep accented voice murmuring against your feverish skin. You’re so wet for me and I haven’t even touched you there yet. Didn’t I tell you this would happen with those fucking suppressants? But my Omega is just too stubborn to listen to me, hmm?

He teases you more, his voice husky and magnetic as he moves his lips by your ear to whisper into it. What do you want me to do about this mess, schat? You can’t take this torture any longer, and with a whine you wrap both your hands around his thick, veiny forearm to pull it from your waist and instead cup your soaked core through your thin shorts. Max, you whine, Maxie, Maxieee, yo-you’re gonna take care of me, right? Like a good Alpha? You promised you would when you gave me the necklace!

Your desperate pleas have him growling, and he lifts you up easily to toss you over his broad shoulder. You squeal in shock at the sudden change in position as he stalks off back to the house, locking it firmly behind him once past the front door. And then there’s nothing standing in the way of his large hands exploring your sensitive body, the only salvation to your burning fever. His strong hands easily rip away your camisole, your shorts, and his eyes - that are completely black now - hungrily roam over your heaving tits and wet cunny. He inhales deeply as he climbs on top of you, taking in the scent of his sweet Omega as she begs for him to claim her.

And this time, he wasn’t going to stop until his cock was buried deep inside your pussy, and his fangs on your exposed throat as he leaves his mark there for the world to see who you belonged to.

—————————————————————————

A/N: Tysm for ur patience guys sorry this took so long 🥹🥹 hope u enjoy!!! Love me some primal feral max can't believe i wrote 10k lol. was gonna split it into part 2 and 3 but was like nah ya'll have waited long enough x

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

What is this feeling? p.3

Heyy guys, here's part 3, if you've missed part 2 here it is.

I'm sorry for not posting yesterday, but this month I'll be pretty inactive since I have to study for my exams :(

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

"YN, you're good, but good isn’t enough."

Max’s words echoed in your ears as you sat across from him in the Red Bull hospitality suite. His sharp blue eyes studied you, a mix of determination and mischief glinting behind them.

"Okay, ouch," you muttered, crossing your arms defensively. "I’m working on it."

"You don’t just ‘work’ on being a winner," he said, leaning forward. "You have to become one. And lucky for you, I’ve decided to make you my new project."

"Your project?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," he said, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "I’m going to teach you everything I know. Strategy, focus, confidence—everything that makes a champion. By the time I’m done with you, you won’t just be good. You’ll be great."

You hesitated, unsure whether to feel flattered or insulted. "And what if I don’t want to be your ‘project’?"

"You don’t really have a choice," Max replied, leaning back and crossing his arms with a cocky smirk. "Besides, I’m very nice for doing this. You should thank me."

"Wow," you said, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a small laugh. "How generous of you."

"Exactly," he said, his smirk widening.

Over the following weeks, Max threw himself into his self-appointed role as your mentor. It started with small things: tips on cornering, feedback on your race starts, pointers about tire management. He’d pull up telemetry data, going over it in detail, explaining every nuance of what made him fast.

"You’re not braking late enough into Turn 1," he’d say, tracing a section of data with his finger. "And your exit speed here? Too slow. You’re leaving time on the table."

"You’re insufferable, you know that?" you shot back one day, though secretly you appreciated how much he cared.

"I’m efficient," he corrected with a smug grin.

But it wasn’t all technical. Max started nudging you out of your comfort zone in other ways, too.

"You need to stop eating lunch alone," he told you one afternoon, stealing a fry from your plate.

"I like eating alone," you argued, snatching the fry back.

"No, you think you do," he said. "But winners know how to command a room. You should join us. Be part of the team."

Reluctantly, you let him drag you into more social settings, and while you’d never admit it to him, you began to enjoy it.

Somewhere along the way, things shifted.

It wasn’t just the racing tips or the forced social interactions. It was the way Max would wait for you after sessions, leaning against the wall with an easy smile. It was the way he’d cheer you up after a bad qualifying run, cracking jokes until you couldn’t help but laugh. It was the way his confidence in you began to chip away at your own doubts.

"You’re getting better," he said one evening after a long day of practice. "I can see it."

"Thanks to you, I guess," you teased, nudging him lightly.

"Of course, thanks to me," he said, but there was a softness in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

By the time race day rolled around, you felt different. Lighter, more confident. Max’s faith in you had become your own, and as you lined up on the grid, you could see him watching you from the pit wall, arms crossed, a small smile playing on his lips.

The race was intense. Lap after lap, you pushed yourself harder than ever, channeling everything Max had taught you. The car felt like an extension of yourself, and when you crossed the finish line, the world seemed to erupt around you.

You’d done it. You’d won.

Climbing out of the car, you barely had time to process the cheers before someone was rushing toward you.

Max.

He reached you in seconds, pulling you into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around you, and for a moment, the rest of the world fell away.

"I knew you could do it," he said, his voice low and filled with pride.

"Thanks to you," you whispered, smiling against his shoulder.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, his usual cockiness replaced by something warmer, more genuine.

"You were incredible," he said.

"So, does this mean I’m officially not your project anymore?" you teased, though your voice wavered slightly, the moment feeling too big for jokes.

Max chuckled, shaking his head. "You were never a project to me," he said. "Not really."

Before you could respond, the crowd surged around you—drivers, engineers, reporters. Max stepped back, giving you space, but his eyes never left yours.

Later, as the celebrations wound down and the paddock quieted, you found him leaning against the Red Bull motorhome, sipping a bottle of water.

"Hey," you said, approaching him.

"Hey," he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then, almost shyly, you added, "You know, I couldn’t have done this without you."

Max shook his head. "You could have. I just helped you realize it."

You stepped closer, your heart racing. "Still, thank you."

He met your gaze, and for the first time, you saw vulnerability in his eyes. "Anytime," he said softly.

The distance between you felt impossibly small, and as the night stretched on, you realized something had changed—something that couldn’t be undone.

Max hadn’t just made you a winner. He’d made you believe in yourself. And in the process, you’d found something neither of you had been looking for but couldn’t ignore any longer.

Part 4

@justaf1girl, @anamiad00msday

[stripedstarsblueflags]

goodbye to a world

reading between the lines of the various goodbyes and dismissals to logan sargeant

Pt. 3: Oscar (press conference)

full series

not a goodbye (in the traditional sense of the word) but a fucking statement. obviously. because piastri.

the loscar dynamic is absolutely FASCINATING. out of all the friendships in the grid, this one plays a special role: it reminds the audience that there’s so much more than formula 1, there’s so much more to f1 drivers than this stage of their career. most of us (spectators) have a broad conception of the “typical” driver backstory; rich kid with rich parents, got in a go kart at age 4, karting and then single-seater and junior series was their whole life and they climbed up the ranks like rungs on a ladder. i think a lot of people who only watch f1 (myself included) tend to focus so much more on the Pinnacle of MotorsportTM that everything else just seems like prep. even though most if not all of the drivers grew up either 1) racing each other 2) watching each other on tv, we don’t really think of these relationships beyond and BEFORE f1.

until loscar. because what draws them together? they’re not teammates. they’re not rivals. williams is so far behind that they’re not even competitors. in many way, logan is entirely “out of oscar’s league”.

and yet they have this endearing, sweet, playful friendship that’s exactly what it seems like: people who have known each other since they were kids, grown up together, watched each other become the person they are today. there’s a casual, domestic intimacy neither of them have with their teammates, even if those relationships are also going well, because there’s this history element.

which is recalled no more vividly than when oscar and logan are compared. as they are too often.

total polar opposites. f1 stories practically the inverse of each other. one was a promising young talent who f1 teams had been keeping an eye on for years that, once thrown in the car at that “wait! isn’t he just a kid??” age, immediately proved his worth as a future superstar. Future World Champion, to quote the official moniker. “look at him go! look at OSCAR PIASTRI!” he’s a prodigy, he’s a social enigma, he’s a raw force of pure and driven talent.

then you have the other promising young talent who one f1 team had been keeping a loose eye on for years. who’s never done any free practices or tests. who’s barely even dipped his toe into the waters of f2. who’s shown a lot of raw potential but more noticeably, glittering fancy sponsors. who gets chucked into a car as a last-minute, scrapping underprepared and thrown-together plan B after the previous f2 graduate fails to keep his seat. and, while oscar soared off into the stratosphere, logan flops IMMEDIATELY.

go fucking figure. it’s almost like people like max verstappen and lewis hamilton are exceptions to the rule, not the rule itself, and an underprepared rushed overwhelmed rookie is actually NOT in a position to achieve immediate stardom! in fact, maybe that’s the OPPOSITE of what they need! so, in loscar, we have the exception to the rule (oscar) and the rule (logan). but that’s not the solidified narrative; the story, how history will remember the two of them, is that logan was nothing but a pale and washed-out shadow. always. open and shut case.

what does oscar have to say about it, though?

this was said to gp blog (great website); the full quotes from him are:

I sent him a text yesterday. He seemed okay. Obviously a little bit of a shock. Obviously it wasn't an easy time for him in F1. It was much more difficult for him than maybe I expected it to be going into F1. I think for me, his potential was much greater than what was on show in F1, for whatever reason it might be.

I know firsthand, being his teammate in the junior categories, racing him in basically everything, I know how quick he is. I don't think the change was completely unexpected...

Best of luck to him. Just a shame that, for whatever reason, he wasn't able to show everything that he's got. Because in the junior categories, he was genuinely one of the quickest guys I went up against. I think his potential is much greater than what some people have seen.

first of all, some BEAUTIFUL toeing-the-line from oscar here. he’s even more subtle than alex in that none of his words imply any sort of passive aggression or ill intent; the only emotion that’s really conveyed, in understated tones, is a mild perplexity about logan’s career and failure in general as opposed to its gut-wrenching end in question. the implications in his wording imply nothing more than a personal opinion, but the ambiguity itself is some massive shade. let’s take a closer look:

much more difficult for him than maybe i expected it to be- this is masterful. “yeah, that’s right. i’m the next-gen prodigal superstar talent with my future as a world champion pretty much written for me, and i’ve shown the skill to back it up, and not only did i know logan before the catastrophe of f1 but i regarded him with so much respect that i had actual expectations. his skill had become such an intertwined part of his character in my eyes that i just assumed things would go so much better. because i believed in him.”

his potential was much greater than what was on show in f1…- toeing the line again. balance. acknowledging both the reality and all the roads not taken. “i’m not making false claims. i’m not making excuses for him. i’m not blaming the car or the team or the lack of support or the disgrace or the mistreatment and i’m not challenging the results. i’m not talking about what happened, i’m talking about what could’ve happened. potential. i’m talking about everything that wasn’t on show– and by not on show i mean that his potential, his skill, his pace, him as a person was not seen or understood or respected or prioritized by anyone. i’m not saying ‘oh, one point in 36 starts is all anyone could do with x/y/z excuse’ i’m saying ‘you guys missed the point’.”

for whatever reason that might be/just a shame that, for whatever reason- fucking hell, this is harsh. this is practically an attack. “i’m not gonna make excuses, but i’m gonna leave this open. i’m not gonna call this bad luck or the way it goes sometimes or a bad break, i’m saying that Whatever Reason This Happened is not what should have happened. not a matter of chance or objective misfortune; this situation could have and should have worked out better and whatever obstacle got in the way of that was a matter of misjudgment.”

I know firsthand, being his teammate in the junior categories, racing him in basically everything, I know how quick he is- alex said something similar, about pace. “raw speed” he calls it. and it’s really interesting that his teammates, who learn firsthand about him as a racer, his driving style, his strengths, his weaknesses (whether they’ve been teammates for months or years) identify a specific trait/skill about logan rather than just making the empty claim that “he’s good” or “he’s better than this”. and this is very interesting coming from oscar in particular given his current teammate. lando isn’t the best starter or the best defender or the most coordinated overtaker, but even with all the areas he needs to work on he can still compensate for it by being really fucking fast. his pace is his defense; he gets clean air and boom, he’s fucking gone. obviously that’s an oversimplification but oscar directly competing against that and observing/absorbing that and bringing up the same category of skill in logan– even in flashback– can’t be overlooked. in addition: “yeah, i’ve raced against him in basically everything. you’ve watched him on tv in a backmarker team for a season or so? i’ve known him for YEARS. i know. i don’t care what you’re seeing, i’m the expert on this and i know.”

I think his potential is much greater than what some people have seen- shit, this is as close to passive aggression as he gets, but it’s still done so precisely and subtly that it’s almost an art form. i mean, leave it to oscar piastri to use the phrase “some people” and NOT make it sound like a straight up, poorly-veiled callout. try to use that in a sentence without seeming like you’re shit-talking someone, potentially in the room. this is part of the lovely passive-aggression classic: “….unlike SOME people” (sometimes while staring at them directly, depending on how passive you want the passive aggression to really be. so, he’s (in unofficial terms) calling out who– anyone who hasn’t seen logan’s potential. who have underestimated him. who have invalidated his situation and him as an athlete. this could be any category of haters– negative fans, petty journalists, the horrid type of reports who will ask questions like “what does it feel like to be the slowest driver in formula 1…”. and that would make perfect sense. almost perfect. if we thought oscar piastri paid any attention to the haters, his own or anyone else’s. if it was ever on his mind. so, people who haven’t seen his potential… what, like, team principals? the ambiguity in itself is simultaneously a direct implication and oscar piastri’s intelligence needs to be studied because it is sometimes terrifying.

oscar doesn’t make a statement on social media, doesn’t bring it up further, doesn’t make any sort of personal goodbye available to the media– of course he wouldn’t, not just because that’s incredibly private but also because he’s oscar and he’s basically kimi raikkonen (in this analogy lando is sunshine boy seb but that’s an idea for another post). oscar’s whole public image is that he doesn’t want to have a public image. he doesn’t give the media any more parts of himself than he’s contractually obligated to. what he does give is concise, serious, the strongest points in the fewest words. and because of the enigmatic, tantalizing nature of that approach paired with the fact that he’s a fucking brilliant driver, people listen to what he has to say.

so oscar has a lot more weight to throw around than alex. alex’s image is that he’s a cuddly sunshiney cat dad who is a living anomaly in that he’s a good driver and a total sweetheart at once. whether or not what he says comes from the heart (it does. he’s alex) the reaction can always be “awww look at alex he’s such a nice guy :)” and the focus is on the kindness of the gesture/praise/respect itself rather than what alex is actually saying. so if alex says logan had more potential, that’s alex being alex.

if oscar says logan had more potential, that’s a fucking statement. and if the media wasn’t coming for JV’s head at this point, oscar just gave them a diagram for how to build a guillotine.

beautiful.

[greyborn2]

Elisif headcanons now! (friendly tone ofc <3) Why do you think she would be a good marriage candidate? I'm curious :)

Yesssss!!! Okay - so this boils down to two categories. Personal interest in it, and underrated narrative JUICE. Starting with the former because its easier to begin with. So Elisif is just... she's neat. She's simultaneously one of the most politically important people in skyrim while also being COMPLETELY overshadowed by the men around her (Nobody talks about her, really, they talk of Torygg. The civil war isnt her vs ulfric, its TULLIUS vs ulfric. Her own decisions in court the first time we even see her are seemingly overruled on a dime by her own court, by Falk.). Its like she's this big thing of incredible importance and is constantly hidden away both in narrative and in game. But despite that, if you actually sneak in a bit, ignore all the big figures standing in front of her and propping themselves up on top of her, she has a surprising amount of meat to her.

Most of the Jarls are like... a few word summary at best. Greedy idiot boy, honourable honorman, paranoid bigot, old seer, etc etc etc. You get an initial impression of them and thats kinda it. Ulfric has a lot more, obviously, because he's a major character but it would *SEEM* that Elisif should be on the lower end of content. It takes so much to seek her out in her overshadowed little corner after all, but she has so so so much surprising stuff around her. The necromancer potema plot revolves around her, a whole big dialogue tree that isnt super common to see for a jarl, some touching personal quests that go into detail about how she saw her late husband. Its just all super compelling to me to have a character that, despite being so important, is *soooo* hidden away actually have some meat to her. Plus she's just a nice person!!! ANYWAYS!! PART 2!! The JUICE!!

For starters, I think, there should just be more opportunities for the dragonborn to play the political game if they want. Beyond just choosing a side in a war or ticking off their 'thane of everywhere' list, actually getting in on climbing the ladder and enmeshing oneself with the politics of the land they're in. BUT BUT... same can be said for Ulfric. Absolutely true. I do think he should also be a marriage candidate. BUT...

I think Elisif PARTICULARLY makes sense as a marriage opportunity that isn't one you seek out, but one that is put forward to the player. Specifically with an Imperial victory in the civil war.

The war is won. Alduin MAY or MAY NOT be slain. But either way, no matter what, at this point the dragonborn is a war hero, a champion of the people, and decorated imperial legate. And this would be fucking FRIGHTNING, I think, to the politicians back in Cyrodiil. There's a *history* of war hero dragonborns, popular with the people, turning on their commanders and declaring themselves emperor afterall. Oh boy is there a precedent. Suddenly they're the big figure in a war that was supposed to be Tullius' duty and they might start sweating in their boots a little.

SO... after the war is won... the legion starts... pushing. Just a little. A few letters, a few comments, that the dragonborn should maybe marry Elisif. Become High King by marriage. Lock them in and satisfy the war hero with a political title off in the ass end of the empire before they turn their gaze toward a ruby throne. Don't give them time to think on it. Ooooh look tasty treat right here shhhh dont think yes you did very good dragonborn yes yes be high king.

I think from there it could go one of three ways;

1) Last Dragonborn marries Elisif but with her actually agreeing to the union (after completing her personal quests) and she FINALLY steps out of the shadows. Rather than the expected you using her for power, she uses YOU for power. You allow yourself to be the thing she props herself up on and finally really starts coming into public view. Maybe to the nervousness of the Empire as she's a less eager puppet then they might have thought, now.

2) Last Dragonborn falls right into the trap the empire placed. You didnt do the quests for Elisif, she remains in the shadows, there's a loveless marriage and you get to be satisfied with a big title that hopefully keeps you occupied.

3) Last Dragonborn refuses all of this. Things seem to proceed as they do in canon but... well... maybe you notice a few more non-DB assassins using imperial weapons attacking you on the road then you did before. Curious.

[motomam1]

MOTOMAMI | driver's profile

― THE BASICS

name: valeria sofía ortiz date of birth: 8th of march, 2001 place of birth: east la, california nationality: mexican-american age: 22 (as of 2023) height: 167cm / 5'5'' zodiac sign: pisces sexuality: bisexual

― VALERIA'S FORMULA CAREER

✘ FORMULA THREE (2019) team: carlin buzz racing racing number: 29 teammates: felipe drugovich, logan sargeant driver standing: 5th first win: belgium

✘ FORMULA THREE (2020) team: hitech grand prix racing number: 4 teammates: liam lawson, dennis hauger driver standing: 2nd first win: hungary

✘ FORMULA TWO (2021) team: prema racing racing number: 1 teammate: oscar piastri driver standing: 2nd first win: azerbaijan

✘ FORMULA TWO (2022) team: prema racing racing number: 2 teammate: dennis hauger driver standing: 1st first win: jeddah

✘ FORMULA ONE (2023) team: mercedes-amg petronas f1 racing number: 8 teammate: lewis hamilton driver standing: 5th (as of october) first win: --

― THE SHORT HISTORY OF VALERIA

Growing up in East LA, Valeria Sofía Ortiz hasn’t always had it easy.

With her mother leaving her at a young age, Valeria and her father had to fend for themselves early on. Her father, Alvaro Hernández Ortiz, only wanted the best life he could afford for his little angel, so he said goodbye to the gang life and opened up a mechanics shop.

Valeria developed an interest in the art of cars while helping out in her father’s shop and quickly found herself drawn to everything surrounding it. Noticing his daughter’s curiosity, Alvaro decided  to bring her out on the karting track for fun. However, he was surprised to find Valeria driving around the track in top speed and condition.

After that, he gave it his all to ensure his daughter’s return and started scavenging the scrap yards for kart parts while Valeria went around doing mini jobs, like lawn-mowing, to earn extra money to afford karting.

Facing a lot of issues as she climbed up the karting ladder, Valeria never backed down from a fight and oftentimes got into trouble because of it. But that didn’t stop her from dominating the track, gaining lots of attention from the media and the motorsport.

That’s when Toto Wolff noticed the girl, travelling to LA to check out the young racer and realising what potential she held. Becoming part of the Mercedes Junior Team, more and more opportunities opened up for Valeria as she entered the Formula world.

As she drove her way through Formula 3 and 2, she eventually got offered a seat at the Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 team alongside 7x world champion, Lewis Hamilton.

Navigating her life as one of the top 20 drivers of the world, Valeria is met with new challenges and obstacles being thrown at her…

series masterlist | navigation

[theanticool]

Watch Women's Boxing: Katie Taylor vs Amanda Serrano 2!

In 2022, we were treated to the biggest women's boxing match of all time (in the US at least). Ireland's pride and joy Katie Taylor faced off with one of Puerto Rico's greatest fighters of all time Amanda Serrano in front of a sellout Madison Square Garden crowd in NYC. It was a historic night for the sport that has yet to be matched. You can watch the fight on YouTube.

It has taken two years, but we are finally getting a rematch. This Friday (Nov. 15), Taylor and Serrano are set to meet again in Texas as part of the Mike Tyson-Jake Paul (stupid ass fight) card on Netflix. And to help emphasize why this is so important, let me lay the careers of both fighters.

Depending on who you ask, Katie Taylor is the reason women's boxing got added to the Olympics in 2012. The Irish star actually participated in the first ever sanctioned women's fight in Ireland at the age of 15. A standout amateur, she was a multiple time European Games, European, and World Champion as well as an Olympic gold medal in 2012. All together, I think she's won 18 amateur gold medals. While her efforts came up short at the 2016 Olympics, she took that drive to the pro ranks. She quickly racked up wins before winning a world title in her 7th fight. She then proceeded to unite all 4 major belts to become the undisputed champion at 135lbs and climbed to P4P #1 in the sport. A last second change of opponent back in 2023 led her up a weight class to 140lbs. There, she faced off with the undisputed champion Chantelle Cameron. The fight was Taylor's first ever as a pro in her home country of Ireland. She would lose but was given a rematch for later in the year where she picked up a controversial decision win. She now has claim to being a two division undisputed champion.

Puerto Rican sensation Amanda Serrano is a long time veteran of the women's pro scene. Her career started in 2009. She has plugged away at this sport methodically for 15 years, picking up an insane 47-2 record. Most impressively, Serrano has been a world champion in 7 divisions. There is only one other boxer in history who has that many divisional crowns, Manny Pacquiao (8). She also is the only Puerto Rican boxer to have the title of undisputed at a weight calss (featherweight) in the four belt era. She is a truly generational talent in women's boxing and it's been incredibly gratifying to see her finally get the big paydays and media recognition she has deserved.

With both Serrano and Taylor getting up there in age, we do not have many chances left to see them compete at a high level. So we shoudl all definitely be tuning in to watch them fight now while we still can. I can honestly say this is arguably the most important women's fight boxing has ever seen and I'm excited to see these two square off again.

[kairilov3]

Hi, I hope you are doing well! I was wondering if maybe you could write a Gionna Daddio and female reader story.

Topic 1:

Maybe the reader decides to spoil Gionna and takes her shopping (or Gionna wants to go shopping, so the reader gives Gionna her card while she stays home and takes care of the farm and animals) and the reader tells her to go wild and they visit all of these different stores and the last place Gionna wants to go in is a shoe store and gets a whole bunch of different shoes but what the reader doesn’t know is that she gets them a lot of matching items as a surprise because she wants them to match and so when the reader asks her what all did she buy, she shows her.

Topic 2:

Maybe where everyone is getting ready for Gionna's (liv) match against Lina (Nia) at Crown Jewel and the reader is in her head and starts to have flashbacks to when Gionna got hurt, to getting surgery, then recovery to her returning and achieving all of what she has done, so when she wins and becomes the first-ever women’s Crown Jewel Champion, the reader gets emotional and when Victoria (Raquel) and Dominik ask her what’s wrong she explains why she's crying and just how proud she is and Gionna overhears and gets emotional and when they’re finally alone Gionna tells the reader that she overheard her conversation and that she is thankful for the reader being there and staying when times got rough (just being lovey dovey basically lol).

Thank you for taking the time to read this, I know it’s long my bad lol, just trying to get my concept across. Can’t wait to see what you can do with either of these (hopefully I can see both concepts come to light in the future) and thank you for writing other Liv Morgan stories they are a joy to read!

Also if you do not feel comfortable with using their real names then you can use their character name, I wouldn’t be upset.

Sorry it took me so long, I liked the idea so I had a little fun with it.

WN; Request, longg storyy, ton of fluffy

Spoiled to rots

It was a lazy morning on the farm, the sun just starting to rise as you finished feeding the animals. The clucking of chickens and the soft mooing of cows was music to your ears—a peaceful escape from the chaos of WWE life. Liv Morgan, however, had other plans for the day.

“I wanna go shopping,” Liv announced, leaning against the barn door with her signature playful smirk. Dressed in a casual crop top and ripped jeans, she looked every bit the city girl ready for a day out.

You chuckled, wiping your hands on your jeans. “Shopping, huh? I thought you loved the quiet farm life.”

“I do,” she replied, twirling a strand of her blonde hair. “But I also love spoiling myself sometimes. And I know you love spoiling me, so…”

With a laugh, you pulled your wallet out of your back pocket and handed her your card. “Go wild,” you said, shaking your head affectionately. “Buy whatever you want. I’ll hold down the fort here and take care of the animals.”

Liv’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she grabbed the card and kissed your cheek. “You’re the best,” she said before hopping into her car and speeding off toward the city.

---

The day flew by as you worked on the farm, keeping busy with chores and thinking about how much Liv would enjoy her shopping adventure. When she finally returned hours later, her car was packed to the brim with shopping bags, and her grin was as wide as the horizon.

“Jeez, Liv,” you teased as she climbed out of the car. “Did you buy out the whole mall?”

“Maybe,” she said with a wink. “But don’t worry, I stayed under your credit limit. Barely.”

You helped her carry the bags into the house, your curiosity growing with every trip. Liv was practically bouncing with excitement as she started unpacking everything in the living room. Dresses, tops, accessories, and—of course—a ridiculous amount of shoes spilled out onto the floor. But as you watched her, something caught your eye.

“Hey,” you said, picking up a matching pair of sneakers. “Did you get these in my size?”

Liv froze for a moment before breaking into a sheepish smile. “Maybe…”

You raised an eyebrow. “And these hoodies? Matching hoodies?”

“Okay, fine!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up dramatically. “I got us matching stuff! I just thought it’d be cute, you know? I mean, imagine us wearing these sneakers together or those hoodies when we’re out. Couple goals, right?”

Your heart melted at her enthusiasm. She looked so proud of her idea, her cheeks tinged pink as she nervously awaited your reaction. Setting the sneakers down, you pulled her into a hug.

“You’re adorable, you know that?” you said, kissing the top of her head. “I love it. And I love you.”

Liv grinned against your chest, her arms wrapping tightly around you. “Good, because I got a lot of matching stuff,” she teased. “Wait until you see the pajamas!”

---

That evening, as the two of you relaxed on the couch in your new matching hoodies, Liv rested her head on your shoulder, scrolling through pictures of her shopping spree. Lil Baby Saudi, Liv’s beloved kitten, curled up on her lap, purring softly.

“Thanks for letting me spoil myself today,” Liv said, her voice soft. “But honestly, spoiling you is way more fun.”

“You spoil me every day just by being you,” you replied, squeezing her hand. “But matching outfits? That’s next level.”

Liv giggled, tilting her head up to kiss your cheek. “Told you we’re couple goals.”

You smiled, content with the simple joys of the day—Liv’s laughter, the warmth of her beside you, and the thoughtfulness that made her so easy to love.

PROUD

The Crown Jewel arena buzzed with anticipation, the air electric as the roster prepared for one of the most significant matches of the night—Liv Morgan vs. Nia Jax. Everyone was busy making final adjustments to their gear, stretching, and hyping each other up, but your focus was elsewhere. Seated on a bench in the corner of the locker room, you couldn’t stop the flood of memories from overtaking your mind.

It started with Liv’s injury—the devastating night she collapsed in the ring, clutching her arm in agony. You could still hear the sound of the medics rushing in, the hushed whispers of concern from the crew, and Liv’s tearful apology to you, even though she had nothing to apologize for. Then came the surgery, her brave smile masking the fear she tried to hide, and the grueling months of physical therapy and rehabilitation. Day after day, you’d been there, holding her hand, cheering her on, and sometimes just being the silent support she needed.

“Hey, you okay?”

Raquel’s voice broke through your reverie. You blinked up at her and Dominik Mysterio, who were both watching you with concern. It wasn’t until Raquel handed you a tissue that you realized tears were streaming down your face.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you murmured, wiping your cheeks. But when you looked up at the monitor displaying Liv’s name in bold letters, the tears came harder. “I just… I’m so proud of her, you know?”

Dominik tilted his head. “We all are. She’s about to make history tonight.”

You nodded, your voice trembling as you continued. “But it’s more than that. I’ve seen everything she’s gone through to get here. The injury, the surgery, the recovery… There were days when she didn’t think she’d ever wrestle again, let alone achieve all of this. And now, she’s about to become the first-ever Women’s Crown Jewel Champion. It’s overwhelming.”

Raquel placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, her usual playful demeanor replaced with sincerity. “You’ve been with her through all of it. That’s why this moment means so much to you, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, unable to find the words to respond. What you didn’t notice was Liv standing just outside the room, overhearing everything. Her chest tightened as she listened to your heartfelt words, and she had to blink back tears of her own before heading to the gorilla position.

---

The match was intense, every slam and near-fall keeping you on the edge of your seat. Liv fought with every ounce of heart she had, dodging Nia’s crushing blows and finding her openings to counter. When the final bell rang and Liv’s hand was raised in victory, the stadium erupted into cheers. She fell to her knees, clutching the Crown Jewel Championship with tears streaming down her face.

Backstage, you couldn’t contain your emotions any longer. The sight of her standing tall, the culmination of all her hard work, broke the dam completely. Raquel and Dominik stood beside you, both smiling as they watched you wipe your tears.

“You’re really proud of her, huh?” Dominik said with a teasing nudge.

“More than words can say,” you admitted, your voice cracking. “She deserves every bit of this.”

---

Later that night, after the celebration died down and most of the roster had left the arena, Liv found you alone in the quiet locker room. She was still in her gear, the championship slung over her shoulder as she approached with a soft smile.

“Hey,” she said, her voice gentle.

“Hey, Champ,” you replied, trying to compose yourself, but the warmth in her eyes made it impossible.

Liv set the title down on the bench and took your hands in hers, her thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “I heard what you said earlier,” she admitted. “About being proud of me. About everything I’ve been through.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but she shook her head, stepping closer.

“I need to say this,” she continued, her voice thick with emotion. “I wouldn’t have made it without you. When I was at my lowest, when I didn’t think I’d ever be me again, you were there. You never gave up on me, even when I wanted to give up on myself. And now, standing here with this title, knowing you were with me through it all… I can’t even put into words how much that means to me.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and you pulled her into a tight hug, holding her close as her tears soaked into your shoulder.

“I’ll always be here, Gionna,” you whispered. “No matter what.”

Liv pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, her hands coming up to cup your face. “I love you,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears. “More than anything.”

“I love you too,” you replied, your heart swelling as she leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

When you finally pulled away, Liv rested her forehead against yours, her smile brighter than ever. “Now,” she said with a playful glint in her eye, “let’s go find Raquel and my kitten. I think Lil Baby Saudi deserves to see this shiny new title.”

Laughing, you grabbed her hand, ready to celebrate not just her victory, but the love and partnership that made the journey so meaningful.

[comicarc]

𝐋𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬

(Part 2 of Moirai)

Part 1

Fate is a fickle thing and it seems to hate Diana. As the three sisters of fate weave the thread that is the Princess' life, Diana learns that hope can emerge in even the darkest of corners and that death is only the beginning. As she confronts her haunting past, she realizes what it truly means to be a hero. Sort of a character study (with plot) of Wonder Woman as she discovers what it means to live as a human and live among other mighty heroes.

wc: 2814

The harsh coastal wind cut into the wounds on her skin as her sandals pounded against the dirt path, and yet Diana remained unrelenting in her pursuit of the finish line. Her belief in herself drove her motion. There were no consequences for her defeat, other than the self-imposed shame of failure, and no reward for success, other than a self-fulfilment. 

The Amazonian Tournament was once a competition used to determine the Amazon’s champion. Now, it served as an homage to the tradition, meant to keep the Amazons ready should a threat wash onto their shores. Diana had trained for months to participate in the tournament, but her motivation proved too weak compared to the experience of her opponents. 

She lagged a few feet behind the crowd of women in front of her despite putting utmost effort in speeding up. Her lungs worked on overdrive as she began to pant, her legs slowly weakening as she kept pushing them to do something they could not. The pain from her injuries only served as another hindrance.

Diana ran with a directionless lust for victory for the sake of her mother's will and her sister’s expectations. Who was she outside of what she was told to be? Unless she was motivated by her own will, she would never cross the finish line. 

A warrior’s wit paired with a princess’ hope, she was an unstoppable force. It was only matter of her will, whether it was strong enough to endure the failures she would inevitably face. 

The water hugged her as she sunk into the Bay’s embrace. The waves cleansed her mind, leaving it empty for her to become anew–to realize who she was despite the old wounds she left open. She was not defined by what she could do, nor by what she had done, but rather what she wanted to do. And in this moment, she wanted to be the balance between love and war–to have the capacity for great affection and know when force is necessary. 

Her eyes opened with a newfound resolve. She would fulfill her duty to fight for those who could not fight for themselves. Rising from the water she leaped onto the intact part of the bridge, observing Superman fighting the robot that had attacked her and the Green Lantern occupying Cheetah. 

Dripping wet, Diana felt refreshed with a sudden thrill for a battle, reminiscing her childhood. Unhooking the Lasso of Truth from her side, Diana rushed forward and threw the noose towards Cheetah who effectively dodged it. 

Green Lantern, shocked by the presence of a new character, shot a puzzled look. Without sparing him a moment as she engaged with Cheetah, Diana replied, “I’ve got this. Help Superman.” Reluctantly following her command, the green clad superhero left the two women to fight each other.

Diana thrust herself onto Cheetah as she unsheathed her sword, forcing the feline to retreat toward the edge of the bridge. Stuck, Cheetah decided to climb up the bridge’s supports, but before she could get far, Diana pulled her by the tail. 

Belly-up on the ground, Cheetah let out an audible groan as she taunted, “All these years of retirement have made you soft Wonder,” before she pounced on Diana with her claws, leaving the superheroine with deep cuts. Reeling from the attack, Diana lunged at her with her sword, successfully stabbing her opponent on the side. 

Rendering Cheetah temporarily delayed, Diana took it as an opportunity to punch her in the gut, leaving the villainess knocked unconscious. With Cheetah lying on the ground Diana replied, “It seems it is you who has become soft.”

The robot who had knocked Diana into the ground turned his attention to Diana as he shot her with laser blasts. Quickly Diana used her shield, holding it steady as she approached the robot. 

The two men meant to hold him off were subdued with Superman left groaning with green rock lodged in his hand, and a chained Green Lantern. Trekking forward slowly, Diana determined her best course of action was to stab the robot at its power source. But where was it? 

Much closer now, Diana had the opportunity to kick the robot, who was surprisingly able to grab her leg. With one limb in the robot’s hold, Diana did a backbend, using the force of the motion to kick off the robot and send him hurtling toward one of the support beams. 

Diana found that a panel on its back had come loose. Understanding that to be its power source, she used her speed to her advantage, rushing behind the robot and punching the panel with her godlike might. Powering down, the robot no longer posed a threat. 

By now Superman had recovered and was freeing Green Lantern from his bindings. Diana approached the two men both with an admiring and speculative demeanor. 

Both men looked toward Diana, unable to utter a word. It wasn’t lust nor was it admiration that had left them open mouthed, rather awe. Superman was the first to break the silence as he inquired, “And you are?”

Who was she now? Was she still Diana, the simple museum curator, or the hero she had once retired? Each name carried a weight that she could barely begin to understand, but she knew that it was time to retire old wounds for new beginnings. Thus, she proudly announced, “I am Wonder Woman.”

Green Lantern let out a chuckle scrutinizing, “Come up with that all by yourself sweetheart?” 

“It was a name dawned on me during the second world war, one I have come to cherish. And it is much more memorable than Green Lantern. How do ever distinguish yourself among the plenty others?” Diana quipped. 

Now it was Superman who chuckled before welcoming, “It’s an honor to meet you, Wonder Woman.”

“You as well,” Diana replied, a glint of glee reflecting in her eyes. “Now tell me, what brings you here?”

As they helped clean up the remains of the bridge, the three discussed the investigation that Superman was conducting and how Green Lantern decided to tag along. A few days ago, there were reports of strange occurrences in Metropolis of buildings turning upside down, cars falling from the sky, and people disappearing. It all seemed too strange to be true, until similar reports came in Gotham, then Coast City, working their way up to the other side of the country. Batman had a hunch that the terracotta amphorae might provide some clue to the occurrences, seeing as it had to have been ancient magic that was at play. Along the way, Batman employed the help of Superman, Green Lantern and the Flash to help him investigate the threat. Just as the trio finished up with the bridge, Batman and the Flash made their appearance. 

Knowing the reputations of these other heroes, Diana felt that she could reveal what she knew about the amphoras. Now with the five superheroes gathered at the edge of the rubble, isolated from the civilians, Diana was the first to break the silence between the group. “The famed Bat, you’re just as brooding as the papers say.” 

“And you, Wonder Woman, are just as fierce as the stories.” The Bat replied.

Smiling at the compliment, she began, “I have an idea of what you might be referring to. The amphoras would only tell you part of the story, I will tell the rest.”

“How would you know?” The Flash asked a question that Superman and Green Lantern reciprocated. 

Before she could answer, the sound of sirens drew closer and the area seemed less barricaded from civilians than before as helicopters began to swarm. If they wanted to continue conversing, they’d have to do so somewhere private. 

Some while later, the group found themselves in one of Batman’s safe houses. Evening was upon them now, and each still had many questions they wanted to ask of the other. But before any of those could be addressed, Batman brought attention to the more pressing issue of what Wonder Woman knew about the amphoras and the magic relic. Green Lantern on the other hand, adamant in knowing why she would know anything about their situation, pressed for her to first tell them of who she really was. As the five sat at the wooden round dining table, facing each other, Diana reminisced. 

“I was born from clay that my mother had sculpted, brought to life by Zeus’ power. Being the only child on Themyscira, an island of warrior women, obscured from mankind, I was raised to be as diplomatic as a princess and as strong as a soldier. But I remained unfulfilled with this destiny to live in secrecy, so I left the island and arrived in Gotham and fought in the war.” As she spoke, her mind wandered to a different time, one which allowed her to remember why she fought. 

The war god stood mighty in his place as he used the spare metal to trap Diana in the hangar. Within the enormous structure, Aries’ voice echoed as he explained, “You see Diana, man is evil. They are born with this hate.”

He paused, using the sparks of fire that came from his hand, Aries illustrated the savage men that Diana had come to see. “I didn’t start this war, Diana. I simply relish it.”

“You are wrong, Aries. Man is just as violent as it is peaceful, it is you that brings out the worst in them. Your illusions and your trickery. Giving the Dreamstone to a madman was what caused this madness and gave you power. So the Dreamstone can also take it away, no?” Diana asked, knowing that the artifact had been retrieved and was in her possession. 

“So let me get this straight. World War II happened cause of the Greek god of war?” Green Lantern interrupted much to the displeasure of the others. 

Flash nudged him, as he told Wonder Woman, “Please, continue.”

“The Dreamstone is the creation of another Olympian god. It enables the wielder the power to manipulate reality and make their wishes come true. But its true purpose is to enable chaos upon the world of man. Decades after the threat of Aries had subsided, the Dreamstone had slipped from my possession and was lost to time. That was until a woman named Barbara Minerva found it.

“She was a new geologist at the Smithsonian, and my friend. A new shipment of artifacts had brought the Dreamstone, which Barbara was meant to analyze. Not realizing the power it held, she made a wish she couldn’t reverse.”

“You don’t have to do this, Barbara. You can become yourself again if you wish it, and all will be well again.” Diana urged the feline woman.

Barbara seemed insulted by Diana’s words as she scoffed, “Why would I ever want to be that pathetic woman. I’m stronger and faster, practically invincible. Who would ever give up this kind of power? I’m betting you wouldn’t want to lose your perfect skin and godlike strength, now would you?”

Barbara held the stone in her hand, ready to make another wish, one that Diana feared would end her or the world. She needed to stop her, and so she lunged her sword at the stone and swung at it from the middle. 

Barbara screamed, feeling the broken artifact’s power dissipate from her hand. “Look what you’ve done, Diana.”

Diana looked at her, hurt as she replied, “It’s better this way. The Dreamstone was never meant to be in the hands of man, otherwise untold chaos would erupt–”

“–Y’know, you’re the reason I turned into this. I wanted to be like you, to be unforgettable. And now that I have all the power I need, you’re jealous.” 

“No, Barbara. I’m not here to compete with you, I want to help you. Help Man.”

“Man doesn’t need your help, Diana. It never did.”

The Bat tested, “Cheetah?”

Diana nodded, “She was my greatest failure. After her transformation, she succumbed to the power of the stone. Eventually I was able to stop her by destroying the stone. But it seems that I was unsuccessful in that task.”

Superman chimed, “Do you have any idea who could’ve remade the stone then?”

“Barbara worked with a man named Maxwell Lord. He too was tempted by the stone, and I fear he possesses it now.”

The Flash clarified, “Max Lord, the power hungry psycho billionaire?”

“The very one,” Diana confirmed. 

“Is there any way to track the magic or Max, that you know of?” Lantern asked.

It was the Bat’s turn to enlighten the group on what he knew. “He’s holed up in the Black Gold Cooperative building. 

“Very well,” Superman concluded, gesturing to the team that it was time for them to confront the man.

It all happened so fast. The team had to be left behind as Diana was the only one who could enter the building. Maxwell wanted her alone, but for what reason Diana had yet to know. 

Trekking up to the top most floor of the office building, Diana had managed to evade the various soldiers that Maxwell had manifested. It had taken her hours to get to the top, yet once she did, she couldn’t believe her eyes. 

Maxwell Lord was practically glowing like a torch. His body was a plethora of colors. She could feel the power coming off of him. It didn’t feel diluted like most artifacts, rather this power felt too pure. It seemed the man had stepped foot into dangerous territory with his antics.

“Welcome, Diana, It’s been a while.” Maxwell greeted with an arrogant smile. 

Whispering something to Cheetah, Maxwell touched her shoulder and in front of them appeared the robot that she’d stopped on the bridge. This time it was much stronger, for it immediately pummeled her. Taking a great deal of damage from the hits, Diana lifted her hands, crossed them to act as a makeshift buffer from the hits. She was stuck on the defense, unable to reach for her shield without leaving herself exposed. 

Scanning the environment as quickly as she could, Diana ran down the steps she came, hoping that the size of the robot might slow it. She was wrong, for the robot remained hot on her heels. As she made a turn to enter another stairwell, Diana was met with a dead end. Probably the work of Maxwell.

If you need a hero, then become your own. Antiope had told her the night before Diana had departed from the first home she’d known. It was time to live up to those words. 

Turning around, Diana was the first to throw the punch. The robot stumbled back, and as it regained its footing, Diana threw another punch at its back. She continued back and forth until the robot’s exterior began to crack. Then she landed a final blow that knocked the machine down, leaving it a pounded hunk of metal. 

Returning her attention to Maxwell, she tried to reason, “Please Maxwell, understand that power is not the end. You can end this.”

“You heroes, so weak.” Max laughed at her. 

“I’m sorry, I failed you Max.”

Walking out with blood on her sword, the team questioned what had transpired inside, to which Diana simply responded, “We have a saying, my people. Don’t kill if you can wound. Don’t wound if you can subdue. Don’t subdue if you can pacify. And don’t raise your hand at all until you’ve first extended it.”

Diana refused to look at them as she spoke, knowing that the heroes of this age did not believe that death was a viable option. She was proven right, when Batman stepped in front of her retreating form. Leveling with her, he inquired, “Did you kill Maxwell Lord?”

“Yes.” 

“We don’t have the right to be the judge, jury and executioner of these lives. There’s always another way. ”

“Batman, I have lived centuries. Killed countless monsters and gods. I do not regret what I did, and I will gladly accept the consequences which the Fates may subject upon me. But there is a limit to evil. There must be a balance.”

“Then it is up to the Fates to choose who live and who dies. Not us. Killing is not how we protect people.”

“And that is where we differ, Batman. To save people one must make the hardest choices, not the easiest ones. If you can’t bear that burden, then perhaps you should question who you are truly protecting? The innocent? Or your conscience?”

Diana continued forth, stepping past the Bat to return to her life, and properly reclaim the identity she had once relinquished. She was Wonder Woman, a warrior, a princess, and a woman. The world needed someone who had the capacity for it all, sadness and joy, compassion and conviction, mercy and might.

[romanreignseater]

Just The Three Of Us.

USOs x Black Female Reader

Rating: 18+

Warning: Very heavy smut; threesome, double penetration, blowjob, anal play, and a whole lot more. 🤭

“You’ve caught the Usos eyes ever since you joined the main roster and boy… did you love their attention.”

A/N: I got stories man… I GOT STORIES. I have about three fics I’m releasing soon, but I gotta do this one first. Thank you for all your support always ❤️!!

GIF: @r-truth

I loved working for WWE. The fans, the traveling, and my coworkers, specifically two of my coworkers.

I started out as a ring announcer for NXT and soon lived out my dream of being a WWE Superstar. Climbing to the top, becoming your NXT Women’s Champion and even becoming 1/2 of your NXT Women’s Tag Team Champions.

But, my time has finally come to really reach for the stars. I was the first pick in the second round, drafted to SmackDown.

A place I dreaded, yet was the most excited for.

The Usos have been around me since the NXT days. They would come around backstage every now and then in support of their little brother, Solo Sikoa. They constantly flirted with me and teased me, calling me “baby girl”, “ma”, “mama”, or even “princess”. It was really annoying, but I always found myself back in their face.

Being on NXT was great for me as they weren’t always there, but being on SmackDown with them means I’ll have to see them every week.

Great…

“What’s up baby girl?!” My eyes rolled at the sound of a deep voice. Turning around I see tweedle dee and tweedle dum.

Jimmy and Jey Uso. All clad in black, except for their signature white Nikes. Jey’s crop top in full effect and Jimmy’s hat all the way backwards. “Hey Thing 1 and 2.” Laughing at my snide comment, they both begin to approach me. I sat on a crate as they stand on each side of my thighs.

“That ring gear looking’ real good, you did that for us?!” Jey looked me directly in my eyes while Jimmy played with the hem of my shorts.

“As if Uso, what do y’all take me for?!” Crossing my arms over my chest, heaving my breasts up. Their eyes were immediately drawn to my ample cleavage. “I’m pretty sure we take you as ours.” Jimmy’s hand soon grips my hip.

“Are you crazy?! I don’t belong to NO—BODY.”

“Yet, yo ass ain’t moved up off this crate.” Jey’s face inches away from mine as he grazed my inner thigh with his hand. My eyes quickly look back and forth from Jey to Jimmy from Jimmy to Jey.

“You guys are dicks.”

“Yo ass finna be taking and sucking these dicks real soon.” Jimmy laughed at his twin’s plan and grabbed my phone from my hand. As Jimmy was typing something, Jey snuck a kiss behind my ear. “You belong to us, ya understand?!” He pushed back as we looked each other deeply in the eyes.

“Meet us in our room at 11.” Jimmy spoke up. “Let’s go Uce.” He smacked his brother on the chest and they left into the night.

Jesus Christ…

————————————————————————

Another day, another match won, and another step on the ladder climbed. But, throughout that entire match all I could think about was the Usos and their request.

“Meet us in our room at 11.”

My match against Zelina went well, but I was definitely off my game. The Usos were nowhere to be seen after my match and our little encounter. Packing up my gear and makeup for the night, I step outside of the arena in order to get an Uber.

And lo and behold, it’s the Usos.

Camping by a large black Escalade. Jey beckoned me to come over to them, and honestly… how could I say no to that boy?!

“Y’all just gonna keep staring at me or what?!”

They both looked at one another then back to me. “You already what’s about to go down.” Jey said. “It’s 10:15, the hotel is 20 minutes away, and our meeting is at 11. You got some time to put on something nice underneath.” Jimmy careful analysis of the time kind of freaked me out.

“What makes you guys think I’m actually attending this ‘meeting’?!”

Jimmy smiles and looks to his twin. Jey pushes himself away from the door of the Escalade and right by my side.

He circled me like a shark circling his prey. “If you wasn’t gonna attend this ‘meeting’, why you still here talking to us?! Better yet, we was allll up on you earlier and yo’ ass ain’t move from that crate.”

My eyes peered from Jimmy’s smirking face to my white painted toes. I gasped as Jey soon pressed himself up against me. His gruff voice boasted through my ears.

“If you ain’t gonna attend our ‘meeting’, you could either hop in the car or take your ass home. And by the way you still letting me be all up behind you like this… bro you might as well open up that door.”

The backseat door of the Escalade was soon swung open by Jimmy and he directed his hand to the seat.

I looked back at Jey and rolled my eyes. I pushed myself off of him and entered the car. Jimmy closes the door, and through the extremely tinted window I could see them fist bump one another.

They entered the car and we drove off to our hotel. “$100 Bill” by Jay-Z was playing in the background as I stared out of the window, wondering what I’m about to get myself into.

I looked away from the outside and my eyes caught both Jimmy and Jey’s in the mirror.

“Lord give me strength.”

And boy did I need it…

————————————————————————

The boys dropped me off at my hotel room and kissed me on each cheek. As Jimmy walked away, as Jey watched his brother walk away, he gripped my hip and pulled me close.

“I got a little present for you in there. You betta put it ALL on.”

And with that, I was alone again. Entering my room, atop my bed was bag from Savage x Fenty and beside it, a plain taped brown box. In the bag was a high waisted black lace thong set.

Just in my size.

I reached for some scissors and looked to the time as 10:40. “This shit better not take me 20 minutes.”

I gasped as I finally got the box opened. Inside was a pink, glittery butt plug.

These niggas is crazy…

But, so was I.

————————————————————————

I shifted in the elevator alone, glowing with cocoa butter and smelling like vanilla cashmere. Wig secured and tied into a ponytail. A nice pair of jean shorts, a pair of white forces, and my merch shirt. My silk press still maintaining its sleekness, but I doubt that’ll last long.

The elevator dings as I reach the 20th floor, where the Usos were staying. As I reached Room 20-11, I was tempted to run back into my room and hide out forever. Maybe even leave the hotel, and eventually the country.

I looked down to my Apple Watch, 11:00 on the dot my clock struck. Before I could even knock, the doorknob began to jangle. I could overhear arguing. Sooner or later, the door was swung open and there stood Jimmy.

We stared at one another for a moment before Jey revealed himself from behind the door. “Yo ass ain’t even saying nuthin’. Lemme answer the door next time weirdo. Come on baby.”

I brushed past Jimmy and entered their hotel room. I sat on one of their beds and made myself comfortable. They both stood in front of me with smirks on their faces.

“What does this meeting entail exactly?!” I slightly whimpered with nervousness in my heart. The twins became at eye level with, they did their thing again and looked at one another.

“You know exactly what this ‘meeting’ entails.” Jimmy rose from my eyes and pushed me back onto the bed. I got onto my elbows and watched their every move. Jey went to circle me once, but stoped halfway at the edge of the bed were my head was.

I looked as the brothers nodded at one another. Jimmy soon took my legs and spread them open. My vision was obstructed as Jey began kissing me, I could feel my shorts being pulled off of me and heard them fall to the ground.

Jey fondled my breasts and Jimmy massaged my inner thighs. “I knew this thong would look sexy on her.”

Jey paused his passionate kissing and looked up to his brother laid between my legs. “They do look good… now rip em’ off.” Jimmy smirked while laughing and soon my panties were ripped from my body.

“We finna take care of you girl.”

My pussy lips were soon spread open and I flinched as I felt hot air strike my beating clit.

“She going crazy already bro, get in there.” Jey’s words make me shiver as Jimmy soon took a deep dive into my dripping cunt.

My legs tighten around his head, but they were pried open by his younger twin. “Unhh, I can’t it’s too m—uch.” The Usos both laughed as the ministrations just began, and I already felt overstimulated.

Jey smacked my thighs and ordered me to keep them open. As Jimmy twirled his tongue in small, delicate circles back and forth from my hole to clit, Jey began to remove his member from his pants. His entire length sent a shadow over my whole face.

“Oh my god, where’s that gonna go?!”

I rolled my eyes in pleasure as I asked a striking question to Jey.

“It’s gonna go in that pussy later mama, but for right now it’s going in that sweet little mouth.” Jey tapped his length across my cheek and then tapped his drooling tip onto my lips. He gripped the base of his cock and I opened my mouth, waiting for it to enter as Jimmy continued to eat me out.

Lapping up the pre-cum that had gathered at his tip, I opened my mouth wider to slid his length back and forth across my tongue. He stared down at me with such intense eyes. His hips jerking forward slightly as I slid the rest of him in my mouth.

Jimmy tortuously abused my pussy. Jabbing the tip of his tongue between my folds. Pushing his long, thick middle finger inside of me, making me cream all over his single digit as Jey’s cock was still in my mouth. Adding another finger, my wetness flooded his fingers as he thrusted them in and out with ease.

Jey watched my every reaction, my mouth tight and wet, but he needed more.

“Jimmy… baby don’t stop.” I said muffled as I continued to suck Jey’s cock. Jimmy then sucked my pussy lips a little harder, making the sloppiest of sounds with his warm, fat tongue obliterating my slick cunt.

“Let’s switch up.” Jey’s cock left my mouth and he leaped off the bed. Jimmy sent one last kiss to my pussy as Jey laid down on the bed.

“Get on top mama.” I switched from my position from my back to my knees. Jimmy from behind smacked my ass, encouraging me to his brother’s dick. My legs fall spread between both of Jey’s thighs. I grasped his shoulders and awaited his massive cock to enter me.

I heard Jimmy rustling behind me as I made out with Jey, our tongues fighting in a dominate battle. Turning around, my jaw drops as I examine his girthy and veiny length.

“Glad you got that plug, cause I’m finna stretch you out.” Jimmy soon removed my plug and hole began to clench.

“We both finna stretch you out.”

I moaned as Jey’s length entered me through my pussy and I screamed as Jimmy entered my back hole. Feeling immensely stretched, I rested my head against Jey’s shoulder, crying in pleasure and pain.

“It’s gonna go away mama, and it’s gonna fell sooo good.” Jimmy rubbed my head and hair.

Jey began to thrust upward into my cunt, and Jimmy soon followed. Both my cunt and asshole were being pummeled by two large Samoan kings.

What a time to be alive…

Jey’s dick hit the bottom of my pussy, hitting my g-spot perfectly. Rough and hard, abusing my already hurt pussy. And Jimmy was slow and methodical, yet not skipping a beat.

“Oh my GOD, I’m gonna cum…”

“Hold on baby. Wait for us.”

I don’t even know which twin spoke to me as I was lost in far away land. Having my pussy ravaged at nearly midnight.

The grunts of the boys increased my pleasure and made me want to cum even more. “Unhh… cum for us baby, we right there witchu’.” Jey moaned into my ear and placed his hands on my tits, sucking my breasts as if I were breastfeeding him.

Jimmy massaged the other from behind and his strokes became sloppier. “Oh shit, cum for us baby.”

“AHHHHHHHH.” I yelled at the top of my lungs as I came like I’ve never before. The Usos both relaxed as their seed entered both of my holes.

We all sighed out of breath, still with our bodies intertwined.

Jey’s arms were placed behind his head as he watched Jimmy sensually make out with me. Nipping my bottom lip and fighting my tongue.

Jey grabbed my tit and gauged my attention.

“Same time at the next hotel.”

——————————————————————————

THE END

Definitely my longest fic I think 😭.

MY TAG SQUAD: @cyberdejos2 @thesamoanqueen @nayys-world @mzv11 @babybatlover @vogueyonce @harmshake @harlem11680 @seeingstarks @thewarlordsworld @alyyaanna @southerngirl41 @christinabae @pitlissa22 @thealliasylum @fame-ass-ers @iluvthebloodline @jeyusos-girl @ah-fin3sse @solosikoasgf @msbigredmachine @rollinsland @angelicflower2020

[hhaechansmoless]

Beyond The Grid [Series Masterlist]

Formula 1 is a world of speed, power, and relentless ambition—where the noise of the engines drowns out everything else, and the only thing that matters is crossing the finish line first. But behind the glitz and glamour of the paddock, it’s a battleground. A place where drivers push their bodies and minds to the limit, where teams are defined by their victories and their failures, and where loyalty is tested with every turn of the wheel.

In this world, the most thrilling moments aren’t always the ones that happen on the track. It’s when teammates become rivals. When secrets are kept, loyalties are tested, and nothing is ever quite what it seems. When the line between friendship, rivalry, and love blurs as fast as the cars on the circuit.

It's about reaching beyond the speed. Beyond the victories. Beyond the grid.

you can find the taglist here!

66: Lee Haechan

pairing: red bull driver!haechan x PRmanager!femreader

description: Haechan, bold, aggressive and unrelenting, is back after a narrowly missed opportunity to become the world champion in 2024. This time, he's set his sight on making it all the way to the top. You, as his newly appointed PR representative, are assigned with the task of keeping up with a world of high stakes, unpredictable twists and well, him.

w/c: 33.6k

Part 1 Part 2

1: Choi Seungcheol

pairing: ferrari driver!scoups x ex!femreader

genre: angst, romance, exes to lovers au, childhood bestfriends / neighbours au

description: Four-time world champion Choi Seungcheol has spent years at the top with Ferrari, but as the 2025 season drags on, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s not quite where he used to be. The competition is catching up, his team isn't what it used to be, and for the first time, he’s starting to wonder if he’s past his prime. By the time the season winds down, he finds himself back in his hometown, which isn't quite the same either. But the hardest race was never on track, and sooner or later, he’ll have to figure out what comes next.

w/c: 46.5k

Part 1 Part 2

94: Mark Lee

pairing: mclaren driver!mark x performance coach!femreader

genre: fluff, romance, teensy bit of angst(?)

description: After years of watching the front runners, Mark is finally in the thick of it, leading McLaren’s resurgence on the grid. With the team’s hopes pinned on him, he’s determined to prove himself, but the pressure is mounting. Between managing his own expectations and the weight of competition from teammates and rivals alike, Mark finds himself drawn to someone who has been by his side for years—someone who’s seen it all but remains just out of reach. As the stakes climb higher, the line between personal and professional blurs, and Mark is left to navigate the one challenge he never saw coming.

w/c: TBD

3: Joshua Hong

pairing: mercedes driver!joshua x teammate's sister!femreader

genre: fluff, angst, forbidden romance au?

description: New team, new teammate, new standards to live up to. For Joshua, stepping into Mercedes is a test of everything he’s worked for. Competing against a world champion teammate, adapting to a new team dynamic, and finding his place in the spotlight, he’s under pressure like never before. But things start to get a little out of control when he keeps bumping into you, his teammate's sister...and manager.

w/c: TBD

[thereindeerlady]

Hello to the 2 Zukka fans who may actually see this, i bring you Free Thoughts of a 2 am snacker!

Zukka hockey player/figure skater au

Now, i know what you’re thinking: Lydia! Tupp! This has already been done before!

And you would be correct! However! My brain has tweaked it in a way i have personally yet to see (wink wink nudge nudge drop the fic links if you’ve read this before)

So! My thoughts on the subject:

Hockey Player Zuko and Figure Skater Sokka

Zuko, child figure skating prodigy who suffered a tragic accident, is hidden away for two years before he reemerges under his Uncle’s care as a fierce hockey competitor after everyone said he’d never skate again

Sokka, who’s sister Katara became a World Junior Champion at 16* in ice hockey and who Sokka feels he can never live up to, enjoys after-hours figure skating on the same ice he works to maintain. Sokka, who watches singles programs galore and learns his favorites and recreates them, posting them to youtube for his 6 followers (Hakoda, Bato, GranGran, some kid name Aang, and two other anonymous strangers). Sokka who has a natural grace to him despite the obvious lack of formal training, who skates like he’s got everything and nothing to lose, whose love for the art shows in every glide and every turn. Sokka who gets discovered one day by an old grumpy coach who offers to give him a few tips. Sokka who is a fast learner and spends ages 14 to 18 quickly climbing the local ranks.

Zuko, who, at 16 faces a second injury that takes him out of hockey forever. Zuko, who has just been officially disowned as his own sister takes to the spotlight. Zuko, angry at the world, lashing out at everyone around, but goes willingly with his uncle when Iroh suggests a change of scenery 6 months into his recovery. Zuko who is determined to skate again, if only for himself, if only to prove that yes, he is strong enough to come back again. Zuko who strikes a deal with local ice rink that if he sits and runs the front counter during the day while his uncle runs the popular new tea shop inside the rink, he can use the rink after hours once his injury is healed enough. Almost 17 year old Zuko who stays late to reorganize some papers behind the counter one night and sees Sokka step onto the ice and go through vigorous warm ups and exercises. Zuko, who drifts a little closer and watches as Sokka is told he can skate anything he wants for the first skate. Zuko, hearing the song from the last program he ever skated come on through the speakers and watching as Sokka skates through it easily, with a passion Zuko himself had never managed to feel. Zuko, who occasionally stays behind to secretly watch a pretty boy skate and never gets caught for 4 more months. Zuko, who is finally cleared by his physical therapist to get back on the ice but with orders to take it slow, gliding carefully out onto well-taken-care-of ice for the first time in almost a year in skates very different from his last pair, and it feels strangely like coming home.

Sokka who watches a stranger hesitantly enter the rink. He comes to the rink on his nights off when everything at home becomes too much. He loves his sister and his parents- because Bato never needed to marry his dad to be a second father to him- and he even loves his sweet crazy old GranGran, but sometimes it all gets to be too much. They know he’s seriously training in figure skating now but they’ve never come to any of his recitals**. Its not that they dont care, but theres always something else going on. “Oh, we cant, Katara has her out of state tournament that weekend” or “Oh no bud Im so sorry, Bato and I are going on a late anniversary trip that day” or even “I have too much homework, Sokka, I’ll come to the next one, promise!” The only one who never makes an excuse but he also never actually sees in the audience is GranGran (this’ll be important later on wink wink). So, when things get to be too much and Sokka gets tired of having to be the loudest person in the room just to simply be acknowledged, he comes to his safe place. The rink after hours. Sokka watches from the upper shadows as the stranger takes careful, measured, practiced glides. Like riding a bike for the first time in ages, they’re hesitant at first before they slowly gain traction. At first, he thinks the stranger is just going to glide from one end to the other all night but instead he watches as they slowly begin a few exercises. Very familiar exercises. (Do you see where im going with this?) And then, they turn around, and Sokka is suddenly breathless because before him is the most beautiful boy- the most beautiful human- he’s ever seen. And sure, maybe Sokka has always fallen too fast and too hard, and sure, Sokka has literally never talked to this boy in his entire life, but Sokka looks at him and sees that look on his face and knows. ‘He’s just like me.’

Zuko who keeps coming back and lingers before Sokka gets on the ice. Sokka who stays late to watch Zuko retrain himself. Piandao who is sick and tired of watching these two boys dance around each other when they could clearly be learning from one another because, though Zuko had not trained in figure skating in years, he had been a true prodigy and he picked it back up easier than he should have been able. Piandao who was Zuko’s first coach before his father transferred him to Zhao’s guidance. (Jeong Jeong, a retired pro hockey player who is tired of listening to his husband bitch all day anout oblivious idiots because they’re starting to remind him of himself and Piandao when they were young and headstrong.) Jeong Jeong who finally takes matters into his own hand and tells the boy who runs his front counter that Piandao would like for him to come to Sokka’s next practice and then tells Piandao to “Stop whining and do something now, I’ll see you at home” with a kiss on the cheek as the two boys shyly trade introductions.

Zuko who begins helping Sokka with his training even as he himself recovers and relearns. Sokka showing up on the nights Zuko skates alone with greasy takeout and the occasional baked good his GranGran made that day. Sokka and Zuko curling up on the couch in the back office watching old figure skating videos on an old laptop and Sokka finally realizing exactly who Zuko is as Zuko finally realizes Sokka is that one youtuber he watched for years when he was younger. Zuko laughing and telling him that the random subscriber Aang is actually a friend of his and the other anonymous subscriber was just Zuko’s second account after he lost the password to the first.

On one of their casual skate nights, once Zuko is back to full strength, Sokka suggests they learn a pairs skate tongether for fun. Ike a trust exercise!” He says as if he hasnt been dying to know what it would feel like to skate in tandem with Zuko since he first saw his face. Zuko agrees and he and Sokka find a program they both like. They decide who’s skating what and then begin to fumble through learning their individual parts. A week or two later, they try it together for the first time, no music, and its not half bad. They continue to learn it together and notice that the more they skate together, the better they get individually. Zuko’s refined control gives Sokka a more polished look without smothering his passion while Sokka’s passion and fluidity allows Zuko to loosen up and actually enjoy what he’s doing. (1 hour mark)

Eventually, they put it to music, and Piandao and Jeong Jeong emerge from the shadows at the end of the song. Piandao asks them if they want to learn their own pairs program to compete together this year. The two boys share a look and agree almost immediately. The next few months are spent learning the choreography. Sokka and Zuko both go through core strength training and lifting weights because Piandao is currently planning to have them both lift each other at some point in the program.

Time jumps forward to the competitions and Zuko and Sokka blow it out of the water. This time, Sokka spots his GranGran when Zuko is pointing out and waving to his Uncle Iroh near the top of the rink. She’s sitting with Zuko’s uncle and he’s elated to see her there and yet, disappointed that his family still hasn’t come to support him. Time jumps again. Sokka and Zuko spends hours training and then hours on their off days hanging around Zuko and Iroh’s house or even Iroh’s tea shop. They ofc have spent all of this time in continual pining.

But, time jump to when they’re both 18 and 19 and they’ve both just qualified to skate pairs at Junior Worlds for the second year and this year they’re sure to win. They’re in Zuko’s kitchen, baking, and as they’re waiting for the over timer to go off, a slow song comes on. Sokka, in contrast to his norm, is quiet and gentle in the way he offers Zuko his hand and they slow dance in the kitchen with flour in their hair. They’re a little giggly and high on adrenaline but neither are sure who leans in first, only that they are both very much on board with the whole kissing thing. Despite the years of tension, the kiss is tentative and sweet. They begin dating and it only makes their program better. The love they have for each other so clearly pours over into their skating.

This Junior Worlds is the first tike GranGran finally drags the rest of the family by the ear to come and watch Sokka compete and to Zuko’s surprise, he sees Aang and a few of his other friends in the audience. Sokka and Zuko win (to no ones surprise).

Insert sokka family angst and resolve here. Insert zuko family trauma etc here

Sokka and Zuko go om to do more pairs skating things and they live happily ever after etc ete

I ran out of steam there but its 3:10 in the morning and i started at 1:51. Hope you enjoyed, this has been 2 am thoughts with Lydia.

* i did minimal research here, be proud

** same thing but even less this fime

[the-mic-drop]

I'm newly unemployed, it's 2 in the morning, but who gives an ass, cuz it's time for more ZELINK SHIT, SLUTS!

Again TotK spoilers under the cut. (I feel like it's been long enough, but just in case)

So in my last Zelink post, I said why I believed Zelda and Link were the only people in Hyrule who were unaware that they were dating despite sleeping in the same bed. Well now I'm going to paint a word picture for you about that last bit. The bed bit.

So, immediately after BotW, I imagine the first major settlement Link took Zelda was Kakariko. Catch up with Impa, meet Paya, talk rough rebuilding plans, the usual. Then Link talks to Impa and kinda puts his foot down.

"She needs a home right now. Decompress. Enjoy the light of day. Sleep."

Impa signs off on it, Link brings Zelda to Hateno, shows her his house (notably never calls it "his",) they have their moment when she sees the Champions' weapons and the photo, and they settle in for the first night. Zelda looks at the bed and goes "So... Umm..." But Link tells her he's got a mattress set up under the stairs for himself. She goes "Ah, I see." She's disappointed, and simultaneously doesn't know why and totally knows why. They say goodnight and they each listen to the faint sound of the other breathing until they fall asleep. (Zelda falls asleep first.)

Time passes, they go on journeys, maybe return a Champion weapon, maybe check out a Divine Beast, etc. Then one night comes, the loneliness and distance and sadness become too much. Link says goodnight, but Zelda stops him. She asks him quietly but firmly to sleep in her bed tonight. Link is hesitant, but Zelda firmly pleads her case and Link is incapable of denying her request.

She makes room for him, he cautiously climbs in and they get settled in. Zelda's the one to initiate contact, but no spooning or anything, just resting against him. No words are exchanged as they're each just thinking real hard about their situation. Sleep eventually comes.

The next morning, Link wakes up first to find that they've snuggled up with each other quite comfortably. He can't stop staring at her peacefully sleeping face. When he notices her starting to wake up, he pretends to be asleep for some reason he can't figure out. She gasps audibly and briefly panics before remembering what happened. He "wakes up" the two start the day only slightly less awkwardly than expected.

The next night, it's already part of their routine. The awkwardness fades quickly. However, as I said before, there's no romantic progress made. To them, there's nothing to see here, just a princess and her chosen knight sleeping in the same house, in the same twin-sized bed. Totally normal. Yep.

[iam93percentstardust]

For the kiss prompts - heated kiss becoming soft for Stony 😘

Fren! This falls a little more towards desperate than heated, I think, but hopefully you'll still like it?

Warnings for: hospitals and broken bones

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

~

They transport Steve to the hospital as soon as the parking lot is a little clearer. They would have done it sooner, as soon as the game was over, but he isn’t so badly injured as to need to be immediately transported. And besides, he had wanted a few minutes to celebrate with his team before being moved.

They’d won. Champions, three years in a row!

Even the broken arm isn’t enough to upset him, though he’ll be furious if they don’t fine the other team or censure Rollins. Steve had already been in the endzone, the game over and won, when Rollins had tackled him, and there’d been more than enough time for him to stop.

Fortunately, it’s a clean break, the doctors declare. If he sticks to his physical therapy plan—and he will because he knows how much Tony will fuss if he doesn’t—he’ll make a full recovery and be just fine to play next year. “Wouldn’t want you to miss the draft,” one of the nurses says with a wink. They want to keep him overnight, though. He hadn’t immediately gotten back up after the tackle, too stunned to do much more than lie there, and for that alone, they want to keep him for observation. They get him set up in a private room with some of the good painkillers, turn down the lights, and leave him to his own devices.

Steve is bored within five minutes.

He’s straining to reach the TV remote on the bedside table when he hears Tony’s voice from down the hall, loudly declaring that he will set SI’s lawyers on this hospital if they don’t let him stay tonight, which empty threat or not, is still effective. Or, at least, Steve assumes it is, because the next thing he knows, the door to his room is flinging open, his gorgeous, furious, worried omega standing in the doorway.

“Steve,” Tony chokes out. He crosses the room in three long strides, seizes Steve’s face in his hands, and kisses him hard, almost desperately. His eyelashes are wet, and he keeps letting out these little sobs that break Steve’s heart. He makes a soft crooning noise into the kiss and lifts his uninjured hand up to cup Tony’s cheek, gentling the kiss until it’s not so much a kiss as it is breathing the same air.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says softly. “Hey, I’m okay.”

“You’re not,” Tony sobs, breath hitching. “I saw him hit you and then you didn’t get back up.”

Oh, sweetheart, he thinks to himself, heart aching.. He tugs on Tony’s shirt. “C’mon, come on up here with me.”

Tony gives him a worried look. “I don’t want to—”

“You won’t. Promise. Will you just get up here? I’ll worry about you more if you’re all the way over there.”

Tony gives him a look that says he knows exactly what he’s doing, but obligingly climbs onto the bed and tucks himself into Steve’s side. Steve wraps his arm around him, carding his fingers through his hair.

“I’m okay,” he says again. “It was a clean break.”

“You didn’t get up,” Tony whispers.

“He just knocked the wind out of me, that’s all. Hit my head pretty hard on the way down, but the docs are pretty sure it’s not a concussion.”

“They’re keeping you overnight,” Tony points out.

“For observation,” Steve refutes. Tony opens his mouth again, but Steve kisses whatever objection he was going to say out of his mouth. “Sweetheart. I’ll be fine. I should be right back to playing next year.”

Tony shivers and burrows closer to him. “You have no idea how it felt, seeing you like that.”

He can imagine. “Were you scared?” he asks gently. Tony will never admit it himself, but sometimes, he just needs to hear someone else acknowledge how he felt. Sure enough, Tony doesn’t say anything out loud, but he feels the smallest nod against his throat. “Oh, Tony, I’m so sorry I worried you like that.”

“I’m going to make sure Rollins never plays again,” Tony says fiercely. “Someone like that should never have been allowed out on the field.”

“Organizing a fatal car crash seems a little too mob boss for you,” Steve says mildly. To his relief, Tony snickers.

“No, you big goober.”

“And fixing his grades so he fails out is illegal.”

“You never let me have any fun.”

“I’m sure you can think of another way to stop him from playing,” Steve says. It’s maybe a little uncharitable, but Rollins still has two years left to Steve’s one, and he refuses to graduate without removing a threat like that off the field. Steve was lucky, he knows that, but what if it had been Harley, one of the freshman reserves on the team, who’d scored that touchdown?

Better to let Tony do whatever he’s going to do.

“You feeling better?” he asks after a bit, and Tony exhales deeply.

“Yeah, I think so. Thanks. I’m pretty sure I should have been the one comforting you though.”

Steve chuckles and kisses the top of his head. “We can trade, hmm?”

“Yeah, alright. Deal.”

[yugirimistwalker]

sebulba means a lot to me because we watched rise of skywalker in call and it was at the time the worst thing any of us had ever watched together in call (only narrowly beaten out by hamilton for some people as of recently) but while all of this was going i was doing sebulba research and learned of his grandson pugwis and that was like a shining beacon in the darkness of watching a movie that was just really bad and not even in a fun way. pugwis was a male Dug and the son of Hekula, making him grandson of legendary Podracing champion Sebulba. Though the Dug maintained his grandfather's villainous streak, he had none of the racing skills of his ancestor. Despite his shortcomings, Pugwis attempted to climb the Podracing ranks for years, becoming more frustrated with each defeat. He was eventually disqualified from the Podracing circuit permanently after attacking his opponents numerous times. It was actually Pugwis' growing brutality on the track, as well as off the track, that inspired Jabba the Hutt to create his demolition games. Jabba invited Pugwis to serve as the competition's first contestant, which he eagerly agreed to, sensing a chance at fame and fortune. Unfortunately, the destruction of Jabba's criminal empire eliminated many of the Hutt's records of his prior dealings so details regarding the exact outcome of the tournament are scarce. What is known however, is that despite early victories, Pugwis eventually had a falling out with Jabba that led to Pugwis being tied to the back of his podracer and dragged through the Dune Sea, before eventually falling into the Great Pit of Carkoon and being eaten alive by the Sarlacc nesting there, which Jabba found infnitely amusing.[2]