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pucksandpower · 7 months ago

Text

Enjoy the Butterflies

Daniel Ricciardo x crazy rich!Reader

Summary: in which Daniel gets dropped by his team and picked up by an heiress with a penchant for taking in strays

The heavy bass of the club still hums in your bones as you step out onto the pavement, the humid Singapore night wrapping around you like a second skin. The neon lights from Zouk, one of the city’s most exclusive nightclubs, pulse in rhythm with your heartbeat, and for a second, you stand still, relishing the quiet that follows hours of dancing, laughter, and too many cocktails.

The sounds of the party still echo behind you, a muffled roar of privilege and extravagance, but out here, it’s just you and the night.

Or so you think.

Your attention is pulled toward a commotion just a few meters away. You blink, trying to make sense of the scene. There’s a man — definitely not local, tall, and a little scruffy compared to the sharp-dressed crowd you’re used to — being unceremoniously escorted out by one of the bouncers. His head hangs low, and his shoulders are slumped in a way that screams defeat.

It’s not the dramatic, messy kind of exit where someone’s too drunk to stand, or too proud to admit they’ve done something wrong. No, this is different. This guy isn’t even trying to fight back.

“Get lost,” the bouncer grunts, shoving the man one last time before turning to head back inside.

You can’t help it — you freeze, your gaze lingering on him. He doesn’t move, just leans against the wall like he’s considering sinking to the ground. His posture is pitiful in a way that tugs at something inside you, that soft part of you that your family says is too soft. The part that’s always drawn to the broken, the hopeless, the ones who don’t quite fit.

He lets out a long, dramatic sigh, his eyes flicking up to the club entrance, like maybe if he stares long enough, he’ll magically be allowed back in. He’s pathetic. There’s no other word for it. But he’s also kind of endearing, in a weird way.

“Pathetic,” you mutter under your breath, half-amused.

You could leave him there, you know that. This isn’t your problem. He’ll figure something out. Or not. It’s not like you owe him anything, but …

"Are you just going to stand there?” You hear yourself saying, your feet already moving toward him before you can stop them.

His head snaps up, clearly not expecting anyone to address him. His eyes — big, brown, and confused — lock onto yours. He’s a little scruffy, but there’s something boyishly charming about him.

“I — uh,” he stammers, straightening up slightly but still looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “No. I mean, yeah, I guess?”

You roll your eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

He shrugs helplessly. “Well, I don’t really have one. Kinda got kicked out of the only place I planned on being tonight.”

You narrow your eyes. “What did you do?”

“I, uh …” He scratches the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t know, honestly. Might’ve been a little too loud, or maybe I was blocking someone important from getting their drinks. These places, man, they don’t like it when you’re … disruptive.”

You cross your arms, glancing at him up and down. He doesn’t look dangerous, just out of place. “You sound like you deserved it.”

He winces. “Probably did.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you’re still standing there, wondering why you’re wasting your time. Then, before you know it, you’re sighing. Your family would shake their heads at you, calling you too kind for your own good.

“Come on,” you say, jerking your head toward the curb. “Let’s go.”

He blinks. “What?”

You nod toward the curb, where your Rolls Royce waits, engine quietly idling. The chauffeur stands by, staring straight ahead like this is the most normal thing in the world, like this isn’t some insane act of kindness you’re pulling out of nowhere.

“I’m not leaving you out here,” you say, already heading toward the car. “Get in.”

“Uh — wait, seriously?” He hurries to catch up, still clearly not processing what’s happening. “You don’t even know me.”

You shrug, throwing a look over your shoulder. “Do I need to?”

“Usually, yeah,” he says, jogging slightly to keep pace with you. “I mean, what if I’m like, a complete psycho or something?”

“If you were, I doubt you’d be sitting against a wall feeling sorry for yourself,” you shoot back, opening the car door. “Now get in before I change my mind.”

There’s a brief moment of hesitation, like he’s weighing his options, but then he shakes his head, muttering something under his breath, and slides into the backseat beside you. The leather is cool against your skin, the scent of luxury and privilege permeating the air, and for a second, it’s quiet as the door closes behind you both.

The driver pulls away from the curb smoothly, not asking questions.

“So … you do this often?” The man asks, still clearly bewildered. “Pick up random guys outside clubs?”

You snort, turning to face him. “Definitely not.”

“Then why me?”

You shrug. “You looked pathetic.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and for a second, you think you’ve offended him, but then he laughs — loud, unabashed, and surprising. “Wow. Okay. Well, thanks, I guess?”

You smile despite yourself. “Don’t mention it.”

He leans back in the seat, still grinning. “I’m Daniel, by the way. Ricciardo. Not sure if that means anything to you.”

You narrow your eyes, the name clicking into place. “The F1 driver?”

He looks a little sheepish but nods. “Yeah, that’s me.”

You stare at him for a moment, processing that. It’s not like you keep up with racing, but you’ve definitely heard of him. Seen him in ads, maybe, or on TV. It’s a little weird, thinking about it now. The same guy who’s smiling at you, a little bashfully, is famous in his own right.

“I didn’t recognize you,” you say, somewhat apologetic.

He shrugs again, more relaxed now. “Don’t worry about it. Happens more often than you think. Usually, I’m not getting kicked out of places, though.”

You smirk. “Good to know.”

There’s a comfortable silence after that, the two of you settling into the soft hum of the car as it glides through the streets. You steal a glance at him, watching as he stares out the window, looking slightly more at peace now that he’s not sitting on the pavement outside of a nightclub. He catches you looking, raising an eyebrow.

“So, you’re just gonna take me home, drop me off like a stray cat?” He teases, flashing you that boyish grin again.

You tilt your head, pretending to think about it. “Depends. Do stray cats usually get rides in Rolls Royces?”

“Only the ones that get kicked out of clubs,” he fires back, and you can’t help but laugh.

This was definitely not how you expected your night to go.

***

You lean back in your seat, letting the smooth hum of the Rolls Royce fill the silence for a moment. Daniel seems more relaxed now, but there’s still something hanging in the air, something that makes you look at him again, curiosity getting the better of you.

"So," you say, turning your head slightly to study him, "where am I dropping you off? What hotel are you staying at?"

Daniel blinks, the question catching him off guard. He looks at you, then at the ceiling of the car like the answer might be written somewhere above his head. “Uh … yeah, about that …”

You narrow your eyes. “You don’t know, do you?”

He winces, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Not exactly. I mean, I know I checked into a place, obviously, but I can’t remember the name right now.”

“You can’t remember what hotel you’re staying at?” Your tone is somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

Daniel shrugs, unbothered. “It’s been a long day. Plus, there’s like, a million hotels in Singapore. They all start to blur together.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “Okay, genius. So how were you planning on getting back?”

“Hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he admits, grinning lazily. Then, the grin fades, and something shifts in his expression — something a little sadder, more raw. “Honestly, even if I did know, I don’t really want to go back there.”

You frown. “Why not?”

He hesitates, eyes flicking to the window as if he can avoid answering by watching the city lights whiz by. After a long pause, he sighs and leans back against the seat, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I got dropped,” he mutters, almost too quietly for you to hear.

“Dropped?” You repeat, confused. “From what?”

“From my team,” he clarifies, his voice a little hoarse. “VCARB. They, uh, decided they didn’t want me around anymore.”

You blink, the realization hitting you like a sudden cold wave. “Oh.”

Daniel doesn’t say anything for a moment, the silence growing heavy. You can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch slightly as he picks at an invisible thread on his jeans.

“I mean,” he finally continues, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “I kinda saw it coming. Just didn’t think it’d happen this fast, y’know?”

The lightheartedness from earlier is completely gone now, replaced by something darker, something heavier. You can feel the weight of it pressing down on him, the frustration and sadness barely concealed behind his crooked grin.

“I thought I had more time,” he says softly, his voice raw with vulnerability. “But I guess that’s how it goes. One day you’re on top of the world, and the next … well, you’re getting kicked out of nightclubs.”

You stay quiet, unsure of what to say. You weren’t expecting to find yourself in this situation tonight — sitting in the back of a Rolls Royce with a famous F1 driver who just lost his job. And yet, here you are, listening to him spill his heart out in the middle of the night, somewhere between Zouk and wherever he was supposed to go next.

“I just don’t want to be around them right now,” he continues, voice thick. “The team, the people … they’re all pretending to be nice, like it’s just business, but it’s not. It’s my life. My career.”

He shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter laugh. “And now it’s over. Just like that.”

You let out a sigh, long and heavy. “So, you don’t want to go back to your hotel?”

“Not really,” Daniel mutters, slumping back in his seat.

You stare at him for a second, weighing your options. Your chauffeur is driving aimlessly through the city, waiting for your instructions, and Daniel is sitting here, lost in his own world of disappointment. He looks tired, drained, and you’re not cruel enough to leave him like this.

“Well,” you say, after a beat of silence, “I guess you’re coming with me then.”

Daniel’s head snaps up, his brows furrowing. “Wait, what?”

You glance at him, your voice firm. “You heard me. You can’t remember your hotel, you don’t want to go back even if you could, and I’m not about to leave you wandering around Singapore. So, you’re coming to my place.”

He stares at you, eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. “Are you serious?”

You roll your eyes. “Would I say it if I wasn’t?”

For a moment, he looks like he’s about to argue, but then he slumps back in his seat again, exhaling a long, tired breath. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

You nod, already turning to the front of the car. “Take us home,” you tell your chauffeur, who acknowledges the instruction with a curt nod before the car smoothly shifts direction.

Daniel leans his head against the window, eyes heavy. “Thanks,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

You wave it off. “I know.”

A few minutes pass in silence, the soft sound of the tires against the road lulling both of you into a calm quiet. You glance over at Daniel again, noticing how his eyelids are drooping more and more, his head bobbing slightly as he fights to stay awake.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” you comment, amused.

“M’not,” he protests, but his words are already slurred. “Just … resting my eyes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sure.”

It doesn’t take long before his breathing evens out, and his head tips to the side, fully succumbing to sleep. You shake your head, watching him for a moment. He looks peaceful like this, the weight of whatever he’s been carrying lifted, if only temporarily.

“Of course,” you mutter to yourself, leaning back in your seat, “this is how my night ends.”

The car pulls up in front of your building — a sleek, modern tower in one of the city’s most exclusive neighborhoods. Your chauffeur steps out first, coming around to open the door for you. You step out gracefully, smoothing your dress, but when you look back into the car, Daniel is still out cold, slumped awkwardly in the seat.

You sigh. “This is not happening.”

Your chauffeur, ever professional, stands at attention, waiting for your next move. You consider your options for a second before glancing at him. “Help me get him inside, will you?”

The chauffeur doesn’t hesitate, nodding curtly. He moves to the other side of the car and carefully opens the door. Together, you manage to maneuver Daniel out of the backseat, his arm draped over the chauffeur’s shoulder as he leans heavily against him. Daniel stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, too deep in sleep to even register what’s happening.

The doorman, recognizing you immediately, rushes over to assist. “Miss Y/L/N,” he says, eyes flicking from you to the unconscious Daniel, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Is everything alright?”

“It’s fine,” you say quickly, giving him a tight smile. “Just … had a long night.”

The doorman nods, not pressing further, and helps the chauffeur guide Daniel through the lobby and into the elevator. You follow behind, feeling a little ridiculous but knowing there’s no turning back now.

The elevator ride is quiet, save for Daniel’s soft breathing as he leans against the wall, still fast asleep. You glance at him, half-amused, half-exasperated. What a night.

When you finally reach your penthouse, the door slides open smoothly, and the chauffeur and doorman gently ease Daniel onto your plush couch. He sprawls out, looking even more out of place among the sleek, expensive furniture, but you can’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“Thanks,” you tell the men, who nod before excusing themselves quietly, leaving you alone with your unexpected guest.

You stand there for a moment, looking at Daniel as he sleeps soundly on your couch. His shoes are still on, one arm hanging off the side, and his mouth slightly open in a way that’s almost comical. Shaking your head, you grab a blanket from a nearby chair and drape it over him.

“Well, this is definitely not how I thought my night would go,” you mutter to yourself, standing back and crossing your arms as you look at him one last time.

With a sigh, you turn and head toward your bedroom, already mentally preparing for the chaos tomorrow is likely to bring.

***

You’re in the middle of a dream when you hear it — the unmistakable sound of your mother’s voice. Loud, sharp, and utterly out of place in the peaceful silence of your penthouse. Your eyes snap open, heart pounding in your chest as you try to piece together why in the world she would be here, at this ungodly hour.

And then you hear it. A scream.

“Who is this man?”

Your stomach drops, the reality of last night hitting you like a freight train. Daniel. He’s still here. Passed out on your couch. And now, your very traditional mother is standing in your living room, probably about to have a heart attack.

You scramble out of bed, nearly tripping over yourself as you rush toward the living room. You can already hear her ranting, a mix of shock and outrage in her voice, and you don’t even have time to think before you’re standing in front of her, trying to calm the situation down.

“Mum!” You blurt out, trying to sound casual, like this isn’t the absolute disaster it clearly is. “What are you doing here?”

Your mother’s eyes are wide, her perfectly manicured hand pressed dramatically against her chest as she stares down at Daniel, who’s still blissfully unconscious, mouth slightly open, one arm dangling off the edge of the couch.

“I could ask you the same thing!” She snaps, her voice rising with every word. “Why is there a man sleeping in your living room? And why-” she leans in, eyes narrowing, “does he look like he’s been out drinking all night?”

Your mind races, panic bubbling up as you try to figure out what to say, what kind of excuse would possibly explain this. And then, without even thinking, the words tumble out of your mouth.

“He’s … he’s my boyfriend.”

The second the lie leaves your lips, you know it’s a terrible idea. But it’s too late now. Your mother freezes, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she looks between you and Daniel. “Your … boyfriend?” She repeats, her tone incredulous.

You nod, forcing a tight smile, praying that Daniel stays asleep long enough for you to get through this. “Yes. My boyfriend.”

Your mother looks like she’s about to faint. “And you didn’t tell me? You-”

“I was going to!” you interrupt quickly. “But it’s … it’s new. Very new. I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure.”

She crosses her arms, still clearly not buying it. “And this is how you introduce him to your mother? Drunk and passed out in your living room?”

“He’s not drunk,” you say quickly, even though that’s obviously a lie. “He’s … uh, just really tired. He’s been going through a lot lately.”

At that moment, you hear a groan from the couch. You glance over, heart sinking as Daniel stirs, slowly blinking awake. His face is pale, and the second he opens his eyes, you can see the hangover written all over him.

“Wh-” Daniel starts, voice groggy as he sits up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Where …”

Your mother’s eyes widen, and she turns to you, her expression one of absolute horror. “This is him?” She whispers, like you’ve just committed some kind of unspeakable crime.

You give her a weak smile. “Yes. Mum, this is Daniel.”

Daniel’s head snaps up at the sound of his name, his bleary eyes trying to make sense of the situation. He looks at you, confused, and you give him a pointed look, willing him to just go along with it.

"Daniel," you say through gritted teeth, “this is my mother. Remember? I told you she might stop by.”

Daniel blinks at you, his brow furrowed in confusion. It takes a second, but you can practically see the gears turning in his brain as he tries to process what’s happening. Finally, he nods slowly, trying to catch up. “Right. Your mum. Uh, hi.”

Your mother stares at him, unimpressed. “Are you alright?” She asks, her voice cold and judgmental.

Daniel, still clearly half-asleep and in the throes of a wicked hangover, gives her a shaky smile. “Yeah, just … didn’t sleep great,” he mumbles, leaning back into the couch.

You wince internally, but keep up the act. “He’s been working so hard lately,” you say quickly, hoping to smooth things over. “With his job and everything.”

Your mother’s eyes narrow further. “And what does he do, exactly?”

Daniel glances at you, panic flickering in his eyes, clearly not prepared for this interrogation. You jump in before he can make things worse.

“He’s … in sports,” you say vaguely. “He’s an athlete.”

Your mother’s gaze doesn’t soften in the slightest. “What kind of athlete?”

You feel Daniel’s eyes on you, pleading silently for help. “Formula 1,” you say quickly. “He’s a Formula 1 driver.”

Your mother blinks, taken aback by this revelation. “A race car driver?” She repeats, like it’s the most absurd thing she’s ever heard. “That’s … interesting.”

You can tell she’s not impressed, but at least it’s bought you a little time. You just need to get through this without her prying too much further.

“I promise, Mum, Daniel’s a good guy,” you say, trying to sound convincing. “He just … had a rough night. That’s all.”

Your mother’s gaze flicks between you and Daniel, suspicion still heavy in her eyes. “And where did he sleep?”

You freeze. “Uh …”

Daniel, finally catching on to what’s happening, sits up a little straighter. “I slept here,” he says quickly, gesturing to the couch. “On the couch. I didn’t … you know …”

He trails off, looking at your mother awkwardly, but the message is clear.

Your mother’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised by his admission. “You didn’t share a bed?”

You shake your head vigorously. “No, Mum. We didn’t share a bed. We’re not married, remember?”

For the first time since she walked in, your mother seems to relax a little, her rigid posture softening just a bit. “Well,” she says, sounding somewhat mollified, “at least he has some morals.”

You breathe a silent sigh of relief, nodding along. “Exactly. Daniel’s … very respectful.”

Daniel gives a small, awkward smile, clearly still trying to wrap his head around the situation. “Uh, yeah. Very … respectful.”

Your mother studies him for a moment longer, then nods, satisfied. “Well, I suppose it could be worse.”

You almost laugh at that but manage to keep a straight face. “Right.”

There’s a brief pause as your mother smooths down her dress, glancing around the penthouse like she’s looking for something to criticize. Then, her eyes land back on you, and she smiles — one of those deceptively sweet smiles that always makes you nervous.

“Well,” she says brightly, “since I’m here, I’d love to get to know Daniel a bit better. Why don’t you two join me for dinner tonight?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Dinner? Tonight?”

Your mother nods, clearly not taking no for an answer. “Yes. I think it’s high time I meet this boyfriend of yours properly.”

You glance at Daniel, who’s looking at you with wide, slightly panicked eyes. You can tell he’s regretting every decision that led him to this moment, but there’s no way out now. You’re both trapped.

“Uh, sure,” you say weakly. “We’d love to.”

Your mother beams, clearly pleased with herself. “Wonderful! I’ll have my assistant call to make the reservation. Seven o’clock sharp. You know where. Don’t be late.”

Before you can respond, she’s already turning on her heel, heading toward the door with a satisfied smile on her face. “I’ll see you both tonight,” she calls over her shoulder as she exits, leaving you standing there in stunned silence.

The door clicks shut, and the room is suddenly, blissfully quiet.

You turn to Daniel, who’s staring at you, still half-dazed from sleep and now fully confused about what just happened.

“Boyfriend?” He croaks, his voice rough from the hangover.

You let out a long, exasperated sigh, rubbing your temples. “I panicked.”

He groans, flopping back onto the couch. “Dinner with your mum? Really?”

“Yes. And if you don’t play along, I’m pretty sure she’ll disown me.”

Daniel chuckles weakly, rubbing his temples. “Great. Just great.”

You stare at him for a moment, then flop down next to him on the couch, letting your head fall back against the cushions. “This is a disaster.”

“Eh,” Daniel mutters, eyes closed. “Could be worse.”

You shoot him a look. “How?”

He cracks one eye open, grinning. “At least I didn’t throw up on her.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “That’s not funny.”

But when you look up, you can’t help but laugh, because as ridiculous as this entire situation is, somehow, in the madness of it all, you know tonight is going to be even worse.

***

Dinner is already awkward. You can feel the tension every time your mother glances at Daniel, her polite smile not quite reaching her eyes. It’s a small, exclusive restaurant, the kind of place where the waiters wear gloves, and the courses are tiny but outrageously expensive. The chef is renowned for his traditional yet experimental take on Singaporean cuisine, which is perfect because your mother insists on a display of sophistication when it comes to hosting. Unfortunately, that also means the pressure on Daniel is palpable.

Daniel sits across from you, trying to look comfortable, though his hand is constantly fiddling with his napkin under the table. Your mother, seated beside him, is maintaining her usual air of grace, but you can see she’s sizing him up, scrutinizing every bite, every word. And you … you’re just trying to survive.

“So, Daniel,” your mother begins, swirling her wine like a seasoned critic, “what are your long-term plans? With your career, I mean.”

Daniel freezes with his fork halfway to his mouth, the question clearly catching him off guard. He clears his throat, scrambling to find an answer that sounds impressive. “Well, uh, things are a bit … in flux right now,” he says, offering a weak smile. “But I’m working on it.”

Your mother arches an eyebrow. “In flux? That doesn’t sound very … stable.”

You kick Daniel lightly under the table, silently willing him to come up with something better than “in flux.” He glances at you for help, but you just widen your eyes, urging him to recover.

“Yeah, well,” Daniel says, trying to salvage the conversation, “I’ve been racing for a while, you know? Formula 1. It’s a pretty high-pressure job, so … I’m considering my next move carefully.”

Your mother makes a noncommittal hum, clearly unimpressed. “I see.”

You want to sink into the floor.

“I’m going to excuse myself for a moment,” you say quickly, standing from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

Daniel gives you a look that screams *don’t leave me alone with her*, but there’s no way around it. You shoot him an apologetic smile before making your way toward the restroom, leaving him to fend for himself.

As soon as you’re gone, the silence at the table becomes almost deafening. Daniel shifts uncomfortably in his seat, glancing around the room as if he’s suddenly forgotten how to act normal. He’s about to reach for his water glass when he notices your mother watching him closely.

“So,” she says, her tone unnervingly calm, “Daniel.”

He straightens up, unsure if he should be relieved or terrified that she’s addressing him directly. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I think we should speak candidly, don’t you?” She says, her voice as smooth as silk but with an edge that makes Daniel’s skin crawl. She reaches into her handbag, and Daniel feels his stomach lurch with nerves. What’s she going to pull out? A contract? Some kind of questionnaire?

What she pulls out, however, is much worse.

It’s a small, velvet box. A ring box.

Daniel’s heart stops. His eyes widen as he stares at the box, his mind spinning, trying to make sense of what’s happening.

Your mother places the box delicately in front of him, her expression serene, like she’s offering him a cup of tea rather than a proposal-sized bombshell. “I’ve been waiting for Y/N to bring home a boy for quite some time,” she says, her voice soft but pointed. “And now that she has … well, I can’t let this moment pass.”

Daniel opens and closes his mouth, but no words come out. He’s too stunned to respond, completely blindsided by this sudden turn of events.

Your mother’s eyes gleam, and she leans in slightly, lowering her voice as if she’s sharing a secret. “Of course, I would have preferred if you were Singaporean,” she continues, her tone just a touch sharper, “but I’m not getting any younger, and I want grandchildren. So, we can’t be picky, can we?”

Daniel’s mind goes blank. He tries to form a coherent thought, a response, anything, but all that comes out is a strangled, “I … uh …”

Your mother regards him with the same calm, calculating gaze she’s had since the start of dinner, as though this entire interaction is completely normal. “You’ll do,” she says simply, and there’s a finality in her tone that makes it clear this isn’t up for debate.

Daniel stares at the ring box, his brain short-circuiting. Is this really happening? He glances around the restaurant, half-expecting someone to jump out and tell him it’s all some elaborate prank. But no one does. It’s just him, your mother, and the heavy weight of that velvet box sitting between them.

He’s completely out of his depth. He can’t even think of how to respond to your mother’s words, let alone the fact that she’s just essentially handed him an engagement ring.

“I-” he starts again, but his throat is dry, and nothing coherent follows.

“Daniel,” she interrupts smoothly, her gaze sharpening. “You’re a good man, I can tell. And you’re very … respectful.” The word drips with meaning, making Daniel shift in his seat.

Before he can stammer out anything in return, the restroom door swings open, and you reappear, walking back toward the table, blissfully unaware of the bomb that’s just been dropped.

Daniel panics. His mind races as you approach, and without thinking, he snatches the ring box off the table, slipping it into his jacket pocket in one swift movement. His heart is racing, his palms suddenly sweaty, but he tries to keep his expression neutral.

“Everything alright?” You ask, sliding back into your seat, oblivious to the tension radiating from both Daniel and your mother.

Daniel clears his throat, forcing a tight smile. “Yep. All good.”

Your mother smiles pleasantly, folding her hands in her lap. “Oh, we were just having a lovely little chat.”

You look between them suspiciously, but there’s no sign of the chaos that just occurred. Daniel’s poker face is impressive, but you can sense something is off. You raise an eyebrow at him, and he just gives you a strained smile in return.

The rest of dinner is a blur. You try to focus on the conversation, but your mother seems to be on her best behavior, keeping things light and superficial. Daniel is unusually quiet, nodding along and making polite comments when necessary, but there’s something distant about him, like he’s somewhere else entirely.

By the time dessert arrives, you can’t shake the feeling that something happened while you were gone. But Daniel isn’t saying a word, and your mother’s serene expression betrays nothing.

As the waiter clears the last of the plates, your mother dabs at her mouth with her napkin, looking between the two of you with an air of satisfaction. “Well,” she says, standing from the table, “this has been lovely. I’m so glad we could all spend this time together.”

You force a smile, standing as well. “Yes, of course. It was … lovely.”

Daniel stands too, his movements a little stiffer than usual, like he’s trying to keep his hands from shaking. “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Y/L/N,” he says politely, though his voice is a bit strained.

Your mother gives him one last, long look, then smiles warmly. “Oh, Daniel, you’re always welcome. Anytime.”

With that, she gathers her things and heads for the door, leaving you and Daniel standing there in stunned silence. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, turning to Daniel.

“Well, that wasn’t too bad, was it?” You ask, trying to lighten the mood.

Daniel gives a weak chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah … not too bad.”

You narrow your eyes at him, picking up on the odd tone in his voice. “Are you sure? You’ve been acting weird since I got back to the table.”

He blinks, his hand instinctively brushing the pocket where the ring box is hidden. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine. Just … full. Really full.”

You raise an eyebrow, not entirely convinced, but decide to let it slide for now. “Alright. If you say so.”

As you both head for the door, Daniel’s mind is still racing, the weight of the ring box burning a hole in his pocket. He has no idea what to do with it, or what your mother expects from him, but one thing is for sure — he’s in way over his head.

And he’s not sure how much longer he can keep pretending.

***

Back at your penthouse, the atmosphere feels … tense. Not the sort of charged tension from earlier, but something more fragile, awkward. The kind that makes everything feel a bit too quiet, like the air is too thick with things unsaid. You and Daniel are sitting on opposite ends of the plush couch in your living room. It’s not that big of a couch, but the distance feels enormous.

Daniel is fidgeting, running a hand through his hair, tapping his fingers on his knee. You’re sitting with your arms crossed, staring at him, waiting. But waiting for what, exactly? Neither of you knows. The silence stretches between you both, and it’s unbearable. Every breath feels louder than it should.

“Uh …” Daniel finally starts, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to find something — anything — to say. But nothing seems right, so he just ends up staring back at you, eyes darting around like he’s looking for a way out.

You, on the other hand, are unusually still, your eyes narrowed at him. It’s like you’re waiting for him to make the first move, but he’s not catching on. Not yet.

Daniel swallows hard, and after a moment of hesitation, his hand moves toward his jacket pocket. Your eyes flick to the motion, and his fingers tremble slightly as they close around the velvet box, pulling it out with an awkward kind of determination, as if it’s weighing him down more than anything. He holds it for a second, staring at it like it’s a puzzle he can’t solve.

Then, with a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, he opens the box.

The soft click of the hinge seems impossibly loud in the room, and for a moment, all you can do is stare. The ring glimmers under the soft lighting, catching the faintest reflection of the overhead chandelier. It’s not just any ring. You recognize it immediately.

And then, as if someone flipped a switch, you start laughing.

Daniel’s eyes snap to you in confusion, his brows furrowing. “What … what’s so funny?”

You’re still giggling, pressing your hand to your mouth to muffle the sound, but it doesn’t work. The laughter bubbles up uncontrollably, and Daniel looks like he’s caught between being relieved that you’re not mad and completely baffled by your reaction.

“You-” you manage between breaths, “That ring … that’s my grandmother’s. Oh my God, she’s really lost it.”

Daniel blinks, glancing down at the ring again, his confusion only deepening. “Wait, what?”

“My mother,” you say, wiping a tear from your eye, “She must be really desperate to get me married off if she’s giving out my grandmother’s ring to the first guy I bring to dinner. I can’t believe it.”

Daniel stares at you for a second, then back at the ring. “This is your … grandmother’s?” His voice is shaky, like the absurdity of the situation is just now hitting him.

You nod, biting your lip to stifle another laugh. “Yup. She always said it was meant for the man I’d marry one day. Guess she couldn’t wait any longer.”

Daniel’s face goes through a range of emotions — shock, embarrassment, and finally, something like disbelief. “I … I don’t even know what to say.”

You snicker again, leaning back against the couch and crossing your arms. “I think the bigger question here is — why didn’t you say anything to me? Did you just plan on pocketing the ring and hoping I wouldn’t notice?”

Daniel shifts uncomfortably, his cheeks flushing. “I — I didn’t know what to do. Your mom just … handed it to me. I mean, what was I supposed to say? ‘No, thank you, ma’am, I’m not ready for an arranged marriage just yet?’”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “That might’ve been a good start.”

He opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again, clearly struggling to find a way out of this. Finally, he lets out a defeated sigh and leans back, running both hands through his hair. “This is insane.”

“You think?” You quip, smirking.

Daniel’s gaze drops to the ring again, and there’s a beat of silence before you speak up, this time your tone more playful than mocking. “Well,” you say, drawing out the word, “if you’re gonna propose, you should at least get on one knee. You know, for tradition’s sake.”

Daniel’s head snaps up, eyes wide in disbelief. “What?”

You laugh again, your teasing smile growing. “I mean, come on. If we’re going through with this charade, you might as well go all in. Get down on one knee, Ricciardo.”

He blinks at you, completely at a loss for words. “You’re not serious.”

“Why not?” You shoot back, still grinning. “What’s stopping you? You don’t have a job anymore, so it’s not like you have much else going on. You could always be my trophy husband.”

There’s a flicker of something in Daniel’s eyes — part shock, part amusement, and maybe just a little bit of something else. “Trophy husband?” He echoes, his voice incredulous.

You shrug, leaning forward and resting your chin on your hand, as if the idea were the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. I mean, think about it. You wouldn’t have to work, I’d take care of you. You could just … exist. Isn’t that every guy’s dream?”

Daniel laughs — an actual laugh this time, though it’s tinged with disbelief. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

You grin. “Maybe. But I’m also not wrong.”

For a moment, the room is quiet again, but it’s not the awkward silence from before. This is something lighter, filled with the remnants of laughter and the weight of an unspoken understanding. Daniel is still holding the ring box, his thumb absently running over the velvet surface as he processes everything that’s just happened.

And then, because clearly, the universe hasn’t thrown enough chaos at him lately, Daniel does something that surprises both of you.

He nods.

It’s a small, hesitant nod at first, like he’s not even sure he’s agreeing to anything real. But then he meets your gaze, and there’s a flicker of something — maybe exhaustion, maybe delirium, maybe just the sheer absurdity of it all — and he nods again. This time, more certain.

“Alright,” he says quietly, still staring at the ring. “Okay.”

You freeze, blinking at him in surprise. “Wait … what?”

Daniel looks up at you, his expression unreadable but calm. “I said … okay. Let’s do it.”

For the first time tonight, you’re the one who’s caught off guard. “You’re joking.”

He shakes his head slowly, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “Nope.”

You sit up straighter, suddenly unsure whether you’re still in the middle of some elaborate joke or if the reality of the past few days has finally broken Daniel’s sense of logic. “You — wait, seriously? You’d marry me?”

Daniel shrugs, though there’s a glimmer of humor in his eyes now. “I mean, like you said … I don’t have a job anymore. And hey, being a trophy husband doesn’t sound half bad.”

You stare at him, searching his face for any sign of a punchline. But the longer you look, the more you realize he’s not kidding. He’s serious. Or as serious as someone in his situation can be.

A beat passes. Then another.

And suddenly, you burst into laughter again.

“God, you’re insane,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief. “This whole thing is insane.”

Daniel grins, leaning back into the couch with a relieved sigh, as if your laughter has lifted the tension from the room entirely. “Welcome to my life.”

You shake your head again, still chuckling, though there’s something warm and strange growing in your chest. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”

Daniel glances at the ring one more time before closing the box with a soft click and slipping it back into his pocket. “Hey,” he says, his voice softer now, “if nothing else, at least we’ll give your mother something to talk about at her next dinner party.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Oh, she’ll have a field day.”

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, side by side on the couch, the absurdity of the night finally settling over you both. It’s ridiculous, completely irrational, and yet somehow, in this moment, it feels … right.

Daniel nudges you with his elbow, breaking the silence. “So … when’s the wedding?”

You groan, but you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Daniel chuckles, leaning back into the cushions, finally starting to relax. “Yeah. One step at a time.”

But even as you say it, you can’t shake the feeling that this strange, accidental engagement is just the beginning of something even more complicated.

And maybe you’re okay with that.

***

You come home the next afternoon, practically skipping into the penthouse, your eyes sparkling with excitement. The energy around you is contagious, and even Daniel, who’s lounging on the couch with a glass of water — probably trying to recover from the whirlwind of the past few days — can’t help but smile at your entrance.

“You look … happy,” Daniel says, a slow grin spreading across his face. “What did I miss?”

You clap your hands together like an excited child, barely containing your glee. “I got you something.”

Daniel’s smile falters for a moment, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Wait, what? You got me something?” He straightens up on the couch, his brows furrowing. “You really didn’t have to do that-”

“Shush.” You wave a hand at him, cutting him off before he can protest further. “I wanted to. Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

Daniel chuckles, though there’s a nervous edge to his voice. “Alright, alright. What is it then? A new watch? Shoes?” He pauses, glancing at you skeptically. “Wait, is it another one of your mum’s rings?”

You shake your head, grinning like you’ve just pulled off the best surprise in the world. “Nope. Guess again.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Okay … well, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s great but-”

“I bought Red Bull Racing.”

For a second, it’s like the words don’t register. Daniel blinks at you, his expression blank as his brain tries to process what you just said. There’s a long beat of silence before his mouth finally drops open in disbelief.

“You … you what?”

Your grin widens. “I bought Red Bull Racing. You know, the Formula 1 team? Your old team?” You say it so casually, like you’re talking about picking up a pair of shoes or booking a vacation.

Daniel’s jaw is still hanging open. “You — wait — are you serious?” He’s half laughing now, like he’s trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke. But the look on your face — pure, unfiltered joy — tells him you’re very, very serious.

“Yup!” You say, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. “Apparently, if you offer double what a team is worth, the owners tend to sell pretty quickly. Who knew?”

Daniel stares at you, completely slack-jawed, like you’ve just told him you bought a small country. “You … bought Red Bull Racing?” His voice cracks a little as he repeats it, as if saying it out loud will make it more real.

You nod, your smile never faltering. “Yup. Just closed the deal this morning.”

“Jesus Christ.” Daniel runs a hand through his hair, looking like he might faint. “Are you insane?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit with a playful shrug. “But it’s an engagement gift, you know? Gotta keep things exciting.”

Daniel lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I … I don’t even know what to say. That’s — this is crazy.”

“I know,” you say, beaming. “But crazy is kind of our thing, isn’t it?”

He laughs again, though it’s still a little shaky. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

There’s a pause as Daniel tries to wrap his head around the fact that you, his new fiancée, just bought one of the most successful teams in Formula 1. He stares at you for a moment longer, then blinks, rubbing his temples like he’s getting a headache. “I … I don’t even know where to start. What does that even mean? You’re gonna be the new team owner?”

“Pretty much,” you say, like it’s no big deal. “And I’m planning to do a bit of restructuring. You know, make some changes, shake things up.”

Daniel gives you a skeptical look. “Restructuring? What kind of changes?”

“Well …” You tap your chin, pretending to think about it. “First of all, I figured I’d ask if there’s anyone you’d like me to keep around. I mean, it’s your engagement gift, after all. I want you to be happy with the team.”

Daniel snorts, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”

You lean closer, your eyes gleaming mischievously. “And I assume you’ll want me to keep your boyfriend, right?”

Daniel freezes, blinking at you in confusion. “My … boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” you say, deadpan. “Max.”

Daniel nearly chokes. “Wait — what?”

You burst out laughing, unable to keep a straight face any longer. “I’m talking about Max Verstappen! Don’t act so surprised.”

Daniel’s face flushes a deep red, and he shakes his head, exasperated. “We’re not — he’s not my — Jesus, you’re impossible.”

You pat his head, still laughing. “Sure, he’s not. Whatever you say.”

Daniel groans, covering his face with his hands. “Oh my God.”

You sit back, grinning at him. “So, do you want me to keep him or not?”

He lowers his hands, shooting you a look that’s half amused, half irritated. “Obviously, you keep him. He’s the best driver on the grid.”

You nod, pretending to jot down notes in the air. “Okay, so keep Max. Got it.”

Daniel leans back against the couch, staring at you like he still can’t believe this is real. “I can’t believe you just bought a Formula 1 team.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner,” you say with a grin.

Daniel laughs, though it’s tinged with disbelief. “And you’re just … going to be the boss now?”

You shrug. “Why not? It’s not like I haven’t run a business before. Plus, how hard can it be to manage a Formula 1 team?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “You do realize you’ll be dealing with, like, a whole bunch of egos and drama, right? It’s not just about racing. There’s politics, sponsorships, technical regulations …”

You wave a hand dismissively. “Details, details. I’ll figure it out.”

Daniel shakes his head, still grinning. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And that’s why you like me,” you quip, flashing him a playful wink.

Daniel’s smile softens, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that you can’t quite place. But then he shakes his head again, chuckling. “Yeah, something like that.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, and Daniel’s gaze drifts back to the ring box still sitting on the coffee table between you. It feels surreal — like the last few days have been one long, crazy dream that neither of you can wake up from. But somehow, despite all the madness, there’s a strange sense of peace settling over the room.

Finally, Daniel breaks the silence with a quiet laugh. “So … when do you get to meet the team?”

You grin. “Soon enough. I’ll introduce you as my fiancé. It’ll be fun to see the look on everyone’s faces.”

Daniel snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over well.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease. “You’ll love it. Don’t you like being the center of attention?”

He shoots you a playful glare. “I’m starting to regret this engagement.”

You laugh, leaning back into the couch. “Too late. You’re stuck with me now.”

Daniel chuckles, but there’s a warmth in his eyes as he looks at you. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

***

You and Daniel are curled up together on the plush couch, nestled under a thick blanket, a pint of ice cream balanced between the two of you. The glow of the TV flickers across the room as Crazy Rich Asians plays in the background, the glamorous scenes of Singapore flashing on the screen. You scoop a spoonful of ice cream and pop it into your mouth, your eyes glued to the over-the-top depiction of high society that, to you, feels more like a parody than reality.

“I mean, come on,” you mutter around a mouthful of ice cream, shaking your head. “That’s not how any of this works.”

Daniel glances at you, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “What do you mean? It looks pretty fancy to me.”

You roll your eyes, waving your spoon toward the screen. “Yeah, because all of us crazy rich Asians are just constantly jetting off to private islands in the middle of the week. And, of course, we throw dramatic, lavish parties for every minor inconvenience.”

Daniel grins, leaning back against the couch as he scoops up some ice cream. “I dunno, the whole secret wedding dress thing seemed pretty realistic to me.”

You nudge him playfully with your elbow, laughing. “Please. If anything, that’s understated.”

Daniel chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, so maybe Hollywood doesn’t exactly nail the rich lifestyle. But it’s entertaining.”

“Entertaining?” You snort, raising an eyebrow. “It’s borderline satire. Half the time, I’m watching these movies like, ‘Are you serious? Who even does that?’”

Daniel laughs again, clearly enjoying your commentary more than the actual movie. “Okay, but admit it, the wedding scene was pretty epic.”

You sigh dramatically. “Fine, I’ll give them that one. The water running down the aisle was a nice touch.”

“See? Even you have to admit there’s some good stuff in there,” Daniel says with a grin, licking his spoon.

You lean back against the couch, settling more comfortably into Daniel’s side as the movie continues to play. The ice cream between you starts to melt slightly, but neither of you seem to care, too caught up in the comfort of the moment. Your head rests on Daniel’s shoulder, and his arm is loosely draped around you.

There’s a comfortable silence between you two for a few minutes, the movie providing a soft background noise as you both watch absently. Then, without looking away from the screen, you break the silence with a casual question.

“Hey, so … do you want to drive for Red Bull next year?”

The question seems to catch Daniel off guard. His hand, mid-way to another scoop of ice cream, freezes in the air. He turns his head slightly to look at you, eyebrows furrowed in thought. He doesn’t say anything at first, and the silence stretches out long enough for you to glance up at him, wondering why he’s taking so long to respond.

“Daniel?” You prompt softly.

He pauses the movie, the room suddenly quiet without the chatter of characters and dramatic music. His face is serious now, a stark contrast to the playful mood from moments before. He places the spoon down in the pint and leans back, exhaling a long breath.

“I don’t know,” he finally says, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

You blink at him, confused. “You don’t know? What do you mean?”

Daniel rubs a hand over his face, looking down at his lap as if the answer is written there somewhere. “I mean, I don’t know if … if I deserve it. That seat.”

There’s a heavy pause as you process his words. The casualness of the evening suddenly feels distant, replaced by something more serious, more vulnerable. You turn slightly, facing him more directly now, your hand reaching out to rest on his knee.

“Why would you say that?” You ask, your voice quiet but firm.

Daniel looks up at you, his expression pained. “I’ve been dropped twice now. McLaren, VCARB … And, honestly, I didn’t do as well as I wanted. As well as they wanted. What if I’m just not cut out for it anymore? Maybe the sport’s moved on, and I haven’t.”

You frown, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s not true. You’re still an incredible driver.”

Daniel lets out a bitter laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Incredible? You’ve seen the results. I’m nowhere near where I used to be. And Max? He’s on another level. It’s his team now.”

“Okay, first of all,” you say, your tone shifting into something more assertive, “don’t compare yourself to Max. You’re both amazing in your own ways. And second, this isn’t about what they want, Daniel. It’s about what you want.”

Daniel doesn’t respond right away. He just stares at the frozen image on the TV screen, lost in his thoughts. His jaw is tense, and you can tell he’s grappling with something deeper, something that’s been weighing on him for a long time.

You squeeze his knee gently, your voice softening. “You’ve still got it, Daniel. I know you do. And so does everyone else.”

He glances at you, his eyes searching your face like he’s trying to find some kind of reassurance in your words. “But what if … what if I can’t get back to where I was? What if I’m just holding onto something that’s not there anymore?”

“You’re not,” you say firmly, not missing a beat. “You’ve had a rough few seasons, sure. But that doesn’t mean you’ve lost it. It just means you’ve had setbacks. And if anyone knows how to bounce back, it’s you.”

Daniel still looks unsure, and you can tell there’s a part of him that’s scared — scared of failing again, scared of not living up to the expectations that have been placed on him, both by himself and by others.

You lean in closer, your voice gentle but insistent. “Daniel, you’re one of the best drivers in the world. You’ve proved that time and time again. Red Bull wouldn’t have taken you back if they didn’t believe in you. And I wouldn’t have bought the damn team if I didn’t believe in you either.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Daniel’s lips at that, though it’s fleeting. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. “I just … I don’t know if I’m ready to go back. I don’t know if I can handle it if things go wrong again.”

You nod slowly, understanding the fear behind his words. It’s not just about driving. It’s about the pressure, the weight of expectation, the fear of failure.

“I get that,” you say softly. “But you can’t let fear stop you from doing what you love. You’ve been through a lot, I know. But that doesn’t mean it’s over. You have so much more left to give. And I’ll be there with you, every step of the way.”

Daniel meets your gaze, his eyes softening at your words. For a moment, the vulnerability in his expression is raw, unguarded. Then he reaches out, taking your hand in his, giving it a small squeeze.

“You really think I can do it?” He asks quietly.

You smile, squeezing his hand back. “I know you can.”

Daniel lets out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly as some of the tension seems to drain from him. He looks at you for a long moment, then nods, as if finally coming to terms with something inside himself.

“Alright,” he says, his voice a little steadier now. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” you say with a soft smile.

He leans back into the couch, and you both settle into a comfortable silence again, the tension from earlier slowly fading away. You reach for the remote and unpause the movie, but neither of you are really paying attention to it anymore. Instead, you both sit there, sharing the ice cream, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air but somehow lighter now.

***

The evening is quiet, the city’s hum muted behind the large windows of your penthouse. The movie’s credits are rolling, but neither you nor Daniel has made a move to turn off the TV. Instead, you both sit there, wrapped up in the soft blanket, the nearly empty pint of ice cream abandoned on the coffee table. There’s a sense of calm in the air, but underneath it, you can feel something unspoken, simmering just below the surface.

You glance at Daniel, who’s leaning back into the couch, his gaze distant. He’s still processing, you can tell — about Red Bull, about everything that’s been thrown at him lately. The weight of it all seems heavier in the silence.

After a long moment, you shift slightly, turning your body to face him more directly. “Daniel,” you say softly, your voice breaking the quiet.

He blinks, coming back to the present, and looks at you with a small, tired smile. “Yeah?”

“You’ve said something a lot that I keep thinking about,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “The whole ‘enjoy the butterflies’ thing. I’ve heard you say it in interviews, but I don’t think I ever really understood what you meant by it.”

Daniel’s smile falters a bit, and he looks away, his expression growing thoughtful. He doesn’t say anything at first, and you can see he’s retreating into his thoughts again, the way he does when he’s trying to figure out how to articulate something that matters to him.

You reach out, placing a hand gently on his arm, coaxing him back to the conversation. “What does it really mean to you? Enjoy the butterflies?”

Daniel takes a deep breath, his fingers fiddling with the edge of the blanket. “It’s … it’s kinda hard to explain,” he says slowly, his accent thicker when he’s being reflective. “It’s not just about racing, you know? It’s more about the feeling — the nerves, the excitement, the anticipation. All those little moments that make your stomach flip.”

He pauses, glancing at you as if gauging whether you’re following. You nod, encouraging him to continue.

“I think,” he says, his voice quieter now, “for the longest time, I used to hate that feeling. The butterflies. It always made me feel … unsure. Like, am I good enough? Am I ready? Every time I’d get in the car, no matter how many times I’d done it before, I’d still feel that little twinge of anxiety. And for a while, I thought it was a bad thing.”

You listen intently, your eyes never leaving his face as he speaks. There’s something raw and real in his words, a vulnerability that you don’t often see in him.

“But then, I don’t know,” he continues, “at some point, I started to see it differently. Like, maybe those butterflies aren’t a sign of weakness. Maybe they’re a sign that you’re doing something that matters. That you’re alive. That you care.”

You nod slowly, your hand still resting on his arm. “That makes sense.”

Daniel meets your gaze again, his eyes softening. “Yeah. So now, when I feel the butterflies, I try to embrace it, you know? Instead of fighting it. Because if you’re not nervous, if you don’t feel anything, then what’s the point?”

You lean back slightly, absorbing his words. There’s a quiet wisdom in what he’s saying, a reminder that life’s most meaningful moments are often the ones that scare us the most. You think about how that applies to you — not just in your relationship with Daniel, but in everything. The choices you’ve made, the risks you’ve taken, the moments when you’ve doubted yourself. Maybe those butterflies are a part of the journey, too.

“I get that,” you say softly, nodding. “But … do you still feel them? After all this time?”

Daniel smiles, but it’s tinged with something bittersweet. “Every single time.”

You look at him for a long moment, the weight of his honesty settling between you. There’s something comforting in knowing that even someone like Daniel — someone who’s faced so many high-pressure moments, who’s been at the top of his game — still feels that same uncertainty, that same flutter of nerves.

“But now,” he adds, his voice softening even more, “I think the butterflies aren’t just about fear. They’re about excitement, too. Like, yeah, maybe I’m nervous, but I’m also excited because it means I still care. I still love what I do, even when it’s hard.”

You smile gently, your hand giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “That’s beautiful, Daniel. Really.”

He chuckles lightly, looking almost embarrassed by the compliment. “I don’t know about beautiful, but it helps me get through the tough days.”

There’s a pause, and you can feel the conversation shifting into something deeper, something more personal. You take a breath, feeling the moment settling between you like a quiet pulse.

“Do you ever get tired of it, though?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “The butterflies, the pressure, the weight of it all?”

Daniel tilts his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t answer right away, but when he does, his voice is tinged with a kind of quiet resignation. “Yeah. Sometimes. Sometimes it feels like too much, like it’s all building up and I just … don’t know how to keep going.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to respond. You’ve seen Daniel at his best, but you’ve also seen him at his lowest. The moments when he’s struggled, when he’s doubted himself. And yet, through it all, he’s always managed to push through. To keep going.

“But,” he continues after a beat, his voice soft but steady, “those moments don’t last forever. And when they pass, when I’m back in the car, or when I’ve crossed the finish line, it’s like … I remember why I do it. Why I love it.”

You watch him closely, your heart swelling with both admiration and empathy. “You’re stronger than you think, Daniel.”

He glances at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just stubborn.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I think it’s a little bit of both.”

Daniel grins at that, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He shifts on the couch, turning more toward you, his hand reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. There’s a softness in his touch, a quiet intimacy that makes your heart skip a beat.

“You know,” he says quietly, “you’ve got your own butterflies too. I’ve seen them.”

You raise an eyebrow, slightly surprised. “Oh, really?”

Daniel nods, his eyes locking onto yours. “Yeah. Whenever you’re about to make a big decision or when something’s stressing you out. You get this look in your eyes, like you’re bracing yourself for something.”

You blink, taken aback by his observation. “I didn’t realize you noticed.”

He smiles gently. “I notice a lot about you.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence again, the weight of the conversation hanging in the air like a shared secret. You can feel your heart beating a little faster, the warmth of Daniel’s words wrapping around you like a blanket.

“Do you ever wish the butterflies would go away?” You ask after a moment, your voice soft.

Daniel shakes his head slowly. “No. I don’t think I do. Because if they did, that would mean I’ve stopped caring. And I don’t ever want to stop caring.”

You nod, understanding now in a way you didn’t before. The butterflies aren’t something to fear — they’re a reminder that you’re alive, that you’re still passionate, that you’re still fighting for what matters.

You smile softly, leaning in closer to him. “I think I’ll try to enjoy the butterflies a little more.”

Daniel smiles back, his hand gently resting on your cheek. “Good. You should.”

And for the first time in a long time, you feel a sense of peace settle over you — a quiet understanding that, no matter what happens next, you’ll face it with open hearts and, yes, even a few butterflies.

***

The Red Bull Racing factory is a hive of quiet activity. The entire team, from mechanics to engineers, marketing staff to the senior management, stands gathered in a large meeting room just off the factory floor. Whispers ripple through the crowd, conversations hushed and speculative. It’s unusual to have the entire team assembled like this — especially during the off-season.

But today is different. They’ve been told that the team’s new owner will be making her first official appearance, and no one knows what to expect.

The announcement of Red Bull Racing’s sale had come out of nowhere, a shock to everyone. No one knew who the buyer was, only that it was someone with enough money to pull off the purchase in record time. The rumors had flown, the speculation mounting over the past few weeks, but nothing concrete had leaked. All they knew was that something big was coming. Something — someone — new.

The murmur of voices grows louder as the minutes tick by. Eyes dart toward the doors at the far end of the room, the anticipation palpable. Then, the doors swing open.

You walk in, a vision of confidence, head held high. The noise in the room instantly dies down, replaced by the stunned silence of dozens of pairs of eyes turning in your direction. Beside you, Daniel walks in, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, a familiar but unusual sight for the Red Bull team.

The shock is immediate, rippling through the room like a wave. Everyone stares, first at you, then at Daniel, as if trying to piece together how any of this makes sense. The whispers start up again, but you don’t let it faze you. Instead, you step forward with a wide, almost mischievous smile on your face.

“Good morning, everyone!” You greet them brightly, clapping your hands once, the sound echoing in the room. “I’m sure most of you have heard by now, but allow me to introduce myself formally. I’m your new boss.”

You pause, letting the statement sink in as the team stares at you in stunned silence. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m thrilled to be taking over as the owner of Red Bull Racing.”

There’s a beat of silence, the team processing the bombshell, before a smattering of hesitant applause starts. You nod, acknowledging the claps, but there’s still a palpable tension in the room. You know they’re still confused, still reeling from the surprise. You’re not done yet.

“And I have one more introduction to make,” you say, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You glance over at Daniel, who’s standing beside you, a little less sure of himself than usual but still flashing that signature Ricciardo smile. “This is my fiancé, Daniel Ricciardo.”

The room gasps. The shock is real this time, murmurs breaking out instantly among the team. Fiancé? Some people turn to each other, others crane their necks to get a better look at Daniel. The whispers intensify, but you continue as if none of it fazes you.

“And I have some exciting news for all of you today,” you say, your voice cutting through the growing chatter. You step forward again, your gaze sweeping across the room. “With the team being restructured, and with Sergio Perez deciding to take some time away from the sport to be with his family …” You pause, letting that hang for a moment, watching the confusion bloom on their faces. “I’m thrilled to announce that Daniel will be returning to Red Bull Racing as a driver next season.”

The room falls completely silent again, a collective intake of breath. For a long moment, no one says a word. Then, as if on cue, someone begins clapping. It’s slow at first, hesitant, but then others join in, and soon the room is filled with applause. The realization starts to settle in.

Daniel Ricciardo — back at Red Bull.

You glance at Daniel, and his eyes meet yours. For a second, you see the flicker of uncertainty in them, the weight of everything hanging in the air. But then, as the applause grows, you see the shift — the spark of confidence returning to him, the slow curve of a genuine smile spreading across his face.

Daniel steps forward, raising a hand to quiet the crowd, but they don’t stop clapping for several more seconds. Finally, the noise dies down enough for him to speak.

“Wow, uh … thanks for that,” Daniel begins, clearly taken aback by the reaction. He rubs the back of his neck, his grin widening as he takes in the faces of the people who, not so long ago, had been his team. “I’ve gotta admit, it feels pretty good to be standing here again.”

A few people in the crowd chuckle, a ripple of warmth spreading through the room.

“I know it’s been a strange few years,” Daniel continues, his voice more serious now. “There were times when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get back to this place. But when Y/N came into my life, well, let’s just say she’s good at making the impossible happen.” He glances at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and affection, and you feel your heart flutter in response.

The room watches this exchange, enraptured. There��s something surreal about seeing Daniel Ricciardo, a former Red Bull driver, now standing next to the team’s new owner — his fiancée, no less. It’s a lot for them to process.

Daniel turns back to the team, his expression softening as he addresses them. “This place has always been special to me,” he says quietly. “I’ve had some of my best moments in my career here, and I’m so grateful for the chance to come back and create more memories with you all. I know it’s not going to be easy, and I’ve got a lot to prove. But I’m ready. I’m ready to give everything I’ve got.”

The room bursts into applause again, louder this time, more genuine. The team members seem to be warming up to the idea now, their initial shock replaced by excitement. A few of the senior engineers, who had been with the team during Daniel’s previous stint, exchange nods of approval. There’s a growing sense of anticipation, the mood in the room shifting.

You watch Daniel as he steps back, the energy of the moment clearly lifting him. He catches your eye again, and for a brief moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you in the room. His smile is softer now, more private, meant just for you. You feel a surge of warmth, the bond between you solidifying even more in this shared experience.

Then, clearing your throat, you step forward again, reclaiming the attention of the room. “Now, I know this is a lot to take in,” you say, your tone playful. “But don’t worry. Daniel and I aren’t here to shake things up too much … unless we need to.” A few chuckles ripple through the room at that. “We’re committed to making sure this team remains at the top of the sport. And we’re going to do whatever it takes to get there.”

The applause comes again, more enthusiastic this time. You can feel the room shifting from shock to acceptance, and even a little excitement. The Red Bull team is known for its resilience, for thriving in the face of challenges, and this is no different.

As the clapping fades, one of the senior team members — a man with graying hair and a knowing smile — steps forward. He glances between you and Daniel, then says, “Well, if Daniel’s back, I guess we better start preparing for some shoeys.”

The room bursts into laughter, and even Daniel can’t help but laugh along with them, shaking his head. “You better believe it,” he says with a grin.

Slowly, the group begins to disperse, people heading back to their workstations, some still murmuring excitedly about the news. You catch snippets of conversation — mentions of Daniel’s return, your surprising entrance, and speculation about what’s next for the team.

As the room clears, Daniel turns to you, his expression soft. “You’re really something, you know that?”

You smile at him, feeling the weight of the moment settle around you. “It’s just the beginning,” you say, your voice filled with determination. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

Daniel grins, reaching for your hand. “Yeah, but I think we’re gonna be just fine.”

You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling with excitement and love. Together, you’ve just taken the first step into a new chapter — one filled with challenges, risks, and plenty of butterflies. But you know, with Daniel by your side, there’s nothing you can’t handle.

And as you leave the factory hand in hand, the future stretches out before you — unknown, thrilling, and entirely yours to shape.

***

The roars from the Melbourne crowd reverberate through the air as the final lap of the Australian Grand Prix begins. The cameras lock onto Daniel’s Red Bull, the #3 flashing as it leads the pack by several seconds. The circuit is electric, and the commentators can barely contain themselves.

“Here we are on the final lap,” David Croft’s voice crackles through the Sky Sports broadcast, almost trembling with excitement. “Daniel Ricciardo, the hometown hero, is this close to claiming his ninth career win — and his first ever win here in Australia. You can hear the crowd, the energy in the air — it’s absolutely incredible!”

Beside him, Martin Brundle jumps in, his tone equal parts admiration and disbelief. “This is what the fans have been waiting for, for years. After everything Daniel’s been through — leaving Red Bull, bouncing between teams, and now back with Red Bull and at the front of the grid — this will be a monumental moment, not just for Daniel, but for every Australian who’s dreamed of seeing him on the top step here.”

The camera flickers briefly to the Red Bull garage. You’re standing at the front, practically on your toes as you watch the live feed with bated breath, every nerve in your body tense with anticipation. You’re surrounded by engineers, mechanics, and team members, but it’s clear that all eyes in the garage are on you. The new team owner, the mastermind behind Daniel’s return to the team. And now, you’re witnessing the culmination of it all.

“Look at that,” Brundle says as the camera focuses on you. “There’s Daniel’s fiancée and the new team owner, Y/N Y/L/N. You’ve got to imagine what this moment means for her too, after buying the team and making the bold decision to bring Daniel back. She’s been nothing short of instrumental in this comeback.”

Crofty’s voice grows louder as Daniel approaches the final few corners. “And here he comes now, through Turn 13, a perfect line through there — keeping it clean. The crowd is going wild, and you can see why! He’s a few corners away from victory, from making history on home soil.”

As the camera switches back to the track, Daniel’s race engineer comes over the radio, his voice steady but filled with excitement.

“Alright, mate. Just bring it home now. One more corner. You’ve got this.”

There’s a brief pause before Daniel’s reply crackles over the airwaves, his voice barely containing his elation. “I’ve got it, mate! I’ve bloody got it!”

The Red Bull flies around the final corner, the engine roaring, and Daniel rockets down the straight toward the checkered flag. The crowd’s roar is deafening as he crosses the line.

“And there it is! Daniel Ricciardo wins the Australian Grand Prix!” Crofty yells, his voice barely audible over the roaring fans. “His ninth career win — and what a win it is! His first win here in Australia, and you can just feel how much this means to him and the crowd!”

The camera immediately cuts back to you, your face a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming joy. You’re laughing, hands clasped over your mouth as the enormity of the moment sinks in. The entire Red Bull garage erupts into cheers, people hugging and high-fiving all around you, but you’re frozen for a moment, just soaking in the euphoria of the victory.

“Look at her reaction!” Brundle says with a chuckle. “You can tell just how much this moment means to the team owner. It’s not just a win for Daniel — it’s a win for them. What a partnership!”

The scene cuts to Daniel inside the cockpit, raising his fists in victory as he slows the car on the cool-down lap. His voice comes over the radio again, almost breathless.

“YEEEEES! Let’s go! Oh my god, we did it! We actually did it!” Daniel shouts, his voice cracking with emotion.

“Mate, you’re a race winner in Australia!” His race engineer’s voice is filled with pride. “Take it in, soak it all in. This is your moment.”

“I’ve waited so long for this …” Daniel’s voice is quieter now, more introspective. “Thank you, everyone. This is unbelievable.”

As he makes his way around the track on the cool-down lap, the camera follows him, showing the thousands of fans on their feet, waving Australian flags and cheering for their hero. It’s an emotional scene, the kind that will go down in F1 history. The commentators fall silent for a moment, letting the raw emotion of the moment speak for itself.

Finally, Crofty breaks the silence. “Daniel Ricciardo has just made history. He’s become the first Australian driver to win here in Melbourne in front of his home crowd, and you can just see how much this means — not just to him, but to every fan in the stands.”

Daniel pulls into parc fermé, his car screeching to a halt under the massive “P1” sign. The mechanics are already leaning over the barriers, waiting for him, their arms raised in celebration. Daniel clambers out of the car, pulls off his helmet, and lets out a roar, his signature grin plastered on his face. The crowd erupts once more, their hero standing victorious before them.

The Red Bull team surrounds him, cheering and patting him on the back. But Daniel's eyes are searching, scanning the pit lane for you. Finally, they find you in the crowd, and without hesitation, he breaks away from the chaos and runs straight to you.

“Hey, boss,” he says, pulling you into a tight hug, his voice barely above the roar of the fans. “Did I do alright?”

You laugh, pushing him back playfully. “I’d say you did more than alright.”

Daniel grins, his smile wide and genuine, and then he’s swept back into the celebrations, the team lifting him onto their shoulders as the cameras capture every second.

The podium celebrations come next, the lights glittering, the trophy standing proud. Daniel, Max Verstappen, and Charles Leclerc climb onto the podium, their faces reflecting the joy and exhaustion of a hard-fought race. The national anthems play, first for Australia, then for Austria, and the crowd sings along, their pride and passion tangible.

When the champagne is finally handed out, Daniel holds his bottle aloft, savoring the moment. He walks to the edge of the podium, holding his finger up to signal the crowd. The fans know what’s coming. The mechanics in the garage know what’s coming. You, standing just below the podium, know what’s coming.

Daniel unlaces his boot and fills it with champagne, holding it high as he looks out over the sea of fans. The crowd roars with approval.

“Oh no …” Brundle says with a laugh, watching from the Sky Sports commentary booth. “Here we go. It wouldn’t be a Daniel Ricciardo victory without a shoey!”

Daniel grins and, with the flair only he can pull off, drinks the champagne from his shoe. The crowd cheers louder than ever, reveling in the chaotic joy of the moment. Even Max, standing beside him, cracks a smile as Daniel offers him the boot, but Max declines with a laugh, shaking his head.

As Daniel finishes the shoey, he looks down at you with a cheeky grin. He points the boot in your direction, his eyes twinkling.

“Wanna join in?” He shouts down, loud enough for the camera to catch.

You cross your arms, shaking your head with a smirk. “Absolutely not.”

Daniel laughs, tossing the boot aside and grabbing the champagne again, spraying the crowd as the podium celebration continues. The cameras capture everything, the joy, the fun, the relief of a long journey finally reaching its pinnacle.

Back in the commentary booth, Crofty speaks again, his voice soft but filled with admiration. “Daniel Ricciardo, a winner in Australia, celebrating in true Ricciardo style. This win means more than just points on the board — it’s the result of hard work, perseverance, and a love for racing.”

Brundle nods, his tone warm. “You’ve got to hand it to Daniel, and to Y/N Y/L/N as well. She brought him back to Red Bull, believed in him when others didn’t, and now they’re celebrating together on the biggest stage. It’s a fairytale moment.”

As the champagne rains down on the podium, Daniel glances over at you again, his face still lit up with that signature Ricciardo grin. And even though you’re not up there with him, he knows that none of this would’ve been possible without you by his side.

This is your team, your driver, and your moment.

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bunny-jpeg · 6 months ago

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kink-o-ween - day four

daniel riccicardo - cockwarming

cw: smut/pwp, cockwarming, size difference/kink, secret sex, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, daniel is horny (and needy), restaurant sex

kink-o-ween: formula one edition - call of duty edition

you knew daniel could seduce a habit off a nun. he was an inferno that buried deep into someone and made them hot all over. you were no exception. your beloved danny had a mean streak in his, at least sexually. as much as you tried to push back on the insatiable lust he carried in him, sometimes the allure of the driver was too much.

you were confident that this dinner together would go swimmingly. one date before you spent the entire summer in your apartment feeding into daniel's sexual desires. after weeks apart, he hungered for you. therefore, you were proud that you managed to hold him off to have one nice dinner together.

so why were your panties in your boyfriend's pocket?

the place was quiet on a tuesday evening, the moon hung large in the sky and the food was delicious. but the food tasted dull on daniel's tongue, he yearned for something more. the weight of your cotton panties in his pocket was heavier than the wallet next to it. when he went to wash his hands before dinner, he took them out and gave them a good sniff.

call him perverted, but being exhausted from the intensity of racing left him little time to sate his other urges. he was running on empty by the time the season break occurred. so call him a little antsy for some affection from his beautiful girlfriend of almost three years.

you were mostly alone, you had the privacy to let daniel's eyes wander across your form. the softness of your face, how your curves looked into the dress you wore. he wondered if he could take you apart over the table and no one would notice. or care enough to say anything. he had that kind of buying power.

but he knew you'd die of embarrassment. it was bad enough he had to forgo your panties for the evening. but something crossed his mind that would make both of you happy.

"babe." he said as he propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin across his interlocked fingers, "come here. i missed you too much, you feel so far away."

you looked up from your meal and raised your eyebrows, 'danny."

he pouted a little, showing those big brown eyes that seemed to touch the depths of your soul. you sighed before you got up, you went to his side of the table and held his face for a moment before he got you down on his lap. you could feel his erection straining against his slacks.

"danny, if we need to. we can do it in the car."

"it'll take too long. your dress should cover any activities we do here. just warm it up a little. get familiar again." he kissed at your neck before he fed you a piece of his meal, "please."

you got off of daniel's lap for a moment and thanks to the privacy of where you were seated, he was able to get his cock out of his slacks and with a little work you got yourself onto it. you clutched onto the side of the table as you felt the stretch. maybe you two were a little less familiar than when he left.

the skirt of your dress has enough volume to cover both of your laps, hiding your activities of the evening. you rested against him, while his cock remained pressed against the softest parts of you.

"this feels insane." you said softly, but daniel silenced you with a kiss on the lips. his hand in your hair for a moment. he tasted like the expensive cut of meat he was having for dinner. it tasted good, but you knew he'd forgo food for a month if it meant keeping his dick in you.

"don't worry, babe." he said as he kissed your nose, "just don't be too loud." he remarked as he held your face for a moment, "we'll share my dinner tonight."

it was hard to ignore the growing of warmth in your middle. daniel ricciardo's cock was inside of you at an expensive restaurant. you were enjoying food, wine and the familiar girth of your lover's cock in your slick pussy.

so much could go horribly wrong, but the way his cock nudged against your sweet spot made you almost choke on your wine. you covered your mouth with your elbow as you swallowed the tart liquid. the coughs that went through you caused your pussy to clench which made daniel hold your hip tightly.

"careful, beautiful." he said as he kissed your shoulder, "don't want to get me too excited." then leaned over you to cut another piece of his food. he slowly fed it to you and kept his gaze on you.

most would assume this was some lavish display of public affection. not daniel's need to feel as close to you as he could get. you could feel the heat rise in your body as you rocked your hips a little. his cock was snug in your, but it felt right.

you ate and after you swallowed, he brought you in for a kiss. everything felt over-saturated as you mind tried to focus on everything at once. the lust, the food, the setting. it was a lot.

but you snapped back in reality when you heard someone's voice nearby. you looked over and saw the poor waiter by the table.

"how is everything?"

daniel leaned back in his seat a little, not enough to show what he was doing under your skirt. he smiled, "everything is lovely. thank you so much. actually, if you can, may we get some more wine?" his smiled was confident, like all seven inches of him weren't shoved inside your poor pussy.

the waiter nodded, "of course. i have to ask, is the chair you were seated in okay, ma'am?" he turned his attention to you.

you blinked for a moment, feeling the gaze of the waiter and your boyfriend on you. you swallowed, it was sink or swim. play it cool or have your face in the headlines. you took your lover's hand and held it close to your chest, daniel could feel your rapid heartbeat, "of course! i just really missed my boyfriend so i thought his lap was better option tonight." you gave your own smile, hiding that your core was shaking.

daniel looked at the waiter once more, "we promise everything is perfect." he laughed, "thank you though." then watched the waiter nod and walk off to get you some more wine. when he was far enough away, daniel held onto your hips and rutted up a little further in your sweet pussy. it almost made you choke on your drink once more.

daniel pressed his chest against your back, he curved over you like a shadow, "amazing acting, beautiful. if i didn't feel your heartbeat, i would've called it a convincing performance." he took the napkin and pressed it at the corner of your lips, "next time i'll order you some white wine. this is the second time you've choked, babe. don't want to ruin this pretty dress. it hides everything."

"shut up." you groaned a little bit, but composed yourself when the waiter came back with two glasses of wine. you thanked the man before he walked away and did your best to keep yourself composed.

daniel was feeling good, he knew he wasn't going to last long. and while he couldn't make you finish as well. but he'd make it when you got home, he'd happily lay you out for hours and devour your sweet pussy. he shifted his hips a little bit to get that rush through his body. he continued to feed you his meal, your meal grew cold. but daniel was more than happy to share.

"you're so beautiful." he said, "i can tell you're all flustered. poor thing." he chuckled low in your ear. he feed you some of the vegetables and kissed your chin where a bit of the sauce from the vegetables ended up. tasted better on your skin.

he moved against you a little more, small shifts of his hips allowed for him to get a little more friction against you. you felt like a dream, to daniel it was heaven. he buried his face into the back of your shoulder as the fork in his hand trembled. he came inside of your pretty cunt.

he shuddered and deeply exhaled. it took all the focus in him not to moan. he kissed an exposed part of your arm and muttered, "i love you. oh fuck, i love you."

you craned your neck to look back at him and were met with a kiss. heat was high in your face and you fanned yourself with daniel's napkin before you slowly got up on shaky legs.

when your dress exposed his wet cock to the evening air, he was quick to put it back in his slacks. he adjusted himself and leaned forward in his chair once more. his hands were still shaky as he picked up the wine glass and took a careful sip.

you knew that this was only act one of tonight's sexual adventures. you hoped that the rest of the even was less public. the last thing you needed was your face on the front page tomorrow. daniel reached out for you and held your hand across the table.

"i have to say." he said, "next time i wonder how well your pussy would pair with this wine." he chuckled and held the glass up with his other hand.

you could've thrown your napkin at him. daniel ricciardo, your loving boyfriend, could be an insatiable sexual hound sometimes. <3

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gr4cier4cie · 11 days ago

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♡ after midnight (can't be a good girl) ♡

or: the drivers may be rough, but they'll always be sure to smooth you over afterwards. featuring: carlos sainz, max verstappen, daniel ricciardo, lando norris ♡

warnings: explicit sexual content ahead!! thank you to @mikeyspinkcup for this ask, sorry i derailed from it a lil lol was feeling freaky when i wrote this, XOXO always from gracie!!!

♡

carlos sainz ♡

oh i just know this man is trying to get you pregnant every single time you fuck. it could be an extravagant hotel room overlooking monte carlo or a gala bathroom with all the lights off and he's still clawing at your clothes, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and shoulder, molding you into the position that best suits him. he's not mean about it, no. he's sweet. saccharine, undercut with the slightest tint of restrained anger. he's vexed beyond words that he wants you like this. he's vexed that he can't keep himself in his pants for more than thirty seconds every time he finds himself searching for a whiff of your perfume. "mi zorrita," he'll whisper when he sinks into you, your hair (so pretty, so pure, so damn ruinous) wrapped around his tanned fingers. around his fist. "my perfect girl. so good for me." and when you unmistakably exhale a breathy, sniveling whine, scrambling for his bicep as his cock kisses the spongy surface of your cervix, he'll curl two fingers into your mouth to muffle the strangled sounds of your pleasure, lips pressed to your ear, words punctuated by every hard snap of his hips. "¿esto duele? bien. debería."

that doesn't mean he won't take care of you. in fact, it's the opposite. when you come down from the high, he's peppering kisses to your sweaty hairline, smoothing his knuckles across the blooming marks of purple littering your skin. fixing your clothes and cleaning the sticky mess between your thighs if you're out, zipping up your dress with the kind of reverence that has your stomach spasming violently. he'll run you a shower if you're at home, will stand underneath the stream of scalding warmth alongside you and stare at the rivulets of water trailing across your skin, will follow their path with his tongue if you'll let him. he's attuned to what you want, what you need. sometimes he'll whisper into your neck as he coats his hands in soap and traces the soft lines of your body with a touch so gentle you swear it's not even there. "i love you," he'll say. "te amo, mi princesita."

♡

max verstappen ♡

did someone say light daddy kink? because yeah. sorry, but yeah. max wants you to want him. need him. wants you to despair for him the same way he yearns for you, for your touch and your smile and the taste of your skin lingering on his tongue like a memory imprinted into the ivory of his bones. and he's a firm believer of hard work; if you want something, schatje, you're going to have to work for it. he wants to teach you, and, moreover, he wants you to learn. adapt to him. and when i say it's hard to break him, i mean it. he'll leave you wanting for weeks while he's away with strict orders to keep your hands off what is his—your pleasure is his, so why would he let you come without him? that's just bad manners. if you're good (which you usually are), he'll come home and fuck you to heaven and back. he'd drag you down to hell if you asked nicely, too. and no doubt he's snarling words you can barely understand into the curve of your shoulder: "pretty girl. did i leave you too long?" and when you whimper, nod shakily in response, he'll go mean, bark with bite. "maybe it'll be longer next time, hmm? you didn't learn, did you, schatje? can't ever listen to me, can you?"

but he won't leave you forever, no. max stakes claims the same way he plants trophies on your nightstand. once he has you, he'll do everything in his power to keep you. he'll clean you up (once he's done licking up the mess he can reach), run you a bath, massage the curve of your spine and grin at the way you melt into his touch entirely. he'd braid your hair neatly, pull the up blankets to your chin, kiss your temple with longing you couldn't believe you owned. because you might have been his, but he was equally, if not more, of yours.

♡

daniel ricciardo ♡

i have 110% certainty that this man asked you to sit on his face ten seconds into knowing you. it's simply an aftereffect of his effortless charm, the salacious way he runs his tongue along his canines, inviting thrill. danger. you. and, furthermore, i have 130% certainty that he asked if he could film it. what can he say? he's just getting older. "memory issues," he says with the sort of cheeky, one-sided grin that has a flash of molten heat spreading across your navel. "gotta keep it all up in here somehow," he continues as the blinking red flash of his decades-old camera catches the way his hands search hungrily for skin, more animal than man. he likes you on top, spine arched under the leading touch of his palm pressed to the small of your back, likes the way you sob when he's so far up your cunt you feel him in your ribs. and he likes it when you reciprocate. likes how you're desperate to get on your knees, to brace your shaky hand around his tattooed thigh. he knows you like them, his tattoos. he doesn't spare seconds using that to his advantage. you're easy to rile, easy to calm. wild. his type.

he won't turn off the camera, after. he'll leave it running as he carries you off the frame, cradled in arms he knows are meant to hold you. he'll clean you up (or, you'll let him make a mess of you yet again) in the shower, the shit-eating grin plastered to his face mirrored on your own. you'll kiss the column of his throat as he washes his hair, and he'll breathe your name into the back of your neck. he's gentle with you, steering you with a hand around your waist back to bed, kissing the tip of your nose or the curve of your chin as you drift off. only then will he reach across the bedside table and turn the camera off, tucking it into his bag for safekeeping. it goes everywhere with him, after all. he'd hate to lose it.

♡

lando norris ♡

speaking of cameras, lando isn't above stealing a few flicks for himself, either. he's a fan of fine art, and you're the perfect muse. he doesn't bother being inconspicuous, however; every person within a five-foot radius of you should know about the fact that his black leather wallet—one he continues to 'misplace'—contains a rather risque polaroid of you laying on your back, hands cupping bare tits splattered with his cum. and to make matters worse, he adores mirrors. specifically, fucking you in front of them. he made you watch, of course. made you watch his cock slide in and out of your soaked folds, an arm wrapped tight around your waist while the other slid up to the back of your neck, breaking the haze of your blurry-eyed pleasure. "look at us," he'd murmur, choking on a laugh as your cunt tightened. "we look good, yeah?" he'd tap the side of your face slightly when the only answer you find yourself capable of exhibiting is a withheld gasp of his name, clicking his tongue. "good girls answer me when i talk to 'em, baby."

he's never domineering. doesn't push you anywhere you don't already find yourself going. it is not an afterthought, to take care of you. he doesn’t let you go, not even when your body goes slack against his, not even when your breaths grow heavier against the line of his collarbones. not even when you hum, too spent to say anything. he just smiles—that boyish, sickeningly lovesick grin that always makes your heart ache, fingers gliding up and down your spine, soothing, grounding. and even as sleep starts to pull you under, he stays right there—holding you like you’re his most precious win. because damn him, loving you feels better than any podium ever could.

♡

note: this is not proofread at all and THIS WAS NOT WHAT THE ORIGINAL ASK WAS AT ALL IM SO SORRY I RAN WITH IT!! + there's a part two in the making obviously w more of the grid so stay tuned!!!!!! LOOOVE FROM GRACIE!!! ♡

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jungwnies · 2 months ago

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parent trap | daniel ricciardo (dr3)

୨ৎ : featuring : dad!daniel x mom!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : when their twin daughters secretly swap places, exes daniel ricciardo and you are forced to reunite, leading to an unexpected second chance at becoming a family again (inspo: the parent trap)

୨ৎ : genre : romance / fluff / comedy ୨ৎ : tws : none... unless these count (divorce, separation, co-parenting struggles, mentions of past heartbreak, emotional tension, family conflict, mild angst, second-chance romance) ୨ৎ : word count : 1021

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : the parent trap is such a fun watch, so this was VERY fun to write honestly

co-parenting across continents was never supposed to be part of the plan.

you and daniel had once been everything to each other. young and in love, sure that you could handle anything life threw your way. but love alone wasn’t enough when his life was spent on the road, racing from country to country, while yours was rooted in sydney, trying to build a stable home for your daughters. eventually, the distance and the constant sacrifices became too much, and you made the heartbreaking choice to go your separate ways.

daniel had returned to his world of high-speed races and podium celebrations. you had stayed in australia to raise your twin daughters, isla and evie. the arrangement was simple. isla lived with you, evie lived with daniel in perth, and they switched places during school holidays. it was not perfect, but you thought it worked well enough.

until your daughters decided they had a better idea.

the first sign that something was off came when isla suddenly developed an interest in motorsports, despite years of insisting she hated racing. then evie, who had never been interested in anything outside of racing and adventure, started asking more questions about your childhood and your life. their wardrobes subtly changed. isla, who always wore bright colors, started wearing evie’s darker clothes. evie began picking out dresses instead of hoodies.

you thought it was just a phase, something harmless. that was until one evening, you turned on the television and saw an f1 broadcast showing daniel arriving at the paddock, his daughter isla at his side, proudly wearing his team’s cap.

except isla was sitting on the couch next to you.

daniel was not the most observant person in the world, but even he should have realized that his daughter was not actually his daughter.

for a full week, he had no idea. he had proudly introduced "evie" to his team, shown her around the garage, and taken her out for dinner, believing nothing was out of the ordinary. it was only when she casually mentioned knowing how to surf, something evie definitely did not know how to do, that realization hit him.

when isla finally burst out laughing and admitted the truth, daniel had stood there in stunned silence for a solid minute before calling you.

now you were sitting at a café in sydney, waiting for him to show up.

it had been years since you last saw daniel in person. the last time you had spoken face-to-face had been when you finalized custody arrangements, both agreeing that distance was necessary to make things work. yet, here you were, about to discuss the fact that your daughters had successfully pulled off an identity swap behind your backs.

you glanced at your watch and sighed. of course, he was late.

a chair scraped against the floor, and you looked up to see him grinning at you.

"hey, stranger."

you crossed your arms, unimpressed. "you’re late."

he shrugged, his smile easy as ever. "had to make an entrance."

"you mean you had to stop for coffee on the way here."

he laughed, shaking his head. "alright, you got me." then his expression softened as he studied you. "you look good."

you ignored the warmth in your chest and focused on the matter at hand. "we need to talk about what we’re going to do about isla and evie."

daniel leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs. "well, grounding them would probably be useless. they’d just find a way to switch again."

you sighed. "i still can't believe they pulled this off."

"i can," he said, smirking. "they’re too smart for their own good. wonder where they get it from?"

"not from you," you said, raising an eyebrow.

he placed a hand on his chest, feigning offense. "ouch. here i was thinking we were going to have a mature co-parenting discussion."

you laughed despite yourself, shaking your head. "fine. let’s talk. what do we do? stricter rules? better communication?"

daniel hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward, his playful expression turning serious. "or maybe we listen to them. they’re obviously trying to tell us something."

you frowned. "like what?"

"like maybe they want more time together. maybe they don’t want to keep switching between us," he said. then, quieter, "or maybe they think we should try again."

his words hung in the air between you.

your heart pounded as you looked at him. it was impossible to ignore the way he was watching you, the way he had always watched you, with a kind of unwavering certainty.

you looked down at your coffee, stirring it absentmindedly. "daniel…"

"i know," he said quickly. "i know we said we were better apart. i know we thought this was the right choice. but what if we were wrong?"

you swallowed, your chest tightening.

daniel leaned closer, lowering his voice. "tell me you haven’t thought about it. tell me you haven’t wondered what it would be like if we tried again."

you didn’t answer right away. you had thought about it. late at night, when the house was quiet, when isla asked about her dad, when you saw him smiling in interviews and wondered if he ever thought about you, too.

"i don't know if it would work," you admitted softly.

"then let’s find out," he said. his voice was steady, sure. "no pressure, no expectations. just… us. as a family."

you hesitated, but then you thought about isla and evie. you thought about how they had done the impossible, how they had schemed and plotted not just to spend time together, but to bring their parents back into each other’s lives.

maybe they were onto something.

you sighed, shaking your head with a small smile. "i can’t believe i’m saying this, but fine. we can try."

daniel grinned, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. "you won’t regret it."

"you better not make me regret it," you teased.

he laughed, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "i won’t. i promise."

for the first time in years, it felt like maybe—just maybe—the family could be whole again.

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cheriladycl01 · 6 months ago

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Kinktober 03/10/2024 Daniel Ricciardo- Hate Sex

Plot: You and Daniel get into a massive argument when he comes home after a race in a pissy mood for the 3rd time in a row.

Warnings: Kinktober, SMUT, eating out, oral (f-receiving), arguments between reader and Daniel, hate sex etc 18+ Minors DNI

The first time, it was a DNF where he’d collided on track in a fight for 3rd place with Perez. He’d come home, ignored you and the meal you’d cooked for him, got changed and went straight back out. You guys didn’t talk until the next morning, where things were a little tense until he cracked a joke and all was forgiven.

After that race you came with him and it was one of his best races, he was so happy and cheerful celebrating with you and all his friends at a points finish and with the podium sitters of the day. It was very fun.

The second time, it was the team giving him wrong orders and ending up with a cooling issue on the car that set him all the way back in 18th place. This time he didn’t even bother coming home and went out with Lando and Max for a week before coming back and acting like everything was okay. Of course you were a little hurt, but decided against bringing it up to him as you guys were okay!

The third time and it was a rookie mistake on his part, he went into a corner car to quick and didn’t break quick enough meaning his car was in the wall and his race was over.

He come home instantly this time, getting into Max’s jet with him on the Sunday straight after the race and ending up home at a decent hour.

He came stomping in through the door, his suitcase hauled through and left in the entrance way as he started to walk straight past you. You step in his way managing to stop him now that he was in your line of vision.

“Mmmmm yeah no way, not happening” you say to him crossing your arms.

“Please get out of my way” he says looking over you with an unimpressed look as to why you were actively stoping him from getting to your guys room.

“No Daniel, I’m sick of this! Everytime you have a shit race for whatever reason you become … I dunno Elsa or some shit. I’m sick of you running out on me when you can’t man up and fucking talk to me about this and think it’s better to run away, making me feel like ass and then come back the next day and act like nothing is wrong. It’s exhausting and I’m not doing this again. So we’re talking right here right now” you say pointing to the floor with your hands that had helped you embellish your points as you were speaking.

“That’s what you think this all is?” He asks his head cocking to the side, frustration still evident on his face but with who or what you are none the wiser.

“Well it’s fucking clear it is. When I have a bad day at work, you’re quite literally the first and only person I want to interact with. I get being angry but I can’t keep going on like this if you keep having bad races!” You explain trying to remain calm.

“Are you saying I’m not going to improve? Maybe this is why I don’t come to you, because you could never ever understand something as complex as Formula One and how much pressure there is from the team and other drivers. You could never understand what I deal with every day” he shouts at you an angry look in his face.

“You know what, maybe I don’t. But I won’t because you never seem to talk to me anymore. It’s so frustrating Daniel because I’m trying to be there for you but you won’t let me!” You shouts back, tears starting to roll down your cheeks.

“Maybe I don’t want you too! Maybe I’m so sick of your constant nagging and preening seeing if I’m okay and shit and maybe just maybe I don’t want that” he says, his face like thunder. Your eyes are so wet that you actually cannot see the instant look of regret on his face as he says that.

To you that was like he’d basically just said he no longer loved you. Daniel was the centre of your world and it revolved around him, Daniel was your everything and for him not to appreciate all you do for him and reciprocate those feeling was hurtful.

“I hate you so much right now” you cry turning away and running up the stairs to your shared bedroom. Daniel follows storming after you, he pushes you against the wall, anger evident on his face.

“Don’t walk away from me, and don’t fucking say that” he says almost glaring at you.

“Well, I wouldn’t lie to you. You’ve exhausted me these last few weeks and I cannot do it anymore” you cry looking at him with a frown, your brows furrowing in disgust.

You both just stare at each other for a little until Daniel leans forward and kisses you roughly. You are shocked for a second trying to push him away but his arms encase you against the wall, leaving you nowhere to go.

You guys eventually go into an intense make out session. Daniels tongue exploiting every cavern of your mouth while all you can do is lean your head against the wall and let him.

As much as you were irritated with him right now, and hated how he was acting, you couldn’t deny that you’d missed his close contact and the intimacy.

“I still hate you” you say looking at him with a fierce look in his eyes, almost like a challenge to see just how far he would go. And without a word he lifts you up chucking you into the bed. He crawls up to you, spreading your legs open, pulling your shorts and panties down in one and he leans down to kiss and bite your inner thighs.

A hand comes across to cover your mouth, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how good he was making you feel just from light contact on your inner thighs.

The minute he started to lick strips up your slit you were done for, his large nose bumping your clit making you squirm and a breathy gasp leaving your lips.

“You still hate me gorgeous? Because you don’t sound like you do?” He smirks diving back in and eating you out like a 5 course meal in a 3 star Michelin restaurant.

“Danny” you cry and he just laughs into your creating more incredible vibrations.

“Still hate me? I dare you to say it” he asks and there was still a petty part of you that was so upset be annoyed with him that you couldn’t even understand your own emotions right now?

Was it hate?

“Yes I do” you answered, but Daniel could here the confusion in your voice.

“Maybe I just need to fuck the hate out of you huh?” He asks coming up from your clit, his fingers dipping in making your gasp and grab his wrist making eye contact as he come up to kiss you on the lips, making you able to taste yourself in his lips.

“How does that sound? Letting me take all my frustrations out on you” he says as he speeds up his fingers inside you. He takes them out, licking them clean before pulling his own jeans and boxers down letting his dick spring free.

“Or how about I take MY frustrations out on you” you say flipping his round and straddling him. Holding him down by his shoulders.

He just smirks up at you, hands going behind his head as he relaxes with your weight on top of him.

“Gone if then baby girl. Do your worst” he says and before he can say anymore your mounting him, slipping down onto him bouncing up and down. Your hands find their way to his hair as you grip his curls and his find their way to your exposed boobs, letting them fill his hands as he starts to tweak and play with your peaked nipples.

“Fuck Dan, why’d you have to ignore me” you all but moan as you speed up and Daniel starts to thrust up to meet your bounces.

“I didn’t wanna fucking hurt you, I knew I’d say something nasty to you coz I was hacked off” he gasps out as he grips your hips, helping you bounce.

“You’re so stupid” you cry, out looking at him as you clench round him and fall into him having no more energy. Daniels thrusts become sloppy and he eventually slows down, with one big thrust before emptying himself inside you.

“Still hate me?” He smiles as he pulls you into him for a hug, his breathing ragged as he looks down at you.

“Always” you smile, pulling him into a sweet kiss.

“Damn, we need to have more sex when your angry” he sighs, wiping the sweat away from his forehead.

“No way had my sexiness bested a high performance athlete” you laugh, looking over at him. And he can’t help but laugh too.

“Mmmmm of course you have” he answers.

“But next time, you talk to me okay? I swear I’m not doing this again Daniel” you say seriously and he rolls his eyes with a small pout.

“But your so hot and sexy when you hate me” he pouts making you shake your head laughing before lightly slapping his shoulder.

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mxstellatayte · 8 months ago

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Daniel and morning head

nsfw under the cut <3 minors can lurk but please do not interact!

you really can't resist it. not when you wake up with your head on his chest, his arm thrown around your shoulders creating a cocoon of safety for you. as gently as you can, you wiggle down the bed and settle between daniel's legs, tugging his boxers down just enough to free his erection. he stirs in his sleep when your hand comes into contact with his cock, and you let a glob of saliva fall from your lips and onto your hand, easing the slide.

daniel's never been a heavy sleeper, and it comes in handy (heh) when you wake up a little extra turned on. take today, for example. when your lips come into contact with the tip of his cock, letting your tongue press against it just so, he fidgets once more, but this time you know he's close to waking up. as always, your hand that isn't stroking at the rest of his length reaches up his torso, and his own hand meets you halfway, lacing his fingers with yours. you remove yourself from his dick just long enough to whisper a soft "good morning, danny," before resuming your efforts, and he mumbles out something that seems like a similar greeting, but it's barely intelligible.

you have the strategy to bring daniel to the edge down to a t. after being in a relationship for years, one would hope so. you have the technique so perfected, in fact, that it's become second nature to you. danny's big. so big, in fact, that it's fairly difficult to take him all in your mouth. instead, you opt for letting your saliva (and his precum) drip out of your mouth and onto your hand which strokes what you can't take into your mouth. you focus your attention on working magic with your tongue, and the grunts and moans that tumble past danny's lips are music to your ears.

before long, though, the moans turn slightly more coherent, murmurs of "oh, baby, i'm close" and "fuck, darling, just like that." his comments only make you double your efforts, and it isn't long before he's cumming down your throat and you gladly swallow every drop. when you climb back up his torso, leaving soft kisses in your wake, and finally, finally, connect your lips to his, danny smiles when he can taste his own cum in your mouth.

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agentstarkid · 1 month ago

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A TABLE FOR TWO ✦ DR3

✦ DEBRIEF: No cameras, no obligations, just the lazy rhythm of conversation and the comfort of familiar hands intertwined. The world can wait, just for a little longer. After all, some moments deserve to stretch on forever.

✦ CHECKERED FLAG: 3.7K words

✦ TRACK LIMITS: just lots of fluff and cute banter. no use of y/n. english is not my first language x

✦ MAY'S RADIO: yesterday i saw this video on tiktok and i had to write it for danielito 💘 it was supposed to be just a drabble but...*sighs*

< back to general masterlist

The golden Monaco sun cast a warm glow over the pastel buildings, the scent of salt and freshly baked bread drifting through the air as you and Daniel strolled through the narrow, winding streets. His hand brushed against yours absentmindedly, the easy intimacy of two people who had carved out a quiet life together away from the chaos of the world.

The city, alive with its usual summer hum, felt slower today—or maybe that was just him. Daniel walked beside you, hands tucked into the pockets of his shorts, sunglasses perched on his nose, and a light scruff dusting his jaw. He looked at ease, like he belonged here, like the world of racing had never claimed him in the first place.

Laughter bubbled from his lips as he recounted some ridiculous story, his sunglasses sliding down his nose as he glanced at you with that signature grin—the one that made your heart trip over itself no matter how many times you’d seen it.

“Alright, mon amour,” he teased with an exaggerated accent, nudging you gently with his elbow. “We’re in the mood for something fancy, or are we going full tourist and getting pizza by the port?” The sun kissed his tanned skin, his carefree demeanor a stark contrast to the adrenaline-fueled world he usually thrived in. But here, with you, in the lull of summer, Daniel was just Daniel—the man who made you laugh, who pulled you closer when the breeze picked up, and who, at that moment, looked at you like he had all the time in the world.

You rolled your eyes at his question, adjusting your sunglasses as you glanced at him with feigned exasperation. “Daniel, we live here. We are not tourists.”

He let out an exaggerated gasp, placing a hand over his chest as if you had wounded him. “Excuse me, but pizza by the port is a classic experience, no matter how long you've lived here.” His voice took on a faux-serious tone, but the playful glint in his eyes gave him away.

You smirked, shaking your head. “Mmm, sounds like someone just doesn’t want to sit through a proper meal.”

“Okay, first of all,” he held up a finger, “a proper meal is subjective.” He gestured toward the lively cafés lining the streets, their terraces filled with people sipping wine and sharing plates of seafood. “Second, I was thinking of you, my love. You always say you don’t like eating heavy meals in this heat.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, skeptical. “That’s true… but you’re also conveniently leaving out the fact that you have the patience of a toddler when you’re hungry.”

Daniel gasped again, more dramatic this time, stopping in the middle of the cobbled street. “Uh excuse me?! I have the patience of a saint, thank you very much.”

You arched a brow, crossing your arms. “Oh, really? So, you didn’t nearly lose your mind waiting for our order last week at that fancy place?”

“That was different!” He threw his hands up. “They made us wait forty minutes just to bring out the bread, and you know how I feel about bread service!”

You burst out laughing, grabbing his wrist to pull him forward as he stubbornly stood there, reliving his past suffering. “Okay, okay, let’s compromise. We get something light but not just pizza, deal?”

Daniel hummed, pretending to think it over as you turned a corner, the sound of waves crashing against the marina in the distance. “Fine, but only if I get to pick dessert.”

You squinted at him. “So, this was about your sweet tooth all along?”

A guilty smirk spread across his face. “Listen, baby, I can’t help that gelato is my one true weakness.”

You shook your head, laughing. “You are so lucky I love you.”

“Oh, I know I am,” he said smoothly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “And I plan to keep reminding you with every bite of gelato I feed you later.”

The narrow street opened up into a sun-drenched plaza, the scent of espresso and fresh seafood hanging thick in the warm August air. You and Daniel meandered toward a café with a shaded terrace, but he kept bumping into you lightly with his hip, a mischievous grin plastered across his sun-kissed face.

“Oi, you keep shoving me, I’m gonna have to start charging you rent for walking in my personal space,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge back.

Daniel clutched his chest like you’d mortally wounded him. “Your personal space? Babe, please. This whole city should be paying me rent just for blessing it with my presence.”

You scoffed, stepping up onto the curb while he remained on the street, making you just slightly taller than him. “Oh, you think you’re some kind of gift to Monte Carlo?”

He wiggled his brows. “I mean, yeah. Have you seen me? Local legend. National treasure. The pride of Perth.”

You deadpanned. “You’re in Monaco, Daniel.”

“Exactly. I’m international, baby.” He struck a ridiculous pose, hands on his hips like a superhero.

You covered your face, laughing into your palm. “God, why am I dating you?”

He gasped, dramatically taking a step back like you had just rocked his world. “You don’t know?! Babe, this is alarming. What happened to ‘oh Daniel, I love you so much, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me’?” His voice pitched higher as he mimicked you.

You burst into laughter, nearly tripping over the cobblestone as you smacked his arm. “I have never said that in my life!”

Daniel waggled a finger. “Nah, nah, you said it. Maybe not in words, but with your eyes.”

“Oh, so you’re an expert in my eyes now?”

“Mate, I could write a whole bloody thesis on ‘em.” He tilted his head, squinting dramatically. “Chapter One: ‘The Death Stare—How One Exotic Woman Strikes Fear into a Grown Australian Man.’”

You crossed your arms, feigning seriousness. “Uh-huh. And Chapter Two?”

“‘Heart Eyes—A Study in How Quickly She Melts When I Do This.’” Without warning, he reached over and pinched your cheek, pulling lightly before quickly dodging out of your reach when you swatted at him.

You groaned, but you were grinning. “Daniel! You are so annoying!”

“And yet,” he sang, slinging an arm over your shoulders and tugging you close as he steered you toward the café, “here you are, still stuck with me, schricchiolina.”

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

Daniel grinned, pressing a noisy, exaggerated kiss to your temple before whispering, “You love it, though.”

You did. And he knew it.

The café was tucked into the curve of the quay in Fontvieille, shaded by striped awnings with little potted citrus trees lining the terrace. The warm hum of conversation mixed with the occasional clatter of cutlery, the scent of espresso and grilled seafood weaving through the air.

Daniel, ever the gentleman, pulled out your chair before plopping down across from you, one arm draped lazily over the back of his seat.

A waiter appeared, all polite efficiency, handing over the menus. You glanced over at Daniel, who was already scanning the options like it was a life-or-death decision.

“You’re just going to order the same thing you always do,” you teased, not even looking at your own menu.

“Excuse me, I am a man of taste and variety,” he argued, though his eyes flickered over to the pasta he always ordered.

You snorted. “Taste, yes. Variety? Absolutely not.”

Daniel rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress the grin tugging at his lips. “Alright, what are you getting, then, Miss Culinary Adventure?”

You pretended to ponder. “Mmm, maybe I should just order for the both of us. Make sure we get something exciting. Maybe some... snails?”

Daniel’s nose scrunched immediately. “Alright, first of all, escargot is just a fancy way of saying ‘garden slugs on a plate,’ and I refuse.”

“Ah, so you do lack variety.”

“I do not lack variety. I just have standards,” he declared, setting his menu down with finality. “And my standards say no to chewy bugs drenched in butter.”

The waiter returned before you could tease him further, and Daniel ordered his usual (as expected), and shot you a cheeky look. “–and a side of bread. You know, for the trauma.” You snorted, shaking your head as you placed your own order, picking something different just to prove a point.

As the waiter left, your eyes flickered over his outfit—the mint green bucket hat, the Enchanté tote bag resting beside him, the Gator Tours trunks that somehow made the man look like one of those dads on tourist-mode. You smirked.

“You know,” you mused, resting your chin on your hand, “for someone who gives me a hard time about my shopping habits, you sure do love wearing your own merch.”

Daniel smirked, leaning back in his chair. “What can I say? I have impeccable taste.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” you nodded mock-seriously. “But let’s be real, do you actually like the designs, or do you just love seeing your own name on your clothes?”

Daniel gasped, placing a hand over his heart. “I am offended at this blatant attack on my fashion sense.”

You bit back a grin. “I just think it’s funny how you act all cool about it when I know you get all smug when someone recognizes your stuff.”

He huffed a laugh, then narrowed his eyes at you playfully. “Alright, Miss Observant, if we’re pointing out habits, let’s talk about how you love my merch.”

You tilted your head, amused. “Yeah, I wear your hoodies sometimes. So what?”

He wiggled his brows. “Not just hoodies.”

Your stomach dipped slightly at the knowing glint in his eye. “What are you talking about?”

Daniel leaned forward, voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “I’m talking about how you love wearing my shirts. And only my shirts.” His grin turned downright devilish. “Just a t-shirt and a cute little pair of panties—or not—, walking around the apartment as if it is your own runway.”

Heat rushed to your face. “Daniel.”

“What?” he teased, sipping his drink like he hadn't just flustered you in broad daylight. “It’s a great look. Huge fan, really.”

You shook your head, exhaling a laugh. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet, you still give me a show every day.” He winked.

A beat passed and then—

“Are you okay?” he leaned a little over the table, amusement dancing in his eyes at the crimson tide that surged into your cheeks, a hint of mischief colored his tone, “You look a little–”

“I’m fine! Shut up.” a gentle pout formed on your lips, but you couldn't help the smile that threatened to lift the edges of your mouth. A lighthearted smirk pinched at his cheeks, his gaze drifting toward the marina, you could tell he’d gotten lost in thought. The sun highlighted the light scruff on his jaw, the easy way he carried himself here, like these last few months had softened all his edges.

A TikTok trend you’d seen that morning flickered in your mind, sparking a mischievous idea that you couldn’t resist. You leaned forward, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Hey, Daniel.”

He blinked, startled out of his daze, his wide brown eyes meeting yours with the cutest little look—eyebrows raised, lips parted slightly, like you’d just pulled him out of another world. “Yeah?” His voice was softer, curious.

You leaned in even closer, as if you were about to reveal something truly life-altering, and whispered, “I have a crush on you.”

You said it like it was the first time, like it wasn’t something he had heard countless times before, like it wasn’t already carved into the foundation of your relationship.

And oh, the way it hit him.

His shoulders bunched slightly, his hands coming together on his lap like he didn’t know what to do with them. His head tilted just a bit, cheek brushing against his shoulder, a shy, boyish smile creeping onto his lips.

So fucking cute. You could eat him with a spoon.

He pointed at himself with wide eyes, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. You simply nodded, your chin resting on your fist, watching the disbelief flicker across his face.

“You… you do?” His voice was small, teasing yet unmistakably earnest, like you had just knocked the air right out of him and sent him spiraling back to the nerves of a schoolboy with a crush.

A slow smile tugged at your lips as you tilted your head. “Yeah. I think you’re pretty cool.”

Daniel let out a breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair like he needed a second to process. “Wow. That’s—uh, that’s pretty huge, actually.”

You nodded seriously. “Massive.”

His lips twitched, cheeks tinged pink, before he did a little victorious shimmy in his chair, pumping his fist in the air like he’d just won something monumental. Your laughter spilled out, light and unrestrained, and then—just loud enough for only you to hear—he leaned in and whispered,

“I have a crush on you, too.”

And just like that, you had the privilege of watching a grown man—a man who had faced death-defying speeds, podium finishes, and championship pressure—turn into the most bashful, love-struck thing in the middle of a sunlit café in the Principality.

Your heart clenched at the sight of him—all coy and ridiculously endearing—like this was all still new, like he still couldn’t believe you were his.

God, you were so in love with him.

The waiter returned with your drinks, setting them down before disappearing again. You picked up your smoothie, taking a sip as Daniel tapped a beat against the table with his fingers. His eyes softened as he watched you, a content smile tugging at his lips.

“Y’know,” he mused, tilting his head slightly, “I think this might be my favorite version of us.”

You set your glass down, curiosity flickering in your gaze. “What do you mean?”

Daniel shrugged, looking out at the sun-drenched plaza before meeting your eyes again. “Just… this. Us. Waking around the city, sitting in some café, arguing over yucky foods and bread. No rush, no cameras, no pressure. Just us.”

Your heart melted just a little, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. You reached across the table, lacing your fingers with his. “Yeah,” you said softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Me too.”

Daniel grinned, squeezing your hand in return before leaning in conspiratorially. “But just so we’re clear,” he murmured, voice dropping like he was about to tell you a grand secret, “if you do try to order snails next time, I will cause a scene.”

You snorted, trying to pull your hand away, but he held onto it, laughter dancing in his eyes. “Oh, so you’d embarrass yourself and me just to avoid a plate of escargot?”

“Absolutely,” he said without hesitation. “I have my dignity to protect.”

“Dignity?” You raised an eyebrow. “Big word for someone who once tripped over his own shoelaces while trying to bow after karaoke night.”

Daniel groaned, tossing his head back dramatically. “Why must you always bring that up?”

“Because it was hilarious.”

“Alright, well, for your information, I meant to do that,” he declared, sitting up straighter, looking smug despite the lie.

You hummed, unconvinced. “Sure you did.”

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head, but his fingers absentmindedly traced slow, lazy circles over your ring finger, grounding the moment in something softer.

A comfortable silence settled between you, the chatter of the café filling the space. The sunlight caught in Daniel’s curls, turning them into lazy golden waves, his eyes flickering between you and the street beyond. His free hand reached for his drink, but before he could take a sip, he hesitated, then set it down again.

“I don’t want to move,” he admitted suddenly, as if the thought had just hit him.

You blinked. “Move where?”

“Anywhere.” He gestured vaguely around. “Like… I don’t want you to go back to the other side of the world, or us to get dragged into some event, or—” He paused, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles, voice quieter when he continued. “I just want to sit here with you. All day, if we can.”

Your chest tightened, a warmth spreading through you at his words.

You squeezed his hand, your thumb brushing over the back of his as you leaned in slightly, your voice just as soft. “We can.”

Daniel’s eyes flicked up to yours, something tender and almost boyish in the way he searched your face. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “We’ve got nowhere to be. No flights, no schedules, no cameras. Just you and me, sitting in a café in Monaco, eating not pizza and people-watching until we get bored.”

His lips twitched into a small, lopsided smile. “And then what?”

“Then,” you shrugged playfully, “we walk back to our place, take a nap with the AC blasting because it’s too damn hot, and probably end up ordering takeout for dinner.”

Daniel exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “God, that sounds perfect.”

“It is,” you agreed. “And it’s all ours for the whole month.”

He looked at you like he was committing this moment to memory—the way the sun painted your skin golden, the relaxed ease in your posture, the sheer rightness of having you across from him, promising time.

For the rest of our lives, was what he didn’t say.

“Guess I should start charging you rent now,” he teased, squeezing your fingers.

You rolled your eyes. “Please. If anything, you should be paying me to grace that fancy apartment with my presence.”

Daniel snorted. “Oh yeah? And what exactly do I get in return?”

You smirked, sipping your drink before answering, “Entertainment, obviously.”

“Ah, yes. Watching you dramatically sigh every time I leave my socks on the floor is top-tier entertainment,” he said dryly.

You gasped, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I do not dramatically sigh.”

“You do,” he countered. “It’s like a mix of disappointment and deep suffering. Very moving, honestly.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

You huffed but didn’t deny it, instead narrowing your eyes at him.

The waiter returned with your meals, setting down a plate of cacio e pepe in front of Daniel. His eyes lit up as he inhaled the comforting aroma of the simple yet perfect dish—cheese, black pepper, and pasta.

“Now this is real food,” he said proudly, grabbing his fork like he was about to paint a masterpiece.

Then, the waiter placed your dish in front of you—a beautifully plated bouillabaisse, the classic French seafood stew. Steam curled into the air, carrying the scent of saffron, garlic, and fresh shellfish.

Daniel took one look at your bowl and immediately wrinkled his nose. “I still don’t get how you can eat that.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s literally just seafood.”

“It’s seafood in soup,” he corrected, staring at it like it might bite him first. “Why would you ruin perfectly good fish by dunking it in a bowl of sadness?”

You scoffed. “It’s not sadness, it’s flavor.”

“It’s wet,” he countered flatly, making you snort.

Rolling your eyes, you picked up a mussel, dipping it into the fragrant broth. “For a guy who’s mom is Italian and lived in Italy, you’re weirdly dramatic about food.”

“I’m right about food,” he corrected, taking a victorious bite of his pasta. “You could’ve had literally any pasta dish, and you went for—” He waved his fork at your bowl. “That.”

“It’s French cuisine!” you defended. “We’re in Monaco! It felt appropriate.”

Daniel shook his head, exasperated but clearly amused. “You know what? Enjoy your soggy seafood. I’ll be over here eating like a king.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile, and he grinned, twirling more pasta onto his fork.

You smirked, cutting into one of the scallops and lifting it toward him. “Try it.”

Daniel leaned back like you’d just offered him poison. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on. You love seafood!”

“I love seafood that’s not drowning,” he countered.

Rolling your eyes, you took the bite yourself, humming in satisfaction. “Mmm. Too bad, ‘cause this is incredible.”

Daniel huffed but couldn’t stop smiling. “Fine. But when you inevitably regret it and start eyeing my food, don’t expect me to share.”

You nudged his foot under the table. “Noted. Now, eat your boring pasta before I change my mind and steal it.”

The two of you fell into easy conversation as you ate, the sun casting a warm glow over the café. At one point, Daniel reached for your hand again, absentmindedly tracing circles against your palm while you talked about the most random things—how you should redecorate the apartment, whether or not a croissant counted as a sandwich, if pigeons had secret meetings when humans weren’t looking.

And then, just as you were finishing your meal, Daniel suddenly said, “I wanna take you somewhere after this.”

You blinked. “Oh? Where?”

He smirked. “Secret.”

You raised a brow. “Do I at least get a hint?”

Daniel pretended to think. “Mmm… It’s somewhere I know you’ll love. And it’s a little bit of a walk, but I promise it’s worth it.”

Your curiosity piqued, but you didn’t push. “Alright, mystery man. But if you’re leading me into some weird alley, I’m fighting you, Ricciardo.”

He laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Fair deal. But I promise, you’ll love it.”

And with that, he squeezed your hand one more time, finishing the last bite of his meal with a content smile, looking at you like you were his favorite view in the whole city.

Little did you know, he had been carrying a certain ring in his pocket for months now, waiting for the perfect moment. He could feel the box burning a hole in his pocket, the weight of it heavier than it had ever been. So he took your hand again and kissed your knuckles, right where the ring would soon sit. And as he watched you laugh, looking effortlessly happy, he knew—this was it.

< back to general masterlist

#( agentstarkid's works )#f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x you #dr3 x reader #dr3 imagine #dr3 fic #dr3 fluff #f1 blurb #f1 one shot #f1 x female reader #daniel ricciardo one shot #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #daniel ricciardo x female reader

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goldenroutledge · 2 months ago

Text

serendipity

pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

word count: 2.0k

prompt: ❛ i'm telling you all of a sudden, but it isn't new with me. i love you. ❜

summary: fluff. in which daniel doesn’t bother to hide his feelings anymore.

a/n: for the lovely @katsu28! thank you so much for requesting <3

masterlist || be my valentine blurb event 💌

“If you don’t mind me saying, you two make a beautiful couple!” An older woman stops in her tracks to do a double take of you and Daniel dressed to the nines, blending in with the rest of the wedding guests decorated in black tie. Maybe it was the way you brushed a few bread crumbs from his beard or the way he draped his arm around the back of your chair during the meal that made you two appear like any other couple in the room.

“Us?” You question, looking around just to be sure her comment is directed towards you. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time someone made this mistake. “We’re not-”

“Why, thank you!” Daniel interrupts, giddy as ever as he raises his glass. “She is quite the beauty, isn’t she? Makes up for the two of us, I’d say.” Your heart flutters under his gaze, one that’s convincingly lovestruck. He gently squeezes your waist to drive it home, pulling you close.

“Oh, stop it. I don’t think anyone can look bad in Venice, must be something in the water.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, darling.” Daniel muses, turning his attention back to the woman as she smiles fondly. “So humble, this one.”

“You’ll have to excuse him, he’s still suffering from some whiplash and needs his eyes checked.”

“Please, my eyes have never deceived me when it comes to you. You’re stunning.” His tone is sincere, and if you didn’t know he was putting on a charade, you’d believe him. Still, your cheeks are growing undeniably warm, regardless if he actually means it or not. Daniel’s always been a flirt.

“Just trying to keep up with you.”

“Maybe you two will be next.” The woman wonders out loud, a playful glint in her eyes as she winks at Daniel, leaving the two of you to enjoy the reception. He doesn’t miss a beat, feeling no need to acknowledge what just happened.

You, however, can’t brush this one under the rug. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” Daniel questions, playing clueless.

“Either I hit my head earlier or you just told that lady we’re a couple. You do realize you just lied to an old lady right?”

“I prefer the term method acting.” Daniel quips, all the more amused at your very unamused expression. “Come on, two great looking people together at a wedding? My jacket matches your dress? We’re not exactly avoiding the assumptions.”

“And that was purely coincidence, might I remind you.”

Daniel rolls his eyes playfully at your recollection of the morning. The look on your face when you first realized the matching colors was priceless. It won’t be the last stunt he pulls off, for now he’ll let you believe it really was a coincidence. “Oh please, you love it.”

You shrug, indifferent to what he’s insinuating. At least that’s what you hope he receives from it. Internally you wince every time you have to shut down his relentless positivity with another cold shoulder. “Your performance was convincing, I’ll give you that.”

“Just don’t wanna let anyone down. She’s not the first person to say something y’know, we might as well just accept our fate now.”

You avoid his eyes, finding the drink in your glass to be the safer of the two options. Whenever you do lock eyes with him, you can’t be held responsible for what you might say. Confronting the spark between you two has weighed on your mind, and heart, for more sleepless nights than you care to admit. Here and now, at your friend’s wedding, certainly isn’t the time to start.

–

The night stretches on and the mood is much lighter. Tears of joy for the happy couple have already been shed and the celebration was ongoing well into the night. Dinner was everything you expected it to be, each course more perfect than the last.

Daniel had been asked to give a toast in the upcoming weeks of the grand event. Not that he was the smoothest speaker to ever hold a microphone, but his humor was undeniably perfect for every crowd and setting.

He was rarely at a loss for words. For this speech in particular, when he tried to picture the moment and sit with his thoughts, he realized he had none. It may have been the first time he was truly out of his league. Ask him to write a speech about racing and the intensity that comes with it? No problem. Writing about love, in its truest and most passionate form? That poses a greater challenge.

Scribbled on the notecards tucked away in his suit jacket are a few quotes from philosophers or books he’s read, hoping one will inspire some profound words.

When the microphone finds him, Daniel takes one good look at you smiling back at him, and drops the cards on the table. A rush of confidence flows through his veins, telling him that he may not be so hopeless after all. He takes a deep breath and greets the room.

“I’ll be honest, when the bride and groom asked me to give a speech on their big day, my immediate response was ‘Are you sure’?” Light laughter falls over the crowd, putting him at ease.

“I’m no expert, but when I think about why we fall in love, the answer is simple. We fall in love when the idea of spending the rest of our days alone with someone feels more like paradise instead of a punishment; when we wake up and fall asleep to the thought of them, and happily let them run through our mind every hour in between.”

Everyone in the crowd lovingly gazes at their person. Daniel notices that your eyes have remained fixed on him this whole time. He feels himself blushing, and smiling at you before continuing.

“The way I see it, falling in love is this feeling of unwavering commitment, of being unwilling to give up on someone no matter how much they beg you to. It’s knowing that even if your love is never reciprocated, you’d still feel like the luckiest person on planet Earth, knowing they hold a place in your heart no one else ever could. Loving somebody, to me, means accepting that you couldn’t un-love them even if you tried.”

Daniel catches your eyes and they sparkle, whispering everything you wish to say back to him. A pause lingers over the crowd. You wonder if anyone else can hear your heart beating out of your chest. Under Daniel’s gaze, it feels as though you’re the only two left in the room.

He turns towards the bride and groom once again to end his remarks. “It’s for all those reasons that we’re here celebrating today. My deepest congratulations to the happy couple, may your love story never end.” Daniel raises his glass of champagne and everyone else follows suit, cheering loudly.

The bride and groom beam with joy, tears in their eyes as they resonated with every word he spoke. Everyone in the room had someone they thought about, someone they picture standing across from at the altar, hands held while they swear to keep their promises. The more Daniel went on, the more you realized that for you, it’s him. By the way he was looking at you, you have a pretty good idea that he was thinking of you, too.

Daniel shares an embrace with the bride and groom as they thank him for his heartfelt words. If they only knew the speech didn’t come from those notecards left discarded on the table. Daniel’s speech came straight from the heart, purely inspired by the burgeoning love he feels for you. Other guests sing his praises as he walks past their tables as he makes his way back to you. Romantic notes of the piano pick up from where they left off, and the floor opens up for guests to dance their night away. It gives him the perfect segway, unsure of how you’ll. If you react at all, that is.

“Congratulations, Plato. That was a pretty great speech.”

“I felt inspired,” He charms, extending his hand for you to take. “May I have this dance?”

Your lips curl into a smile, letting him lead you to the dance floor. “Do you even have to ask?”

Daniel shakes his head. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Deflecting by speaking in sarcasm and responding with rhetorical questions.” Something that admittedly drives him crazy, for better and for worse. “Why do you do that?”

“Why do you wanna know?” He gives you a pointed look, silently telling him that you’ve just proved his point. “Oh. I don’t know, maybe it’s easier for me that way. To imply how I feel because I can’t say it.”

The music is soft and the way Daniel holds your body to his… it's intimate. Like you could bare your deepest secrets to Daniel and leave it here in the ballroom once the song’s over. Insecurities only seek to discourage, they’re little reminders that this music isn’t for you. This night of romance doesn’t belong to you and Daniel, two friends that have blurred the lines so many times that they now cease to exist.

The last thing Daniel wants to do is rush you or scare you off. It’s a shame that he doesn’t think more before he speaks. “Do you ever get tired of keeping it in? Not saying what’s really on your mind?”

“Not always. I’d say it’s better to keep people guessing, never let them know my next move. I’m sure you know what that’s like.”

“Am I just ‘people’?” He questions. His tone is soft and smooth, not accusatory in the slightest. It’s what makes Daniel so easy to talk to, even when it hurts. You never have to hide from him, he’s always waiting for you with open arms.

“No, you’re not just ‘people’, but I don’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Are we talking about me or you? Because I’m pretty sure this entire party knows that I’m madly in love with you. I think you might be the last one to realize.”

You freeze, and instinctively feel like taking a step away. “We’re at a wedding, Daniel. Love is in the air. You’d kinda have to be a psychopath to not let your heart soften when you’re around all of this.”

“Has yours softened? Is that what I saw in your eyes when I gave my speech?”

“I guess I’m just surprised to hear you talk all romantic like that. If there weren’t about a hundred witnesses here I wouldn’t believe it.” You giggle and he smiles at your joke, knowing that you’re absolutely right. This wasn’t exactly an everyday occurrence for him.

“Well, believe it. I’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new with me. I love you.” Daniel pauses, gauging your reaction. “You don’t have to say it back. I’m still the luckiest man in the world, remember?”

They say actions speak louder than words, and the way you kiss him says more than you can express in this moment. It’s not the first kiss you’ve shared, and Daniel is relieved in knowing that it won’t be the last. He kisses you back, and this time it means something. It’s a chance at having more than you ever thought possible. Less of keeping your love locked away and more accepting what’s been here all along.

“It’s not new with me either. I love you too, Daniel.”

“If I knew that was coming, I would’ve said it sooner.”

“Don’t be smug.”

“I’m not, just happy.” Daniel shows off that signature smile, one that won’t be erased anytime soon. The maid of honor interrupts your moment, asking for all of the men to clear the floor. “Now go, it looks like you have a bouquet to catch.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise at his boldness. Then again, the Daniel you love has never been one to back down from being unabashedly himself. “You mean you want me to catch it? You know that means we’re next right, are you sure you can handle that?”

Daniel lets his fingers trail down your arm as he backs away, bowing slightly and planting an affectionate kiss on your hand. He’ll be gone before you can scold him any further for what he’s about to say.

“With any luck, we will be.”

💌: i miss danny so much 🥲 feel free to request more from my blurb event here! comments and reblogs are always appreciated :)

taglist: @marjorieswrld (add yourself here!)

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saintescuderia · 1 month ago

Text

STUCK ON THE PUZZLE // DR3

(a pancakes! one-shot)

AKA - how daniel's famed 2018 monaco win was the beginning of the end

series masterlist here :) // the pancakes recipe here :)

A/N: hi there. apologies for being mia. lot of life changes. here's something i started pre-hiatus. also shout out to dr3, mans had such an impact on my life. the prince who would've been king. words: 9.6k (strap yourself in kids) warnings: angst. like a whole lot. breakup. bit of cheating. etc. (was cathartic to write tbh)

You loved Daniel.

You had loved Daniel with your whole being.

Because Daniel was not someone to take half-heartedly. People either loved him or hated him - there was no in between. And when you first properly met Daniel, sticking chopsticks under the gums of his mouth to make a young Max Verstappen laugh after a bad race, you found your mouth falling open at the sight of such person.

“Hi! Nice to meet you. I’m Daniel!” He had smiled with his whole face, eyes crinkling even all those years ago when the sun had yet made its mark on his face. A younger, fresh-faced Daniel still smiled with his whole being. Seeing Daniel smile made it feel as if the sun had decided to stop shining on the world - and, instead, focus all its rays onto you. A singular sort of warmth filled you from head to toe as you met the famous Red Bull driver who somehow made everything around him a few shades lighter, warmer, more yellow.

Love.

You fell in the category of people that loved Daniel Ricciardo.

To say that you fell in love then and there would be an insult for the love that steadily grew within you for the beautiful boy who lit up your entire world. Because he did. Every time you walked into a room and found him there, you found yourself able to breathe easier. It was as if you finally could gasp at air, unaware you had been holding your breath until then, until you saw him.

When you would later talk to your therapist about it all, you would compare to when you were younger and had really bad asthma.

“Daniel was like my puffer. I could breath easier around him.” You had said. “Now it just feels like I’m drowning again.”

The first time you had properly hung out with Daniel, it was because of Max. Your best friend had dragged you to some campfire that Daniel was having with a bunch of his friends. You felt awkward and out of place since Daniel had invited Max - not you. Still, Max was adamant you come. At the very least, you could keep each other company. Or so Max had argued by way of finally convincing you.

And so you followed Max through the nice looking beach house Daniel had rented out. It was even more picturesque with the sun that was just about to set. Your grip on the two cases of beer you had brought with you now becoming a lifeline as the social anxiety set in.

Walking closer, you heard music. Soft strums of a guitar playing. It was interrupted by a loud round of raucous laughter. You took a deep breath.

Daniel was playing the guitar. He was laughing. And you finally exhaled.

God, he looked beautiful. There was no other way to describe him.

Your crush aside, even a blind man had to admit it. The whole scene of him was beautiful. To this day, you could paint the picture clear as ever. The black and white striped Stüssy shirt, the bright pink board shorts and the bare feet. Tattoos spotted all over his body.

He was sitting right in the middle of everyone, a half drunk corona light - lime, not lemon - pushed in the neck of the beer bottle by his tattooed thigh. The flickering lights of the dancing flames shining on his tanned skin as the sun continued its slow decent to the horizon behind him.

“Ah, here they are!” Daniel said, putting the guitar away as he spotted you and Max. His smile grew and he stood up to dap Max. You, however, were awkward as fuck. You gave a general wave to everyone else, the boys nodding or holding up their beer in greeting. You suddenly realised how there were all guys here and felt even more out of place.

But then Daniel turned to look at you.

“Uh, hey. I brought more beer.” You immediately said because you weren’t sure what else to say.

“Oh, thank you! Legend!” Daniel said, taking them from you and setting them down. He then turned to give you a hug and you found yourself holding back. His arm went right around you and you wanted nothing more than to that just melt into him. Did everyone find him this cuddly?

“Did you find the place alright?”

It took you a second to realise he was asking you, and not Max. Daniel’s eyes were on you. His big brown eyes and the wide smile, teeth and all. On you.

“Uh, yeah. Actually no.” You said, realising you were just on auto pilot and needed to snap out of the nerves. “Max wouldn’t listen to my directions.”

“Tsk, Maxie. You need to listen to her. Look what listening to her got you.” Daniel said to the boy behind you who was now sat, holding a beer. Max had recently been upgraded from Torro Rosso to Red Bull and, as such, now went to social events like Daniel Ricciardo's private hang outs.

Though why Max made you come with him was beyond you.

“You’re lucky to have a trainer like this one, mate.”

You had to steel yourself from that compliments Daniel was giving you. You watched him open the esky and dump the beers you had bought into it. He then pulled a cold bottle out and opened it to shove a lime into the neck. Daniel then turned to you, hand slightly outstretched. “I’m gonna guess beer is okay since you brought more?”

“Yeah, no worries.” You said even though you were trying to cut and technically weren't supposed to drink. It was one of the many reasons you thought it not fitting to come but Max had just dismissed a hand anyway.

You watched Daniel use a keychain to open the bottle lid and felt the need to also explain, “Max kept saying I should come but I didn't realise it would be all guys and - ” You were interrupted as Daniel handed you the drink. “- oh, thank you.”

“Don’t worry. I wanted you to come. I told Max to bring you.”

“You… oh.” You found yourself unable to form a response at that. Your body did that for you. Your cheeks warming up with the blush that set in.

“Yeah. You’re cool. And we always have fun so it’s nice to shoot the shit outside of the garage and all the cameras of the Paddock.” Daniel said. “But, uh yeah my bad. I hope you don’t mind us guys. All these guys are lame and don’t have any girlfriends.” He raised his voice, aiming the last part at his friends who were all sitting just to the side.

One of his friends flipped him off. “Oi mate, neither do you!”

“Yet.” Another said quietly, taking a sip of his beer as he did so. The friend beside him laughed. You found yourself blushing even more and you wanted to meet Max’s eyes - but the idiot was too busy looking up at the sky.

Fuck's sake, Verstappen.

“Anyway, listen since we finally have a girl here you can give us advice.” One of the boys called out as you came to sit down. You ignored how Daniel didn’t go back to where he was sitting before, opting to sit next to you on a log that was definitely too small for two people. “So our mate Tommy here is slowly falling into the friend-zone. Tell him what he needs to do.”

And so the night passed where you hung out with Daniel Ricciardo and his friends. The sensitive soul, Tommy, who was in love with his neighbour. The trainer Blake who had known Daniel since they were both three years old - and it showed in how many inside jokes they had. The cousin Corey, who worked as a teacher and was a serious lightweight. Then, of course, there was Max. You hadn’t realised how close Daniel and Max had gotten but seeing them outside of racing suits put a new perspective on their friendship with how integrated Max was with the rest of Daniel’s friends.

It all made the imposter syndrome deepen. Even though the boys included you in the jokes and explained the context behind all their stories, you couldn’t get it out of your head. Why were you here exactly?

And so on the drive back home, you grilled Max. Incessantly.

“Daniel called me said if you would be down. I said yes.” Max explained. “Maybe it was a mistake. Were you that uncomfortable?”

“Yes. No. They were all guys.” Your response was pathetic at best. That reason wasn’t justification enough. Most of your social circles lay in cars and sports. As such, Max gave you an odd look and you shook your head. The universe, as if to prove the point, Charles’ name came up on the car screen as your phone started buzzing.

You pressed decline and huffed. Max gave you another suspicious look. “I’ll call him later. I just — “

“What?”

“I like Daniel!” You finally snapped, saying It. “Alright, Max. I like him. And it’s fucking awkward. I can’t hang out with him like I would with you and Charles and the whole thing is fucking messing with me. We work together, he’s your teammate. More than that, he's Daniel fucking Ricciardo.” You finished with a huff. You ran a hand over your face and took another breath. “So next time he asks you just say no."

“Why?” Max asked calmly, not commenting about your abrupt mental break down. Or even the fact that you had just admitted you liked his teammate.

“Did you not hear me?”

“I heard you. I don’t agree with you. At least, not for those reasons.” Max said. “You and Daniel are cut from the same cloth. I can see it happening. He might need to grow up a little but…” Max pursed his lips. “It’s you and Daniel.”

“Well there's the big thing about him not ever liking me back.” The tone of retort was a harsh but Max ignored it.

“Who says he doesn’t?” Max said with a shrug and a smile. “I mean, he asked me to bring you there. Daniel never brings just anyone to those things."

You were silent, pressing your lips together. You couldn’t — Daniel was — what? Daniel didn’t like you. Daniel was just a nice guy. That was — no. You couldn’t bring yourself to accept that fact. You had been crushing on Daniel for how long now? From before you even started working at Torro Rosso and saw a charming Australian grinning widely on the podium beside Seb. You’d always noticed Daniel.

It was Daniel.

Daniel remembers all too well the first time he really noticed you.

You had been walking by yourself in the Paddock. It had been a windy day and your hair, curls and all, were blowing from the wind. Music had been playing from the headphones Daniel had kept over his ears during the trip to Paddock.

Now, as he watched you, two things happened simultaneously.

Alex Turner’s voice fills his ears with the lyric: “I’m not the kind of fool whose gonna sit and sing to you about stars, girl.”

His brain buzzes with a sole thought passing through his mind: 'God, she’s beautiful.'

He blinked and pulled down his headphones. Someone called out your name and you turned to look and see that new Torro Rosso kid bounding up to you. Daniel pulled his headphones back up and shook his head. You were in the uniform so he could easily find you later and talk to you but - nah. What would that achieve? If he was going to approach you, it wasn’t to just be mates. He would want your number. He would want - what? A quick fuck? That wasn't uncommon in the Paddock but that could also get messy if you worked in Red Bull's junior team. He didn't know what you'd be like.

All he knew was that you were beautiful.

Maybe that’s why Daniel didn’t know how to act around you. He was nice, perfectly polite. He would joke around - as he did with everyone. But inside he considered the bonus points for every time his jokes brought you to tears. Because he was always secretly waiting to see if you would laugh or not.

Daniel joined you and Max for track walks, he got you a coffee every so often, sprayed the champagne directly at you when he won. Then he give you a big hug as everyone rushed to congratulate him. And he would count the seconds where your arm was around him. He basked in that. He liked hugging you.

But he never asked for your number. He didn’t hit follow when he finally found your Instagram. Which was surprising considering how close you two seemed, how well he got along with you and enjoyed your company.

“Ah, my phone died. Daniel can you call Y/N? And tell her to bring Max with her.” Christian said, sighing at his dead phone that he set on the table. You and Max were late for a briefing meeting.

“Oh, I don’t have her number.” Daniel said. Some people looked at him. Even Christian Horner frowned in surprise.

“What? Oh, uh. Okay. Angela can you try?”

“Sure thing.”

Daniel wasn’t even sure how he got your number. Probably needing to call you for something and Max gave him the number. Or it very well could’ve been Christian giving it to him. Either way, your name was saved in his phone without much intention.

Because he didn’t have any. He couldn’t.

As always, there was just that something missing. He had something missing.

But he liked spending time with you. He liked seeing you rip into Max for not following the routine you’d planned for him. He liked seeing you talk soccer so enthusiastically with Guenther Steiner or that Spanish Toro Rosso kid. He liked how nice you were to hospitality workers and kids. He liked how knew cars and even managed to fix the temperamental engine in his own car once or twice. He liked that you never got starstruck and were honest and straightforward and that the gym was your safe spot. He liked how you wore your hair with a bandana — even if meant you often got in trouble with Christian for the 'creative liberties' you took with the Red Bull uniform. And he really liked seeing you in a hoodie. He knew you often wore them outside F1.

All your interactions had been through Formula 1. Daniel thought about it for five seconds before dropping a message in the group chat during the winter break.

Catch up in the beach villa.

Then he dialled Max’s number. “Hey Max! Are you free this weekend? We’re planning on having a bonfire, you should come.” Then Daniel paused and added, “And, hey, bring Y/N with you.”

It was only a few weeks later that Max finally just asked him the question.

“Why don’t you just date her?” Max said as Daniel watched you talk to that Spanish junior, Carlos Sainz, about some soccer team you both liked. Daniel knew Max’s old teammate had a thing for you but Daniel wasn’t worried. Carlos would’ve made a move by now if he had the balls. Then again, Max’s question pointed out the very same thing about him.

“What?” Daniel asked and then grinned when Max gave him a pointed look. “Ah, Maxie. You’re too young to understand love.”

“I understand that Charles is debuting soon.”

“And?” Daniel asked, puffing his chest. He knew briefly of your connection to another driver, some rich Monaco guy called Charles Leclerc. But you’d always spoken of him like he was your brother. You referred to him as ‘bro.’ From how he understood it, Charles was to you like Blake was to him. Best friends that grew up together.

Evidently not, according to Max. “And I have seen the way Charles looks at her.”

“Yeah?” Daniel said, staring at how Max’s race engineer, GP, called you over and Carlos watched you walk off. Did you not notice this? Carlos was literally all over you.

“Yeah. It’s similar to how you look at her.” Max said with a huff. Daniel considered this and suddenly looked away from Carlos to stare at his own two feet - and the fancy sneakers you had bought him.

“Look, you like her, yes?” Daniel looked up at Max who was watching him, expectant. He nodded. “So what’s the issue? I said it before - you both cut from the same cloth. And I say that when her and Charles grew up together. You and her have something… you’re the same.”

You reappeared with GP beside you, papers in hand that he was clearly reading aloud to you as he gestured to Max’s car ahead of the upcoming race in Germany. You were nodding but then looked up and caught both him and Max looking at you. You smiled widely at them, at him.

From outside the garage, the wind blew, the papers and your hair rustling.

“I’m not the kind of fool whose gonna sit and sing to you about stars, girl…

Daniel stared at you. He liked you. He really, really liked you. And Max had a point.

… But last night I looked up into the dark half of the blue. And they'd gone backwards.”

“Alright, deal.” Daniel said, looking at Max. “If we win today, I’ll make a move.”

“Daniel said that he told Max, ‘If we win today, I’ll make a move.’” You said, looking at the young woman with the notebook in the chair in front of you, “He always liked to leave things to chance and stuff. But, he didn’t win. He came second. Maybe that’s why it failed. Bad luck because he didn’t actually win.” You shifted in your seat, the used tissue in your hands half ripped to shreds.

“Is it not considered a win if they are on the podium?” Your therapist asked, not very aware of the ins and outs of Formula 1.

“No, only if you come first.” You explained. “Then it’s a win. In Hockenheimring, Lewis won. Daniel came second and Max was third.”

Louise, your helpful therapist, jumped in. “But Daniel did say we. So I don't think it mattered much who was first or not."

“So then why would he start something if…” You stopped and found the lump in your throat growing again. You looked down at the tissue that was too ripped up to be of much use. Even with your eyes blurring, you still saw Louise push the tissue box over to you.

“I think that’s the current problem. It’s not very helpful in your state to go down these rabbit holes of if thinking. Because then we can start hypothesising this and that and you’ll fall into more downward spirals.” Louise said. “Any time a thought begins with ‘if’ I want you to try and practice what we said before about curbing those thoughts.”

If.

It was something you thought about a lot.

If, in late July 2016, at the Hockenheimring, Daniel and Max didn’t get on the podium. What would’ve happened then? Would you have still have had the tears in your eyes, feeling like you literally burst from happiness? Would you have stared up at Max filled with love and fondness for the boy who was starting to break through all his past hurt and make it. Seeing Max’s hard work finally pay off and placing on the podium had set you off.

And he was on the podium alongside Daniel.

Daniel who had somehow wormed his way deeper and deeper into your heart with every passing day. Christian Horner had even waived the family exception of your contract for Daniel because there was no way he couldn’t. You and Daniel were attached at the hip - even beyond the scope of you training his teammate.

He had starting joining you in your personal workouts - and now was your workout buddy. He had built up a habit of always asking whoever was sat next to you on the plane to switch. To the point that just last weekend Taylor, a nice PR lady, saw Daniel walk in and immediately started unbuckling her seatbelt to move for him.

Not Max - him.

You went for coffee runs during your break with him, not Max. You complained about your day to him, not Max. You wore his DR3 merch, not Max’s. And even though Max was yet to release any of his own branded merch, there was no denying it.

You fell asleep to Daniel’s voice, not Max’s, sounding through your phone after your call duration ticked over the 2:00:00 mark.

There was always the nagging thought, though. What are we? Where are we going? Daniel had made it clear many times before that he wasn’t looking for a serious relationship, not at all thinking himself mature for those responsibilities.

But then he would send you pictures of him with his nieces and nephews. But then you would spend two hours on the phone even after being around each other all day. But then he would fall asleep on your shoulder half way through the movie - and you didn’t have the heart to get him to move. And so you slept beside him.

You had grown up with the Leclerc boys, all of whom you were super close with. And if you got married tomorrow, you would probably get Max to be your Man of Honour. Being friends with boys was not exactly knew to you.

With Daniel, it was different. From the very first bonfire, you knew it was different. Hanging out with him was different. You did and said things you didn’t share with just anyone.

You shared your thoughts, your dreams. You told him how your missed your father and still hated your mother. You told him about the bullying. You told him about the feeling of hollowness you sometimes felt - and the fear that it would never go away.

“You… you actually make it go away. I never feel it when I’m around you.”

“Then I just need to always be around you, huh.”

Daniel had come 2nd and Max 3rd. You still congratulated Lewis’ 1st place but you were more excited to see your boys and celebrate accordingly. You couldn’t contain yourself seeing them spray the champagne. Your phone was out, snapping as many pictures as possible. In that moment, you felt pure joy. Looking up at them, at your boys, you wanted the moment to never end.

Daniel then leaned into Max and whispered something. He pointed down, down at you. Max followed his hand and suddenly both the Red Bull drivers were looking at you and spraying their champagne directly at you. The people around you cheered and your name was called out amongst all the ruckus of the celebrations.

Everything after that race passed by as a blur. You couldn’t even tell Louise how it happened. The boys had to go to the cooldown room and then the media with the post-race briefing. However, in amidst all of that, you managed to see Daniel.

Still in his race suit, the top half hanging off his hips and his entire body and hair drenched in sweat. Your face lit up seeing him walk towards you.

“Hey, there you are! Wait, aren’t you supposed to be in media? Where’s Max — “

Daniel didn’t even say anything. He just grabbed you and wrapped his arms around you to press his lips against yours. When he eventually pulled back to rest his head on yours, he said something that set you off.

“Okay, what now?”

You should’ve known. You really, really should’ve known back then. It wasn’t even the wishful if thinking. You just should’ve seen it coming when he was asking you what the next move was.

But back then, you were too dumb to know better. Back then, you were still trying to process the kiss, let alone his words. Back then, all you wanted to do was kiss him again.

And so you did.

Being with Daniel reminded you of one key factor - you either loved or hated him. You couldn’t be indifferent to the guy. He was not to be taken lightly. And much like he was not to be taken light, he also himself did not take things lightly.

When he laughed, Daniel laughed with his whole body.

When he cried, Daniel let the sobs wreck through his whole entire being.

No one saw that, though. Daniel never let anyone get close to that side of him. You had come close, but he always still held you at arms length. Even in the peak of everything, when the sun was shining and the flowers smelt sweet and you two were in the utter bliss of the honeymoon period… he always had a part of him that he didn’t let anyone get to. Not even you.

You had tried. Many times. But he wouldn’t.

He would just smile, shake his head and say he was “wired that way.” Then he would shut you off and you would be left to try and pick up the pieces until the door slowly fell ajar once more.

Because you loved Daniel. You loved Daniel with your whole being. And if all he could give you were these pieces… then surely it would be enough? You loved him, and Daniel loved you.

He loved you in how he arrived to work every day with your coffee order “extra hot so it’s still nice and warm for you.” He loved you in how he spent the time every night doing your rehab with you after the foot injury. He loved you in the goofy selfies he sneakily took on your phone for you to later find, in the hoodies he bought as “joint custody for me and you.” He loved you in the lyrics he would randomly text you of songs he thought you might like or that reminded him of you.

He also loved you in how he was always driving you anywhere and everywhere. In the three years you were with Daniel, you probably needed your license once. And that was for the time you had to pick him up from the airport - flowers and sign abandoned on the floor when you saw him walk through the gate and you rushed and jumped into his arms.

He loved you in all of this. He just never said the words to you.

But that was fine because you still had him. You had the Daniel who ran on the treadmill beside you, who stopped by Max’s side of the garage to give you a hug and a coffee, who cracked jokes when you were stressed and made you feel seen. Any time you felt yourself floating away, Daniel was right there to ground you, the asthma puffer to make you smile and breathe.

So, for a while, you managed to live in bliss.

Even with all teammate drama, it worked. Somehow. Sometimes you needed to step in between the two highly competitive men and remind them of how they were friends. Occasionally you might use the ‘it’s hurting me’ card which wasn’t the biggest lie. Max was like a brother to you and Daniel - Daniel made you start thinking about guest lists and buying property. The entirety of 2016 and 2017 was marked with such joy from the fact that you had your best-friend and boyfriend always beside you.

The late night car rides where you and Daniel argued about music. Or the late night Fifa championships where you and Max argued about football. Or, your personal favourite, the early morning meetings where you all three took the piss with an exasperated Christian Horner.

In short, you felt yourself finally making a family for yourself. This wasn’t yo, an added extension of the Leclerc family - this was you and what you had built for yourself.

In fact, you were starting to feel that your world and Daniel’s were becoming all the more closer. Tommy called you every so often for girl advice, Blake and you sending each other gym memes and Corey needing your help to buy Daniel a birthday present. It seemed like the years of loneliness was starting to pay off and God was finally giving you what you had spent so long wishing for.

Of course, nothing stays the same. The one certainty about life is that everything changes.

It happened during the Hungary Grand Prix. You had gotten a call from Pascale about a family friend’s upcoming wedding. You had received the invitation from the bride herself not too long after that in a group chat with you, her fiancé and Charles. You four had all gone to school together anyway.

Her wedding was just over a year away but she wanted to know RSVP’s ASAP because it was happening Monaco and she needed to plan around the Grand Prix. Such was life.

Not thinking much about it, you told Daniel.

“Oh, yeah sure. May - wait, that’s like… next year?” He said, pausing what he was doing on his phone to stare at you, confused.

“Yeah. She needs to know responses because I think she’s planning to have it close to the Grand Prix so the venue needs numbers now.” You explained. “But it’ll be nice since you’ll be there anyway and you can finally meet Charles and the Leclercs properly. I can show you where I grew up and - “

“Uh, I mean. Babe, that’s kind of far away.” Your enthusiasm slowly died seeing the tells of Daniel slipping away slightly. He brought his hood up and went back to his phone.

“Ah… yeah.” You said. For some reason, that feeling was coming back. Panic. Stress. Unease. You tried to play it off. “I can… go with Charles, if you don’t think you can make it.”

“No. Fuck that I’m your… Charles can - no.” Daniel shook his head. “Look can we just…” He let out an exhale and sat on the hotel bed and pulled up a pillow behind him. “What do you wanna do for dinner?”

“I - “ You tried to think of answer but food was the furthest thing on your mind. You looked down at your phone and Charles’ response to the save the date chat.

Felicitations ! Of course I will be there with my family !

You knew you had to respond but hated that you couldn’t send your own message with the same level of surety. Will you be there? And with Daniel? The bride was asking how many plus ons to pass the number of heads to the venue. Charles had made it clear. You - not so much.

“I need to know Daniel.” You said, feeling a bit fed up of not being able to be sure of things with Daniel. “She’s asking me for numbers. Do I put you down or not?”

Daniel let out of very heavy sigh. "Does this really matter right now?"

“Yes it does.” You stuck to your gun. “I mean, what’s the problem? That it’s in a years time?”

“I’m not having this conversation.” He immediately dismissed and went to fluff the pillow, hitting it with a little too much force.

“Well I want to have it. What’s the problem?” You asked, coming round to stand in front of where he was sitting. “You literally couldn’t even say it before.”

“Say what?”

“Boyfriend. When I said I can go with Charles you said ‘No, fuck that I’m... ’ and then trailed off. Like you always do.”

“I don’t always trail off.”

“Yes, you do! I mean, we’ve been together for how many months and we’ve never even had the conversation about it being official.”

“Are you being serious right now?” Daniel said with a dry laugh. “Seriously? Are we fourteen and kissing in a tree also?”

You frowned and felt the hurt wash over you. It was one thing for him to not understand but to make a joke about it. You clenched your hands into fists, the nails digging into your palms. “Daniel.” You said, trying to be calm. “It feels, to me, like you’re scared to fucking commit.”

“Oh for fuck's sake, babe! What? Because I don’t know if I can make it to a fucking wedding in a year!” Daniel yelled back. He then pushed himself off the bed. “Fuck this, I’m going out.”

“Daniel! We’re talking.”

“Yeah? I’m done talking.”

The door slammed on his way out. Daniel didn’t come back to the hotel room. Around 3am you texted Max to see if Daniel had gone there instead.

No, he’s not with me. Are you okay? Did something happen?

You didn’t respond. You just continued to cry in the pillows of the too large hotel bed. They still smelled like him.

Max swore it was not because of you.

But then you saw how cold he’d been to Daniel all weekend. But then you saw the crash on the opening lap.

Max cared about you, and seeing you cry about Daniel pissed him off.

You heard Daniel swearing on the radio as he spun out of the race. Thankfully, he recovered to 6th, his original starting position behind Max, who also originally started 5th. All in all, it could’ve been much worse. Still, everyone in the garage was fuming. A few members gave you the side eye, knowing your relationship between the two of them. You couldn’t even be mad at the “trouble in paradise” comments because, well, they were true.

You went to Daniel’s driver room and let yourself in.

“I said don’t bother me for — oh.”

“Hi.” You said, closing the door behind you. You went to him and kneeled down on the ground to bring yourself eye level to him.

“Shouldn’t you be with your driver?” He asked, not meeting your eyes.

You took a breath, ignoring it and letting him just let it out. Instead, you forced a smile on your face and look at him with gentle eyes. “I’m with my boyfriend.”

“I can’t say that word, remember?” His voice was sardonic and you rolled your eyes.

"Can we stop it with the dumb shit?" You said and lifted a hand to his face. "None of that matters right now."

"I thought it did."

"Daniel." You exhaled. "Where do I go home to?"

"What?" He frowned and gave you a confused look that bordered on annoyance. You ignored it and repeated your question.

"Home. Where is it?"

He frowned. "Fucking Monaco? I don't know."

"True. I go to Monaco and dump my bags at your doorway, kick off my shoes by your mat and raid your fridge. Every track, I leave Max's garage and go to your hotel room. You're home. That's all the matters."

Daniel's face changed at your words. Gone were the tells of anger and now you saw something that hurt a little more - the sadness. Daniel being sad felt unnatural. To see the happy-go-lucky boy do anything but smile felt wrong.

"This weekend has been a shit run. Not just on track. But don't think that means I'm not still by you."

Daniel's eyes welled. He put a hand over yours. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

You weren't sure what he was sorry for. So you ignored it. And you smiled at him. "It's okay. I'm here. And I love you."

He didn't say it back. But he hugged you. And for that moment, it was enough.

After a while, a new pattern emerged between you two.

You and Daniel would be good. In fact, you would get closer and closer. He would get a tattoo of something that symbolised you. You would change your emergency contact to him. You two would get so close in fact that you would continue to be deluded that everything was fine and that you were both on the same page of where you would both heading.

Then something like your friend's wedding would happen.

Daniel doesn’t politely reject the advances of the model hitting on him at some PR event. Or he ignores you for most of said PR event. He goes on a three day fishing trip without telling you about it. He gets mad that you planned a week in Hawaii for summer break without telling him.

He doesn’t say I love you back.

Not that he ever did. It was the common recurrence. But sometimes his lack of response to the three words hurt you more than others. Especially because you would say them hoping that that time would be enough for him to say it. Because you needed to hear him say it. Just once.

Maybe if he said it, you would’ve been fine. If he said it, then you wouldn’t feel the need to say it less. If he said it, you wouldn’t get hurt when he declined moving in together, when he made up an excuse as to why he couldn't go for dinner with Pascale and the Leclercs.

If he said it, you wouldn’t get mad when he left you at a party to hang out with Heidi Klum or some other Victoria Secret model. If he said it, you wouldn’t find yourself stressing between the hours of 11pm to 3am when he didn’t answer his phone and no one seemed to know where he was.

You and Daniel would be good, great even.

Then someone would happen that made you need to bring up the future, the reality of you and him.

Daniel would then freak out and close himself off. This would end up in an argument.

And then he would disappear and leave you for the night. Maybe a whole day if it was really bad.

But he would come home and you would make up and things would seem better, stronger even, as you both got closer. He would get another tattoo, burn you an actual CD mix of songs and whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

Looking back, that should’ve been the part that made you end it. The toxic cycle you had found yourself in with Daniel was not helping anyone. It was dangerous and damaging and even Max was getting sick of it. “I said you were both cut from the same cloth but I also said Daniel needed to grow up a little bit.”

Because Daniel wasn’t ready to stop having fun. That fact never became more apparent than it did when it came to the 2018 Monaco Grand Prix.

And if Max was starting to get tired of you and Daniel, then Charles was beyond over it.

“Where’s Daniel?” Charles blue/green eyes shone in the sun as he helped unhaul your bags from the taxi.

“He’s coming later. Apparently, there’s a yacht party. Don’t tell your mum. Pascale invited him to breakfast and I feel bad.” Charles opened his mouth and you gave him a look. “It’s impolite, I know. We just had a fight and I don’t feel like talking about it.”

“A fight about what?” Charles asked, rolling your bags into the Monaco home you and him had grown up in. And it was this very home that you and Daniel had argued about.

You saw Monaco as a way to be at home with your family - to get your yearly haircut (yes, yearly) from Pascale and visit Hervé’s grave. But it was also time for you and Charles to hang out the house the two of your grew up in. To play Mario Kart with Arthur, workout with Lorenzo or cook dinner with Pascale. You liked to be at home with your family and take it slow.

Whereas Daniel didn’t see Monaco as this. Instead, he was hitting up every party, every club. He was sleeping on yachts and drinking his weight in mimosas for breakfast. At first, you had accepted it, thinking that maybe that was just the Formula 1 driver life style.

But Max never did this. And Charles had invited Lando, George and Alex over to play video games and have lunch. A lunch that was likely going to be cooked by you and Pascale. They weren’t going out clubbing or anything. And you saw Carlos Sainz up bright and early every morning when you tapped in at 6am to go the local gym.

No, it was just Daniel being Daniel who wanted to follow any sounds of heavy bass, laughter or glass clinking. Sure, he wasn’t the only person in F1 who did this - quite a few tended to - but you had hoped that now he was with you that he could give Monaco a chance to be a place of calm, a place for family. Weren't you guys growing up and sharing your lives together? Wouldn't that mean he saw Monaco for what it meant to you, and not what he always knew it to be; a hunting ground for a good party.

It didn't help that Charles was always feeding into these thoughts. Like right now when he sighed deeply and went on to say. “The boys are coming at midday.” He said, seeing your lack of response as Charles set your stuff down in the spare room that was, really, just your room. “You’re more than welcome to join.”

“I might take a nap.” You said, looking at the bed. “Or go for a run.”

“I think Lorenzo was going to go for one.” Charles said.

“Actually I might go by myself.” You went to unzip the bag but Charles’ hand came over to yours. You looked up at him and Charles quietly used your hand to pull you into him. He wrapped his arms around you and you tucked your head in between his shoulder and neck.

Then, you started to cry.

Daniel was driving beautifully.

He finished first in all three practice sessions. Come qualifying, he was one with the car and it would not at all be a surprise to anyone if he got pole position.

Max was fairing much worse. He had crashed in FP3 and the mechanics had been unable to fix it for ready for qualifying. You knew seeing Daniel do well was only adding salt to the wound and after doing all you could, felt it best to leave Max alone in his room for now. Besides, you needed to see where Daniel finished in Qualifying.

“Excuse me, where is the VIP section?”

“Oh, who are you?”

“Monica Richelli. I’m a friend of Daniel Ricciardo’s.”

It was hearing his name that had you turning to look. There in front of you was perhaps one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen. And considering your time in Formula 1 and the constant parade of models back and forth, that was saying something.

However, as your time in Formula 1 had taught you, the constant parade of models back and forth was usually for one thing. Models were never just friends of someone. Everyone knew. You knew. The guest pass, the way she smiled coyly, the fact that this was Monaco.

You wanted to throw up.

Qualifying suddenly became background noise. The rest of the time in the garage you stood there unable to focus on anything else. Monica. Her name was Monica. She has beautiful blonde hair. She has great posture. You stared at the effortless way she stared at the screens with the headphones on, as if that in itself was a posed picture for a brand. Her waist was thinner than anything you could ever train yourself to get. Her fingers were long and delicate and covered with pretty gold rings. She was so pretty. You wanted to cry. You wanted to throw up. You wanted to scream and die and get rid of this feeling because why did Daniel invite some pretty girl to the Monaco Grand Prix?

Daniel got pole position. Unsurprisingly. You ignored the fact that you were not the first person he celebrated with. We need to be discrete. We've always needed to be discrete.

You ignored the way he gave her a big hug, the way Monica wrapped his arms around your boyfriend. You shook your head. Many girls had thrown themselves at Daniel. Horner had given you many apologetic looks over the years when a sponsor's daughter got too comfortable with your boyfriend and Christian nor Daniel could do much since, well, they were a sponsor's daughter.

This was just like all those times. Daniel is excited and everything's fine.

That thought became a bit more concrete in your mind when Daniel finally did come up to you. Away from the cameras, he lifted you up in his arms and screamed.

"Fucking pole baby!"

The energy had you bursting out into laughter. He pressed kisses all over your face and you felt all your anxiety melt away. This was Daniel. Your Daniel. He loved you.

Tucked away in his Driver's Room, you two could finally be. You and him. No one else. Seeing him like this, you forced all the doubts and worries of earlier out of your mind. He's a driver and he's currently competing against Max right now. Daniel's had a lot on his mind and you could excuse all the funny behaviour as Monaco stress.

"I'm proud of you." You said, grinning wide. Seeing him so happy, you could excuse it all. This... this was worth it.

"Man, I feel good. I'm feeling so good." He said, taking off his helmet. "I'm going to win this. I feel it."

"I know you will." You smiled, letting him hand you his helmet. "Just remember to keep that part in portier - "

"Daniel?"

You both turned to see a pretty head of hair peeking her head in his doorway. Your eyes grew seeing Monica there. Your stomach dropped and whatever reprieve you had felt suddenly was ripped apart as that feeling came right back.

"Oh hey Mon." He grinned. "Good to see you."

The growing ache in your chest hurt just that little bit more hearing the nickname. Mon.

"I hope I'm not interrupting." She said smiling, letting herself in through the door. Your mouth fell open at the familiarity and, well, audacity. "I just wanted to congratulate you on pole. I hear that's the secret to winning in Monaco."

"Yeah it is." Daniel laughed. Ever so cheerful, ever so happy, ever so easy-going. Completely different to how you were feeling inside.

"Oh, sorry. Is this your assistant?" Mon's eyes finally fell to you.

For a second, all the anxiety was replaced with white hot anger at the fucking gall of this bitch. "Excuse the fuck outta me - "

Daniel said your name. You stopped and looked at him. He didn't meet your eyes. Enraged, you forced yourself to bite your tongue.

"This is Max's trainer. She was just helping me out since he DNF'ed. Shall I meet you outside?"

"Yes, that sounds lovely." Mon's eyes darted to you once more before she smiled up at Daniel then she left the room.

He just got pole in Monaco. He just got pole in Monaco. He just got pole in Monaco. He just got pole in Mon -

"Who the fuck is she Daniel?"

You couldn't help yourself.

"Come on, I just got pole in Monaco."

"I know. And you just dismissed me as Max's trainer."

"That isn't the first time we've had to do this. You knew what it was going to be like dating me." Daniel argued back. His voice was clipped and, to be fair, you couldn't understand why. He had just gotten pole in Monaco and you were arguing with him about a girl. Daniel was right, there were numerous times where you two had to downplay your relationship in front of some sponsor or big name.

If anything, him doing that should just be reassuring that this was another case of some random big wig's daughter they had to appease and play the game again with.

But... you just had that feeling.

She had come into his room.

"Daniel. How does she know you?"

"Maybe because I'm a fucking Formula 1 driver and it's the fucking Monaco Grand Prix."

"Don't speak to me like that."

"Then don't be a fucking idiot." Daniel dismissed. "What do you want me to say? Why are you jumping down my throat right now about some girl? Now? When I just got pole? You're my girlfriend. Shouldn't you be celebrating with me? Not worried about some dumb shit in your head."

"It's not in my fucking head. Since when has a some sponsorship bitch come into your room? We're in Monaco and this shit doesn't even happen with Charles and - "

"Fuck's sake!" Daniel snapped. "I don't fucking need this right now!"

And then he stormed off.

And his helmet was still in your hands.

You looked down to the DR3 print and saw yourself in the reflection. You weren't sure at what point you started to cry.

The celebrations for Monaco 2018 were some of the worst days of your life.

Even after Daniel won and fell into the pool, something didn't feel right inside, in your gut. Naturally, the parties went all night long and Red Bull spared no expense. Even Max eventually got over his own shit weekend and mood and join in the festivities.

But you weren't. No amount of alcohol helped seeing your boyfriend dance with all those girls. Not that you could drink. It felt like anything you consumed might just come right back out.

Monica had been there every single second. You had to watch as she sat in his lap, as she pressed kisses on his cheek. Max was nowhere to be seen and Charles had decided to leave the parties to go spend time with the family. Something you really should be doing. But you couldn't drag yourself away from it.

It hurt, it down right fucking sucked to watch Daniel like this - completely in his element and overjoyed - and that you were in no way part of his picture.

"You should go home."

You looked to where the Spanish-lilted voice disrupted the tunnel vision you had on Daniel pouring tequila straight into Monica's mouth.

Carlos was smiling softly at you. He had a gin and tonic in his hand and was dressed in a white linen shirt. You frowned, wondering since when he looked so grown up. Like a man.

"You look like a man." Maybe you were a lot more drunk than you had thought.

His smile became slightly amused. "Maybe because I am, bella."

You smiled at the pet name and found yourself tilting your head to the side. "Did you shave?"

His amused smile turned into an all out laugh. "I did. I felt like Monaco needed a clean face."

You nodded, considering this. In hindsight, the alcohol was a blessing since you could stand here and talk to Carlos about his hair habits and have a momentary reprieve that that was the only thing your mind was processing.

Not the girl dancing on your boyfriend.

"Ricciardo doesn't deserve you."

You looked up at Carlos. He was staring at the scene you had been studying for the past two hours, ever since you had arrived. You had decided to play a toxic game with yourself where you would wait until Daniel asked about you and then you would reveal yourself. After forty five minutes of this game, you ended up at the bar wondering you were even in this relationship. If you could even call it that.

"Thanks Carlos."

"Can you let me take you home?" Carlos asked. "Please."

You blinked at this, at his gentle insistence. You knew it stemmed from pity, that he really wanted to save you from the embarrassment that was your partner going off with anyone woman right in front of you.

"Okay."

Carlos helped you up and put a gentle hand on your back as he guided you out of the club. You thought it very kind and gentlemanly of him. And whilst Carlos would pride himself on being a gentlemen, the real act of kindness was guiding you away so you wouldn't see Daniel stick his tongue down a model's throat.

Carlos' kindness, however, was short-lived. He blames himself. He had wanted to take you for the scenic route around Monaco, get your mind off of it. He bought you ice-cream and was pleased that he would be walking a now smiling you to your hotel room.

Only that you'd open your door and be met with groans and moans. Familiar groans and moans.

Daniel. With multiple women.

In the hotel room you both had shared. As you always had shared. Your home. Supposedly.

You said nothing. What could you say? You weren't exactly prepared to go in there and scream and wail about him - him -- Daniel your -

No.

You found yourself closing the door. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

"Please... don't tell anyone." You spoke to the man beside you.

"Bella..." He began in a soft voice.

"Please Carlos."

"Of course." He said and reached for your hand. You looked down at him reaching for your fingers, holding them oh so gently. "You've asked me to."

Carlos pressed your fingers to his lips. Your eyes watered at the kindness.

"Please don't cry about that fool."

But you did. Carlos pulled you close as your tears spilled. You weren't sure how or when but Carlos had brought you into another hotel room, one less flash and in retrospect, it had to be his. But in that moment, nothing made sense. Your attention was focused on one thing and one thing alone: Daniel didn't want you.

And so you spent the entire night crying on the bathroom floor.

And it wasn't even yours.

Charles eventually found out.

Not from Carlos. You were surprised he stuck to his word. He had reached out in the few days following Monaco but you ignored him. You just didn't - you couldn't.

It happened, again, in the bathroom. You were brushing your teeth in Charles' ensuite. He knew something was up - you were always asking what he was up to and if you could do whatever with him. Not that Charles minded but he knew you. You were avoiding something.

And if you wanted to avoid Carlos and Daniel and even Max, that was doable. But you couldn't have foresaw the text you'd get one random day.

I didn't realise you were his girlfriend. I'm sorry. He never told me.

You stared the message. Three lines. You stared at them for a good few minutes. Then came the three dots dancing. Then came the screenshots. All the screenshots. Screenshots of Daniel messaging Mon. Messages that dated all the way back before Hungary.

You had toothpaste in your mouth. You immediately spat it out. Then you went to the toilet and heaved. The sounds of vomiting must've alerted Charles because in he came and held your hair back.

You cried and cried. It all broke you again. You don't remember at what point you were verbal enough to tell Charles. Or maybe he read your phone. Nonetheless, Charles somehow figured out what happened and boy was he furious.

That had caused some commotion in the Leclerc household since Charles was all ready to grab his keys and drive to Ricciardo's place. It took Lorenzo being the calm, sensible elder to point a finger at you and ask Charles what was really important now.

"Pense à elle! Maintenant, elle est la plus importante!"

And so the t-shirt Charles had been wearing, a strippy oversized T you'd bought him one random Tuesday, became ruined from your tears. Snot, mascara, the works.

You slept in Charles' arms that night.

You woke up in Charles' arms the next morning.

You spent the day in Charles' bed.

You spent the next week in Charles' bed.

Charles went with Lorenzo to pick up your stuff from Daniel's apartment. Charles copped the earful from Pascale for punching Daniel in the face when the Australian kept probing him for information on your radio silence. Charles bought you a new phone and set it up - making sure to block Daniel's number. Charles sat through all the Top Gear reruns. Charles made sure you ate, even just a little bit. Charles organised a lawyer for you to speak to Christian Horner and Daniel Ricciardo. Charles prepared the paperwork for you to move from Red Bull to join him at Sauber and then, God hoping, Ferrari afterwards.

"Imagine it mon tresor! You and I at Ferrari. We win the Championship and you can fuck off all the idiots." You smiled at Charles who was once again doing the most to make you smile.

"Thank you Charles." You said, smiling at the beautiful boy. You were laying on his bed and Charles jumped on to land on his stomach with an oof.

He booped your nose and then rolled over to turn on the TV and cast the next Top Gear special onto the flatscreen. "Okay, Middle Eastern special. Vas-y!"

You looked at your best friend, your Charles. The break-up with Daniel was going to suck - it was sucking - but Charles made it all the more easier. Everything would get easier. 'Just give it time.' As he said. In time, you'd be working with him and not have to ever talk to Daniel Ricciardo ever again.

It's okay. You reminded yourself of this fact over and over again. Looking over at Charles, you felt some serenity. It would suck, but you knew you could live life without Daniel Ricciardo. But losing Charles? God help you, you'd probably die.

A month later, Charles left.

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