#glad someone is standing up for Max

[f1-obsessed333]

[neverendingford]

.

[bacteriabones]

throwback to the time my mood swings made me cry over Leon Kennedy

[0scarp1astr1]

 ˖ 𐔌 𝐃𝐚𝐝 𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐞࿐ .

۫જ⁀➴ Desc: || Max and you always planned the best birthday parties for your daughter, Sofie. But, with the weight of her not having friends and a birthday going wrong. Max is willing to step in and make everything right. ||

ᯓ★ (Dad) Max Verstappen x Fem! (Mom) Reader

ᯓ★ 3x Genre: Fluff, Humor, (bit) of angst

ᯓ★ Warning: Minor bullying, and of course, an angry dad Max.

ᯓ★ Requested? No

Author Note: Here is some Max dad fluff, I am glad that some people are enjoying the dad writing so far. I do plan to create dad fics for most of the drivers, just cause parenthood on them is actually cute. Remember, my requests are open, as well as my messages!

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If someone had told you years ago that you’d one day be Mrs. Verstappen, you would’ve laughed so hard tears welled in your eyes. You would have denied it with every fiber of your being, maybe even swore on your career that it would never happen. And yet, here you were.

You remember the first time you saw him clearly—Max Verstappen, standing off to the side of the Red Bull garage, jaw tight, his face carved in frustration. It was post-qualifying, and something had gone horribly wrong. You hadn’t needed to check the screens to know—his muttering, the way his hand combed aggressively through his hair, and the sharp glares toward the engineering team told you everything. He was livid.

You worked for Red Bull Racing, and it wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like that. People tiptoed around him, allowing him space to rant, to burn off the steam like an overheated engine. You gave him that space, too—but not without approaching him with a bottle of water. “Want to throw it at someone or actually drink it?” you asked lightly, eyebrows raised.

His lips curved, just barely. “Both,” he muttered, taking the bottle from you.

And that was the beginning.

It started quietly. Texting. Late-night phone calls. Glances stolen in the chaos of a race weekend. He was intense, unapologetically so, and never cared to soften himself for the sake of perception. But with you, he didn't have to. You learned his language—understood that his silence didn’t mean absence, his anger didn’t mean hatred. He had sharp edges, but he never cut you with them.

Behind closed doors, after draining media days, he’d find you. He’d fall into your arms like he needed you to keep him grounded. “I’m not a bad guy,” he whispered into your hair once, exhausted. “They just… they don’t see me.”

“I do,” you whispered back. “I always do.”

You were his armor. When engineers muttered judgmental remarks, you were swift with your defense. When Jos Verstappen made comments laced with toxic pride or passive disappointment, you stood up taller, redirecting the energy in the room. And when Christian Horner made jokes that crossed the line, you didn't hesitate to call him out. Max didn’t always say it, but it filled him with smug satisfaction. He loved knowing you didn’t fear anyone—not for him.

When he finally asked you out, it was your birthday. You hadn’t expected anything beyond a few wishes from the paddock, maybe a slice of cake from the catering crew. But there he was—waiting outside your flat with the exact cake you mentioned in passing weeks ago.

“Be my girlfriend,” he asked, the moment the candlelight flickered between you two.

You stared at him, stunned. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “I’m not playing games with you. Not when it’s you.”

And from that moment on, he was yours. In private at first, by choice, not shame. The peace of an undisclosed relationship was intoxicating. But all it took was one slip-up in an interview—Max, talking about the importance of his "team," then gesturing at you and proudly adding, “My girlfriend, she’s my team too.” And just like that, the world knew.

He shielded you from the worst of it. He didn’t mind the cameras, the rumors, the headlines—so long as they stayed away from you. You loved him all the more for that.

Then came the proposal—romantic, quiet, over dinner under the Monaco stars. You said yes through tears. He told the whole world, but most importantly, his family. The F1 WAGs pulled you into an emotional celebration, all teary eyes and champagne flutes. You’d found sisters in them. They stood by your side on your wedding day, and eventually, you became Mrs. Verstappen.

Your life together unfolded in Monaco—a haven of love and racing memorabilia. The walls were adorned with trophies, framed pictures, and cat towers. Three cats, each more spoiled than the last. But nothing prepared you for the day you realized there was more than just fur babies in your future.

You were pregnant.

The baby shower was intimate, warm. Charles, Daniel, and Checo argued over who Sofie would call “Uncle” first. They made bets and silly presentations. And when Sofie was born, everything changed.

Max’s world shrank to her. He held her like she was made of stardust, something too delicate to exist. He cried—actual tears—and kissed her forehead with a reverence you’d never seen before.

“She’s so small,” he whispered, eyes wide. “So perfect.”

The protective dad mode kicked in hard. Drivers came to visit with gift baskets and toys—each of them getting a lecture from Max. “Hands washed. Masks on. No sneezing. Touch nothing until instructed.”

Sofie rolled over during tummy time, crawled in your living room, walked across the cat-strewn floor with Max filming and softly cheering. Her birthdays became events of pure magic.

Her first: pastel princess fantasy. Max teared up watching her toddle around in her tiara. Lando caught him. “Are you crying?” he whispered, smirking.

Max sniffled, glaring. “No.”

After the party, when Sofie was asleep, you cleaned confetti off the floor with aching feet and gave Max a tired high five. “Success.”

“Always,” he said, brushing a kiss to your temple.

Her second: unicorns. Lando in costume. Carlos wheezing from laughter. “I might hire you in the future,” Carlos told Lando, who was sweltering in glitter and misery.

“Public humiliation,” Lando muttered.

Her third: animals. Of course. Oscar was the zookeeper, Lando a lion again, Fernando a grumpy honorary guest who Sofie insisted on including. You snapped photos of it all—blackmail, surely, for future teenage rebellion.

“Drink and movie?” you asked Max that night.

He kissed your knuckles. “Of course, mijn liefste.”

Her fourth: Sesame Street. Daniel was Cookie Monster by force. “She likes him,” Max offered, stealing a cupcake.

“She’s my niece. That’s the only reason I’m doing this,” Daniel muttered, swiping frosting off his suit.

Lewis wandered in. “Have you seen Roscoe?”

“She’s feeding him snacks under the table,” you said casually. “Good luck with that.”

Another successful party. Another sleepy Sofie, surrounded by “uncles” on the floor. Another high five. Another kiss goodnight.

But now… now she was turning five.

And something shifted.

Her dolls? Dusty. Her tiaras? Forgotten. Her plushies? Stuffed in the toy box, untouched.

“She’s changing,” you said one night, sitting beside Max, folding laundry. “She’s not into the princess phase anymore.”

He looked at you, thoughtful. “It’s a phase, schatje. She’s growing. Let her.”

You tried to believe it. But it still stung.

One morning, you served pancakes, placing the final plate down in front of your daughter. She sat across from Max, legs swinging under the table, hair tied up in her favorite pink scrunchie.

“What do you want to do for your birthday this year, lieve?” you asked with a warm smile.

Her eyes lit up. “Race cars! Like Papa’s racing!”

Your hand froze mid-air. You blinked. Max looked up from his coffee, noticing the way your expression faltered.

You smiled softly. “Race cars?”

“Yep!” she grinned. “I wanna drive and be fast and beat everyone like Papa!”

Max reached over, resting a reassuring hand on your thigh under the table. “She’s watching us, schatje.”

You blinked the emotion away, forcing a grin. “Race cars it is.”

She clapped, delighted.

Later that night, when Sofie was asleep, Max pulled you close. “She’s still your baby,” he whispered against your hair.

“I know.” You sniffled. “But she’s not… little anymore.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice thick with affection. “No matter how fast she grows, no one replaces you. You’re the one who made this life possible. You gave me everything.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The next morning unfolded with a calm softness—rare, but welcomed. The skies above Monaco were clear, sunshine glittering off the glass buildings as Max drove through the winding city streets. You sat in the passenger seat, one arm casually resting along the console, the other hand wrapped around your warm coffee. Sofie sat in her car seat behind you, kicking her little legs and rambling excitedly in the way only a child could.

“…and the cupcakes should be chocolate, but also strawberry, and then we can have a race track cake, and Papa can bring his car—just for the party! And balloons, but red, not pink. Pink is for babies, Mama.”

You chuckled, glancing at Max with an amused raise of your brow. “You hear that? No pink. She’s officially too grown up for princess themes.”

Max smirked. “That’s devastating. I was looking forward to wearing another tiara.”

“Please,” you said, laughing. “Last year you wore it better than I did. Checo still has that photo framed.”

Sofie leaned forward, strapped tightly in her booster but determined to be part of the conversation. “Can Jack come too?”

“Jack?” you echoed, glancing back. “Of course, baby. I’ll talk to Toto and Susie. I’m sure they’ll bring him. He wouldn't miss it.”

Sofie squealed in delight, kicking her feet. “Yay! Jack and me are gonna beat everyone on the track!”

You smiled, already picturing the chaos of five-year-olds with tiny karts and an F1 audience cheering them on. You looked at Max, a warmth tugging at your chest. “Tell the drivers to hurry up and have kids. Our daughter needs a whole junior paddock.”

Max laughed. “That’s a dangerous idea.”

You smirked. “Why? Scared of a new generation?”

He made a show of pretending to think. “Oscar and Lily? Too busy being adorable. Yuki… still can’t take care of himself, let alone a baby. Lando? God help us all if he becomes someone’s dad right now.”

You snorted. “Amen.”

“And Fernando?” Max continued. “That man will father a championship before he fathers a child.”

You arched a brow. “And Lewis?”

“Lewis has Roscoe. That’s already a full-time kid,” Max said, glancing at you with a grin. “High maintenance.”

You both laughed until a tiny voice interrupted.

“Mama! Papa!” Sofie called, wriggling in her seat. “Invite my other friends too!”

You twisted to look at her. “Your other friends? You mean the ones at school?”

She shook her head quickly, digging through her little sparkly backpack like it was filled with secrets. With dramatic flair, she pulled out several sealed envelopes—gold stickers keeping them closed—and held them up like treasure.

“My racing friends. My brothers!” she said with a proud little nod.

You blinked, taking the envelopes as she handed them to you one by one. “Brothers?”

And then it clicked.

Kimi Antonelli. Ollie Bearman. Isack Hadjar. Liam Lawson.

They weren’t just names in F2 and F1. They were constants in Sofie’s little universe—regular faces at your table, in your living room, voices that made her light up with pure joy. To her, they weren’t rising stars or young drivers. They were her playmates, protectors, snack thieves, homework buddies—her brothers.

Max glanced at you and you saw the exact same realization cross his face.

“Right,” you said gently, brushing a hand over her knee. “Of course. Me and Papa will invite them, too. They’ll be there, baby.”

Sofie cheered again, eyes wide with excitement, and you felt your chest squeeze. You turned back toward the front as Max stopped at a red light, and for a brief moment, the hum of the world quieted.

“She really loves them,” you murmured.

“They really love her back,” Max replied softly.

You smiled to yourself, already seeing it in your mind—the boys trickling in, older but still so gentle with her. You remembered how Kimi would show up with his homework, slouched in your kitchen chair, pencil in hand while Sofie sat beside him with her toy laptop pretending to help. She called him “Kimi the Smart,” and he never corrected her—even when he barely passed a math test.

Ollie would stop by unannounced, digging through your snack drawer with the kind of hunger only a young driver could justify. “She said I could have cookies,” he’d argue. Sofie would appear from the hallway, arms crossed. “Only if you read me a bedtime story first.” And he always did.

Isack came for the food. Not the snacks—real meals. “It’s better than the paddock,” he always claimed as he helped set the table. He’d let Sofie braid his hair, even though it was barely long enough, and pretend to cry when she tightened it too hard.

Liam was dragged into everything—from tea parties to “driveway grand prix” races with tricycles. Once, he walked into your living room in a full Elsa dress, crown and all, because Sofie had insisted. Max nearly cried laughing. Liam stayed in it the whole afternoon.

They weren’t just boys passing through. They were part of the family you built. They showed up, again and again, not for obligation—but because they wanted to. Because Sofie mattered to them, and maybe, in a strange way, you and Max had created something much larger than a family of three.

You'd created a home that people wanted to come back to.

Max reached over and took your hand as the car rolled forward. “She really is growing up fast, huh?”

You nodded. “Too fast. But I think we’re doing okay.”

He glanced in the mirror at Sofie, who was now humming to herself, staring out the window like she could already see her party coming to life.

“We’re doing better than okay,” he said. “We gave her a team.”

You smiled, leaning back into your seat. “One hell of a team.”

The car rolled gently to a stop in front of Sofie’s school. Max reached over to put it in park, the soft click echoing in the morning hush. In the backseat, Sofie was quiet now, her earlier giggles and chatter about the party giving way to a more withdrawn stillness. She stared out the window, backpack clutched tightly in her lap, the colorful invitations barely peeking out from the front pocket.

You turned around from the front seat, noticing the shift. Her lips were slightly pursed, eyebrows scrunched just a little in thought—something she only did when she was nervous or trying not to cry.

You reached over to open her car door and unbuckle her from the car seat. As you leaned in, she looked at you carefully, her eyes wide.

“So… my brothers are really coming?” she asked softly.

You smiled warmly, smoothing back a wisp of her soft hair. “Yes, baby. I already told you, we’ll invite them today. They’ll be there. Especially Kimi.”

That brought the tiniest spark back to her face. “Tell bubba Kimi to bring Eli, please?” she asked in a small, hopeful voice. “She paints my nails really pretty… like the sparkle kind.”

Max chuckled from the driver’s seat, resting one arm out the window. “You’ve got quite the party committee forming.”

“She’s like a celebrity already,” you said with a soft laugh, grabbing Sofie’s bag. “Red carpet, mani-pedi, guest list.”

Sofie smiled faintly, then turned to Max. “Bye, Papa,” she said, blowing him a kiss.

He caught it with both hands this time, exaggeratedly pressing it to his cheek. “Have fun, sweet girl. Be fast, be kind, be you.”

That earned another small smile. You helped her down from the car, and she immediately reached for your hand, holding it tighter than usual as you began walking her toward the school.

As you entered the familiar hallway, the noise of the morning buzzed around you—shoes squeaking, zippers zipping, the hum of chatter and laughter. And then, a few feet ahead, a group of little girls stood in a loose circle near the classroom door, showing off big pastel bows clipped into their ponytails. Each girl had her own distinct color—lavender, bubblegum pink, sunshine yellow. They giggled, whispering as one showed off her sparkly unicorn clip.

You felt Sofie’s steps slow.

“Those are the girls you told me and Papa about, right? The ones who love unicorns and snacks?” you asked, glancing at them and then down at her.

She hesitated.

Then nodded. “Yeah,” she said quickly. “They’re my best friends.”

Her voice was a little too high-pitched, a little too forced. You didn’t catch it—not fully. You were watching the girls, not her.

You smiled, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “That’s great, sweetie. Make sure you give them their invitations, okay? They’ll be so excited.”

She didn’t answer, just gave a small nod, her grip on your hand tightening. You walked her the rest of the way to the classroom, where her teacher stood by the door greeting students.

“Good morning!” the teacher beamed.

“Morning!” you greeted in return, then crouched down to meet Sofie at her level. “Alright, soon-to-be birthday girl. I want you to have a really great day, okay? Be your kind, brave, smart self. And remember—don’t let anyone tell you your glitter bow isn’t cool.”

She looked at you for a long moment. And then, without a word, she suddenly threw her arms around your neck, hugging you tight.

So tight it surprised you.

“Oh,” you laughed softly, hugging her back. “Big squeeze!”

But she didn’t let go right away. She stayed there for a few seconds longer, her small frame pressed to yours. You didn’t see the way her face scrunched up, the way she blinked fast, trying to push down the sting in her eyes. You didn’t feel the way her chest trembled just slightly when she pulled away, looking down at the floor as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder.

“Hey,” you whispered gently, brushing your knuckles across her cheek. “You alright?”

She nodded again quickly. “Mhm. I’m okay.”

Her voice wavered, just a little. But then she stepped into the classroom.

You handed the teacher the small stack of extra invitations you had tucked in your purse, just in case. “We’re planning the party this weekend. She’s got quite a list.”

“She’s been talking about it for weeks,” the teacher said with a knowing smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll help her hand them out.”

You smiled in gratitude, stepping aside as another cluster of kids passed by. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sofie sit down at her table, setting her bag beside her and slipping an envelope out to place in a cubby. You watched her glance up at the girls with the bows, who were still standing in their circle, whispering. They didn’t even look at her.

But she looked at them.

Just for a second.

Then back down to her desk.

You waved gently. She didn’t see it—her eyes were on her hands now, fidgeting in her lap.

You turned to leave, calling a final soft goodbye before walking back out into the sunlit morning.

Max was leaning on the car now, still nursing his coffee. He looked up as you approached, sensing something.

“All good?” he asked, tossing the empty cup in a nearby bin.

You nodded with a sigh, sliding your sunglasses on. “She hugged me like she was going off to war, but yeah. She’s good.”

“Maybe just nerves,” Max said, unlocking the car. “Party planning pressure.”

“Maybe,” you replied, sliding into your seat.

But even as you said it, a small thought nagged at the back of your mind.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

With Sofie dropped off at school, the car ride home was quiet, almost still. You sat beside Max, fingers tapping at a to-do list on your phone, while he drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting comfortably between you.

“She asked for Eli,” you murmured, glancing over at him.

Max chuckled, the sound low and affectionate. “I heard. Bubba Kimi better show up with a whole salon kit.”

You smiled, heart a little full at the thought of your daughter wanting her "big siblings" at her party—Kimi and his girlfriend Eli included. She had her favorites, and Eli, with her fun nail kits and bright makeup bags, was always welcomed with open arms.

“We’ve got a lot to do before next weekend,” you sighed, leaning back in the seat.

“Which is why we’re seeing Toto and Susie,” Max said, turning the wheel. “Let’s get it done.”

By the time you reached their villa nestled in the Monaco hills, the late morning sun had lit up the soft cream stones of their front terrace. Monaco’s skyline glistened in the distance, but here, everything felt a bit slower, more personal.

Susie greeted you both at the door with that signature warmth of hers. “You’re early,” she teased, stepping back to let you in. “Which means you’re either running from something or planning something.”

“Both,” you joked. “We need help.”

“Breakfast first,” she smiled, already heading back toward the kitchen. “Toto’s in the back garden, sulking over emails and espresso.”

Max gave you a look and smirked. “He’s always in that state.”

You laughed together as you followed her in. The table was set with fresh fruit, flaky croissants, eggs, and plenty of coffee. You hardly got to sit down before Toto appeared through the sliding glass doors, sleeves rolled, sunglasses perched atop his head, holding a small plate of berries.

“Well if it isn’t Monaco’s most stubborn couple,” he said, placing his plate down. “What brings the Verstappens to my home this early?”

“We come with birthday demands,” Max said flatly, settling in with a croissant.

You leaned in. “It’s about Sofie’s party.”

Toto raised a brow, clearly interested.

“She wants a karting theme this year,” you began. “And not the pretend kind, either. She’s serious. She wants a track.”

“And she doesn’t just want to play at racing,” Max added. “She wants to race. Helmets. Flags. Mini podiums.”

Toto leaned back, his expression unreadable. “You know this is Monaco, right? We don’t exactly have open space just lying around.”

“We thought about that,” you said, pulling out your phone. “But we found something.”

You tapped open a photo of a tucked-away private outdoor kart track just outside the main city—close to the water, low-profile, small enough to keep intimate and safe, but polished enough to look impressive.

Toto leaned in. “This is the one near Fontvieille?”

“Yeah,” Max said. “Heard you’ve hosted a few team events there.”

“Private. Gated. Decent track for kids. There’s a viewing deck too,” Toto said, nodding slowly. “It’s not bad.”

“We want it for her birthday,” you said. “The whole afternoon. Preferably media-free, completely private.”

“She wants her friends to race too,” Max added, stealing a strawberry from your plate. “And her 'brothers'—Kimi, Ollie, Isack, Liam. She's got them all on a list.”

“And she specifically asked for Jack,” you added with a knowing smile. “So you and Susie have to come.”

Toto exhaled, but there was no resistance behind it. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Alright. I can make the calls. I know the guy who runs it—he owes me a favor or two.”

“See? I told you he still had his Mercedes clout,” Max joked, nudging your knee under the table.

Susie grinned. “You’re lucky we adore that little girl.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out four glittery, slightly crumpled envelopes. “She wanted these delivered personally.”

Toto took them carefully, reading the names: Kimi, Ollie, Isack, Liam.

“She calls them her racing brothers,” Max said, glancing toward the garden.

“And she asked for Eli to come too,” you added. “She loves how she paints her nails and makes her feel grown-up.”

“Eli’s already asking what color she wants,” Susie laughed. “I think she’s going to bring a little kit for all the girls.”

“That’ll make her so happy,” you said, the warmth curling in your chest. “She’s so ready for this birthday. I just want to get it right.”

“You two always do,” Susie said sincerely.

You glanced at Max, who gave you that soft, rare smile—the one only for you, the one he wore when you both shared the silent understanding of just how lucky you were.

Toto stood with a stretch. “I’ll call the track manager today. If all goes well, you’ll have your mini-Monaco Grand Prix ready to go.”

Max clapped his hands together. “Perfect. Now we just need to build a podium.”

“Oh, she’s already asking for trophies,” you said with a laugh. “I may have to get them custom made.”

“I’ll get Jack practicing his wave,” Toto muttered.

You all burst into laughter, the morning filled with more than just plans—it held warmth, community, and the kind of love you couldn’t script if you tried.

As your coffee cup neared empty and the conversation began to slow, you leaned back in your chair, fingers laced loosely over your stomach as you glanced between Toto and Susie.

“Do you guys know if George and Carmen are busy today?” you asked, your tone casual, but already mentally organizing what needed to be done next.

Toto sat back with a thoughtful hum, brushing a crumb off his shirt. “I don’t think so. George mentioned he had the weekend off, and Carmen said something about wanting to check out that new home decor boutique near the harbor, but nothing concrete. Worth texting them.”

You nodded, already reaching for your phone. Before you could tap the screen, you glanced at Max.

“And you,” you said, narrowing your eyes in mock warning, “for once, can you please put whatever unspoken, silly track drama you’ve got with George behind you? Just for Sofie?”

Susie snorted behind her mug, clearly entertained, while Toto chuckled under his breath.

Max raised both hands as if caught red-handed. “I’m not the one who keeps trying to ‘accidentally’ block him during qualifying.”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

He sighed and leaned forward on his elbows, eyes softening slightly. “Alright. Fine. I’ll behave. It’s about Sofie, not me and George.”

You gave him an approving smile and reached over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. That’s all I needed to hear.”

“You guys are so dramatic,” Susie said, standing up to start clearing plates. “You’re just lucky you’re raising the cutest little girl on the grid.”

Toto stood too, taking the envelopes you'd handed him earlier. “I’ll call about the track the moment you leave. If it's available, it's yours. I’ll text you.”

“Perfect,” you said, rising to your feet. “Thank you both. For the food, the help, everything.”

You walked over to hug Susie tightly. “This birthday might actually come together.”

“It always does,” she said warmly.

“And thanks to you too, big boss,” you grinned, giving Toto a quick hug.

“You’re very welcome, princess of Red Bull,” he teased, earning a playful groan from Max.

As the door shut behind you and Max, the warm smell of Susie’s breakfast still clinging to your clothes, you walked down the steps with purpose.

“Okay! Before we meet up with George and Carmen,” you announced, tugging on Max’s sleeve as you both headed toward the car, “I need you to take me to Lando’s.”

Max stopped walking like you just asked him to drop you off at the devil’s front porch.

“Lando’s?” he asked, slowly turning toward you, narrowing his eyes. “As in Norris?”

You looked over your shoulder, already opening the passenger door. “Yes, as in Norris. I need to talk to him. Personally.”

Max blinked. “Personally?”

“Personally,” you repeated, hopping in the car like it was no big deal. “He owes me a favor.”

Max raised a brow and got in behind the wheel, giving you a suspicious side-eye. “Right. A favor. You sure you’re not just going over there so he can hit on you again in that stupid flirty voice he uses when he’s trying to pretend he has a chance?”

You grinned. “Max, please. I am a happily married woman,” you said, waving your hand in front of his face and flashing your wedding ring like it was a shield. “Married to the world champion. The father of my child. The man I trust to tell me when I’ve left the oven on. I’m not running off with Lando for some favors.”

Max muttered under his breath, “He probably color-coordinates the cones with his shoes.”

You snorted. “He does. And he also has a very cute balloon setup I’m trying to get for Sofie’s party. And I need a custom banner for her birthday, he's the man for the job, he's done it for his own niece—tell me that’s not fate.”

Max sighed as he started the car. “You know, if he flirts with you in that dumb little voice again, I might lock him in his McLaren simulator for 24 hours.”

“You’re welcome to try,” you teased, then leaned back in your seat, glancing at him sideways. “But you know I only flirt back when it’s for leverage.”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “You flirted back?”

You grinned. “Relax, Verstappen. I said if. Besides, he’s harmless. Like a golden retriever in Gucci sneakers. and I never flirt with Lando, besides he's always joking and I always jokingly tell him you'll kick his ass."

He shook his head, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You better not give him that smile.”

“What smile?” you asked innocently.

He turned to glance at you at a red light. “That one. The ‘I need something, and I’ll giggle while I ask’ smile.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said sweetly, already pulling out your phone. “Besides, it works.”

Max sighed again, defeated but amused. “Fine. Go to Lando’s. But I’m staying in the car. If he comes out shirtless again, I’m driving off without you.”

You laughed. “Fair. But if he’s shirtless, I’m definitely getting that balloon arch.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And still your wife.”

“That part I don’t regret,” he muttered, shaking his head as the car took off toward Lando’s place in the glittering hills of Monaco, your laughter echoing in the air.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You didn’t knock. You never did. At this point, Lando Norris should’ve expected you to waltz right into his Monaco flat like it was your second home.

“Breaking and entering again?” he called out as he heard the door open.

“Only breaking,” you called back, already making your way into the kitchen. “I’ve entered smoother places.”

Lando appeared around the corner, tousled curls, no shoes, and wearing a hoodie that clearly hadn't seen an iron in weeks. He gave you a skeptical look as you grabbed a sparkling water from his fridge like it was yours. “You’re awfully comfortable for someone trespassing.”

You took a sip, resting your hip against the counter. “Please. If I was trespassing, I wouldn’t be asking for a favor.”

His brows lifted. “Ah, so that’s what this is. What am I loaning now? My yacht? My soul?”

You smirked. “Sofie’s birthday is coming up, and we’re trying to keep it simple, fun, and personal. Max and I could throw her some wild, luxury-level event—but that’s not who we are. We want her to remember the love, not the bill.”

Lando softened a little. “That’s actually kind of sweet.”

You pointed at him. “Don’t get sentimental on me. I’m not done.”

He laughed.

“I remember you had that balloon arch set-up at your niece’s party. Orange and white? Minimal, but really cute. It’d be perfect for Sofie’s birthday.”

“You want to borrow it?” he asked, eyebrow cocked.

“Yes. I could go out and order some new one from some event planner, but… why? You already have it. It’s cute. And it’s from someone who actually likes Sofie. That means more to us than overpriced glitter balloons that’ll pop in five minutes.”

He gave you a lopsided grin. “You’re really pulling the emotional card, huh?”

You shrugged. “It’s not an act. We want people she loves involved in this day—not just vendors with clipboards. The less it feels like a show, the more it feels like home.”

He nodded, then raised a teasing brow. “What’s next, you want me to personally blow up all the balloons too?”

You pointed again. “I mean, if you’re offering…”

He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Alright. I’ll get you the arch, and I’ll even throw in the mini banner I had made—just swap the name out.”

You lit up. “You’re a legend. And one more thing—if you’re thinking of getting her a gift…”

“Oh no. You’re not wrangling me into more.”

“You have a helmet collection,” you said, matter-of-factly. “She’s obsessed with them. Obsessed. She watches your behind-the-scenes vlogs and pauses to look at the shelves. A mini replica would make her year.”

Lando sighed dramatically, but there was no resistance. “Fine. I’ll see if I can get one custom-made. She deserves it.”

“See? That’s why I came to you.” You grinned. “Not because you’re the face of McLaren—though, you know, that helps—but because you care. That’s what we want for her birthday. People who care.”

He tilted his head. “Does Max know you’re here buttering me up?”

You checked your watch. “He’s in the car downstairs. I told him I needed to talk to you privately—strictly business. I assume he’s staring at the time, counting how long I’ve been alone with you.”

Lando chuckled. “Tell him I behaved.”

“Oh, I will. I’ll even tell him you offered to blow up the balloons.”

“Don’t push it.”

You pushed off the counter, tossing the empty bottle into his recycling bin. “You’re the best, Lando. Really.”

“Only because it’s for Sofie,” he called as you headed out.

You paused at the door and turned around. “Exactly why I came to you.”

“Came to me and not Oscar…” Lando muttered as he walked you to the door, arms lazily folded across his chest.

You turned back with a grin, already expecting the jab. “He’s next on my list. Love bothering dear ol’ Piastri. He’s so… composed. Watching him slowly unravel is kind of fun.”

Lando snorted. “What’s next—gonna ask him to DJ?”

You tilted your head, mock thoughtful. “You know, that’s actually not a bad idea…”

He stared at you, half horrified. “No. No, no, no. That man listens to silence recreationally. I wouldn’t trust him to run a toaster, let alone a sound system.”

You grinned. “To be fair, you wouldn’t be allowed to DJ at my kid’s party either.”

Lando put a hand over his chest, fake-offended. “Excuse me? I have taste.”

“You have a playlist titled ‘Pure Chaos, Vol. 2’. And the cover is just a blurry photo of you in sunglasses.”

“Artistic expression,” he defended, then sighed. “Fine. So I can’t DJ. But I can still bring the balloons, the arch, the banner. The classics. I’m reliable.”

You tapped your chin. “Actually, one more thing…”

He leaned in dramatically. “Is it a pony? Because I draw the line at live animals.”

You snapped your fingers. “Music. Bring a speaker. Nothing crazy—just something we can hook up to my phone. I’ll make a playlist with her favorite songs.”

“Like the Moana soundtrack on repeat?” he asked, deadpan.

You smiled. “Exactly. She also loves that silly Dutch song Max taught her. I have no clue what it says but she sings it like it’s gospel.”

He chuckled. “Alright. I’ll bring a speaker. But just so we’re clear—it’ll be a small one. Real tiny.”

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. “You’re a millionaire.”

He gasped. “Sofie is going to make me go broke!”

You both burst into laughter, and then, for a moment, things settled into a comfortable silence.

You stepped forward, wrapping him in a quick, warm hug. “Thanks, Lando. Really.”

He hugged you back with a grin. “You know I’d do anything for her.”

You pulled away and gave him a playful warning point. “No DJ-ing. No fog machines. Just show up, smile, and hand over the balloon arch.”

He gave you a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Back downstairs, Max sat in the car, arm draped lazily over the steering wheel, scrolling on his phone. As you opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, he glanced sideways.

“Did he flirt?” he asked without looking up.

You leaned in and kissed his cheek, smiling. “He was a perfect gentleman. I’m irresistible, but he tried his best.”

Max smirked, tossing his phone into the console and starting the engine. “Good."

“Well,” you said, settling into your seat, “now take me to George and Carmen.”

“That’s stop number two?” he asked, pulling into the road.

“Oh, no, my love. After George and Carmen, I need Oscar. Then we head to Lewis. Then Charles. And by the time we’re done doing this grand prix of birthday planning…”

“We’ll be picking Sofie up from school,” Max finished with a groan.

You reached over and patted his leg. “Welcome to the domestic paddock.”

He just laughed, driving toward the next stop, knowing full well that for Sofie—you both would do this a hundred times over.

The day had been a whirlwind—no, more like a full-blown sprint from one friend to another, and the weight of planning Sofie’s fifth birthday was finally catching up to you.

You and Max had started strong with George and Carmen. They met you at a cozy café tucked away in Monaco’s quieter streets. Over warm pastries and espresso, they eagerly agreed to help coordinate catering—something that would bring together all of Sofie’s favorite comfort foods, from tiny grilled cheese bites to heart-shaped fruit platters and little macarons. Carmen even suggested a vegan dessert option “just in case,” and George promised to talk to someone about outdoor seating near the track.

Next was Oscar. You had warned Max ahead of time to let you lead, knowing Oscar’s naturally quiet demeanor. But surprisingly, he welcomed you both with a calm smile, and once you mentioned activities for a little girl’s birthday party, his entire posture softened. Growing up with sisters gave him a special insight—and Lily, his ever-supportive girlfriend, chimed in over video call with ideas about crafting stations and maybe a bubble machine. You left with a list of surprisingly thoughtful ideas, plus the promise of a gift from both of them.

Then came Lewis.

You met at his sleek apartment, a space that felt like modern art had collided with calm energy. You asked him to host the karting portion of the party—after all, kids looked up to him, and his name carried both weight and warmth. He was honored, of course, but you had one specific request. “Roscoe has to come.”

Lewis laughed, nodding as Max smirked. “I figured that was non-negotiable.”

“Completely,” you grinned. “She doesn’t want to race unless her favorite dog is trackside.”

Roscoe, aging but still regal, was happy to oblige—even if he’d mostly be napping through the event in a shady spot with his tongue out.

Then finally, you headed to Charles and Alex’s place. Their shared home was lively, filled with soft music and the smell of whatever Alex was cooking when you arrived. She was thrilled to help with the goodie bags—already pulling out themed stickers, ribbon, and mini toys. “Leo can’t wait,” she said with a bright smile, referring to their dog that Sofie also loved. Charles, lounging with a sleepy Leo on his lap, looked up. “I’ll get you all the merch we’ve got,” he offered, already pulling out his phone to message someone on the Ferrari team.

And now—at last—you and Max were walking into the final stop: the bakery.

The scent of sugar, vanilla, and warm bread wrapped around you both like a soft blanket. You closed your eyes for a second, inhaling deeply. The display case glittered with cakes like jewels—fondant-covered dreams in every shade and theme.

“Okay…” you said, lacing your fingers through Max’s. Your voice was quieter now, tinged with fatigue. “We know how many guests. We know how many layers we need. And we’re doing an F1 theme. We just need to lock in a flavor.”

Max stepped forward with a kind of quiet confidence that made your heart flutter despite the exhaustion. “I know what she likes,” he said simply.

You watched as he leaned casually on the counter, listing everything out to the baker with a gentle authority. “Five layers. Vanilla and strawberry swirl for the top, chocolate for the base. Middle tiers mix of lemon and white cake. No fondant. Just soft buttercream—Italian Meringue.”

The baker nodded, impressed. “And the design?”

He smiled. “A miniature track on the top. Small racing cars. One with her name on it. And pink accents. Lots of pink.”

You blinked slowly, your heart so full you could barely stand it.

This was Max in his element—not the race suit, not the podium, not the press. But here, in a bakery, ordering a cake for his daughter with the kind of care most people saved for world championships.

When he turned around, he handed you the order receipt with a satisfied little smirk. “Done. We pick it up the morning of the party.”

You scanned the paper briefly, then looked up at him. “Italian Meringue Buttercream?”

He nodded. “Only the best.”

You exhaled a soft laugh and stepped forward, kissing his cheek tenderly. “Thank you. Seriously.”

Max wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in for a moment, his lips brushing your temple. “She’s only five once,” he murmured. “Let’s make it count.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The day had finally wound down after what felt like a whirlwind of movement. Your phone had buzzed nearly non-stop—messages from drivers, friends, family. Each one confirming their part, their presence. You and Max had pulled it off again. Another party, another year, another carefully stitched-together moment of joy for your daughter.

Sofie’s birthday was going to be perfect.

At least… it looked perfect on paper.

Later that afternoon, you both picked her up from school. She clambered into the back seat with a sleepy grin, her voice soft, a little quieter than usual. She talked about her day in fragments—mentioning what she had for lunch, how the sun was too hot on the playground, how her teacher wore funny shoes that squeaked. And then, tucked in between all those little things, she said, “My friends are coming to the party.”

Your heart had lifted at first. You gave her a soft smile in the mirror. “That’s great, baby.”

But something about the way she said it… the way her eyes drifted to the window right after… it stayed with you.

The evening passed gently. Dinner was simple, the lights were warm, and the sea breeze brushed against the Monaco skyline as you helped Sofie settle into bed. She clutched her Ferrari plushie close, the one Max had custom ordered the year she was obsessed with pit stops. She didn’t fight sleep that night. She just turned over and drifted off like a leaf on water.

Her room was dim now, filled with soft pinks and whites, her little books neatly lined on the shelf. In the corner, her toy box sat slightly open, stuffed with a mix of stuffed animals and race cars. And on her nightstand was a framed photo—one of her favorites. Sofie, grinning from ear to ear, with her cheeks slightly smudged from a chocolate snack, standing beside Yuki Tsunoda in the paddock. Yuki had crouched beside her, doing a peace sign, both of them wearing oversized sunglasses. The photo had been taken during last season’s race weekend in Japan, and she had insisted it be framed because, in her words, “Yuki is small like me.”

You smiled at it briefly, then turned to finish cleaning.

It was late now. Max was downstairs, tidying the kitchen while you stayed behind to finish Sofie’s room. You moved quietly, scooping up scattered toys, fluffing pillows, straightening the corners of her blanket.

And then you saw it—her little backpack, tipped halfway off the side of her table.

You reached for it absentmindedly, grabbing the handle to move it to the hook. But the zipper was undone. Papers spilled to the floor like leaves on a windy day.

You crouched down with a soft sigh. “She always forgets to zip it up…” you muttered, shaking your head.

Then you froze.

There, half-tucked into the folder pocket, were the invitations.

Uncreased. Unmarked. Untouched.

Still there.

All of them.

You slowly gathered them, your breath catching. The glitter glue you helped her with still shimmered faintly under the soft glow of the hallway light. Her little handwriting—proud and bouncy—read: “Come to my birthday!!” with hearts drawn around the names of her classmates. But none of them had left her backpack.

Not one had made it into a child’s hand.

Your chest felt hollow as you knelt there, gently placing the invitations back where they had come from. Your fingers lingered over them for a beat too long, heart twisting.

The house was still now. Too still.

You turned off the last light and made your way to the bedroom, your movements slow, like you were carrying the weight of something invisible.

Max was already in bed, scrolling lazily through his phone, waiting for you. When he looked up, the moment his eyes caught yours, his expression changed. He set the phone aside immediately.

“Lieverd…” he said softly, sitting up straighter. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

You walked over slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was cleaning her room… and I found the invitations. The ones we helped her make for school.”

He blinked. “She gave them to her friends already, right?”

You shook your head, your throat tightening. “No. They’re still in her bag, Max. Every single one.”

His eyebrows knit together, mouth opening slightly. “What… she must’ve forgotten. Maybe she was nervous about giving them out?”

You just looked at him, the silence answering for you.

And then you said, quietly, “Max… I don’t think she has anyone to give them to.”

He flinched, his features tightening. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m not trying to be cruel,” you replied gently. “But I’ve seen it. When we drop her off… the girls, they don’t even say hi. She sits at that tiny little desk, on her own, while the others group up.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes suddenly stormy. “No. She has friends. She plays with Kimi and Ollie and—”

“She calls them her brothers,” you cut in softly.

“Because she loves them,” he snapped, but the bite in his voice was more self-defense than anything.

“She never asks for sleepovers. She doesn’t talk about birthday parties at school. She only talks about our friends, your friends, and how she wants to be around them. Max…”

You sat on the edge of the bed, your voice shaking now. “I think she’s lonely.”

He stood abruptly, his voice rising—not in anger, but in desperation. “She’s got us. She’s got so much. She’s smart, and she’s bright, and she’s funny as hell, and beautiful, and bilingual, and—”

“I know she is.”

“She’s got your smile and my stubbornness, and she lights up every room she walks into—how can you say no one wants to be her friend?”

You stood too, reaching for his hands, pulling them down to yours.

“I’m not saying that to hurt you. I’m saying it because I saw her face this morning when those girls walked past her without a single word.”

He looked away, his throat visibly tightening. You saw it now—under all the frustration and protest, he was hurting.

Deeply.

Because he had promised himself he would never let her feel the kind of loneliness he knew all too well. The kind he had carried through childhood, behind closed doors and in foreign paddocks. He had vowed to break that cycle.

And yet, here it was, slipping through the cracks.

"Max, at some point, you have to accept that this is happening," you said, your voice quiet but firm, the kind of tone that came from deep worry, the kind only parents knew. The words felt like glass on your tongue, but they needed to be said.

Max stood in front of you, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight. He shook his head slowly, defiantly. “No,” he said, voice sharp. “Because I won’t let it happen.”

You sighed, your shoulders sagging under the invisible weight you’d both been carrying all day. “Max, she needs friends her age,” you said gently, pleading with your eyes for him to hear you. “Hanging out with ours, yours and mine, it isn’t going to fix what’s going on when she’s not with us. When she’s at school, she’s alone.”

His face hardened, like stone forming under pressure. His voice turned into a low bite, his wall going up like armor. “She has our friends,” he snapped. “And she likes them. And they love her.”

“I know they do, Max,” you said, trying not to raise your voice. “But they’re not her peers.”

You stepped forward, hands reaching out as if to pull his stubborn heart closer, make him see what was breaking yours. “She needs people her age. She can’t go to every race weekend with you forever. She can’t tag along when Lando invites you out for a party, or when Charles hosts another rooftop dinner. She can’t sit next to you while you drink with Daniel or talk strategy with Fernando. That’s not her world.”

He looked away, blinking hard, trying to bite down the emotions climbing his throat. You could see the fight in his jaw, how he flexed his hands to keep from breaking.

“She has the others,” you continued, more gently this time. “Yes, she has Kimi, Isack, Ollie, Liam… but they’re getting older, Max. They’re teenagers now. They’re not always going to want to play board games or sit through cartoon movies. Oscar and Lily won’t always be around to have baking nights. Lando won’t always be free to play dress-up when she asks.”

You paused, swallowing down the rising lump in your throat. “She can’t always trail behind Checo when he’s with his wife and kids. Eventually… everyone has their own life.”

And then you said what neither of you had wanted to admit.

“She’s going to be left behind, Max. She already is.”

That hit something in him. Hard.

Max’s fists clenched at his sides, his breath shaky, his eyes darting around the room like he needed something to hold onto—something solid in a world that was beginning to crack.

“Bullshit…” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “It’s all bullshit.”

But the way his voice cracked near the end—it was the sound of someone trying to run from the very thing that shaped them.

You stepped closer, your hand gently brushing his arm, grounding him. “I know what you’re feeling,” you whispered. “I know. You see yourself in her.”

He said nothing, but his shoulders dropped, and he finally looked at you. Really looked. His eyes were red-rimmed, glistening.

“That feeling…” he said quietly, like it pained him just to give it breath. “When everyone’s laughing and you’re sitting there… pretending you don’t care.”

You nodded.

“I hated it,” he said. “I hated how it made me feel. Like something was wrong with me. Like I was too much or not enough. Always trying to prove myself. Always trying to be liked by doing something. Never just… being.”

Your heart broke a little more hearing it.

“That’s why I gave her everything,” he said, voice shaking. “That’s why I bring her with me. To the races, to the garage, to dinner with the guys. Because there, she’s loved. There, she laughs. There, she’s seen.”

You stepped in front of him, pressing your forehead gently to his. “But we can’t build her whole life around borrowed moments from ours, Max. She needs a world of her own.”

He let out a long, tired breath and finally sank down onto the edge of the bed, like the truth had hit his chest so hard, his legs couldn’t hold him anymore.

“She’s so happy around us,” he said softly. “I thought that was enough.”

“It is,” you said. “But it’s not everything.”

There was silence for a long moment, and then he spoke again, voice barely more than a whisper.

“I don’t want her to think she’s not enough.”

“She never will,” you replied, gently cupping his cheek. “Because she’s got us. And we’ll do whatever we can to help her build something of her own. We’ll talk to her teachers, find other kids with shared interests, maybe even change schools if we have to.”

“She deserves a world,” he whispered. “Not just to live in ours.”

You kissed his temple, your voice soft but filled with quiet power. “Then let’s give her one.”

And in the dim glow of your bedroom, the two of you sat together, not just as husband and wife—but as parents. Not with answers, but with a shared promise.

You would give your daughter the world. And if it didn’t welcome her with open arms, you’d build her a new one.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The days that followed were delicate—fragile, like trying to hold water in your hands and hoping it wouldn’t slip through your fingers. You and Max had made a quiet, mutual promise to show up more, to not just be parents, but pillars. Breakfasts became rituals—stacked pancakes shaped like hearts, fresh fruit slices fanned into rainbows, Sofie tucked between the two of you at the table, chattering away as her sleepy curls bounced with every excited word.

After school, there were quiet hours of play, where she lined up her stuffed animals for a pretend concert and made Max sit cross-legged while she turned into a glittering pop star. You cheered, Max clapped, and for a moment the world outside didn’t exist. But mornings… mornings were the hardest. School had become an obstacle no child should have to face with a brave face and a heavy heart.

So, when Max told you, “Let me take her alone today,” you agreed, though it left you unsettled. Something had shifted in him. You could see it in the way he zipped up her backpack for her, in the way he held her hand as if it were glass, precious and breakable.

At the school, Max walked tall, even in casual clothes, his hand protectively holding Sofie’s as they made their way down the hallway. She clutched her backpack, red sneakers squeaking with every step. He paused outside her classroom door, knelt to her level, brushing her curls behind her ears.

“Hey, you remember what I said?” he asked softly.

She nodded, whispering, “Shoulders back.”

He smiled. “That’s right. Strong like mama, brave like papa.”

She beamed and walked in, waving over her shoulder.

Max stood, his face hardening like steel. His gaze landed on her teacher, who was bent over a desk arranging colored pencils. He walked over, calm but deliberate.

“We need to speak,” he said, voice low but commanding.

The teacher blinked, taken off guard. She stood, stepping out into the hallway and closing the door gently behind her.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

Max didn’t hesitate. “Yes. A lot is wrong,” he said, eyes fixed and unwavering. “Why have neither my wife nor I been contacted about what’s been going on with Sofie?”

The teacher looked confused at first, then flustered. “I—I wasn’t aware there was a concern—”

“She has no one,” Max interrupted, his tone sharper now. “She tells us every day about her ‘friends,’ but when we watch her, she’s alone. Sitting by herself. The other kids ignore her. That’s not a concern to you?”

She hesitated. “Children go through phases—”

“She is not a phase,” he snapped, stepping slightly closer, lowering his voice but not the fire in it. “We don’t drop her off here every morning so she can be pushed aside. I understand children can be selfish, but isn’t that your job? To help guide them toward compassion? Empathy?”

The teacher said nothing. Her silence was too loud.

Max continued, “This weekend is her birthday. The invitations are in her bag. If I find them still there after school—if they are not handed out to every single child in that classroom—I will make sure this becomes a much bigger issue.”

There was something dangerous in the calm of his threat.

“She is a good kid. Bright, loving, loud, funny. She knows how to say ‘thank you’ in three languages and still thinks a photo of her and Yuki Tsunoda in the paddock is one of the best days of her life,” he said, voice softening for just a moment. “She deserves to be seen.”

From the doorway, Sofie peeked out, grinning. Max turned, and instantly, his features softened into a smile just for her.

He gave her a thumbs up.

She giggled and gave him one back, then blew him a kiss. He caught it with exaggerated flair, pressing it to his heart with both hands.

“I love you!” she called.

“I love you more,” he mouthed back, and then turned to walk away, shoulders square, heart still burning.

The dining room was chaos—in the most loving, sugar-filled, glitter-splattered way possible.

You sat on the floor in a cozy oversized hoodie, surrounded by boxes of checkered flag stickers, racing-themed whistles, mini trophies, and little plastic cars. A roll of pink ribbon dangled from your wrist as you carefully tied it around a goodie bag, cinching it tight.

Alex sat cross-legged across from you, working just as diligently. “This is like… if Formula 1 met Barbie and had a sugar-high child.”

You chuckled. “Exactly the aesthetic I was going for.”

The bags were a hit of adrenaline and sweetness—racing-themed from start to finish, but unmistakably Sofie: pink pit passes, mini tires filled with candy, and even small keychains shaped like helmets. Everything screamed her love for speed, but also her love for softness, for color, for joy.

You reached for a small checklist on your phone, double-checking the gifts. “Helmet keychains, tire gummies, flag stickers, race medals... check, check, check.”

Alex leaned back on her palms, raising a curious brow. “Did Lando ever finish that helmet thing you mentioned?”

Your lips curved into a secretive smile. “Yes. It’s done. Pink and black—just like his, but flipped. Even has her name etched in cursive on the back.”

Alex grinned. “No way. That’s gonna make her lose it.”

“She has no idea,” you said softly, pride and emotion tugging at your voice. “It’s just between me and him for now. We’re giving it to her at the end of the party.”

Alex clutched her heart. “You guys are insane with the details. No wonder she’s the most spoiled little speed demon on Earth.”

“She’s loved,” you corrected, looking over the pile of nearly-finished bags. “Not spoiled.”

Alex nodded, no argument. “And you both make sure of that every day.”

Just then, your phone rang—and the second you saw the contact, your stomach twisted.

You answered fast. “Charles?”

“I’m at the bakery,” he said with a sigh. “They’re claiming they don’t have the cake.”

Your mouth dropped open. “What do you mean they don’t have it? We placed the order days ago!”

“I brought the receipt. Still nothing in the system.”

You stood up, pacing already. “Tell them it’s under Max Verstappen. Look again. I swear, Charles, it was confirmed.”

“I’m telling them. But they’re acting like they’ve never seen the name in their life.”

You didn’t even hesitate—you tapped Max’s contact and dialed him.

He picked up instantly, like he knew it was urgent. “What happened?”

“They’re saying they don’t have the cake,” you said, your voice rising. “Charles is there, but they’re not finding the order. Her cake, Max. Her birthday is tomorrow.”

“I’m on it, mama bear,” he said, calm but tight with frustration.

“This has to be perfect. We’ve never messed up before. We can’t start now. Not on this.”

“I know,” he said firmly. “Trust me. I’ll fix it.”

You hung up with a deep exhale, fingers brushing the pink ribbons on the goodie bags as if they could calm your nerves. Alex handed you a gummy tire.

“Eat this,” she said. “And breathe. You’ve got Verstappen going full throttle into bakery battle. It’ll be fine.”

Across town, the little boutique bakery was filled with the scent of fresh pastry and just a hint of trouble.

Charles stood stiff at the counter, holding the order receipt like it was a legal document. “This order was placed for my niece. A five-layer cake. We submitted it days ago.”

The baker behind the counter shrugged again, like he had all the time in the world. “There’s nothing under Charles Leclerc. Nothing under Verstappen either.”

“Check again,” Charles pressed.

The bell above the door jingled sharply.

Max stepped in like a storm front. No greeting. No smile. Just purpose. He spotted Charles and walked straight up.

“What’s going on?” he asked, jaw clenched.

Charles held up the receipt. “They’re saying they don’t have it.”

The baker sighed. “There’s nothing in our system. We need to re-place the order—”

Max cut him off. “No. You’re not listening.”

He stepped closer to the counter, resting his hands there like he was barely containing himself. His voice was low but charged, like thunder before the lightning.

“This cake isn’t just some random request. It’s five layers. Top tier is vanilla and strawberry swirl. Middle layers are lemon and white cake. Base layer is chocolate. No fondant. Just soft buttercream—Italian meringue.”

The baker blinked.

Max didn’t stop.

“Decoration is a miniature track on the top. With tiny racing cars. One of them has her name on it. There are pink accents everywhere—because she loves pink. And because she asked for this. Specifically this.”

Charles stood a little taller beside him. “You don’t understand—this cake means everything. It’s not just dessert. It’s the centerpiece of the day.”

Max leaned forward. “I just watched my daughter walk into school this morning feeling invisible to every kid in her class. I saw her fake a smile. I saw her look for hope. This cake is part of the joy we’re trying to give back to her. So either you honor the receipt you were given—or you lose a whole lot of business.”

“And reputation,” Charles added. “Because I promise you, if this place is the reason my niece doesn’t get the birthday she deserves, you’ll be hearing about it.”

The baker paled. “I… I’ll talk to the kitchen. We’ll find a way to get it done.”

“Good,” Max said, stepping back. “Because if I come back here and it’s not being worked on—I won’t be calm next time.”

He turned sharply, walking out with Charles behind him. As the door shut, Charles exhaled a breath of admiration. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

Max didn’t answer. His mind was already home again—imagining her smile when she saw that pink-iced track, her little fingers tracing her name on that tiny racing car.

No one was going to ruin that.

Not on his watch.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Later that afternoon, the air was soft and golden, the kind of light that kissed everything it touched and made it feel like the day might end gently after all the chaos.

You and Max stood hand in hand outside the school gates, the breeze tugging lightly at your jacket, fingers locked tightly together. You spotted Sofie before she saw you—her little frame bouncing down the school steps with her backpack bouncing right along behind her, hair slightly tousled, cheeks pink from the warm afternoon sun. There was always a piece of your heart that healed just by seeing her.

She noticed you both and her steps quickened, her face lighting up like she hadn’t just seen you this morning. “Mama! Papa!”

“Hey, honeybee,” you smiled, crouching down with open arms as she ran into them, hugging you tight before shifting into Max’s legs.

Max bent slightly, smoothing her hair back. “Let me see your bag, baby.”

Sofie tilted her head, curious. “Why?”

Max gave a light grin. “Just wanna check something.”

She hesitated for a moment, then slowly slipped the straps off her shoulders and passed the bag to him. You leaned in, watching as he unzipped it carefully.

Together, you both sifted through the pockets—crumbled drawings, a rogue crayon, an empty juice box—and then, surprisingly, no envelopes. No stack of pink-and-checkered birthday invites. Your brows lifted.

“You gave them to your class?” you asked, your voice light, though your heart was thudding.

She nodded quickly, her excitement peeking through. “Yup! I passed them out after snack time!”

Then, a beat passed. Her expression changed—her eyes dropped slightly, a small frown tugging at her lips.

“I don’t know if they’ll come though…” she mumbled, her voice small. The uncertainty in her tone pierced right through you.

You glanced up at Max, your heart twisting. He met your eyes, reading your worry instantly. He gave the smallest shrug and then—like clockwork—he stepped in.

“If they don’t,” Max said gently, crouching to her level, “then they’re gonna miss out on the coolest birthday party ever.”

Sofie blinked at him, surprised.

“I mean—think about it,” he said, lifting an eyebrow, “they won’t get to eat that yummy cake we’ve got coming, they won’t get to hang out with your uncles—especially the ones who are basically kids themselves,” he winked.

She started to giggle.

“They won’t get to see Roscoe and Leo in their party bow ties. And they definitely won’t get to meet your best friend Jack.”

Her smile bloomed.

“And worst of all…” Max leaned closer, pretending to whisper, “they’ll miss me. Which is, let’s be honest, tragic.”

That did it. She giggled so hard she snorted a little, covering her mouth with both hands as her eyes crinkled.

You mouthed a silent thank you over her head to Max, overwhelmed by his constant ease, his unwavering ability to smooth the cracks before they spread.

He hummed in reply, then in one effortless move, wrapped his arms around her and scooped her up. She shrieked with laughter and clung to him, resting her head on his shoulder like it was her favorite pillow.

“We’re gonna eat at your favorite place tonight,” Max told her, kissing the side of her forehead. “And tomorrow—we party, okay?”

She nodded eagerly, confidence back in her voice. “Let’s go!”

As you all walked to the car together, you felt the weight in your chest loosen. The tension that had knotted in your stomach since that morning, the uncertainty about the cake, the kids, the timing—it all felt manageable again. Because Max had a way of doing that.

Now that you really thought about it, he always did. From the first time Sofie’s favorite toy broke and he spent an hour at the kitchen table with glue and toothpicks, to the time her markers dried out and he ran to the store before she even noticed. On nights when you were half-asleep in her bed from a nightmare, Max would carry her to yours and let her nestle in between you, then pull the blankets up gently around both his girls.

He had a habit of being exactly what the moment needed. Not flashy. Not dramatic. Just there. Steady. Reliable. Yours.

The car ride was quiet, the soft hum of tires on the road blending with the calm buzz of the early evening. Sofie sat in her car seat behind you, half-singing a little made-up tune as she watched the world go by from the window. You reached over and let your hand rest on Max’s thigh, giving it a small squeeze. He gave your hand a soft pat, his thumb running along your fingers as he drove.

And then, from the backseat, her small voice piped up again.

“Can we get dinner and… watch the water?”

You and Max exchanged a look, a bit confused by the request.

“Watch the water?” you asked.

“Yeah…” she said dreamily. “Like near the boats. Where the ducks were last time.”

You smiled. “You mean the pier?”

She nodded.

Max glanced in the rearview mirror. “Sure,” he said with a shrug, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Dinner and a view. That’s what the birthday girl wants.”

You turned slightly in your seat. “We can grab your favorite—what do you say? Pasta?”

“With garlic bread,” she added firmly.

“Deal.”

A beat passed.

“Is Yuki coming to my party?” she asked, almost shyly.

You laughed softly, the tension fully melted now. “Of course he is. He wouldn’t miss it for the world. You’re basically his favorite little human.”

She grinned.

You could already picture it: Yuki showing up with a gift too big to carry properly, Roscoe and Leo dressed in tiny party bow ties, Jack sprinting around with a balloon sword, and Sofie at the center of it all—smiling, glowing, loved.

And right now, in this quiet little moment in the car, with Max’s hand resting on your knee and Sofie humming softly behind you, you realized something:

This was it. The life you built. The family you fought for. The love that Max held together so effortlessly—even when things felt like they might fall apart.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The golden morning sun poured through the large kitchen windows, casting a soft glow on the breakfast table where laughter mingled with the smell of pancakes and strawberries. The air carried that familiar excitement that only came once a year—Sofie’s birthday. She was officially five now. A whole hand. Your heart ached and swelled all at once. Where had the time gone?

You smoothed out your white embroidered maxi dress as you moved about the kitchen, the delicate eyelet hem brushing your ankles with every graceful step. The shirred bodice clung softly to your figure while the thin straps sat lightly on your sun-kissed shoulders. You looked down at Sofie—your little sunshine—who was happily munching on a strawberry, her cream cherry-print jumpsuit just as sweet as she was. Her long blonde hair was still a bit tousled from sleep, but her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Max leaned casually against the counter, dressed in a ribbed beige knit shirt that hugged his frame just right, paired with light tan trousers and his usual quiet confidence. His watch caught the light as he reached for his coffee, his eyes settling on Sofie with a gentle smile.

The kitchen was buzzing with quiet chatter. Kimi, Ollie, Isack, and Liam had joined the breakfast table, each of them clearly still waking up but making the effort. “I’m thankful you all came all the way from England to Monaco for this,” you said, your tone genuine.

Liam waved you off with a smile. “It’s nothing. I wasn’t going to miss her birthday for the world.”

Max nodded in agreement. “Now that you’re all here, it really means a lot.”

Kimi carefully sliced a strawberry and placed it on Sofie’s plate. “So the party’s at the karting track?” he asked, looking to you and Max for confirmation.

Max chuckled, nodding. “Her pick. She’s officially done with princess parties.”

“She still likes pink, but she’s moved past princess wonderland,” you added with a fond grin, watching as Ollie made goofy faces at Sofie. She giggled, her little shoulders bouncing, the cherry print on her jumpsuit dancing along.

Max shook his head, amused. “Of course those two are having a competition before 10 a.m.”

There was something magical about that moment. The world felt still and warm, full of light and laughter. Sofie’s excitement was bubbling over, yet grounded by the comfort of having everyone she loved under one roof.

Your phone buzzed, and you excused yourself from the table, stepping just outside the kitchen into the sun-drenched hallway. “Hello?” you answered.

“Bonjour, we have the cake here, the party is all set!” Charles' voice rang with energy. “And believe it or not, some little guests are already here, waiting on the birthday girl. But don’t worry—I haven’t let them touch a thing. Now hurry up and get my niece here!”

You laughed. “I’m bringing her, Leclerc. Don’t get bossy. She has Verstappen blood running in her veins.”

Charles laughed back. “As long as she’s living in Monaco, she’s a Leclerc. Now bring her!”

You shook your head, smiling, and hung up. Stepping back into the kitchen, you clapped your hands to gather everyone's attention. “Alright! Finish up your breakfasts, we’ve got a party to attend.”

Everyone began to rise, but you raised a hand. “Hold on—sunscreen. All of you. It’s bright out today, and I want Sofie, Kimi, Ollie, Isack, and Liam protected.”

Max raised a brow, amused. “They can do it themselves.”

You arched a brow right back. “You’re putting sunscreen on too. I don’t care if you think you're invincible.”

He smirked, grabbing the bottle off the counter. “Yes, ma’am.”

They had gotten sunscreen on just the way you’d instructed—foreheads, cheeks, even behind the ears. You had given each of them a motherly once-over, especially Sofie, ensuring her delicate skin was fully protected from the summer Monaco sun.

Sofie was already bubbling with excitement, bouncing slightly on her toes until Isack crouched in front of her with a grin. “Hop on, birthday girl.” She squealed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist, her laughter ringing out like windchimes in the breeze. Her curls spilled over his shoulder as he stood up, carrying her out the front door like the most precious cargo.

The others followed behind them—Ollie carrying his water bottle and party hat, Liam holding two gift bags, and Max trailing steadily behind them all with the black duffel slung over his shoulder. The bag held Sofie’s custom racing suit, one she had insisted on wearing for her "big girl kart race." Max’s steps were slow, steady, his eyes lingering on his daughter—radiant, joyful, entirely in her element.

You followed last, gently closing the front door behind you and twisting the key until the lock clicked. The moment you turned, Max was waiting, already a few paces ahead. You jogged a little to catch up, your dress swaying around your ankles, the embroidery catching the sunlight in soft reflections.

“You know,” you said, nudging Max gently with your shoulder as the two of you walked in unhurried step behind the rest, “Charles said she already has friends there. Like, real friends.”

Max didn’t respond right away, but you saw the tension drop from his shoulders like a weight shrugged off. His jaw softened, and he looked ahead where Sofie sat proudly on Isack’s back, talking animatedly with Ollie.

“That’s good,” he finally said, voice low and thoughtful.

You could hear the silent hope underneath that one word. Good. That she wouldn’t feel like some odd little girl being pitied by the children of her father’s fame. That maybe, just maybe, she was making connections of her own. That today’s party might be more than just a grand gesture—it might be the start of something more permanent, more normal. Friends who stuck around because they liked her, not because of who her dad was. Max didn’t say all that, but he didn’t have to. You felt it.

Up ahead, Kimi veered off to his own car. He gave Max a quick thumbs-up. “Picking up Maggie and Eli, see you at the track,” he called.

Liam did the same, calling out that he and his girlfriend would follow shortly behind.

You and Max moved toward your car as Ollie opened the backseat door, holding it open for Sofie as Isack gently lowered her in. Her little fingers fidgeted with the seatbelt, and Ollie helped her click it into place, all while she chattered away about the “super secret handshake” she and some girl named Lila had made at school.

Isack laughed and nodded along, and soon he and Ollie were caught up in a very serious discussion with Sofie about which kart color was the fastest. The backseat became its own little world of theories and giggles, a bubble of youthful imagination.

You slid into the passenger seat, smoothing your dress beneath you as Max got in and started the car. He glanced at you, eyes crinkling with something soft and unreadable—comfort, maybe, or gratitude, or the peace that came from knowing she was happy.

You rested your elbow on the door, turning your head slightly to watch him as he drove. The road to the track wound through the city in smooth curves, palm trees casting shadows on white stone and flashes of the marina glittering like a promise.

The day had only just begun, but already, it felt perfect.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Toto had come through brilliantly. The track venue was booked out entirely for Sofie’s birthday, giving the kids space to race in short karting rounds while a roped-off, grassy courtyard near the paddock had been turned into party central.

The party was alive with laughter, bright colors, and the unfiltered joy that only a child's birthday could bring. The yard was transformed into a wonderland of streamers and balloons, bubbles dancing through the air, floating like tiny glistening orbs in the warm sunlight. Music spilled from the speakers, a playful soundtrack to the chaos that unfolded across the lawn.

The water guns, of course, hadn’t remained in the hands of just the little ones for long. Kimi had started it—grabbing one of the bigger water blasters with a mischievous smirk—before Isack, Liam, and Ollie joined in, practically reliving their own childhoods. Franco and Yuki weren’t far behind either. Soon it was a full-on battle between the “older kids,” the laughter from their side of the yard mixing in seamlessly with the younger ones.

You stood beside Max under the shaded canopy, sipping a glass of lemonade as the chaos unfolded in front of you. His arm brushed against yours, and though neither of you spoke right away, there was something comforting about the shared silence. Just watching.

Leo ran in gleeful circles with the kids, his small golden tail wagging wildly, letting the children hug him between runs. Meanwhile, Roscoe lay peacefully on a soft blanket in the corner of the yard, basking in the shade and soaking up all the love and gentle pets he was receiving. He only opened one eye every so often, as if supervising the activity like an old man watching his grandkids play.

“I didn’t expect her whole class to show,” you murmured, eyebrows raised in disbelief as you counted more and more familiar faces from Sofie’s school. “What did you do?”

Max shrugged with a feigned innocence that you didn’t believe for a second. “Put a little fear into the teachers,” he said casually, smirking. “And the baker. That’s how her cake got done in record time.”

You smacked his arm with a laugh, earning a grin from him. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” he said, not ashamed in the slightest. “She deserved it.”

Nearby, Lando was staring at Sofie, clearly moved. “She’s gotten so big. Goodness, I remember holding her when she was still wrapped up in that yellow baby blanket.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Are you crying?”

“What? No!” Lando huffed, wiping under his eyes a little too quickly.

Everyone chuckled, including Fernando, who sighed dramatically. “I feel too old being here.”

You pointed at him with your drink. “You were just running around with a water gun two minutes ago.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “True. But my back’s gonna feel it tomorrow.”

As the sun dipped lower, the golden hour wrapped the yard in a warm glow. Everyone gathered around for food—sandwiches, pasta salad, pizza, grilled veggies, tiny sliders. Sofie, with her plate full, sneakily dropped little bites of chicken and fries near Roscoe and Leo.

Charles caught her in the act but only chuckled. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that.”

“Me too,” Lewis added with a shrug. “She is the birthday girl after all.”

After the food, it was time for the cake, it stole the show, the attention of those gathered, but it was beautiful, and you were thankful Max managed to get it on time.

Everyone gathered around, singing loud and out of tune, clapping and cheering as Max carefully removed the candle for her.

She took a deep breath and blew out the flame, her eyes sparkling as you clapped and kissed the top of her head. You cut the cake into slices as fast as you could, Daniel ruffling Sofie’s hair as he handed out plates. “Happy birthday, munchkin.”

She giggled, holding her plate with both hands, eyes wide at the sweet treat.

The cake was a hit, no one would be able to forget about it and you were glad to see the smile upon Sofie's face as she sat on Max's lap, eating away at her cake slice.

Adults and kids alike devoured their slices. Afterward came dancing, bracelet making with Oscar and Lily, and even makeup and nails with Eli under the craft tent. Sofie got a glitter heart on her cheek and her nails painted sparkly purple.

Then came the moment of chaos: gift opening.

Alex stepped forward, dramatically holding up her phone to record. “Our gift first, please!”

Sofie tore through the pink wrapping with careful excitement, revealing a soft white jewelry box. Inside was a delicate gold necklace with a heart-shaped diamond pendant. She gasped, her fingers trembling as she touched it.

Your eyes widened. “A necklace? Charles, Alex... it’s beautiful.”

Max let out a low whistle. “That looks real…”

“It is,” Charles confirmed with a proud grin.

Max's jaw dropped slightly. “She’s five! She doesn’t need a real diamond necklace!”

“She’s a princess,” Alex teased. “Princesses wear diamonds.”

Oscar and Lily's gift came next, and it had Sofie hugging the box before she even opened it. Inside was a beaded bracelet with a tiny photo charm—it showed her grinning between Lily and Oscar at the kart track.

“A bracelet?! Mama! Papa! Look! It’s me and Lily and Oscar!” she exclaimed, showing you both.

Max laughed and leaned over. “You two are spoiling her so much, I’m afraid I’ll be buying her necklaces and bracelets worth half my salary by next year.”

Oscar clapped him on the back. “Welcome to parenthood.”

When Yuki’s gift came, Sofie squealed louder than before. It was her very own custom Red Bull race suit, complete with patches and her name embroidered on the chest.

“Now I’m like Papa!” she said proudly, twirling in it.

You clasped your hands together. “You look beautiful, baby.”

She ran over and hugged Yuki’s leg tightly. “Thank you!”

“You can race for us now!” he joked, beaming.

Lewis gifted her a pinky ring, small and elegant, with a tiny pink gemstone. You had reservations about it—another real piece of jewelry?—but the way Sofie’s eyes sparkled as she slipped it on melted your concern.

Kimi and Eli gifted her a child-safe makeup set, which nearly made Max groan audibly. Still, he bit his tongue and gave a tight smile as Sofie squealed in delight, already planning to give him a “makeover.”

Isack, Ollie, and Liam came through with plushies—an entire family of them. Unicorns, kittens, a racing-themed bear. You immediately knew you’d be picking them up off the floor for the next six months, but it was worth it to see her grin.

More gifts poured in: F1 merch, books, puzzles, glittery clothes, light-up shoes. She was spoiled, there was no denying it—but she was also so deeply loved. And as you watched her eyes shine with each new surprise, her cheeks sore from smiling, her voice getting hoarse from all the excitement, you realized that Max was right earlier.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The time had come — the part Sofie had been anticipating all day.

The sun had dipped just low enough to cast long golden shadows across the track, a soft breeze sweeping through the area as the children gathered at the starting line. The smell of rubber, faint gasoline, and birthday cupcakes still lingered in the air, blending oddly well with the thrill of what was about to unfold. Helmets were secured, tiny gloves pulled tight, and nerves buzzed just under the surface — not just from the kids, but the adults too.

You stood on the sidelines beside Susie, arms crossed gently over your chest, your heart thudding in rhythm with the distant hum of engines. Max was pacing lightly a few feet ahead, hands cupped around his mouth, shouting across the track.

“Go, Sofie! Full throttle! Brake late!” he bellowed proudly.

You nudged Susie with your elbow, shaking your head with a smile. “Think he might out-cheer Toto.”

She laughed, brushing her hair out of her face as a gust of wind picked up. “Possibly so. But I’m pretty sure Toto never did cartwheels after a heat win.”

You both watched as the kids took off — the little karts buzzing, weaving clumsily yet determinedly around the first corner. Sofie was near the front, her pink helmet gleaming under the floodlights now starting to flicker on around the track. She gripped the wheel with a seriousness far beyond her years, eyes focused, lips pursed in pure concentration.

Everyone was recording — phones up, laughter echoing, cheers rising. And in that moment, the world slowed. Nothing mattered except the look on her face, the joy, the pure bliss of being alive, celebrated, and fully seen.

When she took the final corner wide and pushed ahead to cross the line first, Max erupted in loud claps, pumping his fist in the air as if she’d just won the Monaco Grand Prix.

“That’s my girl!” he shouted, beaming.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. The handmade trophies you and Max had ordered sparkled on a nearby table, waiting — not as symbols of competition, but as reminders of effort and joy. You had both agreed early on: this day wasn’t about placing first. But watching Sofie throw her arms up in victory — it was clear she had her father’s fire. And Max? Well, he looked like he’d just won father of the year.

The kids were ushered into a loose line for photos. Pictures, hugs, and videos followed, tiny hands gripping their miniature trophies while smiles stretched across frosting-stained faces. Sofie held hers like it was gold.

As twilight deepened and the air cooled, the buzz began to mellow. Guests started gathering their things, parents thanked you for the invitation and complimented the party. Kids gave Sofie tight hugs, one by one, and you could see how it warmed her. She wasn’t just loved by family — she had friends. Real friends. Watching her bounce from child to child, exchanging giggles and promises of playdates, made something swell in your chest.

You caught a glance at Max, who had gone quiet beside you, his eyes misty. He blinked quickly and coughed. “She’s growing up,” he said softly, not quite to you, not quite to himself. “Too fast.”

You placed your hand on his arm. “I know.”

As the final few families drifted out into the night, the stars now beginning to peek overhead, Lando stepped forward, holding a box tucked under his arm. He crouched down to Sofie’s level, his smile soft. “For you, kiddo.”

You stilled, heart tugging, already knowing what it was. You watched as Sofie’s eyes went wide, her little hands tearing through the wrapping with excitement bubbling over.

The moment she uncovered it — a custom black-and-pink helmet, her size, with a glimmering finish — she gasped.

Her hands trembled slightly as she turned it in her lap, then looked up. “It’s like yours... but for me!”

It was true. She’d always been obsessed with his helmet design — not because of branding or sponsorships, but simply because to her, it looked like something out of a dream. You could see her trying to hold back the tears that came anyway.

She launched forward, wrapping her arms around Lando tightly. He chuckled as he hugged her back.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said into her hair.

“She loves it,” you whispered, placing a hand over your chest.

Max smiled, watching the two of them. It was more than just a helmet. It was a memory — a gift she’d never forget.

Lando stood, ruffled her hair, and with one last “Happy Birthday” and a warm smile your way, he headed toward his car, disappearing into the night.

You and Max lingered in the quiet afterglow. The lights around the track were being turned off one by one, the venue slowly emptying. Sofie held her helmet tight, nearly dozing off as she clung to her final gift of the night.

There was nothing left to do now — no more cupcakes to serve, no more goodie bags to pass out. It had been everything you hoped for. Maybe more.

Later, the soft hum of cartoons filled the Verstappen living room, the glow of the TV flickering gently across the walls. You sat curled on the couch, Sofie curled up against your side, her head on your chest. She had fallen asleep almost instantly once the adrenaline wore off, helmet tucked nearby like a teddy bear.

Her trophy was carefully placed in a case by Max in silent joy before deciding to check up on you two.

You didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep, too, until Max came in, stepping quietly around the couch. He paused, smiling at the two of you.

He reached down, pulling a soft throw blanket from the armrest and draped it over your legs and shoulders. He leaned in, kissing Sofie’s temple first, then yours.

Today had been good. Better than good. It had been magic.

He crouched a little, careful not to wake you, and held up his hand. Slowly, he gave your limp, sleeping hand a quiet high five, chuckling to himself.

“We really did it,” he whispered, voice low. “I did it. And I’ll make sure every birthday for her turns out just as well. Always.”

He stood for a moment, just watching you both — his whole world curled together on that couch — and let himself breathe.

Because this? This was what everything was for.

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 31: September 2024 - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Text Messages: Alexandra Saint-Mleux & Belle Verstappen

Alexandra:

Hey Belle! We were  thinking of doing a little shopping on Saturday — nothing serious, just wandering and coffee. Charlotte, Pascale and I. Thought you might want to come with?

I saw the cutest new baby boutique near Place d’Armes and I thought of you We could make a day of it? Lunch, tea, little outfits?

Belle:

That sounds really lovely But I’m going to have to pass this time Still healing from my impromptu dive through the shower door 🙃

Alexandra:

Wait—are you okay?? Charles mentioned something but he was vague and grumpy and I couldn’t tell if it was real or guilt-induced hallucination

Belle:

Real 😅 Slipped in the shower earlier this week Sprained my wrist, bruised my knees Nothing serious, but not exactly in boutique-ready shape

Alexandra:

Oh my god Belle We really need to teach your family how to communicate I’m glad you’re okay — that sounds terrifying

Belle:

It was a little scary, yeah But I’m okay. The baby’s okay. And Max has already ordered approximately seventeen non-slip mats and now refers to the bathroom as a “hazard zone”

Alexandra:

I love that for him And by “love” I mean he’s the only man I know who’d install childproofing six months early

Belle:

It makes him feel better

Alexandra:

When you’re up for it, let me know I’ll bribe you with pastries and matching lion onesies

Belle:

Deal Just give me a few more days until my knees don’t scream when I wear pants

Alexandra:

I’ll start assembling a pastry lineup And if you need anything, let me know. I mean it. Anything. 

***

Alexandra reached for another croissant and laughed at something Lorenzo said about Arthur’s latest failed attempt to cook risotto. The late sun poured in through the windows, the kitchen full of warmth and weekend ease.

“…anyway, Belle sounded fine when I talked to her,” Alexandra said, casually. “Still bruised, but she said the baby’s doing great and Max is being sweet about it.”

There was a sudden beat of silence.

Pascale slowly set down her espresso cup.

“…bruise?” she asked. “What bruise?”

Alexandra blinked. “Oh—Belle’s knees. And her wrist. From the fall.”

Pascale’s brows pulled together. “Fall?”

And just like that, the air in the room changed.

Lorenzo stiffened slightly beside her.

Alexandra faltered. “Oh—sorry, I thought… I assumed you knew. It happened last week? She slipped in the shower. Sprained her wrist. Charles took her to the hospital.”

Pascale stared at her, expression rapidly shifting from confusion to alarm. “Hospital?”

“Yes, but she and the baby are fine—”

“She went to the hospital and nobody told me?”

Alexandra’s eyes went wide. “I—God, I really thought someone would’ve said something—”

“She’s pregnant,” Pascale snapped, standing abruptly. “She fell, she was injured, and I had to hear it from you over brunch like it’s some passing anecdote?”

“Maman,” Lorenzo said cautiously, “calm down—”

“No! Don’t you dare tell me to calm down. My daughter ends up in a hospital and I’m the last to know?!”

Alexandra looked mortified. “I’m so sorry, Pascale. I didn’t mean—”

Lorenzo sighed heavily. “She asked us not to tell you. She didn’t want to worry you.”

“Oh, now she’s protecting me?” Pascale snapped, voice cracking with emotion. “Is that what I am now? Too fragile to know my own daughter’s hurt?”

Alexandra murmured, “She really is okay. She said the baby’s heartbeat was strong. That Max was with her—”

“She fell in the shower,” Pascale repeated, voice rising. “Sprained her wrist. Bruised her knees. And none of you thought I deserved to know?!”

Charles winced from his place on the arm of the couch, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Maman, please—”

“Don’t ‘Maman, please’ me, Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc,” Pascale snapped, whipping around to glare at him.

Lorenzo let out a low whistle from behind his glass of wine. “Full name. That’s it. We’re done for.”

Arthur, stretched across the other couch like a teenager on parole, muttered, “We’ve hit DEFCON 3.”

Pascale rounded on them next. “You all lied to me.”

“We omitted,” Lorenzo offered weakly. “That’s different.”

Arthur propped his head up on one hand. “Because we knew you’d do this.”

“What is this? Concern?” she demanded, voice cracking. “She’s pregnant. She fell. She could’ve hit her head. What if she’d been alone longer? What if she’d blacked out? What if something had happened to the baby?”

“She’s okay,” Charles said, trying to soothe, though his voice was hoarse. “I took her to the hospital. The doctor said—”

“The doctor said,” Pascale repeated mockingly, tears shining in her eyes. “You think that’s the point?”

Silence fell like a hammer.

“You know,” she continued, quieter now but no less furious, “every time one of you gets hurt, I go insane. Every single time.”

“Oh, trust me,” Arthur muttered, “we know.”

“Remember when I had the flu and you called the ambulance?” Lorenzo added.

“Or when I twisted my ankle karting and you made soup for three weeks?” Arthur said.

“Because I care!” Pascale cried. “Because I’m your mother!”

“Exactly!” Charles snapped. “That’s why she didn’t want to tell you!”

Pascale went still. Her chest rose and fell, sharp with emotion.

“She didn’t want to tell me?” she repeated, quieter now. “Why?”

Arthur sat up straighter, finally looking serious. “It wasn’t about you. She just... she didn’t want it to be a thing.”

“She’s had a hard time. Because of us,” Lorenzo said gently. “And she’s trying to handle it. On her own terms.”

“She’s still figuring out how to let us in again,” Charles added, voice rough. “She didn’t want to be fussed over.”

Pascale’s eyes filled again. She stood in the center of the room like something fragile pretending to be furious.

“I would’ve helped,” she said softly. “I want to help.”

Charles stepped forward. “Then call her. Ask how she is. Not what happened. Just... how she is.”

Pascale hesitated, then nodded once. She turned, walked into the kitchen, and quietly dialed.

***

Belle’s phone lit up on the bedside table, buzzing once with a call.

MAMAN.

She stared at it. Sighed.

From the other side of the room, Max looked up from where he was folding one of the soft little onesies Belle had already started nesting with.

“Did you do something?” he asked.

Belle raised an eyebrow. “Apparently.”

“Should I leave the room?”

She stared at the phone a second longer, then picked it up and slid her thumb across the screen.

“No,” she said, already bringing it to her ear. “But you might want to take cover.”

“Belle?” Pascale’s voice came through the phone, already too tender. Too heavy.

Belle leaned her head back against the pillows, letting her eyes close. “Hi, Maman.”

“I just heard,” Pascale said, and Belle could hear it — the unshed tears, the guilt, the panic clamped down behind manners. “Chéri, why didn’t you tell me?”

Belle paused. “Because I knew you’d sound exactly like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’d died,” Belle said, not unkindly.

A breath caught on the other end of the line.

“I slipped,” Belle added. “The tiles were wet. It’s not a crime.”

“You’re pregnant.”

“I’m also not made of glass.”

Pascale was quiet for a long moment.

“I’m your mother.”

“I know.”

“I want to help.”

Belle hesitated, eyes flicking across the room to where Max was still folding tiny socks, very deliberately pretending not to listen. His eyes flicked to hers. Steady. Warm. A silent I’m here.

“You can,” Belle said at last. “But only if it’s actually about me. Not about how bad you feel. Not about how guilty everyone else should be. Just me. Just now.”

The silence that followed was thick with understanding.

Then Pascale said, “Okay.”

It wasn’t much. But it was real.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, gentler now. “Truly.”

Belle exhaled. “Sore. Tired. My knees look like I lost a fight with a staircase. And Max has started hiding the cleaning supplies like I’m a safety hazard.”

Pascale let out a soft, wet laugh. “That sounds about right.”

“I sprained my wrist,” Belle added. “But the baby’s fine. He kicked my cereal bowl of the bump this morning.”

Pascale choked out another laugh. “A boy.”

“Yeah,” Belle said. “A boy.”

There was a beat. A silence that hummed with everything they hadn’t said.

Then Pascale whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Belle didn’t flinch. She didn’t soften either. She just let it sit.

“Okay,” she said.

And for once, Pascale didn’t try to fill the space. Didn’t try to fix it with noise or fuss. She just let the words be enough.

“I’ll let you rest,” she said after a moment. “But… I’ll check in again. If that’s alright?”

“It is,” Belle said. “Goodnight, Maman.”

“Goodnight, ma chérie.”

Belle ended the call.

Max looked up from across the room, holding a baby sock between two fingers. “So?”

Belle didn’t move. Just tilted her head slightly. “She’s trying.”

“And you?”

She gave a tired half-smile. “Trying to let her.”

Max crossed the room and dropped onto the bed beside her. He placed the sock on her belly like it was sacred.

“Well,” he said. “One step at a time.”

Belle reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. “Yeah. One step at a time.” ***

Belle sat on the end of the couch, one hand resting lightly on her belly, the other clutched around a bottle of water she hadn’t opened yet.

Across from her, Pascale sat upright, hands clasped tightly in her lap like she was holding herself together through sheer posture. Her rings caught the light every time she fidgeted. Her eyes, however, didn’t leave Belle.

Arthur and Lorenzo were to her left, silent for once. Charles was on her right, elbow on his knee, head low. Nobody looked comfortable.

Camille glanced down at her notes, then gently said, “Belle, let’s talk about your fall. You didn’t tell your mother immediately. Would you like to talk about why?”

Belle didn’t answer right away.

She traced a thumb over the cap of her water bottle and said, after a moment, “Because I knew she’d spiral.”

Pascale flinched. “I was worried—”

“You always spiral,” Belle said, not cruelly. Just plainly. “You make everything bigger. More dramatic. And this time… I didn’t have space for that. I just wanted to be okay. Quietly.”

The room went still. Then—

“I didn’t know it had gotten this bad,” Pascale said, voice low.

Belle looked at her. “It didn’t get bad. You just didn’t notice when it stopped being good.”

That landed like a crack through glass. Not loud, but irreversible.

Camille shifted gently. “Can you give examples, Belle?”

Belle hesitated.

Then: “You went shopping with Alexandra and Charlotte.”

Pascale blinked. “When?”

“Back in December,” Belle said. “We ran into each other, you remember? You had lunch with both of them. You said it was just a last-minute thing. You didn’t invite me. Charlotte said you didn’t think I’d be interested.”

Pascale opened her mouth. Closed it again.

Belle exhaled. “It’s little things like that. Always. You expect me to be the one who remembers birthdays, who buys the Christmas gifts, who arranges the dinner reservations. You never check in. Not unless I remind you.”

Arthur looked sideways at Pascale. “She’s not wrong.”

Charles nodded slowly. “Belle’s been the one holding everything together since Papa died.”

And there it was. The air shifted again.

Pascale’s throat bobbed. “Your father… When he died you were all so young,” Pascale continued, almost to herself. “And I was trying to hold everything up. Everything felt like it was slipping. If one of you so much as sneezed, I panicked. I thought if I kept everything perfect, nothing else would fall apart.”

“You couldn’t keep it perfect,” Belle said. “So you just… kept trying to control what you could. And I became part of that.”

Pascale looked like she might cry.

“You think I don’t love you?”

“I know you love me. In your own way” Belle said tiredly. “But you don’t see me. Not really. I’m the one you turn to when things need fixing. But you don’t turn to me when things are good. You don’t invite me to the fun stuff. You just assume I’ll handle everything else.”

There was a long pause. Nobody moved.

Belle took a breath.

“And you forgot my birthday.”

Pascale looked up, stricken. “I—”

“You told me you accidentally sent Charles a message instead,” Belle continued, voice like cut glass. “You lied to make me feel better. Or maybe yourself. But you forgot. And I had to sit there pretending it was okay. Because I didn’t want to make it a thing.”

Tears welled in Pascale’s eyes. “I was ashamed.”

Belle nodded. “I know. That’s why you lied. But it didn’t help. It made it worse.”

Charles shifted beside her, visibly crumbling. “Isabelle…”

She shook her head. “I’m not saying this to hurt anyone. But you need to know how it felt. How it feels.”

Camille gave a small nod. “And Pascale, can you reflect on what Belle’s sharing?”

Pascale looked at her daughter. And for once, didn’t deflect. Didn’t argue.

“I didn’t want to admit how badly I’ve handled things,” she said quietly. “How much I put on you. I thought you were coping. That you liked being the one who kept things running.”

“I didn’t like it,” Belle said. “I just thought that was the only way I’d be needed.”

Pascale’s face crumpled.

“I don’t want to be needed like that anymore,” Belle said, softer. “I want to be wanted. To be included. Without having to earn it.”

No one spoke for a moment.

Then Pascale reached across the arm of her chair — hesitant, trembling — and placed her hand near Belle’s on the couch. Not touching. Just there.

“I want that too,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I’ll try.”

Belle looked down at the hand. And after a long pause, she placed her own on top of it.

Just once.

Then pulled away.

One step at a time.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: So? How was it? Did Charles cry? Did Arthur get kicked out? Did Pascale throw a chair?

Belle: No chairs were harmed in the making of this session And Arthur looked like he was trapped in a hostage situation.

Emilie: Growth. We love to see it. And your mom?

Belle: She cried. Admitted some things. Apologized. Didn’t try to fix it all in one breath for once.

Emilie: …are you okay?

Belle: Weirdly, yes. It was hard. But it felt real. Like she finally heard me instead of just reacting.

Emilie: I’m proud of you. You said everything you needed to say?

Belle: I did. She knows about the birthday. The lying. The shopping trip. All of it.

Emilie: Did she cry about the birthday?

Belle: You would’ve LOVED the face she made. Like she’d stepped on a Lego made of guilt.

Emilie: chef’s kiss I wish I’d been in the room with popcorn.

Belle: Honestly, you’d have made Arthur laugh and ruined the fragile emotional progress. So thank you for staying home 😘

Emilie: Rude but fair. And Max?

Belle: He waited outside. Said he didn’t want to interrupt a Leclerc-specific reckoning. When I came out he just held my hand and asked, “One step?”

Emilie: God I love that man. You got a good one.

Belle: I know. I really, really do.

Emilie: Come over later. I’ll feed you something that isn’t Max’s obsessive soup rotation. And we can watch that baby lion documentary again. For research purposes.

Belle: You just want to cry over baby animals again.

Emilie: And you don’t? 👀

Belle: …I’ll bring tissues.

Emilie: I’ll bring cake. Love you.

Belle: Love you more. 🧡

***

They sat curled on the couch in the soft light of early evening — Belle with her legs stretched over Max’s lap, a mug of mint tea balanced on her bump, and his hand absently tracing patterns on her shin.

Her wrist was still wrapped. Her knees still ached if she moved too fast. But the worst had passed.

“Have you thought more about the nursery?” she asked, voice quiet.

Max looked up from the iPad resting on the armrest beside him. “I figured you were already designing it in your head.”

“I was,” she admitted. “But now… I don’t want it to just be my vision. I want it to be ours.”

His brows furrowed slightly, like she’d said something backwards. “You know I’m fine with whatever you want, schatje.”

“I know,” she said gently. “You said that when we did the penthouse. You said, ‘whatever you want, I’ll love it because you made it.’ And I appreciated that. But this is different.”

She shifted, nudging her foot against his hip. “This isn’t just a room. It’s his room. And he’s your son too.”

Max was quiet for a beat.

Then he set the iPad aside and rested both hands on her legs. “What if I don’t know what I’m doing?”

Belle smiled. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

He looked thoughtful. “Okay. So what don’t we want? No racing theme?”

She snorted. “Absolutely not. No miniature Red Bull helmets.”

“Not even one?” he teased.

“Maybe a soft toy car. But if you hang a framed replica of your first pole position above the crib, I’ll personally replace it with a print of a duck in a bowtie.”

Max grinned. “Fair.”

She reached for her phone and pulled up the notes app. “I was thinking something more… warm. Calm. Nature-themed, maybe.”

He was quiet for a second, then said, “I was thinking jungle animals.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“I saw this wallpaper once,” he said, suddenly serious. “In a hotel in Malaysia. There were giraffes and elephants and trees everywhere. I remember thinking it looked like a story you could live inside.”

Belle’s heart twisted — soft and sweet. “A story.”

Max nodded. “Not just a room.”

She shifted, her head on his shoulder now. “That actually sounds kind of perfect.”

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “We could do greens and golds. Maybe a little lion plush in the corner. Monkeys on the light fixture.”

“Are you saying our son is going to be chaotic?”

“I’m saying it’s genetic,” he said dryly.

Belle laughed, the sound small but real. “Okay. Jungle theme it is.”

“Jungle,” he agreed. “But cozy. Peaceful. Not too loud.”

“And no wallpaper that peels.”

“Obviously.”

They fell quiet again, and Belle let herself imagine it — sunlight through linen curtains, soft green walls, bookshelves filled with Max’s childhood favorites, a little wooden mobile spinning lazily over the crib. A room that felt alive and safe. A room their son would grow into. Would come home to.

Max rested a hand gently on her belly. The baby kicked — just once, but strong — like he approved.

Belle smiled. “He’s on board.”

Max leaned over and kissed her knee. “We’ll make it perfect. Together.”

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Belle: Hey, do you have a minute? I need nursery help. Professional-to-professional. Sister-to-sister. Desperate-pregnant-woman-to-mother-of-three. 😅

Victoria: Always 💁🏼‍♀️ What’s going on? Colours? Layout? Toy storage apocalypse?

Belle: Yes. All of the above. Also: Max has OPINIONS now.

Victoria: Oh no. Did he say “jungle animals”?

Belle: …how did you know that?

Victoria: Because when we were kids he used to draw Formula 1 cars racing through jungles. He once made our dad hang up a poster of a tiger holding a steering wheel. He was seven. And apparently it stuck.

Belle: That is both deeply concerning and very on brand.

Victoria: So what are we thinking? Jungle but make it tasteful?

Belle: Jungle but cozy. He said “a story you can live inside” and now I’m emotionally compromised.

Victoria: Omg Is Max nesting????

Belle: …he denies it But he also bookmarked a giraffe lamp and said we needed “calm jungle vibes” So yes. Yes he is.

Victoria: Iconic.

Belle: I was hoping maybe you could come over sometime and help me mock up a few ideas?

Victoria: Of course. You helped me with all three of mine — I owe you for that race car wallpaper alone. I’ll bring samples. And cake. And maybe a toddler or two, if you don’t mind chaos.

Belle: Yes please 🙏 Also… would you maybe want to help me brainstorm a layout? You know, professional interior architect panic and all Suddenly nothing I draw feels right for this space and I designed the whole damn penthouse

Victoria: Would it be crazy if we did Max’s birthday that weekend too? Low-key. Everyone’s already around. Cake, coffee, chaos.

Belle: YES That’s brilliant

Victoria: I’ll bring the cake. And chaos. You just focus on keeping your ankles elevated and Max emotionally stable

Belle: I’ll try. No promises on the second one 😅

Victoria:I’ll handle logistics. Also: giraffe lamp is a strong choice. Proud of Maxie.

Belle: He said it was “tasteful.” With a straight face.

***

Belle was curled sideways on the couch, her knees tucked under her, a paperback in one hand and a bowl of cut-up peaches balanced precariously on the armrest beside her. She hadn’t touched them. Max noticed.

He was sitting opposite her, laptop open on the coffee table, trying to concentrate on back-to-back track walks, tire compound charts, and whatever new nonsense FIA had dreamed up since Zandvoort. But his eyes kept drifting to her.

Her wrist was still wrapped. The bruises on her knees had turned yellow around the edges. Her hair was clean and twisted up, and she was wearing one of his shirts again — the really soft one that always made his chest feel too tight when he saw her in it.

But she was quiet. More than usual. And Max didn’t like it.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, breaking the silence.

Belle glanced up without lifting her head. “Dangerous.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He huffed, nudged his laptop shut. “Come with me.”

She blinked. “To where?”

“Baku. Singapore. The double header.”

Belle sat up slightly. “Max—”

“I know it’s a long trip. I know the flights suck and you hate hotel pillows and your feet are already swelling when you stand too long.” His voice softened. “But I’d feel better.”

She looked at him. Really looked.

At the tension in his jaw. The worry in his eyes that never quite went away — not since the fall. Not since he’d walked into that hospital room and nearly lost his mind at the sight of her in a hospital gown.

He didn’t say because I won’t be able to sleep if I know you’re alone. He didn’t say because I keep seeing your bruises when I close my eyes.

He just said: “I’d feel better.”

Belle’s hand drifted to her belly, absently.

“You’ve got media,” she said gently. “Track walks. Strategy briefings. You can’t be glued to your phone worrying about if I slipped on the tile again.”

“Exactly,” Max said. “So don’t stay here.”

She hesitated. “Baku’s chaotic. And Singapore’s—”

“Hot. Loud. Long.” He nodded. “But we’ll make it work. You stay in the drivers rooms. I’ll sneak you into engineering debriefs so the baby can start learning telemetry.”

She snorted. “Max—”

“I already checked with the team. Everyone’s on board.” His tone turned softer. “Please, Schatje. Come with me.”

She looked at him again — and it was all there.

His fear. His love. His need to know she’d be safe, even if that meant carrying her through customs himself.

And maybe Belle had spent too long trying to be independent, trying to prove she could handle things on her own. But just this once, she let herself lean into him.

“Alright,” she said, quiet but firm. “We’ll go.”

Max’s shoulders dropped an inch. He reached across the couch and took her hand gently.

“We’ll bring the soft pillows,” she added, smirking slightly. “And the magnesium foot soak.”

“And the peach gummies,” Max said, already smiling like it was a podium finish.

Belle squeezed his hand. “And noise-cancelling headphones for when Baku makes me hate everyone.”

“Done,” he promised. “You and me. And the baby.”

She looked down at her belly, then back up at him.

“You’re ridiculous,” she murmured.

“And you’re coming to Baku,” Max said, already leaning in to kiss her forehead.

And that was that.

Because Belle might’ve been tough as hell on her own — but even she could admit that sometimes, love looked like aisle seats, hotel footstools, and letting someone else carry the weight for a while.

***

It started with rustling.

Not dramatic rustling, not panic-rustling. Just a quiet, persistent shuffle from the other side of the bed. Max blinked awake, one hand already reaching across the mattress by instinct.

Belle was sitting up, barely illuminated by the soft glow of her phone screen. Her hair was loose, falling over her shoulder in sleepy waves, and she had that deeply suspicious expression she only wore when she was trying not to wake him on purpose.

He squinted at her, voice still gravel-thick with sleep. “Everything okay?”

Belle looked at him, guiltily frozen like she’d just been caught stealing state secrets.

“I want…” she paused, then said it all in one breath. “Fries. Like the proper trashy kind. With the fake cheese sauce. And chicken nuggets. And a cheeseburger. And a milkshake.”

Now he really stared.

Because Belle—his Belle—ate steel-cut oats and roasted vegetables and things with seeds in them. She actually liked quinoa. She’d once told him, dead serious, that she didn’t understand the appeal of vending machine snacks.

He blinked again. “You… what?”

“I don’t know,” she said, almost distressed. “I woke up and thought about it and now I can smell it and if I don’t have fries in the next fifteen minutes I’m going to cry.”

Max was already swinging his legs out of bed. “Okay. Fries, Nuggets. Cheeseburger. Milkshake. Got it.”

Belle’s eyes widened. “Wait — where are you going?”

Max grabbed his hoodie from the chair. “To get my very pregnant wife her midnight fries before she cries and then sues me for emotional negligence.”

She let out a soft laugh, surprised and grateful. “Max, I wasn’t ordering you. I just— I didn’t expect you to get up.”

Max leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Belle. The woman who meal-preps chia pudding just asked me for fries. I will sprint to McDonald’s if I have to.”

She laughed, sleepy and fond. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Fully aware,” he said, grabbing his keys. “Back in twenty. Text me if you think of anything else. 

Belle beamed. “I love you.”

Max pointed at the bump. “You, kleine man, better appreciate this.”

And with that, he was out the door, hoodie pulled up, wallet in hand, ready to face the night like a man on a mission.

Max Verstappen: three-time world champion, 1AM fry retriever.

Twenty-five minutes later, Max returned with two paper bags, a milkshake, and the distinct smell of judgment from the drive-thru worker who clearly recognized him. He didn’t care.

Belle was waiting on the couch in one of his hoodies, hair messy, blanket draped over her legs. She looked up with pure adoration when he walked in.

“Oh my god,” she said reverently, taking the bag. “I love you.”

Max sat down beside her, watching her take her first bite like it was the answer to world peace.

“Worth it?” he asked.

Belle moaned. “I want to marry this fry.”

“Little late for that,” Max murmured, placing a hand over her bump. “You already married me.”

She smiled mid-chew, leaning into his side. “Don’t worry. You’re still my favorite.”

Max kissed her temple, then reached into the bag for a fry. “Good. But I’m stealing one anyway.”

“Touch the milkshake and you die.”

Max grinned, settling in.

He used to think happiness was trophies. Laps. A perfect quali.

Now?

It tasted a lot like midnight fries and Belle’s sleepy smile in his hoodie.

And he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

***

Somewhere over Eastern Europe, on the long-haul flight to Baku, Lando twisted around in his seat and stared down the aisle.

“Mate,” he whispered, nudging Oscar with the toe of his shoe. “Look at Max.”

Oscar, half-asleep and curled into his hoodie, cracked one eye open. “What?”

“Look. Just—look.”

Oscar followed his gaze, squinting toward the front of the cabin. And there he was: Max Verstappen. Reigning world champion. Deadliest late-braker in the sport. Currently holding a neck pillow like it was a newborn lamb, adjusting it behind Belle’s head with the concentration of a neurosurgeon.

She was fast asleep. Hoodie pulled over her belly. One hand tucked under her cheek. Max crouched beside her seat like some kind of loyal retriever, gently tugging the blanket higher over her legs.

Oscar blinked. “Oh my god.”

Lando grinned. “He fluffed the blanket. Did you see that? He fluffed.”

Oscar choked back a laugh. “You think he knows we’re watching?”

As if summoned, Max glanced their way. Didn’t even look sheepish.

“What,” he said flatly.

Lando gestured dramatically. “I’m just saying. You used to fall asleep with your face in a telemetry spreadsheet. Now you’re out here fluffing blankets and hand-feeding gummy bears.”

Max arched a brow. “She’s carrying my baby.”

Oscar, wheezing now: “You didn’t even blink.”

Max stood, completely unfazed. “She gets uncomfortable on long flights. And the neck pillow is shit.”

Lando looked between him and Belle. “You’re already a dad. Like, fully. Diaper bag energy. I bet you have snacks in your pocket.”

Max didn’t hesitate. “Ginger chews. For nausea.”

Oscar slumped into his seat, choking with laughter. “This is incredible. You’ve turned into her emotional support Dutchman.”

Max folded his arms. “She’s literally growing a human. You’d all be lucky if anyone ever loved you enough to fluff your blanket.”

Lando held a hand to his heart. “Ouch.”

Oscar held up a hand. “Let him have this. It’s majestic.”

Belle stirred slightly, and all three of them froze. Max was immediately at her side again, smoothing her hair back, whispering something too soft to catch.

Lando leaned back, watching.

“Honestly,” he murmured. “It’s kind of terrifying.”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah. But also kind of goals?”

“Definitely goals.”

And somewhere in the front of the cabin, Max tucked the blanket just a little tighter around Belle’s legs and didn’t care one bit that they were watching.

***

Belle wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened.

One moment she’d been minding her business near the Red Bull hospitality, sipping a mango smoothie and trying to stay in the shade — and the next, Nicole Piastri had looped an arm around her like they’d been close family friends for years.

“Come on,” Nicole said cheerfully, steering her with all the gentle force of someone who’d wrangled toddlers, teenagers, and F1 drivers alike. “You need proper shade. And maybe a cold compress. I told Oscar to start carrying one, but he just gave me a funny look.”

Belle blinked, half-laughing, half-bewildered. “I’m okay, really—”

“You’re pregnant,” Nicole said, matter-of-factly. “You’re not allowed to be ‘okay.’ You’re only allowed to be ‘looked after.’"

And just like that, Belle found herself seated in the VIP shade of the McLaren hospitality tent, a cold bottle of water in her hand, a gentle fan pointed in her direction like she was a national treasure instead of a slightly overheated Verstappen. Nicole was fussing gently, adjusting the umbrella angle like she was personally in charge of UV exposure. Belle didn’t even bother resisting.

“This feels like overkill,” she murmured.

“This,” Nicole said, adjusting Belle’s sunglasses like a stage mom, “is called community care.”

Ten minutes later, Oscar wandered over looking mildly suspicious and very confused. “Mum, what are you doing?”

“I’m taking care of Belle,” Nicole replied serenely, patting Belle’s knee. “She’s part of the family now.”

Belle nearly choked on her water.

Oscar blinked. “Did we… adopt her?”

“Someone has to keep an eye on her when Max is off sweating in the garage,” Nicole said. “And besides—” she turned to Belle, her eyes twinkling “—I’ve been meaning to thank you.”

Belle tilted her head. “For what?”

“Oscar’s apartment,” Nicole said. “He won’t admit it, but I know you helped. You saved him from a lifetime of grayscale walls and furniture that looked like it was ordered by accident.”

Belle snorted. “All I did was drag him into one store and convince him that color wouldn’t kill him.”

“That’s more than I managed in twenty years,” Nicole said, mock-dramatic.

“I’m literally standing right here,” Oscar mumbled, sipping his own smoothie like it might save him.

Nicole ignored him completely. “Now, tell me — do you know if it’s a boy or girl yet?”

Belle hesitated, the moment stretching just slightly. Then she smiled, soft and a little shy. “A boy.”

Nicole gasped, delighted. “A little Max!”

Oscar’s eyes widened. “Wait—seriously? It’s a boy?”

Belle blinked at him, amused. “You didn’t know?”

“No!” Oscar exclaimed, flailing a bit. “Why am I the last to find out everything? Does everyone else know? Does Lando know?”

“Emilie knows…so I am pretty sure that Lando knows,” Belle said helpfully. 

Nicole looked far too entertained. “Oscar, sweetheart, you really need to spend more time in the gossip loop.”

“Or less,” Oscar muttered. “I don’t even know what loop I’m in anymore.”

Nicole leaned back, pleased as punch. “A baby boy. That’s going to be so fun. You just wait. Boys are chaos.”

Belle sipped her water and gave a wry little smile. “Don’t remind me.”

Across the paddock, Max had finally clocked what was happening. He was standing with GP, glancing over every few seconds — his brows drawn together like he was debating whether to intervene or let it happen.

Belle waved at him.

He gave her a little waveback and then narrowed his eyes at Oscar, clearly clocking his proximity to Belle and his mother in one go.

Nicole followed her gaze. “Does Max know I’ve claimed you yet?”

“Not officially,” Belle said dryly. “Do you want to break the news?”

Nicole shrugged. “He’ll survive.”

Belle laughed — really laughed — and leaned back in her chair as the fan gently whirred, her free hand resting lightly on the bump beneath her dress. For once, she wasn’t planning. Wasn’t navigating. Wasn’t managing how everyone else felt about her. She was just… being. And Nicole, for all her sass and maternal might, somehow made it easy.

Oscar looked between the two of them and sighed. “This is going to be a thing now, isn’t it?”

Nicole beamed. “Oh, absolutely.”

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/f1paddocktea: Belle Verstappen and Nicole Piastri spotted together in the McLaren hospitality at Baku. Fan spotted them laughing over smoothies with Oscar looking helpless nearby. 

@/oscarpiasteabag:  Nicole: claims Belle as another daughter Oscar: “I’m literally right here.” I NEED THIS DYNAMIC FOREVER

@/mclaren: Would it be unprofessional to post “Belle Verstappen is now an honorary Piastri”? Asking for a friend.  (and by friend we mean Nicole)

@/beebeehive:  Give Nicole and Belle a YouTube series. Just them drinking tea and discussing how to force Oscar and Max to eat vegetables.

@/f1stepmomenergy: Nicole Piastri adopting Belle is not the crossover I expected from Baku but it’s the one I deserved

@/formulaloveletter:  There’s something so wholesome about Belle accidentally becoming the paddock’s collective little sister/pseudo daughter/wife/chaos magnet. Like. She was just vibing. And now she’s got godparents lined up, a fan, and probably Nicole Piastri plotting baby shower themes.

@/f1chaoticneutral BREAKING: Nicole Piastri has officially adopted Belle Verstappen. Oscar was not consulted. Max is concerned. I am THRIVING.

@/gridgossipqueen:  Nicole Piastri commandeering Belle from Red Bull hospitality like “you���re mine now” is the kind of paddock power move I live for.

@/mclarenhomewives: Nicole Piastri claiming Belle as “part of the family now” and dragging her into the McLaren tent??

Oscar is now Belle’s younger brother

Max is going to be so confused when he picks up his wife and she’s in papaya merch

@/charlesshoes: every time i see belle getting casually adopted by someone new on the grid i gain a year of life

@/mclarenverse: Nicole Piastri claiming Belle like a prized collectible and Oscar just going “I’m literally right here” is so sibling-coded it’s actually hilarious

@/maxielarchives:  Max: why is Belle in McLaren hospitality Nicole Piastri: she’s mine now Oscar: same Belle: eats a papaya macaron like nothing happened

***

They were sitting on one of the low outdoor couches near the back of the paddock hospitality area — just Oscar and his Mum, the sun beginning to dip behind the skyline.

It was quiet except for the soft rustle of Nicole flipping through the tea selection like she was deciding the fate of nations.

“I still don’t know how you always end up hijacking people,” he said eventually, watching her settle on a peppermint sachet like it had personally offended her.

Nicole looked unbothered. “I didn’t hijack Belle. I gently redirected her to a more appropriate location.”

“You stole her from Red Bull hospitality.”

“She was overheating,” Nicole said, clearly satisfied with her maternal diplomacy. “And alone. Honestly, I should’ve swooped in sooner. If you’d seen yourself standing there — all confused, drinking a sad smoothie while she wilted under an umbrella.”

Oscar sighed and slumped back against the cushions. “It’s just funny how you do this. You see someone once and you’re like, ‘You’re mine now.’”

Nicole gave him a look over the rim of her tea cup. “Sweetheart, I raised four children and half your karting team. I know the signs. She needed someone.”

He snorted, then sighed. “You really like her, huh?”

Nicole didn’t even hesitate. “I adore her.”

Oscar picked at the label of his bottle for a moment. “You know her family forgot her birthday?”

Nicole blinked. “Her birthday?”

He nodded, jaw tight. “Didn’t even text her. Not one of them. Not her mum. Not her brothers. Nothing.”

Nicole was quiet now, the kind of quiet that meant she was carefully tamping down a volcano of maternal rage.

Oscar kept going, like the words had been stewing for a while. “And it’s not just that. They forget stuff all the time. Important stuff. She used to plan all their holidays, always checked in on everyone else. And no one ever asked if she was okay. No one made the effort for her.”

Nicole exhaled slowly, steady. “If I had ever seen you treat Hattie or Edie or Mae like that… if I’d seen you treat one of your sisters the way Belle’s been treated—”

“You’d have driven a wooden spoon into my skull,” Oscar muttered.

“Correct,” Nicole said, no hesitation.

Oscar smiled faintly. “I think that’s why I get so… prickly about it. I keep thinking about them. My sisters. If they’d gone through what Belle has. If they’d hidden how much it hurt.”

Nicole looked at him then — really looked. And whatever mischief had lived in her smile earlier had been replaced by something quieter. Something sharper.

“She deserves more,” she said simply.

Oscar nodded. “She’s finally getting it. With Max. With Emilie. Even Lando, weirdly.”

Nicole smiled again at that. “And now with us.”

Oscar blinked. “Mum—”

“I don’t care how famous her brothers are. If they won’t show up for her, then she gets me. She gets the whole damn Piastri family. I’ll knit her ugly baby blankets and text her reminders to drink water. That girl is mine now.”

Oscar stared at her, half-horrified and half-delighted.

“She’s going to think we are all insane,” he said.

Nicole smiled serenely. “Then she’ll fit right in.”

Oscar grinned.

And deep down, something in him relaxed — knowing Belle had one more person in her corner now.

***

The paddock was a blur of movement — media crews, mechanics in half-unzipped race suits, engineers pulling headsets off and already dissecting data. Baku’s sticky heat clung to everything like a second skin, even in the growing twilight. Belle adjusted the loose linen shirt knotted above her bump over the dress she wore and threaded her way past the Red Bull garage, careful of her steps. Her knees still ached when she walked too long.

Max was doing media rounds. He’d finished P5 — a hard-fought recovery, all things considered. But she wasn’t here for him right now. Or even for Oscar who had driven to a win in Baku that was everything Hungary hadn’t been.  

Ferrari red came into view just as the celebratory chaos began to ebb. There were still photographers trailing Carlos, and team members buzzing around the pit wall, but the man she was looking for stood half-turned toward the back of the garage, like the adrenaline hadn’t quite left his system yet.

Charles.

She hadn’t planned to come.

She’d meant to stay near Max, stay out of sight, stay neutral.

But then she saw the replay of the overtake. The fight. The fact that Charles had driven his heart out. That he'd earned that podium. And despite everything — the weight of all their unspoken hurts, the therapy sessions, the missed birthdays — she still felt proud of him.

“Charles,” she called softly as she stepped just inside the boundary line.

He turned.

Surprise flickered across his face. “Belle?”

She smiled. “P2,” she said, her voice warm and sincere. “You drove beautifully.”

His gaze dropped to her belly, then back to her eyes. “You didn’t have to come.”

“I wanted to,” she said. “Just for a minute.”

He hesitated, then gave a small nod and stepped closer. “Thank you.”

There was a beat of silence between them. Not awkward — just… delicate.

“You really mean it?” he asked, quieter now.

Belle met his eyes. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

Something in his shoulders loosened. Just a little.

Then he surprised her — reaching out and resting a hand gently on her arm, careful and featherlight.

“I’m trying, you know,” he said. “With all of it. I know I’ve been... slow. Selfish. But I’m trying.”

“I know,” Belle said. “So am I.”

Charles looked at her again — properly this time — and for the first time in what felt like forever, it didn’t feel like a minefield between them. Just two people standing in the wreckage, trying to rebuild something.

Not what it used to be. But maybe something new.

“Do you want water or something?” he asked suddenly, glancing around the garage. “We have those fancy Italian fizzy ones—”

Belle laughed. “I’m okay. Max is about to come looking for me anyway.”

Charles smiled crookedly. “He was glaring at me through the cooldown lap, by the way.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “He always glares.”

“That one felt extra.”

She bumped his arm with her elbow. “Be nice.”

“I’m trying.”

They stood there a beat longer.

“Congrats again,” she said, stepping back. “You earned it.”

He gave a soft nod. “Thank you, Belle.”

And this time, when she turned to go, it didn’t feel like a goodbye. Just a pause.

Something gentler.

Something that might, one day, be whole again.

***

[suliigwp]

Hello! Could you do the “I’m defending you because you’re my woman” with Charles and Lewis as well? I just read the max, lando and Carlos versions of it and I’m in love hehe

MY WOMAN

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Other versions: Carlos Sainz, Lando Norris, Max Verstappen, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton

SULI: Hi anon, thank you for your request! Alright, lasto three and we're moving on because I'm loosing ideas to make them different lmao. This will be the Charles version, lewis will be posted separately <3

Warnings: Men.

It started with a shift. A quiet one. One that felt too familiar.

She’d been invited to present at a cross-team coordination meeting. It wasn’t flashy. Not a press conference, not some public announcement. But it mattered to her.

She’d spent nights perfecting the pitch, scribbling ideas and corrections in the margins of her notebook. Charles had watched her pace the hotel room in socks, chewing her pen, murmuring strategy points under her breath. She wanted this one to be sharp—efficient, clean, undeniable.

So when she walked into the meeting that morning—file in hand, hair neat, eyes focused—she wasn’t expecting to feel so… dismissed.

They smiled, of course. That fake, managerial kind of smile that never quite reached the eyes. They nodded at her introduction. Waited for her to begin.

And then, slowly, they dismantled her confidence—not directly, not even cruelly. Just enough interruptions. Just enough condescending jokes masked as banter. One man suggested she “simplify the jargon for everyone’s sake.” Another tilted his head and said, “Maybe passion’s clouding your objectivity.”

And every time she tried to steer the discussion back to the actual points—the facts, the structure—they steered it away. Her research was “ambitious.” Her projections “optimistic.” Her tone “a bit intense.”

Charles hadn’t been supposed to attend. But he’d shown up halfway through and slipped in quietly, standing near the back wall. She hadn’t even noticed at first. But he saw everything. Every narrowed glance. Every barely concealed smirk. Every time she swallowed a rebuttal to keep the conversation civil.

He didn’t say a word then. Didn’t make a scene.

But when they walked out of that room, and she gave him a thin, practiced smile and said, “Well, that could’ve gone worse,” he just took her hand and brought her back to the car without a word.

...

She didn’t think about it again until hours later, when her email pinged.

> Meeting Follow-Up Notes – Updated

Proposal has been submitted for reevaluation. Clarification provided by Mr. Charles Leclerc regarding external presentation alignment and conduct expectations moving forward.

She blinked. Read it again.

She read it three times.

She turned around from the hotel desk chair, slow and steady. Charles was lying on the bed, scrolling through something, his reading glasses slipping down slightly.

“Charles?” she asked.

“Hmm?”

She tried to sound casual. “Did you… talk to someone after the meeting?”

He looked up. Paused.

“Yes.”

She blinked. “What do you mean ‘yes’?”

“I had a conversation.”

“With who?”

He set his phone down, sat up slowly. “With the ones who spoke over you.”

Her heartbeat kicked up. “Why?”

“Because they were out of line.”

“Charles…”

“I wasn’t going to let it go.”

She stood up. “You weren’t even supposed to be there.”

“I’m glad I was.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can fight my own battles.”

He looked at her. Calm. Centered. But something sharper brewing beneath the surface—like water just before the boil.

“I know you can.”

“Then why step in?”

Charles stood. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t move suddenly. But he was in front of her now, close enough for her to smell the cedar in his cologne.

“Because it wasn’t just a battle. It was disrespect. And you don’t deserve that.”

She looked up at him, frustration tightening her chest. “You don’t get to walk into rooms and fix things behind my back.”

“I wasn’t fixing it,” he said. His voice was soft but firm, each word deliberate. “I was reminding them who they were talking to.”

She exhaled hard. “I don’t need you to defend me because I’m a woman.”

There was a beat of silence.

Charles tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing with something darker. Not anger. Just clarity.

“I didn’t defend you because you’re a woman.”

He stepped closer.

“I defended you because you’re my woman.”

The room went quiet. She blinked.

“And if you think I’m going to watch people minimize you,” he said, voice lowering, “treat you like you’re less, speak to you like you’re temporary—then you don’t know me as well as I thought you did.”

Her jaw clenched.

“You didn’t even tell me.”

“Because I knew you’d be mad.”

“You were right.”

He smiled faintly, brushing his thumb against the back of her hand.

“I’d do it again.”

She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. She hated how warm his words made her feel in the middle of her frustration.

Charles’s expression softened. He leaned in, forehead to hers, and when he spoke next, it was a murmur.

“You’re strong enough to handle everything. But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

She swallowed.

“I know you want to do it alone. I just want to be beside you when you do.”

And just like that, the fire in her chest cooled. Not extinguished—just redirected. Grounded.

She leaned into him slowly. Let his arms pull her in. Let the silence settle around them

[sydwritess]

Mad max

Max verstappen x fem!reader

Summary: You were at home enjoying the peace and quiet before Max got home. When Max eventually came home, he was angrier than ever, accusing you of cheating on him from a photo someone had shown him.

Second Person pov

Warning: Swearing, Max being a bitch

Today was a long day for you. Max was at the circuit, working before the races start. While you were walking around Monaco with your cousin.

"Ugh, I can't believe you made us walk. It's blazing out here." He said, fanning himself with his hand.

"That's what I like about Monaco. Everything is close." You say.

"Do you remember what we used to do as kids, walking down the street?" He asked randomly.

"Oh my God yes!" You say excitedly. He grabbed your hand and we skipped down the sidewalk like we used to. Bobbing our heads around, skipping everywhere.

"Oh my god. That is tiering." He said, letting go of your hand.

"You can't do much of anything before getting tired." You say, laughing at him.

"Okay girl, I see how it is." He said pretending to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

We made it back to you apartment complex in a quick matter of time.

"Wow, this is fancy! I see how you are Miss. Girl." He said, looking all around the lobby before getting into the elevator.

All you could do is laugh at him. You hit the 16th floor button, the elevator closes slowly and you make your way up to your floor.

The elevator dings, signaling that you've reached your floor. We both get out of the elevator, and silently make your way down the hall to your apartment, unlocking the door and stepping in to the cooled down room.

"This feels so nice." Your cousin said, plopping down on the couch.

"I forgot you have never seen this place." You say, walking into the kitchen.

You open the refrigerator door. "Do you want anything to drink?" You ask.

"Water. Please." He answered. You grab two waters and go back into the living room, sitting down next to him.

"Are you coming back to visit?" You ask.

"Yes. Well I have a lot to catch up on when I fly back home, but I will plan our next trip." He say with a smile.

"You definitely should." You say.

We both sat on the couch, watching the sun slowly start to set beyond the ocean.

"Alright. I better get going." He says, standing up from the couch.

"It was great seeing you again." You say, standing up and giving him a hug.

"I know, it was great seeing you. I will come back later tonight before I leave. I will also bring Gabriel with me." He says.

"That sounds great. Thank you, again." You say, walking to the door with him. We both say our goodbyes and he walks out.

After he leaves, you decide to go into the kitchen and start dinner. You were chopping vegetables, and prepared some chicken for the main plate.

Once you had everything prepared, you walk back into the living room and sit on the couch, flipping through the TV channels to find something good to watch.

"Jesus. There's like nothing to watch." You mutter to yourself.

You shut the TV off, and get up off of the couch, walking to the balcony that was connected to the living room.

You gently push the sliding glass door open, walk outside and sit in one of the chairs that was out there, taking in what was left of the sunset.

You were looking down at where the ocean and sky meet, taking everything in when you hear your phone ring.

'Had such a fun time today. Gabriel and I will come over tonight before we leave.' Your cousin texts.

'Awesome. I'm glad you had fun, can't wait.' You type back, putting your phone down.

You were about to lean your head back, looking back out when you heard rustling around in the kitchen. You quickly snap your head around, looking into the apartment to see Max.

"Hey. Didn't know you'd be back this early." You said, walking into the kitchen.

"So did I." Max said, looking in the fridge for something.

"You okay?" You ask.

"Yup. Just... a long day."

You thought nothing of it as he has had many stressful days before, so you walk into the living room, sitting down on the couch again.

Soon after, Max had walked into the living room. You moved your feet off of the cushion next to you so he could sit next to you, but he didn't. He sat in a chair on the opposite side of the room, taking a sip of his drink as he was sitting down.

You look at him confused. "Are you all set for the race tomorrow?"

"Yeah." He says, looking down at the ground, then back up at you.

"I don't think you should come tomorrow." He says.

"What? Why?"

"You just... don't need to be there." He says bluntly. You were taken back at the statement.

"I- what is wrong with you? Did you have a shitty day or something?" You ask.

He looks at me and shrugs. "Did you have a shitty day?" He repeats.

"No."

"Really. What did you do?"

"I... hung out with my cousin."

"Really. Where?"

"The mall." You say slowly. He nods, but not a nod of approval. He get's up from the chair he was in and walks into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"What the hell?" You whisper.

Suddenly he comes back out, in new clothes, looking like he was going out.

"I'm going out. Don't wait up for me." He said, walking to the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Does it really matter?"

"I'm just asking." You whispered.

"And I'm asking why it fucking matters to you!" He snaps, looking at you. You stand up, looking straight at him.

"What is wrong with you? If I did something, just tell me! Don't yell at me." You say, raising your voice. He shakes his head, letting go of the door handle.

"You thought you could fucking cheat on me and lie about it!" He yells.

"What -" You try to say, all of a sudden, he shoves his phone in your face, showing you a picture of you and a guy holding hands on the street. That guy being your cousin.

"He-"

"Are you fucking kidding me right now? How could you fucking do this?"

"I didn't do anything!" You yell back.

"Of course you didn't! Because your here for you!"

"What the hell does that even mean?" You say, tears filling your eyes, your voice getting shakey.

"I should have fucking known since the day I met you. I thought you were the one for me but you fucking threw it around! You threw us away!" He yells, stepping closer to you. You backed up, getting closer to the living room wall.

"I didn't do anything. That's my-"

"Yeah your fucking boyfriend! What, I wasn't there enough for so you had to go out with someone new!"

"No I didn't-"

"Yes you did! I have the fucking proof right here! Don't fucking lie to me!" He said, moving closer and closer to you. Your now fully against the wall. Trapped.

"Will you just let me-"

"I can't believe you! How could you fucking do this to me!" He says, slamming a hand against the wall, near your head.

Your breath was caught in your throat, tears falling down your cheeks.

"Hey guys." A voice said form the front door. You turn to see your cousin there. You suddenly let out a breath that you held within you.

"Schat-" He tries to say, your went to your cousin's side.

"I just came to say goodbye. Everything okay?" Your cousin asks.

"What, he comes to your rescue now?" Max says, pointing to your cousin.

"Babe, is everything okay?" A voice outside the hall was heard. Just then Gabriel said, walking in the doorway.

"Babe?" Max questions.

"He's my boyfriend." Your cousin says.

"Anyway. We have to leave. Are you okay?" Your cousin asks, turning to you.

"I'm okay. Just uh- get home safe." You whisper. He nods, hugging you.

"Did he hurt you?" He whispers.

"No."

"Good. Please call me. I'll let you figure this out." He says, pulling away form the hug.

"I will. Just have a good flight." You say. He nods before walking out with Gabriel, shutting the door behind him.

"Y/n-" Max starts.

You put a hand up "No. Just... no." You say, walking into your bedroom, shutting and locking the door. You slid down against the door, hugging your knee's as you cry into them silently.

Your thoughts rushing, one after another. Not being able to process what just happened.

You sit in your room for hours. Not debating on going back out there. On hearing a shitty apology. On all of it. You slowly make your way to your bed, curling up in it and crying to yourself. Thinking of everything.

You couldn't fall asleep. Your body wouldn't let you. You turn over to get your phone off of the nightstand. Looking at it as it says 10:30 p.m.

You have a feeling that Max might have left. So you slowly get up, and go out of your room, walking down the hallway.

When you reach the main room, you see Max sitting in a chair in the living room, not TV on, no phone. Just starring at the wall. You quietly walk into the kitchen, avoiding his attention to grab something to eat.

You look in the cabinet's, grabbing your snack. You turn around to see Max standing there behind you, distanced. Your breath hitched. Your mind filling with fear.

"I just want to talk." He says gently, taking a step towards you. You step back. The incident from before appearing in your head.

He see's your movement, and steps back again.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He said, putting his hand in the air. Your still silent.

"I just... I'm sorry. Really sorry."

You shake your head, not giving in yet.

"I should have let you talk. Or I shouldn't have made the assumption." He said. Tears began to brim your eyes.

"You almost hit me." You say, voice weak.

"I know. I know, but I didn't mean to... hit the wall." He said slowly.

"But you almost hit me."

"I'm sorry." He says. You shake your head again. 'I also should have realized he's your cousin, seeing how you two look alike. You were right. I did have a bad day and, after seeing that. I just, got even more pissed." He says.

"Yeah." You say, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I- I can leave if you want." He says quietly. You go silent again.

"You should've at least asked."

"I know. You know me, I don't fly of the hook like that."

"Yeah."

"Can we please work this out?" He asks. The room went silent again. You look at him slowly, seeing the sorrow behind his eyes.

"Yeah... I guess." You say, walking over to him. He immediately wraps his arms around you. Hugging you tightly.

"Don't hurt me." You say quietly, tears falling over your cheeks.

"I would never. I'm so sorry." He says.

"Promise?"

"Promise." He says, kissing the top of your head. You burry your head into his shoulder, the tears flowing like a river.

"I'm really sorry. I truly am." He says quietly.

"I know." You whisper. Staying like that for what felt like forever.

Hey loves! Hope you like this one! A bit different from what I write but where's the fun if you don't write different things? Comment to be added to the tag list!

[no-144444]

chapter 6: miami, the city that keeps the roof blazin'

꩜ summary: lando norris was a preppy asshole in secondary school, and you were the girl he despised. years later, you're a hot-shot sports lawyer rewriting the rules of the sport he calls home, and your paths cross, whether you want them to or not.

꩜ pairing: lando norris x fem! lawyer! reader

꩜ a/n: anything in orange and bold is the past/ in school

You felt nothing when Lando crossed that line first in Miami. It was a Sprint race. It barely mattered. He got out of the car, smiling like he had just won a World Championship, and it made you want to punch him. He was so smug, so sure he deserved everything he had. 

You walked up to where Liam was standing in the McLaren garage, a sickly sweet smile on your face. “Hey,” you smiled. He turned his head, saw your smile, and smirked, crossing his arms. 

He rolled his eyes, but it was playful, you knew him well enough now. “What do you want?” he asked like it bothered him and you both knew it didn’t. 

“Take Lando’s interview for me?” you pleaded, absent-mindedly crossing your fingers. He chuckled, you looked up at him. 

“What is it with you two?” he asked, chuckling. “Obviously, yes I will-” “Thank you-” “But seriously, what is his problem? He’s so rude to you,” he pointed out and you huffed, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the paddock and out of the garage. He didn’t complain. You stopped just outside the garage.

“He’s just a dick I used to know,” you admitted. “But we had this whole argument in Saudi, and I’m just really not interested in digging up that grave again, y’know what I mean?” you asked, frustrated even when just thinking about what Lando had said. He had no right to think that everything you worked for was for him. 

“What happened?” Liam asked, his eyes trained on your own. You stilled for a moment, actually looking at him. That tinge of green in his hazel eyes. The way his eyebrows furrowed when he was confused, or stressed, or wanting to understand something. You realised you still had your hand on his arm, and he hadn’t moved it yet. You didn’t move it. You gulped. “He just… he was a dick, said some shit about my work and how it was for him or something-”

“What a bitch,” he gasped. “Holy shit that’s awful. What a self-centred prick-”

“It doesn’t matter,” it did. It really mattered considering he promised you he’d always believe in you and your vision. You were glad someone else saw how shitty he was, and you were glad that someone was Liam. “Thank you for taking the interview,” you smiled at him before turning and walking off, needing some time to think. Liam walked back into the McLaren garage, passing Lando on his way in. 

“Hey mate, you ready for-”

“Not feeling well,” he answered bluntly. “We can talk later.” 

It was a Sprint win, not a World Championship. Lando knew that. But it still felt better than being behind Oscar again. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, everyone knew it stung. Anyone with eyeballs could see the way the WDC title was slowly slipping through his fingers, even if it was 6 races in, it still meant there were 5 where Oscar was better. Lando was meant to be better. He was meant to be everything. McLaren’s golden boy. F1’s new era. Max’s rival. A real racer, unafraid of getting his elbows out and fighting for what he wanted. Yet he was scared of instagram comments? That didn’t feel right. Didn’t sit right with him, or anyone, he assumed. He didn’t have a championship mentality, he knew that. He had his mentality, and he’d shape it whatever way he needed to, if it meant he’d raise that trophy once. Just one. He wasn’t here to be in the sport forever. He wasn’t here to break records. He was here to prove that all those years he spent making sacrifices, of his family making sacrifices, sacrificing you, that it all meant something. That he wasn’t some bullshit, rich-kid, paid-in driver who never had any talent to begin with. Miami was his town, his first win, his biggest weekend yet, and he'd just won the sprint. He was happy. He was the driver he was supposed to be. But he still had quali later. All he wanted was to remind himself of those days at the karting tracks with you. The way you’d smile at him when he made a terrible joke. The way you always knew how to fix it if the race went bad. The way you always made sure his helmet was safe. The way he felt safe with you. 

“What is it with you two?” Liam’s voice cut through the noise in the garage, and Lando’s clung to it like a lifeline. He’d realised that, where Liam was, you were too. A fact he didn’t particularly like, but he’d accepted, especially after the shitshow in Saudi. He didn’t mean to phrase it like that, he just couldn't get his words together properly. He just wanted to know if there was even a small proportion of you that still cared about him. Clearly there wasn’t. 

Which is fine. Lando had decided he didn’t need love. He just needed to put his head down and focus. So why was he following you through the garage as you pulled at Liam’s arm. Lando’s posture stiffened. 

“He’s just a dick I used to know,” you admitted. Used to know. Like you didn’t know every piece of his brain, every crack of his bones, every inch of skin. He scoffed. He noticed how Liam didn’t remove your hand as you ranted. He looked at you with those eyes he knew well. You were annoyingly easy to fall for. “But we had this whole argument in Saudi, and I’m just really not interested in digging up that grave again, y’know what I mean?” 

“What happened?” Liam asked, his eyes trained on your own. You buffered for a moment, actually looking at him. Lando had noticed the way his eyes softened when he looked at you. He noticed those small glances he gave you in the halls. He noticed the way his eyes automatically fell to you. It made him sick. That was what he used to do. He knew that bubbly feeling in his chest all too well. He knew that lovesick smile. He knew the burning under your hand, the one you kept on his bicep. You didn’t move it. You gulped. “He just… he was a dick, said some shit about my work and how it was for him or something-”

“What a bitch,” Liam gasped. “Holy shit that’s awful. What a self-centred prick-”

All of what he said was right, and Lando knew it. Still hurt. 

“It doesn’t matter,” it did. He knew it did. What he said wasn’t right, and he wanted to apologise. Of course he knew you did your work for yourself, and more importantly, the little kids in karting who wouldn’t have a chance without fairer rules. “Thank you for taking the interview,” you smiled at him, that soft, perfect smile. The kind that shouldn’t just be thrown around to co-workers, ones that should be reserved for vogue.

Liam turned to go back into the garage, (most-likely) to find Lando. He cleared his throat of the emotion bubbling within it and shook his head as Liam reached him. 

“Hey mate, you ready for-”

“Not feeling well,” he answered bluntly. “We can talk later.”

𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟

twists and turns masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

[thef1diary]

Little Big Fan | Eight

— Little Big Allergy

Series Masterlist

wc: 3.6k

Note: I am not a medical professional, so please let me know if something is incorrect

"Don't you dare think about cancelling, you are going on that date," your best friend's voice rang out of your phone on speaker while you were choosing a dress for tonight.

You turned to look at the phone, as if your best friend was standing there, "I'm not going to cancel, I just don't know what to wear," you responded, placing another dress against your body but frowning.

"Wear that one sexy red dress you have, who knows, you might just get laid tonight."

You shuffled through your closet, finding the red dress in the back, which was expected since you didn't wear it in a long time. You held it out in front of you, "don't you think it's too revealing for the first date? Maybe I could wear this next time."

It was a backless, short garment with two straps. While the back was revealing, so was the front, which featured two cutouts around the hips and exposed a bit of cleavage due to the lack of material.

Your friend hummed, "so we're planning a second date as well huh?" You could basically hear her smirk on the other end. "Well I hope this date goes well," you reasoned, but the jittery feeling didn't go away.

"You and Max are already good friends who happen to flirt occasionally, what could go wrong?" Then after a short pause, she added, "actually no, don't answer that. Try your blue dress, I bet he'd like to see you in blue."

After almost every interaction you've had with Max, starting from the grocery store, you've told your friend everything. Which is why when she suggested wearing blue, you weren't opposed to it.

Putting your red dress back in the closet for another time, which was hopefully soon, you held a navy blue dress in your hand, examining it before holding it up against your body.

While this one, like the red dress, had two straps holding it together, it was longer, reaching a few inches past your knees and including a little slit down the side for convenience.

"Alright, this is the one," you stated and continued conversing with your friend while you changed and began doing your makeup.

"So Bella is at Tyler's?" She asked, making you nod before realizing that she couldn't see you. "Yeah, she'll be there for the weekend."

"Oh how fun!" You could hear the sarcasm in her voice and chuckled, "it's fine, she should be spending time with her dad."

"The same one who called her overdramatic? Did you seriously have to have a kid with a guy like him?" This was a conversation you've had with her many times, and you would always reply with the same answer, "we were young and immature, but Isabella is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"She truly is, which makes me glad that she turned out like you more than him." You chuckled, "oh trust me, I am glad about that too. It would've been a nightmare if I had to see a little version of him all the time."

"So, speaking of Isabella, how are you going to tell her that you are dating someone who happens to be her favourite person in her favourite sport?"

You groaned, "I don't know, I really don't know. I can't stop thinking about it, because of what Tyler told me," you explained. "Are you still believing his words? Actually scratch that, why are you letting your ex determine your future relationship?"

"God, why do you have to ask such questions," you muttered, taking a moment to think about your response.

"I don't want to believe him, I have a feeling something else happened that day which he didn't tell me about. Plus he's not only my ex, he's the father of my child. I don't think of him as anything more than that."

"Honestly that asshole shouldn't even be considered the father of such a beautiful little girl," your friend stated, and you couldn't help but agree with her.

"Anyways, let's not talk about him, I don't want to ruin my mood before the night even starts," you comment, with your friend humming in agreement.

"You're right, let's talk about Max!" She exclaimed, making you chuckle. That's whom you ended up talking about for the remainder of the time you were getting ready.

Even though she knew all the details right from day one, she wanted another whole story time of how you and Max met, leading up to when he asked you out. Instead of opposing to repeat the story, which you don't even know how many times you've told her by now, you happily told her all the details as if it was the first time.

A few minutes after you ended the phone call with your best friend, your phone rang again which you initially thought was a call from Max. However, it was a call from an unknown number.

You answered the call, and you were met with a woman's panicking voice on the other end, "is this Isabella's mother?"

"Yes, who is this?" You asked first, calming down the inner voices that instantly thought about the worse possible scenario involving your daughter.

"I'm Emma, I don't know if you know me but I am actually at the hospital, with Isabella." You tightened your grasp on the phone, as it was close to slipping away from your hands at Emma's words.

"What happened and which hospital are you at?" You instantly began moving around your house, finding your car keys as you waited for a response.

Emma told you the address as you were leaving through the front door. "She had a severe allergic reaction, and I thought it would be best to bring her to the hospital. I am sorry for disturbing you, I wasn't able to get in touch with Tyler."

You took a deep breath in, knowing that it was bound to happen someday, even though you would rather not have it happen at all. "I'm on my way, should be there in ten minutes. Thank you for letting me know."

It would've been pointless to argue with her, especially since she was the one who informed you of the situation at hand and had the decency to take your daughter to the hospital.

You rushed into the hospital within eight minutes, a record time for you, and you might've broken a few speeding laws but it was for a good reason. It didn't take too long finding Isabella, considering she was in the ER, with a frantic woman standing nearby, whom you assumed was Emma.

As soon as she spotted you, her first words to you was another apology, "I am so, so sorry, I had no idea she had a peanut allergy." That led you towards one question, well more than one but you started off with just one, "what happened?"

She sighed, before telling you how she spent the entire day with Isabella. "One of my friends came by and dropped off some baked goods, I swear I had no idea that it had peanuts in it."

You reasoned that if you calmed her down, it would calm you down as well, because the increasing dread in your thoughts would not benefit you in any situation. You put your hands on her shoulders, "I'm not blaming you for it, you didn't know."

You looked at the doors leading to the ER, "how bad was it?" Emma hesitated before muttering words that made your heart ache, "really bad, she started swelling up everywhere and then passed out."

You tried to sit down, but the need to know her well-being caused you to walk back and forth in the hallway.  Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you were about to ignore it until you recalled something really important.

"Shit!" Max was calling. Of course he was, after all he was expecting you to be home and ready for a date tonight.

"Hey, I'm standing at your front door, are you home or?" He started and awkwardly chuckled, causing you to shut your eyes, imagining how the night was expected to go. He was probably holding a bouquet of flowers, looking like an idiot standing by the door because you weren't home.

"Max, I'm so sorry, I'm actually at the hospital." There was no reason to lie, but even after telling the truth, you didn't feel any less guilty.

"What happened? Are you okay? Is Isabella okay?" His response was quick, and slightly surprising but you've known Max long enough that his kindness wasn't as shocking anymore.

"It's Isabella, allergic reaction," you briefly described, and heard some shuffling around on the other end before he asked for the address. "You don't have to come," you told him as you normally did, but he didn't agree again, saying "I want to."

You didn't argue with him, as your heart warmed at the fact that Max wanted to see Isabella himself, and stay right by your side until she was completely fine.

Quickly telling him the address as you noticed a doctor walking towards you and Emma, you hung up the call. "Which one of you is the patient's guardian?"

You stepped forward, "I'm her mother, how is she?"

"It was an anaphylactic allergic reaction, however everything is under control. We've administered epinephrine but we will be moving her to the ICU for a few hours just for observation purposes in case the symptoms are back."

You let out a sigh in relief, as did Emma. "Thank you," you nodded towards the doctor. Once they left, you sat down, the anxiousness leaving your body.

Looking at Emma, who was standing against the wall in front of you, you had another question brewing in your mind. "Where was Tyler when all this happened?" You asked, remembering that she called you only because she couldn't reach him.

"He said he had an emergency meeting come up," Emma spoke her words carefully, earning raised eyebrows from you. "He left you alone with my daughter?" You had to confirm the words you were hearing and scoffed once she nodded.

"It's not your responsibility to take of my child, it's his. You're not her guardian nor babysitter, you shouldn't have to do that." Emma shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal, "it's not the first time."

"How dare he?" You muttered under your breath before standing up and stepping closer to her. "We both have epipens for situations like this, and I am assuming that since you didn't know about her allergy, Tyler didn't tell you about the epipen either?”

Emma shook her head, "no, he didn't."

His lack of attention, led Isabella right to this moment. If he had told Emma about your daughter's allergy, or even what to do when she has allergic reaction, neither of you would be this worried about her health.

Emma, having realizing the depth of the situation, sighed, "I haven't been able to get a hold of him and if it weren't for Isabella constantly talking about you and telling me your phone number to the point where I had it memorized, I wouldn't have known what to do in this situation."

You pitied the woman standing in front of you, especially as you also knew that it was not her fault. You cracked a smile, "she talks about me huh?"

"Oh yeah, she considers you the best mother in the world, and based on her stories, I agree with her."

Then, you heard Max calling your name, walking towards you in a rush. He instantly wrapped an arm around your waist as if it was an instinct, "is she okay?"

Emma stepped away, picking up her phone for another useless attempt of calling her boyfriend.

You wrapped both arms around Max, bringing him in a hug, "yeah, she's okay."

Once he pulled back, he cradled your face with his palms, "are you okay?" You smiled, and your eyes filled with unshed tears because of his question. "Much better now."

Then, Max noticed your outfit which happened to be the dress you were supposed to wear on your date. "Wow," he breathed, his gaze unwavering, taking you in.

He was also dressed up, wearing a suit with a bow tie, and you couldn't help but reach up to touch it, "cute," you commented, making him raise his brows.

"Cute?" He repeated with a questioning tone. You nodded, biting your bottom lip to prevent a smile. "Cute and handsome."

"You are beautiful," he replied, watching as you avert your eyes because his gaze was intense.

"Oh, Max, this is Emma," you decided to introduce them, and added, "she's the one who brought Isabella here."

Max raised an eyebrow in question, "I thought Isabella was with Tyler?" He asked, directed at you more than Emma.

"Well, he wasn't home when this happened, only Emma and Isabella," you stated, and Max gauged your emotions for a moment, quickly recognizing the underlying rage you had directed at your ex. Max knew you'd be discussing this later, in the safety of your own house, so he didn't ask you to elaborate. 

A nurse came by, "Isabella is now conscious, and asking for her parents," they stated, along with the room number.

Emma looked at you and Max with a fond smile, before turning towards you, "I think I should get going now that you're here."

A genuine smile graced your lips, "thank you, Emma, for bringing her here and for staying with her even without him."

"Of course, she's the cutest little girl and I'm glad to get to know her." Both of you stood still for a moment, debating on whether or not you should hug her. Then, without thinking twice you initiated a hug that was easily welcomed by her.

You waited till she left your sights before looking at Max, "let's go?" You held out your hand but he shrugged, "she's asking for her parents, you should go."

You stepped forward and grabbed his hand, "you're coming with me," you decided for him. Although Max didn't pull away, he asked, "what if she doesn't want to see me?"

"Trust me, she'll be happy to see you," you convinced him and walked towards the room she was admitted in while holding each other's hand.

When you entered, Isabella's smile widened once she spotted you and Max. "Mama, Maxy!" She cheered, though quieter than usual.

A nurse stood by her side, monitoring her health and checking the IV drip inserted into your daughter's arm.

"Oh my angel, how are you?" You dropped Max's hand and walked closer to her, lightly kissing her forehead. Instead of a verbal response, she formed a thumbs up with her hand.

Then she looked at the door again, "is daddy coming too?" Isabella asked, sounding hopeful. You shook your head, "no sweetheart, daddy is not coming."

Instead of the usual deflated mood, she shrugged, "it's okay, Maxy's here." She held her arms around asking for a hug, only flinching for a moment since she forgot about the drip connected to her arm.

Max quickly stepped forward, bending over to hug her. "All good, Bella?" He asked, once he felt her arms wrap around him tighter. She nodded for a moment then shook her head against him, "it hurts," she whispered.

He brought his hand up to ruffle her hair before pulling away, "you are a very brave girl."

"Really?" She asked, and scooted over a little so Max could sit beside her. He nodded, "of course! Very brave."

She beamed, snuggling closer to him before looking at you. "Mama, come here," she patted the other side, and surprisingly the three of you were able to fit on the very small hospital bed.

A nurse was constantly in the room, checking in on Isabella's health from time to time and since there weren't any repeated symptoms of an allergic reaction, the three of you were out of the hospital in a few hours.

Max followed you in his car, and carried your sleeping daughter inside the house. Instead of taking her straight to her bedroom, he laid her down on the couch in case she wakes up and needs her mother.

It was safe to say that you were not going too far away from her any time soon.

You were in the kitchen, filling up a glass of water when he returned. He stood behind you, with his hands trailing down your sides before resting on your waist, and his chin on your shoulder. "Did I tell you how stunning you look?"

You hummed, "maybe a few times but I don't mind hearing it again."

He turned you around in his grasp, "well, you look breathtakingly beautiful."

You blushed, "you and your compliments," you chuckled. "What's wrong with it?" He asked, but you shook your head, "nothing, it's just I'll never get bored of hearing it."

He smiled, "good, because you'll be hearing at least one every day."

You tilted your head to the side, "every day? Are you sure you won't run out?" He shook his head, "not unless you keep finding ways to make me speechless."

Both of you remained in that position for a moment but then you frowned, "I'm sorry,"

"For what?" He tilted your chin up as soon as you averted your gaze away from him. "We weren't able to go on the date."

Max let out a sound in protest, "I'm pretty sure your daughter's health matters so much more than our date night. Plus the night isn't over," he added with a smile, confusing you even further.

"What does that mean?" He parted away from you and it quickly made you miss the warmth that his body provided you. "Why don't you go change into something comfortable," he suggested, almost pushing you out of the kitchen.

You weren't opposed to the idea, so you went upstairs to change after checking on your daughter. You found the most comfortable pair of sweatpants and a shirt, and removed your makeup as well.

Walking back downstairs, you saw Max waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you. He had removed his blazer and bow tie, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt as well.

He held out his hand, waiting for your hand to hold his, and although you were confused, you wouldn't pass up an opportunity to hold his hand.

"It's not much, definitely not up to first date standards but we'll manage," he commented as he led you to the kitchen table where he had prepared two packets of instant noodles.

"I haven't been on a date in forever so anything you do will set my standards." You smiled when you noticed the lit candle.

"Well, then I will raise your standards next time by taking you out on a proper date." He held the chair out for you, waiting for you to sit before rounding the table and sitting down himself.

It took two minutes before Max moved his own chair right next to yours because he didn't want to sit on the opposite side. You chuckled at his antics but it was much appreciated.

"What's on your mind?" he asked once he saw you visibly thinking. You shrugged, "I don't think we should be discussing these thoughts on a first date."

"This is far from what a first date should be like, so there are no rules. I know you want to talk about what happened at the hospital," he prompted and he was spot on, so you agreed.

"I can't believe he actually left Isabella under Emma's supervision. Not that there is anything wrong with her, but it's not her responsibility!" Max nodded in agreement, "where was he?"

"In a fucking meeting," you exasperated, eating another forkful of the noodles. "It must've been very stressful for Emma," you sighed, finishing your short rant because you truly had no words for your ex's irresponsible behaviour.

Still, Max listened to every word. Once you were finished eating, he turned your chair towards him. "We can agree on the fact that he is an incompetent father."

"Yeah, I don't even know what would've happened if Emma wasn't there either. He surely wouldn't have left Bella alone right?"

Max shrugged, "hey, stop worrying about what could've happened. Bella's safe, she's okay." He placed a palm on your cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth in a soothing motion.

You nodded, "you're right." Making eye contact with him, you were quickly lost in his gaze. While it almost made you want to look away, you couldn't.

"You know," you started, wanting to divert away from the current topic. He hummed, urging you to go on.

"I don't really care for an extravagant date, all I really need is you. I'm happy with this, with us." He smiled, to the point where you could notice the creases forming at the corners.

"I'm happy with us too, but I will be taking you out on an extravagant date because you deserve it, as well as much more."

You rolled your eyes playfully, knowing that it would be hard to convince Max otherwise, but you could think of a few ways to try when the time comes.

"Thank you for being here with me," you added, needing him to know about your appreciation. Your words also hinted at all the moments he shared with you, and Isabella.

He seemed to understand your hint, "I'm glad to be here with you, both of you."

Taglist: (continuing the taglist in comments) @xjval @mrsmaybank13 @cherry-piee @urfavnoirette @solphin @burningcupcakefire @nessacarty1 @dreamsarebig @omgsuperstarg @fanficweasley @redbullgirly @llando4norris @wonnou @randomgirlnumber13 @dark-night-sky-99 @chanshintien @leilanixx @gisellesprettylies @peachiicherries @monsieurbacteria6 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @arian-directioner @distancedss @morenofilm @sachaa-ff @lighttsoutlewis @teamnovalak @casperlikej @sadg3 @d3kstar @lewisvinga @lpab @queenofmanydreams @glitterf1 @honethatty12 @drunk-teens-doing-drugs @its-avalon-08 @yourbane @oconswrld @noneofyourfbusinessworld @ssrcsm @softtina @hockeyboysarehot @formulaal @namgification @tallrock35 @bloodyymaryyy @formulanni @ellouisa17 @phantomxoxo

[changetyre]

This may be a long shot that also may or may not be inspired by a current situation but can u do a max fic where you have just gone thru a bad breakup, he’s there to support you, gives you a hug, and says “i’ve got you. I’m not letting you go” and then it progresses to something spicy? Lil fluff lil smut yknow? I’m so glad I found your page xx

Forget about him II Max Verstappen x Reader ⓈⒽⓌ

SUMMARY: After a bad breakup you seek comfort in the arms of your best friend and he's more than happy to help you forget.

WARNINGS: **18+**, smut, innocent/vulnerable reader, breakup.

A/N: Again sorry for taking so long, slowly getting back into writing and actually enjoying it.

You stood in front of his door knocking sheepishly as tears streamed endlessly down your cheeks.

Max woke up from his spot on the couch where he'd dozed off while watching a show he'd randomly stumbled upon. He looked down at his watch confused as to who could be knocking at his door at this time of the night.

He heard another hesitant knock which finally brought him to his feet.

From the outside, you could hear shuffling inside and you felt guilty for possibly waking your best friend up knowing he needed the rest for the weekend that was coming ahead but you just simply didn't know where else to go.

Before you could let your mind spiral further Max opened the door. As soon as his eyes landed on you noticing the tears he didn't hesitate to pull you inside.

"Shatje what's wrong?" Max asked pushing the door shut before bringing you into his chest and holding you tightly.

This affection was enough to have you cry harder again in his arms remembering what had happened just a few hours ago.

"He broke up with me." You managed to say through sobs, muffled in Max's chest.

"He what? Why?" Max found it incredibly hard to comprehend how someone who had you could be so foolish and let you go.

"He met someone else." You sniffled pulling away from Max's chest letting him see the raw pain in your eyes which broke him. "He said- He said he doesn't feel the same about me anymore and-" your words were cut off by your cries. "he just doesn't love me anymore.

Your heart ached. Badly. 4 years down the drain. 4 years of building a life with someone, someone who you'd convinced yourself you would finally settle with, who you'd made sacrifices for, and who you'd pictured a life with disappearing in a few minutes.

"Oh, baby." Max brought you into his chest again. A frustrated anger coursing through his veins at how that moron could have hurt you, someone so sweet and pure.

"I didn't know where to go I'm sorry-" You cried into his chest.

"Shh I've got you." Max quickly shut down your apologies. "I'm not letting you go." Max kissed the top of your head.

Max held you for a few minutes letting you cry it out and calm down. After some time your sobs had somewhat settled and you simply held Max tightly enjoying the comfort his arms provided. You would've happily stayed there if it weren't for your feet aching from standing in the same position for so long.

"C, mon let's get you comfortable." Max wrapped his arm around your waist keeping you close to his body as he led you to his bedroom.

Max sat you down on his bed before rushing to his closet to get you some of his clothes. He also rushed to his bathroom to get you a warm towel to wipe your face.

"You're too good to me Maxie." You couldn't hold back a small smile as you saw the products he brought to you.

"It's nothing." Max shrugged it off, in reality, he simply wished he could give you the entire world because you deserved nothing less in his eyes.

"Let me help you." Max kneeled down in front of you grabbing the warm towel bringing it up to your face, gently starting to wipe at your dried tears.

Max's heart skipped a beat at the way you were looking at him, your eyes seemed tired but filled with appreciation and love. Or maybe he was just imagining it.

"You're too sweet Max. I don't how you haven't found someone yet." Your hand came up to stroke Max's cheek lovingly.

Max's hand slowed down. He simply met your eyes, the distance between you seeming so minuscule now. "I think I found her a long time ago," he replied.

A shiver ran down your spine at the way you could feel his breath on your lips. "Max I-"

You didn't have a chance to say anything before Max had closed the gap pressing his lips to yours.

You couldn't hold back the moan that escaped your lips at the sudden action. You were confused, it was too soon but at the same time, the warmth that flooded your body made it hard to make it stop.

"Let me help you forget baby." Max whispered as his hand came to meet your waist again but this time to push you further into the bed, centering you.

Your voice escaped you as Max set his body above you, you could only half nod as his lips came down on yours again this time harsher, desperate. You kissed back with equal fervor.

"Let me take away the pain." Max whispered again as his lips came down to your jaw starting a path. His hand gripped your waist so tightly you were convinced you'd find a bruise there tomorrow.

His other hand pushed your shirt up, finding its way under the fabric to grip at your bare skin.

"Max please-" You pleaded unsure of what you were actually asking for but the warmth pooling in your core was enough indication you needed him to do something.

You couldn't remember the last time you'd felt like this, this warm, this desperate for someone's hands on you, to feel someone inside you with such dire need. The thought confused you further but you would worry about it later.

"Can I touch baby?" Max asked as he nipped at your neck, you knew he was leaving marks.

"Yes, please. Please touch me." You granted him permission.

Max didn't waste more time as his hand slipped under your jeans, the fabric pressing against the back of his hands as he cupped your mound. His fingers ran up and down your slit feeling the wetness that had been produced...just for him.

His eyes darkened watching the way you squirmed in his arms, your brows furrowing at the pleasure you were starting to feel. Max's fingers explored through your folds as if wanting to gouge your reaction to every single movement he made.

"Max...Max please-" You begged again wanting him to stop teasing you.

"Shh I've got you baby." Max finally began circling at your clit earning delicious moans from you.

He teased at your bud for a few seconds before letting his finger enter and curl inside you. Your hips bucked up chasing the pleasure and Max needed better access.

Reluctantly he withdrew his hand not missing the desperate whimper that escaped your lips. He hurriedly rushed to pull your jeans off you, before doing the same to his sweatpants.

As he did he saw you rush to pull your shirt over your head leaving you in nothing but your mismatched lace set which he couldn't help but find endearing.

He loved the sight so held back from stripping you completely as he let himself fall forward and lie between your legs. "So pretty." Max reveled at the sight in front of him.

He pulled your panties aside teasing at your entrance once more with his fingers before pushing two fingers in this time.

He watched your head fall back in pleasure before he came to close his mouth over your clit.

"AGH MAX." You screamed making Max's dick harden just at the sound. Your hands came to pull at his hair, a feeling Max knew he could now never live without.

"Mhmm so good," Max confessed quickly growing addicted to your taste.

"Max I'm gonna cum." You moaned and it only spurred him on as he began flicking quickly at your clit with his tongue, his fingers matching the space twisting and curling inside you.

He swore he could've come right then and there at the sight of you shaking in his arms as you came from his actions. He would've if his desire to be inside you wasn't so big.

"So good baby," Max smirked as he came to hove over you again. His lips came down to meet yours again letting you taste yourself.

"So good." You repeated with him. You don't think your ex had ever made you feel this good.

"Can you give me another one?" Max asked you. You could feel his clothed dick press against your core.

"Yeah." You answered happily, wishing nothing more than to feel him deep inside you.

Max smiled with you, pulling his boxers off, this time pulling your own panties off as he lined himself up with you.

"Ready darling?" Max asked you, your breath already heavy imagining what was to come.

"Yeah," Your reply came out breathy, not truly sure if you were ready for his size but eager to stretch out just for him.

Max kissed you again as he began pushing in, distracting you from the initial sting. You moaned into his mouth, feeling your pussy take in every inch of him slowly. Your mind in a haze, pure bliss.

[theemporium]

Your cocktail idea is so good! Can you do a violet fluff for Max verstappen with prompt "How do you always know exactly what I need?" "I pay attention." ? I feel like max would def be the person to remember absolutely every little detail about someone he cares for🥲

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

3. "How do you always know exactly what I need?" "I pay attention."

.

“Hey, babe, do you know where that dress of mine is?”

Max frowned a little as he reached to pause his game, pulling his headphones off to rest around his neck before he turned to see where you were standing by the doorway, looking a bit frazzled and stressed out. 

“What?” He asked, his brows furrowing in concern as you rubbed your hands over your face before letting out a groan. 

“Ugh, that stupid blue dress that I love,” you groaned as you rounded the living room, towards the SIM set up he had in the corner. “The one you got me from Mexico, remember? I was thinking of wearing that to that coworker’s fancy dinner thing this weekend but I can’t find it anymore. I swear I saw it just the other day but I’ve been looking for hours and I can’t find it.” 

“The one with the strings on the back?” Max questioned, watching as you nodded solemnly. “Oh, I sent that to the dry cleaners with my suits last week.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

“I sent it last week when I told you I was getting all of my suits dry cleaned,” Max repeated with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “You said the other day that you were thinking of wearing that one.” 

Your eyes softened. “And you remembered?” 

“Yeah, of course,” he murmured with a small frown. “It’s that coworker you hate, no? You said you wanted to wear a dress that you felt comfortable in and knew you looked good in. You always say the blue one is your favourite too, so I sent it off.” 

“You are not real,” you murmured fondly. 

“You also said to Victoria that you love wearing that silver bag with it so I put it on the top shelf of my wardrobe so the cats wouldn’t get to it,” Max added as a passing thought. “Knowing Sassy, she will have a sixth sense that you’ll need it that day and rip it to pieces.” 

“How do you always know exactly what I need?” You questioned, shaking your head in disbelief. 

“I pay attention,” Max shrugged. 

“I love you,” you breathed out before leaning down to press a smacking kiss on his cheek. “Like, a stupid amount.”

Max snorted but happily accepted your affection. “I love you a stupid amount, too.” 

“Glad it’s reciprocated,” you murmured, nuzzling your face against his neck as he pulled you down onto his lap, the game long forgotten by now. 

“I was also thinking you could take one of my cars too,” Max added with a cheeky smile. “As a proper fuck you to your coworker.” 

You sighed happily. “You are literally perfect, Max Verstappen.” 

He beamed back in response.

.

[mirainwonderland]

Sometimes a girl just needs her hair washed…

Tags/synopsis: pure fluff, a little one-shot for when you just need someone to take care of you, hints at mental or physical struggles I tried to be non-specific so that you could {insert personal issues here} and omg what’s this Mira’s favorite snack reveal anyhoo, i hope you enjoy even tho it’s not proofread oops. It felt like wringing blood from a rock trying to write this but I’m gradually getting back in my groove I think. K pls like and comment I love hearing from you guys 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 muah k bai 🥰

──────────────────────

It was just one of those days.

It had been one of those weeks.

“I thought you were gonna wash your hair?”

You look up from your phone, glancing over your shoulder to where Leon leans in the doorway. The way a weight feels like it’s being laid on your shoulders just from a handful of words make you breathe a soft sigh.

“Yeah… I’m going.” You turn back to your phone and thumb a few more social media posts.

It was just one of those days where getting out of bed felt like climbing Mt. Everest.

Leon lingers in the doorway, watching you for a few more moments. He’d tracked all the signs, and knew you were headed downhill by Tuesday. And now, a rainy, late Saturday morning brought him no satisfaction in the justification of being right. It was just a rollercoaster he rode with you; one you were sure he would get off a long time ago.

But he hasn’t. He’s still here dealing with you and your issues like it doesn’t bother him. You almost feel like it should.

“Do you want some help?”

The offer makes you set down your phone and stare lethargically at the wall. The thought of getting out of bed and dragging your ass anywhere— even if it’s across the hall to the bathroom— feels bigger than you can handle.

“I know you have a hard time laying back on the edge of that tub.” He adds when you don’t answer right away. You puff out your lips in thought.

“Yeah, but then I have to get up.” You whine. His chest rumbles in that comforting way as he laughs. He crosses the floor, and the edge of the bed dips beneath his weight. A rough hand on your arm is gentle as it soothes the length between your shoulder and elbow. Your eyes flutter as his lips leave a kiss against your hair.

“You’ll feel better with clean hair.”

“I know,” you pout.

“Five minutes max. I’ll help you.” Another kiss against your temple. “C’mon.”

Another sigh, and you drag yourself and the ten ton boulder on your shoulders out of bed after Leon. The even floor to the bathroom feels like a fifty degree incline. You stand in the bathroom doorway like a clueless robot as Leon turns on the tub’s faucet and sets the water temperature.

“I don’t wanna do this.”

“It won’t take that long. C’mere.” He takes your arm and guides you over the tub. It’s awkward and uncomfortable to lay back over the side. He kneels on either side of you and slides a hand under your neck to support it. The feeling of his warm torso brushing yours and his fingers massaging in your hair as he runs the warm water through it makes some of that mental muscle ache relieve.

“Ow.” You whimper as the edge of the tub jabs into your back.

“I know.” Leon soothes in that evenly deep voice of his as his fingers rake through your roots. He’s careful not to get the water in your face or ears. Each brush of his fingers feels like a little bandaid on the endless list of problems you consistently feel dwarfed by.

Maybe a girl just needs her boyfriend to wash her hair every once in awhile.

He shuts off the water to grab your favorite shampoo, the one that smells like lilacs. You watch his face as he massages it in, a focused look carved into the features.

“Feel good?” He doesn’t take his eyes off your hair when he senses you watching him.

“Mhm.” You’re quiet. He doesn’t like when you’re quiet, but at the same time he’s glad that you feel comfortable enough around him to not feel the need to always have to put on a show. He glances down at you just long enough to flash you a rare, subtle smile.

He’s so handsome… and warm. You hook your hands around the back of his elbows to help support yourself. But you also feel the need to just have him close. It’s reassuring for no particularly explainable reason. Your eyes close once more as the warm water flushes the soap from your hair and down the drain.

His fingers tug on your strands as he applies your conditioner. There’s a pressure in your chest that’s making it hard to breathe normal, and you can’t decide if that’s good or bad. Your breath hitches noticeably in your lungs, and you feel the vibration in his chest as he murmurs to you,

“Almost done, baby.” It’s reassuring and calm, telling you that you can hold on a minute longer because there’s an end in sight.

One more rinse, and he’s wrapping the towel around your head and lifting you off the tub like you weight nothing. You grab onto him on the way up.

A sound akin to a sob leaves your windpipe as air floods your lungs. He squeezes your hair dry with the towel. You feel the warm brush of his lips against your forehead as he takes it away and hangs it on the rack.

“Good job, sweetheart. Proud of you.”

His hands are gentle, patient as they blow-dry your hair. They’re just as gentle when they pick you up and carry you out into the living room. It may not be as productive to sit in front of the TV, but he doesn’t give a shit. Anything’s better than you holed up in your room all day.

Favorite fuzzy blanket? Draped over your lap. Emotional support pillow? Tucked up against you. Forehead kiss? Right where it’s supposed to be against your temple.

You grab the edge of his t-shirt, reluctant to just sit and watch him pull away.

“What’s up?” His fingers card through your clean strands, tips rubbing the scalp soothingly.

“Don’t go away,” you mumble.

“I don’t have to go away.” His fingers gently work out a knot or two from the hairdryer. “You want me to cut you a peach?”

“Yeah.” Attention grabbed, your eyes bounce up to meet his.

“Okay, I’ll go cut you a peach. But you have to let go of me, okay?”

You look down where your hand is clutching his shirt, and you reluctantly peel your fingers off. His hand pats your head, gently smoothing back your hairline.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” He leaves an extra kiss on your forehead to soothe his clingy baby, before you watch him walk the few paces away to the kitchen.

“You want some of those takis too?” He calls from the kitchen, and he can practically see you perk up at the mention of your favorite snack.

“Yeah.” You sit up on your knees to try and see what he’s doing in the kitchen.

“Stay there, I’ll bring them to you.”

It takes ages (2 minutes) for him to walk out of the kitchen with your bowl of fresh peach slices and a bag of the Trader Joe’s takis that you like so much. He sets them in front of you on the coffee table watching you practically bite the bit in impatience.

He flops down on the couch next to you, and to his surprise you don’t go to the food right away. You crawl toward him, looking for comfort in your favorite spot against his chest.

“Thought you wanted to eat.” He hums opening his arm to accommodate you. His fingers lightly stroke the top of your head before smoothing down your back as you settle in.

“This first.” You mumble against his chest, absently watching whatever trash reality show is on the TV at the moment.

He chuckles, hand rubbing rhythmically over your back. You’re so predictable. And in his world, where almost nothing can be predicted on the waves of chaos and death, you’re his lighthouse.

“That’s my girl.”

[f1goat]

roommates ; lando norris + part nine

In which you have to live with your brothers best friend who you really don't like, Lando Norris, and his many 'girlfriends' for a while, but there's always a thin line between love and hate.

masterlist - playlist

lando norris x fem!verstappen reader tw: smut & not proofread

Your nerves are getting out of hand. Lando can come back any second now. It seems silly how much you’ve missed him last days. It’s not like Lando is your boyfriend, or that the two of you are dating… So you really should stop acting this desperate. You almost feel like one of those girls who keeps texting Lando, sending him nudes and invitations to visit (and fuck) them, only to get a bit of his attention. Fuck. You really are getting desperate. 

It’s because of your talk with Max from yesterday. After Max dropped multiple bombs on you (“He has been waiting for this to happen for ages.” And “He was only fucking other girls because he thought he couldn’t get you.”), you have been confused for the rest of the day. Max didn’t want to say anything else about it, but he looked at you as if you’d know what those sentences meant. And normally you would know. Normally you’d be pretty sure that someone who loves you would say stuff like that. But this, this is Lando. You have no clue. 

So, you’re not only being nerves because of Lando coming home and not knowing how to act around him, but also because of the redecorating you did yesterday and today. This morning multiple things came in, which you all gave a place in the apartment. You like the changes, but you can only hope that Lando feels the same about it. Sometimes you stress about that as well, but you’re mostly stressing about talking to Lando. He still deserves an answer as well to his awful question - “What are we exploring?”. You have no answer.

Yes, you do want to tell him that the two of you are exploring more then just sex. Of course you want to tell him that you’d want to be in a relationship with him. Only you just don’t dare to actually say those words. You’re still afraid that Lando meant something else the entire time. What if this is just a sex thing for him? 

Fuck. You’re a mess.

When you hear the door opening, you know all too well what that means. Lando is back. It causes you to shove aside all your stressful thoughts for a bit. There’s a smile forming on your face. You start to feel bubbly inside. He’s back. 

Lando is glad when he’s finally opening his own front door again. It’s nice at the MTC, but he really missed home. Or better said, he missed you. Last days made him realize that he’s even more smitten with you then he already thought. The first day away from you, he was already planning things to do with you for when he came home. He can’t wait to see you again and hold you into his arms. When he walks inside his apartment, he notices some small changes. At least he thinks so. He didn’t decorate the place himself, so he isn’t that sure about everything. However he’s quite sure that there wasn’t a side table and a mirror in his hallway before. Right? When he notices the flowers standing in a new looking vase on the side table, he’s quite sure that this is new. 

He wonders if you had something to do with it. Could it be that you finally start to feel home enough in his place to make some changes? Lando doesn’t even notice the big smile forming on his face. He can only hope that he’s right and that you’re starting to feel home here. Because, if it’s up to him - you’re never going to live with your brother again. 

“Hi babygirl,” Lando greets you while walking into the living room. 

You’re quick to stand up from the couch and to get closer towards Lando. Without giving it a second thought, you wrap your arms around him. Lando is quick to return your moves, taking you inside his arms and hugging you back. He keeps you as close to himself as he can manage. Softly he presses a kiss against your forehead, which causes you to look up at him. Softly you murmur a small ‘Hi.’ back to him. Lando focuses on connecting his lips with yours. 

When Lando pulls back from kissing you, a soft whimper escapes from your throat. It causes Lando to grin. He moves back a little, giving you some space.

“Missed me?” He asks you. 

It surprises him when you actually nod at his question. Before coming in, he told himself over and over again that he shouldn’t expect you to have missed him. It was only two days after all. So your small nod surprises him. 

“Fuck, really princess?” Lando asks again, he needs to be sure that he saw it right. 

“Yes Lan,” you confess. 

Lando lets out a chuckle. He takes you into his arms again. When you feel his hands slowly slide over your body, you can’t wait for the outcome of this. His lips find yours again, softly he presses multiple kisses against yours. It takes too long for you. You need to feel more of him soon. This is driving you insane. Not that you weren’t insane yet. It’s crazy what Lando can do to you in only such a short amount of time. He can make you feel all kind of things within seconds. No guy has ever done things like this to you. 

You grab Lando his hair and try to stop him from leaving your lips alone again. You hear how Lando lets out a soft groan from your movements. When he searches eye contact with you and is met with the desperate look in your eyes, he shows you another grin. 

“In a hurry babygirl?” He asks you. 

“Please Lan,” you beg, “Need you to do something.”

“You must have really missed me,” Lando says with a dangerous low voice, “Already begging for me and I didn’t even touch you properly yet.” 

“Please,” you continue to beg. 

Lando lifts you up. Within seconds you feel the couch under you again. Lando turns you around, making sure that your ass is not leaving his eyes. Softly he gives you a small pat on your ass. It causes you to let out a moan. It amazes yourself that you’re responding this way, Lando however doesn’t seem surprised. 

“Such a slut,” he tells you sweetly before giving you a soft slap on the ass again. It’s a bit harder then the first one, but still not paining you. “Aren’t you babygirl?” He asks you. You don’t reply to his question, your actions do answer it you guess. Not that you mind Lando calling you this, it even arouses you more. That’s crazy. “Answer me,” Lando groans. He harshly slaps your ass again. You let out a surprised yell. This one actually hurt, but then burning feeling is making you feel other things as well. Your own slick must be dripping out of you already. 

“Yes Lan,” you whimper as answer to his earlier statement.

“What yes? What are you?” Lando continues to question you. 

“I’m a slut,” you confess without even thinking about it. This is crazy. Lando is making you say things like this without even thinking properly about what you’re saying. What is this boy doing to you? 

“But, you’re only my slut,” Lando states. He gives another slap on your ass before getting you out of your string. You’re glad about the dress you’ve been wearing today. It’s giving Lando a nice entrance to your body. You hear him loosening his belt and dropping down his pants. He covers his boner in your wetness before sliding inside of your wet cunt. “Aren’t you princess?” Lando continues to ask. 

“Yes,” you whimper, “Only for you.”

Lando can’t hold himself back. He is pounding in and out of you, but questions keep rolling of his tongue. “You’d never act like this for any other boy, wouldn’t you?” He asks.

“No,” you’re quick to reply, “Never.”

That makes him feel even better about himself. Lando increases his pace. He hears your loud moans. When he isn’t asking you questions, he probably matches them. “Did you ever get fucked like this?” He questions you, “Did anyone ever make you feel this good as I can make you feel?”

“No,” you answer, “Only you.”

“Fuck babygirl,” Lando grunts, “You’re mine. My good slut. Never going to share you with anyone else. You’re my bratty girl.”

You almost see starts from how hard Lando is fucking you. His words do however come in. Without thinking about it you speak back to Lando. “I’m yours,” you state, “Never want anyone else to fuck me anymore.” 

That makes the both of you cum. 

Only minutes later you’re pressed up against Lando his body. He’s playing with you hair while giving you some time to relax. In the mean time Lando looks around his apartment. It seems like the hallway isn’t the only thing that changed. He notices some soft looking pillows on his couch. The small table in front of it has standing multiple things on it now. He chuckles when he notices one of his miniature helmets being part of the decor as well. He keeps looking around. His apartment probably never had this many candles, didn’t smell this good and felt so.. so home? He can’t wait to find out what you did with the other rooms. 

You start to notice Lando his gaze shifting around the living room. It stresses you how he keeps looking around the place. This is probably the moment that he notices your changes. What if he doesn’t like it? You start to feel nervous all over again. 

“Did you redecorate?” Lando asks you. 

His question doesn’t give you any clue about how he feels over your redecorations. Unsure you show Lando a small nod. This time a smile shows up on Lando his face. He presses a kiss against your forehead. That seems like a good reaction, right?

“I love it babygirl,” Lando tells you happily, “It feels so much more homey like this.” It causes you to smile. Finally the stressed feelings are fading away from you. Lando continues to compliment you with the changes he made.

“I can’t wait to see the other places, like my bedroom,” Lando tells you excited.

“Oh,” you softly mutter, “I didn’t do your bedroom and office. I didn’t know if you’d be okay with me being there without you? I did buy some stuff for it..”

“Of course, my house is your house,” Lando quickly states, “but what did you buy?”

You start to inform Lando about the last decorations you got for his place. His smile grows when he hears about the piece of fan art that you picked up. When you show it him later that day, he doesn’t stop kissing you anymore. 

That night you sleep together with Lando in his newly decorated bedroom. The both of you know that there’s still a lot to talk about, but neither of you start about it for now. It will come some day, but the conversation isn’t happening now. For now, you’re just glad to lay in Lando his arms (and bed) again. 

+++

The following morning you decided to get some breakfast for Lando and you. After sleeping peacefully in his arms again, you want to spend the day together as well. Lando was still asleep when you left, meaning that you can surprise him with the breakfast. There’s a small bakery close to Lando his apartment which you visited. On the passengers seat from Lando his car lays a box filled with some fresh bread, some sweets and fresh fruit. Carefully you drive Lando his car out of the parking place where you were standing in before.

Yesterday you told Lando that you’ve borrowed his car and how you were almost dying to borrow his custom McLaren once as well. Lando was quick to tell you that you could always take it with you, as long as you would be careful. So this morning you took your shot. You’ve probably never driving as careful as today, but the car is worth it. You enjoyed the short road towards the bakery and now you’re sitting in the car for your way back, you’re already enjoying it again. 

Lando keeps surprising you. It still amazes you that you can borrow all of his expensive cars whenever you want. It’s sweetly how much he wants to share everything with you. So after getting out of bed earlier this day, you also borrowed one of his sweaters. Oops? You can only hope that he will react like he did last time you wore his clothes.

You drive off the parking lot. When you’re waiting for the road to clear so you can drive onto it, you feel yourself falling forwards. The seatbelt pulls you back. Surprised you look around you. What did just happen? It almost felt like .. “Fuck,” you shout when you see a car way too close to the back of Lando his McLaren. Did this just really happen? You almost shout frustrated again. Then you unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of the car. 

You feel like crying right now. When you see a scratch on the back of Lando his expensive car, you almost start to cry as well. What even happened? You notice that the car who hit Lando’s has pulled back a bit, there’s a guy standing next to it. Quickly you walk towards him. You’re ready to yell at him, to tell him exactly how stupid he is, but that won’t change a thing. 

“I’m so sorry,” the guy is quick to tell you. He’s blabbering about not seeing you while driving out of his parking place backwards. He’s already busy with filling on his insurance forms. While he has collect his calmness again, you still feel ready to messily cry about everything that just happened. 

What’s Lando going to say about this? 

When you have gotten the insurance papers from the guy, you still keep looking at the scratch on Lando his car. This time you can’t stop it from happening, a small tear rolls down over your cheek. You really have to get away from here, because everyone will see you crying in no time. What if the gossip accounts will get information about this? You look around you, but it seems no one is paying attention. 

Annoyed with everything that happened you get into the car again. Quickly you drive off the parking lot. You feel nervous for Lando his reaction. This car is his everything. Fuck. You should never have taken it with you. You doubt about calling or texting Lando before you’re back at the apartment, but eventually you decide that you’ll tell him there. 

When you’re standing in front of Lando only minutes later with the box full of breakfast, he seems so happy that you almost don’t dare to tell him. It’s your own tears who are quick to make you tell Lando what happened. 

“Babygirl?” Lando asks you confused. 

His soft voice cause you to fully breakdown. Within seconds you’re a crying mess. You’re sobbing while multiple tears roll down on your cheeks. You try to explain it to Lando, but the words aren’t coming out. 

“What happened?” Lando continues to ask you. He has no idea what happened to you. 

You try to explain it, but you can’t even form a normal sentence at the moment. Eventually you take Lando his hand and drag him with you to the garage. In the mean time you mutter out different words, which cause Lando to have an idea about what happened. When you show him what happened to his car, Lando seems to finally get what happened.

“You had an accident?” Lando asks you just to be sure. 

“I’m so sorry Lan, somebody drove into the back while he was getting out of the parking,” you try to explain to him. He doesn’t sound mad, but you’re still nervous for when he will get angry. “I really couldn’t help it,” you continue nervously, “but I do have his insurance forms.”

Lando shakes his head in disbelieve. “I don’t care about that,” he tells you a bit frustrated. You suspect that this will be the moment of him getting mad at you. That’s why you’re more then surprised when Lando takes you into his arms and carefully starts to inspect you. 

“How are you babygirl?” Lando asks you. “Did you get hurt or anything?”

You soft shake your head at Lando his questions. “We’re going to the doctor, someone will have to check so we can be sure,” Lando tells you. 

“That’s not necessary,” you speak up softly, “It wasn’t that hard, the seatbelt pulled me back before anything could happen.” 

“You’re really okay?” Lando asks you again. 

“Yes,” you tell him, “but your car has a bit of damage.. Maybe you should look at it?”

Lando softly nods at your words. He does feel a bit sad about his car, but it’s nothing compared with how stressed he is about you. He needs to make sure that you’re actually okay. Without thinking about it Lando takes you into his arms and starts to inspect you again. He can’t find any damage on you, but still. Then he finally walks to the back of his car. With how upset you are he expects the worst and biggest scratch of them all right now.

When he sees one tiny bump and scratch, he almost laughs out loud. 

“Are you this nervous about such a little scratch?” Lando asks you. You can only nod. “They’ll have this fixed in no time baby,” Lando comforts you, “and this is not your fault, okay?” 

“You’re too sweet,” you sigh relieved, “I’d have gotten it if you were mad.”

“As if I can get mad at you,” Lando playfully scoffs. 

“Why not?” You ask confused.

“You’re way too cute,” Lando compliments. 

It causes you to smile for the first time since the accident. Lando shows you a small smile as well. “Let’s go back, I’m in the mood for breakfast,” he tells you. You nod to agree with him. “And maybe after that, we can talk a bit.”

In no time you’re stressed again. 

part ten

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[kickbackkanzaki]

The Dungeon Master and Chess Queen

You're the new student and chess captain at Hawkins High. When Eddie Munson asks you for tutoring you're certain you have him handled but you may have underestimated his strategy.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Warnings: Smut (18+), drinking, oral (fem receiving), intercourse (p in v), swearing, possessive/toxic traits, rough sex.

"Is it just my imagination," one of your customers asked as you passed her a wrapped book. "Or do they seem to stop women from writing more than men?"

"It's not your imagination," Robin told her. "Men are terrified by women with original thought."

"Especially when they write better," Max added.

"Anyone who reads Margaret Atwood feels threatened," you pointed out as you slipped the money out of sight. "That woman can critique society better than any old Ivy League man while spinning an entertaining tale. The woman's powerful."

"I still want a copy of Ender's Game," your customer told you then began to leave.

It was lunchtime at Hawkins High and you were conducting trade while the cafeteria monitor kept an eye out for thrown food and fist fights.

"I'm waiting on my supplier I'll be in touch," you answered and someone else approached your table.

Someone who didn't read.

"Hey I heard you and Munson were getting it on in the back of your shitty Mustang after school yesterday," Georgia from the cheer team sneered when you noticed her.

You'd never done anything to antagonize Georgia but she figured you were easy pickings for a popular bully like her. A chess nerd with straight As dating the school freak - you didn't have a leg to stand on.

"That Mustang has done less miles than your pussy," you shot back. "The tyres aren't as bald either."

Robin and Max laughed into their lunch and you watched Georgia gawk with some satisfaction. You had learned young to always answer a taunt as it proved you weren't afraid of where it came from.

"You can't say that to me!" Georgia screeched and gained a few more onlookers from other tables.

"Go home and brush your teeth your breath smells of dick," you said now bored and a table of good looking boys erupted into laughter.

Georgia had neither the quick wit or intelligence to counter that so she fell back on a classic popular girl threat.

"My boyfriend is going to mess you up!"

"Your shitbag boyfriend is busy under the bleachers eating out Meredith from the soccer squad," you told her matter of factly and Georgia's eyes grew round with horror. "Come on, you didn't really think he was getting chem tutoring at lunch did you?"

Georgia called you a name you'd heard many times before then ran out the cafeteria as the boys hooted.

"Is that true?" Max asked feeling uncomfortable by the vivid depiction of sexual depravity.

"Apparently," you said with an indifferent shrug. "The soft cock was boasting about it to Eddie last week during a business deal."

"You upset the hierarchy when you burn the bullies like that," Robin said wisely as she ate her pretzels.

She loved the way you eviscerated low IQ miscreants but she did worry about possible reprisals. There was still most of a year to endure before the two of you were free of Hawkins High.

"A cheerleader uniform doesn't give you a bitch pass," you stated unconcerned. "If Georgia wants to discuss things further I'll have a go. Hierarchy be damned."

"Where did you learn to say all that stuff?" Max asked.

As much as Max liked her older friend she had to admit some of what you said was downright disgusting and doubted it came from the literature you read.

"I was at boarding school for ten years," you explained. "I know every derisive word for genitals, the A to Zs of STDs and all the things a creative girl can fashion into a phallus. I promise you, those pornos where the drifter arrives at a girl's school full of blushing virgins are total fiction."

"I'm glad we're co-ed," Robin said for the first time ever and balled up her empty pretzel bag.

"Me too. It's way easier to look smart with boys around," you agreed and made Max smile.

As if on cue your favourite boy suddenly appeared and sat down next to you.

"We got trouble baby," he said frantically taking your hands.

"Did you get busted?" you asked in a worried hush and shot the cafeteria monitor a cautious glance.

"Kinda," Eddie answered cryptically. "Wayne knows about us."

"As in your Uncle Wayne?" you asked allowing your voice to return to normal volume.

So long as neither of you were going to spend the night in lock up on distribution charges it was fine for your friends to hear Eddie's risible stories.

"Yeah. I don't know he found out! I was getting my sheets out the dryer and -"

"Oh."

All three females exclaimed at once in mutual understanding.

"Hang on what?" Eddie's panicked spiel derailed from confusion. "Why'd you all say 'Oh' like that?"

"That was the give away," Robin explained. "Boys don't launder their own sheets unless they have something to hide. They'll roll around in their crusty mess for months before their mothers wash them."

"It's different with girls?"

Eddie felt like he'd stumbled onto a gender based conspiracy and was getting schooled.

"Our monthly bloodbaths don't keep business hours," you said tastelessly. "Early morning linen washes aren't unusual for us."

That had never occurred to Eddie but he had to admit it made sense now why the puritan lady at the checkout had given him a filthy glare when he'd bought a new flat sheet and laundry detergent in the one transaction.

"Anyway what's the problem with your uncle knowing?" you asked as you finally got a chance to eat your sandwich. "I didn't get you pregnant did I?"

Your friends sniggered but Eddie let it slide. He knew they laughed amiably unlike the jocks who preyed on his club.

"He wants you to come around for dinner this week," Eddie grumbled and ran his hands through his tangled hair in frustration.

"Ok," you said after a bite of sandwich. "Tonight I'm watching a movie at Max's and tomorrow's chess club but I can come after tutoring Thursday? Or Friday? Whatever suits."

"Really? You'll come?" Eddie stopped tugging his hair and looked at you in disbelief.

He'd assumed this would upset you but you were completely unphased. With conventional couples meeting the parents was seen as a milestone, one that cemented your commitment and hinted at a possible combined future.

As you two were aberrant individuals Eddie had predicted you'd scatter at something proper like family dinner.

"Why not? I suppose it makes sense, we've been hanging out for a while now. My Dad knows about you," you said pragmatically as you finished the sandwich and broke your chocolate bar in half.

"How?" Eddie asked in alarm and halted his reach for the offered treat.

"I told him doofus," you said and laughed with your friends again.

"What did he say?"

"Not a lot," you replied with a shrug. "He made me a reading list of Romantic poets and now buys me condoms when he gets his script filled."

You then turned to your lunch mates and added, "If you ladies need any let me know, I now have enough rubbers to get me to menopause."

"Gross."

"I wouldn't want to slow you down."

You engaged both middle fingers so you could flip your friends off in unison then turned back to your boyfriend.

"Tell Wayne I'd be delighted," you said and kissed Eddie on the cheek. "Now return to your flock shepherd I have censored literature to sell."

That night Wayne called Eddie from work to check which night he had to swap shifts so he could cook for the two of you. Eddie told him Friday and when the night arrived he came outside to meet you at the Mustang.

Eddie looked you over appraisingly as you climbed out the driver's seat and wolf whistled. You'd worn one of your nicer dresses with a floral pattern and had gone easy on the eyeliner in case Wayne suspected you leaned into heavier pastimes.

"Someone's pretty," Eddie sang and took a tupperware from your hands.

"Hello shit-stirrer," you said affectionately with a smile and kissed him on the mouth.

You made it a good kiss because it was likely the only one you'd get tonight being on your best behaviour.

When you walked in the trailer you nearly commented on how tidy it was but stopped last minute. You didn't want to let slip just how often you hung out there.

All week Eddie has been telling you how much of a crusty old curmudgeon his uncle was but you actually found Wayne quite pleasant.

He shook your hand, complimented your dress and didn't use any of the condescending pet names blokes his age often gave young women.

You asked about his job, his football team and his car, three things that could get any straight white man talking.

Wayne thanked you for the cake and was only a little surprised to hear your dad had baked it. That scored points with you as he didn't use that detail to lead into the more interesting things he'd heard about your dad.

Wayne had prepared the only meal he knew how to cook - steak with a three vegetable salad.

You gave appropriate thanks and gratefully accepted the diet soda he bought especially for you even though it wasn't your preferred beverage.

Eddie sat next to you and brushed your thigh gently under the table, the first touch since you'd come inside.

Usually by now the two of you would be in a state of undress or cuddled up in Eddie's room decompressing after surviving another day of small town banality.

But tonight you were abiding by the rules of polite society so kept your hands to yourselves.

"Eddie tells me you like chess," Wayne began after you'd taken a few bites of dinner.

"Understatement," Eddie muttered and received a poke from you under the table.

"I do," you answered enthusiastically. "I brought my board in case you wanted to play."

"Eddie played for a while in elementary school but I've never gotten the hang of it" Wayne confessed and took a sip of beer. "Too many darn rules to remember."

"There's a lot to learn, you need patience."

This was generally what you said when people labelled chess as too difficult. It stopped them from thinking you were pretentious or the game elitist.

"So I take it your mother's passed on?"

The sudden intrusiveness of the question after such a casual one made both you and Eddie stop chewing.

Not one person had broached that subject since you'd moved to Hawkins. The classic nuclear family was dying out so people usually accepted your single parent situation as it was.

"She was alive the last anyone heard," was the politest way you could put it after mulling the question over for a minute.

Eddie shot Wayne a warning look and the subject changed.

"So was it your father who taught you chess?" Wayne wisely returned to a safe topic.

"No, we had a heap of board games in the rec room at school and I was curious about the chess sets," you told him conversationally. "I signed up for a weekly chess club to learn the rules and it grew from there."

People always assumed there was a mysterious, romantic history to your passion but it had honestly begun the same as any other hobby. You'd found something you liked and applied yourself to get better at it.

The rest of the meal went smoothly with casual conversation and Eddie stole the light a few times so you wouldn't feel hot under Wayne's scrutiny.

After dinner you served the Black Forrest Cake then Wayne left the two of you to play chess at the table while he caught the end of a match on TV.

You moved a knight into place and seeing his defeat Eddie let his head fall on the table theatrically.

"That is mate," you said and smiled at his pitiful wails of defeat.

"I thought I was doing well," Eddie whined.

"You were! You made me chase you for a while there," you gave some constructive feedback to comfort him and leant back in your chair.

Eddie hated to lose but he would have hated you throwing the game more. Maybe it was time for you to sit in on a campaign and see the Dungeon Master in his element since you'd spent over an hour thrashing him.

"Let's me express my inner torment with music," Eddie said standing up with a defeatist sigh. "My room awaits."

"Might want to think of heading home," Wayne chipped in from the couch and turned the TV down.

"It's Friday night," Eddie protested.

"Don't want your dad worrying," Wayne went on as if he hadn't heard his nephew. "You two can catch up tomorrow."

"You're probably right," you conceded way too easily and Eddie's suspicion was aroused. "Thank you for dinner Mr Munson I had a lovely time."

You exchanged a few more pleasantries and had Eddie walk you to the Mustang where you shared the plan. He watched you drive out the park then went inside where Wayne had returned to his viewing.

Eddie subtly swiped a beer from the fridge then said something about listening to music before closing his bedroom door. Beer can now in his vest he threw on an Iron Maiden tape and jumped out the window.

The evening was a little chill but he would warm up once he got to his destination and the beer was inside him.

Creeping past the trailers of Friday night homebodies like a Hawkins version of Boo Radley Eddie heard snippets of televisions, stereos and domestic arguments as he hiked up the hill behind the park to the old playground.

The Mustang's headlights flashed when he was close and he heard you close the driver's door. You retrieved the lantern you keep in the boot for night time breakdowns and switched it on giving Eddie a guide to you.

"Uggh! I feel so wholesome and middle class!" Eddie yelled and threw his arms around you.

"You did well," you laughed as he lifted and spun you around. "Keep this up and you can take me to the prom."

"Can we park at Lover's Lake after?" he asked after planting a kiss on your mouth.

"Before and after," you said temptingly and pulled the beer out his pocket.

"That's my bad girl!" he cried and slapped your arse as you walked to the picnic area together.

You sat yourself up on the table while Eddie took the bench, seating himself between your feet so he could rest his head on your lap.

"What the hell was this evening about?" Eddie moaned as you stroked his hair and took a swing of beer.

You passed him the can and explained everything in your most patient voice.

"Your sweet uncle, who loves you, was just making sure you hadn't been ensnared by a harpy with wide legs and deep claws. He was worried I might be setting my sights on trapping you in early fatherhood and criminal enterprise."

"He thinks I'm that stupid?" Eddie made an injured face after a swing of beer.

"He knows you're young," you assured him. "Let the old man fuss, it means he cares."

"Well if it matters to you I think you passed darlin'," Eddie decided you were right and took another mouthful of beer.

"It'll make things easier going forward," you conceded.

Ever the gentleman Eddie let you finish the beer and returned his head to you lap where you stroked his wild locks.

Eddie enjoyed the attention for a few minutes then raised the hem of your dress and pressed his lips against the inside of your leg.

"What?" he asked when you didn't react.

It was hard to see your expression in the lamplight but your lack of response meant something was wrong.

"I need to tell you something."

"Oh no, no, no, no sentence starting with that ends well," Eddie now sat up straight and clutched at your dress. "What did I do?"

"Nothing!" you said quickly realising your blunder. "I just need you to know something but I didn't want to tell you before because it might scare you off. It's a little heavy."

"Are you in trouble baby?"

The genuine concern in Eddie's voice made your heart swell and you wanted to pull him close. He was sweeter than you deserved.

"Nothing like that it's just something Wayne asked that got me thinking."

"If he's upset you I'll go back and tell him."

"It's ok Eddie. It's about my mum."

"She left, it's ok," Eddie was quick to reassure you and hugged your knees. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want, I understand."

"No, well yes, she did leave I mean," you rambled because you might reconsider if you hesitated. "When I was five Dad was sectioned for the first time. Pretty soon after Mum decided single parenting wasn't for her so got herself a divorce and surrendered custody of me to a girls' home. I haven't seen her since."

Eddie didn't reply and his stiff form in the darkness gained a forebodingness like a nightmare figure. It was unlike him not to react animatedly to shocking news and his stillness unnerved you.

You could hear the crickets chirping in the grass and spoke again to break the unsettling quiet.

"I say it was a boarding school because it sounds less tragic. I don't miss her, she made her choice. It's not important but I wanted you to know so you don't think I've been dishonest."

Eddie released his grip around your legs and you went cold with dread. He had reached his limit with your mess and was walking away.

Suddenly warmth came back to your skin as Eddie put his hands on you cheeks and gave you a long, slow kiss.

"This changes nothing baby," he only pulled away far enough to talk. "I'm always gonna adore you. My mother hasn't seen me in six years and not called in three. I say to hell with both of them."

You groped in the dark until you found Eddie's shoulders and latched onto him like a lifeline. For a few terrifying seconds you had been adrift and helpless in the dark without his stalwart support.

It took some time holding him before you could talk again, now certain he wouldn't leave.

"I don't mean to trauma dump on you I just want there to be more between us than witty repartee and sex."

"There is darling. So much more."

You released Eddie slowly and exhaled the anxiety you'd been holding in your chest. A steak dinner with family had turned out to be far more emotional than you'd anticipated.

Eddie slipped his hands under you knees then tugged so hard you fell backwards. The cute ballet flats you'd been wearing flew off as your little feet kicked the air and your eyes were suddenly full of stars dotting the night sky.

"What are you doing?" you giggled as Eddie's hot breath tickled you under your dress.

He looked like a kid stuck in a sleeping bag as he moved around under your dress and you laughed at your own compromising position. Flat on your back with a boy between your legs.

Eddie worked his fingers under your panty line and shimmied them down your hips. You made a noise of surprise but allowed Eddie to move your legs until the garment was stripped and thrown over his shoulder.

"Hey," you said with mild annoyance to see your good underwear discarded but forgot it a second later.

His strong, warm tongue licking your vaginal opening roused a sensation in you so strong your body arched with a gasp.

Good authority had told you this wasn't something straight guys would do willingly so you struggled to comprehend what was happening.

You had assumed the practice would be sloppy and vulgar but Eddie used his mouth with as much delicacy as he did with his hands. His lips on your opening had the pressure of an intimate kiss and his tongue stroked your inner folds with a velvet touch.

Your fingers fluttered to your lips like a scandalised damsel and you stared at the sky with your mouth open in silent excitement.

The unique caress thrilled you in a new way and your brain didn't know the right response.

So you lay there helpless in your pleasure.

The tip of Eddie's tongue brushed something deep that elicited a meek "Oh" from your open lips and he took the encouragement. You were such a wet mix of fluids that his mouth glid across your vagina effortlessly and he took your bud in his mouth.

The nerves in your clitoris awoke like thunder in a gathering storm and your voice returned to express your assent. Eddie ran his hands tenderly over your thighs and backside to stimulate your cooling skin and titillated your bud with the tip of his tongue gently.

It the time you two had been intimate Eddie had learned to discount everything he'd heard third hand about sex and listen to you instead. You weren't shy to express your enjoyment and your reactions were the best guide to achieving mutual pleasure.

You were breathing in short, sharp gasps of sweet shock but Eddie knew the sound you made when you were close. He let his mouth melt deeper onto you and began to suck your bud hungrily.

The shift in technique threw you into fourth gear and you could feel your body rushing to climax. Usually your orgasms built slowly, the reward for patient penetrative lovemaking but this time it erupted like a flare igniting your lower body.

You gave a groan of relief like you'd been holding back a dam and felt the orgasmic energy spill from your waist to water your thirsty body.

Feebly you tried to reach for Eddie as you pinned for his touch but he still had you tilted so your grasp fell short. Eddie then pulled himself out of your dress and wiped his mouth ungraciously on the back of his hand to watch you recover.

In the dark you couldn't see his flushed face or his genuine surprise at his success. There was more guesswork in sex than he'd ever realised.

He could see your middle rising and falling as your ecstasy rush settled and he lowered your legs back onto the table. His fingers stayed firmly round your ankles however as he struggled internally with his good reason and his libido.

You could hear the question he wouldn't voice and had the same sense of incompleteness. Eddie's attentions had given you splendour but they'd also prepared you for more and your lower muscles ached for it.

"Do it Eddie I'm soaked for you."

Without hesitance Eddie pulled a condom from his back pocket and you heard his fly open. There was a small crinkling sound then you were roughly pulled towards him by your legs.

You could imagine his rock hard cock straining against the latex and your chest expanded with an excited inhale.

His length slipped into you easily and you let out a satisfied moan. The sensual orgasm had been bliss but the base physicality of being filled with his thick cock made you horny in a primal way.

Most times you made love but sometimes like now you simply fucked. After hours of upstanding behaviour you had to wash the genteel polish off with a bath of sweat and cum.

You surrendered totally letting Eddie manhandle your legs as he slammed into you. There would be bruises on your thighs tomorrow but right now the pain didn't register.

In the lamplight Eddie could see your breasts bounce with every pound and he longed to climb up on the table and rip your dress open. He could imagine the tight mounds breaking into gooseflesh from the evening air and how the tiny bumps would melt under his hot tongue.

But there was no time to ravish the rest of you, he was close to coming and this position was too perfect to compromise. Your cunt was practically a river soaking his groin and every time you arched your abdomen it would tighten on his cock pulling him closer to release.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Eddie grunted in time with his thrusts but your only reply were the shy gasps that escaped each time his tip hit your core.

He wanted to fuck everything out of you until only he was left. Obliterate the sweet facade you'd worn at dinner and the lonely girl abandoned by her mother. Fuck you until you were so full of him no one could claim a piece of you.

It was raw, possessive and toxic but Eddie didn't care. You were his and he's was branding you for the world to know it.

"Eddie!"

You hadn't expected a second orgasm. Honestly you didn't think they could happen, that it was something magazines had made up to entertain rarely serviced housewives.

You screamed this time, the extreme sensation on your already ravished body was too much and you couldn't stay quiet.

Your body spasmed and Eddie released his own orgasm with a growl. He pitched forward and clenched your hips with a bruising force as hot pleasure rushed through his cock and pooled in the sheath.

The two of you panted out of time in a collapsed bundle and began to notice how far the temperature had dropped.

Suddenly self conscious you looked around to see the park lights glowing down the hill and listened for anyone approaching. Someone out for a stroll or a sneaky cigarette might think to investigate the animalistic cries coming from the playground.

"You're a bad girl," Eddie groaned exhaustedly when his breathing steadied.

"Me?" you lifted your head off the picnic table and felt Eddie slowly move out of you. "You started this Munson."

"You invited me up here," Eddie rebutted and you heard a synthetic flicking sound in the dark.

You knew Eddie had shot the tied condom across the picnic area and you had an unpleasant image of a small child finding it tomorrow along with your underwear.

"I wanted to talk," you said in your defense and sat up.

"This is how all our evening talks finish."

"Unless you pass out watching Miami Vice."

"One time baby."

"Come up here and hug me," you held your arms out and decided to quit the banter. You were cold now and you wanted your boyfriend to wrap you up for a little while before you drove home.

Eddie gave no argument and climbed on the table beside you. You were still buzzing from your double high and snuggled in tight smelling his sweat and deodorant.

"That was a good fuck Eddie."

It wasn't what the poets would have said but it was true.

Eddie kissed you on the head and tried to pat your loose hair back into a respectable form before admitting that was impossible.

"I like making you happy baby," he said and linked his fingers with yours.

You stayed nestled together on the bench watching the trailer lights below and Eddie realised for the first time how small they looked.

He'd outgrown this suburb of budget building materials and knew now he could leave it. Since he'd met you his scope had widened to see past Senior year and Tuesday night gigs at the Hideout.

There wouldn't be much to pack besides his guitar and he didn't have a destination in mind but one thing was certain.

You were coming with him.

[baocean]

piss off your parents

chapter twenty nine - max donahue and his perfect hair

her phone

the boneyard was loud, voices, music, fire popping in the middle of it all.

your head was buzzing, too warm, too full. max was talking to someone behind you, his hand resting lightly at your back, and you needed a drink more than you needed conversation.

you slipped away toward the beer table. half-melted ice, mismatched cans, that sticky party smell of smoke and sugar and sweat. you were reaching for the first thing you saw, when you heard an all too familiar voice.

“dude, just grab one and chill.” john b says, almost scolding, somewhere behind you.

you turned, and there he was, a half a step behind john b, hood low, eyes down- until he practically felt your precense, and looked up to lock eyes with you.

he looked exactly the same, messy hair, sleeves pushed up, like he’d just wandered out of some dream you couldn't stopped having.

you blinked up at him, startled. “...hey.”

that fake smile. that polite tone. like you two were strangers now.

and jj felt it, like a punch to the ribs. not the kind that knocks the air out of you, the kind that leaves it in your lungs just long enough to burn.

he hated that smile, hated that you was using it on him. he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. so he nodded, once, tight, careful.

“how are you?” you wanna hit yourself immediately after you ask it.

“peachy. you?” he asks, there’s not a sliver of emotion on his face.

you just nod, a small smile on your face. “friends?” you ask. there she was, little miss people pleasure, eager to subside any conflict. you hated her. you hated yourself.

he lets out a breathy scoff, then turns to john b like he doesn’t quite believe you just said that, then back at you, “sure, friends.” 

john b was glancing between the two of you like he was witnessing a horrific event.

you looked down, saw the hoodie jj let you wear once out by the firepit, then kept letting you wear everytime you slept over. it made you flinch.

his eyes didnt leave the spot where had been standing as you brushed by him after a quick goodbye, heading back towards good ol' max donahue and his stupid haircut and his patagonia zip ups.

he finally turned and watched as max threw his arm back around you, saying something that made you laugh. you’re back was turned to him and he was glad, because the look on his face was a dead giveaway of how he really felt about being friends with you, sad and tired eyes and a pout on his lips.

jj was ready to go home and lock himself in his room again, but as he turned back around, he caught the familiar long, blonde hair of your best friend, janey lowens.

his phone

max was nice and charming, funny and smart. all the characteristics of the perfect man you had cooked up when you were ten.

he opened doors for you, he smelled like expensive cologne and knew what he wanted to do with his life.

he met your parents and brought flowers and said all the right things to them. he was safe, predictable, good on paper.

except, he didnt laugh with his whole chest, like the world was ending and it didn’t matter.

he didn’t wear cut-off, thrift store tank tops that smelled like sweat and sun and cigarettes, didn’t grin like he knew exactly what kind of trouble he was.

he didn’t argue for fun, didn’t pull you into the ocean fully clothed just to hear you laugh, he didn’t steal things, lighters, glances, hearts. he didn’t touch you like it was instinct, didn’t kiss you like he needed to prove he was still alive.

he didn’t let you see the cracks. he didn’t need you in that quiet, desperate way, the way someone needs you more than they need oxygen.

you could love max. you could choose him, every single day. but you’d still look over your shoulder, still listen for the echo of a laugh that never played it safe, still miss the boy who left his name behind in places you could never get rid of.

and maybe it’s not fair to compare. maybe it’s not fair to keep seeing someone else’s ghost in a boy who’s so good to you.

you tried, you really tried to convince yourself that love didn’t have to be loud, that maybe quiet was good. but quiet started to feel like suffocating, like biting your tongue until it bled.

that's why you told max you couldnt continue this, that you'd hoped he'd understand why. and then you cried the entire way home.

her phone

liked by 400 people!

sarahcam: the cheer up yn committee consists of me and i’m fucking tired

johnbroutledge: can i be added to this committee

↳ sarahcam: you sure can try

ynstjohn: sarah 😭 change ur caption

↳ sarahcam: no. the people deserve to know.

cleoanderson: 😍😍😍 two pretty best friends

kiaracarrera: caption lmfao 😭😭😭

jjmaybank: did i just get flashed

↳ sarahcam: which pic? 🧐

↳ jjmaybank: shut up

masterlist | next chapter

note from the author - new pov from sarah’s insta 😮 next chapter is for my j*ney haters u are seen and heard

taglist - @dr3amgrlll / @murdockcastleslut / @jjmaybankmylovee / @smokahontas-113 / @abigailovesz / @enchantedstarfish / @reeseswirl / @lmaowhatt / @moonywhisp3rs / @dylsdaily / @idli-dosa / @bloodofadoll / @cokewithcameron / @mariamadison6-blog / @rrosiitas / @always-reading / @sunflouer04 / @bambigirl10 / @mirellef2001 / @wasiasproject / @bee-43 / @kissesandmartinis / @gublerstylesobrien1238 / @isinpfortvdmen / @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account / @mjwashere / @sideboobrry11 / @ameliacione13 / @wrtzia / @sanriobuny / @dramagodesss / @luvrclub / @yesshewrites1 / @ayy1234567 / @doesnt-care / @rainingcecilias

[iwishf1wasreal]

NSFW F1 Driver Profiles: ✴ Max Verstappen ✴

smut ✴ 18+ readers only please

I. Flirt.

He’s not exactly known as a certified rizzster, but he does carry that Champion’s confidence and aura of success everywhere he goes. That usually works in his favour, but he would only approach if he were solidly in his own element. You’re a guest in the garage? Perfect. You’ve stumbled into the club where he’s having his birthday party in the VIP section? No problem, he’ll get you through the ropes. He’s much better at flirting once he’s in a relationship and you’ve established rapport and trust. He would rather be quiet than look stupid, which pretty much dissipates once you’re officially dating. Then, he’s more than glad to look like an idiot in front of you, especially if it will make you laugh.

II. Propositioning. 

He’s honest and extremely blunt. Straight up asks “do you want to have sex right now?” or “can we fuck when we get back to the hotel?” He purposefully enjoys saying it explicitly in front of someone, so it will instantly have your cheeks burning and your eyes furiously glaring at him. Max likes riling you up. He also likes that you smack or kick him in reaction. Then you yell at him about being a true menace to society or punctuate your whacks with You’re! So! Crude! And then he just has to make good on the accusation, doesn’t he? 

III. Libido.

It's pretty high. If you ended up fucking every time he felt like it, it might end up being two or three times a day. This isn’t to say that can’t or hasn’t been achieved, but it's not exactly practical when he has such a meticulously timed day, down to the approximate minute he must be asleep. But he’d roll his eyes if you ever told him that you considered him a sexual person. It’s not that he doesn’t think he is; it's just that the entire concept of sexual person seems redundant to him. Humans are sexual. Humans have the animal urge to procreate; therefore, it’s built into the human experience. It just seems like an unnecessary distinction to him. But he craves sex; he loves it and is constantly either thinking about it or talking about it. Despite this, he still has the audacity to turn to you and shape his mouth to say, “oh, so you.” with an evil smirk when he finds out what the word ‘nymphomaniac’ means. 

IV. Turn-Ons: tame & nasty.

Tame: Your exposed neck. String bikinis. A thong’s whale tail. When your Dutch isn’t half bad. Back massages. Treating you to nice things. Referring to his cats as your own. When you stand behind him whilst he’s sitting and run your hands down the planes of his body. That time he somehow was able to go to Oktoberfest, and you wore that traditional dress (he’s honestly never stopped thinking about your titties in it). Coming and straddling his lap when he calls you over. When you subconsciously reach for him in the middle of the night. Ignoring other men in favour of paying him attention. Calling him a world champion. Whenever you let him hang all over you. 

Nasty: Spanking. The way your ass ripples after getting spanked. Watching you undress while he remains fully clothed. Telling you what to do and filming it. Sundress and no panties. Your scent after sex. You taking control. Your hand around his throat. Nudes taken with his trophies. Cumming on your chest. Doing it in the dark with the big hotel windows open and city lights twinkling. Threesomes but only with another woman...for now. When you talk him through a handjob/blowjob and an orgasm (sometimes he likes it if you’re a little mean, too). When he does something embarrassing or awkward during sex and you just sweep his hair out of his eyes and laugh because it’s no big deal. 

V. Self-stimulation.

Porn is definitely an option for Max. He won’t be forthright with it, but he’s seen his fair share of the degrading, aggressive stuff. Obviously, you’d wring his neck if you found out that not only is a multi-millionaire too cheap to pay for his porn, but he’s freeriding on the most misogynist content he could find. Well, now that he’s a spoken-for man, he has a hard time keeping it up for women who aren’t you. It’s like he’s imprinted on you; he can only finish if he lets his memory/imagination or private folder on his phone take over. He’s not above a midnight call to you—really no regard for whatever you might be doing (and that’s kinda part of the fun)---all whiny and horny and begging you to at least stay on the line while he strokes off. 

VI. Foreplay.

He lowkey needs foreplay. His ego would never let him admit it, but sex is quite emotional for him. Max has never really excelled with one-night stands because he either finds himself not caring enough or caring too much. He felt like things changed between you once you started sleeping together–in the best way possible. Of course, there are occasions when you’re both just raring and pawing at each other as fast as you can. But generally, he likes to be warmed up and tended to, too. Dry humping is always a good time for him, and he likes watching you work your hips against him (and the patch of wetness that always transfers from your clothes to his) He’s also a big kisser. During sex, before, after, or without even thinking about sex, he wants to kiss you. Likes the heat of your breath, the soft feel of your tongue. Anywhere. Everywhere. 

VII. Rhythm.

To be honest, because of his headstrong tendencies and fast-paced thinking, it’s sort of become your job to set the rhythm. It’s not even that he wants to take you fast and hard; he just kind of…does. Even when he’s in a romantic headspace, he can just have a hard time slowing down and enjoying the moment. It’s not really a surprise to you. It’s the same way he is in every other part of his life. He doesn’t always realise that the habit of trying to speed through his least favourite parts of life has bled over into rushing through some of the good things too. No need to worry, though. The slow rock of your hips, the sweetness of your voice, and the patience in your hands is all he really needs. Maybe that’s why even thinking about sex with someone else is hard. You just get him. You take care of him. You give him exactly what he needs. 

VIII. How He Likes It.

Personally, he likes it deep. Especially because you are usually in more controlling positions. The eye contact, the kisses, the dirty talk. It’s just so much better. His favourite would be any variation on cowgirl (equally fond of front-facing and reverse–for titties and ass, respectively). He feels best in what some might call the chair position, where you’ll sit on his lap as he sits on the bed or a chair. In this position, he can hit your g-spot almost certainly while one of his hands works your clit. He’ll kiss down your shoulder, your cheek, your neck while your hands roam his thighs and your own body, reaching down to feel the two of you connecting. He’s somewhat willing to try new things but only for so long til he’s huffing and just whining for you to crawl on his lap and take over. 

IX. Location, location, location.

Craziest is probably in an alleyway behind a club. Really only is deemed the craziest because of how many close calls you had while trying to do it. You both know it would be a disaster if anyone found out; however… There are not usually many people wandering the streets at 3am and with so many restrictions with his fame and so much alcohol in your systems, it wasn’t that hard to convince you to give it a go. However, his favourite ‘place’ you’ve ever had sex is, for sure, the post-win blowjob he gets after every win. Obviously, some wins are more key than others, so you’ll do the best you can to create unique experiences for him each time. But honestly, he doesn’t really care. Just needs the warmth of your mouth and the shine of pride in your eyes when he’s finished. He also fantasises about Private Jet sex, even came close a few times when he still owned his. But the prophecy was not complete without you. 

X. Kink.

Pretty kinky. He’s down to try a lot but also has hard boundaries he has no issue expressing. He can be sweet and gentle and loving just as much as he can be rough and aggressive. He’s pretty good at catering to what you both feel at the moment. If you need him to go softer or just want to feel him better, nuzzling your face shyly into his neck with a soft whine of the request, he’s instantly adapting to what you want. It’s not that you’re “in charge”; he just really wants to please you. Or, if the mood strikes and you feel turned on by the clench in his jaw and the frustration of his voice, you’re more than willing to ask him to take it all out on you. And he can give you that too. The biggest fantasy fulfilled is probably after-race sex of any variety, even with his press officer banging incessantly on the locked door while you try and make use of the three whole minutes you have until his trainer comes back with the key. Despite how common it is, he’s not really into the Daddy or Mommy kink. He’d never outright say it, but he’s got enough mommy and daddy issues; he doesn’t need to confuse his psyche by bringing you into the mix, too. 

XI. Bedroom aids/Toys 

Feels pretty neutral about toys. Again, his common sense kind of takes over, and he gets why you need it. Does hold on to some hope that you don’t use it while he’s home and he’s readily available. Though if he is gaming all day and won’t tear himself way…Sometimes you’ll just set up the vibrator to rattle loudly against the headboard, so he knows what you’re doing. Almost always, he’ll get off the game and come play with you instead. He likes a lot of lube, if available. If he could squeeze some more ooey gooey stuff all over you just to make it nastier and wetter, he would. 

XII. Cum. 

He’s messy finisher. Not just on you but generally. He doesn’t care about messing up the bed or leaving too much evidence. To him, it’s sex; how are you supposed to control yourself during it? What, like people, can actually plan where they’ll cum? Perhaps it’s because he grew up relatively wealthy, or he’s just gotten used to people picking up after him. The number of times he’d told you, “just leave it, babe. The maids will get it.” while you scoff horrified at him. You make sure he realises his mistake, flinging whatever soiled garment at his face. 

XIII. Pleasure reciprocation. 

He’ll go down on you if you’re into it. He tends to think he’s probably a little bit better than he is, but he’s not bad. If anything, he’s got a passion and dedication for it. He likes the feeling of making you finish quickly or making you feel so good you can’t even keep your eyes open. He’s experienced but still clumsy. He knows his way around (mostly) but likes it better when you tell him what feels good or react to what he’s doing. He doesn’t have enough patience to keep the focus on you for /forever/ so he’s not one to spend hours down there but you get your fair share.  

XIV. Bonus.

Once you had sex in front of two of his friends who were touching themselves. It kinda just happened. You were out glamping for some EDM festival in Europe, pretending to have the humility of camping with all the five star amenities you could need. It was in the early hours of the morning after you’d been partying all night. One of them had complimented you, telling Max he was lucky to have a girlfriend like you. Then, Max kissed you. Never a huge fan of PDA, you always followed his lead on how much he wanted to show to the public. But then his hand was up yours skirt and when you broke away, he used his strength against you to pull you closer and kiss down your neck. Max was two fingers deep into you by the time you even remembered his friends were in the room. He told you to talk them through it, just like you did for him. But you couldn’t. First, the pads of his fingers had reached deep and found the spot that made it hard to thing, let alone talk. You weren’t much of an instructor, mumbling a few cues before popping the button on Max’s pants and pulling him free. He was breathing heavy and hard in your ear, moans muffled against your skin as you faced his friends. They’d fully thrown themselves into to pleasure, hands wrapped around their dicks and stroking in the same deseperate rhythm you were working with Max. As you neared an orgasm, you spread your legs, giving his friends a better view of how he filled you. It drove Max crazy, he moaned against your neck, a cocky laugh coming off the end of it. His friends finished before you–unable to keep up with the pace you and Max had set. Then, Max who helped you ride out your own after him, brain only malfunctioning a few times as you milked him into overstimulation. He made sure to show off how he’d finished inside you to his friends. Then the two of you just showered and went to bed like it never happened.