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multifandomfanfic · 2 years ago

Note

could you do something where ronaldo is your ex and you broke up because he cheated but he saw you with another man at a party and he got really jealous??

Cold Air

Word Count: ~2.2k

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Sorry this took so long and sorry if any descriptions of Qatar are inaccurate. Just suspend reality for a bit :)) (also, I proof-read this, but it hasn’t had a second pair of eyes look at it)

The city lights passed by your car as you made your way to the club. The World Cup was in full swing and, today, Portugal had beaten Switzerland by five goals. You wrinkled your nose. Portugal. As good of a team they were, any mention of their team, and especially a certain player, left a foul taste on your tongue.

It wasn't like you didn't love Ronaldo. You did.., well, you had loved him at one point. Months ago you had been positive your relationship was going to last forever; you were living together, you went with him to his events, and you were even certain you had spied an engagement ring in his bag once. All of that was squashed within seconds thanks to Ronaldo’s unlocked phone and a few Instagram DMs.

Within days, you had moved out of your shared house and into an apartment far away from Manchester. Ronaldo agreed to pay the first year of your rent in return for you not going public about his infidelity, but you took the high road. You did not need his help and, after what he did to you, you decided that you did not want to have any connection to him any longer. Enough was enough.

But here you were, in Qatar, the day his team beat the Swiss.

Your phone vibrated and you dug it out of your purse.

I'll have to leave a little early tonight, Emi texted you.

What? Why?

Coach wants us to get at least eight hours of sleep before some extra practice in the morning. He explained, I'm free to do whatever you want tomorrow night.

You groaned and slumped back into the car seat. Great. Just great. The only reason you were going to this club was to celebrate Emi’s friend’s birthday, whom you had never met. In fact, you hardly knew anybody on his team. You had spent so much time with Portugal and Manchester United that you hadn’t become acquainted with any of the other teams. Besides, you had only been seeing Emi for a couple of months.

“Is this it?” your driver asked.

“Yes, this is it,” you sighed. The cold night air raised goosebumps on your skin as soon as you pushed open the door. It was refreshing and briefly distracted your mind from the awkwardness awaiting you inside.

The bouncer opened the rope as you approached. The club’s exterior was lit by LED lights, beckoning people to venture inside. Quite a crowd had amounted outside, drawn by the possibility of seeing a world-class futball player in person. They watched you as you entered the building. Who were you? And why were you here?

The interior of the bar was as exuberant and bright as the exterior. The only difference was the number of people crammed within its walls. Bodies were pressed against each other, moving to the music blaring from the speakers. Two bartenders were hurriedly making drinks for the growing crowd. They had been instructed to prioritize the futball players and serve them first, but they were struggling to keep up with that demand.

You scanned the throngs of people. One or two of the men close to you looked familiar, but the lights were set just dim enough that you couldn’t distinguish people from a distance. Their forms blended into one, swaying mass.

Person after person bumped and shoved you (whether on accident or on purpose, you couldn’t tell) as you forged your way to the bar. Surely, there were too many people in the club to be safe, but nobody paid attention. They were all having fun. You were the walking embodiment of dread.

You tugged on the end of your dress. It wasn’t yours–one of the players’ girlfriends had lent it to you–and it wasn’t exactly your taste either. The color was off and it fell awkwardly on your thighs. Anyone who knew you would know the dress was not your first choice.

“Excuse me?” you asked the bartender closest to you, “Can I get one of those?”

The mixture of alcohol he was making was taking all of his attention, and he made no effort to respond. You groaned, leaned against the bartop, and began people-watching. There was no sight of Ronaldo or Emi. You weren’t expecting Ronaldo to be there, but you could never be too sure.

“Y/N!” a familiar voice called from behind you.

You turned around and smiled, “Emi!”

He pushed his way through the crowd, nodding and grinning at his friends. You recognized none of them, despite going to many of Emi’s games. Maybe you were too stuck in the past.

Once he reached you, Emi grabbed your waist and pulled you towards him.

“It’s so good to see you,” he said, leaning over slightly and began kissing your neck. Several people’s eyes landed on the two of you.

“Babe, please,” you whispered, “Not in public.”

He stepped back, “Why not?”

“I just don’t feel comfortable with it, ok?” you replied. To be honest, you had no idea why it made you so uneasy. People looking at you was one thing, but something else was off.

Emi smirked and loosened his grip on your waist, “Fine. But I will be seeing you tomorrow night.”

“It’s a date,” you chuckled. He left you one more kiss on your lips as he started to back away. He smiled and nodded his head goodbye. Before you knew it, Emi had disappeared into the mass of people.

The bartender continued to pay attention to other patrons, leaving you drinkless and bored. There was a full-length mirror behind the back of the bar. You examined yourself in it, rubbing off the lipstick that had made its way off of your lips and adjusting your hair so it fell just right on your face. A figure began to form behind you. Someone was making their way to the spot to your left. The way the lights were positioned and flashing, you could not tell who it was.. that is, until they spoke.

He ordered two of your favorite drink and, like clockwork, the bartender had them finished within seconds.

“You look good,” he almost mumbled as he took the first sip from his drink. His eyes scanned your figure, soaking in every aspect of how the dress fell on your body. You could have slapped him, “Although, I wouldn’t peg you as the type of girl to wear something like that.”

“What do you want, Ronaldo?” you spat. His face changed for a moment at the use of his last name instead of Cristiano–what you used to call him–but, within seconds, it was back to his usual, sly look. On the other hand, you could feel your face turning red. Months of pent-up rage and regret flooded back into your head. Why had you come here? Why did he have to be here?

“You haven’t changed a bit,” he said as you picked up your drink. You slammed it back down on the counter. A little sloshed over the edge and the bartender immediately wiped it with his towel. He scowled at you but smiled at Ronaldo. You pushed the glass to the farthest point on the bar that you could reach. You refused to drink it. That would make it seem like you were diving in.

“I asked you what you wanted,” you seethed, arms crossed across your chest, “Can you answer my question?”

He rolled his eyes and looked around as if you were the only person in the room who did not know what he was going to say. He then leaned closer, “You could do much better than an Argentinian. That’s all I wanted to say.”

You froze. Your mouth hung agape, your mind was apparently empty of any good comebacks. After a moment you managed a “Are you kidding me?” and a small, all-too-exaggerated laugh. The audacity this man had. He cheated on you, not the other way around.

“Do you think I’m joking? I’m just stating the obvious, darling,” Ronaldo smirked. He leaned against the bar, drink in hand. Triumph was written all over his face.

You pulled out twenty dollars from your purse and slammed it onto the bar to cover your drink. You stood up straight, staring your adversary in the eyes.

“I’m done with your bullshit, Ronaldo. Do I need to remind you whose fault it was that we broke up? It wasn’t me!,” you shouted just loud enough so the people closest to you could hear, “Have a good life.”

You stormed past him, purposely bumping into his shoulder on the way to the back. Your feet carried you past the mob of bodies. Instead of annoying you, they acted to your benefit, creating an almost impenetrable sea for Ronaldo to cross to get to you. You made it to the back exit swiftly and, without hesitating, escaped the room.

The chilly air greeted you like an old friend. Your dress was hardly enough to keep you warm, but it didn’t matter. Compared to the inside of the bar and its patrons, it felt more friendly and calm in the frigid night.

You pulled out your phone and started searching for an Uber to take you home. You began walking down the alleyway, enveloped in the screen in front of you rather than paying attention to your surroundings. That was why you nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt a cold hand grab a hold of your arm.

You whipped around and tried to strike the attacker with your bag but, after a moment, you saw that it was none other than Ronaldo. Despite recognizing him, you still managed to hit him with your purse. You ripped your arm from his grasp and backed up. You weren’t truly scared of him, not at all, but he repulsed you so much that you wanted to distance yourself from him as much as you possibly could.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you exclaimed.

“Y/N, listen to m–”

“No, tell me what you think you’re doing!”

“I don’t know what I–” he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly and shifting his weight.

“You don’t know what you’re do–”

“Y/N, would you just listen to me, please?!” Ronaldo finally begged. He stood with his arms extended to you, silently pleading with you to let him speak, “Please?”

You checked your phone and then crossed your arms, “You have two minutes, Ronaldo, then I never want to see you again.”

“That’s fine, that’s perfect,” he took a step back. He looked at the sky as he took a deep breath. The stars were shining down on the two of you, illuminating the alleyway just enough that you could see Ronaldo’s breath and the sweat dripping down his face. What was bothering him so much?

He sighed, exasperated with his own thoughts, “Y/N, I.. you know I love you right?”

You did not reply, nod, or shake your head. You kept your eyes glued on him but, on the inside, your stomach was turning. This conversation could lead nowhere good. In the months since your break-up, you had thought about getting back together plenty of times. Yet, in reality, you could never let yourself do that. He cheated on you once. He had broken your trust. That could not happen again.

“I know you do. And I know, I hope, that deep down you still love me,” Ronaldo continued, trying to get any reaction out of you, but none came, “I will never love another woman as much as I love you. You were the light of my life, the thing that made me smile every single day without fail. You enchant me, Y/N, and I went and screwed everything up. Will you forgive me?”

You scoffed, your arms only crossing tighter in front of your chest, “Don’t give me this ‘I love you most ardently’-esque crap. You cheated on me, Ronaldo. I have proof!”

“And I regret it every day! Y/N, you don’t understand how much I’ve beat myself up over this. I love you! You make me happy!”

“Ronaldo, if I really made you happy, frankly, we would not be in this situation right now,” you said, pursing your lips. You shrugged, “I am sorry, but I can’t forgive you.”

With that, a grey sedan drove to the end of the alleyway behind you. You checked the description on your phone–it was your ride.

“That’s me,” you said. The amount of water vapor in front of Ronaldo’s mouth only increased as he grew angrier and more confused. His mind was running, trying to find some solution to have you back, or to get you to at least forgive him, but he could not find one.

“Can you at least call me Cristiano?” he finally called out as you started to walk away.

You turned around. After a moment, you nodded, and made eye contact with him once more, “Alright, Cristiano. As I said earlier, I hope you have a good life.”

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igotlovestruck · 2 years ago

Text

illicit affairs | gr63, mm19

PAIRING: george russell x fem!wolff!reader ; mason mount x fem!wolff!reader

DETAILS & WARNINGS: angst, cheating, profanities

WC: 4.2k words

A/N: here you go! 🤩 and before you finish the story and get confused—yes, there will be a part two to this. :D i haven't betaread this, i just finished it and it's already 3 am here where i live so i'll edit this soon!

TAGGED: @i83andrew

this work is purely fictional. names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. © newuniverse, 2023. do not steal, repost in other platforms, translate and/or claim this work as your own.

—

you knew he was coming.

despite saying no, you know damn well you’d end up in his (well, technically not his) car — the one he’d rent whenever he’s in town or nearby just to see you. a car meant for clandestine meetings.

from satin pyjamas, you change to a pair of sweatpants, a cami top and the very first hoodie you could grab from your closet to cover the skin you were about to show. you look at yourself in the mirror; this is the last time, i promise. you tell yourself, eyes leaving your own reflection as your phone lit up. a notification from him. a simple i’m here had you feeling your blood rush. quickly, you take your phone and a little something that he likes before leaving your bedroom.

“where are you going? it’s 6 in the morning.” your friend asks, they had spent the night over after a girls’ night out.

“just for a run, i’ll be back in an hour or so.” you replied, slipping on your running shoes. “if you girls get hungry, there’s food in the fridge.”

and with that, you were out of the door and headed to the place george told you. while you walk to the parking building, you throw the hood of your hoodie over your head. once you were in the elevator, you took the lipstick out of the pockets of your hoodie and applied them on your lips. you smiled at the elevator mirror, but felt a twinge of guilt in your stomach. as you exit the elevator of the parking building, you look around the place. the only thing you could hear was the sound of the familiar engine. you’ve familiarised yourself with it by now as this was not the first time this happened, hell, if you were keeping count, this might be the hundredth time you’ve done this.

you walked towards the heavily tinted g-wagon parked on its usual spot, and as soon as you opened the door and sat next to the driver, you faced him.

“i said no to you,” you murmured, hiding the smile that was attempting to burst and pulled the hood off.

“yet you’re here, meeting me and…” he paused, his attention that was once focused on his phone, now on your lips. “wearing that red lip, classic thing that i like.” he smirked, lifting his hand and running his thumb on your lips. carefully though, not wanting to ruin the beautiful shade of red you had on your lips. he shakes his head, attempting to focus on other things other than you.

once the car starts to move, you find yourself getting comfortable on the seat next to him. a familiar feeling that happens once, twice a month… a feeling you’ve been longing for yet want to forget about. you knew what you had needed to be stopped, yet the thrill of continuing this relationship with him excites you. you know that if you plan to stop, you’ll end up doing it all over again. it was like a vicious cycle that you cannot break.

the thing is, you aren’t exactly in a relationship with this mercedes driver. you’re together, but not together. both of you were in relationships. him with carmen, you with mason. the two of you agreed to settle on this kind of relationship that only the two of you would understand. because if people knew about your affair with the driver, a lot would be mad. they wouldn’t understand. they wouldn’t understand that you both loved your partners, yet the thing between you two gives you both a thrill people could never comprehend even if you explain it.

“weren’t you supposed to be in qatar, supporting your boyfriend for the world cup?”

“my flight’s later in the afternoon.” you say, your gaze glued on the street as he drove.

george scoffs, “you should be preparing now, but you’re here with me.”

the two of you fell into silence, you had zero idea where he was taking you, but you let him continue driving and not mutter a single word. you closed your eyes and rested your head against the car window. you might have slept for a while as you woke up due to the strain you feel on your neck. opening one eye, you realised that the car was parked, and george was nowhere to be found.

you open your eyes completely, seeing that george was in front of the suv. sitting on a camping chair that came with the rented car, silently scrolling through his phone. you were amazed by the view. you’ve been living in this town for a year, yet it never dawned on you that there is a place like this that exists. overlooking the view of the city, the sun will be up any minute now by the shade of the skies.

“kid’s finally awake.” he says, his eyes not leaving his phone but his hand tapped the seat next to him. “are you hungry? i bought food before i drove to your place.”

you shook your head, took the seat next to him and crossed your legs. “why did you want to meet me, george?” you ask quietly, “i thought we agreed last time would be our last time seeing each other.”

he smirked, shoving his phone back into his pocket and leaned against the chair before looking at you. “i know, yet you’re here with me, darling.” he answered, “because if you did agree that last time would be our last time, then you never would’ve left your house. you wouldn’t hop in my car and come here with me. you would’ve stayed and waited for your boyfriend to call or come home to you or to watch his match. yet you’re here with me, baby.”

that, you had no answer to. you shake your head lightly, looking at the view instead of him. you felt the cold breeze of the morning air on your skin, fucking hell was he right. as always. you turn to the driver once again, his eyes fixated on you, eyes that are filled with lust and desire.

—

you remember it so clearly. the day you had met george russell.

you knew george by his name, a little information about him that had been shared across the internet and the little story of how he walked into your father’s office at a young age with a powerpoint presentation in hand to convince the latter that he would, one day, be a successful driver under mercedes.

the day you met george started in a beautiful room, happened a few weeks before the 2022 season started.

your father, toto wolff, was not the type to arrange a whole party. but somehow, he managed to do it despite his hectic schedule—the toto wolff arranged a party for his firstborn who recently graduated from university. y/n wolff was surprised; you never knew that your father was capable of planning such a party (of course, with the supervision of your beloved stepmom, susie). the party was attended by several known people, some staff that are close to your father, family and friends.

“mase, i’m telling you. if i trip and fall—”

“don’t worry, pretty girl. i got you.” mason chuckles, holding your hand tightly as he guides you out of his car. you two stood for a few seconds until you heard the vehicle drive away and despite being blindfolded, you could see the flashes of the cameras through the thin fabric. your eyebrows furrowed, “i promise you, you’re gonna love this.”

mason, your boyfriend of two years, guided you towards the entrance. you heard a door opening, and as your boyfriend’s presence behind you as he unties the blindfold, you hear the music’s volume slowly increase. once your eyes have adjusted after having been covered since you left home, you smiled, seeing familiar faces waiting for you inside the venue.

“herzlichen glückwunsch, y/n. ich bin so stolz auf dich. congratulations, y/n. i’m so proud of you.” your father said, engulfing you into a hug as he held a glass of champagne.

“danke, vater. i never would’ve done it without you. thanks, dad.” you replied, unclasping the hug and turned towards susie and jack who were both waiting for you with open arms.

after hugging what felt like a million people who were part of your family and friends, you turn to your boyfriend who was trailing behind you as you walk along the red carpet. you gave him a smile, your hands resting on his neck as he held your waist so gently. mason’s smile alone makes your knees weak, such a beautiful smile he has.

“so this is what dress up for a very fancy restaurant looks like, hmm?” you teased your boyfriend, pulling him close to you. your lips collided with his, eyes closed as you felt his hand squeeze a part of your waist while the crowd cheered happily. “i love you so, damn, fucking much, mount.”

“i love you, too, wolff.” he replied, hand that was once on your waist, travelled on your ass to give it a squeeze.

your relationship with the footballer wasn’t a secret you two tried to hide, in fact, both of you loved showing affection towards each other in public. you didn’t care that every time mason posts you on his public account, at least one or three obsessed fans would try to spread hate or rumours about you. you and mason didn’t care—because at the end of the day, you knew each other better than other people and you had each other without doubt. toto supported that; he supported your relationship with the athlete (though at first he was shocked to learn that his firstborn posts half-naked pictures with her boyfriend on the internet). toto was glad that you have mason by your side, he knew the footballer wouldn’t try to hurt his first born in any way and he loved the fact that you were the happiest with him always in all ways. after all, father knows best, right?

you and mason mingled all night until your father excused you from him for a little while to meet some of his friends and important people in the field of motorsports. and so, it happened.

“y/n, you remember george?” your father asked after you hugged lewis and thanked him. you faced toto and george, smiling at the tall british that stood in front of you. “he’s driving with us starting this season. george, this is my daughter, y/n.”

it was born from just one single glance - the moment george saw you walk down that red carpet, his eyes never left you. even during the moment where you kissed mason in the middle of the room.

“it’s a real pleasure to meet you, y/n wolff.” he said, extending his hand towards you. you held his hand, shaking it lightly as you started into his eyes. you didn’t know it yet, but those same eyes would be the reason why your life would change in a few months' time. and it was only when you felt a hand creep on your waist that you let go of his hand.

“george, this is y/n boyfriend, mason. you may have know him, he’s—”

“a player for england and chelsea, yes, toto… i know.” george chuckles, offering his hand to mason which your boyfriend also shook.

mason made a conversation with george and your father for a little while, and you join them every now and then. you couldn’t help but notice the little glances that george would throw at you especially when mason caressed his hand on your waist.

maybe it was nothing or maybe he was glancing at someone towards your direction. maybe time even stopped when your eyes met each other, and he smiled. the type of smile you didn’t know the meaning behind.

“y/n, y/n!” you heard jack call, finally cutting the eye contact tension between you and george. “look at this! isn’t it cool?”

jack was showing you a toy that mason apparently bought him when toto invited him at home to plan your surprise party. mason loved your little brother, besides winning your, your father and stepmom’s heart, mason also won the heart of jack. after listening to your brother explain how the toy worked, you stood up and looked around. george was out of your sight, but he was somewhere in the room, staring at the clueless you.

weird, you thought and immediately brushed it off as people approached you once again to congratulate you.

—

not all relationships are perfect. you and mason were deeply in love with each other that in the timeline of your relationship, fights rarely occurred. as you would joke then, you were busy with university and he was busy with football. both of you are so busy that you need to schedule your fights. but it happened one night.

you couldn’t even remember what the fight was about, but it escalated quickly. one thing leading to another. all the frustrations you had, all the pent-up anger from the inside — all of that are released as you yell your lungs out of each other. that’s how you ended up in a club. the only place you thought of going to after you stormed off from your shared house. as always, clubs were filled with people. it was a real challenge to walk from the entrance to the bar and order yourself a drink. after what felt like eternity, you take the drink from the bartender and joined the ocean of people on the dancefloor.

one drink led to uncountable shots and the next thing you knew; you were out of the club and headed somewhere nearby. hand in hand with a stranger, you entered the room and your lips crashed with his. tongues fighting for dominance and hands busy undoing each other’s clothes. “do you still want to continue?” he asks.

“you’ve already undressed me, so what the hell are you waiting for?”

and so, that’s how your night ended. in a house somewhere, with clothes scattered on the floor and a stranger next to you.

i’m fucked. you thought, as your eyes flutter open, irritated by the sun hitting your face so early in the morning. you blink once, twice, thrice. you jolt up once you realise that you weren’t in the comfort of your own four walls. instead, you were in a foreign place, naked in bed. please let it be mason, please… you thought, slowly turning your head to check the person next to you. i am indeed fucked.

george fucking russell was lying in bed, next to you, naked. panicking, you got off the bed, trying to pull the blanket with you to cover yourself as you planned to gather your clothes but failed as you woke the driver due to the tugging. he opened one eye, and you froze on the spot.

“hi,” was all you could say, taking your clothes and rushed to the bathroom.

i cheated… fucking hell, i cheated. i was drunk and i cheated. your mind kept repeating and repeating that same sentence as you stood in the bathroom. as much guilt consumed you like a raging monster, you managed to dress yourself and splashed water on your face to wake you up. mason, you thought. looking for your phone, only to realise that it wasn’t in your pockets and so are your keys.

after minutes that felt like eternity, you mustered the courage to get out of the bathroom. george was dressed up and was waiting for you on the bed, on his phone as if nothing had happened between the two of you last night.

“i—uh, i have to go.” you say when you saw your phone and car keys. you bit your lip and faced george. “please don’t say anything to dad… and uh mason. whatever happened between us was a mistake and,” you take a deep breath, “we were drunk, i was drunk. i—”

“what happens between us, stays between us.” says george.

the drive to your shared place that usually only takes 20 minutes, turned to an hour and a half. you’ve been driving around, trying to grasp what had happened. trying to figure out whether to tell mason or not. tears were blurring your vision by the time you parked on your usual spot, you knew that once you got out of the car and come home, mason would be on the couch. waiting for you as he tells you that he attempted to cook your favourite dish that your mom used to cook for you every time you were upset. it was the routine that you and mason did whenever fights occurred.

dragging your feet to the front door, you open the door and find mason, not on the couch but standing on the way. he was waiting for you with open arms, ready to take you in. he expected that you’d run to him, but you fell to your knees and sobbed uncontrollably.

“shh, pretty girl…” his nickname made your heart drop to your stomach, not the kind that made you smile, but the kind that made you feel guilty. mason lowered himself and pulled you to his chest, gently rubbing your back as you stained his shirt with your tears. “i’m sorry we fought last night. i’m sorry for raising my voice at you, everything that i’ve said was wrong and i never meant them. i’m sorry, baby.”

“m-mase…” you sob, “i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay, pretty girl.” he runs his fingers through your hair, “it’s okay, please don’t cry anymore. i hate seeing you cry, love.”

“it’s not okay,” you sniff, “it’s not okay, it’ll never be okay.”

mason sighs, planting a kiss on top of your head and let you cry in his arms. the two of you stayed on the foyer until you cried out. when you stopped, your boyfriend suggested that you take a bath to calm yourself. no amount of soap and shampoo and no number of showers and baths can wash away the guilt off your body. it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve cheated on mason, not with a random man, but with a man that’s close to your father.

“all good, pretty girl?” mason peeked his head on the bathroom door, waking you from reverie. you nod your head lightly and watch him walk towards you and sit on the edge of the tub. you look at him, studying his features and mason was all confused, but was smiling at you. “is there something on my face?”

“no… just, admiring you.” lies. you were figuring out a way to confess to him.

he chuckles, “well, admiring me has a price. and it just cost you a bunch of kisses.”

mason leans down, fingers under your chin as his face gets closer to yours. when your lips touch, the memories of last night run back like a flash. it was wrong to kiss your boyfriend with the lips that kissed a different man, and the feeling of guilt came back again.

—

“why not come with me for this year’s season?” toto asked you. you stopped chewing your food and gulped, “it’s been years since you’ve last visited the garage, you told me you wanted a year break before you start working. why not come with me? think of it as travelling.”

“it’s not travelling if she’s going to spend it with you in the garage, honey.” susie laughed, “but what do you think, y/n?”

“i—” you think for a few seconds, “i’ll think about it.”

“oh, what’s there to think about?”

“i at least should discuss it with mason, dad. i mean i do want to show up at his matches, wouldn’t want to miss those.” i just want to avoid george so bad.

your dad chuckles, “i already talked to mason, he said it’ll be fine if you miss a few!”

“but—”

the 2022 season started. you’ve tried so hard to avoid george at all times.

but it was hard now that you’re travelling with your father and attending race weekends with him after years of being absent in the paddock and the garage. toto was glad to have you back with him, it wasn’t easy to convince you but he managed to do so.

and as much as you wanted to avoid george, he was like a drug that you can never get rid of. the stolen glances in the garage while you stood next to your father, the stolen kisses every time you’ve crossed each other’s paths in secluded places, the full blown make out session that sometimes leads to sex whenever he’s travelling alone. during the summer break, he visited your place not once, but several times. it got to the point where you slept on the same bed mason was sleeping during the nights you spend together. your clandestine meetings continued whenever mason stayed over at your place.

“wouldn’t want them to find out about us, wouldn’t we, hmm?” george says, pinning you against the wall before crashing his lips to yours.

george russell was a drug, and you were an addict. a godforsaken mess.

the confrontation between you and mason happened right after their 2-1 defeat with france in the world cup. all he wanted right after was to rest, but as soon as he held his phone in his hand, a notification from an old friend popped up followed by a message that said: “this might not be the right time after your match, but i think you have to see this”. curiously (and intuitively), even though he wanted to ignore it, he clicked the link that led him to a post on instagram. an account named dramaformula with your name on the caption tied with george’s.

it seemed like it was a picture from months ago. mason knew that you’ve crossed paths with george when you went to a girls’ trip in mallorca over the summer break. he read and reread the caption multiple times, staring at the picture and trying to see if it were really you. you see, mason knew you like the back of his hand. he knew every curve, every side, every spot of your body after years of dating. just by looking at the photos, he knew that it was indeed you.

you were pacing back and forth inside the hotel you two shared after receiving a message from mason that you’ve read in his angry voice that said “we need to talk” with no message followed. you’ve been nervously biting your nails as you wait impatiently and your heart skipped a beat or two when the door finally opened and revealed mason who dropped his bag by the door and stared at you deadpan.

“mase—”

“was it true?”

you knew what he was talking about. your friend also sent the post to you, and you’ve seen it even before he did. “do you trust me—”

“was it true, yes or no?”

you gulped, unable to find the words to answer him. mason repeated his question, this time in a much louder voice and a harsher tone. you’ve never seen him this mad before, nor has he used a harsh tone on you. “answer me.”

“n-no…” you lied, biting your lip as you tried to stop yourself from crying. “mason, i could never do that to you… i would never cheat on you.”

“are you telling me the truth?”

i’m not. “i am.” you lie again, “it is true that george and i were seen together, but—we didn’t do anything. we talked, and that’s it. i’ve never and i would never touch any other man other than you.” you walked until you were in front of mason, eyes staring at each other as you touched his face, “it’s only you, baby. so, please trust me.”

mason hugged you tighter than ever that night, refusing to let you go as you two cuddled in bed. he let the situation die down for a few days and confidently posted you again on his instagram, followed by george’s post with his girlfriend that made your names on twitter trend for at least two days. you had sleepless days, watching mason sleep as you found yourself guilty of lying to him again.

tonight, was no different from the previous nights.

“where are you going?” asked mason, one eye open as he watched you pull the same hoodie you use every time you meet up with george.

you walk towards his side of the bed, sitting on its edge and ran your fingers through his hair gently. “i’ll just go to the store really quick, have to buy feminine stuff—it’s that time of the month.” you lied, “just rest here. i know you’ve had a long day; i’ll be quick.”

“i can come with you to the store—”

“no, mase. i promise, i’ll be quick, and i’ll be fine alone. you need to rest.”

“you sure?” he asked, and you nodded in response. “okay, take care. i love you.”

you bit your lip, a bit hesitant to speak. “i… i love you too, mase. so much.” you place a kiss on his lips, watching him get comfortable under the blankets. “bye for now, masey.”

and that night was the last night mason last saw you.

and when morning comes, mason would find the breakup letter you’ve written.

dramaformula

liked by user1, user2, user3 and others

dramaformula it’s been almost a month and a half since y/n posted anything on her instagram page. and today, with almost 900k followers, y/n wolff deleted all her posts, removes her bio and unfollows all 354 following—including boyfriend and football athlete, mason mount. what’s happening? what’s the tea? does this have something to do with the previous rumour that she and george were touchy during the trip in mallorca? what happened between y/n and mason? george and y/n? george and carmen? 👀

view all 2,726 comments

user1 if they (y/n and mason) broke up, maybe people like you who keep on spreading rumours are one of the reasons why

user2 agreed 💀

user3 and if they really did break up, it’s none of our business tbh and they don’t owe us anything—not even an update about their relationship lol

user4 girl, ain’t you a f1 fanpage? whg are you posting this lol

user5 according to op, y/n is ‘technically’ part of f1 bc she’s toto’s daughter and was once linked with george during the summer trip in mallorca

user6 this is embarrassing 🫠 just delete the post

user7 no cuz it really is suspicious... mason hasn’t uploaded anything as well and they usually spend the holidays together but this year, no posts about it 🫤

carmenmmundt

liked by f1, mercedesamgf1, georgerussell63, lilymhe and others

carmenmmundt they say all’s well that ends well to end up with you ❤️

view all 2,865 comments

lilymhe omg!! i’m so happy for you two!! x

f1 congratulations, georgerussell63 and carmenmmundt! 💍

mercedesamgf1 well this is BIG NEWS! the beginning of happily ever after 🔔👰

masonmount

liked by fan1, fan2, fan3 and others

masonmount i miss you so much, pretty girl. i hope youre doing well wherever you are right now.

view all 1,862 comments

fan1 what the fuck

fan2 MASON R U DRUNK

fan3 SO DID THEY RLY BREAK UP

fan4 WHERES Y/N THEN OMG

[THIS POST HAS BEEN DELETED]

#george russell x reader #mason mount x reader #george russell imagine #mason mount imagine #f1 x reader #football x reader #f1 instagram au #football instagram au #f1 imagine #football imagine

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bookmyride01 · 1 month ago

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hyakqatar · 3 months ago

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caesium-55 · 8 months ago

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a few things that i had cut down from the chapters but i still wish for everyone to know:

• max fell first, reader fell harder.

• max learned to speak spanish for reader. reader learned to speak dutch for max. they never told each other.

• what's inside reader's totebag? a face towel, an extra dri fit shirt for max, two water bottles, a burn cream, a medicine box, her phone, her ipad, her lipstick, and a red bull ball cap just in case max lost his.

• reader's favorite driver is ayrton senna.

• reader is good at math but sucks at geology and geography. max is good at geography but sucks at math.

• reader and carlos talk to each other a lot in spanish but wouldn't consider each other friends.

• reader is a dog person. max is a cat person. this caused a bit of debate between the two.

• leo is the biggest reader-max shipper. he ends up dating a racer. (guess who)

• reader follows nando in tiktok. max downloaded tiktok so he can see reader's vids.

• the real reason max knows the reader's foot size: he used his hand to estimate the size while she was sleeping, marking it up with a pen and then measured his hand with a ruler to know the numerical measurement.

• max listens to el alfa in his car even if he's driving alone.

• max realized that he was in love with reader after she opened a bottle of heineken with her mouth. reader realized she was in love with max after he got his hand stuck in a pringles can.

• during the no-contact period of max and reader, there was a time that charles called her cell to personally ask if she can come and get max when the world champion had broken down in tears, drunk as fuck. the ferrari driver was very stressed. sadly, you didn't pick up as you were busy but the desperate voicemails charles left made you snort.

• there was a total of 999+ messages from max and 981 missed calls during the no-contact period.

• max never hired a manager again. he learned how to become his own manager, using the incomplete guide reader left him at the apartment in monaco.

• there was a scene post-qatar race 2023 where reader screamed at a journalist who wanted to interview max while he was so dehydrated and about to pass out in the heat. lando joked about wanting to have her as a manager and asked her when her contract with red bull was up. max glared at him.

• reader is friends with most of grid's wags.

• reader loved max but was full of resentment and selfloathing because she couldn't reach her dreams which was not very healthy. after her dad died, she slowly learned to let the resentment and self-loathing go.

• damiano died 🥹 he told the reader that she owned her life and her dreams. papa julio was not the owner of her life nor her dreams. he was just someone who played a part in inspiring them.

• the reader doesn't watch the races anymore because she knows max will win. usually, she spends this time doing other things. max still thinks that she's watching so he keeps pushing himself in the tracks in hopes that it will impress her.

• leo and max competed in f3 around the same time, however, max didn't recognize him. around this time, leo had lost interest in karting and had dropped out of the team mid-year.

• for their first official date, reader brought max to the kartzone where julio brought sally years ago, too. they rented the entire place and raced each other until evening.

• they began officially dating in 2027 and got married at 2029.

• max adored living in your abuelo and abuela's farm in el paso. he and the reader's abuela spend every afternoon baking.

• max liked watching the baby chicks and duckies waddling around. he picked a favorite duck and named it mr. mario van duck.

• marc marquez was a guest at the private wedding. rafael and dominic almost fainted when they saw him.

• reader wore max's custom made shoe on your wedding

• he still plays sim racing a lot that reader has to pull him off the computer forcefully at times the same way sally pulls julio off the tv when he's still wide awake watching the f1 live broadcast at the ass crack of dawn.

• logan is emiliana's god father. charles still holds a grudge about this. alex saintmleux is her god mother. leo is her race engineer.

• the name emiliana was derived from max's second name—emilian—and it means to strive or excel or rival. reader was the one who chose this name. max chose julia to pay tribute to julio.

• emiliana always wore heels and ball caps.

• emiliana is her mother appearance-wise but is her father personality-wise. she also has beef going on with the social media team and avoids it at all cost. she kept a private life and doesn't entertain questions that are not related to racing. she has neither confirmed nor denied the rumors that she's related to max verstappen and people speculate that she's a daughter of one of the former WDC's half brothers, considering that they hold very little facial resemblance.

• emiliana has a younger brother named damian charles. it's supposed to be damian leonardo after damiano and leo stark but max had enough with his sulking best friend. he's a pool player.

• if reader wasn't forced to stop karting, she would have still met max—not as a manager but as a fellow racer.

—seven days [ epilogue ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

warnings: mentions of death and suicide.

author's note: here's the epilogue and the end end of the seven days series. thank you everyone for showing love to this fic! i was honestly so overwhelmed by the sheer amount of all of you. also, i apologize for all the broken hearts i caused after posting chapters 4-7. stay safe yall! i'll rest my fingers for real now. my doctor wasn't very happy with me. NOT BETA READ. NOT EDITED.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal @landorris @onecojg @leclercdream @vicurious28 @c-losur3 @spookystitchery @0710khj @strollnstroll @justab-eautifulmess @ssrcsm @seasonswinter @kravitzwhore @mycure156 i hope i didn't forget anyone

Julio [Name] was not an ambitious person. He didn't have dreams or concrete plans in life. But in 2001, his first dream was born. He wanted to be an F1 racer after reading about the 2001 Australian Grand Prix in a local newspaper where he saw a Spanish racer even younger than him participate in it. Fernando Alonso was the racer’s name, seventeen years old. At that time, Julio [Name] was twenty-one.

He immediately searched for the nearest karting track. He brought his then girlfriend, Sally Kingston, a dental student in USC, to the kart zone for their date. It was safe to say that driving was not exactly his forte. He crashed his rental kart and had to pay the damages. He was afraid that he made himself a loser in front of the Sally Kingston, the richest, prettiest, and nicest girl from L.A., and that she wouldn't wanna go out with a bumpkin like him anymore, but she had only laughed at him—her eyes turning into little crescents, showing too much teeth and gums—and from then and there, he knows he’s going to marry Sally Kingston one day. He might not have become a F1 driver, but he ended up marrying the girl of his dreams.

Him and Sally welcomed a son in 1991. They named him Damiano and he turned out to be a carbon copy of his beloved wife, not that Julio was complaining. When Damiano turned five, Julio brought him in the kart zone and let him try driving the kart. Damiano adored it so Julio signed him up for racing school. Three weekends later, Damiano got sick of driving around in circles so he stopped. Sally gave birth to a daughter in the same year—1996.

Five years later, he brings [Name], his mija, into the kart zone. He expected that you’ll be like Damiano, too, getting sick of the thing after three weekends or so. You didn't. You loved karting and going fast, almost dangerously so. You lasted five weekends so Julio signed you up for the kart zone’s junior racing school and you were their first female member. You won your first race when you were six, only seven months after you officially joined.

“She was born to race,” the team head told Julio. Julio then decided that he’d do whatever it takes so you could become a F1 driver.

Like his initial dream, his dream for you couldn't be brought to reality. When you were nine, you had to stop karting for financial reasons. Damiano was in high school, Rafael had leukemia, and Dominic had just been born. When Julio told you the news, you were sad but you understood why the decision was made so you never complained. You learned how to play billiards instead and your Abuelo was the one who taught you. It's cheaper than karting so Sally and Julio gave you their full support.

Julio [Name] was pleasantly surprised when you told him that you got accepted in USC’s engineering department years later. He half expected that you’d be like Damiano, who took an interest in dentistry, and was attending dental school. He was going to be a dentist like his mother. He was a perfect copy of Sally.

“If I can't be a racer, I’ll become a mechanical engineer,” you declared, head held high. Julio couldn't be anymore proud. You were living his dream.

If you asked Julio [Name] if he had lived a happy life despite not reaching his dreams, he would say yes without hesitation. He married the love of his life, Sally Kingston, now Sally [Last Name]. His first son, Damiano, had topped dental school and followed in his mother’s footsteps. His daughter, [Name], graduated with flying colors, a mechanical engineering degree under her belt and entered the motorsports industry, the first in the family to do so. (You even got him Fernando Alonso’s autograph!) Not only that, she volunteered at the LAFD during her college years and competed in a billiards tournament in Vegas, Australia, and the UK. You had the potential to be an international-level pool player but you didn't pursue the sport because you wanted to be an engineer. Rafael didn't let leukemia beat him and now, he’s finishing up his last year in CalTech, pursuing mechanical engineering like his older sister. A research team in Sweden had been eyeing him for a while now. Dominic, on the other hand, is steadily building a career for himself in volleyball. He was offered a sports scholarship in Harvard so, despite the fact that he’s going even farther than his siblings with no relatives near him like in L.A., Julio pushed him to pursue what he wanted. His children are his pride and joy. He spent every single day bragging about his children to his colleagues. The others had expressed their envy to him. Did Julio save a country in his last life to have such great children?

Furthermore, he’d been promoted to be the captain of Station 131 in Austin. Julio may not have driven an F1 car but he wouldn't even trade this family over anything in this world, not even the life of luxury and thrill of a Formula One Driver.

(What Julio didn't know was that Damiano had serious depression in dental school that he carried even after graduating, that you weren't accepted as an engineer in F1 and was stuck in a managerial position for the last five years, that Sweden found a better researcher than Rafael so he’s stuck suffering physically and mentally in a degree with his future unclear and cloudy, and Dominic was slowly losing passion in volleyball but it's the only thing putting him through college right now so he grits his teeth and put himself on court. No one told Julio. Julio got enough of his dreams broken already.)

Truthfully, despite working for Red Bull for half a decade, you never liked its taste. You were always the Monster Energy type of girl. It's the one drink that kept you functioning through all the all-nighters you pulled in engineering school. However, you kind of lost the palate for Monster Energy so now, here you are, standing outside a gas station mini mart in the middle of the dusty highway that leads to El Paso. You hold the chilled can of Red Bull against the side of your neck, satisfied with the feeling of something cool pressing against your skin. The temperature in Texas is going absolutely crazy this time of the year. In your other hand, two cigarette sticks balance in between your fingers. You crave the deadly nicotine. Desperately. But you're not stupid enough to smoke at a gas station because of your cravings.

Your phone vibrates and you pull it out of your pocket to see who messaged you. You snicker when you view the barrage of pictures from the Austin Grand Prix that Leo sent. A stolen shot of Logan, meme faces of Alex, the air show, a selfie with THE Fernando Alonso, and a Tiktok video with the other Williams mechanics.

You watched the race from the stands today and truthfully, you prefer watching the race in the garage than on the stands. It's unbelievably boring to be there. People pay thousands of dollars to sit under the excruciating heat of the sun and catch a glimpse of very fast cars for a nanosecond. You wouldn't even catch sight of if you blink. Nevertheless, you're happy that Leo is having the time of his life. You wish you share the same shoes.

leo: so so sad that u have to go

you: id be flattered if u actually mean it

leo: *rolling eyes emoji*

leo: i hope you choke on your beer

you: i hope you choke on the celebratory champagne

you: and i dont drink and drive

leo: good to know ur not stupid

leo: on a serious note make sure to drive to el paso safely

you: aight aight

leo: u know i have something to confess

you: if it's something stupid, don't bother

leo: ur stupid

you: fuck u

leo: shut up

leo: just wanna say i didn't break up with u bc u gave max too much attention

leo: i know that's what i said but i only said that bc i knew that u needed max to achieve ur dreams

leo: and idk i just thought max wouldn't give it to u not when im still dating u

you: that's stupid

you: max isn't like that

leo: hes in love with u

Your heart stutters. You ignore it.

you: liar

leo: i could tell u lil shit

leo: idk he looked like someone who’d hold a grudge

you: he does hold grudges

leo: and i cant allow myself to stand in between you and the one person who can give you your dream you know?

leo: i loved you enough to let you go to him

You choke on your saliva. You don't love Leo romantically anymore and you are sure that the feelings are mutual but his abrupt confession is enough to bring back the pain of loving him and letting him go all over again.

leo: u sure u won’t stay to see him?

leo: he’s the one who wants to see you the most

you: his ig messages makes me think otherwise

You're a fucking coward. A pussy.

leo: you didn't see the man [name]

leo: you don't know how empty he looks now

A shadow of guilt darkens your eyes. You quickly shove your phone into the pocket of your jacket. You open the Red Bull and take a large swig, almost draining the entire can. You exhale loudly after drinking, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You stare at the vast expanse of the dry earth before you, starting to understand the appeal of aimless road trips in the southern roads.

The world seems to be turning in slow motion now.

Ever since your father died, time feels like it was moving too fast. You arrived at the hospital half an hour after Julio was officially pronounced dead. At that time, you felt like the world was ending. Your knees gave out in the middle of the hospital hallway. Your mother’s wail echoed in your ears. Damiano and Dominic were trying to console her, both of whom were crying terribly. You stare at them, face empty despite the hurricane brewing within you. Rafael wrapped his arms around you and you held onto him as he cried uncontrollably.

Your mother possessed a weak heart. She’d grown weaker and weaker day by day after your father passed. Your father’s station held a ceremony for him to pay tribute to their fallen captain. You were the one who carried his helmet all throughout the ceremony because the entire station knew you were his most prized child. When you flipped the helmet, there was a photo taped on it. A photo of the entire family at your graduation ceremony in USC. You maintained that tired and empty stare during the entire procession. In the middle of the ceremony, your mother collapsed.

Your father’s death was the first domino to be tipped. Your mother’s collapse during the funeral was the second. From then on, everything turned to shit. Your mother had always been frail and prone to sickness so it didn’t surprise you when she had grown so weak in a matter of days. She couldn't sleep. She didn't want to eat. She lost her will to do anything else. You took her to the hospital after a week because you were afraid she was beginning to become malnourished. Damiano suggested moving your mother to El Paso, to your Abuelo and Abuela’s farm, so your mother could recuperate there, and you agreed. The entire family moved to El Paso quickly, leaving the house in Vista Del Pueblo empty and celebrated the New Year there.

You opened your phone for the first time since you landed in ATX on the 30th and a barrage of messages had been sent to you. From Daniel, Logan, Leo, Kendall, Julia. You freeze when you see Max’s name. Your finger hovers above it, hesitating. Your mind trailed back to the five years you spent in Red Bull, to all the memories with Max in it, to what happened inside his penthouse in Monaco, the jet, the night you spent in his sheets, the shoes and—

Fuck.

“Kelly,” you mumbled to yourself, typing her username in the search box. You began typing up a message. You're not mentally equipped to write a long message of apology. Your mental dictionary was not ready to use so you decided to half ass the entire message and hope for the best.

you: sorry about the breakup

you: i didn't know about the shoes

you: i didn't take it

you: im so sorry

you: i hope you're not too hurt

In truth, you loved Kelly for Max. You never had problems with her. At first, you were concerned about the great age gap between her and Max as she was even older than Danny but then you figured that you did not have a say because Leo was also younger than you, born in the same year as Max. Then, you saw how she was so caring to Max, so patient in dealing with his misplaced anger, so supportive. You saw how Max transformed into a better version of himself, something you are not even capable of doing, because of Penelope and Kelly. How he became the world's most massive girl dad without trying. You ignored every bitter feeling that sprouted on your chest because you saw Max was happy and his happiness always came first. And now, you’re here, apologizing to Kelly for taking Max away from her.

kelly: i think i’m the one who’s been taking him from you

kelly: take care of him for me

you: thank you for loving him

You can't imagine how hurt Kelly was. Imagine dating and preparing a man so he could be perfect for another girl.

you: but i can’t do what you're asking

you: not anymore

“Not anymore,” you whisper to yourself, as if uttering it to the wind would cement it as the truth.

Not anymore, Max. I’m sorry.

Rafael and Dominic told you that they want to drop out of college to help you out with Mama a few days after New Year’s. You quickly told them no, to finish college and that you could handle taking care of two senior citizens and your sickly mother and help out on the farm since you’re essentially jobless at the moment.

The third domino is Damiano. You were always aware he’d been clinically depressed, taking medications to help him get better. Whatever he went through in dental school, he carried it with him until he was working. You believed he was getting better. He was seeing a therapist for years now and you were checking up on him every day. Then, like Mama, he just…. became worse. Rafael found him submerged in the bathtub in his apartment, red painting his wrists. Had Rafael not been there at the right time, Damiano would have followed Papa Julio.

The fourth domino is Dominic. He ruined his hand in March. The doctor told him it was dangerous for him to continue playing volleyball competitively. It was either he learned how to set with only his non-dominant hand because his dominant hand is partially crippled or he stopped playing all together. He’d choose the second option with no hesitation as he had lost his passion for the sport but if he’s not playing for Harvard anymore, no one would be able to pay his fees until graduation. Not when Julio died, not when Sally was too sick to continue working, not when Damiano was currently unstable, not when you’re the only one who had been supporting the entire family through your entire savings account. Red Bull must have paid you a lot of money because you’ve been keeping the entire family afloat for months now.

The fifth domino is Rafael, who got his entire thesis overhauled so now, his graduation was out of the picture. It sucked. He’d always been expected to follow his older siblings’ footsteps, both of whom are academically excelling individuals and Rafael had been studying and studying and studying. So why was this happening to him? Why was this happening to his family?

The sixth domino was yet to be tipped over.

You refuse to fall.

You blink, suddenly back in reality when you hear a loud caw of a bird flying above your head. You shake your head, tossing the Red Bull in a nearby trash can and returning inside the mini mart. The amount of caffeine in a Red Bull isn’t enough. You need more. You need fucking coffee.

Gas station coffee sucks but you’re never the type who complains. El Paso is still eight hours away and you’re sure you're going to be driving your motorcycle the entire night just to reach the farm the next morning.

You walked towards the Yamaha XSR 155 parked in front of the mini-mart, a styro cup of coffee that’s as black as your soul and as bitter as your life in your hand. Hypnotizing swirls of steam rise from the cup. In each step you take, the key that is attached to your hip jingles.

It's a little past four in the afternoon but the darkness of the sky makes you think it's around six PM. You pocket your cigarettes and stand beside your motorcycle, hand on your hip while the other brings the cup of coffee to your mouth. A car suddenly arrives, coming to a screeching halt in front of you. You flinch in surprise, almost spilling your coffee in your hands. You hiss loudly, brows furrowing, a curse sitting on the tip of your tongue. You hear the sound of a car door opening and slamming shut and when you look up—

“Max.”

He’s still in his Red Bull overalls, drenched in sweat as if he ran to the gas station instead of driving. His hair is windswept, sticking out in multiple directions almost attractively so. He looks simultaneously distraught and relieved when your eyes met. The longing in his eyes. God. You unconsciously take a step back and turn around—a flight response—when he charges in your direction.

A strong pair of arms wrap around you from behind, stopping you from your tracks and causing your coffee to spill and fall down pathetically on the floor. You avoided the puddle, hands reaching behind you to guide Max away from the steaming liquid. But it’s too late. You saw the hot coffee touch his skin.

“Max!” you exclaim, eyes going wide. Your hand wraps around his forearm, pulling it but his grip on you tightens so you resort to tapping his arm in hopes that he’ll let go and you can inspect his injured hand and make a quick run for the mini mart for first-aid supplies.

“Max, let go,” you say, panicking. “Your hand—”

“Don’t leave,” his voice cracks.

“I won't go, okay? Let go and I’ll—”

“No,” the hug tightens and you suck in a breath. “You’ll leave again. I know you’ll leave again.”

“I’ll fix your hand. You can’t burn your hand—”

“I can endure it. Let me have this please,” he pleads. You pull his hand but Max remains stubborn. Resigned, you sigh. It turns out that you’re still the same, giving whatever Max wanted.

“I’m sorry for getting angry,” he begins. “I’m sorry for stopping you from going to Renault. I’m sorry for promising that I’d talk to Christian. I’m sorry that I didn't. I’m sorry that you had to break up with Leo because of me. I’m sorry that I realized that I fell in love with you while dating Kelly. I’m sorry for the shoes. I’m sorry for getting drunk. I’m sorry for being so selfish. I’m sorry for not considering you. I’m sorry for loving you. I’m so, so sorry, [Name]. For everything.”

His words come rapidly and frankly, you don't want to hear Max like this. Max rarely apologizes. You're not used to hearing him apologize.

“Max—”

“I called, [Name].”

You freeze.

“I called so many times. Not once have you answered. Not once—” a loud sob erupts from his mouth, interrupting him. “You always come when I call.”

You close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

“I sent you a message,” he continues. “To wait for me. I know I’m selfish but can I have five minutes please? Just….five?”

A pause.

“Okay,” you whisper. Max’s body trembles against yours and you stand still for a few minutes,

“Hey,” you say gently, suddenly reminded that you're standing in an open space and Max is still in his Red Bull overalls and he doesn't even have his usual cap on and this compromising situation you're both in was going to be bad for Max’s online reputation once the wrong pair of eyes manage to catch sight of you. You can already imagine what the headlines would be.

MAX VERSTAPPEN AND HIS FORMER MANAGER CAUGHT HUGGING IN A GASOLINE STATION AFTER AUSTIN GP.

MAX VERSTAPPEN AND FORMER RED BULL MANAGER IN A RELATIONSHIP?

FORMER RED BULL MANAGER POTENTIAL REASON FOR BREAKUP BETWEEN KELLY PIQUET AND MAX VERSTAPPEN?

MAX VERSTAPPEN CHEATED ON KELLY PIQUET WITH FORMER MANAGER?

MAX VERSTAPPEN, FULL-TIME WORLD TIME CHAMPION, PART-TIME CHEATING ASSHOLE.

God. You can already imagine the headache splitting the entire PR team’s skulls. The world already hates Max because of how good he was at his sport. You can’t allow people to shit on him more because of you.

“Max,” you try again, tapping his forearm so he can loosen his hold on you and you can turn around. “Max, baby, cooperate with me for a bit, yeah?”

You tug on his wrist and you can't help but sigh in relief when his arms loosen a little. He’s beginning to choke you a little bit. With his arms still around you, you pivot on your heels so you’re face-to-face with his broad chest.

When you look up to Max’s face, your heart shatters into a million pieces. His tears continue to flow and violent sobs wrack his entire body, robbing him of the ability to speak and barely allowing a breath to be drawn. He’s going to hyperventilate. Fucking dammit.

“Max,” how many times have you said his name in the last few minutes? “Hey, breathe with me.”

Your hand cradles his jaw and your eyes focused on his blue ones and fuck, they’re as insanely beautiful as you remembered.

“Breathe.”

You perform exaggerated inhales and exhales so Max can match your breaths, his hands settling on your shoulders. His palms feel heavy against your shoulders and his fingers dig deep into your skin.

“I’m here, Champ. I’m here,” you assure him. “I’m here now.”

You wait until he calms down a little and when he does, your right hand searches for his, intertwining your fingers together to assure him that you’re not going anywhere just yet. Your other hand comes up to hold the area below his neck and you slowly guide him back to his car. It’s a little difficult, Max obviously has no intention to let you go, but you know how to make things work.

Max sits on the driver's seat with you standing outside of the car. He's still clinging onto your hand and you use the other hand to hold the roof of the car for support. Max stopped crying now, staring blankly at you with a sad pout on his face. His tears are now dry, staining his cheeks.

“You okay now, Champ?” you ask, never failing to sound gentle. That's what Max needs now. Gentleness. God forbid you pull a Jos Verstappen.

Max shakes his hand, making you sigh deeply. Your eyes trail to the hands, the pale skin now an angry red.

“Max,” you call his attention. He looks up at you and you have to avoid his gaze because if you look at his face, your heart hurts. “I’ll get something from the mini-mart for your burn, aight?”

He shakes his head and his grip on your hand impossibly tightens. If he keeps this up, he’s going to break your bones.

“No.”

If you were the same person that you were in 2023, you would have let Max do what he wanted. What Max wanted, what Max shall get—that’s the philosophy you lived by. But things are different now. Leo told you that you’re allowing Max to take too much from you and Max needs to learn to actually listen to you.

You’ve been taught to treat even the most minor of burns as if it’s a major burn. That's what you are planning to do right now.

“Max,” you say, a little firmer now. “Gonna grab somethin’ in the mart real quick, you stay here, aight?”

“No—”

“Not askin’, Champ,” you interrupt him. “I'm not leavin’ yet, not goin’ anywhere until I make sure you’re okay. So stay here and wait.”

You swiftly remove the key attached to your belt and force it into his palm, “Here are my keys. I’m not goin’ to drive off and leave you here, aight? Do you trust me?”

You have a feeling that this anxiety of his might have stemmed from that one incident in his childhood where Jos left him at a gas station. Fucking son of a bitch that man was.

Hesitantly, Max says, “I do.”

“Good,” you ruffle his hair, dampening your palm.

You can see he does not like what you're doing now but he does not have any choice so he sits in the car, looking as pitiful as ever. You jog up to the mini-mart, immediately going to the beverage section to grab a bottle of water and passing by the hygiene shelf to snatch a handkerchief. You go to the counter and the middle aged guy manning the register obviously does not look impressed that you’re in his shop for the third time in the same hour, which is stupid because he should be glad that he has a customer. You put everything on the counter, pulling out some bills from your back pocket.

“You happen to have neosporin?” you ask.

“Do we look like a drug store?” he retorts. You roll your eyes, toss the bills to the cashier, and grab your items without even waiting for the guy to wrap them all up in a paper bag. You jog back to Max’s car.

“Excuse me,” you lean inside the car, opening the compartment to search for a burn cream you left inside there last year. Your eyes land on his keys, stiffening when you notice that Max kept every single gift you gave him. The bead keychain from 2020, the bottle opener keychain from 2021, the clay figure keychain from 2022, and the bracelet from 2023 sway slightly, staring back at you. You shake your head and resume doing your original mission. You find the burn cream and you immediately search for the expiration date. January 2025; it’s still good to use.

You straighten, take hold of Max’s wrist gently, and roll up his long sleeves up to his elbows. You open the water bottle and tug Max’s hand towards you so he won't get water on his car as you pour water on his burn. Once the bottle is nearly empty, you apply the cream on the reddened area of his skin. Then, you use the handkerchief, which you dampen using the leftover water, to dress it.

Max is silent the entire ordeal, watching you work your way meticulously and carefully around his hand. The same meticulousness one can expect from a former firefighter paramedic volunteer.

You step back to inspect your work, but Max’s hand stretches out towards you, grabbing the hem of your jacket.

“Sorry,” he says and yet you see his knuckles slowly turning white, which makes you unsure if he truly is apologetic or not. “Just…yeah, sorry. Can you stay for a while please?”

“Have to leave soon,” you say. “El Paso’s still hours away. I have to be there by morning.”

He nods, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, “Okay.”

“Thirty minutes, Max,” you decide. “Thirty minutes.”

You pull out your phone from your pocket to check the time and see the multiple notification bars. You type the password and direct to the message app to see the flurry of messages Max sent earlier. You have not noticed them.

max: i heard you came

max: where are you

max: please

max: can you give me ten minutes

max: just

max: please

max: wait for me

max: i’m not angry anymore

max: im begging you

max: or five minutes [name] im okay with just five

max: or even less

max: i just need to see you

“Who told you I was here?” you question, brows knitting together. There are currently two names in your head. They both start with the letter L and they both work at Williams.

“Leo called me and told me you were here.”

“Of course he did,” you roll your eyes. Logan will never dare betray you like this. You made Leo promise not to tell Max where you were in El Paso and the bitch told him where you were the moment you stepped out of El Paso. He didn't break his promise technically, but it's still a very bitch move for him to pull. You're going to have a lengthy conversation with him later.

“So you’ve been in El Paso?” he asks.

You nod.

“My grandparents’ place.”

He nods.

“Sorry about Julio, by the way.”

You sigh. God, you want to cry.

It's truly unfair how God decided to take away Julio [Last Name]. Death should happen to assholes and shitty people. To people who abuse their children every day. To people who waste years of their lifespan on nicotine and alcohol. To people who kill people. Death shouldn't happen to heroes, who risk every single day of their lives to save other people. Death shouldn't happen to Julio [Last Name], a firefighter who died saving a kid in a burning building. At least, not this early. Not until you fulfilled his dream for him.

(His last words: I don't regret doing what I did. I have kids, too. I want someone to save them the same way I did that kid if they ever get stuck in a situation like this.)

“Did Leo tell you that, too?” you hope that he didn't notice that your voice slightly wobbled.

“No,” Max shakes his head. “We—Logan and I came to Vista Del Pueblo in December. Your neighbor told us that…”

He doesn't need to finish his sentence for you to know what he’s trying to say.

You nod, “So that's why there was an article that day…”

You remember Damiano showing you the news article in his phone—AN UNLIKELY FRIENDSHIP: MAX VERSTAPPEN OF RED BULL RACING AND LOGAN SARGEANT OF WILLIAMS RACING SPOTTED DRIVING AROUND AUSTIN. You shrugged it off at that time.

“How are you?”

You turn to Max, raising a brow at his question.

“How am I?” you echo, sounding a little bewildered.

You see, Max has never asked this question. You're used to “Are you okay?” but not this. Not this question. You can easily lie to an are-you-okay. You can say yes even if you’re not, and you won't give yourself away because you only uttered one word. But with how-are-you, it’s different. It's not a question that is not answerable by yes or no. You actually have to explain how you feel. That's why Papa Julio only asked, “How are you, mija?” rather than “Are you okay, mija?” Papa Julio wants to know how your day went even if you're okay or not.

Yeah. You're definitely going to cry at this rate.

“How have you been after Julio?”

“You really wanna know?”

“I wanted to be there for you at that time,” Max confesses. “When I learned that Julio was gone, I wanted to go to you. But Leo stopped me. He said I was not what you needed at that time and I agree. I was too angry at you for leaving me. I’m glad he didn't tell me where you are, despite how painful it was. I was selfish and immature that I cared about my grief and forgot to consider yours. I reflected on my actions a lot. I am not sure how different I am now from that version of me but I think I changed a bit. So yes, [Name], I want to know, because I want to know how you felt and help you in any way I can.”

You stand there, stunned at what Max has said. And perhaps it was his sincerity or the way his determined blue eyes stare into your soul that caused the sixth domino to tip. You break into tears, a raw cry escaping your mouth. You are so fucking tired of carrying everything on your shoulders.

Max is quick to engulf you in a hug and you don't hesitate to pull him into you, pressing your face against his shoulders as you let everything out. You claw his back as if you're trying to mold himself into you. Your nose turns red, snot drips out of your nose. You sob too loud and too heavily that you can hardly draw a breath. You don't cry pretty and this is the first time you allowed yourself to cry with another person bearing witness to your fragility.

When you calmed down, you found yourself sitting beside Max, shoulder to shoulder, in the backseat of his car, playing with the drawstrings of your jacket.

“Sorry.”

“Don't be.”

“Sorry, I was just so tired,” you tip your head upwards. You can feel Max’s eyes on you. “Things have been hard since Papa died.”

“Do you want to talk? I’ll listen.”

You chuckle humorlessly.

Jesus, what did Leo feed this guy?

It feels like the roles are reversed now.

“Everybody's been takin’ it pretty hard so I'm trynna to be strong for them, you know? But I’m not that strong,” you begin. “I’m just as lost as everyone else and it's hard pretendin’ like I’m not. I’m not really sure what will happen with my life now so I wander around and do car repairs for a few folks in El Paso.”

“What happened to your dream? The job?”

“Well, it's gone,” you say, making Max’s eyes widen. “Not my time yet, I suppose. Or rather, I’m never supposed to have time. I guess I’m just not meant to be an engineer.”

“No,” Max turns to you, clasping your hands in desperation. “No, no, no. You always wanted to become an engineer. You can't just—I’ll think of something. I’ll ask Christian. I’ll ask the other teams. Renault isn't in Formula One right now but I can—”

“Max,” you smile sadly. “Let it go.”

“But—”

“Do you know what my Papa’s dream was?” you interrupt. “It’s to be a Formula One racer.”

You smile, remembering all the times you’ve seen your father watch the races on the television since you were younger. He’d wake up even in the ass crack of dawn just to watch them live. He’d be so tired after a 24-hour shift at the fire station but he’d refuse to even catch a wink of sleep until the Grand Prix broadcast is done. He always received a beating from your Mama because of it.

“He saw Alonso in the newspaper and decided that he wanted to be like him, too. Sadly, Papa never vibed with a steering wheel so there was no future in that industry. He's always so disappointed in himself, sayin’ he can do the most unhinge shit at work but can't even drive a car. When Damiano and I turned five, he brought us karting. I could tell he was disappointed that Damiano didn't share his love for racing and I hated seein’ him sad so I learned to love karting. He signed me up and I did my best to win. I think I was good. Good enough to make him proud of me. Papa looked so happy when I won my first trophy. He cleaned it every week.”

You smile fondly at the memory.

“Then, shit happened and I have to stop. Papa looked even more disappointed than me that I had to stop. It hurts. Disappointment from your parents, I mean, even if I know that it's somethin’ beyond my control. I figured that if I can't be a racer, I’ll work in a pit stop. That's close enough. When I told him that I got accepted into USC and how I wanted to be an engineer, it was the proudest I have ever seen him since I won my trophy. I was livin’ his dream. I applied for Red Bull and Renault because those are Papa’s favorite teams and the rest is history.”

You pause.

“He’s never got to see me become an engineer,” you choke out, wiping the stray tear that fell from your eye with the back of your hand. “It was his dream. He always had his dreams broken and I was gonna reach his dreams for him but he’s gone before I can do so. Now, I’m so lost because I realized that I was shapin’ myself to become an extension of Papa and now that he's gone, I am an extension of no one. I was reaching for dreams that I don't own. I’m so tired and I’m so lost, Max.”

Max stares at you sadly.

“I should have talked to Christian sooner. Fuck, I hate myself for not talking to Christian. Fuck, why was I so selfish?” he presses the ball of his palms against his eyes in frustration. You chuckle, shaking your head.

“That’s okay,” you say. “I’ll find my way.”

You look at the scenery outside of the window. Night has fallen. You should have left for El Paso by now.

“I need to go,” you say, heart heavy.

“So soon?”

Max is panicking again.

“Jesus, Champ, calm down,” you pat his shoulders.

“Will I see you again?” Desperation laces his question.

“Dunno really,” you shrug.

“Can you wait for me?”

Your brows furrow.

“I’ll retire by 2028. No, that's still long. 2027. Ah no—2026? Can you wait for me? I—” Max’s hand trembles. “I love you. I love you, [Name]. I—I love you even before Kelly. I can’t. I can't lose you.”

The world stops.

“I am stupid, I am selfish, and I think I’m asking too much. If you can just wait for me, I’ll—I can even retire next year if you think it's too long—”

“Hold up right there, Champ,” you stop him. “You're not retirin’ early.”

“If you want me to, I will.”

You sigh in exasperation.

“Max,” your voice is low. “That’s your career. I’m not gonna—Jesus, Max don’t retire, okay? Not even for me. Retire only when you want to.”

This man is just…

You don't know if you want to choke him or kiss him.

“I want you to have me, [Name]. I… I want to be with you, to love you, and if retiring is the only way I can do that then I will,” he says. “I love you.”

You purse your lips.

“I love you, too, Max,” you confess and now, your chest feels lighter now that you've said it out loud. “But not now, I can't love you like this. I’m too… I can't pursue a relationship with you right now. Not when…”

“It's not our time,” Max nods. “I understand.”

He really did change.

“I want to find my way through life first," you tell him.

Max smiles and he pulls you again in a hug. He has tears in his eyes again and he sniffles, chuckling at himself for crying again. He pulls away from the hug slowly and hands you your keys.

“See you around?"

“See you around.”

You exit the car and you notice that your heart feels lighter now compared to the time you left Monaco even though you are doing the same exact thing—leaving Max to go home.

At the end of 2023, you grace the paddock with your presence—your signature YSL heels is back on the tracks. You wear pants now, instead of the corporate pencil skirts, matched with a Prema Racing polo shirt. The label at the back indicates: AERODYNAMIC ENGINEER. By the end of 2024, you are promoted to the strategy team. By 2025, you become a race engineer of an up-and-coming racing superstar and you kept the job position until now.

The world didn't end just because your Dad died. It took you a while to realize that your Papa didn't own your dreams. It was always yours to begin with. He just played a part in inspiring them.

Max Verstappen became the 2024, 2025, 2026, 2027, and 2028 WDC, marking history as an eight-time consecutive champion. He retired after the 2028 season and disappeared from the face of the Earth. He had stopped going home to his penthouse in Monaco, had put his private jet on sale, and had cut ties to his father, Jos, who was very disappointed that his son had retired too early in the sport. Max retired willingly—he had achieved more awards than most of his seniors and it's time to give room to the younger ones. Rumors say that he had established a racing program somewhere in Belgium. Charles Leclerc, Max's friend, refuses to update the media regarding Max's whereabouts and only says: "He's happy. Don't worry."

Years later, a thirteen-almost-fourteen year-old girl named Emiliana Julia Verstappen, racing under the American flag, become the youngest driver in history to join the ranks of the F1 academy and later, she becomes the youngest driver to ever drive a Formula One car, racing for Scuderia Ferrari as second driver, at only seventeen and a hundred and fifty days old, overthrowing Max Emilian Verstappen, retired eight-time F1 WDC, whom the world has not seen since his retirement, from the list.

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