#this seems like something max would take!!

[everythingne]

#griddad - ls2

Logans been through the wringer in F1 long enough to know how ruthless it can be. When Cadillac brings in Logan alongside you--barely legal and barely anything above who they pray will be the next Max Verstappen. Logan knows he has to do something to keep you safe.

warnings/notes: the return of the legend my king, also cadillac!zhou bc using checo would have made the dad power too powerful, i also thought ab pato... i should write more pato i love him, anyways--hate comments, reader being self depreciating, angsty hours time

coach!logan sargeant x platonic!reader (requested here!)

liked by kimiantonelli, isackhadjar, olliebearman, and 10k others...

urusername: big big 18 weekend thx to @ cadillacf1 !

isackhadjar: F1 ROOKIE LETS GO !!

cadillacf1: so excited to welcome you to the grid!

user1: oh lord not her of all people...

olliebearman: congrats yn!!

logansargeant: my child has made it to f1

user2: the prema brat?

user3: lol she used to drive prema w logan and shes just NOW making it to f1??? didn't know f2 kept u that long

There'd been this stigma around you. You were never quick enough, never smart enough, never pushed enough. Even if you'd finished your second season in F2 in first, and your first season in fifth, there was always something to be said. Then, Cadillac called you in. A rookie on a rookie team? It seemed like a mistake. Every chance someone had they reminded you of that, until you met your mentor. Logan.

Some motorsports article called it a 'match made in hell' for Cadillac. For everyone actually working for Cadillac, it was the opposite.

Logan welcomed you in with open arms, taking his time to walk you through anything slightly confusing. Weird terms you didn't understand? Logan had sayings to make it easier. Workouts you didn't wanna do? Logan would do double your rep if you were able to complete new personal records. Boring PR or Media things? Logan got the media team to slip in encouraging notes during them--pulling inspiration from Red Bulls early Max Verstappen days.

He also made sure there was always something there to remind you everything was okay. This was a new team, a new year! Zhou wasn't doing much better than you.

As the season progressed, you kept lagging behind. It felt like the world was breathing down your neck as you got out of the car after Australia... then Bahrain, then China, Japan, Bahrain, Saudi... by the time you got through the second triple header you wanted to curl up and never leave your car. For the first ten races of the season, you hadn't once seen the car in P10, much less been there yourself. zhou had began seeing improvements, cinching points--he'd ended up scoring some successfully during his home race. P10, but still impressive. And it wasn't Zhou or Logan's fault when the cameras turned on you, making jokes you were the next Logan Sargeant. The next rookie to be pulled up, and left to crash and burn. Yeah, right. As if Logan would let that happen.

You tried not to let the words of everyone around you affect you. A camera? You smiled. An interview? You bounced on your feet and spoke bubbly and bright. On media days? No one could tell you were frustrated. No one, not even Logan, knew how truly upset you were. But leaving Austria, you felt like the world was shoving you down, kicking you and spitting on you just to see how you reacted.

The articles were borderline abuse. Cadillac having to send out many legal documents to people who went too far. They never let media get away with what they said, but that couldn't be done for social media, where those sorts of sentences ran rampant. Logan had insisted you shut your profile comments, that you went off social media, that you talk to someone about it. Cadillac did their best too, offering you therapists, HR, PR, resources to use over and over... but you never took them.

A comment someone made on some stupid podcast clip you'd seen on Tik Tok always rang through your head during those moments--"The second she has to ask for help, she's failed as a driver."

And even if Zhou took help from the various resources, and Logan ended up having Alex and George tell you most drivers had a sports psychologist and that the teams covered it for a reason. You didn't take it. You still couldn't take it. Maybe it was pride, maybe it was stupidity, but you didn't want to take it.

Halfway through the season, you felt ready to curl up in a ball, sob your eyes out, and maybe quit already. But Logan's endless energy kept you going. One more season, one more weekend, one more race, one more lap. Even when it felt impossible.

Traveling back to Indiana for a mid-season testing session, one of your best friends promised a fun weekend away from the drama. A stop to her beach house for a night in LBI when you had a long layover due to bad weather. You'd contemplated just getting a suite in some NYC hotel, but she'd begged and begged and begged until you finally said yes.

It was supposed to be a fun trip, and it was, but the comments of the post...

urusername: 26 hr delay vs two girls and the promise of a pretty beach

isackhadjar: no invite is evil!!

-- urusername: sorry isack </3 girls only

-- isackhadjar: i can be one of the girls wtf

user1: go to the gym and work instead of slacking

user2: yn ignoring her stupidity whats new

logansargeant: is this a 'healing trip' ?

-- urusername: healing from u <3

-- logansargeant: im making u do extra laps in fisher

-- urusername: NOOOO LOGAN PLS </3

olliebearman: lets go to the beach each

-- kimiantonelli: STOP SAYING THIS I DONT UNDERSTAND

user3: go back to f2

user4: waste of talent cant believe zhou has to deal w you

You'd felt sick. Sitting in the airport waiting for Logan to meet you. He'd stayed in the city for the night, so you curled in a corner of a lounge and prayed no one came up to you. The harassment online could be dealt with, but if someone said anything in person you think you'd snap. Finally, Logan appears, leaning back next to you and peeking over.

"How was the beach?" He asks, eyes narrowed at your pinched expression and crossed arms. When you shrug, murmur a fine, and resume to scrolling through Twitter, he gnaws his lip. Something is definitely... wrong. He waits a bit, then taps your leg with his foot. You perk up, and he offers an AirPod towards you.

You take it. Slowly pulling the AirPod to your ear. It's a blend of both of your Spotify traveling playlists. Typing away on his laptop in the dimly lit lounge, reviewing your data, sending emails, Logan hums along to some song you don't know the name of. You sink down in your seat, close your eyes, let the music sort of take you away for a moment. You end up listening to whatever music he has playing up to when you're boarded, sitting next to each other. Occasionally, Logan shows you areas of improvement in your data, or areas of loss. He's never harsh, just "when we get to Indiana, remind me to figure out where we're losing time in chicanes."

And you nod along... until you nod off. Right onto Logan's shoulder. He doesn't wake you until the plane lands... two hours later.

You notice Logan is keeping a closer eye on you during Silverstone. Biting your tongue, theres a lump in your throat because Logan has always done well here. Even with Williams, it was just like he understood the track on a level no one else did. You don't make it one minute in the paddocks without being reminded of that--when some rude reporter asks if you plan to "attempt to follow in Logan's strong Silverstone footsteps."

You say, "I certainly have big shoes to fill." and duck into the first Cadillac related building you see, slinking through the shadows and back exits and entryways to the motorhome.

There's procedures to follow, data to look over, training to do. You follow everything calmly, perfectly, almost better than usual. Zhou makes sure you stop training on time so you both can hit lunch together. You know you're being quieter than usual, but you keep your eyes glued to the data, the times, the numbers. You and Zhou talk at lengths about how the car feels under your feet, the way the steering is not quiet there.

Qualifying is okay, you end up P11, Zhou ahead P6.

And everything feels great in the race. You've gotten up to P8, waiting for a chance to get Zhou's slip stream, you're steady, until your Head Mechanic is in your ears shouting--"Box box box!"

"What? For what?"

"Box! Now!"

You do as told, but only then do you feel it. The shifter drops hard. The whole car buckles, the wheel turns hard. You barely manage to not whack a poor Red Bull pit crew member, and have to slow down hard.

Logan's standing at the entrance to the garage, watching as the team attempts some last second thing to fix the car. It's useless. You have to retire on your best position from the season. Logan doesn't say anything when you get out of the car, just waits as you rip your helmet off. He takes it, pushes you towards your drivers room, and lets you stew in silence.

He's a quiet presence behind you.

And after the race, when you plaster on a fake smile and cheer for Zhou in P5, and after the media questions that make you want to rip your skin off, he's still there. As you pack your bag, he finally speaks,

"Tough race."

"It fucking sucked, Logan." You snip. He nods.

"Not your fault." He says and you turn, scowl, and he sits down on your massage bed, motioning for you to join him. Hesitantly, you step closer, then slowly sink down. He's quiet for a long moment, then he sighs.

"You've gotten the worst set of cards. Your car has never not had an issue, you've lost training hours, free practice, quali time... and the media isn't helping you." Logan brings a hand through his hair, "You gotta get off your phone."

You pause, thinking of everything you need your hpone for, the unhealthy feeling of reading those comments... of going down the rabbit hole.

You finally whisper, "I don't know how."

"I'll show you." Logan replies. And when you sink into his side to cry, he doesn't say more, just wraps an arm around you.

liked by kimiantonelli, logansargeant, zhougyanu, and 66k others...

urusername: Unfortunately we had to retire last lap due to unsafe shifter conditions. Looking forward to bringing that pace into next weekend.

user1: QUIT ALREADY

logansargeant: unfortunate end to a great stint, austin isn't ready for you!

-- user2: flop coach n flop driver yikes

user3: no one does it like alpine anymore

user4: ur an embarrassment to women in motorsports

user5: petition for yn to quit, like here

5.6k likes.

gabrielbortoleto: hope to battle you again next weekend

-- user6: dw gabi youll win

You're not surprised its Austin where your luck turns around. You'd done well in Miami, it had been your highest finish--P11. But Logan takes your phone away Wednesday morning, says you only get it back when you're with him, and spends his time creating a locked phone mode named with a race car emoji. It only allows you to access your camera, contacts, necessary race weekend apps, messages, and phone app.

No social media. Oh, and a chess app so you and Logan can keep up your streak.

Media day is fun. Cadillac includes Logan attempting to teach you and Zhou American slang, Williams snags him for something with Alex, you get a little sunburn across your shoulders that Logan jokes will kill you.

Friday brings you to new confidence. You sleep well the night before, go into FP1 strong, finish FP3 with a fastest lap ("in a black trash bag!" Crofty announces, and you and Logan steal that for an inside joke.) Quali isn't horrible, Gabi keeps you behind him, but at least you end up P11 again. It feels like a reset from Silverstone, a second chance, a gift.

Sunday comes around. You don't sleep, wake up with anxiety that makes your arms thrum like you need to punch something. Logan brings you in early, has you work reflexes until your mind quiets. He takes your phone, declares a new rule of no phone on race day.

Five minutes before you have to be in the car, Logan tugs you out of a strategy meeting when he notices you get fidgety.

"You've got this." Is all he says at first, and when your lip is sucked under you teeth, Logan continues, "You just have to keep it on track, don't let anyone pass. If you can pass Gabi, fucking fantastic, the higher the more bonus points. But the only thing I want you to focus on is holding your own, because you're like fucking Checo when it comes to protecting your ass."

You nod, and he ships you off, sits next to your engineers and mechanics. Every turn he holds his breath, everytime you fight Gabi he clenches his jaw. Eventually, Gabi gets around whoever's infront of him. Logan doesn't care, you've got Liam trying to get by you, but then it happens. You go three wide. In the middle. Liam slips ahead.

When you go wide again, trying to catch Liam, Logan thinks, fuck, this is it. You're gonna get whacked out again.

But somehow, the almost unthinkable happens. You slam forward, trust the car to drift a bit because your tires are worn. In the last lap of Austin GP, you pass Liam and Fernando for a solid P10. He nearly leaps out of his seat, the whole garage explodes. It's a move he's seen you do before, trusting the car to do something you know to correct.

You don't tell him you can hear his loud "fuck yeah!" through the comms across the pit lane.

It's not P1, not even P3, or five, or eight. Its P10, barely in the points, but when you get out of the car Logan lifts you into the air with a triumphant shout.

The world rights a little. Comments might still not be nice, people may still wanna shove you down, but when Logan gives you that laugh, that shove, that Florida smile, it's like getting a gold star in kindergarten. You're suddenly the best driver on the grid, no questions asked, and you'll take it.

gen list (open!)

@d3kstar @justalittlejess @tvdtw4ever @llando4norris @daemyratwst @piastri-fvx @sltwins @armystay89 @leclercdream

[lsunstreakerl]

1.2k tiny gax verse! featuring rb, alphatauri, and a max who would not be able to put the pieces together even if they were labeled for him.

Dietrich is judging him. Christian knows this, standing in front of his slideshow with his fingers crossed in his pocket, trying to maintain his usual air of relaxed indifference.

"Red Bull is not an orphanage, Christian."

Christian is well aware. Somehow, Max has slipped in anyways.

"It's a business opportunity— an opportunity to sell. Think about it. A luxury brand? Red Bull already does things people wouldn't expect, a clothing brand would get people talking."

Dietrich sighs, looking fondly at him.

"And I suppose you have a potential model in mind already, don't you?"

Christian spreads his hands placatingly, relying on the charm he's spent years developing.

"A junior line, Dietrich. Can't you see the money?"

He watches the older man rub at the bridge of his nose, mildly exasperated.

"Christian, let it be known I am not doing this because I think it's a good idea— I'm agreeing because you've done a wonderful job for me over the years, and unfortunately you shine best when I allow you to let loose."

He sighs again, shaking his head.

"I'll have people get in touch with you."

Christian bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too hard, dipping his head gratefully.

"Thank you, Dietrich."

"Get out of my office, Horner."

------

Toto has an eyebrow raised at him. Christian refuses to feel shame about it, watching Max sitting on the pitwall, letting them explain what they're doing. He's bundled up in AlphaTauri, beanie tugged low over his ears as he leans forward, eagerly watching Gianpiero's screen.

He's still in their junior team, but... Christian has high hopes for him. Gianpiero leans back and ruffles his hair through the beanie, laughing loudly as Max ducks his head, shoulders scrunching up. He's like a kitten— a particularly cute, scruffy kitten. The garage has taken a clear liking to him.

"I did not take you for the maternal type."

Toto sounds lowly amused, and Christian shrugs. It's not maternal, he's just...

Cultivating talent.

"He's part of our junior program, of course I'm keeping an eye on him."

Max rocks backwards to shout something, hands waving as he grins, and Christian and Toto both muffle a laugh at the immediate reaction from the pitwall, panicked hands darting out to make sure he doesn't fall.

"Is that why my junior driver is wearing AlphaTauri?"

He sounds annoyed, but not particularly displeased. Christian has spent years learning the difference. It soothes something inside of him, knowing that Max has been making use of all the clothes they've been sending him home with— and it's easy enough to pass it off as something they'd written into the modeling contract.

If there were also some pieces slightly too long for Max's legs, maybe better suited to taller adolescents... it's an easy mistake to make.

"He wouldn't wear it until the other two were taken care of."

"You spearheaded a fashion brand because you were worried he would get cold."

Christian presses his lips together, carefully watching Max and GP talk through something on the monitor. They seem to get along well— something for him to keep an eye on.

"Driver comfort is one of my priorities."

Toto hums, still sounding amused.

"You are like a mother bear."

Christian is so caught off guard his face falters, nose screwing up as he turns to stare incredulously at Toto.

"Excuse me—"

------

It's chilly outside. For once, Max doesn't feel it biting into his bones. They have heat on in the flat, because they can afford it. He's curled up in a thick sweater, a deep olive color, and he nudges a toe out to poke George in the calf.

The other boy has a pair of Max's sweatpants on. They were too long for him in the modeling shoot, but production had told him to take them home anyways, something comfy he could wear around the house.

They fit George perfectly.

George looks up from his book, headband pushing his hair back into a curly halo. He looks stupid. Max has a photo of him looking like that as his contact photo.

"What?"

Max pokes him in the calf again. He doesn't particularly want anything, he's just... bored.

"Nothing."

George huffs at him, tapping the book lightly against Max's foot.

"So you're just bothering me?"

Max shrugs, rolling over on the couch to tuck his head into George's side, feeling his arm drop around his shoulders.

"I'm warm."

It seems so simple a statement.

For them, it's everything.

------

"Max!"

Max hasn't even made it through the door yet, and Alex is shouting at him.

"What!"

He has a takeout bag draped over one arm, and a duffel full of clothes slung across his shoulder.

"Dibs on the sweater from your instagram story!"

He scrunches his nose.

"I just got home."

Alex comes in from around the corner, wiping at his hands with a rag. He must have been doing the dishes— a dishwasher is next on their list of things to get.

Things they never thought they'd get to have.

Max thinks, trying to remember which one he'd been wearing when he posted the silly photo to his private story. Charles had sent a laughing emoji and one other one...

"Oh! The grape one?"

George sneaks in behind him and takes the takeout bag, setting it on the counter.

"Are you talking about the purple one from earlier?"

It'd been a little big for Max, hem of the sleeves landing closer to his fingers, but it had also been soft, heavy and comfortable around him.

Alex nods, helping Max heft the duffel onto one of the chairs. He unzips it carefully, shoving his hand in to try and find the thick fabric.

He passes the sweater to Alex, who pulls it on immediately, smiling wide. It lands perfectly at his shoulders, still slightly oversized but in a way that looks intentional. It looks good.

George is pink. Max rolls his eyes, stepping on his toe as he pulls Alex into a hug.

"That one is communal, jackass. I want to wear it sometimes too."

Alex ruffles his hair, and Max leans into it, deliberately ignoring George's retaliatory pinch at his side.

"Communal purple sweater, got it."

------

Charles blinks at the suitcase Max has opened on the floor. His head swivels from the suitcase to their closet, where the rest of Max's clothes are.

"Do you own anything that isn't AlphaTauri?"

Max pauses.

"Uh. I mean, I have been modeling for them since I was a teenager."

Charles looks weirdly at him.

"Did you get to keep everything?"

Now Max is looking weirdly at him.

"Yes? That is normal?"

"No?"

Charles sounds deeply confused, crouching in front of Max to look him in the eyes.

"Max, that is not normal. You are telling me Red Bull let you keep everything? From every shoot?"

Max isn't sure why this seems so difficult to comprehend.

"Anything I wanted, yes. But I always had to take something. Very helpful for the season drops— sometimes things would not fit me, but they would fit George or Alex. It was nice during the winter especially."

Charles' eyes soften with understanding, and he tugs Max forward gently into a hug, arms clinging tight around him.

"Oh."

Max doesn't know why he sounds sad. AlphaTauri is a nice brand.

"You can always wear some if you want, Charlie."

Charles laughs, sitting back on his heels.

"I don't think Ferrari would appreciate that very much."

Ferrari does not give Charles a complete seasonal wardrobe, so Max doesn't care what they think.

[dirtytransmasc]

Spider is never allowed to make anyone uncomfortable. he is never allowed to need or take space. to need more, god forbid ask for it.

I have noticed, that in the minds of this fandom as a whole. Spider is never allowed to make anyone uncomfortable.

I see arguments that his lifetime of neglect is just something he had to deal with, though people put it in less direct terms, because it would have been too hard, or too awkward, or too complicated, or too uncomfortable, or too much.

Jake was too busy, he was chief, he had his own kids! what about his own past! Norm was too busy, he had his own kids too! Neytiri shouldn't be forced to accept him! he wasn't their responsibility! it shouldn't be on them to raise Quaritch's son!

while there are some valid points here, why does it boil down to Spider's treatment being acceptable in some people's minds?

cause Spider was thrown to a random human family that very clearly did not want him. did not accept him as he was or give him the love and affection and time a child needs or allow him to truly be himself without constantly being pushed out the door.

and I'm not saying a single one of them even had to be a parent. cause they didn't. the McCoskers provided a good enough roof over his head. I get that it would be difficult to home him with anyone who wasn't human or was working a lot. but Spider had not one adult truly in his corner.

kids need more than a friend. and Nash nor Mary seem like they actually made themselves a safe space for the kid.

so who do you think he was crying to when he was upset, like any teenager gets? who do you think he asked for help, even when it was embarrassing? when he was a teenager and his body was changing and he was uncomfortable? or if he was hurt? or if he did something wrong and needed help to fix it? who would give him a hug when he needed one? who would let this kid grieve in front of them, and talk it out, because missing some of the worst monsters in history is so much for a kid?

who was there to deal with all the things a teenager needs a safe space and a safe person for?

or how about just someone defending his honor? that's an easy one. you don't even need to be that emotionally involved. but still, no one. Jake only argued for him when what people were saying was making him uncomfortable. and he's the first to try and rip Spider from the only home and life he's ever known to be a citizen or prisoner of the RDA (both fates hell; and Spider would probably rather the latter, cause he wouldn't have to pretend to be a cog in the machine of the RDA while it killed the world he loved) whenever it was slightly convenient for him.

I mean. Spider is an independent kid who has lived mostly on his own since he was old enough to bolt out of his foster parent's apartment and put into the forest. would one extra body at High Camp really be so invasive that it was worth putting this kid through the hell of losing all he's ever known? this kid who has fought day and night to prove he belongs? that he's not his father?

but it was more comfortable for Jake to send him away. more comfortable for Jake to not defend him unless he was defending himself or, at the very least, keeping someone from putting their hands on Spider. and we see no other adult pleading his case. he's just alone to defend himself while everyone else gets a free pass to exist. even other humans accepted by the Omatikaya (the we see in the comics. who have no avatar. but are just. part of the people).

people fight so hard that Spider "wasn't their responsibility" or "he was the humans responsibility" and"the people at Hellsgate should have done something"

ok. well. if you see some kid in your life every single day who is probably pretty clearly showing signs of neglect. would it not be the half decent thing to do to step up or say something? for people like Jake and Max and Norm, leaders and pillars of the resistance, the clan, and Hellsgate, wouldn't you argue it actually was their responsibility. I mean, we don't know a ton about the politics and leadership going on in the Western resistance. but they definitely be runners up for who's responsible for the orphan boy who most people don't want or accept because of the father he had no say on. who's responsible when his needs, even if not physical, aren't being met. that's not "asking too much". that's not "complicated". that's not wished away by "too busy". that is basic decency one shout have for a child.

in Spider's case, with a safe but neglectful home, he wouldn't need much. something just above stray treatment? I mean he obviously deserves more. any child deserves a happy life in a safe home with a family that loves him. but I'm working with what I've got.

he truly just needed one adult to vouch for him. when things got tough, when there were conflicts, when they had to leave for high camp. someone to speak for him, so this kid wasn't constantly fighting to just be seen. to be accepted like every other human who wanted to be accepted into it around the village was accepted. and not just for his sake! I think if one adult stepped up to give him a safe space that wasn't the Sully kids, made another place to feel accepted and wanted, his relationship with Neytiri would be much better, because he wasn't constantly forced under her nose. she wasn't having the scab pulled every day. and if someone like Jake, perhaps, could help her face her trauma instead of just trying to skirt past in issue in 5 seconds, I think they'd both do some proper healing.

trying to force him to the RDA should have *never* happened. having 0 adults on his corner should have never happened. a child needs people to help him, to meet his needs, to give him love and attention and affection. even just a hug. and I know that no one can force themselves to love a kid. but the bare minimum should be expected.

I don't care what anyone says, I will criticize the main adult cause, minus Neytiri who has an actual reason why she does not like him, for not taking the most minor responsibility over him. they were obligated. the way people say they weren't makes me feel sick as someone who was in and around the system as a kid, the way you talk about this orphan in a foster situation, is fucking weird. and the blood on his veins isn't justification for him being treated like a stray. for having the most an adult with do for him is be his friend and then leave him hanging when he desperately needs an adult to step in.

especially because every adult on Pandora chose to be there. every adult on Pandora has blood on their hands and it was a choice and yet they live lives that forgiveness has given them. they are accepted. they have homes and families and a clan or a resistance community or both to fall back on. they live, relative to the situation, the high life. while Spider living that a stray cat, given affection like it's a blessing he should be grateful for some times, and them being kicked to the curb tower times, is justified by a choice he never made by a man and a woman he never even really met, and actions they made before he could even toddle.

they get to be uncomfortable. they should be. a child's needs should come before what's comfortable or easy or convenient.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Max for 🥩, 🩸, ☠️, and 📸 please !

Hey! Since there's 4 here I'll do 300 for each.

Since �� is done, 300 for

---

“Stay still!” Buck yells at the same time. 

“I’m balancing on one foot!” Eddie defends himself. “You try it!”

Bobby lifts his radio to his mouth. Sweat is starting to flatten his hair against his forehead. He looks rather peeved, but like he doesn’t want to show it.

“Dispatch, we’re going to need another RA unit to come pick up our patient. Take the 118 offline. One of our firefighters is stuck in the tar.”

“Do you need additional assistance, Captain Nash?” A dispatcher replies. Buck thinks it’s Josh. From the horrified look on Eddie’s face, Buck thinks he also thinks it’s Josh. 

“No,” Bobby says. “Thank you. We’ll get him out. Might just take a while.”

Fan-fucking-tastic. 

⚫

Eddie wishes that instead of working to keep him stable and out of the tar as much as possible, Chim would just push him in. Face first. Really make him sink. Just put him out of his misery, at this point. Let him become some cool archeological remains, like Buck was talking about. Whatever. Not like his corpse will be sentient as they study it. 

It’s not Eddie’s fault he’s in this predicament. He’s not stupid enough to get stuck in a tar pit under normal circumstances. It’s the dumb ass kid’s fault for getting into the pit in the first place. Or maybe his dumb ass girlfriend’s. Or maybe the squirrel’s. It’s not Eddie’s. Definitely not Eddie’s. 

Buck doesn’t seem to realize that. 

Buck doesn’t seem to care. 

Buck, who has to awkwardly bend to oil up Eddie’s fucking leg while Hen and Chim hold him steady, looks furious.

---

300 for 🩸:

---

“She says she has an appointment?” Heather continues. She eyes Athena suspiciously. Clearly he’s said he’s not meant to have any appointments. 

Does he know what his wife told Athena in the store? She knows what he’s hiding. She knows what he’s done.

There’s a pause as Pruitt talks and Athena cannot hear it through the headset. She waits. He’ll see her. She just has a feeling. 

“Okay,” Heather says eventually. She looks at Athena. “He’ll just be a few minutes.”

She knew it. 

“I’ll wait,” Athena says. 

But she doesn’t have to wait very long for something to happen. A moment later, she hears the last voice she’s expecting to hear, calling for her.

“Mom!” 

She turns to look at her son. Her son. What the hell is Harry doing here? In this horrible place? Why is he here? 

“Harry!” She exclaims, dumbfounded. “What the hell?”

“Uh…” Heather mumbles, clearly not pleased by a second surprise visitor. “Should Mr. Pruitt be expecting another visitor in this meeting?”

“No!” Athena says. She looks back at Harry. “You need to leave. Now.”

“We both do,” Harry says. His voice is stern, commanding. Who the hell does he think he is? “Mom, this has gotten out of hand. It’s time to stop.” 

Has he lost his damn mind? 

“Harry, you have no idea what’s going on here,” she says. “You need to leave. Now. I’m not kidding.”

There’s something sickening about him being here. Something that makes her heart race, her body course with adrenaline. Her son is where her husband was killed. What if this place steals him, too?

---

300 for ☠️:

---

“Uh, sorry I was sort of… Reactive… Last time we spoke.”

Chim is surprised Buck is apologizing. He doesn’t actually think Buck has anything to apologize for. He reacted pretty understandably, considering the circumstances. Considering Buck. But if they want this woman’s help, they have to swallow their pride a little. Obviously Buck can see that. 

Madame Mollard smiles graciously. “That’s alright. Sometimes being confronted with the truth can be upsetting.”

Buck’s face twitches, but he holds it together. Eddie, on the other hand, looks like he’s sucking on something very sour. He’s not going to pretend. Chim better get to the point before that pressure cooker is, well, cooked. 

“Madame Mollard,” Chim says as sincerely as possible. “We came here today because something is going on with Buck. We think he’s in some sort of danger. You were able to sense what had happened to him before. We were hoping you might be willing to help him now.”

She turns her head to Buck and gives him a considerate look.

“Hmm,” she says. “Yes. There’s a lot of energy around you. A lot of energy around all of you, actually.”

Eddie’s jaw tightens. His thoughts are pretty much projected in comic book bubbles around his head. Chim wishes he’d think more quietly. 

“Uh, crows have been following me,” Buck explains. “Like a lot. A lot of crows. I got attacked by crows. They injured me. They crapped all over my windshield. They showed up on the scene of a call, and then Ravi and I were almost killed.”

---

300 for 📸:

---

“You’re right,” Eddie exhales. “You’re right. I’ll talk to him.”

“That’s all you need to do,” Hen instructs.

So they end the call, and Eddie commits to doing as she says. Just asking. Just starting the conversation. He’ll feel better once he knows. Buck hasn’t actually given Eddie any reasons to doubt him. Just the opposite, in fact. 

He should really talk to Buck as soon as possible. He should just call him. 

He doesn’t call him.

He could text him? Bring it up that way?

He doesn’t text him.

Next time they see each other. He’ll bring it up next time they see each other. He’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t let that be too long from now. 

viii.

It’s nearly a week before their schedules line up again. No one’s fault, just work and life and kids. The result, though? By the time Eddie is in a position to ask Buck the things he needs to ask him, he’s pretty much lost his mind. He’s so desperate to know and so terrified to ask, that he can barely act right. 

He goes to Buck’s for dinner the same night that Chris has decided to try hanging out with the New Year's Eve friends again. They’re both trying to clear the air. Not that Eddie has told Chris that anything is going on on his end. He hopes Chris is doing a better job than he is, regardless.

Eddie can hardly follow a conversation. He’s aware he’s watching Buck with wide, squirrely eyes.

[cressidagrey]

Regarding White Horse, who would be Belle's husband/boyfriend and how would the entire dynamic change if it wasn't Max, in an alternate universe? I think if Belle was young adult/teenager we would be reading completely another story (of course) but imagine if Belle was the youngest... But if it wasn't Max and instead of him, Belle got together with someone else entirely (doesn't have to be someone on the grid, maybe just someone rich but doesn't have connections to F1) whole story would become something entirely different and I would like to see your thoughts about that. What do you think?

I think that if Belle had met any kind of guy that treated her well during her uni years, she would have never come back to Monaco. Like if she met somebody that treated her decently and they didn't break up? She would have probably stayed with that guy in Paris and her family treating her like a secretary probably wouldn't have spiralled as badly as it did in White Horse Canon...but they also wouldn't have really fixed their problems either. Belle would have just been far enough away, kind of distant, to have a life that would have made her content. Not happy, but content at the very least, I think.

Oh and if I needed to pick another F1 driver for an alternate universe Belle, it would be Oscar.

I think that actually would work really well, because he seems like a very...sort of emotionally relatively "even" guy. (Doesn't mean that he doesn't have emotions, just that he's very good at keeping himself in check.)

I actually have two story ideas that deal with sort of an alternate universe of White Horse: Both have a Leclerc Sister that is the youngest.

They are sort of two sides of the same coin: In one they are actually a functioning family and she is the spoiled little sister that they would do everything for, which I think would also be very believable. (It's titled "Got Some Colour Back" and is about her and Oscar being Neighbours post each of them having a horrible break-up and so they bond over being cheated on. It also features an adorable King Charles Spaniel that loves Oscar and hates everybody else.

And then the second one is more similar to White Horse, in the sense that she has a job that has nothing to do with F1 and her brothers don't really take it seriously. (She's a model and has a pyjama brand while also studying and her brother's treat that like it's some cute hobby she picked up on the side...). I think in that she would be way less forgiving than Belle is. And she would probably also have more than one screaming match with her brothers. (Also the subplot would probably be her and Oscar having a relationship for like a year and nobody knowing because they are very content to just be very boring when it's the two of them and spent way too much time at home. So nobody ever connects the dots.)

[magnificentempress]

so we think i got something called treatment-resistent depression, a lot of whining below

first became a patient at 11 because of self-injuries, did some talk therapy which was whatever, wasnt prescribed anything because too young, the doctor was a weirdo but ig she tried to help. flashforward to 14-15-16 and i am doing just bad, never going outside, always feeling low and anxious. everyone thinks im lazy and ungrateful (+ Difficult Puberty), and i just had this certainly that i wont live until 18. i wasnt even planning anything actively, i just thought some random car crash would kill me. flashforward to university years, it gets so bad that im too scared to leave the house and i skip so many classes i nearly get expelled. i get some shitjob that pays minimum to pay for my first visit to an actual psychiatrist, and he says it is a generalized anxiety disorder. i think ok.

escitalopram doesn't work. several months of maximum dose of zoloft+lamotrigine and talking, maybe it is okay. the moment i quit, it just spirals right back downward. flashforward to trying to get help from other doctors every 6 months with taking antidepressants sporadically, i hate talk therapy now so fuck it. another doctor says it might be a depressive episode

flashforward it gets so bad again that im gonna be expelled for real if i dont get my shit together so it is time to try yet another doctor. she looks at My Record (TM) and says it seems like treatment-resistant depression. which is one hell of a name if you ask me, kind of like adhd is "cant sit still"-disorder. i say ok. i say that 3 meds or so didnt do anything. i try venlafaxine. it kinda lifts my mood from 1 to 3.5, even 4 if im very optimistic. my hypothetically bipolar sister says it gave her hypomania, it gives me nothing like that but ok. doctor says that if a close relative has a mental disorder, it possibly means that it is just genetics.

and it's just... it was all for nothing. i was born doomed for real. for 10+ years i tried to pick myself from the floor, tried to journal, meditate, take up sports, pRacTiCe MinDfUlnEsS. 300 mg of venlafaxine and i feel almost... no, not good. but at least Not Bad. i even graduated. it was like a 100kg weight on my neck was turned into a 10kg weight. still sucks but hey at least it is not 100 now. fuck my stupid baka brain and stupid baka life, if i feel anything is i feel like a scammer because i will always Be Like This. i hate mirtazapine btw made me eat like its my last meal so i quit it. so venlafaxine might not even be the thing. i will always be a patient that doctors basically experiment on because no one knows what are the causes of depression, or why antidepressants work and dont work, or how to relieve it. and then they be like, well have you tried electrocuting yourself lol?

i know it goes hard against blackpill but i have already accepted that im like a low value human because of this disorder and with how it makes me malfunction and contribute nothing, basically turns me into a parasite that can barely hold a job or go outside, when im not sleeping for 16 hours. i just thought that maybe if i fail at life i would Settle Down and be like a wife pet + just raise my child or whatever the hell. but i dont think i should even birth one because the kid will be SO insane and thats just cruel lol i just want to be honest, dont go at me plz

anyway it sucks that i feel like a skinwalker that has to pretend to be human, i guess i should try to get better still because people around me deserve a person that functions somehow... but i just cant stop thinking that its hopeless. it has been rigged from the start because im just like this and we found it out like after 10+ years of trying to get better. i think i should up venl to 375 mg but I'm kinda scared of le serotonin syndrome but its the max allowed dose sooooo

[formulafanfics13]

Redbulls Golden Boy - MV1 ✨

Masterlist

Summary: Everyone believes Max Verstappen stays at Red Bull out of loyalty, but behind the scenes, it’s power — and control — that keeps him there. He quietly takes out every frustration on Christian Horner’s daughter, manipulating and emotionally abusing her in private while playing the golden boy in public. She suffers in silence, unseen, untouched, and broken beneath the surface.

Warnings: Contains psychological abuse, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, threats, implied physical intimidation (grabbing, wrist bruising), victim silence, isolation, power imbalance, references to domestic abuse, and themes of helplessness and identity erasure. No explicit sex, but the emotional damage is intimate, persistent, and violent in tone.

Everyone thought Max Verstappen stayed with Red Bull out of loyalty. After the pit stop fuck-ups, the strategy disasters, the internal chaos that leaked through thin smiles and scripted interviews, after every stupid decision that cost him seconds, wins, or sleep, the press said he was mature now. That he’d grown up. That he was calmer, steadier, older. That Max Verstappen wasn’t the firestarter anymore. That he had patience now. That he believed in the team.

They called it commitment. Maturity. Long-term vision. But they didn’t know about her. Because if they did, none of them would have used the word loyalty.

She was Christian Horner’s daughter, and that alone made her untouchable in theory. In the public eye, she was a socialite with the surname to match, caught between boredom and legacy, always somewhere near the paddock but never in it. Not a strategist, not a press officer, not even part of the media team. Just his daughter. Her job was to smile at sponsors, post pictures on Instagram, keep a hand delicately placed on Max’s arm when they needed to seem like they got along.

She wasn’t even allowed to sit on the pit wall. Not anymore. Max had made sure of that. Because when Red Bull fucked up and cost him another race, when the radio hissed with a voice he’d long since learned to ignore, when Christian gave another empty apology or another corporate justification, Max didn’t raise his voice anymore. He didn’t throw his gloves. He didn’t slam doors. He just smiled that perfect cold smile and said it’s fine, and walked straight past every camera.

And then he went looking for her. It always started with silence.

Silence when he entered whatever VIP suite, hotel room, or private paddock apartment they’d shoved her into. Silence while she sat on edge, hands pressed together, breath frozen in her throat like snowmelt. Max wouldn’t even look at her. Not at first. Not until the door locked. Then it changed. Then it got quiet in a different way. He never shouted. He didn’t need to. The venom in his voice was enough. “Oh, look at you. Sitting around doing nothing again. Just like your father.”

Her eyes would flick up and catch his, but only for a second. It was never safe to hold the stare. “You think I don’t see it? That little show you all put on? Christian pretending he gives a shit. You pretending you’re not just riding his name. You’ve never earned a fucking thing in your life.”

Her heart would stutter in her chest and she’d nod, like that would stop it. Like if she agreed with him, it would end there. Sometimes, if she was lucky, it did. But most days she wasn’t lucky. Because Max didn’t just need to hurt her. He needed to feel in control. And when the team spiraled, when he crossed the line second instead of first, when the numbers didn’t add up and the world started whispering about Mercedes or Ferrari or whoever-the-fuck had a better plan, he needed to own something. Someone.

So he chose her. “You think I don’t see the way you flinch when I walk in?” he would whisper, voice like ice. “You make me sick.”

She never cried. Not until he was gone. Never in front of him. Max hated crying. Said it was manipulative. Said it was weak. Said she did it on purpose to make him feel bad. And she used to fight back, in the beginning. Raised her voice once. Told him to fuck off. Told him he was cruel, told him she wasn’t her father, told him he didn’t get to punish her just because the team was falling apart.

That was the first time he grabbed her wrist. Didn’t leave a bruise, he was too smart for that, but she still remembered the grip. How his fingers crushed her bones. How calm his voice stayed even when he got close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath.

“You don’t talk back to me,” he’d said, quietly, like it was a rule she should have already known. “Ever.”

And that was the end of it. Now she didn’t fight. Not anymore. Now she just waited. Waited for him to come back from another debrief with clenched teeth and that look in his eyes. Waited for the hiss of the door behind her. Waited for him to take it out on her like she was a fucking punchbag made of flesh and silence.

He didnt often hit her. He didn’t need to. The bruises would be too obvious. Too real. But the things he said stayed with her longer than fists ever could. And no one knew. Not even Christian.

Especially not Christian.

Because Christian loved Max like a second son. Gave him everything. Backed him through every controversy. And Max used that blind trust like a weapon. Smiled in front of him. Shook his hand. Called him boss. Acted like the perfect Red Bull soldier while turning his daughter into nothing but a broken fucking shadow behind every closed door.

And she let it happen. Because she knew if she said anything, her father wouldn’t believe her. Or worse, would believe her, and wouldn’t care enough to stop it. Because the team came first. Max came first. She was a daughter, sure, but Max was the world champion. The golden boy. The future.

So she stayed silent. Nodded when needed. Posted photos. Smiled for cameras. Let people think they were in love, or at least something close to it. That she was lucky to be with him. That he was devoted. That the reason he hadn’t left Red Bull yet was because he believed in them, believed in family, believed in her.

God, what a fucking joke. Max didn’t believe in anything except control. And every time she looked in the mirror and saw nothing behind her own eyes, every time she flinched at the sound of his name, every time she practiced her smile until it didn’t hurt, she reminded herself that no one would believe the truth. Not about him. Not about her.

Because Max was still winning races. Still making podiums. Still doing just enough to keep the story alive.

And she? She was just the girl who stood behind him in photos. The daughter of the boss. The face no one looked too closely at. But if they did, if they really looked, They’d see what she saw. That the loyalty wasn’t to the team. It was to the power. And Max Verstappen never gave up power. Not even when it destroyed someone else.

[bwoahtastic]

I miss the confusion au!!! If you’re still accepting Drabble requests would you consider expanding more on the post you made about them starting to have sex “just out of convenience”

Sorry I took forever but I got there in the end!!

~~~

Oscar's favorite parts of living with Max were falling asleep next to him, and waking up with a very sleepy Max refusing to let go of him. Both of them were equally bad at waking up in the morning, so it always consisted of a lot of snoozed alarms and a lot of grumbling about how fucking early it was. But it was the weekend today, a rare weekend off even, so they got to sleep in and wake naturally to the light filtering in from the bedroom window.

It was Oscar who woke first that day, yawning and stretching and sleepily patting the strong arm wrapped firmly around his waist, keeping his back pressed to Max's chest, who was laying behind him. Oscar nosed back into his pillow, wanting to doze off a little while longer until Max woke up too, when he noticed something… odd.

Max was a little restless against him, warm breath coming in shaky puffs against Oscar's neck as his fingers twitched on Oscar's slim waist. Oscar shifted a bit, trying to turn his head to see if Max was awake, or if he was maybe having a nightmare. The movement shifted his hips back, pushing into Max more, and Oscar went rigid when something firm pressed against his ass. There was no denying Max was hard, desperately so, and Oscar couldn't help but blame himself.

Clearly with him staying with Max so often meant that Max didn't really have time to either sleep with someone or masturbate, but Max must have been too polite to tell Oscar he needed space.

Part of Oscar wanted to gently wake Max, tell him that he will go for a run so Max has some time to deal with this, but it didn't feel like enough. If this was Oscar's fault by cockblocking Max, then Oscar should help him, right?

Besides, Oscar might have managed to jerk off regularly in the shower to take care of his own needs, it had been a while for him too since he slept with anyone. And this was Max, the person he trusted with his life.

It only made sense to gently rub his ass back against Max's groin, meanwhile gently squeezing Max's arm that was still tightly wrapped around his waist.

“Max? Are you awake?” Oscar softly asked, tracing figures over Max's arm. He felt Max startle a bit, going tense as he woke up.

“Shit… Sorry Osc-” Max groaned, going to pull away when he realised he had essentially been dry humping Oscar in his sleep. Oscar tightened his hold around Max's arm.

“Let me help you, Max.” Oscar murmured, turning his head as best he could to look at Max, to smile soothingly at him. Max seemed a little hesitant, although his hips twitched eagerly, seeking more friction. “It's only me, it's okay.” Oscar soothed. They shared so much together, he just wanted to help Max in this way too.

Max smiled, his gaze softening as he leaned in to brush a kiss over Oscar's lips. Oscar kissed back readily, letting out a soft noise as Max's hips pushed forward, hard cock rutting against Oscar's ass through the thin fabric of their boxers.

“Feels good.” Max murmured sleepily, face dropping to the crook of Oscar's neck, where he lazily kissed and licked at the tender skin as he continued to rub against Oscar. Oscar hummed, closing his eyes as he met Max's trusts with a roll of his hips. Max felt big like this, big and hard and warm, and Oscar wanted to know how it would feel inside him.

But he couldn't ask that of Max, as far as he knew, Max wasn't even into men.

Max's hand slipped from his waist, reaching around to palm at Oscar's neglected cock, which was embarrassingly hard already.

“You don't have to…” Oscar murmured, but moaned when Max squeezed his length. He was supposed to be helping Max, pay him back for all he had done for Oscar. Oscar wasn't sure it was fair to ask Max to touch him too.

“I do, ofcourse.” Max murmured, seeming as little confused as he kissed Oscar's jaw. “And I like it.” He added, lips moving to Oscar's ear. Oscar only managed a grunt in return, the feeling of Max's hand on his cock, as well as Max still rutting against his ass quickly becoming overwhelming. He tried to take some deep breaths, at least wanting to make Max cum before he spilled in his own pants like a teenager.

“Don't hold back, Osc.” Max whispered breathlessly in his ear. “I'm close too.” His voice broke into a moan as he squeezed and rubbed Oscar's cock relentlessly. Oscar gasped, his nails digging into Max's arm as he came, breathless and shuddering as he felt Max come undone too.

“Sorry.” Oscar whispered, even though he wasn't sure what he was apologising for. Maybe for coming too, maybe for clearly keeping Max from having sex in the first place. His boxers were sticky and gross now, but when he tried to get up, Max pulled him in again, rolling Oscar over to face him.

“I should be apologising, for humping you.” Max said bluntly, raising one eyebrow. Oscar shrugged.

“I suppose it's only because I’m cockblocking you.” He answered. “So it's my fault, really.” Max seemed confused.

“Cockblocking me?” He asked, an amused smile on his face. Oscar felt himself go bright red. Had he misunderstood? He supposed it was silly to assume a 4 time world champion wasn't having sex. Max just probably knew when Oscar wouldn't be around.

“I can give you more space though, whenever you need. If you eh… are having someone over.” Oscar tried. Max frowned.

“I don't want you to be away more than you are now.” He admitted. “I like having you here, you know that right?” His voice softened as he nudged their noses together. Oscar smiled.

“I like being here.” He answered. Max gave him a big grin in return.

“Good.” Max murmured, pressing a kiss to Oscar's lips for good measure. “But if you are horny, you can always come to me, yeah? We can help each other.” He added after a moment of consideration. Oscar relaxed. That would be nice.

“Shower?” Oscar asked, after nodding. Max hummed.

“Yeah, start the water, I'll get some clean towels.” He said as they both got up. Oscar wasn't paying for the water bill, it had only made sense for them to shower together. Good for the environment, too.

Max kissed Oscar's shoulder in passing, making Oscar grin.

He loved living with Max. He loved living with his best friend.

[max-cortez]

@cheyohara

[vaguely-concerned]

just for fun this time during 'sea of blood' I counted out all the venatori corpses I think we can be pretty sure were lucanis' handiwork before we show up (not including the ones he kills in his initial cutscene, and with an assumption that he's been at work mainly up and down in the areas we move through until we find him, not behind the locked door -- I think that's mostly the work of rampaging undead and other venatori-hoisted-by-their-own-petard suchlikes). can thus happily inform you lucanis has killed at least 32 venatori before rook and company get there. at least one of them he's impaled on their own weird crystal spike things the venatori mages cast as an AOE attack and that they're trying to keep him contained with when we find him. so he's clearly been keeping busy lol. that's my boy dispensing poetic justice and claiming some enrichment in his enclosure while he's at it good for him!

[fruchtfleisch-art]

50 KIRA!!! and 25 reimi (less of an innocuous question given the context…)

Kira: 50. A memory they’ve blocked out

I feel like Kira has a pretty selective memory to begin with, but he absolutely wants to forget the entire Sheer Heart Attack fight+followup. If he'd managed to figure out a way to win he would be distancing himself from that incident ASAP, lol. Kira doesn't need to learn lessons! He needs peace and quiet and an unchallenged sense of superiority! (Also he needs to forget that people were laughing at him in public...) In general I think he tries to skate through embarrassing situations by refusing to engage, if he doesn't acknowledge the cringe it can't hurt him </3 This is part of what makes him extremely fun to torment, IMO.

Also while we're on the topic, chapter 3 of BSBiB is definitely memory-holed within the canon of that fic, lol. Terrible day to be six and have mommy be mad at you.....unless........it never happened....???

Reimi: 25. 3 things they’d want to take with them if they were dropped off in the middle of nowhere

THIS IS SO EVIL... for sure #1 is Arnold, they'd be A Boy and His Dog-ing it across any smoking wasteland we plunk them down in. If Reimi has her dog she'll survive... probably... #2 and #3 would probably be practical items, as fun as it would be to give her items related to her quirks/hobbies I think she'd probably want like, a map and a pocket knife over a box of pocky. Gotta get home before she can do any more fortunetelling!

Ask meme

[lieutenantselnia]

Yesterday I've been doing some proper physical exercise for the first time since last year and I'm just imagining how proud my f/os would be of me🥹

[icewindandboringhorror]

Hrmm... put together a roommates quiz finally after years of thinking it would be an interesting idea lol.. Though obviously not meant to be taken super seriously, I just like thinking about this aspect of personality compatibility. Like yeah, maybe you could get along with someone just chatting with them, but living together is such a different thing. .. curiouse...

[dentist-brainsurgeon]

Watching people play Pikmin is crazy, y'all live like this??? That's not very Dandori of you

[cherie-doll]

LADS: When You Don't Give Them A Kiss

༻ Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb ༺

₊˚✧ Xavier loves his goodnight kisses. Won't be able to sleep right if you don't give them to him. Which is why he immediately frowned the moment you turned away from him after only saying good night. He had already leaned in closer for you to kiss him when you had cut him off. He's frozen in place, surprised at seeing you laying your head on your pillow without a care in the world; ready to drift off to sleep. But how can you do that to him? Surely you aren't forgetting something? I mean, it's custom by now, you do it every night. It's embedded in his brain to do this, so why are you suddenly being so forgetful. He hesitates but eventually moves in closer, nuzzling into your neck as his arms come around your waist. You complain that it's too hot for him to be doing this, but his response is something along the lines of "too bad". You forgot something important to him so now deal with the consequences; he'll be all up on you throughout the entire night.

₊ ೀ Zayne has a strict routine as a doctor. He wakes up early despite having prepared everything the night before, and as organized as he is, he cannot leave without first feeling your lips on his. It's literally his number one priority every morning before he leaves. He can go the day with forgetting his lunch, or even combing his hair properly, but can no longer wait until he gets to you later that night. Sometimes you'll sleep in and not wake up to give him a kiss and he'll try hanging back hoping you awaken before he has to walk out the door. He's sat at the edge of the bed, his work clothes on and everything ready but just clinging to the hope you remember. And no he won't wake you up, he isn't careless and he'll feel bad if he does. As a hunter, you need that rest and he prioritizes that before his selfish desires.

༄༢ུ࿓ Rafayel will actually do his job for once and go to an art exhibition that Thomas has arranged for him if you give him a kiss. Sort of like a good luck type of thing that makes him feel like things will be tolerable if he remembers the warmth of your lips on his. But this time he's stuck waiting by the front door, tapping his foot against the floor as he impatiently waits for you to return. He brings out his phone to reread the message you had sent, you had gone out and were expected to come back in time to accompany him to art exhibition. But it seems you're running late and Rafayel isn't in the mood to meet up with you there. You call him and are immediately greeted by his attitude. You can hear the slight whine in his voice when he asks why you're not there yet. Truthfully, you feel a little bad to hear him be so distressed. Perhaps you'll make it up to him later.

ᨳ᭬ Sylus isn't letting you off the hook so easily. You came up to him while he was relaxed to tell him you would be going out. As usual, you come up to his spot on the couch and wrap your arms around his shoulders. You tell him you'll be back later and he hums, acknowledging what you've said. But he furrows his brows, his smile disappearing when you just leave to grab your bag. He looks up from his phone to see you ready to take off when you catch his gaze. Oh, if he were more gullible he'd believe that "what's wrong?" face of yours. But he knows you better than that. You can sense the amusement in his voice when he asks "Aren't you forgetting something?". You cock your head trying to keep up the act a little longer before you give in. He had a smug look on his face, knew you wouldn't actually dare to leave his place before properly saying goodbye to him. Plus you would never hear the end of it if Luke and Kieran found out.

❦ Caleb would probably believe your act for a minute max before realizing you're teasing him. After not seeing each other for a couple of days due to your busy schedules, surely a hug isn't all he's getting... right? Your bright smile won't distract him from what he's really after. You feign confusion when you realize his grip on you isn't loosening as you try to pull away from his embrace. You call out his name, annoyed as you make more of an effort to push him away. You're secretly fighting a smile from forming when he only pulls you closer. You huff, telling him to stop teasing you, but he swears it's you who's doing the teasing. He sways side to side with you in his arms, you think about how ridiculous you must look and catch some people staring and hear them exclaim about what a cute couple you two are. Finally, when you no longer want to deprive him you stand as straight as you can to reach his face and give him a kiss. He lets you go after and looks at you, "was that really so hard to do?"

[verstappenverse]

Lessons in Jealousy

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: You’ve been in love with Lando as long as you can remember, but to him, you’re just his best friend. Enter Max your longtime frenemy who offers to help make Lando jealous. But as Lando finally starts to notice you, you wonder if you were chasing the wrong heart all along.

11.3k words / Poll Winner / Masterlist

Celebrations were in full swing tonight, laughter and clinking glasses filled the paddock lounge, and there was Lando in the middle of it all. He’d just finished another impressive race and with each victory the swarm of admirers seemed to grow. You’d spent years watching him like this, taking it all in from the sidelines. From kids at the karting track you’d been through nearly everything together. Yet somehow he never seemed to see you in the same way you saw him.

The thought stung. He saw you as his constant, his dependable best friend, and though your heart had tried, time and time again, to beat in time with his, it seemed that it may never be.

As you sat on the edge of the lounge sipping a drink, feeling like you’d blended into the wall, a familiar, annoyingly smug voice brought you back to reality. Max Verstappen leaned against the wall beside you, arms crossed, a small smirk playing on his lips as he nodded towards Lando.

“Never gets old huh?”

You’ve known Max almost as long as you’d known Lando, which is to say, too long. Your friendship with Lando was easy, uncomplicated, and comfortable from the start. Max though? That was different. With Max, it was like fire and ice.

You weren’t sure exactly when it started, but from the moment he entered your orbit, it was as if the universe had decided you two were destined to push each other’s buttons. If Lando was easy warmth, Max was the kind of heat that could burn. He had a knack for getting under your skin, for knowing exactly what to say to rile you up, to make you bite back with sharp words and narrowed eyes. And you weren’t innocent in it either, you knew what set him off, what made his jaw go tight, what made his hands flex against his thighs like he was physically restraining himself from responding.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to let him get under your skin. “You’re always so observant Max. Maybe try worrying about your own life?”

“Come on, it’s practically a free show,” he laughed, eyes not moving from Lando who was currently entertaining a particularly beautiful fan with one of his charming stories. You’d tried to accept his constant stream of dates, pretending that each one didn’t hurt a little more than the last, but the look in his eyes when he gazed at her… it stung.

“Surprised you have time to comment on my life Verstappen,” you shot back, not bothering to turn.

“It’s hard to miss. Every time I turn around there you are. Just trying to understand it.”

You glanced up at him. “Understand what?”

“Do you have a life outside of following him around?” he asked, raising an eyebrow

“Do you have a life outside of annoying me?” You fire back, hiding the warmth rising to your cheeks.

Every time you saw Max his quick wit and sometimes annoyingly perceptive comments rubbed you the wrong way. Lando would just laugh whenever you and Max got into your usual back-and-forth.

“You guys are worse than siblings,” he would tease.

Max seemed to enjoy poking at your devotion to Lando, teasing you about your years spent watching him with starry eyes, never once making a move. And yet, somehow, every taunt felt calculated, like he was trying to unravel something only he could see.

Max’s moved closer to you, his expression shifting into something almost thoughtful. “You know,” he said, his voice lowering, “I almost feel bad for you sometimes.”

“Excuse me?” Your eyebrows shot up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know exactly what I mean. I’ve watched you for years, following him around like he’s the last guy on earth.”

“Because he’s my best friend,” you retorted, feeling defensive. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Max tilted his head, considering you. “Right. And that’s why you look at him like he hung the damn moon?”

“That’s not—” You opened your mouth to argue but snapped it shut. Arguing with Max was like arguing with a brick wall. He always had a way of pushing buttons you didn’t even know you had.

He shrugged. “Look, I just don’t get it. You’ve been waiting around for him forever. And for what?”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that already. What exactly are you getting at?”

His gaze flickered. “You need a new approach.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A new approach?”

Max nodded. “Simple psychology. Stop hanging around like his shadow. Make him notice you’re not always there.”

“So, your grand plan is to just play hard to get?”

“Not just play,” he corrected, a sly smile on his face. “Be hard to get. Lando’s used to always having you around, if you change that up it’ll get under his skin.”

The thought took you by surprise. You’d spent years at Lando’s side, always dependable, always there. The idea of pulling back felt...risky. But Max was right. It was a small risk compared to the years of waiting you’d already put in.

“I could help you, you know.” His voice was so casual that it took you a moment to process what he’d just offered. When you turned to him, he wore an expression of mild amusement. “Give him a little push. Maybe make him notice you for once.” His eyes glinted.

You stared at him, caught between skepticism and intrigue. “And what would you get out of it?”

Max crossed his arms, that signature confidence settling over him. “Maybe it’ll be fun,” he said with a wink, then shrugged. “Or maybe I just want to stop seeing you look miserable every race weekend.”

His expression was unreadable, but something about the way he was looking at you made your stomach twist.

What did you really have to lose?

You decided to give Max’s plan a try. Over the next few weeks you started making yourself less available. At first it felt unnatural, like you were playing a role in someone else’s life. Instead of rushing to Lando’s side after each race, instead of being the first person to celebrate his podiums or commiserate his losses you found other ways to spend your time. What you didn’t expect was how quickly your free time started being filled by Max.

He had a habit of appearing at the exact moment you might have otherwise gone to Lando, redirecting your focus with an effortless pull. If Lando was occupied, Max would materialise leaning against a wall, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised as if he’d been waiting for you to notice.

What was worse? You didn’t hate it.

You started seeking him out. Not consciously at first, but enough that he noticed.

“Still following orders?” he’d ask whenever you showed up in his garage, as though challenging you.

“Believe it or not I’m here by choice,” you’d reply, trying not to smile at his cocky grin.

That was the thing about Max he pushed, he prodded, he provoked. But for all his sharp edges, he had a way of making you think, of making you see things differently. You found yourself spending more time with Max in a way that bordered on ridiculous. You started joining him for lunch, sitting in on debriefs you had no real reason to be in, talking strategy like you actually belonged there.

And more and more, you started to notice things you hadn’t before.

The way Max listened, really listened, when you spoke. The way his brow furrowed when he disagreed, the way he challenged you, not to be difficult, but because he wanted to hear your reasoning, wanted to understand your perspective. Beneath the arrogance, beneath the ever-present smirk and the witty remarks, there was an intelligence and insightfulness you hadn’t fully appreciated before.

The longer you took to text Lando back, the more he started to notice. At first he joked about it, throwing an arm around your shoulders like he always did.

“You’re getting popular, huh? Who’s keeping you so busy?” he asked, a little laugh in his voice. But there was something else in his gaze confusion, maybe even curiosity.

You only smiled, shrugging it off, but you could feel the shift.

“Let me guess,” Max said as you both sat outside the team’s motorhome later that week, watching Lando down the pit-lane goof around with a few fans, occasionally glancing in your direction, “he asked you to meet up tonight, didn’t he?”

You sighed, folding your arms. “Yeah, he did.”

Max scoffed, shaking his head. “See? It’s already working. He’s starting to realise you’re not always there when he wants you.”

You let out a short laugh, though there was uncertainty beneath it. “I don’t think that’s true. He probably just—”

Max turned toward you then, his teasing fading into something more serious.

“You really don’t see it do you?” he said, almost as if he were realising something in real-time.

You frowned. “See what?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely at you, at the space between you, at whatever invisible shift had taken place in the past few weeks. “You’re different when you’re not waiting around for him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

Max leaned in slightly, voice lowering just enough to make you feel like he was letting you in on some kind of secret. “You’re not trying so hard to be the girl you think Lando wants. And, for what it’s worth I think this version of you…the real you, is a hell of a lot more interesting.”

The words settled in your chest, warm and unexpected, leaving you momentarily without a response.

Late one afternoon Max showed up at your hotel door twirling his car keys around his finger. “Come on,” he said, eyes gleaming with something that looked dangerously close to mischief.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Come where?”

He leaned against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. “I figured it was time to see if you’re actually capable of driving or just a glorified spectator.”

Your brows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, grinning now. “Let’s go.”

Naturally, you took that as a challenge.

The two of you spent hours racing each other, bumping karts, stealing inside lines, and throwing accusations of dirty tactics back and forth. Sure, it was fast, intense, competitive but there was so much laughter, a kind of easy camaraderie that felt strangely liberating.

You had just pulled off your helmet, hair a mess and adrenaline still buzzing through your veins, when you spotted Max watching you with a small, unguarded smile

“You’re actually pretty good out there,” Max admitted, his voice amused.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you took a sip of water. “High praise from the world champion. Should I be flattered?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve got guts.”

You scoffed, leaning against the railing beside him. “Only because it’s you. It’s survival instincts Verstappen.”

Max turned slightly, his arm brushing yours as he studied you. “Oh, so now you’re saying I make you better? That’s interesting.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not what I said.”

“Mm.” He tilted his head, mock thoughtful. “Sounds a lot like what you said.”

You huffed, nudging him with your elbow. “Fine. If it makes you feel better you make me drive more aggressively.”

His grin widened. “See? You do get better when I’m around.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “No I just want to beat you.”

Max bumped his shoulder against yours, casual, easy. “Same thing.”

You shook your head, unable to fight the grin pulling at your lips.

“Seriously,” he said, his voice softer now, “I think you’re tougher than you give yourself credit for. Definitely tougher than most people realise.”

Something about the way he said it made you pause, the words striking somewhere deeper than you expected.

Things slowly started to shift between you and Max. Little moments that should have been insignificant but somehow weren’t.

Like the way Max always seemed to find you in a crowded room, even when you weren’t looking for him. How he started waiting not in an obvious, deliberate way, but just enough for you to notice. Just enough that you felt it.

Or the way he’d pass you a drink at an event before you could even ask for one, like he already knew what you needed. The way he’d brush his knee against yours under the table at dinners, wordlessly checking in. The way he always had a sarcastic remark at the ready, but if anyone else gave you a hard time, he was the first to shut it down.

And then there were the more obvious moments.

Like how somewhere along the way, you had just become part of his post-race routine, not just because you were waiting for him, but because he was waiting for you too. Whether it was dinner, drinks, or decompressing in a hotel room after a long day. You just ended up there like you belonged, the same way he always ended up beside you.

Or the time he offered you a seat on his plane without a second thought, the invitation so casual it almost felt meaningless. You don’t need to fly commercial just come with me. As if it was the easiest thing in the world, like it was obvious you’d say yes. And when you did, the entire flight passed in quiet conversation and comfortable silence, his jacket draped over you when you fell asleep somewhere over the Atlantic, something you only noticed when you woke up, groggy and warm, finding Max pretending as if he hadn’t been watching you.

It wasn’t the same as following Lando around, lingering in the spaces he occupied, hoping he’d finally see you. With Max, you weren’t just there, you were wanted.

At some point, the teasing had shifted, too. It was still there, sharp as ever, but there was something gentler beneath it. A knowing look. A lingering glance. The more time you spent together, the harder it was becoming to deny.

As the paddock wound down one evening and the last traces of daylight faded into the horizon, you stepped out to find Max waiting for you. He was leaning against his car, arms crossed over his chest, that ever-present smirk playing at his lips.

You slowed your steps, eyeing him warily. “What?”

Max smirked, tilting his head slightly. “I just wanted to see you. Is that so bad?”

Your heart stuttered for a fraction and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “Depends on the reason.”

He just grinned, rolling his eyes. “Get in the car. I have a spot I want to show you.”

You didn’t question it. That was the strange thing about Max, you never quite knew what he was up to, but somehow, it always felt like it made sense in the moment. So, you got in.

The city lights faded behind you as Max drove further out, leaving the familiar chaos of the paddock behind. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable if anything, it felt easy, like neither of you needed to fill it just for the sake of it, he just drove. One hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on the gearshift, his posture relaxed but focused.

You leaned your head against the window, watching the world blur past. “So, am I going to get an explanation at some point, or are we just driving until we run out of gas?”

Max huffed a laugh, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “Patience, princess.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, but the blush rising to your cheeks threatened to betray you.

Eventually, he pulled off onto a secluded hilltop, a place that overlooked the distant glow of the city below. The sky stretched wide above you, stars blinking against the dark canvas of night.

“Didn’t peg you as the type to stargaze,” you murmured as you stepped out of the car, glancing at Max as his gaze lifted to the sky.

He smirked, his eyes reflecting the faint glow of the stars above. “I’m full of surprises.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “That’s one way to put it.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “And what’s the other way?”

You pretended to think, tapping your chin. “A walking contradiction. Impossible. Infuriating.”

Max chuckled as he looked back up at the sky. “You forgot irresistible.”

You let out a scoff. “Oh, right. How could I forget that?”

You sat beside him, close enough to feel his warmth in the crisp night air, but not close enough to touch. As your conversation continued late into the night, you started to realise there was a lot more to Max than you had ever really understood.

He was talking about his early days on the track, the relentless pressure, the suffocating expectations, the way the sport had consumed him before he was even old enough to fully understand what it meant. And with that came the isolation of a life that revolved around racing before he had the chance to figure out who he was outside of it.

“You don’t exactly seem like someone who needs…anyone,” you said, your curiosity genuine.

Max gave a small shrug, his gaze flickering toward the horizon. “You get used to being alone in this world. Everyone wants something from you, so you learn to keep people at a distance.”

His honesty caught you off guard, the vulnerability in his words settling in a way you hadn’t expected. “Then why are you helping me?”

He let out a short laugh, but his gaze held yours. “Maybe because I understand what you’re going through. More than you know.”

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning.

You weren’t sure what to say. This was new territory, uncharted, and unfamiliar.

Several weeks later you were all out at a club, the night was loud, the place packed with bodies. The bass thrummed through your chest, neon lights casting shadows over familiar faces as you navigated through the crowd. Lando was here, you’d spotted him earlier laughing with a group of people you barely recognised caught up in his own world.

You had found him, weaving through the crowd, your hand grazing his arm as you leaned in close, your voice barely cutting through the music. But the moment lasted no more than a few seconds before he brushed you off, distracted, his attention elsewhere. A joke thrown over his shoulder, an easy grin at someone else, and suddenly you weren’t even there.

Maybe it was the drinks, or the music, or the fact that he had no idea how much this all meant to you, but for the first time, it felt different. Like a crack forming in something you’d always assumed was solid.

So you had stepped away, retreating to the edges of the club, frustration twisting in your chest as you rested against the cool wall. Your shoulders slumped, exhaustion creeping in not just from the night, but from all of it. The waiting, the hoping, the years of being right there only to be left standing in the background.

That was how Max found you.

“Still hoping for a miracle?” His voice cut through the music, and when you turned your head, he was beside you, leaning casually against the wall like he hadn’t just read your mind.

You sighed, tilting your head back. “I don’t know anymore.”

For once, Max didn’t smirk, didn’t tease. When you glanced at him, his expression was softer, the usual sharpness in his eyes replaced with something closer to concern.

“You don’t have to wait for him you know,” he said simply.

You exhaled, turning to face him fully. “And what else am I supposed to do?”

He shrugged, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Maybe you’re too close to see it, but you’re worth a lot more than being someone’s second choice.”

Max’s words his unwavering certainty planted a thought in your mind that you weren’t ready to face. “I know you’re trying to help,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, “but it’s complicated. I’ve been friends with Lando for so long it’s hard to just—”

“Walk away?” Max interrupted gently. “Sometimes that’s the best thing you can do for yourself.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Max shook his head, as if letting you off the hook.

“Forget it,” he said, his tone lighter. “I know you’re not ready to give up on him.” And then he pushed off the wall and walked away, disappearing into the crowd before you could stop him.

But as you stood there, alone in the darkened corner of the club, Lando’s laughter echoing from somewhere across the room, you found yourself wondering if Max was right. And if he was…what the hell were you still waiting for?

One late night, you found yourself sitting with Max in the quiet hum of the Red Bull garage. His hands moved animatedly as he explained his thoughts on the upcoming strategy, eyes sharp with focus, completely absorbed in his own thoughts. He spoke fast, precise, running through every possibility, every variable, like his mind was operating on a level most people couldn’t even grasp.

It was mesmerising to watch.

“You’re staring,” he noted, barely looking up from the data, but the smirk in his voice was unmistakable.

You blinked, caught off guard, heat creeping up your neck. “Am I?” you deflected, tilting your head. “Maybe I’m just realising you might actually know what you’re talking about.”

Max let out a short chuckle, leaning back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he studied you with an infuriating level of amusement. “Careful,” he mused, his eyes glinting. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were impressed.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Let’s not get carried away.”

His smirk widened, his voice dropping slightly as he leaned in. “Too late. I’m taking it as a compliment.”

You rolled your eyes, but the small smile you couldn’t quite hide gave you away. “Fine. I guess you’re a lot better at this than I may have originally gave you credit for.”

Max raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “That almost sounded genuine. Say it again, I just wanna make sure I heard you right.”

You nudged his arm, laughing despite yourself. “Don’t push your luck Verstappen.”

Max just grinned, and he looked at you then like he knew something you didn’t, but before you could respond your phone buzzed on the table between you. You didn’t even have to check the screen to know who it was.

Lando.

You picked it up, your stomach tightening as you read the message. A simple, casual miss you.

Two words that once would have sent your heart racing now felt hollow. Forced. Like an afterthought rather than something real. Your fingers hovered over the screen before you exhaled quietly and set your phone back down without replying.

“What did he say?” Max asked, his tone unreadable.

“Nothing important,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over the edge of the table.

Max didn’t press, but the atmosphere felt heavier, like there was something you’d both acknowledged without needing to say it aloud.

Then, with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Max stood, stretching his arms over his head. “Come on, it’s late let’s get out of here.”

You nodded, standing as well, but before you could say anything, he glanced at you, something unreadable across his face. “Goodnight princess,” he added as you headed your own way, his tone light, teasing like nothing about this night had affected him at all.

But when you looked at him, really looked at him, you saw it. The shift in his expression. The way his smirk faltered for just a second, like there was something else he wanted to say but wouldn’t.

Days later you were standing beside Max the night air was warm, thick with the lingering heat of the day. It could’ve been anywhere, a quiet corner of the paddock, or a rooftop overlooking the city, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the way Max wouldn’t look at you.

He had been quiet all day. His jaw was tight, his fingers tracing the edge of the bottle in his hand, his eyes fixed on the ground like he was thinking about something he didn’t want to say out loud.

You exhaled, shifting beside him. “You’re acting weird.”

Max scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “I’m not.”

You arched an eyebrow. “You are. You’re never quiet this long unless you’re planning something dangerous.”

At that, he let out a breath of laughter, but it faded quickly.

“I don’t get it,” he said suddenly, watching you over his drink.

You frowned. “Get what?”

His jaw clenched slightly before he spoke, his voice quieter now, more measured. “How can he not see it?”

A strange sort of unease curled in your chest. “See what?”

“You.” His voice was steady, intent. “You’re always there, supporting him, understanding him…I don’t understand how he doesn’t see how incredible you are.”

Your breath caught, heat rushing to your face at the sheer honesty in his tone. Max didn’t say things he didn’t mean. He didn’t hand out compliments just for the sake of it.

“Max…”

He shook his head, setting his drink down on the ledge beside him. “He’s blind, or maybe just afraid. But you deserve more than this.” His lips pressed together for a second, like he was trying to keep his emotions in check. “You deserve someone who doesn’t take you for granted.”

You swallowed, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. “It’s not as bad as you make it sound,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “I know he cares about me, maybe not in the way I’ve always wanted him to but…” You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “When things got hard, when I needed someone, he’s never turned his back on me.” A small, almost sad smile crossed your lips. “We’ve been through so much together. He knows me better than most people do.”

Max’s expression was lost, but he didn’t interrupt.

“It’s just sometimes, it’s hard,” you admitted finally, your voice carrying the weight of years of unspoken doubts. “Because I know he cares really, in his own way, but I don’t know if it’ll ever be enough.” You shook your head, exhaling slowly. “Not in the way I want it to be.”

Max’s gaze softened slightly, the edge of his earlier frustration fading just a little. “You can’t keep waiting for him to notice,” he murmured finally, breaking the quiet. His voice was steady, but there was something else there too.

You shifted beside him, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I’m not waiting—”

Max cut you a look.

You sighed, looking down at your hands. “Okay. Maybe I am.”

Max exhaled, running a hand through his hair, glancing out into the night. For a moment, you thought that was the end of it that he would just drop it like he always did when you didn’t want to listen. But then, just as you were about to change the subject, he spoke again.

“I just don’t get why it has to be him.”

Your head snapped up, eyes locking onto his. “What?”

Max’s jaw tightened, like he regretted saying it out loud. But he didn’t backtrack. He never did. Instead, he exhaled sharply. “You act like he’s the only person in the world who could ever make you happy.”

Your stomach twisted. “That’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” His voice was level, but there was an edge to it, something restrained. He ran a hand over his jaw, looking away for a second before turning back to you. “I’ve seen you wait for him. Years. And I keep wondering…”

A lump formed in your throat. “Wondering what?”

Max swallowed, his hands flexing at his sides like he wanted to shove them in his pockets or maybe run them through his hair again, anything to distract himself. But he didn’t. He just looked at you.

“Wondering when you’re gonna realise you don’t have to.”

The words hit you like a punch to the stomach.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Because what the hell were you supposed to say to that?

He leaned back against the ledge, tilting his head slightly. “For what it’s worth,” he said, his voice softer now, no teasing, just quiet sincerity. “I just want you to be happy. That’s all.”

You exhaled, looking down at your hands, the weight of everything settling deep in your chest. “Me too.”

Max nudged your knee with his, a small attempt to lighten the moment. “You’ll figure it out.”

You glanced at him, searching his expression, and found nothing but warmth in his gaze. “Yeah?”

He nodded, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. You always figure things out when it matters.”

You huffed a small laugh and just like that, the tension lifted, fading into the night. Maybe nothing had changed. Maybe everything had. And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were waiting for Lando at all. Or if you were just afraid of what would happen if you finally stopped.

Lando’s behaviour changed even more in the following weeks as he felt your absence grow.

The late replies that once went unnoticed were now met with double texts. The easy, casual invites had turned into persistent attempts to recreate days together “just like old times.” He was calling more, messaging at odd hours, throwing your name into conversations like a tether, as if trying to remind you of your place in his world.

It should have felt like everything you had ever wanted. The attention, the shift, the proof that maybe this had been the answer all along. And yet, somehow, the thrill of getting Lando’s attention wasn’t as satisfying as you’d imagined.

And then, one night, everything changed.

It wasn’t a grand gesture, no dramatic moment of realisation. It was just Lando, the two of you standing together slightly separated from the crowd. You had noticed it the way his eyes lingered, the way his laughter softened when it was just the two of you, like he was seeing something new.

And then, just like that, he finally said it.

“You’re one of the most important people in my life,” he admitted. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Let me take you out,” he said suddenly, almost like he was realising it in real time. “Just us. Properly.”

Your heart pounded as you stared at him.

This was it.

Lando, finally seeing you. Finally wanting you.

For months, years really, you had waited for this. Dreamed of it even.

And when the moment finally arrived, you said yes.

A real dinner, just the two of you. No last-minute paddock meet-ups, no half-hearted invitations tacked onto group outings. A proper date. The kind you had imagined more times than you could count. And yet, as you sat across from Lando at a sleek, candlelit table, dressed in the outfit you’d spent way too long picking out, the excitement you had expected wasn’t there.

Instead, a strange mix of anticipation and dread settled in your chest.

You tried to ignore it.

Lando was smiling at you, talking animatedly about something, golf, or maybe a new sim rig setup, but you found your mind drifting. The restaurant was perfect, the kind of place you used to imagine him taking you to.

But something about the moment still felt…off.

You forced yourself to focus.

Lando leaned back in his chair, exhaling as he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers raking through the curls like he was trying to ease some unseen tension. “Everything is just so busy at the moment,” he admitted, shaking his head slightly. “Sponsor stuff, sim training, and, you know, the actual racing.” He let out a small laugh. “Barely any time to breathe.”

He smiled then, but there was something searching in his gaze. His fingers tapped lightly against the stem of his glass before he lifted it, taking a slow sip. “But I guess you’ve been busy too.”

You blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

Lando tilted his head slightly, the candlelight flickering in his eyes as he studied you. “I don’t know,” he said, voice lighter than his expression. “It just feels like I don’t see you as much anymore. Not like we used to.”

The words settled between you, and suddenly, the air felt heavier.

You hesitated, fingers curling around the stem of your wine glass, rolling it between your fingertips as if that would steady you. “Yeah…I guess things have just been different lately.”

Lando nodded slowly, but his gaze didn’t leave yours. “Different how?”

“I don’t know,” you said carefully. “I guess I’ve just been… busy.”

Lando hummed, unconvinced. “Busy with Max?”

You inhaled sharply, the directness of his words catching you off guard. He wasn’t teasing, wasn’t smirking. He was asking.

You placed your glass down, exhaling. “We’ve been spending more time together, yeah.”

“I figured,” he said finally, his voice even. “You two have been… close lately.”

You swallowed, feeling a strange mix of guilt and something else, something you weren’t ready to name. “It’s not like that,” you said quickly, but even as the words left your mouth, you weren’t sure they were true.

Lando studied you for another second, then sighed, shaking his head with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m not mad, you know,” he said, softer now. “I just… I guess I didn’t realise how much things had changed.”

Your chest tightened, but you didn’t know what to say. Because neither had you.

Lando nodded, then he leaned forward resting his elbows on the table, his voice dropping slightly. “Did I do something wrong?”

You swallowed, caught off guard. “No. Of course not.”

And it was true, wasn’t it? Lando hadn’t done anything wrong. Not really.

But even as the words left your mouth, doubt crept in.

Lando smiled then, that boyish grin that had always made your heart stutter in the past, the one that made it so easy to believe that maybe this could be something real. Something right.

“I’m glad,” he said, his voice lighter now, more assured. “Because I’ve missed you. And I’m really glad we’re finally doing this.”

You smiled, sipping your wine. “Yeah, it’s nice. Kind of reminds me of when things were simpler.”

The conversation flowed easier after that, the awkwardness from earlier slipping away, replaced by something familiar. Comfortable. For the first time that night, it felt like just you and Lando again. No second-guessing, no pressure, but deep down you knew there was still that lingering uncertainty in the back of your mind.

The next evening you found Max leaning against the hotel’s outdoor railing, looking out over the city lights. He glanced up as you approached, and you saw it the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers curled slightly against the metal railing.

“You okay?” you asked, coming to stand beside him.

Max let out a slow breath. “Long day.”

You hesitated before speaking. “I went out with Lando last night.”

His jaw tensed. “I know.”

You studied him for a moment, the way his expression gave nothing away, the way his shoulders seemed just a little more rigid than usual. “Going out with him again tonight?” His voice was calm.

You frowned, something about the way he asked making your stomach twist. “Yes. I thought that’s what you wanted. Isn’t this your plan?”

Max finally turned to you then, he exhaled through his nose, a humourless chuckle escaping before he shook his head. “Yeah,” he said, voice quieter now. “It was.”

“Max…”

He looked away, his fingers gripping the railing a little tighter. “Maybe it wasn’t the best idea after all.”

You blinked, taken aback by the shift in his voice, the weight behind the words. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Max let out a slow breath, shaking his head slightly, like he was frustrated, like he was frustrated with himself more than anything else. “Forget it,” he muttered, pushing off the railing.

“No,” you countered quickly, “tell me.”

He hesitated, his gaze searching yours, but whatever he was looking for he must not have found it, because instead of answering he took a step back. “Trust me, it doesn’t matter,” he sighed, turning towards the door.

You watched him go, frustration rising in your chest. “It does matter Max,” you called after him, but he didn’t stop, didn’t turn back.

His words hung in the air between you as he walked back inside. It wasn’t like Max to admit something like that to let something slip in a way that made him sound uncertain. He was always so sure, so stubborn, so relentless in his convictions. But tonight? He had let you see it. For the first time, you weren’t sure who this plan had really been for.

His words lingered in your mind long after he’d said them.

Dinners with Lando should have felt like everything you’d been waiting for. The perfect setting, the glow of candlelight, the easy rhythm of conversation. And yet, despite it all, the way he smiled at you from across the table, the familiarity that once felt effortless, something was missing.

It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t awkward. But it felt… off. Like a song played just slightly out of tune. Like you were reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore, grasping at the edges of a feeling that had already slipped through your fingers.

And worse, you couldn’t stop thinking about Max.

His easy smile, the way he always saw through you, the way he challenged you and pushed you in a way that never felt like a game. Just enough to make you feel. Just enough to make you realise that somehow he had carved out space in your life when you hadn’t even been looking. You weren’t sure when it had started, this creeping awareness, this feeling that had settled in the back of your mind, refusing to be ignored. But it was there now. Constant. Unshakable.

Sitting across from Lando you realised something that terrified you. You had outgrown the idea of him, outgrown the dream of what you thought this would be.

And yet, things didn’t get any better from there. If anything, they got worse.

Lando’s sudden attention and Max’s constant presence pulled you in opposite directions, leaving you stranded somewhere between what you had always wanted and what you had never expected to find. And then, one evening, everything came to a head.

It was after another race, the energy in the paddock still buzzing as people came and went, but you had stepped away from the noise, needing a moment to breathe when the familiar hum of certain voices caught your attention.

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

But the second you recognised Max’s voice, low, tight, edged with frustration, you froze.

“You know, you’ve got a real gift for not seeing what’s right in front of you,” he said, his tone sharper than usual.

You frowned, your heart already racing as you stood up, moving closer to the edge of the doorway.

Lando’s reply was instant, defensive. “What’s your problem Max?”

Max let out a hollow laugh, sharp and humourless. “My problem?” he repeated, his voice dripping with frustration. “My problem is that you’ve had her in front of you for years, and you still can’t see her.”

Your breath caught, your body going rigid where you stood, hidden just out of sight.

There was a beat of silence, then Lando’s voice again, louder now. “What are you even talking about?”

Max scoffed, the sound filled with disbelief. “You know exactly what.” His voice was rising, the usual restraint gone. “She’s there, every race, every time you win, every time you screw up. Every time you need someone, she’s there.” His voice wavered for just a second before he pressed on, his words cutting through the air like a blade. “She’s the one who backs you up. Who understands you. Who makes excuses for you when you don’t even deserve them.”

Lando exhaled sharply, the sound more irritated than guilty. “Jesus Max you’re acting like I don’t care about her.”

Max let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t care about her. Not in the way you should.”

Lando’s voice sharpened. “And I suppose you do?”

Silence.

The kind of silence that wasn’t empty, but charged, pulsing between them like the prelude to a storm.

Your stomach twisted violently, your pulse hammering in your ears.

When Max spoke again, his voice was quieter, but no less intense. “She’s incredible Lando,” he said, his frustration bleeding into something raw, something real. “She’s smart, she’s funny, she’s… beautiful.” His voice cracked slightly, like saying the words out loud was taking something from him. “And you’re too blind to see it.”

Lando was quiet for a second. "You’re being dramatic.”

Max’s voice was flat. “Am I?”

“What’s your deal man? Since when do you care so much?” Lando prodded.

There it was.

The question you had never dared to ask yourself.

“Because I…” He stopped, inhaling sharply like the words had gotten stuck somewhere in his throat. But when he spoke again, they came out hoarse, unguarded in a way you had never heard from him before. “Because maybe she deserves someone who actually sees her.” His voice was thick with something fragile. “Someone who doesn’t just notice her when she’s not there.”

Max wasn’t just arguing anymore. He wasn’t just frustrated with Lando. He was hurt.

Lando shook his head, disbelieving. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Max shot back, stepping forward now, his voice taut. “How is it fair to her? How is it fair that she’s spent years—years Lando waiting for you to notice something you never have? And now you suddenly care? Now that she’s not standing around waiting for you to decide?”

Lando opened his mouth, but Max cut him off.

“No, you don’t get to act like you’re some innocent guy in all this,” he snapped, his voice sharper than you’d ever heard it. “You don’t get to pretend you’re confused when you’ve spent this whole time taking her for granted.”

Lando’s face twisted, frustration flashing in his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about—”

Max took another step closer. “Then tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged, voice low, dangerous. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you’re not just doing this because she finally pulled away. Tell me that if she had never distanced herself, if she had never stopped running after you, if she never came to me, you still would’ve done something about it.”

Lando’s mouth opened slightly, like he wanted to argue, like he needed to argue.

But he didn’t.

Because he couldn’t.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Max exhaled sharply, shaking his head. His voice, when he spoke again, was quieter now, resigned. “If you really care about her…if you actually see her like you should have a long time ago then prove it. Otherwise…” He swallowed, his jaw tightening. “Otherwise, let her go.”

Your entire body had gone numb, frozen in place as the weight of his words crashed over you.

Lando didn’t answer and you couldn’t listen anymore.

You found Max outside the paddock, walking with quick, purposeful strides, his shoulders tense like he was trying to outrun what had just happened. His head was down, his fists clenched at his sides, his usual easy confidence stripped away.

You followed him before you could think better of it, your own heart hammering in your chest, your mind racing with everything you had just overheard.

“Max,” you called, your voice unsteady.

He didn’t stop.

“Max!” you yelled.

He stumbled back a step, his eyes widening when they met yours, realisation crashing over him in real time.

Shock. Guilt. Panic.

You saw it all flash across his face before he masked it, his expression shuttering, his jaw tightening as he instinctively tried to school himself into neutrality. But his fingers curled at his sides, his shoulders rising and falling with deep, unsteady breaths.

He knew.

He knew you had heard everything.

His mouth opened, like he was about to say something, an excuse, maybe, a brush-off, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“What was that?” you demanded, breathless, your pulse still racing.

Max hesitated, and for the first time since you’d known him he looked unsure. His entire frame stiffened, his lips parting before he pressed them into a thin line, calculating his next move weighing whether to tell the truth or run from it.

Finally, he let out a breath, voice rough when he spoke. “I would never take you for granted,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “I would never make you wonder where you stand. I would never make you feel like you weren’t enough.”

His eyes never left yours, as he continued. “If he can’t see what’s right in front of him, if he doesn’t wake up every damn day knowing how lucky he is just to exist in your orbit. If he can’t see you, if he can’t want you the way you deserve to be wanted, fully, completely, without hesitation..."

“Then maybe I can.” his next words coming out softer, but no less certain. “Because I already do.”

The world stilled.

Your breath caught, your body betraying you as warmth spread through your chest, through your limbs, through every single place Max Verstappen had ever touched in some way.

For weeks, months, you had been fighting it. Pretending it wasn’t there. Telling yourself that this was about Lando.

But standing here now, with Max looking at you like this, like you were something to be fought for you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore.

The days following Max’s confession were a blur of introspection and uncertainty. Lando reached out, texting, calling, sending you memes like nothing had changed, like he was trying to pull you back into the rhythm of what you’d always been.

But everything had changed.

Because every time your phone lit up with his name, your thoughts drifted to Max. The quiet strength of his presence, the way he had seen you, really seen you, long before you had even admitted it to yourself. Because for all the sniping and bickering, for all the fire and ice between you, Max had always been there. Not in the soft, obvious way Lando was, but in the way that mattered. He’d challenge you, push you, piss you off, but when it counted, when you really needed someone, Max showed up. No grand gestures, no sentimental speeches. Just him. Standing beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And eventually, you knew what you had to do.

You needed to talk to Lando. Really talk.

You found him at the track, sitting in the back of McLaren’s garage, staring at his phone like it held answers he didn’t know how to ask for. He looked up when you approached, his expression flickering with something between relief and apprehension.

“Hey,” he said, shoving his phone into his pocket. “You finally decided to stop avoiding me?”

You sighed, sliding into the seat across from him. “I wasn’t avoiding you.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “Oh so you just happened to stop texting back? And just happened to be everywhere except where I was?” His voice was teasing, but his expression betrayed him.

You exhaled, gripping the edge of the table as you tried to steady your emotions. “I needed space to figure things out.”

Lando’s smirk, the one he always used to defuse tension, flickered, then disappeared entirely.

“Lando,” you said cautiously, searching for the right words, unsure of how to say what needed to be said. “I care about you…I always will…but I also care about Max.”

His brows pulled together instantly. “What do you mean?” His voice wasn’t defensive, but it was careful, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

You took a steadying breath, your pulse quickening. “I’ve spent a lot of time with him this year, and somewhere along the way something changed,” you admitted, the words feeling heavier as they left your lips. “I see us all so differently now. And it’s… complicated.”

Lando’s expression shifted, his jaw tensing slightly. He blinked a few times, like he was still trying to process what you were saying. “So… you’re saying you like him?”

You hesitated, but there was no point in denying it anymore. “Yeah,” you said softly, your heart pounding. “I think I do.”

Lando leaned back in his seat, dragging a hand down his face before exhaling slowly. His lips pressed together, his mind working through something you couldn’t quite place.

You could see it, the initial reaction he was fighting, the part of him that didn’t like it, the part that was still struggling with the idea of losing whatever the two of you had once been. For years, you had been his, his closest friend, his safe space, the person who had always been there, no matter what.

And now, you weren’t.

For a long moment he didn’t say anything. He just stared at the table, brows furrowed, jaw still clenched like he was trying to work out how he really felt about this.

“Lando?” you prompted hesitantly.

He let out a breath, shaking his head. “I mean… I guess I should’ve seen this coming, right?”

You frowned. “Lando—”

“No, I mean it,” he interrupted, sitting up straighter. “You and Max…I don’t know. It makes sense, I guess.”

You searched his face, trying to gauge how much of that was genuine. “You don’t have to pretend to be okay with it.”

Lando sighed, shaking his head. “I’m not pretending.” He paused, rubbing his palms over his thighs before looking back at you. “It’s just weird you know? I got so used to you being my person, even if I was too stupid to ever do anything about it.” His lips twitched into a small, almost bitter smile. “And now you’re…his?”

You swallowed, shifting slightly in your seat. “I don’t know what I am yet.”

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “You two have spent years arguing about everything. I always thought you hated each other half the time.”

You let out a short, almost incredulous laugh. “We do sometimes.” You shook your head, a small smile playing at your lips as memories flickered through your mind. “We push each other’s buttons, we argue, we drive each other insane. But somehow…it just makes sense now.”

Lando drummed his fingers on the table, nodding slowly as he processed your words. “So what you’re saying is you like the way he pushes your buttons?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not just that.”

He smirked slightly. “But it is a little bit that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe. But it’s also the fact that he sees me. He pushes me to be better. He doesn’t let me fade into the background or sit around waiting for someone to notice me.”

Lando let out a slow breath, nodding. “Yeah. That sounds like Max.”

You hesitated. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear.”

“It’s not. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get it.” He glanced away for a second before looking back at you, his gaze softer. “Does he make you happy?”

The question caught you off guard.

Did Max make you happy?

The thought of him alone sent warmth spreading through your chest, and you realised you were smiling before you even had the chance to answer.

“Yeah,” you admitted softly. “He does.”

Lando watched you for a long moment, then let out a short chuckle. “Then that’s it isn’t it?”

You frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if he makes you happy, then you should go for it.”

You blinked. “Just like that?”

He gave you a small, almost exasperated smile. “No, not just like that. I don’t love it, okay? I don’t love the idea…” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I’ve known Max a long time. And yeah, he can piss me off…” A smirk ghosted over his lips before fading just as quickly. “But he’s a good guy. And if he’s the one who finally made you feel seen then I can’t be mad about that. And I know that if he cares about you the way I think he does, then he’s going to treat you right.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your chest tightening.

“This might not mean much, but…” he started, voice softer now. “I’m sorry.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “For what?”

“For not being what you needed. For noticing you too late.” He swallowed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if things would have been different if I had figured it out sooner, but you deserved better than waiting around for me to get my shit together.”

Your chest ached at his words, but there was no anger, no resentment just an understanding that you had both needed to reach.

“I do love you, you know,” Lando added. “Maybe not in the way you wanted. But you’ve always meant a lot to me.”

You reached across the table, squeezing his hand briefly before pulling away. “And you’ll always mean a lot to me too.”

Lando smiled then. “Just don’t let him gloat too much about this, alright?”

A laugh bubbled out of you, and for the first time in months, it didn’t feel weighed down by uncertainty.

Things between you and Lando weren’t perfect. Maybe they never would be again.

But as you sat there, sharing a smile that still felt familiar, you realised something important.

You hadn’t lost him.

And maybe you were finally allowing yourself to find something new.

You went to Max the next night, your heart pounding with every step, anticipation buzzing beneath your skin like electricity. No more waiting, no more pretending. Every nerve in your body was alight with the urgency of it, the sheer need to see him, to tell him.

The moment he opened the door you could tell something was wrong. He stood there, gripping the handle tightly, his posture tense, like he had been expecting bad news. His hair was slightly disheveled, he looked restless, unsettled, like he was carrying a weight he didn’t know how to put down.

You hesitated, swallowing hard. “Can I come in?”

Max stared at you for a second longer, as if debating whether letting you in would make this better or worse. But then, with a sigh, he stepped back, holding the door open.

You slipped inside, the air in the room heavy, thick with unspoken words. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the space, and you noticed the half-empty water bottle on the bedside table, the hotel key tossed haphazardly on the desk. It looked like he had been pacing, maybe sitting at the edge of the bed, getting up, sitting back down, as if he hadn’t been able to sit still since the last time you saw him.

Max ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly before turning back to you. “I get it,” he muttered before you could speak, voice gruff, like he had already convinced himself of the worst. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Your brows furrowed. “Max—”

“No, really.” He let out a breathless, almost bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “I already know how this goes. I saw you with him yesterday at the McLaren garage.” He forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re here to tell me that this was a mistake. That I got the wrong idea. That you’re choosing him.”

His words stung, not because they were true, but because he actually believed them.

Your throat tightened. “Max, that’s not—”

“If you’re happy, then I’m happy.” His voice was quieter now, you knew he was telling the truth, but still he was guarded, like he was preparing himself for impact. “That’s what matters.”

Something inside you cracked.

You stepped forward before you could second-guess yourself, reaching for his hand. He flinched slightly at the contact, his fingers twitching against yours, but he didn’t pull away.

“Did you mean what you said?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Max’s brows knitted together, his body going still. “What?”

You swallowed hard, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “About seeing me, wanting me?”

For a second you saw it that flicker of hesitation, the instinct to lie, to brush it off, to save himself from whatever heartbreak he thought was coming. His lips parted, as if he was about to say something dismissive, something easy.

But he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t lie to you. Not about this. Not when it had been clawing at him for months, maybe years.

His mask slipped, the exhaustion, the frustration, the sheer weight of everything finally crashing down as he exhaled. His voice when he spoke was raw, unfiltered, like he had no choice but to lay himself bare.

“Every word,” he admitted, his gaze burning into yours. His fingers twitched against your hand, his grip tightening just slightly, as if he needed something to hold onto. “I meant every fucking word.”

You had spent so long waiting, waiting to be noticed, waiting to be chosen, waiting for something that was never going to happen. And all this time, Max had been there. Right in front of you. Seeing you in a way you had never even thought to ask for.

Relief flooded through you, mingling with something that had been building for so long, something inevitable.

Your breath came shakily, your fingers trembling slightly as the truth tumbled out before you could stop it. “I think…” You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like gravity itself. “I think I’ve been waiting for the wrong person.”

His entire body reacted, like the words had physically hit him, like he had been bracing himself for heartbreak and suddenly, inexplicably, found himself with something else entirely.

Hope.

His eyes searched yours, desperate and overwhelmed. “I didn’t plan this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand hovering near your cheek fighting against every instinct telling him to touch you. “But…I can’t pretend it isn’t real.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine.

It was real. It had been real for so much longer than you had even realised.

You let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh. “Neither can I.”

“You mean that?” he asked.

“I mean it,” you whispered, leaning into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against your skin. “I see you now,” you breathed, voice steadier than you expected. “And I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Max’s lips parted slightly. “Fuck,” he breathed, his forehead pressing lightly against yours as his other hand settled on your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

Your fingers curled against his chest, gripping the fabric of his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

Max let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head against yours. “Because I’m a fucking idiot.”

You laughed, though it was shaky, uneven, because your heart was pounding so loudly in your chest that you were sure he could hear it.

Max’s hands flexed against you, like he was still struggling to believe this was happening. “I tried not to want this,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Tried to push it down, to ignore it, to pretend like it wasn’t tearing me apart every time I saw you waiting for him.” His grip on you tightened, his forehead pressing harder against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “But once there was even the slightest chance? Once I realised I wasn’t crazy, that maybe—maybe you could feel this too?��� He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “There was no turning back. I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That I’d never want anyone else,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “That it’s always been you.”

The words sent a shockwave through you, your entire body reacting before your mind could catch up. A soft breath escaped your lips as you surged forward, your hands gripping his hoodie, your mouth finding his in a kiss that was everything, all the months, years of unspoken feelings, of stolen glances, of tension neither of you had been willing to name.

Max groaned softly against your lips, his hands tightening on your waist as he pulled you against him like he needed you closer, like there was no air without you. He kissed you like he had been starving for this, like he had spent so long convincing himself he couldn’t have it that now, finally, he was never letting go.

You gasped against his mouth, and he smiled into the kiss, tilting his head slightly to deepen it, to savour it, to own it. His hands slid around your back, holding you flush against him, his heartbeat racing just as fast as yours.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to press his forehead to yours again, his breathing was uneven, his lips swollen from the force of it. His fingers trailed down your arms, finding your hands, lacing your fingers together, he let out a quiet laugh.

“What?” you asked, grinning as you fought to steady your breathing, still feeling the ghost of his lips against yours.

Max shook his head, brushing his nose against yours. “I just…I never thought I’d get this,” he admitted, his voice lighter now.

Your heart clenched at the honesty in his voice, the way he looked at you like you were something impossible that had somehow, miraculously, become real.

His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “I’ve felt like this for longer than you probably realise.”

“Oh Max…”

He shook his head. “No, I need to say this.” His hands squeezed at your waist, his touch grounding, reassuring. “I used to tell myself I was just looking out for you. That I was just annoyed whenever you talked about him because I didn’t care…but the truth is I was jealous. So fucking jealous.”

His confession sent warmth flooding through your chest, making your fingers tighten in his hands.

“I’d see you standing by him, always waiting, always looking at him like he was the only one for you, and I’d tell myself that it didn’t matter. That you deserved each other.” He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “But I could never really believe it.”

Your throat felt tight, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Max…”

“I spent so much time telling myself you’d never see me that way,” Max continued, his voice dropping even lower, more intimate. “That even if I wanted you, even if I needed you, it didn’t matter. Because he was always the one you wanted.”

Your breath caught, the truth of it settling deep inside you.

“But then…” He smiled, just barely, like he still couldn’t believe it. “You started choosing me. It wasn’t all at once. It was little things, sticking around in my garage longer than you needed to, texting me first, showing up even when you had no reason to.” His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his gaze dipping down for a fraction of a second before meeting yours again. “And I realised I couldn’t just be your backup plan. I couldn’t just be the person keeping you distracted while you waited for him.”

You exhaled shakily, tilting your head just slightly into his touch. “Max…” You exhaled shakily, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “You were never just a distraction. You were never a backup plan. You—”

“I know,” he interrupted, smiling more now. “I know that now.”

His fingers brushed over your jaw, achingly gentle, his thumb traced along your cheek, making it impossible to look anywhere but at him.

“For so long, I told myself it wasn’t real. That it was just something in my head. Something I could turn off if I wanted to.”

You felt your chest tighten at the confession, at how much weight he had been carrying alone.

“But then you started pulling away from him,” Max continued, exhaling sharply, his voice almost breaking. “And I—” He shook his head, like the memory itself made him unravel. “I realised I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t want you.”

“When we first made that stupid plan I thought, this is my chance to help her. I thought, if I can just get her to stop waiting around for him, maybe she’ll be happy.” He swallowed hard, his eyes flickering between yours. “But I never planned for you. I didn’t think I’d be the one falling harder every second we were together.”

“You’re the one who sees me,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not just when it’s convenient, not just when I’m standing right in front of you, waiting. You see me, even when I don’t know what I want. You make me feel like I matter,” you continued, your fingers smoothing over the lines in his jaw. “Not just because I’m there, not because it’s easy, but because you choose to. Every time.”

A shaky exhale left his lips.

And you weren’t finished.

“You’ve never made me feel like I had to earn my place with you,” you whispered, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “I don’t have to be louder, or funnier, or wait for my turn. I don’t have to prove I belong with you. I just do. You are the person who makes me feel safe, who pushes me without ever making me doubt myself. You don’t just listen, you understand. You don’t just show up, you stay.”

“And it’s not just that,” you continued, voice steadier now. “It’s the way I see you too.”

“I don’t think you even realise it,” you murmured, shaking your head slightly. “How rare you are. How brilliant you are. How you notice things before anyone else does. How your mind works so fast it’s almost unfair.” You let out a small breath of laughter, your hand still cradling his jaw. “They don’t see how funny you are, how effortless it is for you to make people laugh, even when you’re not trying. How much you care even when you pretend not to.”

Before either of you could say anything else, he kissed you again, slow and deep and certain, like he was making up for all the time he had wasted. You sighed into it, your arms winding around his neck, your body pressing into his as his hands gripped your waist, anchoring you against him.

He kissed you like you were his like you had always been his.

“I hope you know,” he murmured against your temple, pressing a lingering kiss there, “that I’m never letting you go now.”

A wide grin broke across your face as you squeezed his hands in return. “Good,” you whispered. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Max let out a laugh, one full of relief, full of joy, full of you. He kissed you again, and again, and again, each one lighter, each one full of laughter, all full of something so impossibly right.