#used car parts melbourne

[secondhandcarpartsonline]

Sustainable Solutions: Auto Wreckers in Melbourne for Used Car Parts and Removal

Auto wreckers in Melbourne play a very important role as they help in preserving the environment as they wreck old, discarded vehicles take useful parts from them and offer it for sale. Sometimes cars are damaged in accidents or there may be some issues in some parts of a car and hence in such cases, replacement parts are required. Auto wreckers offer a treasure trove of used car parts, offering a sustainable and cost-effective alternative to buying brand-new components. Also, all the car parts found with leading auto wreckers are of top quality and hence one needs no fear about bad quality products. Opting for used parts not only saves you money but also reduces the demand for new manufacturing and one can contribute to a greener environment.

Used car parts in Melbourne are available for almost all types of car brands like Ford, Holden, Honda, Hyundai, KIA, Mazda, Mitsubishi, Nissan, etc. One can just give the exact specifications to the leading wreckers can they can help with the requisite product. One also saves a lot of money in the process while getting the right part for the car. The leading wreckers only stock the best quality parts and hence one can be sure of the quality. So, whether you're restoring a classic car or just need a quick fix, auto wreckers are one’s go-to source for affordable and environmentally friendly solutions.

Stuck with a Damaged, Broken or Old Car?

Well, the leading car wreckers can do old car removal and offer the best prices for such cars. They specialise in the removal and disposal of unwanted vehicles, whether they are old, damaged, or simply no longer roadworthy. Auto wreckers bring their truck to tow the vehicle and can take a wide range of vehicles, including 4WDs, commercial vehicles, trucks, buses, and cars of any make or model, both old and new.

Drop a mail or directly call the leading auto wreckers for car removal or for purchasing old car parts.

Source

[sunshinewreckers]

https://sunshinewreckers.com/quality-auto-parts-from-sunshine-wreckers-your-premier-mercedes-benz-wreckers/

[firstautopartsplus]

Online Auto Parts Store | First Auto Parts Plus

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Resource URL: https://firstautoparts.com.au

[mecachrome]

notes from nicole piastri's interview on red flags pod

oscar started playing monopoly and chess when he was 4-5 but he was too good at chess (relative to nicole) that she boycotted it

nicole opened her twitter account because oscar wasn't replying to her at boarding school and she needed a place to chastise him ("can you not answer... i KNOW you're on your phone") (it worked because he started replying to her there)

instead of unflappable she calls him "conservative"

even during christmas and birthdays he was never super excited, one time they went with a group of 5 mums and 5 kids to a hi-5 concert (popular australian kids' musical group) and while all the kids were "going nuts" oscar just sat there "focused the whole time" and didn't smile or move lmfao. they were like 3 years old

didn't know what she was doing with oscar as a baby because he was her first child and her mothers' group was her only reference and they went "isn't the best part of the day when you wake up and go to their crib and they smile at you?" and she was like ??? because oscar would wake up and just SCREAM every single day needing to be out of there immediately and she thought that was just normal... then she had the girls and went "ahhhh... so that's what they're talking about"

when he was younger than 2 he needed them to read car magazines to him and was already obsessed with all things automotive and while they were driving would just name off and point out car brands by their badges

for a long period of time he behaved like he was a car and would "spin" his wheels and pretend to accelerate and run like a car lol

did a big burnout the first time he was on a bike (it had training wheels but he still learned very early)

as a mum she wishes he'd chosen golf or tennis since it's much safer than f1 and sometimes people tell her that she technically had a say in that when he was a kid and she said "but i didn't! it was just in him!!!"

won an academic award when he was 13 and she was president of the parents' community so she presented it to him, normally these events are super formal and you simply shake hands but she gave him a big kiss and instead of acting embarrassed or spluttering he looked at the crowd, nodded silently, and walked off

came back for the summer a few years ago and they were biking on the beach together when she had to brake hard to avoid a kid and went over, when she recovered and got back on he went "are you all right?" very deadpan but after they got home they checked his heart rate monitor and saw that he was totally steady the whole time except for when she crashed and his heart rate went through the roof, told him "ah so you do have a heart... we just don't see it"

"there's no sibling that can piss him off?" "well he's a boy with three girls so he just doesn't go there because he's never going to win"

met lily in person for the first time when he came home for the melbourne grand prix (was still alpine reserve), at midnight oscar was like "hey mum you know the dts film crew are coming tomorrow morning right?" and she was like WHAT... and he was like yeah it'll be chill they just want to film us having breakfast like a normal family or whatever and she was like Mate you haven't lived here for 5 years now do you know what breakfast looks like. it looks like your sisters storming downstairs and grabbing an inappropriate breakfast and storming out the door giving me the finger!!! and then the next morning lily comes down and nicole is like "oh is oscar up?" and lily is like no... i think he's still in bed... (many such cases) and then mae refused to be in it so she got dressed and ran off to school 2 hours early to escape them. and then the mclaren fiasco happened and the whole thing got cut out of dts anyway

when she said "oh my god you met matt damon!" he was just like (shrugs) "yeah... yeah..."

they communicate by facetiming and he's Always lying in bed. one time in bahrain he was leaning back on an ornate tapestry and she asked what hotel he was staying at and he was like oh i'm at the royal palace i'm like a guest of the crown prince. she freaked out and was like "oh my god!!! get your head off the tapestry!!!" and he just looked back like ? no it's fine it looks pretty old lol

called her to tell her that he signed his f1 contract and when he said mclaren she Realized and was like oh no i love daniel!! and he straight up deadpanned "yeah everyone loves daniel. that's going to be a problem..." and said verbatim "of all the f1 drivers ever daniel is the worst one to be replacing"

one time in f4 chris couldn't go to a race and billy monger had just had his crash so she flew to the uk for the weekend to support him and when she was driving him back to boarding school she was happy because she had 2 hours to spend with him and she wasn't sure when she'd see him again but instead he slept the whole way through and the moment they got back to school he went "ahhhh... home sweet home" and she wanted to slap him lmfao

first day of primary school when he was 5 years old he said he didn't need her to walk him to school and she was like "well i actually do mate" so he forced her to walk behind him the whole way and the moment they got there he turned to her and went "all right i'm here you can go now" 😭

the chinese & italian & yugoslavian is on chris's side of the family while nicole's is scottish & irish ("that's where the pasty skin comes from")

red flags pod sent her a shirt with oscar's face composed of His Tweet and she showed it to him and he immediately said he wanted it

he gave her a small warning before he posted the tweet but it was just like "mum so this is going to happen just don't worry about it. it's all under control. it'll be fine" and was very calm the whole time

"we just had to trust that his personality would come through at some point, because the way he came across was not at all what he's like. people will work out who the real you is so just continue to do what you do" 🥺

all of the kids were obsessed with Cars (2006)

likes his mum's golden syrup dumplings and grandmother's rumballs

AT THE SINGAPORE GP IN 2023 HATTIE DISAPPEARED FOR HOURS TO GO SEE A K-POP CONCERT 😭😭😭😭 i think it was p1h lmfao (nicole was asked for her favorite group and went "i have no idea. five boys") ((it's txt)) meanwhile oscar is only into house music and she thinks everything he plays is the same song

did pilates when he went home but never with her and thinks it's a lot harder than it looks

takes him minimum 24 hours to respond to anything she sends

she had an exact conversation with oscar where she asked who he wanted to be teammates with and he said "well if i go up against lando i don't even have to get close the first year because everyone knows how good he is" 😭

oscar you are so you 🧡

[diamonddaze01]

Full Throttle (i)

pairing: ferrari driver!yoon jeonghan x journalist!reader chapter wc: 20.6K (dont look at me)genre: humor, fluff, angst, smut (?) au: f1 au (i am sorry i am a nerd abt this) rating: m (MINORS DNI)warnings: SLOOOOOW BURN. mentions of injuries, car crashes // eventual smut.

PREQUELS: would highly recommend reading On the Record and Off the Record to gain some context into the relationship! This fic starts directly after the end of Off the Record 

summary: jeonghan's not used to someone who pushes his buttons as easily as you do, and you're not used to someone who challenges you as quickly as he does. maybe it's time to go full throttle, both on and off the track.

a/n: this one is gonna be long. buckle in. this is dedicated to kae @ylangelegy , who was the one who pushed me to write this in the first place, and also graciously beta read this // this is also dedicated to alta @haologram , who watched me lose my mind over this for so long and gave me so much love and support as i wrote this. // huge thanks to lola @monamipencil and haneul @chanranghaeys for beta-reading and giving me their thoughts, especially about when things were too technical // and finally, an ENORMOUS thank you to jupiter @cheolism for the banner!

read part 2 here! <3

FORMULA 1 ROLEX AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Melbourne Grand Prix Circuit 

The Australian Grand Prix had come to an end, but the buzz from the race still lingered in the air. The paddock had started to quiet down, though the echo of cheers and the scent of champagne were still fresh. Jeonghan stood at the edge of the pit lane, watching as the last of the mechanics began to clean up, the high of the win beginning to settle into a low hum of satisfaction.

His fingers absentmindedly brushed over his helmet, the familiar weight grounding him after the chaos of the race. But his mind wasn’t on the mechanics or the trophy waiting for him. No, it was on you.

You had walked away with that smug grin of yours, and even now, hours later, the image of you—cool, collected, and far too clever for your own good—lingered in his thoughts. The way you’d turned the tables on him, effortlessly making him feel like the one caught off guard. For once, it hadn’t been about the race or the rumors swirling around his personal life—it had been about you and the way you knew how to press all his buttons without breaking a sweat.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, a grin creeping onto his face despite himself. "I should’ve asked her to dinner."

But there was no time for that now. The press was waiting. The fans, too. He needed to play the role of the cool, collected champion for the cameras, the last thing he needed was another round of gossip, another round of teasing from the people who loved to stir the pot. And yet, the thought of you, the way you’d made him feel a mix of frustration and something else entirely, was almost too tempting to ignore.

The crew cheered as he finally made his way back to the motorhome, the world still swirling in a whirlwind of victory and flashing cameras. But inside, it was quieter. More personal.

"Jeonghan!" His manager greeted him with a smile, the kind of smile that signaled the end of a long race and the beginning of yet another whirlwind of interviews, photos, and meetings. But Jeonghan only half-listened as his manager spoke, his mind flickering back to the conversation earlier.

"You sure know how to keep things interesting, don't you?" His manager chuckled, noticing the distraction in his eyes. "The headlines are still buzzing. You planning on setting the record straight anytime soon?"

Jeonghan chuckled under his breath, running a hand through his messy hair. "Let them talk," he muttered, flashing a grin. "It’s part of the game."

But that wasn’t what was on his mind. It was you. The way you’d baited him, just enough to make him feel the heat of the moment. He had never been this distracted by anyone—or anything—before.

"You have a minute?" a voice interrupted his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. It was his publicist, holding a phone in one hand, the other gesturing toward the press conference set up for him in the next room.

Jeonghan looked at her, then glanced over his shoulder as if expecting to see you again. But you were gone, just like that. He gave a small sigh, almost imperceptible to anyone watching.

"Yeah, yeah. Let’s do this," he muttered, before stepping forward. Jeonghan’s footsteps echoed through the motorhome hallway, the thrum of victory still running through his veins, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t shake the way you’d looked at him—those piercing eyes, full of challenge. He'd seen that expression before, but this time felt different. You weren’t just some reporter stirring up a bit of drama—you were someone who knew exactly how to get under his skin.

His publicist was waiting outside the press room, ready to brief him on the upcoming interviews and meetings. "You’ve got a full schedule, Jeonghan," she said, giving him the rundown with practiced precision. But Jeonghan barely heard her, his mind still distracted by the way you’d turned the tables.

"Hey," he cut in, slowing to a stop in front of her. "What do you know about Y/N?" he asked, his tone casual but with an edge of curiosity that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

The publicist blinked in surprise, and beside her, his manager gave a short laugh. "Y/N? You mean the reporter?" the manager asked, voice dripping with amusement. "The one you’ve had run-ins with over the past couple of seasons?"

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. "Run-ins?" he repeated, his lips curling into a small, knowing smirk. "What exactly are you implying?"

The publicist shrugged, exchanging a look with the manager. "She’s been covering F1 for a while, pretty sharp with her articles," she said, keeping her voice neutral. "Some of them have definitely gotten attention, especially that one a few weeks ago... the one about you and the whole ‘mysterious love life’ thing." Her eyes flicked to his manager, who made a face at the mention of that piece.

Jeonghan sighed, running a hand through his hair. He’d tried to forget about that article, but your earlier conversation (read as: challenge) had baffled him. "I shouldn’t have said anything," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "But you know she always gets a rise out of me, don’t you?"

The manager snickered. "Oh, we know. It’s not every day we get to watch you struggle to keep your cool. She’s got a way with words, that one." He winked. "But hey, I get it. She’s a great reporter—sharp, clever—and always knows where to find the juiciest stories. You just might want to be a little more careful with what you say around her next time."

Jeonghan smirked. "Careful? Since when have I ever been careful?"

His publicist gave a pointed look, clearly not impressed. "That’s not the problem, Jeonghan. It’s that you tend to forget she knows exactly what buttons to push."

Jeonghan chuckled, his eyes glinting with a new energy. "Oh, she’s good, I’ll give her that. But I’m not so easily rattled." His mind wandered back to the way you’d smirked and walked off, leaving him standing there feeling like he'd just been served a dish of his own medicine.

"Don’t underestimate her," the manager added, half-joking. "You’ve been in this game long enough to know, no one gets a rise out of you like that without knowing exactly what they’re doing."

Jeonghan hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose you’re right. But maybe..." He trailed off, eyes narrowing as a plan started to form in his mind. "...Maybe it’s time I gave her a taste of her own medicine."

The publicist and manager exchanged a glance but didn’t say anything. They knew that look—the one Jeonghan got whenever he was plotting something, usually with a dash of mischief and just the right amount of charm to make it impossible for anyone to say no. The same charm that had gotten him into trouble more times than they cared to count.

"You’ve got your interviews now, Jeonghan," his publicist reminded him gently, pulling him back to reality. "We can revisit this later. Just keep your head in the game for now."

He nodded, though his mind was still fixated on you. "Yeah, yeah. Later."

As he entered the press room, he was immediately hit with a barrage of questions. The usual ones about his win, his performance, and his plans for the rest of the season. But even as he answered, his thoughts lingered on you and that damn article. You were always one step ahead, always stirring the pot just enough to keep things interesting. But now, it seemed you had caught his attention for real.

And maybe—just maybe—he was going to have some fun with this.

FORMULA 1 MSC CRUISES JAPANESE GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Suzuka Ciruit

The neon lights of Tokyo cast a kaleidoscope of colors on the bustling streets, the city alive with energy even late into the night. After a long day of prepping for the upcoming race, you’d decided to wind down with a quiet drink in a tucked-away bar that promised a moment’s reprieve from the chaos of the paddock.

The bar was small and intimate, the kind of place that felt like a secret only locals knew about. Jazz music hummed softly in the background, and you found a seat near the corner, ready to savor your drink in peace.

But of course, peace wasn’t in the cards tonight.

“Y/N?”

The familiar voice made you freeze mid-sip. Turning your head, you found none other than Yoon Jeonghan standing a few feet away, his face lit with mild surprise and unmistakable amusement. He wasn’t in his Ferrari team gear for once—just a sleek black jacket and jeans, looking effortlessly casual in a way that somehow made him even more irritatingly attractive.

“Jeonghan,” you replied evenly, setting your drink down. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, sliding onto the stool beside you without an invitation. “Same as you, I’d imagine. Taking a break from the madness.” His eyes flicked to your glass. “Whiskey? I wouldn’t have pegged you for the type.”

“And what type is that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He leaned back slightly, his lips quirking into that trademark smirk. “The type who drinks whiskey alone in a bar and pretends they’re not thinking about work.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m not thinking about work. I’m thinking about how nice it is to not deal with questions about lap times and tire strategies for five minutes.”

Jeonghan chuckled, signaling to the bartender for a drink. “Fair enough. Though, if memory serves, you’re usually the one asking those questions.”

“Occupational hazard,” you shot back. “And if memory serves, you’re usually the one avoiding them.”

“Touché.” He raised his glass when it arrived, a silent toast that you reluctantly mirrored with your own.

For a while, the conversation meandered through safer topics—Tokyo’s sights, the food, the insanity of race week—but there was an undercurrent of something sharper, a game of verbal ping-pong that neither of you seemed willing to let go of.

“You know,” Jeonghan said after a particularly clever jab from you about his less-than-stellar start in Australia, “I think I’ve finally figured you out.”

“Oh?” you asked, amusement dancing in your tone. “Do tell.”

“You act all cool and collected, but deep down…” He paused for dramatic effect, leaning in slightly. “…you love the chaos. You thrive on it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though a grin tugged at your lips. “And what about you, Mr. Reigning Champion? Aren’t you the one who said chaos is just part of the game?”

“True,” he admitted with a lazy shrug. “But I like to think I’m more strategic about it.”

“Strategic?” you echoed, incredulous. “You literally said ‘let them talk’ after crossing the finish line in Australia. That’s not strategy, Jeonghan—that’s reckless arrogance.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and you hated how it made your chest tighten just a little. “Maybe. But it keeps things interesting, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t respond, sipping your drink instead, determined not to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

Jeonghan tilted his head, his gaze flicking over you with a knowing glint. “This feels familiar.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “What does?”

“Let’s just say you have a knack for leaving me with something to think about,” he said casually, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass.

A flicker of amusement crossed your face. “Still losing sleep over it, Jeonghan?”

He leaned in, his voice dropping low, laced with mischief. “Not quite. But I’ve been wondering if you’re all talk or if you actually mean half the things you say.”

You smirked, leaning back just a little. “And what are you planning to do about it?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Guess you’ll have to find out next time,” he said smoothly, signaling to the bartender and slipping his card onto the counter.

You frowned, catching on quickly. “Jeonghan, you don’t have to—”

“Of course I don’t,” he replied, his smirk growing as he leaned in just enough for his voice to drop, intimate and teasing. “But what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t treat you every now and then?”

“A terrible one,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms.

He chuckled, standing up and adjusting his jacket. “Always so quick with the comebacks.”

You tilted your head, not backing down. “And yet, here you are, still trying to keep up.”

He grinned, leaning down so his face was level with yours. “Oh, I’m not just keeping up, sweetheart. I’m leading.”

With that, he threw on his jacket, turning to leave, but not without one last playful remark. “Enjoy your night, Y/N. And next time…” He flashed a grin over his shoulder, his voice dipping lower. “Try putting that mouth of yours to better use.”

Your mouth dropped open, and you could hear his laugh as you watched him disappear into the neon-lit streets. 

Damn him.

The Suzuka Circuit’s air was heavy with anticipation, the disappointment in Ferrari’s garage palpable. Jeonghan leaned against the barrier in the media pen, his crimson Ferrari suit contrasting with the growing dusk. Despite his relaxed posture, the tension radiating off him was hard to miss.

"Yoon Jeonghan," you began, stepping forward with your mic. "P11 today—your first time not making it to Q3 since your rookie season. What happened out there?"

His smile was thin, masking the fire simmering beneath. "Suzuka’s a tough circuit. I put in a solid lap, but in the end, it just wasn’t enough. A couple milliseconds make all the difference."

"Kim Mingyu of McLaren knocked you out in the dying seconds of the session," you pointed out, your tone as neutral as possible.

"Yeah, Mingyu had a great lap," he said, though his smirk betrayed a hint of frustration. "Kudos to him for that. It’s the nature of the game—sometimes you’re the one knocking others out, and sometimes you’re the one being knocked out."

You tilted your head, pressing just a little. "Ferrari’s upgrades were supposed to shine here at Suzuka. Do you think the car—or the driver—fell short today?"

His eyes met yours, sharp and knowing. "Is that your way of asking if I’m losing my edge?"

You smiled faintly. "Just doing my job, Jeonghan."

"And doing it well," he replied smoothly. "I’ll make sure to give you something better to write about tomorrow."

Yoon Jeonghan’s Q2 Knockout: A Sign of Ferrari’s Struggles or a Driver Underperforming?

Your analysis was live before the sun set over Suzuka, dissecting Jeonghan’s performance lap by lap:

"While Ferrari’s SF-24 showed promise in Q1, Jeonghan’s Q2 lap exposed cracks in execution. Hesitant braking into Spoon Corner cost him vital time, and a wide exit through Degner 2 raised questions about his confidence under high pressure. Kim Mingyu’s decisive lap in the McLaren only highlighted the contrast, leaving Ferrari fans wondering if Jeonghan can rebound from this rare stumble."

It didn’t take long for the article to ripple through the paddock—and reach its subject. The article was sharp, critical, with the same bite that you had become a household name for. And Jeonghan read every word.

He must have been an idiot to assume you would be kinder after the way he’d left you gobsmacked a few nights prior at the bar. 

You had just wrapped up your interview with Mingyu, the day’s pole sitter, when Jeonghan found you.

"Got a minute?" he asked, voice deceptively light.

You glanced up, startled to find him so close, still in his Ferrari suit, his hair slightly damp from the cool-down lap.

"Something on your mind?" you replied, keeping your tone professional.

He didn’t bother with pleasantries. "That article."

You raised an eyebrow. "Specificity helps, you know."

He chuckled darkly. "The one where you ripped apart my Q2 performance like you’re a technical director." He took a step closer, and for the first time, the calm façade cracked - his smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Hesitant braking? Lack of confidence under pressure? You really think I’m losing my touch?"

"I think Suzuka demands perfection," you replied evenly. "And today, perfection wasn’t what we saw."

He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "You love this, don’t you? Watching me stumble so you can tear me apart in print."

"Jeonghan," you said, straightening, "if you want me to write glowing reviews, give me something to work with."

"You should’ve mentioned how close I was to Mingyu’s time," he shot back.

"Close isn’t enough," you countered, coolly. "Not in this sport."

His eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Careful, sweetheart. Don’t let them think you’re this obsessed with me."

"Careful, Jeonghan," you shot back mockingly. "Sienna Hartley might not like hearing you get so worked up over me."

His hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could walk away. "Here’s an exclusive for you," he said, his voice sharp. "Me and Sienna? Not together."

You blinked, thrown off for just a moment before you schooled your expression. "Good to know. Now let go."

He released you immediately but lingered just long enough to murmur, "Don’t think this is over."

The Suzuka chaos worked in Jeonghan’s favor. 

When the lights went out, Jeonghan’s start was perfect—clean, aggressive, calculated. By the first corner, he had already gained two places, capitalizing on a sluggish Alpine and threading the needle between a Williams and an AlphaTauri. 

The midfield battle was fierce. Suzuka’s notorious esses demanded precision, and Jeonghan attacked them with surgical efficiency, his Ferrari responding like an extension of his own instincts. He overtook the Aston Martin of Lee Seokmin into Turn 11 with a move so bold the crowd audibly gasped. 

Each pass felt like a small victory, but it wasn’t enough. The podium still felt miles away. His fingers tightened on the wheel as he navigated the sweeping Spoon Curve, catching a glimpse of the orange McLaren far ahead—Mingyu.

The memory of your post-quali interview slipped into his mind. Close isn’t enough. Not in this sport.

He exhaled sharply, forcing the thought away. Now wasn’t the time. Jeonghan approached Degner 2, the car planted firmly under him. He could feel the wear on his tires but knew he still had grip to spare. He glanced briefly at the digital display on his steering wheel, calculating the gap to the car ahead—P5, the Red Bull of Choi Seungcheol.

As he accelerated toward the Hairpin, your voice echoed in his head again. Hesitant braking. Confidence issues.

His jaw clenched. It wasn’t anger—it was something more complicated. Why did you always manage to get under his skin? He should’ve been focusing on tire wear, fuel management, or his next target, but instead, his mind betrayed him.

He thought of the way you’d smirked during the interview, how your tone had been sharp, almost daring. The way you’d walked away, leaving him with more to say.

Focus. He snapped himself back, braking perfectly into the Hairpin. The slip of attention hadn’t cost him, but it had been close. Too close.

A well-timed pit stop under a virtual safety car catapulted him to P4. He rejoined the track with fresh mediums, slicing through the field with an aggression that stunned even his team.

By Lap 40, he was staring down the rear wing of Kwon Soonyoung—his own teammate. The team’s radio lit up, the pit wall hesitating.

“Jeonghan, Soonyoung ahead on a different strategy. Keep it clean.”

He didn’t wait for a direct order. Into 130R, the fastest corner on the track, he swung to the outside. His car shuddered with the force of the maneuver, but he held his line, leaving Soonyoung no choice but to yield.

“P3, Jeonghan. You’re on the podium now. Great move.”

With only two laps to go, he was in P2, chasing Mingyu, who had a comfortable lead. Jeonghan knew catching him was impossible, but that wasn’t the point anymore. This was about proving something—to his team, the fans, and maybe even to you.

The Ferrari hummed beneath him, a symphony of power and precision. Every turn, every braking zone, every shift felt like redemption. When he crossed the line in P2, the roar of the crowd was deafening, but all he could hear was his own heartbeat.

The media room was packed, buzzing with questions for the podium finishers. You started with Mingyu, still glowing from his dominant victory.

“Kim Mingyu,” you began, “another win for McLaren. How does it feel to catch up to Jeonghan in the driver’s championship?”

Mingyu smiled, leaning into the mic. “It feels incredible. The car was perfect today, and the team did an amazing job. Credit to everyone back at the factory.”

Before you could move on to the next question, Jeonghan interjected from his spot.

“Must feel nice to start up front and stay there,” he quipped, his tone light but pointed.

Mingyu grinned, unfazed. “You would know, Jeonghan. But you kept me looking over my shoulder the whole time.”

The room chuckled, and you shot Jeonghan a warning glance, which he ignored entirely.

Later, when a question was directed at Jeonghan about his race recovery, his response was pointed. "Oh, you know. I’m pretty good at managing tire degradation. And I had a lot of people doubting me on this track specifically, so I had to prove them wrong too."

His gaze locked on yours as he delivered the last line, and the meaning wasn’t lost on you—or anyone else in the room.

Jeonghan barely made it three steps out of the press conference room before Soonyoung intercepted him, leaning casually against a stack of Pirelli tires like he had all the time in the world. The amusement on his face set Jeonghan’s internal alarms blaring.

“What the hell was that about?” Soonyoung asked, arms crossed in mock authority.

Jeonghan blinked, expertly schooling his expression into one of pure confusion. “What was what about?” he replied, his tone dripping with innocence.

“Oh, don’t even try to play dumb with me, Jeonghan. I know you too well.” Soonyoung’s grin widened as he stepped closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “You were doing something during that press conference. I’ve never seen you look that smug unless you’re—”

“I was answering questions,” Jeonghan interrupted smoothly, plucking a water bottle from the cooler without breaking his stride. He unscrewed the cap with deliberate calm, taking a slow sip. “That’s what press conferences are for, in case you forgot.”

Soonyoung squinted at him, unconvinced. “Right. And here I thought press conferences were for you to pretend you’re unbothered while delivering backhanded digs at Kim Mingyu.”

Jeonghan barely managed to keep a straight face, though he felt the tiniest flicker of pride. He had been particularly good with his barbs today. Still, there was no way he was admitting that. “Don’t project, Soonyoung,” he drawled. “Not everyone uses media day as therapy.”

Before Soonyoung could retort, a new voice joined the conversation.

“I know what it was,” said Kim Sunwoo, strolling up with the unshakable confidence of someone who didn’t yet understand how much trouble he was about to cause. The young mechanic had a smirk plastered on his face, the kind that made Jeonghan instinctively want to flee.

“You know what?” Jeonghan asked warily, his eyes narrowing.

“That look you had during the Q&A,” Sunwoo continued, leaning casually against a tool chest. “You were staring at her, man. Like, full-on laser focus. It’s like you were trying to send her a message.”

Jeonghan’s grip on the water bottle tightened. He felt his ears heat up but refused to let it show. “I was answering her question,” he said evenly. “It’s called eye contact. You should try it sometime—people like that sort of thing.”

But Sunwoo wasn’t done. “And don’t think we didn’t notice you getting all flustered when Mingyu’s name came up,” he added, his smirk widening.

“Flustered?” Jeonghan repeated, letting out a short, incredulous laugh. “Right. That’s definitely the word I’d use to describe me.”

“Come on, dude.” Sunwoo shrugged, undeterred. “Admit it. You’ve got a crush.”

The words hit like a sucker punch. Jeonghan froze mid-sip, choking slightly as the water went down the wrong way. He coughed, spluttering as Sunwoo and Soonyoung erupted into laughter.

“Alright,” Jeonghan said sharply once he’d recovered, pointing a finger at Sunwoo. “You’ve been spending too much time on TikTok. Get back to work before I have you polishing rims for the rest of the season.”

But Sunwoo only grinned wider, completely unbothered. “Jeonghan’s in loooove,” he teased, drawing out the word in a sing-song voice.

“I said that’s enough,” Jeonghan snapped, the slight pink tinge creeping up his neck completely betraying his forced composure. “Shouldn’t you be tuning an engine or something useful?”

Soonyoung, meanwhile, was doubled over laughing, clearly enjoying himself far too much. When he finally straightened, he clapped Jeonghan on the back. “Hey, don’t worry about it, man. If you need advice, just let me know. I’m great with women.”

Jeonghan groaned, brushing him off. “The day I take advice from you, Soonyoung, is the day I retire. He shoved past them toward his motorhome, muttering under his breath. “Insufferable. Both of you.”

But even as he slammed the door behind him, Jeonghan couldn’t stop the echo of Sunwoo’s words from rattling around in his head. 

You’ve got a crush.

He scoffed aloud, shaking his head. “Ridiculous,” he muttered, tossing the water bottle onto the couch. But as he sank down beside it, arms crossed and jaw tight, he couldn’t quite stop himself from wondering.

Jeonghan didn’t want to be here.

The club pulsed with energy, a humid swirl of bodies pressing too close, the bass reverberating in his chest like a persistent headache. Strobe lights sliced through the haze, and the air smelled faintly of spilled drinks and cheap cologne. Somewhere in the chaos, Soonyoung had disappeared, leaving Jeonghan to fend for himself.

He’d been ready to make his exit the moment they walked in, but Soonyoung had insisted. “You need to loosen up, Jeonghan. Let the adrenaline from the race wear off. Have a drink, maybe dance.”Jeonghan had scoffed at the idea, knowing full well that his reason for not wanting to stay wasn’t exhaustion.

No, it was you.

Even when you weren’t in the room, you lingered in his mind like the ghost of a song he couldn’t stop humming. The podium had been a nice distraction. But now, surrounded by the chatter of strangers and the clinking of glasses, his thoughts drifted back to the press conference and the pointed, teasing look you’d given him when he spoke.

And then there was Mingyu—always Mingyu—whose name you’d said with just a little too much warmth. Jeonghan had pretended not to notice, but it had been impossible to ignore.

Shaking his head, Jeonghan pushed through the crowd, determined to leave. He had almost made it to the exit when someone collided into him, hard enough to send him stumbling forward.

“Whoa—watch it!” a voice slurred, sharp with irritation but unmistakably familiar.

He turned, already scowling, but the expression froze on his face when he saw you.

“Jeonghan?” you said, blinking up at him, your voice teetering between surprise and amusement. Your cheeks were flushed, lips curling into a slow smile as you adjusted your grip on the drink in your hand.

“You?” he blurted, his composure slipping for a fraction of a second.

“What are you—?” you started, only to trail off as a giggle bubbled out of you. Shaking your head like you were trying to clear it, you added, “Wow. Small world, huh?”

“I guess so,” Jeonghan said, his tone carefully even, though his gaze lingered on the way the dim light caught the sheen of your hair, the curve of your smile. His eyes dropped to your drink, then back to your face. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” you said, far too quickly, before adding with a sheepish laugh, “Okay, maybe. Just a little.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, threatening to curve into a smile. “Sure looks like it.”

You waved him off with a dramatic flourish, nearly spilling your drink in the process. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be... I don’t know, brooding on a podium somewhere?”

He tilted his head, pretending to be affronted. “I don’t brood. And besides, this is a celebration.”

“Oh, right,” you said, stepping closer. Your gaze softened, and your voice dropped just enough to make the words feel like they were meant for him alone. “The big comeback.”

“Lots of doubters, huh?” you added, the slight slur in your voice doing nothing to dull the edge of your words.

Jeonghan blinked, caught off guard, before a chuckle escaped him. “Well, your article did the talking for you.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, your eyes a little too bright, your smile a little too slow. “What a way to get my attention, pretty boy.”

His breath caught, his carefully built façade cracking for just a second. “You think I’m pretty?”

Your lips parted, but before you could answer, a hand landed firmly on your shoulder.

“There you are!”

Jeonghan looked up to see one of your friends glaring at him as they steadied you. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you’re... what? Flirting with Yoon Jeonghan now?”

“Not flirting,” you protested weakly, though your lopsided smile said otherwise.

Your friend wasn’t convinced, nor were they interested in his response. They tugged you into the crowd with an apologetic glance over their shoulder. “Sorry about her—she’s had a night.”

Jeonghan stayed rooted in place, his gaze following your retreating figure. His lips curved into a faint smile as your words replayed in his mind.

“What a way to get my attention,” he murmured to himself, shaking his head.

And yet, as he stood there, the thought struck him that maybe you’d already gotten his.

FORMULA 1 GRAND PRIX DE MONACO 2024Track: Circuit de Monaco

The paddock at Monaco was alive with its usual glitz and glamour, the unmistakable hum of anticipation hanging thick in the air. Cameras flashed, team personnel buzzed around, and the harbor glistened under the sun. Monaco, the crown jewel of the F1 calendar, had a way of amplifying everything—victories felt sweeter, defeats more crushing, and the stakes impossibly higher.

Jeonghan, fresh off securing pole position, had his usual air of nonchalance, but the glow of triumph was undeniable. The fans chanted his name; the cameras adored him. Yet as he stepped off the podium erected for the post-qualifying festivities, his sharp eyes caught sight of something—someone—that brought him up short.

You.

You were standing just beyond the throng of journalists, your press badge gleaming under the midday sun. It had been weeks since he’d last seen you, weeks since your sharp quips and piercing questions had filled the air between you like sparks on dry wood.

Those weeks had been… odd, to say the least. You’d been reassigned to cover Formula E, a shift Jeonghan had learned about only after noticing your absence at the paddock in China. He had played it cool, pretending it didn’t matter, but he had found himself seeking out your byline anyway—reading articles that had nothing to do with him or F1, just to feel the rhythm of your words.

Even the searing critiques you usually aimed at him had been sorely missed. It was maddening, really, how much quieter the world had felt without your fire.

Now, here you were again, back in the fray of Formula 1, as though no time had passed. Jeonghan’s expression remained casual, but his stride toward you was deliberate, cutting through the chaos of the paddock.

When he stopped in front of you, his smirk was already in place, a shield against the strange, unwelcome flutter of relief in his chest. “Where’ve you been?” he asked, tilting his head with practiced ease.

You looked up from your notebook, arching a brow at him. “Missed me, Jeonghan?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

The word landed between you like a drop of rain on hot asphalt, its simplicity taking you aback. Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but notice how the sharpness in your gaze softened for a fraction of a second.

But then, as quickly as the moment arrived, he leaned in, his smirk deepening. “Someone had to keep the paddock interesting.”

You rolled your eyes, recovering your composure. “I see the Monaco air hasn’t done anything for your humility.”

“And I see Formula E hasn’t dulled your wit,” he shot back, stepping closer so the noise of the paddock faded slightly.

You shook your head, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You’ve done not too bad these past few races, huh?”

The comment was offhand, tossed in almost as a formality, but it hit Jeonghan harder than he expected. Compliments—genuine ones—were rare from you, and they stirred something unexpected in him.

Jeonghan blinked, the smirk faltering for just a second before he quickly replaced it with mock arrogance. “Not too bad?” he echoed, feigning offense. “I dominated in China, held my ground in Miami, and destroyed Emilia Romagna. Give me some credit here.”

For all his ego, Jeonghan knew he wasn’t wrong. He’d won China by a jaw-dropping 22.3-second margin, Mingyu so far behind that Jeonghan had time to deliver an entire thank-you speech over the radio before the McLaren driver even crossed the checkered flag. In Miami, even a grueling five-second stop-go penalty hadn’t stopped him; he finished P2 (behind Kim Mingyu, annoyingly) and picked up the extra point for the fastest lap, earning him Driver of the Day. And in Emilia Romagna, he was the clear favorite from the moment the race weekend began. The Tifosi were relentless, their cheers in the grandstands so deafening that Jeonghan could barely hear his engineer’s voice over the radio.

When he crossed the finish line first, the sea of red under the podium roared with such thunderous applause that his ears rang for hours afterward. In just three races, Jeonghan had cemented himself as the best contender for the 2024 World Champion.

And yet, somehow, it wasn’t as sweet without you there to write about it.

“Alright,” you said, meeting his gaze head-on. “You’ve been exceptional.”

The word struck like a sucker punch. For once, Jeonghan didn’t have a clever retort. 

"Congrats on pole, Jeonghan," you said, your voice cool but sincere, offering him a small smile. It made his heart skip a beat.

Jeonghan’s lips twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You called me exceptional."

You glanced up at him, closing your notebook with a flick of your wrist. The corner of your mouth quirked into a smirk. "Yes. Now, thoughts on pole?"

He's silent for so long that you politely clear your throat, hoping to cut through the sudden stillness. "Maybe this should be my headline for the day, Jeonghan. Monaco's Maze Leaves Golden Boy Spinning Out."

It's like someone doused him with ice water. His easy, sun-soaked posture stiffens, and the small smirk he'd been wearing evaporates.

You're still a journalist. He forgets that sometimes.

"Why do you do that?" he mutters, voice edged with something unfamiliar—disappointment, maybe.

You blink, caught off guard by the abrupt change in tone. “Do what?”

“That.” He gestures vaguely between you and the notebook tucked in your hand. The lenses of his sunglasses catch the sunlight, but there’s no mistaking the intensity behind them. His gaze pierces, searching for something in your expression. “Bringing the shitty headlines into every conversation."

You arch a brow, tucking the notebook closer to your chest as if shielding it from his line of sight. “Shitty? You mean accurate, Jeonghan.”

His jaw tightens, a subtle movement, but enough to draw your attention. There’s a faint crease forming between his brows now, and you realize it’s not your usual back-and-forth banter. “You know what I mean,” he mutters, voice low and barely audible over the hum of the paddock—the distant rumble of engines, the echo of voices, the clinking of tools in nearby garages.

For a moment, you’re at a loss. Jeonghan doesn’t let things like this bother him—or, at least, he’s always been good at pretending they don’t. His whole brand is carefree charm, a perpetual smirk, and the confidence of someone who knows he’ll always be the center of attention. This feels different.

“You’re upset about a headline?” you ask, genuinely curious now.

“It’s not about the headline.” His tone sharpens, but he stops himself, jaw clenching like he’s swallowing something bitter. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, his fingers brushing over the brim of his cap. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, tinged with something almost vulnerable. “It’s about how you never let up, even when it’s me.”

The admission lands heavily between you, unexpected and disarming.

You shift uncomfortably under the weight of his words, the way they seem to strip away the professional distance you’ve been clinging to. “Why should I?” you counter, keeping your voice steady despite the flicker of doubt creeping in. “You’re just another driver, Jeonghan.”

His laugh is short and humorless, cutting through the charged air between you. “Right. Just another driver.”

There’s something about the way he says it—low, almost resigned—that catches you off guard. The bitterness in his tone isn’t theatrical; it’s real, raw, and so at odds with the image he projects to the world.

You glance at him, searching for the Jeonghan you’re used to—the one who shrugs off criticism with a knowing grin, who always has a teasing retort ready. But for once, he’s not hiding behind a smirk or a cocky quip. He looks tired, the weight of his words pulling at the edges of his carefully maintained charm.

“Jeonghan,” you begin, unsure of what you’re even trying to say.

But he shakes his head, cutting you off before you can find the right words. “Forget it.”

He takes a step back, and it feels like a gulf opening between you. The mask of indifference slips back into place with practiced ease, but you’ve already seen the cracks. “You’ve got your job to do,” he says, his tone clipped and distant. “Make sure you spell my name right in that next ‘shitty headline.’”

You hate the way your chest tightens at his words, hate the instinctive urge to reach out and stop him as he turns to walk away, his figure retreating into the chaotic swirl of the paddock.

But you don’t.

Instead, you grip your notebook tighter, the edges digging into your palm as if the physical discomfort might drown out the ache building in your chest. The buzz of your phone in your pocket snaps you out of the moment. Grateful for the distraction, you pull it out to see a text from your editor: Post-qualifying article. Deadline: 6 PM.

Just another driver.

The words echo hollowly in your mind, unconvincing and painfully untrue.

Because the truth is, Jeonghan has never been just anything to you.

And that’s exactly why this is so damn complicated.

Jeonghan spends the night refreshing his Twitter feed. 

He’s not sure what he’s waiting for, honestly. 

Maybe it’s the rush of validation that comes from a clever reply, or the sting of criticism that reminds him he’s still human under the helmet. Or maybe it’s something else entirely—something he doesn’t want to name. The applause of the crowd is long gone, and the adrenaline from securing pole position hours earlier has settled into a restless hum. His phone feels heavier in his hand as he scrolls, tapping at random links and skimming comments that veer between praise and criticism.

The article finally pops up, your name bold and unmistakable at the top. His stomach tightens, a sensation he’ll never admit to anyone, least of all you. 

He clicks it immediately. 

The headline strikes first: 

Kim Mingyu’s Risky Qualifying Lap Keeps Rivals on Edge

For a moment, he freezes, his eyes scanning the words again to make sure he didn’t misread.

Mingyu?

Confusion knots his brow as he scrolls down. The opening paragraph is a glowing analysis of Mingyu’s audacious lap—a near miss in the second sector, a masterful recovery in the final corners. The kind of detailed, evocative writing that Jeonghan knows you reserve for stories you care about.

Then, buried halfway through, he finds his name:

“Jeonghan, true to form, delivered a flawless lap to secure pole position. His consistency and precision were unmatched, placing him at the front of the grid for tomorrow’s race.”

That’s it.

No breakdown of his sector times, no mention of the deft control it took to navigate the tight Monaco corners under immense pressure. Just a single, clinical acknowledgment, overshadowed by Mingyu’s second-place drama.

Jeonghan stares at the screen, his thumb hovering over the refresh button. He doesn’t know what he was expecting—a parade in words? A headline with his name front and center?

It’s ridiculous, he tells himself. Pole position speaks for itself. It doesn’t need a poetic article to back it up.

But that doesn’t stop the irritation bubbling under his skin.

He tosses his phone onto the bed with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. His hotel room feels quieter than it should, the distant hum of the city barely seeping through the windows.

He can’t shake the feeling that you’re making a point. That this is your way of reminding him that while he might be the golden boy on the track, he doesn’t get special treatment in your world.

Not in your writing. Not from you.

It’s infuriating.

And yet, a part of him—one he’s unwilling to examine too closely—wants to know why you didn’t write more about him. Wants to know what he’d have to do to make you look at him the way you clearly look at Mingyu.

Not just another driver.

But the one worth writing about.

The morning of the Monaco Grand Prix dawned with the soft hum of engines filling the paddock and the gleaming streets of Monte Carlo radiating under a cloudless sky. Jeonghan arrived early, his customary calm masking the roiling anticipation beneath. Pole position was his—secured with a lap so clinical it had left his rivals chasing shadows. Yet, the sharp sting of your article still lingered, buried beneath layers of pride and annoyance.

By mid-morning, the paddock buzzed with tension. The Monaco circuit—narrow, unforgiving, and relentlessly demanding—left no room for error. Victory here wasn’t just about speed; it was about precision, strategy, and an unwavering mental edge. Jeonghan knew that all too well.

As he suited up, the familiar ritual steadied his thoughts. Helmet, gloves, fireproofs—each piece transformed him into the driver everyone expected him to be. His engineer’s voice crackled over the comms. “Focus on the start, Jeonghan. Turn One is everything.”

He gave a curt nod, stepping into the car. The roar of the crowd was muffled as the cockpit enveloped him. Lights on the dashboard blinked in sequence, a visual metronome syncing with his heartbeat.

The engine roars to life beneath Jeonghan as he settles into the cockpit, the familiar hum of the Monaco Grand Prix vibrating through the seat, up his spine, and into his very bones. His focus sharpens like a blade, the heat of the sun seeping through his visor, but he’s not thinking about the sweat trickling down his neck or the weight of the helmet that obscures his field of vision. He’s thinking of the laps he’s put in, of the sacrifice, the years of work that led him here, to this very moment, pole position in Monaco.

He has no illusions about the challenge ahead. This track has always favored the one at the front, especially when that one is someone as methodical and precise as Jeonghan. It’s not often that the pole sitter falters here. But that’s not what has his stomach in knots. It’s not the track or the other drivers. It’s you. The thought of your words, your perspective, your gaze.

What if this win isn’t enough? What if I’m still just another driver to you?

His grip tightens on the steering wheel, and for a moment, he considers the possibility of failing, of cruising through the race without the sharp, passionate energy that has always pushed him. What if he doesn’t even get the headline he’s chasing? What if all this effort amounts to nothing more than another expected victory, no deeper praise, no recognition?

He blinks, pushing the thought away. He can’t afford distractions. He’s here to win—nothing else matters.

The lights blink, one by one, before finally turning off, and he’s off, the car surging forward into the narrow streets of Monaco, engines screaming in unison. His concentration narrows, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. The first few laps are a blur of tactical moves, maintaining the lead, setting the pace. Behind him, Mingyu is close—too close—but Jeonghan has enough room, enough air to breathe.

The laps tick by, the gaps between drivers stretching and shrinking like the ebb and flow of a tide. In Monaco, you can’t make mistakes. The barriers are close enough to bite, and one slip-up could send everything into chaos. Jeonghan doesn’t think of that, though. He doesn’t think of the press, of his reputation, of the words hanging in the back of his mind.

What he thinks about is the win. The pure, simple joy of crossing that finish line first. He wants to feel the weight of the moment, of the accomplishment, and more than anything, he wants to look up and see you there—see that your words reflect the magnitude of this victory.

He holds the lead through the race, but it’s a quiet victory, one he can feel in his bones but doesn’t fully experience. The lap times are consistent, but nothing spectacular happens. No drama, no surprise overtake, no breathtaking maneuver.

It’s a clean, controlled victory—exactly what everyone expects from the driver in pole position.

By the time the checkered flag waves, Jeonghan crosses the line in first. The crowd erupts in cheers, but Jeonghan doesn’t feel the same rush of emotion. The thrill is absent, replaced instead by a deep, gnawing sense of doubt.

The win is his, but it feels like it’s already slipping away from his grasp.

In the post-race briefing, he sits with his team, nodding as they discuss tire strategies, pit stops, and the things that went right. But his eyes keep drifting to the back of the room, to where you stand, clipboard in hand, scribbling notes with focused intent. Every time he tries to catch your gaze, to make eye contact, you look away, as if determined to keep your distance.

It stings more than it should.

Jeonghan leans back in his seat, the weight of his helmet resting against his neck, the pressure of your indifference pressing down on him. He wants to reach out, wants to tell you that this win—this clean, controlled, expected win—deserves something more. But he stays silent, twisting the words in his mind, unable to voice the insecurity that’s suddenly consuming him.

The press conference follows the briefing, a whirlwind of questions, cameras, and flashing lights. The room is full of journalists, all clamoring for soundbites, all eager to discuss the expected result—Jeonghan, pole position, and now, victory. But Jeonghan doesn’t care about the usual congratulatory remarks. He’s waiting for something more. Something real.

When the article finally drops, hours later, he barely waits before pulling it up on his phone. He knows what it’s going to say, but still, the disappointment claws at his chest as he reads the headline.

Jeonghan Dominates Monaco: Pole Position Translates to Victory

His stomach twists, and he exhales sharply, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that spreads through him. It’s everything he expected—a result that leaves no room for admiration, no room for praise. Just the simple, obvious statement that he did what everyone expected him to do. The race was clean, flawless even, but there’s no depth to the words, no recognition of what it takes to win here, at Monaco, the most challenging track in the world.

The thought gnaws at him.

It’s not enough.

The press conference continues, the cameras flashing, but Jeonghan’s mind is far from the words he’s being asked to repeat. He’s not thinking about the team’s success, about the strategies that worked, or even about the crowd's cheers. His eyes find you across the room once again, but this time, you don't look away. Your gaze is fixed on something—anything—but not on him.

He can’t help but wonder if it’s because you don’t see him as more than just another driver. Just another one of the usual suspects who gets a win when it’s expected. He’s fighting for something more—something beyond the surface. But for now, it seems like that’s something he’ll never get from you.

He’s won Monaco. But in that moment, the victory feels like the hollowest thing in the world.

FORMULA 1 AWS GRAND PRIX DU CANADA 2024Track: Circuit Gilles Villeneuve

The Canadian Grand Prix feels like a blur. The rain starts as a light drizzle, but by the time the race begins, it’s pouring, transforming the circuit into a slippery mess. The slick track glistens under the flood of water, making the circuit treacherous, a spinning wheel of danger. The air is thick with the scent of wet asphalt, and there’s an ominous tension in the paddock, a murmur that hangs in the atmosphere as if everyone knows something bad is about to happen. 

You catch sight of Jeonghan on the grid. He’s staring straight ahead, hands clasped behind his back, his posture perfect, like the picture of composure. But you can see it in his eyes—something flickers there, a mix of tension and determination. His car, finely tuned for dry conditions, isn’t built for this. The engineers have done what they can, adjusting the setup, but there’s only so much they can do when the weather turns so violently. You know this track—the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve—is not forgiving, and for someone like Jeonghan, a precision driver who thrives when everything falls into place, this is the worst-case scenario. He’s trying to keep his focus, but you can see the strain on his face, the pressure mounting with every passing moment.

The starting lights go out, and the cars roar off the grid, their engines screaming in defiance of the rain. Jeonghan’s car is sluggish in the first few laps. You see him fighting with the wheel, struggling to keep the car in line, each turn a reminder that the odds are stacked against him. The rain is only getting heavier, and the car, built for speed in perfect conditions, is no longer responsive, no longer the finely-tuned machine he’s so accustomed to. It’s like he’s driving a different car altogether.

As the laps tick by, the race feels like a slow-motion disaster, unfolding before your eyes. Jeonghan’s always been skilled in the wet, but this is different—this is more than just rain. This is a mechanical mismatch, an impossible task to overcome. You watch him push, trying to find any way to make up time, but it’s clear he’s just not able to. The car slides wide through the corners, the back end kicking out as he struggles to maintain control. His frustration is palpable, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the wheel with white-knuckled intensity.

And then, it happens.

The rear end of Jeonghan’s car breaks loose as he enters Turn 6, and for a moment, it’s a dance of power and precision, a flick of the wheel, an attempt to save it. But it’s futile. The car loses traction, and before you can even process it, he’s in the barriers. The sound of impact is like a gut punch, a sickening crunch that sends a wave of dread through you. The crowd's collective gasp is drowned out by the static crackle of his radio.

“Jeonghan, do you copy?” The voice of his engineer is urgent, panicked, but there’s no mistaking the defeat in it when the response comes through. Jeonghan’s voice is clipped, emotion stripped away in favor of the cold reality.

“I’m out. Car’s done.”

The message is simple, the weight of it crashing down on you. The race is over. Lap 30. The dream, the chance to prove himself in a season that’s been anything but easy, has slipped away, drowned by the rain.

You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. It’s a loss for Jeonghan, but it feels like a loss for you too. Not because of the race itself, but because of the frustration you saw in his face. The disappointment. The feeling of helplessness. It’s all there, and it hits you harder than you expect.

He doesn’t speak to anyone after. He doesn’t go to the media pen, doesn’t stand in front of the cameras for the obligatory interview. There’s no deflection, no distractions. He’s just... gone. You barely see him in the paddock. He doesn’t even go to the Ferrari garage to debrief with his team. He disappears into the background, like he’s trying to erase himself from the scene altogether, retreating into the shadows, avoiding the world that’s waiting to cast its judgment.

And you? You stay away too. The press room feels suffocating, the questions ringing in your ears as you try to focus. You write your piece, a cold, sharp report about the race and Jeonghan’s crash, a clinical dissection of what went wrong. But something feels hollow as you type. The words don’t flow the way they used to. They’re just words, strung together to meet the deadline, to give the readers what they want. It’s not about the story anymore. It’s not about the race. It’s about the loss.

You can’t shake the image of Jeonghan crashing out, of his frustration written in every line of his face, every motion of his hands. You can’t forget the way he looked when he climbed out of the car, shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the world had suddenly fallen onto him. His eyes are distant, like he’s already checked out, retreating into himself. It’s a look you’ve seen before, but it’s sharper now, more pronounced. He’s carrying something, a burden that you don’t understand, a burden you’re not sure you can even help him carry.

But all you can do is write. And even that doesn’t feel like enough.

FORMULA 1 ARAMCO GRAN PREMIO DE ESPAÑA 2024 Track: Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya

The Spanish Grand Prix feels different from the moment you step out of the car, the heat oppressive, the air thick with anticipation and the inevitable tension of the weekend. The usual rhythm of the paddock is off-kilter, heightened by the suffocating summer heat, the burning sun beating down on every exposed surface. The heat is more than just physical; it's palpable in the way the drivers move, in the clipped tones of the engineers, in the quiet buzz of conversation that flickers out like static.

But even through the sticky, heavy air, the tension feels electric—charged, ready to snap. The circuit is a challenge in itself, and the drivers know it. There’s no room for error here—just wide, hot tarmac and the constant pressure of chasing that perfect lap.

You’ve done your best to avoid Jeonghan, kept a comfortable distance as much as possible. But there’s something about the way he carries himself now—an edge that wasn't there before. It’s sharp, biting, and yet there’s an underlying vulnerability that makes everything harder to ignore.

When qualifying results flash up, you’re caught off-guard. Soonyoung is on pole, Mingyu in second, and Jeonghan… Jeonghan is in third. 

Jeonghan strides into the paddock after qualifying, his face carefully composed, but there’s a look in his eyes—something sharp, something that makes you hesitate. You haven’t spoken in days, not since Canada, not since he shut you out. You’ve been avoiding him, and he’s been avoiding you, but you both know the silence can’t last forever.

You’re standing near the media area when he approaches, and for a moment, it feels like the world holds its breath. The slight tilt of his head, the way his gaze flicks over your shoulder, pretending not to care, but you see through it.

"Don't do this," he says, his voice tight, but it's not the playful teasing you’ve grown used to. It’s something darker. Something tired.

"Don’t do what?" you snap, your patience running thin. "Pretend everything’s fine?"

His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing. "You’ve been avoiding me. Why? Because of Canada?"

You blink. The question hits harder than you expect, and you struggle to keep your composure. “You expect me to just forget what happened? You were fine after the crash, Jeonghan. You didn’t even bother with the press. I can’t just pretend that wasn’t... anything.”

The words come out sharper than you intend, and for a split second, you regret it. You see the way his shoulders stiffen, the brief flicker of pain in his eyes before he masks it with that carefully constructed indifference.

"Maybe I didn’t want to deal with your harsh words," he snaps, taking a step closer. “Maybe I’m tired of being the perfect driver for you, the one who’s supposed to be good enough to meet your standards. But I’m not—am I?"

Your chest tightens at the accusation, at the sudden rawness in his voice. "You think I’m too harsh? You think I’m just waiting for you to be perfect all the time?" You laugh, bitter and self-deprecating. "That’s what this is about? You crashing out wasn’t because of me. I write the truth, Jeonghan. And maybe the truth is you didn’t have the car for that race. It was out of your control."

His expression darkens, and you see that familiar flash of anger—one you’ve seen more times than you care to admit. "No," he hisses, taking another step toward you. "The truth is, you're so wrapped up in your narratives, you forget that I’m human. You forget that I have feelings too, and that maybe... maybe I wanted to do this for myself, not for some headline or some article. But you... you don’t see me that way, do you? You see me as another story, another fucking headline to dissect. Just another driver."

His words cut deeper than anything else could, and the final crack in your restraint breaks wide open. You can feel the heat rising in your chest, the tightness in your throat, the way your breath hitches.

“You want me to treat you differently?” you bite back, furious, stepping into his space. “You want me to hold your hand and tell you it’s okay every time you fail? Because you’re so tired of being just another driver? Well, you know what, Jeonghan? I am tired. I’m tired of trying to keep this professional, of pretending that I’m not watching the same guy who couldn’t even handle his own crash. You don’t get to demand better treatment from me when you can’t even handle the heat.”

For a moment, neither of you move, and the silence is thick, charged with the weight of your words.

He stares at you, eyes dark, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. You’re both too close now, caught in this space where words are weapons, and you’re both bleeding out.

Finally, Jeonghan turns away, his expression unreadable, but you can see the tightness in his back, the way his jaw works, like he’s holding something back. "Maybe you should stop writing about me altogether," he mutters, his voice rough, before stalking off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding and chest aching.

For a moment, you stand frozen, caught between regret and relief, between the anger that still simmers beneath your skin and the sudden emptiness that creeps in now that he's gone.

The moment Jeonghan storms off, leaving you standing there with a surge of anger and a pounding heart, you don't realize someone’s been listening. But someone has. The faint click of a camera, barely audible over the sound of your pulse, is enough to make you pause. You turn, instinctively, to see a familiar face from the gossip side of the paddock. It's Soojin, a reporter known for getting the juiciest bits of drama and twisting them into scandalous headlines. She’s got a camera in one hand, her phone in the other, furiously typing something into it with a smirk that sends an uncomfortable ripple through your gut.

Before you can say anything, she’s already gone, blending back into the throng of people milling around the paddock, her steps quick and sure. The damage has been done. You know it, and the prickling sensation in the pit of your stomach tells you that it’s about to get a lot worse.

By the time you’ve made it back to the media center, the storm has already hit. Your Twitter feed is flooded with the words “Trouble in Paradise?”, and the accompanying photos. The images are damning—Jeonghan’s angry face, red with emotion, and your own flushed, furious expression, both of you screaming at each other in the middle of the paddock. There’s no context, no explanation, just the raw emotion, raw enough to sell.

The headline isn’t even what stings. It’s the comments that follow. Speculation, assumptions, and a flood of opinions. Some call it a lover’s quarrel, some assume the worst, but most seem content to paint the picture of two people on the verge of breaking. It’s not just your name that gets dragged through the mud; it’s Jeonghan’s too. Both of you, caught in a perfect storm of emotions and bad timing. The last thing either of you needs.

You try to shut it out, but it’s impossible. The text messages from your editor come through, asking for a statement. Your phone rings with calls from the PR team, from your colleagues, and even from your friends, who all seem to know about the situation before you’ve even had a chance to process it yourself.

And then, just when you think it couldn’t get worse, the email comes. It’s from Ferrari’s PR team, and it’s almost too professional to be true:

Dear Y/N, In light of the recent events surrounding your interactions with Mr. Yoon Jeonghan, we would like to offer you full access to the Ferrari garage for the remainder of the season. This will provide you with the opportunity to write an in-depth feature on the team, showcasing the work and dedication that goes into each race weekend. We believe this move will allow for a clearer perspective on the situation and help ensure that your reporting reflects the true nature of the team and its drivers. We look forward to your continued coverage. Best regards, Ferrari PR Team

It’s a calculated move—a distraction, a chance to smooth things over. And you know it. The message is clear: everything must look fine. Everything must be fixed, packaged neatly for the media and the fans to consume. You’re a pawn in a much bigger game, and they’re making sure you play along.

At first, you think about refusing. You think about how everything feels so wrong right now. About how the image of you and Jeonghan, caught in the heat of an argument, is being used to feed the frenzy. But the PR team doesn’t leave room for argument. You know that declining would only escalate things further, make them harder to fix.

So, you agree.

The access starts almost immediately. They give you a full tour of the Ferrari garage, show you the inner workings of the team, introduce you to the engineers, the strategists, the pit crew. You’re given permission to write about the team’s strategy, their behind-the-scenes preparation, but there’s always a sense that you're being watched—every move, every word.

You can’t help but notice Jeonghan’s absence. Every time you walk through the garage, he’s not there. The driver who once greeted you with a cocky smile and a teasing remark, the one who always found a way to make you laugh, is nowhere to be found. It’s like he’s vanished, swallowed by the thick wall of Ferrari’s PR machine.

It’s as if nothing is real anymore. The false smiles, the calculated interviews, the way the drivers exchange glances with a rehearsed ease. The more you observe, the more you realize how much of this world is a performance, a show put on for the audience, with no room for anything real. It all feels like it’s slipping through your fingers, leaving you with nothing but an empty, fragile façade.

Still, you’re expected to keep writing, to deliver the polished pieces the team expects. You’re supposed to put the headline “TROUBLE IN PARADISE?” behind you and focus on the carefully constructed narrative. So, you do. For now.

But even as you walk the pits, breathing in the scent of burnt rubber and sweat, there’s a quiet ache in the back of your mind. The truth is, you don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending that everything is fine.

Not when you still feel Jeonghan’s words hanging in the air between you, like the remnants of a storm that’s yet to pass. Not when you still want, with everything in you, to be able to fix it.

And maybe that’s the problem.

The crash happens so quickly, so violently, that it almost feels unreal. One moment, the tell-tale red of Jeonghan’s car is cutting through the circuit with his signature precision. The next, it’s a twisted mess of metal and rubber, skidding off the track, his car spinning wildly as Lee Seokmin’s Aston Martin clips him just before the tight corner at Turn 14. You watch it all unfold from the pit wall, your heart stopping for a brief second as the sound of the crash echoes through the air. 

There’s a collective gasp from the crew around you, followed by the frantic chatter of engineers and strategists, trying to process what just happened. You can see the smoke rising from the wreckage, and your breath catches when the marshals begin to swarm the car, signaling that Jeonghan is still inside. 

The radio crackles to life, but Jeonghan’s voice doesn’t come through. For a second, it feels like time slows down. The pit wall is a blur of motion, but you’re frozen, eyes locked on the track, praying for him to be okay. 

Then, finally, the confirmation comes: “Jeonghan is out of the car. He's fine. We'll move him to the medical center.” 

A wave of relief washes over you, but it’s short-lived. The weight of the crash—his crash—still hangs in the air, and it’s clear from the looks of the Ferrari crew that no one knows exactly what went wrong. The tension in the paddock is palpable, and as you’re given full access to the debriefing room afterward, the atmosphere is thick with unspoken frustration. 

Jeonghan walks in with that same seething expression he had after the crash, and the room goes silent. His eyes are red-rimmed, his jaw clenched, the kind of anger that’s so deep it can’t be shaken by anything or anyone. His usual confident swagger is replaced by a taut, barely contained rage that makes it hard for anyone to even breathe in his presence. His voice, when he speaks, is sharp, cutting through the room like a knife. 

“You think this is a joke?” he snaps, looking at his team with a glare so intense it’s almost suffocating. His fists are balled at his sides, his shoulders tense with barely controlled fury. 

The debriefing begins, but it’s clear that no one knows how to handle him. His coach tries to keep things calm, but Jeonghan's sharp words only make the tension worse. The rest of the team sits in silence, unsure of what to say, how to fix the situation. His eyes never leave the table, his posture rigid, as though every part of him is fighting the urge to storm out. 

The meeting goes in circles—strategies discussed, what went wrong, how to move forward—but nothing seems to land. Jeonghan doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to listen to anyone right now. His frustration is palpable, and it’s clear this crash, this failure, has broken something inside of him. 

When he finally stands, his chair scraping harshly against the floor, there’s an air of finality to it. Without another word, he storms out, leaving a tense silence in his wake. No one dares to speak, knowing that anything they say would be pointless. The door slams shut, and the meeting disbands soon after. 

But you don’t leave. You don’t really have anywhere to go. Not yet. 

You make your way to the Ferrari canteen, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. It’s one of those rare moments when you’re not chasing a headline, not following the usual routine, and the monotony of it all feels like a relief. You order two beers without thinking. You don’t need two, but for some reason, it feels right. Maybe it’s the adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the crash, or maybe it’s just the weight of everything—the pressure, the disappointment, the simmering frustration with Jeonghan that you haven’t had the chance to process yet. The beers are cold, the glass bottles slick with condensation, and when you walk outside to the grandstands, you find him. 

Jeonghan is sitting alone, his back against the metal railing, the crowd long gone. The air is warm, the kind of summer heat that clings to your skin and makes everything feel a little heavier. His eyes are closed, his head tipped back as he stares at the sky, and for a moment, you wonder if he even notices you approaching. 

Without saying a word, you sit beside him, the soft crunch of your shoes against the gravel the only sound in the stillness. You don’t offer him a drink immediately. Instead, you hold the bottles in your hands, feeling the chill seep into your palms, letting the silence stretch between you. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hand him one of the beers. He doesn’t look at you, but you catch the faintest shift in his posture, a soft hum of acknowledgement as he accepts it, cracking the cap with a quick twist.

“Jeonghan,” you say, breaking the silence, your voice quieter than you expect it to be. He doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. You take a sip of your own beer, the bitter taste grounding you in the moment. You can feel the tension that’s been building between you both, the weight of the unspoken words, but for now, you can’t bring yourself to make him speak. 

Then he does. “Full access, huh?” His voice is rough, the teasing edge to his words gone, replaced by something heavier. The bitterness is unmistakable. “You must be thrilled, getting to see me crash out in front of the entire team.” 

You almost choke on your beer. You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or genuinely hurt, but it stings regardless. 

“I’m not,” you say quickly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You wish he would look at you, but he’s staring straight ahead, his jaw still tight, muscles still coiled like a spring. "I don’t want that, Jeonghan. What don’t you get?" 

“No?” He tilts his head slightly, but his gaze stays fixed. “I would think Miss Scathing Articles would relish the chance to tear me down again.” 

A sharp retort sat on your tongue, but you swallowed it. There was no point. Instead, you looked away, focusing on the distant horizon where the racetrack lay, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. "I don’t," you said quietly. "I’m not interested in tearing you down. I never have been." 

Jeonghan’s laugh was hollow, almost like a scoff. "Color me surprised." 

A beat passed between you both, the air thick with unspoken words. You took a sip of your beer, now lukewarm and slightly flat, but it didn’t matter. Neither of you had the luxury of pretending everything was fine anymore. 

He finally turns to you, his eyes meeting yours; there’s something in the way he looks at you—raw, vulnerable, almost like he’s waiting for the punchline of some cruel joke. 

“I’m sorry,” you say after a long silence, your voice softer this time, barely above a whisper. You’re not sure if he hears you, but he looks at you with an expression that makes you feel like you’ve just stepped into a minefield. 

He doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he exhales a long breath, rubbing his forehead with his fingers as though the weight of it all is finally catching up to him. The tension between you hangs heavy in the warm summer air, the quiet hum of distant cicadas filling the space where words should be. Jeonghan takes another sip of his beer, the bottle pressed lightly against his lips as though it might cool the heat simmering under his skin. He looks tired—no, more than tired. Worn down. The type of exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says finally, the words coming out uneven, almost like they’re foreign on his tongue. His voice is softer now, missing the sharp edges that had cut into you moments before. “You were just doing your job.” 

“Jeonghan,” you start, but he holds up a hand, silencing you. 

“No, really.” He forces a thin smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s the kind of expression you’ve seen him use in press conferences—a shield, practiced and perfect. “You’re here because Ferrari told you to be. Because someone thought it’d be a great PR move. You don’t owe me anything beyond that.” 

The words sting, even though you know they shouldn’t. He’s not wrong. This isn’t your world, not really. But you can’t help the knot tightening in your chest as you watch him retreat into himself, the walls going up before your eyes. 

“I’m not here because they told me to be,” you say quietly, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “I’m here because I wanted to be. Because I saw the crash, Jeonghan, and I—” You stop, swallowing hard as the memory flashes behind your eyes again. The twisted metal, the plume of smoke, the moment you thought— 

“I was scared,” you admit, your voice cracking slightly. “Not as a journalist. Not as someone with a job to do. As someone who—” Jeonghan’s gaze snaps to you, his eyes narrowing slightly, but there’s something vulnerable there, too, something unguarded. 

You don't finish the sentence. 

Jeonghan watches you closely now, his beer suspended mid-air, forgotten. The sharpness in his gaze softens, replaced by something else—curiosity, maybe, or an unease he doesn’t quite know how to address.

The air between you feels heavy, suffocating in its quiet. You can still hear the faint echoes of the crash in your mind, the awful screech of metal against asphalt, the split-second horror of thinking you’d just seen him—

He sets the bottle down with a soft clink against the railing, breaking the spell.

“Scared, huh?” His voice is quieter now, and there’s a touch of disbelief, as though he’s trying to decide whether to accept your words or dismiss them.

You nod, throat tightening as you try to push through the lump that’s settled there. “Terrified,” you admit, the word feeling foreign and vulnerable on your tongue. “Not because of what I’d have to write, but because I thought—” You bite down on the rest of the sentence, unwilling to say it aloud.

Jeonghan exhales, long and slow, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he leans back against the railing. “I’m fine,” he says eventually, the words flat and unconvincing. He glances at you, his lips pressing into a faintly wry smile. “A little bruised. A little pissed. But I’m fine.”

It’s not enough to untangle the knot in your chest, but it’s a start. You nod, not trusting yourself to say anything else.

He finishes his beer in a few swallows, the motion oddly decisive, before standing and brushing off his pants. For a moment, you think he’s about to leave without another word, the tension between you both left unresolved.

But then he turns, holding out a hand toward you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a faint curve to his lips that feels almost... playful.

“Friends?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, his hair falling into his eyes. “If you’re going to be hanging around the garage all season, might as well, y’know?”

You blink at him, taken aback. The man who’d stormed out of the debriefing room in a fit of rage, who’d spat barbs at you moments ago, now stood here offering a truce like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Friends,” you echo, narrowing your eyes as you take his hand. It’s warm, his grip firm but not overbearing, and for a fleeting second, you wonder if this is another performance—an act to keep you at arm’s length.

But when he pulls you to your feet, there’s something genuine in his expression, something almost relieved.

“You better not make me regret this,” he says, letting go of your hand as he shoves his now-empty beer bottle into your other one. “And don’t think this means you’re off the hook for the shit you wrote.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as he smirks.

For the first time all day, the knot in your chest loosens just slightly. You follow him back toward the paddock, your steps lighter than they’ve been in weeks.

And for now, that’s enough.

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS AUSTRIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Red Bull Ring

The Red Bull Ring stretches out before you like a postcard of precision. Nestled in the Austrian hills, the track gleams under the soft morning sun, its curves and straights inviting the first roar of engines. The garage is alive with motion—engineers bent over laptops, mechanics tightening bolts, and the hum of anticipation that comes with any race weekend.

You step into the Ferrari garage, an interloper in a sea of red. Jeonghan’s car gleams in its designated spot, pristine and ready, as though it hadn’t been a crumpled wreck just a week ago. The team works around it like a well-oiled machine, barely sparing you a glance. You’re supposed to be here, technically, but that doesn’t stop the slight twinge of unease as you find a quiet corner near the monitors.

“Back again?”

The voice is unmistakable, light and teasing. You turn, and there he is: Yoon Jeonghan in his fireproofs, the sleeves tied around his waist, his white undershirt faintly clinging to his frame. He looks every bit the picture of calm, like he hasn’t spent the past few days fielding press questions about his crash.

“Didn’t think you’d miss the chance to watch me run into someone,” he adds, smirking as he adjusts his gloves.

You raise an eyebrow. “Is this your way of saying you’re aiming for Aston Martin?”

He laughs, a real laugh this time, and it’s startling how much it changes the air around you. “Not today. But I’ll keep you updated if Seokmin starts driving like a rookie again.”

“Careful, Jeonghan,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. “I might put that in my next article.”

He leans casually against the wall, his dark eyes scanning your face with an intensity that’s become familiar in the past few weeks. But there’s no edge to it today, no armor. Just him, relaxed and—for once—almost easygoing.

“You’re not as scary as you think you are,” he says after a beat, his voice low enough that the hum of the garage nearly drowns it out.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the grin that creeps onto your face. “And you’re not as charming as you think you are.”

He tilts his head, considering this like it’s the most interesting thing he’s heard all day. “Fair. But you’re still here, aren’t you?”

“Purely professional,” you quip, ignoring the way his smirk grows.

Before he can reply, the engineer by the monitors calls him over, gesturing to the screen. Jeonghan holds up a finger, signaling for a moment, then turns back to you.

“Stay out of trouble, yeah?” His voice is lighter now, teasing but not in the way that cuts. It feels natural, like banter between...well, maybe not quite friends. Not yet. But something close.

You shrug, watching as he walks toward his team, the confidence in his stride unmistakable. The tension that had lingered after the crash feels like it’s finally begun to dissolve, replaced by something steadier. Not quite trust, but something adjacent.

As you settle into the corner, notebook in hand, you can’t help but glance at him every so often. On the surface, it’s just another practice session, another day at the track. But for the first time in weeks, it feels like something close to normal. 

FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS BRITISH GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Silverstone Circuit

Silverstone roars to life under a blazing sun, the grandstands filled to capacity with fans waving flags and wearing team colors. The overcast sky has burned off, leaving the track shimmering under the summer sun. It’s one of the biggest stages of the season, and Jeonghan delivers a masterclass in qualifying, the finely tuned Ferrari underneath him responding to every input like an extension of himself. The sharp smell of rubber and fuel lingers in the air, mingling with the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He’s back.

The final lap times on the leaderboard tell the story: pole position. Ferrari’s garage is electric with celebration, engineers clapping each other on the back, a cheer rising when Jeonghan steps into the swarm of red. His team surrounds him, hands gripping his shoulders, voices shouting praise over the din.

He grins, wide and unguarded, the weight of the last few weeks lifting ever so slightly. Spain and Canada had shaken him, but this—this feels like a reckoning. Proof that the mistakes and setbacks weren’t the whole story.

“Perfect lap, Jeonghan,” his engineer says, beaming as he hands him a water bottle.

He nods in acknowledgment, taking a swig, his heart still racing as he glances around the paddock. The sun is high now, glinting off the sleek curves of the cars lined up in parc fermé. Jeonghan’s gaze sweeps over the crowd, soaking in the energy—until he sees you.

You’re standing just outside the McLaren garage, the vibrant orange of their branding a stark contrast to the reds and blacks of his world. You’re leaning against a barrier, the breeze tugging at your hair as you laugh at something Mingyu says. Your face is so open, so full of light, that it’s almost magnetic.

Mingyu gestures animatedly, clearly in the middle of some ridiculous story, his grin as wide as the Cheshire Cat’s. You throw your head back with a laugh, and Jeonghan feels a tightness in his chest he can’t quite place.

The joy that had filled him moments ago flickers.

Why does it bother him?

The thought lingers as he watches you, his water bottle dangling forgotten in his hand. Jeonghan isn’t used to this kind of gnawing discomfort. He’s competitive, sure, but this is something else entirely.

Jealousy.

The sun is lower in the sky when he finds you, his long strides purposeful as he weaves through the paddock. The golden hour light makes everything seem softer, but Jeonghan’s mood is anything but. His thoughts from earlier have been simmering, the warmth of victory eclipsed by a frustration he can’t shake.

You’re leaning against a railing, scrolling on your phone when he approaches.

“Shouldn’t you be in the Ferrari garage?” he says, his tone sharper than he intends.

You blink up at him, startled. “I was just catching up with Mingyu.”

Jeonghan crosses his arms, his brow furrowing. “Funny. I thought you were doing a full-access piece on Ferrari, not McLaren.”

There’s something in his voice—an edge that sets your teeth on edge. “I am,” you reply slowly, standing up straighter. “What’s this about?”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “Is that why your articles about Mingyu are always glowing? What, are you sleeping with him?”

The accusation is like a slap, cutting through the air with a harshness that leaves you stunned.

Your expression shifts, disbelief giving way to anger. “Are you serious right now?”

Jeonghan doesn’t respond immediately, his jaw tight. The regret in his eyes is fleeting, buried under the weight of his own misplaced frustration.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” you snap, your voice trembling with fury. “It’s always one step forward, two steps back with you, Jeonghan.”

His lips part as if to reply, but you don’t wait for him to dig himself deeper. You storm off, your footsteps echoing against the paddock floor. The sting of his words lingers, but so does the look on his face as you walk away.

Jeonghan stands there, watching you go, the tension in his shoulders giving way to a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knows he’s crossed a line, and the weight of his own stupidity settles heavily over him.

The knock on your hotel room door comes before sunrise, soft but insistent. You groan, burying your face in your pillow before dragging yourself to the door.

When you open it, the hallway is empty. But at your feet sits a bouquet wrapped in crisp white paper, tied with a simple satin ribbon.

Roses. Soft blush pink, their petals perfectly unfurled, paired with delicate sprigs of baby’s breath.

The arrangement is beautiful, almost heartbreakingly so, the kind of bouquet that feels like a story in itself. You crouch to pick it up, your fingers brushing over the velvety petals. The faint, sweet scent of roses fills the air, mixing with the crisp morning chill that seeps into the hallway.

Nestled among the flowers is a small envelope.

You pull it out, your thumb brushing over the edge of the paper as you open it. Inside, scrawled in a slightly messy hand that’s unmistakably Jeonghan’s, are two simple words:

I’m sorry.

You glance down the hallway instinctively, half-expecting to see him lingering in the shadows. But it’s empty, as silent as it was before you opened the door.

You stand there for a moment longer, the bouquet in your arms and the note trembling slightly in your fingers. The apology feels heavier than the flowers, weighted by the memory of his words from yesterday.

He didn’t need to apologize like this, you think. He could have texted, could have mumbled something in passing when you inevitably crossed paths today. But instead, he’d gone to the trouble of figuring out your favorite flowers—roses and baby’s breath, a detail you don’t even remember telling him.

The realization stirs something in you, softening the edges of your anger.

The roses sit on the desk as you get ready for the day, the baby’s breath adding a delicate touch to the arrangement. The card leans against the vase, its two-word apology a quiet presence in the room.

Somewhere in the city, Silverstone is waking up, the air already buzzing with anticipation for the race. But here, in the stillness of your hotel room, you take a moment to breathe, to let the gesture sink in.

Jeonghan’s voice echoes faintly in your mind, the memory of yesterday’s confrontation still fresh. And yet, as you glance at the roses again, the sting of his words begins to dull, replaced by something softer, something not yet ready to be named.

The pre-race buzz was electric. The roar of engines echoed faintly in the distance, a constant backdrop to the paddock’s chaotic rhythm. Mechanics zipped between garages, reporters hustled to get last-minute quotes, and fans outside the barricades chanted their favorite drivers’ names. Amid all this, your footsteps fell heavy against the asphalt, your target in sight: Yoon Jeonghan.

There he was, leaning against the nose of his red Ferrari, his race suit a striking flash of scarlet that caught the sunlight and made him look annoyingly pristine for someone who had caused you so much grief. He was chatting with an engineer, that easy, charming smile plastered on his face like he hadn’t thrown baseless accusations your way less than 24 hours ago.

You marched toward him, purpose sharpening your steps. The bouquet from this morning was still vivid in your mind—blush pink roses, soft and elegant, their delicate petals almost glowing against the green of the baby’s breath, a stark contrast to the seething frustration you still carried. And the note—just two infuriatingly simple words—burned in your pocket, a reminder of the apology you hadn’t quite accepted yet.

“Jeonghan,” you called, your voice cutting through the low hum of conversation around you.

He glanced up, his casual demeanor faltering for a split second when he saw you. Then, like a switch had flipped, his smile returned. “Oh, hey.”

You stopped a foot away, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “How did you know my favorite flowers?”

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, and he leaned ever so slightly against the car, as if the conversation were a game he’d already won. “Oh good, they got delivered to the right room.”

“Jeonghan,” you said, your tone sharper now, “don’t deflect.”

“Deflect what?” He tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with that infuriating glint of mischief that made you want to throttle him and laugh in equal measure.

“JEONGHAN.” The snap in your voice turned a few heads nearby, but you didn’t care.

He sighed dramatically, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fine. A certain papaya-colored birdie told me.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Papaya-colored birdie... Mingyu?”

Jeonghan hesitated, his grin faltering for just a moment. You saw the gears turning in his head, calculating whether to deflect again or come clean.

“Spit it out, Yoon Jeonghan,” you said, stepping closer, “or I’ll never write a single kind thing about you for the rest of your life.”

His mouth twitched, caught between amusement and resignation. Finally, he shrugged, his voice almost too casual. “Childhood friends, eh? You and Mingyu? That explains yesterday.”

You blinked, thrown by the abrupt shift in topic. “Don’t change the subject,” you snapped, though his words tugged at something in the back of your mind. “You really went to Kim Mingyu for help? After accusing me of—”

“I might have... aggressively encouraged Mingyu to spill everything he knew about you,” Jeonghan admitted, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You raised a brow. “Aggressively encouraged?”

“Fine,” he said with a huff. “I threatened to steal his steering wheel from the McLaren garage if he didn’t talk.”

Despite your irritation, a snort escaped you. “And he just handed over my life story, huh?”

Jeonghan crossed his arms, mirroring your stance. “What can I say? He’s surprisingly chatty when he thinks you’re in trouble. Very protective, that one.”

You clenched your jaw, the pieces clicking into place. “So, that’s why you jumped to conclusions yesterday. You thought—”

He cut you off, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “I know. I was out of line. That’s what the flowers were for.”

For a moment, the noise of the paddock seemed to fade. The wind carried the faint scent of burning rubber, and the distant cheers of fans reached your ears like a muted hum. Jeonghan’s expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something quieter, almost vulnerable.

“For what it’s worth,” he added, his tone lower now, “I really am sorry.”

You exhaled slowly, the weight of the last day lifting slightly from your chest. “You’re lucky I like roses.”

“I know,” he replied, his grin returning, lighter this time, almost boyish. “Good taste, huh?”

“Good recovery, at least,” you muttered, your lips twitching despite yourself.

Jeonghan’s laughter followed you as you turned and walked away, the sound less grating than it had been the day before. It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet—but it felt like a start.

FORMULA 1 HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Hungaroring

The Hungarian Grand Prix paddock was buzzing, but you could tell something was off. The sound of chatter and engines felt like distant echoes as you stood by the garage, watching Jeonghan’s Ferrari pull back into its stall after a less-than-stellar FP1. The car’s engine quieted as the mechanics immediately went to work, inspecting it. But it wasn’t the car that caught your attention—it was Jeonghan himself.

He was unusually quiet, his usual cocky confidence buried beneath the furrow of his brow as he stripped off his helmet and gloves. His gaze was focused on the car, but it was clear his mind wasn’t in the garage. He seemed... distant, almost frustrated. The others in the team were busy talking strategy, discussing the data, but Jeonghan barely spoke up during the debriefing. It was strange.

The team finished up, but you noticed Jeonghan lingered near the back, hands on his hips, staring at his car like it had personally betrayed him. It wasn’t like him to be this quiet, especially not after a session where he was so used to being in control. You could practically feel the weight of his thoughts from where you stood.

You didn’t want to be intrusive, but you couldn’t ignore it—something was wrong.

You walked over, careful not to disturb the mechanics who were still busy at work. "Jeonghan," you called softly, stepping beside him. He turned to you, but his eyes didn’t quite meet yours. They were focused on something distant, like he was seeing the track or the car but not really seeing them.

“Everything okay?” you asked, trying to keep the concern out of your voice, but it slipped through anyway. “You’ve been quiet since the debriefing.”

He gave a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine.”

You weren’t buying it. You had known Jeonghan long enough to recognize the way he carried his frustration. It wasn’t the kind of thing that could be hidden behind a casual smile, no matter how practiced.

“You sure? You know you don’t have to be okay all the time, right?” you pressed, stepping a little closer. The air around you felt heavy, charged with unspoken words.

Jeonghan exhaled sharply, his fingers digging into his gloves before he slowly pulled them off. He seemed to be gathering himself before speaking. “I hate it,” he muttered, and his voice had a rawness to it that caught you off guard. “Not being perfect. I... I can’t stand it.”

“Not being perfect?” you echoed, surprised. Jeonghan, the ever-cocky, confident driver, admitting that?

He looked up at you then, his eyes intense, as though he was searching for something in your gaze. “Yeah. I know it sounds stupid,” he said with a wry laugh that lacked its usual humor. “But it’s who I am. I’m a perfectionist, always have been. Every little mistake... it sticks with me. I can’t just move on. I think about it. Constantly.”

You watched him, absorbing his words, the vulnerability in his tone feeling like a crack in his otherwise polished exterior. Jeonghan, always so composed on the surface, always teasing and joking, was admitting something deeper now—something more personal.

“Is that why you were so quiet during the debriefing?” you asked, keeping your voice soft.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his gaze flicking to the car again. “I know I didn’t have the best session, but it feels like... like I failed. Like I’m not doing my job right. I could’ve done better.” His jaw clenched as if he were angry at himself.

The silence that fell between you was thick, almost suffocating, and you could feel the tension radiating off him. You hadn’t seen him like this before—not with this level of self-doubt.

“You’re not failing,” you said, your voice firm. “You’re allowed to have bad sessions. Hell, everyone has bad days. But that doesn’t mean you’re failing. It’s just a part of it.”

Jeonghan glanced over at you, his lips curving into a small, grateful smile. “You really believe that?”

“Yeah, I do,” you said, nodding. “I mean... it’s not all about being perfect. Sometimes it’s the mistakes that push you to be better.”

Jeonghan looked down at his hands, still clutching the gloves, and you could see the gears turning in his mind. “I know. But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

“I get it,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the side of the garage. “But you’ve got a whole team behind you. And we all know what you’re capable of. You’ll get there. It’s just one session.”

He finally met your gaze, his eyes softening. “Thanks.”

There was a long pause, the sound of distant chatter and the hum of the paddock filling the silence. You were so used to Jeonghan’s teasing and cocky attitude that this quieter, more introspective side of him felt like a different person altogether. And maybe it was—it was the side that wasn’t the driver who fought for every fraction of a second on the track, the side that just wanted to be good enough.

“It’s not stupid, you know,” you added quietly. “Caring about being good at what you do isn’t stupid. It’s just... exhausting sometimes.”

Jeonghan laughed lightly, the sound a bit more genuine this time. “You have no idea. But I’m getting better at... handling it. I think.”

You smiled at him, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over you. There was still that hint of unease in his posture, the tightness in his shoulders, but for the first time all day, he seemed a little more at ease with himself.

As you turned to leave, you shot him one last look. “Just don’t be so hard on yourself next time, okay?”

“I’ll try,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. And for a moment, you almost believed him.

The stands were eerily quiet now, a stark contrast to the roar of the crowd just hours earlier. You wandered through the empty paddock, your steps unhurried as the hum of the night settled around you. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint clatter of the Ferrari team packing up, but Jeonghan wasn’t with them.

You’d seen him after the race, his jaw tight as he climbed out of the car. Finishing P5 wasn’t bad by any measure, but it wasn’t what he wanted. And with Mingyu overtaking him in the Driver’s Championship by just twenty points, it was clear Jeonghan had taken it as a personal blow. His disappointment hung around him like a shadow.

It wasn’t hard to guess where he’d gone.

Sure enough, when you climbed up into the grandstands, there he was. Sitting alone in the middle row, still in his Ferrari race suit, unzipped to the waist to reveal his black base layer. His hair was tousled from the helmet, his posture slouched, shoulders hunched as though the weight of the day hadn’t yet left him. Beside him were two bottles of beer, one already open and resting loosely in his hand.

You approached quietly, but Jeonghan didn’t flinch. He didn’t even turn around when you reached him, your feet crunching softly against the debris of the crowd—discarded programs, empty wrappers, and forgotten flags. He must’ve known it was you, though. He always seemed to know.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, your voice breaking the stillness.

He finally glanced up, his expression unreadable. “It’s a free grandstand,” he muttered, gesturing to the empty seats around him.

You slid into the seat next to him, the cool metal chilling through your clothes. Jeonghan’s gaze returned to the track ahead, where the floodlights illuminated the ghost of the race. He took a sip of his beer, silent.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable—just heavy. You could feel the frustration radiating off him, the bitterness that came with being so close but not close enough.

“You should drink this before it gets warm,” he said suddenly, pushing the unopened beer toward you.

You picked it up, twisting off the cap with a small smile. “Thanks. Not exactly the post-race celebration you were hoping for, huh?”

He huffed a humorless laugh. “Not exactly.”

The silence fell again, but this time you weren’t willing to let it linger. You turned to him, watching the way his fingers tapped restlessly against the neck of the bottle. “You’re still in the fight, you know,” you said gently.

Jeonghan’s lips quirked, but it wasn’t a smile. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Well, you are,” you insisted. “Three points. That’s nothing. You’ve come back from worse.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he tilted his head back, looking up at the dark sky above the track. “You don’t get it,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “It’s not just about the points. It’s about everything. The mistakes, the pressure... the expectations. It’s like... like I have to prove that I deserve to be here. Every single time.”

“You do deserve to be here,” you said firmly, the conviction in your voice enough to make him turn to you. “You wouldn’t be in that seat if you didn’t. You’re one of the best drivers on the grid, Jeonghan. Everyone knows it. Even Mingyu. Especially Mingyu.”

Jeonghan scoffed, a flicker of a smile breaking through his stormy expression. “Bet he’s loving this right now.”

“Maybe,” you said, leaning back against the seat. “But knowing Mingyu, he’s probably already plotting ways to rub it in at the next race.”

That earned a laugh, small but real, and the sound was enough to make you smile too.

“You’re good at this,” he said after a moment, his tone softer now. “Talking me off the ledge.”

“Someone has to,” you replied with a shrug. “And honestly? I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. One race doesn’t define you, Jeonghan. You’re not just a number on the leaderboard.”

He looked at you then, his gaze lingering. There was something in his expression—gratitude, maybe, or something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name. “Thanks,” he said simply, the word weighted with more than just appreciation.

You clinked your bottle against his. “Anytime.”

The two of you sat there for a while longer, the weight of the day slowly lifting as the quiet of the night wrapped around you. It wasn’t much, but it was enough—for now. And as Jeonghan leaned back in his seat, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles, you knew he’d be okay. Eventually.

You took another sip of your beer, the chill of the bottle grounding you as Jeonghan’s earlier tension began to melt away. The ghost of a smile still lingered on his lips, and for the first time since you’d climbed up to find him, his shoulders seemed lighter.

“So,” he said, breaking the quiet, his voice tinged with a familiar mischievousness, “what’s your headline going to be this week?”

You raised an eyebrow, scoffing softly as you bumped his shoulder with your own. “You’ll see it when you see it, Yoon Jeonghan. No spoilers.”

His chuckle was low and warm, a sound that felt like the first crack of sunlight after a storm. “Should I be worried?”

“Always,” you replied, the corners of your lips quirking upward. “But maybe not too much this time.”

He gave you a curious look, his expression halfway between wary and amused, but he didn’t press. Instead, he leaned back, his gaze drifting back to the track. The night was calm now, the weight of the day’s disappointment tucked into the folds of shared silence.

The headline hit Monday morning, and Jeonghan had to admit, you’d delivered once again.

Ferrari Falters in Hungary: Yoon Jeonghan's Fight for the Title Tightens

The article was incisive, as sharp as he’d expected. You broke down his struggles in FP1, critiqued his race strategy, and even called out the overtaking move that cost him crucial points. It was the kind of detailed, no-nonsense analysis you were known for, and Jeonghan read every word with a mix of frustration and admiration.

But at the bottom, tucked beneath the last paragraph, there was a footnote—barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.

“Despite Hungary’s setback, Yoon Jeonghan remains one of the most popular and formidable contenders for the championship. With only twenty points separating him from the lead, Belgium offers a more than fair chance for the Ferrari star to close the gap and reclaim his momentum.”

Jeonghan blinked, then read it again, a slow smile tugging at his lips. He leaned back in his chair, the paper still in hand, and shook his head.

“Subtle,” he muttered, though his tone was anything but annoyed. It was gratitude, warmth, and a flicker of hope all wrapped together in a single word.

He might have faltered in Hungary, but you’d reminded him—the season wasn’t even half over. And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t fighting alone.

FORMULA 1 ROLEX BELGIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps

The weekend at Spa began like a dream.

The legendary Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps was a driver’s haven and a monster in equal measure. The longest track on the calendar, its 7 kilometers of asphalt wound through the lush forests of the Ardennes, combining high-speed straights, sweeping corners, and the unpredictable challenges of its microclimate. The iconic Eau Rouge and Raidillon dared drivers to go flat out, while the downhill plunge into Pouhon tested their courage and precision. It was a place where skill separated the good from the great.

Jeonghan thrived on its challenge.

FP1 and FP2 were his playgrounds, his Ferrari gliding through corners like it was made for this circuit alone. The car was responsive and balanced, every adjustment in setup shaving precious milliseconds off his laps. Jeonghan pushed it to its limits, feeling every bump and curve beneath him as if Spa’s asphalt were an extension of himself.

By the time he returned to the garage, his name was at the top of the timesheets, and his team wore expressions of pride and relief. Engineers crowded around him during the debrief, their excitement palpable. Even Mingyu wandered over to toss a mockingly impressed, “Don’t get used to it, Yoon,” in his direction.

Jeonghan, basking in the buzz of dominance, had only winked.

But then came the penalty.

A breach in power unit regulations—an unavoidable technicality that slapped him with a grid penalty. It was frustratingly bureaucratic, a punishment that felt out of his control and yet deeply personal. His pole position was stripped away, and he was relegated to P10.

In the Ferrari garage, Jeonghan leaned against the back wall, arms crossed, the weight of his helmet heavy in his hand. The rhythmic hum of power tools and bursts of chatter around him did little to soothe his simmering frustration.

It wasn’t just the penalty—it was the sting of perfection slipping through his fingers, a weekend that had started flawlessly now teetering on the edge of disappointment.

He glanced up, ready to bury himself in the chaos of the paddock, and froze.

You were there, leaning casually against the pit wall, chatting with one of the mechanics. The glow of the overhead lights caught in your hair, and despite the whirlwind of activity, you were a picture of calm. Your hands moved as you spoke, animated yet confident, the faintest flicker of a smirk playing on your lips.

His gaze lingered.

It hit him—a memory of your words from Hungary, your unwavering belief cloaked in sharp wit: “A more than fair chance to close the gap.”

For the first time since the penalty, the gap didn’t feel insurmountable.

He didn’t realize he’d been staring until you caught his eye. Your brows rose, and you tilted your head in mock curiosity before excusing yourself from the mechanic and walking toward him.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice laced with a note of amusement and something softer underneath.

Jeonghan shrugged, plastering on his signature cocky grin. “Since when are you worried about me?”

Your lips twitched in a barely concealed smile. “Oh, I’m not worried. Just curious. I wanted to see how Ferrari’s golden boy handles a little adversity.”

His grin faltered for the briefest moment before sharpening again. “Keep watching,” he said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “I might surprise you.”

You tilted your chin, your expression a blend of challenge and intrigue. “Don’t disappoint me then.”

The way you said it—like you meant it—sparked something fierce in him.

As you turned to leave, the faint scent of your perfume lingered in the air, anchoring him to the moment. Jeonghan watched you disappear into the paddock, your confident stride a sharp contrast to his brooding, and for the first time that day, a smirk tugged at his lips.

It wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

P10 to P1. 

It was the kind of race drivers dreamed of—the kind that earned its place in highlight reels for years to come.

The chaos began even before the lights went out. Rain had threatened all morning, dark clouds heavy over the Ardennes, but it held off just long enough to keep everyone guessing. Jeonghan sat in his Ferrari on the grid, surrounded by cars that had no business being ahead of him. He’d spent every second since the penalty recalibrating his mindset, shifting his frustration into fuel.

As the lights went out, his singular focus kicked in.

Turn 1, La Source: Jeonghan dived inside, threading through a gap that barely existed. The radio crackled with his engineer’s voice, commending his clean move, but he barely registered it. Eau Rouge and Raidillon loomed ahead, their uphill sweep demanding precision, bravery, and trust in his car.

He took the corners flat out.

By Lap 5, Jeonghan was in P7. His mind churned as he studied the cars ahead, each one a problem to solve. Every braking point, every shift in weight through the curves—it all required perfect execution.

But then came the rain.

It began as a drizzle at Pouhon, the light sheen on the track turning treacherous by the next sector. Jeonghan’s grip on the wheel tightened as he adjusted his lines, feeling for every ounce of traction.

“Box this lap for inters,” his engineer instructed.

“No,” Jeonghan replied, his voice steady. He could feel it—the balance of risk and reward. He stayed out one lap longer, the gamble paying off as he overtook two cars struggling on the wrong tires. When he finally pitted, the stop was flawless.

By Lap 20, the red flag came out, the rain too heavy for safety. Jeonghan sat in the pit lane during the suspension, helmet off, sweat beading his brow. His thoughts wandered for the first time since the race began.

Your words came back to him.

"Jeonghan’s perfectionism is both his weapon and his curse. When he is at his best, he’s untouchable. But the question remains: can he handle the pressure when the odds aren’t in his favor?"

His jaw tightened. You were right—about the pressure, about the way he held himself to standards so high they sometimes crushed him. But you’d also written something else.

"A more than fair chance to close the gap."

He wasn’t sure why, but that sentence anchored him.

When the race restarted, Jeonghan was a man possessed.

Sector by sector, he clawed his way through the field, each overtake cleaner and bolder than the last. At Blanchimont, he overtook Soonyoung in a move that was half instinct, half calculated risk. His engineer’s voice came over the radio in a disbelieving laugh: “Mate, you’re insane!”

By the final lap, he was leading. The roar of the crowd blended with the steady beat of his heart as he crossed the finish line, victory his once more.

The pit lane was a blur of celebration. His team engulfed him in a sea of red, their cheers drowning out even the din of Spa’s loyal fans. Soonyoung appeared out of nowhere, throwing an arm around Jeonghan’s shoulders.

“Winning in Spa from P10? You better believe I’m buying the first round,” Soonyoung declared, grinning despite his P2 finish.

Jeonghan laughed, the sound ragged and raw from effort, but his mind wasn’t entirely in the moment.

Later, in the quiet of the motorhome, when the adrenaline had settled and exhaustion was creeping in, Jeonghan pulled out his phone. His thumb hovered over the search bar before typing your name.

The article was already live.

His breath caught as he read your headline:

From P10 to Perfection: Yoon Jeonghan’s Masterclass at Spa

It was glowing, but in your unmistakable style—balanced, sharp, and honest. You praised his overtakes, his strategy, and his ability to rise under pressure. Your writing was like poetry, an ode to his resilience, his precision in the rain, his ability to claw victory from the jaws of defeat.  But what caught him off guard was the final line.

"With the championship fight closer than ever, it’s not a question of if Jeonghan will close the gap. It’s a question of when."

Jeonghan read it three times, his chest tight with something that felt almost like pride.

For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to believe them.

The bass thrummed low and heavy, a pulse that seemed to reverberate straight through the packed room. 

Jeonghan leaned against the bar, his drink in hand, his racing suit long since replaced by a fitted black shirt with the top buttons undone. The sleeves were rolled just enough to expose his forearms, the dark fabric clinging to his frame in a way that effortlessly commanded attention. Around him, the club buzzed with post-race energy—drivers, engineers, and team members alike reveling in the victory and chaos of the day.

Soonyoung was next to him, buzzing with his usual infectious energy. Jeonghan caught snippets of his teammate’s banter, but his mind was elsewhere.

“God, Jeonghan, if you stare any harder, she’s going to spontaneously combust,” Soonyoung teased, sipping his drink with a knowing smirk.

Jeonghan blinked, startled. “What?”

Soonyoung rolled his eyes, nodding toward the dance floor. “Her. You’ve been staring at her like she’s a particularly tricky apex all night.”

Jeonghan followed his gaze.

There you were, dancing with a group of Ferrari engineers, the colored lights spilling across your frame, making your skin glow. You laughed at something one of them said, your head tilting back, your hair swaying with every movement. Jeonghan’s grip on his glass tightened.

“You’re hopeless,” Soonyoung said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Just go talk to her. Or better yet, dance with her. God knows you’ll make everyone else jealous.”

Jeonghan scoffed, setting his empty glass down on the bar with a sharp clink. “You’re imagining things.”

“Sure, and you just happened to spend the past ten minutes glaring at the poor guy she’s dancing with.”

Jeonghan shot him a warning glance, but Soonyoung only grinned wider.

“Look, you’ve already won at Spa,” he added, leaning closer. “Might as well take another victory tonight.”

Jeonghan shook his head, but the heat in his chest betrayed him. He cast one last glance at you before downing the rest of his drink and pushing off the bar.

The crowd was a blur of movement, bodies packed tightly together under the pulsing lights, but Jeonghan moved with purpose. He found you easily, your energy magnetic even in the chaos.

The beat shifted as he approached, slowing to something deeper, sultrier. He stepped in behind you, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from your skin.

“Enjoying yourself?” he murmured, his voice low and warm against your ear.

You turned slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder. Your lips curved into a teasing smile, your eyes dancing in the dim light. “Jeonghan. Didn’t think you were the clubbing type.”

He smirked, his hand brushing lightly against your waist. “I make exceptions for special occasions.”

You arched a brow, leaning back into him just enough to blur the line between teasing and inviting. “Special occasions, huh? Like winning at Spa?”

“Something like that,” he said, his voice a touch quieter now. His fingers rested lightly on your waist, the heat of his touch sending a shiver up your spine.

You turned to face him fully, your hands drifting up to rest on his shoulders, playful and almost casual. “So? What’s it like being untouchable?”

He chuckled softly, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips and back again. “You’d know,” he said smoothly, “if you were paying attention during my races instead of writing snarky articles.”

You laughed, a soft, melodious sound that made his chest tighten. “I did pay attention,” you countered, leaning in slightly, your lips barely a breath away from his ear. “You were alright, I guess.”

“Alright?” he repeated, feigning offense. “You called it a masterclass. Don’t think I didn’t read your article.”

Your grin widened, the fire in your eyes matching the teasing edge in your tone. “Oh, that? Don’t let it go to your head, Yoon. I still expect a proper interview.”

His hands shifted to your hips, grounding you against him as he swayed slightly to the beat, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Careful. Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

“And if I did?” you teased back, your voice soft but no less challenging.

For a moment, the world around you fell away. The music, the lights, the press of the crowd—it all faded as the space between you closed. Jeonghan’s eyes lingered on your lips, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of racing.

Then, just as you tilted your head, leaning closer—

“JEONGHAN!”

The moment shattered.

Sunwoo’s voice boomed over the music as he appeared out of nowhere, the mechanic’s grin wide and oblivious. “Bro, come on! You can flirt later! Dance with me!”

Jeonghan groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as your laughter spilled over him like warm sunlight.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You pulled back, still laughing, and met his gaze with a wink. “I’ll hold you to that.”

FORMULA 1 HEINEKEN DUTCH GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Zandvoort

The paddock at Zandvoort was always one of Jeonghan’s favorites. The smell of fresh sea air mixed with the unmistakable tang of fuel and rubber, while the orange-clad crowd painted the stands in a fiery glow. Jeonghan didn’t even mind the noise—something about the Netherlands had a way of energizing him.

He was walking back from the driver’s parade when he spotted you outside the Ferrari hospitality tent, a coffee in hand, your eyes scanning the throng of people with practiced ease. The crisp breeze tugged at your hair, and Jeonghan slowed his pace, his lips curling into a familiar smirk.

You glanced up just in time to catch him staring. “Don’t you have a race to focus on?”

“Don’t you have an article to write?” he shot back, his voice smooth as ever.

“I’m multitasking,” you replied, raising your coffee in a mock toast.

Jeonghan stepped closer, close enough that the conversation felt private despite the bustling paddock around you. “Let me guess,” he said, crossing his arms, “today’s headline is, ‘Ferrari Driver Jeonghan Looks Extra Handsome Under Dutch Sunlight.’”

You snorted, barely suppressing a laugh. “Oh, please. I was thinking more along the lines of, ‘Can Ferrari’s Yoon Jeonghan Deliver After Spa Masterclass?’”

“Flattering,” he mused, tilting his head. “I thought you’d save the sarcasm for the post-race write-up.”

“I aim to keep you humble,” you said with a shrug, though the playful glint in your eyes gave you away.

Jeonghan leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a thrill down your spine. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like a fan.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could get a word in—

“Jeonghan!”

A voice cut through the tension like a knife. You both turned to see Soonyoung jogging up, waving enthusiastically. “There you are! We’re late for the strategy briefing!”

Jeonghan sighed, the corners of his mouth twitching as he glanced back at you. “Guess we’ll have to finish this later.”

You grinned, your eyes dancing with amusement. “Don’t let me keep you from your briefing, Ferrari’s golden boy.”

Jeonghan’s smirk deepened. “I’ll see you after I win.”

He walked off, Soonyoung talking his ear off as you watched him go, the heat in your chest lingering far longer than it should have.

The race came and went, and though Jeonghan didn’t win—Mingyu’s dominance at Zandvoort was almost an inevitability—he still managed to bring home a solid podium finish.

Later, back at the hospitality suite, you found yourself standing near the balcony, staring out at the ocean waves in the distance.

“Not bad for a day’s work,” came a familiar voice behind you.

You turned to find Jeonghan leaning casually against the doorway, his hair still damp from the post-race shower. He’d swapped his racing suit for a simple white shirt and jeans, but somehow, he still looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine.

“Not bad,” you admitted. “Though I was expecting a win. Should I change the headline to ‘Close, but Not Quite’?”

Jeonghan’s laugh was low and smooth as he closed the distance between you. “I think you’re just trying to rile me up.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Is it working?”

He stepped closer, close enough that you could see the faint freckle on his cheekbone, the way his lashes caught the light. “You tell me.”

The air between you crackled, your banter giving way to something heavier, something unspoken. For a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

“Jeonghan!”

The door slammed open, and Mingyu’s booming voice shattered the moment.

Both of you jumped, turning to see the taller driver grinning sheepishly. “Uh, sorry. Team dinner’s starting soon, and they’re waiting for you.”

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened, but he plastered on an easy smile. “Of course they are.”

Mingyu left as quickly as he’d come, leaving you and Jeonghan alone again.

“Do people just have radar for this?” Jeonghan muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

You laughed, the tension easing slightly. “Maybe it’s the universe telling you to focus on racing.”

He stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Or maybe it’s telling me I’ll just have to try harder.”

Your pulse quickened, but before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Jeonghan sighed dramatically, stepping back with a rueful smile. “Guess I’ll have to settle for third interruptions.”

You smirked, folding your arms. “You’re consistent, at least.”

“Don’t forget it,” he said with a wink, his voice smooth as ever as he walked away.

And just like that, you were left alone, the waves crashing in the distance as you wondered how long this game of cat and mouse could last.

another lil a/n: full throttle is probably one of my favorite things i've EVER written and i am so proud of myself for getting this out of my head and onto the page.

[chaostudee]

please please please, charles leclerc

summary : "please please please don't prove them right" charles leclerc has been labelled as a noterious playboy so when popstar starts y/n y/ln starts dating him she puts him in his place. warnings : language, suggestive content, hate comments. a/n : i acc have so much unfinished works in my drafts rnnn

y/nusername n1 in sydney.

liked by taylorswift, gracieabrams, tyla, and 4,628,925 others.

user72 ugh i love her so bad

username13 taylor liking is crazyy like she has been y/n's idol for years

user99 so so proud about how far she has come stopp i could cry

username222 sold out show in melbourne WHAT

fangirl truly the best night of my life (not an exaggeration i fear)

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

y/nusername 48 hours in australia next to miami !!

》 TAYLOR MF SWIFT Y/N WHAT

》 cutest dump ever stfu

》 screamingggg

》 stopp she looks so happy let me sob 😭😭

》 confirmed she loves us aussies 🇦🇺

》 the dress was *chef kisses*

》 storytime rnnnn

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

charlesleclerc miami prep 💪

liked by landonorris, carlossainz, scuderiaferrari, and 1,992,451 others.

user23 oh damn.

username788 holy shit i just woke up

f1fan oml

user00 i'm so jealous of any girl he has ever been with

user23 my dreams are just dreams 😫

f1lover podium plssss

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

y/nusername guess where i am hehe

》 miami gp !!

》 is that charles's car i see 👀

》 "everybody is a ferrari fan"

》 y/n and f1 i'm here for it

》 oh great another influencer being invited to an f1 race

》 oh yessss

》 f1 omggg queen i love youuuu

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

y/nusername a little pit stop before my show tonight ;)

liked by charlesleclerc, taylorswift, sadiesink and 2,728,667 others.

sadiesink ugh i had the best time

f1fan i'm not okay y/n and f1 MY TWO WORLDS COLLIDING

user13 im shooketh

username22 omg sadie and y/n together again i love them smmm

f1lover OMG GUYS WHAT IF SHE WAS THERE FOR CHARLES

user72 this is too insane....but he did like her post so maybeee user23 omgg and on the podium he did wink at someone maybe it was her?!?! f1girl okay not to alarm anyone but i did see him walk into the paddock with y/n 🤭 user23 OMFG ACC

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

charlesleclerc miami the city that keeps the roof blazing

liked by y/nusername, carlossainz, taylorswift and 4,729,901 others.

user23 i love charlos so bad pls never seperate them

f1fan oh girl....

user52 yesss charles back on the podium again

f1girl yesss the caption miami by will smith on toppp

f1lover are u dating y/n???

user626 yesss give the people what they want

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

y/nusername miami you were amazing 💋

liked by taylorswift, charlesleclerc, chappellroan and 3,791,551 others.

user72 mommy

username90 we need the makeup routine rnn

fangirl the pose tonight was crazyyy

user52 omggg i was with my mum fangirl stoppp i would die

user00 her tour fits always eat so bad

f1fan in a perfect universe this would be my life

user22 okayyy what if charles was there?!?

f1lover y/n plsss come to monaco

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

hotones video with y/n out now !!

liked by y/nusername, tyla, charlesleclerc and 426,829 others.

y/nusername I TOLD YOU TO CUT THAT PART OMG GOING TO GO KMS

user627 oop

username22 i mean she has a chance so she might as well shoot her shot

f1fan not charles in the likes this is so messy

user72 oh to have her confidence

username78 omggg she is such a legend for this

f1girl this interview was so good omggg

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

charlesleclerc the best weekend of my life

liked by carlossainz, y/nusername, landonorris and 6,916,411 others.

y/nusername 💗

user62 girl f1fan wait was she there?? user62 nope

carlossainz finally

user562 i actually shed like real tears

f1girl so so proud

user90 im a new fan but this was emotional for me

username82 i hope he knows that we are all so happy for him

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

messages between taylor and y/n

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

y/nusername please please please out now hope you enjoy 🤭🫣

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris, taylorswift and 7,291,081 others.

user72 NOW THIS IS A HARD LAUNCH

username90 i died dead

f1fan fuck idek who i want to be more

taylorswift omggg i'm so shocked i defo didn't know about this for months

y/nusername 😭😭 plsss ily

user62 THE MV WAS SO GODDAMN HOT THE WAY HE WAS LOOKING AT HER OMLLL

f1girl this is just so perfect

user90 i fear im in a state of shock rn

user52 im not even phased cause i saw it coming

landonorris can i plss be in a mv next plssss

user62 helpppp

username11 y/n my queen

taglist⭑.ᐟ

@lottalove4evelyn @sweetestgirlintown111 @mxryxmfooty @hadidsworld @llando4norris @heavy-vettel @love2readd @depressedriches @nichmeddar @seonghwaexile

[amirasainz]

Can u do an Oscar x driver!reader fic where she is meeting Oscar’s family for the first time and is really nervous but they got on really well xx ♥️

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 🧡

The Piastri family

It was a sunny morning in Melbourne, the kind of day that made everything feel a little too perfect. Yn adjusted her sunglasses nervously as Oscar maneuvered his car through the suburban streets toward his parents' house.

“You’re going to be fine,” Oscar said, glancing at her with a soft smile.

“I’m not so sure,” she muttered, her hands tightening on her lap.

Oscar chuckled. “Yn, they’re not going to interrogate you. They’re just excited to meet you.”

“That’s the problem. What if I say the wrong thing? What if they don’t like me?”

“They’re going to love you,” he said firmly, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “Besides, you’ve already won over Mark. My family isn’t half as intimidating as he can be.”

Yn snorted. “Mark doesn’t count. He’s a Red Bull guy. Of course, he likes me.”

Oscar smirked but didn’t argue. Instead, he pulled into a driveway and put the car in park. Yn’s stomach flipped.

“This is it,” he said gently.

The front door opened almost immediately, and Oscar’s mum, Nicole, stepped out, her face lighting up at the sight of them. Yn barely had time to unbuckle her seatbelt before Nicole rushed over and enveloped her in a hug.

“Yn! Oh, it’s so wonderful to finally meet you!” Nicole exclaimed.

Yn blinked, startled, but quickly hugged her back. “It’s so nice to meet you too, Nicole.”

Oscar was grinning as he grabbed their bags from the boot. “Told you,” he mouthed to Yn.

Nicole looped her arm around Yn’s and led her inside. “Come in, come in! Chris been dying to meet you too. He’s got a hundred questions about racing.”

Oscar laughed from behind them. “Mum, don’t scare her off.”

Nicole waved him off. “Nonsense. Yn’s a racer; she’s tougher than that.”

Yn smiled shyly, feeling some of the tension in her chest ease. Inside, the house smelled like fresh coffee and baked goods, and she could hear chatter from the living room.

“Yn!” Chris, Oscar’s dad, greeted warmly. He extended a hand, but Nicole swatted it away.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Chris. Give her a hug!”

Yn found herself laughing as Chris pulled her into a quick, slightly awkward hug. “It’s great to meet you,” he said sincerely. “We’ve been following your season, of course. Fantastic stuff.”

“Thank you,” Yn said, feeling her cheeks heat up.

“Right, right,” Chris continued, his enthusiasm bubbling over. “So tell me, how are you finding the car this year? Any big changes for Melbourne?”

Oscar groaned from the doorway. “Dad, at least let her sit down first.”

Chris chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Coffee first. Questions later.”

Yn exchanged a glance with Oscar, who winked at her before guiding her to the couch. She settled in, feeling more at ease as Nicole bustled around, offering snacks and drinks.

“Hey, mate,” came a familiar voice from the kitchen.

Yn turned to see Mark leaning casually against the counter, sipping a mug of coffee.

“Mark!” she said, standing to greet him.

“Yn,” he replied with a grin. “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you too. Wait, what are you doing here?”

Oscar rolled his eyes as he sat beside her. “It’s Mark. He’s always here.”

“Pretty much,” Mark admitted with a shrug. “I couldn’t miss the big introduction, could I?”

Yn laughed. “Fair enough.”

Nicole returned with a tray of drinks, setting them down on the coffee table. “Mark’s like part of the family. You’ll get used to it.”

Mark smirked. “I’m just here for the food.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. Nicole asked about Yn’s travels and how she balanced racing with everything else, while Chris peppered her with technical questions that she happily answered. Mark chimed in occasionally, sharing stories from his own career that had everyone laughing.

At one point, Oscar’s younger sister popped her head in from the backyard. “Yn, you have to see the purple kangaroo that keeps hopping around out here!”

Oscar groaned. “Not this kangaroo again.”

Yn grinned. “A purple kangaroo? I have to see this.”

The group moved to the back patio, where they spent the next hour chatting, laughing, and keeping an eye out for the infamous purple kangaroo. Yn couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so at home.

As the sun started to dip lower in the sky, Nicole wrapped an arm around Yn’s shoulders. “You’re part of the family now, Yn. There’s no escaping us.”

Yn felt a lump in her throat but managed to smile. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Oscar watched the interaction with a soft expression, his heart full. Later, as they were leaving, he turned to Yn and took her hand.

“Told you they’d love you,” he said quietly.

Yn smiled, her earlier nerves now a distant memory. “Yeah, you did.”

“And for the record,” he added, leaning in close, “I think they’re right.”

[bth3cowboi]

paint me in lovely red, mv1xreader

masterlist

pairing: max verstappen x artist!reader

summary: a tiny slip can make your most beautiful secrets public. Sometimes the slip comes in the form of a painting, sometimes the secret is a relationship with a world champion.

format: social media au

a/n: all paintings used here were made by Malcolm Liepke! Part 1/?

( instagram )

verstappen1updates

liked by fanuser and 500,233 others

verstappen1updates Max just admitted that he’s in a relationship on stream! Transcript of the clip for those asking:

G: Max, they’re asking about the new painting in the background. I haven’t seen it before either.

M: Ah yes, that was a gift for the championship win from- [Stops to keep driving]. Well, my girlfriend really.

G: [Laughs] That’s cute, she’s great at painting. Oh- they’re surprised now- [Laughs] about your girl.

M: Ah- We just like to keep to ourselves, mate.

see all comments

user1 YO WHAT???

user2 and just like that we’ve lost him🥲

user3 u don’t know that man

user2 a girl can dream…

user4 sooo whos the girl?? I want to know noww

user5 a whole picture of his winning car??? she must be HOOKED

user6 after that season i cant blame her

( twitter )

( instagram )

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1 and others

yourusername Spring is coming so new prints are out on my online shop!! Make sure to check them out💛🧡🍋

From the vault: “my yellow mirror II”, oil on canvas, 18x24. Also: my bike, me.

see all comments

user1 I just came expecting more Max honestly

user2 SAME

user3 the only thing interesting on this page

user4 ok seeing her now I get why Max let her paint him like that😂 shes cute

user5 paint me like one of your french girls- max, probably

yourfriend beautiful as always Yn🥹🫶 only focus on that

liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1

yourusername thanks bby🫶

user6 oh girl stop being so dramaticcc

user7 drop the painting of the car instead, this is boring

user8 i get it know, date rich so you can afford to do your silly paintings🤯

maxverstappen1 just lovely

this comment has been deleted

comments on this post have been disabled

( messages )

( instagram )

inthef1paddock

liked by fanuser and 876.334 others

inthef1paddock Max Verstappen and girlfriend Yn Ln caught together after she arrived to Melbourne for the Australian GP.

The driver had to ask through his instagram stories for fans to respect their privacy and Yn’s career after people flooded her social media with disrepectful comments, he did so by posting this selfie.

Mean comments will be deleted.❤️

see all comments

user1 People are so rude, its obvious they love each other

user2 Oh that hug🥹 what a lucky girl

user3 Did you see the video? He RAN to her, shes blessed

user4 idk she still seems weird…

lando.jpg

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo and 698.442 others

lando.jpg 🇦🇺 nights

tagged charlesleclerc, maxverstappen1 and yourusername;

see all comments

user1 last photo made me SCREAM, MAX???

user2 Lando is so crazy for this lol

user3 From Charles dropping it low to a hard launch he knows his public

charles_leclerc 😎😎

yourusername 🕺🕺📸📸

charles_leclerc You mean 💋💋📸📸?

maxverstappen1 Lando wont post those because he is lonely and he will cry

landonorris mate thats not true

yourusername its ok to be single lando we dont care you cried to our happy photos

landonorris I did NOT cry 🤢 you guys made me sickkkkk

charles_leclerc sick to tears

maxverstappen1 😂😂

landonorris Stoppp

landonorris Dont know what its worse, the kissy photos or the porn paintings

yourusername not porn🖕

maxverstappen1 Dont be rude🖕

yourusername I will paint you crying now idc you crybaby

landonorris Sure😂

charlesleclerc Famous last words

user4 its ok Lando I will take 💋 pictures with you

user5 me toooo, I volunteer 🤩

maxverstappen1 Please send me the rest of Yn’s photos👍

liked by landonorris and 5021 others

user6 oh wow i get lando now this is so sweet its sick😭

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, charlesleclerc and others

yourusername “Lando Norris, the crybaby”, oil on canvas, 24x30.

Prints will be available online soon🧡

see all comments

user1 Oh she ate this one up😭😭

landonorris NO YN

landonorris YN THIS IS SO MEAN

landonorris why would you do this😭😭 I didnt think you were serious

yourusername See, crybaby

carlossainz55 Dont worry Landito you dont look too bad

landonorris 😭😭😭

user3 LMFAO THIS IS SO FUNNY

user2 the devil work fast, but yn works faster

danielricciardo Jesus how much for this one, I will give ANYTHING

charlesleclerc No man ask for your own, this one is mine

maxverstappen1 This is not leaving my house👍 good luck

charles_leclerc WHAT? NOT FAIR, YN I WILL PAY TOO MUCH

danielricciardo Whatever he pays I will give double

yourusername Sorry its been bought already

charles_leclerc ???

mclaren Thank you Yn, this will look great in our hall 🧡🧡

yourusername 🧡🫶

landonorris WHAT

charles_leclerc oh my god

landonorris NO WAY

user4 SOLD TO MCLAREN? this is a fever dream

user5 I, too, want a portrait of me kissing max verstappen

user6 I respect Yn so much, cause she went from making tittie art of her bf to paint their friend crying while they makeout in the background

maxverstappen1 Lovely😂

maxverstappen1 Can I request one but without the crybaby?

yourusername I have a few already 🤔 whats one moree

user7 DROP THEM, I KNOW YOU HAVE THE HOT ONES TOO

charles_leclerc Dont drop them please think of the children

yourusername wow youre so boring

maxverstappen1 Make fun of him on a painting for that baby

danielricciardo I will pay for that one this time

charles_leclerc God no have mercy

yourusername dont worry i wont do that, being a ferrari driver is punishment enough

charles_leclerc 😐

landonorris LOL DESERVED

maxverstappen1 Love you my Yn❤️❤️

yourusername love you too🥹🥹

——

a/n: Thank you for reading!!! I might do a second part to this fic, I think there is so much more to do with the plot so if anyone is interesed make sure to stick around❤️🥹 My inbox is now open if anyone has suggestions or ideas they want to se me writw!

[secondhandcarpartsonline]

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https://sunshinewreckers.com/expert-tips-for-choosing-the-best-car-wreckers-in-melbourne/

[firstautopartsplus]

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[gguk-n]

Chapter 1- Chance Encounter

Accelerating Emotions (Oscar Piastri x Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- The Y/L/N moved to Melbourne. Oscar made a new friend. He got into karting and racing but his friend's sister still makes it difficult to breath sometimes. He had thought he would be over her by now, seems like he was wrong.

The reader has 2 brothers who I'm naming Ansel and Aldric and the reader is Y/N

The Y/L/N family moved to Melbourne, Australia in 2003 with their 2 kids, Y/N and Ansel, in search for a better future and a place to raise their kids. The sub-burbs of Melbourne served as a calm and healthy environment for the 2 kids with the addition of their youngest Aldric only 2 years later. The 3 kids were a handful but the Y/L/N wouldn't have it any other way.

Ansel, their oldest boy used to cry a lot when he would have to go to pre-school and the teachers would have to call his parents since it was getting difficult to manage the little boy until he met a boy who loved cars as much as he did. The calls from pre-school stopped suddenly alerting the parents who ended up finding out that Ansel had befriended a boy named Oscar and they were attached to the hip. The two boys started having play dates together at Oscar's place since Ansel's parents were too busy to host the boys and Oscar's mum, Nicole didn't mind having another kid around once in a while. Ansel would talk animatedly when describing his day which he never did before, eliciting a smile from his parents. Oscar loved his friend as well.

Ansel was 4 when he insisted on having Oscar over to show his car collection which had slowly been fluctuating and from what Mrs Y/L/N gathered from Mrs Piastri, the 2 boys had been exchanging cars with each other. So, one beautiful summer morning, Oscar was walking behind Ansel to his house with Mrs Y/L/N behind them with her year old son, Aldric in arms. The boys ended up playing around in the backyard after lunch and wouldn't come in until Oscar heard a shrill voice scream at Ansel to come in and have some fruits. The voice belonged to Ansel's older sister. She walked back in, "hmph, I hate her, she's so annoying" Ansel told Oscar. "It's a good thing your sisters are smaller than you, she only screams at me" Ansel whined as they walked inside.

Oscar was asked to sit on the sofa while Y/N brought out 2 fruit plates for the both of them. She handed the plate to Oscar and raised her hand forwards, "My name is Y/N" she said. Oscar shook her hand; "My name is Oscar" he said. "You're cute, not like my annoying brothers" she said while sticking her tongue out to her brother and ruffling Oscar's hair. Oscar hated when people touched his hair, "Don't touch my hair" he called out. "Sorry" she giggled while running away.

Oscar didn't know then but he knew now that he had the biggest crush on her. Y/N became a huge part of his life since his friendship with Ansel blossomed. His mother would invite both of Ansel's siblings to parties and soon enough just to hang out. Oscar liked hanging out with Y/N more than his sisters. She was cooler and older and they got to do whatever they wanted if his mom thought Y/N was watching over them. So, Oscar would initially invite her over so they could get away with whatever they wanted and he won't have to look over his sisters. Oscar's little sisters loved Y/N too since they had someone to play dolls and tea party and dress up with. Oscar, Ansel and Aldric were a team and Y/N and Oscar's little sisters were a team. You would find the 7 children playing in the backyard of the Piastri's or Y/L/N on evenings after school.

Oscar had started karting quite young and the 6 kids would be his biggest cheerleaders, their cheers could be heard whenever Oscar crossed the finish line whether he finished first or last. Oscar would shoot a smile at them whenever he would get out of his kart.

You could hear the 3 boys racing their remote control cars in the backyard. If anyone asked Oscar how he got so good at remote car racing; he would always site his friend and say that he helped him get better. Ansel would help Oscar in karting too; you would find the two boys tinkering and bickering about strategies. Oscar would also tell people that his friend helped him in karting but really Oscar had a talent for it and his friend enjoyed tinkering with the kart with Oscar's dad, making sure everything was in order and ready for Oscar to race. Oscar knew his friend wouldn't get into racing but he would probably make it to the world of racing since he loved cars and loved watching Oscar win with the kart he helped 'fix'.

As Oscar grew older, he realised that he had a bit of a crush on his friend's older sister. He would find himself looking for her whenever he visited their house or looking for her when his friend visited. It would always dampen his mood when he couldn't find her. But nothing dampened his mood like the time he found Y/N kissing a boy in her room back when he was 12. She was 13, Oscar didn't know she got herself a boyfriend, he didn't know that a boy over either. So, what a surprise, when he opened the door and saw her kissing a boy, I mean kissing as far as 13 year olds know how to. Oscar slammed the door shut and shouted an apology while running away. He spent the next few days thinking about the weird feeling he had when he saw that. And a few google searches later; he had a crush ON HIS BEST FRIEND'S SISTER. Oh, he was fucked. He saw her often enough that it might make it awkward. But Oscar was an actor; a trait he didn't know he possessed or so he thought.

Oscar's karting career was taking off; having had started to race professionally and even starting to finish on podiums at the end of championships. Ansel would be there to support his friend as often as he could. Oscar was thankful for everyone coming.

Sometimes, Oscar would come home to find Y/N with his mum helping her around the house. His sisters loved Y/N and would always prefer her over him; honestly he would also prefer her, he thought as he saw her cut up fruits for the kids. "Why are you always handing me fruit whenever I see you?" Oscar asked. "Because, you're small and this will help you as you grow older" she replied. "I'm not small, I'm 13" Oscar huffed. "Well, I'm 14 and I'm older than you. So, that means you'll always be younger than me" she snickered. "Now eat your fruits, kid" she commanded and left. Oscar hated this, he hated that she saw him as a kid.

Oscar should've learnt from his past mistakes but he never learns and caught Y/N with her next boyfriend and this time in a rather compromising position. Y/N didn't learn from her previous mistakes either, she should've locked the door. She knew that; Oscar and his sisters were over. She knew yet she was reckless but in her defence, she hadn't seen her boyfriend in a few days and the both of them were hormonal teenager and it slipped her mind. Now, she was sat on her boyfriend who was lying down with her top and bra off. Oscar wasn't sure if he wanted that imagine erased from his memory or imprinted since she got to see Y/N topless. As he quickly closed the door and ran down; he heard shuffling behind the door and a disheveled Y/N running after him and cornered him near the end of the stair case. Oscar had had a growth spurt, so he stood taller then Y/N. She had both her hands on either side of him; "Don't you dare tell anyone what you saw or I'll make sure you can never get a girlfriend" she threatened. She already made it difficult to get a girlfriend, Oscar thought, the threat was already a reality. Oscar just nodded. "Didn't realise you'd grown taller" she hummed as she let Oscar go while acting out, 'I'm watching you' with her two fingers and walked back up.

Oscar left for the UK when he knew his karting career was picking up and he wanted to be a professional Formula One driver. Nicole cried a lot. But the 6 other kids helped her cope with Oscar's absence. Oscar sighed a sigh of relief; maybe he would finally get over his childish crush. He even got himself a girlfriend eventually. He would barely visit his family due to school and the karting schedule and then eventually single seat racing schedule. He was getting better; he was getting quite good and winning championships and graduating to the next class to racing each year. He even made new friends. But Ansel was still his best friend and no amount of distance was about to change that for him.

Whenever Oscar visited he didn't really get to see Y/N even though he might have wished he did, but he would never admit it, not even to himself. It became an even rarer occurrence after Y/N started university and had moved from Melbourne. The next 4 years; the pair would always miss each other whenever they would visit. Though he would hear about Y/N's adventures from his mother or sisters. Y/N would hear a lot about Oscar from Oscar's or her own family. Both of them would hear about each other's achievements. To Y/N, Oscar was just the tiny child her brother befriended and now she had more siblings to look after. To Oscar, she was his first crush.

Y/N moved back to Melbourne for work; she got a teaching license after completing her Bachelors in Education in English. Currently, she was working as a pre-school teacher. She loved children and this was a great way to help the leaders and the future of tomorrow. Oscar had heard his mum say something about Y/N moving back but he didn't remember; he was in the middle of a break up with his long term girlfriend and the possible signing with a Formula One team fiasco. He had flown in to Australia soon after and spent time with his family. He was excited yet scared when he got signed to McLaren, who were replacing one Australian with another. A part of Oscar hoped to run into Y/N but apparently she was busy with school since it was her first year at the job.

"Mate, what's wrong? Why do you keep looking around?" Ansel asked sounding rather annoyed at Oscar who wasn't paying attention to the game in front of them. "Our teams gonna lose the match at this rate" Ansel almost screamed. "Sorry....it's nothing" Oscar quickly replied. "No one's home. Y/N's house hunting, Aldric's out with his friends and mum and dad are out on a date. We won't be disturbed" Ansel muttered as he passed the ball to Oscar in FIFA. "Oh, okay" Oscar muttered getting back to the game not before he heard his friend sigh but didn't ask why. After the match, the two boys were sat munching on some chips, "Is Y/N moving out?" Oscar asked tentatively. "Oh yeah, she's been trying to get a decent place for a while but teacher's pay is shit; so it's taking her some time" Ansel said. "That means she won't be over often?" Oscar asked quietly. "Probably, but both our moms need her too much, they missed her so much while she was in college. It wasn't funny. Thank God she moved back because it was getting quite annoying. She's always doing stuff around both of our homes or with them anyways. So, she should still be over. Plus she takes your sister to her extracurriculars since Nicole's busy lately." Ansel added. "Oh" is all that left Oscar's mouth.

Oscar sadly returned to the UK before he got to meet Y/N. He hadn't seen her since she moved for university except in pictures his mum would send. But he had a bigger fish to fry; his new life as a Formula One driver from next year onwards.

2023 started with a lot of training on Oscar's part to prepare himself for the year. His first 2 races left much to be desired by Oscar. His third race was in his home. His family and Ansel's family had come to support him through out the weekend except Y/N. On Sunday, Oscar was chatting with Lando when everyone came. That's when he saw her. She looked as beautiful as ever; he wasn't sure if she had made his breath stop like she did just now as he watched her laugh along with his sisters. She turned around and as their eyes met, she shot him a smile; walking towards him. Fuck, he thought, he couldn't feel his tongue in his mouth or how to form words anymore, honestly.

[disneyprincemuke]

oscar's logan's girl * ls2 op81

oscar truly never thought he would ever see the girl that was the cause of his first ever heartbreak

pairings: logan sargeant oscar piastri x fem!reader

notes: first of all, i want to thank everyone for liking the first part to this huhuhu i PERSONALLY think this is one of the fics i've written for an individual driver that has gotten this much feedback and responses... i never thought, in the 6 hours it took me to write that, that people would even like it so much... thank you for the kind words u guys <;/3

and now i would like to apologise if this did NOT go the way you thought it would... i couldn't bear hurting either logan or oscar, and holding grudges seemed like such an unlikely thing for a man of oscar's caliber... sorry if it doesn't go the way you thought <;/3

word count: 2.3k

(oscar's girl) // (f1 masterlist)

you let out the heaviest sigh, clutching onto the almost empty mercedes cup in your hand. you look over your shoulder, watching lily and carmen walk away without you in the direction of where the boys would be.

you stare at the unfamiliar, yet somehow most familiar, pair of brown eyes boring into your own. in the back of your mind, you remember the hushed giggles and how his hand used to feel in yours while you were in the streets of melbourne. you can almost remember what he sounded like when you were just kids, and the man that stands in front of you barely looks like what you remember of him.

you were devastated when you lost oscar's phone number. when you moved away to inevitably stay in the united states, you had every single intention of keeping the friendship with oscar. you just needed a week of settling in. you barely made any other meaningful friendships worth keeping in melbourne; all except the one that you had developed with oscar.

arguably, you could have done more to find him again. you could have gone on instagram, or any other social media site to try and keep the friendship alive. but you thought, after all those tears you shed before your departure, it would be better to stay away.

you only ever thought of oscar once in the past couple of years. the night before your first date with logan: you couldn't fall asleep from the nerves and anxiety. you had gotten along well over the phone, the williams driver playing his cards right every single time he would send you a text message and had your cheeks hurting from smiling too much and kicking your feet in the air.

you came across pictures of you and the young boy in melbourne, tucked away in a dusty photo album that you kept stored under your bed. you don't reminisce much: the memories you had up until you were 16 are a blur in your head. too much had happened, and the only memory that you keep with you is the fact that you moved around more than the average person.

"it's been a while," you finally speak, readjusting your shirt. the wet patch on your shirt, now slightly cold from the weather, your jacket doesn't really do much now to keep you warm. "how have you been?"

you can physically see the gears in oscar's head turn. his eyes bore into yours as he contemplates what he will say to you. if this had happened sooner after you had stopped talking to him, he would know what to say to you. because he spent his nights, and logan's mornings, talking about what he would say to you.

oscar presses his lips into a thin line. he has two choices now: unload the frustration he's forgotten about as he grew into an adult, or just be civil with the girl he could have sworn was the love of his life at 14. you never left his mind, even after all of these years, up until the moment that he met his now girlfriend, lily. he's a firm believer that you would have lasted forever if you had just stayed.

"i've been good. i'm a race car driver now," he smiles, gesturing to the paddocks around him. he's just going to try and ignore the fact that you're dating his literal best friend. "i told you."

you throw your head back with a laugh, making oscar drop his smile in the slightest of ways. he feels his chest close in on itself at the sound you're making. sometimes he fears that he'd never truly gotten over you, but that seems more like an overreaction in normal circumstances.

oscar wasn't aware of the fact that it could very well be the truth right now.

"you always did tell me you're going to be a racer," you agree with a smile. you remember going along with him to an obscure go-kart establishment once when you were growing up. it simply wasn't your thing, but you supported him through and through even as a young 14-year-old. "small world, huh?"

oscar nods with a small smile. "so, um. what happened?"

you tilt your head. "what do you mean?"

"you stopped answering my text messages out of the blue one day after you moved," oscar laughs softly, shrugging. "did i do something wrong? what happened?"

you sigh, closing your eyes as it hits you. there is something about the way his eyes are turned down slightly, and it doesn't take a genius to tell that he's trying to smile through whatever emotion he is feeling.

and you understand it if you were to put yourself in his shoes. it's genuinely all on you: you had promised that you wouldn't drift away from him before you left. you promised him, back then, that there would come a time that would bring you back together to give your relationship a fighting chance.

keeping in contact was very essential to that promise.

you don't think of oscar. but now that you do, you can see the scene of when you were about to leave playing vividly in your head. he had asked you for one simple thing: not to drift away so that someday, you can meet again and give yourselves a real fighting chance.

because realistically, at 14, there was not much to fight for but the overwhelming surge of emotions you have for something that is often categorised as puppy love.

but oscar knew even then that there was definitely something more.

"i dropped my phone in the lake. i got a new phone and a new number," you whisper dejectedly, trying to avoid the intensity of his stare. and you're prepared to receive the brunt of his anger, understandably so after you had unintentionally ghosted him. "i'm sorry. in hindsight, i should have done more to reconnect with you - social media is powerful, after all."

oscar nods, his lips pressed into a polite smile. though you can notice him clenching his jaw as he tries to force himself not to cause a scene in such a public setting.

a setting where your boyfriend, his best friend, would be involved. and his girlfriend who doesn't deserve this type of scandal tied to her name.

"we were just kids," oscar shrugs. but there's a bitterness in his mouth that he cannot ignore for too long. there is a bubbling urge from the deepest part of his gut to scream at you for all those days he swore he was going to go crazy from the pain of suddenly losing you. "i was bummed, though, when i lost you."

bummed is an understatement. the degree to which he grieved is unspoken between him and logan.

he doesn't blame logan for being overprotective of him when lily started to come into the picture. he was sat down by the american, by the sidewalks during their morning run, asking him to think long and hard about this.

it's the only time they had spoken of the instance that oscar almost lost himself. oscar waved off his concerns and said he was sure of what he has with lily, and that's a decision that he is still very proud of.

"i was devastated. but i was also scared," you whisper with a smile. "we were 14, but what i felt for you at the time... it was bigger than us, oscar. we had no fight against something like that."

oscar smiles. "logan is good to you, i hope?"

"we only just got together a couple months ago," you nod, "but he is amazing."

oscar nudges his head towards the direction that lily and carmen had walked towards earlier. you hop off your spot to catch up as he starts to walk by his side. "i've got a girlfriend of my own now. her name's lily too."

"doesn't that get confusing when you're all together? with alex's girlfriend and yours?"

"sometimes. but we don't hang out with the older drivers often," oscar admits with a scrunch of his nose. you have to bite back a laugh at his habit, seeing that it's something that has never left him. "it's a bit awkward. logan and i are typically together more often than not."

"how come?"

"we've only got each other," oscar shrugs. " we met at a karting race when we were really young. we kept in contact when we were apart. i think i may have told you about him a couple of times - my best friend living in florida."

you purse your lips, trying to rake at your brain for a time that oscar said that to you. unfortunately, your memory doesn't go that far back into the details of what you had. "wow. there's a lot i must have forgotten. i didn't know you went way back."

oscar smiles. with the little bit of resentment he has towards you, he completely understands (at his big age) why you don't seem to remember it as well as he did.

which is why he hated that he fell in love with you. he had made you his world and the meaning of his life, causing him to fall apart and crack at your goodbye.

you were an integral part of his life, but he was just a sliver of a memory in one of the places you had stayed in for a year or two. it had taken a while to start seeing it the way he does now. he hated you for what you did for years until everything started to fall into place for him in his head.

suddenly he understood why you were hesitant to befriend him in the first place. it must not have been easy to keep leaving friends behind.

"nah, it's alright. if i had such unstable environments like you did growing up, i'd have turned out much worse than you," oscar laughs. "did you move again after you moved to washington?"

you nod again. "one more time. we moved to la after three years - you know my dad. but it wasn't as severe as moving end to end of the world from australia to the united states, i guess."

"ba- oh." you calmly turn to the side, beaming when logan approaches you with confusion on his face. "i was looking for you all over the place. lily and carmen told me you ran into an old friend?"

logan had noticed oscar before you, the bright papaya orange that oscar sports all year around is not easy to miss. "i see you met oscar! what a coincidence."

"yeah, we," you laugh, rolling your eyes playfully as you meet him halfway, "funny enough, babe. we used to go to school together. in melbourne when my dad had business there when i was younger."

oscar presses his lips together, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocks back and forth on his feet. he knows it won't take long for logan to complete the puzzle.

"oh?" logan furrows his eyebrows at you, one hand on your back protectively. "small world. oscar's actually my best friend - he's on the family fridge back in florida."

"yeah, he mentioned!" you beam, wrapping your arms around his. "who would have thought that the oscar you keep talking about is the same one i know?"

logan smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "right! so this is my guest for the weekend, man. my girlfriend - we met over the winter break. i can't believe you guys go way back! this makes it so much easier, doesn't it?"

oscar wants to run away. doesn't matter where, or how he will get there, because all he can focus on is the way you're leaning into logan's touch and the way logan's smile is so bright that it could be seen by the stars.

you clearly just had that effect on people. he's just another one of those people who fell for the welcoming aura you emit.

"did you guys know each other well?" logan asks.

oscar shares a glance with you. but he knows logan, more than you, perhaps. if logan finds out the history that you share, he will not be able to live with himself. he would leave you, leaving all three of you devastated.

so as you open your mouth to respond excitedly, oscar speaks over your mutter. "not really, just had a couple of classes together," oscar lies with a smile. he reluctantly settles for logan's excitement instead of your confusion. "we bumped into one another, i thought she looked familiar."

"oh, yeah! have you got an extra shirt i could borrow? i spilled coffee all over my top," you laugh, pulling down the zip of your jacket slightly to show him the patch.

"mate, i need to go and find lily," oscar says, reaching out to pat his friend on the shoulder. "i'll see you tonight. dinner afterwards, right?"

truthfully, he wants to ditch it. but you were both 14. it's not fair to keep holding it against you when all the odds were stacked against you both.

"absolutely. i'll see you tonight, man," logan smiles, waving at him as he walks away.

he can briefly hear your conversation as he fought all urges to turn around and glance at you.

"are you sure you want to borrow my shirt? i've only got my williams team shirts in my driver's room. i can ask someone to go out and find you one, if you'd like."

"no, of course not! i want everyone to know i'm with the williams driver, you know? announce it to the world."

logan sounds so into you, and he can't fault him for that. you've got a way with people that just reel them in. he should know - he was one of those people that were wrapped around your finger.

oscar's girl, as logan would tease during karting when he was resigned to a corner to text you after the race.

but in his head, you will always be his girl, because that's what he used to call you. that's the memory of you that will live in his head forever.

@myxticmoon @fangirl-dot-com @f1enthusiastsstuff @barnestatic @ladywhistledownx @holy-macncheese-balls @lightdragonrayne @almostjollypizza @sleepybrokenmelle @flyclaren @sagestack @de1u1ugyal @starssfall @cherry-piee @cstads-blog @renarots @strrgirlxqs @uuoozzii @bringbacktim @esposamultifandom @ssprayberrythings

[merchelsea]

hotel room - charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc + fem!reader

summary: charles decided to rent a room in a hotel that was not associated with f1 to take girls into without causing any drama, but it turns out that asking for extreme discretion on a cheap hotel is not a great idea.

author's note: this is obviously going to have a part two, i'm not a monster to leave you hanging like this

word count: 5,3k

part two

"hello?" you blurted out after a long minute of awkward silence in your hotel room. two men lay on your bed.

at first, you thought they were employees, but it took you exactly ten seconds to realize they weren't. first, because they stood there, just looking at you; second, because people who work in hotels don't typically carry louis vuitton suitcases.

"we didn't ask for room service." one of them told you. he had water-blue eyes, brown hair, a short beard, and a strong french accent.

"this is my room." you replied shortly. they exchanged puzzled glances while you stood there waiting.

"well, surely you got the number wrong. this one is mine." the other man said, showing you his key. the first man was handsome, but the second was exceptionally good-looking.

his green eyes, perfectly brushed brown hair, and the little facial hair he had fit together with the rest of his features, making him one of the most beautiful man you had ever seen. his accent was just as strong. were french men always this good-looking?

the logo on his red t-shirt, which you recognized all too well due to your tifosi brother's passion, left little doubt that he was likely in melbourne for the race.

"i did not" you insisted, showing him your own key. he furrowed his eyebrows and got up from your bed.

"they probably just gave you the wrong key." he had came closer and you handed him your key for him to see.

"no they didn't, i have this confirmed for the past two weeks. room 81 is mine." you had the right room, but so did he. and the worst part is that you both had your ways to prove it.

he looked back at his friend, and the three of you silently thought about what to do.

"call them, they must have an explanation for all of this." the blue-eyed man suggested. "i told you this wasn't a good idea." he mumbled to his friend, and french-number-two proceeded to follow french-number-one's advice.

they picked up immediately, and the ferrari fan asked someone to come. the silence lingered until a blonde woman, dressed in her work attire, entered the room.

"hello, sir. how can i help you?" she glanced you up and down dismissively. you thought, 'Bitch', but refrained from saying it out loud. you looked at the men to see if they had noticed, and french-number-one apparently had.

"we seem to have a complication here," he began. you moved closer, realizing that you were part of the problem too. "it looks like we both got the same room." he pointed at you.

the woman tilted her head to the side. "that's not possible." she said. a smile planted on her lips.

"well, obviously it is." you retorted, delicately handing her your phone for her to see the reservation. "just have one of us moved, please." you needed rest after a twenty-one-hour flight, and dealing with this was not what you had in mind.

"well, miss, that is not my job, but i'm pretty sure my colleagues can’t help you with that either." you and french-number-two stood silent as she explained that the hotel had run out of rooms due to the race happening in melbourne on sunday.

"what do people find so entertaining about this car thing, after all?" you mused aloud as you sat on the bed.

"oh, i don't know," the blue eyed laughed, while the green eyed looked at you, seemingly offended. you closed your eyes for a couple of seconds, trying to collect your thoughts. "well, can you tell your colleagues who deal with this to sort this out? you're not planning on making them share a room, are you?"

"no, sir. i’m sorry. you two can come with me, and i'll take you to talk to someone," she implored, begging them forgiveness with her eyes, though she never glanced your way.

whether she was desperate to get laid or they were important clients to the hotel, you couldn't help but feel enraged. you resisted the urge to scream, "i'm here too," and instead remained silent as you followed her to a more private area of the hotel.

the woman took you to a room that looked like an office, where a brunette sat behind a desk, wearing a superior expression. same expression that faded as soon as she looked the frenchman’s direction.

the blonde left the three of you alone, and the ferrari fan explained the situation to the woman behind the desk. she instructed you to sit, so she could make a call to figure out what happened. so you did, and in silence you heard her fingers press the numbers she intended.

your mind was elsewhere when the man next to you whispered, "what's your name?" his accent so strong that you were sure english wasn't his first language.

"y/n. what’s yours?" you whispered back.

"charles," he replied, his name matching the idea you had of him.

"now i can finally stop calling you french-number-two in my mind." you remarked. he furrowed his brows, and you cursed him for looking so good like this.

"wait, why is pierre french-number-one?" pierre was also a french name, you realized, amused by your accentology.

"he was the first one to talk, and everything about him just screams french." you explained.

"fair point, but I'm actually not french," Charles confessed. you looked at him with curiosity. “i’m monegasque.”

"that makes sense," you replied with a nod, and couldn't help but notice how well the name suited him.

"i’m sorry, i figured out what happened," the woman interrupted, her tone now more professional. "firstly, I would like to apologize to both of you for all of this mess. miss, you reserved and paid for the room two weeks ago, while..." she gestured toward charles. "you called us later. it turns out the person you spoke to that day is a fan of yours and gave you our best room without checking. we are very, very sorry, for this misfortune and we'll do everything we can to provide you with some comfort."

charles and you exchanged glances. you were curious with what she said about a fan, but you decided not to ask. on the other hand, he was preoccupied with how unprofessional this situation was turning out to be.

"well, 'comfortable' would be if we could have separate rooms," the, now known as monegasque, complained.

"that, i cannot offer, but we can transfer one of you to our affiliate hotel, which is an hour and a half from here and offers excellent service quality." anything that didn’t mess things up like this would be great.

both charles and you shook your heads in unison, declining the offer.

"it's too far from where i have to be." you informed her, hoping that charles had plans close to this hotel she talked about.

"exactly, it's too far for me too." he confirmed, and luck seemed to be as far from you as possible, even when you needed the most.

"i'm very sorry, but it appears you'll have to share the room." the woman concluded.

you took a deep breath and left the room before you could say something offensive. charles followed you.

"we can make this work," he said.

"we better." you replied with a sigh.

"i need some sleep too," you groaned when charles asked you to vacate the room until 2 a.m.

"it's friday! why are you planning on sleeping at 6 p.m. on a friday?"

"because i just endured an incredibly long and exhausting flight. i'm desperate for some rest." you explained as you collapsed onto the bed, struggling to keep your eyes open.

"why don't we let you do that now, and then pierre here can pick you up later so I can have the room for a couple of hours? you can sleep as much as you'd like when you return, i promise." charles suggested, making a last offer.

he had given up hope right after revealing his plans to you, mainly due to the disapproving look you gave him. it's not an everyday thing that you're asked to leave your room just because your unexpected roommate wanted to have a girl over.

"i want fresh sheets when i get back." you demanded as you headed to the bathroom to change into more comfortable sleepwear. the monegasque nearly jumped for joy when you agreed to this insanity.

"thank you, thank you, thank you." he repeated numerous times to express his gratitude. you could still hear his excited exclamations inside the private compartment. suddenly, you remembered that you had no idea where you were going.

"pierre can pick me up to go where, exactly?" you raised your voice so they could hear you clearly.

they remained silent for a moment, and you understood that they hadn't thought this through. after all, this was a bad thing for the both of you.

"i know of a few clubs i can take you to, i guess," pierre yelled back, his uncertainty evident in his tone.

"what do you wear to a club in melbourne?"

"something nice, i don't know, i'm not a woman. just wear whatever you wear to a club." you chuckled to yourself and returned to the bedroom.

"okay," you said, facing them again and ready to get some rest. "now, you two french things, get out. i'm going to catch up on some jet lag."

"i'm not french." charles mumbled as he exited the room, followed closely by pierre.

the actual frenchman retorted, "i don't think she cares at the moment."

with that, you found yourself alone, left only with your exhaustion and the comforting embrace of your bed.

you stirred awake, the relentless pounding in your head a cruel reminder of the little sleep you had. slowly, you opened your eyes, and the now familiar blue gaze of pierre greeted you.

"hey," he began with an apologetic tone, "charles insisted i wake you up. i'm sorry."

sleepily, you tried to check the time, scanning the unfamiliar room for a clock, anything to anchor you to melbourne's time zone.

"it's around ten, i think." pierre informed you once he realized what you were trying to do. he settled on the edge of the bed when you decided to sit up. "you need to go get ready, i'll take you to eat something."

"what are you? my body guard?" you smiled to him, still dizzy. the four hours you slept doing nothing but giving you a headache. "i can get my own food pierre."

he quickly shook his head. "charles would murder me." he confesses, his words leaving you puzzled. your groggy expression must have been quite evident. "i think the remorse is kicking in. he even tried to bribe me to stick by your side."

"how thoughtful of him," irony slips through your smile as you speak. "he does realize i would have preferred if he'd just let me sleep instead?"

"his brain has its limits." he lets out a chuckle and you sight, needing much more of that sleep you just woke up from.

dragging yourself out of bed, you clutched your suitcase and shuffled into the bathroom, determined to transform into a club worthy version of yourself.

with time in short supply, you limited your skincare routine to a quick facial cleanse and your trusty hydrating lotion. makeup took you, surprisingly, just a few minutes; you decided to go for a no-makeup, makeup look. the real problem lay in choosing the right outfit.

in your haste, it seemed you had packed either too much or too little to this club. with your birthday at the door, you had plans to party, socialize, and maybe even get a little wild. yet, the occasion left you stuck between a simple cropped top and jeans or your favorite dress, which felt a bit too extravagant.

of course you had tons of clubbing clothes with you, but you couldn't wear those. you soon enough realized they weren't regular people who worked in offices, and now that you knew charles even had fans it was all a lot more complicated. so where do people, who seem to be famous, take the girl that's stuck sharing a room with their friend?

that's when your white skirt caught your eye. it hugged you figure perfectly as if made specifically for you to use it. a quick search revealed the white, long sleeved top you'd thrown into the bag last minute. together, they formed the ideal clothing for the night ahead.

this may not have been part of your initial plans, but you were determined to make the most of it and fulfill your primary goal for this trip — meeting new people.

you step out of the bathroom, fully prepared to head out to wherever pierre decides to take you. he lounges on the bed, engrossed in his phone until you approach and gently pat his knee.

"get up." you instruct him, and his gaze sweeps up and down your body. it's only then that you take notice of his outfit – light blue jeans paired with a simple white shirt. it's casual yet an excellent choice.

you briefly wonder if you might be overdoing, but the thoughts quickly dissipate. "you certainly know how to dress for a night out in melbourne." he says, referencing your previous conversation.

"i wasted a considerable amount of time picking out these clothes," you admit and motion for him to rise so you can tidy the bed.

in a matter of minutes, your suitcase has been stowed away, and your phone now rests securely in your purse.

"what are you in the mood for dinner?" he inquires as you leave the room behind, ensuring everything is clean and ready for charles' girl later.

"anything," you reply, your hand instinctively moving to your stomach. "literally anything, i'm starving." you add, emphasizing your hunger.

"alright then, we’re going for italian" he decides, and you nod in agreement, already imagining the delectable Italian dishes that await, making your stomach growl even louder.

after returning to the room, well past 3 a.m., you tiptoed in to find charles cocooned in the sheets, presumably asleep. you quietly went to your suitcase, took your pajamas, and moved to the bathroom. after changing, you removed all you makeup, getting your face clean before heading out to bed. you hadn't put on that much, but you didn't like to sleep with it.

with hushed movements, you fetched your charger and silenced your phone, choosing to ignore your friend's texts.

the night had exceeded your expectations. initially hesitant when they suggested going out with pierre, who by then was a complete stranger, you eventually embraced the idea of this little escape.

pierre took you to a charming restaurant that couldn't be more your vibe. the ambiance, delicious food, and nice people made it a really great experience. you mentally thanked whatever god made you go out with this french stranger.

after getting to know each other a bit, you both headed to a club where you met a lot of new people, including some of pierre's friends. you couldn't have been happier about skipping that sleep.

as you slipped under the blankets, a voice startled you, "it's past three."

whispering, you responded to charles, "i thought you were asleep."

"i'm not, but it's past three," he repeated, his voice heavy with sleepiness.

"yeah, i know." you said, already nestled comfortably in bed.

"i told pierre to bring you back at two so you could rest; i've been waiting."

"oh, i met some of his friends and stayed a bit longer." you explained, turning your back to him. "are these sheets fresh?"

he chuckled softly, "yes. which friends did you meet?"

"a lot of people which i can't remember the names now. his girlfriend kika, a goddess. and some guy named lindo, landon, i think that's his name." you replied, still unsure of the pronunciation.

charles laughed at your attempt, "his name is lando. no 'i' or 'n'"

"not too far off," you quipped.

"if you say so..."

"oh, I have a question for you," you turned to face him, even if the room was in absolute darkness and you couldn't see a thing. "what do you guys work with? there were bodyguards and security procedures all night. i couldn't understand a damn thing."

an "oh" lingers in the air for a while. this was a topic the monegasque wanted to avoid as much as possible. he knew that you would figure it out, eventually, he just wanted to stick with "charles, the normal (french) dude" for a little longer.

"we're formula one drivers," he confesses. you burst into laughter. "i'm serious. i drive for ferrari, and pierre drives for alpine."

"shut up! you know lewis hamilton in person?" you didn't know much about motorsports, but c'mon, everyone knows lewis. "i do, actually." he's puzzled about why that was your first question.

"i recognized the logo on your shirt earlier. my brother's a fan, but i thought you were here just to watch the race."

"in a way, i am, just from a different perspective," he jokes. "how's your brother going to react when you tell him you're sharing a room with charles leclerc?"

"go back to sleep, charles leclerc." you tease, struggling to pronounce his name correctly.

"don't ever try that again." he laughs, turning his back to you.

"oh shut up." you playfully retorted.

you found yourself leaping onto your bed without bothering to check if charles was already there as night fell. meeting new people was exciting, but reuniting with old friends held a special charm. reconnecting with people ranked in the top three of your favorite things to do, even though it could be quite exhausting.

to be totally fair, you were tired because of the entire week you had just gone through. completing 26 out of 43 items on your bucket list was not easy, but you managed it all within a week and a day.

sharing the room with charles turned out to be much more enjoyable than expected. he was not only a genuinely nice guy but also a source of constant entertainment. when you went to bed, boredom was never an option as charles would introduce you to new games you'd never heard of and make you learn them to play with him.

it was really easy to get along with him, and you understood that as time passed and you were getting closer. sharing a room became something you no longer detested.

suppressing the urge to surrender to sleep, you got up to change and the next moments blurred together. all you could recall was your roommate entering a little while after you.

that’s until, in the middle of the night, your phone erupted with numerous notifications.

“geez, are you famous or something?” charles mumbled, awakened by the noise.

“it’s on your side, please turn it down." you groaned, covering your ears with a pillow. he reached for your phone but accidentally read one of the 47 notifications.

"happy birthday? is it your birthday?" he asked.

you buried your face in the pillow as more notifications poured in. "just turn that down," you demanded. "I love my friends, but this is too much." you knew they were doing it on purpose because of the lack of communication. this was their way of reminding you that you couldn’t be rid of them for so much time.

“it’s your birthday?” he inquired, sitting up.

“yeah, officially 22 now!” you replied, cursing the friends responsible for your rude awakening. exhausted, you had forgotten that your 6-hour nap was meant to be a quick one.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” charles exclaimed, throwing himself into an enthusiastic yet somewhat ungraceful hug. you laughed and thanked him. "why didn't you mention it earlier?"

“it didn’t come up.” you said, returning the hug.

"and do you have any plans for today?" he asked, returning to his original position.

"not really. i thought i might visit some places here in melbourne," you answered, rubbing your eyes.

"do you want to come watch the race then? consider it my birthday gift. if you'd mentioned it earlier, i would've prepared something better." the driver offered.

"i suppose the tickets must be sold out. have you seen how many people are here these past few days? there are no rooms since last week." you informed him.

"and you think I'd let you watch from the stands? no way. you'll… i mean, you would be in the Ferrari garage." he said with conviction.

"that sounds boring." you complain.

"is that a yes?" he asked, seeing a glimmer of a smile in your eyes. "i'll do my best to win, just for you."

“isn’t that your job?” you teased.

"yes, but doing it for you adds a little extra pressure," he admitted. you nodded in agreement, and he reclined again. "now, go to sleep. tomorrow is your big day."

"big day," you mimicked in a comical male voice, turning on your side. "thank you, charles."

"yeah, no problem." he replied. you couldn’t see him now, but you knew he was wearing a smile, and it made you smile too.

"wake up." you heard, your senses slowly returning. as you opened your eyes, you found kika, pierre's girlfriend, looking down at you.

what is it with people waking you up? it's always someone new.

"hey. it's time to get ready." even though your head was a big question mark, you did as she asked and sat up. she sat right before you.

"did charles sent you?" you inquired.

"no, he just told me you'd be coming to the race and since we've met that other night, i thought i would come to make you some company." she replied with a warm smile. "happy birthday, girl." she opened her arms for you and you embraced her immediately.

"thank you." you murmured into the hug. "do you want to get ready together?" you proposed. "i'm going to need some guidance."

"of course." her smile was the most beautiful one you had ever seen and it made your heart melt. "i'll just have to leave you alone with all the birthday wishes to get something to wear, and i'll be back soon."

"okay, see you in a bit." as she left, the first thing you did was grab your phone and start replying the overwhelming (and exaggerated) number of messages from your friend group. after that, you called your brother, not only because he asked so but also to let him know where you would be spending the day.

when kika returned, you were on the phone with your mother, crying your heart out. she loved you so much, and her words never failed to touch your soul.

"i love you too, mum." you whispered and ended the call. francisca smiled at you from the other side of the room. "come on, let's get ready." you wiped away your tears and got up from the bed.

yesterday, while charles slept peacefully, your mind had traveled through your current wardrobe to find the perfect outfit to wear. you knew it had to be ferrari red, but it also needed to make you feel special because it was your birthday.

in the end, you chose the red dress you had recently purchased. it seemed perfect for the occasion. as you shuffled through your clothes to retrieve it, kika had a chance to admire the piece.

"oh my god, that dress is going to look so good on you." she exclaimed excitedly and you both smiled as you made your way to the bathroom.

kika opted for a white button-up oversized shirt paired with pink pants that you discovered matched the colors of alpine's livery. She looked gorgeous, as always.

as you expected, your dress fell amazingly on you body, and it was incredibly comfortable. it wasn't an overly extravagant party dress, but it was just right for special occasions like your birthday.

"so, tell me what's charles doing here." the brunette asked when you both started getting your faces ready for make-up.

"charles?" she confirmed, and you glanced at your reflection in the mirror, somewhat oblivious to what she was referring to. "what's he doing here?" she repeated the question. "sleeping?" you half-answered, half-asked.

"yeah, of course, but why is he sleeping here." your eyes met hers through the mirror, and you noticed the smile on her lips.

"because it's his hotel room too, i guess."

"pierre told me that, but why is he still sleeping in this room if he has the one ferrari got him? he has one, doesn't he?" she asked.

"i don’t know." the truth was, you hadn't even thought about it. the monegasque had never told you, and you never asked, so you assumed this was indeed his only room.

"okay i’ll try again. what's going on between you two?" she smiled at you, a knowing look in her eyes.

"nothing," you replied as quickly as the question got to you. "seriously, tell me. you can trust me." she persisted, trying to get something out of you.

"i am telling you, kika." you laughed. in her mind, it was obvious that something was going on because there was no way the charles leclerc she knew would trade a king-sized bed in a five-star hotel for a cheap one he'd have to share.

"are you seriously telling me there's nothing going on between you two when he ditched a rich and attractive model for you, is lying to his team to come sleep in this room when he probably has a much better one waiting for him every night, and hasn't been bar-hopping to stay here teaching you how to play chess? Not to mention that he's taking you to a race to meet his team and friends. do you know how many girls he took to watch a race?" the portuguese counted on her fingers dramatically, as if accusing you of a proper crime.

you continued doing your makeup as she spoke, but you didn't miss a single word. in fact, you paid close attention to everything she said, the words penetrating your bones and getting to your brain automatically.

"yes, i am telling you that." you began and she sighed in response. "what do you mean he ditched a hot model for me?" curiosity filled your body when you heard that, you had to ask.

"that first night when we met, i know he was supposed to meet up with her because she was also a friend of mine, but he didn't show up. when i asked pierre about it, the only thing he said was your name." your face displayed confusion as you applied some contour to your cheek. you stoped what you were doing right away.

you were confused, yes. but you were also slightly irritated, because if the driver hadn't gone to meet that model, you could have slept through the night and avoided the exhausting day that followed.

"i assumed you guys had fancied each other, like love at first sight or something." you shook your head to deny it and picked up your pencil to blend the previously applied contour.

"that did not happen." another sigh left her throat and a question lingered in the tip of your tongue, ready to come out as soon as you opened your mouth. you weren't sure if you should ask, but you were certain you wanted an answer. "the thing you said about the number of girls he took to a race. how many?"

her lips immediately curved as if she said 'nothing may have happened, but you are interested', and of course you were.

who wouldn't be? charles was majestic, a genuinely good guy who knows how to treat people right, and he looked like the most adorable person in the world while sleeping. you would be lying if you said you didn't find him attractive, but he appeared too friendly for you to believe that he even considered flirting with you.

"two, and they were his girlfriends at the time." the smile never left her lips, but your mind was far from her grin.

you eventually finished getting ready, and so did she, a few seconds after. you chatted the whole way to the paddock, only stopping to catch your breath. kika apologized to you for pressing you to tell her what she wanted to hear, but you didn't mind; you knew you would do the same if the roles were reversed.

your social anxiety flared up when francisca had to go in a different direction to reach the alpine garage, but it quickly dissipated when your eyes found a familiar face approaching you with a smile.

charles hugged you once he was close enough and whispered a quiet "hey." he was well aware of how risky it was to show affection in public, especially with all the shit press would give him and possibly even give you. let's just say that he didn't really care.

he guided you to the garage, where you met carlos sainz, his teammate, and bumped into lando, whom you had met on your first night in australia.

meeting lando brought back all the thoughts kika had shared earlier, and those thoughts stayed with you.

charles must have mentioned your birthday to his team because every person you passed by wished you a happy day. you graciously smiled and thanked them, walking by his side.

he briefly introduced you to everything you needed to know and hugged you goodbye when he had to go. you snapped a lot of pictures to send to your brother, and when the race started, you paid close attention to every moment.

the headphones made it harder to zone out as you normally would but you appreciated that. being new to this world, you didn't understand a single word you heard, but that didn't stop you from trying.

all you knew was that the team was incredibly pleased with charles and carlos's performance today. It was evident from their tone and the broad smiles on their faces.

the spark in their eyes intensified when charles overtook the last driver, securing his lead in the race. from what someone told you, a first and fourth-place finish was a significant achievement for scuderia ferrari, and you could know it was true by the fans' excitement.

both ferrari drivers managed to maintain their positions, finishing the race with what appeared to be an outstanding result. you weren't entirely sure what you were cheering for, but you were genuinely happy.

you celebrated with the team and watched the podium ceremony from a distance, still uncertain about where you should be and how to act. you applauded the number 16 and engaged in discussions about his performance with people who had a stake in the matter. from what you heard, he was a really good driver.

people all around you started to move to one direction, and you followed them with your gaze to find the one and only race winner already looking at you. he paused to chat and celebrate with his team, before moving up to you.

opening your arms for him, you embraced him, smiling from ear to ear, genuinely happy for his achievement, even if you didn't fully grasp the significance of a win.

"this one was for you. happy birthday." he whispered in your ear while still holding you close. "thank you, frenchie, and congratulations." you laughed into his shoulder. he playfully protested against your nickname for him but couldn't help but laugh too.

you were engrossed in conversation with him when suddenly, pierre and kika arrived with a cake. everyone in the tifosi garage began singing the "happy birthday" song.

your cheeks flushed, matching the color of your dress within seconds, and you covered your smile with your hands. you were genuinely grateful for these people who didn't even know you but were singing and clapping for you.

the cake they brought was adorned with all your favorite flowers, and now you understood charles' early morning question. as if he could read your thoughts, he approached you, smiling, and hugged you sideways while still singing with his weird accent.

pierre had came closer and at the end of the song you were able to blow out the candles. the smiles on their faces enchanted you, how they all seemed genuinely happy for you, even though it was the first time they had set their eyes on you.

they arranged a table in which pierre placed the cake, and someone handed you a knife to cut it. you, of course, offered the first slice to charles, not only because he knew you best but also because of everything he had done for you. all of this exceeded your expectations.

when you had decided to come to australia to spend some time alone, you could never have imagined what awaited you. not only did you meet new people, but you had also made friends, or at least one friend.