Look Me In The Eye | Pt.1
look me in the eye | pt.1
pairing: max verstappen x rbr!engineer!reader
summary: the rb21 seems unfixable but that might not be the only reason max verstappen wants you around.
a/n: kind of angsty? think this will be two parts. 2k-ish words!
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
The paddock is full of wind and empty promises. Bahrain's desert nights hold no warmth for those who find themselves at war with machines. Under the harsh lights of the Red Bull garage, your hands are stained with grease, burnt rubber and fuel having become your signature scent. The RB21 sits before you so still, like a child being yelled at. It's internals are exposed, betraying the effort you have poured into it. Another night. Another battle against the unworkable.
You wipe your forehead and the action leaves a dark trail.
"It's not you," Max's voice is acute in comparison to the exhausted engineers around you. "It's the car."
You sigh and rub your hand across your face again, leaving a another streak of oil on your cheek. "I've been through every possible variation of the floor. I've checked the suspension settings, even the cooling package. Nothing sticks. It’s like-"
"-like trying to control a wild animal?" he offers, a small smirk at the corner of his lips.
You huff. It could be a laugh, on some other day, but right now there is no humor in the situation. "More like taming a hurricane with duct tape."
Max leans against the workbench. His arms are crossed over his chest. Even under the brutal garage lights, even with this stupid car that no one but him can drive with some semblance of control, he's certain. "Well, you're still making it work."
That earns a scoff from you. "You make it work, Max. I just throw everything at the wall and hope something sticks."
His gaze sharpens, and it seems to pierce right through you. You, not just an engineer, but as a person who's given up everything to this job, to this team, to him.
"That's not true," he says quietly. "You don't just try. You build. You fix. You see what no one else does. And I-" He catches himself here, unsure how appropriate it'll sound. "I trust you."
The words, from him of all people, settle in your chest like an anchor. Trust is not given freely in Formula One; it is earned, lap by agonizing lap, through victories and through failures. You are not his race engineer. You're just another member of his team. There, hardly noticeable.
You doubt anyone outside RBR, outside the engineering teams, knows your name. Max Verstappen does, though, and that counts for something.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
Australia is supposed to be a fresh start.
A new track, a chance to see if anything has changed. But as you watch Lando Norris cross the line in first place, with Max trailing behind in P2, your stomach sinks. The celebrations begin almost immediately. Confetti, cheers, McLaren mechanics embracing as if they had won the championship itself. You want to slap someone. In it feels like they have. They have proof that their car is faster, that their work is paying off in a way yours isn't.
Still, you push it down. Max fought for this podium, and you owe it to him to be happy.
When he walks into the garage, you're already there, waiting with the rest of the team. He’s drenched in sweat, his fireproofs clinging to his skin. He should be tired, but the familiar sharp focus is in his eyes, even now. He's always noticing things.
You force a smile and clasp his shoulder.
"P2, Max. You dragged that car through hell for it."
He exhales, running a hand through his hair. "It wasn't easy." Max gives you a small smile. The way it doesn't fully turn up at the ends of his mouth betrays how tired he really is, despite playing it off. "You gave me something to fight with."
You nod. Your smile doesn't reach your eyes either. The noise of celebration around you turning to static. He sees it. Of course he does.
Max opens his mouth to say something else, but he's getting pulled away again for some interviews.
Later, when the festivities have died down, he finds you outside the garage. Away from the crowd. You sit on a stack of worn-out Pirelli tire blankets, staring at the ground. The sound of approaching footsteps doesn't startle you.
"What are you doing out here? No alcohol?" he asks. He always speaks sharply, concisely, reassured. Not anymore-Max is asking you now as he would a frightened animal. Don't run, it's as if he's saying, please stay.
You let out a breath. The weight of the race, the season, all of it pressing against your ribs. And then, before you can stop yourself-
"You're right," you murmur. "The McLaren is faster. We lack the pace."
The answer doesn't come right away. He's standing there, watching you with what might be regret. Because those are his words from mere hours ago, right after the race. A loose admission in the media pen, thrown out without a second thought. Max was happy with his race, not elated but he did things and the car was in the way and he forgot momentarily about all the work. He likes to be truthful with his words but he's slipped up.
And now, you're here, breaking yourself apart over them.
Max crouches down in front of you. His elbows rest on his knees. "That doesn't mean you failed."
You shake your head. "Feels like it."
He doesn't know what to tell you. Sorry? I'm sorry I said that. I was mad at the car. It wasn't about you.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, hesitantly, he reaches out and rests a hand against your forearm.
"You don't give up," he says. "I don't. We adapt. We adapt."
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
Shanghai is a lesson in patience.
The RB21 struggles on the mediums and the first stint is agony. You were worried about the lack of pace, the way the tires degrade faster than they should be. "We set out to do our pace, which was a fair bit slower than the cars around us," he later tells the reports, frustration just beneath the surface. "I'm trying not to destroy the tires."
Your stomach knots as you watch the sector times, the data painting a bleak picture. But when the switch to hards comes, something shifts.
There, the grip. There, a chance.
Lap by lap, the car becomes drivable. Not perfect, not dominant, but workable. And Max, as always, wrings everything out of it.
It's not a podium but after the disqualifications, it becomes P4. A bittersweet relief.
You find him outside your hotel room. The soft, golden glow of the hallway lights casts shadows across his features, sharp angles of exhaustion softened by something else.
"You know," you say as you close the door behind you. "For a man who just got handed an almost-podium, you're not looking very victorious."
His mouth twitches. "Doesn't feel like one, does it? I didn't earn it."
You tilt your head, considering. "Maybe not. Still, you can't count yourself out. Drinks?" You drum your fingers against the already-open minibar.
Max turns his head to look at you. "You always say things like that."
"I actually don't encourage you to drink that much," you defend.
"No. I mean, like you actually believe in all this." He gestures vaguely around as if the world of Formula One is something that can be captured in a single movement. "In the fight. Things turning around."
You shrug and take out a bottle. "Sure I do."
He studies you for longer than necessary, then shakes his head with a soft chuckle. "Crazy talk."
You feign offense and hold the drink close to your chest. "I am an engineer, Max. I deal in hard data and numbers. You're the intuitive one."
"Right." He eyes you, ever the skeptic. "Yet here you are, like a motivational quote board."
You grin. "Maybe I'm just trying to keep you from spiraling."
Max exhales through his nose, amused. "And here I thought I was keeping you from losing hope."
"Guess we're just stuck with each other then."
“Could be worse." His voice is lower now, the teasing edge giving way to something quieter.
The banter fades and here's a chance for you to do something. To let it sink in, to grasp the awful rawness of the moment. You don't know how.
"'least it's not Russell," you tell him. He flinches. It's small but doesn't slip your sight and you feel bad for making fun when he's trying to have a serious discussion. "Sorry. Feelings, hard. You know," you continue, "I think you actually had fun today."
His lips press together as if he's about to deny it. Instead, he relents. "Maybe a little."
"A miracle," you murmur.
"Don’t tell anyone."
You smirk. "Your secret's safe with me. Maybe we should hold off on the alcohol. Tipsy me isn't as trustworthy."
"I don't know about that." Max pretends to think. "Why don't we find out?"
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
When the sun wakes you up, Max has already managed to stumble back to his own room. Not entirely true. You just know he's no longer piss-drunk in yours.
Truth be told, you aren't as reluctant to spend time with him as you once were. His arrogant nature has softened with time. He's funny sometimes. But that isn't the only reason.
Red Bull was a hot mess the end of 2024. It is still one. You aren't out of options. You are friends with a friend who is friends with a head at McLaren and the offer sounds pretty good right now.
It's just a question of Max or Lando or Oscar. Or maybe there isn't a question at all.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
Suzuka's next on your bucket list.
Red Bull's struggles have been the focal point of every media outlet, every discussion framed around whether the once-dominant team can claw its way back to the top.
You're in the motorhome, scrolling through your laptop, catching up on the latest coverage. A celsius-sorry, RB, but they just taste better- is by your side, half-finished. Then you see it. An interview, Max's face filling the screen, his expression as sharp and serious as ever. The reporter has just finished asking a question, pushing for insight into the difficulties he's been facing.
"It’s not easy," Max admits with his arms crossed. His Red Bull cap is pulled low over his eyes. "The car is… not where we want it to be. It's difficult to drive, unpredictable in certain corners, and sometimes it feels like I'm fighting it more than driving it."
You frown slightly, fingers tightening around the device. You've heard this before. You know all about his frustration, his honesty. It's a good trait that helps you know what to work on, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.
Then his tone shifts.
"But," he continues, "we're making progress. My engineer...she's putting everything into this car, finding solutions where it seems like there are none. Every race, every session, we're understanding it better. I have hope for the next races. Still very tough, but I trust her-sorry, them. We'll get there."
Oh, what a slip-up. Your breath catches. Max's face is slightly flushed. He definitely knows what he said.
You do too. Trust. He said it so simply.
You replay the clip, once, twice, and with every repeat, something warm coils in your stomach. The world hears his frustration, but you hear something else: recognition, appreciation. He sees what you do, what you give.
The corners of your lips curl into a smirk as you set the laptop down.
"Well," you say to yourself. "That was certainly something."
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
You don't know why you bring it up now, in the middle of the hospitality lounge, of all places. Maybe it's the exhaustion, maybe it's the way Max looked at you after the interview aired-like you were the only thing holding this team together. Like you were holding him together.
So you say it.
"I think I'm leaving next year."
Max, halfway through sipping his water, freezes. His fingers tighten around the bottle, knuckles turning white.
"No."
It’s not a question. Not even a reaction. Just a flat-out refusal.
You exhale, bracing yourself. "Max-"
"No," he repeats, louder this time. He sets the bottle down with a sharp thud, standing up so fast his chair scrapes against the floor. "You’re not leaving."
You stare at him, startled by the sheer force behind his words. "It's not up to you."
His jaw clenches, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He looks like he's physically holding himself back, like if he doesn't control it, he might actually go berserk. At any other time you would be aware of the other engineers in the room, pretending not to notice whatever's going on, but he's taking up all of your attention right now. Subtlety is pushed to the back of your mind. "You can't leave," he says, voice rough. "Not after everything."
You swallow and your voice is still not steady. "Max, you know how bad this year has been. The car is-"
"I know how bad it is," he snaps. He steps closer. "I know better than anyone, because I'm the one driving it. But you-" Max exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "You're the only one who makes it better."
Your heart stutters.
He’s staring at you now, eyes burning. You can't read what's behind them. "Every time I think this car is undriveable, you fix it. Every time I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle, you find a way to make it work." Max shakes his head, almost laughing. But it's humorless, frustrated. "And now you're telling me you want to leave? What am I supposed to do with that?"
You take a shaky breath. "Max, I-"
"You can't," he says again, and this time, his voice cracks. "Not you."
Max Verstappen has never been what people call a sentimental man. Right now, he looks as if tears are no longer foreign to him.
You should tell him it's just a thought, that nothing is decided yet. But the way he's looking at you-desperate, almost pleading-makes it impossible to lie.
So you say nothing. You give him that.
And Max? Max steps even closer, until there's barely any space between you. His gaze flickers down-to your lips, to the unsteady rise and fall of your chest-before meeting your eyes again.
"Stay," he murmurs. "Please."
And God help you, you don't know if you can say no.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
a/n: going back to my true roots as a narrative writer don't let this flop please xx
More Posts from Abudhabby29-blog and Others
𝙈𝘼𝙓 𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙋𝙋𝙀𝙉 𝙁𝙄𝘾 𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙎.
— hello everyone !! welcome to the last part of the poll series, lmk if you guys want another one, seeing as my f1 fic recs were so popular !! thank you all again for so much good comments and positivity, it makes me so happy that people enjoy my silly little fic comps ;D. enjoy !!
my poll fic recs !!
— oscar piastri fic recs — lando norris fic recs
[or check out my f1 drivers fic recs]
• my most favorite reads = 🩷
— blurbs and short writings
• tacky tree by @landososcar 🩷
• all i want by @verstappen-cult
• too many kisses by @verstappenverse
• circles back 2 you by @giuseppe-yuki
— oneshots/imagines
• serve by @theonottsbxtch
• my birthday, my love by ↑
• my peace by ↑
• don't wanna be saved by ↑ 🩷
• forever and always by ↑
• mi novio, max verstappen by ↑ 🩷
• teen idle by ↑ 🩷
ann's (@theonottsbxtch) writing is some of the best things that has grazed the earth's surface, which is why i added her BEAUTIFULLY written max fics for everyone to enjoy, you're welcome. ALSO i love love love her f1 driver eye descriptions i read them and i just stared at a wall for like 5 minutes js thinking about them 😭😭 please read them they're so good: here
• she's always a woman by @starkwlkr
• birthday celebration? by @giuseppe-yuki
• secret admirer by ↑
• green light, red flag by @landoughnut
• made with love by ↑ 🩷
— series
• snap out of it by @diqldrunks
➜ part two
— smau
• girl, so confusing by @astonmartinii
• put it all on red (bull) by ↑ 🩷
• rb admin by @leclercwriting
• blowing smoke by @afterglowsainz
• friends by ↑
• positions by ↑
• crying in the club by @pomegranatesarchive
• enemies or lovers by ↑ 🩷
• please date my sister in law by ↑
• miami baby by @norrisainz33
final "chunk" of the poll fic rec series, tell me your feedback i really want to improve my quality of work 🙂↕️🙂↕️as always, thank you all SO MUCH !! as always, have an amazing day/night 🌞🧡
mclaren masterlist!
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oscar piastri
false starts and unthinkable mistakes Oscar comes to you at the end of a bad race
debuts and podiums how oscar celebrates after your first race, and first win.
mishaps online oscar accidentally posts a nude online the night before your big concert and launch. oops.
red flag you get in an accident on track
the disgraced pop princess oscar is your salvation after things so horribly wrong
-> his disgraced pop princess oscar is there for you through your first real GP weekend and everything else, of course
my girl fans made a youtube compilation of oscar and you being in love since your prema days.
slip-up oscar slips up about your wedding
pointe shoes and racecars you and oscar had grown up together, and grown apart. now you're teaching him ballet for a mclaren video. will you two reconnect?
family fights you and oscar were never meant to be together, lando made that clear. one night changes everything, then another changes it again.
accident prone oscar comes home one night hurt, how do you deal with it?
bad day you had an awful day, but at least you're coming home to him.
Stoic much? oscar might be too good at the whole 'keeping a secret' thing. like, really good.
wallflowers like flowers too you never thought you'd find love, especially not with your best friend at his sister's wedding.
chancer Can he figure out who you are at the masquerade ball before you leave forever?
mark my words mark (webber) 'slips up' about your marriage.
nothing bad! the sprint pisses you off, ted's notebook catches you at a bad time, you say some things, oscar posts some things, and it ends up being one of the most popular ad campaigns in history. oops.
quick tweet, big problem you and oscar are together, but the world doesn't need to know you're engaged. lando decides they do.
knowing me, knowing you you're a broadway star, and oscar has to know everything about a topic for the 'anything but F1' segment. win-win when his girlfriend is in the public eye.
gymming oscar doesn't want you going to the gym
then we can breaking up sucks.
first kisses being jack wolff's nanny is a pretty sick gig, especially when your old friend is an f1 driver and is interested in you...
-> first dinners being jack wolff's nanny is a pretty sick gig... only when your boss (/ father figure) isn't trying to interrogate your new boyfriend. (18+)
-> vampire oscar gets a new nickname...
guilt tripping oscar asks something of you that you know you can't do. you do it anyway and it ends in you two almost breaking up. almost.
farm girl what's a better way to a guys attention than shouting at him for being too slow?
sweating oscar has been acting strange
mixup oscar gets a bit jelly when you and franco get close
guilty oscar gets a bit worried about you when you start overworking yourself
lando norris
mistakes the aftermath of the Hungarian gp
family issues lando (and his mum) are there for you during a difficult time.
catch-up lando after monza
the break up of the century you and lando break up on horrible terms, could a new album and a special performance bring you tow back together?
making moves Lando and you don't exactly get along and now you're quitting, he'll surely take it well, right?
misguided mishaps One bed between you and your brother's best friend… what could go wrong? (18+)
was it casual? the seriousness of your relationship wasn't exactly clear... leading to unforseen circumstances... (18+)
3 minutes lando overshoots an overtake, and you go off the track. what then ensues is the most stressful and awful 3 hours of his life.
2 hands your stunt-driver pulled out the day before the shoot, good thing you're dating an f1 driver. (18+)
risotto brazil was shit
prince charming lando brings his niece to the ballet, who knew he'd find love?
holidate Y/n, who gets mocked for being single, finds the perfect solution when she meets Lando, an F1 driver. Now she has the perfect date for her holidays, but her heart starts yearning for something more.
"oh yeah?" you and lando go out to celebrate his win and the championship, but you run into someone...
prison, not a promise lando proposes and it doesn't go as planned...
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series
our favourite presenter, y/n y/l/n! f1 grid x reader x oscar piastri
Presenting… y/n y/l/n Tweets about our favourite F1 commentator!
Judgy McJudgy Pants or Osc? You decide! you and oscar are getting closer, or are you?
dangerous media things go downhill fast as you fall, and he has to catch you. what makes it worse is what he says after…
lies and flights you two have a moment, the moment ends, and so does something else...
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playing favourites masterlist
your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.
pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader
warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries.
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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)
true story | charles leclerc
pairing: ex!reader x charles leclerc
summary: you and your ex boyfriend are trying to see each other on the low, until a restaurant instagram account exposes your relationship
fc: steph bohrer
a/n: based on this tiktok cause it was hilarious (if you know spanish please go watch it it’s so funny😭)
—
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username beautiful!
username debut album from y/n when
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username charles i really don’t understand you
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yourusername 😽😽😽
username the only woman ever
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username models are GRATEFUL he decided to be a driver
username he’s so bbg
username looked at my boyfriend and sigh
username if my future husband is not charles leclerc i don’t want it
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username wait what
username is he with y/n 😭😭😭
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username THEY DID
username when i try to get back with my ex and a restaurant expose us
username the fact she’s in two pics with two different outfits so you KNOW is not the first time they go out together
f1gossip 👀
username omg are we witnessing the comeback of y/ncharles in real time?
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username charles liking this SO UNSERIOUS
username requesting taylor swift is the truest part
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username this DIVA💜
username so are they back together or not 😭
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username no i get it because if my ex looked like y/n i would also be getting back together
charles_leclerc 🤣 (liked by yourusername)
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charles_leclerc incredible weekend monza 🇮🇹
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username LEOOOO🥺
username leo and y/n omg!!!
username the family is back together
username depression is cancelled y/n and charles are together again‼️
scuderiaferrari our hero🫶🏽
username a win in monza AND getting back together with y/n??? this man WON
username that last pic …. girl drop the photos
yourusername my leo 🥹
charles_leclerc and i’m not yours? 🤨
yourusername and you 🥰
username he’s handsome, has a cute dog, drives for his dream team, WON IN MONZA, and has a beautiful girlfriend …. yeah his life is perfect
Sides
Main Masterlist Max Masterlist
Pairing: Hamilton!female reader x Max Verstappen
Warnings: Fluffy at the end, Sad, Mean Lewis
Summary: Your boyfriend and brother have a standing rivalry, but what happens when your forced to choose
Requested: NO / yes
You watch as your older brother cuts in front of your boyfriend in the last 5 laps of the race, and while you are in the Mercedes garage, you can imagine what your boyfriend is saying about your brother over
But it only gets worse as Max regains the lead over the race, strategically passing your brother, which wouldn't need investigation, and now you can only imagine what your brother is saying as you've opted out of headphones.
With a sigh as the race ends, you join Red Bull in celebrating your boyfriend's win in the race.
You give your brother a quick hug before going to Max.
"Congratulations, baby," You say, kissing the helmet he has yet to take off.
You send Max off after that to get on the podium and get his trophy..
You watch your boyfriend get his trophy and raise it above his head, same as your brother, for his ending in 2nd and Lando for his 3rd place ending.
The rivalry between your brother and your boyfriend only gets worse as the season goes on.
There are three races left in the season. You had sat in Red Bull, having been at Mercedes the week before, and been going between the two garages like a child of divorce, one week with one and the next week with the other.
Max is in the lead for the championship, with your brother a mere 5 points behind him in the running.
Your brother comes to you after the race ends and just starts ranting to you, having confided in you your whole life about everything and anything.
He starts getting into it about Max and putting him down when you say, "Enough; I get that I'm your confident about things in driving, but please, nothing about my boyfriend, please."
Lewis gets offended that you defended your boyfriend to him because he had raved about Max before you started dating and you never said anything, but instead of saying something, he just leaves you alone.
The next race, you are in Mercedes, only for your brother to come to you in anger.
"Why are you here? You clearly enjoy it in Red Bull."
"What the fuck, Lewis?" You are clearly shocked; it's visible on your face; you have been going between the two garages for the entire season and have been supportive of both your brother and boyfriend.
"I mean your with him right so why aren't you there?"
"Because I am supporting you this weekend?" You're confused about the sudden change of your brother.
"Well, maybe you shouldn't be going between the garages anymore, so choose Mercedes or Red Bull?"
You are honestly speechless, having no idea what to say as you don't want to choose.
"Him or me?" Your brother continues.
"If you are truly making me choose, think about it first." You tell your brother in a serious tone.
"I'm serious, him or me?"
"I'd choose him because he wouldn't make me choose like you are right now," You say to your brother. Many in the garage just look away like they weren't listening as Lewis walks away, leaving you with tears in your eyes.
You then leave Mercedes and go to Red Bull, where Max wasn't expecting to see you.
You just hug him as you make your way to him.
"He made me choose," You whimper into Max's chest.
"He made me pick a side." It's then you fully break down crying.
A/N: This was originally going to be an oc, but changed my mind as I started to write it. Also, it's more of a drabble than a one-shot.
Tags: none; let me know to be added
If you want to be removed from a tag list, let me know so I don't keep tagging you. If you are striked through, I don't know if you want to be tagged, but just let me know if you want me to continue or stop
Ok so… 🌧️☁️🔥 - Lewis Hamilton.
Could u base it off the trend, dark curls and water colour eyes.
Thanks Queen
WATER COLOUR EYES | LH44
an: this is totally not based off of nico rosberg, no why would it be? also this was written in an hour and is NOT proof read.
summary: lewis' and his teammate have been treading a thin line between love and hate, so when one of them gets into an accident. surely it changes everything.
wc: 4.3k
warnings: car crash
The air in the garage was thick with the familiar scent of oil and rubber, the rhythmic thrum of engines in the distance like a heartbeat. You were stood at the far end, methodically reviewing your race notes, eyes tracing over each figure with sharp precision. Focused. Composed. Untouchable.
But you could feel him there—he was always there, lingering just on the edge of your awareness, never saying anything but always watching. The weight of it made your jaw clench, your muscles tighten in a way that annoyed you more than you’d cared to admit.
Lewis was leaning against the wall across from you, arms folded, his posture lazy and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. You could hear him breathing. You didn’t have to look up to know he was wearing that same infuriatingly relaxed expression, the one that somehow made you feel like he was waiting for you to slip up.
Minutes passed, neither of you speaking, the silence between you thick with something unspoken, but heavy. The team buzzed around you two, but your world was much quieter—tense, a slow-burning friction that had been there since the day you had both signed on.
Finally, you chose to break the silence, not out of need to acknowledge him, but to break the weight pressing down on your chest. "Do you ever plan on doing something useful?"
Lewis didn’t answer right away. Instead, you heard the soft shift of his weight as he stood straighter, footsteps crossing the short distance between you, slow and measured. You didn’t look up. Not yet.
"Are you always this charming before a race?" His voice was calm, casual, the subtle bite behind his words only evident to someone who knew how to listen for it.
You exhaled slowly, setting your notes down on the table in front of you. Only then did you meet his gaze, your cerulean eyes locking onto his, steady and unwavering. His eyes were dark, tension brewing within them, and the way they met yours now—unapologetically, searching for something—only made your guard go up further.
"I’m focused. Maybe you should try it sometime," you replied, your tone even, though every word was a small act of defiance.
A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t a friendly one. It was the kind of smile that said he was amused by you, that he liked getting under your skin.
"I am focused," he said quietly, his voice dropping an octave. "Just not on what you think."
︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶
Lewis didn’t like that they were racing today, there was far too much rain. Every practice session since they had gotten to Zandvoort felt wrong, every time he got into the cockpit of the car, he wanted to get back out.
The race was chaos—engines roaring, tires screaming as they hurtled through corner after corner at breakneck speed through the rain. Every move had to be precise, every decision calculated, and he was good at it. No distractions, no second-guessing.Even though he didn’t want to race today, Lewis lived for this.
But today, besides the race, something else was off. He hadn’t been able to get you out of his head. Even as he fought for position, his mind wandered—always back to you. To the way your eyes flashed when she spoke to him, the way you never backed down, never let him in. You were supposed to be teammates. Rivals. So why the hell couldn’t he stop thinking about you?
He shook it off, pushing harder, focusing on the track ahead. But then he saw it.
Your car, just ahead in the pack, spun out. It happened so fast—a sudden twitch, then a violent swerve. His breath caught in his throat as your car skidded sideways, slamming into the barrier with a sickening crunch of metal.
Time slowed. Everything else—the race, the other drivers, the screaming radio in his ear—faded away. All he could see was your car, mangled and still, smoke rising from the wreckage.
"Bono, is she okay?" he breathed, panic clawing at his chest.
He was supposed to keep driving, follow protocol, and wait for the safety car. But he couldn’t. Lewis’ hands moved on their own, wrenching the wheel to the side, veering off the racing line. The pit radio crackled, Bono’s voice screaming at him to stay focused, to stay in the race, but he didn’t care. He slammed the brakes, pulled the car to a halt on the side of the track, ripping off his steering wheel in one swift motion.
Before anyone could stop him, he was out. Feet pounding against the asphalt, he sprinted toward your car, every second stretching painfully, his heart pounding in his ears. His mind was racing, filled with worst-case scenarios he couldn’t shut out. You had to be okay. You had to be.
As he reached the wreckage, marshals were already swarming the scene, but he shoved past them, his pulse roaring in his veins. The front of your car was a crumpled mess, the cockpit barely visible under the bent metal and debris. He could see your helmet, your still form inside, and the sight made something twist violently in his chest.
"What the fuck happened?!" His voice was raw, frantic, his hands reaching for the cockpit, trying to pry it open. "Someone help me for fucks sake!"
One of the marshals grabbed him, pulling him back, but he fought against it, his whole body trembling with the need to see you, to know you were okay.
"She’s unconscious—" one of the medics started, but he couldn’t hear the rest. His world had narrowed down to you and the sound of his own ragged breathing. He’d never felt fear like this before, not on the track, not anywhere. It gnawed at him, made his hands shake as he stood there, helpless.
His mind screamed at him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to you.
When the medical team finally got you out, he saw your chest rise and fall—shallow, but steady. Relief hit him like a wave, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to hear your voice, needed to see you open those damn eyes and tell him off like you always did. He needed you to be okay.
"She’s breathing," one of the medics reassured him as they loaded you onto a stretcher, and he nodded, but it felt like a hollow victory. Lewis wasn’t supposed to care this much. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
But as they carried you away, all he could think was that he’d break every rule, throw away the whole damn race, just to hear your voice again.
︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶
The quiet hum of the air conditioning did little to settle the nerves that still buzzed under your skin. You sat on the edge of the small cot in your driver’s room, staring blankly at the wall. Your body ached—nothing broken, they’d told you, but the crash had rattled you more than you had wanted to admit. Your helmet sat discarded on the floor, and the sound of the accident still echoed in your head, the screech of tires, the crunch of metal.
There was a knock at the door, sharp and insistent. You knew who it was before you even heard his voice.
"You in there?"
You closed your eyes for a brief second, already bracing yourself for the confrontation you weren't ready to have. He hadn’t left you alone since the crash—hovering around the medical tent, pacing outside your room. You’d heard him through the walls, arguing with the team, demanding updates. He was relentless. But you didn’t want his concern. You didn’t need it.
The door creaked open, and Lewis stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. Typical. He always pushed his way into your space, never asking, never giving you a chance to breathe.
"You shouldn’t be here," you said, your voice low, your eyes still fixed on the floor. You didn’t have the strength to look at him, not yet. Not when your emotions were too close to the surface.
"I was worried," he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it, and that only made you angrier. "I needed to see for myself that you were okay."
You laughed, a bitter sound, shaking your head. Finally, you forced yourself to look up at him. His usually confident posture was gone; he looked tense, his shoulders tight, his dark eyes clouded with something you didn’t want to name. Guilt? Regret? You didn’t care.
"You were worried," you repeated, your tone mocking, though the anger bubbling inside you was anything but playful. "Since when do you care about me, Hamilton? You’ve made my life hell from the second I signed with this team."
Lewis flinched at her words, but didn’t move, didn’t back down. "I—" He stopped, searching for something to say, something that wouldn’t make it worse. But you didn’t want to hear it.
"You don’t get to be scared for me." You stood up, your body protesting with every movement, but you ignored the pain. Your emotions were a live wire, snapping and sparking in the small room. "Not after everything you’ve done. The comments, the looks, the way you treat me like I’m just some obstacle in your way."
His jaw tightened, his eyes darkening, but you weren't finished. "You’ve been trying to tear me down since the day I got here. You’ve questioned my skills, doubted my place on this team, made me feel like I don’t belong every single chance you get." You took a step closer, your voice rising, cracking with the intensity of everything you’d kept bottled up. "So don’t stand there now and pretend you care. Don’t act like I’m something worth worrying about."
He didn’t move. He just stared at you, his face a mask of tension, like he was holding something back—something he wasn’t sure how to say. His eyes flickered, just for a second, and you saw it: the same fear you’d felt when your car slammed into that barrier. It confused you. It infuriated you.
"You think I wanted this?" His voice, rougher now, cut through the thick silence. "You think I planned to be this way with you? I don’t—" He ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. "I don’t know how to do this. How to deal with you. Because you—"
"Because what?" you snapped, cutting him off. "Because I’m a threat? Because you can’t handle the fact that I’m as good as you? Better, even?"
"Because you scare the hell out of me!" he shouted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. The room fell silent, his confession hanging in the air between you, raw and jagged.
Your heart pounded in your chest, the admission hitting you harder than you wanted to admit. But you didn’t let it show, couldn’t let him see how his words affected you.
"You scare me," he repeated, his voice quieter now, like he was admitting something to himself as much as to you. "The way you drive, the way you push yourself—you’re fearless, and it’s terrifying. And today—" His voice cracked, and he looked away for a second, composing himself. "Today, when I saw you crash, I thought—I thought I’d lost you."
Your breath caught in your throat, but you swallowed the emotion rising there, forcing yourself to stay strong. To stay angry.
"You don’t get to care about me," you said again, quieter this time, but with the same fire. "Not when you’ve spent months trying to break me."
Lewis opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. For a moment, you just stood there, the distance between you feeling both impossible to cross and too close. The tension, the unspoken things that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long, it all hovered between you, crackling like electricity.
Finally, he took a step back, his gaze falling to the floor. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice rough, but sincere.
You didn’t know what to say. Part of you wanted to scream at him, to push him further away, to tell him that his apology wasn’t enough. But another part of you —a part you weren’t ready to confront—was scared by how much you’d wanted to hear him say it.
So instead, you stayed silent, watching him leave, your heart still racing, your mind reeling from everything that had just been said—and everything that hadn’t.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the stillness of the room. Your body felt heavier now, the adrenaline from the confrontation seeping away, leaving only the dull ache of exhaustion and the weight of his words lingering in your mind.
You scare me.
You ran a hand through your hair, still trying to make sense of it all. He was the one who had made your life hell, the one who pushed every button, who treated you like you didn’t belong. And now, he was saying he was scared? That he cared?
You paced the room, the silence gnawing at you, your mind spinning in circles. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. You were rivals—always had been. He was the enemy on your own team, the one who made you want to scream every time he walked into the room. But today, when he stood there, looking at you like he was terrified of losing you, it had felt… different.
There was a part of you that had wanted to stay angry, to keep that fire burning between you. It was easier that way. Safer. But another part—the one you hadn’t let yourself acknowledge until now—was starting to unravel, slowly, painfully, as if everything you thought you knew about him was coming undone.
You sighed, sinking back onto the cot. Your body ached, but it wasn’t just the crash. It was everything else—the confusion, the pull you felt toward him, the tension that never seemed to leave you two, the way he looked at you like you were both his greatest threat and something he couldn’t tear his eyes away from.
You don’t get to care about me.
You had meant it when you said it. But now, alone with your thoughts, you wondered if you had been pushing him away because you didn’t want to admit the truth to yourself. That maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want him to stay away. Not anymore.
Before you could second-guess it, you stood up, heart pounding in your chest. You weren't sure what you were going to say, weren’t even sure why you were doing this, but your feet carried you out of your room and down the hall. His room was just a few doors down, the quiet hum of the team in the background doing nothing to settle the storm raging inside you.
Your knuckles hovered above the door, hesitating for just a moment before you knocked, your heart in her throat.
It opened almost immediately. He stood there, still in his race suit, his room a mess and his eyes shadowed with the same exhaustion you felt. He looked surprised to see you, but there was something else there too—something raw, vulnerable, that made your chest tighten.
Neither of you spoke at first. The silence stretched, thick with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid. Finally, you broke the tension, your voice quieter than you intended.
"I shouldn’t have said what I did."
Lewis didn’t respond right away, just watched you with those sharp eyes that always made you feel like he was seeing straight through your defences.
"I didn’t mean it," you continued, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. "I mean… you didn’t deserve that. You cared, and I shouldn’t have thrown it back in your face."
He looked down, exhaling softly. "I’ve given you plenty of reasons to hate me," he said quietly. "I get why you reacted the way you did."
For a moment, neither of you moved. You were about to say something else, but then he looked up again, and the intensity in his eyes made your heart skip a beat.
"It’s foreign to me," he said, his voice low, his words deliberate. "Liking someone like you. Someone I’m not supposed to like."
Your breath caught in your throat, the air between you suddenly feeling too thick, too charged. The heat from the room, from him, seemed to close in around you, making it hard to think straight.
"You drive me insane," he continued, stepping closer, his voice rougher now. "You challenge me in ways no one else does. And I hate it. But I also…" He stopped, his eyes locking onto yours, his next words barely more than a whisper. "I can’t stop thinking about you."
You swallowed, your heart hammering against your ribs. The tension that had always been between you shifted, growing heavier, hotter, more intense. You could feel the pull, the unspoken thing that had been simmering beneath the surface for months.
Your throat was dry, your body betraying you. "You’re not supposed to care about me," you whispered, but there was no anger left in your voice. Only confusion, and something you weren't ready to admit yet.
He took another step closer, close enough now that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, close enough to hear the slight hitch in his breath.
"I know," he said, his voice husky, eyes flicking between yours and your lips. "But I do."
Your pulse thundered in your ears as his words lingered in the air between you, charged and crackling like static. Every second felt stretched, like time was holding its breath, waiting for what would happen next. The tension between you had always been palpable, always simmering just beneath the surface, but now, it was unbearable—thick, electric, like the split second before a lightning strike.
You knew you should say something, break the moment before it went too far. You should push him away, remind him of all the reasons this couldn’t happen, why they couldn’t cross this line. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, you found yourself frozen in place, the walls you’d built up around him crumbling. His eyes were locked on yours, dark and intense, and you felt something inside you shift, like a wire snapping loose.
Your breath hitched as you leaned in, just the smallest movement, enough to close some of the distance between you. Your heart was hammering in your chest, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the space between you shrinking until it felt like the air itself was suffocating, pressing you together.
And then, he moved.
His hand came up slowly, hesitantly, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, his touch feather-soft, like he was testing the moment, unsure if you’d pull away. Your skin tingled where his hand touched, sending a shiver down your spine, and for a brief second, neither of you moved. His thumb gently grazed your jawline, and the touch was so tender, so unexpected from him, that it made your chest tighten.
When you didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat, something shifted in him. The tension snapped like a taut string, unravelling all at once. He closed the gap between you in a heartbeat, and before you could think, before you could process what was happening, his lips were on yours.
The kiss wasn’t soft. It was urgent, messy, like he’d been holding back for far too long and couldn’t control it anymore. His lips pressed against yours with a hunger that matched the heat between you, a raw, desperate energy that made your knees weaken. It wasn’t gentle; it wasn’t careful. It was a release—months of pent-up frustration, confusion, anger, and something else that neither of you had been willing to acknowledge until now.
Your body responded instinctively, your hands moving to his chest, gripping the fabric of his suit as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. His body was warm, solid beneath your touch, and you could feel his heart racing just as wildly as yours. You pulled him closer, needing more of him, needing this as much as he did.
The kiss deepened, and his hand slid from your cheek to tangle in your hair, pulling you even closer. Your mouths moved together in a rhythm that was both frantic and intoxicating, as if you were both trying to make up for all the time you’d spent fighting this. Every brush of his lips, every shift of his hands made your pulse spike, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. You could taste the desperation in his kiss, feel the tension still lingering in the way his body pressed against yours.
You weren't sure how long you stayed like that, tangled in each other, caught in the whirlwind of your own undoing. But when you finally pulled apart, gasping for air, your foreheads pressed together, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Your breaths came heavy and uneven, the world spinning around you as you tried to catch up to what had just happened.
Your mind was a haze of emotions—confusion, relief, frustration—and yet there was something undeniable settling deep inside you, something you couldn’t push away anymore.
You felt the warmth of his breath against your skin, and your heart was still racing, but now, instead of fear or anger, there was something softer, something that scared you just as much.
"I’m still angry with you," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. But there was no heat behind your words now, just the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, like you couldn’t quite hold it back.
He let out a soft, breathless laugh, the sound vibrating between you as he brushed a thumb along your jawline, his touch lingering, as if he didn’t want to let go. His eyes softened as they met yours, the usual sharpness replaced by something you weren't used to seeing in him—vulnerability.
"I wouldn’t expect anything less," he murmured, his voice low, rough with the aftermath of what had just passed between you. His thumb traced slow, lazy circles against your skin, sending a fresh wave of warmth through you.
His forehead still rested against yours, and the air between you was thick with the unspoken things that hung in the balance. You could feel his breath mingling with yours, could still taste the remnants of his kiss on your lips. The tension hadn’t disappeared—it had merely shifted, becoming something new, something more dangerous. The line between you was gone now, blurred beyond recognition, and you didn’t know how to navigate it.
His other hand came to rest on your hip, the touch firm, possessive, pulling you just a fraction closer. Your body responded before your mind could catch up, and you didn’t stop it this time. You didn’t want to.
His lips hovered just above yours, teasing, tempting, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you. You could feel his breath, hot and heavy, his eyes searching yours for permission—for something more. And in that moment, you realised that you wanted it, too. Wanted him.
the end.
Poor Charlotte had to wrangle two babies throughout the paddock who got distracted by everything they saw 😭😭😭
𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒
@gr4cier4cie I LOVE HER SO MUCH LITERALLY MY BESTIE GO CHECK HER OUT OR ILL FIND YOU AND BEAT YOU UP when it happened to me pt2 pt3 is the best fic ever and i love the format she did it in SO GOOD (i also might take credit for her continuing it and making it a series)
@luvstappen AHHHHH OMG I LOVE BER SERIES SO MUCH PLS GO CHECH IT OUT IF YOU HAVENT ALREADY it’s nice to have a friend
@tsunodaradio SO GOOOOOOOOD THE STYLE OF WRITING AND THE PLAYLIST EVENT IS SOOOO GOOOOOOOD
@81pastrys i love love love them and their fics are so goooooooood
@vettelsvee SO GOOOOOOD ALL THEIR FICS ARE FIRE ABSOLUTELY NO COMPLAINTS
@maxtermind their group texts are so good i find myself binge reading them all the time
@harrysfolklore so so good both harry and f1 fics the grid texts are also chefs kiss
@uglyducklingofthe2000s great f1 AND nhl fics
@tpwk-formula1 paddock bunny is so good also love lee-lee’s pizzeria
a/n - pls pls pls go show them some love they all deserve it so much
Enamored Masterlist
Summary: Everything you heard about matters of heart and desire told you the same thing; love could lead to heartbreak at best and disastrous results at worst.
Yet, you were convinced that everyone was wrong. They had to be, because love was supposed to make everyone happier, no confusion or pain in sight.
Regardless of how naive it sounded, you were sure that you were ready to fall in love and lose yourself in the infamous bliss.
That assumption right there was a terrible mistake, though.
You were nowhere near ready.
Warnings: Slow burn, mutual pining, Regency era society and social rules, angst. (Separate warnings included in chapters)
Keep reading
bye bye baby ☆ dr3
genre: angst
word count: 2.5k
inspired by this !
cherry here!... the req was to write about danny boy, but the concept of this was that i was feeling very dramatic, per usual, duh. wrote this today since i’ve had bye bye baby stuck on REPEAT. 2 posts in 1 day, YIKES. enjoy! :)
The ups and downs that take place in your relationship once Daniel is left without an F1 seat.
“What do you mean you’re out?”
Furiously, Daniel unzips his fireproofs as he ties the sleeves around his waist. He rummages through his duffel bag, growing more and more impatient, then takes a cautious step forward when you hand him his water bottle. “Thanks,” he lowly mutters and takes a long sip. The Australian shakes his head and looks blankly towards the white wall. “They want someone younger. More talented.”
“But you’re talented, Daniel! You’re better than anyone here!”
Letting out a weak smile, he angles himself lower to hug you before pulling away and brushing your hair behind your ear. “No, I don’t think I am anymore.”
That was two months ago when news came out that your boyfriend would no longer be driving for McLaren. It was a complete shock, considering everyone loved the bubbly Australian, but it honestly didn’t hurt anyone more than it did you. Often, he would remind you that he was the one left without a seat and that you should be glad you would both have some time to disconnect and be together.
Your shake your head as you munch grumpily on a stack of pancakes. “I love that you’re around—of course I do—but what they did to you was completely unfair. Who in their right mind expects good results for a shit car? That’s their fault, not yours.”
He lets out a smile. “Relax, baby. I get it. You don’t want me around.” Sharp eyes narrow as you fling a pair of gloves at his chest, from his recent addiction to dirt biking. Don’t even, you warn. He lets out a sigh, then he opens his mouth for you to pop in a bite. Digging your fork on a piece of pancake, you raise your arm up to feed him. He hums at the taste. “I was kidding, but seriously— it's okay. I’ll get over it. You should, too.”
As much as he said he was doing fine, you knew something wasn’t right. He was hurt, felt betrayed, and it did him no good to keep rejecting his feelings. But you didn’t bring up the topic anymore. You knew he didn’t like the reminder of what once was.
-
Dirt crunches underneath your boots as you walk up to him and Scotty. The Australians are hunched over, trying their best to fix their bikes as they share a bottle of cheap beer underneath the blazing sun. The twenty-nine year old spots you first as he squints his blue eyes. You’re up early. You flip him off as you pretend to kick a pile of dirt towards him. He comedically raises his arms as he wiggles his brows. “Chloe is looking for you. I think she’s gonna beat your ass.”
He quickly stands up as he blows a deep breath directly to your boyfriend's face. You cringe. They share a quick look before Daniel shoots a thumbs up. “You’re good.” Thanking him, Scotty rushes past you as he hands you his left over beer. Making your way over to the brunette, you take a seat next to him as you spill the remaining dark liquid.
“Isn’t it too early to be drinking?”
“Isn’t it too early to be looking so beautiful?”
You muster a glare. “Don’t change the subject, Daniel.” Avoiding eye contact, he just keeps his tired gaze entertained on an Acacia tree. Bringing the bottle up to his lips, he lets out a low whistle. It’s hot. A cold beer helps. “Right,” you mumble as you flicker your own eyes towards the green tree. You can still spot it—your initials and his engraved. He had done it one evening when he and Scotty had one too many drinks. He had stumbled all the way just to drag you and show you. Because I love you. Even when I’m drunk, I love you like crazy.
“Trees getting old. Might be time to cut it down.”
You flinch at his words. “Can I have a sip?” He raises his brows as he hands you the bottle. You just had one, he tries to joke as he watches the way you chug it down. Drying your lips, you crane your neck to look up at the blue sky. “You never minded sharing before.” He can distinguish the way your voice sounds—as if you’re upset over something he might’ve said—but he knows he hasn’t done anything wrong. Standing up, you hand him back the glass bottle.
“Cut the tree. I don’t care.”
-
“And to my beautiful girlfriend—you’re everything to me and I love you. Without a doubt, the best birthday present I could ever ask for.” Raising his Coca-Cola can, the brown eyed boy sends you a wink with a bright smile plastered across his face. A face you’ve grown to recognize. The one you love.
Making his way over, he throws his arms over your shoulders as he rocks you side to side. You smile against his chest. “How does it feel to be thirty-four? Do you have bad knees already?” He lets out a toothy grin and he slaps your ass. “It’s just a question!”
“My knees are fine. As long as I can still kneel down in front of you—that’s all that matters, no?”
You blush at his words as you jokingly push him away. This only makes him cling onto you harder. Squinting your eyes up at him, you trace heart shapes against his biceps. You sincerely feel the happiest you’ve felt in ages. This is the Daniel you knew like the back of your hand. “I was thinking maybe we can take a trip. Anywhere, really. To celebrate—"
“My birthday?” He beams. “This is why you’re the sweetest girlfriend in the entire world!” No problem, you shyly respond as you pinch his t-shirt in between your fingers. Kissing you one last time, he excuses himself to go welcome some late-comers. Chole zig zags her way over to you as she gives you a side hug.
“How’d it go?”
You sigh. “He forgot. He completely forgot. I don’t think I can entirely blame him—I mean, it is his birthday.” The fact that you have to defend him makes the blonde furrow her dark brows. Shaking her head, she hands you a slice of chocolate cake.
“Never in a million years did your guys’ anniversary slip his mind. What a dick.”
But you’re not even listening. You’re too flabbergasted that he cut his cake without you being there with him.
-
Whether it was a trip to Vermont for his birthday or your anniversary, it didn’t really matter, because you loved every second. It’s almost like he needed this break. To do something different that didn’t feel like a forced routine. You went hiking, apple picking, to a million bars that only served barbecue ribs—and you never felt more at peace.
Handing you a bouquet of flowers, he kneels down in front of you. You roll your eyes as you take the colorful peonies from him—though inside you were shaking like a seventeen year old getting her first glimpse of love. “What’s this for?” He shrugs as he takes a seat next to you.
“Just because.”
Those were your favorite types of flowers. Intertwining his fingers with yours, you both continue chatting about anything and everything that crossed your mind. As you both pass by a peach tree, he lets go of your hand as he brings up his camera with sudden determination. Stand right there, baby.
Trying to express your happiness as best as you can, you hug your gift close to your face as you smile so wide, your eyes nearly shut.
“You’re mind blowing,” he murmurs as he snaps the picture. He takes a moment to admire you as you jog over to him. Show me! He clicks his tongue. “It’s digital. You’re gonna have to wait.” You pout as you pinch his cheek. Bringing your hand up to his mouth, he presses warm kisses.
“I have something to tell you.” Your heart stops, suddenly filled with anxiety as he smiles with giddiness. What is it? “I’m going to be driving again! I mean, it completely sucks for Nyck, but I’m just so happy to get back into an F1 car.”
“Nyck? As in the Alpha Tauri driver?”
He nods. “I got the call last month—a few days after my birthday. Best present ever.” Once again, his words cut you deep without him even noticing. Nevertheless, you force a tight smile.
“I’m so happy for you, Danny. You’re finally getting what you’ve wanted for so long.”
-
When you both get back to Australia, it surprises you a bit how normal things have stayed. He’s smiling more—if that was ever even possible—he’s laughing louder, too. Roaming the house, you rub your eyes from sleepiness. Scotty and Chloe share a laugh when they spot you. “And Sleeping Beauty has finally woken. I didn’t think that was possible.” Chloe smacks his chest as she sends you a wink.
“Humor me, why don’t you?” Your gaze flickers across the living room. “Where’s Danny?”
“Outside.”
Sliding the door open, you step out as you try your best to adjust your eyesight to the bright sun. As soon as it does, your stomach drops. You run up to the brunette as you pull the ax from him.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Startled, he jumps up as he takes his earphones out. “Holy shit. You scared me, don’t do that!” Tears fill your eyes as you analyze the chopped tree. You’re no expert, but you can tell that there’s no going back. The only result that comes out of this would be for it to come crashing down. He rushed over with panic, checks you everywhere to make sure you weren’t hurt. You brush him off.
“Why would you do this?”
He cocks his head to the side, brown eyes filled with confusion. “I’m so lost, what did I do?” Anger bubbles up inside of you as you force yourself to not scream at him. “You’re okay, so why are you crying? Oh no. Did Scotty wake you up again? I told him not to do that anymore.”
“I’m done.” You wipe your tears as you let out a bitter laugh. “I am so done.”
“What do you mean you’re done?”
“I’m saying I give up! Fuck, I give up. That’s it. You win. I just —can't.”
He tries to take a step closer, but you only distance yourself twice as much. “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
“I’ve tried so hard to understand you, I really did, but I’m just as tired as you are, okay? I tried to ease your pain when McLaren let you go, but you kept pushing me away. I tried to be there for you on days you felt like nothing, but to me you were always everything. I tried to not let you see how much it hurt me when you forgot our five year anniversary. I tried to not act like it bothered me when you cut the cake I spent hours baking for you, without me. I tried to not act surprised when I found out you kept the news from me about you returning to F1 for one fucking month. But I can’t try and pretend that you cutting down this tree hasn’t broken my heart.”
“It’s just a stupid, old tree—"
“I don’t think you understand! It may be old, and it sure as hell could be stupid, but it was ours.” You grab his hand harshly as you drag him to the other side of the tree. His eyes grow wide. I didn’t remember—I swear I forgot that was even there! You let out a wet laugh as you toss your hair over your shoulder. “You’re hurting me, Daniel. Can’t you see?”
“You’re the one who said I should cut it down. You can’t seriously just be blaming me.”
“And who came up with the idea first?”
He lowers his gaze as he runs his left hand against his clenched jaw. “I’m sorry.” He connects his desperate eyes to your glossy ones. “But don’t say all those things, please. You’re right. I’ve been an awful boyfriend, but no one understands me better than you.” Placing his hands on either side of your face, he lets out soft pants. “You’re everything to me, how could you have possibly felt that way? I love you.”
“Love me like what?” He furrows his brows as he searches for an answer. You scrunch your nose as you push his hands down. “I thought you loved me like crazy.” His stomach churns. “Listen, I love you, Daniel. I love you so fucking much, but even I can see that I’m not your happiness anymore. Not the way I used to be, at least. You have other priorities, other plans—”
“No, you’re my priority. You always have been.”
“Except I haven’t. For a moment, you went radio silent. It was a one-sided relationship, but I loved you so much that I stayed. I pushed past it. Then—one random day— your smile came back. You were insanely happy and I thought...” You shut your eyes. You can feel the salty tears trickle down your face. “I thought it was because of me. Now I realize, it hasn’t been about me for a while now. It’s so obvious that the only reason you were cheerful once again was because you got what you wanted. You got a seat.”
“You’re wrong—"
“I’m not.” You let out a shaky breath as you bite down on your lip, a weak attempt to not let out loud sobs. “I would have gladly taken part in your pain, but you never let me in. You never let me get close enough to help you out.” Making your way up to him slowly, you tippy toe as you lean in for a kiss. What hurts the most is that all of a sudden—he’s kissing you the exact same way he did when he first told you that he loved you. He was giving it his all. Pulling away, you let out a low whimper as you feel your chin tremble. Your smile wobbles. “Can’t force something that’s not there anymore, can you?”
Taking him in one last time, you rub his forearm as you gently pat it before you walk away. Daniel feels paralyzed as he watches you go. He’s expecting you to turn around at least one last time and he’s expecting his body to let him run after you, but neither of those things happen.
Hesitantly, Chloe and Scotty make their way to their frozen friend. They had heard the fight, but decided it was best to not intervene.
“She left.”
The couple share a concerned look as they take in the weak tree that was clearly about to fall at any moment. Chloe sighs, then walks away, making a beeline to find you. Though, she knows you better than anyone. You weren’t going to return. And she completely understood why.
Scotty takes a step back and shakes his head in disbelief.
“She fucking loved that tree.”
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A 22 year old girl, fan of stackiemight write some fanfictions (marvel, chicago pd, chicago fire, chicago med), short angsty essays about life, update on my journey towards a better mental and physical heatlh. drop questions! fandom related or just you want to talk to somebody.
299 posts