34 Osc With Sick Reader 🤭

like lando norris

Lando Norris x Y/N

Summary : Lando Norris and his girlfriend invite viewers into their everyday life, sharing candid and funny moments as they go about their day.

Words : 2.5k

Warnings : swearing, suggestive talk

Lando and Y/N sat on the sofa, waiting for Morgan and Ethan to arrive to film the second part of the "I Ate and Trained Like Lando Norris" Quadrant video. Fans had loved the first one—especially catching glimpses of Y/N in the background, offering a rare peek into their domestic life.

The two exchanged a knowing look as the doorbell rang. Lando got up, heading for the door, only to be immediately greeted by a camera in his face and the two boys standing there with their bags.

"Good morning," Morgan greeted, stepping inside with a smirk. "I'm hoping for a better meal this time, Lando. I’m not having any of that mush for breakfast and that cold-ass salad for lunch again."

Lando laughed, hugging him briefly before turning to Ethan for the same. "We’re supposed to be healthy! You guys are living like me for a day, aren’t you?" he teased, waving at the camera before shutting the door behind them.

"Actually..." Ethan trailed off, making Lando raise a brow.

Morgan smirked. "The concept’s a little different today."

"We’re just gonna do what you do on a regular day off. No training, no ice chamber—just regular little Lando," Ethan added.

Lando scoffed. "I still train on my days off."

"Bullshit," Morgan shot back immediately.

"I do!"

"Oh, stop showing off for the camera, mate," Morgan rolled his eyes. "You probably just lie in bed all day and eat McDonald's."

Ethan burst into laughter as Lando shook his head with an amused grin.

"Right, where’s the missus?" Morgan dropped his bag onto the floor, casually looking around as if he owned the place.

"She was just on the sofa, mate. You probably scared her off," Lando joked, walking further into the apartment.

From a distance, Y/N’s voice called out, "I’m in the kitchen!"

The trio made their way toward the kitchen, where Y/N stood at the stove, containers of food neatly arranged beside her.

"This feels so scripted," Ethan teased. "You guys totally rehearsed this, didn’t you?"

Lando laughed. "No mate, this is all raw footage." He walked over, peering over Y/N’s shoulder to see what she was doing.

"Heard you complaining about having to eat cold meals," Y/N smiled, motioning for the camera to come closer. "So I’m reheating your breakfast."

Morgan stepped forward, relief washing over his face. "Thank fuck we don’t have to eat mush again. You’re an absolute angel," he said, eyeing the food. "You made this?"

She shook her head. "Still part of the meal plan, just reheating it. It’s banana pancakes."

Ethan glanced at his watch before looking between Lando and Y/N. "Are you guys usually up this early? Even on your free days?"

The couple exchanged a smile, shaking their heads.

"Depends," Lando shrugged.

"On?" Ethan prompted.

"On how we’re feeling, I guess," Y/N added.

Morgan smirked. "Depends on how wild they were the night before—dirty bastards."

Lando and Y/N both turned red, bursting into laughter.

Y/N plated the pancakes, topping them with yogurt and fresh fruit, while the three watched in focused anticipation—Lando even helping her place a few berries on each plate.

"Is he usually this helpful in the kitchen?" Ethan asked, eyeing Lando.

Y/N scoffed, immediately shaking her head. "Absolutely not."

Lando gasped, feigning offense. "Excuse me?"

"When I moved in, he barely knew how to use the microwave," she teased.

"Baby, I knew how to use the microwave," Lando defended himself.

Y/N smirked. "He never touched the oven, either. The protective plastic and stickers were still on—"

"Alright, enough from you," Lando cut her off, popping a berry into her mouth before leaning in to plant a quick kiss on her lips.

Morgan groaned. "Ugh, get a room."

Ethan laughed. "I think we are in their room."

Lando just grinned, grabbing his plate. "Well, since you guys wanna be me for the day, you better start eating like me too."

And with that, they all sat down to dig in, ready for whatever the rest of the video had in store.

"This is so much better than last time," Morgan said through a mouthful of food, letting out a satisfied sigh.

Beside him, Ethan nodded in agreement, grunting as he took another bite.

Y/N stood nearby, sipping on a smoothie instead of joining them in eating.

"You're not having some, Y/N?" Ethan asked, glancing over at her.

She shook her head and lifted her smoothie slightly in response.

Lando, ever the gentleman, cut a small piece from his plate and held his fork out toward her. Y/N smiled softly before leaning in to take the bite.

Morgan made a face. "Look at them. So sweet it makes me sick."

"Jealous?" Lando smirked at him.

Morgan scoffed, while Ethan shook his head. "It's all fake anyway. No way you pulled her, mate. Look at her."

Y/N let out a laugh as Lando turned to glare at them playfully.

Morgan leaned against the counter, intrigued. "Alright then, who messaged who first?"

Lando glanced at Y/N before answering. "Uhmm... I technically made the first move, but we were friends for a while before that."

Morgan barely hesitated before dropping his next question. "Is he as good in bed as he is on track, Y/N?"

Y/N choked on her drink, coughing as she tried to recover.

"Mate, try not to kill our host thirty minutes into the video," Ethan laughed, patting her back as Lando groaned, running a hand down his face.

Morgan simply grinned. "What? The people want to know."

-----------------------------------------------------------

The four of them were now in Lando’s car—Lando at the wheel, Y/N riding shotgun, and Ethan and Morgan lounging in the back.

“So, where are we off to now?” Ethan asked, leaning forward slightly to peek into the camera mounted on the dashboard.

Lando kept his eyes on the road as he navigated through the city. “Since it’s technically our regular day, we’re gonna run some errands.”

“You two actually do your own grocery shopping?” Morgan asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

Y/N chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, of course.”

Lando glanced at her with a grin. “What did you think we did?”

Morgan shrugged, looking out the window. “I don’t know… had a personal shopper or something?”

“Nah, we still do normal stuff,” Lando said with a small smile. “Honestly, I kinda like it. Feels… regular.”

Y/N snorted, not looking up from her phone. “He just likes sneaking junk food into the cart while I’m actually trying to buy things we need.”

Ethan laughed. “Don’t you get, like, mobbed when you go out?”

Lando nodded. “Not mobbed… but filmed, yeah. People ask for photos. You just get used to it after a while.”

“Yeah, well, I saw a pap shot of you two making out in your Ferrari the other day,” Morgan teased, shooting Lando a knowing look. “Cheeky bastard—couldn’t even wait ‘til you got home?”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands as Lando laughed. “Oh my god, why does the whole world have to see that?”

Inside the grocery store, Y/N was pushing the cart while the three of them trailed behind her like ducklings. As expected, Lando’s presence earned them a few lingering stares—some people even sneaking their phones up to record.

“I feel like a celebrity,” Ethan whispered dramatically.

Morgan rolled his eyes. “You idiot, you are with a celebrity.”

Lando chuckled at that, but he and Y/N had already drifted ahead, casually chatting as they browsed the shelves, momentarily forgetting about the camera filming them.

Morgan smirked, turning to the lens and zooming in on the couple. “Gotta admit, they’re pretty damn cute.”

A few meters away, Y/N and Lando had paused in front of a shelf, seemingly in the middle of a heated debate.

“Ohhh,” Ethan grinned, watching them from afar. “The parents are fighting.”

Before Morgan could respond, Ethan jogged over to investigate.

"— we already have like sixty of these at home."

"But Lan...this one’s ocean breeze," Y/N insists, shoving the candle under Lando’s nose like it’s the most important purchase of their lives.

Lando sighs dramatically, giving her a look. "And what, the other sixty are not breezy enough for you?"

Y/N bats their lashes innocently. "Nope. This one speaks to my soul."

With a groan that’s more for show than actual protest, Lando grabs the candle and tosses it into the cart. "Fine. But if our house starts smelling like a tropical resort, I’m blaming you."

"I take it the missus is always right?" Ethan teases, watching the exchange with an amused grin.

Lando huffs, but when he looks over at Y/N, who’s beaming like they just won the lottery, he just shakes his head with a smile. "Unfortunately… yes."

------------------------------------------------

By lunchtime, they were back at the apartment. The boys had gathered around the kitchen, watching as Y/N effortlessly whipped up a quick pasta dish while Lando stood to the side, assisting.

"Mate, you're literally just standing there holding a cheese grater," Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. "You don’t have to keep pretending in front of the cameras."

Y/N let out a laugh, sneaking a glance at Lando, who was hovering near her with all the enthusiasm of a kitchen decoration. "He always does this. He'll ask if I need help and then just stand there like a lost puppy."

"Why am I being targeted?!" Lando exclaimed, throwing his hands up, the cheese grater still in one of them.

Ethan smirked. "Has Lando ever actually cooked for you, Y/N? Considering he doesn't even use the oven"

Y/N paused, thinking for a moment before nodding. "He has, actually."

"Was it edible?"

"Wow," Lando scoffed, scandalized.

Y/N giggled, nudging him with her elbow. "It was! He made that TikTok pasta recipe. It was pretty good, actually." She shot Lando a playful grin before adding, "He did use nearly every single pot and pan we own, though."

Morgan and Ethan burst out laughing as Lando rolled his eyes. Y/N, still grinning, reached up and gave his cheek a gentle teasing pinch before handing out the plates. "But hey, at least he tried."

They sat around the dining table, eating, chatting, and answering a few lighthearted questions—all while playing a passive game of UNO.

"What do you typically do when Lando’s away during race weekends? I take it you don’t attend every race?" Ethan asked, casually dropping a Draw Two card onto the pile.

"Yeah, I only go to a handful of races," Y/N nodded, picking up her new cards. "I usually stay here and work. Try to get stuff done with Quadrant every now and then too."

Morgan smirked. "Does he get needy when he's gone for too long?"

Lando let out a chuckle, shaking his head, but Y/N grinned knowingly. "I wouldn’t say needy… but he does get a bit pouty when he’s tired."

"Pouty?!" Morgan repeated, dramatically scandalized. He turned to Lando, pointing his fork at him in mock disappointment. "At your big age of 26? Lando, mate—really?"

Lando groaned, throwing down an UNO Reverse card aggressively. "Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, I don’t pout."

"Oh, you definitely do," Y/N countered, nudging him playfully. "FaceTime calls at like 2 AM, all sulky, saying 'I'm so tired' , 'I miss you', 'Wish you were here', in the whiniest voice."

Ethan burst out laughing. "Oh, that’s fantastic. Please tell me you have screenshots."

Y/N smirked. "Oh, I have videos."

Lando's eyes widened as he dropped his fork. "You traitor!"

"It's cute!" Y/N argues, crossing her arms as Lando groans dramatically.

Ethan chuckles before shifting the topic. "And your favorite race on the calendar that you attend?"

"Oh... it depends, really," Y/N muses, twirling her fork in her pasta. "I love Japan—it’s such a beautiful country. But maybe Silverstone is high up there? Since it’s his home race and I get to spend time with his family for pretty much the whole week. And honestly, any race that Cisca attends. She's a sweetheart."

"Lando’s mum, right?" Ethan clarifies.

Y/N nods. "Yep!"

Lando scoffs, leaning back in his chair. "More like her mum now."

Morgan smirks. "Has she taken over your family too?"

"Oh, absolutely," Lando groans. "Whenever I have time off and tell them I’m coming home to visit, they always ask if she’s tagging along."

"They don’t even try to hide it anymore," he continues, shaking his head. "Always catch her on FaceTime with my sisters or my mum, like I'm the guest in my own family."

Y/N grins proudly. "They have good taste."

----------------------------------------------------

A couple more hours had passed, and now it was later in the day. The four of them were back in the car, but this time, the city was bathed in a glow of streetlights, making for a much different vibe compared to earlier. The camera captured them in their seats as they navigated through the illuminated streets, casual conversation filling the car.

It was dinner time, and Lando had officially declared it a cheat day, deciding they’d grab something quick for dinner.

"Please tell me we're getting McDonald's," Morgan groaned from the back seat. "I've been craving those mozzarella sticks since we got here."

The rest of them laughed, and Lando smirked as he kept his eyes on the road. "We actually are."

"Be honest," Morgan pressed, leaning forward slightly. "How often do you just say ‘fuck it’ and grab takeout?"

Lando chuckled, rubbing his jaw. "More than I’d like to admit."

"Cheeky bastard. Bet they know your usual by now."

Lando laughed, shaking his head. "I literally beg Y/N not to tell me when she’s ordering takeout," he admitted. "That McFlurry is just too damn good."

Y/N grinned, glancing at him from the passenger seat. "Yeah, and then the second I get it, he’s suddenly all 'Oh, let me just have a bite.'"

Morgan and Ethan burst out laughing.

"One bite turns into half," Ethan added knowingly.

"EXACTLY!" Y/N exclaimed, pointing at Lando.

Lando huffed, gripping the wheel. "Okay, in my defense, you always order the best stuff. It’s not my fault you have impeccable taste."

Y/N smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Keep sweet-talking me all you want, but you’re still buying your own McFlurry this time."

------------------------------------------------------------

"Thank you for today. I’m sure the viewers will love seeing this side of you two," Ethan says, giving both Lando and Y/N a hug as they say their goodbyes.

"Oh, it’s a pleasure having you guys here. Thank you," Y/N replies warmly.

"Don’t miss us too much," Morgan teases, pulling them into a hug as well—only to cheekily pat Lando’s bum on the way out.

Lando gasps, feigning offense. "You wish you could handle all this."

Morgan cackles as he grabs his bag, while Ethan keeps the camera rolling as they head toward the door, still filming.

The lens zooms in on Lando and Y/N, who stand by their doorway, watching their friends leave.

"So, how are you two ending your night?" Ethan asks, turning back toward them.

Lando, with a soft smile, casually wraps an arm around Y/N’s waist and pulls her closer. "Probably a movie night."

Morgan chuckles, shaking his head as he presses the elevator button. "More like sexy time—dirty bastard." He gestures toward Lando with a knowing smirk. "Look at him. Couldn’t be happier to finally get rid of us and have Y/N all to himself."

Lando, completely unbothered, just grins. "And what about it?"

Thawed

Kimi Räikkönen x sunshine!Reader

Summary: the many times throughout the years that only the warmth of his wife could thaw the Iceman

“He’s just so … cold,” your aunt comments, wrinkling her nose at Kimi’s back as he heads to the bar. It’s the first time you’ve brought him to a family event.

You bristle, prepared to defend your new boyfriend. “He’s not cold once you get to know him. He’s just a private person.”

Your aunt sniffs. “Still, he barely said two words all night. And that nickname — the Iceman! I don’t like it.”

You straighten your spine. “Well I do. His thoughtfulness and loyalty outweigh any lack of words.”

As you speak, you feel your doubts about mismatched personalities fade. Opposites attract for a reason.

Your aunt looks unconvinced, but you pay her no mind. You’re falling for the quiet Finn with a heart of gold. And you won’t let anyone’s disapproval chill that flame.

When Kimi returns, you lean up and kiss his cheek fondly. He looks pleasantly surprised. Let them judge. You see the real man inside.

***

“Smash it! Smash it!” The rowdy groomsman chants as you and Kimi cut into your wedding cake.

Other guests take up the chant, clamoring for Kimi to shove cake in your face per tradition. But you had quietly asked him not to — you don’t want frosting up your nose and ruining your makeup on your wedding day.

Kimi’s eyes meet yours, a silent question. You give a slight shake of your head. His expression hardens with resolve.

In one smooth motion, he whirls and smashes the slice of cake directly into the rowdy groomsman’s face. Icing splatters everywhere. The room goes silent.

“Here you go, since you seem to want the cake smashed so bad,” Kimi says coldly.

The groomsman splutters in shock. You have to hide your smile behind your hand.

Kimi winks at you as he licks icing off his fingers. “Now, where were we?”

Heart swelling, you lean in to kiss your wonderful, cake-covered husband. No one gets in the way of your wishes on your wedding day.

***

The paddock is bustling with activity as you make your way through the crowds, weaving between mechanics and engineers going about their race day routines. The smells of rubber and gasoline hang thick in the air. You smile and nod at familiar faces, receiving knowing looks in return.

Everyone here knows who you are — the bubbly, outgoing wife of the Iceman himself. The unlikely pairing has been the talk of Formula 1 ever since you started dating a few years ago. You’re warm and chatty. He’s cool and laconic. But somehow, it works.

You find Kimi in the Ferrari motorhome, sipping an energy drink, game face on. His brows are furrowed in concentration, icy grey eyes focused straight ahead. You know not to disturb him right now. This is business time.

Slipping into the seat beside him, you pull out your phone and scroll aimlessly, letting the comfortable silence stretch between you. The hustle and noise of the paddock fades into the background.

Finally, Kimi drains the last drops from his can and crushes it in his hand. He turns to you, the stern expression melting away. His eyes soften and the corners of his mouth tick upward ever so slightly.

“Morning,” he says quietly, voice gravelly.

You beam at him. “Good morning, love. Ready to go racing today?”

He nods, the hint of a smile still playing on his lips. “Did you sleep okay?”

“I did, thanks to my very comfy race driver pillow.” You wink.

Kimi snorts, the creases around his eyes deepening. He leans in and presses a quick kiss to your temple.

Around you, mechanics and team members try and fail to pretend they aren’t glancing your way, still not used to seeing the Iceman so openly affectionate. But Kimi doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“I’ll see you after,” he says, standing up and giving your hand a squeeze. His face settles back into cool concentration as he strides out to prepare for the race.

You settle in to watch qualifying, heart swelling with pride and love for your Finnish fireball.

***

“Kimi, the stewards want to speak with you about the incident with Perez on lap 37.”

Kimi’s jaw clenches, eyes flashing. “Typical,” he mutters.

You touch his arm reassuringly. “Go on, I’ll wait here for you.”

He nods, striding off to the steward’s office, race suit half unzipped and hair disheveled. You know he’ll be lucky to escape without a penalty. Kimi has never been one to mince words or hide his displeasure with other drivers. You can only imagine the icy staredown happening behind those closed doors right now.

Twenty minutes later, he emerges looking ready to smash a table. You jump up and hurry over.

“Well? What did they say?”

Kimi’s scowl deepens, if that’s even possible. “Ten second penalty. Ridiculous.” He spits out something in Finnish you’re glad you don’t understand.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. You drove brilliantly today.”

He shakes his head and stalks down the hall towards the paddock. You scurry after him, nearly jogging to match his long angry strides.

“Forget it. Not your fault the stewards are blind.”

You slip your hand into his, lacing your fingers together. Immediately you feel some of the tension leave his body. He glances down at you, the hint of a smile breaking through the thunderclouds.

“Let’s get out of here,” you say gently. “I’ll make you your favorite dinner, open a nice bottle of wine ...”

He nods, expression softening. “Okay. Sounds good.”

You smile up at him, giving his hand a squeeze. The stormy Finn may have a heart of ice on the track, but you know better. He just needs a little sunshine sometimes.

***

You pause in the kitchen doorway, heart melting at the scene before you. Kimi sits on the living room floor, your baby niece perched happily in his lap. He bounces her gently on his knee as she squeals with delight, the hint of a smile on his usually stoic face.

“Faster Unca Kimi, faster!” She cries, unruly curls flying.

He chuckles and picks up the pace, eliciting delighted giggles from her. Your sister watches nearby, still looking a bit bemused at seeing the Iceman so good natured and playful.

Finally Kimi stops, feigning exhaustion. “Whew, that’s enough for Uncle Kimi,” he says, lifting her up and pretending to wipe sweat from his brow. “You’re too fast!”

She dissolves into giggles and wraps her tiny arms around his neck in a hug. He hugs her back, looking more content than you’ve ever seen him. Your heart feels fit to burst.

“Who wants ice cream?” You announce, carrying in two bowls.

“Me, me!” Your niece starts to squirm in Kimi’s lap, reaching eagerly for her treat.

He stands, swinging her up easily onto his shoulders. “Let’s go have ice cream on the porch, give your mama a break,” he says. She kicks her little legs gleefully.

Your sister shoots you a grateful smile as Kimi carries her outside. You grin and wink. Who would believe it — the Iceman, a big softie for kids. But you know better. Under that cool exterior beats a heart of gold.

***

The crowds pressing around the circuit are suffocating today. Fans shove programs and merch at you for Kimi to sign. One overzealous teenage boy tries to wrap you in an uninvited hug.

Suddenly Kimi is there, gently but firmly detaching the boy’s hands from your arms. His face is thunderous.

“Back. Off.” The boy stumbles away wide-eyed.

Kimi keeps a protective grip on your shoulder as he marches you briskly from the paddock. Once inside the privacy of the motorhome, he cups your face in his hands.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” His tone is urgent.

You shake your head, still a bit shaken. “Just got grabby. Thank you for the rescue.”

Kimi exhales, pressing his forehead to yours. “I don’t like you getting swarmed out there.”

You smile wryly. “Hazards of being Mrs. Iceman.”

He brushes his thumb over your cheek. “I just want to keep you safe. Those crowds make me nervous.”

You kiss him softly. “I’ll be okay.”

His eyes bore into yours, icy blue melting into tenderness. “Still. Stay close to me out there from now on. So I can protect what’s most precious.”

Your heart flutters under his intent gaze. You lace your fingers through his, feeling infinitely cherished.

“Always.”

***

“Kimi, your phone is ringing again,” you call from the couch.

He doesn’t respond, gaze fixed intently on the TV as he navigates a difficult turn in his racing video game. The phone buzzes angrily on the coffee table.

With a sigh, you reach for it. The caller ID says “Bane of My Existence.” You frown. That’s the third call from her this week that he’s ignored.

“Kimi ...”

“Hmm?” He pauses the game and glances at you, eyebrows raised.

You hold up the phone. “It’s your PR officer again. Don’t you think you should answer and see what she wants?”

His expression clouds over. “No. Told her not to call me anymore.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” You keep your tone light and curious.

He shrugs. “Kept trying to get me to do stuff. Go to parties and all that.”

You bite back a smile, warmth flooding your chest. Your shy homebody of a husband, sought after on the celebrity circuit but wanting none of it.

“Well, I’m glad she hasn’t lured you away yet,” you tease gently.

The corners of his mouth quirk up as he takes the phone from you and sets it aside before pulling you into his lap.

“Don’t worry,” he rumbles, nudging your nose with his. “You’re the only party I need.”

You kiss him softly, heart overflowing. The glitz and glam means nothing to your Kimi. Home is where his heart is.

***

You awake to whispered voices and the smell of something burning. Bleary-eyed, you shuffle to the kitchen doorway.

Kimi stands at the stove, hair endearingly mussed from sleep. He’s scowling down at a frying pan, clutching a spatula like a weapon. Your brother leans against the counter, trying and failing to stifle laughter.

“What’s going on?” You ask through a yawn.

Kimi’s scowl deepens. “Trying to make you breakfast. Not going well.” He prods the blackened lump in the pan disdainfully.

Your brother snorts. “He nearly set off the fire alarm. I got here just in time.”

“I told you I don’t cook,” Kimi mutters, avoiding your gaze.

You pad over and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. “It’s the thought that counts. Thank you, love.”

He relaxes back into your embrace. Your brother mimes gagging behind his back. You stick out your tongue at him.

“Here, I’ll show you,” you say, gently prying the spatula from Kimi’s hand. “Just go slow ...”

Soon, the three of you are gathered around the table, eating the pancakes you made together. Kimi’s are a bit misshapen, but edible.

He looks inordinately pleased as you sample his. “Good?”

You beam at him and squeeze his hand. “The very best.”

His rare unguarded smile warms you more deeply than any breakfast ever could.

***

You awaken to the dipping of the mattress as Kimi slips under the covers. The red glow of his bedside clock reads 3:48 AM.

“Everything okay?” You murmur, rolling over to face him.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close against his chest. You feel the steady thump of his heart under your palm.

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” His voice rumbles low near your ear.

You nuzzle into him, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin. “Worrying about the race this weekend?”

He exhales, his breath stirring your hair. “No. Just thinking.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, you lift your head to study his face in the dimness. His eyes shine in the faint light, gazing at you with an intensity that makes your own heart skip.

“What is it?” You whisper.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his callused fingers infinitely tender. “Sometimes I still can’t believe you’re here. That you’re mine.”

Emotion swells in your chest, words escaping you. You cup his stubbled face and guide his lips down to yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

When you finally draw apart, he pulls you close again, tucking your head under his chin. No more words are needed. You understand each other perfectly in the quiet spaces between heartbeats. Soon his breathing evens out in sleep, and you follow him down, still nestled safe in the circle of his arms.

***

You’re just drizzling the last of the chocolate over the molten lava cakes when you hear Kimi’s keys in the front door. A smile spreads across your face. Perfect timing.

He wanders in a few moments later, hair adorably rumpled, eyes lighting up when he sees you.

“Mmm, something smells good,” he says, crossing the kitchen to wrap you in a hug.

You kiss his scratchy cheek. “Made your favorite for dessert. Now go get cleaned up while I finish.”

He squeezes you tighter, stubble tickling your neck as he nuzzles into it. “Can’t I have you for dessert instead?”

You swat his shoulder playfully. “Go on, you. Plenty of time for that later.”

He steals one more kiss before sauntering off, a grin playing about his lips. You shake your head, unable to stop smiling. After all these years, he still makes your heart race as if you’re teenagers again.

When he returns, you’ve set out the seared salmon, roasted vegetables, and the two perfect chocolate lava cakes. His eyes light up.

“Have I told you lately that you’re the best wife ever?” He asks, pulling out your chair.

“Hmm, I think you could stand to mention it more,” you tease.

He takes your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. His eyes pierce yours. “You’re the best wife ever,” he says solemnly.

You lean in and kiss him, happiness bubbling up inside you. However many times he says it, you’ll never get tired of hearing it.

***

“So, what’s it like being married to the grumpiest driver on the grid?” The reporter shoves a microphone in your face, invasive and smug.

You recoil, blindsided. “Excuse me?”

“Come on, he’s not exactly Mr. Personality.” The reporter leans closer. “Does the Iceman thaw out at home or just freeze you out?”

Humiliation burns through you. Before you can respond, Kimi is there, gently moving you aside. His eyes are blazing.

“Don’t you dare talk about my wife like that,” he growls at the reporter. “You know nothing about our life.”

The reporter withers under Kimi’s icy glare. You feel a rush of gratitude for your protective husband.

Kimi turns to you, face softening. “Let’s get out of here.”

Once you’re alone, he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Sorry you had to deal with that. He had no right to badger you about our marriage.”

You lean into him, safe in the circle of his arms. “It’s okay. You came to my rescue like a knight in shining racing gear.”

He snorts. “Hardly a knight. But for you, always.” He kisses you tenderly.

No matter what the media says, your life together is not theirs to define. Your love writes its own quiet story each day.

***

You awake in the dark to a loud crash from downstairs. Heart pounding, you shake Kimi’s shoulder.

“Kimi, wake up! I think someone’s broken in.”

He’s up in an instant, alert and poised to strike. You hear footsteps creeping up the stairs. Kimi pushes you behind him and grabs the baseball bat by the bed.

The footsteps reach the landing and a shadowy figure appears in the doorway. Kimi flicks on the light, bat raised menacingly. You both freeze.

It’s Sebastian Vettel, eyes wide, hands raised in surrender. “Whoa whoa, it’s just me!”

Kimi’s shoulders slump as he lowers the bat. “Seb? What the hell are you doing here?”

Seb runs a hand through his messy hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was in town and my rental car broke down outside. I was hoping I could crash here tonight.”

Kimi sighs, shaking his head. “You couldn’t call first?”

Seb grins sheepishly. “Forgot to charge my phone.”

You step out from behind Kimi, laying a hand on his arm. “It’s fine, love. Let’s get some fresh sheets for the guest room.” You turn to Seb. “We’ll figure out your car in the morning.”

Seb’s shoulders sag in relief. “Thanks, I really owe you guys.”

As you make up the bed, you share an amused look with Kimi. Only Seb could turn up unannounced in the middle of the night and get away with it. But then again, that’s why you love him.

***

You’re waiting at the finish line, heart in your throat as the cars scream past for the final lap. Kimi is battling for a podium finish, but has fallen back after a poorly timed pit stop. He’s gaining ground fast, but is he out of time?

The crowd roars as the frontrunners cross the line. P2 … P3 … waiting for P4. Come on, Kimi.

Then you see it, the red and white Alfa Romeo flashing past the checkered flag, narrowly clinching third. You leap in the air, cheering loudly. Kimi did it!

You rush down towards the pits, arriving just as Kimi climbs from his car. His race suit is drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, but his eyes are bright. When he spots you, a grin breaks across his face.

You throw your arms around him, heedless of how sweaty he is. “You were amazing! I’m so proud of you.”

He lifts you off your feet in a bear hug, laughing breathlessly in your ear. The sound sends joy bursting through your veins.

As he sets you down, you cradle his stubbled face in your hands. “I love you,” you say fiercely.

His grin softens to something more tender. He tilts his forehead against yours, heedless of the crowds milling nearby.

“Love you too,” he murmurs.

The cameras flash around you, eager to capture this rare unguarded moment. But Kimi only has eyes for you. Third place has never felt so golden.

***

“Ugh, your wife is so annoyingly positive all the time. It’s nauseating,” the other driver’s girlfriend gripes to Kimi at a race afterparty.

You freeze mid-laugh, stung by her disdainful tone. Kimi’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“I would rather have a positive wife than a miserable cow like you,” he says coldly. “Come on, let’s go.”

He takes your arm and steers you firmly away. You blink back tears, embarrassed.

“Hey,” Kimi says softly, tilting your chin up. “Don’t listen to her. I love how positive you are. Don’t let anyone make you feel bad for spreading joy.”

You give a watery chuckle. “Really? You don’t find it annoying?”

“Are you kidding? Your light balances out my darkness perfectly.” He punctuates this with a swift kiss. “You keep me from being a constant grump.”

You laugh and swat his chest. “Impossible. No one can tame the Iceman’s grumpiness.”

He smiles tenderly and pulls you close. “You do. Don’t change for anyone else.”

***

You pace the bathroom floor, heart racing. The little white stick sits innocently on the counter, but its result will change everything. One blue line for negative, two for positive.

Three minutes have never felt so long.

When the timer finally beeps, you take a deep breath and turn it over with a shaky hand. Two blue lines stare back at you.

Positive.

Emotions swell within you — joy, nervousness, excitement. You and Kimi have been trying for a baby, but it still feels so surreal now that it’s actually happening.

You hear the front door open and Kimi call out your name. It’s time. Clutching the test behind your back, you go to him.

He must read something in your face, because his brows furrow in concern. “Everything okay?”

Your face splits into a teary grin. “Everything’s perfect.” You bring the test out from behind you and hold it up wordlessly.

Kimi’s eyes widen. For once, the unflappable Finn seems utterly flapped. “You … we ...” He stares at the two little lines, then back at you. “We’re having a baby?”

You nod, vision blurring with happy tears. With a joyful shout, Kimi sweeps you up in his arms and spins you around. His excitement is boyish and uncontained.

When he sets you down, he cradles your face in both hands. “I’m going to be a father,” he whispers in awe.

You put your hand over his, overjoyed tears spilling down your cheeks. “You’re going to be the best father.”

***

You fidget impatiently on the exam table, Kimi’s hand clutched in yours. After months of waiting, today is your first ultrasound. If all looks well, you’ll get to see your baby for the very first time.

“What’s taking so long?” You huff. Kimi smiles and presses a kiss to your temple.

“Relax, they’ll be here soon.” His calm steadies you, as it always does.

Finally the technician arrives and asks you to lift up your shirt. She squeezes cool gel over your swelling belly and begins moving the ultrasound wand through it.

The screen comes to life, showing grainy black and white images you can’t decipher. The technician frowns, adjusting some dials. Your heart leaps into your throat.

Sensing your distress, Kimi gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. Just be patient,” he murmurs.

After a few tense moments, the technician’s face clears. She turns the screen towards you with a smile. “There we are. There’s your baby.”

You gaze in wonder at the little shape filling the screen, tiny arms and legs visibly squirming. Your vision blurs with tears. That’s your child, your little miracle.

Beside you Kimi is utterly transfixed, eyes shining. “That’s our baby,” he whispers reverently.

He lifts your intertwined hands and presses his lips to your knuckles. “Thank you,” he says, voice husky with emotion. “For this gift.”

You have no words. You simply lean into him, his solid warmth anchoring you as joy washes over you both.

***

You stare glumly at your reflection in the mirror. At eight months pregnant, you feel like a beluga whale. Your ankles are swollen, your back aches constantly, and none of your clothes fit over your enormous bump anymore.

Voices sound from downstairs as Kimi arrives home. You feel tears prick your eyes. You don’t want him to see you like this, a beached whale in sweatpants.

Sniffling, you ease onto the bed and bury your face in a pillow. Kimi finds you there a few minutes later. The mattress dips as he sits down and rubs your back.

“What’s wrong, love?”

You shake your head, embarrassed. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Gently he turns you over, brushing the hair from your damp cheeks. “Talk to me,” he says softly.

A sob escapes you. “I’m hideous like this! I’ve gotten so huge. You must be disgusted looking at me.”

Kimi’s brow furrows. He takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to meet his earnest gaze. “Is that what you think? That I find you disgusting?”

Ashamed, you drop your eyes, fresh tears spilling over.

“Look at me,” he says gently. You do. His ice blue eyes pierce yours. “You’ve never been more beautiful to me than you are right now, carrying our child.”

He places a reverent hand on your belly. “You are giving us the most precious gift in the world. How could I not find you beautiful?”

His words pierce your heart. You cover his hand with yours. “I love you,” you whisper.

He gathers you close, dropping feather-light kisses over your face. “And I love you. Always.”

You cling to him, feeling foolish and so very loved.

***

A contraction rips through you, more intense than any before. You cry out, squeezing Kimi’s hand desperately.

“Breathe, love, breathe,” he coaches, face taut.

You gasp air into your lungs as the vice grip on your insides finally releases. Kimi dabs the sweat from your brow with a cool cloth.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “Our little one will be here soon.”

Even through the haze of pain, his voice anchors you. Your Kimi, always steady as a rock.

Too soon, another contraction wrings a ragged shout from you. Kimi never leaves your side, letting you nearly crush his hand as you ride out the agony.

“I can’t … I can’t do this ...” you sob.

Kimi presses his lips to your temple. “You can. You’re the strongest person I know. I’m right here with you.”

His faith buoys you, even as your body is wracked with wave after wave of excruciating spasms. Your world narrows to the circle of his arms.

Then finally, miraculously, comes the thin, piercing cry of your child. Your exhausted tears mingle with joyful laughter.

Kimi cuts the cord with shaky hands, eyes shining brighter than you’ve ever seen. When they lay the squalling, pink bundle on your chest, the universe crystallizes to this one perfect point.

Your family, whole at last.

***

You awake in the small hours before dawn, reaching across the cool sheets only to find Kimi’s side of the bed empty. Padding down the hallway on silent feet, you peer into the nursery.

Your breath catches in your throat. Kimi stands over the crib, your tiny daughter cradled against his chest. One large hand gently supports her downy head.

He’s speaking softly to her in Finnish, too low for you to understand. But the love shining through his voice brings tears to your eyes. Your tough, taciturn Finn transformed into a doting father.

As he lays her tenderly back in the crib, you hear him murmur in a whisper, “Don’t worry little one, your isä will always protect you. I promise you that.”

He tucks the blanket snugly around her and brushes a feather-light kiss over her forehead. The tenderness of it makes your heart ache.

You slip silently back to bed before he notices you, not wanting to intrude on this private moment between father and daughter. But the image stays seared in your mind.

When Kimi joins you a few minutes later, you turn and press your face into his chest so he won’t see your tears of joy. His arms come around you reflexively.

“You okay?” He rumbles.

You nod, a lump in your throat. Your family is so very blessed.

***

The paddock is bustling with activity as you push your daughter’s stroller through the chaotic maze of the paddock. She’s only six months old, wide-eyed at all the commotion.

Mechanics pause to coo over her, their grease-smudged fingers surprisingly gentle. PR people stop to fuss and take photos. Word has spread — the Iceman’s baby girl is here.

Kimi strides over, stooping to drop a kiss on your head and tickle his daughter’s tummy. His race suit is on, grey eyes intense and focused.

“Sure you don’t want me to take her while you concentrate?” You ask.

He shakes his head, a corner of his mouth quirked up. “I need to see my two favorite girls before I drive.”

Your heart melts. Kimi scoops her up, and she clutches at his nose and gurgles. Nearby, you hear shutters clicking madly. The Iceman undone by a baby — it’ll be all over the press tonight.

But Kimi only has eyes for his daughter, face soft in a way it never is before a race. With a deep breath, he cuddles her close and murmurs something in Finnish before handing her back to you.

You kiss his cheek. “Go show them how it’s done, Daddy.”

He winks and strides off towards the pit lane, determination in his stride. Your daughter waves a chubby fist as he disappears from view.

No matter how many races he wins, now his best trophy waits for him at the finish line. His family.

***

“Must be lonely married to a man called the Iceman,” the reporter says slyly. “He’s not known for being warm and affectionate.”

Anger flashes through you. How dare this stranger imply your marriage is lacking.

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” you reply sharply. “Kimi is very attentive and loving in private.”

The reporter raises her eyebrows. “But his public image ...”

You cut her off. “That’s all it is — an image. Kimi deserves more respect than tired old stereotypes.”

Your voice softens as you glance to where Kimi is chatting with fans, his body angled protectively towards you.

“There is no one kinder or more loyal than my husband. He cherishes our family greatly, he just doesn’t flaunt it to the world.”

The reporter looks taken aback by your fervent defense. You almost feel sorry for her. She’ll never truly know the man behind the Iceman legend. But you do and you won’t tolerate anyone maligning him.

careful, he's on fire | kimi räikkönen

୨ৎ : featuring : husband!kimi x wife!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : after a rough race, no one dares approach an absolutely fuming kimi räikkönen, no one except his wife. while the paddock walks on eggshells, she walks straight into the fire, and kimi melts the second he sees her.

୨ৎ : genre : romance ୨ৎ : word count : 423

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

the paddock was walking on eggshells.

you could feel the tension in the air the second you stepped past security — thick, blistering, coiled tight like a storm about to snap. no one had to tell you that kimi had a bad race. you could tell by the way people were whispering in corners and actively avoiding the alfa romeo motorhome like it was cursed.

“is she—?” a mechanic whispered as you passed, eyes wide.

“is that—?”

“oh god. someone stop her before she walks in there—”

a brave soul, maybe one of kimi’s engineers, jogged up beside you. “uhm, mrs. räikkönen—he’s not in the best mood. i just—maybe give him a little time? he’s kind of… you know. hot.”

you blinked. “hot?”

“like—like radiating anger. you might burn your eyebrows off.”

you smiled sweetly and kept walking.

because you knew better.

kimi was sitting in the back of the garage, fireproofs tied around his waist, hair damp with sweat, jaw clenched so tightly you were pretty sure it could snap steel. his race suit hung limp off his shoulders, and his eyes were locked on the floor like it had personally offended him.

no one dared speak. no one dared breathe.

until you stepped into view.

and everything shifted.

he looked up. you saw it in real time—his entire expression flickered, softened, shattered. his hands unclenched. his shoulders dropped. and then came the most shocking thing of all:

a grin.

“kulta?” he said, voice a low rasp, and it hit you right in the heart.

you didn’t hesitate. you walked right into his space, cupped his cheeks with both hands, and pressed your forehead to his.

“you okay?” you whispered.

he didn’t answer at first. just pulled you into his lap like it was second nature, wrapped his arms around your waist, and buried his face in your shoulder.

“i hated today,” he muttered against your skin.

“i know,” you murmured, fingers brushing through his hair.

“but i love this,” he added quietly. “you here.”

someone cleared their throat awkwardly behind you. then another voice, way too smug:

“well, look at that. the ice man does melt.”

you looked up to find sebastian vettel and fernando alonso grinning from a few feet away, arms crossed. valtteri was trying not to laugh. lando and charles were just wide-eyed.

“should we start bringing her to every race?” joked seb.

“she’s clearly the key to unlocking kimi 2.0,” lando added.

kimi just rolled his eyes and tugged you closer.

“you’re all annoying,” he grumbled.

but he was still smiling.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

Hi can I pls request a Sebastian Vettel x reader where he and reader were teamates back in the day now are married reader has won many championships and seb is now her wag.... Attends the races with the kids etc.

U r bloody amazing luv, ur fics r brilliant!!!!!!!

♪ — 𝗪𝗔𝗚𝗢𝗡 𝗙𝗨𝗟𝗟 𝗢𝗙 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 sebastian vetteln x wife! reader ( fluff ) fic summary . . . You started out chasing the dream with him by your side—racing, rising, falling into something more. Now, the world watches you shine, but his eyes have always seen you brightest (1.3k words)

( master list | more of sebastian vettel ) ( requests )

You never thought you'd be the one still racing.

And you definitely never thought he'd be the one on the sidelines.

But maybe, if you really look back, the signs were always there—quiet and golden, tucked into late-night debriefs and lingering glances in the Red Bull garage. You and Seb were teammates back then. Just teammates.

Except… not just. Not when the eye contact lasted a little too long after qualifying.

Not when his laugh cracked open something warm in your chest.

Not when the two of you took the podium by storm, spraying champagne with the kind of reckless joy that felt like forever.

You did everything together—test days, press conferences, summer breaks. You learned each other’s tells before you learned your own. And somewhere in between fighting for fastest laps and stealing bites of each other's desserts, you fell in love.

Fast-forward to now: you’re not just together. You’re married married.

House in Switzerland. Shoes by the door. Kids who’ve inherited both your curls and his stubbornness. He still smells like warm leather and hotel shampoo and something soft you can’t name—but now, it’s wrapped in the domestic comfort of someone who knows where your favorite hoodie is and folds your race suit when you forget.

You always thought you'd retire together. After all, your careers were twined like vines from the beginning—Seb and Yn. Yn and Seb. Champions. Icons.

But after he bowed out—graceful and grinning and a little emotional—life changed fast. You took a year off to have the twins, certain that this was your new finish line. Your body was different. Your priorities shifted. The fire was still there, but quieter, buried beneath lullabies and late-night feeds.

You remember telling him—softly, almost like a confession—“I think I’m done.”

And he just looked at you across the kitchen, cradling a baby in one arm and making coffee with the other, and said:

“You should go win a fourth. And a fifth. I’ll take care of the twins.”

And just like that, the dream flickered back to life.

So you did.

You returned to the grid like a comet, burning hotter than before. Won your fourth title with spitfire precision and a mother’s patience. Your fifth with a calm kind of fury that made pundits whisper you might be the greatest of all time. Meanwhile, Seb packed snacks, braided hair, helped the kids paint glittery signs with "GO MUM GO!" in messy, proud scrawls.

Sometimes reporters still ask if he misses it. The competition. The adrenaline. The roar of the crowd. He always smiles, eyes tracking you from pit wall to podium.

“Not as much as I love watching her win.”

Because now he’s the one in the paddock with a baby strapped to his chest and a juice box in his back pocket, grinning when your name lights up on the timing screen. He holds your helmet like it’s holy. He’s first to clap when you step onto the podium and first to kiss you behind closed doors, murmuring, “My champion.”

You never thought you'd be the one still racing.

But here you are—five stars next to your name. A garage full of trophies. And a husband who was once your fiercest rival… now your fiercest supporter. Still yours. Always yours.

And he's never missed a race.

Your race weekend starts like always—with him kissing the back of your neck as you zip up your fireproof suit, his touch warm and grounding, like the sun peeking through a cold garage. The kiss isn’t rushed or showy. It’s gentle, familiar. A ritual older than your kids but still new enough to make your pulse stutter.

“Win today,” he whispers against your skin, voice low and smiling. “But don’t forget, we’ve got pasta night after.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow like he’s not being painfully obvious.

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you miss Italian catering,” you reply, grinning as you tap the tip of his nose.

He shrugs like a man who knows he’s been caught but doesn’t mind one bit. You catch a flash of silver in his beard that wasn’t there last season, and it hits you all over again how lucky you are. That he chose this. Chose you.

Your oldest, Leo, is already at your side, tugging at your glove with eager hands and wide eyes. He holds up his homemade flag with the pride of someone who’s just revealed a masterpiece—“GO MUM GO” scrawled in chaotic, glitter-glued glory. It's crooked and smeared and perfect. You crouch to kiss the crown of his head, feeling his curls bounce under your lips.

The twins are seated on the pit wall, feet swinging as they bicker in loud, animated whispers about who has the cooler paddock pass—yours, obviously, or Uncle Charles’s. You don’t even have to weigh in. Your pass glows crimson with five little stars etched under your name. Their mother: the reigning champ.

Seb hoists the baby onto his hip like it’s second nature, the way he once handled steering wheels and gear shifts. One arm around a toddler, the other adjusting the straps on a mini backpack shaped like a race car. He’s dressed in casual neutrals, ball cap low over his eyes, but the moment the cameras spot him—something shifts. There’s a pause, a flicker of awe. The four-time world champion, the legend, now better known as your husband.

And you swear—every single time—you see it in their faces: respect, nostalgia, and then something softer. Because while the world remembers the fearless Red Bull driver who conquered the world, you know this version of him is even more heroic.

He’s the man who makes your pre-race playlist. Who tells bedtime stories in three languages. Who wipes glitter off the baby's face and still manages to wave at the fans with a grin that hasn’t changed since 2010.

And when your name lights up on the timing screen in P1, he cheers loudest—arms raised, baby bouncing, heart bursting. The cameras always catch him. But you? You only ever look for him.

Because in a sport that never stops moving, he is your still point. Your home. And his favorite title these days?

Mr. Five-Time World Champion’s Husband.

Your race weekend ends like this: helmet off, hair damp, heart thundering under your suit. The roar of the crowd is still fading when you see them—your team already crushing you in hugs, radios buzzing with congratulations, and then them. Your whole world, running toward you like the final straight at Suzuka.

Seb reaches you first, with the twins hot on his heels, their little arms waving and voices high and breathless.

You open your arms wide, wide enough for all three of them to fit inside, and they do—like they always do.

You press a kiss to the top of each messy-haired head, and then to Seb—longer, deeper. The kind of kiss that steals time. The kind that says you did it again, and thank you for holding the fort, and I love you more than winning.

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, just like he did when you first met, and laughs—eyes bright with nothing but pride.

“Still the fastest one in the family,” he says.

“Always will be,” you wink.

Later, when you climb the podium—champagne still misting off your suit, the sun dipping low behind the paddock, gold spilling across the sky like someone knew you’d win—you look down and spot him.

He’s grinning like the day he first won Monza. That wide, boyish smile that once lit up entire circuits. But this time, you’re the one standing up there, drenched in champagne and glory. And he’s not holding a trophy—he’s holding your kids. Both of them balanced on his hips, fists pumping the air, chanting your name like it’s the only word they’ve ever learned.

Five stars glitter next to your name now. One husband who never let your light dim. Two kids who think you hung the moon.

Not bad for a girl who started out in his shadow.

Now he lives in yours—and he loves the view.

Heat [Lando Norris x reader]

description: You almost pass out in the heat, but Lando helps you out.

It was a brutally hot race weekend. You weren’t used to this kind of heat. Besides, you were on your period, and the combination of these two made it difficult to eat a proper breakfast or lunch. You had no appetite, and you weren’t even feeling quite right all day.

Still, you knew Lando had it way worse. He was the one racing. The least you could do was not to complain. You didn’t even tell anyone how strange you felt, not wanting to make a fuss while your boyfriend had to sit in a burning hot car and drive.

You took a walk in the paddock with Lando’s best friend, Max Fewtrell. He also complained about the heat, but now he seemed fine, chugging a bottle of cold water and chilling in an air-conditioned room, waiting for the race to start. The two of you were chatting for a while, but now he was editing something on his phone, so you decided to scroll through social media to pass the time.

No, you weren’t feeling well. Everything started to blur a bit around the edges. Your vision dimmed for a second, and you could hear your heart drumming in your ears. You placed the phone on the table you were sitting at and buried your face into your palms, taking a few deep breaths.

 “Hey, Y/N, are you okay?” You felt someone touching your shoulder. Your brain felt foggy, but you had a vague guess that it was Max. You didn’t have the energy to reply.

 Your lack of response worried Max. “Uhm, do you want to grab a bottle of water from the cafeteria or something? You are so pale.”

 “I’m not sure,” you mumbled, your voice sounding foreign to your ears.

 “What do you mean? Come on, let’s go get something to drink. We have like twenty minutes before the race starts,” Max answered, and he grabbed your arms to help you up. He didn’t want to leave you unattended in a state like this. However, you lost your balance, so Max lowered you back on the barstool before the two of you would draw unwanted attention. “Come on, Y/N, Lando is going to kill me if you pass out on me,” he mumbled nervously.

That was when Lando decided to check on the two of you in the five spare minutes he got. When he spotted you in the corner of the room, he quickly realized that something was wrong. He walked over to the two of you. “Everything okay over here?” he asked, eyeing you with a mix of worry and confusion.

 “I don’t think so, mate,” Max answered, biting his lips. “I wanted to take her to the cafeteria, but I’m not sure she can walk- Or something.”

Lando saw how pale you were. Then he noticed that your hands were shaking slightly. His heart sank in his chest. It wasn’t the first time that you started feeling off at the beginning of your period, and the heat wasn’t helping you either. He wondered how much you ate all day.

He pulled out the barstool beside you and sat down, placing a comforting hand on your back. “Max, can you get her a bottle of water and a granola bar or something like that?” he asked, not taking his eyes off you for a second. He took your hand, his finger hovering over your wrist to feel your pulse.

Max sighed in relief as Lando finally took over the situation. He nodded and rushed off.

Lando gently squeezed your hand. “Come on, you’ll be alright,” he muttered softly. “Max will be here with something for you soon, alright?”

You heard his words, but you couldn’t register what he was saying. Lando hugged you to prevent you from falling off the barstool, and you leaned against his chest. He held you close and kissed your forehead. He tried to ignore the fact that you were in a public space, and there were probably plenty of eyes, maybe even cameras, watching the two of you.

You felt limp in his arms. He knew you were conscious, but he wasn’t sure how long you would be. He smoothed the hair out of your face. “Come on, you silly little thing,” he spoke gently. “Don’t pass out on me like this.”

Max was back in a couple of minutes, and he handed over everything to Lando. Your boyfriend took the water immediately, and he opened the bottle while still hugging you close to his chest. Then he placed the bottle to your mouth and tipped it lightly.

 “Just drink a little bit, okay? Small sips…” he said after realizing that you didn’t respond. As you felt the cool water on your mouth, you finally swallowed. Lando sighed in relief. For a second, he was sure you would pass out right there in his arms.

After you drank a few sips, the colour finally started to return to your face. Your vision slowly cleared up, and you realized you were leaning against Lando, so you pulled away. He was there, sitting next to you, his suit halfway zipped, watching you intently. He handed you the water bottle, seeing that now you were able to sit up somewhat straight.

 “Hey there,” he smiled a little as he reached out to rub your back. “You scared me for a second.”

That was the point when Lando’s engineer decided to find him personally when he didn’t return after the promised five minutes. “Man, everyone is looking for you,” he frowned at Lando.

 “I know, I’m sorry, mate. Y/N was a little unwell, I couldn’t leave her like that,” Lando turned away to answer.

Your cheeks heated up now that you were in the centre of attention.

Lando’s engineer didn’t seem convinced by your pale expression. “Does she need medical attention?”

 “I don’t think so,” Lando shook his head, and then he focused back on you. He opened the granola bar and placed it between your fingers. “Take a few bites. Do you think you’ll be able to get back on your feet?”

 “Why?” you frowned, confused. You had no intention to go anywhere.

 “I need to get back to work. Will you be fine with Max?” he asked. He didn’t want to leave you yet, but he knew staying wasn’t an option when the race was just about to start.

You nodded.

 “Good. Just eat your snack, drink the water, and stay in here. I’ll get you after I’m done.” He patted your knee and stood up. He took one last look at you before he hurried away.

You sighed as you watched him get in the car. You knew he was trained to deal with the heat, yet you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. It wasn’t the first time you managed to almost pass out while he was doing perfectly fine.

You took a bite of the granola bar he handed you and watched him go.

Baby Jr Series Masterlist

A Carlos Sainz x MediaEmployee!Reader Story

Status: Ongoing

Series Summary: The teasing, fleeting touches became much more on the night Carlos won, the sexual tension between you two reached a breaking point. Perhaps it was that night, or the many nights that followed, but you were pregnant with his child, putting you in a difficult situation.

Series warnings: 18+ includes smut (check chapter warnings) allusions to smut, accidental pregnancy (it’s literally the whole plot of the story), workplace romance.

current total wc: 22.1k

Thank you to @tonysbed & @chilling-seavey for proofreading 🫶🏻

#babyjr fic talks -> writing process, answering asks about the story, and pretty much anything related to this fic series.

Taglist is OPEN (reply or send me a message to be added)

1. Friendly Banter (2.9k words)

2. Intimate Indulgence (4k words)

3. Salacious Daydreaming (3.1k words)

4. Meticulous Avoidance (2.8k words)

5. Corked Confession (2.2k words)

6. Truth Unveiled (2.8k words)

7. Careful Consideration (4.3k words)

8. TBA

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Pick You Up

Max Verstappen x reader

Masterlist

Summary: when Max has one too many gin & tonics, you’re the one who picks (him) up, every time he calls. Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: alcohol, intoxication, maybe an unhealthy relationship with alcohol??, mentions of Max’s shitty childhood, incorrect taylor swift lyrics

It’s 1am, and your phone is buzzing on the nightstand. You groan and shove your face into the pillow. You were having such a nice dream. Something about an island and a very attractive man. You let the phone ring until it stops, and then you hold your breath. Maybe it was a butt dial. Maybe it’s not what you think.

The buzzing starts again, and you blindly slam your hand onto the nightstand, grabbing for it. You swipe to answer without even looking at the contact. You already know who it is. Or at the very least, who they’re calling you about. It’s never anyone else.

“Max needs a ride,” a friend of his says.

You’re already rolling out of bed. “Yeah. Where?”

You could complain, you suppose, as you pull on a pair of sweatpants and a jacket. You could ask them to find literally anyone else, or beg them to have a designated driver for once, but instead you just slip your shoes on. You rub the sleep from your eyes and grab a Red Bull on the way out the door. Someone sends you an address from a number you don’t even have saved in your phone. Worry claws at your chest.

The truth is, you’ll never complain about Max calling you in the middle of the night, because if he stopped calling you’d worry about who he was relying on. Max is… popular. He’s got a lot of people trying to ride his coattails. He gets invited to events and people buy him drinks and offer him things and then it’s 1am and he’s too drunk to get home on his own. And then he calls you. Or, more often, someone calls you for him.

You pull up in front of the club, and Max is already outside, stumbling on clumsy feet. He lurches towards your car when he sees it, which is a relief, because you hadn’t exactly wanted to get out of the car. You find yourself resenting whoever he was out with for leaving him all alone, but he opens the door and climbs in and you plaster a smile onto your face.

“Hi, schatje,” he slurs, and you muffle a laugh into your shoulder.

“Hi, Maxie,” you say.

This is the only time he calls you things like that. It’s also the only time you can call him Maxie without earning yourself a warning glare, or worse, an elbow to the rib cage. You’ve known him for years, and yet it’s only when he’s wasted that he doesn’t mind the nickname.

“Seatbelt,” you remind him.

He nods and tugs at the belt. You end up having to help him buckle- that happens about 70% of the time. His fingers fumble with the latch as you do so, and he lets out a little huff when you brush his hand away. Once he’s all set, you pat his shoulder lightly and lean back into your seat.

“I’m drunk,” he warns you.

“I know,” you answer.

“So no crazy driving. I don’t want to be sick in your very nice car.”

You laugh and cock your head at him. “This morning you called this car a shitbox.”

He nods. “It is. But it is your shitbox.”

You laugh again, putting the car into drive. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

He rambles the whole drive to his apartment, about all the people he was out with tonight and what they did and who they did. Drunk Max is a bit of a gossip, and his gossiping to you won’t get him in trouble, so he takes full advantage of it. You listen eagerly the entire time, though you keep your eyes focused on the road. He’s not the most drunk you’ve ever seen him, still too drunk to be in a cab or an Uber by himself but coherent enough that the journey up to his apartment shouldn’t be too difficult. You park your car in his parking lot and climb out.

Max is halfway out of his seat when you come around to meet him. You take his hand and help him the rest of the way up. He stumbles a bit, laughing as you catch him. Then he throws his arm around your shoulder and follows you to the elevator.

His head bumps into yours in the process. You lean into the weight of him, the two of you standing like a badly built lean to. If one of you topples, the other will too. You try not to think about that too much.

You stay the night, the way you always do when this happens. Because the only thing a hungover Max hates more than the sunlight is waking up to an empty apartment. You’ll be there in the morning to take care of him. He’ll promise he won’t do it again.

By this time next week, he’ll be out at a club, and you’ll have the volume on your phone turned up.

…..

The next time someone calls you on Max’s behalf, it’s someone you actually know. It’s 2am this time, and your eyes are closed. You’re drifting in that space between consciousness and dreams. Your ringtone almost becomes a part of a half dream before you realize what it is. You turn the phone over. NoRizzz, it reads. You think Max added the contact for you.

You answer. “Hi, Lando. S’it Max?” You ask.

“I swear to god I lost track of him for one second-“ Lando rushes out.

You pause halfway out of bed, feeling a jolt of worry at the frantic tone in his voice. “Lando?”

“He’s gone, he-“ He sounds panicked. “I turned around and he’s-“

“Did you call him?”

“Of course I called him-“ Lando scoffs. “Look, I wouldn’t be so worried if I hadn’t already been thinking about having you pick him up-“

“Hey, hey, slow down,” you say, though your heart is racing as you head for the door. “Where are you? How long has it been since you lost him?”

“We’re at Jimmyz, it’s been a half hour,” Lando admits. “I didn’t want to bother you, but-“

A half hour is a long time for Max. He could be anywhere in the city right now. He could’ve walked, or taken a cab, or… anything. Sober Max is great at self preservation. Drunk Max is easily persuaded. You’ve used it to your advantage more than you’d like to admit. Not in any bad way, just- Max, sing karaoke with me! Max, come dance with me! Max, we should order pizza!

You head for the front door. “Okay. It’s okay. I’ll come meet you, and then-“

You swing the door open and nearly scream when something heavy tumbles into your apartment. Someone, actually, upon further inspection. It’s Max, lit only by the dim hallway light and a beam from the kitchen light that you always leave on. He’s blinking up at you from the floor, a soft smile on his face. He has his arms wrapped around himself, like he’s cold. His skin is damp with sweat.

“Never mind, I found him,” you say into the phone.

“What? How?” Lando asks, bewildered.

“He was sitting in front of my door,” you answer as you crouch down. You card your fingers through his sweaty hair, and Max smiles. “Must’ve taken a cab or something.”

“I walked,” Max admits.

That explains the sweat. That also tells you that Lando has lied to you- Max has been gone much longer than a half hour if he’s made his way here on foot. You choose not to call the other driver out on it, though. You want them to call you about things like this. If you chew him out, Lando will be less likely to do so.

“So he’s okay?” Lando asks.

“He’s fine,” you assure him. “I’ll talk to you later.”

You hang up and then start working on getting Max all the way into the apartment. He’s not much help. You manage to get his legs inside and then you close the door behind him. You’ll work on getting him out of the hallway next. For now, you sit down on the floor next to him.

“You walked here?” You ask.

He nods. “Missed you.”

You snort out a laugh. “You could’ve called me, I would’ve picked you up.”

He shrugs and shuts his eyes. “Didn’t want to bug you.”

“So you camped out in front of my door,” you say.

“Yes. But then you didn’t have to come pick me up.”

“I’ll always pick you up,” you say, brushing your thumb against his temple. “That’s what friends do.”

When he opens his eyes, they’re glassy. Your breath hitches. Max doesn’t get teary often, doesn’t get emotional often. Something aches in your chest. You rub your thumb over his cheekbone. He blinks once, twice, lashes tangled together.

“You okay?” You ask.

“Yeah.” He sounds so small when he says it. “Just. Thanks.”

There are these small moments, when Max shows a vulnerable side. These are the moments you think of when people spread vitriol towards him on the internet and ask how you could possibly be friends with him. They make you love him even more, and they make you resent the adults who were around him when he was growing up.

You’ve seen pictures of little Max, shown to you with funny anecdotes and teasing smiles. But when you look at them, and when you see him like this, you can’t find any of it funny. All you can think of is the other stories you’ve heard about his childhood. All you can wonder is how someone could’ve done those things to him. And then you wonder how despite it all, he ended up with such a kind soul.

Max is the one who brings you soup when you’re sick. He brings you trinkets from every country he goes to- the magnets fill the door of your fridge. Max sends you pictures of dogs he meets on the street even though he’s a cat person. He flies you out to races when you’ve had a bad week and buys you good pasta and better tequila. Max has a heart the size of a whole continent. People keep trying to chip away at it. You hate them for it.

So you take a moment to brush the tears from his cheeks. You don’t ask him why he’s crying, or tell him it’ll be okay. You just sit there on the floor with him in your hallway and wait for him to be ready.

Eventually, you get him up off the floor and drag him into your bedroom. It’ll be better for everyone involved if he gets a good night’s sleep in a real bed. You try to leave the room, but he grabs onto your wrist.

“Stay?” He asks, eyelids barely open.

You hum and brush the hair from his forehead. “Are you sure?”

“M’sure,” he says. “Don’t wanna be alone.”

You nod in understanding. You don’t even bother pointing out that he’s on your side of the bed. He’s too far gone to get him to roll over. You just climb over him and pull the blankets back and then tuck yourself in. You keep a respectable distance from him.

You know in the morning you’ll wake up to his arm around your middle and his face buried in your neck. You know because it happens every time you share a bed. Max will act like there’s nothing weird about it, will thank you for taking care of him, and be on his way before lunchtime.

You’ll crawl back into bed and curl up on your side, unsure of if you love or hate the fact that the sheets still smell like him.

…..

Charles calls you from Qatar.

You answer. “Charles, I cannot pick him up. I’m in another country.”

“Yes, I’ve told him that about a billion times,” Charles says. “He is very stubborn, you know.”

Something dawns on you as you sit up against your headboard. For some reason, you’ve always assumed that other people are the ones choosing to call you. That even when it’s someone who doesn’t know you, they’re getting your information from the emergency contact info in his phone. But this… Charles seems to be suggesting that Max has asked him to call you.

“Is he okay?” You ask.

Charles laughs. “He’s fine. He is a world champion, again. You know.”

You do know. You called and congratulated him right after the race. You can still hear the shake in his voice, the yelling of his team behind him. It’d made your heart ache, made you sad you weren’t there with him.

“Yeah,” you say. “You both still have to drive tomorrow, you know.”

“I do know, which is why I’m hoping you can help me,” Charles says. “We’re in his hotel room. His phone is dead, I guess? He came to use mine, so I brought him back here. He’s lost his charger.”

“There’s a spare one in his backpack,” you tell Charles. “In the small pocket.”

You hear the zipper and Charles’ amused laugh. “Did you pack his bag for him?”

“I helped,” you admit. “Let me talk to him and I’ll see if I can talk him down?”

Charles makes a noise of agreement. There’s rustling, then a thud. More rustling. You pinch the bridge of your nose.

Then, Max. “Hi.”

“Hi, Max,” you answer. “I thought you were going to take it easy tonight.”

“I am a world champion,” he says, so matter of fact.

In the background, you hear Charles groan.

“Yes, a world champion who still has to do a race tomorrow,” you remind him.

“I know. Can’t believe I got it in the sprint. A sprint I didn’t even win,” he says, laughing lightly. “Let the rookie win the race tomorrow. I’m the champion.”

“I’m going to throttle him,” Charles says, loud enough or close enough for you to hear. “I think in turn one I will run him into the wall.”

“Tell Charles if he hurts one hair on your head I’ll fly to Qatar and throttle him myself,” you tell Max.

Max relays the message. Charles is quiet after that.

“Doesn’t matter how you won it, yeah?” You remind Max. “You still worked just as hard to get there.”

“Yeah,” Max agrees. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You say with a laugh. “Charles has plugged your phone in. Make sure you turn it on and then go to sleep.”

You call his hotel and have electrolyte drinks and breakfast sent up the next morning, along with a bottle of painkillers. He texts you a photo of all of it along with a thank you message. When he wins the race, even hungover, you’re not the least bit surprised.

…..

When Max calls you at 11:00 pm, your first thought is huh. That’s early. You answer on the third ring, already looking for your keys. You wonder who it’ll be this time. A friend you know, or an unknown voice of someone he’s only met tonight.

“Schatje?” Max asks through the speaker.

You nearly drop the phone. “Max?”

“What, you don’t have my number saved?” He asks.

“No, of course I do, s’just- not usually you who ends up calling me, even from your phone.”

You think you hear him sniffle. Something twists in your chest. Before you can scramble to apologize, he’s speaking.

“Yeah. Um.” He sighs. “Huh.”

You can hear it in his voice, in the way the words seem to stick in his throat. Something’s wrong. You climb off the couch, headed for the door. “Tell me where you are, Max.”

He sniffs. “No, it’s uh- I don’t know why I called-“

“Max,” you repeat as you shut the front door behind you. “Where are you?”

He gives in and tells you he’s at some hotel bar. You recognize it and head down the stairs. You keep him on the line even as you start the car, as you pull out onto the road. He’s mumbling something about how he’ll be fine, about how you don’t have to come get him. Both of you know you’re already on the way.

You have to go in this time. For a moment you think about asking who else he’s with, and hanging up and calling them. But you don’t want to lose contact, so you park the car and head inside. You’re in a hoodie and sweatpants, a pair of slippers on your feet. Nobody bats an eye.

You find him in a back hallway, squeezed into a corner. Your heart crumples at the sight of him. You’re sure your face does too. He’s teary and curled in on himself. He looks so small. You love him, you worry for him, you hate this version of him. Not that you could ever really hate him. It’s just that he looks so vulnerable, so unlike himself.

As much as you want to get him out of there, as much as it would probably be the right move, you sit down next to him instead. You wrap an arm around his shoulder and pull him into your side until his head is against yours. You don’t ask him what’s wrong. He’ll tell you eventually. It might take a while- sometimes a few days. You always give him time. For now, you just sit in the hallway with him. You meet him where he’s at.

He tells you later that he suddenly found himself alone in the bar. After days straight of only being alone when he went to sleep, person after person wanting to celebrate his championship, he’d been alone. He hadn’t realized how much he’d felt like he was suffocating until that moment.

“I was one of the people celebrating,” you remind him as he clings to you.

“But you aren’t suffocating me,” he says. “You’re like… clean air.”

He sleeps in your bed that night. You sleep next to him, not even bothering to argue about it. You fall asleep to the sound of his steady breaths and the weight of his hand on your back.

When you wake up in the morning, he pretends he’s fine. You let him.

…..

Drunk Max is an overly honest Max. He’ll tell you anything and everything. So when you’re walking him home one night, his arm over your shoulder, gin on his breath, you’re expecting to learn some things. What you weren’t expecting, however, is for him to lean close, his lips against your ear, and tell you he loves you.

The odd thing is the way he says it. He leans close and tells you he loves you like he’s talking to someone else. He says “hey, you know-“ then he says your name- and then he says, “you know I love her?”

You shove at his side. “Yeah, I love you too, you dummy.”

He shakes his head, bumping his forehead against your temple. “No, I love her.”

Your heart stops at the way he says it. At the meaning he’s insinuating. Your feet fumble under you, but you manage to keep both of you upright.

“Max,” you say in a warning tone. “You’re drunk.”

“Mm,” he hums. “Drunk in love. Love drunk? Like that song she likes- got love drunk-“

He doesn’t realize he’s talking to you. He likely won’t remember this. You cut him off before he breaks into slightly incorrect Taylor Swift lyrics on the sidewalk. “That’s nice, Max. Why don’t you tell her?”

He shrugs. “Can’t.”

He doesn’t elaborate further, and you miss your chance to prod him about it when he trips over a bump in the sidewalk and nearly sends you both flying. After that, you keep your focus on getting him up to his apartment safely. You shove him into the bathroom in his apartment and tell him to brush his teeth. Then you stand in the hallway and press your hands over your face.

Can’t. Why not? Does he mean it? Did he say the wrong name? He won’t remember it tomorrow, you know that. Do you bring it up? Maybe you should just forget about it. He obviously doesn’t want you to know. And even if it is true, and he does have feelings for you, it would never work.

He stumbles out of the bathroom and presses a messy, toothpaste-y kiss to your forehead. That leaves your brain spinning even worse than it was before. You follow him to the bedroom and tuck him in. The cats glare at you as you disturb the blankets.

“You’ll stay, right?” He asks, tugging on your arm. He seems to know who you are now. “Please?”

You sigh and agree, climbing into bed next to him. He sighs happily and rolls towards you. He slings an arm around your waist, and you hold your breath when he presses his cheek to your shoulder.

“Goodnight,” he says, already half asleep.

“Goodnight,” you echo.

You lay awake and stare at the ceiling for at least an hour, trying not to listen to the sound of his soft breaths. Trying not to think about him admitting that he loves you. Trying not to think about him calling himself love drunk. Trying not to think about him at all, which is difficult with him right there.

You wonder if he really meant it. You want him to mean it, you realize. You tilt your head to look at him- you can only see the top of his head and the slow rise and fall of his chest. God, you want him to mean it. There’s no way he does, but you want it so badly your whole body aches with it.

Sassy walks up to the head of the bed and curls up right next to you. You run your fingers over her fur. Finally, then, you’re able to fall asleep.

…..

It’s not often that Max is the one to pick you up from a bar. It’s every once in a blue moon. You’re much more responsible, you plan ahead. You have a ride home, or you don’t get so drunk that you can’t walk, or you plan to stay with a friend who lives closer to wherever you’re going.

It’s not often, but it does happen. Which is how you find yourself in the bar bathroom, phone pressed to your ear, praying he picks up. There’s a good chance he won’t. He’s definitely not sitting around, waiting for you to call like you always are when he goes out. If he doesn’t pick up you’ll have to call someone else, but you won’t even know where to begin.

It’s only when you hear his voice that you realize you’re not sure he’s even in Monaco.

“Hello?” He says. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, just- what country are you in?”

“What?” He asks. You can hear rustling in the background. “Is this some sort of code? Is someone-“

“No, Maxie, I’m fine,” you say. “Where are you?”

“Monaco,” he answers, still sounding unsure. “At home. Where are you?”

“Monaco. A bar bathroom,” you answer. “Any chance you’d come pick me up? My designated driver met a guy.”

“Not a very good designated driver,” he says with a scoff.

“Says the guy who never has one,” you retort.

Max laughs and doesn’t argue. “Send me your location. I’ll come get you.”

Max gets there far too quickly to have been driving at a reasonable speed. He insists that you wait inside rather than meeting him out on the sidewalk, and says he’ll call you when he gets there. The phone rings, so you step outside. You’re thankful once again for his collection of cars and his tinted windows- nobody seems to have realized it’s him. He leans over and opens the door for you, and you climb inside. He already has the heated seat on for you, and he hands you a bottle of water after you sit down.

“Drink,” he says as he pulls away from the curb.

You roll your eyes but do as he says anyways. The city is a blur of lights outside your window, though you know Max isn’t speeding. He always drives carefully with you in the car, no matter how many times you beg him to go fast. You sink lower in the leather seat.

His eyes flicker over to you. “Did you have a good time?”

You shrug. “Yeah, till all my friends ditched me,” you say. “They found guys to hook up with.”

You see Max frown out of the corner of your eye. “And you didn’t? The men in this club must be blind.”

You pick at the hem of your dress. “Maybe I didn’t want to hook up with anyone. Maybe that’s not what I’m looking for.”

“And what are you looking for?” He asks.

He keeps his eyes trained on the road. You turn your head to look at him. You’re at a stoplight, and it paints his face red. You study the slope of his nose, the jut of his jaw. You, you want to say. I’m looking for you. You think of him the last time you picked him up, how he said he loved you. Called himself love drunk. And then you think of when you asked him why he hadn’t told you. Can’t.

So instead, you shrug. Max turns and looks at you, then shrugs in response. You pout, knowing he’s mocking you. His eyes trace over your face, then over the rest of you. You wonder if he’s relying on how drunk you are to make you forget this- hoping you won’t realize or remember him checking you out. He reaches into the backseat and comes back with a large dark hoodie.

“Here,” he says. “You must be cold.”

The light turns green when the sweatshirt is half over your head- you only know because you feel the vehicle lurch into motion. You squeak, and Max laughs and lays a hand on your leg to steady you. His palm is warm against your bare skin.

When you pop your head back out and shove your arms through the sleeves, you expect him to let go. He doesn’t. His hand stays there, a steady presence, the whole ride to his place.

He hasn’t even asked if you want to stay at his apartment- he doesn’t need to, he already knows what your answer would be. Plus, you’re a bit too drunk to really be left on your own. He leads you up to his door, keeping his hand on your lower back to steady your wobbling steps. You’d tried to kick your heels off in the lobby, but Max had insisted you keep them on. You take them off as soon as you walk in his front door, though, sighing in relief. You stumble over to the couch as he sheds his shoes and jacket. By the time he walks into the living room, you’re curled up in the corner, already under a blanket, face pressed against one of his throw pillows. Max clicks his tongue.

“Come on. Up,” he says, tugging at your shoulder. “You should change your clothes and eat something.”

You groan and reach out to wrap your arm around his neck. “I’m comfy. Come cuddle. Comfy.”

He sighs. “We can cuddle. If you change your clothes and eat something.”

The offer leaves you a bit dumbfounded, because Max isn’t much of a cuddler. It’s pretty likely that he’s lying just to appease you, to get you to follow his instructions. So you continue to lay there, trying to pull him in. When you don’t budge, Max huffs, plants his hands on the couch behind you, and straightens up. He does it before you can loosen your grip, so you go with him almost accidentally. He pulls you off the couch and grabs your hips, helping you to stand up.

“There,” he says, as you sigh and lean heavily on him. “Step one. Clothes.”

He leads you to his room, where you eagerly take the opportunity to sit down on his bed. He turns and begins digging through his drawers. You flop back onto the bed. One of the cats paws at your ankles- you don’t bother looking to see which one. Max throws clothing onto your stomach.

“I’ll go make you food,” he says.

It takes you far too long to find the motivation to shed the hoodie and dress and trade them out for whatever clothes Max has left for you. Eventually, though, you do it. He’s given you one of his shirts and a pair of shorts that are definitely yours, likely left behind whenever you stayed over last. You pull the hoodie back over your head and leave the dress on the floor. It’s only when you remember that Max is awful at cooking that you scramble towards the kitchen.

He’s putting perfectly cooked ramen into bowls. Frankly, it’s hard to mess up ramen, but you’re relieved either way. He smiles at the sight of you, and you think about telling him all over again. The last time you were drunk, you said you loved me. I love you too. We should talk about that. Can’t. Your heart stutters in your chest.

“Thanks,” you say, sitting down at the counter.

You never do get the cuddle he promised. You fall asleep there, forehead pressed to the granite, and Max carries you to the guest room and tucks you in. You swear you feel his lips against your forehead as you fall asleep. But that’s probably just a dream.

…..

By the time you’re in Vegas for the Grand Prix, you haven’t been drunk with Max in months. It’s been one or the other, not both. But since you’re there, Max drags you along to every event he gets invited to. You’re two drinks deep by the time Max makes it to the afterparty. He catches up quickly.

You sneak a sip of his gin and tonic and recoil at the taste. He gives you a blank stare in return.

“You’ve never liked it,” he says. “I don’t know why you keep trying.”

You shrug. “Exposure therapy. And my drink’s empty.”

He gives you a look that’s a mixture of what you think is exasperation and fondness. It’s his signature look when he’s dealing with you on nights out.

“We can fix that,” he says, as he reaches for your hand.

He leads you up to the bar, fingers knit with yours. He doesn’t let go like he normally would. It’s not uncommon for him to hold onto you in a crowd, especially when you’re drunk, but this is different. He leans over the bar and gives your order to the bartender, who nods and moves to make the drink. Max keeps his hand in yours. He finally lets go when you get your drinks, and you take a sip while you look up at him.

His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, blue eyes wide, and you’re trying desperately to read his mind. You want him to let you in so badly.

You end up at a table with him and his driver friends, squished in the booth between Max and Charles. You sip your drink and listen to them talk about race strategy and tires and Vegas in general. Max downs his drink, and someone brings him another. You do the same, and he gets them to bring you one too. And the cycle continues.

This means that by the time he turns to you and says, “we should leave now,” you’re pleasantly drunk, and you’d probably do anything he asked, really.

He slips out of the booth and pulls you along with him, ignoring the people who call his name. He has both of your jackets in his arm as he weaves through the crowds, holding onto your hand. It’s nice, to be here with him, to be a part of it instead of sitting and waiting for a phone call to come pick him up.

As the two of you stumble out onto the sidewalk, you tug on the back of his shirt. “Hey. Who are we going to call to come take care of us? We’re both drunk.”

Max turns and laughs, and then he’s quick to steady you when you stumble on the pavement. “We will take care of each other.”

You nod clumsily, leaning into the feeling of his hands on your hips. “Okay. Yeah. Nice.”

Max tugs you close, tucking you under his arm as he starts to walk down the street. “Lovely.”

“Simply lovely,” you say teasingly. “Where are we going?”

“The hotel,” he says. “I am sick of people.”

You deflate a bit at that. You’re not ready to say goodnight, to say goodbye, to be alone. You want to spend more time with him- it’s why you’re here in Vegas. Max seems to sense your change in mood and squeezes your shoulder, craning his head to look down at you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. “Do you want to stay out? We can find another club, I just thought maybe we could order room service, or pizza, and play a game or…”

He trails off as your eyes go wide, the hurt in your chest melting away. He cocks his head.

“I thought you were sick of me, too,” you say, and you bite your lower lip.

Max frowns deeply. The lights behind his head are blurry in your vision. You wonder if you’re just drunk, or if you’re tearing up. The way he swipes his thumb under your eye tells you it’s the latter.

“No,” he says, gently. “Never.”

Your lip wobbles. You shrug. Max seems to understand, and he just squeezes your shoulder again and keeps walking. You try to get your emotions in check. You have to, really, need to be normal about this. He’s just your friend. That’s all he wants to be.

“We could go do karaoke,” he suggests, pointing at a sign down the road.

He’s trying to distract you. It’s working.

You laugh and elbow him. “You’re an awful singer,” you tease.

“Am not!” He says, his tone full of mock offense. “Here, I’ll-“

You’re expecting him to break out into Viva Las Vegas, like he had at the end of the race over the radio. You’re bracing yourself for it, ready to grimace and cover your ears even though he isn’t really that bad of a singer. What he starts singing surprises you, makes you stumble a bit over your own feet.

“Welcome to New York!” He sings, and you stare at him, wide eyed. “They’ve been waiting for me- welcome-“

“Stop, stop,” you laugh, elbowing him as he attracts stares from people passing by. “We’re in Vegas, not New York! And you always get the lyrics wrong-“

“I am very good with lyrics,” he says, shaking his head.

“No, you’re not, you sang the other one wrong, too,” you tease. “You said got love drunk, it’s supposed to be got love struck. Remember, in Monaco?”

He stops in his tracks, his arm still around you, and stares. You stare right back. You frown and tilt your head at him, mirroring his earlier reaction.

“You remember that?” He asks, quietly.

“I was sober, Max,” you answer. “You remember that?”

He nods, lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes are wide, cheeks pink. “I wasn’t sure if it was real, or if I dreamed it. And you never said anything about what I told you, so…”

That’s when you remember the other part of that conversation, all those nights ago. I love her. Why don’t you tell her? Can’t. You swallow tightly, hands hanging at your sides.

“You didn’t seem to know you were talking to me,” you explain. “So I figured it wasn’t something you really wanted me to know.”

Max blinks, then nods. “I didn’t. Because you don’t feel the same.”

Your stomach twists violently, and your chest follows suit. “I never said that.”

His stare is so intense you feel like you’re seconds away from bursting into flame. “But if you did, you would’ve said something after that night.”

You shake your head. “I asked why you didn’t just tell me and you just said, can’t. You wouldn’t explain any further. I don’t know, Max, I just. I figured you had a reason. Like, maybe…”

“Maybe what?” He asks, still staring at you.

“I’m just me, Max,” you say, pressing your hands over your face. “I’m just your friend. People get crushes all the time but it doesn’t mean you want to be with me, you’re a fucking world champion and I-“

He reaches up with both hands and grabs your wrists gently. He pulls your hands from your face. There’s a smile on his lips that leaves you teetering between relief and apprehension.

“But I didn’t say I had a crush on you,” he says, brows raised. “I said I love you.”

You sigh heavily and try to pull your hands back to your face. He doesn’t let you. You’re looking anywhere other than his eyes. Anywhere other than him, really. He lets go of your wrists and then cups your face in his hands before you can move.

“Hey,” he says. “I said can’t because I thought there was no way you’d feel the same.”

You stare at him, wide eyed, as his thumbs sweep soft circles over your cheeks. Suddenly, everything comes into focus, bright and blinding and stark. The Las Vegas strip is glowing all around you, but none of the lights are as bright as him.

“I do,” you murmur, and he lights up even brighter, somehow, when he smiles. “Fuck, Max-“

He kisses you right there, where anyone could see, in the middle of one of the busiest sidewalks you’ve ever been on. Nobody seems to notice or care, nobody seems to understand that your whole world is shifting. His lips are warm against yours, he tastes like gin, and he holds onto you like he’s trying to be so, so careful. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck and thread fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

He only pulls away when someone whistles at the two of you. He’s grinning wide, hands still cradling your face, and you have to fight not to pull his lips back to yours.

“Come on,” he says, slightly out of breath.

You don’t ask where you’re going. You just let him lead you away. You’re so in love with him, you think you’d probably follow him anywhere. It’s terrifying and relieving all at the same time.

…..

A week later, in Abu Dhabi, you ask him if he wants to go out after the race. There’s a billion parties he could choose from.

“No,” he says, wrinkling his nose up at the idea. “I’m good.”

You elbow him lightly, raising your brows. “All those parties you called me to pick you up from, and now I’m here and you don’t even want to go out? You don’t want to celebrate your season?”

He smirks as he tugs on the hem of your shirt, pulling you along with him through the paddock. “I want to celebrate, but we don’t need to go out to do that. I have better ideas.”

His hand slips lower from your hip and squeezes at your ass. You yelp and look around frantically, hoping nobody noticed. He’s grinning with pride.

“Party animal Max Verstappen wants to stay in,” you tease. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

He shrugs, leans his head close to yours, and then admits, finally, “it was never about the parties. It was more about who was picking me up from them.”

You smile against his shoulder and try not to let it go to your head. He smiles against your forehead and tells you that he loves you for what must be the millionth time in the past week. You say it right back, drunk on the feeling of it.

a/n: thank you for readinnnnngggg!!

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully

He’s Not Usually This Gentle

Lando Norris x Pregnant!Reader

The garden was softly lit, fairy lights strung between the trees, laughter spilling from little groups scattered across the grass. The post-race celebration wasn’t wild — just drivers, a few mechanics, and close friends — the kind of night that let your guard down.

You stood near the drinks table, chatting with Lily and Carmen, a fizzy water in your hand. Every now and then, your eyes flicked to the far side of the lawn, where Lando was talking with a few McLaren engineers — but he wasn’t really talking. Every few seconds, he’d glance over at you.

When you shifted your weight or adjusted your dress, he would tense like he was ready to sprint across the yard.

“Okay,” Carmen whispered, leaning closer. “He’s looking at you like you’re going to collapse.”

Lily laughed softly. “Has he always been this... clingy?”

You smiled. “He’s just being careful.”

“Careful like he asked me if the lemonade had too much sugar” Lily said.

Lily and Carmen were still beside you, mid-laugh, when Lando started walking over — focused, determined, like he didn’t even see them.

“I think that’s our cue,” Carmen said under her breath, smiling knowingly.

Lily smirked. “Yep. We’ll give you two a minute.”

With a wink, they slipped away just as Lando reached you, his hand already brushing your lower back.

“You okay?”he asked quietly, hand brushing your lower back with the gentleness of someone handling a priceless artifact.

“I’m fine,” you murmured. “You’ve asked me that eight times.”

“And I’d ask it eighty more,” he said, without a hint of irony.

You tilted your head. “You’re going to give it away.”

“No, I’m not.”

But even as he said it, Lando gently tugged you away from the lights, guiding you to a quieter corner of the garden. The music felt distant here, the party just a background hum.

His hand moved to rest on your stomach — still flat, still your little secret.

“You’re not even showing,” he whispered, like he couldn’t believe it. “And I’m already obsessed.”

You smiled, pressing your hand over his.

Then—

“Oi, Lando,” a familiar voice called. “You two hiding from us?”

It was George, approaching with Pierre just behind him. You both jumped slightly, Lando’s hand still on your stomach before he realized and dropped it.

But not fast enough.

George narrowed his eyes. “Were you just talking to her stomach?”

“No,” Lando said too quickly.

Pierre tilted his head. “You... were, weren’t you?”

Silence.

Then George’s eyes widened. “Wait.”

Lando exhaled slowly. “Okay. Fine. Yes. We’re having a baby.”

You bit your lip to stop the laugh bubbling up as both men stood frozen.

George blinked. “But you guys only just—” He stopped. “Wait, no. That makes sense. You’ve been acting like she’s made of glass all night.”

Lando looked proud now, standing a little taller. “She’s carrying our child.”

Pierre smiled warmly. “Mate, that’s... that’s beautiful.”

George was still in shock. “Wait. Lando Norris. Is going to be a dad?”

Lando grinned, slipping his hand back into yours. “And I’m going to be good at it.”

You nodded. “He already is.”

This was Requested by @hsbabby.🫶🏼

New years- L. Norris

Lando Norris x fem! Reader

In which your boyfriend can’t take how good you look during new years celebrations and fucks you in a club bathroom

Warnings?; Smut, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex(plz use protection), public sex, slight exhibitionism, slight candaulism kink, kissing, cursing, sorry for any errors

Day 12 of my ficmas celebration!

Lando’s eyes watched your body intensely, the way your hips moved against the front of your best friend, arms swaying in the air, your hair flying around as you swung your head along to the beat.

He was stood up in the dj booth besides Martin while you and your friends took over the dance floor, you had decided to wear a black silk dress out, the tight material stinking to your now sweating body-leaving even less to the imagination.

“Why don’t you just go down there?” Max laughed from beside him, causing him to come out of his unholy thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“Mate you’ve been eye fucking her since you got up here, everyone can see you undressing her with your eyes.” Max laughed at his dear friend.

“She’s having fun.” Lando mumbled with a small shrug

“When has that ever stopped you before?”

Lando knew max was correct, it didn’t matter what you two were in the middle of or what you were doing, if he wanted you he was pulling you away from whatever it is that’s occupying your attention.

Lando ignored his friends giggles as he turned and made his way out of the dJ booth and onto the dance floor, fighting his way through the crowd of sweaty and drunk bodies until he found you.

“Lando!” You beamed as your boyfriend came into sigh, his tight dress shirt showing off his tanned chest and necklace you’d gotten him for his birthday.

“Hi baby.” He smiled back and pulled you into his arms, his hands landing low on your waist as yours wrapped around his neck.

“Are you having fun?” He questioned, looking down at your sweaty frame.

“Mhm, Martins playing all my favorites tonight.” You smirked knowing your boyfriend may have had something to do with that.

“So that’s why you’ve been down here moving like no one’s watching?” He teased

“M’ just having fun.” You grumbled.

“I know baby.” He laughed.

“Will you walk with me to the bathroom? Don’t wanna go alone.” You asked, the club was usually busy but with the added new year eve celebrations it was even more packed than usual.

“Of course.” He smiled and pulled away but not before sliding his hand into yours and allowing you to lead the way to the woman’s room.

His eyes dropped to your plump ass immediately, watching the way it bounced as you walked-he couldn’t wait to get home and fuck you into next week.

He hadn’t even realized that you two had made it into the bathroom until he felt your warm hand leave his. Looking up he heard your small grumbles about needing to pee as you made your way into one of the stalls.

And Lando hated to admit the way he felt his already aching cock stir at the sound of your pleasurable sigh that came from your mouth once you were able to go.

He wasn’t completely sure if that’s what made him push you back into the stall when you tried to exit, or if that’s what made him pull you into a breathtaking kiss.

His hands were gripping tightly onto your ass as yours tangled into his messy curls, lips moving in sync as his tongue slid into your mouth fought yours for a moment before taking over.

He basked in the small moan you let out when his hands began to slide underneath your dress but a pout is what quickly formed when you pulled your lips from his.

“Baby we can’t do this here, we’re in public.” You spoke, head leaning against the side of the stall while Lando looked down at you.

“We can be quiet.” He smirked, his large hands still making their way in between your legs.

“La-oh” you began but were cut off as one of his thick fingers slid inside your cunt.

“No panties?” He smirked down at you as your mouth fell open from his second finger sliding in.

“D-didn’t want pantie lines.” You whimpered

Lando leaned down nice and close to your ear, fingers speeding up.

“Liar, wore them with it a few weeks ago.” He whispered before swallowing your deep moan with his mouth, lips moving sloppily against yours.

He continued working you with his fingers, speeding up and slowing down to pull wanting moans from your throat.

You could feel yourself right on the edge, the fire in your tummy burning hot as your thighs began to shake, all Lando had to do was-

“No,no why’d you stop.” You cried as he pulled his fingers from you, popping them into his mouth as he sucked them clean of your juices.

“Because I want you to come on my cock, not my fingers.” He smirked, moving his wet fingers down to undo the button of his pants before sliding them down along with his boxers, just enough for his aching cock to slip out.

Your mouth watered at the sight of it, his tip was red and swollen begging for the smallest bit of attention. A bit of precum had ran down to meet the prominent vein that spread along the topside of his cock, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t ready to drop to your knees right then and there.

Lando knew the look in your eye and by the way you unconsciously licked your lips he knew what you wanted, but right now wasn’t the time.

“I’ll let you get a taste once we’re home, but right now all I want is to fuck you.” He spoke lowly as his hands came to the back of your thighs and signaled for you to jump.

You wrapped your legs tight around his waist, dress rolling up your thighs the perfect amount for him to slip right in. Your back was pressed firmly against the side of the stall as he reached down to pump his cock a few times.

And soon you were gasping at the delicious burn that filled your body when he slipped in, filling you to the absolute brim.

He moved his hips slowly, allowing you a moment of adjustment before he was quickly changing pace and fucking into with fast but deep strokes, basking in the way your eyes rolled every time his tip hit the spongy spot inside you.

“Fuck lan, j-just like that.” You cried, hands coming up to grip his already messy curls.

The sounds of your mixed whimpers and skin slapping filled the tiny stall, Lando’s movements never ending even as you heard the door open and a pair of heels against the floor.

Your eyes went wide as you looked at Lando, however you were only met with an evil smirk and a look of pure determination.

The little shit had brought a thumb between your thighs to play with your sensitive bud, earning Lando a look of pure hopelessness as you both knew there was no way of keeping you quiet now.

“Lan-ngh!-shit.” You whimpered as you could feel the denied climax from earlier creeping back up, the burn returning to your lower stomach even more intense this time.

Lando groaned at the way you began to clench him, “fuck baby, so tight.” He growled.

You two were so caught up in each other that you almost missed the gasp that came from a few stalls down, your eyes grew wide remembering the girl that had came into the bathroom.

However Lando still didn’t care and simply brought a finger to his lips, signaling you to stay quiet. However that was quite hard as his hips began moving at an unforgiving pace and you were knocked over the edge.

Your head slammed against the stall as your climax overtook your body, you brain short circuiting at the overwhelming feeling in your body as Lando continued fucking you through your high.

“Shit baby, I’m going to come.” Lando cried as he could feel his own fire growing in his stomach.

“Go on lan, fill me up” you encouraged the boy, hands tangled in his damp curls, brushing back the ones that had begun to stick to his sweat covered forehead.

“Fuh…fuck!” He growled as he stilled inside of you and you felt the familiar twitch of his cock inside you before your walls were painted white with his release.

He pressed his forehead against yours as you both caught your breaths and it was the sound of the bathroom door opening and the chant of “happy new year” from outside that brought you both back to earth.

“Happy new year baby.” Lando giggled as he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours softly.

“Happy new year my love.” You cheesed looking up at him with soft and tired eyes, he smirked at the fucked out expression on your face and realized you two should probably get cleaned up and head home.

Exiting the bathroom after getting cleaned up and fixing yourselves you made your way back to the group up by the dj booth where you were greeted with Max and Pietra who both held smirks on their faces.

“Looks like you two had some fun bringing the new year.” Max spoke with a giggle.

“Yeah, I’d say it was pretty nice.” Lando spoke, breaking into laughter as you elbowed his side.

“Wasn’t nice for the girl a few stalls down” you mumbled slightly embarrassed.

“Ehh she’ll be fine, she got a free show.”

“Lando!” You scolded but he only laughed harder and pulled you into a kiss.

“Love you” he cheesed

“Yeah, yeah, I love you to.” You grumbled but snuggled into his side as his arms held you tight.

-

Happy new years my loves!

Also the last fic of my celebration🥹

oscar w a feral!gf who fully believes that she could fight a kangaroo. idk, it's kind of a shit prompt but just a lil something

-🌠

don't know what the fuck this became but enjoy! thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

“You sure you’ve got her?”

“ I'll be fine.” 

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ve got—wait, baby, no—” 

You burst into a fit of giggles as you felt Oscar’s arms wind around your waist, pulling you back into his chest before you could get far. You leaned back into his embrace, tilting your head back until you were practically looking up at him upside down—a sight that only made you giggle even more.

Your friend raised her brows, looking at Oscar with a doubtful look. “Are you absolutely sure?” 

He gave her a tight-lipped smile as he held you up, but something in his chest eased a little at how concerned your friend was. It was reassuring, in some odd way. It was nice to know you had a good support group when he was half-way across the globe, wishing he was beside you. 

“I can handle her,” he said, almost sounding amused when you let out a scoff. 

“I don’t need help! I am so fine on my own,” you commented, attempting to step away from him to prove a point but the stumble in your legs had him clinging onto you. “I could, like, totally fight a kangaroo right now.”

Oscar pressed his lips together to bite back his smile. “A kangaroo?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded confidently before gasping, looking at your boyfriend with wide eyes. “Oh my god, you’re basically a kangaroo.” 

“Jesus, you drank a lot,” Oscar murmured as he waved your friend goodbye, watching her head back inside to the bar he had just driven to to pick you up before he began guiding you towards his car.

“I could fight you!” You said, sounding far too happy about the prospect of it. “I have a mean right hooker!”

“Hook,” he corrected with a fond smile. “Do you even know what that means?”

“Of course not,” you said before bursting into another fit of giggles, practically sinking back into his embrace and giving him your full body weight. 

To his credit, Oscar hardly even faltered. Instead, his arms remained locked around you as he practically carried you towards the passenger seat of his car. He continued to let you ramble away, knowing that at some point you would tire yourself out and the sleepier side of your drunk self would come out. 

“Do I annoy you?” 

Oscar’s head snapped around to you so quickly, it was almost comical. Luckily, the car had been parked at a red light, but that didn’t stop the uncomfortable twist in his stomach when the question passed your lips.

“What?” He frowned as he watched you lazily blink at him, almost as though you were waiting for him to say yes. “Baby, I—” He paused, shaking his head. “No, of course not.”

“Okay,” you said, giving him a small smile. “I don’t think you’re annoying either.”

But the light-hearted teasing didn’t shift his attention away from the heavy question. “Why would you ever think you annoyed me?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, unable to fight the yawn leaving your lips as you leaned further back in your seat once the lights went green and Oscar began driving again. “Just heard some people mentioning something.”

Oscar frowned. “Who?” 

But you just shrugged again.

And maybe somewhere in your drunk and fuzzy brain, you knew not only would it be embarrassing to say out loud, but also that Oscar would be upset by it. He didn’t get angry, not when it came to himself. He was fairly laid-back, he let things mostly wash over him before moving on with his life. 

But when it came to the people he loved? When it came to you? It was a whole different story.

You knew that it would upset him that somebody upset you, that their words affected you enough to play on your insecurities and doubts. It would upset him to hear someone bashing you in such a cowardly way, mocking the way you acted and how loud your personality was. It would upset him to hear the way they thought you were too much for him, not good enough for him. 

People like you weren’t right for people like Oscar. 

“Baby,” he said in a soft voice after you had fallen quiet. He watched as you blinked, glancing around and seeming to realise you were now parked outside his place. “Look at me.” 

You turned your head, your eyes meeting his and something eased in your chest. 

He reached towards you, his hand engulfing your cheek as you leaned into his touch. He watched you for a moment before leaning over the console, pressing a soft and chaste kiss on your lips before he spoke. “I don’t know what happened but you could never annoy me.”

You blinked, your hand reaching out to hold his wrist like you were scared he would pull away. “Promise?” 

“Promise,” he said with a nod before smiling at you, that full lip smile that made your heart stutter a little. “C’mon now, need to get my pretty girl ready for bed.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes even if the idea of your boyfriend doting over you warmed your heart. “M’tired,” you grumbled as you watched Oscar reach for the door. “Let’s just go to bed.”

“Nuh uh, gotta take your makeup off, baby,” he said with a shake of his head, smiling a little when you let out a whine. “I promise I’ll do all the work.”

Your smile brightened. “Have I mentioned that I love you?” 

“Yeah, once or twice,” he grinned back at you. “I love you too.”

“Of course you do.” 

Oscar sighed. “Had to ruin the moment, didn’t you?”

“Just pointing out the facts, my kangaroo boy.”

His nose scrunched up. “Please do not let that become a thing.”

You could only laugh in response.

.