Latest Posts by f1racingrecs - Page 5

The Brains of the Relationship

MV1 x reader

Pictures are not mine and credit is given to those who took/edited them. Also this is in no way meant to represent any of the real life people- they are their own person and have their own relationships. This is all fake lol.

A/N: next up I have an Oscar or Charles imagine. Plus a part two of the Charles and famous singer gf smau

Summary: Max’s girlfriend is smarter than him and everyone gives him shit for it. All fluff. 💕

"Baby, I'm going to stream." Max warned you, he normally did. Allowing you the time to make yourself scarce, hiding in the bedroom or completely leaving the apartment. Today, you were too invested in your studying and couldn't be bothered to move and interrupt the reading you were doing.

Exams were coming up and you wanted to be as prepared as possible. Plus, you wanted all the free coffee you could get at Max’s place.

It had been a huge win that Max hated coffee, more for you. The only downside, he didn’t have a coffee pot—buying one once you started staying over more. Even getting you a coffee mug with a picture of the cats on it. The mug was one of your favorite gifts from him, much better than the unique brown leather Birkin bag in your opinion.

The bag that you had pretty much beaten to shit from shoving all your notes and textbook into when at the paddock and Red Bull hospitality. The fans had been shocked at the sight of the destroyed 75 thousand dollar bag next to you in the pictures that the admin had posted of you. Edits of them making it onto F1 gossip sites and WAG fashion instagrams.

"Mhhhm, yeah, whatever." You brushed him off, barely noticing when he came over to give you a kiss on the forehead and smooth the back of your wild hair down--between your lack of sleep and forgetting to brush your hair you were sure you looked rough.

He swore your hair was getting curlier by the day, you figured it was the salt air from the ocean that he just happened to live by.

"Hey, sweet girl," you spoke softly to Sassy as she jumped on the soft next to you and curled into the side of your leg. You gave her a light pet and scratch on the head before focusing back on the work in front of you.

"I'm offended you gave the cat more attention than me." Max joked, settling into the sim seat and looking back over at you. He wouldn't admit that you looked adorable glaring at him over the brim of your glasses. It would only further irritate you.

"Sorry, I love you more baby. Enjoy the stream." He chuckled at the sarcasm in your voice, of course you loved him, more than the cats hopefully. But he knew you were stressed about your exam in two days. It was a good percentage of your grade and even counted towards your Capstone project, which you had been working so hard on all year.

It was the reason that you had missed a good amount of the races this year much to his dismay. But it made it even more important when you were at a race—he really wanted to win when you were there.

“Darling,”Max said, but you made not motion to pay attention to him. The guys laughed over the headset at you ignoring him—the fans messaging in the chat about how cute you looked snuggled up on Max’s sofa..well, the ones that liked you at-least.

“What are you looking at? The guys want to know.” Max said easing his voice slightly this time, turning to look at where you were seated on the sofa, big textbook in hand and glasses slipping down your nose as you read the small text. Underlining words and making notes in the margin.

Surprised by the breaking of the usual silence, you looked up at him with wide eyes. Normally when Max streamed you sat to the side of the camera and out of view audience and his teammates.

Occasionally the audience would spot your foot in the background or notice your soft voice in the background of his feed talking to the cats, but you preferred to stay off camera and avoid any screenshots being taken of you--especially now, dressed in old sweats, Max's World Championship shirt from 2022, and large circular glasses.

Typically Max liked to sit and talk with the guys while doing some sim racing, but this time the audience drew their attention to you and the massive book that you were barely able to hold with your hands.

"Um…its uh, the fundamental principles of nuclear reactors." If you squinted enough you could see the guys talking and laughing at the answer, you would've thought they were laughing at you if Max didn't speak up.

"Yeah, yeah-I know I'm the stupid one, she is the brains of the relationship." Of course the guys would be bullying him about it, and honesty, Max is very smart. You were sure that if he had gone to college his grades would have defiantly been better than yours.

It made Max beam with pride when people mentioned how smart you were, he loved that about you. You were almost always the smartest person in the room and it made him proud.

"They want me to tell you that you're out of my league." Max said comically, and you could say the same thing about him.

“I know.” You said flashing a sweet smile to him and the camera.

It had been absolutely by chance that the two of you had met. He had been trying to get into his car when he was blocked, because you had parked too close to him and it made it impossible for him to even open his door.

Max’s hands had been full with smoothies and what you assumed was a bag of bagels when you ran up to him, profusely apologizing to him. Max hadn't been pissed, only enamored by you and they way that you were confident yet good-natured.

You had been clueless to who he was, mostly due to ignorance and having you head in the books. Formula One was not super popular where you were from and you were only in Monaco for school. Max also enjoyed that for the few days it lasted when you two had just started hanging out, until a group of people came up asking for photos and asking him about Red Bull.

You just started dating when his sister had come to visit in Monaco.

You weren’t at the apartment when she came to visit, wanting to give the two some personal time together, but your belongings were.

Max’s kitchen table covered with your school papers. He didn’t dare touch them incase you had them in a specific order.

“What…is this?” Victoria asked, pointing to the nuclear physics book on the table. “You doing some light reading?” She joked with him, obviously it wasn’t Max’s belongings, plus the handwriting for the notes were too feminine.

Anxiously he scratched at the back of his head. Max had continently left out details that he was in a new relationship to his sister. Mostly because he knew she would give him shit like any sibling would do.

“No, it’s my girlfriend’s.”

“Hmm, and she is this smart and still decided to date you? I have got to talk to her.”

Max was relieved.

When the season started back up it had become a part of your normal life, joining Max for the three days at the track when you were able, and meeting the other drivers. Who, of course, had been lovely with you. The girlfriends were just as sweet.

Naturally, you and Lily had clicked instantly. Chatting about school and exams. About how you couldn’t wait to graduate and finally start moving forward in your own careers.

It was sometimes hard to be around people who were already years into a career. Max even more so, starting at 17. You hadn’t even made it to college at that age. He was so successful that sometimes it made you feel worse…like you were so behind. So it was nice to talk to someone who understood that.

“What do you think about this one?” You turned the study guide so Lily could read the question easier.

The two of you had found a nice spot away from the craziness of the media day and fans, settled in at a small table outside of the McLaren hospitality. The small table covered in books, notes, highlighters, and multiple pens.

There was no room to put any of your personal belongings on the table, so the Birkin had to sit on the ground. It wasn’t something that you had thought too much about, but it had caught the attention of others.

Before Lily could give you her the response to your study question, she was interrupted by none other than her boyfriend. Oscar. The two made a lovely couple, two of the most genuine people you have honestly ever met.

“You know my sisters would kill you if they saw that,” Oscar joked to the bag on the ground that was practically busting at the seams with all of her belongings.

“It was a gift from Max. He said I could use it however.” Your voice sounded smaller than usual. Oscar was only joking but you worried that people would consider you arrogant and distasteful for using it as almost a backpack.

You felt sheepish to admit that you hadn’t put much thought into how you had been using it.

“Stop giving her trouble. We are trying to study. Shouldn’t you be off doing media with Lando somewhere?” Lily’s soft voice spoke up, giving him a look.

One that said, why are you bothering us?

Oscar just said that the other man was around here somewhere, probably with Max. You hoped that the pair would show up so you could give him a kiss before he had to go to the driver briefing.

Oscar took a seat next to Lily, waiting for Lando to make an appearance. Now sitting quietly as the two of you sat silently writing and you thoughtlessly clicking your pen as you tried to work out a problem.

“Well, well—look who is it. “Lando strutted over, grin on his face. Much to your excitement, Max was with him.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Max greeted you, smile in his face and coffee in hand for you.

Lando fake gagged at the pet name. Max only rolled his eyes at the younger man’s antics, handing you the coffee and warning that the cup was kind of hot and not to burn your hand.

“You are the best. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He gave you a soft kiss, quickly, in hopes that no one would violet your privacy and try to take pictures of the sweet moment.

Lando got sidetracked from his side conversation with Oscar and turned his attention to the books on the table. It made him glad that he hadn’t gone to Uni. There was no way he would have the attention span to sit and try to understand. the text.

“Mate, she is so much smarter than you. It’s insane.” Lando said. Leaning down to read your notes, not really able to comprehend what they said, even though they were in English. “You too, Osc. Not sure how you two muppets managed to trick such smart girls into dating you losers.”

from the start ⋆𖦹⋆｡˚⋆ฺ

pairing: oscar piastri x childhood friend! reader summary: when you show up to your first day of work experience at McLaren, you're greeted by a friendly face and a whirlwind of old emotions warnings: none, just some awkward dialogue and a backstory i very vaguely hint at because i don't want to reveal it yet ... w/c: 2.6k

a/n: whew this ended up being WAY longer than I had intended it to be whoops. also! may or may not have relied on personal experience from living in a small aussie suburb and having awkward interactions like this DAILY. thinking of making a pt2 for this if it gets enough attention :"") hope u guys enjoy !!

you can read pt2 here !!

You hadn’t seen Oscar in 12 years, maybe even longer. 

And yet, here he was standing in front of you - much, much taller albeit. Words seemed difficult to form, the only thing you were certain of was that nothing you said could encapsulate the pure shock that swept over you upon locking eyes with the boy, if you could even call him that anymore. 

“Oscar.” Was all you could let out, breathy and a little incredulous. You were lucky though, as it was clear he was experiencing a similar wave of emotions. Your name tumbles out of his mouth and you’re almost snapped out of your daze by the fact that his voice has dropped about a thousand octaves from the last time you heard it. 

“It really is you,” he says, and you let out another gasp of disbelief as you watch his mouth curve into a smile. 

“You two know each other?” came the voice of your superior, who had just been showing you around the McLaren building - the place you had been assigned to for work experience, a requirement during your last year as an engineering student  - and was clearly eager to get on with it. 

“Yeah we, uhm, went to school together. When we were kids.” Oscar piped up, answering the question on your behalf with a polite tone that didn’t give much else away about how he felt about this, admittedly awkward, twist of fate. It also didn’t give away the fact that you two could hardly just be called ‘people who went to school together’ - although you chalked that up to him seeking to avoid any more questions. 

“Guess karting worked out for you, hey?” You were the worst at small talk, but something inside you was desperate not to let go of this opportunity chance had dropped into your lap, even if a stupidly obvious question was what it took to do so. 

He lets out a soft chuckle, easing the tightness in your chest, thank god. “Yeah, I guess you could say so.” He continues to laugh as he’s saying it, his eyes crinkling and cheeks flushing a little as he does. You’re so entranced watching the little movement in his expression, simultaneously so familiar and refreshing, that you hardly notice the blush spreading across your own face. 

Your superior, still standing behind you with his arms folded and a bored expression on his face, clears his throat loudly. You take it as your sign to go on with him for the rest of your tour, but it’s like your feet are stuck in place, your eyes stuck on Oscar’s. A wave of regret washed over you. 

Regret at not bothering to look at the social media accounts of the company you were applying to, because then you might’ve seen his face plastered all over them - although whether that would’ve changed your mind you’re less sure about. 

Regret at not wearing a better-ironed top, or fixing your hair properly because now you’re standing here in front of him, and his stupidly perfect hair, feeling a little bit ridiculous. 

But most of all, regret for not keeping up with him over the years, because then you might’ve been able to have a decent conversation instead of whatever this was. 

Finally, you managed to uproot your feet and crane your neck just enough to catch sight of your superior disappearing around the corner.  

“Well, I should probably get going.” You stuff your hands in the pockets of your pants and try your best to not move so damn awkwardly, but he just stands there and watches you. 

“Right, well, I’ll uhm, see you around I guess?” You still can’t get over how low his voice is now. Even a lower voice isn’t enough to hide the familiarity of his cadence though, cool and casual as always. 

You nod, already halfway down the corridor, mind racing with thoughts. But one whip of your head as you turn the corner tells you he’s looking back at you, mind racing all the same. 

---

Your first day at McLaren was nearing its end, and you had yet to tell anyone about the things that had happened between you two - mostly because you were sure no one would care for the childhood drama between one of their main drivers and some lowly engineering student, but partially because you weren’t even sure how to describe it to anyone. Your superior had made his stance on it clear by not having mentioned it since the morning’s awkward hallway encounter, although you leaned towards him having simply forgotten it. That would’ve been the preferred choice too given your dual worry at the potential of this ‘situation’ getting in the way of you and your work experience. 

Because if you were a car, and this job the road, then Oscar Piastri was a rock placed just precisely enough to send you hurtling into a sidewall. 

He really hadn’t been kidding about seeing you around too. You had bumped into him a subsequent four (and yes, you had counted) times. He was always there, in his bright orange jacket - in board rooms, chatting with other engineers, making the most of complementary snacks in the office kitchen. And whenever the two of you crossed paths he would only flash that smile, warm, polite, but not much more, which you were always a little delayed in returning just because of how off guard it caught you every time. And when he wasn’t there in person, he was plastered across walls next to his teammate. Almost every screen, or wall, or company-issued mousepad you came across had his face, familiar grin and perfect hair, and you couldn’t help but feel - for lack of a better word - haunted. You had yet to get used to the lifesize cardboard cutouts of him and his teammate that stood guard by most of the main entrances too. 

But you were determined, even when fate seemed to keep throwing you two together, weaving your paths across each other after years apart, not to let this distract you from what you were here to do. So it only seemed fitting, when you were packing up after your first day and about to head home, that your eyes locked with a familiar pair on your way out of the main exit. 

“Hey,” Oscar starts this time, pausing for a second before adding, “Again.” 

“You’re not stalking me or something, are you?” You say, pulling your backpack higher up on your shoulders solely for the sake of having something to do with your hands which you feel start to tremble. He laughs that damn laugh again, and your knees feel weak. 

“If anything, I should be the one asking you that.” He gets to the door first but doesn’t walk through it, large hands coming up to hold it open instead. He motions for you to pass through first and you do, albeit a little tentatively. “Headed home for the day?” 

“Yeah,” you say, hearing his shoes on the gravel as he jogs to catch up to you and you wait for a bit to let him before continuing. “Not looking forward to it though, I’m still figuring out the public transport here.” 

This gets his attention, evidenced by how his neck whips around to look at you, eyebrows slightly raised. “You’re taking public transport here?” You try to make out the tone of his voice, which is a mix of shocked, concerned, and slightly impressed. 

“Yeah?” You respond hesitantly. You scan his face for any sign of what his next words might be, hopefully, tips on how to figure out the train lines. But as he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his pants, letting out a shy laugh, nothing can prepare you for what they are. 

“Do you uhm,” Even he’s unsure of what he’s about to say it seems, “Do you want a lift?” 

At this, you feel your palms grow a little sweatier, your pace a little slower. For the second time that day, the boy in front of you has rendered you incoherent. Even so, your mouth seems to be working faster than your mind. 

“I’d love that.” you hear yourself blurt out, to which he offers a grateful smile and begins to walk ahead of you, guiding you through the carpark. 

Finally, your mind seems to catch up to the situation at hand and begins weighing it up. More so, weighing up all the things wrong with your decision. You haven’t seen Oscar in over a decade and right now you should be considered nothing more than colleagues, who had only met today. Getting into his car might not be the safest idea, both for your nerves and your position, since you knew how fast gossip spread. You’d be letting him know where you lived too. 

But on the other hand, you didn’t know if you had the mental energy to stare at a map of the city. As you slipped into the passenger seat of Oscar’s car, offering him a smile of gratitude as he closed the door behind you, you were somewhat grateful for your fast mouth for once. Now, you just had to hope it would get you through the drive home. 

He lets you put the address of your apartment into his GPS before starting up. “So, engineering huh?” comes Oscar’s voice as he pulls out of the carpark. You can sense the awkward hesitation in his voice but appreciate his effort at keeping the conversation going, even though you feel your palms sweating at it. 

“Yeah, and uhm, for the record I had no say in being assigned to McLaren,” you say defiantly. “Plus, I didn’t even know you drove for them! Hell, I didn’t even know you still drove.” You’re rambling now, but whatever it takes to fill up the tense air in the car. 

“Ouch, I’ll try not to take that too personally.” 

“So do you want me to stalk you or not? You’re confusing me here Piastri.” He laughs, warm and smooth like honey. It’s been 12 years and it’s taken a coincidental work placement for you to realise this, but you’ve missed his laugh. 

“Just saying, keeping in touch wouldn’t have hurt. Especially after what you said to me the night before I lef-” 

“Anyways.” You cut him off stiffly because you know exactly what he’s going to say. He’s going to bring it up, your history, and you don’t exactly feel like digging it up - not now at least. Even so, he’s hitting you where it hurts and the worst part is you’re not sure if he’s aware he’s doing it at all, or whether he just wants to talk. Either way, you’re not going to let him. 

“You’re liking it here?” He tries to start up conversation again, and you find yourself going along with it. 

“Yeah, well I mean I’ve only been here a day so I can’t say much. But overall, I’m liking it. Everyone seems nice and I get a sense you guys have a real passion for what you do.” You turn to him as you speak, watching him nod at your words. With him watching the road it gives you a chance to take him in, how much he’s changed. 

His face has sharpened out, the round cheeks you once knew have now given way to a defined jaw which you watch move as he speaks. Your eyes travel to his hands, large, gripping the steering wheel firmly as he turns a corner. It’s hard to believe that he’s the boy you knew all those years ago. However, as you watch his excited expression as he tells you about all the antics he and the team get up to you’re reminded of him once more. That passion, that spirit, that joy he had always had for racing was still there, and stronger than ever. 

You think about those times, which seem so strangely distant now, when he would invite you to watch him race. How his face had lit up at the sight of you, and how quickly he would rush over to you after he won to gush about you being his ‘lucky charm’, helmet lines still imprinted on his flushed cheeks. How, even though neither of you were even in the same friend group, you always found yourself going along with him whenever you could - before and after school and even on weekends, when you found the time. How his passion for his sport, and the hours upon hours on which he had rambled to you about its logistics, was what first got you into engineering, which proved a passion of your own. 

But most of all, how much you’ve missed about his life. And how you can’t bear to tell him the reason you haven’t kept up with him since the day he left is because it would hurt too much to. To watch the life he’s made for himself, perfectly fine without you. 

Even so, you feel yourself smiling as you listen to him. And as weird as it sounds you feel yourself relax for what might just be the first time all day, sitting in his passenger seat. 

But, fate has never been your friend, as you’re reminded once Oscar pulls into your street and your heart sinks a little knowing your little moment has come to an end. He parks, impressively easily, and you go to unbuckle your seatbelt before he speaks up again. 

“Wait,” he stops you, before rummaging around in his pockets and pulling out a pen and a little notepad - you try not to laugh at him for the fact they’re both McLaren branded. You watch, confused, as he scribbles something down before handing it to you. 

You unfold your hand to reveal a slip of paper with his number written on it, smiling at the fact he’s written his name too - as if you would ever forget it. 

“Just in case, you know. If you ever need another lift,” he pockets the pen and paper, hand coming up to rub his nape shyly. He’s avoiding eye contact, it’s far too endearing, and your heart pace quickens. “Or, someone to talk to, about McLaren, that is.” 

“Thanks, for the ride and this,” you say, gesturing to the paper as you open the car door. He nods in response, eyes watching you carefully. The biting cold hits your skin as you walk to your apartment door, he hasn’t left yet though, since you can still hear the car engine humming behind you. 

You turn right before you get to the door, and see him saying something to you through the rolled-down window, though you can’t make it out from your distance. 

“What?” you shout out into the night air.

“I said, see you tomorrow Pip,” he repeats, louder. The childhood nickname hits you harder than anything, and it takes a while to muster up a response. 

“Right back at you, Oz.” You finally say, watching his face break into that familiar smile, only now it has shed its layers of politeness which have been replaced by sincerity, at the sound of his own nickname. At that, he rolls up his window and drives off, though you can make out the smile still on his face even as he turns the corner. You hardly notice the stupidly massive smile on your own face as you go to unlock your door, gripping the piece of paper in your hand tightly.

Work experience was shaping up to be a lot more exciting than you thought. 

HE DOESN’T WANT ME WHEN HE’S SOBER PART 2 (LANDO ENDING)

read: part one | logan ending

summary: lando’s your best friend but seems to like you when he’s drunk. but then again, he seems to like everyone when he’s drunk.

pairing: lando norris x gn!reader

wc: 1.8k

Lando wouldn’t admit it to anyone but that night was the worst sleep he’d ever had. He left as soon as he found out you’d left with Lily and Alex, and made his way to your house just to find out you weren’t there. He messaged Alex to get no response and contemplated waiting outside your door until you came back, whether it be days or months, he’d wait for you. But, after almost falling asleep numerous times and getting laughed at by a group of teenagers, he made his way back to his apartment, knowing you’d be looked after.

He was awake almost all night, messaging and calling you and regretting everything in its entirety. He didn’t fully know if you had even seen him kiss the person that resembled you, he only felt it deep down, but even if you hadn’t, he shouldn’t have done it, and he could never apologise enough. He thought of how to explain his thoughts but nothing would suffice; nothing would ever be able to explain how he felt.

At some point in the early hours, he finally drifted off, but awoke not much later to an aggressive banging on his door and a voice screaming at him to hurry up. He wished the voice was you but it wasn’t and he hated it. He rushed to his door, barely having time to pull on some grey joggers before opening it to an angry Alex, very close to breaking the door down.

“Are you stupid?” Alex questioned, fuming, pushing his way into Lando’s house, “I know that you’re in love with her so what are you doing?”

Lando looked like a deer in headlights. He couldn’t explain his actions, he didn’t even want to think about them. All he remembered feeling was grief at watching you walk away, so when he found someone that looked eerily similar, he took the chance to kiss them and create the image in his mind of kissing you. It didn’t last long. He realised too quickly that they didn’t smell like you and the way they kissed wasn’t the same. He hated it, he didn’t want to kiss anyone but you.

“I know, I didn’t mean to-”

“What, you just tripped into her mouth then?” Alex questioned, pushing a finger against Lando’s chest.

“No- no. I don’t know why I did, I really love them I promise. We almost kissed but then they walked away, I was hurt, I didn’t think they wanted me,” Lando almost cried, his voice cracking.

“You do this every time you go out. You kiss her every time you go out and she follows, you don’t get to pull that card. You might be upset but I promise you’re not even feeling half of it,” Alex spat, not caring if he hurt Lando because he hurt you much more.

“Help me apologise. I need to apologise, please Alex, please help,” Lando begged, wanting you to more than anything, “Please Alex, I’ll do anything.”

Alex sighed. At that moment, he hated Lando for what he did, but he’d been wishing for you both to get together since he first saw you both together, making heart eyes at each other. He contemplated in his head whether to help or not. He always envisioned you together but always wanted what's best for you and right now he couldn’t tell if that was Lando or not. But looking at the state of him, red, wet eyes, begging for his help, he wanted to believe Lando regretted everything and would do anything to prove he loved you.

“Okay, but I’m not letting you be forgiven easily, I want you to prove it,” Alex sighed, running his hands over his face. A feeling of simultaneous relief and guilt eating him alive.

Lando promised Alex over and over again, and in between each syllable, promising himself also that he would give you the world in apologies, and whatever happened he deserved it, but even if there was the slimmest chance you could forgive him, Lando would take it and cherish it.

Alex messaged you and you told him it was fine to bring Lando over, as long as he didn’t expect much, and so they turned up less than five minutes later. Alex left you both alone in the kitchen to sit with Lily in the living room after repeating countless times he was a shout away.

You almost broke down just seeing him but managed to keep it in. You didn’t want him to explain, you didn’t care to hear it at the moment, but as soon as Alex left he began spilling out apologies and trying to explain himself, which you quickly shut up.

“I want some space,” you sighed. You wanted Lando close but you wanted everything you felt for him gone first. You couldn’t believe he ever felt the same, not after that.

“Of course, I understand,” his voice broke as he stepped back, trying to show you he would do anything you said.

“Not like that, Lando. I mean it, I don’t think I can see you for a while.”

“Oh-” he said, “When can I see you again?”

“I’m not sure, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be, this is my fault,” he sighed, clearly upset and looking at the ground, “I’ll go, I’ll see you soon.”

After he left, you broke down crying, debating your decision on if you handled it right. You already missed him, and still loved him, but you also didn’t want to see him. Alex explained the whole morning, and his perspective, giving you hope you could fix it with Lando, especially after Alex’s approval, which you trusted more than anything.

The next few times you saw him were at hangouts with your shared friends. You knew he’d be there as none of your friends would invite him unless you were completely sure you didn’t mind him there. He stayed away, but didn’t make it awkward to the people around you, and always gave you a shy smile when you caught his eye.

He didn’t try to text or call again, despite wanting to more than anything, and instead waited for you to make the first move whenever you were ready. You had missed him more than anything, in both an “I love him” and “he’s my best friend” way, and it was killing you from being away from him, especially after how well he listened to your instructions.

You were at a mutual friend's get-together, a small barbecue in a back garden when you decided it was time. You had been debating texting him but after seeing him, you decided you couldn’t wait.

He was standing alone in a corner beside a flower patch and some grass, drink in hand, and surveying everyone that was there when you walked over. He didn’t know how to greet you and so awkwardly moved his hands between going for a hug or a handshake. You laughed and hugged him, both of you holding on tightly, unhappy to let go.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered gently, looking down and playing with your fingers, slightly nervous to admit it to him after all this time.

“I’ve missed you too,” he grins, adding on, “So much,” with a quiet whisper.

“How’ve you been?” you asked, trying to make small talk before delving right in.

“Okay, I’ve not really done much. Races have been okay.”

“I saw,” you smiled, “You’ve done really well.”

“You watched?” he questioned, a little surprised. You met his eyes and nodded, explaining how you could never miss one.

“Do you want to talk inside?” you asked, heart pounding as you said it. He nodded immediately, without hesitation, and followed you in through the double glass doors into the kitchen, but only after picking out a daisy from the grass next to him and offering it out to you, causing both of you to grin.

He closed the doors behind you both, blocking out as much other noise as possible, ready for you to begin. “I want to know how you feel about this and about me,” you started, voice shaky.

“I’m sorry, I’m still so sorry. I love you and I want what’s best for you and I can’t even find an excuse, I was being stupid and thinking how you’d never want me. It was all nothing, you’re the only person that’s ever meant anything, I’m so sorry. I will do anything to fix this- anything.”

“Lan,” you let out a breath, “You still want me?”

“More than anything,” he grinned and you stepped forward to reach him, locking your arms around his neck.

Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair as you pull his face down until his lips are almost touching yours. He was smiling so much you thought it might be impossible to kiss him but you pulled him into you anyway, finally kissing him again.

“Stop smiling,” you laughed, pulling away to say it before immediately kissing him again.

“What? Can I not be happy? I’m getting my girl back,” he pulled away, grinning harder, then trying to drag you back in, which was almost successful until you pulled away at the last second.

“I can barely kiss you like this and I’d really, really like to,” you giggled, tugging him back again to enjoy another impatient kiss.

Your hands were running all over his head, completely ruining his hair, but he didn’t care. His hands were wrapped around your waist, holding you impossibly close. When you finally parted he still kept you close, resting his forehead on yours.

“Are you sure you want this?” he questioned, his breath still heavy.

You kissed his cheek and looked straight into his eyes, “More than anything, I promise,” you paused for a moment, “But you’re going to have to grovel to repay all the lost time we’ve had.”

“I’m going to prove to you that I’m all in, that I want this more than I could possibly explain,” Lando promised, meaning every word. He was already planning out exactly what he wanted to do - he knew he had to work to become your official boyfriend, but he would do everything possible for you.

You just stared at him, showcasing the biggest smile you’ve ever had, eyes full of love, knowing you weren’t ever going to let each other go or even risk it again.

“God I love you,” he grinned, ignoring the fact he still hadn’t caught his breath and pulling you into another, more intimate, kiss.

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HE DOESN’T WANT ME WHEN HE’S SOBER.

lando ending | logan ending

summary: lando’s your best friend but seems to like you when he’s drunk. but then again, he seems to like everyone when he’s drunk.

pairing: lando norris x gn!reader

wc: 1.5k

The music was too loud but Lando was so close that he didn’t need to alter his volume - he was talking at the perfect volume that only you could hear him. Each sentence was getting lower, deeper and quieter, but your own mind made him louder, filling up every space in it with replays of him. He was engrossing. He was all you could think about.

He almost dropped the cup in his hand as he took the final step closer, not that the cup would've mattered to him, his only concern would’ve been making sure you stay dry. Still, your throat turned dry at the little distance between you both; at the prospect of what was surely about to happen.

His free hand drifted to your jaw, holding it so delicately and manoeuvring your face gently to face up at him at the perfect angle for him to kiss you. When it was just right, and he could no longer remove his eyes from your lips, not even for a second, his hand moved to the back of your head, holding you in place.

He leaned down, oozing out confidence despite the absolute fear inside of him, and rested his forehead against yours. You had closed your eyes, expecting him to kiss you, but you opened them again when you realised he wasn’t, pulling away only slightly due to the hand on your head preventing it further.

“Lan,” you breathed, your tone showing everything that you weren’t saying, “What are you waiting for?”

His eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily like resisting kissing you was the hardest thing that he’d ever done in his life. “I’m just making sure you want this,” he paused, opening his eyes and flicking them between your eyes and your lips, “Do you want this?”

“Yes,” you responded instantly, your desperation being evident from miles away. He held back a chuckle and instead revelled in the fact that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. “Please, Lan.”

“So polite,” he whispered, his voice low and hoarse. He titled your head again, bringing you impossibly closer. You could feel his shirt against your chest and his breathing on your face - there was no going back and you both knew it.

He was going to kiss you, he was leaning down, too slowly for your liking but it was happening and so you weren’t complaining. You felt a ghost touch against your lips - the slightest feeling - but it was there before being harshly ripped away in an instant.

“Mate! I’m going now, congrats on the podium,” Carlos said after walking up to Lando from behind, a hand on his back, the other one shaking his hand.

“Congrats on your win, more like it,” Lando replied, a half smile on his face, trying to be as genuine as possible and not show his annoyance that his moment was ruined.

Carlos looked towards you, about to share a goodbye with you, before noticing your dazed look and shifting between you and Lando as he noticed what was happening. “Shit- sorry, man- carry on, I’ll see you later, yeah?” he said, not letting either of you reply before wandering off, towards the door.

You both stood there frozen for a while, not speaking or moving, just staring into each other's eyes, begging the other for an answer.

Quickly, Lando had given up and stood up straight, looking into his cup and swirling what was left around. “I’m getting another drink, do you want anything?”

“No,” you said, barely audible and no longer looking at him or in his general direction. If you hadn’t shook your head as you spoke, he wouldn’t have known what you said and he really didn’t want to get into an awkward cycle of asking you to repeat yourself a few times before he finally heard you.

“I’ll find you,” was all he said as he left. You watched him as he cut through the crowds to the bar and ordered a drink and a shot, downing the shot the second that he got it.

He turned around and scanned the room, briefly meeting your eyes. You could tell he was debating whether to come back or not but you didn’t know what he decided as he began to stand up, so you made the decision for him and walked away to the side of the club, hopefully weaving through the tides of people enough that it would take a while for him to find you.

You ended up in one of the back corners of the club, pushing yourself into the wall so that people could squeeze past you and so you could people watch better. You were busying yourself giving strangers names and storylines, trying to distract yourself from whatever just happened, or could’ve happened, when you almost threw yourself to the floor in shock from a sudden hand waving in front of your face.

“Don’t jump - I was just trying to get your attention. I called your name a few times,” Alex said. You turned to look at him, slouching right next to you against the wall.

“Sorry, loud music,” you replied. It wasn’t a lie, the music was loud, but you could barely hear it over your thoughts whirring anyway. You watched Alex grimace and shake his head, somehow knowing it wasn’t the music distracting you.

“I saw,” he hummed as you took in a sharp intake of breath.

“I don’t-”

“You kissed him, finally, then what happened? Why are you all alone?” he questioned, his eyes scanning the place for Lando, knowing he’s not usually the type to leave you alone in places like this. He could tell you were upset and confused, and he needed to get to the bottom of it in order to work out whether he’d need to drive his car into Lando’s during the next race or not.

“No- he almost kissed me. Again. Carlos interrupted and he left. He left, Alex. Asked if I wanted a drink and left,” you spat, a mixture of uncertainty and anger clouding your voice. Why did he leave? He started it and left knowing exactly what was happening whilst leaving you with nothing - it was unfair.

Alex sighed. He wasn’t happy with Lando but knew what he felt for you and ultimately wanted to give him the chance to tell you without any mistakes.

“Maybe talk to him about it. He might just be unsure of where you’d like it to go-”

“He called the shots, Alex, he does it whenever he’s drunk, I don’t think he gets to be the confused one,” you sighed, looking at your feet. Alex paused and tried to think of another way to give Lando another chance to tell you how he feels without ruining it.

“Maybe talk to him when he’s sober. He’ll-”

“He doesn’t want me when he’s sober,” you whispered but wanted to scream. It hurt you to say it but you felt like it was true. Alex felt his breath hitch and his heart ache to scream at you that Lando does want you.

“That’s not right. Who wouldn’t want you?” he could see how it was affecting you and wanted nothing more than to make you feel better, but his train of thought was abandoned when he saw your body recoil into the wall in disgust.

He followed your eyeline to find Lando towards the middle of the room, kissing some girl that you had never seen before. He was leaning into her as if he’d die if he let go, and his hand was on the same place on the back of her head as it was on yours.

“Oh,” Alex said, not really knowing what else he could do. He was furious and wanted to mortify Lando in front of everyone in the room.

“Yeah, oh,” you repeated sarcastically. Your knees felt weak and your eyes were on the brink of bursting - it was impossible to hide if you tried. “I’m going to go home,” was all you could get out, your voice choking on every word.

You tried to convince yourself that you weren’t upset and rather you were disgusted but you couldn’t after the image of Lando sucking some other girl's face was plastered in your mind and you shed tears the whole way home. Lando didn’t know - in your mind he didn’t even care but as you were crying to Alex and Lily in an uber, he was looking for you everywhere. But as it hit him, the guilt and weight of what he’d done, and the realisation that you must’ve seen, he prayed that you’d let him explain, like he did every time this happened, whilst you would tell yourself, again, that you meant it this time; that he was too late.

lando ending | logan ending

small rooms and crowded spaces | DR3

summary: you don't do well in crowded rooms or rooms full of people but daniel is always there to make you feel better.

pairing: daniel ricciardo x genderneutral!reader

an: my first daniel fic so please let me know how you find it!!! also pretend i posted this half an hour earlier on his actual birthday

word count: 1.1k

warnings: anxiety, crowded spaces + people.

feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

…

You hated crowded spaces: small rooms with far too many people, hotel lobbies during checkout time, and lifts with more than your own family. But most of all, you hated parties; they were an overcrowded dump, full to the brim with drunk idiots who really didn't care that they had just pushed you into a wall.

You never went on your own accord, and rarely anyone else's, but tonight was different. You were told it would be a small get-together with only a few drivers, past and present, and the odd mechanic or engineer. What you didn't expect was a massive party with people showing up even though they didn't know the host. Daniel had promised you it would be small and you would leave with him the second you wanted to, but it was impossible to find him through the groups of people. And even if you did, you'd feel too guilty to ask him to leave after knowing he was so glad to be out again.

Little did you know, Daniel was looking for you too. The whole night, he hadn't taken he eyes off of you. He either hadn't left your side or knew where you were at precisely any moment. It'd take one little slip up to lose you, which he wasn't planning on doing but when everything got too loud and he was pulled into a conversation where he had to focus his all on trying to hear, he lost you.

He was still meant to be engrossed in conversation with the same man, but he wanted to look for you. It was harder than imagined though as every time he tried to leave or just stop the conversation, the man would carry on, obviously ignoring the worried state of your boyfriend.

Daniel didn't give up though, his head was flicking rapidly back and forth trying to catch any glimpse of you. He was ignoring the man desperately trying to talk to him, only replying with short hums, ignoring every adequate reply.

He spotted you eventually, squashed into a wall. You were pushing yourself into it as far as you could go, searching around frantically for your boyfriend. You hadn't noticed him yet but he just wished you would, hoping it would calm you little until he managed to reach you.

He didn't know which way to go - every possible direction was cut off by groups of people. He decided he didn't care and just pushed passed everyone, occasionally dropping a "thank you" to the people who moved with ease.

You noticed him heading towards you, through the people and he could see you visibly relax. You kept your eyes trained on him, using him as a comfort, as he made his way over.

He could tell you were scared, anyone a mile away could, and he wished nothing more that the evening hadn't gone the way it did and that you had spent every moment within reach.

He reached you in due time, immediately placing his hands on your upper arms, rubbing up and down, whilst checking your face and body to make sure you were physically fine.

"I'm so sorry, baby. Are you okay? What can I do?"

You stared up at him, before flicking your eyes back around the room. You felt too constricted to speak or move at all. Daniel understood; he knew you and your emotions more than anyone else along with your responses to them.

"Okay, lets get you out of here. I'm going to put my arm around you and were going to head out the back exit, that okay?" You just nodded - you felt that was all you could do. Daniel knew what you meant and knew all the words you wished you could've said.

He manoeuvred you in and out of groups, making sure no one elbowed you or pushed you. It wasn't a long way to get out but every step felt like it was further away and so much harder to do. Daniel noticed but there was nothing he could do if he stopped, it'd only make you more overwhelmed, so he focused on getting you out.

He did it well - even whilst incredibly overwhelmed and uncomfortable, he made you feel safe and secure.

Once he got you out, he led you immediately to his car but instead of getting in the front, he sat you both in the back so he could hold you.

"Where'd your drink go? Where'd lily go?" He questioned, moving his hand to your cheek, lifting your face up so he could look at you more.

Your eyes were red and puffy and we're welling up again as you tried to speak. "I don't know. One minute she was there and then I-"

It felt too hard to speak - Daniel understood though. He knew where your sentence was heading so there was no need in finishing it anyway. He dragged you into a tight hug again, letting you head rest on his chest and his head rest on top of yours.

The car was silent for a while except from your light cries and the odd whisper of assurance from Daniel. He felt guilty for leaving your side and not making sure you were alright but he understood that that wasn't important now, what's important was making sure you're alright.

"Can we go home please?"

"Are you sure you're ready? I don't mind staying here for a little." His hand was running through your hair carefully, trying to detangle any little knots but also making sure not to hurt you.

"Yeah, can we cuddle at home though?" you smiled, looking up at him. He broke out into his world-famous smile instantly, making it hard not to stare at his lips.

"Absolutely." he grinned, there was no way he was missing out on that and there was no way you'd let him.

He held your hand almost the whole drive home or at least made sure one part of him was touching you constantly, knowing that it'd keep you calm. You couldn't help but smile at him the whole time: he took pride in looking after you - he did it so well, how could he not - and it made you so endlessly grateful for him.

"I love you," you spoke, not taking your eyes off of him as he pulled into your driveway.

He parked up before he responded so he could look at you. He knew you had been staring at him the whole time and was quite jealous that he had to focus on the road rather than you. He knew it'd be okay in the end though: you'd fall asleep on his chest whilst his fingers were tangled in your hair, and he'd spend time staring at you - his favourite thing. He didn't care if he'd be tired in the morning, he didn't care if he'd done it a million times, because every day he thought he reached the limit on how much a person can love somebody else but the next day he breaks it every time.

"I love you too, sweetheart."

f1 masterlist (coming soon) |

hey i had an idea and i love your seb x reader writing so i wanted to send this to you! driver! reader has a really big accident during a race like shes in a coma for some time seb becomes this completely closed off person but he visits you everyday so one day he comes to the hospital ig and readers heart stopped or something but then she comes back to life and wakes up or she dies idk if they have kids but would be nice if they’re married. idk i leave it up to you just give me some angst pls 🙏🙏🙏

COME BACK TO ME| S.VETTEL

Pairing; Sebastian Vettel x Wife!driver!reader

Summary; Sebastian’s world is turned upside down when he finds out the reason behind the red flag, the aftermath is just as torturous as the moment he got the news.

Warnings; Serious crash (a bit like Jules Bianchi’s), angst, coma, severe injuries, Sebastian’s sad :( Also Kimi and Seb bickering like children.

F1 Master List

It was no secret that Formula One was a dangerous sport, the fans knew it, the FIA knew it and the drivers knew it; but there are decisions that need to be made in order to protect the drivers because their safety should be the number one concern.

So when the FIA decided that that the weather in Suzuka wasn’t severe enough to postpone or cancel the race, pretty much every driver was against getting back on the track, there had already been a crash and to continue was just plain stupid.

Y/N knew that everyone, including the drivers, had their eyes on her. She had won the last few seasons and was the one to beat.

She never had a problem driving in the rain, in fact most of the time it added to the thrill of the race but when you could hardly even see the steering wheel you were holding, it wasn’t fun, it was scary.

She didn’t really know what had happened, she was battling Max Verstappen who had been recently promoted to RedBull; she’s been enjoying the challenge the younger driver is offering her but there were times that she didn’t agree with his decisions, they could be extremely risky and not in a good way, in a way that could cause some serious damage to either him or someone else and it seemed that this time was one of those times that his risks had consequences.

She had been ahead of him when she felt the contact that had been made to the back of her car, it wasn’t light at all, it sent her spinning completely off the track and with the slippery track and the rain continuing to pour she could not stop the car no matter how hard she tried to gain control.

She heard the gasps of the crowd as her car flipped and spun but it faded away as she tried to keep herself from moving about too much in her car; wondering how long it would take for her to stop.

Y/N did stop, eventually, but the moment she felt the contact she knew something was wrong. It felt like she had hit a brick wall, she heard the crumpling of the car’s structure before a pain like no other filled her entire body; her head throbbed and her eyes fluttered closed, her body shrouded by the remains of her car and the heavy rain.

"Red flag, Sebastian, you’re heading into the pits," Riccardo spoke over the radio.

"Fuck sake! I told you guys we shouldn’t have been sent back out here, what happened?" To say he was angry was an understatement, for the FIA to risk the lives of every driver on this track was ridiculous and quite frankly plain stupid.

"What happened, who was it?" He asked again when he wasn’t given an answer, pulling into the pits behind the two Redbulls.

"There’s been a crash, no response," Riccardo vaguely replied.

Sebastian sighed in frustration at the lack of information and detached his steering wheel, pulling himself out of the car, he didn’t even have time to pull his helmet off before Max was walking up to him and grabbing his arms.

"Seb I’m so sorry, I lost my grip and I couldn’t control it and we just collided-"

Sebastian shook his head, cutting Max off. "What are you talking about, what happened?"

Max simply stared at Seb for a moment, guilt filling his entire body as he realised Sebastian had absolutely no idea. "Seb, it’s Y/N…."

It was as thought the world had stopped turning, Max’s voice had faded away along with the sound of the crowds and everything else around him, the only thing he heard were his racing thoughts as he remembered Riccardo’s words.

No response

No response

No response

He looked up at the big screen that was showing the wreckage live, his heart dropped, the car was completely crushed and she was still in it.

He saw as a few of the Marshalls looked towards the ground briefly before looking into the direction of the camera as they all started making the same gesture, not even a minute later the screen was shut off so that no one could see what was happening.

Sebastian didn’t register his feet moving or the drop of Max’s hand from his shoulder but the next moment he was storming into the Mercedes garage demanding for some sort of information.

If it was any other driver entering their garage without permission they would’ve been immediately kicked out but knowing that Sebastian was here for no other reason that to know if his wife was okay they didn’t mention the red race suit that stood out against everyone else’s black and white uniform.

Seeing that Sebastian was simply stood there, seemingly not knowing what to do, Toto walked over to him and directed him away from his team so that they could talk.

"There was no response over the radio so we can assume that she’s unconscious, she went into that barrier at an incredible speed and the from the damage we can see there’s no way she isn’t injured in some way so she’s going to be airlifted to the nearest hospital, okay?" He spoke in a low voice so that no one could hear besides the two of them.

Sebastian made no indication that he had registered Toto’s words but he did swallow thickly before simply walking away and making his way into his own garage; he didn’t speak to anyone, instead heading straight to his drivers room.

He has taken the quickest shower of his life and changed into regular clothes, he had no intention of getting back into that car this weekend and if anyone expected him to then they were delusional.

As soon as he walked through the doors of the hospital he was approached by an older looking nurse that seemed to have been waiting for him and he could tell by the look on her face that he wasn’t going to hear anything good.

She gestured him to follow her; she lead him into an empty hospital room and gestured for him to sit down on one of the two chairs that were underneath the window, she took the other.

"Mr Vettel, I’m going to be straight with you because I wouldn’t want anyone to beat around the bush if I was in your position. The speed and force at which your wife crashed into barrier quite frankly should have killed her so bear that in mind when I go over her injuries with you because they might sound bad but for what happened I’d say she got out lucky."

Her words cut through Sebastian like a knife, tearing into his skin to leave him vulnerable to whatever she has to say next. Though, he’s grateful she’s telling him how it is instead of sugar coating the severity of everything just so that he’s not uncomfortable, he wants to understand and be aware of what exactly has happened so he gulped and nodded for her to continue.

She didn’t look at him sympathetically which he was thankful for but her expression was comforting. "The impact shattered Mrs Vettel’s tibia and fibula in her right leg, three of her ribs were also broken and a few of them are bruised, during the crash something must have made contact with your wife’s head because when we were cutting the helmet off the back of it was already broken through and it’s caused her some severe trauma to her head."

It was as though Sebastian felt the pain with each injury that was listed, the nurse was explaining it precise and slow so that he could probably understand it but there was really only one thing he wanted to know. "Is my wife going to be okay?"

This time the nurse did look at him sympathetically as she saw the pure worry in his eyes, she could see the love he felt for the Mercedes driver and the pain that this was causing him.

"Your wife is in surgery right now to fix both bones in her leg and suture up the injury on her scalp, her ribs should heal by themselves in at least six weeks but will most likely be longer, the thing we’re most worried about however is when she’s going to wake up. Whilst the knock on her head hasn’t caused any internal bleeding, we do think that’s the reason she was unconscious and not the crash itself."

Sebastian’s blood went cold at her words, "So-what, she’s in a coma?"

The woman nodded in confirmation. "Yes, it’s hard to determine when a person in a coma is going to wake up because each person is different when they’re in a position like this and I’m aware of how difficult this is for you to hear but whilst she’s in this state, it’s really the best time for her injuries to heal and hopefully she’ll wake after the worst of the pain has passed."

"How long do you think she’ll be in the coma for?"

"It varies from person to person but I’d say anywhere between a few weeks to a few months."

Sebastian nodded his head, glancing down to his lap where he was fiddling with his wedding ring. "Thank you." He simply muttered to the nurse who took that as her cue to leave.

"Mrs Vettel will be brought here after her surgery is complete, you’re welcome to wait until then or if you wish to go and come back after they’re finished we can give you a call if-"

"I’ll wait," Sebastian interrupted her and she nodded before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

Sebastian sighed heavily into the silence of the room, placing his head in his hands; now that he was alone the strong front he had put up had disappeared, before he could stop it his eyes were watering and silent tears were falling into his hands.

He didn’t know how long he sat like that before he heard the doors to the room open and a bed was wheeled in by four or five doctors, once the bed was locked in the middle of the room all of them left but one.

The man was probably in his forties but he seemed kind enough as he regarded Sebastian. "You must be Mr Vettel?"

Sebastian hastily wiped his eyes before rubbing his hands on his legs, nodding his head.

The doctor smiled before speaking. "The surgery went well, both bones in your wife’s leg have been reconstructed but those pins will have to stay there for a month or two and afterwards she’ll need physical therapy to regain her strength back and the cut to her head has been sutured up with no issues. A nurse will come by tonight to check her vitals and ensure everything is okay, they usually do checkups every 6-8 hours but if you need something then feel free to press the button."

"I will, thank you." Sebastian smiled weakly.

"As you are her husband you can come and go as you like, you are more than welcome to have someone come and take your place when you want to go and shower or rest. If anyone wishes to come and visit then visiting hours are between 8am and 8pm, after that we only permit one person to stay."

The doctor left shortly after and after taking a deep breath Sebastian got up from his seat beneath the window and made his way to the bed.

The sight of her made him want to burst into tears all over again, she had cuts and bruises all over her face and arms, her right left was resting on a pillow but trapped inside a metal brace that was attached to the pins inside her leg, her head was bandaged to protect the stitches on from the pillow she was laying on.

She looked lifeless and the sight of it pretty much tore him in two.

He didn’t know what to do, he was here alone and the love of his life almost died.

He carefully leaned against the edge of the bed, making sure he didn’t budge anything he shouldn’t before carefully grabbing her left hand, it was bare of any rings and Sebastian hoped that they were in her driver’s room somewhere and not lost because she was so protective over them rings and would be pissed if they were lost.

He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it.

It was way too silent in here, he hated it.

He leaned his body forward and pressed his face into the pillow, being mindful that he wasn’t hurting her even if she was unconscious and most likely wouldn’t feel it.

"Please come back to me, Liebling. I need you so much."

Sebastian didn’t leave the hospital that night, he had dragged the chair across the room so he could spend the night beside his wife, he hardly slept instead choosing to sit and simply watch as she ‘slept’ hoping that if he stayed awake long enough then eventually she would wake up.

She didn’t.

He had countless messages from family and drivers but he didn’t answer them, he knew not answering her family was selfish but he found that he really only cared about Y/N and no one else, that and he wasn’t ready to talk about it.

He messaged her and his parents this morning explaining what the doctors had told him yesterday but had left the other messages unread.

Not once had he let go of her hand, not when the nurses came in every couple of hours to do their checkups or when they brought him something to drink or eat, most of which went untouched.

He couldn’t explain the heartache he was feeling, to have the person you love the most in the world be in such a vulnerable position was heart wrenching, especially when it was your job and vow to protect them.

He couldn’t have stopped that crash but he will make sure he is around for every step of her recovery process.

Sebastian was thankful that there wasn’t a race this week because there was no way he was leaving her in the hospital alone to get in the car, he wasn’t in the right mindset anyways.

It seemed silly that he was also thankful that there was only four races left and Y/N had already won the championship otherwise he would’ve been devastated for her.

A knock at the door tore him away from his thoughts and he assumed that it was a nurse but was proved wrong when Max walked through the door with flowers in his hand.

Sebastian pursed his lips and looked down, he couldn’t even look at the man knowing that he was the reason his wife was unconscious in the hospital.

He knew it was wrong to blame him because he had no grip and the weather was no help but he was aware of the way the younger lad drove and knew that he took unnecessary risks, risks that could’ve killed the woman he loved.

"Uhm," Max cleared his throat awkwardly. "I messaged to see if it was okay for me to come but I didn’t get an answer and I just needed to see if she was okay."

Sebastian bit his tongue which was hard when everything inside him wanted to turn and shout at the RedBull driver that this was all his fault and he had no right to come here when he was the reason she was here in the first place, and his wife didn’t even like fucking roses so be can shove them up his arse for all Sebastian cared.

"Is she okay?"

Sebastian scoffed at the question, looking up at Max as if questioning his sanity. "Does she look okay?"

Max looked at him guiltily before glancing away, not being able to stand the look of complete despair in the German’s eyes.

"Just leave," Sebastian shook his head. "My wife’s pretty much on her death bed right now because of you and I really don’t need you coming here pretending like you care when we both know that that the only thing you care about when you’re in that car is yourself, not anyone else and certainly not their lives."

Max bit back the retort that’s on the end of his tongue knowing that the man was not in the right place right now so he placed the flowers on the table by the door and took his leave.

Sebastian sighed and tipped his head back to try and stop himself from crying, he needed to stop crying, he hadn’t done anything else in the last 24 hours.

It had been a week and Sebastian had talked to no one, none of the drivers had tried to visit so he assumed that Max had warned them to stay away which he was glad.

He had left the hospital only twice to pack some clothes and essentials for the two of them, Y/N still hadn’t woken up but the bruising on her face and arms was going down and the doctors had said her ribs were healing nicely.

He had never realised how much he had depended on her and needed her until he didn’t have her to depend on.

He loved her so much and felt like he was going insane with her right next to him but not exactly there at the same time.

Shortly after Max had left that day, two nurses had came in with Y/N’s race suit, fireproofs, balaclava, gloves, boots, two halves of her race helmet and her rings.

Sebastian had wasted no time in placing her rings back onto her hand, he didn’t think she looked right without them and knew that if she woke up without them on her hand she wouldn’t be impressed.

He had almost cried again when he picked up both pieces of her helmet and saw the place where she had been stricken on the head, there was a gash that went right through the helmet and a large red stain on her balaclava that would be beneath where the hole on her helmet is.

He had told his and Y/N’s parents that there was no point in flying in to visit until she was awake and they agreed, he also assumed that the teams had all flown back to their headquarters or the next race location so he was here alone.

Quite frankly, Sebastian didn’t know what to do, there was a race in America this week and even though it was the last thing on his mind and the last thing he wanted to do he knew that he had an obligation to be there, he couldn’t just not show up and it seemed like Britta had the same idea as he saw her name pop up on his phone trying to call him, it wasn’t the first time but it seemed like she was unrelenting this time.

"What do you want?" He sighed as he pressed the phone against his ear, running a hand over his face.

"Oh, so you are alive!" Her surprised voice was way too loud in his ear.

"Just tell me what you want, Britta." Sebastian had no time or patience for her teasing or jokes.

"You need to be in America in three days, Sebastian, I understand that you don’t want to see anyone and the last thing you want to do is get in a car but you do have an obligation to be there." She told him sadly.

"I have an obligation to take care of my family, Britta, I couldn’t give a shit about racing."

"You can’t stay in Japan, Seb."

"What do you want me to do, leave her here in a different country by herself?"

"I think you should move her to a facility in Switzerland for starters so that you can at least be near home."

Sebastian stayed silent, he couldn’t argue with that logic, it probably would be better, even for Y/N so that she wouldn’t have to fly when she was awake and recovering.

"I’ll talk to you tomorrow," he told her before hanging up, not allowing her to say anything else.

The next day he had payed to have Y/N transferred to the closest hospital to where they lived in Switzerland and had flown out her parents so that they could stay with her whilst he was in America.

He had put his foot down on missing media day, he’d go Friday, Saturday and leave immediately after the race on Sunday and would call his in laws multiple times a day whilst he was gone, he was not happy about it but it was the best he could do.

They were currently waiting outside of the room whilst Sebastian said his goodbyes to Y/N, he had spoken to her everyday just on the off chance that she could hear everything that was going on around her, the last thing he wanted was for her to have to suffer in silence whilst she was in this position.

He pressed his forehead against hers, which was now bandage free, closing his eyes to relish in the contact that he wouldn’t have for the next couple of days.

"I love you so much, liebe and I’m going to be back as soon as I can. You better not wake up whilst I’m gone otherwise I’m going to be pissed off with you," he chuckled weakly knowing that is something she’d probably do.

He pressed a kiss to her head and one to the back of her hand before reluctantly getting up, grabbing his back and leaving the room, knowing that if he didn’t go now then he never would.

Sebastian knew he was pushing his limits but couldn’t find it in himself to care, it was Friday and he had arrived in America this morning but hadn’t shown up at the track until just ten minutes before FP1 started.

He had been on the phone with his mother in law as soon as he got off the plane and hadn’t hung up until a few hours later but the real reason he had left it so long to head to the track was so that he could avoid most of the cameras as he was walking in, knowing that they’d now mostly be focused on the team garages.

Speaking of teams, Y/N’s seat had been filled in by Esteban Ocon for the rest of the season, the smallest part of Sebastian felt guilty knowing that Toto Wolff had been trying to find out what was going on with his driver but Seb had made sure everything was kept under wraps.

The only people who knew how she was were family, Britta and Y/N’s PR manager, Freya and every single one of them had no intention of spilling any information.

He could feel the eyes on him and hear the muttering as he walked through the paddock, he hadn’t even been here five minutes and he was already getting annoyed by the cameras and how loud it was.

It pissed him off even more when he saw team members from other motorhomes coming out to watch as if he was going to stand there and make a grand statement to let them all know how Y/N was.

He just ignored them and walked into the Ferrari motor home to his drivers room so he could change into his race gear.

He made sure he had his helmet on before he left his room, making a clear statement that he was in no mood to talk to anyone, thankfully the team respected it and let him get straight into the car, just in time for FP1 to start.

It felt wrong, he and Y/N had a small ritual they did before they got into the car, they had done it for years and this would be the first time getting into the car without it.

"Okay, Sebastian, you’re free to leave the garage, just give Mattia a heads up when you’re ready. You’re on mediums for now," Riccardo spoke through his ear piece.

Sebastian didn’t answer but he did nod his head towards a mechanic to let him know he was ready.

He was top of the time sheet for both practises today, he wouldn’t say he had tried to be in that position, he had just channelled his frustration into his driving.

"Sebastian, top of the time sheet today, does that mean the car was feeling well for you?" The woman in front of him asked, holding out her microphone for him.

"It felt fine," he responded, he wasn’t even looking at her, he was too busy thinking about phoning Y/N’s parents when he got out of here.

"You’re back after a week off, did you end up doing anything interesting?" He was aware that the woman was trying to subtly pry information from him about Y/N and it pissed him off so he just scoffed and walked away, knowing Britta was going to have to do a bit of damage control.

"Hey! Seb! Seb!" He heard Lewis call after him but continued walking causing the English driver to have to run to catch up to him, clasping a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder to get him to stop walking.

"Hey, are you alright, mate?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes "I’d be find if everyone stopped asking me that stupid question."

"Alright," Lewis nodded, not one to get offended or hurt at the tone Sebastian used because he understood. "How’s my teammate?"

Seb raised a hand to his forehead in frustration at the question, he could feel himself losing it. "What do you want me to say, Lewis? She’s clearly not fine other wise you would’ve heard something so will you and everyone else just leave me the fuck alone."

He didn’t wait for a reply, instead walking away, hopefully to make that phone call he’s been wanting to make since the last one had ended but just as he was about to shut the door to his driver’s room, a hand caught it.

"For fuck sake, can I not get a moment alone around here!?"

"Don’t start your attitude with me," Kimi grunted and Sebastian sighed, now was not the time for him to deal with Kimi.

"What do you want?"

"I want what everyone else wants."

"Well I hate to break it to you but just because you’re my teammate doesn’t mean I’m telling you how she is."

Kimi rolled his eyes and made himself comfortable on Sebastian’s bed whilst the latter was looking around for his phone.

"That’s not what I was talking about, I’m talking about the mood you’re in, you need to get out of it and get a grip, that’s what Y/N would want, not you walking around and sulking ruining everyone else’s day."

Sebastian shot him a dirty look. "You don’t know what she’d want and neither do I right now because she’s in the hospital, and if anyone has a problem with my attitude I’m perfectly fine with them staying away from me."

Kimi sent him a sarcastic smile, matching his attitude. "Well I have a problem with it cause you took my personality."

"What?"

Kimi sighed and stretched out. "You know how exhausting it is to have to be the happy one out of the two of us, that’s supposed to be your job but since Y/N’s crash, I have to be that person and I’m sick of it."

"Well I’m sorry that my wife’s injuries are such an inconvenience to you," Sebastian rolled his eyes.

Kimi groaned in annoyance, "you are so fucking annoying without her."

"Thanks, I’ll tell Minttu you said that." Sebastian replied sarcastically, now having his phone in his hand.

"Go for it," Kimi shrugged. "When Y/N wakes up I’ll tell her how much of an arsehole you’ve been."

Seb ignored him and pressed his phone to his hear, waiting for his mother in law to pick up for an update.

He had finished P4 in the race that weekend and had gotten straight on a flight back to Switzerland, skipping his post race interviews in the media tent.

He hadn’t even called Y/N’s parents after the race for an update, instead settling for a simple text in the airport when he was boarding the plane; both of them were picking him up from the airport and taking him straight to the hospital, he was strangely looking forward to being able to see her again, even if she was still in a coma.

He was happy that his flight had quite literally flown by and was sitting in the car behind his in laws just twenty minutes after landing.

"How is she?" He immediately asked.

"She’s okay, the doctors have said she’s healing up nicely." Y/N’s dad told him, the news relaxing him a bit.

"Are you guys coming in?" He asked as he held the car door open, surprised when he saw them both shaking their heads.

"We’ll come by tomorrow, you should have some time alone with her."

Sebastian nodded and bid them goodbye, actually happy that they had chosen to do that because after not seeing her for a couple of days, some time alone was what he needed.

He practically ran through the hallways of the hospital, care workers saw him but chose not to reprimand him as they were aware of who he was and how eager he probably was to see his wife.

He exhaled heavily when he got to the closed door of her room, standing there for a few moments to calm down a bit.

When he pushed open the door, he got the shock of his life.

Y/N was lying there in her hospital bed with her leg still resting on a pillow as it had been for the last two weeks but this time, the top of her bed was raised to put her in a sitting position, she had oxygen tubes in her nose but her head was turned towards the door he had just walked through and she was looking at him!

She was clearly very sleepy and tired but her eyes were as open as far as she could hold them and she was looking at him with a sleepy smile on her face.

She blinked slowly at him for a moment as he stared before holding out her hand for him and he took that as his cue to move towards her.

"Hi baby," she mumbled through a smile, not really having the energy to say anything more but it was enough for Sebastian’s eyes to start watering as he collapsed onto the chair that was beside her bed, grasping her hand in his own.

He raised his other to her cheek and softly stroked the skin there, smiling through his tears as he felt her lean into his touch.

"Hi," he breathed in disbelief, "How long have you been awake?" He whispered, fearing if he spoke any louder it would hurt her.

"Before the race, I watched it," she told him as though she was proud of herself was waking up in time to see it.

"Yeah? What did you think?" He humoured her, not really wanting to talk about the race but it seemed to make her happy so he did.

"You did good," she told him, subtly rubbing her thumb across his hand.

Sebastian simply smiled at her, he wiped his face on his arm to get rid of his tears before looking back at her again with nothing but adoration in his eyes.

"I love you so much." He told her surely, as though she may have forgotten whilst she was in the coma.

"Ich liebe dich auch," she replied back softly making him laugh, she always said it in his native language because she thought it would feel more real for him to hear.

"Are you tired?" He asked when he noticed her fighting to keep her eyes open.

Y/N nodded slowly before looking at him. "Come and lay with me," she told him.

Sebastian shook his head softly even though he wanted nothing more than to cuddle with her. "That’s probably not a good idea, liebe."

"When has that ever stopped you?" She pouted but rose an eyebrow at him.

He couldn’t argue with her there so he got up from his seat, protesting when she tried to move and make room for him.

He climbed in next to her and lightly wrapped his arm around her, she scooted closer and carefully adjusted her top hand so that her head was resting against him.

Sebastian rested his head against hers, pressing a kiss into her hair. "Liebe?" He asked, earning a slight hum in return.

"Don’t listen to anything Kimi says, he’s a liar."

"Hm’kay, Seb." She muttered, already pretty much asleep.

"I missed you so much," he muttered against her, carefully tightening the arm he had wrapped around her,

He wouldn’t be letting her out of his sight again.

THE ICEBREAKER| KIMI RÄIKKÖNEN

Pairing; Kimi Raikkonen x wife!reader

Summary; It never fails to amaze the formula one community just how much of a difference there is in Kimi’s attitude whenever his wife is around.

Warnings; Simply fluff.

F1 Master List

It was common knowledge in the world of formula one that Kimi 'the iceman' Raikkonen was everything that his nickname implied. He was blunt, hard faced and cold, straight to the point.

There's only a few instances where that guard drops; when he's drunk, caught off guard or sometimes when he's around Sebastian Vettel.

However, everyone knew that the ultimate Icebreaker was his wife.

It amazed everyone how quickly that icy facade melted whenever Kimi was around her, he was a completely different person, the paddock changed when she was around, Kimi was full of soft smiles and loving glances.

They were complete opposites, she was sunshine and spring, he was winter and icy winds but there had never been a pair more suited for each other.

Kimi wasn't due on track for another half an hour so him and Y/N had hidden themselves away on a bench at the far side of the garage. Kimi's back was rested against the wall, his wife sat between his legs, back resting against his chest. His arms were securely wrapped around her, his chin rested on her shoulder, eyeing the data he was holding in his hands.

Every now and then the Finnish man would nuzzle his head into her hair, inhaling the comforting smell of strawberries and a scent that was so uniquely her, followed by a soft kiss on her shoulder before returning back to his data.

Y/N relished in these small moments before races, even though they were surrounded by people running around it always felt like it was just them, alone in the world and they were perfectly content getting lost in each other's presence.

She closed her eyes, relaxing into the love of her life's embrace, she would never take these moments for granted, not when their lives were so hectic, it was relieving to live in a moment like this, to use it as a sort of pause button to take a small but needed break.

'...And there is the golden couple of the paddock, world champion Kimi Raikkonen and his wife, that man looks anything but what we know him as...'

She heard David Croft's voice filter through a nearby radio causing her eyes to open in confusion before she noticed a camera zooming into them from outside of the garage, sure enough they were on the big screen.

She smiled, lightly tapping Kimi's arm to get his attention, he turned his eyes from the papers in his hand to look at her. She pointed to the camera, Kimi looked in that direction, shaking his head with the smallest of smiles when he noticed the camera.

He knew what everyone said about him, how he was a different person when he was with her and they took every chance they could to capture him in a moment with his guard down. He didn't try and deny it because he knew they were right, sort of.

He wasn't a different person with her, he was himself with her, just a softer version of himself that he reserved for family and closest friends.

"Kulta" Kimi whispered 10 minutes later, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "Hmm" she responded, eyes remaining closed, more than relaxed in his arms.

"It's time for me to get in the car" he mumbled into her ear, softly patting her thigh. She sighed but sat forward, standing up from the bench, stretching as she did.

Kimi groaned as he stood, folding the papers into his right hand, reaching out his left to grab hers, leading her over to his car where his engineer stood with his balaclava and helmet in hand. He handed the balaclava to Kimi and helmet to Y/N before walking away, giving them privacy.

Y/N watched as her husband got into his racing mode, his icy-blue eyes turned hard and determined, his body tensed up as he became more focused, strategies running through his mind.

She handed his helmet to him and once he had secured the straps under his chin she stepped closer to him, gently cupping the sides of his head and pressing a loving kiss on the hard material where his lips were covered.

Her hands ran down his arms before eventually reaching his hands that were covered in his gloves, she laced her fingers with his, her eyes never leaving his.

"Win for me" she told him "I love you so much" his eyes shined brighter at her words, his right hand rose to her cheek, his thumb brushed across her skin.

"I love you" she heard his muffled voice repeat back causing her to smile. He stroked her cheek one last time before lowering his hand, releasing her hand from his left and turning to his car.

Once he had climbed inside and checked his radio was working, he was ready to go. He looked towards where Y/N was standing and gave her a thumbs up before the mechanics wheeled him and his car out of the garage.

She walked back over to his side of the garage, sitting in front a screen that would be streaming the race.

There was no greater sight than watching the love of her life living his dream, his heart may beat for her but he was born to race. She had supported him up to this point and would continue to support him until the day he decides to let racing go, even then she would cheer him on in what he decides to do next.

till the sun comes up — SV5

pairing: rbr!sebastian vettel x fem!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, slight oral (m receiving), drunk sex, alcohol mentioned, jenson getting everyone double drunk, translated german, established relationship, not proofread!!

synopsis: fresh off of winning his first drivers championship whats a better way of celebrating [2.2k]

a/n: this was completely unplanned, definitely not the best thing ive ever written and was more so a way to get back into the feel of writing since its been months since i last properly have

MASTERLIST

Abu Dhabi, 2010

Sebastian couldn't keep his hands of you, and in his defence, you couldn't keep yours off him. Alcohol ran freely through your veins, loosing up your movements as you danced against each other. Music blaring, drinks being downed in every corner of the club. Every now and then another driver ordered a round of shots, not slowing down as you all danced the night away.

His hands were on your waist, your hips, sliding up and down your thighs. He was everywhere. Sebastian's grip never loosening. Jenson had been the next driver to buy a round, ordering double than before in an attempt to somehow get you all more drunk than you already were, after all he had his reputation to uphold.

Sebastian's lip skimmed all over any exposed skin he could get, you collarbone, neck and as low as he could down your deep neckline.

The burning of tequila and vodka down your throat only spurred your happiness on, the smile on your face beginning to hurt from how long you had held it.

Seb had won.

He had won his first championship in f1, in a dramatic way at that, and one of many you were sure of. Your boyfriend was more than a talented driver, that you were even more sure od even with your lack of knowledge in the sport you knew well enough that Seb was a born winner, and that this was just the beginning.

The day had finally gone his way, any four of them could've won it, it was the day he's been waiting for since he had joined f1, since even before then, and you had been there with him every single step of the way.

The drinks, music and dancing continued long into the early hours of the morning, finally deciding to depart from your group of celebrating friends, them all giving you suggestive looks.

You felt the arm around your waist tighten as you stirred awake, the warmth from the body beside you encasing yours. The pads of Sebastian's fingers still digging into your skin as they had done when you fell asleep, not moving from their protective position. Rays of sunlight shown through the slightly open curtains in the hotel room, the city of Abu Dhabi already buzzing at just 10am.

Bedsheets had been brought all the way up your chest, covering your naked body and pulling them off of Sebastian's, enough to see his toned muscles which he usually had hidden underneath a shirt, a sight you truly would never get used to. His trophy sat on the stand next to the bed, a reminder of the reasons you had celebrated the night before.

Seb nuzzled his head further into the crook of your shoulder, even in his sleepy state not wanting to let his hands drop from you. You could still smell the champagne on his skin, showering the last thing on your minds when you stumbled in. Unable to help but stare at him, his growing stubble that he didn't care enough to shave and the purple hickeys blessing his exposed neck, his blonde curls a mess on top of his head.

Memories from the previous night took over as you grazed over the marks left.

Your back was against the wall as soon as Sebastian shut the door, not wasting a second to have his hands on you fully, almost as desperate for you as you were for him. His lips trailed down your body, from your lips and then your jaw and finally residing on your neck. His trophy had been carefully placed on the ground next to you.

You whined as he sucked on the sweet spot between your neck and collarbone, the already euphoric feeling of having him so close causing a wetness between your legs. Seb's hands travelled down your legs, tapping your thighs and whispering a small. "Jump" in your ears, and you happily obliged, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist.

Sebastian carried you from the wall to the bed, dropping you down on the soft mattress below. He looked over you hungrily, his eyes dancing over your entire body as he worked out where to start first.

Lifting your fingers to his neck you traced over the marks, not too heavily as to not wake him. The action of you leaving them flashed before your eyes, each and every mark came at a different time and with how drunk you were, you were just happy to remember.

"Schatz." You had been to entranced with the memories you hadn't even seen him waking up, the calmness in his shut eyes had opened to show the beautiful blue eyes you loved. His long eyelashes brushed against his cheeks as he looked up at you, following your gaze to where you had been staring. "I could always do with more."

It was his turn to trace the marks he’d left now, Seb’s fingers smoothing over the reddened skin of your neck. "You could do with more too." He pulled one of your legs over his, making you straddle his lap whilst he continued looking up at you.

You laughed at his eagerness, acting as if you didn't want and need this just as much as he did. "What? Last night wasn't enough for you." Raising your eyebrow at him, Sebastian rolled his eyes, hands moving to your hips in an attempt to get you moving against him.

Without a second thought you obliged to his attempt, rocking your hips in time with his hands. He dipped his head down your neck, moving to in between your breast and kissing them both. His kisses continued, the loving mood he was in only growing as he made his way back up, reaching your lips and bringing you in for your first kiss of the morning. In contrast to the warmth of your skin goosebumps raised along your body.

Dragging himself away from your lips, Sebastian rejoined his journey up your body, his teeth nibbling your earlobe causing small whimpers to escape your already swollen lips. "Could never get tired of fucking you, Engel." His words went straight to your core, your thighs rubbing together to try and release the tension a little. "Do you know what you do to me?"

You knew Seb would try to get you to beg if he could. Even in the loving and giving mood he was in he always got a kick out of making you beg, the lewd words going straight to his cock whenever they left your mouth.

“Please, Seb." Your words faltered slightly as one of his fingers grazed over your cunt. Sebastian could practically feel your clit throbbing against him, and it took ever ounce of his willpower to not give you what you wanted. "Please, just touch me."

Your pleas were never enough for him, wanting nothing more than for you to break, to tell him what you wanted him to do, no matter how dirty the words you used, he loved when you spoke like that to him. "Where do you want me to touch you, schatz? I need you to tell me."

When you didn't reply, Sebastian lightly slapped your thigh as a warning, an empty one at that as you both knew he would give in to you eventually, because if it wasn’t his arousal taking over it would be his drunkenness. But he would always put up a fight. You grabbed his wrist, in no mood for his teasing or to waste time and brought down to your dripping cunt. "Here, Seb, please just touch me."

And when you rasped out his name like that who was he to not give you what you wanted most?

Sebastian’s hard on was becoming glaringly obvious through the tight, and growing even tighter, boxers he was wearing. "This is what you to do me." The words he spoke stuck with you, both of you having so much power over how the other felt almost felt like it was fate to be together.

You had rid yourself of your panties already, the newfound feeling of your unclothed clit grinding against Seb’s growing cock. Gasping as he lifted his hips to meet yours, you silenced yourself against his neck, biting into the muscles and soothing over the stinging with your tongue.

A louder moan slipped past your lips as your arousal grew, your slick making it easier to glide against the soft material of his boxers. "I want to fuck you." Sebastian had to stop the groan that nearly escaped his throat.

“Then fuck me, liebling."

"Then fuck me." As the words left your throat Sebastian pushed himself inside you, dropping his chest onto yours to get as close and humanly possibly. The groan he let as you clenched around him forever etched into your brain, something you will remember any time you look at him.

Seb snaked his arm down between your entwined bodies, circling your clit at a steady pace, contrasting the harshness of his thrusts into you. The added stimulation had you melting into the bed underneath him.

You moaned into his mouth as he kissed you, as he swallowed your moans in the heated mess between you. His neediness leaked into the kiss, pushing his tongue into your mouth at the first chance he could get.

Squeezing around him again, Sebastian bit your lip, pulling on it as he pulled away from the kiss. Both of you tried to catch to your breath, although he couldn't stop his want to touch you again, dropping his head to meet your lips in another crazed kiss.

Just as you were finding your rhythm, Sebastian’s hands found their place on your ass, slowing you for a couple seconds then speeding you up again in a sequence that made your head spin and eyes roll back. Your chests were practically touching as he pulled you impossibly closer, connecting your lips.

You kissed up and down his neck, his hickeys becoming redder as you bit down on the same spot of skin, taut from his training. Pulling away for a minute you admired the purple marks on his throat, his adams apple bobbing under your gaze, in contrast with his muscles making you feel like you could come just looking at him.

At your staring he thrust up into you faster, smirking at your unprepared reaction, arms failing you as you fell onto his chest.

One of his hands lifted from your ass, pushing the fallen hair out of your face as you found your own rhythm again. You felt your orgasm nearing closer and closer, and so did Sebastian. His hand slipped down in between your bodies, rubbing circles on your clit to push you further and further to your release.

Within seconds you were cumming around his cock, your walls clenching around him, head thrown back and your mouth opening in an ‘o’ shape. Your moans grew louder and louder, Sebastian placing his fingers in your mouth so that not every bystander in the street would hear you. "Fuck, Seb, you're so good to me."

The feeling of your tongue swirling around the tips of his fingers spurred him on to his own orgasm. The sensation you were giving him reminding him of how good you made him feel when he’s in your mouth.

Sebastian’s heavy groan filled the room as his head hit the pillow below him. Your tongue swirled around the slit in the tip of his cock teasingly, fingers stroking up and down the part you weren't touching.

You kissed him from top to bottom, placing one last longing kiss to his tip. Hollowing out your cheeks you took him in one, the tip knocking the back of your throat instantly.

Already you felt the tears leaving your eyes from the closing of your throat around him, viciously trying to force him out of your mouth. Your hands stroked what your mouth couldn't get, the two feelings only adding to his pleasure.

Rough german words slipped from his mouth, mixing with the moans and groans he let out. "I love you so much." His hand found a place in your hair, making a makeshift ponytail and pushing your head down further.

Your body fell on his, a thin layer of sweat covering both your skins as you both attempted to catch your breath. Seb still deep inside you, holding his cum in you, neither wanting to move.

Glancing over at the trophy beside you, you smiled, turning back to face Seb, who had an equally as happy grin on his face. “So when i win my second-“

“Don’t push it.”

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

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

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work.

could you write something cute about the reader and Lando please, maybe something funny where the reader says "oh yeah I'll do this but for that you'll buy me a Porsche" and Lando actually buys her a car

lando norris x gf!reader

—————————————————————

“I’ll do it if you buy me a Porsche,” you said exasperated after having the same argument with Lando. His eyes widened at your statement before a mischievous smile snuck up on his face.

“Done,” he boasted and you rolled your eyes before muttering a ‘whatever’ and going back to reading your book.

For months, Lando had been begging you to come skiing with him, Max, and Pietra. You did not want to go at all; nothing against anyone going, but you just weren’t interested in learning how to ski. Your family was a beach family; not adrenaline junkies like Lando was.

A few days later you had forgotten about the argument all together until you came into the kitchen to find Lando smiling like the cheshire cat.

“You look like a creep, what’s wrong with you?” You asked and he shrugged off your insult, holding a bag out to you.

“For you baby,” he said and you could tell he was doing everything in his power to contain his excitement. You took the bag warily, opening it to find a pair of gloves along with ski goggles.

“No,” you said simply, handing him the bag back but his grin didn’t waver.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he said, wagging his finger at you. “Look in the garage.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously at him before making your way to the garage, Lando following closely behind with barely contained excitement. When you opened the door, your jaw dropped. There, in the middle of the garage, was a sleek white Porsche with a giant red bow on top.

"You didn't," you whispered, turning to Lando with wide eyes.

"I did," he grinned, dangling a set of keys in front of you. "A deal's a deal, right?"

You snatched the keys from his hand, still in disbelief. "I was joking, Lando! You actually bought me a Porsche?"

"Well, technically it's a Porsche Taycan. Fully electric, better for the environment," he explained, watching as you circled the car in awe. "I figured if I was going to buy you a car, you’d want it to be something like that.”

“God you are unbelievable,” you muttered as you came back over to him. “Good thing you’re pretty.”

Lando smirked and wrapped his arms around your waist. “So… does this mean you’re coming skiing?”

You gave him a look. “No. It means I’m driving the Porsche to the mountain lodge and then sitting by the fire with a book and a hot chocolate while you launch yourself off cliffs.”

He pouted. “You have to ski at least once. You said—”

“I said I’d go skiing,” you interrupted, holding up a finger. “Not do skiing. Words matter, Norris.”

Lando opened his mouth to argue, then paused. “You know what? Fine. I got you the car. You show up, wear the goggles for five minutes, and I’ll count it as a win.”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek. “See? Look at us. Compromising. Growing.”

He sighed dramatically. “I should’ve just bought you snow boots and lied about the Porsche.”

You laughed, slipping into the driver’s seat to admire the interior. “Too late now. This baby’s mine.”

Find Your Way Home

Daniel Ricciardo x Engineer!Fem!Reader

Warnings: the curse that is mclaren racing, < mclaren/zak slander, the highs and lows of Danny's career, monaco 2016, horner warning lmao, a few bitter words, angst, unspoken feelings, sadness, 2022 silly season and a few swear words.

Word Count: 4.6k

Author's Note: after plotting this, i realized that The Red String Of Me And You follows a similar timeline but this one is more detailed and sooo much sexier of me so enjoy it :)

---

RedBull Racing - 2014; Montreal, Canada.

Under-qualified crossed your mind every time you got into your chair on the pit wall.

You had recently graduated and you were lucky enough to snag a job with Red Bull Racing. You were told it would be a job at the factory, that you would be handling the reviews from the races from an engineering point of view.

Now you were sitting on the pit wall in Montreal, your driver in your ear. "Are we set?" His voice came through.

Your eyes scanned over the screens, pressing the button. "We're all set, Daniel."

Daniel was gunning for his first race win and you've been hoping and praying every weekend that he'd win. It was your first time as a race engineer and you were starting to think you two hadn't fully clicked yet, hence why you've yet to get a win.

He starts in P6 and his teammate Sebastian, was in P3 this weekend. There's a lot of pressure when your teammate is a 4 time world champion and you're sure Daniel felt it, especially on weekends like this.

You sat patiently, buzzing into him once more before they started the countdown. "Be safe."

"Safe is my middle name, y/n."

"Whatever you say, Joseph." The use of his actual middle name earned you a laugh. The radio falls silent; three, two, one, lights out.

It's a gruesome 70 laps, there's overtaking left and right, Daniel fights his way up to P3 and you're praying he can do what he does best. You watch as the laps count down towards the final one.

67, 68, 69, and into the final corner. The navy car crossed the line and it takes you a second to catch yourself. Christian squeezes your arm from next to you, a massive grin on his face when you register what just happened.

"YOU DID IT!!" You shouted into the radio, Daniel's laughter and hollering filled your ears and your heart with love and happiness, "we did it!" he shouts, correcting you.

Everyone's running, you're following the mechanics to under the podium, all of you squished up against the fence like sardines as the navy team awaited their two drivers.

Daniel had won, followed by Nico in P2 for Mercedes and Sebastian in P3 for RedBull.

Seb runs over to his half of the garage, there's a sea of navy and everyone is mixed up together but when Daniel gets out of his car, he's looking for one person and one person only. He spots you, a big smile on your face and even though he knows you'd never admit it, there are tears in your eyes.

The driver jumps straight into your arms, putting all of his weight on you and the fence. A few of the mechanics squeeze into the hug, holding Daniel so he doesn't crush you.

Your hands cup his face, well what would be his face under the helmet. His visor is lifted, brown eyes meet yours; the crinkles by his eyes signalling to the massive smile under the helmet.

"We fucking did it!" His shout comes out muffled.

You smile, nodding. Daniel is standing again, still holding onto you. He leans into you, arms wrapped around you with his face buried in your shoulder. You kiss the side of his helmet, hand reaching down to rub the top of his back. You internally gag at the dampness that meets your hand but that was the least of your concerns.

Daniel just won his first race.

Proud was an understatement.

--

RedBull Racing - 2016; Monte Carlo, Monaco.

He could taste the victory.

The win was reaching out to him, the finish line on the tips of his fingers and he could feel it slipping away from him.

"Pit now," you called to him, Daniel was confused by your sudden decision. "Tyres are good, y/n."

"Team decision, please pull into the pit lane."

Daniel groans letting you know he'll be there in a few seconds.

You saw when he pulled into the pits, watching as the mechanics scrabbled to get the tyres ready in time. They had Daniel sitting there, his position falling with each wasted second.

"What the fuck!" His radio was still on, you weren't even sure what you could tell him in that moment to make him feel better. He pulls out with a sense of speed you'd never seen before. He finds himself racing to beat Lewis coming out of the pit lane but the Mercedes turns into the corner before he gets the chance too, overtaking him.

"Why did we pit?" He asks you, you pretend not to hear him as you look over at Christian. The older man gives you a look, urging you to answer the driver.

Daniel calls your name once again, his voice making you want to cry; all of the horrible emotions mixed in with the guilt of the horrible pit stop made you sick.

You finally answer; "team decision."

He scoffs, it's like you can feel the tension over the radio, see the way his hands tighten around the steering wheel as he goes into the tunnel. "Bullshit, y/n."

"I'm sorry Dan-" "Stop, nothing you could say will make this better."

And with that, the radio fell silent. The nauseous feeling builds with each passing second, your leg shaking and your eyes staying fixed to the screen until Daniel crosses the finish line in P2.

It was better than nothing but you knew he could have won the race, you knew he would blame the team, blame the crew, blame you for this loss.

Christian squeezes your shoulder as he gets up, a smile on his face - his quiet way of telling you good job. He knows how difficult drivers can be, especially when things like this happen. The race engineers are the first to take the blame, you called him into the pit so you'd take the brunt of the anger.

You nod, hearing Daniel's voice over the radio, "place?"

"P2. Well done, Daniel."

"Okay."

Daniel stood next to Lewis, Checo on the other side of the Mercedes driver. It was quiet as you watched Daniel shake the champagne bottle, spraying over his fellow drivers. He had a smile on his face but you knew he wasn't happy. You knew him like the back of your hand and once again, the nauseous feeling creeped up the back of your throat, the feeling strangling the life out of you with each passing second. You had to go, you couldn't stand there and watch him like that, knowing you were the one he was blaming.

And that he did; not in so many words but the bitterness in his voice and way he spoke was enough to tell you he did not want to be there.

The interview replayed in the debrief that afternoon, the press officers wanting to go over something he had said.

"It hurts, this one hurts a lot. More than any other."

His words hurt you.

You couldn't even bring yourself to look at him, let alone be in the same room as him. There was a sense of despair, you couldn't shake it.

It wasn't until you were about to leave that you found yourself turning back, walking in the direction of his driver's room. You stopped outside the door; D. Ricciardo, 3 - with an Australian flag beside it. As you were about to knock, Michael opens the door, a bit shocked to see you.

"Is he in there?" You asked quietly and he nodded, stepping aside to let you in. Michael shuts the door on his way out, leaving the two of you alone.

Daniel's yet to turn around or yet to realize you were there. "I'm sorry," you speak, your quiet voice startling him. "I'm not sure what went wrong."

"Everything did."

"It wasn't my decision."

"You're my engineer; when I'm out there, it's me and you. It was your decision, y/n. Only yours."

"I'm sorry, Daniel. I really am."

"Nothing you can say will fix it, and I know you're sorry but right now, I don't want your sorry."

You nod, taking a step back. "Then what can I say? Or do?"

"You can leave," his arms fold over his chest. "Because if you stay, I might say some things I can't take back. I know we aren't cool right now but I don't want to hurt you, y/n."

"You already have," you give him a tight lipped smile, the sadness clear across your face. "Goodnight Daniel."

--

RedBull Racing - 2018; Monte Carlo, Monaco.

It was off to a good start, Daniel had managed to give it his all and snag pole position on Saturday. He was in a good mood, there's a smile on his face and the sun was shining down on Monaco which was a nice change from the rain that was setting up in the morning.

The cars on the grid, the drivers counting down the seconds to lights out. You buzz into him, waiting to hear the little click. Daniel's breathing comes through from his side.

“50% done, remember?” You tell him. 

“50% done.” He says, the radio goes quiet as he waits for lights out.

Daniel drove amazingly, despite the issues the car was giving him. He finds himself aggravated half way through the race, the car giving out on him and losing power; thus losing hope in himself. The win was slipping through his fingers all over again with each passing corner and turn.

The weight was lifted off his shoulders when you watched him cross the finish line as the winner.

"P1 baby!!!!" You shout into the radio, Daniel's hollering fills the line and a big smile on both of your faces. "We fucking did it!!" He laughed, driving his cool down lap.

You were by the fence, watching as he climbed onto the halo of his car. Daniel's hand in a fist, placed on his chest as the team cheered. You're sure you've got the goofiest grin on your face, squished between Christian and Adrian.

Much like he did after his first race win, he makes a beeline straight for you, his arms open as he jumps into yours. Once again, you find yourself struggling to hold the man up but you try your best, arms wrapped around him.

Daniel's squished against you, your hands on his helmet, holding where his jaw would be. "Got that other 50%."

"Redemption day baby!" He shouts, giving you one last squeeze.

The rest of the afternoon was like heaven on earth; the smell of champagne, RedBull and chlorine covered everyone, you all watched as Daniel dived into the pool of the energy station.

"Come on!" He shouts to you but you shake your head, "I'm not getting in there."

Daniel pulls himself out of the pool, running over to you. "Dan, no." Your finger stuck out to warn him, the man comes closer. "Stop it," you get up, about to run away. He grabs you before you get the chance to run away, his arms wrapped tightly around you before he jumps into the pool.

"Daniel!" You scream when you get back up to the surface, "oh my god!" You laughed, your hand passed over your face to wipe away the water. He laughs, swimming - more like blobbing his way over to you, his race suit was weighing him down.

He grabs your arm, pulling you to him. The team photographer takes a photo of the two of you; arms wrapped around each other, covered in disgusting pool water with the world's biggest million watt smiles on your face.

You smile at the man next to you, "I'm so proud of you."

"I'm proud of you," he smiles, hugging you once more. "I couldn't have done it without you."

--

RedBull Racing - 2018; Abu Dhabi.

The announcement over the summer break threw everyone for a loop.

Breaking News: Daniel Ricciardo set to join Renault Racing for the 2019 season.

You weren't sure how to handle it or what prompted it.

Well that's not entirely true; after Monaco, things went downhill fast. There was bad result after bad result and it was weighing heavily on him.

When he returned from the summer break, you didn't say anything to him about the departure from the team. You knew he must have thought about it, you don't just up and leave a team just like that. It was a hard decision for him to make.

The last thing you wanted to do was make him feel worse.

It was his last day, the race was over and Daniel had made his rounds to say goodbye to everyone. You had been busy when he made his way around the garage and hospitality but you felt like a general goodbye wasn't enough for the man who you have spent almost every day with for the last 4 years of your life.

You knocked on the door of his driver's room, Michael smiles when he opens the door. "Come in, y/n."

Daniel turns when he hears your name. "I uh, I forgot something in the garage, I'll be back." Micheal says, announcing that he's leaving so you'd get a moment of privacy.

The two of you were quiet, looking at each other for a moment before you spoke.

You break the silence. “So this is it?” 

“Yeah.” He nods, shifting from one foot to the other. You hum, lips pressed together as you look around. You'd never seen the room so empty. “Do you really have to go ?” 

Daniel smiles, “afraid so, bags are packed.” 

“You could always unpack.” 

He smiled, his heart aching at the sight of you. You reached out, your hand placed on his warm cheek. “But you’ll come back, right?” 

A sad smile on his face, bringing his own hand up to rest on yours. “In another life, maybe.” 

“You promise?” You stuck your pinky out towards him. 

He nods, interlocking his pinky with yours like you were children. “I promise.” 

--

Renault Racing - 2020; Imola, Italy.

The rain poured down, the night sky as dark as it could possibly get as you pulled your hood over your head; the race hadn't gone as well as you'd like but you were no longer needed for the night, on your way back to your hotel for some sleep and then home before you head off to Turkey.

You could barely see where you were going let alone hear anything over the rain. The sudden shelter over you caused you to look up; an umbrella, a black and yellow one to be precise.

The man next to you smiles when you turn to see who was next to you. "Hello stranger," he grinned, the big smile on his face.

"Hello Daniel," you smiled.

The two of you hadn't spoken much since he left RedBull, it was a hi and a hello here and there in passing but you've yet to have a proper conversation. Frankly, you aren't sure what to say without it being awkward.

"Need a ride?" He asks, his arm over your shoulder to pull you away from the rain. "If it's not too much trouble." You pull the hood off of your head, flattening a few fly aways.

Daniel leads you towards the parking lot, holding the umbrella over your head until you get into the car. The man backed out of the parking spot, the sound of the rain on the windshield filled the silence, you translated the road signs in your head as he passed them by.

"You looked good up there today," you say quietly, Daniel glanced at you when he came to a stop. "You were always suited for the podium."

"Top step though," he smiles and you nod in agreement. "I'm sorry.. about the race. Sucks for Max and Alex."

You shrugged; A DNF for Max and P15 for Alex, so all in all, a shit weekend. "That's racing, what can you do?"

"The good and the bad." He pulls off when the light turns green. "You know how it is," you smiled, picking at the chipped nail polish on your index finger.

"Daniel, can I ask you something?"

"Oh full name, you've got me shakin' in my boots, y/n; but yes you can."

You shift in the leather seat, smooth and expensive and suddenly you're aware of how wet your hoodie is. The question you wanted to ask slips away momentarily as you think of how much this must be damaging the seat.

"Y/n," he calls out to you, glancing over to make sure you were alright after you had gone quiet. "What did you want to ask me?"

"Why are you running, Daniel ?"

The question catches him off guard, the car comes to a stop as he pulls into the parking lot of your hotel. His jaw hung open a bit as if he was unsure how to answer you; which he was. You watched as he blinked, trying to gather the thoughts in his head into a cohesive sentence.

"I'm not."

You can't help but chuckle; those who are running never seem to realize that they are, in fact, running.

"You are. You have a habit of doing that, Daniel."

You reach over, your hand rests atop of his; Daniel's skin is warm in comparison to yours that's still ice cold from the rain. His free hand moves, his index finger tracing up and down your hands, from your knuckles down to your wrist; another habit of his. He would distract himself during boring debriefs, his fingers pinching at yours under the table.

He's quiet, still unsure how to answer the statement that he knows in his heart was true. His fingers wandering over your hand, the raised skin by your thumb felt out a pattern identical to his; a rose in the same spot only slightly smaller in size.

Daniel had talked you into it. Another habit of his, getting you to do things you'd never do otherwise.

You were scared, you thought it would hurt but somehow he managed to talk you into it. There you were in his hotel room, Daniel's hand in your free one as you two got matching tattoos.

It felt like a million years ago - so much has changed since then.

You speak again, breaking the silence. "I hope you find what you're looking for at McLaren. You deserve some peace, Dan. You and I both know it."

--

McLaren Racing - 2021; Monza, Italy.

Back where he belongs.

A hell of a drive, something only Daniel could have pulled off after the horrendous start that was McLaren. You knew it was the car, not him; if anyone asked you, the car was always at fault. Daniel was one of the most talented drivers you had ever come across and had the pleasure of working with. You'd tell anyone who asked, anyone who'd listen to you.

It was a lacklustre weekend for the team; Checo was in P5 and Max had a DNF after an accident with Lewis, which caused both drivers to lose out on points that were needed for the championship.

Despite RedBull not having a driver on the podium, you and a few of the mechanics that used to work on Daniel's side of the garage went to watch the podium to cheer him on.

You watched as he and Lando did a shoey, your face twisting into disgust much like the younger McLaren driver. Valtteri watched in a bit of confusion and disgust, shaking his head as he took a swing of champagne from the bottle like a normal person.

The champagne bottle in one hand and the other on the railing as he climbed up. Daniel shouts, a big grin on his face as he lifts the bottle above his head. Everyone cheers for him, clapping and shouting for the winner. You were needed back in the garage for a meeting so you couldn't stick around long but you made sure to text Daniel.

To Daniel Ricciardo: Congrats winner! Back on the top step.

You got caught up in the meetings, back to back that felt never ending. Eventually you have a chance to check your phone but when you feel your pocket, it's not there.

You must have put it down somewhere. You find yourself retracing your steps, asking each person you saw as you passed by.

"Y/n!" GP calls for you, getting your attention. "Looking for this?" He holds up a phone with a navy blue case, your initials inscribed in gold on the bottom.

You let out a breath, "how'd you know?"

He hands the phone over to you, shrugging. "You know I always know." You roll your eyes at your co-worker's theatrics and thank him for your phone before walking off. You see you've missed a few messages so you scroll through. One in particular catches your eye.

From Daniel Ricciardo: Thanks boss lady! Congrats to you too, you helped make me the man I am today.

The message pulled on your heart strings; it was true. You and Daniel were so young when you got paired up together. You learnt a lot about life and yourselves, how to be a good person and what you wanted from life, and most importantly, how to get it.

You grew up together and Daniel would always hold a special place in your heart.

--

McLaren Racing - 2022; Spa-Francorchamps, Belgium.

You couldn't believe it.

After everything he's done for the team, he'd hurt him like that. What could you expect from a team when their CEO was a walking snake?

It was a chain reaction.

Sebastian had thrown everyone for a loop in Hungary, announcing that he would be retiring at the end of the 2022 season. That left Aston looking for a replacement that came from Fernando. There was an opening at Alpine now which they just assumed they'd fill with their reserve driver, Oscar.

Safe to say Oscar wasn't a fan of that plan, actually he wasn't even aware of that plan.

While all of this was going on, Daniel had publicly committed to McLaren for the next season and McLaren was giving away his seat to different drivers behind his back, including none other than Alpine's reserve driver, Oscar.

Eventually it did come out that Daniel would be leaving McLaren at the end of the 2022 season to no fault of his own.

Returning from the summer break, everyone is left to face the music; particularly Daniel.

His music shuts off when he pulls the key from the ignition. You had forgotten your pass in the car, walking all the way back to the parking lot to get it.

"Morning, y/n!" Daniel grins, stepping out of the car.

You smiled at him, knowing you can't show the anger you were feeling to that wretched team he has to work with for the rest of the season. "Morning, Danny. How are you?"

He laughs.

The question feels so stupid, he feels so stupid. Obviously there's the obvious, he's angry, upset, sad, mad; at who was the question. There's so many thoughts in his head, he isn't sure how to answer your question.

"Daniel, c'mon. Seriously. "

"I'll be okay, y/n. Life works in weird ways."

A huff slips past your lips, arms folded across your chest much like a disapproving mother. "Life working in weird ways is finding something you thought you lost years ago, not you getting sold out of your seat without your knowledge."

He gives you a sad smile, nodding in agreement. "I know."

You can't help but reach out, a hand on his shoulder. "You'll be okay."

"I always am, aren't I?"

--

Red Bull Racing - 2022; Abu Dhabi.

Headphones covered your ears, legs folded under you as you went over the last set of race footage.

You hadn't heard the door open, your eyes glued to the screen only looking away to scribbling something down on the page next to your laptop.

You barely get a second to look back before someone's hands over your eyes, startling you. Instinctively, you brought your own hands up, grabbing the person. The raised skin along the wrist and the arms was enough to signal who it was but the smell of his cologne filled the room. You let go of his arms, pulling the headphones off your ears.

Daniel smiles, his hands on your shoulders before you stand up and turn to face him. “Miss me, miss me, now you gotta-“ 

“Gotta what, Dan?” 

“Kiss me,” he says, his signature cheeky grin on his face. You can’t help but smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. You smooth the wrinkles on his navy blue shirt, admiring him in the colours that meant home to him, to you.

Your hands held his face, “you came back.” 

“Pinky promises are sacred.” 

“That they are.” 

--

Scuderia AlphaTauri - 2023; Spa-Francorchamps, Belgium.

He's back on the grid, his focus was on racing.

Daniel's excited to be back, it felt good to be back. Racing wasn't a burden anymore. Yuki was happy to have him, his new teammate welcoming him with a smile and a hug as did the rest of the Alpha Tauri team before he made his way to his driver's room.

The door was unlocked, left ajar slightly. Daniel just assumed the team was doing a last check, making sure things were in order.

He wasn't expecting a person to be in there. He found a woman, her back turned to him as she scribbled down something on the board.

He knows that handwriting from anywhere. The words let's fucking go written in all caps in bright blue.

"Hello," he calls, you turn with the marker still in hand. "Hello," you smiled.

Daniel can't help but laugh, "what are you doing here? Come to welcome me back ?"

"Something like that."

At that moment, Daniel noticed you weren't wearing your usual navy blue uniform. Today was different; a different logo, a different cut.

"What are you wearing? Why are you wearing that?" He points to the Alpha Tauri logo on your shirt.

Your brows furrow, a bit confused by his reaction. You thought he'd be happy to see you. "Do you not need a race engineer or.. you're just gonna wing it? Maybe you could borrow Michael to do it?"

"Don't be a smart ass," he rolled his eyes, dropping his bags as he walked over to you. "Thank you," he whispers, pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

You pat his back, trying to wiggle away from him. "No need to thank me, we have a lot of work to do."

"I've barely been here for 5 minutes and you're already hassling me."

"Someone's gotta do it," you smiled, leaving him there to settle in.

It wasn't until it was time for practice that you saw the man again, you're across from him on the pit wall, looking over the stats before you hear the radio buzz.

“We all set?” He asks. 

You look over the screens. “All set. Be safe.”

“Safe is my middle name, Y/n.” The words remind you of the path you walked along many many years ago. 

You smiled, waving to him as he pulled out of the garage. “Whatever you say, Joseph.”

--

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Yes, it's her. - Lewis Hamilton.

Summary: Y/N and Lewis Hamilton have always been spotted together, hand in hand, leaving people to speculate about their relationship. While they found the rumors amusing, Lewis wanted to make it official. It was just a simple request to date—no big deal—so why was he so nervous? With his usual charm and a lot of cheesy jokes, he takes a leap, hoping she’ll say yes.

The evening had started like any other. The two of you had ordered takeout and were sprawled on the couch, lazily scrolling through Netflix to find something neither of you would actually pay attention to.

“Rom-com?” Lewis asked, scrolling past 10 Things I Hate About You.

“Too predictable.”

“Action?” He paused on a Marvel movie.

“Too loud.”

“Horror?”

You shot him a look, and he smirked. “Too scary for you, babe?”

“I’m not scared. I just don’t feel like spending the night listening to you scream.”

He laughed, tossing the remote onto the coffee table. “Fine. No movie. Let’s just sit here and bask in each other’s presence.”

“Oh, how romantic,” you teased, pulling your legs up onto the couch.

Lewis shifted beside you, his knee bouncing ever so slightly. You noticed but said nothing. It wasn’t unusual for him to fidget—he was always full of energy—but tonight felt different.

“You okay?” you finally asked, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah, of course,” he said quickly, his voice just a tad too high-pitched to be convincing.

“Lewis…”

He turned to you with a grin that was a little too wide. “What? Can’t a man enjoy some quality time with his favorite person?”

“Are you sure you’re not hiding something? You’re acting weird.”

“Me? Weird? Never.” He reached for his wine glass, taking a sip that lasted just a little too long.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you nervous about something? Did you crash another car?”

He nearly choked on his wine. “What? No! Why would you even say that?”

“Because the last time you acted like this, you accidentally ran over my potted plant with your electric scooter.”

He groaned, covering his face. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

He chuckled, but the nervous energy didn’t leave him. Instead, he leaned back, pulling you closer until your head was resting on his chest. His fingers played with the ends of your hair, and you could feel his heart beating faster than usual.

“You know,” he started, his tone lighter now, “the paparazzi think we’re already dating.”

You smiled, recalling the many headlines you’d seen: ‘Lewis Hamilton and Mystery Woman: Romance or Friendship?’ or ‘Spotted Again: Are They or Aren’t They?’

“They’re pretty creative,” you said. “Remember the one where they said we were secretly engaged?”

“Oh, and the one about us having a secret baby?”

You both burst out laughing, the tension in his body easing slightly.

“I mean, it’s kind of funny,” he said. “They’re all desperate to figure it out.”

“Well, let them keep guessing. It’s more fun this way.”

“Yeah… but what if we didn’t make them guess anymore?”

You froze for a moment, lifting your head to look at him. “What do you mean?”

He cleared his throat, suddenly looking everywhere except at you. “I mean… what if we, you know, made it official?”

You stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. “Lewis, are you asking me out right now?”

His cheeks flushed, and he laughed nervously. “Okay, this is not going how I planned.”

“You had a plan?”

“Kind of. But then I got nervous, and now I’m rambling, and I don’t know why because this should be easy, right? It’s just… I like you. Like, really like you. And I know we’ve never called it anything, but I want to. I want to call you mine, officially. So… will you?”

For a moment, you just blinked at him, trying to process his words. Then, a grin spread across your face. “You’re such a dork.”

“Is that a yes?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning forward to kiss him softly. “Of course, it’s a yes.”

The relief on his face was palpable, and he let out a dramatic sigh. “Thank God. I was about to start sweating.”

“You were already sweating,” you teased.

“Okay, rude.” He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But you said yes, so I’ll let it slide.”

Later that night, after the excitement had settled and you were both curled up on the couch again, Lewis grabbed his phone.

“What are you doing?” you asked, peeking over his shoulder.

“Posting something,” he said, his tone casual.

You groaned. “Lewis…”

“Relax, it’s nothing big.”

He showed you the screen. It was a photo he’d taken of you earlier that evening, laughing mid-bite of your dinner, entirely candid. The caption read: “Yes. It’s her.”

You covered your face with a pillow. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he said, grinning as he hit post.

You couldn’t argue with that.

A bit mushy - Lewis Hamilton

Let's see how Lewis and his wife do in a Couple's Interview.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: none

wordcount: +3k

a/n: Fun and light Lewis for the win, again thanks a million times to @greedyjudge2 for the idea and for some of the questions, I know I don't usually write carefree Lewis but it's my favorite ❤️❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

_______________________________________

The room was buzzing—cameras being adjusted, light stands tweaked and a handful of crew members chatting as they waited for everything to come together.

Lewis sat comfortably on the low-slung, cushy armchair beside his wife, his hand resting casually on the back of her seat tracing lazy circles on her back. They looked impossibly relaxed, as if the cameras were invisible, and this was just another day at home.

The director, a laid-back guy with a coffee stain on his jeans and a clipboard that looked way too serious for the vibe of the shoot, strolled over.

He was juggling his phone and an energy drink, clearly a man trying to keep his cool while wrangling two of the most charismatic people in motorsports.

“Okay, so this should be easy” he started, his voice overly casual like he almost didn’t want to disturb the couple’s chemistry “No serious stuff. No PR-approved answers. We’re here for the real deal. Just answering a few questions about each other, nothing too scandalous. Think... fun, but, y’know, juicy enough to make people smile.”

Lewis’s wife, legs crossed and leaning slightly into her husband’s space, raised an eyebrow. “Define juicy” a sly smile tugging at her lips.

The director chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know, like... light-hearted scandal. Stuff people don’t already know. Maybe embarrass him a little—" he motioned to Lewis—"but in a cute way.”

Lewis shot the director a mock glare “Right, you don’t really need to ask her that” he said, his voice dripping with good-humored sarcasm.

His wife snorted, turning to face him with a grin. “Promise not to dig too deep. Unless we’re talking about those sneakers you wore to the beach...”

Lewis groaned, tilting his head back dramatically. “Not the beach sneakers again! One time and I’m branded for life.”

The crew around them snickered, and even the sound guy adjusted his headphones to cover a grin.

There was something about the way they bickered that had the whole room leaning in, as if everyone was witnessing the most intimate, casual conversation between two people who just fit.

The director, fully entertained, motioned to the cameraman to get ready. “Alright, alright. Let’s save the good stuff for the shoot. Remember, it’s just you two being yourselves. No need to put on a show.”

His wife reached over and squeezed Lewis’s hand. “No promises.”

As they shared a quiet laugh, the subtle touches and glances between them were enough to make anyone nearby smile. There was no need for grand gestures—the way they leaned into each other, how their conversations flowed effortlessly, said more than any scripted moment ever could.

They had that kind of love that made everyone else feel like they were in on something out of ordinary, just by watching.

The cameras zoomed in slowly as the couple got comfortable in their seats. Lewis leaned back, his arm still slung casually around his wife’s chair, his body slight angled so he could face her better, and she tucked one leg underneath her, turning toward him like she always did when they were in the middle of one of their many quiet conversations.

Except this wasn’t quite so quiet. The cameras were rolling now, and the world was about to get a glimpse into how they were with each other.

The director's voice came through, just loud enough to hear but never intrusive.

“Alright, let’s get this rolling. What embarrassing fashion trend did you take part in?”

Lewis immediately leaned forward, rubbing his hands together as if he was preparing for battle. “I’ll own this one. Bandanas. Wore them with everything back in the day. Thought I was some kind of rockstar or something.”

She tilted her head, eyebrows shooting up. “Bandanas?” she asked, feigning surprise. Her eyes glimmered with mischief, and she leaned closer, as if letting the audience in on a secret. “You sure it wasn’t the Timberlands?”

Lewis threw his head back with a groan, already knowing where this was headed. “Not the Timbs,” he mumbled, shaking his head like he was in actual pain.

“Yeah, the Timbs” she said, fully grinning now. “Let me remind you, you used to wear them with everything. Jeans, tracksuits, shorts, suits—”

Lewis raised a hand, stopping her, though there was a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I still stand by those, alright? I don’t care what anyone says. Timbs are timeless.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, patting his leg. “Sure, babe. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The banter between them came so naturally, it was easy to forget there were cameras pointed right at them. The crew standing around had mostly stopped what they were doing, some watching the couple with amused smirks, others clearly touched by how playful yet undeniably affectionate they were towards each other.

“Okay, next question: What first attracted you to each other?”

Lewis’s wife leaned back, narrowing her eyes like she was trying to come up with something profound. “His sense of style,” she deadpanned, lips twitching as she fought back a grin.

Lewis blinked, his head cocked to the side. “Seriously? You were just attacking my Timbs? That guy’s sense of style?”

For a moment, she held her ground, lips pursed in mock-seriousness. But after a few seconds of staring at him—his bewildered look, the way he was just waiting for her to crack—she broke. Her laugh wasn’t exactly loud but it filled the room.

“Okay, fine!” She reached out, her hand landing on his thigh, fingers curling into the fabric of his pants. “It was your eyes.”

Lewis’s eyebrows shot up as he gave her a soft smile. He just stared at her, thrown off by her sudden honesty.

She smiled, her gaze softening too as she looked at him. “They’re intense, you know? Like you see things really deeply. The way you look at the world... it’s impossible not to notice.”

Lewis was quiet for a beat, his usual witty retorts momentarily forgotten. His hand moved instinctively to cover hers on his leg, squeezing it gently. “Well, damn” he finally said, his voice quieter than before, almost reverent.

The room around them seemed to still. There was something about the way they looked at each other that made it feel like they were the only ones there, like everyone else had faded away.

“Next one—‘On what occasion have you lied to me?’”

Lewis’s eyes went wide, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he glanced at his wife. “Uh… Remember when I blamed Roscoe for loosing up your house shoes?”

Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him in disbelief. “No. You’re telling me you wore my house shoes, Lewis?!”

He winced, trying to play it cool. “I mean… It was just that one time! They looked comfy, and my feet were cold. I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Oh, I noticed,” she said, crossing her arms. “I just thought Roscoe had lied on them, not that your big feet had wrecked them!”

The crew chuckled, sensing the playful tension building between them.

“Roscoe was the perfect scapegoat…” Lewis defended himself.

“My poor baby” she sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “You threw him under the bus!”

“He didn’t seem to mind,” Lewis replied with a smirk, leaning closer to her, his tone turning softer. “But hey, I bought you new ones”

She raised a brow, clearly amused but still pretending to be serious.

“Have I ever made you jealous?”

Lewis leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, a playful smirk creeping across his face as he quipped in before she could. “She has, yes.”

His wife’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh? When exactly?”

He didn’t answer immediately, taking his time like he always did when he wanted to build up the suspense. She leaned in; her curiosity evident in the way her lips quirked. “Come on, give me the details.”

Lewis shook his head, clearly amused. “The silver dress” he said, voice low.

For a second, she didn’t react, clearly trying to place the memory. Then, like a lightbulb flicking on, her eyes widened in recognition. “Ohhh, that night!”

Her laughter exploded from her, loud and sudden, catching even the crew off guard. She leaned back in her chair, clutching her stomach slightly as she laughed, while Lewis sat there, arms still crossed, trying his best to look annoyed but clearly failing.

“That night was something” she said between laughs, her eyes shimmering with tears of amusement.

Lewis sighed, shaking his head. “I’m glad you think it was so funny.”

“Oh, babe, you were so grumpy” she teased, nudging him with her foot.

Lewis didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he just looked at her with that mix of exasperation and fondness that made it clear that, no matter what she did, she was always going to get away with it.

“What’s a song that reminds you of each other?”

This time, she didn’t even hesitate. “A Life Like This by Nao.”

Lewis’s face softened immediately. “Why that one?”

She smiled, but it wasn’t her usual teasing grin. This one was softer, more intimate. “Because... before you, I was just going through life, you know? Things were just happening, and I wasn’t really... present. Then you came along, and it was like everything shifted. It was like my Saturn return was finally over, and I could just... breathe.”

For a moment, Lewis said nothing. His face betrayed him—no amount of his typical coolness could hide the way her words hit him.

He leaned forward slightly, his hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re really gonna get me emotional, huh?” he murmured, his voice so low only she and the mic could pick up on his voice.

She just smiled; her eyes full of love. “That’s the plan.”

The crew exchanged looks and quiet smiles. It was impossible not to feel the connection between them, like they were watching something precious unfold right in front of them.

“What’s something you wish you did more often?”

Lewis leaned back, thinking for a moment. “Lazy mornings.”

She smiled, nodding. “Yeah?”

“Yeah” he said softly, his eyes on her. “No alarms, no schedules, no meetings. Just us. Laying in bed, talking, laughing... not worrying about what we have to do next.”

She nodded again, her smile turning wistful. “Yeah.”

Their eyes met, and once again, the room seemed to shrink around them, leaving just the two of them in their little bubble.

“Okay love birds, next up ‘What is the most treasured possession that the other has given you?’”

She paused, tapping her chin as if she really had to think about it, though the answer was clearly already on her mind. “The necklace you gave me on our third date.”

The director blinked, looking between them. “Third date?”

“Oh yeah” she nodded, leaning back in her chair, eyes sparkling as she shot Lewis a teasing look. “He was whipped by then.”

Lewis rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. “You make it sound like I was proposing marriage.”

“You weren’t far off, though” she teased, reaching for the necklace hanging delicately around her neck. “He gave me this beautiful pendant, that he designed himself, by the way, and I remember thinking, ‘Okay, this guy is serious.’”

Lewis chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “I knew what I wanted.”

“That you did” she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

“Yeah” he grinned. “No point in playing games.”

She looked down at the necklace again, her voice softening. “It’s not just the necklace though. It’s what it represented. He was showing me he wasn’t just there for fun—he was there for real.”

Lewis met her gaze, his smile quieter now, filled with affection. “I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

“When did you first know that you were in love?”

This time, she was the one to hesitate, a mischievous glint in her eye. “In love with whom?” she asked, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

Lewis groaned, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, don’t start.”

She giggled, clearly enjoying every second of his exasperation. “I knew I loved you when we went through about a dozen paint stores in Milan looking for the perfect shade of gold for that painting.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, didn’t remember that.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I could’ve just mixed the colors myself and gotten something close. But you were so invested in finding the exact match that I just... I kept going. And I knew it then. I knew I loved you because you cared about the little things, the details that most people would overlook.”

Lewis stared at her; his face unreadable. Then, slowly, he smiled—a soft, genuine smile that seemed to melt the room around them.

“What’s your favorite memory of the two of you?”

Lewis leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That time we missed the flight in Paris.”

She let out a groan, breaking the feeling in the room, she already knew where this story was headed. “Nooo, not that!”

“Yep,” Lewis said with a smile. “So we were in Paris, right? And someone—” he pointed at her playfully, “—was absolutely convinced that the subway would get us to the airport faster than any car could.”

“It would’ve!” she protested, already laughing. “The traffic was insane!”

“Yeah sure” he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “So there we were, dragging our bumps through the subway stations, hopping from one line to the next. Every station was like a maze, and we were so lost. I kept telling you, ‘Let’s just get a cab,’ but nooo, you were determined.”

She shook her head, smiling. “It was an adventure!”

“It was chaos and we missed the flight by hours” Lewis corrected, his voice teasing but fond.

“But honestly? It’s one of my favorite memories. You were so carefree, so determined, so in the present. We were lost in Paris but we weren’t lost within ourselves.”

Her smile softened, her eyes holding his for a long moment. “You never told me that was your favorite memory.”

“Yeah” he said quietly, his voice more sincere now. “I felt like we could just... slow down. Be present. No pressure, no expectations. Just you and me.”

For a moment, they were silent, the weight of his words settling between them. The room around them was so still that the soft hum of the cameras was the only sound. The crew watched them closely, as if holding their collective breath.

She leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder, and whispered just loud enough for the microphones to catch “I think that’s my favorite memory now, too.”

Lewis smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, and for a few seconds, it was like the cameras weren’t even there. It was just them, lost in a shared memory, a world of their own.

The director, sensing the intimacy of the moment, cleared his throat gently.

“Alright, now to wrap this up ‘When can we expect little Hamiltons running around?”

Both Lewis and his wife exchanged quick glances, and almost in unison, they burst out laughing—only this time, their laughter had a bit of an edge, like they knew something the room didn’t.

Lewis leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands together. “Ooooh, good one.”

“You had to go there, didn’t you?” she added, her eyes wide with exaggerated innocence. “Real smooth.”

The crew, sensing the couple was playing coy, leaned in just a bit, waiting for a juicy response. But instead, Lewis leaned forward, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Well, you never know, right?”

His wife smirked, glancing at him sideways, playing along. “When you least expect it”

The director, not quite satisfied, pressed on. “Any plans in the near future?”

“Oh, besides, like, tomorrow’s plans?” she quipped, keeping the teasing energy alive.

Lewis chimed in again, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “We’ve got a lot of plans. Travel, Roscoe’s bath time…”

The director chuckled, shaking his head. “Dodging the question, I see.”

Lewis gave a knowing look to the camera, adding one final, cryptic comment. “We’ll let you know when it happens... maybe.”

And with that, they both smiled at the cameras, their laughter filling the air as the director called “cut” for the final time.

The room gradually came back to life, the hum of equipment being packed up and crew members chatting quietly filling the air. The couple stayed seated, though, still caught in the gentle pull of their shared moment, almost unaware of the bustling scene around them.

Lewis exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing as he glanced at his wife, his arm instinctively pulling her a little closer. She smiled, still leaning into him, her head resting against his shoulder, fingers absentmindedly playing with his fingers.

“That was a bit mushy, wasn’t it?” she murmured, a teasing lilt to her voice, though there was warmth in her eyes as she gazed up at him.

Lewis smirked, brushing his thumb gently against her arm. “Just a little. But you started it.”

She chuckled softly, nuzzling into his shoulder. “Tou’re not usually one for getting all sentimental on camera.”

He shrugged lightly, but there was no real defensiveness in his posture.

She smiled, her heart swelling at the softness in his gestures. “Good. I like you better that way.”

She sighed softly, sitting up a little and stretching her arms out with a satisfied groan. “People are going to think we’re a pair of softies.”

Lewis chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Let them.”

She smiled, sitting back in her chair and looking at him with a tenderness that only deepened as she reached out, her hand cupping his cheek for a brief moment. “I guess it’s not the worst thing to be.”

He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing briefly before he opened them and looked straight at her. “Nah, it’s not.”

Unbeknownst to them, the cameras were still rolling—just a little, a behind-the-scenes shot meant to capture those moments of candidness. The crew tried to keep their distance, giving the couple their space, but every now and then, someone would glance over, a quiet smile tugging at their lips. There was something undeniably magnetic about Lewis and his wife, the way they moved around each other, the way they fit together.

Without thinking, he stood up and extended a hand to her, pulling her up from her seat. As she stood, she let out a small laugh, one that was soft and filled with affection. But before she could fully straighten up, Lewis slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest in a gentle, protective embrace.

For a second, she stiffened—more out of surprise than anything—but then she melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. It was a simple gesture, nothing extravagant, but in that moment, it was everything.

“Alright, lover boy” she murmured, her voice laced with contentment. “What’s all this about?”

“Just holding you” he replied simply, his voice low and soothing, the kind of tone he used when it was just the two of them, no audience, no pressure. “Feels like we haven’t had a minute to ourselves in forever.”

She smiled as she found her place on the crock of his neck, her fingers absently tracing circles on the back of his neck “You’ll get them,” she promised quietly. “We’ll make time.”

Eventually, Lewis pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know,” he started, his tone teasing “about those Timbs.”

She groaned, playfully swatting at his chest. “I thought we agreed to leave the Timbs in the past.”

“I never agreed to that” he grinned, tightening his arms around her playfully. “I’m still rocking them, remember?”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face betrayed her. “Well, at least one of us has evolved.”

He laughed, pressing a soft kiss to her head. “Maybe. But you love me anyway.”

“I do,” she said softly, the sincerity of the words wrapping around them both like a warm blanket. “I really do.”

______________________________________________________________

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Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: Lewis loves to spoil his girlfriend

Requested? kinda

The sun streams through the expansive glass windows of the Monaco boutique, bathing the marble floors in golden light. You glance at yourself in the mirror, adjusting the hem of the sleek dress you’re trying on. The soft fabric hugs your figure perfectly, and you smile to yourself, pleased with the choice.

As you step out of the fitting room, your heart skips a beat. Lewis is standing by the counter, dressed casually in a plain white T-shirt, baggy pants, and sneakers. His sunglasses rest on top of his head as he chats easily with the sales associate. You thought he was supposed to be in a meeting, but here he is.

“Lewis!” you exclaim, startled but delighted.

He turns to you, his grin widening. “Hey, love. Thought I’d surprise you.”

“You definitely did.” You walk toward him, your confusion giving way to joy. “What about your meeting?”

“Got canceled,” he says casually, taking a step closer. “Figured I’d spend my free time with you instead.”

Before you can respond, you notice him handing his credit card to the sales associate. “Pack up everything she liked,” he says confidently, flashing his charming smile.

“Lewis!” You place a hand on his arm, trying to stop him. “I don’t need you to do that. I have my own money.”

He looks down at you, his warm brown eyes filled with affection. “I know you do,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “But I want to spoil the person I love the most. Let me.”

Your cheeks flush as your heart swells. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, but a small smile escapes.

“Only for you,” he replies, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. The world seems to fade for a moment, leaving just the two of you in your own bubble of happiness.

The sales associate clears her throat politely, snapping you both back to reality. Lewis smirks and slides an arm around your waist. “Anything else catch your eye, or are we good?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I think you’ve done enough damage.”

He chuckles, his grip tightening slightly as he pick up the bags and guides you toward the door. “Never enough for you, love.”

Friends Don't | George Russell⁶³

Pairings: George Russell x fem!bestfriend!reader

Summary: you go out to celebrate George's home race win, not even imagining what the night will bring

Warnings: smut, drunk driving, unprotected sex

A/N: you will maybe have to necessarily read part 1 and part 2 hehe. For the sake of the plot, we'll pretend some things already happened. I've spent the whole week writing this and only got it to all click together from the third attempt. Third time's a charm, right? But at least had a blast while editing, which is a rarity. I actually enjoy writing these 'chapters' and building this world sm <3

Sundays were a day for rest and relaxation. A day for sitting down with a good book and a cup of coffee. A day for cuddling up with a loved one and watching a movie. A day for taking some time for yourself; a day to reflect and recharge.

That was, of course, unless your best friend was George Russell. And that your Sundays didn't consist of spending most weekends a year at different race tracks around the world. Not all of them, but you tried to be there for him at least once or twice a month, as much as the opportunity allowed.

That afternoon, George took the checkered flag in Silverstone in P1 and now you were in your room, preparing for tonight's celebration. The victory party was going to be wild, and you knew it. You had seen how George celebrated previous wins, and tonight was going to be no different. Especially because it was his home race.

You took a deep breath and glanced at yourself in the mirror. You had dressed to impress, wearing a sparkly blue dress that fit you perfectly. Finishing your look with a pair of strappy heels and a silver necklace, you couldn't help but think about how previous events with George brought you even closer together.

Your friendship kind of became more... intimate. No pun intended. Guess you were both afraid not to lose each other over the past experiences, and that deepened your bond whether either of you wanted to admit or not. Now your only fear was that your closeness wouldn't tear you apart.

A soft knock pulled you out of your thoughts and you turned around to see George standing at the door with a sheepish grin on his face. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt and black pants, his hair tousled in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

"Hey there, gorgeous," he said, his voice low and husky. "Ready to party?"

Never before have you paid any mind to the nicknames he called you, but now a thrill ran down your spine. The way he looked at you made you feel like the only person in the world.

"I am," you said, smiling at him.

As you stepped out of the door, George took your hand in his and led you to the car waiting outside. The drive to the club was short, but the anticipation was high. The party was in full swing when you arrived; loud music, flashing lights, and the smell of alcohol filled the air.

George led you to the VIP section where his friends and family were already celebrating. You saw his siblings and a few of his close racing buddies. You could hear their loud cheering as they saw George walk in with you and feel the envious glares of the other women in the room.

George handed you a glass of champagne and raised his own in a toast. "To the best damn team in the world," he said, looking at you and his friends.

Everyone cheered and clinked their glasses together. You took a sip of the bubbly liquid, feeling it go down smoothly. The night was young, and the energy in the room was electric.

The party kept going on as the night deepened, and the noise of the songs blasted through the room. Glasses were filled up with drinks constantly, making it more of an effort to ignore the effects of the booze. You found yourself on the dance floor, surrounded by George and his friends. The bass of the music throbbed in your chest, and you let yourself get lost in the rhythm.

Throughout the night, each person had a chance to take their turn with you on the dance floor, and eventually you were spinning around in George's arms. The heat of the club mixed with the buzz of the alcohol made your skin flush against his. You could feel his muscles flexing as he twirled you around, his hand firmly holding onto yours. The closer you danced, the more the tension between you grew.

For a moment, you forgot where you were and who was watching. You moved on him like it was just the two of you in the world, your hands moving over his body like never before, and hips swaying in perfect synchronicity. You were so close to him that you could feel his breath on your neck, and the scent of his cologne filled your senses. You felt yourself getting lost in him, and something stirred inside you.

And it seemed like George caught up on your odd behavior as the song faded away. He grabbed your arm and started leading you away from the dance floor until you reached a quiet corner. But your drunken mind wasn't understanding his intentions.

You threw yourself onto him and he had to secure your hips with his hands to stop you from slipping. You let out a hazy chuckle as you started grinding against him once more before he pushed you back against the wall.

"Stop it, that's not why I brought you here."

But you didn't listen. You pulled yourself even closer, letting your lips brush against his neck. "Then why did you bring me here?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, your breath tickling his skin. "The drinks have gone to your head. I brought you here to take a break and cool off a little." he avoided telling you that you were drunk and not acting like yourself, afraid to provoke any unnecessary argument between you two.

Still, you weren't paying any attention. You were too inebriated to realize that your behavior was a little out of character, and you certainly weren't considering the consequences of your actions. You clasped your hands around his shoulders and pressed yourself against him again.

George tried to keep a respectable distance between you, pushing his hip backwards as you pushed yours forward, fighting the urge to get too close. That got you into an interesting position; you were leaning against the wall in between his arms with your shoulders as he leaned into you with his upper body. Your hand naughtily ran down his side, poking him. You knew you probably shouldn't touch him, but you couldn't stop yourself. His muscles strained as he let out a shaky breath.

"You're getting awfully close to me," he murmured, unable to bring himself to look you in the eye. His fingers slowly slid from their grip on the wall.

"Then don't push me away," you said back.

His face was just inches away now, and your lips unconsciously moved closer. The atmosphere between you two was thick with anticipation, a feeling that you currently relished in. Your lips were only a breath away from his when he spoke.

"We can't." his eyes locked with yours.

"Why?" you asked breathily.

"Because we're best friends." his voice was barely a whisper.

He hoped the reason he gave you would remind you of everything you asked from him that first time. But he didn't tell you that he feared you'd regret it when you sobered up, and that it would be his fault for not stopping it.

"And?" in the state that you were, did he really think that would stop you? He couldn't have been more wrong. You wanted to push him to feel something. Anything. "Best friends can do a lot of things." you smirked.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes still on yours. "No, they can't." he gritted, shaking his head.

"You're right." you said, the alcohol clouding your judgment. "They can't do this." and your hips finally met his.

He swallowed hard, trying to stay level headed. "What am I going to do with you?" he said in desperation, his hands pressed flat on the wall behind you, trying their best not to touch you as they dangerously started slipping down.

You placed your hands on his chest, feeling his heart hammering under your palms as you glided them down his torso. "Remember how you said you can read my body language?"

"Yeah," he breathed, nodding his head.

"What is it telling you now?" you whispered against his lips.

"It's telling me we're going to be in big trouble if you don't stop this," he replied. "You have no idea what you're doing to me right now."

"Then don't fight it. Show me." you murmured.

He leaned in, his lips brushing yours. Your arms snaked around his neck and fingers twined through the hair at its nape, pulling him closer. You couldn't believe that you had done all those other things, but never kissed. And when ultimately his mouth closed on yours, it was like finally locating the elusive jigsaw piece on a seemingly ordinary Tuesday while tidying up your home that you thought had been lost forever. It made you almost not want to kiss anyone else ever again — almost, because deep down you knew you shouldn't have been doing this in the first place.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as his head tilted to get a better angle. The kiss was soft, tentative, like both of you were very aware of what might happen. You pressed your mouth against his more firmly, tasting him. Parting your lips slightly, you felt the silky wetness of his tongue on yours. You bit his lower lip, letting out a deep moan when he groaned in response, hands that were in his hair tugging on the strands slightly. He groaned into your mouth again, pulling you even closer against him. You had no idea how long you were kissing, but it was definitely not enough.

The kiss broke, and you leaned your face against his neck, panting heavily. He glanced down at you, his lips so close to yours that if you had merely lifted your head, they'd be touching again. The warmth emanating from your body made him want to do things he knew he shouldn’t. He placed his forehead against yours, trying desperately to get control of himself.

"We should get back." he said between breaths. Your head was spinning from the alcohol and his scent and the magical kiss, it took you a moment to realize you were no longer kissing him. You opened your eyes and met with him.

"We should, before they realize we're missing." you nodded. He frowned, but his eyes were smiling. He was relieved, but he was also worried for you and what tomorrow might bring when you sobered up.

"Lets go," he said, turning around, but kept an arm around your waist so as to not let you get lost. You looped one arm around his neck, holding onto his shoulder, and gently hit his other shoulder with your head.

The night was still young and the party was still going. Music was playing, people were dancing, and laughter filled the room. Your friends cheered when they saw you two come in together, but neither of you paid any attention to them; all that mattered was that you were here, with him. Guys grabbed drinks for the both of you from different parts of the room and put it in your hands.

You found a spot on the couch and George sat next to you, his arm around your waist protectively. The conversations flowed easily between you two, and soon enough you both forgot what had happened earlier as you joined the rest of the group in drinking, singing along with music and laughing.

He later found you on the dance floor swaying around completely out of rhythm with a drink in your hand. Your face lit up when you saw him.

"There you are, my champion." you leaned into him, dropping your head onto his shoulder.

"I won the race, not the championship.” he chuckled.

“Mm, don’t care. To me you are the champion.” you slurred, pouting.

“Hey, is everything alright?" he asked, supporting you.

"Mmhmm." you mumbled. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine." you could hear the frown on his face. "You're drunk." he spat as he attempted to take away the half empty glass from your grasp.

"I'm not." you said, feeling yourself lose your balance a little as you swayed back and forth. He put his arm around you to help you balance.

"Yes, you are. I should've taken you home the first time around." he sighed, somehow not surprised you managed to get even drunker. You were both intoxicated for that matter, it's just that George knew how to hold his liquor. And he looked to never go over his limit in case something like this happened.

"No." you tried to pull away from him.

"I'm taking you home." he tightened his grip around you, leading you out of the party. You mumbled something in response, not quite sure what you were saying.

He helped you into his car and buckled your seat belt for you, before getting in himself. He drove slowly, carefully navigating the roads while you were almost passed out in his passenger seat. Every now and then he'd take a hand off the wheel to reach over and brush your hair away from your face or wipe away a stray tear from your cheek if one escaped your eye. As he turned into your street and parked the car, your eyes fluttered open.

"Um, could you walk me to the door?" you asked.

"I was planning on it," he said, unbuckling his seat belt.

Both of your arms wrapped around his left one, holding on for support, as he walked you to your apartment. Your little nap helped clear the haze from your head, but you were still tipsy. When you reached the entrance of your flat, you propped yourself against the door and blinked up at him.

"Do you want to come inside?" inviting your best friend into your home have never before seemed more dangerous and George should've known better than to say yes.

"Do you want anything to drink?" you asked to break an awkward silence that fell among you the moment he shut the door.

Before even waiting for his answer, you made your way towards the kitchen, but he extended his arm and grabbed your waist, preventing you from moving further.

"I think we both had enough to drink tonight," he said.

"Then what do you want to do?" you whispered.

"I want to claim my prize." he must have had a few more drinks than usual at the club to summon up the courage for that sentiment.

You could feel your heart racing in your chest, the alcohol still fogging your mind but not enough to miss the implication of his words. You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his intense gaze. His hand still rested on your waist, his fingers tracing small circles over the fabric of your dress.

"Is that what I am, a prize?"

"No, no." he said quickly, his eyes softening. "You're so much more than that, you know that." his hand cupped the side of your face. "When I saw you looking up at me on the podium today, I realized I couldn't have done it without you. You were the one who had been cheering me on from the sidelines all this time. You've been there for me when no one else was." he leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "You've been my lucky charm all these years and I want to show you how much you mean to me."

The way he was looking at you made your chest heave with a mixture of emotions. You were both under the influence, and you knew this was not the best time to make decisions, but you couldn't resist him. You leaned in and attached your lips together again, only this time with more passion, more desire. You could feel his hands running through your hair as he kissed you back, his tongue playing with yours, his body pressing against yours.

He pulled away, looking at you with a hunger you had never seen before. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

You nodded, unable to say anything. His lips crashed onto yours, hungrily claiming your mouth as his own. Your body responded to his touch, your hands roaming over his chest and tangling in his hair. He lifted you up, your legs locking around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom.

He laid you down gently on the mattress, his eyes never leaving yours. Climbing on top of you, his lips trailed kisses down your neck and collarbone. You moaned softly, your hands gripping tightly onto his muscular back. He pulled his lips away from you, looking into your eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked again.

You nodded, reaching up and pulling him back down. He gently kissed you again and you responded in kind, but he pulled away again.

"I'll stop if you tell me to." he whispered. "I don't want to do this unless you want to." 

"I want to." you murmured. The alcohol may have distorted your judgment, but it surely helped your courage.

"Are you sure?" he asked a third time. You laughed softly, trying to push him off. He had you pinned to the mattress, still pressing you down.

"Yes, I'm sure." you said, no longer laughing.

That was all he needed to hear. He kissed you hard, his fingers lightly tracing over the fabric of your dress. He ran his hands underneath, gently resting them on your ribs, and pulled your dress upwards. You lifted your hands above your head, freeing him of the task of removing your dress as you squiggled out of it and freed yourself from the restriction that was your dress.

He kissed you again, letting his hands run over your bare skin. His lips kissed down your throat and chest, his hands undoing your bra. He pulled it away and tossed it aside, taking in the sight of you.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he said. You blushed, and he smiled. His lips traveled down your leg, gently caressing the outside of your thigh. "But I'm a little jealous, you know?" his lips traveled back up, his tongue tracing over the slope of your breast and hands kneading them softly. "You got to taste me, and I..."

He kissed his way down your body, his hands going over every inch of exposed skin, reminding you how skillfully he handled you that very first time. He reached your inner thigh and slid his hand underneath your underwear. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his fingers brush against you before a long finger slid inside you. You moaned loudly, spreading your legs apart for him. He smiled against your neck, his teeth taking in your skin, his tongue leaving a trail of fire behind.

His finger slowly moved inside you, circling you before sliding in and out. His hand pulled your underwear down, you kicking them off to the side. His mouth moved down your figure, hovering over your breasts. He teased you for a moment, blowing against your nipples before drawing the tip of his tongue over one. He did the same with the other, his fingers never ceasing to move. His kisses continued further down, over your stomach until they reached your mound.

"Can I?" he asked, peeking at you.

"Please..." you tried to hide the shake in your voice.

His tongue slid between your lips, gently licking you. You could feel his breath, hot and heavy against your sensitive skin. He teased you, his tongue circling your clit before sliding inside you. His tongue flicked over your clit, his hands holding your thighs apart. You spread your legs even wider, your body arching up to him. He leaned in, gently sucking on your clit and you moaned loudly, his tongue moving faster. You cried out in pleasure, your hips bucking against his face.

You were nearing your end, your moans growing louder with every movement of his tongue. You could feel his lips smile against your skin, enjoying the sounds you were making. You cried out, your body tensing as you came, shaking against him. He pulled away, slowly kissing his way up to the top again. He placed a gentle kiss on your lips, not hurrying you up as you sucked in his bottom lip, squeezing out your own juices.

"Taking that trophy is the second best thing that has ever happened to me." he whispered. He kissed you again, this time with more passion, your hands reaching for the buttons of his shirt. "The first, of course, being you. You're my greatest reward." he continued as you trailed kisses down his neck, removing the shirt off his shoulders.

"Stop talking, George."

"Sorry," he whispered as he closed his eyes, surrendering above you.

You kissed his chest, your nails raking up and down his sides, feeling his muscles tense. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and could sense the urgency in his touch. His hardness pressed against you, begging to be liberated. You pulled away from him, reaching for his belt buckle and his eyes shot open, hands reaching for yours.

"Are you sure?" he asked again. He knew if you go any further there would be no going back and some irreversible things would be done.

"Are you sure?" you asked back, smiling mischievously. "I thought this is what you wanted." your nail dangerously circled around his lower abdomen, causing his breath to hitch with every word he spoke.

"I-I do. I'm just making sure you're not doing it just because I want it." you could tell he was really struggling to hold himself back.

"I think we've already established that..." you whispered against his lips and prompted your body more to his.

"Okay," his hand moved away from yours, and you undid his belt.

His pants fell around his feet and he kicked them off. His boxers were the last thing left, and you reached for them, slowly pulling them down. His hand held the back of your head as he kissed you, his tongue twirling around yours. You moved to pull away but he held on tighter.

His boxers hit the floor and you looked up at him, his hands resting on your frame. Gently taking your hand, he placed it on his dick. You gasped, feeling it grow even more underneath your touch. He pulled away, his lips planting kisses down your neck as his hand guided yours up and down his length. You felt him shiver as you grazed the tip with your nails, his breath hitching. He removed his hand, and your eyes shot open when you felt his tip brush against your entrance.

He teased you, running it up and down your slit. You threw your head back in pleasure, your back arching against him. The more he prolonged what you needed the most, the more your neediness grew. You tried to guide him inside you but he resisted, placing a finger on your lips instead. He dragged it over them before he made you suck on it, his eyes never leaving your face as he blew a stream of air out. Your eyes widened when you felt his head brush against you again, making you gasp audibly, his name falling from your lips.

"Please," you remembered what he told you the first time he had you in his arms like this. "Please, please, please, please, please, please, please..." you chanted over and over again.

"Fuck," he hissed under his breath. Hearing you beg for him made his head spin again. It was like you'd put him under a spell every time you'd utter that word and he'd not be able to deny you anything. Not that he ever wanted.

He slowly pushed inside of you, stopping at every inch to wait for you to adjust. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

You nodded, your breath hitching as he began to move again. He kissed you, your nails digging into his back as he stretched you more. He was so gentle, it was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. This was not the normal rough, lustful sex. This was the man who loved the sight of you, the sounds of your pleasure. This was the man who wanted to make love to you, to show you what true pleasure was.

Your fingers sank into his back again, and he responded by thrusting into you harder, your moans getting louder. His lips traveled down your chest, his tongue flicking a nipple as he pushed into you again.

"Oh, god." you moaned, George's name falling from your mouth repeatedly. Your hands dug into the sheets as his thrusts grew harder, deeper.

"You feel so good... so damn good," he kissed your skin. "Making me feel like I don't ever want to take anybody else again."

"Don't stop, please, whatever it is that you're doing, please, just don't stop." you cried, twining your legs around him to press him deeper.

He moaned in pleasure when you did, his hands tightening their grip around you. His breathing grew heavier and faster, your bodies reacting to each other. He was so close, and he could feel you held right on the edge.

You cried out his name, your form shuddering under him. He had no intention of stopping, and he continued his movements as you kept shaking, your voice loud enough to wake up the whole apartment complex.

"You, George, only you…" you whispered into his ear as you were coming down.

You felt his whole build shake, his cock pulsing inside of you, but it wasn't enough. You wanted to hear him as he climaxed. You wanted to hear the sounds he made, the sweetest song in the world.

"George… George…" you panted, your breathing coming out in jagged breaths.

He cursed, as his body trembled with pleasure. His hands tightened around you, pulling you closer as he came. You buried your face in his neck, your fingers playing with his hair. He kissed you, holding you close to him. He wanted to stay inside you forever, to feel the sight of your face as he pleased you. You did that to him. You were the one making him see another reality where only he and you existed.

But he pulled away, your eyes searching for his as you slowly came back to reality. He kissed you again, his lips landing on yours.

"That was amazing… you were amazing…" he whispered, stroking your face gently.

"So were you." you said back, playing with the bangs that fell over his forehead.

He rested his head on your chest, finding a comfortable spot, your hands moving into his hair.

"Are you going to stay?" you whispered, uncertain.

"Only if you want me to."

"Always."

He hugged you tightly and rolled over so that you were now on top of him. His fingers softly ran along your back as your body let go and fully relaxed. The peaceful sound of your heartbeats and his breath seemed to take over the room. You drew near to him, feeling the up and down movements of his chest gently rock you to sleep, matters of your friendship left for tomorrow's morning news.

Next part

the one to beat ⛐ 𝐆𝐑𝟔𝟑

THIS IS: FORMULA ONE 📀 it’s your relationship— or lack thereof— that keeps george on his toes.

♫ starring: george russell x journalist!reader. ♫ word count: 2.7k. ♫ includes: romance. feelings realization, george is down bad -ish, unspecified race win, kimi makes an appearance. @mvk1ma requested the alchemy by taylor swift. ♫ commentary box: i, too, love yearning. and with taylor swift as the soundtrack? chef's kiss. 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“You know, you’re getting way too comfortable with me.”

George smirks across from you, a light chuckle escaping him as he leans back in his chair. The sound of clicking cameras and the low buzz of reporters settling in fills the air. It’s pre-race day, and the usual frenzy of the paddock has shifted into the waiting room for interviews. The white walls and sterile fluorescent lights above are almost too bright, making everything feel like it’s under a magnifying glass.

You and George have already carved out your own rhythm; you two have your own unspoken routine. Reporters from various outlets watch this interaction like it's a game they’re all too familiar with— George, the charming driver with a smile that can light up the room, and you, the reporter who doesn’t buy into any of it.

George’s eyes twinkle. “I thought we were past the formalities,” he quips, his voice a little too smooth for a simple pre-race interview. “Aren’t we supposed to be discussing strategy and tires?”

“You mean I should stop calling you out for your atrocious racing decisions?” You tap your pen against your notebook with an air of nonchalance. “I’m sure that’ll be a hit with your PR team.”

The other reporters exchange  knowing looks. They’ve seen this act before: George’s playful banter, your sharp critiques. It’s a dance you’ve both mastered over the past few seasons. He teases, you cut to the heart of the issue, and somehow, it all comes back to racing.

George’s shoulders relax, a slight laugh escaping him. “Oh, come on. You’re not that hard on me. Am I not allowed to have a bit of fun in this job?”

“You’re allowed to have fun,” you retort, not missing a beat. “But maybe you should focus on making fewer mistakes first. You know, like the last race— where you seemed to forget how to brake in the wet conditions.”

The group of journalists around you stifles a few chuckles, but George’s expression doesn’t let up. Instead, he leans forward, his hands folded in front of him. “Okay, that was one race. Can we let it go already? The car wasn’t exactly perfect, you know.”

“You’re not making it easy for me,” you reply dryly. “And you’re still saying it’s the car, not your decision-making?”

“Alright, alright. I’ll take the blame for the mistakes,” he says. “But we both know there’s more to it than just me, don’t we?”

“Don’t try to pull me into the ‘team effort’ talk. I know better than that.” Your eyes narrow in that critical way you’ve become known for. “You’re not fooling anyone with that nonsense.”

There’s a flicker of amusement in George’s gaze, but he tries to tamp it down. Instead, he turns slightly toward the rest of the room as if to break the intensity of the moment. You can tell he’s not really bothered. This back-and-forth is just as much a part of the game for him as it is for you.

“You’re really good at making me sound like a villain,” George notes thoughtfully, a playful edge to his tone. “Maybe I should start calling you out on your writing. How about that?”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “Try it. I dare you.”

George cackles before redirecting the conversation. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave. Can we at least agree that you’ll cut me some slack if I do well this weekend?”

“Do well?” you echo. “If you actually do well, Russell, then we can talk about cutting you some slack. Until then, you’ll have to earn it. You’re not a rookie anymore.”

His smile fades slightly, replaced by the first hint of seriousness you’ve seen all day. “Fair enough,” he mutters, though the edge in his voice makes it clear that the playful George from earlier is still just beneath the surface.

The tension in the room shifts as the next set of interviews begin; you and George share one last look. It’s comfortable, the kind of quiet understanding that exists between two people who’ve known each other long enough to know how to push each other’s buttons.

As the next journalist steps forward, George stands up and shoots you a half-smile. “I’ll see you after the race. Just so you know, if I finish P1, I’m expecting a full apology.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “I’ll believe it when I see it, Russell.”

He’s still grinning as he begins to entertain the next reporter. He takes your words as what it is— a challenge. And George Russell never backed down from a challenge. 

Kimi is uncharacteristically nervous. 

It’s not something George is used to seeing in his rookie teammate, who usually carries a quiet confidence despite the weight of being the youngest driver on the grid. Today, Kimi’s stance is stiff, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket as he glances over at you from a distance.

“Mate, what’s going on?” George asks bemusedly, leaning against the garage wall with his arms folded. 

The faint hum of activity in the paddock surrounds them— the roar of engines in the distance, the chatter of mechanics— and yet Kimi seems to have become a statue, eyes locked on you as you conduct another round of interviews.

Kimi gives his co-driver a sheepish look, then mutters, “I’m… I’m worried about my interview.” 

George chuckles, the sound warm but knowing. He can see the concern etched on Kimi’s face. “Ah, you’re afraid of her?” 

Kimi nods, his eyes still trained on you, as if trying to calculate how long he has until your attention shifts to him. “She doesn’t— I’ve seen how she’s been with you. She doesn’t hold back,” he says frantically. 

“Yeah,” the older man admits. “She’s tough. But that’s why she’s good at what she does.”

Kimi glances back at him uneasily. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that. I mean, I’ve heard her ask you some—” He gestures vaguely with his hand. “—hard questions.”

George laughs again, but there’s a soft edge to it now. A rare vulnerability in his voice. “It’s not personal. She doesn’t pull punches. She asks tough questions because she expects answers,” he elaborates. “She’s got an eye for detail. And she’s... honest.”

“You seem to handle it, though. Like it’s no big deal.”

George shrugs, an easy movement that masks the slight tension still coiled in his body. “I don’t know if I handle it that well. But you get used to it. With someone like her, you can’t be anything but real. She can smell a lie from miles away.”

His voice softens as his gaze follows you, the way you’re speaking to a reporter. Your sharp wit cuts through the small talk with surgical precision. George goes on, “It’s like... she’s not after the typical headlines. She wants substance. She doesn’t care if it ruffles feathers.”

Kimi hesitates. “So, I just need to answer honestly?”

“Exactly,” George says with a slow nod. “If she thinks you’re hiding something, she’ll dig. But if you give her the truth— even if it’s uncomfortable— that’s when she respects you.”

There’s a quiet pause, and then Kimi shifts on his feet, still looking unsure. “Thanks, George. I’ll try.”

George gives him a reassuring smile, though the weight of the upcoming race is starting to settle in. “You’ve got this, mate. And don’t worry— when it’s your turn, just be straight with her. She’s not going to bite your head off… unless you give her a reason to.”

Kimi laughs nervously, clearly trying to lighten the mood. He nods again and then walks off to prepare for his own interview.

George watches him go, but his attention quickly shifts back to you. You’ve just wrapped up with the last reporter, and now your gaze scans the paddock, sharp eyes landing on him. The briefest flicker of something takes over your expression as you catch his eye. It’s not friendly, it never is, but there’s something else there too. Something that keeps him coming back for more.

Kimi moves into his interview with you. George watches how you interact with the rookie from a distance, the easy way you break through Kimi’s nervousness with a few direct words. Your sharp questions force him to stand a little straighter. 

You’ve always been like this. Elusive and impossible to predict. 

It’s your relationship— or lack thereof— that keeps George on his toes.

He shifts on his feet, cracking his knuckles in the quiet lull before the storm. Today, the race feels different. More personal, somehow. Maybe it’s because he’s finally starting to understand how you work. How you see through him. How you make him think harder than anyone else.

That’s why he needs to win today. He can’t let you see any chinks in his armor.

He takes a deep breath, stepping forward. He’s not sure what drives him more— the race or the challenge of figuring you out. But today, he plans to give you something to write about.

Something that’ll make the headlines for the right reasons.

The final lap is a blur.

George feels the adrenaline surge through his veins as the roar of engines and the shouts over his comms meld into a single, deafening hum. The McLaren and Red Bull cars are breathing down his neck, just a fraction behind. His grip tightens on the steering wheel as he pushes harder, every muscle in his body responding instinctively to the challenge. 

There’s no room for doubt, no room for error— just the need to get to that line first.

And it’s in sight. The corners and straights blur into nothingness, and then, in one brief moment of glory, the checkered flag waves.

Mercedes has done it. George has done it.

P1. The first of the season. 

The roar of the crowd vibrates through the stadium even before he’s fully out of the car. He can feel it. The disbelief in the air, the feeling of the impossible having been achieved. His heart is still pounding as he climbs out of the cockpit, throwing off his gloves and helmet, his chest heaving with exhaustion and euphoria.

A few pats on the back from the team and cheers from the Mercedes team flood in, but it doesn’t matter. There’s something else he’s after.

Without a second thought, he’s striding through the mob of staff, reporters, and team members. His mind is a singular focus; he can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him; all of that fades when his eyes lock on you in the throng of people. 

You’re standing there, clipboard in hand, perfectly poised in the chaos of the paddock. There’s a gleam in his eyes as he sprints toward you, ignoring the reporters’ calls, the crew patting him on the back, even the ones offering him water. He moves faster than he’s ever moved from the pit lane to the paddock.

A team member shouts after him. “George! The podium, mate!”

He doesn’t listen. He doesn’t care about the podium. 

The adrenaline isn’t just from the win; it’s about getting to you. Because now, with this victory, he wants something else— something more.

The crowd parts for him as he barrels forward. When he reaches you, he doesn’t hesitate. He’s there, eyes alight with the same fire that’s been there ever since you first made him sweat with your questions.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the two of you in this messy, chaotic world. He can see the surprise in your expression— brief, fleeting, but unmistakable.

“Russell,” you greet, your tone the perfect balance of shock and confusion.

“Where’s my interview?” he exhales, leaning in just slightly, hands still shaking from the thrill of the race. “You owe me an apology, and I’ve got a question for you.” 

The energy between the two of you shifts. There’s the usual edge, that same tension that’s existed since the moment he first met you. But now, there’s something else, something deeper. A sense of familiarity. An acknowledgement that the question is not going to be about his race, but rather his prospects. 

Not on the track, but with you.  

It hits him all at once, the realization that he’s no longer holding back. He doesn’t need to hide anymore. He doesn’t need to pretend he isn’t affected by your probing questions, by your constant scrutiny. Because, in this moment, he’s realized: He likes this. Likes you.

And for the first time, George allows himself to acknowledge it fully.

You’re still looking at him, the edge of a smile tugging at your lips as you cross your arms. He can’t tell if you’re bothered by all the attention this scene is attracting. No doubt, people would be talking about this moment for days, weeks to come. 

Race winner George Russell and the journalist who allegedly hates his guts. 

“What, no trophy?” you taunt, but the edge in your tone is softened by something that sounds an awful lot like hope. “You’re just going to run over here instead?”

George laughs, breathless but genuine. “Eh,” he says noncommittally, the energy of the moment catching up to him. “Podium’s overrated.”

You let out a snort of laughter. “Can I quote you on that?” 

“You want a quote?” George shoots you a look, one that feels like it’s meant only for you. His grin never falters. “Sure, but you might want to double-check the facts first.”

“Meaning?” 

He knows exactly what this looks like. The way the reporters are still watching, the buzz of their murmurs lingering in the air, as if at any moment they could pounce on whatever he says next. But this moment— right here, with you— it feels like his own. 

He knows he only has a couple of minutes. He’s going to make them count. 

“Meaning,” George says, leaning in even more as though he’s about to tell you something only you can hear. His voice drops a little, just enough for the two of you to feel like you’re in your own little bubble amid the chaos. “Podium? Overrated. But my favorite place to be? Right here, with you.”

He sees it immediately— the moment his words land, the way they yank the rug from underneath your feet. You blink, caught off-guard for a second. It’s the first time he’s been so open, so unfiltered. The kind of thing that, in the middle of the paddock, could make you question if he’s playing to the crowd or if the words are meant to stay between you two.

“Go on, then,” he continues, tone giddy and light all at once. “Write it down, make it sound like I'm all about the race results and trophies. But we both know the real prize is something a little... more personal.” 

The subtle shift in his voice is something new— an undercurrent of sincerity beneath the usual playful teasing. For the first time, there’s no joke in it, no facade.

He means it, you realize. To what extent, you’re not sure, but he means it. 

George is already pulling back before you can do something defensive, like knee him in the groin or demand he be serious. You gulp in some air and build your defenses right back up. 

“Like I said earlier,” you grumble. “Way too comfortable with me, Russell.” 

He giggles— an actual giggle!— and for a brief, electric moment, the tension that’s always hung between you seems to dissolve. There’s no resistance left in him anymore. He’s too used to you, too comfortable, and maybe, just maybe, you’re not as immune to the pull as you thought you were.

“If you think I’m getting comfortable with you now, just wait until the next race,” he says. “Keep your eyes on me, alright?”

He smiles, feeling more at ease than he thought he would. George is realizing that maybe, just maybe, this feeling, this tension, this push and pull is something he’s starting to understand.

The team drags him away. There’s an award ceremony, a national anthem, and a shower of champagne awaiting him; a whole lot of media obligations, too. 

But when he catches the hint of a grin on your face, he swears it’s the same win in a different font. He’s not the only one getting comfortable, and maybe that’s the point. Maybe it’s the beginning of… whatever this is. A nameless, once-every-few-lifetimes type of chemistry. 

George isn’t about to try and fight the alchemy of it all. ⛐

but daddy i love him. part two - mv1

summary: in the world of formula 1, where competition runs deep and loyalties are tested, yn wolff and max verstappen found themselves caught in the middle . as the daughter of mercedes team principal and the rising red bull star, they must navigate the balance between rivalries and love. wc:13.5k. READ PART ONE

folkie radio: HERE IT IS !!!! THE OTHER PART OF THEIR STORY !!! first of all i want to thank you all for the incredible support on part one, it was so nice to read all of your feedback ! please make sure to leave some feedback on this part as well. let me know ALL of your thoughts, and most importantly, ENJOY!

Monaco, 2021

The two weeks after Abu Dhabi are the longest of your life. Your phone remains silent - no late-night calls, no secret messages, no pictures of the cats that Max knows always make you smile. The space where he used to be feels enormous.

Your father is still dealing with the aftermath, appeals and media statements consuming his days. You watch him move through the house like a storm cloud, muttering about Masi and the FIA, and think about Max's words: "perfect Mercedes daughter."

You've never felt less perfect.

It's late one night when the doorbell rings. You're alone in the apartment - the one that's technically yours but has become a sanctuary for both of you over the past year. When you open the door, Max is standing there, looking as exhausted as you feel.

"Hi," he says softly.

You stand aside to let him in, heart pounding.

"I'm sorry," he says before you can speak. "I was cruel that night. You didn't deserve that."

"No, I didn't."

He runs a hand through his hair - a gesture so familiar it makes your chest ache. "I was high on winning, angry you weren't there, and I took it out on you. But that's not an excuse."

"I'm sorry too," you move closer. "You were right about some things. I should have been there for your celebration. It was your moment."

"It wasn't just my moment though, was it?" He sits on the couch, looking up at you. "It was your father's worst nightmare. Lewis' heartbreak. The most controversial end to a season ever." He laughs quietly. "Not exactly the best timing to announce we're in love."

You sit beside him, careful to maintain a small distance. "So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying… you were right. Telling them now, with everything so raw… it would be like throwing fuel on a fire." He reaches for your hand, and you let him take it. "I was so focused on finally being able to tell everyone, I didn't think about what that would mean for you. For your relationship with your dad."

"Max…"

"No, let me finish." His thumb traces patterns on your palm - another familiar gesture that makes tears prick at your eyes. "I've spent six years loving you. I can wait a bit longer for the timing to be right. For the wounds to heal a bit."

"What about what you said? About not being my dirty little secret anymore?"

"You're not keeping me a secret because you're ashamed," he says quietly. "You're protecting your family. And mine too, probably. Can you imagine Jos' reaction if we told him now?"

You both wince at the thought.

"So what do we do?" you ask.

He tugs you closer until you're against his chest, where you can hear his heartbeat - steady and strong and familiar. "We love each other. We wait for the right moment. And this time…" he kisses your head, "this time we decide together when that moment is. No ultimatums, no pressure."

"I missed you," you whisper into his shirt.

"I missed you too. These two weeks…" he shudders slightly. "Never again, okay? No matter how angry we get, no silence. We talk it out."

You lift your head to look at him properly. "Promise?"

Instead of answering, he kisses you - soft and sweet and apologetic. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

"I love you," he says. "Mercedes daughter and all."

You laugh through sudden tears. "I love you too. Even when you're being an insufferable World Champion."

"Speaking of…" he grins, that boyish smile you fell in love with all those years ago, "I believe this is the first time I'm kissing you as a World Champion."

"Technically you've already kissed me as a World Champion."

"Ah, but that was angry championship kissing. This is making up championship kissing. Completely different."

You roll your eyes but let him pull you closer. "Is that so?"

"Mhmm. Much better. Want me to demonstrate the difference?"

Later, curled up in bed together, you talk about the future - not just when to tell everyone, but what comes after. Houses and holidays and maybe someday kids who'll have Wolff determination and Verstappen speed.

"Your dad might actually kill me when we tell him," Max muses, playing with your hair.

"Probably. But at least by then he might have calmed down about Abu Dhabi."

"That's optimistic of you."

You prop yourself up on an elbow to look at him. "Are you okay with waiting? Really okay?"

He considers this, serious now. "Yeah, I am. Because this time it feels different. This time we're deciding together." He touches your face gently. "And because this time I know you're not running away."

"Never again," you promise. "No more running."

As you fall asleep in his arms, you think about timing and choices and love that survives silence. Maybe it's not perfect - sneaking around, hiding from families, loving in the shadows.

But it's yours. And for now, that's enough.

2022

After Abu Dhabi last year, you and Max spent a quiet Christmas apart with your respective families, but managed to escape for New Year's. Away from the media frenzy and family tensions, you found peace in the simple moments - cooking together, watching movies, Max trying (and failing) to teach you sim racing.

On New Year's Eve, standing on your balcony watching fireworks illuminate the harbor, Max held you from behind. "This is how I want every year to start," he murmured against your neck.

"Just us?"

"Just us. No drama, no hiding, no championships on the line."

You turned in his arms. "Well, about that last part…"

"Okay, maybe some championships," he grinned. "But the rest… we'll figure it out, right?"

"We will," you promised, sealing it with a kiss as the clock struck midnight.

The first weeks of 2022 brought exciting changes. Susie announced her plans for the F1 Academy, a project aimed at supporting young female drivers, and immediately asked you to join her team.

"I need someone I can trust completely," she said during one of your planning sessions. "Someone who understands both the technical and human side of racing."

"Are you sure? It's a huge responsibility."

"YN, you're perfect for this. You've grown up in this sport, you understand the challenges these girls will face." Susie squeezed your hand. "Plus, you're the only person besides Toto who can match my caffeine consumption during race weekends."

Working closely with Susie brought you closer than ever. She became more than just your father's wife - she was your confidante, mentor, and friend. You spent long hours together, planning programs, reviewing applications, discussing how to break down barriers in motorsport.

Which made the current breakfast situation even more uncomfortable.

"Andreas has an impressive background in aerodynamics," Toto was saying, seemingly oblivious to your discomfort. "Oxford educated, worked with Ferrari's junior program…"

"Dad," you interrupted, pushing your eggs around your plate. "Can we maybe not?"

"I'm just saying, YN, you should give him a chance. He's exactly the kind of person who would understand your world."

Lewis and George exchanged knowing looks while Susie watched you carefully.

"The new regulations are keeping me busy enough," you tried. "Between that and the Academy with Susie…"

"There's always time for personal life," Toto persisted. "You're young, successful, beautiful. You shouldn't spend all your time buried in work."

After breakfast, Susie found you in your office, surrounded by Academy paperwork.

"Want to talk about it?" she asked, closing the door.

"About Dad's sudden career as a matchmaker?"

"He means well," Susie sat across from you. "He just wants you to be happy."

"Can you maybe… talk to him? Get him to drop it?"

"Why? Andreas seems like a lovely young man. Smart, ambitious…"

You set down your pen, heart racing. This was it - the moment to trust someone else with your secret.

"I… I already have someone."

Susie's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? How did I not know about this?"

"Because…" you took a deep breath. "Because it's complicated. Really complicated."

"YN," Susie leaned forward, "you can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

"It's Max," you whispered. "Max Verstappen."

Susie's eyes widened, but she didn't immediately speak. She got up, locked your office door, and sat back down.

"How long?"

"Since 2015, on and off, you know that story. But seriously since I came back in 2020."

"Through everything? The championship battle?"

You nodded, tears forming. "It was… difficult. Especially Abu Dhabi."

"Oh, sweetheart," Susie moved to your side, pulling you into a hug. "That must have been awful for you."

"You're not… mad?"

"Mad? Why would I be mad?"

"Because he's Red Bull, because of everything with Dad…"

"Listen to me," Susie pulled back to look at you. "Love doesn't care about team colors. God knows this sport has enough rivalry without policing people's hearts too."

"I don't know what to do," you admitted. "We want to tell everyone, but after Abu Dhabi…"

"The timing's not great," Susie agreed. "But YN, you can't hide forever. It'll only get harder."

"I know. But Papa…"

"Your father loves you more than anything in this world. More than Mercedes, more than championships." She squeezed your hands. "Will he be shocked? Absolutely. Probably throw something expensive. But he'll come around."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I've seen how he looks at you - like you're still that little girl who used to fall asleep in the garage. He might not like your choice, but he'll respect it. Eventually."

"He was furious back then, said Max was too young, too reckless, that it would end in disaster. He threatened to send me back to boarding school."

"That explains a lot," Susie said softly. "Why he's been so pushy about these 'suitable' men lately."

"He thinks he protected me back then. Maybe he did - we were young, and things got messy. But now…"

"Now you're both different people," Susie finished. She was quiet for a moment, thinking. "You know what the real issue was back then?"

"That Max was the enemy?" you said dryly.

"No. That Toto couldn't control it. He's used to managing everything, planning ten steps ahead. But this…" she gestured vaguely, "this wasn't in his carefully constructed plan for you."

"I never wanted to disappoint him."

"Hey," Susie's voice was firm. "Loving someone isn't disappointing. It's probably the bravest thing we do."

"Thanks," you whisper, hugging Susie tightly. "For understanding. For not judging."

"Just... be careful, okay? And know that I'm here if you need to talk."

The conversation with Susie lifts a weight you didn't realize you were carrying. Having someone know, someone in your corner, makes everything feel more manageable.

Bahrain, 2022

The morning of the Bahrain Grand Prix buzzed with the familiar nervous energy of a season opener. You were in one of the back offices of the F1 Academy, triple-checking schedules and programs for the upcoming season, when you felt arms wrap around you from behind.

"Shouldn't you be in pre-race prep?" you asked, trying to sound stern but failing to hide your smile.

"I have fifteen minutes," Max murmured, pressing a kiss to your neck. "Wanted to wish you luck. Big day for you too."

You turned in his arms. "Nervous?"

"About the race? Nah." He grinned. "About you stealing the spotlight with the Academy launch? Terrified."

"Idiot," you laughed, playing with the collar of his race suit. "As if anything could overshadow the great Max Verstappen."

"Hey," his expression turned serious. "What you're doing here… it's important. You're going to change lives."

"Now who's being dramatic?"

"I mean it," he insisted. "You remember what it was like, being the only girl in karting? These kids won't have to feel that way because of you and Susie."

"Well... I quit karting after a year," you joke and Max rolls his eyes, "Oh come on, just kiss me before you have to go all defending world champion on track."

And he does, but before you can go any further the door opened.

"YN, have you seen the timing sheets from- OH SHIT!"

George Russell stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide as saucers. You and Max jumped apart like teenagers caught by their parents.

"I… um… I should…" George stammered, pointing vaguely behind him.

"George, wait!" You rushed to close the door before he could escape. "Please…"

"This is literally my first day as a Mercedes driver and I'm already caught in..." he gestures wildly between you and Max.

"George," you step forward, "you CANNOT tell my dad."

"I... what... how long..." he stammers.

"Please," Max speaks up, "We'll explain everything, just... keep this between us?"

George looks between you and Max, then sighs dramatically. "Well, I guess this is one way to start my Mercedes career - harboring my team principal's daughter's secret relationship with our biggest rival."

"Welcome to Mercedes?" you offer weakly.

"Right," George shakes his head, but he's fighting a smile. "I'm going to leave, pretend I never saw this, and maybe drink enough tonight to forget it entirely."

As he turns to go, he pauses. "But for what it's worth? Your secret's safe with me."

The door closes behind him, and you collapse against Max, half laughing, half panicking.

"Well," Max says dryly, "that's one more person who knows. At this rate, the only person who won't know will be your father."

You looked up at him. "You should go. GP will be looking for you."

"Yeah," he sighed, but made no move to leave. "Good luck today. Show them what the Wolff women can do."

"Good luck to you too. Try not to make Dad throw anything at the TV?"

He laughed, kissing you quickly. "No promises. But hey," he paused at the door, "for what it's worth, George's reaction wasn't terrible. Maybe there's hope for the others too."

As you watched him leave, you couldn't help but smile. One more person in their corner, one more step toward not hiding. Maybe, just maybe, the universe was trying to tell you something.

Singapore, 2022

The humidity of Singapore still clung to the air as most of the paddock crowded into Marquee, celebrating another street circuit spectacle. The bass pulsed through the exclusive VIP section where drivers and key personnel gathered.

You were at the bar with Lewis when Andreas appeared, looking particularly polished.

"YN Wolff," he smiled, a bit too confidently. "I was hoping to find you here."

You caught Lewis' subtle eye roll as he conveniently spotted someone he "needed to talk to."

"Andreas, hi," you tried to sound polite but distant, very aware of Max watching from across the room where he sat with Lando and Charles.

"You looked beautiful today in the paddock," he moved closer. "That dress you wore to the team dinner…"

"Thanks," you cut him off, scanning for an escape route. You found none.

"Your father mentions you're still single," he continued, either oblivious to or ignoring your discomfort. "I find that hard to believe."

At the other end of the VIP section, Max's jaw clenched as he watched the scene unfold.

"Mate, you're going to break that glass," Lando noted, watching Max's white-knuckled grip on his drink.

"Who is that guy?" Charles asked, following Max's gaze.

"Some engineer Toto's trying to set YN up with," Lando explained, then froze, realizing what he'd revealed.

Charles' eyes widened. "Wait, why do you know that? And why does Max look like he's about to commit murder?"

Before Lando could deflect, Max stood abruptly as Andreas placed his hand on your lower back.

"Oh shit," Lando muttered.

"I don't understand," Charles said, watching Max stride across the room. "Why is he- oh. OH."

Back at the bar, you were trying to subtly remove Andreas hand when you felt a familiar presence behind you.

"Everything okay here?" Max's voice was controlled, but you could hear the edge in it.

Andreas looked annoyed at the interruption. "We're fine, thank you."

"I wasn't asking you," Max said coldly, then softer: "YN?"

You turned toward him gratefully. "Actually, Max, would you mind helping me with something?"

"Of course," he placed his hand where Andreas' had been, but this touch was different - protective, familiar, right.

Andreas looked between you two, confusion turning to understanding. "Wait, are you…"

"She's not interested," Max said simply. "Never was."

You let Max guide you away from the bar, very aware of the eyes following you. Lando and Charles weren't even trying to hide their interest now, and you noticed Carlos and Pierre joining them, speaking in hushed tones.

"You didn't have to do that," you said quietly.

"Yes, I did." Max's hand hadn't left your back. "I'm tired of watching guys hit on my girlfriend because they think she's available."

You reached the relative privacy of a corner booth. "Max…"

"I know, I know. We're being careful. But YN," he turned to face you, "half the paddock already suspects something. Charles and Carlos are literally taking bets right now."

You glanced over - sure enough, money was being exchanged. "Great."

"Would it be so terrible?" Max asked. "If people knew?"

"No," you admitted. "But Dad…"

"Will find out eventually. Wouldn't you rather he heard it from us than through paddock gossip?"

You were about to respond when George appeared, slightly out of breath.

"You two need to be more subtle," he hissed. "Lando just asked me if there was something going on between you."

"What did you say?" you asked anxiously.

"I'm a terrible liar! I just made a noise and ran away!"

Max couldn't help laughing. "Smooth, Russell."

"This isn't funny," George insisted. "Look!"

You followed his gesture. The other drivers were gathered together, all of them looking your way occasionally.

"Oh god," you groaned. "They all know, don't they?"

"If they didn't before, they do now," George confirmed. "Max's little knight-in-shining-armor act wasn't exactly subtle."

"He had his hands all over you," Max defended.

"His hand was on my back for two seconds!"

"Two seconds too long."

George looked between you, amused. "You two are ridiculous. Also, heads up - Lando is coming over."

Sure enough, Lando was making his way through the crowd. He slid into your booth without invitation, expression unreadable.

"So," he said calmly, "how long?"

You glanced at Max, who squeezed your hand under the table. "Since 2020."

"Through the championship battle?" When you nodded, Lando let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl. That must have been…"

"Horrible," you finished. "But we managed."

Lando studied Max for a moment. "You better be sure about this. Because when Toto finds out…"

"I am," Max said firmly. "We both are."

"Good." Lando smiled finally. "Because I'm pretty sure Daniel just started a betting pool on how Toto's going to react, and I've got money on him throwing his headphones."

"Lando!" you exclaimed.

"What? Might as well profit from the drama." He stood up. "For what it's worth, I think it's kind of perfect. In a weird, Romeo and Juliet way."

"They both died in that story," George pointed out.

"Details," Lando waved him off. "Come on, George. Let's go see what odds Daniel's offering."

As they left, you buried your face in Max's shoulder. "This is a disaster."

"Is it?" he asked, running his hand up your arm. "Look around - no one seems shocked or angry. Well, except maybe Andreas."

You peaked up - he was right. The drivers were all still watching, but their expressions were mostly amused or knowing. Carlos gave you a thumbs up when he caught your eye.

"I guess the secret's out," you sighed. "At least in this room."

"Good." Max tilted your chin up. "Because I really want to kiss you right now."

"Max! Everyone's watching."

"Let them watch."

And before you could protest, he kissed you. When you pulled back, Max was grinning. "See? World didn't end."

"No," you said softly, "It really didn't."

The night continued, but differently now. No more hiding in corners or pretending not to know each other. Just you and Max, surrounded by friends who were apparently more supportive than you'd imagined.

Now you just had to figure out how to tell your father that his entire team - including his wife - had known about your relationship before him.

A late afternoon in Monaco, in Toto's office overlooking the harbor. What had started as a routine pre-race weekend meeting had quickly derailed when Andreas' name came up again.

"He asked about you again," Toto said, shuffling some papers on his desk. "He's a good man, YN. Smart, ambitious…"

"Dad," you cut in, "I've told you, I'm not interested in Andreas."

"You haven't even given him a chance," he insisted. "One dinner…"

"No."

Toto sighed, that familiar mix of frustration and concern crossing his face. "Liebling, I worry about you. Ever since that rebellious phase with Verstappen when you were eighteen…"

You tensed, feeling your heart rate spike. In the corner, you saw Lewis shift uncomfortably - he'd been quietly reviewing race strategies, but now he was fully alert.

"Dad…"

"You haven't been serious about anyone," Toto continued. "I know that boy hurt you, but you can't let one teenage romance…"

"You don't know anything about it," you said quietly, dangerously.

"I know enough. I know he was reckless, impulsive. I know ending it was the right decision."

Lewis cleared his throat. "Toto, maybe we should focus on qualifying…"

But Toto was on a roll now. "Andreas is different. He understands our world, he's stable…"

"He's boring," you snapped. "And you don't get to decide who I date."

"I'm trying to protect you!"

"From what?" You stood up. "From making my own choices? From being with someone who actually makes me happy?"

"Max Verstappen did not make you happy!" Toto's voice rose. "He was a distraction, a rebellion…"

"He was everything!" The words exploded out before you could stop them.

The office went deadly quiet. Lewis had his head in his hands.

"What?" Toto asked softly, dangerously.

You swallowed hard, years of secrets sitting heavy on your tongue. "You didn't protect me back then, Dad. You forced us apart. But you want to know something? He was never just a rebellion."

Toto stands slowly, his expression unreadable. "What are you saying, YN?"

You take a deep breath, catching Lewis' subtle head shake in your peripheral vision. The words are there, the whole truth ready to spill out, but... not like this. Not in anger.

"I'm saying I'm not eighteen anymore," you say finally, your voice steady. "I'm a grown woman who runs part of this team, who's helping build the F1 Academy with Susie. I make my own choices - about my career, about my life, about who I date."

"I only want what's best for you," Toto says, softer now.

"Then trust me to know what that is." You move toward the door, pausing with your hand on the handle. "And please, stop trying to set me up with Andreas. Or anyone else."

Zandvoort, 2022

The Dutch air mingles with the lingering scent of champagne in Max's private motorhome. The celebrations outside are still going strong - Dutch fans painting Zandvoort orange in honor of their hero's home win - but here, in this quiet space, it's just the two of you.

"Happy birthday," Max says softly, pulling a small wrapped package from behind his back. You're curled up on his couch, still wearing his Red Bull team jacket that you'd snuck on after everyone else had left.

"You already said that this morning," you smile, but take the package. "And before the race. And after you won."

"Well, it's not every day you turn twenty-five. And it's not every day I win at home on your birthday."

The package reveals a delicate gold necklace with a tiny racing helmet charm. But when you look closer, you notice something engraved on the back of the helmet - 15.03.15.

"The day we met," you whisper, running your finger over the date.

"I thought about getting something more obvious, but since we're still keeping us quiet…" He takes the necklace, moving behind you to clasp it around your neck. "This way you can wear it without anyone asking questions."

You touch the charm resting against your collarbone. "It's perfect."

"Unlike the cake situation," he grins, glancing at the remains of what was supposed to be a homemade birthday cake on the counter. "I really did try."

You laugh, remembering walking in to find Max covered in flour, frustration etched on his face as he stared at the somewhat lopsided creation. "The thought counts. Though maybe stick to driving?"

"Hey, I won today! I deserve some respect."

"You always win here," you tease. "It's your home race."

"True." He pulls you closer, until you're practically in his lap. "But winning on your birthday makes it special. Even if I couldn't kiss you in parc ferme."

"Dad would have had a heart attack right there in the garage."

"Speaking of Toto…" Max's voice turns serious. "How was the birthday lunch with him?"

You think back to the awkward meal, where your father had once again tried to subtly mention Andreas. "Same as usual. He means well."

"Still pushing the Andreas agenda?"

"Mhmm. Though Susie shut it down pretty quickly this time." You play with the helmet charm. "Can we not talk about it tho?

Max kisses your temple. "Whatever you want. It's your birthday - you make the rules."

"In that case…" you turn to face him properly. "I want to dance."

He groans. "YN…"

"Birthday rules," you remind him, already standing and pulling out your phone. When the first notes of a slow song fill the motorhome, you hold out your hand. "Dance with your birthday girl, World Champion."

He takes your hand, pulling you close as you sway together. Outside, you can still hear the distant sounds of celebrating fans, but in here it's just the music, Max's heartbeat under your ear, and the weight of a tiny gold helmet against your skin.

"This is nice," Max murmurs into your hair. "Though if anyone sees the mighty Max Verstappen slow dancing…"

"Your reputation will survive." You lift your head to look at him. "Thank you for making my birthday special, even if we had to celebrate in secret."

"Next year," he promises, "we'll do it properly. Big party, everyone we love, no hiding."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He spins you gently. "But for now…" He dips you dramatically, making you laugh. "I kind of like having birthday girl all to myself."

You kiss him then, tasting chocolate and victory champagne and love that's grown from teenage rebellion into something unshakeable.

"Best birthday ever," you whisper against his lips.

Outside, Zandvoort celebrates its champion. Inside, in this quiet space that belongs just to you, you celebrate something else - another year of loving each other, of building a life in the spaces between public and private, of planning for a future where you won't have to choose between family and love.

For now, though, you're content to dance in a motorhome, wearing his team jacket and a gold helmet that carries your history, celebrating not just your birthday but everything you've built together.

Monaco, Summer 2023

The sleek car glides through Monaco's winding streets, but you can barely focus on the stunning views. Max's mysterious smile has you intrigued and slightly nervous - he's been unusually secretive all day.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" you ask for probably the tenth time, fidgeting with the sleeve of your sundress.

"Patience," he says, taking one hand off the wheel to squeeze yours. "We're almost there."

"You know I hate surprises."

He laughs. "No, you love surprises. You just hate not being in control."

He turns onto a quiet street lined with elegant villas, each one more beautiful than the last. The Mediterranean stretches out below, a perfect azure canvas. Your heart starts racing when he pulls into a driveway. The house is stunning - modern yet classic, with large windows and a terrace overlooking the sea.

"Max…" you start, but he's already out of the car and opening your door.

"Come on," he says, taking your hand. His excitement is palpable as he leads you to the front door. "Close your eyes."

"Really?"

"Trust me."

You do as he asks, letting him guide you forward. You hear keys jingling, a door opening, then his soft "Okay, open them."

The interior takes your breath away - open and airy, with natural light streaming in from every angle. But it's not just the architecture that catches your attention - there are small touches that feel incredibly personal. Racing memorabilia tastefully displayed, a few framed photos you recognize from your own collection.

"I bought it," Max says softly, watching your reaction. "For us."

You turn to face him, eyes wide. "What?"

"I want this to be our home," he continues, his voice full of emotion. He takes both your hands in his. "Where we can grow old together, maybe raise a family someday. No more sneaking around, no more hiding. Just us."

"But… when? How?"

"I've been working with a realtor for months. Remember all those 'simulator sessions' I had to do?" He grins sheepishly. "I was actually house hunting."

"You sneaky…" You trail off, speechless.

"Want to see the rest?" He's practically bouncing with excitement now. "There's a home gym downstairs, and the kitchen is amazing - I know how much you love to cook. And wait until you see the master bedroom…"

Tears start falling before you can stop them. Max reaches up to wipe them away, but you catch his hand.

"You bought us a house," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "You planned this whole future for us, and I can't even tell my dad about us."

"Hey," he pulls you close, one hand cradling the back of your head. "It's okay. We'll figure it out together, like we always do."

"No, it's not okay." You pull back to look at him. "You've been so patient, Max. For years. And I've been such a coward."

"You're not a coward," he says firmly. "Our relationship is complicated. I understand that."

"Still." You shake your head, suddenly determined. "I'm telling him tomorrow."

"YN, you don't have to—"

"I want to." You look around at this beautiful space he's created for your future. "You've given us a home. The least I can do is be brave enough to fight for us."

"Are you sure?" His eyes search yours. "Because if you're not ready…"

"I'm sure." You walk to the windows, taking in the view. "Besides, can you imagine trying to explain why I'm suddenly moving to a new house without telling him why?"

Max comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. "We could tell him you've developed a sudden passion for real estate investment."

You laugh despite your tears. "Yes, because that would totally explain why half my clothes are already in that closet I spotted upstairs."

"You noticed that, huh?"

"The Dior dress from the FIA gala was a bit of a giveaway." You turn in his arms. "How long have you been moving my things in?"

"A while," he admits. "Susie helped."

"Of course she did." You shake your head fondly. "Any other conspirators I should know about?"

"Well, Lewis might have helped coordinate the furniture delivery…"

"Lewis?!" You pull back to stare at him. "Lewis Hamilton helped you furnish our secret love nest?"

Max winces. "Please never call it that again. And yes - turns out he has great taste in interior design."

You laugh, really laugh, and it feels like releasing years of tension. "This is insane. We're insane."

"Maybe," he agrees, pulling you close again. "But it's a good kind of insane, right?"

You look around at this beautiful house - your house - taking in all the thoughtful details. The photos telling your story, the mix of both your tastes in the décor, the way the space already feels like home.

"The best kind," you whisper, and kiss him.

Max kisses you back, soft and sweet, and you can feel his smile against your lips. When you finally part, he rests his forehead against yours.

"So," he says, "want to see our bedroom?"

"Our bedroom," you repeat, testing the words. "I like how that sounds."

"Me too." He takes your hand, leading you toward the stairs. "Though fair warning - I let Lando help with the media room setup, so that might need some adjustments."

"Oh god."

"Yeah, there may be more gaming consoles than strictly necessary…"

In this moment, in your new home, tomorrow's confrontation feels less daunting. After all, you've built something real and lasting here - something worth fighting for. And as Max leads you through your future together, room by room, you can't help but think that maybe it's time for everyone to know.

You've been standing outside your father's office at Mercedes for what feels like hours, but the watch on your wrist says it's only been ten minutes. Taking a deep breath, you finally knock.

"Come in," his familiar voice calls out.

Toto looks up from his desk, his face brightening when he sees you. "Schatz! What a lovely surprise." He stands to greet you, but pauses when he notices your expression. "What's wrong?"

"Papa, I need to tell you something." Your voice trembles slightly. "And I need you to listen. Really listen."

He gestures to the chair across from his desk, concern etching his features. "Of course. You can tell me anything."

You sit, hands clasped tightly in your lap. "I'm in love."

His face relaxes into a smile. "Is that all? Liebling, you had me worried. Who's the lucky—"

"It's Max." The words come out in a rush. "It's always been Max."

The silence that follows is deafening. You watch as confusion crosses his face, followed by understanding, and then something darker.

"Max… Verstappen?" He says the name like it tastes bitter. "This is a joke."

"No, it's not." You straighten your spine. "We've been together for two years. Actually, we never really stopped loving each other after… after what happened when we were eighteen."

Toto stands abruptly, running a hand through his hair. "This is impossible. You can't be serious."

"I am. And there's more." You take another deep breath. "We're moving in together. He bough a house for us, because he wants us to build a future together."

"No." His voice is sharp. "Absolutely not. I forbid it."

"I'm not asking for permission, Papa. I'm telling you."

He turns to face you, and the hurt in his eyes makes your heart ache. "How long have you been lying to me?"

"Since 2020," you admit quietly. "When I came back… we tried to stay away from each other. We really did. But we couldn't."

"So what, you've been sneaking around behind my back all these years?" His accent grows thicker with emotion. "Meeting in secret like teenagers?"

"We didn't have a choice."

He's quiet after that, and you can almost see the storm inside his head.

"Who knows?" The question is sharp, hurt evident in his tone.

"I told Susie last year. Lewis has known almost from the beginning. George found out in Bahrain. Some of the other drivers..."

"So everyone but me?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "My own wife, my drivers, half the paddock knew my daughter was in a relationship with Max Verstappen, and no one thought to tell me?"

"They were respecting our privacy. Our choice."

"Our choice?" He stands again, agitated. "He's Red Bull, YN! Our biggest rival! The same team that's been fighting us for years, the same driver who—"

"Who makes me happier than I've ever been," you interrupt. "Who loves me for who I am, not whose daughter I am. Who's supported my career, my dreams, everything I want to do."

"And the team rivalry? The competition?"

"We've managed it for years, Dad. We know how to separate personal and professional."

"All those times I tried to set you up with other people..."

"I know you meant well."

"And Susie?" His voice catches. "She knew and didn't tell me?"

"She said it wasn't her story to tell. That I needed to be the one to tell you when I was ready."

Toto runs a hand over his face. "And now you're ready because...?"

"Because I'm tired of hiding. Because Max and I have built something real and beautiful, and I want you to be part of it." You stand, moving around his desk to touch his arm. "Because you're my father, and despite everything, I want you to know me. All of me."

"And if I can't accept it?"

The question hangs heavy in the air. You feel tears threatening but force them back.

"Then that's your choice. But I won't give him up. Not again. Not for anyone."

Toto is quiet for a long moment, staring out at the factory below. When he finally speaks, his voice is tired. "You really love him?"

"More than anything."

He turns to look at you, really look at you, maybe for the first time seeing not his little girl but the woman you've become. "And he makes you happy?"

"Yes." Your voice is firm, certain.

Another long pause. "I need time."

It's not acceptance, but it's not rejection either. You nod, wiping away a stray tear. "Okay."

"Does he…" Toto clears his throat. "Does he treat you well?"

"Better than I deserve sometimes."

He makes a sound that might be a laugh or a sob. "No one could ever deserve better than you, Schatz."

You close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him. After a moment, his arms come around you too, holding you like he did when you were small.

"I'm still angry," he murmurs into your hair.

"I know."

"And hurt."

"I know that too."

He pulls back, cupping your face in his hands. "But you are my daughter. My precious girl. Nothing will ever change that."

Fresh tears spill over. "Papa…"

"I can't promise to like this. Or him. But…" He sighs deeply. "I will try. For you."

It's more than you dared hope for. "Thank you."

As you leave his office later, you know this isn't the end of it. There will be more conversations, more tensions to navigate. But for the first time in years, you feel truly free.

The Monaco sunset paints the dining room in warm hues as you clear the plates from dinner, the conversation flowing as easily as the wine. Lewis lounges in his chair, gesturing with his glass as he speaks.

"Still can't believe Toto didn't notice for two years, honestly," he chuckles. "I mean, you two weren't exactly subtle at the Saudi GP last year."

Max groans. "That was YN's fault. She's the one who kissed me in the paddock."

"After you won! Away from everyone," you defend yourself from across the table. "Besides, Papa was too busy arguing with Christian to notice."

"Lucky for us," Max mutters, but he's smiling.

"How is he taking it now?" Lewis asks, his expression growing serious. "It's been what, two weeks?"

You exchange a look with Max. "Better, I think. He's… processing."

"He called me yesterday," Max adds quietly. "First time ever."

Both you and Lewis straighten up. "What? You didn't tell me that!" you exclaim.

Max shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant but you can see the tension in his shoulders. "It was brief. He just said that if I ever hurt you, they'll never find my body."

Lewis nearly chokes on his wine. "Classic Toto."

"I'll get the dessert," you announce, standing. "And Max, we're talking about that phone call later."

As you head to the kitchen, you can hear their voices carrying through the open-plan space.

"Seriously though," Lewis' voice drops lower, but not low enough. "You need to be prepared. Toto might try to…"

"Separate us again?" Max's voice is steel wrapped in silk. "I'd like to see him try."

"I'm just saying, be ready. He did it once before."

"We were kids then. It's different now." A pause. "I'm different now."

"I know you are, mate. That's why I helped with the house. But Toto… he can be protective."

"Lewis." Max's voice is deadly serious now. "I would rather end my career tomorrow than lose her again. She's… she's everything."

You freeze in the doorway of the kitchen, tiramisu forgotten in your hands.

"I know what it did to her last time," Max continues, unaware of your presence. "What it did to both of us. But I'm not that scared teenager anymore, and she's not that girl who was afraid to stand up to her father. We fought too hard to get here."

"Good." Lewis' voice is warm with approval. "Because if you hurt her, Toto won't have to hide your body. I'll do it myself."

Max laughs. "Get in line. Susie already called dibs."

"Speaking of Susie, how's she handling being in the middle?"

"Better than any of us deserve," Max sighs. "She's been amazing. Especially with YN. When Toto first found out…"

"That bad?"

"YN cried for hours after telling him. I've never felt so helpless." Max's voice cracks slightly. "All I could do was hold her."

"Sometimes that's enough," Lewis says softly. "Sometimes that's everything."

You wipe away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. The tiramisu trembles slightly in your hands.

"I'm going to marry her someday," Max says suddenly. "I already have the ring."

The tiramisu nearly slips from your grasp.

"Does she know?" Lewis asks.

"Not yet. I wanted to wait until things settled with Toto. She deserves a proper proposal, not one overshadowed by family drama."

"Smart man." Lewis pauses. "You really have grown up, haven't you?"

"Had to. She deserves the best version of me."

You can't take it anymore. You walk back in, pretending you haven't heard a word. "Who wants dessert?"

Both men straighten up, but you catch the knowing look Lewis gives Max. As you serve the tiramisu, Max's hand finds yours, squeezing gently.

"Everything okay, liefje?" he asks softly.

You look at him - this man who's grown and changed and loved you through everything - and feel your heart swell. "Perfect," you whisper, and mean it.

Lewis watches you both with a soft smile. "You know," he says, "I think Toto will come around eventually. He may be stubborn, but he's not blind. Anyone can see what you two have is real."

"Real enough to redecorate my gaming room?" Max asks hopefully.

You laugh, the emotional moment breaking. "Nice try. But Lando's RGB setup stays."

"It gives me a headache!"

"Should have thought of that before letting him design it," Lewis points out.

As they fall into friendly bickering about proper gaming room aesthetics, you sit back and take it all in - this beautiful home, these people you love, this life you've built. It hasn't been easy, but everything has been worth it.

Your phone rings just as you're finishing up some work in your home office. Seeing your father's name on the screen makes your heart skip.

"Papa?"

"Schatz." His voice is carefully neutral. "Are you free tonight?"

"I… yes?"

"Good. You and Max will come to dinner. Eight o'clock."

It's not a question. You glance at the clock - it's already 4 PM. "Tonight?"

"Unless you have other plans?"

"No, no plans." You swallow hard. "We'll be there."

"Good." A pause. "And YN?"

"Yes?"

"Tell Max to breathe. It's just dinner."

The line goes dead before you can respond. You sit there for a moment, phone still in hand, before rushing downstairs to find Max.

He's in the gym, finishing up his workout. One look at your face and he's pulling off his headphones.

"What's wrong?"

"Papa called. He wants us for dinner. Tonight."

Max freezes mid-stretch. "Tonight? As in… tonight tonight?"

"Eight o'clock."

"Fuck." He starts pacing. "Fuck fuck fuck. This is it. He's going to murder me. He's probably got a plan to make it look like an accident. Lewis will help him hide the body—"

"Max."

"—probably already has an alibi arranged. Susie will vouch for him, of course—"

"Max!"

He stops pacing. "What?"

"He actually said to tell you to breathe. His exact words were 'it's just dinner.'"

Max stares at you. "That's worse. That's so much worse. He's lulling me into a false sense of security."

You can't help but laugh, even as anxiety churns in your own stomach. "You're being ridiculous."

"Am I?" He runs a hand through his sweaty hair. "The last time I was in the same room as your father, he looked at me like he was calculating how many pieces he could cut me into."

"That was three weeks ago, right after he found out. Things are… better now."

"Are they? Because that phone call he made last week about hiding my body didn't feel like 'better.'"

You cross the room to him, placing your hands on his chest. "Hey. Look at me."

His eyes meet yours, and you can see the genuine worry there.

"Whatever happens tonight, we face it together. Okay?"

He takes a deep breath, covering your hands with his. "Okay."

"Good. Now go shower, because you stink."

"Charming," he mutters, but he's smiling now. "What should I wear?"

"Something bulletproof?" you suggest innocently.

"Not helping!"

The drive to your parents' house is tense. Susie opens the door, her warm smile immediately putting you both at ease. "Come in, come in. Toto's just opening the wine."

"We brought some too," you say, holding up the bottle you'd carefully selected.

"Ah, his favorite." Susie winks. "Good choice."

The dining room is set beautifully, candles flickering on the table. Your father stands as you enter, and for a moment, everyone freezes.

Then Toto steps forward, kissing your cheek. "You look beautiful, Schatz."

He turns to Max, who looks like he's trying very hard not to bolt. They regard each other for a long moment before Toto extends his hand.

Max shakes it, and you breathe again.

Dinner starts surprisingly well. The conversation stays safe - racing, weather, Susie's latest projects. Max gradually relaxes enough to actually eat, though you notice he keeps looking at your father like he's expecting an ambush.

It comes after the plates are cleared.

"So," Toto says, setting down his wine glass. "We need to talk."

Max's hand finds yours under the table.

"Max." Your father's voice is measured. "I need you to listen carefully to what I'm about to say."

"Yes, sir."

"When YN was born, I made a promise to protect her from anything that could hurt her. When she was eighteen, I thought I was doing that by keeping her away from you."

You feel Max tense beside you.

"I was wrong."

The admission hangs in the air. Even Susie looks surprised.

"You were angry then. Volatile. Too much like your father." Toto continues. "But you've grown. Changed. I see that now."

He leans forward, eyes intense. "But understand this: that girl sitting next to you? She is my world. My greatest joy, my greatest pride. And if you ever - ever - give me reason to think you don't deserve her…"

"I don't," Max interrupts quietly. "Deserve her, I mean. I know that. I try every day to be worthy of her love, and I'll keep trying for the rest of my life."

Something shifts in Toto's expression.

"And you," he turns to you. "My strong, stubborn daughter. You've grown too. Standing up to me… it showed me you're not my little girl anymore. You're a woman who knows her own mind, her own heart."

Tears prick at your eyes. "Papa…"

"I trust your judgment," he says softly. "Even when it differs from mine."

Susie reaches over to squeeze his hand, pride shining in her eyes.

"Now," Toto straightens, his expression growing serious again. "We need to discuss the media situation. Your relationship will be public knowledge soon, if it isn't already."

"We've been careful," you start, but he holds up a hand.

"Careful isn't enough. The press will be relentless. They'll try to create drama, stir up controversy. Everything you do, every interaction, will be scrutinized."

"We know," Max says. "We've talked about it."

"Good. But you need to be prepared. They'll drag up the past, try to create tension between the teams. Your relationship will become clickbait."

"We can handle it," you say firmly.

"Perhaps. But you'll need support." Toto looks between you both. "Which is why… which is why I'm offering mine."

Max's grip on your hand tightens.

"When the story breaks, there will be questions. Speculation. I will make it clear that you have my blessing." The words seem to cost him something, but his voice is steady. "It won't stop the circus, but it might help control the narrative."

You're crying openly now. Max looks shellshocked.

"Thank you," he manages finally. "That… that means everything."

Toto nods once, then reaches for his wine. "Now, who wants dessert? Susie made Sachertorte."

As Susie bustles off to the kitchen, you catch your father's eye. The love there, the acceptance, makes your heart full.

Max leans over to whisper in your ear. "I think I just aged ten years."

You squeeze his hand. "Worth it?"

He looks at you, then at your father who's pretending not to watch you both, then back to you.

"Every second," he says, and kisses your temple.

And just like that, your worlds align.

Saint-Tropez, 2024

The morning sun filters through the sheer curtains of your villa, casting warm patterns across the rumpled sheets. Max's fingers trace lazy circles on your bare shoulder as you lie there, both reluctant to acknowledge that real life awaits.

"Do we have to go back?" you mumble into his chest.

"Mmm, eventually." He drops a kiss on your head. "Though I could get used to this."

"What, me using you as a human pillow?"

"You do that at home too, liefje."

You prop yourself up on an elbow to look at him, taking in the relaxed set of his features, the way his hair is sticking up wildly. "True, but here you're not constantly checking the time for sim racing with Lando."

"That was one time!"

"It was three times last week alone."

He tugs you back down, rolling so you're trapped beneath him. "You're just jealous because I'm better at it than you."

"Excuse me?" You poke his ribs. "Who won last time?"

"You cheated!"

"Did not!"

"You distracted me!"

"Not my fault you can't focus when I kiss your neck."

His eyes darken. "Want to test that theory?"

"We'll be late for our flight," you warn, but you're already tilting your head as his lips find that spot behind your ear.

"Worth it," he murmurs against your skin.

Later, tangled in sheets again, you check your phone while Max dozes beside you. A frown crosses your face.

"That's weird."

"Hmm?" Max doesn't open his eyes.

"Lewis still hasn't answered my texts from yesterday. Or the day before."

You feel him tense slightly. "Maybe he's busy."

"During holidays? And he always answers eventually." You sit up, noticing how Max suddenly seems very interested in the ceiling. "Max…"

"What?"

"You know something."

"I don't."

"You're doing that thing with your jaw."

His hand flies to his face. "What thing?"

"That clenching thing you do when you're hiding something." You narrow your eyes. "Spill it."

"There's nothing to spill." He sits up too quickly. "We should start packing."

"Max Emilian Verstappen."

"YN Wolff," he mimics, but there's an edge of nervousness to his teasing.

"Is Lewis okay?"

"He's fine! Totally fine. Completely fine. Never been better."

You stare at him. "You are the worst liar ever."

"I'm not—" He cuts himself off with a groan. "I can't tell you."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both?" He runs a hand through his hair. "Look, it's nothing bad. Just… something that's not public yet."

Your stomach drops. "Is he sick?"

"What? No! No, nothing like that." He catches your hands. "I promise, he's okay. It's just… complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"The kind of complicated I really can't tell you about yet." His eyes are pleading. "Please don't ask me to. I promised."

You study his face, seeing the genuine conflict there. "But he's okay?"

"Yes."

"And it's not bad news?"

He hesitates. "That… depends on how you look at it."

"Max!"

"I've already said too much." He kisses your forehead. "You'll know soon enough."

You flop back onto the pillows with a huff. "I hate secrets."

"Says the woman who kept our relationship secret for two years."

"That was different!"

"Sure it was." He stretches out beside you, pulling you close. "Can we go back to the part where we were enjoying our last morning in paradise?"

You want to protest, to push for more information, but his hand is sliding up your thigh and his lips are at your neck again and suddenly Lewis' mysterious silence seems less important.

"Fine," you concede, already breathless. "But this isn't over."

"Never is with you," he murmurs fondly. "It's why I love you."

"Because I'm stubborn?"

"Because you never give up on the people you care about."

Something in his voice makes you pause. "Max…"

"Let me love you," he whispers. "Just for now, let that be enough."

The world and its complications can wait. For now, there's just this - the sun on your skin, Max's heartbeat under your palm, and the knowledge that whatever comes next, you'll face it together.

Even if he is terrible at keeping secrets.

The gentle hum of your computer fills your office at Mercedes HQ as you review the latest F1 Academy reports. A notification pops up on your phone - Instagram, probably another post from Max complaining about his training session.

Your coffee cup freezes halfway to your mouth.

BREAKING: Lewis Hamilton to join Ferrari in 2025

The cup clatters onto your desk, coffee spilling across papers you can't bring yourself to care about. Your hands shake as you scroll through post after post confirming it.

Lewis is leaving.

Lewis is going to Ferrari.

Lewis didn't tell you.

Max knew and didn't tell you.

Your father…

You're on your feet before you realize it, striding through the corridors. People step out of your way, perhaps recognizing the storm in your expression. You barely register Susie calling your name as you pass her office.

The door to your father's office bangs open. He looks up, unsurprised.

"What is going on?" Your voice trembles.

"YN—"

"No." You hold up your phone, the Ferrari announcement glaring at you. "What is this?"

Toto sighs, removing his glasses. "Come in and close the door."

"You knew." It's not a question. "You all knew. That's why Lewis wasn't answering my messages. That's why Max was acting strange in Saint-Tropez."

"We couldn't tell you."

"Couldn't or wouldn't?" The words come out sharp, hurt. "I'm not just your daughter anymore, Papa. I'm co-director of F1 Academy. I work here. This affects me professionally as well as personally."

"Which is exactly why we couldn't tell you." He stands, coming around his desk. "The announcement had to be handled carefully. Any leak could have—"

"Leak?" You step back when he reaches for you. "Is that what I am to you? A potential leak?"

"Schatz, no—"

"Lewis is family!" Your voice cracks. "He's been here my entire life. He watched me grow up. He helped Max and me when…" You swallow hard. "I had to find out from Instagram. Instagram, Papa!"

"I know."

"Did everyone know except me? Was there some big meeting where you all decided poor YN can't be trusted?"

"It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like?" Tears spill over. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like nobody trusted me enough to tell me that one of the most important people in my life is leaving."

Toto moves forward again, and this time you let him pull you into a hug. "Lewis wanted to tell you himself," he says softly. "He was going to come see you today, after the announcement. He didn't want you to have to carry the secret."

"I could have handled it."

"I know you could have." His hand smooths over your hair like when you were small. "But he didn't want to put you in that position. Neither did Max."

You stiffen. "Max knew for how long?"

"YN…"

"How long?"

"Since before New Year's."

The betrayal hits fresh. "That's why he was so weird about Lewis not texting back. He let me worry instead of just telling me."

"He was protecting you."

"I don't need protection!" You pull away. "I need honesty. I need the people I love to trust me. I need—" Your voice breaks. "I need to not feel like an outsider in my own family."

"Oh, Schatz." Toto's face crumples. "You have never been an outsider. Lewis insisted on keeping it quiet precisely because he cares so much. He knew how hard it would be for you."

"It's harder finding out like this."

A soft knock interrupts. You turn to see Lewis in the doorway, still in his Mercedes gear - for one of the last times, you realize with a pang.

"Little Wolff," he starts, but you hold up a hand.

"Don't." You brush past him, ignoring his attempt to catch your arm. "I have work to do."

"Please—"

"Congratulations on Ferrari," you say stiffly, not looking back. "I'm sure you'll do great things there."

You make it back to your office before the tears really start. Your phone buzzes - Max calling. Then Lewis. Then Susie.

You silence it, staring out your window at the Mercedes logo shining in the winter sun. It looks different now, knowing Lewis won't be racing under it anymore soon.

Everything looks different.

Your phone lights up again - a text from Max.

"I'm sorry. I hated keeping this from you. I love you"

You turn the phone face down.

Later. You'll deal with all of it later.

By the time you make it home that evening, your eyes are red and puffy from crying. Max is already there - of course he is - waiting in the kitchen with that worried look you've come to know so well.

"Baby…" he starts, but you brush past him, dropping your bag on the counter with trembling hands.

"Don't." Your voice cracks. "Just… don't."

But Max has never been good at leaving you alone when you're hurting. His arms wrap around you from behind, and despite your anger, you find yourself leaning back into his warmth.

"I wanted to tell you," he whispers against your hair. "Every day, I wanted to tell you."

The dam breaks. You turn in his arms, burying your face in his chest as sobs wrack your body. His arms tighten around you, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other rubs soothing circles on your back.

"He's leaving," you choke out. "Lewis is actually leaving. How can he leave? He's… he's my brother, Max. He's been there my whole life. The garage won't be the same without him. The team won't be the same."

"I know, baby. I know."

"He didn't tell me. None of you told me." You pull back enough to look up at him, tears still streaming. "You all just decided I couldn't handle it."

Max wipes your tears with his thumbs, his own eyes suspiciously bright. "Lewis wanted to protect you. We all did. You've been working so hard with F1 Academy, with the team… he didn't want you carrying this weight."

"But I could have handled it! I'm not some fragile thing that needs protecting anymore."

"No," Max agrees softly, "you're the strongest person I know. But Lewis loves you like a sister. He wanted to tell you himself, properly. Not through some leaked rumor or whispered secret."

You collapse against him again, letting out a shuddering breath. "I can't imagine Mercedes without him. Every memory I have there, he's part of it. Even when we were hiding us, he was there, watching out for us, covering for us…"

Max leads you to the couch, pulling you into his lap. You curl into him, feeling drained.

"Talk to him," he murmurs. "Not today, not tomorrow if you're not ready. But don't let this distance grow. You'll regret it."

"When did you get so wise?" you ask weakly.

"Around the same time I realized that sometimes loving someone means letting them be angry at you for trying to protect them." He presses a kiss to your temple. "Even if you'd do it again."

You stay like that for a long time, wrapped in Max's arms as the sun sets outside. Your phone buzzes occasionally - more messages from Lewis, probably - but you ignore it. Tomorrow you'll deal with it all. Tomorrow you'll be strong again.

But tonight, you let yourself be held and comforted, mourning the end of an era while knowing, deep down, that family is family - even when they're wearing red instead of silver.

Bahrain, 2024

The Bahrain paddock buzzes with its usual first-race energy, but everything feels off-kilter. You've been masterfully avoiding proper conversations with Lewis all weekend, keeping interactions professional and brief. The pit wall feels different already, knowing it's his last season here.

You're reviewing data sheets in the garage when his shadow falls across your tablet.

"Little Wolff," Lewis says softly, using the nickname that usually makes you smile but now just makes your chest ache. "Can we talk?"

"I'm quite busy," you reply, not looking up. "Qualifying strategy needs finalizing."

"YN." His voice is gentle but firm. "Please."

You finally meet his eyes, seeing the concern there, the sadness. He looks older somehow, or maybe that's just your perception shifting with everything else.

"What's left to say?" You keep your voice low, mindful of the mechanics nearby. "You made your decision. You kept it from me. We move forward."

"That's not fair and you know it." Lewis steps closer. "I've tried calling, texting…"

"I've been busy."

"You've been avoiding me." He sighs. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"Well, you did." The words come out sharper than intended. "Did you think finding out from social media wouldn't hurt? That watching Max and Papa dance around it for weeks wouldn't hurt?"

"I wanted to protect you—"

"Stop saying that!" You catch yourself, lowering your voice again. "Everyone keeps saying they were protecting me. I'm not a child anymore, Lewis. I run part of this team. I handle confidential information every day. I've kept secrets bigger than this."

Understanding crosses his face. "Like Max."

"Yes, like Max." You swallow hard. "You trusted me then. You helped us. Why couldn't you trust me with this?"

"Because this wasn't just my secret to keep." Lewis runs a hand over his face. "There were contracts, negotiations, timing issues. And yes, I wanted to tell you myself, properly. Not have you carry it around for weeks knowing you couldn't talk to anyone about it."

"So instead you let me worry when you weren't responding to messages? Let me think something was wrong? Let Max lie to me?"

"I asked him not to tell you." Lewis reaches for your hand but you pull back. "He wanted to. He hated keeping it from you."

"But he did anyway."

"Because he understands sometimes protecting the people we love means letting them be angry with us." Lewis's voice softens. "You're my family, YN. You're the little sister I never had. Leaving Mercedes… leaving you… it's one of the hardest decisions I've ever made."

You blink back tears, refusing to cry in the garage. "Then why are you?"

"Because sometimes we need to chase new dreams, even when it means leaving safe harbors." He smiles sadly. "You taught me that, actually. When you chose Max despite everything, despite what it could cost you. You taught me that sometimes the scariest choices are the right ones."

"That's different."

"Is it?" Lewis raises an eyebrow. "You took a risk for love. For growth. For what you believed was right for you, even knowing it would hurt people you care about."

You look away, his words hitting too close to home.

"I'm not asking you not to be hurt," he continues. "I'm just asking you not to let that hurt break us. I'm still your Lewis. That doesn't change just because I'm wearing red."

"It feels like everything's changing," you whisper.

"Some things never will." He opens his arms. "Come here, Little Wolff."

This time you don't resist, letting him pull you into a hug. The familiar smell of his cologne brings fresh tears to your eyes.

"I'm still mad at you," you mumble into his chest.

"I know."

"And you better not beat us too badly in that Ferrari."

You feel his laugh rumble. "I'll do my best."

"Lewis?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm going to miss you so much."

His arms tighten. "I'm not gone yet. We've got a whole season ahead of us. And after… I'm still your big brother. That doesn't change with the color of my race suit."

Over his shoulder, you catch Max watching from the Red Bull garage, a soft smile on his face. He gives you a small nod before turning back to his engineers.

Some things change. Some things stay the same. And sometimes, you realize, holding onto anger hurts more than letting it go.

Miami, 2024

The sun beats down mercilessly as you pace your hotel room, phone clutched in your hand. The notifications won't stop - Instagram, Twitter, all exploding with the same photos. You and Max on his boat in Monaco last weekend, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you, both of you clearly lost in each other.

You'd been so careful for so long. One moment of letting your guard down, and now…

The door opens and Max rushes in, still in his Red Bull gear from practice. "Baby?" His voice is soft with concern.

"Have you seen them?" You hold up your phone, hands trembling. "They're everywhere. Everyone knows. Papa is going to have to address it in the press conference and—"

Max crosses the room in three long strides, taking your face in his hands - just like in the photos, you realize with a jolt. "Breathe," he murmurs. "Just breathe with me."

"But—"

"Breathe first." His thumbs stroke your cheeks. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. With me."

You follow his lead, matching your breathing to his until the panic starts to recede. Only then does he lead you to sit on the edge of the bed, keeping one arm around you.

"Now," he says, "tell me what you're really afraid of."

"Everything!" You gesture wildly with your free hand. "The media circus, the speculation, the questions about favoritism in the sport, Papa having to defend us publicly, the board's reaction…"

"YN." Max turns you to face him fully. "We knew this would happen eventually. We talked about it."

"I know, but—"

"But nothing." His blue eyes are intense, earnest. "We're not doing anything wrong. We're two adults who love each other. Yes, there will be talk. Yes, there will be questions. But we can handle it." His lips quirk. "We've handled worse."

You lean into him, letting his steady presence ground you. "Papa's press conference is in twenty minutes."

"And he'll handle it like he handles everything - with that terrifying Wolff composure." Max's hand runs soothingly up and down your back. "He loves you, baby. He's not going to let anyone suggest anything improper about us."

"I should be there," you whisper. "I should face it with him."

"No." Max's voice is firm. "Let him handle this part. That's what fathers do - they protect their children, even when their children are grown up and running F1 programs."

Your phone buzzes again - another news alert. Max gently takes it from your hand and sets it aside.

"Remember what you told me?" he asks softly. "That night in Monaco when I was worried about how people would react to us being together again?"

You smile slightly. "I told you that what other people think doesn't matter."

"Exactly." He presses his forehead to yours. "You said that we've earned the right to be happy, that we're not teenagers anymore trying to sneak around. You said we're stronger together than apart."

"Using my own words against me?"

"Always." He kisses you softly. "Because you were right then, and you're still right now. Let them talk. Let them speculate. We know the truth."

Your phone lights up with a livestream notification - the press conference is starting. Max reaches for the remote, turning on the hotel room's TV where it's already being broadcast.

"We can turn it off," he offers, but you shake your head.

"No. I need to see."

You curl into Max's side as the questions start. Your father sits there, calm and collected as ever, fielding questions about strategy and performance. Then:

"Toto, there are photos circulating of your daughter YN with Max Verstappen. Given the rivalry between Mercedes and Red Bull, and Max's history with both Mercedes and your family, do you have any comment?"

The room goes silent. You hold your breath, feeling Max tense beside you.

Your father adjusts his glasses, that familiar gesture that usually precedes something important. "Yes, I do have a comment." His voice is measured but firm. "My daughter is a highly respected professional in this sport, running our F1 Academy program and working tirelessly to create opportunities for young women in motorsport. Her personal life is her own, and she has my full support in all her choices."

"But given the competitive nature of F1—"

"Let me be very clear," Toto interrupts, and you recognize that steel in his voice. "YN has proven herself time and time again. She has earned her position through hard work and dedication. Max Verstappen is one of the most talented drivers of his generation. They are both adults who conduct themselves with integrity and professionalism. Any suggestion otherwise is not only disrespectful but reveals more about the person asking than about them."

Tears blur your vision. Max's arm tightens around you.

"See?" he whispers. "Terrifying Wolff composure."

On screen, your father continues: "My daughter and Max have my blessing and my respect. They have shown wisdom and maturity in handling their relationship alongside their professional responsibilities. Now, unless there are questions about this weekend's race…"

You bury your face in Max's chest, overwhelmed. His hands stroke your hair as he murmurs soft Dutch endearments.

"He defended us," you say wonderingly. "He really defended us."

"Of course he did." Max kisses the top of your head. "He's your father. And…" he hesitates, "I think maybe he's starting to like, a little bit."

You look up at him, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes. "You know he likes you."

"Yeah." Max smiles softly. "He called me yesterday, you know. Said if any reporters gave me trouble about the photos, to refer them to him. Said he'd handle it."

Fresh tears spill over. "He did?"

"Mmhmm." Max wipes your tears with his thumb."Does this mean I can finally kiss you in the paddock?"

You laugh through your tears. "Maybe let's ease them into it?"

"Fine." He sighs dramatically. "But I'm holding your hand in public. No negotiation on that."

"Deal." You curl back into him, feeling the panic from earlier dissolve into something warmer, more certain. "Thank you for being here. For being you."

"Always, baby." Max kisses you again, soft and sweet. "Now, what do you say we give them something else to talk about and go absolutely dominate this race weekend?"

You smile against his lips. "Now that sounds like a plan."

Las Vegas, 2024

The neon lights blur through your tears as you watch the podium ceremony. George and Lewis stand there together, silver suits gleaming under the artificial lights, Mercedes' last 1-2 with this particular lineup.

Your heart feels like it might burst - pride, joy, and melancholy all tangled together. Max clinched his fourth title today, and you couldn't be prouder.

"Look at them," Susie whispers, squeezing your hand. "Our boys."

You can barely speak around the lump in your throat. George looks radiant, his second win of the season perhaps the sweetest. And Lewis… Lewis is beaming with genuine joy for his teammate, even as his eyes glisten with unshed tears. His last podium in Vegas as a Mercedes driver.

Your father stands tall beside you, his usual stoic expression softened by emotion. As the champagne starts flowing, you catch sight of Max making his way toward the Red Bull garage, where you know the championship celebrations are about to begin.

"Go," your father says suddenly.

You turn to him, surprised. "What?"

"Go celebrate with Max." His voice is gentle. "It's his fourth championship. You should be there."

"But…" you glance at the podium, at your Mercedes family celebrating.

"We've shared every celebration with you," Susie says softly. "Let him have this one."

"Are you sure?" You look at your father. "Papa?"

Toto's eyes are warm as he cups your face in his hands. "For three years, you couldn't celebrate with him. Couldn't share his victories. Couldn't be by his side when he achieved his dreams." He kisses your forehead. "Go make up for lost time, Schatz."

"But Lewis and George…"

"Will understand." Toto smiles. "Besides, I think Lewis would be disappointed if you didn't go congratulate your boyfriend on his championship."

As if on cue, Lewis catches your eye from the podium and nods toward the Red Bull garage, mouthing "Go!"

Tears spill over as you hug your parents. "I love you both so much."

"We know," Susie strokes your hair. "Now go. Make your man's celebration complete."

You run through the paddock, your heart pounding. The Red Bull garage is already in full celebration mode when you arrive. Christian sees you first, and instead of any awkwardness, he just smiles and points toward the back room.

You find Max there, surrounded by his team but somehow looking like he's waiting for something - or someone. When he sees you, his entire face lights up.

"Baby," he breathes, and then you're in his arms, his race suit damp with champagne, his heart beating fast against yours.

"Congratulations, four-time world champion," you whisper against his neck.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes shining. "You came."

"Of course I came." You touch his face, memorizing this moment. "Papa and Susie practically pushed me out the door."

Max's eyes widen slightly. "Really?"

"Really." You smile through your tears. "Papa said we had three years of celebrations to make up for."

Something vulnerable crosses Max's face. "I used to dream about this," he admits quietly, despite the noise around you. "Every championship, every win… I'd imagine you here, celebrating with me. But I never thought…"

"That my father would be the one sending me to you?"

"Yeah." Max laughs softly. "Things really have changed, haven't they?"

"For the better." You kiss him softly, not caring who sees. "I'm so proud of you, Max. So incredibly proud."

He presses his forehead to yours. "Stay? Celebrate with us?"

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away."

"Good." His smile turns mischievous. "Because I have three years of championship celebrations to make up for, and I plan to make this one count."

From somewhere behind you, you hear Jos' voice: "Max! The championship photo!"

"Coming!" Max calls back, then looks at you. "Join us?"

You blink. "In the Red Bull championship photo?"

"Why not?" His eyes are bright with joy and love. "You're part of this story too. Always have been."

The photographer arranges everyone, and Max pulls you close to his side. Here, under the neon lights of Vegas, surrounded by celebrations both here and in the garage next door, you feel the weight of the moment. The past - three years of separation, of watching from afar. The present - standing proudly by his side as he achieves another dream. And the future - stretching out before you both, full of possibilities.

"Ready?" Max whispers in your ear.

You look up at him, this man who never stopped loving you even when the world tried to keep you apart, and smile. "Ready."

The camera flashes, capturing the moment forever - the four-time world champion and the girl who crossed rival lines to love him, surrounded by celebration and joy, making up for all the moments they missed and creating new ones all their own.

In the distance, you hear the Mercedes celebration continuing, George and Lewis' laughter carrying through the night. Two families, two celebrations, and you finally allowed to be part of both.

Melbourne, 2025

"YN, we need to check something at the track," Max says casually as you're getting ready for bed.

"At this hour? It's past midnight."

"Trust me?" He gives you that same boyish grin that still makes your heart skip, even after a decade.

You're both jet-lagged anyway, so you agree. But instead of heading to Albert Park, Max drives to a familiar hotel. Your breath catches when you realize where you are.

"Max…"

"Come on," he takes your hand, leading you through the quiet lobby to the coffee shop where it all began. The lights are dimmed, but it's clearly open - though completely empty.

"How did you…?"

"Being a four-time world champion has some perks," he grins. "Plus, the owner remembered us. Said she never forgot the night the youngest F1 driver and Toto Wolff's daughter had their secret meeting here."

The same table is there, the one where you shared your hot chocolate ten years ago. There's even a steaming mug waiting.

"You were so smug," Max laughs, pulling out your chair. "Letting me ramble about being a driver when you knew exactly who I was."

"You were cute when you were flustered," you tease. "Especially when I dropped my last name."

"I couldn't believe it. Here I was, trying to impress this beautiful girl, and she turned out to be my biggest rival's daughter."

You take a sip from the mug - hot chocolate, just like that night. "Papa wouldn't stop talking about you."

"And now he's my biggest defender," Max shakes his head in wonder. "Remember how scared we were to tell him about us?"

"Worth it though," you squeeze his hand. "Every secret meeting, every careful distance in the paddock, every time we had to pretend we were just friendly acquaintances."

Max's eyes go soft. "You know what I remember most about that first night? You were the first person who didn't treat me like I was either Jos's son or some record-breaking novelty. You just… saw me."

"I still do," you whisper.

He stands suddenly, pulling you up with him. "That night, I was terrified about my first race. Everyone had opinions about whether I deserved to be here. But then there was this girl, sharing her hot chocolate and making me feel like maybe I could actually do this."

"Max…"

He drops to one knee, and your heart stops. "Ten years ago, in this exact spot, I met the love of my life. I didn't know it then, but that girl who kept her name secret until the last possible moment would become my biggest supporter, my best friend, my home."

Through your tears, you see him pull out a ring. "You've been there through everything, YN. Every victory, every defeat. When the pressure got too much, when the critics were too loud - you were my safe place. Just like you were that first night."

"Remember what you told me then? That your intuition said I'd do great?" He laughs softly. "You believed in me before anyone else did. And I want to spend the rest of my life believing in you, supporting you, loving you."

"YN Wolff," his voice cracks slightly. "Will you marry me? Will you keep being my safe place, my biggest supporter, my best friend? Will you let me spend forever trying to make you as happy as you've made me?"

Through your tears, you see the same boy from that late-night coffee shop - still determined, still passionate, still looking at you like you're his whole world. But now he's also the man who's grown with you, fought for you, loved you through everything.

"Yes," you manage, pulling him up to kiss him. "Yes to everything."

As he slides the ring onto your finger, Max pulls you close, and you can smell the same coffee shop scent that surrounded you ten years ago. "Thank you for sharing your hot chocolate that night," he murmurs against your hair.

"Thank you for making me believe in intuition," you reply, feeling the weight of the ring - a promise of all the years to come.

Outside, Melbourne sleeps, just like it did that first night. But now, instead of two strangers sharing a drink and their fears, there's you and Max, sharing a future.

And it feels like coming home.

tags: @mimiteller712 @lydia-demarek, @rory-cakes, @swaggymadi, @chriskevinevans @p7-otterton, @cherrystars81, @whokilledmarlene @lilymaleshka @kodeelynn @formoola1fan @pausmoon @lalala28 @baby-alien11 @allthings-fandoms @downsideup1989 @urbaebarnes @ivegotparticulartaste @liethatyouloveme @codymthepenguin @finn-dot-com @rayaskoalaland @angelluv16 @pourmercymercy0nme @tweetledeedumb @osclerc @scientifichufflepuff @cometpiastri @hobiismyhopeu @monsterdesandia @amyelevenn @damonsalvatorelikessex @rmvb @virtualperfectioncat @emma-chiara @chelle1306 @idontknow0704 @lilypat @elieanana @nothaqks @1800-love-me

hot lap

Lando Norris x Y/N

Summary: Somehow, Lando Norris managed to convince his girlfriend to join him for a hot lap.

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: swearing, suggestive content

"Please, Y/N, I swear it’s totally safe. I’ve done this a million times before!" Lando pleads, his eyes wide with exaggerated sincerity.

"No," Y/N responds flatly, her eyes never leaving her phone as she continues to scroll, completely unbothered by Lando’s pleas.

Lando exhales sharply, defeated, and glances over at his teammate, Oscar, who’s lounging on the couch, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. He shrugs nonchalantly, clearly not wanting to get involved in the couple’s dilemma.

"Don’t look at me, mate. This one’s all on you," Oscar says with a laugh, clearly enjoying the tension.

Lando's eyes widen with desperation. "But baby, look! Even Lily's doing it—right, Osc?" He turns to Oscar again, silently pleading for him to back him up.

Y/N shifts her gaze to Oscar, who merely shakes his head with an apologetic smile. She then turns back to Lando, an unimpressed expression painted across her face.

"Nice try," Y/N mutters, clearly not convinced.

"My love, I literally do this professionally. You’ll be in safe hands," Lando tries once more, taking her hands gently in his and pressing light kisses to her knuckles.

Y/N sighs, finally looking up at him. She watches her boyfriend, who is now on one knee in front of her, hovering with a hopeful grin. "When?"

Lando’s eyes light up instantly, a spark of excitement flickering in his gaze. "Miami... that’s in May"

A heavy silence fills the room, and Lando holds his breath, almost too eager to exhale. Oscar, who’s been silently shaking his leg in anticipation, shifts in his seat, clearly just as invested in the outcome.

Y/N takes a moment, her gaze unwavering, before finally letting out a small, resigned sigh. "Alright."

Lando erupts with joy, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Fuck yeah! We're gonna have so much fun!"

Oscar chuckles from across the room, shaking his head at the chaotic excitement. "You two are ridiculous, but hey, enjoy!"

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

It was a nearly perfect day in Miami. The skies were clear, the track buzzed with energy as teams prepped for the weekend, but Y/N barely noticed any of it. She stood by the pit lane, palms sweaty, fingers fidgeting anxiously.

A small group from McLaren—mostly Lando’s crew, who had grown quite fond of her—gathered outside, eager to witness what was about to unfold. They exchanged knowing smiles and hushed chuckles, watching as Lando finally approached, two helmets in hand.

"Got something for you, baby," he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

Y/N glanced over, offering him a soft, almost nervous smile. "Is it too late to back out?"

Lando chuckled, lifting one of the helmets to show her. "You sure? Had this specially made for you...look." He gently placed it in her hands.

She turned it over, eyes widening in awe. It was beautiful—her favourite color, perfectly incorporated into the sleek design. The intricate details stood out, tiny nods to things she loved the most, small symbols of their shared interests, woven together so effortlessly that it looked both classy and personal.

Her fingers traced over the design, heart swelling at the thoughtfulness behind it. "This is beautiful, Lan… Thank you."

Lando grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. "Only the best for my girl."

The crew was eagerly capturing every second—some for McLaren’s media team, others snapping away on their personal phones, already anticipating the adorable moments they’d share with the couple later on.

But as the car they were about to use rolled into the pit lane, Y/N felt her nerves creep back in. The sleek machine, now being fitted with cameras, suddenly looked a lot more intimidating up close.

"Hey..." Lando's voice was soft as he reached for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We'll start slow, and if at any point you want to stop, we stop. I promise."

Y/N nodded, eyes flickering between his and the car.

Lando tilted his head. "Gotta use your words, baby. You sure you're ready?"

"Yes," she said, then let out a small, nervous laugh. "Just really nervous."

Lando smiled, taking the helmet from her hands and gently placing it over her head. His fingers worked carefully to tuck away any loose strands of hair before securing it properly.

"Perfect," he murmured, his smirk growing as he admired her. "Gorgeous."

Then, with zero hesitation, he leaned in and pressed a quick, sweet kiss to her lips.

Y/N felt her nerves settle—just a little.

"Gotta film a quick intro, then we’re heading out, alright?" Lando guided her toward the car, helping her into the seat. His hands moved with ease as he fastened her seatbelt, making sure everything was secure before stepping back and shutting the door.

As he walked around to his side, Y/N took a deep breath. This was happening.

Lando did his usual intro, flashing a grin at the camera as he introduced his guest—Y/N—and explained what they were about to do. As they pulled out of the pit lane and onto the track, he kept stealing glances at her every few seconds.

“I’m begging you to keep your eyes on the road, Norris, I swear—” Y/N clung onto her seatbelt like her life depended on it.

“I am, baby! Don’t worry!” Lando laughed, nudging the cue cards toward her. “Alright, come on, you gotta ask me the questions.”

“Lando. Both hands on the wheel!”

Lando couldn’t help but chuckle at her panic. “I got it, baby, we’re alright. The faster we get through the questions, the quicker we’re done.”

Y/N sighed, taking a deep breath before focusing on the cards in front of her. “Alright… Who would you consider your closest friends on the grid?”

Lando thought for a moment, nodding as he kept his eyes on the track. “A few people… I wanna say Oscar, ‘cause I’m with him a lot, Max too, since we both live in Monaco. And Carlos.”

Y/N hummed in acknowledgment before moving on. “Other than your first win in Miami, which other win would you consider your favorite?”

Lando’s smile softened. “Oh, easy. Singapore.”

Y/N turned to him, intrigued. “Why Singapore?”

“The win itself felt amazing, but the fact that I had you there to celebrate with me after… that was the highlight of my night. Just us walking around the city at night… I loved that.”

Y/N chuckled softly. “You’re cute.”

“See, baby? You’re doing great. This isn’t so bad, huh?” Lando shot her a grin as he picked up the pace.

Y/N immediately sensed it. “I can feel you going even faster, so I’m gonna speed-run these now—” She quickly glanced at the next card, eyes widening as she let out a loud laugh. “Wait, what are these questions?! Lights on or lights off?!”

Lando let out his signature cackle, barely containing his amusement. “Lights on,” he answered smoothly, smirking.

“You shouldn’t have answered that!”

“Gotta give the people what they want, baby.”

“Alright, wet or dry?”

“Wet—” Lando answers immediately. “—Wait, you mean like a race or—”

“Oh my gosh, Lan! Of course, race conditions!” Y/N looks at him, jaw agape.

Lando only laughs, his eyes twinkling. “Right, dry then.”

After a few more laughs and playful back-and-forth, Lando finally pulls over by the pit lane and parks the car. He gets out, moving to the passenger seat and helping Y/N out of the driver’s seat.

What caught her off guard however, was when Lando got in the passenger seat.

“Wait... wait, what are you doing?” Y/N stands outside the car, completely confused, still processing what’s happening.

Lando smirks, already buckling his seatbelt “Your turn to drive now, my love.”

“Oh no. No no no no,” Y/N laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. But that laugh slowly fades as she looks around and notices the staff nodding at her, confirming that yes—it was indeed her turn to do a lap.

“Wait, you’re kidding?”

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

It was almost comedic—Y/N sat up straight, her hands firmly gripping the steering wheel, as she drove at a cautious city-limit speed around the track.

Lando, watching her with an amused expression, couldn’t help himself. “Baby, we can go a bit faster, you know that, right?”

“I’m aware, Lando, yes. Thank you,” Y/N replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Lando laughed, glancing out the window. “I swear I just saw Carlos pass us on his bike.”

Y/N let out a genuine laugh, finally speeding up a little. “The trust the team has with me to let me drive you around on a race weekend is insane.”

Lando pulled out a set of cards, trying to get back on track with their Q&A. “Alright, ready? What’s your favourite part of race weekends?”

Y/N smiled softly. “I love seeing you do what you love doing. I can see how passionate you are about racing—it’s nice seeing you do what you do best.”

Lando pouted and nodded. “That’s sweet, baby.”

Y/N quickly added with a laugh, “And the coffee at Ferrari is top-notch, so maybe that too.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, holding up his hand in a mock salute. “Shoutout to our friends at Ferrari.” Then he grinned mischievously, turning to face Y/N. “Other than Oscar and I, who do you root for during a race?”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. “Oh, easy. Alex.”

Lando smirked, as if he had known that was coming. “Thought so.” He turned to the camera. “If Y/N is not at McLaren, she’s either having coffee at Ferrari with Charles and his girlfriend or at Williams with Alex.”

“Albono is my paddock bestie" Y/N laughed, "Well, Lily is, but she’s not always here, so I gotta settle for Alex every now and then.” She added teasingly

Lando chuckled and added, “Carlos being at Williams now also means she spends more time there too. McLaren’s getting kinda jealous, not gonna lie.”

Y/N shot him a playful glance. “You mean you're getting jealous?”

Lando gave her an exaggerated side-eye. “Tomato, tomato.”

The two breezed through the deck of cards as Y/N expertly navigated the track. Finally, she pulled into the pitlane, where the crew was waiting. They cheered and applauded as she slowed to a stop.

Y/N stepped out of the car with a grin, taking a bow in front of the crew, her cheeks flushed with a shy smile. “Thank you guys for trusting me with your driver.”

Lando walked over to her, helping remove her helmet while still filming the outro for the video.

Once they wrapped up the filming, the two of them strolled back toward his driver room, hands intertwined. Lando shot her a beaming smile, clearly happy with how everything turned out.

“That was fun, right?” he asked, his eyes gleaming.

Y/N stopped in her tracks, turning to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “It was… thank you for today.”

Lando grinned, pulling her closer. “Thank you, baby. Gotta make you drive more often now. My turn to be the passenger princess.”

Made With Love

♡ masterlist - request

♡ pairing - max verstappen x fem!reader

♡ summary - while visiting your boyfriend working, why not bring a little surprise sign you made for him?

♡ warnings - blushy and in love max, drivers and fans teasing max, fluffffff

♡ w/c & a/n - 1.08k | IM BACK 🫶🏻 hehe sorry yall this isn't too great but I gotta get back into the groove so pls send in thoughts or requests bc my minds a blank canvas

Race weekends were always chaotic, but the energy in the paddock today was on another level. Fans packed the grandstands, waving flags, banners, and signs - some are more simple, some are memes of the drivers, yet they were all made with the same excitement for the race ahead.

And somewhere in that sea of people, standing right at the front, was you. Normally, you’d be in with Red Bull but you went over to the fans to join them for the time being. Some had given you bracelets and asked for pictures, which you happily agreed to. 

So here you stand, clutching a sign you had spent way too much time making the night before.

It wasn’t your fault, really. You had been up late, watching Max’s past races for “inspiration” (which was really just an excuse to admire him), when an idea popped into mind. With a few markers, a ridiculously pathetic and cheesy pun, glittery heart stickers, and maybe a questionable drawing of you two, you created what could only be described as likely the most embarrassing thing he would ever see before a race.

“DRIVE FAST BUT NOT TOO FAST, I HAVE PLANS FOR YOU LATER ;)”

You could already imagine his reaction - probably an exasperated sigh, followed by that little smirk he always gave you when he pretended to be unimpressed but was actually very much an attempted cover up of how he falls deeper in love with you. 

The drivers started their walk to the grid, and your raced just a little bit when you spotted him looking impossibly handsome. Max looked calm - focused, sharp, already in his zone - but you knew him well enough to see the tiny traces of nerves beneath the surface. 

As they passed by, you lifted the sign above your head and glanced at some of the fans around you who giggled when they read it.

It took him a second, but then he stopped.

He just… stood there, staring at the sign like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or melt into the asphalt. His mouth was parting and closing again, unsure of how to react, but you just gave him your perfect smile and it made his heart flutter. His ears went pink first, then the blush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks.

“Oh, for f-” Max muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple, but the amused smile on his face betrayed him.

And that’s when the teasing began.

Lando cackled loud enough for the entire grid to hear. “Oh, this is GOLD!”

Before Max could escape, Lando slung an arm around his shoulder, grinning like he’d just won the championship. “So, what’re these ‘plans’ about, mate? Anything we should be worried about? Should we clear the podium early?”

“Do we need to tell Christian?” Charles chimed in, barely holding back his laughter. “You know, just in case he needs to schedule some extra… recovery time for you.”

A chorus of laughter followed. Max groaned, dragging a hand down his face, but the pink on his cheeks only deepened. “You’re all the worst,” he grumbles.

Meanwhile, the nearby fans had caught on fast.

“Oh my god, he’s BLUSHING,” one girl gasped, tugging her friend’s arm.

“He’s practically making heart eyes, how adorable,” another comments, phone already in hand and recording the scene.

Max, looking positively doomed, glanced at you - a mix of betrayal, affection, and desperate pleading. But you? You just continued to smile sweetly with a tilted head.

“You like it.”

“I hate it.”

“You’re literally blushing.”

“I’m warm.”

“Mhm,” you roll your eyes and chuckle.

The teasing didn’t stop as he pulled out his phone and snapped a quick picture of your masterpiece, grumbling something about “evidence to haunt me later.” But before he walked away, he pointed at you, eyes narrowed.

“You’re lucky I love you.”

Your heart did a little flip and you grinned. “Oh, I know.”

And just like that, he was gone, back into the pre-race frenzy - but not before stealing one last loving glance at you over his shoulder.

Later on, the celebration was loud and chaotic. Max had finished on the podium - not a win, but a damn good race - and when he finally found you in the paddock, you barely had time to react before he crashed into you, arms wrapping tight around your waist.

“Enjoy the show?” he asked, voice still breathless with adrenaline.

“Loved it. Thought you might’ve forgotten about my sign, though.”

“Oh, trust me,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to look at you. “Hard to forget when the im being tagged in posts of it nonstop.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He sighed dramatically before pulling out his phone. Everywhere, Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, was flooded with clips from earlier.

Fan tweets scrolled across the screen:

“THE WAY HE STOPPEDDDD LOOK AT HIM. HE’S A GONER”

“If my future man doesn’t hold up a sign like this for me, I don’t want him”

“This man is so down baddd LOOK AT THE BLUSH”

“MAX VERSTAPPEN ‘I’M WARM’ CHALLENGE (IMPOSSIBLE)”

You bit your lip, trying (and failing) not to laugh. “I mean… they’re not wrong,” you poke his cheek.

Max groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re never making a sign again,” he says, although you both know he doesn’t mean it.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, swaying slightly. “Oh, baby, you know that’s a lie.”

Before he could argue, you kissed him, soft at first, teasing. But then he tilted his head, deepening it, fingers pressing into your waist like he didn’t care that people were watching.

Somewhere in the background, some group of fans started shouting.

“Oh my goshh, he’s in love!.”

“Life is so unfair! Where’s my Max?”

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he was grinning like a lovestruck idiot.

“You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, thumb brushing over your cheek.

“And you love it.”

His gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered. “That I do.”

Later, when you made it back to his driver’s room, you caught him slipping the sign into his bag, folding it carefully like it was something worth keeping.

“… You’re keeping that?” you asked, amused.

He shot you a look. “Shut up.” You didn’t push it. But you did smile. He bites his lip, placing it into his pocket, knowing that no matter how many trophies he collects, this - you - might just be his favorite thing he’d ever won.

Pit Stop Staring

♡ masterlist - request

♡ pairing - lando norris x mechanic!fem!reader

♡ summary - lando notices you during a pit stop, gets distracted and stares at you, and embarrasses himself on the radio being aired as he gushes over you, but with a little push from Zak, he makes his move on you!

♡ warnings - fluff, BLUSHY and nervous lando, love at first sight, a pinch of jealousy, Zak's a wing man, lando being cute and STUTTERINGGG hehehe

♡ w/c & a/n - 1.86k | #ilovetommy

Today was your first day working as a mechanic during an actual race, and you couldn't be more excited. You'd just finished your months of training and you felt pretty confident in yourself, so you weren't too nervous.

The McLaren team was more than welcoming when you first started, although some were a little apprehensive to have a girl working with the heavy tires, you proved them completely wrong and quickly gained their admiration, making friends with some as well.

As for the two papaya drivers, you had only briefly met Oscar about a month ago while leaving a meeting. He told you he was happy to be working with you soon, and he thought you will do amazing. You spoke shortly before he was being called off by someone, but he said goodbye and wished you best of luck.

The other driver, Lando, you had unfortunately not met yet. You heard quite a lot about him, and people said he was kind with a great sense of humor, so you crossed your fingers and wished you were able to catch him and introduce yourself. You also had seen some edits of him on your feed, not that you would tell anyone that, but you couldn't deny that he was quite a looker.

Back to today, though, you were waiting to see the bright papaya cars pull into the pit stop for their tire exchanges. After some laps, the first one to pull up was Oscar, and you and the others quickly got to work with a successful change in just about 2 seconds.

You beamed as he drove away and got a high five from your mechanic friend, Tommy, and he grinned at you, "That was great! And your first time too! You'll be putting me out of my job soon," he laughs.

You shake your head and poke his side, walking back to the garage, "Don't be silly! I did learn from the best," you say and give him a dramatic wink.

"Ha. Ha. You flatter me," he pats your head. You just push his arm away and turn your head to look at the race stats.

Oscar is in a good fourth place currently, and Lando in second, four seconds behind Max. You watch the race for about three more minutes before you hear that Lando was told to box next lap, so you and the mechanics rush out to the pit once again and prepare your gear.

A few moments pass before you can spot Lando's bright helmet in his car coming closer. He finally arrives and pulls up into his spot, while doing so, he glances around and his eyes land on you.

His mouth drops open slightly and he whispers a little, "Wow." Everyone does his tire change just as fast as Oscars, but Lando was still staring at you, who he thinks might be an angel sent down from above just for him.

Wow, he thinks to himself again, you have to be the most gorgeous person he's ever seen. He doesn't even realize that everyone has cleared the way for him to exit the stop until he sees you tilt your head and he hears his race engineer's voice, "Lando! GO! What are you doing, mate?!"

That snaps Lando back to reality, and he quickly drives away, now in last place due to how long he was there. He feels his neck and cheeks heat up in embarrassment. There's no way he would have a chance with you after that.

"I-I'm so sorry, she was s-so beautiful, and she looks like an a-angel, I-I got distracted," he stutters quietly to Will, his race engineer.

"Oh my- Lando this is being aired, you can't say stuff like that, mate!" Will sighs but he can't help but laugh a little bit. However Lando does the opposite now, he chews his lip like he's about to cry of humility, since now he knows you just heard him say that and you were the only girl there, so you know he had to be talking about you.

Back to where you were, you laughed at the radio message, curious to who he was stuttering over. Tommy's eyes bulge as he hears it, head whipping toward you.

You look at him and furrow your eyebrows, "What?"

He just blinds at you before yelling, "Lando Norris said you're beautiful! And look like an angel!"

"What? No he didn't?"

"Are you- who else would he be talking about?!" Tommy puts his hands on your shoulder and gently shakes you.

"Uhh," you laugh and glance at the other mechanics who are smirking and you and raising their eyebrows up and down. "I don't know, there are some women team members right over there," you point to the side.

Tommy just drops his head down and shakes it, "No. He was talking about you!"

"But.. I'm.. well, me? Just an average new mechanic," you look down at your uniform, "in some very unflattering working clothes."

Tommy just steps back and crosses his arms, "First off, don't ever say you're 'just you', because you're my best friend here," he whispers, so the others won't hear him, and you giggle. "Second, the clothes may be a little unflattering but you're still a very pretty girl," he smiles at you.

"Awhhhhh, Tommy! Who knew you were such a sap!" You hug the boy in thanks and he reciprocates it as you walk to the garage once again.

"So are you going to ask him out later?"

You almost choke on your breath, "What? No! Of course not! Are you crazy?"

He rolls his eyes, "Come on, he was just stuttering. Lando Norris was stuttering over you, if that isn't love at first sight then I don't know what is," he shrugs.

"Tommy!" You slap his arm, "We are done with this conversation."

"But-"

"End of discussion!" You huff, turning on your heels and walk away. Leaving your friend to rub his face in defeat.

When the race ended with Lando placed seventh due to the mishap from before, he hopped out of the car and rushed over to Zak.

Zak pulls the boy in for a hug and ruffles his hair, which was quite the opposite reaction Lando had thought he would see, since he cost the team points.

Once he lets go of Lando, the only thing he gets out of his mouth is, "Who was that?"

Zak lets out a laugh and tries to keep in a grin, "Who? Her?" he nods over to you, standing while chatting with Tommy again. Lando frowns as he watches you two.

"Are they dating?" he asks the older man.

"Hmm," he pretends to think about it, "yes," he nods. Of course he's only kidding, trying the get a rise out of the British boy.

"What?" Lando's head snaps to the man, looking utterly devastated. Zak starts laughing loudly, looking at him, and thinks this is what the human version of a kicked puppy would look like.

"I'm only joking, buddy, why don't you go and ask her?" Zak pats Lando's shoulder.

"U-uh I don't know...."

"Oh, come on! You're Lando Norris!"

The boy sighs and looks at you longingly. That was until you glanced over at him and he quickly turned back to Zak, his face now turning red again at being caught. "What about no work relationships?"

Zak sighs and shakes his head, "Listen, I'll talk to people about it and I'll make it work, okay?" He smiles and Lando lets his lips twitch into a tiny smile. "Now, go get your girl!" He turns his shoulders and pushes him forward a little bit.

Lando blinks fast and his heart races as he nervously makes his way over to you two.

You don't notice but Tommy does and bites back a teasing comment. "Lando Norris! The legendary man himself!"

You look to your right and see the boy bouncing slightly on his feet, twisting his hands and he looks back and forth between you both. "H-hi," he whispers to you, his ears turning red at your kind gaze.

"Hi! It's nice to finally meet you," you smile at him.

Tommy nods, "Yeah, and nice radio message today, man, real smooth," he chuckles.

Unbeknownst to you, Lando now wishes the floor would swallow him whole. "Uh, y-yeah, thanks?"

Tommy just laughs, "Oh! I think someone is calling me, gotta go!"

You watch him walk away, and Lando glares at him. "Did you hear someone calling him?" you ask.

"No, but, um, I-I'm sorry for today, a-and I didn't-"

You quickly shake your head and smile, "No! Don't apologize, really! I'm honored!" You put your hand on his arm, causing him to tense. You quickly remove it and apologize, "I'm so sorry! I should have asked-"

"N-No!" Lando says, and Zak drops his head into his hands as he watches the scene from afar. "You can touch me anytime! I-I mean- bloody hell- n-not like that! I mean you can if you wa-" he slaps a hand over his mouth before he can embarrass himself and more.

You just blush as you watch the boy, you find it endearing, to be honest, you've never had someone act like this with you before. "Lando! Please, don't worry, I think your rambling is cute, and... you yourself are cute too," you put your hands behind your back.

"Me? Really? You think I'm c-cute?" He lets out a nervous laugh in disbelief.

"Is that so hard to believe?" You frown.

"I... guess not.. but you're.. you! W-way out of my league..." he trails off.

"You have to be joking!"

He just looks down at his feet and smiles, his body slowly untensing as he feels a little less nervous. It's not that he's stuttering and blushing because he's scared of you, he's just never met someone so... perfect.

He slowly raises his eyes back up to look at you, "Well... then would you m-maybe want to... get dinner with me later?"

Your smile widens at the hopeful look in his eyes, you pinch your arm once, just to be sure this is really happening and not a dream. "Of course! Oh, I'd love to, would you like my number to send me the details?" you ask him.

He nods and pats his pocket for his phone, "Oh! I left my phone in my driver's room... but if you have yours, I'll give you mine?"

"Sure," you nod and hand him your phone, watching as he creates a contact for himself. "Well, I do have to go back, I promised my friends to hang out for a bit after the race but I'll see you later," you tell him.

He smiles at you, "Alright, see you!"

You turn around, walking to your friends who were giggling to themselves, watching the whole thing.

Lando is left in his spot, practically lovestruck, "What a woman," he whispers to himself dreamily.

He jumps with a yelp when he feels a hand on his shoulder, "Well done, kid! You got yourself a date!"

Lando turns to look at a way too excited Zak Brown, "Yeah... I suppose I did."

Rained Out

Toto Wolff x pregnant!Reader

Summary: a series of unfortunate events pushes Toto’s protective side to the surface

Based on this request

The rain drums steadily against the pavement, creating a shimmering curtain that obscures the bustling Canadian Grand Prix paddock from view. You stand just outside the entrance, one hand resting protectively on your swollen belly, the other clutching your useless paddock pass. The security guard eyes you sympathetically but remains firm.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t let you in if your pass isn’t scanning,” he says, his voice barely audible over the downpour.

You bite your lip, frustration and discomfort warring within you. “Please, I’m Toto Wolff’s wife. I’m sure this is just a technical glitch. If you could just call him-”

The guard shakes his head. “I’ve already radioed in. Mr. Wolff is in a meeting and can’t be disturbed. I’m truly sorry, but rules are rules. You’ll have to wait until we can verify your identity.”

A shiver runs through you as the wind picks up, sending icy droplets cascading down your neck. Your thin jacket, hastily thrown on before leaving the hotel, offers little protection against the elements. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to shield your unborn child from the chill.

Time crawls by at an agonizing pace. Other team members and officials hurry past, sparing curious glances at the very pregnant woman standing forlornly in the rain. You try Toto’s phone again, willing it to ring.

Finally, after what feels like hours but is likely only thirty minutes, a familiar voice cuts through the monotonous patter of rain.

“Schatz! Oh mein Gott, what are you doing out here?”

Toto appears, his tall frame moving with surprising speed. His eyes are wide with concern as he takes in your bedraggled state.

“The pass ... it wouldn’t scan,” you manage through chattering teeth. “They couldn’t reach you.”

Toto’s face darkens as he turns to the security guard. “How could you leave my pregnant wife standing in this weather? Do you have any idea-”

You place a gentle hand on his arm. “Toto, don’t. He was just doing his job.”

The anger in Toto’s eyes softens as he looks at you, replaced by guilt and worry. He shrugs off his team jacket and wraps it around your shoulders, ushering you quickly through the now-open gate.

“Come, let’s get you inside and dry,” he murmurs, his arm protectively around your waist.

As you enter the relative warmth of the Mercedes garage, the bustle of pre-race preparations momentarily halts. All eyes turn to you and Toto, taking in your drenched appearance.

“Somebody get some towels!” Toto barks, his accent thickening with stress. “And find some dry clothes!”

You lean into him, grateful for his solid presence. “I’m okay, really,” you assure him, though your voice wavers slightly. “Just a bit damp.”

Toto’s eyebrows shoot up. “A bit damp? Liebling, you look like you’ve been swimming in your clothes.”

Despite your discomfort, you can’t help but laugh. “Well, I always did want to try synchronized swimming. Though I imagined a pool, not a parking lot.”

Toto’s lips twitch, a reluctant smile breaking through his worry. “Your sense of humor remains intact, I see.”

A team member approaches with a stack of fluffy towels and what appears to be team-issued sweats. Toto takes them with a nod of thanks.

“Can you manage changing by yourself?” He asks quietly. “Or do you need help?”

You consider for a moment. While you’d normally insist on independence, your sodden clothes are clinging uncomfortably, and your fingers feel numb from the cold.

“I ... might need a hand,” you admit sheepishly.

Toto nods, guiding you towards a more private corner of the garage. He helps you peel off the wet layers, his touch gentle and reverent as it skims over your rounded belly.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs as he helps you into the dry clothes. “I should have made sure your pass was working properly. I should have answered my phone.”

You cup his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Hey, none of that. It was just a silly mix-up. No harm done.”

Toto’s brow furrows. “No harm? You were standing in the freezing rain for God knows how long! You could get sick, or the baby-”

“The baby is fine,” you interrupt, placing his large hand on your stomach. As if on cue, there’s a strong kick against his palm. “See? Still doing somersaults in there.”

Some of the tension leaves Toto’s shoulders, but concern still lingers in his eyes. “Still, I want Dr. Müller to check you over, just to be safe.”

You nod, knowing arguing would be pointless. “Alright, if it will make you feel better. But first ...” You glance meaningfully at the bustling garage around you. “Don’t you have a race to prepare for?”

Toto hesitates, clearly torn between his professional duties and his desire to fuss over you. You give him a gentle push.

“Go on. I promise I’ll sit quietly and drink something warm until the doctor arrives.”

He searches your face for a moment, then nods. “Alright. But you call me immediately if you feel even slightly unwell, verstanden?”

“Verstanden,” you echo with a smile. “Now go be the big, scary team principal everyone expects.”

Toto chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I love you, you know that?”

“I had an inkling,” you tease. “Now scoot!”

As Toto reluctantly returns to his duties, you settle into a chair, gratefully accepting a steaming mug of tea from a hovering team member. The garage slowly returns to its normal frenetic pace, though you notice several concerned glances thrown your way.

You’re halfway through your tea when a familiar face appears at your side. Lewis crouches down, his expression a mix of worry and amusement.

“I hear you tried to stage your own wet race out there,” he says with a grin.

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “What can I say? I was feeling left out of all the excitement.”

Lewis chuckles, then his face grows more serious. “You alright though? For real?”

You nod, touched by his concern. “I’m fine, truly. Just a bit waterlogged. Though I think Toto might spontaneously combust from worry.”

As if summoned by his name, Toto appears behind Lewis. “Yes, Dr. Müller, thank you for coming on such short notice. She’s right here.”

You shoot Lewis an exasperated look that clearly says ‘see what I mean?’ He responds with a sympathetic pat on your shoulder before rising.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says. “Try not to give the old man a heart attack before the race, yeah?”

Toto scowls playfully at Lewis’ retreating back. “I heard that!”

As Dr. Müller begins her examination, Toto hovers anxiously nearby, his eyes darting between you and the various race preparations happening around the garage.

“Toto,” you call softly. “I can practically hear you thinking from here. What’s wrong?”

He runs a hand through his hair, a telltale sign of stress. “I just ... I can’t stop thinking about you standing out there in the rain. What if something had happened? What if-”

“But nothing did happen,” you interrupt gently. “I’m fine, the baby’s fine. It was just a bit of rain.”

Toto shakes his head. “It’s not just that. I should have been there. I should have made sure you were taken care of. What kind of husband, what kind of father am I going to be if I can’t even-”

“Stop right there,” you say firmly. “You are going to be an amazing father, Toto Wolff. You already are. Do you know how I know?”

He looks at you questioningly.

“Because you care this much,” you explain. “Because even in the middle of one of the biggest race weekends of the year, your first thought is for me and our baby. That’s what matters, not some silly mishap with a security pass.”

Toto’s eyes soften, and he moves to kneel beside you, taking your hand in his. “How did I get so lucky?” He murmurs.

You smile, squeezing his hand. “I ask myself the same thing every day.”

Dr. Müller clears her throat, reminding you both of her presence. “Well, I’m happy to report that both mother and baby are perfectly healthy. No signs of distress or illness from the exposure to the cold.”

The relief on Toto’s face is palpable. “Thank you, Doctor. That’s wonderful news.”

As Dr. Müller packs up her equipment, you turn to Toto with a mischievous glint in your eye. “So, now that we’ve established that I’m not about to melt from a little rain, what do you say we focus on winning this race?”

Toto laughs, the remaining tension finally leaving his body. “Always keeping me on track, aren’t you?”

“Someone has to,” you tease. “Now, go lead your team to victory. Your very pregnant, very proud wife will be cheering you on from right here.”

Toto leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “I love you,” he murmurs. “Both of you.”

As he straightens up, resuming his role as the formidable Mercedes team principal, you can’t help but smile. Come rain or shine, paddock pass or no paddock pass, you know that you and Toto can weather any storm together.

Insomniac

Toto Wolff x wife!Reader

Summary: you’re tired of falling asleep in an empty bed due to your workaholic husband’s sleepless nights

Based on this request

You rub your eyes and blink a few times, adjusting to the soft glow of the lamp on the end table as you lift your head from the couch cushion.

2:17 AM.

Again.

This makes the fifth night in a row that you’ve fallen asleep alone on the living room sofa, having given up on the hope of Toto joining you in your shared bed upstairs. The cashmere blanket wrapped around your legs does little to ward off the chill of the night, and you suppress a shiver as you sit up.

With a sigh, you slide out from under the afghan, the plush carpet soft under your bare feet as you quietly make your way out of the living room and down the hall. The sliver of light peeking out from underneath the closed door of the study confirms your suspicions — Toto is still awake, still working at this ungodly hour.

Ever since the news broke that Lewis would be leaving Mercedes for Ferrari at the end of the season, Toto has been unable to relax. He barely sleeps, poring over stats and projections deep into the night as he tries in vain to figure out how to move forward.

You know he feels responsible — for building the team into what it is, for leading it to seven constructors’ titles, for creating an environment where Lewis could thrive. Letting him go feels like a monumental failure in Toto’s eyes, even though rationally there was nothing else to be done. Lewis’ mind was made up.

But knowing how reasonable a decision it was does nothing to quiet the ceaseless chatter of Toto’s anxious thoughts. He second guesses himself constantly, running through hypotheticals and what-ifs over and over.

What if he had offered more money? More freedom? What if he had anticipated Lewis’ wandering eyes and somehow convinced him to stay? But you know better than anyone that his hands were tied — Mercedes’ board of directors simply would not cooperate with his suggestions.

You understand Toto’s anguish, but his sleepless agonizing is starting to take a toll. The dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced than ever, and the weight of his responsibilities hangs heavily from his slumped shoulders. His embraces are no longer as warm, his kisses no longer as tender. He retreats into his own head, consumed by doubts and regrets, and you feel him slipping away day by day.

Enough is enough, you decide. If Toto won’t take care of himself, then you will have to take matters into your own hands.

You tiptoe to the kitchen and quietly replace Toto’s usual late-night dark roast with decaf. It won’t stop him from working, but at least it won’t add fuel to the fire of his racing thoughts.

After preparing for bed yourself, you head down the hall, suppressing a shiver as your bare feet meet the cool wood floors. Pausing outside the study door, you turn the thermostat down just a couple degrees. It’s a subtle change, but you know Toto will notice, and it just might make him long for the warmth of your shared bed.

Taking a breath, you gently rap your knuckles against the door and let yourself in. Toto is exactly where you expected, hunched over his desk with his brows furrowed, staring fixedly at his laptop screen.

“Hey,” you say softly so as not to startle him. “It’s getting pretty late, I’m going to head to bed.”

“Mmhmm,” he murmurs absently, barely glancing up.

You stifle a yawn, stretching your arms over your head. “Are you coming?” You ask hopefully.

“In a bit,” Toto mumbles. “I just need to finish this analysis.”

You sigh, walking over to him and sliding your arms around his shoulders. “Toto, please,” you plead, nuzzling into his neck. “Come to bed. You need to rest.”

He reaches up to give your hand a quick, distracted pat. “Soon, liebling. I promise.”

Accepting that you won’t sway him now, you kiss his stubbly cheek and head for the door. “Don’t stay up too much longer,” you implore, then make your way back down the hall.

Once in your bedroom, you go through your regular bedtime routine, brushing your teeth and washing your face. But instead of climbing into your big empty bed, you find yourself wandering further down the hall to the nursery.

Pushing open the door, you pause to gaze at your sleeping infant daughter in her crib, her little chest rising and falling with soft even breaths. The corner of the room holds a cozy cushioned rocking chair, and you sink down into it with a yawn, the lateness of the hour finally catching up to you. Your eyes drift closed as you let the gentle motion lull you towards sleep.

You’re not sure how much time has passed when you feel strong arms sliding under your knees and behind your back, lifting you from the chair. You let out a soft murmur, still more asleep than awake, as Toto carries you from the nursery. Resting your head against his chest, you breathe in his familiar scent as he brings you down the hall to your bedroom.

Gently, he lays you down on your bed, brushing a wisp of hair back from your face as he pulls the covers up around you. Through bleary eyes, you see him cross to the dresser and begin shedding his clothes, swapping his button-down and slacks for a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. Finally, he climbs in beside you with a weary sigh, and you immediately nestle against him, seeking his warmth.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead as his arms encircle you.

You lift your head to meet his tired blue eyes. “It’s okay,” you murmur. “I know this has been hard for you.”

He shakes his head slightly. “That’s no excuse. You shouldn’t have to deal with my restlessness.”

You reach up to cup his cheek. “We’re in this together, remember?” You remind him gently. “For better or worse.”

The corners of his mouth twitch in a hint of a smile. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“Hmm, I don’t know if it’s come up,” you tease.

He gives you a playful little squeeze. “Well I do. So much.” His voice grows more serious then. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m thankful for you every day.”

You grin and snuggle impossibly closer. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Wolff.”

His low chuckle rumbles pleasantly against your cheek. “I mean it though. You’re my rock. My safe place. With everything going on ...” He trails off with a heavy exhale.

Reaching for his hand, you lace your fingers through his and give a supportive squeeze. “I know. But it’s going to be okay. Mercedes will find their way again, with you leading the charge. You’re the heart and soul of this team, Toto. You brought them this far, and you’ll bring them even further.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” he admits softly. “I just hope I can live up to it.”

“You will,” you say without hesitation. “You’re the most driven, passionate person I know. Your commitment is unmatched. If anyone can navigate these changes, it’s you.”

Toto is quiet for a moment, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles. “Thank you,” he says finally. “Just … thank you. For believing in me. For supporting me. For loving me, even when I’m being a stubborn arschloch.”

You grin. “Well, you’re my stubborn arschloch. And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He laughs then, the sound warm and rich, and you feel some of the tension leave his body.

“No more working until sunrise though, okay?” You implore, threading your fingers through his hair. “You need to take care of yourself too.”

He nods, eyes shining with affection. “Okay. I promise.”

Satisfied, you nestle against his chest once more, comforted by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His lips find the top of your head in a tender kiss.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your hair. “So very much.”

You smile softly, already drifting towards sleep in the safety of his arms.

“I love you too,” you whisper. And with a contented sigh, you surrender to the pull of peaceful slumber, the two of you wrapped up in each other as you should be.

No more empty beds or sleepless nights. Just the comforting nearness of the man you love.

Your partner.

Your home.

YOU SHOULD'VE SEEN YOUR FACE | Sebastian Vettel

Sebastian Vettel x Pregnant Wife!Reader

SUMMARY: Seb's wife is pregnant, but she hasn't told him yet since she doesn't seem ready. However, after he almost crashed pretty badly during a Free Practice session, she can't help but tell him in not the best way possible ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Okay but can you imagine Sebs wife being pregnant but she has not told him yet. He does some dangerous and bold move on a drive and she gets mad and scared and just some fluff when he finds out :)

WORD COUNT: 1804

WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of anxiety, overthinking about Formula 1 crashes (?), pregnancy, Ferrari Seb in general (if you know, you know)

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @herdetectivetheorist @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]

VEE'S NOTES: Hi guys! Finally back to posting fics! This year I don't only want to write more, but also establish some kind of writing routine because I've been dealing with anxiety over Christmas for some personal problems family related and found out that I missed distressing with writing. Also, thank you so much for all the support you've been showing me lately! Appreciate it a lot since I wasn't feeling very comfortable with my writing. Let me know your thoughts on this one <3 ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

Despite being quite far from the pit lane, you could hear nothing but the deafening roar of the engines, the clatter of tools on Kimi's car, and the curses of the race engineers at the constant stunts Seb had decided to pull during the free practice session.  

Your husband's red car seemed not just to race but to fly around the track. FP2 had started barely twenty minutes ago, but Seb had already come within inches of crashing into the walls far too many times after going off track more often than you could count.  

You couldn't deny that you had loved watching Seb race ever since you met and you learned he was a driver in one of the most dangerous sports in the world. Today, however, luck was not on your side, and anxiety was consuming you. The nausea, uncontrollable on its own, felt even worse than usual. Not to mention, you felt on the verge of a panic attack.  

"Are you okay?"  

You turned at the sound of Riccardo Adami’s voice, Seb’s race engineer. The Italian removed one side of his headset and covered the microphone to ensure the driver wouldn’t hear anything.  

"Yes, yes, of course," you replied hastily, forcing a smile and suppressing the urge to gag as you felt it rising in your throat. "I’m just a bit more nervous than usual today, that’s all."  

"Seb knows what he’s doing. Don’t worry about that."  

You nodded, but as soon as Adami turned his attention back to his screen, you rolled your eyes and did the same.  

"You know, sometimes he thinks that he’s a cat and has seven lives," you muttered under your breath. "Someone should remind him he’s in an actual Formula 1 car, not in a simulator."  

"Don’t worry, I’ll remind him in the post-session briefing," the engineer joked, flashing a smile before immersing himself back into Vettel's driving.  

You didn’t pay him much attention. Once again, you were entirely engrossed in both your husband’s onboard camera and the telemetry, even though you didn’t understand much aside from the fact that he was setting purple sectors, which was undoubtedly a good sign.  

You didn’t know much about the inner workings of the cars, but after so many years with Seb, you knew that the faster his times were, the higher the risks became.  

You were also acutely aware that your husband was pushing himself too hard in those moments.  

You began to tremble slightly, fidgeting with your hands in an attempt to calm your anxiety, but it didn’t work. Instinctively, and trying not to draw much attention, you placed your hands on your belly and prayed that your child wouldn’t give you any scares like his father was giving you.  

"Sector two in purple as well, Seb!"  

Even though the garage erupted into cheers and applause, you remained motionless. Instead, you couldn’t take your eyes off the screen, which now showed your husband’s car in full view.  

Your panic peaked the moment Seb lost control of the rear of his car and went off the track. You swore that if it hadn’t been for the sudden braking, he would have ended up in the barriers with a wrecked car and himself heading to the medical center because the crash would have likely exceeded the G-force limits.  

When Seb didn’t respond immediately, your heart stopped.  

"I’m fine, I’m fine..." Seb finally said in a disappointed tone. "But I can’t say the same for the car. I think it’s more damaged than it looks."  

"Can you bring it back, Sebastian?" Riccardo asked in a tone that was a mix of irritation and disappointment.  

"Yeah, no problem. Coming back. Sorry, guys."  

Just as no one on the team said anything to you, you, who had forced yourself to sit down because your legs were trembling too much and you felt dizzy, also remained silent until your husband returned and got out of the car.  

Seb removed his helmet, revealing an expression that was hard to decipher. You stood up carefully and approached him, trying to keep your composure. Without giving him a chance to say anything, you grabbed his hand and led him toward his driver room, ignoring Britta's protests to talk after interviews were done.  

"It could have been worse, right?" 

Sebastian closed the door behind him and turned to face you. You stood there with your arms crossed, visibly upset. Your glare alone was enough to tell Seb he was seconds away from one of your infamous scoldings.  

The problem? He had no idea why. You had never acted so strangely over something as common as a collision during a race weekend.  

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you exploded, your voice filled with frustration. “Fuck, Seb, can you explain what that was all about?!”  

“What do you mean, what was that? I was... racing, like I always do, babe,” he replied cautiously, still clueless about what he'd done wrong.  

You, however, didn’t know what was bothering you more: your husband’s calm demeanor or the sight of a few Ferrari team members peeking through the window to catch the drama unfolding between the two of you.  

“You were so close to slamming into a wall, Sebastian, that’s what happened!” you shot back, yanking the curtains shut and flipping off the nosy onlookers. “Are you out of your mind or what?!”  

“Come on, love, I had it under control. What you saw on the onboard might’ve looked bad, but I swear it wasn’t as dangerous as it seemed.”  

“Not as bad as it seemed? Are you seriously telling me that?” you retorted, your voice trembling with anger. “Do you think driving is just like playing a video game now? Do you have any idea what it would’ve meant if you hadn’t reacted in time? Do you know what it would’ve meant for me and for—”  

You stopped yourself mid-sentence, refusing to continue.  

You knew your emotions were running wild because of your pregnancy hormones, but you forced yourself to calm down. Getting so worked up would only lead to a pointless argument with Seb and wasn’t good for you or the baby.  

“For who, Y/N?” Seb asked, stepping closer and gently taking your hands in his.  

“For... me! Who else?” you replied quickly. 

Sebastian didn’t know how to respond. He’d never seen you so distressed about his racing, and while he tried to stay calm, inside he was battling a storm of worry and confusion.  

“This stress isn’t good for me or for the situation you and, well... you’ve gotten me into,” you said, your voice cracking.  

“Y/N, babe, I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about. Fuck, I’m pretty worried about you right now with all this shit, but if you don’t tell me what’s going on—”  

“Damn it, Seb! I’m pregnant!”  

You looked down, tears streaming down your face. You clenched your fists tightly, furious at yourself for revealing such big news in such an emotional, unplanned way.  

Sebastian, meanwhile, stood frozen, his eyes wide in shock at the unexpected news. Slowly, everything started to make sense: your morning sickness, falling asleep all the time, constantly complaining about being tired, and the flimsy excuses you gave for not drinking wine, something you normally loved.  

He cursed himself for not realizing it sooner and for believing your weak justifications about bad leftovers being the cause of everything.  

“You’re... pregnant?” His voice was barely audible, almost afraid to say the words out loud because they didn’t feel real.  

You wiped your tears and sniffled, doing your best to meet your husband’s gaze without feeling ashamed.  

“Yes...” you said timidly. “I wanted to tell you in a special way... you know, by giving you a baby onesie in a box with the positive pregnancy test inside, but...” You shook your head and finally looked him in the eyes. “I thought you were going to die out there today and leave your child and me alone. The thought of losing you, now of all times, just...”  

“You’re really pregnant? We’re going to have a baby?”  

You nodded, and Seb couldn’t hold back his tears. He pulled you into a tight embrace and began kissing you tenderly. You melted into his arms, feeling an immense weight lifted from your shoulders.  

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” you admitted. “I swear I wanted it to be special, but seeing you out there today, thinking something could happen to you...” Your voice broke again. “I was terrified, Seb, like never before watching you race.”  

“I’m so sorry, love. I really am,” he said sincerely, cupping your cheeks gently and kissing you over and over. “If I’d known, I would’ve been more careful. God, love, this is incredible... This is the best news I’ve ever received.”  

“You’re not mad that I didn’t tell you sooner? You should’ve seen your face earlier...”  

“Mad? That you didn’t tell me sooner?” You shrugged, your insecurity showing despite your years together. Seb tilted his head, understanding this was one of your rare but extreme moments of doubt. “I’m just... in shock. I can’t believe we’re going to be parents...”  

Sebastian hesitantly touched your stomach, and you burst into fresh tears at the tenderness of his gesture.  

“Now you have to promise me something, Seb,” you said, playing with his hair as he knelt before you, leaving kisses on your belly.  

“Anything for you and our little one.”  

“You need to be more careful from now on. Stop thinking so much with your adrenaline and testosterone, and start using your brain more,” you said, trying not to sound too harsh. “I know Formula 1 and racing is your whole life, but I don’t want you risking it when we’re bringing a new one into the world. I’m eight weeks along, and we still have 32 to go assuming everything follows the perfect pregnancy script.”  

Seb stood and gazed at you, trying to convey the calm you both could only find in each other.  

“Love, I promise,” he whispered softly. “For you, for the baby... I love winning, but today, and even more so when our child is born, I’ll have won the second most important race of my life.”  

You frowned, confused.  

“If that’s the second, what’s the most important race of your life then?”  

He chuckled and scooped you into his arms, kissing you again as he laid you both on the couch behind you.  

“The race I ran for so many years to win your heart,” he murmured between slow, deliberate kisses that said more than words ever could. “After all those years trying to get you to go out with me in high school, and now we’re eight months away from having a baby... what else could it be, mama?”  

prancing bulls — CS55

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!verstappen!reader

warnings: fluff, swearing, carlos and max being petty af, not proofread

synopsis: max had always been supportive of yours and carlos’ relationship, except when it comes to who you’re repping in the paddock [2.5k]

MASTERLIST

Since you first showed up in the paddock in one of Carlos' tops, Max had instantly been on your case.

"Y/n you're literally my sister you should wear my merch." You knew that you couldn't deny max had a good point. Ever since day one you were the one there for him, when your dad was ever disappointed in a race result you were always for him and he couldn't have thanked you enough for that.

A part of him even thinks he wouldn't be in the position he was in today without you, that he would've chucked is years before even thinking about getting into f1

You were a notorious defender of max, on Twitter, in person, you defended him without hesitation.

Another thing in the paddock you were notorious for was the famous 33 branding always splayed across your back, fitting in with the MV1 cap you wore on your head. 

That was until Carlos came along, soon swapping out your 33 numbered tops for ones adorning 55 and your RBR caps for ones of iconic red team.

Max was nothing short of perfect when it came to your relationship with Carlos, he knew the Spaniard was a good man and would treat any girl rights, especially the one of one of his closest friends sister.

Although, his only complaint would be the serious lack of blue you now wore to the track.

At first you didn't think it was that serious, just Max and Carlos playing around with taking off whatever cap the other put on to replace it with their own and dropping off the discarded one by each others respected garages but apparently it had gone deeper than that.

Max was feeling like he had lost his life time supporter, that even when he was losing he still had you to show him off as your brother whenever the opportunity arose. Even when you sat in the Red Bull garage during free practice, qualifying and even sometimes the race you still bore the number 55 across your back.

And deep down you knew where your brother was coming from, he hadn't ever had a supporter in life who stuck by his even when he lost, except you.

Although you didn't expect the tension to bubble over as soon as it did, and especially not where it did either.

The teams were out celebrating the first race of the new season, ferrari taking 1-2 on the podium and both max and Checo unfortunately with a  DNF. All the drivers were out together, a cheers to another year together.

Carlos had been complimenting you like always, the way you had done your hair, your makeup the dress everything and when you thought he had finally ran out of things to say he had brought out the last thing he possibly could. "You look so good with my number around your neck." For your birthday that year he had gotten you a simplistic silver chain with a '55' charm hanging lowly on it.

At his words your fingers couldn't help but find the charm, holding it between your fingers. "And with my number on your back at the race." You quickly hushed him, knowing Max was around somewhere and with the not so ideal start to his championship defending season he was definitely looking to let off some steam, which he had a tendency to be a argumentative when doing. "He needs to get over it, corazón."

"He will, he's just feels like he's lost me as a supporter." When you gave Carlos the look he knew not to push further, instead changing the topic to something completely different and you had never been more thankful for meeting him, letting his arm fall around your shoulders, as you talked about whatever, your laughs behind heard throughout the bar.

About two thirds of the grid were already here, keeping to groups of two or three as you and Carlos spoke between yourselves for a couple more minutes, being joined by Charles and Charlotte who were clearly in a celebrating mood too, other drivers with their girlfriends joining shortly after too.

The bar was finally beginning to clear, you on drinks duty this round you decided to go now, getting the orders of everyone at the table and denying Carlos' help before getting to the bar. The wait for the drinks seemed longer as a generic song played in the background, and finally when the bartender came over another hand went out to grab it. "Need a hand?"

Smiling when you heard the familiar voice you nodded, of course you knew he wasn't going to be the happiest of people tonight but still you wouldn't pass up the time to hang out with your brother. "So, i didn't see you in the garage today."

Barely a second in and you already wanted to leave the conversation, your past comment coming back to bite you. "Max." Your voice held a warning, clearly not wanting to talk to him about it again. If you knew anything about max, and you more than knew him, he was a stubborn person, he didn't drop subjects if he thought he could get more on it, and this was another example of that.

"I'm just saying, your spending a lot of time over there, that's all." You could just tell that if he hadn't been holding the drinks in his hands he'd be throwing his hands up, although his expressive eyebrows did just the job.

Carlos could see the tense interaction from across the club, and he knew the others could too if they chose to look over. He debated on wether he should go over and intervene in the conversation or wether he should leave the siblings to be siblings. "He's my boyfriend Max, what did you expect?" You felt your voice getting louder, looking round to see a couple of the bar goers looking at you but had to shake it off.

Max resisted the urge to roll his eyes, a typical brother response and he knew it. "Just expected my sister to come support her brother once in a while."

In retrospect you both had valid points in the argument, which only made it more frustrating.

Just as you felt you were going to scream at him, a short temper was apparently one of the traits the Verstappens shared, you felt a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Hey mate, tough race. You coming to sit with us?" You were thankful for Carlos, the spaniard there to diffuse the tension like he almost did, but the slight glare your brother was giving him was more than enough to let you know it was doing the opposite.

You looked to Carlos, noticing the teasing smile on his lips. He was enjoying this, and you wanted to scold him you really did, in-fact you wanted to scold both of them for being such idiots. "Look Max, i get it, you think you've lost me but you haven't i'm still your number one supporter i just have another car to cheer on now."

"So what you're a 'tifosi' now?" Max knew he was being petty, everyone knew that, but in fairness everyone was. Carlos was being petty buying you '55' necklace and wanting you to wear it in front of max he only did to push his buttons.

You knew this wasn't going to go anywhere, the amount of stubborn in the three people here enough to fill a further six. Sighing, you closed your eyes in frustration. Finally opening them up to find Max's piercing into yours. "It's just a numbe-"

Before you could finish the man beside you interrupted, moving his arm from around your shoulder to move closer to Max. "He has a point, it's just a number. So then why do you care so much?"

You knew Carlos had a pretty face, and in this argument its a shame thats all he was.

It was now your turn to glare at Carlos, ready to slap both of them. Looking back you did look quite dumb, thinking he had come own to try and calm down the situation and yet here he was winding Max up himself. "I'm her brother."

"And she's my girlfriend." Carlos answered without missing a beat, catching Max off guard slightly.

The trio stood in a short silence for a while, the bartender awkwardly giving you the last drink he needed to make, coming back to Carlos and Max looking like they wanted to kill each other with you in the middle of. You gave him an apologetic smile, an angry look on your face as you turned to the two bickering men. "If you two continue like this i'm just wearing mercedes merch."

Taking the tray of drinks as you spoke you walked back to the table, the drivers and girlfriends who couldn't help themselves but look over at the interaction trying to not laugh at their petty behaviour.

Sadly their bickering did not end there, and whoever's stupid idea it was to seat Max opposite Carlos you were ready to kill. Carlos made his actions abundantly clear, letting hin arm fall over your shoulder, playing with the silver 55 around your neck whilst you talk with someone.

And Max was never one to back down from the argument, continuing on with his 'i'm the brother' argument until even he had grown tired of saying it.

Soon enough the night was coming to and end, you caught up quickly with one of the drivers before he had the chance to leave, whispering something in his ear and he turned round to see both Max and Carlos scowling him and he nodded his head, agreeing with her.

You returned back to your trio, taking the drink out of Carlos' hand and finishing it before he could protest, any attempt to get home faster. "What was that about?" Max questioned you, and for the first time that night he and Carlos seemed to be agreeing on something.

"What was what about?" You played dumb, both of them seeing straight through the facade as you fiddled with the bracelets on your wrist.

"What did you talk to Lewis about?" Max probed further, his nosey self always needing to know things

"And why were you that close to him?"

As a Verstappen you liked to believe that you were true to your words.

The petty comments between Carlos and Max still hadn't stopped, not that you thought they would, throughout the week.

And so you were thankful you had called in for plan b, he had dropped off one of his caps, pairing it with his numbered team top and before you knew it you were walking into Friday practice one with the white of the mercedes shirt and number 44 splayed across your back.

Ted, of course, was first to notice. The presenter donned his now iconic headset, equipped with his microphone. He caught you just as you entered the track, the sight of you in certain teams merch not an uncommon one but never this team.

"And here we have the lovely Y/n Verstappen, looking as beautiful as always may i add," Ted greeted you, a smile on his face as the camera got a look of your attire. "Although i can't say we see you in this always."

Jokingly, you posed for the reporter, a laugh escaping your lips when he told you to do a twirl. "I'm trying a new style, do you approve?"

"As much as we do, does your brother approve is the question we should be asking." He leaned in as he asked the question, working over time for the dramatic effect he knew fans would be eating up.

You saw Carlos further back in the paddock, walking with his pr officer and you wanted to catch him just before the first practice. "Think we should just keep this between ourselves, Ted."

"Keep what between ourselves, Miss Verstappen?" He smiled at you, and you appreciated that he followed on with your joke. No matter how many times you'd seen him come for things max had said or done, off camera he was one of the nicest people you had met.

Smiling back at him, you nodded your head. "This is why you're my favourite."

The goodbye between you two was short, Ted wishing both Max and Carlos a good race and you made sure to carry on his message to them.

If there was one thing you appreciated about Ted is that he never made an effort to bring up your relationship with Carlos, of course he knew as did most in the paddock, but he never made you comment or "choose" between Max and him whenever an accident happened like others did.

Lando was the first to spot you from his own garage, jogging to catch up with you, the smile on his face unmistakable as he took in your appearance. "You a Lewis girl for today?"

You slowed down your strides for him to fully catch up with you, nodding your head as you laughed at his questions. "I've always been a Lewis girl," Lando raised his eyebrows at your answer. "Just don't tell Max that...or Carlos."

The young brit nodded, the two of you talking until you reach the familiar red garage, Lando quick to say goodbye knowing how tight he was cutting it to his pre-practice meeting.

You found Carlos' driver room with the help of a few engineers, some unable to hide their confused look at your entire Mercedes attire whilst the others laughed with each other.

Carlos was going over his usual pre-drive rituals, completely in his own world as he didn't hear you coming in, causing him to jump slightly when you placed your hands on his shoulder, forcing him to turn round.

His eyes instantly found the hat sitting proudly on your head, his initial reaction being to let out a chuckle at your new look. "So, what'd you think?" You gave him a twirl, as if you were wearing a floor length skirt, instead only in a pair of flared jeans.

"That you look as good as always, and if this was an attempt to annoy me you failed." He placed a quick kiss on your pouting lips, completely unfazed from the lack of his number, or merch, on you.

"Was more to annoy Max than you," On cue, you felt your phone buzzing in your pocket, Max's name the first thing you saw on your screen as he'd phoned you multiple times already.

Although this time you finally picked up, a small smirk on your lips as he groaned a 'took you long enough'. "You called?"

"Yeah multiple fucking times," You could feel Max's eye roll on the other side of the phone, his annoyance somehow travelling through the device. "I never actually thought that you'd follow through."

He laughed through his words, a disbelieving tone to the words that you could make out. "I told you i would." You smiled as if he could see you through the phone.

"Keep arguing and you'll see me in a #16 top next race."

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ Lucky Charm 

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Slow Burn, Light Angst

Word Count: ~3.1k

Summary: You’ve just started your dream job as a performance analyst at McLaren, determined to stay professional. But when Lando starts treating you like his personal good luck charm, lines blur, and feelings get complicated.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Your first month at McLaren is a whirlwind of data reports, race simulations, and trying not to trip over your own feet in the garage. You’ve worked too hard to get here—countless nights spent studying telemetry, endless practice interviews, a degree that felt like it stretched a lifetime. And now? Now you’re standing in the middle of the paddock, heart pounding as the team rushes around you before qualifying.

You’re supposed to be focused, analyzing Lando’s sector times, but then—

“Hey.”

You look up just in time to see Lando grinning down at you, still in his race suit, hair damp from the heat. His blue eyes flick over your tablet screen before settling on your face. “Anything good in there?”

You clear your throat, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is. “Uh—yeah. Your Turn 3 exit is a bit sketchy, but overall, you’re—”

“Fast?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes, shoving the tablet against his chest. “Decent.”

He laughs, bright and carefree, before giving you a casual tap on the shoulder. “I’ll prove you wrong.”

And he does.

Lando qualifies P2.

After the session, he finds you again, a little breathless, still in his suit, curls sticking to his forehead. “Told you.”

“Alright, alright.” You shake your head, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe you’re not completely hopeless.”

The next time he talks to you before a session, he places P3.

The time after that? He wins a race.

It becomes a thing. A ritual.

Before every session, Lando seeks you out. A quick chat, a joke, sometimes just a simple fist bump. And every time, he performs well. The team jokes about it, calling you his good luck charm. At first, you play along, chalking it up to coincidence. But then—

“You know,” Lando says one evening after a particularly chaotic race, “I think it’s actually working.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “What is?”

“This.” He gestures between the two of you. “Talking to you before a race. Feels… right.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, but you force a chuckle. “So what, you’re just using me for luck?”

His smile falters for half a second—so quick you almost miss it. Then he shakes his head. “Nah,” he says, softer this time. “I think I just like talking to you.”

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel like a superstition anymore.

It feels like something else entirely.

Something real.

⸻

Lando’s words linger in your mind long after he’s left.

“I think I just like talking to you.”

It shouldn’t mean anything. He’s a driver, you’re an analyst, and the garage is always buzzing with adrenaline and post-race emotions. But something about the way he said it, the way his voice softened, makes your heart beat just a little too fast.

You try to shake it off. Professional. You need to be professional.

But Lando doesn’t make that easy.

⸻

The next race weekend in Monza is a blur of heat, strategy meetings, and endless streams of data. You tell yourself to keep your distance, but Lando doesn’t get the memo.

“Where’s my lucky charm?” he calls out before FP3, scanning the garage until his eyes land on you.

The team laughs. You roll your eyes. “You realize this isn’t real, right? Your performance is based on skill, not—”

“Blah, blah, blah.” He waves you off with a smirk before leaning in slightly, just enough to make your breath catch. “But just in case, got anything for me today?”

You huff but play along, pretending to inspect him. “Mmm… helmet’s a bit crooked.”

His hand flies up instantly, adjusting it. “Better?”

“Perfect.”

“Good.” He grins before jogging off to his car.

The worst part? He takes P2 in qualifying. Again.

⸻

By Sunday, the entire paddock seems to be in on the joke. Every time Lando does well, someone—whether it’s a McLaren engineer, a journalist, or even another driver—mentions you.

“Guess we know who to thank if Lando gets another podium!”

“You traveling to every race now, or just the ones where he wants to win?”

You laugh it off, pretend it doesn’t affect you, but Lando? He leans into it.

After a chaotic race, he finishes P3. Instead of celebrating with the team first, he finds you. Sweat-soaked, grinning, energy still buzzing from the adrenaline rush.

He stops right in front of you, eyes bright. “Told you it works.”

Before you can respond, he pulls you into a hug—quick, warm, and entirely unexpected. Your breath catches as his arms tighten for just a second before he pulls away, still grinning.

“Thanks, lucky charm.”

Your face is burning, but before you can say anything, he’s pulled away by his engineers.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just Lando being Lando.

But then, later that night, your phone buzzes.

Lando: Dinner? Just us? No luck involved.

Your stomach flips.

Maybe… maybe this is more than just a superstition after all.

⸻

Your fingers hover over the screen, heart hammering.

Dinner? Just us? No luck involved.

Lando’s text stares back at you, casual yet completely not casual at the same time. You should say no. You should remind him that you work together, that you’re supposed to keep things professional.

But your thumbs betray you.

You asking as a friend or as a driver trying to secure another podium?

The response is almost instant.

Lando: What if I’m asking as a guy who just really wants to take you out?

Oh.

You swallow, staring at the message for longer than necessary before typing back:

Fine. But if you lose the next race, I’m blaming your bad dinner choices.

Lando: Deal. Pick you up at 8?

Pick me up? We’re literally in the same hotel, Norris.

Lando: Details, details. See you soon, lucky charm.

⸻

You spend way too much time trying to figure out what to wear. It’s not a date. It shouldn’t be a date. But when you open the door at 8 p.m. sharp and see Lando standing there—hoodie, jeans, hands stuffed into his pockets, but with that ever-present grin—you start to think maybe it is one.

“Ready?” he asks.

“As I’ll ever be.”

He takes you to a small, tucked-away Italian restaurant, far from the usual tourist spots. It’s dimly lit, cozy, the kind of place where the staff greets him like they’ve known him forever.

“You’ve been here before,” you note as you slide into the booth.

He shrugs, smirking. “I like to keep my secrets. Besides, had to impress you somehow.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach flutters anyway.

Dinner is… easy. Surprisingly so. Lando makes you laugh more times than you can count, telling ridiculous stories from his karting days, his voice animated, hands gesturing wildly. You talk about work, sure, but also about everything but work—movies, music, the worst travel mishaps you’ve ever had.

Somewhere between the second glass of wine and Lando dramatically recounting the time he almost missed a race because he lost his passport (“Listen, I had one job, and I still screwed it up”), you realize something.

This is dangerous.

Not because of the job, not because of the jokes about being his good luck charm. But because this feels natural. Too natural.

And natural things have a way of turning into something real.

⸻

As you leave the restaurant, the cool night air hits your skin, a welcome contrast to the warmth still lingering in your chest. You walk side by side, and for once, Lando isn’t filling the silence with jokes.

He nudges you lightly with his elbow. “So… does this mean I get extra luck next race?”

You shake your head, laughing. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“Hmm.” He pauses, then looks at you, more serious this time. “What if I just wanted an excuse to take you out?”

Your breath catches.

“You wouldn’t need an excuse,” you admit softly.

Lando’s eyes search yours for a moment before a slow smile tugs at his lips. “Good to know.”

And then, without thinking—without overanalyzing like you usually do—you reach for his hand.

Maybe this is more than superstition after all.

⸻

Lando doesn’t let go of your hand.

Not when you weave through the quiet streets back to the hotel. Not when you step into the elevator, the air between you thick with something unspoken. And definitely not when you reach your floor, lingering in the hallway like neither of you really wants the night to end.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles absentmindedly, and you wonder if he even realizes he’s doing it.

“So,” he says, voice softer now, “are you gonna admit it?”

You blink up at him. “Admit what?”

His grin is lazy, teasing—but there’s something else beneath it. Something real. “That maybe, just maybe, I was right about you being my good luck charm.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart isn’t in it. “I think you just like having an excuse to talk to me.”

Lando steps in just a fraction closer, the space between you vanishing. “Maybe,” he murmurs. “And maybe I don’t need an excuse anymore.”

Your breath catches.

This is it.

That tipping point between something playful and something real, between superstition and whatever this is.

And then—

The sound of distant voices echoes down the hall, a group of engineers heading toward their rooms. Lando takes a small step back, exhaling like he’s resetting himself.

“Guess I should let you sleep,” he says, but he still doesn’t let go of your hand.

You squeeze it lightly before finally pulling away. “Night, Norris.”

“Night, lucky charm.”

You don’t miss the way he watches you as you walk away.

⸻

The next morning, the paddock feels different.

Maybe it’s just you. Maybe it’s the way your skin still tingles where Lando’s fingers brushed against yours, or the way your mind replays the moment in the hallway over and over again.

Or maybe it’s the way Lando keeps looking at you.

It starts early. During the strategy briefing, he sits directly across from you, chin resting on his hand, watching you with an infuriating little smirk. When you finally glare at him, he just winks.

Then, during practice, he makes a beeline for you the second he hops out of the car, barely even acknowledging the engineers first.

“Alright, how’d I do?”

You glance at your tablet. “You lost three-tenths in Sector 2.”

Lando groans dramatically. “Maybe I should’ve held your hand before the session.”

Your breath stutters, but before you can respond, one of the mechanics chimes in. “Careful, mate. If you start relying on her too much, you’ll have to bring her on the podium with you.”

Lando’s grin is immediate. “Not a bad idea, actually.”

The team laughs, but you can’t shake the way he’s still looking at you. Like he’s already decided something.

Like this is more than just a joke to him.

⸻

Race day comes faster than you expect.

You tell yourself to focus, to push aside whatever’s happening with Lando and just do your job. But then—

“Lucky charm!”

You barely have time to turn before Lando jogs over, race suit half-zipped, curls slightly damp from the heat.

“You’re really sticking with that nickname, huh?” you tease.

“Obviously. It’s science at this point.” He leans in slightly, voice lowering just for you. “Besides, it’s the best excuse I have to talk to you before every race.”

Your chest tightens.

“Lando—”

“Just—wait here a sec.”

Before you can ask why, he jogs off. You watch, confused, until he returns seconds later—this time holding his spare driver’s cap.

“What are you—”

He lifts it, placing it carefully on your head. His fingers linger at the brim as he tilts it slightly, like he’s adjusting it just right.

“There,” he says, stepping back to admire his work. “Now it’s official.”

You blink up at him. “Now what’s official?”

His smile is softer now. “You’re part of the pre-race ritual.”

Your heart is definitely beating too fast now.

“You better win, Norris,” you manage to say.

Lando just grins. “For you? Always.”

And then he’s gone, jogging toward his car, leaving you standing there in his cap, completely and utterly screwed.

Because if it wasn’t obvious before…

It sure as hell is now.

This isn’t just a ritual anymore.

This is real.

⸻

Lando wins the race.

Not just a podium—a win.

You barely register what’s happening when he crosses the finish line first, the team around you erupting into cheers, engineers shouting, mechanics throwing their arms in the air. The McLaren garage is a blur of orange, people hugging, champagne already being popped somewhere.

And yet, in the middle of the chaos, all you can think about is him.

The moment Lando climbs out of the car, he’s swarmed—by the crew, by cameras, by the world. But then his eyes find you, and it’s like everything else disappears.

You barely have a second to react before he’s running toward you, still breathless, still high on adrenaline.

“Lando—”

But you don’t get to finish, because suddenly, his hands are on your waist, lifting you off the ground, spinning you in a dizzying circle.

“You’re actually insane,” you laugh, gripping onto his race suit.

“Insanely fast,” he shoots back, grinning.

When he finally sets you down, his hands linger—one resting against your back, the other still holding onto your arm, like he’s making sure you’re real.

His voice lowers, just for you. “Told you it works.”

Your heart stutters. “Lando—”

“Let me have this moment first, yeah?” he murmurs, eyes flicking between yours. “Then we’ll talk.”

There’s something unspoken in his gaze, something that makes your stomach flip. But before you can respond, the team is pulling him away, dragging him toward the podium.

You stand there, dazed, as you watch him climb to the top step, the anthem playing, the trophy lifted high. The whole world is watching him—but he keeps looking at you.

And you realize, in that moment, that this was never just a superstition for him.

Not even close.

⸻

The celebration lasts all night.

The McLaren team floods the paddock club, drinks flowing, music blasting. Lando is in the center of it all—laughing, dancing, letting everyone pour champagne on him. But every so often, his gaze flickers to you across the room, like he’s making sure you’re still there.

You try to keep your distance. Not because you want to, but because you don’t trust yourself. Not after what happened in the garage. Not after the way he held you like that.

But Lando doesn’t let you avoid him for long.

“You’re hiding,” he accuses, sliding into the seat next to you.

“I’m sitting,” you correct. “There’s a difference.”

He tilts his head, studying you. “Why are you sitting alone?”

“Just needed a breather.”

His lips twitch. “From me?”

“From everything,” you say, but you both know that’s a lie.

Lando leans in slightly, his voice quieter now. “You remember what I said earlier? About talking after the race?”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“Still want to avoid that?”

You hesitate. “I just… don’t know what you want me to say.”

Lando exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. For the first time all night, he looks nervous. “I don’t need you to say anything,” he admits. “I just need to know if I’m the only one feeling this.”

Your stomach twists.

“Lando…”

“You don’t have to give me an answer right now,” he continues quickly. “I just—I need you to know that this isn’t just some joke to me. Or a lucky charm thing. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Your breath catches.

He watches you carefully, as if bracing himself for rejection. But there’s no hesitation when you finally reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers.

“You’re not the only one,” you say softly.

Lando’s grin is immediate, relief flooding his face. He squeezes your hand, pulling you just a little closer.

“Good,” he murmurs, eyes shining. “Because I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to fake another superstition just to keep talking to you.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “But you like me anyway.”

And for once, you don’t argue.

⸻

Lando doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the night.

Not when the team drags him back onto the dance floor. Not when champagne is spilled (multiple times). Not even when he’s pulled into photos, making sure you’re right there beside him, his arm slung around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And the thing is? It is.

By the time you both escape the party—slipping out onto the quiet hotel balcony overlooking the city—it’s well past 2 a.m. The celebration is still raging downstairs, but up here, everything feels still. Peaceful.

Lando leans against the railing, exhaling deeply. “Think I still have champagne in my hair.”

You grin, reaching up instinctively, fingers brushing through his damp curls. “Yeah, you do.”

He watches you carefully, eyes flickering between yours. “You gonna fix it for me, lucky charm?”

You roll your eyes, but your heart stutters all the same. “You have to stop calling me that.”

Lando hums. “Mmm… nope.”

Before you can protest, he turns slightly, facing you fully. The teasing fades just a little, replaced by something quieter. More serious.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmurs.

You know exactly what he’s talking about.

“I know.”

Lando shifts, his hand finding yours again, playing with your fingers absentmindedly. “You still sure I’m not imagining this?”

Instead of answering, you take a small step closer. You don’t know if it’s the leftover adrenaline, the buzz of the night, or just the fact that you’ve wanted this for far longer than you ever let yourself admit.

But when you finally tilt your chin up and press your lips to his, none of that matters anymore.

Lando freezes for half a second—like he can’t believe it’s actually happening—before he melts into you completely, his free hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss is slow, unhurried, like neither of you are in any rush to let go.

When you finally break apart, his forehead rests against yours, breath uneven.

“Yeah,” Lando whispers, a grin tugging at his lips. “Definitely not imagining this.”

You laugh softly, fingers still curled into the fabric of his hoodie. “Good.”

He presses another quick kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly, eyes twinkling. “So, does this mean I get extra good luck now?”

You groan, shoving him lightly. “You cannot make this a racing superstition.”

Lando just grins, catching your hand again. “Too late. You kissed me before the next race weekend. Pretty sure that means I’m winning again.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, voice dropping, “you kissed me anyway.”

You huff, but you don’t deny it.

Because, well… he’s not wrong.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

little white lie — MV1

pairing: max verstappen x fem!leclerc!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions and usage of alcohol, smut, unprotected sex, oral (m & f receiving), sexual references, translated french and dutch, the 2022 f1 season, not proofread!!

synopsis: charles didn’t have a long list of rules when it came to you and the other 19 drivers on the grid, although dating his championship rival was #1 [6.0k]

a/n: return/celebratory max fic ig?? when is that man not winning races

MASTERLIST

You'd caught him staring at you from across the paddock, never the type to hide his staring, the smuggest look you'd ever seen on his face. The collar his race suit had obviously been messily fastened together, still being able to feel the burn on your fingers from the velcro from when you done it back up only minutes ago.

His cheeks were a shade rosy pink, easily explained to anyone who asked as the warm weather getting to him, as was the messy state of his blonde tipped hair. A stoic look was all you returned his grin with, still you could feel the butterflies in your stomach, the feel of his hands on your skin imprinted in your mind.

If anyone had bothered to pay enough attention to him they would've noticed the blossoming purple bruise forming just above his collar, the slight teeth mark you'd left just under his ear too. Although your lingering marks were soon to be covered by his balaclava.

Charles had given you two simple rules to follow, don't date his teammates, and most importantly don't date his rivals. If he could help it, don't date any of the drivers.

And luckily for Charles, you'd hated everything about him from day one, since you had first met Max at one of your brothers karting competition all the way up till now, the smug smile that seemed permanent on his face, his almost entitled attitude as if he deserved to win simply because he was who he was and he drove for who he drove for.

Everyone in the paddock knew of your rocky relationship with Max, since the first race Charles had invited you, it wasn't long till your obvious dislike of the dutchman came out in full force.

The feelings, of course, being mutual.

Annoyingly for you, it seemed as if people naturally gravitated towards him, like he had this unspoken charm that you were yet to see. Even when you were both as young, it was a similar situation, everyone dying to be able to call him their friend.

His move to F1 almost seemed to intensify that charm you were forbidden from seeing, of course you were aware of the media's rendition of him, similar in a way to how you viewed him and it pained you to admit he was actually nothing like that at all.

For those years though that you'd (thankfully in your opinion) never crossed paths more than a couple times where you'd stayed on later after one of Charles' races to see the podiums and bother Pierre around the garage. Even then you barely acknowledged each others presence more than what was deemed necessary.

Although avoiding him altogether was never really an option for either of you, your friendship groups integrated deeply into each others, only becoming much more apparent to you when Charles made his f1 debut and your once in a blue-moon meeting became an almost weekly occurrence.

Never once though did you attempt make your feelings towards him secret, and Max was being honest he didn't try to hide his either, Charles or Pierre often being the ones to step in when you found the opportunities to wind the other one up.

It became a sort of game in your friendship group to wager when the truth would finally come out. The truth that you both masked any glimpse of feelings towards each others with insults and glares.

Charles, for one, was desperate for you both to get along, knowing that if you'd put the work in and pushed aside the baseless hate you held for each other potentially even a friendship could form.

And so when Charles had graduated to F1 in 2018, he was even more so desperate for you to be somewhat neutral towards the red bull driver. After all you'd be seeing him much more frequently, with Charles moving up and you landing an interviewing job at F1TV, he also knew of the hard times the media were beginning to give him. "They're basically eating him alive, at least try to be nice to him, yeah? You know he isn't that bad." He asked you again, for the amount of times you'd lost count, not becoming discouraged from the silence you gave him in response.

Reluctantly, after a significant amount of convincing, his patience paid off as you had agreed to do so, for your brothers sake.

Now though, years later, you were sure if Charles knew what would come from reintroducing you, he would've kept you at least 12 feet away from the dutchman at all times.

The media had caught on quickly that the red bull driver had gotten himself a mystery lady. Multiple articles about Max doing little to hide the red scratch mark you'd left down his back the night before, also never sparing a thought to hide the hickeys you had ever so carefully attempted to leave where his race suit collar would cover.

Of all people, no one had suspected it to be you though, which was the only reason you actually continued whatever it was you were doing with Max. You told yourself it was just sex, because that's all it really was, at least at the start. He hadn't spent a night over at yours, just as you had never his, just a string of hotel rooms in cities across the globe.

The first time had been a moment of weakness on both your parts, Max had just came of race week with a very rare strategy blunder by his team, ultimately ruining his chances for the win and instead handing it to his teammate and you, you had just found out your boyfriend had cheated on you.

It was one of those cliche movie moments, Max finding you at the hotel bar, you're makeup messy and mascara practically melting away from the tears that still stained your face, drinking the night away on your own and occasionally offering up a conversation with the bartender, although mostly it had just been you wallowing in self pity.

As soon as he'd seen you the thought of turning around and ordering a bottle to his room crossed his mind. He'd already had a shitty day, a shitty race week he'd say if he was feeling dramatic, and he didn't need to deal with you drunk and crying on top of that.

Instead, though, he chose to sit down, his legs moving before he could process a thought of what he was doing. He signalled over to the bartender as he sat down beside you. "Two of whatever she's having, please." He heard you groaning at the sound of his voice, the last thing you needed to end a day like that was not spending your time drinking with him, or even seeing him if you could help it.

You'd already spotted him coming in, you're eyes flickering back to the bar in fear of the dutchman seeing you, silently praying that if he was to stay that he would choose another seat but it seemed faith hadn't been on your side.

You would've put money on this being the first time in years the two of you had been together alone, no mutual friends to fill the awkward silence between you.

It took another taste of your drink to build up the willpower to speak. "Saw your team fucked you over," On the outside your words seemed harsh but they were just the trick to break the inch thick ice. "Maybe they're sick of you winning too." Your tone was lightened with a smile and he laughed at your bluntness, probably one of the only times you had actually heard him laugh at something you said.

Max passed the full glass over to you, moving your empty one out of the way as the bartender gave him the drinks, a nod in acknowledgment before he went back to fixing drinks. "Heard you got cheated on?" He retorted, a lift at the end of his words as if he was asking you without the intention of getting an answer back.

Despite the topic of conversations being definitely untraditional, you found the humour in the situation, being helped by the almost goading nature of what he said.

In response you only smiled at him, the silence falling once again but it was no longer the thick and stuffy, awkward one as before.

Both of you were shamelessly drunk by the next couple drinks, the conversations flowing between the two of you as if you'd been friends forever, somehow not running out of things to say as he offered to walk you to your room and you'd agreed before you could even think about saying no.

You had, not that you would ever admit out loud, gotten to your door quicker than you wished to. Neither wanted to say goodbye, unadmittedly enjoying each others company and with the next couple words that left your mouth, whatever tension was between you changed, sure to be blamed on your drunken brain the next morning. "Do you want to come in?"

He looked back at you blankly, expression unreadable, as if he was going through the scenario in his head, what would happen if he said yes, if he said no, and then he slowly nodded his head.

It'd all happened so quickly, one second you were inviting Max into your hotel room and the next you had him pinned against the wall, the strap of your dress falling down your shoulder. "We shouldn't be doing this." You mumbled against his skin, and yet he made no attempt to stop the sloppy kisses you littered across his neck. "He'll find out." Even multiple drinks deeps you had some sort of rational thinking, not that you could say much from the way he pushed his knee between your legs and how it made your mind foggy.

You gasped at the unexpected feeling of his hand in your hair, pulling your head up to meet his eyes, the close proximity making it feel more intimate than you had wished. You felt his finger delicately tracing over your lips, parting them slightly when he pushed his thumb passed them. "Not if we don't tell him, he won't."

Max let his hand drift from your lips, running his fingertips over your cheek and down your jaw, and you shamelessly revelled in the way it felt having him this close. His touch commanding against your skin, already knowing you were like putty in his hands. Goosebumps rose on your skin, the lustful look in his eyes making them appear a shade darker.

There was nothing loving about the way he touched you, no ounce of romance in his actions, no softness when he squeezed the skin of your thighs motioning for you to jump.

He basked in the feeling of having you, the only girl he was ever truly forbade from seeing, and here you were with your arms wrapped around him. "You have no idea how long i've wanted to do this." His voice was hushed against your ear, the sensation of him so close, the warmth of his body radiating against yours, leaving you wanting more.

Your eyes pleaded with him, silently asking him to give you something, anything.

His teeth nipping at your skin had you throwing your head back, exposing more of your neck for his lips to explore. "You're so beautiful." He spoke between kisses, not wanting to stop himself leaving more bruises. "Verdomd mooi." fucking beautiful

Busying yourself as he moved your hands found his hair, your thighs on either side of his as you subconsciously rocked your hips against him, threading your fingers through the soft strands of his light tipped hair. "Tell me you won't regret this?" Max whispered against your ear as he placed your back against the soft mattress.

You could barely think from the way his mouth felt against your skin, never the submissive type but you swore you would've given into anything he said to you in that moment. "I'm not going to regret this." Your hand found his hair once again as his lips trailed down your stomach, dress long gone and lying on the floor.

~

More than a month had passed since the first night you had spent together, and no amount of the alcohol had done its job to make you forget it. Every night before you slept you replayed the details in your mind, from the way his touch on your body wasn't soft as if you were made of glass and the way his accent grew thicker the more turned on he got, the sounds he made against your body, everything.

You tried to steer clear of the dutchman for as long as possible, as much as you could anyway despite being in the paddock at all times with him every race week. It was as if the universe was punishing you for giving into your desire for him, for not resisting his charm.

It seemed as if he was everywhere you were, and you knew from an outside perspective that sounded silly, he was a driver of course he was going to be in the paddock but it didn't help you were the one asking him questions after most races, the good and the bad. Those were the days Max wished it was more than a one night deal, the nights after a bad race where his bed was empty, only a few doors up from your own hotel room with an equally as empty bed.

It was impossible to deny you had wanted to see him again, he'd made you feel like no one else ever and it was almost like torture seeing him around the paddock and having to push back those ever present feelings.

Wether it be him jumping in front of another driver to be interviewed or a simple look from across the paddock. Max made it known to you that he wasn't going to forget and that more importantly he wasn't going to let you forget.

You'd caught him after a particularly bad race, the thing making it worse was that he had been the one to make the mistake, it wasn't a mechanical issue or a strategy blunder, it bad been all him, he'd been the one to lose control of the car and in Max's eyes he was the only one to blame. He was the latest one to arrive at their media duties, no doubt the only reason he had even came at all was due to being dragged by his media officer.

Just by the looking of him you could see how the result of the race had affected him, and to say it was a bad result would be an insult to most other drivers, he'd finished p7, in the points which was more than the 10 other driver could've said, and yet from the look on his face you could've guessed he was dead last.

"So, Max, tell us what happened in that corner with Perez?" You danced around going easy on him or getting straight to the point, ultimately choosing the second option knowing it would make the interview get on quicker, which benefited both of you.

The dutchman shrugged slightly before speaking, a sad smile on his face as he did so. "Yeah you know how it is, we're both that type of driver where if we see a gap we're going to go for it and if one of us don't back out then we're going to have to pay the consequences and i did, so."

You nodded at his answer, a diplomatic one at that and you knew he wanted the interview to be over just as quick as you did. Although something else you knew was that no tabloid would be happy with the reasonable answer he'd gave. "And you believe that's all it was? Just a racing incident between two teammates?"

"Like i said, yeah, we're two driver who want to go for it and it happens."

"Moving on from that, recently you've been labelled a 'dirty driver', how do you feel about that? Do you think it captures your driver style or?" You'd moved passed trying to coddle his feelings, you wanted to push his buttons, bring out that fire in him you knew he had and for some reason put out over a p7 result.

Max cocked his head to the side at your question, the corners of his lips threatening to turn up when he realised your intention. "Do you think i'm a dirty driver?" You shook your head although he camera couldn't catch it and this time he let himself smile. "I think i'm a driver who knows i need to push myself to achieve my best, and some may say that's dirty but i'm here to win not to be p7."

"Right, thank you Max." You nodded your head, max returning the gesture before you finally began packing up your equipment.

The paddock was beginning to filter out, garages looking bare just as they did just mere days before, still the light of one side of the red bull garage stuck out in the clear night. It took everything in you to not turn around there, get in your car and drive back the hotel, instead forcing your legs to walk towards the light.

There was only 4 or 5 mechanics left in the garage, clearing up little bits they'd missed the first time and though they were confused at your presence they still smiled welcomingly at you. Almost as if he could read your mind one of them spoke up. "He's in his drivers room, just down the hall."

Thanking him you continued further into the garage, his, checo's and even Daniel's face splashed onto the walls. You sucked in a breath when you reached his door, knocking on it lightly before you could back out. "I'll be out in 5 minutes." He replied back, almost monotonously.

"Max, can we talk?" There was silence on the other side of the door before you heard shuffling, then the turning of a lock and soon enough you were standing inside his room. Max looked at you expectedly, waiting for you to explain what it was you were doing there. "I'm sorry for calling you a dirty driver,"

"And for bringing up your collision with checo, i knew you weren't the happiest with the result and i pushed you-" In the midst of your ramble you hadn't caught hie close he'd gotten to you, and were taken slightly off guard when you were cut off by press of his lips on yours.

He held your face in his hands, keeping you impossibly closer to him in the stuffy confinement of his drivers room. You let your body move against his, wrapping your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss when you felt him nip at your bottom lips, a gasp slipping from your mouth.

You stumbled back slightly, breaking apart for a second to catch your breath before your lips were on his again. Max held your hand in his, as his body hit the back of the small couch in his room your legs straddling his lap, thighs on either side and the memories of your first night together came in flashes when you closed your eyes.

"Max..." You whispered against his lips, your breathing heavy, Max's hands travelling across your clothed skin as if it was the first time he'd done so.

"God, you never shut up." His laugh was breathy after he spoke, pressing another quick kiss to your lips before his fingers started expertly undoing the top buttons of your shirt. He undone the buttons just enough to see the bra you wore underneath it, the white lace details attempting to disguise you as innocent.

Max dropped his head bellow your collarbone, pressing kisses to the exposed skin, small whines and whimpers falling from your lips as he did so, occasionally nipping at your sensitive spots and soothing it over. By the time he was finished your neck looked like it had been attacked, blossoming purple and red marks covering your skin and the patterns dipped lower to just between your breasts.

You were practically begging him to do more, whispering pleas against his ear when he slowly rocked your body against his. "Not here, schatje, come back with me?" He phrased it like a question and you feverishly nodded your head, no plan to go back to your hotel alone in the state he'd put you in. 

His room was only a couple doors down from your own and just two by Charles, Max having to shush your giggling slightly as he told a joke in the near empty hallways. Your hands were laced together, from an outside perspective you looked like a young couple in love, coming home from a night out together, only the two of you knowing the extent of your dirty secret.

Your back hit against his hotel room wall, legs being spread by his knee between them pushing your dress further up your thigh. With his arm wrapped around your waist he held you up, pressing his lips to yours knocking the air from your lungs in the process. Max pushed down the front of your dress, exposing the white lace bra you hid underneath.

You gulped at the feeling of his hands across your body, your knees starting to buckle as he trailed down the soft lace material of your bra, taking his time as his finger met the clasp which held the two sides together. The movement was slow and calculated, purposeful in the way he bared your skin to the air, watching, and smiling, as your breath hitched in your throat.

Max took a step back, standing tall in front of you, holding himself steady as he took you all in, your pupils already blown out with lust. His fingertips danced across your waist, moving up your body to slip the straps off your shoulders. Your nipples hardened as the thin material fell to your waist, mouth parted at the vulnerability of the situation, almost naked in front of the man you once felt nothing but hate for.

He captured your mouth in his, as if he had done a thousand times before, his lips warm and supple just how you had remembered them, yet still rough against your own. His fingers brushed your jaw as his tongue slipped inside, the simple act of intimacy conveying his need, his desire for more, and you returned the gesture.

Your stomach tightening as you felt the unbelievable magic of his hands and lips on your body, working in tandem for your pleasure.

Max slipped your bra down further till you were completely rid of it, grip firm on your hips almost certain to leave a bruise, as you reached forward to unbutton his dress shirt. You rasped at the roughness of Max's fingers, in contrast to the feelings of your past boyfriends hands. He grunted at the feeling of you under his touch; the way your skin felt like satin to his senses. A shiver crept along your spine as he licked his lips.

As your fingers moved swiftly to undo the last button on Max's shirt, you stopped for a moment, mesmerised at the way the light highlighted his torso. You ran your hands over his chest, over the now familiar feeling of his abs and the way he tensed underneath your touch. He just barely whispered your name, capturing your hands in his in an attempt to gain control again.

"God, Max, i need you." You moaned against his ear, a new sense of want filling the dutchman as you did so. "Please."

And you were begging now, begging for him, for him to make you feel good and it was only natural that he gave in.

He shushed your pleas as he brought his lips to yours, slightly softer than before but still enough to show you that for tonight, he was the one going to be in charge. Although if he was going to do this, he was going to make sure he got some fun out of it too. "What do you need, schatje?"

Max tilted his head as he spoke, pulling back from you, watching how your breathing returned to normal with the new space between you. It had been less than 10 minutes and you were already sick of his teasing, the only thought in your head was him fucking you and you didn't care how desperate it sounded.

"Max," You whined, trying to press your lips to his again when he pulled his head back, only letting them just barely brush against his and nothing more. "I need you to fuck me, please."

As much as he loved the sound of your begging, he knew it would have to wait, his hand moving down the front of your stomach, slipping underneath the waistband of your already drenched lace panties. You let out a moan when he pressed down on your clit, teasing you when he dragged his fingers through your folds.

"You'll need to wait for that, gonna get you off on my fingers first." His words went straight to your core, clenching around nothing when his thumb circled your clit.

Your mouth fell open when he slipped a finger inside of you, whines and whimpers escaping from the way he stretched you out. His calloused fingers in contact with the sensitivity of your cunt had your hips bucking into his hand. "So impatient." Max was taunting you, running his fingers along your slit without allowing you the feeling of them inside you, spreading your arousal. "You're so wet, all for me, hm?"

You couldn't nod quicker, hoping flattery would get him fucking you quicker. "All for you, Max, tout pour toi." The switch in languages came from when he teased you with the tips of his fingers, never truly fully entering you.

He seemed to have taken pity on you, your thickened accent when you spoke in your native language being the catalyst as you gasped at the stretch of his fingers inside you again.

Max was slow with his movements at first, letting you adjust to the burning feeling before moving. The time between the last time he'd had his fingers in you and now seemed like a life time, your memory of that night not doing justice to the way he made you feel. Your hips moved on their own, in time with the rhythm he had set, grinding against the palm of his hand. "You look so pretty like this, riding my fingers like a good girl."

Moaning at his words, you gripped onto his shoulder. His thumb was pressed against your clit, the pressure on your neglected nerves being enough to bring you to the edge but fully tip you over, your pleasure and body fully in his control. Max picked up pretty quickly on what you wanted him to do, the dutchman somehow knowing your body better than you did after only one time together.

Lazily, he began rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb, his lips pressing against your neck as he sucked a hickey. The added stimulation had you arching your back, your chest bumping against his own. "Fuck, please i'm so close." You gasped out, a string of swear words following your confession as his relentless pace somehow fastened.

You felt your thighs beginning to shake, your cunt clenching around his fingers and with little warning your body was slumping against his, back arching off of the wall behind you. Moaning into his bare shoulder, leave an indent in the wake, his body doing the most to muffle the sound of your whines to anyone outside.

Max helped you ride out your high, the arrogant smile on his face enough to make you want to drop to your knees for him, to have him in your mouth where you were the one to control his pleasure, where you were in control. Only when he cleaned off his fingers of you in his mouth you were actually on your knees for him.

Your heels stood flat against the wall, looking up at him through your eyelashes and his breathing quickened. He was straining against the confinement of his trousers, begging to be released, to be touched by you, yet he would never voice these things to you.

His thumb stroked over your bottom lip as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. "You're so beautiful, schatje, on your knees like this."

Your own thumb ran over his leaking slit, the low groan escaping his lips making you smile at the effect you had on him in such a short amount of tome. Taking him fully into your mouth, you hollowed out your cheeks, his tip hitting against the back of your throat, hand in your hair motivating you to bob your head up and down.

You looked up to see Max's head falling back, cursing under his breath in dutch his exposed neck and parted lips making you want to skip everything and fuck him already, and you knew he wouldn't be one to argue. "Such a good girl." His words had you moaning around him, his accent appearing more intense the closer he came, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat making you gag.

Tears prickled in your eyes at the constant impact of his tip against the back of your throat as he fucked your face, his hips moving to meet your mouth, threatening to ruin the mascara you wore. When Max could feel your jaw growing tired he took over, using the hand in your hair to move your head, forming a makeshift ponytail.

The sounds he was making was enough to make you forget about the ache in your knees and the tiredness of your jaw, watching how his adams apple bobbed in his throat. Low groans, moans and dutch swear words alongside the occasional gasp of your name.

You felt him begin to twitchin your mouth, what would usually be encouragement to keep going was him pulling you off of him, both of you gasping to catch your breath. He ran his finger along your swollen lip, his pre cum and your spit coating them, pressing his thumb in your mouth as you swirled your tongue around it, just as you would if he was in your mouth. "Don't pout, liefje, wanna come inside you."

Quickly you were being pulled back to your feet, being brought in for an almost bruising kiss. His hands ran up and down your hips, squeezing the soft skin, no doubt to leave marks the next day. The impact of him pulling you up back against the wall had you moaning into his mouth.

Max linked your hand in his, moving you both towards the bed to where he sat back with his legs still spread, taking your place in between them on his thighs, the flexing of the muscle jolting you forward into his arms. You felt your core twitch as it made contact with his bare skin, although put it to the side as you only wanted to focus on kissing him.

Max’s hands sat roughly on your hips once again, digging his fingertips into your skin, matching the roughness and intensity of the kiss you were sharing.

As your lips moved against each other, you began to rock your body into his, Max’s hands following your movement, the small whimpers slipping from your mouth at just the simple contact mixing with the sounds of his groans. You could already feel your wetness beginning to dampen his thigh, his muscles flexing underneath you again. Pulling away from him, your lips went to his ear. "Max, i want you to fuck me."

He hadn’t even needed to voice a reply, already having your body turned over and your face pushed into the soft mattress of your bed, grabbing a pillow and placing it under your head for support. He stroked himself a couple times, his cock hardening in his hand before he lined it up with your entrance.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he pushed into you, the pillow doing a pitiful job to shield the moans you let out. "Look at you letting me fuck you like this," He was already back to teasing you, your moans growing louder from his lewd words, only prompting him to thrust into you harder and faster, his grip on your hips tightening, pulling you impossibly closer to him. “What would your brother say, hm? Knowing you were being fucked by his rival?”

His mention of Charles only spurred you on more, feeling every inch of him in you, every vein, as he let out moans of his own. “Max, don’t stop.” His pace never faltered, not even when your thighs shook from the pleasure you were experiencing, or when your back arched higher off of the mattress. Your nails dug into the crisp white sheets you lay on, gripping onto them as you could feel yourself nearing your orgasm once again.

Max could already feel you clenching around him, which was already making him near his own release quicker. He kept thrusting into you a gruelling speed, though his movements became more erratic as he continued, his own thighs shaking slightly.

You felt his lips trailing from the bottom of your back and to the nape of your neck, moving to place more soft kisses beneath and behind your ear. When your orgasm finally washed over you, you could barely hold yourself up. Underneath your arms gave way, moaning into the pillow you felt a collection of tears drop from your eye from the overstimulation.

Within a minute you felt Max release inside of you, the warm liquid being kept deep into you as he stilled, his body falling slightly onto yours, feeling his warm breath on the back of your neck. You both stayed like that for a couple of seconds, trying to catch your breaths and neither wanting to be the first to move.

Max followed his trail down from the back of your neck till he met the bottom of your back before pulling himself out, watching his cum drip out of you. He was quick to grab a dampened cloth from the bathroom, carefully cleaning you up.

You rolled onto your back, looking up to the ceiling of his bedroom, your breath still irregular. Max fell back on the bed just beside you, opening up his arms for you to slot into, wrapping around your waist and pulling you close to him, finally planting a kiss on the top of your forehead. His fingers fidgeted with the ends of your hair, taking a mental image of the sight in front of him, your red blushed cheeks and fucked out expression on your face, knowing he was most likely not going to see it for a long time.

There was a short, comfortable silence, which Max was the first to break. “Let me take you out on a date, a proper one, not just food delivered to one of our hotel rooms.”

From the way he looked at you, his eyes holding no malicious intent, you knew he was being serious and in less than a second your answer changed the relationship between you and him forever. “Okay, you can take me out.”

There was no other thought in your mind when you answered, not Charles, ferrari or red bull not even the media had crossed your mine, in that moment you could think about you and him.

Don’t Judge a Book by Its Cover

Toto Wolff x Reader

Summary: a wealthy older man with a starry-eyed younger woman — it’s a tale as old as time and a scene the saleswoman has seen countless times before … or is it?

The showroom gleams under harsh fluorescent lights, every surface polished to a mirror finish. Cars, sleek and expensive, are lined up like jewels in a case. The hum of quiet conversation fills the space, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or the soft clink of champagne glasses.

It’s another day at the auto show, and the saleswoman, tall and sharp-eyed, watches it all with a thin veneer of polite disinterest. She’s been here long enough to know who’s serious and who’s just here to gawk.

She spots them before they even step into her section. The man is hard to miss — tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of commanding presence that makes people step aside without even realizing it. His suit is tailored to perfection, probably costs more than her monthly salary.

And then there’s the girl — no, the woman — beside him. You’re much younger, that’s clear. You look out of place, wide-eyed and excited like a kid in a candy store, dressed in something trendy but understated, a deliberate contrast to the man’s sophistication.

The saleswoman’s eyes narrow as she watches you both approach. She’s seen this before — older man, younger woman, the kind of relationship that’s all too common in these circles. She doesn’t have to guess who’s footing the bill here.

“They’re all stunning,” you say, your voice carrying over the murmur of the crowd as you walk beside the man. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Take your time,” the man says, his voice low, accented, and rich with an authority that’s clearly second nature to him. He’s smiling at you, and there’s a warmth there that the saleswoman finds almost disarming. Almost.

She steps forward, her professional smile firmly in place, and approaches the two of you. “Good afternoon,” she says, her tone perfectly neutral, though there’s an edge to it, just enough to make her feel superior in this little interaction. “Is there anything in particular you’re interested in today?”

You look up at the man, a slight question in your eyes, as if asking for permission to speak. The saleswoman notices this, of course, and it only confirms what she already thinks.

“The Porsche 911 S/T,” you say, your voice gaining a little confidence as you look back at her. “It’s — wow, it’s incredible.”

The saleswoman allows herself a small, condescending smile. Of course, you’d go for something flashy like that. “A beautiful choice,” she says smoothly. “Though it’s not currently available for sale. It’s more of a display model for now.”

You look disappointed, but before you can say anything, the man steps in. “Is that so?” He asks, his tone polite but firm. “And when will it be available?”

“Not for a few months, I’m afraid,” she replies, keeping her smile in place even as she feels a flicker of unease at the intensity in his eyes. “But we can certainly take your information and let you know the moment it is.”

You’re distracted by another car nearby — a sleek, silver Audi R8 — and the man follows your gaze. “Excuse me for a moment,” he says to the saleswoman, already moving toward the car that has caught your attention. She watches him go, a tightness forming in her chest.

You’re bending slightly, peering into the Audi’s interior, running your fingers over the smooth leather seats. The man is right behind you, his hand resting lightly on your lower back, a gesture that’s both protective and possessive.

“What do you think of this one?” He asks, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear. You smile, and it’s a real smile, the kind that makes your whole face light up.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice soft, almost reverent. “But I think I’m still in love with the Porsche.”

He chuckles, and the sound is deep, genuine. “You have good taste.”

The saleswoman doesn’t hear what you say next, but she sees the way you look up at him, like he’s the only person in the room. She almost rolls her eyes. Of course, you’re infatuated. Who wouldn’t be, with a man like that?

But there’s something else, something in the way he looks at you that makes her pause. There’s affection there, sure, but it’s more than that. It’s something deeper, more complicated.

He straightens up, leaving you to admire the Audi, and makes his way back to the saleswoman. She steels herself, ready to resume the dance of negotiation, but his next words take her by surprise.

“I want to buy the Porsche for my partner,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She blinks, momentarily thrown. “As I mentioned earlier, sir, it’s not for sale at the moment. But we can-”

“You misunderstand,” he interrupts, his eyes locking onto hers with a quiet intensity. “I’m not asking if it’s for sale. I’m telling you I want to buy it.”

The saleswoman feels a prickle of irritation, but she keeps her expression neutral. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Mr …”

“Wolff,” he says, his voice steady. “Toto Wolff.”

The name rings a bell, and she stiffens slightly. Of course, she’s heard of him. Everyone in this business has. But she’s not about to let him walk all over her just because he’s some big shot.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wolff, but even for you, the car isn’t available. It’s a prototype, and it won’t be released for sale until-”

He cuts her off with a low laugh, and there’s something almost dangerous in the sound. “For me,” he says slowly, as if explaining something very simple to a child, “they’ll make it available.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but the words die in her throat. There’s a look in his eyes that makes it clear this isn’t a man who’s used to hearing the word no. And she realizes, with a sinking feeling, that he’s right. If Toto Wolff wants that car, he’s going to get it.

The saleswoman swallows hard, her professional composure beginning to crack around the edges. “I’ll need to speak with my manager,” she says finally, her voice losing some of its earlier confidence.

“Please do,” he replies smoothly, his gaze flicking back to where you’re still admiring the Audi, completely unaware of the tension playing out behind you.

She turns on her heel, making her way to the back office with quick, clipped steps. The nerve of him, she thinks, but even as she seethes, she knows what the outcome will be. No one says no to someone like Toto Wolff.

As she waits for her manager to confirm the inevitable, she casts a glance through the glass wall of the office, watching you and him from a distance. You’re laughing at something he’s said, your hand resting on his arm, and for a moment, the saleswoman feels a strange, unwelcome pang of something close to envy.

It’s not just the money or the power that he has — though there’s plenty of that — it’s the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing that matters. Like he would move mountains just to see you smile.

The manager finally appears, a mix of excitement and nerves on his face as he hurries over to speak with Toto. The saleswoman stays back, watching as they exchange words, her earlier confidence completely drained. She knows what’s coming, and sure enough, after a few minutes, the manager gestures for her to come forward.

“Mr. Wolff,” the manager says, his tone obsequious, “we’d be more than happy to arrange the purchase of the Porsche for you. It’s not something we typically do, but in your case, we can make an exception.”

Toto gives a small nod, as if this is exactly what he expected. “Good,” he says, then glances over at you, still absorbed in the Audi. “I’ll take care of the details later. For now, I’d prefer if my partner remains unaware of the purchase.”

The manager nods quickly. “Of course, of course. Discretion is our priority.”

The saleswoman feels a fresh wave of irritation as the manager all but trips over himself to please Toto. But what bothers her even more is the realization that she was wrong. This isn’t a simple sugar relationship, despite what she first thought. There’s something real here, something that makes her uncomfortable in ways she can’t quite put into words.

As Toto walks back over to you, the manager gives the saleswoman a sharp look, silently instructing her to follow his lead. She pastes on her best smile, swallowing her pride, and follows after him.

You don’t notice the shift in the atmosphere when Toto returns to your side. You’re too engrossed in the car, asking him questions about its specs and design, your enthusiasm infectious. The saleswoman watches the two of you interact, trying to reconcile the easy, genuine affection she sees with her initial assumptions.

“So,” Toto says, leaning in a little closer to you, “if you could choose any car here, which one would it be?”

You bite your lip, clearly torn, but finally, you sigh. “I know it’s silly, but I keep coming back to the Porsche. It’s just … it’s perfect.”

His smile widens, and the saleswoman feels a pang of something she refuses to name. “Then the Porsche it is,” he says softly, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

You laugh, a little embarrassed. "Toto, you can't just buy it because I like it. It's not even for sale."

He chuckles, a warm, deep sound that makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room. “You’d be surprised what’s possible.”

The saleswoman shifts uncomfortably, watching as Toto brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering a moment too long to be purely casual. You smile up at him, oblivious to everything except the man in front of you.

She clears her throat, forcing herself back into the conversation. “Actually, we can make arrangements for the Porsche. If you’d like, we can finalize the details and set up delivery.”

You blink, surprised. “Really? But I thought-”

Toto smiles, squeezing your hand gently. “It’s yours, if you want it.”

Your eyes widen, and for a moment, you’re speechless. Then you throw your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest as you mumble a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

The saleswoman watches, the professional smile on her face feeling more like a grimace now. She doesn’t understand it, doesn’t understand you or him, but she knows she was wrong.

You pull back, looking up at Toto with a softness in your eyes that’s almost too much to bear. “I don’t even know what to say,” you whisper.

“Just be happy,” he murmurs back, his voice tender in a way that makes the saleswoman want to look away.

And for a moment, she does. She turns her gaze to the gleaming cars, the reflections of the showroom lights bouncing off their polished surfaces. When she looks back, you’re both still there, lost in each other, completely oblivious to the rest of the world.

The saleswoman feels a strange, hollow emptiness settle in her chest as she turns to finalize the sale, realizing that perhaps, despite everything, this wasn’t about money or power at all.

Perhaps it was just about love.

***

The estate in Oxfordshire is nothing short of palatial, its sprawling grounds stretching out in every direction, bordered by neatly trimmed hedges and ancient oaks. The driveway is long and winding, leading up to a mansion that looks like it could have been lifted straight out of a Jane Austen novel — grand, elegant, with an air of timeless sophistication.

The saleswoman sits in the passenger seat of the delivery truck, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her jacket. She’s never been nervous about a delivery before, but then again, she’s never delivered to someone like Toto Wolff before.

Beside her, the driver is humming along to a tune on the radio, completely at ease as they turn onto the estate’s private road. She glances at the rearview mirror, catching sight of the Porsche 911 S/T, pristine and gleaming, with an oversized red bow affixed to the roof. It looks absurd, she thinks, a toy fit for a princess.

It takes several minutes to reach the front of the house, the tires crunching softly over the gravel. The saleswoman feels a knot tighten in her stomach as they pull to a stop.

She’s here to oversee the delivery, to make sure everything goes smoothly, but part of her wonders if this is all a colossal waste of time. Surely, she could’ve sent someone else. But she’d insisted on coming herself—perhaps out of some twisted sense of curiosity, or maybe it was just her bruised pride.

The driver cuts the engine, and there’s a brief moment of silence before the door to the mansion opens. Toto steps out first, his movements unhurried, as if he’s in no rush at all. And then you appear beside him, your hand lightly resting on his arm as you walk out together.

“Here we go,” the driver mutters, giving her a nod before he hops out to start the unloading process.

The saleswoman takes a deep breath, composing herself before she steps out of the truck. Her heels sink slightly into the gravel as she approaches, her professional smile back in place. Toto greets her with a nod, his expression unreadable, while you give her a warm, if somewhat shy, smile.

“I hope the drive wasn’t too difficult,” Toto says, his voice smooth and polite, but there’s a hint of something more behind his words. An expectation that everything will, of course, be perfect.

“Not at all, Mr. Wolff,” the saleswoman replies quickly, her smile tightening. “It was a pleasure, really.”

You step forward, your eyes wide with excitement as you look past her to the truck. “Is it …” you ask, your voice filled with a mix of disbelief and anticipation.

The driver is already lowering the truck’s ramp, and as the Porsche comes into view, you let out a small gasp. “It’s beautiful,” you whisper, taking a step closer, your hand still clutching Toto’s arm. “I can’t believe it’s really here.”

Toto watches you with a soft smile, the kind of smile that the saleswoman has started to recognize as reserved only for you. “I told you it would be,” he says quietly, as if this moment is just as special for him as it is for you.

The saleswoman clears her throat, drawing their attention back to her. “We took extra care during the transport,” she says, trying to regain some control over the situation. “Everything is exactly as it was when it left the showroom.”

“Thank you,” Toto says, but his focus is already back on you as you approach the car, your fingers brushing over the sleek lines of the Porsche as if you’re afraid it might disappear if you touch it too firmly.

You circle the car slowly, taking it all in, and for a moment, the saleswoman feels like an intruder in this private moment. She watches as you turn back to Toto, your eyes bright with unshed tears. “I don’t even know what to say,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

He steps closer, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “I just want you to be happy.”

The saleswoman averts her gaze, the tenderness of the moment making her uncomfortable. She’s seen plenty of couples over the years, but there’s something about the way you and Toto interact that feels … different.

It’s not just the age difference, though that’s part of it. It’s the way he looks at you, like you’re the most precious thing in the world, and the way you look at him, like he’s your anchor in a storm.

The driver interrupts her thoughts as he finishes unloading the car. “All done here,” he says cheerfully, handing the keys over to Toto with a grin. “She’s all yours.”

Toto takes the keys with a nod of thanks, but instead of pocketing them, he holds them out to you. “Would you like to take her for a spin?”

Your eyes widen, and you laugh, a light, joyful sound that echoes in the evening air. “Now? I haven’t even driven a car like this before!”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he replies, his tone teasing yet encouraging. “And I trust you completely.”

You hesitate for a moment, glancing at the car and then back at Toto. The saleswoman can see the internal debate playing out on your face — excitement warring with nervousness. But then, with a deep breath, you take the keys from him, your fingers brushing against his as you do.

“Okay,” you say, your voice firming with determination. “Let’s do it.”

The saleswoman watches as you climb into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors and running your hands over the steering wheel like you’re trying to familiarize yourself with every inch of the car. Toto takes the passenger seat beside you, and for a brief moment, the saleswoman catches a glimpse of his hand resting on your knee, a gesture that’s both reassuring and intimate.

She’s pulled out of her thoughts when the driver nudges her, motioning toward the truck. “We should get going,” he says, glancing over at the car. “Looks like they’ve got everything under control.”

But the saleswoman doesn’t move. She’s rooted to the spot, watching as you and Toto pull away from the estate, the Porsche purring softly as it glides down the driveway. There’s something about the scene that feels almost cinematic, like she’s watching a moment that she’s not supposed to be a part of.

The car disappears around a bend in the road, and the saleswoman finally exhales, not realizing she’s been holding her breath. She turns back to the driver, who’s looking at her with mild curiosity.

“Everything okay?” He asks, cocking his head to the side.

She forces a smile, pushing down the strange mix of emotions churning in her chest. “Yeah,” she says, though the word feels hollow. “Everything’s fine.”

They load back into the truck, the engine roaring to life as they begin the long drive back to the showroom. The saleswoman stares out the window, her thoughts racing, replaying the scene over and over in her mind.

She tries to tell herself that it’s just another delivery, just another rich couple flaunting their wealth. But no matter how hard she tries, she can’t shake the image of the way Toto looked at you, like you were his entire world.

The driver’s voice cuts through her thoughts as he asks, “So, you think they’re the real deal?”

She turns to look at him, frowning slightly. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road. “I mean, a guy like him, a girl like her … you think it’s more than just the money?”

The saleswoman hesitates, her fingers curling around the edge of her seat. She wants to dismiss it, to laugh it off and say that of course it’s just about the money. But the words stick in her throat, refusing to come out.

“Yeah,” she finally says, her voice quieter than she intended. “I think it is.”

The driver nods, seemingly satisfied with her answer, and they fall into silence once more. But the saleswoman can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted, that this delivery has left her with more questions than answers.

As they drive away from the estate, the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the road. The saleswoman stares at them, lost in thought, wondering what it must feel like to be loved the way Toto loves you.

She knows she’ll never have an answer to that question, but as the truck rumbles down the road, she can’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — there’s more to life than the things she’s always taken for granted.

And for the first time in a long time, she finds herself longing for something she can’t quite put into words.

the cat you didn't want | kimi räikkönen

୨ৎ : featuring : kimi raikkonen x reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : kimi says he doesn't want a cat... clearly kimi is lying.

୨ৎ : genre : fluff ୨ৎ : word count : 486

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

you didn’t exactly plan on bringing a kitten home. it just… happened. the little tabby was curled up outside the corner store in the rain, meowing like her life depended on it, and you—being you—couldn’t walk away.

kimi, however, was less than thrilled.

“i don’t like cats,” he had muttered flatly the moment you set the towel-wrapped bundle on the kitchen counter. “they scratch everything. they poop in a box. and they don’t even listen.”

you’d rolled your eyes and named her turbo out of spite.

for days, kimi kept his distance. he'd grumble whenever she got too close, mutter “great” under his breath when she knocked over something, and shoot you a pointed look every time he stepped on one of her toys.

but you weren’t blind.

you’d seen the way he paused in the hallway whenever she was napping on the windowsill. you’d heard him talking to her when he thought you were out of earshot—low, gruff sentences like, “you better not scratch my car seats,” and “why do you look like you pay rent?”

still, he insisted he didn’t like her.

which made it all the more hilarious when you came home early one afternoon and caught him red-handed.

the house was quiet. no tv. no music. just faint mumbling from the living room.

you rounded the corner and paused—blinking.

there was kimi. shirt slightly rumpled, socks mismatched, sprawled across the couch with turbo fast asleep on his chest.

worse? he was petting her. gently. absentmindedly. his fingers scratching just behind her ears while he whispered, “you’re lucky you’re small.”

you nearly burst out laughing.

“wow,” you said, biting back a grin. “you look so heartbroken about the cat situation.”

kimi’s head snapped up like you’d caught him committing a crime.

“i—she jumped up here.”

“right. and climbed your shirt and curled into your chest all on her own?”

he narrowed his eyes, but the kitten yawned—completely blowing his cover.

you walked over, plopped beside him, and poked his side. “you’re in love with her.”

“i am not,” he muttered, trying to adjust himself without disturbing her. “she’s warm. that’s all.”

“sure, kimi. just admit it. you like the cat.”

he looked at you. looked at the kitten. sighed like the weight of the world had hit him.

“maybe she’s… alright.”

you grinned. “aww. that’s finnish for ‘i love her more than life itself,’ isn’t it?”

he glared, but it was useless—especially when turbo nuzzled his jaw and started purring like an engine.

you leaned over and kissed his cheek. “you’re both lucky i brought her home.”

kimi rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. instead, he pulled you in with his free arm, now holding you and the cat in one sleepy pile.

he mumbled something in finnish under his breath, and you couldn’t help but smile.

grumpy. soft. completely whipped.

you, him, and the kitten he definitely didn’t want.

perfect little family.

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

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.