Enjoy The Butterflies
Enjoy the Butterflies
Daniel Ricciardo x crazy rich!Reader
Summary: in which Daniel gets dropped by his team and picked up by an heiress with a penchant for taking in strays
The heavy bass of the club still hums in your bones as you step out onto the pavement, the humid Singapore night wrapping around you like a second skin. The neon lights from Zouk, one of the city’s most exclusive nightclubs, pulse in rhythm with your heartbeat, and for a second, you stand still, relishing the quiet that follows hours of dancing, laughter, and too many cocktails.
The sounds of the party still echo behind you, a muffled roar of privilege and extravagance, but out here, it’s just you and the night.
Or so you think.
Your attention is pulled toward a commotion just a few meters away. You blink, trying to make sense of the scene. There’s a man — definitely not local, tall, and a little scruffy compared to the sharp-dressed crowd you’re used to — being unceremoniously escorted out by one of the bouncers. His head hangs low, and his shoulders are slumped in a way that screams defeat.
It’s not the dramatic, messy kind of exit where someone’s too drunk to stand, or too proud to admit they’ve done something wrong. No, this is different. This guy isn’t even trying to fight back.
“Get lost,” the bouncer grunts, shoving the man one last time before turning to head back inside.
You can’t help it — you freeze, your gaze lingering on him. He doesn’t move, just leans against the wall like he’s considering sinking to the ground. His posture is pitiful in a way that tugs at something inside you, that soft part of you that your family says is too soft. The part that’s always drawn to the broken, the hopeless, the ones who don’t quite fit.
He lets out a long, dramatic sigh, his eyes flicking up to the club entrance, like maybe if he stares long enough, he’ll magically be allowed back in. He’s pathetic. There’s no other word for it. But he’s also kind of endearing, in a weird way.
“Pathetic,” you mutter under your breath, half-amused.
You could leave him there, you know that. This isn’t your problem. He’ll figure something out. Or not. It’s not like you owe him anything, but …
"Are you just going to stand there?” You hear yourself saying, your feet already moving toward him before you can stop them.
His head snaps up, clearly not expecting anyone to address him. His eyes — big, brown, and confused — lock onto yours. He’s a little scruffy, but there’s something boyishly charming about him.
“I — uh,” he stammers, straightening up slightly but still looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “No. I mean, yeah, I guess?”
You roll your eyes. “That’s not an answer.”
He shrugs helplessly. “Well, I don’t really have one. Kinda got kicked out of the only place I planned on being tonight.”
You narrow your eyes. “What did you do?”
“I, uh …” He scratches the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t know, honestly. Might’ve been a little too loud, or maybe I was blocking someone important from getting their drinks. These places, man, they don’t like it when you’re … disruptive.”
You cross your arms, glancing at him up and down. He doesn’t look dangerous, just out of place. “You sound like you deserved it.”
He winces. “Probably did.”
There’s a beat of silence, and you’re still standing there, wondering why you’re wasting your time. Then, before you know it, you’re sighing. Your family would shake their heads at you, calling you too kind for your own good.
“Come on,” you say, jerking your head toward the curb. “Let’s go.”
He blinks. “What?”
You nod toward the curb, where your Rolls Royce waits, engine quietly idling. The chauffeur stands by, staring straight ahead like this is the most normal thing in the world, like this isn’t some insane act of kindness you’re pulling out of nowhere.
“I’m not leaving you out here,” you say, already heading toward the car. “Get in.”
“Uh — wait, seriously?” He hurries to catch up, still clearly not processing what’s happening. “You don’t even know me.”
You shrug, throwing a look over your shoulder. “Do I need to?”
“Usually, yeah,” he says, jogging slightly to keep pace with you. “I mean, what if I’m like, a complete psycho or something?”
“If you were, I doubt you’d be sitting against a wall feeling sorry for yourself,” you shoot back, opening the car door. “Now get in before I change my mind.”
There’s a brief moment of hesitation, like he’s weighing his options, but then he shakes his head, muttering something under his breath, and slides into the backseat beside you. The leather is cool against your skin, the scent of luxury and privilege permeating the air, and for a second, it’s quiet as the door closes behind you both.
The driver pulls away from the curb smoothly, not asking questions.
“So … you do this often?” The man asks, still clearly bewildered. “Pick up random guys outside clubs?”
You snort, turning to face him. “Definitely not.”
“Then why me?”
You shrug. “You looked pathetic.”
His eyebrows shoot up, and for a second, you think you’ve offended him, but then he laughs — loud, unabashed, and surprising. “Wow. Okay. Well, thanks, I guess?”
You smile despite yourself. “Don’t mention it.”
He leans back in the seat, still grinning. “I’m Daniel, by the way. Ricciardo. Not sure if that means anything to you.”
You narrow your eyes, the name clicking into place. “The F1 driver?”
He looks a little sheepish but nods. “Yeah, that’s me.”
You stare at him for a moment, processing that. It’s not like you keep up with racing, but you’ve definitely heard of him. Seen him in ads, maybe, or on TV. It’s a little weird, thinking about it now. The same guy who’s smiling at you, a little bashfully, is famous in his own right.
“I didn’t recognize you,” you say, somewhat apologetic.
He shrugs again, more relaxed now. “Don’t worry about it. Happens more often than you think. Usually, I’m not getting kicked out of places, though.”
You smirk. “Good to know.”
There’s a comfortable silence after that, the two of you settling into the soft hum of the car as it glides through the streets. You steal a glance at him, watching as he stares out the window, looking slightly more at peace now that he’s not sitting on the pavement outside of a nightclub. He catches you looking, raising an eyebrow.
“So, you’re just gonna take me home, drop me off like a stray cat?” He teases, flashing you that boyish grin again.
You tilt your head, pretending to think about it. “Depends. Do stray cats usually get rides in Rolls Royces?”
“Only the ones that get kicked out of clubs,” he fires back, and you can’t help but laugh.
This was definitely not how you expected your night to go.
***
You lean back in your seat, letting the smooth hum of the Rolls Royce fill the silence for a moment. Daniel seems more relaxed now, but there’s still something hanging in the air, something that makes you look at him again, curiosity getting the better of you.
"So," you say, turning your head slightly to study him, "where am I dropping you off? What hotel are you staying at?"
Daniel blinks, the question catching him off guard. He looks at you, then at the ceiling of the car like the answer might be written somewhere above his head. “Uh … yeah, about that …”
You narrow your eyes. “You don’t know, do you?”
He winces, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Not exactly. I mean, I know I checked into a place, obviously, but I can’t remember the name right now.”
“You can’t remember what hotel you’re staying at?” Your tone is somewhere between disbelief and amusement.
Daniel shrugs, unbothered. “It’s been a long day. Plus, there’s like, a million hotels in Singapore. They all start to blur together.”
You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “Okay, genius. So how were you planning on getting back?”
“Hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he admits, grinning lazily. Then, the grin fades, and something shifts in his expression — something a little sadder, more raw. “Honestly, even if I did know, I don’t really want to go back there.”
You frown. “Why not?”
He hesitates, eyes flicking to the window as if he can avoid answering by watching the city lights whiz by. After a long pause, he sighs and leans back against the seat, rubbing a hand over his face.
“I got dropped,” he mutters, almost too quietly for you to hear.
“Dropped?” You repeat, confused. “From what?”
“From my team,” he clarifies, his voice a little hoarse. “VCARB. They, uh, decided they didn’t want me around anymore.”
You blink, the realization hitting you like a sudden cold wave. “Oh.”
Daniel doesn’t say anything for a moment, the silence growing heavy. You can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch slightly as he picks at an invisible thread on his jeans.
“I mean,” he finally continues, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “I kinda saw it coming. Just didn’t think it’d happen this fast, y’know?”
The lightheartedness from earlier is completely gone now, replaced by something darker, something heavier. You can feel the weight of it pressing down on him, the frustration and sadness barely concealed behind his crooked grin.
“I thought I had more time,” he says softly, his voice raw with vulnerability. “But I guess that’s how it goes. One day you’re on top of the world, and the next … well, you’re getting kicked out of nightclubs.”
You stay quiet, unsure of what to say. You weren’t expecting to find yourself in this situation tonight — sitting in the back of a Rolls Royce with a famous F1 driver who just lost his job. And yet, here you are, listening to him spill his heart out in the middle of the night, somewhere between Zouk and wherever he was supposed to go next.
“I just don’t want to be around them right now,” he continues, voice thick. “The team, the people … they’re all pretending to be nice, like it’s just business, but it’s not. It’s my life. My career.”
He shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter laugh. “And now it’s over. Just like that.”
You let out a sigh, long and heavy. “So, you don’t want to go back to your hotel?”
“Not really,” Daniel mutters, slumping back in his seat.
You stare at him for a second, weighing your options. Your chauffeur is driving aimlessly through the city, waiting for your instructions, and Daniel is sitting here, lost in his own world of disappointment. He looks tired, drained, and you’re not cruel enough to leave him like this.
“Well,” you say, after a beat of silence, “I guess you’re coming with me then.”
Daniel’s head snaps up, his brows furrowing. “Wait, what?”
You glance at him, your voice firm. “You heard me. You can’t remember your hotel, you don’t want to go back even if you could, and I’m not about to leave you wandering around Singapore. So, you’re coming to my place.”
He stares at you, eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. “Are you serious?”
You roll your eyes. “Would I say it if I wasn’t?”
For a moment, he looks like he’s about to argue, but then he slumps back in his seat again, exhaling a long, tired breath. “Alright. If you’re sure.”
You nod, already turning to the front of the car. “Take us home,” you tell your chauffeur, who acknowledges the instruction with a curt nod before the car smoothly shifts direction.
Daniel leans his head against the window, eyes heavy. “Thanks,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible. “You really didn’t have to do this.”
You wave it off. “I know.”
A few minutes pass in silence, the soft sound of the tires against the road lulling both of you into a calm quiet. You glance over at Daniel again, noticing how his eyelids are drooping more and more, his head bobbing slightly as he fights to stay awake.
“You look like you’re about to pass out,” you comment, amused.
“M’not,” he protests, but his words are already slurred. “Just … resting my eyes.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Sure.”
It doesn’t take long before his breathing evens out, and his head tips to the side, fully succumbing to sleep. You shake your head, watching him for a moment. He looks peaceful like this, the weight of whatever he’s been carrying lifted, if only temporarily.
“Of course,” you mutter to yourself, leaning back in your seat, “this is how my night ends.”
The car pulls up in front of your building — a sleek, modern tower in one of the city’s most exclusive neighborhoods. Your chauffeur steps out first, coming around to open the door for you. You step out gracefully, smoothing your dress, but when you look back into the car, Daniel is still out cold, slumped awkwardly in the seat.
You sigh. “This is not happening.”
Your chauffeur, ever professional, stands at attention, waiting for your next move. You consider your options for a second before glancing at him. “Help me get him inside, will you?”
The chauffeur doesn’t hesitate, nodding curtly. He moves to the other side of the car and carefully opens the door. Together, you manage to maneuver Daniel out of the backseat, his arm draped over the chauffeur’s shoulder as he leans heavily against him. Daniel stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, too deep in sleep to even register what’s happening.
The doorman, recognizing you immediately, rushes over to assist. “Miss Y/L/N,” he says, eyes flicking from you to the unconscious Daniel, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Is everything alright?”
“It’s fine,” you say quickly, giving him a tight smile. “Just … had a long night.”
The doorman nods, not pressing further, and helps the chauffeur guide Daniel through the lobby and into the elevator. You follow behind, feeling a little ridiculous but knowing there’s no turning back now.
The elevator ride is quiet, save for Daniel’s soft breathing as he leans against the wall, still fast asleep. You glance at him, half-amused, half-exasperated. What a night.
When you finally reach your penthouse, the door slides open smoothly, and the chauffeur and doorman gently ease Daniel onto your plush couch. He sprawls out, looking even more out of place among the sleek, expensive furniture, but you can’t help but chuckle at the sight.
“Thanks,” you tell the men, who nod before excusing themselves quietly, leaving you alone with your unexpected guest.
You stand there for a moment, looking at Daniel as he sleeps soundly on your couch. His shoes are still on, one arm hanging off the side, and his mouth slightly open in a way that’s almost comical. Shaking your head, you grab a blanket from a nearby chair and drape it over him.
“Well, this is definitely not how I thought my night would go,” you mutter to yourself, standing back and crossing your arms as you look at him one last time.
With a sigh, you turn and head toward your bedroom, already mentally preparing for the chaos tomorrow is likely to bring.
***
You’re in the middle of a dream when you hear it — the unmistakable sound of your mother’s voice. Loud, sharp, and utterly out of place in the peaceful silence of your penthouse. Your eyes snap open, heart pounding in your chest as you try to piece together why in the world she would be here, at this ungodly hour.
And then you hear it. A scream.
“Who is this man?”
Your stomach drops, the reality of last night hitting you like a freight train. Daniel. He’s still here. Passed out on your couch. And now, your very traditional mother is standing in your living room, probably about to have a heart attack.
You scramble out of bed, nearly tripping over yourself as you rush toward the living room. You can already hear her ranting, a mix of shock and outrage in her voice, and you don’t even have time to think before you’re standing in front of her, trying to calm the situation down.
“Mum!” You blurt out, trying to sound casual, like this isn’t the absolute disaster it clearly is. “What are you doing here?”
Your mother’s eyes are wide, her perfectly manicured hand pressed dramatically against her chest as she stares down at Daniel, who’s still blissfully unconscious, mouth slightly open, one arm dangling off the edge of the couch.
“I could ask you the same thing!” She snaps, her voice rising with every word. “Why is there a man sleeping in your living room? And why-” she leans in, eyes narrowing, “does he look like he’s been out drinking all night?”
Your mind races, panic bubbling up as you try to figure out what to say, what kind of excuse would possibly explain this. And then, without even thinking, the words tumble out of your mouth.
“He’s … he’s my boyfriend.”
The second the lie leaves your lips, you know it’s a terrible idea. But it’s too late now. Your mother freezes, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she looks between you and Daniel. “Your … boyfriend?” She repeats, her tone incredulous.
You nod, forcing a tight smile, praying that Daniel stays asleep long enough for you to get through this. “Yes. My boyfriend.”
Your mother looks like she’s about to faint. “And you didn’t tell me? You-”
“I was going to!” you interrupt quickly. “But it’s … it’s new. Very new. I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure.”
She crosses her arms, still clearly not buying it. “And this is how you introduce him to your mother? Drunk and passed out in your living room?”
“He’s not drunk,” you say quickly, even though that’s obviously a lie. “He’s … uh, just really tired. He’s been going through a lot lately.”
At that moment, you hear a groan from the couch. You glance over, heart sinking as Daniel stirs, slowly blinking awake. His face is pale, and the second he opens his eyes, you can see the hangover written all over him.
“Wh-” Daniel starts, voice groggy as he sits up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Where …”
Your mother’s eyes widen, and she turns to you, her expression one of absolute horror. “This is him?” She whispers, like you’ve just committed some kind of unspeakable crime.
You give her a weak smile. “Yes. Mum, this is Daniel.”
Daniel’s head snaps up at the sound of his name, his bleary eyes trying to make sense of the situation. He looks at you, confused, and you give him a pointed look, willing him to just go along with it.
"Daniel," you say through gritted teeth, “this is my mother. Remember? I told you she might stop by.”
Daniel blinks at you, his brow furrowed in confusion. It takes a second, but you can practically see the gears turning in his brain as he tries to process what’s happening. Finally, he nods slowly, trying to catch up. “Right. Your mum. Uh, hi.”
Your mother stares at him, unimpressed. “Are you alright?” She asks, her voice cold and judgmental.
Daniel, still clearly half-asleep and in the throes of a wicked hangover, gives her a shaky smile. “Yeah, just … didn’t sleep great,” he mumbles, leaning back into the couch.
You wince internally, but keep up the act. “He’s been working so hard lately,” you say quickly, hoping to smooth things over. “With his job and everything.”
Your mother’s eyes narrow further. “And what does he do, exactly?”
Daniel glances at you, panic flickering in his eyes, clearly not prepared for this interrogation. You jump in before he can make things worse.
“He’s … in sports,” you say vaguely. “He’s an athlete.”
Your mother’s gaze doesn’t soften in the slightest. “What kind of athlete?”
You feel Daniel’s eyes on you, pleading silently for help. “Formula 1,” you say quickly. “He’s a Formula 1 driver.”
Your mother blinks, taken aback by this revelation. “A race car driver?” She repeats, like it’s the most absurd thing she’s ever heard. “That’s … interesting.”
You can tell she’s not impressed, but at least it’s bought you a little time. You just need to get through this without her prying too much further.
“I promise, Mum, Daniel’s a good guy,” you say, trying to sound convincing. “He just … had a rough night. That’s all.”
Your mother’s gaze flicks between you and Daniel, suspicion still heavy in her eyes. “And where did he sleep?”
You freeze. “Uh …”
Daniel, finally catching on to what’s happening, sits up a little straighter. “I slept here,” he says quickly, gesturing to the couch. “On the couch. I didn’t … you know …”
He trails off, looking at your mother awkwardly, but the message is clear.
Your mother’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised by his admission. “You didn’t share a bed?”
You shake your head vigorously. “No, Mum. We didn’t share a bed. We’re not married, remember?”
For the first time since she walked in, your mother seems to relax a little, her rigid posture softening just a bit. “Well,” she says, sounding somewhat mollified, “at least he has some morals.”
You breathe a silent sigh of relief, nodding along. “Exactly. Daniel’s … very respectful.”
Daniel gives a small, awkward smile, clearly still trying to wrap his head around the situation. “Uh, yeah. Very … respectful.”
Your mother studies him for a moment longer, then nods, satisfied. “Well, I suppose it could be worse.”
You almost laugh at that but manage to keep a straight face. “Right.”
There’s a brief pause as your mother smooths down her dress, glancing around the penthouse like she’s looking for something to criticize. Then, her eyes land back on you, and she smiles — one of those deceptively sweet smiles that always makes you nervous.
“Well,” she says brightly, “since I’m here, I’d love to get to know Daniel a bit better. Why don’t you two join me for dinner tonight?”
You blink, caught off guard. “Dinner? Tonight?”
Your mother nods, clearly not taking no for an answer. “Yes. I think it’s high time I meet this boyfriend of yours properly.”
You glance at Daniel, who’s looking at you with wide, slightly panicked eyes. You can tell he’s regretting every decision that led him to this moment, but there’s no way out now. You’re both trapped.
“Uh, sure,” you say weakly. “We’d love to.”
Your mother beams, clearly pleased with herself. “Wonderful! I’ll have my assistant call to make the reservation. Seven o’clock sharp. You know where. Don’t be late.”
Before you can respond, she’s already turning on her heel, heading toward the door with a satisfied smile on her face. “I’ll see you both tonight,” she calls over her shoulder as she exits, leaving you standing there in stunned silence.
The door clicks shut, and the room is suddenly, blissfully quiet.
You turn to Daniel, who’s staring at you, still half-dazed from sleep and now fully confused about what just happened.
“Boyfriend?” He croaks, his voice rough from the hangover.
You let out a long, exasperated sigh, rubbing your temples. “I panicked.”
He groans, flopping back onto the couch. “Dinner with your mum? Really?”
“Yes. And if you don’t play along, I’m pretty sure she’ll disown me.”
Daniel chuckles weakly, rubbing his temples. “Great. Just great.”
You stare at him for a moment, then flop down next to him on the couch, letting your head fall back against the cushions. “This is a disaster.”
“Eh,” Daniel mutters, eyes closed. “Could be worse.”
You shoot him a look. “How?”
He cracks one eye open, grinning. “At least I didn’t throw up on her.”
You groan, burying your face in your hands. “That’s not funny.”
But when you look up, you can’t help but laugh, because as ridiculous as this entire situation is, somehow, in the madness of it all, you know tonight is going to be even worse.
***
Dinner is already awkward. You can feel the tension every time your mother glances at Daniel, her polite smile not quite reaching her eyes. It’s a small, exclusive restaurant, the kind of place where the waiters wear gloves, and the courses are tiny but outrageously expensive. The chef is renowned for his traditional yet experimental take on Singaporean cuisine, which is perfect because your mother insists on a display of sophistication when it comes to hosting. Unfortunately, that also means the pressure on Daniel is palpable.
Daniel sits across from you, trying to look comfortable, though his hand is constantly fiddling with his napkin under the table. Your mother, seated beside him, is maintaining her usual air of grace, but you can see she’s sizing him up, scrutinizing every bite, every word. And you … you’re just trying to survive.
“So, Daniel,” your mother begins, swirling her wine like a seasoned critic, “what are your long-term plans? With your career, I mean.”
Daniel freezes with his fork halfway to his mouth, the question clearly catching him off guard. He clears his throat, scrambling to find an answer that sounds impressive. “Well, uh, things are a bit … in flux right now,” he says, offering a weak smile. “But I’m working on it.”
Your mother arches an eyebrow. “In flux? That doesn’t sound very … stable.”
You kick Daniel lightly under the table, silently willing him to come up with something better than “in flux.” He glances at you for help, but you just widen your eyes, urging him to recover.
“Yeah, well,” Daniel says, trying to salvage the conversation, “I’ve been racing for a while, you know? Formula 1. It’s a pretty high-pressure job, so … I’m considering my next move carefully.”
Your mother makes a noncommittal hum, clearly unimpressed. “I see.”
You want to sink into the floor.
“I’m going to excuse myself for a moment,” you say quickly, standing from the table. “I’ll be right back.”
Daniel gives you a look that screams *don’t leave me alone with her*, but there’s no way around it. You shoot him an apologetic smile before making your way toward the restroom, leaving him to fend for himself.
As soon as you’re gone, the silence at the table becomes almost deafening. Daniel shifts uncomfortably in his seat, glancing around the room as if he’s suddenly forgotten how to act normal. He’s about to reach for his water glass when he notices your mother watching him closely.
“So,” she says, her tone unnervingly calm, “Daniel.”
He straightens up, unsure if he should be relieved or terrified that she’s addressing him directly. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I think we should speak candidly, don’t you?” She says, her voice as smooth as silk but with an edge that makes Daniel’s skin crawl. She reaches into her handbag, and Daniel feels his stomach lurch with nerves. What’s she going to pull out? A contract? Some kind of questionnaire?
What she pulls out, however, is much worse.
It’s a small, velvet box. A ring box.
Daniel’s heart stops. His eyes widen as he stares at the box, his mind spinning, trying to make sense of what’s happening.
Your mother places the box delicately in front of him, her expression serene, like she’s offering him a cup of tea rather than a proposal-sized bombshell. “I’ve been waiting for Y/N to bring home a boy for quite some time,” she says, her voice soft but pointed. “And now that she has … well, I can’t let this moment pass.”
Daniel opens and closes his mouth, but no words come out. He’s too stunned to respond, completely blindsided by this sudden turn of events.
Your mother’s eyes gleam, and she leans in slightly, lowering her voice as if she’s sharing a secret. “Of course, I would have preferred if you were Singaporean,” she continues, her tone just a touch sharper, “but I’m not getting any younger, and I want grandchildren. So, we can’t be picky, can we?”
Daniel’s mind goes blank. He tries to form a coherent thought, a response, anything, but all that comes out is a strangled, “I … uh …”
Your mother regards him with the same calm, calculating gaze she’s had since the start of dinner, as though this entire interaction is completely normal. “You’ll do,” she says simply, and there’s a finality in her tone that makes it clear this isn’t up for debate.
Daniel stares at the ring box, his brain short-circuiting. Is this really happening? He glances around the restaurant, half-expecting someone to jump out and tell him it’s all some elaborate prank. But no one does. It’s just him, your mother, and the heavy weight of that velvet box sitting between them.
He’s completely out of his depth. He can’t even think of how to respond to your mother’s words, let alone the fact that she’s just essentially handed him an engagement ring.
“I-” he starts again, but his throat is dry, and nothing coherent follows.
“Daniel,” she interrupts smoothly, her gaze sharpening. “You’re a good man, I can tell. And you’re very … respectful.” The word drips with meaning, making Daniel shift in his seat.
Before he can stammer out anything in return, the restroom door swings open, and you reappear, walking back toward the table, blissfully unaware of the bomb that’s just been dropped.
Daniel panics. His mind races as you approach, and without thinking, he snatches the ring box off the table, slipping it into his jacket pocket in one swift movement. His heart is racing, his palms suddenly sweaty, but he tries to keep his expression neutral.
“Everything alright?” You ask, sliding back into your seat, oblivious to the tension radiating from both Daniel and your mother.
Daniel clears his throat, forcing a tight smile. “Yep. All good.”
Your mother smiles pleasantly, folding her hands in her lap. “Oh, we were just having a lovely little chat.”
You look between them suspiciously, but there’s no sign of the chaos that just occurred. Daniel’s poker face is impressive, but you can sense something is off. You raise an eyebrow at him, and he just gives you a strained smile in return.
The rest of dinner is a blur. You try to focus on the conversation, but your mother seems to be on her best behavior, keeping things light and superficial. Daniel is unusually quiet, nodding along and making polite comments when necessary, but there’s something distant about him, like he’s somewhere else entirely.
By the time dessert arrives, you can’t shake the feeling that something happened while you were gone. But Daniel isn’t saying a word, and your mother’s serene expression betrays nothing.
As the waiter clears the last of the plates, your mother dabs at her mouth with her napkin, looking between the two of you with an air of satisfaction. “Well,” she says, standing from the table, “this has been lovely. I’m so glad we could all spend this time together.”
You force a smile, standing as well. “Yes, of course. It was … lovely.”
Daniel stands too, his movements a little stiffer than usual, like he’s trying to keep his hands from shaking. “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Y/L/N,” he says politely, though his voice is a bit strained.
Your mother gives him one last, long look, then smiles warmly. “Oh, Daniel, you’re always welcome. Anytime.”
With that, she gathers her things and heads for the door, leaving you and Daniel standing there in stunned silence. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, turning to Daniel.
“Well, that wasn’t too bad, was it?” You ask, trying to lighten the mood.
Daniel gives a weak chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah … not too bad.”
You narrow your eyes at him, picking up on the odd tone in his voice. “Are you sure? You’ve been acting weird since I got back to the table.”
He blinks, his hand instinctively brushing the pocket where the ring box is hidden. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine. Just … full. Really full.”
You raise an eyebrow, not entirely convinced, but decide to let it slide for now. “Alright. If you say so.”
As you both head for the door, Daniel’s mind is still racing, the weight of the ring box burning a hole in his pocket. He has no idea what to do with it, or what your mother expects from him, but one thing is for sure — he’s in way over his head.
And he’s not sure how much longer he can keep pretending.
***
Back at your penthouse, the atmosphere feels … tense. Not the sort of charged tension from earlier, but something more fragile, awkward. The kind that makes everything feel a bit too quiet, like the air is too thick with things unsaid. You and Daniel are sitting on opposite ends of the plush couch in your living room. It’s not that big of a couch, but the distance feels enormous.
Daniel is fidgeting, running a hand through his hair, tapping his fingers on his knee. You’re sitting with your arms crossed, staring at him, waiting. But waiting for what, exactly? Neither of you knows. The silence stretches between you both, and it’s unbearable. Every breath feels louder than it should.
“Uh …” Daniel finally starts, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to find something — anything — to say. But nothing seems right, so he just ends up staring back at you, eyes darting around like he’s looking for a way out.
You, on the other hand, are unusually still, your eyes narrowed at him. It’s like you’re waiting for him to make the first move, but he’s not catching on. Not yet.
Daniel swallows hard, and after a moment of hesitation, his hand moves toward his jacket pocket. Your eyes flick to the motion, and his fingers tremble slightly as they close around the velvet box, pulling it out with an awkward kind of determination, as if it’s weighing him down more than anything. He holds it for a second, staring at it like it’s a puzzle he can’t solve.
Then, with a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, he opens the box.
The soft click of the hinge seems impossibly loud in the room, and for a moment, all you can do is stare. The ring glimmers under the soft lighting, catching the faintest reflection of the overhead chandelier. It’s not just any ring. You recognize it immediately.
And then, as if someone flipped a switch, you start laughing.
Daniel’s eyes snap to you in confusion, his brows furrowing. “What … what’s so funny?”
You’re still giggling, pressing your hand to your mouth to muffle the sound, but it doesn’t work. The laughter bubbles up uncontrollably, and Daniel looks like he’s caught between being relieved that you’re not mad and completely baffled by your reaction.
“You-” you manage between breaths, “That ring … that’s my grandmother’s. Oh my God, she’s really lost it.”
Daniel blinks, glancing down at the ring again, his confusion only deepening. “Wait, what?”
“My mother,” you say, wiping a tear from your eye, “She must be really desperate to get me married off if she’s giving out my grandmother’s ring to the first guy I bring to dinner. I can’t believe it.”
Daniel stares at you for a second, then back at the ring. “This is your … grandmother’s?” His voice is shaky, like the absurdity of the situation is just now hitting him.
You nod, biting your lip to stifle another laugh. “Yup. She always said it was meant for the man I’d marry one day. Guess she couldn’t wait any longer.”
Daniel’s face goes through a range of emotions — shock, embarrassment, and finally, something like disbelief. “I … I don’t even know what to say.”
You snicker again, leaning back against the couch and crossing your arms. “I think the bigger question here is — why didn’t you say anything to me? Did you just plan on pocketing the ring and hoping I wouldn’t notice?”
Daniel shifts uncomfortably, his cheeks flushing. “I — I didn’t know what to do. Your mom just … handed it to me. I mean, what was I supposed to say? ‘No, thank you, ma’am, I’m not ready for an arranged marriage just yet?’”
You raise an eyebrow, amused. “That might’ve been a good start.”
He opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again, clearly struggling to find a way out of this. Finally, he lets out a defeated sigh and leans back, running both hands through his hair. “This is insane.”
“You think?” You quip, smirking.
Daniel’s gaze drops to the ring again, and there’s a beat of silence before you speak up, this time your tone more playful than mocking. “Well,” you say, drawing out the word, “if you’re gonna propose, you should at least get on one knee. You know, for tradition’s sake.”
Daniel’s head snaps up, eyes wide in disbelief. “What?”
You laugh again, your teasing smile growing. “I mean, come on. If we’re going through with this charade, you might as well go all in. Get down on one knee, Ricciardo.”
He blinks at you, completely at a loss for words. “You’re not serious.”
“Why not?” You shoot back, still grinning. “What’s stopping you? You don’t have a job anymore, so it’s not like you have much else going on. You could always be my trophy husband.”
There’s a flicker of something in Daniel’s eyes — part shock, part amusement, and maybe just a little bit of something else. “Trophy husband?” He echoes, his voice incredulous.
You shrug, leaning forward and resting your chin on your hand, as if the idea were the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. I mean, think about it. You wouldn’t have to work, I’d take care of you. You could just … exist. Isn’t that every guy’s dream?”
Daniel laughs — an actual laugh this time, though it’s tinged with disbelief. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
You grin. “Maybe. But I’m also not wrong.”
For a moment, the room is quiet again, but it’s not the awkward silence from before. This is something lighter, filled with the remnants of laughter and the weight of an unspoken understanding. Daniel is still holding the ring box, his thumb absently running over the velvet surface as he processes everything that’s just happened.
And then, because clearly, the universe hasn’t thrown enough chaos at him lately, Daniel does something that surprises both of you.
He nods.
It’s a small, hesitant nod at first, like he’s not even sure he’s agreeing to anything real. But then he meets your gaze, and there’s a flicker of something — maybe exhaustion, maybe delirium, maybe just the sheer absurdity of it all — and he nods again. This time, more certain.
“Alright,” he says quietly, still staring at the ring. “Okay.”
You freeze, blinking at him in surprise. “Wait … what?”
Daniel looks up at you, his expression unreadable but calm. “I said … okay. Let’s do it.”
For the first time tonight, you’re the one who’s caught off guard. “You’re joking.”
He shakes his head slowly, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “Nope.”
You sit up straighter, suddenly unsure whether you’re still in the middle of some elaborate joke or if the reality of the past few days has finally broken Daniel’s sense of logic. “You — wait, seriously? You’d marry me?”
Daniel shrugs, though there’s a glimmer of humor in his eyes now. “I mean, like you said … I don’t have a job anymore. And hey, being a trophy husband doesn’t sound half bad.”
You stare at him, searching his face for any sign of a punchline. But the longer you look, the more you realize he’s not kidding. He’s serious. Or as serious as someone in his situation can be.
A beat passes. Then another.
And suddenly, you burst into laughter again.
“God, you’re insane,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief. “This whole thing is insane.”
Daniel grins, leaning back into the couch with a relieved sigh, as if your laughter has lifted the tension from the room entirely. “Welcome to my life.”
You shake your head again, still chuckling, though there’s something warm and strange growing in your chest. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”
Daniel glances at the ring one more time before closing the box with a soft click and slipping it back into his pocket. “Hey,” he says, his voice softer now, “if nothing else, at least we’ll give your mother something to talk about at her next dinner party.”
You snort, rolling your eyes. “Oh, she’ll have a field day.”
For a moment, the two of you just sit there, side by side on the couch, the absurdity of the night finally settling over you both. It’s ridiculous, completely irrational, and yet somehow, in this moment, it feels … right.
Daniel nudges you with his elbow, breaking the silence. “So … when’s the wedding?”
You groan, but you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Daniel chuckles, leaning back into the cushions, finally starting to relax. “Yeah. One step at a time.”
But even as you say it, you can’t shake the feeling that this strange, accidental engagement is just the beginning of something even more complicated.
And maybe you’re okay with that.
***
You come home the next afternoon, practically skipping into the penthouse, your eyes sparkling with excitement. The energy around you is contagious, and even Daniel, who’s lounging on the couch with a glass of water — probably trying to recover from the whirlwind of the past few days — can’t help but smile at your entrance.
“You look … happy,” Daniel says, a slow grin spreading across his face. “What did I miss?”
You clap your hands together like an excited child, barely containing your glee. “I got you something.”
Daniel’s smile falters for a moment, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Wait, what? You got me something?” He straightens up on the couch, his brows furrowing. “You really didn’t have to do that-”
“Shush.” You wave a hand at him, cutting him off before he can protest further. “I wanted to. Trust me, you’re going to love it.”
Daniel chuckles, though there’s a nervous edge to his voice. “Alright, alright. What is it then? A new watch? Shoes?” He pauses, glancing at you skeptically. “Wait, is it another one of your mum’s rings?”
You shake your head, grinning like you’ve just pulled off the best surprise in the world. “Nope. Guess again.”
He raises an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Okay … well, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s great but-”
“I bought Red Bull Racing.”
For a second, it’s like the words don’t register. Daniel blinks at you, his expression blank as his brain tries to process what you just said. There’s a long beat of silence before his mouth finally drops open in disbelief.
“You … you what?”
Your grin widens. “I bought Red Bull Racing. You know, the Formula 1 team? Your old team?” You say it so casually, like you’re talking about picking up a pair of shoes or booking a vacation.
Daniel’s jaw is still hanging open. “You — wait — are you serious?” He’s half laughing now, like he’s trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke. But the look on your face — pure, unfiltered joy — tells him you’re very, very serious.
“Yup!” You say, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. “Apparently, if you offer double what a team is worth, the owners tend to sell pretty quickly. Who knew?”
Daniel stares at you, completely slack-jawed, like you’ve just told him you bought a small country. “You … bought Red Bull Racing?” His voice cracks a little as he repeats it, as if saying it out loud will make it more real.
You nod, your smile never faltering. “Yup. Just closed the deal this morning.”
“Jesus Christ.” Daniel runs a hand through his hair, looking like he might faint. “Are you insane?”
“Maybe a little,” you admit with a playful shrug. “But it’s an engagement gift, you know? Gotta keep things exciting.”
Daniel lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I … I don’t even know what to say. That’s — this is crazy.”
“I know,” you say, beaming. “But crazy is kind of our thing, isn’t it?”
He laughs again, though it’s still a little shaky. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
There’s a pause as Daniel tries to wrap his head around the fact that you, his new fiancée, just bought one of the most successful teams in Formula 1. He stares at you for a moment longer, then blinks, rubbing his temples like he’s getting a headache. “I … I don’t even know where to start. What does that even mean? You’re gonna be the new team owner?”
“Pretty much,” you say, like it’s no big deal. “And I’m planning to do a bit of restructuring. You know, make some changes, shake things up.”
Daniel gives you a skeptical look. “Restructuring? What kind of changes?”
“Well …” You tap your chin, pretending to think about it. “First of all, I figured I’d ask if there’s anyone you’d like me to keep around. I mean, it’s your engagement gift, after all. I want you to be happy with the team.”
Daniel snorts, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”
You lean closer, your eyes gleaming mischievously. “And I assume you’ll want me to keep your boyfriend, right?”
Daniel freezes, blinking at you in confusion. “My … boyfriend?”
“Yeah,” you say, deadpan. “Max.”
Daniel nearly chokes. “Wait — what?”
You burst out laughing, unable to keep a straight face any longer. “I’m talking about Max Verstappen! Don’t act so surprised.”
Daniel’s face flushes a deep red, and he shakes his head, exasperated. “We’re not — he’s not my — Jesus, you’re impossible.”
You pat his head, still laughing. “Sure, he’s not. Whatever you say.”
Daniel groans, covering his face with his hands. “Oh my God.”
You sit back, grinning at him. “So, do you want me to keep him or not?”
He lowers his hands, shooting you a look that’s half amused, half irritated. “Obviously, you keep him. He’s the best driver on the grid.”
You nod, pretending to jot down notes in the air. “Okay, so keep Max. Got it.”
Daniel leans back against the couch, staring at you like he still can’t believe this is real. “I can’t believe you just bought a Formula 1 team.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner,” you say with a grin.
Daniel laughs, though it’s tinged with disbelief. “And you’re just … going to be the boss now?”
You shrug. “Why not? It’s not like I haven’t run a business before. Plus, how hard can it be to manage a Formula 1 team?”
He raises an eyebrow at you. “You do realize you’ll be dealing with, like, a whole bunch of egos and drama, right? It’s not just about racing. There’s politics, sponsorships, technical regulations …”
You wave a hand dismissively. “Details, details. I’ll figure it out.”
Daniel shakes his head, still grinning. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And that’s why you like me,” you quip, flashing him a playful wink.
Daniel’s smile softens, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that you can’t quite place. But then he shakes his head again, chuckling. “Yeah, something like that.”
The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, and Daniel’s gaze drifts back to the ring box still sitting on the coffee table between you. It feels surreal — like the last few days have been one long, crazy dream that neither of you can wake up from. But somehow, despite all the madness, there’s a strange sense of peace settling over the room.
Finally, Daniel breaks the silence with a quiet laugh. “So … when do you get to meet the team?”
You grin. “Soon enough. I’ll introduce you as my fiancé. It’ll be fun to see the look on everyone’s faces.”
Daniel snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over well.”
“Oh, come on,” you tease. “You’ll love it. Don’t you like being the center of attention?”
He shoots you a playful glare. “I’m starting to regret this engagement.”
You laugh, leaning back into the couch. “Too late. You’re stuck with me now.”
Daniel chuckles, but there’s a warmth in his eyes as he looks at you. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
***
You and Daniel are curled up together on the plush couch, nestled under a thick blanket, a pint of ice cream balanced between the two of you. The glow of the TV flickers across the room as Crazy Rich Asians plays in the background, the glamorous scenes of Singapore flashing on the screen. You scoop a spoonful of ice cream and pop it into your mouth, your eyes glued to the over-the-top depiction of high society that, to you, feels more like a parody than reality.
“I mean, come on,” you mutter around a mouthful of ice cream, shaking your head. “That’s not how any of this works.”
Daniel glances at you, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “What do you mean? It looks pretty fancy to me.”
You roll your eyes, waving your spoon toward the screen. “Yeah, because all of us crazy rich Asians are just constantly jetting off to private islands in the middle of the week. And, of course, we throw dramatic, lavish parties for every minor inconvenience.”
Daniel grins, leaning back against the couch as he scoops up some ice cream. “I dunno, the whole secret wedding dress thing seemed pretty realistic to me.”
You nudge him playfully with your elbow, laughing. “Please. If anything, that’s understated.”
Daniel chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, so maybe Hollywood doesn’t exactly nail the rich lifestyle. But it’s entertaining.”
“Entertaining?” You snort, raising an eyebrow. “It’s borderline satire. Half the time, I’m watching these movies like, ‘Are you serious? Who even does that?’”
Daniel laughs again, clearly enjoying your commentary more than the actual movie. “Okay, but admit it, the wedding scene was pretty epic.”
You sigh dramatically. “Fine, I’ll give them that one. The water running down the aisle was a nice touch.”
“See? Even you have to admit there’s some good stuff in there,” Daniel says with a grin, licking his spoon.
You lean back against the couch, settling more comfortably into Daniel’s side as the movie continues to play. The ice cream between you starts to melt slightly, but neither of you seem to care, too caught up in the comfort of the moment. Your head rests on Daniel’s shoulder, and his arm is loosely draped around you.
There’s a comfortable silence between you two for a few minutes, the movie providing a soft background noise as you both watch absently. Then, without looking away from the screen, you break the silence with a casual question.
“Hey, so … do you want to drive for Red Bull next year?”
The question seems to catch Daniel off guard. His hand, mid-way to another scoop of ice cream, freezes in the air. He turns his head slightly to look at you, eyebrows furrowed in thought. He doesn’t say anything at first, and the silence stretches out long enough for you to glance up at him, wondering why he’s taking so long to respond.
“Daniel?” You prompt softly.
He pauses the movie, the room suddenly quiet without the chatter of characters and dramatic music. His face is serious now, a stark contrast to the playful mood from moments before. He places the spoon down in the pint and leans back, exhaling a long breath.
“I don’t know,” he finally says, his voice soft, almost hesitant.
You blink at him, confused. “You don’t know? What do you mean?”
Daniel rubs a hand over his face, looking down at his lap as if the answer is written there somewhere. “I mean, I don’t know if … if I deserve it. That seat.”
There’s a heavy pause as you process his words. The casualness of the evening suddenly feels distant, replaced by something more serious, more vulnerable. You turn slightly, facing him more directly now, your hand reaching out to rest on his knee.
“Why would you say that?” You ask, your voice quiet but firm.
Daniel looks up at you, his expression pained. “I’ve been dropped twice now. McLaren, VCARB … And, honestly, I didn’t do as well as I wanted. As well as they wanted. What if I’m just not cut out for it anymore? Maybe the sport’s moved on, and I haven’t.”
You frown, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s not true. You’re still an incredible driver.”
Daniel lets out a bitter laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Incredible? You’ve seen the results. I’m nowhere near where I used to be. And Max? He’s on another level. It’s his team now.”
“Okay, first of all,” you say, your tone shifting into something more assertive, “don’t compare yourself to Max. You’re both amazing in your own ways. And second, this isn’t about what they want, Daniel. It’s about what you want.”
Daniel doesn’t respond right away. He just stares at the frozen image on the TV screen, lost in his thoughts. His jaw is tense, and you can tell he’s grappling with something deeper, something that’s been weighing on him for a long time.
You squeeze his knee gently, your voice softening. “You’ve still got it, Daniel. I know you do. And so does everyone else.”
He glances at you, his eyes searching your face like he’s trying to find some kind of reassurance in your words. “But what if … what if I can’t get back to where I was? What if I’m just holding onto something that’s not there anymore?”
“You’re not,” you say firmly, not missing a beat. “You’ve had a rough few seasons, sure. But that doesn’t mean you’ve lost it. It just means you’ve had setbacks. And if anyone knows how to bounce back, it’s you.”
Daniel still looks unsure, and you can tell there’s a part of him that’s scared — scared of failing again, scared of not living up to the expectations that have been placed on him, both by himself and by others.
You lean in closer, your voice gentle but insistent. “Daniel, you’re one of the best drivers in the world. You’ve proved that time and time again. Red Bull wouldn’t have taken you back if they didn’t believe in you. And I wouldn’t have bought the damn team if I didn’t believe in you either.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of Daniel’s lips at that, though it’s fleeting. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. “I just … I don’t know if I’m ready to go back. I don’t know if I can handle it if things go wrong again.”
You nod slowly, understanding the fear behind his words. It’s not just about driving. It’s about the pressure, the weight of expectation, the fear of failure.
“I get that,” you say softly. “But you can’t let fear stop you from doing what you love. You’ve been through a lot, I know. But that doesn’t mean it’s over. You have so much more left to give. And I’ll be there with you, every step of the way.”
Daniel meets your gaze, his eyes softening at your words. For a moment, the vulnerability in his expression is raw, unguarded. Then he reaches out, taking your hand in his, giving it a small squeeze.
“You really think I can do it?” He asks quietly.
You smile, squeezing his hand back. “I know you can.”
Daniel lets out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly as some of the tension seems to drain from him. He looks at you for a long moment, then nods, as if finally coming to terms with something inside himself.
“Alright,” he says, his voice a little steadier now. “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” you say with a soft smile.
He leans back into the couch, and you both settle into a comfortable silence again, the tension from earlier slowly fading away. You reach for the remote and unpause the movie, but neither of you are really paying attention to it anymore. Instead, you both sit there, sharing the ice cream, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air but somehow lighter now.
***
The evening is quiet, the city’s hum muted behind the large windows of your penthouse. The movie’s credits are rolling, but neither you nor Daniel has made a move to turn off the TV. Instead, you both sit there, wrapped up in the soft blanket, the nearly empty pint of ice cream abandoned on the coffee table. There’s a sense of calm in the air, but underneath it, you can feel something unspoken, simmering just below the surface.
You glance at Daniel, who’s leaning back into the couch, his gaze distant. He’s still processing, you can tell — about Red Bull, about everything that’s been thrown at him lately. The weight of it all seems heavier in the silence.
After a long moment, you shift slightly, turning your body to face him more directly. “Daniel,” you say softly, your voice breaking the quiet.
He blinks, coming back to the present, and looks at you with a small, tired smile. “Yeah?”
“You’ve said something a lot that I keep thinking about,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “The whole ‘enjoy the butterflies’ thing. I’ve heard you say it in interviews, but I don’t think I ever really understood what you meant by it.”
Daniel’s smile falters a bit, and he looks away, his expression growing thoughtful. He doesn’t say anything at first, and you can see he’s retreating into his thoughts again, the way he does when he’s trying to figure out how to articulate something that matters to him.
You reach out, placing a hand gently on his arm, coaxing him back to the conversation. “What does it really mean to you? Enjoy the butterflies?”
Daniel takes a deep breath, his fingers fiddling with the edge of the blanket. “It’s … it’s kinda hard to explain,” he says slowly, his accent thicker when he’s being reflective. “It’s not just about racing, you know? It’s more about the feeling — the nerves, the excitement, the anticipation. All those little moments that make your stomach flip.”
He pauses, glancing at you as if gauging whether you’re following. You nod, encouraging him to continue.
“I think,” he says, his voice quieter now, “for the longest time, I used to hate that feeling. The butterflies. It always made me feel … unsure. Like, am I good enough? Am I ready? Every time I’d get in the car, no matter how many times I’d done it before, I’d still feel that little twinge of anxiety. And for a while, I thought it was a bad thing.”
You listen intently, your eyes never leaving his face as he speaks. There’s something raw and real in his words, a vulnerability that you don’t often see in him.
“But then, I don’t know,” he continues, “at some point, I started to see it differently. Like, maybe those butterflies aren’t a sign of weakness. Maybe they’re a sign that you’re doing something that matters. That you’re alive. That you care.”
You nod slowly, your hand still resting on his arm. “That makes sense.”
Daniel meets your gaze again, his eyes softening. “Yeah. So now, when I feel the butterflies, I try to embrace it, you know? Instead of fighting it. Because if you’re not nervous, if you don’t feel anything, then what’s the point?”
You lean back slightly, absorbing his words. There’s a quiet wisdom in what he’s saying, a reminder that life’s most meaningful moments are often the ones that scare us the most. You think about how that applies to you — not just in your relationship with Daniel, but in everything. The choices you’ve made, the risks you’ve taken, the moments when you’ve doubted yourself. Maybe those butterflies are a part of the journey, too.
“I get that,” you say softly, nodding. “But … do you still feel them? After all this time?”
Daniel smiles, but it’s tinged with something bittersweet. “Every single time.”
You look at him for a long moment, the weight of his honesty settling between you. There’s something comforting in knowing that even someone like Daniel — someone who’s faced so many high-pressure moments, who’s been at the top of his game — still feels that same uncertainty, that same flutter of nerves.
“But now,” he adds, his voice softening even more, “I think the butterflies aren’t just about fear. They’re about excitement, too. Like, yeah, maybe I’m nervous, but I’m also excited because it means I still care. I still love what I do, even when it’s hard.”
You smile gently, your hand giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “That’s beautiful, Daniel. Really.”
He chuckles lightly, looking almost embarrassed by the compliment. “I don’t know about beautiful, but it helps me get through the tough days.”
There’s a pause, and you can feel the conversation shifting into something deeper, something more personal. You take a breath, feeling the moment settling between you like a quiet pulse.
“Do you ever get tired of it, though?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “The butterflies, the pressure, the weight of it all?”
Daniel tilts his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t answer right away, but when he does, his voice is tinged with a kind of quiet resignation. “Yeah. Sometimes. Sometimes it feels like too much, like it’s all building up and I just … don’t know how to keep going.”
His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to respond. You’ve seen Daniel at his best, but you’ve also seen him at his lowest. The moments when he’s struggled, when he’s doubted himself. And yet, through it all, he’s always managed to push through. To keep going.
“But,” he continues after a beat, his voice soft but steady, “those moments don’t last forever. And when they pass, when I’m back in the car, or when I’ve crossed the finish line, it’s like … I remember why I do it. Why I love it.”
You watch him closely, your heart swelling with both admiration and empathy. “You’re stronger than you think, Daniel.”
He glances at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just stubborn.”
You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I think it’s a little bit of both.”
Daniel grins at that, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He shifts on the couch, turning more toward you, his hand reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. There’s a softness in his touch, a quiet intimacy that makes your heart skip a beat.
“You know,” he says quietly, “you’ve got your own butterflies too. I’ve seen them.”
You raise an eyebrow, slightly surprised. “Oh, really?”
Daniel nods, his eyes locking onto yours. “Yeah. Whenever you’re about to make a big decision or when something’s stressing you out. You get this look in your eyes, like you’re bracing yourself for something.”
You blink, taken aback by his observation. “I didn’t realize you noticed.”
He smiles gently. “I notice a lot about you.”
The room falls into a comfortable silence again, the weight of the conversation hanging in the air like a shared secret. You can feel your heart beating a little faster, the warmth of Daniel’s words wrapping around you like a blanket.
“Do you ever wish the butterflies would go away?” You ask after a moment, your voice soft.
Daniel shakes his head slowly. “No. I don’t think I do. Because if they did, that would mean I’ve stopped caring. And I don’t ever want to stop caring.”
You nod, understanding now in a way you didn’t before. The butterflies aren’t something to fear — they’re a reminder that you’re alive, that you’re still passionate, that you’re still fighting for what matters.
You smile softly, leaning in closer to him. “I think I’ll try to enjoy the butterflies a little more.”
Daniel smiles back, his hand gently resting on your cheek. “Good. You should.”
And for the first time in a long time, you feel a sense of peace settle over you — a quiet understanding that, no matter what happens next, you’ll face it with open hearts and, yes, even a few butterflies.
***
The Red Bull Racing factory is a hive of quiet activity. The entire team, from mechanics to engineers, marketing staff to the senior management, stands gathered in a large meeting room just off the factory floor. Whispers ripple through the crowd, conversations hushed and speculative. It’s unusual to have the entire team assembled like this — especially during the off-season.
But today is different. They’ve been told that the team’s new owner will be making her first official appearance, and no one knows what to expect.
The announcement of Red Bull Racing’s sale had come out of nowhere, a shock to everyone. No one knew who the buyer was, only that it was someone with enough money to pull off the purchase in record time. The rumors had flown, the speculation mounting over the past few weeks, but nothing concrete had leaked. All they knew was that something big was coming. Something — someone — new.
The murmur of voices grows louder as the minutes tick by. Eyes dart toward the doors at the far end of the room, the anticipation palpable. Then, the doors swing open.
You walk in, a vision of confidence, head held high. The noise in the room instantly dies down, replaced by the stunned silence of dozens of pairs of eyes turning in your direction. Beside you, Daniel walks in, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, a familiar but unusual sight for the Red Bull team.
The shock is immediate, rippling through the room like a wave. Everyone stares, first at you, then at Daniel, as if trying to piece together how any of this makes sense. The whispers start up again, but you don’t let it faze you. Instead, you step forward with a wide, almost mischievous smile on your face.
“Good morning, everyone!” You greet them brightly, clapping your hands once, the sound echoing in the room. “I’m sure most of you have heard by now, but allow me to introduce myself formally. I’m your new boss.”
You pause, letting the statement sink in as the team stares at you in stunned silence. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m thrilled to be taking over as the owner of Red Bull Racing.”
There’s a beat of silence, the team processing the bombshell, before a smattering of hesitant applause starts. You nod, acknowledging the claps, but there’s still a palpable tension in the room. You know they’re still confused, still reeling from the surprise. You’re not done yet.
“And I have one more introduction to make,” you say, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You glance over at Daniel, who’s standing beside you, a little less sure of himself than usual but still flashing that signature Ricciardo smile. “This is my fiancé, Daniel Ricciardo.”
The room gasps. The shock is real this time, murmurs breaking out instantly among the team. Fiancé? Some people turn to each other, others crane their necks to get a better look at Daniel. The whispers intensify, but you continue as if none of it fazes you.
“And I have some exciting news for all of you today,” you say, your voice cutting through the growing chatter. You step forward again, your gaze sweeping across the room. “With the team being restructured, and with Sergio Perez deciding to take some time away from the sport to be with his family …” You pause, letting that hang for a moment, watching the confusion bloom on their faces. “I’m thrilled to announce that Daniel will be returning to Red Bull Racing as a driver next season.”
The room falls completely silent again, a collective intake of breath. For a long moment, no one says a word. Then, as if on cue, someone begins clapping. It’s slow at first, hesitant, but then others join in, and soon the room is filled with applause. The realization starts to settle in.
Daniel Ricciardo — back at Red Bull.
You glance at Daniel, and his eyes meet yours. For a second, you see the flicker of uncertainty in them, the weight of everything hanging in the air. But then, as the applause grows, you see the shift — the spark of confidence returning to him, the slow curve of a genuine smile spreading across his face.
Daniel steps forward, raising a hand to quiet the crowd, but they don’t stop clapping for several more seconds. Finally, the noise dies down enough for him to speak.
“Wow, uh … thanks for that,” Daniel begins, clearly taken aback by the reaction. He rubs the back of his neck, his grin widening as he takes in the faces of the people who, not so long ago, had been his team. “I’ve gotta admit, it feels pretty good to be standing here again.”
A few people in the crowd chuckle, a ripple of warmth spreading through the room.
“I know it’s been a strange few years,” Daniel continues, his voice more serious now. “There were times when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get back to this place. But when Y/N came into my life, well, let’s just say she’s good at making the impossible happen.” He glances at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and affection, and you feel your heart flutter in response.
The room watches this exchange, enraptured. There’s something surreal about seeing Daniel Ricciardo, a former Red Bull driver, now standing next to the team’s new owner — his fiancée, no less. It’s a lot for them to process.
Daniel turns back to the team, his expression softening as he addresses them. “This place has always been special to me,” he says quietly. “I’ve had some of my best moments in my career here, and I’m so grateful for the chance to come back and create more memories with you all. I know it’s not going to be easy, and I’ve got a lot to prove. But I’m ready. I’m ready to give everything I’ve got.”
The room bursts into applause again, louder this time, more genuine. The team members seem to be warming up to the idea now, their initial shock replaced by excitement. A few of the senior engineers, who had been with the team during Daniel’s previous stint, exchange nods of approval. There’s a growing sense of anticipation, the mood in the room shifting.
You watch Daniel as he steps back, the energy of the moment clearly lifting him. He catches your eye again, and for a brief moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you in the room. His smile is softer now, more private, meant just for you. You feel a surge of warmth, the bond between you solidifying even more in this shared experience.
Then, clearing your throat, you step forward again, reclaiming the attention of the room. “Now, I know this is a lot to take in,” you say, your tone playful. “But don’t worry. Daniel and I aren’t here to shake things up too much … unless we need to.” A few chuckles ripple through the room at that. “We’re committed to making sure this team remains at the top of the sport. And we’re going to do whatever it takes to get there.”
The applause comes again, more enthusiastic this time. You can feel the room shifting from shock to acceptance, and even a little excitement. The Red Bull team is known for its resilience, for thriving in the face of challenges, and this is no different.
As the clapping fades, one of the senior team members — a man with graying hair and a knowing smile — steps forward. He glances between you and Daniel, then says, “Well, if Daniel’s back, I guess we better start preparing for some shoeys.”
The room bursts into laughter, and even Daniel can’t help but laugh along with them, shaking his head. “You better believe it,” he says with a grin.
Slowly, the group begins to disperse, people heading back to their workstations, some still murmuring excitedly about the news. You catch snippets of conversation — mentions of Daniel’s return, your surprising entrance, and speculation about what’s next for the team.
As the room clears, Daniel turns to you, his expression soft. “You’re really something, you know that?”
You smile at him, feeling the weight of the moment settle around you. “It’s just the beginning,” you say, your voice filled with determination. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”
Daniel grins, reaching for your hand. “Yeah, but I think we’re gonna be just fine.”
You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling with excitement and love. Together, you’ve just taken the first step into a new chapter — one filled with challenges, risks, and plenty of butterflies. But you know, with Daniel by your side, there’s nothing you can’t handle.
And as you leave the factory hand in hand, the future stretches out before you — unknown, thrilling, and entirely yours to shape.
***
The roars from the Melbourne crowd reverberate through the air as the final lap of the Australian Grand Prix begins. The cameras lock onto Daniel’s Red Bull, the #3 flashing as it leads the pack by several seconds. The circuit is electric, and the commentators can barely contain themselves.
“Here we are on the final lap,” David Croft’s voice crackles through the Sky Sports broadcast, almost trembling with excitement. “Daniel Ricciardo, the hometown hero, is this close to claiming his ninth career win — and his first ever win here in Australia. You can hear the crowd, the energy in the air — it’s absolutely incredible!”
Beside him, Martin Brundle jumps in, his tone equal parts admiration and disbelief. “This is what the fans have been waiting for, for years. After everything Daniel’s been through — leaving Red Bull, bouncing between teams, and now back with Red Bull and at the front of the grid — this will be a monumental moment, not just for Daniel, but for every Australian who’s dreamed of seeing him on the top step here.”
The camera flickers briefly to the Red Bull garage. You’re standing at the front, practically on your toes as you watch the live feed with bated breath, every nerve in your body tense with anticipation. You’re surrounded by engineers, mechanics, and team members, but it’s clear that all eyes in the garage are on you. The new team owner, the mastermind behind Daniel’s return to the team. And now, you’re witnessing the culmination of it all.
“Look at that,” Brundle says as the camera focuses on you. “There’s Daniel’s fiancée and the new team owner, Y/N Y/L/N. You’ve got to imagine what this moment means for her too, after buying the team and making the bold decision to bring Daniel back. She’s been nothing short of instrumental in this comeback.”
Crofty’s voice grows louder as Daniel approaches the final few corners. “And here he comes now, through Turn 13, a perfect line through there — keeping it clean. The crowd is going wild, and you can see why! He’s a few corners away from victory, from making history on home soil.”
As the camera switches back to the track, Daniel’s race engineer comes over the radio, his voice steady but filled with excitement.
“Alright, mate. Just bring it home now. One more corner. You’ve got this.”
There’s a brief pause before Daniel’s reply crackles over the airwaves, his voice barely containing his elation. “I’ve got it, mate! I’ve bloody got it!”
The Red Bull flies around the final corner, the engine roaring, and Daniel rockets down the straight toward the checkered flag. The crowd’s roar is deafening as he crosses the line.
“And there it is! Daniel Ricciardo wins the Australian Grand Prix!” Crofty yells, his voice barely audible over the roaring fans. “His ninth career win — and what a win it is! His first win here in Australia, and you can just feel how much this means to him and the crowd!”
The camera immediately cuts back to you, your face a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming joy. You’re laughing, hands clasped over your mouth as the enormity of the moment sinks in. The entire Red Bull garage erupts into cheers, people hugging and high-fiving all around you, but you’re frozen for a moment, just soaking in the euphoria of the victory.
“Look at her reaction!” Brundle says with a chuckle. “You can tell just how much this moment means to the team owner. It’s not just a win for Daniel — it’s a win for them. What a partnership!”
The scene cuts to Daniel inside the cockpit, raising his fists in victory as he slows the car on the cool-down lap. His voice comes over the radio again, almost breathless.
“YEEEEES! Let’s go! Oh my god, we did it! We actually did it!” Daniel shouts, his voice cracking with emotion.
“Mate, you’re a race winner in Australia!” His race engineer’s voice is filled with pride. “Take it in, soak it all in. This is your moment.”
“I’ve waited so long for this …” Daniel’s voice is quieter now, more introspective. “Thank you, everyone. This is unbelievable.”
As he makes his way around the track on the cool-down lap, the camera follows him, showing the thousands of fans on their feet, waving Australian flags and cheering for their hero. It’s an emotional scene, the kind that will go down in F1 history. The commentators fall silent for a moment, letting the raw emotion of the moment speak for itself.
Finally, Crofty breaks the silence. “Daniel Ricciardo has just made history. He’s become the first Australian driver to win here in Melbourne in front of his home crowd, and you can just see how much this means — not just to him, but to every fan in the stands.”
Daniel pulls into parc fermé, his car screeching to a halt under the massive “P1” sign. The mechanics are already leaning over the barriers, waiting for him, their arms raised in celebration. Daniel clambers out of the car, pulls off his helmet, and lets out a roar, his signature grin plastered on his face. The crowd erupts once more, their hero standing victorious before them.
The Red Bull team surrounds him, cheering and patting him on the back. But Daniel's eyes are searching, scanning the pit lane for you. Finally, they find you in the crowd, and without hesitation, he breaks away from the chaos and runs straight to you.
“Hey, boss,” he says, pulling you into a tight hug, his voice barely above the roar of the fans. “Did I do alright?”
You laugh, pushing him back playfully. “I’d say you did more than alright.”
Daniel grins, his smile wide and genuine, and then he’s swept back into the celebrations, the team lifting him onto their shoulders as the cameras capture every second.
The podium celebrations come next, the lights glittering, the trophy standing proud. Daniel, Max Verstappen, and Charles Leclerc climb onto the podium, their faces reflecting the joy and exhaustion of a hard-fought race. The national anthems play, first for Australia, then for Austria, and the crowd sings along, their pride and passion tangible.
When the champagne is finally handed out, Daniel holds his bottle aloft, savoring the moment. He walks to the edge of the podium, holding his finger up to signal the crowd. The fans know what’s coming. The mechanics in the garage know what’s coming. You, standing just below the podium, know what’s coming.
Daniel unlaces his boot and fills it with champagne, holding it high as he looks out over the sea of fans. The crowd roars with approval.
“Oh no …” Brundle says with a laugh, watching from the Sky Sports commentary booth. “Here we go. It wouldn’t be a Daniel Ricciardo victory without a shoey!”
Daniel grins and, with the flair only he can pull off, drinks the champagne from his shoe. The crowd cheers louder than ever, reveling in the chaotic joy of the moment. Even Max, standing beside him, cracks a smile as Daniel offers him the boot, but Max declines with a laugh, shaking his head.
As Daniel finishes the shoey, he looks down at you with a cheeky grin. He points the boot in your direction, his eyes twinkling.
“Wanna join in?” He shouts down, loud enough for the camera to catch.
You cross your arms, shaking your head with a smirk. “Absolutely not.”
Daniel laughs, tossing the boot aside and grabbing the champagne again, spraying the crowd as the podium celebration continues. The cameras capture everything, the joy, the fun, the relief of a long journey finally reaching its pinnacle.
Back in the commentary booth, Crofty speaks again, his voice soft but filled with admiration. “Daniel Ricciardo, a winner in Australia, celebrating in true Ricciardo style. This win means more than just points on the board — it’s the result of hard work, perseverance, and a love for racing.”
Brundle nods, his tone warm. “You’ve got to hand it to Daniel, and to Y/N Y/L/N as well. She brought him back to Red Bull, believed in him when others didn’t, and now they’re celebrating together on the biggest stage. It’s a fairytale moment.”
As the champagne rains down on the podium, Daniel glances over at you again, his face still lit up with that signature Ricciardo grin. And even though you’re not up there with him, he knows that none of this would’ve been possible without you by his side.
This is your team, your driver, and your moment.
More Posts from Tammyfortis and Others
princess treatment pt.3? with mbappé, richarlison, and erling haaland? :)
# PRINCESS TREATMENT 3! — footballers! (final!)
— SUMMARY: you show off the princess treatment you get from your footballers boyfriends! (part 1) (part 2)
CONTENT: fluff, footballers being simps, light jealousy, sensual themes, just cute stuff overall!
PARINGS: earling haaland x fem!reader, richarlison x fem!reader, oliver giroud x fem!reader
NOTE: someone asked for giroud content so I combined it with this lol! any examples of this do not represent of the body type, race or ethnicity of the reader! tysm for reading! 💕
RICHARLISON DE ANDRADE — dollar bills!
Recently you saw a trend on TikTok where girls would hold their hands out to their boyfriends, friends, brothers or literally anybody to see what they would do.
Richarlison was currently playing video games with his friends on FaceTime but fortunately you placed your camera in the room before he went in & you’ve been recording ever since.
You were holding your phone camera in your hand as discreetly as possible to not alert your boyfriend about the challenge your trying on him. “Baby? are you in here?” You peaked into his gaming room spotting him on his chair as he shouted at Neymar for something in among us.
Hearing your voice his head whipped around and he opened his arms signalling you to come over, you shuffled over giving him a hug as his head was pressed onto your stomach & hands were wrapped around your ass.
Once you both pulled away your challenge had begun as you stuck out your palm standing there with a bright smile, at first he hadn’t noticed anything as he turned back to the computer screen.
Until you were standing there for a good 30 seconds & he spun his head around to look at you quickly before looking back at the screen, he took his hand off the mouse taking your hand flipping it over to the backside of your hand & giving it a kiss.
He turned back to the screen until he realized you were still standing there; cheeky smile on your face palm still stuck out in-front of you, he chuckled as he dug through his pants pulling out his wallet.
“Richarlison? Are you still there?” Neymar called at alerting him that the new round had started.
“Yeah I’m here hold on.” He replied back as he fished through his wallet grabbing a huge stack of cashing & placing it in your hand along with his black card. “Happy?” He asked looking up at your face which was filled with surprise.
You hadn’t expected him to give you this much money let alone any at all as you assumed he’d just take your hand & place it on his private parts. You scoffed happily curling your fingers over the stack. “Definitely, but what will I even do with this much money?”
“Whatever you’d like baby, it’s all yours.” He answered turning his head back to the screen & unmuting himself on face-time. You gave him a quick kiss pulling his face towards you before walking away checking your phone to see if the footage was recorded.
You edited the video a little before posting it captioning it with: “HE’S SO SWEET 😭😭” Seconds later likes, comments & replies came flooding in about how Richarlison was the perfect boyfriend.
OLIVER GIROUD — first class!
“You’re so excited baby have you never flown out of the country?” Oliver chuckled watching you practically fly out of the valet car that was escorting you to the airport tarmac.
Ever since you complained about how you haven’t gone on a vacation in a while that very day Oliver booked your dream vacation paying for unnecessary expenses like tour guides & other things; as-long as it made you happy he thought.
“I have! I’ve never been to the Mal Dives though.” You answered pulling his arm to get him out of the car, you both didn’t need to worry about your luggage since Oliver paid for it to be flown before-hand.
“I’m coming babe hold on, you’re gonna rip my arm off.” Oliver laughed as he stepped out of the car turning his head to look at what you were staring at all starry eyed.
“Look, it’s a private jet. Just for the two of us.” You rambled on about the jet standing in-front of you both, you were used to Oliver spending a fortune on you whether it was cars, jewellery or even 1000 roses but a whole jet was much different.
“I know, do you like it?” He asked as he placed his hands in his pockets leaning back and forth between his heels and his toes. “Are you kidding? Who wouldn’t like this.” You laughed in disbelief.
“I’m glad you like it, c’mon baby let’s board the plane before they leave without us.” Oliver took your hand into his as he directed you towards the plane, you greeted the flight attendant who was waiting for you at the entrance as she guiding you both to your seats.
Once you both were settled in your chairs chatting happily about your upcoming adventures a flight attendant had came around with a cart filled with expensive looking drinks & desserts. “Champagne or Club Soda?” She asked with a smile.
“Champagne please, babe what about you?” You turned to look at your boyfriend who was staring at the window as he unconsciously caressed your knuckles with his thumb, you squeezed your hand bringing his attention back to you.
“Hmm? Oh, I’ll have whatever your having.” He leaned into kiss you on your cheek before turning to stare out the window again continuing to stroke your knuckles, you smiled turning back to the attendant,“2 Champagnes please.”
As the flight attended walked away Oliver noticed that you had a particularly slummed look on your face, you were just jumping around in joy so seeing you down worried him.“Are you okay?”
“Yep! Just thinking of what we’re gonna do when we get there.” You sent your signature “i’m fine” smile his way continuing you tap your feet against the empty seat right in-front of you as you looked back down to face your feet.
“You look worried though.” He let go of your hand using his freed hand to pull your face towards his forcing you to face him, seeing his eyes filled with concern made you sigh before continuing, “Yeah it’s just, how much was this trip?”
His face soften hearing what you we’re concerned about, you both had fight’s about money in the past & about how Oliver spent way to much money on pointless things,“Oh, don’t worry about that baby.”
“I have too, you can’t go broke because you wanna please me. I’ll be fine with whatever you provide.” You admitted in a quiet voice turning your head to face the window across from your aisle. “With my profession I’ll go broke the day you go bald.”
“What if I go Bald tomorrow?” You wanted to laugh at his joke but it was quite hard knowing you really could go bald tomorrow & Oliver could become broke, after all nobody knows what could happen.
“You wouldn’t, what I’m trying to say is. I spend this money to make you smile, whether it’s a large purchase or small it’s for you. In this case; a private jet just for my princess.”
Hearing your boyfriend be so adamant about you spending his money & not thinking of you as a sugar baby or a gold digger relieved you greatly. Yes, you both were dating but you weren’t a mind reader, for all you know he could be planning to kill you.
“Alright then, on that note; I could get used to this. Fast.” You pushed your insecure thoughts to the side as you settled into your seat properly reclining the seat, feeling in all the luxuries to the max. He chuckled at your childishness as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder pulling you in.
“Get used to it baby, you’re stuck with me, my jet & my money forever.”
ERLING HAALAND — giant teddybear!
“I told you not to eat so many sweets before went on the ride, no wonder you almost threw up.” Your boyfriend reminded you as he leaned over helping you walk throughout the winter carnival without collapsing.
Seeing that his good friend Jude had gone recently to the Winter Wonderland you decided it be good for the both of you to go as well, until it wasn’t. It was either Erling was too tall for some of the rides or you chickened out just looking at it.
But seeing as you were low-key being a party pooper for your boyfriend who you basically forced to come to the attraction you decided to go onto the wildest ride there was available; bad, bad idea.
Erling had bought you almost every single foot item you looked at for to long filling your stomach much faster than you’d like, by the 4th taco you ate you were ready to unbutton your pants & burst.
“It was fun wasn’t it though?” You groaned out patting the shoulder of your boyfriend signalling him to slow down as you felt as if you were going to barf, he slowed down waiting for you to gain your composure.
Seeing as you took a little longer than usual he bent down pulling your body on his back giving you a piggyback ride, you on the other hand smirked into his back tucking your legs around his waist. “All apart of my plan.” You muttered into his neck taking in his scent.
“Did you say something?” Erling asked as he begun to walk passing by multiple food-stalls that just the smell of the food made you sick, you wrapped your arms around his neck & placed your head in the crook of his collarbone.
“Nope! Nothing! Don’t worry about it baby.” You whispered into his ear closing your eyes in the process, as Erling walked past multiple stalls you closed your eyes feeling peaceful almost falling asleep till you jolted up after feeling as if you were falling.
As you opened your eyes you looked around seeing that the entrance was just a few miles away, something also caught your eye; a stand with gigantic teddy bears. “Baby?”
“Hmm?” he hummed, waiting for you to say what you needed.
“Can you win that for me before we leave?” You asked him patting his shoulder to get him to slow down so he didn’t walk right by the stand.“Win what?”
“The giant teddy bear.” You slid down his back and turned towards the stall pointing to the humongous teddy bears.
“You’re such a child, fine.” Erling walked towards the stand grabbing a few of the tennis balls on the desk as he backed away throwing them at the targets scoring on each one of them.
The man at the stall handed him a giant pink bear almost the size of you leaving Erling to walk back to you giant big bear in hand stupid grin on his face, you took the bear out of his hand giving it a big squeeze. “Thanks baby.”
“What should I name him?” You asked as you both continued to walked towards the exits hand in hand, hearing that Erling turned to you looking at you weirdly, “You name your teddy bears?”
“Of course! Since you won him for me I’ll name him, Erlie.” You smiled at him squeezing his hand, Erling chuckled at your ridiculous as he bent down to give you a kiss on your forehead.
“You’re too cute, but Erlie is a horrible nickname love. Makes him sound like an old man.”
Possessive Toto is mad at you 🥵😳🙏
Brake Balance
Charles Leclerc x mafiosa!Reader
Summary: something about the brake issues that Charles had to deal with in Bahrain just seems off … so you take matters into your own hands while your boyfriend is none the wiser
Warnings: depictions of violence and minor-character murder
You make your way through the paddock of the Bahrain International Circuit, weaving between team members and mechanics as they go about their pre-race routines. The energy in the air is electric, everyone buzzing with anticipation for the first race of the season later tonight.
You flash your paddock pass at security and head into the Ferrari garage, eyes scanning the organized chaos for the familiar mop of brown hair.
There he is, sitting in his red race suit that matches the iconic color of the Ferrari he drives, focused intently as his mechanics make some last minute adjustments. You walk up behind Charles and place your hands over his eyes.
“Guess who?” You say playfully.
Charles reaches up and removes your hands, a smile breaking across his face as he turns in his seat. “Ah, mon cœur! My favorite surprise.”
You lean down and kiss him softly. “How are things looking for today?”
“Good, good,” he nods. “The team had to change the left front brake duct exit deflector earlier, just as a precaution. But I’m feeling optimistic, the car has been solid all weekend. I think I might even be able to challenge Max for the win if everything goes to plan.”
His confidence makes you smile. Charles has been working so hard, both physically and mentally, to start this season strong. You know a win today would mean the world to him.
“I’ll be cheering the loudest when I see you on that top step today,” you say.
Charles grins. “We’ll see. Still have a race to get through first.”
You lean in to give him a quick kiss and head to the back of the garage so you’re out of the way. The mechanics are in full focus mode now, choreographing their dance around Charles’ car with practiced precision.
Charles goes through his usual pre-race routine — sips of water, reviewing data on the screens, and loosening up his muscles. He’s the picture of calm, but you know him well enough to see the coiled adrenaline thrumming just under the surface, ready to be unleashed once he settles into the cockpit.
The time comes to head out to the grid. Charles pauses before he puts his helmet on, meeting your gaze. You close the distance between you and cup his face in your hands, kissing his lips sweetly. Then you take the helmet from him and slide it gently into place, brushing your lips over the smooth surface where his would be.
“Be safe out there,” you say softly.
He nods, face disappearing behind the tinted visor, and climbs into the Ferrari. You watch as the car pulls away, weaving between other vehicles making their way to the starting grid. With a deep breath, you head deeper into the garage and take a seat next to Charles’ performance coach, Andrea. He hands you a headset so you can listen to Charles’ radio during the race.
“Let’s hope for a good one today,” Andrea says.
You nod, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you fit the headset over your ears. On the monitors, you see Charles lining up on the grid in P2 after the formation lap, Max Verstappen’s Red Bull beside him on the front row in P1. The lights go out and the cars leap forward, engines roaring to life. Charles gets a good start, but Max keeps the lead through the first few turns.
The pack of cars higher up on the starting grid stays bunched up through the first few turns, but then you notice Charles starting to fall back little by little. His lap time slows as Max opens up a gap in front.
“The car doesn’t feel right, something with the front end,” Charles says. Your brow furrows in concern.
Only a lap later, George Russell in the Mercedes overtakes Charles on turn 4. Then Perez in the other Red Bull breezes past not long after.
“Come on Charles, stay focused,” you murmur under your breath. But things only seem to be getting worse. Carlos battles with Charles and eventually gets by, which frustrates you to no end. Charles fighting his own teammate for position is the last thing you want to see.
“Something felt very wrong with this set, the fronts were locking up like crazy,” Charles reports over the radio. Your heart sinks. Andrea shakes his head, equally perplexed.
The issues continue to persist. “What’s going on with my front left?” Charles asks, audible tension in his voice. “I just cannot get out of front locking. Everywhere ...”
Xavi, his race engineer, replies calmly, “We have temperature imbalance, higher front left.”
“How much is the imbalance?” Charles asks.
“Around 100 degrees.”
You grimace. That kind of discrepancy could make the car undriveable. Sure enough, Charles continues to struggle. It’s clear he’s fighting with the car now rather than racing the drivers around him.
“My car is fully going to the right when I am braking. With this I cannot fight, it’s dangerous,” Charles says, frustration seeping into his tone. You chew your lip anxiously. The rational part of you wishes Charles would just retire the car before he gets himself hurt trying to wrestle with it. But you also know that’s never been in Charles’ nature — he’ll keep fighting until the very last lap, no matter what.
Lap after lap, Charles battles to keep the car under control. “I think we can forget about driving now. It’s pulling everywhere,” he finally concedes. For a brief moment, you wonder if he’ll pull into the pits and call it a day. But no, your boyfriend is never one to simply give up. After the radio, through sheer force of will, Charles somehow overtakes George to reclaim P4. You can only imagine how hard he must be having to fight to keep the car in the track.
In the end, it’s a disappointing P4 for Charles while his teammate makes it on the podium in P3. As Carlos is lead to the cooldown room with Max and Checo, you watch Charles, frustration etched across his face as he tugs off his helmet and balaclava. He doesn’t even glance your way before the mechanics descend on him to start looking over the car.
Clearly the brake issues have cost him any chance at challenging for the win today. Most other drivers would have given up even trying to reclaim P4. But not your Charles. Never your Charles. Your heart aches for him.
Charles gets led away swiftly for the usual post-race weighing and interviews. You know from his body language that he’s utterly deflated by today’s results.
While the reporters pepper him with questions, you pull out your phone and scroll through your contacts. Enough is enough — something is clearly not right with Charles’ car and you want answers.
Your finger hovers over the call button as you contemplate who to reach out to. The last thing you want is for Charles to have to fight against his own machine again. A solution needs to be found immediately, and you know just the person who can help.
With a determined nod, you press call and lift the phone to your ear, ready to get to the bottom of these brake issues once and for all.
***
The phone only rings once before a gruff voice answers. “Boss?”
“Hello, Gianluca,” you say. “I need you to do something for me.”
You go on to explain in detail the brake issues Charles faced during the race, how the problems started right after they replaced the left front brake duct exit deflector.
“I don’t think it was just bad luck,” you say. “Something seems off about the whole situation. I want you to look into it, see if anyone on Charles’ side of the garage could have tampered with his car.”
Gianluca is quiet for a moment. “Sabotage, you think?”
“Possibly. I just … I can’t shake this feeling that someone meant for this to happen to Charles’ car. He truly thought he could at least try to challenge Max for the win, then suddenly it’s like he’s driving an entirely different machine. Too much of a coincidence for my liking.”
“I’ll look into it boss, don’t you worry,” Gianluca says. “I’ll go through the team with a fine tooth comb, see if anything seems out of the ordinary. If someone did intentionally compromise Charles’ car, I’ll find out who and how.”
You let out a breath. “Thank you, Gianluca. Let me know as soon as you learn anything. Charles can’t afford issues like this again.”
“You got it. I’ll be in touch.”
The call ends and you lean back against the garage wall, gaze fixed unseeingly out across the pit lane. Your mind turns over the events of the race, Charles’ baffled frustration over the radio. He’s worked too hard for too long to have valuable points stolen away by something like this. If there is sabotage afoot within the team, you’ll get to the bottom of it.
A few days later you’re back in your study after flying home from Bahrain. A knock at the door interrupts your work and you call for them to enter. Gianluca steps in, an uncharacteristically grim look on his face.
“Boss,” he greets you. Wordlessly, he steps forward and places a thick manila folder on your desk. You flip it open, eyes scanning over photos, documents, even what looks like stills of CCTV footage. Gianluca remains silent, allowing you to take it all in.
“I went over every inch of security camera video from the Bahrain paddock and garage,” Gianluca finally says. “And I found something.”
He leans over your desk and flips to a page in the folder, tapping a finger on a freeze frame showing one of Charles’ mechanics.
“This is Tomaso, one of the brake technicians,” Gianluca explains. “I noticed him acting strange all race day. Fidgety. Nervous. He was trying to hide it but his body language gave it away.”
Your eyes narrow as you study the photo. There is a shifty, almost guilty look about the man as he glances over his shoulder.
“I watched him like a hawk after that,” Gianluca continues. “When the team went to change the brake duct exit deflector, that’s when I saw it happen.”
He flips to another page, this one showing screen captures of CCTV footage in the Ferrari garage a few hours before the race start. You can make out Tomaso slipping the replacement deflector into his pocket before taking out another piece and installing it in Charles’ car. Your blood turns cold.
“He tampered with the part,” Gianluca confirms grimly. “There’s no doubt in my mind he switched that deflector with a compromised one. Sabotage, just like you suspected.”
You sit back, shaking your head in disgusted disbelief. “Why? Why would he do this?”
Gianluca shrugs. “Hard to say for sure. Could be someone paid him off, wants to see Charles fail. But what I know for certain is that he meant to damage Charles’ car.”
You drum your fingers on your desk, thinking hard. This level of betrayal from someone Charles trusts, it’s unthinkable. An affront you won’t let stand.
“You’ve done excellent work, Gianluca,” you finally say, meeting his gaze. “Thank you for getting to the bottom of this. I’ll handle it from here.”
Gianluca nods. “Of course, boss. Let me know if you need anything else.”
He turns and leaves your study, closing the door quietly behind him. You lean back in your chair, fingers steepled under your chin. Your expression is stone, but internally your thoughts roil with anger. Tomaso will pay for this, you’ll see to that.
Charles has enough challenges to face without sabotage from his own team. Your resolve hardens — you won’t stop until justice is served and he can race with full confidence again. The treachery ends now.
***
After Gianluca leaves, your mind turns over what to do about Tomaso. The team flew straight from Bahrain to Saudi Arabia to prepare for the next race, so he’s out of your reach for now. Still, you won’t let him slip away that easily. You pick up your phone and call a trusted associate, instructing him to organize a surveillance team to keep constant eyes on Tomaso until you arrive in Jeddah yourself.
The days crawl by painfully slow as you wait to confront the saboteur. You resist the urge to call Fred Vasseur and have Tomaso removed from the team immediately — better to handle this yourself. Finally, it’s time to fly out for the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. Upon landing, your associate meets you at the airport.
“We have eyes on the target,” he reports. “He’s currently at the hotel bar, quite intoxicated.”
You nod curtly. “Good. Let’s pay him a visit.”
You’re led to the hotel and pointed towards the bar. Sure enough, there’s Tomaso, stumbling drunkenly out the door into the night. Now is your chance. You follow him down the street, waiting until he turns into a shadowy alley to make your move. In a flash you have him by the collar, shoving him against the brick wall.
“What the hell, let me go!” Tomaso slurs, trying to shove you off. But drinking has made him clumsy and weak.
“I don’t think so, Tomaso,” you reply coldly. “We need to have a little chat.”
His eyes widen in fear and confusion. You press on before he can respond.
“Let’s see, Tomaso Barbieri, born May 5th, 1992 in Turin. Moved to Maranello in 2021 to begin work as a mechanic with Scuderia Ferrari. Parents Lucia and Giacomo Barbieri, both schoolteachers. Sister Cecilia studying abroad in London.”
As you rattle off details about his personal life, Tomaso’s eyes grow wider and wider.
“What the hell, how do you know all that?” He stammers. “Who are you? Does Charles know the ugly truth about his girlfriend?”
You fix him with an icy stare. “Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is that I know exactly who you are, Tomaso. A mechanic for Ferrari … and apparently a master of espionage and sabotage in your spare time.”
Tomaso’s eyes dart wildly, still trying to make sense of the situation in his inebriated state. He attempts an unconvincing laugh.
“What are you talking about man? Sabotage? I think you’ve had too much to drink ...”
Your response is to slam him hard against the wall, causing him to grunt in pain. You lean in close, anger simmering in your eyes.
“Let’s cut the bullshit, Tomaso. I know what you did in Bahrain, switching out the brake duct deflector to sabotage Charles’ car. Did you think you could get away with it? That there wouldn’t be consequences?”
Up close, you can see the color drain from his face, eyes wide with fear. He tries to retain some composure.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeats weakly. “I would never sabotage Charles’ car, I want him to win ...”
You slam him against the wall again, cutting off his lies.
“I said, enough bullshit!” you snarl. “We have you on video. We saw everything. We know you pocketed the real deflector and installed a defective one instead.”
He is trembling now, any hint of drunkenness replaced by sobering fear.
“Please,” he whimpers pathetically. “I’ll do anything, just please let me go. I made a mistake ...”
You shake your head in disgust. “A mistake? You betrayed Charles’ trust and tried to ruin his race out of what? Jealousy? Greed?”
Tomaso says nothing, eyes downcast in shame. You take a breath and continue in a low, menacing tone.
“Here are your options. One: you go directly to Vasseur first thing in the morning and resign from Ferrari immediately. You will leave the team and ensure you are never so much as in the same country as Charles again. Two: I deal with you myself, in a much less pleasant manner. The choice is yours, Tomaso. What’s it going to be?”
He meets your steely gaze again, jaw clenched. “I can’t just quit,” he says hoarsely. “My job is my life. You might as well just kill me.”
You purse your lips and shake your head. “I was afraid you’d say that. Very well.”
In one swift motion you draw your gun from its concealed holster and press the barrel firmly under Tomaso’s chin. He recoils in terror, plastered back against the wall.
“Last chance,” you say calmly. “Walk away from Ferrari and never look back, or your days end tonight in this alley.”
Sweat drips down his brow as the gun digs harder into his throat. His eyes are saucers of fear, flitting between your steely gaze and the weapon poised to end his life.
“Well?” You ask after a long silence. “What’s it going to be?”
Tomaso swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing against the gun barrel. When he speaks, his voice is a terrified croak.
“I … I won’t quit. I can’t.” He closes his eyes in resignation, awaiting his fate.
You click your tongue in disappointment. “That’s unfortunate. I wish it hadn’t come to this.”
Your finger tightens almost imperceptibly on the trigger …
“Wait, wait!” Tomaso cries out, hands raised in desperation. “I’ll do it, I’ll quit! Just please, don’t hurt me!”
You pause, gun still aimed steadily at his throat. “And why should I believe you now?”
He swallows hard, eyes brimming with tears. “I swear, I’ll resign first thing tomorrow. You’ll never see me near the team again. Just let me go, I’m begging you!”
You consider him coldly for a moment before lowering the gun. Tomaso sags back against the wall in relief. But you’re not done with him yet.
“Who paid you?” You demand. “Who put you up to sabotaging Charles’ car?”
The blood drains from his face again. “I can’t tell you that. They’ll kill me, and my family ...”
In a flash the gun is back at his throat, your grip like iron on his shirt collar.
“I assure you, I can do much worse than they ever could,” you say menacingly. “Now give me a name, or you can say goodbye.”
Tomaso shakes uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face. You can see the internal struggle, debating which is the lesser evil — defying you or those he conspired with. Finally, he slumps in defeat and leans in close, voice barely a whisper.
“It was ...”
He utters a name directly into your ear. Your eyes widen briefly in surprise before narrowing again. You release Tomaso and take a step back, processing this new information.
“I see,” you say slowly. You nod over your shoulder and two of your associates emerge from the shadows.
“Get him out of my sight,” you order. They grab Tomaso roughly by the arms. He sags between them, the fight gone out of him completely. You fix him with an icy stare.
“My men will escort you to the airport,” you inform him. “You will be on the first flight out of this hemisphere. And you are never to go near Ferrari or Charles again — don’t even think about trying to contact the team to explain yourself. As far as they will be concerned, you simply resigned. Am I clear?”
Tomaso nods wordlessly, defeated. The men begin dragging him away towards a waiting black SUV.
“Oh, and Tomaso?” You call after him. He glances back warily. “If I ever see or hear of you so much as setting foot in a paddock again, you won’t get a second chance. You’ll simply disappear. Permanently.”
The color drains from his face one final time. Then he is shoved into the back of the SUV, the door slamming shut behind him. You watch impassively as the vehicle drives off into the night, carrying the saboteur away for good.
Or so he thinks.
Unbeknownst to Tomaso, you have contacts everywhere, including at his destination. The second he steps off the plane, thinking he’s escaped your wrath, your local associates will be waiting. And his life will be ended swiftly and permanently, as promised. You don't make idle threats after all.
Betrayal of this magnitude must be punished, no matter how far Tomaso runs. The message will be clear — cross you, and nowhere on Earth will be safe. You've given the order, and your associates are nothing if not ruthlessly efficient. By the time the sun rises, there will be one less threat to Charles’ success. The sabotage ends here and now. You'll see to that personally, no matter the cost.
For a moment you simply stand alone in the dark alley, processing everything. This is bigger than you initially realized. Tomaso was clearly just a pawn, the sabotage orchestrated by someone higher up the chain — someone with enough power and influence to scare a man into risking his career and life.
Your jaw clenches as you think about Charles being targeted like this, not only being robbed of a deserved finish but also put in danger as collateral. Well, it ends now. The shadowy orchestrator thinks they can get away with playing games in the dark? They’re about to realize just how big of a mistake they’ve made.
Now that you have a name, you can start unraveling the web, tracing every thread back to find where it leads. And when you do find the spider at the center? You’ll make sure they can never endanger Charles again. For good.
Satisfied with this plan, you straighten your dress and exit the alley onto the brighter streets. Time to put your considerable resources to work. Phone records, financials, travel records — you’ll dig through it all, leave no stone unturned.
And you have a feeling the name Tomaso gave you is only the first thread. This goes deeper. But it doesn’t matter. You’ve dealt with far more dangerous criminal elements before. These shadow games don’t scare you. You’ll keep following the threads until you reach the source, uprooting the entire enterprise in the process.
By the time you reach your car, your phone is already buzzing with incoming calls and updates from your associates. They know the drill by now — when you give the word, they mobilize into action immediately, utilizing the full extent of your influence and power.
For you, they’ll tap every resource, call in every favor owed. Because you protect what’s yours at all costs. And Charles? He’s under your protection now, whether he knows it or not. So for his sake, you’re going to find the ones trying to undermine him, and you’re going to tear out the threat root and stem. Permanently.
Let them keep playing their games for now, oblivious to the axe hanging over their heads. They’ll find out soon enough that nobody crosses you and gets away with it. And when that time comes, no mercy will be shown. No loose ends left to unravel.
Time to remind them exactly why your reputation precedes you in certain circles, why your name is uttered only in hushed whispers. They’ll regret the day they dared threaten someone you care about. You’ll see to that personally.
With your jaw set in determination, you climb into the idling car. Time to go hunting.
***
Two days after dealing with Tomaso, you make your way through the Jeddah Corniche Circuit paddock towards the Ferrari motorhome.
Your stiletto heels click along the pavement and you glance down, frowning slightly at the flecks of blood still staining the pointed toes of your red soles. Such a shame about these Louboutins, you really love this pair. But a bit of blood is a small price to pay for protecting Charles, especially after personally dealing with the orchestrator who had been paying Tomaso off.
You had tracked them down and made sure they could never threaten Charles’ success again. Subtly, you crouch down and wipe at the stains, managing to remove the worst of it.
Satisfied, you straighten and continue on your way. The familiar bright red motorhome comes into view and you sweep inside, immediately spotting Charles standing with some team members. His face lights up when he sees you, excusing himself to rush over.
“Mon amour, you made it!” He exclaims, enveloping you in a tight hug. You melt against him, breathing in his familiar scent.
“Of course, I wouldn’t miss seeing you race for anything,” you reply, pecking his lips sweetly.
Charles takes your hand, leading you to a quiet corner where you can talk. “I missed you so much while you were away,” he says. “But I’m so glad you’re here now.”
You smile and stroke his cheek. “Me too, darling. But I’m here now and I’ll be cheering the loudest for you all race.”
Charles’ grin falters a bit. “It’s been a strange few days actually. Tomaso, one of my mechanics, just up and quit in the middle of the week. No explanation or anything.”
You school your features into a look of surprise. “Really? That’s so odd.”
Charles nods. “Very weird timing to just resign like that. But maybe it’s for the best if his heart wasn’t fully in it anymore.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” you agree. “The team is better off without any negativity.”
Before Charles can reply, Andrea enters the motorhome. “Charles, time for some quick physio before the race.”
Charles sighs but nods, giving you a swift kiss before following Andrea out. You watch him go fondly before making your way trackside to the Ferrari garage. The mechanics are in race mode, voices terse and movements precise as they make final adjustments on Charles’ car.
You stay back, letting them work, thoughts drifting back to everything you did to get to this point. A small price to pay to ensure Charles can race with a fair chance again.
Finally it’s time for Charles to get in the car. You approach as he’s putting on his helmet and balaclava, stealing a tender kiss that he returns happily. Then you lift the helmet and slide it gently into place, brushing your lips softly over the smooth surface where his lips would be. Your ritual.
“Be safe out there,” you murmur. Charles squeezes your hand, then lowers himself into the cockpit. You watch tensely as the car pulls away, the lights of the circuit glittering against the dark night sky.
In the garage you pace anxiously throughout the race, listening to the radio chatter. Again Charles qualified P2, behind Max Verstappen’s Red Bull. But this time, you have no sabotage to worry about. The Ferrari proves fast and consistent all race, not quite keeping pace with the Red Bull but allowing Charles to maintain P2 smoothly.
The SF-24 doesn’t have the speed to challenge Max, but there’s no issues, no sudden grip loss or components failing. Your shoulders finally uncoil with relief as Charles crosses the line to take P2, securing a podium finish.
The garage explodes into cheers and applause as Charles pulls into parc fermé. He’s beaming as he climbs from the car, pulling off his gloves and balaclava. You run over to the barriers and throw your arms around him ecstatically as soon as he nears.
“I’m so proud of you!” You exclaim. Charles hugs you back tightly.
“Thank you, mon cœur,” he says warmly. “It felt good to finally have a clean race again.”
You just smile knowingly, heart bursting with joy at seeing Charles on the podium where he belongs. During the celebrations, he keeps meeting your gaze in the crowd, smiling and pointing down to you in the crowd of red. As he sprays champagne with Max and Checo, he looks utterly elated and at peace. No frustration or disappointment, just the satisfaction of a hard fought race with the result he deserved.
Afterwards, in the privacy of Charles’ room, he takes you into his arms again. “I don’t know what changed or why, but the car just felt right this weekend,” he says. “It makes me so optimistic for the rest of the season.”
You stroke his face gently. “You deserve it. All your hard work is paying off.” Inside, you allow yourself a small, satisfied smile. Charles doesn’t need to know just how much work went on behind the scenes to get here. He only needs to focus on driving his heart out, and securing the championships you know he’s destined for. The rest is simply details.
“Thank you again for being here,” Charles murmurs, pulling you close. “Having your support means everything to me.”
You rest your head on his shoulder contentedly. “Always, my love. I’ll be right by your side.” And you mean that with every fiber of your being. No matter what happens going forward, whoever tries to interfere or stand in Charles’ way, they’ll have to go through you first.
You won’t let anyone toy with Charles’ performance and safety again. The lesson has been sent — Charles is untouchable now. Dare to threaten the success that is his, and you’ll come for what’s theirs.
But Charles doesn’t need to carry that burden. He just needs to keep his head held high and drive his heart out. You’ll handle the rest. It’s the least you can do for the man you love more than life itself.
So as Charles holds you close, you silently promise to always shield him from the ugly underbelly that lurks beneath the glitz and glamour of Formula 1.
He gives so much of himself already in pursuit of greatness. Let others vie for power and influence through dirty tricks and mind games. That’s not Charles’ way, which is why you’ll ensure he remains untainted. For him, you’d walk through fire without a second thought.
So really, what’s a little blood on your Louboutins in the grand scheme of things? A man like Charles Leclerc deserves that and so much more. And you’re going to give it to him, no matter the cost.
Let them keep playing their games in the shadows. Little do they know, you’ve already checkmated them all.
The mysterious Mrs. Piastri
We are interrupting our regularly scheduled programming for a Valentine's Day Treat. Remember that video where Oscar was asked "Get married or get a tattoo?" Well, it showed up on my FYP and I was like..:WAIT
Summary:
Oscar Piastri had always been a calm, collected kind of guy. Unshakeable, even. Lando Norris, on the other hand? Not so much.
And today? Today was the day Lando fully lost it.
(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )
Oscar Piastri had always been a calm, collected kind of guy. Unshakeable, even.
Lando Norris, on the other hand? Not so much.
And today? Today was the day Lando fully lost it.
It had started innocently enough, just another fan stage, just another round of questions.
“Oscar, would you rather get married or get a tattoo?”
Easy. Straightforward. Oscar barely had to think before responding, “Well, I already did one of those things.”
That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say.
Because one second later, Lando spat out his drink.
“YOU GOT A TATTOO?!”
Oscar turned, confused. “What? No.”
Lando, looking equal parts betrayed and horrified, pointed an accusing finger. “Mate, I’ve seen you in swim trunks. There’s no way you have a tattoo. Where is it?”
Oscar frowned. “I don’t have a tattoo.”
Lando’s face twisted in confusion. “But you just said—” He stopped. His eyes widened. Oscar could see the moment his brain caught up.
“WAIT. WAIT.” Lando practically jumped out of his seat. “YOU’RE MARRIED?!” Lando looked genuinely stunned, his mouth hanging open in shock.
Oscar nodded, calm as ever. “Yeah.”
Lando’s reaction was not calm. Lando let out a strangled, guttural noise, kind of sounding like an indignant cat.
“WHAT?!”
The interviewer, who had been mostly observing up until now, leaned forward, eyes shining with the excitement of a woman who had just stumbled upon the biggest scoop of the season. “Okay, hold on. You mean married married? Like, legally?”
Oscar frowned. “Is there another kind?”
Lando’s hands were now on his head, his entire world seemingly crumbling around him. “SINCE WHEN?!”
Oscar shrugged. “A while now.”
The crowd lost it. The interviewer looked like Christmas had come early. The McLaren PR team, wherever they were, was probably having a collective heart attack.
Lando’s jaw dropped. “I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW YOU HAD A GIRLFRIEND.”
Oscar frowned. “You know that," he told Lando pointedly.
“I DO NOT KNOW THAT,” Lando shouted. “WHEN HAVE YOU EVER MENTIONED A GIRLFRIEND—LET ALONE A WIFE?!”
Oh well. Oscar just shrugged. “Well. I do. She’s amazing. 10/10. Would always marry her again.”
Lando let out a hysterical laugh. “Wait, wait, wait. No, no. You’re telling me you have a freaking WIFE?!”
The interviewer seized the moment. “Okay, no, we need details. How long have you been together?”
Oscar raised an eyebrow. "Since we were 15."
Lando made a strangled noise. “15?! YOU’VE BEEN WITH HER SINCE YOU WERE 15?!”
Oscar nodded. “Yeah.”
The interviewer looked delighted. “How did you meet?”
Oscar tilted his head. “School?”
Lando groaned and turned to the audience. “Look at this guy. Look at him. Of course he’s been secretly married this whole time. Of course.”
The interviewer pressed on. “When did you get married?”
Oscar shrugged. “When I was 18.”
The entire crowd erupted. Fans were screaming, phones were recording, and McLaren PR was definitely hyperventilating somewhere.
Lando, meanwhile, looked like his whole world had just collapsed in real-time.
“You—you got MARRIED at EIGHTEEN?!” he wheezed. “WHY?!”
Oscar looked at him like he was stupid. “Because I wanted to? Because I love her?”
The interviewer cooed over the answer. Lando physically recoiled. “What, like straight out of high school?!”
Oscar frowned. “Not straight out of high school. We waited a bit.”
“HOW LONG IS A BIT?!” Lando demanded.
Oscar thought about it. “Like… three weeks after graduation?”
Lando let out a strangled noise. “THAT’S NOT A BIT, OSCAR. THAT’S BASICALLY IMMEDIATELY.”
Lando dramatically fell back in his chair. The interviewer, meanwhile, was nearly vibrating with excitement. “Okay, okay, follow-up question—how did you propose?”
Oscar thought about it. “I asked her to marry me.”
The interviewer stared. “…That’s it?”
Oscar nodded. “Yeah.”
Lando threw his hands in the air. “UNBELIEVABLE.”
The interviewer, trying desperately to salvage something remotely romantic, asked, “Where did you propose?”
Oscar, as if this were a perfectly reasonable answer, said, “Uh. At home?”
The interviewer looked at him. "...At home?"
"On the bed," Oscar added.
Lando looked like he was going to have an aneurysm.
The crowd groaned. The interviewer looked physically pained. Lando just laughed in disbelief. “I knew you’d be the most unromantic bastard alive.”
Oscar rolled his eyes. “She said yes.”
Lando wiped imaginary tears from his eyes. “That poor woman.”
The interviewer shook her head in awe. “Oscar, mate, I have to ask—how did you manage to keep this a secret for so long?”
Oscar blinked. “No one asked?”
Lando just screamed.
The interviewer, who had completely abandoned all pretense of professionalism, leaned forward. “Okay, wait, wait, who is she?”
Oscar blinked. “My wife?”
Lando threw up his hands. “YES, OBVIOUSLY, but who is she? What’s her name? Where’s she from? What does she do?”
Oscar's forehead creased. "Is that... relevant?"
The interviewer just about had a stroke. Lando looked like he was going to spontaneously combust.
The fans were losing their freaking minds.
Lando nearly fell out of his chair. “YOU’VE BEEN MARRIED FOR YEARS AND I’VE NEVER MET HER.”
“I mean, I thought it was obvious?”
“OBVIOUS TO WHO?!” Lando yelled. “BECAUSE IT WASN’T OBVIOUS TO ME.”
Oscar just shrugged.
Lando groaned. “Mate, I DIDN’T KNOW SHE EXISTED!”
Lando looked like he was seconds from grabbing Oscar and shaking him until some kind of information fell out. "Okay, I can't believe I have to ask this, but why the hell didn't you tell me?”
"I thought you knew," Oscar answered simply.
Lando just gaped. "How on earth would I have known?"
Oscar shrugged. The interviewer, meanwhile, was leaning closer, clearly invested in the whole thing now.
Lando, apparently having had enough, decided on a different tactic. Lando pointed at him, eyes narrowing. “You’re not getting away with this. You are going to introduce me to your wife.”
Oscar sighed, clearly knowing a losing battle when he saw one. “Fine,” he said after a moment.
Lando sat back, satisfied. “Good.” Then he paused. “Wait—does anyone else know? Like, do the team know?”
Oscar shrugged. “I think Zak does.”
Lando made a strangled noise. “Why does Zak get to know?!”
Oscar pointed out, “Because he’s my boss?”
The interviewer, clearly having thrown all professionalism out the window, was just enjoying the chaos. Lando looked like he wanted to scream. “But I’m your friend!”
Somewhere in the background, McLaren PR was probably losing their minds, trying to figure out how to handle the fact that Oscar Piastri, their quiet, low-maintenance driver, had accidentally revealed he’d been married since he was 18.
Not Oscar’s problem, though...After he escaped Lando Norris' clutches.
He had a wife to call after all.
Oscar Piastri was a man of routine.
He liked predictability. Consistency. A life largely free of unnecessary chaos.
Which was exactly why, after the complete meltdown that was today’s fan stage, he had retreated to his driver’s room, shut the door, and pulled out his phone. If there was one thing in his life that wasn’t chaotic, it was his wife.
The call rang twice before she picked up.
“Hey, love,” she greeted, her face appearing on screen. She was sitting in their apartment, hair tied up, wearing one of his hoodies.
Oscar felt himself relax immediately. “Hey.”
She smiled at him. “So, how was your day?”
Oscar sighed. “Lando found out we’re married.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh.” A pause. “He… didn’t know?”
Oscar shook his head. "I thought he did."
She let out a small laugh at that. "How the hell did you think he knew?"
Oscar shrugged. "I dunno. We've been married for, what, five years now? How could he not know?"
Her smile widened. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you're about as romantic as a cactus?"
Oscar let out a huff. "I can be romantic."
Before she could respond, there was a loud banging on the door, followed by—
“LET ME IN, PIASTRI!”
Oscar sighed through his nose. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
His wife bit her lip, clearly seconds away from laughing. “Is that…?”
“YOU HAVE EXACTLY THREE SECONDS BEFORE I BREAK THIS DOOR DOWN AND—”
Oscar hung his head. “Yes.”
She was laughing now, and he couldn’t even bring himself to be mad because it was an adorable sound.
The banging continued. “I CAN HEAR YOU IN THERE. STOP IGNORING ME, OSCAR.”
His wife bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh. “You should probably let him in before he tries to break the door down.”
Oscar debated not letting him in, but realistically, Lando would either A) find a way in, or B) make this everyone else’s problem.
So, with a long-suffering sigh, he got up and opened the door.
Lando barreled in immediately, eyes wild.
“WHERE IS SHE?!?” he demanded. “I NEED TO SEE HER WITH MY OWN EYES.”
Oscar sighed, holding up the phone. “She’s on FaceTime, you absolute lunatic.”
Lando’s head whipped around, and he nearly tripped over his own feet trying to get to the couch. He pushed past Oscar with a huff, then stared, wide-eyed, at the phone.
Lando was silent. For once.
His wife was, bless her soul, doing her best to fight her laughter at the look on Lando’s face. “Hi,” she said. “You must be Lando.”
Lando just continued to gape.
Then, slowly, he pointed an accusatory finger at the screen. “You’re real.”
She laughed. “I hope so.”
Lando turned to Oscar, looking personally betrayed. “SHE’S REAL.”
Oscar sighed. “I know.”
Lando turned back to the phone. “And you married him? At eighteen?!?”
She smiled. “Yep.”
Lando reeled. “WHY?!”
She tilted her head. “Because I love him?”
Lando looked like his entire world had been completely shaken. “You love him,” he repeated, staring incredulously down at her.
Oscar rolled his eyes. “Oi, mate, why’s that so hard to believe?”
Lando just groaned in exasperation. “You do not understand how hard it is, being friends with a guy for literal years, and never knowing he had a girlfriend—let alone a WIFE.”
“Mate, I’m pretty sure that says more about you than me,” Oscar told him bluntly.
Lando shot him a glare. “Oh, and you’re what? Mister Emotional Intelligence? You’ve been hiding this for years!”
Oscar shrugged. “Never came up in conversation.”
Lando looked horrified. “Don’t put this on me!”
Oscar shrugged. “You never asked.”
Lando flopped onto the couch, rubbing his face. “Unbelievable.”
His wife stifled a laugh, the corners of her mouth tugging upward as she watched Lando in his current state.
Lando, meanwhile, had moved to the “trying to wrap his head around this situation” portion of his breakdown.
“Okay, no. We’re fixing this. Immediately.”
Oscar sighed. “Lando—”
Lando pointed at the phone. “I need to meet her.”
Oscar sighed. “Fine. Silverstone.”
Lando gasped. “Really?!?”
Oscar deadpanned. “No, I just said it for fun.”
Lando turned back to the phone. “Mrs. Piastri, I will see you at Silverstone.”
She laughed. “Looking forward to it.”
Lando nodded firmly, then turned back to Oscar. “I will be grilling you for details later.”
Oscar sighed. “Of course you will.”
Lando stood dramatically. “Good. Carry on.” And then he walked out like he had just personally fixed the situation.
Oscar turned back to his wife, who was fully laughing.
“I love Lando,” she said. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened.”
Oscar sighed. “I regret everything.”
She smirked. “Love you.”
Oscar huffed. “Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”
And somewhere, in the distance, Lando was plotting.
****
@/oscarpiastri ✅
Posted: 1 day ago
Caption:
So, the internet (and, more importantly, Lando) just found out I’m married.
To be honest, I didn’t think it was a secret. I’ve been married for years. I assumed people knew. Turns out, I was very, very wrong.
Yes, I’m married. Have been for five years this summer.
So, meet my wife—my best friend, my favorite person in the world, and the only one who has somehow put up with me for this long.
We met when we were 15. Two kids at boarding school, thrown together by pure chance. The only open seat in class was next to me, so she took it. I stole a pen from her once—completely by accident—but she still let me borrow her pens after that. Eventually, she started carrying a second one just for me. I told myself that meant something.
She always knew when I was having a bad day, even when I hadn’t said a word. She made school bearable, made exams feel less stressful, made me laugh even when all I wanted to do was complain. Somewhere between stolen lunch breaks and long walks back to the dorms, between late-night study sessions and whispered conversations about the future, I fell in love with her. Quietly, all at once and over time. I knew by the time we were 15—maybe even before then.
She was my best friend first. The person I trusted most. The one who understood the parts of my life that didn’t always make sense to everyone else. By the time I worked up the nerve to tell her how I felt, she just smiled and said, ‘I was wondering when you’d figure that out.’ Like she had known all along.
When I left school to chase this ridiculous dream, she didn’t ask me to stay. She just told me she’d be there, no matter how far I went. And she was. Through every win, every loss, every moment of self-doubt.
So when we turned 18, we didn’t wait. Three weeks after graduation, we walked into a registry office in London, signed a piece of paper, and walked out married. No grand ceremony, no expensive dress. Just us, two rings we picked out in under twenty minutes, and a promise we already knew we’d keep.
We told our families afterward. Some took it better than others.
I know getting married at 18 sounds a little mad. People told us we were too young, that we should wait, that we were being reckless. But why? I had no doubt in my mind then, and I have none now.
She’s still the first person I call after every race, no matter the result. She’s the one who tells me to go to bed when I’m up too late on the sim, who reminds me to eat when I forget, who talks me down when I start overthinking. She’s been with me through everything. Through junior categories to F1, through every high and every low, through the moments I wanted to quit and the ones where I felt like I was on top of the world.
She’s my best friend, my greatest love, the only person who can call me out on my nonsense and get away with it.
So, no, I don’t have a tattoo. But I do have a wife. The person who still looks at me like I’m just that 15-year-old kid stealing a pen and falling in love before he even realizes it’s happening.
I have no idea how I convinced her to marry me, but I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.
10/10, would always marry her again. ❤️
Comments:
@/landonorris: FIVE YEARS??? YOU HAVE BEEN MARRIED FOR FIVE YEARS???
↪️ @/oscarpiastri: I assumed you knew. ↪️ @/landonorris: WHEN HAVE YOU EVER MENTIONED HAVING A WIFE???
↪️ @/mrspiastri: He does this thing where he forgets people don’t just know things.
@/danielricciardo: High school sweethearts. Eloped at 18. Best plot twist of the season.
@/mclaren: We have so many questions.↪️ @mrspiastri: Submit them in an organized document, I’ll answer the best ones.
@/f1updates: Today in ‘Oscar Piastri casually drops life-changing information’—he has a whole wife. Lando learned this at the same time as the rest of us.
@/lanoscult: Not Lando finding out with the fans and having a full existential crisis on stage 💀💀💀
@/thef1editz: POV: You just found out your best friend has been MARRIED FOR YEARS and never told you (attached video of Lando’s reaction with dramatic music)
@/wagsf1: WE NEED A FULL BOARDING SCHOOL LOVE STORY IMMEDIATELY.
@/f1tea: No thoughts, just Lando yelling ‘WHO GETS MARRIED AT 18’ like he was personally betrayed.
@/padlockthegrid: We’ve been watching this man for YEARS and never once suspected a wife??
@/georgerussell63: I feel like this is something you announce at a dinner, not in front of an audience.
↪️ @/oscarpiastri: I thought I had mentioned it. ↪️ @/landonorris: YOU DID NOT.
@/charles_leclerc: This is the greatest plot twist in F1 history.
@/fernandoalo_oficial: I respect this level of secrecy.
@/chaoticneutralf1: Oscar Piastri is terrifying. He just DOES things and assumes people KNOW.
@/mclaren: Oscar, any other life-altering facts you’ve forgotten to mention? ↪️ @/oscarpiastri: Not that I can think of. ↪️ @/landonorris: I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT.
@/mrspiastri: 10/10, would marry him again. (Even if he forgets to tell people.) ↪️ @/oscarpiastri: Love you too. ❤️
@/danielricciardo: Oscar, mate, do you have any other shocking secrets? ↪️ @/oscarpiastri: Not really. ↪️ @/landonorris: I AM NOT CONVINCED.
@/chaoticgrid: I will think about this every day for the rest of my life.
@/mrspiastri
Posted: 2h ago
Caption:
"So. Yesterday happened.
Since Oscar apparently forgot that telling people you’re married is something you actually have to do, I’ve spent the last 24 hours watching the internet lose its collective mind. You guys have questions. Lots of them. So, let’s go:
1. Wait… Oscar is MARRIED?!
Yes. Since we were 18. I know, I know. We should have made a big announcement. Or at the very least told his teammate. Oops.
2. When did you get married?!Right after we graduated. We were 18, ran off to London, signed a piece of paper, and then told our families. In hindsight, we probably should have done that last part beforehand, but hey, we were young and in love (and slightly impulsive).
3. Why so young?Because we were sure. It wasn’t impulsive—it was inevitable. People told us we were crazy, that we should wait, that we’d change. But we didn’t. We grew up together, and we only ever grew toward each other. If I had to choose again, I’d do it exactly the same way.
3. How did you two meet?We were 15, stuck at boarding school, and Oscar stole my pen. He swears it was an accident. I maintain that it was the moment he decided to make me fall in love with him.
5. Did you really not tell Lando?I thought he knew! Everyone close to us does! I assumed Oscar had mentioned it at some point, but, well… you all saw what happened. Apparently, Oscar’s ‘private life’ policy extended to his teammate of three years. Which is why we all got to witness his public breakdown in real-time.
5. Does this mean you’re an F1 WAG?Technically? Yes. Do I have the outfit coordination and expensive handbag collection to back it up? No. I do steal Oscar’s team hoodies, so that counts, right?
6. What’s your favorite thing about Oscar?The way he loves—quietly, steadily, with his whole heart. He still waits up for me if I’m out late, still kisses my forehead when he thinks I’m asleep, still tucks handwritten notes into his race gloves like he did back when he was karting. I’ve loved him for so long that I can’t imagine my life any other way.
7. And since Oscar said ‘10/10 would always marry her again,’ what’s your answer? 10/10. No regrets, no hesitation, no doubt. I’d marry him a thousand times over.
Comments:
@/landonorris: I’M STILL NOT OVER THIS. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: I’m never going to live this down, am I? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Nope. But I love you anyway.
@/danielricciardo: This is the kind of romance novel material I expect from an F1 WAG.
@/mclaren: We demand a Netflix special on this.
@/wagsf1: This is the cutest thing we’ve ever seen. Please post more.
@/f1updates: The way she said ‘10/10’ like it was the easiest question ever 😭💖
@/wagsf1: He still tucks handwritten notes into his race gloves??? I’M GONNA CRY.
@/f1updates: This woman just broke the internet by being casually, devastatingly in love.
@/f1fangirl92: The way this man has been secretly in love since he was FIFTEEN is actually lethal.”
@/fanaccountoscarpiastri: So what I’m getting is that Oscar is out here winning races and marriage. I respect it.
@/paddockinsider: Be so honest. What did people say when they found out you guys eloped? @/mrspiastri: Oh, everyone thought we were insane. Random people who barely knew us were convinced we’d crash and burn. Now we get a lot of, ‘Wow, you guys really made it work.’ ↪️@/oscarpiastri: Wasn’t hard.
@/f1obsessed: Did you guys ever break up? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Nope. Not once. Not even a ‘we were on a break’ situation. We’ve been together since we were 15, which is wild when I think about it.
@/fanofeverything: Why did Oscar keep it a secret??? ↪️@/mrspiastri: It wasn’t a secret so much as… he never felt the need to bring it up? It’s not like he was hiding me in a basement somewhere lol. He just doesn’t talk about personal stuff unless someone asks directly. Which, apparently, no one did.
@/gridgossip: So who knew? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Mark. Andrea. Probably Zak? Our families, obviously. And, um. That might be it?
@/paddockinsider: Did Oscar just assume that everyone knew you guys were married? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Yes. 100%. This man did not think to mention it because he thought it was ‘obvious. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: “OBVIOUS TO WHO??” ↪️@/mrspiastri: To him. He just figured if someone asked if he was married, he’d say yes. But since no one did, he saw no need to bring it up. ↪️@/landonorris: HOW IS THAT YOUR LOGIC. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: No one asked. ↪️@/landonorris: I’M GOING TO LOSE MY MIND.
@/f1insider: We need more details about Mark Webber finding out. ↪️@/mrspiastri: I swear I saw his soul leave his body. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: OSCAR, EXPLAIN YOURSELF. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: Didn’t seem necessary to tell him at the time ↪️@/landonorris: “HOW IS MARRIAGE NOT NECESSARY INFORMATION???” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Mark Webber sat Oscar down like a disappointed dad and was like, ‘Mate. How do you just… forget to mention you’re married? ↪️@/mclarenupdates: “And what did Oscar say??? ↪️@/mrspiastri: “He just shrugged and went, ‘Not really relevant to racing. ↪️@/landonorris: “I NEED TO LIE DOWN.”
@/paddockdrama: People always joke that Oscar is a robot. Does that ever bother him? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Not really. I once asked him and he just shrugged and went ‘Doesn’t bother me. I don’t need to prove anything to anyone as long as you know how much I love you.’ ↪️@/landonorris: NO BECAUSE WHERE WAS THIS ENERGY WHEN I TOLD HIM I GOT P2 AND HE JUST WENT ‘NICE’??? ↪️@/oscarpiastri: It was nice.
@/paddockgossip: “Did ANY other drivers know???” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Oscar’s Prema teammates figured it out. The rest of the grid? Oblivious. ↪️@/landonorris: How did Oscar never accidentally spill?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: He doesn’t overshare. Meanwhile, I am still in awe that he just assumed people knew.
@/foreverf1: Wait, I need to know—who said ‘I love you’ first? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Oscar did. Completely out of nowhere, too. We were 16, lying on the floor doing homework, and he just looked over and went, ‘Oh. I love you.’ Like he just realized it in real time.
@/f1teaqueen: Okay but like… NO COLD FEET?? Not even a little?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Nope. We were 100% sure.
@/wildforwags: Who actually officiated your wedding?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Some very lovely lady at a London registry office. She called us ‘sweethearts’ and I think she knew we were completely insane, but she was very supportive about it.
@/racewifematerial: What did you wear?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: A white sundress I bought the week before. Oscar wore a suit that was slightly too big because he borrowed it last-minute. We looked like two teenagers who ran away from home, which, to be fair… we kinda did.
@/formula1fangirl: Who took the wedding photos? ↪️@/mrspiastri: We handed a disposable camera to two very confused tourists outside the registry office. They did a great job.
@/landoandchaos: Oscar, babe, how did you manage to keep this from your friend for FIVE YEARS? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Listen, Oscar is elite at two things: racing and not offering information unless directly asked.
@/mclarenfanatic: Did he really think Lando knew? ↪️@/mrspiastri: 100%. I asked him and he was like, ‘Well, I didn’t HIDE it?’ And I was like, ‘Oscar. That is not the same thing as telling people.’
@/fastandflawless: Be honest, did you ever have a moment of ‘Oh my god, I married an 18-year-old racing driver, what have I done’?” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Not really? I mean, other people definitely thought we were nuts, but we knew exactly what we were doing. The real crisis moment was a few months later when I realized I’d have to file taxes as a married person.
@/waggossip: “Did Oscar have a big, romantic proposal, or was it just like, ‘Wanna get married?’ ↪️@/mrspiastri: Oscar woke up one morning, looked at me, and said, ‘We should get married. Logically, it makes sense.’ ↪️@/f1softies: YOU’RE JOKING. ↪️@/mrspiastri: I was like, ‘Okay?’ And he said, ‘Great, I’ll book an appointment.’ ↪️@/mclarenmemes: So let me get this straight. No knee. No ring. Just ‘We should get married.’ ↪️@/mrspiastri: Correct. ↪️@/f1wifeguys: And you weren’t even a little mad?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Nah, I thought it was funny. If he’d done some big, dramatic proposal, I’d have thought he was concussed. ↪️@/mclarenupdates: Please tell me he at least got a ring after that. ↪️@/mrspiastri: He did! We picked one out together. It has both our birthstones.
@/paddocktea: Okay, but does he ever get super romantic out of nowhere?” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Oh, absolutely. Once, when I was really stressed out, he just looked at me and said, ‘You don’t have to do everything alone. I’m always going to be here.’ ↪️@/f1wifeguys: STOP THAT’S SO SWEET.
@/paddockinsider: What’s the most uncharacteristically romantic thing he’s ever said? ↪️@/mrspiastri: We were lying in bed once, just scrolling on our phones, and out of nowhere he goes, ‘You know, no matter how my life turned out, I think I would’ve found you in every version of it.’ And then he just went back to reading about Formula 2 tire degradation like he hadn’t just ruined me.
@/backmarkerbrigade: “So, like, what did you do after you got married? Fancy dinner? Celebratory champagne?” ↪️@/mrspiastri: ...Sandwichs at Pret-a-manger
@/gridlove: What’s the most Oscar Piastri way he’s ever told you he loves you? ↪️@/mrspiastri: One time he texted me ‘You’re my favorite human’ completely out of the blue. No context. No follow-up. Just that. It was adorable.
@/pitlaneprincess: Who cried more at the wedding? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Me. Oscar was annoyingly composed. He did squeeze my hand really tight when we said our vows, though.
@/drsforlove: “This man has been giving post-race interviews like ‘Yeah, good race, car felt good’ and then just casually drops a wife like it’s a tire strategy.
@/wildforwags: What’s something you wish you had done for the wedding? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Honestly, nothing. It was chaotic, but it was ours.
@/pitstopqueen: What was your first impression of Oscar? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Honestly? I thought he was too quiet. Then he made some dry, sarcastic comment under his breath in class, and I immediately knew we’d get along.
@/tracksidegossip: How long did you actually plan the wedding? ↪️@/mrspiastri: A week. And ‘plan’ is a generous term. We just Googled how to get married in London, booked the appointment, and that was that.
@/f1chaos: Oscar, be so honest, did you really think people would just ‘figure it out’ without you ever saying anything?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Yes. Yes, he did.
@/paddockprincess: Wait, so how did Oscar’s family react to you guys getting married so young? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Honestly? They were really supportive. His mum just went, ‘That makes sense,’ and his dad laughed. Oscar’s family has always been the ‘if you’re happy, we’re happy’ type. ↪️@/oscarpiastriupdates: “So no dramatic reactions from the Piastris??” ↪️@/mrspiastri: “The most dramatic reaction was his mum sighing and saying, ‘You two are hopeless.’ But she meant it fondly.”
@/chaosinthepaddock: What about your family? 👀 ↪️@/mrspiastri: Ah. Well. See, they did not get over it in five minutes. ↪️@/f1tea: Omg. HOW mad were they??” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Very. Like, ‘multiple angry phone calls’ mad. Like, ‘we refuse to speak to you for years’ mad.” ↪️@/landonorris: Did they actually say you were ruining your life? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Oh, yes. There was a lot of dramatic ‘you’re throwing your future away’ speeches. Which was funny, because my future was literally the same, just with more love and an Australian husband. ↪️@/piastrination: Did Oscar ever try to talk to them about it? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Oh, he tried. But Oscar is Oscar, so he just very calmly said, ‘I love her, we’re married, and that’s not changing.’ Which, surprisingly, did not make them less angry. ↪️@/f1gossip: Have they come around since then? ↪️@/mrspiastri: No.
@/landonorris: Lando’s reaction when he found out vs. your family’s reaction when they found out—who had the bigger meltdown?” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Oh, my family by far. Lando was just confused—my relatives were furious.
@/gridgirlgossip: Oscar Piastri, the man who quietly eloped at 18, dealt with family drama, and then just went racing like nothing happened.
@/drsdiva: “This is the wildest reveal in F1 history. Netflix, do your job.”
@/f1softies: “The fact that Oscar has been in wife guy mode for YEARS and we had no idea.”
@/lando4lyf: Lando: ‘YOU GOT A TATTOO?!’ Oscar: ‘No, I’m married.’ Lando: internal system crash
@/piastriupdates: “Lando Norris finding out live on stage that his teammate has been MARRIED FOR FIVE YEARS is the funniest thing to ever happen in F1.
@/f1memesdaily: “Oscar Piastri eloped at 18, never told anyone, and assumed people would figure it out while Lando was out here thinking he was a single man. I respect the commitment to quiet chaos.”
@/danielricciardo: Mate. You were MARRIED this whole time?? I thought you were just too focused on racing to date anyone, and instead you were out here with a whole WIFE???
@/charles_leclerc: You were married at 18? And Oscar thought that was a normal thing to do?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Yes. Yes, he did.
@/alex_albon: Tbh, I respect it. Absolute power move. Eloping at 18, casually keeping it a secret, and then just dropping it on Lando like that?? Unreal. ↪️@/mrspiastri: See? Alex gets it.
@/robertschwartzman: Oh, now everyone suddenly cares. Meanwhile, WE KNEW THE WHOLE TIME. ↪️@/mrspiastri: To be fair, you two were basically forced to know. ↪️@/robertschwartzman: Yeah, because he wouldn’t shut up about you. ‘Oh, I can’t come to dinner, I have to call my wife.’ ‘Oh, I’m flying to London to see my wife.’ Mate, we were 19, and you were out here married like a 40-year-old. ↪️@/mrspiastri: He still does that, btw. ↪️@/robertschwartzman: Not surprised. The man has been whipped since day one.
@/jehannadaruvala: “The funniest part was watching Oscar just assume we all knew. Like we’d be talking about normal 19-year-old things, and he’d casually drop, ‘Yeah, my wife said the same thing.’ ↪️@/mrspiastri: And did any of you ever ask for clarification? ↪️@/jehannadaruvala: Oh, we asked. His response? ‘What about it?’ LIKE SIR. ↪️@/robertschwartzman: “One time, I straight-up said, ‘Mate, do you realize you’re married?’ and he just blinked at me and said, ‘Yeah.’ As if that was a totally normal thing for a teenage racing driver. ↪️@/mrspiastri: Sounds about right. ↪️@/ollicaldwell: “Honestly, we stopped questioning it after a while. He was just so chill about it. ↪️@/arthur_leclerc: Yeah, it was like, ‘Oh, Oscar’s in a committed marriage while we’re all just trying to survive? Cool, cool.’
@/f1softies: Okay but does he ever have romantic moments?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Oh, absolutely. They just happen out of nowhere and leave me emotionally ruined. ↪️@/mclarenupdates: Example, please. ↪️@/mrspiastri: One time, I was having a bad day, and he just looked at me and said, ‘You know, the best part of my life is that I get to love you.’ ↪️@/mclarenmemes: EXCUSE ME SIR??? ↪️@/landonorris: “WHAT THE HELL.”
@/f1updates: So you eloped… but do you think you’ll ever have a big wedding? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Not really. Oscar and I don’t love being the center of attention, so a big wedding never appealed to us. ↪️@/landonorris: THEN CAN I HAVE A BIG PARTY ON YOUR BEHALF??? ↪️@/mrspiastri: We literally just had a wedding reveal by accident and you want to throw an even bigger event??? ↪️@/landonorris: YES.
@/f1insider: So how did Mark find out?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: We didn’t tell him. He found out when Oscar referred to me as his wife in conversation. ↪️@/mrspiastri: We were in a meeting. Mark stopped mid-sentence and went, ‘Your WHAT?’ ↪️@/landonorris: HIS WORLDVIEW SHATTERED. @/mrspiastri: Oscar, completely unbothered, said, ‘Oh. Yeah. We got married a while ago.’ ↪️@/mclarenmemes: I CAN HEAR MARK WEBBER’S EXASPERATION. ↪️@/mrspiastri: Mark didn’t speak for a full minute. Then he sighed, rubbed his temples, and went, ‘Mate. You can’t just drop that into conversation like it’s nothing.’ ↪️@/oscarpiastri: I didn’t see the problem. ↪️@/landonorris: YOU WOULDN’T. ↪️@/f1updates: Does Mark ever bring it up now? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Every single time we see him. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: It’s been years. He should let it go. ↪️@/mrspiastri: Finally he just said, ‘Yeah, I should have figured.’ ↪️@/mclarenmemes: EXCUSE ME???” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Apparently, Oscar was too relaxed for someone hiding a major life decision. Mark said he’d seen too many drivers try to balance racing and relationships, and he knew Oscar had already locked it down. ‘Kid’s too stable for anything else.’ ↪️@/mclarenmemes: That’s actually terrifying. ↪️@/mrspiastri: Immediately after he went ‘Alright. Suppose we better make sure this doesn’t derail your career then.’ ↪️@/mclarenmemes: Classic Webber. ↪️@/mclarenupdates: Did he at least congratulate you? ↪️@mrspiastri: Yes. Eventually. But only after making sure we’d thought it through. ↪️@/f1softies: Did he give you a lecture?” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Not really. More like a ‘If you’re doing this, do it properly’ talk.
@/drsfordays: The fact that her family was furious while Mark Webber just sighed is sending me.
@/oscarpiastri_fanclub: So Mark Webber has known this whole time??” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Yes. And I think he’s still mildly offended that Oscar didn’t ask for any advice beforehand.
@/f1updates: Why doesn’t Oscar wear a wedding ring? ↪️@/mrspiastri: He does! He just doesn’t wear it when driving. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: Okay but I have never seen this man wear a ring in my life. ↪️@/mrspiastri: He wears it in the off-season. Also, fun fact: he has a silicone one for training that he keeps losing.
@/f1updates: Oscar is so calm and logical on track. Is he the same at home? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Mostly, yeah. But sometimes, out of nowhere, he’ll just say the most devastatingly romantic thing. ↪️@/f1softies: EXAMPLES PLEASE. ↪️@/mrspiastri: One time, I joked, ‘You’re stuck with me forever,’ and he just looked at me, completely serious, and said, ‘That was the goal.’
@/f1updates: Do you ever wish you dated other people before settling down? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Nope. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: Not even a little? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Why would I? I already found my person.
@/f1updates: Serious question—why don’t you ever go to races?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Anxiety. And I like my privacy. Nobody needs to see my terrified facial expressions. ↪️@/f1memes: You really married a professional racing driver and said no thanks to the circus.” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Yep. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: And Oscar’s fine with that??? ↪️@/mrspiastri: He knew what he was signing up for.
@/landonorris: So I still haven’t met you because??? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Because you are chaos incarnate and I am scared. ↪️@/landonorris: I AM DELIGHTFUL. ↪️@/mrspiastri: Oscar tells me otherwise. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: OSCAR, SAY IT AIN’T SO. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: No comment.
@/mclarenmemes: So you just send him off to work and watch from home like it’s the Super Bowl? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Yes. ↪️@/f1memes: AND HE’S FINE WITH THAT??? ↪️@/mrspiastri: He comes home, I feed him, we watch race replays together, and he tells me all the paddock gossip. We have an excellent system. ↪️@/f1updates: Oscar, confirm or deny? ↪️@/oscarpiastri: Confirmed.
@/f1updates: So, will we ever see you at a race? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Maybe. One day. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: OSCAR, MAKE HER COME TO ONE. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: She does whatever she wants. I learned that a long time ago.
Imagine Hangman Being Caught Leaving Your Room
Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader
Request: Could you write a cute oneshot of hangman x reader where the team catch him coming out of her room one morning after they went home together and they all think they had sex, Hangman plays into it because he doesn't want to admit they were watching cringey reality tv shows all night and the team finds out they have actually been dating for like 6 years? Thank you <3
Genre: Adventure / Fluff
Maybe Rooster had over done it at The Hard Deck tonight. He was feeling that last drink and was vaguely aware that he’d probably regret it in the morning.
Normally, he turned in early and would leave his fellow pilots at The Hard Deck to get a good night’s rest. But tonight they were celebrating. Rooster, Phoenix and Bob were able to successfully shoot Warlock down during a practice dogfight today. The other pilots had cheered for the trio when they landed earlier that afternoon. Rooster smiled as he remembered the triumphant high five you gave him. The best part was seeing Hangman’s nod of approval.
Now, as he walked back to his room, Rooster smiled at Phoenix and Bob. The three of them were the last to leave The Hard Deck that night and they remained quiet as they walked toward the Top Gun dormitories.
A small handful of pilots were recalled back to Top Gun for a brief detachment that no one was worried about. It would only be a week of training before the mission, so Rooster told himself that he would try and enjoy every moment of his friends’ time. It wouldn’t be long before everyone was shipped back to different corners of the world.
From down the hall, Rooster heard someone cursing. Judging by the way Phoenix and Bob straightened, they also heard it. The group tiptoed down the hall until they could poke their face around the corner. The dim lights cast eerie shadows along the hallway of doors. Rooster didn’t have time to think about the creepy hallways, though. Instad, his attention was immediately pulled to Hangman, who was leaning on the doorway of your room.
Hangman was speaking in a near whisper to someone inside the room, Rooster could only assume it was you. Rooster was suspicious by Hangman's loose pair of pants and a casual shirt. Maybe they were pj’s, but Rooster was more interested in the way Hangman was holding his bicep, a small scowl on the arrogant pilot’s face. Rooster guessed that he had been the one to curse just a moment ago. Had Hangman tried to worm his way into your room? Did you punch him for it? Rooster wished he could have been a fly on the wall to watch Hangman attempt to seduce you. Rooster would have punched Hangman, too.
Sure, you and Hangman were close but the endless teasing between the two of you hardly counted as flirting. If anything, Hangman would flirt with you but you would only toss insults back at him. It was one of the reasons Rooster liked you: the only person that could keep Hangman’s ego in check was you.
“Maybe we shouldn’t-” Bob began, but Phoenix shot him a glare that could only mean “shut up”.
Rooster rolled his eyes as he saw Hangman flash his award winning smile. You stepped out into the hall, your chest nearly flush against Hangman’s and Rooster waited for you to tell the pilot to politely fuck off. But Rooster almost fell over when he saw you grab a fistfull of Hangman’s shirt and pull him in for a kiss. With too much familiarity for Rooster’s comfort, Hangman wrapped an arm around your waist and his other hand slid into your hair.
The kiss was over as soon as it began. You pulled away and pushed Hangman toward his own room. Hangman winked over his shoulder at you before you shut your own door.
The feeling of whiplash was beginning to settle over Rooster. Phoenix waited until Hangman’s door was closed before breaking the silence.
“I must be dreaming,” she muttered.
“I know I’m drunk…” Rooster said, running a hand over his face, “but I’m not that drunk.”
The hangover that Rooster had the next morning was nothing compared to the confusion he felt while watching you and Hangman. He found himself reading into every little inside joke the two of you shared or the way you two would argue with one another. And Rooster knew he wasn’t the only one. Phoenix had her eyes laser focused on you while you traded snide remarks with Hangman.
The two of you sat next to one another nearly every day. This morning was no exception. Rooster assumed that you two were friendly because you were stationed together. Being near one another for a couple of years could do that to a pair, despite one of them was as insufferable as Lieutenant Jake Seresin. But even being stuck on a remote island with Hangman wouldn’t lead to… what was this? Romance? A crush?
“They touched hands during Warlock’s lecture,” Phoenix whispered over lunch. Rooster and Bob leaned in and tried to talk between bites.
“They didn’t touch hands,” Rooster answered, “she punched him.”
“Well what about-”
“-when Hangman fixed her flight uniform?” Rooster finished for Phoenix. She nodded, a grin on her face.
“They were just being friendly,” Bob said, rolling his eyes. “They’re not doing anything illegal. What if they just… I don’t know… what if we don’t know what we saw?” Bob looked between Phoenix and Rooster. No one notice you or Hangman approach.
“What did you see,” you asked sweetly. Phoenix and Rooster nearly jumped out of their skin when you took a seat at their lunch table. Hangman took a seat next to you and the two of you looked around at the table. Bob looked down at his food.
“Is everything okay?” You didn’t know what was happening but you knew enough to tell that something was happening.
“Do you fly this afternoon?” Bob asked, finally breaking the silence.
“Yep,” you answered, “I’m going up with Fanboy and Coyote.”
The rest of the lunch passed amicably. However, that didn’t stop you from catching strange glances from your friends. You couldn’t tell if Hangman noticed, but you tried to push the thought out of your mind. You told yourself that you should focus on the coming dogfight.
Hangman also notice that the others were acting strange but he chose to bring it up later. He didn’t want to distract you from your job. And Hangman knew that your head would be stuck on the coming dogfight. You didn’t need any drama.
But after lunch, you said goodbye to everyone and left for the tarmac. Coyote and Fanboy laughed with you as you strolled down the hallway. Hangman smiled at the sound. He knew that Coyote and Fanboy had your back.
Hangman left the lunch room and made a few jokes with some of his fellow pilots as they all walked to the rec room. Rooster, Phoenix, and Bob were walking with him and were good company.
Passively, the group listened to your dogfight over the radio while Rooster and Bob played a game of foo’s ball. Bob was losing, but Hangman and Phoenix cheered him on. Even with one ear on the radio, Hangman was able to give Bob a couple of tips.
“Hangman, I thought you were on my side!” Rooster said as he almost let Bob score a point.
“Since, uh, when?” Hangman crossed his arms and smiled at Rooster. It was enough of a distraction for Bob to score a point. Hangman gave Bob a high five and Phoenix clapped.
“You’re off your game today, Rooster,” Hangman said with too much glee, “in fact you’ve been acting weird all day.”
“What do you mean?” Rooster looked up, meeting Hangman’s eyes.
“Did they put something in the water yesterday at The Hard Deck?” Hangman looked between Rooster, Phoenix, and Bob. “Because the three of you have been… off all day.”
“We’re fine,” Rooster said with a shrug. His eyes slid to the floor and Hangman scoffed at them. Phoenix and Bob exchanged a look and Hangman almost laughed at how guilty the group seemed.
“What is it?” Hangman was distantly aware of your dogfight coming to an end. He heard the missile lock tone beep over the radio and he heard you and Coyote begin the landing procedure. Hangman threw his hands up at the ridiculous silence the group was giving him. Not even Rooster was rising to the challenge.
“Do you have a thing for y/n?” Phoenix said, her words coming out too fast. Rooster’s head shot up and Bob pressed his lips into a tight line. Hangman blinked at Phoenix. Some of the other pilots in the rec room turned their attention towards the group. Hangman let out a laugh.
“Y/n?” Hangman looked around at the people that were listening. “I mean, she’s fine, she’s cute, I think-”
“Are you blushing, Bagman?” Rooster interrupted. A smile widened on Rooster’s face as Hangman spluttered to silence. The blonde pilot ran a hand through his hair.
“No,” Hangman finally said, “I mean, I do like her. But I’m not going to do anything about it.” Hangman set his jaw and looked at Rooster, who had the biggest smile on his face.
“Oh, but Hangman,” Phoenix said with false sweetness, “what were you doing by y/n’s room last night if you’re not going to do anything about it.” Rooster wanted to laugh when he saw Hangman’s face pale. The arrogant pilot froze where he stood, eyes locked with Phoenix’s. Phoenix, like Rooster, was grinning like a mad woman.
“You calling me a liar?” Hangman said, a corner of his lips turning up. He heard footsteps down the hall and knew he needed to make a decision before you came back.
“I wasn’t that drunk last night,” Rooster added, “I know what I saw. Are you trying to tell me it was someone else outside of y/n’s room last night?”
“I mean,” Hangman said slowly, “I was safe in my room all night.” As if Hangman planned it, you strolled into the room, followed by Coyote and Fanboy. The three of you still wore your flight suits and smelled like sweat and oil. You took one look at everyone in the room and knew something was happening.
“But if there was someone outside of her room last night,” Hangman said, standing beside you, “I’d have to show him who she belongs to.” Rooster’s mouth fell open as he watched Hangman wrap a large hand around your throat. He used his thumb to tilt your head toward his and planted a swaying kiss against your lips.
After a shocked moment of silence, Coyote let out a whistle. Hangman pulled back from you and Rooster could see the blush on both you and Hangman.
“They know,” Hangman said to you before you could say anything.
“Did Bob tell them?” You turned your head toward Bob who mutely opened and closed his mouth as he fished for words. Phoenix punched Bob’s arm.
“You knew?!” She glared at Bob who rubbed his sore arm.
“I mean, I saw them once-” Bob tried to explain before Phoenix tried to punch him again. The room erupted in gossip and accusations. You and Hangman stayed quiet as the others talked over one another.
“Just wait until they find out how long we’ve been together,” Hangman said, his lips against your ear. Your toes curled and you leaned into him. You kissed him again and enjoyed the chaos around the room. It felt good to kiss him so openly.
"Wait until I tell them you're addicted to watching Love is Blind." You raised an eyebrow at Hangman.
"We can finish the season tonight, right," Hangman asked without shame. You rolled your eyes.
"As long as we aren't up as late as we were last night," you said. Hangman only laughed and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
Maybe it was good that the others finally knew.
A/N: thank you for reading this little one shot! It took a little longer than I thought to get this one out.
Thank you, @barbiegirlbaby for the request!
“can you watch my boyfriend for a sec?” ❁
f1 grid x fem!reader
summary: TikTok trend with the grid!!
authors note: saw the carlos one and knew i had to write about it!! his reaction made me laugh!! i also just saw mclaren do it to oscar!! i hope the other teams do it to their drivers as well!! also first time writing for seb, jenson, and daniel, i had the time so i said why not?!any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!!
f1 masterlist
Lewis
You: "Hey guys, can you watch my boyfriend for a sec? I need to grab something from the car."
You head out, leaving Lewis alone in front of your phone's camera. He looks around, slightly bewildered.
"What? Y/N who’s on the phone? Uh, hey there. I guess I'm being watched. So... how's everyone doing? Good? Cool. Uh, any Mercedes fans here?" He starts talking about his day and how Roscoe is doing, trying to entertain the 'audience'. "Alright, she'll be back any minute now... right?"
Max
You: "Hey guys, can you watch my boyfriend for a sec? I need to take out the trash."
Max raises an eyebrow as you walk away. He looks at the phone, unsure of what to say.
"Huh? Um, okay. This is weird. Hi, everyone….I guess…..Y/N what is this?! Who’s on the phone? So…what do we do now? Should I... talk about racing? Or... maybe I could just sit here…?" He awkwardly shuffles in his seat, checking his watch. "How long does it take to throw out the trash? Y/N come back! I don’t know what to say or do!"
Lando
You: "Hey guys, can you watch my boyfriend for a sec? I need to get a drink from the kitchen."
Lando grins as you walk away, immediately knowing the TikTok trend. He leans in closer to the camera.
"Hey, TikTok! I was wondering when Y/N was going to do this trend on me! What have you guys been up to? Should I prank her back? Give me some ideas in the comments!" He starts to look around, trying to find something to do. "Should I play some games on my computer or maybe I'll hide and jump out when she gets back?"
Oscar
You: "Hey guys, can you watch my boyfriend for a sec? I need to get my food."
Oscar blinks, looking at the phone and then at the door you just walked towards. He frowns slightly.
"Huh? What….okay? Uh, hi? I guess you guys are going to watch me eat my breakfast…Not sure what I'm supposed to do here. Should I be saying something interesting?" He scratches his head, and moves his food around, clearly uncomfortable. "So, did you guys have breakfast yet? I hope you did, breakfast is important….uhhh yea. Y/N!! Babe!! Come back!! I don’t know what to do!!"
Charles
You: "Hey guys, can you watch my boyfriend for a sec? I need to take a call."
Charles watches you leave, then looks at the phone, confused but trying to be polite.
"Uh? Wait what? Hello, everyone. I guess your...on watch duty?" He laughs nervously. "This feels strange. Maybe I should sing a song? Or talk about Ferrari? Oh, I know, I'll play some music on my piano!" He moves towards the piano, but then hesitates. "Wait, how long is this call going to be? Y/N! Baby!!"
Carlos
You: "Hey guys, can you watch my boyfriend for a sec? I need to make a smoothie."
Carlos looks at the camera, then at the direction you went, raising an eyebrow.
“What is this? Hello? Anyone there? Who were you talking to? Y/N?! Uhhhh hi… Wait, a smoothie? Bebe make me one too please! Okay, hi everyone. This is Carlos, just here... being watched?" He starts looking around, picking up random items on the table. "So, let me show you my favorite things on this table. This is a cool pen, and this is... a coaster. Fascinating, right?" He chuckles, shaking his head. "This is so weird. How long does making a smoothie take anyway?"
Sebastian
You: "Hey guys, can you watch my boyfriend for a sec? I need to water the plants."
Sebastian gives you a puzzled look as you leave and then turns to the camera, smiling politely.
"What?! Y/N what is this? Hello? Hello? Anywhere there? I’m confused… Y/N!! Who were you talking too? Honey? … Um, hello everyone… I guess I'm under surveillance now." He chuckles. "So, while she's watering the plants, let's talk about... sustainability! Did you know you can make your own compost at home? It's really simple and great for your garden." He starts explaining the process, gesturing enthusiastically. "I hope she comes back soon because I might run out of eco-friendly tips! Oh wait!! I know! Let me show you my bees!!"
Jenson
You: "Hey guys, can you watch my boyfriend for a sec? I need to grab the mail."
Jenson watches you leave with a bemused smile, then looks at the phone.
"Ummm what?! Babe? Y/N? Hello? Uhhh..hey there. So, I guess I need to be watched for a minute. You guys are in babysitting duty? Let’s see... what can I do to entertain you?" He glances around and spots his dogs. "Hey, meet my dogs! Come here babies!." He tries to get their attention but Bentley and Rouge ignore him, while Storm walks up to him, just to sit and stare at him. "Well, that didn’t go as planned. I guess they’re tired from playing this morning. Oh well, maybe next time! Isn’t that right Storm." he says putting down the camera.
Daniel
You: "Hey guys, can you watch my boyfriend for a sec? I need to fix something in the bathroom."
Daniel immediately grins and laughs as you walk away, sensing a prank.
“Huh? Babe? What? Oh wait! It’s that TikTok trend!! Alright, what’s up TikTok, what's going on? He starts making funny faces at the camera and then leans in closer. "I have no idea what to talk about. This is so stupid and awkward.” He says bursting out laughing. He keeps glancing towards the bathroom, barely containing his laughter. "Babe come back!!"
© 23victoria 2024 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate, or claim my work as your own.
Here's what I'm consumed with today. How much Carlos lost absolutely everything when he and TK broke up because everything good in his life is connected in some way to TK. He temporarily lost the person he loves but he lost so much more than that. Carlos has to live alone in the place that was supposed to be their home. He found a second father in Owen, who was there for him before his own father was, and that would've been gone after TK was gone. Carlos has a better relationship with his parents because of TK. He needed to hear them both say they're proud of him so much and he needed it for years and he finally got it from them both in connection to something that happened with TK, and now he has to distance himself from them because he has to lie to them about TK breaking up with him. Carlos probably liked his job better because there was always the chance he might run into TK, and now that's become something he dreads. All of his friends were TK's friends first, and Nancy keeps inviting him to hang with them because she's kind but how long realistically would she have kept asking when she knew he was gonna say no? Carlos needed community so badly and he got it because of TK and now that's gone. He gets Grace as a friend because of TK. He gets Paul, another queer person, as a friend because of TK. He gets to indulge in his love of cooking and feeding people because of TK, he would have started to resent cooking after TK was gone because there was no one for him to cook for. Literally everything good Carlos had in his life was connected in some way to TK and it's just all gone after they break up and I get so damn heartbroken thinking about how truly alone this soft man was.
Unremembered
Max Verstappen x Reader
Summary: imagine looking the love of your life in their eyes and seeing a stranger stare back — but Max doesn’t have to imagine, not when this is his reality
Warnings: serious injury and memory loss
The roar of the V6 engine fills Max’s ears as he navigates the twists and turns of the Zandvoort circuit. It’s the first practice session of the Dutch Grand Prix weekend, and Max is in his element, pushing his Red Bull to its limits.
Suddenly, his race engineer’s voice crackles through the radio. “Max, box this lap. Come back to the garage.”
Max furrows his brow, confused. “What? Why? The car feels fine.”
“Max, just box now. It’s important,” GP insists, his tone unusually stern.
Reluctantly, Max steers his car into the pit lane, frustration building. As he pulls into the garage, he notices an unusual flurry of activity. His performance coach, Rupert, is waiting with a grim expression.
“Max, out of the car. Now,” Rupert says urgently.
Max climbs out, yanking off his helmet. “What’s going on? Why did you pull me in?”
Rupert takes a deep breath. “Max, I answered a call on your phone while you were out there. It was the hospital.”
Max’s heart skips a beat. “The hospital? What”
“It’s about Y/N,” Rupert says softly. “She was in a car accident on her way here. It’s ... it’s serious, Max. They’ve taken her to the trauma center.”
The world seems to tilt on its axis. Max grabs Rupert’s arm to steady himself. “What? No, that can’t ... is she okay?”
Rupert shakes his head. “I don’t know. They didn’t give me details. But they said you should come right away.”
Without another word, Max bolts towards the exit. Rupert calls after him, “I’ll drive you!”
The car ride to the hospital is a blur. Max stares out the window, his mind racing. “This can’t be happening,” he mutters. “We were just talking this morning. She was excited to watch practice ...”
Rupert glances at him sympathetically. “Try not to assume the worst. Y/N’s tough. She’ll pull through this.”
Max nods numbly, willing himself to believe it. They screech to a halt outside the emergency entrance, and Max is out of the car before Rupert can even put it in park.
At the reception desk, Max’s words tumble out in a panicked rush. “My girlfriend was brought in. Car accident. Y/N Y/L/N. Where is she?”
The nurse types rapidly. “She’s in surgery right now. If you’ll have a seat in the waiting area, the doctor will come speak with you as soon as possible.”
Max paces the waiting room like a caged animal, running his hands through his hair. Rupert tries to calm him, but Max barely hears him. After what feels like an eternity, a doctor approaches.
“Are you here for Y/N Y/L/N?”
Max nods frantically. “Yes, I’m her boyfriend. Is she okay?”
The doctor’s expression is grave. “She’s out of surgery now. The accident was very serious. She has multiple broken bones and internal injuries. We’ve stabilized her, but ...”
“But what?” Max demands, his voice cracking.
“She suffered a significant head injury. There’s swelling in her brain. We won’t know the full extent of the damage until she wakes up.”
Max sways on his feet. Rupert steadies him with a hand on his shoulder. “Can I see her?” Max asks weakly.
The doctor nods. “She’s in the ICU. I must warn you, she’s heavily sedated and on a ventilator. It may be distressing to see her like this.”
Max follows the doctor down sterile hallways, his heart pounding. When they reach Y/N’s room, he freezes in the doorway. The sight of her lying there, battered and bruised, hooked up to machines, is like a physical blow.
He approaches the bed slowly, tears welling in his eyes. “Y/N,” he whispers, gently taking her hand. “I’m here. You’re going to be okay. You have to be okay.”
Hours pass. Max refuses to leave her side, holding her hand and talking to her softly. Nurses come and go. Rupert brings him coffee that goes cold, untouched.
As evening falls, Max notices her fingers twitch. He leans forward eagerly. “Y/N? Can you hear me?”
Her eyelids flutter, then slowly open. Max’s heart soars. “Y/N! Oh, thank God. You’re awake. How do you feel?”
But something’s wrong. Her eyes are unfocused, confused. She looks at Max blankly, then around the room in bewilderment.
“Where ... where am I?” She croaks, her voice hoarse from the ventilator tube that was recently removed.
“You’re in the hospital,” Max explains gently. “You were in an accident, but you’re going to be okay now.”
She frowns, struggling to process. “An accident? I don’t ... I don’t remember ...”
Max squeezes her hand reassuringly. “That’s okay. Don’t worry about that now. I’m just so glad you’re awake.”
But she pulls her hand away, shrinking back slightly. Her eyes narrow as she studies his face. “I’m sorry, but ... who are you?”
***
Max’s world comes crashing down with those three simple words. He stares at you, his mouth agape, unable to process what he’s just heard. The room suddenly feels too small, too hot, too bright.
“Who ... who am I?” Max repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. “Y/N, it’s me. It’s Max. Your boyfriend.”
You shake your head slowly, wincing at the movement. “I’m sorry, I don’t ... I don’t know you. I don’t remember having a boyfriend.”
Max’s heart shatters into a million pieces. He takes a step back, running a trembling hand through his hair. “Okay, okay,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “The doctor said there might be ... complications. This is just temporary. It has to be.”
You watch him warily, confusion and fear evident in your eyes. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Why can’t I remember anything?”
Max takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He needs to be strong for you, even if you don’t know who he is. “You were in a car accident,” he explains gently. “You hit your head pretty badly. The doctors said there might be some memory loss, but ... I didn’t think ...”
His voice trails off as he sees tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m scared,” you whisper. “I don’t remember the accident. I don’t remember coming here. I don’t even know what day it is.”
Max instinctively reaches out to comfort you, but stops himself, realizing his touch might not be welcome. “It’s okay to be scared,” he says softly. “But you’re not alone. I’m here for you, even if you don’t remember me right now.”
A nurse enters the room, breaking the tension. She smiles warmly at you. “It’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?”
You turn to her, relief evident in your voice. “Everything hurts and I’m so confused. I can’t remember anything.”
The nurse nods sympathetically. “That’s not uncommon with head injuries. Try not to worry too much. Your memories may come back gradually as the swelling in your brain goes down.”
Max interjects, his voice tight with worry. “But she will remember, right? This isn’t ... permanent?”
The nurse’s expression turns cautious. “Every case is different. We’ll need to run some more tests now that she’s awake. The neurologist will be by soon to evaluate her.”
Max nods numbly, feeling like he’s trapped in a nightmare he can’t wake up from. The nurse checks your vitals and adjusts your medication before leaving the room.
An uncomfortable silence falls. You fidget with the edge of your blanket, avoiding Max’s gaze. “So ... we’re together?” You ask hesitantly.
Max nods, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, for almost two years now. We live together in Monaco.”
Your eyes widen. “Monaco? But I’m ... I’m not rich. At least, I don’t think I am.”
Despite everything, Max can’t help but chuckle. “No, but I am. I’m a Formula 1 driver. That’s why we were here in the Netherlands. It’s race weekend, and you were coming to watch me practice.”
You shake your head in disbelief. “This is so strange. It’s like you’re talking about someone else’s life. I can’t imagine dating a famous race car driver.”
Max’s heart clenches at your words. He pulls out his phone, scrolling through photos. “Here,” he says, holding it out to you. “Maybe these will help jog your memory.”
You take the phone hesitantly, swiping through picture after picture of the two of you together. At the beach, at fancy galas, cuddled up on the couch. In every photo, you both look blissfully happy.
“We look ... so in love,” you murmur, your brow furrowed in concentration.
“We are,” Max says softly. “Or at least, we were. I still am.”
You hand the phone back, your expression troubled. “I’m sorry. I wish I could remember. You seem like a really nice guy, and clearly we had something special, but ... it’s all blank.”
Max swallows hard, fighting back tears. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. We’ll figure this out together, I promise.”
Just then, a doctor enters the room. “Ah, good to see you awake,” he says briskly. “I’m Dr. Smeets, the neurologist on your case. How are you feeling?”
You explain your symptoms and memory loss while the doctor makes notes. Max hovers anxiously in the background, hanging on every word.
“Well,” Dr. Smeets says finally, “the good news is that your physical injuries are progressing nicely. The memory loss is concerning, but not entirely unexpected given the trauma to your brain.”
“Will she get her memories back?” Max asks, unable to keep the desperation from his voice.
The doctor’s expression is guarded. “It’s impossible to say for certain. Retrograde amnesia can be unpredictable. Sometimes memories return quickly, sometimes it takes months or even years. And in some cases ...”
“Some cases what?” Max presses.
Dr. Smeets sighs. “In some cases, the memories never fully return. But,” he adds quickly, seeing the stricken look on Max’s face, “that’s relatively rare. The best thing you can do is be patient. Surround her with familiar people and places. Sometimes sensory triggers can help unlock memories.”
Max nods, clinging to that small hope. “Thank you, doctor. What’s the next step?”
“We’ll keep her here for observation for a few more days, run some more tests. After that, assuming there are no complications, she can be discharged to recover at home.”
After the doctor leaves, Max turns to you with forced cheerfulness. “See? That’s good news. You’ll be out of here soon, and then we can go home and work on getting your memories back.”
You shift uncomfortably. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that. Going ... home with you. I mean, you seem great, but you’re still a stranger to me.”
Max feels like he’s been punched in the gut, but he forces himself to nod. “Of course. I understand. We’ll figure something out. Maybe you can stay with your parents for a while?”
You nod, looking relieved. “That sounds better. I remember my parents, at least.”
An awkward silence falls. Max clears his throat. “Do you want me to call them?”
“Would you mind? I don’t even know where my phone is.”
Max steps out into the hallway to make the call, grateful for a moment to collect himself. When he returns, you’re looking out the window, lost in thought.
“They’re on their way,” Max says softly. “They’ll be here in a few hours.”
You turn to him, your expression softening slightly. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
Max shrugs. “Of course I did. I care about you, even if you don’t remember that right now.”
You study him for a long moment. “Can you ... can you tell me about us? How we met, what our life is like? Maybe it’ll help bring something back.”
Max’s heart leaps at the request. He pulls a chair closer to your bed and begins to talk, recounting the story of your relationship. How you met at a charity event, how nervous he was to ask you out, your first date at a little Italian restaurant in Monaco.
As he speaks, you listen intently, searching your mind for any flicker of recognition. But the memories remain frustratingly out of reach, like trying to grasp smoke.
“I’m sorry,” you say finally, interrupting his story about your first vacation together. “None of this is ringing any bells. It all sounds wonderful, but ... it’s like you’re talking about someone else’s life.”
Max tries to hide his disappointment. “It’s okay. The doctor said it might take time. We just have to be patient.”
You nod, but your expression is troubled. “What if ... what if I never remember? What if these memories are just gone forever?”
Max takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “Then we’ll make new ones,” he says firmly. “I love you, Y/N. That hasn’t changed. If I have to make you fall in love with me all over again, I will.”
You look at him, a mix of emotions playing across your face. “That’s ... that’s incredibly sweet. But what if I’m not the same person anymore? What if the me you fell in love with is gone?”
Max shakes his head vehemently. “That’s not possible. You’re still you, even if you can’t remember everything right now. The core of who you are, that hasn’t changed. I know it.”
You don’t look convinced, but you offer him a small smile. “I hope you’re right.”
Just then, a commotion in the hallway catches their attention. Your parents burst into the room, faces etched with worry.
“Oh, sweetheart!” Your mother cries, rushing to your bedside. “We were so worried!”
Your face lights up with recognition. “Mom! Dad!” You exclaim, reaching out to hug them.
Max steps back, giving your family space for their reunion. He watches with a mixture of relief and jealousy as you interact easily with your parents, the rapport between you unchanged by your memory loss.
After a few minutes, your father turns to Max. “Thank you for calling us, and for being here with her.”
Max nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Of course. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
Your mother looks between Max and you, sensing the tension. “Is everything okay?”
You bite your lip, looking uncomfortable. “Mom, I-I can’t remember Max. Or anything about our relationship. The doctor says I have amnesia from the accident.”
Your parents exchange worried glances. Your father puts a comforting hand on Max’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, son. This must be incredibly difficult for you both.”
Max nods, not trusting himself to speak. Your mother turns to you. “But surely you remember something? You and Max have been so happy together.”
You shake your head sadly. “I’m trying, but it’s all blank. I’m sorry.”
An awkward silence falls over the room. Finally, your father clears his throat. “Well, the important thing is that you’re going to be okay. We’ll figure out the rest as we go.”
Max nods in agreement, but inside, he’s screaming. How can he just stand by and watch as the love of his life slips away? But he knows he has to be patient, to give you space to heal and hopefully remember.
“I should probably go,” he says reluctantly. “Let you have some time with your family.”
You nod, looking relieved. “Thank you for staying with me. And for ... for everything.”
Max forces a smile. “Of course. I’ll be back tomorrow, if that’s okay?”
You hesitate for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, that’s fine. Maybe ... maybe you can bring some more photos? Or videos? Something that might help trigger my memory?”
Max’s heart swells with hope. “Absolutely. I’ll bring everything I can think of.”
As he turns to leave, you call out softly. “Max?”
He turns back, his breath catching in his throat. “Yeah?”
You give him a small, uncertain smile. “I’m glad I have someone like you in my life. Even if I can’t remember it right now.”
Max blinks back tears as he nods. “Always,” he whispers. “I’m always here for you.”
***
Max trudges into his hotel suite, the weight of the day pressing down on him like a physical force. He closes the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, eyes closed, trying to steady his breathing. The room is dark and quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of emotions swirling inside him.
He fumbles for the light switch, wincing as the bright overhead lights flicker on. The suite feels cavernous and empty without you here. Your suitcase sits untouched in the corner, a painful reminder of the plans you’d made for this weekend.
Max’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, seeing a flood of missed calls and messages. His team, his family, the media — all clamoring for information, for his attention. He can’t deal with any of it right now.
With trembling hands, he switches off his phone and tosses it onto the bed. He paces the room, energy thrumming through his body with nowhere to go. He should shower, should eat something, should call his manager and figure out what to do about the race weekend. But he can’t bring himself to do any of it.
Instead, he finds himself drawn to your suitcase. He kneels beside it, running his hand over the familiar fabric. Slowly, almost reverently, he unzips it. Your neatly folded clothes, your favorite perfume, the book you’d been reading on the plane — all these little pieces of you, reminders of the life you shared.
Max pulls out one of your sweaters, burying his face in the soft material. It still smells like you. And suddenly, the dam breaks.
A sob tears from his throat, raw and primal. Tears he’s held back for years, through every hardship and setback, finally break free. Max crumples to the floor, clutching your sweater to his chest as he weeps.
“Why?” He chokes out between sobs. “Why her? Why us?”
The tears keep coming, relentless. Max cries for the pain you’re in, for the memories you’ve lost, for the future that suddenly seems so uncertain. He cries for the little boy who was left alone at a gas station, for the young man who walked away from a horrific crash. He cries for every emotion he’s ever pushed down, every vulnerability he’s hidden behind a mask of determination and focus.
Through his tears, he hears a knock at the door. He ignores it, unable to face anyone right now. But the knocking persists, followed by a familiar voice.
“Max? It’s me. Open up, mate.”
Max considers pretending he’s not here, but he knows Daniel won’t give up easily.bWiping his face on his sleeve, Max staggers to his feet and opens the door. Daniel takes one look at his tear-stained face and immediately pulls him into a tight hug.
“Oh, mate,” Daniel says softly. “I just heard. I’m so sorry.”
Max breaks down again, sobbing into Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel doesn’t say anything, just holds him tightly, letting him cry it out.
Finally, Max pulls away, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he mutters, wiping his eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Daniel steers him towards the couch, closing the door behind them. “Nothing’s wrong with you, Max. You’re hurting. It’s okay to let it out.”
Max collapses onto the couch, feeling utterly drained. Daniel sits beside him, his usual joking demeanor replaced by genuine concern.
“Talk to me,” Daniel urges gently. “What happened?”
Max takes a shuddering breath. “She doesn’t remember me. She looked right at me and had no idea who I was. It’s like ... it’s like the last two years never happened for her.”
Daniel winces in sympathy. “That’s rough, mate. But the doctors think it’s temporary, right?”
Max shrugs helplessly. “They don’t know. It might come back, it might not. And even if it does, how long will it take? Weeks? Months? Years?”
“And you’re worried she won’t fall for you again,” Daniel says softly, understanding dawning on his face.
Max nods miserably. “What if she doesn’t? What if the girl I fell in love with is just ... gone? I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be around her when she doesn’t even know me.”
Daniel is quiet for a moment, considering. “You know,” he says finally, “when I first met Y/N, I thought you were crazy.”
Max looks up, confused. “What do you mean?”
Daniel grins. “Come on, mate. Mad Max settling down with a normal girl? I thought for sure it was just a phase, that you’d get bored and move on to the next model or whatever.”
Max bristles slightly. “Y/N’s not just some normal girl. She’s-”
“I know, I know,” Daniel interrupts, holding up his hands. “That’s my point. It didn’t take long for me to see how special she is, and how perfect you two are together. You bring out the best in each other. That connection, that spark — it’s still there, Max. Even if she can’t remember it right now.”
Max shakes his head. “You don’t understand. You didn’t see her in that hospital bed, looking at me like I was a total stranger. It was like ... like everything we had just disappeared in an instant.”
Daniel leans forward, his expression serious. “Listen to me. The memories might be gone for now, but the feelings? The connection you two have? That doesn’t just disappear. It’s still there, buried deep inside her. You just have to be patient and give her time to find it again.”
Max wants to believe him, but doubt gnaws at his heart. “What if she doesn’t want to? What if she decides she’s better off without me?”
Daniel scoffs. “Not a chance, mate. You’re Max fucking Verstappen. What girl wouldn’t want you?”
The joke falls flat. Max just stares at the floor, shoulders slumped. Daniel sighs, realizing humor isn’t the answer right now.
“Look,” he says softly, “I know you’re scared. But think about it this way — you’ve been given a chance to fall in love all over again. To experience all those firsts one more time. It’s not ideal, sure, but it’s not the end of the world either.”
Max looks up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “You really think she could fall for me again?”
Daniel grins. “Are you kidding? She fell for you once when you were an arrogant little shit. Now that you’re slightly less of an arrogant little shit, it should be a piece of cake.”
Despite everything, Max finds himself chuckling. “Thanks, asshole.”
Daniel’s expression turns serious again. “I mean it, though. You can’t give up. Y/N needs you now more than ever, even if she doesn’t realize it. You have to be strong for her.”
Max nods slowly. “I know. I just ... I don’t know how to do this. How to be around her when she doesn’t know me. When she looks at me like I’m a stranger.”
Daniel considers this for a moment. “Maybe that’s your advantage. You get to introduce yourself to her all over again. Show her the Max that she fell in love with in the first place.”
Max mulls this over. “I guess ... I guess that could work. But what if I screw it up? What if I say or do the wrong thing and push her away?”
Daniel claps him on the shoulder. “That’s where your friends come in. We’ve got your back. Whatever you need, we’re here for you. Both of you.”
For the first time since the accident, Max feels a spark of genuine hope. “Thanks. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”
Daniel grins. “Probably crash and burn spectacularly. But that’s why we keep you around — you’re entertaining.”
Max rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling now. “Seriously, though. How do I do this? How do I help her remember without overwhelming her?”
Daniel thinks for a moment. “Start small. Don’t dump your whole history on her at once. Share little stories, show her pictures. Let her get to know you again naturally. And most importantly, be patient. This isn’t a race you can win by pushing harder. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
Max nods, feeling a sense of determination replacing his earlier despair. “You’re right. I can do this. I have to do this. For her.”
Daniel smiles, seeing the familiar fire returning to his friend’s eyes. “That’s the Max I know. Now, have you eaten anything? Because I’m starving, and room service is calling my name.”
Max realizes he hasn’t eaten since breakfast. “Food sounds good,” he admits.
As Daniel picks up the phone to order, Max’s thoughts turn to you. He imagines you in that hospital bed, scared and confused. He makes a silent promise to himself, and to you, that he’ll do whatever it takes to help you remember. And if you can’t remember, he’ll make new memories with you, ones just as beautiful as the ones you’ve lost.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of food, conversation, and planning. Daniel helps Max sort through the flood of messages on his phone, crafting responses to his team and family. They decide that Max will skip the rest of the race weekend — his mind isn’t in the right place to drive safely, and you need him more than the team does right now.
As the night wears on, Daniel eventually leaves, extracting a promise from Max to call if he needs anything. Left alone, Max finds himself drawn once again to your suitcase. This time, instead of breaking down, he begins to pack a bag.
Photos, mementos, little things that might spark a memory — he carefully selects items to bring to the hospital tomorrow. As he works, he talks to you in his mind, imagining what he’ll say when he sees you again.
“I know you’re scared,” he murmurs, folding one of your favorite hoodies. “I’m scared too. But we’re going to get through this together. I’m not giving up on us, Y/N. Not now, not ever.”
As he zips up the bag, Max feels a renewed sense of purpose. The road ahead won’t be easy, but he’s ready to face it. Because at the end of that road is you, and a love worth fighting for.
Max crawls into bed, exhausted but no longer despairing. As he drifts off to sleep, his last thought is of you. Of your smile, your laugh, the way your eyes light up when you look at him. He holds onto these memories, these precious fragments of your life together, knowing that somehow, someway, he’ll find a way to share them with you again.
Tomorrow is a new day, a new chance to help you remember. And Max Verstappen has never been one to back down from a challenge.
***
The sun is barely peeking over the horizon as Max makes his way through the quiet hospital corridors. His footsteps echo in the empty hallway, the bag slung over his shoulder feeling heavier with each step. Inside are the stuffed versions of Jimmy and Sassy, and your favorite hoodie —his hoodie, really, but you’ve claimed it as your own.
As he approaches your room, Max takes a deep breath, steeling himself. He knocks softly before entering, not wanting to startle you if you’re asleep.
You’re awake, sitting up in bed and staring out the window. When you turn to look at him, there’s a flicker of recognition in your eyes, but it’s followed quickly by confusion.
“Max, right?” You say hesitantly.
Max forces a smile, trying to hide the pain those words cause. “That’s right. How are you feeling this morning?”
You shrug, wincing slightly at the movement. “Sore. Confused. But the doctors say I’m healing well, physically at least.”
Max nods, moving closer to the bed. “That’s good. I, uh, I brought some things for you. I thought they might help make you more comfortable.”
You eye the bag curiously. “Oh? That’s ... that’s very kind of you.”
Max sets the bag on the bed and starts unpacking. First, he pulls out the stuffed cats. “These are Jimmy and Sassy,” he explains. “Well, stuffed versions of them. They’re our cats. You can’t travel without these because you miss the real ones so much.”
Your eyes light up as you reach for the stuffed animals. “We have cats? I love cats!”
Max chuckles, a warmth spreading through his chest at your enthusiasm. “Yeah, two Bengal cats. They’re like little troublemakers, always getting into mischief. You adore them.”
You hug the stuffed cats close, a small smile playing on your lips. “Tell me about them?”
Max sits in the chair beside your bed, grateful for the opening. “Well, Jimmy is the older one. He’s very dignified, or at least he tries to be. But he has a weakness for cardboard boxes. No matter how expensive a cat bed we buy him, he always prefers a random Amazon box.”
You giggle at that, and the sound is like music to Max’s ears. He continues, “Sassy is younger and true to her name. She’s always chattering away, meowing at us like she’s telling us about her day. And she has this thing for water —she’ll sit by the sink for hours, just watching the faucet drip.”
“They sound wonderful,” you say softly, stroking the stuffed cats’ fur. “I wish I could remember them.”
Max reaches into the bag again. “Maybe this will help,” he says, pulling out the hoodie. “This is your favorite thing to wear around the house. Well, my hoodie that you’ve completely taken over.”
You take the hoodie, running your hands over the soft fabric. You bring it to your face, inhaling deeply, and for a moment, Max’s heart soars with hope. But then you shake your head.
“It smells ... familiar,” you say slowly. “But I can’t place it. I’m sorry.”
Max tries to hide his disappointment. “It’s okay. Don’t push yourself. The doctors said it might take time.”
You nod, but he can see the frustration in your eyes. “It’s just so strange,” you murmur. “I know things, like I know I love cats, but I can’t remember our cats. I know this hoodie is important, but I can’t remember why.”
Max leans forward, his voice gentle. “Hey, it’s okay. You’ve been through a lot. Give yourself time to heal.”
You look at him, really look at him, for the first time since he entered the room. “You’re being so patient with me. It must be hard for you, seeing me like this.”
Max swallows hard, fighting back tears. “It’s not easy,” he admits. “But you’re worth it. We’re worth it.”
A comfortable silence falls between you. You pull on the hoodie, snuggling into its warmth. “So,” you say after a while, “tell me more about us. How did we meet?”
Max’s face lights up at the question. “It was at a charity gala in Monaco,” he begins. “I was there representing the team and you were there with some friends. I saw you across the room and ... I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
You raise an eyebrow, a hint of a smile on your lips. “Oh really? Was it love at first sight?”
Max chuckles. “More like anxiety at first sight for me. I was so nervous to talk to you. I must have circled the room three times before I worked up the courage to approach you.”
“You? Nervous?” You say, sounding surprised. “But you’re a famous racing driver. Surely you’re used to talking to people.”
Max shrugs. “On the track, sure. But off it? Especially with beautiful women? I’m a disaster. But something about you ... I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t at least try to talk to you.”
You lean back against your pillows, looking intrigued. “So what happened? Did you sweep me off my feet with your charm?”
Max bursts out laughing. “God, no. I was a complete mess. I walked up to you, tried to say something smooth, and ended up knocking over a tray of champagne glasses. Drenched myself and nearly you too.”
Your eyes widen. “Oh no! That sounds mortifying.”
“It was,” Max agrees. “I was ready to run away and hide forever. But then you did something amazing. Instead of being upset or embarrassed, you started laughing. Not at me, but with me. You helped me clean up, made a joke about how I was smoother on the track than off it, and then ... you asked me to dance.”
You smile at that. “I did? That was brave of me.”
Max nods, his eyes soft with the memory. “It was. You later told me you thought I was cute when I was flustered. We danced for hours that night, talking about everything and nothing. By the end of the evening, I knew I wanted to see you again.”
“And the rest is history?” You ask.
“Not quite,” Max says with a grin. “I still had to convince you to go on a proper date with me. And let me tell you, dating a Formula 1 driver isn’t always easy. But we made it work. We’ve been together for two years now, living in Monaco.”
You absorb this information, your brow furrowed in concentration. “It sounds like a fairytale,” you say softly. “I wish I could remember it.”
Max reaches out, hesitating for a moment before gently taking your hand. To his relief, you don’t pull away. “You will,” he says firmly. “And if you don’t, we’ll make new memories. Even better ones.”
You squeeze his hand, offering a small smile. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
“I do,” Max says without hesitation. “Because I know you, Y/N. Even if you can’t remember right now, I know the person you are. Your kindness, your strength, your incredible spirit. That hasn’t changed. It’s still there, inside you.”
Tears well up in your eyes. “I want to believe you,” you whisper. “But it’s so hard. Everything feels so ... disconnected. Like I’m living someone else’s life.”
Max moves to sit on the edge of the bed, still holding your hand. “I know it’s scary,” he says softly. “But you’re not alone in this. I’m here, your family’s here. We’ll help you through it, step by step.”
You nod, wiping away a stray tear. “Thank you. For being here, for bringing these things. It means a lot.”
Max smiles, his heart swelling with love for you. “Always. I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. No matter what.”
Just then, a nurse enters the room. “Good morning,” she says cheerfully. “How are we feeling today?”
You turn to her, still clutching the stuffed cats. “A bit better, I think. Max brought me some things from home.”
The nurse smiles approvingly. “That’s wonderful. Familiar objects can often help in recovery. Now, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to step out for a bit,” she says to Max. “We need to run some tests and change some dressings.”
Max nods, standing up reluctantly. “Of course. I’ll be back later, if that’s okay?” he asks, looking at you.
You nod, offering a small smile. “I’d like that. Maybe ... maybe you could bring some more things next time? Anything that might help jog my memory?”
Max’s heart leaps at the request. “Absolutely. I’ll bring whatever I can think of.”
As he turns to leave, you call out softly. “Max?”
He turns back, his breath catching in his throat. “Yeah?”
“Thank you,” you say simply. “For not giving up on me.”
Max feels tears pricking at his eyes. “Never,” he says firmly. “I’ll never give up on you, Y/N. On us.”
As he walks out of the hospital into the bright morning sunshine, Max feels a renewed sense of hope. It won’t be easy, and the road ahead is still long and uncertain. But you’re still you, still the woman he fell in love with. And he’ll do whatever it takes to help you find your way back to him.
He pulls out his phone, sending a quick message to his team. He won’t be racing this weekend, or perhaps for a while. Some things are more important than Formula 1. Right now, his place is here, by your side, helping you piece together the memories of your life together.
***
The press room is buzzing with anticipation as Max takes his seat at the table. Cameras flash incessantly and the murmur of journalists speculating grows louder. Max’s face is a mask of calm, but inside, he’s a storm of emotions.
His manager, Raymond, leans in close before stepping away. “Remember, keep it brief. No details about Y/N unless absolutely necessary.”
Max nods curtly, his jaw clenched. The past few days have been a whirlwind of hospital visits, tense conversations with the team, and now this — facing the media to explain his decision to step away from racing.
The room falls silent as the press conference begins. A Red Bull spokesperson steps up to the microphone.
“Good afternoon, everyone. As you know, Max Verstappen has announced his decision to take a leave of absence from Formula 1 for an undetermined period. Max will now take your questions.”
The room erupts with raised hands and shouted questions. Max points to a familiar face in the front row.
“Max, can you explain the reasoning behind this sudden decision? You’re in the midst of a tight championship battle. Why step away now?”
Max takes a deep breath. “I understand this comes as a surprise to many. There are personal matters that require my full attention right now. I can’t go into details, but I assure you, this decision wasn’t made lightly.”
Another journalist jumps in before he can choose the next question. “But surely these personal matters could be handled while continuing to race? Many drivers balance personal issues with their careers.”
Max feels a flicker of irritation. “Every situation is unique. In this case, I need to step away completely. My focus can’t be divided right now.”
The questions keep coming, each one chipping away at Max’s patience.
“Is this related to your recent performance dip?”
“Are there issues within the team we don’t know about?”
“Some fans are accusing you of abandoning the sport. What do you say to them?”
Max answers each as calmly as he can, but he can feel his control slipping. Then, a question from the back of the room ignites the powder keg.
“Max, there are rumors that this is about a woman. Have you let a relationship interfere with your career?”
The room falls silent, all eyes on Max. He grips the edge of the table, knuckles white. For a moment, he considers sticking to the script, giving another vague non-answer. But something inside him snaps.
“You want to know the truth?” He says, his voice low and intense. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”
Raymond steps forward, a warning in his eyes, but Max waves him off.
“My girlfriend was in a serious car accident,” Max continues, his voice growing louder. “She’s in the hospital with severe injuries and memory loss. She doesn’t even remember who I am.”
The room erupts in gasps and furious scribbling. Max stands, leaning forward on the table.
“So yes, I’m stepping away from racing. Because the woman I love needs me. Because some things are more important than trophies or championship points.”
He’s shouting now, years of pent-up frustration with the media pouring out.
“You all sit here and judge me, speculate about my personal life, accuse me of abandoning the sport. But where were you when I was a kid, pushed to the limit by a demanding father? Where were you when I was struggling with the pressure of being the youngest driver in F1 history?”
The room is dead silent now, every journalist hanging on his words.
“I’ve given everything to this sport. I’ve sacrificed friendships, relationships, a normal life. And now, the one time I need to put something else first, you question my commitment?”
Max’s voice breaks slightly, but he pushes on.
“Y/N is fighting for her life, fighting to remember who she is. Who we are together. And you want me to, what? Leave her alone in a hospital room while I zip around a track?”
He looks around the room, meeting the shocked gazes of the journalists.
“So go ahead. Write your stories. Question my decisions. But know this — I don’t regret my choice. Not for a second. Because at the end of the day, the chequered flag won’t keep me warm at night. It won’t laugh at my jokes or hold my hand when I’m stressed.”
Max takes a deep breath, his anger giving way to a deep sadness.
“I love racing. It’s been my whole life. But I love Y/N more. And right now, she needs me. So I’m going to be there for her, every step of the way, until she’s better. Until she remembers us.”
He sits back down, suddenly drained. The room is still silent, the journalists too stunned to even raise their hands for questions.
Finally, a older journalist in the front row clears his throat. “Max, I ... we had no idea. I’m so sorry about Y/N. Can you tell us more about her condition?”
Max shakes his head, his voice softer now. “I’ve already said more than I planned to. Y/N’s privacy is important to me. All I’ll say is that she’s fighting hard, and I’m going to be right there with her.”
Another journalist speaks up. “You mentioned Y/N doesn’t remember you. How are you coping with that?”
Max runs a hand through his hair, considering his words carefully. “It’s ... it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. Harder than any race, any championship battle. To look into the eyes of the person you love most in the world and see no recognition ... it’s gut-wrenching.”
He pauses, swallowing hard. “But I’m not giving up. I’m fighting for us, for our memories, for our future. Even if I have to make her fall in love with me all over again.”
The mood in the room has shifted completely. Gone is the adversarial tension, replaced by a somber understanding.
“What can fans do to support you during this time?” Another journalist asks.
Max manages a small smile. “Just ... be patient. Understand that there are things more important than racing. And maybe, if you’re the praying type, keep Y/N in your thoughts.”
The Red Bull spokesperson steps forward, signaling the end of the conference. But Max holds up a hand, not quite finished.
“I want to say one more thing,” he says, his voice steady. “To any of you out there who might be going through something similar — don’t be afraid to step back. Don’t let anyone make you feel guilty for putting your loved ones first. At the end of the day, that’s what really matters.”
With that, Max stands and walks out of the room, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. As soon as he’s out of sight of the cameras, he leans against a wall, emotions overwhelming him.
Raymond approaches cautiously. “That ... didn’t go quite as planned.”
Max lets out a humorless laugh. “No, I suppose it didn’t.”
“You okay?” Raymond asks, genuine concern in his voice.
Max nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am. It feels ... good to have it out there. No more hiding, no more vague excuses.”
Raymond squeezes his shoulder. “You did good, kid. It won’t be easy, but people will understand now.”
Max’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out to see a flood of messages — from his team, his family, even other drivers. But one catches his eye — a text from your mom.
“Just saw the press conference. Y/N would be so proud of you. We all are. Come by the hospital when you can. She’s asking for you.”
Despite everything, Max feels a smile tugging at his lips. He turns to Raymond. “I’ve got to go. Y/N’s waiting.”
Raymond nods understandingly. “Go. We’ll handle things here. Give her our best.”
As Max walks out of the building, he’s greeted by a small crowd of fans. But instead of the anger or disappointment he expected, he sees understanding and support in their faces. Many are holding haphazardly thrown together signs with messages of encouragement for both him and you.
One young girl breaks away from her parents, running up to Max with a hand-drawn card. “This is for Y/N,” she says shyly. “I hope she gets better soon.”
Max kneels down, taking the card with a genuine smile. “Thank you. I’ll make sure she gets it.”
As he stands, the crowd starts to applaud. It’s not the roar of a race victory, but a softer, more meaningful sound. The sound of people recognizing a different kind of strength, a different kind of victory.
Max raises a hand in acknowledgment before getting into his waiting car. As the driver pulls away, he looks at the card in his hands. It’s a simple drawing of two stick figures holding hands, with the words “Get well soon Y/N! Max loves you ❤️” written in childish scrawl.
For the first time in days, Max feels a weight lift from his shoulders. The road ahead is still long and uncertain, but he’s not alone. He has the support of his team, his fans, and most importantly, he has you — even if you can’t remember him yet.
As the car speeds towards the hospital, Max makes a silent promise. To you, to himself, to everyone who’s supporting them. He’ll face this challenge with the same determination and focus he brings to the track. Because this is the most important race of his life — the race to help you remember, to rebuild your life together.
And Max Verstappen doesn’t lose races that matter.
***
Max stands outside your hospital room, the handmade card clutched in his hand. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself before knocking softly and entering.
You’re sitting up in bed, looking more alert than he’s seen you since the accident. Your parents are there too, gathering your things in preparation for your discharge tomorrow.
“Max,” you say, a small smile gracing your lips. It’s not the warm, loving smile he’s used to, but it’s a start. “We saw your press conference.”
Max feels a flush creep up his neck. “Ah, yeah. I, uh, might have gotten a bit carried away.”
Your mother steps forward, enveloping him in a hug. “You were wonderful, dear. So brave and honest.”
“Thanks,” Max mumbles, still not entirely comfortable with praise outside of racing. He turns his attention back to you. “How are you feeling today?”
You shrug slightly. “Better, I think. Still ... confused about a lot of things. But the pain is less.”
Max nods, moving closer to your bed. “That’s good. I, uh, I have something for you.” He holds out the card. “A young fan made this for you after the press conference.”
You take the card, examining the childish drawing with a soft expression. “Get well soon Y/N! Max loves you!” You read aloud. Your eyes flick up to meet his. “That’s ... very sweet.”
Max shifts uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. Your father, sensing the tension, clears his throat. “We’re going to go get some coffee. Give you two some time to talk.”
As your parents leave the room, an awkward silence falls. Max takes a seat in the chair beside your bed, fidgeting with his hands.
“So,” you say finally, “you’re taking time off from racing. For me.”
Max nods. “Yeah. I hope that’s okay. I know you don’t ... remember us. But I want to be here for you, however you need me to be.”
You’re quiet for a moment, considering his words. “It’s a lot of pressure,” you admit softly. “Knowing someone’s put their whole life on hold for me.”
Max leans forward, his eyes intense. “Hey, no. Don’t think of it like that. This isn’t a sacrifice or an obligation. It’s a choice. My choice.”
You nod slowly, but he can see the doubt in your eyes. “Tell me something,” you say suddenly. “Something about us. Something ... happy.”
Max feels a smile tugging at his lips as he casts his mind back. “Okay, how about this? Last year, after I won the championship, we took a vacation. Just the two of us, no teams, no press, no obligations.”
“Where did we go?” You ask, curiosity piqued.
“Bali,” Max says, his eyes lighting up with the memory. “We rented this amazing villa right on the beach. You were determined to teach me how to surf.”
A small giggle escapes you. “Did I succeed?”
Max chuckles. “Not even close. I spent more time eating sand than standing on the board. But you were so patient, so encouraging. Even when I was frustrated and ready to give up, you just ... you made it fun.”
“Sounds nice,” you say softly.
“It was more than nice,” Max continues, warming to the subject. “One evening, we were sitting on the beach watching the sunset.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “I realized all the trophies, all the victories ... they didn’t compare to just being there with you, watching the sun sink into the ocean.”
You’re quiet for a long moment, absorbing his words. “We sound ... very happy together,” you say finally.
Max nods, blinking back tears. “We are. We were. We will be again.”
You reach out hesitantly, taking his hand. It’s the first time you’ve initiated contact since the accident, and Max feels his heart soar.
“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m being discharged tomorrow, and I don’t ... I don’t know where I belong anymore.”
Max squeezes your hand gently. “You belong wherever you feel comfortable. If that’s with your parents for now, that’s okay. If you want to try coming home with me, that’s okay too. There’s no pressure, no expectations. We’ll figure this out together, at your pace.”
You nod, looking grateful. “Thank you. For being so understanding. I know this can’t be easy for you either.”
Max shrugs. “It’s not. But you’re worth it. We’re worth it.”
A comfortable silence falls between you. Max is content to just sit there, holding your hand, savoring this small connection.
After a while, you speak again. “Can you tell me more? About our life together?”
Max’s face lights up. “Of course. What do you want to know?”
You consider for a moment. “What’s a typical day like for us? When you’re not racing, I mean.”
Max leans back in his chair, a fond smile on his face. “Well, you’re definitely the early riser between us. You usually get up first, make coffee. Sometimes you go for a run or do yoga on the balcony.”
“I do yoga?” You ask, sounding surprised.
Max chuckles. “Yeah, you got into it as a way to help me relax between races. Said if it could calm me down, it could work miracles for anyone.”
You laugh at that, a genuine, full laugh that makes Max’s heart skip a beat. It’s the first time he’s heard that sound since the accident.
“Anyway,” he continues, “I usually drag myself out of bed when I smell the coffee. We have breakfast together, usually something healthy that you insist I need.”
“Sounds like I take good care of you,” you observe.
Max nods, his expression softening. “You do. Better than anyone ever has.”
“What else?” You prompt, clearly engrossed in the story of your shared life.
“Well, if I’m training, you often come to the gym with me. You say it’s to support me, but I think you just like ogling me when I lift weights.”
You swat his arm playfully, a faint blush coloring your cheeks. “I do not!”
Max grins, delighted by this glimpse of your old dynamic. “Oh, you absolutely do. Not that I mind. I return the favor when you’re doing your yoga.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “What else do we do?”
“We cook together a lot,” Max says. “Or rather, you cook and I try not to burn the kitchen down. You’re teaching me, slowly but surely. We have this tradition of trying to recreate dishes from all the countries I race in.”
“That sounds fun,” you say, a wistful note in your voice. “Do we have a favorite?”
Max thinks for a moment. “There’s this amazing pasta dish we perfected after the Italian Grand Prix. You said it was better than sex.”
Your eyes widen. “I did not!”
Max laughs. “You absolutely did. Then you made me prove you wrong.”
You blush furiously, but you’re laughing too. “I can’t believe I said that!”
“Believe it,” Max says, grinning. “You’re full of surprises, schatje. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”
The word ’love’ hangs in the air between you. You grow quiet, your expression thoughtful.
“Max,” you say finally, “I want you to know ... I’m trying. To remember. To ... to feel what you feel.”
Max squeezes your hand. “I know you are. And it’s okay if it takes time. Or if ... if you never feel exactly the same way. We can build something new, if we need to.”
You nod, looking relieved. “Thank you. For understanding. For being patient.”
“Always,” Max says softly.
Just then, your parents return, breaking the intimate moment. Your mother smiles warmly at the sight of your joined hands.
“Everything okay in here?” She asks.
You nod, offering a small smile. “Yeah. Max was just telling me about our life together.”
Your father clears his throat. “Speaking of which, we should probably discuss arrangements for after your discharge tomorrow.”
You tense slightly, and Max can feel your grip on his hand tighten. “Right,” you say, your voice uncertain.
Max jumps in. “Y/N, remember what I said. Whatever you’re comfortable with. There’s no pressure.”
You nod gratefully. “I think ... I think I’d like to stay with my parents for a bit. If that’s okay?” You look at Max, worry in your eyes.
Max forces a smile, ignoring the pang in his heart. “Of course it’s okay. Whatever you need.”
Your mother steps forward. “Max, you’re welcome to visit anytime. We know how important you are to Y/N, even if she can’t remember everything right now.”
Max nods, grateful for their understanding. “Thank you. I’d like that.”
As the conversation turns to logistics of your discharge, Max finds his mind wandering. It’s not the outcome he’d hoped for, but he understands. You need time, space to heal and rediscover yourself. And he’ll be there, every step of the way, however you need him.
As visiting hours come to an end and Max prepares to leave, you call out to him.
“Max?”
He turns back. “Yeah?”
You hesitate for a moment, then say, “Thank you. For everything. And ... I’d like to hear more stories. About us. If that’s okay.”
Max feels a warmth spread through his chest. It’s not a declaration of love, not a magical recovery of memories. But it’s a start. A willingness to explore, to learn, to possibly fall in love all over again.
“Anytime,” he says softly. “I’ve got plenty of stories to tell.”
***
The Monaco apartment feels cavernous and empty as Max pushes open the door. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the soft padding of paws as Jimmy and Sassy come to greet him. They meow insistently, weaving between his legs, clearly searching for someone who isn’t there.
“I know,” Max murmurs, kneeling to scratch behind their ears. “I miss her too.”
He moves through the space, every corner filled with memories. Your favorite mug sits on the kitchen counter, lipstick stain still visible on the rim. A half-read book lies on the coffee table, your bookmark peeking out from the pages. Your scent lingers on the throw pillows on the couch.
Max sinks onto the sofa, and immediately, Jimmy jumps up beside him, headbutting his hand for attention. Sassy follows suit, curling up in his lap.
“At least I’ve got you two,” Max says softly, stroking their fur. “But it’s not the same, is it?”
He pulls out his phone, scrolling through photos of happier times. You and him on vacation, at race weekends, lazy Sundays at home. Your smile, so bright and full of love, now feels like a distant memory.
“Come on, Max,” he mutters to himself. “You can’t fall apart now. Y/N needs you to be strong.”
But in the quiet of the apartment, with only the cats for company, it’s hard to maintain that strength. For the first time since the accident, since the press conference, since leaving you at your parents’ house, Max allows himself to truly feel the weight of everything that’s happened.
A sob escapes him, then another. Soon, he’s crying in earnest, all the pent-up fear and frustration and loneliness pouring out. Jimmy and Sassy press closer, as if trying to comfort him.
“I don’t know what to do,” Max confesses to the empty room. “How do I help her remember? How do I make her fall in love with me again? What if ... what if she never does?”
The cats, of course, don’t answer. But their presence is comforting, a reminder that he’s not entirely alone.
As his tears subside, Max takes a deep breath, trying to center himself. He needs to focus, to come up with a plan. You might not remember your life together, but he does. And he’s determined to help you rediscover it, piece by piece if necessary.
He stands, moving to the bookshelf where you keep photo albums. Maybe he could put together a scrapbook of your relationship, something tangible for you to look through. As he reaches for an album, his phone buzzes in his pocket.
His heart leaps when he sees your name on the screen. He answers immediately, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice. “Y/N? Is everything okay?”
“Hi,” you say, and he can hear a note of confusion in your voice. “Everything’s fine, I just ... this is going to sound weird, but I needed to ask you something.”
Max sits back down on the couch, curious. “Of course. What is it?”
You hesitate for a moment before speaking. “I’ve been having these ... cravings. For food I don’t remember ever eating before, much less liking. And I thought maybe ... maybe they mean something?”
Max’s pulse quickens. Could this be a sign of your memories returning? “What kind of food?” He asks, trying to keep his voice neutral.
“Tomato soup,” you say. “And beef carpaccio. I know it sounds strange, but I can’t stop thinking about them. Do they ... do they mean anything to you?”
Max feels like his heart might burst out of his chest. “Y/N,” he says softly, “those are my favorite foods.”
“Oh,” you breathe, and he can hear the surprise in your voice. “I ... I didn’t know that.”
“The tomato soup is something my mom used to make for me when I was a kid,” Max explains, his voice thick with emotion. “And the carpaccio ... that was what we had on our first real date in Monaco.”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. “I don’t remember that,” you say finally, a note of frustration in your voice. “But I can almost ... almost taste it, you know? Like my body remembers even if my mind doesn’t.”
Max nods, even though you can’t see him. “That’s good, Y/N. That’s really good. It means the memories are still in there somewhere.”
“Maybe,” you say, sounding uncertain. “I just wish I could remember more. It’s so frustrating, having all these ... these echoes of a life I can’t quite grasp.”
“I know,” Max says soothingly. “But this is progress. We just have to be patient.”
You sigh. “You’re right. I just ... I feel bad, you know? You’re being so patient and understanding, and I can’t even remember our first date.”
Max’s heart aches at the sadness in your voice. “Hey, no. Don’t feel bad. This isn’t your fault. We’re in this together, remember?”
“Yeah,” you say softly. “Together.”
There’s another pause, and Max can almost picture you biting your lip, the way you do when you’re thinking hard about something.
“Max?” You say finally. “Can you ... can you tell me about our first date? The one with the carpaccio?”
A smile spreads across Max’s face. “Of course. It was about a week after we met at that charity gala. I was so nervous, I must have changed my shirt five times before picking you up.”
You laugh softly. “You, nervous? I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it,” Max chuckles. “You had me completely flustered. Still do, if I’m honest.”
He launches into the story, describing how he’d taken you to a small, intimate restaurant overlooking the harbor. How you’d laughed at his attempts to pronounce the French dishes, how your eyes had lit up when you tasted the carpaccio.
“You said it was the best thing you’d ever eaten,” Max recalls. “But I barely tasted the food. I just couldn’t believe someone as amazing as you was interested in me.”
“Max ...” you start, your voice soft and a bit uncertain.
“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I don’t mean to push. I know this is all still ... complicated.”
“No, it’s okay,” you assure him. “I like hearing these stories. They help, even if I can’t remember them myself yet.”
Max feels a warmth spread through his chest. “I’m glad. I’ve got plenty more where that came from, whenever you want to hear them.”
“I’d like that,” you say. “Maybe ... maybe next time we could do it in person? If you’re not too busy, I mean.”
“Y/N,” Max says seriously, “I’m never too busy for you. Just name the time and place, and I’ll be there.”
You laugh softly. “Careful, I might hold you to that.”
“Please do,” Max says, meaning every word.
As you say your goodbyes, Max feels lighter than he has in days. It’s not a magical fix, not a sudden return of all your memories. But it’s progress. A willingness to explore, to learn, to possibly fall in love all over again.
An idea strikes him as he ends the call. He quickly pulls up a food delivery app on his phone, searching for restaurants near your parents’ house. Finding one that offers both tomato soup and beef carpaccio, he places an order, adding a note.
A taste of our memories. Hope this helps satisfy those cravings - Max
As he completes the order, Max feels a surge of hope. It’s a small gesture, but maybe it will help trigger more memories. Or at the very least, it will show you that he’s thinking of you, that he’s here for you in whatever way you need.
He looks around the apartment, seeing it with new eyes. Yes, it’s empty without you here. But it’s not a sad emptiness anymore. It’s a space waiting to be filled again, with new memories alongside the old.
Max scratches Jimmy and Sassy behind the ears. “What do you think, guys? Should we start planning how to win your mom’s heart all over again?”
The cats purr in response, and Max chuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Even if you can’t remember everything yet, your body remembers. Your heart remembers.
And Max is determined to help you rediscover every beautiful moment of your life together, one memory at a time. Starting with a bowl of tomato soup and a plate of beef carpaccio.
***
The shrill ring of his phone jolts Max awake. He fumbles for it in the darkness, heart racing as he sees the caller ID: your mother.
“Hello?” He answers, voice thick with sleep but mind rapidly clearing.
“Max, I’m so sorry to wake you,” your mother’s voice comes through, tense and worried. “It’s Y/N. She woke up about an hour ago and she’s ... she’s not okay.”
Max is already out of bed, fumbling for clothes. “What’s wrong? Is she hurt?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” your mother assures him quickly. “She’s just ... she’s crying and she keeps saying she needs you. We can’t calm her down. I know it’s the middle of the night, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You did the right thing,” Max says, pulling on a shirt haphazardly. “I’m on my way. Can you put her on the phone?”
There’s a rustling sound, then your voice comes through, small and broken. “Max?”
His heart clenches at the pain in your voice. “Y/N, I’m here. What’s wrong, liefje?”
“I don’t know,” you sob. “I had this dream and now everything hurts and I can’t ... I can’t remember but I know I need you. Please, Max. I need you here.”
“I’m coming,” Max promises, already dialing his pilot with his other phone. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just hold on, okay?”
“Okay,” you whisper. “Please hurry.”
As the call ends, Max is already rushing out the door, barely remembering to grab his wallet and keys. He calls his pilot as he takes the stairs two at a time, not willing to wait for the elevator.
“Frank, I need the jet ready as soon as possible. We’re flying to-” he rattles off the name of your parents’ hometown. “How fast can we be in the air?”
“Mr. Verstappen, it’s the middle of the night,” Frank starts, but Max cuts him off.
“I know what time it is. This is an emergency. How soon?”
There’s a pause, then Frank sighs. “Give me 30 minutes. I’ll call the crew.”
“Make it 20,” Max insists. “I’ll double your rate.”
“We’ll be ready,” Frank assures him.
Max ends the call as he reaches his car, peeling out of the parking garage with a screech of tires. His mind races as fast as the car, worry for you overwhelming everything else.
What could have triggered this? You’d been doing better, or so he thought. The memory of food had seemed like progress. But now ...
He shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the road. Getting to you safely is what matters now. Everything else can wait.
Max makes it to the airport in record time, barely bothering to park properly before he’s sprinting towards his private jet. Frank meets him at the stairs.
“We’re fueled and ready,” he says. “Weather looks clear, we should have a smooth flight.”
“Good,” Max nods, already climbing the stairs. “Let’s go.”
As the jet takes off, Max finds himself unable to sit still. He paces the cabin, checking his phone every few seconds even though he knows there’s no signal at this altitude.
The flight attendant approaches cautiously. “Mr. Verstappen? Can I get you anything?”
Max shakes his head, then reconsiders. “Actually, yes. Coffee. Strongest you’ve got.”
She nods, retreating to the galley. Max resumes his pacing, his mind a whirlwind of worry and speculation.
What if you’d remembered something traumatic? What if this setback undid all the progress you’d made? What if ...
He forces himself to stop that line of thinking. Catastrophizing won’t help anyone, least of all you.
The flight seems to take an eternity. As soon as they land, he’s out of his seat, barely waiting for the stairs to fully deploy before he’s racing down them.
A car is waiting, arranged by his ever-efficient team. Max barely registers the driver’s greeting as he slides into the backseat.
He recites the address tersely. “As fast as you can.”
The drive is a blur of streetlights and quiet suburban roads. Max’s leg bounces nervously, his hands clenched into fists.
Finally, mercifully, they pull up to the familiar house. Max is out of the car before it fully stops, racing up the front steps.
Your father opens the door before he can knock. “Thank God you’re here,” he says, ushering Max inside. “She’s upstairs.”
Max takes the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding. He can hear muffled sobs coming from your old bedroom.
He pauses at the door, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Then he knocks softly. “Y/N? It’s me. It’s Max.”
The sobs quieten slightly. “Max?” Your voice comes through, small and uncertain.
“Can I come in?”
There’s a pause, then: “Please.”
Max opens the door slowly. The room is dimly lit by a bedside lamp, casting long shadows. You’re huddled on the bed, knees drawn up to your chest, eyes red and puffy from crying.
The sight of you so distressed nearly breaks him. In two long strides, he’s at your side.
“I’m here,” he says softly. “I’m right here.”
You look up at him, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “Max,” you whisper, and then you’re launching yourself into his arms.
Max catches you, holding you close as you sob into his chest. He strokes your hair, murmuring soothing words.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Gradually, your sobs subside, replaced by hiccuping breaths. Max continues to hold you, rocking slightly.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks gently.
You pull back slightly, wiping your eyes. “I had this dream,” you start, your voice hoarse. “It was so vivid. We were ... we were in a car, I think. And there was a crash and I couldn’t ... I couldn’t reach you.”
Max’s heart clenches. Is this a memory of your accident trying to surface?
“It felt so real,” you continue. “And when I woke up, I was so scared and confused. I couldn’t remember where I was or why you weren’t there. I just knew I needed you.”
“I’m here now,” Max says, cupping your face gently. “I’ll always come when you need me.”
You lean into his touch, closing your eyes. “I’m sorry for making you fly out in the middle of the night.”
Max shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. There’s something different there, something Max can’t quite identify.
“Max,” you say slowly, “I think ... I think I remembered something.”
His breath catches. “What did you remember?”
You furrow your brow, concentrating. “It’s not clear. Just ... feelings, mostly. But when you walked in, when you held me ... it felt familiar. Safe. Like ... like coming home.”
Max feels hope bloom in his chest. “That’s good, schatje. That’s really good. It means the memories are still there, even if they’re hard to reach right now.”
You nod, then yawn widely. The emotional toll of the night is clearly catching up with you.
“You should try to get some sleep,” Max says, moving to stand up.
But you grab his hand, holding him in place. “Will you ... will you stay? Just until I fall asleep?”
Max’s heart swells. “Of course. As long as you need.”
You scoot over, making room for him on the bed. Max kicks off his shoes and lies down next to you, careful to maintain a respectful distance.
But you close that distance, curling into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed. Like the accident never happened.
“Tell me a story,” you mumble, already half-asleep. “About us.”
Max smiles, wrapping an arm around you. “Okay. How about the time we tried to teach Jimmy and Sassy to swim?”
You make a soft sound of agreement, nuzzling closer.
As Max recounts the tale of your misadventures with the cats and a kiddie pool, he feels you relax against him, your breathing evening out.
He continues the story even after he’s sure you’re asleep, partly out of habit, partly because he’s not ready for this moment to end.
Eventually, he falls silent, just listening to your steady breathing. He knows he should leave, go sleep in the guest room or on the couch. But he can’t bring himself to move, to break this fragile peace.
Just a few more minutes, he tells himself. Just a little longer.
Before he knows it, sunlight is streaming through the windows. Max blinks awake, momentarily disoriented. Then he feels you stir against him, and everything comes rushing back.
You lift your head, looking up at him with sleep-clouded eyes. For a moment, just a moment, Max sees recognition there. The look you used to give him every morning.
But then you blink, and it’s gone, replaced by confusion, then embarrassment.
“Oh God,” you mutter, sitting up quickly. “Max, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you here all night.”
Max sits up too, trying to ignore the ache in his heart at the loss of contact. “It’s okay. I wanted to be here.”
You run a hand through your hair, not meeting his eyes. “Last night ... it’s all a bit fuzzy. Did I ... did I say anything? About remembering?”
Max nods slowly. “You said being with me felt familiar. Like coming home.”
You’re quiet for a long moment, staring at your hands. “I wish I could remember more,” you say finally, your voice small. “It’s all still so ... jumbled.”
Max reaches out, then stops himself, unsure if the touch would be welcome. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out together.”
You look up at him then, a small smile on your face. “Together,” you repeat. “I like the sound of that.”
There’s a soft knock at the door, and your mother pokes her head in. “Oh good, you’re both awake. Breakfast is ready if you’re hungry.”
As you both stand to head downstairs, Max feels a mix of emotions. Disappointment that the night didn’t lead to a magical recovery of your memories. Hope at the small signs of progress. And an overwhelming sense of love for you, memory or no memory.
He knows the road ahead is still long and uncertain. But as he watches you smile at something your mother says, he feels more certain than ever that it’s a road worth traveling.
Because even if you can’t remember all of your history together, you’re still you. Still the woman he fell in love with. And he’ll spend every day helping you rediscover that love, one memory at a time.
***
The rhythmic clanging of weights fills the air as Max pushes through another set of bench presses. Sweat beads on his forehead, his muscles straining with each repetition. Rupert stands nearby, counting softly and offering encouragement.
“Nine ... ten ... good, Max. One more set and we’ll move on.”
The sharp ring of Max’s phone cuts through the gym’s atmosphere. Max grunts, arms shaking as he finishes his reps.
“Can you grab that, Rupert? Might be important.”
Rupert nods, retrieving the phone from Max’s gym bag. “It’s Y/N’s parents,” he says, eyebrows raised.
Max’s heart skips a beat. “Put it on speaker,” he says quickly, sitting up on the bench.
Rupert answers the call, holding the phone out between them. “Hello? This is Rupert, Max’s trainer. You’re on speaker.”
“Oh, hello Rupert,” comes the familiar voice of your mother. “Is Max there? We have some news.”
“I’m here,” Max says, leaning closer to the phone. “What’s going on? Is Y/N okay?”
There’s a pause, and Max feels his anxiety spike. Then, your father’s voice comes through, barely containing his excitement.
“Max, it’s ... it’s incredible. Y/N says she can remember. Not everything, but ... a lot. She woke up this morning and it was like a flood of memories just came back to her.”
The words hit Max like a physical force. He stands abruptly, forgetting the weight still balanced precariously on his legs. It crashes to the floor with a deafening clang, missing Rupert’s foot by mere inches.
“Whoa!” Rupert yelps, jumping back. “Easy there, Max!”
But Max barely notices. His entire world has narrowed to the voice coming from the phone. “She ... she remembers? Are you sure? How much does she remember?”
Your mother’s voice comes back on. “It’s still patchy, but she remembers you, Max. She remembers your life together, your home in Monaco. She’s been talking about the cats all morning.”
Max feels his knees go weak. He sits back down heavily on the bench, his head spinning. “Can I ... can I talk to her?”
“I’m afraid she’s with the doctors right now,” your father explains. “They want to run some tests, make sure everything’s okay. But she’s been asking for you. We thought you’d want to know right away.”
Max nods, then remembers they can’t see him. “Yes, of course. Thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll take the jet, I can be there in”
“Actually,” your mother interrupts, “Y/N has been asking to come home. To Monaco. She says she misses you, and the cats, and ... well, her life with you.”
Max feels a lump form in his throat. “She wants to come home?” He repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.
“If that’s alright with you,” your father adds quickly. “We understand if you need time to prepare, or if you think it’s too soon”
“No!” Max exclaims, perhaps a bit too loudly. He clears his throat. “I mean, no, it’s not too soon. It’s perfect. I can send the jet for her right away. If ... if that’s what she wants.”
He can hear the smile in your mother’s voice as she responds. “It is. She’s quite insistent, actually. Says she wants to sleep in her own bed.”
Max feels a grin spreading across his face. “I’ll make the arrangements right away. Can you have her ready to go in ... let’s say five hours?”
“We can do that,” your father confirms. “And Max? She’s ... she’s really excited to see you.”
Max swallows hard, emotion threatening to overwhelm him. “I can’t wait to see her too. Thank you both, for everything.”
As the call ends, Max looks up to see Rupert grinning at him. “So,” his trainer says, “I’m guessing our workout is over for the day?”
Max laughs, a sound of pure joy and relief. “Yeah, I’d say so. Sorry about almost crushing your foot.”
Rupert waves it off. “Small price to pay for good news like that. Go on, get out of here. Go prepare for Y/N’s homecoming.”
Max doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s already dialing his pilot as he rushes towards the locker room. “Frank? I need the jet ready as soon as possible. We need to pick someone up ...”
That evening, Max is pacing the length of his — your — living room, unable to keep still. He’s tidied the already immaculate apartment three times, checked on the cats twice, and changed his shirt four times.
Max takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He sinks onto the couch, and immediately Jimmy jumps into his lap.
“Hey, buddy,” Max murmurs, scratching behind the cat’s ears. “Mama’s coming home. You excited?”
Jimmy purrs in response, kneading Max’s leg. Sassy, not to be left out, appears from nowhere and curls up next to them.
“Yeah, me too,” Max says softly. He looks around the apartment, memories flooding back. Your first night here together, nervous and excited about taking this step. Lazy Sunday mornings cuddled on this very couch. The time you tried to teach him to dance in the living room, both of you laughing so hard you could barely stand.
The next hour crawls by at an agonizing pace. Max alternates between sitting rigidly on the couch and pacing the floor. He checks his phone obsessively, waiting for updates.
Finally, blessedly, his phone rings. It’s his pilot. “We’ve landed, boss. Y/N’s parents are helping her into the car now. Should be at your place in about 20 minutes.”
Max feels his heart rate double. “Thanks, Frank. Until next time.”
The next 20 minutes are the longest of Max’s life. He stands by the window, watching the street below, waiting for the familiar black SUV to appear.
When it finally does, Max feels like he might pass out. He watches as the car pulls up, as the driver gets out to open the back door. And then ... there you are.
You look tired, a bit pale, but to Max, you’ve never been more beautiful. You look up at the building, a soft smile playing on your lips. And then your eyes meet his through the window.
Max feels his breath catch in his throat. Because in that moment, he sees it. Recognition. Love. You’re really back.
He’s at the door in an instant, yanking it open just as you step off the elevator. For a moment, you both freeze, taking each other in.
“Max,” you whisper, and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.
“Y/N,” he breathes, and then you’re in his arms.
He holds you tightly, burying his face in your hair, breathing you in. You cling to him just as fiercely, and he can feel your tears soaking through his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” you murmur against his chest. “I’m so sorry I forgot you.”
Max pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his hands cupping your face. “Hey, no. You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re here now. You’re home.”
You nod, a watery smile on your face. “I am. I remember, Max. Not everything, not yet. But I remember us. I remember loving you.”
Max feels tears spill down his cheeks, but he doesn’t care. He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “I love you so much, liefje. God, I was so scared I’d lost you.”
You shake your head, your hands coming up to wipe away his tears. “Never. You could never lose me, Max Verstappen. Not really.”
And then you’re kissing, and it’s like coming home after a long, difficult journey. It’s familiar and new all at once, and Max never wants it to end.
A loud meow interrupts the moment. You break apart, laughing, to see Jimmy and Sassy winding around your feet, demanding attention.
“Oh, my babies!” You exclaim, kneeling down to scoop them up. “I missed you too!”
Max watches, his heart so full it feels like it might burst. This is what he’s been missing, what he’s been fighting for. You, here, in your home, with your little family.
As you straighten up, cats in arms, Max wraps an arm around your waist. “Welcome home,” he says softly.
You lean into him, a contented sigh escaping your lips. “It’s good to be home.”
Max knows there’s still a long road ahead. Your memory isn’t fully restored, and there will be challenges to face. But right now, in this moment, with you in his arms, he knows everything will be okay.
Because you remembered. You came home. And together, you can face anything.
***
The neon lights of Las Vegas blur into streaks of color as Max races through the city streets, his Red Bull car a blur of blue and red and yellow. The roar of the engine fills his ears, but it can’t drown out the beating of his own heart. This race feels different, more important than any he’s ever driven before.
As he navigates a tight corner, Max’s mind flashes back to the conversation that led him here...
“Max, you need to go back,” you had said, your voice gentle but firm. “Racing is part of who you are. I’m better now, and I want to see you out there doing what you love.”
Max had shaken his head, pulling you closer on the couch. “But what if something happens? What if you need me?”
You had laughed, a sound that still made his heart skip a beat. “I’ll always need you, silly. But I don’t need you hovering over me 24/7. Plus,” you added with a mischievous grin, “I miss seeing you in that race suit.”
Now, as he pushes the car to its limits, Max feels a renewed sense of purpose. He’s not just racing for himself anymore, or for the team. He’s racing for you, to make you proud, to show you that your faith in him wasn’t misplaced.
“Max, you’re pulling away,” GP’s voice crackles through the radio. “Gap to P2 is now 3.5 seconds. Keep this up, mate.”
Max grunts in acknowledgment, too focused to form words. He knows you’re watching from the garage, probably biting your nails like you always do during his races. The thought makes him smile behind his helmet.
Lap after lap, Max maintains his lead. The famous Las Vegas Strip becomes a blur of light and shadow as he speeds past the iconic hotels and casinos. In the back of his mind, he remembers your excitement when you found out about this race.
“Vegas, Max! It’s going to be incredible. Promise me we’ll stay a few extra days after the race?”
He had promised, of course. He’d promise you the moon if you asked for it.
As the final laps approach, Max’s concentration intensifies. He’s been in this position before, leading a race, victory within grasp. But it’s never felt quite like this.
“Two laps to go,” GP informs him. “You’ve got this. Just bring it home.”
Max takes a deep breath, visualizing the remaining track in his mind. He can almost hear your voice, the way you’d whisper “You’ve got this” before every race, a private moment just for the two of you amidst the pre-race chaos.
The last lap arrives, and Max is in the zone. Every turn, every straight, every gear change is perfect. As he rounds the final corner, the chequered flag comes into view.
“Yes!” Max shouts as he crosses the finish line, pumping his fist in the air. The team erupts in cheers over the radio, but Max is waiting for one particular voice.
“Brilliant drive, Max!” GP exclaims. “Absolute masterclass. How does it feel to be back on the top step?”
Max takes a moment to catch his breath, emotions threatening to overwhelm him. When he speaks, his voice is thick with feeling.
“It feels ... it feels incredible,” he says. “But this win, it’s not for me. It’s for Y/N.”
He can hear the surprise and emotion in GP’s voice as he responds. “That’s beautiful. I’m sure she’s over the moon right now.”
As Max begins his cool-down lap, he continues, knowing his words are being broadcast to millions around the world, but speaking only to you.
“Y/N, liefje, this one’s for you. For your strength, your courage, your unwavering support. You pushed me to come back even when I wanted to stay home with you. You believed in me when I doubted myself. This victory is yours as much as it’s mine.”
He pauses, swallowing hard. “I love you, Y/N. More than any trophy, any championship. You’re my biggest win.”
As he pulls into parc fermé, Max can see the team gathered, ready to celebrate. But his eyes scan the crowd, looking for only one person.
And there you are, pushing through the throng of mechanics and officials. Your eyes are shining with tears, but your smile is radiant.
Max practically leaps out of the car, not even bothering with his helmet. He meets you halfway, sweeping you up in his arms and spinning you around.
“You did it!” You exclaim, laughing and crying at the same time. “Oh Max, I’m so proud of you!”
Max sets you down but doesn’t let go, pressing his forehead to yours. “No, we did it. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
You shake your head, still smiling. “This was all you, Max. I just watched from the sidelines.”
“You’ve never been on the sidelines,” Max says firmly. “You’re the reason I’m here. The reason I push myself to be better, on and off the track.”
Before you can respond, the team descends upon them, whooping and cheering. Max is pulled away for the podium ceremony, but his eyes never leave you.
The champagne flows, the anthems play, but it all feels like a blur to Max. All he can think about is getting back to you, celebrating properly.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity of photos and interviews, Max is able to escape back to the team’s hospitality area. You’re waiting for him, a glass of champagne in hand and a proud smile on your face.
“There’s my champion,” you say softly as he approaches.
Max pulls you close, not caring who might be watching. “I meant what I said on the radio,” he murmurs. “This win is yours.”
You laugh, a sound that still makes his heart soar. “Well, in that case, I guess I should start preparing my acceptance speech for the Prize Giving Ceremony.”
Max grins, playing along. “Oh yeah? And what would this speech entail?”
You pretend to think for a moment. “Let’s see … I’d like to thank the academy, and of course, my incredibly handsome and talented boyfriend, without whom none of this would be possible ...”
Max laughs, feeling lighter than he has in months. “Handsome and talented, huh? I like the sound of that.”
You smack his arm playfully. “Don’t let it go to your head, Verstappen. I’ve seen you first thing in the morning, remember?”
“Hey, I thought you said I was cute when I’m all sleepy and rumpled,” Max protests.
“Cute, yes. Handsome is a stretch,” you tease.
Max clutches his chest in mock offense. “You wound me. And after I just dedicated my win to you and everything.”
You soften, reaching up to cup his face. “It was beautiful, Max. Really. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
Max turns serious, covering your hand with his own. “You existed. That’s more than enough.”
You stand there for a moment, lost in each other’s eyes, the celebration continuing around you unnoticed.
Finally, Max breaks the silence. “So, about that promise to stay a few extra days in Vegas ...”
Your eyes light up. “Oh, you remembered! I was hoping you would.”
Max grins. “Of course I remembered. I was thinking... maybe we could make it a bit more special than just a few extra days?”
You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “What did you have in mind?”
Max takes a deep breath, suddenly nervous. This wasn’t how he’d planned to do this, but standing here with you, flush with victory and love, it feels right.
“Well,” he says slowly, reaching into his pocket, “I was thinking maybe we could celebrate our engagement.”
Your eyes widen as Max drops to one knee, pulling out a small velvet box. The noise of the celebration fades away, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble.
“Y/N,” Max begins, his voice shaky but determined, “these past few months have been the hardest of my life. But they’ve also shown me, without a doubt, that you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. Through good times and bad, wins and losses, I want you by my side.”
He opens the box, revealing a stunning diamond ring. “Will you marry me?”
You gasp, tears filling your eyes. For a heart-stopping moment, Max fears he’s misjudged, moved too fast. But then you’re nodding, a radiant smile breaking through the tears.
“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, Max. A thousand times yes.”
Max slips the ring onto your finger with trembling hands, then stands to pull you into a passionate kiss. The team, finally noticing what’s happening, erupts into cheers and applause.
As you break apart, breathless and giddy, Max rests his forehead against yours. “I love you. More than I ever thought possible.”
You beam up at him, your eyes shining with happiness. “I love you too. Always and forever.”
As the team swarms around them, offering congratulations and calling for more champagne, Max holds you close. This, he realizes, is his true victory. Not the race win, not the trophies or the championships. But this moment, with you in his arms, promising a future together.
***
Emma settles into her favorite armchair, a steaming mug of tea on the side table and Max Verstappen’s newly released autobiography in her hands. As a long-time fan of Formula 1 and Max in particular, she’s been eagerly anticipating this book.
She flips through the early chapters, smiling at familiar stories of Max’s rise through the ranks of motorsport. But it’s the chapter titled “The Race of My Life” that catches her attention. This, she knows, is where Max will finally open up about the period when he stepped away from racing — a time that had puzzled and worried fans.
As Emma begins reading, she’s immediately struck by the raw emotion in Max’s words.
I thought I knew what pressure was. The weight of expectations, the split-second decisions that could mean victory or defeat. But nothing in my racing career could have prepared me for the day I walked into that hospital room and saw the love of my life look at me without a hint of recognition.
Emma feels a lump form in her throat. She remembers the press conference where Max had revealed the reason for his absence, but this ... this is different. This is Max laying bare his soul in a way she’s never seen before.
In that moment, I realized that all the trophies, all the victories, all the adoration from fans — none of it mattered. The true test of my life wasn’t on any track. It was right there, in that sterile hospital room, facing the possibility of losing the one person who saw me not as Max Verstappen the driver, but just as Max.
Emma finds herself blinking back tears. She’s always admired Max for his skill on the track, his determination, his fierce competitiveness. But this vulnerability, this raw honesty, shows a side of him she never knew existed.
The chapter continues, detailing the days and weeks following the accident. Max describes the pain of seeing you struggle to remember, the hope that would flare with each small recognition, and the crushing disappointment when progress stalled.
I’ve faced some of the best drivers in the world, pushed myself to the absolute limit of human capability. But nothing — nothing — has ever been as challenging as sitting by her bedside, day after day, telling her stories of our life together and seeing no spark of remembrance in her eyes. It was like watching the person I loved most in the world slip away, inch by inch, and being powerless to stop it.
Emma has to pause her reading, overwhelmed by the emotion. She tries to imagine what it must have been like for Max, known for his control and precision on the track, to face a situation where he had no control at all.
As she continues reading, she’s struck by Max’s honesty about his own struggles during this time:
There were moments — dark, terrible moments — when I wondered if it would be easier to walk away. To accept that the woman I loved was gone, replaced by this stranger who wore her face but didn’t know my heart. The guilt I felt for even thinking such thoughts nearly crushed me. But I realized that true love, real love, isn’t just about the easy times. It’s about choosing to stay, to fight, even when every instinct is screaming at you to run.
Emma finds herself nodding, moved by Max’s profound realization. She remembers following his career, cheering his victories, sympathizing with his defeats. But this … this feels like she’s truly seeing the man behind the racer for the first time.
The chapter takes a turn as Max describes the day you started to remember:
When she looked at me that day, really looked at me, and I saw recognition in her eyes — it was like winning every championship, every race, all at once. No podium celebration could ever compare to the joy of hearing her say my name, of feeling her arms around me, knowing that she remembered us, our love, our life together.
Emma feels tears rolling down her cheeks now, unashamed. She’s always been moved by stories of love and perseverance, but knowing this is real, that it happened to someone she’s admired for so long, makes it all the more powerful.
As the chapter nears its end, Max reflects on how this experience changed him:
I returned to racing eventually, but I was never the same driver … or the same man. I had faced my greatest fear and come out the other side. I had learned that there are things more precious than any trophy, more thrilling than any race. I learned the true meaning of love, of commitment, of fighting for what really matters in life.
Emma closes the book, needing a moment to process everything she’s read. She feels like she’s seen a completely new side of Max Verstappen, one that goes far beyond the confident, sometimes brash young driver she remembers.
Picking up her phone, she opens Twitter, scrolling through reactions to the book. It seems she’s not alone in her emotional response. Fans and fellow drivers alike are sharing their thoughts.
Just finished @Max33Verstappen’s book. I’m in tears. What an incredible story of love and perseverance ❤️
Always respected Max as a driver, but this book shows what a truly remarkable person he is.
Emma adds her own tweet to the mix.
Thank you, @Max33Verstappen, for sharing your story. You’ve shown us that the greatest victories in life often happen off the track 🥺
She picks up the book again, turning to the final pages of the chapter. Max’s closing words resonate deeply.
In the end, life isn’t about the races you win or the records you break. It’s about the people you love, the bonds you forge, the differences you make. My greatest achievement isn’t any trophy or title. It’s the life I’ve built with her, the love we’ve nurtured through good times and bad. That’s my true legacy, and it’s one that will last far beyond when the chequered flag last waves for me.
Why don't they make intros like this anymore 😞😞
slow mo miami max
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