The Time Is Nigh- C.leclerc

What about Max dating reader who is a bit more shy? 🤭

Safe with you

It was the first race of the new season, and the paddock was already buzzing by the time Max and Yn arrived. Cameras clicked, fans waved, team members shouted greetings across garages—but all of it faded slightly as Max stepped out of the car and rounded it swiftly to open the door for Yn.

“Come on, liefje,” he said, hand already extended. “You ready?”

Yn nodded, offering him a soft smile as she took his hand and stepped out. She looked as she always did—graceful, elegant, a bit reserved. The type of presence that drew people in without needing to raise her voice. Her black sunglasses were perched perfectly on her nose, shielding her beautiful eyes from the chaos around her.

Max didn’t let go of her hand. He never did.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” he whispered, leaning close. “We can go straight to hospitality.”

“I’m okay,” she whispered back, squeezing his fingers gently. “I like watching you work.”

He smiled, just slightly. “You like watching me boss everyone around?”

She smirked. “A little bit.”

As they started walking through the paddock, heads turned. Of course they did. Max, the reigning world champion, always drew attention. But lately, it was Yn who had caught the quiet affection of the paddock. She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t flashy. She didn’t post everything online or party until dawn. But she was steady, present. She remembered birthdays. She brought homemade cookies to the engineers. She always looked people in the eye when she thanked them.

And Max—well, Max was famously, visibly obsessed with her.

He never tried to hide it. Not once.

“Max!” someone called. It was Daniel, who was visiting the paddock, leaning against the McLaren wall with a coffee cup in hand. “Mate, you’re late!”

Max laughed and led Yn toward him. “I’m not late. You’re just too early.”

“I’m always early when I hear there’s a chance of seeing your girlfriend,” Daniel grinned, eyes already on Yn. “Hey, angel. You look beautiful today.”

Yn blushed, tugging lightly on Max’s sleeve before offering Daniel a shy smile. “Hi, Daniel.”

“Aw, don’t go hiding behind Max like that,” Daniel teased gently. “We’ve known each other for six years. I think that gives me friend privileges.”

“I’m not hiding,” she murmured. “I’m just standing where it’s safe.”

Max turned and raised a brow at her. “Are you saying I’m your shield?”

“Yes.”

Daniel burst out laughing. “That is the most accurate description I’ve ever heard. You should put that on a T-shirt. ‘Max Verstappen: Human Shield.’”

“I’d wear it proudly,” Max said, slipping his arm around her waist. “Anyway, we’ll see you later. I’ve got a briefing.”

Yn waved lightly at Daniel as Max led her away. As always, Max kept one eye on her while greeting others, making sure she was never overwhelmed, never too close to the media, never cornered by someone too chatty. It wasn’t that Yn was antisocial—far from it. She could hold a conversation with anyone. But it was always clear when she started getting tired. And Max? He knew the signs better than anyone.

They reached the Red Bull hospitality building, and Max opened the door for her before nodding to the team’s head of PR.

“She’ll be inside,” Max told him quietly. “No press today. She’s not feeling it.”

Yn gave him a look. “I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to,” he said with a small smile. “I know you.”

She rolled her eyes, fondly. “You’re too much sometimes.”

“And yet, you’re still with me.”

“I must be mad.”

“Six years of madness,” he agreed.

Inside, Yn settled on the couch near the back where it was quiet, while Max went off to his meetings. She liked this part of race weekends—being close but not in the way, reading her book or sipping tea while the world raced around her. The team passed by, nodding and smiling. A few stopped to talk.

“Yn! I made those cookies you liked again,” one of the engineers said, holding up a small paper bag. “Left them in the kitchen. There’s white chocolate chip this time.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, clearly touched.

“You bring him luck, you know,” the engineer added. “He’s calmer when you’re here.”

“I doubt that,” she laughed.

“No, really. Ask anyone.”

---

Later that afternoon, the paddock got louder as more drivers arrived and media started gathering. Max returned after his briefing and found Yn exactly where he’d left her, now chatting with Lando.

“She’s turning social on me,” Max joked, walking up with a teasing grin. “Should I be worried?”

Lando grinned. “Nah, she’s just being polite. I’ve been doing all the talking.”

Yn looked up at Max. “He’s been telling me about his sim setup.”

Max groaned. “He’ll talk your ears off. Come on, you need protection.”

“From Lando?” she asked, amused.

“From Lando’s voice,” Max replied, already holding out his hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“Bye, Lando,” she said sweetly, following Max again.

As they walked, Max noticed the way her grip on his hand tightened slightly when the press started to gather. He leaned close to her ear.

“Want me to block them off?”

She shook her head. “It’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve got you,” she said. “I’m fine.”

He smiled again, that same look he always gave her—like she was the only person in the world.

They passed a group of photographers. One tried to get closer, calling out for a photo of the two of them. Max stopped.

“She doesn’t want pictures right now,” he said firmly.

“No worries, just one—”

“I said no.”

The tone was calm, but unmistakably final. The photographer backed off, and Max guided Yn toward the garages.

She looked up at him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did.”

“You’re too protective sometimes.”

“I’ll never apologize for keeping you comfortable,” he said simply. “You deserve to feel safe.”

There was a pause before she spoke again. “Thank you.”

He leaned down and kissed her temple. “Always.”

---

The rest of the day passed in a blur of meetings, media, team briefings, and garage prep. Yn stayed close but not intrusive, always just nearby. Max checked in every hour. Made sure she had water. Made sure she ate. Made sure no one talked her ear off.

At one point, Pierre walked by and spotted them sitting on a bench near the paddock fountain. Max had one arm slung over the backrest, legs stretched out like he owned the place, while Yn was sitting quietly beside him, her head on his shoulder.

“Well, well, well,” Pierre said, stepping into view. “If it isn’t the power couple.”

Yn lifted her head. “Hi, Pierre.”

“Hi, gorgeous. You look like you just stepped out of a Vogue spread.”

“She always does,” Max said proudly.

Pierre smirked. “You’re still the biggest simp in the paddock.”

“Not ashamed,” Max shrugged. “What’s your point?”

Pierre turned to Yn. “Does it ever get annoying?”

“No,” she said with a little smile. “I like that he loves me loudly.”

Max grinned and pulled her closer. “See? She gets it.”

Pierre chuckled. “Alright, alright. You win. I’m off to steal snacks from hospitality.”

As he left, Max looked at Yn. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

🐦🧊⛲️🌊🐦🧊⛲️🌊🐦🧊⛲️🌊🐦🧊⛲️🌊🐦🧊

Hello my lovely reader. I hope you all enjoyed this piece of work. Let me know what you think and send some requests.

-Cami🐦🧊⛲️🌊

like lando norris

Lando Norris x Y/N

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

Words : 2.5k

Warnings : swearing, suggestive talk

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Bullshit," Morgan shot back immediately.

"I do!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The couple exchanged a smile, shaking their heads.

"Depends," Lando shrugged.

"On?" Ethan prompted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lando gasped, feigning offense. "Excuse me?"

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

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

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

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

Morgan groaned. "Ugh, get a room."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jealous?" Lando smirked at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before Morgan could respond, Ethan jogged over to investigate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Was it edible?"

"Wow," Lando scoffed, scandalized.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N nods. "Yep!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morgan and Ethan burst out laughing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One New Voicemail (Charles' Version)

your relationship with charles as told through voicemails

(i can't believe how well these are doing! i'm so glad you guys like these!! this one is specifically for @lestapiastrisgirl <3 hopefully this helps my charles girlies cope with cha being knocked out of q2 as i put this together...2k words)

First Date 

“I cannot believe I hit your neighbors car tonight.” Charles’ cheeks flame with embarrassment. He huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

“That’s one hell of a first date story we’ll be able to tell our grandkids.”

Pause. Charles suddenly realizes he might have just made this voicemail awkward. His eyes close, cheeks heating again. Why does he lose all sense of decorum and control around you?

He presses on. 

“I took you out, swept you off your feet…” Another pause, as if he’s replaying the entire evening in his head, checking to make sure his perception of the evening matched the reality. “I hope…”

He clears his throat. Moving on. 

“And then BAM! Straight into a parked car. I am stupid.” It’s the same tone as that famous radio message and you are crying laughing.  

“The FIA going to take away my super license next time. Please don’t tell Ferrari. I’ll never live this down.” Charles shakes his head, eyes rolling at the memory of the crunching sound his Ferrari made and the laughter that spilled out of you after the incident. 

“I hope my inability to park hasn’t scared you away. I swear I’m usually smoother…” 

‘Usually’ being the key word there. 

Until he was less than a foot away from you in his car, your perfume so intoxicating that he’ll never get off of his mind.

“You just make me so nervous.” The vulnerability in his voice makes your heart squeeze. 

“I was looking at you, listening to you laugh at my stupid jokes when I should have been watching where I was going.” Had he known you’d be wearing that little black dress and sky high heels, he would’ve hired a driver for the night. 

“In my defense, you are so pretty when you laugh and parallel parking is hard.” 

God, he hoped he hadn’t screwed this up. He already can’t stop thinking about you. 

“Can I make it up to you with a second date? Please?” 

And maybe a third. And fourth. And fifth?

Click. 

First Kiss 

“Mon dieu…” Charles sighs into the phone, lovesick and drunk on you. 

“First I hit your neighbors car and then the poor woman catches us making out on the stoop.” He scrubs his hand over his face. He’s going to have to pay for you to move apartments, he’s so embarrassed. Charles will never be able to face your silver-haired neighbor ever again. 

“She stood there for a long time though…which is weird.” 

He chuckles finally, picturing the way she had stood there for several moments, glaring at you two, hands on her hips. 

“I don’t think she likes me. Which, fair I guess.” 

Charles been so lost in the fact that he’d finally worked up the courage to kiss you that he hadn’t heard the door creak open. Or the way your neighbor cleared her throat. Loudly. Six times. 

“In my defense, that was the best first kiss turned first make out session I’ve ever had.” 

Charles was ruined after that kiss. The way you had touched him, drug your fingernails across the back of his neck, up into his hair. Tugged a little bit. 

A groan rumbles in the back of his throat as he turns the key to his newly-repaired Ferrari. 

“If I promise not to try to make out with you in front of your neighbor, can we do it again?” 

Something tugs deep in his gut at the thought of seeing you again. “I have to go to Maranello tomorrow for testing but I’ll be back Wednesday.” 

That was in two days time. Two days too long. 

For the both of you. 

“Please apologize to your neighbor again. I swear I’ll keep my hands to myself next time.” 

A pause. You can picture the grin sliding across his face.

“At least until we get inside.” 

Click.  

He Questions Everything

“I can’t do this anymore.” The anguish in his voice has your stomach twisting when you listen to the message. 

It was late where you were. Or early. He didn’t know. He was in Las Vegas, you were in Monaco. Too many miles and too much heartache. 

“I’ve given that team my entire heart. My youth. My best years and this is what they do? They can’t even listen to my suggestions. Can’t help but blunder themselves into P10 when I should’ve been on the podium.” 

He’s rambling now. You’re his safe space though. The only one who won’t call him petty or ungrateful. Won’t judge or call him out. You see the pain his team causes him. The way he gives them everything and then some and still is expected to give more. 

The line goes quiet for several moments. You think maybe he hung up, but the message keeps going. 

Silence stretches but it’s full of everything he can’t bring himself to say. 

“Red Bull’s been sniffing around, with Max retiring. Merc too, with George on his way to Cadillac.” He hadn’t told you this. Hadn’t told anyone outside of his manager. Charles was almost afraid to talk about it, even with you. 

Because if he said it out loud, it meant he was considering leaving his home. 

“Ferrari has…well, they’ve given me everything but…” 

A sigh so deep and full of everything he can’t put words to. It feels disloyal to even think the things that have been turning over in his mind since he took the checkered flag hours ago.

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” 

The sound of a suitcase zippering. 

“I’m coming home. Can we spend the next two weeks somewhere warm so I can just stare at you in a bikini and forget the hell that this team puts me through?” 

The thud of his suitcase echos. 

“Please?” 

Click. 

A Surprise

“Before I tell you what I just did, I would like to remind you that I love you more than life, mon ange.” 

You had frozen mid-step in the hallway of the apartment listening to that opening line. 

“It’s really a funny story, to be honest. I think you’ll laugh.” At least that’s what Charles was banking on.

“It all started when Joris and I went to see an old friend of his after the gym today. He needed to get something for the car he’s been working on and this guy had the part.” 

This story was suspiciously twisty and curvy, even for your boyfriend.

“So we get there and there are puppies EVERYWHERE.” 

At that very moment, a little yip comes across the line and Charles groans. 

“Leo!” He scolds. 

Oh, great. He’s already named him. This was not going to end well. 

“Leo!” He repeats. “Now you’ve gone and spoiled the surprise.” 

Leo yips again, louder this time. Like he’s just discovered he can make that kind of noise. 

“Surprise!” Charles says weakly. 

“He was the runt of the litter. He’s blonde. Like you!” 

The moment the words are out of his mouth, Charles knows he’s in trouble. 

“I mean…” 

Leo barks. Charles tuts. 

“I’ll be home in ten. You’re going to love him, I promise!” 

He hoped. 

Click. 

He Feels Left Out

“What on earth were you texting Maman today, amore?” Charles grumbles into the phone. 

“She was giggling like a school girl anytime she looked at her phone.” He slots the key into the front door. 

The lock clicks. 

Leo barks. 

You’re in Paris for work, missing your boys. 

“And then she refused to tell me what you were talking about.” 

It’s so cute when your boyfriend gets jealous of your relationship with his mother. It was innocent though. You had sent her a meme making fun of Charles’ most recent parking accident on the streets of Monaco. 

Charles was just so easy to tease. 

“All she would say was that she was talking to you and that you were having a very funny conversation.” 

A pause. The jingle of Leo’s leash. 

You can practically feel the pout on his face. 

“Probably at my expense, no?” 

The elevator to your flat dings and Leo barks again. It’s about time for his nightly walk but you can tell Charles is still grumpy by the way he won’t let this go.

“What were you two talking about?” He whines. 

If FOMO had a spokesperson, it was Charles LeClerc. 

“You two are so mean to me.” He pouts. 

“I love you. Call me later.”

Click. 

Grocery Store Fumble

“Amore, we have a problem.” You can tell Charles is desperately trying not to panic. 

“Why are there so many tube shaped green vegetables at this market?” 

He stands in the middle of the produce section of your tiny grocery store. You were a few blocks away, in the middle of cooking dinner. 

“Whoever thought it was a good idea to put the cucumbers next to the zucchinis has a sick sense of humor.” He grouses. 

Theres a rustle of plastic as he opens the produce bag. You had just asked for one zucchini and now Charles was spiraling. 

“The sign says ‘Cucumbers and Zucchinis! Buy 2 get 2 free!” He’s panicking. “What kind of sick joke is this?”

Dinner rests squarely on his shoulders and right now, it’s not looking so good. 

“Does it matter?” He asks like he’s expecting an answer. Like he’s not talking to your voicemail. 

“Can you use a cucumber instead?” Deep breath. “What if I get this wrong?” 

He picks up two green vegetables, one long and skinny, wrapped in plastic and another shorter, thicker, a deeper green. His eyes scan the deserted store. No one was around to help. 

He was on his own. 

“How different can they be? They’re both green. Both long and skinny. Although this one is a little…thicker.” 

The giggle that starts low in his throat has you rolling your eyes when you listen to the message a few hours later. 

“I’m sorry, that was inappropriate.” 

A frustrated sigh morphs into a groan. 

“You know what? I make professional athlete money. I’ll buy all the green vegetables so that way I don’t get yelled at for being stupid. Again.” 

He’s so dramatic.

Another bag rustles open. 

“I’ll be home soon. I love you.” 

Click. 

A Song For You

Soft strains of music float across the line. Charles doesn’t speak. Doesn’t actually realize he’s accidentally called you. He’s at his piano, lost in the piece he’s working on while you’re away on a trip. He’s missing you fiercely and coping the only way he knows how: music. 

The song meanders on for several moments. Soft. Careful. You can feel the adoration he’s pouring into every note, even through the muffled sounds of his phone being tucked away in his pocket. 

He doesn’t know he’s giving you the best gift. 

The music dies and it’s quiet. 

“Do you like it, Leo?” Charles rasps, his voice unsteady. 

Leo doesn’t answer, just lifts his head to look at your boyfriend. 

“Do you think she’ll like it?” He sounds…nervous. 

Charles rarely gets nervous. 

Except when it comes to you. 

“I’ve been working on it for ages now and it’s finally coming together. Finally feels like it’s a reflection of how I feel when I look at her.” 

A heavy pause. He still doesn’t realize the phone is recording his confession to Leo.

“I’m going to marry your mama one day.” He tells the dog. 

“I’m going to marry her and this is the song that’s going to play when she walks down the aisle towards me.” 

A few notes drift across the line again. Delicate. Like he’s piecing together a puzzle. 

“She is everything, Leo.” 

His voice his reverent, like he’s planning on getting down on his knees and worshipping you the next time he sees you. 

“Your mama has the prettiest eyes, doesn’t she? The prettiest smile? And when she laughs. God, when she laughs it’s like the sun finally peaking out from behind a days worth of storm clouds. Bright. Warm. Everything.” 

Charles chuckles, shaking his head. “And she turns me into a total sap apparently.” 

A sigh. 

“I miss her.” 

You’ve only been gone for 24 hours. 

“Do you miss her? I miss her, Leo. I know she’ll be home soon but…” 

A pause as he reaches for his phone to call you. Chuckles when he sees he already has. 

“Hello, amore. I guess you heard all of that, oui? Come back to Leo and I. We miss you. I have something I want to play for you.” 

Another pause. 

“I love you.” 

Click. 

little white lie — MV1

pairing: max verstappen x fem!leclerc!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions and usage of alcohol, smut, unprotected sex, oral (m & f receiving), sexual references, translated french and dutch, the 2022 f1 season, not proofread!!

synopsis: charles didn’t have a long list of rules when it came to you and the other 19 drivers on the grid, although dating his championship rival was #1 [6.0k]

a/n: return/celebratory max fic ig?? when is that man not winning races

MASTERLIST

You'd caught him staring at you from across the paddock, never the type to hide his staring, the smuggest look you'd ever seen on his face. The collar his race suit had obviously been messily fastened together, still being able to feel the burn on your fingers from the velcro from when you done it back up only minutes ago.

His cheeks were a shade rosy pink, easily explained to anyone who asked as the warm weather getting to him, as was the messy state of his blonde tipped hair. A stoic look was all you returned his grin with, still you could feel the butterflies in your stomach, the feel of his hands on your skin imprinted in your mind.

If anyone had bothered to pay enough attention to him they would've noticed the blossoming purple bruise forming just above his collar, the slight teeth mark you'd left just under his ear too. Although your lingering marks were soon to be covered by his balaclava.

Charles had given you two simple rules to follow, don't date his teammates, and most importantly don't date his rivals. If he could help it, don't date any of the drivers.

And luckily for Charles, you'd hated everything about him from day one, since you had first met Max at one of your brothers karting competition all the way up till now, the smug smile that seemed permanent on his face, his almost entitled attitude as if he deserved to win simply because he was who he was and he drove for who he drove for.

Everyone in the paddock knew of your rocky relationship with Max, since the first race Charles had invited you, it wasn't long till your obvious dislike of the dutchman came out in full force.

The feelings, of course, being mutual.

Annoyingly for you, it seemed as if people naturally gravitated towards him, like he had this unspoken charm that you were yet to see. Even when you were both as young, it was a similar situation, everyone dying to be able to call him their friend.

His move to F1 almost seemed to intensify that charm you were forbidden from seeing, of course you were aware of the media's rendition of him, similar in a way to how you viewed him and it pained you to admit he was actually nothing like that at all.

For those years though that you'd (thankfully in your opinion) never crossed paths more than a couple times where you'd stayed on later after one of Charles' races to see the podiums and bother Pierre around the garage. Even then you barely acknowledged each others presence more than what was deemed necessary.

Although avoiding him altogether was never really an option for either of you, your friendship groups integrated deeply into each others, only becoming much more apparent to you when Charles made his f1 debut and your once in a blue-moon meeting became an almost weekly occurrence.

Never once though did you attempt make your feelings towards him secret, and Max was being honest he didn't try to hide his either, Charles or Pierre often being the ones to step in when you found the opportunities to wind the other one up.

It became a sort of game in your friendship group to wager when the truth would finally come out. The truth that you both masked any glimpse of feelings towards each others with insults and glares.

Charles, for one, was desperate for you both to get along, knowing that if you'd put the work in and pushed aside the baseless hate you held for each other potentially even a friendship could form.

And so when Charles had graduated to F1 in 2018, he was even more so desperate for you to be somewhat neutral towards the red bull driver. After all you'd be seeing him much more frequently, with Charles moving up and you landing an interviewing job at F1TV, he also knew of the hard times the media were beginning to give him. "They're basically eating him alive, at least try to be nice to him, yeah? You know he isn't that bad." He asked you again, for the amount of times you'd lost count, not becoming discouraged from the silence you gave him in response.

Reluctantly, after a significant amount of convincing, his patience paid off as you had agreed to do so, for your brothers sake.

Now though, years later, you were sure if Charles knew what would come from reintroducing you, he would've kept you at least 12 feet away from the dutchman at all times.

The media had caught on quickly that the red bull driver had gotten himself a mystery lady. Multiple articles about Max doing little to hide the red scratch mark you'd left down his back the night before, also never sparing a thought to hide the hickeys you had ever so carefully attempted to leave where his race suit collar would cover.

Of all people, no one had suspected it to be you though, which was the only reason you actually continued whatever it was you were doing with Max. You told yourself it was just sex, because that's all it really was, at least at the start. He hadn't spent a night over at yours, just as you had never his, just a string of hotel rooms in cities across the globe.

The first time had been a moment of weakness on both your parts, Max had just came of race week with a very rare strategy blunder by his team, ultimately ruining his chances for the win and instead handing it to his teammate and you, you had just found out your boyfriend had cheated on you.

It was one of those cliche movie moments, Max finding you at the hotel bar, you're makeup messy and mascara practically melting away from the tears that still stained your face, drinking the night away on your own and occasionally offering up a conversation with the bartender, although mostly it had just been you wallowing in self pity.

As soon as he'd seen you the thought of turning around and ordering a bottle to his room crossed his mind. He'd already had a shitty day, a shitty race week he'd say if he was feeling dramatic, and he didn't need to deal with you drunk and crying on top of that.

Instead, though, he chose to sit down, his legs moving before he could process a thought of what he was doing. He signalled over to the bartender as he sat down beside you. "Two of whatever she's having, please." He heard you groaning at the sound of his voice, the last thing you needed to end a day like that was not spending your time drinking with him, or even seeing him if you could help it.

You'd already spotted him coming in, you're eyes flickering back to the bar in fear of the dutchman seeing you, silently praying that if he was to stay that he would choose another seat but it seemed faith hadn't been on your side.

You would've put money on this being the first time in years the two of you had been together alone, no mutual friends to fill the awkward silence between you.

It took another taste of your drink to build up the willpower to speak. "Saw your team fucked you over," On the outside your words seemed harsh but they were just the trick to break the inch thick ice. "Maybe they're sick of you winning too." Your tone was lightened with a smile and he laughed at your bluntness, probably one of the only times you had actually heard him laugh at something you said.

Max passed the full glass over to you, moving your empty one out of the way as the bartender gave him the drinks, a nod in acknowledgment before he went back to fixing drinks. "Heard you got cheated on?" He retorted, a lift at the end of his words as if he was asking you without the intention of getting an answer back.

Despite the topic of conversations being definitely untraditional, you found the humour in the situation, being helped by the almost goading nature of what he said.

In response you only smiled at him, the silence falling once again but it was no longer the thick and stuffy, awkward one as before.

Both of you were shamelessly drunk by the next couple drinks, the conversations flowing between the two of you as if you'd been friends forever, somehow not running out of things to say as he offered to walk you to your room and you'd agreed before you could even think about saying no.

You had, not that you would ever admit out loud, gotten to your door quicker than you wished to. Neither wanted to say goodbye, unadmittedly enjoying each others company and with the next couple words that left your mouth, whatever tension was between you changed, sure to be blamed on your drunken brain the next morning. "Do you want to come in?"

He looked back at you blankly, expression unreadable, as if he was going through the scenario in his head, what would happen if he said yes, if he said no, and then he slowly nodded his head.

It'd all happened so quickly, one second you were inviting Max into your hotel room and the next you had him pinned against the wall, the strap of your dress falling down your shoulder. "We shouldn't be doing this." You mumbled against his skin, and yet he made no attempt to stop the sloppy kisses you littered across his neck. "He'll find out." Even multiple drinks deeps you had some sort of rational thinking, not that you could say much from the way he pushed his knee between your legs and how it made your mind foggy.

You gasped at the unexpected feeling of his hand in your hair, pulling your head up to meet his eyes, the close proximity making it feel more intimate than you had wished. You felt his finger delicately tracing over your lips, parting them slightly when he pushed his thumb passed them. "Not if we don't tell him, he won't."

Max let his hand drift from your lips, running his fingertips over your cheek and down your jaw, and you shamelessly revelled in the way it felt having him this close. His touch commanding against your skin, already knowing you were like putty in his hands. Goosebumps rose on your skin, the lustful look in his eyes making them appear a shade darker.

There was nothing loving about the way he touched you, no ounce of romance in his actions, no softness when he squeezed the skin of your thighs motioning for you to jump.

He basked in the feeling of having you, the only girl he was ever truly forbade from seeing, and here you were with your arms wrapped around him. "You have no idea how long i've wanted to do this." His voice was hushed against your ear, the sensation of him so close, the warmth of his body radiating against yours, leaving you wanting more.

Your eyes pleaded with him, silently asking him to give you something, anything.

His teeth nipping at your skin had you throwing your head back, exposing more of your neck for his lips to explore. "You're so beautiful." He spoke between kisses, not wanting to stop himself leaving more bruises. "Verdomd mooi." fucking beautiful

Busying yourself as he moved your hands found his hair, your thighs on either side of his as you subconsciously rocked your hips against him, threading your fingers through the soft strands of his light tipped hair. "Tell me you won't regret this?" Max whispered against your ear as he placed your back against the soft mattress.

You could barely think from the way his mouth felt against your skin, never the submissive type but you swore you would've given into anything he said to you in that moment. "I'm not going to regret this." Your hand found his hair once again as his lips trailed down your stomach, dress long gone and lying on the floor.

~

More than a month had passed since the first night you had spent together, and no amount of the alcohol had done its job to make you forget it. Every night before you slept you replayed the details in your mind, from the way his touch on your body wasn't soft as if you were made of glass and the way his accent grew thicker the more turned on he got, the sounds he made against your body, everything.

You tried to steer clear of the dutchman for as long as possible, as much as you could anyway despite being in the paddock at all times with him every race week. It was as if the universe was punishing you for giving into your desire for him, for not resisting his charm.

It seemed as if he was everywhere you were, and you knew from an outside perspective that sounded silly, he was a driver of course he was going to be in the paddock but it didn't help you were the one asking him questions after most races, the good and the bad. Those were the days Max wished it was more than a one night deal, the nights after a bad race where his bed was empty, only a few doors up from your own hotel room with an equally as empty bed.

It was impossible to deny you had wanted to see him again, he'd made you feel like no one else ever and it was almost like torture seeing him around the paddock and having to push back those ever present feelings.

Wether it be him jumping in front of another driver to be interviewed or a simple look from across the paddock. Max made it known to you that he wasn't going to forget and that more importantly he wasn't going to let you forget.

You'd caught him after a particularly bad race, the thing making it worse was that he had been the one to make the mistake, it wasn't a mechanical issue or a strategy blunder, it bad been all him, he'd been the one to lose control of the car and in Max's eyes he was the only one to blame. He was the latest one to arrive at their media duties, no doubt the only reason he had even came at all was due to being dragged by his media officer.

Just by the looking of him you could see how the result of the race had affected him, and to say it was a bad result would be an insult to most other drivers, he'd finished p7, in the points which was more than the 10 other driver could've said, and yet from the look on his face you could've guessed he was dead last.

"So, Max, tell us what happened in that corner with Perez?" You danced around going easy on him or getting straight to the point, ultimately choosing the second option knowing it would make the interview get on quicker, which benefited both of you.

The dutchman shrugged slightly before speaking, a sad smile on his face as he did so. "Yeah you know how it is, we're both that type of driver where if we see a gap we're going to go for it and if one of us don't back out then we're going to have to pay the consequences and i did, so."

You nodded at his answer, a diplomatic one at that and you knew he wanted the interview to be over just as quick as you did. Although something else you knew was that no tabloid would be happy with the reasonable answer he'd gave. "And you believe that's all it was? Just a racing incident between two teammates?"

"Like i said, yeah, we're two driver who want to go for it and it happens."

"Moving on from that, recently you've been labelled a 'dirty driver', how do you feel about that? Do you think it captures your driver style or?" You'd moved passed trying to coddle his feelings, you wanted to push his buttons, bring out that fire in him you knew he had and for some reason put out over a p7 result.

Max cocked his head to the side at your question, the corners of his lips threatening to turn up when he realised your intention. "Do you think i'm a dirty driver?" You shook your head although he camera couldn't catch it and this time he let himself smile. "I think i'm a driver who knows i need to push myself to achieve my best, and some may say that's dirty but i'm here to win not to be p7."

"Right, thank you Max." You nodded your head, max returning the gesture before you finally began packing up your equipment.

The paddock was beginning to filter out, garages looking bare just as they did just mere days before, still the light of one side of the red bull garage stuck out in the clear night. It took everything in you to not turn around there, get in your car and drive back the hotel, instead forcing your legs to walk towards the light.

There was only 4 or 5 mechanics left in the garage, clearing up little bits they'd missed the first time and though they were confused at your presence they still smiled welcomingly at you. Almost as if he could read your mind one of them spoke up. "He's in his drivers room, just down the hall."

Thanking him you continued further into the garage, his, checo's and even Daniel's face splashed onto the walls. You sucked in a breath when you reached his door, knocking on it lightly before you could back out. "I'll be out in 5 minutes." He replied back, almost monotonously.

"Max, can we talk?" There was silence on the other side of the door before you heard shuffling, then the turning of a lock and soon enough you were standing inside his room. Max looked at you expectedly, waiting for you to explain what it was you were doing there. "I'm sorry for calling you a dirty driver,"

"And for bringing up your collision with checo, i knew you weren't the happiest with the result and i pushed you-" In the midst of your ramble you hadn't caught hie close he'd gotten to you, and were taken slightly off guard when you were cut off by press of his lips on yours.

He held your face in his hands, keeping you impossibly closer to him in the stuffy confinement of his drivers room. You let your body move against his, wrapping your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss when you felt him nip at your bottom lips, a gasp slipping from your mouth.

You stumbled back slightly, breaking apart for a second to catch your breath before your lips were on his again. Max held your hand in his, as his body hit the back of the small couch in his room your legs straddling his lap, thighs on either side and the memories of your first night together came in flashes when you closed your eyes.

"Max..." You whispered against his lips, your breathing heavy, Max's hands travelling across your clothed skin as if it was the first time he'd done so.

"God, you never shut up." His laugh was breathy after he spoke, pressing another quick kiss to your lips before his fingers started expertly undoing the top buttons of your shirt. He undone the buttons just enough to see the bra you wore underneath it, the white lace details attempting to disguise you as innocent.

Max dropped his head bellow your collarbone, pressing kisses to the exposed skin, small whines and whimpers falling from your lips as he did so, occasionally nipping at your sensitive spots and soothing it over. By the time he was finished your neck looked like it had been attacked, blossoming purple and red marks covering your skin and the patterns dipped lower to just between your breasts.

You were practically begging him to do more, whispering pleas against his ear when he slowly rocked your body against his. "Not here, schatje, come back with me?" He phrased it like a question and you feverishly nodded your head, no plan to go back to your hotel alone in the state he'd put you in. 

His room was only a couple doors down from your own and just two by Charles, Max having to shush your giggling slightly as he told a joke in the near empty hallways. Your hands were laced together, from an outside perspective you looked like a young couple in love, coming home from a night out together, only the two of you knowing the extent of your dirty secret.

Your back hit against his hotel room wall, legs being spread by his knee between them pushing your dress further up your thigh. With his arm wrapped around your waist he held you up, pressing his lips to yours knocking the air from your lungs in the process. Max pushed down the front of your dress, exposing the white lace bra you hid underneath.

You gulped at the feeling of his hands across your body, your knees starting to buckle as he trailed down the soft lace material of your bra, taking his time as his finger met the clasp which held the two sides together. The movement was slow and calculated, purposeful in the way he bared your skin to the air, watching, and smiling, as your breath hitched in your throat.

Max took a step back, standing tall in front of you, holding himself steady as he took you all in, your pupils already blown out with lust. His fingertips danced across your waist, moving up your body to slip the straps off your shoulders. Your nipples hardened as the thin material fell to your waist, mouth parted at the vulnerability of the situation, almost naked in front of the man you once felt nothing but hate for.

He captured your mouth in his, as if he had done a thousand times before, his lips warm and supple just how you had remembered them, yet still rough against your own. His fingers brushed your jaw as his tongue slipped inside, the simple act of intimacy conveying his need, his desire for more, and you returned the gesture.

Your stomach tightening as you felt the unbelievable magic of his hands and lips on your body, working in tandem for your pleasure.

Max slipped your bra down further till you were completely rid of it, grip firm on your hips almost certain to leave a bruise, as you reached forward to unbutton his dress shirt. You rasped at the roughness of Max's fingers, in contrast to the feelings of your past boyfriends hands. He grunted at the feeling of you under his touch; the way your skin felt like satin to his senses. A shiver crept along your spine as he licked his lips.

As your fingers moved swiftly to undo the last button on Max's shirt, you stopped for a moment, mesmerised at the way the light highlighted his torso. You ran your hands over his chest, over the now familiar feeling of his abs and the way he tensed underneath your touch. He just barely whispered your name, capturing your hands in his in an attempt to gain control again.

"God, Max, i need you." You moaned against his ear, a new sense of want filling the dutchman as you did so. "Please."

And you were begging now, begging for him, for him to make you feel good and it was only natural that he gave in.

He shushed your pleas as he brought his lips to yours, slightly softer than before but still enough to show you that for tonight, he was the one going to be in charge. Although if he was going to do this, he was going to make sure he got some fun out of it too. "What do you need, schatje?"

Max tilted his head as he spoke, pulling back from you, watching how your breathing returned to normal with the new space between you. It had been less than 10 minutes and you were already sick of his teasing, the only thought in your head was him fucking you and you didn't care how desperate it sounded.

"Max," You whined, trying to press your lips to his again when he pulled his head back, only letting them just barely brush against his and nothing more. "I need you to fuck me, please."

As much as he loved the sound of your begging, he knew it would have to wait, his hand moving down the front of your stomach, slipping underneath the waistband of your already drenched lace panties. You let out a moan when he pressed down on your clit, teasing you when he dragged his fingers through your folds.

"You'll need to wait for that, gonna get you off on my fingers first." His words went straight to your core, clenching around nothing when his thumb circled your clit.

Your mouth fell open when he slipped a finger inside of you, whines and whimpers escaping from the way he stretched you out. His calloused fingers in contact with the sensitivity of your cunt had your hips bucking into his hand. "So impatient." Max was taunting you, running his fingers along your slit without allowing you the feeling of them inside you, spreading your arousal. "You're so wet, all for me, hm?"

You couldn't nod quicker, hoping flattery would get him fucking you quicker. "All for you, Max, tout pour toi." The switch in languages came from when he teased you with the tips of his fingers, never truly fully entering you.

He seemed to have taken pity on you, your thickened accent when you spoke in your native language being the catalyst as you gasped at the stretch of his fingers inside you again.

Max was slow with his movements at first, letting you adjust to the burning feeling before moving. The time between the last time he'd had his fingers in you and now seemed like a life time, your memory of that night not doing justice to the way he made you feel. Your hips moved on their own, in time with the rhythm he had set, grinding against the palm of his hand. "You look so pretty like this, riding my fingers like a good girl."

Moaning at his words, you gripped onto his shoulder. His thumb was pressed against your clit, the pressure on your neglected nerves being enough to bring you to the edge but fully tip you over, your pleasure and body fully in his control. Max picked up pretty quickly on what you wanted him to do, the dutchman somehow knowing your body better than you did after only one time together.

Lazily, he began rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb, his lips pressing against your neck as he sucked a hickey. The added stimulation had you arching your back, your chest bumping against his own. "Fuck, please i'm so close." You gasped out, a string of swear words following your confession as his relentless pace somehow fastened.

You felt your thighs beginning to shake, your cunt clenching around his fingers and with little warning your body was slumping against his, back arching off of the wall behind you. Moaning into his bare shoulder, leave an indent in the wake, his body doing the most to muffle the sound of your whines to anyone outside.

Max helped you ride out your high, the arrogant smile on his face enough to make you want to drop to your knees for him, to have him in your mouth where you were the one to control his pleasure, where you were in control. Only when he cleaned off his fingers of you in his mouth you were actually on your knees for him.

Your heels stood flat against the wall, looking up at him through your eyelashes and his breathing quickened. He was straining against the confinement of his trousers, begging to be released, to be touched by you, yet he would never voice these things to you.

His thumb stroked over your bottom lip as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. "You're so beautiful, schatje, on your knees like this."

Your own thumb ran over his leaking slit, the low groan escaping his lips making you smile at the effect you had on him in such a short amount of tome. Taking him fully into your mouth, you hollowed out your cheeks, his tip hitting against the back of your throat, hand in your hair motivating you to bob your head up and down.

You looked up to see Max's head falling back, cursing under his breath in dutch his exposed neck and parted lips making you want to skip everything and fuck him already, and you knew he wouldn't be one to argue. "Such a good girl." His words had you moaning around him, his accent appearing more intense the closer he came, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat making you gag.

Tears prickled in your eyes at the constant impact of his tip against the back of your throat as he fucked your face, his hips moving to meet your mouth, threatening to ruin the mascara you wore. When Max could feel your jaw growing tired he took over, using the hand in your hair to move your head, forming a makeshift ponytail.

The sounds he was making was enough to make you forget about the ache in your knees and the tiredness of your jaw, watching how his adams apple bobbed in his throat. Low groans, moans and dutch swear words alongside the occasional gasp of your name.

You felt him begin to twitchin your mouth, what would usually be encouragement to keep going was him pulling you off of him, both of you gasping to catch your breath. He ran his finger along your swollen lip, his pre cum and your spit coating them, pressing his thumb in your mouth as you swirled your tongue around it, just as you would if he was in your mouth. "Don't pout, liefje, wanna come inside you."

Quickly you were being pulled back to your feet, being brought in for an almost bruising kiss. His hands ran up and down your hips, squeezing the soft skin, no doubt to leave marks the next day. The impact of him pulling you up back against the wall had you moaning into his mouth.

Max linked your hand in his, moving you both towards the bed to where he sat back with his legs still spread, taking your place in between them on his thighs, the flexing of the muscle jolting you forward into his arms. You felt your core twitch as it made contact with his bare skin, although put it to the side as you only wanted to focus on kissing him.

Max’s hands sat roughly on your hips once again, digging his fingertips into your skin, matching the roughness and intensity of the kiss you were sharing.

As your lips moved against each other, you began to rock your body into his, Max’s hands following your movement, the small whimpers slipping from your mouth at just the simple contact mixing with the sounds of his groans. You could already feel your wetness beginning to dampen his thigh, his muscles flexing underneath you again. Pulling away from him, your lips went to his ear. "Max, i want you to fuck me."

He hadn’t even needed to voice a reply, already having your body turned over and your face pushed into the soft mattress of your bed, grabbing a pillow and placing it under your head for support. He stroked himself a couple times, his cock hardening in his hand before he lined it up with your entrance.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he pushed into you, the pillow doing a pitiful job to shield the moans you let out. "Look at you letting me fuck you like this," He was already back to teasing you, your moans growing louder from his lewd words, only prompting him to thrust into you harder and faster, his grip on your hips tightening, pulling you impossibly closer to him. “What would your brother say, hm? Knowing you were being fucked by his rival?”

His mention of Charles only spurred you on more, feeling every inch of him in you, every vein, as he let out moans of his own. “Max, don’t stop.” His pace never faltered, not even when your thighs shook from the pleasure you were experiencing, or when your back arched higher off of the mattress. Your nails dug into the crisp white sheets you lay on, gripping onto them as you could feel yourself nearing your orgasm once again.

Max could already feel you clenching around him, which was already making him near his own release quicker. He kept thrusting into you a gruelling speed, though his movements became more erratic as he continued, his own thighs shaking slightly.

You felt his lips trailing from the bottom of your back and to the nape of your neck, moving to place more soft kisses beneath and behind your ear. When your orgasm finally washed over you, you could barely hold yourself up. Underneath your arms gave way, moaning into the pillow you felt a collection of tears drop from your eye from the overstimulation.

Within a minute you felt Max release inside of you, the warm liquid being kept deep into you as he stilled, his body falling slightly onto yours, feeling his warm breath on the back of your neck. You both stayed like that for a couple of seconds, trying to catch your breaths and neither wanting to be the first to move.

Max followed his trail down from the back of your neck till he met the bottom of your back before pulling himself out, watching his cum drip out of you. He was quick to grab a dampened cloth from the bathroom, carefully cleaning you up.

You rolled onto your back, looking up to the ceiling of his bedroom, your breath still irregular. Max fell back on the bed just beside you, opening up his arms for you to slot into, wrapping around your waist and pulling you close to him, finally planting a kiss on the top of your forehead. His fingers fidgeted with the ends of your hair, taking a mental image of the sight in front of him, your red blushed cheeks and fucked out expression on your face, knowing he was most likely not going to see it for a long time.

There was a short, comfortable silence, which Max was the first to break. “Let me take you out on a date, a proper one, not just food delivered to one of our hotel rooms.”

From the way he looked at you, his eyes holding no malicious intent, you knew he was being serious and in less than a second your answer changed the relationship between you and him forever. “Okay, you can take me out.”

There was no other thought in your mind when you answered, not Charles, ferrari or red bull not even the media had crossed your mine, in that moment you could think about you and him.

HAUNTED.

“You’ll never get away from the sound of the woman that loved you.” — Torn apart by break up, bound by work, haunted by each other’s voice.

pairing. Max Verstappen x journalist! fem! reader

warnings. angst (happy ending??), Max being a bit of dick, longer than I expected wtf??

babs’ notes. IN THE HONOR OF MAX’S WIN IN JAPAN! this race was well.. something. Guys ik I promised so close to 2 BUT for some reason i wrote chapter 3 & 4 first so it’s bit complicated.. give me time 😭

music. Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac.

JOURNALISM IN FORMULA 1 WASN’T JUST A CAREER—it was your dream, your passion, the goal you had spent years working towards. The roar of the engines, the adrenaline of race day, the stories waiting to be uncovered in every corner of the paddock—it all fascinated you. So when you finally landed your role, credentials swinging around your neck like a badge of honor, you felt like you had made it. This was where you belonged.

And then, there was him—Max Verstappen. The reigning champion, the so-called “arrogant” and “rude” driver who had built a reputation as much off the track as on it. Everyone talked about Max with a kind of reverence laced with caution, as if he was more of a storm than a man. A force of nature, unpredictable, intense. But the first time you met him, you realized there was so much more to him than the media’s caricature.

It wasn’t arrogance you saw when you interviewed him that day. It was focus, determination, an intensity that burned behind his sharp blue eyes—the kind of intensity only someone who had given their entire life to this sport could possess. His Dutch accent was strong, his words direct and unfiltered, but there was a warmth there too, hidden beneath the layers of his public persona. The kind of warmth that could make you question everything you thought you knew about him.

Max wasn’t just “arrogant” or “rude.” He was confident, unapologetically so, but not without reason. He carried himself like someone who knew exactly what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. Yet, in those fleeting moments when he looked at you, when he softened just slightly, you wondered if anyone else had ever seen this side of him—the side that wasn’t a storm at all but something quieter.

You had gotten closer to Max, much closer than you ever thought you would. It wasn’t just the quiet conversations away from the cameras or the way his sharp blue eyes lingered on you longer than necessary. It was the way he made you feel like you mattered—like you were the only person who could understand him in a world filled with noise and expectations. He ensured you loved him, pulling you in slowly, deliberately, until the thought of him consumed your mind entirely.

You’d slept together more than few times, nights filled with fiery passion and moments of unexpected tenderness that made you believe this was different. That he was different. He didn’t just hold you physically; he held your emotions in the palm of his hand, his touch leaving a mark on your heart you couldn’t erase. For a fleeting moment, it felt real. Like the guarded driver had finally let someone in, and that someone was you.

But then, just as you had allowed yourself to believe, he shattered it. Sitting across from you, his voice low and steady, his Dutch accent cutting through the words you weren’t ready to hear. “I’m not ready for a relationship,” he said, almost matter-of-factly. “I don’t do that... I need to focus on myself and my career.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words crashing over you like cold water. He wasn’t apologetic, not really. To him, it wasn’t personal—it was just the way things were. But to you, it felt like a betrayal, like he had pulled the rug out from under your feet just as you began to stand on solid ground. Wow, you thought, your mind racing to make sense of what had just happened. Maybe you should have expected this.

The signs had been there, hadn’t they? The way he avoided deep conversations about the future, the way his life revolved around the sport he lived for, the way he always seemed just out of reach. You had seen it all, but you chose to ignore it because you wanted so badly for this to work—for him to be different.

Sitting in the emptiness of his words, you realized the truth. Max Verstappen wasn’t yours to hold. He belonged to the track, to the roaring engines and the thrill of victory, to the world that demanded every ounce of his focus and energy. And you? You were just a moment, a fleeting connection that he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—prioritize.

You still saw the day he said those words to you in your dreams. It played on a loop in your mind, vivid and unrelenting, as if the memory itself refused to fade. You could still hear his voice, the exact tone he used—calm, almost detached, like he hadn’t just ripped the ground out from beneath your feet. It wasn’t the words alone that haunted you; it was the way he’d said them, so measured, so unshaken, as if it had cost him nothing at all.

Some nights, the dream would start with the warmth of his touch, his blue eyes meeting yours with a flicker of something you once mistook for sincerity. And then, as if the universe were mocking you, the scene would shift, the same cold words spilling from his lips. “I’m not ready for a relationship.” The sound of it, the finality of it, would jar you awake, your chest heavy with the ghost of heartbreak.

The memory clung to you, reshaped you. It made the F1 paddock—once your dream, your sanctuary—feel suffocating. Everywhere you turned, there were reminders of him. The roar of the engines, the press briefings, the fleeting glances in the paddock… it all felt like too much, like you were trapped in a world where his shadow loomed over everything.

And so, you made a choice. You left. You handed in your credentials, packed up your life, and decided to start over. Football became your refuge—a fresh start, a chance to leave the echoes of Max Verstappen behind. You thought maybe, just maybe, switching to an entirely different world would silence the memories.

But you haunted Max too, probably even more than he haunted you. He wasn’t the type to dwell on emotions—not openly, not consciously—but you had made an impact that he couldn’t shake. Your voice lingered in the corners of his mind, unbidden yet ever-present. He heard it in the hum of the engines, the roar of the crowd, and in the silence of the nights that followed. It didn’t matter where he was—on the track, in a hotel room, or staring at the endless line of questions during an interview—you were there.

When he raced, he was untouchable, focused, pushing every limit. But somehow, even in the middle of the chaos, you would find him. He could almost hear your laugh, the lilt of your tone when you teased him, and the way you called him out in ways no one else dared to. It wasn’t distracting, not exactly, but it was there, a part of him now.

The interviews were worse. Sitting under the blinding lights, fielding questions about his victories, his rivals, his career—it should have been second nature. And yet, all he could think about was you. He’d catch himself scanning the press room, half expecting to see your face, your notebook in hand, your eyes meeting his with that spark that had undone him so many times before. But you weren’t there anymore, and the absence was palpable.

At first, Max explained your absence at the races with small, dismissive assumptions. Maybe you were sick, maybe you’d taken some time off—nothing out of the ordinary, nothing permanent. It was easier for him to believe that than to confront the possibility that your absence had something to do with him. That maybe you’d left because of him.

But as the weeks turned into months, it became impossible to ignore the truth. You weren’t just absent—you were gone. Completely. He found out from someone in passing, a casual mention that you had switched to football journalism. There was no announcement, no explanation, no goodbye. You had just vanished from the world you had dreamed of being part of, the same world where he had selfishly taken you for granted.

It hit him harder than he expected. The irony wasn’t lost on him—not in the slightest. He had done the same to you. He had walked away without giving you closure, without considering how his actions might affect you. And now, you had done the same to him. The emptiness left in your wake mirrored the emptiness he had created in you. It was poetic in the cruelest way.

Max tried not to let it bother him, tried to convince himself it didn’t matter. But it did. He realized it every time he glanced at the press room and didn’t see you there, every time he answered a question about his performance and your voice wasn’t the one asking. The races felt different now—not because the roar of the engines had changed, but because your presence wasn’t there to ground him in something outside of the sport.

Your departure haunted him. Not just because you were gone, but because it reminded him of the way he had treated you. He didn’t know what to do with the guilt, the regret, the quiet ache he felt whenever he thought of you. And maybe that was the real irony of it all—the fact that he had pushed you away only to realize he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Six months later, there you were, standing in front of the paddock gate once again. The world around you felt both familiar and foreign, as if you’d been transported back into a life you weren’t sure you belonged to anymore. The hum of activity, the chatter of journalists, the whir of tools in the distance—it all reminded you of a chapter you thought you’d closed for good. But here you were, holding the very thing that had once been your dream and your curse: your paddock pass.

Your fingers brushed over the laminated surface, tracing the outline of your photo and the bold letters that read Media. It felt heavier than it should have, almost symbolic, like it carried more than just access. This wasn’t just a pass; it was a ticket back into a world you’d deliberately left behind. A world that he—Max—still occupied.

You stared at the gate for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. It wasn’t the roar of the engines that sent a shiver down your spine, nor the thought of the stories waiting to be written. It was the memory of him, the way his voice had echoed in your mind for months after he’d let you go, the way he had unknowingly followed you into every corner of your new life. And now, you were walking straight back into his orbit.

You spotted Lissie near the media setup, her smile lighting up the moment she saw you. She was one of the few familiar faces you felt truly comfortable with, someone who had been your anchor back when the paddock felt like a storm you were constantly navigating. You couldn’t help but grin as you approached her, the weight of the past six months lifting slightly with the comfort of her presence.

“Y/n!” she said brightly, pulling you into a quick hug. “I was starting to think you’d never come back.”

“Missed me that much, huh?” you teased, the warmth in your tone belying the nerves still lingering in your chest.

“Of course,” Lissie said, her eyes sparkling. “Nobody asks the questions you do.” Her voice was laced with nostalgia, and you wondered briefly if your absence had left a gap bigger than you’d realized.

The drivers started to filter in one by one, the hum of the paddock growing louder with each arrival. There was an electric energy in the air, as there always was after a race, the buzz of victory and defeat still lingering. You stood near the media setup, microphone in hand, mentally preparing yourself for the endless stream of questions, answers, and moments that would play out in front of the cameras.

But he wasn’t there. Not yet. Probably still waiting for his turn, somewhere out of sight. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that you weren’t scanning the crowd for him or bracing yourself for the inevitable moment when he’d appear. Yet, your gaze seemed to wander anyway, unconsciously seeking out the one face you weren’t sure you were ready to see.

It was almost a relief, then, to be pulled from your thoughts by the warm smiles of familiar faces. People recognized you instantly, their expressions lighting up as they spotted you standing there. Drivers, team members, journalists—they all greeted you with nods, waves, and smiles, as though no time had passed.

For Max, the whole day felt off. It wasn’t something he could pinpoint exactly—just a nagging sensation that something was wrong. Or maybe it wasn’t wrong at all. Maybe it was something else entirely. He had gone through the motions as usual, the race, the debrief, the endless stream of questions from his team. But the feeling lingered, gnawing at the edges of his focus.

As he waited for his turn to be interviewed, the noise of the paddock buzzed around him, a familiar chaos that usually grounded him. But today, it felt different. And then, he heard it—your voice. At first, he thought he was imagining it, that his mind was playing tricks on him again. He had heard your voice in his head so many times over the past six months, haunting him in moments he least expected. But this time, it felt more real. Louder. Closer.

He turned his head, scanning the crowd, his pulse quickening despite himself. And then he saw you. Standing there, microphone in hand, interviewing Charles. You were laughing at something Charles had said, your smile lighting up the space around you in a way that made Max’s chest tighten. He blinked twice, as if trying to assure himself that you were really there, that this wasn’t just another cruel trick of his imagination.

“Oh fuck,” he muttered under his breath, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His heart was racing now, a mix of shock and something he couldn’t quite name. Lando, standing beside him, turned his head at the sound of Max’s curse, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“What?” Lando asked, his brow furrowing as he looked at Max. His friend's demeanor was visibly off—nervous, tense, unlike the usual calm confidence that defined him. Max wasn’t even pretending to act normal, and that alone was enough to catch Lando’s attention.

Max’s voice was low, almost strained, as he pointed toward the media area, toward you. “Y/n’s here,” he said, his words clipped, heavy with the weight of realization.

And then, he came walking towards you. The moment you had been trying so hard not to think about was suddenly unfolding right in front of you. Max Verstappen. Of course, you knew he’d been assigned to you for the interview—how could it have been anyone else? Yet, despite your efforts to stay composed, to treat this as just another name on your clipboard, the reality of seeing him again made your heart race.

You gripped the microphone a little tighter, your pulse quickening as you watched him approach. He moved with the same self-assured confidence he always carried, his strides purposeful, his expression unreadable. You forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. You had done this thousands of times before—countless interviews with drivers, each one conducted with the poise and professionalism you had perfected over the years. This would be no different, you told yourself.

But when his eyes met yours, you felt the air shift. It wasn’t the usual tension of a post-race interview; it was something deeper, heavier. His blue gaze lingered on you for a moment too long, and you saw the flicker of something behind it. Was it surprise? Recognition? Guilt? Whatever it was, it left you unsettled.

“Max,” you began, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you. “Congratulations on the race today. Let’s talk about your strategy—particularly during that late overtake. What was going through your mind at that moment?”

Max adjusted the cap on his head slightly, his expression composed but with a trace of thoughtfulness behind his sharp blue eyes. “That late overtake,” he began, his Dutch accent giving his words a distinct cadence, “was about timing. I knew I couldn’t risk waiting too long—if I hesitated, the gap would close, and I’d lose the opportunity.”

Max stood before you, his expression outwardly composed, but there was something different in the way he looked at you. It wasn’t the detached gaze of a driver facing an interviewer, the routine exchange of words that he had perfected over years of answering media questions. No, the way his eyes lingered on you spoke of something more—something unspoken but undeniably present.

As you asked your questions, his voice carried the sharp precision you expected, but you noticed the subtle tremor behind it. It wasn’t enough for anyone else to pick up, but you knew him well enough to see it. With each response, his tone faltered slightly, like he was fighting to keep control over a conversation that felt far from ordinary.

Your gaze met his several times, almost unintentionally, but each meeting brought a quiet tension that neither of you could ignore. His blue eyes held yours longer than they should, breaking away only to wander back moments later. And even as you tried to focus on the task at hand, your own eyes betrayed you, drawn to him in a way that made the air around you feel heavier.

Max’s answers were calculated, yet distracted, as if he were answering out of habit rather than genuine thought. When he spoke about his late overtake, his words stumbled briefly, his gaze flickering back to you as though seeking something he couldn’t put into words. For a moment, you saw the mask slip—the professional veneer cracking just enough to reveal the man beneath it.

The interview drew to a close, your professionalism intact despite the weight of the moment. You lowered the microphone, offering a polite nod. “Thank you for your time, Max,” you said, your voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil simmering beneath your calm exterior.

Max matched your professionalism with his own, nodding briskly. “No problem,” he replied, his words clipped, almost routine. For a moment, you thought that was it—the end of the interaction, the closure you needed to move forward. But the moment was far from over.

As the cameraman turned off the equipment, signaling the end of the broadcast, the air around you shifted. The noise of the paddock faded slightly, the buzz of activity momentarily muted. And that’s when you heard him. His voice, softer now, no longer performing for the cameras.

“Good to see you back,” Max said, his tone carrying a weight that hadn’t been there during the interview. His blue eyes met yours, unguarded and searching, the barrier he’d constructed between you cracking just enough to let the truth slip through. It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t dramatic—it was simply him.

You blinked, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity in his words. For a brief moment, you didn’t know how to respond, your heart betraying your attempt to remain unaffected. But then, just as quickly as the moment came, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd of mechanics and drivers like he always did.

You stood there for a moment longer, the echo of his words lingering in the space around you. “Good to see you back.” It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t an explanation. But it was something—a fragment of the truth he couldn’t admit outright. And as the paddock buzzed back to life, you realized that he had left you with more questions than answers.

After hours of catching up with colleagues, swapping stories with managers, and fielding countless “welcome back” smiles from drivers, you felt the weight of the day settle over you. The energy of the paddock was as intoxicating as ever, but now, it left you drained, longing for a quiet moment to yourself. Deciding you’d had enough for the night, you packed up your things and made your way out.

The paddock had changed under the cover of darkness. The once-bustling pathways were now quieter, bathed in the soft, golden glow of overhead lights. The hum of activity had dulled to a faint background noise—mechanics packing up for the night, the occasional sound of an engine being tinkered with, the low murmur of voices carrying on the cool evening breeze. The air smelled faintly of rubber and oil, a scent so distinctly tied to this world that it felt almost nostalgic.

As you walked, the click of your shoes against the concrete echoed softly in the stillness. You let your mind wander, replaying moments from the day—the laughter with Lissie, the surprise on familiar faces, and, of course, the interview. His interview. The memory of his quiet “Good to see you back” lingered in your thoughts, stirring emotions you weren’t ready to unpack.

The paddock gates loomed ahead, signaling the end of your night here, but you didn’t rush. Instead, you took your time, letting the calm of the night paddock wash over you. This was a place that had once felt like home and a battlefield all at once. Now, walking through it in the quiet moments, it felt like both again.

“Y/n!” The voice cut through the quiet of the night paddock, freezing you mid-step. You knew that voice instantly. It was one you hadn’t heard off-camera in over six months, yet it still held the same unmistakable weight. Max.

For a moment, you considered ignoring it, considered walking away without looking back. But something—some stubborn, lingering part of you—made you stop. Your feet faltered as your heart thudded in your chest, a mix of emotions crashing into you all at once. You turned slowly, the strap of your bag slipping slightly on your shoulder as you did.

There he was. Max. Jogging towards you, his expression more open than you’d ever seen it. His blue eyes were fixed on you, and even in the dim light of the paddock, you could see the hint of urgency in them. It wasn’t the composed, collected driver that the world saw. This was different.

You stood there, waiting as he closed the distance between you, your breath catching in your throat. You didn’t know what to expect—an apology, a confrontation, or something else entirely. But as the man who had once been so infuriatingly composed now hurried towards you.

“What do you want, Max?” you asked, your voice calm but edged with a slight exasperation as you crossed your arms. You slightly rolled your eyes, watching as he tried to catch his breath. His hair was a little messier than usual, his cap tilted slightly askew, but he didn’t seem to notice. He looked unsure, almost uncharacteristically so, and for a moment, you almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“Uh, well,” he began, pausing to rub the back of his neck—a gesture that immediately gave away his uncertainty. He was nervous, that much was clear, and seeing him like that was both disarming and unsettling. “I just... what made you come back?” he finally asked, his voice quieter than usual, almost as if he was afraid of your answer.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. A dozen answers ran through your mind, each one more complicated than the last. The truth—that you had come back, in part, because of unfinished business with him—wasn’t something you were willing to admit. Not to him, and not even to yourself, if you were honest.

So, instead, you shrugged, keeping your tone light and detached. “Money,” you replied simply, the hint of a smirk playing on your lips. “They offered me a big amount for interviewing you.”

Max stared at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. You couldn’t tell if he believed you or if he was trying to figure out the truth behind your words. Either way, the flicker of something—disappointment, maybe?—crossed his face before he masked it with a faint nod.

“Of course,” he said, his voice neutral, but there was an edge to it that you couldn’t quite place. He glanced away for a brief second, as though gathering his thoughts, before looking back at you.

“And I also wanted to know how you’re doing,” you said, your voice softening as the words slipped out. It wasn’t rehearsed, and it wasn’t meant to sound vulnerable, but it did anyway. For a second, you almost regretted saying it, the quiet weight of your own admission catching you off guard.

Max’s gaze shifted, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity you weren’t sure how to interpret. His expression wavered, the practiced coolness giving way to something more genuine—something raw. He didn’t speak right away, as though your question had disarmed him, pulled him out of the routine he lived so comfortably in.

“I…” he started, pausing as his hand instinctively brushed the back of his neck. He hesitated, the confident driver who always knew exactly what to say suddenly at a loss for words. “I’m fine,” he finally said, his tone quieter than before, almost uncertain. “I mean, I’m… okay.”

The silence between you stretched, heavy and unyielding. You both stood there, the quiet of the night paddock wrapping around you like a cocoon, amplifying every unspoken word. Maybe you didn’t want to accept it—that he was fine without you. Maybe that’s what made the silence so unbearable.

But then, he broke it.

“Fuck no, I’m not okay,” Max said suddenly, his voice raw and unfiltered, cutting through the stillness like a blade. His words hung in the air, sharp and unexpected, and you felt your breath catch in your chest. He wasn’t looking at you now, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, as if the admission was too much to deliver while meeting your eyes.

“I miss you,” he added, his voice quieter this time, but no less intense. The vulnerability in his tone was something you’d never heard from him before, and it hit you like a wave, crashing over the walls you’d built to protect yourself.

“I still hear your voice,” Max said, his voice raw and unsteady, the vulnerability cutting through the silence like a knife. He exhaled sharply, as though the words had taken more out of him than he’d expected. “In the car, at home… everywhere.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes momentarily dropping to the ground before flicking back to yours. “I think I was going insane for the past six months.”

The confession caught you completely off guard, your chest tightening at the intensity of his words. You weren’t sure what to say—or even if you wanted to say anything at all. There was no trace of the self-assured, composed driver standing in front of you now. This was Max, stripped down to something raw and real, baring the parts of himself he had always hidden so carefully.

He took a step closer, the light from the paddock glinting off his features as his blue eyes searched yours, desperate for some kind of response. “I didn’t know what to do,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I thought… I thought pushing you away was the right thing. For me, for my career, for everything. But I was wrong.”

What did he expect you to say? This was too much—too much information, too much emotion, all at once. You stared at him, the weight of his words pressing against the walls you’d built around yourself. “What do you want me to say or do, Max? I don’t understand,” you said, your voice steady but tinged with frustration.

He shifted his weight, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “I thought…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair before exhaling sharply. “I thought maybe you would give me a second chance?”

The words hung in the air, heavy with hope and uncertainty. It felt almost laughable, absurd even, that he would ask this of you now, after everything. But as you looked at him—this man who had always seemed so untouchable, now standing before you with an open vulnerability—you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. Not outright.

You raised an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief flashing across your face. “I thought you don’t do relationships,” you said, your tone measured but carrying a pointed edge.

Max winced slightly at your words, the reminder of his past declaration hitting him like a sharp jab. “I didn’t,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “I thought I couldn’t. But I… I was wrong.”

He looked at you then, his blue eyes filled with something you hadn’t seen in him before—regret, yes, but also sincerity. And for the first time, you realized that the man who had once pushed you away wasn’t the same man standing in front of you now.

You sighed, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on your chest. The words hung on the tip of your tongue, hesitant, uncertain, but impossible to ignore. “Maybe we should try it again,” you said quietly, the admission leaving your lips before you could second-guess it.

Max’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of hope flashing across his face, quickly tempered by a hint of caution. He straightened slightly, his usual confidence replaced by something softer, more tentative. “You mean that?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper, as if he didn’t quite trust what he was hearing.

You glanced away for a moment, your gaze landing on the dimly lit path behind him. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice carrying the weight of everything that had happened between you. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy. I’m not even sure it’ll work.” Your eyes flicked back to his, meeting his steady, searching gaze. “But... maybe it’s worth a shot.”

Max exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly as relief washed over his features. It wasn’t the triumphant grin of a man who always got what he wanted. It was something quieter, more genuine—gratitude, maybe, or the quiet realization of a second chance he never thought he’d get.

“I won’t mess it up this time,” he said, his tone firm but with an edge of vulnerability that made his words feel more like a promise than a declaration. “I swear, Y/n. I’ll do it right.”

You didn’t respond right away, the silence stretching between you as you searched his face, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But there was none. For the first time, you saw a man who wasn’t just saying the right thing—he truly meant it.

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send me an ask for my line by line event.ᐟ

Yuki doesn’t say much when you change the flowers.

It happens quietly, usually on a Sunday. The kind of slow morning where the sky hangs low and the light in the apartment turns golden for no reason at all. Sometimes he’s just getting back from a run, shoes damp with dew, shirt clinging to his back. Sometimes he’s on the couch, scrolling through lap data, one leg tucked under him and his hair still damp from the shower.

You move through the room like it’s something sacred—plucking limp stems from glass jars, fingertips stained with water and wilting green. On the kitchen counter. By the window. Once, tucked inside a toothbrush cup by the bathroom sink.

You never make a big deal out of it. Just hum under your breath and hum again when the new bouquet unfurls its petals under the faucet. It’s the only way you really keep track of the seasons, you told him once, hands full of lilacs and eucalyptus. When you don’t have time to notice the air changing or the daylight shifting, you trust the florists to do it for you.

He listens to that in the back of his mind, files it away. Like how tulips mean spring. Daisies mean rain is coming. Marigolds mean you’re starting to sleep with the fan on again.

He never says anything when the old ones go. Just watches as you slide them from their vases, one by one, and lay them gently into the compost bin. The petals fall apart in your fingers sometimes, thin and papery. The stems bend too easily. They’ve softened with time.

But when you leave the room—off to take a call, or switch on the kettle, or pull laundry from the dryer—he moves.

Softly. Like it’s a secret. Like he’s doing something wrong, though it never really is.

He reaches into the bin, fingers threading through damp coffee grounds and orange peels until he finds the stems. Not all of them. Just one. Maybe two. The ones still holding their shape, even if their color has started to fade.

❀˖° THE TULIP - APRIL °˖❀

The front door creaks open with the soft click of a key turning too carefully, like he’s afraid to wake the walls.

Yuki drops his duffel bag quietly just inside, his shoulders stiff from the flight, neck aching from hours spent tilted awkwardly against the seat. Tokyo rain clings to the sleeves of his hoodie, tiny dark circles blooming where it soaked through.

He’s barely taken a step inside when he sees you—curled up on the couch, arms folded tight against your chest, knees drawn in like you’re trying to make yourself smaller. You’re asleep, mouth parted just slightly, hair falling across your cheek. The TV flickers with the low hum of some late-night rerun, casting moving shadows over the blanket tangled around your legs.

He moves quietly, kneeling beside the coffee table. That’s when he sees the bouquet—still wrapped in brown paper, tulip heads peeking shyly from the fold, pale pink and a little bruised around the edges.

The receipt is folded underneath it, timestamped from hours ago. You must have picked them up right after your shift. You must’ve waited.

Yuki swallows around something that tastes too much like guilt and gratitude and everything in between. He should wake you. He doesn’t.

Instead, he touches one of the tulips lightly, presses the soft edge of its petal between his fingers. He smiles, just a little. Then he stands, pads over to the kitchen, and pulls an old mug from the cupboard. Fills it halfway. Snips the stems like you always do.

By the time you stir awake, groggy and blinking through the television static, the tulips are standing tall in the center of the kitchen table, catching the soft, early light of dawn.

You don’t even notice the single tulip missing from the bunch.

But Yuki does. He presses it between the pages of an old notebook that night, the faintest scent of your waiting still clinging to its petals.

❀˖° THE DAISY - JUNE °˖❀

The clouds break with no warning.

One second it’s thick summer air, heavy with sun and the low buzz of heat, and the next it’s thunder cracking over the buildings and rain hitting the pavement like applause.

You don’t even flinch.

Yuki’s still drying his hair from a post-run shower when he hears the balcony door slide open. The curtain lifts with a gust of wind, carrying the scent of wet concrete and ozone.

When he walks into the living room, towel draped over his shoulders, he freezes at the sight of you—barefoot, already soaked, arms outstretched like you’re trying to catch the sky in your hands.

You laugh—head tipped back, eyes closed—spinning once on your heel like a kid. Your white T-shirt clings to your sides, and your hair sticks to your forehead in wet strands, but you don’t seem to care.

“It’s raining,” you say, like he hadn’t noticed.

“I can see that,” he replies, deadpan—but he doesn’t pull you back inside. He leans on the doorframe, watching you twirl barefoot on the slick tiles, lightning stitching its way across the clouds.

There’s a tiny jar by the railing with a single daisy, already sagging under the weight of the water. You must’ve grabbed it from the little garden box, some spontaneous, sunlit moment made permanent in glass.

He’ll take it inside later—after the sky clears, after you’ve come back in, dripping and radiant, tugging him by the wrist to dance with you in puddles.

That night, while you’re brushing your hair out, back turned to him in the mirror, he plucks the daisy from its jar and slips it between the pages of a half-filled journal.

Even months later, it still smells like summer rain.

❀˖° THE MARIGOLD - LATE AUGUST °˖❀

The silence after the argument feels like its own kind of noise.

Yuki sits at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, fingers knotted in his hair. You’re in the kitchen, pretending to do dishes, though all he hears is water running and not much else.

Neither of you meant for it to go that far. The fight was stupid—about groceries, or maybe laundry, or maybe the way he sometimes shuts down when things get hard. You’d raised your voice. He’d left the room.

Now it’s sunset, and the apartment glows with that soft, golden hush that only comes once a day, like the light is trying to forgive everything it touches.

When you appear in the doorway, your expression isn’t angry anymore. You’re holding something in your hands—a marigold, still bright, pulled from the vase on the table.

You walk up to him slowly and offer it out, wordlessly.

He looks up, meets your eyes. Then he laughs—quiet and a little embarrassed—and takes the flower from you, twirling it once between his fingers.

“I was an ass,” he says.

“You were tired,” you reply. “So was I.”

He tugs you down beside him, your thigh pressed against his. The marigold rests between you on the bedspread, its orange glow catching the last of the sun.

Later, he pretends to be asleep while you make dinner. He slips the marigold into a folded napkin and places it gently in the spine of his notebook.

It smells like apologies and soft light and the feeling of coming home again.

Each flower is carefully flattened between the pages of an old notebook he keeps zipped up in the lining of his suitcase. He doesn't need to label them. He remembers. Which flower came from which Sunday. Which week you couldn’t sleep. Which day you laughed so hard you spilled water all over the counter.

Sometimes, he tucks one into his pocket before a flight or race weekend. It crumbles a little each time he does, but it’s still enough. Just a whisper of the color, the shape—of you.

You never notice.

Or maybe you do. Maybe that’s why you started tying the stems with twine now, something softer and easier to unwind, like you’re giving permission. Like you’re saying, go on, take this one too.

And he does.

Quietly, always.

𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x fem!reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where netflix interviews you about your relationship with lando

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: you are in love - taylor swift

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: none!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The room hums with quiet anticipation as the Netflix production team makes their final adjustments. The bright white walls and minimalist décor give the space an almost clinical feel, but the warmth of the overhead lights makes it slightly more inviting. A few feet away, the interviewer shuffles through her notes, her well-rehearsed smile never faltering.

You sit in the plush white chair, Lando’s hoodie draped over your frame like a protective shield. You hadn’t meant to wear it—well, maybe you had. It had been an early morning, and in the rush to get ready, you grabbed the first thing that felt comfortable. Now, as the cameras adjust focus, you wonder if people will notice, if fans will recognize it from the countless Twitch streams and Instagram stories. They probably will.

The cameraman counts down from three with his fingers.

“And… rolling.”

The interviewer’s smile widens. “Alright, let’s get started.” She flips open her folder, her pen poised between her fingers. “You’ve been around the paddock for quite some time now. Fans have seen glimpses of you, but you’ve managed to stay relatively low-key despite being in a relationship with one of the most talked-about drivers on the grid. How has that been for you?”

You shift slightly in your seat, keeping your hands clasped together in your lap. “I don’t really think about it too much,” you admit. “I mean, I know people are curious, and I understand why, but I’m not here for the attention. I’m here for Lando.”

The interviewer tilts her head slightly. “That’s interesting because, whether you like it or not, you have become a figure in the F1 world. From being spotted in the McLaren garage to celebrating podiums with Lando, the cameras have taken notice.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I’ve noticed that too.”

She flips to the next page of her notes. “Let’s go back to the beginning. When did this all start? How did you and Lando first meet?”

A soft smile tugs at your lips. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. It wasn’t like some dramatic love-at-first-sight thing. We were just… friends for a long time. It was always easy between us, you know?”

“Friends to lovers?”

“Yeah.” You nod, the memory of it still so vivid in your mind. “It just sort of happened over time. I don’t think there was ever a moment where we sat down and said, ‘Okay, we’re in love now.’ It was just us, and at some point, we realized we couldn’t imagine life any other way.”

The interviewer smiles. “That’s really sweet.” She glances at her notes again. “Now, Lando is obviously a very public figure. His fanbase is huge and passionate, and with that comes a lot of attention—not all of it positive. How do you handle being in that world?”

You take a slow breath, choosing your words carefully. “It can be overwhelming sometimes,” you admit. “I try not to let it get to me, but there are days when it’s harder than others. Some people are really supportive, but others…” You pause, debating how honest you want to be. “Let’s just say not everyone is kind.”

There’s a flicker of understanding in her eyes. “Does that ever affect your relationship?”

You shake your head. “No. At the end of the day, I know Lando, and he knows me. That’s all that really matters. It’s easy to get caught up in the noise, but when we’re together, none of that exists.”

The interviewer leans forward slightly. “So, let’s talk about race day. You’ve been in the paddock for some of Lando’s biggest moments, including his first podium and some really close battles. What’s that like for you?”

You let out a small laugh, already feeling your heart rate pick up at the thought of those high-stakes races. “Stressful,” you say with a grin. “Really stressful. I trust him completely, but watching him go wheel-to-wheel at 300 km/h? Yeah, that’s terrifying.”

“I imagine it’s quite an emotional rollercoaster.”

“Oh, absolutely.” You nod. “There are days when he’s on top of the world, and there are days when it’s devastating. And you feel all of it with him.”

The interviewer watches you carefully. “And how do you support him through those tough days?”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the fabric of his hoodie. “I just remind him that one race doesn’t define him. He’s so hard on himself sometimes, and it’s easy for him to forget how incredible he is. So, I try to be the voice that tells him it’s okay to have bad days.”

She smiles. “That’s beautiful.” There’s a brief pause as she flips to the next question. “Now, fans have picked up on how he looks at you, how protective he is. There was even that one moment on Twitch where chat thought it was adorable how he made sure you were okay. Do you ever notice those things?”

Your cheeks warm slightly. “I mean, yeah, I notice,” you say with a soft laugh. “But that’s just him. He’s always been like that, even before we were together. It’s just who he is.”

The interviewer grins. “Well, fans love it. And speaking of fans, you’ve gained quite a few of your own. Do you ever think about that?”

You blink in surprise. “Not really.”

“Well, you should. People adore you.”

That makes you smile. “That’s nice to hear.”

She sets her notes aside. “Alright, last question—where do you see this going? The future?”

Your gaze flickers toward the door, where you know Lando is probably waiting just outside. Then, you smile, your answer coming easily.

“Wherever he goes, I’ll be right there with him.”

The cameraman signals that the recording is over. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The interviewer offers you a warm smile before thanking you for your time, and as soon as you step out of the interview room, Lando is there, leaning casually against the wall.

“How’d it go?” he asks, pushing off and slipping an arm around your waist.

“Not too bad.” You glance up at him. “They asked a lot about you, obviously.”

He smirks. “Well, of course. I am pretty great.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can retort, he tugs you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Thanks for doing it,” he murmurs. “I know it’s not your thing.”

You lean into him. “It’s worth it for you.”

And as the cameras pack up behind you, fading into the background, you realize that no matter how many interviews come your way, no matter how bright the spotlight gets, this—being here with him—is what matters most.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

At Fault | MV1

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

summary: Max invites his ex to a gp and upsets you. Soft and stubborn Max, but he’s a cutie. A mix between angst and fluff, but mostly fluff towards the end. Lots of reader just ranting. Plus a little cameo from the Ferrari WAGs <3.

warnings: Does Kelly count as a warning? Kinda of toxic, I’m not really sure? But who actually likes seeing their boyfriend’s ex girlfriend??

author’s note: Italics are flashbacks! This turned out longer than expected, but I hope you guys like it! It’s also been a while since I’ve written fics, so it there are any errors pls ignore them😭

The tension in the car was thick. So thick, Max believed he could cut it with a knife.

Your arms were crossed as you stared out the window while Max glanced at you wearily every other second. Thankfully, there were only three of you in the car. You and Max in the backseat, and the driver in front being separated by a divider. Though, Max was sure the driver was able to hear the current disagreement between you and him.

Max fidgeted with the lanyard of his paddock pass and stared at the side of your face. He knew he had upset you and honestly you had every right to be. You were biting the inside of your cheek in frustration trying to keep your emotions at bay. As much as you wanted to argue with Max about how you disagreed with his actions, he was due to race in a couple of hours and you didn’t want to add any more stress on his shoulders.

But Max wanted to talk about this now while you were both alone.

“Schatje, are you really mad?” Max asked quietly, leaning closer to you and trying to get you to face him. He truly didn’t mean to dampen your mood before the race. Most importantly, he didn’t like that he was the reason for you being upset. Your brows furrowed ever so slightly and a faint pout was on your lips, both indications that you were in fact not happy with him.

“Yes, Max, I am mad.” You answered, your voice trembling a bit. You had finally turned away from the window and were looking at him. Max felt a pang of guilt in his heart once he saw the look in your eyes. They weren’t glaring at him with the heat of anger, but they were soft and glossy, you were hurt—he hurt you.

Max cautiously reached out for your hand and tangled your fingers together, though your hand felt limp, like you didn’t want to hold his hand at all.

“I told you the truth.” Max said, leaning his head down trying to catch your eyes again. You took in a deep breath before turning to fully face him.

“Yes Max, you did and I absolutely appreciate it. I really do.” You began, grasping his hand between yours. “But that doesn’t make up for that fact that you’ve had this planned out for nearly a month and only told me thirty minutes ago!” You argued.

Thirty minutes ago, before your ride to the paddock can pick you guys up, Max had revealed that his ex-girlfriend, Kelly, and her daughter would be at the garage to watch the race. When you asked how they got passes to the garage, he shared that he had flown them out and provided them with passes for the weekend.

“So she’s been here all weekend?” You questioned him, arms crossed and a brow raised at him. The Italian heat felt even ten times worse as you grew frustrated with your boyfriend.

“Yeah, but they were at the Paddock Club, they’re going to watch the race from the garage though.” Max shrugged, as if it were not a big deal. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and grasped your hand in his free one.

You couldn’t help the feeling of insecurity seeping into your bones. Kelly was rich and gorgeous, she was a model, and you weren’t. You had a normal job that offered you stability, paid you good money, and you knew how to clean up nice. However, you were no where near her level of anything or any of the other WAGs at that.

“You’ve known this whole time that she was here?” You asked quietly, your brows furrowed at him. You hated that you kept asking him questions, it was like you were interrogating him.

Max looked down at you, confusion etched on his face, “I did, schatje. I flew them out and got them some paddock passes.” You acted before you could speak, and shook your head at him, rolling your eyes in annoyance. Your boyfriend was one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met, however, many people took that as a sign to take advantage of him. While it took him longer to realize it, you noticed it instantly.

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset though, I told you the truth, it’s not like I’m doing anything with her.” Max defended himself, his hands wildly moving around. “She reached out telling me that P missed me and wanted to come to a race, it’s not for her, it’s for Penelope.”

“I understand that Max and as harsh as this sounds, Penelope isn’t your responsibility. I get that you helped raise her, but you guys broke up, you don’t need to provide for her anymore.” You threw a hand in the air, emphasizing your point. “Kelly’s fully capable of flying herself out and buying tickets to a race weekend.”

“I was just being nice.” Max raised his voice, also growing frustrated with the situation.

“And she’s still using you!” You fumed, tears welled in the corner of your eyes. “How many times does she have to use you for you to realize it? You guys broke up and she still manages to get what she wants out of you! Do you know how embarrassing it is to walk in and see her there?” You tried to reason with him. While many of his fans didn’t approve of Kelly, you knew Twitter would have a field day clowning you when they find out Kelly was present in the garage. Social media was never always a nice place and you’ve learned to ignore it, but that didn’t mean it stopped the hate from happening.

Max ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“This is ridiculous.” He muttered under his breath, you scoffed and leaned back into your seat, staring at the window again.

“Do you not trust me?” Max asked forcibly, staring at the side of your head again. You let out a defeated sigh and turn your head to look at him, “I do trust you, Max.”

Max’s shoulders slouched as he leaned on the seat sideways, his body fully turned to you.

“Then why do you not trust me with this?” He pushed, nudging your knee with his, trying to get an answer out of you. He knew he was at fault and he just wanted to make it right.

“I don’t trust her.” You simply answered, feeling done with the conversation. The car turned, nearing the entrance of the paddock. You sniffled as you untucked your hair from behind your ears, removing your sunglasses from the top of your head.

“You don’t have to worry about her, schatje. I want you not her, there’s a reason why we broke up.” Max reassured, trying to ease the tension between the two of you.

The car came to a halt, a knock came from the driver, indicating that you guys arrived at the paddock. Before you could leave, you turned to Max and said, “Yet, she’s still here.”

ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹

Entering the paddock was always a frenzy. The moment you stepped out the car, fans were quick to recognize you, knowing that one of their favorite drivers were right behind you. You slid your sunglasses on and smoothed out the white maxi dress you wore. Max followed in suit and flashed a smile at the fans.

Shouldering his bag, he held his hand out to you, “I know you’re upset, but can I please hold your hand?”

You nodded and entangled your fingers with his. The two of you began your walk into the paddock hand in hand, as fans screamed and waved at Max. He gave your hand a squeeze before guiding you guys to some of the barricades and signing a few things for the fans.

After you guys scanned your passes, Max led you guys to the Red Bull garage. However, you came to a halt. Max was quick to look back at you, “You okay?”

“Yeah—I’m gonna meet up with Alex and Rebecca, if that’s okay? We were planning on seeing each other before the race.” You tell him. A small pout formed on Max’s lips, “Oh, okay, I’ll drop you off.” He offered, still holding your hand.

You and the girls decided to meet up at the Paddock Club. In front of the entrance, Max stood in front of you.

“You’ll come to the garage to watch, right? I need you there.” He asked quietly, so that people passing by cannot hear your conversation.

You nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be there before you’re in the car.”

Max mirrored your actions, “Okay, I love you.” He pulled you in by the waist and pressed a kiss onto your forehead. You squeezed his waist in response, “I love you too.”

Max watched as you entered the building, huffing to himself, while he watched you walk further and further into the building.

Placing your sunglasses above your head, you scan the room until you see one of the girls, Alex was the first to spot you, standing in her spot and waving at you to come over.

“Coucou mon amour!” She greeted you, (Hello, my love!) immediately wrapping you in a hug. You squeal as she squeezed you, “Helloo!” You giggled. You go to greet Rebecca, who is immediately giving you a knowing look. Being the older one amongst the three of you, she was often looked up to as the older sister.

She wrapped an arm around you and smoothed your back, “What’s wrong?” She asked while you got situated in the chair beside her.

You shook your head, “It’s just Max.”

Rebecca grabbed the bottle of champagne on the table and poured some into a flute glass. She offered you the glass, “Thank you, I needed this.”

She smiled watching you take a long sip from the glass, “Oh honey, I know.”

Alex pouted and nudged your foot with hers, “What happened with Max?”

“He invited Kelly to watch the race at the garage today.” You bluntly shared, slumping yourself in your chair.

Rebecca’s eyes widened, “Shut up.”

You raised a brow at her, “Oh, I didn’t even get to the kicker yet.”

Alex’s brows raised, “Which is?”

“He flew her out—he fucking flew her out and gave her tickets for the entire weekend.” You revealed through gritted teeth, still being aware of your surroundings. Rebecca cursed under her breath as Alex took your glass and refilled it with champagne.

Grabbing the glass, you continued, “She’s literally been here all weekend and he only told me this morning. I just don’t get it, they broke up, I don’t know why he’s still so concerned about her.” You took another long sip of champagne,

“What was the reason why?” Rebecca asked you.

“Apparently Penelope missed him—which I can believe, but did he really have to do all the providing when she can financially support herself? I get that he was trying to be nice, but still.” You grunt, fiddling with your glass.

Alex comfortingly rubbed your arm, “No, I get it, if Charles did the same thing with his ex, I’d also be upset.”

“I literally told him that she’s using him once again.” You threw your hands up. “If he wants her to be there so much, he might as well just get back with her. Like—am I crazy for losing my mind at the fact they were in contact with each other, even if it wasn’t in a romantic sense?”

Rebecca shook her head, “No, your feelings are absolutely valid. You’re just concerned and it obviously caught you off guard. He shouldn’t have been texting his ex in the first place.”

You groaned and held your head in your hands, “I hate feeling like this, it makes me question if he actually wants to be with me or not.”

Rebecca held her finger up, “I’m gonna stop you right there.” Placing her hand on your shoulder she says, “Max might be acting very stupid right now, but one thing I know for sure is that Max loves you and absolutely adores you. Without a doubt.”

Alex nodded, agreeing with Rebecca, “Like have you seen the way he looks at you? He literally worships the ground you walk on. I’m sure he’s beating himself up right now for doing what he did.”

“He loves you, (y/n), everyone who’s seen you guys together knows it. I don’t think he’d put himself in this kind of position on purpose, you’ve got that man wrapped around your finger, babe.” Rebecca reassured you, throwing her arm around your shoulder and pulling you into another hug.

“Come on cheer up, who cares if she’s in the garage today? You’re the one he’s gonna be going home with tonight.” You laughed shaking your head at her teasing.

“Hey! Tonight and every single night!” Alex pointed out raising her glass at you.

ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹

Two hours. It’s been two hours since Max has dropped you off at the Paddock Club and he still hasn’t heard back from you. He’s been distracted all day. During a meeting with Christian and some of the engineers, he couldn’t help but constantly check for a text from you, earning himself a scolding from the team principal. Checo and a couple of people from the team tried talking to him, but he wasn’t paying attention. His eyes wandered wondering when you would enter the garage.

He did in fact see Kelly and P—obviously he was expecting to see them since he invited them, but all he felt while talking to them was guilt. Guilty because he remembered the look of hurt and betrayal in your eyes and how he was the reason behind it. He hated it, he felt grimy, and dirty for going behind your back and texting Kelly. Not even ten minutes into catching up with the mother and daughter, Max realized that you were in fact correct. Kelly had used him again, instantly making advances on him despite knowing he was happily taken. But for the sake of P, Max made sure to be friendly though kept his distance to not feed into her mother’s schemes.

It was nearing lights out and you were still not in the garage. He had gone through his warm ups with Bradley, had his fireproofs and suit on, and even laced up his shoes. Still, no sight of you whatsoever in the garage. He was beginning to worry about you, sending you a couple of messages to your phone.

The car was due to be on the grid and there was about half an hour left till lights out. Max looked around the bustling garage, checking to see if you had snuck in without him seeing, though to no avail, you still weren’t there.

“Max…Max…Max?” GP tried to get Max’s attention. Snapping a finger in front of the driver’s face, Max’s eyes flickered over to his race engineer.

“What do you want now?” Max groaned, throwing his head back. To onlookers, it looked like a typical interaction between Max and GP. Though, GP felt like he was babysitting a child whose attention span couldn’t focus on one thing for more than a few seconds.

“Mate, I’ve been talking to you for the past five minutes.” GP claimed. Choosing to ignore the information he had just “briefed” Max on, he decided to be a friend.

“Where’s your head at?” GP asked Max. The Dutch man sighed, leaning against one of the storage units in the garage.

“I messed up with (y/n). I did something and it was my fault, I know it was. But she’s not happy with me at the moment and I just want to make it right.” Max summarized, not sharing any more details to protect the privacy of your relationship.

GP motioned towards Kelly who was talking to one of the other influencers in the garage, “Does it have to deal with that?”

“Unfortunately.” Max mumbled, crossing his arms and choosing to stare at the floor.

GP took a minute to stare at his driver. Max was deflated, he wasn’t as hyped for the race or over explaining some random fact about god knows what. Instead, Max kept to himself, greeting people when he had to and communicating with his team prior to the race. Other than that, Max chose to stare at his phone and look longingly outside the garage.

“Listen, I don’t know what exactly went down. But I’ve seen you with (y/n) and she clearly makes you happy, we’ve all see how lively you are with her around. You’ve got a lot of groveling to do bud, but it’ll be worth it.” GP advised, clapping Max on the back to wake him up.

“She’ll always be worth it.” Max quietly said, taking another glimpse at his phone. Only to be met with his wallpaper of you and him, with no notifications.

ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹

Christian Horner stared at his monitor at the pit wall watching as drivers and their teams gathered on the grid. He saw Checo by his car, taking a few sips of water before the race. When the camera panned to Max’s Red Bull, the driver was no where to be seen. Sparing him a second of wondering where his driver was, the camera cut to the garage where Max stood, race suit at his waist, looking no where near ready to participate in the race.

“Why is Max not in the car?” He turned to GP, stress evident on his face. GP turned in his seat and looked back into the garage to see Max pacing. Cursing under his breath, he excused himself from Christian and rushed to Max.

“Max, the race is literally about to start!”

Max stops his pacing and places his hands at his hips, “I need my girlfriend.”

“What?” Bradley and GP both stuttered out. Max deadpanned at the two men in front of him.

“(Y/n), I need to see her before the race.” Max demanded. Bradley pinched the bridge of his nose, “Max, she’ll be here after the race, you’ll be fine.” He pushed the balaclava towards Max’s chest, who simply let the mask fall at his feet.

GP sighed at Max, before calling one of the Red Bull employees.

“Please send out a search for (y/n), Max is refusing to get in the car.” He whispered to the intern. The girl looked at him confusingly but nodded and set out the garage.

ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹

You rushed as best as you could in kitten heels towards the Red Bull garage. You were supposed to be at the garage at least half an hour ago. You and the girls got caught up catching up with each other’s lives that none of you realized it was getting close to lights out. It truly was a funny sight, the three of you rushing out of the Paddock Club and running through the paddock like a bunch of maniacs.

“(Y/n)!” You heard someone yell. You stopped in your steps and looked around, only to see a girl dressed in Red Bull uniform. You recognized her, you believed her name was Nicole and was an intern for the team this season.

“Hey! Is Max on the grid already?” You approached her, a little sad that you missed seeing him before the race.

“No, he’s actually waiting for you. They’re sending out a search for you because he’s refusing to get in the car.” Nicole explained, placing a gentle hand on your back and guiding you through the crowd of fans and towards the garage.

ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹

GP released a sigh of relief once he saw you enter the garage. He shoved Max’s shoulder to avert his attention to you.

“What—oh,” Max began, only to stop himself and rush towards you. You met him half way, placing a hand on his elbow.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t meant to stay there for too long.” You quickly apologized. Max shook his head, “I don’t care, I’m just happy you’re here.”

Your brows furrowed at him, “Why are you here? Why aren’t you in the car yet?”

Max placed both his hands on your waist with a faint blush on his cheeks, “I need my goodluck kiss.”

You paused your actions, “You’re kidding me. Max, the race is about to start in five minutes!” You scolded your boyfriend.

“Please, schatje.” He pleaded, leaning closer towards you. Other team members and guests watched the both of you, the scene in front of them peaking their interests.

You gazed up at his stormy eyes, giving in because you knew he was stubborn and wouldn’t stop until he got his way. Plus, the team would hate you if you lowered their chances of scoring points this weekend.

“Just because I kiss you doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you anymore.” You clarified quietly. His forehead nodded against yours, “I know schatje. I promise to make it up to you, I really do.”

A small smile forms on your lips, “I know, Maxie.”

Max takes that as his sign to crash his lips onto yours. One of his hands support the back of your neck while the other rests on your lower back. You smile against his lips, pulling back and placing a peck right above the small mole on his upper lip.

“I love you.” You whispered to him.

“I love you too.” He whispered back. Before you can fully pull away from him he quickly adds, “I’m serious about my promise.”

“I know, baby.” You squeeze him comfortingly. “Now get out there and win the race. Stay safe.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead as both you and GP ushered him towards his gear that’s been waiting to be put on.

ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹

A man of his word, Max won the race. With at least a five second gap between him and Lando, your boy was top step yet once again. As much as he won, the thrill of seeing him win and crossing the finish line never got old. You celebrated every win of his as if it were his first. You’d always be proud of him, whether he got pole or not.

Many of the engineers and members of the team began to rush towards the grid, eager to greet Max once he got out the car.

Looking around, you suddenly make eye contact with Kelly, who seemed to have been sizing you up. You weren’t really sure what look was on her face, but the hints of a snarl were on her lips. With her nose stuck up in the air, you watched as she carried her daughter and began to follow the rest of the team.

“Don’t mind her. You’re the one he wants to see when he gets out that car.” A voice said from beside you. You jumped, coming face to face with Christian. Your eyes widened at your boyfriend’s boss. Prior to the race, he was informed of the search party the entire team had for you to get Max in the car. While he was annoyed earlier, he thought it was rather cute that Max was so fond of you.

“You know, he’s never begged her for a good luck kiss.” Said Christian, a knowing look on his features. “You on the other hand—he can’t seem to function whenever you’re not around.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was gonna put that much of a fight earlier today.” You apologized, feeling a bit flustered. “He’s a bit stubborn sometimes.” You added, to which Christian chuckled at.

“Oh, I know. Max and I have worked together for years.” He stated. He glanced out the garage and motioned towards it, “C’mon now, I’m sure he’s already looking for you.”

ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹

You make your way through the crowd of Red Bull members, many of them recognizing you and helping you squeeze through till you were at the very front of the barricade.

Max was already out, helmet in his hand, while his other embraced GP and a couple other engineers. You watched as he high-fived Penelope, barely sparing a glance at her mother. A little burst of pride went off in your stomach, you couldn’t help it.

His blue orbs scanned the crowd of red and blue, looking for you. You yell his name, his eyes immediately finding yours. A smile breaks out on his face as he rushed over to you, dropping his helmet in the process. Despite the barricade between you two, he wraps both his arms tightly around you, lifting you off the ground.

“Max!” You squealed, your arms wrapping around his neck. His large hand found your cheek, slightly pulling you away from his neck so he can connect his lips with yours. Naturally, your lips moulded perfectly against his moving in synch. The team erupted in cheers around you.

“I’m so proud of you!” You tell him once your lips separate.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” He grins, gently pinching your bottom lip between his pointer finger and thumb.

He couldn’t stay long, being told that he had to get to the podium for the trophy ceremony.

“I’ll see you after the podium, schatje!” He yelled with a wink over his shoulder, causing a blush to form on your cheeks.

ଓ⋆˙⟡₊ ⊹

The ceremony and the media tent took a while, you finally got to see Max an hour later. You were sitting in his driver’s room, when he bursted through the door already looking for you.

You stood up, smiling at him, “Hey.”

He mirrors your smile. Placing the trophy on the couch he opens his arms for you. You walk into the comfort of his hold, burying your head into the crook of his neck and wrapping your arms around his torso.

Finally it was just the two of you.

“I’m sorry.” You said, though it came out muffled against his skin. Max’s hands stopped the circular motions they were rubbing on your back.

“For what?”

You pulled back looking at him, “I overreacted about the whole Kelly thing. I should’ve taken your word for it.”

Max immediately shook his head, disagreeing with you. “No, you were absolutely right about her. I should’ve listened to you from the beginning. The moment I said hi to them she was already trying to come onto me—I avoided her by the way, I just entertained P.”

“I’m also sorry for what I said about P. I was in the wrong for that comment.” You said, a small grimace on your face when you remembered the off hand comment you made about the poor child.

Max chuckled, “Schatje, seriously, it’s okay.”

His calloused hands were rough against the soft skin of your face. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and cradled your jaw in his hand.

“I may have a soft spot for P, but they’re in my past. You’re my future, (y/n). The future that I only want and see myself in.” Max admitted. Your eyes gleamed at him, “You’re the future I want too, Maxie.”

“Good because you’re not getting rid of me that easily. You’re stuck with me.” He joked, squeezing your cheeks.

“I love you. So much. I know it seemed like I didn’t trust you today, but I want you to know that I do. I fully trust you with my life and I mean it.” You said, your fingers playing with the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck.

Max nodded, “I believe you. I love you too.”

The two of you basked in the silence and comfort of being in each others arms. Max was the first one to break the silence, “You don’t have plans after this right?”

You hummed against his neck, “Besides celebrating your win, nothing. Why?”

“Because I’m taking you out on a date.” Max proudly announced, a goofy smile on his lips.

“Don’t you wanna celebrate with the team?” You asked him. Max shook his head, “Nope, the only person I want to celebrate with tonight is you.”

You giggled at Max’s antics, “Whatever you say, Champ.”

there’s orange juice in the kitchen | f1 grid

summary : you ask the drivers to peel an orange for you (or the orange peel theroy)

disclaimers : second pov (you/your), gn!reader, use of pet names

included : alex albon, charles leclerc, isack hadjar, kimi antonelli, liam lawson, oliver bearman, oscar piastri, yuki tsunoda

a/n : first full-grid blurb, lmk what you think and if you’d like to see more! pt. 2 will contain f2, reserve, and indycar drivers. I can also add drivers so if you want to see someone not listed lmk! <3

alex albon

“Hey Alex,” you shouted from your shared kitchen, whilst setting your phone up against the far counter. You made sure it was recording, then grabbed an orange and waited. A few moments later your boyfriend came into the kitchen, eyes glued to his phone.

“Yeah?” he asked, shutting his phone off and setting it on the counter as he shifted his attention to you. A smirk spread across his lips once he saw the round fruit in your hand, and before you could even ask he was saying, “let me guess, you want me to peel the orange for you?”

You paused, eyes squinted as you slowly nodded your head, holding the orange out. He took it and began to peel it, glancing up at you every few seconds and quietly chuckling. “You’ve seen this trend haven’t you?” you asked after a moment, a playful sigh leaving your lips as he nodded.

“You’re so chronically online it’s scary.”

charles leclerc

You had seen a trend circling around tiktok of people asking their partners to peel an orange for them; the orange peel theory. After seeing a few of your close friends posting their own videos, most of which were ridiculously funny, you decided to also hop on the bandwagon.

You discretely set your phone up in yours and Charles shared living space, then quickly grabbed an orange from the kitchen. When you re-entered the living area, you saw Charles sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. You sat down next to him and held the orange out to him.

“Could you peel this for me?” you asked, a smile threatening to break out. He set his phone down and reached for the orange, a pleasant smile on his lips.

“Of course, cherie,” he said as he began to pull the peel back. You sat there, a little taken back, as he peeled away in silence. You had expected some playful bickering, maybe confusion, as you’d seen in so many other videos, but you got none of that. Instead, Charles happily peeled the orange for you, even taking the time to pull off the little white strings. After he was finished he handed the now peeled orange back to you, a triumphant look on his face.

“Thanks,” you said, squinting your eyes skeptically. “Have you seen the trend?” you asked as you popped one of the slices in your mouth. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he shook his head. You then proceeded to explain the trend to him, showing him a few videos of your shared friends doing the trend as well.

“So did I pass?” he asked after a moment, to which you laughed at.

“Yes, you passed.”

isack hadjar

The orange peel theory had been going viral on social media, and the VCARB marketing team wanted to hop on the trend. So, while at preseason testing, they sent you and an orange Isacks way, filming the interaction from a distance.

Isack was sat outside the teams hospitality with a few of his engineers, going over data from his morning session. You felt a little bad interrupting them, but at least you could blame the marketing team. Isack offered you a sweet smile once he saw you approaching, pulling the chair out next to him, for you to take a seat.

Before you could ask, or even try to hand him the small orange, he had plucked it from your hands and began to peel it. You sat there, stunned, as he continued talking with his engineers, mindlessly peeling away. A few of his engineers gave him confused looks, looking between the two of you, but Isack paid them no mind.

He had the orange peeled in no time, then turned back to you with the sweetest look on his face as he handed it back. You chuckled as you took the orange, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Safe to say the clip went viral.

kimi antonelli

Your boyfriend was known to be a bit oblivious at times, so when you found the orange peel trend, you thought it would be funny to try it on Kimi. You set your phone up, then grabbed an orange from your kitchen and called for him.

“Kimi,” you said with a smile as he rounded the corner, “can you peel this for me?” you asked, holding out the orange. He furrowed his eyebrows, looking from you to the orange, and then back.

“What?” he asked, clearly confused. “Why can’t you peel it?” he asked, making no attempt at grabbing the fruit from your hand.

You chuckled, still holding out the orange. “Kimi it’s just an orange, can you please peel it?” you continued, watching his face become even more confused.

“Why? Have you done something to it?” He then asked, taking a step back as he inspected the orange. You began laughing much louder than before, watching as he began to look around your kitchen. He then spotted your phone set up against a vase. “Hey, why are you recording? What's wrong with the orange?”

At this point you were lost in a fit of laughter, Kimi laughing along with you nervously, still not fully convinced there wasn’t something wrong with the orange. You took a moment to compose yourself, explaining the trend to him, which he still didn’t fully understand, so you had to explain it yet again.

“Oh,” he said after you had finished explaining it for the second time. He paused, looking at you in silence, before his face suddenly light up in understanding. “Oh,” he said again, now seemingly understanding the trend.

“Wait, so can I still peel it?”

liam lawson

Redbull was known for their interesting social media videos, and you asking Liam to peel you an orange was just another idea put forth by the media team. You made your way to Liam, orange in hand, with the social media manager following behind you, recording.

“Hey babe,” you said as you approached him, handing him the orange, “can you peel this for me?”

He looked between you, the orange, and the camera off to the side. “You want me to peel this for you?” he asked to clarify. You nodded your head, trying to keep a straight face as his eyebrows furrowed. “Why?” he asked with a confused laugh.

“Because I asked you to?” you retorted, catching the disapproving look he gave you.

“It’s just an orange, you can peel an orange,” Liam said, trying to hand the orange back, but you simply pushed his hand back.

“Exactly, it’s just an orange,” you said with a smile, “so peel it.” He gave you a suspicious look, but began to peel the orange with an exaggerated sigh. Every few seconds he would give both you and the media manager a side eye, waiting for either of you to tell him they got the video and that was enough. But neither of you ever did, you just waited for an entire minute as he struggled to peel the orange.

He finally got the last bit of peel off, and began pulling the slices apart. He looked up to you, a triumphant smile on his lips, before popping a slice of the orange in his mouth, and then another.

Your jaw dropped, a laugh of disbelief leaving your throat. “Liam Lawson, that orange was for me,” you scolded, but the smile on your face gave away any real anger. Liam smirked, shaking his head as he put another slice in his mouth.

“Then you should have peeled it.”

oliver bearman

You finished setting up your phone in the kitchen, hiding it behind a small vase of flowers Ollie had gotten you the other day. You then grabbed an orange from the bowl on the counter, and called Ollie into the room.

“Hey Ollie, can you peel this for me?” you asked, handing him the orange.

“Yeah,” Ollie responded, taking the orange from your hand to begin peeling it. At first you thought it was going to be a cute video of Ollie peeling the orange for you, no questions asked, but you were wrong. You watched as he struggled for about thirty seconds to even start the peel, and then every time he went to pull back the peel it just broke off.

He pulled the orange closer to his face, trying to work out how to efficiently peel it. You thought for sure by the huffs of frustration he would have given up, but you guys were nearly three minutes into what should have been a minute long video at most, and the orange was still only half peeled.

“Your adorable, but let me do it,” you said after a moment, grabbing the fruit from his hands and effortlessly peeling the rest of it.

“Hey, I almost had it,” he said with a slightly embarrassed laugh, causing you to laugh as well.

“Yeah, I should have been able to eat it by tomorrow.”

oscar piastri

It was the second day of testing, and Lando had sent you a tiktok of someone asking their partner to peel an orange for them, begging you to ask Oscar and let him record it. So, as the lunch break came around, you located an orange and made your way to the McLaren hospitality.

Lando caught your eyes before Oscar had, and you held up the orange slightly to show him. An excited smile spread across his face as he whipped out his phone, trying to record his teammate sat across from him without being too obvious.

“Mind if I join you?” You asked as you approached, placing a hand on Oscars shoulder as you moved behind him to take a seat besides him.

“Never,” Oscar said with a small smile, watching as you sat down. You sat there for a moment, fidgeting with the orange before turning to Oscar again.

“Could you peel this for me?” You asked, and not a second later Oscar had taken the orange from your hands and began to silently peeled. You and Lando looked between each other, sharing a confused look. You were both positive Oscar would have said no, not wanting to get his hands sticky with orange juice before having to get in the car.

“I’ve seen the trend,” Oscar said after a moment, taking his time to peel the skin back, then also pull off all the little strings. “But I would peel an orange for you even if I hadn’t,” he added, pausing a moment to meet your eyes.

“Oh, and you’re not as discrete as you think you are Lando,” he added, shaking his head at his teammate who was rather obviously filming the interaction. “I know you’re recording.”

yuki tsunoda

A trend circling tiktok had been popping up on your page for the past few days, and you decided it would be a funny video to try with your boyfriend, Yuki. So, you grabbed an orange and set up your phone in the living area, waiting for him to come and join you.

Shortly he made his way into the room, sitting down next to you. You didn’t give him a chance to even say hello before you were shoving the orange in his hands, a playful smile on your face.

“Peel this for me?” You asked, watching as he took the orange, but gave you a skeptical look.

“What? You can’t peel it yourself?” He asked, but began peeling the orange anyways. “Are you that incapable? It’s just an orange,” he continued, an amused smile on his face as he peeled away.

You lightly shoved his shoulder, jaw dropped in mock disbelief at the insults. “Yuki, I just asked you to peel an orange,” you said with a playful laugh.

“I mean, I knew you were dependent on me,” he continued on, a smirk plastered across his lips, “but this is a whole new level.” He finished peeling the orange, stealing a slice for himself, before handing it back to you.

“I’m never asking you to do something for me again,” you said with a laugh.

masterlist | requests are open | pt. 2 incoming

Baby Jr Series Masterlist

A Carlos Sainz x MediaEmployee!Reader Story

Status: Ongoing

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

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

current total wc: 22.1k

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

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

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

1. Friendly Banter (2.9k words)

2. Intimate Indulgence (4k words)

3. Salacious Daydreaming (3.1k words)

4. Meticulous Avoidance (2.8k words)

5. Corked Confession (2.2k words)

6. Truth Unveiled (2.8k words)

7. Careful Consideration (4.3k words)

8. TBA

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