#now if it show happens that he is in the same team as max

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

Do or Die - F1 Grid

Make or Brake pt 2

Summary: Y/n is back after the Winter and she's about to take this season and put everyone to shame. Ferrari is back and she's about to make sure everyone knows, Charles is not carrying this team to the title.

Forewarning, I kind of want to pick up where we left off from part 1. So there's a lot of time jumps so I'm not writing another part. Soz :D

Y/n had gone silent to the public and media over the winter. Evidence of her was only from fan sightings and very small appearances on other drivers social medias. Her own social media was unused and she was not active in making any interviews or statements.

Ferrari hadn't even seemed to mention her.

She's made one statement following the race saying congratulations to Charles and addressed how there was no way to explain the absolute heart break that came from such a loss.

Some speculation as to whether she'd even be back was thrown around, rumours of her departure were whispered around headlines.

Then the graphics came out and her confirmation for the season was finally made public.

"Actually to many peoples surprises, our runner up from last year for the title is back. to anyone who doesn't know, y/n has been a ghost to the world since Abu Dhabi. She was at the FIA awards but chose to let her trainer, race engineer and other team members go up and accept the award on her behalf. She was not caught on camera. She hasn't been on any social medias at all. Everyone thought she may have taken too hard a blow following the title loss. But she's back." Ted states as he walks around the paddock. "Now, I don't want to make any curses but I do think we should all be watching y/n closely this season. A redemption is in the air."

Y/n's arrival in the paddock, along side Charles since they just so happened to arrive at the same time.

Photos of the two are captured by the millions and admittedly there's some relief in seeing them laughing and talking to each other. Mainly from y/n's side since everyone feared she'd have a hostility towards Charles.

Really they should be more concerned about her having a new iciness towards George.

"Y/n!" Lando grins moving towards the young woman who smiles at him brightly and accepts a big hug from her, though it's quickly followed by Max appearing for a hug.

"We weren't sure we you coming back." Max states earning a sigh from her as he rubs her back.

"There was a moment I didn't know if I was." Y/n hums before she pats his back in gesture to be released.

-

Elliot smiles seeing y/n walk into the garage for the first test in .

"Well if it isn't Ferrari's darling ready to get back in the car." Elliot chuckles earning a look from her. "I know I saw you less than an hour ago, but this time it's in the garage and you're in your suit and have your helmet. It's so good to see you back. Even if it's just testing so far."

"Yeah, well so long as Fred hasn't absolutely fucked the car. Let's put last year to shame and really show them what we can do." Y/n grins at him earning a nod.

"I hope you've licked your wounds and time has healed them...because whether it's the last thing I do in this sport. We're here to see you take that fucking trophy. You're the next champion." Elliot smiles patting her back. "Are you ready?"

"It's do or die this time."

-

Almost to everyone's relief. Ferrari seems to have managed to not fuck up the car and is still proving to be the best on track. But now testing is over and they're going into the first race weekend.

"Y/n, coming to you. Obviously, after the way things ended last year. There was a lot of heart break for you-actually across the whole sport. People mourned your lost title. How are you approaching this season?"

Y/n hates press conferences, they always have to remind her of the sting. It's their jobs, but she doesn't have to enjoy it.

"I imagine I'm approaching it not different to anyone else is approaching the season." Y/n smiles earning a pat on the knee in approval of her answer from Max. "Is that a boring headline?"

"Yes, you're not feeding them." Max jokes into his mic.

"Oh sorry. This season I'm going to get the title well before Abu Dhabi. Keep an eye on me in every single race. I might make the season as boring as Max used to but prepare yourself for some fucking amazing stuff. I'm going to be the best thing you've seen in F1." Y/n exaggerates earning a laughter from the room. "Ok, no. Seriously. I'm here to win like everyone else. The only difference is that I'm not fumbling this season. Not even taking a risk. Are you rooting for me?"

The reporter seems to flinch back and look at her in poor shock as she looks at him with an expression of question.

"Me?"

"Yes, I'm talking to you." Y/n laughs making him shrug.

"We're all rooting for you, y/n."

Y/n seems to flinch back this time, tears only just gathering in her eyes before she clears her throat.

"Then it sounds like I can't let you down either."

-

Practices went well. The quality simulations seems pretty perfect.

"Radio check?"

"Loud and clear, big boy." Y/n jokes earning a grunt.

"Cheeky."

"Sorry." Y/n giggles feeling better being in the car than being anywhere else right now. "How do I look?"

"How do you look?" Elliot snorts looking back at her from the the pit wall where she gives him a little wave. "Behave, I know you're excited but fishing for compliments is below even you."

"I was just asking for an opinion of my helmet?"

"It looks very glittery. Like you fell into crushed up rubies."

"Oooh...I like that. That's cool." Y/n laughs then sighing. "I want to be out on track with no traffic. If anyone gets in my way, I'm overtaking them with aggression."

"We expect no less. But that won't be a problem. I promise."

Once y/n is out on track she is actually feeling really good in the care. When she decided to come back, which she was really on the fence about coming back. It was a type of pain she never imaged she'd feel in this sport. Public humiliation is not a kink she wanted to really indulge in when it comes to her career.

Q1 and Q2 she's leading the pack, but if Abu Dhabi has forced her to do one thing. It's to never feel like things will go her way.

When Q3 comes about she doesn't even get out the garage when a red flag is raised.

"What's happening?"

"Stroll in the wall."

"Oh. Is he ok?"

"Yeah...just...glad we didn't have you out on track. Lando just got hit by a load of gravel." Elliot hums while she hisses. That gravel can actually hurt a hell of a lot when it hits you.

"Do you think it will be long?"

"No. Why?" Elliot questions making her suck in a breath.

"Do I have time to use the bathroom?"

"Yeah, go on."

Y/n is helped out by a mechanic before she rushes off earning attention from the cameras.

"Y/n is disappearing. Where is she going?" Crofty chuckles making Martin hum.

"Not sure, maybe she knows something about the red flag that we don't."

"Actually, while we're talking about y/n. Although she's been the talk of the whole weekend. But really just taking a moment. Y/n has been a rocket out there. There is something I think we can see as a change in y/n. She's really been just destroying."

"Yeah, she seems to be trying to keep herself humble while sort of making jokes at the media for pushing her to maybe be a little cocky about her chances this season. She's managed to play into it then quickly prove she is still very much humble about the whole thing." Martin states earning a hum from Crofty. "I do think we saw a bit of a wobble in the press conference. She is not expecting a lot of support this season, I don't think."

"These drivers. Always so hard on themselves-Oh she's back in the car. Must've just been a comfort break."

Y/n gets the notice of the 5 minutes and about 2 minutes before she gets out into the pit lane. Grateful to see she's at the front, though others get out and are waiting behind her.

Y/n decides not to be wasting time. Qualifying is not going to be her weak spot this year and while she knows beating Charles is not always a possibility. Not to mention other teams are looking stronger than she hoped. But she's not letting that discourage her.

"Alright, box this lap. As for the first run. We're P2 right now, Charles is P1."

"Ok." Y/n mumbles as she does her cool down lap after crossing the line.

Once she's boxed and the few minutes have been waited out, she's back out on track and this time there's no room for error. No excuse for not pushing the limit and on her flying lap she has nothing in her head but the track in front of her.

"That's P2." Elliot states making her deflate.

"Charles?" Y/n mumbles making him chuckle.

"No. Actually. Oscar. Charles is P3."

"Oh...I don't know if that sucks more or less." Y/n sighs then huffing. "I'd rather a Ferrari front row."

"Yeah, I think he would too. But P2 is good."

-

By the time they hit the race in Spa before the summer break, y/n's kept her promise. She's winning but there's definitely something off with her that everyone has noticed.

"Y/n, you're burning up." David states as she swallows despite a dry mouth.

"I'm fine. It's the race today."

Y/n's ate something back, or she's caught a bug. Either way she's spent the morning not even keeping water down. It's not food.

"If you're not well-"

"I'm fine." Y/n cuts in then covering her mouth at the feeling of something in her stomach shifting from the force of her volume then settling. "I just need to not eat anything."

David mutters something about her being a stubborn idiot. But she ignores him. Moving out for the drivers parade which earns her the attention of the other drivers who look at her in grimace.

"Y/n, what is wrong? You look green." Carlos comments without filter as she clutches to the railing.

"She's not well." Charles states looking at his teammate in sympathy. Much like she's spent the morning emptying her stomach. He's heard her being sick all morning.

"Are you allowed to race in this condition?" Pierre questions making her look at him. "Sorry."

"I can't miss a race." Y/n mumbles almost feeling like she's going to dry heave purely from using her voice before she wipes at her forehead which is slick with sweat. "Oh god."

With the vehicle being so slow moving, it's not hard to jump off and rush from back to the pits.

"Surely they will stop her from racing." Pierre frowns looking at the other men who just shrug.

By the time they're getting the car out onto the grid, y/n has managed to convince everyone that she's at least well enough to try and race. Though Fred looks unimpressed and so does Elliot.

David looks like he's restraining himself from locking her in her drivers room.

It's when she feels Lando reach out to steady her swaying as they listen to the anthem that she wonders if she is a risk to the others on the track.

She'll give it a few laps and if she can't handle it, she'll box and retire from the race.

"Are you ok?" Lando asks as they walk towards the cars.

"Yeah, I'm good." She nods with a weak smile as Lando looks at her with a very much concerned expression.

Y/n got pole. Which isn't so much a miracle since she was completely fine yesterday when she was in the car.

Getting in the car she can sense the team's anxiety, the mechanic who straps her in that usually gives her a lucky pat on the helmet seems to just gently rub the top as light as possible.

"Radio check?" Y/n mumbles trying to use her voice as little as possible.

"Radio check, I can hear you."

"If possible, can you just get me to talk as little as possible?" Y/n rambles hoping to make her request short.

"Yeah, I'll keep questions to a minimum."

Y/n sighs as they are left for the formation lap and she leads the way around the track, feeling worse than she was hoping to in the quickly heating cockpit. but she's not going to give up. Maybe this will be as bad as it gets.

Once she slots back into P1, she waits for the rest of the grid to catch up. The lights seeming to light up and go out quicker than usual, but she still manages to keep a clean get off and keep her P1 position.

"Y/n keeping the lead. You know, she's apparently very unwell. Had to leave the driver's parade because of how badly she been feeling. She's got the ok from the medical team but I did see some close ups and she looks very pale and clammy."

"It's certainly not a position she wants to be in. Y/n is comfortably leading the championship. But like all the drivers, she doesn't want to give herself the option of missing a race." Martin hums again feeling almost paternal for the young woman. "They take great pride in being able to race in any condition unless they're hospitalised or the medical team says absolutely not."

Y/n manages 15 laps maintaining P1 and pulling a 10 second gap on the bunch before the dehydration kicks in and the heat starts to haze her vision.

"Y/n? What's happening?" Elliot questions noticing her take a curb a bit hard.

"I'm sorry-I-." Y/n coughs feeling herself gag.

"Alright box box. We're retiring." Elliot commands as she hits turn 14.

"No. I can-do it."

"Not a question, y/n. Box. The lap. Now." Elliot states in a tone that y/n has never heard from him.

"What is going on with y/n?" Crofty asks as they notice her car being past by Charles. "She's slowing-she's going in-radio."

Playing out the conversation the world. It's not necessarily a surprise but it's not a great feeling to know that a driver feels so unwell she can't continue.

"She's out. Y/n is-oh dear." Martin grimaces as they see y/n nearly dive out the car before it's even in the garage pulling off her helmet and balaclava in one move, her stomach squeezing itself like it's in desperate need of emptying.

Bile comes up and splatters onto the unused space of the pit box while some of the team rushes over trying to block the sight from cameras.

"That's not a nice sight. Y/n really does seem to get the worst luck when things take a turn against her. It's never just a little bit of some thing just small. It's always something huge to take her out the race." Crofty comments making Martin agree quickly.

"Yeah, lucky for y/n there's the summer break so whatever has made her so ill. She's got plenty of recover time."

-

Y/n definitely took advantage of the summer break and spent it recovering from the weight loss of 7kg from what turned out to be some pretty nasty food poisoning.

And she came back for 4 consecutive wins.

A predicted 2 more wins and the Championship is hers. Which if she keeps up the winning streak. She might just let the reserve take the last few races while she celebrates.

"And there is the championship leader. Y/n is really flawless since the summer break. Obviously, very very unfortunate end to Spa. Which was a bad ending but she has just undeniably been transformed into an unbeatable force." Crofty states as they watch the formation lap.

"COTA is a good place to continue the winning streak. She didn't win it last year here. I don't actually think either Ferrari did, so that will be a nice change for them."

Y/n gets another good start, something she's perfected and leads being chased by Max for the lead. But when she pits he follows and she's out before him.

But the last thing y/n expects to happen suddenly happens. After Charles has boxed, he lands himself behind Alex and during trying to overtake. Alex moves suddenly and the to end up spinning off in different directions. With the amount of debris on the track they red flag and y/n heads to the puts with everyone else.

"I've just done the maths...well someone else has done the maths and just informed me. Y/n is the champion. Charles was the only one threatening her. The rest are too far behind in points. Do you think anyone on the team knows?" Crofty asks making Martin shrug as they watch the cameras focus on her talking to Elliot who is certainly unaware.

They're just focused on the race.

"Are Charles and Alex ok?"

"Yeah. Charles is angry at himself for it. But that's to be expected. It was clumsy." Elliot states earning a hum as she wrinkles her nose. "You're P1, Max P2 and Lando P3. You want to thank Charles though. We weren't sure if these tyres were going to make it to the end of the race." Elliot states earning hum as she wrinkles her nose.

Eventually they get the 5 minute warning and y/n gets back in the car.

"I don't think y/n knows. She doesn't seem to have realised what this means." Crofty comments with a small laugh. "I don't think she knows at all."

"No. It doesn't look like it." Martin agrees making him hum.

-

Ferrari didn't actually realise y/n's championship win had been achieved until she was almost near the end of the race and they decided to hold off telling her purely on the chance she found her race ending badly.

"Y/n, we were waiting to tell you. But you are the 2026 champion!" Elliot yells into her ear making her heart still. "Charles out the race meant so long as you won, you took the title. You won!"

"Holy shit! Fuck off! You're not joking are you? I'll never forgive you if you're lying to me."

"I would not lie about this."

"Elliot! Ahhhh. I want the whole team there, every single fucking one I need everyone there. We all deserve this. I couldn't have done it without you. You're coming up with me, I hope you realise that. This is your win just as much as mine."

Unsurprisingly her in-lap is rushed and she gets out the car, standing on top of it with her arms raised while the Ferrari team goes wild. Even Charles is tucked away in the crowds cheering for her.

When she jumps to them, her whole body is lifted and squeezed. Hands smacking the top of her helmet. The FIA even has to extract her from the mass of red and force her to get weighed. Not to mention Lando and Max have already been interviewed since they allowed her extra celebration with her team.

Though even before they get her with a mic, Max picks her up spinning her in a hug.

"You are amazing. You deserve this." Max smiles as he places her down and she laughs sniffling and wiping at her eyes. Her face is stick with tears of joy.

"Very over due." Lando grins as he also picks her up in a hug.

"Y/n?" A woman with a mic urges.

"Oh sorry, sorry." Y/n laughs moving over and standing on the mark once she's got the mark grinning at Jenson who does squeeze a quick hug in.

"Y/n, you must be...just I mean the feeling has no words. But I have to ask, how do you feeling?"

"I'm just amazed. I'm so unbelievably happy. I can't thank the team enough, obviously. Winning because my teammate crashed is never fun, but...I guess that's a running theme between Charles and I. I'm just-oh god, shedding more tears. I'm crying." Y/n laughs feeling more tears spilling over down her cheeks as she tries to wipe them away. "I think when the shock and adrenaline has calmed down. I'll find something that's more meaningful to say. But all I really really want to say is thank you to my team. I could not have done it without them."

The crowd roars with celebrations and y/n laughs as she jumps on Elliot's back letting him carry her up to the cool down room where Max and Lando have already seated themselves.

Y/n can't get herself out on the podium fast enough and when the anthem plays she is blowing kisses to people in the team from the top of the podium as the Italian anthem is sung by them all.

Max and Lando make a point of spraying then just pouring the champagne on her before throwing her up on their shoulders for the photos as Elliot hands her the trophy for her to hold.

"Now that is a beautiful moment. I think it's safe to say, y/n just more than proudly made history. I'm proud to say we were here to witness it." Crofty comments as the two drivers place y/n down on the podium again.

"Yes. I really thought at the end of last year, she wasn't robbed necessarily. Charles was very much deserving of his championship win but it was a hard thing to watch and knowing how badly it effected her. She almost entirely quit and pulled out her contract because of what happened. But I mean a comeback kid if there ever was one. The first female champion, she has just stolen the youngest champion ever spot from Sebastian Vettel. Though only just." Martin nods then sighing. "She'll certainly remember this moment for the rest of her life and what a moment to remember. even I'm proud to say that I'll remember it."

"I can't wait to talk to her. Though it might actually have to wait till the next race. I imagine she's going to be very busy from here till then."

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[allywthsr]

BIGGEST SUPPORTER | (l.norris)

summary: Lando finishes in P2 in silverstone and you guys celebrate

wordcount: 2.1k words

pairing: landonorris x fem!reader

warnings: hinted smut but nothing graphic

notes: like and comment your thoughts!!

A loud cheer erupts in the garage as Lando crossed the finish line in P2. You couldn’t believe your eyes.

You felt a squeeze on your hand and looked to your right, being faced with Lando‘s grandmother. She loved you ever since she met you 5 years ago.

You both had the biggest smile on your lips as you stood up and hugged everyone that came your way.

Being with Lando since he started racing in F1, you knew his team pretty well, just as they knew you.

When Zak pulled you to the podium and placed you in the front row, next to Adam, you couldn’t wait to hug your Lando, to squeeze him tight, and to congratulate him.

As he parked his car behind the sign with the big 2 on it, you couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, as they slowly made their way down to your cheeks. Pulling out your phone just to capture a quick little picture, to set it as your lockscreen later. When you put your phone back into your bag, the big TV camera panned in your direction.

The camera focused on you and the rest of the crew, as you spilled the tears and by now you were full-on sobbing. You couldn’t wait for the edits and memes Lando‘s fans were creating, already picturing how you are gonna show them to Lando once you’re both settled in bed later.

When Lando finally jumped out of his car and made a beeline to you, you opened your arms and closed them around his neck. His arms snaked behind your back as your hands cupped his helmet and you distanced your faces a little.

You looked into his slightly wet eyes and pouted.

”I am so proud of you Lando. P2 in fucking Silverstone, are you mad?“

Before he could answer you, the guys started to smack his helmet and his smile got even wider. Lando releases one of his arms from you while keeping the other one tight around your waist, as he started to hug the others.

The FIA guy pulling him away from you towards the scale to do the typical after-race things, like weighing, you proudly looked at him while he removed the helmet of his head and took a big gulp of water out of his water bottle that has been placed on his little stand afterward. You didn’t even want to imagine how thirsty he must be after almost winning the British grand prix, but well, with Max always in P1, it’s kind of like a win, right?

While the post-race Interviews started with Lewis and Max, he came to you once again.

Now finally being able to kiss you, he pressed his lips onto yours and the tears started to flow again. When he loosened the kiss and saw the tears, he put his hands on both sides of your face and used his thumb to wipe them away.

A slight chuckle left both of your lips at the same time, making you both laugh even more.

He put his forehead to yours and whispered a quiet ” Thank you angel“. You looked at him again and kissed the top of his nose and then his forehead.

He gave Zak a quick hug and kissed Adam‘s cheek, as he had to go and do his post-race interview.

As he talked to the interviewer about the strategies and feelings he had during the race, you admired him, the way his helmet left imprints on his face, and don’t get me started on his helmet hair, you just wanted to run your fingers through his strands.

”Lando, the last question, we just saw your girlfriend, Y/N, cry, what does that do to you?“

The smile on his face got even bigger, as always when someone asked about you. Him always saying that you were the best thing that happened to him and he wanted to show you off, being proud of himself for getting someone that beautiful and smart at the same time.

”Well you know, she‘s my biggest supporter and she told me she is proud of me, so I guess that’s why she started crying, but yeah, I love her so much and I’m happy that she is here to share this experience with me, being at my home race and having her as a supporter is just phenomenal, she does so many things to come to as many races as possible and I’m so happy and grateful that I have her by my side.“

Now all the attention was on you, multiple cameras were shoved in your face and you could feel the whole world watching you, well, it’s not wrong, the whole world WAS watching you.

”You two seem like a lovely couple, do we hear any wedding bells soon?“

You wanted to roll your eyes, but decided not to, people shouldn’t think you were an evil bitch, but hearing this question or reading this comment over and over again, it’s just tiring.

You both took your time, having the same opinion on people marrying after knowing the partner for two weeks. You guys have been together for five years, but you just took your time and didn’t want to rush anything. But if he did pop the question, you wouldn’t even need time to think about the answer.

Lando let out a high-pitched giggle and started to fidget with his fingers.

”You know, we don’t wanna rush into anything, we’re still young and enjoying life right now, you never know what the future holds but we’re really happy right now.“, hoping that he would be satisfied with the answer, Lando‘s thoughts went back to a little something he hid in his luggage wherever he went. Just waiting for the right time, was a diamond ring, that you would love, he was sure of that.

After the podium celebration, where Lando almost poured the whole bottle into your direction after his famous bottle on ground hitting thing, you were smelling like champagne but you couldn’t care less. Happily smelling like the success of your boyfriend.

You both went into his private room in the hospitality. Lando couldn’t wait for a shower but you just had to hug him, so you stood in the middle of the small room for at least two minutes just hugging and being close to the other. You had so many feelings you couldn’t comprehend. You both reeked of champagne and Lando was fully drenched in the fuzzy liquid, as Lewis and Max poured their bottles all over him, you shared small kisses and you played with his wet hair.

”Babe, let me have a shower and then we can cuddle at the club.“

You pouted, didn’t want to let him go, or not being close to him. But he did need a shower desperately. And a change of clothes as his suit and fireproofs clung to him like a second skin.

”But hurry love, I need to shower in the hotel as well and get ready for the after-party, I can’t go like this!“, you pointed at yourself, being dressed in a fancy outfit but not fancy enough for a club. And you needed a shower as well, and a touch-up of your makeup. You were thankful that you applied waterproof everything so nothing had smudged, but you just needed to freshen it up a little and make it more party-like.

”You look just as gorgeous as ever, my love, but I will hurry, I want to lay down in a bed soon, I‘m really tired.“

You leaned to his ear, whispering: ” You won’t get much sleeping done tonight babyboy.“, he let out a gasp and you left the room with a mischievous smile. You loved it when you made him flustered.

After leaving his room you sat with his family in the hospitality and chatted until he was ready to go. You both said your goodbyes and started to walk to his car.

You both made it to Lando’s car after he got stopped every meter for an autograph, but you two didn’t mind, today Lando was really happy about the positive feedback everyone gave him. But when you did make it safely tucked into the comfortable seats of his McLaren, his hand was glued to your thigh, seeing that Lando also needed that physical contact, made you happy. You knew he was always a bit extra clingy after a good result, but never that much. He also kept one hand on your lower back or one arm wrapped around your waist as you guys walked through the paddock, not even removing it, as he took pictures or signed stuff. You were sure all of these people had the ugliest Lando Norris autograph of all time, as he didn’t hold the paper or whatever with his other hand, but he seemed satisfied with it. Just needing you close to him today.

You arrived at the hotel and the clingy Lando continued. He hugged you from behind and threw you guys on the Queen-sized bed, needing a cuddle. With his breathing getting calmer with every breath and his eyes slowly closing you knew where this was going, but not today, you needed to get going. A shuttle was organized to pick you up in an hour, and you didn’t want to be late again. So you turned around in his embrace and poked his left cheek with your index finger.

”Lando I really need to freshen up, I smell bad and I feel gross!“

”You could never be gross, you’re not a fish Y/N, fish are gross, but not you baby.“, he mumbled. He really was on the brink of falling asleep, all of this success must have tired him out.

”Baby no,“ you let out a chuckle, ”just a quick shower, you can sleep a little but then we have to leave for your party!“

His lips formed into a pout, that you couldn’t resist kissing. He opened one eye, started to smirk, and pulled you even closer to him.

”No Lando! Don’t even start, we really don’t have time for this now. No no no no no no.“, you loosened from his grip and stood up as fast as you could.

”But baby, I need to shower again, I don’t think I cleaned my back well enough earlier“, he cheekily said.

You just looked at him with your stern look and arched your eyebrow towards your hairline.

He started to pout again. ”You’re no fun.“

You chuckled and finally went into the bathroom to get the shower you desperately needed. After a more party-like Make-up and an outfit change, you were ready to go as Lando still laid on the bed. You told him multiple times to get up while you got ready but he didn’t listen. Being the stubborn boy he was.

”Well, if you don’t want to go, then I‘ll leave without you.“

You heard a grumble from the bed.

You sometimes felt like your boyfriend turned into a little child with you being his mother. It just made you laugh at how childish he can be behind closed doors.

He did eventually got ready and you both made it to the shuttle that picked you and some other crew members up.

He kept an intense grip on your leg, as he talked to the other guys, which made your legs twitch, but now is not the time to think about that. You just couldn’t wait for the night to end already.

You all made it to the club and after a few speeches of important crew members and Lando, the party got started. You danced, had drinks, and just fun celebrating Lando and the team for the good result.

And let’s say, you guys didn’t really sleep much, but not in the way you promised Lando earlier, in fact, he didn’t even think about that anymore, instead you sat next to him on the bathroom floor while he emptied his stomach into the toilet and rubbed his back with your hand slowly to show your support. He promised you not to drink that much because of how the last party ended. But he didn’t listen to you, nor did he learn from his mistakes. But the scolding could wait until tomorrow, now he just wanted to feel better. You stopped counting the drunken ‘I love you‘s‘ he whispered when he didn’t hang with his head down in the toilet. But you couldn’t be mad at him, as you looked at your lockscreen, the chrome car behind the P2, excused his behavior. And you never showed him the memes of your crying, but that could wait until tomorrow too.

”You really are my biggest supporter, even when I hang with my head down the toilet.“

yourusername

yourusername I love you my boy, Pfucking2, you amaze me everyday. Thank you for being you and killing it on track everytime. Here‘s to more Podiums and hopefully less patting your back while you empty your stomach in the toilet after the afterparties. Love you smelly🧡

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username1 You were so cute on TV!!!!

username2 They’re meant to be, proof me wrong🥹

username3 Parents.

landonorris Love you too ig, thanks for exposing me🧡

maxfewtrell hahahaha what a muppet

username4 When are they getting married?????

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris x you #formula 1 #silverstone gp 2023 #racing

[thatsdemko]

just an incident - m.verstappen

masterlist

requested: n

pairings: max verstappen x leclerc!fem!reader

warnings: hints of some friends to lovers trope + google translated French and Dutch + wrote this BEFORE the Monaco 2023 gp!

a/n: I cannot remember who it was that said most Dutch don’t use nicknames like “angel” or “baby” but I didn’t feel like changing the pet names so my apologies 😬 had a lil dream about this so enjoy xx

it really wasn’t supposed to happen. at least you didn’t want it to happen, but he most certainly did.

growing up he was your brothers biggest competitor and challenge. race tracks weren’t the same when max verstappen was on the circuit, and that was still true to this day. max became a menace and impossible to beat in that Red Bull, it made loving him in secret and supporting your brother in public harder.

because every race meant listening to that Dutch national anthem while your brother told off his team for the shit race. it meant spending long nights in the Ferrari garage rather than the ones in his hotel room celebrating his victory. loving max verstappen was not easy.

“mijn engel wat zit je dwars?” he asks, fingers gently brushing down the skin of your back. you’re sitting upright in his bed, pillow covering your chest as you scroll through the chain of text messages from your brothers. you could never have a peaceful evening alone without one of them calling or texting. my angel what's bothering you?

“mes frères.” you grumble tossing your phone into the pile of clothes on the ground before relaxing against his chest, “but I’m all yours now.” you press a kiss to his jawline, watching those beautiful green eyes close in contentment.

“why don’t you tell them about us? are you that worried?” his arm wraps around your shoulders allowing you to sink further against him. he knows Charles would have heart failure hearing his baby sister was more than just a friend with max, and it would give him all more of a reason to push him off the track or do risky overtakes. racing wouldn’t be the same for Charles or max, and maybe he hadn’t thought of that, but you certainly did.

“I’m more worried that I’d be stealing his boyfriend from him.” you joke watching the lines around his eyes crinkle, smile forming on his lips. you loved that smile dearly.

“we broke up a long time ago.”

—

“you go missing? been trying to call you for hours.” Lorenzo doesn’t even need to look up from his computer to know it’s you entering the house. just by the sound of your silent footsteps and nails tapping against your phone, he knew it couldn’t be anybody else.

especially since he began to pick up you were beginning to be late or no shows recently. you would push off family dinner for said alone time or show up to family game night a half an hour late. he wasn’t one to budge into your life and ask the questions, but seeing as things were drastically shifting he felt he needed in.

“what? no, just needed some extra sleep.” your lies weren’t getting any better, he knew the high pitch tone and small stutters were nothing but false words.

“you think to run a brush through your hair?” he scoffs seeing the snarls and tiny mats that you didn’t notice. you’re lucky your mother wasn’t home or else she’d have fainted at the sight.

“why are you in my business?” you ask making him finally look up from his laptop to see the purple faint bruises against your collarbone. there was no sleeping in for you, and he couldn’t help not fighting the smirk against his lips as he pulls the cup of coffee up to try and mask it.

“just go take a shower before Charles and Arthur come home, please?”

you listen to his request and find the warm water against your aching body and sensitive skin comforting. his nail marks at your hips were fresh, the pull in your groins were painful in the steam, and the purple bruises at your collarbone weren’t going to be easy to cover up. it was evident max wanted your family to know about him, whether you would actually drop his name was up to you.

the thick sweatshirt of Arthur’s that you stole covers what you wanted, and the baggy sweatpants you borrowed from max masked your shaking quads with each step. maybe you did miss being home, but you were missing that Dutch accent and being under the gaze is his big green eyes.

“when did you get back?” Arthur asks, head peaking into your room where he sees you tapping away on your phone, a little smile evident against your lips.

“this morning. how was work with Charles?” you turn around to see him moving in your room. Arthur was like your best friend, growing up one year apart, he was the closest thing you had sometimes, and lying to him about your relationship wasn’t easy.

“good, we ran into max.” even his name made your heart skip beats, you shifted uncomfortably against your bed trying to not make it obvious you were eager to hear how he was— despite having seen him only hours ago— or if he mentioned you.

“and?” you ask swallowing nervously, Arthur shifts against the doorframe with a shrug, “he’s alright, just prepping for Monaco.”

you let out a tiny sigh of relief nodding, “good for him I guess, I kind of hope he loses.” you lie biting your tongue and hear a laugh from Charles across the hall, “me too!” he calls out.

—

“you hope I lose? I heard that rumor by the way.” his voice startled you making you turn around to face him. he’s in his suit and tie, dressed his finest just like yourself. the expensive gala you were in was packed to the brim and you had lost all of your family members minutes ago when you spotted the Red Bull drivers appearance.

“you know I want you to win.” you move a little closer to him, his hand discreetly rests against your hip and he presses a friendly kiss to your cheek that you wish could be a little more than that in public.

“hoe gaat het met mijn meisje?” he leans into your ear, the soft whisper leaves a tingling sensation down your spine making your body curl closer to him. how’s my girl?

“il manque juste ta touche.” you reply, hand resting against his chest, nervously adjusting his crooked tie. you know people are staring and cameras are recording, but under his gaze you feel protected. those big hands and aggressive demeanor would go to war for you against anyone here. just missing your touch

he chuckles under his breath, “you have all of me, my love.” his lips press your temple quickly, before excusing himself to shake hands with Sergio Perez, his teammate.

you move out of the way when the cameras begin to flash and interviewers move in to ask questions to the Red Bull drivers. you find yourself watching from the sidelines beside Daniel, but his eyes always find you. a wink in your direction let’s you know he hasn’t lost sight.

“flirty with my man?” Daniel nudges your elbow gently, making you break your stare at the lady who’s getting to close to max for a picture.

“flirty? no, he was winking at you.” you laugh watching max pull Charles in for a photo with the two drivers. three of them smiling proudly for the cameras before Charles pulls away, a little dizzy from all the flashing.

“hm, I don’t recall him making sexy eyes at me in our contract.” daniel pushes you in the direction of max. now that the photos were done, you could tell he was looking for you, but of course Charles whisks him away before you both can close the gaps between each other.

“you think you’ll win in my circuit?” charles jokingly asks. pulling max out from the mass crowds of people, you were trailing behind the two of them pushing through bodies to join them.

max scoffs, “I can’t predict the outcome of this race, mate. we’ll just have to wait and see.” the Dutchman sees you push through a few people and he extends his hand to help you before you stumble into Carlos.

“yeah, well with my luck I’ll be last.”

“no Oscar and lando will make sure you aren’t.” max chuckles, the two make faces at each other before the tipsy giggles escape their lips. you wish all nights were like this, the two of them happy and not pinning each others successes for their failures.

“what will you do if you win?” you ask Charles stepping a little closer to their conversation watching him think. you look up at max who’s thinking through if he should put his hand against your back, maybe pull you closer to him.

“I don’t know yet. maybe take maman out to dinner? this is all hypothetical.”

max nods, hand finally resting against your lower back, “well if I win I think I’ll take a special someone out for dinner.” he pulls you closer to his chest, your arms unconsciously wrapping around his torso.

“oh? who is that?” charles asks, and it has yet to hit him. he’s clueless to Max’s hand resting on your ass, your arms around his torso, and his lips pressing into your hair. charles was clearly oblivious.

“me, idiot.” you scoff finally getting his attention, his eyes scan each part of your bodies and how close you were together. he looks lost, like a puppy trying to find home as the dogs finally connect with what’s in front of him.

“no! when did this happen?!”

“it was just an incident.” max shrugs, there was no other way to describe it. the pieces just fell into place and max verstappen somehow became the man you loved more than just in the dark, he was someone you were beginning to love in public.

“don’t use my words against me.”

#max verstappen blurb #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #f1 fic #f1 driver x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 driver x you #red bull f1 #f1 x y/n #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fic #mv1 #red bull racing

[leclsrc]

like you should ✴︎ cl16

genre: just. Like. sexual tension…, reader is max’s gf, no explicit smut but heavy innuendos so just beware, everyone is Morally Bankrupt so turn away if u dont fancy that

word count: 11.3k  

If you don’t learn from history, it’ll stick around and find a way to repeat itself – even if the history is with your boyfriend’s rival, and its repetition happens behind his back.

auds here… hi hi hi!!! not proofread sry; i wanted to write something like this for a while haha, i had a bunch of reqs from january(!!!) that served as the basis for it. title from this it was this fic's inspo savior. full disclosure this is fiction n doesn’t at all reflect how i view max/charles :) love love love u all sorry for being mia so constantly & enjoy this jumble of sexual tension haha. happy june friends!!!

Monaco is always an affair in itself. Humid, music blaring, and full of celebrities, you pose for a few paddock pictures, exchanging no words with Max. He’s idle beside you, cap drawn over his dirty blond hair, hand on your waist, the other scrolling through emails and Instagram. Your dad’s somewhere here, too, if you remember right—he texted you about being with Christian, at a meeting somewhere about Checo or something. You can’t be arsed to remember. You flew in two hours ago after a days-long inner turmoil, trying to decide if you wanted to come at all.

Max didn’t sound too eager for you to arrive, either, but you theorize it’s because you’ve both been tired with work lately. He’s leagues above everyone else now, but the demand of work snatches what little quality time you could’ve spent with him. You suck it up, lacing your fingers together and hoping this is a dry spell—physical and emotional—that just needs to be waited out.

How’s the weather? You ask casually when you’re inside his room, burying your face into his shoulder. He presses an absentminded kiss to your head. “Should be fine.”

“Anything you’re worried about?” You make yourself busy rifling through his closet. It’s more of the same. Polos proudly showcasing the logo of the team that’s brought him to the top. He usually keeps three spare ones, but there’s an extra smaller one that you unfold and dangle in front of you. “Whose is this?”

He glances. Kelly’s. When you gesture for elaboration—Nelson Piquet’s daughter? Christian asked me to give her one. You don’t pay attention to it, folding it neatly and placing it inside again. He pipes up to answer your earlier question, voice light as it is solemn. It’s Charles’ home race.

“So?” It comes out sharper than you intend, considering Max is more a friend than his rival. You turn to try and soften your hostile phrasing. “I mean. It’s… you’ve been dominating the leaderboard.” No way you’ll show him you’re worried for Charles, too. “Their car is horseshit.” It is and it worries you.

“Yeah, yeah. I think I’ll talk to him for a bit. You’ll be okay alone?” He’s getting up already.

“Wait—” You pause when he’s kissing your cheek as a goodbye. “I thought we were getting lunch.”

“Make it dinner, then.”

“No,” you protest weakly. “I’m going to be with my dad.”

“Drinks.” He leaves no room for argument and leaves with the door shutting softly behind him. You exhale loud through your nostrils and shut the closet door, leaving to explore the paddock. It’s familiar grounds for you, not just because of Max but because of your dad, who began insisting you attend races again a few years ago. You should know Red Bull, he’d said then. The team I’m sponsoring. The team I give millions to.

Purely to appease him, you gave in and attended a race for the first time in a long stretch, just a few years ago. You’ve attended almost every race since then, and those have often blurred into one homogenous memory (sitting, watching, cheering, hugging, drinking), but the first race remains clear as the day your driver dropped you off at the entrance to the paddock, a VIP lanyard slung over your neck and sunglasses perched on your nose.

You stare at the just-closed door, his bag still abandoned on the bed, his dismissive tone, the polo you’ve just folded up. Max is hiding something—you just can’t put your finger on it.

—

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Monza 2019! The host goes, a reporter-esque smile greeting the crowds on the big screens. Monza is intimidating. You’re being guided around the ups and downs of the paddock by somebody whose name you’ve forgotten and remembered and forgotten again, short in stature with a posh English accent. Your dad is somewhere, in a meeting perhaps, which means your re-introduction to the world of racing is up to this man alone.

“Christian!” Someone says behind you, and oh right his name is Christian. Christian—Hormut, or something. You’ve blurred his last name from memory, too. Christian ends up having to excuse himself to attend to a pressing practice problem, and he leaves you with one of his drivers.

Max is his name. He’s funny, charming, and vulgar in the way all Europeans are (you’re not at all surprised when he tells you he’s Dutch), and handsome, moreso when the topic gets to racing and he starts talking quick and with passion. It’s something you admire.

“You don’t know what quali is?” He asks when he hands you a vodka soda.

You laugh. “My dad was always insanely busy with work as a kid, so I liked not knowing anything about it.” You always wanted to remove yourself from the racing and just be your dad’s daughter. “I’ve only been to a handful of races, and even then I was way younger.”

“You’ll like this one.”

You squint onto the paddock and recall the motif that’s been teeming around you all day long—red. Red, red, and more red. There are fans whose faces are painted red, bold and shiny against the unrelenting sunny weather. Internally, your curiosity is piqued. Red Bull, perhaps? “Are those your fans?” 

Max follows your gaze curiously. “Oh,” he says when he sees the crowd of red. He sips his beer. “No, that’s for Ferrari. They always attract a proper crowd in Monza.”

You hum, the name more than familiar to you. “Red sea.” You spot a few signs in Italian, a few fans taking pictures, and finally your interest wanes, eyes gravitating back to Max. “You nervous?

“Rarely am.” He smiles. “Will you be watching?”

“Probably,” you respond, momentarily searching the surrounding area for your dad. “I’ll be with my dad someplace.”

“You owe me a congratulations,” says Max as he gets up, his name being called from somewhere behind you. “Okay?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “I’ll save it.”

You’d spaced out mid-race and watched from a flatscreen TV inside instead, but lost the plot at some point, so you ask around for who the winner is. The winner ends up not being Max, you’re told by one of your dad’s assistants, Ben, when you emerge from his office after the flag is waved.

Everybody, however, is talking in a secondary racing jargon—they say things like P1 and front wing and strategist, failing to dumb things down for you. You piece things together and realize the winner is a Ferrari driver—but, if your memory serves you right, there are two drivers. You don’t know which one it is. Then again, you don’t know the drivers themselves, either.

You reunite with your dad and Christian Harper (you think) in the garage, where Ben hands you a pair of giant headphones that transmit scratchy, loud radio audio; you remove them and ask him a million questions instead. Nearby, the Ferrari garage is exploding with screams, but they don’t come close to the roars of the red crowd, which almost seems to breathe collectively, scream collectively, celebrate as one. You’re almost transfixed with how loud they are, how passionate they are, with their winner. Their golden guy. Your dad’s mouth is set in a straight line.

“Who won?” You ask, voice raised to try and become audible despite the cheering.

Ben points, squinting under his eyeglasses. You follow the direction of his finger to the finish line. There, parked beside the first place sign, is somebody standing atop his car. He’s wearing red. Showered in red. Surrounded by red. It’s tantalizing, the way his win has commanded the entire area. Your mouth is half-open, lips parted in soft shock.

You tap Ben again. “Yeah, who is he?”

“Leclerc,” he says, pinching his nosebridge. “Ferrari’s new guy. A friend of Max’s, but a rival, too.” He sighs lowly. “Your dad’s biggest problem.”

Christian Harris makes a quip about you having to go find and comfort Max, but you space out, still staring at the winner. Leclerc. You’ve got no face to his name, just the opaque visor of his helmet and the two proud fists in the air, inciting even louder cheers from the crowd. You focus harder, as if that would somehow reveal his face to you.

But he’s faceless, a winner of mystery for now—and for the rest of the evening as you’re ushered back to Red Bull alongside your dad. 

—

“Do you want to come to an afterparty?” Ben asks, tapping away on his phone. Emails and texts crowd his notifications. “We need to know if you’ll need a car tonight.” He follows you around, exasperated with your quick pace that even he can’t keep up with. “And if so, which car.”

“No, no car.” You respond, walking. “Which afterparty?”

“Any, really. There’s, uh… a Red Bull one, a few yacht ones, Max mentioned dropping by APM Monaco’s and—”

“No afterparty,” you say with tense finality once you hear the option. “All the drivers do is drink and get sleazy.”

“O-kay,” he taps. “I didn’t realize you had such a… vendetta against the drivers?”

You laugh a little, peering over the lens of your sunglasses to try and spot familiar faces. Actors, models, drivers’ relatives—the place is packed, and the weather is hot. “When did I say that?” You ask, looking around at hyper speed. 

“It was implied.” Ben pauses and eyes you, curious but already on the brink of suspicious. Your gaze is darting everywhere, clearly trying to find something to catch on. “What are you looking for?”

Caught red-handed, you slow down the speed at which your eyes scan over the paddock and settle them on your watch, pursing your lips. You clear your throat and raise an eyebrow, turning the questioning back to Ben. “I’m not looking for anyo—”

“Hey,” comes a voice from right behind you, a hand coming up to tap against your shoulder. You don’t have time to turn and identify the culprit because he moves to stand in front of you, effectively stopping you in your tracks with a teasing smirk. “Max did not tell me you would be here.” He crosses his arms. “Excited? I know I am. Home race and all.”

You swallow but your throat is dry. “I’m excited to cheer for my boyfriend.”

Charles smiles, satisfied that he managed to get on your nerves. With curiosity and anticipation, Ben keeps to himself and watches the exchange unfold, arms crossed. Charles presses on. “Are you coming to the party later?”

“I might,” you say, mind changed.

“Alright, see you.” With the sun weakening the tint of his sunglasses, and his hair raked back by his backwards cap, you have a clear view of the way his left eye drops into a smug wink. He smiles again, boyish, before he’s turning to leave you with Ben, who turns to you.

“You’re friends?”

The most decent answer leaves your lips dismissively. “Acquainted.”

—

You lose all sense of inhibition (and navigation) as soon as you step a heeled foot into the club, but it’s nothing you haven’t experienced before. Years of clubbing and fake IDs have prepared you for the tactics used to snake your way through the crowd of people, eventually finding yourself at the VIP area of the Monza afterparty, where one look at your face is enough to let the bouncer let you through wordlessly. 

“The team’s finest!” Christian greets jokingly with a smile. Why he’s here, you’ve no idea—you had an impression he had a family to go home to. “A drink?”

“I’ll explore for a bit,” you say warmly, smiling as he brings you in for a friendly hug. You peer at faces and over shoulders, taking shots off trays and flutes of champagne off tables to feel less stiff and out of place. You’re looking for Max.

But you catch somebody else’s eye, one who seems to beckon you over with a look. He’s laughing at something, decently tipsy, and—when you near him—he introduces himself as Charles. “Leclerc,” he adds, and suddenly everything clicks. The face you’ve finally matched to the name is handsome, chiseled and devilish and charming, with a warm smile that doesn’t match the dark in his eyes. He’s in the same kind of getup everyone is wearing—a tight black tee, blue jeans. But he makes it look insufferably attractive, unfortunately.

“You’re the winner,” you state, not lifting your tone to sound like a question. He is the winner. The champion of today’s race.

“Right I am.” He nods once, matter-of-factly. “You’re Red Bull’s princess, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t call myself that,” you say, blushing inwardly. Your face is warm and you feel flustered, but you play it cool, feigning a casual laugh. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thanks.” He takes a gulp from his drink, dark and potent looking. “Max mentioned you earlier.”

“Oh.” You’d completely forgotten you were looking for him. “Is he here?”

“Around. Hey, listen,” he says, turning to collect the makings of a shot, “I’m the winner, and I make the rules. Take a shot with me.”

Your eyes close in a laugh, nodding along. You’re already tipsy, anyway—what’s another shot? You take a wedge of lemon in between two fingers and a pinch of salt, smearing it along your hand as you grip a shot glass of something. You’ll know once you taste it, you suppose; no time for questions.

“You got the last lemon slice!” complains Charles across you, and you laugh, shrugging as if to say deal with it. Your glasses clink, and you throw back the liquid; it’s ten times stronger than you anticipated and for a moment you lose control over your motor skills, squeezing the lemon wedge a tad too strong so it dribbles down your chin, through your throat and the last of it trickles through your cleavage. You manage to get some, licking the salt off before the taste becomes nauseating.

Your grimace is ever so obvious, as is Charles’ inability to take his eyes off you. Fuck, he thinks. You’re exactly his type. Pretty, eyes twinkling and half-lidded with the alcohol. Your lips are bitten, caught between your lips—it’s a habit, he guesses from how puffy they are. He might have to kiss you now.

“Still need lemon?” You ask, leaning in. “I’ve got some on me.” It’s a joke but your tone suggests otherwise, eyes lingering on his parted lips for any sign of assent. Your breath smells of citrus and wildly expensive tequila. He could kiss you now. He would. He will. He has to.

You tip your head backwards, smiling and dancing lightly to the music, your hands wraped loose around his wrists, dragging him, coercing him closer. So he does, allows himself to give into it and smiles into the skin of your neck, licking over the remnants of lemon that remain. He kisses a lovebite onto the side of your throat, one dark enough that he knows—he just knows—at least one person will ask you about it tomorrow morning. 

When he parts, smiling, he asks, “Wanna smoke?” He produces a cart and waves it in between you, taking a hit and blowing grassy smoke into the air. You nod, encouraging him to take another and blow the smoke into your parted lips. All the while, he notices, your hand is rubbing over the lovebite, the soft, sore skin there.

He thinks of what you might say. The flustered explaining, the hand coming up to cover it or the sponge dabbing concealer over it. He thinks of you lying. Oh, just a guy. No, a Ferrari driver. And you’re all his, if just for tonight. And he’d be right. You were somewhat his—just for that night. The day next, Max took you to breakfast, didn’t notice the blotch of concealer, and all settled into a messy pattern of history.

—

The race is about to begin, preparations in the garage reaching their stunning crescendo. “Good luck,” you say as a sendoff, pressing a kiss to Max’s lips. He smiles appreciatively, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. You wonder absently what’s been going so wrong, but you suppose it’s a two-person job. 

You watch him board the car, your dad coming up beside you. “I still can’t believe how lucky it is that you ended up with one of my drivers.”

“Dad,” you say, warningly. 

“Just saying, honey.” He smiles. “Can you imagine anything else?”

—

“I am sure I cannot be up here.” Charles’ voice is amused, deep and echoing in the empty space of your dad’s vast office. It’s dimly-lit because he’s not here—yacht dinners have become the new venues for business deals, leaving big offices like these ones woefully empty. And yours for the taking, you’d told Charles over text when he asked what you were up to tonight.

You hum teasingly, turning. “You won today, so consider this your prize. Provided generously by a friend.” The term embeds itself into the atmosphere of the empty office and you clear your throat, turning your back to him again and walking to the window. 

The awkward air between you had, for some time, dissipated, giving way to a series of texts and calls that, for the sake of clarity and concision, you don’t tell Max about. Plus, you’re not even dating Max, you tell yourself. It’s just a fling right now, no commitment, no crazy heavy labels. You met only, what, three races ago. And to be fair, you’re not even dating Charles—you’re just friends.

“It’s crazy to think this office can be folded up and shipped halfway across the world,” you say honestly, eyes zeroing in on the city. “I mean, all this.” 

“It is just four walls,” he simplifies, nearing you, staring at the way your hair falls over your back. He’s scared to explore around and touch things—touch you—so he settles on nervous looking. “I don’t understand how this is a prize. I’m in an opposing team’s high-level donor’s office with his daughter.”

“It’s not just four walls,” you say when you turn, ignoring his second statement. “It’s a couch.” You lay both hands on the leather sofa, pointing to the two matching loveseats beside it. “It’s… a desk.” You walk over to it and prop yourself up against it, your feet tiptoeing with the height of the surface. Charles, amused, watches your long-drawn out rebuttal and takes a seat on the couch.

“It’s a lamp. A carpet. A display of Seb’s old race suit.” You point at each. “It’s a drawer.” You pull it open. “…Filled with Red Bull porn.” An assortment of hats and tees meet your eyes, all displaying the same emblem. You tug out a team polo, the same one Christian and Max and Daniil wear—and you whirl around, unfolding it in the air so Charles sees what you’re holding.

An idea enters your head. “Try it on,” you suggest, a teasing lilt in your voice. He shakes his head, laughing. Still insistent, you near him, leaning over where he sits and pressing the polo to his figure, aligning it to the best of your ability to his shoulder and chest so it looks like he’s wearing it. “Looks nice.”

He makes a noise of dismissal. “Never happening.”

“Can’t a girl dream?” You inch yourself forward so your faces are flush of each other’s. When his gaze switches to your lips, smiling and bitten, it no longer leaves. You think of how he’d look all donned up in one of these polos, these suits. The dark of the suit. He could use a break from all that red. You could give that to him.

“Okay,” he says, but it’s soft and distracted. His hand comes up to wrap around your wrist, craving for a form of your touch.

“We’d better go,” you respond, your voice decimated to a whisper. “Before my dad comes.”

“Come on, then.”

Your lips just barely ghost over his before you heave yourself back up, smiling teasingly. “Alright. Let’s go, then.”

—

You watch the Monaco race like a hawk. Ben doesn’t ask why, but internally he rumbles with questions. Why are you so invested in this one race? He chalks it up to the prestige of Monaco as a whole, and settles for that. But still—you’re interested. You watch from the garage, almost with an unrelenting stare, unwavering. Surely you shouldn’t be worried, he thinks. Max has won before. 

And Max wins again, raising the totem like it’s a crucifix. The camera focuses on your wide, proud smile and shows it to the world—there, it seems to say, there she is, the one Max goes home to! Max wins the Monaco Grand Prix—but what will become of the native hero?

You watch Max win with a proud smile, and accompanied by a nasty feeling that lines the pit of your stomach, you find yourself wishing somebody else had taken his place.

—

You never did like dabbling in racing. Your dad often encouraged you to try karting, driving, even something like PR or marketing—he’d fund it all, he promised—but you grew to almost hate the career that robbed your dad of so much time. Perhaps if you thought about it, there was one upside, and it’s sitting down across you to eat lunch.

“What brings you to the paddock?” Seb smiles. “Rare occurrence.”

“It’s part of my bid to get you back to Red Bull in 2023.” You beam back, observing his Aston Martin-green getup. “I’ve got signs and speakers loaded up in my car.”

“You always were advocating for my return.”

“You’re my favorite,” you joke. But it’s an honest quip. “My favorite Aston driver, and back then, my favorite Ferrari driver.”

It’s a statement you regret as soon as it escapes, because it gives Seb leeway to start intense interrogation. He’s always known. He’s always been observing, picking up quirks and details until he forms his own crude recreation of the big picture.

“Not Leclerc, then?”

You chew slowly, eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”

He says your name solemnly, and you pause. Sigh. “What?”

Sensing your irritation, he tries a different tactic. “How are you and Max?”

Seb’s ability to almost always see through you is unrivaled. He’d been one of your closest companions back when your dad would force you to attend races and hail Seb as one of the team’s greatest. Kind as he was, he was a stellar driver, which came with the fortunate gift (and unfortunate burden) of observing everything, and being right about almost all of his hypotheses.

It’s bullshit, and you know it. He doesn’t want to know about you and Max. He might as well could’ve asked how is the weather in Wales? It’s just that farfetched—a question so unlike what usually occupies your conversations with him.

He doesn’t want to know about Max. He wants to know about you—your feelings, your turmoil, your decisions. He wants to know what’s going on with you and Max’s rival-friend-then-rival-again-then-friend. “We’re okay.”

“All good?”

“Amazing, actually.” You smile, tight-lipped.

“I met with him last night.” Yeah, you heard, you say—a party with a few notable figures. “Yeah. Him and Charles.” Jesus, Seb always finds a way to get the topic right where he needs it to be. You prepare yourself for some serious advice-giving.

He inhales, exhales. “Charles asks about you. Are you two close at all?”

No, you tell him. We know each other and that’s all.

“Well”—he says, shrugging—“I just. I don’t want you to betray anyone, not even yourself.”

It’s despicable. All you need are two couches and you’re in free Formula One therapy. They should do this to the Ferrari fans, you think. “Do you hear yourself, Seb?” Your mouth is set into a straight line.

“I’m just saying that there’s a difference—there is always a difference—between what you think you want and what you really want. Now, I can’t tell you either. Neither can your dad, or Max, or anybody. It’s all in you. You’ll know you have what you want when it’s right there.” He jabs a gentle finger onto your open palm, laid on the table. “In your hands.”

“I have what I want,” you say. 

“Do you feel it?”

Seb is met with silence.

—

“Dad?” You call, voice loud to try and capture his attention. Outside, the Monaco festivities carry on. “Simon’s just brought the car around. Are we still on for dinner, or—?” You freeze when you fully enter the office, seeing your dad on the couch pouring a bottle of Scotch. Your blood runs cold almost, and your stomach could’ve dropped right beside your sandals right then.

“Hi, honey. I was just having a drink with Mr. P6.”

Charles smiles charmingly from his seat. “Hi. You’re his daughter, yes?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out, so you shut it and nod instead. “Good race,” you say dryly, hiding your disdain under a façade of politeness as you move closer to your dad. Then, in a lower tone to him only, will you be long?

“We were just finishing,” he says with a professional smile. “Was telling Charles here that luck just wasn’t on his side today.”

“Sure,” you say, clipped. “We should go if we want to make dinner. Max wants me to visit the afterparty later, so.” You make sure to look at Charles after you say it, so you don’t miss his sudden eyebrow raise and clenched jaw. He downs the Scotch and, with a smile as warm as it is fake, excuses himself for the evening.

“Well, you two should get acquainted. Who knows what his future in Formula One holds? Once that contract’s over, it’s a bidding war.” He claps Charles on the back. “One I might like to win, eh?”

Your dad makes a signal for you to shake his hand, which you do. Like always, the touches between you, however small and indetectible, are electric; you try your best not to look at him when his hand wraps securely around yours, giving it a brief shake. You feel he’s burned you. Everything burns. “We’ve met before,” you say with a polite smile.

“Lovely to see you,” he says bluntly, acting like you haven’t had him lick salt off your neck before.

“You too.” You reply. He’s departing now, collecting his phone and keys.

He turns and smiles. “Hope I meet you again soon.”

“Nice fella, isn’t he?” Your dad asks when it’s just the both of you.

“Yeah. Nice.”

—

The APM Monaco party is the only one you end up attending. Max drives you both there and gets valet to take care of his Ferrari, leading you both inside. It’s not long before you split into separate directions—you’re looking for a friend, and Max is looking for his team, who have showed up to get drunk, too. You heard Kelly was around, if that mattered. Lets leave @ 2, you suggest. Good? You both discussed it en route, and neither of you wanted to stay late. A thumbs up and heart emoji greets you back.

It’s the same text you stare at at 2:45, antsily waiting for Max at the basement parking. The lobby parking—the main entrance to the place—is swarming with people; influencers, residents, YouTubers, anyone and everyone trying to gain access and catch sight of the lucratively famous drivers.

Thumbs up. Heart. Received 1:08. 

See you at parking? Sent 1:55.

Video FaceTime Call. Missed 2:02.

WHERE ARE YOU? Sent 2:15.

Voicemail, voicemail, and more voicemail. The exit swings open and you’re 100% expecting it to be Max, profusely apologizing for forgetting your mutually-set curfew. Instead you’re faced with, as your father called him, Mr. P6.

He is, of course, smiling. Charming as ever. “I heard from my assistant that you wouldn’t be showing up to any parties. Then I hear Max wanted you to come and cheer for him,” says Charles, his usually jubilant voice low and only a little teasing. His accent is stronger here. It’s less of the English-French-Something he usually uses when speaking English and thick, more natural. “You are one good girlfriend.”

You look up from your phone and the unanswered texts—Maxie where are u? Are u bringing the car? Answer me—and narrow your eyes, mouth coming up into a frown. “What is your problem?”

“Problem?” He laughs. “I don’t have any.” He’s leaning against his car, content to watch you. Another car passes by without pausing to pick you up, leaving through the basement exit instantly. Not Max.

“Okay, then get back inside. You have a whole crowd of fans to appease.”

“I prefer it here.” He looks around the stale garage. “So peaceful.”

“It smells like gas and sweat,” you shoot back with a grimace.

He presses. “You should be happier. Your boyfriend got first place at a prestigious race.” For a moment, you pulse with empathy—you recall the beaten down look on his face when his car and his team failed him again and again and again. But you blink and swallow it.

“Yeah,” you say pointedly. “He always wins. Can you imagine if he got sixth place?”

A flash of something—something hurt, something shocked—surges in his green eyes. But like you, he blinks and it’s gone, replaced with a smile. 

“Can you imagine if he didn’t go home at night?” He teases coolly.

“Right, right,” you say, letting him win that round. “And what’s all of Twitter saying about how all your flings look ‘exactly like Max’s girlfriend’?” You raise two delicate air quotes.

He gaze hardens, then flits down to your phone, open to the unanswered exchange. You quickly shut it off but it’s incentive enough for a continued conversation. “He’s okay?”

“Getting the car.” And like divine timing,  a text from one of Max’s strategists dings in your inbox—a picture of your boyfriend, passed out on the floor of someone’s (you presume his) car. Should be fine by morning we’re about 5 min from his flat. But you don’t have a key to that flat, you realize, because Max suggested you both stay at a hotel for some “much needed relaxation” (you are anything, anything but). 

Can you leave the key? You type, then stare. Max’s girlfriend for almost four years and you have no key. To his home. Embarrassed, you try rephrasing the text but nothing works. You’ll just sleep at the hotel, you think.

You delete the text and press a hand over your face. Fuck’s sake. You’re going to have to ring your driver—thus alerting your dad—at three in the morning for a car because your boyfriend is piss drunk.

“I’ll bring you home.” You look up, almost forgetting Charles was there. He pats the front of his car. “Hotel or Max’s flat?”

“Hot—hotel,” you say, breath catching from stress and embarrassment. “Hotel. Sorry.” You’re embarrassed. You’d gotten that dig on him for being P6 less than two minutes ago, but now you’re climbing into his car, meek and with small, unassuming movements. You almost want to apologize, but that might worsen the awkwardness of it, so you purse your lips and stay relatively quiet.

He doesn’t gloat, like you expect him to, like you maybe would if you were in his position. He does, however, sport a insufferably self-satisfied smirk, like he knows he won tonight somehow even if he didn’t even snag fifth. You grumble quietly from the leather passenger seat, opting to admire the lit-up nightlife of Monaco, alive as ever even as the night wears on.

“Is Max home safe?” He asks, stifling an even bigger smile.

“Oh, go fuck yourself.” You scroll through your many notifications, and find no text from your drunk boyfriend. You look up, finding you’ve turned away from the city centre and into the darker, less populated area. “Where are we?”

“A shortcut.” He revs faster.

“Yeah. Okay. Like, where, specifically?” Your eyes analyze your unfamiliar surroundings. You’re not familiar with Monte Carlo at all to begin with, so the lack of buildings is setting off every internal alarm bell.

“Well,” he chuckles, sensing your apprehension, “it’s a shortcut. Cuts six minutes out of the drive to your hotel.”

“I thought everything was close together here,” you quip, relaxing a little. 

“Not to a native. I know places.”

“Sure.” Your voice wavers. “Charles, I’m going to jump out of the car window if you’re shitting me, I sw—”

Charles throws his head back to laugh, like he can’t even believe you just suggested that. As if deep in thought, he sticks his tongue into his cheek and laughs a little, with exasperation almost. This girl, he seems to think. You stare, transfixed with all the little flexes his face makes.

You break contact when his eyes flicker to your figure, looking at the console first then the window, as if caught stealing a cookie from the jar. “Sue me for being concerned,” you add, for an extra layer of defense.

“You are like your dad.”

Your face warps into one of disdain. “Never say that to me again.”

“Just in the way that”—he waves his hand around to get his point across, laughing as he focuses on the road ahead—“you two are always serious, always working. I mean, you never attended races, even before.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“I like to think you and I know more about each other than we let on.”

He’s right, but you won’t say it. You two have a connection so unlike what two acquaintances, friends, share. It’s undeniable and thick and impossible to uproot, an easy and intense dynamic at the same time. You know so much about him. You know how to make him laugh, hurt his feelings, get his eyes to flutter all pretty. But he knows those things about you, too.

“You only attend races for Max, yes?” He adds.

The utterance of Max’s name gives you mild whiplash—it reminds you you’re on the way to your hotel, to check if your boyfriend’s okay, and not on some drunken joyride with his friend-rival. You clear your throat and try to segue out of the topic. “I just—I take work seriously. I take everything seriously.”

“You shouldn’t.” His eyes flit over to you again, up and down, the low cut of your dress, the way your crossed arms are effortlessly pushing your tits togeth—

“You should loosen up,” he says with a cough, looking back up.

“Thanks for the tip, Leclerc.” You smile phonily, eyes still out the window. “I’ll be sure to put it to good use.”

“Okay.” He says lowly. Then, as if to set a challenge—“Put it to good use now.”

“Now?” How? You almost add, parting your lips to let the question slip past. You stop yourself before you can, though, letting your still hazy mind run through your own fabricated answers. How do I loosen up? Then, to yourself again, for you?

It’s dark outside, and even windier when you roll down the window of his car. He drives fast, steadily but scarily fast—with the kind of control he’s built over a career around a car. You peek out, facing the dark hilly terrain, spotting the city lights in the far distance. Your hair flies over your face when you turn, finding more empty road. Everyone’s in the city. In the thick of the partying.

You dip out of the window more, letting yourself feel the breeze—it whips at your face, cold and smelling of the coast. In the car, you maneuver your legs to keep yourself upright properly, and more of your leg shows as a result, the material riding up on your thighs.

Charles maintains composure, his pace slowing so your hair brushes against your face more gently. Still, a soft, high-pitched yelp of excitement and nerves escapes your bitten lips. He wishes he could watch—he wants nothing more—but he has to focus on the road. He does allow himself fleeting, hot glances at you—your legs, your lithe hands on the window’s base keeping yourself upright, the way your dress hugs your waist. He might die.

“Careful,” he says, raising his voice firmly. He is genuinely concerned for you when he spots one of your hands lifting to rake the hem of your already short dress further down. It’s cold, you’re thinking, but you let your flimsy grip tell him the same story.

Still focusing on his next turn, he drives one-handed, reaching his other one over to help you out. Out of his immediate sight, you shut your eyes and allow yourself to shiver from the feeling of his hand, warm and calloused and big, on your knee, inching higher and higher upward and eventually wrapping loosely around your leg just above your knee, holding you steady.

A shaky breath leaves you, and you’ll say it was because of the wind, but you’ll know you’re wrong. Your hand moves down, to meet his, to let your fingertips skate over the expanse of his hand until your fingers are wound tightly around his. It’s dark. It’s intimate. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

Your mind is buzzing, red hot and clouded, when you begin to lead him upward, higher, until your interlocked hands are just under the hem of your dress, dangerously close to where you need him most. An invitation. 

But when you crack your eyes open again you see you’re near the city, abandoning the safety and darkness of the shortcut, and the illusion is shattered.

“Get back in,” you hear, and when you feel the tension of his hand pulling yours, you let him tug you back inside. Your hair settles by your face, and you almost reach up to comb it neat before realizing your hand’s still caught in his. Slowly, your gaze meets his—his eyes bore into you, dark as the night outside. They don’t flicker when you hastily pull your hand from his grip, sighing shakily.

The next turn brings you back into the city, structures gaining a semblance of familiarity. The window, still open, is chilly against you, your cheeks cold with it, your shoulders inflicted by a mild wash of goosebumps. “Have fun?”

You clear your throat. “Not much,” you lie through your teeth, chewing on your lip. 

“We are near the hotel.” The hotel, the party, the grand prix, Max. Reminders of what you’re supposed to be paying attention to ripple through your head as the car snakes through the city. It’s one of his other cars, so it’s not distinct enough that people are peeking inside; still, he rolls up the window for your sake.

He drops you off at the basement parking, not at the lobby. Privacy reasons, he says. He’s sick of parking outside. You bite back a quip about his nasty parking and stay still, heart beating quick.

“Thanks,” you say softly. “For driving me.”

“You’re welcome.” A hand rests on your thigh and you don't feel the resolve to jerk it, instead relishing in its warmth there. “Get there safe.”

“Safe? It’s one elevator ride,” you say tersely, rolling your eyes. He squeezes, his touch feather light, and your breath hitches. You need—

“I hope Max is okay.”

You blink and then move your thigh so his hand slides off; he doesn’t put up a fight, and you don’t encourage him to. “So do I.” It’s right as you’re closing the door when Charles says see you? You meet his eyes, eyebrows furrowed, and shut the door fully.

—

“Yeah,” you say after a period of silence. “I feel it.”

Across you, hair raked back by a headband, Seb maintains lack of conviction. You’re not telling him the truth.

“How’s it feel then?”

“Just… good. Like thrilling.” Like danger, in a good way, peaceful and calm and patient and not complicated. You know what you want. You want the ring-clad hand wound around yours, on your thigh, stubble against your jaw. You want that. You know you want that.

But do you have it?

—

Max’s agenda in Barcelona starts on the eve of quali day. He arrives at your hotel and is greeted with music—it flows from the bathroom, where, upon his inspection, he finds you, swiping a dark line of eyeliner on in the mirror. You meet his eyes briefly, but you say nothing before continuing, humming softly to the Drake song that plays from your phone. He can tell instantly: you’re pissed.

“I’m leaving,” is all you say, dismissive and standoffish. You provide no follow-up.

Still, he tries to apologize. “The meeting ran late.” Silence. “Your dad discussed budgetary stuff.” Silence. “I’m optimistic for pole tomorrow.” And again, silence. “Come on, babe. I’m sorry. Really.”

“Okay.” You pause. “What was Kelly doing there?”

His mouth opens and then closes. “Wh—”

“Ben told me.” You wave a wand of mascara around.

“She was listening.”

“What’s her business?”

“Listening,” he emphasizes.

“Bullshit.” You’re on—he guesses—eyeshadow now. “Every time the topic gets to her, you get all skittish. As fuck. You think I don’t notice?”

“Babe,” he says, defensive, “it’s only because I couldn’t even stomach the idea of being with someone else.” And it’s cheesy and corny, but it must work, because your eyes flicker with something. Love, perhaps—clarity. Realization that you’re being irrational (are you?)

“I think I’m just,” you croak. “Just. Missing you. We never spend time together anymore—and after the stunt you pulled in Monte Carlo—” You press two delicate fingers on either side of your nosebridge to emulate your disappointment. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? You were in someone’s car, blacked out. And no apology. Nothing. Just invited me to lunch the next day with your dad.” A topic you hate and a man you detest spending time with.

“I know. I’m sorry, baby.” He comes in to hug you from behind and thanks the gods that you let him, your hands encircling his wrists. “I was being stupid. Won’t happen again.”

You just nod along, still annoyed but enough that it’s beginning to melt off. Max is sated. But even then, he should’ve known that the flicker of something in your eyes wasn’t love or clarity, the flicker he catches again in the mirror when he presses a kiss to your cheek.

It’s neither. It’s guilt.

—

Quali is relatively uneventful—Max gets pole, and Charles gets something something. A good place, front row you think, but you fail to remember. Ben told you the standings, but you weren’t focused; you’ve been spacey, distracted, mind irreversibly stuck on something else during the session. Max can tell, and offers to take you out to dinner, but you decline so he leaves you by yourself nursing a Tylenol. The night is almost over, and you’re collecting your car keys and slinging your bag over your shoulder—but the evening is punctuated by a familiar English accent.

“Come on,” goads Lando, voice petulant and whiny as he tugs on your wrists. “Max said he’d be busy so he needs a proxy. He sucks at the game, anyway, you’re not filling big shoes or anything.”

The tradition (you use the term loosely) of drivers’ poker, started by Lando’s desire to master the game, is apparently so important it demands your attendance. You’ve had your run-ins with poker before, so you feel assured, but none with a volatile group of competitive guys like this one, so it’s on the fence.

“Where?” You suppose, though, that your mind could use a little clearing. A game, a win of sorts.

“My hotel room. I’ve just”—he types rapidly on his phone and presents your text exchange with him—“sent you the number.”

“Who’s playing?” You walk to your car and he follows, still insistent.

“The yoozsh,” he says, shortening usual the way a prepubescent boy might. “Alex, me, Charles, Carlos, Lance. We play a good game. The stakes can get pretty high. And I’ve won a couple times, so beware.”

You laugh a little, raising your brows skeptically. “Sure.”

“I’m dead serious, mate.” He says solemnly as he waves goodbye, standing idly and watching you start your car through the half-rolled window. “See ya. I am going to kick your ass.”

—

“Is this the part where you kick my ass?” You laugh, everyone peering at Lando’s shit hand that he’s presented to the table. “Out!” The game’s since been decimated to just you, Charles, a pool of money, and a thick atmosphere of slow, deliberate silence.

The rest of the players watch you and Charles, conveniently seated across each other, entranced by the easy back and forth that swings between the both of you. You peer down at your cards, then half-lidded, back up at him. His eyes bore into you, challenging, amused.

Tense, you hear faintly. Lando’s unsolicited commentary. In between you both is a scattered pile of creased bills of varying currencies, chips, a condom thrown in by Lance, and a few spare coins. It’s a huge pool despite how random it is, and even if it doesn’t cost much to anybody in the room considering how much you all earn, the prestige of calling yourself a winner still takes precedence.

Underneath the table, your foot brushes against his, the tip of your heel to the side of his sneaker. You poke your tongue into your cheek to conceal a smile, refusing to meet his eyes again.

“You seem nervous,” he says, trying his best to elicit a reaction out of you.

“Could say the same to you,” you quip, tracing the hem of his jeans with your foot. His breath hitches and you take it as a win, smiling to yourself.

“I’ve had a four game winning streak.” He fans his cards out. “Nothing to lose.”

“Oh?” Your legs continue to intertwine out of sight of everybody else, the friction of your bare calf to the denim of his jeans a warm addition to your already intense match. “Say bye to five.” Lando deals the final cards and the tension hangs heavy, palpable in the air as you both calculate your next moves. Carlos eyes the two of you, sensing something else is at stake here. The air is just too heavy.

“We’ll see,” he whistles, revealing his cards. The group seems to hold one collective, bated breath, waiting for you to take your turn. You do so with a self-satisfied smile, your foot still intertwined with his calf as you begin laying your cards down on the table. You slowly reveal a stunning winning hand, and Lando is the first to get up and cheer loudly. 

Charles shrugs and hands you your victory with a handshake, pushing the pool of winnings in your direction. “Congratulations.”

“When you’re with a winner,” you tease lowly, just in Charles’ earshot, “you are a winner.”

He snorts. “Whatever you say.”

You both miss Carlos and Alex exchanging a glance first with you and Charles, smiling teasingly at each other—and the way his eyes go from yours, to your lips, and back to your eyes—then with each other, eyes half-wide and half-puzzled.

—

The race is intense, and Max suffers damage in the middle of it. It’s a rare occasion, but it costs him place after place until he’s vying not for P1, but P4. He doesn’t win today. You watch Charles cross the checkered flag yourself, watch the footage of him throwing his fists up in the air.

You’re there to watch the Red Bull engineers grumble, mutter dissent, wish themselves luck for the next weekend. You’re there when your dad says Charles is the team’s biggest liability. Imagine if we had him, he’d said. You imagine Charles in a Red Bull suit, but the image is cut short by your boyfriend’s arrival to the garage.

The video feedback on your father’s TV, of Charles spraying champagne all over everywhere, his green eyes meeting the camera with a brilliant charm, is abruptly cut off and you turn to find Max entering. His demeanor is stormy.

“P6,” you say immediately, sensing the pending grumbling. “Not so ba—”

“It’s a shitshow,” he retorts, disgruntled. But he’s at the top of the standings, leagues above the rest; he has nothing to worry about. Driving-wise, at least. “Fucking shitshow.”

“Max,” you comfort. “You did well. The damage was out of your control.”

But he’s pissed, and in the thick of his emotion, he pays your sentiments no mind. To him. it’s all the same regurgitated bullshit. Eventually, though he calms down, finds you in the motorhome and wraps you in a loose hug. “Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You smile. “Love you, too.”

He leaves early for a meeting—so many meetings, these days—and promises to meet you for dinner, requesting you text him. You watch him leave, slip into his car and drive off, and then call yourself a car to the hotel. You figure it’s high time you spend quality time with Max, what with all the instances you’ve been fighting or ignoring each other.

You leave at six, taking the elevator to the basement to get to your own car, parked there. You’re optimistic. A dinner. A date. Finally, some time with him. This is what you want. The coil in your belly, though, and the congratulatory text left unsent, tell you a different story. It’s one you choose to ignore.

The elevator has a bar slotted across the back wall that you lean on, typing updates to Ben and Max. The drive shouldn’t be long, you hope. You can’t navigate the new city fast enough. The door dings open and you make a move to exit, but you’re stopped by a figure across you.

Charles, in his Armani tee, arms crossed and eyes flashing with recognition when the doors reveal you. He’s still fussed up from the race, probably forced to stick around for promo pictures and interviews. His hair’s damp still. You notice the imprint of his balaclava is only just starting to soften and fade.

Your words tangle in your throat. “Congratulations,” is all you can muster when you see him. You don’t inch close. He, too, remains stagnant, standing perfectly still. Not even a smile. Like the tension between you forms a barrier as physical as it is emotional. “You drove great.” Your hand tightens around your phone, where you’ve just texted Max that you’re leaving the hotel.

“We should really stop meeting in parking garages.” He says lowly, with a small smile. 

You step forward twice. “I was just leaving anyw—”

“Wait.” For a second, his voice breaks and he sounds—desperate, almost. “Remember Monaco? Last week. You told me you liked winners.” Somehow you find yourself allowing him to near you, stepping backwards for every step he takes closer, even if you realize you’re hogging the elevator, and that people might be waiting to arrive to this floor. “You told me… imagine if he got sixth.”

He steps into the elevator with you, and the doors automatically close behind him; it remains still, but he presses the stop button for good measure. He’s right in front of you, tired eyes and stubble and tall, broad, big. He sees right through you. He knows you. Your buttons, your quirks, everything.

“It was a joke,” you say, attempting to establish composure as you pocket your phone. You fail. You always fail. It’s him. Still, you try, hard enough that he thinks you don’t want him to come even closer, to cage you against the back wall of the tiny basement elevator. “I apologized.”

“Nevermind that.” A hand on the bar of the elevator, just by your waist. His grip is tight. He needs to channel all this want somewhere. “What do winners get?”

“Charles.” Your voice comes out shaky.

“Just this once,” he says. He needs it so bad. You’re so pretty today, eyes looking right up at him, lips bitten the way they always are. He’s taller, he’s bigger, he’s got the upper hand physically—what, with the way you’re crowded up against the wall, nearly having to go on your tiptoes if you want to maintain distance. Your eyes flutter. Just this once. Four years. Just this once. Break a rule. But this isn’t a rule, you remind yourself woefully—it’s all the rules. “I care for you, you know.”

Your silence grants elaboration.

“You’re too serious. But everyone around you is, too.” Closer. “Max, your dad, your coworkers. You just need someone who can calm you down. Help you get peace of mind. No complications, you know.” Closer, even closer. “Someone who’s patient. Calm.”

You stare up at him, your hands unmoving until they’re slowly coming up to press against his abdomen, the hard surface there. You could push him away. You should, in fact, push and forget and walk away and apologize for the delay. But they remain planted there, eyes still meeting his. They’re so green, green and staring right into you, his parted lips just a little chapped, his stubble uneven and getting longer. You want to feel it rubbing your chin raw. Your inner thighs. 

He steps closer and now you’re on your tiptoes, legs spreading a little to accommodate him. His hands are still on the bar. Yours, on his abdomen. You miss the way he squeezes the bar, so strong and with so, so much pent up feelings you’d think he bent it out of shape. He wants so badly for you to be his. And more than that—if that were even possible—for him to be yours. 

Lightly, you bunch up the material of his tee, cotton wound in-between your fingers. Push him, you tell yourself. Push him away. Let go. You’ve had your resolve tested before. But you know better. You know that it’s never come to this. Again, he steps forward, and this time a hand leaves the bar and rests, gentle as it is firm, on your waist, just below it—his thumb presses against your hip. Your breath hitches.

Push him.

He comes closer and you’re fully pressed against the wall, half-seated on the bar, half held up by him—your skirt’s ridden up, legs spread and dangling on either side of his figure. Silence. Your breathing. Your eyes, big and anticipatory, staring into his, dark and desperate. 

Push him.

“It can be—”

You adjust your grip around his tee, ready to loosen it and let go and—and for a second you feel the solid plane of his abs—

“—my prize.”

Push him. You tighten your grip, and pull him in to slot your mouths together. 

His lips are warm, and soft, and he has another hand on your jaw now, but it’s so big it’s at your neck too. You part your lips to let his tongue slip in, and the kiss is nothing if not desperate. He’s wanted this for so long, to feel you like this, have your lips pressed against his. And you’d be dishonest if you said you disagreed. You don’t want to part for air. You feel like this could satiate you enough, just the movement of his lips, the scent of his cologne.

He needs to be closer to you—so he places two hands on your waist and naturally, it lets your legs wrap around him. You can feel how hard he is, and the reminder is dizzying. He wants you. But there is no upper hand here. If he lets his hands wander, he’d feel the damp of your panties and realize you’re just as bad as he is.

But for now it’s a kiss, messy and hot—passionate and just one big breath of finally. Your hands go from his abdomen to his face, cupping him on either side. It’s romantic, fuck—but you’ve craved this for so long, you cherish every second. His stubble rubs your chin raw. You trace patterns on his face, find indents of moles with your eyes closed. The kisses are searing. 

Even if you both want it, and even if this creaky elevator grants you a semblance of the privacy, you both know this won’t be leading to sex. Just this—just this. It’s all he’s ever wanted. Your hands on his jaw, his shoulders, the nape of his neck. His, on your waist, your throat, your hips. Your gasps mingling with his. 

The kiss takes and takes and takes, and it’s long, but you take and give four years’ worth of want and tension and frustration. You part, forehead pressed against his, and the absence leaves you empty—you inch forward and kiss him again, let it consume you, before you part again.

His eyes won’t stop staring. In the way they always look at you. With want. With something. A glint.

“First and last,” you say, lifted against the wall of the elevator, your hands around his face. Your thumbs roam over his face. He sets you down, breath heavy, and still his hands are on your waist and yours on his face. It was your cue to leave. But you can’t. Not yet.

Your thumbs go over his eyebrows, his eyelashes so his eyes flutter; the mark of his balaclava, the indent there; his nose, his cheeks, wiping the sweat there, then lower, finally to his lips. One thumb rests softly in the centre. Just seconds ago those lips had been pressed to yours, bringing a type of clarity you never knew existed. Everything, for just those moments, made perfect sense.

“You lie.” He repeats.

You tiptoe to kiss him again and he can’t seem to get enough, his eyebrows furrowed—so much he almost looks angry, anguished—when you kiss. “First and last,” you say breathlessly when you pull away.

He shakes his head. “You’re going to come right back to me,” he says, with so much finality and conviction it’s almost a fact. “You always will, you always do.” His eyes are shut even when you don’t kiss, relishing in your proximity. 

And when you part, he watches you leave, with something between desperation and anguish. You don’t realize, he thinks, just how deep he is in his attraction. His connection to you. It consumes him, burns him alive, and it’s leaving him for someone else.

You ring the elevator open again, wiping your lips. He lets it close, leaning against the wall himself. And you both realize, with a heavy breath as you climb into your car and he disembarks the elevator: there is no way either of you will resist it anymore. That was the first, yes. But to say it was the last would be stark, stark lying.

—

You’re still licking syrup off the corner of your lip when you walk out of the hotel breakfast buffet, letting Max explain the fundamentals of a race to you. He’d apologized earlier, for not meeting you at the Monza afterparty last night—he’d gotten caught in something or other. But he’s kind, and inserts a few jokes here and there to get a laugh out of you, your eyes crinkling under the heavy lens of your sunglasses, sandals clicking against the outdoor garden cement floor. 

He’s talking, and then trails off. Oh, he says, this is a mate of mine. You look up to make small talk and smile politely, but your face falls faster than you can pick it up. Tall and in sunglasses, too, is Charles Leclerc. You thought they were colleagues, not friends—this is chaos. You reach out to shake his hand, your free hand coming up to press against the splotch of concealer. Just in case.

The handshake is stiff and it reminds you of tequila and lemon, salt and teeth and kitten licks down your throat and right to the crest of your cleavage. But you blink and shake once, up and down. Firm.

“Nice to meet you.” He says, smiling. Then, to Max: “Girlfriend?”

“Hope so,” jokes Max, eyeing you. You laugh.

Charles smiles to himself, smug. He eyes you through his sunglasses with something caught in longing and want. “I hope so, too.”

—

Dinner is short and, despite your best efforts to make it a good one, boring. The food is good and sufficiently expensive, the way all European restaurants are. But nothing flows, ebbs. You talk of the same things: Red Bull, Red Bull, and if you have time, Red Bull. You ask about work, but it’s nothing you haven’t already heard. Max doesn’t ask about work, so the conversation descends into a limbo of silence and sips of rosé. “I’m pretty sure the next race is going to be great.”

“Charles drove great today,” says Max. “Didn’t he?”

You pause, then nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I mean, objectively so.”

“I was going to congratulate him… lost him on the paddock though.” He sips, drawing it out. “You seen him?”

“No,” you say, pithy. “Haven’t.”

“Okay.” He waves his hand upward to signal the bill. “I’ll drop you off and head out for the night. Helmut stuff.” 

You’re torn between feeling suspicious and recalling the events of the elevator, so you nod tersely instead and make the necessary small talk from the table to the car. His hand on your waist, the same place Charles’ was just hours ago. It sends you into a cloudy mental spiral. Just thinking about it—about the way he’d gasped your name in between kisses, like he’d die if you didn’t kiss him again.

“I’m sorry,” Max says when he pulls up at the hotel entrance. “For all the work stuff. And for inviting you to lunch with my dad.” A weak laugh escapes you and you find his hand to squeeze it. It’s okay, you convey, and hope it’s enough that he lets the topic quell for now.

Your silence is permissive, so he continues. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?” Leans over and presses a sure kiss to your cheek. “As soon as I can.”

You nod and climb out, praying he didn’t see you shudder. The trek to the elevator, eyes skittish and searching for a sign of Charles, is tiring, and you find reprieve only when you’re pushing the door to the penthouse suite open, toeing your sandals off and dropping your bag just by the entryway. You freeze when you hear a glass clink from the living area. You’d gotten this suite for you and Max, and definitely nobody else.

Brandishing a bunch of keys in-between your fingers, you tiptoe into the area and find, to your confusion and shock, your dad. He’s seated on the couch toying with a glass of whiskey, eyes lighting up when he sees you, even if you look like a psycho with claws.

“Hi, honey.”

“Dad.” You drop your keys on the coffee table as you near him, and exchange a kiss and hug. “Wh—did you get a key from…?”

“Ben.” He smiles. “I thought I would surprise you.”

“Yeah, you more scared me.” You quip, laughing. Then you recall a detail and follow-up on it. “Max—um, he said you had a meeting?”

“Meeting? None scheduled tonight,” he says, frowning and opening his Calendar app. Nothing.

A dry quiet creeps up into the room and settles.

You pour yourself a glass and seat yourself beside him, drinking. You share a conversation for the duration of two glasses and then he’s leaving. The kiss he stamps on your forehead, you notice, is more meaningful, conveys a deeper message, lasts longer. He knows what you know now.

The usual sleepiness that comes with alcohol doesn’t arrive and you fall into an uneasy sleep; it doesn’t help that Max calls in past two, saying he’s crashing at the hotel room he bought for his dad instead of your hotel. You listen to the slurred voicemail, eyes shut and nose buried in the pillow. Eventually you lull yourself to sleep, awaiting the promise of morning and clarity.

—

Morning brings a day off. A break. But your mind does not cease to be cloudy, instead becoming even more muddled with questions and pivots and forks in the road. It helps, you suppose, that Max isn’t home. It might’ve worsened everything. You wrestle your way through a glass of water and a cup of tea, try out yoga, and even attempt going back to sleep. But it’s no use; you’re antsy.

So instead of suppressing the thoughts, you theorize, it’s better to lean into them. Succumb to them, the tempt and guilt of them. It might help you navigate the confusion of everything. So you do—you think of your years-long history with Charles, your relationship with Max. The hiding, the suppression, the pretending. Fleeting touches.

You think of how well Charles knows you, inside and out, of how good he kissed you even if he hadn’t ever kissed you before. His hands, the way he said your name, the hitch in his breath when your hands dared to venture just a little lower. The want, the pure want—the want so unadulterated even one kiss was enough. Images of close calls fill your head. All the times you were high, giggly and leaning into him, on the edge of flirty in some dark corner of a club. Your connection has always been, and will always be, completely and absolutely undeniable. No matter how hard you try.

Guilt fills you at the same time. And with the guilt—confusion. Where is Max? He wasn’t at a meeting last night, and you suspect you know exactly where he is. Who he’s with. Can you really be angry, though? Is it a feedback loop of the same thing, the same morally grey actions? Is this all your relationship has been reduced to? Questions, questions, and more questions flood the corners of your head.

Thoughts are put to a standstill when the door shakes with two knocks. 

You rake your hair back and climb out of bed, into the main room, still in your lace pajamas. It might be the complimentary hotel breakfast or Max arriving, you guess. Maybe your dad—he’s apparently in the business of keying himself into your hotel rooms.

So you don’t bother looking through the peephole, undoing the latch with haste and dexterity before you’re hauling the heavy door open and staring breathlessly at the other side.

—

Abu Dhabi greets Max and you with fanfare, with a plethora of paddock paparazzi and even a few gossip rags asking questions. Some journalists drop a check-in, cameras zeroing in on your intertwined hands and your shared smiles. She’s the World Champ’s! seems to be the pervasive headline lately, and your pictures from today will no doubt exacerbate it.

He squeezes your hand when you finally gain semi-privacy, entering the motorhome. Your dad sees you, sees Max, offers a wave that you both return. Your eyes go from wide and smiling to a little blank and dismissive, a change minute but noticeable. “You okay?” He calls after you when you enter his room.

You drop your Kelly—the bag—on the seat by the door and gather your hair to rest on one side. “Fine. You nervous?”

 “The planned strategy was horseshit.” Max is right and for the sake of your dad, it worries you.

“Yeah, yeah. I think I’ll talk to Dad for a bit. You’ll be okay alone?” You’re getting up already.

“Wait—” He pauses when you’re kissing his cheek as a goodbye. “I thought we were getting lunch.”

“Oh.” You pause to think. “We can get dinner, then.”

“No,” he says. “I’m going to be with Jos.”

“Drinks.” You leave no room for argument and leave with the door shutting softly behind you.

He stares at the just-closed door, your bag slung over the chair, the way you keep pressing against a certain spot on your neck. You are hiding something—Max just can’t put his finger on it.

#f1 #leclsrc3000 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 x reader

[fangirl-dot-com]

Head cannons/Quick facts about You! :) 

(most of these are going to be for the future, but a few are generalizations) 

You are 20 years old – making you the youngest on the grid 

Like almost ALL characters, you do not have a good relationship with your parents 

Christian and Gerri will step in :) 

Only child, but it doesn’t show much 

Fairly quiet

Especially in the first few weeks of being on the grid 

Everyone thinks that you might not like them, while you think that they might not like you 

Out of everyone, Logan is the first to get you to crack 

Then comes Oscar, because you know, codependency of Loscar is real 

And then Lando, because if someone can befriend Oscar, he can befriend you (you accidentally ran him over one time trying to get on an elevator before you actually met him for real)

And then Alex because of Logan (also you adored his animals) 

Max has surprisingly always liked you – being teammates and all 

It really started after the Christmas video posted by Red Bull that helped you two become friends 

He felt like he needed to look after you 

Charles always watched you from a distance 

You were his brother’s best friend…he felt a need to make sure you were ok 

Not a surprise, you and Fernando bonded over plants – you accidentally interrupted his quiet time on a roof before media day because you wanted to water the flowers (after that, you started calling him grandpa Nando – you’re the only one allowed to do that) 

Lewis’s and George’s friendship came at a weird time 

You had accidentally gotten locked out of your car one time late after the race had ended 

Coincidentally, you three were staying at the same hotel and they offered you a ride 

Let’s just say, mischief happened and you had a whining Lando the next day (since he missed out on the fun with his fellow Brits) 

The rest of the grid are just all really soft for you 

You claim to be Daniel’s favorite (which you are) 

He promises to take you to his farm the next time he goes 

You’ve always wanted to pet a kangaroo 

Yuki always brings you whatever food he’s recently cooked up 

But, You definitely laugh the most around Lando 

Because of his childlike nature and your more stone faced, shy personality, you took the role of the “older sibling” 

But, Lando puts on the big brother approach whenever someone bothers you (PSA – all of the drivers do) 

They get really jealous when Ollie or Arthur come to visit because suddenly all of your attention is on them and not the grid 

Now, the WAGS absolutely adore you 

They treat you like a little sister 

You need advice? They will help 

Need a dress for whatever reason? They will all pull up 

You really bond with Lily 

Lando likes to drag you to play gold with Carlos and Alex 

And most of the time, Alex will bring Lily 

So you definitely see her more than the rest 

YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED WITH LIGHTNING MCQUEEN 

LIKE

YOU HAVE AN LIGHTNING MCQUEEN HELMET 

AND THE CROCS 

AND A BACKPACK 

Life is a Highway is your walkup song – there is none other

You and Lando start to take naps everywhere 

Christian often has to ask Max to go find you – since you seem to disappear when you go take a nap 

In true chaotic gen-z fashion, your first dnf was pretty bad 

Your left back wheel had gotten clipped on a curb and you went sliding, ultimately rolling over a couple of times 

You were fine, but the guys panicked 

All they knew was that a Red Bull had flipped, and Max was standing with them in the pit lane 

So using their amazing deductive skills, they knew it was you 

The next race, you showed up with them around you in a protective circle 

The boys joked in interviews that you’d have shown up in bubble wrap if you had let them

The first inkling they had that your relationship with your parents wasn’t the best was at the newly instituted Parent’s Day Dinner that the teams had set up 

Everyone was surrounded by their parents 

But, there were two empty seats around you 

You wanted to leave, but Max secretly had texted Christian and Geri 

You BEST know they showed up in best dress 

Tears might have been shed 

Tag List : @awekbachira @lightdragonrayne @itsjustkhaos

#charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x driver!reader #f1 imagine #max verstappen x reader #platonic grid x reader #arthur leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #formula 1 x you #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #logan sargeant x reader #alex albon x reader #george russell x reader #lewis hamilton x reader

[gatorbites-imagines]

Dick grayson x male reader (preferably YJ verse)

Reader is Clark's bio son and their both hopelessly in love but reader is scared of dicks dating history and how close he's with all his exes and he doesn't want to get burned in the process

Dick Grayson x kryptonian male reader

Headcanons

Featuring some of my kryptonian headcanons.

You and Dick would be close even before the young justice team was made, since Bruce and Clark worked side by side so much as you were growing up. That results in you two knowing each other pretty well.

You would both be crushing on one another, but neither of you would confess or think the other feels the same way. Dick would the one to go off and date other people whilst you just stayed single and nursed what you thought was your one-sided crush.

Clark would have realized very early on how you were feeling for Dick, and he would tease you good naturedly about how you keep purring when your around him, saying its good he cant hear those frequencies or dick would have known immediately too.

You bring kryptonian makes you one of the team’s power houses, since you pack a major punch and other very strong powers. This results in you also looking out for a lot of the other team members just in case.

You’ve taken many hits for Dick over the years, since you on instinct keep a closer eye on him than everyone else. It’s not on purpose, you just do.

When Conner shows up, you don’t turn him away like others and treat him like a fellow kryptonian even if your dad is having some issues with being cloned. You don’t blame Conner for being created, and you just want to help out.

This leads to you and Conner getting close, and you teaching him about the weird quirks that come with being part Kryptonian. He almost exposes you when he asks why you purr so much around Dick, but you quickly shut him up.

Pretty much everyone can tell Dick is just as head over heels for you in return, it’s probably why some of his past relationships ended. I could imagine his partners realizing he was pining hard for you, which lead to a breakup for the most part.

Dick would think you don’t want a relationship in general since you’ve never been in a relationship with anyone, but everyone knows its because you pine after him too.

You two circling eachother like a pair of peacocks has been the cause of many tired conversations between your dads or your teammates. Bruce and Clark have known for years that you two like each other, but they also don’t want to push either of you to confess if you arent ready.

Your teammates have bets on how long its gonna take, Roy is the winner right now, since the bet was made years ago and he bet it would take you guys years, whilst the others said months or a year max.

You guys “hang out” all the time, but its very much just dates without you guys admitting it is. Like going out to eat together, going to the movies, or you flying around with him in your arms just for fun.

You guys end up kissing when you’ve been hit with a pretty strong dose of kryptonite, and you were loopy and weak. You weren’t sure you would make it out, so you kiss him.

Of course, you survive, and try to ignore that anything actually happened since you still think he doesn’t like you in return, and you fear you might have ruined your friendship.

It doesn’t help that all his exes are so attractive and skilled that it makes you insecure. Dick isn’t doing well with you avoiding him, as you go as far as using your super hearing to avoid him.

It ends up being Wally or Conner who explains to Dick that you feel insecure and like you won’t be able to meet his standards, which Dick doesn’t understand because he thinks your so far out of his league.

He would want to talk to you, but again, you’re avoiding him. Dick ends up getting the help from teammates and probably even Clark as you can’t outfly your dad like you can some of the others.

Finally, you two get to talk it all through, tears or shed, both sad tears and happy tears. You both feel so stupid cuz you’ve liked each other for years, but neither of you realized or confessed.

It takes a while after you start dating for you not to feel insecure or like you can’t meet some invisible standard, but Dick being so insanely smitten as he is helps quite a lot.

Your teammates have definitely joked that Dick would kiss the very ground you walk on if you asked, not that you wouldn’t do the same though.

You two are so cute together its almost sickening honestly. Always near eachother, holding hands, cuddling, kissing. The amount of flirting you do over comms now that you are together is unbelievable.

You’re very happy, though the insecurity does pop up at times. Your families and friends are happy you two finally confessed too. And Roy won the bet and became a richer man.

#male reader #dick grayson #dc #young justice #justice league #dick grayson x male reader #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson headcanon #dc x reader #dc imagine #dc headcanon #dc x male reader #young justice imagine #young justice x male reader #young justice x reader #young justice headcanon #kryptonian male reader #kryptonian reader #justice league headcanon #justice league imagine #justice league x male reader #justice league x reader

[mimymomo]

In ‘Lucas on the Line,’ Lucas Sinclair experienced countless bouts of racism and micro aggressions including but not limited to:

Had children run away from him and refuse to touch him because they thought his Black skin color would rub off on them. This happened IN THE THIRD GRADE! And he never told his parents about it!

Calmed his anxiety about being the only Black kid in his homeroom class by coming to the realization that since there was no other Black kids that meant he most likely wouldn’t be bombed

Had to install a camera in his locker because his property got defaced by a glitter bomb

Lost his first and only black friend/mentor who supported him thanks to an ACTUAL MAKESHIFT BOMB being installed in his locker that caused a janitor to go to the hospital for 1st/2nd degree burns (and the white boy who did it barely got punished)

Got teased that the only reason he got on the basketball team was because he was Black

Comes to the realization that he might’ve actually only gotten in the team because the coach has a history of recruiting Black boys for the team regardless of their skill level

Gets called an Oreo (for uneducated: white on the inside, black on the outside) by racist bullies. Erica (who apparently has also been called this) sticks up for him and is the only one who understands what the insult means which means Mike and Dustin don’t know/understand the lengths of how deep the racism Lucas experiences in Hawkins on a daily bases

And these aren’t even all of them! These are just examples I had from the top of my head!

And despite all this happening in the book, “fans” have STILL FOUND A WAY to turn this book about Lucas and his struggles as a Black boy in a mostly white suburban town and his deteriorating relationship with Max and make it about Byler!

The fact that Lucas, one of the only characters of color on this show, can’t have ANYTHING to himself without people using him to push their ships is so aggravating!

He and Erica constantly get shit talked and miss characterized by fans, get excluded/cut out of group shots, and barely get any fanart/fics about them and their struggles compared to the white characters (I could make a whole new post about the terrible way this fandom treats Erica but I won’t do that here). Hell don’t forget that the fandom constantly tries to dispute the racism Lucas received in S2 from Billy was either not really racism, just a moment that Duffer Bros. put in to “ruin” Billy’s character and ultimately can be tossed out and ignored.

The only time I ever see Lucas get any large amount of attention is either due to 1) Lumax (but let’s be honest: 90% of the lumax tag on here isn’t even about them and has now become Elumax 2.0 and most post are people praising ElMax and then being like “oh Lucas/lumax is cute too” in the tags and that’s it). 2) people creating “parallels” of Lumax to their ship of choice (mostly Byler and Mileven) as a way to say that their ship is gonna be canon or 3) to say that he’s bisexual.

And all that is fine and whatever, ship and headcanon things to your hearts content, but if you only care about Lucas if he’s helping push you ship narrative or because you think he’s gay (to the point where some people actually read snippets of the book that talked about Lucas coming to the realization that Black boys like him can be considered attractive and only acknowledge the “queer” reading of the text and completely ignored the big race element that was the main focus), I’m sorry but, that’s not cool. The fact that 95% of the Lucas Sinclair tag isn’t about Lucas himself but white characters like Steve, Eddie, Byler says everything about how the fandom treats him.

I’m just so tired.

Lucas Sinclair deserves the same respect that the white characters get!

I leave you one of my favorite sections of the entire book: Lucas learning to become unabashedly himself:

Rant over.

Edit: in my blind rage I realized I forgot to edit out the Twitter handle. That’s completely my fault. Please don’t hate that Twitter user. I’m just coming back to fix that.

#stranger things #stranger things spoilers #lucas sinclair #lucas on the line #st season 4 #you know what? I AM gonna tag all the popular ships #if you clog the Lucas/lumax tags I’m gonna clog yours #Byler #steddie #mileven #steve harrington #eddie munson #will byers #mike wheeler #Lucas Sinclair deserves better #also stan lumax for clear skin

[thearchercore]

As a Lando fan, but first and foremost a Max and Charles fan, I’m quite disappointed in Lando. It’s true what they say, not everyone is happy when you are on top and your real friends show their true colours.

You are right, Max says what he thinks and never filters it. While Charles is a PR King (let’s be honest he’s more of a princess but that’s besides the point) but never once has he thrown shade at Max since they became friends (at least not that I know of)

Now, Daniel is not, has never been and will never be someone about him. Nothing against him, just vibes. But the fact that Max has held him so dear and close to his heart and he goes ahead and throws major shade at Max when Max was being nothing but honest at Vegas then makes sure to hang out with Lando during Winter break the other driver who is Max’s publicly known bestie on the grid (I mean the man even attends P’s birthday parties) anyway I digress. It’s just outright shady and childish.

Max is on another level and not everyone will understand that. True friendship should withstand such challenges. Of course anyone would be jealous and intimidated by such dominance and success but to deny the man like Peter denying Jesus infront of the crowd is just sad. I mean c’mon, did he mean it as a joke? Also was Daniel attempting humour? It’s possible but I can’t see someone like Charles making such weird comments. Even when they were beefing, Charles made it known that him and Max are okay and even though they are not best friends their relationship or hang out outside the paddock (back then things are different now) he still loved racing against Max because they understood each other and how they raced.

It’s actually petty for grown men to belittle their friend because of his success. But what do I know, the sport destroyed a childhood friendship (Nico + Lewis) Maybe only the realest and toughest friendships survive. Viva Charles and Max (whether you ship them or as friends) it’s real and they are always rooting for each other.

Sorry this got long.

yeah, i feel like the difference between daniel's current place in f1 and max's is playing a significant factor. again, max joined RBR when he was essentially still a teenager that was battling with puberty. daniel was there as the mature driver that max looked up to.

now, fast forward to 2024, daniel is fighting for his last chance at f1 after many unsuccessful team moves, and max is much more mature and has 3 WDC titles under his belt. that certainly changes things.

so i'm sure that if for whatever reason rbr kicks out checo and daniel jumps in, their dynamic would be different.

lando, on the other hand, is a different story. @tsarinablogs had a great post where someone suggested "I think Lando couldnt handle his car actually being competitive. Thats what weakened their friendship. It’s easy to be friends when you are driving a slow car, but then the car actually got competitive and he still couldnt beat Max."

again, the truth is -- f1 is a highly competitive environment and everyone will fight for themselves first without a doubt. that's what's happening with daniel and lando. daniel wants that red bull seat, lando wants to beat max. and that is going to be their priority over whatever friendly relationship they may have with max.

on the other hand, there are only 20 drivers in f1 so you have 20 other co-workers who share the same experiences as you. so you will always be closer to them than anyone else because no one would get you that well.

i think what works well currently between max and charles is that no matter how much media tried to put them against each other, they alway showed mutual respect to each other. charles never talked shit about max in press, and the overall vibe they have going on recently is that charles is happy for max's success, and is working hard to gain his own. also their actions speak a lot -- like charles' putting aside ferrari's questionable qatar strategy and rushing to congratulate max on his WDC. or max running to charles to apologise for his mistake in vegas.

their relationship doesn't seem to be definined by their racing results, and their joint racing history also makes them more equal in their own eyes than other drivers.

#charles leclerc #lestappen gate 2023 #lestappen #formula 1 #f1 #lestappen gate 2024

[literaryavenger]

Captain America: Civil War - 5

Summary: Team Cap gets taken to the Raft.

Pairing: Avengers x Reader, Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries. Language. Mentions of Y/N. A little angst if you squint. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 1.8K

A/N: Thank god it took me very little to finish this one! Hope you like it!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

The Raft.

That’s where they sent you after they arrested you in Germany. The fucking Raft.

You haven’t even seen Wanda since you were handed your very unstylish new clothes and they made you change.

You got separated from her when they took you to your cell between Scott's and Sam's. You dread what they're going to do to her, but you're powerless to stop them.

You sit on the ground of your cell and don’t move from there, barely registering what happens around you until the sound of clapping snaps you out of your trance. 

“The Futurist, gentlemen!” Clint shouts but you still don’t move, just listening to the scene. “The Futurist is here! He sees all! He knows what's best for you, whether you like it or not.”

“Give me a break, Barton.” You hear Tony say and almost show some emotion, but stop yourself. “I had no idea they'd put you here. Come on.”

You hear Clint spit and then say “Yeah, well, you knew they'd put us somewhere, Tony.”

“Yeah, but not some super-max floating ocean pokey. You know, this place is for maniacs. This is a place for…”

“Criminals?” Clint interrupts him. “Criminals, Tony. Think that's the word you're looking for. Right? That didn't used to mean me. Or Sam, or Y/N, or Wanda. But here we are.”

“Because you broke the law.” Tony says.

“Yeah.” Clint says back and starts chanting “La la la la la” while Tony talks, making you grin slightly.

“I didn't make you. You read it, you broke it.” Tony keeps talking. “Alright, you're all grown up, you got a wife and kids. I don't understand, why didn't you think about them before you chose the wrong side.” he says and your face falls again immediately, knowing Tony went too far.

“You gotta watch your back with this guy.” Clint says before slamming his hands on the bars angrily. “There's a chance he's gonna break it!”

“Hank Pym always said, you never can trust a Stark.” You hear Scott say from the cell on your right.

“Who are you?” Tony says, his voice closer to you than before, and you can hear Scott mumbling “Come on, man.”

Tony gets to your cell and sees you sitting on the ground, hugging your knees tight to your chest, your head resting back on the wall while you look straight ahead.

Tony is nothing short of shocked when he sees your face all beat up and bruised, your arm bandaged with blood seeping through it showing just how big and deep the cut is, all courtesy of Ayo.

“I never wanted to see you like this...” Tony says softly but you don’t even react to his words.

He’s standing in front of you but it’s like he’s not even there, like you’re looking right through him to something more interesting behind him.

Tony sighs and shakes his head before moving to Sam’s cell.

“How's Rhodes?” Sam asks right away.

“They're flying him to Columbia Medical tomorrow. So… fingers cross.” Tony answers and you close your eyes, grateful that he’s still alive at least. “What do you need? They feed you yet?”

“You're the good cop now?” Sam asks almost in disbelief.

“I'm just the guy who needs to know where Steve went.” Tony answers calmly.

“Well, you better go get a bad cop, because you're gonna have to go Mark Fuhrman on my ass to get information out of me.”

“Oh, I just knocked the 'A' out of their 'AV'.” Tony says, much too playfully for your taste. “We got about 30 seconds before they realize it's not their equipment.”

You furrow your eyebrows at his next sentence. “Just look. Because that is the fellow who was supposed to interrogate Barnes. Clearly, I made a mistake. Sam, I was wrong.”

Your eyes snap open at his apology and, even though you can’t see either of them, you know Sam’s feeling the same way as you, which is confirmed by his next sentence. “That's a first.”

“Cap is definitely off the reservation but he's about to need all the help he can get. We don't know each other very well. You don't have to-”

“Hey, it's alright.” Sam interrupts him, then you hear him sigh and after a little pause he says “Look, I'll tell you… but you have to go alone and as a friend.”

“Easy.” Tony says and Sam proceeds to tell him all about the Hydra base in Siberia and the other supersoldiers.

When Tony leaves, Sam once again tries to make sure you’re okay even if he hasn’t had luck at getting an answer out of you since you got here.

He knocks twice on the wall between you two then pauses and then knocks three more times fast before talking, a thing you two started doing since you both moved into the Avengers Compound so you would know it was the other knocking right away. “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer him and can hear him sighing before continuing talking.

“Look, I’m sorry you got caught up in this and-”

“I don’t regret the choice I made, Sam.” You interrupt him before he can finish his sentence, speaking up for the first time since you got arrested at the airport. “As much as this sucks, it was the right thing to do. I know it was.”

You don’t say anything else. Sam can tell you mean it and he knows better than to push you.

“They’ll be okay.” He says after a moment of silence and then lets you be.

You know he means Steve, Bucky and Tony but you can’t help but think he’s trying to reassure you that Bucky’s gonna be fine.

And you can only hope that he’s right.

-

A couple of weeks after Tony’s visit there’s a commotion in the prison.

You haven’t so much as made a sound since that day, aside from your daily knock on the wall between you and Sam so he can make sure you’re okay, knowing you well enough to know you don’t want to talk but still wanting to check in.

But you can’t help but let out a loud gasp when you see Steve just standing in front of your cells.

You look around when the cell doors open and you hesitantly get up from the floor and walk towards Steve. He hugs Sam, then you, then Clint and then pats Scott on the back, but doesn’t linger long before he’s guiding you towards another level where Wanda is.

You get to her just as the door to her cell opens and you rush inside with Clint to take off her collar while he takes off her straightjacket. You hug her tightly and wrap your arm around her with Clint to help her move you since she looks a little worse for wear.

You manage to move through the prison without problems. You have to hand it to Steve, he’s a hell of a criminal.

When you get to the landing pad you see the Quinjet ready for take off and you all rush inside just to see Bucky at the commands and you smile brightly at the sight.

You have no time to comment, though, as Sam shouts “What are you waiting for?! Go!”

Bucky rolls his eyes but calmly says “We have one more coming.”

You frown. One more? You turn to Steve confusedly but before you can ask anything you can see blond hair darting into the Quinjet and then Natasha’s there.

Bucky instantly takes off and you all take seats and buckle up.

There’s a moment of silence while everyone processes what just happened, but you break it while looking at Natasha that’s sitting directly in front of you.

“Are we gonna talk about the hair?” You ask arching your eyebrow with a smirk.

She groans in annoyance and you can hear the others chuckling while she says “We are not.”

-

After a few hours you all get to a safehouse and Steve ushers you in before showing you around.

It’s not bad: a secluded cabin with three bedrooms, not too big but Steve assured you you wouldn’t be staying there long anyway. Which makes sense, you're on the run now so this is just temporary.

After the tour Bucky approaches you in the living room and only then you notice he’s missing his metal arm.

“You flew the jet with only one arm? That’s impressive…” You can’t help yourself as you reach to touch his left shoulder, your eyes fixated on it. But stop on your tracks when you feel his right hand carefully cupping your cheek.

Your eyes snap up to his and you can see him thoroughly inspecting the wounds in your face that are still healing a little. He grimaces when he looks down at your bandaged arm and whispers “I’m sorry…”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle, Sergeant.” You smile softly at him and put your hand over his still on your cheek, trying to reassure him that you’re fine.

“I bet you can, doll.” He chuckles.

You’re too busy staring at each other to notice everyone’s attention is on you until Steve clears his throat with an apologetic look on his face.

“We need to go, Buck.” He says and you look confusedly between the two men.

“I’m going back into cryo.” Bucky clarifies for you.

“Oh.” Is all you can say and your eyes widen for a second before you force yourself to put on a more neutral face.

“It’s okay.” He smiles at you, but you feel like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, doll.”

You try your best to smile and not look too bummed out. “I bet you can, Sergeant.”

You hesitate for a moment before surprising him, the others and even yourself by giving him a hug. He hesitates too before delicately hugging you back and, after a moment, you pull away. 

He smiles at you with a faint blush and you smile back, watching him walk to the door.

Steve passes you on his way to the door and kisses your forehead, whispering “He’ll be okay” before saying goodbye to the rest of the team, assuring you that he’ll be back soon. Then he also goes through the door and soon both the supersoldiers are gone.

You turn around with a sigh and see Sam, Natasha and Clint standing there, grinning at you, Wanda and Scott looking more compassionate than teasing.

You narrow your eyes at the first three and say sternly “Not. A. Word.” punctuating every word by pointing threateningly at each of them.

They raise their hands in mock surrender while snickering but thankfully don’t say anything and everyone just scatters around the safehouse.

You see the Quinjet depart from the window and try your best to look at the bright side: This isn’t forever, you’ll see him again.

Right?

Requested taglist: @sapphirebarnes @aki-ham @mary-jinx @abbyyourlocalmilf @selcouthial @esposadomd @americaarse

#bucky barnes #avengers x reader #bucky barnes x you #sam wilson #steve rogers #clint barton #tony stark #peter parker #natasha romanoff #scott lang #tchalla #avengers x platonic!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #black panther #marvel fanfiction #rhodey #james rhodes #james bucky barnes #captain america civil war #team cap #mcu #everett ross

[laura1633]

It will be interesting to see if Red Bull still keep up the Charles Leclerc love over social media now he has announced his extension.

I think the love they showed him was less to do with trying to sign him in the short term. As good a driver as Charles is I just don't know if they would actually want Max and Charles in the same team. Having two "first" drivers in a team might be fine when you are lightyears ahead but if it was a close battle with another team it could result in them losing the driver's title if they are taking points off each other. I can't see Charles or Max accepting being a second driver - wouldn't happen!

Thinking longer term though, if Max does decide to retire/switch to another racing series then Charles would be the perfect replacement. He would definitely be able to drive the shit out of the Red Bull and he would be great for them publicity wise. I'm not saying this would ever happen, I think Charles would much prefer to stay at Ferrari and maybe Max won't break my heart and retire any time soon but who knows what will happen. It's just good to keep those lines of communication open.

Or.. I guess they could just have a healthy respect for Charles and the way the Max/Charles battle at the start of 2022 played out. Or even more simply they realise that "Lestappen" content gets them lots of likes

#lestappen #charles leclerc #lestappen gate 2023 #Totally random thoughts

[lestappenforever]

hi again!

did lestappen really unfollow each other after the Austrian gp 2019? why?

ps: im new here

Hi anon, and welcome to the unhinged world of Lestappen lore! We're so happy to have you. ❤️

Now have a seat and get cozy, because it's story time.

Charles made it into F1 in 2018 and after spending his maiden season at Alfa Romeo Sauber, his life-long dream finally came true as he was snatched up by Scuderia Ferrari to replace the man, the myth, the legend that is Kimi Räikkönen. Needless to say, 2019 was a big year for Charles. His first season in the team he had always dreamed of driving for. He was ready. He was hungry.

Now, enter Max Emilian Verstappen, who at this point had already been in F1 since 2015, when he was signed at the ripe age of 17. Already a seasoned F1 driver, which is impressive as fuck at that age. At this point, Max and Charles were following each other on social media. After all, they'd known each other for most of their lives, had grown up together in karting, and were now competing at the top level.

Today, we know Austria as the Lestappen holy ground following that podium in 2022. (Borderline pornographic podium celebration? Don't mind if I do.) But, it had potential to become the Lestappen holy ground even back in 2019, because Max and Charles were on fire. Talking, laughing, joking, mirroring each other in the pre-race press conference, and generally acting like teenagers with a crush. (As you do with your emotional support rival.) Things were good. Great, even.

And then Sunday rolled around, and the race happened. Charles and Max were doing what they do best and what they love the most, namely fighting each other on track, likely having the time of their fucking lives. But then this overtake happened, there's a little bit of contact and Charles briefly ends up off the track, and Max goes on to win the race, with Charles finishing P2. (Anyone else hearing "He's just unfair. I'm leading, he wants to pass, he push me, I push him back" and "Nothing, just an inchident"? in their heads watching that overtake? Just me? Okay.)

Charles was pissed, absolutely convinced that Max had done something wrong, that it wasn't a clean move, and the move was investigated, as all similar moves are. FIA, however, ends up deeming it a clean move and Max doesn't get a penalty, meaning his win stands. And, well, this is where Charles Leclerc shows the world what it means to truly be ✨dramatic.✨ (We love a dramatic king in this house, ngl. Nothing is more entertaining to me than grown-ass men acting like children.)

A look that could kill? Check. Dramatically fixing your cap? Check. Looking away dramatically while plotting someone else's demise? Check. Looking like finishing P2 is not a huge accomplishment in your first season in Scuderia Ferrari? Check. Squeezing past as the winner getting drenched in champagne because you're not about to stand there and watch him celebrate? Check. Whatever the fuck this face is? Check.

Now, here's where it gets really fucking hilarious: Charles and Max fly home from Austria on the same flight. On this flight, where Max is probably sitting in Charles' direct line of sight, Charles goes to Max's Instagram and unfollows him. Probably glaring at Max the entire fucking time. Because he's a fully grown adult man capable of making reasonable, mature decisions when things don't go his way. Clearly. And Max, upon noticing this (or his team noticing it), remembers that he is also a fully grown adult man capable of making reasonable, mature decisions, and responds by unfollowing Charles back. Obviously.

It has been four years and our boys have clearly moved past the events of Austria 2019, but the Great Unfollowing has remained. Has it become an inside joke between them, which is why they're still not following each other after all these years? Probably, if Charles threatening to unfollow Matt from P1 with Matt & Tommy during a Ferrari challenge (and fucking following through on the threat, too) is anything to go by. Does it still make me cackle every time I think about it? Abso-fucking-lutely.

#Asks #Anon #Anon asks #Lestappen asks #Lestappen

[bbrissonn]

𝐰𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 - 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐡

☆⋆｡°‧★ in which dahlia goes to yet another hockey games, and runs into her mystery boy after ☆⋆｡°‧★ will smith x dahlia monroe ☆⋆｡°‧★ wc: 1.6k ☆⋆｡°‧★ au masterlist

if someone told dahlia a week before she started college that she would be attending a hockey, she would've scoffed in their face. telling her she would be going to two of them would've sent her into a fit of laughter. yet, here she was a week later sitting in the same seat as before.

"i can't believe im doing this again." the girl mumbled as she sat down in the seat. violette chuckled slightly as the players started coming into the ice for warmups. "he's gonna think im crazy."

"he won't, trust me." dahlia didn't know this, and neither did will, but on wednesday morning, gabe approached the black haired girl. of course violette knew who he was, and she knew that he wasn't sitting next to her to get to know her.

the boy waisted no time mentioning the previous friday night and small moments their two close friends shared. at the end of their lesson, the two had made it their mission to at least get the two to meet each other, but without forcing it.

if there was one thing that violette knew about her best friend is that she would never ever start dating a guy she met through someone. dahlia loved her romance book, the slow burning loves were her favourites ones. so, just bringing the two together was a big no, which led to the two girls sitting in the conte forum yet again.

"he totally will." almost as if on cue, the two made eye contact. will was standing on the red dot across the ice from them, stickhandling, when he looked up as he lost control of the puck and their eyes locked. "oh gosh."

"aw, how cute." violette giggled from besides her receiving an elbow to her ribs.

just like a week ago, the two shared loads of eye contact during the game, will sometimes even looking back over his shoulder and sending her a soft smile. when the boy scored his first goal of his college career, he wasn't shy to send her a wink once again.

for most of the night, dahlia's cheek were a deep shade of red, which violette often reminder her of. as for will, the boys now how knew who this mystery eye contact girl was, and they were not shy to give it to him in the locker during the intermissions. they all now kept an eye on the two, which is why when during a media timeout, they all noticed how his stare was stuck on her. the way he softly smiled whenever she'd laughed to something her friend said.

"smitty, you better find out that girl's name soon." one of the junior said as the team celebrated their win in the locker room. will just rolled his eyes at the statement.

"gosh, not this again." the boy mumbled seconds before all of the boy started pouring out whatever they had to say.

"a little more and you would've jumped the boards, bud." ryan said, making all of the boys, besides will, to chuckle.

"little smitty's in love." malone said from besides the freshman as he noticed how pink will's cheek had flushed.

somehow, will had managed to get out of the locker room even quicker than he had last week. he was surprised at how many people were still lingering in the forum. as he made his way to the door, he saw all the stares coming from people around him and the quiet mumbling all around. the boy just shoved his airpods in with the volume at max.

will hated to admit it, but he somehow let his brain get lost in the though of the girl whos name he didn't know. the small little glances, her soft smile, and her angelic laugh he could hear every once in a while. he so desperately wanted to get to know her, or at least say hi, but he knew it would never happen. he was lucky enough that she had showed up again tonight, but there was no guarantee that she was going to come next weekend as well.

will had been so deep in his thoughts that he didn't even realized where he was walking. his feet just started moving once he got outside and he never once stopped to think about where he was or where he was going. he took a quick glance around him and realized he was on the opposite side of the campus, one he had never been to before. the worst was that he didn't even know how to get back to his place. thankfully, maps was going to be able to help him back, but of course, as soon as he took out his phone, it died.

great. his sister lived off campus and had probably made it home already, and he had no clue where he was. thankfully, there were barely any students outside, meaning no one saw his confused look as he stared turning left and right, trying to at least find his way back to the forum, but it was useless. well, that was until a soft, beautiful voice spoke from behind him.

"lost?" will was scared at first, not having heard anyone walking behind. and then even more when he turned around. their eyes met for the millionth time that night, both of their eye going a little wide as they connected.

dahlia had decided to go over to her boyfriend's frat house for the night, meaning dahlia was on her own to go home. she tried to hold back a chuckle as she noticed a blond boy looking quite confused. she was a little confused herself as to why he was wearing a suit, but didn't think too much about it and instead approached the boy from behind.

the though of the lost boy being the boy had never crossed her mind, she was a little surprise that he was even out of the rink before she was.

"a little." the boy answered with an awkward smile lifting his phone up a little to show that it was dead. the girl bit her bottom lip, trying to hold back her smile.

"which dorm?"

"uh, i'm just trying to go back to the rink." will answered as their eyes stayed connected.

"just go back that way, across the parking lot and you'll see it." the girl explained, pointing to the direction she had just came from.

"thanks." the boy mumbled loud enough for the girl to hear, but he showed no signs of moving anytime soon.

"'course. i should... get going." the girl whispered as she continued making her way to her dorm slowly. thankfully for her, she had to walk past the boy, which allowed their eyes to stay connected for a little longer. the girl prayed deep down that the boy would ask for her name, or even propose to walk her to her dorm, but he stayed quiet.

"wait!" will called out as he turned around a couple of seconds after the girl had pasted him. his brain still hadn't fully understand how she was standing right in front of him and talking to him. which is why it took him so long to realize he was probably blowing his only shot with her.

dahlia turned around at the sound of his voice, as the hockey player started making his way to her. they were standing no more than a feet apart, and it wasn't until this moment that both of them realized how big their height difference was. the girl would be lying if she said she didn't feel small butterflies in her stomach as she looked up to the blond boy in front of her.

"can i have your number?" the boy asked after just standing there for a bit. dahlia held back a smile, deciding to mess with him a little.

"don't you at least want to know my name, my major, my favourite colour, just something before you ask a stranger for their number?" the girl questioned with a small smirk. will's face went blank, scared that he had completely messed it up. until, the girl let out a soft giggle which sounded like heaven to him.

"i'm just messing with ya. you look like a ghost." dahlia giggled, a wide smile on her face as one grew on will's face as well.

"i'm will."

"i'm dahlia." the girl's mind blanked out a for a bit, stuck in a trance as he body moved without her even knowing what was going on. when she came back down to reality, will's finger were typing on her phone. when he was done, he handed her phone back, along with a pen he hand in his pocket.

dahlia stared at him confused as he reached his hand out towards her. will chuckled a bit before talking. "write yours down." and that's exactly what the girl did. her hands were slightly shaking as she wrote her number on the top of his hand. she suddenly felt a wave of confidence take over, and decided to draw a little heart next to her number.

the second she was done drawing the little shape, she regretted it. she wasn't a bold person, she had never done this before, let alone give her number to a stranger. but it was too late, will had pulled back his hand, smiling down at it.

"i'll see you around." will whispered in her ear as he leaned down a little. dahlia swore she felt a shiver go down her spine as she turned around to watch the boy walk away, his pen still in her hands.

#bri writes #i found you au #will smith #will smith hockey #will smith x oc #will smith imagine #will smith x reader #will smith hockey imagine #will smith hockey x reader #will smith hockey x oc #bc eagles #bc hockey #boston college hockey #college hockey imagine

[silvervioletvalentine]

❣️!All too well!❣️

Pairing: past Max verstappen X Cherrie . Present: Charles leclerc X Cherrie!

Word count : 7.2k.

Summary: in which Charles shows her that there’s more to being loved at midnight.

Max sat in his seat behind the long desk with a sinking feeling of dread deep in his chest as he watched his now former teammate walk into the room wearing red from head to toe, taking a seat beside her new teammate and smiling happily at the people in the room.

She didn't even seem to notice him at first, even though he was just sat right beside her waiting for her to acknowledge him , taking a deep breath to try and push down the uneasy and overwhelming feelings that overcame him as he watched her whisper something to Charles , her new teammate , giggling quietly as he nudged her shoulder with a grin.

Max pursed his lips and cleared his throat to get her attention , smiling at her her tensely when she turned her head only a little to look at him, raising a eyebrow at him questionably .

Oblivious to the brewing upset in his stomach as he watched his best friend easily fall into her new role without him.

She didn't even look upset in the slightest. Despite having spent three years by his side and driving for redbull.

There was only a giant , almost relieved smile on her pretty face as she proudly sat beside Charles in her new Ferrari race suit and hat , looking as though she had never been dressed in anything but red.

Max tried to be happy for her, knowing how much she had always dreamed of driving for a team like Ferrari. He had seen the pictures of her when she was a kid , wearing a custom Ferrari racesuit at every karting event. The way she had told everyone around her that someday she would race for her favourite team in the world.

Max had been naive in believing that her years at redbull would change her mind and make her stay.

But he had been so comfortable and secure in their friendship , and in their teamwork that her sudden move had blind sighted him and left him feeling more than a little dazed.

His chest hasn't stopped feeling tight since the day he had watched Charles leclerc Jog over to her at a party and tell her how much he couldn't wait to get to know her better and be her teammate . Cherrie easily bringing him into a hug and telling him the same thing.

Because it was no secret to anyone that the Ferrari driver had a long standing crush on his best friend , ever since they were kids and they were all racing against each other in karting completions and events.

Charles had always followed her around with hearts in his eyes despite Cherrie being completely oblivious to his feelings , only ever focused on winning.

Max hadn't been oblivious . But he had felt smug and triumphant the moment that Cherrie was announced as his teammate instead of Charles what felt like so long ago now.

He had thought that it would mean that the mans little crush would fade and that nothing would ever happen between the two of them. Because she was by his side more often than not which meant that Charles didn't stand a chance with her, not while max was around.

But now she was no longer his teammate but charles’s and he could only watch in silent uneasiness as Cherrie gave him all her attention like it was the normal between them now. Laughing at his little jokes he whispered to her to make her laugh , smiling at him like he was her new best friend .

As though she hadn't been on a podium not so long ago with Max's arms around her as they celebrated together , smiling up at him like he was the only person in the world .

That had been the most happiest moment of his life. Winning with her and celebrating with her. The two of them partying all night and ended up curled up against each other between the sheets at the end of the night. Like they always did.

Because the friendship and intimacy between them had always been easy. Had always been casual and unspoken of between them.

To the outside world they were just good friends and even better teammates . But behind closed doors max had her all to himself. She was the one that he went to when he felt like he had no one left to call that really cared about him.

It was her arms that he fell into when he was tired, it was her arms that he slept in when he just wanted peace and safety .

It was her lips that he kissed whenever they shared a bottle a wine or downed shots together at yet another party, both of them blaming the alcohol for their actions and max just laughing it off whenever she asked him why he always ended up in her bed when they were drunk .

He should have told her that he loved her. But he was too much of a coward to tell her sober and that kissing her while drunk was the only way he got to play pretend .

The only time where he had enough confidence and carelessness to take her to his bed and pretend that she would never leave .

She been his lover in secret . But his best friend to the rest of the world .

But as he watched Charles smile at her shyly , their chairs so close together that he was practically pressed against her side . His eyes never leaving her pretty face as she smiled at the reporters cheekily, proudly showing off her Ferrari cap to them . Not at all bothered by the change of her life.

She just kept smiling while max felt like his entire world was crashing down.

Watching the love of his life only give him a friendly glance , muttering a quick hello to him. Despite not having seen him in over three month. The longest the two hadn't fallen into old habits .

Max was struggling without her . Confused and angry , restless and uneasy by the sudden change.

Yet Cherrie had never looked more relaxed and confident in herself . No longer clinging to his side or chatting to him during press while max told her to be quite , he would lean away from her subtly during their conferences in the past, not wanting anyone to notice their familiar closeness .

Not wanting anyone to see how much he loved her.

He had been so worried with what everyone else would think about him and too concerned with keeping his feelings a secret. That he had failed to see her slowly pulling away from him in return.

Because although she still acted like she was his friend . No longer did she kiss him when she was drunk and no longer did she whisper jokes to him to try and make him smile at her . Wanting to make him laugh even though max barely ever cracked , just giving her a small shake of his head to get her to stop.

He only ever laughed with her in private . He only ever held her when they were alone.

But now as he watched Charles smile at her , unafraid of what anyone else thought of the way he couldn't take his eyes off her.

Max felt like a crate had fallen upon his shoulders as he watched Cherrie lean into her new teammate like she used to do with him.

He inhaled deeply , Nudging her side . "Where have you been? I feel like I haven't seen you in too long.." he muttered to her quietly , keeping his eyes locked on the side of her pretty face .

Cherrie just smiled at him a little , leaning back

In her seat and giving a little casual shrug.

No blush came to her cheeks like it usually did whenever max would lean close to her and refuse to look away.

Instead she stayed calm and unbothered , looking back at him easily. Not at all nervous about the eye contact like she usually was.

"Just been getting to know my new team. I've been busy.." she simply answered him.

Charles , having been listening to them, leaned forward on the table and smiled over at max . Oblivious to his growing dislike for him.

Instead he just chuckled and told him "I've been trying to convince her to move to Monaco. I took her on a tour over the weekend but I think it was the ice cream shop that won her over." He giggled , glancing at her fondly .

Cherrie just smirked and looked over at him , nudging his shoulder gently with her own.

"Best ice cream I've ever had . If you ever want to change careers then being a professional tour guide would be the perfect job for you." She joked to him.

Charles laughed "no thank you! Then I'd have to be surrounded by more people all day. I don't think I'd enjoy it very much." He scrunched up his nose , more of an introvert just like Cherrie was.

Their need for peace and hatred of being in crowds only bonded them further .

Cherrie humming along in agreement. "Honestly.. I love this job but If I could get away with just going straight home after the race instead of doing press and having to socialise with people without being sued..." she sighed dreamily at the idea "that'd be lovely . To win a race and then just go straight home to bed.."

Charles grinned, nodding his head along with her words. "Definitely! But order some food on the way home too. Some pasta .." he mused giving her a knowing glance.

Cherrie lit up , laughing . "Obviously-"

Max buttered into their made up plans with a frown , looking at Cherrie in confusion . "I thought you hated pasta? You've always said that you don't like to eat it because it's always too dry or boring." He had tried to get her to eat it for years but she would never budge on her stance .

So he could only watch with growing unease as Cherrie just shrugged casually and laughed, nudging Charles again who was looking more than a little proud of himself .

"Turns out I just hadn't tried the right pasta before. Charles made me some and oh my god.." she gushed to him, unaware of the feelings she was causing him.

"He made me pesto and then macaroni. And then there was this other one with this garlic sauce.. honestly .. best thing I've ever eaten in my life. So if I weigh more now and the team scolds me , this is entirely your fault Charles." She told him with a grin, laughing a little .

Charles just beamed at her , his cheeks flushing from her complimenting his food . Having spent weeks making her different pasta dishes after she had told him that she didn't like pasta. He had been on a mission to change her mind.

A pretty easy thing to do apparently . One bite and now she was a pasta fanatic .

Charles just liked watching her eat the food he made for her, liked to see the little dance she did in her chair when she hummed happily , eating like she had been starving her whole life . Not at all bothered about stuffing her face in front of him.

He also liked the way she would kiss his cheek in thanks afterwords. Promising  him that she could cook for him next time too.

He just liked her. He liked her company and he liked her smile. He liked every single thing about her and unlike max , he wasn't scared to show his feelings .

Before he could say anything else , the reporter cleared his throat and the conference quickly started up again.

Max frowned to himself as he leaned back in his chest. Still a little hurt by the way she had apparently fallen in love with Charles cooking while max had begged her to let him make her pasta for years , only ever getting a firm no . Refusing to try anything new.

Apparently she didn't have that resolve with her new teammate. Max felt his stomach sink even further as he briefly recalled a moment from a year ago ago when Cherrie had told him that she would happily try pasta if he took her out to dinner, telling him excitedly about a new fancy restaurant that had opened up around the corner .

Max had scoffed and told her that he'd just make her some at home. That it was a bad idea to go out together incase someone spotted them and took any photographs of them on a date , all Cosy together. Still too afraid to be anything but friends with her in public .

She had never asked him to take her out to dinner again after that.

He wished then that he had taken her out to dinner every night. That he had laughed at her silly little jokes and smiled at her just because.

Maybe then he wouldn't be sitting beside her feeling like he was losing her with each breath he took.

"Cherrie. How does it feel to be the new driver for a team like Ferrari? It came as a surprise to the fans who had assumed that you would have resigned a contract with redbull . Was there any hesitation in your move? Any reason to why you chose to leave?" The man asked her , camera filming the three of them closely .

Cherrie fiddled with the bottle of water on the table , smiling a little as she thought about the best way to Answer him. Knowing that every little thing she would say would be picked apart for drama and speculation .

She knew that no one had expected her sudden move to the red team. No one but herself who had known what she was going to do for a while now.

Yet she still felt a little guilty as she glanced beside her to see max frowning down at the table in front of him , obviously not happy with her move either.

But she had to do it. She had to put herself first for once .

She wanted to be selfish and she wanted a chance to move away from the shadow of just being a silly girl who followed max around like a lost puppy , just begging for scraps of his attention . Only ever getting it when the doors closed behind them.

She had loved working with him, that was not doubtful. They had been great teammates and great friends .

But she was tired of the same old secret glances and broken promises . The years passing her by in the blink of an eye and Cherrie had still found herself waiting in the sidelines for him to chose her, for him to not be so ashamed of loving her .

She couldn't wait forever .

She couldn't just keep standing in a crowded room and never feeling more alone even though he was standing by her side , his fingers brushing hers as he refused to even touch her properly in case someone saw .

So how could she say no when an offer to drive for Ferrari came up?

Alongside a new teammate who had never been afraid of hugging her in public . Who had always laughed at her stupid jokes and smiled at her brightly whenever she walked into a room, who wasn't afraid of embarrassing himself just to make her laugh .

Who would wave his hands in the air like a crazy person to get her attention among hundreds of people watching them.

Who , the first night of her signing her contract had took her out to her favourite restaurant without her even mentioning wanting to go. Who had simply told her that he would pick her up at seven.

Who had held her hand to pull her through the flashing cameras surrounding them.

Who hasn't shied away from her in the eyes of strangers , uncaring of who saw them together .

It was a no brainer and there had been no hesitation to sigh that contract and start over again.

It was for the best.

"It feels amazing . I've always dreamed ever since I was a little kid of being able to drive for Ferrari." She told the press honestly , quietly and with a small smile .

Feeling Charles place his hand over hers that was twitching on her knee anxiously , quietly stopping her from pulling at her clothes anymore. Not even glancing away from the reporter as he gave her hand a comforting squeeze.

Cherrie let out a small laugh, exhaling loudly to expel the stress she felt . Smiling to herself at the feeling of Charles hand over her own.

“And there wasn't really any hesitation or a particular reason for me doing it. It just felt like it was the right time.. things can't stay the same way forever and .." she glanced over at a silent max for a moment before glancing away.

"-I think that sometimes change is the only choice. Even when it feels scary and overwhelming..change can be a good thing . At least I hope it Is a good thing for me .." she laughed again, pushing her hair behind her ear .

Looking beside her to see Charles already smiling at her encouragingly , tapping his fingers over her knuckles to let her know that she was doing good .

She took a deep breath and looked back to the cameras, refusing to look over at max who she could see was now staring at her from the corner of her eye.

Hearing him Inhale sharply at her words, no doubt hearing the double meaning behind them referring to their complicated relationship.

"So yeah. I'm excited and happy for what my future holds here. I'll definitely miss my old team but..." she shrugged a little "it's time to move on and open a new page in my life ." She said firmly , smiling at them to let them know she was finished with her answer .

The man nodded his head , asking her another question quickly . "Will you miss your old teammate ? I imagine it will be quite a change working side by side with Charles now seeing as you and max having been teammates for quite some time." He asked her curiously.

Everyone having picked up on their chemistry and closeness over the years , surprised to see her now so willing to leave that all behind.

Cherrie slowly nodded her head. Clearing her throat a little with a small, nervous chuckle.

Glancing beside her to see max looking at her blankly with his lips pursed.

She took a deep breath and answered what came to mind first. "I will miss him. He's been in my life for a long time now and had become someone that..that I deeply care about but .." she laughed nervously , pulling on charle's fingers , twirling around one of his rings. Unable to stop fidgeting . It was a bad, anxious habit she had.

"Maybe he'll do even better without me now-"

Max scoffed and shook his head at her, looking at her in silent disbelief .

"Definitely not. We worked well together , it'll be strange doing it without you by my side now." He muttered , looking straight at her.

I can't do this without you. Is what he wanted to say.

Cherrie didn't hear his silent plea.

She just smiled at him a little "we'll still be racing together. Just in different cars ." She said laughing , Charles joining her .

He looked between the two of them with a grin, oblivious of the tension between the two ex teammates.

"It will be fun to see you both fighting against each other on the track . You've always had orders to have his back but now you can have the chance at beating him. It'll be very fun to watch." He grinned at her, nudging her shoulder and making her laugh at how excited he seemed at the very thought of her in a Ferrari overtaking her old teammate on the track.

Max smiled a little forcefully . Glancing down at the way the two were pressed together side by side , their arms never leaving each other.

"I think I'll still win. You've definitely downgraded with the new car. Ferrari is pretty but not as powerful as redbulls." He tried joking .

Cherrie just laughed, not even glancing at him as she said "but I've upgraded with Charles . So.." grinning as the crowd in front of them laughed and 'oooohed' at her jab at him.

Charles was giggling beside her, cheeks red as she winked at him teasingly .

Max just shook his head , keeping the smile on his face despite the way he felt like his heart was breaking with each moment he saw between them.

He managed to finally catch her on her own after the conference . Waiting  for Charles to be pulled away into some other media duties before he gently pulled her into a empty room.

Cherrie didn't look surprised by his actions. Simply letting him close the door behind them, sitting down on the edge of a table and glancing up at him calmly .

Folding her hands on her lap and watching him closely as he leant against the door and looked down at her quietly .

There was nothing but tense silence for a moment before max finally broke it, his voice quiet.

"I've missed you." He told her , tucking his hands into his pockets so he wouldn't pull her into his arms and hold her tight like he wanted to.

Usually at this point she would smile and hug him tightly , telling him that she missed him too.

But not this time. Instead she just smiled a little and shrugged her shoulders softly .

"I've been busy-" she started to make her excuse for being so distant from him.

"With Charles. You've been busy with him." He cut her off bitterly . Crossing his arms over his chest and struggling to keep the upset from his face .

Cherrie paused , eyeing him with a small frown before sighing quietly .

"Yes ...with Charles too. We've been getting to know each other more . We actually have a lot in common, I don't know why I hadn't become better friends with him before this." She replied but she knew the answer to her own question too.

She hadn't given Charles a chance before . Hadn't even looked at him twice because all she had cared about was max .

Her whole head had been filled with making sure that she only loved him In secret , too busy hiding their rendezvouses from their friends to give much thought to anything , or anyone else.

For years , for her it had been max , max and max. He had been her top priority alway.

Yet she hadn't even made it in his top three .

She only became centre of his mind when the sun went down and they were alone again. He needed her then, only at midnight.

Cherrie had needed him always. Maybe that had been the problem . Her downfall .

She had always loved too much and never gotten back in return what she so easily gave away.

"This- this isn't going to change us is it? We're-" he hesitated . Not knowing how to even label what they had. "-were still friends aren't we? We're okay?" It came out more of a plea than a question , desperate for her to make him feel better again.

Cherrie just looked at him for a moment. Taking in his soft eyes and downturned lips, the way he took a small step to be closer to her.

For the first time ever, she took a step away from him.

Keeping her smile in place even though she felt her resolve building , felt something shift inside of her that felt a lot like hope. That felt a lot like letting go.

"We're okay max." She told him quietly , squeezing his arm gently before stepping around him to get to the door.

Thinking about how Charles was no doubt waiting for her in the parking lot, having told her that he was taking her out for dinner again tonight.

They were going to muilens , a restaurant that Cherrie had begged for max to go with her on her last birthday, a place where she had went a lot as a kid with her own family .

He had refused to go with her 'they'll be too many people watching us. You know what people will think if they see us dining together at night.." he had told her with a apologetic grimace , kissing her head and telling her that he was going to order them some takeout instead .

Charles had practically begged her to take him when she told him of one of her favourite places to eat. He had listened with rapture and interest as she told him about her memory's as a child there, laughing at her funny stories of her family .

He had booked a reservation without her even having to ask. Telling her that he couldn't wait to see the place that she held so fondly in her heart .

The reminder of the difference between them was enough to make any hesitation to stay fade away.

She just gave max a smile and for once didn't feel any sadness or any anger at his refusal to be seen with her as anything other than friends .

Then she walked away and left max being the one stood alone in a empty room for a change.

Max knew that things weren't going to be okay between them anymore when an accident played out on the track between him and Charles .

His rearer wheel having clipped the ferraris front wheel and sent them both spinning in opposite directions of the track, both of them crashing into the walls at full speed.

It was almost a replay of his crash the year before with another driver . The only difference this time being that as he was pulling himself out of his wrecked car , he looked over and seen Cherrie pull herself out of her own Ferrari despite orders not to. The same way she always did for him as his teammate too.

Only this time she wasn't running to max. She didn't even glance in his direction, her focus set on the man pulling himself out of the broken Ferrari opposite him.

She ran to Charles and quickly wrapped her arms around his waist, helping get him out and hurriedly making sure that he was okay.

Max could only watch silently , feeling his heart break in his chest as Charles took a hold of her arms and assured her that he was okay before pulling her into a familiar embrace.

Holding onto her tightly , their helmets knocking together but neither of them caring as the medics came running over , ushering Charles along with them.

He watched as Charles reached behind him to grab at cherries hand , talking to the medic and tugging her along with him, her fingers easily intertwining with his like she had held his hand a hundred times before.

And maybe she had.

Because last year when Cherrie had ran over to him with worry in her voice asking him if he was okay, he had pushed her away.

Snapping at her to get back into her car and stop making a scene , too worried about what everyone was going to think when they saw her embrace him. He had quickly pulled away and missed the way her eyes had filled with tears , too busy walking away to notice .

He wondered if this was karma showing him a little too late what he had done wrong .

Showing her with Charles , who didn't hesitate to hold her hand and pull her close .

Reaching over to pull off her helmet so he could look into her eyes as he reassured her over and over again that he was okay, smiling at her fondly when she still fussed over him, not at all worried about what people would think. He just pulled her closer.

While max had pulled away.

He swallowed down the lump rising in his throat and looked away, silently following the medic and regretting every moment that he had pushed her away in fear .

Too much of a coward to love her proudly and publicly .

Too much of an idiot to see the moment that she had finally had enough and done the same to him.

Pushing him away just like he had done to her over the years, again and again and again.

And the pain that he felt rising in his chest was only a feeling that Cherrie had known all too well.

Max thought that he could apologise and make it up to her again at her birthday party. Some big fancy club that her friends had rented out for her , feeling almost like things were back to normal between them again as he sat beside her in the booth while she rambled on about her day.

Unable to take his eyes off her. She looked so beautiful and confident beside him, dressed in a sparkling red dress with her hair perfectly curled and makeup dark and sultry .

With a air of happiness surrounding her . She had never looked or felt more beautiful .

Giving max a casual grin as she sipped on her favourite cocktail drink, it was bright pink and had a tiny umbrella in it, sugar around the rim.

Over the years she had tried to get max to try it , but he never did. Claiming that he didn't like 'girly drinks' and just stuck to his whiskey and beer instead.

She was happy and tipsy enough to try again, lifting her bright pink cocktail in his direction hopefully. Giving him another chance.

"It's my birthday! You have to try it!" She almost has to shout to be heard over the booming music in the club . "It's so nice! It's really good!" She tried to convince him with wide eyes , waving it at him.

Max shook his head , pushing her hand away from him with a small laugh.

Glancing down at the end of the booth to see Daniel giving him a pointed look, nodding at him to just give in and try the bloody drink .

Being the only other driver that knew about their past and his complicated feelings for her.

Being the only one to give him a slap around the head and tell him to stop being so afraid of what other people thought . That good love doesn't wait around for nothing.

"No. No. I don't want to. It's pink and I don't like sweet drinks!" He denied her again, not wanting to get caught and have pictures of himself with a pink drink in his hand all over the internet .

Cherrie pouted at him , blinking her eyes at him prettily . "But it's so good! How will you know you don't like it if you never try it?- please max-" she whined , nudging his shoulder with a hopeful grin.

He just shook his head at her "no-" he was about to deny her request again when a familiar driver stumbled over to them .

Looking down at them with a tipsy grin, ruffling cherries hair with a loud laugh.

"I've been looking for you! Are you having fun?" Charles shouted down to her happily, eyes never leaving her pretty face. Leaning against the table , not sitting down.

She looked up at him with a smile , lifting up her pink cocktail to him with a slight pout .

"Max won't try it! I've been trying to convince him for years but he won't try anything I like! He never does !” She whined, drunk enough not to care about anybody else hearing her moan on about another little thing that max did that upset her.

Charles just glanced down at the pink drink with a smile , Tilting his head at her .

“It tastes good?" He asked her while pulling out his phone and motioning for her to pose with it .

"Smile beauty!" He exclaimed while laughing loudly as she beamed up at him toothily , lifting the drink up in front of her proudly as he took a picture of her.

Shaking his head fondly at her before putting his phone back away. His camera roll already filled with candid photos and memories that the two of them had made together.

Max had never taken pictures of her. Too afraid of them being leaked to the public.

Charles had a whole folder dedicated to pictures of just her. Shared for all of his friends to see.

Cherrie glanced up at him hopefully , hesitating slightly before asking "you want to try it? I promise you it's really good! It's my favourite!" She was ready for him to reject her offer like max did, already lowering her glass.

But Charles surprised her by taking the glass from

Her hand and taking a swig without hesitation , pulling a impressed face as he swallowed it down, looking back down at Cherrie with a giant grin.

"It's good! Very sweet! We should have these at movie night." He said to her unashamed , even grinning at Lando who was taking a photo of him with the bright pink drink, Charles not embarrassed at all.

He just liked the beaming smile Cherrie gave him as she gasped loudly , giggling. Overly happy at something that was so simple to others. But it meant everything to her.

"You like it?!" She gasped happily , gazing up at him with wide eyes. Laughing loudly when he rapidly nodded his head and drained the last of her drink.

"If you like it then I like it! You tried that whiskey that I had last week." He simply countered back "it's only fair that I try what you like too!"

Cherrie's smiled couldn't get any bigger .

Her face suddenly lighting up as a familiar song blared around the club,  gasping loudly and smacking max on the arm in excitement.

"It's Shakira! Oh my god this is my shit!" She yelled happily jumping up to her feet. Looking down at max with a smile "are you coming?!" She motioned over to the dance floor, already knowing what his answer would be. But giving him once last chance to try again.

Max slowly shook his head, frowning to himself as he watched her climb out of the booth and over to Charles with a excited grin.

"I don't dance. You know that.." he muttered, upset by the way she wasn't even looking at him anymore .

Too busy giggling at Charles who was shaking his hips at her jokingly .

"Whenever! Wherever! We're meant to be together!" He sang loudly , unashamedly .

Too focused on making Cherrie laugh as he span her around with his arm, Cherrie giggling as she pulled him along to the dance floor with her happily .

"You like Shakira! You wanna dance with me?" Max could hear her shout to Charles just before they were out of reach.

Charles just pulling a face like his answer should be obvious , wrapping his arms around her waist and dancing with her without a care in the world for who was watching .

"Yes! I'll dance with you anytime!" Charles shouted down to her , laughing loudly as he spun her around in a circle again. Both of them jumping up and down and dancing like a pair of crazy people, grinning at each other and taking turns singing the chorus.

Cherrie looked happy.

Truly and purely happy as she giggled hysterically, tears of laughter in her eyes as Charles wiggled his butt at her just to make her laugh.

Biting down on his lip in adoration as he watched her beam up at him, covering her face with her hands as she pretended to push him away.

Before falling back into his arms with a gentle tug of his hand on her arm , wrapping her arms around his neck as they danced together without a care in the world

Max felt his heart sink as he watched them, Daniel shaking his head at him in disappointment .

"Dude..." he sighed out , looking over at him with a frown .

“Why didn't you dance with her? Why don't you ever dance with her? That's all she wanted.." he said, not understanding why he couldn't just let go and make be happy.

Max didn't have an answer for him.

Too busy watching the way Cherrie was smiling up at Charles like he was the only person in the world.

The same smile that she used to give him. The same smile that he never returned out of fear of strangers realising how in love with her he was.

"The only persons opinion you should have cared about is hers Max. Not some stranger that you don't even know. You should have only cared about what she thought about you mate.." Daniel told him honestly , not impressed with the years of watching his friend brush her affections and love away like it was a nuisance for him.

Watching the way cherries smile had faded each time max looked embarrassed at her affection.

Each time he let go of her hand, each time that he refused to hug her back in front of a crowd . Each time that he venomously  denied them ever being more than friends despite being the one that he ran to each night .

Despite the fact that he could love her at midnight yet he couldn't even hold her hand in the morning.

Daniel had watched cherrie's happiness crumble and seen the way she had retreated into herself.

She didn't talk so loud , she didn't walk so proud anymore.

Until Charles came along and wrapped her back up In sunshine. Unashamed to be with her and loudly gushing over her at every chance he got. Proudly telling anyone he could about how amazing his teammate was.

He held her hand in the morning and he fell asleep holding her hand to his chest at night.

He drank pink cocktails with her. He ate her weird foods and took her to her favourite restaurants.

She didn't have to beg him to spend time with her, didn't have to plead for his attention because his eyes were already watching her with a smile that spoke a thousand words.

Because while max had spent years only ever loving her in secret. Refusing to tell their friends and refusing to put a label on what they were.

Charles had spent years silently loving her in the background too .

Waiting for the day that she would see him too. Patiently waiting for her to realise that she deserved more than rushed fucks in the bathroom and hurried kisses in the dark.

That she deserved not to be hidden away like her love was something to be ashamed of. She didn't deserve to be anyone's dirty secret.

It had taken years of crying herself to sleep and tears of wishing that she could be someone that max wasn't ashamed of loving.

Years of hoping that this time next year would be the one where he admitted that he loved her. Where he suddenly became proud of being by her side.

But that never happened and Cherrie had enough.

She had opened the door to leave and found Charles waiting patiently for her on the other side with fulfilled promises and no more Empty dreams.

"You're the most beautiful woman in the world." Charles told her with a breath of awe , holding her to his chest as they danced away without caring about who was watching .

Cherrie blushed, glancing up at him hopefully , broken heart shattered no more. Feeling the pieces slowly start to fix back together as she looked at the soft look on Charles face , the way his arms held her so proudly , the way he touched her so softly , admiring her openly without any shame.

"Really?"

Max had never told her how beautiful she was before. Not outside of sex.

She felt butterflies fill her stomach as she watched Charles cheeks colour red , shyly meeting her eyes.

He swallowed, laughing bashfully yet he still pulled her closer to him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Really. I've always thought it but never got the chance to tell you.." he told her honestly , eyes never leaving her own.

And max could only watch with growing regret in his chest and sickness in his stomach as Cherrie cupped his face in her hands delicately , shaking her head at him with a look on her face that he had never seen before.

It was a open look of softness, of admiration ... of disbelief and awe. As if she couldn't believe what she was being told.

As if she had just discovered what love truly was.

Because what was love if you couldn't touch it. You couldn't feel it? You can't hear it or taste it on your tongue?

What was love if it was never spoken? Never felt and never given without shame...?

And that was the moment that max knew he had lost her to Charles.

Tears filling his eyes as he shakily held onto his whiskey, watching as Charles leaned down and kissed Cherrie in front of a crowded room without any shame.

Cherrie leaning into him and smiling against his lips, both of them laughing into the kiss in relief and in love as he proudly told her what max should have all along.

"I love you. You're so easy to fall in love with.." Charles breathed out , nudging their noses together gently. Completely in awe of her .

And for once in a long , long time. Cherrie didn't feel alone in a crowded room.

The arms around her didn't feel so cold and temporary.

There was no ticking timer on her heart, counting down the seconds until he pulled away and she would be alone again, left filled with shame .

There was nothing but Charles smiling down at her. Pulling her closer to his body and telling her he loved her in front of all of their friends .

Cherrie felt what it felt like for a man to love you without restrictions . Without rules and regulations. Without shame and regret.

She felt her heart shine. She felt the pieces that she had thought to be broken beyond repair, become whole again.

She felt happy. She felt love. And she knew it was real then.

Knew that this was what it was supposed to feel like to be in love so purely .

Love wasn't supposed to hurt her. Love wasn't supposed to make her cry herself to sleep at night.

Love wasn't supposed to slip out of her room in the the early hours of the morning so he couldn't be seen with her.

Love was Charles. Who smiled at her so softly , so pure and genuine that she knew.

This was what she had been waiting for her whole life.

She was done waiting for max who was too afraid to love her in the light .

Why should she torture herself anymore when she had a man that looked at her like she had hung the stars in his universe?

Who kissed her like she was a goddess that could grant all of his wishes and give him everlasting happiness till the day that they died...

She was loved.

She just wished that she had realised it sooner .

She had Been loving the wrong man all along.

#max verstappen imagine #Charles leclerc imagine #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula one imagine #Charles leclerc fic #max verstappen fic #f1 oneshot

[adventuringblind]

Drive with you Forever

Chapter Ten: a monster or a hero?

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc x Lando Norris X reader

Chapter summary: things come to a climatic peak at Abu Dhabi

Warnings: GORE, depictions of abuse, minor character death, description of injuries and blood, panic attacks, annoying first responders, gun and knife violence

Notes: wow I enjoyed this chapter. It was so much fun to write. I think going from action to intimate with the transition actually worked better then I thought it would. Not something I can say about my other work 😒😂

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Masterlist

She’s aware of the drops of blood running down her fingers onto the tarmac of the track. The lighta of Abu Dhabi illuminates her skin as she stands with shaky knees. She can smell the rage falling of the man in waves. His movements were clumsier in his anger.

He’d made a mistake in thinking he could touch them.

He’d been wrong to assume she would give in so easily.

Now, with a grin on her face and crimson cover face, she proves he created the killer he always claimed her to be.

~

Aside from Jos and his odd interactions with her, paddock like was peaceful.

She’d gone back to analyzing data and tinkering with the cars. Using the rest of the season to simply heal. She was here because she wanted to be. She was here supporting her loves. She was here because this is her passion.

Redbull had been on fire since she got back to working with data and strategy. She loves driving, but this felt more like her. She’d made peace that her body would never be the same. Christian respects her choice and appreciates her for everything she’s done. Hence why she will always have a place in the Redbull garage, according to him.

Nights with her boys have been calm (for the most part). They are on a high after their tedious streak of lows. They’d spoiled her relentlessly after they almost lost her.

Max has finally managed to learn how to get his feelings across. It took him almost losing all of his partners to figure it out. He has Seb to thank for that.

She walked in in the German gently explaining to Max that he needs to tell them how he feels because bottling it up isn’t healthy and despite one of his partners being superhuman, she isn’t a mind reader.

Boy did he sob. They all did really. They pulled together as a unit after that. Not just being there for each other, but a team that works together to overcome the challenges and difficulties that life throws at them.

They are together. They are a family. They are bonded together by something deeper then love.

~

She’d found a way to help her confidence in being independent. How you ask? Getting one step closer to being a superhero.

Her martial arts had been coming along amazingly. Her trainer was impressed with how quick she progressed. It’s definitely helps that her visions had gotten better and she could see the possible outcome of a fight before it even happened. Sometimes while she was sparring, she’d be able to control her visions enough to just get a glimpse of her opponents next move.

She’d practiced with a few firearms and knew how to pull them apart and put them together with the wave of a finger. She could help guide bullets to their intended destinations with hardly any aim.

It’s safe to say she feels like she could take on the world. She just hopes she doesn’t have to.

It’s a funny thing to her, that even though she could kick someone’s ass into next year, her three partners still baby her.

Lando has found that his favorite place is having her in his arms. He claims if he lets go she might disappear.

Charles is always talking to her. Her tells her every reason why he loves her daily because he almost didn’t get a chance to tell her at all.

Max is vulnerable with her. The work of racing paints him to be cold-hearted and a villain, his father not helping much in that regard. Now he shows her every emotion he kept hidden away. He cries and laughs and lets the three of you see a side of him the cameras don't.

Everything was falling into place. The peace and happiness she wanted so bad was finally within reach.

But is seems nothing ever goes to plan.

~

The energy she worked so hard to keep in control was taking over for her. The locked box she didn't want to open had now exploded. A urge of something she'd never experienced before flying out.

It didn't help he was holding Lando by the throat. The Brit had been through enough already. His eyes are pleading with anyone. If he could just free himself from whatever was holding him there then maybe he could help her.

But she didn't need help.

Two sets of hands on his shoulders became one. The man on his left projecting something at his lover.

The glint of metal from the knife left his hands and landed itself in her shoulder. He could hear her skin ripping open. The blood starting to pool around the new wound.

She'd already killed three of them. The ones who had initially grabbed the three boys.

Their throats had all been sliced open on the track.

These men had been shouting the names they know her by. Killer. Betrayer. Monster.

Don't they know they made her this way?

The knife that had found its way into her skin is pulled out with a vile squelch. She looks down and smiles. The pain only encouraging her to keep going.

The laugh that falls from her mouth is terrifying.

She throws the knife back at its original owner. Her hand still outstretched and guiding the thin weapon. It sticks in a place he won't recover from. His body crumbles to the ground. Blood leaking from the gaping hold in his chest.

Originally, Lando thought he might die here. These stupid people holding him captive on the empty track had talked about ways they wanted to end him.

He was scared and shaking for fifteen minutes before she came to his rescue. He was still shaking as the other man pinning him in his place took off running.

She just watched him go. If he wasn't going to fight her and run away like a coward instead, then it's a waste of her energy to go after him.

She was on her knees in front of Lando in an instant. Her eyes rake over his body to look for any signs of injury. Satisfied, she unties all the ropes that had made his escape impossible.

His turn now to assess her. Lando's hand flying up to put pressure on the slit on her shoulder.

"What the hell is going on?" The waiver in his voice is not even trying to hide itself.

"My father has decided to use a different means to get to me.”

He's shocked at how steady her voice is. He can see the murky fear in her eyes, but also something he can't pinpoint.

"Are you alright?"

"Shaken up, obviously, but alive."

Her tears of relief are mixed with the blood on her cheeks.

Neither knew how this was going to end, but they couldn't spend much more time thinking about it.

"Do you know where he's keeping Charles and Max?"

He nods slowly, impressed at her composire. Then he's taking her hand and leading her onwards.

~

Jos was dejected at the sight of the four of them celebrating together. He hated that his son didn't listen to him or want anything to do with him, for that matter.

He knew what he was doing was wrong. But he'd made a deal.

He gets his son back, and the maniacal genius gets his daughter back. It's a win-win aside from the British boy and Anoying Monegasque having to lose out on life. But it was a risk he was willing to take.

The man he’d been working with found him. Knew him even. It was creepy, but he was willing to work with it. The mad man wanted his daughter back for something he couldn’t explain and Jos wanted his son back.

If only Jos had known Max would fight tooth and nail for her- for them.

~

Charles had a flight and fight response. First, he tried flight. He tried to run to the safety of Max but was foiled instantly. He wanted to check on Lando, but they had dragged the Brit away so long ago.

Now he's alone and struggling. They've been trying to pin him down, but he's been masterfully landing kicks on any place he could to their bodies.

He wasn't going down without a fight.

It was when they started talking about her that his body went lax. The things they said just morally sounded terrible.

"I hope this is worth it."

"Pretty sure is she can bring back the dead.”

"To bad she can’t have her own kids. This would be easier for all of us if she could.” Charles had no clue what they were talking about. None of it was making sense. He did understand that the intent was to bring her back to wherever the devil is living.

Oh, how he wanted to scream. How he wanted to yell at her to stay away, that they would be fine. But it was too late.

He could see her silhouette walking towards him. She looked calm. Her presence helping his mind to think rationally.

Though it was no longer rational as every person around him started clawing at their throats. Coughing, rasping, and pleading for whatever had them to stop.

Charles knew it wouldn't.

She stood there barely moving her hands. He could see the lights reflecting of her sweat. Then Lando was behind him, pulling out of the restraints. Reassuring him that everything was going to be okay now.

He couldn't help but relax into the brits hold.

He didn't know if they died as they fell. And frankly, he didn't care in this moment.

She crouched down to his level, cupping his face with her hands. He’s glad to see them both okay but the word takes hold as he notices the holes littering her body.

“Are you okay Did they hurt you?” They both ask him. Though one is more frantic than the other. He nods his head, really flooding his body at the sight of the two.

~

 Abu Dhabi was an interesting race this year. Max had already won the world drivers championship. Regardless, the race was still good and fun and he put himself being able to relax even while he was driving.

The group had gone out to celebrate. He had won. Redbull had won. Obviously, there was going to be a party.

The quartet, however, did not plan on staying long. It had been a long year for all of them, filled with many highs and lows. They all wanted to celebrate with each other in peace.

They had escaped a moment and decided to walk along the track just the four of them. The stars were out and the moon is bright. The lights from the track are still turned on. It felt peaceful, like nothing could take this moment away from them.

Then it was gone.

In the blink of an eye, Max was being dragged away from his lovers. Unknown hands and foreign voice is coming in every direction. He screamed, and he thrashed in an attempt to escape. But the hold on him was too much those. The people holding him there came prepared. So much for being a high performance athlete.

It felt like hours, even though it was probably just minutes. He hadn’t necessarily given up on fighting, but it felt pointless, and he was running out of energy. He needed to conserve what he had left to come up with a plan.

Then his father came out of the haze. He lectured him about why he was doing this for his own good.

Oh, how Max was seething.  His father had once again managed to get in the middle of his personal life. Claiming of what he was doing was for his benefit.

Max yelled in anger. He didn’t know all what he was saying just thought it felt good to get it out of his system.

Then a new voice. One he’d never heard before.

“Relax, you can have him to yourself soon enough.” The voice said.

His father was mumbling in Dutch as he walked away obediently. It was shocking for Max to see. Jos didn’t normally walk away from a fight.

They kept him on his knees but they had barely touched him. If he had to guess, Max would say his father struck a deal. The thought makes him want to throw up.

Everything in him wants to fight. He wants to scream out to see if his partners respond.

But he didn’t need to.

It’s blurry. He didn’t realize he was crying. The flash of his lovers comforting eyes the only thing pulling him back from his increasing panic.

Two of them. Where’s the third?

He can hear the sound of crushing bones and shrill screams.

The three of the, are huddled together. Lando has his buried in Max’s chest and Charles’ arms are wrapped tightly around his midsection.

Then the sickening calm of silence.

He can hear her heavy pants. He can smell the carnage around him.

Slowly he gets up and approaches the female like a wild animal.

She looks psychotic in a way. Her skin is slick with sweat. Her body is stitching itself together but her wounds have drenched her clothes in a dark red.

Blood seems to cover most of her.

She looks exhausted. Her visible skin has lost its color. She looks like she’s on edge, scanning her surroundings for more threats.

Max doesn’t touch her when he gets close. He can see the tears pulling in her eyes, taking in what she’s done.

She sinks to her knees. The weight of it all pulls her to the ground. “Are you hurt?”

Max looks at her with love. She’d always made sure everyone else came first. She’s bleeding out before his eyes and yet she’s asking if he’s okay.

He sets himself in front of her.

“Why aren’t you scared? I’m everything he said I am.” Her voice breaks. She’d killed them but Max knew it wasn’t out of any good feelings. She wasn’t satisfied with herself. She had done it to protect them.

Lando and Charles are next to him now. Charles is the first to reach for her hand. She flinched away at first but then relaxes at the touch, letting the warmth of his skin remind her that everyone is alive.

“We could never be scared of you, mon amour. You were protecting us.”

“But I killed them.” She sobs. Her mouth falling open in a silent scream. Her arms close around herself as she pushes herself as close to the ground as possible.

Max knows they need to get out of there. People are going to be here soon and they’ll ask to many questions.

But they aren’t at fault, so why is he scared?

Screw it, he’s calling Seb.

The four of them pile into each other. The female wails have not slowed and their doing her best to get her to breath. Her blood pools onto the tarmac even though her wounds are closing slowly before their eyes.

Max manages to get his cell to work. The screen shattered and he can barely see what’s on it because of the static, but it works.

He fails Sebs number. He feels guilt about spoiling his retirement party but he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Hello? Max?”

“Help.”

~

She wasn’t sure what was happening. There are sirens and police surrounding the area now. People are asking her questions that she can’t respond too. Her skin is on fire and she can’t feel her limbs. She just wants to go home.

Seb hasn’t left her. She’s clutching his hand like a child. The fear of being left alone with strangers and her thought to much to handle right now.

The other three are answering questions. Mostly about how she looks like she went to hell and back and they have some scraped knees and bruises.

“Y/N is trained in martial arts and self-defence.” Explains the Dutch for the thousandth time. “They came after us. Majority of them ran away. And do you blame her for fighting? Shes been kidnapped before for fucks sake!”

Max stomps away from the first responders and back to her. He sits down next to her in the ambulance and huffs. “They aren’t listening.”

“Patience. They are trying to get all the information.” Seb continues wiping blood off her exposed body. Her clothes are decimated and her hair is a crusty tangled mess.

“I know. It’s just frustrating. I want the to catch the people who organized this.”

“Your dad one of them?”

Max turns his head away in shame. “I highly doubt he’ll come back to any races after he exposed himself like this.”

“One can hope.” Seb sighs and Max nods his head in agreement. Seb runs to rag over the wound in her shoulder, the sting causing her to let out a hiss of pain through her teeth. “Sorry, Love.”

The adrenaline that had once been fueling her had dwindled away into nothing now. Everything hurts and she’s tired, but Seb said she needs to stay awake for now.

Lando peeks his head into the vehicle. “They want to ask you questions, love. If you aren’t up to it I’ll let them know.” Lando patiently awaits her response. Wordless, she stumbles out of the bed and into Lando’s arms. He helps her out of the ambulance, and they take slow steps back onto the tarmac. Her breathing gets more uneven with each step.

Lando keeps his arm around her waist to help her to her destination. "You don't have to do this yes, we can wait until you're stronger." She smiles at him with appreciation, but she knows it's better to do it now.

The officer meets her halfway, and Charles jogs to catch up with them.

"Did you recognize any of the attackers?"

"No."

"Did you kill the seven that were on the track when we arrived."

"Yes."

"Why is that?"

"They wanted to kill us."

"How do you know?"

"They said so. They held knives to throats and huns to heads."

Charles had never heard her sound so robotic. Like every answer had been preprogrammed into her.

"We're they the ones who hurt you?"

"Yes."

"What happened with Max, Charles, and Lando?"

Her breath hitches, and the tears start again. Lando increases the pressure of his hold as her knees go to buckle.

"They almost died. They got them by surprise and tried to kill them to get to me." She can't stop the cries that sake her body again.

Charles is at her other side. The two are trying to keep her upright. Her dry heaving not helping them.

They decided they heard enough. So they dragged the group down to the police station to test them for every possible mind altering substance on the planet.

She cried every time they touched her. The medical equipment is not helping her state if mind.

The four males sit and wait for her. They weren't allowed to go with. She fought, tooth and nail, because she didn't want to leave them. They begged to let at least one of them go with her, but we're ultimately denied.

The look of panic on her face when she was being hauled away broke all of them.

An hour later, an officer came to give them an update. "We're holding her overnight."

"Absolutely not." States sebastian in protest. "The girl is traumatized. Her family almost died tonight, and she's been dealing with strangers keeping her away from them. You might want to rethink."

The man in front of them gives seb an exasperated look. "She killed seven people. We have no witnesses that can give an outsiders perspective. And we're waiting on security footage. Her blood work is anything but normal, and you seem dead set on leaving." The man explains. "I will have someone call you with an update tomorrow."

The boys left. Sullen. Tired. Broken.

They slept on sebastians' floor that night. Hanna watched as they passed out as soon as they got in the door. Seb just hugged her. His distress clear to her.

She deserves better. She was a child who had her innocence stolen.

~

The holding cell is cold and metallic. The air smells musty. The colors contrast her own appearance.

They didn't even give her new clothes or a hairbrush.

After hours of waiting, someone came in with a laptop. The image of her on the track is already on the screen.

The play button is pressed.

It's what happened but from an outsiders perspective.

She panics. Her whole body trying to not relive these moments.

They come over the gate with knives and guns drawn. Three of them immediately going for her.

You can't see it, but she’s using her powers. It looks like a mere glitch on the screen.

She disarms the first and takes a knife to the hip from the second. A knife she promptly pulls out of her and slams into his throat.

The first bullets came from the one behind. The one in front keeping her sandwiched innetween them.

They talked at this point, but the video doesn't have sound.

The first throws her to the ground, her head snapping from impact on the tarmac.

She reachches for the knife in the second man's throat. The now slick metal makes a gorey sound as it slides out of his next. She launches at the third before he can get another shot of. His finger never makes it to the trigger.

The third is a lot stronger than her. She coaxed her visions into guiding her, showing her how to get him on the ground. Her leg hooks into the back of his knee to pull him to the earth.

She waits now. Holding up her hands in surrender. Pleading with him to stop.

He dosents. His knife is now aimed at her. Me manages to lodge it into her stomach. Again, she pulls it out and slits the last man's throat.

Then she's sprinting.

She had heard the shots of protest from the boys. They were going to use them as leverage. She had to run. She had to heal. So she did both, managing to weave some things back together before she found Lando. Using her visions to guide her.

She was going to overdue it but she didn't care.

Lando had been forced to his knees. He had a gun passed to his head. Tears had glistened his cheeks as he mumbled words of forgiveness.

Then another stupid knife found its way into her shoulder. She returned the favor after that.

The man with the gun took off back over the fence. She didn't care, though. Lando was her priority at that moment.

Then she's untying him, making sure he's okay and running off to hopefully find the other two.

The camera angle switch’s again.

Charles is trying to kick away his captives, landing him a punch to his ribs and an elbow to his knees. They put all their weight on him to hold him steady.

Then their clawing at their throats. Her and Lando just standing and watching.

The video pauses. She didn't even realize she had been crying and shaking til she's brought back to the present.

"They have no fingerprints on them. No signs they poisoned themselves. You admitted to killing seven. How did you do it?"

She shrugs. How is she supposed to respond to this? "I guess I assumed I killed them. Me and Lando didn't know what was happening. We just stood there trying to assess the situation."

She feels like she might believe her own lie. There is no way to explain that. Her and Lando both just stare at what's happening.

Then the video turns back on.

Her and Lando are running to Charles, untying him, checking for injuries, then running off to find Max.

The last stint is something she wants to forget.

The group around Max and Jos had been massive. But they saw her walking towards them and fled the scene. All except one.

They'd fought for a ridiculous amount of time. She'd felt his bones snap underneath her. He'd pummeled her to a pulp. He pulled her hair. Her visions were no help as she was exhausted. They had each other in a headlock. She couldn't breathe. It didn't help he was stronger.

But her powers helped in that are as she used them to snap his neck. The sound of cracking the only think filling her ears for thirty seconds.

Then it shows them all together. It shows her on the ground screaming, crying, throwing up.

Then it's done.

She can't move. She can't breathe. Every moment now fresh in her brain once again.

"Technically speaking, this was all self-defense. They hit you first in every scenario."

She glared at whoever this man was that made her relive this.

But she didn't say anything because his next words were 'free to go.'

It's late and dark. She's still covered in blood. But her phone is broken.

So she walks.

She walks, and she cries.

She wants it all to end. The little girl wanted to be with her family. With sebastian and Hanna and her siblings. She needs to know her boys are okay.

She spaces out, lost in her own head as she arrives at the hotel. At Sebs door. Praying he's awake or at least will wake up.

She knocks. Fully expecting that she will be spending the night outside the door. To her shock, it opens.

Seb pulls her inside where she's tackled in hugs and kisses.

"They let you go?!"

"They had no reason to keep me."

She's aware of how awful she looks. She needs new clothes which she doesn't have here but their hotel room is farther than sebs.

And at 6 in the morning, they are in their own room. Seb, having driven back himself.

The boys are getting things together to help her clean up.

She stares at the wall. Blank and empty. Just how she feels.

Max and Lando are out at the store. They have nothing they need to help take care of her. They were expecting to leave this morning, but the benefit of flying private is that Max can change when they leave.

Charles is running a bath for her. She's a mess of litteral blood, sweat, and tears.

He croutches down next to her and pulls one of her hands into his own. "What do you say we get cleaned up, hm?"

She lets him help her to her feel. The warmth of the steam from the bath hitting her skin makes her feel something close to alive again.

Charles helps her out of her trashed clothing and then holds her hand while she gets in. "Do you want a moment to yourself, Chéri?"

She almost panics for a second. "Don't leave me- please."

"Do you want me on their with you or next to you?"

She likes when he asks with easy words. "With."

Then Charles is stripping of his own clothes and climbing in behind her.

He takes his time rinsing her skin. Careful not to mess with her new stitches that the paramedics gave her.

He spent time untangling her hair with nimble fingers and washing out every last bit of grime.

She relaxed into his hold. The safety of his arms reminding that he's alive, so is Max and Lando.

They're still in the bath when the other two come back. Lando and Max take the opportunity to get the food ready and set out their clothes for her to wear when she comes back.

“I know where both enjoying this, but I think if we stay in any longer we may become one with the water.” Charles laughs.

He gets out first and wraps a towel around his waist. He lays a spare on the floor so they don’t slide around anthem helps her to the ledge. He takes a towel and dries her off with it, taking extra care of her wounds and double checking that her stitches look okay still. He wraps her towel around her and slips his clothes back on. He wasn’t going to put her trashed clothing back on her.

Charles guides her out of the bathroom into the dimly lit suite. Max and Lando help her into their clothes; Max’s shirt and Lando’s sweats. Then they crawl into bed together.

Her cries shatter their hearts. The broken sobs of overwhelming feelings finally getting to her. “I don’t deserve this after what I did.”

“What you did was save us geliefde. We could ask for anything more then that.”

“But I killed people. He was right. I’m a fucking killer. A monster.”

“You killed them because you had too. It sucks and I can’t say I understand how your feeling, but if you didn’t do it then we would be dead. So no matter where your thoughts go, the three of us are grateful for what you did out there.”

“We love you Chére. Our superhero.”

~

Next ->

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[thissying]

interview with Gianni Vecchio, about Max

In the meantime, for five years now Vecchio has been part of Verstappen's sim racing team, which got an extra Verstappen-mark last year by it becoming part of Verstappen.com Racing. When he got the invitation in 2018, he could barely believe it. "It was bizar, I was a bit starstruck to be honest," Vecchio begins his exclusive interview with Motorsport.com. "But through the years we've built a sort of friendship. It's not that we see him as a Formula 1 driver all the time, we see him more as a Team Redline team mate. We spend a lot of time together, we practice together a lot. But we also have a lot of fun. It's not just sim racing. We play FIFA together a lot, we play Call of Duty a lot, we play games like Among Us. A friendship has developed. We share a lot of the same interests. It's cool to have someone like him as your team mate, but also as a friend because he keeps pushing you. That's the most important thing in sim racing and sports in general. So yeah, that's not so bad, it's always good to have someone who pushes you."

Not only in the simulator does Verstappen turn out to be competitive, in FIFA he also regularly defeats his Team Redline team mates. "Max wants to be the best in everything he does," Vecchio knows from experience. "He has a few friends in FIFA eSports, named Team Gullit. He plays with them, so he gets tips on the skills he can perform. He's in it completely. When he plays, he's crazy about FIFA. He's the best because he puts the most time in it and has access to the best players," the sim racer laughs.

For Team Redline that mentality is actually one of the big advantages of having Verstappen as a team mate, states Vecchio. "Like I said, it's about having someone who pushes you. If he sees you're making an effort and you really show you want to advance the team and yourself and that you have the same goal of winning everything as he does, then he's one of the best people you can meet," Vecchio praises the two time world champion. "He gives a lot. It's incredible to have someone like that, who pushes you, gives you tips and is also a sort of mentor."

Team Redline has created a safe space for all sim racers and real life racers so they can communicate with each other. That's also why Vecchio considers himself a friend of Verstappen. "It's not like we see each other often during the year, but fact is we are in touch every day.

We send messages to each other and are in voice chat channels. We talk about what's going on in his life but he's also interested in what happens in our lives. He continues to ask what we do, what's on the calendar, what we're doing. That's pretty cool. You know there's someone on the other end who cares about you. Talking to him is like talking to a good friend. It's like we developed a friendship, we know that there's trust and respect for each other. That's something that helps us very much in the team, to have a safe space. It's just great to have that."

And yet, it's not only a positive thing to have Verstappen as a team mate. It happens sometimes that the Dutchman sets a fastest lap in no-time with very little practice. "I wouldn't say it's a bad thing, but sometimes it can be annoying!" Vecchio laughs. "He'll come back from a Formula 1 weekend and we let him know what combination [car and circuit] we're driving. Within five minutes Max Verstappen is P1. And I'm like: 'What's happening here? What am I doing wrong?' He's annoyingly adept at everything he does. I wouldn't say it's irritating but it is something that gets on my nerves sometimes!", he jokes.

On the other hand, Vecchio knows that it's because of his skills that Verstappen makes a good team mate. He's therefore learned a lot from the Red Bull Racing driver in his five years at Ream Redline. "Keep pushing yourself, never give up and even if you're not at 100 percent, then try to find the other one or two percent," the sim racer cites as examples of the things he learned from Verstappen. "Keep pushing beyond your limits in sim racing. Stay focused, keep chasing your goals and stay motivated in everything you do," he rounds off the list.

That's how a lot of knowledge came to the sim racers, but have they been able to teach Verstappen some things? "That's hard to say," laughs Vecchio. "Racing-wise he's a complete driver, he knows what to do in every car. It's not that he's only good in a Formula 1 car, sometimes he tests a GT-car and he's incredible in that, too. As far as racing is concerned, we couldn't teach him very much." Still, Vecchio can name one thing, although that's more to do with the principles of sim racing. "At first, he wasn't a sim racer like we are. We had to explain a little how it works when it comes to managing traffic in multi-class races. Maybe that was something we could teach him a little, but we benefit a lot from him, more than he does from us," the Italian German points out.

That's why Vecchio emphasises that Verstappen's influence on the team should not be underestimated. "It's incredible, really insane. It's like a crane lifting an 8 tons object, that's how I see it. He pushes us, creates opprtunities for us with Heineken, Red Bull, Verstappen.com... He pushes us to the limit because he sees the talent in us. He is like a mentor, he wants to help everyone move forward. It's incredible and cool to see, but the same goes for Atze [Kerkhof, team manager], for everyone in the team. We push each other, but Max is the one who really gives that last 10 percent extra when it comes to pushing.

Because of his busy F1 schedule, Verstappen can't always be found in the simulator. The Dutchman likes spending his free time sim racing and so takes part in special events like 12h Bathurst or 24h Le Mans. Even when he can't participate in those races, he'll be busy behind the scenes to support Team Redline, Vecchio reveals. "Call me crazy, but it's insane. Max has a gaming laptop with all the simulator games: F1, iRacing, anything. When he has time... and call me crazy but it happens every week like that! We're at home with a steering wheel and pedals and he's doing it with a controller. A controller, iRacing, a simulation game, very difficult... Even though he can't really give us feedback, he tries what he can to help us ahead. So it doesn't matter if he's on the road or at home. It doesn't matter. Whatever he has scheduled, he'll practice with us - even if he can't race with us. It doesn't matter to him because he wants to help the team forward. That says it all."

Even though the controller doesn't give nearly the same feedback as a steering wheel and pedals, Verstappen, even on a controller, is hardly inferior to his Team Redline team mates. "It's insane. I always thought talent is in the legs and arms but he even has it in his fingers!" As an example, Vecchio cites the preparation for iRacing's 24h Spa, which was held in the same weekend as the Hungarian GP. "We did a race and he was only three tenths slower! On a controller, compared to us. Can you imagine? Three tenths, on a controller, for an entire stint! It's not over one lap, but several laps. That's bizarre."

#max: friend. team mate. mentor. 🥺 #f1 #max verstappen #gianni vecchio #team redline #sim racing #max in dutch #my post

[f0point5]

I LOVE your opinions about the drivers, especially Lando. They are just so refreshing and almost “opinion clearing” in the way you resonate fact with opinion. I struggle with bringing up my own opinions about Lando due to his fan base, but I 100% agree that Oscar has the potential to, and most likely will become McLarens number 1 driver. I find that Lando tends to crumble under the pressure and it shows when he races because he can only really push himself to 2nd position against heavy hitters like Max or Carlos, and then seems to wilt away and either stay in 2nd without challenging or fall back to 3-5th, while Oscar capitalises. I also find that Lando is the only driver I have seen to publically degrade his team-mates feelings/experiences and I expect that to amp up if Oscar continues to pressure him. As much as I hope it doesn’t happen, 2024 maybe the year that Lando’s dislike towards Oscars success becomes increasingly evident and we see more snarky comments directed at Oscar.

I like Lando, on the whole, he’s fast, but he is a bottler. Of any of the front runners he’s the one you want on the front row with your fave because without fail, he will panic and lose the lead. It’s not an if, it’s a when. It’s often the same with qualifying, which is why I take such issue with “it should have been pole”, because quite frankly it was never going to be pole. He has the raw pace but he chokes at critical moments. I like to think he will get over this but at the same time I think it will be a constant feature of his career (not that he will always choke, but that he will always have a mistake in him, and it will come out from time to time.

Whereas Oscar has yet to mess up in a critical moment and that is insanely impressive in his rookie season, where he’s running up with the big dogs. Ngl I think Lando would have lost that sprint in Qatar, but Oscar was leading a Red Bull and he kept his calm. He has tyre management issues but that’s experience, not pressure. He’s handled the pressure incredibly, and I think next season, watch out.

Sadly, I think this will knock Lando’s confidence even more. He does get competitive with his teammates and isn’t always the smartest about not making that abundantly clear… I don’t think McLaren will looking as great of a pairing by the end of next year, much as I love them now.

#f1 #formula 1 #lando norris #oscar piastri