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missydior · 3 days

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PRETTY IN PINK ୨୧

♡: when an unfamiliar face tries to steal you away, oscar is there to remind them that you are his.

notes: oscar piastri/reader, established relationship, protective & somewhat possessive demeanour, unwelcome attention from strangers, pet names, fluff, kisses & hugs.

– based on this request ☁️

word count: 1.8k

a/n: thank you nonnie & i love this req since i am the pretty-pink girl of my neighbourhood lol. as some know, i am not much of a lover of toxic tropes or that dark romance genre so i apologise if this isn’t the kind of ‘possessive’ you were thinking of, i was craving some soft & loving osc. <3

♡ ✧ 。*・.

The aroma of petrichor against warm pastries from the L'Amour du Pain Vieux bakery nearby lingers, skies over Montréal grey with the lull of clouds where hints of the early afternoon light dance through and upon the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve below, a gentle remnant of dampness about the smooth stone streets from rainfall earlier in the hour that has since come to a halt.

With qualifying to commence in a few hours – highlighting the true beginning of the Canadian Grand Prix where your boyfriend hopes to secure the finest result possible – there is a heightening feel about the paddock as you wander through, latte of oat-milk and vanilla balanced in one soft-skinned hand, donned in your favourite, little dress like blushing, pale peonies.

After an early albeit comfortable, familiar morning waking beside Oscar in your shared hotel suite amongst the quiet luxury of pretty, minimal décor – mussed bed sheets of lush cotton, cashmere throws and interlocked limbs – shared, slow kisses and breakfast consisting of sweet, syruped pancakes and coffee, before greeting the true day ahead, you are most excited.

Amongst conversational journalists with inviting, saccharine smiles merely for enticement and photographers who do not hesitate to notice your face, the lovely and pretty diamond that is Oscar Piastri's lovable girlfriend, you have never quite opposed to the media attention so long as you have him by your side.

"Hm." Chanel ballet flats of embroidered ivory and light-pink clicking on the path, comforted by your sweet treat in hand whilst balancing your iPhone in the other – a brief conversation with your lover concluding he would be busy for another couple of minutes at least due to press conferences – you are mostly contently lost in your own daydreams.

"Excuse me?"

It is the sound of a voice addressed in your direction that has you faltering in your gait, pretty head tilting just the slightest to glimpse over your shoulder just as the sudden voice and approach of a male has you somewhat shy.

"Sorry, I feel like I know you from somewhere," He is youthful, perhaps the same age or a year older than the aforementioned by looks, dressed rather comfortably in a clean, white shirt of linen only half-buttoned against the beige hues of his trousers, Française Cartier watch glinting on his wrist.

His mouth curves on a smile, eyes like caramel dancing over your face and lower until he allows himself the fleeting, silent glance at how the neat edges of your mini dress hug your thighs before straightening his stance once again, lithe fingers threading through his styled, light hair.

The words leave you a touch perplexed given you certainly do not recognise him and lack any recollection of his face, laughing uncertainly as you tuck a stray hair behind the shell of your ear with the clink of a rose quartz bracelet about your wrist, the sound sweet as an angel's.

"I'm sorry, I don't think–"

"It's alright, I don't either." The man continues with an amiable shrug as though pretending to understand or assume what you had been meaning to say, countenance turning more charismatic on the edge of a revealed dimple, "My name's Jacques, love."

There is something in his gaze and the execution of his demeanour which has you hesitating, rosebud mouth parted ajar whilst you glance about momentarily even when the hint of a natural, polite smile remains.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Jacques," You reply quietly, the expression you hold towards him is a pleasant one despite yourself, although not enough to reveal the slight discomfort that lurks in the depths of your stomach, "But my boyfriend is–"

"Right here."

As if the mention or mere thought of him was an innate manifestation, you are greeted with the presence of a certain, handsome individual where you recognise the warmth of his aura just as fingertips are felt on the curve of your vertebrae against a splayed palm.

You cannot deny or refuse the immediate beginnings of a soft smile and the ease flourishing within you as soon as his touch is known, the lingering scent of his cologne with hints of patchouli and rosewood permeating, an incline of your head allowing gazes to meet momentarily in mutual greeting.

He stands tall beside you, the limb draped around your waist a familiar presence whilst eyes of an intimate, rich hue that remind you of coffee and autumn dance between yourself and the other man who now stands a touch awkwardly with a dissuaded visage.

"Is this man bothering you, princess?" His tone is honey-like, a smooth and lowered baritone that you adore, though there is the telltale sign of his fingertips that press a touch firmer against your hipbone, and the arch of a brow, that demonstrates the silent brewing of protectiveness in the midst of his affections for you. Oscar Piastri is an affectionate sweetheart, true to his feelings and honest in generosity with the renowned presence of patience, though can be a defensive figure when the subject concerns his girl.

"Not really. He was just being friendly," Your cadence is light and sweet with imploration, the subtle gesture of a kiss left against his cheekbone in comforting warmth as you balance on the edge of your toes momentarily.

You are sweet, almost too much so with your pretty looks and the faint glimpses of innocence there even though you know exactly where you stand; it has Oscar longing to return to the quiet privacy of home where nobody will harass you both for attention, where he can have you to himself even if only for a little while.

Jacques chuckles, almost uncertainly in a manner that juxtaposes his previous incentive whilst tucking one palm into the concealing wool of his tailored slacks when he nods, "I was just saying 'hello', no harm done."

The Australian does not seem particularly reassured though there is no instigation for a disagreement, looking over the other only a moment longer without another word before he's silently coaxing you against his side when he walks with a gait somewhat quicker than his usual.

"Wait," Your kissable lips touch a little downward in uncertain wonder, though you follow his guidance easily, a touch intrigued by his lingering silence that lacks explanation, "Where are we headed? Was I doing something wrong?"

There is no initial comfort or answer to your inquiries as he looks forward, evidently lost to his own thoughts whilst internally calming himself from the dwindling ache of his possession over you, a muscle in the line of his jaw shifting almost imperceptibly.

A boring press conference consisting of being asked the same questions like a repetitive, tedious dance had already left him a touch bitter, and the sight of a stranger trying to steal his girlfriend's attention away only aggravates him further.

Eventually, your shared walk leads to the quieter alcoves of the McLaren hospitality comforts until he's nudging you backwards through a white-varnished door, breathing in the sweetness of your perfume – Good Girl: Blush – with hints of almond against sweet peonies, vanilla and coumarin.

"You weren't doing anything wrong," Oscar murmurs, his arm entwined securely about your figure as his lips ghost over the outer shell of your ear near the glimmer of divine, embellished earrings he gifted you on your birthday after he had seen you admiring them through the glass of a jewellery shop once, swallowing slowly.

It is a quiet, comfortable room – one that he often confides in the refuge of when in need of fleeing from the never-ending attention and demands of his profession, an inviting, plush chaise lounge of white cushioning, shelves and cupboards of various items.

Your glossed lips touch into a delicate pout of mystery, a gentle sound of consideration and acknowledgement leaving the back of your throat whilst arms drape loosely around his neck, the edges of your thumbs tracing along his nape where you feel the soft hairs there.

"Then what was it?"

"Nothing." It is an uncharacteristically brief reply, though the manner his lightly-calloused palms cradle the small of your waist until he cannot quite restrain himself from the tightened grasp there with a brief glance towards the closed door, exhaling through his teeth in some kind of defeat, "I'm... Do you want me to be honest?"

The question is uttered so softly that the question leaves you a fraction breathless, heart thrumming within the interns of your rib cage like a dove locked away as you nod.

"I always want the truth from you, Ossie," You respond in a lull so saccharine it sounds like a sing-song of delight, the edge of your index finger and thumb dancing downwards against the soft fabric of his sweater before pausing when you meet his eyes through your lashes.

Oscar sighs, though there is the slightest of reservations of a smile the corners of his mouth at the manner in which you address him, a nickname reserved especially for when the two of you are alone together and intimate.

He does not immediately bless you with an answer, tilting your head towards him in silent, shared invitation before your mouths melt together. It is slow and sweet, tasting one another and your belongings forgotten on the nearby, makeshift desk of polished oak, a sweetened hint of café au lait on your tongue.

"Seeing that man," He begins between chaste kisses, not quite allowing you the liberty of shying away as he holds you close until your back nudges the ivory-coated wall behind, near drawn photographs of memorabilia from old Grand Prixes, "And how he looked at you, it made me want to–"

He pauses, inhaling audibly as though trying to meditate on his own emotions in that moment, his hands feeling over your body like a sculptor and his finest work before he swallows the remainder of his sentence with a kiss.

Oscar Piastri is an undeniably attractive man when he's possessive over you, touching every inch of you like his belongings, muttered sweet nothings and vows of devotions against your tongue. It is a warm feeling, knowing he will always protect you without hesitance. And he does, cherishes you like the pretty doll you seem to be, because he cares in some earnest, undying reality.

"I love you."

The punctuation of another kiss, "I love you more." And he traces the jut of your ribs through the thin, velveteen fabric of your rosé dress when he holds you close until you're flush together, sighing against your lips, "I will never let anybody hurt you, ever. Understood?"

"I understand."

♡ ✧ 。*・.

#୨୧ my works #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader

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dreamauri · 10 months

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‧˚⊹ 𝗱𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗶 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 ଓ :: 𝗠𝗩𝟭 ‧₊˚⤾

— you are reading: part two !!

╭╯ pairing . . . max verstappen x fem! driver! reader ) ┊ summary . . . you're unstoppable, a machine. and people dont like winners ) ┊ genre . . . angst/fluff ) ╰╮ warning . . . X )

( fic masterlist | general masterlist ) ( requests ) ( taglist )

RACE DAY Sunday May 8 2023 — Circuit de Monaco, Monaco

The crowds of cameras and team members cleared a path for you to the edge of the pool. You held the first place trophy in your hand tightly as you began running. Once you were close enough, you did a flip, spinning into the pool. You hugged your trophy as you fell into the pool head first.

Quickly resurfacing, you covered your face with your elbow to hide your face while you took the mask off to replace it. A spare was handed to you by Jj. A few other mechanics and team members jumped in. Together they lifted you up on their shoulders.

"Seventeen!" Everyone chanted together. You raised your trophy high as the cameras took photos. "Thank you so much everyone!" You shouted happily as you got out of the pool, sharing a hug with your team principle. "Lets go out after this, one seven." Some one suggested patting your back.

"I shouldn't. I don't really drink." You explained hesitantly when you were finally walking back to the garage to prepare for the duties ahead. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"I really should—" "—Seventeen." a voice caught you off, turning to the Dutch boy, he patted your back firmly. "Great driving out there." "Thank you, Max. You did—" "Max you should join us!" You pursed your lips at the situation you were finding yourself squeezed into.

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Max woke up the next day with a groan, how he had gotten back in his bed was a mystery to him. With a glass of water and a pill sitting on his night stand, there was diffidently someone who brought him back. What he didn't expect was that person to still be there, making breakfast.

After swallowing the pills, Max was greeted the smelling a delicious aroma. Following it the the kitchen, his eyes find a woman working over the stove, one that he didn't remember from the other night. "Oh, you're up earlier than I expected." Turning to face him, Max makes eye contact with a familiar face that he couldn't quite put a finger on.

". . . It's me." You broke the silence after a few moments. "Who?" Max stuttered confused. "Seventeen." You clarified shaking your head. "Surprise I guess." You shrugged plating the vegie omelette. "Finally seeing the face that you've been competing against for most of your childhood."

"Yeah . . . —Wait how'd you get in here?" "You begged me to take you home and cook for you the next morning. So, your wish has been fulfilled." You pushed the plate towards him before turning off the stove. "Thank you." He replied hesitantly sitting and starting to eat quietly.

'What else can she do?' he thought, taking another bite ( which meant he liked it ). "Do you need anything— oh hello." You reached down petting the cat that rubbed against your ancle. "Max, do you need anything else or?" "No, I'm good." He said with a mouth full. "Alright, I will be going now before Aussie drives Mkayla nuts."

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

MEDIA DAY Thursday June 16 2023 — Circuit Gilles Villeneuve, Canada

"Wait what are we doing? I wasn't told anything." Max asked you as he sat on the table opposite side to you. "We are- what's it called again. My English isn't that good." You muttered looking at the persons behind the camera trying to remember.

"It's umm . . . We have to try and guess the flavours of the Redbulls." You explained as someone placed a tray with see through plastic cups in 2 rows. "Oh easy." Max nodded, leaning forward looking at his row of the energy drinks.

"I don't drink red bull that often so I'm probably going to lose. I know Max is a- umm, wow where is my English? 'Txt'?" [Alcoholic but to energy drinks, what do you call that? Energy drink addiction? How do you say that in English].

"Oh, really? Huh-" You broke out in small laughter seeing your teammate eager to down the shots presented to him. "Oh God." You cursed after taking a sip from the first cup. "That's enough sugar to last me a year." Max laughed at you, watching you scrunch your face.

"This is . . ." Max raised his hand impatiently knowing the answer. "Max seems to know. Why don't you tell us?" "June berry." He answered without hesitation. Point after point you let max score more even though you recognized a few flavours.

He of course let you take a guess first, but you never gave an answer. "Um . . . The blue on-" "-RAHH!"

A scream made its way out of your mouth as you suddenly felt someone grab your shoulders firmly from behind. Leaning your forehead on the table embarrassed, you listened as the crew members and your teammate laughed their asses of, along with the unmistakable laugh of the honey badger from behind you.

"I'm so sorry, Sent-" You quickly cut him off by smacking his chest, an embarrassed smile reaching your eyes. "Asshole." You chuckled standing up and greeting Daniel with a hug which he gladly returned. "Oh I love her hugs, they're like gold and heaven mixed into one." Daniel smiled patting your back gently.

"Hey fancy Maxie." Daniel greeted sharing some sort of secret handshake with the blond. "I'll let you guys get back to what you were doing, sorry guys." Daniel apologized to the people behind the camera before waving goodbye.

You and Max sat back in your seats for a hot 5 seconds before you both erupted in laughter. Trying to miserably form sentences during your wheezing session. "How loud-" *wheeze* "how loud was it?"

"Joel from the garage texted me asking if Max killed someone." A crew member answered earning a few more silent laughs from you and the Dutch, both if you falling out of your seats, failing to catch your breath.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"I'll introduce us both and you can explain what we're doing." You decided, Max giving you a quick nod in agreement. "Hello Redbull addicts and non Redbull addicts." You greeted once you were given the go, already earning a laugh from your Teammate. "This is Seventeen." You pointed at Max. "She's very pretty and you all should love her. And I'm Max Verstappen, a Dutch boy with DRS issues and bad haircuts."

You weren't even half way through and Max had dropped, slipping on the ice you two were balancing on. "Oof, that must hurt . . . Well that is a DNF for seventeen. The first one in her career, let's hope she's ok."

Since finishing media tasks, marketing decided why not do some Canadian stuff when in Canada. The result was you and Max running after each other on ice, skating like idiots. There wasn't really a goal or a challenge. Just you two having fun and getting closer.

"Max is pretty isn't he?" Max joked, playing along with the switched roles. You, in the background, flexed your muscles pretending to be Max. "I have a lot muscle." You tried to imitate, making Max hold his stomach as he held on to the railings.

Soon after, you found yourself holding Max from his ankle while he laid on the floor, dragging him along as you glided on the ice. "HOW DO YOU- HOW DO YOU STO-" "OW!" Max complained once you toppled over him after hitting into the wall.

The next thing you tried to do was wrestle with him, trying to tackle or pin each other down. To the camera it looked funny, two kids throwing hands and pulling at each other as they tried to stay stable on their knees.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Introduce yourself, please."

I go by Seventeen when it comes to racing, I'm 22 years old. I drive for Oracle RedBull Racing. And unlike other drivers, I'm the best because I know I'm the best. There is no argument there. I am unbeatable and my results prove it.

"Can you tell us the story about the story of your number?"

I chose the number seventeen because it's very significant to me, it's the age of which I made my karting debut as 'seventeen', and the number as is a lucky charm for me and my family. It's also the number of former F1 racer Khadija El-Gamazi who is a big role model for me. And as for the one, it's there to foreshadow my future championship titles.

"What inspired you to take up racing and become a professional driver?"

I happen to be of a descent of a long blood line of racers, dating back to the first f1 grand Prix, le mans, rallying, drifting, and much more. I wasn't really into the sport as much as the rest of my family. At 4 one of my family members were tinkering with a kart and told me to give it a test drive. I didn't want to get off. The biggest inspiration for me to stay in the car was Marwa El-Gamazi, f1 test driver.

"How do you manage to maintain anonymity and balance your personal life while being a public figure?"

I just do it.

"What is the significance behind your chosen mask, and does it hold any personal meaning to you?"

There is no significance to my mask whatsoever. I just don't want you to see my face for my private reasons. I also don't want to be asked to take selfies while I'm buying groceries.

"How do you handle the pressures and expectations that come with being in the spotlight and racing at such a high level?"

I have a dog.

"Can you share any memorable moments or victories that have been particularly meaningful to you in your career?"

Uhhh . . . Let's see . . . So far they're all just- they're just wins you know? Yes I love winning, but they're all just stepping stones. The only truly memorable ones will be the championship deciders in which I'll be at the top.

"What advice would you give to young girls who dream of becoming professional race car drivers?"

Don't let people give you ****. It's all about self belief, trust, and hard work. You can do anything if you truly believe you can do anything.

"What are your goals and aspirations for the future, both in racing and beyond?"

I want to break all the records that I can.

"Thay must've been boring to watch." You apologized to your PR manager as you walked out of the room Netflix had taken over.

"What happens if they portray me as a villain? I was pretty blunt back there." "Relax we go you coverd." She nodded you with a confident smile. "We got time for a break. You wanna see what's the hype with Tim Hortons? I'll drive!"

"You're a lifesaver Mkayla." You smiled hooking your elbow with hers as you exited the paddock.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

RACE DAY Thursday June 18 2023 — Circuit Gilles Villeneuve, Canada

You laughed as you chased Christian on the stage, spraying him with champagne. Max came from the other side trapping the team principle between you both as you showered him with the expensive alcohol.

Your laughs filled the air as you pulled Max, Christian, and surprisingly Lando on the top pedestal, side hugging each other. "Redbull gives you?" You asked the crowd. "Wings!" The shouted the answer as the photo was taken.

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RACE DAY Sunday July 9 2023 — Silverstone Circuit, United Kingdom

Lap 39 :: When you pushed against the brakes, but you felt something snap. Your foot pushing all the way through with no resistance fighting back, sending panic up your spine as you continued to travel at 250 kilometers per hour, pressing the pedal over and over with no avail. "BREAKS! I HAVE NO BREAKS!" You panicked over the radio as you did your best to not crash out on the turn.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!" You sweared repeatedly, voice increasing in volume as you did your best to not crash out.

"Sonething is wrong. Is Seventeen okay? She's not breaking on the turns- like at all." Max informed into the radio as he trailed behind you from a safe distance. "She has no breaks. Make sure to keep the lead after she retires, Lando is 2.53 seconds behind."

Oh no.

"But she's never lost a race." He argued, feeling himself frown. 'We can force her to retire' he remembered making his heart sink. "Okay . . . keep me updated on her." "Copy."

Lap 42 :: Your hands were shaking and your face was wet. It wasn't raining, nor was it cold. You felt like you couldn't breathe as you bit and chewed on your nail, watching as the marshals assessed the scene.

"And that is a red flag and a safety car for sector 2." "Let's replay the crash there, and-" "Ooooh." "That must hurt." "Big dissapointed for Seventeen." "This marks the end of her overall 78 plus win streak and her formula one 9 win streak."

Your soul felt empty as you walked into the garage, Mkayla rubbing your back as she walked by your side. "Hey, you did amazing. No one could manage a car without breaks as long and as skilfully as you did. I'm proud of you."

'I'm proud of you.' The words echoed in your ear and it felt wrong. "But I lost." You countered, wrapping your arms around yourself, as she slowly undid the helmet strap and pulled it off.

"There's a whole lot more to racing than winning." She nodded with a smile, pulling your balaclava off handing you the black mask. You put it on without objection as she took a claw clip from her bag putting your hair up in a nice elegant bun.

You sniffed as you wiped your waterfall tears. 10 years of straight wins going down the drain felt like a a shovel in your heart. With each second that passed, it felt emptier and emptier with a hole growing deeper and darker. The only thing you could do now was watch as Max and Norris fought for the Lead, Hamilton comfortable in P3.

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"Hey." The Dutch winner sat to your side in the back of your garage. You were hugging your knees, watching as the Mechanics cheered and danced around, celebrating yet another team win. "Congrats." You told him, the waterfall in your eyes hadn't stopped since you had gotten out of the car and Max was worried you'd get dehydrated.

"Champaign?" He offered holding the bottle up. "I don't drink, thank you." You shook your head, politely declining. "Really? . . . But you went out with us that day in Monaco." "Yeah, 'no' wasn't really an option at the time. I don't think you remember, but I was your designated driver." You jogged up his head shrugging. "Right. Right . . ."

"I'm sorry . . . About your streak. I know it ment a lot to you." He didn't know why he was apologizing, he won. "Eh. It wasn't your fault." You dismissed. "Now stop hanging out with the mother of depression and go have fun. You deserve it." You nudged his shoulder with a weak smile.

"Are you su-" "Go." You chuckled pushing his shoulder. Max nodded, patting your bicep gently before getting up. "Winner buys dinner." He told you before leaving.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Is that fish?" You looked at his sandwich with a look of disapproval. "Tsk tsk." "What? It's just a sandwich." He defended himself, voice muffled from the fries in his mouth.

"Fish sandwich. Which is even worse than fish." You shook your head in dissapointment, opening your take out box. "This is real food." You pointed at the shawarma starting to eat.

"What's that?" "It's heaven in a box." "Let me try." "Can I have some of the Pepsi in return?" "Deal." You shook hands with him, making the exchange.

The two of you were sitting atop the hood of a rented car, eating silently. Max had bought dinner, him eating McDonald's, and you Lazeez. The two of you had made a small trip to Niagara falls, watching the waterfall as you ate in silence.

"How fast do you think the water travels?" "Faster than Ferrari that's for sure." He commented making you break a small laugh. He sat in silence watching you eat, the small lights coming from the distant post lights and the moon light illuminated your face.

Max felt in debt to you. After all, what had happened today, was his fault. "Stay on her tail." His dad suggested before the race. He didn't think much of it before. Only when his dad congratulated him after the race had he discovered what had happened.

He felt like he sabotaged you, even though his father was the one to. And Max felt too guilty, to tell you, to not make it up to you somehow. He was starting to like you, and he did not want you to go down like that.

"We have a week off till Hungary. Any plans?" "Think I'm gonna go for a family visit. You?" "Not sure really. I just know I'm going to Monaco."

". . . Do you want to come with me? The weather is nice around this time of year." "Where are we going?"

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You're French?" "I'm not French." You quickly shook your head as you walked through the airport. Max had to conceal his identity, because that would get a lot less attention than both Seventeen and Max Verstappen showing up.

"How do you take your coff- actually never mind. Stay here." You pointed at the chair, setting your suitcase next to his. "Do not get up. Don't take your eyes off the bags." You lectured.

"I'm not 5." He defended, making you chuckle as you pushed the brand-less cap further down his face. "Shh." You hushed before walking to the vending machine.

He listened to you none the less, keeping both bags in his hands while you did what you did. "Cheers." You held out the Redbull can for him once you returned. "Thanks."

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Kart a7mar meen! Roo7 el3ab be3eed!" Your cousin shouted from the living room. "I need a translator!" Max shouted afterwards. Leila and Max were playing fifa, and you were in the kitchen preparing breakfast whilst whispering prayers to keep you patient.

Leila and Max were a chaotic duo that should have not been brought together. With a shared love for football and similar temper, along with the language barrier for the cherry on top, they were driving you nuts.

"I can't even shout to both at them at the same time." You complained to the puppy chewing on a ball while resting between your feet. "Lulu, kefaya l3b. Hati Max we ta3ali. [Enough gaming, lulu. Come here and bring Max. "I heard my name?"

"Putain d'enfer." [fucking hell] you heard the girl cuss as she pulled the blond along from his wrist. "Langue." [Language] You scolded, smacking her wrist that tried to steal from your plate.

You pushed the plate filled with pancakes towards her, making her gasp in excitement. You pushed the veggie and egg plate towards Max, who looked between his plate and Leila's in jealousy.

He tried to steal one of hers, only for his hand to be pushed away as she started eating. "Leila. Meteb2eesh bakhila, ediloh wa7da." [Leila, don't be selfish. Give him one] You scolded her as you pulled a stool for yourself to sit on.

The 8 year old looked at Max warily before holding up a pancake for him. The Dutch tried to take it, only for it to be pulled away from his grasp. "Hey." He huffed folding his arms. "She wants to feed you." You explained. "It's a cultural thing. If you're gonna eat out of our plate, we're gonna hand feed you."

"Oh . . ." Max hesitantly leaned down, opening his mouth. Leila gently fed him, keeping her free hand under his mouth to catch any crumbs. You couldn't help but snap a photo quietly, a small smile spreading on your face.

Max and Leila had quickly become best of friends somehow. While walking through the streets of Paris, the Dutch driver carried your cousin on his shoulders, sharing a crep with her.

Looking through shirts, because you were buying a whole new closet for Max because he didn't know how to dress, Leila pointed at different things for the blond.

Max didn't hesitate to pick the ones she chose, even holding up things for her to compare between. Needless to say, you used your camera a lot today, you were surly going to have an album dedicated just for them.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Wednesday June 19 2023

"Go right, go right!" Max shouted gesturing with his arms dramatically as he watched Leila play. Leila had begged you to bring Max along to watch her football match after school, and you could tell she was trying to impress him.

You sat on the grass watching as Max gained the attention of other parents and audience with the foreign language. "Goal!" He cheered, sharing a high five with the girl once she came over giggling happily. "Don't DNF now." He joked gently nudging her back to the field.

"She's good." He told you smiling as he watched the game. "I mean, she likes Mo. Salah. He's a big role model for her, I wouldn't be surprised if she pulls off one of his victory dances.

"Cover number 6!" He called getting back in the game. You chuckled smiling to yourself. A ring pulled you out of your concentration. Picking up your phone and moving away from the shouting Dutch man, you answered. "Salut . . . Oui, C'est Y/N . . . Oh— . . . Je— oui oui. Merci."

'Y/N? I've heard that before. Where?' Max thought turning to you. "What's wrong?" "I have to go down to the hospital. You stay here with Leila. Take the train home, she knows how." You pulled out your wallet, pulling out 50 euros, stuffing them in his back pocket. "Buy her an Oreo McFlurry from the McDonald's to the right of the trainstation."

You pulled his arm up, pulling a pen from your pocket as you scribbled your number down quickly on his skin. "Call me when you get home. Make sure Leila takes a shower, and don't let her close the door in case she slips so you can help her. Understood?" You were spitting information and more guidelines which overwhelmed your teammate.

"Don't. Don't mess up." You pointed at him before running off. "Okay . . ." He replied to no one confused.

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"Salut?" "Hey, it's me." "Hey Max." You greeted over the phone. He could hear you sigh in relief, making his heart itch worridly. "I did everything you told me." "Good good. Thank you, Max. I owe you big time." "It's alright, I had fun."

He smiled to himself, watching as Leila came over with hair brush and a hair tie. "I- ok." He mumbled shuffling backwards so she can sit between his legs. "Can you tell me what's wrong?" "It's, it's nothing you have to worry shouted it's ok." "Well it's definitely worrying you. And we're friends are we not? You can tell me."

Max pressed the phone between his ear and shoulder, beginging to brush Leila's hair gently. 'Friends.' You though breathing in. "Mar— my uncle." You corrected yourself knowing Leila was listening. "Got into cardiac arrest and he's in a comatose at the moment."

You felt your eyes tear up as you confessed, your breaths becoming short as you held sobs in. "I'm scared and I don't know what to do." "Do you want me to come?" "No, no." "OK. What do you need me to do." He paused with the brushing, listening to you intently.

". . . I want you to go to Hungary tomorrow like we planned. With Leila and Aussie. My PR manager can take Aussie off of you. And if you could keep an eye on Leila for just two days. Just two days. Thursday and Friday. I swear I'll make it up to you—" "—Hey. You don't owe me anything." He affirmed, starting to brand Leila's hair. ". . . Thank you, Max. Really."

To say that Max's feeling for you were resurfacing was no lie. You had invited him to your house and had given him a nice week off where he could meet the real Seventeen.

The feelings were stronger no doubt.

17: where's my silverstone win?

jos: alexa play 'it's a wrap' by Mariah Carey

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