#f1 reader insert

[dpr-stay]

Through the years | D.K

Doh Kyungsoo x f1driver!Reader

Warnings: Swears, a lot of crack

WC: 9.1k (ik, kill me now)

Howdy Cowpeople! This one is... hefty. This wasn’t supposed to be as long as it was but when I get in a groove... I think I made it obvious but I just wanted it to be over L O L. This one is pretty niche, but hopefully it can be enjoyed by both sides as it is a driver!reader.

(I didn't edit this, whoops)

2015

“Can you explain this picture?” The reporter asks, hovering in front of you with a phone in hand. The crappy quality is amplified as they have zoomed into the point where the picture is unrecognizable. You squint your eyes to see it and can’t make out quite what they’re trying to show.

“Sorry, w-what is that?” You ask, drawing back and squinting your eyes, resisting the urge to close them from exhaustion. Whoever decided it would be a good idea to do interviews after nearly 100 continuous laps in some barely held together race car with no break was a sadist. No other explanation.

“Oh! It’s a picture of you in a car with a guy.” The reporter said eagerly and shoved the phone your way. You briefly looked at the camera, an unimpressed look on your face, before turning back to the phone and squinting again.

You paused for a minute and drew back, your face still scrunched up, and exhaled.

“Nahhhhhh.” The drew out word left your mouth.

The reporter’s head tilted and they frowned.

“But it is! It’s you in Seoul after the Japanese Grand Prix!” He continued, looking very determined. You plastered a confused expression on your face.

“I’ve never been to Seoul before.” His face dropped and he turned back to his phone, as though trying to rationalize what he was hearing.

“Have you just taken a picture of… two random people in a car? To me it honestly doesn’t even look like anything cause it’s so zoomed in but to each their own.” You finished your words with a shrug.

“No, my source told me that that was 100% you! They said they saw you get in the car at the airport.” He continued on, undeterred by your flat disregard.

“I hate to say it, your contact’s wrong. I’ve never even set foot in the country.” You shrugged before turning to your PR manager who was gesturing for you to leave, with rather forceful movements. That was to clue you in that you were in trouble. With her personally or with the boss man, you didn’t know.

“Lovely to see you again, though.” You smiled and held your hand over. The interviewer tentatively took it and you exchanged good-byes before you turned around and left to go onto more interviews. The glance you exchanged with your PR manager told you that you were lucky you had not been caught out on your multiple lies and you heaved a sigh of relief to yourself.

Being the only female driver in a heavily male dominated sport was incredibly stressful. Add to that the eyes of reporters trying to find you doing anything remotely weird to spin it into a scandal and you had a lot of things to worry about. Especially since you had just started a relationship with a highly coveted Kpop singer which you were determined to keep under wraps.

You both had a bet running with each other. The first person to reveal the relationship would lose. There was no consequence but your pride, something which both of you had a bit too much of.

And so, a game was born. It simultaneously made you more careful of revealing your relationship while also making it a fun game.

This also meant that you had to start constantly lying to reporters to get out of tricky situations. Surely nothing bad could ever come from this.

2016: 

“How does it feel to be a key contender for the championship?” Asked a reporter, directing it to, of course, Lewis Hamilton, who was sat beside Daniel in a panel of drivers. You were sat on the other side of Daniel, the small desk in front of you reaching for miles on either side.

As Lewis gave the carbon copy response that he had given to every interviewer so far, Daniel leaned over to whisper in your ear.

“I’m surprised they haven’t called him out on that yet.” He then reached for his plastic water bottle and took a sip. You considered this for a second before leaning to his side and answered, not turning your face from the crowd of reporters.

“I’m surprised they haven’t called you out on your disgusting trim.” He jolted forward at this unprompted attack on his hair and the choking sound he emanated drew attention from all in the room, all watching him with curious eyes as he tried to regain his breath.

“You alright mate?” Lewis asked, one of his eyebrows arching.

“Y-yeah I’m fine.” Daniel replied, waving his hand, eager to have attention off of his spluttering. It took a while but eventually all the cameras were aimed back at Lewis, so Daniel took the opportunity to elbow you hard in the side, your reaction being to topple off your chair dramatically. Usually one for the dramatics, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen Daniel want the cameras off him so much. 

Hidden behind a small desk, you could only hear the questioning tones calling out your name and see Daniel’s slightly panicked face urging you to get up and back on your chair. With one single hand, you reached for the desk and slowly pulled yourself up.

You released a deep breath as you hauled yourself into your seat and turned to face the crowd of reporters who were looking at you. With a grand hand gesture, you motioned for them to continue with their interviews and turned slightly to Daniel with a smile. He shot you back an exasperated glance before your name was called from the crowd of reporters. You looked towards the reporter and he began speaking.

“So, as you’re the only female on the grid I feel the need to ask, if you could date any of the drivers, who would it be?” The eager face he had contrasted with your entirely unimpressed face. You could hear Daniel begin to start speaking and you could feel the defensive energy emanating from the rest of the drivers on the panel, but before any of them could interrupt with scathing criticism about the misogyny that permeated the question, you replied to the reporter.

“Literally none of them, I’d rather die.” Your response was met with general silence before Daniel started laughing as usual.

“Really? You wouldn’t fancy any of them?” The reporter asked, almost in disbelief.

“No!” You said almost equally in disbelief.

“I’m fine with what I have at home!” You added on after a second.

“Are you saying you’re in a relationship???” The reporter was on the edge of his seat, others shoving their microphones and cameras trying to get a good shot. You dramatically pondered that for a second before replying.

“I wouldn’t say that, I just have other things at home.” You said that and then leaned back, shrugged, and didn’t say anything else into the mic even at the reporters continual uproar as they took in the implications of that statement.

You, luckily, were able to avoid the increasingly weird questions by just not answering and smiling. You weren’t as lucky to miss the smirks thrown your way by the other drivers.

2017:

“It doesn’t count!” You said in disbelief, aiming it at the microphone of your phone.

“Mmm I’d say it counts.” Kyungsoo replied back teasingly, his voice echoing into your AirPods. 

“You can’t go back on your word!! You said it was fine last year!” You were sitting at a table in your company's hospitality, having a conversation with Kyungsoo on the phone, blissfully unaware of the interviews going on outside the building which had a clear view into the small area. 

“Yeah but it’s been two years, one of us has to call it quits soon.” Your face contorted before Kyungsoo quickly amended his statement.

“The bet! The bet! Sorry, that came out the wrong way.” 

You just shook your head, a small smile growing on your lips.

“You bastard, you had me a little worried.” He scoffed in response. He had been speaking quietly into the phone as he was hiding in a closet in the SM building, taking a break from practice to talk to you. A true charmer.

“As if.” He replied shortly, a loud scuffling heard on his side.

“One second.” He said, as a banging sound came through into your headphones.

“Come on Hyung! Get off the phone and come back before someone else finds you!” Kai’s voice could be heard through the door. A pause before the banging started again.

“Also tell her I said hello!” You giggled at the younger man’s words and Kyungsoo’s sigh in response.

“I’ll call you after the race, do your best, I love you.” Kyungsoo muttered into his phone before shouting back to Kai something about respect and to shut up. It just made you laugh more.

“I love you too, practice well and I’ll call you soon.” You finally said in response after the yelling died down.

“Bye.” He said before quickly tacking on another “love you” and then he hung up.

After he hung up you just stared at your screen for a second with a smile you would 100% not call radiant on your face. It was quickly wiped off when your PR manager popped up out of nowhere and started talking about interviews, causing you to switch to English as you stood up and followed him.

However, the interview still captured your little moment and the conversation preluding it. You knew this because, when you went back to your phone after the race, Baekhyun had sent you a picture of your smile through the tinted glass with a smirking emoji as well as a picture of Kyungsoo on the floor in the closet in the dark talking to you on the phone, not to mention the hounding you got at the next press conference.

2018:

You knew it was risky to do a live in your own apartment, especially since you were in a completely different country than where you were claiming you were.

But your PR team wanted you to do it, and you couldn’t exactly tell them no, even if you were currently lying to them about your circumstances. You were a bit worried that something unexplainable might happen like the South Korean national anthem suddenly blaring but what you weren’t worried about was the person who you were living with coming back and interrupting your live.

Kyungsoo was at practice and, while you were ok with him skipping it to talk to you on the phone, you didn’t want him to skip it now, as you had been promised a few days without any interruption if he went to every practice. So he was at practice and you were fulfilling all your expected PR duties for the next couple of days, which included the live.

Regardless of your hesitations, you set up your phone on your coffee table facing the entrance to your home and sat on the couch before turning on the live. Immediately people joined, flooding the chat and making your phone vibrate.

“Uhhh hello everyone.” You awkwardly greeted as you tried to think of things to say. Kyungsoo would be fantastic at this, you couldn’t help but think, always having to do live’s with his members.

“How’s everyone’s days been?” You settled on and watched the responses roll into the chat. You noticed a few drivers had joined your live and even a few of the boys from F2 and F3 were watching, which you thought was pretty nice of them considering it was mainly you rambling for around 30 minutes.

Your manager wanted you to do an hour minimum for the live and the time seemed to stretch for years, you continuously making small talk and occasionally replying to comments. You even snuck in a few jokes for the other drivers before, around the 55 minute mark, a sound came from your end.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you wondered where the noise was coming from, looking around the apartment. Quickly standing up, you looked around the apartment, making a lighthearted joke about ghosts as you nervously tried to find the origin of the sound.

You realised that sound was the wrong key being put in the lock as soon as you registered the sound of the correct key being put in.

As Kyungsoo opened the door, you made the biggest leap you think you have ever made. It would’ve had to have been around 4 meters surely. Somehow you had leapt onto the coffee table, knocking your phone down. Kyungsoo was staring at you weirdly as you violently gestured at him to shush. He raised an eyebrow.

“Are you ok?” He asked, his deep voice sounding as lovely as ever. You took a second, contemplating your options in this circumstance before coming to a logical conclusion.

You started to scream.

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!” Kyungsoo’s face shifted to one of confusion as yours was full of desperation.

“YOU CRAZY PSYCHO! GET OUT!!” You continued to yell in perfect English, a contrast from his peaceful question, and gestured for Kyungsoo to close the door, which he did, albeit very confused.

As soon as he closed the door, you maneuvered yourself so that you weren’t facing him and quickly picked up your phone from underneath you.

“Oh my god, what just happened.” You said, showing the camera your roof. You picked up the phone and started fidgeting with it.

“‘Are you ok?’ Yeah I’m fine, I just gotta figure out how to change the locks. I’ll uh.. I’ll get back to you guys. See you later.” You said absentmindedly, as you ended the live.

You paused for a second, sat back on your heels, and sighed, staring up at the roof. The sound of footfalls reached your ears and you didn’t react when Kyungsoo placed a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m not losing this bet.” You mumbled, staring at the ground. An incredulous laugh left him at that as he reached his hand further and brought your face to look at him. A smile that there was no other way to describe but goofy was spread across his face.

“You’re still thinking of that?” He asked and you nodded.

“I take our bet very seriously.” You said before he slightly shook his head, gave you a kiss on the forehead, and moved towards the kitchen.

You picked yourself up and moved to the dining table as he started work in the kitchen. And, as he made a delicious dinner that you both enjoyed, you started to field off your PR team asking who was in your house and ignoring the comments wondering why the guy was speaking Korean in the middle of England.

2019: 

It was approximately ten minutes before you had to be in the car and ready to go, and you were half-way there. You had your fireproofs and race suit on and you were being herded towards your car by a crowd of engineers. Strategies and specifics were being directed at you and you could only nod and act as though you were absorbing what they were saying.

Even after four years on the job some people felt they just couldn’t rely on you. Honestly, they should just let you do your thing, you knew what you were doing. 

No! God, ever since Kyungsoo had joined the military you’d been irritable and quick to anger on the track. Your poor engineers were trying their best to get through to you, likely because they wanted to keep their jobs, but you’d been incredibly closed off since after you got back from the honeymoon. 

Oh yeah, you got married. During a break and right before Kyungsoo was scheduled to start his enlistment, you got married down in a small courthouse with only a few people from either side. You had your family, a few close friends, and a few drivers while Kyungsoo had his family, a few close friends, and the whole of EXO.

It was very emotional and intimate, but that was how you’d describe your relationship so you were very happy with it. You were also extremely happy with the week get-away in the middle of nowhere in New Zealand that followed after, a week of people not recognising both you, farmers markets, and sheep. Lot’s of sheep.

But ever since he’d flown off to do his duty to his country (and shaved his head, no one should look that good with a shaved head) and you’d flown to your next race, you’d been incredibly… angry.

You didn’t know if it had to do with not seeing Kyungsoo for the better part of two years or having that split immediately after the wedding, but what you did know was that it was affecting your racing so you had to snap out of it.

Being dragged back to the present you quickly hopped in the car and performed all of your checks on the steering wheel and adjusted things while people flitted around outside the car, adjusting things and making sure the car was in proper state.

After a quick radio check, the call to start up for the formation lap (you were in P11 after a pretty dodgy qualifying) was relayed and all around you could hear car’s engines coming to life. You glanced at your engineers and snapped down your visor at their nod, starting the car.

Before you pressed the throttle something quickly came to mind. You rapidly gestured for one of your engineers to come close to you, incredibly conscious of all the cars revving around you. The poor engineer almost sprinted to you as you started to fiddle with the zip of your racesuit, the gloves you were wearing prohibiting you from unzipping it.

The engineer's face was comically concerned and he slowly reached forwards before you looked up and grabbed his outreached hand. His face immediately went to one of shock as you made his hand grab the zip and unzip the front part of the suit.

Choosing to ignore the cameras capturing this interaction you continued unzipping it till it lay around your collarbones, hoping the cameras don’t catch any of your naked shoulders. The engineer's face then relaxed as he saw the necklace around your neck and he quickly reached in, almost leaning over the car, to move your necklace around your neck till the latch was in front of him.

He cautiously unlatched the necklace before zipping up your race suit. You immediately relaxed as the pressure around your neck was relieved. Before he could retreat back to the crowd of engineers, you grabbed the hand that wasn’t holding your necklace and slapped it appreciatively with your other hand.

He retreated as you powered up the car and started to move it forwards, letting all the cars that needed to go before go before you started to move. 

Your team radio started up as you were leaving the pit lane.

“You all had us very confused there.” Your race engineer said as you started your cruise around the track. 

“Yeah, sorry I completely forgot about it. But I thought it was better to take it off.” You said, pressing down on the throttle. 

“He better not lose that though. I want that back at the end of the race.” You subtly threatened, suddenly thinking of the rings that were attached to the necklace. You hoped that maybe the cameras hadn’t seen your wedding and engagement rings but you knew there was no chance they hadn’t not captured it. Oh well.

“I don’t know if you’ll get it back by the end of the race.” Your engineer said, her tone almost sarcastic. 

“What’s that mean?” You asked, letting the car cruise.

“You’ll probably be killed by your PR team first.” She said bluntly. So bluntly it made you laugh. 

“I’ve got a race to focus on.” You reminded her, leaving out the part that you had a race to think of an excuse as to why you have two rings attached to a necklace around your neck.

And you did think of an excuse, wearing the necklace proudly during post-race interviews and saying it was a family heirloom that had been passed on to you by your grandma whenever you were questioned about it.

The moment still went viral though, people questioning the relationship between you and the engineer. It went viral enough to that you had to suffer through teasing by Daniel and his accomplice Max Verstappen (you didn’t know how the kid knew you were married but you suspected it had something to do with an annoying Australian) not to mention the shit being talked in the EXO group chat you were in.

I mean seriously, all of those guys are millionaires, does Chen have nothing else to do with his time than bully the wife of his bandmate?

2020: (sorry Alex)

Somehow you got signed to RedBull on a year contract. Not to say you weren’t grateful for the opportunity but you were definitely a bit confused. But anyway, you let bygones be bygones and now you had a 22 year-old dutch nuisance under your wing.

He was a great kid but god, was he traumatized. You were convinced he’d never seen a healthy family dynamic, so you were more than happy to let him see how you and Kyungsoo functioned. Or at least how you functioned when he was not in the military.

You kind of felt like a life coach for the kid, telling him when he was being taken advantage of or when he should continue with something. You’d been woken up plenty of times in the middle of the night by him drunkenly whining into the phone about wanting to go “home”, something neither of you commented on when he woke up on your couch the next day.

So, safe to say, you’d practically adopted a child without the permission of your husband.

This extended to on the track as well, you’d gotten into a few mild disagreements with Jos Verstappen after his cruel comments which often involved you looking at him angrily and him shit-talking you in interviews about you being a woman. You’d often have to refrain from saying that you’d always be more of a man than him, but alas, you didn’t want to get kicked from your seat.

You knew that Max was extremely appreciative of your dynamic, even commenting on it a few times during interviews, saying that he was very happy to have you as a teammate. After that interview you almost felt like you and his lover, Daniel, were able to give him some sort of an idea of what a normal family relationship should look like.

This sentiment was definitely reinforced when a loud knocking on your Monaco apartment door happened in the early afternoon. It was a weekend with no race, so you were soaking in relaxation. You were having a nice bubble bath after having read for the whole morning, so you were hesitant to hop out of the bath. 

The knocking persisted however, and with a sigh, you got out of the bath and wrapped a bathrobe around you before loudly yelling you’d be a minute. You tugged on some sweats which weren’t yours and put your hair in a towel before eventually making your way to the door. 

You might’ve taken more than a minute, but it didn’t matter when you opened the door and were greeted with the image of Max Verstappen on his knees, face pressed into the expensive hallway carpet. What a sight to see, the prodigy and most highly anticipated driver of his time, lying face-first on the floor.

“What the fuck?” You asked, immediately crouching down to his level after a quick glance to see that none of your neighbors had left their apartments to check on the banging (pretentious, self-concerned people). 

You rolled him over, your confusion doubling as you took in the remorseful look etched across the young man's face, almost tripling as you took in the barely concealed tears in his eyes. Your heart ached though and you pulled him up so that he was sitting on his knees.

“I’m so sorry.” He muttered as your face contorted in confusion. What had happened? “Come inside Max.” You said quietly, helping him up from his spot on the floor and leading him inside, locking the door after you both. Leading him to the couch, you left him after putting the throw blanket over his shoulders, and went to make both of you a tea.

You noticed your phone constantly vibrating on your kitchen counter and quickly chucked it on do not disturb, not checking the notifications because you were more concerned with your teary teammate. 

After grabbing the teas you made your way to the couch, setting them down on coasters on the coffee table, before sitting on the edge of the ‘L’ piece of the couch, so you were facing Max. You grabbed his hand from his lap where he had been nervously picking at his nail beds.

“What’s wrong Max?” You asked calmly, bringing his hand to your lap to stop him from hurting himself. He looked up at you, a few tears having rolled down his cheeks. 

Whatever had happened had fucked him up. You didn’t think it was a fight with his dad, he’d sadly become pretty unresponsive to those. You briefly considered him losing his seat but shook that off, he was doing exceptionally well. 

Maybe you’d lost your seat and he was sent to deliver the news. That would make more sense, especially as your phone was blowing up. You hadn’t been performing very well, but you didn’t think they’d drop you from your seat midway through the season, especially during a season as turbulent as this one.

It was the only reason that made sense though, so you prepared yourself for the news that you would be unemployed. Maybe you’d go back to F2 or maybe IndyCar? Or you could just move to South Korea and live there permanently, letting Kyungsoo fulfill his passion for acting and singing while you did a few kart races to occasionally quench your thirst for adrenaline. 

That actually didn’t sound too bad, though you’d definitely have to discuss it with Kyungsoo when he got back from enlistment, which meant around 5 months of unemployment. But hey, you had the money and so did Kyungsoo.

Max snapped you from your thoughts of the future by clearing his throat.

“You don’t know?” He asked, curiously glancing up at you. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“No…” You said, conveying your confusion. “Should I?” 

“Have you checked your phone recently?” Yep, you were definitely getting fired. You should probably start packing now. Maybe Daniel could get his seat back? You shook your head in response to his quiet question.

“I’ve just been reading all morning.” Max nodded, a small ‘ah’ leaving his mouth as he stared at the floor. He reached for his tea, his hand leaving your lap. You narrowed your eyes at that, following his movements as he sipped, a gasp immediately leaving his throat as he burnt it.

You immediately cussed and sprung up from your couch to grab a glass of cold water, running back to the couch and giving it to Max, watching as he gulped down the glass. When he finished he turned back to you and thanked you, before pausing for a second and bursting into another round of tears. You placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re really freaking me out Max. Can you please tell me what’s wrong?” You asked gently, trying to make him catch your eye.

“Promise you won't hate me?” His small voice asked and you internally crumpled at his vulnerable question. Honestly you never thought you’d end up gentle-parenting a teammate like he was a child of yours, especially since you were only like 5 years older than him, but here you were, caring for him like family.

“Yes, I won’t hate you Max.” You repeated as he finally caught your eye. He took a deep breath before starting to speak.

“I was doing an interview for the press and they started asking questions about other drivers and my relationship to them. They then asked about you and I said that I’m really close to you and etcetera.” Ok, seems pretty normal so far. At least you weren’t getting fired, hopefully.

“And they asked if I see you more as a mother figure or a romantic interest.” He said before quickly turning his eyes away. This confused you before you clued in.

“Oh Max.” You said quietly and he turned back to you. “I’m flattered you feel that way but I am married and I am loyal-”

“No, no, no!” He said, louder than he’d ever spoken in the time since he was on the floor. His cheeks had turned bright red as he looked in your eyes.

“No, I didn’t say that I saw you romantically!” He quickly amended and you breathed a sigh of relief, smiling.

“Ok, that’s good! I didn’t want our friendship to be awkward.” You said, looking at him for a response. He just grimaced and averted his gaze. You gestured for him to go on confusedly and he began speaking again.

“And I said more like a mother-figure.” A statement which made you feel positive things you don’t want to address. “Then I may have accidentally said that, even though I haven’t met him, I see your husband as more of a father-figure as well.” He quickly rushed the last part out and you sat, stunned. 

The room went silent while you processed what he told you. Fuuuuckkk. How much trouble were you going to be in? I mean the team knew, but this wasn’t something you could pass off as your grandmother's rings. This was undeniable proof that you had a husband. God press days were going to suck after this unless you could somehow make an excuse.

As time went on he seemed to collapse in on himself, the energy quickly switching to something you didn’t like.

“To be honest I thought you were going to tell me I’d lost my seat.” You said and Max’s head snapped up. “What?” He asked, disbelieving.

“Yeah I know, crazy.” You laughed, dragging out the last word, trying to establish a more relaxed aura in the room.

“No, why haven’t you kicked me out yet?” It was at times like this you really wanted to punch Jos Verstappen in the face. You made an over exaggerated confused face, hoping the fact that that had never gone through your mind was on display in your face.

“Max, why would I do that?” You asked, your voice very quickly becoming soothing.

“Why aren’t you mad at me? You’ve spent years hiding this! You should be yelling at me!” He said, standing up. You tried, in vain, to get him to sit down by gently calling him, but he started pacing.

“I’ve just ruined your chances at revealing this yourself, at ever having another peaceful day in your marriage, and all you can do is make a joke?!” He almost started yelling, clenching his fists. You got fed-up and yelled his name, calling his attention to you.

“You’re in my house as my guest. You will not tell me what to do or how to handle situations. Sit your ass down.” You yelled, your voice incredibly commanding. He followed your instructions and sat smally in front of you.

“Max. It was eventually going to come out. I don’t mind. I’d much rather it come off handedly from you than maliciously leaked by a random instagram page.” You said and he looked up, almost looking close to tears. You frowned before bringing the boy up into a hug. You stayed like that for a few minutes before you had to ask a question.

“You didn’t reveal who he was though, no?” You asked, still in the hug. You felt Max shake his head and you silently fistpumped behind his back. It wasn’t your fault, so it technically didn’t count and you hadn’t lost the bet.

You were right, by the way, press days were soon filled with questions about your mystery husband instead of your racing. But it was fine, you were somehow able to twist it as though you’d made a joke about having a husband and Max took it seriously.

Phew.

2021: (sorry latifi)

“And so today you will be reacting to fan edits of yourselves!” The lady behind the camera finished, prompting you and George to look at eachother. It was early in the season and, even though you’d raced together for a few years, you weren’t exactly close, being that before pre-season meetings, you hadn’t ever talked. At all.

This meant he didn’t know much about your personal life or the whole ‘husband’ thing. Which was fine, you’d tell him in your own time, when you felt your friendship was strong enough. He seemed to be a great kid, though you were determined to not adopt another grown child, especially after the look you got from Kyungsoo when you mentioned the fact you may have ‘accidentally’ had Christmas with Max Verstappen.

But hey, they had finally met during February and it was almost like a Dad saying that his daughter can’t adopt a cat while simultaneously cuddling with the cat. Kyungsoo, against his better judgment, had instantly attached to Max and now you were battling for the position of being his favourite driver. Which you were totally not bitter about (you said your favourite EXO member was Sehun in retaliation and he changed your mind very quickly).

Back to the present, the people behind the camera placed a tablet on the table in front of you. It was open on the photo gallery and you could already see some very flattering videos saved to the device.

“You wanna go first?” You asked, and George nodded before picking up the tablet and scrolling through the photo library. He closed his eyes and landed on one. Loud music immediately began playing from the device, you think ‘London Boy’ by Taylor Swift, and you both watched in varying states of horror as photos and clips of him flashed on the screen.

As the video ended you both accidentally made eye-contact. Now, as an almost 28 year old woman, the simple gesture of looking into your teammate's stricken eyes should not have made burst out laughing as hard as you did. But, god, George’s eyes were expressive. In fairness he also did laugh, though he probably was confused as to why you were laughing so much.

After you caught your breath you could only utter out,

“Your face...” Before peeling back into giggles again. He started laughing again as well before putting the tablet down. In doing so, he accidentally swiped the tablet and the Backstreet Boys started playing, an edit of the 2019 rookies playing as the video.

This chain event caused you to start gasping, the sheer ridiculousness of the videos catching up to you. George only took one look at the tears forming in your eyes before he was also wheezing out harsh breaths from laughing.

It took around 2 minutes for you to look at each other without laughing and, for you both to be able to pick up the tablet without giggling, it took another minute or so. You eventually began scrolling through the tablet, laughing at some and ‘aww’-ing at some of the sad ones. 

Eventually a video came up with the background music to ‘Give it to me’ by Sistar, an edit of you that was hot but had you gasping at the lyrics.

“What?” George looked over to you, curious as to why there was another noise that came out of your mouth than laughing or a strained ‘why?’.

“The audacity!” You said, as the music continued playing.

“What..?” George asked, more confused than previously.

“Do you want to know the lyrics they’ve just edited me to?” You asked, looking over at him, your voice pretending to be offended.

“What?” He said, his tone changing again to have a sort of goading lilt.

“Will I even get married before I turn thirty.” You said with an air of finality, turning to glare at the camera, your jaw dramatically hung open. George gasped mockingly.

“How dare they!” He said sarcastically and you nodded eagerly.

“I know right!” You responded beginning a stereotypical mean girl impression. “How dare they!” After that little fiasco, you both kept scrolling and laughing (a notable example of this being when an edit of George crying came up, him pushing your shoulders as you continued to laugh). 

Eventually the video was being wrapped up and George was preparing to do a sort of sign off when he paused and turned to you.

“I know we aren’t incredibly close…” He started and you prepared for a multitude of questions. You didn’t know him well enough to predict what he might say, so you went over your predisposed answers to questions in your head.

You knew he wouldn’t ask anything uncomfortable, like about your relationship status, or anything really weird, like how many socks do you wash at once. But that left a gaping probability for mildly-weird or mildly-uncomfortable questions. You hoped he wouldn’t ask that, but you were still prepared to be asked if you threw out your receipts or kept them.

“But I didn’t know you knew Korean. How did you learn?” 

Oh. Fuck.

You did not have an answer for that. How the fuck did you not have an answer for that? You definitely should have had an answer for that. Oh wait, you didn’t have an answer because you promised yourself not to tell anyone that you could speak Korean so that you didn’t get that question!

The real, close-friends answer was that Kyungsoo had taught you over a range of years and that you’d taken courses so that you’d be able to talk to his friends and family. However you didn’t have a PR approved answer because you’d never thought that you’d need one. Time to put your problem solving skills to the test. 

“Uhhhhh…” You said, staring confusedly at George, aware of the seconds that had passed while you were internally monologuing. You hoped your expression didn’t convey the level of gob-smacked that you felt but you think it did because George’s face contorted to be one of worry.

“If that’s a sensitive topic or something you don’t have to answer!” He quickly said as though he was trying to fix the situation. You’d later learn the George thought before your video that you were kind of ‘fucking terrifying’ (his words) and that he was scared he’d screwed up by asking you this and one of his ‘hero’s’ (his words) wouldn’t ever want to talk to him again. 

“Nah, nah. It’s ok.” You waved him off, desperately trying to think of something. Oh! You knew exactly what to say.

“Basically I just have this really good friend who is Korean and I asked him to teach me for fun.” You said simply, before realising that wasn’t good enough considering your reaction.

“I was trying to hide how good I’ve gotten to try and surprise him but I guess it’s ok.” You said, a small smile on your face. George relaxed from his tense state and nodded, a small smile playing onto his lips as well.

“Ah that’s cool. Sorry to spoil the surprise.” You waved him off again and he continued the video’s outro.

Another good save, you really oughta be hired to problem-solve. And by problem-solving you mean lying to the media. And George. Poor George. 

2022: (yeah the timelines don’t match, don’t call me out pls)

A loud banging sounded against your hotel door. You groaned, dropping the book onto your chest from where you held it up. Glancing angrily at the door, you rolled out of bed and stomped over to the entrance. You ripped open the door and prepared to start reaming the person on the other side before letting out a high-pitched scream.

You were in Japan for the Suzuka GP. You always didn’t like the Japanese GP because, even though you were incredibly close to Kyungsoo, your schedules never lined up so you could never see him. 

That fact really grinded your gears, but it’s what you get when you try to schedule something with SM Entertainment. A decisive ‘No.’ What a great company. To be honest, was Willaims really any better?

No. No they weren’t. That mere fact infuriated you enough to make you scream. However, it wasn’t the reason you were currently screaming. That was because, standing in your doorway in the middle of the team hotel, was Kai. 

You hadn’t seen him in a few months, you both had busy schedules, so the man appearing on your doorstep was miraculous. You didn’t think of why he was there, or how he got there. You just threw your arms around him and gave him a hug.

“Oh my god!” You screamed, before immediately regretting it and quickly pulling him into your hotel room before someone came out of their rooms and wondered why he was in front of yours.

“Hi!” He said, laughing as he let himself be pushed into your room despite the fact he could pick you up and throw you.

“What are you doing here?” You asked changing your pulling into a hug, squeezing the younger man as though he was your child. You had a serious problem with that, treating men almost your age as children. But Kai was more of a brother than a child, to be quite frank. That distinction just meant that he really really bugged you.

“I have a concert tomorrow and I thought I might just stop in.” He said, a smile on his face. “Though it is only me, sorry.”

“That’s ok!” You said, still in disbelief one of your closest friends was on your doorstep.

“Does Kyungsoo know?” Kai smirked in response to your question. That was answer enough in itself and you slapped Kai on the shoulder.

“You should’ve told him! He might’ve come.” Kai gasped in mock offense.

“What am I not good enough? Would you really prefer your husband that much?” He continued in mock offense and you dead-panned him. He just laughed in response.

“I did have to tell the company I was coming though, and they asked me to film a TikTok with you.” He quickly rushed out and you groaned, staring at the sky. What was up with all of these people wanting you to do TikTok’s?! You had all of your team's PR people constantly chasing you with a camera and now you had Kai asking for a video.

“Fine.” You ground out and Kai grinned, purposely ignoring your annoyance.

“Fantastic!” He said and quickly whipped out his phone, launching into his plans of what to film. Your only artistic input was that he had to cool it on the filters or else you wouldn’t film. 

The video started with the familiar sound of Peaches by Kai and a hand knocking on your hotel door, you opening the door curiously. As the chorus sounded, you recorded Kai dancing in your doorway, incredibly aware of the chance of any of your colleagues walking into the hallway and wondering what the fuck was going on.

The video continued after the chorus, Kai recording you slamming the door in his face with a confused expression. The video then ended with a still image of the both of you doing a heart together with your hands and you let Kai go rampant on the filters, hearts and sparkles flying around on the screen. 

When you watched it back, Kai waiting at your side eagerly to see your reaction, you did your best to hide the laughing fit you had in reaction to the monstrosity. You couldn’t quite hide the gasps that were leaving you though and Kai frowned.

“It’s perfect. I love it.” You said, through your giggles and he smiled.

“I know. It’s fantastic.” You only nodded because you couldn’t trust yourself to talk, a small whine escaping through your lips at the struggle of not laughing.

“Do you want to see the caption?” He asked and you violently nodded your head. 

“Please.” 

“P15 but still P1 EXO-L.” He read out and you just hung your jaw open. “You bastard!” You laughed out. 

“I put it in Korean as well.” Your only response was to hit him, hard, while still laughing and shaking your head.

“Should we run it by your PR team before posting?” Kai asked, taking a serious note. You looked to him and sucked in air through your teeth.

“Nahhhh.” You replied and he shrugged, and clicked post.

“I should probably tell Kyungsoo you were here before he finds out through the internet.” You said, reaching for your phone. Kai nodded vehemently.

One phone call later, an angry Kyungsoo and an apologetic Kai later, the TikTok was making its rounds and your phone was blowing up, your poor PR agent about to have a heart attack.

On that delightful note Kai left your hotel room, farewelled with a minute long hug and a well-wish for his concert, and you were left to phone your PR agent who just screamed into the phone for 10 seconds before actually speaking.

Of course, during the press releases for the rest of the season, you talked about how much of an EXO-L you were and how close of a friend you were to Kai. This didn’t come without dating rumours but, due to one poorly angled camera shot of your disgusted face when a reporter suggested dating to your face, that was shut down pretty quickly. 

Still no one had shipped you with the other EXO members though, so you weren’t even close to losing the bet. (Though you had been asked which EXO member was your favourite, which you responded to with a smirk.)

2023:

It was a good race, you finishing P4 which was a huge improvement since last season. Your team was on top of the moon as were you, smiling from ear to ear. You were currently in the press area, getting asked questions left and right about the car and your performance.

You were adequately responding to each question, sometimes looking questioningly your PR agent when you weren’t sure how to respond. A loud crash sounded through the area that drew the attention of most in the area as a reporters chair fell to the ground. They had jumped up at something on their phone and, like everyone else in the pen, you were wondering what had them so fired up.

Then their eyes darted up and made eye-contact with you. Your internal monologue quickly changed from questioning to a repeated loop of ‘Oh no. Oh no.’ as they advanced your way, moving like a predator stalks their prey. They thrusted their phone under your nose, the shitty little mic attached to it capturing every breath you took and the many cameras in the area capturing your wide eyes.

The reporter addressed you by name before starting to speak.

“Do you know of a man by the name Doh Kyungsoo?” They asked and your world cracked. What on earth had happened? How did they know? All you knew was that it was time for the one acting class your mum had made you take to try and sway you from racing to come to full effect.

“I think he’s from that band Kai’s in, yeah?” You responded after a second of fake pondering. The reporter's eyes narrowed like a hawk.

“You wouldn’t say you were close? Not close enough to get married perhaps?” The reporter asked, clearly trying to stir the pot. Oh my god, was this a prank? How the fuck did they know? How were you supposed to play this off? Would this jeopardize your career?

“Uhhm no…?” You said, incredulously, fixing them a scandalized stare. They sarcastically nodded.

“Oh really? Then what’s this?” They said and shoved their phone closer to your face till you saw a picture of you and Kyungsoo on your wedding day. How did they get this? Had one of your small circle leaked something?

You tried not to let the bewilderment you felt show on your face.

“I’m sorry? Are you trying to pass this off as real? It’s obviously photoshopped! I’m so tired of people trying to fabricate a story of me dating every person I’ve interacted with!” You finally snapped, letting a few years of pent up tension out in this moment. The reporter only continued to smirk.

“Oh really!” They said and you wanted to punch them and their snooty little face. To try and display this, your face fell into one of contempt.

“Is that why this image was posted to Doh Kyungsoo’s official instagram account with the caption ‘Sorry for making you lie to the press for eight years!’?” 

They got you there, dam.

Your jaw dropped open, the corners of your mouth rising at the pure hilarity of this situation.

“Excuse me?” You asked, grabbing the phone off the reporter and tapping back onto the post. They were right, Kyungsoo had posted to his official instagram that exact post. It was a carousel post with pictures taken of when you’d lied to the press about him, from the initial lying about being in Seoul to a picture of your ringed necklace to a picture of you smirking after being asked which EXO member was your favourite.

You couldn’t help but release a laugh, your hand traveling to cover your open mouth. Why did he post this? 

Wait.

This meant you won the bet. Your head shot up to stare at a camera.

“I won the bet.” You said quietly. The reporter snatched their phone back and stared at you confused. 

“What?” They asked and you whipped your head to them, a large smile spreading across your face.

“I won the bet!” You said eagerly, reaching out to grab their shoulders and rock them back and forth.

“I won the bet!!” You ignored how they shook you off, turning to your PR Agent instead and grabbing them and lifting them up. They hurriedly tapped your back as you lifted them, as though signaling you to drop them, but you ignored that and started spinning them around. 

“I actually can’t believe it, oh my god!” You snapped out of it and dropped your PR Agent, immediately running out of the media pen and back to your driver room, pulling your necklace out of your racesuit and pulling your rings off, placing them back on their correct fingers.

You quickly packed everything up, ignoring the ringing of your phone as your team tried to get you to go to more press conferences and briefings, and you got out of there, on the first plane to Seoul you could book.

When you arrived, after a long plane trip filled with excitement and pictures being taken of you, decked out in your team's merchandise as you sat buzzing in your seat, your phone was completely blowing up, messages from everyone in your contact list and more. You turned it off (you’d deal with it later) after calling an uber to your apartment.

You were jittery the whole ride, hoping that, despite the time of night, Kyungsoo was still awake. When you arrived outside your apartment building, you felt all the tension in your body ease, and you looked up to see the light on in your window. You smiled and took your suitcase handle in hand and ventured into the building, greeting the old lady at the desk.

Riding the lift up to your apartment nearly had you pacing and you almost ran down the hallway towards your door, quickly knocking. You felt the reverberations in the floorboards as Kyungsoo walked over to the door and a sense of euphoria filled you at the familiarity.

The door was barely open before you launched yourself at Kyungsoo, his heavenly laughter filled your ears as he caught you. You quickly found yourself in a kiss before pulling back and peppering kisses all over his face, finding his giggles more lovely than his singing.

You both pulled back just to look in eachothers eyes and you smiled simultaneously. 

“I love you.” You muttered, the happiness from the day finally catching up to you.

“I love you too.” He whispered, tilting his head before going in for another kiss. 

“You know.” He began later that night, when you were just lying in bed cuddling together. You turned your head from its position on his chest to look at him, his eyes remaining on the roof.

“I think I won in the end.” You immediately reared your head back, prepared to object at the sheer wrongness of his answer. He anticipated this though and dropped his hand from where it was combing through your hair to your mouth. He also dropped his head as to make eye contact.

“You stuck by me through everything. Even though you had to lie almost every day and had to listen to millions of rumours about me with other people, you still stayed with me. You learned a whole other language just to know people who knew me. Nothing I will ever say will ever put into perspective how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me. The way you’ve loved me will be comparable to nothing other than how much I’ve loved you.” His heartfelt speech made your head vibrate and a few tears left your eyes at his words, him kissing each one away. 

You whined deep in the back of your throat and he released a laugh at your response. 

“You could’ve just said ‘I love you’.” You said quietly.

“That’s true too.” He said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

ahh it's over! dividers from this post btw, it's 11:59 pm let me sleep.

#f1 x reader #exo x reader #kyungsoo x reader #kyungsoo x you #kyungsoo x y/n #exo x you #exo x y/n #exo imagine #exo fanfic #kyungsoo fanfic #d.o x reader #d.o x you #formula one x reader #forumla 1 x reader #driver!reader #williams slander lol #f1 reader insert #exo reader insert #i am tagging everything i can think of #this shit is niche #formula 1 fanfic #kyungsoo oneshot #crossposted on ao3

[mynicosensesaretingling]

Lost in the moment (part 2)

Nico Rosberg x fem!reader

Summary: After their friendship ended unexpectedly, Nico and (Y/N) continued their lives on different paths, but what happens when they meet again? (part 2 of 2)

Warnings: Once again a little angst, female reader

Note: I was honestly surprised how well the first part of this fic was received. Thank you all so much for your feedback!

(part 2 of 2)

Find part 1 here: https://www.tumblr.com/mynicosensesaretingling/733720166569033728/lost-in-the-moment-part-1?source=share

Hope you enjoy <3

The years that followed were a relentless storm for both Nico and (Y/N), each navigating their separate paths with the ghost of their past lingering.

Nico’s championship victory and the soon-following retirement propelled him into the dazzling spotlight of Formula 1, becoming a charismatic figure both on and off the race track.

However, the memory of that final race continued to linger in the back of his mind, a bittersweet victory tainted by the absence of someone he had considered a confidante. Someone he had loved. Of course, he had seen the notifications of her calls once the celebrations had stopped. But whereas at first, he didn’t call her back simply out of spite and having been hurt, the more time went by, the more he feared actually hearing her speak his suspicions of having been betrayed into existence.

Meanwhile, (Y/N) on the other hand, had to face the daunting task of fighting her way back into the world of reporting. Having lost her job at Countdown Magazine , the young woman found herself feeling lost in the working world. The void left by Formula 1 was a constant ache, a reminder of the dreams she once had to forfeit and the pain of not having been there for Nico during his triumphant moment was an emotional wound that refused to heal, casting a lingering shadow on her achievements. However, she found that her luck hadn't completely run out, for after a few unsuccessful jobs, she was offered a position as a reporter for a small, upcoming motorsport journal called The Racing Project.

Although over the years both Nico and (Y/N)  followed a similar career path, their paths did not actually cross until the much-anticipated Las Vegas Grand Prix.

The stage was set, the racetrack buzzing with fervour, as Nico stood filming a live segment in the paddock, delivering his commentary with practised ease. The cameras captured every word he spoke, but his mind was elsewhere. As he scanned the crowd, his eyes unexpectedly fell upon a familiar figure- (Y/N).

Time seemed to halt, the cacophony of the racing world drowned by a flood of memories and emotions. Nico’s heart quickened its pace, a turbulent storm surging within him. The very sight of his former friend, after all these years, sent his thoughts spiralling into a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. 

The ex-racer stumbled over his words, a subtle tremor in his voice betraying the storm of emotions raging inside him. “And…and as we witness this….um, remarkable race unfolding before us,” he managed to continue, though the words suddenly felt foreign on his tongue.

Nico couldn’t tear his gaze from (Y/N)’s form, caught between the past and present. The weight of their shared history bore down on him, each moment they had shared flashing through his mind like a movie reel. His eyes conveyed a mixture of surprise, longing and a hint of regret for the years of silence, that had separated them.

The subtle changes in Nico’s demeanour didn’t go unnoticed by the camera and crew. His usual composed demeanour wavered, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability surfacing in his eyes. The inner conflict that churned within him was evident to those who knew him well, a battle between the duties of the present and the ghosts of the past.

As the blond shrugged to maintain his composure, the words of the commentary became a blur as the realization that (Y/N) was back in his life hit him. He tried to regain his focus, attempting to steer the commentary back on track, but the presence of (Y/N) in the crowd continued to pull at the threads of his composure.

 It wasn’t until the segment was finally finished, that Jenson, who had moderated the segment along with Nico and was well aware of the history between him and the female reporter, leaned in and whispered, “I didn't know that (Y/N) is working as a Formula 1 reporter again after her sudden release just before your championship race.”

Jenson’s statement led revelation to hit Nico like a tidal wave. The pieces of the puzzle all of sudden fell into place, and the weight of misunderstanding and regret bore down on him. “Excuse me.” Nico stuttered out, freeing himself of the broadcasting equipment before hurriedly plunging into the bustling crowd, determined to confront the past. 

Rushing past crew members and paddock guests, his blue eyes scanned the crowd with restlessness before finally landing on the all-too-familiar shape of (Y/N).

“(Y/n),“ he called out, his voice carrying the echoes of years of silence. 

Upon hearing his voice call out to her, the woman turned, eyes widening in surprise, before narrowing again in anger. The air around them was suddenly buzzing with the electricity of unspoken words and unresolved feelings. “Nico,” she replied coldly, her voice betraying a simmering anger beneath the surface. 

Nico took a cautious step closer, the atmosphere fraught with tension. “I…I didn’t know. I thought you used me for stories. I didn’t know what happened that day.” his words came out rushed, as he struggled to keep up with his own thoughts. Lifting her chin,  (Y/N) crossed her arms, a defensive gesture as she glared at him. “Well, glad you’ve figured it out by now.” her voice cut through the noise of the racetrack. “I lost my job, Nico. I lost everything I had worked for, and you didn’t even bother to hear me out. You think an apology fixes this?” 

Nico reached for (Y/N)’s hand, a silent plea for understanding and forgiveness. “My mind was too clouded by the fact that you weren’t by my side during my victory, to be able to think rationally. I should have known.” he tried to explain himself, voice haunted by the regret of misplaced assumptions.

(Y/N) pulled her hand away from his grasp, a scoff escaping her lips. “Known? I would’ve never expected you to just know. But you should have asked, Nico. You didn’t give me a single chance to explain myself. Instead, you just disappeared.” with the last word, she jabbed an angry finger at his chest. 

Nico opened his mouth to respond, but (Y/N) cut him off “ You don’t get to just waltz back into my life after all these years and expect everything to be okay. You have no idea what it was like for me, losing my job and feeling abandoned by my best friend.” 

The man’s face fell, the reality of the pain he had caused written across his features. “(Y/N),please. I didn’t know the truth, and I-”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, her voice sharp.”You didn’t bother to find out. You just assumed the worst, and I won’t just forget that.”

The tension between them was palpable as they stood there, the racetrack humming with the distant roar of engines. Whereas (Y/N)’s eyes held a mixture of anger and hurt, Nico felt the weight of his past choices pressing down on him. The heavy silence between them was once again interrupted by her voice, the anger now morphed into frustration. “You made your choice back then.” She sounded defeated. Nico struggled to find the right words, his chest tight with regret. “I messed up. I should have trusted you, and I’m sorry.” 

Unwilling to meet his gaze, (Y/N) turned away. “Sorry doesn’t erase the past, Nico. I don’t need your apologies now, I got work to do.”

The gravity of her words hung heavily between them.Once determined to seek reconciliation, Nico faced the consequences of his assumptions.The racetrack, witness to their shared highs and lows, now became a battleground for a different kind of race- a race against time to repair the fractured bond between them. As they lingered in the charged silence, a new layer of tension emerged. The unspoken truth of feelings that had never found a voice in the past now hovered between them. They had danced around something more profound than friendship, an undercurrent of emotions that had remained buried.

Deciding to try a different approach, Nico’s tone softened. “Remember that night when I waited for you in the pouring rain?”

As she turned back around to him (Y/N)’s eyes flickered with curiosity, a hint of vulnerability breaking through her defensive stance. “What?” 

Nico’s eyes nervously searched hers, an unsure, almost shy smile on his lips. “I stole that umbrella from Toto and to this day I am unsure of whether I was more nervous about waiting for you or the possibility of Toto finding out I was the reason he got drenched to the bone.”

A breathless chuckle broke through her frown, the sound like music to Nico’s ears. “You stole an umbrella from your boss, just so you could go on a walk with me?” her voice was laced with amusement and disbelief. “Mhm,” he hummed in response, his smile widening into a grin, blue eyes sparkling as he thought back to that very evening. “I actually hid around a corner for like 10 minutes, because I could hear how on edge he was, asking crew members about where his umbrella went.” A genuine laugh escaped (Y/N) at that, eyes glistening as she was hit by a wave of nostalgia. There was another moment of silence between the pair, although this time it felt more intimate.

“You know that when it came to us it was never about the job right?” her voice was barely louder than a whisper and if Nico hadn’t already been paying such close attention to her, he would have surely missed it. 

His eyes bore into (Y/N)’s, the weight of her words sinking in. The revelation hung in the air, an unspoken truth that had shaped their past interactions. With her vulnerability laid bare, (Y/N) waited for Nico’s response, the air heavy with anticipation. In that moment the racetrack seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of them suspended in an emotional crossfire.

Nico, grappling with the unexpected confession, searched her eyes for clarity. The realization hit him like a thunderbolt. Their unspoken connection had always transcended the confines of a professional relationship, a truth buried beneath the surface of camaraderie and shared passion for Formula 1.

Studying his face, (Y/N) could watch as a  myriad of emotions played across Nico’s face- surprise, regret and a hint of realization. 

“(Y/N)”, he murmured, his voice tinged with astonishment and understanding, as his brain struggled to find the right words.

The woman’s gaze wavered, and she nodded, a mixture of sadness and acceptance in her eyes. “You were so focused on the rivalry and the championship, that I didn’t want to complicate things. I thought, maybe one day…” Her voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken “one day” hanging in the air. 

Nico’s mind raced, grappling with the weight of missed opportunities and the realization of their connection has been far more profound than he had ever comprehended. “I had no idea. If I had known, I would have-” She cut him off, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “It’s in the past Nico. We can’t change it now.” Shaking his head, the blond reached out, tentatively taking (Y/N)’s hand and this time she allowed their fingers to intertwine, a silent acknowledgement of the emotions that had lingered, unspoken for years. “(Y/N), I wish I had known. I wish I had seen it then.” She met his gaze, the raw honesty of the moment reflected in her eyes. “We were caught in the whirlwind of the Silver War, and I didn’t want to be another distraction.”

Nico’s thumb gently traced circles on the back of her hand, as his gaze locked onto hers. “You were never a distraction, (Y/N).” Nico’s voice was stern. “If anything, you were the constant that I failed to appreciate.” 

As they found themselves standing at the crossroads of what could have been and what might still be, their hands lingered together, a silent testament to the depth of their connection. The unspoken feelings that had been tucked away for years now demanded recognition, weaving an intricate tapestry of emotions.

Nico took a step closer, his heart pounding with a mixture of uncertainty and hope. “Do you think we could start over…try to make up for the time we lost?”

(Y/N) looked up at him, eyes meeting his, and he thought to see a flicker of hope in their depths. “Nico-” she sighed clearly conflicted “It’s not that simple. We’ve both changed.”

He nodded a sense of gentleness in his understanding gaze. “I know, but what if we explore what we have now?” he leaned in a little closer, hand reaching up to gingerly cradle her cheek. “Let’s start from here, from this moment. Forget the misunderstandings, the lost chances and see where this takes us.” 

The warmth and sheer softness of his touch seemingly eased the mental conflict within (Y/N)’s mind and a tentative smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Will you steal another umbrella from Toto?” her question was accompanied by a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. 

The suddenness of her request made Nico knit his brows in confusion. Taking a second to process the question, this time it was him, who laughed in disbelief. 

"Yes.” he chuckled, thumb tracing her cheekbone, loving eyes studying her face as to memorise every single feature. “I'd happily steal yet another one of Toto's umbrellas for you." Underneath his gentle touch, Nico could feel her timid smile grow into a cheeky grin. "Well, then I am happily willing to give us a second chance."

As they stood there, enveloped in each other’s presence, the soft glow of the racetrack’s lights painted their faces in a warm hue, mirroring the warmth that radiated between them. “I never thought I’d feel this way again,” Nico admitted, gaze still fixed on (Y/N) as if she held the answers to questions he’d never dared to ask.

 “I’ve missed this” he muttered softly “Talking to you, being here, it feels like coming home.” (Y/N) felt the words dancing on the tip of her tongue but unable to escape. Her heart fluttered as she realized there were no words adequate to convey how she felt. With a quiet resolve, she slowly leaned in, breath mingling with his. Nico’s eyes widened slightly in surprise before softening, understanding dawning upon him. Time seemed to pause as her lips met his in a tender, feather-light kiss. It was a silent confession and a promise for the future. 

Drawing back, a rosy hue dusted (Y/N)’s cheeks and if her heart hadn’t already been racing before, it certainly was now upon seeing the lovesick smile on Nico's face.

“Welcome home, Nico.”

#f1 imagine #f1 fandom #nico rosberg #nico rosberg x reader #f1 drivers #f1 grid #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 x female reader #nico rosberg imagine #nico rosberg x you #f1 reader insert #f1 grid x reader #f1 driver x reader #f1 driver x you #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 fanfiction

[elia-the-bibliophile]

Barking Up the Right Tree (Charles Leclerc x Female Reader)

Genre: Fluff Word count: 3,6k

When Charles loses his beloved pup, Leo Leclerc, a chance encounter with Y/N sets off unexpected connections, with Leo as their furry matchmaker.

Chaos ensued within the walls of Charles Leclerc's apartment. The normally serene atmosphere was shattered by the frantic shouts of a disheveled Charles, whose in a state of sheer panic.

“Leo! Leo Leclerc, where are you, you little rascal?” Charles bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls in a comically dramatic fashion.

His apartment was like a crime scene. Furniture was overturned, cushions were scattered haphazardly, and drawers were flung open with reckless abandon. Charles, with his hair disheveled and clothes askew, resembled a character straight out of a slapstick comedy.

In his frenzied search for his beloved puppy, Charles would left no stone unturned, quite literally. He rummaged through cabinets, peeked under the sofa, and even checked inside the refrigerator, all to no avail.

“Leo, this is no time for hide-and-seek!” Charles exclaimed, frustration evident in his voice as he stumbled over a stray slipper.

He then moved his search outside. As Charles raced through the corridors of his apartment building, his anxiety reached fever pitch. With each passing minute, his desperation intensified, evident in the way he nervously gnawed on his nails, his mind swirling with worst-case scenarios.

“Merde! I've lost my son! Comment cela pourrait-il arriver.”

Undeterred by the curious stares from his neighbors and fueled by a single-minded determination to find Leo, Charles pressed on, his heart racing with every beat. The thought of his beloved puppy lost and alone filled him with a sense of dread he couldn't shake.

With a frantic flutter of fingers, Charles dialed his younger brother Arthur's number, his heart pounding against his ribcage like a drummer in a speed metal band. As the phone rang, he paced back and forth in the hallway.

“Arthur! Arthur, it's Charles,” he blurted out as soon as his brother picked up, words tumbling out of his mouth.

But poor Arthur, who was likely expecting a casual chat about the latest racing gossip, was utterly unprepared for the torrent of words that assaulted his ears.

“Woah, Hey. Slow down, Charles, I can barely understand a word you're saying!” Arthur protested, his voice barely audible over the static of the phone line.

Charles, however, was in no mood to slow down. With a mind as revved up as a Red Bull engine on race day, he continued to babble on at breakneck speed, his words blurring together into an incomprehensible stream of syllables.

“Leo's missing, Arthur! I've searched everywhere, but he's nowhere to be found!” Charles exclaimed, his voice reaching a pitch that could shatter glass.

But try as he might, poor Arthur simply couldn't keep up with his older brother's frantic pace. In the end, all he could do was offer a bewildered “What? Please speak like a normal person.”

Charles took a quick, short breath to anchor himself. With newfound focus, he prepared to explain the emergency concisely to Arthur, knowing that every second counted in finding Leo.

“Arthur, listen carefully," Charles began, his voice measured this time. “Leo, my puppy, he's gone missing. I need your help to find him.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line as Arthur processed the information, his mind racing to catch up with the sudden change in tempo.

“Leo's missing?” Arthur repeated, his voice tinged with concern. “Don't worry, we'll find him together. I'll be there in a flash.”

With Arthur's reassurance ringing in his ears, Charles responded. “Thank you,” nodding along, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

And so, Charles hung up the phone. Little did he know, however, that the help he sought was already on its way in the most unexpected of forms.

__________________________________________

Y/N had just finished working, the gentle breeze caressed her skin, carrying with it the promise of warmer days ahead. Monaco, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, seemed to shimmer with an ethereal beauty, casting long shadows that danced playfully along the cobblestone streets.

Today, the weather was exceptionally pleasant, with hints of spring lingering in the air. The scent of blooming flowers mingled with the salty tang of the sea, creating a symphony of fragrances like no other.

Y/N was startled by a faint sound emanating from a nearby bush. At first, she froze in place, “What the—.”

With cautious steps, Y/N approached the bush, her senses on high alert as she strained to identify the source of the mysterious sound. Her palms grew clammy with nervous anticipation, her breaths shallow and quick as adrenaline surged through her veins.

And then amidst the rustle of leaves, she heard it—a soft whimper, barely audible yet unmistakably plaintive. In an instant, fear gave way to compassion as Y/N's instincts kicked into overdrive, overriding her hesitation.

She pushed aside the foliage as she peered into the shadows within. And there, nestled among the leaves, was a small, trembling form—a lost and frightened puppy, its eyes wide with fear and confusion.

With gentle hands, Y/N scooped up the puppy, cradling it against her chest in a gesture of reassurance. She whispered soothing words, her voice soft like a lullaby, as she stroked the puppy's fur in rhythmic motions.

Feeling the warmth of Y/N's embrace and the steady beat of her heart, the puppy began to relax, its panicked whimpers gradually subsiding into quiet sighs. It nestled closer to Y/N, seeking consolation in her comforting presence, as if sensing that she meant no harm.

And then, in a moment that seemed to stretch on for, the puppy lifted its head and looked up at Y/N with eyes that sparkled with trust. With a tentative wag of its tail, it leaned forward and pressed a gentle lick against Y/N's cheek, a silent gesture of gratitude, making her chuckle with just a simple act.

“Hi, little one. I don’t know who you are, but I promise I’ll help get you back home, okay?” The puppy let out a soft woof, as if in agreement.

__________________________________________

When Arthur arrived at Charles' apartment, he was greeted by a scene straight out of a sitcom gone awry. His older brother, usually so composed, looked like a fish out of water amidst the lavish surroundings.

“Charles, what in the world are you doing?” Arthur exclaimed, his eyes widening in disbelief as he took in the sight before him.

But Charles, lost in the throes of his own melodrama, barely registered his brother's presence. “I've lost Leo, Arthur! My precious Leo!” Charles wailed, his voice echoing off the walls like a mournful opera singer.

Arthur blinked in confusion, trying to make sense of this erratic behavior. But Charles was already off on another tangent, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger as he ranted and raved about the injustice of it all.

“I've searched high and low, Arthur, but he's nowhere to be found! What if he's been kidnapped and sold to the meat market? Or worse, what if he's fallen into the clutches of the neighborhood cat gang?”

Arthur could only stare in bemusement as Charles launched into a series of increasingly outlandish scenarios, his arms flailing wildly in the air. “Charles, calm down!” Arthur interjected, trying in vain to inject some semblance of reason into the situation. “We'll find Leo, I promise. But first, you need to pull yourself together!”

And so, with Arthur's attempts at reason falling on deaf ears, the two brothers found themselves locked in a battle of wills—one determined to bring order to the chaos, and the other lost in a world of his own making.

__________________________________________

With a gentle pat on the back, Y/N lowered the puppy to the floor, watching with a smile as it tentatively sniffed and explored its new surroundings. The apartment, though small, was filled with touches of homely comfort—a plush rug nestled beneath a worn armchair, a scattering of potted plants adorning the windowsill, and soft, inviting cushions scattered across the sofa.

“It's okay, little one,” Y/N cooed. “You're safe here now.”

Encouraged by her words, the puppy ventured forth with cautious steps, its tail wagging tentatively as it took in the unfamiliar sights and sounds. With each passing moment, it seemed to grow more at ease.

Its curious nose led it to a corner where Y/N had left a worn cardigan on the floor. With a delighted yip, the puppy bounded over to the garment, nuzzling into its soft folds with unabashed enthusiasm. It snuggled into the fabric, finding comfort in the familiar scent of its new human friend.

Y/N watched with a smile as the puppy nestled into her cardigan, her heart swelling with affection for the adorable creature. “Well, it looks like you've found yourself a favorite spot,” she remarked fondly.

Turning her attention to the puppy, Y/N reached out to stroke its fur. “I'm sorry that I don't know your name,” her eyes meeting the puppy's in a silent exchange of understanding. “For now, I'll just call you chiot.”

Chiot let out a happy bark in response, as if to signify its approval. It wagged its tail enthusiastically.

With a smile, Y/N reached into a nearby cupboard, retrieving a handful of leftover treats from her weekend dog-sitting gigs. “Here you go, chiot," she said, offering the treats to the puppy with an encouraging smile. “You deserve a little something special for being such a good boy.”

Chiot eagerly accepted the treats, gobbling them up with gusto as if to say thank you in the only way it knew how.

Y/N rose from her seat to retrieve her phone. Social media, after all, had a remarkable ability to connect people and she was determined to reunite chiot with his rightful owner.

As she approached the window where the soft light filtered in, Y/N smiled widely at the sight of chiot playing with the edge of her cardigan. It was a picture-perfect moment—one she knew could tug at the heartstrings of even the most stoic of social media users.

With deft fingers, Y/N snapped a quick photo, capturing the essence of the moment in all its adorable glory. She added a caption to accompany the image, a plea to the online community to help her find chiot’s missing owner.

“Lost pup found a cozy spot in my cardigan. I met him on Rue Jean Bouin on my way home. Help me find its owner, Twitterverse! #LostPuppy #Monaco”

With a satisfied nod, Y/N hit the "tweet" button, sending the message out with a hopeful anticipation. And as she watched the likes and retweets trickle in, she couldn't help but feel a surge of optimism that, with a little help from the online community, chiot would soon be home.

Y/N then set her phone down on the counter and turned her attention to the stack of dirty dishes awaiting her. The mundane task of washing dishes was a welcome distraction from the excitement of the afternoon, offering a sense of grounding in the familiar rhythm of her usual daily life.

As she rolled up her sleeves and reached for the dish soap, Y/N hum the newest Sabrina Carpenter’s song under her breath, the melody weaving its way through the air. With practiced efficiency, she tackled the dishes one by one, the warm water soothing her hands as she scrubbed away the remnants of meals past.

__________________________________________

As Y/N tackled her chores, little did she know that her tweet had sparked a wildfire of activity on Twitter. Within moments, it began trending, its reach extending far beyond the borders of Monaco. Twitter users from all corners of the globe joined in the effort, sharing the photo of chiot and spreading the word in the hopes of finding its owner.

But as the photo made its rounds on the internet, eagle-eyed users couldn't help but notice something uncanny—the striking resemblance between chiot and Leo. Speculation ran rampant, with Twitter sleuths piecing together the puzzle one clue at a time.

“Could that be Leo?” one user pondered, their tweet quickly garnering hundreds of retweets and likes.

“OMG, I think you're onto something! Let's get this to Charles Leclerc.” another user replied.

And so, they all flooded Charles’ mentions, bombarding him with tweets and notifications.

Meanwhile, Charles’ annoyance grew with each incessant ping of his phone. With a frustrated sigh, he snatched the device and thrust it into Arthur's unsuspecting hands, his brow furrowed in irritation.

“Read it and tell me what on earth is happening for it to be ringing so much,” Charles grumbled.

But as Arthur's eyes scanned the screen, his expression transformed from confusion to excitement in a matter of seconds. His jaw dropped open in disbelief, eyes widening. “Charles, you won't believe this!” Arthur exclaimed excitedly. “The people on Twitter, they've found Leo!”

Charles froze, his dramatic facade crumbling in an instant as the weight of Arthur's words sank in. His mouth hanging open in a silent gasp as he struggled to process the sudden turn of events.

“They've found Leo?” Charles repeated, his voice barely above a whisper as hope blossomed within him. “Are you sure? Don’t give me false hope.”

Arthur nodded enthusiastically as he relayed the details of the Twitter frenzy. “It's true! They've been retweeting and tagging you like crazy. We need to check it out right now!”

As to prove his point, Arthur shoved the phone back into Charles' face, the screen ablaze with the viral picture. And there, in all his adorable glory, was Leo—staring back at Charles. His breath caught in his throat, as he reached out to touch the screen, as if to confirm that this was indeed real. “Leo,” Charles whispered, tears of joy welled up in his eyes. “You're safe.”

He stared upon the image of his beloved puppy, surrounded by a sea of retweets and likes, “Thank you, kind Twitter people,” Charles murmured. “You've truly worked a miracle today.”

And with that, Charles message the account that originally posted the photo. Their reply comes not even a minute later.

__________________________________________

Y/N jumped excitedly. “I've found your owner!” she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with excitement as she clutched her phone tightly in her hands. “Well not exactly, since they found me first.” She said to chiot whose name is apparently Leo.

She quickly composed a message to the anonymous account that had reached out to her, fingers flying across the screen with practiced ease. “Hi there, please come to my apartment to pick Leo up. Here's my address,” she wrote, including the details of her humble abode.

But as she hit send, a nagging thought tugged at the edges of her mind—she still didn't know who she was reaching out to. The message had come from an anonymous account, offering little in the way of clues except for the name “Charles.”

But Y/N, ever the optimist, simply shrugged off her concerns. “Well, I'll find out soon enough,” she reasoned aloud to herself.

And with that, Y/N waited patiently for Leo's owner to arrive, she allowed herself to bask in the warm glow of the moment, savoring the magic of the unexpected connections that life had brought her way.

__________________________________________

Charles and Arthur arrived at the address provided, they found themselves standing before a modest apartment building, its faded facade hinting at the stories contained within its walls.

They climbed up three level of stairs before reaching the designated floor, their hearts pounding from either anticipation or the effort that it took to climb here. Arthur then raised his hand to knock on the door. The sound echoed through the hallway like a drumroll.

With a breathless hush, the door swung open, revealing Y/N with Leo cradled in her arms like an infant. The puppy barked excitedly at the sight of Charles, his tail wagging furiously as he squirmed in Y/N's embrace.

And there, in that moment, time seemed to stand still as Charles beheld the sight before him. His heart swelled with joy at the sight of Leo, but his gaze was also drawn irresistibly to the figure standing before him.

“Leo!” Charles greeted, his voice filled with unbridled joy as he reached out to scoop the puppy into his awaiting arms. Leo responded with an enthusiastic lick to Charles' face.

But as Charles looked up to thank Y/N for her kindness, he found himself momentarily speechless, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of her standing before him. She was even more beautiful up close.

“Thank you so much for finding him,” Charles managed to say as he looked into Y/N's eyes. “I can't begin to express how much this means to me.”

As Y/N stood before Charles, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest, she struggled to find the right words to convey the mix of emotions swirling within her. Her mind raced a mile a minute, leaving her speechless and utterly flustered.

“Um... hi, yeah. You’re welcome.” Y/N stammered as she struggled to regain her composure. But try as she might, the words seemed to elude her. And so, with a helpless shrug and an awkward smile, she simply stood there, her gaze locked with Charles', her mind a blank canvas awaiting inspiration.

Meanwhile, Arthur, ever the astute observer, couldn't help but notice the strange exchange unfolding before him. A suppressed chuckle bubbled up within him, as he watched his brother turn into an awkward mess. The woman opposite him doesn’t look that good either.

Arthur discreetly nudged Charles with his elbow, Charles just shot him back an annoyed look.

Was he witnessing his brother, THE Charles Leclerc, developing a crush on someone he had just met?

His suspicions were only heightened as he noticed Charles' telltale fidgeting—the nervous habit of tugging at the edge of his jacket, a sure sign that his brother was feeling the heat of the moment. With each tug and twist of the fabric, Charles seemed to grow more and more flustered.

But if Charles was nervous, then Y/N was equally oblivious to her own telltale signs of attraction. Unbeknownst to her, she was absentmindedly fixing her hair, smoothing down stray strands with delicate fingers in a gesture as unconscious as it was endearing. Her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of uncertainty and curiosity as she met Charles' gaze.

And all the while, Arthur stood there, caught in the crossfire of his brother and this alluring stranger, no longer able to suppress the laughter from deep within him. It was a scene straight out of a romantic comedy. The sheer absurdity of it left Arthur struggling to keep a straight face.

As Arthur's laughter reverberated through the hallway, Charles and Y/N were jolted awake, their gaze meeting in a shared moment of bemusement. With a sheepish smile, Charles extended his hand towards Y/N and she accepted the gesture with a shy smile, her hand fitting nicely in his.

“It's nice to officially meet you, Y/N,” Charles said, his voice sincere. “I can't thank you enough for taking care of Leo.”

Y/N returned his smile with a warm one of her own. “Oh, it was no fuss at all,” she replied. “I loved every moment of taking care of Leo. He is very sweet.”

Leo let out a playful bark, his tail wagging furiously as if to confirm that he had indeed behaved well during his unexpected adventure.

Y/N couldn't help but chuckle at Leo's enthusiastic response, her heart melting at the sight of his playful antics. With a tender smile, she reached out to rub his head affectionately, her fingers sinking into his soft fur as she showered him with praise.

“You're such a good boy, Leo,” Y/N murmured, her voice filled with genuine affection as she gazed into his soulful eyes. “Thank you for spending some time with me.”

Charles realized it is time to take his leave, even though every fiber of his being longed to stay and say more. With a polite nod and another murmured word of thanks, he turned to make his exit, his heart heavy with the weight of missed opportunities.

But just as he took a few steps on the direction of the stairs, Charles felt a sudden weight lift from his arms as Leo wriggled free and bounded back towards Y/N, his tail wagging eagerly as if urging her to come along. Charles froze in his tracks.

Y/N, however, frowned slightly, her brow furrowing in confusion as she watched Leo's antics. “I'm sorry, Leo,” she said. “But I can't come with you. You’re back with your dad now.”

At her words, Leo let out a soft whine, his ears drooping in disappointment. His eyes now glistened with unshed tears.

And as Charles watched the exchange between Y/N and Leo, a pang of sympathy tugged at his heartstrings, his own feelings of awkwardness momentarily forgotten. He longed to reach out and comfort them both.

But alas, the moment passed too quickly and before Charles could find the words, Leo sullenly walk back to him.

Before his mind could process his thoughts, Charles blurted out, “Uh by any chance can I, uh, get your number?”

Y/N's grin widened into a radiant smile at his request. She went inside and came back with pen and scrap of paper, her movements graceful as she jotted down her digits.

But Y/N wasn't done yet. She added one final touch to the paper—a little doodle of Leo, complete with a wagging tail and a cheerful smile. Beneath the sketch, she scribbled a note that read, “And if you ever need a dog sitter for this little troublemaker, you know who to call!”

“Sure thing!” she chirped. “Here you go.”

And as she watched him tuck the paper into his pocket, she knew that not a minute would go by without her waiting for that message from him to arrive.

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[forteafy]

Baby Steps | MV1

Summary: You've always been Mercedes golden girl; your life and career have been set out in stone. All it takes is for your ultimate rival to change that all.

Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: Mild Smut, Childbirth, Angst, Mentions of Jos Verstappen.

26th November; the night of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix should have been the happiest of your life. 

Not many people in the world can hold their head up high and say they have won a Formula 1 world championship, let alone three. Ever since your toothy grin and shy comments when first stepping into the paddock, you had been making waves in the motorsport world. Years later, under the attentive eye of Toto Wolff and Mercedes, you had become effortlessly cool and undeniably talented; the core makings of a three-time world champion. 

The night of your first win was…you can’t even say a distant memory; the last thing you could vividly remember was linking arms with the golden boy of Mercedes, laughing merrily as you were guided down to the foyer of the extravagant hotel, the entire team with their warm comments and loving attitude ready for their new-found champion. The next day consisted of crouching over the porcelain throne, your insides rejecting any form of substance, the smell of tequila on your skin making you belch more. It was a cruel cycle, but one that every world champion had learnt. 

It also hadn’t ceased you from repeating the identical routine the next year; the feeling was so nice, you had to do it twice. Ironically, you had also worn the identical bra and panty set of the first year; not that anybody had seen it. Boys were off limits during the height of your career. This was your choice, of course. PR would have given their overpriced marketing tools to see you on the arm of a successful man, thinking of the faux love story they could spin. 

No, in order to be successful, respected; you’d sworn off any romantic relationship. You were not a figure to be held next to a man for beauty. Moreover, you were almost certain that if Toto saw a man within three feet of you, he’d frighten them off, in true fear that anybody would come near his youngest prodigy. 

The third year had been set; the routine was laid out in front of you, ready to make mistakes you’d groan and then forget about by the fourth. Instead, you found yourself crouched in the cramped cubicle of the nightclub, a hand over your mouth and nose, attempting to muffle the gulps from your lips. Your eyes had glossed over, intensely focused on the piece of plastic fisted in your palm. Two blue lines, interlapped to create a cross. A plus sign. A positive sign.

You were pregnant. 

19th October; a month prior to what should have been the happiest day of your life. 

You’d been the personification of a peacock; feathers flexing as you walked through the paddock, your tenth pole position of the year resting comfortably on your shoulders. Heavy pats on your back, a cheeky wink towards the camera of Sky Sports and cheers from the crowds had guided your return to your motorhome, thanking your PR assistant as you slid into the only four walls on the track where there was a form of privacy. 

Except there wasn’t. A figure was relaxed into your sofa with a photograph in his hands, eyes trained on your body when you’d entered the room, unknowing of their presence. A grin appeared on his smug face upon seeing you practically skyrocket out of your skin, noting the other person in your sanctuary. He eventually stands up, removing his branded Red Bull cap to place on your sofa. 

“You shouldn’t be here, Max.” You scoff, snatching the polaroid out of his fingers, returning the photo to its rightful place; atop of the plush chilli Carlos Sainz had bought you for your birthday. (He’d also bought you a bullet vibrator, trying to remind you of your stubbornness, urging you to relax a little.) 

“Nice photograph.” He comments, his blue eyes flickering over to where it now stood, propped up in pride. You sat centre of the track in Abu Dhabi; two younger figures sat between your legs. They both rested a chubby hand on your World Driving Championship trophy, huge grins at the shining object. “Friends of yours?” 

“Sisters.” You mumble in return, removing the snapback from your head, balancing it on top of your shelf. The cool air finds the roots of your hair instantly, a wave of relief rolling through your entire body when your hand comes up to soothe your scalp. “Congratulations on…was it P16?” You gloat, hoping your rival would catch the message that you didn’t want him to be there. 

Max feels his lips drop and eyebrows meet at the cold reminder of his own qualification result. He knew the season was drawing to a close, quickly at that, and the constant reminder that he would be losing another championship to Mercedes golden girl was the last thing he needed. The smug grin on your lips remains, turning around to slide your arms out of your race suit, letting the top half rest on your hips, sleeves hanging loosely at your legs. 

“That’s why I came to see you.” He responds, standing up straighter, arms folded as his eyes train on your own movement. “It makes my losses look miniscule compared to your own.” His own grin has returned now, satisfied with his own response to the situation. 

You had been playing this game for months. The first year of your relationship on the grid had been friendly, the second had been hostile. The third had been downright dangerous. It began to get to a point where the grid, the press, everyone had picked up on the relationship between yourself and the Red Bull driver. 

“Hey, I’ll do anything to help you forget this will be my third World Championship.” You snap back, turning around to meet his figure, your own arms mimicking, folding against your chest. This time, you take a step closer. “Maybe next year Christian Horner will remember his ‘Precious Little Maxie.’ 

Max scoffs at the nickname you had given him, eyes noting the step you had taken. He responds, taking his own step. “Trust me. There’s nothing little about me.” His eyes meet yours when he finishes his sentence, and for the first time, Max Verstappen has left you completely and utterly speechless. Mind goes into overdrive, years of hatred are forgotten has his hands fly out, grasping each side of your face, meshing his lips to your own. 

Your first thought is to push the swine away, slap him across the face and scream for Toto Wolff to grab him by the collar. Clouded, spaced out; your mind begins to crack, your only thought is how good his lips feel against your own, how soft they feel against your cheek, how sinful they trace against your neck. 

Max’s palms had originally rested on your cheek, they had begun their trail, slithering down your sides, grip tightening as they reached your hips, forcefully pulling you towards his body, grinding his crotch against your own, the desperation of his member clearly noticeable. 

A gasp emitted from your lips, feeling his teeth begin to nip across the soft skin of your neck, desperately searching for that one spot that would make you crumble. Max’s hands make quick work, one wrapping around your waist in order to keep you secure, the other grasping you fireproofs, race suit and panties in a fluid motion, exposing the sweet centre he had been craving. Nimble fingers trail around your entrance, swiping a finger against your most sensitive bundle of nerves, rewarding him with the most sinful sound he had ever received. 

“Max-“ You gasped, mind clouded by lust, how your desire of this man had built from your core the moment you had seen him in person, years ago. “Max, please-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He mumbled, his own hand pulling down his trousers and underwear, rubbing his shaft for preparation. “Do not ruin this fucking moment.” 

In a swift motion, Max has you pinned against the wall of your driver room, the cool wall sending a shiver against your skin. You barely have time to register the coolness dancing across you before your mind is overwhelmed by the feeling of his length slipping into your wet folds, and there is truly nothing little about him in that moment, mind sent into overdrive when he brings his lips back to yours. 

19th December, twenty-three days after what should have been the happiest day of your life. 

You had finally thrown yourself entirely into a distraction; Christmas. You’d flew back to Brackley alongside your teammate, both of you returning to the Mercedes base before retiring for the holidays. There had been no string short of invites flooding into your inbox, asking if you wanted to join them in any festivities. Anything at this point was a wanted distraction from the impending coil growing in your stomach, both figuratively and literally. 

And so, you attended a Christmas Market alongside George and Carmen, passing on the mulled wine the two had insisted on trying. You’d gone to see Jack’s Christmas performance alongside Toto and Suzie but declined going to the fish restaurant they had mentioned; (you’d read somewhere in your first week of sheer panic that you could no longer go near fish whilst pregnant.) You’d gone to Lando’s new apartment in London but had seen the scowl on his face when you’d complained about your ‘bad stomach,’ and couldn’t do any heavy lifting of decorations. 

It wasn’t until Christmas Eve; Lewis had come to your family’s home, presents for your younger siblings, parents and yourself, of course. He’d sat politely, sipped on your mother’s tea, laughed politely at the antics building up towards the big day itself. 

Spending time with somebody for three quarters of the year will teach you a lot about them; Lewis knew you like he knew each twist and turn of every track he’d raced along during the years. He knew you laughed with your whole stomach to the point where you had to grab something for support; that before every single race you would have your ‘top secret handshake’ with your race engineer, (you insisted your race would always go more smoothly if you did so, the last time you didn’t had resulted in a DNF.) 

What Lewis knew most, was you were a complete and utter sucker for anything with chocolate. He had seen you practically sob when your trainer had found protein brownies that would work in your diet. So why did you decline your mothers’ sweet desserts when offered around the lounge? Why did you seem to hold your breath when the scent of treats was wafted under your nose, almost as if you’d vomit if you came into contact with them? 

Carefully, your teammate placed his mug down on the low table, wiggling out of the space between your younger sisters; both were entranced by him. In any other situation, he would have sat there for hours, listening to their oh-so-sweet stories. Instead, he whistled for Roscoe, watching as the dog stooped up from his position by the fire, tottering over towards his owner.

“I’m going to take Roscoe out for a wee.” He nods towards your figure, slouched on the opposite sofa. “You coming?” The way he phrases his question; you can tell it’s not a question, it’s a command. You nod, placing down your own mug, stretching as you pulled yourself away from the leather recliner. 

Your sisters were now engrossed by one of the presents Lewis has insisted they had to open early. Your mother and father were running through their guest list for tomorrow; nobody seemed to notice as the two of you slipped on your outerwear, whistling for Roscoe as you stepped through the dining room and onto the porch of the family home you had gifted your parents almost 1 year ago now. 

Lewis’ eyes meet yours the moment you had closed the ornate doors. You struggle to meet his gaze; you know he has begun to put the pieces of this metaphorical puzzle together. He barely waits for the sound of the door closing before he starts to speak, the mannerisms he reserves for his teammate in instant appeal. 

“Alright. What’s happening then?” He asks almost instantly, motioning for you to walk alongside him, taking the scenic route of the large garden. “You’d never turn down sweet things. You do everything to make your mother smile, why would you turn down her cooking?”

“I’ve just gone off that kind of stuff.” You mumble, not really thinking about what you were saying. You’d later remember to be more careful with your responses. You were not expecting him to piece it together so quickly through his own train of thought. 

“Oh, my sister was like that when she was pregnant with-“ He cuts himself off, ceasing his steps when he realises what has escaped his lips. His head snaps back to look at you, and his heart melts. You, his self-assured, sweet teammate, now with tears in your eyes, a visible shake running across your body. He’s not stupid, he’s far from it. 

“You’re pregnant.” He almost whispers, seeing how the words are visibly affecting you. Lewis says nothing, instead pulling you straight into his chest, arms engulfing you as he feels your body loosen, silently shaking with held back tears of being reminded of your current situation. “But…how?” He murmurs, loud enough for you to hear. He knew of your dating rule. Even outside of the press, no man ever seemed to be enough to knock you down, let alone knock you up. 

You can’t tell him, not now. You couldn’t tell him. You had to tell him. 

“Max.” You whisper, barely able to have the name on your lips. Lewis’ brows furrow. He knows in his heart he is right, but he doesn’t want to be. 

“Fewtrell?” He responds, referencing to Lando’s oldest friend. You had been to see them recently, after all.

“Verstappen.”

Lewis’ isn’t sure what to say in that moment. Instead, he simply keeps you in his arms, in this moment at least, he can keep you warm, safe. Away from questioning eyes and the stories which will surely follow you until the end of time, until the end of your career. Instead, he asks the one question which you had been blocking out for oh-so-long, that you had been putting off since you threw yourself into these festivities. 

“What are you going to do?” 

6th January, 41 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life. 

You knew what you were going to do.

You knew from the moment you had been called into your first ultrasound scan; by this point, only a few select people knew of the situation. Lewis. Your parents. The delivery driver at Dominoes Pizza whom had given you a strange look when handing over a pizza with no cheese, but three lots of spicy peppers. 

Going to your first ultrasound alone had been terrifying; bringing somebody along would have drawn too much attention. You had played a mighty risk by going alone, hoping you wouldn’t be recognised. You didn’t want Mercedes to catch wind of the happenings, instead hoping nobody would openly tweet about your live location.

Your nurse doesn’t recognise you; if she does, she doesn’t show it. She’s polite and kind, makes sure that you haven’t used the bathroom in four hours, something to do with amniotic fluid. The cold jelly on your stomach sends an odd feeling through your body, as if cold cream was balancing on your tummy. There’s a sharp prod, a poke, and then you see the nurse smile.

“Ah, there they are!” She glows. 

And there they are. Sat there, in your stomach. A small curve, to anybody else, a completely unidentifiable shape. But to you? The most precious shape that was completely and utterly undeniably yours. How you could have thought that you could go through life without knowing them is beyond you. 

That was the moment you knew what you were going to do.

All you had to do now, was tell Toto. No big deal. 

23rd February, 89 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life. 

“Horner!”

Toto was known to be larger than life, and his voice only proved that theory as he stormed out of his Paddock Office, completely abandoning any information being presented about Pre-Testing in Bahrain. Instead, he’s seeing red, he’s seeing that Horner’s complete and utter dickhead of a driver has knocked up his winner. His current champion. (With no disrespect to Lewis, of course.)

Your teammate had been there, holding your hand when you had broken the news to Toto, your race engineer and your trainer. Your PR assistant was aware of the situation, currently attempting to make a game plan of how to handle the situation. She was adamant you needed to remain in the paddock; you ­still needed to be a part of the sporting world, even if you weren’t driving. 

At first, Toto thought it was Lewis’ baby, ready to bang both of their heads together and reprimand them for not being careful. When it had slipped whose child it was, (Toto was well aware of your rule too, he was just as confused as Lewis had been when he’d first found out.) Toto didn’t care about anything. More importantly, he didn’t care that your pregnancy wasn’t public knowledge. 

Toto had stormed into Red Bull’s garage, much to the widened eyes of Christian Horner. Despite being shorter, he instantly holds himself against the Austrian, arms folded, a smirk on his face at the entrance of the unwanted guests. 

“How can I help you, Toto?” He smirks, ready for some remark. Instead, Toto leans to Christian’s ear, murmuring something unhearing to the rest of the garage. You can take a guess to what is said however, judging by how pale the Red Bull’s Team Principle had gone. In one swift move, he motions for Toto and yourself to follow him, calling out to his own team. 

“Send Max to my office. Now.” His voice is unrevealing, but his skin is growing paler by the minute. 

You had never been into a Red Bull garage, and yet now you sat in Horner’s own office, amazed by the fact their colour schemes and trophies could be carried around the world. Mercedes kept theirs at home, sometimes plain and simple was the way to go. You began to wonder if you should bring your trophies to your next races, maybe it would give the team a reminder of what can be achieved. 

“Sit.” Horner motions to the couch in the office. You take a seat almost instantly, overwhelmed by the entire situation. Lewis places himself next to you, an arm around your back protectively. Toto refuses to take a command, instead remaining standing, arms folded, a glare of hatred towards Christian. 

“I don’t know why you’re so mad at me.” The Red Bull team principal scoffs. “I didn’t tell Max to sleep with your little prodigy.” He may not be showing it, but Christian himself was downright livid with his driver. Max needed to focus; the team needed to focus on gaining back a world championship. Max was scarily focused, but when it came to the women in his life; his mother, his sister, his new little girlfriend Christian had seen in the paddock earlier that day, he would change, they became his focus. 

“You need to keep that boy away from my team!” Toto retaliates. He could have gone deeper, he was all but ready to drag Max into the middle of the track and hold him there, letting Lewis drive into him at full force. Before any more threats could be thrown across the office, a door opens, the present grin on Max Verstappen’s face wiped instantly upon seeing Toto, Lewis and yourself. 

“Max.” Christian starts, arms folded, the voice he used to reprimand his children now present. He can’t continue his phrasing however, before Toto scoffs, pointing an accusing finger towards the driver. 

“You!” He roars, instantly forgetting the plead you had given him half an hour before, longing to keep this news as quiet as you could for as long as possible. “You couldn’t keep away; you have ruined my team! How dare you knock her up!” Toto is only stopped when you jump up from your seat, grabbing both of his arms in an attempt to stop his frantic ranting. 

It takes Max a moment to process what has been said, he’s always struggled with quick responding when it’s not on a racetrack. It hits him all at once. Your pregnant. You’d slept together a month ago. Without protection, purely in the heat of the moment. Max Verstappen was going to be a father alongside his arch-rival. 

“You’re pregnant?” Max can’t help his questioning, catching your eyes for the first time since entering the room. You can only offer him a nod, unable to form words in that current moment. “And…it’s mine? Are you sure?”

Your blood ran cold, you finally understood the rage that your Team Principle. You turn around, eyes darkened, shaking your head in pure anger. “Who else have I slept with, Max? You want to tell me that?” The audacity of this man. How dare he question you. 

“You’re not keeping it, right?” Christian is the first to question. Max’s eyes gloss over, coughing lightly before overtaking the conversation from his own Team Principle. “I’m- I’m not ready to be a father.” His own skin mimics that of Christian; he turns as pale as the white lines of a hard tyre. 

“You’re not-“ You cut yourself off, instead opting to keep silent. You had nothing else to say. Max had made his stance on the situation ­clear. “I don’t need you, Max. I can do this myself.” The entire room watches as you pull away from Lewis and Toto, never once looking at the father of your child. 

10st March, 105 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life. 

The Monaco Grand Prix was usually the highlight of your year; champagne podiums, speed boats and the comfort of sleeping in your own bed. However, this time you were not watching it from the screen of your car, nor the comfort of the paddock. You’d opted to remain at your apartment. For a start, the headlines which had been spiralling across the media were growing overwhelming. ‘Mercedes driver pulled out of racing until further notice.’ ‘Max Verstappen breaks up with new girlfriend after only weeks together.’ ‘Valtteri Bottas to pose for nude charity calendar.’

Maybe that last one wasn’t to do with your situation; you were all too aware of how your grid buddy could act in his down time. 

Your second worry was the fact that your bump was beginning to grow adamant. It had only been around three months, yet the bump seemed almost ballooning. Every piece of clothing you tried on made you feel like it was more and more obvious. You didn’t want anybody seeing what was happening to your body. Besides, it wasn’t like the pregnancy was an ­entire secret anymore.

You hadn’t heard from Max since that day in the office. Toto had found you crying an hour later, coaxing you to stop for your own health and the sake of the baby. For the first part of the racing season, your unfilled seat had been passed to George Russell. You’d smiled at each interviewer, telling the world you had an injury which made driving next to impossible at the present time. For each Grand Prix, you’d stayed sat next to Toto, cheering on the silver arrows. Maybe you hadn’t seen Max because you barely set foot outside of the garage. 

The news had slowly begun to spread from driver to driver, though each remained loyal and hadn’t told the press of your true reasoning for stepping away. Charles had been around in an instant, helping you to talk through what had been happening. He was your neighbour, after all, he liked to check in when he could. You’d had a visit from Daniel, telling you his best friend was a…well, how he put it, ‘a grade-a cunt,’ for how he had reacted. 

There was only one person, however, whom you had wanted to speak to. Sebastian had been a close friend, almost a mentor, during your first batch of Formula 1 seasons. He was also a father himself, maybe he would be able to explain to you Max’s stance on the whole thing. 

You knew he was visiting Monaco that weekend for the Grand Prix. When your phone buzzed from your living room, you’d assumed it was him asking for you to come and let you into the complex. What you were not expecting, was the text on your phone from none other than the father of your child. 

14:05: Max Verstappen

I don’t know if you have me blocked, I’m hoping you do not. I want to apologise for my reaction. It was a lot. I want to be there, for you and our child. 

14:09: You

I appreciate the message. Thank you. My next scan is on Tuesday, after Monaco. 

14:11: Max Verstappen

I’d like to be there. Could you send me the details, please?

14th March, 109 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life. 

Max Verstappen was not a practical man. 

Despite telling him you would meet him at the address you had sent him, he’d shown up to your apartment just before you were set to leave. Standing in the lobby of your apartment complex, a large bouquet of flowers resting in his arms. You could have sworn you’d never seen Max outside of jeans and a Red Bull polo shirt; it was refreshing to see him in crisp shirt and cargo trousers. 

“You didn’t have to dress up.” You mumble, looking down to your own outfit; a soft summer dress seemed positively ordinary; hair loose around your shoulders. It was just a scan, after all. It wasn’t as if the two of you would be going on a date; you hated the man stood in front of you. However, a smile is soon nestled on your face when the man offers you the bundle of flowers, offering a warm grin alongside them. 

“You look nice.” Max nods, motioning towards the exit of the complex. His car was parked directly outside, as in order to avoid the press whom would undoubtedly be looking for the drivers in Monaco. The flowers decorated your arms, carefully resting them on your lap before adjusting your seatbelt. “Do you need anything?” He looks back to the complex, concerned if you had forgotten something.

“I just need the bathroom.” You mention half-heartedly. Max’s eyes widen, ready to step out of the car and lead you back into the apartment. “Oh-“ You cut yourself off, having to explain the situation. “No, I need a full bladder for the scan, so they can see the baby.” The man nods in understanding, sitting himself in the driver’s seat, looking both ways before beginning to start the route towards clinic. 

The car ride between the two of you was unusually peaceful; Max made light conversation, filling you in on the antics of the paddock from that weekend. You can’t hold back the laugh from your lips when he mentions Christian Horner slipping off his high seat when excitedly jumping to his feet. You missed the paddock; you missed the feeling of racing; you especially missed the banter between your friends. You’d have to return, sooner rather than later.

When the two of you pulled into the car park, Max was quick to step out of his seat, opening the car door for you. You offer him a quiet thanks before making your way into the building, side by side. The nurse you had previously seen gives you a smile, delighted to finally see the father of the baby alongside you. 

Max had silently followed you into the room; it wasn’t that he didn’t want to speak, quite the opposite. The man was taking in every piece of information that was being given, silent notes in his mind on each aspect. He’d keep the baby safe; he’d keep you safe, too. Ever now the gentlemen, he helps you to lie down on the seat, your bumped stomach revealed through lifting the skirt of your summer dress. 

He can’t help but notice the soft underwear decorating your lower half. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen you naked, after all. That’s how you had got here in the first place. His thoughts are soon side-tracked when seeing you wince from the coldness of the jelly and the cramp of the scanning machine. Max’s hand trails, feeling your own resting aside your body. He can’t help but hold onto it, trying to offer you some sort of comfort. Maybe it’s the sudden nerves, but your hand grabs back just as tightly, feeling his thumb rub carefully against your knuckles. 

“You okay?” He mumbles, trying to keep a low profile from the nurse. You can only nod, comforted in the way your…rival…was now holding your hand so preciously. 

“Now…” The nurse begins. “I wanted to check with you both, you mentioned wanting to find out the gender of your child.” Her question is directed towards you, Max’s eyes darting between the two women in the room. “Of course, if dad doesn’t want to know, he can leave-“

“Oh, no.” Max interrupts, mind racing at a thousand thoughts per minute. “I’d…I want to know too.” He agrees, nodding in synch with you. 

“Well, congratulations. You’re having a beautiful baby girl.” The nurse confirms, turning around the screen to you both. The undefinable shape you had seen mere weeks ago had developed, becoming a more shaped being. You could see the baby forming, eyes widening in shock. Your eyes glanced over to Max, his grip tightening on your palm. 

You didn’t miss the glossed tears in his eyes. He knew in that very moment that this baby, this moment was…everything to him. 

2nd May, 158 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life. 

Overnight, Max Verstappen had truly wiggled his way into your inner circle. The two of you had barely said ten civilised words to one another since meeting all those years ago. Now? There was a string of texts almost every morning, asking how you were feeling, to let him know if you needed anything. You had truly begun to push the limits of his patience. The man had showed up your doorstep one morning with a bag of cinnamon pretzels after hearing your cries down the telephone line. 

Right now, the two of you were basking in the bliss of your little bundle of joy; there were still a lot of heavy conversations to come, but the first wave of nerves had passed, you were now simply excited to meet the little being growing in your stomach. 

The two of you had developed a successful co-parenting system to work your way through the pregnancy; Max had engrossed himself in endless copies of baby books. Daniel had found him one afternoon in his driving room, highlighting a textbook on what the main causes of a baby crying could be. He’d started to keep a calendar of every appointment that he’d attend alongside you, notes on the dates that you’re feeling a particular sickness or swelling. If you won’t bring it up with a doctor, he would. 

Max tries to convince himself it’s to keep his baby safe; of course, you need to remain healthy too, but he doesn’t care about you, not in that sense. 

It isn’t until he receives a phone call from you one afternoon, pleading for him to come and collect you from a friend’s house; your car had broken down and your Uber application wouldn’t seem to find you a driver that wasn’t half an hour away. Max had shown up at the doorstep ten minutes later, knocking on the door to signal your arrival. When there was no answer, he took his own incitive to investigate the back garden, hearing the light sound of music, chattering adults and giggling children. 

The garden is in full swing; you hadn’t mentioned it was a party; an extravagant one at that. He’s taken aback by the decorations, a giant bounce house and the most enormous birthday cake he had ever seen. 

His heart almost stops when he sees you.

You, hair framing your face beautifully, a pale pink dress hugging you in the most delicious way. Your attention is focused to the toddler on your hip, your godson. How on earth could you think you were not ready for this? You pulled faces at the young being his giggles screaming through the air. Max had always thought you were pretty, but now he could only see you as a goddess.

He’s convinced himself, after all. He doesn’t care for you. He worships you. 

9th June, 196 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life. 

“I think we should move in together.” 

Max’s attention is drawn up from his phone. Christian and himself had been texting backwards and forwards for the past few days; the driver was trying to rework his schedule so he could at least be with you for a week after the birth. It was getting closer; the world now knew of your pregnancy, the media torn between harsh critics and positive glows. 

What they didn’t know was the father of the child was your sworn enemy. 

Maybe, enemy was a word you didn’t wish to use anymore. A friend didn’t seem right, either. A mix of late-night conversations, spooning ice cream to one another whilst binging a new Netflix series and picking out a bundle of pink pyjamas had drawn the two of you into an undefinable relationship. 

“You know…” You continue. “I want…her to have both her parents about. I don’t want her to grow up in a broken household.” It was true; you’d seen how it could affect people, especially the man who was sat by your side. He understood, completely and utterly. After what he had been through, he wouldn’t wish that on anybody, least of all his own flesh and blood. His own baby. 

“I missed my mother…a lot when I was younger.” He referenced his parents’ separation, how he had barely seen his mother and sister whilst growing up. “I wouldn’t want that for her.” Max rests a hand on your stomach, a soft smile on his face when he looks at you. Even with no makeup, a hoodie which was way too big for you, you were still positively glowing. “Why don’t we have a look tomorrow? Find somewhere around here with enough space for us all.” 

You nod in agreement. “That’s fine, but you’re painting the nursery.” You mumble in response. A small laugh emits from both of your lips. However, yours is soon replaced with a sharp wince, a rumble in your stomach. Max, whom still had a hand resting on the bump immediately stops laughing, both of your eye’s meeting in shock.

“Was that-” He cuts himself off when he feels the movement again. It’s a kick. The baby is kicking. 

“She’s awake!” You laugh, placing your hand carefully across Max’s. You gently guide it across your stomach, tracing the sharp movement in your stomach. “We must have woken her up. Sorry sweet pea.” You direct the last part of your sentence to the baby in your stomach. 

Max gently removes his hand from your stomach, his head tiling closer to your bump. The baby can hear him. She’s in there, nestled and warm, awaiting her welcome into the world. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” He mumbles, voice thick from holding back heavy tears. “It’s your Papa.”

He doesn’t miss the small laugh from you, entirely entertained by this whole situation.

“I know I can’t see you yet, but you’re the most beautiful girl I could ever ask for. Just like your mother.” He finishes, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your stomach. Softly, he lifts himself up, pressing a kiss to your temple, heads resting gently against one another as the next episode of your series began to play. 

29th June, 216 days after what should have been the happiest day of your life. 

Spa-Francorchamps was the last race on the calendar before the summer break. It was also the last time you would be able to be in the paddock without a baby strapped to your side.

It had been magical, when walking into the Mercedes garage. Cheers had erupted upon seeing their golden girl return to the paddock. Lewis had barely been able to contain himself, pulling you into the tightest hug which could be imagined. Toto had almost started crying, kissing the top of your head and resting a hand on your stomach, declaring the baby as his unborn prodigy. 

There had been no end of drivers coming to meet you, too. Charles and Carlos had declared how much they had missed having you around, presenting you with a baby blanket and beanie. Your heart had ­melted when they explained their mothers had taught them how to knit, both wanting to make a present for you, stitched with love. You’d almost started crying, hormones were in full swing in the third trimester, kissing both on the cheek and thanking them endlessly. 

Yuki had walked up to you that afternoon too, presenting a small Tupperware box. He had noticed you’d completely rejected fish, and most of all sushi, so instead had made you a batch which was pregnancy safe. The two of you had tried a piece there and then, declaring it as quite possibly the best thing your tastebuds had found since pregnancy had altered your tastebuds. 

Daniel had come to find you, telling you to meet him in his garage, that he had a surprise for you both. Both, meaning you’d probably have to find Max, too. 

His garage was only a short walk from where you’d been set up in the Mercedes camp. You’d began to make your way over there, hoping you’d bump into the father of your child on the way. You’d last seen Max that morning, having driven you to the paddock himself. He’d become…fiercely caring since the evening of feeling the baby kick. He’d slept in your bed that night, you are resting against his chest, a form of comfort in the third trimester. 

What you hadn’t expected to see, as you turned the corner, was a beautiful girl, hands resting on Max’s waist, her eyes sparkling, lips moving. You couldn’t see Max’s face, his cap hiding any expression, but your heart knew that he’d be smirking, basking in the attention.

Loving the attention of a beautiful girl, one that wasn’t pregnant with his child.

You couldn’t…understand why you had suddenly cared so much about who he was interacting with. When you’d first started this whole…adventure, he’d still been seen in clubs, leaving with different women on his arm every weekend. You’d hit the second trimester; his party and escapades had stopped, his sole attention of women being on you.

Maybe that was it. You’d grown to like the attention of Max. Whether it was as the father of your child or…something else. 

Your hormones were truly beginning to overtake you, feeling tears trickling out of your water line. You had to look away at that moment, you couldn’t keep looking at the events unfolding in front of you. Your mind traces back to that morning in Christian Horner’s office, how Max had turned pale, not wanting to be burdened with the birth of his child. 

‘I’m- I’m not ready to be a father.’

Maybe he wasn’t. But you were ready to be a mother. 

8th August, 255 days since what should have been the- 

You couldn’t handle this.

The pain was beginning to seethe through your stomach. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, it was all wrong, it was happening too quickly. 

Since the incident at the paddock, you’d been radio silent towards Max. He wasn’t too sure of ­how it had come to be. All he had known was you’d taken yourself home from Spa, telling him that you’d needed to fly home to be with your parents before the birth.

 One day without a phone call was okay, he suspected it would be due to the time zones. Two was…a little odd. After three, he was frantically packing a suitcase, trying to get hold of anybody who would possibly know your parents’ address. He’d resulted to finding your teammates phone number. After he was met with a string of questions, asking how on earth he had gotten hold of his phone number. When Max had explained you had gone off the grid, Lewis had simply scoffed.

Of course, Lewis had known what had happened. He’d seen you return to grab your bag, eyes glassy as you offered the team a quick goodbye, promising to bring the baby to meet them all as soon as possible. 

The driver had been the one to guide you back through the paddock. Despite not racing together for almost six months, he still had your mannerisms sketched into his mind. Eventually, you’d confided in your closest friend, letting the tears fall freely as he guided you back to your Uber, pressing a kiss to your forehead, a silent promise that he would be there if you needed anything, if there were any more thoughts or issues.

He had no issue telling Max his thoughts over the telephone. Despite Max’s answers, there was no excuse. ‘You were hormonal. How did he think you felt when seeing Max with another woman, even if it was innocent, she didn’t seem to be in that stance.’ 

That was the case. It was an ex-girlfriend, she’d been in the paddock that afternoon, seeking out the world champion in an advancement to get them back together. Max had no intention of going there, not when he was during finding something, some gesture to show you of his advancing feelings over the past few months. That was why he had asked Daniel to get you to his garage. He would be able to surprise you, tell you how he was really feeling, how he loved you, and not just for being the mother of his child.

After copious amounts of pleading, Lewis had eventually sent over the address, giving Max a dire warning as to if he upset you again. 

The flight to your home had been fast. He couldn’t thank his assistant enough, getting a hire car set for the moment he stepped out of the airport. However, turning up at your home to find your father, arms folded, and eyebrows raised at Max’s sudden appearance. Your father barely said two words, just told Max you had gone into labour.

Max’s blood had run cold upon that realisation. He wasn’t there; he wasn’t there to hold your hand when the pain started, to hold your hair up and get some coolness to your overheating skin. He wasn’t ­there. Not for his little girl, and not for her mother. Being a Formula One driver in that evening was the most helpful thing in his opinion, arriving at the hospital in record time. 

Car thrown carelessly into a parking spot, he’d sprinted into the reception, a nurse resting a hand on his arm when seeing the pure shock registered on his face. He couldn’t get any words out properly, simply repeating your name, that he was the father of your child. He wanted to see you, he wanted to see his baby. 

The nurse nodded, motioning for Max to follow him down a corridor. He didn’t like the coldness of the building. You probably felt so alone. Every time he had come with you to a clinic appointment, he’d notice the change in your demeanour, how you felt uncomfortable. You should have opted for a home birth; you would have been calmer. Safer. 

Max eventually reached your hospital room, heart breaking at the sounds from the other side of the door. You were in pain. That much was obvious as he opened the door. Your mother wasn’t present. He knew your stubbornness, knowing that you would have wanted to do this without her. Maybe, you’d want to do this without him, too. 

His train of thought was interrupted, hearing a voice he had missed oh-so-much for the past three days. 

“Max.” You cried, tears rolling down your cheeks. The gas wasn’t working, the epidural hadn’t kicked in yet. You were going to feel ever piece of this. 

The man sprang into action; in an instant, his jacket was removed, revealing his soft t-shirt and trackpants. A seat was pulled up to the head of your bed, Max sitting himself down, one hand running across the top of your head, the other arm resting by your hands, letting you grip into him as deeply as you needed to. 

“Shh. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” He mumbles. Soft words of Dutch come from his lips; you’re too far gone to understand his words in English, let alone his native language. 

“You- why did you come?” You sob, feeling another contraction wash over your stomach. You can’t help but sob out, overwhelmed by the physical pain of the baby, the emotional pain of Max after seeing him in the paddock with that girl. 

“I couldn’t leave the love of my life to meet our baby girl alone, could I?” He responds, leaning upwards to press a soft kiss to your cheek. He can taste the salt from your tears. He swore there and then, you’d never cry again. Not if he was around. You’d stay with him in the paddock, you and his baby girl. He’d make you laugh at every available opportunity. He’d shower you both in gifts; he’d give his girls everything they’d desire. If one day you decided to return to racing, he’d retire there and then to let you peruse his dream. 

“Okay, okay. We need to push.” The midwife insists, seeing the pain flush over your cheeks. Max is ­there, clasping your hands, running a palm across your cheek, promising that oh-so-soon, your baby girl would be here, she would be in your arms, you would be complete.

There’s a sharp scream from you, and then the tiniest cries from the end of the bed. 

She was here. Bloody, high pitch screams fill the room as the baby is placed onto your chest.

A wave of relief flushes over you, lying back into the cushions, sobbing in hysteria; your baby girl had been welcomed into the world. Max this time, can’t hold back his own tears, aiding the midwife in cutting the chord, eyes in awe as he watched the midwife gently rub a cloth against her soft skin. 

“She’s here.” You whisper, the midwife aiding you in wrapping your daughter in a pink blanket, her wails cooling down, eyes blinking up to her mother. The blue eyes, identical to those of her father. 

Her father in question had sat back in his chair, eyes transfixed on the bundle in your arms. What he isn’t expecting is for you to motion your own arms towards him, letting the man cradle his daughter. It’s so…natural. Your heart fills with adoration; how you could ever believe you hated this man was beyond you.

Eventually, the baby is placed into the cradle, deep in slumber. Max hasn’t moved from your side, one arm around your back, both of you transfixed onto the peacefully sleeping child. 

“She’s here.” Max repeats for the hundredth time, eyes still focused on the sweet girl. His head turns to you, there’s no better time to say it. “I’m sorry. For not telling you sooner. For not telling you how much I care about you.” He murmurs, hand finding yours, clasping them together. 

“Yeah?” You tease, running your free hand through his soft hair, feeling his head press into your touch. His touch subsides, leaning in ever so gently, pressing his lips to your own. It’s soft, it’s unexpected, but it feels so, so right. It’s only interrupted with the soft cries from your baby once again. 

“Is this what it’s going to be like from now on?” Max laughs, his moment being disrupted by the baby. You can only laugh as he stands up, scooping up the baby into his gentle grasp. 

9th August, 1:06am. This was the happiest day of your life. 

#F1 #Formula 1 #F1 x Reader #Max Verstappen #MV1 #MV33 #Max Verstappen x Reader #Max Verstappen Imagine #Max Verstappen One Shot #Reader Insert #Reader x Max #Formula 1 Imagine #F1 Imagine #Red Bull #Ferrari #Mercedes #Aston Martin #Fantiction #Max Verstappen x You #F1 x Y/N #F1 Fandom #Max Verstappen Fluff #Max Verstappen Smut #Charles Leclerc #Daniel Ricciardo #Lewis Hamilton #Toto Wolff

[halsteadlover]

𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

• Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader.

• Summary: just a compilation of Charles’ ig posts showing how much he’s obsessed and in love with you and his baby.

• Warnings: none just pure fluff.

• A/N: I know I know… I’m a sucker for dad fics I just can’t help it 😭😭 this is my first time posting a smau so please be kind with me I know it’s bad 😭 let me know what I can do to do it better and what you think ❤️ love you all xx

Tagged: yourusername

Liked by yourusername, arthur_leclerc, carlossainz55 and other 1.718.661

charles_leclerc You have never been more beautiful than you are now mon amour. Watching you grow our baby is one of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed 🖤

View all the comments

user1 Charles whipped Leclerc is back in town!

charlos123 screaming, crying throwing up 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

landonorris find yourself someone who loves you like Charles loves his wife (I'm 5'10 girls)

oscarpiastri Shut up no you’re not

user88 💀💀💀

yourusername Je t'aime plus que la lune et les étoiles mon amour ❤️ We’re both so lucky to have you (I love you more than the moon and the stars)

charles_leclerc Je t'aime beaucoup plus bébé❤️ (I love you so much more baby)

versclerc the way he just answers her comments 😭

Tagged: yourusername

Liked by leclerc_pascale, yourusername, joris__trouche, carlossainz55 and other 2.054.101

charles_leclerc For you mon amour.

For you, who looks in the mirror and doesn’t like what you see but is truly the most breathtaking woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.

For you, who every single day gives me one more reason to love you even more, something I didn’t even believe was possible. Feeling something so strong for someone that the word ‘love’ isn’t enough to describe it.

For you, who taught me the meaning of true love and what’s really important in life.

For you, who are so beautiful that it still surprise me even after so many years being together how you manage to give me butterflies in my stomach.

For you for whom just one look is enough to make my heart race and my hands sweat.

For you who are the most beautiful thing life has ever given me.

For you, who can brighten my darkest day, who can make me the happiest that I’ve ever been.

For you, who gave me the most beautiful gift I could have ever asked for.

We can’t wait to hold you mon petit, please hurry up 🙏🏻❤️

View all the comments

user24 GOOD FUCKING BYE

user98 Dragging my teeth on the concrete

mstleclerc CHARLESJSJSIDJSOSKSNSJ OMFGGGGGG 😭😭😭

carlossainz55 you’re making me want one of those little shits

Liked by charles_leclerc and yourusername

landonorris I almost shed a tear not gonna lie

Liked by charles_leclerc

arthur_leclerc I’m so happy for you brother I can’t wait to spoil my nephew ❤️

Liked by charles_leclerc and yourusername

charles_leclerc By the way my wife just bursted out crying seeing this post and I was about to make a video but she literally threatened to kill me if I did ❤️ God I love her 😍

f1fun_12 This is such a Y/n thing to do 😭

sainzzzzzzzzzzzz As she should!

yourusername I can’t put into words how much I’m grateful for you and for everything you do for our little family. Our son is so lucky to have you as a father and I couldn’t have chosen a better husband. I’d be so lost without you baby, I love you more than my life ❤️ ps: stop making me cry for fucks sake I don’t have any more tears in my body thanks

charles_leclerc Can you please unlock the bedroom darling?

yourusername Nope, that’s what you get for trying to filming me

yourusername UNLESS……. You bring me a ketchup sandwich

charles_leclerc it’s already on the way my queen 👸🏻 your wish is my command

user7612 A KETCHUP SANDWICH??? What???

yourusername @user7612 it’s not my fault okay?

monof1 the fact Charles is so used to her cravings that he’s not even questioning them anymore 😭

charles_leclerc @monof1 fun fact: never NEVER argue with a pregnant woman especially if that pregnant woman is Y/n

monof1 @/charles_leclerc OMG CHARLES HI I LOVE YOU

charles_leclerc posted on his story

Viewed by yourusername and 99251 others

yourusername

What did I do to deserve you?

landonorris answered your story:

You’re so whipped mate

charles_leclerc can you blame me? Have you seen my wife and THAT baby bump?

carlossainz55 answered your story:

Yeah ok we get you’re in love and bla bla bla

Tagged: yourusername

Liked by pierregasly, landonorris, lewishamilton and other 1.524.793

charles_leclerc There are only a few days left until our baby arrives and I’m scared and impatient at the same time. My wife is sleeping next to me now breathtakingly beautiful and I’ve taken some time to reflect on how these 9 months have flown by and I can’t believe it, it seems like it was just yesterday that we found out we were expecting a baby. I can no longer remember what my life was like before knowing your existence, little one.

I can't help but imagine and think about you in everything I do and every step I make, thinking about how beautiful it’ll be to see you take your first steps, to see you run around the house, dirty everything, to see you measure my helmets, to see you trying my race suits, to see you go to school, to see you grow in the beautiful and amazing person you’re going to be.

We’ll probably argue sometimes, although I’ll make sure that never happens, but whatever happens, just know that I loved you more than my life from the first moment since I saw that positive pregnancy test and I hope you’ll never forget it even if we have any argument.

Mommy and I are so eager to finally hold you in our arms, hear you cry and take your first breath in this new life. It hasn’t always been easy, I’ll be honest, and it won’t be easy but I wouldn’t change anything. I love you mon petit ange. 🖤

View all the comments

user90 CHARLES 😭😭😭😭😭

maxlecsainz I swear it’s not that I don’t want a baby it’s just men are not like Charles Leclerc

y/nmommy1 who wants to take a quick bath with a toaster?

user65 I’m on my way sis

y/ncharles82772 wait for me I’m taking a nap on a highway right now

norrizzzzz528 I know it’s the bare minimum but seeing the way Charles loves his family makes my heart so happy 😭😭😭

lewishamilton I’ve never thought there would be a day where I’d be jealous of Charles Leclerc but here we are… Jokes aside I’m so happy for you mate 🖤

Liked by charles_leclerc

user209 you’re so real Lew

landonorris when will the child see his fav uncle?

arthur_leclerc EXCUSE ME?

lorenzotl you’re so delusional

carlossainz55 Yeah. Clearly I AM already his favourite one

pierregasly you’re all so wrong @/yourusername said he’ll like me the most 💁🏻‍♂️

charles_leclerc @/pierregasly she literally never said that?

pierregasly @/charles_leclerc oh shut up you know it’s true

user42 what is going on in this comment section??? 💀

daddylec16 the way they can’t never leave Charles in peace even in his comment section 😭

maxverstappen1 Once I saw Charles crying his eyes out because Y/n sent him an audio with the baby’s heartbeat since he couldn’t make it for the ultrasound

user66 OH MY GOD!!!!!!! 😭😭

maxalonso1995 STOPPPPP GIVE US MORE MAX

charles_leclerc THAT’S NOT TRUE I was just having an allergic reaction to dust

maxverstappen1 @charles_leclerc oh c’mon Charlie

user66 CHARLIEHSJSJDJJS FUCK OFF

charles_leclerc @/maxverstappen1 it only happened ONCE

leclercfan12 every day Charles comes on this app and has to fight for his life poor baby

Tagged: yourusername

Liked by yourusername, landonorris, lorenzotl and other 2.631.966

charles_leclerc Our little boy Jules Hervé Leclerc is finally here.

I can’t even put into words how over the moon we are right now, I feel like my life just started all over again. Watching my wife give birth to my son is an experience I’ll never forget, you’re a force of nature baby I can’t thank you enough for everything you do for me.

And to my little Jules I love you more than the air I breathe I can’t way to start this new life with you ❤️

View all the comments

yourusername Don’t let him fool you guys he went to sleep after I GAVE BIRTH

charles_leclerc OMFG THAT’S NOT TRUE DON’T LISTEN TO HER

yourusername hehe 😆 just kidding guys he’s the best. I love you so much Cha, Jules and I are so lucky to have you ❤️

user765 STOP THE WAY CHARLES IS CRYING IN THE FIRST PIC

user22 WHEN WILL IT BE MY TURN

mclarengirllll112 JULES HERVÉ LECLERC DO YOU HEAR ME FUCKING CRYING

norrizzzzz528 WHAT IF I JUST KILLED MYSELF

user976 OUR PRINCE IS HERE EVERYBODY MOVE

daddylec16 I know I’ll find someone who loves me like Charles loves his family. I just know it

General tag list: @hngbrooks, @alexxavicry, @halstead-severide-fan, @mrspeacem1nusone, @allivzs, @omniaimy, @cursedashes, @kmc1989, @klovesreading, @firetruckstuckley, @23victoria

Charles Leclerc tag list: @softicecr3eam, @halsteadbrasil, @bwormie, @ssprayberrythings, @mynameisangeloflife

Click here to be added to the tag list

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Ask me anything 💭

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[youkissedareaderinthedark]

Sunshine

Synopsis: You are the youngest and only daughter of the Leclerc family, and no matter how much he tries to hide it, Charles can’t deny you’re his favorite

monegasque female leclerc reader x brother charles leclerc

A/N: let’s say that y/n was born in 2006, making her about 17 now, 15 years younnger younger than lorenzo, 9 years younger than charles, and 6 younger than arthur

. so

. pascale leclerc has always wanted a daughter

. a little girl she could love and spoil with all her heart

. don’t get me wrong, she loves her sons with all of her being

. but i’d be lying if i said she’s never wished for another girl in the house

. the rest of the leclercs know this

. so it wasn’t a big suprise when she told everyone that she was pregnant in 2005

. and nearly cried of happiness when she learned she was carrying a baby girl

. now at first

. 8 year old charles leclerc didn’t know how he felt about this

. because he already has 5 year old arthur following him around everywhere

. what would it be like with another sibling in the house?

. so he wasn’t entirely thrilled at first

. but the second pascale and herve brought you home from the hospital a few months later

. he knew he’d love you no matter what

. his friends at school constantly talk about how annoying their baby sisters are

. but charles is always more endeared with you rather than annoyed

. he would play and watch kid shows with you for days on end if that’s what you wanted

. would be lying if he said he’s never played pretend with you

. repeatedly asked for pascale to allow you to come to his karting races

. something that didn’t happen until you were 3

. shows you off to all of his friends at said races

. “you see that baby over there with my maman? that’s my sister, y/n”

. “she doesn’t really know what’s going on, but she always cheers for me anyway”

. charles makes sure he’s there for every milestone in your life

. first day of school

. the first time you drove a kart

. when you learned how to ride a bike

. etcetera

. it does get harder as the years go on, with his karting career continuing and everything

. but your brother makes sure he’s there for you

. because no matter how busy he gets

. he’s never too occupied to see you discover yourself

. finding your own personality and hobbies

. interests and dislikes

. this has all happened by the time you’re 9 years old

. nearing the end of your childhood but still enjoying it nonethless

. pascale even lets you follow charles to formula 1 races, because she knows he’s really following jules bianchi

. your older brother loves when you come with him to races

. but he wishes more than anything your mother made you stay home with her instead of going to suzuka with him

. because he knows you love jules

. he’s like another brother to you

. he’s always the one to have you sitting on top of his shoulders, doing anything to help you see more than the world you were given (both literally and figuratively)

. jules was the one who gave you his kart to practice with

. the one that taught you everything you know about cars

. the one that taught you to always dream for more

. the one that taught you what grief felt like

. charles remembers the moment it happened, the crash, the noise, the shock

. the way you looked up at him, your 9 year old self not old enough to realize what just happened

. “charlie, what happened? where’s jules?”

. he remembers how much you cried in the hospital, looking way too young to be sitting in those waiting room chairs and losing one of the people you loved the most

. he remembers hearing you sob in your room when you got home, how helpless he felt that he couldn’t do anything to stop his own emotions, nonetheless his baby sisters’

. he remembers how instead of driving the kart jules left you, most of the time you just sat in front of it, staring at it, wishing jules would come outside like he always would, and persuade pascale to let you two drive around for just a few more hours

. arthur was the one who looked out for you in these times, because charles was too busy either being looked after by lorenzo, or trying to drive his own feelings away in formula championships

. 2015 was a sorrowful year in the leclerc household

. so it makes sense that charles is happy when you start to show some progress in late 2016

. when you start to drive your kart again, improved by the JB17 stickers you start to put everywhere

. you start enjoying school again, hanging out with your friends and playing outside

. it almost gives him hope

. almost

. because by 2017, charles is nervous

. because herve is getting worse

. and charles knows his litter sister, you’re not stupid

. you can tell that your father is sick, and he’s not going to be get better

. he tries to subtly encourage you to spend more time with him

. makes sure you tell him all your stories from school, tell him what you want to be when you’re older and what you want to do

. soon enough though, you can’t do these things because your father was emitted into the hospital

. charles is nearly twenty now, he’s old enough for his mother to give him the truth about these sorts of things

. but still not old enough to tell his eleven year old sister the truth

. the whole family is there with herve in the hospital in june 2017

. none of them are ready to lose another one of their own again

. you’re sobbing, arthur’s arms wrapped around you and hand pushing your head into his neck because he know you shouldn’t have to see this

. lorenzo is the only thing keeping both his mother and first younger brother standing, all while trying to keep his own tears from blurring his vision

. this time, you don’t let anybody help you

. you never leave your room, only to go to school and to eat

. you stopped karting completely, not wanting to unless your father was standing on the front porch, cheering you on and giving advice from where he stood

. you don’t come to either arthur’s or charles’ races, not the one charles wins after herve dies, not the ones he continues to win after that

. the family almost forgets what your smile looks like, they only remember the faint sound of your cries at night

. charles beats himself up over it, feels guilty and helpless

. he couldn’t stop jules from crashing, couldn’t stop his father from getting sick, and can’t even protect his younger sister from losing herself

. he tries his hardest to be there for you, to hug you, tell you he loves you, and that he’s always there if you want to talk

. he waits as long as it takes for you to open up to him

. it comes eventually, the day you knock on his bedroom door and let yourself talk and cry in his arms

. it takes much longer for you to co-exist with your grief this time

. but charles is there for every step of the way

. you go to his first formula 1 race with him in 2018, cheer him on from the sauber garage with lorenzo and pascale no matter what position he comes in

. you hang out with arthur while he’s racing in formula e and formula 4, cheer for him just as loudly, if not louder than you would for charles

. you’re 12 by the time 2018 ends, but feel much older than you actually are

. this is the point where you and charles bond on a deeper level

. because whereas the rest of the world just sees you as a tweleve-year-old girl

. charles see you as a twelve-year-old girl who’s been through more than she should’ve, and now feels the emotions to match

. so as time continues to pass, you guys talk about the real stuff in your lives

. he talks about joining ferrari and what it feels like to do what jules had always wanted to

. what it felt like lying to your father about the ferrari contract and how he wonders what herve thinks about it now

. you talk about what it feels like going through life without a father

. what it feels like fearing for your brothers’ lives every time they get into their cars

. he tries to help you get over this fear by bringing you to the paddock with him

. which includes becoming friends with andrea after all the hours you two spend side by side in the ferrari garage

. meeting sebastian who instantly becomes a mentor to you

. you’ve known pierre for longer than you can remember, so you hang out in his team garage sometimes

. your brother tries to keep an eye on you while your in the paddock, but as you get older, the more freedom you have

. by the time you’re 15 in 2021, you roam around the paddock on your own free will

. with carlos joining ferrari, you hang out with his younger sister ana, who leads you on all sorts of adventures in whatever city you two are in that weekend

. meeting all sorts of celebrities while you’re walking down the pit lane on sundays

. spending time in the aston martin hospitality because you’re still close with seb

. passing time with lewis in the mercedes garage, he sheds some of his wisdom on you, you tell him all the drama in your life

. bothering pierre while simultaneously befriending yuki in the alpha tauri garage

. and of course, hanging out with charles in the rare moments when you both have nothing do to

. these are the antics that carry on throughout your late teenage years

. so by the time the end of 2023 rolls around, you’re close to graduating school and moving on to whatever you wish to pursue

. it’s in those moments, the ones where you’re talking about college and moving away and your career

. truly makes him realize that you’re growing up

. and you’re not the little girl that will always be there to cheer him on from the stands

. you assure him that you will though

. that wherever you end up, still in monaco or not

. you’ll always be rooting for him

. and he knows he’ll always be rooting for you too

. because you’re his little sister

. and he loves you more than you know

#reader insert #formula 1 #f1 grid x reader #formula 1 driver imagines #platonic f1 grid #f1 2023 grid x y/n #f1 imagine #charles leclerc #older brother charles leclerc #sibling fic #leclerc!reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x sister!reader

[vetteltea]

Max Verstappen and Secret Santa [no warnings]

Day 2 of the Vetteltea Advent Calendar

“Is this my one?” Your voice carries through the small barrage of producers and videographers, a camera transfixed onto your face as you lift the package, attempting to figure out what content was inside of the box.

You were exhausted; despite wrapping up the championship a month ago, simply focusing on obtaining more and more points for Red Bull Racing’s reputation, the tracks had been tough and jet lag increasingly aggravating. Abu Dhabi was the end of the road, one step closer to falling back home into your own bed. However, you could not hide the elation which fell onto your face as the Formula One media team had pulled you aside, letting you know it was time to film the reveal. 

You had been so excited to purchase your present this year; Yuki was always a fantastic pick, having selected him a set of chef knives and a hat, printed with a photo of himself and Pierre. Now, as the deep blue box was handed into your grasp, you couldn’t help but feel your heart race, gently shaking the box, determined to figure out the content.

“It sounds…heavy?” You try to give the best description possible to the woman standing behind the camera, urging you to unwrap the present in your hands. The temptation overrides, slipping your fingers through the silky bow and beginning to unwrap the formal packaging. “Whoever wrapped this…” you trail off. “Got it wrapped professionally. I don’t think any of us could wrap a present this good.” 

The paper eventually falls away, the camera adjusting as you place down the box upon the table, lifting the lid. Immediately, your eyes furrow together, and then soften in confusion, grasping around the item which you had been gifted. 

There, laid upon a pile of soft purple tissue paper, rested a Polaroid camera. It was small, coloured an off-white and was almost identical to the previous one you had owned. 

“What did you get?” The woman behind the camera had prompted, urging to get the content required for the Secret Santa video. Your trance upon the item is snapped away, blinking rapidly and looking up the lens trained on your reaction. 

“It’s a Polaroid camera and a bunch of film!” You lift the camera, showing it to the team, the smile on your face ever-present. “I bring a Polaroid to every race and take a photo but…someone broke it.” Your mind flickers back to your teammate, how he had insisted he could take a photo for Zandervoot; it was his home race after all. He had been nothing but apologetic, though that wouldn’t bring back your camera. 

“Who do you think got it for you? It must be someone who knows you well?” The woman prompts you to continue whilst your fingers trace over the device, elated that somebody must have understood the importance and value held to the memories you capture. 

“I mean…” you trail off. “A lot of us are close. It has to be someone who knows I do it…Daniel, maybe?” You think about the smiley Australian; how the two of you had bonded over your love of taking photos during global travels. The synchronized shake of the team signified you must have been wrong. It wasn’t Daniel. “Maybe Pierre?” He was almost always insistent on being in your photos, after all. 

“Think closer to home.” You misunderstand the woman for a moment, thinking of your neighbor in the city of Monte Carlo.

 “Valtteri?” Though, you’re almost certain he wouldn’t have got you this. You’re so certain it’s time to give up, lifting the camera out of its box, your attention being drawn immediately to the small Polaroid card being left underneath the device. 

There was a photo, a photo of a man holding up a white piece of card, his scrawling hand-writing undeniably recognisable. In lettering, he had spelt out one word, ‘date?’ 

There’s two more underneath, one with the driver holding a thumbs up, the other a thumbs down. You can’t help the grin returning to your face as you look up from the box, seeing his figure sitting a mere meter away from you, eyes trained on you, a smile on his face at the realization you had finally clocked. 

“Max.” You finally solve the problem, subtly slipping one of the Polaroids into your hand as the team take a few establishing shots, thanking you for being part of their marketing and turning their attention to your teammate, adamant on filming his segment next. 

Before they can, you subtly slide past his table, tracing his knuckles and resting the Polaroid in his lap, moving away before he can realize what has happened. Instead, he focused on the photograph in his hand, seeing his own figure staring back with a thumbs up. 

The last thing he sees is you turning the corner, still clad in Red Bull Uniform, a subtle wink thrown in his direction as you leave him to unwrap his own present, undeniably thinking of unwrapping something better later.

#Max Verstappen #MV1 #MV33 #Max Verstappen x Reader #Max Verstappen Imagine #Max Verstappen One Shot #Max Verstappen x You #Reader Insert #F1 #Formula 1 #F1 x Reader #Max Verstappen Blurb #Max Verstappen x Y/N

[sooshihu]

charles leclerc x reader ~ instagram au

prompt: the great looking driver we all know and love creates controversy with his new and surprisingly young girlfriend

warnings: age gap

january 5 2024

yourusername shared a story

yourbestfriend liked your story

user liked your story

charles_leclerc started following you

charles_leclerc liked your story

user liked your story

user liked your story

wagsf1

liked by user, user and others

wagsf1 !charles leclerc has been spotted with an unknown girl outside of a club in monaco!

after this picture was taken he allegedly drove off in his new ferrari with the girl

comments

user she does look like his type that’s for sure

user YALL I FOUND HER SHE LITERALLY JUST TURNED 18 LAST NIGHT

user im sorry WHAT

user mr leclerc going younger and younger i see

user didn’t he like break up with his girlfriend like 3 weeks ago?😭

user our fav walking red flag🥰

user oh to be her…

and 457 more

february 2 2024

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriend, charles_leclerc and others

yourusername 💦☀️🌊🤍

comments

yourbestfriend 😍

user @charles_leclerc mr hitting on fresh 18s that you?🥰

user that’s deff charles’ yacht

user my guess is she’s going after his money to pay off those student loans

yourusername how did you know🤭

and 54 more

f1gossip

liked by user, user and others

f1gossip charles leclerc with his supposed new and very young girlfriend😉 let us know your view on this couple!

comments

user still think she’s after the money

user why you all hating we don’t know anything about her yet💀

user fr like calm down😭

user she can’t be mature enough for him she’s just a kid

user he wouldn’t be with her if she wasn’t

user i saw her instagram she doesn’t look like the bitch yall make her out to be just saying

and 374 more

april 2 2024

yourusername added a story

charles_leclerc liked your story

charles_leclerc replied to your story:

je t'aime, magnifique❤️ (i love you, gorgeous)

april 25 2024

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc and others

yourusername joy of missing out 🤍 enjoy the little moments you share with only yourself

comments

charles_leclerc 🤍

user it’s over he commented a heart on her post they’re offcial😔

user am i the only one who LOVES her vibe?😍

user deff not! she seems like a very nice and humble person to me i don’t know why she was getting so much hate

user “she’s just 18 blah blah blah” it’s not your relationship leave her alone

yourusername i love you

user the age gap is kinda wild tho

user hair care routine??

may 3 2024

charles_leclerc added a story

user liked your story

user liked your story

yourusername replied to your story: ❤️

yourusername replied to your story: ❤️

yourusername replied to your story: ❤️

yourusername replied to your story: ❤️❤️❤️

yourusername added a story

may 19 2024

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc and others

yourusername haters be hating because they don’t wake up next to charles leclerc like i do

comments

user WERE YOU SILENT OR SILENCED DEAR HATERS

charles_leclerc wouldn’t want it any other way🤭

user THE CAPTION SHUT UP I LOVE HER

user do you see his smile? and yall still think she can’t make him happy cause she’s ‘too young’💀

user Something About You - Eyedress, Dent May ~ 0:44

user the amount of things i’d do to wake up next to either of them is concerning

user every book girlie dreaming about their age gap trope

and 487 others

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, scuderiaferrari and others

charles_leclerc she’s gotta pay off those student loans somehow, am i right?

(last pic is me proudly taking all of the pics above)

comments

user charles simping for yn is so real omg

user love how they’re making fun of the gold digger rumours😭

user charles.jpg when?

user i just know it would be full of yn pls

scuderiaferrari after the loans are payed off we suggest buying her a ferrari of her own 👀

user the unseriousness of their hard launch captions are highlights of my day

user she’s living our dream fr

user can’t decide if i wanna be him or her

and 1,592 others

#Spotify #charles leclerc #f1 #ferrari #scuderia ferrari #formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc x reader #x reader #cl16 x reader #cl16 #cl16 x you #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #fem reader #reader insert

[vroomvroomcircuit]

Early Risers vs. Night Owls

(A/N): Special thank yous to @foreveralbon and @disneyprincemuke for helping me choose which drivers are morning people and which are more of night owls.

Summary: Some people are night owls, others are morning people. But there is another sort that some drivers learn to fear: Morning Monsters (it's the reader)

Pairings: (All platonic) daniel ricciardo x driver!reader, charles leclerc x driver!reader, carlos sainz x driver!reader, oscar piastry x driver!reader (max and lando get a guest starring)

Word count: 1.2k

🏎Masterlist🏎

________________________

It’s difficult, being a night person in a day people’s world. It really is. Especially when you are around morning loving human beings.

“Oh, don’t you look happy?” Carlos comments, when (Y/N) steps into the breakfast room. Coincidentally, several teams are accommodated in the same hotel during this race weekend.

As she lets herself fall in a seat at his table, the young female whispers an annoyed “Don’t”. “I wasn’t saying anything mean?” He genuinely questions. Is his English failing him again?

“Please, just stop talking. It’s only the ass crack of dawn, how can someone be so chatty?” (Y/N) puts her head onto the table, effectively stopping any further conversation with the Spaniard. He looks a little bit lost into his fruit bowl, not sure how to handle this situation adequately. 

“Top of the morning, my sunshines,” a smiling Daniel Ricciardo strolls into the room. The happiness radiating from him reaches (Y/N) even through her closed eyes.

Just as Daniel arrives at their table, she gets up with the most sluggish motions a sober person can muster. “Coffee” is the only thing mumbled, answering to the confused looks around her.

Shortly after, she sits down again with a cup in her hands, not even bothering to try to follow the chatting between Daniel and Carlos. (Y/N) just stares into space, wondering where she went wrong in her life to have to sit in between two morning people. Surely, this is a punishment of some kind.

“Ok, what is up with you? You look like you are about to murder everyone in this room if someone just dares to breathe in the wrong direction,” Daniel observes. (Y/N) takes another sip from her coffee. “Because it’s true.”

Carlos can’t wrap his head around it. “But what happened to the sunshine-in-person-(Y/N)?” “How am I supposed to be a sunshine, when I’m barely a person at this moment?” Well, that is not a lie. She does look pretty rough. Not everyone can wake up and look perfect like Florence Pugh. Some people have to look more like Merida herself in the mornings.

“Why are you talking to this woman during the early hours?” Charles, who just entered the breakfast hall, fears for their lives. “Because this is what people do? They talk when they sit together?” Daniel is confused. What is so bad about making conversations?

Charles steps closer to their table and (Y/N) immediately latches onto him, burying her face into his stomach.

“Don’t you value your life? A tired (Y/N) in the morning needs quiet and some hugs.” The young woman mumbles something, making the Monegasque laugh. “Yes, and coffee. This is the recipe to get the sunshine person you know and love.”

Confused, the other two drivers blink. Did they miss the manual that came with the rookie?

“And you know all of this, because?” Carlos asks the question that popped up in both their heads. “Because (Y/N) and Arthur were together in F2 and he had been ‘chewed out by her like a pack of gum by a class of elementary schoolers’, his words, not mine. She is not all bark and no bite, isn’t that right?” (Y/N) nods, her head still buried into his front.

“Do you want to catch a ride to the paddock with me? I plan on leaving in five minutes.” (Y/N) nods again and quickly gathers her things before waving the other drivers goodbye.

The ride is filled with silence, Charles even leaves the radio turned off. This lets the female drive in and out of a state of half-asleep until they arrive at their destination. At the same time a certain papaya wearing aussie his own car not far away from Charles’ Ferrari.

“Oh, is it still too early?” He asks her with a small smile. Just like Arthur, Oscar is aware how much of a night owl (Y/N) is, having witnessed her outbursts first hand several times during his own career in F2.

The driver nods as she throws herself into his embrace. A tired (Y/N) turns into the most cuddly person. “Let’s get you a cup of coffee, can’t have you go around screaming at people. You will scare everyone off.”

Oscar is pretty much the only smiling person she tolerates in the morning. Whenever another human being dares just grinning in her direction during her own waking up phase, she is ready to jump their throats. But Oscar is different. He doesn't do it out of mocking or pitiness. He is genuinely happy and wants to show and share it. Also, he radiates a nice calm aura, which is the complete opposite to what she experiences during the days of a race weekend.

When Carlos passes (Y/N) by later, he walks up to her with caution, keeping his teammates' warning in mind, “Hey Carlos, have you heard the rumors about the newest Taylor Swift album? Do you think it will feature a song about Nando?”

The woman in front of him has nothing in common with the one he interacted with just an hour ago. She somehow even looks completely different from her. It’s the kind of freshness that doesn’t come with a shower.

“Uhm, no I did not. Are you ok? You seemed… a bit out of it this morning.” There is a hesitation in his voice, not wanting to accidentally offset her.

But (Y/N) just laughs it off. “Oh yeah, that. I’m sorry for being a grump back there. Just like Charlie said, I’m absolutely not a morning person. During the first hour of being awake I’m an absolute monster. Just, don’t talk to me or only when it’s absolutely necessary during that time. I apologize for my behavior, it wasn’t nice. Today was particularly bad, because I do my best work at night and I have been pouring over some data until 2 am. I’ll try to give you a warning next time!”

With that she is off, looking for her partner in crime aka her teammate to start some kind of mischief with the social media team.

Carlos is just flabbergasted. The duality of some people and how a small cup of caffeine can bring that out of them is astonishing.

Just remember to never fuck with night owls during the early hours of the morning.

Bonus Scene

During a free week some drivers set a date to play a private paddle tournament together in Monaco. Daniel enters the court with a big smile. After all, it is a fresh, sunny morning. This day is a promise of having a good time with his friends and colleagues, playing their favorite game and having lunch plans together.

What sets the Australian off are the three frowning faces, sitting on a bench nursing each a can of Red Bull solemnly. “What happened to you?”

Max answers his question first with a grumpy voice. “I had to leave my cats cuddled up in my bed alone.” “My alarm woke me up while the first number on the clock was still a single digit.” Landoo sounds about as tired as (Y/N) next to him looks like.

“Life”, Daniel answers for the young woman already, who just nods and pulls the strings of her hood closed, hindering someone else to make more conversations with her until the caffeine has kicked in.

Desperate times call for desperate measures after all.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x driver!reader #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x driver!reader #oscar piastry x reader #oscar piastry x driver!reader #x reader #x driver!reader #f1 x reader #f1 x driver!reader #x fem!reader #f1 fanfic #reader insert #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x driver!reader

[imnameimswrld]

╰┈➤ ❝ [𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 || 𝗠𝗩𝟭, 𝗩𝗗𝟮𝟵, 𝗥𝗛 ꒱꒱

━━ ❪ . . . maxverstappen x vincedunn x renhiramoto x vettel!model!reader ❫

━━ ❪ . . . description : world famous model y/n vettel celebrates her birthday and the internet blows up when 3 of the hottest sportsmen post about her, their princess ; ❫

━━ ❪ . . . smau, poly relationship ❫

━━ ❪ . . . warnings : language ❫

━━ ❪ . . . fc: gigi hadid ❫

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

maxverstappen1, vincedunn, and ren__k1 added to their stories !

[ caption for all: our bday princess 💗 ]

ynusername

liked by vincedunn, tomholland2013, and 50 335 798 others

[ tagged: kendalljenner, zendaya, maxverstappen1, ren__k1, vincedunn ]

ynusername what a birthday weekend I had ! spent it with my special friends, my amazing boys, and some damn good dinner 💗. thank you for the stellar weather monaco, a huge congrats to my maxie on p1, and GO SEATTLE KRACKENS 3-0 !!!! 🏆

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user MOTHER SLAYS ONCE MORE.

user yn and seb were so cute at the race omg the way she was hugging him and squishing their cheeks together 😭

user I genuinely wonder what seb's reaction was to his little sis telling him she has not one, but THREE bfs.

⤿ sebastianvettel i fainted.

⤿ maxverstappen1 ah, good times

[ likes by ren__k1 ]

user miss girl has a f1 champion, a nhl player, a mma fighter, AND is the younger sister of a former f1 word champion – god has favourites.

user yeah, god, it's ME AGAIN.

user couple of the century idc what anyone says.

zendaya what a weekend indeed omg 😻

⤿ ynusername miss our midnight adventures already 🤭😫

[ liked by zendaya, kendalljenner ]

⤿ kendalljenner we gotta plan another girls weekend – but boy-free this time !!

[ liked by ynusername, zendaya ]

⤿ vincedunn hey, I can be one of the girls.

⤿ tomholland2013 same here !

user did ya'll see the videos of them in the restaurant ?? 😫😫

⤿ user yes omfg the way vince pulled her on his lap so they could all three hold her while they sang happy birthday PLEASE 😭😭

⤿ user yn gets to kiss these three everyday... are you guys looking for a 5th party to your relationship ? I volunteer 🙂 !

user bye they're so cute omfg.

vincedunn

liked by brandontanev, charles_leclerc, and 67 332 others

vincedunn life's been pretty perfect lately 💌

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user crying on the highway.

ynusername you three are the perfect ones 🥰

⤿ vincedunn don't start with me baby

⤿ ren__k1 I will headlock you again, and you know know it.

⤿ ynusername I do know it, and I'm waiting.

[ liked by ren__k1 ]

user OH- mother is bold damn

user yn wearing his jersey 🥺

user them>>> the world.

maxverstappen1

liked by danielricciardo, christianhorner, and 1 223 453 likes

maxverstappen1 loving this little life of mine :)

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sebastianvettel not ren and vince suffocating my sister

⤿ ynusername I'm alive seb

⤿ sebastianvettel are you though ? are you really ? cause girl, you manage three hotheads, and I don't know how you do it.

⤿ ren__k1 honestly don't know how she does it either seb, but I'm not complaining.

user seb being concerned for yn having the bfs she does is weirdly hilarious to me

user I pray for anyone idiot who ever tries to cross yn honestly

user one look in yn's direction and i bet they pounce.

⤿ ynusername I can confirm this statement.

⤿ zendaya scariest shit I've ever seen in ma life.

⤿ landonorris I'm a victim.

⤿vincedunn I APOLOGIZED for that lando, I didn't know you at the time !

⤿ landonorris and yet, I can still feel the remnants of the fire of your gaze burning into my head.

⤿ maxverstappen1 my god you're dramatic.

ren__k1

liked by yukitsunoda0511, sebastianvettel, and 566 335 others

ren__k1 この人生にとても満足しています

[ trans: so happy with this life ]

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ynusername aishitemasu 💗

⤿ ren__k1 watashi wa anata o motto aishiteimasu purinsesu 💗

user ya'll I saw them at the pride parade yesterday and I CRIED they're so sweet and I was able to get a picture with them 🤧

⤿ user the way they tools turns carrying her on their backs was so cute pls

⤿ user the princess treatment is unmatched.

⤿ ynusername 🏳️‍🌈🤘

⤿ user QUEEN !

vincedunn ren, will u come stream with me please ?

⤿ ren__k1 isn't it max's turn ?

⤿ maxverstappen1 nu-uh, I streamed with him last week.

⤿ vincedunn and max, I love you, but you talk too much and you keep telling me what to do in MY game.

⤿ maxverstappen1 you literally told me you loved having me ??? two-faced. you even said ren is too quiet and broody.

⤿ ren__k1 because I hate streaming and vince KNOWS that.

⤿ ynusername boys.

⤿ vincedunn sorry.

⤿ maxverstappen1 sorry.

⤿ ren__k1 gomen.

⤿ ynusername so who's turn is it to stream with v ?

⤿ ren__k1 ...mine

⤿ ynusername and, are you going to ?

⤿ ren__k1 yes ma'am.

user damn.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

#f1 #nhl #nhl hockey #mma #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen f1 #vince dunn #vince dunn x reader #vince dunn x you #ren hiramoto #sebastian vettel #gigi hadid #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #reader insert #x reader

[dancingwithreality]

romeo and juliet t.w.

gif not mine!

pairing: toto wolff x verstappen!sister

word count: 3.1k

summary: red bulls golden girl has been in a long term secret relationship with the team principal of mercedes, and it gets harder to keep the secret.

warnings: implied sexual content, jos verstappen 🤢, fluff, light steam but no smut

a/n: yes she’s a little child prodigy, but it works better for the plot. if this gets love 'n y'all really want more i'll do a second part maybe :)

please don’t take my work! enjoy and interact :)

JOS VERSTAPPEN was not a nice man, and an even worse father. He was demanding and mean, pushing his driving legacy onto his children. Well, onto Max. When his first child was a girl Jos was not happy. He didn’t think a girl could uphold such a prestige, so he never tried hard. You gave your all to impress your father but it was never enough for him. Then a few years later, he got Max, and when Max was of age he immediately started karting. You were quickly pushed to the back of his mind.

Through the years, even though you did better than Max, he still never cared about you as much as he did Max. Which is definitely saying something. You made your career as the youngest female driver to ever get second in the F2 Championship at 16 years old. At the last race, when you solidified your position as second in the WDC, you will always remember how your 12 year old baby brother went running up to you, pride swelling in his eyes.

He kept chanting your praises and hugged you tightly around your waist. Tears were brought to your eyes and you hugged him back. You took Max up to the podium with you and celebrated with the whole world watching. Except, Jos. His arms were crossed as he barely spared you a glance. That was the last time your heart broke because of him. You swore to yourself, you’d be there for Max how your father never was, and you’d stop relying on him to validate you.

Your success put you on the radar for many teams. The one you went with, was Red Bull. You joined their academy and were their first female reserve. There you met Daniel and became quick friends. Years later, when Max joined Toro Rosso you’d been driving for Red Bull for years already. You were the one that pushed for Max to be your reserve the following year, and everything fell into place.

Now you were 28. You had four consecutive vice championships under your wing and were driving alongside your two-consecutive championship winning brother. Everyone called you the ‘Wonder Twins’ and your family legacy had never burned brighter.

You were having a relaxing dinner with your brother and best friend, reminiscing on your life and how lucky you were. While Daniel and Max took over most of the conversation and were laughing the entire time, you memorized this night to remember it forever. Unbeknownst to Max, your boyfriend of four years was sitting further back in the restaurant having his own night. Glances were being passed back and forth between you to as your relationship was still a secret.

•••

It was 2018, after the Singapore race. The whole grid was out at some club and even some principals and team members joined you.

You and Danny were having the best time dancing and drinking, when you felt someone’s eyes on you. Finding the source gave you a shock and surprise to see Toto staring at you. When your eyes met, he sent a wink your way that made you blush and look back at Daniel. Hurriedly you whispered to him what had happened and the Aussie was at a loss for words. He knew of your little crush on the Austrian often teased you about it, but he never thought the crush would be reciprocated. Nonetheless he matched your excitement and decided you would do something about it.

Danny fluffed up your hair, and your ego, while encouraging you to go talk to him. ‘Open, lemme see your teeth,’ Daniel made a face at you telling you to do the same. You did and he confirmed that nothing was there. ‘Right, go at ‘em!’ He started to push you towards the bar.

‘What am i supposed to say!’ You started panicking while trying to look calm.

‘Turn up that Dutch charm or something! You’ve got this,’ Daniel winked and sent you on your way with a gentle pat on the back.

You were skeptical that Toto would even follow you to the bar. But he did. And somewhere in the night, small talk and glances turned into light touches and smiles. Which turned to laughs and close proximity, which led you going back to the hotel room with him for more privacy and a nightcap. The night was one to really remember as it started what you could only describe as the best thing to happen to you. The morning after wasn’t a walk of shame, no, your held was high and you were filled with joy and you stumbled all the way back to your room, eager to tell Danny all the details.

•••

You were brought back to reality as Daniel kicked you under the table and cleared his throat. Your face burned from how long you kept eye contact from across the room, while your brother sitting a foot away. ‘Sorry, I spaced out,’ you laughed and took a sip of your wine.

'You spend too much of your time with us,' Max sighed and looked at Daniel for his agreement.

‘Max,’ you chuckled, ‘You guys are my best friends, and you’re also my brother, why wouldn’t I spend time with you?’ You asked.

‘I’m just saying, you’re with us all the time. And when you’re not you’re always in your room or by yourself,’ Max stated like it was fact. Daniel let out a quick laugh at the idea of you always being ‘alone’ when he knew where you really were.

This time you kicked him, ‘And what’s wrong with that?’

‘Darling we can’t be your only friends,’ Daniel teased. You shot him a deadpanned look and pretended to laugh.

‘I’m serious!’ Max looked almost offended that you and Daniel weren’t taking it as seriously as he was. Both of you immediately turned to him and looked concerned. ‘Daniel has Heidi, I have Kelly, you’re not getting any younger and you don’t have anyone.’

Your mouth was agape, did he just call you old? Daniel couldn’t hold his laughter in anymore and in classic honey badger style, he bursted out and was laughing so hard he couldn’t breath.

‘Max, I can assure you, you don’t have to worry about me.’ You tried to calm this conversation and put it to an end.

Much to your chagrin it didn’t really end. Max went on for a little while longer and you couldn’t have wished to not be there any more. When he finally got up to go to the bathroom, you slumped down in your chair.

Daniel was trying to get his breath back and was drinking his water. 'What was that? Max never cared about my love life!' You pinched your nose bridge and put your head down on the table.

'Why don't you just tell him? It's been four years, I don't think its too fresh anymore.'

'Oh yeah like it's that easy, 'Oh hey Max! I've been dating the Team Principal of Mercedes for years now, i just never told you!' You pretended to smile and used the fakest high pitched voice you had.

'You sarcastic little girl, it's not that big a deal. If you love each other, what's the big deal?'

'Okay don't call me a little girl you're like a few years older than me. Ugh, I miss the days when we had a PR relationship for publicity. No one asked me about my love life back then,' You groaned and took an even larger sip of your wine, the cup almost empty now.

'Just eat your food and stop sulking. You're secretly dating tall, dark, handsome, and hunky, like your life is so hard. Poor Romeo and Juliet.’ Daniel cut a piece off his steak and went back to eating. 'You're leading the championship and getting dicked down-‘

'Daniel!'

•••

You were all at Silverstone now. You just finished qualifying and the feelings were mixed. Max had unfortunately not done as well, but 6th wasn’t horrible. He was sure to make it up.

You were on your way back to your hotel when you got a message from Toto. Unfortunately for him, Lewis and George struggled a little more than they’d prefer. Toto had asked the front desk for an extra key to his room and had given it you prior. He wanted a bit of comfort tonight. He already let out his anger in the garage earlier, he would need another headset for tomorrow, and he wanted you to spend the night. you told him you’d be right over as soon as you were ready.

So a shower and an outfit change later, you were running over to his room and sliding the room key in as quick as you could. You always had to make sure no one saw when either of you went to the others room, so you’d gotten fairly good at it over the years.

As soon as you closed and locked the door, behind you came a pair of arms what wrapped themselves quickly around your waist. ‘Oh, meine liebe,’ the arms sighed in the crook of your neck.

‘Hello my darling,’ you leaned backwards onto the strong chest of your boyfriend and rested one hand around his neck, where his head was pressing kisses on yours. ‘How are you?’

He spun you around in his arms so he could rest his forehead on top your head. ‘Qualifying was piss poor, it seems we can’t get out of 7th and 8th.’

‘If it makes you feel any better, Alonso hasn’t been doing too well these last races. If Lewis manages to move even a few places the gap will tightens between them.’ You rubbed your hands up and down his back, trying yo offer some comforting words.

‘How can you be so impartial?’ He pressed a long kiss to your lips. ‘We’re from rival teams, shouldn’t you pray for our downfall?’ he kissed you again.

This time when he started to pull away you went to your tippy toes chasing after him, ‘We can both succeed without hurting the other.’ One of your hands was behind his neck, the other in his hair. ‘Well, so long as I’m winning.’ Each time he kissed you grew more passionate and desperate than the last. Neither of you had even realized that you’d walked backwards onto the bed until Toto’s legs hit the frame and you both fell.

After his back hit the mattress and you braces yourself on his chest you both erupted into laughter. You laid with your head and arms in his chest as he put one behind his head so he could see you properly. ‘It’s only a good race if you win darling,’ the look in his eyes was so intense you could feel your whole body get hotter.

Your ears grew red as you two kept the silence and just, stared. ‘I love you,’ you softly said.

‘I love you,’ his thick accented voice soothed your heart and made it swell four times the size.

‘I wish we didn’t have to keep everything so secret,’ you uttered in a sort of defeated tone.

‘Meine liebe, I’d get all those silly little social media apps just to tell the whole world about us if you asked.’ He sat up, and pulled you with him into an upright position. You were straddling his lap, arms around his waist, as he pulled you in for a deep kiss, all in an effort to emphasize his love for you.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t like it when he held you like you weighed nothing. At eye level with him now, you couldn’t hold back anymore and jumped at his face. You kissed him so quickly and deeply you could’ve sworn he gasped. You nibbled on his lip and he let out a groan that you immediately swallowed, the sound only sending you into hyperdrive. Your intensity fueled him and you both became hungry for each other. Hands roaming and bodies moving in sync with each other.

His hands gripped your thighs and you tightened your legs around his waist. Once again, like you weight nothing, he took advantage of your tightening around him and lifted you up so he could further up the bed. Not once did you disconnect from each other as the night began to escalate.

He laid you down on your back and hovered over you, only a mere few inches from laying on you. Lips swollen and eyes dilated in lust you uttered ‘I love yours’ once more before connecting your lips for what feels like the tenth time that night.

All you were was a mess of sweaty skin, hushed breaths and some of the most explicit sounds that would make anyone blush. Nights like these, we’re you were able to care for each other and pretend the world outside didn’t exist were your favorite. Nights where you two could just be in love, not Mercedes Team Principal and Red Bulls Golden Girl.

Nights like these where you were Romeo and Juliet, fighting against your families and becoming your own.

•••

It was the last lap of Silverstone and adrenaline was running high. Your father had shown up to this race which already put you in a sour mood, you just wanted him to leave. You had Lando pushing behind you, granted the gap was 11.63 seconds but you wanted it to stay that way. Your only goal now was to get fastest lap to really tie it in. All these years later and you were still desperate for your father to see how good you were. See how you did it all by yourself.

You knew that behind Lando was Max, and even though you would always wish the best for the papaya boy, you knew that if max couldn’t overtake Jos would not be happy. His permanently disappoint disposition still hurt Max and it hurt you to see it.

Tension was running high as the race was coming to a close. There wasn’t a sound you could hear besides your own heart and you crossed the finish line. Lando followed behind and Max just .01 of a second behind him. It was close, and you were just so happy for both of them that you didn’t care if your brother didn’t overtake him.

When the final lap was over and you parked your car, the first thing you did was take off your helmet and look at the crowds. Amongst the cheering crowds, McLaren going wild and Red Bull screaming at the top of their lungs you watched as your brother pulled into the third spot and got out. Max made eye contact with your father and you could watch his heart break. Although he had preformed so well Jos was never pleased.

This ignited something in your veins. You watched him cross his arms and stand silently in the crow of cheering Red Bulls, the cameras showing off the orange army going insane in the bleachers. Yet somehow, the happiness couldn’t rub off on him.

You were tired of him.

You couldn’t take a single second of his attitude anymore.

So with all your courage and fire, you arm over to where Mercedes had piled off to the side. Your pushing through the crowds caught the cameras attention and all eyes were on you.

There in that second there was only one thought in your head. One idea: and you were going to follow through. You always do. You found Toto looking around shocked and confused as to why you were right in front of him. And in that second, you kissed him.

You brought both of your hands up to cup his face and you smashed your lips against his. As if the world melted around you his hands found your hips and the two of you were pushing so hard into each other, it was hard to tell where you ended and he started.

Just like the night before, you were one. You weren’t Mercedes v. Red Bull. You were boy and girl, hopelessly in love.

The crowd and gone silent.

You two pulled away ever so slightly, foreheads rested against the others as Toto supported your weight so you didn’t have to strain your feet too much to reach him. Despite just hard launching your relationship without any kind of talking about it before hand, the two lovers embraced each other.

‘The world knows now,’ he whispered in your ear.

‘Let them.’ You smiled as you hugged him tighter. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you.’ he whispered back.

Cheers and whoops erupted around you. Despite the initial shock of your relationship people were just happy. It was a good race with an even better surprise at the end, how could they complain?

The two of you pulled apart and smiled at each other, the world so unused to swing Toto so domestic and soft. You have him one more hot kiss before walking back to do the post race interview and award ceremony.

‘I guess she isn’t so alone, huh..’ Max looked star struck as Daniel laughed and patted him on the back.

You walked back and Jos was furious at your vulgar and inappropriate display. You’d never seen him so mad. It made you audibly laugh.

You put your Rub Bull cap on and walked right up to David Coulthard and smiled, waiting to start the questions.

‘Well that was something,’ He laughs in a slightly awkward manor. ‘Can I assume there’s something going on between you two?’

‘We’ve been dating for a while, I love him.’ You never smiled brighter.

‘A congratulations is in order then, for the race and for your love!’ He barked out in laughter as you thanked him and giggled.

Your eyes never left Toto, even as the anthems played and the trophies were handed out. Even as you sprayed each other with champagne and celebrated. Neither of you looked away. The smiles so evident on your faces and that in love glow never left. At that moment, neither of you cared about the repercussions that would follow. The PR mess and the scolding from Christian. It was just you two, in love.

The love you shared didn’t have to be bottled anymore. You two didn’t have to hide anymore, you could be together freely and honestly. That was all you wanted in life. To be with your love, in love, with no secrets or shame. You loved each other and that was all that mattered.

fin.

#toto wolff x reader #toto wolff #formula 1 #f1 imagine #f1 #reader insert #max verstappen #red bull f1 #daniel ricciardo #my fic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fiction #f1 x oc #f1 x female driver #f1 x female reader #mercedes amg f1 #red bull racing

[mynicosensesaretingling]

Lost in the moment (part 1)

Nico Rosberg x fem!reader

Summary: Throughout her career as a motorsport journalist, (Y/N) has established a special relationship with Nico. But what happens when unfortunate circumstances keep her from being there for him during the most important moment of his career? (part 1 of 2)

Warnings: Other than some angst there isn't any, female reader

Note: Noticing the lack of Nico fanfiction, I've decided to turn my dreams into an actual story. No worries, there will be a second part!

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/mynicosensesaretingling/734355288476565504/lost-in-the-moment-part2

Hope you enjoy it <3

Life as a journalist was not exactly a quiet life, especially for (Y/N), who worked as a reporter live on location for a motorsport journal called Countdown Magazine. Having been a dream job for the young woman since childhood, however, the stress that came with working in the motorsport industry seemed only half as bad to her.

But this year, the atmosphere had changed as the intense rivalry between Nico Rosberg and Lewis Hamilton, known as the “Silver War”, had captivated the world of Formula 1. As a dedicated and well-reputed reporter, (Y/N) had secured herself, what you could call a front-row seat, which allowed her to immerse herself in the high-stakes drama that unfolded throughout the season and enabled her to follow every twist and turn with unwavering dedication.

However, even though the feud between the Mercedes drivers provided great headlines and stories, (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel tense whenever Lewis and Nico had a go at each other.

Having been covering the sport for multiple years now had created a closer bond between her and several of the drivers and none more so than Nico Rosberg. The German Mercedes driver had always struck (Y/N) as a fascinating character. 

Over the years, their paths had crossed countless times during press conferences, pit-lane interviews and post-race debriefs. She had covered his journey from the earlier days of his Formula 1 career, watching him develop from a promising talent into a championship contender. His approachability and genuine interest in connecting with those around him were what had set Nico apart from the other drivers. Beyond the professional facade, the driver was a thoughtful guy, cracking jokes, sharing gossip, discussing the intricacies of the sport, the pressures of competition and even personal anecdotes from his life. 

Before she knew it, (Y/N) had found herself staying behind after work, searching out any chance to connect with the German. It didn’t take long before he invited her to join him at whatever he was planning on doing next, be it a walk around the track, getting something to eat or simply hanging around the paddock. Each time she accepted his offer the unique bond between them grew stronger, forging a friendship that transcended the typical reporter-athlete dynamic.

"Sometimes I really wonder why you spend so much time with me." the young reporter once mused, resting her chin on her hand as she leaned against the counter. Nico, who was standing next to her at the whirring coffee machine, shrugged his shoulders calmly, "I have to make sure I'm always presented in the best light. After all, we don't want any scandalous headlines or such, do we?." his cheeky laughter was quickly interrupted when (Y/N)'s foot found his shin. "Ouch." the blond man exclaimed overdramatically, pointing at her with his silver spoon in an accusing manner, but his narrowed eyes were sparkling playfully. "I swear one day I'm going to lose my ability to drive because of you. And then we'll both be out of a job." (Y/N) couldn't help but laugh at his antics. "There are plenty of other Formula 1 drivers I could report on." "Mhm." Nico was nodding while picking up his cup from the coffee machine. "But apparently these drivers must be boring as hell, otherwise you wouldn't be spending so much time with me." He winked at her whilst stirring his coffee, getting an eye-roll from (Y/N) in response. "Oh come on, I know you love me." Nico chuckled. "Oh shut up," the young woman laughed, waving her hand in a dismissive manner, purposefully ignoring the way her heart skipped a beat.

One of (Y/N)’s favourite memories, which she had made in her friendship with Nico, was when after a long, rainy qualifying day and countless press conferences, the driver had waited for her in the pitlane, an umbrella in his right hand as he wordlessly motioned for her to join him with his free one. “It’s raining.” she had expressed, pulling her jacket tighter around her body in hesitation, eyes darting to the dark clouds above. “And I have an umbrella.” Nico had simply countered matter-of-factly, shaking the umbrella for emphasis, scrunching his nose as his gesture led cold droplets to land on his face. (Y/N) suppressed a laugh, finding the sight utterly adorable. “I can’t just leave you standing there in the rain, can I?” her voice was filled with amusement, as she mustered the man, before quickly making her way over to Nico. “I mean,” he chuckled, as she ducked under his umbrella “You definitely could, but I’d find it incredibly rude.” (Y/N) huffed a laugh, linking her arm with his. “Well, how kind of me to join you then.” She hummed, eyes fixed onto the moon’s reflection in one of the puddles below. “ What are we doing anyways ?” she raised her brow, looking up at him with curiosity. Nico turned his head, a sparkle in his eyes. “We’ve never walked a track at night before, so I figured we’d make it a first. And now that I am thinking about it, I don’t think we’ve ever walked in the rain before either.” his gaze turned mischievous as he shook the umbrella once again, sprinkling water into both of their faces. A hearty chuckle left his lips as he watched (Y/N) scrunch her nose, just like he had done earlier.  “Why did you even bother getting an umbrella?” (Y/N) huffed lightheartedly, as she wiped her face with her sleeve. “Cause I know you wouldn’t have joined me without one.” he grinned down at her before pulling her along with him. That night, as Nico and her had spent several hours walking the moonlit track, sharing an umbrella and conversing about everything and nothing, is when (Y/N) had realized that her feelings for the Mercedes driver went far beyond friendship.

In the current tense situation, moments like these were not lost on the pair, but they were becoming increasingly infrequent. With the championship-deciding race approaching, (Y/N) could feel the pressure on Nico becoming stronger by the minute. Being on the brink of realizing his lifelong dream of becoming a Formula 1 World Champion and stepping into the footsteps of his father had led to several sleepless nights thinking about the sacrifices and the relentless pursuit of excellence that had brought him to this pivotal moment. And on top of that, Nico’s biggest rival was his own teammate and best friend, Lewis Hamilton. 

Especially now that the relationship with his childhood friend was slowly but surely coming to an end, Nico found himself drawn to (Y/N)’s presence, even more so than usual. Amongst this utter mess, which he found himself in, she was his lifeline and he clung to it like a desperate sailor lost at sea. 

Particularly in the days leading up to the race, Nico was confiding in the woman about his innermost fears and ambitions, trusting her as someone who genuinely understood the intricacies of the sport and its impact on his life. She, in turn, had found herself awaiting his late-night calls, admiring his determination as she listened to him rambling about whatever was occupying his mind, her heart filling with a sense of pride whenever she’d hear a faint chuckle from Nico as she managed to bring some lightheartedness and humour to their conversations.

"You'll be okay," she would say to him in a gentle voice, "you've always managed so far." On the other end of the line, the driver would sigh, "But it's never been like this before." His voice was weary and full of thoughtful despair. "And in the future, it will never be like this again." she would say with a shurg, her empathetic smile practically audible through the phone. "So try to enjoy as many of these moments as you can." There was a pause before Nico gave a breathless chuckle, "Oh man, what would I do without you?"

On the day of the race, as Nico prepared for taking on the track, he couldn't help but think of (Y/N) and how she had supported him over the last few weeks, reassuring him and quite literally keeping him sane as the situation within his team steadily deteriorated.

His blue eyes scanned the area outside of the Mercedes garage. Unable to spot his friend in any of the spots she’d usually be in, Nico approached one of the stewards. “Hey, sorry,” he tried to sound nonchalant  “Have you seen the Countdown crew?” his eyes nervously flitted around the paddock, before landing back on the steward. “Countdown Magazine? No, I don’t think I have seen them anywhere on the track today.” the older man answered, a rough hand scratching away at his beard. “Thank you.” Nico shortly nodded, before abruptly turning on his heels and making his way back into the garage with tense shoulders. (Y/N)’s absence from the paddock weighed heavily on his mind. She had promised him to be there today and she’d usually come in amongst the first wave of reporters. Why wasn’t she there yet? Nico combed his fingers through his hair , lost in thought. Shaking his head, he felt his team’s eyes on his form. She’d surely be at the paddock in no time, he thought,  deciding that for now, it would do him better to focus on the race and his strategies, in order to secure the championship.

What Nico didn't know, however, was that just mere moments before the gates to the paddock were opened, the boss of Countdown Magazine had abruptly fired  (Y/N) at short notice. 

With her heartbeat pounding in her ears, the only thing the young journalist had been able to understand through the speaker of her cell phone was that the magazine needed a “breath of fresh air” and therefore had decided to get rid of their motorsport department in the composition in which it had existed until then…or something like that. (Y/N) wasn't entirely sure, as she was overcome with panic as her thoughts flew straight to Nico.

Just the night before, she had promised him on the phone that she would never miss the most important race of his career and now she was sitting in her hotel room, unemployed, with no access to the paddock and no way to get a ticket to the race because the tickets had already sold out weeks ago. 

Had a champion of misfortune been crowned that night, she was sure that no one would have been able to deprive her of that victory. Shaky fingers dialled Nico's number, which she by now knew better than she did her own, the cheap wood of the hotel bed creaking as (Y/N)'s leg bobbed up and down in unease. With each ring of the call, her breath caught in her throat. The ex-reporter knew the driver too well by now to have expected him to use his cell phone so close to the race, but what other option did she have? She pressed the phone to her ear for a few more moments, each second more painful than the last, wide eyes staring blankly at the F1 broadcast on her TV screen. It was only when the drivers left their garages to get into formation that she dropped the cell phone from her ear and threw it onto the mattress behind her with a loud "Fuck!", followed by a strangled sob whilst desperate fingers pulled at her hair. 

As the race unfolded, the tension in the air was palpable. Nico and Lewis were locked in a fierce battle for the championship and every corner, every lap, seemed to carry the weight of each driver’s dreams. When Nico finally crossed the finish line , securing his victory, he felt a mix of euphoria and disbelief. After this particularly demanding season, he could finally breathe a sigh of relief, having  fulfilled his life-long dream of winning a World Driver’s Championship title.

The moment Nico stepped onto the podium to accept the championship trophy, he couldn’t help himself but to scan the crowd of reporters, still hoping to catch a glimpse of (Y/N). She had to be there, after all that’s what she had promised him. Yet, his friend still remained conspicuously absent. 

Nico held the coveted trophy high, the cheers of the crowd a deafening roar, as he smiled down at the sea of people. But even with a championship in hand and hundreds of people celebrating his achievement, there was a strange feeling of emptiness within his heart. As the champagne sprayed and the crowd celebrated, Nico's emotions were a turbulent mix of exhilaration and confusion. He couldn't help but wonder why (Y/N) hadn't been there smiling up at him, especially when she had been a constant presence throughout not only the season, but the majority of his career. The absence of his friend was like a splinter in his heart, casting a faint shadow over what should have been the most triumphant moment of his career. 

Meanwhile, (Y/N) watched the race unfold from her hotel room, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. The news of her abrupt departure from her reporting career had come as a shock, and she had fought bitterly against it. Her job had been her passion, and Formula 1 was her life. To be denied the opportunity to report on the championship-deciding race, and more importantly to support Nico in his most crucial moment, was a heartbreak she struggled to bear.

As she witnessed Nico celebrating his victory, the realization of her absence was a painful weight on both her shoulders and her mind. She had been forced to watch her friend reach the pinnacle of his career from a distance, unable to share this moment of glory with the man who had unknowingly stolen her heart. The tears she shed were a mixture of pride for her friend and a deep sense of sorrow for her own situation. 

Back at the race track, Nico's initial reaction, unaware of the circumstances behind his friend’s absence, was one of betrayal. Finding himself being swarmed by countless reporters fighting for even the smallest of chances to get a word from the freshly crowned champion, he couldn’t help the bitterness he began to feel towards (Y/N). If all of these random journalist could have turned up, then why couldn’t his dearest friend do the same for him. The longer Nico thought about it, the more he questioned his relationship with (Y/N), something which he had valued so highly up until that very moment. 

She hadn’t just used him to boost her journalism career, had she? As much as he wanted to shake the thought, the champion couldn’t stop the idea of having been used solely for thrilling stories and eye-catching headlines to consume him, clouding his mind as the pain of having been abandoned by the woman, whom he had opened himself up to, right when he needed her most, sank in. 

His heart was clouded by hurt, and the insufferable ache of believing he had been manipulated by someone he had grown to trust and even developed some sort of feelings for was something he didn't know whether he could cope with.

How could a person whom he valued so highly and would give anything for, be so selfish and leave him standing there like that, clutching his fulfilled lifelong dream in his hand and yet still feeling a hole in his heart. Had his feelings really blinded him to such an extent that he hadn't realized (Y/N)'s true nature, or had his heart perhaps never wished to recognize it in the first place ?

“Mr.Rosberg!” the shout of his name pulled the driver out of his thoughts. Blinking, his eyes travelled up the arm currently shoving a microphone into his face, before settling on the face of the reporter, whose red lips were pulled into an impatient smile. “I am sorry, I didn’t quite catch your question.” he mindlessly gestured around with his hand, hoping to come across as if he really hadn't caught the question in the bustling scenery. 

He raised his brows, a half-heartedly apologetic smile on his lips as he kept his attentive eyes on the reporter while waiting for her to repeat what she had just asked. The reporter laughed in a put-on fashion and Nico had to wrestle with himself to refrain from rolling his eyes.

"So," the woman thrust the microphone even further into his face, "I'd be really interested to know whether there was anyone who helped you get through this difficult season, or whether it was all down to you?" Almost immediately the driver put on the mask of a cocky smile. "No, all of that was entirely down to me and I dare say I managed pretty darn well." Nico’s hair bobbed as he nodded towards his trophy. His smile grew painful as he was intent on ignoring the extent of the lie he had just told and the pang of pain, that the conscious erasure of his relationship with (Y/N) caused deep within his core.

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #nico rosberg #f1 fandom #f1 drivers #f1 fanfic #nico rosberg x reader #f1 reader insert #f1 x you #nico rosberg x you #nico rosberg imagine #f1 drivers x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x female reader #f1 grid

[elia-the-bibliophile]

Mrs. Who? (Carlos Sainz Jr. x Female Reader)

Genre: Fluff Word count: 2,6k

In which Y/N and Carlos’ wedding is fast approaching yet she has trouble remembering his infamously long and complicated name.

As the wedding day approached, your crisis over remembering Carlos' full name is proving to be rather irresolvable. Y/N spent hours rehearsing, repeating the lengthy string of names to herself, but they seemed to evade her memory each time.

"Mi alma," she began tentatively, fingers twisting nervously, "I have a confession to make. I... I can't seem to remember your full name." With a defeated groan, Y/N confessed aloud, her head sinking into her hands in frustration.

Carlos turned to her, a soft smile playing on his lips. "That's okay, amor," he replied, his voice gentle and reassuring. "It's quite a mouthful, isn't it? Don’t fret we still have time. I’ll make it fun!"

Over the next few days, they turned her struggle into a lighthearted game, with Carlos eagerly offering kisses whenever she stumbled over his name.

__________________________________________

As they sat down to dinner, Y/N took a deep breath and attempted to recite his full name. "Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro... um, wait, where was I again?"

Carlos chuckled, reaching across the table to take her hand. "Close, amor. You're doing great," he said, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Let's try it together this time. Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro Cenamor Rincón Rebollo Birto Moreno de Aranda de Anteruriaga Tiapera Deltún."

Feeling a surge of determination. "Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro Cenamor Rincón Rebollo Birto Moreno de Aranda de Anteruriaga Tiapera Deltún," she repeated, stumbling slightly over the syllables but pressing on with newfound confidence.

Carlos's smile widened as he leaned in to place a tender kiss on her cheek. "Perfecto, mi amor," he whispered, his heart swelling with love for the woman he was about to marry. “See! You can do it.”

__________________________________________

As the warm water cascaded over her in the shower, Y/N found herself once again attempting to recite Carlos' full name. She had promised herself she wouldn't let a moment slip by without practicing, determined to be rid of her struggle before the big day.

Lost in concentration, she didn't notice the bathroom door creak open, nor did she hear Carlos' soft footsteps approaching. It wasn't until his warm embrace enveloped her from behind that she realized she wasn't alone.

"Practicing again, amor?" Carlos's voice, full with amusement, broke through her reverie.

Startled, she jumped slightly, turning to face him with a sheepish grin. "Uh, maybe just a little," she admitted, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Carlos chuckled, his arms still wrapped around her as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to her temple. "You're adorable, you know that?" he said, his voice filled with affection.

You couldn't help but smile, feeling a rush of warmth flood your chest. "I just want to get it right," Y/N confessed, her gaze meeting his.

Carlos's expression softened, his eyes reflecting nothing but pure adoration. "You already have, preciosa," he said softly, his words echoing in the small space between them. He couldn't resist making a cheeky remark. "Well, if you keep practicing my name in here, we might have to schedule a shower session," he teased, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

Y/N shot him a playful glare, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Didn't you just have one like 20 minutes ago?" she retorted.

Carlos feigned innocence, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise. "Eh, who's counting?" he replied with a shrug, earning a playful splash of water from Y/N in response.

Y/N couldn't help but roll her eyes affectionately. "Well, in that case, I guess I'll let it slide," a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Carlos grinned, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on her cheek before reaching for the shampoo. "Besides," he added, "I needed an excuse anyway to escape that meeting with Fred."

Y/N couldn't suppress a laugh, shaking her head in mock disapproval. "You're terrible," she teased, reaching for the soap with a playful swat in his direction.

“A meeting at 7 in the morning should be illegal," he exclaimed. "Especially when I could be here with you, practicing my name instead."

She shot him a playful look. "Well, lucky for you, you have a very dedicated fiancée who's willing to help you out," she replied with a wink.

With a contented sigh, Carlos leaned in. "The luckiest," he murmured.

__________________________________________

Y/N pressed the doorbell of her soon to be in laws' home, balancing a basket of freshly baked homemade bread in her arms. The door swung open to reveal her future mother-in-law, Reyes.

"Hi, Reyes!" Y/N greeted warmly, offering a smile as she shifted the basket slightly.

Reyes returned the smile, but there was a hint of playful reproach in her eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you to just call me mamá?" she chided gently, stepping aside to welcome Y/N inside.

Y/N chuckled. "I know.. I know, mamá, I'm sorry," she admitted sheepishly, stepping over the threshold into the cozy foyer. "I'm still getting used to it, but I promise I'll try harder."

Reyes raised an eyebrow as she glanced at the clock. "You're awfully early, dear. Dinner's not until 8," she remarked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Y/N's cheeks flushed slightly as she shifted on her feet. "Actually, I was hoping you could help me with something."

"Of course, cariño. What do you need?"

Taking a deep breath, Y/N hesitated for a moment before blurting out, "I need your help practicing Carlos' full name."

Reyes's eyes widened in surprise before she burst into laughter, the sound filling the room with warmth. "Oh, you poor thing," she chuckled, shaking her head affectionately. "I apologize for the trouble I've caused you, naming my son that long. But come, let's get started. It's a tradition, after all." And with a playful wink, she led Y/N into the drawing room.

For the next hour, Y/N and Reyes worked tirelessly, repeating Carlos' full name over and over again until it flowed effortlessly from your lips. With each repetition, you felt a growing sense of confidence.

Unbeknownst to them, Carlos had finally arrived from playing golf, his footsteps quiet as he approached the room. Peeking around the corner, he couldn't help but smile at the sight before him: his beloved fiancée and his mother, heads bent together in deep concentration, practicing his full name.

Clearing his throat to announce his presence, Carlos stepped into the room, his expression a mix of amusement and affection. "Am I interrupting something?" he teased, eyes twinkling.

Startled, Y/N looked up. "I... we were just..."

Reyes cut in with a playful smirk, "Practicing, Carlos. Your fiancée is determined to get your name right."

Carlos's heart swelled with affection as he crossed the room to join them, enveloping Y/N in a warm embrace and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You're amazing, amor," he murmured, planting a kiss on her temple.

Then, he leaned back slightly, his eyes meeting hers with a soft gaze. "You don't need to go through all this trouble just to remember my name, you know," he said earnestly.

"I know, but I just don't want to embarrass you in front of your big family," she admitted, her voice tinged with genuine concern. "I want to make sure I get it right, especially on such an important day."

Carlos can’t help but chuckle. "Trust me, even if you do make a mistake, no one would even bat an eye," he reassured her. "I mean, people have been complaining about my name for years."

You couldn't help but snort at his candid admission. “Well, in that case, I'll just blame it on tradition.”

Carlos grinned, “Exactly.“

__________________________________________

On the bustling morning of the wedding day, Carlos Sainz Sr. found a moment of quiet reflection with his son, in the midst of the joyful chaos. As they stood together in the garden, surrounded by the wisteria blooms and the gentle rustle of leaves, Carlos Sr. couldn't help but tease his son.

"So, hijo," he began, his tone light but his eyes twinkling with affection, "are you absolutely sure your bride hasn't run off yet? Your mamá has filled me in on how nerve wracking it has been for her to practice your name."

Carlos laughed, the sound echoing through the tranquil garden as he shook his head in mock exasperation. "Oh, come on, papá," he replied with a grin, nudging his father gently with his elbow. "You know Y/N wouldn't do that, even if she tried."

But beneath the playful banter, there was a tender understanding between father and son, a shared bond that transcended words. And as they exchanged a meaningful glance, Carlos Sr. placed a hand on his son's shoulder, his eyes misty with emotion. "Carlos, I am beyond happy that you found the kind of love that your mother and I share," he said. "I believe that you made the right choice with Y/N."

Carlos smiled, feeling a swell of pride and gratitude for his father's words. "Thank you, papá," he replied, his voice cracking. "I couldn't have asked for a better role model than you."

With a gentle pat on his son's shoulder, Carlos Sr. nodded. "Now, let's go get you married then, eh?”.

__________________________________________

At the same time, in the bride's suite, amidst the flurry of hairbrushes, makeup palettes, and scattered bridal magazines, Y/N found herself in the midst of a full-blown meltdown. She paced back and forth, her hands flying in exasperation as she muttered to herself.

"Should I even be getting married if I can't remember my future husband's name?" she wailed, her voice tinged with panic. "I mean, what kind of wife can't even remember her husband's name?"

Her bridesmaids exchanged worried glances as they tried to calm her down, offering words of reassurance and tissues in equal measure. But Y/N was beyond reasoning, her mind consumed with visions of disaster and embarrassment on what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.

"I'll be the laughingstock of the entire wedding!" she exclaimed, throwing herself onto the nearest chaise lounge in despair.

Her bridesmaids exchanged bemused looks, struggling to contain their laughter at their friend's dramatic outburst. But amidst the chaos, they knew they had to act fast to salvage the situation before the ceremony began.

With a collective sigh, they sprang into action, showering Y/N with comforting hugs, cups of soothing chamomile tea, and a hastily assembled flashcard deck of Carlos's full name.

Her best friend couldn't help but interject with a touch of humor. "Baby, even if you turned his name upside down, he'd still marry you in a heartbeat," she quipped. "That man adores you, butchered names and all." She said as she dabbed your eyes carefully before you ruin your elaborately done eye makeup.

Y/N draped her hand dramatically over her forehead. "I'm being a bridezilla, aren't I?" she moaned, her voice filled with equal parts self-awareness and melodrama.

Her bridesmaids exchanged amused glances. "Just a tad," one of them teased gently, earning a playful swat from Y/N in response.

Sensing the brewing crisis by sheer maternal instinct, Reyes swept into the room with all the grace and poise of a matriarch. Her presence commanded attention, her calming aura instantly soothing the tense atmosphere of the bridal suite.

"Alright, ladies, what's the commotion about?" Reyes inquired, her voice a perfect blend of concern and authority as she surveyed the scene before her.

Y/N's bridesmaids exchanged sheepish glances, unsure of how to explain their friend's theatrical meltdown. But before they could utter a word, Y/N herself stepped forward, a sheepish grin on her face.

“I think I might be losing my mind.” she confessed.

Reyes chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she crossed the room to envelop her daughter-in-law in a warm embrace. "Oh, bonita, every bride has a moment of panic on her wedding day," she reassured her, her voice filled with understanding.

"I remember feeling the same way on my wedding day," she admitted, her gaze drifting off into the distance as she recalled the memories of her own nuptials. "It was a beautiful day, much like today," Reyes began, a wistful smile gracing her lips. "But I was so nervous that I had a coughing fit right in the middle of the ceremony!”

Y/N couldn't help but chuckle at the image, her tension easing slightly as she imagined Reyes, the epitome of elegance, succumbing to a bout of nerves.

"But you know what?" Reyes continued, her eyes meeting Y/N's. "Despite the hiccup, it was still the happiest day of my life. Because at the end of the day, it's not about everything going perfectly—it's about the love that you share with your partner."

As if on cue, the distant sound of wedding bells began to chime, their melodic tones echoing through the air and signaling the start of the ceremony. Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the sound, her nerves alight with excitement as she realized that the moment she had been waiting for was finally here.

Reyes placed a reassuring hand on Y/N's shoulder. "It's time, dear," she said softly. "You're going to be stunning out there."

With a deep breath and a newfound sense of resolve, Y/N rose from her seat, her gaze meeting Reyes's with gratitude. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "For everything."

Reyes smiled, a carbon copy of Carlos’, “You're family now, hija," she replied. “And we couldn't be happier to welcome you into our hearts.”

__________________________________________

Y/N stood at the altar, heart racing with anticipation as she locked eyes with Carlos, looking so devilishly handsome he almost made her forget all her earlier tensions. Their hands intertwined, they stood side by side, ready to finally become husband and wife.

As the priest began the solemn words of the ceremony, Y/N felt a surge of emotion wash over her. The weight of the moment hung heavy in the air as the priest posed the vital question: "Do you, Y/N, take Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro Cenamor Rincón Rebollo Birto Moreno de Aranda de Anteruriaga Tiapera Deltún, to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she gazed into Carlos's eyes, her heart overflowing with love. This was it—the moment she had been preparing for, the moment she had feared and anticipated in equal measure.

But as she opened her mouth to speak, a sense of calm washed over her. She took a deep breath, summoning all the courage and determination within her. Carlos nodded in encouragement.

"I do," she declared, her voice miraculously steady. "I take Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro Cenamor Rincón Rebollo Birto Moreno de Aranda de Anteruriaga Tiapera Deltún to be my lawfully wedded husband."

The words hung in the air, a solemn declaration of love and commitment that seemed to reverberate throughout the church. And then, as if on cue, the crowd erupted into cheers and applause, their joyous voices filling the sacred space with an overwhelming sense of celebration.

Y/N couldn't help but smile as she felt the wave of support wash over her. She stole another glance at Carlos, her heart swelling at the sight of him. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, and he discreetly wiped them away with a handkerchief, his emotions raw and unfiltered.

Carlos fought to keep his composure, his lips trembling slightly as he struggled to contain the flood of emotions. Yet his gaze never wavering from Y/N's, his love for her shining bright in his eyes.

Carlos's voice boomed with pride and joy as he declared, "I present to you my wife, Mrs. Sainz Jr!" His words reverberated through the church, earning another round of applause and whistles.

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[forteafy]

A House, A Home | CL16 & CS55

Summary: A loveless marriage usually comes after years, not before. You've always loved him, his best friend has always loved you.

Word Count: 10.1k

Warnings: Hard Angst, Cheating, Mentions of Sex, Death.

Note: This piece has two heavy inspirations. The first is @lxclerc's amazing pieces 'Moth to a Flame' and 'Call out my Name.' They are both incredible pieces and I highly suggest you give them a read. The second is from a TikTok Account called 'ForPercival,' they are currently doing a social media AU which I cannot recommend enough.

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'

Charles Leclerc is a husband. 

At least, he was your husband on paper. One year ago, a hidden agreement had been put in place between Scuderia Ferrari and the Leclerc Household; their son, the ‘Il Predestinato,’ of the team, (albeit one whom had had the most terrible season,) could continue to drive for the team, so long as he married the daughter of one of their longest-running investors.

That so happened to be you. 

You had been against the entire idea since the first day. After being introduced to Ferrari’s driver, you had instantly felt the divide between the two of you. You’d reluctantly shaken his hand and since then, had been thrown through a mixture of fake dates, a fake engagement and the fakest wedding that could possibly be imagined. The ceremony hadn’t even ended with a kiss, per tradition. 

It didn’t take long for your walls to crack; living with Charles, seeing him at his highest and lowest points, his most vulnerable behind the four walls of your home had caused your heart to soften. Forget being forced into this marriage, you’d grown to care, to adore the man who’d once burdened you with his presence. You dreamed of the day he would return your affection; how long would it take for you to realise you lived in denial? In your late-night fantasies, lying alone in one of the guest rooms you’d sought refuge in on moving into this ­house, you’d dreamt of lying in his arms, lazy morning breakfast, slow kisses when he would come back to you. To your home.

A home, however, is where you feel safe, warm, protected. You lived in a house with Charles. The man who would barely glance your way and after three months of your marriage, started coming home, smelling of rich perfume and lipstick marks littering his jawline.

The first anniversary of your marriage should have been special, even if he despised you in every known form to man. You’d woken up in your room, slipped on the silk robe which had been lying on the empty bedside and slipped out of the bedroom. In your heart of hearts, you knew there would be no significance of today; no flowers, no card, not even a simple text from your husband to signify the date in question. The only text you had received that morning, was a stern reminder from your father, that you were due to attend the Monza Grand Prix in less than one week. 

A soft sigh emitted itself from your lips; it was a routine you knew all too well. Every few races, the more significant ones; Monaco, Silverstone, Spa-Francorchamps, Monza, you’d play the doting wife; cheering for your husband whilst dressed in soft summer dresses, a forged grin if he managed to battle his way into the points. On those rare days when he would obtain a podium position, he’d greet you on the barriers with a soft kiss. It was all fake; a routine which had been performed so many times. Yet, each time his lips met yours, you could dream he meant something behind the affection. 

The train of thought had played through your mind for so long that you were unaware of the tears pooling on your lower lash line. So, what if Charles wasn’t at home for your anniversary? It was your thought for feeling any kind of emotion towards him in the first place. It was a business deal, after all. Did your husband enjoytreating you like this? His disappearance on that morning was a cold reminder that he felt nothing towards you. No sentiment, no adoration. 

Despite the tears which had bade your eyes that morning, until the mid-afternoon, you had a productive day. Of course, leaving the house was out of the question; what would the media say if devoted wife of Ferrari’s driver was seen without him, on their wedding anniversary of all days? 

Instead, you’d played soft music whilst re-organising your wardrobe, something you’d put off for a while now. Cooking a meal whilst lazily treading around the kitchen, experimenting with the spices that Yuki had gifted to you on your previous visit to a Grand Prix. The meal itself was too big to eat alone. Instead, you boxed up the remainders of what was left in the tray, carefully placing it in the fridge, knowing Charles wouldn’t actually eat it. 

Your evening had been…less productive. You’d found solace in a glass of red wine, lounging on the sofa of the main living area; usually, you kept as far away from that zone as possible. Charles would spend his evenings in the couch, eyes flickering between the television and his phone, no doubt sending longing messages to his mistress whilst his wife was in the home. 

The ­third glass had just about been drained. You were adamant upon gaining a fourth, no longer caring of any commitments you had the next day. Instead, you sat up abruptly from the sofa, hearing the gentle click from the front door. 

He had come back to the house. 

His green eyes barely took a second to meet yours, slipping off his shoes and placing them into the rack situated by the front door. A rustle of his jacket signified his option to stay. You saw him carry the garment over his arm as he trudged into the living area, set to lie in front of the television for some personal relaxation. 

With his entry to the room, you suddenly remembered your position. You’d hastily stood up from the couch, collecting the half-finished bottle from the low table, holding the glass to your chest to draw the attention away from your beverage. 

Charles said nothing; he’d unlatched the top two buttons from his dress shirt; faint purple marks nestled on the lower joint of his neck; a clear mark that his mistress had previously made, a sinful reminder of his adultery. 

“I left you some dinner in the fridge.” You mumbled, voice barely picking up over the sound of the television. “There’s some clean loungewear on the end of your bed, too.” You finish your sentence. Your husband doesn’t even attempt to tell you he’s acknowledged your words, eyes transfixed on whatever news was currently playing on the television. 

“Happy Anniversary.” You mumble, feet leading you back to the kitchen, the bottle of wine against your chest now seemingly the only attention you’d ever get. 

Charles Leclerc is an actor. 

The entire drive to the track had been bade in complete silence; not even the radio had been switched on to drown out the undeniable tension in the car. You had originally tried to make light conversation with the man; he couldn’t even be bothered to make a sound in response to any of your questions. 

You couldn’t handle the harsh tone he had snapped at you with the previous time you had been in the car; instead, you watched the rolling hills and glistening sun of Monza. It was always one of the highlights of the year. If not for the racing, you would have come here in your own time, to bask in the sun and to enjoy the secluded section of Italy as an individual. 

The incredible views soon began to fade out, instead replaced by expensive cars and adoring fans, leaning over the barriers in an attempt to see their favourite drivers; there was an uproar as your husband drove past the crowds; he was clearly the home favourite, as any member of the Ferrari crew would be in this location. Silently, you slipped on the sunglasses which had been resting in the pouch of your bag, knowing the paparazzi would be blistering your eyesight sooner rather than later. 

Charles effortlessly parked his car in the allocated spot. Silently, he switches off the engine, removing the keys and shoving them into his jean pocket. The man doesn’t so much as register your presence as he opens his door, leaving you to venture out of the car yourself. You’d carefully adjusted the flowing fabric of your dress; the patterned fabric flowing gently around your calves. 

You looked beautiful. You just wished your husband would care enough to tell you.  

Instead, his priority is the cameras leaning over the barriers. He doesn’t even look in your direction, instead firmly grasping your hand in his own; an act the two of you had performed for the crowd oh-so-many times. He waves towards the crowds; neither of you miss the adoring sounds, the coos for many of the fan’s favourite ‘couple.’ To so many, his affection seemed to clear to you, and yours did to him. 

Charles didn’t hold your hand with any adoration. His grasp was harsh, palms roughly mashed together, no intent to keep your grip safe against his own. You were certain that if you were to let go, he wouldn’t think to remedy the situation. Your theory is proven when you gently let go, instead keeping in step, just behind his figure; Charles’ hand seems as if it’s gone into idle mode. His eyes, however, stayed alert, vigilant. Silently, the two of you pass through the paddock security, pausing every few moments for Charles to sign a cap, take a photograph with a fan. 

It isn’t until you reach the outskirts of the Ferrari Building that you see her. Soft hair around her shoulders, clothing exquisite, her eyes flickering to your husband, offering him a sympathising smile. 

He may have been a devoted husband towards the press, to Ferrari, even to the majority of his team. However, the moment that the cameras were turned off, microphones pushed away, he was sneaking to his mistress, one he had shamelessly invited to so many Grand Prix’s over the past nine months. She was what he wanted; a fun and fancy-free lady, rather than the wife whom stood by his side. There’s a glance between the two of them, as if a whole conversation is had in that moment. 

You stay silent as you follow Charles into the Ferrari Building. Instantly, you’re overwhelmed by the welcomes that your husband obtains; so many of them pass onto you. Upon the questions of how married life is treating him, he smiles, fakes a laugh as he pulls you into his side, one hand firmly resting upon your waist. 

“Married life is perfect.” He insists, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, one which you falsely giggle about, ignoring the butterflies which were nestling in the pit of your stomach. “It’s even better when she’s standing right here, beside me.” 

The entirety of the room buys the staged scene, all except for two people. The first, obviously, is your father. He’s always there, watching that the driver is performing well. He knows of his affair, but in his mind, as long as the affair is kept out of the light, and his marriage was still official, their deal continued. Besides, he would speak to you both sooner rather than later upon extending the family; that would seal both of your fates towards one another. Nobody liked a husband whom left a wife and child. 

The second was Carlos Sainz; the second driver for Scuderia Ferrari. 

The Spaniard was all too aware of the affair between Charles and his mistress; after qualifying from Baku, Carlos had found his teammate behind the garage, his hands with a firm grip on her waist, their kisses entirely formed of tounge and teeth. The man had furiously ripped Charles from the woman, bellowing in his face about the wife he had, whilst this woman warmed his bed. A deep blush had formed over both of their cheeks, Charles explaining that you were aware of his actions. 

Carlos didn’t want to believe it; he’d frantically messaged you that evening, to which you had answered his question, confirming you knew of the affair. That evening, you had revealed everything to him, watching his eyes get glossier as the cruel details were flickered in front of his eyes. It pained him; he’d cared for you since the moment you’d first stepped foot into the paddock alongside your father. His heart shattered upon finding out that you had been betroved to Charles, that he had missed his chance, all that time ago. 

He waits; waits until later in the day to approach you. By this point, you had made yourself comfortable in Charles’ driver room. Of course, your husband isn’t actually there. After a brief encounter with most of the members on his team, he’d excused himself. Carlos knew that he had snuck away from the crowds adorned in red to see his mistress, likely stealing kisses and rough fumbles between one another. Whilst that was happening, you, were sat in his drivers’ room, skirts spread across the soft lounger, eyes engrossed in a book which had been enclosed in your bag alongside your sunglasses.

 You were the epitome of beauty in Carlos’ eyes. He could have stood at the ajar door to the room, watching you as you engrossed yourself in the story. Instead, he offers a light cough, drawing your attention from the book in your lap. He’s engrossed by your eyes, how the light reflected off them, the glow they offered. Your smile, how you presented your real smile to him so naturally, not the one you forged next to your husband on every single encounter. 

“Good morning, Carlos!” You greet him with a bright tone, standing up from your position on the couch. You offer him a hug, feeling his warm arms wrap around your waist, his breath against your face when he kisses your cheek gently. ‘In another life,’ you always tell yourself. One where you were happy, free to marry a man who would return your affection. 

“Good morning, Mariposa.” The nickname rolls of his tongue; one he had presented ever since you had once showed up in the paddock, the most beautiful butterfly-imprinted dress flowing in the soft breeze of that Monaco weekend. “You’re hiding out in here today, yes?” He teases. You offer him a small shrug, eyes not able to meet those sweet brown ones of the man stood in front of you. 

“Charles is…busy.” You finish the sentence abruptly. Carlos knows not to question further; the two of you have a mutual understanding as to where he would be at this point during the day; wrapped up in the arms of another woman. “He’s probably on his track walk…maybe. I’m just…keeping occupied.” You motion towards the window, looking onto the first straight of the track. “Plus…it looks windy out there.” 

“Well…” Carlos invites himself into the room now, looking down at your attire, seeing that your feet were enclosed with the brilliant white trainers you’d left home in that morning. The man shrugs off his own windbreaker, holding it in his arm. “If I give you my jacket, would you like to come on my track walk?” He offers, holding out the garment to you. 

You knew you would probably live to regret that moment. However, if you stayed resting in Charles’ driver room much longer, reading the same line of your book whilst your thoughts trailed away to how he would be with his mistress, you would go crazy.

“I’d love to.” You finally respond, slipping your arms through the large sleeves of Carlos’ jacket. Offering you a pat on the shoulder, he motions towards the exit of the driver’s room, determined to keep you on his side whilst walking across the track loved by fans far and wide. He hopes that everybody misses the longing gazes and soft smile on his face every time you make a comment, or your hands brush a little too closely. 

Charles Leclerc is a neck kisser. 

It’s not as if you would know this. The only kisses you ever had were those for show. Cold, meaningless interactions between somebody who attempted to show unconditional love and one who could dream of being anywhere else in that moment. 

You’d carefully unlatched the front door of the house, your wireless earbuds resting comfortably in your ears, unable to hear any other sound apart from the music playing. Slipping off your shoes, hanging up your jacket; your only intention for the afternoon was to go through some of the notes you had made regarding education courses in the area; sitting at home day after day was truly aggravating. You couldn’t pick up yet another hobby. Maybe some form of learning would interest you. 

But first, you needed a drink to cool yourself off from the sun. You’d remembered the smoothie packs you made earlier in the week; one of those and going through your notes seemed a perfect plan for the current moment. 

The second you rounded the corner into the open-plan kitchen, you wished that you could have taken the scenic route home. 

His mistress was sat up on the kitchen island, back straight, legs wrapped around the waist of your husband, her hands grasping at the soft curls atop of his head. Charles’ hands slid across her back, soft grunts coming from his lips, his mouth leaving open-mouthed kisses along her slender neck. She was loving it, at least, that’s what you could judge from the noises leaving her mouth. 

Before either of them could clock your arrival, both too wrapped-up in their embrace, you’d stepped out of the kitchen, hand over your mouth to silence the sobs which were threatening to escape. In a moment, you’re out of the hallway, letting your feet carry you up the carpeted stairs. 

The only intention now embedded in your mind was to drink so much you would forget the scene unfolding in front of your eyes. 

Charles Leclerc is a slow replier. 

The smell of tequila and sweat is strong in the cramped hallway of the club. It was insane to believe that less than three hours ago, you had been cocooned in your king-size duvet, lips slightly parted as you strung a meaningless thread of text messages to one another; you didn’t truly care how one of your friends felt in that moment, the heartbreak shattering in your chest was stronger than any other emotion you could begin to comprehend. 

No, your sole reason for texting was to leave this god-forsaken house. You kept telling yourself not to care. Charles’ eyes were all you could think about as you picked out your shortest, slinkiest dress; one which enhanced every curve and dip in the most elegant way. Charles’ dimples were all you could think about when your attention was drawn to outlining your lips with a deep red gloss. Charles’ lips were all you could think about, your foot sliding into the black heeled shoe, your feet finding no solace in being propped up within six inches of their life. 

Your friend had messaged you the location of the designated club. How anybody could enjoy one of those places sober was beyond your comprehension. Instead, you had taken the route of every other supposed being in that club; one shot of a suspicious-looking liquid had turned into sixteen – his number, you couldn’t help remembering. That was the reason you had found yourself stood motionlessly in the hallway, trying to navigate yourself back to the bar. At least seventeen wouldn’t have been tied to any other emotion. 

The plan, however, was short-lived when you hear a familiar voice call your name. Turning too quickly in your ridiculous heels, you’re met with the figures of Kelly Piquet and Max Verstappen, hands linked together, clearly nowhere near as intoxicated as you were in that moment. 

Kelly moves first; you had always enjoyed her presence, spending time with her around the Paddock when you were bade to attend. Penelope was one of the sweetest three-year-olds you had ever come across, always greeting you with a toothy grin and a story of her and ‘Maxie’s’ escapades. When her mother encloses you in a hug, you can feel the tears fall, your drunken façade falling immediately. The woman simply cups your hand in her face, delicately wiping the tears from your lash line, making sure to remove any heavy clumps of mascara. She asks you where Charles is, where your husband is. You can’t make any sound which you believe is cohesive, something about him being back at the house.

Max by now, has his own arm resting around your shoulder. You were Charles’ wife, after all. He knew Charles would do the same for Kelly if she was ever to be found in this state. Something strange stabs at his chest; maybe he was too protective, but he would have never of let Kelly get into this state, at least, not on her own. The driver carefully fumbles in his back pocket, unlocking his own device and filing through his contacts to phone Charles. 

The phone goes straight to voicemail, not even a dialling tone. Max tries a second time, a third time. Instead, he leaves messages. How on gods earth did Charles feel relaxed, knowing his wife would be out, probably on some form of alcohol, and not think to check that she would be safe returning home? If only he knew. 

The duo moves to a second plan. You needed some fresh air before they could attempt to get you into a car and take you home; standing in the corridor of a nightclub was not an ideal situation, instead moving you to the exit. Your eyes widen, looking up to Max and Kelly as if you had shrunk right down to Penelope’s age, as if they would be the saviours to get you home. By the way Max was holding you by his side and Kelly stroking your hair behind your ears, you may as well been their daughter. 

Conversations are had; neither of them is sober enough to drive you home, nor do they think it’s wise to try and sneak you into their hotel room when they had already issues when checking in a little too late. Their prayers are answered when a group of men wander past, one of them stopping to smack Max, his fellow driver on the back. His dark eyes, ones you know so well, widen when he sees your figure, looking so fragile in the light of the early hours in the city. 

“Mariposa.” He murmurs, running a hand across your cheek, wanting nothing more than to hold your frame against his chest. Your soft eyes meet his own dark ones, glossed in concern for how on earth you could do this to yourself. The man murmurs something to Max and Kelly, ensuring them that he’d been the sober friend out of his group; promising he would get you home himself. The duo has no reason to not trust him, both of them leaving a gentle kiss on your cheek before retiring to their own hotel. 

As the couple walk away from the club, you can only feel the warmth of Carlos’ hand, still resting on your face. When he at last turns his attention back to you, he simply wraps a strong arm around your waist, supporting you to stand in those awful, heeled shoes. At the pace you’re walking back towards his car, you would get there just after the sunrise. Instead, he scroops you into his grasp. 

The affection, the physical contact is all too much for you. It had been so, so long since anybody had held you, cared for you like this. Your clouded mind, now overwhelmed by warmth and alcohol allowed you to lean your head into Carlos’ sturdy chest. If you were sober, you’d be able to feel the way his heart raced when feeling you rest against him. 

“Why do you do this to yourself, Mariposa?” He murmurs, settling you into the passenger seat of his car. He can’t help but remove his own jacket, wrapping the soft fabric around your arms, letting you nuzzle into the scent of his fabric softener and aftershave. Once settling himself into the driving seat, he begins the route back to the house, one hand gently resting atop of your leg, some form of comfort for the world in your mind which seemed to be caving in. 

“I’d never do this to you.” He whispers, turning into the driveway that he had become accustomed to since the marriage. 

Across the city, Max Verstappen is sound asleep. His phone, plugged in on the dressing table across the room buzzes once, notifying a text from his racing rival. 

03:21: Charles Leclerc

Hey, sorry, was busy with something. Is everything good?

Charles Leclerc is a traveller.

You hadn’t expected anything to awaken you after the way your body had reacted to the previous night. A natural awakening, however, would have been a lot nicer than hearing the clicking sound of wheels against flooring. Whatever, whoever was outside of your room most certainly had a death wish to awaken you that morning. 

It felt as if pins had been pressed into every square inch of your head, the task of even sitting up and forcing yourself towards the door of your bedroom, still dressed in your slinky garment and…somebody’s jacket? The night for you had truly ended as soon as you had that ninth shot of tequila; you thought you could remember Max and Kelly in the same location at some point, maybe that was your mind playing tricks on you, longing for people who enjoyed your company. 

You were pulled back to the present when the figure of your husband appears at your doorway. He’s dressed already; loose hoodie and tracksuit bottoms cover his frame; his hand is clasping tightly onto a suitcase. There wasn’t a Grand Prix this weekend, you were certain. He would have left days ago for that. There was-

“I’m going to stay with…” He pauses, clearly trying to think of the correct way to word the fact he would be staying with his Mistress until further notice. Even in your state, you understand, simply raising your hand to stop him from speaking. You didn’t want to hear her name, you didn’t want to know that he would be spending the next nights wrapped in her arms, because for once…you didn’t care. 

They say alcohol causes dangerous mistakes, but in this moment, your hangover seemed to be your best friend. Every single time, you would think later, Charles would come back from seeing her, would leave to spend an evening by her side or sneak away during your paddock appearances…and you would be focused, your sole attention being on when he would return. Now? Your sole focus was on throwing up the remains of alcohol in your stomach, placing on a facemask and ordering some kind of comfort food to your home. 

You didn’t care about him, not right now. Your actions relay this, simply offering him a nod before speaking, your voice surprisingly clear for how much your throat was weeping for a drink.

“Okay.” You pause. There’s nothing left to say after that. What does he want you to do? Wish him a happy time? Charles looks equally taken aback, usually expecting some kind of warm drabble on how he needed to stay safe. In that moment, he can’t help but…want it.

“I’ll be back on Wednesday to pack for Singapore.” He pauses this time, taking in your appearance, your face so…gentle, soothing. “You’re coming, yes?” He remembers a conversation had many a time; his wife should be there to support him as much as possible, even if he wasn’t a fan of the sly ways he would have to leave her in front of his team members.

He isn’t expecting a shrug of the shoulders, bringing a hand up to rest on the door, clearly ready to close it at any given moment. 

“I’m not sure.” You offer him, sighing as you begin to close the door yourself. “My father said that race isn’t a priority.” That was the last sentence you offered him before closing the door. You obviously do not see it, but on the other side of the wall, Charles stands in confusion for a full twenty seconds before snapping back to his reality, his clutch on the suitcase a little tighter as he begins his decent down the stairs, wondering where on earth he had seen that jacket you were wearing before?

Your own priorities that morning was in full swing; you had placed your phone on charge, messages beginning to thread through as you stepped into the shower, the cool water savouring your skin. A fluffy robe is tied around your waist, brushing your hair around your back whilst your attention focused on rehydrating your skin, brushing your teeth and cleaning the dirt from underneath your eyes. 

The silence is strong when you walk back into your bedroom. In that moment, you opt for some music whilst changing into some comfortable loungewear, easy to roam around the house in and let your hair dry naturally. Sitting at the end of the bed, you’re able to check notifications, seeing Kelly had sent you a photo of Penelope that morning, smiling for her favourite aunt. You see your most recent text had come through from none other than Charles’ teammate, following one which had been sent early that morning. 

03:45: Carlos Sainz

Sweet dreams, Mariposa. Let me know if you need anything please. 

11:51: Carlos Sainz

Just seen on Twitter Charles is at the airport, he’s not off to see her, is he?

His message brings so many emotions to you, and also answers the question of who’s jacket you had been wearing that morning. Your heart can’t help but soften, knowing already that Charles is on his way to see...her. You think back to your mindset from earlier, how it was the last thing you wanted to care about. Why on earth would you care about them, when you could be focusing on ordering your favourite food and calling your nail technician to come to the house? That would make you feel better, better than he ever had.

You first drop a message to Carlos in response, wanting to let him know you had woken up from potential alcohol poisoning. 

12:25: You

Yeah, he is. Didn’t seem so happy that I couldn’t care less. Thank you for the jacket last night, I hope you had a good evening. 

12:28: Carlos Sainz

All the better for seeing you. Hoping the hangover isn’t too bad today. 

The messages spring backwards and forwards between the two of you for the afternoon; you’re smiling whilst you go through your favourite meal, the taste of it filling your mouth in the best way possible. There’s still a smile on your face when your nail technician arrives, painting some delicate designs into your fingers and toes, subtly asking who on earth has you smiling that much.

It isn’t until that evening; you’re sat in front of the television, a series you had watched one-too many times playing, your eyes glued to the storyline as if it would change again. The notification on your phone instantly drew your attention away from the screen, looking down to see a text on your screen.

21:03: Carlos Sainz

Why don’t you come and stay in Madrid for a few days? I’m sure we could both do with the company.

Charles Leclerc is a stalker. 

Well, maybe stalker was too strong of a word. However, his intentions were identical, having watched your latest Instagram story three- no, four times. Since leaving the home several days earlier, his mind could not stop thinking about the fact you truly could not care less about where he was going. This wasn’t you, was it? 

He’d arrived at her house, being temporarily distracted by luring himself into her bedroom, an afternoon of escapades and touches until she had rolled onto her side, telling him she was going to shower, and he would be more than welcome to join her. Instead, he pulled out his phone, seeing if you had done your usual; texting him to check that he had arrived safely, asking when he could be coming back to the house. 

There’s no messages, no notifications. Huffing to himself, Charles instead pulls up your Instagram, seeing that you had posted a new story that evening, a suitcase in hand, an emoji of an aircraft and a Spanish flag. You were off somewhere, and hadn’t told him? No, no. You always told him where you were going, you always-

“Are you not joining me, then?” Charles’ mistress’ voice suddenly draws him out of his trance, a towel wrapped around her body, hair around her shoulders. It was nowhere near as soft and as gentle as yours was, he realised in that moment. He eventually nods, pulling himself from his phone and following her into the en-suite. 

He’s so…distant for the remainder of his visit. When the two of them go to a secluded spot for lunch, when they go for a drive in a car they had hired for the afternoon. When she’s lazily pressing kisses along his neck, trying to grind into his crotch, desperate for his attention. When she finally falls asleep, Charles pulls out his phone, looking through any of the photos you had posted from that day. The soft sands of the beach, a hugestrawberry ice-cream cone, a mirrored selfie of yourself in the most beautiful sundress, hair curled and clearly ready for an evening in the Spanish sun. 

The routine continues, he sees your adventures, day after day. You’re touring small markets, trying local delicacies. One day, you’re simply lounging by a pool for the afternoon, a fat paperback resting on your stomach, clearly engrossed by the story which was resting on your stomach. Each time he sees a post, he can’t help but be drawn to how he wants to know how you’re doing. Maybe that’s why he drops you a text message, trying to gain some sort of traction from how you were doing. 

23:54: Charles Leclerc

Are you home? I’ve got a flight tomorrow afternoon.

You don’t respond; now, your phone is at the bottom of your bag, resting on the inside cabin of Carlos’ boat. For your final day in Madrid, he had insisted on taking you for a boat ride. You’d shyly mentioned earlier in that week that Charles had never taken you on his own boat, despite the fact that you were indeed married. 

The sun began to set over the rolling waves of the ocean; the boat is gently rocking, the sounds of water lapping over one another was music to your ears. You were sat at the edge of the now stilled boat, contemplating dipping your toes into the water. Your attention is so drawn to the scenery that you don’t hear him step away from the wheel, crouching next to you. 

“You could just go in.” He teases, “rather than staring at the water. You know how to swim.” The taunt causes you to roll your eyes, simply looking to the Spaniard on your right-hand side. 

“What? And have you speed off without me?” You retaliate, using your shoulder to nudge his body. Carlos clicks his lips together, mumbling something incoherent, before he’s suddenly scooped you up into your arms; despite your sounds of protests, he simply holds you against his chest tighter. His dark eyes flicker between yours and the ocean water below the two of you. Before you can say anything, his feet have made their own choice, jumping off the edge of the boat, both of you tumbling into the sea. Your briefly submerged entirely, before your head pops out of the waves, blindly reaching around until two strong arms encircle your waist. 

Both you and Carlos laugh for a moment, in pure awe that you just did that. He moves first, one of his hands releasing from your waist, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. There’s a silence between the two of you, where the only sound emitting from your surroundings is the gentle waves of the sea. In that moment, Carlos Sainz wants nothing more than to lean forward, pressing his lips to your own. They look so…soft. He craves to give them the attention they had been longing for so long. But…you’re married. And even if your marriage is loveless, to a point where your husband is openly in an affair, he would never do that to you. Instead, he settles for resting one hand on your cheek, gently kissing the top of your forehead, murmuring some Spanish wording you would never remember. 

If you did understand it, however, you would have known that he said there and then that he would always be devoted to you. 

Charles Leclerc is a loud shouter. 

His voice seemed to travel for miles, you were almost certain the entirety of the secluded neighbourhood could hear him at this current moment. The man had returned home from his secluded stay with his mistress to an empty house; at that point, you were still in the depths of Madrid, packing up your own suitcase, wishing Carlos luck on the Singapore Grand Prix. You had intended to return to the house after Charles had left himself; the heartbreak of seeing him littered in love-bites, his eyes transfixed to his phone from her messages was too much for you.

However, if you had been at the house when he had arrived home, you would have seen his neck clear, phone shoved into his back pocket as he called out your name, wondering if you had returned home yourself. Charles notices your trainers haven’t been left on the shoe rack; there’s no music to signify your afternoon relaxation. A light knock to the door of your room signifies there’s nobody home. The house feels empty. 

Maybe, Charles Leclerc was beginning to understand how you felt. 

His first instinct is to message you. Surely, you would have seen his text from his previous message by now; what would it hurt to check in once more. The man feels against his rough jean pocket for the device, swiping away from the multiple notifications from his mistress, instead scrolling to your contact’s name, seeing you hadn’t been active in almost twelve hours. You hadn’t even opened his message. 

His thumb hovers above the keyboard, not entirely sure what to say in this situation. Instead, he opts to call your number instead; you had always picked up to him; whenever he needed you to stay away from the house, or to remind you to be ready to leave at a certain time. The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth ring, your voicemail comes through the speaker, signifying him that you were too busy to pick up the telephone. 

Charles didn’t grow concerned during the evening; he grew angry. You were his wife. You were supposed to be at the house to greet him, to welcome him with open arms, ask about his day. Even if…even if he had chosen to ignore your welcoming’s and kind heart for over a year. The man found a distraction in going through the information that Scuderia Ferrari had sent him for his journey tomorrow, making sure his passport was in the correct place. He hadn’t needed to pack; you had made sure to do that for him before your own departure, making sure his comfortable clothes were packed and sunglasses safely secured in the pouches of the case. 

It was late, late for you when the door finally opened, signalling the arrival of a second being. Charles immediately sits up from his slouched position on the couch, stepping up from the sofa, almost ready to give you a piece of his mind. Upon reaching the hallway, he sees you, slipping off your trainers, leaving the suitcase next to the front door. Even underneath your jumper, he can see your skin is glowing from the Mediterranean sun, yet your eyes are watering, tears leaking from your lower lash line. 

“Where on earth have you been?” He snaps, not actually wanting to hear an answer. You open your mouth to respond, but the man cuts you off before you can speak. “I am your husband. You’re supposed to wait for me!” His temper is getting the better of him, green eyes flickering with anger. 

At this point, you’re exhausted, overwhelmed from the news you had received on your drive home, and for this man to question your loyalties to your marriage? You can’t help the scoff which falls from your lips, the emotions building a little too much.

“You’re my husband?” You mock in confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise my husband was around at long last, not wrapped in the arms of another woman!” Your temper flares, pushing your hair behind your shoulders, grasping the suitcase to take upstairs and repack. 

“You didn’t pick up your phone once.” Charles retaliates. Oh, the cheek of-

“Like when you pick up your phone when I call?” The tears are beginning to flow freely now, wanting nothing more than to get upstairs and completely ignore what has been happening. “You don’t Charles. You’ve done nothing to show that you’re my husband in the past twelve months!” You can’t help yourself now. Instead of seeking the new suitcase, you simply turn around on the step of the front door, slipping your trainers back onto your feet. 

“Where are you going?” His voice is now laced in concern; you couldn’t leave yet, surely? You’d only just returned; you wouldn’t be safe to drive in this condition. Why on earth did he care now? His question is answered, but not in the way he desired. 

“Like you would care.” It’s the last thing you say before the door to the house is slammed shut. 

Charles Leclerc is an investigator. 

When arriving in the Ferrari Garage of Singapore, there’s already an eerie feeling through the air; there are no smiles, sympathising looks thrown towards the back end of the garage. The driver isn’t stupid, he knows something must be wrong. He’s unsure of who to ask; who would know what is going on? 

His original plan was to ask Xavi, maybe during their morning briefing, until he is told that his flight has been delayed and wouldn’t be there until the late afternoon. Eventually, he spots his racing partner, nestled in the corner of the garage, his eyes flickering across his own phone screen, rapidly typing a message to somebody he would rather not admit to. 

“Hey.” He speaks softly, not wanting to startle the man. Silently, Carlos looks up from his device, offering his teammate a small nod, not wanting to prolapse the eye contact for too long. Charles can sense he knows what has happened, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Why is everybody so…quiet?” 

The look on Carlos’ face signifies he’s said something wrong. His eyes darken, shaking his head in disappointment rather than fury. It correlates to the kind of look his father would give him during a long talk, when he had broken something and not admitted to it. The Spaniard isn’t sure he should even tell his teammate what had happened. Instead, he changes his phone application to the Emails App, handing the device over to Charles. His eyes flicker across the screen, taking in the information. 

Ferrari’s biggest benefactor, your father, would not be attending the race weekend after the untimely death of his wife. Your mother. It suddenly correlates; how the night before, you had seemed inconsolable, despite the fact you had obviously had an incredible vacation. You’d tried to simply walk away, to let yourself grieve without bothering him. Instead, you had found comfort in Carlos as he had driven you to the airport, whispering sweet words of comfort, promising that everything was going to be okay. 

Charles feels his blood run cold, he feels sick. The look on the man stood in front of him tells him enough; he had made the biggest mistake of his life. Murmuring an excuse, he leaves the garage, stepping to the secluded back area, the realisation that he is everything his mother never wanted him to be, hitting hard. He still had the ability to run to her, to ask for her advice. You didn’t have that anymore. You didn’t have anybody, least of all your husband. 

The first thing he does in that moment, is pull out his phone, scrolling to the contact of his mistress.

10:09: Charles Leclerc

We need to talk. 

Charles Leclerc is a phone call away.

The past day had been filled of tears, clinging to your father, to your younger siblings, to your elder cousins. How on earth your mother had left this world early was beyond you. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. Your mother was the one whom had been your rock for the past miserable year of your marriage. If not for her, you were almost certain that you would have thrown your silvery key to the house down a drain so long ago.

Without her guidance, without her tutoring, you felt like bird trying to fly individually for the first time; surrounded by fears and almost certain you’d fall into compromising position. 

You hadn’t rested. Not since you had arrived at the bleak family home. As customed, every curtain was drawn close, doors to each room sealed, no natural light emitting to the large house, making every shadow and crook of the building seem more terrifying. Eventually, your father had retired to his own bedroom, your younger siblings tucked into their beds, butterfly kisses pressed against their foreheads, a silent promise you were only down the hall if they so desired you. 

The bedroom you had grown up in remained almost identical to the one you had painted in your mind; pale pink wallpaper, a luxury bed lined with a rosebud-patterned quilt set. The vanity you had last used to get ready on your wedding day remained pristine, the perfumes and scents which had been your favourite still sitting atop of your shelf. And the photographs. A polaroid of your two closest friends from your childhood; one of your sisters on her christening day, the entire family dressed so elegantly; Charles is in that photograph, off to the side alongside his brothers; you had no idea there and then that boy with the ocean eyes would become your estranged husband. 

You could have continued going down memory lane, if not from the buzzing which was coming from your bed. The phone you had carelessly thrown atop of the blankets when first entering the room had finally got some service, a thread of text messages and missed phone calls beginning to filter through. Silently, you take a seat on the edge of your bed, eyes flickering across each message. Some are from members of the Ferrari team, others from family members you hadn’t heard from in what felt like centuries. 

There’s one. One from the man whom you had spent the previous week with. The one who had consoled you whilst travelling to the family home. Your husband’s teammate. 

23:05: Carlos Sainz

Mariposa, please let me know how you are doing. I’m so worried about you. Let me know if you need anything at all. 

23:31: You

Thank you, C. I should be heading home tomorrow, with a bit of luck I’ll be able to swing by and say hello. 

You hadn’t expected anything else that evening. You were settled, ready to focus on yourself for the remainder of the evening; in your eyes, there was a high likelihood that your siblings would be burrowing into your blankets later. Once dressed in nightwear, the makeup that had stained your cheeks removed, you noticed the soft glow of your phone screen. Another message had just been received, and in your wildest dreams, you could not have imagined whom it was from.

00:24: Charles Leclerc

I heard about your mother this afternoon; I am truly so, so sorry for your loss. Please let me know if there is anything I can do. I mean it. 

Your eyes had barely had time to view the message which had just been received, before your phone screen changes, taking the message away from your sight. The message thread is replaced by a photograph of your husband, his name lighting up on you phone screen. You don’t even think; instead, your thumb swipes across the screen, pressing the green button and holding the device to your ear. 

“Charles.” You speak one word, hearing your husband visibly relax on the other end of the line. You realise it’s the first time you’ve said anything coherent in hours; the tone of your voices echoes around the room. Did you always sound that sad when you spoke to him?

“Hey.” He isn’t too sure what he wants to say; the lack of conversation between the two of you means he isn’t aware if there are any boundaries, anything you wouldn’t discuss with him. No, he just wanted to speak to you, to check in. In reality, he had realised how lonely the house was as an individual. His mistress was gone from his contacts, not inviting her around to fill the void had made him realise how you had felt for oh-so-long. 

“How…” He pauses, not sure on how to finish his question. He doesn’t need to, because despite the lack of understanding of one another, you know he’s trying, trying to make you feel better.

“I’m…yeah.” You can’t find the correct words to say; ‘sad’ is an understatement, ‘fine’ is a rude response. Neither of you can find the words, but in that moment, you crave somebody who isn’t mourning the loss of your mother as heavily as you are. 

“We have some new neighbours.” He’s trying to find anything to create some conversation. It’s almost as if he knows the quiet of the room is making you feel uncomfortable. “They left us an invitation to join them for a tennis session- not that I’m any good.” He laughs to himself, remembering the previous time he’d attended a tennis game alongside his fellow drivers; he’d had to step out after a few minutes, completely terrified he would end up breaking his hand. 

He doesn’t hear anything from the other side of the line but continues to talk. “Are you…” He catches himself for a moment. “Are you coming back soon?” His voice turns into barely a whisper, as if saying the wrong thing will cause you to hang up immediately. He doesn’t hear anything for a moment, taking a gentle sigh and awaiting your response. 

“Yeah.” You pause. Are you doing this? Are you having a conversation with your husband? “I’m going to fly home tomorrow afternoon. I think my father wants space.” Your sentence closes, looking around your room. The silence is deathly; in that moment, you don’t care about everything that’s happened. All you want is for somebody to hold you in their arms and tell you it would be okay. 

“I’ll come and get you.” Charles has spoken before his mouth has had time to catch his brain. Your eyebrows quirk in confusion. The only time your estranged husband ever drove you himself was on your endless journeys to races; you would sit silently, curled away from his figure, eyes transfixed as the world passed by around you. The man not only offering but wanting to pick you up from the airport was a new-found curiosity. 

“It’s okay.” You don’t let him continue. If previous standings have taught you anything, it’s that behind those mesmerising eyes cannot be trusted. You knew the secrets that lied beyond the ocean settled in his eye. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt you.” Part of your heart is craving to bring up his mistress; how she would probably be warming his bed in the current moment, walking around the house which you ached to find comfort in. 

“You wouldn’t.” Charles is quick to respond; in his heart of heart, he knows getting you to trust him again would be a monumental task. He’d do anything to prove he would be the husband who would look after you. Who would love you unconditionally; the husband you deserved.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve landed, okay?” It’s your final compromise. The woman whom you had been twelve months ago would love nothing more than to run into Charles’ arms; whether he cared for you the way you did; you would always desire his attention and affection. You’d had to learn through the months that some of life’s biggest temptations had to remain untouched.  

Charles Leclerc is your husband.

Landing back in the country was almost eerie; despite being away for only a miniscule amount of time, you felt changed; changed by the loss of your closest companion, changed by the fact your husband had been the one to call you, and not to throw some crazy request down the telephone line. 

Arrivals, as always, were completely smothered; couples reuniting, children screaming at the sudden change of scenery. After obtaining your own bag, your eyes flicker through the never-ending crowds, desperate to find some recognition. 

Standing apart from the crowd, looking effortlessly rugged in his athletic shorts and hoodie, hair pushed underneath a snapback. His eyes are trained on you, as if he had sensed your presence into the room in less than a moment. The breath catches in the back of your dried throat, a pair of eyes that you trusted undoubtedly. Stumbling, your feet carry you over to the arms of your favourite Spaniard, your head instantly finding solace in the joint between his shoulder and neck, the cologne you were used to from his attendances around the paddock creating a cloud of comfort. 

Carlos’ hands effortlessly lock around your torso, pulling you tighter into his chest, one palm rubbing up and down your back. It was the first time, the first time in a long time that anybody had offered you this sort of affection. Mindlessly, the soft tears begin to pool at the bottom of your lash line. Soft snuffles emitting from your lips cause the man to hush you gently, pulling your face away from his body, cradling your head between his larger hands. 

He mumbles something quietly, something about taking you back to the house. If it was him, the man would bundle you into his car and drive to his own home. He’d nestle you under his bedroom blankets, dress you in one of his hoodies. Instead, his rough palm finds your soft fingers, intertwining your hands together. Carlos takes your suitcase in his free hand, guiding you to his car parked outside of the airport. 

Not much is said during the shortening journey back to the house; the tears glossing your eyes reflect the streetlights, transfixed on the roads which you had left for a few short days. The tears will continue to fall; her loss had taken a part of you that you would you never thought would return. The man to your right, eyes focused on the road can sense your heartbreak. He doesn’t wait to push you; he had spoken to you shortly after the news had originally broken, in that conversation, you had barely been able to say ten words before your voice cracked. Instead, Carlos rests a warm hand on your leg, a silent promise that he will be there no matter what. 

The journey feels too short; eventually the driveway to the house rolls into sight, Carlos slowing down the car. When it comes to a halt, he steps out immediately, obtaining your suitcase from the rear of the car, placing it down on the wheels. By this point, you’d wiggled from the seat, ready to wheel your case into the house. However, before you can move, his arms engulf you once more, clinging so tightly, your feet began to lift from the floor. You had clung back just as tight, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek; a silent ‘Thank you,’ for everything. 

The embrace ended, Carlos awaiting until the door had unlocked, nodding when he saw you safely enter the house. The building is practically silent; no television sounds, no gentle music, not even the whirr of Charles’ simulator in his downstairs office. Ears pricked, you could hear the jets of a shower from upstairs, the assumption that he must have been in the shower. Paranoia threads your mind, she wouldn’t be showering alongside, would she?

You don’t let your mind wander; instead, you focus on lugging the suitcase along the staircase, silently glad you had gotten further with it since your trip to Madrid. Beelining towards your room, the suitcase rolls behind you, resting it in the corner of the room, a silent promise you’d wash everything tomorrow. However, a delicate bouquet of soft, pink and fresh flowers decorated the vanity of the room; you knew you hadn’t bought flowers since Madrid, and these…They looked as if they’d been placed mere minutes ago. 

Overthinking had always been dangerous; instead, you keep yourself busy, wiggling your skincare bag from the suitcase, padding into your bathroom with that and a fresh set of long pyjamas; the late-night breeze had begun to tickle your skin since removing yourself from Carlos’ warm arms. The relish indulges your body, shampoo trickling through your hair, body wash bubbles tickling your body. You’d stepped out a few moments later, changing into the soft clothing, sitting in front of the mirror, brushing your hair out as carefully as you could have. 

Silently, your feet carry you from the en-suite towards the main bedroom. Standing at the head of the doorway, is none other than your husband, hair own hair damp from his shower, dressed in soft tracksuit bottoms and a tight tee-shirt. He’d seen your suitcase nestling in the corner of your bedroom, your phone had rumpled the blankets of your bed. Charles had been the one to hear the shower this time, deciding to wait, just to see your soft eyes.

They’re bloodshot; you look so…frail. The years of heartbreak littered across your face. Charles’ heart practically breaks; before you can say a word, he’s across the room, arms pulling around your torso, pulling your head under his chest. Your instinct tells you to fight it, why on earth would you accept some form of affection from a husband who had openly destined you for so long? 

And yet, you subcome to his affection, hesitantly holding your own arms to his chest. His scent, his warmth.You felt as if you were dreaming, eyes wet from the overwhelming care, feeling gentle kisses press to the top of your head. 

You don’t remember when Charles scooped you to his chest, tucking you into your fresh blankets before nestling in behind you himself. You remind yourself; this is a one-off. You’re almost certain that by tomorrow, he’ll be back in the arms of his mistress, your moment tonight will be an absent moment to your husband. You’ll take it; if it’s one night in his arms, feeling his breath against the back of your neck, tip of his nose pressing into your back, one hand pressed against your stomach in comfort, you’ll take it. 

Some point during the night, your phone buzzes, the sound barely audible on the blankets of your bed. You groan slightly, the bubble of yourself and Charles giving you a true form of sanctuary, a true form of home. Curiosity in the night takes the better of you, lifting the dying device to your eyes, slightly blinded by the glow of the screen. 

Despite being wrapped in the arms of your husband; you can feel your blood turn cold when you read the one sentence which had been left for you to find. 

01:46: Carlos Sainz

I’m in love with you. 

#F1 #Formula 1 #F1 x Reader #Carlos Sainz #Charles Leclerc #CS55 #CL16 #Charles Leclerc x Reader #Carlos Sainz x Reader #Charles Leclerc Imagine #Carlos Sainz Imagine #Charles Leclerc One Shot #Carlos Sainz One Shot #Reader Insert #Reader x Charles #Reader x Carlos #Formula 1 Imagine #F1 Imagine #Ferrari #Mercedes #Aston Martin #Fanfiction #Carlos Sainz x You #Charles Leclerc x You #Charlos

[halsteadlover]

𝐃𝐚𝐝’𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

• Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!Reader.

• Requested: no.

• Summary: just Lando being a girl dad.

• Warnings: none, just fluff.

• A/N: this is so shit bye but I just wanted to post do something quick and post it since it’s been a while 😭 Don’t come at me please. Love you all xx

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Lando Norris tag list: @halsteadbrasil, @bwormie, @sprayberrythings, @mynameisangeloflife, @lunepoesie, @earlgreyflowers, @bubu40777168

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[youkissedareaderinthedark]

Coraline

Synopsis: Y/n’s childhood and history with her parents has always stayed a secret, and she likes it that way. Until a journalist reveals the truth, and everything seems to come crashing down at once.

young female driver reader x 2023 F1 grid

A/N: a few things for this fic: reader will be 20 years old, had driven for alpha tauri since the beginning of 2022, the 2022 is the same as the 2023 grid, and please look at the trigger warning below.

Trigger Warning: This fic contains abusive parents, talks of eating disorders, neglecting a kid, verbally abusing a kid, signs of depression, and a lot of hurtful comments in general. This fic is not meant to idolize or romanticize having abusive parents or depression. If anyone finds anything particularly disturbing with this fic, do not hesitate to let me know and I will fix it.

tagged: @treehouse-mouse

2023 was supposed to be a good season for Alpha Tauri. The cars looked good, your driver pairing was solid, and the hopes were high for your junior Red Bull team. You could only laugh at the naivety of it now.

Most of the season was exceptional; you and Yuki Tsunoda brought in points almost every weekend, your team was seventh in the constructors championship, and overall, you were having a great time traveling around the world.

This was your second year in Formula 1, and now that you weren’t a rookie anymore, you could have more fun now that you knew what you were doing.

Some people just don’t like others being happy, though.

With less than 10 races left, you walked into the paddock for the Monza Grand Prix Thursday afternoon feeling optimistic. This was the second race after the summer break, and Alpha Tauri was expected to do well in Italy.

Your press officer, Ally, greeted you in your garage, and after saying hello to Yuki, you followed her out of the garage and into the media pen for a press conference.

You walk in to see Lewis, Carlos, Lando, and Fernando and talked quietly with them as the press in front of you get settled. “Everybody ready? All right, first question please” One of the directors asks, as a journalists speaks up.

“Lewis, you’ve witnessed the infamous ‘Monza Curse’ multiple times in your career, do you think the theory is true and will it strike again this year?”

“Um, no” Lewis chuckles. “I don’t believe in the curse, but it would be nice to see someone new finish first today, and if a curse is what it’s going to take, then yeah, why not”

The five of you laugh, not noticing the second journalist beginning to speak. “Y/n, what do you have to say about the recent article published regarding your past with your family?”

You instantly stop laughing, hoping you misheard the man.

“Sorry?”

There’s no way

“The article? That was recently published concerning your past with your parents, what do you have to say about it?” The journalist stared at you curiously while your mind blanked for an answer.

You had no idea what article he was talking about, but if it concerned your past with your ‘family’, you knew it wasn’t anything that should be published.

Suddenly there’s movement in the midst of the media pen, and your press officer emerges from the crowd. “Y/n, come with me” She pauses, seeing one of the directors nearing out of the corner of her eye.

“It’s urgent, I need her” You’d take any excuse to get away from the current situation, so after exchanging a look with Lewis, you follow the woman into the paddock towards your garage.

Once you were both in the safety of your drivers room, you turned on her. “What article is he talking about? What’s going on?” You said, voice heavy with concern.

Ally hesitated, looking uncomfortable, before answering. “This morning, an article published a story talking about you and your parents, and the-um, harsh history you have with them” She hands you her phone, said article already open.

“I think it’s better if you read it yourself” The bold letters blink up at you, clear and sullen.

“F1 DRIVERS UNCOVERED: THE REAL REASON WE DON’T SEE Y/N L/N’S PARENTS”

Your heart falls to your stomach and your hands start to shake as your eyes skim over the words of the most invading and overwhelming article you’ve ever read in your life. Whoever wrote this, wrote it in hopes of exposing every secret of your past, and further tangles the truth of an already over-complicated background.

The real reason your parents are never around you is a reason you hate talking about.

You first realized it when you were around ten years old, the way your parents never looked happy around each other, and always tense around other parents. The way they never said ‘I love you’ or kissed each other goodbye. It confused you, as these were the things you always saw your friend’s parents do, but you were too young to understand at the time, so you mainly ignored it.

It wasn’t until one night when you were eleven that you heard an argument erupting from your kitchen, one about money and divorces and you. The shouting continued for ages, until you heard one statement, loud and clear.

“Think about this, she’s getting good in those karting competitions of hers, and according to other parents she could go really far in this thing and get money from sponsorships and mentors. So let’s just give it a little time, make sure she gets better and gets paid, and the money will go to us and eventually she’ll leave to Formula- whatever and we won’t have to worry about her”

You put your pillow over your head, turned around, and went to sleep sobbing that night.

From then on, there was no ‘I love you’s’ or kisses goodbye even to you, and eventually, no happiness in your house. The ‘other parents’ were right, the older you got, the farther you looked to go in racing. Just before you turned 13, the three of you moved to a city in England so you could pursue karting further, and that’s when it all got worse.

You competed in countless competitions, and every race you won, the more criticism you got from your mom and dad. The second you stepped off the 1st place podium, your parents were waiting to comment on your driving and the techniques you should’ve used to win.

They never let you focus on anything but karting, letting you go nowhere but the track and to school, and made sure you were always looking for ways to get better. They ruthlessly compared you to kids in other series that were performing better than you, and countered every compliment someone gave you with a complaint.

All of this seemed like a dream compared to the treatment you got when you lost. Whether it be second, or tenth, every race you didn’t come first in was a loss, and your parents simply didn’t accept this.

When you lost, they’d make you practice on track for twice as long, no matter the weather, and berated you the second you started to complain. They limited your diet after your losses, claiming you needed to be lighter if you wanted the kart to go faster.

Your mother and father gave you this relentless attention with anything regarding racing, but the moment the topic drifted, you were neglected. There were no family dinners or movie nights, if you wanted something, you were going to have to buy it with your own money, and if you wanted to go somewhere, you needed to walk or find a ride because they refused to drive you anywhere if it wasn’t for a race.

There was no other family to go to even when things go impossibly rougher; you had no other relatives in the UK, and you couldn’t exactly ask your friends if you could live with them.

So you endured these conditions, all the way through the F4 British Championship, F3 and F2. You turned 18 while you were in Formula 2, and the second you did, you took the little money you had, and rented an apartment in South England, where you’ve been living ever since.

Your parents constantly contacted you in whatever ways they could, but you very quickly made sure they didn’t know where you lived and were never given paddock passes again. No one knows any of this anyway; when people ask where your parents are or when they’d get to meet them, you just shrug and say, “they couldn’t make it”

You haven’t seen your parents in person since you were 17, and you’ve done everything in your power to keep it like that.

Though with a few thousand words and 4 hours, one nosy journalist has managed to unravel all your work and growth and release it into the world.

You’re broken out of your stunned silence when Ally puts a hand on your shoulder. “I’ve set up a meeting with Alpha Tauri and Red Bull’s PR managers so we could figure out what we should do next to keep the press off your back, okay? The meeting’s in fifteen meetings, so I’ll leave you for a while”

Ally takes her phone back and exits the room to leave you standing still in the middle of it, astonished and speechless.

The meeting goes as well as you expected it to go. You shared as much as the truth as you saw fit, and came up with a statement to post with the rest of the PR managers. You were confirmed to go back to the media pen to finish interviews an hour later, and while no one asked you about the article, you could tell it was the unanswered question they all wanted to raise.

You are able to avoid most of the press of the remaining of the Italian weekend, and stuck to answering race-related questions only, your safest and only option, Ally told you later. You finished the Grand Prix P10, and flew home still sullen.

You spent the two weeks in between Monza and Japan in your apartment, regretfully thinking about all those years you had to spend under your parent’s treatment, and trying to forget them with simulator work.

You arrive in Suzuka, quiet and unsmiling, and try to ignore the shouting of the press that greets you on your way into the paddock. Ally guides you away as two new voices greet you.

“Hey Y/n, how are you?” Lewis asks, pulling you into a side hug and stepping into place beside you.

“Are you okay? You seem off” Charles says concerned, meeting you in a handshake.

“I’m fine, my flight just got in late last night so I’m tired, that’s all” You half smiled in response, hoping it was believable enough.

“Sure?” Lewis presses father. “Yeah, I’m okay” You nod.

“Okay, well, we’re still going into the city after media today?” Lewis asks. “Of course, I’ll meet you guys at my hotel after” You assure as you near the Alpha Tauri garage.

“See you then, and try to sleep a bit, yes?” Charles says before the two men walk off together.

Your friendship with the two drivers started because of the Spanish and British Grand Prix’s, the two races that gave you your two highest race finishes, and ended with two of your closest friends. Spain was a great race for both you and Lewis, yourself in P4, him in P2, and after non-stop talking in the paddock, you flew back to the UK together, effectively starting the friendship existing today.

You’d been friendly with Charles previously, but after his P9 finish in Silverstone and your P5 finish, he realized in a conversation before an interview that you were undeniably good at cheering people up, and you guys have been close since.

You’ve talked with them since Monza, of course, but not about the article. They want to talk to you about it, you can tell, but Charles and Lewis aren’t the type of people to just come right out and ask if you’re feeling okay about your history with your abusive parents being exposed to the world.

They also don’t want to pressure you into talking about something you clearly don’t want to talk about, so if all they can do is help distract you from the media, they’re going to.

Your night out with the Mercedes and Ferrari drivers does distract you; Lewis leads you and Charles to different shops and restaurants all over Suzuka, talking and laughing the entire time. You take a few photos along the way, and you go back to your hotel still smiling.

You kept your good mood until qualifying on Saturday, and are brought back into the reality of racing when you only manage P11. It’s technically not bad of a result for your car, but P9 or P8 would’ve been better right now, because all you can think about is what your parents would’ve said if you finished P11.

They’re paying you millions of dollars to race for them and the best you can do is eleventh?

You think you deserve to be here?

They are hundreds of other drivers that would do so much better than you

You are nothing compared to the other drivers

You’re lucky if you keep you seat next season, I know I wouldn’t let a P11 driver on my team

You go quiet at the thought, and get through post-race media stoic. You leave with your trainer as soon as you can, avoiding Lewis and Charles’s eyes on your way out. You have a week before you have to leave for Qatar, and spend a countless amount of hours on your simulator, hoping this time it’ll make a difference.

You flew into Lusail not knowing what to expect other than hot weather, and unfortunately you were right. You felt the heat as soon as you got in your car for FP1 on Friday and was already dreading the rest of the weekend.

You qualify P11 for both the race and the sprint, and end up in P12 for the two. You felt terrible after Sunday’s race, both physically and mentally, and you’re already berating yourself for your performance by the time you get weighed.

Charles and Lewis are in your post-race press conference group, and you can see them exchange a look after every cold and detached answer you give. You only stop to talk to your friends for a few minutes afterwards before you excuse yourself to go cool down, and leave minutes later with the defense of needing rest.

You fly back to the UK with Lewis, and you’re glad the two of you are asleep for most of the trip so Lewis won’t ask you to talk about why you’ve been so quiet.

The 10 days you have until you fly out to Austin are spent mostly on your phone, looking at all the comments people have been making about you since the article came out, saying how you probably deserved the treatment that you got, and how Alpha Tauri needs a more “stable” driver if they want to advance in the championship.

You don’t do much except exercise and train on the sim in those days, finding neither the desire or energy to do anything else.

Even though everyone is happy to be in Texas that week, you can’t find the energy to truly smile once that weekend. Charles and Lewis are practically stuck to your side, and even though you can tell they’re dying to ask you to talk about it, they only ask a few times if you wanted to tell them something, and when you denied, and simply offered companionship through silence.

It’s another sprint race, and you only pull off P12 and 13 for qualifying and the shootout, and drop a place by the end of both races.

You feel more frustrated with yourself than ever; you don’t understand why you can’t work with the car like you once used to, and you can’t even figure out how to again. You were doing so well until that fucking article came out, and all the sudden you don’t know how to drive.

The worst part about it is that every race, more and more people are realizing how you’ve been under-performing, and how people are starting to question your ability to drive for the junior Red Bull team.

You aren’t stupid, you know how things work at Red Bull, so you know that if you don’t pick your pace up soon, you could end up without a seat for the 2024 season.

This thought alone starts to destroy you, and soon you can’t even deny how burnt out you are. You pick up on the forced habit of not eating much, and making yourself to do nothing but train and look for ways to be better.

You spend the days before Mexico with data analysts and strategists, looking for any and every way to go faster. You dedicate too much time looking at successful F2 drivers, hearing Liam Lawson’s name come up too much for comfort, thinking about how Dennis Hauger had been looking fast in F2.

It’s a terribly unhealthy time killer, one that makes you look sick and go quiet. Charles and Lewis aren’t the only ones exchanging concerned looks now; multiple other drivers on the grid, friends with you or not, notice the change in your behavior and quickly grow worried when they hear Yuki’s description of you.

The drivers aren’t stupid either, they all know about the article that was published in September, and most of them would be lying if they said they hadn’t looked at it in curiosity. They’d also be lying if they saw their eyes didn’t widen in concern or eyebrows didn’t furrow with worry when they read how terrible your parents treated you.

The grid saw how the comments got nastier and nastier under your lessening social media posts every day, and even asked your PR officer multiple times to make sure she was managing your accounts and making sure you didn’t see what people had to say about your background or yourself.

They saw how you got quieter every race, how you stopped hanging out with Yuki and Charles and Lewis, no matter how many times they offered. They saw the rumors of you and your 2024 seat, how apparently Helmut Marko was paying close attention to you and the clauses in your contract.

They asked a lot, if you wanted to talk or if they could help in any way. It was always the same response; a weary smile, a small shake of the head, the words,“No, I’m fine, just tired” and an excuse that you were needed in your garage or media pen.

So they try to help in more discreet ways; when Yuki is asked about your position on Alpha Tauri or your future with Red Bull, he calmly assures that you are working hard with the team, and is doing everything possible to understand the car.

Charles, Lewis, and a few other drivers make a routine of coming to your driver’s room, most of the time just to sit with you as you look at data, or talk with you when you’re feeling up to it.

Mexico goes somehow worse than Texas, and you finish with your lowest result in F1 yet, P15. You try to be as approachable as possible in post-race media, but your sullen face gives you away.

You leave with Ally and your trainer to catch your flight to Brazil mere hours after you passed the checkered flag, and spend most of your time in Sau Paulo alone in your hotel room, replaying every hurtful comment either your mother and father or fans have said about you, and debating whether or not it was true.

You walk into the Brazilian paddock Thursday morning more grateful than you thought possible that this was the third-to-last race of your season.

And according to over twenty media sources, your third-to last race of F1.

After a public statement made by Marko talking about how Red Bull was “considering your future with their junior team” every journalist in the F1 community has decided that it means this was your last season in F1.

And honestly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Whether you raced in 2024 or not, you just wanted to go home and avoid the press for three months.

It was another sprint weekend, and another terrible qualifying and shootout. You placed 15th in both sessions and kept your place in the sprint, and spent a quiet Saturday evening in your hotel.

You could feel almost every journalists eye’s turn to you as soon as you walked into the paddock on Sunday. You arrived early that afternoon to get some extra data-stuff done, only now realizing that it gave the growing group of reporters behind you more time to ask you questions.

“Y/n! Can you tell us about your future in F1?”

“Will you have a seat next year?

“Y/n, what does Helmut Marko think about your decrease in performance?”

“Does your past with your parents have anything to do with your recent race results?”

You try to keep your face emotionless as you make your way into the Alpha Tauri garage and to your drivers room. You prepare for the race with your personal trainer and look over the arranged strategies for Sau Paulo while you wait for the go-ahead to get in your car.

Due to all the crashed-out cars, you ended the race in P12 in front of Oscar Piastri and Daniel Ricciardo. Statistically speaking, it was one of your better 2023 races, but everyone knows if it wasn’t for all the DNF’s, you’d finish in the bottom five.

You know that everyone knows this because just before you walked into the media pen after your race debrief, you saw Christian Horner and Marko speaking to your team principle, and after Yuki’s P9 finish today, it didn’t take you even a second to understand who they were talking about with disappointed faces and multiple shakes of the head.

Sure, this could mean nothing. This could just be a conversation between the three people that control the top team and it’s junior team. But you also like to think you’re a bit smarter than that.

You walked deeper into the crowded area before the three could see you, and walked to the first open journalist you saw, in hopes of leaving early.

“Y/n, hi! Not too bad of a race for you today, I guess?” The man asked, pointing his microphone towards you

“Yeah, not too bad. The car felt pretty okay and there was a bit of pace, but not enough to overtake or anything, clearly” You reply.

“Can we expect more race pace from you in Las and Vegas and Abu Dhabi?”

“I mean, it’s a bit too early to tell, but we’ll hope and see what comes out out of the practices” The man nods before looking down at his notebook.

“And your seat for Alpha Tauri next year, we know you’re apart of the confirmed driver lineup for 2024 but Helmut Marko states that there are attainable clauses in your contract, what do you think about that?”

You’re caught off guard by the question, but right when you’re about to respond, the man continues.

“Surely, Alpha Tauri isn’t really considering keeping you for next season, are they?”

You’re standing in front of the man speechless now, your brain barely comprehending what’s being spoken.

“Because I know the last thing a team wants is an incapable driver that is too emotionally effected by her “traumatic” childhood to race,” the volume of his voice starts to increase, and other drivers are starting to focus on your one-sided conversation.

“I mean, c’mon, no one even believes that even happened to you, and if it did, your parents were probably right for doing it-”

Your hands are shaking, eyes are wide with shock, body suddenly freezing, and you don’t even think you’re breathing. All you can do is listen as this man goes on and on about how you’re a shitty driver and deserved how your parents treated you.

You’re only broken out of your trance when an arm clad in red wraps around your shoulders and pulls you through the paddock. You’re not even aware of the yelling from a certain Mercedes drivers gets quieter and quieter as you’re brought into your driver’s room.

You’re being sat on a couch, and suddenly Charles Leclerc’s face is right in front of you, hands on your shoulders and eyes filled with concerned. “Y/n? Y/n, look at me, please, Y/n-” Your eyes dart to him and in an instant, everything from the past five minutes comes rushing through your head, and you can’t stop the tears that start to fall down your face.

“Oh, Y/n” The Ferrari driver moves to comfort you, but stops as you begin to cover your face and move away.

“No, Y/n, it’s okay, please, let me help you, Y/n” Charles wraps his arms around you in a hug as your body begins to shake with uncontrollable sobs.

“I can’t- I can’t do this anymore, Charles” You say in between breaths.

“I have to quit or something, I can’t keep doing this Charles, I can’t” You let your head fall on his shoulder, as the man tries to calm you down.

Charles’ heart is breaking as he comforts his friend; he remembers loving his first few years in Formula 1, how everything was so new and exciting to him, he could never not want to race, not then and not now. But to hear one of his closest friends breakdown because of how much she hates being there, makes the man’s heart shatter.

The door abruptly opens, and for a moment, all you can hear is the low angry cursing of Lewis Hamilton, until he sees you and Charles, and his face immediately softens.

“Love, I’m so sorry. That guy is a complete arsehole, don’t listen to him” The British man says as he takes a seat beside you and wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, I feel so stuck in this place where everyone is always talking about what happened and I don’t know how much longer I can go through it” You say, your voice breaking off with another sob.

Charles hushes you once more, exchanging a worried look with Lewis as you pull away from him again. “I’m sorry, I know I should be doing better and everything but I just can’t-” You say, voice shaky through the tears.

“Don’t for one second be sorry that you’re not competitive right now. Y/n, thousands of people are talking about the one thing that hurt you the most, and I understand why you feel this way, just please, love, for your own good, let us help you. I promise it will make you feel better” Lewis assures, grabbing your hand.

So for the first time, you do. For over an hour, you tell Charles and Lewis everything that happened when you were younger, and how the article has made you feel since then. They listen quietly, nodding once in a while to let you know they understand, and gave you a hug when you stopped talking.

“Do you feel better now?” Lewis asks.

“Yeah, not entirely, but better”

“Good, that’s all I wanted to hear,”

“Are you ready to go home now? There’s a plane waiting for us, if you want”

“Definitely. I need to go home” You say as Charles helps pack up all your things and Lewis makes sure there’s a car waiting for you two outside. As you’re all walking through the nearly-empty paddock, Charles turns to you.

“I have to go back to my garage, but please Y/n, if you ever need to talk, call me? I want to help you, I don’t want to see you like this again” The Monegasque brings you into a hug.

“I know, Charles, I will” You promise.

“Okay, I’ll see you before Vegas, yes? Feel better!” He calls as he moves backwards and further into the paddock.

“You promise?”

Lewis asks you hours later in the front of the airport in England, just about to get into separate cars.

“Yes, Lewis, I’ll call when I need” You say to the older man in a hug.

“Alright, text me when you’ve made it home and make sure you get some rest. Don’t be too hard on yourself either, you don’t give yourself enough credit for everything you do” You smile at him.

“Okay, I’ll see you before Vegas?”

“See you before Vegas!” He shouts from his already-closed car door.

When you do see the two next, they make sure you’ve made an appointment with a therapist and are setting up a meeting with your PR manager to put together a statement in regards to your well-being the past two months.

Charles and Lewis make sure the media inside the paddock is severely monitored and checked before being allowed near the drivers, and help you fall back into healthier habits.

These changes don’t happen overnight, and they don’t take affect overnight, but you do use the winter off season to make sure these changes are helpful and working.

The three month break is utilized to mentally and physically prepare yorself in time for your 2024 seat at Alpha Tauri that was re-confirmed after your P8 finishes in Las Vegas and Abu Dhabi.

The media still knows everything, and you haven’t completely forgotten your childhood, you never will, but dealing with it still gets easier.

#formula 1 #reader insert #driver reader #f1 grid x reader #formula 1 driver imagines #platonic f1 grid #f1 2023 grid x y/n #f1 imagine #female driver reader #comfort fic #angst with a happy ending #angst #please look at trigger warning before you read #lewis hamilton #charles lecrelc #platonic lewis hamilton #platonic charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #lewis hamilton x reader