Accepting It- C.leclerc
accepting it- c.leclerc
summary: charles has been a bit too distant during your pregnancy, and what max said about his own child brought some ugly truths to the surface, hurting you in the process. charles realises his mistake, but it's just too late for you to believe him.
pairing: husband! charles leclerc x fem! pregnant! wife! reader
part two!
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The quiet unlocking of the door was what had woken you, Charles was sure of it. He hadn’t wanted to, mostly because he knew he’d say something stupid and piss you off. He wouldn’t mean to, but he would. That’s what the start of the season was, that’s what becoming a father was, that’s what the stress did to him.
“Hey handsome,” you smiled sleepily from the coach, all bundled up in blankets as some random Netflix series played on the screen.
“Hey beautiful,” he exhaled harshly, then turned to you, (fake) smiling. “You alright?”
You nodded. “Just tired,” you yawned. “Want to head to bed?”
He nodded with a groan. “Yes, please.”
He helped you up off the couch and it hit him how close you were to giving birth. You were in the third trimester, heavily pregnant with a slightly complicated pregnancy. He grimaced when he saw you grabbing your back in pain.
“Alright?” he asked as you winced.
You took a deep breath and continued on to your bedroom. “Fine,” you said through gritted teeth, the pain easing.
He led you over to your side of the bed and helped you lie down. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and turned out the lights, ready to sink into his side of the bed after his exhausting day.
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He woke up to the sound of vomiting. It wasn’t usual to hear, but it had gotten less frequent as the pregnancy went on. “You alright baby?” he called out.
His question was met with more vomiting. He huffed as he pulled himself out of bed and walked to the bathroom, looking at you hunched over the toilet. He frowned and knelt beside you, holding your hair. After another few minutes the vomiting stopped and you looked up at him, exhausted and sick.
“Feels any better?” he asked. You shook your head and he frowned again, pulling you into his chest. He smoothed a hand through your hair as you leant against him, trying to calm yourself down. “It’s alright,” he soothed. “You’re alright.”
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Brunch was going to be hell on earth for both of you, but you still both dressed up and got in the car, pretending to be excited about the family luncheon.
“Can you believe Max said he wouldn’t miss a race for the birth of his baby?” you scoffed, scrolling through your phone as Charles drove to his mother’s house. “Poor Kelly.”
Charles gulped beside you. He’d been dreading this conversation for weeks, unsure when to have it. It’s not that he didn’t want to be there for the birth of his child, he did, badly, but he couldn’t throw away championship points for anything. He’d make an exception if it was a sprint race, but other than that… he couldn’t chance it. “Well, he has a good reason to,” he shrugged nervously.
You turned your head to him, shock painting your features. “Are you joking right now?”
Charles shrugged. “Not really. He’s the World Champion and he needs to stay on top this year, especially if it’s his last year, which he’s thinking it might be. I understand where he’s coming from.”
You were both quiet for a minute, taking in what he’d said.
“So what about us?” you asked in a small voice.
“You’re due on a non-race week,” he shrugged. “We just hope she doesn’t come earlier than that.”
He didn’t dare look over at you, scared of what he might see. He knew this was selfish, but he couldn’t piss away his chance at being champion, not when he’d worked his entire life for it, not when his parents, family, and friends gave up so much.
“Oh,” you breathed out, trying to stop yourself from crying. “Alright then.”
The rest of the car ride was silent, you watched the streets of Monaco whip by you as Charles drove up to his mother’s house, and you thought. Thought about giving birth alone. Thought about how Charles had promised you he’d be there. Thought about how shitty it felt to be second to his job. You wiped your unshed tears away before you walked inside.
When you walked inside, Pascale instantly knew something was wrong. Charlotte immediately took you away to chat together, and Lorenzo was too busy giving out to Arthur about breaking up with Jade to notice, but Pascale noticed. She saw the way Charles watched you from across the room, trying desperately to catch your eye, to gauge your reaction, something.
She pulled him aside. “What’s wrong?”
He sighed. “Maman, it’s nothing-”
“What did you say to your wife?” he demanded. He looked down, ashamed. He knew he was in the wrong, but he still felt justified, though that justification was slowly dwindling.
“We were talking about how Max wouldn’t miss a race for his baby, and I said I’d do the same,” he admitted.
“Excuse me?” Lorenzo inserted himself in the conversation. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Arthur was even looking at him in disgust, Arthur. “Charles, that’s not right-”
“You don’t get to talk, alright?” he shot at his younger brother, who quietened out of shock. “And what else am I supposed to do? Every single year in Formula One I feel the championship falling away from me! Y/n understands-”
“She shouldn’t have to,” Pascale interjected. “Do you want that little girl? The one your wife has been carrying without complaint for 8 months?”
Charles nodded vigorously. “Of course I do-!”
“So you should be there for the woman who’s carrying her! She has been pregnant basically on her own for the past 8 months, either you were racing, or training, or enjoying your break - which meant doing extreme sports that she cannot do! That woman loves you too much to see how you’ve been treating her, and it’s sad, Charles. She does everything for you, and you’re even entertaining the idea of not being there for her while she goes through possibly one of the most painful experiences of her life? Are you insane?” she argued, shocked at her own son's selfishness. “If you cannot see that the woman you love is more important than a race win, you should really just let Y/n go and find a man that actually loves her. Not one who is more focused on his personal goals than the goals of his family. Your father and I raised you to be a racer, yes, but first and foremost we raised you to be a good person. And being a good person means being a good husband and father to your family, which is just starting.”
Charles stood there for a moment in silence, ashamed of his behaviour. “You’re right.”
“I know I am,” she scoffed. “Go make it right with Y/n, now.”
Charles scurried off to find you in the garden with Charlotte, she had her arms around you as you explained everything that had happened, how distant Charles had been, what he’d said about the birth, everything. Charlotte sent him a particularly withering look as he stepped out into the sun, and he knew he deserved it.
“Can I talk to my wife?” he asked, standing behind you.
“She’s busy right now Charles,” Charlotte scoffed. “I’m just trying to calm her down from crying. Come back later.”
His heart broke slightly, he knew you’d been taking the burden of the baby a lot more than he had (obviously), and he thought he was being gracious by not bringing it up. He thought he was doing the right thing by giving you space, but he was just subconsciously trying to ignore the fact that his life was going to change drastically and that he was scared. Still, he never thought he’d be the one to make you cry.
“Please,” he begged.
You gave Charlotte a nod, and she smiled at you sadly, then left you to talk. He took the seat she had been sitting in and placed a hand on your thigh. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m ruining the whole day.”
His heart actually broke then. He was being a dick, he was in the wrong, and you were apologising. What the actual fuck? He shook his head, squeezing your thigh. “No. If anyone ruined today, it was me. My selfishness has been ruining this entire pregnancy for you,” he admitted. “And I’m sorry.”
You stared up at him in shock.
“You’ve been doing this on your own since day one, and that’s my personal failing. I’m sorry that I was so… distant. I was busy getting in my own head about my career, when the most important thing was right in front of me. I’m sorry, and I hope you’ll forgive me,” he took your hand and squeezed, looking at the ground.
“Charles, I know what I signed up for when I married you,” you admitted, dropping his hand. “I know you’re ambitious, I know you want to win, and I know you won’t stop until you’re the best. Sometimes it just… gets to me that I’m not enough for you, that our family isn’t enough for you. It’s just… hard sometimes, alright? And if I’m being honest this is a bit too much too late. I know my place in your life, and I’ve accepted it. I just hope you prioritise our daughter more than you prioritise me,” you tearfully explained before getting up and going back inside.
Was that really the standard he’d set for the love of his life? Surely not? He had to fix this, and quick.
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White Horse - Chapter 1: March 2023
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)
Summary:
Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.
She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.
But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.
Warnings and Notes:
....Do not expect particular quick updates on this, because it's a beast of a story. Also: kinda Charles bashing, but not really? You'll see.
As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble
A Bar in Montecarlo:
Max had come to the bar for a quiet drink, not to get his world flipped upside down. But then he spotted her.
She was standing at the counter, waiting for her drink, all soft confidence and effortless elegance. The kind of woman who didn’t need to try to turn heads—she just did. And Max, never one to let an opportunity pass him by, slid up beside her with his most charming smirk and opened his mouth.
And because apparently, he had actually listened the last time Lando told him all about the absolutely horrible Pick-Up-Lines that he had tried with middling success…that was what came out of his mouth.
“Excuse me,” he said smoothly, “but do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”
She turned, amused—
And Max nearly choked.
Because he knew her.
His brain scrambled for a second before his mouth caught up. “Oh, shit. You’re Charles’ little sister.”
Her entire expression changed. The amusement faded, her jaw tightening. “Wow,” she deadpanned. “That’s one way to ruin a moment.”
Max grimaced. “That’s not what I—”
She picked up her drink and turned fully toward him, raising a brow. “I do have a name, you know.”
He nodded quickly, recovering. “Right. Isabelle.”
“Good job,” she said dryly. “Want a gold star?”
Max huffed out a laugh. “Look, I just wasn’t expecting you. I see a beautiful woman at a bar, and my instinct is to flirt. Then I realize she’s my colleague’s little sister, and I panic.”
Her lips twitched. “And?”
“And… I’m still going to flirt with you,” he admitted, grinning. “But properly this time.”
She tilted her head, intrigued. “Oh?”
Max leaned in slightly. “Can I buy you a drink, Isabelle?”
She pretended to consider. “That depends. Are you going to keep calling me Charles’ little sister?”
He placed a hand over his heart. “I solemnly swear never to utter those words again.”
Her lips curled in the slightest smirk. “In that case, sure. Let’s see if you can impress me, Verstappen.”
Max had never been one to back down from a challenge. And something told him this was a challenge he’d never want to walk away from.
Max flagged down the bartender, ordering another round for both of them. Isabelle took a slow sip of her drink, watching him over the rim of her glass like she was trying to decide if he was worth her time.
He liked that. Liked that she wasn’t falling over herself just because he was Max Verstappen.
“So,” he said, leaning against the bar, “what exactly would impress you?”
She hummed, tapping a finger against her glass. “A conversation that doesn’t involve my brothers.”
Max smirked. “That easy?”
“You’d be surprised how many people fail that test.”
He could imagine. Charles was everywhere in the racing world, and by extension, so was Isabelle. It must be exhausting, always being seen as an extension of someone else.
Max took the challenge seriously. “Alright,” he said, shifting toward her. “Tell me something about you that has nothing to do with your family.”
She studied him for a moment, like she was assessing if he was genuine. Then, after a beat, she said, “I work in architecture.”
Max blinked. “Really?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Why do you sound surprised?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I never thought about what you do.”
She smirked. “That’s because you’ve only ever seen me as Charles’ little sister.”
Max winced. “Okay, fair. But I’m interested now.”
“Are you?” She tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. “I have heard your name at work before.”
Max frowned. “You have?”
“Oh, yeah,” Isabelle said, taking another sip of her drink. “Apparently, you’ve been house hunting. One of my colleagues nearly had a meltdown over the idea of designing a place for Max Verstappen.”
Max narrowed his eyes. “Wait… which project?”
She bit back a smile. “A penthouse. You toured it a few weeks ago.”
Max suddenly knew exactly which one she was talking about. He had liked the place, but something had held him back from committing.
Now, though?
Now, he was very seriously considering signing the papers just for an excuse to see her again.
He leaned in, watching her reaction closely. “And if I were to, say, buy that penthouse?”
She didn’t miss a beat. “Then I’d know you had good taste.”
Max grinned. “That’s it?”
She shrugged. “That, and I’d probably have to endure my colleagues freaking out for at least a week.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, then. Guess I have some decisions to make.”
Isabelle rolled her eyes, but he caught the way her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile.
Yeah. He was definitely buying that penthouse.
Max drummed his fingers against the bar, pretending to think. "Alright, so let’s say I do buy that penthouse. Hypothetically."
Isabelle gave him a knowing look. "Hypothetically."
"Would I get a personal consultation?"
She laughed, shaking her head. "That’s not how it works."
"But if I had, I don’t know, questions about the design, or maybe some concerns about the layout, I’d need someone to talk to, wouldn’t I?"
Isabelle swirled the last of her drink in her glass, watching him with an amused glint in her eyes. "Max, are you trying to say you need my number for professional reasons?"
He grinned, tilting his head. "I mean, what if I need an expert opinion? You are the only architect I know."
She sighed in mock exasperation, but he could tell she was entertained. "I really shouldn’t encourage this."
"But you want to," Max countered, smirking.
Her lips twitched, and after a moment’s pause, she reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. "Fine. Give me yours, I’ll text you."
Max typed in his number so fast that she actually laughed. She typed something in her phone.
A second later, his phone buzzed with a new message.
Unknown Number: Congratulations on your completely unbiased, definitely not suspicious real estate decision.
Max chuckled. "So, what happens if I text you about things that aren’t penthouse-related?"
Isabelle lifted her glass to her lips and said, before taking the last sip, "Guess we’ll find out."
And just like that, Max Verstappen knew he was completely screwed.
***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen
(Unknown Number): Hey, it’s Max.
(Unknown Number): Verstappen.
(Unknown Number): Just in case you know a lot of Maxes.
Isabelle: I don’t.
Max: Good. Would hate to have competition already.
Isabelle: Already?
Max: What can I say? I like you.
Isabelle: You barely know me.
Max: That’s true. But I’d like to change that.
Isabelle: …That was smooth.
Max: Was it?
Isabelle: Surprisingly, yes.
Max: Noted. I’ll add it to my very short list of smooth moments.
Isabelle: Very short?
Max: Tragically short.
Isabelle: I don’t know if I believe that.
Max: I promise, my sister would confirm it.
Isabelle: You have a sister?
Max: Victoria.
Isabelle: Right, I think I’ve seen her before.
Max: Probably. She’d probably like you, by the way.
Isabelle: Oh?
Max: Yeah. She has a good instinct about people.
Isabelle: And what does your instinct say?
Max: That I really, really want to see you again.
Isabelle: You’re very direct, aren’t you?
Max: Is that a bad thing?
Isabelle: No. Just… unexpected.
Max: Well, I can be subtle too.
Isabelle: Can you?
Max: Definitely. For example, I could subtly ask what you’re doing tomorrow night.
Isabelle: …Very subtle.
Max: Thank you. So?
Isabelle: I might be free.
Max: Good. Then I’ll subtly ask if you’d like to have dinner with me.
Isabelle: Are you always like this?
Max: Only when I really like someone.
Isabelle: …Dinner sounds nice.
Max: Perfect. I’ll send you the details.
Isabelle: Looking forward to it.
Max: Me too.
***
Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen
Max: I met someone.
Victoria: …Okay?
Max: And I think I’m in love.
Victoria: MAX.
Victoria: You literally just met her??
Max: Yes.
Victoria: And you think you’re in love?
Max: Yes.
Victoria: Oh my god.
Victoria: Max.
Victoria: WHAT.
Victoria: HOW.
Victoria: WHY.
Max: I don’t know, Vic. I just know. I met her tonight and I just…I just know.
Victoria: You’ve known her for one night.
Max: Yes.
Victoria: Max.
Max: Vic.
Victoria: Oh my god, you’re serious.
Max: Very.
Victoria: You’re actually gone for her already.
Max: Completely.
Victoria: …Okay.
Max: Okay?
Victoria: Yeah.
Victoria: I mean, I think you’re insane, but if anyone deserves to fall stupidly, recklessly in love, it’s you.
Max: …Thanks, Vic.
Victoria: You deserve to be loved, Max.
Victoria: For who you are. Not because you’re Max Verstappen, two-time world champion, but just because you’re you.
Max: …
Max: I think she sees me that way.
Victoria: Then hold onto her.
Max: I plan to.
Victoria: Is that why you’re texting me at midnight like a lunatic?
Max: …I may have also just bought that penthouse.
Victoria: MAX.
Victoria: YOU HAVE BEEN UNDECIDED ABOUT THAT PENTHOUSE FOR MONTHS.
Victoria: AND NOW YOU MEET A GIRL AND SUDDENLY YOU’RE BUYING IT???
Max: Her architecture firm is working on it.
Victoria: This is why people say Libras are intense.
Max: That’s astrology nonsense.
Victoria: SAYS THE MAN PLANNING A WHOLE FUTURE AFTER ONE CONVERSATION.
Max: I have a good feeling about it.
Victoria: MAX.
Max: What? You just said I deserve to be loved.
Victoria: YES, BUT I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D LOSE YOUR ENTIRE MIND OVER IT.
Max: Too late.
Victoria: Oh my god.
Victoria: You are actually the most ridiculous person alive.
Victoria: But if she makes you happy… then I’m happy for you.
Max: She does.
Victoria: Then that’s all that matters.
***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie
Isabelle: Emergency. Crisis. Disaster.
Emilie: That’s a lot of words. What happened?
Isabelle: I have a date.
Emilie: And that’s a disaster because…?
Isabelle: Because it’s with Max Verstappen.
Emilie: …
Emilie: I’m going to need a second.
Emilie:
Emilie:
Emilie:
Emilie: Okay, I’m back. WHAT???
Isabelle: We met at a bar. He asked me out. I said yes. And now I don’t know what to wear. Focus. Help.
Emilie: We met at a bar, he asked me out, I said yes—DO YOU HEAR YOURSELF???
Isabelle: EMILIE. FOCUS. OUTFIT.
Emilie: Right. Okay. Where is he taking you?
Isabelle: Some fancy restaurant. Not too fancy, but still expensive.
Emilie: God, of course. Okay. Simple but elegant. A dress that makes it look like you didn’t try too hard, even though you absolutely did.
Isabelle: Black dress?
Emilie: Obviously. And heels. You own some ridiculous ones. Wear those.
Isabelle: You are suspiciously good at this.
Emilie: Because I have taste. Now, more importantly—DO YOUR BROTHERS KNOW??
Isabelle: …
Emilie: Isabelle.
Isabelle: No, they do not.
Emilie: WHY NOT???
Isabelle: Because I don’t want to deal with it.
Emilie: You are dating CHARLES LECLERC’S BIGGEST RIVAL. YOU DON’T THINK THAT’S WORTH MENTIONING???
Isabelle: One date does not mean I’m dating him.
Emilie: YET.
Isabelle: I don’t think Charles would care.
Emilie: …That is the saddest sentence I have ever read.
Emilie: You don’t think Charles would care.
Isabelle: No.
Emilie: Are we talking about the same man??? The one who holds grudges against people for bad karting races from 15 years ago??
Isabelle: I am saying that I am basically invisible in my family, and therefore, he will not care.
Emilie: THAT IS SO DEPRESSING.
Isabelle: It’s just reality.
Emilie: No, it’s tragic. And when Charles inevitably does care, I am going to be so smug about it.
Isabelle: He won’t.
Emilie: He will. And when he finds out from Twitter instead of you, I am going to remind you forever that I was right.
Isabelle: Fine. If he does, I will buy you dinner.
Emilie: And?
Isabelle: And I will admit you were right.
Emilie: Good girl. But first, we need to make sure Max Verstappen is absolutely floored when he sees you tonight. Let’s pick out your dress.
***
Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen
Max: HELP.
Max: I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO WEAR.
Victoria: Oh my god.
Max: I’m serious, Vic. This is important.
Victoria: It’s one date.
Max: Exactly! First impressions matter. What if I wear something stupid?
Victoria: You wear team merch 90% of the time, so that’s a real possibility.
Max: NOT HELPING.
Victoria: Okay, okay. Where are you taking her?
Max: Nice restaurant. Fancy-ish but not too fancy.
Victoria: Alright. Dark jeans, nice shirt, jacket. Clean shoes.
Max: That’s it???
Victoria: Yes, you’re not walking a red carpet, Max.
Max: What if she thinks it’s boring?
Victoria: If she’s going out with you, she probably already knows you’re a little fashion-challenged.
Max: Wow.
Victoria: I’m just saying, if she agreed to a date, she clearly likes you. Just wear something that fits and isn’t Red Bull merch.
Max: I feel like you’re underestimating the stress of this situation.
Victoria: I feel like you’re underestimating the fact that she already said yes.
Max: …Good point.
Victoria: Obviously. Now go find a shirt that isn’t a team polo and try not to overthink it.
Max: No promises.
Victoria: You’re impossible.
Max: And yet, you still love me.
Victoria: Unfortunately. Now go. And don’t text me from the restaurant freaking out.
Max: No guarantees.
***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie
Emilie: Well????
Isabelle: Well, what?
Emilie: Isabelle. Do not play dumb with me. How did the date go??
Isabelle: …It was really nice.
Emilie: THAT’S ALL YOU’RE GIVING ME?
Emilie: I want DETAILS. Did he show up looking stupidly handsome? Was he nice? Did he make you laugh? Did you kiss him??
Isabelle: Yes, yes, yes, and Yes.
Emilie: YES??
Isabelle: I kissed him.
Emilie: !!!!!
Emilie: Details. Now.
Isabelle: It was after our date. He walked me to my door, and I just… kissed him.
Emilie: You just kissed him?? Who are you and what have you done with my overthinking best friend??
Isabelle: Shut up. I didn’t even think about it. I just did it.
Emilie: And???
Isabelle: And then he kissed me back.
Emilie: …That better not be the end of the story.
Isabelle: It was soft. And slow. And he cupped my face like I was something precious.
Emilie: Isabelle.
Emilie: Isabelle, my love. My dearest best friend.
Emilie: You’re done for.
Isabelle: … I know.
Emilie: And how did he look after?
Isabelle: Like he was trying very hard not to kiss me again.
Emilie: Oh, you’re so doomed.
Isabelle: I know.
Emilie: Tell me everything.
Isabelle: He was already at the restaurant when I got there, which was sweet. He pulled out my chair for me. He was nervous, which was insane to me because, you know, he’s Max Verstappen.
Emilie: Boy has driven through Eau Rouge at full speed, but a girl makes him nervous. I love this.
Isabelle: He kept looking at me like I was the most interesting person in the world. Like he actually wanted to hear everything I had to say.
Emilie: I love him already.
Isabelle: You love him?? Emilie, I might actually be in trouble here.
Emilie: Uh oh.
Isabelle: …He sent me flowers.
Emilie: WHAT.
Emilie: When???
Isabelle: They just got delivered.
Emilie: EXCUSE ME.
Emilie: You go on ONE date with Max Verstappen and wake up to FLOWERS???
Isabelle: Apparently.
Emilie: What kind?
Isabelle: Peonies.
Emilie: Belle.
Emilie: He is so in love with you.
Isabelle: It was one date.
Emilie: AND???
Emilie: The man sent you flowers the morning after like he’s starring in a romance novel.
Isabelle: Maybe he just does that?
Emilie: Girl. Be serious.
Emilie: Did he say anything with them?
Isabelle: There was a note.
Emilie: AND???
Isabelle: It just says ‘Last night was perfect. Can’t wait to see you again. – Max’
Emilie: I’M GONNA SCREAM.
Emilie: Max Verstappen is courting you.
Isabelle: Courting is a strong word.
Emilie: He sent you flowers. He is so gone for you.
Isabelle: …Maybe.
Emilie: So… second date?
Isabelle: Saturday.
Emilie: GIRL.
Isabelle: I know.
***
Isabelle Leclerc’s Instagram Post
Comments:
@/emilie_abadie: 👀👀👀
@/F1GossipQueen: That’s a very ‘I have a thoughtful boyfriend’ kind of flower arrangement.
↳@/paddockprincessx: Soft launch era????
@/leclercsiblingtea: If Charles doesn’t know who sent these, I need his live reaction immediately.
↳@/monacogossip: Why do I feel like this is someone wildly unexpected?
↳@/redbullsimpclub: Place your bets now, I’m saying it’s a paddock guy.
↳@/f1shenanigans: If this is from an F1 driver, I am losing my mind.
***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen
Isabelle: Thank you for the flowers. They are beautiful.
Isabelle: And for yesterday. I had a really nice time.
Max: I’m glad you liked them.
Max: What’s your favorite flower? For next time.
Isabelle: Snowdrops.
Max: Snowdrops?
Isabelle: Yes?
Max: I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone whose favorite flower is snowdrops.
Isabelle: That’s a shame. They’re beautiful. And they bloom in the cold, when nothing else does.
Max : Like you, then.
Isabelle: …Are you trying to be charming, Max Verstappen?
Max: Is it working?
Isabelle: Maybe.
Max: Good.
***
Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen
Sophie: So… Victoria told me something interesting.
Max: She needs a new hobby.
Sophie: Max.
Max: What?
Sophie: Are you in love?
Max: …Maybe.
Sophie: After one conversation?
Max: No! After two conversations.
Sophie: Oh, well, that’s much more reasonable.
Max: Mom.
Sophie: Max.
Max: Look, I just know that it’s different. I’ve never felt like this before.
Sophie: That’s a big thing to say.
Max: I know. But I can’t explain it. It just makes sense.
Sophie: So how did the date go?
Max: …It was perfect.
Sophie: Now we’re getting somewhere.
Max: She’s funny, she’s smart, she actually listens when I talk about racing—like, really listens. And she doesn’t care about the other stuff. The money, the fame. None of it. She just likes me.
Sophie: That’s important.
Max: I know.
Sophie: So when do I get to meet her?
Max: When she doesn’t think I’m a crazy person for how fast I’m falling for her.
Sophie: I hate to break it to you, Max, but you bought a penthouse because her firm is working on it.
Max: …
Sophie: That’s what I thought.
Max: It’s a very nice penthouse.
Sophie: Of course it is.
Max: So you’re not going to say I’m insane?
Sophie: Oh, you are insane. But you’re also my son. And if this makes you happy, then I’m happy for you.
Max: Thanks, Mom.
Sophie: Now tell me, do I need to start planning a wedding?
Max: Goodbye.
***
Leclerc Family Group Chat
(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale)
Arthur: Dinner at Maman’s, Saturday, usual time?
Charles: Yeah, I’ll be there.
Lorenzo: Me too.
Isabelle: I can’t make it, I’m busy.
Arthur: What’s Maman making?
Charles: Probably something with pasta.
Lorenzo: Didn’t she say something about lamb last time?
Arthur: Oh yeah, I think so.
Isabelle: Have fun!
Charles: See you all Saturday.
***
Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen
Max: Hey, if I were to ask for date advice, purely hypothetically…
Victoria: Oh my God.
Max: What?
Victoria: You NEVER ask for advice. This must be serious.
Max: It’s not that serious.
Victoria: You literally bought an apartment because of this girl.
Max: …That’s unrelated.
Victoria: Sure it is.
Max: So… hypothetically… if I needed some guidance, what would you suggest?
Victoria: Are you actually asking for advice, or are you just hoping I’ll make it easier for you by giving you a list of things not to do?
Max: ...
Victoria: That’s what I thought. Give me a second.
Victoria: Okay, here’s your DO NOT list:
Do not talk about tire degradation.
Do not mention iRacing, no matter how good your last stint was.
Do not wear a Red Bull hoodie.
Do not check F1 news during the date.
Do not turn the date into a competition.
Do not text me mid-date if you panic. Figure it out.
Do not propose.
Max: …That last one was unnecessary.
Victoria: I’m just covering all bases.
Max: I wasn’t going to propose.
Victoria: Good. Then this should be easy for you.
Max: The Red Bull hoodie rule feels unfair.
Victoria: Max.
Max: Fine. No Red Bull hoodie.
Victoria: Thank you.
Max: …Can I at least wear the cap?
Victoria: Max.
Max: Alright, alright. No cap.
Victoria: Proud of you. Now, go be normal.
Max: No promises.
***
Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase
Max: Hypothetically. If you were taking someone on a second date. What would you do?
GP: …Why are you asking me?
Max: Because you’re married!
GP: And?
Max: That means you’ve successfully dated someone.
GP: That does not make me a dating expert.
GP: Also, since when do you ask me for relationship advice?
GP: Who is she?
Max: …
GP: Max.
Max:
GP: MAX.
GP: WHO IS IT.
Max: Isabelle.
GP: Isabelle who?
Max: …Leclerc.
GP:
GP: MAX.
GP: CHARLES LECLERC’S SISTER?!?!?!?!?
Max: Yeah, she doesn’t really like being called that.
GP: MAX.
GP: DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH?
Max: Not particularly.
GP: HOW DID THIS HAPPEN.
Max: I met her.
GP: OBVIOUSLY.
GP: Where?! When?! How long has this been going on?!
Max: A few days.
GP: And Charles doesn’t know???
Max: I don’t think he notices much about her.
GP: Okay, that’s a whole other issue, but back to you.
GP: Do you have any self-preservation instincts?
Max: She’s nice. I like her.
GP: THAT IS NOT THE POINT.
GP: Do you realize the incident this could cause?
Max: If I wanted overreactions, I’d have texted Victoria.
GP: I AM REACTING APPROPRIATELY.
GP: What does Victoria think?
Max: She said, "You deserve to be loved."
GP: …Well, that’s suspiciously sentimental.
GP: But also, Charles is still going to kill you.
Max: You’re being dramatic.
GP: AM I?
Max: Are you helping or not?
GP: I AM TOO BUSY PROCESSING YOUR TERRIBLE LIFE CHOICES.
GP: Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. Let’s focus.
GP: You need a second date idea.
GP: That does not result in Charles Leclerc murdering you.
Max: I think you’re overestimating how much he pays attention to her.
GP: That’s between them. I am concerned for you.
Max: You’re being dramatic again.
GP: No, I’m being realistic.
Max: …I’ll deal with that when it happens.
GP: Unbelievable.
GP: Alright. Date ideas.
GP: What did you do for the first one?
Max: Dinner. Talked a lot.
GP: What does she like?
Max: Horses.
GP: Horses.
GP: You’re dating someone who likes horses.
Max: Yes?
GP: I feel like that’s relevant information I should’ve had sooner.
GP: Have you ever been near a horse, Max?
Max: Not really.
GP: Okay, no horse-related dates yet. You will get yourself killed trying to impress her.
Max: She’d find that funny.
GP: I wouldn’t.
GP: Let’s keep it simple. Somewhere quiet. Private. Where you can talk.
Max: I was thinking that too.
GP: What about a picnic?
Max: A picnic.
GP: Yeah. You get some good food, go somewhere nice, and just relax. No stress.
Max: Where am I supposed to find a picnic spot?
GP: You have a balcony, Max.
GP: You literally have a balcony with a view.
GP: Just set something up there.
Max: …That’s actually not a bad idea.
GP: Wow. Praise from the great Max Verstappen. I’m honored.
Max: Don’t get used to it.
GP: Okay, what kind of food does she like?
Max: She ordered pasta on our first date.
GP: That’s a start. You could order from the same place.
Max: Or I could cook.
GP: You could what?
Max: I can cook, GP.
GP: Since when?
Max: Since I lived alone?
GP: Okay, sure. But can you cook something that won’t poison her?
Max: Wow. Faith in me is at an all-time low.
GP: Just making sure she survives the night.
Max: I’ll make pasta. It’s simple.
GP: Fine. But don’t experiment. Stick to what you know.
Max: What do you think I’m going to do? Try molecular gastronomy?
GP: I wouldn’t put it past you.
GP: Okay, what else… You need drinks. Dessert.
Max: She likes red wine.
GP: Get a good wine, then. And dessert?
Max: She mentioned liking raspberries once.
GP: So get her something with raspberries.
Max: Got it.
GP: And what about ambiance?
Max: …
GP: Max.
Max: What?
GP: Do you even own candles?
Max: …Victoria gave me some once.
GP: Use them.
GP: And put some effort into setting the table.
GP: You know, for someone who acts like they don’t care about romance, you’re actually putting effort into this.
Max: …She’s worth the effort.
GP:
GP: Damn.
GP: Okay.
GP: You have to survive Charles finding out.
Max: I told you. I’ll handle it.
GP: Yeah, yeah. Just keep me updated.
Max: Sure.
GP: And if you need actual advice, ask Victoria.
Max: I did ask Victoria. She just sent me a list of things not to do.
GP: What was on the list?
Max: "Don’t talk about tire degradation. Don’t mention iRacing. Don’t wear a Red Bull hoodie."
GP: Solid advice.
Max: She also said, "Act normal."
GP: That one might be harder for you.
Max: Wow.
GP: Just being honest.
GP: So, do you have everything planned?
Max: Yeah. I think so.
GP: Good. Now all you have to do is not mess it up.
Max: Thanks for the vote of confidence.
GP: Any time.
***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie
Emilie: Soooooo... how was the date?
Isabelle: Good.
Emilie: …That’s it? "Good"? You had dinner with Max Verstappen, a man who has clearly lost his mind over you, and all you have to say is "good"???
Isabelle: Fine. Great. Amazing.
Isabelle: Happy?
Emilie: Better. But I’m gonna need DETAILS.
Isabelle: We had dinner, talked a lot, and then I stayed over.
Emilie:
Emilie: EXCUSE ME???
Emilie: YOU STAYED OVER????
Isabelle: Yes.
Emilie: As in "I fell asleep on the couch watching a movie and went home in the morning" stayed over, or "I am now intimately familiar with Max Verstappen's bedsheets" stayed over???
Isabelle: …
Emilie: ISABELLE.
Isabelle: Nothing happened.
Emilie: Oh my god.
Emilie: OH MY GOD.
Isabelle: I swear, nothing happened. It just got late and…
Emilie: This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Isabelle: I’m so glad MY love life is giving you entertainment.
Emilie: You don’t understand. I’ve been waiting for you to have an actual romance for YEARS. YEARS, ISABELLE.
Isabelle: You make it sound like I was living in a cave.
Emilie: Emotionally? Maybe a little.
Isabelle: Rude.
Emilie: True.
Emilie: But seriously. How do you feel?
Isabelle: …I don’t know. It’s weird.
Isabelle: He likes me. Like, really likes me. And I’m not used to that.
Emilie: Then get used to it, babe. Because that man? He’s already gone for you.
Isabelle: You think so?
Emilie: I KNOW so.
Emilie: Now tell me: does he have nice bedsheets, or do I need to stage an intervention?
***
Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase
GP: Well???
Max: Well, what?
GP: Don’t play dumb. How did it go?
Max: …
GP: MAX.
Max: It went well.
GP: That’s it? That’s all I get after coaching you through this?
Max: What do you want me to say?
GP: I want details. Did she like the food? Did you talk about tire degradation anyway? Did she laugh about your terrible jokes?
Max: She liked the food. No, I did not mention tire degradation. Rude.
GP: Growth. I’m proud of you.
Max: Thanks.
Max: The cats love her.
GP: …THE CATS?! MAX. That is NOT the update I was looking for.
Max: No, but it’s important. They don’t just like people.
GP: I was expecting romance, maybe a ‘we stayed up talking all night’ or ‘she laughed at all my jokes’—and you’re giving me ‘the cats love her’??!
Max: It means a lot! Jimmy and Sassy were literally fighting for her attention. She was just sitting on the couch, and they both climbed into her lap like she was their owner.
GP: …Okay, I’ll admit, that’s kind of a big deal. You’re in love, aren’t you?
Max: I mean… yeah.
GP: I knew it. The cats knew it. Everyone knew it. Charles is gonna lose his mind.
Max: That’s a problem for future Max.
***
Hi can u do a smau with max where reader is a doc for f1 and when max unfortunately has an accident she is one of the first responders(dont know what they are called!!!) And he just stares at her and its like love at first sight for him(he fell first and HARDER!!!!!) and everyone online could see it as well
Some teasing from other drivers as well
And proceed how u deem fit
Loved the sister in law one!!!!!!!
doctor lady | max verstappen
pairing: max verstappen x doctor!reader
summary: max never thought he would be happy getting a injury that puts him out of racing for three months, but when he has a doctor like you? he can’t help but be a little happy.
liked by landonorris, yourusername, charles_leclerc, and 816,074 others!
maxverstappen1: we are allllm good guys!!!!!!!!!!!!! we are aliveee wnd well babybyvy 🤘AND me and lanHOE (becuare he id a BOE) got a pretty doctory lady 🥰🥰🥰 she’s sooooooooioiiooooo nice and prety AND she made us NOT feel pain so we love her 😍😍😍😍😍
view comments below!
user1: they got him on those GOOD painkillers
user2: we’ve seen drunk max, but drugged max? a whole new level
landonorris: guy our lady doctor is soilioooooooooo prety 😍
maxverstappen1: HEY NO 😡😡 i alreadys called dibs!!!!!! she’s MY prety doctor lady. she game ME her instagran and i’m takin HER on a date!
yourusername: if my supervisor is reading this, i gave him my instagram and agreed going on a date with him because he was being difficult, started crying, and wouldn’t take his medication until i did.
maxverstappen1: HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL LOVE
user2: started crying??? max verstappen started crying???
user3: pain meds do that to you 🤕
user4: i need a video of that right now
user5: he is out of IT. i can’t wait till he wakes up and realizes what he’s done
charles_leclerc: happy you’re okay mate!
maxverstappen1: oh charles i have missed you dearly 🥰🥰 so happy you got 1st!!!!!!!
charles_leclerc: thank you max ❤️
maxverstappen1: i can wait for you to meet my future wife!!!!!!!! you’ll love her! she saved me life ❤️
charles_leclerc: someone please take his phone away
maxverstappen1: NOOOOO I JUST WANT TO TALK ABOUT MY FUTURE WIFR 😡
user6: max, charles is just trying to save you from the embarrassment
user7: when he sobers up, he either won’t give a shit and continue OR he’ll be so embarrassed and he’ll never show his face again
yourusername: everyone, please don’t pay mind to max, he is under very heavy drugs, and is not in a right state of mind. we have tried confiscating his phone, but he starts kicking and becomes difficult.
user8: i know this girl is scared for her job 😭
user9: having max as a drugged out patient seems horrible
user10: literal nightmare material
maxverstappen1: MYYY LOVVER HELLO
user11: good lord #freeyn
danielricciardo: i would say, i hope you recover, but i have a feeling you don’t want to recover?
maxverstappen1: I DONTTTT I NEVER EANT TO RECIVER BECAUSE THAT MEANS NOT SEEING MY BEAUTIFUL LADY DOCTOR SO NO!!! NO RECOVERY FOR ME
danielricciardo: screenshotting all of this for later 🤣
landonorris: i’m hungry, maxie can you tell lady doctor i’m hungry?
yourusername: you can talk to me lando. i’ll go get you something.
landonorris: NOOOO I CABR TALK TO THE LADY DOCTOR MAX SAID I CANT AND HE DAID IF I DID HESS GOING TO KILL ME AND I DONT WANT TO BE KILLED AHHHH
maxverstappen1: YOU FONT GET TO TALK TO MY PRETTY DOCTOR LADY IM GOING TO JILL YLY LANDO
user12: this is genuinely like the funniest shit ever 😭
user13: can’t believe in 10 years from now we’re going to look back at this and laugh
user14: 10 years?? bitch im LAUGHING RIGHT NOW
redbullracing; speedy recovery max! 💓
maxverstappen1: NOOOO NO SPEEDY RECOVERY NO RECOVERY FOR MAX
user15: head injury so bad he lost his love for racing
user16: on a serious note, his injury’s did seem pretty bad, especially his leg…
user17: honestly i’d be surprised if he returned to racing immediately
landonorris: maxie and me got separated :(((( 😞☹️😕😭🥺 lady doctor is is MEAN
yourusername: you two were arguing and disturbing the other patients.
maxverstappen1: DONT CALL MY LADY DOTCIT MEAN!!!!
user18: went from being worried to laughing out loud because wtf is this??
user27; lando and max crashing was NOT on my 2024 bingo card
user28: f1 having a big crash was not on MY 2024 bingo card
liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername, landonorris, 619,027 others!
redbullracing: unfortunately, due to last weeks crash regarding lando norris and max verstappen. max has been forced to take a three month leave of absence from racing, as he has severely fractured his lower leg. he has immediately started physical therapy, let’s wish him a speedy recovery ❤️🩹
view comments below!
maxverstappen1: what a shame 😕 truly saddened by this outcome 😞
user19: what??
landonorris: take a wild guess as to who’s going to be his doctor for three months?
user20: PRETTY LADY DOCTOR???
maxverstappen1: maybe 🥰
user21: we’ve entered the era where max does not gaf about racing as long as he gets to see yn
user22: does this mean he’s not winning the wdc?
user23: he still can, he just has to win basically every race after the 3 months, which isn’t exactly impossible for him
charles_leclerc; so sad for max!
user24: your ass does not feel sad for max 😭
user25: he has his eyes on the wdc!!!
user26: HE ACTUALLY HAS A CHANCE TO WIN BOW
maxverstappen1: @/yourusername, ready to take care of me for 3 months :D
yourusername: no
maxverstappen1: 😕
user27: HAHAHA
danielricciardo: LOSER
landonorris: HAHAH GET REJECTED
charles_leclerc: EMBARRASSING
oscarpiastri: that hurt to read
maxverstappen1: SHUT UP WHO ASKED YOU
user28: tbh i wouldn’t be excited to have max as a patient for 3 whole months with how he acted that night in the emergency room
user29: that man is secretly crazy and you can’t convince me otherwise
user30: i love how max is clearly like head over heels for yn, but she can’t date him because he’s her patient 😭
user31: she can’t?
user30: NO!!! that’s unethical, she can date him after the 3 months but not during
user32: that not being common knowledge to some people is concerning…
liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, yourusername, and 917,027 others!
maxverstappen1: day one of physical therapy a success ✅
view comments below!
landonorris: so, how many times did she reject you today?
maxverstappen1: ZERO.
yourusername: 10**
landonorris: TENN??????
maxverstappen1: i just don’t understand why she won’t say yes 😞
yourusername: because it’s severely unethical and will get me fired
maxverstappen1: so what i’m hearing is that you’ll go out with me when i’m no longer your patient?
user33: let the countdown begin
charles_leclerc: missed you at the race today!
maxverstappen1: no you didn’t
charles_leclerc: no i didn’t! MAX IT FEELS SO GOOD TOO WIN
maxverstappen1: yeah i KNOW.
yourusername: don’t worry charles, he was watching you during his whole therapy session, and cheered so loudly when you won that we got complains from patients on the other side of the building!
charles_leclerc: I KNEW IT!!!
maxverstappen1: you said you wouldn’t tell anyone yn 😕
user34: it’s so…unsettling seeing max be so publicly affectionate
user35: RIGHT?? like why is he so open about this??
user36: he has no shame…
yourusername: i told you to stop taking pictures of me while i’m working
maxverstappen1: but you just look sooooo pretty
danielricciardo: she doesn’t want you bro
maxverstappen1: SHUT UP
user37: she’s stronger then me, because if i had max verstappen down bad like that?
user38: no literally, i would’ve made him mine the same day we met
user39: why is max posting regular pictures?? it’s weird
user40: he’s trying to impress yn
user39: well he’s going about it all wrong. because these photos just don’t match?? cat, hospital, and then a crappy photo of a therapy room?? horrible horrible HORRIBLE
user41: damn…
liked by yourusername, landonorris, and 619,017 others!
maxverstappen1: 2 months down…1 more to go!
view comments below!
user42: HE IS COUNTING DOWN
user43: WE KNEW IT!!!
landonorris: i can’t belive you tricked me into going to a photo shoot for you
maxverstappen1: that is not what happened.
landonorris: you told me we were going golfing, next thing i know i’m watching you get your picture taken like 92884 times 😑
maxverstappen1: just say your jealous
landonorris: OF WHAT???
user44: he’s getting better at being aesthetic
user45: he’s learning!!
user46: are we all going to skip past the fact that max, a hater of everything, had a whole as photo shoot for his instagram?????
maxverstappen1: yn told me i should post more photos of myself for the instagram
user47: so you had a whole photo shoot????
maxverstappen1: yes
user48: oh he’s in love
danielricciardo: looking good max 😍
maxverstappen1; thank you for the support daniel!
landonorris: was that a dig to me?
maxverstappen1: yes.
landonorris: I WAS EXPECTING GOLF
yourusername: looking good max
maxverstappen1: really??? you really think so??
yourusername: yes (with the upmost professionalism)
maxverstappen1: 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰
user49: why did max just add “yn thinks i look good 🥰” to his bio
user50: LMAOO I THOUGHT YOU WERE JOKING???
user49: no 😭 he very literally put “yn thinks i look good 🥰” in his bio
user51: why does it look like max is in the doctor training room?
maxverstappen1: because i am!!
user51: THEY LET YOU IN THERE????
yourusername: my boss is a huge f1 fan. so he lets max do whatever he wants 🙄
user51: i’m sorry that’s so funny 😭
user52: does max just follow her around all day??
yourusername: pretty much, yeah
user53: you have no idea how much i want to be you
charles_leclerc: wow max looking good
maxverstappen1: thank you charles
charles_leclerc: aren’t you going to put “charles thinks i look good” in your bio?
maxverstappen1: i don’t care about you enough for that
user54: DAMN THATS COLD
user55: those cats are so cute 🥺
. . .
. . .
liked by yourusername, landonorris, and 914,078 others!
maxverstappen1: guys i did!!!! i got a date with the pretty doctor lady 🥰🥰
view comments below!
user56: when he falls first and harder >>
user57; this man is literally obsessed with yn it’s insane
landonorris: beat me too it
landonorris: THIS IS A JOKE PLEASE DONT KILL ME
maxverstappen1: nothing funny. i didn’t laugh. you aren’t funny.
landonorris: 😕
user58: WE CHEERED!!!
user59: i still think it would be funny if she just said no even after the 3 months
yourusername; i thought about it, but he’s rich and pretty so 🤷♀️
maxverstappen1: pretty :D
user60: she’s so pretty
maxverstappen1: like i’ve been SAYING.
user61: i’ve never seen a man so down bad before
user62: it’s unnerving
user63: a doctor, pretty, and funny?? max hit the jackpot
user64: they both hit the jackpot 😒 it pisses me off
user65: LMAO WHY??
user64: seeing people live the life i want makes me unexplainably mad
danielricciardo: you’re joking right? she’s not actually dating you?
maxverstappen1: what’s that supposed to mean
danielricciardo: it means she’s too good for you @/yourusername are you being held hostage
yourusername; yes
danielricciardo: OH I KNEW IT. DONT WORRY HELP IS ON THE WAY
maxverstappen1: you guys are mean.
yourusername: this means i can never be your doctor again
maxverstappen1: what if once day, on my way home i crash, and its a big crash with smoke and fire, and i get taken to the hospital but i refuse to let anyone touch me that isn’t you, would you still not help me?
yourusername: there’s just something so undiagnosed about you
user65: HAHAHA
user66: max is just so unexplainable
charles_leclerc: are my eyes deceiving me or did she finally say yes 
maxverstappen1: SHE SAID YES
charles_leclerc: OH YEAH OH YEAH I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT BUDDY
maxverstappen1: OH YEAH OH YEAH
user67: my lestappen heart 💔
. . .
notes: enjoy this while i spend the rest of my night learning how to play the sims
thank you for requesting!!
For Her - Lando Norris x Reader
summary: She came to support him. Instead, she was met with hate and a paddock full of people who acted like she didn’t exist. But if there was one thing about Lando Norris, it was that he loved out loud (3.2k words)
content: protective boyfriend, public relationship, public displays of affection, romantic grand gesture
AN: happy new season guys!!! what a race, I hope china will be kinder with my heart :') here's another fic for our race winner! muah <3
........................................................................
The first race of the season should have been magical.
It should have been the kind of morning you’d always imagined—walking through the paddock with the giddy excitement of someone witnessing greatness up close, feeling the electricity in the air, the intoxicating mix of tire smoke, adrenaline, and champagne already waiting for its moment in the podium spray. You had thought of how proud you would feel watching Lando, how thrilling it would be to see him in his element, how belonging you might feel in a world that, until now, had existed for you in stories and through screens.
You had not imagined being denied entry.
"Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to step back."
The security guard barely spared you a glance, already moving on to the next person in line, his voice impassive, as if he had done this a hundred times before and you were simply another face in a sea of hopeful girls who had tried to talk their way into the paddock.
You gripped your lanyard a little tighter, your heart skipping slightly. "I have a pass," you said, voice gentle but firm as you lifted it to eye level, the McLaren logo glinting in the sunlight.
The guard exhaled sharply through his nose, unimpressed. "We've had a lot of fans trying to sneak in today. If you don’t have the right accreditation, I can’t let you through."
Your stomach twisted.
"I do have the right accreditation," you tried again, as kindly as possible, despite the heat creeping up your neck. "I’m with McLaren. My boyfriend-"
"Yeah, that’s what they all say."
The words were clipped, dismissive, and spoken with the kind of flat finality that suggested he had already decided you were lying.
Embarrassment coiled in your chest, wrapping itself around your lungs, making it suddenly difficult to breathe.
You stood there, cheeks burning, as people brushed past you, throwing curious glances your way. The seconds stretched endlessly, each one more excruciating than the last.
It wasn’t until a McLaren staff member recognized you—"Oh, she’s with Lando," they had said offhandedly—that the security guard finally stepped aside, not bothering with so much as an apology.
By the time you walked through the gates, the joy you had carried that morning had dulled into something smaller, something fragile.
And then, somehow, it got worse.
...
The McLaren motorhome stood like a beacon in the paddock, its sleek glass windows reflecting the bustle of team personnel moving inside. You exhaled slowly, shaking off the earlier embarrassment, and made your way toward the hospitality lounge, longing for something warm and familiar.
A latte, perhaps. Something to reset the day.
You stepped up to the hospitality counter with a practiced sort of grace, the kind that had been instilled in you from your childhood—shoulders back, chin lifted, a polite smile even when you wanted to disappear.
The woman behind the counter was stunning in a sharp, effortless way, her McLaren uniform crisp, her dark eyes shrewd, assessing. She barely looked up when you stepped forward.
"Good morning," you greeted, your voice light, pleasant. "Could I get an oat latte, please?"
The woman’s gaze flicked to you then, sweeping over you in a way that wasn’t unkind but wasn’t exactly warm, either.
"Are you with media?" she asked, already sounding bored.
You shook your head, still polite. "No, I’m—"
"Hospitality is for team guests only," she interrupted, her words clipped, a polite but unmistakable dismissal.
There was something about the way she said it, the way her lips curled just slightly, that sent something sharp down your spine.
You held up your accreditation again, your expression kind but unwavering. "I am a team guest. It is my first race though! I'm with Lando."
A pause. A flicker of something in her gaze.
And then, a small, almost imperceptible smirk.
"Ah," she said slowly, like she was only just now realizing. "Of course you are."
There was something else behind her tone, something you recognized.
You had met people like her before, in glittering lobbies, at perfectly curated events, in spaces where perception was everything. People who measured others in careful glances and quiet, ruthless judgments.
The woman tilted her head, her smile suddenly saccharine. "I’m afraid we’re only serving certain guests at the moment."
The words landed with the soft cruelty of a velvet dagger.
She wasn’t saying no outright.
She was refusing you while pretending it was about something else entirely.
You stared at her for a moment, your fingers tightening slightly over the strap of your bag.
You could have fought. Could have pointed out that this was ridiculous, that you had every right to be here, that her behavior was as transparent as it was petty.
But instead, you simply let out a soft breath and smiled.
Not the kind of smile that was warm and grateful.
The kind of smile that veiled the frustration you were feeling.
"No worries," you said gently, dipping your head, your voice smooth, graceful. "I wouldn’t want to trouble you."
And with that, you turned and walked away, back straight, head held high, because if nothing else—you were not the kind of woman who begged.
But it still stung.
...
The hotel room is quiet except for the faint murmur of the city outside. The occasional car hums past beneath the window, the distant noises of Melbourne nightlife drifting in through the small gap in the balcony door. Inside, the glow from the bedside lamp casts soft golden light over the pristine sheets, the half-finished cup of tea you abandoned hours ago, and your phone—face-down, untouched, deliberately ignored.
You had set it aside like it burned you.
And in a way, it had.
You don’t need to look at the screen to know what’s waiting for you there.
A photo. You, walking alone through the paddock, caught at an unflattering angle—your hands adjusting the strap of your bag, your gaze flicking off to the side. Out of context, impersonal, just another frame in someone else’s story.
But the caption beneath it?
That made it personal.
The caption beneath it, however, was anything but subtle.
"Classic gold digger. No personality, no job, just another wag looking for a paycheck."
The replies were worse.
"She looks so full of herself. I bet she spends his money like crazy."
"Lando deserves better. She looks disgusting."
"Does she even like racing or just his wallet?"
You had expected something like this eventually. Being seen always came at a cost.
But expectation doesn’t soften the blow.
It doesn’t make the words less sharp. It doesn’t stop them from settling in the quiet places of your mind, the ones that whisper in the dark when the world is still.
You exhale slowly, smoothing your hand over the sheets, willing away the tightness in your throat.
It’s fine.
You were raised to handle things like this with grace, with an understanding that women who stand beside successful men are often reduced to spectators, accessories, footnotes in their own stories.
You know who you are. You know your worth.
And yet, knowing doesn’t stop the sting.
A keycard beeps at the door.
Then, the soft sound of it swinging open, of footsteps—light, easy, carrying a kind of restless energy even now.
"Hi, darling," Lando’s voice fills the space before he does.
You don’t turn immediately, letting yourself blink once, twice, composing yourself in the quiet before offering a small smile as he steps inside.
He looks effortlessly disheveled—his hair still damp from the rain outside, his McLaren polo slightly untucked, the fabric creased like he’d run a hand over it one too many times.
He is still buzzing—from the high of the weekend, from the thrill of being back in the car, from the sheer joy of doing what he loves.
And then he looks at you.
And everything shifts.
His grin falters. His brows pull together.
"Hey," he says again, but softer this time, slower. "What’s wrong?"
You hesitate, fingers brushing against the sheets. "It’s nothing."
Lando stills.
"You’re upset."
It’s not a question.
You exhale, tilting your head slightly, lips curving in something almost amused. "No big deal, this is your weekend."
But Lando doesn’t smile.
Instead, he moves—crossing the room in three long strides, sinking down in front of you, his hands warm against your thighs, his gaze level, intent.
"Tell me," he says, quiet but firm.
All day, you have been ignored, dismissed, treated like an inconvenience. And yet, here he is, giving you his undivided attention, his entire world narrowing down to this moment, to you.
You hesitate. Then, finally, you murmur, "People weren’t exactly kind today."
His grip on your legs tightens just slightly.
"Security thought I was a fan trying to sneak in. Hospitality wouldn’t serve me." You let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "And now there’s a photo of me online. People saying I’m a disgusting gold digger."
Lando doesn’t move.
Doesn’t even breathe.
Then, slowly, he reaches for your phone, flipping it over with careful precision before scrolling. He doesn’t need you to guide him—he finds it immediately.
His jaw tightens.
And then, in a tone so low and steady that it makes your stomach flip:
"Are you joking?"
You open your mouth, but he’s already shaking his head, pushing himself up, pacing now, running a hand through his curls.
"Such bullshit," he starts, turning sharply, voice too controlled, too even, "that after everything—after how much effort you’ve put into being here, after how much of your life you’ve adjusted for me—these people had the nerve to treat you like that?"
You shift under his gaze, biting your lip. "Lando, it’s not—"
"No, no, hold on," he interrupts, hands in the air like he needs a second to process. He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, but there’s nothing amused about it.
"Because from where I’m standing, you’re the easiest person to love in any room, and I genuinely don’t understand how anyone could be that dense."
He exhales sharply, shaking his head, jaw tight. "Honestly, I don’t even know whether to be pissed or impressed by their level of dickheadness."
He stops, inhales sharply, then turns back to you.
"Tomorrow," he says, voice steady now, decisive. "We fix this."
You raise a brow. "We?"
Lando tilts his head, giving you a look like you have just asked if the sky is blue.
"Obviously."
...
There are very few things in life that can silence an entire paddock.
Lando Norris walking in hand-in-hand with you is apparently one of them.
The usual morning commotion—the hurried strides of engineers, the murmured strategy discussions, the distant hum of espresso machines—all of it seems to slow, the air shifting as one by one, heads turn.
Eyes follow you as you move through the paddock, curiosity crackling in the air like static before a storm.Conversations taper off, whispers trailing in your wake, phones discreetly lifted, cameras capturing the moment in real time.
Lando, of course, is unbothered.
If anything, he thrives under the weight of their attention. His grip on your hand remains firm, steady, unwavering, his strides unhurried, his smirk bordering on self-satisfied.
He wants them to see.
It’s deliberate—the way he holds you close, the way his fingers brush over yours in soft, thoughtless patterns, the way his head tilts toward you slightly every time you speak, like you are the only thing worth listening to.
There is no question about what this is.
There is no question about where you belong.
He makes sure of it.
And then, with perfect, almost cinematic timing, he steers you toward McLaren hospitality.
Right to the coffee bar.
The barista from yesterday stands behind the counter, the same sharp-cut uniform, the same perfectly applied lipstick, the same calculating gaze.
Only now, it falters.
She sees Lando before she sees you, her posture straightening, professional mask slipping into place like second nature. But then, her eyes flick toward you—toward your hands intertwined, toward the subtle, unspoken intimacy of the way he keeps close.
You watch as realization dawns.
Oh.
Lando leans against the counter, effortless, grinning.
"Two oat lattes," he says, voice bright, easy, amused. "One for me, one for my girl."
The silence that follows is exquisite.
The barista hesitates—just for a fraction of a second, just long enough for you to see it.
Panic.
"Of course," she says, voice smooth but not quite as sharp as before.
And just like that, there are no shortages, no waiting, no excuses.
The coffees are made within seconds.
Lando watches, humming thoughtfully, tapping his fingers lightly against the counter as she slides the first cup toward him. He lifts it to his lips, taking a slow, exaggerated sip before letting out a long, obnoxiously satisfied hum.
"Mm," he muses, shifting his weight, sparing her a glance. "Tastes better today."
His smirk is dangerous.
"Must be the service."
The barista’s lips press together just slightly.
You take your coffee, cradling the cup in your hands, offering her a soft, serene smile.
"Thank you," you say lightly.
You watch as she winces.
And Lando, the ever-efficient instigator that he is, takes it one step further.
"You know," he muses, as if the thought has just occurred to him, "I think I should make this a tradition."
He turns to you then, eyes bright with mischief, voice just loud enough for the surrounding staff to hear.
"Morning coffee," he says smoothly. "Every race weekend. For the foreseeable future."
The barista looks like she wants to disappear.
You, on the other hand, can’t help but smile.
...
The checkered flag had waved, the roar of the crowd still vibrating through the air, but none of it mattered—not the celebrations, not the flashing cameras, not the McLaren team swarming the pit wall in victory.
Because the moment Lando climbed out of the car, eyes scanning the chaos, he found you.
And then—he ran.
Straight toward you, helmet discarded, race suit half-unzipped, curls a disheveled mess from the heat of the cockpit.
You barely have time to react before he collides into you, arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing.
You shriek—an actual, real shriek—as your feet leave the pavement, the entire world tilting as he spins you in circles,laughter spilling from his lips like he can’t contain it.
And then—he kisses you.
Right there, in front of thousands of fans, in front of cameras, reporters, his entire team.
Hard. Fierce. Like he’d won the race and you in the same breath.
The world erupts around you—cheering, chanting, Oscar groaning dramatically in the background.
"Oh my god. You two are disgusting."
None of it matters.
Because Lando is grinning against your lips, breathless, victorious, yours.
When he finally sets you back down, he doesn’t let go.
Doesn’t even try to.
Instead, he beams down at you, cheeks flushed, curls damp with sweat, voice all cocky, all Lando.
"So, did I impress you or what?"
You roll your eyes, fond and exasperated all at once. "Eh. You were alright."
He gasps. Actually gasps.
"You’re joking." He turns toward the cameras, mock-betrayed. "Did you guys hear that? I win a Grand Prix, and she says I’m ‘alright.’"
You bite your lip, pretending to consider. "You were pretty fast, I guess."
"Pretty fast?" he repeats, positively scandalized. "Babe. I am literally the fastest man in Australia right now."
You burst out laughing. "I was kind of rooting for Oscar."
Oscar, mid-drink of water behind you, chokes.
"Lies." Lando pulls you back in, forehead resting against yours, his voice dropping into something softer, something just for you.
"Say you’re proud of me."
You sigh dramatically. "I guess I’m—"
"Say it."
You grin, heart pounding. "Fine. I’m proud of you, Norris."
He hums, satisfied, smug, still absolutely glowing. "Thought so."
...
Lando was still riding the high when he got to the media pen, his race suit unzipped to his waist, curls damp with sweat, and that stupidly charming grin still plastered across his face.
It wasn’t just a ‘first win of the season’ grin.
It was a ‘my girlfriend is here, and I just won a whole-ass race for her’ grin.
The interviewer barely got a word in before Lando pointed directly at you, standing just off-camera.
"Her."
You blink. "Me?"
"Yeah, you!" He turns back to the cameras, nodding enthusiastically. "Let’s just get this straight—I did this for her. Like, entirely. One hundred percent. Full motivation. If she hadn’t shown up, I probably would’ve parked it in a gravel trap on lap ten."
The interviewer laughed. "So, you’re saying she’s your good luck charm?"
"Absolutely," Lando replied, dead serious. "I mean, have you seen her? Look at her."
The camera did not pan to you, thank god. The poor guy running the live feed probably had no idea what to do.
But Lando? Oh, he was just getting started.
"She walked into this paddock today looking like an actual goddess, completely unaware that she is, in fact, the sun incarnate, and people want me to talk about tire degradation? No. I want to talk about her."
The interviewer tried so hard to stay professional.
"You—uh, you had great pace today—"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Lando waved him off.
"Lando, I don’t think—"
"Listen, I need to emphasize something." Lando leaned in, tone conspiratorial. "Do you know how lucky I am? Not only is she breathtaking, but she’s also, like, annoyingly smart. Like, did you know she reads all the time? Real books.Not just memes and Twitter threads like me."
He gestured vaguely, suddenly overwhelmed by his own emotions.
"She doesn’t even realize how much people admire her. But I see it. I see everything. And I just think the world needs to start appreciating her at my level."
"That is… very sweet." The interviewer was visibly struggling to keep up.
"Just had to get that out there."
"Well, congratulations on the win, Lando," the interviewer finally managed, skimming over his list of unanswered questions he had prepared.
"Thank you." He nodded seriously, finally letting go of the mic. "And big thanks to the team, of course."
You rolled your eyes from behind the cameras, suppressing a smile.
...
The internet had seen many things, but no one was prepared for Lando Norris using his post-race interview as a full-blown love letter.
"Lando’s race pace was great, but his girlfriend propaganda was even stronger."
"THE WAY HE JUST POINTED AT HER IMMEDIATELY I CAN’T."
"Lando Norris said ‘this win is for my girlfriend’ and proceeded to recite a romantic sonnet on live TV. My standards are ruined."
Later, as the two of you curled up in the hotel room, finally away from the cameras, Lando buried his face in your neck with a content sigh.
"You know," he murmured, voice sleepy, warm, full of love. "I really did win that for you."
You ran your fingers through his curls. "I know."
"I meant every word, too."
You smiled. "Don't you think it was a bit much?"
"I don't think it was nearly enough," he said, already half-asleep, grinning like he had never been happier.
DON'T LEAVE ME
Ollie Bearman X fem!reader
Summary: When Ollie accompanies Y/n to her endoscopy. The anesthesia can make her say funny things, but also, some questions that make Ollie's heart break.
Words: 3.0K+
Warnings: Mention of the hospital, surgery (but nothing serious), Y/n under anesthesia, cute, funny, a bit of insecurity, mention of Y/n's almost profession, anguish, but romantic and happy ending.
Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling mistakes and slang that may be in the story. ❤️🇧🇷
MASTERLIST
Ollie wasn't the type to pass up any opportunity to take care of Y/n—not even when she said, with all the firmness in the world, that everything was fine, that it was just an endoscopy check-up, nothing serious.
But for him, there was no such thing as "anything major" when it involved her.
"What if I let you go alone and you, numb, start telling me everything we do in a room? No, no! I need to be there to ensure my reputation!" He said with a mischievous smile, drawing a rolled, but amused, look from her.
Now, a few hours later, Ollie was alone in the room where Y/n would recover. He was sitting in an armchair in the corner, his cell phone in his hands, but his eyes fixed on the screen without really taking anything in. His leg was bouncing up and down, fast, as if his body reflected the silent whirlwind of his mind.
He knew, rationally, that it was a simple procedure. She herself had explained it a thousand times. But the most idiotic and unwanted thoughts insisted on going around in his head, creating catastrophic scenarios.
It was disgusting how anxiety acted like that.
The door opened with a soft creak and a friendly nurse smiled at Ollie. Right behind, the doctor was pushing a wheelchair where Y/n was sitting, her head resting on her hand and her eyes blinking slowly, completely groggy.
Ollie smiled the moment he saw her. He jumped up from his chair, his heart relieving just seeing that familiar, yet somewhat lost, face.
"She's still under the anesthesia." The doctor explained, stopping beside the bed. "The procedure went excellently, we didn't find any abnormalities, everything was clean.
Ollie let out a sigh of relief, resting his hands on his hips.
"Thank God." He murmured with a tender smile.
The nurse began to help Y/n out of the chair and put her on the bed. She snuggled into the pillow almost immediately, with that lazy and cute movement of someone who just wanted to go back to sleep.
"She may say some nonsense because of the anesthesia, but it should pass within 30 minutes to 1 hour." The doctor completed. "If she exhibits anything else out of the ordinary, notify the nurses' desk down the hall."
"Okay, I'll do that if I need to." Ollie nodded. The doctor and nurse left the room, closing the door behind them.
Ollie stood there for a few seconds, watching Y/n lying there, her eyes heavy. A warm relief filled his chest. He approached carefully, arranging the blanket about her. He sat down next to her, again in the armchair, holding her hand between his, observing every detail.
Y/n slowly opened her eyes and frowned when she saw him. "Where am I?"
"Hospital."
She looked around.
"Hospital?"
Ollie nodded, trying to hold back his laughter.
"Damn... I wish I was in a diamond castle like Barbie's and had a prince charming as my chauffeur."
"Look, this isn't a diamond castle and I'm not a prince, but I can be your private driver."
She smiled, still a little dazed, with a small smile. "As long as there's music in the car and you buy me a milkshake later..."
"Deal" Ollie said, chuckling and patting her hand lightly.
Y/n looked at their intertwined hands and frowned.
"Hey, you can't hold my hand like that... I have a boyfriend and I love him so much." She let go of his hand and ducked under the covers. Ollie laughed.
"Wow! Passed the loyalty test and everything. Wow!" Y/n made a confused face, and he leaned in with a smile. "It's me, Y/n. Oliver. Your boyfriend."
She pushed herself up a little, supporting herself on her elbows, and Ollie stepped closer to make sure she didn't fall over.
"My boyfriend? You?"
"Myself. Your boyfriend. With a ring and an apartment."
Y/n smiled as if she had won the greatest prize in the world.
"Ah... then I chose well."
Ollie's heart melted. He chuckled softly as she lay back down, gripping his hand more firmly.
"Do people live together?"
"Yes, we recently bought an apartment."
Her eyes widened. "Wow! That's really cool... how long have we been dating?"
"Let me think... about five or six years?"
"Wow, a really, really long time..."
"It's just that when I love, I stay." Ollie said with a sweet smile.
"If we've been together for so long... have you asked me to marry you yet?"
Ollie's eyes widened and he burst out laughing. "My God, you're really rude with these questions right now."
Y/n smiled, turning to him.
"How many times have we kissed? Do you remember the first time you saw me without makeup? It was horrible, wasn't it?"
Ollie laughed, confused by the bombardment.
"Okay, princess of the diamond castle! One question at a time!" He held up his hands. "Here we go: we've kissed more times than I can count, but I remember the first time—it was after the movies, you were wearing that silly strawberry sweatshirt. And the first time I saw you without makeup? It was perfect. Because you were just...you."
Y/n nodded slowly, looking around.
"Have we ever... you know... done adult dating things?"
Ollie coughed in surprise. "OH MY GOD, Y/N! You're putting me in a very unfair situation here!"
She chuckled softly. "Just scientific curiosity."
"Yeah, scientist, of course! I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, crazy doctor." He said, squeezing her hand affectionately.
"If we had a child, do you think it would have your nose or mine?"
"Probably yours. Mine's kind of boring."
"Your nose is cute... it looks like an elevator button." She wrinkled her nose, smiling.
Ollie frowned, laughing. "What?"
"Cute... makes you want to squeeze it."
"Now I'm scared you'll try to use my nose to get to the 12th floor."
Y/n smiled and began to blink slowly, looking at the ceiling. Ollie thought she was going to sleep and began to caress her hand and her brown locks lightly, lulling her to rest. But she opened her eyes again.
"Did you know that octopuses have three hearts? And that they dissolve if they get too sad?"
Ollie arched an eyebrow.
"That explains why you cry when you watch margarine commercials. You're an octopus!"
"It's not because of the margarine... it's the warm bread..."
"Of course, the drama of warm bread." He replied, smiling.
"You know what else? I once read that sleeping in a spoon position helps with immunity..."
"So we'll live to be a hundred years old."
"Yes..." She stirred happily in bed. "Or until the bones turn to fairy dust."
"That's it, love. Until our bones turn to Tinker Bell dust."
Her eyes lit up at that reference. "I remember I really wanted to be Tinkerbell when I was little..."
"Did you wish you had wings?"
"No. I wanted to throw magic dust at others and fly away when they scolded me."
Ollie laughed.
"Fair enough. Very emotionally healthy."
"I also had a phase where I thought Peter Pan was my boyfriend. Sorry, my love."
"No hard feelings. I'll just keep an eye out if he shows up in a green leotard."
She laughed, still a little groggily, and then turned around, a fond smile on her face.
"You're so beautiful, you know that?"
"Thanks, honey... do you still think I'm cute? I've been up all night and my hair is all messed up."
Y/n squeezed his hand lightly.
"Yes... looks like an angel... tired... but an angel."
"An angel on duty?"
"Exactly." She smiled, her eyes closing. "And you smell nice... like home... like my favorite pillow."
Ollie squeezed her hand and murmured, "You're my favorite pillow too, for the record."
The room was silent, muffled by a soft light that filtered through the window. And Y/n sighed, tired, her eyes fixed on a random spot on the wall.
"Back to talking about marriage..."
Ollie's eyes widened slightly, surprised by the sudden change of subject. But she continued, calmly, as if it had been on her mind for some time.
"Do you think if we got married, we should get a dog or a turtle?"
Ollie smiled, letting his body sink a little deeper into the chair.
"Hmm... dog, but only if he likes sleeping late and eating leftover pizza."
"What if we had a house with a balcony? One of those with a hammock..."
"And a giant couch, with room for your cold feet," Ollie added, still smiling.
She let out a muffled chuckle.
"And the walls would be yellow." Y/n hums.
"I didn't approve of that, calm down." Ollie said, amused.
Y/n paused for a moment, her eyes still on the wall, and she became serious. "Okay, okay, love. I'm sorry..."
Ollie held back a laugh. It was so like her to apologize for the silliest things.
And silence filled the room again. She closed her eyes, relaxing, almost giving in to sleep. Ollie reached out and began to gently stroke her hair. The only sound she could hear was the muffled rumble of the city.
Suddenly, she began to laugh softly, as if she had heard something that only she could understand.
"Listen, listen..." Ollie looked at her curiously. "My heart is singing..." She laughed again, softly, delighted with her own sentence.
Ollie frowned and laughed along.
"Are you sure you're just numb or did you end up drinking alcohol in there?"
Y/n didn't respond, she just kept laughing as if the world was lighter. Then he hummed some made-up tune.
She opened her eyes and saw Ollie smiling at her goofily. Suddenly, her eyes widened, as if a penny had just dropped.
"OMG, I REMEMBER! You're a Formula 1 driver!"
Ollie laughed, delighted.
"Yes, and you fell in love with a crazy guy who runs at 300 Kilometers per hour"
"Have you ever wanted to honk your horn in the middle of a race?"
"Love, there's no horn on an F1 car."
"So how do you curse others?"
"With the hand and with the radio."
Y/n laughed, finding that the funniest thing in the world.
"Are you the type to swear nicely or swear badly?"
"It depends. If it's Verstappen, I'll swear badly."
She put her hand over her mouth, feigning shock. "OLLIIIEE!"
"You just asked me!"
She blinked slowly and murmured, her eyes dreamy, "Have we ever taken a bath together? Like, a real bath..."
Ollie couldn't contain his laughter and closed his eyes.
"Bath? What do you mean 'a real bath'?"
"I really do. With shampoo, conditioner and everything..."
"We've drowned in soap suds a few times."
Y/n blushed. "That sounds a lot like us."
"Yeah!"
She turned slightly in bed.
"I'm really weird, right? Kind of silly, kind of lost..."
"You look beautiful."
"You are obliged to say that."
"No. I'm your boyfriend. And your number one fan. I say that by choice."
Y/n smiled, her eyes slightly teary. "I like it when you talk like that. It makes my heart stop hurting."
"Was it hurting?" Ollie asked cautiously.
"No..."
Ollie laughed. But she frowned.
"But would you love me if I were a worm?"
The pilot's eyes widened. "A worm?"
"You wouldn't love it, right?..." Y/n began to cry silently. Ollie leaned over, concerned, and gently wiped her face.
"Hey, hey. I would love you if you were a worm, okay? I would make a garden just for you to roam free and eat dirt..."
"Thank you..." She sniffs.
"You're welcome, love!" The pilot smiles, holding back his laughter.
The room became quiet again. Ollie continued to caress her hair, and Y/n settled down, curled up, warm under the blanket. She seemed to have fallen asleep. He smiled, relieved, and picked up his phone, scrolling slowly.
But then, in a low voice, she spoke again,
"Have you seen the other pilots' girlfriends? I mean... they're beautiful, aren't they?"
Ollie lowered his phone, alert.
"Beautiful...? In what sense?"
"They have these amazing jobs, like model, businesswoman, artist... You know? And me... I'm just an aeronautics student."
Ollie looked at her, surprised.
"Just an aeronautics student? Y/n, do you realize that? You're literally an airplane pilot! You're a thousand times more amazing than any of them!"
Y/n smiled slightly, hesitantly.
"But they always seem so confident, so collected. Beautiful. Elegant. I'm just... me."
Ollie leaned closer, his voice softer, "Are you just you? Y/n, you've always been true to who you are. And that's what made me fall in love the most. You have this light... this way of seeing the world with rocket eyes and a marshmallow heart."
Y/n chuckled softly, groggily.
"Rocket eyes, Ollie?"
"Yes! You see everything with intensity, passion. And even when you feel small, you keep trying. That is much bigger than any standard."
Y/n looked at him, still with tears in her eyes.
"Do you really think so?"
"I'm sure. And if one day you forget... I'll repeat it a thousand times. Because you're my standard." She reached for his hand. "I'm here reminding you that you're perfect and that I love you."
Her voice came out as a whisper lost in the sheets. "They have blonde hair... blue eyes... haven't you ever wondered if you'd be happier with someone like that?"
Ollie felt his chest tighten so much that it hurt to breathe. This wasn't just silly jealousy. It was insecurity, raw and alive, and he felt every crack of it echo through him.
Before he could respond, she continued.
"Do you think you'll ever get tired of me? Because... if you look at it, the other pilots' previous girlfriends were just like me. Simple. Students. From small families. And they traded them for powerful women... with blonde hair and eyes the color of the sea..."
The tears flowed soundlessly. Only then came a sniffle and a whisper. "I'm scared, Ollie..."
He felt his heart shatter. The air seemed trapped between his lungs. The pain of seeing her like this, so fragile, so overcome with fear, made him wish he could take every single one of those doubts away from her and cast them away forever.
Ollie sat up straighter, his eyes fixed on her. His voice was firm but thick with emotion.
"Honey, listen to one thing: I am NOT them. And you are NOT replaceable. I didn't fall in love with you because of the color of your eyes or your hair... I fell in love because when you talk about airplanes, your eyes light up. Because you dance barefoot around the house, with incredible energy. Because you are a captivating person who wins over everyone around you. Because you are a determined, strong woman who fights for her dreams. Because you make me laugh even when the world seems heavy. Because you ARE and always will be my best friend... And because, even when you are scared, you are the bravest person I know..." Ollie held back his own tears. "Because you, my love. Are the person I always waited to spend the rest of my life with. I love you so, so, SO MUCH. These last six years that I've been with you have been the best of my life, and I know that we will still have many happy years ahead of us. Because I want to marry you, build a family, travel the world and conquer the moon!"
Y/n cried helplessly, her eyes red. "Please, don't leave me..."
Ollie couldn't keep his distance any longer. He got up from the chair and lay down next to her, pulling her gently into his arms. Her body fit against his, her sobs still shaky but beginning to calm.
He hugged her tightly, feeling her heart beat fast against his chest. He kissed the top of her head, whispering.
"I will never leave you. Nothing in this world would make me change you. Because you are my home, Y/n. It's where my heart rests. Where my laughter lives. Where I am whole. And even if one day the whole world changes, I will continue to choose you. Every day."
Y/n closed her eyes, still sobbing softly, but holding tightly to his shirt, as if holding on to a promise. Ollie hugged her tighter, stroking her back slowly.
The room, previously illuminated by light, now seemed enveloped in the melancholy she exuded. He took a deep breath, pulling her closer and resting his chin on the top of her head.
"You don't need to be a model, or have eyes the color of the sea..." He began, his voice low and full of sincerity. "Because you are already all I need to see the sky."
Y/n, even with wet eyes, looked up at him, as if that affection was slowly sewing together every broken piece inside her. Ollie wrapped her even tighter, and with a slight smile on his lips, he continued.
"All I can think about is our future. I know how much you love making plans, so listen to mine..." His palm gently caressed her back, his fingers tracing a comforting path. "I want to be with you when you take your first solo flight." Ollie said, looking up at the ceiling as if he could see their sky there. "I want to be in the audience, screaming louder than everyone else, when you get your diploma. I want our house, with kids running around the yard, knocking over flowerpots and staining the walls."
Y/n smiled, even with tears in her eyes, and he noticed. He took advantage of the moment, pressing his forehead against hers.
"I want to be the guy who holds your hand when you think you can't... and reminds you that you can do anything, anything at all."
A softer sob escaped Y/n, as if her heart was being carefully cradled by his words.
"Besides..." Ollie chuckled, lowering his tone to a conspiratorial whisper. "Blue-eyed blondes? Pff. None of them look as good in army uniforms as you do."
Y/n let out a muffled chuckle, hiding her face in his neck, blushing.
"Because let me tell you..." He said with a smug smile. "You look extremely hot and sexy in them!"
She actually laughed now, still shy, and he took the opportunity to kiss her cheek affectionately, a long and secure kiss.
"Here it is..." Ollie murmured against her skin. "My favorite sound from the person I love the most."
Author: I would probably never be chosen, I'm a tall brunette, with brown eyes and from a small family hahahahah Just kidding.
Practice Makes Perfect
Max Verstappen x reader
Summary: Max is teaching you how to sim race, and it’s all cute and fluffy, but you are so bad, so when Max is gone to races and stuff, you are practicing and getting better, and one day you surprise Max by showing the improvement.
Requested: yes
Warning: none
"No, not like that! You're braking way too late again," Max sighed, running a hand through his hair as he watched you spin out for what felt like the hundredth time. His gaming setup was pristine—three monitors, a professional racing wheel clamped to a custom rig, and pedals that had the perfect amount of resistance. It looked like a mini Formula 1 cockpit in your living room.
The virtual car slammed violently into the barrier, parts flying across the screen as the red "DNF" flashed mockingly. This was your fifth crash in less than fifteen minutes.
"I don't get it," you groaned, releasing the wheel in frustration. "I swear I'm following the racing line exactly like you showed me."
Max leaned over your shoulder, his cologne distracting you momentarily from your embarrassment. The warmth of his breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine as he spoke. "You're looking at the wrong thing. You're focusing on where you are now, not where you need to be in two seconds."
"That makes no sense," you huffed.
"Let me show you again." He gently moved you aside and took your place, his hands confidently gripping the wheel. "See how I'm looking ahead? I'm already planning for this corner while coming out of the previous one."
You watched, mesmerized, as he effortlessly guided the car through a series of complex corners. He made it look so natural, so easy.
The next day's lesson wasn't any better. You managed to lock up the brakes on a straight section of track—something Max claimed he'd never even seen before.
"How is that even possible?" he laughed, not unkindly. "You weren't even turning!"
"I panicked," you admitted, feeling your cheeks burn. "I thought I was going too fast."
On day three, you somehow drove the wrong way around the track after a spin. "At least you're being creative," Max teased as you narrowly avoided a head-on collision with an AI car.
By the end of the first week, you'd discovered at least twenty different ways to crash a virtual race car. You'd flipped it over a barrier, beached it in a gravel trap, and once managed to get it stuck between two tire walls in a way that Max had to take a photo of "for posterity."
"Maybe I should just stick to watching you race," you suggested after a particularly spectacular crash that had Max doubled over with laughter.
"No way," he insisted, wiping tears from his eyes. "You're getting better."
"At crashing maybe!"
"Everyone crashes at first," he said, suddenly serious. "I crashed constantly when I was starting out. The difference is, I didn't have anyone watching me fail repeatedly."
You slumped back in the seat. "I'm hopeless at this."
Max's expression softened immediately. He leaned over, his arm brushing against yours as he reset the sim. "You're not hopeless. Nobody gets it right away." His voice had that gentle patient tone he reserved just for you, a stark contrast to his competitive fire on real tracks.
"Easy for you to say, Mr. World Champion," you teased, trying to mask your frustration.
He laughed, the sound warming you from the inside. "I've been doing this since I was a kid. Trust me, I was terrible at first, too." He placed his hands over yours on the wheel, his fingers gently interlacing with yours. The tender touch made your heart race faster than any virtual car. "Like this, okay? Feel the way the car moves. It's a conversation between you and the track."
The next attempt ended with your car upside down in a ditch. The one after that saw you spin out three times in a single lap.
Two days before he was scheduled to leave, you finally managed to complete a full lap without crashing, though your time was nearly double his. Max celebrated as if you'd just won a championship, picking you up and spinning you around the living room. When he set you down, his hands lingered at your waist, and for a moment, his eyes dropped to your lips before he caught himself.
"See? Progress!" he exclaimed proudly, his voice slightly lower than before.
You tried a few more laps, still slow but at least keeping the car on the track. It felt like a minor miracle.
"I've got to head out tomorrow for the race weekend," he reminded you. "Three weeks on the road."
"I know," you said, forcing enthusiasm into your voice. "I'll be cheering you on from here."
Later that night, as Max packed his things, you caught him looking at you with that half-smile that always made your heart skip. His gaze held something deeper than just amusement—something that made your cheeks flush with warmth.
"What?" you asked, your voice softer than intended.
"Nothing," he replied, setting down the shirt he was folding and crossing the room to where you stood. "Just thinking how cute you look when you're concentrating on not crashing." He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek.
You threw a pillow at him, which he caught effortlessly. "I'll have you know, I'm going to be amazing by the time you get back."
He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"Maybe," you said with mock confidence.
He kissed you goodbye the next morning, lingering longer than usual. His hands cupped your face tenderly as he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours. "I'm going to miss this," he whispered. "Miss you."
"It's only three weeks," you reminded him, though your heart was already aching at the thought of him leaving.
"Three weeks too long," he replied with a sigh, stealing one more quick kiss before reluctantly heading out the door, leaving you with his spare key and the sim racing setup all to yourself.
𐙚
The first day alone, you just stared at the equipment. It was intimidating without Max there to guide you. But after scrolling through social media and seeing posts about his qualifying session, determination filled you. You sat down and turned everything on.
"Okay," you whispered to yourself. "Let's do this."
The first week was disastrous. You crashed constantly, forgot brake points, and once even forgot how to shift gears properly. But you kept at it, setting an alarm to practice two hours every day.
You started watching YouTube tutorials while eating breakfast. During lunch breaks, you studied track maps. Before bed, you watched Max's old races, noting his racing lines.
By the second week, something clicked. You weren't good—not by any stretch—but you were finishing laps. Your times were improving by fractions of seconds each day.
The third week, you became obsessed with Spa. You drove it over and over, memorizing every curve, every elevation change. You knew where the shadows fell across the track at different times of day, where puddles would form in the rain simulation.
Max called every night, usually exhausted from his race weekend.
"How's everything at home?" he'd ask, his voice softening when your face appeared on his screen.
"Perfect," you'd reply, carefully hiding the racing gloves you'd bought yourself behind your back, out of the camera frame. "Just missing you." The words weren't just part of the deception—you meant them, counting down the days until he'd return.
"Miss you too," he'd say, his eyes reflecting the hotel room's dim lighting. "The bed feels too empty without you." His voice would often drop to a whisper on those words, as though sharing a precious secret. "Haven't touched the sim setup, have you?"
You laughed nervously. "Why would I do that? You know I'm terrible."
𐙚
The day before Max was due home, you set your personal best—still nowhere near his times, but respectable. More importantly, you'd completed twenty consecutive laps without a single crash.
You heard his key in the lock the next afternoon and jumped up from the couch, heart pounding with excitement.
"Welcome home!" you called, throwing your arms around him.
Max hugged you tight, his face buried in your neck. "God, I missed you," he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes drinking you in as though memorizing every detail of your face. Then he kissed you deeply, backing you against the wall, three weeks of separation dissolving in an instant.
After dinner and catching up, he glanced at his sim setup. "I think I need to blow off some steam. Want to watch me do a few laps?"
You bit your lip, trying to contain your smile. "Actually... I was thinking maybe we could race together?"
He looked surprised but pleased. "Really? You want to try again?"
"Something like that," you said mysteriously.
You sat down at the rig, and you let him choose the track. Your heart leapt when he selected Spa.
"You go first," you insisted.
Max shrugged and proceeded to drive a nearly perfect lap. When he finished, he handed you the wheel with an encouraging smile. "Your turn. Remember what I taught you about the bus stop chicane?"
"I think so," you said innocently.
You settled in, adjusted your position, and started your lap. You hit the first corner perfectly, feeling Max's surprise beside you. By the time you navigated Eau Rouge flawlessly, he was leaning forward, completely focused on your driving.
"How are you—" he began, but stopped himself as you nailed the next series of corners.
When you crossed the finish line with a time only five seconds slower than his, Max's jaw had literally dropped. You turned to him with the biggest grin.
"Surprise?"
"When did you—how did you—" he stammered.
"Every day while you were gone," you admitted. "I wanted to impress you."
His stunned expression melted into something incredibly tender. He pulled you into his lap, nearly knocking over the wheel. His arms encircled your waist as he gazed up at you with adoration. "You practiced all that time for me?"
You nodded, suddenly feeling shy under the intensity of his gaze. "I know how much you love this, and I wanted to share it with you properly."
Max cupped your face in his hands, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me." He kissed you softly, then more deeply, one hand sliding into your hair to draw you closer. When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless. "But you know what this means, right?"
"What?"
A competitive glint appeared in his eyes. "Now we can race against each other for real."
You laughed. "I'm still not going to beat you."
"No," he agreed with a mischievous smile. "But it'll be fun to watch you try."
He pulled you closer, your bodies fitting perfectly together. "Best welcome home ever," he whispered against your lips before kissing you again, slow and deep, the race forgotten for now. His hand traced lazy patterns along your back as you melted against him, feeling as though you'd won something far more valuable than any virtual race.
The next morning, you woke to find Max already at the sim rig, setting something up. Sunlight streamed through the window, gilding his profile as he worked, and you took a moment to admire him—the concentration in his eyes, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his t-shirt stretched across his shoulders.
"What are you doing?" you asked sleepily, hugging the blanket around you as you padded over to him.
He turned with that boyish excitement you loved so much, his face lighting up at the sight of you. "Setting up a two-player race." He reached for your hand, pulling you onto his lap and nuzzling his face into your neck. "I've got a week off, and we're going to make you even better."
You walked over and wrapped your arms around him from behind. "I like the sound of that."
"Plus," he added, turning to face you with a grin, "now I finally have someone who understands why I'm always talking about apex angles at dinner."
"I created a monster, didn't I?"
"Absolutely," he nodded, pulling you down for a quick kiss. "And I couldn't be happier about it."
As you sat side by side, racing together in comfortable silence occasionally broken by his tips or your triumphant whoops when you managed a good corner, you realized that sometimes the best surprises were the ones that brought you closer together—one lap at a time.
𐙚
A few days later, Max walked into the living room with an unusually mischievous look on his face.
"I have an idea," he announced, setting his phone down on the coffee table.
You looked up from your book. "That expression always makes me nervous. What are you plotting?"
"How would you feel about racing with me on my live stream tonight?"
Your eyes widened. "Your stream? With all your fans watching?" Max's regular sim racing streams had hundreds of thousands of viewers—mostly racing enthusiasts and his F1 fans.
"They'd love it," he insisted, already setting up the webcam. "Everyone's always asking about my personal life anyway. It would be fun to show them what we've been up to."
Your stomach fluttered with nerves. "But I'm nowhere near your level."
Max sat beside you, taking your hands in his. "That's not the point. It's about sharing something we both enjoy." His eyes softened. "Plus, I'm kind of proud of how far you've come. Is that weird to say?"
You felt your cheeks warm. "Not weird at all."
"So?" he asked hopefully.
How could you say no to that face? "Okay, fine. But don't blame me when I crash and embarrass you in front of everyone."
He kissed your forehead. "You won't embarrass me."
That evening, Max set everything up—the cameras positioned to capture both your faces and the screens, the chat window minimized but visible enough for him to catch questions.
"Going live in three, two, one..." Max clicked the button and instantly shifted into his stream persona. "Hey everyone! Got something special for tonight's stream." He glanced at you with a warm smile. "Many of you have been asking about what I do when I'm not on track, so I thought I'd introduce you to someone who's become my favorite racing partner."
You gave an awkward wave to the camera as the chat exploded with messages.
"We're going to do something a bit different," Max continued. "A few weeks ago, I started teaching her how to sim race, and today, we're going head-to-head on Spa. One of my favorite circuits, as you all know."
The chat scrolled by too quickly to read, but you caught glimpses of excitement and surprise.
Max guided you through setting up the race, occasionally answering questions from viewers. "Yes, she's been practicing while I was away at races. No, this isn't staged—I genuinely had no idea she was getting this good."
When the race started, your nervousness melted away as you focused on the track. Max took an early lead, but you kept your lines clean, remembering everything you'd practiced.
"She is actually keeping pace!" Max commented on the stream, sounding genuinely impressed. "Look at that line through Eau Rouge—perfect!"
You bit your lip, concentrating hard as you navigated the trickiest sections. The chat was going wild, and Max was narrating both his own driving and commenting on yours with professional precision.
On the final lap, Max was still ahead, but you were much closer than either of you had expected. As you crossed the finish line just seconds behind him, he let out a whoop.
"Did you all see that?" he exclaimed to the camera. "That was impressive!" He turned to you with undisguised pride. "You're getting dangerous, you know that?"
You couldn't help but grin at his enthusiasm. The chat was filled with supportive messages and demands for you to become a regular on the streams.
"What do you think?" Max asked you, nodding toward the comments. "The fans seem to like you."
You leaned against his shoulder, no longer caring about the camera. "I could be convinced to make another appearance."
"Good," he said, wrapping an arm around you while still addressing the stream. "Because I think I just found my new favorite racing rival."
As the stream continued, with Max fielding questions from fans and the two of you taking turns on different tracks, you marveled at how something that had started as his passion had become a shared joy—one that now even his fans were part of.
And when Max looked at you between races with that special smile that made your heart race faster than any sim car could, his fingers intertwining with yours beneath the desk where the camera couldn't see, you knew you'd found something far more valuable than improved lap times. In that moment, with his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand and his eyes full of admiration, you realized you hadn't just learned to master virtual corners—you'd found your way even deeper into his heart.
hello I saw that your requests were open and was wondering if you could do hurt comfort with mafia max verstappan with pregnant reader
It’s not enough
Summary: After a brutal attack on his pregnant girlfriend, Mad Max goes to extreme lengths to ensure her and their baby's safety, revealing the depths of his love and protection.
Mafia!Max x pregnant!reader
Genre: angst, fluff
TW: Mafia, guns, ambush, killings, wounds, etc, you know how it is
A/N: I love this ideas and request y‘all send me!! Don’t stop!!
Navigation
You always knew being with Max meant living with a target on your back.
But you had never felt it press so heavily against you until tonight.
Until the blood.
Until the screams.
Until you felt fear grip you in a way you had never known before—not just for yourself, but for the life growing inside you.
And now, as Max cradled you against him, his hands stained with someone else's blood, his voice trembling with rage and desperation, you realized just how far he would go to protect what was his.
Even if it meant burning the world down.
It had started as a normal evening.
Max had insisted you stay at the estate while he handled a meeting, but you had been restless. You hated being cooped up, feeling like a porcelain doll locked away in a glass case.
So, with heavy security and an armored car, you convinced Max’s men to take you to dinner.
You should have known better.
The attack happened in an instant.
One second, you were stepping out of the restaurant, laughing softly at something one of Max’s guards had said. The next, gunfire erupted, sharp and deafening, shattering the quiet night.
“Get down!” someone shouted.
A hand shoved you behind the car, your heart hammering as chaos unfolded around you. Max’s men fired back, but the attack was coordinated. Precise. They had been waiting.
You barely had time to process it before a hand grabbed your wrist, yanking you back.
“No!” you screamed, thrashing against the masked figure dragging you away.
The panic was instant, primal.
Not just for you—but for the child inside you.
You fought with everything you had, kicking, clawing, but they were stronger. You could hear the desperate shouts of Max’s men, the gunfire ringing in your ears.
And then—
A shot.
Blinding pain seared through your shoulder.
The force sent you crashing to the pavement, a cry ripping from your throat.
Someone was shouting your name.
And then came his voice.
“Kill them all!”
The command was raw, furious—filled with a kind of rage you had never heard from Max before.
The sound of rapid gunfire followed, bodies dropping, men screaming. And then—
Silence.
A shadow loomed over you, and then—warm hands. Shaking. Bloodstained.
“Baby? Baby, look at me.”
Max’s voice was strained, barely controlled. His hands hovered over you like he was afraid to touch you, his breath ragged.
You tried to blink through the pain, vision blurring. “Max…”
“You’re okay,” he choked out, pressing his hands against your wound, trying to stop the bleeding. “Just stay with me. You’re going to be fine. The baby—is the baby okay?”
Tears welled in your eyes, fear gripping you harder than the pain. “I don’t—I don’t know.”
Max let out a sharp breath, his jaw tightening. “Get the car,” he barked at one of his men, his voice deadly. “Now.”
Someone tried to take you from him, but Max growled, holding you tighter. “Don’t touch her.” His voice was low, dangerous. “I’ve got her.”
He carried you into the backseat of the car himself, his grip firm but gentle. The moment the door slammed shut, he pulled you against him, his hand never leaving your stomach.
“Drive,” he ordered.
The car sped through the streets, running red lights, tires screeching. Max held you close, pressing kisses against your hair, whispering to you in Dutch, his voice breaking between promises and threats.
“You’re okay.” A kiss. “I swear on my life, you’re okay.” Another kiss. “I’ll kill them all for this. Every last one.
You weren’t sure if he was trying to comfort you or himself.
But as you clutched his hand, the pain making it hard to breathe, you whispered, “Max… if something happens—”
“Don’t.” His voice was sharp, final. His grip tightened. “Nothing is going to happen. You’re both going to be okay.”
You wanted to believe him.
But you had never seen him this scared before.
The hospital was locked down within minutes.
Max’s men secured the entire floor, and the doctor—one of Max’s trusted personal physicians—was already waiting.
They worked quickly, stopping the bleeding, running tests.
Max didn’t leave your side for a second.
He sat beside you, gripping your hand like a lifeline, his knee bouncing with barely contained tension.
When the doctor finally returned, Max stood so fast his chair scraped against the floor.
“The baby?” he demanded.
The doctor gave a small nod. “They’re okay.”
A choked breath left Max’s lips. He swayed slightly, exhaling like he had been holding it all this time. His hand trembled as he reached for you again.
“And her?”
“She’ll be fine,” the doctor assured. “She just needs rest.”
Max finally let himself breathe. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his hand cupping your cheek.
“You scared me,” he whispered. His voice was hoarse, raw. “I thought I was going to lose you.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m still here.”
He let out a shaky breath. “You always will be,” he vowed.
His lips brushed over yours, the kiss gentle, reverent. Like he was afraid you would disappear if he let go.
But then, his eyes darkened, something lethal creeping in.
“They’re dead,” he said softly, brushing a hand over your stomach. “But it’s not enough.”
You knew what he meant.
This wasn’t over.
Not until he made sure no one ever tried to touch what was his again.
The fallout was brutal.
By the time you left the hospital, entire factions had been wiped out. Those responsible for the ambush were found and dealt with—mercilessly.
Max wasn’t just sending a message.
He was making sure no one ever dared to come near you or your child again.
And when it was all over, when the blood had dried and the city whispered about the storm that had passed through, Max finally came home to you.
He found you in the bedroom, sitting by the window, your hand resting on your stomach.
Silent.
Haunted.
Max knelt in front of you, his hands settling on your thighs. “Talk to me,” he murmured.
You let out a shaky breath. “I was so scared.”
His fingers tightened slightly. “I know.”
“I thought I was going to lose…” Your voice broke. “I thought I was going to lose our baby.”
His jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with something dangerous. “I would have burned the entire world down if that happened.”
You reached for him, threading your fingers through his. “Max…”
His mask slipped. For the first time since that night, you saw the raw fear in his eyes.
“I can’t lose you,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “Not you. Not them.” His hand covered yours, pressing against your stomach. “You’re my life.”
Tears welled in your eyes. You pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around him as he buried his face against your stomach, his body finally trembling.
“It’s okay,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair. “We’re okay.”
For the first time in days, Max finally let himself believe it.
And as he held you, pressing soft kisses against your belly, he swore—
No one would ever come close to hurting you again.
Not while he was alive.
Thank you for reading!
Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane
One Flesh - Angst with Kento Nanami 🤍
The evening had started off tense, but Sara had promised herself she wouldn’t let it get to her.
Nanami’s family wasn’t bad, per se—most of them were welcoming, even kind. But his mother… she had made it clear from the moment they met that she didn’t think Sara was “the right kind of woman” for her son.
Sara had braced herself for the usual passive-aggressive comments, but tonight, it was worse.
"You must be very confident," his mother had said at one point, eyes flicking over Sara’s dress. "Wearing something so… fitted."
Sara had just smiled politely, refusing to let it show that the words had stung.
Later, as they sat down to eat, she overheard his mother whisper to one of Nanami’s relatives: "She certainly doesn’t look like the kind of woman Kento would go for. He’s always been so… disciplined."
Another chuckle, another whisper: "Maybe he just settled."
Sara clenched her fists under the table, her heart sinking. Settled?
She wanted to leave. But she knew Nanami would ask why, and she didn’t want to cause a scene. So she just kept smiling, kept pretending.
Until he walked up to her.
Nanami had been caught in conversation with some of his cousins, but the moment he approached Sara again, he knew.
She looked fine on the surface, but her smile was just a little too tight, her hands wringing in her lap. She wasn’t okay.
"Sara," he murmured lowly, so only she could hear. "What happened?"
Sara swallowed, shaking her head. "Nothing, love. I'm fine."
But she wasn't a good liar—not with him.
And then, as if fate had set itself against his mother, he heard it.
"If she lost a little weight, she'd look so much better in that dress," his mother murmured to a woman beside her. "It’s a shame. Kento could have anyone, and yet…"
That was it.
The room went ice cold.
Nanami’s entire expression darkened. His jaw clenched, his fists curled at his sides, and when he turned to face his mother, his voice was eerily calm—but lethal.
"We’re leaving."
Sara blinked. "Nanami—"
He was already grabbing her coat, helping her into it with careful, almost reverent hands before taking her hand in his.
His mother’s eyes widened. "Kento, you don’t have to—"
"I will never come back here if you continue to disrespect my wife."
The room fell silent.
His mother’s mouth opened and closed, the realization hitting her all at once. She had gone too far.
"I didn’t mean—"
Nanami ignored her completely, already leading Sara outside.
The drive home was silent at first.
Sara was staring out the window, quiet. Too quiet.
And then, he saw them.
Silent tears. Rolling down her soft, beautiful cheeks.
His heart broke.
"Sara," he whispered, guilt lacing his tone. He reached over at the red light, cupping her cheek gently. "I'm so sorry. I should have never brought you there."
She sniffled, shaking her head. "It's okay, Kento. Really, it's fine."
But it wasn't. It wasn't fine.
His lips pressed together in a thin line before he leaned in, pressing soft, lingering kisses to each damp trail on her face.
One on her cheek.
Another near her temple.
Then another, just beside her lips.
Sara let out a soft, surprised chuckle at the tender assault, her hands weakly gripping his wrist. "Nanami, stop, you're driving—"
"I don’t care." His forehead rested against hers, his warm breath ghosting over her skin. "You are the most important thing in my life, Sara." His voice dropped even lower, more intense. "I love you. You are all I need. All I want."
Sara closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his words wash over her.
Then, finally, finally, she whispered, "I love you too."
And just like that, the weight of the night melted away.
--------------------
The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
Nanami sat on the couch, watching as Sara moved around their home with that too-careful air—like she was trying not to be noticed.
It had been hours since they returned from his mother's gathering, and though he had kissed away her tears in the car, he knew.
She was still upset.
"Sara," he called, voice even but firm.
She turned slightly, a forced smile gracing her lips. "Hmm?"
He narrowed his eyes. "Come here."
Sara hesitated. "I'm fine, Kento. Really."
Lies.
His patience thinned.
"Come here, sweetheart." His voice was softer this time, but it was not a request.
He reached for her, meaning to pull her onto his lap—to hold her close, reassure her like he always did—but she stepped back.
Refusing him.
Nanami’s jaw tensed. He did not like that.
He set his glass on the table with deliberate calmness, his golden eyes never leaving her. "Sara."
She exhaled shakily, arms crossing over her chest. "Do you regret it?"
His brow furrowed. "Regret what?"
She swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the floor. "Marrying me."
His breath stilled.
Before he could even form a response, she continued—her voice quieter now, weaker.
"If… if you want to break up with me, it’s okay, Nanami. I’ll leave."
His fingers twitched.
"Sara—"
"I don’t want to embarrass you anymore. Or hold you back." She let out a breathless laugh, but it was hollow. "Maybe your mother is right. You deserve someone better. It’s fine. We can just go our separate ways."
Separate ways.
The words sent an ugly, unfamiliar panic curling in his chest.
But what broke him was her final whisper.
"You’re too good for me… I—I'm sure you’ll find someone as good as you. And I… I can find someone on my level too."
Nanami stood so fast the chair scraped loudly against the floor.
Sara gasped as his strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her into his chest, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe.
His voice was sharp, filled with something dangerously close to desperation.
"Do not say that again."
She swallowed. "Nanami—"
He pulled back, his hands framing her face, forcing her to look at him. His expression was furious. But underneath it, there was something raw in his gaze.
"There is no one else. No ‘better’ person for me." His fingers tightened slightly. "You are it, Sara. You are all I want. And I will never—never let you go."
Sara’s lip trembled. "But your mother—"
"Is not in this marriage." His forehead pressed to hers, his breath fanning over her skin. "I chose you. I will always choose you. And I will spend every damn day proving it to you if I have to."
Her eyes burned with fresh tears.
His lips brushed over hers, soft but urgent.
"Stay with me, Sara."
She let out a broken little laugh. "Do I have a choice?." She said while hiding her face in his neck
His grip on her waist tightened. "You don't. You are stuck with me."
And when he kissed her again, it was with all the love, all the devotion, all the certainty in the world.
Note: This song reminds me of him 🤍
this was meant to be a late night ramble but i got carried away. will format once i'm on my pc, was written on my phone. not proofread or checked for grammar. also i wrote this in two hours so..............
tl;dr: my take on how the both of you will cope with one of max's worst crashes to date.
tw: crash, max having major injuries after the crash, struggles with alcohol abuse.
you had never been one to ever criticize someone for their choice of profession, especially not when it came to something that paid as high as this, but you wondered if you would ever see your boyfriend in one piece after every race.
it was nerve-wracking of course, seeing him go 350km per hour and hoping his car doesn't fuck itself up and end up in a barrier before then catching into flames. he was good at his job, he loved to drive the damn car so why was it such an issue then?
max didn't understand it either. one moment you would be happy for him and the next you'd be ridden with anxiety whenever he would step into the car, he would always reassure you though. the car was fine, he got the world's best engineers working on his car, that he would be safe.
you didn't understand what had happened though, one moment he was overtaking norris and the next he was in the barrier, a gasp escaped your lips and tears brimmed your eyes when you saw car number 1 in the barrier.
you wanted to claw yourself up there and pull him out of the car yourself but you were being restrained by a few red bull mechanics, telling you that it's gonna to be okay and the marshalls were going to get him out in one piece.
"max? are you alright? talk to me mate."
no response. that's when people started panicking.
max wasn't fine, he wasn't okay. so much force had hit him, he was going max speed when he hit those barriers. he couldn't feel his face, couldn't feel his arms and legs. he felt numb, and it scared him. his ears were ringing and the helmet was suffocating him, he needed air. right now.
he didn't know what happened next, through his blurred vision he could only guess that he had been pulled out the car and his helmet was pulled off his head, he could breathe better but not by much.
the next few moments were just a black void.
you were hysterical when you found out that he was being sent to the nearest hospital, the medical center said, 'it's too big of an injury for us to handle here.' you felt like you were the one dying when you heard he had to go through surgery. you knew he shouldn't have picked this profession, it's insane. how was any of this legal and approved by the government? you didn't know.
you weren't given the specifics because you were neither lawful spouse or family, and his family was hours away from being able to come visit him so you had to sit there and wait for him to come to before you could even know what was going on with him. his profession never scared you quite like this did before.
being in a coma wasn't something on his bucket list, he prayed that he would never go through an accident as traumatic to have to be in a coma.
max could hear the voices, they weren't the clearest. he could hear bits and pieces, but never the full conversation. it was almost as if he was half-asleep and the world around him was just so incredibly quiet. he didn't know what he would do or say to you when he woke up, he was most worried about what you would say. maybe kill him before the injuries from the crash could? max wanted to chuckle from that but nothing came out from his lips, just soft breaths. signaling that he was still alive in there to the outside world.
slowly, he would start hearing and feeling less and less of what happened in the world around him. no longer being able to hear your beautiful voice, and that's what hurt the most, not knowing if you were there with him or not.
you had stayed by his side almost everyday when that happened, not wanting to leave even when the visiting hours were unavailable. always waiting nearby in a coffee shop or booking a hotel room the closest to the hospital in order to be there as soon as visiting hours started.
life felt so empty. you were used to his playful banter and teases but you hadn't heard his voice in two weeks now. you weren't religious, having some religious trauma in life, you would never devote yourself to some invisible god ever again, but you prayed. you prayed to that invisible man upstairs to wake him up, that if he were to wake up, you would start going to church, but that didn't come.
you just wanted him to get better, to open his beautiful blue eyes, look at you and tell you that he loved you. faith was hard to come by but you would always come back to that disgusting sterile smelling room and hold his hand gently, some days you would talk to him, some days you would sing to him but it didn't matter what you did because you would always be there. never missing a possible moment where he would wake up.
the doctors said it didn't look good. they hadn't been medically inducing him in a coma for a week now, he should be conscious by the first few days of taking him off the medically induced coma and you didn't know what to think. you were scared.
you had told him so many times that it made you anxious that an accident like this would happen, that he would get in that car and you couldn't see him anymore but you didn't know it was going to be this soon.
at first you couldn't believe it, it had been almost a month since you heard his voice last. he couldn't be, right? he was the most talented driver you knew, there was no way he was in a coma after a big crash. he was always careful, never taking risks that was unnecessary, right?
you were in denial, you knew it. everyone knew it. you were spiraling out of control and there was nothing anyone could do about it, unless they would magically wake max verstappen out of his comatose state.
there was a hole left in your chest when you realized that maybe he was never going to wake up from this, that you would never see his beautiful blue eyes anymore. slowly, you started to lose hope. visits became far and few between, you just wanted to get away. not wanting to see the day that his family decided that there was no more hope for him and to pull the plug.
you buried yourself in work, not wanting to think, not wanting to feel, just wanting to focus on anything else other than the gaping hole in your chest.
drinking became your best friend, hitting up bars as soon as you finished your shift. downing shot after shot, your friends and his friends were all concerned, always asking if you needed anything, if you needed them and that they were there for you, but frankly you didn't care about anyone else.
coming home drunk wasn't something that was far and few between anymore, it would be every other night, then every night and then sometimes you would sneak a flask in when you were at work. just something to numb the pain of losing your boyfriend. it wasn't enough though.
you were angry.
who cared about all of those other people when the person that mattered the most was in a hospital bed? waiting for his own death that wasn't even entirely up to him? you were angry, you wanted to scream at anything, at someone.
why did it have to be him? why did it have to be your max? why did it have to be him at the wrong place at the wrong time? why? why? why? he did nothing wrong, all his life he was a saint. he was never cruel to anything or anyone in his life, all he did was try to please the people around him, why did it have to be him?
you wished you had the answers, you still prayed. almost like a devoted follower of that stupid god most of the population of the earth believed in. you laughed at the irony of your desperation, no amount of praying or bargaining could ever bring him back, it was too late but damn, if you didn't try you knew you'd regret it.
max's family checked up on you often, sophie and victoria being the ones to ask you how you were. you always appreciated them checking up on you when you knew that they were hurting the most out of all of this, they were his family afterall. you were just... the girlfriend. your feelings were not important in this equation.
trudging through life without waking up next to him was painful, the small pitiful meows coming out of sassy and jimmy were almost even more painful. the reminder that you were in his apartment, with his cats but without him. when was he going to wake up? when were you going to wake up from this bad dream?
a ring from your phone had woken you up from your drunken adventures from the previous night, you wanted to yell at them for interrupting your sleep. you wanted to sleep forever, maybe even be in a comatose state similar to max so then you would be able to wake up together.
"hello?" you mumbled through closed eyes, very much annoyed that whoever this person was, waking you up from your sleep. you didn't even bother to check the called id.
"you need to come down to the hospital, right now."
you haven't scrambled up and got dressed any faster than you just did, you didn't bother doing your hair or even brushing your teeth. one second you were in your shared apartment, the next you were in your car, speeding past the streets of monaco to get to the hospital, maybe breaking a few laws and going as fast as an f1 car.
"schatje."
you were crying when you got there, burying your face in max's chest, you wanted to yell at him, for leaving you alone for two months too long but you didn't have it in you. his hand found its way to your hair, petting your head. a gentle kiss was left against your temple as you continued to cry against his chest, you couldn't form words, basically inconsolable.
you were eventually able to peel yourself off of him though, his hand firmly wrapped around yours, mainly for your comfort and not his. the doctor's had explained that he had to slowly learn to walk and speak again because he was in a coma for so long but the first words out of his mouth when he first became conscious was schatje which made you cry a little bit more. some of his friends and family came throughout the day and he could recognize who they were, just had a hard time speaking.
it was only at the end of the day where you two had a time for yourselves, just basking in the presence of each other, finally being able to see his pretty blue eyes look at you.
"lay... ne-next to me..?" max asked, his voice a bit scratchy for not being awake in two months, tilting his head a little to the left, a little quirk of his which you thought was cute and complied with his request. he wrapped his arm around yours after scooting to make space for you, the both of you just laying there in each other's presence, not wanting to let go.
max didn't understand how much time had passed and understandably so, but he missed you. it felt like he had just gone to sleep and succumbed to his injuries but for you, it felt like a lifetime without having to see the love of your life. the atmosphere was quiet, but comfortable. seeing max alive and in one piece was all you needed before slowly drifting off into sleep, and for once the nurses didn't kick you out after checking in on max.
recovery was hard, max had been told that he suffered damage when he got a concussion from the crash. his spine had been mostly intact but since he suffered injuries to his brain, he had to learn how to walk and talk again.
"what about happiness?" a therapist had asked max as he sat across from her. they were doing some exercises to train max's speaking, something that the doctors had mentioned would help max recover faster. max's face lit up before pointing to you, who was sitting next to him, "nice try max, but you understand what i mean."
a giggle left your lips before he tried again, with a pout dancing on his lips, "joy, winning a race?" he tilted his head cutely before the therapist let him have the answer, it was cute. he was cute but he was a fighter.
the moment the doctors cleared him of any sustaining injuries, he was ready to get on the track again, only after six months after the crash.
"you can't be serious max," you shook your head as you paced around the apartment, "it's only been six months... you should just rest for the remainder of the season and get in next year. i don't understand the rush, you have your life in front of you to compete, what's wrong with waiting a few more months?"
max shrugged, he realized after the crash that he in fact did not have his entire life to race. what if his life was taken early and he couldn't spend the rest of his life with her, what then? he didn't want to waste any time. he wanted to get his head in the game while he was at his prime and get it over with before retiring and getting away with her on a private island and living there for the rest of his life.
he didn't want to race for the remainder of his life, nope. he wasn't like alonso who was going to be on the track when he's old and frail and no longer in the top teams. he wanted to win, and that's what he was going to do, to win. he knew that him coming back so soon even after his injuries were going to be hard on you, he was scared to even bring it up in the first place.
it had only been a few months, and he was so ready to come back to racing. his fingers were basically itching for it, but he was very mindful with how you were going to feel, he always was. he hinted at it a couple times before, but her response was always different than what he wanted.
max sighed when you were obviously going to be upset with his decision, "look, i know you're worried and you do not want me in the car so soon, but you have to trust me—"
you set your back straight before looking him dead in the eyes, "i trusted you six months ago! look where that got us!" you didn't mean to yell, but you were scared and you did not want to lose him because he was driving a silly fast car. max looked hurt, and rightfully so. you sighed before you walked over to where he was on the couch, wrapping your arms around him in a hug, which he welcomed with open arms, "i'm just worried, okay? you being in that coma was the scariest thing in my entire life. i even lost hope, do you understand how scary it was for me to lose hope?"
max nods before landing a kiss on your lips, wanting to reassure you that he made a mistake and that it wasn't going to happen again. he didn't mean to leave you for those two months, but he knew that he was never going to do that to you again. he didn't want to hurt you anymore than he already did.
"trust me, i'm not gonna make the same mistake twice and i'm gonna make you proud."
and max never did. he got in the car the next week, ready to fight. baring his teeth for anyone who could get anywhere close to him. he closed out the season with multiple trophies, even though the driver's championship was out of reach.
he celebrated that season with a big smile on his face and you knew it was the right decision to let him get back to racing. as much as you didn't want to admit it, he loved racing more than he loved you and you were okay with that. you were okay with being second to his ambitions and dreams because that's what good girlfriends do, let their boyfriend's risk their lives driving silly fast cars if that meant it made them happy.
unfortunately, you anxiety wouldn't go away even after all the constant reassurance your boyfriend gave you. the nights where you were alone, wondering whether if max was going to pull through still haunted you.
of course, alcohol was still a problem for you. you turned to it when you felt like you didn't have a choice. some nights, on particularly rough anxiety ridden nights, you would sneak out. just grab a drink or two to soothe your heart. it wasn't long before max caught on though.
"where have you been?" max had asked as you entered their apartment after coming home from work, it wasn't like you came home late and came home absolutely drunk which is why you didn't think he was suspicious. there had been a break between the current races, which is why he was home before you were.
a hiccup breaks the silence as you close the door behind you, you lock eyes with max and you can see the disappointment floating in his eyes, that's when you knew that he knew but you weren't sure how much he knew.
"answer the question, liefje," max sternly spoke up once again, walking towards you, in his eyes was a challenge. he was waiting to see whether you were going to lie to his face or not. he could practically smell the alcohol from there, he went out drinking a lot too, being a formula one driver meant parties like there was no tomorrow.
you didn't know what to answer with, so you answered as vaguely as possible, "i was out with some friends," hoping that the answer you gave him would satisfy him enough without him asking too many questions, you tried to brush past him but he held onto your arm.
max had heard stories from his friends, telling him that you weren't at a good spot after the accident. that you turned to drinking and it seemed like nothing could help except for max himself.
he took one whiff and he knew it was alcohol, "which friends?" he asked, not wanting to let you slip from his fingers, he knew how dangerous alcohol addiction was and he wasn't going to let his girlfriend fall into the grasps of it.
"work friends, max— let go. i want to take a shower," you tugged on his hand that was holding onto your arm, but he was unrelenting. he stared you down, not convinced with the bullshit answer you gave him. he knew you had been out drinking, it wasn't even race week. you didn't have an excuse.
max's eyes softened, he knew that somewhere deep inside of you that you were struggling, that you needed help but you just didn't know how to reach out. was it hard to reach out to him? has he made himself so unapproachable after the accident?
"talk to me, what's going on with you?" max's grip on your arm has softened but you could only sigh and look away, you didn't know how to face him. yes, you were struggling but you didn't know how to bring it up. just like everything in your life, you needed someone to comfort you and tell you it was going to be okay and that there were people there for you, but you were stubborn almost in a similar fashion to him.
you only looked back up at him when max squeezed your arm and the eyes that looked back up at him were no longer hard and guarded, but full of vulnerability and glassy, "i—"
"you've been drinking?" max cut you off and finished your sentence for you, now you knew how much he knew of your struggles. you swear it wasn't supposed to get this bad, you promised yourself you would stop on the weeks where he didn't have races, or maybe just stop altogether but that was easier said than done.
"yes," was all that left your lips and that was the day that max swore he was going to get you through this.
max had offered to take a break like you suggested for the rest of the year, just to ease your nerves but you told him that it was a hard no for you. you knew that it was going to get much worse if you got too used to his presence, the cycle would just repeat itself once he got back into racing.
this time there was another road to recovery, just not for him. max had been nothing but helpful, always offering you help, even offering to pay for your rehab. you contemplated whether you even wanted to go or not, you didn't want to feel weak. to feel like there was something was wrong with you, that you were a freak but at the end, after endless heart-to-heart conversations with max, he was convinced you to go.
the first few months were hard, there was no way you could attend the races while going through rehab so you had to just suck it up and go through it without watching. max felt bad, of course he did. that was the love of his life that he put in that rehab center, but he knew he had to make tough decisions if he wanted you to get better.
he felt horrible not having you there for even some of the races, not because he sent you to the rehab center but because he missed you. he knew that the accident hit you hard, but not this hard. he didn't understand how much anxiety racing did to you, and he was beating himself up for it.
he should've seen the signs, should've reached out sooner before they could fester into something as serious as alcohol addiction but there was no use in beating himself up for something he didn't do in the past, as least he was doing it now after he saw the signs of you struggling.
the initial withdrawal symptoms were insane, if you weren't in rehab, you would've probably relapsed the first day there. it was hard for you and you were trying your best, and you did. overtime, you were recovering and that's all that mattered.
max had received updates of course, he requested them. he wanted to see how you were holding up, if there were any signs of improvement. the therapists there all said that you were doing splendid, that she might get out in a few months which was great news to max.
it would only take you another six months to fully recover and the first thing you did when you saw max when he picked you up was jump into his arms, he breathed out a sigh of relief after not seeing you for a couple of weeks. he could live like this.
both of them had their own battles to fight through but the most important part was that they both overcame both battles, never forgetting to support eachother, even when one lost themselves along the way.
Oh my god... this is sooo beautifully written... i cried😭😭
POV
Imagine as you lay across his lap, he breathes hums of your favorite song that he memorized just for you.
Imagine as your vision blurs because he’s such a pretty sight to fall asleep to.
Imagine as a warm smile spreads across your face and you whisper your love to him because he has to know.
You don’t know why the urgency of your feelings is there but the warmth of his hand sweeping your hair across your cheek is enough to halt any thoughts.
Imagine as his eyes grow teary because he loves you so deeply and he cannot picture life without you.
Imagine as he places a shiny ring on your finger because he never plans on leaving your side.
Imagine as you smile warmly up at him and whisper ‘yes’ before you fall asleep to his gentle humming.
Imagine being in love.
Now imagine his point of view.
Imagine as he cradles your head with gentle hands like he’s carrying glass.
Imagine him trying to steady his breathes long enough to hum your song because you look so confused and he just wants to settle your mind.
Imagine he watches your eyes glaze over and his body strains to hold his weight and your own without breaking.
Imagine him glancing away to wipe his tears because your smile is slowly tearing him apart and you whispering your love is the same as whispering goodbye.
Imagine his eyes growing teary because you’re getting colder and colder and he can’t do anything to stop the slowing of your heart.
Imagine him placing a shaky hand on your cheek to ground himself and hold you one last time.
Imagine as he slides a ring onto your finger, the ring he was supposed to propose with tonight at your birthday, the ring that promises you’ll be with each other until the end.
Imagine as sobs heave through him and he struggles to continue humming your song as you whisper ‘yes’, because he finally has his answer but this isn’t how he wanted it.
Imagine as his scream rips through the air when your eyes close.
Imagine being in love until death do you part.
Imagine breaking his heart.
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