Anything II (Knig X Reader)

Anything II (König x Reader)

Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper. The altercation ends in your hospitalisation and when you've finally recovered, Price assigns the same man who destroyed you to teach you how to never let it happen again.

Requested by: Literally fucking everyone.

A/N: I genuinely hope this isn't dog shit and a complete letdown.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?

Warnings: Graphic language, graphic description of PTSD episode, graphic description of unintentional self-inflicted injury.

Previous Chapter

You had thrown up. Twice.

Pressure snaked its way from your chest to your throat and nausea gripped your stomach. You felt deeply unsettled. Your fingers shook, your face was gaunt- you hadn’t slept properly in days. You were a mess.

All because of him.

You cussed beneath your breath, bouncing on your toes lightly. You were due for another training session and considering you’d bailed on the last one, you couldn’t afford to skip it again. You’d received an earful from Price for walking out after your conversation with König.

That fucker had reported back to the Captain that you’d simply ‘discussed the terms of the agreement.’

You slapped your thighs. Then, you hit them harder. The sharp pain jolted your system, and you used the distraction to force yourself out the door. The more you dwelled on it, the more you needed to vomit again.

This time, König was waiting for you.

He sat on the bench, legs spread and his head down. He was fidgeting with his gloves and, had you not known any better, you’d have thought that maybe you’d snuck up on him. But you did know better. König was aware of your presence the second you entered the hallway.  

You sucked in a breath as he finally looked up, pretending that he’d only just noticed you. His features were obscured by his hood, giving you no indication of his reaction. He felt inhuman, there was no tug of his lips or twitch in his cheek- only an emerald gaze that stripped you of your courage. 

“Birdy,” König tipped his head in greeting, your name soft on his lips. Your chest tightened at the sound of his voice. You hated when he spoke like that, low and from his chest. You wished he would yell, you wished he would be boisterous— anything to drown his promises of death in your ear. 

“Your fight is finished.” 

You didn’t acknowledge him. You didn’t say his name. Instead, you slowly entered the room and moved to the farthest side from him. Your heart beat wildly against your ribs and the nausea you’d felt earlier was back in full swing. 

“The sooner we start, the sooner you can leave,” König reminded you, flicking his gaze across your attire. 

“Then start,” you snapped. The man blinked at your aggression and his fidgeting fingers fell still. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. That emerald gaze was pinned to your figure, steady and inquisitive and terrifying. He straightened up from where he was slouched over, his seated form already taller than you standing. 

“What can I do to make you more comfortable with this arrangement?” König spoke slowly, each word enunciated with careful control over his tone. Your heart dropped to your stomach, he was getting frustrated. 

You wanted to spit at him that the only way you’d ever be comfortable was if he were to leave. You wanted to shout at him to fuck right off back to KorTac and never show his face again; that’s what would ease your mind. 

But, as he held his body deathly still, that stare trained on yours- you reminded yourself of what he was capable of. 

“The mask,” you whispered, cursing yourself for the way your voice shook. 

König finally moved, leaning back into the bench as he took in a long breath. He waited for you to continue, to pitch your proposition, but your mouth had gone dry and your tongue had fallen limp. When he realized that you weren’t going to offer anything more, he nodded his head, clasping his hands together tightly. 

“You want me to…” König bounced his leg, clearing his throat as he sat up straight. “You want me to take it off?” 

You nodded your head. König said nothing. The sinking feeling that he just might reject your request began to worry you. He could say no and there would be nothing you could do to argue that, you were still required by order to do these training sessions regardless of whether he agreed to your requests or not. 

You swallowed thickly, scrubbing your nose to break the eye contact between you both. You couldn't stand it. 

"I can't do this if you're wearing that thing," you waved vaguely at his face, keeping your eyes low. "It- I just-" 

Frustration burned in your chest as you flailed to articulate your feelings. You couldn't tell him outright that his stupid fucking mask plagued your dreams every night. You couldn't tell him about the terror that gripped you by the throat whenever you laid eyes on it. 

König didn't let you finish, anyway. He reached for his hood, swiftly pulling it from his head and, again, you were thrown off kilter by his appearance. 

His brows were furrowed as he observed you from beneath his lashes. "I know." 

He knew what you were trying to say. 

"Shall we start?" He asked, slowly standing to his feet. And, despite it being painfully obvious that he was keeping his body language open, you still took an inadvertent step back. You cursed beneath your breath when he straightened up to his full height, the urge to run from the room was almost overwhelming. König triggered your fight or flight response and your body was a slave to its survival instincts. 

You sucked in a breath, forcing yourself to stay still as he approached. 

"What are we doing?" You forced the question from your throat, trying to distract yourself from the hulking figure moving closer. 

"Ground defence." 

Your heart seized in your chest. 

"I don't want to do this," you said as calmly as you could. Your pulse climbed rapidly as König's gaze softened. 

"I know," he murmured. "But neither of us has a choice." 

You didn't give a fuck about him or his choices. You couldn't care less whether he was here of his own volition or if he'd been ordered to take care of your training; you only cared about the fact that he was twice your size and had nearly murdered you once before. 

You couldn't believe that Price was allowing this. 

Betrayal stung in your chest. 

Actually, what you really couldn't believe was how this cunt was even allowed to be here. 

Clearly, you were dispensable. 

Maybe you had overestimated your importance to the team, maybe you had misunderstood the bond between you all. You'd been replaced by your own aggressor and Price had allowed it. 

Clearly, you hadn't meant as much as you thought to the 141.

“Birdy.” 

You jumped, tripping backward into the bench behind you. You stared wide-eyed at König who was equally as startled by your reaction. 

“What?”You snapped, straightening up as though nothing had happened, as though he hadn’t almost frightened you out of your skin. 

He hesitated before continuing, the side eye he shot you was clearly one of concern. Disgusting. “I need you to lie on your stomach.” 

“No.” The word fell from your mouth before you’d even realized it. 

König raised a single brow. “You want this to happen again?” 

He gestured at your swollen cheeks, the fresh scarring from your stitches that littered your face. The man referenced you like an artist would show off their masterpiece. 

“Only to you,” you said, your voice sickly sweet as you forced a bitter smile to your lips. The fluid in your cheeks felt like liquid fire beneath your skin at the movement, but the way his expression fell made the pain worth it. 

“Then get on the floor so I can teach you how,” König crossed his arms, carefully schooling his features to give away nothing- but it was too late. You saw that you’d hurt him with the comment, or at least affected him enough to feel satisfied. 

Your small victory gave you enough courage to lie down. 

Your logic reminded you to immediately regret it. 

Konig’s knee came into your vision as he knelt by your prone body. You couldn’t see his upper body, you couldn’t see where his hands were. He made no noise to indicate what he was going to do and your spine seized along our back.

You didn’t want to do this. 

Not again. 

“König,” you rasped, pressing your hands into the floor. “König, I don’t want to do this.” 

Your breath was too fast, you felt like you were channelling air in through your mouth just to be sent right back out. It was as though you were rapidly suffocating, not getting any oxygen to fill your lungs, the room spinning from where you lay. 

“Birdy, you need this,” König reminded you from above. The words sounded distant and muffled like someone had placed their hands over your ears and spoken softly.

You gasped loudly as the man behind you straddled your back, the mass of his body resting against the lower half of your extremely fragile spine. You wanted to buck and kick and scream until he was forced off of you but your mouth was dry and words evaded you. 

“I want to teach you how to spin onto your back first,” König said, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “You can’t win from your stomach.” 

You couldn’t win on your back either. 

“No,” you said firmly, twisting experimentally from beneath him. “No, get off. I’m not doing this.” 

There was a sharp sigh from behind you and instead of moving from his position, König began applying pressure. Your chest sunk into the ground as he leant just a fraction of his weight onto your body. 

“Then get me off.” 

The floor was hard against your body, it felt like your ribs were collapsing from beneath you. You could barely breathe as it was and now you were gasping like a fish out of water. There were so many things he could do to you from this position, so many ways he could torture you and you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself.

You tried to press upwards with your hands in an attempt to relieve the pressure from your chest. It was fruitless considering the 130 kilograms of muscle pressing your face into the floor, but you tried again. Then again. 

You were beginning to sweat, your palms slipping on the floor. Your arms shook from the exertion and you could feel your resolve slipping, your control spiralling from your grasp. 

“Get the fuck off me,” you wheezed, that same ugly pressure clawing its way up your ribs and into your throat. “König, I’m serious. Get off.” 

“Listen to me and I’ll teach you how to get out of this yourself,” König’s voice was firm. There was no room to argue, the bite in his tone enough to put the fear of God into you.  “Pull your knee up beside you, slide forward to get up onto your knees and roll me off to the side.” 

You followed his instruction, forcing yourself to breathe as evenly as you could. Your skin burned where he touched, your body screaming at his presence atop of you. 

Get him off, off, off. 

The weight of his body eased as he let you perform the maneuver. He was too heavy and you were too tired to pull that move off without his help, but you didn’t care anymore. You’d do anything for him to get the fuck away from you, you’d do anything for him to never touch you again. 

Konig rested his weight back down, straddling your hips as you lay on your back now, facing upward. 

The exact same position of that night. 

Your breathing picked up and your hands began to tremble. The sensation of excess adrenaline flooding your body, a feeling that you were familiar with, rendering you shaking but incapacitated. 

The hood was on his face again and his eyes were wild and manic. You’d never seen that look in a mans eyes before, you knew then that he was going to kill you. The emerald glint of his psychotic glare was all that you could see. It was so dark and he was so fast, you weren’t able to predict his moves because you couldn’t fucking see them. He was a shadow, he was death incarnate. Your body was on fire, your lungs screaming from within your chest. 

The monster’s eyes drifted to your chest and you followed his gaze. The handle of a knife jutted from above your breast bone and you snap your eyes back to his. Blood sprayed in the space between the both of you as he twisted the knife in your chest. You’d forgotten the noise that it had made, your punctured lung sucking air from the bloody wound with a wet gasp. 

König’s eyes were hard as he reached for your face, fingers outstretched and closing in across your vision. 

Not again. 

Not again. 

“Birdy!” 

You bucked, you heaved, you fought off his grip. You knew what was going to happen, you knew what came next. This time, your brain matter would be smeared across the floor, this time he would finish you off. 

You clawed at the fingers wrapped across your face desperately, trying to draw enough blood for him to flinch away. You ripped at his skin as hard as you could manage, screaming against his palm. 

“Birdy, stop!” 

Nothing was working, nothing could stop him. You dragged your nails across his fingers, driving them into the divots of his cuticles in an attempt to deglove his skin from bone. 

“Jesus Christ, get a fucking sedative!” 

When König smashed your head into the concrete, you were grateful for the darkness that ensued. 

You didn’t have that privilege last time. 

____

The first sense you regained was smell. 

And, by God, did you fucking hate that smell. 

The scent of disinfectant flooded your olfactory system so viciously that you were forced up in your seat. You scrubbed at your eyes desperately, praying to whoever the fuck was listening that you weren’t where you thought you were. 

White lights flooded your vision and you cringed back into the cushions, pressing your palms into your eyes. 

“Easy, Birdy. Easy.” 

That familiar cockney accent served as a warning. Gloved hands tugged your fists down from your face and you tried to regain control of your breathing, eyes squeezed shut.

“Ghost?” You rasped. Your voice was barely a squeak, and you realized with a frown that you’d lost it somehow. 

“Thought I’d come pay you a visit.” 

You slowly attempted to regain your sight, blinking away the blurriness and the harshness of the down lights. You gingerly observed your surroundings, heart sinking to your stomach as you recognised the room. 

You’d been on this bed for weeks during your recovery from the incident. 

Same hospital, same room, same bed. 

You felt nauseas. 

Swallowing the bile threatening to make an appearance, you dragged your gaze to the seat by your bed. Ghost sat so still you could have mistaken him for a piece of furniture had you not been actively looking for him. 

The man watched you carefully, his hoodie raised over his head and the balaclava perched firmly over the lower half of his features. 

“When did you get back?” You asked, cringing at the broken sound of your voice. Ghost exhaled through his nose and his eyes softened under your scrutiny, an expression you’d never seen before flickering across his gaze. You were disoriented, still unsure of how he had gotten there or what you were doing there. 

“Yesterday.” 

You froze, eyes widening as Ghost waited for you to come to the realization. 

“How long have I been in here?” You cried, the words gutted by your vocal fatigue. “What the fuck happened?” 

“You need to take a breath,” Ghost leaned forward, his hand pressing lightly against your shoulder, prompting you to lay back into the cushions. 

“No, you need to tell me what happened, Simon,” you reinforced, throwing a hand to your chest. You pressed against the skin, as though you could force your lungs to slow down with just a touch. 

Ghost made a noise from the back of his throat, strangled and uncomfortable. You could tell that he hadn’t expected you to wake up while he was there. 

“You…” And for the first time in nearly a decade, you heard Simon Riley hesitate. 

Your mouth was dry as you realised the severity of what had happened, the anxiety of not knowing what you’d done ripping at your chest. Your eyes were pleading now, begging him to just come out with it, to tell you the truth. 

That stormy gaze was sympathetic. It made you tremble. 

“You had an incident, Birdy.” Ghost said slowly, deliberating over his words carefully. “An episode.” 

“An episode?” You questioned, narrowing your gaze. “The fuck do you mean an episode?” 

Ghost didn’t shift in his seat the way König did when under pressure, he didn’t fidget or bounce his leg. Simon Riley sat still like a cold-blooded creature, watching you from the darkest corner of the room with a cool, steady gaze. 

“PTSD, Birdy.”

You blinked slowly. 

“During your ‘training’ with that cunt,” Ghost spat the words, his eyes shifting to the side as he centred himself. “We heard your screaming as we were on the way back in.” 

“We?’ You rasped, dread settling in your stomach. 

“Me and Johnny,” Ghost clarified. He exhaled softly, shaking his head. “You had to be sedated, kid.” 

The skin on your cheek stung sharply before you could process that bombshell. You frowned, attempting to ignore it in favour of uncovering what had happened. Ghost was never one to beat around the bush, always outright and as ‘blunt as a cunt’, in Soap’s words. 

So, why was he now omitting a key part of the story? 

The skin beneath your eyes stung again, this time demanding your attention. You began to sweat at the sudden severity of the pain, hands flying to your face to diagnose the issue.

Ghost moved before you could blink, striking out like a cobra. His hands gripped your wrists, keeping them from scouring over the skin. Your eyes were wide as you appraised him, bent over your bed, your hands suspended in his grip between the both of you. 

Your eyes narrowed. He mimicked the expression. 

You shoved at his body, ripping your hands from his hold. You needed to get to a mirror. Throwing yourself off the side of the bed, you gasped as your knees buckled from their sudden use. Simon gripped your bicep, pulling you upright with ease, but you tugged against him immediately. 

“Don’t fucking touch me.” 

He retracted his hand as though he’d been burned. 

You stormed into the bathroom, the door smashing against the rubber stop glued to the wall. The lights flickered to life as you bashed the switch with the bottom of your closed fist. 

You could have thrown up. 

Gauze pads covered both your cheeks, stained pink from what you realized was blood. Your face was bleeding. A whimper fell from your lips as you reached for the dressing, peeling it slowly from your skin. Your mouth fell open at the slow reveal of what hid beneath the gauze. 

A strangled cry ripped from your throat. 

Claw marks. 

Jagged, deep wounds, tearing down the length of your face; raw, bleeding and fresh. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

Distantly, you could see Ghost standing behind you in the mirror, his gaze solemn and his hands clenched. You couldn’t ask the question, couldn’t form the words but you didn’t have to. Simon had understood you back when you were eating from a straw, your eyes so puffy you couldn’t open them for days. 

His hand came to rest on your shoulder, the only comfort he could offer as you stared at your mangled reflection, yet again. 

“You were screaming for him to get off,” Ghost began, his fingers tightening against your burning skin. “The fucker was standing next to me.” 

Blood dribbled down the distinct lines engraved into your flesh, tracing the length of your throat and disappearing down your hospital gown. The both of you watched it trail your prickled skin, but you couldn’t move, suspended in time and trapped with the image before you.

Simon’s voice was barely a whisper when he spoke.

“You thought his hands were on your face.”

_____

NEXT CHAPTER

____

Taglist:

@carnnieval @mmmothballz @corgideer @classickook @je-suis-argent-miel @actuallyanita @o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o @msecho19 @svnflowery @lenasvoid @teacupcollector @voxsdarling @qualityearthquakes @misshoneypaper @eldritch-bunny @vienettacream @untoldshortsofthefandoms @blue-heart-butterfly @deceiverofgods @brainstormbby @angsty-microwave @amatis-gray @xoneaboveallx @avengingwitcher @iwantmethgivememeth @kyojooto @sinnerburrito

Please tell me if you'd like to be added or taken off x

Viper // Part 1 // MAX VERSTAPPEN – N.01 (N.033)

Author’s Note: I am weak for a good Max x Driver Reader pairing. Like, the enemies to lovers plot writes itself with him. 100% my favourite trope in the world of F1 fanfic. So, I started writing what in my head was going to be a short ish one-shot, but before I knew it, I was at 15k words and not even a quarter of the way through this idea I had so now this is going to be a multiple part thing.

Also I'm still new to tumblr and I haven't figured out the whole taglist thing yet (I saw a couple of comments on my last post), but I'm gonna get on that before I post the next part.

Summary: Y/N fills the vacant Red Bull seat at the beginning of the 2019 season, craziness ensues.

Characters: Max Verstappen x driver reader, Daniel Ricciardo x driver reader (besties).

Word Count: 15.9 K

Warnings: Fluff, Comfort, Drama, Angst. All the good stuff. Mentions of sex, Language, etc.

“Am I stupid for doing this?” You asked, sitting on the hallway floor with your back against the wall, across from your best friend and life confidant. Your knees were tucked up with your arms wrapped tightly around them, and you were quick to bury your head in your arms to avoid the rest of the world around you. It was rather lucky that you’d bumped into him here, during his final visit to the Red Bull headquarters before he officially moved to Renault. You’d been invited for a meeting with the big bosses, and to your complete and utter surprise they’d offered you a two-year contract with the main Red Bull team to be one of their drivers.

You’d asked for a minute to think about it while your manager and lawyer reviewed the paperwork before giving them an answer, knowing that whatever you decided would change your life forever. Spotting Daniel as you’d walked out of the conference room, you’d blindly dragged him through some hallways until you found a deserted one and explained the entire situation to him.

Even though your question had been more rhetorical, that didn’t stop Daniel from laughing at your dramatics and providing an answer to your question. “Absolutely.”

“Fuck off, I’m being serious Dan.” You groaned.

Daniel seamlessly changed gears, picking up on the fact that you needed a little bit of encouragement. “Y/N, you’ve wanted this for as long as we’ve known each other. You’re the best fit for this seat.”

“Am I?” You couldn’t help the question, voicing the doubts that had been swirling in your meeting since your latest meeting with the Red Bull team executives. “Helmut all but said they wanted me for the good PR after your shit show of an exit. They’ll never take me seriously.”

Daniel shrugged. “Who gives a fuck what that old cunt thinks? It’s a seat on the grid. Take it and shove it in their faces.”

Daniel’s colourful language earned a slightly raised brow from you, but it didn’t help to squash your concerns. You let out a long breath, before further explaining the narrative roaming wild in your mind. “You don’t get it. Helmut’s not the only one who’s going to think that. Everyone will, all the fucking time. People are going to hate it if a girl joins Formula 1. It was already bad enough when I joined Formula 2 last year and won the championship …”

You remembered the headlines easily because they’d been following you your entire racing career. It was clear, that a lot of people didn’t think you deserved your place in the sport. There were articles about how the FIA made certain race decision based on your gender (even though you received the most penalties between the top ranked drivers on the grid.)

“This is the most sexist sport on the planet, and if I sign that contract, I’m stuck fielding questions about being a woman in racing for the next couple of years. They won’t care that I’m as good a driver as anyone else out there” You mumbled, hoping that Daniel would understand how different things would be for you if you went through with it. “It’s exhausting just thinking about it.”

He was quiet for a minute, considering what you’d just told him. It was rare that you saw your friend like this, taking something seriously. He usually had a joke ready to go to cheer you up. This was a little bit more complicated than that.

“Do you want to race in Formula 1 or not?” He finally asked.

“Of course, I do.” You answered immediately.

“Well then, fuck em all.” Daniel shrugged.

You furrowed your brow, failing to see where he was going with this. It wasn’t that easy.

“Stop overthinking it. People are going to talk, there’s no way to control it. It’s the nature of the sport. Regardless of why they want you, you still have a chance to make history and have a seat on the Formula 1 grid next season. So, I say, fuck em all. Take the seat, win the races and show everyone that they’re fucking idiots for doubting whether or not you deserve to be there with the rest of us. While they’re busy making something out of nothing, focus and kick some ass. Prove to all the little girls watching that they can drive circles around all the boys and win in Formula 1.”

A smile slowly came across your face as you listened to your best friend hyping you up. He was right. None of that stuff actually mattered, it was just a bunch of noise that you needed to ignore. You were being offered a chance to live out your dream and you were crazy for even taking this long to consider it.

“I’m gonna do it and become the first female World Driver’s Champion.” Your smile widened when you caught Daniel’s own grin widening at your words. “You just can’t complain when I come to you needing another pep talk after an inevitably long media day where the only questions they want to ask me are about the mascara I wear on race day instead of the real racing questions.”

“I’ve got your back.” Daniel promised, sincerity seeping into his voice. He stood, offering you his hand to help you up as well.

You took it, letting him pull you back up onto your feet. Together, you started walking back towards the conference room. It wasn’t until you saw a poster of your future teammate on one of the walls that another realization clicked in your mind.

“Verstappen is going to hate me for this.”

“He’s not going to hate you.” Daniel laughed, finding it absurd. He was probably the best qualified person to tell you that, seeing as he’d been Max’s teammate for the last few years. They’d gotten quite close over that time. “He just knows you’re going to give him a run for his money, and he doesn’t like playing second fiddle to a team.”

Right. We’ll see about that. The Dutch driver had always gone out of his way to avoid you whenever you visited Daniel in the paddock. You could probably count on one hand the number of conversations the two of you’d had. You almost physically shook the thought out of your mind when you and Daniel made it back to the conference room. You’d worry about that later.

Daniel gave your arm a gentle squeeze, reminding you that you were in control of the situation here. “Go get em’, Viper.”

You bumped her fist against his, a small smile on your face, before pulling the conference room door open.

You were about to officially become a Formula 1 driver.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

BREAKING NEWS: REIGNING FORMULA 2 WORLD CHAMPION Y/N Y/L/N SIGNS MULTI YEAR CONTRACT WITH ASTON MARTIN RED BULL RACING, FILLING THE RECENTLY VACATED SEAT OF DANIEL RICCIARDO. Y/L/N WILL BE THE FIRST FEMALE DRIVER TO JOIN THE GRID IN THE MODERN ERA OF FORMULA 1

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

Ahead of the first race weekend of the 2019 season, you’d had not one but two full media days.

You’d already been in Australia for the past week, spending time with Daniel at the farm before the season took over their lives for the next 9 months. Red Bull had wanted to get ahead of some content for their media outlets, and therefore had planned a full day of filming and interviews ahead of the standard race weekend media day. Though it wasn’t your favourite way to spend time ahead of a race weekend, you understood that it was a necessary (albeit stupid) part of the job.

However, this meant you had to spend a whole day with Max, on camera, pretending you were the best of friends.

Since the news had broken that you would be joining the grid this season with Red Bull, most of the other drivers had reached out to congratulate you on this amazing accomplishment. In fact, you’d heard from every single one of them, except your teammate. It’s not like you expected to have the same friendly relationship that he’d previous had with Daniel, but some acknowledgement would have been nice.

You didn’t end up seeing him in person until the big reveal event for this year’s car. And even then, you’d smiled together and posed for countless pictures with the sponsors but barely a word had been said. You’d tried to start a conversation between pictures, asking him if he was looking forward to the start of the season. He’d responded with a recycled answer that they’d both been giving out to the sponsors they spoke to today. It seemed that Max wasn’t interested in getting to know his new teammate at all. She decided then that if he didn’t want anything to do with her, she wouldn’t waste any more energy on that.

They’d gotten away with it during the pre-season testing, both camps solely focused on getting the most information out of the car and its performance in the limited time that they’d had there. It wasn’t the time to socialise, everyone focused on all the work that still needed to be done ahead of the season. You’d barely even seen the other drivers during testing, so you didn’t think much of it.

So, it’s safe to say that this media day with the Red Bull team was going to be awkward.

You’d been the first to arrive, iced coffee in hand.

Max had shown up not long after you, dressed head to toe in Red Bull gear. You’d kept it simple today, with your high waisted denim shorts and a Red Bull tank that you’d tucked in. You’d skipped the hat, sunglasses currently propped up on your head. He didn’t even acknowledge you, getting settled into the seat next to yours where they were setting up to film.

You put your coffee on the ground, out of the shot, as the content director talked them through the videos they were going to be filming today. The first one was going to be a quiz of sorts, as a way to introduce the two drivers to the fans ahead of this season. Though most people already knew Max, you were new to the Formula 1 circuit. Except, instead of answering questions about yourself, you had to answer the question about your teammate.

Your eyes had gone wide at that, because you only knew a little bit of basic stuff about Max. Things that you’d heard Daniel talking about over the years or that were general knowledge. There was no way you’d be able to answer more personal questions if they came up. But, it wasn’t like you had much of a choice. When the camera started rolling, you watched as Max’s face completely changed. Gone was the bored expression, replaced with a rehearsed camera-ready smile.

You didn’t really have much time to let that distract you, following his cue and getting right into the video and introducing yourself after Max.

The content director started asking you both questions about the other off camera, starting with the basics.

“What’s Max’s racing number?”

“33.” You answered

“Y/N’s?”

“13.” He answered just as easily.

“Where did Max grow up?”

“Well, that’s a trick question, isn’t it? You were born in Belgium and technically lived there, but you’re Dutch cause the town you grew up in was on the border between Belgium and the Netherlands. I know you have a Dutch license.”

 Max’s smile almost looked real. “Correct.”

“Same question for you Max.” Their content director called out.

“Y/N’s from Ottawa, Canada.” He answered without hesitation, before turning his head slightly towards her. “But you lived in Australia for a while, right?”

“I did, from age 9 to 14. My dad got transferred to Perth for work, and we happened to move into the house next to the Ricciardo’s. Our families are pretty close. I got into karting basically as soon as we’d moved there and used to compete against Daniel. I started beating him my second year.”

“So did I with Formula 1.” Max quipped dryly.

“Hopefully it doesn’t take me two years this time around.” You laughed, hiding your surprise well when Max laughed along with you.

“How many languages does Max speak?”

Your eyes widened slightly. “Two? Obviously English and Dutch.”

“Falsch. Es gibt drei. Ich spreche auch fließend Deutsch” You blinked, not having a clue in the world what he’d just said. “I said you’re wrong. I know three. I’m also fluent in German.”

The more you know.

“And Max, how many can Y/N speak?”

“Three and a half.”

“And a half?” You raised a brow at your teammate.

Max nodded once, confident in his answer. “English, French, Spanish and you’re working on learning Italian. Daniel’s your teacher so I think that’s only worth half a point.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again at his explanation, reluctantly giving him the point because he was right.

They answered a few more easy questions, and something became clear to you. While you struggled to name Max’s favourite song, his favourite food or who he’d looked up to growing up, he seemed to know all of the answers when the question was applied to your life. You didn’t know how he knew, considering the lack of communication between the two of you leading up to filming this video. You even said so, as they were wrapping this one up.

“You did better than I was expecting.” You told him honestly. “Especially when considering we’ve only been teammates for a few weeks. I’m impressed.”

“What can I say, I’m observant.” Max shrugged a shoulder, playing it off like it was no big deal.

The content director yelled cut, signaling that they’d wrapped filming this video. You had been about to make a joke to Max, until you noticed his practised composed mask slipping back on his face. Here you thought you’d started to get to know your teammate better, and it looked like he’d just been putting on a show for the cameras.

Well, if that’s how he wanted to go about things, two could play that game.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

“That’s P4, Y/L/N. What a fucking debut race finish!”

You yelled incoherently into your radio, feeling on top of the world as you crossed the checkered flag. Sure, it wasn’t a podium like your teammate had managed to pull of (finishing just ahead of you in P3), but it was still so much more than everyone had been expecting of you during your first race. “Holy fucking shit! What a race! Couldn’t be happier to be a part of this team. Thanks guys, for all the work you put in today. Definitely won’t be forgetting this anytime soon.”

“What a fantastic race, Y/N. You’ve blown us all away. Enjoy it, Congratulations!” Christian chimed in on her radio.

“Thanks Christian!” You said through a wide smile, knowing that your smile wasn’t going anywhere for a while.

After the cool down lap, you’ll pulled into the parc fermé and parked your cars with the others. After shutting the engine, you pulled yourself out of the car, only to immediately be pulled into a hug by none other than your favourite Australian.

“What a fucking finish Y/N!” Daniel was yelling, loudly enough that you heard him through your helmet.

You pulled off your helmet and balaclava the second he let you go, your wide smile matching his. “P fucking 4!” You exclaimed proudly. “Though, I am sorry about your DNF.”

“It happens.” He shrugged it off, even though you knew it was bothering him a lot more than he was letting on. Australia was his home race, after all. But before you could push him on the subject, he changed it to something else entirely. “Oh! You have to swing by Renault before you head out later. Mum and Dad are here, and they’d like to say hi.”

“For sure.” Your smile grew at the thought of seeing the people you considered to be your second set of parents (even when you’d seen them the week before in Perth). You could never get enough of Grace and Joe. “You’re going to come out to the party later, right?”

Daniel gave you his signature smile. “Wouldn’t miss it. Now, get on with the post-race shit and go enjoy your moment!”

Oh, you were definitely going to enjoy this one. You gave him one last quick hug before making your way over to your team to celebrate this finish. A couple of other drivers came by to congratulate you on your finish, and you could see that they pretty much all respected you now after the race you’d just completed. You’d gone from starting P9 on the grid, to overtaking your way through the top of the midfield and finishing P4.

Yeah, your smile wasn’t going anywhere for a long time.

You went through your post-race routine. Scales, cool down, and media pen. You’d taken your hair out of the bun it had been sitting in for the past couple of hours in your helmet, running your fingers through it and hoping it didn’t look too terrible as you stuck your Red Bull cap onto your head. Your engineer handed you a Red Bull bottle filled with water. You had to remind yourself to sip it slowly, so that you wouldn’t drink it too fast and make yourself sick in the middle of the post-race interviews.

You’d caught the podium celebration on one of the screens while you were waiting to start your interviews, smiling as you realized maybe one of those celebrations wasn’t that far away for you if you managed to keep driving like this. You didn’t want to let this amazing start getting to your head, but you couldn’t deny that it was doing wonders for your confidence.

Max caught up to you after the podium, because he also had his own set of interviews. “P4! Congrats.” He said with a genuine smile, bumping his fist against yours.

The kind gesture caught you by surprise. Thankfully, you managed to mumble out a congratulations for his podium finish as well. The whole hot and cold thing was really starting to confuse you. Did Max want to be friendly in the paddock, or did he prefer to keep to himself? You couldn’t keep up.

You didn’t let that affect your good mood, smiling through all of your interviews. Your smile grew when the journalists started asking you real questions about the race, not only focusing on the fact that you were a woman. Sure it had come up, but it wasn’t the sole focus anymore. They were starting to believe that maybe you’d earned your place on the grid after all.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

The next couple of races were a whirlwind, and you were enjoying every single moment of it. You’d secured another P4 finish for the team in Bahrain, followed by a P6 in China in some tricky conditions battling a loss of power. You’d gotten your first podium in Baku, finishing ahead of your teammate in P2, burning the moment you’d sprayed champagne with Max and Lewis into your mind forever. Your first podium was followed up with a second one in Spain, finishing this time in P3, Max ahead of you in P2.

Due to a couple of fastest lap points, you were tied with your teammate for points after the 5th race of the season. Red Bull was thrilled, currently second in the constructors’ rankings. Helmut Marko was eating his words, taking back every bad thing he’d said prior to your signing because it turns out a woman could drive better than any of the men they’d considered for that vacant seat.

The thought brought a smug grin to your lips every time you saw the senior executive in the paddock.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

The week leading up to Monaco was probably one of the most exhausting on the calendar.

Because of the spectacle that was the Monaco Grand Prix, the week leading up to it was filled to the brim with events that Red Bull wanted their drivers to attend. The first couple of days weren’t so bad, lunches and dinners with some of the more generous sponsors. However, on the Wednesday night there was a Gala hosted by the royal family that all the drivers were required to attend.

The team had sent over your outfit for the evening, and you hated to admit that you’d spent a good chunk of time starring at it trying to build up the guts to put it on. These types of events were already so far outside of your comfort zone, and the dress was unlike anything you’d worn before. It was designer, a silk thing made in that signature Red Bull blue colour, with a million complicated looking straps along the back and a long off centered slit that went very high up your right leg.

Daniel had found you like that, sitting on the edge of your bed in his guest room staring at the garment bag.  

“You’re not dressed yet?!” He exclaimed, glancing at the time on his watch. “We’re going to be late.”

“I don’t like the dress.” You mumbled out a lame excuse. It was fine, but just wasn’t something you’d pick for yourself.

“It can’t be that bad. Red Bull has the budget…” Daniel didn’t get it, opening the bag and taking a look at the dress. “What are you going on about? It’ll look fantastic. You’re going to steal the show.”

You cringed. “That’s literally the last thing I want to do.”

Now Daniel was rolling his eyes at you. “That’s too fucking bad. Hurry up and put the dress on. It’s an open bar, the food is decent and I don’t want to be late for the royal family.” He yanked you up from the edge of the bed and shoved you into the guest bathroom, handing you your dress.

Grumbling to yourself about how annoying your best friend was, you slipped out of your bathrobe. Then you carefully took the dress off the hangar and undid the small hidden zipper. You slowly stepped into it, pulling it up over your hips and putting your arms through the thin straps where your arms were supposed to go. You managed to pull the zipper up yourself because most of your back was exposed. However, Daniel would have to help you lace up the straps from your shoulders that were supposed to crisscross across your back.

“Happy?” You muttered, stepping out of the bathroom and immediately turning around so that Daniel could do up the straps. He took the cue, taking a couple of minutes to figure out how it was supposed to look and silently getting to work. It took a couple of minutes, but he eventually worked it out and secured the straps with a small bow at the bottom of her back.

You made your way over to the full-length mirror in the room, taking in your appearance. The dress fit you like a glove and was more comfortable than you’d been expecting. Not to mention your hair was styled in long soft waves, and makeup looked as good as it ever had. You almost didn’t look like yourself. “I guess this will do…” You said quietly as you slipped into the silver heels that Red Bull had sent over with some fancy red soles.

“Breathe, Y/N.” Daniel took an extra minute to make sure you weren’t about to have a meltdown. You appreciated it, thankful for the fact that Daniel was able to read you like an open book. “It’s just another stupid party with an open bar.”

“With the royal family.”

“Exactly.”

You narrowed your gaze. “Not helping.”

Daniel’s face lit up the way it usually did when he had an idea. He rushed out of the guest room, but not for long. He returned a few moments later carrying a bottle of tequila and offering it to Ryan. “Take a shot.”

“You want to pregame the royal dinner?”

“Desperate times.”

You eyed him for a long moment, knowing that this was definitely not a good idea. But, that didn’t stop you from accepting the bottle and taking a long and painful swing. You made a face, passing it back to Danny and gesturing for him to take one too. He did, making the same face as the foul liquid burned its way down his own throat.

You took the bottle back, mumbling a quick “one more for the road” before taking one last gulp and placing it down on the dresser. You grabbed your phone from the dresser and a tube of lipstick, handing both items over to Daniel because this stupid dress didn’t have any pockets. With one last calming breath, you decided that it was finally time to head out.

“Let’s go before I change my fucking mind.”

“Atta’ girl.” Daniel smirked, holding his arm out for you to link yours through.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

“No one said anything about a fucking red carpet!” You hissed quietly to Daniel, nerves resurfacing. “I definitely need another shot.” You added, eyeing all the photographers that were waiting along the carpet. You were standing at the start of the carpet with a handful of other drivers, some of them still working on picking their jaws up off of the ground at the sight of you in a dress.

Charles was the next to arrive, straightening out his suit as he stepped out of the town car that had dropped him off. He immediately started greeting the group of drivers.

“Oh my gosh, Y/N. You look like a girl!” He gasped when he reached you and Daniel.

You fought back a grin, trying to appear insulted by his comment when you saw his eyes widening as he realized how that sounded. “Thanks?”

“Not that you don’t always look like a g-girl, obviously. It’s just… y-you look…” He stuttered, terror slowly creeping onto his face.

“She looks hot, we get it.” Max chimed in, appearing from out of nowhere, seeming to enjoy the scene unfolding in front of him as Charles struggled to recover from his blunder. You felt your cheeks heating at the weird, almost back handed compliment you’d indirectly received from your teammate.

You scanned his suit, noting that he’d gone for a classic black suit and white shirt combo, before realizing that his tie matched your dress perfectly. You were going to kill whoever thought it was a good idea to make the two of you look like matching prom dates.

“Y/N, you ready to head inside?” Max asked, already looking bored with this whole thing. “Christian wants us to do the pictures together… Something about wanting his drivers to provide a united front to the press.”

“What?” For some reason, this threw you for a loop. You’d been psyching yourself up to walk the carpet with Daniel by your side, not Max. Everyone knew that Daniel was your best friend. Max was… well he was nothing but your teammate. “Danny, I’m not kidding about needing another shot. I hate everything about this.” You gestured vaguely towards the building where this stupid event was being held.

“Sorry, Viper. It’s an open bar so I didn’t bring a flask.”

You threw your head back in disappointment.

But before you could wallow in your self-despair for too long, you felt a cold metal container being shoved into your hand. Your head snapped back up, discovering that Max had been the one to offer you’re his flask, his gaze urging you to hurry up before you got caught. You shot off a grateful smile, twisting the lid off and taking a swing.

You almost coughed, caught off guard by whatever type of vile alcohol he’d put in the flask. “The fuck is in this, Verstappen?!”

“Gin?”

You made a face, a shudder rolling through your shoulders. That explained it. You hated gin. You had too many bad memories associated to the spirit. Regardless, you brought the flask back to your lips for one last sip. “Disgusting.” You mumbled, twisting the lid back on and handing it back to Max. “Thanks.” You added, tone slightly softer.

He nodded, tucking it back into his suit jacket, out of sight. “Ready now?”

“Yep.” You hummed, forcing a very obviously fake smile onto your face. Your answer almost changed to a hard no when he wrapped his arm around your waist and started leading you onto the carpet, but by then you’d caught the photographers’ attention and there was no going back.

“Relax.” Max said through his smile, as cameras started flashing in front of them.

You couldn’t. “I’m a driver. I’m not used to all of this.” It was overwhelming. The alcohol wasn’t kicking in quickly enough, and you could feel your heartrate starting to rise.

Max must have caught a glimpse of panic in your gaze, because suddenly his full attention was on you instead of the photographers. “You need to breathe, Y/N. It’s another facet of the job. Us drivers are public figures whether we want it or not. Come on, breathe in… and back out… keep going. Smile.” As he spoke, his tone softened so much it was barely recognizable. You could feel his hand tightening slightly on your waist, grounding you.

His concern was easily the most genuine emotion you’d seen from the driver. You don’t know how he did it, but he managed to get you out of your head long enough to avoid having a panic attack in front of everyone. You managed to put your rehearsed smile back onto your face, treating this like it was work. You started to focus on the task at hand, like you would if you were racing. Who knew Max could dole out good advice like this?

The carpet was by far the worst part of the evening, but you’d survived thanks to the help of your teammate. Afterwards, you’d schmoozed with some of the elite guests, eaten a delicious dinner, drank a lot more alcohol, and danced the night away with the drivers who’d become your friends over the last couple of months, Max included in the group.

Maybe there was hope for you two to be friends after all?

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

“Hamilton is getting way too close. Tell Max to hurry the fuck up or I’m not going to be able to hold him off anymore.” You bit harshly into your radio, frustrated with the slower pace of your teammate. He was currently leading the race, and you were close behind him. The team had asked you to maintain position earlier, even though you believed you had the better pace today between the pair of you. But now, those directives were putting you in danger of being overtaken.

“Yeah, we’re looking into it.” Your engineer responded, speaking up again once you’d gone around the hairpin in this lap. “Max is experiencing loss of power.”

“I should be allowed to pass him. I can win this race, or we can risk both being overtaken by Hamilton.” You jumped back on the radio as you sped through the tunnel, keeping the Mercedes at bay for now.

“Max has been instructed to give you the space after turn 19.”

You could’ve danced in your seat if you weren’t speeding through this straight going nearly 300 kph, thrilled that the team agreed with your opinion. They were giving you a chance to prove you had what it took to hold off the reigning world champion and bring home a win for the team.

Before you knew it, you were moving to the side to pass your teammate, subsequently leading a Formula 1 race for the first time in your life. Max was do his best to hold Hamilton back so that you could extend your lead. Knowing that now was not the time for nerves, you settled in and focused on the job ahead of you. There were still 20 laps left, and you weren’t getting any new tires. You knew you could win this race. You just had to drive clean and fast, and not make any mistake and it was yours. Instinct took over, and you put down the fastest lap of the race so far.

“7 laps to go. Hamilton now the car behind.” You felt kind of bad for Max because his race was falling apart. He’d started from pole and now found himself sitting in P3. At the same time though, you didn’t feel that bad because you were leading the race.

“What’s the gap?” You asked, your car almost kissing the wall as you exited the nouvelle chicane.

“Keep pushing. Hamilton is 2.9 seconds behind, with 0.2 more pace per lap.” The engineer informed her.

“Let’s keep him in there.” You almost smirked, refocusing on the task at hand.

You drove as well as you could, pushing the car to the absolute limit without putting the car in the wall. You were so focused that you could hear your engineer giving you updates on the gap between you and Hamilton, but you weren’t really hearing them. You knew what you were doing. You didn’t hear the update that Max had managed to regain p2 on the last lap.

You were too busy yelling as you turned the last lap, seeing your team up and hanging over the pit wall fence, chequered flag waving just ahead of you. “YES! THAT’S THE FUCKING MONACO GRAND PRIX! HOLY FUCKING SHIT!”

“P1, Y/N! Fucking right!” Your engineer yelled back in your ears. “You’ve won the Monaco Grand Prix. What a race to get your first win! Incredible fucking performance. We’re so incredibly happy for you, Y/N. Let’s fucking go!”

“Couldn’t have done it without you guys having my back and trusting me to get it done.”You spoke, hoping they understood how thankful you were for their support. “This is unreal!”

“What an incredible result Y/N! Your first win, and in Monaco of all places! You’ve blown us all away. Here’s hoping this is the first of many wins in your future!” Christian spoke next through her radio, as he did after every race regardless of the result.

“Not too bad for a girl, eh?” You couldn’t help yourself, knowing that the message was probably being broadcasted on whatever networks were streaming the race.

“Not bad at all, Y/L/N.” Christian confirmed.

It was quiet as you wrapped up your cool down lap, but you could see the people cheering as you went around the track one last time. Some people even had signs with your name and racing number on them, holding them out over their balconies or up high in the grand stand, celebrating the win with you. It hit you in that moment, how fucking incredible all of this was.

You’d done it, you’d won a race. You’d won in Monaco. You felt like you could do anything.

You were the first to pull into the parc fermé, parking your car behind the #1 post, smiling widening. You wasted no time in getting out of the car, clipping your steering wheel back into place before you turned around and bolted towards your team to celebrate. You were laughing as they raised you into their arms, patting you on the back and screaming in glee. You felt like you were on top of the fucking world, trying to soak in every single second of this.

A tap on your shoulder gained your attention, finding the other Red Bull driver behind you. He’d already taken off his helmet and balaclava, and was smiling widely at you. You took off your own helmet and balaclava, pulling your hair out of the low ponytail and letting it flow over your shoulders, your smile matching his.

He pulled you in for a hug, surprising you. “Congrats, Y/N.”

“You aren’t mad they let me pass you?”

You felt him shrug his shoulders as your wrapped your own warms around him. “I think you would’ve done it regardless. Your pace was better.” He wasn’t wrong, but for some reason you felt relieved when you heard it from him. “You earned the win today.” He added as he pulled back from the hug.

You didn’t have time to think, attention pulled by Lewis Hamilton who also didn’t seem very upset about his loss. He congratulated you with a very genuine smile and a fist bump, praising you for surely inspiring a generation of young female drivers with this win. You’d almost teared up at the sincerity of his statement, thanking him for his support.

The post-race interview was a blur, of you trying to contain your excitement enough to properly answer the questions being thrown your way. Your smile widened even further when people cheered as the interviewer reminded them about your win. Once it wrapped up, you made your way over to the cool down room as they set up the podium. Daniel caught you before you went inside, pulling you into yet another fantastic hug and letting you know that the pair of you were getting shit-faced later to celebrate. After stepping onto the scale, you made your way over to the little first place table and set down your helmet and gloves, putting that 1st place Pirelli cap on your head.

You made your way over to Max and Lewis, who were stood in front of a screen that was playing some of the race highlights. Lewis complimented her on the overtake she’d completed on Vettel at the start of the race to put herself in P3, because it had been a highlight worthy one. She’d pushed, hit the brakes at the last possible millisecond and out braked the German driver, nearly sending herself into a wall but completing the overtake. It was a move that took some rather large balls, especially in this circuit. The rest of the highlights were equally as impressive, the Red Bulls being part of most of the ones that continued to replay on the screen.

“What’s taking so long?” Max wondered out loud, as they continued to wait for the podium ceremony to start.

You smirked at your teammate. “What, you trying to get onto the energy station sooner?” You said, referring to the after party. Red Bull had already been planning on throwing a party to celebrate the end of the week on their massive boat, but the fact that they’d managed to end the weekend with a 1-2 meant that the party was going to be absolutely crazy. You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t excited.

Max threw you a half smile and a shrug, but didn’t deny it. “You’ll love it. It’s the best party of the year.”

You nodded, fully aware of that fact. “You seem to have forgotten that I already know that. I was there with Danny last year after he won. There were body shots, lots of dancing, even some karaoke towards the end of the night.” You told him quietly, mindful of the cameras in the room and making sure that they couldn’t pick up what you were talking about. “I think we both slept for a full 24 hours after that one.”

You could’ve sworn you’d seen something change in Max’s expression for a split second before that careful mask was back in place. “Right.” He answered dryly, before his attention was pulled back towards the screen and the bright red banner of text that was running along the bottom. The change in his mood annoyed you, but you decided it not to let it bother you. You were about to be at the top of your first podium.

“You’re fucking kidding.” Max bit out before he could help himself as he read it. A camera was very suddenly aimed at his face, capturing the whole thing.

You took a second to read whatever was on the screen, eyes widening as you realized that Max had been given an additional 5 second time penalty for an unsafe pit lane release earlier in the race, now dropping down to P4 by a couple hundredths of a second. Lewis had been bumped up to P2, and Vettel to P3.

“What the fuck?” You mumbled, reading the screen a second time to make sure you were seeing it right. You watched the replay of the incident, brow furrowing slightly. It’s not like the penalty even benefitted the other person who was involved, because he’d finished more than 5 seconds behind Max. They were just using Max to set an example. “That’s bullshit.” You mumbled, recalling when the same thing had happened to your earlier in the season and you’d had to move to avoid a crash in the pit lane, and the other driver had not been penalized.

“Well, I guess this is yours.” Max muttered, handing his 2nd place cap to Lewis, very aware of the cameras watching their every move. He didn’t even look at you as he left the cool down room, hands clenched into fists.

Lewis seemed just as rattled by Max’s sudden departure are you did. He turned to you, taking in your furrowed brow and worried look as you couldn’t help but feel bad for your teammate. That would have been the team’s first 1-2 in a couple for years, and now you were going to be up there on your own. Seeing that you were clearly in your head, Lewis came to stand in front of you and regain your attention. “Hey, I know that was weird but don’t let it overshadow what just happened for you. It’s your first win, smile.”

You gave the experienced driver a small smile, because he was right. Sure, it would’ve been great to share the podium with your teammate, but it was out of your control. It didn’t change the fact that you’d won the Monaco Grand Prix during your rookie season. As much as this was a team sport, you had to be in it for yourself at the same time. She couldn’t let this take away from her first win.

Seb came into the cool down room a moment later, a slightly awkward smile on his face. “Well, this was unexpected.” He immediately said as Lewis handed him the 3rd place cap. He then made his way over to you and pulled you in for a hug. “Congrats on your win, Y/N.”

A more genuine smile made its way onto your face.

You’d known Seb since Daniel had started racing for Toro Rosso in 2012 during his championship years. Seb always took a few minutes out of his day to chat with you when you’d be attending a race with Daniel, asking you about your own career and how things were going. He’d been supporting you for years, a big advocate for women in the sport. He’d been one of the first to reach out and congratulate you when news broke that you were joining Formula 1 and had your back whenever you happened to be in press conferences together. He was very much like an older brother to you. “Thanks Seb.”

You got sucked back into the moment when they finally started the podium ceremony, drama forgotten. You were practically skipping up the spiral staircase and shaking in anticipation. You saw your race engineer waiting at the top of the steps, the widest smile on his face as well because he’d been chosen to accept the constructors trophy for the day. He was the first one out, followed by Seb and Lewis.

Then, it was your turn.

Your smile was huge, as you made your way out onto the podium and heard the cheers erupting around you. You threw your fist in the air as you crossed the podium, taking the large step up onto the first place stand. You then turned back towards the crowd, finding the paddock below filled to the brim with people. A good chunk of them were your Red Bull team, but it looked like fans and celebrities had also made their way over. You spotted Daniel’s giant grin, standing close to the Red Bull crew and cheering for you. You sent him a wink.

The trophies were handed out, and suddenly the Canadian anthem was being played through the paddock. You removed your cap, running a hand through your hair as you closed your eyes to really take everything in. If this was what winning felt like… you knew you were already addicted to the feeling and that you already couldn’t wait for the next one.

You scanned the crowd again as the British anthem played to celebrate the team’s win, not surprised that you weren’t able to spot your teammate. You didn’t doubt how fun it would have been to celebrate this with him. But before you could think too much into it, it was time for the group photo, Seb and Lewis squishing you in between them as you proudly held up your golden trophy.

Then came the champagne.

The boys all teamed up on you, dousing you in the cold bubbly liquid. You couldn’t help the happy laughter that bubbled through you, giving up when it came to fighting back and simply spinning around in a slow circle so that they could drench you. You didn’t care that your hair would be disgusting, or that your race suit was now soaked through. It was part of what made this tradition fun. You’d get them back for this another time, having way too much fun.

Once they’d run out of champagne, everyone clicked their bottles together in a toast, before taking a sip. It was easily the best tasting champagne you’d ever had, sweetened significantly by the victory. You picked up your trophy one last time, walking over to the barrier and hoisting it up into the air as you took another sip from your champagne bottle, earning another round of loud cheers. You were never going to forget this.

You didn’t even care that you were dripping champagne as you made your way through the media pen for the post-race interviews, still holding your trophy, a Canadian flag now wrapped around your shoulders. Not even the repetitive questions asking her how she felt about being the first woman in the history of the sport to win a Grand Prix could wipe the smile from her face.

 Her PR officer made sure to keep the interviews brief, knowing that they were waiting for her on the Red Bull energy station to get a team picture. They were stopped by what felt like hundreds of people on their way to the boat, everyone asking for pictures and signatures. You didn’t mind, sharing you joy with your fans, it suddenly hitting you as you walked through the paddock towards the giant boat that you had more fans than you ever could have expected, each of them proud of what you’d accomplished today.

“Pool first or picture?” You asked your PR officer. You knew that you were expected to jump into the pool, a tradition that had been established for when a Red Bull driver won the Monaco GP.

They confirmed that it was up to you. So, when you made it up to the roof of the Red Bull energy station and people started cheering when they’d noticed your arrival, you saw your opportunity and took it. You handed your trophy to your PR officer, before you took off running through a narrow gap, launching yourself into a handstand on the edge of the pool and flipping yourself in. The cheers were even louder when you swam up to the surface, everyone loving the little show you’d just put on. You swam up to the edge where the team was waiting for a photo, pulling yourself out of the pool and settling between an overjoyed Christian and your race engineer.

Everything was perfect, you never wanted this moment to end.

However, in the midst of being on cloud nine, you couldn’t help but notice that your teammate was nowhere to be found. You just hoped he wasn’t feeling too down about the way things had turned out.

But, you’d have time to think about that later. Now it was time to celebrate!

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

You needed to find something to eat or this night would from one of the best in your life to one of the worst soon.

You told Daniel, who you’d been dancing with for the last little while, that you were going to raid the kitchen downstairs and would be back in a couple of minutes. He didn’t seem phased, wishing you luck on your adventure before turning and dancing with a random girl who’d been trying to get his attention for most of the night. He’d kept you company for most of the night, he deserved to have his own fun. You’d be surprised if he was still around when you came back.

So you’d set off into the energy station to try and find something to help balance out the alcohol you’d consumed over the last couple of hours. Walking in a straight line was a little bit of a challenge, but you made it work, bracing a hand against the walls when necessary. You were proud that you didn’t trip over your own feet going down the stairs… So many hallways.

“Max?!” You took a step backwards, so that you could see for more than a split second if the Dutch driver had actually been lurking in an empty hallway on the energy station when there was a massive party happening on the roof. You blinked a couple of times, to make sure that you weren’t imagining it. “Why are you hiding? I didn’t even know you’d stuck around.” You whispered, though by Max’s cringe it definitely came out louder than a whisper.

“I’m not hiding.” He quickly denied, his voice coming out as a rushed whisper. “I’ve been here all night.”

“In the hallway?”

You almost got a smile out of him. “No, heerlijk. I was there when you did a round of shots with the other drivers.”

“You were?” Your jaw dropped in disbelief, but then again, a good chunk of the evening was already hazy in your brain. “Well, my bad then. Carry on!” You turned to continue your journey to the kitchen, except your feet weren’t cooperating. In fact, you would’ve fallen flat on your face in Max hadn’t reached out to grab your waist and steady you.

“You’re very drunk.” Max pointed out, a faintly amused expression on his face.

“Yep. I am.” You giggled, before you leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Don’t tell Christian.”

His smile grew. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Good, now-” you refocused on the task as hand, which was getting some food into your stomach before you did something really embarrassing... “would you mind helping me to the kitchen? I’m in desperate need so some carbs.”

“The kitchen closed a while ago.”

“What?!”

Max shushed you, making a face at your loud response. “It’s almost 4:00am, Y/N. Chefs went home a long time ago.” His gaze narrowed suspiciously. “You did eat before they left, right?” Your silence was all the answer he needed, Max shooting you a disappointed look. “You’re the older one between the two of us. Should know better than drinking on an empty stomach.”

“Hey! I’m not that old.” You scoffed, pouting at him. “And I stole a couple of fries from Daniel earlier. My plan was to slip away at one point to get a burger or something from the kitchen, but then people kept bringing me shots and wanting to dance… so here we are.”

He rolled his eyes at you, but you could tell there wasn’t any malice behind the gesture. “Come on, let’s find you some food.”

Max led you to the kitchen, looping his arm through yours so he could prevent you from falling flat on your face. No one said anything when the two of you walked past the catering area into the actual kitchen, finding that it was indeed empty. Therefore, there was no one around to give you shit as you sat on one of the counters. Max started rummaging through the cupboards and fridge, trying to figure something out that he could make without setting the energy station on fire or poisoning you.

You’re not sure how much time passed as you watched the Dutch driver cook, but eventually he placed a plate next to you on the counter, nodding towards it.

“Is that… grilled cheese!?”

“It’s a cheese toastie.”

“Fucking Europeans with your weird names for stuff.” You mumbled to yourself as you raised the hot sandwich to your mouth and took a bite. You must have made some kind of sound, because Max’s cheeks flushed, and he was suddenly avoiding your gaze. You took another bite, deciding that this was probably the best sandwich you’d ever had. “This is a fantastic grilled cheese.” You declared, practically inhaling the first half of the sandwich. “You should quit Formula 1 and open a grilled cheese shop.”

“You’d like that.” His stupid smirk was back. “Get rid of your main competition for the driver’s championship.”

“I mean, that would be a nice bonus.” You couldn’t help but joke along in between bites. “But, I seem to be doing just fine right now. Remind me, who’s ahead?”

“Lewis.”

You smacked his chest. “I meant between the two of us.”

“You got lucky today, heerlijk.”

You were torn between wanting to remind him what he’d said to you when you first got to the parc fermé after the race and wanting to know what he’d just called you. The later won, partially because of your intoxicated shorter attention span. “What does that mean? You’ve called me it twice tonight.”

“Learn Dutch and figure it out.”

“Trou de cul.” You bit back in French.   

Max laughed across from you. “Nice try, heerlijk. I know most of the French curse words. I grew up racing against Charles and Pierre, remember?”

“Gilipollas.” You called him an asshole in Spanish too, smiling sweetly when he rolled his eyes at you again.

“Eat your fucking sandwich, Y/N.”

You didn’t need to be told twice, going straight in to the second half. You weren’t overselling it (well maybe a little because you were drunk and all) but it hit the spot. Hell, you’d probably be able to eat another one. “Thanks.” You said a little bit more seriously when you finished eating the grilled cheese. “I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me all of the sudden, but I appreciate it.”  

Max cocked his head to the side. “All of the sudden?”

Your eyes widened slightly, realizing that you probably should have kept that last statement to yourself. Way to put your foot in your mouth… You knew he probably wouldn’t drop it until you explained yourself, so you took a long breath. “You don’t like me, and that’s totally fine.”

“Why do you say that?”

You shrugged, biting your tongue. You had plenty of examples running through your mind but opted to go with what your intoxicated brain thought was the safest route. “You pretend I don’t exist half the time, even though I’m your teammate. And when you do acknowledge my existence, it’s purely for work. The only time you treat me normally is when you’re putting on a show for the Red Bull content or in front of the press.”

His brow creased slightly as his gaze narrowed.

Fuck, you’d probably just ruined this whole decent interaction with your teammate because you couldn’t keep your drunk mouth shut.

“I’m not Daniel.”

Your frown deepened. “What? I know that.”

“I’m not going to be your best friend. We’re each other’s direct competitors. I want to beat you every time we get in the cars.”

She was aware of that because she wanted the same thing. Every driver wanted to win. It’s why they got into their crazy cars and drove at crazy speeds trying to do better than everyone else. “I know that too… Max, I’m not asking you to suddenly become my best friend. I’ve got a ‘Daniel’ in my life already. I’m just saying that the whole ‘hot and cold’ thing is annoying and confusing as fuck. Choose a lane. We can be civil, or we can keep pretending that the other doesn’t exist. The back and forth is giving me a headache.”

“The headache is probably your hangover kicking in.” He stated dryly.

You rolled your eyes at your teammate. “Oh please, I don’t get hangovers.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips at your instant retort to his comment. But then he went all serious again, letting out a long breath and running a hand through his hair, almost nervously. “I guess we can be civil.”

Your brows rose in surprise. “Really?”

“Don’t act so shocked Y/N. I can be very nice when I want to be.” His smile returned as he spoke.

“I’ve yet to see it.” You teased with a smirk.

“Your empty plate begs to differ.”

You were working on coming up with a good comeback to wipe Max’s smirk off his face, but never got the chance. Because suddenly, you and Max weren’t the only ones in the kitchen.

You looked towards the entrance of the kitchen, raising a brow at the two McLaren drivers who had frozen at the door. Lando and Carlos looked surprised, clearly not expecting to find you and Max in here. They were both swaying slightly, probably coming to the kitchen with the same idea that you’d had earlier to find a bite to eat before things got to the point of no return.

“Are we interrupting something?” Carlos asked, gaze going between you and Max.

“Nope.” You both answered at the same time, wincing at the cliché moment. Even though it was true, Lando and Carlos’s expressions made it clear that they didn’t believe you. You thought about telling them about the truce you’d just struck with your teammate but thought better of it. It was none of their business.

“Where are the cooks?” Lando asked, breaking the slightly awkward silence.

“Gone.” Max answered, subtly taking a step back from you. You hadn’t realized how close together you’d been until he moved away.

“What are we supposed to eat?!” Carlos asked, eyes going really wide as he continued his journey into the kitchen, dissolving any awkwardness that had settled in the room.

“Max made me a grilled cheese. It was amazing.”

“A what?” Lando asked, making a face. He was a notoriously picky eater, eating the same meal on every single race weekend because he didn’t want to mess with his routine.

“A cheese toastie.” Max supplied.

You frowned as looks of understanding crossed both Lando and Carlos’s faces. European weirdos… Calling it a toastie made it sound like it was supposed to be cooked in a toaster. “I could go for one of those.” Lando said, pulling you out of your thoughts about the differences between grilled cheese and toasties.

“Make it yourself.” Max said, gesturing to the fridge.

“Max,” you smacked his arm, ignoring his pout “they’re just as drunk as I was, and still kind of am if I’m being honest… I don’t think Lando’s ever touched a frying pan in his life. Surely he’d burn the boat down if he tried.”

“And?”

“And make the kid a grilled cheese.” You instructed, smile growing at the incredulous look that crossed his face. “And one for Carlos too.” You winked at the Spaniard.

“Gracias Y/N.” Carlos was smirking at the interaction.

“Anything else?” Max sighed, moving to the cupboard to gather the ingredients.

“Yeah, I could go for another one too. Thanks”

“You’re lucky we just agreed to be civil.” He muttered under his breath, voice only loud enough for you to hear him, before fully turning his attention back to the stovetop and making another three grilled cheese sandwiches.

Lando joined you on the counter a couple seconds later, immediately chatting to you about what you’d missed over the last half hour at the party. It didn’t take long for Max to pass you all plates with your sandwiches, you wiggling your brow at Lando and Carlos after they’d taken their first bites as if to say “See? Told you it was good.”

“Oh my god, this is good.” Lando confirmed.

And that was how Max wound up making grilled cheese sandwiches for the next hour, feeding all the drunk drivers.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

The next race was your home Grand Prix, and it’s safe to say you were looking forward to it.

You hadn’t been to Canada since the holidays, so you had decided to fly over a week ahead of the time and spend some time in your hometown with your family. Daniel had even joined you, because he hadn’t seen your dad or your brothers since the last Canadian Grand Prix. It was lovely, to hide away at a family cottage for a week in a town with a population of under 5000 people where people didn’t really know who you were.

Especially after Monaco.

But now you were in Montreal, the Thursday before the race, sitting on a panel with other drivers in a press conference. You were sat between Max and Charles, Sebastian on Charles’s other side. The questions were pretty standard, some asking about the celebrations following the race and how the drivers had felt on the Monday, others asking about what the drivers wanted to accomplish this weekend.

“Y/N, are you looking forward to driving in front of a home crowd?” A reporter asked you.

“Of course. Growing up, my family had been going to the Montreal Grand Prix every year for as long as I can remember. I grew up a couple hours down the road in Ottawa, so it became a bit of a family tradition. It’s going to be pretty special, lining up on the grid on Sunday. I can’t wait to race here, in front of my family and friends.” It was a recycled answer, one that you had already given many times today, but they didn’t seem to mind.

You zoned out for a minute when Seb was asked about trying to defend his win here from last year.

“Y/N, anything to comment on your alleged relationship with fellow driver Daniel Ricciardo? Photos of the two of you visiting your family have recently emerged on the internet.”

You had to fight every cell in your body not to roll your eyes at the question. Not providing a comment would only stoke the fire, so you let out a calm breath and braced yourself to answer.

But someone beat you to the punch.

“What does this have to do with the GP?” Seb spoke up, narrowing his gaze at the reporter. “Why is Y/N the only driver getting pestered with questions about her personal life?”

“We can ask you about your wife’s recent pregnancy announcement if you’d like?” The reporter cluelessly shot back.

“You’re expecting?!” You couldn’t help but immediately blurt out, apparently not in the loop. Max chuckled beside you at your reaction to the news. You hadn’t been on social media in a while because you preferred to avoid rumors and seeing what people wrote about you. You made a mental note to send some flowers over to Hannah to congratulate the couple who were now expecting their third child.

“We are, end of November” Seb said with a soft smile aimed towards you, before turning his attention back towards the reporter. “And though my answer would be that it’s none of your business what happens off track between myself and my wife, the point is that you were never going to ask me that question in the first place. You wouldn’t dare to ask any of the male drivers questions about their personal lives, because you know you’ll never get away with it. Why then, do you think you will be able to get away with asking Y/N these questions? She’s a driver, just like the rest of us. Let’s not forget she won the last Grand Prix. How about we focus on the racing? Great.”

You didn’t bother to hide the smile on your face as the reporter sank back into his seat, having just been told off by the former 4-time world champion. You’d make sure to thank Sebastian privately, after the press conference wrapped.

It’s safe to say the rest of the questions you were asked were all about the race.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

You brought your dad into the paddock on Friday, before the first free practice. Your brothers had gone off with Daniel after they’d seen him in the main hospitality area, claiming that he was more fun to be around than her. She’d shot them the finger, telling them to fuck off for the rest of the day. Idiots. Your dad was enjoying all of it, though he’d already been to the paddock a handful of times when he’d come out with you to some of Daniel’s races the past couple of years. They had been here when Daniel won his first race in 2014.

You still took the time to introduce your father to everyone on your team, seeing as it was their first time seeing them. He met your mechanics, engineers, the pit-stop crew, personal trainer, PR officer and even some of the big bosses. Christian had joked about her temper on the track, thrilled to meet the man that had molded the driver who currently had the most points on the team. You got a little weirded out when Christian invited your family to his farm in Milton Keynes, something that he apparently did with his drivers every year ahead of Silverstone. He’d even invited your dad to sit on the pit wall with the engineers to get a feel for what it was like in their position while you went on the track for the first practice.

You followed Max back into the pits at the end of the practice session, your cars getting pulled back into the garage at the same time. You quickly pulled yourself out of the car and immediately stepped onto the scale, before taking off your helmet, balaclava, and gloves, placing them on a workbench at the back of the garage. You then made your way over to your trainer and engineer who were already going over things. You then spent a couple minutes getting feedback on your practice session, taking in all the advice and tips you could use for potential improvement in the next session.

Max and his team eventually made their way over to compare notes on the two cars. You’d been doing that after all the first practice sessions to get the most out of the car.

“Y/N had better pace for longer on the mediums.” Max added his own input. “Look at the tires, hers held up much better than my softs and she was keeping up in terms of lap time.”

Your dad chose that moment to reappear in the garage, not clueing into the fact that you were in the middle of something. “Great job out there, kiddo! P5 according to that fancy time screen.” He sounded proud as he pulled you in for a hug.

Your cheeks burned. “Dad.” You whined. “2 things. First, I’m not a kid anymore. I’m literally a professional Formula 1 driver. Kids can’t do what I do. And second, we’re in the middle of reviewing the data from practice. Not a good time to try and embarrass me in front of my whole team.”

“Actually, we’re pretty much done here. Embarrass away.” Your lead engineer smirked.

“Fantastic.” Your dad smirked. “I’m assuming no one’s heard the story of your first karting race.”

Oh god, you felt like you were suddenly in the middle of a dream, completely out of control of the situation. “Dad, no. Please. These people still respect me. You can’t whip that one out yet.” You all but begged.

“I’d like to hear this story.” Max was enjoying this way too much. You glared at him, but his smile only widened.

“What story?” You heard your best friend’s familiar Australian accent before you saw him, your brothers trailing behind.

“First race.” Your dad informed the Aussie.

“Oh! That’s a good one!” Daniel laughed, shaking his head at you. “It’s why we all call her Viper.”

Absolutely not. You were not doing this. You never should’ve invited your family into the garage. This was the only way it could’ve ended. “Hey, Alex,” you turned to your PR officer, praying for an escape “any media shit I need to do?”

“Nothing that can’t wait.” Traitor.

“What happened at Y/N’s first race?” Your trainer asked, clearly wanting to know as well. Everyone was listening.

“I fucking hate you all…” You muttered as your dad dove right into the story, absolutely thriving.

You regretted everything, but not really.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

You were bummed after qualifying, ending up in P9. It was the furthest back you’d been starting on the grid so far this season, and it just had to be at your home race. You’d sustained a little bit of floor damage to your car at the end of Q2, and you hadn’t been able to keep up with the lap times of the Mercedes and Ferraris. At least you’d made it into Q3. Max hadn’t been so lucky, winding up in P11 because of an accident with Magnusson.

You were quiet at dinner with your family that night, already focusing on the monster task ahead of you in tomorrow’s race. Everyone had been invited to tag along to the team dinner in the restaurant that was attached to the hotel. You barely touched your food, so in your head that all you were doing was tossing the boring chicken and rice back and forth on the plate. You wanted another podium, so that your family could experience it with you. You’d have your work cut out for you… Your dad figured out a few minutes into dinner not to push you too hard tonight.

Everyone had caught on to your ‘fuck-off’ vibe, seeing as no one questioned you when you excused yourself for the night. Your family opted to stay for another drink with your team, so you’d made your way out of the restaurant on your own.

Or so you’d thought.

“Hey, Y/N.”

You only looked behind you for a second, confirming that Max had followed you out. “What is it?”

His brow twitched at your curt question, but that didn’t stop him from following you through the hotel lobby towards the elevator. “What’s going on with you? You haven’t said a word all night. You usually never shut up.”

“Why do you care? I thought you didn’t want to be my friend.” You knew it was petty, but you couldn’t stop yourself from snapping. You watched as his face completely closed off in front of you, concern disappearing, before you turned your attention back towards the elevators.

“You’re stressing the team out.” Max stated bluntly. “It won’t be a good outcome tomorrow if everyone’s on edge.”

You didn’t say anything to that, pressing the elevator button a couple more times because it was taking forever. You wanted out of this conversation, and the elevator gods were clearly not on your side tonight. Part of you wanted to know why Max was trying to help you out all of the sudden, but then you remembered your sort of truce in Monaco. You’d probably prefer the cold shoulder right now… Because you didn’t have an answer. You couldn’t blame qualifying, because you’d started from further back in your career and still pulled out good results. It wasn’t because your family was here, because they’d been to plenty of your races before. It wasn’t because it was your first time racing in Canada, because at the end of the day it was just another track. You were just on edge.

Max sighed, watching you continuously press the elevator buttons as though it would make it appear faster. “Seriously Y/N, what’s bothering you? You can’t get in the car distracted like that tomorrow. It’s not safe, for you or the others.”

“I’m not distracted.” You ground out, seriously debating taking the stairs. But your hotel room was on one of the top floors of the high-rise building, and you didn’t think your trainer would appreciate you over working your calves the night before a race.

“The elevator opened behind us, but you didn’t notice because you don’t want to look at me.”

Huh. Maybe you were a little distracted. Nonetheless, you turned and stepped around the Dutch driver, walking into the open elevator. You pressed the button for your floor, sighing when Max got in the elevator with you. You leaned back against the wall, staring at the doors and content to ignore the driver who was refusing to leave you alone right now.

After what felt like hours spent in a tense silence, the elevator doors reopened on your floor. You started towards your room, not paying any attention to where Max was going. You stopped in front of your door, digging into your pocket to fish out your room key. You never got the chance to open the door, because Max’s arm hooked through yours and he started dragging you away from your room.

“What the hell are you doing Verstappen?!”

“Shut up, or people will hear you.”

“What the fuck!” You did not quiet your tone as he dragged you further down the hallway.

He tapped a card against another door, presumably his own room, nodding for you to go inside. You glared at him but stepped into the room anyways, fully ready to tell him off for pulling this shit when you thought you made it pretty clear you wanted to be left alone. The door had barely clicked shut behind Max before you rounded on him, practically seeing red.

He had the audacity to speak before you could get a word out. “Turn around, before you spontaneously combust.”

“What. The. Fuck.” You completely ignored his request, your voice practically dripping with venom. “Take a hint Max, I’m not in the mood for your fucking bullshit tonight. There’s a race tomorrow. A pretty fucking important one for me, in case you forgot. I’m not distracted, I’m focused. There’s a difference. I know I have a lot of goddamned work to do if I want a good outcome. There’s nothing going on or bothering me. I just wanted to go back to my room and get ready for tomorrow.”

Max didn’t flinch, you didn’t even think he’d blinked the entire time you were spewing your words at him. In fact, he looked rather unbothered by the fact that you’d chosen to take your frustrations out on him. You almost felt a little guilty, but then he opened his mouth. “Are you done?”

“Am I done?” You hissed, thinking the younger driver might actually have a death wish. “Did you serious just ask me that? I can’t believe I’m even entertaining this! Why the hell am I here Max? You’re wasting my fucking time.”

“Well maybe if you’d calm down a little bit, you’d see that I’m actually trying to help you.” His response was calm, and it only irked you more.

“Why on earth would you want to help me?” You snapped.

He shrugged, answering your question with another one. “Isn’t that what teammates do when they’re being civil towards one another?”

“Are you trying to tell me you practically kidnapped Daniel against his will and brought him back to your room for a forced heart to heart when he was having a bad day?” You asked sharply, crossing your arms across your chest and glaring at him. “I didn’t think so.” You’d added when he hadn’t said anything.

“For fucks sake, Y/N. Quit being a bitch for like two seconds. In case you forgot, you’re not the only one who had a shit qualifying. Do you see me throwing a tantrum because of my P11 today?” His calm façade slipped slightly, showing that you were starting to get to him.

Good.

“Your rant on the radio sounded pretty bitchy to me when you crashed out. At least I didn’t broadcast my ‘tantrum’ for the whole world to hear.” The smirk on your face was far from friendly. If he thought this was you being a bitch, he hadn’t seen anything yet.

To your disappointment, Max didn’t take the bait. Instead, he chuckled. The motherfucker was laughing at you. What the fuck was wrong with him? “You really are just like Daniel. Your comebacks get worse the more pissed off you get.”

You rolled your eyes, absolutely despising that he wasn’t wrong about that statement. You knew it to be true, from the rare few times you and Daniel had genuinely been angry at the other. The more pissed off you got, the less time you took to think about what was coming out of your mouth and sometimes it didn’t make as much sense as you’d like.

“Look, do you want to do a couple laps around the track or not?” Max brushed off your outburst, getting back to the reason he’d dragged you into his room.

You held his gaze. “How the fuck do you expect me to do that? It’s not like we’re allowed to take the cars out for a joyride on the track.”

“Turn around.” He said, gesturing behind you. “It’s not as good as actually being on the track but it’s better than nothing.”

Your gaze narrowed again, but you couldn’t help but admit you were intrigued. So, you slowly turned around to look at whatever he was pointing towards. When your eyes landed on the familiar angled seat, replicated steering wheel and curved monitors, your jaw dropped in shock. “Is that… a sim?” You asked incredulously.

“Same one that they have at the factory.” Max confirmed, and you could hear the smirk in his voice.

It was almost embarrassing, how quickly the red-hot fury you’d been feeling just a minute ago completely disappeared. You were… almost excited by the sight in front of you. Max was right. It wasn’t even close to replicating the real track conditions that you would feel tomorrow, but… it was better than nothing. “You travel with… a full-on race simulator? How?! And why didn’t Red Bull give me one? That’s hardly fair.”

“Perks of being their #1 driver.” He said as a joke, making his way around you over to the simulator and powering it up. “And Red Bull didn’t give it to me. I bought it. Don’t you have one at home to practice?”

“I’m still house hunting.” You mumbled, wishing you’d have one of these beautiful machines of your own. “And considering I’ve been using one of the team apartments within walking distance of the factory for the last couple of months… Doesn’t make sense when I can walk over whenever to use one at the factory.”

“Where are you looking to move?” He asked as you made your way over to the simulator and sat in the leaned back seat. Max got behind the machine to adjust the pedals to match your height, seeing as you were a couple of inches shorter than him.

You adjusted the steering wheel to your liking before answering his question. “Monaco. Where else?”

He gave a hum of approval, not that you cared whether or not he approved of your choice for a home based. He couldn’t judge, considering he’d been living in Monte Carlo for a couple years now. It was known to house a good chunk of the current Formula 1 grid. Why not move into the same city as your friends? You already spent most of your free weekends visiting Daniel there.

Max messed around on the computer bit, inputting the expected track conditions that they would be facing tomorrow. He asked you a couple of question regarding your usual set up, so that you would get the most out of the simulator, before letting you run free. As much as you hated to admit it, it was exactly what you needed.

You ran through the track more times than you could count, making sure that every nook and cranny was engraved into your brain. You already knew everything about the track, having practiced it countless times at the factory and over the earlier free practice sessions of the weekend, but it was nice to be able to practice even more ahead of the real race. Max would chime in every once in a while, but mostly let you be. When he got bored, he went and started playing a round of FIFA on the Xbox he travelled with. He gave you the space to do what you needed to do.

You felt a million times better as you stepped away from the simulator, a long while later. Max paused his round of… Mario Kart (?), one of those rare real small smiles on his face. “You look better.”

“Yeah…” You acknowledged sheepishly. “Sorry for… being a bitch earlier. You were right. I was stressed and in my head. I wanted this weekend to be perfect… especially after Monaco, and it hasn’t been. I shouldn’t have bit your head off for trying to help. So… sorry.”

“I get the whole Viper thing now.” Max said with a smirk, letting you know that you were off the hook.

You rolled your eyes at him, but it didn’t hold any of the malice from before. “I still can’t believe my dad told everyone that story.”

“I still can’t picture you as a 10-year-old girl making the boys on the track cry.” Max was fully teasing you now, taking advantage of the fact that you probably wouldn’t bite back because you felt bad about yelling at him earlier. You’re not entirely sure it how it happened, but the next thing you knew you were sitting on the sofa playing a couple of rounds of Mario Kart late into the night with Max, your worries about tomorrow’s race all but forgotten.

Being civil with your teammate hadn’t been a bad decision after all.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

After a P4 finish in Canada and the recent string of good results, your DNF in France had sucked. It was an engine failure, so it wasn’t like there was anything you could have done to prevent it. Max had come in 4th, and reduced the gap in points between the two of you. Red Bull sat firmly in second place for the constructors championship, regardless of your DNF, so the bosses were still happy with the outcome of that race.

Max had then won his first race of the season in Austria, you trailing closely behind in P3, Lewis finishing between the two of you. Then in Silverstone, you’d climbed your way back up to P2 after a horrible pit stop, Max finishing a few places behind you off the podium. Heading into the German Grand Prix, you were once again tied in terms of points.

It was weird, being in a team with another driver because you wanted to be happy with the team’s success but inside you were fuming that they’d gotten a better finish than you. Your teammate was the only person on the grid you could compare yourself to in terms of overall skill, because they drove the exact same car. You and Max were more evenly matched than anyone had anticipated at the start of the season. Red Bull loved it, but others could see how the situation could divulge as the season went on.

Neither you nor Max wanted to be second best on the team.

Off track, you’d been getting along rather well.

On track, well… It was an entirely different story. As much as you hated to admit it, your driving styles were very similar. You were both aggressive, impatient and pushed your cars to the limit. Your qualifying times were so close, always trying to push further to find that extra thousandth of a second to come out on top. If you were chasing one another in the race, it sometimes turned into a game a chicken to see who would back down on the late breaking first. You’d almost put both your cars in the walls a handful of times, trying a risky move to get past the other.

The media seemed to love it too, much to your annoyance. It meant that the last few races, you had to dodge questions about a rivalry within the team, since neither of you seemed to want to back down from the fight. You both laughed off the questions, but deep down knew you wanted to beat the other. That’s what the sport was. The team used your competitive spirits to their advantage, letting you race instead of falling back on team orders because it usually pushed you both towards better overall results.

But sometimes, letting two overconfident cocky drivers race didn’t go according to plan. Especially when neither was filling to fold.  

“What the hell is Max doing!?” You yelled into your radio, having to swerve off the racing line to avoid your teammate driving directly into the side of your car in a bad executed attempt to overtake you. On a wet track like the one they were racing on today, that move was incredibly stupid. “He’s going to fucking crash us both out!”

“I’m looking into it.” You could hear how tense your engineer sounded, silently telling you that this wasn’t part of the plan. “Max thinks he has better pace.”

Your grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Does he?”

“He’s faster through the first sector but you have him on the other two. Overall, you’re a few thousandths apart.”

“What’s the team doing about it?” You asked, wanting to know now if there were going to be team orders. You didn’t want to give up your position, but you knew better than to go against orders.

“No directives as of right now.”

You could’ve rolled your eyes, had it not been for the fact that you needed to stay completely focused on the track in front of you. Of course, they weren’t going to tell Max to back off or you to give up your place. Never mind that the track had been absolute shit all day, and that people were sliding off left and right. You were tied in third for the championship, with too big of a gap to realistically aim for first this season. They were going to let you race, knowing that neither one of you wanted to back down.

No one should have been surprised when the inevitable happened.

Max pulled the same crap as he’d attempted to do a few laps earlier, essentially pushing you off the dry line in a high-speed corner. Being on slicks, there was absolutely nothing you could do to stop your momentum once you hit the wet pavement, sliding off the track with a dramatic couple of spins and going right into a barrier. The best you could do was brace for the impact. Though the whole thing happened in the span of a few seconds, it felt like it had gone on for hours.

You were stunned, clutching onto your steering wheel, heart in your throat.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

It took you a couple of seconds to remember to breathe, mentally scanning your body to see if anything felt off. Thankfully, nothing was hurting too much, the car having absorbed the brunt of the impact. Knowing that you needed to answer your engineer before they started to panic, you yelled the first thing that came to mind when you realized you were out of the race. “FUCK!”

“Sorry Y/N. We need you to cut the engine and exit the car. Marshals will take care of the rest.”

You went through the shutdown procedure, slamming your hands on the steering wheel once the engine was turned off. Huffing out a breath, you unclipped the wheel and pulled yourself out of the car, ignoring the way that your body was already sore. Once out of the car, you clipped the wheel back into place before following a marshal off the track. They led you back to the pits, explaining that you needed to be checked out by the medics.

You blew them off, storming down the paddock towards your garage. You kept your helmet on the whole time, not needing journalists to pick apart your surely furious expression right now. You walked right past Daniel, who’d DNF’d earlier in the race, not in the mood to talk to him right now. No, you needed to get back to your garage before you had a very public meltdown and ruined the hard work you’d put into getting people to take you seriously.

You were going to murder your teammate, you were sure of it.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

In hindsight, it probably hadn’t been the best idea to corner Max the moment he’d wrapped up the podium celebration and made his way back to the Red Bull garage. You’d barely made it through your media rounds without losing your shit. Thankfully, they didn’t press for more beyond your curt answers, so you’d been able to get through the whole thing rather quickly.

But, you’d been stewing in your frustrations for far too long, anger boiling over when you saw his stupid smug face and the champagne in hands. You stormed over, shoving you hands against his chest and forcing him to stumble backwards a little. He dropped the champagne, the bottle shattering and making a mess at your feet. Clearly, he had not been expecting this.

“You fucking reckless, egotistical, hot-headed cunt!” You shouted, not caring that you were yelling at him in the middle of the Red Bull garage or if people overheard you. “That race was mine. You just couldn’t handle that I was going to be ahead of you again in the point so you crashed me out!” You added, shoving him one more time for good measure.

His unimpressed gaze would have intimidated anyone else, but not you. You were far too angry. “We were racing. You spun out.” You weren’t the least bit surprised that he wasn’t taking responsibility for the crash he had caused.

“Racing!? That’s what you call forcing your teammate off the track?” You snapped. There was no way in hell you were letting him write it off as an accident. You took a step of that you were right up in his face as you continued to lose your shit. “Tell me Max, how does it feel to stand on that top step of the podium, knowing the only reason you got there today was because to nearly killed me to take the lead? Was it fucking worth it?!”

He held your gaze, not backing down. “The champagne was pretty sweet.”

At this point, some of the mechanics were trying to pull you back but you weren’t having any of it, easily shrugging them off. “I can’t fucking believe you!”

“Don’t try to pretend you wouldn’t have done the same thing!” Max snapped at you in return, starting to lose his composure.

You laughed in his face, though it was clear that there was absolutely no humor in your laugh. “That’s the thing Max, I wouldn’t have!” You shouted, before lowering your voice slightly. “I want to win as much as the next guy, but not at the expense of another driver’s safety. You knew how many drivers had crashed at that corner already today, and you still chose to push me off the track knowing what would happen when I was forced off the dry line to avoid our cars colliding. Must be nice not giving a shit about anyone else.”

You couldn’t help but feel a smidge of satisfaction when you saw just how pissed off Max was getting too. That is, until he opened his mouth. “You don’t know anything. This is why no one wants to see girls competing in Formula 1. You slipped and ruined your race, and now you’re taking it too personally, getting too emotional.”

Your jaw dropped, surprised that he’d gone there. Rationally, you knew that it was more to get back at you for the stuff you were saying about him. That didn’t stop your temper from burning even hotter, raising a hand to smack him across the face.

But your hand never connected with his cheek, Max grabbing your arm before you could bitch slap him.

“Enough!” Christian bellowed over the noise in the garage, before you could react and try to attack Max using an alternate method. You refused to acknowledge your boss, ripping your arm out of Max’s grip and attempting to strike again. But by the time you’d raised your arm again, Max had been pulled out of reach and Christian stood between the pair of you. “That’s enough, Y/N. For fucks sake, both of you stop acting like a couple of hormonal teenagers and airing our dirty laundry for the world to see.”

“He fucking ruined my race!”

“Yes, he did, and we will deal with that behind closed doors.” Christian informed you, casting a stern glance towards Max before turning his attention back to you. “But right now, you’re the one who’s about to get slapped with a fine from the FIA for this very public outburst. Calm the fuck down and handle this like a grown up, you’re only making it worse for yourself.”

Christian’s words were harsh, but also the slap in the face you needed to remember that there were cameras trained on your every move, and that this… confrontation was likely going to take over the headlines for the next couple of days. You’d just opened the door to your critics, who already thought you didn’t belong in the sport, to prove that they were right.

“Both of you, get out of here. Cool down, get over yourselves. I expect to see you both in the briefing room in fifteen minutes. No more fighting in public or so help me god… We already have enough of a PR nightmare on our hands.” Christian’s tone left no room for argument.

Max was the first to leave the garage, leaving with one final glare sent your way. You didn’t hesitate to raise your middle finger in his direction.

“I thought you were being civil?” Christian commented, after a long, drawn-out breath.

Fuck being civil.

If Max thought he could get away with the bullshit that had happened on track today, he had another thing coming. Max had no fucking clue what he’d set off today. There was no way in hell you were going to let that happen on the track again. You were going to beat him, just to prove a fucking point.

You were going to make him regret making an enemy out of you.

<><><><><><><>><><><><><><><><>

Read part 2 here!

---

Viper // Part 3 // MAX VERSTAPPEN – N.01 (N.033)

GIF by writingaslan

Author’s Note: Thank you guys so much for being patient with me for this next part. I’m so glad that you’ve all enjoyed the previous 2 parts. Again, let me know what you think cause those comments always make me smile! Also if you’re not in the taglist, it’s cause the username wasn’t working when I tried to put it in.

Find the previous 2 parts on my masterlist, here.

Summary: Y/N fills the vacant Red Bull seat at the beginning of the 2019 season, craziness ensues.

Characters: Max Verstappen / Driver Reader, Daniel Ricciardo x Driver Reader (besties).

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: Fluff, Comfort, Drama, Angst. All the good stuff. Mentions of sex, language, etc.

You missed out on a podium in Russia by a couple of tenths of a second, Leclerc just barely managing to push his car across the finish line first. Though you’d forced a smile onto your face through your post-race media rounds, the smile vanished the moment you’d stepped into the debrief room and had it out with your team because a mechanical error on the last lap (you hadn’t been able to use your DRS) cost you the podium.

You’d feel bad about yelling later, but in the moment you felt like you’d lost so many valuable points in your bid for the Championship. The gap between you and Lewis almost seemed impossible now. Based on the resigned looks that crossed your team’s faces… you knew they’d accepted the fact that it was essentially out of reach going forward.

Granted, you should be happy with the way your rookie season in Formula 1 was turning out. Already, with 2 wins and multiple podium finishes, you’d done so much more than what everyone had been expecting of you. You were currently back in second, just a few point ahead of Max, but with 5 races left to the season and an over 50 point gap between you and the championship leader… odds weren’t in your favour because you highly doubted Lewis would have 2 DNFs to let you catch up.

It didn’t change the fact that it was a hard pill to swallow.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

Japan was a weird one.

You already knew that some of your friends on the grid had a hard time at this circuit, because of what had happened in 2014. Daniel had a little bit less of that usual sparkle in his eye, the young driver clearly on his mind through the weekend. You felt bad for Charles in particular, who had to field questions about Jules from the media, because it was no secret that Charles was living out his godfather’s dream with the seat in Ferrari.

Then on Friday, it was announced that all sessions on Saturday would be cancelled, and the Qualifying session would be rescheduled for Sunday morning, in anticipation of a big typhoon rolling in on Saturday. It led to a weird atmosphere in the hotel on Saturday, drivers having an unexpected day off in the middle of the race weekend and having no idea what to do with themselves. You, and a few other drivers and performance coaches, had wound up in Daniel’s room watching movies and eating smart popcorn. Not your typical race weekend Saturday at all, but it seemed no one wanted to spend it alone.

Sunday you woke up to some beautiful clear skies, heading off to the track at the crack of dawn to get to work. It was easier that expected to get back into the swing of things after that impromptu day off, diving right into qualifying. Both you and Max had made it into Q3, and even weirder, you set the exact same qualifying time (he’d wound up in the lead because he’d set the time first), starting P5 and P6 on the grid. You’d done your post-qualifying interviews together, before heading back to the garage to go through your preparation routine ahead of the race.

The weirdness of the weekend didn’t end there. Once the lights went out, you’d managed to gain a few positions from the start and wound up in P3. Max wasn’t as lucky, involved in some contact with Charles that spun him off the track and damaged his car. Though he’d tried to carry on with the race, the team eventually decided to retire Max’s car from the race when they realized that wouldn’t make up pace and put all their focus on you.

The pressure didn’t bother you, instead motivating you to do whatever you could to get the most points for the team. And somehow, thanks to some fantastic pit strategies and a little bit of luck, you’d crossed the finish line a few seconds ahead of Bottas and Hamilton, taking the win. The celebration was a little bit bittersweet for the team, considering the DNF, but it was also their 5th win of the season.

After the podium celebration and team photo, you’d convinced your PR officer to give you a couple of minutes to change out of your champagne-soaked suit before heading to the media pen, so you’d quickly made your way through the garage, intent on getting to your driver’s room as quickly as possible.

You never expected to bump into Max and his father Jos, the latter essentially reaming out his son for the poor outcome on the race. You’d taken a few steps back to avoid being seen, not wanting to interrupt something that clearly wasn’t meant for your eyes.

That didn’t stop you from overhearing the gist of Jos’s cruel words. “-didn’t even fight to stay in the race. I taught you better than that. You’ll never become champion if you keep letting that hoer ahead of you! I thought you’d learned after Germany, but it’s clear that you’d rather be on that slet’s good graces than winning races. Ik ben teleurgesteld in jou (I’m disappointed in you.)” Oh great, they were talking about you. You didn’t know what Jos had called you, but you doubted that it was anything nice.

“Leclerc’s the one who ruined my race today by running me off the track. Y/L/N had nothing to do with it.” Max’s tone lacked the… confidence it usually held.

Jos wasn’t having it. “You gave her the better line off the start.”

“She beat me to it.” Max argued, accent strong as he continued to voice his argument. “I don’t let her do anything. She’s a fucking good driver. Red Bull wouldn’t have given her the second seat if she wasn’t.”

Jos laughed menacingly. “We all know she’s only on the team for the PR benefits of having a girl in the sport. Red Bull is making millions in additional brand deals and sponsorships. She’s a commodity. You’re just soft for her. It’s making you look like a fool on the track.”

 You didn’t know what insulted you the most out of what Max’s dad had just said, but it’s not like you could defend yourself without giving away the fact that you’d been eavesdropping for longer than you should’ve been.

“Je hebt het fout (You’re wrong).” Max snapped.

Jos only laughed. “En je bent een hopeloze dwaas (And you’re a hopeless fool.) She’ll ruin you, and you’re letting her do it.”

You’d had enough of this. You took a few silent steps further back in the hallway, before loudly reopening the door and pretending to walk through. You kept the best poker face you could as you turned the corner towards your driver’s room, pretending to be surprised to find another two people standing in the hallway, walking until you were stood in front of your door.

“Max, Jos.” You nodded to them.

“Y/N.” Max wouldn’t meet your gaze, unlike his father who was openly glaring at you.

You didn’t falter, cocking your head to the side in challenge. Jos Verstappen didn’t scare you, you’d dealt with worse in the past. “Sorry about the DNF. Super unlucky but at least the stewards gave him a couple penalties. He wound up in P8.”

Max couldn’t hide his surprise. You never expressed sympathy after a bad result. In fact, you usually avoided him in these cases. You hadn’t been awful to him lately, but you also weren’t friends. “Oh, yeah. It sucked. But, congratulations on your win. I saw a couple of good looking overtakes on the replay screens.”

“Yes, enjoy the win while you still can.” Jos added, attempting to look intimidating.

Too bad you couldn’t care less what this man thought about you. “That’s the plan, Jos.” You smiled, sugary sweet. “Actually on the theme of enjoying victories, a bunch of us are heading out to a karaoke bar tonight. Daniel’s idea, obviously. You in, Verstappen?”

“We’re flying back to Holland tonight.” His father answered for him.

“Niet (No.)” Max stood slightly taller. “Would I have to sing?”

“Most definitely.” You smirked, enjoying the fact that Max’s dad seemed to be getting more frustrated by the second. “But, only after copious amounts of alcohol have been consumed. I’m sure they have plenty of gin for you.”

“I guess I can’t leave Daniel hanging.” Max’s smirk almost matched yours. “I’ll be there.”

“I’ll let him know.” Your smirk softened into a smile. “I’ll text you the details. See you later, Verstappen.” You added, before finally making your way into your room to change. You could hear more muttering in Dutch between the two men you’d left behind in the hallway, but paid it no mind as you changed out of your champagne soaked race suit into some other team branded clothes.

You shot Daniel a text as you’d been braiding your wet hair back, giving him a heads up that Max would be joining you guys tonight. His response was almost immediate.

- I thought you didn’t like the guy. – Danny

- I don’t. – Y/N

- But if anyone deserves to get hammered tonight, he’s up there on the list. – Y/N

- I already know *exactly* what song I’m making the two of you sing together. – Danny

- Fuck off, I’m not singing. – Y/N.

You were smiling as you made your way back out to face the media, telling yourself that it was because you’d just won your third Grand Prix of your rookie season. You didn’t doubt that tonight would be one of the more interesting victory celebrations you’d been a part of. You couldn’t wait.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

GROUPCHAT: Y/L/N Offsprings

Dumb: You’re internet famous, Y/N!

Dumb: *insert link to youtube video of you singing karaoke in a random Japanese bar with Max*

Dumber: Holy fuck that thing has thousands of views.

Jesus Christ I’m going to murder Daniel for posting that. :Y/N

It’s got more views than the elevator video… :Y/N

Dumber: We always knew you were destined for fame.

Dumb: Who needs to win the WDC. Just keep singing off key with all the drivers. That’s the way to do it.

I’m going to block you both. :Y/N

Dumb: It’s the start of something new!

Dumber: It feels so right, to be here with you!

Dumb: And now looking in your eyes

Dumber: I feel in my heart……….

Forget about those Paddock passes to the Austin GP :Y/N

Dumber: Whatever. Dan will sort us out.

I’ll have you banned. :Y/N

Good luck getting through security then. :Y/N

Dumb: Love you too, Gabriella.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

After the race weekend in Japan, you’d made your way over to Canada to spend the off week with your family ahead of the next couple of North American races. Your family had delayed Thanksgiving by a week so that you wouldn’t miss it, and you were even there to celebrate your dad’s birthday. It was nice to have a little break away from it all, knowing that the last couple of races were going to be interesting.

However, you hadn’t been able to get a certain conversation with a Dutch driver out of your head. He’d tracked you down when you’d been ordering another round of drinks at the karaoke bar in Japan, taking you by surprise when he offered you a sincere apology for that run in with his father earlier in the day. You’d easily brushed it off, because you couldn’t give two shits about what Jos Verstappen thought about you. The guy was an ass, and everyone knew it. You also somehow managed to keep your mouth shut about the part of the conversation you’d overheard, knowing that the middle of a karaoke bar in Japan probably wasn’t the best place to hash that out.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when your dad appeared beside you, placing his hand over yours that had aimlessly been stirring your coffee for a while now. “What’s on your mind, Y/N?”

“Huh? Nothing.” You shrugged it off, grabbing your mug and taking a sip of the slightly sweetened coffee.

The look your dad gave you told you that he clearly wasn’t buying it. “You’ve been quiet all weekend. You love Thanksgiving and seeing all your cousins that you don’t usually get to see.”

You found yourself looking down at your coffee again, because your dad was right. You had been distracted for a good chunk of your visit. You didn’t want to talk about what was really on your mind, so you deflected with a semi-relevant question instead. “Do you think I only got my spot at Red Bull because I’m a woman and they can leverage me to get better sponsorships and brand deals?”

“Is that what you think?” Your dad answered the question with another question.

You shrugged a shoulder, hoping you appeared unbothered, but your dad knew you better than that. “It’s what other people think.”

“I thought you didn’t care what other people thought about you.” You dad slowly said, refilling his own mug of coffee now that you’d stepped away from the coffee machine.

“I don’t, it’s just…” You trailed off, biting at your lip. “That conversation is still happening whether I care about it or not, no matter how many podiums or wins I get.”

“Let’s get one thing straight here, Y/N. You didn’t get those podiums or wins. You earned them. Regardless of what people say, it won’t take away from the fact that you went out there and won Monaco your first time around. It won’t diminish the fact that you’re having the best rookie season in recent years, consistently outscoring your more experienced teammate. It definitely won’t take away from the fact that you’re putting up a fight for the championship when no one ever thought you’d even score so much as a point. Red Bull might’ve signed you initially for the good PR, but you’re easily one of the better drivers that they’d ever signed.”

Your dad’s encouragement brought up some warm and fuzzy feelings inside of you, instantly quelling your doubts. You wished he could come out to more races, because it would be nice to have him around more often to help you block out all that stupid noise. But still, the egotistically part of you couldn’t help but fish for another compliment. “Better than Danny?”

Your dad smirked, but indulged you anyways. “Daniel didn’t win three races his rookie year.” Damn fucking straight. “What brought all of this doubt on? You’re usually far more clear headed.”

“Something I overheard in Japan that I shouldn’t have.” You mumbled, taking a large gulp from your coffee. “Jos Verstappen was quick to blame me for his son’s DNF, and overall lower standing. He thinks Max is letting me win cause I’m a girl.”

“Did you tell him he was full of shit?”

You smirked. “I thought it.”

“Good.” Your dad was smiling again, before that serious look was back on his face. “Jos couldn’t be more wrong. Max is easily the driver who gives you the hardest time on track, if the German GP was anything to go by… I’d even go as far as to say that Max was one of the first to take you seriously.”

Wait… what? “Huh?”

“I keep forgetting that you don’t watch the press things on race weekends” Your dad chuckled to himself. “Ahead of pre-season testing, he was making comments about being unsure about you, but then after he saw what you could do during testing he quickly changed his tune. He’s had your back throughout the season.”

“Max has had my back? Max… Verstappen?” You said his last name slowly, to make sure you were talking about the same person.

“Yes.” Your dad seemed confused by your surprise. “I thought you guys got along? Seemed like it in at the Montreal GP, when he was talking with us in the garage.”

At that point, they had been getting along. It was right after their temporary truce in Monaco. You’d even go as far as to say that he’d been like a friend to you, letting you use his travelling simulator so that you could get out of your head before a race. But then again, everything had changed in Germany and you’d backed off entirely, preferring to ignore him. Then that thing happened in Monaco, and you were now in this weird limbo with your teammate where you didn’t hate him or like him. “It’s… He’s complicated. He wants to win just as much as I do… so we butt heads a lot.”

Your dad laughed at your explanation. “I think it’s safe to say all the drivers on that grid with you want to win. Daniel wants to win just as much as you do, and yet the two of you are still the best of friends through it all.”

“I guess…” You trailed off, feeling a headache coming on. Daniel was different though, because he wasn’t your teammate. He wasn’t your constant line of comparison, like Max. Besides, Daniel wasn’t having the best year with his new team, so you weren’t racing him as much as you would’ve liked to.

 Urg, this was too much thinking for this early in the morning. It wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. You just wanted to be able to turn up to the track, get in your car and race. Fuck everything else.

However, you’d been wrong in thinking that this was the end of the conversation. Clearly, your dad wasn’t ready to drop the first heart to heart conversation you’d had in a long time, bringing up something that you rarely every talked about. “You know, your mom would be proud of everything you’ve accomplished this year.” Your gaze snapped up to meet your dad’s, hoping you could silently convey that you didn’t want to talk about it. “I mean, I don’t think she envisioned her baby girl regularly hurtling herself around a race track at over 300kph, but you can bet she would be so fucking proud of you for carving out a space for yourself doing what you love.”

“Fucking hell dad, give a girl a warning before diving into the deep stuff.” You rebuffed, trying to avoid the topic. It was no secret that you didn’t like talking about this. Your mom was a whole other can of worms that you did not have the mental capacity to deal with this morning. Barely anyone outside of your immediate family knew about it. Daniel only knew because you’d met him a few months after it had all happened, when you packed up your Canada life and moved to Australia for a couple of years. “Can we please not do this now?”

Your dad sighed, but nodded. He’d probably seen this coming, because you always responded the same way.

One of these days you may be more willing to talk about it, but that sure as hell wasn’t today.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

You landed in Mexico on Wednesday afternoon, Daniel insisting that he be the one to come pick you up from the airport.

He’d gotten here a day ahead of you, and was clearly experiencing some sort of separation anxiety because this was the longest you’d gone without seeing one another in a while (and it was only 9 days…) Regardless, a wide smile still made its way onto your face as you dragged your suitcases behind you in the arrivals section of the airport, easily spotting the Australian in the sea of people, even though he wore shades and a hat.

He immediately started talking your ear off about what he’d been up to this past week in Los Angeles. Whereas you’d taken the week off to spend time with you family, Daniel had been bouncing from one thing to the next, running from one sponsorship event to the other. You raised your brow when he started talking about initial meetings to launch his own brand of wine, but at the same time that seemed like a very Daniel thing to do. The guy barely new what relaxing was. That’s why you weren’t surprised when you parked up outside a restaurant instead of going straight to the hotel, meeting up with Michael and Blake for dinner. Then again, you wouldn’t change a thing.

Thursday had been rather uneventful, going through your standard media routine. You’d been put in a press conference with Lewis and Max, seeing as the three of you were the only ones still in contention for the championship. It was clear from the beginning that the three of you would rather be doing just about anything else, almost turning the conference into a game of who could answer the question the best without actually providing an answer.

The Friday practice sessions hadn’t been your best, but you chalked it up to this being your first time driving on this track. It was the only track on the calendar this year that you hadn’t raced at before, and it was showing. You were a little bit more cautious than usual, trying to memorize the turns and braking points as quickly as you could and get comfortable with the feel of the track. Others had caught on to your hesitancy, if your P15 and P12 lap ranking at the end of the two sessions was anything to go by.

“Are you feeling alright, Y/N?” Christian was there the second you got out of your car at the end of the second practice session. You’d barely taken off your helmet and balaclava, setting them down on the workbench before turning your attention back to your team principle to answer his question

“I know my lap times were shit.” You got to the point. “It’s a new track for me, I’m still figuring it out. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

Christian nodded, seemingly happy that you were on the same page. “Well then, get some rest and we’ll smash it tomorrow.”

If only it was that easy.

You’d gone straight to your hotel room after leaving the track, ordering some room service that followed your nutrition plan, not in the mood to go down to the restaurant with the rest of the team. Instead, you spend hours reviewing data and mentally running through the track, really trying to engrave it into your brain. And even then, after a couple of hours of review you felt like you hadn’t done anything at all, anxiety about the situation slowly rising.

If only you could take the car out for a spin without the pressure… Oh wait.

A quick glance at the clock was enough to tell you that it was a bad idea, but that didn’t stop you from grabbing your phone and room key and marching down the hall, stopping in front of what you hoped was the correct room from what you could remember this morning when you’d both been picked up to head to the track. It would’ve probably been a better idea to text him first, but you also didn’t want him to say no. He couldn’t turn you away, face to face… right?

You knocked at the door before you could change your mind, waiting a couple of seconds to hear if there was any movement. After about 30 seconds of silence, you started knocking more incisively. The second round of knocking was met with some muffled Dutch cursing, revealing that he was in fact in his room. The cursing didn’t stop, even as he swung the door open.

The cursing didn’t stop until his eyes landed on your crossed armed figure, a frown making its way onto his face. “Y/N?”

Only now did you realize how stupid this was. But, it was too late to back down. “So, I’m having an existential crisis because I’ve never driven on this stupid track before and I can’t wrap my head around it… My lap times were shit today and I’m kind of freaking out thinking they aren’t going to be any better tomorrow and I fucked up by not going to Milton Keynes last week to practice… And then I remembered that you have that nifty little traveling simulator. Any chance you’d let me run a couple of laps before I actually lose my mind?”

He didn’t say anything, simply pulling the door open further and stepping aside to let you into the room.

You walked in, immediately noticing the messed-up bedsheets, oddly placed pillows and the fact that only the bedside lamp was on. “Fuck, I woke you up. This is stupid, I can go…”

“No, I’m awake now. Sit.” He shrugged, before gesturing to the sim that was tucked into the corner of his room.

“Are you sure?” You questioned, eyeing his haphazardly thrown on sweater and joggers.

He nodded. “Track is already programmed and all. Do what you need to do.”

You shot off a thankful smile, before making your way over to the simulator. You pushed the seat forward slightly in account of your difference in height, powering it up. Then you settled into the leaned back seat, adjusting the settings to your specifications. You got into the zone so quickly that you barely noticed Max standing behind you, silently watching as you dove right into some practice laps.

“Brake later for turn 12, the car will carry you through if you stay on the line.” You hadn’t been expecting him to give you tips, but you weren’t about to ignore them if it would help put your mind at ease. You did as instructed, finding a few tenths being shaved off your latest lap time.

“Any other helpful hints?” You asked, more as a joke.

But to your surprise, Max actually gave you more tips. He showed you a different line through turn 6 that would give you a better launch after the turn and pointed out spots where you could downshift one less gear. You couldn’t quite believe that your biggest competitor was helping you out like this, knowing that his father would be absolutely livid if he ever found out about it. You appreciated it a lot more than you were willing to admit., continuing to practice on the simulator until you felt like you could do it with your eyes closed.

“Feel better now?” Max asked, once you’d topped your lap time for the third time in a row.

“Yeah…” You answered sheepishly as you powered down the simulator and pulled yourself out of the seat, stretching out your shoulders out slightly. You caught sight of the time on the clock next to the bed, eyes growing wide as you realized your performance coach was going to come knocking at your door in less than 6 hours. “Oh my god, it’s almost 2:00 am! Why didn’t you say anything!? We should definitely both be sleeping right now”

Max shrugged, holding back a yawn. “It’s fine, Y/N. Don’t worry about it.”

“I… Thank you for helping me… again.”

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a half smile. “Does this mean we’re back to being civil?”

You considered his question, unconsciously biting at your lip. You thought about the conversation you’d had with your dad, and how Max was one of the first to respect you on the track even when he had a weird way of showing it. Max didn’t have to be your enemy… You could be civil, at least until it all blew up again. “I guess so… until we inevitably piss each other off again.”

With that, you left your teammates room and fell asleep the moment your head touched your pillow back in your own hotel room.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

Your lap times had dramatically improved throughout the final practice session at the track ahead of qualifying. Christian pulled you aside after the session, letting you know that he hadn’t doubted you would come around that morning. You’d even wound up getting pole after qualifying by the slightest of margins, after Max had been given a three place grid penalty for exceeding track limits.

On Sunday, you’d somehow managed to keep your lead through the majority of the race, ensuring that Hamilton couldn’t clinch the title this weekend. He was still only a few points short of winning the whole thing, but it felt nice to be the one to make it that much harder for him. Logically, you knew that there was no way you were going to beat him now, seeing as the only way it would be mathematically possible was for Lewis to DNF the last 3 races and you to win them all, but still. A race win was a race win.

Max on the other hand, hadn’t had the best race. He’d been off to a decent start, only to finish 6th. Still, he’d stuck around with the rest of the team to celebrate your latest win, congratulating you with a knowing smile before you’d gone off to fulfil your media duties. 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

You understood from the moment the plane touched down in Texas why Austin was one of Daniel’s favourite race weekends on the calendar. The atmosphere around Austin and at the track was so different from any of the other ones you’d been to this year.

Every night, you had some kind of barbecue dinner booked at some of the best restaurants in town with your friends and family. It was one of the closer Grand Prix’s to Canada, so a good chunk of people you knew from back home were coming to visit over the weekend. The whole couple of days leading to that first practice session were a good time, filled with lots of laughs and stereotypical American moments.

You’d even let Daniel talk you and your family into going to a haunted cornfield maze on Halloween, which had been an interesting experience… You might’ve clung onto your oldest brother and covered your eyes through most of it, because you absolutely hated scary things like that, but you’d survived and laughed it all off afterwards. You had to admit, if you ignored the scary bits, it was the most fun you’d had leading up to a race weekend in a while.

It wasn’t any different on the Thursday, your knee bouncing in place as you knew you were late to meet your family for dinner. You’d gotten held up at the track, filming some extra bits for some social media content with the team. Max had tried talking to you on the way back to the hotel, when he’d noticed your knee bouncing in the seat next to his, but you’d kept your response short. You didn’t like being late and keeping people waiting on you, especially your family that had flown in to spend this time with you.

“There she is!” Your dad spoke up when he spotted you rushing into the hotel lobby, having booked it from the van the moment it had parked in front of the hotel.

“Sorry I’m late!” You rushed the words out. “I just need like, 5 minutes to change out of the team gear and I’ll be ready.”

“Gosh Y/N, so tardy.” Daniel chimed in, glancing up from his phone where he was waiting around with your family, knowing that it would get on your nerves.

“It’s not entirely her fault.” Max surprised everyone by speaking up. He’d come inside at the same time, obviously. “We got held up by the social media team. They sprung another one of those dumb ‘on the couch’ videos on us.”

Daniel let out a pained groan, recalling having to film those throughout his time with Red Bull. Forced questions about the season so far and what the drivers thought about it. They usually took a while to film because they’d get severely off topic or make too many dumb jokes throughout filming. You didn’t envy your media director’s role, trying to keep you and Max on topic as you continuously complained about the weirdly cold weather or wanting to be doing just about anything else.

“In that case, you probably haven’t eaten yet either. Why don’t you join us for dinner, Max?”

You gaze shot over to your dad’s, completely missing the way that Max’s gaze widened like a deer caught in headlights. “Dad, I’m sure Max already has his own plans.”

Your dad shrugged in a way that implied he was trying to be nice to your teammate, before his gaze returned to Max as he waited for the Dutch driver to respond. “Uh, well… I was just going to order some room service.” Max mumbled, eyes flickering over to yours making it clear that he didn’t want to intrude. You nodded along to Max’s words, hoping that your dad understood that this was completely unnecessary.

He didn’t.

“Well then, that settles it.” Your dad exclaimed, looking rather proud of himself and leaving absolutely no room for argument. “You two go on and get changed, and we’ll get this show on the road.”

You turned, shaking your head in disbelief at your dad as you walked off towards the elevator, continuing to ignore your brothers’ comments about hurrying up. You were aware that Max had silently followed you, the pair of you stepping into the elevator together and heading off to the same floor. It wasn’t until the doors closed in front of the two of you that you turned your attention towards the Dutch driver.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” You offered him an out, figuring that this was probably not what he wanted to do with the last of his free time before the weekend ramped up tomorrow.

But to your surprise, Max simply shrugged. “I don’t mind.” He paused, uncertainty crossing his face. “Well, unless you don’t want me to come. I know you don’t get to see your family as much as you’d like…”

You could already picture the look of disappointment on your dad’s face if you managed to scare Max out of coming to dinner with your family tonight. You didn’t really mind, because you’d had dinner with Max and the team plenty of times throughout the year, not to mention the many dinners with other drivers. It wouldn’t really be that different, would it? Besides, you were being civil right now, so there was no reason to be this hesitant towards your teammate joining in on your family dinner.

“My dad would kill me if I scared you out of coming…” You eventually mumbled, trying to diffuse the weird tension that you suddenly noticed in the elevator. “And Daniel’s been raving about this steakhouse for weeks. I’m sure it would beat the room service here by a long shot.”

Max’s chuckle lightened the tension significantly. “You’re not wrong.”

You let out a breath as the elevator doors finally opened on your floor, sparring half a glance at Max to tell him that you’d meet him back in front of the elevator in a few minutes before taking a right turn towards your room.

You got ready for dinner in record time. It helped that today had mostly been a media day, so your hair was still in relatively good shape unlike when you raced. You brushed through it, content with the way that it had held up through the day. You quickly touched up your makeup, before rushing to your suitcase to change into a more dinner appropriate outfit that consisted of a forest green silky tank top tucked into a pair of black high wasted skinny jeans. You dug a pair of basic black heeled sandals out of your suitcase, buckling them around your ankles. You shrugged into your trusty leather jacket, shoving your phone and room key into your pocket before hastily making your way back out of your hotel room.

All of that in under five minutes.

“You weren’t kidding.” Max commented, when he spotted you rounding the corner to the elevator.

You took in his simple light blue button up that really brought out just how blue his eyes were and dark jeans that fit perfectly, and the grey jacket he wore on top. Not to mention the lack of flat ballcap on his head, you’d almost say he looked… handsome. What?

You shook that thought out of your head, responding to Max’s comment with a smirk as you pressed the button to call the elevator once again. “I grew up with two older brothers. I had to learn to be quick if I didn’t want to get left behind. And as you’ve probably figured out, I hate being late and making people wait.”

Max nodded, because he’d picked up on this months ago. You were never late if you could help it. Nothing else was said as you both stepped into the elevator.

You all took off the moment you rejoined your family in the lobby, everyone getting into a van that had been hired for the evening. You sandwiched yourself between Daniel and your dad in the very back, Max sitting with your brothers in the middle row. Your dad kept the conversation flowing throughout the car journey, asking you about your day and what you’d been up to. You answered each of his questions patiently, jabbing your elbow into Daniel’s ribs when he started telling an embarrassing story on your behalf from your recent time in Tokyo.

Your obviously eavesdropping brothers did not need any more ammunition to use against you.

When you got to the over-the-top western themed steakhouse in the middle of Austin, you weren’t that surprised to see photographers outside waiting to snap pictures of the three Formula 1 drivers who were heading inside for dinner. Formula 1 was growing in the states, thanks to that Netflix series that had premiered at the beginning of the season. You paid the cameras no mind, weirdly already used to having them around whenever you did these types of things on race weekends. You’d learned to be aware of when they were around, yet ignore them at the same time. Even though you didn’t feel like it, there was no denying that as a driver, you were a public figure.

“That’s still so weird.” Your oldest brother mumbled, once everyone was safely inside the restaurant.

You, Daniel and Max shared an unbothered look, because this was your life. “I guess it’s what happens when you race every other week with the 19 other best drivers in the world. They don’t call it a travelling circus for nothing…” You said nonchalantly to your brother, as Daniel made his way over to the host so you could all be seated.

You were led to this big round booth towards the back of the restaurant, out of sight from most of the other patrons. You slid in first towards the back of the rounded booth, surprised by the fact that Max wound up sitting next to you, sandwiched in by your brothers on one side and your dad and Daniel on the other.

You didn’t pay much attention to the conversation happening around you, still a little weirded out by this entire situation, choosing instead to focus on the menu in front of you even though you already knew what you were going to order.

“What’s up with you?” Daniel asked quietly, leaning in towards you to talk. He’d clearly noticed that you were in your head.

“Nothing.” You mumbled, still putting all your focus on reading the menu.

You didn’t have to look up to know that Daniel had rolled his eyes at you. “You’re getting the New York strip with the house salad. You get the same thing every time. Stop eyeing the menu like it’s written in gibberish.”

Before you could come back with a smart retort, he snatched the menu out of your hand. “Hey! Maybe I wanted to try something new.” You pouted at him, even though that wasn’t true.

He only raised a brow, waiting for you to tell him what he wanted to hear.

You looked over to Max, who was laughing and joking along to whatever your brothers were saying and paying you no mind. So, you let out a long breath and quietly answered the question, telling him one of the things that was on your mind. “I’m just thinking about the race. Most of my media questions today were people asking me if they thought I could get a third win in a row… like it’s impossible. They were also asking why I’m even bothering, considering how likely it is that Lewis is going to with the WDC this weekend considering her only needs like, 4 points to seal the deal… I just want a good outcome while everyone is here.”

Daniel never got the chance to say much more about that because your dad gathered everyone’s attention so that he could take a group photo, asking everyone to squish together even more. You shuffled slightly closer to Daniel, only tensing for a split second when Max pushed himself closer to you on your other side. But, that split second was enough for a lightbulb to go off in Daniel’s head, your best friend now eyeing you with that stupid shit eating grin plastered onto his face.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” You muttered lowly towards Daniel, making it clear that you didn’t want to talk about any of this anymore.

Thankfully, he backed off as your dad’s phone flashed, momentarily blinding everyone at the table again as he took the photo. The phone flashed a handful more times, your dad making comments asking everyone to at least try to look like they were enjoying themselves, earning some chuckles and more genuine smiles from around the table.

The waitress came to take the orders around the table, pouring everyone some generous glasses of red wine at the same time. Ryan knew that she should take it easy, but the first glass went down way too easily for her to care. So did the second.

Her third glass was finished as the mains came out, the waitress happily topping up her glass.

“You know Horner’s going to be mad if you show up hungover tomorrow.” Max warned quietly, so that no one else would hear.

“I’m fine.” You didn’t hesitate to roll your eyes at the Dutch driver. You could’ve sworn he’d sighed, almost like he was disappointed by your response, but also convinced yourself that it was only the wine getting to your head on a nearly empty stomach. You really should’ve calmed down with the wine…

“You keep saying that.”

“Well, that’s cause I am fine.” You said, cutting up a piece of your steak and stuffing it into your mouth.

“You never drink the night before you get in the car.”

“That’s not true.” You hummed, even though it mostly was true. There were a few exceptions to that rule, but you usually didn’t want to risk feeling like garbage when you were in the car. You’d gone to plenty of team dinners on Thursday and passed on the drinks being served. Why was tonight so different? “Why are you and Danny so convinced that something’s up?”

Max’s brow raised in surprise, seemingly surprised that Daniel had been concerned as well. “We’re being civil. Aren’t I allowed to be worried about my teammate when something’s up with them?”

“No.” You deadpanned, finding it weird that Max was implying that… he sort of cared about your wellbeing. “Nothing’s up, so there’s nothing to be worried about.”

“Right.” Max didn’t believe her. “Is it the track? You can use the SIM later if you want.”

 “It’s not the track, I’ve been racing here since I was a teen.” You sighed, taking another large swing of your wine. You would later blame the wine for the honest words that followed. “Maybe I’m just itching to get back in the car and get this race over with so Lewis can officially have his crown and people can stop hounding me with stupid questions.”

Max took a moment to consider your revelation, each of you eating another couple of bites from your meals. You soon decided that as good as the steak was, you weren’t all that hungry, moving pieces of your salad back and forth on the plate. Max noticed this as well, silently gesturing for you to continue eating. “I thought that Viper didn’t give a shit about what the media said about them?”

 “I don’t.” You quickly agreed. “But it doesn’t change the fact that those questions are annoying. They don’t ask you that.”

“I’ve never won two in a row so they’ve never been able to ask me that question.” Max stated bluntly with a shrug.

You mouth snapped shut at that, realizing just how crazy this was all sounding. You had been annoyed this entire evening, because a question about the possibility of you winning a third race in a row had been brought up, amongst other things. But, you’d won the last two. You’d won four Grand Prix’s in your rookie season, and had given the 5 time reigning world champion a run for his money. You’d known long before you’d ever started racing in Formula 1 that people were going to talk shit about you whether you were successful or not.

“Give them a reason to ask about a 4th.” Max added, that shit disturbing grin etched onto his face.

“I’ll fucking drink to that.” You hummed, raising your wine glass up to meet his, feeling a whole lot better now that none other than Max Verstappen had managed to get you to pull your head out of your ass.

The rest of the evening was a whole lot more fun for you, finding yourself finally letting go of the stresses of the day and enjoying the limited time that you got to spend with you family. And, as the night went on, you stopped thinking of Max’s presence as slightly strange, finding that the Dutch driver fit in rather seamlessly with your little crew of people.

Instead of questioning it, you enjoyed the moment.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

You were all smiles as you walked through the paddock on Friday morning, despite the pesky not-so-little hangover that was the result of far too much wine consumed over dinner the night before. You weren’t going to announce to the whole world that you’d had a bit too much to drink the night before. You’d walked in with your dad, your brothers opting to sleep through the first practice session as they’d carried on drinking long after you’d called it a night. He’d stuck around in the garage, much like the last Grand Prix he’d attended in Montreal, chatting with anyone and everyone.

Max had been rather amused when you showed up to your briefing with your suit half done up and sunglasses still resting over your eyes, the ‘I told you so’ look clear as day on his own face. Still, you absorbed every word spoken by the engineers and strategist, determined not to let this affect your performance.

Spoiler alert, it didn’t. The second you slipped into your car for that first practice session, adrenaline took over and your hangover faded into a thing of the past. You put down some solid times, keeping your lap time ever so slightly ahead of Hamilton’s throughout the entire session. You’d never know how much wine had been consumed. That being said, you called it a night significantly earlier than the night before in anticipation for qualifying.

Then on Saturday, qualifying turned out fine. You got caught in some traffic during you last flying lap which ruined the lap. You had to settle for a P5 start tomorrow, knowing that you could’ve pushed onto the front row. Still, you didn’t find yourself too bothered by it. You knew logically that you weren’t winning the championship, so you felt like this weight had been lifted from your shoulders and you were free to just enjoy the last three races of the season, results be damned.

You were feeling pretty good.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

That good feeling disappeared before the race on Sunday.

You’d been cornered by a reporter in the paddock as you’d been walking alone to your garage after a fan event you’d popped into for Red Bull. You plastered a fake smile onto your face, answering a couple of questions about your expectations for the day. You thought that would be it, but the reporter had a different idea.

“We’ve seen some of your family in the paddock, supporting you this weekend. How’s it been, having them around?”

“It always makes the weekend that little bit extra special when your people are there to support you.” You kept the answer short, hoping they’d leave it alone. They did not.

“We couldn’t help but notice that your father and brothers have been the only ones in the paddock. Is it safe to assume your mother doesn’t support your career choice?”

You fully stopped walking, smile falling from your face as you wondered how in the hell the reporter had gotten the nerve to ask that very out of line question. “Pardon me?”

“Well, we’ve never seen her in the paddock.”

Do not freak out. Do not snap. You’re on camera. Compartmentalize, deal with it after. It’s not their fault, they didn’t know. You’d been very careful in the past when talking about your family to avoid this ever coming up. It wasn’t something you liked to talk about, with anyone, much less with the media. You couldn’t help your dry tone as you glared at the reporter across from you. “Considering that my mother’s been dead for almost twenty years, it would be quite the surprise to see her in the paddock.”

At least they had the decency to look like they’d fucked up, gaping at you like a fish out of water. “Y/N, I’m sorry. We didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well…” You sighed, head spinning as you ran a hand through your hair. You wanted to avoid this becoming a big deal, so you decided to try and talk the reporter out of using the last little bit of footage. “Can we… forget about this? It doesn’t have anything to do with the race, and family’s on my list on no-go topics.”

“I- Of course… Good luck with your race.”

“Mhm.” You mumbled, taking off towards your garage again.

You didn’t acknowledge anyone, heading right through the garage and out the back towards the motorhome. You fully ignored your brothers who were sat having lunch, breezing past everyone and up the stairs towards your drivers room. You kicked out your shocked performance coach who’d been working on their laptop in the private room, locking the door the minute they’d closed it behind them and shutting off the lights.

Now that you were totally alone, you caved in on yourself, completely losing control.

All at once, it was like you couldn’t breathe, your body suddenly spiked in temperature, and you became so disoriented you forgot where you were. Your ears started ringing as you struggled to draw in a full breath. You paced blindly around your too small driver’s room, desperately trying to stop this from happening but knowing that it was entirely out of your control. You were stuck, confined, and tumbling headfirst into a dizzying panic attack.

It felt like the walls were closing in around you as the temperature continued to rise. Your balance disappeared and you stumbled into one of the walls, bumping your shoulder rather painfully but at the same time not hard enough to snap you out of it. You slid down the wall rather pathetically, trying and failing to gasp in enough oxygen to stop your vision from blurring. You dug your nails into your palms hard enough to draw blood, but you couldn’t feel it. You couldn’t string together enough though to run through your usual panic squashing tricks, forced to suffer through it.

You tried so hard to pull yourself back up onto your feet but you physically couldn’t do it. You’d pulled at some temporary shelving, only to have it come crashing down around you too. There was nothing you could do. The edges of your vision were starting to go dark, head pounding. The longer you couldn’t breathe, the more you became sure that you were going to die like this. Pathetic and alone, too weak to handle a stupid question. Spiralling out of control.

You were so out of it that you never heard someone knocking at your driver room door. It’s not like you could’ve moved to answer it anyways, you brain not really registering anything at the moment, too busy fucking you over. You could’ve been curled up on the floor for minutes or hours, there was no way to tell the difference.

You were in fucking hell.

And just when you thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, they did.

The door to your room was carefully pushed open, light from the hallway pouring in and making it so that you could only just make out the silhouette of the person who clearly didn’t understand that you wanted to be alone right now. You didn’t move as whoever it was gently shut the door behind them, locking it once again.

It wasn’t until you managed to focus on those familiar blue eyes that you realized just how shit this situation was. Your teammate was sitting on his heels in front of you, concern etched into those piercing blue eyes, making you feel about a million times worse.  

You wanted to yell at him to get the fuck out of here, because you couldn’t think of anything worse than your teammate, and most direct competitor, seeing you like this. But, you still couldn’t really breathe, let alone form any coherent sentences. Hell, you could see his mouth moving but you couldn’t hear anything he was trying to say because of the persistent ringing in your ears. Your stomach sank as the worry on Max’s face only grew, when he realized that you weren’t registering anything he was saying.  

He pulled you up so that you were sitting with you back against the wall, no longer in a crumpled heap on the ground. Then sitting back on his heels, he grabbed one of your hands, turning it so that your palm was facing upwards, exposing the little bloody crescent marks that your nails had dug into your palm. You instinctively tried to pull your hand back and hide the marks, but Max wouldn’t let you, his grasp on your hand firm yet gentle at the same time.

With his other hand, he pinched the tip of your thumb between his fingers, before moving on and doing the same thing to your index, middle, ring and pinky fingers, then slowly started working his way back. At first, you couldn’t feel it, but then at some point you locked in to the steady rhythm of him applying pressure to your fingers. “…. three, four. Out, two, three, four. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Come on, Y/N.”

He was trying to help you breathe.

He pinched your thumb and you sucked in a shaky breath, somehow managing to count along with him as he pressed your index, middle then ring finger. You released the breath when he pressed your pinky, eyes following his hand as he pressed backwards towards your thumb.

You don’t know how long you were sat there, gaze tracking Max’s hand as he continued to run back and forth pinching your fingers. You weren’t sure at which point your mind cleared enough and the panic subsided enough not to leave you feeling void. You didn’t know when your ears stopped ringing, or your body stopped shaking. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Max didn’t stop until you tentatively lifted your eyes to meet his gaze.

You didn’t know what to say to him, as you started to come back to your senses. He’d just seen you at your lowest… you didn’t know what to do about that, so you automatically started to slowly rebuild your walls.

“Don’t do that, heerlijk.” His voice was so quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just been occurring.

“Do what?” You croaked out, voice hoarse. You knew exactly what he was talking about but chose to be ignorant.

“Hide behind your walls.”

“I don’t have a choice…” You let out another long shaky breath, but didn’t flinch away from the eye contact. In fact, you carried on, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “If the people outside this room have any idea what just happened here, I’m as good as done in this sport. They’ll assume they were right, and that I cracked under the pressure.”

The corners of Max’s lips slowly turned downwards. “What happened here?”

You’d cracked, but you weren’t about to say that out loud. But for some reason, even though you were well aware that Max was the last person you should be opening up to, you found yourself being semi-honest. “A reporter cornered me when I was walking back from the Paddock Club. Asked me some questions they shouldn’t have and well… here we are.”

“Questions about…”

Your heart rate spiked slightly just thinking about it. “Stuff on my blacklist of questions that would never get published. Childhood trauma, that sort of thing.” You muttered bitterly.

To your surprise, Max just nodded, not pushing you any further for more details. Instead he pushed himself back up onto his feet, walking around your fallen shelving to grab whatever he was looking for. He was back a few second later, with a bright red first aid kit in his hands.

Neither of you spoke as he opened the kit and pulled out some bandages and disinfecting wipes. Max grabbed one of your hands, turning your palm upwards again, dabbing at the small cuts with one of the wipes and cleaning it up. Your right had was worse than the left, three of your nails having broken the skin compared to one on your left hand. He covered each of the cuts with the smallest plasters in the box, knowing that anything bigger would draw other people’s attention. If you were careful, you could hide this.

“Why do you keep helping me?”

You hadn’t even realized you’d broken the silence until Max brought his surprised gaze back up to you. “Contrary to what everyone thinks about me, I’m not always an asshole.”

You could’ve done him the same curtesy he’d just done you and left it alone, but you didn’t. “That’s not what I meant. I mean… like in Mexico when you let me use your simulator until a ridiculous hour and in Monaco when you noticed what that guy did and stopped things from getting out of hand… and Japan.”

“Japan?” Max asked quickly, gaze widening slightly.

Fuck, you’d just put your foot in your mouth. Max didn’t know that you’d overheard more than you were meant to with his father. “Outside our driver’s rooms after the race… I accidentally heard more than I let on… You had my back.” You explained, noticing his cheeks flushing slightly in embarrassment. “You’ve had my back for a while now… Why?”

“Well, we did agree to be civil…” It was a weak deflection and he knew it, releasing a sigh when you arched your brow in his direction. You could see in the way that he bit down on the corner of his lip that he was debating whether he should say what was on his mind. Even though it was still pretty dark in the room, you could still clearly see just how conflicted your teammate was. You fell into a silent staring contest, just waiting for Max to decide that he trusted you enough to reveal what was going on inside his head lately.

You both startled when sharp knock sounded at your door. “Y/N, five minutes till you have to be on the grid for the Driver’s parade.” It was your performance coach, letting you know that no matter what was going on inside the room they couldn’t afford to fall behind schedule.

Max snapped back into action, taking your left hand in his to clean out that last little cut.

“Thank you.” You murmured quietly as he placed the last bandage on your left hand.

Max nodded once, pulling himself back up onto his feet. He held out a hand for you, carefully pulling you up as well. “Are you okay to race today?”

“I have to be.” Missing the race wasn’t an option. Not without answering questions and disappointing too many people. Missing the race had never been one of the thoughts running through your mind.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

You shrugged, trying to play off how much you were still affected by the panic attack you’d just experienced. The real answer was probably not, because of how much focus was required to drive a Formula 1 car alongside 19 others without making any mistakes or causing an accident. But at the same time, you knew that once you got back into the race day routine, instinct would take over and see you through. So that’s what you told Max. “Once I’m in the car, I’ll be fine.”

Knowing that you were running out of time, you made your way over to your bag to grab a pair of sunglasses so you’d be able to hide your bloodshot and puffy eyes. You also ran a brush through your hair, making yourself look a little bit more put together as you put your Red Bull cap back on your head. You plastered a fake smile on your face, wiggling your brow at Max.

“Do I pass the test of not looking like I just had a breakdown?”

“To everyone else, probably.”

It gave you a weird feeling in your chest to know that this probably wouldn’t have fooled Max if he hadn’t seen you until now.

Regardless, you kept that fake smile on your face as you nodded to his confirmation, before leading him out the room. You completely ignored the way your performance coach’s eyes widened when he saw you and Max walk out of your darkened room together, already making your way through the motorhome to get to the grid. Before you knew it, you were standing on the back of a tracker with the rest of the drivers, making sure to wave to the fans with your less injured hand, your smile slowly morphing into a more genuine one when you saw the amount of support in the crowd for you.

It didn’t even bother you that Max stayed within a few steps of you, chatting mindlessly to the other drivers while silently keeping an eye on you.

The more time went on, the better you felt.

You yourself were almost convinced that you were totally fine as you slid into your car before the race start.

The adrenaline was almost enough to make you forget.

But not quite.

As the lights went out, you found yourself thinking about things you’d long since sworn off. The panic returned, and you lost yourself again. You weren’t aware that you’d veered off the track until it was too late.

Maybe you shouldn’t have raced today…

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

“Which Red Bull was that?!” Daniel asked, having caught every horrific detail of the rollover accident that occurred right in front of him. He didn’t want to see either of the Red Bulls crash, but his gut instantly sunk the millisecond he first saw the car veering off track after contact with a Mercedes. The car had gotten absolutely mangled; from the brief glimpse he’d gotten of it. Deep down he knew who it was, before his engineer confirmed it.

“Y/L/N.” He stated grimly.

Fuck.

If not for the skills he’d honed that had since become second nature to him, he would’ve sent his own car into the wall. He couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt, in the same way…. No, he needed to focus. “Is she okay?”

“We’re listening on the radio but no word yet.”

Daniel let out an unfiltered string of expletives at that. “Just… keep me posted.”

No sooner than he’d gotten those words out, his engineer was quick to let him know that the race had been red flagged. There was debris everywhere on the track and the extraction would be… complex. The minute it took to get back to the pit lane felt like the longest he’d ever experienced, the silence dragging on as he waited for an update.

As soon as he parked the car in the pitlane, he was rushing off to find her family. He completely ignored his mechanics and engineers, because none of that mattered right now. He needed to know that you were okay.

“Any word?” He asked the minute he walked up to the trio comprised of her devastated looking father and extremely anxious brothers.

Her dad shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

He wasted no time, ripping one of the spare Red Bull headsets off the wall and popping it on so he could hear the radio feed for himself, listening to the heartbreaking sound of her engineer asking for anything to let them know she was alive. He didn’t flinch when Max wandered over as well, looking paler than he’d ever seen him.

Fuck, he didn’t know if he could do this again. He couldn’t lose another best friend to this fucking sport. Not the person who’d basically become a second sister to him, the fiery kid that he’d grown up with.

Fuck this fucking bullshit.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Read Part 4 here!

TAGLIST:

@dorisfantasyworld @dezzxmx @emturtles @organasith @capela-miranda @theplobnrgone @idkiwantchocolatee @deviltsunoda @sohani02 @laura-naruto-fan1998 @muushwrites @sriusun @labelledejourr @oneoftwoghosts @vita-di-moda @xheera @ricsaigaslec @moneymasnn @fromthedeskofjoii @poppyalice2001 @thelightnessofthebeing @chiliwhore @asmallhobbitruinedmylife @bisexual-desi @leeknowidk @clairejpg @ironmaiden1313 @bangtanxberm @dan3avacado @hellomumitsme @atlanticowe @vio111a @nicangelinee @isasv @aaleksmorozova @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @holy-macncheese-balls @glitterquadricorn @sugacoatedtoughcookie @kashee-h @hiphopdancer101universe @miniminescapist @zig-zzag @loverboysainz-interacts @lunaticspoem

There's too many tags so I'm gonna add some in the comments!

Until next time!

"Car's Outside" - part 2

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Driver!Reader

Summary: Caught in a whirlwind of unexpected moments and emotions, you find yourself drawn closer to Lewis as he attempts to make amends and sparks a flicker of hope within you, leaving you conflicted yet unable to resist the forces between you.

Word Count: 2468

Trigger Warning/Content Advisory: Contains mature content and explores complex themes. Please be aware that it may also include scenes of high-speed racing, accidents, intense emotions, emotional conflicts, personal growth, and intimate moments. Reader discretion is advised.

You find yourself in the airport, still in shock from this morning. 

It's 6 am, and Anthony's loud voice abruptly wakes everyone up. By 7:30 am, you're all having breakfast, and at 8:45 am, everyone is getting their belongings ready. Finally, at 9am, you leave the house, and now it's 11am at the airport. Your flight is scheduled to depart at 2 pm.

Feeling utterly exhausted from the chaotic morning, you slump down in an airport chair, eagerly awaiting your private plane. The kids spot you in your weakened state and immediately pounce on you.

"Oof," you manage to utter as all the air seems to leave your body. 

"Hey, you guys," you whisper, mustering a smile. 

"Hi, (Y/N)," they greet you cheerfully. 

To your disbelief, Lewis suddenly takes a seat beside you.

"What did I tell you?" Lewis warns the kids, his voice carrying a hint of authority.

"Not to ask unnecessary questions," they giggle, clearly amused.

"It's fine," you assure them, attempting to lighten the mood. 

"I answer those kinds of questions all the time in the media," you say, trying to make a joke. Unfortunately, it flies right over their heads.

"So... Do you have a boyfriend?" They continue with their innocent curiosity.

"If I did, I wouldn't be here," you tease, playing along.

"But you're pretty," they innocently comment, not fully grasping the context.

"Well, maybe I'm just too busy being pretty," you joke, trying to divert the conversation.

"Sir uncle also doesn't have a girlfriend," they inform you, unknowingly leading the conversation in an unexpected direction.

"Well, yeah, he's busy being….. pretty…. too, I guess," you blurt out without thinking, immediately regretting your words. 

What did I say about avoiding awkward or weird moments? Ugh.

The children giggle at your response, not thinking much of it. However, you can also hear Lewis laughing, which brings a smile to your face, even though you cringe at the situation.

After settling into the plane, you were initially searching for a single seat, hoping for some privacy. However, the children insisted on sitting with you, along with their Sir uncle. The plane took off, and the atmosphere was calm and peaceful.

Slowly, exhaustion took over, and you drifted off into a deep slumber. 

Time went by, and you were suddenly awakened by muffled giggles. Blinking your eyes open, you found yourself in a rather surprising situation. Your head was comfortably resting on Lewis's shoulder, while his head rested gently on top of yours. Unintentionally, you had even found yourself holding onto his arm, drawing closer in an unexpected snuggle. Thankfully, a blanket concealed your actions, sparing you from any potential embarrassment or awkwardness in front of the children.

Panic quickly washed over you as you tried to figure out how to free yourself from this situation. Your leg began to jiggle nervously, but to your surprise, Lewis's hand reached out and gently stopped your motion. 

Was he awake? Why didn't he move away?

Absorbed in your thoughts, your mind racing and overanalyzing the situation, Lewis finally lifted his head, creating a brief break in your shocking closeness. You shifted to readjust your position, and a subtle shiver ran down your spine, sending tingles throughout your body. Yet, just as you began to distance yourself, a gentle, reassuring touch caught you by surprise. His hand reached out, placed on top of yours, and a rush of dizziness consumed you. 

Heart-pounding within your chest, echoing in your ears, as a surge of emotions swept over you.

Yet, you couldn't ignore the giggling kids before you. Their amusement is when your head rests on Lewis's shoulder earlier and the undeniable blush spreads across your cheeks. 

Why is he holding my hand? you wondered, feeling a mix of surprise and confusion. Gently, you stole a glance at him, hoping for a clue, but his eyes remained closed.

The kids were called over by their mother, the ruckus settled, and they bid you a small goodbye. 

The cabin crew announced the dimming of lights, further adding to the intensity of the moment. 

Just great, you thought sarcastically.

You shifted your attention back to Lewis, who appeared to be peacefully "asleep." 

Tentatively, you whispered his name, hoping for a response. "Lewis," you called, this time a little louder. 

In response, his grip tightened atop your hand, sending a shiver down your spine once again. You fell silent, your mind overflowing with countless questions.

Suddenly, he began to rub his thumb gently over your hand, creating a comforting and intimate feeling. Being in the position you are in, it is impossible to drift back into sleep. Hours seemed to pass, and slowly, his hold on your hand loosened, he was finally asleep.

✧*̥˚ Timeskip *̥˚✧

When you stepped off the plane, you were greeted by the breathtaking beauty of Bali. The air was warm and carried a gentle breeze, tinged with the scent of tropical flowers and the ocean. Lush green landscapes stretched as far as the eye could see, adorned with swaying palm trees and vibrant tropical vegetation. The crystal-clear turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean beckoned, promising a refreshing escape from the heat.

Your cars have arrived, feeling a bit dazed by the sudden turn of events. Everyone began getting into the cars, and you found yourself lost in your thoughts, unaware of the commotion around you. Lewis noticed your distraction and reached out, grabbing your arm to urge you to get in the car. To your instincts, you didn't move, caught in a brief moment of haze as you locked eyes with him.

"Oh, umm... I'll take the other car," you explained, trying to rationalize the situation.

Lewis's voice took on a hint of sternness as he insisted, "It's already full. Just take this one with me."

You tried to reason further, "But it's just the two of us."

He continued to give you that intense stare, his determination unwavering. Realizing there was no use arguing, you finally climbed into the car.

A few minutes passed, and you heard a loud sigh coming from Lewis, sitting beside you. Curiosity sparked within you as you searched for an explanation for his audibly frustrated sound.

"I understand that you might have liked to take a break instead of being here with us, but... I want you to make the most of it. I've arranged some activities for you that could help... alright?" he proposed.

You responded with a nonchalant "Sure," not expecting much from his offer.

"I want to make it up to you," he added, his eyes filled with sincerity and a hint of sadness.

"Oh..." It suddenly occurred to you that this was only an apology for the accident that happened between you two, an attempt to lessen his guilt…

He was the one who caused the crash that day. He made contact from behind and caused you to crash into the barriers. You weren't angry at him for the accident itself, but for what he didn't do. There was no word of concern or apology from him. You heard a replay of his radio message, blaming you for not watching where you were going and blocking his path. While you didn't want to take it personally, you always had feelings for him. It was difficult to simply brush it off. 

Before that day, you had admired him from a distance, drawn to his unwavering passion for racing, which motivated you to become a better racer yourself. You had looked up to him. However, since then, your perspective has shifted. He appeared to be a different person, and you couldn't help but wonder if his previous display of passion had all been a show.

You reached the charming houses designated for each family member, including your small hut. The atmosphere around you was heavy with a somber mood, and Anthony noticed your downcast demeanor as you stepped out of the car. He shot a displeased look at Lewis, who responded with an innocent "I didn't do anything" expression.

Feeling overwhelmed, you entered your hut and collapsed onto the bed. The weight of emotions brought tears to your eyes. 

"Ughhh," you exclaimed aloud, frustrated with the situation. Seeking relief, you headed to the bathroom and splashed cold water on your face. While gazing at your reflection, you whispered, "Get over it," reminding yourself to move past these feelings and recover composure.

Craving some fresh air, you stepped outside and took a leisurely walk around the area. It was still afternoon, and as you strolled along the concrete pathway, you found yourself surrounded by lush greenery, with a vibrant jungle surrounding the view. 

A sudden beep caught your attention. Turning around, you spotted a golf cart approaching, driven by a friendly staff member. "Welcome to Bali, Ms. [Y/L/N]," he greeted you with a cheerful smile, bringing the cart to a complete stop. "Would you like me to drive you to the beach?" he offered kindly.

"Absolutely! That would be wonderful," you replied, excitement filling your voice. You eagerly hopped on the golf cart, ready to be taken to the beach and absorb the beauty of Bali.

You expressed your gratitude to the driver and stepped off the cart, making your way toward the sandy beach. When you reached the shore, you could feel the refreshing touch of the cool water on your feet and the invigorating scent of the salty air. With each exhale, you released all the troubles and worries that had been weighing on your mind. 

However, despite your attempts to let go, the thoughts lingered.

He feels bad for you. You are a burden around him. He is being nice out of pity. You did something wrong by making him feel this way. Why would they like you? No matter what you do, You can't change how he sees you.

"Just forget about it," you whispered to yourself, trying to convince yourself to move on.

"Who am I kidding? He's Lewis Hamilton. Why would he care about a rookie's feelings?" You berated yourself, believing that it was your fault, to begin with.

Unexpectedly, a tear escaped your eye, catching you by surprise. Hastily, you wiped it away, hoping no one had witnessed your vulnerability. You cleared your throat, casting a glance around to ensure that no one was present to witness it. Finding solitude, you are determined to put on a brave face and push forward, determined to enjoy the beautiful surroundings of the beach.

Night had descended, and you found yourself completely absorbed by the beauty of the starry sky. Lying in the sand, you couldn't tear your gaze away from the twinkling stars above. Lost in the tranquility of the moment, you had lost track of time.

Eventually, you requested a ride back to your hut from one of the staff members, and they kindly obliged. As you entered your room, however, you were taken aback to find Lewis sitting on your bed, arranging what appeared to be dinner for two.

"Um, this is my room," you informed him, unsure of what to make of the situation.

"I know," Lewis replied calmly, not seeming bothered by the misunderstanding. "You weren't answering the door, so I assumed you were asleep. They already ate, and I thought maybe you wanted some company." He gestured for you to take a seat on the nearby chair while he occupied the opposite side of the bed.

You stared at him, unsure of how to react to his unexpected presence in your room.

You took a seat, your face contorted with confusion, while Lewis began eating as if this was a completely normal situation, disregarding the fact that he had hurt your feelings just hours earlier. It baffled you. 

Why would he act this way?

The tension in the room became unbearable, and finally, you couldn't hold back any longer.

"Lewis," you said, your frustration evident in your voice. "What are you doing?"

"I told you I want to make it up to you," he responded casually as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"After months of not caring about anything I do, you suddenly want to talk?!" your voice rose, the pent-up emotions pouring out.

"I didn't want to ignore you," Lewis replied, emphasizing the word 'want' as if he was trying to get to something.

"Well, you weren't good at showing it," you retorted.

"I know, okay? I know what I did. I just thought it was better if I did," Lewis explained, his words sounding perplexing.

"What? How does that make any sense?" you questioned, feeling your anger escalate as he seemed to make the situation even more confusing.

"I care about you, I do. That's why I ignored you," he attempted to clarify as if it somehow made sense.

At that moment, you couldn't take it anymore. Deciding to leave, you reached for the door and began to open it. However, before you could fully open it, Lewis abruptly slammed it shut, startling you. You turned to face him, finding his face just inches away from yours. Fear coursed through you as you wondered what might happen next. 

He placed both hands next to your head, creating a cage that prevented any further attempts to escape. His captivating brown eyes stared into yours, and it was the closest you had ever been to him.

"Please, just trust me with this. I... I don't know how to fix this...," he pleaded, his voice filled with sincerity. "I never wanted it to come to this."

His face drew even closer, his cheek gently brushing against yours before resting on your shoulder. His hands slowly slid down from the door and came to rest near your waist, still holding onto the door.

"Can I hold you for a bit, please?" he asked, his voice laced with vulnerability. You nodded in response.

His hands moved from the door to your waist, their warm touch like a gentle caress, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. The heat emanating from his body enveloped you. The strength and tenderness in his hold created a sense of safety, where the world outside ceased to exist. His touch enveloped you, and a symphony of sensations unfolded. The faint scent of his cologne danced in the air. The sound of his steady heartbeat echoed in your ears, a rhythmic melody that matched your own racing heart. 

At that moment, his touch soothed your tired spirit, urging your tense body to let go and embrace the surge of feelings inside you – a powerful blend of desire, doubt, and the undeniable force of love.

What are you doing to me, Lewis? you couldn't help but think, your mind filled with a blend of confusion, vulnerability, and a flicker of hope.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:• ☆ . ° .• °:.*.·:·✧ ✦✧.·:·..• ☆ . ° .• °:.*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

🌟 Taglist:🌟

@notleclerc @copper-boom @omgsuperstarg @zendayabelova @livster @incroyaux @bbymelsworld @icysdiary @simp-hub @woofgocows

---

Anything VI (König x Reader)

The 6th instalment in the Anything-Verse

Main Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Like the characters? Read their fics below!

Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

Series Summary:  A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

A/N: It’s been a while

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Unrequited Pining || Tension

Warning: Graphic Language

-

The sunrise had become a welcomed sight, it was always something that you craved after a night of fitful sleep. You were never well rested when you opened your eyes but, by God, were you relieved.

However, unlike the hundreds of mornings before, this time you woke up with a pit in your stomach. There was no relief and only a sense of dread as you lay staring at the ceiling. You took in a deep breath. 

The sun crept through the window, reminding you that it was the weekend and that you should be out and about. You’d done plenty of contemplation, wondering about your circumstances every day and every night for over a year. 

You weren’t going to solve the mystery in one day. 

Wrong place, wrong time. 

Weiterlesen