Call Me When You Breakup (Role Reversal)

Pick You Up

Max Verstappen x reader

Masterlist

Summary: when Max has one too many gin & tonics, you’re the one who picks (him) up, every time he calls. Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: alcohol, intoxication, maybe an unhealthy relationship with alcohol??, mentions of Max’s shitty childhood, incorrect taylor swift lyrics

It’s 1am, and your phone is buzzing on the nightstand. You groan and shove your face into the pillow. You were having such a nice dream. Something about an island and a very attractive man. You let the phone ring until it stops, and then you hold your breath. Maybe it was a butt dial. Maybe it’s not what you think.

The buzzing starts again, and you blindly slam your hand onto the nightstand, grabbing for it. You swipe to answer without even looking at the contact. You already know who it is. Or at the very least, who they’re calling you about. It’s never anyone else.

“Max needs a ride,” a friend of his says.

You’re already rolling out of bed. “Yeah. Where?”

You could complain, you suppose, as you pull on a pair of sweatpants and a jacket. You could ask them to find literally anyone else, or beg them to have a designated driver for once, but instead you just slip your shoes on. You rub the sleep from your eyes and grab a Red Bull on the way out the door. Someone sends you an address from a number you don’t even have saved in your phone. Worry claws at your chest.

The truth is, you’ll never complain about Max calling you in the middle of the night, because if he stopped calling you’d worry about who he was relying on. Max is… popular. He’s got a lot of people trying to ride his coattails. He gets invited to events and people buy him drinks and offer him things and then it’s 1am and he’s too drunk to get home on his own. And then he calls you. Or, more often, someone calls you for him.

You pull up in front of the club, and Max is already outside, stumbling on clumsy feet. He lurches towards your car when he sees it, which is a relief, because you hadn’t exactly wanted to get out of the car. You find yourself resenting whoever he was out with for leaving him all alone, but he opens the door and climbs in and you plaster a smile onto your face.

“Hi, schatje,” he slurs, and you muffle a laugh into your shoulder.

“Hi, Maxie,” you say.

This is the only time he calls you things like that. It’s also the only time you can call him Maxie without earning yourself a warning glare, or worse, an elbow to the rib cage. You’ve known him for years, and yet it’s only when he’s wasted that he doesn’t mind the nickname.

“Seatbelt,” you remind him.

He nods and tugs at the belt. You end up having to help him buckle- that happens about 70% of the time. His fingers fumble with the latch as you do so, and he lets out a little huff when you brush his hand away. Once he’s all set, you pat his shoulder lightly and lean back into your seat.

“I’m drunk,” he warns you.

“I know,” you answer.

“So no crazy driving. I don’t want to be sick in your very nice car.”

You laugh and cock your head at him. “This morning you called this car a shitbox.”

He nods. “It is. But it is your shitbox.”

You laugh again, putting the car into drive. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

He rambles the whole drive to his apartment, about all the people he was out with tonight and what they did and who they did. Drunk Max is a bit of a gossip, and his gossiping to you won’t get him in trouble, so he takes full advantage of it. You listen eagerly the entire time, though you keep your eyes focused on the road. He’s not the most drunk you’ve ever seen him, still too drunk to be in a cab or an Uber by himself but coherent enough that the journey up to his apartment shouldn’t be too difficult. You park your car in his parking lot and climb out.

Max is halfway out of his seat when you come around to meet him. You take his hand and help him the rest of the way up. He stumbles a bit, laughing as you catch him. Then he throws his arm around your shoulder and follows you to the elevator.

His head bumps into yours in the process. You lean into the weight of him, the two of you standing like a badly built lean to. If one of you topples, the other will too. You try not to think about that too much.

You stay the night, the way you always do when this happens. Because the only thing a hungover Max hates more than the sunlight is waking up to an empty apartment. You’ll be there in the morning to take care of him. He’ll promise he won’t do it again.

By this time next week, he’ll be out at a club, and you’ll have the volume on your phone turned up.

…..

The next time someone calls you on Max’s behalf, it’s someone you actually know. It’s 2am this time, and your eyes are closed. You’re drifting in that space between consciousness and dreams. Your ringtone almost becomes a part of a half dream before you realize what it is. You turn the phone over. NoRizzz, it reads. You think Max added the contact for you.

You answer. “Hi, Lando. S’it Max?” You ask.

“I swear to god I lost track of him for one second-“ Lando rushes out.

You pause halfway out of bed, feeling a jolt of worry at the frantic tone in his voice. “Lando?”

“He’s gone, he-“ He sounds panicked. “I turned around and he’s-“

“Did you call him?”

“Of course I called him-“ Lando scoffs. “Look, I wouldn’t be so worried if I hadn’t already been thinking about having you pick him up-“

“Hey, hey, slow down,” you say, though your heart is racing as you head for the door. “Where are you? How long has it been since you lost him?”

“We’re at Jimmyz, it’s been a half hour,” Lando admits. “I didn’t want to bother you, but-“

A half hour is a long time for Max. He could be anywhere in the city right now. He could’ve walked, or taken a cab, or… anything. Sober Max is great at self preservation. Drunk Max is easily persuaded. You’ve used it to your advantage more than you’d like to admit. Not in any bad way, just- Max, sing karaoke with me! Max, come dance with me! Max, we should order pizza!

You head for the front door. “Okay. It’s okay. I’ll come meet you, and then-“

You swing the door open and nearly scream when something heavy tumbles into your apartment. Someone, actually, upon further inspection. It’s Max, lit only by the dim hallway light and a beam from the kitchen light that you always leave on. He’s blinking up at you from the floor, a soft smile on his face. He has his arms wrapped around himself, like he’s cold. His skin is damp with sweat.

“Never mind, I found him,” you say into the phone.

“What? How?” Lando asks, bewildered.

“He was sitting in front of my door,” you answer as you crouch down. You card your fingers through his sweaty hair, and Max smiles. “Must’ve taken a cab or something.”

“I walked,” Max admits.

That explains the sweat. That also tells you that Lando has lied to you- Max has been gone much longer than a half hour if he’s made his way here on foot. You choose not to call the other driver out on it, though. You want them to call you about things like this. If you chew him out, Lando will be less likely to do so.

“So he’s okay?” Lando asks.

“He’s fine,” you assure him. “I’ll talk to you later.”

You hang up and then start working on getting Max all the way into the apartment. He’s not much help. You manage to get his legs inside and then you close the door behind him. You’ll work on getting him out of the hallway next. For now, you sit down on the floor next to him.

“You walked here?” You ask.

He nods. “Missed you.”

You snort out a laugh. “You could’ve called me, I would’ve picked you up.”

He shrugs and shuts his eyes. “Didn’t want to bug you.”

“So you camped out in front of my door,” you say.

“Yes. But then you didn’t have to come pick me up.”

“I’ll always pick you up,” you say, brushing your thumb against his temple. “That’s what friends do.”

When he opens his eyes, they’re glassy. Your breath hitches. Max doesn’t get teary often, doesn’t get emotional often. Something aches in your chest. You rub your thumb over his cheekbone. He blinks once, twice, lashes tangled together.

“You okay?” You ask.

“Yeah.” He sounds so small when he says it. “Just. Thanks.”

There are these small moments, when Max shows a vulnerable side. These are the moments you think of when people spread vitriol towards him on the internet and ask how you could possibly be friends with him. They make you love him even more, and they make you resent the adults who were around him when he was growing up.

You’ve seen pictures of little Max, shown to you with funny anecdotes and teasing smiles. But when you look at them, and when you see him like this, you can’t find any of it funny. All you can think of is the other stories you’ve heard about his childhood. All you can wonder is how someone could’ve done those things to him. And then you wonder how despite it all, he ended up with such a kind soul.

Max is the one who brings you soup when you’re sick. He brings you trinkets from every country he goes to- the magnets fill the door of your fridge. Max sends you pictures of dogs he meets on the street even though he’s a cat person. He flies you out to races when you’ve had a bad week and buys you good pasta and better tequila. Max has a heart the size of a whole continent. People keep trying to chip away at it. You hate them for it.

So you take a moment to brush the tears from his cheeks. You don’t ask him why he’s crying, or tell him it’ll be okay. You just sit there on the floor with him in your hallway and wait for him to be ready.

Eventually, you get him up off the floor and drag him into your bedroom. It’ll be better for everyone involved if he gets a good night’s sleep in a real bed. You try to leave the room, but he grabs onto your wrist.

“Stay?” He asks, eyelids barely open.

You hum and brush the hair from his forehead. “Are you sure?”

“M’sure,” he says. “Don’t wanna be alone.”

You nod in understanding. You don’t even bother pointing out that he’s on your side of the bed. He’s too far gone to get him to roll over. You just climb over him and pull the blankets back and then tuck yourself in. You keep a respectable distance from him.

You know in the morning you’ll wake up to his arm around your middle and his face buried in your neck. You know because it happens every time you share a bed. Max will act like there’s nothing weird about it, will thank you for taking care of him, and be on his way before lunchtime.

You’ll crawl back into bed and curl up on your side, unsure of if you love or hate the fact that the sheets still smell like him.

…..

Charles calls you from Qatar.

You answer. “Charles, I cannot pick him up. I’m in another country.”

“Yes, I’ve told him that about a billion times,” Charles says. “He is very stubborn, you know.”

Something dawns on you as you sit up against your headboard. For some reason, you’ve always assumed that other people are the ones choosing to call you. That even when it’s someone who doesn’t know you, they’re getting your information from the emergency contact info in his phone. But this… Charles seems to be suggesting that Max has asked him to call you.

“Is he okay?” You ask.

Charles laughs. “He’s fine. He is a world champion, again. You know.”

You do know. You called and congratulated him right after the race. You can still hear the shake in his voice, the yelling of his team behind him. It’d made your heart ache, made you sad you weren’t there with him.

“Yeah,” you say. “You both still have to drive tomorrow, you know.”

“I do know, which is why I’m hoping you can help me,” Charles says. “We’re in his hotel room. His phone is dead, I guess? He came to use mine, so I brought him back here. He’s lost his charger.”

“There’s a spare one in his backpack,” you tell Charles. “In the small pocket.”

You hear the zipper and Charles’ amused laugh. “Did you pack his bag for him?”

“I helped,” you admit. “Let me talk to him and I’ll see if I can talk him down?”

Charles makes a noise of agreement. There’s rustling, then a thud. More rustling. You pinch the bridge of your nose.

Then, Max. “Hi.”

“Hi, Max,” you answer. “I thought you were going to take it easy tonight.”

“I am a world champion,” he says, so matter of fact.

In the background, you hear Charles groan.

“Yes, a world champion who still has to do a race tomorrow,” you remind him.

“I know. Can’t believe I got it in the sprint. A sprint I didn’t even win,” he says, laughing lightly. “Let the rookie win the race tomorrow. I’m the champion.”

“I’m going to throttle him,” Charles says, loud enough or close enough for you to hear. “I think in turn one I will run him into the wall.”

“Tell Charles if he hurts one hair on your head I’ll fly to Qatar and throttle him myself,” you tell Max.

Max relays the message. Charles is quiet after that.

“Doesn’t matter how you won it, yeah?” You remind Max. “You still worked just as hard to get there.”

“Yeah,” Max agrees. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You say with a laugh. “Charles has plugged your phone in. Make sure you turn it on and then go to sleep.”

You call his hotel and have electrolyte drinks and breakfast sent up the next morning, along with a bottle of painkillers. He texts you a photo of all of it along with a thank you message. When he wins the race, even hungover, you’re not the least bit surprised.

…..

When Max calls you at 11:00 pm, your first thought is huh. That’s early. You answer on the third ring, already looking for your keys. You wonder who it’ll be this time. A friend you know, or an unknown voice of someone he’s only met tonight.

“Schatje?” Max asks through the speaker.

You nearly drop the phone. “Max?”

“What, you don’t have my number saved?” He asks.

“No, of course I do, s’just- not usually you who ends up calling me, even from your phone.”

You think you hear him sniffle. Something twists in your chest. Before you can scramble to apologize, he’s speaking.

“Yeah. Um.” He sighs. “Huh.”

You can hear it in his voice, in the way the words seem to stick in his throat. Something’s wrong. You climb off the couch, headed for the door. “Tell me where you are, Max.”

He sniffs. “No, it’s uh- I don’t know why I called-“

“Max,” you repeat as you shut the front door behind you. “Where are you?”

He gives in and tells you he’s at some hotel bar. You recognize it and head down the stairs. You keep him on the line even as you start the car, as you pull out onto the road. He’s mumbling something about how he’ll be fine, about how you don’t have to come get him. Both of you know you’re already on the way.

You have to go in this time. For a moment you think about asking who else he’s with, and hanging up and calling them. But you don’t want to lose contact, so you park the car and head inside. You’re in a hoodie and sweatpants, a pair of slippers on your feet. Nobody bats an eye.

You find him in a back hallway, squeezed into a corner. Your heart crumples at the sight of him. You’re sure your face does too. He’s teary and curled in on himself. He looks so small. You love him, you worry for him, you hate this version of him. Not that you could ever really hate him. It’s just that he looks so vulnerable, so unlike himself.

As much as you want to get him out of there, as much as it would probably be the right move, you sit down next to him instead. You wrap an arm around his shoulder and pull him into your side until his head is against yours. You don’t ask him what’s wrong. He’ll tell you eventually. It might take a while- sometimes a few days. You always give him time. For now, you just sit in the hallway with him. You meet him where he’s at.

He tells you later that he suddenly found himself alone in the bar. After days straight of only being alone when he went to sleep, person after person wanting to celebrate his championship, he’d been alone. He hadn’t realized how much he’d felt like he was suffocating until that moment.

“I was one of the people celebrating,” you remind him as he clings to you.

“But you aren’t suffocating me,” he says. “You’re like… clean air.”

He sleeps in your bed that night. You sleep next to him, not even bothering to argue about it. You fall asleep to the sound of his steady breaths and the weight of his hand on your back.

When you wake up in the morning, he pretends he’s fine. You let him.

…..

Drunk Max is an overly honest Max. He’ll tell you anything and everything. So when you’re walking him home one night, his arm over your shoulder, gin on his breath, you’re expecting to learn some things. What you weren’t expecting, however, is for him to lean close, his lips against your ear, and tell you he loves you.

The odd thing is the way he says it. He leans close and tells you he loves you like he’s talking to someone else. He says “hey, you know-“ then he says your name- and then he says, “you know I love her?”

You shove at his side. “Yeah, I love you too, you dummy.”

He shakes his head, bumping his forehead against your temple. “No, I love her.”

Your heart stops at the way he says it. At the meaning he’s insinuating. Your feet fumble under you, but you manage to keep both of you upright.

“Max,” you say in a warning tone. “You’re drunk.”

“Mm,” he hums. “Drunk in love. Love drunk? Like that song she likes- got love drunk-“

He doesn’t realize he’s talking to you. He likely won’t remember this. You cut him off before he breaks into slightly incorrect Taylor Swift lyrics on the sidewalk. “That’s nice, Max. Why don’t you tell her?”

He shrugs. “Can’t.”

He doesn’t elaborate further, and you miss your chance to prod him about it when he trips over a bump in the sidewalk and nearly sends you both flying. After that, you keep your focus on getting him up to his apartment safely. You shove him into the bathroom in his apartment and tell him to brush his teeth. Then you stand in the hallway and press your hands over your face.

Can’t. Why not? Does he mean it? Did he say the wrong name? He won’t remember it tomorrow, you know that. Do you bring it up? Maybe you should just forget about it. He obviously doesn’t want you to know. And even if it is true, and he does have feelings for you, it would never work.

He stumbles out of the bathroom and presses a messy, toothpaste-y kiss to your forehead. That leaves your brain spinning even worse than it was before. You follow him to the bedroom and tuck him in. The cats glare at you as you disturb the blankets.

“You’ll stay, right?” He asks, tugging on your arm. He seems to know who you are now. “Please?”

You sigh and agree, climbing into bed next to him. He sighs happily and rolls towards you. He slings an arm around your waist, and you hold your breath when he presses his cheek to your shoulder.

“Goodnight,” he says, already half asleep.

“Goodnight,” you echo.

You lay awake and stare at the ceiling for at least an hour, trying not to listen to the sound of his soft breaths. Trying not to think about him admitting that he loves you. Trying not to think about him calling himself love drunk. Trying not to think about him at all, which is difficult with him right there.

You wonder if he really meant it. You want him to mean it, you realize. You tilt your head to look at him- you can only see the top of his head and the slow rise and fall of his chest. God, you want him to mean it. There’s no way he does, but you want it so badly your whole body aches with it.

Sassy walks up to the head of the bed and curls up right next to you. You run your fingers over her fur. Finally, then, you’re able to fall asleep.

…..

It’s not often that Max is the one to pick you up from a bar. It’s every once in a blue moon. You’re much more responsible, you plan ahead. You have a ride home, or you don’t get so drunk that you can’t walk, or you plan to stay with a friend who lives closer to wherever you’re going.

It’s not often, but it does happen. Which is how you find yourself in the bar bathroom, phone pressed to your ear, praying he picks up. There’s a good chance he won’t. He’s definitely not sitting around, waiting for you to call like you always are when he goes out. If he doesn’t pick up you’ll have to call someone else, but you won’t even know where to begin.

It’s only when you hear his voice that you realize you’re not sure he’s even in Monaco.

“Hello?” He says. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, just- what country are you in?”

“What?” He asks. You can hear rustling in the background. “Is this some sort of code? Is someone-“

“No, Maxie, I’m fine,” you say. “Where are you?”

“Monaco,” he answers, still sounding unsure. “At home. Where are you?”

“Monaco. A bar bathroom,” you answer. “Any chance you’d come pick me up? My designated driver met a guy.”

“Not a very good designated driver,” he says with a scoff.

“Says the guy who never has one,” you retort.

Max laughs and doesn’t argue. “Send me your location. I’ll come get you.”

Max gets there far too quickly to have been driving at a reasonable speed. He insists that you wait inside rather than meeting him out on the sidewalk, and says he’ll call you when he gets there. The phone rings, so you step outside. You’re thankful once again for his collection of cars and his tinted windows- nobody seems to have realized it’s him. He leans over and opens the door for you, and you climb inside. He already has the heated seat on for you, and he hands you a bottle of water after you sit down.

“Drink,” he says as he pulls away from the curb.

You roll your eyes but do as he says anyways. The city is a blur of lights outside your window, though you know Max isn’t speeding. He always drives carefully with you in the car, no matter how many times you beg him to go fast. You sink lower in the leather seat.

His eyes flicker over to you. “Did you have a good time?”

You shrug. “Yeah, till all my friends ditched me,” you say. “They found guys to hook up with.”

You see Max frown out of the corner of your eye. “And you didn’t? The men in this club must be blind.”

You pick at the hem of your dress. “Maybe I didn’t want to hook up with anyone. Maybe that’s not what I’m looking for.”

“And what are you looking for?” He asks.

He keeps his eyes trained on the road. You turn your head to look at him. You’re at a stoplight, and it paints his face red. You study the slope of his nose, the jut of his jaw. You, you want to say. I’m looking for you. You think of him the last time you picked him up, how he said he loved you. Called himself love drunk. And then you think of when you asked him why he hadn’t told you. Can’t.

So instead, you shrug. Max turns and looks at you, then shrugs in response. You pout, knowing he’s mocking you. His eyes trace over your face, then over the rest of you. You wonder if he’s relying on how drunk you are to make you forget this- hoping you won’t realize or remember him checking you out. He reaches into the backseat and comes back with a large dark hoodie.

“Here,” he says. “You must be cold.”

The light turns green when the sweatshirt is half over your head- you only know because you feel the vehicle lurch into motion. You squeak, and Max laughs and lays a hand on your leg to steady you. His palm is warm against your bare skin.

When you pop your head back out and shove your arms through the sleeves, you expect him to let go. He doesn’t. His hand stays there, a steady presence, the whole ride to his place.

He hasn’t even asked if you want to stay at his apartment- he doesn’t need to, he already knows what your answer would be. Plus, you’re a bit too drunk to really be left on your own. He leads you up to his door, keeping his hand on your lower back to steady your wobbling steps. You’d tried to kick your heels off in the lobby, but Max had insisted you keep them on. You take them off as soon as you walk in his front door, though, sighing in relief. You stumble over to the couch as he sheds his shoes and jacket. By the time he walks into the living room, you’re curled up in the corner, already under a blanket, face pressed against one of his throw pillows. Max clicks his tongue.

“Come on. Up,” he says, tugging at your shoulder. “You should change your clothes and eat something.”

You groan and reach out to wrap your arm around his neck. “I’m comfy. Come cuddle. Comfy.”

He sighs. “We can cuddle. If you change your clothes and eat something.”

The offer leaves you a bit dumbfounded, because Max isn’t much of a cuddler. It’s pretty likely that he’s lying just to appease you, to get you to follow his instructions. So you continue to lay there, trying to pull him in. When you don’t budge, Max huffs, plants his hands on the couch behind you, and straightens up. He does it before you can loosen your grip, so you go with him almost accidentally. He pulls you off the couch and grabs your hips, helping you to stand up.

“There,” he says, as you sigh and lean heavily on him. “Step one. Clothes.”

He leads you to his room, where you eagerly take the opportunity to sit down on his bed. He turns and begins digging through his drawers. You flop back onto the bed. One of the cats paws at your ankles- you don’t bother looking to see which one. Max throws clothing onto your stomach.

“I’ll go make you food,” he says.

It takes you far too long to find the motivation to shed the hoodie and dress and trade them out for whatever clothes Max has left for you. Eventually, though, you do it. He’s given you one of his shirts and a pair of shorts that are definitely yours, likely left behind whenever you stayed over last. You pull the hoodie back over your head and leave the dress on the floor. It’s only when you remember that Max is awful at cooking that you scramble towards the kitchen.

He’s putting perfectly cooked ramen into bowls. Frankly, it’s hard to mess up ramen, but you’re relieved either way. He smiles at the sight of you, and you think about telling him all over again. The last time you were drunk, you said you loved me. I love you too. We should talk about that. Can’t. Your heart stutters in your chest.

“Thanks,” you say, sitting down at the counter.

You never do get the cuddle he promised. You fall asleep there, forehead pressed to the granite, and Max carries you to the guest room and tucks you in. You swear you feel his lips against your forehead as you fall asleep. But that’s probably just a dream.

…..

By the time you’re in Vegas for the Grand Prix, you haven’t been drunk with Max in months. It’s been one or the other, not both. But since you’re there, Max drags you along to every event he gets invited to. You’re two drinks deep by the time Max makes it to the afterparty. He catches up quickly.

You sneak a sip of his gin and tonic and recoil at the taste. He gives you a blank stare in return.

“You’ve never liked it,” he says. “I don’t know why you keep trying.”

You shrug. “Exposure therapy. And my drink’s empty.”

He gives you a look that’s a mixture of what you think is exasperation and fondness. It’s his signature look when he’s dealing with you on nights out.

“We can fix that,” he says, as he reaches for your hand.

He leads you up to the bar, fingers knit with yours. He doesn’t let go like he normally would. It’s not uncommon for him to hold onto you in a crowd, especially when you’re drunk, but this is different. He leans over the bar and gives your order to the bartender, who nods and moves to make the drink. Max keeps his hand in yours. He finally lets go when you get your drinks, and you take a sip while you look up at him.

His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, blue eyes wide, and you’re trying desperately to read his mind. You want him to let you in so badly.

You end up at a table with him and his driver friends, squished in the booth between Max and Charles. You sip your drink and listen to them talk about race strategy and tires and Vegas in general. Max downs his drink, and someone brings him another. You do the same, and he gets them to bring you one too. And the cycle continues.

This means that by the time he turns to you and says, “we should leave now,” you’re pleasantly drunk, and you’d probably do anything he asked, really.

He slips out of the booth and pulls you along with him, ignoring the people who call his name. He has both of your jackets in his arm as he weaves through the crowds, holding onto your hand. It’s nice, to be here with him, to be a part of it instead of sitting and waiting for a phone call to come pick him up.

As the two of you stumble out onto the sidewalk, you tug on the back of his shirt. “Hey. Who are we going to call to come take care of us? We’re both drunk.”

Max turns and laughs, and then he’s quick to steady you when you stumble on the pavement. “We will take care of each other.”

You nod clumsily, leaning into the feeling of his hands on your hips. “Okay. Yeah. Nice.”

Max tugs you close, tucking you under his arm as he starts to walk down the street. “Lovely.”

“Simply lovely,” you say teasingly. “Where are we going?”

“The hotel,” he says. “I am sick of people.”

You deflate a bit at that. You’re not ready to say goodnight, to say goodbye, to be alone. You want to spend more time with him- it’s why you’re here in Vegas. Max seems to sense your change in mood and squeezes your shoulder, craning his head to look down at you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. “Do you want to stay out? We can find another club, I just thought maybe we could order room service, or pizza, and play a game or…”

He trails off as your eyes go wide, the hurt in your chest melting away. He cocks his head.

“I thought you were sick of me, too,” you say, and you bite your lower lip.

Max frowns deeply. The lights behind his head are blurry in your vision. You wonder if you’re just drunk, or if you’re tearing up. The way he swipes his thumb under your eye tells you it’s the latter.

“No,” he says, gently. “Never.”

Your lip wobbles. You shrug. Max seems to understand, and he just squeezes your shoulder again and keeps walking. You try to get your emotions in check. You have to, really, need to be normal about this. He’s just your friend. That’s all he wants to be.

“We could go do karaoke,” he suggests, pointing at a sign down the road.

He’s trying to distract you. It’s working.

You laugh and elbow him. “You’re an awful singer,” you tease.

“Am not!” He says, his tone full of mock offense. “Here, I’ll-“

You’re expecting him to break out into Viva Las Vegas, like he had at the end of the race over the radio. You’re bracing yourself for it, ready to grimace and cover your ears even though he isn’t really that bad of a singer. What he starts singing surprises you, makes you stumble a bit over your own feet.

“Welcome to New York!” He sings, and you stare at him, wide eyed. “They’ve been waiting for me- welcome-“

“Stop, stop,” you laugh, elbowing him as he attracts stares from people passing by. “We’re in Vegas, not New York! And you always get the lyrics wrong-“

“I am very good with lyrics,” he says, shaking his head.

“No, you’re not, you sang the other one wrong, too,” you tease. “You said got love drunk, it’s supposed to be got love struck. Remember, in Monaco?”

He stops in his tracks, his arm still around you, and stares. You stare right back. You frown and tilt your head at him, mirroring his earlier reaction.

“You remember that?” He asks, quietly.

“I was sober, Max,” you answer. “You remember that?”

He nods, lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes are wide, cheeks pink. “I wasn’t sure if it was real, or if I dreamed it. And you never said anything about what I told you, so…”

That’s when you remember the other part of that conversation, all those nights ago. I love her. Why don’t you tell her? Can’t. You swallow tightly, hands hanging at your sides.

“You didn’t seem to know you were talking to me,” you explain. “So I figured it wasn’t something you really wanted me to know.”

Max blinks, then nods. “I didn’t. Because you don’t feel the same.”

Your stomach twists violently, and your chest follows suit. “I never said that.”

His stare is so intense you feel like you’re seconds away from bursting into flame. “But if you did, you would’ve said something after that night.”

You shake your head. “I asked why you didn’t just tell me and you just said, can’t. You wouldn’t explain any further. I don’t know, Max, I just. I figured you had a reason. Like, maybe…”

“Maybe what?” He asks, still staring at you.

“I’m just me, Max,” you say, pressing your hands over your face. “I’m just your friend. People get crushes all the time but it doesn’t mean you want to be with me, you’re a fucking world champion and I-“

He reaches up with both hands and grabs your wrists gently. He pulls your hands from your face. There’s a smile on his lips that leaves you teetering between relief and apprehension.

“But I didn’t say I had a crush on you,” he says, brows raised. “I said I love you.”

You sigh heavily and try to pull your hands back to your face. He doesn’t let you. You’re looking anywhere other than his eyes. Anywhere other than him, really. He lets go of your wrists and then cups your face in his hands before you can move.

“Hey,” he says. “I said can’t because I thought there was no way you’d feel the same.”

You stare at him, wide eyed, as his thumbs sweep soft circles over your cheeks. Suddenly, everything comes into focus, bright and blinding and stark. The Las Vegas strip is glowing all around you, but none of the lights are as bright as him.

“I do,” you murmur, and he lights up even brighter, somehow, when he smiles. “Fuck, Max-“

He kisses you right there, where anyone could see, in the middle of one of the busiest sidewalks you’ve ever been on. Nobody seems to notice or care, nobody seems to understand that your whole world is shifting. His lips are warm against yours, he tastes like gin, and he holds onto you like he’s trying to be so, so careful. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck and thread fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

He only pulls away when someone whistles at the two of you. He’s grinning wide, hands still cradling your face, and you have to fight not to pull his lips back to yours.

“Come on,” he says, slightly out of breath.

You don’t ask where you’re going. You just let him lead you away. You’re so in love with him, you think you’d probably follow him anywhere. It’s terrifying and relieving all at the same time.

…..

A week later, in Abu Dhabi, you ask him if he wants to go out after the race. There’s a billion parties he could choose from.

“No,” he says, wrinkling his nose up at the idea. “I’m good.”

You elbow him lightly, raising your brows. “All those parties you called me to pick you up from, and now I’m here and you don’t even want to go out? You don’t want to celebrate your season?”

He smirks as he tugs on the hem of your shirt, pulling you along with him through the paddock. “I want to celebrate, but we don’t need to go out to do that. I have better ideas.”

His hand slips lower from your hip and squeezes at your ass. You yelp and look around frantically, hoping nobody noticed. He’s grinning with pride.

“Party animal Max Verstappen wants to stay in,” you tease. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

He shrugs, leans his head close to yours, and then admits, finally, “it was never about the parties. It was more about who was picking me up from them.”

You smile against his shoulder and try not to let it go to your head. He smiles against your forehead and tells you that he loves you for what must be the millionth time in the past week. You say it right back, drunk on the feeling of it.

a/n: thank you for readinnnnngggg!!

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully

---

from the start ⋆𖦹⋆｡˚⋆ฺ

pairing: oscar piastri x childhood friend! reader summary: when you show up to your first day of work experience at McLaren, you're greeted by a friendly face and a whirlwind of old emotions warnings: none, just some awkward dialogue and a backstory i very vaguely hint at because i don't want to reveal it yet ... w/c: 2.6k

a/n: whew this ended up being WAY longer than I had intended it to be whoops. also! may or may not have relied on personal experience from living in a small aussie suburb and having awkward interactions like this DAILY. thinking of making a pt2 for this if it gets enough attention :"") hope u guys enjoy !!

you can read pt2 here !!

You hadn’t seen Oscar in 12 years, maybe even longer. 

And yet, here he was standing in front of you - much, much taller albeit. Words seemed difficult to form, the only thing you were certain of was that nothing you said could encapsulate the pure shock that swept over you upon locking eyes with the boy, if you could even call him that anymore. 

“Oscar.” Was all you could let out, breathy and a little incredulous. You were lucky though, as it was clear he was experiencing a similar wave of emotions. Your name tumbles out of his mouth and you’re almost snapped out of your daze by the fact that his voice has dropped about a thousand octaves from the last time you heard it. 

“It really is you,” he says, and you let out another gasp of disbelief as you watch his mouth curve into a smile. 

“You two know each other?” came the voice of your superior, who had just been showing you around the McLaren building - the place you had been assigned to for work experience, a requirement during your last year as an engineering student  - and was clearly eager to get on with it. 

“Yeah we, uhm, went to school together. When we were kids.” Oscar piped up, answering the question on your behalf with a polite tone that didn’t give much else away about how he felt about this, admittedly awkward, twist of fate. It also didn’t give away the fact that you two could hardly just be called ‘people who went to school together’ - although you chalked that up to him seeking to avoid any more questions. 

“Guess karting worked out for you, hey?” You were the worst at small talk, but something inside you was desperate not to let go of this opportunity chance had dropped into your lap, even if a stupidly obvious question was what it took to do so. 

He lets out a soft chuckle, easing the tightness in your chest, thank god. “Yeah, I guess you could say so.” He continues to laugh as he’s saying it, his eyes crinkling and cheeks flushing a little as he does. You’re so entranced watching the little movement in his expression, simultaneously so familiar and refreshing, that you hardly notice the blush spreading across your own face. 

Your superior, still standing behind you with his arms folded and a bored expression on his face, clears his throat loudly. You take it as your sign to go on with him for the rest of your tour, but it’s like your feet are stuck in place, your eyes stuck on Oscar’s. A wave of regret washed over you. 

Regret at not bothering to look at the social media accounts of the company you were applying to, because then you might’ve seen his face plastered all over them - although whether that would’ve changed your mind you’re less sure about. 

Regret at not wearing a better-ironed top, or fixing your hair properly because now you’re standing here in front of him, and his stupidly perfect hair, feeling a little bit ridiculous. 

But most of all, regret for not keeping up with him over the years, because then you might’ve been able to have a decent conversation instead of whatever this was. 

Finally, you managed to uproot your feet and crane your neck just enough to catch sight of your superior disappearing around the corner.  

“Well, I should probably get going.” You stuff your hands in the pockets of your pants and try your best to not move so damn awkwardly, but he just stands there and watches you. 

“Right, well, I’ll uhm, see you around I guess?” You still can’t get over how low his voice is now. Even a lower voice isn’t enough to hide the familiarity of his cadence though, cool and casual as always. 

You nod, already halfway down the corridor, mind racing with thoughts. But one whip of your head as you turn the corner tells you he’s looking back at you, mind racing all the same. 

---

Your first day at McLaren was nearing its end, and you had yet to tell anyone about the things that had happened between you two - mostly because you were sure no one would care for the childhood drama between one of their main drivers and some lowly engineering student, but partially because you weren’t even sure how to describe it to anyone. Your superior had made his stance on it clear by not having mentioned it since the morning’s awkward hallway encounter, although you leaned towards him having simply forgotten it. That would’ve been the preferred choice too given your dual worry at the potential of this ‘situation’ getting in the way of you and your work experience. 

Because if you were a car, and this job the road, then Oscar Piastri was a rock placed just precisely enough to send you hurtling into a sidewall. 

He really hadn’t been kidding about seeing you around too. You had bumped into him a subsequent four (and yes, you had counted) times. He was always there, in his bright orange jacket - in board rooms, chatting with other engineers, making the most of complementary snacks in the office kitchen. And whenever the two of you crossed paths he would only flash that smile, warm, polite, but not much more, which you were always a little delayed in returning just because of how off guard it caught you every time. And when he wasn’t there in person, he was plastered across walls next to his teammate. Almost every screen, or wall, or company-issued mousepad you came across had his face, familiar grin and perfect hair, and you couldn’t help but feel - for lack of a better word - haunted. You had yet to get used to the lifesize cardboard cutouts of him and his teammate that stood guard by most of the main entrances too. 

But you were determined, even when fate seemed to keep throwing you two together, weaving your paths across each other after years apart, not to let this distract you from what you were here to do. So it only seemed fitting, when you were packing up after your first day and about to head home, that your eyes locked with a familiar pair on your way out of the main exit. 

“Hey,” Oscar starts this time, pausing for a second before adding, “Again.” 

“You’re not stalking me or something, are you?” You say, pulling your backpack higher up on your shoulders solely for the sake of having something to do with your hands which you feel start to tremble. He laughs that damn laugh again, and your knees feel weak. 

“If anything, I should be the one asking you that.” He gets to the door first but doesn’t walk through it, large hands coming up to hold it open instead. He motions for you to pass through first and you do, albeit a little tentatively. “Headed home for the day?” 

“Yeah,” you say, hearing his shoes on the gravel as he jogs to catch up to you and you wait for a bit to let him before continuing. “Not looking forward to it though, I’m still figuring out the public transport here.” 

This gets his attention, evidenced by how his neck whips around to look at you, eyebrows slightly raised. “You’re taking public transport here?” You try to make out the tone of his voice, which is a mix of shocked, concerned, and slightly impressed. 

“Yeah?” You respond hesitantly. You scan his face for any sign of what his next words might be, hopefully, tips on how to figure out the train lines. But as he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his pants, letting out a shy laugh, nothing can prepare you for what they are. 

“Do you uhm,” Even he’s unsure of what he’s about to say it seems, “Do you want a lift?” 

At this, you feel your palms grow a little sweatier, your pace a little slower. For the second time that day, the boy in front of you has rendered you incoherent. Even so, your mouth seems to be working faster than your mind. 

“I’d love that.” you hear yourself blurt out, to which he offers a grateful smile and begins to walk ahead of you, guiding you through the carpark. 

Finally, your mind seems to catch up to the situation at hand and begins weighing it up. More so, weighing up all the things wrong with your decision. You haven’t seen Oscar in over a decade and right now you should be considered nothing more than colleagues, who had only met today. Getting into his car might not be the safest idea, both for your nerves and your position, since you knew how fast gossip spread. You’d be letting him know where you lived too. 

But on the other hand, you didn’t know if you had the mental energy to stare at a map of the city. As you slipped into the passenger seat of Oscar’s car, offering him a smile of gratitude as he closed the door behind you, you were somewhat grateful for your fast mouth for once. Now, you just had to hope it would get you through the drive home. 

He lets you put the address of your apartment into his GPS before starting up. “So, engineering huh?” comes Oscar’s voice as he pulls out of the carpark. You can sense the awkward hesitation in his voice but appreciate his effort at keeping the conversation going, even though you feel your palms sweating at it. 

“Yeah, and uhm, for the record I had no say in being assigned to McLaren,” you say defiantly. “Plus, I didn’t even know you drove for them! Hell, I didn’t even know you still drove.” You’re rambling now, but whatever it takes to fill up the tense air in the car. 

“Ouch, I’ll try not to take that too personally.” 

“So do you want me to stalk you or not? You’re confusing me here Piastri.” He laughs, warm and smooth like honey. It’s been 12 years and it’s taken a coincidental work placement for you to realise this, but you’ve missed his laugh. 

“Just saying, keeping in touch wouldn’t have hurt. Especially after what you said to me the night before I lef-” 

“Anyways.” You cut him off stiffly because you know exactly what he’s going to say. He’s going to bring it up, your history, and you don’t exactly feel like digging it up - not now at least. Even so, he’s hitting you where it hurts and the worst part is you’re not sure if he’s aware he’s doing it at all, or whether he just wants to talk. Either way, you’re not going to let him. 

“You’re liking it here?” He tries to start up conversation again, and you find yourself going along with it. 

“Yeah, well I mean I’ve only been here a day so I can’t say much. But overall, I’m liking it. Everyone seems nice and I get a sense you guys have a real passion for what you do.” You turn to him as you speak, watching him nod at your words. With him watching the road it gives you a chance to take him in, how much he’s changed. 

His face has sharpened out, the round cheeks you once knew have now given way to a defined jaw which you watch move as he speaks. Your eyes travel to his hands, large, gripping the steering wheel firmly as he turns a corner. It’s hard to believe that he’s the boy you knew all those years ago. However, as you watch his excited expression as he tells you about all the antics he and the team get up to you’re reminded of him once more. That passion, that spirit, that joy he had always had for racing was still there, and stronger than ever. 

You think about those times, which seem so strangely distant now, when he would invite you to watch him race. How his face had lit up at the sight of you, and how quickly he would rush over to you after he won to gush about you being his ‘lucky charm’, helmet lines still imprinted on his flushed cheeks. How, even though neither of you were even in the same friend group, you always found yourself going along with him whenever you could - before and after school and even on weekends, when you found the time. How his passion for his sport, and the hours upon hours on which he had rambled to you about its logistics, was what first got you into engineering, which proved a passion of your own. 

But most of all, how much you’ve missed about his life. And how you can’t bear to tell him the reason you haven’t kept up with him since the day he left is because it would hurt too much to. To watch the life he’s made for himself, perfectly fine without you. 

Even so, you feel yourself smiling as you listen to him. And as weird as it sounds you feel yourself relax for what might just be the first time all day, sitting in his passenger seat. 

But, fate has never been your friend, as you’re reminded once Oscar pulls into your street and your heart sinks a little knowing your little moment has come to an end. He parks, impressively easily, and you go to unbuckle your seatbelt before he speaks up again. 

“Wait,” he stops you, before rummaging around in his pockets and pulling out a pen and a little notepad - you try not to laugh at him for the fact they’re both McLaren branded. You watch, confused, as he scribbles something down before handing it to you. 

You unfold your hand to reveal a slip of paper with his number written on it, smiling at the fact he’s written his name too - as if you would ever forget it. 

“Just in case, you know. If you ever need another lift,” he pockets the pen and paper, hand coming up to rub his nape shyly. He’s avoiding eye contact, it’s far too endearing, and your heart pace quickens. “Or, someone to talk to, about McLaren, that is.” 

“Thanks, for the ride and this,” you say, gesturing to the paper as you open the car door. He nods in response, eyes watching you carefully. The biting cold hits your skin as you walk to your apartment door, he hasn’t left yet though, since you can still hear the car engine humming behind you. 

You turn right before you get to the door, and see him saying something to you through the rolled-down window, though you can’t make it out from your distance. 

“What?” you shout out into the night air.

“I said, see you tomorrow Pip,” he repeats, louder. The childhood nickname hits you harder than anything, and it takes a while to muster up a response. 

“Right back at you, Oz.” You finally say, watching his face break into that familiar smile, only now it has shed its layers of politeness which have been replaced by sincerity, at the sound of his own nickname. At that, he rolls up his window and drives off, though you can make out the smile still on his face even as he turns the corner. You hardly notice the stupidly massive smile on your own face as you go to unlock your door, gripping the piece of paper in your hand tightly.

Work experience was shaping up to be a lot more exciting than you thought. 

---

YOU SHOULD'VE SEEN YOUR FACE | Sebastian Vettel

Sebastian Vettel x Pregnant Wife!Reader

SUMMARY: Seb's wife is pregnant, but she hasn't told him yet since she doesn't seem ready. However, after he almost crashed pretty badly during a Free Practice session, she can't help but tell him in not the best way possible ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Okay but can you imagine Sebs wife being pregnant but she has not told him yet. He does some dangerous and bold move on a drive and she gets mad and scared and just some fluff when he finds out :)

WORD COUNT: 1804

WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of anxiety, overthinking about Formula 1 crashes (?), pregnancy, Ferrari Seb in general (if you know, you know)

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @herdetectivetheorist @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]

VEE'S NOTES: Hi guys! Finally back to posting fics! This year I don't only want to write more, but also establish some kind of writing routine because I've been dealing with anxiety over Christmas for some personal problems family related and found out that I missed distressing with writing. Also, thank you so much for all the support you've been showing me lately! Appreciate it a lot since I wasn't feeling very comfortable with my writing. Let me know your thoughts on this one <3 ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

Despite being quite far from the pit lane, you could hear nothing but the deafening roar of the engines, the clatter of tools on Kimi's car, and the curses of the race engineers at the constant stunts Seb had decided to pull during the free practice session.  

Your husband's red car seemed not just to race but to fly around the track. FP2 had started barely twenty minutes ago, but Seb had already come within inches of crashing into the walls far too many times after going off track more often than you could count.  

You couldn't deny that you had loved watching Seb race ever since you met and you learned he was a driver in one of the most dangerous sports in the world. Today, however, luck was not on your side, and anxiety was consuming you. The nausea, uncontrollable on its own, felt even worse than usual. Not to mention, you felt on the verge of a panic attack.  

"Are you okay?"  

You turned at the sound of Riccardo Adami’s voice, Seb’s race engineer. The Italian removed one side of his headset and covered the microphone to ensure the driver wouldn’t hear anything.  

"Yes, yes, of course," you replied hastily, forcing a smile and suppressing the urge to gag as you felt it rising in your throat. "I’m just a bit more nervous than usual today, that’s all."  

"Seb knows what he’s doing. Don’t worry about that."  

You nodded, but as soon as Adami turned his attention back to his screen, you rolled your eyes and did the same.  

"You know, sometimes he thinks that he’s a cat and has seven lives," you muttered under your breath. "Someone should remind him he’s in an actual Formula 1 car, not in a simulator."  

"Don’t worry, I’ll remind him in the post-session briefing," the engineer joked, flashing a smile before immersing himself back into Vettel's driving.  

You didn’t pay him much attention. Once again, you were entirely engrossed in both your husband’s onboard camera and the telemetry, even though you didn’t understand much aside from the fact that he was setting purple sectors, which was undoubtedly a good sign.  

You didn’t know much about the inner workings of the cars, but after so many years with Seb, you knew that the faster his times were, the higher the risks became.  

You were also acutely aware that your husband was pushing himself too hard in those moments.  

You began to tremble slightly, fidgeting with your hands in an attempt to calm your anxiety, but it didn’t work. Instinctively, and trying not to draw much attention, you placed your hands on your belly and prayed that your child wouldn’t give you any scares like his father was giving you.  

"Sector two in purple as well, Seb!"  

Even though the garage erupted into cheers and applause, you remained motionless. Instead, you couldn’t take your eyes off the screen, which now showed your husband’s car in full view.  

Your panic peaked the moment Seb lost control of the rear of his car and went off the track. You swore that if it hadn’t been for the sudden braking, he would have ended up in the barriers with a wrecked car and himself heading to the medical center because the crash would have likely exceeded the G-force limits.  

When Seb didn’t respond immediately, your heart stopped.  

"I’m fine, I’m fine..." Seb finally said in a disappointed tone. "But I can’t say the same for the car. I think it’s more damaged than it looks."  

"Can you bring it back, Sebastian?" Riccardo asked in a tone that was a mix of irritation and disappointment.  

"Yeah, no problem. Coming back. Sorry, guys."  

Just as no one on the team said anything to you, you, who had forced yourself to sit down because your legs were trembling too much and you felt dizzy, also remained silent until your husband returned and got out of the car.  

Seb removed his helmet, revealing an expression that was hard to decipher. You stood up carefully and approached him, trying to keep your composure. Without giving him a chance to say anything, you grabbed his hand and led him toward his driver room, ignoring Britta's protests to talk after interviews were done.  

"It could have been worse, right?" 

Sebastian closed the door behind him and turned to face you. You stood there with your arms crossed, visibly upset. Your glare alone was enough to tell Seb he was seconds away from one of your infamous scoldings.  

The problem? He had no idea why. You had never acted so strangely over something as common as a collision during a race weekend.  

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you exploded, your voice filled with frustration. “Fuck, Seb, can you explain what that was all about?!”  

“What do you mean, what was that? I was... racing, like I always do, babe,” he replied cautiously, still clueless about what he'd done wrong.  

You, however, didn’t know what was bothering you more: your husband’s calm demeanor or the sight of a few Ferrari team members peeking through the window to catch the drama unfolding between the two of you.  

“You were so close to slamming into a wall, Sebastian, that’s what happened!” you shot back, yanking the curtains shut and flipping off the nosy onlookers. “Are you out of your mind or what?!”  

“Come on, love, I had it under control. What you saw on the onboard might’ve looked bad, but I swear it wasn’t as dangerous as it seemed.”  

“Not as bad as it seemed? Are you seriously telling me that?” you retorted, your voice trembling with anger. “Do you think driving is just like playing a video game now? Do you have any idea what it would’ve meant if you hadn’t reacted in time? Do you know what it would’ve meant for me and for—”  

You stopped yourself mid-sentence, refusing to continue.  

You knew your emotions were running wild because of your pregnancy hormones, but you forced yourself to calm down. Getting so worked up would only lead to a pointless argument with Seb and wasn’t good for you or the baby.  

“For who, Y/N?” Seb asked, stepping closer and gently taking your hands in his.  

“For... me! Who else?” you replied quickly. 

Sebastian didn’t know how to respond. He’d never seen you so distressed about his racing, and while he tried to stay calm, inside he was battling a storm of worry and confusion.  

“This stress isn’t good for me or for the situation you and, well... you’ve gotten me into,” you said, your voice cracking.  

“Y/N, babe, I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about. Fuck, I’m pretty worried about you right now with all this shit, but if you don’t tell me what’s going on—”  

“Damn it, Seb! I’m pregnant!”  

You looked down, tears streaming down your face. You clenched your fists tightly, furious at yourself for revealing such big news in such an emotional, unplanned way.  

Sebastian, meanwhile, stood frozen, his eyes wide in shock at the unexpected news. Slowly, everything started to make sense: your morning sickness, falling asleep all the time, constantly complaining about being tired, and the flimsy excuses you gave for not drinking wine, something you normally loved.  

He cursed himself for not realizing it sooner and for believing your weak justifications about bad leftovers being the cause of everything.  

“You’re... pregnant?” His voice was barely audible, almost afraid to say the words out loud because they didn’t feel real.  

You wiped your tears and sniffled, doing your best to meet your husband’s gaze without feeling ashamed.  

“Yes...” you said timidly. “I wanted to tell you in a special way... you know, by giving you a baby onesie in a box with the positive pregnancy test inside, but...” You shook your head and finally looked him in the eyes. “I thought you were going to die out there today and leave your child and me alone. The thought of losing you, now of all times, just...”  

“You’re really pregnant? We’re going to have a baby?”  

You nodded, and Seb couldn’t hold back his tears. He pulled you into a tight embrace and began kissing you tenderly. You melted into his arms, feeling an immense weight lifted from your shoulders.  

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” you admitted. “I swear I wanted it to be special, but seeing you out there today, thinking something could happen to you...” Your voice broke again. “I was terrified, Seb, like never before watching you race.”  

“I’m so sorry, love. I really am,” he said sincerely, cupping your cheeks gently and kissing you over and over. “If I’d known, I would’ve been more careful. God, love, this is incredible... This is the best news I’ve ever received.”  

“You’re not mad that I didn’t tell you sooner? You should’ve seen your face earlier...”  

“Mad? That you didn’t tell me sooner?” You shrugged, your insecurity showing despite your years together. Seb tilted his head, understanding this was one of your rare but extreme moments of doubt. “I’m just... in shock. I can’t believe we’re going to be parents...”  

Sebastian hesitantly touched your stomach, and you burst into fresh tears at the tenderness of his gesture.  

“Now you have to promise me something, Seb,” you said, playing with his hair as he knelt before you, leaving kisses on your belly.  

“Anything for you and our little one.”  

“You need to be more careful from now on. Stop thinking so much with your adrenaline and testosterone, and start using your brain more,” you said, trying not to sound too harsh. “I know Formula 1 and racing is your whole life, but I don’t want you risking it when we’re bringing a new one into the world. I’m eight weeks along, and we still have 32 to go assuming everything follows the perfect pregnancy script.”  

Seb stood and gazed at you, trying to convey the calm you both could only find in each other.  

“Love, I promise,” he whispered softly. “For you, for the baby... I love winning, but today, and even more so when our child is born, I’ll have won the second most important race of my life.”  

You frowned, confused.  

“If that’s the second, what’s the most important race of your life then?”  

He chuckled and scooped you into his arms, kissing you again as he laid you both on the couch behind you.  

“The race I ran for so many years to win your heart,” he murmured between slow, deliberate kisses that said more than words ever could. “After all those years trying to get you to go out with me in high school, and now we’re eight months away from having a baby... what else could it be, mama?”  

---

Lando Norris x Reader x Oscar Piastri, roommates!au

Masterlist

Summary: You, Lando, and Oscar are roommates. The three of you promise to take care of each other. It takes you all far too long to admit just how much you mean it. featuring dj!Lando for cece :) based on a blurb I wrote for my 1k celebration so if the first bit feels familiar that’s why! 7.4k words

Warnings: alcohol, mentions of vomiting (non graphic), illness, a breakup, and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates)

Lando’s not expecting the phone call he gets from you. It’s late, too late, really, for him to even be awake, let alone for you to be calling. Oscar’s sitting on the couch next to him, gaming controller in hand, and when Lando swipes to answer the call, he mouths the words who is it? Lando mouths your name in reply, and Oscar’s half asleep flat expression turns into a look of concern. The three of you are roommates, but you’re gone for the night. Lando didn’t ask where you were going when you left.

“Hello?” He asks, waiting for your response.

There’s a sniffle, then a hiccupy gasp for air that has Lando sitting up straight in his seat. “Lan. Could you- fuck, m’sorry, just- d’you think you could pick me up?”

Lando stares widely at Oscar for a moment, heart clenching in his chest. You sound upset- more than upset, really. He stands up, already searching frantically for his keys.

“Yeah, love, of course,” he says as Oscar follows suit and stands up. “Should I bring Oscar?”

You sniffle again. “Yeah, please, just…”

“It’s okay. Send me your location, yeah? Take a deep breath, we’ll be there soon.”

You mumble something, and then you hang up on him. Lando shoves his phone in his pocket and looks up at Oscar, who’s holding the keys to his car. That works. Oscar heads for the door, while Lando makes a pit stop in the kitchen. When he meets his friend in the entryway, Oscar’s staring at him with confusion.

“She’s crying,” Lando says in explanation, holding a paper bag close to his chest.

They make it across town in record time. Oscar groans when they pull into the apartment complex you’d sent the location of.

“Isn’t this her boyfriend’s place?” He asks, brows furrowed.

Lando doesn’t get a chance to answer, because you step out of the front door, and they’re both distracted. Oscar swears under his breath, and Lando follows suit at the sight of you- you’re in a t-shirt and shorts. There’s snow on the ground. Oscar pulls his hoodie over his head just before you make it to the car door.

You climb into the backseat and collapse in on yourself. Both Lando and Oscar are turned towards you, and Lando’s sure their facial expressions are matching looks of concern. They both hand over their items without a word- Oscar’s hoodie, and Lando’s carton of ice cream and a spoon. You pull the hoodie over your head and open the ice cream.

“We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Oscar says, voice low.

Lando nods. “Yeah. We can just sit here together until you feel up to anything else.”

You nod and chew on your lower lip, and the light from the street lamp outside catches on the tear tracks on your cheeks. “He dumped me. Can we just go home?”

Lando reaches his hand back to squeeze yours. Your fingers are ice cold. “Of course,” he says softly.

As Oscar pulls away, he and Lando exchange a look of worry and anger. They’ve never liked your boyfriend, but they hate to see you hurting, too.

“Thanks,” you add, voice small in the backseat. You hold onto Lando’s hand tightly. “I knew I could count on you guys.”

Lando squeezes your hand again. You’re quiet most of the way back, and he lets it go. Oscar’s right to not push you to talk about it. That’ll come in its own time.

Oscar drives back to your shared apartment, pulling into a parking space in the garage. He gets out before Lando and slips around to the backseat, opening the door for you. The Aussie wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side.

When you all get upstairs, you collapse onto the couch. Lando follows suit, not wanting to leave your side. Oscar isn’t far behind. He grabs the remote and turns on the TV, something quiet that Lando doesn’t pay attention to. He just watches you for signs of distress. You stare at the tv blankly and chip away at the ice cream with your spoon, leaning on Oscar as Lando leans on you. Slowly, the three of you melt into the couch, none of you wanting to break the silence and suggest going to bed.

…..

Oscar wakes up on the couch at 3 in the morning, and when he looks around, this awful feeling hits him. It’s like someone’s reached into his chest and clawed his heart out. You’re laying there, your head on his stomach, one of your arms over his thigh. Lando’s laying nearly on top of you- together, the three of you are like a stack of toppled dominoes. There are blankets strewn over all of you. Oscar can vaguely remember Lando’s attempt to cover all three of you up as you all began to drift off.

You’re fast asleep, and when Oscar peers down at you he can still see the tear tracks on your cheeks. He’s never liked your boyfriend- ex boyfriend, now, thank god- but breakups are awful no matter what. He’s got half a mind to go over and confront the guy, because who leaves their girlfriend- ex girlfriend- to walk out of their apartment in the dead of winter in a t-shirt and shorts? Even if you had broken up, he seemingly hadn’t given you the chance to put on sweatpants and a hoodie. Or maybe you hadn’t wanted to stay long enough.

Lando shifts in his sleep, pressing closer to you. It’s only now that Oscar notices Lando’s hand linked with yours, fingers knitted together on your stomach. A pang of something flares up in him at the sight, at how right it feels to have you both right here like this. He does his best to tamp it down. He brushes his fingers against your cheek tentatively, relaxing just a bit at the feeling of your soft skin under his fingertips.

You nudge into the touch, eyelids just barely fluttering. Oscar wonders to himself how anyone could ever let you go. The sight of you in the backseat, teary eyed in his hoodie, is burned into the back of his brain. He’d do anything to keep you from ever crying again.

When he wakes up again, it’s much later in the morning. You and Lando are both gone, and something about that makes his heart clench. But he hears noise in the kitchen- Lando, talking to someone, the sound of food sizzling on the stove. He sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes before trudging his way over there.

Lando’s at the stove, cooking something that smells awfully delicious and makes Oscar’s stomach growl. You’re sitting on the counter nearby the way you always do, still in Oscar’s hoodie, hands folded in your lap. You’re the first one to spot him- you smile, but it’s subdued. There’s a tinge of sadness to it. Something aching behind your eyes.

“Morning,” he finally says.

Lando turns over his shoulder with a smile. “I was just about to send her to wake you,” he says. “I made breakfast.”

Oscar nods. “Thanks. Smells really good.”

He takes his normal spot on a stool at the kitchen island. He passes by both of you on the way there, and you reach out to squeeze his upper arm. He brushes a hand over your knee and smiles at you.

You’re quiet. Usually, you’d be chatting their ears off. But Lando plates up the food and distributes it without a word from you, and it has Oscar feeling sick to his stomach. You stay sitting on the counter, and you push the food around on your plate with one hand. Lando sits next to Oscar and exchanges a look with him.

Both boys clear their plates without a word from you. You’ve only taken a few bites. Oscar clears his throat as he clears his and Lando’s plates. Your eyes flicker up to meet his.

“I stand by what I said last night. We don’t have to talk,” he says. “But if you want to talk, we’re here.”

You shift and smile just a little. “Not much to talk about, really. The breakup has been coming for a long time, I think. So. It’s fine, really. Just weird, you know? We’d been dating for a year- that’s a year of my life… not wasted, but. Weird to lose someone like that so quickly.”

Both Oscar and Lando nod in understanding. You nod back. That’s that. If you don’t want to talk about it more, they won’t force you. It’s enough to know you’re safe at home, really.

…..

When Lando has his first DJ set after your break up, he begs you to come and watch. Much to his and Oscar’s surprise, you agree eagerly. They’d both thought it would be a harder fight. Lando’s been getting bigger and bigger DJ gigs- not enough to quit his day job yet, but enough to get excited about. You haven’t been to them recently, which had been a bit of a sore spot for Lando, though he’d tried not to let it on to you. So. If you want to go, he’s not going to question you on it.

On the way there, you size him up in the back of the Uber. You tug at the collar of his shirt.

“You’re too buttoned up,” you say, nose wrinkled.

Oscar laughs and nods. “Yeah, lose a button,” he adds.

He reaches over and undoes the top button of Lando’s shirt with nimble fingers, and great, now Lando’s sweating.

“Or two,” you chime in.

When you reach up and undo another button, Lando thinks the blush must be obvious on his cheeks now. It’s probably running down his neck, washing over his chest, just like the soft touch of your fingers against his skin.

“Why not three?” Oscar says, smirking.

Before he can undo the third one, Lando bats Oscar’s hand away and glares at him. Oscar’s had a shot before they left the apartment, pregaming because he hates crowds and loud places and social environments. He’s definitely a little tipsy, and because of that, he’s a bit more daring. It’s going to be the death of Lando.

By the time he’s halfway through the set, Lando’s gone and lost both of you in the crowd. He won’t lie, it makes him a bit nervous. He knows you were there one second, and then the next time he looked, you were both gone. He knows in his head Oscar won’t have let you out of his sight, but it doesn’t stop his heart from clenching. He thinks of his phone, down under the stage, itches to have it in his hand so he can text or call or find you, somehow.

When he finally climbs down and grabs his phone, it’s lit up with a bunch of notifications. He swipes past the ones from Max asking how late his set goes, past the ones from friends who stopped by, telling him how good he did. In the middle, there’s a text from Oscar.

Call when you’re done.

He calls. When Oscar answers, he gives him directions to meet the two of you in a bathroom and then promptly hangs up. Lando would be more concerned with the two of you apparently hiding out together in a bathroom if Oscar hadn’t told him about it. He doesn’t have the energy to let himself get jealous. He just heads towards the two of you. He knocks on the single bathroom door, calls out to Oscar, and it swings open.

“She had a little too much,” Oscar says.

Behind him, you’re kneeling next to the toilet, Oscar’s jacket underneath your knees. It’s such a sweet touch that it makes Lando’s heart ache- there’s just something about seeing Oscar taking care of you. But he does his best to focus and steps into the bathroom. Your hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. Your skin is pale, and when you turn to look at Lando, your eyes are bloodshot. He hisses and turns to Oscar.

“I know, I know, I said I’d watch her-“ Oscar says, raising his hands defensively. “She’s good at pretending to be sober. Until she’s way too far gone, and then…”

“Lan!” you call out, high pitched and wobbly. “I love you.”

Lando widens his eyes at Oscar, who nods.

“There’s been a lot of that. About both of us. She was not happy when I pulled her out of sight of you.” Oscar sighs. “I can’t figure out if it’s just- you know, she loves her friends, or-“

Oscar trails off. Lando furrows his brows.

“Lan,” you repeat again, and he turns over his shoulder to look at you, then tries not to visibly wince. “Can we go home now?”

“Yeah, love,” he says, softly. “You done throwing up, you okay to move?”

You shrug, then nod. Great. Not super convincing. When he turns to Oscar, he winces. Lando drags a hand down his own face. Interrogating Oscar will have to wait- the first priority is to get the three of you out of there, hopefully without you throwing up on them. He sighs heavily and makes a plan in his head.

Lando’s not sure what god he pleased, what good karma he’s earned, but the three of you make it outside without you throwing up again. He breathes a sigh of relief. Then he and Oscar spend 5 minutes debating on whether walking or getting a ride would be better- you’re drunk and wobbly, but at least if you threw up, it’d be on the sidewalk. Oscar hates that idea, is worried about you tripping and falling on the way, about how they’ll manage to get you all the way back. You stand there and watch them argue, Oscar’s hand on your shoulder to keep you from falling over.

“Boys, stop fighting,” you say hazily. “You’re both so pretty.”

Lando’s eyes go wide at that. He stares at Oscar, who seems to make a face that says I know. Lando turns to you. You’re smiling widely up at him, blinking glassy eyes and tilting your head. You reach out and tap your fingertip against his nose, then laugh. Lando swallows tightly.

Oscar uses his distraction to flag down a cab. Lando can’t find the energy to argue anymore. They’d normally put you in the middle, but this time they sit you next to the door, just in case you do need to throw up. You spend the entire ride with your head on Lando’s shoulder, and he can tell you’re starting to get drowsy just from the way you sag against him. When they climb out of the car, Oscar puts one of your arms over his shoulder, and Lando does the same on the other side.

By the time they get you up to the apartment and into the bathroom, you’re half asleep, leaning heavily on both of them. When your hand slips against the bare skin of his chest, he swallows tightly. Oscar puts toothpaste on the toothbrush for you, and Lando helps you brush your teeth, his hand wrapped around yours gently.

Then they head for your bedroom. Lando grabs you a pair of shorts and a t-shirt from your dresser. He sets them on the bed and gets ready to leave the room so you can change, and then slaps his hand over his eyes when you start to take off your dress before he even gets the chance. He hears Oscar’s hand hit his own face, too.

“We live together,” you say, and Lando can practically hear your eye roll. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Lando sighs. “It is, and you’re drunk, so.”

You laugh. “I guess. I’m dressed now.”

Lando groans when he uncovers his eyes and spots the pair of shorts still on the bed. He puts one hand over Oscar’s eyes, one back over his own, and says, “Shorts. Now.”

You grumble something about taking them off later anyways, which has Lando melting into a puddle over the thought. He hears you shuffling around, and then you grab both of his wrists and tug them away from his and Oscar’s faces. You’re fully dressed this time, and you collapse backwards onto the bed.

“Will you guys stay till I fall asleep?” you ask, softly.

Both of them nod and sit down on the edge of the bed. You curl up in the middle, each of them on either side. Oscar lays a tentative hand on your shoulder, while Lando brushes hair from your face. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, melting into the bed.

When you do, Lando nods silently towards the door. Oscar nods in agreement, and they both slip out of the bedroom. Lando looks back to check on you as he shuts the door. You look peaceful, finally.

Oscar heads for the kitchen, and Lando follows. He reaches into the fridge and comes back with two cans of sparkling water, which Lando accepts eagerly. He’d been unaware of just how thirsty he was until that moment. He drinks half the can in one go and then looks at Oscar expectantly.

“I don’t know,” Oscar prefaces. “I’m not sure about anything. But. She couldn’t stop staring at you up on the stage, and she told me about ten times how pretty you were. And then she said it about me, too. To my face. And like, right after that she threw up, but.”

“But,” Lando repeats. “You saw something. Different than her just being a drunk mess.”

“It felt different,” Oscar says, softly. “Just. I can’t explain it.”

Lando nods. He presses his lips into a thin line. Oscar follows suit, rubbing his hand against the smooth surface of the countertop.

“What do we do?” Lando asks quietly. He feels wildly out of his depth here. “I mean. D’you think she has feelings for…”

Me? You? Lando’s not sure what to say. He’s not sure what he wants the answer to be either. Suddenly, he feels sick to his stomach. In an ideal world, he knows what he’d like to happen here, but that’s a pipe dream. Unrealistic.

“She’s really vulnerable,” he says, before Oscar can even answer. “And like. That would really make a good roommate situation weird, right?”

Oscar laughs, but it sounds forced. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Lando says. “Okay. So. We just let it go.”

Oscar nods. There’s something in the look on his face that makes Lando think maybe there’s more to this. That they shouldn’t brush it off so easily. But it’s late, and he’s exhausted, and this topic feels so, so difficult to broach right now. So he claps Oscar on the shoulder with an open palm, and then disappears into his bedroom.

Lando’s avoidance of the subject doesn’t last long, because the next morning, before you wake up, Oscar corners him in the kitchen.

“We need to talk,” Oscar says, which is never a good sentence to hear at any hour, let alone before the sun has even risen.

Realistically, he should’ve known this was coming, because Oscar never willingly wakes up this early on a weekend. It’s still dark outside. Lando can barely make out Oscar’s facial expressions in the dim light. He flicks a light switch and watches the other man wince.

“Rude,” Oscar grumbles.

“Yeah, that’s what you get for starting off my morning with that sentence,” Lando defends. When Oscar frowns, he softens. “What’s up?”

As if he hadn’t expected to actually get to this point, Oscar shrinks in on himself. Lando leans against the counter and tilts his head. Oscar’s younger, but he’s usually the more mature one. It’s odd to see him so lost for what to say.

“Last night,” Oscar starts, chewing on his lip when he pauses. “She- I- I can’t stop thinking about…”

Lando’s gut wobbles. “About her. You like her. And you think she feels the same.”

There’s this weird jealousy in his chest. He’s jealous of both of you, he realizes, and he grips the counter behind him with his hand. He wants to be the one you like, and he wants to be the one Oscar’s into, too. He’s known it for a while, really, but this is the first time he’s had to confront it head on. And it’s - it’s a problem, probably. His best friends and his roommates. He can’t have both. Can’t have it all.

Oscar frowns and shakes his head. “No. Well. Yeah, but- it’s more than that. It’s.”

Lando tamps down the ache in his chest, plasters on a smile. “Oscar. It’s okay.”

“No,” Oscar says, dragging out the sound. “You don’t- you don’t get it.”

“You guys would make a cute couple,” Lando says quietly. “Like. Really, Osc, you’d be good together-“

“I don’t just want her,” Oscar interrupts, and Lando's heart skips a beat. “I don’t- fuck, it sounds crazy, but. I woke up that morning, after we picked her up, and you were both on the couch with me, and I just thought, yeah, this is how I want to wake up every day. And if that’s crazy then- forget I said anything, but-“

Lando clears his throat. “It’s not crazy.”

Oscar freezes, one hand halfway through his hair. “It’s not?”

Lando shakes his head and bites his lip. “No. I think I’ve been feeling the same. Just… I felt crazy, you know?”

Oscar nods. Lando can’t stop staring at him, at the red flush on his cheeks, the wide eyes. He reaches his foot out and nudges it against Oscar’s shin.

“I meant what I said last night, about her being vulnerable,” he says, and Oscar sighs heavily. “She needs friends right now. And she doesn’t need friends who are caught up in figuring out their feelings for each other and maybe her, too.”

Oscar huffs. “So we just…”

“Wait and see?” Lando asks sheepishly. “Feels shitty, I know, but our first priority is making sure she’s okay.”

Oscar nods. Lando nods back. And that’s that, for a while. And maybe for a while, it’s enough to know that Oscar feels it, too. To know he’s not alone.

…..

You know Lando well enough to know he’s not one to admit when he’s sick. You’d think he’d be the exact opposite, but he tends to try and tough it out until the very last minute. He hides it well, except when it comes to you and Oscar.

He’s getting ready for a DJ set nearly a month after the one where you’d gotten far too drunk. There’s loud music playing through the apartment as he eats dinner, dancing along to the beat. You sit on the kitchen counter in your usual spot, and Oscar stands next to you. You’re both watching Lando bounce around the room. He’s trying to convince you he’s fine without actually saying it. It’s not working.

He leaves the room for a moment, looking for his phone. Oscar looks up at you.

“He’s sick, isn’t he?” He asks.

You nod and worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “Definitely.”

But Lando says nothing about not feeling well, so you do your hair and makeup and get into an Uber with him and Oscar to head for a club. You and Oscar exchange a glance when Lando presses his forehead to the window of the car. He’s mumbling along to the song that’s playing over the speakers. There’s sweat on his temple. You’re starting to worry.

He tumbles out of the car and into the club with you and Oscar in tow. Once the bright lights and loud music hit him, he perks up a bit. If you know him, you know it won’t last. He’s going to wear himself out during his set and then fall apart right after. He sends the two of you to the bar, tells you to put it on his tab. Oscar loops his hand in your arm to keep you close- you’re not complaining. Without saying anything to each other, you each order plain Cokes. Lando won’t question if there’s alcohol in it. You order him his go to drink- a gin & tonic, but ask the bartender to go light on the gin. You hand it off to him before he heads up for his set, and when he hesitates to kiss your cheek like he normally would, you eye him carefully.

“I’m fine,” he says, which tells you more than anything that he’s definitely not fine.

Next to you, Oscar scoffs. You press the back of your hand to Lando’s forehead and sigh. He leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. He’s burning up.

“It’s a short set,” he says, slurred but loud enough to be heard over the thud of the bass. “I’ll be fine.”

You watch as he walks away. Oscar takes your arm in his hand again, pulls you away to a nearby booth. Normally, you love watching Lando’s sets, love listening to the music he’s chosen, and watching his face light up at the crowd’s reaction. But now, as he takes his place, you just feel worried. You can tell Oscar’s worried too, just from the way he drums his fingers against the table in an unsteady pattern. Normally the two of you would find yourselves out on the dance floor, especially when Lando plays the songs he knows you both love, but you can’t find it in you tonight.

When he stumbles off stage from his set, he’s grinning ear to ear, but his eyes are half closed and there’s a thin sheen of sweat on his skin that you know isn’t from the dj-ing. You and Oscar stand to meet him, and you brush damp curls from his forehead to check his temperature again. He feels even worse. Oscar winces as Lando sways in front of the two of you.

“Let's get you home,” you suggest, and he just nods.

When you get back to the apartment, you deposit Lando on the couch. Oscar stays with him, pulling a blanket over Lando and propping him up with pillows. You head for the bathroom first and open the medicine cabinet.

“Lan, what’s wrong?” You call out.

You hear his disoriented grumbling. Oscar translates. “He says he’s fine.”

You lean out into the living room and fix Lando with a glare. “Shut up. You need medicine. What’s wrong?”

He sighs and sinks into the couch. “Sore throat. Headache. Little bit of a cough.”

You nod and return to the surprisingly well stocked medicine cabinet. You grab the cold medicine that describes his symptoms the best and head back to the living room. Lando has the blanket wrapped tightly around him like a cocoon, and he has his head resting on Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar’s running his hand up and down Lando’s upper arm, a look of concern on his face.

You hand Oscar the medicine. “Here. Give him a dose, will you? I’m gonna heat up some soup or something.”

“M’not a baby,” Lando mutters.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Oscar teases gently.

Though the medicine cabinet was well stocked, the kitchen is less so. None of you like grocery shopping. You manage to find a can of chicken soup in the back of a cupboard, and it’s not expired, so you heat it up quickly. You return to the living room with the soup and a large glass of water.

Lando is fully tucked into Oscar’s side now, draped messily across the other boy. You sigh at the sight, at the way Oscar runs his hand through Lando’s hair, at the content little smile on Lando’s lips. Even when he’s sick, this is enough to bring him comfort. You wonder, then, if you could be enough, too. The memories pass through your brain- the way they’ve both taken care of you after your break up. Now it’s your chance to return the favor.

You sit down on the couch on Lando’s other side. Oscar takes the bowl of soup from you carefully, and then you hold the glass of water up to Lando’s lips. He sips carefully, then pulls away with a soft sigh. His cheeks are rosy red, and he shivers. You and Oscar both wince in sympathy.

“You should’ve told us,” Oscar says, quietly. “Should’ve canceled the set.”

Lando shrugs and elbows him lightly. “Got through it, didn’t I? Can’t go around canceling sets if I’m gonna make it big, can I?”

You roll your eyes and nudge the Brit slightly. “Your health is more important than you making it big,” you chide.

He turns to look at you, gaze hazy but still amused. “Mm. You won’t be saying that when I’ve got enough money to take care of the two of you for the rest of your lives.”

“Is that your plan?” Oscar asks, a teasing tone in his voice.

Lando closes his eyes and nods. “You two can be my sugar babies,” he asserts. “Never work another day in your life.”

“Okay, Norris,” you say, biting back a laugh. “Eat your soup.”

He does as he’s told, melting back into the couch as he holds the bowl and spoon in shaky hands. Oscar keeps his hands on the bowl, too, just to be safe. To show your support, you lean against Lando’s shoulder to help prop him up. As much as you hate to see him not feeling well, you think that maybe you could get used to this.

You tuck him into his bed later that night. Oscar’s next to you, having carried him into the bedroom from the living room. Lando was pretty much dead weight, high on cold medicine and his fever and so, so out of it. You pull the covers up to his chin and smooth sweaty hair from his forehead. You cringe at the clammy feeling, and Oscar laughs.

Lando blinks up at both of you with heavy eyes. “Meant it, you know.”

“Meant what?” You ask.

He lets his eyelids fall closed. “Gonna take care of you two. The same way you take care of me. I think abou’ it all the time.”

He yawns, turns his head, and falls asleep nearly immediately after that, lips barely parted, chest rising and falling smoothly. You feel frozen for a moment. He looks so peaceful. He wants to take care of you. Your heart is pounding.

Oscar wraps his hand around your elbow and squeezes softly. “He’ll be okay.”

He thinks you’re worried. You don’t know how to tell him that Lando being sick isn’t the problem. The what’s got you all mixed up inside is the way Lando says it so easily. Never work another day in your life. I think about it all the time.

You swallow and back away from the bed, because you have the strongest urge to crawl right in next to him and drag Oscar right with you, until you’re all curled up in a pile together. You can’t do that. Oscar leads you out to the living room. You think he knows something’s up, because he doesn’t let go of you the whole time, but he doesn’t say anything either. You need to shake this feeling. You can’t think about them like this. It won’t end well.

“I’ll make us some popcorn, yeah?” Oscar suggests. “We can watch Bake Off.”

You nod as you make your way over to the couch. You try to tell yourself you should keep your distance, should sit far away from him. But when he sits down and pulls you into his chest, you can’t help but sigh happily.

“When we inevitably catch whatever he has,” you say, “we’re gonna need more chicken noodle soup.”

…..

Oscar comes home from work one day a few weeks later, and finds the two of you in the living room- a pretty normal occurrence lately. You’re laid out on the couch, your ankles in Lando’s lap. You smile up at him happily, and he laughs. He’s glad to see you, honestly, both of you. He’s had a rough day. This is exactly what he needed to come home to.

“Comfy?” He asks.

You nod eagerly. “We saved some pizza for you. It’s in the kitchen.”

He snorts. “Gee. Thanks. Couldn’t wait till I got home?”

You pout up at him. “I was hungry.”

Lando nods in agreement. “She was being whiny, Osc, had to feed her.”

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, leaning over to ruffle your hair. You press into the touch, like a cat. “And then I’ll have dinner.”

“Ooh, take a shower beer,” you suggest.

Lando laughs. “I was gonna say the exact same thing.”

Without even thinking, Oscar leans over the couch and kisses both of your foreheads. “Geniuses, the both of you.”

Neither you or Lando seem to question it, or the blush on his cheeks, so he doesn’t even try to explain.

By the time he finishes showering, and finishes his shower beer, a bit of the stress has melted away. He sighs heavily when he steps out, towel dries his hair, and pulls on a pair of shorts and a hoodie. He eats a slice of pizza, cold, in the kitchen.

When he makes it back to the living room, you’re curled up in Lando’s arms, halfway in his lap. He grumbles, not even realizing he’s making the noise until you look up at him. You throw one arm out wide, beckoning him close. Lando looks up with a happy, soft smile and pats the open space on his chest. And really, Oscar’s had a shit day, and the spot between Lando’s jaw and chest looks quite cozy, and if he’s being invited, then-

He collapses into the two of you, slips his arm around you and presses the side of his face to Lando’s chest. Oscar takes a deep breath, smells Lando’s cologne and your perfume, the intoxicating mix of both of you, and closes his eyes. He feels someone’s finger drag down the slope of his nose, and another hand brushes his hair from his forehead.

“Bad day?” You ask.

He’s exhausted, and everything is a bit hazy feeling. Syrupy and slow. He could fall asleep like this, probably. You sound a million miles away, and also like you’re tucked away in his chest, like he’d like for you to always be. Close and protected.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Really bad day.”

A thumb brushes over his cheek. There’s a hand in his damp hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. He lets out a fluttering sigh.

“Poor baby,” you say. He thinks the hand on his face is yours, the hand in his hair, Lando’s. “We just gotta wait for Lan to make it big, yeah? ‘nd then me and you can be his sugar babies, let him pay for everything. Just like he promised.”

Oscar laughs and rubs his cheek against Lando’s chest in some sort of nod. He can feel Lando laughing, too, high pitched and breathless. His hand squeezes at your hip, where it landed when he sat down.

“I’d take such good care of the two of you,” Lando says, quietly.

Oscar knows how much truth the words hold, and suddenly his stomach aches with want. Because Lando already takes care of both of you and him any way he can, and Oscar does it for you and Lando, too, and they both wish they could do it even more so. Could kiss away your tears, could hold your hand when you cross the street. He wants it. So does Lando.

“You already do,” you say, even quieter.

Oscar feels Lando’s breath hitch in his chest. He opens one eye and finds your eyes closed, your hand pressed to his cheek. Lando’s hand, banded around Oscar’s back, squeezes softly. Oscar holds his breath.

You shrug, like you know they’re watching without even opening your eyes.

“You both do,” you add. “Picked me up when I called, checked on me ever since…” you sigh and bury your face deeper into Lando’s chest. Oscar reaches up and cups your cheek in his hand tentatively. “Couldn’t ask for more.”

Even on the worst of days, Oscar thinks that maybe you’re right. He couldn’t ask for more. He’s got everything right here.

…..

A few nights later, Lando wakes up to the creak of the door, and his eyes fly open. He turns to look and finds you standing in the doorway, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“Love?” Lando asks, quietly. It’s the dead of night. “You alright?”

You shrug and sigh. “Can we cuddle?”

He blinks and nods, wonder fleetingly if he should go and get Oscar, because this feels unfair, but- then you step backwards, walking away. You must want to go to your bed, must feel more comfortable there. Lando slips out of his bed, takes his phone with him, and follows after you. His confusion grows when you don’t stop at the door to your bedroom. You walk right past and head for Oscar’s room. You open the door, and Lando looks past you to the warm glow of the lamp Oscar always forgets to turn off, to his sleeping form.

“You’re easier to wake up,” you say, softly.

Lando blinks wildly as you trudge your way over to the bed. “Love?”

“Want cuddles,” you state as you climb into the bed next to Oscar, who’s snoring softly. “From both of you. Come on.”

And, well. You should probably all talk about this, really. But you’re already tucking yourself under the blankets, and Oscar looks cute, and Lando’s so, so tired, and he wants cuddles, too, so. He sighs and makes his way over to the bed. You grin and roll towards Oscar, who finally shifts awake at the motion.

“Hi?” He says, confused, sleep coating his voice.

You don’t bother to explain, just slip an arm around him and curl close. Lando sits down on the edge of the bed and makes eye contact with Oscar, who seems frozen between confusion and happiness.

“She wanted cuddles,” Lando explains. “From both of us. I’m easier to wake up, apparently.”

Oscar shrugs and nods. He rolls towards you and throws his arm over your middle. His fingers motion towards Lando, who breathes a sigh of relief. Sure, they’ve talked, but there was always a chance Oscar changed his mind, or that this would be weird. But, if he’s offering…

Lando crawls into bed next to you. You let out a soft sigh when he lays down next to you, and he can’t fight the smile that crosses his lips. He slips his arm around you, his skin brushing against Oscar’s, too. Oscar presses a kiss to your forehead. Lando bites back a flare of jealousy, and he’s not even sure which one of you he’s jealous of. Then Oscar brushes his fingertips against his bicep, a soft, gentle touch that reminds him he’s part of this, too. Lando kisses the back of your neck and closes his eyes, already sleepy again.

…..

When Oscar wakes up the next morning, you and Lando are still in his bed. He breathes a sigh of relief at that, having been worried one of you would wake up and panic and leave. He watches the two of you for a few moments before he lets his eyes slip closed again. The weight of your head on his chest is comforting, and the soft rise and fall of Lando’s ribs under his hand is even more so. It’s rare that he’s awake before either of you unless he has to be up early.

He opens one eye again, just to look, just to take it in. Lando’s head is pressed against your shoulder, the top of his forehead and his mass of curly hair just visible to Oscar. He could get used to this. He’d like to wake up like this all the time, the three of you all wrapped up together. And maybe that’s wishful thinking, but for at least one morning, he gets to have it.

If he wasn’t so worried he’d wake you up and spoil the moment, he’d trace the lines of your face with his fingertips and draw patterns on your shoulders. He’d do it to Lando, too- shove his tank top up until he could touch the bare skin of his ribs, run his fingers over the bumps. But he wants this to last as long as possible, so he just lays there and stares.

Eventually, you start to stir, and with you, so does Lando. It’s strange, the way it makes Oscar’s heart clench in his chest. He wants so badly for both of you to just stay right here, with him. If he could hold you both in his arms like this forever he would.

When you open your eyes, you smile softly at him. Lando shifts behind you and opens one eye, and the same soft smile slips across his lips. You press yourself farther into Oscar, and reach a hand behind you to pull Lando close.

“My boys,” you say, quietly. “My favorite boys.”

And. That’s when it hits Oscar, like a punch to the chest. There’s something in the way you say it, something about the look on your face. He just knows. He knows because he sees it in himself, in Lando. He doesn’t need to talk about it right this second, doesn’t need to ask. He just knows you feel it too. So he leans up and over, hears the way Lando’s holding his breath. He moves his hand and presses his lips to your cheek, to your warm, soft skin. Then he does the same to Lando. You smile even wider. Lando, not one to be left out, does the same to you, then Oscar, leaving his skin burning. You follow suit, and your lips are warm against Oscar’s jaw. He thinks maybe he’s in heaven.

The three of you fall back asleep in a tighter pile, wrapped up in each other’s limbs. There’ll be time to talk later. For now, it’s enough to just know.

…..

A month later, you’re in the front of the crowd at Lando’s DJ set, watching with wide, bright eyes. He has three buttons undone, the work of you and Oscar during the car ride over to the club. He’s grinning down at you as someone hands him a shot, and then he tosses it back with a grimace. You wonder if he sees the stars in your eyes as you look up at him.

Oscar’s behind you, one arm wrapped around your waist. He has a drink in his other hand- your drink, taken from your own grip when you started moving your hands to the music. His nose is pressed behind your ear, and when he speaks, his breath tickles against your skin and makes you shiver.

“Y’know, he said he’d take care of us,” Oscar says, loud enough to be heard over the music, but just barely. “But all I can think of right now are all the ways I wanna take care of him.”

You laugh, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “It’s the unbuttoned shirt,” you tell him, gesturing at your other boyfriend. “S’like kryptonite.”

Never mind the fact that the shirt’s only unbuttoned because of the two of you. Oscar laughs and squeezes his arm around your middle. Lando tilts his head at the two of you, like he knows exactly what you’re up to.

“Yeah,” Oscar agrees. “But that’s less buttons for us to deal with later.”

You nod in agreement. “Good point.”

When Lando’s shirt is laying on the floor later, next to Oscar’s shirt and your dress, and you’re all slumped together on the bed in a pile, you remember what Oscar said earlier and laugh. Neither of them bother to ask what you’re laughing about. They just kiss your cheeks and join in with laughter of their own.

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @ggaslyp1 (if your blog is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!)

---

max verstappen being the perfect boyfriend: a compilation

summary: max verstappen can’t help but talk about his girlfriend whenever he cans, fans make compilation videos about it

folkie radio: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAXIEEE, it's been a minute since the last time i did a compilation blurb and this felt like the perfect occasion to bring them back, i hope you like this!

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Max Verstappen, three time world champion and the best driver of his generation is known for his incredible driving skills and relentless pursuit of victory on the track.

However, behind the wheel, Max has another passion that rivals his love for racing: his girlfriend.

In every interview, press conference, and social media post, Max can't help but gush about her, seamlessly sharing stories of their life together into conversations about lap times and race strategies.

Fans quickly began doing compilation videos about all the times he mentioned his girlfriend publicly, and those gathered millions of views across social media platforms.

The most popular one was called "Max Verstappen being the perfect boyfriend: a compilation," and it began with a video of Max arriving to the paddock for media day, Red Bull's social media team filming him while he answered some rapid fire questions.

"Waffles or Pancakes? You know I used to love pancakes but I think I've had too many because my girlfriend is obsessed with making them," he said as he signed some stuff, "So I would go for Waffles at the moment, but if my girlfriend is watching this I'd say I take her pancakes every day."

The next clip was from a post qualifying interview, and of course, Max earned the pole position, the interviewer had asked him what was expecting for the race the following day.

"To win of course, that's what I'm here for," he said with so hesitation, "But I'm also looking forward to it because my girlfriend will be here, it's the first race she attends this season and I can't wait to see her in the crowd while I take on the podium."

The video moved to show Max with his teammate Sergio Perez, they were playing a game of Green Flag or Red Flag, they were asked about people who film themselves at the gym and Max immediately waved the red flag.

"I actually don't go to the gym anymore," Max added, "I get annoyed by everyone else so I just exercise at home."

"So no topless selfies, not even at home," the interviewer said.

"I don't need to impress anyone, I've got my girlfriend, so," Max shrugged.

The next clip was taken from Max's own Youtube channel, he was showing some of his preparation routine for a race, that included some neck training, checking statistics, quick meetings with his team and engineers among other things.

And of course, his girlfriend made an appearance, standing in a corner watching everything unfold. He approached her, race suit on and helmet in hand, kissed her lips gently as she caressed his arm.

"Be safe out there okay?" her voice could be faintly heard.

"Always schatje, I love you."

In the next segment, Max had just earned his second world championship and was doing a casual interview for a sports channel.

"Do you have your girlfriend now call you 'Two time world champion Max Verstappen' or just Max,"

"Definitely not the first one," Max laughed, "She'd never do that, she says she likes to keep me humble."

"Your girlfriend has a pet name for you?" the guy asked again.

"We call each other a bit different but I prefer not to say that on camera," Max laughed again, "I don't want the internet to make fun of me for being cheesy."

The next clip was from Max's streamings, he was too immersed in a game that he didn't hear his girlfriend come into the room, noticing her presence when she leaned into him.

Out of habit of keeping their privacy, he covered the camera but forgot to turn his mic off.

"Schatje I'm streaming," he said, unaware that everyone could hear him.

"Oh I'm sorry, I was going to ask if you could feed the cats but I'll do it myself," his girlfriend spoke.

"No I'll do it, just let me get off the stream,"

"Baby, there's no need," she insisted.

"I was missing you anyways, just give me a minute."

His audience couldn't see anything but they clearly heard how Max kissed his girlfriend's lips, turning his attention back to the screen, he realized that he was broadcasting their conversation to everyone.

His viewers went wild in the chat, spamming heart emojis and comments about how sweet the couple was. Max ended the stream with a laugh, addressing his fans. "Alright, you heard the boss. I gotta go feed the cats. See you all next time."

On the same note, another clip from a video for RedBull with Checo was included, they had been asked to show the most recent picture in their phones.

"Oh it's from this morning, my girlfriend with the kids," Max said, showing the picture to the camera.

"The kids?" Checo asked with a laugh.

"The cats are our kids," Max shrugged, "Jimmy and Sassy Verstappen."

A particularly touching moment was from a press conference after a difficult race. Max had finished fifth, a rare position for him given his usual dominance. When asked how he dealt with setbacks, he gave a candid response.

"It can be tough, but my girlfriend always knows how to lift my spirits. She's my biggest supporter and always finds the right words to say. Just being with her makes everything better, no matter how bad the race went."

During a clip of Max giving a tour of the Red Bull factory, he stopped at a wall covered in race-winning memorabilia. Among the trophies and champagne bottles, there was a small, framed photograph.

"This is special to me," Max pointed it out, "It's from my first win with Red Bull. But look closer..."

The camera zoomed in to show a young woman in the background of the photo, cheering in the pit lane.

"That's my girlfriend," Max said softly. "She was there for my first win, and she's been there for every one since - even if she can't always be at the track. The team knew how much that meant to me, so they made sure she was in this photo when they framed it."

In the next segment, Max was asked about his favorite off-track activity.

"I love cooking," Max grinned, "Well, more like watching my girlfriend cook. She's amazing in the kitchen, and I'm just there to taste-test everything."

The compilation included a moment during a press conference, Max addressed a question about his girlfriend facing criticism online. The question arose after she received negative comments following a public appearance with him.

"Look, it's tough sometimes," Max began, his expression turning serious. "She didn't choose this life, but she supports me through everything. It's not fair for her to get hate just because of who she's dating. If you have a problem with me that's fine but don't go after my family or my girlfriend because that is just unacceptable."

The final clip that wrapped the video us was from the FIA Prize Giving ceremony, Max received his trophy for winning the 2023 championship.

In his acceptance speech, he thanked his team, his family, and, of course, his girlfriend.

"Winning races and championships is amazing, but having someone by your side who believes in you and supports you unconditionally is truly special. To my girlfriend, thank you for being my rock and my biggest cheerleader. I love you."

The screen faded to black, showing a text that read: Max Verstappen, three time world champion and the perfect boyfriend.

---

the good luck charm

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. max vertsappen x reader ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

you kiss max's forehead one race morning "for luck". he wins. it becomes a thing.

It started as a joke. As most things do.

You were both exhausted and half-dressed in a hotel room in Monza, Max trying to stretch out sore muscles while you searched (unsuccessfully) for your other shoe. Something about the early morning, the nerves, the jetlag, the weird sleepy love you always carry for him—it made you lean in, cup his face in both hands, and press a long kiss to his forehead.

"May your tires be warm, your brakes be cool, and your competitors forget how to drive," you said solemnly, eyes still half closed.

He gave you the flattest look imaginable, though the end of his ears blushed a faint pink from the kiss. As they always did. “What are you doing?”

“Blessing you,” you replied, as if it was obvious. As if it had happened a hundred times before. "So you win."

Max snorted, jokingly thanked you for your wise words, and then won the race.

The next weekend in Baku, just before he headed back into the garage, he stopped in front of you. Didn’t say anything. Just stood there with his helmet under one arm, brows raised. Waiting.

You blinked at him. “…Yes?”

Max looked around and then lowered his voice. “Aren’t you gonna do your weird blessing thing?”

You smiled. You were obnoxious about it. You made it a whole scene. Two hands to his cheeks, a huge dramatic smooch in the exact middle of his forehead, a made-up chant about tire degradation and curses upon the other drivers' decision making capabilities. He pretended to hate it.

He won again.

Now it’s a ritual. It practically part of his warm up routine.

He always finds you. Doesn’t matter if it’s Silverstone or Suzuka, if you're sitting quietly in hospitality or standing in the garage trying not to get run over by a mechanic on a scooter. He finds you. Every single race.

Helmet in hand. Suit half-zipped. That laser-focus look on his face until he sees you. Then it softens—just slightly. His jaw unclenches. His hands flex like they want to hold something. You.

You rise on your toes, brush your lips across his forehead, whisper the familiar words: “For luck.” Because sometimes he doesn't need the big speech, the dramatic show, the curses upon the other cars—he just needs you.

He never says much. Just nods, or gives you the tiniest smile. Once, after a win, he muttered “works better than pole” with a blush he tried to pass off as heat exhaustion.

You didn’t tease him for it. Much.

One day the camera's pick it up, and suddenly it becomes clear that your little tradition is not a secret and private as you once thought. Even the Sky Sports commentary team has something to say:

“And there’s Max Verstappen’s girlfriend giving him—what’s clearly become—a bit of a pre-race tradition. Can’t argue with results.”

It's nice. You like being part of the flow of race day. Its nice to be relied upon, even for something as small as this.

And then… one weekend, you’re not there.

You tried. You really did. But your flight got cancelled, the backup was overbooked, and Red Bull’s private jet was full of engineers and people who don’t think “I give Max forehead kisses before lights out” qualifies as essential personnel.

You call him from the airport instead, bags at your feet, coffee in hand. Max offered to send his own jet back to pick you up, but it would never have arrived in time.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I really wanted to be there.”

Max is quiet on the other end. “You tried.”

“I’ll scream your blessing into the sky from here, okay?”

He huffs a laugh, but it sounds tight. “Might need it. Grid’s a mess.”

“You’ll handle it. You always do.”

You want to say more. Something sappy. But you can already hear noise in the backgorund of the call. He's being pulled away by Christian or Helmut or someone asking about tires. So you settle for, “I love you. Drive safe.”

His voice softens. “Love you too.”

Back at the track, people notice something’s… off.

He’s still fast—because of course he is—but there’s a tension in his shoulders. The calm, razor-sharp version of Max that usually shows up on race day feels thinner, more like a mask.

Christian corners him right before the anthem. “You good?”

“Fine,” Max says. Short. Clipped. Cold.

But his eyes keep scanning the garage, looking for something—or someone—he knows isn’t there.

The race goes okay. Not amazing. A few things go wrong. His start is messy. Pit stop’s a second too slow. He finishes second, which for anyone else would be great, but for Max it’s a shrug and a “whatever.” Second place always hurts. Always has for him.

After the cooldown room, after media, after debrief, he ducks away from everyone and finally calls you.

“You cursed me,” he says.

“Sorry?”

“I had no forehead kiss. And now look. P2. Disaster.”

You smile, curling up in the airport lounge chair. “Guess you need me, huh?”

He exhales like he doesn’t want to say yes, but then, quietly: “Yeah. I do.”

And then impossibly quieter: "I always do."

The next weekend, you’re definitely there.

He doesn’t even say hello when he finds you sat in the garage. He just walks up, stands in front of you, and tilts his head down expectantly.

You blink. “Wow. No ‘how are you,’ no hug—just forehead service?”

He glares at the ground, but there is a small smile on his face that you can just barely see. “Do the thing.”

You grin, place your hands on his cheeks, and kiss him gently on the forehead.

“For luck,” you murmur.

He exhales. Content. “There it is.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Says the one casting spells on my head.”

You lean in a little. “They work, don’t they?”

Max just smiles. The small, secret one. The one he saves for you. Then he nods.

After he wins that race, he dedicates it to the team. Then, on the radio, voice quieter:

“Tell her thanks. It worked again.”

You hear it. Of course you do. And when he lifts the trophy, champagne flying, there’s a tiny smile on your face that says yeah. you’re welcome.

---

i know love

summary: cute moments between lando and yn during their relationship, based on "i know love" by tate mcrae warnings: none

[The Paddock – Saturday Morning]

The paddock was alive, like always — a whirlwind of activity that buzzed in your bones. Engines hummed in the background, the scent of fuel hung in the air, and media scurried from one garage to the next. But amid the chaos, you found peace. Because his hand was in yours.

Lando walked with his cap pulled low, his race suit half-zipped and hanging around his waist. His other hand gripped a protein shake, which you were pretty sure he hated but tolerated because “the trainer would kill me otherwise.”

“Did you bring snacks?” he asked, turning toward you with that ridiculous boyish grin.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally sponsored by half the paddock. You want my snacks?”

“Yours taste better.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching into your tote and pulling out a granola bar. He accepted it with a victorious sound and a quick kiss to your cheek, uncaring of the mechanics and press that passed by. You still weren’t used to how bold he could be sometimes. How effortless it all felt for him.

“Thanks, love.”

That word still made your chest flutter. No matter how many times he said it. Maybe because it felt like he didn’t throw it around the way people assumed he did. When Lando said love, it always meant something.

[Late Night Stream]

He was shouting at the screen again.

“NO—WHAT? That’s total BS!” he groaned into his headset, falling back dramatically in his gaming chair. You were sprawled across the couch behind him, one of his hoodies drowning your frame as you scrolled through your phone, giggling softly at his chaos.

The Twitch chat noticed.

“is that Y/N in the back???” “their leg 😭 soft launch era over” “she really is real, huh?”

You tilted your head toward the camera with a smirk. “He’s still losing, by the way.”

“Oi!” Lando wheeled around to face you, scandalized. “You’re sabotaging me live in front of thousands of people. I’ll never financially recover from this.”

“Skill issue.”

He laughed, leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead, his hand brushing your hair out of your face. “Lucky you’re cute.”

“Lucky you love me.”

He stilled for half a second, just a beat. Enough for you to realize what you’d said.

“I do,” he said quietly, his eyes soft and sincere now. “You know I do.”

You nodded, cheeks warming. “I know.”

And you did. You really, really did.

[Phone Calls at 2AM]

Your phone rang.

The contact photo — him in sunglasses with a ridiculous filter you’d added — lit up your screen. You answered without a second thought, already sitting upright in bed.

“Hey,” his voice was groggy, gravelly — and entirely too intimate for a call across the world. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” you lied. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

There was a pause. One of those comfortable silences you only shared with people who knew you too well.

“I’ve been thinking…” Lando finally murmured. “This…us. It’s kind of insane, isn’t it?”

You smiled to yourself. “Yeah. But it’s a good kind of insane.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you’ll get tired of all this. Of me being gone. The attention. The pressure. I don’t blame you if you do.”

“Lando,” you whispered, clutching the phone tighter. “I didn’t fall for the driver. I fell for the guy who eats cereal with a fork and quotes Shrek at 2AM.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Right. Can’t compete with that version of me.”

“I know love. It’s… messy, and inconvenient sometimes. But it’s you. And that makes it worth it.”

He was quiet again, but you could hear the soft exhale of breath on the line.

“I love you,” he said, a little cracked, like the words still scared him. “Just thought you should know.”

“I already did.”

[Arguments and Apologies]

It wasn’t always perfect.

There were days when texts went unanswered. When one too many sarcastic comments turned into a cold silence. When he forgot to call. When you snapped too quickly.

You stood in your kitchen, arms crossed as Lando leaned against the counter, the tension heavy in the room.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” he said, voice low.

“Then why do you keep doing things that hurt me?”

He sighed, raking a hand through his curls. “Because I’m scared.”

That stopped you cold.

“Of what?”

“Of screwing this up. Of you realizing you deserve someone easier. Someone who doesn’t bring a circus everywhere he goes.”

You crossed the room slowly, wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your face into his hoodie.

“I don’t want easy. I want you. Even when you’re stubborn and sleep-deprived and slightly dramatic.”

He let out a breathless laugh and hugged you tighter.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Then I’ll try harder. Because you’re it for me.”

[Fangirl Mode Activated]

You were trying to be chill.

But it was hard when your boyfriend’s face was plastered on a three-story billboard in central London, and he walked past it like it was nothing.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” you asked, arms folded.

Lando shrugged. “It’s not that big.”

You gawked at him. “It’s bigger than my apartment.”

“You wanna take a picture?”

“…Yes.”

You posed in front of it while he took twenty awful, blurry, tilted photos, laughing so hard he almost dropped your phone.

“Okay, but imagine if I had a giant billboard,” you teased.

“I’d buy every single one,” he said. “And hang them in every room I walk into.”

[Knowing Love]

Lando was lying on the floor of your apartment, head on your stomach, scrolling through something on his phone while you played with his hair.

“This is it, right?” he asked suddenly.

You glanced down. “What is?”

“This. Us. Love.”

You studied him, the boy who used to flinch at the word, who now spoke it like a promise. Who showed it in forehead kisses, lingering looks, and middle-of-the-night calls.

“Yeah,” you said. “It is.”

Because now you know love.

Not the kind that’s always perfect.

But the kind that stays.

That grows.

That chooses you — every day, even in the chaos.

And in Lando Norris’ arms,

you finally understand the song.

---

Hey, I saw you done the reader speaks French but I was wondering if you could one with italian or something similar. My family on my mother's side is italian and I'm learning it again and I'm sometimes embarrassed by my lack of knowledge (spanish was easier for me) if this makes sense. If not that's okay, I love your writing.

Italian Lessons

Summary: You're trying to learn Italian again and what a better way to learn than to get your best friend's best friend to teach you.

Song: Earned It · The Weeknd

Author’s note: You are so relatable! I was born in Italy but as soon as I left, my Italian left with it 😭 I've been trying to learn it but I can't so I wish you the best! I wrote so much but Tumblr didn't let me fit it all so I had to shorten it! Unfortunately due to my exams being in less than a month, I won't post much. 😭 Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 34.3k

MASTERLIST - F1

The scent of old leather and motor oil clung to Ollie’s car like a second skin, a familiar aroma that always grounded you. He swerved expertly through the London traffic, one hand drumming a rhythm on the steering wheel as a Formula 1 podcast droned from the speakers. He was talking, something about tire compounds and aerodynamic drag, but your mind was elsewhere, tangled in a knot of guilt and embarrassment.

"Earth to you! You’ve gone all quiet," Ollie chuckled, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. "Thinking about your impending Italian lesson?"

You sighed, leaning your head against the headrest. "Don't remind me. It's just… pathetic, isn't it? My own mother's language, and I can barely order a pizza."

Ollie, ever the comforting presence, reached over and squeezed your hand. "Hey, none of that nonsense. You're busy, you're successful, and you're finally doing something about it. That's all that matters. Besides," he added with a wink, "you know I think you're amazing, even if you only speak fluent English and sarcasm."

You managed a weak smile. Ollie always had a way of making you feel better. Years of friendship, countless late-night talks, and a shared history that stretched back to awkward teenage years had forged a bond unbreakable. He was family, the kind you chose, not just the kind you were born into. It was ironic, really, that he, an Englishman obsessed with speed and engines, knew more Italian phrases than you, the daughter of an Italian immigrant.

"It's just… Kimi," you muttered, the name feeling foreign on your tongue. Ollie’s best friend. An enigma wrapped in a charmingly gruff exterior.

"Kimi will be great!" Ollie declared, his voice radiating genuine enthusiasm. "He's a good guy, just a bit… quiet at first. But trust me, he's got a heart of gold hidden under that stoic exterior. And," he added with a knowing smirk, "he's fiercely proud of his heritage. He'll be thrilled you're making the effort."

You doubted that. You envisioned awkward silences, stumbling over conjugations, and Kimi's thinly veiled disappointment at your linguistic ineptitude. "What if I'm hopeless? What if I just embarrass myself?"

"You won't," Ollie said firmly. "And even if you do, so what? It's a learning process. Besides, Kimi's not judgmental. He's too busy being effortlessly cool to judge anyone."

You couldn't argue with that. Kimi did have an air of indifference that seemed to protect him from the world's criticisms. You'd always found it intriguing, that and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he did smile, which was a rare occurrence indeed.

Finally, the GPS announced, "You have arrived at your destination." You two pulled up to the paddock, a bustling hive of activity where Formula 1 cars were being meticulously prepped for the next race.

Ollie parked his sleek sports car with a flourish, the engine purring. You followed Ollie through the maze of garages.

In the Haas garage, the mechanics were a blur of movement as they worked tirelessly on the gleaming Formula 1 car. Ollie waved at them, calling out greetings in a mix of English and Italian that rolled off his tongue like a native.

He led you further into the garage, where the team was a blur of motion, focused intently on the gleaming Haas car. The sheer dedication and attention to detail were breathtaking.

"Right, let's get you acquainted with the place," Ollie said, clapping his hands together. “I’ll introduce you to Kimi after the race.”

“Kimi?” you asked, feeling a flicker of anticipation. This was it. The man who was going to help you reclaim your heritage. “So, he actually agreed to this?”

"Yep. He owes me a favor. Plus, he’s always up for a bit of a laugh."

You nodded, trying to absorb all the information. "Got it. And thank you, by the way. For all of this."

"Don't mention it," Ollie said, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he reached for his race suit. "It's the least I can do. I've always thought it was a shame you never learned Italian. Especially with your mom being so… expressive.”

That stung. He was right. It was a shame. And it was embarrassing. Your best friend, the one who’d grown up miles away from any Italian influence, knew more about your mother’s language than you did.

"Yeah, well," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "Life happens."

"It does," Ollie agreed, his tone softening. He pulled the race suit on halfway, leaving the top part unzipped. "But it’s never too late to learn. Kimi's a great guy, and he's surprisingly patient. Just… try not to be intimidated by the accent. It can be a bit thick."

"Look, I gotta go brief with the team," Ollie said, his attention already shifting to the race ahead. "Just… enjoy the show. And try not to get run over."

With a final pat on the shoulder, he was gone, swallowed up by the organized chaos of the Haas garage. You were left standing there, feeling a strange mix of excitement, apprehension, and inadequacy. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The scent of gasoline and burnt rubber permeated the air as you meandered through the bustling F1 paddock, your eyes scanning the horizon of gleaming cars and tightly wound tension that only a Formula One race could muster. Your phone chirped with Duolingo's cheery encouragement, a stark contrast to the thunderous symphony of engines revving in the distance.

"Mi dispiace, non capisco," you murmured, feeling a twinge of pride as the app congratulated you with a cheerful "Ding!"

Before you could bask in the glow of your linguistic victory, a velvet voice caressed your ear, "It's actually 'mi dispiace, non capisco.'"

You whipped around, heart racing faster than the cars on the track, to find Kimi, Ollie's dashing Italian best friend, standing just an arm's length away.

"Thanks," you replied, trying to compose yourself, as your cheeks flushed with a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun beating down on the tarmac.

"I'm just trying to brush up on my Italian, you know, for when I get to Imola."

He grinned, his eyes dancing with a mischief that promised untold adventures. "Well, you're in luck," he said, his accent a siren's song that could make any language sound erotic. "I happen to be a native speaker."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound a little too high-pitched for your liking. "Yeah, I kind of figured that out," you replied, trying to match his cool demeanor.

"Well, then," Kimi said, his smile widening, "having a teacher will definitely help you a lot."

It was ironic, indeed, seeing as Kimi was the person Ollie had suggested to help you with your Italian.

The same Kimi who had a reputation for leaving hearts fluttering in his wake, the one who spoke Italian as if it were poetry caressed by the gods themselves. You felt a peculiar mix of excitement and nervousness at the thought of learning from him. His eyes, a deep brown that reminded you of freshly roasted espresso, bore into yours, and you couldn't help but wonder if he knew the effect he had on you.

Before you could respond, a sharp, authoritative voice blared over the loudspeakers, "All the drivers go to their pits."

Kimi's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his eyes darkening with what could only be described as a predatory interest. "See you later, bella donna," he winked, his words a seductive promise before disappearing into the maelstrom of the racing world.

Your heart skipped a beat as you watched him go, his lithe figure weaving through the chaos with an ease that could only come from years of navigating the fast lane.

The term of endearment hung in the air, a sweet whisper that seemed to caress your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The rest of the afternoon was a blur. You spent the qualifying session in the Haas garage with Ollie, nervously watching the timings and trying to decipher the technical jargon being thrown around.

During the race, you were a nervous wreck. You cheered for Ollie, of course, your loyalty unwavering. But your eyes kept darting to the silver Mercedes on the track, following Kimi's every move. The roar of the engines, the squeal of tires, the frantic pace of the race – it all faded into the background. All you could think about was the way he had looked at you, the sound of his voice, the playful glint in his eyes.

Ollie finished a respectable 5th, a solid result for Haas. Kimi, however, finished 4th, just shy of the podium. When the race ended, you waited impatiently for Ollie to finish his debriefing with the team, your leg bouncing with nervous energy.

Finally, Ollie emerged, grinning. "Not bad, eh?" he said, clapping you on the shoulder.

You managed a weak smile, your heart thumping. "Congratulations, Ollie," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ollie's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Ready to meet the Italian Stallion?" he teased, using his thumb and forefinger to mimic a mustache.

Your stomach somersaulted at the mention of Kimi's name. You nodded, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, sure. Lead the way."

As you followed Ollie through the bustling paddock, your thoughts raced. What would you say to Kimi? How would he react to seeing you again? The moment of truth came as you rounded the corner and spotted Kimi, surrounded by a group of team members and journalists.

A slow smile spread across his face, and for a moment, it was as if you were the only two people in the world. You felt a rush of heat, a shiver down your spine as he excused himself from his entourage and approached you, his strides purposeful and confident.

"Hey Kimi! Great race!" Ollie exclaimed, his arms open wide for a hug. Kimi embraced him warmly, their friendship palpable, and for a brief, painfully sweet second, you felt like a third wheel in your own fantasy.

But then, as if sensing your presence, Kimi pulled back and looked over Ollie's shoulder at you, the smile never leaving his face. "Thank you, Ollie," he said, his voice a velvety rumble that seemed to resonate through your body.

"Oh, this is…" Ollie started, turning to introduce you.

"Y/N," Kimi finished, grinning mischievously, his eyes twinkling with a knowing look. He extended a hand, and as you took it, a jolt of electricity seemed to pass between you, setting your pulse racing even more.

"So, you're the one," he said, his accent thick and alluring. "The one who's going to learn Italian from me?" His smile grew wider, and you felt your cheeks flush under his gaze.

"Yeah," you replied, trying to sound casual despite the thunderous beating of your heart. "I've always wanted to, and Ollie said you're the best teacher around."

Ollie raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Wait, you two know each other?" he asked, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Kimi.

You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. "Well, we met briefly before the race," you began, your voice steady despite the tumultuous emotions swirling inside you. "I was practicing my Italian, and Kimi couldn't help but offer a few corrections as he passed by."

Kimi chuckled, a rich, deep sound that made your insides quiver. "Your accent," he said, his eyes sparkling, "it is… unique." The way he drew out the word 'unique' made it sound like an endearment, a secret shared between the two of you.

"I know it's not perfect," you admitted, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, "but I'm eager to learn."

Kimi leaned closer, his gaze intense. "I can tell," he murmured, his voice a purr. "And I'm more than happy to help. Italian is a beautiful language, full of passion. It's something you must feel, not just speak."

Your eyes locked onto his. The way his full lips moved as he spoke made your own mouth go dry. You swallowed hard.

"When can we start?" you asked, your voice a breathy whisper.

Kimi's eyes held yours, the intensity in them making your knees weak. "As soon as you're ready," he replied, his thumb tracing lazy circles on the back of your hand. "But remember, I don't just teach Italian. I make you experience it."

Ollie looked back and forth between you two, the light of understanding dawning in his eyes. He winked at you and clapped Kimi on the back. "Well, I've got some celebrating to do," he said, backing away. "I'll leave you to it."

As he disappeared into the throng of people, you were left standing there, alone with the man who had occupied your thoughts all day. Your heart hammered in your chest as he took a step closer, his hand still resting on yours. "Come," he said, "we'll find a quieter place."

You were acutely aware of every movement he made – the way his fingers tightened around yours, the way his eyes searched your face, the way his chest rose and fell with every breath. You found yourselves in a secluded spot, a small area behind one of the hospitality tents.

"So, what's your schedule like?" Kimi asked, his eyes never leaving yours. His voice was low, the vibrations resonating through your entire body.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on his question through the fog of desire that had enveloped you. "It's pretty open," you replied, your voice shaky. "I can work around yours."

"Good," he murmured, stepping even closer. You could feel the heat emanating from his body, the electricity between you growing stronger by the second. "Because I want to make sure we have plenty of time… to practice."

"I hope I'm not a bother," you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Kimi's smile grew, and his thumb stroked the inside of your wrist, sending shivers up your arm.

"Never, bella donna," he replied. "But do you have a boyfriend?"

You felt a thrill at the question. "No," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Kimi's eyes searched yours, as if looking for the truth within. "Good," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips before returning to your eyes.

"Why?" you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

He took a moment to answer, his thumb still tracing patterns on the sensitive skin of your wrist. "Uh, nothing," he replied, his voice low and gruff. "I wouldn't want to worry him if you're with me all the time."

The answer didn't quite satisfy you, but the way he said it made your stomach flip.

"So, how do you want this to go?" you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Kimi leaned in closer. "I was thinking," he said, his eyes dancing with a hint of mischief, "if I want you to truly experience this, we have to go on little adventures."

You blinked, surprised. "Like… dates?" The word slipped out before you could stop it, a nervous giggle following close behind.

He nodded, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "Si, like dates," he confirmed, his thumb now caressing your palm in a gentle, mesmerizing rhythm. "But not just any dates, bella. These will be… educational experiences. We will learn Italian, but we will also learn about passion, about feeling, about life."

Your heart skipped a beat. This was not what you had expected when you offered to help him practice English, but you found yourself nodding eagerly. "Okay," you breathed, your voice thick with desire.

Kimi stepped back, releasing your hand with a teasing smile. "Good," he said, his eyes lingering on your now-bare wrist, where his touch had left a trail of heat.

"But first," you managed to get out, your voice sounding more composed than you felt, "can I have your number?"

Kimi's eyes lit up, and he nodded. "Sure," he said, pulling out his phone. His fingers danced over the screen with a practiced ease that spoke of years of handling high-speed machinery.

He rattled off a string of digits, and you typed them into your phone, your own hands trembling slightly. You felt a strange sense of excitement, as if you had just received the winning lottery numbers.

"Got it," you said, trying to sound casual despite the racing of your heart.

Before Kimi could respond, a Mercedes staff member, dressed in the sleek, silver team gear, approached with an urgent look on his face. "Kimi," he called out, "we need you for the victory celebration."

Kimi turned to the staff member, his eyes briefly leaving yours. "Arrivederci bella donna," he said to you, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

The paddock was a whirlwind of activity, team members hugging and congratulating each other, the sound of champagne corks popping in the background. You felt a pang of disappointment at being separated from him so soon, but also a thrill at the prospect of what was to come. As you made your way back to the Haas garage, you couldn't help but replay the moment in your mind. His touch, his voice, the way he looked at you – it was all so intoxicating.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of your phone. You looked down to see a text from an unknown number. "Looking forward to our first lesson," it read, with a winking emoji. You felt a warmth spread through your body, realizing it was from Kimi.

When you returned to the Haas garage, Ollie was busy signing autographs for a group of eager fans. His face lit up when he saw you, and he excused himself to come over.

"So, how was it?" he asked, curiosity etched across his features.

You couldn't help but smile at Ollie's question, your cheeks flushing as you recounted your encounter with Kimi. "It was…" you paused, searching for the right words, "intense."

Ollie raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Intense, huh? Did he give you a taste of that Italian charm?"

You nodded, still lost in the memory of Kimi's touch. "More than just a taste," you replied, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice.

Ollie chuckled, his eyes gleaming. "Looks like you're going to be busy," he said, giving you a knowing look. "Just don't let your schoolgirl crush get in the way of my friendship with him."

You rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance, but inside, you felt a thrill at his words. It was clear that he had noticed the chemistry between you and Kimi, and it was equally clear that he approved.

"Don't worry," you said, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice. "It's just a language exchange."

Ollie nodded, but his knowing smile said he wasn't fooled. "Uh-huh," he said, winking. "Just make sure to keep me updated on your… progress."

You rolled your eyes again, but couldn't help the grin that spread across your face. "Don't worry, I will," you teased back. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The dreary Monday afternoon hangs heavy around you, the grey light filtering through your window mirroring the dull ache in your shoulders. You’ve been staring at the same spreadsheet for hours, the numbers blurring into an indistinguishable mess. The silence is a thick blanket, stifling and uneventful. Then, the vibration.

Your phone, lying face-up on the desk, jumps, the sudden movement shattering the monotonous quiet like a sonnet erupting in the middle of a slumber party. You glance down, your eyes widening slightly at the name glowing in the dim light: Kimi.

The message reads: "Hello bella donna, are you free tomorrow?"

You take a slow, deliberate breath, trying to quell the sudden heat that’s rising in your cheeks. You type: "Sure, what are you planning?" You need to know, need to understand the intention behind this sudden, charming overture.

Kimi’s response is swift, almost instantaneous. "How about a little dinner in my favourite restaurant in Italian? I promise to make it fun and interactive."

The playful wink emoji that follows does nothing to dispel the heat that has begun to spread through your body, a delicious blend of excitement and apprehension. You haven’t seen Kimi in a few weeks, not since that awkward bumping into each other at the coffee shop.

You’ve replayed that encounter in your head countless times, analyzing the subtle nuances of his smile, the lingering touch of his hand as he’d helped you gather your scattered belongings. You force yourself to take another deep breath. This is just dinner. It doesn’t have to mean anything. But a small, traitorous part of you hopes it does.

"Sounds perfect," you text back, forcing your voice, even in text, to remain steady. You fail. The rapid pulse that has started to thrum in your neck betrays you.

He replies almost immediately: "Okay bella donna, I'll pick you up from your apartment tomorrow."

The finality of the statement, the directness of the invitation, sends another shiver of anticipation down your spine. You stare at the message, your mind already racing ahead, envisioning the evening, the restaurant, his face illuminated by candlelight.

The rest of Monday crawls by in a blur. You can’t focus on your work, your thoughts constantly drifting back to Kimi and the Italian dinner. You imagine practicing basic phrases, stumbling over pronunciations, and his warm laughter filling the space between you. Tuesday arrives with an almost cruel slowness. You spend an inordinate amount of time getting ready, agonizing over every detail.

What to wear? Something casual, but elegant? Something that says, "I’m comfortable and confident," but also, "I put in effort for you." You try on three different dresses, discarding each one with a frustrated sigh.

Finally, you settle on a simple black dress that skims your curves in a flattering way. You add a delicate silver necklace and a touch of mascara, enough to highlight your eyes without looking overly done.

As you wait, your stomach churning with nerves, you pace your apartment, rehearsing Italian phrases in your head. "Buonasera," you murmur to yourself. "Come stai?" "Il conto, per favore." You feel ridiculous, like you’re preparing for a stage performance.

The buzzer rings, sending a jolt of electricity through you. It's him. You take one last deep breath, smooth down your dress, and tell yourself to relax. It’s just dinner. Just a friendly, Italian-themed dinner. You open the door, and there he is. Kimi.

He looks even more handsome than you remember. His dark hair is neatly styled, and he’s wearing a fitted, dark blue shirt that makes his eyes seem even bluer. His smile is warm and genuine, and it reaches all the way to his eyes.

"Ciao, bella donna," he says, his voice a low rumble that sends another wave of butterflies fluttering through your stomach.

"Ciao, Kimi," you reply, your voice slightly breathy.

He offers you his arm, and you take it, your fingers tingling against his skin. As you walk down the stairs, you steal glances at him, trying to decipher the look in his eyes. Is it just friendliness, or is there something more?

The restaurant he’s chosen is tucked away on a quiet side street, a hidden gem with dimly lit interiors, checkered tablecloths, and the aroma of garlic and basil hanging in the air. Soft Italian music plays in the background, creating a warm and intimate atmosphere. He pulls out your chair, and you thank him in Italian, stumbling slightly over the pronunciation of "grazie." He chuckles softly, and you feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Don’t worry," he says, switching to English. "You’ll get there. I'm here to help you practice."

The evening unfolds like a dream. You order in Italian, with Kimi patiently correcting your mistakes and encouraging you to try new phrases. He tells you about his favorite dishes, describing them with such passion that you can almost taste the flavors. You try the osso buco, and it melts in your mouth, a symphony of savory flavors.

Throughout the evening, you catch him looking at you, his eyes lingering on your face, and you feel a warmth spreading through you, a feeling that goes beyond simple attraction. It’s a feeling of connection, of understanding, of being truly seen.

As the evening progresses, the conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter and shared glances. The Italian phrases become less forced, more natural, as you relax into the moment. When the waiter brings the bill, Kimi insists on paying. You protest, but he just smiles and shakes his head.

"It’s my treat, bella donna," he says. "Besides, I promised you an interactive experience. The real fun starts now."

The real fun starts now. His words echo in your head, a promise that sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine. As you walk out of the restaurant, the cool night air kisses your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth you feel inside.

Kimi’s hand lingers at the small of your back, a gentle guide as you navigate the cobblestone streets. You lean into his touch, your heart fluttering like a captive bird in your chest. He opens the car door with the grace of a gentleman, and you slide into the passenger seat, the leather cool against your thighs.

As he slides into the driver's seat, his eyes lock onto yours for a moment too long, sending a bolt of electricity straight to your core. He starts the engine, the purr of the vehicle blending with the soft music playing through the speakers.

As he drives you back home, the city lights stream past the windows, painting a kaleidoscope of colors across your skin. His hand rests casually on the gear stick, but your eyes are drawn to his strong, capable fingers.

You wonder what it would be like to have those hands on you, exploring every inch of your body, speaking a language more potent than Italian. The drive back to your apartment is a delicious mix of tension and comfort. His cologne fills the car, a scent that is both new and familiar. The conversation is easy, a blend of shared stories and teasing banter that you hadn’t quite anticipated.

As you approach your apartment, you feel a strange mix of disappointment and excitement. Disappointment that the night is almost over, excitement for what might happen next. The tension in the car is palpable, thick with unspoken desires.

He parks the car and walks you to your door, his stride purposeful, yet filled with a gentle hesitancy. You feel the warmth of his hand as it grazes yours, and you wonder if he feels the same electricity that's been building all evening.

The silence between you is a symphony of unspoken words, the quiet punctuated by the distant sound of a couple arguing in a nearby apartment and the occasional rustle of leaves in the night breeze. It's a comforting silence, the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket on a cold winter's eve.

As you stand in front of your door, the anticipation of what's to come hangs in the air, as tangible as the scent of your mingled perfumes. You fumble with your keys, your heart racing like a marathon runner approaching the finish line.

Kimi's eyes never leave yours, and you can see the question in them, the silent inquiry of whether this night will extend beyond the confines of friendship. Your hand shakes slightly as you insert the key into the lock, the metal cold against your skin.

The door clicks open, and you both hover in the threshold, the warm light of your apartment spilling out onto the darkened porch. He leans in, and for a moment, you think he's going to kiss you.

Instead, he whispers, "Grazie per la serata," his breath tickling the sensitive skin of your neck.

You swallow hard, your eyes fluttering closed for a brief second. "It was… amazing," you manage to murmur.

Before you can say more, his hand reaches up, and he brushes a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch is gentle, almost tender, and it sends a bolt of desire through you that makes your knees feel wobbly.

"The pleasure was all mine," he says, his voice a low murmur that sends shivers down your spine. "But the night doesn't have to end here."

You look up at him, the question in your eyes mirroring the one in his. The air is charged, and the silence stretches out like a tightrope, thrumming with potential.

"I had a wonderful time tonight," he says, his voice soft.

"Me too," you reply, your heart pounding in your chest.

He leans in closer, and you close your eyes, waiting for his kiss. But it doesn’t come. Instead, he whispers in your ear, "A presto, bella donna."

And then he’s gone, leaving you standing at your door, breathless and wanting.

You step inside, the contrast of the cool apartment air against your flushed skin making you shiver. The evening lingers on you, a seductive perfume that you can’t quite shake off. You walk to the bathroom, looking at your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes are bright, your cheeks flushed with more than just the cold.

Was it just the Italian, the romance of the language, or was there something more? You can’t shake the feeling that Kimi’s gaze had held a promise, a silent invitation that you hadn’t quite understood.

You decide to let it go, to enjoy the thrill of the unknown. After all, tomorrow is another day, another chance to learn, to explore, to feel. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You felt a buzz of excitement as you approached your apartment, the anticipation of what lay inside the package he had mentioned growing with each step. Once inside, you placed the package on the kitchen counter, the weight of it a tantalizing mystery.

The cardboard was a stark contrast to the sleek, black leather of the bag you had brought home with you, the letters of his name scrawled across the top in a familiar script that made your heart flutter.

You carefully sliced through the packing tape, the sound of it tearing a gentle crescendo in the otherwise quiet room. As the flaps fell open, you gasped. Before you lay a treasure trove of Mercedes merchandise, each piece more opulent than the last.

A leather-bound notebook, a pen with the company logo engraved on it, a scarf with the signature silver threads, and even a keychain with a miniature replica of the iconic car. But it was the small card nestled among the luxurious items that made your pulse race.

The card was simple, white with a single red rose embossed in the corner. You recognized Kimi's handwriting immediately, the way the letters curved and looped like a lover's embrace.

"To continue your lessons," it read, "with a touch of elegance." You couldn't help but wonder what kind of 'lessons' he had in mind, and whether they would be as exhilarating as the ones you'd experienced the night before.

Picking up the leather notebook, you opened it to find the pages filled with notes in Kimi's handwriting, each one detailing a different aspect of the Italian language.

The pages were also sprinkled with phrases that were anything but academic, reminders of the passionate moments you had shared, and a promise of more to come. You felt a warmth spread through your body, a phantom echo of his touch. You took the scarf, running the soft fabric through your fingers, feeling the gentle caress of the threads against your skin.

The keychain caught your eye, the silver glistening in the soft glow of the pendant light above the counter. It was the perfect size to attach to the diary you had bought to log your language progress.

The diary that now held secrets far more personal than conjugations and vocabulary. You couldn't wait to delve into the treasure trove of Italian delights that Kimi had so thoughtfully curated. The promise of future 'lessons' filled you with a giddy excitement that was both thrilling and a little overwhelming.

You slipped the keychain into your pocket, the cool metal a constant reminder of the passion that awaited you. You took a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of leather and cologne that still lingered in the air from the package.

You sent Kimi a text, "What's the occasion?" you asked, curiosity piqued by the extravagant gift.

Kimi's response was swift and unabashed, "You look better in Mercedes than in Haas, wear this when you're coming to watch me in the Mercedes garage," accompanied by a winking emoji.

You couldn't help but chuckle at his audacity. "You're assuming I would switch from Ollie, who I've known my whole life, to you, who I've known for a week? How bold of you," you shot back.

Kimi's response was immediate. "Boldness is what makes life interesting, no?" he texted.

"It's definitely a persuasive argument," you replied, the smile on your face growing wider with every keystroke.

Kimi's response was as swift as it was seductive. "Persuasion is an art," he texted back, "but when the prize is as sweet as you, it's hardly a challenge."

You placed the notebook and keychain aside and picked up the phone, your thumbs dancing over the screen as you replied, "And what's the prize for passing these 'lessons'?"

Kimi's response was a masterclass in anticipation. "Ah, that would be telling," he teased. "I can't wait to see you in those clothes, bella donna," he replied, the Italian endearment rolling off his tongue like honey, sticky and sweet.

"I'll be sure to dress to impress, maestro," you replied, feeling a surge of playfulness in your tone.

Kimi's response was like a warm caress, his words wrapping around you like a silk scarf. "I have no doubt you'll leave me speechless, as always," he texted, his message sending a rush of heat through your veins.

You replied, "Bye for now," with a flirty wave emoji, your heart racing at the thought of seeing him again. You set the phone down and took a moment to revel in the feeling, the anticipation of what was to come a delicious ache. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The engine's roar echoed through the narrow streets of the bustling Chinese metropolis as Ollie's sleek Ferrari approached your apartment. Your heart raced in anticipation, not just for the exhilarating ride to the F1 paddock, but also for the secret thrill hidden beneath your clothes.

You had decided to wear the Mercedes merchandise today, a bold declaration of allegiance to the underdog team in a sea of Ferrari red. The tight-fitting T-shirt clung to your curves like a second skin.

"Hey Ollie," you greeted him, a playful smirk gracing your lips as you settled into the plush leather passenger seat.

Ollie looked over at you, a knowing glint in his eye. "Wow, really? You decided to switch to Mercedes that quick?" he quipped, revving the engine and pulling away from the curb. The car's vibrations thrummed through you, setting your blood pulsing in time with its powerful rhythm.

You shrugged, the fabric of the T-shirt sliding smoothly over your skin. "Just thought I'd try something different," you replied coyly, the wind from the open window teasing your hair and whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

Ollie chuckled. "I heard Kimi is quite the Casanova. What's it like learning Italian from him?" His question hung in the air, ripe with innuendo.

You felt your cheeks warm. "It's… educational," you replied, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

Ollie's teasing smile grew wider. "I bet it is. Kimi's got that certain… charm, doesn't he?" He winked, his hand briefly caressing the gearstick before shifting up to third. The car leapt forward, pressing you back into the seat.

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension in your body releasing like the hiss of a valve. "Sure," you teased back, your voice light and airy, "but it's all very professional. We're just friends, helping each other out."

Ollie's eyes flicked towards you, a knowing look playing across his features. "Just friends, huh?" He smirked, his gaze lingering on the way the Mercedes logo on your shirt. "Well, if you say so."

Ollie pulled into an empty spot in the Haas-reserved parking lot, the car purring to a gentle stop. The heat from the engine radiated into the confined space, a stark contrast to the coolness of the air conditioning.

"Looks like we're here," he announced, the smirk on his face unwavering.

You nodded, your pulse quickening as you took in the chaotic symphony of sounds and smells that filled the air: the high-pitched whine of engines being fired up, the metallic clang of tools, and the faint scent of burning rubber.

Ollie turned off the ignition, and the sudden silence was almost deafening. The tension between you was palpable, charged with an electricity that had nothing to do with the car's engine. You both stepped out into the sticky embrace of the early summer heat, the sun glinting off the chrome and carbon fiber monsters that surrounded you.

As you two walked into Haas, a murmur rippled through the team members and mechanics, their eyes drawn to the unmistakable logo emblazoned on your top. The whispers grew louder, a symphony of surprise and curiosity.

"Look, it's Ollie with a Mercedes fan," one engineer quipped, his laughter cutting through the air like a knife.

You felt your face redden as Ollie chuckled, placing a gentle hand on the small of your back to guide you through the throng of people.

"You can go see your boyfriend when he arrives," Ollie teased.

The words hit you like a splash of cold water, your heart skipping a beat as you realized he knew about your secret rendezvous with Kimi. You tried to keep your composure, but the blush spreading across your cheeks betrayed you.

"What are you talking about?" you retorted, feigning ignorance.

Ollie's grin grew wider, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, come on," he said. "I know that look. You're thinking about him, aren't you?"

You bit your lower lip. "What look?" you asked, your voice a little too high.

Ollie's eyes searched your face. "The one you get when you talk about Kimi. It's like you're melting from the inside out. Your pupils dilate, your cheeks flush, and your breath hitches ever so slightly."

"It's the same look you have right now."

"That's not true," you denied, the denial feeling weak even to your own ears. You busied yourself pretending to adjust the collar of his Haas polo to avoid his gaze.

Ollie didn't relent, saying, "Oh, it is. I've seen it. Remember last year's party when Kimi said 'Ciao bella' to you and you reminded me of that for a whole hour?"

Your cheeks grew hotter, and you felt a flutter in your stomach. You had hoped that incident would have been forgotten, but apparently, Ollie had a better memory than you gave him credit for. The way Kimi had looked at you that night, the way he had said those words, had left an indelible mark on your soul. It was a secret you had been carrying around for months, like a treasure you didn't know how to unlock.

"Well," you began, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice, "it was just a friendly greeting."

Ollie's eyes searched yours, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Friendly, huh?"

"And what about when he showed you those Italian phrases that are a little less… innocent?"

You had been captivated by his accent, the way his eyes danced with mischief as he leaned in, his breath hot against your neck. "They're just… phrases," you murmured, trying to sound nonchalant.

But before Ollie could respond, a familiar Italian accent pierced the air. "Hey guys!"

Your head swiveled around to see Kimi approaching, the sun glinting off his shiny helmet. The sight of him sent an involuntary smile stretching across your face, a smile that felt as intimate as a lover's caress.

You watched as Ollie's expression morphed into one of camaraderie as he stepped forward to greet his friend. The two of them slapped palms, a silent language of respect and friendship passing between them.

As they talked, you felt Kimi's gaze on you, a warmth that spread from the pit of your stomach to the tips of your fingers.

Finally, Ollie stepped aside, and Kimi was before you, his arms open wide for an embrace. As he wrapped you in his strong hold, his mouth brushed against your ear, and he whispered, "I knew Mercedes would suit you better," his breath sending shivers down your spine.

You hugged him back, your heart racing, feeling his muscular chest against yours, the scent of his cologne mingling with the scent of burning rubber and gasoline. You felt his hand slip down your back, resting for a second longer than necessary before pulling away, leaving a trail of heat on your skin.

"I see you've decided to show some love for the competition," he said, a teasing smile playing on his full lips.

You stepped back, trying to compose yourself. "It's just a shirt," you protested, your voice barely above a whisper.

Kimi's gaze dropped to the logo on your chest, and his smile grew wicked. "Is it?" He stepped closer again, his hand reaching out to trace the outline of the Mercedes emblem with his fingertips.

Ollie cleared his throat, and you snapped out of the spell. You stepped back, trying to regain some semblance of control.

"It's just for fun," you said, your voice sounding too high-pitched even to your own ears.

Kimi's eyes searched yours, the warmth in them unmistakable. He leaned in, whispering so only you could hear, "I'm sure it is."

Ollie's gaze flicked between the two of you, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He clapped Kimi on the back. "We've got a race to prep for," he said, the teasing note in his voice clear as crystal.

The two of them walked away, deep in conversation about setups and tire strategies, leaving you standing there, breathless and flustered.

As the day wore on, the paddock buzzed with activity. The air was thick with the scent of burning rubber and gasoline. You found yourself drawn to Kimi like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the gravitational pull of his charm. Every time you caught his eye, he'd give you a wink or a smile that made your heart flutter. It was a dance.

You watched from the garage as the cars rolled out for qualifying. The roar of the engines was a symphony, a crescendo of power and speed that made your blood sing. And there he was, Kimi, in his sleek silver Mercedes, looking every bit the god of the track that you had always imagined him to be.

He glanced up, catching your eye, and gave you a nod before climbing into the cockpit. He disappeared from view, leaving you with nothing but the sound of your own racing heart.

The hours passed in a blur of tire changes and strategy meetings. The air grew thick with the scent of sweat and grease, the tension in the garage almost tangible.

And when Kimi finally emerged, his helmet under his arm, his hair damp with sweat, you felt the world tilt on its axis.

He was fourth on the grid, a respectable position, but you knew he had the potential for so much more. You watched as he peeled off his racing suit, revealing the tight, sweat-soaked fabric of his fireproof underwear. Ollie, on the other hand, had managed to qualify in eleventh place.

As the final practice session concluded, you found yourself gravitating towards Ollie, who was surrounded by his engineers, discussing the data with a furrowed brow. You hovered at the edge of the group, trying to appear inconspicuous, but his eyes flickered up to meet yours, a question in his gaze.

You took a deep breath and stepped closer, the smell of the track clinging to him like a second scent. His eyes searched yours, and he gave you a smile that was so forced it looked like it was painted on.

"Everything okay?" you asked, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

Ollie's smile was tight, his eyes unreadable. "Yeah, just a bit of work to do before tomorrow." He stepped closer, his arm brushing against yours.

"I'm sure you'll do great," you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Ollie nodded, but the smile he gave you was forced, a mere shadow of his usual charismatic grin. You couldn't help but notice the tightness in his jaw, the way his eyes searched yours for something unspoken. The smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Ollie," you began, reaching out to touch his arm.

He looked down at your hand, then back up at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. "You should go and celebrate with your boyfriend," he said, his voice low and gruff. "Don't worry about me. I've got work to do."

You felt a pang of guilt, the weight of his words like a stone in your stomach. "Ollie, I—"

But he cut you off with a firm shake of his head. "It's fine," he said, his voice softer now. "You two have fun. You deserve it."

The words hung in the air, a strange mix of sadness and resignation that tugged at your heartstrings. You didn't know what to say, so you just nodded, the weight of his gaze heavy on your shoulders as you turned and walked away.

You found yourself in front of the Mercedes garage, the door open just enough to reveal the gleaming silver car that was the object of so much of your desire. Kimi was there, surrounded by his own team, his eyes scanning the data screens with a focus that was both intense and mesmerizing.

You took a tentative step forward, unsure if you should join him or keep your distance. But before you could decide, he looked up, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

"Ciao, bella donna," Kimi said, his voice like velvet, smooth and warm.

You felt the tension in the air thicken as you stepped into the garage, the sounds of the bustling paddock fading into the background. The light caught the droplets of sweat on his face, making them sparkle like diamonds against his olive skin. You swallowed hard, your throat dry. Kimi's team members looked up, a mix of curiosity and surprise etched on their faces. You had never ventured into their sacred space before.

"I just wanted to… congratulate you," you managed to say, your voice a mere whisper in the bustling garage.

Kimi's smile grew wider, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "Grazie, tesoro," he said, his Italian rolling over you like warm honey. He stepped away from his car, closing the space between you in a heartbeat.

His hand reached for yours, his grip firm and reassuring. "Come," he said, tugging you gently towards a quieter corner of the garage. The cacophony of the paddock faded away, leaving only the sound of your own breathing and the pounding of your heart.

You followed him, your body moving on autopilot, drawn to him like a magnet to steel. The air grew thick with anticipation, a silent understanding passing between you.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Kimi said, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he leaned against the wall of his garage. The shadows played over the contours of his face, casting him in a mysterious light that only served to enhance his allure.

You felt your pulse quicken, his words sending a rush of heat through your body. "I wanted to… I mean, I just thought I should… " You stumbled over your words, your cheeks flushing as you struggled to form a coherent sentence.

He leaned closer, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. "Piano piano," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. "Take it slow."

The words were a gentle command, a whispered promise that made your heart race. You knew what he meant.

"Your hand is shaking," he observed, his voice low and soothing. "Are you nervous?"

You nodded, the admission feeling like a confession. "A little," you whispered, your eyes dropping to the ground.

Kimi's grip on your hand tightened gently. "Don't be," he said, his voice a soothing balm. "You're safe with me."

You looked up, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the world stopped spinning. His eyes were pools of warmth, inviting you to dive in and lose yourself in their depths. You took a deep breath, feeling your chest rise and fall with the rhythm of your racing heart.

"Kimi," you breathed, his name a prayer on your lips.

He tilted his head, a question in his gaze. "Yes, tesoro?"

You swallowed hard, the word feeling both intimate and terrifying on your tongue. "I've missed you," you confessed, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Kimi's expression softened, and he stepped closer, his thumb still stroking gentle circles on the back of your hand. "I've missed you too," he murmured, his breath fanning across your cheek.

You tried to deny the shiver that rippled through you, the way your body leaned into him without thought. "It's just been a few days," you protested, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

Kimi's smile grew wicked. "Doesn't mean I haven't thought about you," he murmured, his thumb brushing the pulse point on your wrist.

"We're just friends," you whispered, the words feeling inadequate.

Kimi’s smile grew, a knowing glint in his eye. "Friends can miss each other," he said, his voice a soft caress that seemed to wrap around you.

"It's only been a week," you thought to yourself over and over again, trying to anchor yourself to reality. A week since you last saw him, a week since stolen glances and whispered conversations in the dead of night in a small restaurant.

You tried to deny it. "It's only been a week."

Kimi chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through you. "Time is a strange thing, isn't it? Sometimes it feels like forever, sometimes like a blink. This week felt like a lifetime.” He paused, his gaze intense. “A lifetime too long."

You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of insincerity, but all you found was raw honesty. You could see the truth in his words, the same truth that resonated within you.

Kimi looked happy to be in your presence. The way his eyes lingered on yours, the soft smile that played on his lips, the gentle touch of his hand – it all spoke volumes.

It was a happiness that both thrilled and terrified you. You knew the risks, the complications, the potential for heartbreak.

"I shouldn't be here," you said, the words a contradiction of your own desires. "Someone could see us."

Kimi shrugged, his eyes still locked on yours. "Let them. I don't care."

"But... the press, your team…" You trailed off, unable to articulate the myriad of reasons why this was wrong, why it could never work.

"Let them talk," he said, his voice resolute. "The only opinions that matter are yours… and mine."

The warmth of his hand sent a jolt through your body, a stark contrast to the cool breeze that danced around you. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the butterflies that had taken up residence in your stomach.

"Kimi," you muttered, the syllables sticking to your tongue like honey, sweet and thick with emotion.

He leaned in, his smile widening slightly, "I promise, I'm not going to rush you for an answer now." His words were a gentle caress, a soft whisper that tickled your senses. The air between you grew charged with anticipation, the kind that made your heart skip a beat.

You felt a warmth spread from your cheeks to the tips of your ears, and your eyes searched for a hint of teasing in his gaze. But all you saw was sincerity. "But we do need to go on our next date," he continued, his voice a smooth melody that seemed to resonate with the rhythm of your own heart.

"Now?" you asked, the word slipping out before you could stop it. The question hung in the air, filled with both excitement and doubt.

"Yes, now," he grinned, taking your hand firmly in his. His touch was surprisingly warm, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the garage door as it closed behind you with a gentle clank.

You felt your pulse quicken. "But what about your debriefing?" you asked, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice.

"I finished it quickly for you, bella," Kimi winked, his use of the endearment making your heart flutter.

You couldn't believe it. The race was the talk of the town, and he had managed to slip away unnoticed. "How?" you whispered, eyes wide with astonishment.

Kimi chuckled again, his grip on your hand tightening reassuringly. "I have my ways."

The private parking lot was dimly lit, the shadows playing tricks on the shiny exteriors of the luxury vehicles. His car, a sleek sports model in a deep shade of midnight blue, stood out like a beacon in the night. The cool metal of the car door was a relief under your fingertips as he opened it for you with a flourish.

You slid into the plush leather seat, the smell of new car and faint hint of his cologne enveloping you like a comforting embrace. The engine roared to life, the vibrations thrumming through your body as he revved it up. The headlights cut through the darkness as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the open road.

The wind in your hair was exhilarating, the city lights a blur as Kimi navigated the streets with the confidence of a seasoned racer. You couldn't help but let out a little laugh, the kind that comes from a mix of excitement and nerves.

He glanced over at you, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, his eyes never leaving the road ahead.

"Where are we even going?" you asked, the thrill of the unknown adding to the electricity in the air.

"Somewhere special," Kimi replied, his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror briefly before returning to the road.

The car's engine purring beneath you was the only sound in the quiet cab, the city's din fading as you ventured into the less-traveled streets. The anticipation grew with each passing moment, your heart racing faster than the speedometer.

Without warning, he pulled into the deserted parking lot of a quaint, old-fashioned cinema. The neon lights flickered, casting a soft glow that painted the pavement a warm shade of red. You felt your brows knit together in confusion, but before you could voice it, Kimi had brought the car to a gentle stop.

He was out of the car in a flash, rounding the hood to open your door. You took his hand, allowing him to help you out, the soles of your shoes clicking against the pavement.

As you looked around, the deserted cinema looked like a relic from another era, a stark contrast to the bustling world you had just left behind. Kimi led you inside, his stride long and confident. The lobby was empty, save for an Italian cashier with a knowing smile.

They exchanged a few words in their native tongue, and you felt a twinge of curiosity. The cashier handed over two tickets with a wink and a nod, and suddenly you realized that you weren't just any couple out for a movie.

The theater was empty, the vastness of the space swallowing up the sound of your footsteps. The screen was already lit up, the opening credits of "Mamma Mia" playing to an audience of two.

Kimi took your hand, leading you to the middle of the theater. The smell of buttered popcorn filled the air as you sat down, the plush seats seemingly made for moments like these.

"This used to be my favorite movie," Kimi murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "I think it will help you learn Italian."

You looked at him, surprised. "Italian?"

"Yes," he nodded, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's a movie, but the lyrics are mostly in Italian. It's a classic romance, and the music... it's like a window into our soul."

The film started, the vibrant colors and catchy tunes of "Honey, Honey" playing out before you. Kimi leaned closer, pointing out phrases here and there, whispering translations in your ear. His breath was warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. 

As the story unfolded, so did his own, sharing anecdotes and childhood memories that wove themselves into the fabric of the movie.

You found yourself getting lost in the music, the emotions playing out on screen mirroring the tumultuous symphony within your own chest. His hand found its way to yours, fingers intertwining comfortably. You felt your heart swell with every word he whispered, every shared smile, every beat of the Italian love songs.

The plot grew more intense, the characters' passions colliding like the waves of the sea that surrounded the fictional Greek island. Kimi's eyes never left the screen, but his grip on your hand tightened during the emotional climaxes, as if the love stories of the film were echoing his own feelings.

As the movie went on, you began to recognize the phrases he had taught you, the words rolling off your tongue almost naturally. The romance of the film filled the air, and you found yourself leaning into him, his arm around your shoulder, protective and warm.

Then, the iconic duet "The Winner Takes It All" began to play. The female and male voices intertwined, a poignant expression of love and loss. 

Kimi started to sing the male part, his voice a little too deep for the high notes, but filled with passion nonetheless. You couldn't help but laugh at his earnest attempt, the sound echoing softly in the deserted theater.

He glanced at you, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "You think you can do better?" he challenged playfully.

Emboldened by his playful teasing, you opened your mouth and sang the female part. Your voice was soft at first, tentative, but grew stronger as you found your rhythm. The melody swelled, and despite the occasional off-key notes, your harmony with Kimi grew more beautiful with each line. You could feel his smile against your hair as you sang, his chest rumbling with his own laughter.

The song ended, the screen fading to black before the lights flickered back on. The theater remained empty, the silence a gentle cushion for the emotional intensity of the moment. You both took a deep breath, the air thick with the scent of popcorn and the unspoken feelings that danced between you.

Kimi turned to face you, his eyes searching yours. "I didn't know you could sing," he said, his voice filled with wonder.

You blushed, feeling a bit self-conscious. "It's been a while," you admitted. "But I guess the right company brings it out of me."

He leaned in closer, his gaze intense. "I like bringing out the best in you," he whispered, his breath warm against your cheek. "I want to see more of it."

The movie continued, the plot unfolding with the sweetness of a blooming romance and the bitterness of misunderstandings. You found yourself lost in the story, the emotions of the characters resonating with the tumult in your own heart. 

As the film progressed, Kimi's hand slipped from yours to rest gently on your knee, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

The plot grew more complex, the characters' relationships tangling like the vines that adorned the Greek isle's landscape. You felt your chest tighten as you watched the heartbreaking scenes play out, the raw emotion on the screen mirrored in Kimi's eyes.

The film's grand finale approached, the music swelling with hope and longing. You watched as the characters faced their fears, confessed their love, and found their way back to each other.

As the final credits began to roll, the theater was bathed in the soft glow of the projector's light. You took a shaky breath, trying to ignore the butterflies that had started a frenzied dance in your stomach. "Kimi," you began, your voice barely a whisper.

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours, the question hanging in the air like a delicate thread. "That was beautiful," you continued, feeling the weight of the words on your tongue.

He nodded, his thumb still making circles on your knee. "I know," he grinned.

The theater was empty, the only sounds the distant hum of the projector and the beating of two hearts echoing through the vast space.

"Thank you," you murmured. "For this, for everything."

"It's nothing," he replied. "We're just getting started."

As you stepped out of the theater into the cool night air, you realized that it was really dark, leaving a quiet, peaceful calm in its wake. The stars twinkled above, a silent backdrop to the symphony of your racing thoughts. Kimi's hand found yours again, and you felt the promise in his grip.

The world around you was a blur as he led you to the car, the neon lights of the city reflecting in the puddles left by the rain. You slid into the passenger seat, your heart still racing from the emotional rollercoaster of the film and the intensity of the moment.

He started the car, the engine purring to life beneath you, and pulled out of the lot. The city lights danced in the side mirrors, a blur of color and movement as you left the past behind you. 

The future was unwritten, filled with possibilities and unknowns, but as you looked at Kimi, you knew that no matter what lay ahead, you had someone to navigate it with. The quiet between you was filled with unspoken words and the sweet anticipation of what was to come. The night was young, and the adventure was just beginning.

Kimi drove with the confidence of someone who knew the city like the back of his hand, the car's headlights slicing through the inky blackness of the night. The salty scent of the ocean grew stronger with each passing mile, hinting at the destination that lay ahead. 

Before you knew it, the asphalt under the tires gave way to the soft crunch of sand as he pulled into a hidden cove, the beach stretching out before you like a canvas of moonlit tranquility.

"Kimi..." you began, the question in your voice trailing off as he turned off the engine and opened your door. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was the only music that played as you stepped out of the car.

"I wanted to give you a 'Mamma Mia' experience," he said, taking your hand and leading you down a winding path to the beach. 

The sand was cool between your toes, and the soft glow of string lights guided you to a picnic blanket laid out with a feast of Italian delights. The scent of garlic and herbs wafted through the air, mingling with the briny tang of the sea.

The picnic was set up with precision, a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket, surrounded by plates of bruschetta, cheese, and a selection of meats. 

The sight was like a scene from a movie, so perfect it was almost surreal. He had even brought a small speaker, playing the film's soundtrack at a low volume, the music a gentle serenade to the whispers of the night.

You couldn't help but smile as he pulled you into a dance, the sand shifting beneath your feet. His movements were fluid, his grip firm but gentle, guiding you through the motions with a grace that made your heart sing. 

As you danced under the stars, you felt a sense of belonging, a feeling that was as vast as the ocean that stretched out before you. His eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze making your knees wobble. 

You weren't just any girl at any beach; you were in the arms of the man who you were slowly falling for.

The music grew softer as the night deepened, the stars above seeming to hold their breath as the tension grew between you. Kimi leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "Do you want to sit?" he asked, his voice low and filled with meaning.

Nods and nods, your heart racing faster than the waves that lapped at the shore. You sat on the picnic blanket, the warmth of the sand seeping through the fabric, a stark contrast to the cold glass of wine he handed you.

You took a sip, the taste rich and full, complementing the salty air. The sound of the ocean was a gentle lullaby, the rhythm of the waves matching the beating of your heart. Kimi sat beside you, close enough that your legs brushed against each other. 

"How did you like this date, eh?" Kimi asked, his eyes searching yours. The question was a simple one, yet it held a universe of meaning.

You looked around the moonlit cove, the gentle waves whispering secrets to the shore, and back at him. "It's... perfect," you managed to say, the word feeling inadequate for the emotions swirling inside you. 

The Italian music played softly in the background, a serenade to the stars above. Kimi's smile grew, his eyes lighting up like the fireflies that danced around the beach. "I'm glad," he said, his voice a warm caress in the salty breeze.

You took another sip of the wine, the flavors blossoming on your tongue. "I didn't expect... this," you admitted, gesturing to the picnic spread.

Kimi leaned closer, his eyes searching yours. "What did you expect?"

You set the wine glass down, the tremble in your hand barely noticeable. "I don't know," you replied, a small laugh escaping your lips. "But definitely not this."

The question hovered between you, a soft echo of the waves. Kimi leaned closer, his gaze intent. "But what did you think of it?"

You took a deep breath, the briny scent of the sea mingling with the aroma of the wine and food. "It's more than I could have ever imagined," you confessed, your voice barely audible over the gentle symphony of the night. "I didn't know dates could be like this."

Kimi's smile grew, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. "And how have you been treated before?" he asked, his voice a gentle coax.

You thought back to the dates that felt like they were pulled from a cookie-cutter, the men who had tried but never quite hit the mark. "It's just... nobody has ever made me feel like I'm the only person in the world," you murmured, the words a soft confession. "It's like you see me, really see me."

Kimi's eyes searched yours, understanding flickering in their depths. "You are special," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "You deserve to be seen, to be appreciated." He reached out, his thumb brushing away a stray hair from your face.

The touch was electric, sending a shiver down your spine. "Thank you," you whispered, the words feeling like a prayer. You had never been treated with such care, such consideration. 

The men from your past had been shadows compared to the vibrant, living color of Kimi. They had taken you to dinner, bought you flowers, whispered sweet nothings, but they had never made you feel like you were the center of their universe.

As you talked under the stars, the wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the promise of change. The picnic had been a feast for the senses, and as the music grew softer, so too did your heart, filling with a warmth that seemed to radiate from Kimi's very soul. 

You could feel the moment drawing to a close, the inevitability of reality trying to break through the magical bubble you had created.

"Let's get you home," Kimi said finally, his voice a gentle caress. You nodded, not quite ready to let the night end but knowing that it had to. 

You helped him gather the remnants of the picnic, the plates and glasses clinking together like a sweet melody. The sand clung to your clothes, a reminder of the enchanting world you had just shared.

He drove you home, the car's headlights cutting through the night like a beacon guiding you back to the safety of the familiar.

You watched the world go by, the streetlights casting a golden glow over the city's nocturnal landscape.

When you arrived at your house, the car came to a gentle stop. The engine ticked as it cooled, the only sound in the quiet night. Kimi walked you to the door, his hand in yours, the warmth of his skin grounding you in the moment. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, the anticipation of what was to come making it difficult to breathe.

"Good night, Y/N," Kimi said, his eyes searching yours. You leaned in, placing a soft kiss on his cheek, feeling the rough stubble against your lips.

"Good night, Kimi," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You watched as he stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours. You slid the key into the lock, the metal cold against your trembling hand. With one final look, you turned the knob, the door creaking open to reveal the warm embrace of your home.

You leaned against the door, the wood cool against your flushed cheek. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the echoes of his words with it.

You slid down the door, the adrenaline from the night leaving your body in a rush. Your heart felt like it was racing in a marathon, each beat echoing the rhythm of the waves from the cove. 

The house was quiet, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall, a gentle reminder that the world didn't stop spinning just because you had found a moment of happiness. You stepped inside, the warm light of the foyer wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. 

As you closed the door, you felt a strange sense of both longing and contentment. The night had been perfect, a memory you would cherish, but now you were left with the bittersweet realization that it was over.

The door clicked shut, the sound echoing through the silent house. You leaned against it, the imprint of Kimi's hand still burned into your skin. The taste of him lingered on your lips, a sweet reminder of the promise that hung in the air. . . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Every weekend, without fail, he would whisk you away to a new Italian-inspired adventure. Museums, where the air had the scent of ancient oils and the hush of reverence, became your classroom. You'd stand before paintings of rolling landscapes, Kimi pointing at the vibrant hues and insisting you name them in Italian.

It was as if he were feeding you a piece of the language with every brushstroke you took in. The cobblestone streets of the city's Little Italy echoed with your tentative words as you stumbled through phrases that once danced so effortlessly from your tongue.

The restaurants were his grandest stage. He'd select the most authentic trattorias, where the chefs had names that rolled off the tongue like the perfect pasta al dente. You'd sit at a table set with a red-checkered cloth, the aroma of garlic and tomatoes teasing your senses.

Kimi would order for you in rapid-fire Italian, his eyes gleaming with excitement as you tried to decode his words. The servers, with their genuine smiles, seemed to understand the silent struggle of your rekindling romance with their mother tongue.

They'd nod encouragingly as you fumbled through your menu, eventually pointing at a dish with a name that sounded like poetry but was just spaghetti to your unpracticed ears.

As the weeks rolled by, you began to feel a strange kinship with the language, as if it were a long-lost friend you were slowly getting reacquainted with. The frustration of forgotten vocabulary and grammar rules slowly melted away, replaced by a warm nostalgia for the days when Italian was your secret garden of words.

You started to anticipate the weekends, the thrill of the challenge growing with every mouthwatering dish and every sculpture that told a story you could almost remember. It was as though Kimi had cast a spell on you, and the incantation was the melodic cadence of his Italian commands.

One particular evening, the stars aligned. You stepped into a dimly lit enoteca, the walls lined with bottles that gleamed like jewels in the soft light.

The hum of conversation was a soothing backdrop to the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. Kimi had a twinkle in his eye as he handed you a glass of deep red wine and told you to order

You took a sip, feeling the warmth spread through you, and then took a deep breath. "Posso avere un piatto di bruschetta, per favore?" you asked, your voice stronger than it had been in what felt like an eternity.

The waiter nodded, a knowing smile playing at his lips, and disappeared into the kitchen. As you waited, the anticipation grew, not just for the food, but for the sense of triumph that was about to be yours.

The words had come so naturally, so confidently, that you could almost believe you had never lost them at all. It was as if you had just found a key to a door you didn't know was locked.

Kimi's smile grew wider as he heard your request. "Che bella voce!" he exclaimed, raising his glass to you in a silent toast. His voice was filled with pride and joy, and his eyes sparkled like the stars outside.

"You're doing it," he whispered, leaning closer across the table. "You're bringing it back to life."

The bruschetta arrived, a plate piled high with crispy slices of bread topped with a symphony of tomatoes, basil, and mozzarella. The waiter placed it down with a flourish, the scent of garlic and balsamic vinegar wafting towards you. As you took a bite, the flavors exploded on your taste buds, transporting you to a summer evening in a small Italian piazza.

Kimi's eyes never left yours, a gentle nod of approval etched into his expression. "Anche la tua pronuncia," he said, praising your pronunciation.

His voice was a warm embrace, a gentle nudge that encouraged you to keep going. You felt a blush creep up your neck, but it was a blush of pride, not embarrassment.

You took another bite of bruschetta, savoring the tangy sweetness of the tomatoes and the creaminess of the cheese.

As you chewed, you tried to think of the next thing to say, eager to keep the conversation flowing in Italian. Kimi watched you, his gaze filled with affectionate amusement, as you wrestled with the words.

"Grazie," you said finally, the word rolling off your tongue like a well-practiced aria. "E' deliziosa."

Kimi's eyes lit up like the candle on the table between you. "Non é solo il cibo," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Ma la lingua stessa. L'italiano é come la danza. Ha il suo ritmo, la sua grazia."

You nodded, understanding what he meant. Italian was indeed like a dance, one that you were slowly learning to perform again. You felt the rhythm of the language in the way the words flowed from his lips, and the elegance in the way he moved his hands as he spoke.

As the weeks turned into months, the lessons grew more intimate. It was no longer just about the words, but the emotions behind them.

Kimi would tell you stories of his childhood in Bologna, his voice painting vivid images of the bustling markets and the warmth of his nonna's kitchen.

You found yourself falling in love with him, not just for his passion for his culture, but for the way he shared it with you. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You were walking to Kimi's garage, the sun glaring down on the concrete, when you felt a gentle tug at your trousers. You looked down to see a shy girl, maybe eight or nine, with a sprinkle of freckles across her nose and a shy smile playing on her lips. She looked up at you with big, hopeful eyes.

"Hey there, sweetie," you said, bending down to her level. "What's up?"

The girl clutched a small, colorful bracelet in her tiny hands. It was a simple thing, woven from bits of plastic and thread, but to her, it looked like the most precious treasure in the world. "Can you give this to your boyfriend?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Confusion wrinkled your brow. "My boyfriend?" You didn't have one, at least not that you knew of.

"Yeah," she said, nodding fervently, "the one with the big car. The fast one. He's nice to me."

It dawned on you then. Kimi. You chuckled and took the bracelet. "Kimi, huh?"

The girl's cheeks turned a shade of pink that matched the plastic flowers on the bracelet. "Please," she whispered, her eyes shimmering with hope. "It's for him."

You straightened up and nodded, tucking the bracelet into your pocket with a smile. "Alright, little one. I'll make sure Kimi gets it."

Her eyes lit up, and she beamed a grin that could've powered a city. "Thank you!" she exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

With a chuckle, you then took the Mercedes hat that belonged to Kimi from your head and placed it on her head. It was a bit too big, but she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she looked like she'd just been crowned royalty.

The hat sat atop her head like a cherry on a sundae, slightly askew, with the brim casting a shadow over her freckled nose.

Her eyes grew wide with excitement, and she giggled as she felt the fabric of the hat against her forehead. "Wow!" she exclaimed, "I feel like I can drive a car now!"

With that, she dashed off, the hat bobbing comically with every step she took. You watched her until she reached a woman standing a few feet away, who looked at you with a grateful smile.

The girl threw her arms around the woman's legs and whispered something into her ear, glancing back at you. The woman looked surprised for a moment, then her gaze softened, and she nodded, glancing in the direction of the garage. She whispered something back, and the girl beamed up at you before running off.

You chuckled and continued your journey to the garage, the warmth of the sun on your back. The girl's excitement had brightened your day, and you couldn't help but wonder what Kimi would think of the bracelet.

When you arrived at the garage, the sound of a revving engine and the smell of gasoline filled the air. You walked into the cluttered space, passing by a wall of tools and a rack of greasy car parts, and all you could see were mechanics in blue jumpsuits scattered around, working tirelessly on various vehicles.

You squinted through the dusty light, looking for Kimi. There was no sign of him anywhere. You felt the heat of the engines and heard the rhythmic clinking of metal on metal, but still, he was nowhere to be found.

Then, in the corner, you spotted a glimpse of a familiar face—Bono, Kimi's race engineer, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was hunched over a table with a sheaf of papers spread out in front of him.

He had a pencil in his hand, scribbling furiously, and he looked utterly engrossed in whatever calculations he was doing.

Finally, you caught sight of Kimi. He was standing next to Bono, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression equally frustrated. The two of them were so focused on the paperwork in front of them that they hadn't noticed you yet.

You took a moment to watch them, the tension in their postures speaking volumes about their current predicament. As you approached, the sound of your footsteps echoed through the garage, and Kimi looked up.

"Looks like you have a secret admirer," you said, tossing the bracelet to him.

He caught the bracelet you tossed, and his expression grew more serious as he studied it. "What's this?" he asked, fingering the plastic threads.

"It's from a little girl," you said. "She wanted you to have it."

Kimi's eyes softened, and he looked up at you, his smile widening. "Really?"

You nodded. "She said you're nice to her one day."

Bono looked up from his calculations, his curiosity piqued by the exchange. "Everything okay?"

Kimi held up the bracelet, his grin unshakeable. "Yeah," he said. "Everything's great."

The two of you shared a look, and you could see the weight of their earlier frustration lifting. For a brief moment, the garage didn't seem so chaotic, and the only thing that mattered was the simple act of kindness captured in the plastic flowers of that bracelet.

"Well, that's sweet," Kimi said, his eyes never leaving yours. "But why did she give it to you?"

You felt a blush creep up your neck. "Um, she thought… I was your girlfriend," you admitted, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

Kimi's smile grew even wider. He looked down at the bracelet again, then back at you, his eyes filled with amusement. "Did she now?"

You nodded, your cheeks burning hotter than the engine of one of the cars in the garage. "Yeah, she thought I was your girlfriend, so she asked me to give it to you."

Kimi's eyes glinted with mischief. "And what did you tell her?"

"I just said I'd give it to you," you replied, feeling more nervous by the second.

Kimi's gaze didn't waver. "But did you tell her anything else?"

You swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden dryness in your throat. "No, nothing else," you replied, hoping your voice didn't betray the lie.

Kimi's smile grew into a full-blown grin, and he took a step closer to you, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Are you sure?"

You felt your heart flutter as his proximity sent waves of heat through your body. "Positive," you managed to say, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Well, if you're my girlfriend," he said, his voice low and teasing, "I suppose I should be giving you something, too."

With that, he took off one of his own bracelets. It was a sleek, black leather band with a silver charm that looked like a tiny car. "What are you doing?" you asked, your voice a little breathless.

"Exchanging," he said, his eyes locked onto yours. He took your hand and slid his bracelet on your wrist. The warmth of his skin lingered on your skin, making you shiver. "Now, every time I wear this, I'll think of you."

The leather felt smooth and cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat that was building within you. You looked down at the charm, your heart racing as the reality of the situation sank in.

Kimi had never made a move like this before, and you weren't quite sure how to react.

You felt your breath catch in your throat as he fastened the bracelet around your wrist. His fingers lingered for a moment, brushing against your skin, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

Your eyes remained fixed on his, the intensity of his gaze making it hard for you to look away.

Bono, who had been quietly observing the exchange, cleared his throat. "We have a revision to do, Kimi," he said, his voice cutting through the thick tension like a hot knife through butter.

Kimi's gaze didn't leave yours for a second, a silent question lingering in his eyes before he finally nodded. "Right," he murmured, his voice a bit gruff.

Bono cleared his throat again, louder this time. "Kimi," he prompted.

Kimi's eyes snapped away from yours, and he took a step back, breaking the spell. "Ah, yes," he said, his voice returning to its usual, business-like tone. "We do have a revision to do."

You watched as he turned to Bono, the bracelet on your wrist a constant reminder of the moment that had just passed between you. Bono gave you a knowing look before focusing back on his papers.

You felt a strange sense of calm while KImi was stressing over maths. Numbers danced in your head, equations unfolding like graceful dancers in a silent ballet. You knew calculus. You understood it in a way Kimi never would.

"I just… I don't get it," Kimi groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair. His brow was furrowed in frustration as he stared at a page filled with integrals, the nemesis of his academic existence.

"It's like trying to understand a language no one speaks," Kimi muttered, pushing the textbook away.

You stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, the warmth of his skin seeping through his shirt and into your palm. "Let me take a look," you offered, your voice soothing.

Kimi hesitated before handing over the book with a defeated sigh. You sat beside him, the scent of engine oil and sweat mingling with the faint aroma of his cologne—a surprisingly pleasant combination that you'd come to associate with the garage.

The pages of the book fell open, revealing the tangled web of formulas that had him so flustered.

"It's not that hard," you assured him, leaning closer so that your bodies touched. "It's just a matter of practice."

Kimi sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I know, but it's just not sticking."

"I could teach you if you wanted?" you offered tentatively, glancing at both Kimi and Bono.

Bono's eyes shot up from the paperwork he had been engrossed in, and a look of relief washed over his face. "Yes, please," he said, his voice a mix of hope and desperation. "Anything to get this little gremlin to understand calculus."

Kimi rolled his eyes playfully, but you could see the hint of gratitude in them. He leaned back in his chair, his muscular arms flexing as he did so, and gestured to the open textbook.

"Be my guest," he said with a smile, his gaze lingering on your hand that still rested on his shoulder.

Bono looked up from his paperwork, his expression a mix of hope and skepticism. "If you can get him to pass this class, I'll owe you one," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of challenge.

You took the textbook into your hands, feeling the weight of the responsibility, but also a thrill at the prospect of being able to help Kimi in a way that was uniquely yours. "Let's start with the basics," you suggested, turning to the first chapter.

As you delved into the world of derivatives and integrals, you found yourself enjoying the process of explaining concepts to him. His eyes would light up when he understood something, and the way his brows furrowed when he was concentrating was endearing.

You felt a strange sense of intimacy, not just because of your physical proximity, but because you were sharing a piece of yourself with him that you had never shared with anyone else.

Kimi's mind was sharp when it came to cars—he could dismantle and reassemble an engine faster than you could recite the alphabet. But math? It was his Achilles' heel.

You found yourself getting lost in his eyes as you explained the rules of calculus, the gentle slope of his cheekbones, and the way his bottom lip pouted slightly when he was confused. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The faint scent of fresh ink and paper filled the room as you meticulously scrutinized Kimi's Maths homework, the soft whispers of the words dancing in the air like an intimate serenade. The bracelet he had given you weeks ago jingled with every turn of the page, a delicate reminder of the secret bond you shared.

"That's my brother's favorite bracelet," said a sweet, unfamiliar voice, piercing the silence like a softly played note on a violin.

Looking up from the academic tapestry laid before you, your gaze fell upon the speaker. A girl, no older than thirteen, with a cascade of long brown hair that shimmered under the muted lamplight, and eyes so deep and rich they could have been pockets of pure, untouched chocolate, stared back at you.

Her smile was a mirror of Kimi's, but there was an innocence in it that made your heart flutter like a caged bird discovering an open window.

"Really?" you replied, your voice a cocktail of surprise and curiosity. "How do you know?"

The girl leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I've seen him wear it a hundred times," she confessed, her voice a gentle caress on the silence. "But he said he gave it to you."

Her revelation hung in the air, thick with the anticipation of an unspoken question. You felt your cheeks flush, the warmth spreading from your core like wildfire. The bracelet grew heavier on your wrist, a silent testament to the secret you'd been keeping from everyone, including yourself.

"Is... is that okay?" you stuttered, fidgeting with the delicate trinket. The girl's eyes searched yours, a mix of amusement and something you couldn't quite place. "I mean, I didn't know it was his favorite."

She giggled, a sound so pure it could have been the tinkling of wind chimes on a perfect summer evening. "Don't worry," she assured you, "I think he's happy you're wearing it. It looks good on you."

"I'm Maggie, by the way. Kimi's little sister."

"Oh, it's nice to finally meet you, Maggie," you managed to say, trying to compose yourself. "Your brother's been helping me with Italian."

Maggie's smile grew wider, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Ah, yes," she said, her voice a melodious symphony of knowing and innocence. "Kimi's always had a knack for languages. And for helping people, too."

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words sinking in. The bracelet grew warmer, a silent pulsation that seemed to echo the rhythm of your racing heart. "He's been amazing," you confessed, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. "He's really patient with me."

Maggie nodded sagely, her smile unwavering. "He always has been," she said. "But I've noticed a different kind of spark in his eyes when he talks about you."

You felt a strange mix of excitement and trepidation coil in your stomach. "He talks about me?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Maggie nodded, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "All the time," she said, her words a gentle tease. "He tells me how much you've been improving, how much he enjoys your company."

Your heart skipped a beat, the warmth from the bracelet spreading up your arm like a lover's caress. "Really?" you murmured, trying to keep the hope from bubbling over into your voice.

Maggie nodded emphatically, her youthful exuberance infectious. "Yeah!" she exclaimed, her cheeks dimpling. "He says you're the best student he's ever had."

You couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled up from your chest, a warm, velvety sound that seemed to resonate through the room. "I think I'm the only student he's ever had," you said, the words tumbling out with an ease that surprised even you.

Maggie's laughter joined yours, a sweet harmony that filled the air with the lightness of feathers dancing on a summer breeze. "You're probably right," she admitted, her eyes shining with affection for her brother.

Then, as if on cue, a shadow fell over the two of you, and a familiar, playful voice rang out, "Hey! That's mean from both of you! Especially you, sorellina!"

You turned to find Kimi standing beside you, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. You looked up into his eyes, and the world around you melted away into a pool of molten chocolate, rich and deep.

"I've taught Ollie Italian too," Kimi added, a smug grin playing on his full lips.

Maggie rolled her eyes and playfully swiped at her brother. "Yeah, but you didn't give him a bracelet!"

Kimi's grip on your shoulders tightened slightly, his eyes dropping to the bracelet on your wrist. "It's just a little something," he said, his voice a soft rumble that seemed to resonate through your very being. "A small token of friendship."

"Kim told me you're Italian," Maggie asked, her curiosity piqued. "Is that true?"

You looked into her eager eyes, feeling the warmth of Kimi's hands on your shoulders, his presence a comforting embrace that seemed to bolster your courage. "Yes," you admitted, your voice a soft caress. "My mother's side of the family is from a small town outside of Verona."

Maggie's eyes widened with excitement. "Really?" she squealed, her voice a delightful trill. "That's so cool! Do you speak Italian fluently?"

You nodded, a warm smile playing on your lips as you felt Kimi's hands tense ever so slightly. "I used to," you admitted. "But it's been a while. That's why I've been asking Kimi for help."

Kimi's thumb stilled for a moment before resuming its gentle dance on your skin. "Well, it's definitely coming back to you," he said, his voice a soothing balm to the nerves that had suddenly taken up residence in your belly.

"It's all thanks to you," you replied, the words slipping out like a sigh of contentment. You felt a thrill rush through you as his eyes searched yours for a moment longer than necessary, his gaze lingering on your mouth before dropping back to the bracelet.

The sudden, unexpected announcement crackled over the intercom, jolting you both out of the intimate moment. "Attention, all drivers," the disembodied voice called out, "please report to your designated garage immediately."

Kimi's eyes snapped to the clock on the wall, his expression a mix of surprise and excitement. "The race," he murmured, his thumbs ceasing their gentle exploration of your skin. "It's starting sooner than I thought."

"Can I watch with y/n?" Maggie's voice was a breath of fresh air, filled with excitement and innocent curiosity. The question hung in the air, a delicate thread connecting the three of you in a way you hadn't anticipated.

Kimi's eyes lit up with an idea, his grip on your shoulders loosening as he stepped away. "Why don't you?" he suggested, turning to face you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "It'll be like a little reunion, and maybe she can even help me teach you some Italian."

You felt your heart race as you looked from Kimi to Maggie and back again, the warmth from their gazes a gentle embrace that seemed to melt away the barriers you had so carefully constructed around your feelings.

"I'd love that," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "It'll be like a miniature Italian lesson."

Maggie's eyes lit up like stars in the night sky, and she clapped her hands together. "Yay!" she exclaimed, her youthful exuberance infectious.

Kimi leaned in to whisper into your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. "Okay, I'll leave you two beauties to it," he said. "But remember, I expect full reports of your language lessons later."

His lips curled into a knowing smile as he pulled away, his eyes holding yours for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "And please, take care of each other."

With those words hanging in the air like a seductive promise, Kimi turned and strutted out of the room, his confidence a palpable force that seemed to electrify the very air around him, leaving you alone with his sister again.

Maggie's gaze followed him, her eyes filled with a mix of adoration and something else, something that looked suspiciously like mischief. "So," she said, turning to you with a knowing smile, "do you like my brother?"

The question hung in the air, a delicate thread of curiosity that seemed to tug at the fabric of the room itself. You felt your heart race, the warmth from Kimi's touch still lingering on your skin like a lover's brand.

"Kimi?" you asked, playing coy despite the heat that flooded your cheeks. "He's a good teacher," you managed, your voice a soft caress that seemed to resonate with the vibrations of your racing pulse.

Maggie's eyes danced with mirth as she sat down beside you, her youthful energy a stark contrast to the intensity that had filled the room moments ago. "I know," she said, her voice a gentle purr. "But do you like him?"

"Maggie," you began, choosing your words with the same care you would a delicate pastry at an Italian café, "Kimi is more than just a good teacher to me."

Her smile grew wider, her eyes gleaming with the excitement of an untold secret. "I knew it," she whispered, her voice a conspiratorial giggle that tickled your ear. "He talks about you all the time, you know. Like you're some kind of... I dunno, Italian goddess or something."

Your cheeks burned with a blush that could have rivaled the sunset over the Tuscan countryside. "He does?" you whispered back, your voice a tremulous note in the symphony of emotions that played within you.

Maggie nodded eagerly. "All the time," she said, her eyes sparkling like the stars in an Italian summer night. "He says you have a way of making him feel alive, like nothing he's ever felt before."

The words hung in the air, thick with the promise of something more. You felt your heart race, the thrill of his confession echoing in your very soul. "Really?" you murmured, the tremble in your voice belying the tumult of emotions within you.

Maggie nodded, her eyes shining with the excitement of a conspirator. "He says you make him feel like he's home when you're around," she revealed, her voice a whispered secret that seemed to resonate through the very fabric of the room.

"And you know what?" she leaned closer, her breath a sweet scent of mint and youthful innocence, "I think he might have a crush on you."

The words hit you like a gentle gust of wind, sending a shiver of excitement down your spine. You felt your pulse quicken, the blood rushing through your veins like a river of liquid fire.

"Yeah," you said, trying to keep the excitement from your voice as you began to gather up the scattered pages of Kimi's homework. "Enough gossiping. We have to meet up with your parents to watch the race."

Maggie's smile grew even brighter, her eyes lighting up with the excitement of an impending adventure. "I know, I know," she said, bouncing to her feet with the grace of a gazelle.

Together, you walked to Kimi's garage, the sound of your heels clicking against the pavement a steady rhythm that seemed to sync with the beating of your heart.

As you approached the garage, you saw Kimi and Maggie's parents deep in conversation, their heads tilted towards one another as they spoke in hushed tones.

They were an elegant couple, evident in the sharpness of their features and the warmth of their skin. The mother, a svelte woman with hair as dark as a moonless night, looked up and noticed you first, her eyes lighting up with a smile that was as welcoming as a warm embrace.

"Ah, you must be the one Kimi's been speaking so fondly of," she said, her Italian accent wrapping around the words like a velvet ribbon.

Her voice was like the sound of a cappuccino machine in a quiet café, a comforting hum that seemed to resonate within your very being. She stepped forward, her arms opening to envelop you in a warm hug that smelled faintly of gardenias.

"It's so nice to finally meet you," she said, her accent a siren's call that seemed to weave a spell of comfort and belonging around you. You felt your muscles relax into the embrace, the warmth of her touch seeping into your very bones.

Kimi's father, a man built like a statue chiseled from the very marble that adorned the ancient Italian cities, looked up from his conversation with a proud smile. His eyes, so much like Kimi's, sparkled with the same mischief that you had come to know so well.

"Mamma, Papà, this is..." Maggie paused, a hint of shyness coloring her voice.

"Yes, yes," Kimi's mother interjected, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "We know who she is. Kimi has told us so much about you," she said, her smile reaching out to you like a warm hand. "We're so happy to finally meet the one who has stolen our son's heart."

You felt your own heart stutter in your chest at her words, the warmth of her embrace spreading through you like the first sip of a fine wine. "Signora," you began, your voice a soft crescendo of nerves and excitement, "I don't know what Kimi has been telling you..."

But she waved a hand, her smile a gentle dismissal of your modesty. "Ah, ah," she said, her eyes twinkling, "we know our son. He doesn't speak of just anyone like this."

Her words were a warm embrace that seemed to melt away your doubt, leaving you feeling both vulnerable and exhilarated.

Kimi's parents noticed your arrival, their conversation with themselves trailing off as they turned to face you. The love and pride in their gazes was unmistakable, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had grown between you and their son.

"Ciao," Kimi's father boomed, his deep voice a warm baritone that seemed to fill the garage. He stepped forward, extending a hand that was rough from years of working the cars. "I am Marco," he said, his grip firm and reassuring as you took his hand.

You felt a jolt of something unnameable as your skin met his, the heat of his touch a stark contrast to the cool metal of the garage. His handshake was firm but gentle, a silent promise that you were now a part of their world.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Antonelli," you replied, your voice a soft symphony of nerves and excitement.

Marco's eyes twinkled with mirth as he released your hand. "Call me Marco," he said, his voice a warm bass that seemed to resonate through the garage. "And this," he continued, turning to Kimi, "is the young lady you've been keeping from us?"

Kimi strolled over from his small meeting with Bono, his race engineer, his strides long and purposeful, his eyes lighting up as they landed on you. He was a vision in his fireproof suit, the fiery emblem of the Mercedes team blazing across his chest like a declaration of war.

"Ciao, bella," Kimi greeted, his Italian rolling off his tongue like a lover's caress. His eyes were a tempest of emotions, a mix of excitement for the race and something deeper, something that seemed to resonate in the very air between you.

Marco's smile grew wider as he stepped back, his gaze flicking from you to Kimi and back again, as if he could see the unspoken conversation passing between the two of you.

"We must go," he said, his voice a gentle nudge towards the reality that awaited outside the garage. "The race will begin soon."

Kimi's eyes remained on yours for a moment longer, a silent question lingering in the air. Then, with a nod that seemed to convey a world of unspoken answers, he turned to his father. "Yes, Papà," he said, his voice a rich timbre that seemed to resonate with the anticipation of the race.

He leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to his mother's cheek. "Ciao, Mamma," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'll make you proud today."

Her smile was like a warm embrace as she patted his cheek. "We know you will," she said, her voice filled with a love that seemed to echo through the garage.

You watched as the family shared a moment, feeling like an outsider peering in on a private dance.

Marco slapped his son's back, the sound echoing in the garage like a gunshot. "Vai avanti," he said, a mix of pride and urgency in his voice. "You're going to be late."

Kimi nodded, his eyes still locked on yours, the unspoken promise of something more burning in their depths. He took a step back, the heat of his gaze a palpable force that seemed to cling to your skin like a second skin.

"Vincere per me," you said, the words rolling off your tongue with surprising ease. It was a declaration of intent, a promise that you would win the race, not just for yourself, but for him.

Kimi grinned, his teeth flashing white against the tanned skin of his cheeks. "Of course, bella," he replied, the endearment slipping out as naturally as if you had been lovers for a lifetime.

The warmth of his smile seemed to fill the garage, casting a spell that made everything else fade into the background. His eyes searched yours, a silent conversation passing between you that spoke of desires and promises unspoken.

Kimi's movements were fluid as he slid into the cockpit of his sleek, silver Mercedes, his body melding with the machine as if they were one.

The sound of the engine roaring to life was like the crescendo of an orchestra, a symphony of power and passion that seemed to resonate through every atom of the air. You felt the vibrations in your chest, a thrumming beat that echoed the rhythm of your heart.

He flashed you one last smile, the kind that could make the sun jealous, and then he was gone, speeding away into the bowels of the circuit like a bullet released from a chamber.

You stood with Kimi's family the whole race, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. The grandstand was a sea of faces, a tapestry of colors, all united in their love for speed and the thrill of the chase.

Maggie's hand was a small, warm presence in yours, her excitement palpable, a heartwarming reminder of the innocence and purity that often accompanied youth.

As the checkered flag waved, the air was pierced by a roar that seemed to shake the very foundation of the grandstand.

"And for the first time, Kimi Antonelli reaches a podium position!" the commentator's voice boomed through the speakers, sending a wave of euphoria crashing over the crowd. The words echoed in your ears, a sweet symphony of triumph and vindication.

Kimi's parents erupted into cheers, their faces a canvas of unbridled joy as they leaped to their feet. Marco's deep baritone laughter rumbled through the air, his eyes shining with the pride of a man who had seen his son conquer the world.

His wife clutched her chest, her eyes brimming with tears of happiness as she watched her little boy, now a man, stand tall on the podium.

Maggie's hand in yours grew tighter, her nails digging into your palm as she bounced up and down with excitement. The vibrations of her energy seemed to resonate through your body, mingling with the thundering applause that filled the grandstand.

As the race concluded, the whole team, a blur of silver and black, sprinted towards the parc ferme, where Kimi's car would come to a majestic stop in front of the third-place podium.

The sound of their footsteps was a cacophony of victory, each step a declaration of their collective triumph. You watched, transfixed, as the mechanics and engineers, their faces a mix of exhaustion and elation, gathered around Kimi's car like bees to honey.

The car, a gleaming silver streak, pulled up to the sign, and the crowd's roar grew deafening as Kimi emerged, a modern-day gladiator stepping out of his metal chariot.

He raised his visor, revealing eyes that shone with the fierce light of a thousand suns. His helmet was plucked off, and his sweat-dampened hair stood on end, a testament to the battle he had just won.

The scent of victory, a heady mix of burning rubber and adrenaline, wafted over the team as they congregated around him. Kimi's eyes scanned the sea of faces, and the moment he spotted you and his family, a grin as wide as the Italian coastline split his face.

He was quick to spot you all, and with a bound fueled by the elation of his victory, he sprinted over, his heart hammering in his chest with excitement and love.

As he neared, the warmth of his presence washed over you, like a gentle Tuscan breeze that brought with it the promise of a summer's evening spent under the stars. His eyes danced from you to Maggie and back again, the love and pride in them a beacon that could guide ships lost at sea.

HIs father was the first to reach Kimi, his arms enveloping his son in a hug that seemed to hold the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

The fabric of Kimi's fireproof suit crunched as his father's embrace tightened, a silent declaration of the bond that had been forged over a lifetime of shared passions and dreams. You watched as Marco whispered something into Kimi's ear, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate with the very essence of pride.

Next was Kimi's mother, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she stepped into the fold of their embrace. Her slender hands rested on Kimi's shoulders, her touch as gentle as the stroke of a feather, yet it seemed to hold him as firmly as any steel embrace.

As she pulled back, she reached for you, her eyes searching yours with a knowing look that seemed to speak of shared secrets and quiet understandings.

Then, it was Maggie's turn. She launched herself into Kimi's arms, her small frame enveloped by his broad chest. Her giggle was a sweet symphony that seemed to hold the very essence of joy.

His arms tightened around her, and you saw the softness in his gaze, a tenderness that was reserved only for those who held his heart.

As she stepped back, her eyes met yours, and she winked, a knowing glint in her gaze. You felt the heat of his stare on you.

And then, there you were, standing before him, the world around you a blur of color and sound. Your heart was a drum in your chest, the rhythm of it echoing the roar of the engines that had just fallen silent.

Kimi stepped away from his family, the warmth of their embrace lingering on him like the scent of their homemade pasta sauce. His eyes locked onto yours, the depth of his gaze a promise that had been simmering since the first time you'd met.

"Bella," he murmured, his voice a velvet caress that seemed to wrap around you like a warm blanket.

His arms encircled you, pulling you into a tight embrace that seemed to banish the rest of the world. You felt the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart, the scent of his sweat and adrenaline a potent aphrodisiac that made your knees weak.

Hiding your face in the crook of his neck, you inhaled deeply, allowing his scent to fill your lungs and your soul. It was a scent that was uniquely Kimi, a blend of engine oil, leather, and victory.

You didn't dare look up, fearful that the paparazzi lurking just outside the garage would capture the intimacy of this moment and twist it into some salacious headline.

You knew the price of fame, the way it could devour relationships, turning the purest of moments into the fodder for tabloid frenzies.

So, you held onto him, your eyes closed, your heart racing, as you silently prayed that the world would swirl on without noticing the two of you standing there, entangled in a dance of passion and friendship.

The scent of his neck was intoxicating, a blend of cologne and sweat that spoke of his fiery spirit and the intense physicality of the race. It was a scent that was uniquely his, a scent that had been burned into your memory the first time you had been this close to him.

You felt his heart hammering against your chest, a wild, untamed stallion galloping in time with yours.

"Hai vinto nel mio cuore," you murmured into his ear, the words a soft, secret whisper that seemed to resonate through his very soul.

His embrace tightened for a fraction of a second, the muscles in his arms flexing as he held you closer. It meant 'you won in my heart'.

The warmth of his body seemed to seep into yours, a gentle warmth that spread through you like honey on warm bread.

His chest was a wall of solid, unyielding muscle against which your soft curves melded like wax. You felt his heart, beating a staccato rhythm that matched the tempo of your own.

Kimi's chuckle rumbled in his chest, the vibrations sending delightful shivers down your spine. "Only in your heart, bella?" He leaned back slightly, his eyes searching yours, a playful smile dancing across his lips.

"Well," you replied, the words slipping out with the ease of a warm summer breeze, "you've certainly won my respect and admiration today."

Kimi's smile grew, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that made you want to kiss them. "That's a start," he murmured, his voice a soft caress that seemed to stroke the very fabric of your being.

With a gentle nudge, he stepped back, allowing you to breathe. His eyes never left yours as he turned to his team, his voice a mix of gratitude and adrenaline.

The team responded with cheers and slaps on the back, their faces a kaleidoscope of nationalities and emotions, all bound together by the shared victory.

You watched as Kimi moved from one person to the next, his voice a crescendo of gratitude as he thanked each member of his team, his words a balm to their weary souls.

His touch was a gentle reassurance that they were all part of something greater than themselves, a symphony of precision and passion that had just played out on the track.

Each mechanic, engineer, and support staff member beamed under his praise, their eyes shining with the light of a thousand suns.

The garage was a maelstrom of activity around you, yet all you could focus on was the way Kimi's hands moved, the way his fingers danced as he spoke, the way his eyes crinkled with every genuine smile he offered.

The warmth of his skin was still imprinted on yours, and you felt a sudden, overwhelming need to touch him again. The bracelet on your wrist felt like a lifeline connecting you to him, a tangible symbol of the secret bond you shared. . . .

The next week arrived swiftly, bringing with it the Imola Grand Prix, a momentous occasion for him as it marked his first time racing on home soil. A wave of anticipation washed over him as he prepared for the event, fueled by the desire to perform well in front of his countrymen. He knew the pressure would be immense, but he was determined to channel that energy into a strong and memorable performance.

The roar of the crowd was a distant hum, a white noise Kimi barely registered. He was in the zone, a place where the world narrowed down to the vibration of the steering wheel in his hands, the precise pressure of his foot on the accelerator, and the dance between man and machine that defined his life.

He was in the lead. Again.

The words felt foreign, almost unbelievable. Kimi, leading a Grand Prix. It wasn't a common occurrence in his career, a fact that gnawed at him more than he let on. But today, the stars were aligning in a way that felt almost…surreal.

Max had crashed spectacularly with Hamilton, sending sparks and debris flying across the track. Lando was nursing some kind of brake issue, forced to bleed speed into every corner.

Oscar, usually a consistent threat, was struggling with pace, falling further and further behind. One by one, the obstacles had fallen away, leaving Kimi alone at the front.

“Mate, everything is going well, you can win this!” Bono’s voice crackled in his ear, a burst of static in the otherwise focused silence of the cockpit.

Kimi didn't respond. He didn't need the encouragement. He could feel it. The car was responding perfectly. The tires were holding. The gap was growing. He just wanted to finish the race. He just wanted to see you.

He pictured you, sitting nervously in the team garage, your fingers twisting a stray strand of hair around your finger. He knew how much this meant to you, how you'd believed in him even when he'd started to doubt himself.

Your unwavering faith was a constant source of strength, a gentle push in the back when he felt like the weight of the world was pressing down.

That first time you'd tried to learn Italian with Duolingo, you'd been adorably lost. The way your cheeks had flushed when you'd confidently pronounced 'ciao' as 'choa' had made him laugh until his sides hurt.

But it was the determination in your eyes as you'd looked at him for correction that had made him realize he had feelings for you. It was the spark of curiosity, the hunger to learn and grow that mirrored his own passion for racing.

You understood the pressure he was under, the relentless scrutiny, the constant demands of sponsors and team bosses.

You saw past the stoic facade to the man beneath, the man who loved to cook, who enjoyed long walks in the woods, who valued loyalty and honesty above all else.

And somewhere along the way, that understanding had blossomed into something more. A quiet, comfortable love that grounded him, that gave him a reason to keep pushing, even when the races were tough and the defeats were crushing.

Now, with the finish line in sight, that love was his driving force. He wanted to win this for you. To prove to you, and to himself, that he still had it in him. That he could still stand on that top step of the podium and feel the spray of champagne on his face.

Lap after lap, he maintained his lead, his focus unwavering. He ignored Bono’s constant updates, the times of the cars behind him, the changing wind conditions. It was all background noise. All that mattered was the track ahead, the next corner, the next braking point.

He pushed the car to its limits, knowing that a single mistake could cost him everything. He felt the tires begin to degrade, the car starting to slide slightly in the corners, but he held his nerve, adjusting his driving style to compensate.

He could see the checkered flag now, a blur of black and white in the distance. A surge of adrenaline coursed through him, a feeling he hadn't experienced in years. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles white, and pushed the accelerator to the floor.

The roar of the engine filled his ears as he crossed the finish line, the crowd erupting in a frenzy of cheers. He had done it. He had won.

He slowed the car down, pulling into the designated area, his heart pounding in his chest. The relief was overwhelming, a wave of emotion that threatened to spill over.

He unbuckled his harness, his hands shaking slightly, and climbed out of the cockpit.

The moment his feet hit the ground, the frenzy began. His team rushed towards him, yelling, pushing against the fence that held them up.

They were a sea of color, a blur of faces and hands reaching for him. He could see the raw excitement in their eyes, the unbridled joy that came from victory.

Kimi took a deep breath, the sweet scent of burnt rubber and gasoline mingling with the cool air. He felt the heat of the car behind him, a testament to the fierce battle he'd just fought. The fence groaned under the pressure of his ecstatic team, their voices a cacophony of congratulations and relief.

"Kimi, Kimi!" They chanted his name like a war cry, their faces flushed and eyes gleaming with excitement. He couldn't help but smile, a rare occurrence on the podium, as he approached the barricade.

Through the chaos of the celebration, his eyes searched for you. Finally, they found you, standing apart from the rest, your face a portrait of shock and disbelief. He could see your chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, your eyes wide and shining with unshed tears.

He broke free from the crush of his team, his legs feeling like lead but propelled by the magnetic pull of your presence.

You looked so beautiful, your hair disheveled from the wind, your cheeks flushed with excitement. He couldn't help but feel a surge of pride as he approached you, the roar of the crowd a testament to his triumph.

His family, always his first priority, were right beside you. He saw his mother's eyes, filled with the kind of pride that could only come from a mother's love, and his father's firm nod, a silent acknowledgment of a job well done. Maggie, her face a mix of awe and admiration, ready to embrace him.

Kimi stepped through the barricade, the world around him fading into the background. His gaze remained locked on yours as he approached, his heart swelling with every step.

He threw his arms around his mother and father first, feeling the warm embrace of their love envelop him like a warm blanket. They had been there since the start, supporting him through every high and low, and their pride was palpable as they held him tight.

"You did it, son," his father whispered in his ear, his voice gruff with emotion.

Kimi pulled back, his eyes shining with unshed tears as he looked at his parents. The love and support reflected in their faces was the ultimate prize.

He hugged his mother tightly, her familiar scent of lavender and sunscreen bringing him comfort amidst the overwhelming chaos of the race. She kissed his cheek, her warmth seeping into his bones.

His father's embrace was firm, a silent nod of respect and understanding of the beast that was racing, and the battles that came with it.

Maggie was next, her arms wrapping around him with a fierceness that surprised him. Her perfume, a blend of vanilla and jasmine, filled his senses as she whispered congratulations into his ear.

The bond they shared was strong, unyielding, and had only grown stronger through the years. They had been through so much together, and her belief in him had never wavered.

He held her for a moment longer, feeling the tremble in her body as she fought back tears. The emotion of the moment was almost too much to handle, but he knew he had to keep it together. This was for them, for all the sacrifices they had made.

"Your girlfriend was cheering for you the whole time," Maggie muttered into his shoulder, her voice thick with emotion.

He whispered back to Maggie, "She's not my girlfriend yet," his voice low and filled with a hint of mischief.

Maggie pulled back, her eyes searching his, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Yet?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow.

Kimi couldn't help but chuckle, the sound lost in the din of the celebration. He knew what she was implying, but now was not the time to explore that particular avenue of thought.

He had to find you, to share this moment with you, to show you that you were his inspiration, the reason he had pushed so hard.

He broke away from the embrace, his gaze finding yours once again. The distance between them closed in a heartbeat, the electricity of the moment crackling in the air like a live wire. You were frozen in place, your eyes wide and unblinking, as if you couldn't quite believe what was happening.

You looked at him, your eyes brimming with joy, and before you could say a word, he pulled you into his arms. Your body melded into his, fitting perfectly as if it had been made to be there.

His heart raced as he felt your softness pressed against him, the warmth of your embrace a stark contrast to the harshness of the race.

Kimi's hands slid down your back, feeling the curve of your hips and the gentle give of your body beneath your clothes. His fingers found purchase in the fabric of your shirt, his palms feeling the heat of your skin, the tension of your muscles as you held onto him.

You buried your face into his neck, inhaling deeply the scent of his sweat and victory, a heady mix that sent shivers down your spine.

"Thank you," he murmured into your hair, the vibration of his voice sending a thrill through your body. "Thank you for believing in me."

You pulled back, your eyes searching his, looking for any trace of doubt. But all you found was the unbridled passion of a man who had conquered his demons and emerged victorious. "You did it," you whispered, your voice trembling.

He took a deep breath. "May I… can I kiss…"

Before he could finish the question, before doubt could solidify in his mind, you leaned forward. Your lips met his, a soft, hesitant pressure at first, then deepening as he responded.

The rain seemed to fade, the fairy lights blurred, and suddenly, the world was just the two of them, a connection forged in a stolen moment.

The sensations in Kimi's stomach were a swirl of butterflies, a tornado of excitement and anticipation. It was a feeling he knew well from racing, but this was different.

This was a victory of the heart, a win that didn't come with a podium or a trophy, but with the sweet taste of your mouth and the feel of your breath mingling with his own.

Your lips were like a soft pillow, welcoming and familiar, yet charged with an electricity that sent currents through his body. He felt your breath hitch as you deepened the kiss, your hands tentatively moving to his shoulders, then sliding up his neck to tangle in his hair.

It was as if you were trying to hold onto him, afraid that if you didn't, he would vanish into the ether of the moment.

Unfortunately, you pulled back, your eyes searching his with a sudden shyness that was as endearing as it was surprising. His heart skipped a beat as he watched the color rise in your cheeks, the way your gaze darted from his mouth to his eyes and back again.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, feeling a little out of breath, your heart racing from the intensity of the moment. "I shouldn't have—"

But Kimi silenced your protests with a gentle shake of his head. "No," he whispered, his voice a hoarse rumble against your ear. "You're exactly what I needed."

You hadn't meant to kiss him. It was an impulse, a reckless, beautiful mistake. Now, you just had to figure out what to do next.

"You should probably go to your interview," you murmured against his ear, your voice a soft caress as you tried to pull away. But his arms tightened around you, holding you in place.

Kimi's grip was firm but gentle, his hands warm and reassuring on your back as he held you close. "I know," he whispered, his breath hot on your skin. "But I don't want to let you go."

"I promised we'll speak," you said, the words slipping out before you had a chance to think.

"Okay," Kimi grumbled, his arms reluctantly releasing you. His eyes searched yours, a silent question hanging in the air.

"Yes, we'll talk," you assured him, your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions inside you. You stepped back, trying to regain some semblance of composure, the feel of his arms around you still lingering like a warm embrace.

Kimi nodded, his eyes never leaving yours, a promise in them that this was far from over.

He stepped back, allowing the press of his team to guide him towards the podium. The flash of cameras and the cacophony of voices grew louder as he approached, but all he could hear was the echo of your heartbeat in his ears.

The interview went by in a blur, questions about his strategy and the race's pivotal moments that felt almost trivial compared to the tumultuous symphony of emotions playing out between you and him.

Yet, he answered with the grace of a seasoned champion, his mind still reeling from your kiss.

Each word was a battle to focus, his eyes straying to the spot where he knew you were standing, holding onto Maggie for support.

The podium ceremony was a whirlwind, a flurry of flashing lights and applause. As the Italian national anthem played, Kimi felt a strange disconnect, his thoughts racing to the conversation you had promised.

He watched as the trophy was hoisted high, the gleaming silver a stark contrast to the vivid colors of the setting sun. The weight of it in his hands was a reminder of what he had achieved, but it was your eyes that he sought, your approval that he craved.

He looked down at the sea of faces, a blend of sponsors, team members, and fans. And there you were, nestled among them, holding onto Maggie like a lifeline.

She looked up at him, her smile proud and knowing, giving him a subtle nod of encouragement. You were a vision, your hair a wild mane in the breeze, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and your grip on Maggie's hand a silent declaration of your own victory.

The Italian fans had gone wild. The air was thick with the scent of their excitement, a potent mix of sweat, passion, and victory.

They yelled and screamed, waving flags and banners, their voices a symphony of pride and jubilation. They were his countrymen, and their roars of approval were music to his ears.

Kimi looked out into the stands, his heart swelling with emotion. The tifosi, the Italian fans, were a force unto themselves. They were notorious for their unyielding support of their own, and tonight, they were in full voice.

He could see the undulating sea of red, white, and green, a tapestry of love and national pride that stretched as far as the eye could see.

The podium was a cacophony of noise as the champagne bottles were popped, the sound echoing through the air like a string of mini explosions.

The golden liquid arced through the sky, catching the last rays of the setting sun and casting a shimmering shower of light that bathed the podium in an ethereal glow.

The moment the podium interviews ended, Kimi was whisked away to the cooldown room, his body still humming with the high of victory.

He could feel the adrenaline slowly ebbing away, leaving in its wake a tremor in his hands that he hadn't noticed before. His heart was still racing, but it wasn't just from the race anymore.

It was the kiss, the promise in your eyes, and the unspoken words that hung in the air like an unresolved chord in a symphony.

The cooldown room was a stark contrast to the chaotic energy outside, a sanctum of white and chrome that gleamed under the harsh lights.

The air was cooler here, a welcome respite from the heat of the podium. He sat down, the chair a strange embrace after the tight confines of his race seat, and took a deep breath, trying to calm the tumult of his emotions.

In the corner, Charles and George, who had secured second and third place, were already watching the race highlights, their faces a mix of exhaustion and elation. They looked over at him as he entered, raising their bottles of water in silent salute.

The three of them sat down in front of the large screen, their eyes glued to the replay of the race that had just unfolded. They watched as Kimi's car sliced through the pack, a sleek and deadly predator hunting down its prey.

The commentators were gushing with praise for his driving, their voices rising and falling with the tension of the race.

Charles, his cheeks flushed with the exertion of his own battle for second place, leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Mate, that was incredible," he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "You had the car dancing today."

George nodded in agreement, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Couldn't agree more. That overtake on Turn 3 was sheer poetry," he added, referring to Kimi's daring move that had secured his victory.

"Thanks, guys," he said, his voice a little rough. "Couldn't have done it without the team."

He took a swig of water, the cool liquid sliding down his dry throat. His eyes never left the screen, watching the replay of his victory lap, the car snaking through the track like a serpent celebrating its triumph.

The media scrum was a beast he knew all too well. It waited outside the cooldown room, a sea of eager faces, microphones, and cameras ready to devour every morsel of his triumph.

They would ask about his strategy, his thoughts on the race, and the inevitable questions about his future in the sport. But all he could think about was you.

As he stepped into the fray, the questions bombarded him from all sides, a cacophony of voices that seemed to blur together into a single, insistent drone. He felt a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the designated spot.

The team's PR manager, a tall, elegant woman with a no-nonsense air, whispered a few words of encouragement in his ear. He nodded, a forced smile plastered on his face, as he faced the barrage of questions with the practiced ease of a man who had done this countless times before.

"Kimi," a journalist from the front row shouted, waving a microphone in the air. "What does this victory mean to you?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes searching the crowd for any sign of you. "It means everything," he said, his voice steady despite the tumult of emotions still coursing through him. "But without my team behind me, it would have been impossible."

The questions kept coming, a relentless wave of inquiries about the race, the strategy, and his feelings on the podium. Yet, all he could think about was the taste of your lips, the way your body had felt against his, and the promise of what could be.

"Kimi, can you tell us about the final laps, when you knew you had it in the bag?" a journalist with a thick Italian accent called out, her voice eager to capture the drama of the moment.

He took a deep breath, the memory of the race still pulsing through his veins. "It was about the last ten laps when I knew I had a good shot at it," he replied, his eyes distant, lost in the replay of the moments that had led to his victory. "The car was perfect, and I just had to stay focused and keep pushing."

The questions kept coming, a relentless wave of words that he navigated with the skill of a linguist. Yet, his mind was elsewhere, replaying the sensation of your touch, the way your body had leaned into his during that spontaneous kiss.

It was like a secret shared only by the two of you amidst the chaos, a silent promise that echoed through his soul.

When Kimi was finally able to escape the media and the swarm of reporters, the first place he went was the family waiting area.

He walked down the corridor, the smell of burnt rubber and gasoline fading into the background as he approached.

His heart raced not from the adrenaline of the race, but from the anticipation of seeing you. His steps were quick, almost a jog, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of you.

The family waiting area was a stark contrast to the chaotic garage. It was a serene oasis of white leather couches and chrome accents, designed to give drivers and their loved ones a moment of peace before and after the race. The doors slid open, revealing a space bustling with energy, filled with his family.

But you weren't there.

The realization hit him like a blow to the gut. His eyes searched the room, desperate for a glimpse of your familiar form, the way you'd stand with your hands clasped tightly in front of you when you were nervous.

His heart sank as he saw only unfamiliar faces, a sea of congratulations that washed over him without touching the core of his being.

"Kimi!" His mother's voice broke through the haze, her arms open wide, her eyes shining with joy. He forced himself to move, to hug her, to accept the praise and love of his family, but his thoughts remained focused on you, the woman who had become the very air he breathed.

"Where's y/n?" he asked, his voice barely above a murmur, the question slipping out before he could catch it. His father's proud smile faltered for a moment, his gaze shifting to Maggie, who looked equally puzzled.

Maggie, ever the diplomat, stepped in, her eyes flicking towards the exit. "She said she had to go to the bathroom," she replied, her voice carefully neutral. Kimi's heart sank. Had he read the situation wrong? Was she upset? Or was she just overwhelmed?

He excused himself, the warm embrace of his family's congratulations feeling like a cocoon of well wishes that he was desperate to break free from.

His eyes searched the corridor, looking for any sign of your retreating form. The sound of his heart was the only thing he could hear above the din of the celebration, a thunderous rhythm that matched his steps as he moved away from the safety of the waiting area.

The hallways of the paddock were a blur, the faces of team members and officials passing by in a whirl of congratulations and handshakes.

He nodded and smiled, his mind racing, trying to piece together where you could have gone. The bathroom? Too obvious. To the garage to watch the podium from a distance? Perhaps.

But something in his gut told him you needed space, needed time to process the intensity of what had just happened between them.

He found it hard to believe that he had actually won. The victory felt surreal, as if it were a dream that could shatter at any moment. Yet, the kiss you had shared was very real.

The way your lips had moved against his, the gentle pressure of your hand on his neck, the softness of your skin under his touch—it was burned into his memory like the tire marks on the asphalt of Monza.

Kimi made his way through the garage, the sound of his boots echoing through the vast space. The team was busy dismantling cars and discussing strategy, but he barely noticed them.

His eyes scanned the area, looking for a flash of your hair, a glimpse of your smile. His heart thudded in his chest with each step, the anticipation growing with every passing moment.

Finally, he reached his driver's room. The door was slightly ajar, the dim light spilling into the corridor like an invitation. He pushed it open gently, his breath catching in his throat at the sight that greeted him.

There you were, curled up on the sofa, fast asleep. The softness of your features, the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the peacefulness of your slumber—it was like a painting, a moment captured in time that he never wanted to forget.

You looked so vulnerable, so beautiful. The weight of the world had been lifted from your shoulders, and in your sleep, you were free from the worries of the day. Kimi's heart swelled with an emotion he couldn't quite name.

He stepped into the room, his eyes never leaving your peaceful form. The scent of leather and oil was a familiar comfort, a stark contrast to the chaos of the podium. The air was cooler here, a gentle whisper that carried the faint scent of your perfume, a sweet and subtle floral note that made his stomach flutter.

As he approached, the shadows played across your face, highlighting the dark circles under your eyes.

He knew you hadn't slept well the night before, plagued by worries about your mother's reaction to your Italian lessons.

The quiet click of the door closing behind him was the only sound in the room. He approached you slowly, his steps measured and deliberate, not wanting to disturb your peaceful slumber.

As he got closer, he could see the worry etched into your features, the tension in your forehead, the tightness of your mouth.

He reached out, his hand hovering over your shoulder, the warmth of your body radiating through your shirt. He could feel the pulse of your heart beating in time with his own, a silent rhythm that connected them in a way that was more profound than any podium finish.

He brushed a lock of hair from your cheek, the softness of your skin sending a shiver down his spine.

Kimi took a deep breath, his senses filling with the sweet scent of your perfume. He knew he should leave you be, that you needed your rest, but the pull was too strong. He had to be near you, to feel the warmth of your breath against his skin.

He sat down on the edge of the sofa, his body aching from the race, the adrenaline that had fueled him now dissipating into a gentle hum of contentment. He watched you sleep, his mind racing with thoughts of the future, of what could be.

The gentle thrum of the air conditioning was the only sound in the room, a white noise that seemed to echo the rhythm of his thoughts. He knew he should be celebrating, reveling in the victory, but all he wanted was to hold you, to feel your heart beat against his chest.

With a silent sigh, he slid onto the couch, his body moving with a grace that belied his exhaustion. He eased himself down, the leather cool against his skin, the cushions molding to his frame as if they had been waiting for him all along. His eyes never left you, the curve of your body a siren's call that beckoned him closer.

The couch was big enough for the two of you, a silent invitation to share in this moment of triumph. He reached out, his hand brushing against the warmth of your shoulder.

The fabric of your shirt was soft under his touch, the heat of your skin seeping through, a silent promise of the warmth you offered.

Slowly, so as not to wake you, he slid closer, his body aligning with yours, his legs stretching out alongside yours. He leaned in, the scent of your hair filling his senses, a sweet, vanilla scent that was as intoxicating as the smell of victory.

The couch was a sanctuary, a place where the outside world couldn't reach them. He could feel the tension in your body, even in sleep, the weight of the world still pressing down on your shoulders.

His own muscles ached, a symphony of pain that was a reminder of the battle he had just fought and won.

He slipped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, the heat of your body a balm to his soul. He could feel your breath against his neck, the soft exhale a comforting lullaby that soothed the beast inside him. His eyes closed, and for the first time that day, Kimi allowed himself to relax, to let the tension bleed out of him.

He didn't know what would happen when you woke up, but for now, he was content to simply exist in this moment, the two of you entwined, the world outside forgotten. . . .

Your senses were a jumbled symphony as you gradually surfaced from the velvety depths of sleep. The scent of burnt rubber and the faint aroma of victory champagne lingered in the air, intertwined with the rich, earthy musk that was unmistakably Kimi.

His arms were a warm, comforting vice around you, his breathing steady and deep, as if he were lost in the most peaceful of dreams. You didn't dare move, fearing the spell might be broken, the reality of his embrace evaporating like mist under the glare of the morning sun.

Kimi's features were relaxed in slumber, the tension of the race and the weight of his historic victory seemingly forgotten as he lay beside you.

His dark lashes brushed against his flushed cheeks with every exhale, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest made your own heart stutter with an unfamiliar rhythm.

The soft light filtering through the hotel curtains cast a warm glow on his skin, highlighting the sheen of perspiration that still clung to him from the night's triumph and celebration. You studied the contours of his face, the way his full lips parted slightly, the stubble on his jaw that was just the right amount of rough.

His hair, usually meticulously styled, was a wild tangle of brown locks, sticking to his forehead in the most endearing way. The sight of him, so unguarded and vulnerable, made you feel an unyielding wave of tenderness and desire.

Your fingers itched to trace the line of his jaw, to feel the coarse stubble under your fingertips, but you held back, not wanting to disturb him.

The last time you had seen him, your mouth had been on his, tasting the sweetness of victory and the salt of his skin. Now, in the quiet aftermath of passion and glory, you felt a strange mix of emotions—elation at his success, awe at the depth of your connection, and a hint of fear that this moment might never come again.

But for now, you were content to simply be there, in the sanctuary of his arms, with the promise of the dawn just outside the window and the warmth of his love enveloping you like a blanket.

As the room slowly brightened, the whispers of daybreak painted shadows across Kimi's features, revealing the stark beauty of his profile.

His chest, a landscape of sculpted muscles and scars from past battles on the track, rose and fell with each breath, a silent symphony of life and vitality. The room was filled with a gentle hum of contentment, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric as his fingers flexed against your bare shoulder.

You hadn't been sleeping well for days, the excitement and nervousness of speaking to your mother in her native language in a few days. So, when he had been called away for his media duties, you had seen it as an opportunity to grab some much-needed rest.

As you stirred to consciousness, the unmistakable weight of his presence beside you sent a jolt of surprise through your body. You had not expected to find Kimi here, not after he had left earlier to face the barrage of questions and flashing lights.

Yet, here he was, his hand resting protectively on your waist, his leg thrown over yours in a possessive tangle that spoke of deep trust and comfort.

The heat from his body seeped into you, warming you from within, as your senses slowly sharpened to the world outside the cocoon of Kimi's drivers room.

Kimi then moved, his hand sliding down to the small of your back, his touch featherlight and electric. You held your breath, your heart hammering in anticipation, but his eyes remained closed, his breathing unchanged. His fingertips traced the curve of your hip, sending a shiver down your spine, as if he was unconsciously mapping the territory of your body.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Kimi's eyes began to open. The thick lashes lifted, revealing the warm whiskey hue of his irises. 

For a moment, there was a dazzling clarity to his gaze, as if he were seeing you for the very first time. The room, the race, the victory—it all melted away as he took you in.

As he blinked away the last remnants of sleep, a lazy smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he whispered, "Good morning," his voice a smoky rumble that resonated through your core.

"I think it's the evening, Kimi," you joked quietly, a playful twinkle in your eye as you glanced at the clock, the digits blinking an indecipherable message.

Kimi's eyes snapped open, the smile on his lips deepening as he took in the sight of you. "Ah, evening," he murmured, the word rolling off his tongue with a hint of amusement.

"Were you looking for me before?" you asked, your voice a soft melody that seemed to resonate in the quiet air.

Kimi's smile grew more pronounced, his eyes finally focusing on you with a warmth that seemed to set your very soul alight. He took a moment to process your question, the gears of his thoughts whirring behind those mesmerizing eyes.

"Before what?" he responded, his voice still thick with the residue of sleep.

You couldn't help but chuckle at his groggy state, the sound a soft, musical note that danced in the air around you. "Before you came back to the room," you clarified, the memory of his earlier departure still lingering.

Kimi's eyes searched yours, a flicker of understanding crossing his features as he pieced together the timeline of the night. "Ah," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through your very bones.

He leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours, the stubble of his cheek a delightful abrasion that sent a shiver down your spine. "I was," he admitted, his breath warm against your lips. "Couldn't stay away from you. You're like a gravitational pull, always drawing me back."

His words were simple, devoid of grand pronouncements or poetic metaphors, but their sincerity resonated deeply within you. Kimi wasn't one for empty words. When he said something, he meant it with every fiber of his being.

His eyes wandered onto your teal dress. "Did I ever say you look beautiful in this dress?" he asked, his gaze lingering on the way the fabric flowed around your curves.

You felt your cheeks warm at the memory of when he had first seen you in it. "You might have mentioned it," you replied with a coy smile, your heart skipping a beat.

Kimi's hand slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently caressing the skin just beneath your eye. "You always do," he said, his voice a gentle rumble that sent a delicious thrill down your spine.

The room was suffused with a warm glow, the light from the setting sun casting a soft halo around his head. The shadows grew longer, stretching across the rumpled couch, highlighting the contours of his bodysuit, the strong lines of his shoulders and chest. His eyes searched yours, a silent question in their depths.

"Does your family know that we're here?" you asked, your voice a whisper in the cocoon of quiet that surrounded you.

"Ah, i was looking for you so much that i forget to tell them i found you," Kimi replied, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Your heart fluttered at his admission, his Italian accent wrapping around the words like a caress. You felt a rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the champagne and everything to do with the way he looked at you—like you were the prize he had been chasing all along, and not just the victory trophy.

"It's like 10pm now," you muttered, the reality of time slipping through your fingers like sand. The race had ended hours ago, yet it felt like mere moments since you had been lost in the whirlwind of his victory.

"Mamma mia," Kimi groaned, his hand still resting on your hip as he sat up with a stretch, his muscles rippling under the tight confines of his bodysuit.

You mirrored his movement, your own body protesting after hours of inactivity. You looked outside the window and realized the world had moved on without you, the inky blackness of night having descended outside. The only illumination came from the distant city lights that twinkled like stars scattered across the velvet sky.

"We've been asleep for hours," you murmured in disbelief, your voice a soft caress that seemed to float in the air.

Kimi's gaze never left yours as he nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a smile that was as warm as the afternoon sun in Sicily. "You needed it," he said, his thumb making lazy circles on your skin. "You've been so tense lately."

You couldn't deny it. The upcoming conversation with your mother had been weighing on your mind like a lead balloon. But here, in Kimi's arms, it all felt so far away, as if the world had stopped turning just for a brief moment to allow you this stolen slice of happiness.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice a soft sigh that seemed to melt into the air. "For everything."

Kimi's eyes searched yours, his thumb continuing its gentle dance on your skin. "What for?"

You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his hand spreading through your body like wildfire. "For helping me learn Italian," you said, your voice a soft crescendo of emotion. "And for giving me back my confidence."

Kimi's smile grew more earnest, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He leaned in closer, his breath a warm whisper against your ear. "It was nothing," he murmured. "Your beauty and strength are all your own. I just helped you remember them."

His hand slipped away from your cheek, reaching for yours. But as you went to take it, you paused. "Flattery won't get you anywhere Antonelli," you said, your voice playful but firm as you picked up your bag, the warmth of his hand a sudden absence that sent a shiver down your spine.

Kimi's smile didn't falter, his eyes still holding yours as he leaned back against the couch cushions. "But it's not flattery," he protested, his accent thick and tantalizing. "It's the truth. You're like a fine wine, only getting better with time."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing in the room as you slung your bag over your shoulder. "Smooth, but still not going to work," you teased, taking a step away from the comfort of his touch. The coolness of the air was a stark contrast to the heat he emanated, and you felt the sudden urge to return to his embrace.

Kimi watched you with a knowing smile, his eyes never leaving yours as he sat up, stretching his long limbs like a cat rousing from a nap. "Ah, but you know I mean it," he said, his voice a low purr that seemed to resonate in the very marrow of your bones.

"Come on, don't you have a family to find?" you asked, trying to lighten the mood, a playful lilt in your voice.

Kimi's eyes searched yours, a spark of mischief lighting up the whiskey hue. "Eh, they probably went home," he replied with a nonchalant shrug, the fabric of his bodysuit stretching with the movement. "They know I like to sleep after the race."

You couldn't help but chuckle, shaking your head at his incorrigible charm. "They're going to be worried about you," you pointed out, the playfulness in your tone belying the concern you felt for him.

Kimi's gaze never left yours as he slowly rose to his feet, the fabric of his bodysuit clinging to his form like a second skin. "They know I'm in good hands," he said, the words a gentle caress that sent a shiver down your spine.

"You think you can get what you want after winning one race?" you replied, a playful smirk dancing on your lips.

"I'd hope so," Kimi grinned, his teeth flashing white against the darkened room. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he took a step closer, closing the distance between you.

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls, as you grabbed his hands and pulled him up. His muscles, still warm from the race, bunched under your fingers as he stood, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the floor.

"Come on," you said, your voice a teasing purr that seemed to dance around the room. "Let's get your delusional ass back home."

Kimi's laughter rumbled in his chest, a rich, full sound that made your heart swell with affection. He allowed you to pull him to his feet, his fingers tightening around yours briefly before releasing. You felt the loss of his touch like a gust of cold wind, but the warmth of his smile was more than enough to keep you from shivering.

"Let me go get changed and then we can go," he said, his voice a smoky promise that had your heart racing. You watched as he disappeared into the en suite bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. The sound of running water and the rustle of clothing filled the silence, and you couldn't help but wonder what he was doing in there. The anticipation was almost too much to bear.

The ring of his phone pierced through the quiet, and you reached over to grab it from the nightstand, your heart skipping a beat when you saw it was his mom. "Kimi, your mom is calling," you called out, your voice echoing through the steamy bathroom.

Kimi's muffled response came through the shower curtain. "Can you answer it?" The urgency in his tone was palpable, his voice tinged with a hint of nerves that was foreign to the usually unflappable racer.

You picked up the phone, feeling the weight of his trust in your hand. The screen glowed with his mother's name, the very woman whose language you had been so meticulously preparing to conquer. The call to action was a stark reminder of the real world waiting outside the sanctuary of his arms.

"Ciao, Signora Antonelli," you greeted, your voice a soft melody that carried through the phone's speaker. The Italian words felt strange and yet oddly familiar, as if they had been coaxed from a dormant part of your soul.

Kimi's mother's voice was a flurry of warmth and concern. "Ah! Y/n! Non mi ero accorto che eri ancora con mio figlio," she exclaimed, a blend of surprise.

"Sorry," you murmured into the phone, your cheeks flushing. "Mi sono addormentato nella sua cabina di guida, non volevo trattenerlo. Ora sta facendo la doccia e sta tornando a casa."

Kimi's mother's laugh was warm and comforting, the sound wrapping around you like a blanket. "Non preoccuparti," she said, her words a soothing balm to your nerves. "Sono contenta che tu abbia riposato un po'. Kimi ha detto che sembri stanco in questi giorni."

You couldn't help but smile at her maternal concern, feeling a sudden kinship with her. "Lo ero," you admitted, the words slipping out before you could censor them. "Ma adesso mi sento meglio."

Her response was a delightful tapestry of Italian that you only partially understood, but the love in her tone was universal. "Ma lasciami indovinare, anche lui si è addormentato?" she asked, her voice a warm caress over the phone line.

The question hung in the air, a gentle tease wrapped in the velvet of her words. "Sí, siamo tutti e due un po' stanchi," you replied, hoping the truth wasn't too evident in your voice.

Kimi's mother's laughter spilled over the line, a rich, warm sound that made you feel as if she were in the room with you, sharing the moment. "Ah, che bello," she said, her voice a soothing balm to the nerves you hadn't realized you had. "Ma Kimi è sempre in movimento. Non so come fa a rimanere sveglio."

You chuckled, the sound a little too loud in the quiet room. "Lui ha una forza incredibile," you agreed, the words slipping from your tongue with surprising ease. It felt natural, speaking Italian to this woman who had given birth to the man you had come to love.

"Comunque, per favore, di' a Kimi di tornare subito a casa." she said, the warmth in her voice now tinged with urgency. "Dobbiamo ancora fare una festa in famiglia."

"Va bene signora Antonelli," you said, a smile playing on your lips.

The call ended with her final laugh, and you set the phone down, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment. You had managed to have a conversation with Kimi's mother without any major linguistic mishaps.

The bathroom door opened with a soft click, and a cloud of steam billowed out, carrying with it the scent of Kimi's spicy aftershave.

He emerged from the mist like a Greek god, his skin glistening with moisture, his hair slicked back from his face, showcasing the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones. The black tee clung to his still-damp torso like a second skin, tracing the contours of his chiseled abs and broad shoulders, while the dark trousers hugged the muscular curves of his legs.

Kimi looked like a man who had just conquered the world—and in a way, he had. The victory earlier in the day was etched in every line of his body, in the proud tilt of his chin, the way his eyes shone with an inner light that could outshine the neon of the Vegas strip outside.

He padded barefoot across the plush carpet, droplets of water clinging to his skin, shimmering like diamonds in the dim light of the hotel suite. The way the fabric of his black tee hugged his form was a delicious sight, revealing the play of muscles across his chest and the flat plane of his stomach. His dark trousers hung low on his hips, hinting at the V of his pelvis.

You watched him, unable to tear your eyes away, as he approached you, his movements liquid and predatory. The warmth of the shower had brought a flush to his cheeks, and his eyes, those whiskey-colored pools of passion, were fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart stumble in your chest.

"What did my mom say?" he asked, his voice a low, velvety rumble that seemed to resonate through the very air around you.

You took a deep breath, savoring the scent of his aftershave, a heady mix of spice and musk that was uniquely Kimi. "She said she's happy I've been helping you rest, but you should get back for your family celebration."

His gaze held yours, the warmth of his smile reaching out to you like a gentle caress. "And how was your conversation with her?" he asked, his voice a soft rumble that seemed to vibrate through your very bones.

You felt a sudden rush of emotion, the weight of his question more profound than you had anticipated. "It was... good," you replied, the words a whispered confession. "It felt good to talk to her in Italian."

Kimi's smile grew broader, his eyes lighting up with a proud spark. "You sounded amazing," he said, the sincerity in his voice making your cheeks flush with heat.

"Thank you, we should get going," you said, trying to keep the tremor from your voice.

Kimi nodded, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Grazie," he murmured, his voice a warm caress that sent a thrill down your spine. "You've been working so hard."

You looked up at Kimi, his damp hair still hanging in his eyes, and felt a surge of affection so intense it almost brought tears to your eyes. "Thanks to my teacher," you said, the words slipping out before you could think better of it.

The engineers and staff that had been working tirelessly around the car looked up as Kimi's smile grew wider, his eyes crinkling with mirth.

"Thank you, all of you," he called out, his Italian accent thick and warm as he clapped his hands together, the sound echoing in the vast, empty space of the garage. "Couldn't have done it without you."

The remaining engineers and staff looked up from their tasks, a mix of weariness and pride etched on their faces as they returned his smile. They had been Kimi's rock through the season, the unsung heroes behind the scenes who had made his victory possible.

"Ciao ragazzi," he said, his voice carrying a hint of the exhaustion that lurked just beneath the surface. Despite the fatigue, his eyes held a fiery determination, a promise that the celebration of this win would be one to remember.

With a nod to the remaining crew, Kimi led the way out of the garage and into the parking lot, his hand sliding into yours with a familiar ease that sent a jolt of electricity up your arm. The cool evening air was a stark contrast to the warmth of the garage, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the temperature.

The parking lot was a maze of shadows and reflections, the only light coming from the flickering streetlamps and the distant glow of the city beyond. Kimi's car sat in the corner, a beacon of luxury in the sea of concrete and metal.

The coolness of the night was a stark contrast to the warmth of Kimi's hand in yours as you approached the sleek, black sports car. His grip was firm, his thumb tracing circles on your skin in a gesture that was both reassuring and electrifying.

Kimi opened the passenger door with a flourish, his eyes never leaving yours. The motion was so smooth, so practiced, it was like watching a ballet dancer perform a perfect pirouette. You slid into the seat with a sigh, the leather cool against your bare legs. The scent of the car's interior was a heady mix of leather and his cologne, a scent that had come to symbolize safety and desire.

He moved around the car with the same grace, his movements fluid and economical, every gesture a silent symphony of intent. The door shut with a soft thunk, sealing you both inside. The engine roared to life with a purr that seemed to resonate through your very soul, the vibration a delicious promise of the power that lay just beneath your fingertips.

Kimi's hand slid from yours to the gear stick, his fingers wrapping around it with a confidence that made your stomach flip. He shifted into gear and the car surged forward, the tires biting into the asphalt as he navigated the winding path out of the circuit.

You watched his profile, the sharp lines of his jaw and the firm set of his mouth, the way his eyes never left the road. It was a stark contrast to the tender way he had held you in his arms just moments ago, the gentle caress of his thumb on your skin.

"Are you free tomorrow?" he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet hum of the car's engine.

The question hung in the air, thick with implication, like the scent of his cologne that lingered in the enclosed space. You turned to look at him, his eyes focused on the road ahead, the streetlights casting a warm glow on the stubble of his jaw.

"Tomorrow?" you repeated, the word echoing in the quiet. It was a simple question, but the anticipation in his voice was palpable, a silent promise of something more than just a casual get-together.

"Yes," he said, his gaze never leaving the road ahead, but his hand tightening on the gear stick, a subtle hint of his excitement.

You felt the weight of his answer in the air, a silent promise that hung between you like a ripe fruit waiting to be plucked. "What did you have in mind?" you asked, your voice a soft melody that seemed to dance around the edges of the car's cabin.

Kimi's smile grew more pronounced, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mischief as he finally turned to look at you, his gaze lingering on your face. "I want to show you something," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very fabric of the car. "It's a surprise."

"A surprise?" You couldn't help but echo his words, your heart racing with excitement. Kimi's surprises were always... unexpected.

"Mm-hmm," he hummed, his eyes flicking back to the road as he expertly maneuvered the car through the quiet streets. His smile grew, the kind that made your stomach flip-flop and your skin tingle with anticipation. "I think you'll like it."

Your heart raced at the thought of what could be in store for tomorrow. The way his eyes lit up, the excitement in his voice, it was infectious. "Kimi, you know I trust you," you murmured, leaning back into the seat, your eyes never leaving his profile.

He glanced over at you, his smile widening. "Good," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in your very core. "Because it's going to be something special."

The ride to your house was indeed quick, a blur of neon lights and darkened streets that seemed to fly by as Kimi's car ate up the asphalt beneath it. His driving was masterful, his hands firm on the wheel, his eyes never straying from the road ahead.

The leather seats hugged your body, the scent of his cologne mingling with the new car smell, creating a heady cocktail that intoxicated you further. You watched his profile, the way the passing streetlights played across the sharp planes of his face, casting him in an ever-changing palette of shadows and light. His jaw was set, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he navigated the maze of Italian streets.

The engine purred beneath you, a living entity that responded to his every touch. You could feel the power of the car, the beast that had carried him to victory, now carrying you both away from the chaos of the day's events. The tension in the air was palpable, a potent mix of exhaustion and desire that seemed to thicken with every passing mile.

As Kimi pulled up to the curb in front of your house, the car's headlights painted a warm, golden path across the cobblestone street, briefly illuminating the ivy that crawled up the ancient brick walls. The windows glowed with a soft light, casting a warm, welcoming beacon into the night.

Your heart fluttered as you realized the significance of the moment. This wasn't just a casual drop-off. This was Kimi bringing you home after the most incredible day of your life—his historic victory and the sweet promise of tomorrow's surprise.

The car's engine purred to a stop, the sudden silence echoing in the narrow Italian street. Kimi's hand slid from the gear stick to yours, his warmth seeping into your skin like a healing balm.

"Kimi," you whispered, the name a prayer on your lips as you turned to face him. "Thank you."

With a gentle nod, Kimi opened the car door for you, the cool night air rushing in to mingle with the warmth of the interior. He stepped out and came around to your side, his movements a silent poetry of masculine grace. The way he held the door open, his hand lingering on the frame, was a silent declaration of chivalry in a world that often forgot such things.

As you slid out of the car, the leather whispered against your skin, leaving an imprint of comfort that lingered like a ghostly embrace. Kimi's hand found the small of your back, guiding you up the cobblestone path to the heavy wooden door of your house. The warmth of his touch seemed to seep into your very bones, chasing away the last vestiges of the evening's chill.

He waited patiently as you fumbled with your keys, the tension between you growing as palpable as the scent of his victory still clinging to his skin.

Once the door swung open, you turned around to face him, his eyes burning into yours with a fierce intensity that stole the breath from your lungs. The warmth of his gaze seemed to melt the last of your resistance, leaving you feeling as vulnerable as a butterfly pinned to a board.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Kimi," you murmured, your voice a soft caress in the velvety silence of the night. The words hung in the air, a promise of more to come, a sweet agony that made your pulse race.

With a gentle tug, you drew him closer, your hand sliding up to cradle the strong line of his neck. His eyes searched yours, the whiskey warmth deepening as he leaned in, the anticipation a palpable force that seemed to electrify the very air between you.

Your pulse hammered in your ears as your lips met, the kiss a soft, lingering caress that spoke of unspoken truths and unbridled desire. The scent of his skin, a potent blend of sweat and victory, filled your senses, making you dizzy with longing.

Kimi's hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer, the heat of his body a warm embrace that seemed to chase away the last remnants of doubt and fear.

You melted into him, your body fitting against his as if it were made to do so, his muscular chest a wall of protection and desire that made your knees weak.

With a gentle nudge, you managed to pull away, smiling up at him through eyes glazed with desire. "I'll see you tomorrow," you whispered again, your voice a siren's call that seemed to echo in the night.

Kimi's eyes searched yours, his smile mirroring yours as he stepped back, allowing you the space to breathe. "I'll be counting the minutes," he murmured, his voice a warm caress that seemed to follow you as you stepped into the house.

The door closed behind you with a soft click, the sound echoing in the stillness of the night like a final note in a symphony. You leaned against the cool wood, your heart racing, the taste of him still lingering on your lips. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The remnants of yesterday still clung to you like the scent of champagne and burning rubber. Sleep had been a fleeting visitor, chased away by the racing thoughts that consumed you. Kimi's win, the roar of the crowd, the spray of champagne, the taste of his lips…twice. It was all a dizzying, exhilarating blur. He had finally done it. He was on top of the podium, victorious. And you were there, right beside him. And then, the surprise. He hadn’t given you any details, just a mischievous glint in his eyes and a promise that you wouldn't be disappointed.

Four o'clock. He’d texted you the time with typical Kimi brevity. It was perfect, really. 2 PM felt like an eternity away, but it gave you ample time to prepare. You wanted to look…effortless, but also breathtaking. It was a ridiculous paradox, but you were determined to achieve it.

The shower was long and luxurious, the hot water washing away the last vestiges of sleep. You shaved your legs with extra care, smoothing on a fragrant body lotion afterwards. In the mirror, you saw a reflection that seemed brighter, more vibrant than usual. You were alive, truly alive, and it was all because of him.

Makeup came next. You opted for a natural look, a soft blush, a touch of mascara, and a hint of gloss on your lips, the same lips that Kimi had kissed, twice. You felt a shiver run down your spine at the memory.

Your hair was a bit more challenging. You finally decided on loose waves, pinning a few strands back to keep them out of your face. You felt a pang of insecurity as you stared at your reflection. Were you good enough for him? He was a world-class athlete, a champion, a veritable ice man to the world. What did he see in you?

You pushed the doubts away. He had kissed you, hadn't he? He had invited you to share in his victory. He wanted you, and that was all that mattered right now.

The dress you chose was a simple, elegant affair. Knee-length, in a shade of soft blue that complemented your eyes. It was comfortable, yet flattering, and you knew Kimi would appreciate its understated charm. You paired it with delicate silver sandals and a small clutch.

And then, the waiting began.

You paced the apartment, a whirlwind of nervous energy. You checked your watch every few minutes, the hands seeming to move with agonizing slowness. You tried to distract yourself by reading, but the words swam before your eyes. You tried listening to music, but every song seemed to be about love, loss, and longing, only amplifying your anxiety.

What could the surprise be? A romantic dinner? A weekend getaway? Could it be… something more? The thought sent a jolt of panic through you. Were you ready for something serious? You hadn't known Kimi for very long, but the connection between you felt undeniable, powerful.

You replayed the events of yesterday in your mind. The way he had looked when he crossed the finish line, the pure, unadulterated joy on his face. The way he had held you close during the celebrations, his hand warm against your back. The way he had looked at you, his eyes filled with…what? Affection? Desire? Something deeper, something you couldn't quite decipher.

You remembered the kisses. The first, spontaneous and charged with adrenaline, a celebration of his victory. The second, softer, more tender, a silent acknowledgment of the feelings that were blossoming between you.

You were lost in these thoughts when a knock echoed through the apartment. Your heart leaped into your throat. This was it. You grabbed your bag, took a deep breath, and walked towards the door. Your hand trembled slightly as you reached for the handle. You opened the door, and there he was.

Kimi Antonelli, standing on your doorstep, looking impossibly handsome. He was wearing a suit, a dark, impeccably tailored suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and lean physique. But it was the absence of a tie that struck you. It was a subtle detail, but it somehow made him seem more approachable, more… vulnerable.

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile that lit up his face. "You ready?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

You could only nod, your voice caught in your throat. He held out his hand, and you took it, your fingers interlacing with his. His touch sent a wave of warmth through you, instantly calming your nerves.

"Where are we going?" you managed to ask, as he led you down the hallway.

"It's a surprise," he repeated, his eyes twinkling. "But I promise, you'll like it."

You didn't press him further. You were content to be in his presence, to feel the warmth of his hand in yours. You followed him out of the building and into a waiting car.

The drive was a blur. You were too busy stealing glances at Kimi, admiring the way the sunlight caught in his hair, the way his jaw was set with determination. He seemed focused, almost…nervous? It was an unfamiliar expression on his face, and it intrigued you.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, you leaned back in your seat and began to ask questions. "Where are we going, Kimi?" you inquired, your voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced at you with a mischievous smile before returning his gaze to the road. "You'll see," he teased, his eyes never leaving the horizon.

The car's engine hummed soothingly, lulling you into a gentle doze. The city streets had given way to the open road, and the scenery outside the window was a blur of green and brown. You felt your eyelids growing heavy, and despite the excitement bubbling within you, the lack of sleep from the previous night began to take its toll.

Kimi noticed your struggle and reached over, placing a gentle hand on your thigh. "You okay?" he asked, his thumb rubbing small, comforting circles.

You startled awake. "I'm fine," you lied, hoping he hadn't noticed the dark circles under your eyes. The truth was, you hadn't slept well last night, your mind racing with thoughts of him. The gentle sway of the car and the warmth of the afternoon sun had conspired to lull you into a state of drowsiness.

Kimi's hand remained on your thigh, his touch a comforting constant. You felt the heat of his palm through the fabric of your dress and the steady rhythm of his thumb against your skin. It was a small gesture, but it filled you with a warmth that spread through your body, dispelling the lingering fatigue. You leaned into it, savoring the sensation.

As the drive continued, the gentle thrumming of the engine became a lullaby, and despite your best efforts, your eyes grew heavy. The scenery outside the tinted windows blurred into a mosaic of light and shadow. You blinked, fighting off the seductive pull of sleep, but the quiet, rhythmic journey was too much to resist.

Kimi's hand remained on your thigh, his thumb continuing its hypnotic dance. The warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric of your dress, creating a soothing contrast to the coolness of the car's air conditioning. Your eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment, until you couldn't hold them open any longer. You leaned your head against the headrest, allowing sleep to claim you.

You didn't know how much time had passed when you were jolted awake by the car coming to a stop. You blinked rapidly, the world coming into focus once again.

You looked around, and for a moment, you thought you had slipped into a dream. The scenery outside the window didn't look like the bustling city streets of Imola you were used to. It didn't even look like the countryside surrounding the Imola racetrack, where Kimi had claimed victory just yesterday. It looked like… Verona.

The cobblestone streets, the ancient buildings bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, the scent of blooming flowers mingling with the faint aroma of freshly baked bread. It was like stepping into a memory, a painting come to life.

You turned to Kimi in shock, your hand flying to your mouth. "Verona?" you whispered, the word barely audible.

He nodded, his smile growing wider. "Surprise," he murmured, his eyes alight with mischief. "I thought it was time for a change of scenery. Something… romantic."

The word hung in the air, heavy with implication, and your heart skipped a beat. Was he really taking you on a romantic getaway? The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. You had never been the type to indulge in fairy tales, but with Kimi, everything felt possible.

He opened the car door for you, and as you stepped out, the cobblestones beneath your feet felt alive with the history of the city. The warmth of the setting sun kissed your skin, and the air was alive with the sounds of a place untouched by the modern world. You took a deep breath, filling your lungs with the intoxicating blend of antiquity and passion that seemed to pulse through the very air of Verona.

With a gentle tug, Kimi led you down an ancient path, his hand firm yet reassuring in yours. "Trust me," he said, his voice a soft whisper that seemed to resonate within you. He reached into his pocket and produced a velvet blindfold. "You have to wear this. You don't get to spoil the surprise," he grinned, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

What could he possibly have planned? The soft velvet of the blindfold brushed against your cheeks as he secured it around your eyes, plunging you into a world of darkness. Your other senses heightened, you felt the warmth of his breath on your neck as he leaned in to whisper, "Are you ready?"

You nodded, your pulse quickening. The anticipation was exquisite, a thrill you hadn't felt since that first kiss on the podium. He guided you through the unfamiliar streets of Verona, the cobblestones cool against the soles of your sandals.

With each step, your hand tightened in his. You could feel the tension in his fingers, the unspoken promise of something extraordinary waiting just around the corner. The sounds of the city grew distant, replaced by the steady thump of your own heart and the comforting echo of your footsteps in tandem with his.

You walked for a while before you stopped, the sudden cessation of movement surprising you. The air grew thick with anticipation as he gently tugged at the blindfold. You felt the warmth of his breath on your neck as he whispered, "Okay, you can open your eyes now."

Slowly, you lifted the velvet shroud, blinking as the light flooded back in. Your eyes widened as they adjusted to the scene before you. You were standing in a courtyard, surrounded by lush greenery and the sweet scent of blooming roses.

Directly in front of you was a large, ornate sign, painted in a whimsical script that read, "Vuoi essere la mia ragazza?" You felt your cheeks flush at the translation: "Do you want to be my girlfriend?"

Kimi's nervous smile grew even more pronounced as he watched your reaction, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand. The courtyard was lit with soft, twinkling lights strung from the branches of the trees overhead, casting a magical glow over the entire scene.

You took in the sight before you, the beauty of the moment sinking in. "Ever since I saw you trying so hard to study Italian," he began, his voice low and earnest, "I knew I had to help you, but I didn't know that I would fall in love with you that quickly." His words were like a caress, gentle yet firm, leaving no room for doubt or misunderstanding.

A warmth spread through your chest, filling you with a feeling of belonging that was both exhilarating and terrifying. You had studied Italian for so long, driven by an unexplainable fascination with the culture, the language, and the passion that seemed to pulse through every word. And now, here you were, standing in the heart of Verona, with the man who had unwittingly become the embodiment of that passion for you.

Kimi stepped closer, his hand still holding yours firmly. You could feel the calluses from his years of racing, a stark contrast to the velvety softness of your own skin. "I've watched you struggle with the pronunciation, the grammar," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "And I couldn't help but be drawn to your determination, your spirit."

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession. "But why me?" you asked, your voice barely audible. You felt like you were floating, suspended between reality and a dream.

"Your dedication, your passion," Kimi murmured, his thumb still tracing lazy circles on the back of your hand. "It's inspiring. And the way you light up when you get something right… it's like watching the sun rise over the racetrack." His grip tightened, his eyes searching yours.

You felt your heart flutter in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. The way he talked about your Italian studies was as if he were recounting the plot of a romance novel, and you were the heroine whose perseverance had captured the heart of the stoic protagonist. It was a feeling so foreign, so intoxicating, that you could hardly believe it was real.

"Yes," you murmured, your voice trembling slightly. The word felt like a declaration, a confession, a surrender to the whirlwind that had become your life.

Kimi's eyes searched yours, looking for the truth in your response. "I know it's fast," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But sometimes, when you know, you just know."

You felt a warmth spread through you, a warmth that was more than just the sun on your skin. It was the warmth of his words, the warmth of his touch, the warmth of his love. You knew you were falling for him too, and it was happening at a speed that defied logic, but somehow, it felt right. "I know," you said, your voice soft and sure. "I feel it too."

The courtyard was a whirlwind of sensation around you. The scent of the roses filled your nose, their velvety petals brushing against your bare arms as you stepped closer to him. The cobblestones felt rough and ancient beneath your sandals, a stark contrast to the smoothness of the dress that clung to your damp skin. The air was thick with anticipation, with the promise of something new and thrilling.

Kimi's eyes searched yours, a silent question hanging in the space between you. You felt your heart hammer in your chest, the thud of it echoing in your ears like the purr of a finely-tuned engine. His hand was still wrapped around yours, a silent declaration of intent. You knew what he was asking, what he wanted from you. And in that moment, you realized that you wanted it too.

"Eh," he began again, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the very air around you, "Vuoi essere la mia ragazza?" It was a simple question, yet it held the weight of the world. Will you be my girlfriend? The Italian words rolled off his tongue, a soft caress that seemed to ignite a fire in your veins.

You felt your heart stutter, your breath hitch. The question hung in the air, a delicate balance between hope and fear. Kimi's gaze bore into you, his eyes a stormy sea of emotion. The nervousness that flickered in those depths was endearing, a stark contrast to the cool confidence he exuded on the racetrack.

Slowly, you nodded. "Yes," you breathed, the word escaping on a sigh that seemed to carry with it all the unspoken moments between you, the shared glances, the stolen touches, the whispers of attraction that had grown into something more substantial.

Kimi's expression softened, his eyes warming as he leaned in closer. The world around you grew quieter, the sounds of the city fading into a gentle hum that melded with the beating of your hearts. His lips met yours in a kiss that was tender yet insistent, a silent declaration of his intentions. The warmth of his breath mingled with your own, and the sensation sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

As your arms snaked around his neck, you felt his hand tighten around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space between you. The fabric of his suit was smooth against your skin, a stark contrast to the roughened calluses of his palms. The buzzing warmth grew, enveloping you in a cocoon of sensation, making you feel as if you were floating.

His other hand found its way to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone in a gentle caress. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the steady thump of his heart matching the rhythm of your own. His scent was intoxicating, a blend of leather, engine oil, and victory, and it wrapped around you like a warm embrace.

As the kiss deepened, you felt a sudden pop, and then, there was confetti. It rained down around you, a shower of color and light that made you jump back in surprise. You pulled away from Kimi, staring up at the confetti floating above your heads like a cloud of pure joy. He chuckled, a low, delighted sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

"There's another present," Kimi murmured, his eyes glinting with excitement.

Before you could react, he turned you around with a gentle touch on the shoulders. You blinked in surprise as your eyes fell upon a sight that made your heart swell. There, standing in the courtyard, were your parents. They looked as shocked as you felt, their eyes wide with delight and disbelief.

Your mother, her hair a fiery halo around her face, had her hand pressed to her heart, a single tear tracing its way down her cheek. Your father, stoic yet beaming, had his arms open wide, ready to envelop you in a bear hug that spoke volumes of his pride and love.

"Mamma, Papà," you managed to murmur, your voice thick with emotion. Kimi's grip on your waist was the only thing keeping you upright.

The confetti continued to fall around you, a whimsical touch to an already surreal moment. Your mother rushed over, her eyes sparkling with joy. She wrapped you in an embrace that was all too familiar, her warmth and the scent of her perfume grounding you in reality. "Oh, my darling," she whispered in your ear, her words tinged with a hint of an Italian accent she had never lost despite moving to the United States before you were born. "I knew this man was special the moment you talked about him. And now, he brings us to Verona."

Your father's hug was next, his strong arms lifting you off the ground. "You've made us so proud," he murmured in your hair. "And not just because you're with a Formula One driver." His laughter was contagious, and you felt a weight lift from your chest.

Kimi's hand remained on your waist, his touch a comforting reminder of the new reality you were navigating. As you pulled away from your parents, you couldn't help but feel a bit overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events. You looked up at him, his brown eyes holding yours with a fierce intensity that made your heart race.

"How did you do this?" you asked, gesturing to the courtyard and the confetti that still danced in the air.

Kimi's smile was filled with the pride of a man who had just pulled off an impossible feat. "I have connections," he replied with a wink. His eyes searched yours, looking for the spark of wonder that you knew was reflected in your own. "And I wanted to make sure that when I asked you to be my girlfriend, it was a moment you would never forget."

The confetti continued to flutter around you, the gentle kiss of the breeze carrying the whisper of a thousand paper secrets. You reached up, plucking a piece from the air. It was a delicate pink square, with "Amore" written in flowing script. Love. The word seemed to encapsulate everything you felt in that moment.

"There's another surprise," Kimi grinned, his eyes glinting with excitement. Your heart raced. What could possibly top this? You looked around the courtyard, but nothing seemed out of place. The roses swayed gently in the breeze, the lights above you casting a warm glow on your skin.

"What could it be?" you asked, your voice a soft whisper that seemed to carry the weight of your anticipation.

"Only the best," Kimi assured you, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "I've booked a whole restaurant for you and your parents to catch up," he announced. "They've been dying to hear about your life, your work, your… everything."

The realization that your parents were here, in Verona, because of Kimi's thoughtfulness, brought a rush of emotion.

You felt your eyes well up with tears as you looked at the man standing before you, his hand still resting gently on your waist. The gesture was more than just a show of affection; it was a declaration of intent, a promise to support and cherish you. You knew then that this was no fleeting fling, no whirlwind romance destined to burn out as quickly as it had ignited. This was something real, something that could withstand the tests of time and distance.

As your parents approached, the reality of the situation sank in. Kimi had done all of this for you, had brought your worlds together in a way that was both beautifully romantic and utterly unexpected.

The restaurant was a hidden gem, tucked away down a narrow alleyway. The walls were a warm terracotta, adorned with ivy and fairy lights, giving it a cozy, intimate feel. The scent of garlic and tomatoes filled the air, mingling with the soft murmur of Italian conversation and the clinking of glasses.

The meal that followed was a feast for the senses. Each dish was a testament to the rich tapestry of Italian cuisine, a symphony of flavors that danced on your tongue. You could feel the love and care that had been poured into each morsel, the tender embrace of a culture that reveled in the joy of food and the company of those you shared it with. The wine flowed freely, and your cheeks grew flushed as the warmth of it spread through your body.

Throughout dinner, you watched Kimi as he chatted with your parents, his Italian accent thickening with his enthusiasm. The way he spoke about his passion for racing, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his love for the sport—it was infectious. You felt a swell of pride in him, in his dedication and his success, and you knew that he was the kind of man who would never stop pushing himself to be better.

The conversation flowed easily, a tapestry of languages and laughter. Your mother spoke of her own youth in Italy, her eyes sparkling as she recounted tales of her rebellious days that made you blush. Your father spoke of his love for your mother, their bond still strong after all these years, and you found yourself looking at Kimi, wondering if that could be you someday.

Kimi reached across the table, his hand finding yours. He laced his fingers through yours, the touch sending a jolt of electricity up your arm. The intertwining of your hands felt natural, as if your hands had been searching for this connection since the moment you had first laid eyes on each other.

You took a deep breath, feeling a sudden urge to speak in the language that had brought you so much closer to him. "Mamma, Papà," you began, your voice a soft caress as you spoke in Italian, "Kimi mi ha portato qui per dirvi qualcosa di speciale."

Your parents' expressions shifted from surprise to astonishment, their eyes widening as they took in your words. You had never fully learned Italian in all those years. Yet here you were, speaking fluently in the language of love and passion, all because of the man beside you.

"Mamma, Papà, Kimi mi ha insegnato l'italiano," you continued, a blush spreading across your cheeks as you revealed the secret. Kimi's grip on your hand tightened slightly, his eyes filled with admiration.

Your mother's hand flew to her chest, her eyes wide with shock and delight. "Davvero?" she exclaimed, her voice filled with incredulity. "Ma come?"

Your father's smile grew wider, his eyes glistening with pride. "È vero," Kimi said, his own Italian smooth and confident. "Tua figlia ha lavorato duramente. Voleva farvi una sorpresa."

You felt a thrill of excitement at the way your parents' gazes darted between you and Kimi, their astonishment clear. It was a moment you had never dreamed of, a moment where the two halves of your world collided in a beautiful mess of love and passion.

"Sí, mamma," you continued, your Italian rolling off your tongue with surprising ease. "Kimi mi ha mostrato il vero amore per l'italiano. Mi ha insegnato parole, frasi, mi ha raccontato storie."

Your mother's eyes sparkled with unshed tears as she took in the transformation before her. Your father leaned back in his chair, his hand on his chin, a proud smile playing on his lips.

"Incredibile," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You never cease to amaze us."

Your mother's grip on your hand tightened, her eyes brimming with tears of joy. "Che bella," she whispered, her voice filled with awe.

Kimi's thumb traced comforting circles on the back of your hand as you spoke, his eyes never leaving yours. The way he looked at you, with such admiration and love, made your heart swell in your chest. You had studied Italian for so long, but speaking it in front of your parents, with the man who had inspired you to finally master it, was a revelation.

Your mother's cheeks were flushed with emotion as she listened, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Mi dispiace," you said, switching to English. "I didn't mean to shock you. I just wanted to show you how much I've learned, and how much Kimi has helped me."

Your father leaned in, his gaze soft. "It's not every day you hear your daughter speaking Italian like a native," he said, his voice gruff with emotion. "It's… incredible."

You felt a lump form in your throat, the weight of their happiness pressing against your chest. "Thank you," you whispered, squeezing Kimi's hand. "It's all because of him."

"That's a story to tell your kids," your mom teased, wiping away a tear with the edge of her napkin. "You found love by Italian lessons?"

You couldn't help but laugh at the irony of it all. The journey that had started with a simple curiosity about a language had led you to the love of your life.

As the evening grew later, the conversation grew quieter, more intimate. You found yourself leaning closer to Kimi, the warmth of his body a comforting presence. His thumb continued to stroke the back of your hand, sending waves of pleasure up your arm, and you felt a sudden urge to kiss him.

Before you could act on the impulse, he leaned over and pressed his lips to your cheek. The softness of his touch, the gentle brush of his stubble against your skin, made you giggle involuntarily.

The sensation of his kiss lingered on your cheek, a warm imprint of his affection. You felt your cheeks flush as you turned to look at him, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "What's so funny?" he asked, his voice a low purr that seemed to vibrate through you.

"It's just… I wasn't expecting that," you replied, your voice a soft giggle. The gesture was so tender, so unexpectedly sweet, that it had caught you off guard. Kimi's smile grew, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "But I'm not complaining," you added hastily, feeling the blush deepen.

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours. "You know," he began, his voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to echo through the emptying restaurant, "I've had a lot of amazing moments in my life. Winning races, standing on podiums, living my dreams. But nothing… nothing has ever made me feel like this."

His thumb stopped its lazy circles, his hand stilling in yours. "You," he continued, his eyes searching yours with a depth that made your heart flutter, "are the best surprise I've ever had."

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt your cheeks burn. The room grew quiet around you, the whispers of the last diners fading into the background as you became lost in his gaze. Your eyes fell to your entwined hands, the stark contrast of your fair skin against his tanned, calloused fingers.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the words that had been hovering just beyond your lips for what felt like an eternity. "I love you, Kimi," you finally said, the words tumbling out in a rush of air.

Kimi's smile grew even brighter, his eyes lighting up like the stars that had just begun to peek through the inky sky above. "And I love you," he responded, his voice a soft caress that seemed to envelop you in a warm embrace.

The words hung in the air, a declaration that seemed to resonate through every atom of the universe. The love that had sparked between you during those Italian lessons had grown into a fiery inferno, and you were both lost in its embrace.

Kimi leaned in, capturing your lips with his, the kiss a sweet symphony of passion and promise.

You melted into the warmth of his embrace, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease away. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until there was no space between you.

"I'm glad I took those Italian lessons from you," you murmured against his chest, your voice muffled by his shirt.

Kimi's chuckle rumbled through him, his hand tightening around your waist. "They've served us both well," he said, his voice a velvety purr that sent shivers down your spine.

You leaned back into him, the scent of him enveloping you like a warm embrace. "More than you know," you murmured, your voice thick with unspoken desire.

The Italian language had become more than just a bridge between you—it was a secret language of love, a shared history that only the two of you could understand. . . .

---

the cat you didn't want | kimi räikkönen

୨ৎ : featuring : kimi raikkonen x reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : kimi says he doesn't want a cat... clearly kimi is lying.

୨ৎ : genre : fluff ୨ৎ : word count : 486

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

you didn’t exactly plan on bringing a kitten home. it just… happened. the little tabby was curled up outside the corner store in the rain, meowing like her life depended on it, and you—being you—couldn’t walk away.

kimi, however, was less than thrilled.

“i don’t like cats,” he had muttered flatly the moment you set the towel-wrapped bundle on the kitchen counter. “they scratch everything. they poop in a box. and they don’t even listen.”

you’d rolled your eyes and named her turbo out of spite.

for days, kimi kept his distance. he'd grumble whenever she got too close, mutter “great” under his breath when she knocked over something, and shoot you a pointed look every time he stepped on one of her toys.

but you weren’t blind.

you’d seen the way he paused in the hallway whenever she was napping on the windowsill. you’d heard him talking to her when he thought you were out of earshot—low, gruff sentences like, “you better not scratch my car seats,” and “why do you look like you pay rent?”

still, he insisted he didn’t like her.

which made it all the more hilarious when you came home early one afternoon and caught him red-handed.

the house was quiet. no tv. no music. just faint mumbling from the living room.

you rounded the corner and paused—blinking.

there was kimi. shirt slightly rumpled, socks mismatched, sprawled across the couch with turbo fast asleep on his chest.

worse? he was petting her. gently. absentmindedly. his fingers scratching just behind her ears while he whispered, “you’re lucky you’re small.”

you nearly burst out laughing.

“wow,” you said, biting back a grin. “you look so heartbroken about the cat situation.”

kimi’s head snapped up like you’d caught him committing a crime.

“i—she jumped up here.”

“right. and climbed your shirt and curled into your chest all on her own?”

he narrowed his eyes, but the kitten yawned—completely blowing his cover.

you walked over, plopped beside him, and poked his side. “you’re in love with her.”

“i am not,” he muttered, trying to adjust himself without disturbing her. “she’s warm. that’s all.”

“sure, kimi. just admit it. you like the cat.”

he looked at you. looked at the kitten. sighed like the weight of the world had hit him.

“maybe she’s… alright.”

you grinned. “aww. that’s finnish for ‘i love her more than life itself,’ isn’t it?”

he glared, but it was useless—especially when turbo nuzzled his jaw and started purring like an engine.

you leaned over and kissed his cheek. “you’re both lucky i brought her home.”

kimi rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. instead, he pulled you in with his free arm, now holding you and the cat in one sleepy pile.

he mumbled something in finnish under his breath, and you couldn’t help but smile.

grumpy. soft. completely whipped.

you, him, and the kitten he definitely didn’t want.

perfect little family.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

---

pole position

Lando Norris x Y/N

Summary: Lando does his best to teach his girlfriend how to drive — like a winner.

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: swearing

“No, Lando.”

“Please, baby,” Lando practically whines, ignoring the others in the room. “It’s just a quick shoot for the collab merch. In and out. I swear.”

Across the room, Max and his girlfriend P exchange an amused glance, barely holding back their laughter. For the past 20 minutes, they’ve been silent witnesses to Lando’s full-on groveling session — all to convince Y/N to take part in some new Quadrant content in Japan for their Liberty Walk collab.

Y/N shifts on the sofa, arms crossed. “Lan… I don’t know. I get so awkward doing stuff like that.”

“That’s why it’s perfect!” he insists, scooting closer until he’s basically backed her into the corner of the couch. “You don’t have to say anything or act. Just wear the merch, come to the car meet with me, let them snap a few pics, shoot a quick video. That’s it.”

“If it helps,” Max chimes in, lifting a brow, “P and I are filming too. We’ll be there the whole time.”

Y/N hesitates, her expression shifting. “I just…” she trails off, then drops her voice, “Do you want to know the real reason I don’t want to?”

Lando’s face softens. “Of course.”

“It’s the comments. Every time I’m in one of your videos or posts, people say stuff. About me, about us, and I—”

“Baby,” Lando says gently, reaching out to take her hand in both of his. “I don’t give two fucks about what people say. You know that, right? This is a big deal for me, and I want you there. With me.”

She looks into his eyes — all bright and hopeful and full of that boyish charm that always ruins her resolve. She lets out a slow breath.

“Alright,” she says with a soft smile, nodding.

Lando’s entire face lights up. “Yes!” he shouts, yanking her into a hug and nearly knocking her off the couch.

“Should’ve asked for something in return,” Max chuckles, leaning back with a grin.

“Damn,” Y/N says, raising an eyebrow as she pulls back slightly. “I should’ve, huh?”

Lando rolls his eyes at Max, then turns back to her. “Anything you want, my love.”

“Really?” she grins, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Yeah. Go on.”

“I kinda want a baby blue Miata,” she says sweetly, almost too innocently.

Lando scoffs and flops back onto the couch. “Baby, you can’t even drive.”

“Excuse me?” she gasps. “Yes, I can!”

“You can,” P jumps in, “but you don’t.”

“Only because Lando insists on driving every single time,” she shoots back.

“Because you freaked out the last time we hit the highway!” Lando laughs.

“That was one time!” she protests. “Maybe if I had a baby blue Miata, I’d want to drive more.”

Lando narrows his eyes at her, then grins. “Mmm... deal.”

Y/N laughs, patting his thigh affectionately. “I’m kidding, Lan. I’ll do the Japan thing. Promise.”

Max shakes his head, “Would've pressed him harder for that Miata, though. Just saying”

-------------------------------------------------

Lando had been out running last-minute errands before their flight to Japan the next day, leaving Y/N alone in their apartment. Now, she sat cross-legged on the floor of their closet, half-buried in a mountain of clothes, determined to pack everything perfectly. She was methodically rolling her shirts, one by one, stacking them neatly into the open suitcase beside her.

“Baby?” Lando’s voice called out from the hallway, followed by the familiar clink of his keys landing in the bowl near the front door.

“Bedroom!” she shouted back without looking up, still deep in her folding groove.

She heard his footsteps make their way through the apartment until he finally appeared in the doorway. When she glanced up, her hands paused mid-roll — Lando was grinning like a kid up to no good.

Her brows furrowed suspiciously. “What?”

“What?” he echoed innocently, settling down on the floor across from her.

“That look on your face…” she said slowly, narrowing her eyes. “What did you do?”

Lando shrugged, still wearing that mischievous smirk. “So, you know how we leave for Japan tomorrow night?”

“Mmhm,” she hummed, not looking up this time as she resumed folding.

“And how you so kindly agreed to come to the Quadrant event with me,” he added, voice casual.

She glanced at him again, more suspicious now. “Where is this going, Norris?”

“Just fulfilling a promise,” he said with a dramatic little bite of his lip, reaching behind him and pulling out a small paper bag.

Y/N stared at it as he placed it in front of her. “I’m scared.”

Lando laughed. “Just open it, you muppet.”

Still side-eyeing him, she reached into the bag and pulled out a small black box wrapped with a ribbon. She looked from the box to him, her stomach fluttering a little with curiosity.

Slowly, she untied the ribbon and flipped open the lid — her breath catching the moment her eyes landed on the contents.

“No…” she whispered.

Inside was a single key, the Mazda emblem shining in the light.

“It’s baby blue,” Lando grinned. “Just like you wanted.”

Her jaw dropped. “Shut up. You didn’t!”

“I did,” he laughed, watching her with pure delight. “It’s downstairs. Paperwork’s sorted and everything.”

“You’re fucking mental,” she said, wide-eyed, before launching herself at him. She tackled him into a tight hug, knocking them both back onto the soft carpet of the closet as they dissolved into laughter.

“Ow,” Lando wheezed through his smile, arms wrapped tightly around her. “Come on then—let’s take it out for a test drive.”

--------------------------------------------------

Lando sat in the passenger seat, turned slightly toward Y/N with a soft smile on his face. He watched her in silence, soaking in her excitement as she ran her fingers along the dashboard, adjusted the mirror for the fifth time, and looked around the interior like she couldn’t quite believe it was real. He’d already filmed a few clips on his phone — mostly of her gawking at the car like it was a newborn puppy.

“You really like it, huh?” he smirked, breaking the silence.

Y/N turned to him, eyes wide and a dramatic pout on her lips. “I fucking love it, Lan. This is insane. I love you.”

Lando chuckled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. “I love you too, baby. But, uh… we’ve been sitting here for like ten minutes now. Think we could maybe… I dunno, drive it?”

“Oh—right!” she laughed, quickly reaching for her seatbelt and clicking it into place. “Okay, okay. Focus.”

He watched as she adjusted her seat, then mumbled under her breath, “Okay… brake is here… this one’s the gas…”

Lando snorted. “Fuck, I knew I should’ve worn a helmet.”

She shot him a glare and smacked his arm.

“Ow!” he yelped, clutching the spot dramatically. “I was kidding, my love! Come on, you’ll be fine.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, then took a deep breath and put her hands on the wheel, her expression shifting into determination — though the slight panic in her eyes was still very much there.

“You ready?” she asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Lando said with a teasing grin. “Let’s see what this baby blue beast can do.”

Y/N hit the gas a little too enthusiastically, and the car jolted forward.

“Jesus!” Lando yelped, gripping the door handle. “Okay, not that much throttle, Max Verstappen.”

Y/N burst out laughing. “Sorry! Sorry! I got excited!”

“Just… ease into it, yeah?” he said, trying not to smile. “You drive like someone who just got signed by Red Bull and forgot they’re in a Miata.”

“Shut up,” she grinned, easing off the gas as they finally rolled out of the lot. “You bought me the car, now deal with the consequences.”

Lando laughed, eyes still on her — completely in love, even if slightly terrified.

“You gotta relax a bit, baby,” Lando said gently, glancing over at her. “Come on, you know this road — we drive through it all the time.”

Y/N’s jaw was tight, eyes laser-focused on the road ahead, and her knuckles were practically turning white from how hard she was gripping the wheel. “No, Lando,” she sighed, breath shaky. “You drive here all the time. I just sit in the passenger seat, stare out the window, and yap about random shit.”

He tried to hide his smile. “Fair point.”

She took a deep breath in, then out, trying to shake the tension from her shoulders.

“Just look straight ahead, my love,” Lando said softly, his voice calm as his eyes scanned the road. “You’re doing so good.”

“I’m gonna do a Monaco lap,” she mumbled, half-joking.

Lando’s face lit up like a little kid. “Ooooh,” he grinned, sitting up straighter. “What a clean first sector from Y/N L/N! She’s now approaching the iconic hairpin—can she nail it?”

Y/N burst into a laugh but kept her hands steady, guiding the car through the turn with a little more confidence than before.

“There it is! Smooth through the hairpin!” Lando shouted in his best commentator voice, leaning toward the windshield dramatically. “This is vintage Y/N — calm under pressure, minimal tyre degradation!”

She laughed again, the nerves beginning to melt away the farther they got from their apartment.

"How's my pace?" she asks, playing along

"Pace looks good Y/N, let's keep it clean" he responds

Lando stayed quiet when she needed to focus but tossed in bits of advice here and there. She was settling into it now — her grip on the wheel loosening, posture relaxing, her head even bobbing a little to the radio.

As they neared the end of the block — their self-declared “finish line” — Lando couldn’t help himself. He pulled his phone out, already hitting record with a grin.

“Y/N L/N now approaching the finish line!” he exclaimed, holding his phone toward her. “Can she take pole position?!”

Y/N giggled, keeping her eyes on the road. “Shut up, Lando.”

“And it’s pole position for Y/N!” he shouted triumphantly. “What a stellar lap! Purple sectors across the board!

Y/N laughed so hard she nearly missed the turn.

“You’re an idiot,” she grinned, cheeks pink from laughter and pride.

“I’m your idiot,” he said, still recording her.

“And apparently my race engineer.”

“Damn right,” Lando grinned. “We’ve gotta get you a seat now, my love.”

“Oh yeah? I heard McLaren’s looking for a new teammate for Oscar,” Y/N teased, glancing at him with a smirk.

Lando snorted, squeezing her hand. “Okay, maybe not my seat.”

She laughed, intertwining her fingers with his as the city blurred softly around them, late afternoon light filtering through the buildings, casting golden streaks on the dash.

They drove for a while like that, quiet moments filled with warmth and shared glances, her confidence behind the wheel growing with every block.

“You’re actually doing amazing, you know that?” Lando said after a few minutes, voice soft and full of pride.

Y/N looked over, smile tugging at her lips. “It’s the co-driver. He’s kinda cute.”

“Just ‘kinda’?” he grinned.

She shrugged playfully. “He’s growing on me.”

---