I HATE THE NEW RULES WTF IS THIS, FIA YOU'RE THE WORST I HATE U

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𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐝 | oscar piastri × fem!reader

summary | you meet oscar by chance, and one race turns into something much more

warnings | fluff, mild swearing, romantic tension, kissing

word count | 1.1 k

You were never someone obsessed with racing drivers. You didn’t collect posters, you didn’t know the names of every circuit, and you never imagined yourself dreaming about gasoline and adrenaline. But it only took one race to change everything. For him to change everything. Oscar Piastri.

At first, it was casual. You were at a friend’s house watching the Monaco Grand Prix just to be polite. And there he was—calm, young, with a kind of presence that doesn’t scream for attention but is impossible to ignore.

You started following him. At first under the excuse of “trying to understand the sport.” Then it was interviews, then TikToks. Then came the secret Twitter account for updates, and finally your first live race. Silverstone.

The air smelled of burnt rubber and excitement. Your hands were trembling. You had won a McLaren giveaway for an exclusive meet & greet. You didn’t know what to say to him, how to act, whether to smile or freeze completely.

And then you saw him.

He saw you.

Oscar was talking to someone from the press when your eyes met. It wasn’t the look of a star at a fan. It was fleeting, curious... as if he too was wondering if he’d seen you before.

“First time in the paddock?” he asked when it was finally your turn. His Australian accent was even more charming in person.

You nodded. You swallowed hard. You weren’t sure whether to shake his hand or just stand there awkwardly. You somehow did both.

“I’m Oscar,” he said, like you didn’t already know exactly who he was.

“I know,” you replied, and instantly regretted how obvious it sounded.

He smiled. That kind of smile that shows up when someone wins a silent battle. And you noticed how his gaze lingered on you just a little longer than it should have.

“Are you enjoying the race?” he asked.

“Very much. Though… I still don’t fully understand the strategies. Sometimes I just hope you don’t crash.”

He laughed. A genuine, soft laugh.

“Well, that’s what I’m hoping for too.”

Before he said goodbye, he took your cap. And with a marker, he wrote on the brim:

"For the girl who made me laugh before the race. O.P."

He handed it back with a wink.

You went home with your heart racing faster than any car on the track.

You didn’t expect more. It was a moment. A fleeting second among thousands. But a month later, you got a notification:

@oscarpiastri followed you.

And then a message.

Oscar P.: “Would you like to come to Monza as a McLaren guest? I’ve got a spare pass…”

You nearly dropped your phone. You hesitated. Was it real? Was it a mistake?

But you went. Of course you went.

Monza, Italy.

The speed of the cars didn’t compare to the speed of your heart as you stepped into the McLaren hospitality. And there he was, dressed in team gear, relaxed, as if he’d been waiting for you.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” he said, adjusting his earpiece.

“I thought it was a joke,” you admitted, shrugging.

He smiled. This time, slower. More… interested?

“What do you think now?”

“Now I’m worried I might be enjoying this more than I should.”

There was a silence that hung between you, but it wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Like he felt something too, something neither of you could quite name.

The race was a whirlwind. You watched him drive, watched him gain positions, watched him so far away and yet somehow so close.

And at the end, when he returned to the hospitality still sweaty from the race and buzzing with adrenaline, the first thing he did was look for you.

“Did you like it?” he asked.

“A lot. Although…” you hesitated. “I think what I liked the most was seeing you happy.”

Oscar blinked. Then looked down, almost like he was trying to hide something.

“Want to go for a walk tonight?” he asked. “No F1. Just you and me. Italian pizza and a city that doesn’t sleep.”

You felt like the ground was disappearing under your feet.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I’d love to.”

That night.

Monza under the lights was magical, but walking beside him made it feel even more surreal. You talked about everything and nothing. About what he liked to cook when he wasn’t racing. About your favorite books. About how strange it is to have thousands of people watching you, but still feel alone.

“Sometimes I feel like no one really knows me,” he confessed, sitting beside you on a bench. “Everyone sees me as the driver. The quiet guy. But they don’t know who I am when the helmet comes off.”

You looked at him. Not like a fan. Not like someone who idolized him from a screen. You looked at him like someone who had felt that too—the weight of pretending to be okay.

“I want to know you,” you said, almost without thinking.

Oscar looked at you. This time, with no walls. No filters.

He leaned in.

And when his lips brushed yours, there were no fireworks. There was peace. There was that feeling of everything falling into place.

“I don’t care if this is weird,” he murmured. “But with you, for the first time in a long time… I don’t feel alone.”

He kissed you again. Slow. Gentle. And you knew no podium would ever compare to that moment.

Days later…

The relationship became the perfect blend of secret and sincerity. You didn’t tell anyone. You didn’t need to. There were glances exchanged at circuits. Messages at midnight. Calls between training sessions. And even though you weren’t a driver, every time you were with him, it felt like you were racing toward something worth it.

One night, before another big race, he wrapped his arms around you from behind as you stared at the lights of the paddock.

“What are we?” you asked softly.

Oscar rested his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re my escape. My calm. And if you want… we can be something more.”

“Something like what?”

“Like what no one finds on a racetrack. What you don’t win with speed, but with time.”

You turned around, looked at him. And for the first time, without fear, you said:

“Then let’s take that time. But promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“That when you finish a race… the first thing you’ll do is look for me in the crowd.”

Oscar smiled. He kissed your forehead.

“Always.”

Missing You Part 2! Sebastian Vettel x Reader

For my Sebastian Anon, I hope you enjoy! Requests are open, so Ask away!! (This is from Charles's POV/Sebastian's POV)

To say that Sebastian had attempted to not drive the boys mad was... A statement that could be made... Was it truthful? No. Not in any source of the word. From the moment Charles began suggesting things to do, Sebastian would interject with comments on how Y/N would have loved doing it. Had Charles not been dealing with this behavior for a week from Sebastian, he would have thought it was cute that his mentor was this in love. Right now, it was just annoying Charles. But he was trying his hardest not to lose his mind as he quickly glanced at his phone wondering if Y/N had checked her messages yet. Sadly, she hadn't. Charles was still on delivered. "I need help..." Charles mumbled.

With the message sent to Lewis, Charles prayed to whoever was listening that Lewis could help him. Or, at least provide Sebastian with more than Charles was currently doing. Y/N still hadn't read her message, and Charles was trying not to panic about that. If Sebastian wasn't panicking about Y/N yet, it meant that he had been in touch with her recently. He certainly didn't want to ask if Sebastian was talking to her. He didn't want to open that can of worms. Yet, life didn't feel the same. It wanted to torture Charles.... (SEB POV) Sebastian sighed as he turned to Charles, unaware of the two conversations that Charles had while he was lost in his thoughts about Y/N and what she was doing without him while he was stuck racing on her birthday. He was usually so good about celebrating her birthday with her before the races, if one was scheduled. But time had simply got away from Sebastian this time. It made him feel soo small. "Do you think Y/N will forgive me for being away? I know I got her gifts, balloons, flowers... But it's not the same as being here with me, or there with her, you know?" Sebastian asked Charles. Seemingly forgetting who he was speaking too. It was Charles, the chronically single member of the grid. Well, that was a lie, but Sebastian wasn't in the right state of mind to focus on it. "Oh mon Dieu" Charles exclaimed, making Sebastian arch his eyebrow as he looked down at the young Monégasque driver. Slightly offended by Charles's reaction. "It's a valid question! I am here! She is there!" It was at this moment that Sebastian's phone went off making him look down, his eyes growing wide as a smile spread across his face and his fingers quickly tapped against the screen to open the message

Part 3?! Or end it here?!

I need a r2d2

y/n: but look at him! He is soo cutee, should we adopt him? *rise the kitten*

anakin: we still have R2D2, we can't have another pet

r2d2: *angry robotic noises*

Challenge de Escritura

Pelea

si quieres leerlo en ao3

Naeve y Kylo, la pareja que el reino respetaba y adoraba. Quienes se amaban con profundidad, y guiaban a sus súbditos con respeto, no siempre fueron una pareja comunicativa, aunque esos tiempos quedaron atrás y la gente se había olvidado lo que era escuchar a los Reyes gritar. 

—¡Al menos deberías cuidarte a ti misma!

—¿Y qué quieres que haga?—exclamó Naeve moviendo los brazos—¿Que abandone mis responsabilidades por unos rasguños? No seas ridículo, Kylo. Tu no dejas tu puesto incluso si te han acuchillado.

—¡Pero yo soy un soldado, Naeve!—Kylo pasó su mano por su pelo suspirando y apoyándose en la cama—Además, no es eso lo que me molesta. 

—¿Entonces qué es? Porque no te entiendo y en serio estas frustrándome—Naeve puso sus brazos en su cintura con el ceño fruncido. El silencio de su esposo la hizo resoplar—Bien, me voy. No voy a aguantar tus actos de niño caprichoso. 

Naeve camino hacia la salida de la habitación, acomodándose la ropa abrió la puerta chasqueando la lengua, con una presión en su pecho, odiaba cuando Kylo la hacía ser la víctima. Su cuerpo fue agarrado por detrás apenas cruzó un paso al corredor, y la puerta fue cerrada en un estruendo. La joven terriblemente enojada empezó a golpear al hombre, que ni siquiera emitió un sonido, era un soldado fuerte pero Naeve no quería admitirlo en ese momento. 

—¡Suéltame, ya no quiero hablar contigo!—golpeó con su codo las costillas de Kylo, e intentó liberarse pero este hizo que ambos se tiraran a la cama en un movimiento ridículo para un soldado, rápidamente Kylo agarró las frazadas caras de la cama matrimonial y envolvió a Naeve en ellas. 

—Entonces, hablaré yo—los brazos de su esposo no la dejaban ni moverse—Amor, no puedo sentirme tranquilo si sé que no confías en mí para decirme si te lastimas. Sé que no puedo protegerte siempre, y sé que tampoco me dejarías hacerlo. Sin embargo, no puedo evitar sentirme ansioso si tengo que descubrir que estas lastimada por una simple casualidad. 

Kylo no solia ser tan detallista en expresar sus sentimientos, sin embargo, esos ojos oscuros que brillaban con súplica le aguaron el corazón. 

—Maldita sea, Kylo—Naeve cerró los ojos—¿No podías decir eso antes de que me enojara tanto? Ahora me siento mal por ocultarlo. 

—Lo siento—susurró su esposo abrazándola aun cubierta con las mantas. 

—Sin embargo, te lo hubiera dicho si no actúaras como si fuera a darte un paro cardíaco cada vez que ves una gota de mi sangre.

si el bebé es de franco es para hacer la mejor obra de teatro del mundo

love is a broken door

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!reader

word count: 1.8k

summary: fluff. in which broken doors don’t stand a chance against your boyfriend.

warning(s): hurt comfort, reader gets a bruise, some insecurities from carlos

“Damnit! Not again.” You groan, catching the attention of your boyfriend in the next room. It was no surprise that he was standing in front of you in a matter of seconds, before you could even open your eyes after tensing up from the pain throbbing in your arm.

“All good?” Carlos questions, concern clear in his expression and his tone of voice. “What happened?”

“Yes, it’s just this stupid door again.”

His eyes widen, drifting to where you clutched your arm with your other hand as you lean back against the bathroom counter. Out of instinct, he all but lunges closer towards you to take a closer look at the bruise that’s forming.

He hesitates before touching it, until you give him a consenting nod to which he runs his fingers over your swollen skin ever so gently. Carlos may have been a tough guy by trade, but he always regards you with the utmost tender loving care.

“What did the door do? How did this happen?”

“It’s alive or something, I swear. Every time I open this door it never stays open, it sways to about halfway shut. I’ve been forgetting, so when I turn around, I accidentally run into it.”

Carlos frowns, his beautiful brown eyes meeting yours with a plea. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve fixed it for you.”

You sigh, rubbing your arm soothingly. “It’s okay, babe. I know you’re busy and I don’t want to bother you with little things.”

“You’re never bothering me, amor. No problem of yours is little, I want to help you.” You kiss his lips reassuringly, hoping that his concerns will fade away.

“It’s not a big deal. In the meantime I’ll just have to watch where I’m going, no worries.”

“No, worries!” Carlos fires back, taking your hands in his before staring you in the eyes. He wants– no, needs you– to know he’s sincere about this. “What kind of man would I be if I let my woman stand in harm’s way, hm?” You giggle, surprised at how serious he’s taking this. You don’t miss the small smile he gives you in return.

“You mean stand in the door’s way? Get it, because it’s a doorway?” His now deadpan expression causes you to crack up even further, he’s clearly unamused with your jokes. “The door is not to blame for my lack of spatial awareness, honey. I promise you, I’m fine and unharmed.”

“Whatever you say, amor.” Carlos surrenders, eyeing you suspiciously. He welcomes another kiss from you before you leave the house, off to run the errands you were originally on your way to do before running into that stubborn bathroom door.

Of course he trusts your word, and he certainly trusts your capability to fix whatever needs fixing at home. But he can’t shake the nagging feeling in his gut that feels an awful lot like guilt.

He loves his career, and your support of him even more, except the part where he has to miss out on the little things. The ordinary, mundane things that happen in your life that he won’t get to know about or experience with you. The little things you won’t bother to tell him because you think he has more important things going on.

Another part of him feels silly for taking it as seriously as he is, but he also knows that the door represents only the surface of the issue that’s really bothering him. Surely he can tell by the way his stomach is turning at the thought of not being around for you as often as he should be. He knows you don’t hold it against him. But he also knows you two don’t have the most settled of lives either. When he overhears your best friend rave to you about the latest thing her boyfriend did for her, he wonders if you’re longing for the same stability.

He wonders what you say about him when it’s your turn to share, no matter how extravagant the gifts or the vacations or the experiences are that you two have shared together. He wonders if that’s really enough.

Carlos takes one good look at the door that’s taunting his insecurities. It makes a creaking sound as it swings halfway shut after he opens it, almost hitting his own shoulder as it did yours moments prior.

–

When you return home it’s quiet, and to your surprise the lights are off in the kitchen. Usually around this time when Carlos isn’t traveling, he’ll be in there perfecting his latest recipe, letting you have first dibs on tasting the food before he shows it off to his family and friends.

“Honey, I’m home!” You sing-song, to which you don’t hear a response. His car was in the garage, so he had to be here. Maybe he opted for a quick nap after his workout?

You quietly tip-toe up the stairs hoping that if he is asleep, you didn’t just wake him up. When you enter your bedroom, it’s a relief to see light shining from the doorway that connects your en-suite.

And if you weren’t surprised at the sight before you, you would’ve been entirely turned on by it. There stood your boyfriend, focused as ever with a drill in one hand and the door held upright with the other. The veins of his arms were especially prominent and he bit his lip in concentration.

“Carlos?”

His eyes glance towards you, startling him, nearly causing him to drop the door that was only partially attached to its hinges. He lets out a breathy laugh, clutching his heart to emphasize the shock he’s in, so engrossed in his project that he didn’t even hear you enter. “Mi amor, you scared me. When did you get home?”

“I got home a while ago.” You muse, walking into the bathroom to see him up close. “But I wouldn’t mind admiring you for a little bit longer.”

He raises his eyebrows, smirking devilishly as your hands trace the muscles of his body over the shirt he’s wearing. “You like what you see?”

“Had I known you look so sexy fixing doors I might’ve just started breaking them.” You make it a point to let your eyes roam before making eye contact with him again. “And it’s not too late, you know. It’s never too late.”

“Before you start on that rampage, can I at least finish fixing this one first?”

“As long as I can watch.” You tease, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

“Be my guest, amor.” Carlos whispers in your ear, giving you a soft kiss on the cheek.

You hop up on the counter, swinging your legs with delight. He focuses once again, inspecting the lines on his beam level to make sure that his drilling will be accurate.

His dark hair is messy and his forehead shines with the sheenest layer of sweat. You can’t help but marvel at how good he looks in the bathroom lighting. So good, that you really do start to consider breaking doors in the house if it means you can see him like this all the time.

Your heart warms at the fact that he’s doing this just for you. This isn't the Carlos Sainz that’s working tirelessly to make his team or his fans proud of him, just you. At the end of the day, that’s all he needs.

He finishes securing the last couple screws before stepping back, nodding his head as he examines his work. He looks your way to see if you’re paying attention, and sure enough you are. He opens the door all the way, and watches you light up when it actually stays put where it’s supposed to.

“See, mi amor? Good as new.” He strides towards where you’re sitting on the counter. Carlos runs his thumb across your bruised shoulder before pressing soft kisses to the swollen skin. “You’ll never have this again.” His lips trail in a circle of kisses around your shoulder and then up your neck, stopping just below your ear.

Butterflies erupt inside your body and your heart warms for the man before you. “Thank you, my love. You’re always looking out for me.”

He shrugs, giving you a soft smile. “I try.”

Your dreamy stare falters slightly, sensing a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “You always do, there’s no doubt about it.”

It’s his turn to feel the butterflies erupt in place of the uneasiness that’s still lingering from earlier. He’s amazed at how with just one look from you, he’s reassured that you’re meant to be together. “I just want to be there for you like you deserve, I hope you know that I’d give you the world if I could.”

“Carlos…” You murmur, taking his hands in yours. “As far as I’m concerned, when we’re together, the world doesn’t even exist.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t. But I know I’m away a lot of the time and it’s not easy for either of us. It’s not what you signed up for.”

“I signed up to love you, no matter where we are in the world. The distance is just a small part of that, always has been. And if we’re apart or not, nothing will stop me from cherishing our life together. I’m thinking of the big picture, when I can tell our grandkids that their abuelo found time to fix a broken door between racing around the world 24 weekends a year.”

Carlos smiles at your words, almost getting lost in the thought of you two growing old together, imagining the family that you two will create together someday. He’s happy to know that your dreams look alike. “Hopefully they’ll be impressed.”

“Trust me, they will be.” Your arms wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His hands cling to your hips in response. “Most people in your position would’ve just hired someone to fix it, but you personally made sure I won’t have to worry about it anymore. Every time that I don’t run into the door, I’ll have you to thank instead.”

He leans forward, kissing you with a familiar passion that never fails to catch you off guard. “You’ll always have me, mi amor.”

You kiss him once again, showing him the same affection in return. Your eyes find each other and you can’t help but smile at the comfort that consumes you. “You’ll always have me, too.”

💌: i didn’t know how to end this lol. reblogs are greatly appreciated! thank you for reading :)

♡ Max "If It Weren't For The Baby" Verstappen | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Max and George show no signs of stopping anytime soon and poor y/n is stuck between a rock and a hard place. but soon things escalate when Max accidentally opens his big mouth.

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

y/n_russell posted:

y/n_russell: Habibi come to Abu Dhabi✨

Comments:

user: SHE’S BACK, EVERYBODY STAY CALM!!! 🔥🔥🔥 user: MOTHER RETURNED TO THE GRID AND IT SHOWS. user: Abu Dhabi isn’t ready for her!! 😍 user: Not to be messy, but is that a bump or just the angle? 👀

user: Delete this before you embarrass yourself further. 🙄 user: You do realize that’s body-shaming, right? Yikes. user: Maybe it’s just the dress, maybe it’s none of our business. Either way—don’t. user: Imagine logging onto the internet just to get ratio’d in the comments. Couldn’t be me.

georgerussell63: Wow. 2 whole photo in front of Lewis’s garage? Feeling betrayed right now.

y/n_russell: omg george, do you want me to write "george is my favorite" on my forehead or something? relax. georgerussell63: I’m just saying, where’s the support? y/n_russell: maybe if your garage didn’t feel like the waiting room at a dentist’s office, I’d consider it. georgerussell63: That’s because we’re professional. y/n_russell: nah, it’s because you have the personality of unseasoned chicken. user: 💀💀💀 SHE CAME FOR HIS LIFE.

user: MAX. LIKED. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN.

user: Not Max creeping in the shadows like that. George, sweetie, you seeing this? user: Netflix doesn’t even need to make a script this season. The show’s writing itself.

landonorris: MOTHER.

y/n_russell: 🔪🔪🔪 user: The knives are out. Lando, RUN.

lewishamilton: Always great to have you around. Thanks for showing up and supporting me this weekend. Much love ❤️

y/n_russell: Wouldn’t miss it for the world, you know I’m rooting for you Lew! Big things ahead 💪🏽

f1teaspill posted:

f1teaspill: Okay, F1 fans, we’ve got a hot one for you! Max Verstappen and George Russell’s sister, Y/n, were spotted on a hotel balcony together, and it’s seriously got people talking. 👀 Y/n was supposed to be at a totally different hotel with George, so why is she with Max—especially with all the drama going down between them? 🤔

Is there something going on between these two? Or is Y/n just making it clear that she’s Team Max in this ongoing feud? You know we’ll be watching this one unfold closely... 🔥

Comments:

user: Yooo, what’s going on here?! Y/n is in Max’s hotel?? 😳

user: Is this a secret relationship or is Y/n just picking sides? I need answers!! 😬

user: So Y/n's team Max now? This is messy. 👀

user: Max and Y/n are lowkey dating and no one’s telling us?! I need the receipts ASAP. 😩🔥

user: Sis really out here with Max?? I can’t believe this. George is gonna flip. 😬

user: Okay, but like... is she betraying George by cozying up with Max right now? Or is she just done with the drama? 👀

user: Nah, this can’t be real. She’s out here looking all comfy with Max while George is literally her brother?? What kind of betrayal is this? 😱

user: Is this the kind of power move we’re witnessing?? Y/n dropping George for Max?? 🤯💥

user: Ok, but lowkey, I ship them so hard. Max and Y/n would make the hottest couple. 🔥🔥

user: No, fr. Max and Y/n are EVERYTHING. They look so good together, I’m lowkey obsessed. 😍👀 user: Can we just take a minute to appreciate how they’re literally radiating chemistry? I don’t care if they’re not dating—they should be. 😩💅

user: The way she’s just chilling with Max tho... George must be somewhere crying right now. 🤣💀

f1teaspill posted:

f1teaspill: “If it weren’t for the baby.” Three words that sent the paddock and the internet into absolute mayham today after Max Verstappen dropped the bomb during an interview. 👶💣

Fans are already in detective mode, dissecting every second of this wild moment. Whose baby? Is Max a secret dad? And what does George Russell have anything to do with it?

Interview Transcript:

Journalist: Max, earlier this week George Russell referred to you as a “bully” in his recent comments. Do you have any thoughts on that?

Max: (chuckles awkwardly) Well, you know, George always has something to say. I’m not going to get into it.

Journalist: But do you think his characterization of you is fair?

Max: (sighs) Look, I’m just here to race. I’m not interested in petty drama.

Journalist: It doesn’t seem like George is letting it go anytime soon. Are you planning to address it with him directly?

Max: (visibly annoyed) I really don’t see the point in—

Journalist: But isn’t it important to clear the air, especially since the tension is so public now?

Max: (snapping) If it weren’t for the baby, I wouldn’t even bother trying to make peace with him!

(A beat of stunned silence. Max’s eyes widen in realization.)

Journalist: The… baby? What baby? Max, can you clarify—

(Max mutters something under his breath and walks off, leaving the journalist baffled.)

Comments:

user: BABY???? HELLO? MAX, EXPLAIN YOURSELF.

user: What baby, Max?! WHOSE BABY?! I haven’t been this confused since Abu Dhabi 2021.

user: Can someone please check if Max even knows what he said? He looked so panicked when he walked off.

user: “If it weren’t for the baby”??? Sir, we’re not in Panem; calm down.

user: Peeta Verstappen has entered the chat. Someone hand him a loaf of bread. user: Peeta Mellark walked so Max Verstappen could run user: I just KNOW someone’s editing Max into a Peeta scene as we speak. Can’t wait.

user: Okay but what baby would involve George? George is childless?

user: Guys, hear me out: What if Max is secretly dating George’s sister? That’s the ONLY way a baby ties them together. user: Nah, there’s no way. George would’ve punched Max into next week already. user: Okay but think about it. Max. George’s sister. A baby. Uncle George. THIS IS LORE. user: I’m just saying, George’s sister has been looking very glow-y lately… 👀 user: Not a theory, just facts: Max is babytrapping George into a truce. 💀 user: Wait... isn’t George’s sister in Abu Dhabi right now?? 👀 user: omg and they were seen together on his hotel balcony jskjsk user: I’M SCREAMING. THIS THEORY IS TOO GOOD. user: Max... the man, the myth, the secret brother-in-law.

user: F1 fandom today: trying to figure out if Max has a secret family or if we’re all just collectively hallucinating.

user: Bro, if this is true, Netflix better dedicate a whole episode to Uncle George. user: “If it weren’t for the baby” is my villain origin story now.

user: GUYS. What if Max meant baby as in, like, his cat or something? We’re spiraling.

user: Okay but why would George care about Max’s cat?! Use your brain. user: Honestly, the only thing that makes sense is Max dating George’s sister. Uncle George confirmed. Case closed.

user: Y’all, the way I will actually SCREAM if Max and George’s sister are together. This is better than any race drama.

user: Max Verstappen?? A baby daddy?? In THIS economy??

user: Everyone’s fighting over the baby, but I’m just here wondering how Christian Horner is gonna spin this in interviews.

user: Plot twist: The baby is Christian Horner’s with Toto 😭

user: STOP. This is the most chaotic F1 season ever, and I love it.

Taglist: @ilovechickenwings @spooky-librarian-ghost @diaryofarandomkid @rd14 @hc-dutch @tremendousstarlighttragedy @grussellsprout @dannyespinosa06 @awritingtree @shelbyteller @diorbrxtz @96mcobo

THE MOMENT I KNEW | Max Verstappen

Max Verstappen x Girlfriend!Reader

SUMMARY: After a few races where he didn't get the results he expected, Max decides to go out with some friends to disconnect from everything. Unluckily, one of those days when he arrives home after having some drinks, he finds out that he missed his girlfriend's birthday as soon as he sees the cake she ordered on the trash ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Maybe something angsty?? Like maybe bro goes out with his friends and forgets readers bday until he sees the cake in the trash can and realizes bro screwed up

WORD COUNT: 2007

WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of being drunk, angst

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

VEE'S NOTES: I've absolutely loved this one my God. With this fic, we mark a total of 6196 words written this week (not counting my uni essays and other several projects), so I'm quite proud about that! Also, thank you so much for the support all this week, hope you liked all the fics! I'll be uploading this upcoming week's posts tomorrow. Let me know in the comments or on the anon inbox your thoughts on this one! See you next week :) ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

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

Max stumbled into your apartment, fumbling with the keys and opening the door with trembling hands, his pounding headache reminding him that it wouldn’t be this bad if he’d listened to the bartender’s advice to stop after the last gin tonic.

As soon as he stepped inside, he froze in the doorway, scanning everything as if it were his first time entering the place, even though he had been living there for nearly five years, the last two with you. He took a few unsteady steps toward the small entryway counter, where he dropped his keys and realized the silence was far heavier than he had anticipated.

His laughter, faint and fueled by the false sense of security that alcohol had provided, quickly dissipated. Taking a cautious step further into the living room, he noticed there were no lights on, no plates or leftover food on the small coffee table in front of the TV, and most strikingly, you were neither sprawled out on the couch watching one of the romantic movies you adored nor curled up asleep with one of your cats.

Despite the glaring signs, Max didn’t panic, at least not as much as he should have, even though something inside him whispered that the situation didn’t sit right.

It wasn’t until he wandered into the kitchen to get a glass of water and rounded the island that his foot stumbled slightly, nearly sending him sprawling to the floor. Puzzled, he looked down to see what had caused him to trip. His heart sank when his eyes landed on a discarded box, its lid broken as if it had been thrown to the floor, angrily, on purpose.

That’s when reality hit him like a freight train.

He turned his gaze to the left, where the trash can stood partially open. Inside, he saw an untouched cake, decorated with intricate floral designs and a message that read, “Happy Birthday, Y/N!” The sight struck him like a blow to the chest, the pressure so intense it made him want to vomit.

“No… No, it wasn’t today…” 

Desperately, and trying to figure out what to do, Max ran his hands through his hair, as if that might somehow help him calm down. His breathing grew more erratic with each passing second, his eyes glued to the cake. It didn’t feel real. He couldn’t understand how he had managed to forget such an important date… you, his girlfriend’s, birthday. Something so obvious had suddenly spiraled into a waking nightmare.

He noticed his phone sitting on the kitchen counter. Grabbing it quickly, he checked for any missed calls or messages from you, only to realize after several failed attempts to turn it on that it was dead. He blamed his drunkenness not only for not noticing he didn’t have his phone with him or that it was out of battery, but for forgetting such a meaningful day and breaking every promise he had made to you.

Deep down, though, he knew all the excuses were hollow. Any justification he tried to offer would be nothing but foolishness.

Setting the phone back on the counter, he decided not to waste any more time. He headed toward your bedroom. The door was ajar, and though the lights were off, he could make out your silhouette lying on the bed, your back turned to him. You gave no sign that you had noticed his arrival. The only sound in the room was your muffled, quiet sobs. As Max stepped closer, he saw you were clutching a pillow tightly, as if it were your only source of comfort.

That was the moment Max realized he couldn’t avoid facing the situation, no matter how impossible it felt to fix things right away.

“Y/N...” he said softly.

You didn’t answer, and your silence hurt more than a thousand words could have. Max knelt beside the bed, close enough to reach out, and gently began stroking your face. You didn’t resist his touch, but your indifference pierced him deeply.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice trembling as he fought to hold himself together. “I swear this wasn’t my intention… I wanted to come home earlier, but Lando insisted we stay a bit longer, and then I didn’t have my phone…”

“You forgot, Max,” you interrupted, your tone sharp but laced with pain, anger, and sadness. You still wouldn’t look at him. “Goddammit, Max, you forgot my fucking birthday ever since the moment the clock struck midnight.”

Max fell silent. Once again, reality hit him square in the face, forcing him to acknowledge that anything he said would likely be inadequate. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, trying to find the words to explain himself calmly, to admit his mistakes while grappling with the weight of his guilt.  

“You know it wasn’t my intention,” he began, his voice low. “It’s just… with the shitty season I’ve been having and everything that comes with it, I’ve been feeling overwhelmed. I just needed to step out of my comfort zone for a bit, to clear my head…”  

“And you thought doing that on my birthday, after promising me a dream day, was the most appropriate choice?” you cut him off, finally raising your head. Your eyes were swollen and red from crying. “I know you’re not in a good place right now, but I also know that until now, every promise you’ve made to me, you’ve kept. You didn’t just forget about me, Max. You left me here, alone, all day, like I didn’t matter at all.”  

Max searched desperately for a way to salvage the situation, to apologize, to do something, anything, to prove how deeply sorry he was. But when you turned on the light and sat up to face him, he realized he was out of options. He didn’t know how to continue without disappointing you further.  

“You know this has been really hard for me…”  

“Hard for you? Seriously?” you interrupted, leaning closer and pointing your finger at him. “And you think this has been easy for me? Watching you shut me out, never telling me what’s going on in that head of yours? Not to mention your fans… They’re fully convinced that your shitty season is all my fault, that our relationship is ruining your career.”  

“Y/N, I know…”  

That was a lie. He didn’t know. Max had ignored the comments and criticism because, deep down, he believed you weren't to blame for his performance, especially when you rarely even went with him to the races anymore.  

“There’s nothing I can say to argue with you,” Max admitted. “You’re absolutely right. I’ve been a complete asshole today, and I’m truly sorry. I love you, Y/N, more than you know…”  

“Are you sure you love me?” you shot back, your voice trembling with anger. “Do you love me, or your damn career? Because lately, it feels like your whole world revolves even more around cars, races, speed, adrenaline, and your constant need to be the best at everything.”  

“Hey…” Max tried, his voice faltering.  

“Every day, you show me more and more that we’re no longer a team… that I’m no longer a part of you. And I know I’m not the only one who sees it.”  

Your words hit him like a dagger, but he knew he deserved them.  

“It’s not just about you forgetting my birthday today, Max. It’s everything. You don’t listen to me… you don’t give me anything, not even a minute of your day, let alone affection or support. Why should I stay in a relationship that, instead of giving me life, is killing me inside?”  

Your words struck him like a bucket of ice water.  

“You don’t get it, do you?” you asked, frustration and sadness mingling in your tone as he stayed silent. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t be afraid to show me who you are, flaws and all. But you’ve always done this, Max, keeping me at arm’s length, never letting me into your life.”  

“I don’t do that, Y/N, it’s just that…” he began, summoning his courage to explain, but you cut him off once again.  

“Damn it, Max, yes, of course you do!” you yelled, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “Do you realize that even though I’ve been with you, I’ve been completely alone? Alone, Max, utterly alone! I’ve tried so many times to talk to you, to make you see that a few bad races aren’t the end of the world for someone like you, but…”  

You stopped yourself abruptly, your throat aching and your head pounding. You felt no remorse for the way you were speaking to him since he deserved every word, but you couldn’t help but feel a deep sadness. Sadness for the Max Verstappen you had once known. A man who had been so proud of himself and his achievements after years of hard work, now emotionally shattered and, worse, so determined to hide it from everyone, including you.  

“I can’t keep giving you everything I have while you keep taking and taking, without giving anything back.”  

“I’m sorry…” Max muttered, but the words felt hollow.  

“A simple ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t fix anything, Max,” you replied, your voice quieter now but no less wounded. “I wish it were just about today, but like I said, I feel like you’re pushing me further out of your life with every passing day. You’re becoming a stranger to me, Max,” you admitted, trying not to let your voice waver. “You’ve been like this for months, and I don’t know what else to do to stop us from falling apart… though it feels like that’s exactly what you want.”  

“That’s not true,” he answered immediately, desperation in his voice. “Y/N, seriously, I love you more than you could ever imagine.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, tears welling up again. “Because I feel like you’re showing me the exact opposite.” Your voice trembled with the weight of her words. “Sometimes it feels like you love your career, the success you’ve achieved and the crowds chanting your name more than you love me.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice barely audible. “You know I want to, but… I don’t know how to fix this anymore…”

You looked at him, your eyes searching his face for some sign, some silent promise that would make you believe things between you could change. But Max’s words only made you realize that you had to stop thinking fantasies and start facing reality.

“Maybe you can’t fix it,” you confessed, the words breaking you from the inside. “I can’t keep going like this, Max… I can’t keep feeling like I’m not enough… like I’m not good enough for you.”

“Seriously, there has to be a solution…” he pleaded, his voice full of regret. “I’ll do better from now on, I promise…”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You turned to look at him, the pain evident in your expression. “Things won’t magically get better if you take me to dinner or buy me a million-dollar necklace to make up for today. That won’t fix anything, Max…”

“Y/N… Y/N, please… I need you…”

No matter how many times Max said those words, he knew that any promise he made now would be meaningless, especially considering how much he had already failed you.

Feeling that there were no more words left to say between them, you slowly got out of bed. You gathered the few belongings you had on the nightstand and, with a sense of finality, began to pack a bag, all the while feeling Max’s powerless gaze on you.

“I can’t keep waiting, Max,” you said, her voice steady despite the anguish inside. “Today, no matter how much I tried to turn a blind eye, let it go, and even put myself in your shoes… This… everything… after many tries… God, Max, all of this… That was the moment I knew.”