Is This It?-lewis Hamilton

Is this it?-lewis hamilton

lewis hamilton x fem!reader. summary: dating a 7time world champion wasn’t easy especially when you have a crawling baby, and lewis? well he was busy portraying an f1 driver lifestyle and partying. but what happens when the press and rumours get a bit too much.(I suck at summarys😫).

big thank you to anonymous to helped me pick a baby name, you was a big help and your a genius⭐️

WARNINGS: angst,a few time skips, lewis being a little bit of a arsehole, cheating bad writing, povs are everywhere like it’s kinda confusing I’m sorry

I really want to do a part two, so let me know people x

(y/n pov)

“this one’s my favourite” I softly speak as I run my fingers over the ink behind his ear as he lays on my chest.

I’m sat up against the head board in lewis white crisp button up shirt, “hm this one’s my favourite” he mumbles into me as his hand goes straight to the tattoo under my boob that says “𝓁𝑒𝓌𝒾𝓈₄₄” “your my favourite, handsome” I kiss the side of his head.

you had been childhood sweethearts you being slightly younger than him since being in his younger brothers Nicolas year at school, it was that much of an age gap but the media loved t rub it in.

i was broken out of thought when lewis phone goes off, “who’s that” I question “nobody” he grumbled as he puts his phone down,but something was telling me differently.

I reached out of the bed to put my underwear back on from the night before, as I got up out of bed and grabbed my phone. “y/n where are you going” lewis shouted as I was already out of the bedroom making my way to silvas Room, silva the light of you life, your little girl she’s just reached 8 months.

“come on sweetie, let’s get some jobs done aye” you lift her up out of her cot.

I had a washing basket in my hand with silvia sitting in it with the clean washing. She was in nothing but her diaper, smiling up at me as I threw warm clothes fresh out of the dryer in the basket with her.

She laughs as I toss a shirt on her head playfully, blanketing her face. She laughs harder and reaches her little hands up to push the black shirt off her face so it just sits on top of her head. She peeks up at me with that big smile and dense dimples.

I pick her up as blow raspberries on her cheek as she giggles, lewis had gone out an ‘important meeting’ apparently he had been on a lot of those lately.

a knock on the door fills your ears as you carry yourself and your little one to the door, a concerned max comes into your eyesight as you open the door surprised, “maxie hey, what you doing here” you smile at him and you welcome him in with a hug as Silvia giggles.

“y/n, are you okay?- oh hello you” his thick Dutch accent entering the room as he pokes her nose.

“yeah of course I am why?” you question him as you lead him into the living room (a little inspo x)

“you haven’t heard have you, oh god” he panics as he searches for his phone in his back pocket, he reaches out for silvia as he passes you his phone.

you couldn’t believe your eyes, but your lew he wouldn’t do this to you just thought you was just going through a rough patch, tears start to well your eyes as max comes and comforts you.

According to People magazine, Lewis and Shakira are getting to know each other better."They're having fun and masturbating," an exclusive source said.Representatives for both did not respond to the magazine.

Shakira was spotted in Miami Wednesday on a boat with the racer, not long after the two were seen running in to each other at a restaurant in the area. see photos..

you couldn’t believe what you was reading, was you so blind to it all?

you feel your throat closing up on you, “y/n breath, breath with me y/n/n” you hear max whisper in your ear, while holding your hand.

“what am I going to do” you hiccup as you look around your living room seeing the happy photos of yourself and you little family.

“hey let’s put the little one down yeah” max rough voice broke you through your thoughts, you both stood up and went to put silva down for the nap.

Max was like you brother, ever since you both had met you was inseparable,he was always around the corner to pick up the pieces for you, you and lewis had many fights over max, but you two was just like brother and sister.

an hour had passed by the time you had fully calmed down, the hard sobs turned into little sniffing onto George’s shoulders, and in that time the doggy carer had stoped by to drop off roscoe.

“I can’t stay here max, I feel suffocated in here” you soft voice broke out as you lifted you head up out of roscoes body, “you and Silvia can stay at mine, but you can’t hide away from him y/n, you have his daughter, you also have Spanish gp you can fly with me if you wanted to”

“yeah that would be great, thank you m”

you was almost ready to walk out of the door when lewis walked in, your bags by the door silva with max bopping up and down while he tried to get her to sleep.

“y/n?” Lewis voice rung out to you followed by a “max?” When he saw you both, “I’ll go wait in the car” max says while passing the little one to lewis when he reaches out for her, and putting your bags in the boot of his car.

“wait in the car?” Lewis ran over by what he said “I need to go lew” “is this about the photos?” he followed after you when you put you last things together.

"-it was not intentional, y/n, we were both drunk-" his voice broke, you freeze in your place, “so it was true”

"Was I not good enough, lewis ?" He stays quiet, eyes finding the carpet beneath his feet “was you daughter not good enough?” The anger you feeling boils in you.

"Don't you ever say that again" it's his turn to become angry. How dare she think that!? He loved you, and he still does, even though he cheated on you.

"But it's true, lew" you now has tears in you eyes and all lewis wants to do is pull you into his chest and tell her that it's not, that he loves her so much, but he doesn't do that, he just sits there and watches her full apart, all because of one? drunken mistake

“Your missing out on you daughters life lewis all because of this party lifestyle”

You sigh and wipes under your eyes "-let's take a break, yeah? So you can figure out what you want. I'm not letting go of all the effort I've put in the last years"

“I’m going to stay with max for a while, I’ll see you at the gp, I’ll bring silva and maybe you can spend time with her there”

lewis wipes his own tears and nods, he doesn’t need to think about what he wants, he knows what he want, his daughter and you.

you both say goodbyes with one last hug at both on your guys doorstep, tears leaving both of your eyes when you whispers goodbye in the corner of his neck.

“bye silv, I’ll see you soon yeah, daddy loves you” he says when you pull apart from him and presses a kiss on to her puffy cheek.

“I love you” lewis confesses after doing the same and pressing a kiss to your cheek, “I love you”.

lewishamilton ✓

lewishamilton: always you 2 ❤️

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

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 15.9 K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Verstappen is going to hate me for this.”

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

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

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

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

You were about to officially become a Formula 1 driver.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s Max’s racing number?”

“33.” You answered

“Y/N’s?”

“13.” He answered just as easily.

“Where did Max grow up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How many languages does Max speak?”

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

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

The more you know.

“And Max, how many can Y/N speak?”

“Three and a half.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With the royal family.”

“Exactly.”

You narrowed your gaze. “Not helping.”

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

“You want to pregame the royal dinner?”

“Desperate times.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You threw your head back in disappointment.

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

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

“Gin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A more genuine smile made its way onto your face.

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

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

Then, it was your turn.

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

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

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

Then came the champagne.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

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

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

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

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

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

“In the hallway?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The kitchen closed a while ago.”

“What?!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that… grilled cheese!?”

“It’s a cheese toastie.”

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

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

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

“Lewis.”

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

“You got lucky today, heerlijk.”

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

“Learn Dutch and figure it out.”

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

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

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

“Eat your fucking sandwich, Y/N.”

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

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

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

“Why do you say that?”

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

His brow creased slightly as his gaze narrowed.

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

“I’m not Daniel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your brows rose in surprise. “Really?”

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

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

“Your empty plate begs to differ.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A cheese toastie.” Max supplied.

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

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

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

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

Especially after Monaco.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But someone beat you to the punch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“First race.” Your dad informed the Aussie.

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

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

“Nothing that can’t wait.” Traitor.

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

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

You regretted everything, but not really.

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

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

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

Or so you’d thought.

“Hey, Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the hell are you doing Verstappen?!”

“Shut up, or people will hear you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No directives as of right now.”

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

No one should have been surprised when the inevitable happened.

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

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

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He fucking ruined my race!”

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck being civil.

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

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

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Read part 2 here!

Viper // Part 4 // MAX VERSTAPPEN – N.01 (N.033)

Author's Note: After a little bit of a wait after that little cliffhanger I ended the last part with, but hopefully it wasn't too bad. Once again, thank you guys for all the positive feedback, comments and reblogs. It actually makes me so happy that other people are enjoying these little stories that love to write in my spare time.

In case you missed it, you can find the previous 3 parts to this story here on my Masterlist.

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

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

Word Count: 13.3 K

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

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“Oh my, that’s not good.” The commentator noted, having just witnessed a crash he’d not soon forget.

Before his very eyes, he’d watched Red Bull’s Y/L/N chasing the Mercedes of Lewis Hamilton through the first few corners of the opening lap, only to tap her tyres against his in an attempt to overtake the silver arrow. She’d almost immediately lost control of the Red Bull, and though she’d tried to correct her course the car veered right off the track, showing no signs of slowing down. He could almost hear the crunch as the car became airborne and  rolled through the rough gravel, rolling over multiple times as the car seemed to fall apart at the seams, until it crashed heavily into one of the track barriers, stopping upside down. The footage immediately cut away from the accident, showing the cars slowing around the track.

“Red Bull’s Y/L/N has been involved in a horrific accident, her car rolling through a gravel trap straight into the barrier. Double yellow flags have immediately been waved, though I suspect a red flag will soon be waved as we wait for news on the state of the driver. Is she… conscious?”

It was easily one of the most horrific accidents in recent years.

“I don’t think she’s moved.” His co-commentator spoke based out of what they could see through their small commentator window, horror ringing through his own voice. “The incident will surely be under investigation from the stewards… but it seems that Y/L/N was determined to gain an advantage on Hamilton and he wasn’t going to make it easy for her. Did she have the racing line, Ted? The medics and stewards are arriving on the scene… this is hard to watch.”

“Is she okay?” They heard the frazzled voice of her teammate, Max Verstappen, through his radio.

“No word yet.” His engineer answered, as the drivers started to make their way back to the pits.

Another radio message from Daniel Ricciardo was broadcasted. “Which Red Bull was that?” and once he’d received the confirmation from his engineer that it was Y/L/N, he let out a string of expletives that needed to be beeped out before asking if his friend was okay.

A heavy silence settled over the track as the medics attended to the scene. They were waiting for confirmation that the worse hadn’t happened, and with every second that passed it seemed to be less likely. Y/N’s race engineer was frantically reaching out through the radio and receiving no response. Just looking at the Red Bull car that had been torn to shreds… everyone’s hearts sank. The seconds seemed like hours, as the race was inevitably red flagged and everything came to a standstill.

Neither commentator could tear their eyes away from the scene as one of the medics carefully lowered himself next to the Red Bull car, reaching inside to assess the scene. He was under there for what seemed like ages, before pushing himself back out. The medic’s face became one of surprise, before he stood and quickly waved more people over, before giving the signal that she was alive.

“Good lord,” The first commentator exhaled, along with everyone else at the track. “The medics have given the signal that Y/L/N is still with us. Though, she does appear to remain unconscious. It’s clear that we don’t yet know the severity of the accident…”

The extraction team was quick to get to work, turning over what was left of the car as carefully as they could. Then they were quick and methodical when it came to extracting her unconscious body from car without causing any further damage. Not much was said as the medical team worked to carefully place Y/N on the stretcher and eventually lifted into the ambulance that had arrived on the scene moments ago. Procedure meant that she would be flown to the nearest hospital for a thorough examination.

The stewards got to work clearing the debris and restoring the track so that the race could resume at the first given opportunity.

“I think I speak for everyone who’s a fan of the sport when I say that we’re all hoping for the best for Y/N after that… horrific crash. We will do our best to share news as we receive it. As of right now, she seems to remain unconscious as they send her to the nearest hospital for examination.”

With that being said, the broadcast cut back to a panel who did their best to carry on with the show despite this horrible occurrence hanging over everyone’s head. It was soon announced that the race was set to resume once the track would be cleared. They cut to various drivers pacing through the pitlane, clearly thrown by the severity of what had just happened.

They could only hope that she would really be okay.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

Max felt like he was going to throw up as he stood with Y/N’s family and Daniel in the pitlane, waiting for any kind of word that she was okay. He watched as the hope slowly started draining from their faces as it turned into desperation, knowing that there was nothing they could do to help or change what had happened. She wasn’t responding to the radio messages, so their minds automatically went to the worse case scenarios.

He’d known that she wasn’t in the state of mind to race, and he’d kept his mouth shut.

This was all his fucking fault.

“What was she thinking?!” Daniel whispered, having caught a replay on one of the Red Bull pit wall screens. It was review footage, stuff that wouldn’t be aired on TV.

Max turned his attention to the screen, watching the incident in slow motion from the beginning. You’d taken a risky line to try and get past the Mercedes, out braking it but consequently meaning you would have to take a sharper turn. That sharper turn meant you caught the back end of Lewis’s car… and the rest was too horrible to watch. It had been rookie mistake, too aggressive of a move. And now…

“She shouldn’t have been racing… Not after, fucking hell…” Max muttered to himself, not expecting anyone to hear him.

But Daniel did. “What?” He asked sharply, a look Max had never seen on his face before crossing his face. It was enough to send a chill down Max’s spine.

“She had a panic attack, before the driver’s parade. It’s why she was so quiet on the trailer.”

Daniel’s brows rose so high in surprise, but he made a gesture for Max to keep talking.

“I found her in her room before the parade. Room was a mess and she was… worse. Some dickhead reporter set her off, asking questions that he shouldn’t have. It took a long time just to get her to breathe… she wasn’t in any state to race.”

Daniel’s gaze became accusatory. “Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?”

“She told me she was fine, or she would be once she was in the car. We both know there’s no stopping her from racing. But…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish that sentence, already feeling guilty enough about this.

No one spoke as the medics arrived on the scene to assess the situation. In fact, Max was pretty sure he didn’t breathe until the lead medic came out from under the flipped car to give his team the signal that Y/N was still alive, instantly flooded with relief no matter how short lived it was. You were unconscious, and there was no telling how hurt you were and if you were going to make it out of this. The guilt continued to eat away at him.

No one could tear their eyes away from the screen as they flipped the car over and eventually pulled you out, placing your limp body onto the waiting stretcher and wheeling you into the ambulance.

“I need to get to the hospital.” Your dad spoke up, looking absolutely terrified as he finally tore his eyes away from the screen.

Daniel was quick to offer up his manager to drive your dad and brothers over to the hospital. He accepted the offer, promising to share any type of news as soon as he received it. Max wanted to ask to be included in that, but kept his mouth shut. He didn’t have the right.

“We’ll be there as soon as we can.” Daniel added, as your dad had been about to leave.

Max was unable to hide his shock at Daniel’s words. He waited until your dad left to voice his thoughts to Daniel. “We?”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “Don’t bullshit me Verstappen. I know how you feel about her.” Max’s jaw dropped at the insinuation that he felt anything more towards you than he should as your teammate, but Daniel wasn’t done. “You’re not nearly as subtle as you think. You literally can’t take your eyes off of her when you’re in the same room, and you smile, your real smile, whenever she says something you don’t expect. And, you let her use your simulator, something that you never let me do in the three years we were teammates.”

Daniel had to be wrong, because there was no way on earth he could have any feelings like that towards his teammate. But, he still found himself nodding to Daniel’s invitation.

He was allowed to care for his teammate, as a friend. They were being civil, after all.

So what if every once in a while he stretched a joke out longer than he probably should in the hopes of earning an extra laugh out of you. You’d developed this easy banter over the last few months, so easy that Max didn’t mind having to go through his media duties with you because you made it a lot more fun without even trying. And what did it matter if he’d gotten into the habit of keeping an eye on you in public spaces to make sure you were okay because he’d learned over time that you weren’t a fan of big crowds and tended to get anxious though you’d try your damndest to hide it. He was just looking out for you, like any decent teammate would.

Because it never affected the racing, until now.

Now he didn’t want to get back in his car without knowing that you were okay, even as they announced that the race would be resuming shortly. Were they really going to just carry on like nothing had happened? Why the fuck was he having such a hard time getting his head back in the game. He wasn’t usually this affected by incidents, knowing that it was part of the life he’d chosen for himself. But then again, this was different. You were different.

Fuck.

55 laps. That’s all he needed to get through. By then, they should know that you were okay.

And somehow, after the longest feeling 55 laps of his life, he managed to focus enough to get his job done. Regardless of the podium result, he couldn’t remember a worse race. As much as he hated to admit it, it wasn’t the same, finishing a race without you there to share that little smile you usually did when congratulating the other about their race result.

Maybe he did care a little more than he should…

He just hoped you’d be okay and back at the track sooner rather than later. He didn’t want to go through another race without seeing that smile at the end.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

By some small miracle, the team of doctors determined that there was nothing physically wrong with you. You’d been extremely lucky, as they’d seen footage of the incident in order to prepare for your treatment. Not a fractured bone or any damage that they could see through the scans they performed. You had a few bruises on your arms, probably from having let go of the wheel and hitting them against the inside of the chasis, and you would surely be sore for a few days, but otherwise you were physically intact.

The only problem was, you’d yet to wake up so they hadn’t had the opportunity to perform any cognitive checks. Your pupils were responsive and scans clean, so they had no reason to suspect a brain injury. Which made it all the more strange that you’d yet to wake up since the crash. You were fine, so you should be awake. They eventually came to the conclusion that your brain was still protecting you from the trauma of what had happened, and that it was only a matter of time until you regained consciousness. You would be under near constant observation in the intensive care unit until then.

The doctors had been quick to inform her family that she was okay, all things considered. They just had no way to tell when you would wake up. Her father nearly collapsed in relief, leaning heavily on her brothers as he processed the good news.

True to his word, Daniel and Max had been the first of the drivers to arrive at the hospital after the race. They’d sped through their media duties as quickly as possible, Max practically running off the podium as soon as he was able to. They hadn’t spoken much in the car ride over to the hospital, anticipating the worse because there had been no word in the hours that had passed since the crash. It’s safe to say they were pretty relieved as well when your brothers shared the news that you were physically okay.

“So, how long is she going to be in the hospital?” Max asked, ignoring the weird feeling in the pit of his stomach now that he knew you weren’t broken into a million pieces.

Your dad eyed Max for a long moment, taking in his concern. “They don’t know when she’s going to wake up.”

Oh. Just like that, any relief he’d felt disappeared.

So, he settled in one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs near your hospital room. He didn’t want to look inside, because it would make it even more real that things were not okay.

He didn’t move or react when other drivers from the grids start showing up and filling the other seats in the waiting room, all anxious for any type of news on your condition. Vettel had tried asking him how you were, but Max had just ignored him, too stuck in his own head. The rest of the drivers left him alone after that.

Time flew by, but he barely noticed it, too busy hoping for the best. What if you didn’t wake up? What if you were in a coma for another 9 months and then things took a turn for the worse like they had with Jules? What if you never raced again, and it was all his fault because he’d kept his mouth shut?

What if he was the reason you never got to do the thing you loved the most again?

How the fuck was he supposed to live with that?

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

To say you were confused when you first woke up would be an understatement.

The first thing you noticed was how uncomfortable your bed was, instantly realizing that you weren’t in your hotel room. Then you heard the soft beeping of machinery nearby, and the sanitary smell that had the hairs at the back of your neck instantly standing on end as you put everything together. You cracked your eyes open, taking in the small room with fluorescent overhead lighting, the chair in the corner occupied by your sleeping father, a bunch of flower bouquets scattered across the room.

You were in a hospital.

You’d crashed.

Instantly, your heart started racing as you recalled the crash. Losing control of the car, barrelling at an insane speed through the gravel as the car took off and rolled. The impact with the wall. The acceptance that you might not get out of that one as everything faded to black. You’d fucked up.

The door to the room was slowly pushed open, creaking quietly as it moved. The sound seemed to be enough to wake your father up, as none other than Sebastian Vettel poked his head into the room. “We’re ordering some food, Mr. Y/L/N. Was there anything-” he froze, gaze wandering over to you and realizing that your eyes were open. “Y/N?!”

Not having any grasp on how serious this situation was, your stomach growled at the thought of food. Better to focus on that than why you were in here anyways. “I’d go a sausage and egg McMuffin and about 5 hashbrowns from McDonalds.”

Your dad bolted up from his seat, rushing over to the side of your bed. “Y/N, honey. How are- does anything hurt?” It kind of freaked you out to see the tears welling up in his eyes, feeling a little more off put by his reaction. His gaze flickered briefly over to a still stunned German driver. “Get the doctor please, she’s finally awake.”

Seb dashed out of the room far more quickly than he’d come in.

“I still want that breakfast sandwich…” You mumbled, watching the closing door.

Your dad proceeded to ask you a bunch more questions that you couldn’t really answer because you still didn’t fully know how bad the situation was. Your body was sore, but nothing hurt more than it should. Still, for all you knew you could be on some pretty intense drugs and not feeling any of your injuries if you had them. So before you could answer any of your dad’s questions, you asked one of your own. “What happened?”

The question stopped him in his tracks, a look of concern crossing his face. “You don’t remember?”

“I do. I know that I crashed… But what happened after? And who won the race?” You added the second question as an afterthought, your father staring at your incredulously.

“You want to know about the race?”

“Yes.”

“Valtteri won. Lewis came in second, Max was third.”

“Lewis won the Championship.” As you said the words, it was almost like a weight lifted from your shoulders. People would finally stop asking you if you could do the impossible. It was official, you weren’t going to dethrone the king. The pressure dissipated completely. “Good for Lewis. And, Max must be happy about his podium.”

“No one celebrated.”

“What? Why not.”

Your dad was looking at you funny again. “Because they were all worried about you.”

What?

But before you could ask your father to clarify, a doctor made his way into the room. You dad took a step back to make sure he wouldn’t be in the doctor’s way as they came to check on you. “Y/N! Sorry to interrupt but I hear you’ve finally woken up from your extended nap. How’re you feeling?”

“Sore, but not horrible.” You said honestly, shrugging your stiff shoulders. “What’s the verdict? How long have I been out?” You found yourself asking.

The doctor pulled a small flashlight out of his lab coat pocket, coming walking over to you and getting you to follow the light as he performed a basic cognitive evaluation. He asked you to follow the light with your eyes, before asking you a few basic questions. “Can you tell me where you are?”

“Judging by the accent I’m going to safely assume we’re still in Austin.”

“That’s correct. How about your last name?” You raised a brow at the stupid question, but answered it regardless. He asked you a series of simple questions, ranging from basic math equations to what she did for a living. Satisfied with her answers to that point, the doctor nodded before asking the next question. “And do you remember what happened?”

“I made a mistake during the race, and crashed.” It was an oversimplification, but it would do.

“From the footage I was shown before you arrived, it was a pretty nasty crash.” The doctor said solemnly as he checked the machines around you that were monitoring different things. “You’re quite lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“Other than the bruising and soreness I’m sure you will be feeling for the next few days, you’re going to be able to walk away from that accident without any physical injury. And even with the G Forces you experienced, it hasn’t affected your brain either. You’re passing every test.

“So, what you’re saying is that I’m okay?”

The doctor smiled. “Yes.”

You didn’t know what to say to that because it was unexpected. Usually waking up in the hospital meant that it was bad. You sat up in the bed, ignoring the way that your sore muscles protested. “How soon can I get back to racing?”

“I’d take it easy for the next few days. Let your body rest and recover, because it has still been through a lot. But, I see no reason why you can’t get back to training towards the end of the week and race on the following weekend.” The smile grew on your face as your doctor continued to give his opinion.

This was the moment that your dad chose to speak up. “Are you sure about that? Two weeks is awful soon to for her to be putting herself back into a Formula 1 car. Daniel mentioned a panic attack. Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

Your stomach sank, wondering how in the hell Daniel had found out about your panic attack and subsequently told your father. The only person who could’ve told them about it was Max, because he’d caught you in the middle of it. You wanted to be angry at the Dutch driver for spilling the beans, but at the same time you could see him blaming himself for your accident. You’d told him you were okay to race when that hadn’t been the case.

The smile on your doctor’s face faded. “Panic attack? Do you often suffer panic attacks?”

You sighed, knowing that this was about to get blown way out of proportion. “Not anymore.” You let out a long breath. “I used to have them growing up…” after your mother had died “…but it got better. I hadn’t had one in years until before the race.” It was why you never thought about your mother or talked about her. Just thinking about it was enough to have chills racing down your spine, so you avoided it entirely. And it worked, until yesterday morning.

“Do you know what triggered it?”

“No.” You lied, because you didn’t want to talk about it.

“I can refer you to a sports psychologist, in case you find yourself in that situation again.”

“I’m fine.” You shrugged it off. You’d seen one before when you first started seriously competing for the odd time you’d suffer panic attacks. They’d prescribed you a drug that made you feel funny and would very likely be banned at this level of competition. The alternative was therapy, which you refused to do because talking about it only made it worse. You didn’t want to go through that again.

“Y/N…” Your dad urged you to reconsider.

You shook your head at him, before turning your gaze back towards the doctor. “When can I get out of here?”

The doctor quickly explained that you were cleared to leave whenever you felt up to it, but that the discharge procedure could take a few hours at best. But, he said that you could have visitors in your room now that you were awake again, and apparently there was a hoard of them waiting outside to see you. With a final quick reminder not to overdo it, your doctor left the room and left the door open for visitors.

Almost immediately, you found that over half of the current Formula 1 grid rushed into your room, eager to get a peek of you awake and in one piece with their own eyes. Sebastian and Charles, Lewis and Valtteri, Lando and Carlos, Romain and Kevin, Checo, Alex, Pierre and Daniel. All with matching wide eyed, tired glances as they took you in.

“You guys look like shit.” You couldn’t help yourself, making the comment to lighten the mood. 

It worked, everyone’s relief palpable.

Daniel was the first to pull you into a hug when you pushed yourself off of the bed. He was super careful, barely applying any pressure to your body. You on the other hand, wrapped your arms as tightly as you could around your best friend, feeling slightly bad for having worried him so much. “I’m not gonna break, Danny.” You reassured him.

His arms tightened around your waist. “You’re not allowed to ever scare me like that again, got it?”

You nodded into his chest. “I’m sorry.”

When Daniel finally let you go, you were immediately pulled into another hug, making your way through the group of drivers that you considered to be your friends now, reassuring each and every one of them that you were okay.

“Congrats on the championship, Lew.” You said softly to Lewis when it was his turn. “Sorry for putting a damper on the celebration.”

“Don’t worry about it, there will be plenty of time for celebrating later now that we know you’re okay.”

“The first round is on me, to make up for all the worrying.”

Even though you both knew it wasn’t necessary, a small smile made its way onto his face. “Deal.”

That breakfast sandwich that you’d requested when you’d first woken up finally arrived, along with a much more comfortable change of clothes for you and some bone crushing hugs from your brothers. You quickly escaped to the ensuite washroom to change into a match set of navy sweats, glad that you weren’t at risk of flashing everyone in your hospital gown anymore.

So, you sat and ate with everyone in the room, chatting about the rest of the race that you’d missed to pass the time. A few of them left, because they needed to catch flights, but you still had quite the group of people hanging around to help you pass the time as you waited to be discharged. You called Christian to let him know that you were okay and to discuss a statement that you’d be putting out of your social media as soon as you were discharged, your boss telling you to focus on getting back to 100% and letting you know he was glad you were okay.

Once that was handled, you talked about the most random things with the people who were left. It was nice. It was almost like you hadn’t just been through this big ordeal, spending time with your friends and family. In fact, it helped to ease that small bit of panic that was still somewhere within you, knowing that all these people cared about your wellbeing and were relieved that your crash hadn’t been as catastrophic as it had appeared.

“Did Max head back to Monaco?” You quietly asked Daniel, when the others became engrossed in conversation about an upcoming football match.

Daniel shook his head. “He’s out in the hall. Hasn’t moved or said a word since he sat down.”

You couldn’t help the way your lips turned downward into a frown. “Is he okay?”

“He’s blaming himself.”

Your frown deepened when Daniel confirmed that your earlier suspicion was correct. The last thing you wanted was for Max to blame himself after he’d been so gracious and helpful to you. You had been the one to lie and tell him you were fine. This was all on you.

“I’m going to go stretch my legs and see what’s taking so long with the discharge paperwork.” You said, a little more loudly to get everyone’s attention. You declined the three separate invitations for people to come along with you and make sure you wouldn’t randomly collapse on your own. You were almost surprised that they didn’t put up more of a fight though, jumping back into their conversations as you left the room.

It didn’t take you very long to find him, sat in the corner still dressed head to toe in the Red Bull kit. He was staring blanky ahead, not really seeing what was in front of him. He didn’t even blink as you plopped yourself down into the seat beside him, lost in his thoughts. It wasn’t until you placed your hand on your arm that he snapped out of it, quickly turning to see who had sat next to him.

“Y/N?” The surprise was clear in his voice.

You smiled softly. “Hey.”

“I… You’re really okay?”

You nodded your head slowly. “I mean I’m sore and bruised and all, but anyone would be after… that. But, I’m okay.” 

The silence between you suddenly felt charged, as you thought of a bunch of other things you wanted to say to reassure him but none of them left your mouth. Instead, all you did was look at him as his gaze scanned your body as though to make sure you were being honest before it traveled back up to meet yours.

“I should’ve sa-”

“I’m sorry for pu-”

You both spoke at the same time, stopping simultaneously too. A somewhat nervous laugh escaped you as you nodded for Max to speak up first.

So, he did. “I just keep thinking about how this could have been avoided if I would’ve said something to someone.”

You were quick to dispel that thought. “Actually Max, it would’ve made things worse. The idea that anyone else could’ve known about… my panic attack would’ve thrown me off even more. There was no avoiding what happened, I would’ve been distracted either way. At least the way it happened, it’s still contained.”

“I told Daniel, after...”

“I know. And I’m not mad about that.” You said, earning a surprised look again. “Daniel’s not going to run to the press. I don’t care if he knows or not. I trust him as much as I’m trusting you to continue to keep it to yourself.”

It was almost weird, how nonchalantly you’d revealed to Max that you trusted him, as something more than a teammate. He hadn’t held your panic attack against you and helped you through it when he didn’t have to. He’d had your back for months, even when you’d been a bitch to him and holding that crash in Germany against him. He’d helped you, no questions asked during that situation at Jimmy’z in Monaco, when you’d been at your worst. You weren’t sure when you’d started to trust him, but you knew that you did. Implicitly.

Max was a better guy that what he let people think of him, and it was becoming clearer to you the better you got to know him.

The fact that you trusted Max seemed to throw him off kilter. If fact, it took him a while to wipe that wide eyed expression on his face. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” He said lowly, turning to face you so you could see that he meant it. “But, what if it happens again?”

“It won’t.” You shrugged, shoulders sinking further when Max’s unimpressed expression made it clear that he didn’t think that would be the case. “It shouldn’t happen again. I hadn’t had one of those in years. I used to get them all the time when I was a kid, and then they tapered off as I grew up and pushed the trigger further out of my mind. Hypothetically, I should be okay for another couple of years before I have another one.”

Max’s curiosity took over, because it wasn’t often that you spent this much time having… personal conversations. “You used to have them more often?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know how to channel my anxiety and… let’s say control freak tendencies into something that wasn’t self-destructive. I was kind of a fucked up kid, after we lost my…” you didn’t say the word out loud. “We were only supposed to be in Australia for a year, but when we got there it was like this switch was flipped. A fresh start, were I didn’t have to be the weird, sad, quiet kid anymore. We ended up staying for 5 years, because it was good for everyone to be away. We figured out pretty early on that giving me something to focus on helped, so once we went to one of Daniel’s karting races, I decided that that was what I was going to do with my life. All my focus and energy went into becoming the best, and the more I focused on that the less I panicked. For the last 16 years of my life, my sole focus has been earning a seat in Formula 1 and winning the Championship. I haven’t really given myself the chance to think about much else, and it mostly worked.”

“Huh.” Max said, relaxing a little bit more into his seat. “We’re more alike than I thought.”

You coughed out a laugh, because he was right. “Yep. Two stubborn little shits with crappy coping mechanisms who’ll do whatever it takes to win.”

He cracked a smile for the first time since you’d sat down, not disagreeing with your description. “I’m glad you’re okay. The podium was weird yesterday. You were supposed to be up there with us.”

That funny warm feeling came over you again at Max’s last statement. Not thinking too much of it because you were far too exhausted for that, you shrugged your shoulder, because there was nothing you could do to change what had happened. “I’ll be up there next time. We’ll get a do-over” You promised him.

You held your fist up.

He bumped his knuckles against yours, a cheeky grin lining his face. “Deal.”

Even after the rather intense past 24 hours, you found yourself smiling as you finally made your way over to the nurses station to enquire about your discharge paperwork. You were looking forward to the next race and making up for your mistake this past weekend.

You’d gotten lucky, but you weren’t going to let that stop you.

You still had a championship to win next season, after all.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

You’d stayed in Austin for the following week with Daniel, Michael, and Blake, following the doctor’s orders and giving your body the chance to recover. It had gotten you out of a week filled with sponsorship events and meetings in the UK that you’d been dreading, though a small part of you felt bad when you realized it meant that Max would have to go to all those events on his own. For the last couple of months while things had been good between the two of you, those events were made better in knowing that your teammate was just as miserable as you the entire evening, sharing whispered jokes and exasperated looks when everyone else was too preoccupied to noticed. You didn’t doubt that Max would be bored out of his mind.

The week off had done you some good. Michael in particular had been a godsend, using his physiotherapy knowledge to help you get back to 100% as quickly as possible. It had been a pain at first, considering how sore your muscles had been because of the high G’s you’d experienced. However, you were feeling back to normal towards the end of the week, making the most of an off weekend with some of your closest friends.

You and Daniel had had a long talk on the Monday night the week after the accident, getting to the bottom of what had happened last Sunday. You’d been sitting around the fire enjoying your last night in Austin before you were supposed to head out and meet your team in Brazil, drinking too much wine out of red solo cups. Daniel had been smart about it and waited until you’d had just enough wine to take away your hesitance towards discussing the topic.  

“What happened to the deal?” He started by asking.

“What deal?” You asked in return, reaching for the bottle of wine between the two of you before refilling your empty cup. You added even more wine to your cup when Daniel clarified his question for you.

“The deal you made with all of us when you first started karting.”

Oh… that. The 24-hour deal. The one you made when you still had pretty frequent panic attacks growing up. You’d been in a similar situation before in a karting competition, where you’d had a panic attack the morning before a race. Even after insisting that you were fine, you hadn’t been able to properly focus, and you’d caused an accident. Thankfully, no one involved had been seriously injured. But, you’d promised then to never let that happen again.

Hence, the 24-hour deal. You weren’t supposed to get in the car within 24 hours of having an attack. You’d backed out of races and competitions in the past, until you’d gotten the panic under control and figured out how to channel your anxious energy into something more productive.

It had been a long time since you’d slipped up. So long that you hadn’t even thought of backing out of the race last weekend. Besides, this was Formula 1. You couldn’t just back out without it causing an even bigger mess of things.

“This is different. It’s not just a random karting race” You said quietly, even though you knew that your reasoning wouldn’t cut it.

“You’re right about it being different.” He confirmed, his signature smile nowhere to be seen. “It’s even more important now. No one should be on that grid if their head’s not in the game.”

“I know that.” You sighed. “Danny, I genuinely thought I was going to be fine once I got in the car. I’m so used to automatically tunning everything else out when I’m driving that car. Instinct always takes over, and my mind finally goes quiet, only focusing on what I need to do. I assumed it would happen again.”

“No offense, but that was kind of a stupid assumption.” He stated the obvious, clearly disappointed with the way you’d handled things. He knew all about your panic attacks and how bad they could be. He’d talked you out of them a handful of times, if he’d happened to be around. He also knew exactly how you were after one, basically just a shell of yourself until you could slowly start pulling yourself back together. You should never have been anywhere near that car…

Instead of saying anything, you grabbed your best friend’s hand and squeezed it within your own. It was a quiet reminder that you were okay, and you knew that you’d fucked up. Dan pulled you into his side, draping his arm across your shoulders. Your head fell onto his shoulder, as you continued to watch the dying fire in front of you.

It wasn’t until the fire had reduced to a pile of flickering embers that you spoke again. “I promise that won’t ever happen again.”

Daniel squeezed your shoulders, satisfied by your promise.

It was an easy promise to make, because you had no desire to go through that again. If not to protect yourself, than to protect everyone else on that track. You didn’t want to be the reason that your friends got hurt during a race. Your mistake could have impacted a lot more people… it was too dangerous to drive when your head wasn’t sorted out. If it ever happened again, you wouldn’t put them all at risk.

You’d ask for help.

You could only push your luck so far, after all.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 

You flew to Sao Paolo on Tuesday with Daniel, Michael, and Blake, after a doctor’s appointment first thing in the morning to make sure you were physically fit to get back to work. You passed all the tests with flying colours, the only evidence from your accident being the bruises that still coloured your chest from where the belts had kept you secure in the car. You could hide those under your race suit.

The flight itself had been a long one, even on the direct chartered flight path from Austin to Sao Paolo. You’d slept for a good chunk of it, until a bored Daniel had woken you up to play poker with the rest of the boys. He’d proceeded to spend the rest of the flight complaining every time you’d beat them, your poker face just too good for them to decipher. After you’d cleaned house, you started up a couple of harmless (though somehow just as competitive) games of Go Fish, passing the time until the plane touched down.

Red Bull had booked a different hotel from Renault, so the boys had been kind enough to drop you off first before heading over to their own hotel. It didn’t take very long to check in, however you did stop to chat with some of your mechanics who’d caught you on their way to the hotel bar for dinner with the rest of the team. You apologised for shunting the car at the last race, promising that you’d try to treat your RB15 a little more kindly this coming race weekend. They didn’t seem that fussed about having to put in extra work to repair your car, mainly happy and relieved to see you up on your feet and ready to go at it again.

After it had been suggested a couple of times, you decided to tag along with the crew for dinner, the hotel reception taking care of having your bags brought up to your room for you. You’d wound up sitting at a table with the small army of people that made it possible for you to race every other weekend, surrounded by your performance coach, media crew, mechanics, and engineers. Max’s side of the garage were also around, though the other Red Bull driver was notably absent.

You were surprised to feel a little twinge of disappointment when you realized that Max was probably the only person missing at the team dinner. You hadn’t seen or heard from him since talking to him in the hospital waiting room after your accident.

“Has Max not checked in yet?” You found yourself asking his performance coach, James, who was seated across from you.

James shook his head. “Nah, he had a dinner with his dad and the Piquets. Didn’t seem too keen on it.”

And that was that.

You enjoyed the rest of the evening, not giving your missing teammate another thought. You spent the next couple of hours enjoying some surprisingly good hotel restaurant food, and the company of your team. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood and looking forward to this upcoming race, because there were still a lot of good points up for grabs in the constructors championship. Mercedes hadn’t managed to lock it in yet, because of how well you and Max had been driving throughout the year. Red Bull wanted to take it from them, and with you and Max driving like you had all year, you had a shot. It was fun, to all be fighting towards the same goal now that the driver’s championship had officially been lost.

It wasn’t until you’d yawned three times in quick succession that you decided to call it a night, figuring that it was best to go to sleep a little bit earlier, so you’d be fully energized for your day filled with Red Bull media and sponsorship obligations tomorrow.

James stood at the same time as you, offering to walk you back to your room. You bit back a comment about being perfectly capable of walking yourself back, your media trained smile settling on your face. No need to make a fuss, you’d already put the team through enough the last couple weeks.

So, you let James lead you out of the restaurant and through the lobby, listening to him rattling on about his plans for the offseason. Something about new training plans and a recreational hockey team he had with some childhood friends. He might’ve asked you out to dinner if you happened to find yourself in London, but you weren’t really paying him much attention.

The elevator seemed to be taking forever to come to the main floor, meaning you had put up with this for that much longer.

And as luck would have it, another pair of people joined you in waiting for the elevator. You turned to face the newcomers, smile dropping for a split second once you realized that it was your missing teammate and his father.

Max’s gaze flickered between you and James as his father said hello to James, completely ignoring you. Jos Verstappen had gotten into the habit of pretending you didn’t exist after your encounter in Japan. You didn’t mind, glad that you no longer had to fake pleasantries with a man who would never respect you.

James broke the awkward silence that had settled between everyone. “How was dinner with the Piquets?”

Jos launched into a very showboaty recap of their dinner, mentioning that Nelson Piquet also thought it was only a matter of time until Max won his first of many championships. You fought the urge to roll your eyes, instead looking towards the one working elevator in the hotel that seemed to be working right now and going to every floor except this ground one.

Would it be considered rude to take the stairs to escape this awkwardness? It was only 13 odd floors…

“How was the team dinner?”

“Yeah, it was good man.” James jumped in to answer Max’s question before you could even open your mouth. “I think everyone’s happy to see Y/N back this weekend, she was the talk of the dinner.”

You felt Max’s eyes on you, even though you suddenly found the ground very interesting. “Oh yeah?”

“It was nice to catch up with the whole, well almost the whole team.” You added, feeling like you had to say something. “I think everyone has a good feeling about the race this weekend.”

“Most of them are still in there if you wanted to go say hi.” James suggested. “Y/N and I were just heading up for an early night.”

Your head snapped towards James so quickly to shoot him an unimpressed glance that you never noticed Max’s narrowed gaze on the two of you or the way that Jos’s stupid grin widened because of how that sounded. Fucking hell, James really wasn’t getting the hint that you had absolutely no interest in speaking to him outside of a work context, and now he was running his mouth.

“Careful there James, we wouldn’t want to give our friends here the wrong impression.” There was no false kindness in your voice, making it clear that you were unimpressed with his choice of words.

James had the decency to look like he’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But before he could stamper out his apology, Jos’s phone started to ring loudly. He quickly excused himself to go answer the call. At the same time, the elevator dinged to signal that it had finally arrived.

You dashed into the elevator, not waiting to see if anyone had followed you. Max stepped in as well, but stopped and held the door. “Oh shoot, one of my bags is still being held by reception. Would you mind going to grab it? It’s the one with my helmet so I wouldn’t want just anyone handling it.”

“Yeah, mate. No problem.” James answered, scampering off with his metaphorical tail between his legs.

You leaned back against the back elevator wall, letting out a long breath. You could only imagine how awkward the elevator ride would’ve been with the four of you cramped into the small space.  Max seemed mildly amused, now that he realized you had absolutely no interest in his performance coach.

“So, you and James?” He teased, pressing the button for the floor that both your rooms were on.

You rolled your eyes and groaned. “Absolutely fucking not.”

Max’s smirk only grew. “The guy has been into you ever since he laid eyes on you, like most of the paddock. You don’t see it, do you?”

Huh? See what? “What?” You voiced your confusion, brow furrowing slightly.

“You have everyone wrapped around your fingers.” You went to deny his claim, but he stopped you by speaking up again. “You have since the first race. The drivers, the media, the mechanics and engineers. They’d all go to war for you. It used to annoy me, how everyone you spoke to would come out of it thinking you could do no wrong. But, I get it now.”

“I do not have everyone wrapped around my fingers.” You quickly dismissed because that seemed ridiculous to you. You chose to focus on that part of Max’s explanation because the last bit was too… you didn’t even know. And as for the going to war for her thing, she would do the same for them. If they had her back, she would have theirs.

The conversation came to an abrupt end there, because the elevator opened on your floor. You followed Max through the halls, finding that your rooms were only a couple doors down for the other’s. You tapped your key against the lock, listening for the click to indicate that it had unlocked.

“Goodnight, heerlijk.” Max called out over his shoulder as he continued down the hall to his own room.

“Night’ Max.” You called out in return, stepping into your room and closing the door behind you. You locked the door, kicked off your shoes and plopped down face first onto your bed.

Your exhaustion from the day hit you like a train, and you barely made it through your nighttime routine before you were out like a light.

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The next couple of days passed by in a blur of media commitments, interviews, press conferences, practices and strategy meetings. You’d been part of the Driver’s conference on Thursday, answering a bunch of questions about the previous race weekend and how you’d been lucky to make it out of that one in one piece. A lot of people were surprised by the fact that you were racing this weekend, but you were quick to assure them all that you’d passed all of the physical checks required to be allowed back into your car this weekend. Red Bull had a constructors championship to win, after all.

Friday practices were a dream, and the car was performing even better than you’d expected. You and Max were trading the best lap times all day, quite a bit ahead of the Mercedes. It was almost impossible to keep the smile off of your face as you went through the motions throughout the rest of the weekend, knowing that you had the slightest advantage over your competitors. You felt good, the car felt good, and it was showing in your lap times.

Qualifying had been a lot of fun, and resulted in pole for you by couple of thousandths ahead of Max. Red Bull could see that the competition between you and Max was pushing you both the right way this weekend, motivating the both of you to get the best result possible and try to one-up the other. Headlines after qualifying were quick to praise you, going on about how you look like nothing had ever happened in Austin.

You had a genuine smile on your face all of Sunday morning, through the driver’s parade and all. You were itching for the race to get underway, because that good feeling never faded. You weren’t scared to race, like some people thought you might be after that crash. No, you were excited, the adrenaline slowly rising in your body the closer you got to lights out. Max picked up on your good mood, joking around with you through the parade about trying to overtake you right at the start and fighting you for the win today. It didn’t faze you in the slightest, throwing some friendly banter back his way.

Nothing could wipe that smile from your face, even as the lights went red one by one until they all went out and the race was underway. Sao Paulo was one of your personal favourite tracks, with high-speed corners and plenty of overtaking opportunities. You and Max were both driving on another level from the rest of the field, pushing each other to the limit and to be better than the other. Even in the first couple of laps, you exchanged first and second place a handful of times, giving the fans some very exciting racing to watch. You weren’t even annoyed when Max would pass you, because that meant you got to show off your own skills and chase him down for your own pass. It was the most fun you’d had in a long time.

The race had been fast, and a fight from start to finish. However towards the end of the race, Max found even more pace in his car that you couldn’t quite match. He had more pace, plain and simple. Your fight was then with Hamilton for second, and it was a fight that went right to the very end of the race, you crossing the finishing line only a few hundredths ahead of the Mercedes driver, making it the most exciting finish in a long time for you.

Your engineer was yelling in your ear, thrilled with the P2 result. “Amazing drive, yet again Y/N! A 1-2 for the team as well! Hope you’re ready to celebrate tonight!”

His energy was contagious, a wide smile creeping onto your face as you started your cool down lap. “Woo! Absolutely! Thanks everyone for all the hard work today. It was such a fun race, plenty of highlight worthy overtakes if I do say so myself. Definitely better than the last one.”

You pulled up behind the P2 banner in parc fermé, cutting the engine and pulling yourself out of the car. You’d barely pulled off your helmet and balaclava, before you were immediately pulled into a hug.  Your teammate clearly thrilled about the outcome of the race today, cheering along with everyone else as he spun you in a celebratory circle.

You found yourself smiling as he placed you back on the floor. “Congrats, Max.”

His smile matched yours. “Congrats to you too, Y/N. A fucking 1-2, without penalties this time!”

“Best not to leave the team hanging.” You smirked, nodding your head towards the sea of navy blue that was still waiting to celebrate with the two of you. You took off running at the same time, launching yourselves at your team. You didn’t even care that Max had finished ahead of you, happy to have this moment with your team. This feeling was what made it all worth it.

Not just that, but you’d closed the gap to Mercedes to just a couple of points now. Another good result like this during the final race and you could actually take the constructors from under their noses.

After a quick interview and chat in the cool down room, you stood proudly on the podium next to your teammate. When it came time to spray the champagne, Max didn’t hesitate to immediately douse you with most of his bottle, pouring whatever wouldn’t spray directly over your head. You made sure to return the favour, laughing as he jokingly tried to run away from you only for Hannah, the lead strategist who’d come up to accept the constructor’s trophy, to get him from his other side. The smile on your face wasn’t forced as you stood sandwiched between your teammate and strategist for the group photo.

Your smile didn’t falter through the post-race conference, or the time you were forced to spend answering repetitive questions in the media pen. After a quickest post-race debrief of the season (it seemed that everyone was just as eager to wrap it up and celebrate the 1-2), you’d rushed back to your hotel to shower and change into something that was more celebration worthy.

You took your time getting ready, indulging in a couple of glasses of champagne from the bottle that had magically appeared in your room. You’d showered and washed your hair, taking the time to dry and style it into so loose waves that flowed down your back. You chose to wear this little blue silky number that hung over your slender and toned frame perfectly. You’d even put on some more makeup than usual, having a bit of fun with a smoky eye and lipstick.

The party was already in full swing by the time you’d walked in with your performance coach and press officer. You’d caught a ride with them, bumping into them in the lobby after you’d finished getting ready. You offered to buy the first round when you spotted your two teammates, knowing that you’d be nowhere without them. You’d shared a couple of drinks at the hotel bar, before catching a cab and making your way over to the nightclub where the victory party was being held. It seemed that everyone was out celebrating this monumental victory for the team, knowing that you were one step closer to accomplishing something incredible together.

You made your way through the mess of bodies, spotting Max at one of the VIP tables towards the back of the club, the driver waving you over with a cheeky grin on his face the moment he saw you. He immediately pushed a couple shot glasses towards you and your engineers who were around, getting everyone to take a shot together in celebration.

From there, you spent the night making the most out of the open bar with you team.

You talked, danced, drank, sang your heart out, and hand the time of your life with your people. It became even more fun when some of the drivers for the others teams came to crash the party, Daniel and Charles spending most of the night alongside you and Max. Max was never too far away from you, always there with a new pair of drinks for the two of your when your last ones went dry. You two had pulled off a 1-2 today, so it was a given that everyone was going all out tonight and making it one of those parties that would never be forgotten.

You weren’t sure who suggested it first, but after a string of fantastic 2000s pop-punk throwbacks, you dragged both Daniel and Max by their wrists out onto the dancefloor in the center of the club. Neither one of them put up much of a fight, probably nearing their body weight in alcohol consumption for the night. You had them jumping along to the music along with everyone else, singing out the lyrics at the top of your lungs.

Your inebriated brain found it almost… endearing when you’d catch Max just yelling incoherently along with you when he didn’t know the songs, until there was a part or a chorus that he’d recognize and then he’d genuinely belt out the words with the widest smile on his face. It was no secret that this wasn’t exactly his type of music, but he seemed to be enjoying himself with you. Daniel seemed very entertained by the whole thing, snapping a picture of you and Max yelling the lyrics out to one another with his phone, before he’d wrapped his arms around both of your shoulders and had the three of your jumping around like crazy people together.

 Christian came around at some point in the midst of all the dancing and singing, pulling you and Max in simultaneously for a hug, rattling on about how he was sure that the two of you were the best driver pairing in the history of the team and how it was only a matter of time before you started winning your own championships. Thankfully, Daniel was drunk enough to your right that your boss’s drunken words didn’t seem to irritate him. No, instead he cheered and grabbed some more shots for everyone that one of the bottle girls had been carrying around on a tray around the dancefloor.

You toasted to your ongoing attempt to dethrone Mercedes after too many consecutive years at the top. You still had one last race to the season and felt like it was within reach. That could just be the alcohol talking, but right now you felt like you could do just about anything. The music changed to something with a little bit more of a Latin party feel, everyone on the dancefloor squashing even closer together to dance.

You broke away from the group sometime when you couldn’t deny yourself a bathroom break any longer, yelling into Daniel’s ear where you were going so he wouldn’t freak out when he lost sight of you. You promised you would return with fresh drinks for the two boys you’d been dancing with for what felt like hours now, glad for a little break to catch your breath. The line to the washroom was relatively short, considering that most of the girls in the club were trying too hard to catch the attention of the other drivers that had wandered into the party.

It hit you as you stumbled out of your stall, the thumping bass through the bathroom door pointing out just how intoxicated you were. You giggled to yourself as you washed your hands and caught the reflection of your glowing skin and wide smile in the mirror, more signs that you were having a great time. Oh yeah, you were definitely drunk. Thank fuck you had a week off before the next race.

You ran a hand along to grimy wall leading back out to the main part of the club for support, so that you hopefully wouldn’t trip over your own feet. It was working well, until a beefy body blocked your path.

You glanced up with a frown, instantly recognizing the man standing in your way. It was James, Max’s performance coach.

“Congrats on the good result, Y/N!” He pulled you into a hug, hugging you like you were the best of friends even as you stood stiff as a board, not returning the gesture. In fact, you’d actively been avoiding James since that awkward moment in the hotel lobby ahead of the start of the weekend.

“Thanks, James.” You replied politely when he let you go, smoothing out your creased dress slightly. James eyes followed your movement, before filtering back up your body and settling not so subtly on your chest. Typical man. Assuming that this interaction was finished and wanting to get back to your friends, you went to step around James. What you didn’t expect was for him to block your path, consequently sending you barreling into his chest.

He did you the kindness of grabbing your arms to make sure you wouldn’t fall over. “Bit too much to drink, Y/N?”

You pulled your arms out of his grasp and took a step back, your back now up against the gross hallway wall. “I’m fine.” You said, hoping your voice was as firm as you wanted it to be.

The growing lazy smirk on his face told you otherwise. That smirk brough back all those icky feelings you usually ignored in favour of keeping a professional front around the people you were forced to work with. Considering how much alcohol you’d consumed tonight, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be in control.

“What are you doing?” You asked, when James took another step towards you and closed more of the distance between you.

“C’mon, Y/N. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

“Pretend?” The fuck was this guy going on about. You brought your hands up to his chest, the frown growing on your face when you attempt to push the much larger and heavier man away from you did absolutely nothing.

And then he was too close, reeking of whiskey, pushing in your very personal space to speak into your ear. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. Always such a fucking tease when everyone else is around.”

“You’re fucking crazy.” You decided, your brain not registering that that probably hadn’t been the smartest thing you could’ve said in this situation. Ignoring how bad this situation was, you started laughing in his face. “I’m not looking at you differently than anyone else. And, this would never happen. I have a hard-no rule when it comes to coworkers.”

“Bullshit.” James was quick to counter. “You haven’t been as sneaky as you think with Verstappen.”

You rolled your eyes, another stupid move when you got a front row look at the way James’s expression hardened. “There’s nothing to be sneaky about. We’re friends.”

“Right. Like you and Ricciardo.”

“Exactly.” You said the word slowly, half to drive your point home and half because your speech was a little slurred. “We’re had this conversation before. I’m not stupid enough to get involved with someone in our world, and you sure as shit won’t be the one to change my mind about that. Give it up, James. It’s not going to happen.”

With that being said, you ducked under his arm and started walking away, ready to forget about that and go back to having fun with your friends. But, you barely made it two steps before James grabbed onto your wrist and spun you back around to face him again. “Wasn’t done talking to you, Y/L/N. Enough with the whole hard to get thing. Why don’t we get out of here and talk somewhere a little more quiet. I’ll give you all the reasons you need to break that silly little rule.”

“Are you shitting me right now?!” This man was about two seconds away from completely ruining your buzz. “Let go of me.”

He did not, even as you tried to pull your wrist out of his grasp.

The timing of the following series of events couldn’t have been better if you’d planned it. Not in the mood to keep putting up with James’s shit, you took control of the situation and swiftly launched your knee into his groin. He crumbled to the ground in front of you, groaning in pain and clutching at his bruised, tiny ego.

Max chose that very moment to appear at your side, eyes wide and slightly unfocussed as he took in the sight of his performance coach and the scowl on your face. “What the fuck?”

You rubbed at your sore wrist, frustration boiling over. “Your asshat of a coach didn’t understand that I’m not, nor will I ever be, interested in fucking him.” You said it loudly enough for said asshat to hear you as well. “It not me playing hard to get or being a fucking tease. He could probably benefit from a lesson on the definition of the word ‘No.’”

Max nodded along slowly to your explanation, doing a very good job at hiding his anger. You wouldn’t even have been able to tell that he was upset, that is until you caught his jaw tensing the longer he watched you rubbing at your sore wrist. “Did he put a hand on you against your will?”

You didn’t have it in you to deny it. Not at that tone. So, you nodded your head once. “Just my wrist.” You confirmed, hoping that Max wouldn’t lose his shit over this. He’d already gotten into a bar fight for you once before. You didn’t want that happening again.

“Oh come on!” James complained from the floor. “Don’t go changing your fucking tune now that you have your favourite driver’s attention on you again.”

“Pardon me?” You asked incredulously, all thoughts about wanting to avoid a fight disappearing from your intoxicated mind. You were ready to fight this motherfucker yourself, even if he was more than twice your size. “Where do you get off thinking you can talk to me like that?! You’d do well to remember who the fuck I am. A driver, just like your boss. The one who’s brought home the most points this year. What gave you the impression that it would be a good idea to force yourself onto me? I don’t see you trying this shit with Max. Is it the fact that I’m a girl that yo-”

You stopped mid-sentence, when Max carefully placed his hand on your shoulder. The touch didn’t gross you out like James’s had a few minutes ago, instead it served to calm you down. You also saw in his eyes that he would let you go if you weren’t okay with this. You drew in a long, calming breath, forcing your heart rate to slow again before you completely ruined every else’s night.

Once Max seemed sure that you wouldn’t explode, he stepped closer to James who was still trying to pull himself up from the ground. He crouched down slightly, so that he was more level with his coach. “I no longer require your services. As of tonight, you will not be part of my team. Don’t worry about the last race, I’ll find someone else to fill the vacancy.”

Your eyes went wide as you realized what Max had just done.

So did James, as he scrambled to his feet. “What the fuck man?! You can’t just fire me like that.”

“I can.” Max said, tone deadly serious. “I have full control over my team. I refuse to work with someone who disrespects women and doesn’t understand the simple concept of consent. You should never fucking touch anyone without it.”

You could see from the way that Max’s hands were clenched tightly into fists that he was beyond angry. This was touching a nerve, and from what you had picked up about his childhood in the time that you’d gotten to know him, you knew exactly why. He’d grown up with a father who was like James. He didn’t want to have that kind of person around him if he didn’t have to. This wasn’t just because of the fact that James had acted this way towards you.

“Max.” You said softly, before he could snap and wind up with some assault charges. The last thing you wanted was for things to get even more out of hand. You were done with this party and done with the packed nightclub and thumping bass.

The Dutchman turned his attention back to you, gaze softening slightly.

You held out your hand. “This club’s getting a little stuffy. Fancy a walk for a bit of fresh air?”

 He didn’t hesitate to grab your hand, letting you lead him out of the overcrowded club without another word. You weren’t weirded out by how normal it was to hold his hand, feeling similar callouses on his hands to the ones on our own from years of racing and gripping onto steering wheels for dear life. It’s not like you had much time to overthink it, too focused on putting one foot in front of the other and getting out of this club. You both stumbled a little, clearly still under the effects of the alcohol you’d both consumed in celebration tonight, but your hold on each other also helped to keep you both upright.

The hot and humid nighttime air of Sao Paolo was almost like a slap in the face when you stepped outside, instinctively letting go of Max’s hand when you spotted some photographers waiting outside to take your pictures.

It’s a good thing the flashes started after you’d let go, because you could only imagine the headlines if they managed to get a picture of you two stumbling drunk out of a nightclub together. Max silently followed you into one of the waiting cabs, you having enough piece of mind to give the driver the address for the hotel as Max settled into the seat beside you. He took off, leaving the photographers and their flashing cameras behind.

You asked the cab driver to stop a couple of blocks away from the hotel, content to walk the rest of the way now that there weren’t a bunch of people around to document it. Because your dress hadn’t really allowed for you to bring your wallet, you sheepishly asked Max to cover the fare, earning a fond eyeroll from the Dutch.

It was so quiet as the cab drove away, your ears still ringing after hours of being overwhelmed by some too loud music. But, even in the silence, your mind didn’t race like it usually would. No. Instead, you walked quietly with Max Verstappen towards your hotel, trying to remain in as straight of a line as possible.

“You didn’t have to fire him.” You eventually spoke, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over the two of you.

“Yes, I did.” Max said, shrugging his shoulder. “I meant what I said. I don’t want to work with people like that.”

Instead of diving into that deep topic that the two of you were too intoxicated to properly discuss, you chose a lighter question. “What are you going to do for Abu Dhabi?”

“Your oldest brother’s a physio therapist, isn’t he? And he used to help you out when you raced as a kid. Think he’d want to fill in for a weekend until I can figure out a more permanent solution with the team?”

“Well, he does run a practice in Canada and hates last minute things… but I can shoot him a text. He won’t say no to his baby sister.” You smirked, pulling your phone out of thin air to do exactly that. He answered almost immediately, saying that he was in. “You owe me one, Verstappen. You’ve got yourself a new temporary coach.”

“I think that technically, we’re even now.” Max interjected.

“Oh yeah, how so?”

“Remember the other time I got in a bar fight for you?”

Somehow, you didn’t falter in your step at the reminder of the last time Max had saved you from a bad situation in a bar. “Hmm. I guess you’re right.” A sheepish smile crossed your face. “Maybe I should stop going out to bars… I always seem to attract the unwanted drama.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, heerlijk. I think we’ve also had our fair share of good nights out.” Max bumped his shoulder against yours, unintentionally almost sending the both of you tumbling to the ground. You giggled as you regained your balance, reaching out to steady Max again as well, before looping your arms together. Maybe leaning on each other would make the whole walking thing a bit easier.  

“We have.” You agreed with his previous statement, now that you’d started walking again. Max was right. The energy station after you’d won your first race, Japan, Mexico, and a couple more here and there after some good results. Somewhere in the middle of all of that, you’d stopped seeing Max as just a teammate, slowly transitioning into someone that you genuinely enjoyed spending time with. He’d become your friend.

“You wanna know something funny?” You asked after a few more minutes of comfortable silence had passed.

“Is this a trick question?”

You shook your head. “No. It’s just, I almost said no to taking this seat when Christian first showed me the contract. To think, I wouldn’t have 3 GP wins under my belt…”

“What?!” Max couldn’t hide his shock, his drunkenness making the reaction that much bigger.

“I thought you hated me.” You revealed. “Anytime I’d been in the paddock with Daniel for those couple of years after you took Daniil’s seat, you barely said 2 words to me. If I’d catch you in the middle of something with Danny, you’d run away at the first chance you got. I was worried things would be awkward as fuck when I took the seat.”

Max was staring at you like you’d just blown his mind. “I never hated you.”

“You don’t have to say that. It’s okay if you did. It’s in the past and we’re good now.”

Max abruptly stopped walking, meaning that you had to stop as well. “I’m being serious, Y/N. I never hated you.”

“It’s fine Max.” You insisted, suddenly regretting having brought this up.

Max wasn’t letting you sweep this under the rug. He turned so that he was fully facing you, placing both hands on your shoulders and making sure you were paying full attention to what he said next. “I thought you were a fucking badass, and knew it was only a matter of time before you were racing the rest of us. I thought it was really cool how you wouldn’t take anyone’s shit and carved a space for yourself in the racing community. I also assumed that you were Daniel’s girlfriend, because of how close you guys are. The avoiding thing was me not trying to piss off my new teammate by having him think that I was into his girl.”

Logically, you knew that Max’s explanation made perfect sense. Had you been sober, you would have let it go. However, your alcohol riddled brain latched on to one detail in his little monologue. “Did you… have a crush on me, Max Emilian Verstappen?”

He threw his head back with a pained groan, rosy embarrassed tint lighting his cheeks as he started walking again, leading you along with him. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You threw him a line, to make it a little bit less embarrassing. “No, no. I’m not making fun of you for it. If anything, it’s kind of helping things make sense in my head now.” The awkwardness, short responses, avoidance. Now that you knew Max as well as you did, it was exactly how you’d expect him to react in that kind of situation. “You know, we could’ve been friends sooner if you’d just asked about Daniel. I would’ve easily told you that the idea of being with Daniel is enough to make me want to gauge my eyes out. I love the guy, but it’ll never be like that.”

“I know.” Max confirmed, almost sounding regretful.

You didn’t dwell on what could’ve been for much longer, because the next moment your found yourself outside of the McDonalds that was about half a block away from your hotel. You didn’t say anything, simply dragging Max into the fast food restaurant and forcing him to pay for your ridiculous middle of the night feast. You both promised not to tell anyone about the disgusting amount of calories you were about to consume.

You sat on a nearby bench for the next little while, devouring everything in the take-away bag and talking about whatever popped into your minds. The sun was starting to rise in the early hours of the morning, and the incident from earlier in the evening was completely forgotten as you enjoyed spending this time with your friend.

The food seemed to flip a switch within the both of you, triggering your exhaustion from the events of the past 24 hours. You eventually finished the journey over to the hotel, reminding each other to take some pre-emptive painkillers before heading into your own rooms and almost straight to bed.

You settled under to the covers, falling asleep almost instantly. The smile on your face wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

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

Read Part 5 HERE

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Anything II (König x Reader)

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

Requested by: Literally fucking everyone.

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

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

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

Previous Chapter

You had thrown up. Twice.

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

All because of him.

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

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

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

This time, König was waiting for you.

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

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

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

“Your fight is finished.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knew what you were trying to say. 

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

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

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

"Ground defence." 

Your heart seized in your chest. 

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

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

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

You couldn't believe that Price was allowing this. 

Betrayal stung in your chest. 

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

Clearly, you were dispensable. 

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

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

“Birdy.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your small victory gave you enough courage to lie down. 

Your logic reminded you to immediately regret it. 

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

You didn’t want to do this. 

Not again. 

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t win on your back either. 

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

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

“Then get me off.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Get him off, off, off. 

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

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

The exact same position of that night. 

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

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

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

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

Not again. 

Not again. 

“Birdy!” 

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

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

“Birdy, stop!” 

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

“Jesus Christ, get a fucking sedative!” 

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

You didn’t have that privilege last time. 

____

The first sense you regained was smell. 

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

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

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

“Easy, Birdy. Easy.” 

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

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

“Thought I’d come pay you a visit.” 

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

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

Same hospital, same room, same bed. 

You felt nauseas. 

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

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

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

“Yesterday.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That stormy gaze was sympathetic. It made you tremble. 

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

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

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

“PTSD, Birdy.”

You blinked slowly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes narrowed. He mimicked the expression. 

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

“Don’t fucking touch me.” 

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

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

You could have thrown up. 

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

A strangled cry ripped from your throat. 

Claw marks. 

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

You couldn’t breathe. 

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

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

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

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

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

“You thought his hands were on your face.”

_____

NEXT CHAPTER

____

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

Lewis in NYC

---

⇝ shadow .

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!AFAB!Reader.

PART TWO OF MÉNAGE.

SUMMARY: All Simon wants is to explain his disappearance to you, but he can't really expect you to be willing to listen.

WARNINGS: AFAB!Fem!Reader (no use of Y/N!), Mentions of NSFW, Angst, Pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy complications, Soft!Dad!Simon.

A/N: Second chapter!! Almost exactly a week after the first one LMAO. No smut in this one, I'm afraid, but some very fluffy moments between Simon and Tommy! <333 Once again, please reblog and comment if you enjoy this, it helps a lot!!!

WORD COUNT: 10k.

MASTERLIST.

Also on Ao3!

You were pretty sure your fingers were about to snap.

The grip you had on the door could rival that of a professional arm wrestler, your whole body stiff and frozen in place as your gaze locked onto Simon's.

Was it even Simon? His eyes didn't hold the same warmth it had the last time you'd seen him, his body wasn't as relaxed as it had felt beneath your touch, his whole frame covered in dark clothing that left his eyes as the only source of light that shone through that shadow of a man.

Well, you couldn't even consider them that, his blue orbs lacked that speck of light you'd grown accustomed to seeing in your son's; it left him looking like a ghost, a shell of a man. But maybe that was appropriate, he never did look like the kind of bloke you'd expect to be kind or sweet, he suited more the idea of a cold, ruthless man that had abandoned you and your son.

Even after having spent a night in his arms, felt the touch of his lips on your skin, memorised the feeling of his cock inside of you; he was still a stranger to you, a man you had idolised so much during the first days after your encounter that he had begun to form into someone completely different in your mind.

And now that he was in front of you, you knew. This wasn't the Simon from your dreams that held you in his arms, the Simon from your dreams that pressed kisses to your swollen belly whenever the baby would kick, the Simon from your dreams that hadn't left.

It was like a slap in the face.

One that brought you back to reality, that flushed away any daydream or idealised version you had of him from your mind, and forced you to focus on the man standing in front of you.

"You-"

"Did you keep it?"

As if you'd been sucker punched right in the gut, you felt the air leave your lungs, the words you had intended to speak sitting on the tip of your tongue like the bitter taste of black tea.

"It? Wh-"

"Him. Our son."

Our son.

It was funny, how he'd managed to say the two simple words that immediately made your blood boil in rage, tears forming at the corner of your eyes out of frustration as.

"Oh, so he's our son now?" You willed yourself to keep calm, but you couldn't help how your voice wavered when you spoke, this whole situation baring to be too much to handle along with your already declining mental state. "You didn't seem very interested before."

"I was gone."

"Oh, trust me, I know." You snarled, your harsh tone causing him to look away from you, whether it was in shock or fear, you didn't care. At least you couldn't feel small beneath his stare if he wasn't looking. "How long has it fucking been, Simon? A year. 9 months carrying your child and 3 months raising him. You have no fucking right to come knocking now and asking to see him."

"You don't understa-"

"I don't need to fucking understand, Simon!" You cried out, your voice ringing down the hall and in Ghost's ears, "I was alone! I am alone! I went through a terrifying pregnancy on my own because you couldn't bother to pick up the goddamn phone! Where were you when I needed you!? Where were you when the doctor told me that the birth might leave irreparable damage on my body!? Where were you when I almost lost him!?"

Silence filled the building, dull ringing in Ghost's ears from how loud you'd shouted, his gaze shifting up from the floor to you, his heart skipping a beat at your dishevelled state, your flushed face and tear stained cheeks, the hand that had been resting on the door now clenching your shirt right above your heart, as if the simple act of talking to him pained you to no end.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't fucking cut it, Simon. Sorry doesn't make up for this past year, for all the fucking pain I went through while you were, what, ignoring me the whole time!? Waiting until an 'acceptable' time to show up and fucking demand to see him!?"

"I'm not demanding." You flinched as one of his hands came to slam onto the top of the door that separated the both of you, his hand clenching around the wood hard enough to break it, and you knew that if he wanted to, he could. "I'm asking. I'm asking to see him, for you to let me explain why I was gone."

Your lower lip quivered at the way he spoke, so calm and composed compared to you, who'd let your emotions take control of your words and had just

"I don't know what you went through. I don't think I'll ever be able to understand. And.. I'm, I'm sorry, that you were forced to go through it alone," The apology that slipped through his lips sounded almost forced, like it was his first time hearing and speaking the words out of his mouth. "I'm not here just to see him. I'm here because you deserve an explanation on why I wasn't here. And I know it won't take away the pain, but I ho-"

The door slammed shut.

Ghost was left outside of your apartment, hand still testing on the flimsy wood of your door, staring at the point where your eyes had been mere seconds ago.

You'd closed the door on him.

You'd ripped any chances he'd had of seeing his son and explaining himself to you in half.

He'd gone through his speech for hours in the car, making sure that he wouldn't come off as rude or mean to you, that everything was explained slowly and coherently, but you'd just… Closed the door on him.

It was a funny sight, really. A giant of a man standing in the corridor of a beat down building in the middle of Manchester, outwardly looking like a kicked puppy if it weren't for the fire that was burning inside of him, bubbling beneath his skin as he got the urge to rip the whole fucking door off just so would fucking listen to-

The door opened again, properly, this time. No little gap where he could barely see your full body, where you were able to hide from him in fear that he'd do something disastrous like he'd just been thinking of.

You were letting him in.

That much was obvious, by the way your shaking frame was glued to the wall of the small corridor, allowing him space to cross through into the apartment he'd spent the night in a year ago.

No words had to be spoken, the reluctant look on your face telling him more than enough.

The few steps he took to enter your apartment felt like crossing a border to another world, one that he couldn't recognise as much as he tried to think back to the last time he'd been there.

Everything had changed. The wallpaper with the flowers that reminded him of his grandma's old home had been striped, replaced with a more cool paint over; the dingy sofa where he'd ripped your tights open was replaced with a much more softer and plush looking model, one that could no doubt be pulled into a bed; the bookshelf he'd gotten the sticky notes from had been ridden of many of the books that had littered it, replaced with children's books and a few pictures, baby toys strewn across the floor in front of it.

It felt like a whole different place than what he remembered. He didn't know what he had expected, for you to have a child and for nothing to change? He was aware of the chaos that a child brought, remembering how annoyed he himself had been as everything started to change around him when his brother had been born, the need it brought to rearrange the whole house to accommodate the baby and not have any dangerous items lying around.

Ghost made a mental note to himself as he picked up one of the picture frames from next to the small telly to clean up his own house before bringing his son there (if he was even allowed to), recalling the dust and grime that covered the corners of his rooms, the glass shards from the last time he'd drunk and passed out on the sofa littering his floors.

You pushed the door closed behind you both, shaky hands pressing onto the cool wood in an attempt to ground yourself, trying not to focus on the silent yet imposing footsteps of your son's father.

You don't know what possessed you to open the door, to let him into your space, that he'd now taken over like a shadow. He looked so… out of place.

A demon along the angels, a ghost along the living.

His dark clothes contrasted heavily with the bright colours of your son's toys that laid strewn across the floor, with the soft colours your walls were painted in, with the colourful blankets that you'd tried spicing up the sofa with, despite no one being able to appreciate them other than you.

It didn't feel right.

It didn't feel right to have him here, walking around your home like he belonged there, like he'd been there all along. It was wrong.

You felt like you couldn't breathe, like your throat was closing off and preventing any air from reaching your lungs properly. Your nails dug into your own palms as you clenched your hands closed, trying your best to even out your breathing and focus on anything but the impending conversation you'd have to have with him.

You could hear him say something, but your brain was so caught up with trying to stop yourself from spiralling that it didn't even comprehend what he was saying. The balaclava over his face was moving, indicating that he was speaking, but not a single sound was reaching your ears.

Your body was trembling at this point, mouth gasping for air as your throat continued to constrict, your eyes going blurry with tears as you watched him come closer to you, mouth still moving.

"Breathe." Two hard hands grabbed onto your shoulders, shaking you out of your stupor bordering on what you could easily identify as a panic attack, ones that you'd been prone to ever since you gave birth. "Look at me. Breathe."

Simon immediately knew what was happening without even having to look at you.

The laboured breaths that were leaving you were enough to activate the alarms in his head, recognising them immediately. He'd heard them many times before coming from him, his teammates, the people whose heads were pressed against his gun. You were spiralling, falling into the harming grasp of your anxiety and letting it infect your body.

When he got a panic attack, Simon rode through it. The therapist that Price had assigned him a few years ago had advised him to consider doing breathing exercises whenever he showed signs of having one, but during the year he'd seen her and the years to come, not once had he considered doing them. Sometimes, he felt like he deserved to feel like that, like he was suffocating, like his heart was about to be ripped out; for all the pain and suffering he'd inflicted on others, he deserved to feel at least a sliver of it.

But the thought of letting you experience that same pain, the same panic, the same hopelessness he felt whenever he'd cave into his depression, it wasn't a good one.

So despite his initial lack of remembrance of the exercises his therapist had offered, he tried his best to talk you through it, hands grasping at your shoulders and squeezing every time he saw you start to slip away back into that pit of anxiety, keeping his eyes on yours through the whole thing, not letting you go until you'd stopped shaking and your breath had become even once again.

You'd been so focused on the anxiety coursing through your veins that you hadn't even realised who was helping you through it, blindlessly following orders and breathing along with him, your brain subconsciously recognising his voice as something to cling onto, to pull you out of your own plunging thoughts.

But as soon as you realised whose eyes you were gazing into, whose hands were holding you down, you panicked again. Your own hands came up to push him away, the action catching him off guard and making him take a few small steps back from you, eyes still fixed on yours.

"Are y-"

"Shut up." You breathed out, interrupting him for what seemed like the 100th time that night, mimicking him and taking a few steps away from him and wrapping your arms over your upper body. "Sit."

Ghost finally tore his stare away from you to look down at the sofa, hesitantly taking the first steps forward like a cat meeting its owner for the first time before finally taking a seat on the sofa, sinking into the plush pillows thanks to his weight and looking around from the new perspective.

"Do you normally have panic attacks?" He spoke up, thankful that you didn't interrupt him this time, voicing his concern.

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking down at your fuzzy socks as you thought back to all the times you'd had to go through them on your own sitting at the doctor's office, lying in bed after putting Tommy to sleep, looking at yourself in the mirror after your labour…

Your doctor had warned you about the rollercoaster of emotions your body would go through after giving birth, including the depression many women suffered that unfortunately had affected you too during the first few weeks; but you hadn't expected it to continue until this late.

"...sometimes." You mumbled, hands running up and down your arms as you squirmed beneath his glare. "It's normal. For a lot of women."

He didn't answer, nodding in response instead before turning his head to the side table, where a small picture of a very tiny Tommy sat, his hand itching towards it to take it in properly.

The silence that followed what you could barely call a conversation was unbearable. The tension that hung in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, the silence almost suffocating you as you tried to muster up the courage to speak up if he wasn't going to, despite him having almost broken down your door in order to talk.

"...so? Are you going to explain?"

Simon stayed quiet, the whole speech he'd rehearsed back in his car suddenly fizzing away from his mind like a shooting star in the night sky. He was left with barely an outline of what he wanted to say, a vague idea of everything he'd tried his best to put into words before seeing you.

But actually having you in front of him, sitting on the same sofa he'd once pressed you against, gazing into the eyes he'd once thought so much about before the start of that god awful mission, made every last thread of sanity that remained in him snapped.

He was sure that without the mask he'd look like a fool, mouth slightly open and half lidded slate blue eyes fluttering with every blink, transfixed by the vision that was you, in front of him.

"Look, if you're not even going to fucking talk, you can just go right back out the fu-"

"I can't tell you exactly what happened." You stopped mid-rant, cheeks burning in embarrassment after being the one who was interrupted this time. "My job doesn't allow it."

His job? Was he really blaming everything on his job? What kind of goddamn profession forced you to go radio silent for a whole year?

"What do you work in?"

"..." Simon regarded you with a poignant sheen in his eyes, clearly at odds with deciding what to say, the truth or what he had been taught to recite in a situation like this. "I protect."

Even if he didn't outright say what his vocation was, you could do more than assume.

Protection could mean many things, like working at one of those security alarm companies to working as a bodyguard for some fancy rich guy, but with one look at the man sitting in front of you, you could tell.

And it was terrifying.

You'd assumed he was some type of bodybuilder when you'd first saw him, but as you recalled his tactical steps as he walked you down the street, the way his hand flew to his belt when you'd pass some creepy looking guy, as if he was expecting something to be hanging from there, it all started to click.

You had two options before you. He was either a fucking mercenary or military. And although both options were terrifying on their own, you hoped to whatever god that was looking down on you that it was the latter. You wouldn't know what you'd do with yourself if the father of your sweet baby boy was some type of criminal.

"You protect?" You let out, careful with your words in case you said something that you shouldn't, terrified with the prospect of him getting annoyed or angry now that you had an idea of what he did for a living.

"I protect." He parroted, lifting his hand to shove it into one of the pockets that adorned his jacket, pulling out a slim laminated piece of paper, what you could only assume was some sort of identification. "Here."

You took it hesitantly, flipping it over to scan your eyes over the confusing words that lettered the ID, mostly all words you'd never heard before in your life, but you were smart enough to grasp the concept of it.

"You work in the army?" You question, finger running over his title, repeating his newly discovered last name in your head, cursing at yourself for even thinking of how normal it would sound led by your son's name.

"SAS. Lieutenant. Can't say more than that." His gloved hand came back up to hopefully grab his ID back, but you dodged him, taking a few steps back and flipping it back over so he could see what you were pointing at.

"There's no picture." You finally referred to the black space that filled what was supposed to be a headshot of whichever soldier's ID it was. "How… how do I know this is real?"

You watched the mask move as he furrowed his eyebrows, the hand that had fallen onto his knee now gripped at the cargo pants, his eyes showing the disbelief that shot through his body.

"Y'think I made a fuckin' fake ID?" He grunted out, lifting himself from his spot on the sofa and glowering down at you, who did your best to not stand down almost immediately out of fear of his massive frame. "I don't carry 'round a picture of my face, defeats the whole purpose of my fuckin' mask."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you tried coming up with some type of rebuttal that would shut him right up, but you ended up once again asking another desperate question.

"That doesn't explain why you were gone."

Silence.

The crickets that sang from downstairs, the sound of the creaking from upstairs with every step one of your neighbours took, the suddenly suffocating feeling of your tiny apartment, everything seemed to increase ten fold with every second that passed.

"I can't tell you much." He leaned his head back, twisting his neck to a side to reveal some of the hair that had grown down to below his chin after a year of not properly shaving, making you look away from what almost seemed like an invasion of privacy.

"Oh, fuck you." You let out an amused scoff, unbelieving that still after everything that had happened in the short amount of time he'd been back, he still refused to say anything. "Go to hell, Simon."

"I was on a fuckin' mission. A long one. I wasn't allowed any devices, like always, so I couldn't get back to you." He looked back at you with a glare that easily rivalled yours, voice rising in volume with each word he spoke, clearly pissed off at how you were acting with him despite having tried to explain himself, but deep down he knew that it was expected from you after what you'd gone through, yet he still couldn't help but feel disappointed deep down.

"Don't raise your fucking voice at me, I'm not the one who's at blame here, Simon!" You shoved a finger into his stiff chest, doing barely as much 'damage' as you pretended to, but you did your best to get your point across.

"I'm not raising my vo-"

A high pitched cry cut through both of your raising voices, Simon's hand immediately going to his belt out of instinct while you whipped your head in the direction of Tommy's room, wincing in both fatigue and shame for having forgotten about your poor, sensitive to noises baby boy.

You put a finger up before Simon could even get the idea of heading there first, an authoritative glare on your face as you grew 10 times braver now that it came to your son's mood and well-being.

"Stay." You hissed, almost like you were reprimanding a mutt instead of a grown man. "Don't fucking follow me."

Once you were sure you'd gotten the message across, you pulled yourself away from his gaze and quickly entered your son's nursery, cooing and shushing at him as you neared his crib.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, duck, I'm sorry." You whispered, carefully picking up his fidgeting body in your arms and pressing him to your chest, rocking him as gently as you could in your told. "Mommy's sorry, she didn't mean to scare you."

His crying didn't cease, only getting louder as you desperately tried to get him to quiet down, terrified of the racket he was no doubt making for the next door neighbours, who'd probably come by tomorrow with some not very nice words.

Your hands were shaking as he still didn't calm down, a shiver running up your spine while goosebumps racked your body as you saw the light that came from the living room be blocked by a large mass of what you could only assume was Simon.

"I told you not to follow." You kept your voice small as he took slow steps towards you, not wanting to agitate Tommy even more than he already was, knowing how enervated you'd be in the morning if that was the case.

"I want to see him."

You bit down on your tongue before you shot out a snappy response, realising that this was not the time nor the place for snarky comments, as much as you wanted Simon to finally get a hint and leave you both alone.

"You haven't even told me his name."

Screwing your eyes closed, you pressed Tommy to your chest a bit tighter, both to calm the two of you down and in an attempt of caging him away from the shadow of a man towering behind you.

"You never asked for it." You felt him stop behind you as you spoke, his eyes staring holes into the back of your head, as if that would finally get you to move so he could see his son.

He stayed silent once again, looking over every single detail in the nursery, from the row of knitted stuffed animals to the plastic fluorescent stars stuck to the ceiling above the crib, eyes trailing over the bookcase that looked a bit too unstable for his liking, the screws too loose to be holding up all that weight properly.

"Did you build these yourself?" Simon watched you turn your head over your shoulder to see what he was referring to, glowering at him crossly as you looked over the furniture.

"Didn't have anyone else to do it, did I?" You snapped, going back to the crying baby in your arms as he continued to look around, gloved fingers running over some of the spines of the books that laid on the shelves, recognising some of them from his own childhood bookshelf.

"You still don't believe me, d'you?"

A beat.

The finalising sound of his footsteps exiting the room made a weight you hadn't realised was pressing on your chest dissipate out of relief, only to come back heavier than ever as he pushed the duffle bag he'd been carrying towards you with his foot.

You looked down at the spilling contents tentatively, almost worried that there was some type of danger in there that would force you to take cover or cower in a corner, but all you found were military pants and clothes, a gun hidden in its holster, and in the hand that slowly appeared in the corner of your vision, dog tags.

"Look." He brought them up closer to your face so you'd be able to see even in the dim lighting that came from the fluorescent stars stuck on the ceiling and the small nightlight, the name engraved in it identical to the one you'd found on the ID. And although most IDs were pretty easy to fake, you were pretty sure dog tags like these weren't. They had the SAS' inscription on them along with a few codes and numbers you were too ignorant about the army to understand; but for all you knew, they could be as fake as the ones some men wore as fashion.

Maybe that still wouldn't have been enough, if it weren't for the gun. England was very strict with gun laws, and the only people you'd ever seen handle one were the police and the military. So he'd either gotten one very illegally or was truly who he said he was.

And as much as you wanted it to all be fake, for him to be the random bloke you'd had sex with that had no connections to anything dangerous, you knew it wasn't. It was blatantly obvious now that he'd laid down everything in front of you like a puzzle, he was telling the truth.

And god, how much you hated it. You hated that the so-called excuse he'd used before was close to being set in stone by now, that everything was falling into place.

"They're real. I promise."

His promises meant nothing to you, and he knew that, but he had to try anything he could for you to finally believe him, to pull down the walls you'd built and let him in.

"..." You looked away from him and his outstretched hand, pulling your still weeping baby closer to you as you debated on what to do, mind torn between two headspaces.

A shaky sight left your lips as he finally started to tone down, his small pudgy hands grabbing at your sweater in an attempt to ground himself, to find a smell and feel he knew brought safety.

"...his name's Tommy."

You felt him freeze behind you, the aura around him growing cold almost immediately, like you'd just blatantly insulted him without any remorse.

"Tommy." He echoed, voice scratchy as if he was dying of thirst, body suddenly feeling like it had been dunked under tiding waves. "Why?"

"Why?" It was your turn to repeat what he'd said, turning around fully and allowing him the first proper look at his infant son.

Any feeling of displeasure or uncomfort left Simon's body as his eyes landed on the small boy whose teary eyes were trained on his mother's, soft hands clinging onto her like all hell would break loose if he weren't, pudgy body wrapped up in soft blanket decorated with a tiny duck print, the animal something he'd heard you refer to him as before.

God, he wasn't even listening anymore, too enamoured with the small being that lied in your arms, his hands itching towards him in hopes of taking him in his own.

His stomach sank as you stepped back in tandem with him, shielding Tommy from him like he was a monster.

"I, uhm…" you looked up at him through glassy eyes, clearly having been taken aback by his sudden advance towards you both, ending with you pressed against the wooden crib's side. "I didn't really think about it. It just… felt right. It sounded nice. There isn't really any… meaning behind it, as far as I know."

And that was true, as far as you knew, Tommy was just one of the names you'd underlined in one of the many baby name books your mother had brought over with her. But for Simon, it was oh so much more than that. It brought back memories that he hadn't thought about in a very long time, including those rough times he'd spent cooped up in that godforsaken house trying his best to take care of the only family he had left.

And although he hadn't heard from his brother in a long while, he couldn't help but feel slightly hollow at the simple thought of him, who now unknowingly shared his name with his new nephew.

"...right." Despite everything that was whirling around in his brain, every single memory and doubt he wished he could share without destroying himself inside out, that single word of confirmation was the only thing he could get out.

Tommy let out a whine, small hand tugging at your shirt as he instantly pulled your attention back to him, small body fidgeting in your hold in a way that would make you drop him if you weren't used to his urge to not stay still.

"Yeah, I get it, duck." You said, balancing him carefully in the crook of one of your arms before picking up the half-empty bottle you'd placed next to the crib, knowing he'd wake up within the little time the milk could sit out and demand to be fed with his startling cries. "It's here, don't worry. You're not going to starve."

Simon watched from the shadows as your son immediately latched on to the bottle, acting like he'd been starved for over a week, when his last feeding session had been barely an hour ago.

"He's very greedy." You mumbled, mostly to yourself, but looked up at Simon as he let out a humoured exhale.

"Most babies are." He said, remembering how needy his own little brother was when it came to feeding, whining and screaming until everyone in the house had woken up.

Silence fell upon the room, the only conceivable sound in the house being the sound of Tommy drinking and the soft jingle of the crib mobile whenever a soft gust of wind came through the parted window.

For the first time in the hour Simon had been back in your life, you felt calm. Your heartbeat had come down to a normal rate, your body had stopped jolting and shaking every now and then, and there was a small smile tugging at your lips as you watched your son cling to the bottle in your hands.

Even Simon's presence had stopped putting you on edge, since now he was just silently gazing down at his son, who's eyes were fixed back on his father's, almost like they were both having a staring contest, and it was unclear who was about to win.

Tommy normally bursted into tears when he was near a stranger, too many new scents and sounds around him since he was used to the calmer and soother environment that was his nursery, so apart from the short strolls you'd take down the streets, he barely went out with you, and when he did, he didn't get to met many new people. You remember how embarrassed you'd been when one of your neighbours had come by to help with fixing a light and Tommy had started bawling at the mere sight of the unfamiliar man standing in the doorway.

So it was a bittersweet surprise when you realised he must've taken an instinctual liking to his father, despite not properly having the brain capacity to regard him as such, and although you'd have plenty of time to go over that later, for now, you were relieved that he hadn't turned to wailing as loud as he could and bursting all three of your eardrums (although if Simon did work in what he said he did, you were sure he'd be used to loud noises by now).

"How d'you pay for all this?"

"What?" You said, the calm expression that had graced your face quickly forming back into the pissed one he'd gotten so used to seeing in the past hour, the innocent yet aggravating question instantly spoiling your mood. "What do you fu- what do you mean?"

"The furniture, the clothes, the nappies." He nodded towards every single thing he listed, only adding onto your annoyance even more. "Where d'you work?"

You snapped your head down to Tommy in order to avoid his damaging questions, meeting the cute scene of your son fast asleep, probably having passed out after such a long staring contest with his dad and finally having a full belly. You ignored the weight of your impending answer as you placed him down carefully back into his crib, letting his chubby cling onto your fingers for a bit before slowly wrenching his grip off, turning back around to his father.

"I don't work. Not anymore." You kept your voice hushed, picking up the empty baby bottle along with a bag of dirty nappies, standing next to the doorway until he got the memo to walk out before you. "Got fired from the bar cause I was too distracted and I messed a lot of things up…. Had to use my savings to pay for everything during my pregnancy."

He watched you walk around the kitchen and put everything away like it was routine, like it was some sort of art that you'd perfected, while thinking over the information he'd just received from you.

He felt horrible. The mere thought of you, pregnant and alone with no job able to support you, working on the crib and nursery on your own was enough to tear his cold heart in two. And he didn't even want to think about how much money you had left, which by the sight of the very expensive-looking cot and all the toys that laid strewn across the bedroom floor, wasn't much.

He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back onto one of the walls and thought about the next words that were going to leave his mouth, the next words that would either end up with you both growing closer together or you continuing to push him away.

"Let me help you."

You stopped dead in your tracks while rearranging one of the cupboards, turning around with a look of disbelief painted on your face, beyond bewildered at what he was even starting to proffer.

"Help me?"

Simon had more money than he knew what to do with. Albeit, a small part of it was sent to his brother and his family at the end of every few months, he was still left with a huge amount of money he didn't really know what to spend it on apart from on the bottles of alcohol that littered the floor of his apartment.

But now that he'd learned about his own family, seen the state your flat was in despite you trying to save face by decorating it as much as you could, about as much information as you had given out about your financial situation, he finally knew what to do with all that money that was left over.

"Help you. Financially. Tommy's my son too." Simon raised a gloved hand up as he watched your mouth open, immediately shutting you up like a teacher would a student. "As much as you want to deny it, s'true. And I'm going to help you." His finger landed on the small island counter, accentuating his point with every word he spoke. "Whether you like it or not."

Now, you'd be bellow stupid to even refuse an offer like this (even though he'd made it quite clear it wasn't an offer, more like an insistence), especially since your bank account was quickly reaching negative numbers with every day that passed, not a lot of jobs being open to a new mother who'd either have to take her baby everywhere or leave between shifts to take care of him (and a nanny was of course out of the question, with what money would you pay them?); and pushing aside your still initial distrust towards him, you couldn't say no to him. Both, because he wouldn't let you and because you needed the help, as much as you didn't want to admit it.

Very deep down, you wanted to say no, to push him out of the flat like you should've done when he had first taken a step inside, that he'd had his chance with both Tommy and you and that his bloody stupid excuses weren't going to work… but god, would you have been a moron to even consider letting those words leave your mouth.

You closed the cabinet shut, turning around to face him properly despite the absolute nerves that were coursing through your body, looking out the window across from you instead of at the imposing figure of the man standing before you.

"Simon, I… Look, just…." You tried changing subject, grasping at straws in order to keep yourself from falling to your knees and thanking him for helping you, to break down again like you'd done within the first quarter hour of seeing him again. "...thank you."

He didn't reply, only nodding in response as he turned away from you, letting you stare at his back as he cocked his head to a side to subtly look into Tommy's room, your small baby boy still fast asleep with his clingy hands holding onto one of the many toys you'd placed in there for him to stay entertained with.

"It's, uhm… it's getting quite late." You pointed out as you looked back out the window, rain pattering against your window as another one of England's classic showers hit your city, your arms wrapping around your torso and running your hands up and down the exposed skin. "How about we just… call it a day and talk about it tomorrow?"

Simon grunted, shrugging his shoulders like he really didn't care, but before you had chance to comment on it, he spoke over his shoulder, his head tilted in a way that the shadows curved around the balaclava covering up his face, his blue eyes slightly brighter than when he'd first shown up.

"I've got some stuff to attend to tomorrow." He muttered, nodding towards the duffle bag that he'd brought out with him when you'd both left the nursery, indicating that he wasn't fully finished with work. "It'll be a while 'till I'm able to just sit down with you."

God, you hated how much fear that single sentence struck in you. Like almost the thought of him leaving for more than a day after finally showing up and explaining everything to you was enough to raise up the anxiety that wrapped around your chest and travelled across every single nerve in your system.

So fucking pathetic. You thought to yourself before looking over at the sofa, the new one you'd bough and arranged yourself a few months into your pregnancy, when you were barely showing and could still handle physical work like that; remembering how much the salesman had insisted on that the pullout was the best option for when you had guests over, it was moderately comfy and big enough to fit up to two people.

And Simon kind of… He kind of counted for two people, right? With that bloody stature of his and his darned accentuated muscles you'd been so in awe of that fateful night.

"You can just take the sofa for tonight. Then we can talk in the morning before you leave." Your mouth acted faster than your brain did, but this time, you didn't really feel embarrassed or disappointed in yourself, I mean, it was the logical solution to this sort of problem. He'd made it quite clear that he wanted to be in his son's life, so if that was true, you'd have to get used to him being around you, invading the safe space you'd worked so hard to create for you and your son, as much as it tore your body and mind apart thanks to your mixed feelings about him.

"You sure?" He pushed himself off the doorframe which he'd been leaning on, getting back to his full height so he could tower over you, glancing at the tiny sofa. "You think I'll fit?"

"It pulls out." Unlike you. "You'll fit."

Once again, it seemed that he couldn't even get the words out to thank you, nodding in response before turning back to look at his sleeping son in the nursery's background. You pushed past him to get to the cupboard that sat in the corner, rummaging through it for some relatively clean and warm blankets, keeping an ear out just in case decided to walk a bit too close to Tommy, still a bit on edge when it came to him spending time around your son.

"D'you have a balcony I can use?" He cut through the silence, dangling a packet of cigarettes in front of your face to make his advances clear.

Although you weren't a chronic smoker yourself, you had indulged in a cig once in a while, and you knew that it sometimes did help soothe your anxiety or stress, and by the looks of how Simon was fidgeting in his spot and his fingers were clearly itching towards the lighter in his pocket, it was quite clear he was in need of one.

"I don't. Use the window furthest from Tommy's room." You pointed out of the room towards the window you'd been staring out of before. You watched him stroll out, opening up the window and letting in a gust of cold wind in the process, making you speed up your work so you could close the door faster and Tommy wouldn't get a chill.

"You can't smoke around Tommy, you know that, right? If you're really going to be in his life, I'm going to need you to quit while you're here." You commented as you placed down the blankets onto an armchair before moving onto the sofa bed itself, removing some of the cushions before resuming.

"'lright." He muttered between a few inhales of the smoke, his voice much clearer now that he'd pulled his mask up to his nose, letting you gaze upon the beard that had grown over his lower face, something that hadn't been there before. But you assumed that a year-long mission wouldn't really allow you to take time to shave. "Jus' really needed this."

"I get it." You grunted as you grabbed onto the flimsy handle at the bottom and pulled out the second part of the sofa's mattress, almost landing on your behind if it weren't for one of Simon's hands on the small of your back, helping you regain your balance before he went back to taking puffs of his cigarette next to the window.

Soon enough, Simon's cigarette burnt down to a stub, flicking it out the window and down onto the concrete below, turning back around to where you were finishing up what would be his bed tonight, tucking in some of the ends of the sheets and stuffing pillows into covers.

"Here." He spoke, his voice back to being muffled as he pulled the mask back down, taking the pillow from your hands and pushing it into the cover without any effort.

"Pillows might be a bit stiff. These are really old." You didn't even bother thanking him, taking the pillows and fluffing them up to the best of your ability, before propping them up on the armrest. "Do you want to, uhm." You gestured towards the black smudged paint around his eyes. "Clean up?"

"It's fine. I've slept worse."

He started to pull off his jacket, his shirt going with it for a moment and exposing his midriff and happy trail, immediately snapping your head away from the sight.

That's how Simon ended lying on the pretty well made sofa, shoes and jacket discarded next to him with a thin blanket draped over his tired body, balaclava still resting over his face despite being plunged in the darkness that was broken whenever a car passed by outside or by the soft glow of his son's fluorescent stars that decorated his ceiling.

Simon was aware of how long he'd gone without having a good night's sleep, that he should at least try to catch a few minutes of sleep at best, but he couldn't find the energy to even close his eyes. He knew that after such a long and exciting mission his body had to come down from it slowly, taking a few days of getting used to the sudden serenity that enveloped him before he could fully relax and find some sleep.

And so he lied there, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling and listening to the snores that came from his son's room and the shuffling and incoherent murmurs that came from yours, the constant affirmation that you both were fine enough of a substitute for the sleep he was missing.

And he was… content like that, for a while. Listening to the both of you sleep and tapping his fingers against his chest in an attempt to ground himself and to shove away any unwanted thoughts that would forcibly make their way into his already broken mind.

Until one of the cars outside backfired, a sound Simon had gotten used to after driving all those barely working cars they'd find in the way during missions, producing a sound that echoed throughout the living room, making Simon instinctively flinch, his fingers gripping down on the blanket hard enough to rip it, not having expected to hear a sound so akin to a bomb or a grenade while he was lying down calmly near his newfound family.

Fuck, he was pathetic. It was horrible how such an innocent sound made his instincts go haywire, his skin prickle with goosebumps and his heart skip a beat.

But clearly, as Tommy's cries rang out through the flat, he hadn't been the only one to be disturbed.

"Fuck." The blanket pooled down onto the floor next to his discarded clothes, pushing himself off the sofa and passing by your bedroom, where you were still presumably sleeping, your body wriggling beneath the covers as your brain attempted to keep you asleep.

You'd mentioned that Tommy had gone down easily this time, so it was relatively early for yourself to go to bed, and he'd heard you mutter to yourself as you climbed into bed that you were going to enjoy your rest, so staying on the sofa and waiting for you to wake up, was not going to happen, especially after all the trouble he'd gone through with convincing you to let him in Tommy's life.

This was part of being a father, a parent, waking up at ungodly hours of the night to take care of your fussing baby.

He carefully made his way towards Tommy's crib, removing his gloves in order to not scare him with an unknown touch, although he doubted that his calloused fingers would be any better substitute.

"S'alright." He murmured, a finger softly prodding at his chubby belly in order to catch his attention, the boy's wails only getting louder as he caught sight of his father's skulled balaclava. "Oh, fu- Look, hey, look at me."

Without any hesitation, Simon ripped off his mask, his hair getting messed up in the process but he couldn't care less, only focused on getting his son to recognise him as a human man and not the goddamn grim reaper who'd come for him.

Tommy sniffled as he toned down the fussing, blue eyes darting all over his father's face as if committing it to memory, chubby fingers leaning down to grab at the one Simon had woken him up with, and much like he did with any other thing he found lying around, shoved it right in his mouth, drooling around it.

A breathless chuckle escaped Simon's mouth as he watched him roll and fuss around his finger, resting his other arm on the crib and lying his head against it, transfixed with the sight of his small son.

A few tears were still running down his chubby cheeks, but he seemed to have calmed down now, Simon's finger acting like some sort of replacement for the pacifier that laid abandoned next to him.

"C'mon. Stop cryin'." He grumbled, pulling his finger out of his grasp and placing his large hands beneath Tommy's small body, carefully picking him up (making sure to support his little head like he'd seen you do) and propping him up in the crook of his arm, letting him squirm around for a bit until he found the perfect position. "You're a wriggly one aren't you?"

As expected, he didn't get any response apart from the thousand yard stare his son looked up at him with, similar to the one he occasionally gave Johnny to watch him freak out. Now that he did look at him closely, he could pinpoint how many features he'd inherited from his father's side, his shaggy hair, his blue eyes, his slightly crooked nose, even the chubby rolls and fingers he remembered seeing in his little brother.

"That's a boy." Tommy's eyes started to droop with every second he spent lying in his father's arms, his tears drying out and coos leaving his mouth instead of the agonising cries. "Feelin' better?"

He blindly walked over to the small chair he'd spotted in the corner of the room when he'd first walked in, grunting like his grandfather did as he sat down, careful to not squish or drop Tommy in the process, his hands tightening around him as the chair slightly reclined, the chair's feature catching him off guard and instantly activating the instinct to protect the small human in his arms that depended on him.

But Tommy didn't even flinch, giggling at the warmth that enveloped him and snuggling further into the blanket and his father's arms in the process, eyes still fixed on the dark paint that adorned his father's.

Finally, after their second staring match of the night, Tommy's eyelids finally closed, losing the battle and falling prey to sleep, something Simon silently wished he could too. Resting him in one arm, he pulled his balaclava back down, feeling a bit too exposed now that the need to have it off had ceased. He leaned his head back on the rest and stared up at the dim glowing stars, focusing on the steady breaths that racked his son's tiny body and the faint feeling of his heartbeat against his arm.

He could… he could really get used to this.

Having such a small thing in his arms, something he was responsible for, something he was supposed to love and care for, a purpose to continue the dangerous life he'd thrusted himself in. He was a father now. And although he knew barely nothing about being one, he'd learn. He hoped it wasn't a one time thing and that Tommy had truly taken a liking to him, that he was going to be able to take at least a bit off the load that you carried by helping in whatever way he could, whether it was bonding with his on or simply financially if that's all you wished of him.

He was a bit too lost in his thoughts as he reclined further in the plush chair, pressing Tommy to his chest so he was half lying on him, half still resting in his arms, a pretty comfortable position for the both of them.

"-mon."

"Simon!"

The blond was jolted awake by a pair of hands shaking him, his immediate instinct being to search around for the baby he remembered falling asleep with, blurry vision darting around to find him cooing and gurgling in your arms, hands latched onto your sleep shirt.

He turned to look out the window while cracking his neck, disoriented and confused about what time it was, the subtle sun rays that shone through the clouds and into the nursery telling him enough.

Had he fallen asleep? Like, actually slept for over an hour without waking up or any disturbances?

"'m sorry." His voice was deeper after a good night's rest, you noted as he rubbed his eyes with the bottom of his palm in an attempt to clear the blurriness, choosing to ignore the click of your tongue against the roof of your mouth. "Time?"

"'bout eight." You said, bouncing Tommy in your arms as you nodded towards the clock that hung up above him, eyes darting back down to see him hunched over, hands beneath his balaclava rubbing away the sleep in his eyes and no doubt spreading the face paint everywhere. "Tommy needs to have breakfast so I just assumed you'd want to be woken up as well. But, you're, uhm, welcome to sleep longer, I guess."

"No, I'm fine. I have to get up." Within a second, he was at his feet, Tommy staring up at him in awe as if he were gazing upon a giant, one of his chubby hands leaving your shirt to try and grab onto his, but Simon had left before he could even make first contact.

"You stayed here to talk, remember?" You said snappily at him as you followed, watching him pick up all his stuff. "We should talk."

His shoulders deflated mid tying his boot, a solemn nod in response like even talking to you was a chore, and after the night you'd had the day before, any little irritating thing like that was going to be enough to set you off.

"I want to be a part of Tommy's life. I've made that clear."

"I know. And that's… fine. But we're going to need boundaries."

He sighed, turning around with his other boot dangling from his hand, leaning his side on the wall opposite what had been supposed to be his bed for the night (the horror you'd felt when you saw him gone and your son's door open was unmeasurable), and nodding once again, eyes looking down at you expectantly.

Oh. Right. You were the one speaking.

"Well, for starters… if you really can't tell me more about your job than you already have, I want you to at least keep me updated whenever you leave for work. I.. I don't want any more surprises."

I don't want to feel the way I felt during that year again.

"Alright."

You nodded, pulling Tommy closer as he became enamoured with the necklace that dangled from your neck, trying his mighty best to pull the charm in his mouth as you talked. "And, if you stay over, you take the couch. And not taking Tommy out without me. Until… further notice." You feared you were being a bit too strict with him, but simply reminding yourself that this was in fact, basically a stranger who just happened to father your child, and you'd have to take preventive measures until you were sure that you could leave Tommy alone with him.

Simon ignored the slight pain that stabbed at his heart when you said that, but… it was understandable. You'd been with Tommy longer than him, hell, you'd carried him for a whole 9 months, you had a stronger bond with your son than he had. For both of your safety and his, he'd go along with anything you'd say.

After agreeing with a simple nod and finishing tying up his shoes, he walked up to you both, fingers brushing against your clavicle as he pulled your necklace out of Tommy's mouth, blue eyes fixated on yours. "Send me your bank details later. I'll deposit some money for you both. As much as you need."

He hesitated a few moments before pulling his fingers away, instead running them down Tommy's nose bridge before pulling away, pulling a giggle out of him.

"O-okay."

He nodded, leaning down to zip up his duffle bag before strapping it over his shoulder, jacket in his other arm since it was relatively warm outside for a morning in Manchester. "Text me if y'need anything. I'll answer this time… I promise."

You winced, the subject of his disappearance still a touchy matter despite everything you'd both discussed the night before, but by the way he hesitated before speaking, the way he was awkwardly standing in the main corridor, he was either very obviously lying or telling the truth.

You hoped it was the latter.

"...okay. Goodbye, Simon."

The moment the door opened, the doorbell rang out, making you and Tommy flinch at the loud sound and Simon grumble at being the main victim of the ringer.

Your neighbour was standing there, finger on the bell, furrowed eyebrows glaring up at the intimidating man.

"Good morning?" You poked your head around Simon's large frame, Tommy hiding his face in the crook of your neck as if able to sense the confrontation about to happen. "Is everything okay?"

"Uh, no. Sorry, just. I think I speak for everyone in this building that we'd appreciate it if you'd keep that baby o'yours quiet once in a while. Barely gotten any sleep these days 'cause of his bloody crying." He frowned, glaring down at the baby in question, as if he was truly to blame for something he was barely able to control. Your cheeks warmed in embarrassment, having remembered that you'd already expected this last night when Tommy had burst into tears the first time, and then the second time when you were asleep.

"Right, I'm s-"

"Babies cry." Ghost interrupted, glare fixed on the man in front of you both, hand tightening around the doorframe much like when he'd been trying to convince you to let him in. "Y'can't really help it."

"Well you can shut him up-"

"And we did. Wondering if I'm going to need to do the same to you." He said gruffly, almost puffing his chest out of pride when he saw the man's colour drain from his face. It was a bit of a shitty rebuttal, in hindsight, but when it came from the beast of a man that he was, it was enough to make a grown man like the one in front of him piss his pants. "'m I?"

"N-no, sir."

"Sorted." He watched the neighbour scurry off back into his apartment like a bug of sorts, turning back to you with an amused glint in his normally inexpressive eyes. "Bother you often?"

"Yeah." You said breathlessly, actually impressed with how quickly he'd been able to get rid of him, like your own personal pest exterminator. "Thank you."

"He won't anymore." He stepped out into the hall, sparing you and your son one last glance before awkwardly lifting his hand up in an attempt to say goodbye, Tommy immediately trying to reach over to him with a plump hand, fingers flexing as if trying to use the force to pull his dad back.

"He'll be back, duck, don't worry… he's not leaving."

Ghost pressed the button to the elevator, willing himself enough strength to not turn around immediately at the sounds of his soon cooing and whining at him, the soft words you spoke plunging a spear into his cold heart.

He'd be back. He promised.

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