✦ Kim Young Jo Y Keonhee
✦ Kim Young Jo y Keonhee
Extencion: 2.2k
Tags: enemies to lovers, students, sexual tension, no-smut, spit kink
Kim Young Jo fue popular desde que tenía memoria, su belleza era motivo de comentarios halagadores que levantaran su ego. Su pelo castaño claro, la sonrisa engreída y su increíble talento para ser bueno en todo, eran las razones principales por las que en su propia escuela tuviera un club de fans. Kim Young Jo es una persona amada.
—Me gusta otra persona—su novia de hace más de cuatro meses estaba terminando con él, por alguien más.
—¿Eh? ¿Estás segura?—la voz de Kim Young Jo tembló—¿Estás segura de que no estás terminando conmigo por otra cosa? ¿Por qué soy engreído? ¿Quizás no soportas que sea más lindo que tú?
—Kim Young Jo… Realmente eres lo peor—río Jinhwa, su ahora expareja—Pero no, estoy segura. Hay alguien que tiene mi atención.
Este era un tipo de crisis que Kim Young Jo no conocía. No le importaba su relación con Jinhwa, aceptó tener una relación porque no era celosa y casi no tenía tiempo para ambos, ya que se la pasaba estudiando. Sin embargo, esta ruptura y la razón detrás, lo dejaba ansioso. ¿Habría alguien más hermoso que él? Imposible.
—¿Puedo saber por quién me estás dejando?
—Lee Keon Hee, del equipo de vóley.
En cuanto Jinhwa se fue, ese nombre le quedó resonando en la cabeza, pero su ego en las nubes le dijo que solo era una chica equivocada. Que no había nadie mejor que él. Así que por ahora solo se preocuparía de cómo lidiar con las personas que lo invitaran a salir ahora que estaba soltero, solo espera que las bocas tardaran de hablar sobre ello.
Camino por los pasillos de vuelta a sus clases, donde se encontró con su fiel amigo, Seoho. Le contó sobre lo sucedido con Jinhwa, mencionando vagamente al chico.
—Sí, Lee Keon Hee se está haciendo popular—agregó Seoho dándole una mirada rápida a su amigo—Ya tiene un club de fans con más de dos mil seguidores.
El castaño casi se atraganta con el agua que estaba tomando, club de fans… ya tenía un club de fans. Él tardó casi tres años en que se formara un buen grupo de fans y, sin embargo, llegaba este chico de la nada y ya andaba armando revuelto por todas partes. Que molesto. Respiro profundo, se dispuso a no prestarle atención, que lo que nacía rápido también moría rápido.
O eso pensó, los días pasaron, y no solo los alumnos hablaban de Lee Keon Hee, los profesores, quienes siempre fueron su máquina de adulaciones, solo le decían palabras dulces para compararlos entre sí. Pronto también se hizo público la separación de la pareja, y en las páginas de confesiones de la escuela hablaban de que Jinhwa lo había engañado con Lee Keon Hee. Las páginas de fans de ambos chicos se pusieron a la defensiva, defendiendo y atacando al otro. Dentro y fuera de la escuela, la tensión creció entre dos chicos que ni siquiera se conocían.
Kim Young Jo siempre fue popular, acostumbrado, se encontraba. Sin embargo, cuando ya no pudo caminar por los pasillos de la escuela sin que diez personas le preguntaran sobre Lee Keon Hee, empezó a hartarse.
Terminaría con la estrella naciente, Lee Keon Hee.
✦
Esto era terrible, terrible. Kim Young Jo se encontraba escondido en las gradas del gimnasio, el equipo de vóley estaba practicando y las pelotas volando por todas partes ya lo estaban mareando, poco acostumbrado a los deportes. Sabía que no era el único espiándolo, un grupo de chicas lindas susurraban entre sí mirando al joven.
Lee Keon Hee era guapo, no tan guapo como él, pero tenía su propia belleza. El rubio lo resaltaba, su sonrisa era agradable y sin duda tenía una buena estructura corporal. Le ardía la sangre, tenía tantos celos que el calor lo inundaba, deseaba ocultar a ese chico.
La clase terminó con ruidos jadeantes, las chicas se fueron avergonzadas y Kim Young Jo decidió que iba a enfrentar a ese descarado. Salió de su escondite apretando los labios, y ni siquiera se dio cuenta de que estaba cegado por la furia hasta que casi cae rodando por los escalones, tuvo la suerte de poder disimularlo cuando el equipo de vóley se dio la vuelta ante el ruido seco.
—¿Oh? ¿Ese no es Kim Young Jo?
—¿Eh? ¡Sí, es Kim Young Jo-sunbaenim!
Los ojos que no habían mirado hacia atrás, al escuchar su nombre, el cuerpo del bastardo se dio la vuelta con desespero. Kim Young Jo no lo entendía, no entendía la mirada curiosa de ese chico, le molestaba.
—¡Y-a, Lee Keon Hee, bastardo!—el castaño se levantó tambaleándose y enfrentando a la estrella naciente que le robaba su popularidad. Kim Young Jo se acercó a zancadas encarando al chico, que solo era unos centímetros más grande que él—¿Quien te crees que eres?
Lee Keon Hee miró a sus compañeros, y con una sonrisa les dijo que sigan, que él los alcanzaría en un momento. Los chicos se fueron entre murmullos, y cuando los ojos de Lee Keon Hee volvieron a posarse en él, tembló. No podía dejarse apretar de esa manera.
—¿Quién crees que eres para robarte a mi novia?—verbalizo el castaño tocando con su dedo índice el pecho del contrario.
Maldita sea, se nota que va al gimnasio.
Lee Keon Hee ladeo la cabeza con una sonrisa engreída, muy diferente a las sonrisas que dio cuando estaban las chicas y sus compañeros de equipo. Así que estaba sacando su verdadera actitud.
—No pensé que hyung fuera tan tonto—Kim Young Jo se sorprendió cuando el rubio le toco la barbilla acercando sus caras, algo irritante en su abdomen hizo que quisiera arrancarle el pelo rubio cenizo; lo insultaba, se atrevía a tocarle su hermosa cara y encima siendo menor que él, ni siquiera espero a que hiciera un movimiento más, simplemente escupió en el rostro del jugador para luego sonreír. Lee Keon Hee se alejó con repugnancia—Ni que le gustara escupir a la gente.
—Eso es especial para ti, maldito, estúpido—Kim Young Jo peinando sus flecos salidos de lugar se acercó al menor que se limpiaba con la manga de su ropa—Aléjate de Jinhwa, no me importa cuanto la quieras.
El castaño sonrió en triunfo y se dio la vuelta con sus últimas palabras dichas. Estaba satisfecho, no pensó que Lee Keon Hee lo alteraría tanto, pero por suerte pudo tomar su venganza. Una mano agarró su abdomen por detrás que lo terminó de tirar, pero no pegó contra el piso como pensó, fue mucho peor, golpeó contra un cuerpo duro que lo mantenía inmovilizado.
—¿Por qué estás tan seguro de a quien quiero es Jinhwa, hyung?—Kim Young Jo ni siquiera pudo quejarse porque el menor susurro esas palabras que acariciaron su oreja y mandaron descargas eléctricas por toda su columna—En realidad no me interesa en absoluto Jinhwa, hyung. La rechace esta mañana, puedes quedarte tranquilo.
Kim Young Jo estaba rojo, de la rabia suponía. Golpeó con su codo la costilla del menor que se quejó de dolor. No pudo decir una palabra, lo habían desafiado y avergonzado. Justo cuando estaba por salir del gimnasio escucha.
—¡La próxima vez escúpeme en mi cama, hyung!
—¡Cállate maldito idiota!—lo último que pudo oír antes de salir corriendo fue la risa sonora del rubio cenizo.
✦
Kim Young Jo se arrepintió de sus acciones, no sabía que tipo de bestia era Lee Keon Hee, pero sin duda la había liberado. Lo seguía a todas partes, la mirada del menor estaba sobre él, siempre. En la cafetería, cuando se encontraban en los pasillos y cuando se escondía en las gradas del gimnasio, no sabía por qué seguía yendo, pero sus tardes se sentían aburridas si no veía al rubio. Había algo que lo mantenía interesado en pelearse con el menor. Lee Keon Hee lo acorralaba y él lo insultaba, una rutina que ninguno de los dos se cansaba de tener. Pronto la rutina fue aún más lejos, y el establecimiento educativo no les daba suficiente tiempo para molestarse, así que en un día de lluvia, Kim Young Jo empapado, es invitado a la casa del menor.
—¿Qué? ¿Hyung tiene miedo de que le haga algo?—y Kim Young Jo no se dejó vencer, aunque sí tenía miedo. La actitud del menor era inesperada, él no-saber que iba a decir, cuál iba a ser su siguiente movimiento… lo mantenía alerta. Siempre se encontraba nervioso si Lee Keon Hee estaba cerca.
La casa del menor se encontraba a unas pocas cuadras del edificio estudiantil, apenas llegaron, se dio cuenta de que estaban solos, no había ruido ni luces prendidas, Lee Keon Hee aunque era joven ya vivía solo; no lo admitió en voz alta pero para Kim Young Jo eso era impresionante. Le dijo que esperara un segundo mientras lo tapaba con una toalla, sin preocuparse por su propio bienestar.
Cuando volvió le trajo unos pantalones grises, una remera negra de manga cortas y boxers del mismo color, olían a vainilla. El castaño se desvistió ahí, de todas formas, Lee Keon Hee seguramente estaba acostumbrado a ver a hombres cambiarse por el equipo de vóley. Pero cuando terminó y se dio la vuelta agradeciendo por el conjunto, el menor estaba rojo, fue la primera vez que lo vio sonrojarse. Kim Young Jo no pudo evitar burlarse de él.
—¿Te has puesto rojo por ver a tu hyung cambiarse?—rio sonoramente mientras se tiraba en el sofá como si fuera su propia casa; sin embargo, se calló cuando notó el silencio y la cabeza baja del rubio—¿Qué pasa?
—Si Hyung lo sabe, no necesita fingir sentirse cómodo—la voz del menor fue apagada, no lo desafiaba. Lee Keon Hee no lo estaba desafiando, y él no sabía contestar porque no tenía idea de que hablaban, le dolía el corazón, sintió un desespero en el pecho, no levantaba la mirada. Quería que lo mirara.
—Lee Keon Hee, no sé de qué hablas.
—¿Hyung, está seguro que no sabe?—el menor levantó la mirada, con los labios rectos y unos ojos oscuros—¿O esto es parte de su venganza por robarme a su novia?
Nunca volvieron a mencionar a Jinhwa desde ese día en el gimnasio, y tampoco él había pensado en eso. En realidad se había olvidado del problema con ella, en el último mes simplemente estuvo con Keon Hee. En cambio, el otro aún parecía perseguido, él fue el que rechazó a Jinhwa y aun así seguía pensando en ella, de repente estaba molesto.
Si, en la escuela los rumores seguían, pero supuso que ninguno de los dos le estaba prestando atención.
—No me interesa Jinhwa, si tanto te gusta, estoy seguro de que ella te dará una segunda oportunidad—contesto sin más Young Jo prendiendo su celular, fingió que sus palabras no le importaban pero se le hundía el corazón. Más le dolió cuando Keon Hee se fue del salón a pasos retumbantes, dejándolo solo.
Sentía un nudo en su garganta, una picazón en sus ojos y la boca seca. Estaba tan confundido, debería estar feliz, si Keon Hee empezaba a salir con ella ya no lo molestaría, ya no lo miraría en la cafetería y no lo acorralaría después de las prácticas de vóley. Sin darse cuenta entró a la página de confesiones, las lágrimas empezaron a caer y el nudo se desató.
Su sollozo era ruidoso, Keon Hee tenía razón, era un Hyung tonto. El más tonto de todos. Tapo su cara con las manos, sentía que se ahogaba, que no podía respirar, que no podía soltarlo. Le gustaba Keon Hee, mucho. Él, por más de estar molesto, lo cuidaba, y él nunca se lo devolvía. Nunca se daba cuenta. Se paró de su lugar y entre los pasillos buscó la habitación en la que se encontraba el menor, sin embargo, hizo tanto ruido que Keon Hee asomó su cabeza por la puerta.
—¿Hyung?—vio su cara lagrimeando, y se acercó con preocupación agarrando su cara entre sus manos—¿Qué pasa?
—No salgas con Jinhwa—pidió entrecortadamente el castaño, los ojos de Keon Hee se oscurecieron, pero aun así asintió.
—No lo haré, Hyung, no te preocupes—Young Jo pudo respirar, y agotado se apoyó en el hombro del menor.
—Bien… Solo sal conmigo, ¿si?
Fueron segundos silenciosos de Young Jo sollozando, hasta que el menor lo agarró de los hombros.
—¡Espera!—exclamó el menor—¿Quieres salir conmigo?
Young Jo se limpió las lágrimas.
—Claro, eres la segunda cara más linda que conozco—sonrió—Si me hubiera enterado antes que eras gay, lo hubiera dicho antes.
Keon Hee estaba en blanco.
—Hyung, el día en el gimnasio—titubeo—Te dije que estaba interesado en ti.
Young Jo frunció el ceño, hasta que recordó.
—¿Por qué estás tan seguro de a quien quiero es Jinhwa, hyung?
oh.
—Pensé que… estabas bromeando—rio nerviosamente Young Jo.
—Hyung, no bromeo—Keon Hee posó una mano en la cintura del mayor—¿Estás bromeando?
—¡Y-a! ¿Por quién me tomas?—cruzó los brazos—No lloro por cualquiera.
—¿Es así? Entonces me alegro—el menor con su otra mano terminó por rodear la cintura del castaño, apretando con su dedo pulgar los costados que hicieron a Young Jo gimotear entre los labios del rubio que lo atacaron inesperadamente. Era el primer hombre al que besaba, y no podía imaginar que hubiera otro, porque la calidez que Keon Hee le estaba dando no podría encontrarlo en otro lugar. Le mordió los labios, lo humedeció y Young Jo sentía que se moría de calor cuando se separaron.
—Keon Hee, realmente eres una bestia.
More Posts from Prttylight and Others
I want to write some seventeen fics but I dont have ideas, so request are open!
I can write fluff, angst, etc. Smut its hard for me, but I can try it.
⊹ ¡ busco mutuals ! ⊹
☽ ¡hola! soy tohie, soy escritora de novelas y fanfics
☽ ! exo, bangtan, txt, astro, red velvet, blackpink
mangas bl & gl. mxtx <3 ! star wars, fanfics . . .
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gosh these days im so in love with charles xavier
Don't Blame Me | MV1
Max Verstappen x Reader
Summary: Y/N would do anything for Max, even if it means falling from grace.
Warning(s): Mild Language, Minor character death, mystery, crime, y/n is a mob boss but I didn't specify that. Max supports his girl's rights and wrongs. This is like, my 'fuck you' to the new FIA regulations. I reccomend listening to Taylor Swift's " Don't blame me" it's heavily inspired.
"And baby, for you, I would fall from grace. Just to touch your face. If you walk away..I'd beg you on my knees to stay"
The lights of Las Vegas shimmered like scattered jewels against the dark Nevada sky, their glow reflected in the streams of champagne that had soaked the paddock. The grandstands were still buzzing as fans filed out, their chants and cheers echoing in Max’s ears even as he sat in the quiet solitude of his driver’s room.
He hadn’t changed out of his race suit yet—his gloves were tossed onto the couch, his helmet discarded on the floor beside his boots. His hands trembled slightly, a cocktail of adrenaline and raw fury coursing through his veins.
Max had been close—so close to securing his championship. With every lap tonight, he had felt it, tasted it, seen the finish line and the trophy. But it wasn’t the second-place finish that had soured his mood. No, it was what had happened after, live on international television, with millions of fans watching.
He’d sworn at an FIA official.
The memory burned like acid in his mind, replaying on a vicious loop. The moment had been fleeting—a frustrated curse muttered under his breath during the cooldown lap, caught on a hot mic. But in this sport, fleeting moments had consequences. The fallout had been immediate. As Max sat there now, scrolling through his phone, the headlines were already popping up.
“Verstappen’s Outburst: Will the FIA Penalize the Championship Leader?”
“F1 Star Caught Swearing at Official – Points Deduction Incoming?”
“A Championship in Jeopardy?”
He tossed his phone onto the table, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. He could still feel the weight of the Las Vegas heat, the oppressive pressure of the race, and now the heavy burden of his own temper.
The door opened softly, and he didn’t need to look up to know who it was. He would recognize her presence anywhere.
“Max?” Y/N’s voice was warm, soft, like the first rays of sunlight after a storm.
He glanced up, his breath catching for just a moment. She stood in the doorway, radiant as ever, her tailored black dress clinging to her figure with an elegance that made her look like she belonged in a royal court, not the chaos of the paddock. Her hair framed her face in soft waves, and her sharp eyes—the color of polished obsidian—seemed to cut straight through him, seeing everything he tried to hide.
Her beauty had always mystified him, but it wasn’t just that. There was something about her, something deeper, something he couldn’t quite name. It was the way she carried herself, with an effortless grace and a quiet authority that even the most powerful people respected. She was warm and affectionate with him, but beneath that, there was an edge—a darkness he couldn’t place.
But he loved her. He loved her fiercely, deeply, with every part of himself. And in moments like these, when the world felt like it was caving in, she was the only one who could steady him.
She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. The soft click of the latch felt final, sealing them in their own little world.
“You were amazing out there,” she said, her lips curling into a small smile as she approached him.
Max shook his head, his frustration boiling over. “Amazing doesn’t matter if I lose everything because of a stupid mistake. Did you see the headlines? They’re already talking about a points deduction.” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear beneath his anger.
Y/N knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his knee. Her touch was light, soothing, but her gaze was steady. “Max,” she said softly, “you need to breathe.”
“I can’t,” he snapped, though his voice lacked venom when he looked into her eyes. “I worked so hard for this, Y/N. They’re going to take it away from me over One. Stupid. Word.”
Her other hand came up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. Her touch lingered, gentle but deliberate, and Max felt his pulse quicken. She had that effect on him—always had. There was something intoxicating about her, something that made him feel like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, ready to fall but knowing she’d catch him.
“You’re not going to lose anything,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Do you know why?”
Max let out a bitter laugh. “Why?”
“Because you’re Max Verstappen,” she said simply, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t crumble. You don’t let anyone take what’s yours. And more importantly—” She leaned in, her lips brushing against his temple as she whispered, “—because I won’t let them.”
A shiver ran down his spine. There was something in her tone, something unshakable and resolute, that made his anger falter.
He pulled back slightly to look at her, his brow furrowed. “What does that mean, schatje?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.
Her smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes. There was something almost predatory in the way she looked at him—a sharpness that made his chest tighten. “It means..you don’t need to worry about the FIA. I'm sure they’ll come around.”
Max stared at her, his mind racing. There it was again—that edge, that darkness he couldn’t define. He didn’t know everything about her, and sometimes that scared him. But as he looked at her now, at the fierce determination in her gaze, he felt something else: safety. No matter how mysterious or dangerous she might be, he knew she would never let anything happen to him.
“Y/N…” he began, but she silenced him with a kiss.
It was slow, tender, and yet there was an urgency beneath it, a fire that made him forget the chaos of the night. Her hands slid up to cup his face, and he leaned into her, his anger and fear melting away in her embrace.
When she pulled back, her lips were curved into that same enigmatic smile. “Trust me, my love,” she said. “Everything is going to be alright.”
He wanted to believe her. He did believe her. But as he watched her stand and move to the window, her silhouette framed by the neon lights outside, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew something he didn’t.
“What did you mean when you said you won’t let them?” he asked cautiously.
Y/N turned to face him, her expression soft again, though her eyes still held that unreadable gleam. “It means I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you,” she said simply.
Her words should have comforted him, but instead, they sent a strange thrill through him—a mixture of awe and unease. He had always admired her sharp mind and unwavering confidence, but now, for the first time, he wondered how far she would go for him.
He stood and crossed the room to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. She fit against him perfectly, her warmth anchoring him. “You’re incredible,” he murmured against her hair.
She tilted her head up to look at him, her smile softer now. “So are you,” she replied. “And you’re going to win this championship. No one can take that from you.”
He nodded, resting his forehead against hers. “As long as I have you, I’ll be okay,” he said quietly.
Y/N’s smile widened, but there was something almost mischievous in it. “Always,” she promised.
Max held her tighter, burying his face in her shoulder. He didn’t see the flicker of satisfaction in her eyes, the way her lips curved into something darker for just a moment before she kissed his cheek.
Whatever storm was coming, she would handle it. For Max, she would do anything.
______________________
The hotel room was dark except for the faint glow of the moon filtering through the sheer curtains, it was quiet. Max lay sprawled on the plush king-sized bed, his body turned toward the door.
Sleep had found him reluctantly, but even now, as the faint hum of the air conditioner filled the room, his dreams flickered with images of the track and the ever-present storm of pressure swirling around him.
The soft click of the door opening stirred him slightly. His brows furrowed, and his body shifted on the bed, muscles taut for a brief second before he relaxed again. It was her. Even through the haze of sleep, he knew it was Y/N. Her steps were light, deliberate, as though she were trying not to disturb him. After all, it was past midnight, everyone was supposed to be asleep.
Max cracked one eye open, catching a glimpse of her silhouette. She slipped into the room with the quiet grace he had always admired, her figure lit faintly by the moonlight. She closed the door softly behind her, the latch clicking into place. He didn’t move or say anything, caught between sleep and wakefulness, but he tracked her as she made her way to the bathroom.
The soft sound of water running reached his ears, and Max’s lips twitched into a faint, sleepy smile. Y/N always had her routines. No matter how late it was, she would wash up, cleanse the day away before joining him in bed. Tonight, he noticed, she moved a little slower than usual, her pauses lingering as though tired and lost in thought.
The bathroom light clicked off, plunging the room back into darkness. He heard her padded steps as she made her way to the bed. The mattress dipped under her weight as she slid under the covers, her movements careful to avoid waking him.
But Max wasn’t fully asleep. His eyes fluttered open slightly, just enough to catch the outline of her face as she settled beside him. The faintest scent teased his nose, and his mind stirred in curiosity. It wasn’t her usual perfume—the luxurious, rich fragrance she always wore. No, this was something softer, floral, almost sweet. It clung faintly to her, just enough to be noticeable.
He made a quiet noise in his throat, half-formed words lost to the haze of drowsiness. Y/N turned slightly, her head shifting on the pillow, her movements almost instinctive.
“Shh, baby, sorry I was late” she whispered, her voice a soft murmur in the dark. Her hand reached out, brushing lightly against his arm. “Go back to sleep.”
But Max, even half-asleep, couldn’t resist her presence. He shifted closer, his body seeking hers as if by instinct. His arm looped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His face buried itself in the crook of her neck, and the faint floral scent washed over him again.
“You smell different,” he mumbled, his words slurred with sleep.
Y/N let out a soft laugh, almost too quiet to hear. “Do I?” she replied, her tone light and teasing.
Max hummed, his lips brushing against the delicate skin of her neck. He didn’t have the energy to press further, the pull of sleep too strong. Instead, he kissed her there, his lips warm and lingering, a quiet gesture of affection that spoke volumes more than words ever could.
Her body relaxed against his, melting into his embrace. Max felt her fingers trace light, soothing patterns on the arm draped across her waist. He sighed contentedly, the tension he hadn’t even realized he was carrying slipping away.
“I love you,” he murmured, the words slipping out before sleep finally claimed him.
Y/N didn’t reply immediately, but he felt her fingers pause for the briefest moment. Then, she leaned her head back slightly, her lips brushing against his temple.
“I love you Max, I would do anything for you, anything, now go to sleep baby” she whispered, her voice like a lullaby.
The room fell silent again, save for the soft sounds of their breathing. Y/N’s eyes remained open for a while, staring at the ceiling, her mind far away even as her body stayed still, slowly her mouth turned into a smirk, and her eyes closed.
____________________________
The golden light of the Qatari sun filtered through the sheer curtains of the hotel room, casting faint patterns on the walls. Max stirred in the plush bed, the weight of sleep still heavy on his limbs. His mind clung to the remnants of dreams, hazy and indistinct, as the soft hum of the city below began to creep into his consciousness.
A faint vibration buzzed from his bedside table, pulling him further from the depths of slumber. With a groggy exhale, Max reached for his phone, squinting at the screen. It was a message from his team’s media coordinator, brief and urgent:
"Turn on the news. Now."
Max frowned, the words igniting a flicker of unease in his chest. He tossed the covers aside and padded over to the television mounted on the wall. The room was still dim, the only light coming from the muted glow of the TV as he switched it on.
The screen came to life, and the familiar logos of international news outlets filled the frame. A grave-faced anchor was speaking, her voice carefully controlled yet tinged with the urgency of breaking news.
“—confirmed that a high-ranking FIA official was found dead in his home late after midnight. Preliminary reports suggest that the death may have been caused by poisoning, though authorities have yet to release an official statement. The substance identified appears to be a botanical toxin, indicating a possible case of premeditated murder…”
Max’s heart thudded in his chest, a cold wave of disbelief washing over him. Poison? Murder? It was surreal, the kind of news you’d expect in a crime drama, not in the high-stakes world of Formula 1.
The footage shifted to an image of the official’s residence, a sleek and modern house surrounded by police cars and investigators. The camera zoomed in on a bouquet of delicate white flowers being carried out in a plastic evidence bag. The reporter’s voice continued in the background, detailing the discovery of the toxin in the flowers.
Max ran a hand through his hair, trying to process what he was seeing. His thoughts churned, tangled and scattered. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, staring at the screen in disbelief, before the soft creak of the bedroom door drew his attention.
Y/N emerged, wrapped in a hotel robe, her damp hair draped over one shoulder as she used a towel to gently dry the strands. The scent of her freshly washed skin reached him, a subtle blend of soap and something warm, clean, and uniquely hers.
Her eyes met his, and she smiled, a soft and familiar expression that always seemed to ground him. She crossed the room with effortless grace, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. Her touch lingered for a moment longer than usual, as if sensing the weight of his thoughts.
“What’s got your face looking like that?” she asked, her voice still husky from sleep.
Max gestured toward the TV, his gaze fixed on her as she turned to look. The screen was now displaying a photo of the deceased official, alongside snippets of speculation from various commentators.
Y/N’s expression didn’t change at first. She tilted her head slightly, her brows drawing together in a faint show of interest. But Max noticed the tiniest flicker in her eyes—a glint of something he couldn’t quite place. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by her usual composure.
“Well,” she said, her tone light but thoughtful, “that’s… unexpected.”
Max’s jaw tightened. “Unexpected doesn’t even begin to cover it. Poisoned flowers? It sounds insane.”
Y/N turned to face him fully, her towel draped over her shoulder now. She placed a hand on his cheek, her thumb brushing against his skin in a gesture meant to soothe.
“Maybe it’s best not to get caught up in it,” she suggested. “It doesn’t concern you, does it? You have a race to focus on.”
Her words were reasonable, logical even, but they didn’t sit right. Max searched her face, his gaze lingering on the curve of her lips, the serene confidence in her eyes.
“You’re not even a little curious?” he asked, his voice low.
“Of course I am,” she replied, stepping back toward the bedroom. “But there’s nothing I can do about it, and neither can you. Come on, Max. You should start getting ready.”
Max nodded slowly, though his eyes remained on her as she disappeared into the other room.
_______________________________
The sun beat down mercilessly over the circuit, its glare reflecting off the freshly polished cars and shimmering asphalt. Max stood near the paddock, his sharp eyes scanning the bustling crowd. The day was a blur of activity, with team personnel darting about, fans crowding the stands, and journalists swarming for their next soundbite. But amid the chaos, Max’s mind was elsewhere.
He had been pulled into a whirlwind of media duties almost the moment he arrived, barely getting a moment to himself, let alone to find Y/N. The gnawing guilt was persistent—he hated not being able to see her before the day kicked into full gear. It had become a ritual for him, a grounding moment amidst the madness of race weekends. Y/N had a way of centering him, her presence a soothing balm against the constant pressure of being the reigning world champion.
He sighed, adjusting the cap on his head as he prepared for yet another round of interviews. His answers came out on autopilot—stock phrases about tire strategy, team confidence, and the race ahead—but his gaze flickered restlessly over the sea of people, searching. And then, finally, he saw her.
Y/N was weaving through the paddock with an easy grace, her movements unhurried despite the frantic energy around her. She wore a light summer dress that flowed around her like a whisper of wind, her hair catching the sunlight in a way that made her look almost ethereal. Max felt his chest tighten, his lips twitching into a smile before he even realized it.
There was something about seeing her like this—calm, at ease, untouched by the frenzy of his world—that made his heart ache in the best way. It was moments like these that reminded him why he loved her so deeply. She was his sanctuary, his constant in a life that often felt like it was spinning out of control.
She noticed him then, her eyes lighting up as their gazes met. She waved, her smile wide and genuine, and Max’s guilt faded, replaced by a warmth that spread through his chest.
She was here, and that was all that mattered.
But before he could excuse himself to meet her, a journalist called his name, snapping him back to reality. Max nodded in acknowledgment, forcing himself to focus as the interview began.
He was midway through answering a question about tire degradation when the reporter paused, pressing a finger to the earpiece in his ear. The change in his expression was immediate—his brow furrowed, his posture straightening as if bracing for impact.
“Excuse me,” the journalist muttered, turning away abruptly.
Max blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift. “What’s going on?” he asked, but the man didn’t respond, already hurrying toward a group of FIA officials clustered nearby.
A loud chime echoed through the circuit, followed by an announcement over the PA system:
“Attention all personnel. The race has been postponed... All drivers are to return to their respective team garages..immediately.”
Confusion rippled through the paddock like a wave, whispers and murmurs growing louder as everyone scrambled to figure out what was happening. Max glanced around, his pulse quickening. This was unprecedented. Races didn’t just get postponed without an urgent reason.
He pushed through the throng of people, his eyes scanning for Y/N again. Relief flooded him when he spotted her standing near the Red Bull garage, her expression calm despite the chaos around her. She was waiting for him, her arms crossed loosely as if this were just another day at the track.
Max reached her in a few long strides, his hand immediately finding hers. Her fingers were cool against his, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as they joined the rest of the Red Bull team heading into the garage.
“What’s going on?” Max asked her, his voice low.
“I’m not sure,” Y/N replied, her tone even. “I heard that some cops were here, but no one seems to know the details yet.”
Max nodded, though his unease only grew. The garage was bustling with activity as team members huddled around monitors, trying to piece together what little information they had. The drivers from other teams were filing into their respective areas, their faces marked by the same confusion that Max felt.
As they stood in the corner of the garage, Max turned to Y/N, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over her knuckles. “Where were you earlier? I didn’t see you before the interviews.”
Y/N tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful. “I was just catching up with someone I knew from before,” she said, her words casual.
Max raised an eyebrow, curious. “Will you see them again?”
For a moment, she didn’t respond, her gaze meeting his with an intensity that made his heart skip a beat. Then, a small, satisfied smile curved her lips, and she shook her head. “No,” she said simply. “I don’t think I will.”
Her answer lingered in the air, heavy with an unspoken finality that Max couldn’t quite decipher, and before he can ask her anything, he hears a commotion from the hospitality.
Max glanced at Y/N, his brows furrowing. “What’s that about now?” he asked, already walking towards the noise.
“I’m not sure,” Y/N replied, as she followed him out of the room.
The noise grew louder as they approached the main lounge, and Max felt the muscles in his shoulders tense. People were rushing toward the large television mounted on the far wall, their voices overlapping in a chaotic hum. Engineers, PR officials, and even a few journalists stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their eyes glued to the screen.
Max nudged his way through the crowd, Y/N close behind him. His heart skipped a beat as he caught sight of the bold, all-caps headline plastered across the news ticker:
BREAKING: FIA PRESIDENT ARRESTED IN CONNECTION TO MURDER OF OFFICIAL.
The image on the screen was enough to stop him in his tracks. Mohammed Ben Sulayem, the FIA president himself, was being escorted out of a building in handcuffs, flanked by stern-faced officers. His usually composed demeanor was gone, replaced by wide-eyed panic as he struggled against the officers’ grip.
“What the hell is going on?” Max muttered, his voice barely audible over the din of the room.
The reporter on the screen continued, her tone grave:
“Sources within the investigation have confirmed that the death of a high-ranking FIA official last night was caused by poisoning. Specifically, a toxin derived from the flower known as Lily of the Valley. Evidence linking FIA President Mohammed Ben Sulayem to the crime was uncovered earlier this morning, leading to his immediate arrest. The FIA has announced that a new acting president will be appointed while a thorough investigation into internal corruption is conducted.”
Max stared at the screen, his chest tightening as the implications sank in. The FIA president—the figurehead of their entire sport—was being accused of murder. And not just murder, but something so calculated and premeditated that it involved the use of a rare, deadly toxin.
Beside him, Y/N remained unnervingly calm. She didn’t gasp or murmur like the others; instead, she stood silently, her gaze fixed on the screen. For a fleeting moment, Max thought he saw the faintest flicker of something in her expression—amusement, maybe, or relief. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by her usual unreadable calm.
Before Max could even begin to process the shocking revelation, the tide of the crowd surged toward the exit. A new commotion was building outside, drawing people out of the hospitality lounge in waves. Someone muttered something about seeing it live—seeing him live—and the collective curiosity became too much to contain.
“Max, let’s go,” Y/N said quietly, her voice steady amid the chaos.
He didn’t think twice. Reaching for her hand, he let himself be pulled into the stream of bodies flowing toward the paddock. The crowd was a cacophony of voices—questions, speculations, and disbelief tumbling over each other in an endless loop. Max clung to Y/N’s hand, weaving through the throng until they found themselves near the front of the growing mass of spectators.
As they pushed closer to the source of the uproar, Max’s stomach twisted at the sight before him.
Mohammed Ben Sulayem was being escorted out of the FIA headquarters, flanked by two grim-faced officers. But this wasn’t the composed, authoritative man Max was used to seeing. This man looked broken, almost unrecognizable. His usually impeccable suit was now crumpled and stained with sweat, his hair disheveled, his face a mask of panic and fury.
He was shouting, his voice hoarse and raw with desperation. “I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it! You’re making a mistake!”
Max tightened his grip on Y/N’s hand, his heart hammering in his chest. The scene was chaotic, surreal. Journalists shouted questions, their cameras clicking furiously as they tried to capture every moment. Paparazzi pushed against the security barriers, their lenses trained on the disgraced president.
Sulayem’s struggles only made him look more deranged. His eyes darted wildly, his movements jerky as he tried to pull away from the officers.
“You have to believe me!” he yelled, his voice cracking. “This is a setup! I didn’t kill anyone!”
The officers remained stone-faced, their grips firm as they led him toward a waiting car. The crowd around them buzzed with speculation, their voices blending into a chaotic symphony.
“He looks insane,” someone near Max muttered.
“Can you believe this? Poisoning? This is wild”
Max barely registered the words. His gaze was locked on Sulayem, his mind reeling. This was the man who had presided over the sport, who had wielded so much power and influence. And now he was reduced to this—a wild-eyed, shouting man in handcuffs.
Suddenly, Sulayem’s gaze snapped toward the crowd, his eyes scanning the faces as though searching for something—or someone.
And then he saw Max.
For a moment, time seemed to slow. Sulayem’s eyes locked onto Max’s, and his expression twisted into something primal—anger, desperation, and fear all rolled into one.
“You!” Sulayem shouted, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “You don’t know! She’s crazy! She did this!”
Max’s breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure if Sulayem was even speaking to him specifically or just shouting into the void, but the intensity of the man’s gaze made it feel personal.
“She’s not who you think she is!” Sulayem screamed, his voice rising to a fever pitch. “She’s dangerous! She—”
The officers shoved him forward, cutting off his words as they guided him into the back seat of the car. The door slammed shut, muffling his continued shouting, and the vehicle began to pull away.
The crowd erupted into a frenzy, the sound of cameras clicking and voices shouting almost deafening. Max felt frozen in place, his mind struggling to process what he had just witnessed. Sulayem’s words echoed in his head, unsettling and inexplicable.
Beside him, Y/N’s hand tightened around his, grounding him. He turned to look at her, searching her face for… something. A reaction, an explanation, anything. But her expression remained calm, her gaze steady as she met his eyes.
“Let’s go,” she said softly, her tone gentle but firm.
Max nodded numbly, allowing her to guide him away from the chaos. But as they walked, Sulayem’s words continued to haunt him, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.
She’s not who you think she is.
____________________________
The hotel room felt like a cocoon of silence after the storm that had unfolded earlier in the day. It was as though the whole world had shifted, and everything outside these walls was just noise, a distant hum that barely reached their sanctuary. The soft, distant chatter from the streets of Qatar, the echoes of excitement and chaos from the track, were now muted as Y/N stood by the window, staring out at the city lights.
She had always been good at keeping her emotions in check, ever since she was young. The weight of the world had never felt heavy on her, because she had learned long ago how to let things slide off her, like water on a slick surface.
But today was different.
She could feel the pressure weighing on Max, could see how the events of the day were eating at him, gnawing away at the edges of his focus, his usual confidence. He was quieter than usual, his mind occupied by something far more unsettling than the drama that had unfolded.
Even after Christian had called to tell Max that the swearing ban had been lifted, and that his championship points would be reinstated, it had done little to cheer him. The smile that had stretched across Max’s face had been brief, barely a flicker before the weight of everything else crushed it again. His eyes, once vibrant with determination, were now dull and distant, fixed on something he couldn’t touch—something he couldn’t solve in the way he would his car’s setup, or the strategy for the next race.
The news of the race being postponed for another two weeks hadn’t helped either. Max hated downtime. He hated the uncertainty, the lack of control. The race was all that had mattered for so long, and now, with it taken from him, all that was left was space to think. And that was the last thing Max Verstappen needed—more space to overthink.
Y/N could see it in the way his hands clenched at his sides when he wasn’t paying attention, or how his jaw tightened when a thought seemed to hit him too hard. He was lost somewhere, and she wasn’t sure if he would ever find his way back.
She pushed herself off the window frame and walked over to where he sat on the couch, his eyes glued to the screen in front of him, but she knew he wasn’t really seeing it. He hadn’t been seeing anything for hours. His mind was somewhere else.
It was then, as if the universe aligned, that she knew. She could feel it in her bones—this was what he needed. She walked over to him without a word, the soft rhythm of her footsteps steady in the quiet room.
She knelt down beside him, letting her arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him close, burying her face against his neck.
The warmth of his skin against hers soothed the ache in her chest, the unspoken pain that had settled there ever since she had seen the look on his face during the arrest.
Max’s body tensed for a moment, his muscles rigid beneath her touch, before he relaxed into the embrace. She smiled against him, feeling his breath shudder slightly as he kissed the side of her neck, his lips pressing gently to her skin. His scent—clean, fresh, with a hint of something unmistakably Max—wrapped around her, grounding her.
She moved back, gently placing her hands on his face, urging him to look at her. When his eyes met hers, they were full of something unreadable. For a moment, his gaze lingered on her, searching her expression like he was trying to decipher something. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but she could see it—he was looking for a sign, something that would pull him out of the turmoil.
"Were you wearing a new perfume last night, when you came to bed? " His question is unsure, hesitant, as if he doesn't want to know the answer but he can't help himself.
"It's Lily of the Valley, one of my favourite flowers, I only use it for some occasions" she looks at him, waiting for him to react. Maybe this was it, he would push her away in disgust and alarm, and it all would've been for nothing.
The moment stretched, thick with unspoken words, and she waited. She wasn’t going to push him. He looked surprised, only for a brief moment and with another blink, the surprise was gone.
Then, as if a weight had finally lifted, his shoulders relaxed, and a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It was fleeting, but it was there. The tension in his body dissolved just enough for him to pull her closer, his arms wrapping around her in a protective, almost desperate embrace.
Max held her tightly, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin. His hands tightened around her, her's going to rest on his chest, but this time it wasn’t out of tension. It was something else—something raw, something that spoke of trust, of the shared understanding between them.
Max’s voice was low, rough, like he hadn’t spoken in too long, like he needed to say these words to her, but they had been stuck inside him for a while.
“I love you so much, Y/N,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her forehead. His breath shuddered slightly as he said it, and she could feel the truth of it in every fiber of his being. It wasn’t just a declaration—it was a plea, a surrender. A quiet admission that, no matter what happened, no matter how hard things got, she was the one he held onto.
Y/N smiled softly, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw, memorizing the feel of him, the warmth of his skin against hers. There was no hesitation in her touch. She knew, deep down, that she’d do anything for him. Anything to keep him close, to keep him safe, to keep him loving her the way he did.
“I love you so much, Max,” she whispered back, her voice thick with emotion. “So, so much.”
Her heart was pounding now, a steady rhythm that matched his own. She could feel it in the air between them, the undeniable truth of their love, the pull that had always been there, even in the darkest of moments. It was raw, it was real, and it was everything they needed.
She didn’t need to say it again. The words were unnecessary. Everything was in the way she held him, the way their bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle that had been made for each other. In that moment, with the weight of everything else fading into the background, it was just them. Together.
Max’s hands tightened around her, pulling her closer, and Y/N closed her eyes, savoring the moment. The world could fall apart outside, and it wouldn’t matter. Because in that moment, Max was all that mattered. He always would be.
And as he kissed her temple, his breath warm against her skin, she knew—without a doubt—that she would do anything for him.
“Don’t blame me,” she thought, her own voice, soft but certain in her head. Love made me crazy. And if it doesn’t, you ain't doin' it right.
And she was doing it right. She always would.
Oh Lord, save me, my drug is my baby
I'll be usin' for the rest of my life
Usin' for the rest of my life, ohh-oh
________________________________________
Thanks for reading!
If you liked this story, please leave a like a comment and a reblog!
I'm dropping of the face of earth for some time, this is a small parting gift, I would like to make it clear I'm not planning any one's murder in my downtime. Thank you.
Jules♡
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THE MOMENT I KNEW | Max Verstappen
Max Verstappen x Girlfriend!Reader
SUMMARY: After a few races where he didn't get the results he expected, Max decides to go out with some friends to disconnect from everything. Unluckily, one of those days when he arrives home after having some drinks, he finds out that he missed his girlfriend's birthday as soon as he sees the cake she ordered on the trash ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Maybe something angsty?? Like maybe bro goes out with his friends and forgets readers bday until he sees the cake in the trash can and realizes bro screwed up
WORD COUNT: 2007
WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of being drunk, angst
TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]
VEE'S NOTES: I've absolutely loved this one my God. With this fic, we mark a total of 6196 words written this week (not counting my uni essays and other several projects), so I'm quite proud about that! Also, thank you so much for the support all this week, hope you liked all the fics! I'll be uploading this upcoming week's posts tomorrow. Let me know in the comments or on the anon inbox your thoughts on this one! See you next week :) ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR
© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!
Max stumbled into your apartment, fumbling with the keys and opening the door with trembling hands, his pounding headache reminding him that it wouldn’t be this bad if he’d listened to the bartender’s advice to stop after the last gin tonic.
As soon as he stepped inside, he froze in the doorway, scanning everything as if it were his first time entering the place, even though he had been living there for nearly five years, the last two with you. He took a few unsteady steps toward the small entryway counter, where he dropped his keys and realized the silence was far heavier than he had anticipated.
His laughter, faint and fueled by the false sense of security that alcohol had provided, quickly dissipated. Taking a cautious step further into the living room, he noticed there were no lights on, no plates or leftover food on the small coffee table in front of the TV, and most strikingly, you were neither sprawled out on the couch watching one of the romantic movies you adored nor curled up asleep with one of your cats.
Despite the glaring signs, Max didn’t panic, at least not as much as he should have, even though something inside him whispered that the situation didn’t sit right.
It wasn’t until he wandered into the kitchen to get a glass of water and rounded the island that his foot stumbled slightly, nearly sending him sprawling to the floor. Puzzled, he looked down to see what had caused him to trip. His heart sank when his eyes landed on a discarded box, its lid broken as if it had been thrown to the floor, angrily, on purpose.
That’s when reality hit him like a freight train.
He turned his gaze to the left, where the trash can stood partially open. Inside, he saw an untouched cake, decorated with intricate floral designs and a message that read, “Happy Birthday, Y/N!” The sight struck him like a blow to the chest, the pressure so intense it made him want to vomit.
“No… No, it wasn’t today…”
Desperately, and trying to figure out what to do, Max ran his hands through his hair, as if that might somehow help him calm down. His breathing grew more erratic with each passing second, his eyes glued to the cake. It didn’t feel real. He couldn’t understand how he had managed to forget such an important date… you, his girlfriend’s, birthday. Something so obvious had suddenly spiraled into a waking nightmare.
He noticed his phone sitting on the kitchen counter. Grabbing it quickly, he checked for any missed calls or messages from you, only to realize after several failed attempts to turn it on that it was dead. He blamed his drunkenness not only for not noticing he didn’t have his phone with him or that it was out of battery, but for forgetting such a meaningful day and breaking every promise he had made to you.
Deep down, though, he knew all the excuses were hollow. Any justification he tried to offer would be nothing but foolishness.
Setting the phone back on the counter, he decided not to waste any more time. He headed toward your bedroom. The door was ajar, and though the lights were off, he could make out your silhouette lying on the bed, your back turned to him. You gave no sign that you had noticed his arrival. The only sound in the room was your muffled, quiet sobs. As Max stepped closer, he saw you were clutching a pillow tightly, as if it were your only source of comfort.
That was the moment Max realized he couldn’t avoid facing the situation, no matter how impossible it felt to fix things right away.
“Y/N...” he said softly.
You didn’t answer, and your silence hurt more than a thousand words could have. Max knelt beside the bed, close enough to reach out, and gently began stroking your face. You didn’t resist his touch, but your indifference pierced him deeply.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice trembling as he fought to hold himself together. “I swear this wasn’t my intention… I wanted to come home earlier, but Lando insisted we stay a bit longer, and then I didn’t have my phone…”
“You forgot, Max,” you interrupted, your tone sharp but laced with pain, anger, and sadness. You still wouldn’t look at him. “Goddammit, Max, you forgot my fucking birthday ever since the moment the clock struck midnight.”
Max fell silent. Once again, reality hit him square in the face, forcing him to acknowledge that anything he said would likely be inadequate. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, trying to find the words to explain himself calmly, to admit his mistakes while grappling with the weight of his guilt.
“You know it wasn’t my intention,” he began, his voice low. “It’s just… with the shitty season I’ve been having and everything that comes with it, I’ve been feeling overwhelmed. I just needed to step out of my comfort zone for a bit, to clear my head…”
“And you thought doing that on my birthday, after promising me a dream day, was the most appropriate choice?” you cut him off, finally raising your head. Your eyes were swollen and red from crying. “I know you’re not in a good place right now, but I also know that until now, every promise you’ve made to me, you’ve kept. You didn’t just forget about me, Max. You left me here, alone, all day, like I didn’t matter at all.”
Max searched desperately for a way to salvage the situation, to apologize, to do something, anything, to prove how deeply sorry he was. But when you turned on the light and sat up to face him, he realized he was out of options. He didn’t know how to continue without disappointing you further.
“You know this has been really hard for me…”
“Hard for you? Seriously?” you interrupted, leaning closer and pointing your finger at him. “And you think this has been easy for me? Watching you shut me out, never telling me what’s going on in that head of yours? Not to mention your fans… They’re fully convinced that your shitty season is all my fault, that our relationship is ruining your career.”
“Y/N, I know…”
That was a lie. He didn’t know. Max had ignored the comments and criticism because, deep down, he believed you weren't to blame for his performance, especially when you rarely even went with him to the races anymore.
“There’s nothing I can say to argue with you,” Max admitted. “You’re absolutely right. I’ve been a complete asshole today, and I’m truly sorry. I love you, Y/N, more than you know…”
“Are you sure you love me?” you shot back, your voice trembling with anger. “Do you love me, or your damn career? Because lately, it feels like your whole world revolves even more around cars, races, speed, adrenaline, and your constant need to be the best at everything.”
“Hey…” Max tried, his voice faltering.
“Every day, you show me more and more that we’re no longer a team… that I’m no longer a part of you. And I know I’m not the only one who sees it.”
Your words hit him like a dagger, but he knew he deserved them.
“It’s not just about you forgetting my birthday today, Max. It’s everything. You don’t listen to me… you don’t give me anything, not even a minute of your day, let alone affection or support. Why should I stay in a relationship that, instead of giving me life, is killing me inside?”
Your words struck him like a bucket of ice water.
“You don’t get it, do you?” you asked, frustration and sadness mingling in your tone as he stayed silent. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t be afraid to show me who you are, flaws and all. But you’ve always done this, Max, keeping me at arm’s length, never letting me into your life.”
“I don’t do that, Y/N, it’s just that…” he began, summoning his courage to explain, but you cut him off once again.
“Damn it, Max, yes, of course you do!” you yelled, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “Do you realize that even though I’ve been with you, I’ve been completely alone? Alone, Max, utterly alone! I’ve tried so many times to talk to you, to make you see that a few bad races aren’t the end of the world for someone like you, but…”
You stopped yourself abruptly, your throat aching and your head pounding. You felt no remorse for the way you were speaking to him since he deserved every word, but you couldn’t help but feel a deep sadness. Sadness for the Max Verstappen you had once known. A man who had been so proud of himself and his achievements after years of hard work, now emotionally shattered and, worse, so determined to hide it from everyone, including you.
“I can’t keep giving you everything I have while you keep taking and taking, without giving anything back.”
“I’m sorry…” Max muttered, but the words felt hollow.
“A simple ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t fix anything, Max,” you replied, your voice quieter now but no less wounded. “I wish it were just about today, but like I said, I feel like you’re pushing me further out of your life with every passing day. You’re becoming a stranger to me, Max,” you admitted, trying not to let your voice waver. “You’ve been like this for months, and I don’t know what else to do to stop us from falling apart… though it feels like that’s exactly what you want.”
“That’s not true,” he answered immediately, desperation in his voice. “Y/N, seriously, I love you more than you could ever imagine.”
“Are you sure?” you asked, tears welling up again. “Because I feel like you’re showing me the exact opposite.” Your voice trembled with the weight of her words. “Sometimes it feels like you love your career, the success you’ve achieved and the crowds chanting your name more than you love me.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice barely audible. “You know I want to, but… I don’t know how to fix this anymore…”
You looked at him, your eyes searching his face for some sign, some silent promise that would make you believe things between you could change. But Max’s words only made you realize that you had to stop thinking fantasies and start facing reality.
“Maybe you can’t fix it,” you confessed, the words breaking you from the inside. “I can’t keep going like this, Max… I can’t keep feeling like I’m not enough… like I’m not good enough for you.”
“Seriously, there has to be a solution…” he pleaded, his voice full of regret. “I’ll do better from now on, I promise…”
“You don’t get it, do you?” You turned to look at him, the pain evident in your expression. “Things won’t magically get better if you take me to dinner or buy me a million-dollar necklace to make up for today. That won’t fix anything, Max…”
“Y/N… Y/N, please… I need you…”
No matter how many times Max said those words, he knew that any promise he made now would be meaningless, especially considering how much he had already failed you.
Feeling that there were no more words left to say between them, you slowly got out of bed. You gathered the few belongings you had on the nightstand and, with a sense of finality, began to pack a bag, all the while feeling Max’s powerless gaze on you.
“I can’t keep waiting, Max,” you said, her voice steady despite the anguish inside. “Today, no matter how much I tried to turn a blind eye, let it go, and even put myself in your shoes… This… everything… after many tries… God, Max, all of this… That was the moment I knew.”
—Busco Mutuals (español)
Mis fandoms: star wars, La bendición del Oficial del Cielo, exo, astro, bangtan
Escribir
Literatura juvenil
Manhuas
dar rb porfa<3
i am always waiting for this fic AND IM HAVING THE DRAMA AND KISSES I NEEDED
Gotta Be You - Charles Leclerc (THREE)
masterlist | promptlist | previous part
Here is part three! And I'm honestly so proud of this chapter! I think it turned out awesome lol <3
↳pairing: charles leclerc x female!gasly!reader ↳word count: 5K ↳warnings: awkward encounters, truth or dare (trust me lol) , jealousy, alcohol, drinking games, talking about feelings ↳side info: friends to enemies to lovers, reader is Pierre's younger sister, reader is Arthur LeClerc's childhood best friend, Charles is her former crush, Charles is a jealous ass sometimes, age gap between reader and Charles (5 years) ↳summary: In which you go on a shared holiday with both your and your brother's friend group, forced to be confronted with your former teenage crush Charles LeClerc yet again. The only problem is? You can't stand him nowadays, until you suddenly can.
*a few days later*
As you stood in the bathroom, tying your hair into a ponytail, the familiar scent of the devil himself filled the small space. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Charles had a way of entering a room without saying a word but still commanding all the air in it. He closed the distance between you two, silently taking his place by the sink next to you, reaching into the cupboard for his hair products.
You bit back a groan, focusing on your reflection. There was nothing inherently wrong with him being there—but him standing this close stirred feelings you desperately wanted to push aside. His presence was overwhelming, in that maddening, familiar way.
Your usual coping mechanism kicked in: sarcasm, sharp enough to keep him at arm’s length.
"Fixing your hair won’t fix your attitude, you know that, right?" you sassed, not entirely sure why you felt the need to say anything.
Charles scoffed, his eyes catching yours in the mirror. His gaze was intense, steady—always knowing too much. "There’s no attitude that needs fixing," he huffed, washing his hands and drying them on the towel with deliberate slowness. "Besides, some people actually put effort into how they present themselves..."
Your head snapped toward him. "Is this your not-so-subtle way of saying I look like shit?"
He rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "Are you honestly this delusional?"
You threw your hands in the air. "Well, apparently, I am! Because that insult was completely unnecessary." You crossed your arms, leaning back against the sink with a challenging glare.
Charles shrugged, unfazed. "First of all, you started it. I didn’t do anything until you found it necessary to attack me." His voice lowered slightly, holding that aggravating calmness. "And besides… you and I both know that wasn’t an insult."
You narrowed your eyes. "How was it not an insult? You basically said I don’t put effort into how I look."
He inched closer, his movements slow and deliberate. Before you could register what was happening, his hands were on either side of you, gripping the edge of the sink. His chest hovered just inches from yours, effectively trapping you in place. His cologne wrapped around you, sending shivers down your spine.
Your breath hitched as his gaze flicked from your eyes to your lips before snapping back, locking onto yours like he was daring you to look away.
"Chérie, don’t act like you’re unaware that I think you’re hot," he whispered, voice low and rough. "You don’t need the effort."
Your heart thudded violently in your chest. For a split second, your gaze dropped to his lips—damn it. Realizing your mistake, you forced your eyes away, breathing through the sudden rush of heat.
You steeled yourself and met his gaze again. "Charles, quit playing games and get out of my face," you said through clenched teeth, though your voice wavered ever so slightly.
His eyes swept over you one last time, lingering on how you were still pressed against the sink, tension radiating between you like a live wire. His jaw clenched.
What the hell is he thinking?
Charles shifted back slightly, but something held him there, still too close for comfort. He exhaled sharply, as if wrestling with himself.
"What changed?" he asked quietly, voice strained.
Your brows furrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?"
He sighed, shoulders tense. "What did I do that made you hate me so much?" His voice softened, tinged with something dangerously close to regret. "What changed?"
Before you could answer—or even begin to process what to say—someone cleared their throat at the doorway.
Charles jumped back like he’d been burned, stumbling a step before retreating to sit on the edge of the bathtub, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. You turned your head sharply, locking eyes with Arthur, who stood leaning against the doorframe with a massive, knowing grin.
"I came to ask if you’re ready for game night," Arthur said casually, though his smirk betrayed every innocent intention.
You let out a slow, steadying breath, forcing yourself to relax. "Yeah, coming," you muttered, pushing off the sink and brushing past him.
But before you crossed the threshold, something tugged at you. You rested your hand on the doorframe, glancing back at Charles. His head lifted, eyes locking onto yours with a silent intensity.
"As for what changed?" you said quietly, voice sharper than you intended. "The fact that you have no idea says enough, Charles."
With that, you walked out, catching up to Arthur as he fell into step beside you, still grinning like an idiot.
He glanced sideways at you, suppressing a laugh. "You two really have a thing for getting caught in bathrooms together, huh?"
You rolled your eyes. "Don’t start."
Arthur chuckled. "Well, let’s just say... I did put my money on you two hooking up this holiday, but I didn’t expect you to get that intimate that fast."
"First of all, nothing happened," you snapped, face heating. "And second, it wasn’t what it looked like."
"That’s what they all say," Arthur teased. "But to me, it looked like my brother had you pinned against the sink pretty damn convincingly."
You groaned. "He did not have me pinned—"
Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Because you being pressed against the sink while he boxed you in with his hands definitely looked like pinning from where I was standing."
"Fine," you admitted, throwing your hands up. "It looked exactly like that, but it was not for the reason you so desperately hope it was. So shut your mouth before I call your mom and tell her what happened to her couch." you said, referring to the time you caught Arthur and his former girlfriend having sex on his mom's new couch.
Arthur’s grin dropped instantly, his hands shooting up in mock surrender. "Alright, relax, no need for threats!" he laughed, shaking his head as the two of you headed downstairs.
As you and Arthur walked into the living room, you couldn’t help but laugh at his teasing, shaking your head in mock exasperation.
"I’m still putting my money on it, though," Arthur added with a mischievous grin, his voice light but teasing.
Before you could respond, Dennis looked up from where he was lounging on the couch, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Putting your money on what?"
Arthur didn’t miss a beat. "That she’ll hook up with Charles before the end of this trip," he declared confidently, shooting you a knowing smirk.
Dennis let out a deep chuckle, sitting up straighter. "Oh, definitely. There’s no doubt in that," he agreed, his tone playfully conspiratorial.
You groaned dramatically, throwing your hands in the air. "Seriously? You’re both delusional."
Arthur shrugged. "Just calling it like we see it. The tension could be cut with a knife."
Dennis nodded sagely, as if offering expert commentary. "It’s practically inevitable."
Rolling your eyes, you grabbed a pillow from the nearest couch and tossed it at Dennis, who dodged it with practiced ease, laughing.
"You two are ridiculous," you muttered, fighting back a smile as they continued to exchange amused glances like co-conspirators.
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Tonight, the sky outside was pitch black, the faint sound of waves crashing in the distance as the group gathered in the living room. Sprawled across the plush couches, each of you with a drink in hand, the night carried an air of relaxed intimacy. The warm light of the room and the subtle buzz of alcohol created the perfect atmosphere for a game that was bound to stir up some chaos.
It was Inès who first suggested it, her eyes sparkling mischievously as she leaned forward, waving her drink for emphasis. “Okay,” she announced, her grin widening. “Let’s play ‘Never Have I Ever.’”
There was a mix of groans and laughs, but no one protested. As the alcohol worked its magic, the group quickly fell into the rhythm of the game, starting with tame questions.
“Alright,” Inès began, her tone playful. “Never have I ever made out at work.”
A beat of silence followed before all the boys raised their glasses almost simultaneously, their movements earning a round of laughter.
“I should’ve guessed,” you said, shaking your head as they took their sips.
The game continued, the questions growing more personal but still lighthearted. Dennis asked if anyone had ever called in sick to work when they weren’t actually sick, which prompted a unanimous drink from nearly everyone. Joris, with his usual antics, asked if anyone had ever gotten so drunk they couldn’t remember anything, earning another flurry of laughter as most of the group took a sip.
Then Kika piped up, her eyes sparkling as she leaned back against Pierre with a devilish grin. “Okay, my turn,” she announced, her voice dripping with amusement. “Never have I ever made out with my brother’s or sister’s best friend.”
The room broke into a chorus of gasps and giggles as everyone’s eyes darted around, scanning for raised glasses other than the obvious ones. Pierre groaned, shaking his head with a laugh as he lifted his drink and took a sip.
“You just want to get your boyfriend drunk, don't you?” Dennis teased Kika, his grin widening as he, too, raised his glass and took a sip.
Kika laughed, and looked at Pierre, who shot Dennis a playful smirk. “You did too, I see?”
Dennis chuckled, not bothering to deny it. “Yeah, can't deny that.”
Kika raised an eyebrow, her gaze flitting around the room. “Alright, anyone else want to confess?”
You stayed silent, hiding your smirk behind the rim of your glass as you watched the game unfold. The question might not have been directed at you specifically, but the implications swirling around the room were impossible to ignore, clearly an indirect question to see if you actually ever made out with Charles, which bummer to them, you didn't.
The game was already proving to be far more chaotic than you’d anticipated. The group sat sprawled out on the plush couches in the villa’s living room, drinks in hand and laughter filling the air. You’d already survived a few rounds of lighthearted questions—some borderline embarrassing—but when Dennis sat forward, his mischievous grin spelled trouble.
“Okay,” Dennis announced, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Y’all ask boring questions. Let’s spice this up.” He took a dramatic pause, letting the tension build before smirking. “Never have I ever gotten off to the thought of someone in this room… since we arrived here.”
A ripple of laughter broke out immediately. Kika, sitting snugly next to Pierre, was the first to respond, raising her glass with a playful roll of her eyes. “Well, I think I better drink, because let’s be honest—no one would believe me if I said no, considering my boyfriend is literally right here.”
Pierre nudged her with a grin, clearly unbothered by her admission as he sipped from his own glass. “As if the feeling isn’t mutual,” he teased, earning another round of laughter.
Across the room, Gigi tried to be subtle, lifting her glass for a quick sip, but Dennis’ sharp eyes caught her immediately. “Oh, I saw that, Gi!” he exclaimed, wiggling his eyebrows at her.
Gigi flushed crimson, glaring at him. “Shut up, Dennis,” she shot back, though the laughter in her voice betrayed her. “Don’t turn all the attention on me. I’m not the only one who drank!” She gestured toward a few others who had lifted their glasses.
“Oh, I’m not pretending I didn’t,” Dennis said casually, raising his glass again for emphasis. “Because I have zero shame” His eyes flicked toward you for the briefest moment, a sly grin tugging at his lips.
You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, silently hoping to stay under the radar. But your attempt at blending into the background only seemed to make you more conspicuous.
“Don’t act all shy now, Gasly,” Dennis teased, his tone smug. His eyes locked on you as he leaned forward. “I saw you take a sip. Don’t think I didn’t notice that. Care to enlighten us who the lucky one is?”
Your cheeks burned as every pair of eyes turned toward you. You scrambled to think of a response, your heart pounding in your chest. Finally, you forced a laugh, raising an eyebrow at Dennis. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” you quipped, your voice surprisingly steady despite the heat in your face.
The group erupted into a mix of laughter and teasing comments, but before the attention could shift completely, Arthur piped up from where he was seated beside Charles.
“Alright, alright,” Arthur said, his grin widening as he leaned forward. “We’ve all been so focused on you three, but is no one going to mention the fact that two other people drank as well?” His eyes darted pointedly toward Charles and Joris, his tone dripping with mock innocence. “Hmm, I wonder who those drinks were about.”
Charles stiffened slightly beside him, his jaw tightening as he tried to play it cool. “Don’t drag me into this,” he muttered, taking another sip of his drink as if to distract himself.
“Too late, mate,” Arthur shot back with a grin, nudging his brother’s shoulder. “You drank. That means you’ve got to own up to it.”
Joris, ever the instigator, leaned back with a smug grin of his own. “Yeah, Charles, don’t be shy. Who’s the lucky one, huh?”
Charles rolled his eyes, leaning back against the couch and trying to appear nonchalant. “Not a chance,” he said simply, though the tips of his ears betrayed a faint redness.
You couldn’t help but glance at him briefly, your curiosity piqued. Did he…? No, there was no way. You quickly shoved the thought aside, but the idea lingered annoyingly in the back of your mind.
Meanwhile, Charles’ thoughts were anything but composed. When you’d taken a sip earlier, his stomach had twisted uncomfortably. At first, he’d assumed it was Dennis—the way Dennis was always teasing you, always so close—but then another thought crept in, one that made his pulse quicken. What if it wasn’t Dennis?
The idea of it being about him sent a conflicting mix of emotions surging through him—hope, doubt, and an overwhelming sense of confusion. He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice Joris’ subtle kick to his shin until it made contact.
“Stop staring,” Joris whispered, smirking at his friend. “You’re making it obvious.”
Charles snapped out of his reverie, glaring at Joris. “Shut up,” he muttered under his breath, shifting in his seat.
Arthur, ever the opportunist, caught the exchange and raised an eyebrow. “What’s this now?” he asked, clearly amused. “Charles getting a little distracted?”
“Leave him alone,” Joris said with a grin, though his tone was far from serious. “Poor guy’s got enough on his plate already.”
“Oh, definitely not, he's pestered me long enough about things, payback time” Arthur said, his laugh echoing over the group’s chatter as Charles groaned, clearly regretting his choice to participate
The laughter hadn’t fully settled when Paul leaned forward with a mischievous grin, his drink loosely dangling in one hand. He glanced between you and Charles, his tone teasing as he spoke.
“So, Y/n, didn’t you mention something about the walls here being thin?” Paul asked, clearly enjoying the tension he was stirring. “Hope Charles has been a quiet neighbor. Otherwise, you probably heard everything. Poor Y/n.”
The room erupted into laughter, Dennis and Arthur practically doubling over. Kika smirked, nudging Pierre, who groaned, already sensing where the conversation was heading.
Charles narrowed his eyes at Paul, his jaw tightening slightly before he forced a smirk onto his face. “I’m not a complete idiot, you know,” he shot back. “If I had to… handle things, I’d make sure no one heard a damn thing. Either that or I’d do it somewhere more private.”
The laughter grew louder, Dennis nearly choking on his drink. “Good to know you’ve got a strategy, mate,” he teased, wiping his mouth.
You couldn’t help but feel heat creeping up your neck at the implication. The idea of Charles trying to stay quiet, and worse, the thought of actually overhearing him, made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t want to unpack. Not that you’d ever admit it.
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t hear anything,” you retorted, forcing a grin to hide your flustered state. “Because if I did, I’d probably have hearing damage.”
Charles turned to you, his smirk sharpening as he shot back, “As if I’d want to get off with you right outside my room.”
The room went silent for half a beat before Dennis, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned forward with a wicked grin. “No,” he said, drawing out the word for effect. “Because you’d prefer her in the room, wouldn’t you?”
The laughter that followed was deafening. Dennis clinked his glass with Paul’s, who was shaking his head but laughing just as hard. Charles, on the other hand, turned beet red, his face almost matching the color of his drink.
You weren’t any better, your face burning as you buried it in your hands. “Dennis, I swear to God,” you muttered, though your voice was muffled by the roar of the group.
Pierre groaned, his expression one of pure disgust as he rubbed his temples. “Okay, are you done? Because we are so not dragging my baby sister into Charles’ dirty fantasies.”
Arthur, always ready to escalate things, grinned and leaned back in his chair. “We don’t have to drag her into anything, Pierre,” he joked. “Charles probably already does that himself.”
The laughter doubled, filling the room with chaos as you and Charles sat frozen in mortification. Kika had tears streaming down her face from laughing, while Joris clapped a hand on Charles’ shoulder, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
Pierre glared at the group, clearly over it. “I don’t even want to know,” he muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “Can we just move on before I lose my mind?”
The group slowly settled, though the smirks and giggles lingered as someone suggested the next round of the game. But despite the conversation moving on, you couldn’t help but feel Charles’ gaze flick toward you now and then, and you hated how much your heart raced when it did.
Meanwhile, Charles couldn’t stop replaying Dennis’ comment in his head. The idea of you in his room—or worse, of you thinking about him in that way—had lodged itself in his mind, refusing to budge. He shook his head, trying to focus on the game, but it was no use.
Neither of you wanted to admit it, but the seed of thought had been planted, and it was impossible to ignore.
The game moved on, the attention shifting away from Charles and you for the moment, but the tension hung in the air like a spark waiting to ignite. Charles stole another glance at you, his thoughts still tangled in the what-ifs. And as for you? You couldn’t help but wonder if you were indeed the one that had made him drink in the first place.
It was Joris who leaned forward next, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Alright, never have I ever kissed my best friend.”
The room buzzed with anticipation as everyone exchanged curious glances. Inès was the first to raise her glass and take a drink, earning a few cheers and teasing remarks. But it was the way both you and Arthur looked at each other, simultaneously bursting into laughter, that drew all the attention. Without hesitation, the two of you clinked your glasses together dramatically and downed your drinks in one go.
Charles raised an eyebrow, his perplexed expression giving him away. “Wait—you and Y/n kissed?” he asked, his gaze flicking between the two of you, his tone tinged with disbelief.
Arthur let out a laugh, leaning back casually. “Jealous much?” he shot back, his grin widening when he saw the flicker of annoyance cross Charles’ face.
Charles opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur cut him off with a chuckle. “Relax, I’m just kidding.”
Despite his brother’s reassurance, Charles still looked a little dumbfounded, his confusion—and something else he wouldn’t name—lingering. Kika, always one to stir the pot, leaned forward with a smirk. “Okay, I’m curious now. What’s the story?”
You laughed, shaking your head as you waved a hand dismissively. “There’s not much of a story, honestly. Happened a few times. We were both hopeless and single, and we figured, why not? It was just for fun. Turns out we were terrible at it.”
Arthur nodded in agreement, still grinning. “Massive failure. Zero chemistry. The kiss sucked, and we both agreed never to try again.”
“And the other times?” Kika pressed, her curiosity clearly piqued.
“Oh, just Truth or Dare,” you replied with a shrug. “Happened once or twice when we were younger. Nothing serious. More like a punishment than a kiss, honestly.”
The room erupted into laughter, with Inès nearly choking on her drink as she laughed the hardest. “I can so picture your disgusted faces,” she managed between giggles.
As the laughter died down, Inès perked up, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Speaking of Truth or Dare,” she said, her grin widening, “we should switch to that. Way more interesting than this.”
The group exchanged glances, a ripple of excitement building at the prospect of what chaos Truth or Dare might bring. You couldn’t help but glance at Charles, whose expression was still unreadable, though his gaze lingered on you for just a second too long before he looked away. Whatever this next game would bring, you had a feeling it wasn’t going to get any less intense.
The questions escalated slowly, moving from tame confessions to more suggestive dares. Someone dared Dennis to prank call his ex, which he executed flawlessly, much to everyone’s amusement. Gigi had to show the last text she sent to Joris, blushing furiously as everyone gathered around to read it. Pierre, naturally, had been dared to whisper something filthy to Kika, who doubled over laughing and refused to tell anyone what he’d said.
Then it was Paul’s turn, and his eyes gleamed as he scanned the room, finally landing on you. “Y/n,” he called out with a grin. “Truth or dare?”
You didn’t hesitate. “Dare.”
Paul’s grin widened, and the others leaned in, already sensing mischief. “I dare you to kiss Charles.”
The room went dead silent, every eye darting toward you.
You froze for a beat before scoffing loudly. “God, no”
“Oh, come on,” Dennis teased, smirking at you. “A dare is a dare”
“No, ew!” you shot back, shaking your head emphatically. “Anyone else in the world rather than him. I’d rather stick my tongue inside a trash can than kiss him.”
The tension seemed to settle, the group already laughing at your dramatic protests, until Charles’ voice cut through. Low, clipped, and tinged with something that sounded like a challenge.
“That’s not what you told me when you were sixteen.”
The room froze. Even the laughter died instantly.
You stared at him, wide-eyed and stunned, your pulse roaring in your ears. His words hit like a slap, and you could see the regret flicker in his eyes almost immediately.
“That was a low blow, Charles,” Arthur muttered, shaking his head in disapproval.
Pierre leaned back with a grimace, gesturing to the group. “Guess it’s better to call this game quits, non?”
But you weren’t about to let it go. Swallowing the knot of hurt lodged in your throat, you stood, fixing your gaze on your brother. “No need to,” you said firmly. “Dennis is right, a dare is a dare.”
The group exchanged glances, unsure of what was about to happen, but you didn’t stop. The anger bubbling inside you had morphed into something else—something that demanded revenge.
You marched over to where Charles sat, his eyes widening as you closed the distance. Without a word, you reached down, lifting his chin with your thumb, forcing him to look at you.
His breath hitched, his lips parting slightly, but before he could speak, you crushed your mouth against his.
The kiss wasn’t gentle—it was heated, full of anger and defiance. His lips were warm and soft against yours, but the sharp inhale he took before his hands moved to your waist betrayed how caught off guard he was.
Charles froze for a split second, his mind scrambling to process what was happening. But when your tongue brushed against his lips, seeking entrance, he couldn’t hold back any longer.
A low, guttural sound escaped his throat as he kissed you back with equal fervor, his hand sliding behind your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. His pulse was racing, heat surging through his veins, and he struggled to keep himself in check.
Your hands slid down his chest, slow and deliberate, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. You knew exactly what you were doing as your palm settled over the bulge in his jeans, giving it a playful squeeze.
He let out a strangled sound, his body reacting instinctively, and you pulled back just enough to whisper, “I might’ve had a crush on you back when I was too delusional to see you for who you really are, but at least I’m not the one sitting here, a 27-year-old guy, getting hard because he had to kiss his best friend’s baby sister during a game.”
The room erupted. Dennis and Joris were practically howling with laughter, clapping each other on the back. Gigi and Kika exchanged wide-eyed glances before bursting into giggles. Even Arthur had his head in his hands, laughing despite himself.
Charles, on the other hand, looked utterly mortified. His face was beet red, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for words that wouldn’t come.
“Poor Charles,” Dennis teased, grinning wickedly. “Bet that wasn’t the reaction you were expecting.”
Another wave of laughter erupted, leaving Charles sitting in stunned silence. Finally, Charles downed the rest of his drink in one go, standing abruptly. “I need air,” he muttered before making his way out of the room and into the garden.
He pushed open the glass doors that led to the terrace, the cool night air hitting his flushed face like a balm. The stars glittered overhead, but he barely noticed them as he sank into one of the patio chairs, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
His heart was still pounding in his chest, his mind replaying the kiss over and over. He could still feel the ghost of your lips on his, the way your hand had trailed down his chest, resting on him with enough boldness to completely disarm him. And your words—sharp, cutting, and delivered with such venom—they were like a slap in the face.
He groaned softly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. What the hell had he been thinking, making that comment about you at sixteen? He’d known it was cruel the second the words left his mouth, but he couldn’t stop himself. His insecurities, his regret, his jealousy—it all spilled out in the worst way possible.
The sound of the sliding door opening made him glance up. Arthur stepped out, holding two fresh beers in his hands. Without a word, he handed one to Charles and took the seat next to him.
They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the distant crash of waves and the faint hum of cicadas. Finally, Arthur broke the quiet.
“You’re a dickhead,” he said matter-of-factly, taking a sip of his beer.
Charles let out a humorless laugh, nodding slightly. “I know.”
Arthur turned to him, his expression softening slightly. “That comment, mate—it was out of line. You really hurt her with that one.”
Charles sighed, staring at the bottle in his hand. “I know,” he said again, his voice quieter this time. “I wasn’t thinking. Or maybe I was, and that’s the problem.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.
“It’s just…” Charles paused, struggling to find the right words. “She makes me feel things I don’t know how to handle. And then when she said all that stuff about how she’d rather kiss a trash can or anyone else but me…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I just—reacted. Like an idiot.”
Arthur studied his brother for a moment before leaning back in his chair. “You know, it’s okay to feel things. But lashing out like that? That’s not how you handle it. You deserved what she did to you after that comment. Hell, if it were me, I’d have punched you.”
Charles chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah, well, she went for humiliation instead. And it worked.”
Arthur grinned. “Oh, it definitely worked. She got you good. But seriously, Charles, what’s your deal with her? One minute you’re at each other’s throats, and the next, you’re looking at her like…” He gestured vaguely, trying to find the right words.
Charles sighed, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the sky. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “She gets under my skin. Always has. And for the longest time, I told myself it was just because she’s Pierre’s sister, and I shouldn’t feel anything for her.” He paused, his voice softening. “But I do. I have for a few years now.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “You’re in love with her.”
Charles didn’t answer, but the silence spoke volumes.
Arthur let out a long breath, tapping the neck of his beer bottle thoughtfully. “You’ve got to stop letting that eat you alive, mate. Either you tell her how you feel, or you let it go. This whole act of yours, pretending you’re indifferent while secretly wanting her? It’s not working. It’s just making things worse—for both of you.”
“I know,” Charles said quietly. “But it’s not that simple. She hates me now. And maybe she has a reason to.”
Arthur gave him a pointed look. “She doesn’t hate you, Charles. She’s angry, sure. And maybe a bit hurt. But hate? No. If she really hated you, she wouldn’t have kissed you like that.”
Charles frowned, replaying the kiss in his mind. The anger, the passion—it had been overwhelming, intoxicating. But there had been something else beneath it, something he couldn’t quite name.
“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted finally.
Arthur clapped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Start by apologizing. And I don’t mean a half-assed apology. Really apologize, Charles. Own up to your shit. Then maybe, just maybe, you can start fixing things.”
Charles nodded slowly, the weight of his brother’s words sinking in. He didn’t know if it was too late to fix things with you, but for the first time, he felt a glimmer of hope that it might not be.
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taglist: @vroomvro0mferrari @fishyfishersticks @prttylight @tempo-rary-fix @suns3treading @a-beaverhausen @formula1fordisaster @janeh22 @leclercdream @sageskiesf1 @ch16les @emryb @vyctorya @asmoothoperator @dilfsaresohot @freyathehuntress @sarx164
I took a brief break from tumblr to look at instagram, saw a video of sleepy cats, and immediately returned to request Alex, Arthur, Marcus and Seb with a sleepy cat hybrid!reader. Like the reader's favourite place to sleep with/on the driver
i love this idea omd i yawned typing this lmfao
gn!cat hybrid!reader (sleepy headcanons)
alex albon:
absolutely obsessed with how sleepy you are because your ears and tail get all droopy and you blink so slowly and alex just finds it so fucking adorable
loves it when you stretch out on top of him, lying on your side on his chest with your face buried in his jaw/cheek - it's chaotic and catlike and alex has many photos of you asleep like it
always ready to catch you when you fall asleep whilst standing up because he refuses to let you get hurt due to your sleepiness
has carried you out of many places plenty of times because you fell asleep - his garage after a race, williams hospitality after his work is up, restaurants because he ate too slow and you got sleepy, etc.
arthur leclerc:
started tracking how often you yawn in a day because he thinks it's funny but then ended up yawning so much more often himself and he started getting sleepier so he stopped
curl up in a ball of cat on his chest and arthur will be the happiest man ever, especially if you purr in your sleep or, in arthur's best case scenario, you sleepmeow
always down to let you nap on him no matter what he's doing - he'd rather be mildly inconvenienced by you using him as a bed than find out you slept somewhere uncomfortable
loves it when you fall asleep on facetime because arthur gets to watch you doze peacefully and he gets to take screenshots galore
marcus armstrong:
genuinely doesn't understand how you're so sleepy all the time but he thinks you're cute so he won't complain about it
loves spooning you when you're curled up in a ball but if you sprawl out, marcus will cuddle up to you as close as he can, dreading the moment when your arm will inevitably smack him in the face
finds your sleeping positions and noises to be so fucking weird but also so fucking adorable at the same time to the point that he gets major cuteness aggression over you
lightly flicks your ears and tugs your tail when you're sleeping to see if you'll wake up but you never do - he knows not to pull too hard though because he'd hate to hurt you
sebastian vettel:
you're the cutest cat and literally everyone knows that because sebastian doesn't shut up about you and your cuteness ever
loves when you fall asleep on his chest whilst straddling his lap because you look so adorable and your soft little purrs fill his ears to the point that he finds it so cozy and comforting
has taken plenty of pictures & videos of you meowing in your sleep and tossing and turning about that sebastian is honestly starting to run out of storage space
loves to carry you in his arms whilst you sleep and will often just find somewhere to sit down, you still in his arms, so he can stroke your ears & tail and keep you safe and warm
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okay I wrote something about Carlos BUT I wrote it in my notebook and I'm very lazy to make it digital
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