REACTION : BTS Reacting To You Being “cancelled” For Ridiculous Reasons

The Fifth Seat

Charles Leclerc x Wife!Reader

Summary... Four lucky fans win the contest of a lifetime: a chance to join the F1 grid for media week, shadowing drivers and getting the ultimate behind-the-scenes access. But what no one knows is that there's a fifth seat—a secret winner whose name never appeared on the announcement list. She’s not a fan. She’s his wife. And their entire relationship is a secret. But not for much longer. Hidden glances. Stolen moments. A marriage no one suspects—until media week turns into a pressure cooker, and secrets start to crack under the spotlight.

A/N: I don't know what I wrote. I wrote it at 2am and feeling a little delirious lol. request are open (:

I hope you guys enjoy it. Let me know what you guys think in the comments. I write for free but you can donate to support my writing over on my Ko-Fi!

Like, comment, reblog, enjoy (:

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They called it the opportunity of a lifetime.

The Fifth Seat Experience—sponsored by Formula 1, endorsed by every team, plastered all over social media like the golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. Four lucky fans, hand-picked from thousands of entries, flown in for Media Week to shadow the drivers, get exclusive access, live like insiders.

Except there were five of us.

And I wasn’t a fan.

Well. Technically, I was. Just not in the way everyone else thought.

The other four winners were bouncing in place as we waited for our credentials outside the paddock gates—talking over each other, gasping at every car that drove past, snapping selfies like they might blink and miss someone famous.

I kept my sunglasses on and my mouth mostly shut.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t excited. I was. But it’s hard to squeal over a driver when you sleep next to one every night.

"Y/N L.," the coordinator called, her lanyard outstretched. “Guest Winner #5.”

Winner. Right. Sure.

The plastic badge felt heavier than it looked as she clipped it around my neck. I could feel the name tug at my skin.

Y/N L. Like I’d never taken another last name.

I tucked the badge into my jacket, heart thudding harder than I liked. I didn’t have a plan beyond blend in and survive. No one—not the fans, not the other winners, not even the media team buzzing around us—knew the truth.

No one knew I was married to Charles Leclerc.

And if everything went smoothly this week, no one ever would.

-

They assigned each of us a driver pairing. Luck of the draw.

Callie, the girl with the Mercedes hat and long acrylics, screamed when she got Lewis. Tom practically wept when he got Max. The other two, Serena and Rachel, were with McLaren and Red Bull.

I got Alpine.

Safe. Distant. Harmless.

Not Ferrari.

Not Charles.

“Bit of a bummer, huh?” Serena said sympathetically, glancing at my badge. “Alpine’s been quiet lately.”

I shrugged. “Quiet’s kind of my thing.”

She laughed and wandered off, which suited me just fine. My heart was already crawling up my throat because I could feel him before I even saw him.

It always happened like that. Some sixth sense. Some magnetic pull.

He appeared at the edge of the garage bay—white polo, sunglasses, hair slightly messier than usual like he’d been dragging his fingers through it. He was talking to someone from the team, nodding, focused.

Until he wasn’t.

Until his head tilted just slightly and his eyes landed on me.

And stayed there.

Two seconds too long.

Three.

Four.

Then, like he remembered himself, he turned back to his conversation.

I swallowed hard.

God, he was terrible at this.

-

The rest of the day passed in a blur of team tours, media station walkthroughs, and overexcited chitchat. I smiled politely, answered questions when asked, and avoided cameras like they were fire.

But Charles kept finding me.

Not overtly. Not dramatically.

A glance as he passed in the hallway. A half-smile in the corner of the hospitality tent. Once, I could swear he deliberately lingered behind me in the lunch line just so he could whisper, “You’re torturing me.”

I didn’t turn around.

“Don’t make it obvious,” I muttered under my breath, grabbing a croissant I didn’t want.

“I’m not,” he replied. “You look incredible, by the way.”

“Charles.”

“Y/N.”

I took my tray and walked away before my face could betray me.

This was not going to work.

-

Later, when the sun dipped low and the paddock began to clear out, the five of us were ushered into a small media lounge for a casual welcome session—iced teas, branded notebooks, a low-key icebreaker game.

It was fine.

Until he walked in.

The room actually shifted. Like gravity pulled everyone forward.

Charles Leclerc, fresh from interviews, sunglasses pushed into his hair, smiled politely as the coordinator announced, “And here to welcome our winners—your fan-favorite Ferrari driver!”

My breath locked in my throat.

“Oh my god,” Callie whispered.

“Charles is so much hotter in person,” Tom mumbled, not even trying to be subtle.

He waved at the group, then sat down right across from me on the low couch.

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t.

“You all excited for Media Week?” he asked casually, accent curling around every word like sugar on the rim of a glass.

Everyone nodded. Gushed. Talked over each other.

I picked at the edge of my napkin.

Then came the icebreaker.

“Let’s go around and say one thing we’re most excited about this week,” the coordinator prompted. “I’ll start—I’m excited to see you all soak in the experience!”

Rachel: “The garage tours!”

Tom: “Meeting the drivers, obviously.”

Callie: “The paddock passes and maybe... a selfie with Charles.” She winked.

He laughed politely.

When it was my turn, I cleared my throat.

“I guess I’m just... excited to see the sport from the inside.”

Charles’s eyes met mine across the table. Just for a second.

I don’t know what I expected.

But I didn’t expect the corner of his mouth to twitch—barely—like he was holding back something.

A smile? A secret?

Something.

Then, the coordinator clapped her hands. “Perfect! You all are going to have the time of your lives.”

Everyone cheered.

And as we stood up to head back to the hotel, Charles brushed past me, just close enough to murmur—

“Careful, amour. They’re starting to notice.”

And then he was gone.

Leaving my skin buzzing, my throat tight, and my heart whispering: This week is going to ruin us.

-

I didn’t sleep much.

The hotel bed was comfortable enough, the room quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and the occasional shout of someone stumbling back from the bar. But my brain was loud. Too loud.

I stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, still hearing his voice in my ear.

Careful, amour. They’re starting to notice.

He couldn’t help himself. That was the problem. Charles Leclerc was many things—charming, reckless, maddeningly romantic—but discreet wasn’t one of them.

My phone buzzed from the nightstand.

Charles: Are you awake? Charles: Room 314.

Goddamn him.

I stared at the message. I could say no. I should say no.

Instead, I was out of bed and tiptoeing down the hallway before I could convince myself otherwise.

-

He opened the door like he’d been standing on the other side, waiting.

His hair was damp from a shower, curls pushed back, shirtless in nothing but black sweatpants. A gold chain rested against his collarbone, and his smile tugged slow and crooked when he saw me.

“You came.”

“You texted.”

“That’s not a no.”

I rolled my eyes and stepped inside. “We said no sneaking around.”

“We also said no falling in love, and look how that turned out.”

He said it like it didn’t still knock the air out of me every time.

Charles closed the door softly behind me, then leaned his forehead against it, sighing.

“This is torture,” he muttered.

“Media week or marriage?”

“Being married and not being able to act like it.”

I turned to him, arms crossed. “You’re the one who wanted to keep it secret.”

“Because I wanted to protect you.” He looked over his shoulder, voice quieter now. “You know what they’d do with this. With you. The articles, the headlines, the dissecting every outfit and every expression. I just wanted a little more time.”

“And this is your idea of time?” I gestured vaguely. “Throwing me into the paddock with a badge and pretending we’ve never kissed?”

He pushed off the door and crossed the room in three steps.

“Pretending we’ve never kissed is impossible.”

He kissed me then—soft and sweet, the kind of kiss that said I missed you instead of I want you.

Though, with Charles, it was usually both.

I let myself melt for a moment, my fingers curling into the hem of his shirt before I caught myself.

I pulled back. “We can’t keep doing this.”

He rested his forehead against mine. “One more night.”

“You said that in Monaco.”

-

Flashback – Six Months Earlier Monaco. 10:41 a.m. Tuesday.

The Civil Registry Office smelled like lemon-scented floor cleaner and legal ink. The ceiling fans whirred overhead.

I wore a cream linen dress and held a bouquet of flowers I picked up from a corner stand on the way there. Charles wore a navy button-up and the softest expression I’d ever seen on a man.

We signed the papers in under ten minutes.

“Wait,” I said, just before he handed over the final page. “Are we really doing this?”

He smiled. Not wide. Not cocky. Sure.

“Yes,” he said simply. “And if you’re not sure, we can wait.”

I looked down at the page. Then at him. And suddenly, it didn’t feel scary. It felt like choosing the safest person in the world.

“I'm sure.”

He kissed the back of my hand as we handed it in.

We walked out married. No ring, no guests, no Instagram post.

Just... us.

-

I left Charles’s room just before sunrise. No one saw me. I checked. Twice.

By the time we got to the paddock, the PR team had split us up into pairs for the morning rounds. My assigned driver, Esteban, was nice enough—friendly, funny, not overly chatty. It was an easy match.

But every time we passed a certain garage, my lungs forgot how to work.

Charles was everywhere.

In the Ferrari garage. On the track walk. On the screen playing highlight reels in the lounge. I couldn’t turn around without seeing his face or hearing his laugh.

It didn’t help that he kept glancing my way. Subtle, but not subtle enough.

And it really didn’t help when Carlos came up to him after a media hit and clapped him on the back.

“So who’s the girl?” he asked with a smirk.

My blood turned to ice.

“What girl?” Charles replied, too quickly.

Carlos nodded toward me across the hospitality tent. “The quiet one. She’s pretty.”

Charles’s mouth twitched.

“Yeah,” he said. “She is.”

I looked away before I could throw something.

-

By late afternoon, the paddock had cooled, shadows stretching long. Most of the group had wandered off to post content or explore the garages. I stayed behind, sipping an iced drink I didn’t want, brain spinning.

That’s when the PR girl found me.

“Oh, hey! Just a heads up, a few people were asking who you are.”

My chest tightened.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, no—just curiosity. You weren’t tagged in the winner announcement, so some of the fans are like, ‘Who’s Guest #5?’” She laughed, like it was nothing. “Probably just internet sleuths doing their thing.”

I forced a smile. “Right. Totally.”

But I could feel it happening—cracks forming in the glass, light leaking through.

And the worst part?

I didn’t know if I wanted to stop it anymore.

-

Later that night, just before I climbed into bed, my phone buzzed again.

Charles: They think I’m flirting with a fan. Charles: I’m going to lose it. Charles: I miss you.

I stared at the screen, fingers hovering. Then I typed:

Me: Then stop pretending.

I watched the message sit. Delivered. Read.

And then nothing.

No reply.

Not that night.

Not the next morning.

Not until it was already too late.

----

Group Chat – “Fan Five 💖🏁”

Callie: anyone else notice how weird y/n was yesterday?? 👀

Tom: like, quiet weird or secret-agent weird

Rachel: she def knows someone. you saw her talking to a ferrari guy right??

Serena: nah that was charles leclerc 🫢🫢🫢

Tom: YOU'RE LYING

Serena: not joking. i went back through my stories—she was with him near the media tent. paused the vid. they were talking close-close

Callie: hold up i’m checking tumblr

-

Tumblr Post 📸: [image attached] 👤: f1-unfiltered “who tf is this girl Charles is chatting with in the media lounge?? she wasn’t on the winner list 👀 anyone know her @?? #charlesleclerc #fifthseat #mediaweek”

🗨️ top comment: “he’s totally checking her out. look at his face omg”

🗨️ second comment: “are we getting a Charles soft launch????”

🗨️ third comment: “her lanyard says Guest #5… we missed one 😭”

-

Twitter (X) @f1teaofficial 👀 something’s brewing. who is mystery “Guest Winner #5”? we’ve confirmed she wasn’t in the original contest posts… #fifthseat #f1drama #charlesleclerc

⬇️ Photo Attachment: blurry screenshot of Y/N and Charles mid-conversation

-

Private Messages – Charles → Y/N 9:47 AM I’m sorry. I saw it. The post. They think I’m flirting with you.

10:02 AM I hate this. I hate not being able to tell them you're mine.

10:17 AM Please say something.

-

Voicemail – Left at 11:26 AM "It’s me. I know you’re mad. I don’t blame you. I should’ve protected us better. I let the cameras turn you into a stranger. And I hate that. I love you. I love you, and I don’t care who knows it anymore. If you want to end this, I’ll respect it. But if there’s even a small part of you that still wants me to fight for us—please, just... call me back.”

-

Text – Y/N → Charles (unsent) You said you’d protect me. But I’ve never felt more alone.

-

Drafted Notes App Entry – Y/N Title: If They Find Out

They’ll say I used him.

They’ll say I didn’t deserve him.

They’ll say it was a stunt.

They’ll tear me apart.

But I love him. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t.

-

Instagram Story – @scuderiaferrari 🎥 “Behind-the-scenes at Media Week Day 2!” Pausing at 0:41 reveals Charles, standing off to the side, watching something—or someone—just off camera. Blink and you miss it: a small gold band on his left ring finger.

---

There’s a kind of silence that only happens in chaos.

Like when your ears ring after a crash, or when the world tilts just a little too far to the left. That’s what it felt like in the paddock the morning the photo dropped.

Not an explosion. Not a scream. Just a silence so loud I couldn’t hear anything else.

Everywhere I went, I felt it. The glances. The hush when I passed. The way even the media team looked at my lanyard a beat too long before waving me through.

Guest Winner #5 was no longer anonymous.

And Charles— Charles was furious.

I didn’t see him until the mid-morning break. I was on my way out of the Alpine garage when someone caught my wrist and gently pulled me around the corner.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at me like he hadn’t slept.

“Hi,” I said, softly. Too softly.

“You didn’t answer me,” he said. His voice was rough. Tight.

“I didn’t know what to say.”

He let go of my wrist. Stepped back like I’d burned him.

“I should’ve said something from the start,” he muttered. “We should’ve owned it.”

“No, Charles,” I snapped. “You said we should keep it quiet. You said—‘just one season, let me keep you safe.’”

“And I was wrong.”

That shut me up.

He raked a hand through his hair. “I saw the post. The edits. They’re tearing you apart already and they don’t even knowyou.”

My throat tightened. “They never were going to be kind.”

“I don’t care if they’re kind.” He stepped closer. “I care if they hurt you.”

God, he looked wrecked.

And I wanted—more than anything—to kiss him. To close the distance and forget the rest of the world existed.

But I couldn’t.

So I whispered, “Then let me go.”

His face broke open like glass.

“No.”

“Charles.”

“No.” His voice cracked. “You can’t ask me to pretend you don’t belong to me. Not after everything.”

“I’m asking you to protect me. And if the only way to do that is by stepping away—”

He kissed me.

Fast. Desperate. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask permission because it was already falling apart.

I melted. Fought it. Melted again.

But we were still in the paddock. Still surrounded by cameras, journalists, fans.

And I pulled away just before it became a headline.

“We can’t do this here,” I breathed.

“Then come with me.”

“What?”

“Now. Just—just come with me. Five minutes. No one will notice.”

I hesitated. The badge around my neck felt like a noose.

But I followed him anyway.

-

He led me through the back of the hospitality tent, past the fake plants and behind a row of stacked crates, where no cameras pointed and no PR eyes roamed.

A supply closet. Of course.

It was dark. Cramped. Smelled like rubber gloves and microfiber.

He shut the door behind us and leaned against it like he was trying to breathe.

“I feel like I’m going to lose you.”

I looked at him. Really looked at him.

“Why now?” I whispered. “Why is this the moment you suddenly want to tell the world?”

He was quiet for a long time.

Then—

“Because I watched you lie in that welcome lounge. I watched you say you were excited to see the sport from the inside like you weren’t already part of my world. Like you didn’t wake up next to me three days ago.”

He stepped forward, eyes burning.

“And I hated it.”

“Charles…”

“I hated pretending we didn’t mean something to each other. I hated hearing them talk about you like you were just some fan. I hated the way Carlos looked at you. I hated how beautiful you looked and how I couldn’t even touch you.”

I swallowed hard.

“I hated that too.”

“So then let’s stop.”

“Stop hiding?”

“Stop lying.”

My heart was beating like a drum in my ears.

“You really want to do this?” I asked. “You’re sure?”

He didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.

“Yes.”

And that’s when we heard it.

The voice outside the door. Someone calling his name.

“Charles? You back here?”

We froze.

He looked at me, eyes wide.

I looked at the floor. The walls. The door.

My fingers found the lock. Clicked it open.

And just before I stepped out, I looked back and whispered:

“Then do it. Say something. Or this is the last time I follow you.”

I left him standing there—speechless, shirt rumpled, heart in his throat.

And I didn’t look back.

-

By evening, the internet had moved on.

Sort of.

They’d stopped asking who I was.

Now they were asking something else.

“Why is Ferrari so quiet today?” “Where is Charles Leclerc?” “Is Guest #5 even a real fan?” “This week is feeling scripted.”

And just when I thought maybe things were calming down...

I saw the photo.

It was blurry. Candid. Taken from a distance.

Charles. Standing alone near the pit wall.

Holding something in his hand.

A ring.

My ring.

--

Flashback — Six months earlier Monaco, the night after the wedding

The courthouse was already closed. The florist stand where I bought my bouquet had packed up and gone home. The streets were glowing, just barely damp from a midday rain, and the city felt like it had exhaled.

And I was married.

To him.

To Charles.

We didn’t throw a party. No cake. No fireworks. Just a hotel suite high above the harbor and a bottle of champagne neither of us had planned on but somehow ended up with anyway.

“I can’t believe we actually did it,” I whispered, toeing off my sandals as he unlocked the room.

“I can.” His smile was lazy, wide. “I’d do it again right now if we hadn’t just paid the filing fee.”

The room was warm. Gold lamplight, cream linens, a view of the marina that looked like something out of a painting. I walked to the window and pressed my fingers to the glass.

Down below, life was buzzing. Music. Laughter. Everything too far away to touch.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. I think I just... didn’t expect to feel this calm.”

“Marrying me is calming? That’s a new one.”

“Shut up,” I said, but I was smiling.

I heard the soft pop of the champagne cork and turned around just in time to see the foam spill over his fingers.

“Smooth,” I said.

“I’m rusty. I haven’t had a reason to celebrate in a while.”

He poured two glasses and crossed the room, handing me one with a small clink.

“To what?” I asked.

He looked at me, then at the tiny band of gold now resting on my finger.

“To the quiet kind of forever.”

I blinked once. Twice. Then I clinked my glass to his.

“To us.”

We didn’t drink right away. He leaned down and kissed me first—slow, warm, like he was trying to memorize the exact way I felt under his hands tonight.

“Mon amour,” he murmured. “Ma femme.”

His wife.

I kissed him back like that name had always been mine.

-

Later, I was wrapped in sheets, tucked against his bare chest, legs tangled and lips swollen, both of us laughing over something dumb we couldn’t even remember anymore.

The window was open, letting in the soft hum of the city and the faint smell of ocean salt.

Charles traced lazy shapes on my back.

“Do you think they’ll find out?” I asked.

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand.

“They’ll guess,” he said. “Eventually.”

“But not yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

He kissed the crown of my head. “Because I want to keep this—you—to myself for a little longer.”

“Selfish.”

“Absolutely.”

I turned to face him, cheek pressed to the pillow.

“I don’t want to hide forever.”

“You won’t have to.”

“But when it starts—when they know—”

“I’ll handle it.” He brushed his knuckles along my jaw. “I’ll take every hit if it means you don’t have to.”

My throat tightened. “You can’t protect me from all of it.”

“Maybe not. But I can try.”

And then he pulled me close again, tucked under his chin, his voice barely audible.

“I want a life with you. Not just a ring and a secret. A life.”

My eyes stung.

“I want that too.”

He held me tighter.

“Then we’ll build it. Slowly. Quietly. Until one day... no one’s surprised to see you in my garage. Or on my arm. Or wearing my name.”

“Not even the media?”

He smiled against my temple. “Especially them.”

We didn’t fall asleep until after 3 a.m.

And just before I closed my eyes, I looked at the clock glowing faintly on the nightstand.

11:11.

Make a wish, I thought.

I didn’t need to.

He was already mine.

--

There were three microphones on the table.

Three cameras aimed straight at my face.

Four other fan winners.

Twelve journalists.

And one Charles Leclerc.

Seated exactly two chairs away from me.

I could feel him more than I could see him—his presence like a magnet I was desperately trying not to lean toward. His voice when he answered a question was low and measured, but there was tension behind it. Like he was holding his breath every time someone said my name.

Because yes—this press conference?

It wasn’t just about the drivers anymore.

It was about us.

“Let’s talk about the now-viral Fifth Seat post,” the moderator said, glancing at the cards. “There’s been a lot of speculation about Guest Winner #5—Y/N, right?”

I smiled, as calmly as I could. “That’s me.”

The room chuckled, polite but interested. Someone’s pen scratched loudly against a notepad.

“You’ve been paired with Alpine, but fans noticed some interaction with the Ferrari garage. Care to share what that’s about?”

I didn’t look at Charles.

I looked directly at the moderator, and I lied.

“I was lost. Someone pointed me in the wrong direction. That’s all.”

He smiled like he bought it. Charles didn’t move. But I saw the way his hands curled into fists on the table.

Liar, liar, ring finger on fire.

-

The rest of the conference passed in a blur. Questions about team dynamics, fan engagement, media perception. I said what I needed to say. Charles said very little.

And then came the final question.

“For all five guests—if you could spend a full day with any driver, who would it be?”

Everyone turned toward us.

Callie answered first. “Lewis, obviously.”

Tom said Max. Serena picked Oscar. Rachel said Carlos and then blushed bright red when he grinned.

And then it was my turn.

My mouth opened. My heart thundered. I looked straight at the cameras and said:

“Esteban’s been amazing. I wouldn’t trade my assignment for anyone.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it.

Charles flinch.

Barely. But it was there.

A fraction of a second. A wound split wide open on camera.

The moderator wrapped up. Everyone clapped.

The moment I stood to leave, a hand caught my wrist.

Charles.

We were behind the curtain, out of view but not out of range. His eyes were sharp, glassy with something that looked a lot like heartbreak.

“You don’t have to lie for me anymore,” he said. Quiet. Bitter.

I pulled my arm back. “You said you wanted to protect me.”

“Not like this.”

And then he kissed me.

In full view of the other fan winners.

In full view of the PR team.

In full view of the Ferrari social media intern, who audibly gasped behind her phone screen.

It was soft. Quick. But it was a statement.

When he pulled back, his voice didn’t shake.

“We’re done pretending.”

-

Ten minutes later, the Ferrari garage was in full-blown crisis mode.

“Are you insane?” the team manager asked.

Charles shrugged. “A little.”

I stood beside him, fingers linked tightly through his.

The PR rep was pacing. “Do you want to crash the website? Break the internet? Do you know what you just did?”

He looked at me. Then back at them.

“Yes.”

The intern finally spoke up from the corner. “Do you want us to, like... post something?”

Charles didn’t even blink. “Yes.”

I squeezed his hand. “Are you sure?”

He nodded.

Then looked straight into the camera.

“She’s not a fan. She’s my wife.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

---

Instagram Post – @charles_leclerc 📸: black and white photo Charles, in a suit. Me, barefoot in that cream linen dress. Holding hands on the courthouse steps.

Caption: Monaco. Six months ago. We didn’t do it for the press. We did it for us. ❤️

-

Twitter/X Explodes

🔥 trending: CHARLES LECLERC 🔥 trending: FIFTH SEAT 🔥 trending: “she’s his WHAT?” 🔥 trending: MA FEMME

-

Back in the paddock, later that night

I sat next to Charles on the pit wall. No cameras this time. No fans. Just the low rumble of tires being rolled back to the garage and the buzz of lights overhead.

He nudged me with his shoulder. “You okay?”

I let out a long breath. “I don’t know.”

“Too much?”

“Maybe.”

“Regrets?”

I turned to him. Let my hand find his.

“No. Not if it means I can hold your hand in public.”

He smiled—really smiled. The kind that started in his chest and bloomed onto his face like sunlight.

“You’re stuck with me now.”

“I’ve always been stuck with you.”

And this time, when he kissed me, no one interrupted.

No flashbulbs. No questions. No more hiding.

Just him. Just me. Just us.

---

Epilogue

The Best Seat in the House Six months later — Monza Grand Prix

The roar of the crowd was thunder in my chest.

Pit lane buzzed with its usual chaos—mechanics darting, tires rolling, cameras clicking like shutters could stop time. I adjusted my headset and tried not to look too giddy as the Ferrari engineers handed me a branded clipboard.

I wasn’t technically staff. But I wasn’t just a guest anymore, either.

“Looking official, Madame Leclerc,” someone teased as I passed.

I smiled. “Don’t I always?”

It had taken time, but people got used to me. The media storm passed. The internet’s curiosity dulled into mild fascination. I stopped being “Guest #5” and started being his.

His wife. His person. His home base between podiums and paddocks.

And now, every few races, I joined him on the road—not as a secret, but as a fixture. Quiet. Steady. Gold band glinting under fluorescent lights and camera flashes.

“Y/N.” His voice crackled through my headset.

I turned toward the monitors, where his car blinked red and white on the map.

“Oui, mon amour?”

“Look up.”

I tilted my head just in time to see his car glide past the pit wall during the formation lap. The Ferrari slowed for just a heartbeat—and in the split-second he passed my section, he lifted his hand off the wheel and held up—

Two fingers.

A peace sign?

No.

A V.

I laughed into the mic. “Victory?”

“No,” he said. “V for Valentine.”

God, he was ridiculous.

“Focus, Leclerc.”

“Always. Especially when you’re here.”

He sped off.

I turned to the monitors, heart racing, hands tight around the clipboard I wasn’t actually using.

Beside me, the Ferrari PR girl grinned. “You nervous?”

“No,” I said honestly. “Not about him.”

The lights dropped. The crowd screamed. The cars launched.

And I stayed right where I was.

Watching. Rooting. Loving.

Because I didn’t need the fifth seat anymore.

I already had the best one—

Right beside him.

-----

The end.

heartburn (3)

pairing: jimin x reader

wordcount: 13k

glimpse: jimin’s been yearning for the day he’d get to see you again, even if it’s fleeting and from afar — who would’ve known that the two of you would reunite under unfortunate circumstances?

alternatively, three years have already passed since jimin emotionally cheated on you six months before your wedding.

[ the finale; part one + intermission 01 + part two + intermission 02 ]

[ whole load of angst, more fluff + heartwarming moments compared to the previous parts, mentions and descriptions of car accident (neither jimin’s nor oc’s), blood n thoughts of death, redemption arc uh-huh, emotional growth and closure (?), major longing and yearning, the type of love no one can put into words ]

notes: at the end bc i wILL get sappy :O

as i said before, this does come from somewhere and even if this is fiction, pls read with care bc this is on the heavier side <3 fair warning that i had a lot of people come into my asks and mentions saying that they’ve cried so if u think that this is tOO much and you’re bawling with no breaks, pls take a breather!!

as always, lmk what you think <3 thank you to every single person who’s spent their time on heartburn with me; it means the most. send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! | series masterlist

Keep reading

Ohh he's just so caring.

Video not mine. All credit goes to the owner. Tiktok @vieneee01

- streamer au | smau and narrative fic

- pretentious gamer Joon x soft gamer reader (fem and poc)

- e2f2l, eventual fuck buddies | fuckboy!Joon (kinda) | angst, smut (mostly implied later on), fluff

~ You were doing just fine, playing your sims and animal crossing games, having a good time in the corner of the internet you have created for yourself, when Kim Namjoon comes barreling through. He’s dead set on destroying any comfort you may have found in the gaming community, but you’re not gonna let him get away with it. Contrary to his belief, you can strategize an attack better than he expects. 🎮

Keep reading

White Horse - Chapter 1: March 2023

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

....Do not expect particular quick updates on this, because it's a beast of a story. Also: kinda Charles bashing, but not really? You'll see.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

A Bar in Montecarlo: 

Max had come to the bar for a quiet drink, not to get his world flipped upside down. But then he spotted her.

She was standing at the counter, waiting for her drink, all soft confidence and effortless elegance. The kind of woman who didn’t need to try to turn heads—she just did. And Max, never one to let an opportunity pass him by, slid up beside her with his most charming smirk and opened his mouth. 

And because apparently, he had actually listened the last time Lando told him all about the absolutely horrible Pick-Up-Lines that he had tried with middling success…that was what came out of his mouth.

“Excuse me,” he said smoothly, “but do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”

She turned, amused—

And Max nearly choked.

Because he knew her.

His brain scrambled for a second before his mouth caught up. “Oh, shit. You’re Charles’ little sister.”

Her entire expression changed. The amusement faded, her jaw tightening. “Wow,” she deadpanned. “That’s one way to ruin a moment.”

Max grimaced. “That’s not what I—”

She picked up her drink and turned fully toward him, raising a brow. “I do have a name, you know.”

He nodded quickly, recovering. “Right. Isabelle.”

“Good job,” she said dryly. “Want a gold star?”

Max huffed out a laugh. “Look, I just wasn’t expecting you. I see a beautiful woman at a bar, and my instinct is to flirt. Then I realize she’s my colleague’s little sister, and I panic.”

Her lips twitched. “And?”

“And… I’m still going to flirt with you,” he admitted, grinning. “But properly this time.”

She tilted her head, intrigued. “Oh?”

Max leaned in slightly. “Can I buy you a drink, Isabelle?”

She pretended to consider. “That depends. Are you going to keep calling me Charles’ little sister?”

He placed a hand over his heart. “I solemnly swear never to utter those words again.”

Her lips curled in the slightest smirk. “In that case, sure. Let’s see if you can impress me, Verstappen.”

Max had never been one to back down from a challenge. And something told him this was a challenge he’d never want to walk away from.

Max flagged down the bartender, ordering another round for both of them. Isabelle took a slow sip of her drink, watching him over the rim of her glass like she was trying to decide if he was worth her time.

He liked that. Liked that she wasn’t falling over herself just because he was Max Verstappen.

“So,” he said, leaning against the bar, “what exactly would impress you?”

She hummed, tapping a finger against her glass. “A conversation that doesn’t involve my brothers.”

Max smirked. “That easy?”

“You’d be surprised how many people fail that test.”

He could imagine. Charles was everywhere in the racing world, and by extension, so was Isabelle. It must be exhausting, always being seen as an extension of someone else.

Max took the challenge seriously. “Alright,” he said, shifting toward her. “Tell me something about you that has nothing to do with your family.”

She studied him for a moment, like she was assessing if he was genuine. Then, after a beat, she said, “I work in architecture.”

Max blinked. “Really?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I never thought about what you do.”

She smirked. “That’s because you’ve only ever seen me as Charles’ little sister.”

Max winced. “Okay, fair. But I’m interested now.”

“Are you?” She tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. “I have heard your name at work before.”

Max frowned. “You have?”

“Oh, yeah,” Isabelle said, taking another sip of her drink. “Apparently, you’ve been house hunting. One of my colleagues nearly had a meltdown over the idea of designing a place for Max Verstappen.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Wait… which project?”

She bit back a smile. “A penthouse. You toured it a few weeks ago.”

Max suddenly knew exactly which one she was talking about. He had liked the place, but something had held him back from committing.

Now, though?

Now, he was very seriously considering signing the papers just for an excuse to see her again.

He leaned in, watching her reaction closely. “And if I were to, say, buy that penthouse?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Then I’d know you had good taste.”

Max grinned. “That’s it?”

She shrugged. “That, and I’d probably have to endure my colleagues freaking out for at least a week.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, then. Guess I have some decisions to make.”

Isabelle rolled her eyes, but he caught the way her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile.

Yeah. He was definitely buying that penthouse.

Max drummed his fingers against the bar, pretending to think. "Alright, so let’s say I do buy that penthouse. Hypothetically."

Isabelle gave him a knowing look. "Hypothetically."

"Would I get a personal consultation?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "That’s not how it works."

"But if I had, I don’t know, questions about the design, or maybe some concerns about the layout, I’d need someone to talk to, wouldn’t I?"

Isabelle swirled the last of her drink in her glass, watching him with an amused glint in her eyes. "Max, are you trying to say you need my number for professional reasons?"

He grinned, tilting his head. "I mean, what if I need an expert opinion? You are the only architect I know."

She sighed in mock exasperation, but he could tell she was entertained. "I really shouldn’t encourage this."

"But you want to," Max countered, smirking.

Her lips twitched, and after a moment’s pause, she reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. "Fine. Give me yours, I’ll text you."

Max typed in his number so fast that she actually laughed. She typed something in her phone. 

A second later, his phone buzzed with a new message.

Unknown Number: Congratulations on your completely unbiased, definitely not suspicious real estate decision.

Max chuckled. "So, what happens if I text you about things that aren’t penthouse-related?"

Isabelle lifted her glass to her lips and said, before taking the last sip, "Guess we’ll find out."

And just like that, Max Verstappen knew he was completely screwed.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

(Unknown Number): Hey, it’s Max.

(Unknown Number): Verstappen.

(Unknown Number): Just in case you know a lot of Maxes.

Isabelle: I don’t.

Max: Good. Would hate to have competition already.

Isabelle: Already?

Max: What can I say? I like you.

Isabelle: You barely know me.

Max: That’s true. But I’d like to change that.

Isabelle: …That was smooth.

Max: Was it?

Isabelle: Surprisingly, yes.

Max: Noted. I’ll add it to my very short list of smooth moments.

Isabelle: Very short?

Max: Tragically short.

Isabelle: I don’t know if I believe that.

Max: I promise, my sister would confirm it.

Isabelle: You have a sister?

Max: Victoria.

Isabelle: Right, I think I’ve seen her before.

Max: Probably. She’d probably like you, by the way.

Isabelle: Oh?

Max: Yeah. She has a good instinct about people.

Isabelle: And what does your instinct say?

Max: That I really, really want to see you again.

Isabelle: You’re very direct, aren’t you?

Max: Is that a bad thing?

Isabelle: No. Just… unexpected.

Max: Well, I can be subtle too.

Isabelle: Can you?

Max: Definitely. For example, I could subtly ask what you’re doing tomorrow night.

Isabelle: …Very subtle.

Max: Thank you. So?

Isabelle: I might be free.

Max: Good. Then I’ll subtly ask if you’d like to have dinner with me.

Isabelle: Are you always like this?

Max: Only when I really like someone.

Isabelle: …Dinner sounds nice.

Max: Perfect. I’ll send you the details.

Isabelle: Looking forward to it.

Max: Me too.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: I met someone.

Victoria: …Okay?

Max: And I think I’m in love.

Victoria: MAX.

Victoria: You literally just met her??

Max: Yes.

Victoria: And you think you’re in love?

Max: Yes.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Victoria: Max.

Victoria: WHAT.

Victoria: HOW.

Victoria: WHY.

Max: I don’t know, Vic. I just know. I met her tonight and I just…I just know.

Victoria: You’ve known her for one night.

Max: Yes.

Victoria: Max.

Max: Vic.

Victoria: Oh my god, you’re serious.

Max: Very.

Victoria: You’re actually gone for her already.

Max: Completely.

Victoria: …Okay.

Max: Okay?

Victoria: Yeah.

Victoria: I mean, I think you’re insane, but if anyone deserves to fall stupidly, recklessly in love, it’s you.

Max: …Thanks, Vic.

Victoria: You deserve to be loved, Max.

Victoria: For who you are. Not because you’re Max Verstappen, two-time world champion, but just because you’re you.

Max: …

Max: I think she sees me that way.

Victoria: Then hold onto her.

Max: I plan to.

Victoria: Is that why you’re texting me at midnight like a lunatic?

Max: …I may have also just bought that penthouse.

Victoria: MAX.

Victoria: YOU HAVE BEEN UNDECIDED ABOUT THAT PENTHOUSE FOR MONTHS.

Victoria: AND NOW YOU MEET A GIRL AND SUDDENLY YOU’RE BUYING IT???

Max: Her architecture firm is working on it.

Victoria: This is why people say Libras are intense.

Max: That’s astrology nonsense.

Victoria: SAYS THE MAN PLANNING A WHOLE FUTURE AFTER ONE CONVERSATION.

Max: I have a good feeling about it.

Victoria: MAX.

Max: What? You just said I deserve to be loved.

Victoria: YES, BUT I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D LOSE YOUR ENTIRE MIND OVER IT.

Max: Too late.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Victoria: You are actually the most ridiculous person alive.

Victoria: But if she makes you happy… then I’m happy for you.

Max: She does.

Victoria: Then that’s all that matters.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Emergency. Crisis. Disaster.

Emilie: That’s a lot of words. What happened?

Isabelle: I have a date.

Emilie: And that’s a disaster because…?

Isabelle: Because it’s with Max Verstappen.

Emilie: …

Emilie: I’m going to need a second.

Emilie:

Emilie:

Emilie:

Emilie: Okay, I’m back. WHAT???

Isabelle: We met at a bar. He asked me out. I said yes. And now I don’t know what to wear. Focus. Help.

Emilie: We met at a bar, he asked me out, I said yes—DO YOU HEAR YOURSELF???

Isabelle: EMILIE. FOCUS. OUTFIT.

Emilie: Right. Okay. Where is he taking you?

Isabelle: Some fancy restaurant. Not too fancy, but still expensive.

Emilie: God, of course. Okay. Simple but elegant. A dress that makes it look like you didn’t try too hard, even though you absolutely did.

Isabelle: Black dress?

Emilie: Obviously. And heels. You own some ridiculous ones. Wear those.

Isabelle: You are suspiciously good at this.

Emilie: Because I have taste. Now, more importantly—DO YOUR BROTHERS KNOW??

Isabelle: …

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: No, they do not.

Emilie: WHY NOT???

Isabelle: Because I don’t want to deal with it.

Emilie: You are dating CHARLES LECLERC’S BIGGEST RIVAL. YOU DON’T THINK THAT’S WORTH MENTIONING???

Isabelle: One date does not mean I’m dating him.

Emilie: YET.

Isabelle: I don’t think Charles would care.

Emilie: …That is the saddest sentence I have ever read.

Emilie: You don’t think Charles would care.

Isabelle: No.

Emilie: Are we talking about the same man??? The one who holds grudges against people for bad karting races from 15 years ago??

Isabelle: I am saying that I am basically invisible in my family, and therefore, he will not care.

Emilie: THAT IS SO DEPRESSING.

Isabelle: It’s just reality.

Emilie: No, it’s tragic. And when Charles inevitably does care, I am going to be so smug about it.

Isabelle: He won’t.

Emilie: He will. And when he finds out from Twitter instead of you, I am going to remind you forever that I was right.

Isabelle: Fine. If he does, I will buy you dinner.

Emilie: And?

Isabelle: And I will admit you were right.

Emilie: Good girl. But first, we need to make sure Max Verstappen is absolutely floored when he sees you tonight. Let’s pick out your dress.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: HELP.

Max: I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO WEAR.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Max: I’m serious, Vic. This is important.

Victoria: It’s one date.

Max: Exactly! First impressions matter. What if I wear something stupid?

Victoria: You wear team merch 90% of the time, so that’s a real possibility.

Max: NOT HELPING.

Victoria: Okay, okay. Where are you taking her?

Max: Nice restaurant. Fancy-ish but not too fancy.

Victoria: Alright. Dark jeans, nice shirt, jacket. Clean shoes.

Max: That’s it???

Victoria: Yes, you’re not walking a red carpet, Max.

Max: What if she thinks it’s boring?

Victoria: If she’s going out with you, she probably already knows you’re a little fashion-challenged.

Max: Wow.

Victoria: I’m just saying, if she agreed to a date, she clearly likes you. Just wear something that fits and isn’t Red Bull merch.

Max: I feel like you’re underestimating the stress of this situation.

Victoria: I feel like you’re underestimating the fact that she already said yes.

Max: …Good point.

Victoria: Obviously. Now go find a shirt that isn’t a team polo and try not to overthink it.

Max: No promises.

Victoria: You’re impossible.

Max: And yet, you still love me.

Victoria: Unfortunately. Now go. And don’t text me from the restaurant freaking out.

Max: No guarantees.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: Well????

Isabelle: Well, what?

Emilie: Isabelle. Do not play dumb with me. How did the date go??

Isabelle: …It was really nice.

Emilie: THAT’S ALL YOU’RE GIVING ME?

Emilie: I want DETAILS. Did he show up looking stupidly handsome? Was he nice? Did he make you laugh? Did you kiss him??

Isabelle: Yes, yes, yes, and Yes.

Emilie: YES??

​​Isabelle: I kissed him.

Emilie: !!!!!

Emilie: Details. Now.

Isabelle: It was after our date. He walked me to my door, and I just… kissed him.

Emilie: You just kissed him?? Who are you and what have you done with my overthinking best friend??

Isabelle: Shut up. I didn’t even think about it. I just did it.

Emilie: And???

Isabelle: And then he kissed me back.

Emilie: …That better not be the end of the story.

Isabelle: It was soft. And slow. And he cupped my face like I was something precious.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Emilie: Isabelle, my love. My dearest best friend.

Emilie: You’re done for.

Isabelle: … I know.

Emilie: And how did he look after?

Isabelle: Like he was trying very hard not to kiss me again.

Emilie: Oh, you’re so doomed.

Isabelle: I know.

Emilie: Tell me everything.

Isabelle: He was already at the restaurant when I got there, which was sweet. He pulled out my chair for me. He was nervous, which was insane to me because, you know, he’s Max Verstappen.

Emilie: Boy has driven through Eau Rouge at full speed, but a girl makes him nervous. I love this.

Isabelle: He kept looking at me like I was the most interesting person in the world. Like he actually wanted to hear everything I had to say.

Emilie: I love him already.

Isabelle: You love him?? Emilie, I might actually be in trouble here.

Emilie: Uh oh.

Isabelle: …He sent me flowers.

Emilie: WHAT.

Emilie: When???

Isabelle: They just got delivered.

Emilie: EXCUSE ME.

Emilie: You go on ONE date with Max Verstappen and wake up to FLOWERS???

Isabelle: Apparently.

Emilie: What kind?

Isabelle: Peonies.

Emilie: Belle.

Emilie: He is so in love with you.

Isabelle: It was one date.

Emilie: AND???

Emilie: The man sent you flowers the morning after like he’s starring in a romance novel.

Isabelle: Maybe he just does that?

Emilie: Girl. Be serious.

Emilie: Did he say anything with them?

Isabelle: There was a note.

Emilie: AND???

Isabelle: It just says ‘Last night was perfect. Can’t wait to see you again. – Max’

Emilie: I’M GONNA SCREAM.

Emilie: Max Verstappen is courting you.

Isabelle: Courting is a strong word.

Emilie: He sent you flowers. He is so gone for you.

Isabelle: …Maybe.

Emilie: So… second date?

Isabelle: Saturday.

Emilie: GIRL.

Isabelle: I know.

***

Isabelle Leclerc’s Instagram Post

Comments:

@/emilie_abadie: 👀👀👀

@/F1GossipQueen: That’s a very ‘I have a thoughtful boyfriend’ kind of flower arrangement.

↳@/paddockprincessx: Soft launch era????

@/leclercsiblingtea: If Charles doesn’t know who sent these, I need his live reaction immediately.

↳@/monacogossip: Why do I feel like this is someone wildly unexpected?

↳@/redbullsimpclub: Place your bets now, I’m saying it’s a paddock guy.

↳@/f1shenanigans: If this is from an F1 driver, I am losing my mind.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: Thank you for the flowers. They are beautiful.

Isabelle: And for yesterday. I had a really nice time.

Max: I’m glad you liked them. 

Max: What’s your favorite flower? For next time.

Isabelle: Snowdrops.

Max: Snowdrops?

Isabelle: Yes?

Max: I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone whose favorite flower is snowdrops.

Isabelle: That’s a shame. They’re beautiful. And they bloom in the cold, when nothing else does.

Max : Like you, then.

Isabelle: …Are you trying to be charming, Max Verstappen?

Max: Is it working?

Isabelle: Maybe.

Max: Good.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Sophie: So… Victoria told me something interesting.

Max: She needs a new hobby.

Sophie: Max.

Max: What?

Sophie: Are you in love?

Max: …Maybe.

Sophie: After one conversation?

Max: No! After two conversations.

Sophie: Oh, well, that’s much more reasonable.

Max: Mom.

Sophie: Max.

Max: Look, I just know that it’s different. I’ve never felt like this before.

Sophie: That’s a big thing to say.

Max: I know. But I can’t explain it. It just makes sense.

Sophie: So how did the date go?

Max: …It was perfect.

Sophie: Now we’re getting somewhere.

Max: She’s funny, she’s smart, she actually listens when I talk about racing—like, really listens. And she doesn’t care about the other stuff. The money, the fame. None of it. She just likes me.

Sophie: That’s important.

Max: I know.

Sophie: So when do I get to meet her?

Max: When she doesn’t think I’m a crazy person for how fast I’m falling for her.

Sophie: I hate to break it to you, Max, but you bought a penthouse because her firm is working on it.

Max: …

Sophie: That’s what I thought.

Max: It’s a very nice penthouse.

Sophie: Of course it is.

Max: So you’re not going to say I’m insane?

Sophie: Oh, you are insane. But you’re also my son. And if this makes you happy, then I’m happy for you.

Max: Thanks, Mom.

Sophie: Now tell me, do I need to start planning a wedding?

Max: Goodbye.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale) 

Arthur: Dinner at Maman’s, Saturday, usual time?

Charles: Yeah, I’ll be there.

Lorenzo: Me too.

Isabelle: I can’t make it, I’m busy.

Arthur: What’s Maman making?

Charles: Probably something with pasta.

Lorenzo: Didn’t she say something about lamb last time?

Arthur: Oh yeah, I think so.

Isabelle: Have fun!

Charles: See you all Saturday.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: Hey, if I were to ask for date advice, purely hypothetically…

Victoria: Oh my God.

Max: What?

Victoria: You NEVER ask for advice. This must be serious.

Max: It’s not that serious.

Victoria: You literally bought an apartment because of this girl.

Max: …That’s unrelated.

Victoria: Sure it is.

Max: So… hypothetically… if I needed some guidance, what would you suggest?

Victoria: Are you actually asking for advice, or are you just hoping I’ll make it easier for you by giving you a list of things not to do?

Max: ...

Victoria: That’s what I thought. Give me a second.

Victoria: Okay, here’s your DO NOT list:

Do not talk about tire degradation.

Do not mention iRacing, no matter how good your last stint was.

Do not wear a Red Bull hoodie.

Do not check F1 news during the date.

Do not turn the date into a competition.

Do not text me mid-date if you panic. Figure it out.

Do not propose.

Max: …That last one was unnecessary.

Victoria: I’m just covering all bases.

Max: I wasn’t going to propose.

Victoria: Good. Then this should be easy for you.

Max: The Red Bull hoodie rule feels unfair.

Victoria: Max.

Max: Fine. No Red Bull hoodie.

Victoria: Thank you.

Max: …Can I at least wear the cap?

Victoria: Max.

Max: Alright, alright. No cap.

Victoria: Proud of you. Now, go be normal.

Max: No promises.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: Hypothetically. If you were taking someone on a second date. What would you do?

GP: …Why are you asking me?

Max: Because you’re married!

GP: And?

Max: That means you’ve successfully dated someone.

GP: That does not make me a dating expert.

GP: Also, since when do you ask me for relationship advice?

GP: Who is she?

Max: …

GP: Max.

Max:

GP: MAX.

GP: WHO IS IT.

Max: Isabelle.

GP: Isabelle who?

Max: …Leclerc.

GP:

GP: MAX.

GP: CHARLES LECLERC’S SISTER?!?!?!?!?

Max: Yeah, she doesn’t really like being called that.

GP: MAX.

GP: DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH?

Max: Not particularly.

GP: HOW DID THIS HAPPEN.

Max: I met her.

GP: OBVIOUSLY.

GP: Where?! When?! How long has this been going on?!

Max:  A few days.

GP: And Charles doesn’t know???

Max: I don’t think he notices much about her.

GP: Okay, that’s a whole other issue, but back to you.

GP: Do you have any self-preservation instincts?

Max: She’s nice. I like her.

GP: THAT IS NOT THE POINT.

GP: Do you realize the incident this could cause?

Max: If I wanted overreactions, I’d have texted Victoria.

GP: I AM REACTING APPROPRIATELY.

GP: What does Victoria think?

Max: She said, "You deserve to be loved."

GP: …Well, that’s suspiciously sentimental.

GP: But also, Charles is still going to kill you.

Max: You’re being dramatic.

GP: AM I?

Max: Are you helping or not?

GP: I AM TOO BUSY PROCESSING YOUR TERRIBLE LIFE CHOICES.

GP: Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. Let’s focus.

GP: You need a second date idea.

GP: That does not result in Charles Leclerc murdering you.

Max: I think you’re overestimating how much he pays attention to her.

GP: That’s between them. I am concerned for you.

Max: You’re being dramatic again.

GP: No, I’m being realistic.

Max: …I’ll deal with that when it happens.

GP: Unbelievable.

GP: Alright. Date ideas.

GP: What did you do for the first one?

Max: Dinner. Talked a lot.

GP: What does she like?

Max: Horses.

GP: Horses.

GP: You’re dating someone who likes horses.

Max: Yes?

GP: I feel like that’s relevant information I should’ve had sooner.

GP: Have you ever been near a horse, Max?

Max: Not really.

GP: Okay, no horse-related dates yet. You will get yourself killed trying to impress her.

Max: She’d find that funny.

GP: I wouldn’t.

GP: Let’s keep it simple. Somewhere quiet. Private. Where you can talk.

Max: I was thinking that too.

GP: What about a picnic?

Max: A picnic.

GP: Yeah. You get some good food, go somewhere nice, and just relax. No stress.

Max: Where am I supposed to find a picnic spot?

GP: You have a balcony, Max.

GP: You literally have a balcony with a view.

GP: Just set something up there.

Max: …That’s actually not a bad idea.

GP: Wow. Praise from the great Max Verstappen. I’m honored.

Max: Don’t get used to it.

GP: Okay, what kind of food does she like?

Max: She ordered pasta on our first date.

GP: That’s a start. You could order from the same place.

Max: Or I could cook.

GP: You could what?

Max: I can cook, GP.

GP: Since when?

Max: Since I lived alone?

GP: Okay, sure. But can you cook something that won’t poison her?

Max: Wow. Faith in me is at an all-time low.

GP: Just making sure she survives the night.

Max: I’ll make pasta. It’s simple.

GP: Fine. But don’t experiment. Stick to what you know.

Max: What do you think I’m going to do? Try molecular gastronomy?

GP: I wouldn’t put it past you.

GP: Okay, what else… You need drinks. Dessert.

Max: She likes red wine.

GP: Get a good wine, then. And dessert?

Max: She mentioned liking raspberries once.

GP: So get her something with raspberries.

Max: Got it.

GP: And what about ambiance?

Max: …

GP: Max.

Max: What?

GP: Do you even own candles?

Max: …Victoria gave me some once.

GP: Use them.

GP: And put some effort into setting the table.

GP: You know, for someone who acts like they don’t care about romance, you’re actually putting effort into this.

Max: …She’s worth the effort.

GP:

GP: Damn.

GP: Okay.

GP: You have to survive Charles finding out.

Max: I told you. I’ll handle it.

GP: Yeah, yeah. Just keep me updated.

Max: Sure.

GP: And if you need actual advice, ask Victoria.

Max: I did ask Victoria. She just sent me a list of things not to do.

GP: What was on the list?

Max: "Don’t talk about tire degradation. Don’t mention iRacing. Don’t wear a Red Bull hoodie."

GP: Solid advice.

Max: She also said, "Act normal."

GP: That one might be harder for you.

Max: Wow.

GP: Just being honest.

GP: So, do you have everything planned?

Max: Yeah. I think so.

GP: Good. Now all you have to do is not mess it up.

Max: Thanks for the vote of confidence.

GP: Any time.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: Soooooo... how was the date?

Isabelle: Good.

Emilie: …That’s it? "Good"? You had dinner with Max Verstappen, a man who has clearly lost his mind over you, and all you have to say is "good"???

Isabelle: Fine. Great. Amazing.

Isabelle: Happy?

Emilie: Better. But I’m gonna need DETAILS.

Isabelle: We had dinner, talked a lot, and then I stayed over.

Emilie:

Emilie: EXCUSE ME???

Emilie: YOU STAYED OVER????

Isabelle: Yes.

Emilie: As in "I fell asleep on the couch watching a movie and went home in the morning" stayed over, or "I am now intimately familiar with Max Verstappen's bedsheets" stayed over???

Isabelle: …

Emilie: ISABELLE.

Isabelle: Nothing happened. 

Emilie: Oh my god.

Emilie: OH MY GOD.

Isabelle: I swear, nothing happened. It just got late and…

Emilie: This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Isabelle: I’m so glad MY love life is giving you entertainment.

Emilie: You don’t understand. I’ve been waiting for you to have an actual romance for YEARS. YEARS, ISABELLE.

Isabelle: You make it sound like I was living in a cave.

Emilie: Emotionally? Maybe a little.

Isabelle: Rude.

Emilie: True.

Emilie: But seriously. How do you feel?

Isabelle: …I don’t know. It’s weird.

Isabelle: He likes me. Like, really likes me. And I’m not used to that.

Emilie: Then get used to it, babe. Because that man? He’s already gone for you.

Isabelle: You think so?

Emilie: I KNOW so.

Emilie: Now tell me: does he have nice bedsheets, or do I need to stage an intervention?

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

GP: Well???

Max: Well, what?

GP: Don’t play dumb. How did it go?

Max: …

GP: MAX.

Max: It went well.

GP: That’s it? That’s all I get after coaching you through this?

Max: What do you want me to say?

GP: I want details. Did she like the food? Did you talk about tire degradation anyway? Did she laugh about your terrible jokes?

Max: She liked the food. No, I did not mention tire degradation. Rude.

GP: Growth. I’m proud of you.

Max: Thanks.

Max: The cats love her.

GP: …THE CATS?! MAX. That is NOT the update I was looking for.

Max: No, but it’s important. They don’t just like people.

GP: I was expecting romance, maybe a ‘we stayed up talking all night’ or ‘she laughed at all my jokes’—and you’re giving me ‘the cats love her’??!

Max: It means a lot! Jimmy and Sassy were literally fighting for her attention. She was just sitting on the couch, and they both climbed into her lap like she was their owner.

GP: …Okay, I’ll admit, that’s kind of a big deal. You’re in love, aren’t you?

Max: I mean… yeah.

GP: I knew it. The cats knew it. Everyone knew it. Charles is gonna lose his mind.

Max: That’s a problem for future Max.

***

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. the morning after the race ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. max verstappen x reader ⋆ 𐙚 ̊ slight angst + comfort

The room is still. Dim. Heavy with sleep and leftover adrenaline. Somewhere outside, the city wakes, yoans, stretches and hums back to life. But in here, in the quiet comfort of the hotel room, it’s just you and Max.

He’s asleep—or something close to it. Curled against you like a napping cat, his arm draped across your stomach, face pressed to your collarbone. His breath is slow. Steady. Dusting light puffs of air against your skin in a way that tickles ever so slightly. But there’s tension in him, even now—a kind of exhaustion that lives in his bones.

The kind you can’t fix with sleep. The kind that has been there as long as you have known him.

It's easy for him to hide it from others in the adrenaline of the track, easy to smile to cameras and quickly walk away. But he can't hide it from you. Especially in these quiet moments.

You run your fingers lightly through his hair. He shifts but doesn’t wake, just burrows closer`, hand tightening in the fabric of your shirt like he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go.

You know the routine by now. After a race, especially one that drained him—win or lose—Max comes back to you with his tank on empty. He doesn’t talk much, he doesn’t need to, his body tells the whole story. He's tired. A kind of tired that goes beyond the body.

The quiet is sacred in moments like this.

You press a soft kiss to his temple and feel the way he exhales a little deeper than normal, his whole body relaxing just slightly. He’s not made for softness on the track—sharp edges, quick decisions, grit. But here, with you, he becomes someone else.

Not the world champion. Just Max. Just yours.

Your are only each other's.

Eventually, his voice breaks the silence, low and cracked with sleep. Accent heavy and slurring words together.

“You’re awake.”

You nod, not expecting him to open his eyes.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

“For what?”

“Didn’t mean to pass so fast that last night.”

You smile. “You needed it. We both did.”

He hums, forehead resting against your shoulder again. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t.”

You won’t, he knows that. But he says it anyway—just to be sure. He needs to hear you say it. Its one of the few things that makes the heaviness in his soul lift just slightly.

So you stay. You stay and hold him while the morning moves quietly onwards somewhere on the other side of the window curtain. And when he finally falls asleep again, truly asleep, you stay.

Just in case he needs you when he wakes up. You have nowhere you need to be but right where you are.

on that night, when you called Yoongi crying because the world had been too much for you, he left everything to go to you. in that same night, when the world seemed to crumble, Yoongi held you in his arms, gluing every piece of you broken heart with his tender love. and you cried yourself to sleep again that night, but Yoongi was with you and he made sure he kissed all your tears goodbye.

the next morning, both of you went along with your separate lives, but at night, when you were so close to fall asleep overwhelmed with everything, you received a text from Yoongi that made your fragile heart realize that maybe, just maybe, there could be love in this cold world.

“ how am i supposed to fall asleep alone now that i know what it feels like to have you in my arms? ”

Charles Leclerc x Verstappen!Reader

Max finds out that Charles is dating his sister

You and Charles have been in a secret relationship for a few months now. It’s been fun, sneaking around and sharing little moments that feel special just to the two of you. Today, Charles plans on surprising you with flowers and food from your favorite place. He’s headed to a flower shop in Monaco to get your favorite flowers, and he’s really excited about it.

As he picks out a beautiful bouquet, he suddenly hears a familiar voice. “Hey, Charles!” It’s Max Verstappen, your brother, not surprised at all since it's Monaco.

“Max! What are you doing here?” Charles asks, trying to act casual while holding the flowers behind his back.

“Just grabbing some coffee,” Max replies, eyeing the bouquet curiously. “Got a hot date or something?”

Charles laughs nervously. “You could say that.”

Max raises an eyebrow but shrugs it off. “Alright, man. Enjoy your date!” They exchange pleasantries, and Charles makes a quick exit, flowers in hand and now on his way to pick up your food, already imagining how happy you’ll be.

***

Later that day, Max decides to drop by your apartment. He walks in without even ringing the bell, and the first thing he notices is the vase of flowers sitting on the coffee table. His eyebrows shoot up. “Wait a minute…” he mutters to himself, remembering the same flowers he saw Charles holding.

Confused, he examines them closely, trying to figure out what’s going on. Just then, he hears some noise from the bathroom. Before he can call out to you, Charles steps out, wrapped only in a towel. He looks completely relaxed, totally unaware of Max’s presence.

Max’s jaw drops as his brain processes the scene. “Charles?!” he exclaims, pointing at him like he’s just seen a ghost. “What are you doing here?”

As soon as you heard your brother's voice you rushed to the living room.

Charles freezes, wide-eyed, and tries to pull the towel tighter around his waist. “Uh… I can explain?”

Max’s eyes dart between you and Charles, and he starts connecting the dots. “So you’re the one who’s been sneaking around with my sister?” Max had his suspicion that you are seeing someone but never figured out who.

You try not to smile at the situation but fail miserably. “Max, it’s not what it looks like!” you say, trying to act innocent while biting your lip.

Max crosses his arms, clearly protective. “Oh really? Because it looks like my sister is dating a Formula 1 driver in a towel!”

Charles stammers, “I promise it’s not weird. We were just—”

“Just what? Practicing your towel dance?” Max interrupts, raising an eyebrow.

Before Charles can answer, he accidentally takes a step back and—whoosh—the towel slips right off!

“Ah!” Max yells, covering his eyes. “I didn’t sign up for this!”

You burst into laughter while Charles quickly grabs the towel, trying to cover himself as best as he can. “This is not how I wanted you to find out!” he exclaims, looking mortified.

Max lowers his hands and shakes his head. “Well, I guess you really are dating my sister, huh?”

Charles, still red-faced, nods sheepishly. “Uh, yeah. I really care about her.”

Max sighs dramatically, pretending to be serious. “Alright, just remember—I have a reputation to uphold as the protective older brother. So if you ever break her heart, I will hunt you down, towel or not.”

Charles laughs nervously, finally relaxing a bit. “Deal. But I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

With that, Max rolls his eyes, a small accepting smile breaking through. “Just put on some pants, man. Seriously.”

As you and Charles share a relieved glance, you can’t help but feel the weight being lifted off your shoulders. Now no more hiding your relationship from your brother.

Idk why but this scene simply warms my heart so much. The casual and easy way he gives his hand and the way she moves and he moves to indulge her and her laugh at the end. Siiigh. I miss this show 😭

Hello there! Love your work on the Max Verstappen x reader fiction. If it isn't too much, can I request an angst based on the song " All I wanted was a coffee" by Samantha Ebert? You can decide the ending but, a gut wrenching angst with kelly is appreciated. Thank you!

I hope you like this, I tried to use the song in the way that I saw fit. The reader has many insecurities and bit of mommy issues. Mention of cuts and bleeding.

I wish you loved me

{Reader’s POV}

Max and I started dating soon after he got out of a really long relationship with his ex. With Max being a Formula One driver; the details of his past were general knowledge, did I wish I didn’t know? Yes. Because in the pictures of Max and Kelly, you could see his eyes sparkled and he would smile so bright sometimes and I felt like I never got to know that Max. But every relationship is different; I couldn’t compare it, could I?

Max was loving, I mean every boyfriend is. He would sometimes forget important stuff but he was a busy man with an even busier job.

But it hurt when I saw Max with P or Kelly for that matter. His eyes would light up; I just felt like crap every time he met them, but Max never noticed. At the end of the day, Max was always around P while she was growing up, it was a given she missed him, right?

It got worse when Kelly started coming to races and meeting Max. The worst was yet to come; the other girlfriends started to side eye me whenever me and Max would interacted as if Max was Kelly’s boyfriend.

I was in the bathroom when I heard them; they were talking about how Max and Kelly looked cute together, they were the model family, that Max deserved better. Kelly even talked about all the gifts he got her and P recently. I just sat there in the cubical for a very long time.

I waited, I was dumb I know but no one’s loved me before and the fact that Max was willing to love me even for a moment felt like relief. I didn't want to let him go, I couldn't not when there was a chance he would come back.

I waited like always, Max was always away having dinner with P since she missed him. She missed him a lot ever since we started dating. I never said anything since Max was like her father figure but it hurt.

One of those nights, I was sat drinking whiskey, it was in Max’s alcohol cabinet. The bottle was almost over. The snacks finished up soon after the third glass. I was sat on the floor, glass in hand when Max walked in. “World’s best dad everyone” I sang. “How much did you drink?” He laughed. He laughed at me. “You know my mother was right” I said, trying to get up. “She wasn’t really the best mom, now was she” Max commented. “Yeah but she was right about a lot of things and she was right about how difficult to love I was” I laughed. Max looked at me with sadness in his eyes, “don’t pity me Max.... How could Kelly steal you from me?” I cried. Max said nothing. “No no sorry sorry, how can something be stolen from me when it was never mine to begin with.” I laughed bitterly taking the last swig from my glass. “The alcohol’s gone Max, just like your feelings for me or did you ever have them to begin with?” I slurred.

“Y/N I” Max began. “No Max, you’re not at fault. It’s my fault for coming between 2 lovers. You should’ve told me that you loved her, I would’ve never dated you” I cried for the first time tonight in front of Max. As I steadied myself, the whiskey bottle fell down, and I tried to pick up the pieces but ended up cutting myself. “Hehe look Max I’m bleeding” I giggled holding up my hand. “Y/N let’s clean that up” Max said trying to hold my hand. “NO, Kelly won’t like it. I’m not a home wrecker...or maybe I am” I laughed bitterly. “Let me help you” Max pleaded. “You look at me with so much concern for the first time since we started dating” I pointed out. Max’s eyes bore into mine. I tried to walk away but ended up stepping on the glass. “Look I’m bleeding from my foot now too. At least now people can see that I’m hurt since I’ll have bandages all over me. My heart ache gets missed every time. Maybe now, they might see my hurt, for once” I said with fresh tears forming.

“Mothers are always right. I’m unlovable, always been. If only I was pretty, if only I was a model, if only I was thinner, if only I was….Kelly Piquet, then you would’ve loved me. But I’m me, I’m plain old difficult to love, Y/N that’s why I’m unlovable” I chuckled. “Let’s go to the hospital” he pleaded again. “No, I’ll take care of myself. Don’t worry about me anymore. I’ll be out of your hair before you know it. Then you can have your happy ever after with Kelly” I laughed bitterly. “Did you ever love me?” I asked. Max was quiet. “I was just a rebound wasn’t I. Tell me you really loved me even for a second” I begged. “I’m sorry.” He said.

I grabbed my phone with my other hand while bleeding on to the floor; “don’t worry. I’ll clean your place before I leave” I said looking at the trail of blood I was leaving and dialled my phone calling the only person I knew in Monaco, the only person who didn’t hate me or talk badly about me, Lewis. “Lewis, Hi....I need to go to the hospital. I’m bleeding” I giggled. “Are you drunk? How did you hurt your self? Where are you?” He asked concerned. “Yes, yes, home no wait, Max’s home” I answered. I heard him sigh. “Where Max?” He asked. “He’s here” I said looking up at Max. “Ask him to take you now?” Lewis suggested. “NO, we broke up, and ex-boyfriend’s don’t take their ex-girlfriend’s to the doctor” I explained. “What?” He asked shocked. “Please Lewis, it hurts. Can you come soon?” I asked. “I’ll be there soon” Lewis said and cut the call. I sat there and looked at Max, “The whiskey tasted sweet as always and you sobered me up so fast” I sighed looking at the mess I had made.

Lewis came to take me to the hospital; he did not speak to Max. I guess even he knew what was going on. I didn’t see Max again after that either.