aubs:) @justagirlgettingby - Tumblr Blog

teasing

summary: Y/N was Kimi's girlfriend that no one knew about. she always asked her boyfriend to keep their relationship private, at least for now, but how could Kimi possibly resist posting his beautiful girlfriend?

warnings: none

face claim: chaeryeong from itzy

author's note: guess who got an idea after like five years lmao... plus if someone DARES to call chaer ugly or mid i will fight u with my own bare hands icl AND IDK ITALIAN TS IS FROM GOOGLE OK 😭😭

this is so bad pls 😐😐😐

•18+ Adults Only

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81astriss

i don't even like you that much | kimi antonelli

fem!reader x kimi antonelli fc: kiawentiio, eliska babickova, others on pinterest

what if the guy you fought with on roblox turned out to be your favorite driver, kimi antonelli?

a/n: i cannot stop playing roblox lately so ofc i had to make an au involving roblox hihi. i kinda just made the gaang a friend group that isn't famous for the plot so just pretend they did not star in the live action of one of the most iconic series ever thank you!

apple cider beabadoobee

⎯

Roblox chat (Grow A Garden)

y/nwho: BRO y/nwho: WHO STOLE MY EMBER LILY kimii12: hehe y/nwho: how dare you y/nwho: i swear y/nwho: ############################################### y/nwho: ############ kimii12: sorry i dont speak tags

Banned for 1 day

Reason: Swearing

Offensive item: ###############################################

Offensive item: ############

⎯

heartonelli

› #ONLY4U ─── KIMI ANTONELLI ♡

⋮ SYN. 💭 ┆ kimi’s never the guy to usually post. however, whenever he does, you somehow are always in the picture.

𓏲ּ𝄢 ka12 x fem ! reader ╱ smau, romance, friends2lovers ∘ ∘ ∘ ✶ profanity, slowburn-ish ( kimi&yn are edgers im telling u ), users are true definition of “fake it til you make it” LMAOO faceclaim : eunchae 𓂃 🗯️ it would be a crime for heartonelli to not have a kimi fic first… so here it is!!!!

❤︎ ─── ❝ i hope that you feel the same ❞ ⧽ 𓉘 𝗍𝗎𝗇𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𓉝

yourusername

♡ Liked by kimi.antonelli, olliebearman and others

yourusername entry #67: biscotti, pretty art! 8/10

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liz.yeyo GORGEOUSSS who took these pics 🥹

⤷ @ liz.yeyo yourusername one&only kimi 🤫

⤷ @ yourusername liz.yeyo Ofc why did i ask.

yuramour

SILENCIO — KA12

random texts with bf!kimi

pairing. kimi antonelli x reader genre. smau, lowkey crack warnings. none word count. n/a note. just silly silly

silverwingsandgoldenflowers

I’m So Hungry I Could Eat

Team Principals edition!!

✦ You decide to prank your boyfriend over text. The “I’m so hungry I could eat” trend. Except you mention their team principal. Their literal boss. And of course chaos ensues.

❁Lewis, George Max, Charles, Oscar

✦ Crack, some are slightly smutty/suggestive, in Lewis’ it’s mentioned that he and reader have an age gap, chaos, Oscar makes a joke about self exit, Zak Brown is his own warning,

•18+ Adults Only

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Anya is LIVE right now

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andy-15-07

hiii, I love your work!! can I request a kenan fic where the reader is the daughter of the juventus coach and they keep it a secret, but somehow the coach finds out and there's tension between kenan and him, but in the end everything turns out well?(english is not my first language, so please excuse any mistakes!! 💖)

Behind the Coach’s Back

Pairing:Kenan Yıldız x Reader

Word Count:1289

Request open!

Kenan Yildiz Masterlist | Football Masterlist | Football Masterlist II

Juventus Masterlist

Keeping a secret from the Juventus coach had seemed easy at first.

At least, it had seemed easy when it was just stolen glances across the training ground, quick texts after late practices, and one or two careful kisses in places nobody would think to look. It had felt exciting then, almost playful, like the two of you were sharing something tiny and sweet that belonged only to you.

Now, standing outside your father’s office with Kenan beside you, the secret felt much heavier.

Kenan’s hand brushed yours briefly before he slid it into his pocket. “You’re overthinking.”

You turned your head to glare at him. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he said, watching your face closely. “You’ve been doing that for the last ten minutes.”

You exhaled slowly. “My father is inside that office.”

“I know.”

“And he does not know that his daughter is dating one of his players.”

Kenan’s mouth twitched. “Still sounds less dramatic when you say it like that.”

You looked up at him, horrified. “How else am I supposed to say it?”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Maybe with less panic.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the office door opened before you could.

Your father looked out, saw you standing there, and then noticed Kenan beside you.

“Kenan,” he said, sounding pleasantly surprised. “Come in. I was just finishing up.”

Your stomach dropped.

Kenan gave you one quick look that was equal parts reassurance and warning, then followed your father inside.

You stood frozen in the hallway for two full seconds before rushing after them.

The office felt too small all of a sudden.

Your father was behind his desk, Kenan standing politely near the chair in front of it, both of them looking far too calm for what was secretly happening.

Your father folded his hands. “So. What can I do for you?”

Kenan glanced at you once, then back at your father. “I just wanted to speak with you.”

Your pulse thudded painfully.

Your father tilted his head. “About football?”

Kenan hesitated.

That tiny pause was all it took.

Your father’s eyes moved from Kenan to you. Then back to Kenan. Then back to you again.

Something changed in the room. Not anger yet. Just awareness.

“You,” he said slowly, “are both standing very close.”

You almost choked on nothing.

Kenan cleared his throat. “Sir,”

Your father held up one hand. “No. Let me guess.”

Your entire face burned. “Dad,”

He ignored you completely and narrowed his eyes at Kenan. “You two are dating.”

Kenan went still.

You closed your eyes.

Silence.

Then your father leaned back in his chair, staring at you like he was trying to decide whether to laugh or throw something.

“You are dating,” he repeated, quieter this time.

Kenan straightened immediately. “I’m sorry.”

Your father blinked. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because,” Kenan said carefully, “I should have spoken to you sooner.”

You looked at him in disbelief. Even now, he was trying to be respectful in the face of the exact disaster you had both been avoiding.

Your father looked between the two of you. “How long?”

You and Kenan exchanged a quick glance.

“Not long,” you said.

“Long enough,” Kenan said at the exact same time.

You turned to him sharply. “Kenan.”

He gave you a helpless look. “What? It is long enough.”

Your father rubbed a hand over his face. “Wonderful. Fantastic. My daughter and one of my players have been sneaking around behind my back.”

“We were not sneaking around,” you protested.

Your father pointed at you. “You were hiding it.”

You opened your mouth, then stopped because, unfortunately, he was right.

Kenan took a breath. “Sir, I understand why this is a problem.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

Your father leaned forward. “Do you? Because if this affects the team, if this affects her, if this affects anything at all, I will not be pleased.”

Kenan’s expression became serious in an instant. “It will not affect the team. And I will never disrespect her.”

The room went quiet again.

Your father studied him for a long moment, then looked at you. “You chose him?”

You frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he said, trying and failing to sound stern, “you could have chosen someone less difficult to worry about.”

Kenan’s mouth twitched, but he wisely stayed silent.

You folded your arms. “He is not difficult.”

Your father gave you a look.

You sighed. “Okay, sometimes he is.”

Kenan laughed softly under his breath.

Your father’s eyes went to him again. “And you’re serious about this?”

Kenan didn’t even hesitate this time. “Yes, sir.”

The answer came out so firm, so immediate, that it made both you and your father pause.

Kenan looked at you then, and all the tension in his face softened. “Very serious.”

You swallowed.

Your father noticed that too.

He leaned back again, slower this time. “You’re not joking.”

“No,” Kenan said. “I’m not.”

That silence afterward felt different. Less sharp. More thoughtful.

Your father eventually sighed. “I don’t like being the last to know.”

You winced. “That part I understand.”

He held up a hand to stop you from making it worse. “But I like honesty even less than I like surprises.”

Kenan nodded once. “I should have told you.”

“Yes,” your father said. Then, after a moment, “But you came to me.”

Kenan looked uncertain. “I did.”

“That counts for something.”

You stared at your father, stunned by the turn the conversation had taken.

He noticed and pointed at you again. “Do not look so shocked. I am still irritated.”

You let out a breath that was half laugh, half relief.

Then your father stood and looked directly at Kenan. “If you hurt her, I’ll know.”

Kenan’s answer was immediate. “I know.”

Your father seemed to accept that, if only slightly.

“Good,” he said. “Then sit down. Both of you. If I’m going to be furious, I’d rather do it properly.”

You blinked, then laughed despite yourself.

Kenan glanced at you with visible relief before pulling out the chair beside him.

Your father stayed stern for maybe three more minutes before the sharp edge of the situation began to fade. By the time you left his office, the tension had turned into something awkward but survivable, and your father had at least stopped looking like he might banish Kenan from the club forever.

Outside, you let out a breath you felt like you had been holding for hours.

Kenan looked down at you. “Well.”

You groaned and covered your face. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Right now, I do.”

He smiled softly and reached for your hand. “But it went better than expected.”

You looked at him through your fingers. “You think this was better than expected?”

He shrugged. “Your father didn’t kill me.”

“That is your standard now?”

“For today, yes.”

Despite everything, you laughed.

Kenan squeezed your hand once, his expression gentler now. “He knows. That was the hardest part.”

You lowered your hand and looked up at him. “You were really calm.”

“I was terrified.”

“I know.”

He looked at you for a second, then said quietly, “I just didn’t want him to think I was hiding you because you weren’t important.”

Your expression softened immediately.

“You could never make me feel that way,” you said.

Kenan smiled, small and real. “Good.”

Then, with a glance toward the office door, he added, “Also, I really do love that man now a little less than I did ten minutes ago.”

You snorted. “Fair.”

He leaned down and kissed your forehead before guiding you away.

And even though the secret was no longer a secret, somehow the world felt lighter than before.

miaaxxzf1

How Many Rounds? | MV3

SUMMARY: You and Max are both professional athletes with insane stamina, something you never really thought about… until your friend casually asked how many rounds you two could actually go before tapping out. One conversation with your friend, one deal with Max later…

PAIRING: max verstappen x reader

WARNINGS : 18+ ONLY!! MINORS DNI , Explicit smut, overstimulation, edging, switching (dom!reader & dom!max), oral sex (m & f receiving), deepthroating, gagging, praise kink , begging, competitive sex, unprotected sex , established relationship.

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

The conversation with your friend refused to leave your head.

“You two have never actually tested it? How many rounds those insane athlete bodies can really handle before one of you taps out?” she’d asked, eyes wide with curiosity. “You’re both elite. You’ve never just kept going until one of you physically can’t anymore?”

You’d been shocked. “What do you mean?"

lightsoutandawaywewrite

The pen-pal project pt.1

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader (y/n)

No warnings just pure fluff and fate working together, it is impliedthat the reader is american

Summary: You and a boy exchanged letters as children through a school program but eventually lost touch. Years later, while cleaning out old boxes, you post one of the letters online. An F1 driver recognizes it immediately.

Requested: No

Requests open

word count: 1570

Previous Part || Next Part

The cardboard box smelled faintly of dust, cedar, and old scholastic book fair bookmarks, specifically those lenticular ones that clicked when you ran your thumbnail over them. It was a suffocating, comforting scent, the olfactory equivalent of a time capsule. It was the kind of deep-cleaning afternoon where progress is measured not by how much trash goes into the black plastic bags, but by how long you sit cross-legged on the hardwood floor, paralyzed by a sudden, heavy wave of nostalgia. A pile of discarded clothes lay forgotten to your left; a stack of old textbooks gathered dust to your right.

Among the high school yearbooks, plastic wrapped prom corsages, and faded concert tickets to bands that had long since broken up, sat a bundle of loose-leaf papers. They were bound together by a thick, beige rubber band that had long since lost its elasticity; it had dried out into a brittle, crusty ring that snapped at the slightest touch, leaving a chalky residue on your fingers.

You pulled the top sheet from the pile. The paper was standard wide-ruled school paper, slightly yellowed and brittle at the edges, bearing the distinct blue lines that used to dictate the boundaries of childhood thoughts. The page was covered in the overly careful, slightly cramped cursive of someone writing with immense deliberation—the handwriting of a child trying very hard to please a teacher in a language that was not entirely their own. The ink was a pale, vintage fountain pen blue, faint but perfectly legible.

Dear Y/N,

Thank you for your letter. Monaco is very nice today. The sun is shining and I can hear the cars outside. Today I practiced my English with my teacher, and then I went to the karting track. My father says if I work hard, I can be a champion one day. What is your favorite sport? I hope your English is better than mine.

Your friend,

Charles

A sudden rush of memory hit you, sharp and vivid. The third-grade international pen-pal program. Your elementary school teacher, Mrs. Gallagher, had set up a cultural exchange, pairing everyone in the class with students from European schools to help them practice their English conversational skills. You remembered the fierce excitement of waiting for those international stamps to arrive in the mail—brightly colored squares with foreign monarchs or landmarks—and tracing the textured postmarks with your thumb. You and Charles had exchanged letters for nearly two years, sharing the beautiful, mundane details of childhood life across an ocean. You had sent him a drawing of your dog; he had sent you a sticker from a local French bakery. Then the school year ended, middle school distractions took over, interests shifted, and the correspondence quietly faded into the background of growing up.

Amused by the earnestness of his eighth-grade vocabulary and the sweet simplicity of his ambition, you took a quick, aesthetic photo of the letter on your phone. The lighting from the bedroom window hit the page just right, highlighting the faded blue ink, the slight ink smudging on the capital letters where his hand had dragged across the page, and the innocent, naked declaration of a childhood dream.

You opened your social media app, uploaded the photo without thinking twice, and typed out a casual, lighthearted caption:

“Cleaning out my childhood bedroom and found these. Shoutout to my middle school pen-pal Charles from Monaco. I hope you made it to the karting championship, buddy. Your English was actually great.”

You locked your phone, tossed it onto the mattress of your unmade bed, and went back to sorting through old varsity sweatshirts and mismatched socks. You didn't think about it again for the rest of the afternoon.

Many time zones away, the paddock of the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya was buzzing with the chaotic, high-octane energy of a Formula 1 race weekend. The late afternoon sun beat down on the tarmac, and the air was thick with the scent of burning rubber, high-grade fuel, and expensive catering. Engineers were hovering over banks of monitors displaying complex telemetry data, mechanics were executing synchronized, blink-and-you-miss-it pit-stop drills in the garage, and the media pen was a chaotic sea of cameras, boom mics, and aggressive journalists.

In the quiet, air-conditioned sanctuary at the back of the Scuderia Ferrari hospitality suite, Charles Leclerc slumped into a pristine white leather sofa. He was exhausted, his hair damp with sweat and flattened by his balaclava after a grueling secondary practice session where the car's balance had felt completely uncooperative. His trainer handed him a protein recovery shake and a chilled towel. Charles wiped his face, sighing, and instinctively reached for his phone to kill the twenty minutes of downtime before his mandatory engineering data debrief.

He scrolled mindlessly through his notifications, templated sponsor tags, high quality fan edits set to trending audio, analytical race previews, and standard public relations alerts. It was a deluge of digital noise until a specific image caught his eye. It wasn't the kind of polished, high definition motorsport photography that usually filled his feed. It was a poorly lit, amateur photo of old, lined school paper, sitting on what looked like a bedroom floor.

Charles paused. The scrolling stopped. He zoomed in on the handwriting.

A strange sensation, a disorienting mix of vertigo and intense, buried familiarity, washed over him. He knew that handwriting. He recognized the specific, slightly exaggerated way those lowercase 'g's and 'y's looped at the bottom, a stubborn habit his childhood tutor, Madame Bonnet, had spent months trying to correct with a red pen. He read the English words, and a memory locked deep in the vault of his childhood suddenly broke wide open.

Monaco is very nice today... I went to the karting track.

"No way," Charles muttered under his breath, sitting up straight on the sofa, the recovery shake forgotten in his hand.

His trainer looked over from his laptop, raising an eyebrow. "Everything okay, Charles? Something from the data?"

"Yeah... no, it's nothing about the car," Charles murmured, his green eyes scanning the username of the account that had posted the photo. Y/N. The name instantly connected the scattered dots of a memory from fifteen years ago. Suddenly, he wasn't in a high tech paddock in Spain; he was ten years old, sitting at the wooden kitchen table in his family's apartment in Monaco. He remembered his mother cutting up slices of apple for him while he looked up English verbs in a heavy, French-English dictionary, determined to write a response that would sound smart and impress his friend across the Atlantic. He remembered the genuine heartbreak he had felt when the school program concluded, and the letters abruptly stopped coming—swallowed up by the relentless, demanding, and stressful schedule of junior karting championships that eventually consumed his entire youth.

A small, genuine smile broke across his face, entirely different from the practiced, media ready smiles he gave to the television cameras. He didn't notify his public relations team. He didn't ask for permission from the team principal. He simply tapped the direct message icon, his thumbs flying across the glass screen with far more speed, confidence, and fluency than the little boy who had struggled over that letter fifteen years ago.

Back in your bedroom, your phone buzzed against the mattress.

Then it buzzed again. And again. A rapid-fire succession of haptic vibrations caused the device to slide an inch across the sheets.

Within an hour, your notification feed had turned into an unreadable, runaway blur of activity. The screen was a continuous scroll of red numbers. You picked it up, thoroughly confused, assuming a stray hashtag had accidentally caught the attention of a rogue bot network or a crypto scam.

But when you opened the app, the notifications weren't random strings of spam numbers or automated advertisements. They were thousands of real comments, thousands of retweets, and an exponentially skyrocketing count of direct messages. Formula 1 fans, internet sleuths, and casual observers had intercepted the post, and it was spreading across the internet like wildfire.

“Is this a joke? Tell me this is a joke. There is no way this is real.”

“Bro casual dropped the most historic, multi-million-dollar flex in internet history.”

“Imagine having an F1 race winner as a childhood pen-pal and just finding out today??”

“OP, check your DMs right now, I am screaming for you.”

Baffled and feeling a sudden spike of adrenaline, you tapped on your direct messages icon. At the very top of the primary request folder, sitting beneath a prominent, verified blue checkmark and a professional profile picture of a handsome man wearing a red racing suit, was a message sent just ten minutes prior.

Charles Leclerc (@Charles_Leclerc)

“I did make it to the championship, actually! It took a lot of practice, just like the English. I cannot believe you still have this letter, it brings back so many good memories. How have you been, Y/N?”

Your breath caught sharply in your throat. You stared at the verified badge, then at the profile with its millions of followers, and then back down to the faded, yellowing piece of school paper sitting on your messy bedroom floor.

The little boy who had spent his sunny afternoons dreaming of racing tracks while struggling with foreign grammar had actually done it. And against all statistical probability, the vastness of the internet had just brought him back.

authors note: i don’t know if i like the plot or not, i had this written in my notes for so long and decided to post it, should i make a part 2?

harringtonsb1tch

Meddling Maggie | Kimi Antonelli x reader

Summary: When you and Kimi decide to go separate ways (on good terms, of course), life has a way of bringing you back together. Some call this fate, others call this an unintentionally meddling younger sister.

warnings: use of y/n, mild angst, but happy ending.

a/n: divider by @uzmacchiato. also creds to @arshiyuh for helping me write this!! i love you so much pookie dookie and i really really appreciate your help <333

@hannahbananababybanana here you go! Sorry, it took a while

sogoodtoheritsvicious

call it what you want

summary: the public tries to make sense of the relationship you and max share with oscar. some say you’re cheating on max with oscar, others say max is the one cheating with him. you say let the world keep guessing. the only people who deserve to know the truth about the special relationship you three have with each other are those closest to you.

pairing: max verstappen x reader x oscar piastri

fc: madelyn cline

request: Can I order a byob (established relationship) and a host special with Maxcar + reader poly?? Maybe with guilty as sin playing in the background 👀 - @prozacandprosecco

warnings: cheating allegations • misunderstandings • fluff • attempts at humor • likely a mistake or two • time skips • bending the f1 schedule to my will for shits & giggles

vicious speaks: how do i join someone else’s relationship? on a more serious note, i completely fell in love with this couple and it is going to be so hard letting them go 🥲 who knows, maybe i’ll come back to them again in the future, expand on The Great War™️ if anyone wants that 👀

tea party masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫ .

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and others

yn you do not wanna know what i had to promise in order to get these two out of their team kits and into normal clothes 🥲

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•18+ Adults Only

Watch Anya Live on Cam

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.

✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality

Anya is LIVE right now

FREE

Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming

piantonelli

MATERIAL GIRL ! ࿔ LEWIS HAMILTON

summary : a peek into life with lewis hamilton as his (self-proclaimed) controversially young girlfriend!

pairing : lewis hamilton x younger!reader

lina’s radio : im actually obsessed with creating these. sorry it’s not my usual long fics, but writing paragraphs is hard lowkey…

sogoodtoheritsvicious

loves me like you couldn’t

summary: fans couldn’t have known that the man who’s spending his days making you feel loved like you’ve never been before is the same man who’s battling your ex on the track…until the night your album is released, that is.

pairing: max verstappen x lando’s ex!reader

fc: maisie peters

warnings: emotional neglect • cheating • not lando friendly! - don't like, don't read • fluff • attempts at humor • time skips • likely a mistake or two

vicious speaks: shoutout to @prozacandprosecco for bringing to my attention that i hadn’t written a fic yet where max ends up with lando’s ex. needed to rectify that immediately!! this is the first fic inspired by florescence, but it is not the last, so keep an eye out 😉 ok luv u bye!!

max masterlist | read on ao3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫ .

april 22nd

liked by taylorswift and others

yn my new album, ‘florescence’, is out may 22nd 🥹 i poured my heart and soul into this project, and i can’t wait for it to be yours!! this album was made with a lot of special people, one of which being my very close friend taylorswift !! i think you’ll go crazy once you hear kingmaker 🤭 more deets to come later <3 oh yeah, i also sat down with zanelowe !! vid out tomorrow :)

and because i love you, my new single, ‘never do’ is out now 💐

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greeneyedangel2

-`✮´- AS THE MOVIES -`✮´- part 5

══════════════════════

a/n: i feel so bad for mack as if i'm not the one writing this LOL but i promise its up from here. thanks for all the support <333

pairing: macklin celebrini x actress!reader

synopsis: in which you are a rising actress who just finished filming your new movie nights in july and a certain hockey player has his eyes on you, and doesn’t keep it a secret. but, like always, nothing is as perfect as the movies.

warnings: none!

part 4 - part 6 coming soon

══════════════════════

yourusername

liked by harpermonroe, callumhayes, and 749,087 others

yourusername vday best day <3

callumhayes my girl ❤️❤️

user1 that should be mack...

→ user2 but it's not HAHAHA

user3 i love them but i was rlly rooting for mack

→ user4 no same like i cant choose

harpermonroe my best friends!!

load 29,809 other comments...

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sugaesthetic93

You know how it works; mv1

what starts as a quiet dinner ends in the kind of silence that breaks everything

f!reader ୨୧ word count : ~ 1.9k

warnings : 3 apples tall child, emotional shit, panic/heightened emotions, implied neglect in relationship, arguments, language, heartbreak, mentions of crying, angst, angst and more angst, slow-burn

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 pt.8

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

He held you like you were made of glass and fire all at once, something too fragile to grip, but too dangerous to let go.

You were sobbing so hard your entire body shook against his, and Max was just... there.

Useless. Helpless.

A man completely gutted by what he had done.

“I’m sorry,” he said over and over, breathless. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

His arms tightened around you as much as they could, your bodies intertwined so completely that you couldn’t tell where yours ended and his began.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The crying took everything out of you. You were shaking so violently that you could feel him trembling too.

So he kept talking.

“I never should’ve said what I said. Never. I should’ve realized how much it cost you. I should’ve known how scared you were. I should’ve been the one holding your hand in that hospital, not some stranger. I should’ve been there when he took his first breath-”

His voice broke, raw and hoarse.

“-when you looked at him and didn’t see me.”

You twisted, trying to get out of his arms. His words were becoming too much. But Max only held on tighter, as if he were afraid you’d disappear. As if there were somehow still room to hold you closer.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “No matter how stupid it sounds, I thought that was what everyone expected of me. Keeping my word to the team. I thought that was what you expected too. I thought you didn’t want me there.”

You shook your head, still crying.

Max reached up and tried to wipe away your tears, frantic now, pressing kisses to your temple even when you flinched.

“I was so wrong. I chose wrong. I chose so fucking wrong. I didn’t notice how much of yourself you were hiding, how you always put your needs behind mine, how my lifestyle was suffocating you. Even before Nova, I didn’t realize how bad things had gotten.”

You gasped for air, your hands fisted in his hoodie, and something inside him shattered.

“I don’t care about anything except the two of you,” he said, his voice almost childlike in its ache. “Not the races. Not the titles. None of it means a damn thing if I lose you. And I realized that far too late.”

You tried to look up. Your eyes felt swollen, your vision blurred by tears until all you could really make out were shapes and colors.

Even then, you could see how devastated Max looked.

The sight of you nearly broke him - your face flushed red, your lashes wet, your eyes swollen with weeks of pain he had never noticed until it was too late.

“I love you,” he whispered, like a prayer. “I love you. I love you so much it’s ruined me. I don’t sleep. I can’t think. Every time I close my eyes, I see that hospital room and you in it. Alone.”

You hiccuped, your sobs finally beginning to quiet.

“I should’ve been there,” Max said again, his forehead pressed against yours. “I should’ve held your hand. I should’ve told you how brave you were. I should’ve kissed your fucking sweat-soaked face and thanked you a thousand times.”

His breath shook.

“And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Even if you never forgive me. Even if you never let me back in.”

He pressed a tentative kiss to your damp cheek, then another to the corner of your mouth.

“I love you. I love our son. I’m not leaving again. Ever. I swear on my life, I’m staying.”

- - -

Your sobs had softened into shivers now. Your body was exhausted.

Your muscles were limp, your throat raw, and your skin burned beneath the weight of everything that had just poured out.

Max held you tighter.

But it wasn’t desperation anymore.

It was devotion.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into your hair. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you to bed.”

You didn’t argue. You didn’t have the strength to.

Your whole body ached, and your mind drifted somewhere far away, filled with pain and grief and a tiny flicker of something you didn’t want to name yet, not hope. Not forgiveness.

Just… relief. Just the ability to breathe again.

Max lifted you effortlessly from the floor, one arm beneath your legs, the other wrapped securely around your back.

You probably should have told him not to. You had just had a baby. Your body was stitched, sore, and still recovering.

But he didn’t hesitate.

He carried you like you were something precious. Like you mattered.

Once he had tucked you beneath the covers, he smoothed the blanket over your legs and brushed the hair away from your face before crouching beside the bed.

“You don’t need to get up,” he said gently. “Not for anything.”

You opened your mouth - maybe to protest, maybe to ask about Nova - but Max shook his head.

“No,” he said firmly. “No. I’ve got him. You’ve done enough. More than enough.”

You blinked at him, your lip trembling.

“He’ll need to eat in a few hours.”

“I’ll wake you if he does,” he promised, brushing his thumb across the back of your hand. “But let me try first. Let me try to soothe him. Change him. Rock him. Be his fucking dad.”

Your chest tightened.

“I know I haven’t earned this yet,” Max said quietly, his eyes shining with emotions he could barely keep under control. “But you’re not alone. Not anymore. He’s my son too. And I can do this. I will do this.”

You looked at him for a long moment.

And maybe it was the tears still drying on your cheeks, or the sheer weight of your broken heart, but something inside you eased just a little.

You nodded.

Max let out a slow breath, relief thick in his throat.

“Sleep, Schatz,” he whispered. “Sleep. I’ve got you both now.”

He pressed one last kiss to your temple, stood, and slipped quietly into the hallway.

You didn’t hear anything after that.

Just the silence of finally being cared for.

- - -

The nursery was quiet except for the soft mechanical whir of the baby monitor and Nova’s tiny, sleepy breaths.

Moonlight spilled through the curtains, painting silver stripes across the floor and the pale walls. Somewhere in the apartment, a pipe creaked and Max hoped Y/N wouldn’t wake up. The refrigerator hummed faintly in the distance. Otherwise, the world seemed to have shrunk to this room.

To this moment.

Max stood beside the crib, completely frozen.

He had held trophies heavier than this. Driven cars worth millions. Signed contracts that could change careers overnight.

None of it had ever made him feel this way.

Nova rested in the crook of his arm, warm and impossibly light, a swirl of reddish-blond hair damp from sleep, his mouth still slightly puckered from his last feed. His tiny fingers twitched against Max’s ches,t nothing more than a reflex, probably.

Still, Max couldn't help but feel like he was reaching for him.

His heart clenched.

Carefully, almost afraid of disturbing the fragile peace, he lowered himself into the rocking chair. The old wood creaked softly beneath his weight.

Nova barely reacted.

For a long moment, Max simply stared.

At his son.

At the tiny nose.

At the impossibly small eyelashes resting against chubby cheeks.

At the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

At the little crease between his brows that looked so much like yours it almost hurt.

The resemblance caught him off guard every single time.

His chest tightened.

This child had barely come into this world and already Max couldn't imagine a world without him.

And he had missed the beginning. Missed the first cry. Missed the first time Nova opened his eyes. Missed the moment you became a mother.

The guilt sat in his stomach like lead.

Finally, he spoke.

“Hey, kleine Mann.”

His voice cracked immediately. He swallowed hard.

“You don’t know me yet,” he whispered. “Not really. Not how you should.”

Nova stirred slightly, his tiny face scrunching up for a second before relaxing again.

Max watched him with an intensity that bordered on reverence.

“I’m your dad. And I - I fucked it all up, buddy. Before you were even born.”

His gaze dropped.

“Should’ve been there. Should’ve heard your first cry. Held your mama’s hand. Been the first one to say your name out loud.”

His throat burned.

For years, racing had taught him that mistakes could be corrected. A bad qualifying session could be salvaged. A lost position could be fought back.

But some moments only happened once.

And he had thrown one away.

“Nova Y/L/N,” he murmured. A sad smile tugged at his lips.

“Beautiful name. Your mama... she’s always been better at naming things.”

The smile disappeared as quickly as it came.

Because thinking about you inevitably brought him back to the hospital room he had never seen.

Back to your tear-streaked face.

Back to the words you'd screamed at him while years of pain poured out.

He rocked the chair gently. Back and forth. Back and forth.

The motion seemed to soothe both of them.

“I want to promise you something, okay?”

Max leaned closer, his voice barely louder than Nova’s breathing.

“You’re not going to grow up feeling like you have to earn my love. You don’t need to win anything. You don’t need to be perfect. You don’t need to become somebody for me to care.”

His eyes stung.

“You just get to be. And I’ll love you anyway.”

Nova let out a tiny sigh in his sleep, a soft contented sound that made something deep inside Max ache.

Without thinking, he adjusted his grip, holding him a little closer.

A little safer.

“I’m not my dad,” he whispered fiercely. The words escaped before he could stop them. “I swear to God, I’m not going to be like him.”

His jaw tightened.

“I will never make you feel small. I’ll never make you feel like my love comes with conditions. I’ll never use it as a leash.”

His eyes drifted toward the nursery door.

Toward the hallway that led to your bedroom.

Toward you.

“You are free,” he said quietly. “You and your mama both.”

The room fell silent again. His throat tightened.

“You don’t know it yet,” he whispered, looking back down at Nova. “But she saved me.”

A shaky breath escaped him.

“Twice now.”

He smiled sadly.

“Once when I met her.” His thumb brushed gently over Nova’s blanket. “And again when she gave me you, my little gift.”

For the first time in weeks, the crushing panic in his chest loosened ever so slightly.

Not because things were fixed but because for the first time since Nova was born, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Max leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes, never stopping the gentle rocking motion.

“I’m going to be better,” he breathed.

Not a promise.

A vow.

“I have to be.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sry y'all, life and work have been crazy!!!

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mymusesjournal

too sweet

oscar piastri x baker!reader x lily zneimer - smau

warnings - female presenting reader but no pronouns mentioned, pictures are random from pinterest, y/n used 😐

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liked by oscarpiastri, lilyzneimer, lando and 107,982 others

yourusername summer lovin' 🫶

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oscarpiastri having one of your partners be a baker means you spend all summer avoiding your diet

p.s yes lily and y/n helped me with this

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yourusername exactly babe

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rebeccadonaldson lily and y/n look fabulous, oscar is just...there

user827 the photos of lily and y/n oh I'm crying 😭

lily zneimer 🔒

posted a story

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Hopeless

Summary: Lewis Hamilton is a weak, weak man when it comes to you and your daughter.

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