#nv41

Sick with the Man-Flu

A Nyck de Vries imagine

To all the he/hims and he/theys and whatever pronouns you use, the man-flu is a serious disease and you deserve to be babied from time to time 🫡

word count: ~200 words

p.s.: my Dutch is a little rusty whoops

Your study notes were spread all over the kitchen aisle, various topics you needed to memorise decorating the island; to an outsider, there was no rhyme or reason to the distribution of printed out articles, self-written cards, and different kinds of highlighters.

But this was your chaos, and you were its master; breaking your concentration once you got to this point was no easy task, yet Nyck had mastered it all the same.

He had slung his arms around your middle, pulling himself into your back, resting his head between your shoulder blades. Intermittently, he squeezed you a little tighter and made pitiful noises—sometimes sniffles, sometimes coughs that resembled those of a dying puppy.

"Hoe gaat het met je, knuffelbeer?" How are you doing, teddy bear?

You asked him, almost absentmindedly, while still trying to comprehend the meaning of your notes.

"Helemaal niet goed," Nyck croaked out in reply; you could hear the stress in his throat in the way he talked, like it pained him to speak any louder than a whisper. Not good at all

"Want me to make you some tea with honey while you get more rest to nurse your cold?"

Adrenaline Lows

A Nyck de Vries imagine

I have feels about Nyck in Monza and...like pliant Nyck...

Word count: ~300 words

Nyck was drained, grateful for the opportunity, but absolutely, irrevocably drained of all the energy he had; Nyck before and after Monza 2022 was night and day. Especially after the adrenaline had faded, the highest of highs—his dream of driving an actual F1 car, not Formula E—led to him crashing, in a literal and figurative sense.

How fortunate—for everyone effected except Alex—that you had chosen to attend this race, where dreams came true; there were congratulatory hugs and kisses before he was whisked away to the media pen and various debriefs that you couldn't bring yourself to care about.

But soon the hustle and bustle of the paddock started dying down; as more and more drivers left, so did the fans.

The car ride back to the hotel was enveloped in a comforting silence. Nyck didn't even attempt to get into the driver's side, slumping against the window and stretching out his arm to rest on your thigh.

Nyck would deny it the next morning, but you assumed that he had made himself heavier on purpose, leaning his weight on you on the way up to the hotel room. He didn't even toe off his shoes before he flopped down on the bed, still sweaty and in his street clothes, but peacefully snoozing away, head buried in the fluffy pillows.

Unlike Nyck, you changed into something more comfortable and finished getting ready for bed; you then managed to convince him to at least take off his shoes and pants before he was too far gone into the land of dreams.

Giving In

A Nyck de Vries imagine

If you're studying for exams right now, good luck! But remember to take time off studying too :)

Word count: ~300 words

P.s.: if this is not what you wanted just hmu again and I'll write sth more wholesome, promise

You sat in front of your desk, head in your hands, and elbows propped up on the clutter of study guides you had written and printed out; you weren't sure what hurt more, your body—most notably your back and elbows, which had turned white from the pressure you put on them seemingly ages ago now—or your head.

Why had you chosen this major? Why had you even decided to pursue higher education at all? You should just drop out and be a full-time WAG; who cared about goals when the hurdles in your way tripped you up? When the falls tore you up to the bone and left you less than a husk of a human?

Nyck had gotten used to the cacophony of sighs, frustrated groans, and the occasional scream of defeat; he didn't like hearing, much less seeing, you like that. But he had offered his help before, and you had just waved him away; he didn't want to get in your way, not when you had enough on your plate anyway.

Still, he tried his best, offered massages for your tired shoulders and backrubs when you finally joined him in bed at a godforsaken time after a god awful day, made sure you had a steady supply of drinks—coffee for the rougher days, sweet tea for the easier ones—and used his skills in the kitchen to whip up dinners and lunches for you.

The last day before your last exam was absolute hell on earth; you crammed like you never had before; you weren't sure people could or should soak up information that quickly, doubting how healthy studying like this was.