the platonic!rookie!male!reader with russtappen was fabulous! could you do part two? maybe Kimi and reader are messing with max and George and messing with the media?
we go together or we don't go down at all
♫⋆｡♪₊˚ all time low - love like war
(gn!redbull driver! reader / fluff / 810 words) you and kimi pull a prank on george
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” KIMI ANTONELLI jumps at the sound of your from just behind his shoulder. he sits up from his previously hunched over position, straightening his spine. you stifle a small chuckle, raising your hands in mock defense. “sorry. thought you heard me.”
kimi simply shakes his head. he reaches to his side, holding up a small, white keycard on a longer blue keychain. “i’m blocking george’s access card,” he says. it’s almost nonchalant but you don’t miss the way the corners of his lips raise ever so slightly. he returns his attention to the computer screen in front of him. his gaze scans across the screen, clicking through a few more miscellaneous buttons you don’t care enough to actually look at. “wanna help?”
kimi reaches over, pushing a rolling chair in your direction. your fingers brush against the black faux leather. a small mercedes logo is embroidered into the back, a small reminder that you’re in the wrong garage. you brush the thought aside, sliding into the seat and settling yourself beside kimi.
“where did you even get this?” you say, only barely stifling a chuckle. you reach out, taking the card into your hand. an old photo of george stares back at you. his bangs are longer and swooped across his forehead. his smile is crooked — almost nervous. it almost reminds you of your own id photo.
“george left it in a meeting,” kimi shrugs. he spares a quick glance in your direction, just enough for you to catch the mischievous glint in his expression. it’s the same look he always gives you when he manages to rope you into one of his pranks. still, you follow along without question. “better i find it than someone else.“
you lean over kimi’s shoulder. he adjusts to account for your presence immediately, almost unconsciously. your hands rest on the desk close enough that your knuckles brush against each other. his hands feel warm despite london’s overcast skies.
“how did you learn how to do this, anyways?”
kimi’s smile grows. “i did this to bono, too,” he chuckles. “the team showed me how.”
you shake your head despite the way your lips quirk into a small grin of your own. you let out a breathy laugh before you settle your head against kimi’s shoulder. his hand comes to rest on top of yours in return, intertwining your fingers together as if it’s second nature.
“come on,” kimi says. he offers your hand a gentle squeeze before he’s moving to stand up and dragging you along with him. “let’s go find george and return his pass.”
MAX VERSTAPPEN WANDERS INTO THE MERCEDES GARAGE LIKE ALWAYS — SMUG AND TEETERING JUST ON THE EDGE OF ARROGANCE. his lips curl into the hint of a smirk as he watches george fruitlessly press his keycard against the sensor only to be met with the same error message once again. george furrows his eyebrows as he reaches out to tug at the locked doors to no avail. “having some trouble, mate?” he asks.
george lets out a quiet huff. he turns on his heel to face max, crossing his arms over his chest. “where’s kimi?”
max stifles a chuckle. he raises an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side ever so slightly. “how would i know?”
“come on. you know they’re always together.”
“what about us?” kimi asks. true to george’s word, you’re right by his side, standing so close that your knuckles brush against each other with every other step. you tuck yourself against his side, leaning against a nearby wall.
george turns to face you both, then. his gaze locks onto kimi as he holds up the keycard. “what did you do?”
kimi holds his hands up in mock defense. you bring your hand to your mouth, poorly hiding your growing smile as they begin to bicker. “nothing! just… made a few tweaks to it.”
“a few?” george repeats incredulously.
beside him, max stifles a laugh. he takes a step closer, resting a hand against kimi’s shoulder. it’s all it takes for kimi to break entirely. laughter bubbles out of his chest. it’s a light and airy sound. you can’t help but smile, joining in alongside him. “nice one, kid.”
max follows along as george mutters something beneath his breath. they bicker in a way that only they can, exchanging snide remarks between one another. their argument falls on deaf ears as you and kimi follow behind, once again falling into tandem.
you lean in, casually taking kimi’s hand into your own. you don’t miss the flush that spreads across his cheeks. it tints his tan skin ever so slightly, spreading up to the tips of his ears. kimi leans in, closing the distance between you with a small step to the side. “wanna block max’s next?” you whisper.
kimi’s smile grows. “absolutely.”
notes: please leave feedback if you enjoyed!! f1 reqs are open and greatly appreciated <3 thank you for the request! i'm sorry it took me literal months to get to, the second half is kinda ass my bad i don't like pranks so i stole this idea from kimi, kinda sorta part two to this fic if you squint
if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, or reblogging!! and if you want to support me, consider checking out my f1 masterlists here and here <3
silently begging on my knees for a platonic!rookie!male!reader with russtappen who’s a driver on red bull. maybe best friends with kimi and the grid is always teasing them about about being “brothers” while george and max are in the background trying not to tear each other’s throats out
no worries if not <3
can I be the only hope for you? / because you're the only hope for me
♫⋆｡♪₊˚ my chemical romance - the only hope for me is you
(gn reader / fluff / 1.4k words) moments shared after your first grand prix win
DRIVING AN F1 CAR IS ALWAYS A RUSH. you can feel the rush of wind past you through each corner. you grip your steering wheel tightly between your gloved fingers. each movement is done with practiced ease. open DRS. close it. shift between gears. brake during corners, accelerate on the straight.
the bottom of the car slides against a curb, rattling your bones. you grit your teeth. in the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of a marshall when you cross the start line. a celebrity you’re not familiar with stands nearby. their hands are wrapped tightly around the checkered flag pole. it pokes just barely out of the box, exposing the black and white pattern. you grit your teeth. lap 50 begins.
ahead of you, max coasts along another corner with precision. sparks fly out from beneath his car. it’s little more than a blur of white and red. your hands guide you along the usual racing line, hugging one corner only to go wide the next. a mercedes is somewhere behind you — george, the last you heard. his car coasts less than a second behind yours though it’s thankfully not enough for him to overtake in the final few corners.
your car twists. left, then right, then putting your foot to the floor and pushing the car as fast as it’ll go. the audience’s cheers are drowned out by the rumble of the engines. your heart beats wildly against your chest, so loud that the sound overrides everything else. max passes the final curve. you follow. the world fades away. and then-
gp’s voice crackles when he turns on the radio. somehow, you’re able to decipher his words through the graininess. you tighten your grip on the sides of the steering wheel. “that’s p2. well done.”
your breath catches in your throat. you lift off of the gas slowly, allowing the car to cool as you drift through the track once again. you allow max to lead, maneuvering your car around the same curves as your mind drifts.
second place. “yes!” a laugh bubbles out of your chest before you can escape it. you smile so wide that your cheeks hurt. your eyes crinkle at the corners, further obscuring your view behind the tinted visor. “thank you, everyone. this has been a dream.”
“mega drive, mate,” gp replies. you swear you can hear the tilt in his voice, lifting at the ends the way you imagine his lips are as well. “really well done.”
the car is still rumbling when you pull towards the start lane once again. you stop just short of the billard, twisting the car to the right side of max’s. he’s already hoisting himself out of the car, pausing only momentarily to wave towards the filled audience.
with shaky hands, you copy his movements. you push the steering wheel onto the front of the car before pushing your legs up. you wrap your hands around the halo as a support, almost like it’s a pull-up bar. your limbs ache from the awkward angle they had been crammed into. your helmet knocks against the side before you gingerly step out.
everything happens in a blur. a man holding an overly large camera on his shoulder circles you like a shark. you avoid looking into the lens in favor of pulling off your gloves. your helmet comes next, followed by your balaclava and hans device.
george wanders over at some point, greeting you with a gentle pat on the shoulder. “great race,” he smiles, bright and sweet. the corners of his eyes crinkle. you can just barely make out the thin red lines his balaclava has left across his cheeks and around his eyes.
“thanks, george.”
his hand falls from your shoulder to instead push through his sweaty hair. the cameraman lingers just a few feet away from you, broadcasting the interaction on the giant billboards surrounding you on all sides. you glance at him for a second before twisting away in a small attempt to block yourself from view. “you gave me hell in those last few laps.”
“you deserve it,” a gruff voice interrupts from behind. max has wandered into the orbit of your conversation, coming to stand beside you. he holds a bottle of water in his hand. his fingertips leave marks in the condensation gathered on the outside.
“max,” george greets curtly. he tilts his head to the side with an almost fond annoyance — the kind that only comes through shared interactions over the years. for a second you wonder if he’ll walk away, using getting weighed as an excuse to cut the conversation short. but his politeness wins out and he offers a small nod instead. “congratulations.”
“you too,” max pauses just long enough to take another swig of water. then, he turns to face you. his hand comes up to rest against your shoulder for just a second, offering a gentle pat. his expression curls into a smirk when he glances at george once again. “better luck next time.”
george does leave, then. with a slight roll of his eyes and a shake of his head he slips away, leaving you standing under the vegas sun in front of a crowd of thousands. “you did good, kid,” max says. “you held your own well out there. you should be proud.”
i am. you can’t help but smile sheepishly in response. you let a small chuckle escape you, nodding softly. “thanks, max. it means a lot.”
max hums in response. his hand falls from your shoulder when he turns to guide you back towards the paddock wall. “come on. the team is waiting.”
THE SMELL OF CHAMPAGNE STILL STICKS TO YOUR SKIN LIKE AN OVERBEARING COLOGNE. you move in a daze, bouncing between the top of the podium and the red bull garage and your drivers room. the trophy was heavier than what you were used to. it’s metal has been freshly polished. it’s so shiny you can see your own distorted face in its reflection. you’re still staring at the trophy like it’ll disappear when there’s a knock at the door.
“hey,” kimi smiles softly. he enters like he belongs, letting the door slide closed behind him. he’s left his race suit behind in favor of an old t-shirt and a pair of track pants. his curls are still slightly squished from the few hours they had been trapped under his helmet. “how are you feeling?”
“good,” you breathe. you push the trophy aside as kimi comes to sit beside you. he’s always looked younger without the suit. a boyish grin lingers on his features as he pushes a few stray strands of hair away from his face. “really good.”
“hey, don’t forget about me on the podium,” kimi teases. his lips curl into a soft smile as he playfully knocks his shoulder into your own. “don’t forget — we committed fraud together. i could send you to jail.”
that earns a laugh from you. it bubbles out of your chest with ease, filling the previously quiet room. kimi is quick to follow. his giggles mix with your own into a harmony that had become familiar over the years. “it was your idea in the first place, antonelli,” you say, playfully narrowing your eyes at him. “i was an unwilling participant.”
“unwilling?” kimi throws his hands up, exasperated. “you spent more than me!”
“you encouraged it!”
“a jury would never buy that,” kimi huffs. he crosses his arms over his chest in mock offense as he lets the argument die out. “besides, we’d probably end up in jail together, anyways.”
you shake your head, letting the conversation fizzle out naturally. kimi tucks himself onto your couch, curling into the cushions with a quiet sigh. you watch as his eyes flutter shut. the exhaustion of the day finally sets in, bringing with it a soreness in your legs and a slight tremble in your hands. you’re quick to join him, stretching out across the cushions yourself. “next time, you’ll be up there with me.”
kimi lets out a sound halfway between a huff and a snort. “you mean you’ll be up there with me,” he retorts.
“shut up,” you roll your eyes but there’s no heat behind it. kimi simply laughs. “can’t have anything nice with you.”
kimi hums. his head falls against your shoulder as he reaches for his phone, pulling up an episode of a show you had been watching. you pull him closer despite the way his curls tickle against your neck, letting him prop his phone up in the corner. “never.”
notes: please leave feedback if you enjoyed!! f1 reqs are open and greatly appreciated <3 thank you so much for requesting!! i hope you like it :) i feel like my writing is so bad lately icl, i have a crush on kimi so my apologies if it gets a little flirty near the end
if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, or reblogging!! and if you want to support me, consider checking out my f1 masterlist <3
in a passionate kiss from my mouth to yours / i like you
♫⋆｡♪₊˚ nirvana - drain you
(gn reader / fluff / ~350 words each) taking care of oscar piastri, charles leclerc, lewis hamilton, max verstappen, yuki tsunoda, george russell, & kimi antonelli when they get sick
MCLAREN
“DO YOU THINK PENGUINS ARE FLUFFY?” OSCAR PIASTRI ASKS, BREAKING THE PREVIOUS QUIET. he’s more blanket than man as he blinks up at you with flushed cheeks and tired eyes. stray strands of disheveled hair frame his sharp features. a small tissue box sits just in front of him, already half-empty despite the early hour.
you can’t help the chuckle that bubbles out of your chest. a nature documentary plays on the tv in front of you. the cameras pan between different angles of penguins waddling across icy tundras like you’re catching a sky sports stream at a circuit. the narrator’s voice plays lowly over the footage, monotonously explaining migration patterns.
“well, i don’t know.” oscar lifts his head just barely when you shuffle across the cushions. you follow his lead seamlessly, allowing him to lay his head against the middle of your thigh. his gaze remains fixated on the tv ahead, entranced by the mating calls playing through the speakers.
gingerly, you brush your fingers through his hair. the strands are soft between your fingers, slightly overgrown and soft to the touch. oscar rewards you with a content sigh in return. his eyes flutter shut as he relaxes, leaning his body weight onto you. “maybe they’ll talk about their feathers soon.”
oscar simply hums. “they look fluffy,” he murmurs, somewhere between half delirious and absolutely exhausted. his breathing grows heavier with each passing moment. sleep comes easily, pulling him under like he’s sand on the shoreline. peace falls over your apartment once again.
taking in the sight, you smile softly to yourself. oscar’s hand rests just above your knee as if to hold you in place. his hair is half-sprawled across his lap. his legs are tangled into the blanket and curled against the couch cushions.
“get some rest, osc,” you whisper, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss against his forehead. oscar stirs slightly in response, shifting just enough to nuzzle himself even closer against your leg. “feel better soon.”
FERRARI
“THIS IS TORTURE,” CHARLES LECLERC WHINES, THROWING HIS HEAD BACK. you stifle a chuckle beneath your breath as you tug the blankets up even higher, wrapping him in the warm fabric. he glares up at you through the bundle, though there’s no real malice in his gaze. “i’m not even that sick!”
charles flinches slightly when you rest the back of your hand against his forehead. his flushed skin feels warm to the touch. you frown softly, letting your hand fall away from his face. “you’re running a fever, charles. you need to get some rest if you want to recover before practice begins.”
charles huffs. his grumbles fall on deaf ears as he rolls onto his side, shifting beneath the blankets he had insisted he didn’t need. you take a step closer, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. charles reaches over, exposing his hand just enough to rest his palm against your thigh. he swallows his initial protests, blinking up at you through tired eyes. they shine green in the golden light, freckled with specks of brown and blue. “will you kiss me, at least?”
despite yourself, you chuckle softly. charles blinks up at you expectedly, if not a little impatient. the corners of his mouth curl upwards slightly when you rest your hand against his face. your fingertips brush against the stubble that pokes against his skin. a content sigh escapes him, already chasing the feeling of your skin against his.
his breath hitches when you lean in, eyes fluttering shut in anticipation. you cradle his face in your palms, tilting to the side just enough to press a sweet kiss against charles’s cheek. you let the moment linger for just a few seconds too long, savoring the peacefulness of the afternoon and the man curled up in your bed.
charles is already looking at you when you pull away. the affection brings a flush to his face that rivals that of his already feverish glow. he holds your gaze with a fervor. a million complaints sit on the tip of his tongue but you shake your head before he can voice any. “you’ll get a real one when you’re better.”
charles sighs, loud and dramatic and filled with obvious displeasure. he collapses against your pillows in a heap like a man scorned. “i can’t believe this!”
“charles,” you laugh. the sound fills the otherwise quiet room. he opens his eyes at the sound, a fond smile already spreading across his face. “if i get sick, who will take care of you?”
he pauses at that, humming in faux debate as if he’s seriously weighing his options. after a moment, he huffs. “fine.” then, he reaches up, holding his hand out towards you. “a real kiss when i’m better. promise?”
you chuckle. his hands are still clammy when you reach down, intertwining your fingers together. you knock your knuckles against his with a bright smile before sealing it with a kiss. “i promise.”
LEWIS HAMILTON IS A SIGHT TO SEE - EVEN WHEN HE’S SICK. he lays beside you, still curled against your side despite the late hour. your blankets have been pulled up to his chin and wrapped tightly around his torso. his braids - free from their usual bun - sprawl across your pillows. sunlight filters in through the cracked blinds, filling the room with golden light that dances across the floor.
“lew,” you whisper, gently shaking the man awake. he stirs when you brush your fingertips against his face. your hands dance against overly warm skin. you frown softly before reaching up to tuck a braid behind his ear. “you slept in today.”
“good morning,” he says, voice low and gravelly. sleep clings to every syllable as if to mold the sound. lewis grimaces slightly at the words. his voice cracks at the end, caught somewhere between the weight of his sleep and the unmistakable lump in his throat. he coughs into the crook of his elbow, a poor attempt to clear his scratchy throat.
“are you alright?” you shuffle closer, wrapping an arm around lewis’s waist. he’s quick to welcome you, tugging your body across the mattress until you’re all but trapped into his arms. his hand curls around your waist, finding the natural curve of your body. you lean your head against his chest just over his heartbeat. “you sound congested.”
“maybe a little,” he hums. your arm snakes even further around his side, slipping beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. your fingertips trace miscellaneous shapes against his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. lewis shivers at the feeling. “think i caught a cold.”
you shift slightly at that, turning just enough to meet his gaze. lewis’s eyes are lighter in the sunlight, as if his irises have flecks of gold. they crinkle at the corners when he smiles down at you, soft and lazy. “do you feel dizzy at all? or cold?”
“no,” he shakes his head. his voice is raspier than usual. “i’ll just grab some cold medicine on my way home. i have a few errands to run, anyways.”
“don’t.” you frown softly at the idea. your grip around his waist tightens ever so slightly, as if your hold is a tangible barrier to his escape. lewis relaxes into your touch all the same. he leans in even closer, tracing little shapes of his own against your side. “i’ll get your meds and anything else you need.”
“you don’t have to-”
“lewis.” you raise a hand to cup his cheek, running your thumb against his cheekbone. he falters at the feeling of your touch. lewis’s eyes flutter shut as he leans into your hand. a soft sigh escapes him before he can stop it. “just let me take care of you.”
“fine,” he huffs. “but stay home with me, at least. it’s the least a sick man deserves.”
RED BULL RACING
“YOU’RE HOT.” MAX VERSTAPPEN grimaces when you press the back of your hand against his forehead. his skin is flushed; warmth floods his face with a fervor, tinting his usually pale skin a soft shade of pink. the tip of his nose is especially red, having been nearly rubbed raw from a series of tissues that now litter every trash can in your apartment.
max raises his head, looking up at you through tired eyes. his movements are slower than usual; he moves as if his limbs are too heavy to lift, somehow not worth the effort. still, a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, cocky and bold. “yeah?”
“shut up.” you scoff but there’s no heat behind it. max chuckles when you roll your eyes, catching your wrist in his hand before you can wander away from him. he traces his thumb against your pulse point, feeling each beat of your pulse through the vein. “you know what i mean.”
max simply hums. his hands slip beneath your t-shirt all the same. his fingertips dance against your bare skin, sending shivers racing down your spine. he leans up, pressing a fleeting kiss against the exposed skin of your neck. warm breath ghosts against your skin. “you’re flustered.”
you frown softly when max pulls away. he turns, stuffing his mouth into the crook of his elbow as a series of coughs wracks through his body. max’s sniffles refuse to cease even when you slowly rake your fingers through his hair. your nails gently massage against the nape of his neck.
“and you’re coughing up a lung.” max’s carefully constructed persona falters just slightly. his expression falls into the small smile he reserves for you. the corners of his lips rise ever so slightly and his gaze softens. “stay here. i’ll get you some medicine.”
“don’t.” max shakes his head. he grabs your hand just before you can slip away, interlinking your fingers together and pulling you back towards him. his smile grows, then. his eyes crinkle at the corners and dimples appear at the corners of his cheeks. “all i need is you.”
YUKI TSUNODA AWAKENS WITH A POUNDING HEADACHE AND A STUFFY NOSE. his limbs feel like bricks laying at his sides. it’s as if they were weighed down by concrete. the ceiling spins when he blinks himself awake, squinting up at the drywall above. it stares mockingly down at him. the bright white expanse makes his nausea even worse.
yuki grits his teeth when he pushes himself up. he squeezes his eyes shut, willing the wave of nausea that washes over him to disappear. he moves in a daze, hands brushing against the walls and your bedside table for support and relying mostly on routine to drag him through your shared apartment. cool plastic makes him jolt when he slips his feet into the shoes next to his bedside before wandering through the quiet space.
yuki pauses when he finds you standing in your kitchen, hovering over a boiling pot of broth on the stove. the aroma of salt and pork wafts through the small space. a variety of ingredients lay sprawled across your kitchen counters. he recognizes a few in passing: seaweed, tofu, and some vegetables picked from your garden.
your expression brightens when you glance at him over your shoulder. a soft smile stretches across your features. you pause for just long enough to meet his gaze. “hey, you’re up.”
yuki stops dead in his tracks. he blinks. his gaze lingers on you, standing in front of the stove as you carefully stir the pot over the heat. one of his t-shirts hangs off of your frame. he recognizes it as alpha turi merchandise he never threw away. it had eventually become yours, something you slept in when you slept over or if you were too lazy to change into something else. your hair has been pulled back away from your face, stray strands tucked behind your ears. “you made me ramen?”
yuki shuffles closer, watching the pot over your shoulder. he leans his head against you, letting your steadier body support him in his dizziness. you set your chopsticks aside, then, covering the noodles once again. “i asked your mom for the recipe,” you shrug. yuki’s heart nearly stops in his chest. warmth rushes to his cheeks, spreading across his skin and tinting the tips of his ears a light shade of pink. “she said you like tonkotsu, so i did my best.”
“thank you,” he murmurs. yuki wraps his arms gingerly around your waist. he leans his head against your back, letting his eyes flutter shut as he holds you close. now, the warmth flooding his skin isn’t from his fever. it isn’t the wind chilling his cheeks or someone’s teasing pushing just a little too far. now, it’s the overwhelming warmth of love. “it smells delicious.”
MERCEDES
THE CERAMIC MUG BURNS YOUR FINGERTIPS AS YOU CAREFULLY SET IT ONTO THE TABLE. the sweet aroma of tea leaves and honey fills your small kitchen. golden light breaks through the heavy cloud cover. rays of light filter throughout the space as the sun slowly begins to rise over the horizon. the sky is overcast above. a light drizzle of rain patters against your windows leaving streaks of water running down the sides.
GEORGE RUSSELL smiles softly when you move to sit beside him on the couch. he reaches forwards, wrapping his palms around the center of the mug. a low sigh escapes him at the warm feeling. “thank you, love.”
“are you feeling any better?” you raise a hand, gingerly cupping george’s face in your palm. his skin is warm to the touch when your fingertips brush against his jawline. there are uncharacteristically dark bags beneath his eyes. his eyes flutter shut as he leans into your touch.
“a little,” he hums. the words break at the end, interrupted by a slow string of coughs that force him to look away. george huffs. a frown tugs at his mouth. “can’t wait for this bloody cough to go away.”
you chuckle beneath your breath as he shuffles closer. george is little more than a heap of fabric. an oversized hoodie swallows his torso and his sweatpants drag against the floor each time he tries to walk. his eyes flutter closed when he leans against you; george’s head falls against your shoulder and his knee knocks against your own.
a content sigh escapes him when you reach up, gently carding your fingers through his hair. your nails massage against his scalp. you twist the overgrown strands between your fingertips at the nape of his neck. leaning in, you press a feather-light kiss to the crown of his head. george nuzzles himself even closer in response, nosing against the crook of your neck. “do you need anything else?”
“no,” he mumbles, voice muffled by the fabric of your shirt. george’s hand slips to curl around your waist, holding you steady in place beside him. “just stay with me.”
KIMI ANTONELLI FEELS LIKE A ZOMBIE. he’s sure he looks like one, too - stray strands of disheveled hair frame his face. his tanned skin was tinted a feverish shade of pink, eyes tired as he tried to blink himself awake. his shoulders slump as if carrying the weight of the world.
kimi slips into his hotel room with a low sigh. the thin fabric of his team kit sticks to his skin. the feeling is overwhelming and inescapable - almost as if the shirt had become a piece of him entirely. he pushes a hand through his curls with a frown.
cool air wafts through the room as he wanders inside. the air conditioning unit hums like a beast, stretched out along the wall just beneath a large window. you peek up at him from behind your opened computer screen, greeting him with a small smile.
“you’re back early.” kimi nods, shuffling across the room towards you. you open your arms in response, allowing him to all but collapse against your chest. kimi hides his face into the crook of your neck. his warm breath ghosts against your skin. “how are you feeling?”
kimi lets out a humorless laugh. he groans lowly as he nuzzles himself even closer to you. his arms snake around your waist until your bodies are almost entirely intertwined. you frown softly when he looks up, finally meeting your gaze. eyebags linger beneath his eyes. his skin is pale and sickly. his voice cracks at the end of his words. “i’m exhausted.”
kimi’s eyes flutter shut when you reach up, gingerly resting the back of your hand against his forehead. “maybe you caught a cold from the rain,” you say quietly. kimi hums. “i’ll ask ollie to pick up some medication. there’s a pharmacy down the block.”
“thank you,” he whispers. kimi’s voice is so soft the sound is nearly drowned out by the air conditioner. you hold him even closer in response, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against his temple. “love you.”
“i love you, too, kimi.”
notes: please leave feedback if you enjoyed!! f1 reqs are open and greatly appreciated <3 i feel like my writing has been garbage lately i'm so sorry, reactions are so hard to write but i love reading them so i wrote another one, actually proofread this one everyone be proud of me, apologies for misuse of british slang and extra apologies for lack of education around japanese house shoe etiquette, max's ver inspired by this prompt list by @me-writes-prompts
if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, or reblogging!! and if you want to support me, consider checking out my f1 masterlist <3
(gn reader / fluff / ~300 words each) kisses with oscar piastri, charles leclerc, lewis hamilton, max verstappen, yuki tsunoda, george russel, & kimi antonelli
MCLAREN
OSCAR PIASTRI - sweet, clumsy, awkward
ninety mile beach, victoria, australia. the sun dips below the horizon slowly, golden light disappearing beneath the horizon. it was a calm day; the tides were caught in a gentle push and pull. your feet sink into the sand with each step and the waves lap against your feet, though you can’t find it in yourself to care.
OSCAR PIASTRI smiles softly to himself. his knuckles brush against your own as you wander along the shore. your conversations had ebbed and flowed, finally falling into a comfortable silence. the beach was nearly empty save for the few hermit crabs littered across the sand and the birds flying overhead.
oscar’s grin only grows when you turn, catching his gaze. his cheeks are flushed with his natural redness. the corners of his lips quirk upwards in a way that makes your heartbeat just a little bit faster. “hey,” you say, catching his attention. “what’s on your mind?”
“nothing,” oscar chuckles. he shakes his head as he slips his hand into yours. his sun-kissed skin is warm against your own, fingers intertwining like it’s second nature. he offers your hand a reassuring squeeze. “just you.”
“just me?” you repeat, a teasing tilt in your voice. you wander closer to him, closing the distance between your bodies so your shoulders brush against each other. oscar readily adapts, pulling you even closer. “what about me?”
“hm,” he pauses in mock contemplation. “your laugh. your smile. the way you always look away when you get nervous.” true to his word, you glance away, hiding your embarrassment as you glance back at the shore. oscar chuckles quietly, pulling you even closer. his lips brush against your temple.
his voice drops momentarily. oscar reaches up, carefully coaxing you to meet his gaze once again. “i love you,” he whispers. his hand cradles your face for a few seconds as he leans in, lips brushing against yours for just a few seconds. his cheeks are flushed when he pulls away, tinted a soft shade of pink.
“i love you, too, osc.”
FERRARI
CHARLES LECLERC - heated, desperate, messy
CHARLES LECLERC tastes like champagne when he kisses you. he’s fresh off his first podium of the season. the high of a win still hadn’t worn off. he had wasted little time, immediately rushing to your side and pulling you away towards his driver’s room.
his hand cradles the back of your head when he pushes you against the door, locking it with his free hand like second nature. you cling to him, hands wrapping around his shoulders to stabilize yourself.
your hands fist into the fabric of charles’s race suit, pulling him impossibly closer to you. he responds in kind, his own hands tugging at the fabric of your clothing and gripping your hips. you gasp into his mouth and he smirks, pulling away just enough to watch you through half-lidded eyes.
“you’re incredible,” charles murmurs. his voice is so quiet you almost miss it entirely, the words whispered only for himself to hear. his hair is still tousled from his balaclava. the mask had left a faint indent across his cheeks. his skin feels soft when you trace your fingertips against his cheeks.
you shake your head, playfully rolling your eyes. despite yourself, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. you slide your hands into his hair, gently tugging at the stray strands near the nape of his neck. charles rewards you with a quiet groan in response, head lulling back and eyes fluttering shut just long enough to make your heart beat faster and butterflies swarm in your stomach. “shut up and kiss me.”
charles smirks. his lips curl upwards until his dimples appear and his eyes crinkle softly at the corners. his hands are on you once again, trailing against your sides and toying at the areas he knows you’re the most sensitive. “gladly.”
LEWIS HAMILTON - slow, loving, deep
“you look incredible,” LEWIS HAMILTON says. you catch his gaze through the bathroom mirror, watching as you apply a lip tint across your parted lips. he takes half a step closer to you, hand slips from its usual position resting against his stomach to the small of your back as his fingertips gently caress your side.
your breath hitches. lewis’s hands are warm against your cool skin. the feeling sends shivers racing down your spine and butterflies swarming throughout your stomach. you smile, soft and sweet. “says you.”
lewis laughs at that - a deep, hearty noise. your grin grows. for a moment, the world seems to pause around you. lewis leans in, slow and cautious. your breath hitches when his eyes flicker down to your lips once again before they meet your own - a silent plea for permission.
you don’t wait for him to ask. your eyes flutter shut when you lean in, pressing your lips against lewis’s. he responds immediately in kind. his hand lifts to cup your jaw, angling his head to the side as he pulls you impossibly closer. your own arms wrap around his neck, clinging to his broad shoulders as if he’s your lifeline.
you gasp softly when lewis’s tongue swipes gently against your bottom lip as if to ask for entrance. he takes advantage of your parted lips almost immediately. you stumble, body pressed against the bathroom counter. lewis catches you effortlessly. his hands fall to the back of your thighs before he’s lifting your body, slotting you backwards onto the bathroom counter with ease.
you’re all but panting when he pulls away, mouth still curled into a soft smirk. your lip tint has been smudged. faded marks decorate lewis’s lips and the corners of his mouth. his gaze is sultry when it meets your own, heavy with the promise of more. “truly incredible,” he murmurs as he leans in once more.
RED BULL RACING
MAX VERSTAPPEN - confident, passionate, self-assured
the paddock smells like gasoline and burning rubber. the car engines drown out the sound of the cheering crowd, rumbling and then rushing past one after another. it was something you had never quite gotten used to, no matter how many races you attended.
MAX VERSTAPPEN cruises into the pitlane, stopping the car and quickly stepping out. the camera flashes intensify as he pulls his helmet and balaclava off. he immediately scans through the paddock, already searching for you.
max smiles softly when you meet his gaze. he runs a hand through his disheveled hair, pushing the strands away from his face. his lips curl into a soft smile as the corners of his eyes crinkle. he tucks his helmet beneath his arm, pushing past the cameras as he quickly jogs towards you.
the cameras follow him as he rushes to your side. max reaches up, hand coming to rest against your cheek and holding you steady. his gloves feel rough against your skin but the feeling is grounding nonetheless.
only a few seconds pass before max leans in. his lips are chapped when they meet your own. he smiles softly against your lips as his fingertips trail against the curve of your jaw. your arms come to wrap around his shoulders as you lean against him.
max is quick to deepen the kiss - teetering on the edge of too much. you ignore the flashes from the surrounding cameras. max pretends not to hear the scoff when george walks past or the groan from gp in the corner.
none of it matters. not when he has you.
you’re breathless when you finally pull away, face flushed and lungs burning. max smirks as he teasingly runs his thumb against the edge of your bottom lip. you playfully roll your eyes, pushing him away as you take a step back. “congratulations, max.”
YUKI TSUNODA - longing, soft, vulnerable
it’s far past midnight when YUKI TSUNODA finally crawls into his side of your shared bed. the sun had long since slipped below the horizon. only the moonlight above illuminates his way. he slips beneath the sheets. his body immediately curls around your own, arm wrapping around your waist as he presses his head against your chest.
“long day?” you whisper.
yuki simply hums. the weight of the world finally slipping from his shoulders. yuki curls himself even closer to you as you cradle his face in your palm. a deep sigh escapes from his parted lips, eyes fluttering closed.
“i love you, yuki,” you murmur. you gingerly brush your thumb against his cheek, fingertip stroking against smooth skin and faded acne scars. you can feel his face flush against your hands. his skin is warm to the touch.
yuki blinks up at you, his gaze heavy with something he doesn’t quite have the words to voice. he shuffles closer, leaning in to rest his forehead against your own. you let the moment linger for a few seconds more. your hearts beat in tandem. the quiet is only broken by the quiet hum of the air conditioning.
your eyes flutter closed when yuki shifts. his nose brushes against your own for just a moment before his lips meet yours.
you melt into the kiss. your hand falls from his cheek, slipping around the back of his neck and tangling into a few stray strands of hair. yuki sighs, lips parting as he pulls you even closer. there’s no urgency in it; there’s no rush or heat. for just a few moments, all that exists in the world is you.
yuki leans his head against the crook of your neck when he finally pulls away. he nuzzles himself against your bare skin as his hands wander to slip around your waist and drum against your sides. “i love you, too.”
MERCEDES
GEORGE RUSSELL - romantic, comforting, sleepy
dawn arrives with the slow tide of sunlight stretching across the earth’s surface. the blankets that had been pulled over your shoulders had been tugged off in the night, leaving your bare shoulders exposed. you blink awake slowly. your vision blurs momentarily as you blink the tiredness out of your eyes. your wrist is slightly stiff from laying at an awkward angle for too long.
behind you, GEORGE RUSSELL’S hand lays draped across your waist. his fingertips lay against your hip. his eyes shine the color of the sea in the golden light. he smiles softly when you meet his gaze. “good morning, love,” he murmurs, voice quiet and raspier than usual.
george gingerly raises his hand, cupping your cheek with his hands. his fingertips brush against the apples of your cheekbone. he smiles, the corners of his lips quirking upwards into something soft and sweet and comforting.
your eyes flutter shut on instinct when george leans in. you lose yourself in the warmth of his touch, falling into the comfort of his hands cradling your face and lips meeting your own. he’s still smiling into the kiss, pulling you impossibly closer.
george is still smiling when you pull away. he leans his forehead against your own, letting the moment continue to linger. the quiet that falls between you is comfortable. outside, snowflakes land against your window, coating the glass in a thin layer of frost. but in the safety of your bedroom, all you can feel is warmth.
you hum, closing your eyes as you nuzzle yourself back against his side. george chuckles softly. he wraps his arms around your waist, shifting just enough to pull you back into his side. you smile against his throat as you lean upwards, pressing a chaste kiss against the column of his neck. “morning, george.”
KIMI ANTONELLI - short, flustered, affectionate
the night is still young. dusk in the winter had come early, the sky darkening quickly as golden light reflected off of the white snow dusting the ground. tucked away in the safety of your shared hotel room, KIMI ANTONELLI sits across from you. the small lamp in the corner illuminates the room. the desk in the corner was covered in a variety of textbooks and your still-open computers and half-complete homework assignments.
you sigh softly, letting your pencil hit the desk as you shift in your seat. kimi glances over at you. his dark eyes linger on your features even when you hide your face into your hands in a poor attempt to rub the tiredness from your eyes.
“tired?” kimi asks. his voice cuts through the hum of the air conditioning unit in the corner and the muffled chatter from the room next door.
you let your head lull to the side, exhaustion heavy in your bones. school had only gotten harder with your busy schedule. the new sights and sounds and experiences of different countries and places were exhilarating but dragging yourself across the world every few months had been taking its toll.
you blink at kimi for a moment, taking in the sight of him next to you. he had tugged off his mercedes team kit at some point in favor of an old, oversized hoodie. stray curls frame his soft features. here, he isn’t kimi antonelli - new star f1 driver. here, he is just kimi, the same boy you had fallen for so easily.
you nod, raising from your seat and moving to sit in his lap. your knees press against either side of his hips as you lean in, resting your head against his chest. kimi flushes - a deep blush spreads across his cheeks and tints the tips of his ears.
“just wanna hold you for a minute,” you whisper, the words muffled against his clothes. kimi smiles softly to himself. his arms wrap around your waist, holding you closer. he leans down to steal a quick kiss. his lips only press against yours for a few seconds but its enough to make both of your hearts beat faster. you smile.
“of course,” kimi says quietly. “stay for as long as you need.”
notes: please leave feedback if you enjoyed!! f1 reqs are still open and greatly appreciated :) this took so long to write pls don't flop if anyone is interested in any other f1 reactions i'm definitely open to writing more! this started as first kisses and then devolved into whatever it is now oops, title from cigarettes after sex - apocalypse
if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, or reblogging!! and if you want to support me, consider checking out my f1 masterlist <3
currently writing a text au + small blurb for some drivers but this one involves fwb & (future) poly relationships either between another driver or oc it all just vary on which driver i’m writing. i might have it be like a three or four part series. would anyone be interested in reading this?
i am just starting on the first part and i am LOVING how it’s turning out but i also want to see what are your thoughts on this? it will be angst, comedy, smutty (perhaps😏), and just overall romantic! promise! anyways please let me know either in the comments or inbox, i strive on feedback please😭
author's note: ok so this is very much still something I am working on and have yet to make a lot of major plot decisions but! a little sneak peak and sort of plot overview?? probably not gonna be very good or very long because it is the first thing I am ever writing for fun...
~ Ela <3
warnings: possible romance with a driver (have yet to decide which one but thinking Charles), misogyny, angst (a lot of it), happy-ish ending??
There was something so incredibly cruel about being so close to reaching your goals at a young age and then having them ripped out from under you. At any age that would have been devastating, however, having reached the peak at just 22 years old and then immediately crashing and burning — at no fault of her own, mind you — seemed immeasurably so. The weight of that reality became suffocating the more she thought about it… and God, did she dwell. Her mind was plagued by the recurring realization that all of that hard work, her sweat and tears, had been swept away by a rip current she was not strong enough to swim against.
Instead, she drowned, surrounded and consumed by the thought that she would never race again.
No amount of time to recover or physical therapy would ever grant her the ability to sit in a Formula One car again. There was no surgery, no cure, no magical antidote and no prayer uttered that would return her to where she rightfully belonged. Her entire lifetime, wasted. She had no backup plan, something which had paid off. Even if the desired result was only temporary (too temporary, everyone agreed), she had dedicated her entire conscious existence to racing. She had a promising career, on the cusp of her first championship win.
And yet, Sofia de la Torre would never be a champion.
Max is starting at Lando and y/n as the two of you are walking to the Mclaren garage hand in hand. Oscar turns to look at what the dutch man is seeing and shrugs.
"Honestly I have no idea"
You were the picture of sweet innocents and Lando the cocky playboy. People would maybe think he wooed you in with his charm but ever since the two of you are public, Lando has turned into a completely different person.
Only if they knew...
Sure, Max and Oscar aren't really friends or anything close but somehow their two personalities have found each other midst the racing chaos and DTS mics. Usually they just have a drink and a little chat. Nothing big but today after the race Max insisted on Oscar showing him his racing sim set up in the motor home. Actually the two were supposed to go out, that's also what he'd told Lando but plans change.
Laughing Oscar opens the door and the two drivers walk inside.
"Soo where is that grand thing you've been talking about?" Max takes big steps inside and then halts dead in his tracks. Confused, Osc looks at Max's back while quickly pulling off his shoes.
"What up?"
He asks as he walks up to max but he got the answer himself.
There in the middle of the living room are two people…
One person perfectly fully dressed and the other in underwear…
On his knees and hands tied behind his back, Lando is kneeling on the floor in front of y/n. Who by the way has her thumb shoved in his mouth. Both of them however, are staring towards the door.
What if the F1 Grid was a cult ruled by the winners? The World Driver Champion is the main leader and the drivers from the construction championship are in second position. For this year, that would mean that Max can treat everyone how he wants and they have to take it and obey his orders. Lando and Oscar can treat everyone like that beside Max.
I know this is random but I had this Idea in the middle of class because I was bored and I thought about writing more. You ask why? I watched a video about the Disneyland secret bar or club (Idk what is exactly is) However, I then thought about how many famous rich people are rumored to be in such cults. So there came the idea of all the drivers being in a cult.
