hi! i’m dina, welcome to late apex diner — open 24/7.
this is a formula 1 fic blog, serving comfort stories by day and after-hours vibes by night.
grab a booth, check the menu, and enjoy the stories 🫶
english isn’t my first language, so there might be a few mistakes
🍽️ REQUESTS: CLOSED 24/7
REQUEST RULES
hey besties!! before placing an order, please read this first so everything runs smoothly 🤍 (below the cut)
WHO I WRITE FOR: Lance Stroll, Fernando Alonso, Carlos Sainz, Charles Leclerc, Max Verstappen, Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Alex Albon, Daniel Ricciardo, Nico Hülkenberg, Lewis Hamilton, Yuki Tsunoda, George Russell, Esteban Ocon, Franco Colapinto, Sergio Pérez, Jenson Button, Kimi Antonelli, Ollie Bearman, Sebastian Vettel.
you can ask about other drivers not on the list and i’ll see if i can make it happen! ☺️
WHAT’S ON THE MENU
→ fluff / angst / hurt & comfort / domestic vibes
→ headcanons / short blurbs / text aus / little scenarios
→ reader insert (fem & gn — please specify. if not, i’ll assume fem!reader)
WHAT I DON’T SERVE
→ nsfw / smut
→ explicit dark themes (only included if very minimal and non-explicit)
→ real person hate or drama
HOW TO PLACE A REQUEST, please include:
driver(s)
short summary or prompt
tone (fluff / angst / comfort / funny)
note: I have anonymous requests disabled, but if you want to remain anonymous when I publish your request, just let me know in your request!
order time: I take my time with each post to make sure it’s done right, so please be patient. Requests may close temporarily if I’m catching up on orders.
extra notes:
Face claims will be blurred unless you say otherwise.
Please be kind in asks and comments—this is meant to be a safe, cozy space.
Thank you so much for stopping by and respecting the rules. It really means a lot 🤍
navigation
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pairing: kimi antonelli x fem!indianreader
order: cherry soda + classic burger & Biljee Biljee by Harrdy Sandhu
client: anon
note: the first order for this late-night open!! I'm so excited for this new challenge, I'm telling you now that it will probably take me a while to post all the orders (33!! 😳) so please be patient <3 I love you all, have a great day!!
ynuser
liked by kimi.antonelli, friend1, carmenmmundt and others
ynuser standard paddock chaos, but make it electric ⚡️
kimi.antonelli Electric is an understatement ⚡️ I think you almost blinded me in the garage earlier
ynuser @ kimi.antonelli that’s just my aura, Antonelli. Try to keep up.
kimi.antonelli @ ynuser challenge accepted 😉
user THE EYELINER??? IM OBSESSED 😍
user Kimi is always in her comments faster than his qualifying laps lmao
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user - username
THE WAY SHE BLUSHED IN THE BACKGROUND OF THAT CLIP IM SCREAMING
user - username
Kimi has it so bad for her, he’s not even trying to hide it anymore.
user - username
"Daughter of the moon" he really found her theme song and made it his entire personality.
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kimi.antonelli
liked by ynuser, olliebearman, gabrielbortoleto and others
kimi.antonelli Best dinner partner ⚡️🇮🇹
ynuser who allowed you to take photos of me while i was eyeing the tiramisu?? 🤨
kimi.antonelli @ ynuser You were looking at the tiramisu, I was looking at you. Fair trade 😉
georgerussell63 @ kimi.antonelli Focus on the race strategy for tomorrow, mate. Leave the poetry to Toto.
kimi.antonelli @ georgerussell63 I can do both, George 🏎️💨
user HE SOFT LAUNCHED HER IM CRYING REAL TEARS 😭❤️
user "Best dinner partner" and the lightning bolt emoji… yeah they are dating your honor
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user - username
He really went from "cool rookie" to "whipped boyfriend" in the span of one race weekend.
user - username
Did anyone see the video of her fixing his hair before his media pens? He literally looked like a golden retriever waiting for a treat 🥺
user - username
The Indian representation we needed in F1: being the paddock's resident main character and capturing the hottest rookie's heart
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user - username
THE TEAM RADIO??? Did anyone hear him scream "Did you see that, Bijlee?!" right after crossing the line?! 😭
user - username
I am literally chewing on drywall he won the race just because she told him to.
user - username
Look at the Mercedes live feed, he didn’t even celebrate with the engineers first, he ran straight to Y/N and lifted her off the ground!!
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kimi.antonelli
liked by mercedesamgf1, ynuser, olliebearman and others
kimi.antonelli Deal fulfilled 🏆⚡️🇮🇹❤️
ynuser you cheated, you used slipstream. 🙄 (but congratulations, champ. proud of you.)
kimi.antonelli @ ynuser A win is a win! Now change into your party dress, we are celebrating tonight.
mercedesamgf1 We’re just happy to provide the backdrop for this rom-com 🟩🏎️
user THE LIPSTICK STAIN ON HIS CHEEK. WE HAVE CONFIRMATION FOLKS.
user He really said "Main vi malang hoya, tu vi malang ho gayi" (We both went crazy for each other) 😭 tracking this love story has been better than the actual championship
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user - username
HE IS TRYING SO HARD FOR HER LMAOOO
user - username
The way he kept spinning her around and pulling her close whenever other guys looked his way… yeah, he’s obsessed
user - username
From "falling first" to "completely down bad." We love to see it.
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ynuser
liked by kimi.antonelli, friend1, friend2 and others
ynuser caught a lightning bolt, or maybe it caught me ⛈️🇮🇹✨
kimi.antonelli Definitely caught you. And I’m never letting go ❤️
ynuser @ kimi.antonelli we'll see how you feel when i make you eat spicy curry next week
kimi.antonelli @ ynuser I will risk it all for you 🌶️🫡
lewishamilton Beautiful. Happy for you both! 🙏🏾
user THE HARD LAUNCH IS HERE!!! 🎉🎉🎉
user Chann di kudi has officially found her driver. I am sobbing
aaaaa i actually can’t believe this is real 😭 thank you for being here, for reading, for staying, for making this little corner of tumblr feel like something special 🖤
so yeah… i may or may not be opening the late apex diner tonight ;) official menu’s out—go place your orders before we run out of everything 🍒
★ THE REGULARS
alex albon charles leclerc carlos sainz esteban ocon max verstappen oscar piastri lance stroll pierre gasly george russell lando norris
★ VIP BOOTH
max & charles george & max oscar & lando esteban & pierre carlos & charles
★ LATE-NIGHT WALK-INS
jenson button fernando alonso yuki tsunoda gabriel bortoleto ollie bearman kimi antonelli
OFFICIAL MENU
★ DRINKS
strawberry milkshake: soft, sweet, friends to lovers
black coffee: right person, wrong time
double espresso: enemies to lovers, tension
cherry soda: playful, teasing, falling first
whiskey: exes to lovers
late night special: angst with comfort
surprise me: I choose the trope
off menu: you choose the idea (add the context in your request)
★ FOOD
fries: short smau
loaded fries: suggest/chaotic smau (NO SMUT)
classic burger: longer smau
hotcakes: soft text au
spicy wings: angsty text au
custom order: your idea
kitchen’s choice: my idea
HOW TO ORDER
take a seat and send your order with: who you’re with, one drink, one food item, optional: a song for the jukebox
example: pulling up with max and oscar, ordering a cherry soda + hotcakes, and putting lush life on the jukebox <3
rules:
deadline: may 15
no smut (suggestive is okay!)
multiple requests are allowed (send separately)
one drink + one food per order
for custom/off menu, include your idea!!
send your request here!
orders will be served as they’re ready… (it’s a full house tonight, be patient 🖤)
thank you so so so much for all the love, support, comments, requests, reblogs and for simply being here with me 😭🫶 this little space means so much to me and I still can’t believe so many of you enjoy my silly little stories about fast men and emotional issues 💀🤭
I’m genuinely so grateful for every single one of you. thank you for making this blog such a fun and comforting place for me 🤍
love u all soooo much, and here’s to more fics, more chaos, and more suffering together 😽✨
Dina xx
(in the next post i share with you the 3k & 4k event that i prepared for all of you<3)
served with: max v. x fem!reader x oscar p.
chef's note: in the high-downforce world of F1, there isn’t much room for anything that doesn't make a car go faster. But somehow, between the flight simulators and the podium celebrations, Max and Oscar have carved out a space that belongs only to the three of you.
note: hi, I wrote this in some free time. If you like it, maybe I'll write it properly in the future (hopefully soon lol)
The three of you didn't meet all at once. You were likely working in the paddock—perhaps for a different team or in media—and met Max first. He was intense and focused, but took an immediate liking to your ability to match his bluntness.
Oscar came into the picture later, through a mutual friend. The "click" happened when all three of you ended up at the same post-race dinner. While Max was loudly debating a strategy call, you and Oscar shared a look of amused exhaustion across the table. That silent understanding was the spark.
It wasn't a sudden epiphany; it was a slow burn. Max realized he liked having Oscar around because Oscar was one of the few people who didn't get intimidated by him. Oscar realized he liked Max’s honesty.
Both of them realized they were completely captivated by Y/N. The turning point was a late night at Max’s apartment where the conversation flowed so easily that nobody wanted to leave. When Oscar finally stood up to go, Max simply said, "You don't have to," and looked at you for approval. You just nodded.
Max isn't one for flowery metaphors, so the conversation was incredibly direct. He sat both of you down and essentially laid out the "telemetry" of the situation.
"I like Y/N. I think you like Y/N. And I think we all work better as a team than as rivals. Is that a problem?"
Oscar pauses for a long time, then shrugs. "No. It’s actually the most logical setup."
You spent the next hour defining what that actually meant for your daily lives, while Max kept checking to make sure everyone was 100% on board.
They tried to do something "normal," which was their first mistake. They took you to a high-end, quiet restaurant in Monaco.
It was awkward for the first twenty minutes because they were both trying to be "proper" boyfriends.
The tension broke when Max accidentally knocked over a wine glass while gesturing about a move he made on track. Oscar caught the glass with lightning-fast reflexes before it hit the floor, didn't spill a drop, and just looked at Max with a raised eyebrow.
The rest of the night was spent laughing at the absurdity of two F1 drivers trying to act like regular civilians.
They weren't ready to tell the world, but they weren't hiding either. The first time the paddock caught on was during a "Cool Down Room" segment. Max had won, Oscar was P3, and as they stood there looking at the highlights, Max leaned over and whispered something in Oscar's ear that made him actually laugh—a rare sight.
Then, they both looked directly into the camera and gave a synchronized "thumbs up" that they had practiced with you earlier that morning.
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.
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Anya is LIVE right now
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served with: all the drivers on the grid + retired x fem!gf!reader
chef's note: you thought you were careful. But a laptop left open or a notification at the wrong time leads to the inevitable: your bf finding out exactly what people write about him online—and the fact that you’ve read it all.
Alpine
Franco Colapinto
He is unfiltered chaos, he finds a fic where he’s described as a "passionate Argentine poet" and won't stop reading it out loud in a dramatic voice.
"Y/N, did I really 'whisper like the pampas wind' in this chapter? Because I can do that for you right now."
He thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world.
Pierre Gasly
He finds the "fluff & smut" tags and gives you a slow, devastating smirk.
"So, you like it when the fictional Pierre takes you to a private beach in St. Tropez? Interesting... I should take notes on how to improve."
He’s actually very flattered.
Aston Martin
Fernando Alonso
He is amused and legendary. He scrolls through a "mastermind" trope fic with a raised eyebrow.
"They think I’m a villain? I like this. It gives me ideas for the next race."
He doesn't find it weird at all; he just thinks it proves how much of a "great" he really is.
Lance Stroll
Total embarrassment. He turns bright red and closes the laptop immediately.
"Why are they writing about me being a 'mafia heir'? Y/N, I just want to play tennis!"
He’s very shy about it and asks you (very politely) to never read those while he’s in the room.
Audi
Gabriel Bortoleto
He is genuinely curious. He wants to know how the "plots" work.
"Wait, so in this story, I’m a barista? Why would I be a barista when I can drive a car?"
He finds the "alternate universe" concept fascinating and keeps asking questions until you are the one embarrassed.
Nico Hülkenberg
The mature tease. He finds a "slow burn" fic and starts timing how long it takes for the fictional versions of you to kiss.
"Chapter 15? That’s very inefficient, Y/N. I could have done that in Chapter 1."
He treats it like a lighthearted joke.
Cadillac
Sergio Pérez
He’s a bit bewildered by the "Y/N" concept.
"Who is Y/N? Is that you? Why are you dating a fictional version of me when the real one is right here?"
He’ll pull you into a hug, reminding you that "real life is better than the stories."
Valtteri Bottas
He loves it. He’ll look for fics that involve his coffee or his "adventures" in nature.
If he finds a funny one, he’ll probably tweet a reference to it just to see the fans go wild.
He thinks the creativity is "top tier."
Ferrari
Charles Leclerc
A blushing mess. He finds a "Coffee Shop AU" where he’s a struggling artist.
He gets very quiet and shy, hiding his face in his hands. "Do they really think I’m that romantic? It's a bit much, isn't it?"
He secretly bookmarks one of the "pure fluff" ones to read later.
Lewis Hamilton
He appreciates the "aesthetic" of the writing.
He’ll comment on the descriptions of his outfits. "They got the brand of my boots wrong in this scene, but the emotional depth is quite good."
He finds it artistic and isn't bothered by it at all.
Haas
Esteban Ocon
Serious and perplexed. He reads the "enemies to lovers" fics and gets genuinely confused.
"But I’m not your enemy! We’ve always been together! This is factually incorrect!"
He takes it a bit too literally, needing you to explain that it's just for fun.
Ollie Bearman
He wants to die. He is so young and the idea of "fanfiction" about him makes him want to hide under the bed.
"Please tell me you didn't read the 'Alpha' ones. Oh god, you did, didn't you?"
He becomes a stuttering mess for the rest of the day.
McLaren
Lando Norris
Peak hysteria. He’s cackling, rolling on the floor, and probably texting the link to Max or George.
"Y/N! This one says I have 'abs like a washboard'! Have they seen me?!"
He’ll tease you relentlessly, calling you "his favorite fangirl" for the next month.
Oscar Piastri
He reads a "hurt/comfort" fic with zero expression.
"The pacing is a bit slow. And I don't think I'd ever say 'my darling' three times in one sentence. It's not efficient for conversation."
Inside, he's actually quite touched by the "comfort" parts.
Mercedes
George Russell
He’ll actually give you a "critique" on the grammar and the "realism" of the paddock descriptions.
"A bit far-fetched, don't you think? But I must say, the author captured my leadership qualities quite well."
He’s secretly very proud to be a "main character."
Kimi Antonelli
He’s still new to the fame, so seeing himself in a story is surreal.
"Why am I a werewolf in this one, Y/N? Is this a metaphor for my driving style?"
He’s very sweet about it, even if he doesn't fully "get" it.
Racing Bulls
Arvid Lindblad
He thinks it’s cool that people take the time to write stories about him.
He’ll ask you if you’ve written any yourself. "If you wrote one, would I be the hero? I hope I'm the hero."
He’s very cute and supportive of your "hobby."
Liam Lawson
He’ll find a "grumpy x sunshine" fic and point at the "grumpy" part. "Accurate. Very accurate."
He’ll use the fictional scenarios to tease you, like: "In the story, I bought you flowers after a fight. Maybe I should do that too?"
Red Bull
Isack Hadjar
He loves the "bad boy" tropes. He’ll walk around the house acting out the lines from the fic.
"Oh, was I 'dark and brooding' in Chapter 4? Let me show you brooding."
He finds it a huge ego boost.
Max Verstappen
He doesn't understand the "fan" part of "fanfiction."
"Why would you read about me when I am sitting right here? I am the real Max. The story isn't real. It's just words."
He isn't mad; he just finds it a very "weird" use of your free time.
Williams
Alex Albon
He’s worried about what the cats would think.
"Y/N! What if Paddock sees this?! This is scandalous!"
He’ll end up giggling with you over the ridiculous "soulmate" tropes, finding the whole thing very endearing.
Carlos Sainz
He doesn't even look surprised. He just pulls you onto his lap and looks at the screen with a wink.
"I see I’m quite the romantic lead in this one. Want to see if I can do better than the fictional Carlos?"
He’s 100% confident and loves it.
Additional Drivers
Daniel Ricciardo
He wants to do a "dramatic reading" of the best fics for his YouTube channel.
"And then Daniel looked at Y/N with his big, beautiful teeth..."
He makes it so funny that you can’t even be embarrassed anymore.
Jenson Button
He finds it very "sweet."
He’ll read a "relationship goals" fic and tell you that he’s glad people see how much he loves you.
He’s very mature and finds the fan-love quite touching.
Sebastian Vettel
He’ll get concerned about the "privacy" and "internet safety" aspect of the site before realizing it’s just fiction.
"Y/N, is this site secure? Also, why is fictional Seb so obsessed with bees? I mean, I like them, but three chapters about a garden?"
Yuki Tsunoda
Loud Denial. "I don't talk like that! I don't say 'b-baka'!" (If it's an anime-style fic).
He gets very defensive in a hilarious way, but he’ll eventually ask you to read the "cute" parts to him before bed.
served with: kimi antonelli x fem!reader
chef's note: Kimi tries to be a local tour guide, forgets his wallet in a different zip code, and realizes that getting lost isn't so bad when Y/N is the one holding his hand.
portion size: 1.1k
The cobblestones of Bologna were supposed to be familiar territory for Kimi. He’d grown up with the scent of ragù and the sight of the leaning towers, but as he turned his phone in a full 360-degree circle for the fifth time, it became clear that "racing lines" did not translate to "pedestrian shortcuts."
"Kimi," Y/N said, suppressing a smile while leaning against a warm terracotta wall. "We’ve passed that same leather goods shop three times. I think the statue of Neptune is actually in the other direction."
Kimi let out a huff, running a hand through his curls. "No, no. I know this. It’s a shortcut. I used to come here all the time, I swear. The GPS is just... calibrating."
"The GPS is fine, Kimi. Your sense of direction without a steering wheel is what’s calibrating," Y/N teased, reaching out to gently nudge his arm.
He looked down at the screen, then at the winding, narrow alleyway ahead of them, and finally back at Y/N. A sheepish, lopsided grin broke across his face. "Okay, fine. We might be slightly, tiny-bit lost. But look at the architecture! It’s educational."
"It’s beautiful," Y/N agreed, stepping closer so their shoulders brushed as they walked. "But it’s also thirty degrees out and I was promised the best gelato in Italy."
"And you shall have it!" Kimi declared with newfound drama, pointing vaguely toward a Piazza. "I remember the shop. It has the blue awning. Five minutes. Maximum."
Twenty minutes later, they finally found it. The blue awning was slightly faded, tucked away in a corner of a square that felt miles away from the tourist crowds. The smell of toasted sugar and fresh fruit hit them the moment they stepped inside.
Kimi ushered Y/N toward the glass display. "Pick anything. My treat for the... scenic detour."
Y/N pointed out a vibrant pistachio and a creamy fior di latte. Kimi ordered the same, his Italian coming out fast and melodic as he joked with the shop owner. It was moments like these that made Y/N forget he was one of the most talked-about teenagers in the world. Here, he was just a boy who liked fast cars and slow afternoons.
The owner handed over the overflowing cups. Kimi reached into his pocket. Then his other pocket. His expression shifted from confident to puzzled, then to a shade of pink that matched the strawberry sorbet in the display.
"Everything okay?" Y/N asked, already reaching for their own bag.
"I... uh..." Kimi patted his back pockets. "I left my wallet in the center console of the car. The car that is parked about two kilometers away."
Y/N couldn't help it; a laugh bubbled up. "The Mercedes prodigy, defeated by a gelato shop."
"It’s the pressure!" he whispered jokingly, looking mortified.
Y/N quickly paid the amused owner and led a blushing Kimi out to a nearby stone bench. As they sat down, Y/N held out the cup. "Technically, since I paid, this is all mine. But I suppose I can share with my tour guide."
Kimi took a spoonful, the cold sweetness finally cooling his face. "I’ll pay you back. I’ll drive you to the next three races myself. I’ll give you my favorite helmet."
"Just keep getting us lost, Kimi," Y/N said, leaning their head on his shoulder. "I think I prefer the scenic route anyway."
Kimi went quiet for a second, his shoulder relaxing under Y/N's weight. He took another bite of gelato, then murmured, "Good. Because I have no idea how to get back to the car."
The sun began to dip lower, painting the terracotta rooftops of Bologna in shades of burnt orange and honey. The heat of the day had softened into a gentle evening breeze, the kind that made you want to walk forever.
"Okay," Kimi said, standing up and offering a hand to pull Y/N off the stone bench. He looked remarkably determined. "I have a plan. I’ve analyzed the trajectory of the sun, and based on the direction of the wind and the fact that I think I recognize that specific tilted window—"
"Kimi," Y/N interrupted, laughing as they brushed a stray crumb of cone off their shirt. "Are you trying to use telemetric data to find a Fiat?"
"I’m using my instincts!" he defended, though his eyes were dancing with mischief. "The car is North. Roughly. Probably."
He didn't let go of Y/N’s hand. Instead, he laced his fingers through theirs, his palm warm and a little calloused from hours spent gripping a steering wheel. He cleared his throat, looking everywhere but at Y/N. "And, uh, just in case my instincts are slightly off again... you should stay close. For safety. So we don't both get lost."
"Right. For safety," Y/N teased, squeezing his hand. "Nothing to do with the fact that you’re blushing, then?"
"It’s the sunset," he muttered, though the grin on his face gave him away.
They wandered through a quieter residential area where laundry hung from balconies and the sound of clinking silverware drifted from open windows. Every time they hit a fork in the road, Kimi would pause, look incredibly serious for three seconds, and then point in a direction with the confidence of a man who actually knew where he was going.
"You know," Y/N said as they rounded a corner, "Toto would probably be very concerned if he knew his future star was being outsmarted by a medieval street layout."
Kimi chuckled, pulling Y/N a little closer to dodge a local on a Vespa. "Toto doesn't need to know everything. Besides, if I were on a track, I’d be much faster. It’s the lack of a head-up display. That’s my only weakness."
"Sure, Kimi. That and gelato debt."
Suddenly, Kimi stopped. He let out a triumphant "Aha!" and pointed down the street. There, parked somewhat crookedly under a streetlamp, was the car.
"See? I told you. Pure instinct," he boasted, puffing out his chest just a little.
"Only took us an extra hour," Y/N reminded him as they reached the passenger door.
Before Y/N could pull away to get inside, Kimi gently tugged on their hand, pulling them back toward him. The playful bravado vanished, replaced by that quiet, sincere energy that always caught Y/N off guard. The streetlights flickered on, casting long shadows across the pavement.
"Anyway," he started, his voice dropping an octave. "Thanks. For paying for the gelato. And for... not calling a taxi the second I got us lost."
"I liked getting lost with you, Kimi," Y/N replied softly.
He leaned in, his curls messy from the wind, and pressed a quick, shy kiss to Y/N’s cheek. It smelled like pistachio and the expensive cologne his team made him wear.
"Next time," he whispered, finally letting go to unlock the car, "I’ll bring two wallets. And maybe a compass. But I'm still not using the GPS."
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
served with: all the drivers on the grid + retired x fem!gf!reader
chef's note: sleep is a luxury that adrenaline doesn't always allow. Sometimes it's the pressure of the next race, sometimes it's just a brain that won't stop upshifting.
note: inspired by me, this last week 😔
Alpine
Franco Colapinto
He’s a "wiggler."
He can’t stay still, tossing and turning until he eventually sighs and starts talking.
He’ll whisper funny stories from his childhood in Argentina or ask you deep, random questions like, "Do you think aliens like racing?" just to hear your voice.
Pierre Gasly
Very romantic and atmospheric.
He’ll put on a low-fi playlist, pull you onto his chest, and trace patterns on your skin.
He speaks in a low, raspy French-accented whisper about his dreams for the future until you both finally drift off.
Aston Martin
Fernando Alonso
He’s quiet and contemplative.
He won't wake Y/N up on purpose, but if he sees your eyes open, he’ll pull you closer.
He likes to talk about "the old days" or analyze a corner he missed ten years ago. Having you there makes the racing ghosts in his head go away.
Lance Stroll
He gets a bit restless and anxious.
He’ll go to the kitchen for a glass of water and come back to tuck the blankets around you perfectly.
He needs physical contact—holding your hand or resting his head on your shoulder—to finally feel safe enough to sleep.
Audi
Gabriel Bortoleto
He’s very "new gen" about it.
He might try to scroll through TikTok with the brightness all the way down until you catches him.
Once the phone is gone, he’s incredibly cuddly, whispering about how excited he is for the next track while playing with your hair.
Nico Hülkenberg
The "professional." He tries to stay perfectly still so he doesn't wake you, but if you’re both awake, he suggests making a midnight snack.
He’s very grounding and calm, telling you about the "logic" of why you should be sleeping until his own voice bores him into a nap.
Cadillac
Sergio Pérez
Checo is a family man at heart, so his insomnia is usually caused by worrying.
He’ll pull you into a protective embrace, resting his chin on your head.
He’ll whisper prayers or talk about home in Mexico until the tension leaves his shoulders.
Valtteri Bottas
He’s very "Zen." He might suggest a late-night walk or just sitting on the balcony in silence.
He finds the cold air refreshing.
He’ll wrap a blanket around both of you and just watch the stars, enjoying the peace of not being "Valtteri the Driver" for a few hours.
Ferrari
Charles Leclerc
His mind is a beautiful, chaotic mess.
He’ll sit up and stare at the wall, replaying races in his head. You had to literally pull him back down to the pillows.
He’ll hide his face in your neck and let out a long sigh, finally relaxing when you start humming a soft tune.
Lewis Hamilton
Creative insomnia.
He’ll have a notebook by the bed and start writing down lyrics, fashion ideas, or thoughts on the world.
He’ll share them with you in the dark, his voice soft and inspired. He loves that you’re his late-night muse.
Haas
Esteban Ocon
He’s very disciplined. He’ll try breathing exercises or counting backwards.
If that fails, he’ll start talking to you about his fitness routine or his car's balance.
He feels guilty for being awake, but your presence is the only thing that actually slows his heart rate down.
Ollie Bearman
He gets a bit "puppy-like."
He’ll complain about being bored and try to start a tickle fight or ask for a back rub.
He’s very sweet and high-energy, even at 4:00 AM, but eventually, he’ll crash and fall asleep mid-sentence while holding your hand.
McLaren
Lando Norris
He’s used to late nights from gaming, but "racing brain" is different.
He’ll be twitchy and restless. He likes to play "20 Questions" or watch a movie under the covers with you.
He’s very affectionate when he’s tired, basically turning into a human heater.
Oscar Piastri
You wouldn't even know he was awake if you didn't see his eyes reflecting the moonlight.
He’s silent, just thinking. When you asks what’s wrong, he’ll give a dry, "Just thinking about Turn 4."
He appreciates when you just puts a hand on his chest to remind him he’s not in the car.
Mercedes
George Russell
He tries to be productive. He’ll start mentally organizing his schedule for next week. Y/N has to tell him to "Shut up, George," which makes him laugh. He’ll apologize and settle for a "structured cuddle session" where he holds you exactly right.
Kimi Antonelli
He’s still young enough that the nerves get to him. He’ll ask Y/N if he’s doing a good job or if he’s ready for the big stage. It’s a very soft, vulnerable time. Y/N spends the night reassuring him until he finally drifts off, looking like an angel.
Racing Bulls
Arvid Lindblad
He’s full of "rookie energy."
He’ll want to get up and do something, but you keeps him in bed.
He’ll talk a mile a minute about the other drivers until he eventually runs out of steam and falls asleep with his head on your chest.
Liam Lawson
He’s intense. His insomnia feels like a "sim session" happening in his brain.
He needs you to distract him.
He likes "heavy" cuddling—the kind where you’re practically on top of him—to ground him and stop his mind from racing.
Red Bull
Isack Hadjar
He gets a little grumpy when he can’t sleep.
He’ll huff and puff until you pulls him into a hug.
He’s a "secret softie" in the dark, mumbling about how much he appreciates you staying up with him, even if he’s being a "pain in the ass."
Max Verstappen
Max is surprisingly good at "resting," even if he isn't sleeping.
He’ll lie perfectly still, but his eyes are open. He likes the quiet. He’ll pull you close and just exist in the silence with you.
No talking needed—just the rhythm of your breathing is enough to calm him.
Williams
Alex Albon
He’ll probably end up talking to the cats if they’re awake too.
If it’s just him and you, he’ll make "bad" jokes and puns until you’re both giggling.
He’s very gentle and light-hearted, making sure you aren't stressed out just because he is.
Carlos Sainz
He’s very tactile.
He’ll use the time to be extra affectionate, kissing your shoulders and whispering "te amo" over and over.
He uses the quiet of the night to reconnect after a busy race weekend, making the insomnia feel like a gift rather than a curse.
Additional Drivers
Daniel Ricciardo
He’ll try to turn it into a "party."
He’ll suggest a midnight bowl of cereal or a funny movie.
He hates the "sad" vibe of not being able to sleep, so he’ll do everything to make you laugh until you both pass out from sheer exhaustion.
Jenson Button
The smooth approach.
He’ll offer to give you a massage to help you sleep, but he ends up falling asleep himself halfway through because the physical contact relaxes him so much.
Sebastian Vettel
He’ll talk about the stars, the environment, or a book he’s reading.
It’s like a private podcast. His voice is so soothing and educational that you usually falls asleep first, and he’ll just smile and watch you sleep until his own eyes get heavy.
Yuki Tsunoda
He gets "hangry" insomnia.
He’ll convinced Y/N to go to the kitchen for a "little snack" that turns into a full meal.
Once his stomach is full, he’s much nicer and will cuddle up like a warm bun, falling asleep instantly.
requests are open yeyy! can i request a smau and written fic with mv3 x younger! reader (maybe 2004) where they got together a year after kelly broke up with max? and reader is actually a famous singer (like addison rae type)
thank youuu
Untouched, XO - MV3
served with: max verstappen x fem!young-gf!reader
chef's note: in the world of F1, everyone has an opinion. They had opinions when Max and Kelly called it quits, and they had even louder ones when he started showing up to the paddock with Y/N—the twenty-one-year-old pop sensation. Falling in love was the easy part. The hard part is navigating the 2:00 AM Twitter threads, the "downgrade" comparisons, and a world champion boyfriend who thinks "protecting" you means keeping you quiet.
The paddock always felt like a place you weren’t meant to enjoy. It was too loud, too fast, and filled with too many people acting like a car going in circles was the pinnacle of human achievement.
You adjusted your sunglasses, leaning closer to your manager as the humidity began to mess with your blowout.
“Be honest—if I ‘accidentally’ get lost and end up back at the hotel, how bad would it be?”
“Catastrophic,” she replied, her eyes glued to her phone. “You’re headlining the post-race concert tonight. Try to look like you’re having the time of your life.”
You hummed, unconvinced, watching a camera crew scurry past. A collective hush fell over the nearby crowd, followed by a wave of frantic whispers. It was the kind of energy usually reserved for a surprise drop or a red carpet entrance.
“That’s him,” your manager muttered, finally looking up.
You followed her gaze, uninterested. “Which one? There are fifty guys in matching polos.”
“The World Champion. Max Verstappen.”
He didn’t look like what you expected. There was no dramatic entrance, no ego-flaring energy. He was just… quiet. Hands tucked into his pockets, expression unreadable, walking with a focused stride that suggested he’d rather be anywhere else.
You shrugged, turning back toward the hospitality suite. “The Dutch guy?”
Max heard it. The words were tossed over your shoulder like a piece of confetti—light, colorful, and entirely dismissive.
He slowed his pace, just for a fraction of a second, catching a glimpse of you walking away. You didn’t look back. There was no double-take, no flash of recognition, and absolutely zero interest.
It was a refreshing, if slightly jarring, change of pace.
Later, a PR representative insisted on a formal introduction. It was the "famous singer meets famous driver" photo-op that everyone but the two of you seemed to want.
You offered a polite, practiced smile, your hand feeling small and warm in his when you shook it.
“Hi,” you said, your voice airy and calm. “I think I’m supposed to know exactly who you are. My apologies.”
Max blinked, his blue eyes searching yours for a hint of sarcasm. He didn’t find any. “That would usually help the conversation, yeah.”
You tilted your head, studying the sharp lines of his face like he was a puzzle you weren’t quite sure was worth solving. “They said you’re the best at this?”
A beat of silence passed. Max gave a small, almost shy shrug. “...Sometimes.”
You nodded, accepting that as if it were a perfectly mundane answer. Your eyes drifted toward the garage behind him, where millions of dollars of machinery sat in pieces. “They all look the same, honestly. Does it matter which one you pick?”
Max huffed a quiet laugh before he could catch himself. It wasn't his usual media-trained chuckle; it was genuine. “It matters a little bit, yes.”
You didn’t ask for a picture. You didn’t linger to talk about his stats. You didn’t even try to keep the conversation going once the silence grew thin.
“Well, good luck, I guess,” you added, already stepping back and checking your watch. “Drive safe, or whatever.”
Max watched you leave. Again.
“She just dismissed you,” Lando said, appearing at his side with a grin that was far too wide. “Completely blew you off.”
“I noticed.”
“Called you ‘the Dutch guy’ earlier, too. I heard her.”
Max exhaled, but it wasn't the sigh of someone who was annoyed. His gaze stayed fixed on the spot where you’d disappeared into the crowd. “I’m not thinking about it,” Max said, preempting the comment.
“You definitely are.”
Max didn't answer.
But later that night—when your voice carried over the circuit, clear and effortless, amplified by a thousand speakers—Max stopped mid-sentence in the middle of a technical debrief. He looked up at the monitors, watching you command a stage of thousands with the same casual indifference you'd shown him.
And for the first time all weekend, he wasn't thinking about his lap times. He was paying attention.
-
ynuser
liked by friend1, friend2, f1 and others
ynuser sang, danced, almost passed out from the heat… and apparently met “the dutch guy” 🏁 idk what’s going on but it was fun
friend1 NOT “THE DUTCH GUY” 💀
friend2 girl that’s literally THE max verstappen
user1 THE LAST PIC???? HELLO????
user2 excuse me why is max in her photo dump 😭
user3 max smiling like that??? oh this is serious (it’s been 5 minutes)
user4 new crossover just dropped???
charles_leclerc nice performance 👍
user1 CHARLES WHAT DO YOU KNOW
user5 she said “the dutch guy” like he’s a random man at starbucks 😭
user6 coming back to this when they’re dating btw
ynuser guys relax he was nice 😭
- weeks after
replies:
a - username ain’t no way 😭
b - username HE DOESN’T GO OUT LIKE THIS???
c - username why does he look… soft
d - username that’s literally him I’m sick
-
tiktok
clip: you in your bathroom, phone propped up on the counter. Lipsyncing a love song, you turn to grab something and—in the mirror—there’s a figure behind you. Sitting on the counter, cap low. Scrolling his phone like he doesn’t even realize he’s in frame.
comments:
user1 UM???? PAUSE??? BACKGROUND???
user2 WHO IS THAT MAN
user3 GIRL IS THAT THE DUTCH GUY
user4 he’s just… there. like a side quest character 😭
user5 this is the most accidental hard launch ever
-
-
The studio was stifling.
It was a chaotic mix of expensive equipment, half-empty energy drinks, and a vibrating energy that usually made you feel alive. Today, though, the air felt heavy. You were in the middle of a playback, leaning over a mixing board with Julian, the artist you were collaborating with.
He said something—a dumb joke about a missed note—and you erupted into a laugh, your hand instinctively resting on his forearm for balance. It was the "industry" version of you: warm, accessible, effortlessly charming.
“Okay, okay—run it back from the second verse,” Julian said, grinning back at you.
You nodded, sweeping your hair over your shoulder as you stepped toward the vocal booth. But your eyes drifted to the corner of the room.
Max hadn’t moved in an hour.
He was leaning against the soundproof foam wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his Red Bull cap pulled low. He was a silent spectator, watching the scene with the same terrifying focus he usually reserved for a telemetry screen.
You caught his eye and flashed him a quick, bright grin.
He didn't smile back. He just gave a singular, slow nod—the kind that meant he’d seen exactly what he needed to see.
“Five-minute break?” the producer called out.
You pulled your headphones off, the silence of the booth ringing in your ears. You walked straight toward Max, trying to shake off the sudden chill.
“Hey,” you said, stepping into his space. “You’ve been so quiet. What do you think of the track?”
Max shrugged, his eyes finally lifting from the floor to your face. “It’s good. Very catchy.”
“‘Catchy’?” you teased, poking his arm. “I just spent three hours bleeding my soul into that mic and you give me ‘catchy’?”
“It’s your world,” he said simply, his voice flat. “You know if it’s good. You don't need me to tell you.”
You squinted at him, the playful mood dying. “You’re being weird, Max.”
“I’m not.”
He pushed off the wall, bypassing you to grab his water bottle. He didn't look back.
It was nearly 1:00 AM by the time the elevator dinged on your floor. The silence of the hotel hallway felt like a relief after the roar of the studio.
You kicked your heels off the moment you crossed the threshold of the suite, tossing your bag onto the sofa. “Julian is actually a genius,” you said, still trying to bridge the gap between you. “The way he writes melodies on the fly… it’s actually insane. I think this might be a Top 10 hit.”
“You laugh like that with everyone?” The question was so soft you almost missed it.
You froze, your jacket halfway off your shoulders. You turned slowly. Max was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, the lights of the city casting sharp shadows across his face. He looked like he regretted the words the moment they left his mouth.
“…What?”
“When you’re working,” he clarified, his jaw tight. “Is that just… the standard? The touching, the laughing at things that aren't funny. Is that how it works?”
You stared at him, the realization hitting you like a physical weight. You walked closer, stopping just a few feet away.
“Are you jealous, Max?” you asked. You didn't mean it as a taunt; you were genuinely floored.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re the World Champion,” you whispered, taking another step. “You’re the most confident person I’ve ever met. You really think I’m looking at anyone else in a room you’re standing in?”
He exhaled a harsh, jagged breath, his eyes finally snapping to yours.
“It’s different, seeing it,” he admitted, his voice dropping an octave. “I spend my life in a car where everything is logic and data. Then I watch you… and you’re so easy with people. You give them so much of yourself.”
He reached out, his fingers catching your wrist and pulling you into his space. His grip wasn't tight, but it was possessive.
“I know it’s work,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips and then back to your eyes. “Doesn’t mean I have to like watching them think they have a chance.”
You didn't answer with words. You just reached up, cupping his face, feeling the tension in his neck finally start to break.
Max didn't do "subtle" often, but when he did, it burned.
-
ynuser
liked by user1, lanadelrey, charles_leclerc and others
ynuser lost my voice, lost my mind, found my favorite place again 🤍 thank you for screaming with me
friend1 YOU ATE SO HARD???
friend2 i have no hearing left btw thanks
user1 THE LAST SLIDE HELLO???? WHO IS THAT 🫦
user2 she looks so happy lately 🥹
user3 WAIT IS THAT MAX VERSTAPPEN BACKSTAGE OR AM I DELUSIONAL
lando good show 👍
user1 LANDO WHAT DO YOU KNOW
user4 THE DRIVERS IN HER COMMENTS????
ynuser idk who you’re talking about 😭
-
“We’re not serious.”
Max says it like he’s reading a data sheet. Like if he labels the situation, he can keep it from spiraling out of control. It’s a boundary. It’s a safety net.
You always nod like it doesn't matter, your expression as practiced as a red-carpet pose. “Totally. Just casual.”
But "casual" doesn't usually involve sneaking through service elevators at 3:00 AM. It doesn't involve the quiet, heavy click of a hotel deadbolt and the immediate relief of being in a room where nobody is holding a camera.
When you open the door, he’s always there—no announcement, no fanfare. Just Max, leaning against the doorframe with that half-hidden smirk.
“Hi,” you whisper.
“Hi,” he responds, his voice low and raspy from a day of radio comms.
No labels. No questions. Just the way his hands find your waist like they’ve memorized the coordinates. Casual doesn’t feel like the glow of a phone screen in the middle of the night.
[2:07 AM] Max: you’re still awake?
You’re staring at the ceiling of a penthouse in London, the city lights bleeding through the curtains. You smile into your pillow, the heat of the text hitting you harder than it should.
You: jet lag is ruining my life. why are you up?
There’s a pause. The "typing..." bubble appears, disappears, and then comes back.
Max: you have rehearsal at 10. go to sleep.
Your chest feels warm, a frantic little flutter that you try to ignore. You know for a fact he didn't have your tour itinerary—at least, he wasn't supposed to.
You: yes, dad.
Max: shut up. sleep.
You laugh softly, burying your face in the duvet so your stylist in the next room doesn’t hear you.
“Just casual,” he repeats a few days later, almost like a mantra he needs to hear out loud.
You’re in his kitchen in Monaco, barefoot and swallowed whole by one of his oversized Red Bull hoodies. You’re humming a melody that hasn't been released yet, opening his fridge with the casual entitlement of someone who knows exactly where the orange juice is kept.
“Yeah,” you echo, glancing at him over your shoulder. “No strings.”
But "casual" doesn't memorize your flight numbers. It doesn't know exactly what time your soundcheck starts in a different time zone. It doesn't result in a vibration in your pocket five minutes before you go on stage.
Max: good luck tonight.
Max: you’ll be great.
Max: text me after.
Casual doesn’t stay on the phone while you fall asleep.
There are nights when the tour is too much, when the noise of the fans and the pressure of the label feel like they’re crushing you. You’ll call him, and he won’t say much—he isn’t a man of many words—but he’ll stay.
He’ll stay on the line while you breathe, his own steady, rhythmic breathing acting as an anchor. He’ll wait until your voice trails off, until you’ve finally drifted away.
“You did good today,” he’ll whisper into the silence, thinking you’re too far gone to hear him.
One night, you’re sitting on his kitchen counter, your legs brushing his thighs as he leans in to grab a glass. You don't move. He doesn't either.
“You’re actually terrible at 'casual,' Max,” you say, your voice daring him to look at you.
He pauses, his hand hovering near the cupboard. He doesn't look away. “…I’m not.”
“You text me before every single show. You know my schedule better than my assistant does.”
“That’s just being efficient,” he counters, though his voice has lost its edge. “I like knowing where you are.”
“You remember things I don’t even remember telling you,” you press, stepping off the counter so you’re standing directly in his space. “The name of my first guitar. How I like my coffee when I’m tired. That’s not 'casual' behavior.”
“Max.” He looks at you then. Really looks. The World Champion, the man who can navigate a turn at 200 mph without blinking, suddenly looks like he’s hit a wall he didn't see coming.
The silence stretches, thick and heavy with everything neither of you is supposed to feel.
“Just casual,” he repeats, but his voice is a ghost of itself. His hand lingers on your waist, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle against the fabric of his own hoodie.
He doesn't pull away. And for once, you don't let him.
-
lando
liked by ynuser, alex_albon, user and others
lando weekend 👍
10 minutes later… POST DELETED
-
user - username
WHY WAS SHE ON HIS LAP LIKE THAT????
user - username
I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE LANDO NORRIS
user - username
NOT EVEN HARD LAUNCH THIS IS FULL ON CONFIRMATION 😭
user - username
HE DELETED IT BUT WE WERE QUICKER
-
TIKTOK - EDITS MADE BY FANS
user this won’t last
user she’s too young for him idc
user He’s gonna get bored 🙂
user this is such a rebound situation
user She’s literally an influencer. What is he doing?
user They don’t even match ❗❗❗
user opposites attract but this is too much
user I give it 3 months.
user He’s never been with someone like her…
-
user ACTUALLY REALLY SWEET??? OH
user charles confirming before max does 😭
-
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ynspam
monaco16 has started following you.
saintalex has started following you.
lilythegolfist has started following you.
12 more users has started following you.
-
ynspam
liked by fastlion, monaco16, saintalex and others
ynspam he said this song isn’t good btw
friend1 HE’S WRONG
friend2 DUMP HIM
saintalex THIS IS GOLD 😭
lilythegolfist he looks so domestic???
-
The apartment in Monaco was too quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavy and expectant, like the air right before a thunderstorm. Max was pacing near the floor-to-ceiling windows, his jaw tight, while Y/N sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, her phone face down on the coffee table as if it were a live grenade.
"I’m just saying, Y/N, you don't have to engage with it," Max said, his voice clipped and frustratingly calm. "Why do you even read the comments? It’s just noise. If you stop posting the behind-the-scenes stuff, the vultures have nothing to pick at."
Y/N let out a sharp, dry laugh, looking up at him. "It’s not 'just noise,' Max. It’s my career. I’m a singer, not a driver who can just put a helmet on and disappear into a cockpit. My brand is my connection to people. If I go silent, I’m 'aloof.' If I speak up, I’m 'dramatic.'"
"Then let the PR team handle it," he countered, stopping his pacing to look down at her. "You’re making yourself miserable over people who don't know you. I’ve been through this for a decade. You ignore the bullshit, you do the work, and you move on. It’s simple."
"It’s simple for you," she snapped, standing up to meet his gaze. The height difference usually felt comforting, but right now, it felt like a wall she couldn't climb over. "You’re the world champion. You’re older, you’re established, and you’re a man in a sport where being 'aggressive' or 'cold' is a compliment. I’m twenty-one. To the world, I’m a girl who got lucky with a catchy hook, and they are waiting—begging—for me to mess up so they can call me a child."
Max stepped closer, his expression softening into that protective look that usually made her feel safe, but today, it felt like a cage. He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she stepped back.
"I’m trying to protect you, Y/N. I don’t want to see you crying over a Twitter thread at 2:00 AM. I’ve seen how this world chews people up. I’m just telling you how to survive it."
"You’re telling me how to be quiet," she corrected, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and exhaustion. "You treat me like I’m some fragile thing that needs to be shielded, Max. Every time I try to vent, you give me a lecture. You talk to me like I’m a rookie who doesn't know the tracks, but this isn’t your world. It’s mine."
Max crossed his arms, his blue eyes hardening again. "I’ve had cameras in my face since I was seventeen. I know what it’s like to be the villain in the headlines. Don’t act like I don't understand the pressure."
Y/N looked at him, really looked at him—the man who had lived a whole lifetime of fame before she’d even graduated high school. The gap between them had never felt wider than it did in that moment.
"You understand your pressure," she said quietly, her voice cutting through the room. "But you don't get what it’s like to be me online. You’ve never had your entire worth as a human being debated because of the shirt you wore or the way you breathed in a ten-second clip. You don’t get what it’s like to be a young woman in this industry, Max. You don't get the vitriol, and you definitely don't get how much it hurts when even you look at me like I’m just a kid who doesn't know any better."
Max opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat. He looked at her—really saw the frustration and the genuine hurt in her eyes—and for the first time in a long time, the man who always had a calculated answer was left in total silence.
-
user - username
she’s so pretty but she looks like she’s playing dress up in her kids clothes… idk
user - username
the age gap is really starting to show. she looks like a fan he picked up at a concert.
user - username
Kelly had that elegance. Y/N is just… a pop star. It’s a massive downgrade in maturity if you ask me. ☕️
user - username
Max went from a woman to a girl who still uses TikTok filters. I give it six months.
user - username
@ user RT. Max needs someone who understands the pressure of the sport, not someone who’s spiraling over her own album charts every week.
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maxverstappen1
liked by ynuser, charles_leclerc, alexandraleclerc and others
maxverstappen1 My favorite person ❤️
user Still think Kelly was a better fit for the champion lifestyle…
maxverstappen1 @ user Then go follow her. I’m happy with my life, you should try finding one of your own. 👍
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ynuser
liked by maxverstappen1, lilymhe, friend1 and others
ynuser ocean air, salty hair 🌊
maxverstappen1 Nice 👍
ynuser @ maxverstappen1 max i am literally your girlfriend, "nice 👍" is for a podium finish, not this. this is why we don't let you comment.
user Not the thumbs up 😭 he is such a dad i’m crying
-
-
The air in the Monaco penthouse was thick with the scent of expensive hotel candles and the lingering metallic tang of Max’s race gear, discarded near the door. Suitcases were open like jagged teeth across the floor—hers, packed for the Asian leg of her world tour; his, barely zipped for the triple-header in the Americas.
Y/N was sitting on the floor, her head resting against the side of the bed, staring at a stack of polaroids they’d taken in Ibiza. She looked small, swallowed by one of Max’s oversized Red Bull hoodies.
"I can’t even look at my phone without seeing a side-by-side of us and his 'past life,'" she whispered, her voice sounding thin and frayed. "And tomorrow I’m in Tokyo, and you’re in Austin, and then Mexico... Max, I’m drowning. I feel like I’m dragging you down into this circus with me."
Max stopped mid-motion, his hand hovering over his watch charger. He turned slowly, his eyes narrowing. "You think you’re dragging me down? Y/N, I’ve lived in a circus since I was four years old. I don't care about the noise."
"I do!" she stood up, the movement sudden and sharp. "I care because it’s hurting my music. I care because every time I post a song about being happy, people find a way to make it about your history. Maybe..." she swallowed hard, the word catching in her throat like a shard of glass. "Maybe we should just... take a break. Just until the season is over. Until my tour wraps. Just so we can breathe."
The silence that followed was deafening. Max didn't move. He didn't even blink. He just looked at her with a terrifyingly calm intensity that made her heart stutter.
"A break," he repeated, the words sounding foreign and bitter.
"Just to take the pressure off," she tried to explain, her eyes filling with tears. "So the media stops hunting us. So I can focus on my fans and you can focus on the championship without having to defend me every five minutes."
Max took three slow steps toward her, stopping only when he was inches away. He didn't reach for her. He stayed perfectly still, a statue of cold, hard resolve.
"I’m going to say this once," Max said, his voice dropping into that low, guttural register he used when he was absolutely serious on the radio. "I spent a year alone after Kelly. I spent a year doing exactly what everyone told me to do—focusing on the car, staying quiet, living for the points. It was the most boring, empty year of my life."
He stepped even closer, forcing her to look up.
"I already did the 'break' thing once, Y/N. I’ve seen what my life looks like without the person I actually want to come home to. I’m not doing it again."
"Max—"
"No," he cut her off, his hand finally coming up to cup her jaw, his thumb wiping away a stray tear with a firm, almost desperate pressure. "If you’re tired, we’ll buy you a private jet so you can sleep between shows. If the media is loud, I’ll hire more security to keep them away from your door. But I am not letting you go because some losers on the internet can't move on from my past. You are my present. You are my future. And if you think I’m letting you walk out that door because things got 'difficult,' then you really don't know me at all."
He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath hitching just slightly. "Don't ask me for a break again. I don't do breaks. I win, or I crash. And I’m not planning on crashing this."
The tension from the night before hadn't fully vanished, but it had shifted from a sharp, jagged edge to a low, steady hum of mutual understanding. The suitcases were still there, a reminder of the thousands of miles about to come between them, but the "break" was officially off the table.
The drive to the private terminal was silent, but not heavy. Max’s hand was anchored on Y/N’s thigh, his thumb tracing small circles over the fabric of her jeans. It was his way of tethering her to him before the world tried to pull them apart again.
"You're going to kill it in Tokyo," Max said, his voice gravelly from lack of sleep. "And I don't want to hear about you checking the charts at 3:00 AM. You do the show, you go to sleep. I’ll be awake in Austin if you need to call."
Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder. "And you? No 'nice thump up' comments while I'm gone? I need real support, Max. At least a heart emoji."
Max let out a short, huffed laugh. "I think I’ve established my position on the internet for the week. I’m sticking to the 'defender' role for a while. It’s more effective."
Three days later, the media was still buzzing about the "breakup scare" rumors and the deleted comments on Max’s Instagram. During the Thursday press conference, a journalist couldn't help himself.
"Max, there’s been a lot of talk about the 'distractions' in your personal life lately, especially with the crossover between the F1 world and the music industry. Does the intense media scrutiny around your relationship affect your focus on the championship?"
Max didn't even lean into the mic. He just stared the reporter down with that famously blunt "Verstappen" gaze.
"The only 'distraction' is having to answer questions about my private life instead of the car," Max said coolly. "My girlfriend is currently selling out stadiums in Japan. She’s the hardest working person I know. If anything, her 'circus' makes mine look like a playground. She doesn't distract me; she makes me want to be better. Next question."
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user - username
Y/N just performed a new song in Tokyo and the lyrics are: "You tell me I’m young like it’s a crime / But you’re the one running out of time / To keep up with me." OH SHE’S TALKING TO THE WORLD CHAMPION. THE AGE GAP TENSION IS CORE TO THE DISCOGRAPHY 🎤🔥
user - username
the way they fought, almost broke up, and then Max decided to become her #1 PR manager is the character development I needed
user - username
"I don't do breaks" - Max Verstappen, 2026. He really said 'If we're going down, we're going down together.' I'm crying.
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user - username
“My boy’s a winner, he loves the game / My lips reflect off his gold chain” OH SHE’S NOT EVEN TRYING TO HIDE IT ANYMORE. Max literally wears that gold chain every single race day. 😭
user - username
“Losing all my innocence in the back seat” AND SHE’S 21/22??? Max Verstappen what have you done to our girl 💀💀
user - username
The way Makies is probably having a heart attack over the “fog up the windows in the parking lot” line right now.
user - username
Not her writing a whole anthem about a Red Bull driver and mentioning Diet Pepsi… the brand conflict is hilarious.
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ynuser
liked by maxverstappen1, llilymhe, alexandraleclerc and others
ynuser untouched, xo. 🍒
maxverstappen1 I told you Red Bull tastes better. But the song is good. 👍
ynuser @ maxverstappen1 max please… i am trying to have a "pop star" moment and you’re doing brand deals in my comments. 🙄
charles_leclerc Nice song! But I think the "back seat" part might be a bit difficult in a race car, no? 😂
maxverstappen1 @ charles_leclerc Focus on your own car, Charles.
served with: f1 driver x fem!journalist!reader
chef's note: in which Y/N survives a family gala, remembers the exact moment her past caught fire in Paris, and realizes that a 'mystery' is exactly what she needs to stop being a headline.
note: helloooooo!! sorry for disappearing these last two weeks, but I was studying for my exam :) anyway, here's the first episode of the series based on Tate McRae's album "So Close to What"! I know I've been saying I'm going to post this series since last year, but it's finally here 😁✨ love you all <3
2018
The air at the Queen’s Club was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the high-octane tension of the pre-Wimbledon circuit. It was your first high-profile assignment—the kind of "trial by fire" your editor gave you to see if the Neville-Hadfield name carried any weight in a press box, or if you were just another heiress playing at work.
You were twenty-one, clutching a digital recorder and a notebook filled with stats you’d memorized until your eyes bled. You weren't there to be seen; you were there to see.
Then came the post-match press conference for the tournament's breakout star: Emmanuel.
He was sweaty, arrogant, and riding the high of a straight-sets victory. When the room fell into the usual drone of repetitive sports questions, you leaned forward. You didn't ask about his serve. You asked about the psychological shift in his third game—the moment he stopped playing the opponent and started playing the clock.
Emmanuel stopped mid-sentence. He looked past the veteran reporters and locked eyes with you.
"Finally," he’d said, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "Someone who was actually watching the match."
After the conference, he found you in the media lounge. No cameras, no agents. Just a tennis player with a lingering adrenaline rush and a journalist with a deadline. You talked for twenty minutes—not about tennis, but about the suffocating pressure of expectations.
He didn't know your last name yet. He just knew you were the only person in the room who didn't look at him like a trophy.
PRIVATE NOTEBOOK ENTRY - Y/N
Interview with E. went well. He’s... different than the PR fluff says. Or maybe he’s just a better actor. He asked for my number 'for follow-up quotes.' I gave it to him. Professionalism is a slippery slope when someone looks at you like you're the only headline that matters.
2019
By the time the Australian Open rolled around in 2019, the "follow-up quotes" had turned into 2:00 AM FaceTime calls across time zones.
The transition from source to something more happened in a dimly lit hotel bar in Melbourne. The heat was stifling, and the anonymity of being thousands of miles from London felt like a safety net.
"We can't," you had whispered, even as your hand found the back of his neck. "I’m covering the tour. If anyone finds out, my career is dead before it starts. They’ll say I’m sleeping my way to a scoop."
"Then we don't tell them," Emmanuel replied, his voice a low vibration against your skin. "It’s a conflict of interest, right? So we keep it private to protect your integrity. We’re being professional by being secret."
It sounded like logic. In reality, it was the first brick in the wall that would eventually cage you.
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ynnevillehadfield
liked by friend1, emmanuelofficial, friend2 and others
ynnavillehadfield Views from the "office." Staying behind the scenes where it's quiet 🎾🤍
user You’re working too hard. Come get a drink
user why are all your photos so moody lately? where’s the Y/N we know
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The "Conflict of Interest" clause became your gospel. You became a ghost in his life. When he won, you watched from the back of the stands, wearing a hat and sunglasses, your heart hammering against your ribs. When he lost, you waited until the early hours of the morning to sneak into his hotel room to comfort him.
You edited your articles with surgical precision. You never praised him too much. You never criticized him too harshly. You were so busy maintaining the "objective" mask that you didn't realize the mask was starting to fuse to your face.
You thought you were protecting your career. You didn't realize that by keeping the relationship in the dark, you were giving Emmanuel all the power.
In the dark, he could be whoever he wanted. And in the dark, you were whoever he needed you to be—an asset, a secret, and eventually... a liability.
By the second year, the adrenaline of the "secret" had worn off, replaced by the mundane reality of two people living parallel lives. There were no grand fights because there was no passion left to fuel them. You were a routine. You were the person who reminded him to take his vitamins and the person who stayed quiet in the hotel room while he watched his match replays in brooding silence.
Your career was moving at a pace that frightened you. You were no longer just "the girl who asked the smart question"; you were becoming a voice people looked for. But every time your name trended for a brilliant piece of journalism, Emmanuel’s ranking dropped another spot.
The silence between you wasn't peaceful. It was heavy with the things you were both afraid to say: that you were outgrowing him, and that he was starting to resent your light.
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2021
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user - username
It’s interesting how Y/N NH writes about every player except the one she’s living with. Talk about an elephant in the room. Is she a journalist or a bodyguard?
user - username
rumor has it her dad bought her that editor spot to keep her busy while Emmanuel flops, must be nice to have a safety net 🙄
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You learned to live in the margins. You started editing your own personality the same way you edited your drafts.
Don’t laugh too loud in the player’s box; they’ll say you aren't taking his career seriously. Don’t wear anything too expensive; they’ll say you’re flaunting your family’s money to emasculate him. Don’t write with too much "bite"; they’ll say you’re being biased.
You became a ghostwriter of your own life. You avoided his name in your columns like it was a curse word. You were trying to be "Professional Y/N," but all the world saw was "Emmanuel’s Distraction."
"Why didn't you mention my performance in the semi-final recap?" Emmanuel asked one night, his voice sharp with a bitterness he no longer tried to hide.
"Because if I praise you, they call me a fangirl. If I criticize you, they say there's trouble in paradise. I can't win, Em."
"At least you're winning somewhere," he muttered, turning his back to you. "Must be nice to have a name that makes people listen, regardless of how you play the game."
That was the moment you realized he wasn't just losing matches—he was losing his respect for you because he couldn't handle that you were thriving while he was drowning.
PRIVATE NOTEBOOK ENTRY - Y/N
I am shrinking. I am cutting pieces of my career, my voice, and my joy away just so there is enough room for his ego to breathe. And the worst part? He still looks at me like I’m the reason he’s failing. I’m not his partner anymore. I’m his excuse.
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2023
The office of the Global Sport Journal felt colder than usual. Your editor, Marcus, didn’t offer you a seat. He simply slid a printed copy of your latest feature—a deep dive into the burnout of modern athletes—across the desk. It was marked with red ink, but not for grammar.
"The board thinks you’re losing your edge, Y/N," he said, his voice flat. "Or worse, they think you’re using this publication as a personal diary to defend Emmanuel’s lack of discipline."
"I didn't even mention him in this piece, Marcus."
"That’s the problem! You’re avoiding the biggest story in tennis—his decline—because you’re sleeping with the subject. Every time you write about 'performance pressure,' the comments section turns into a circus. They say you’re talking as a girlfriend, not a journalist. They say your 'objective' tone is just a shield for him."
"I have edited my soul out of these articles to keep this job," you snapped, the frustration finally boiling over.
"Well, it wasn't enough. People see the Neville-Hadfield name and they see Emmanuel’s losing streak, and they’ve decided you’re the common denominator. We’re letting you go. Effective immediately."
You didn't beg. You didn't cry. You walked out with your head high, but as the elevator doors closed, you realized you hadn't just lost a paycheck. You’d lost your identity.
You expected a sanctuary when you got to Emmanuel’s apartment. You expected him to be the one person who understood what you’d sacrificed.
Instead, he was packing a bag. Not for a tournament, but for a "change of scenery."
"It’s just not sustainable anymore, Y/N," he said, avoiding your gaze. "The pressure from my team, the media... they say I need a fresh start. And honestly? Seeing you lose your job today... it just highlights how messy this has all become."
"Messy? I lost my job because I was protecting us."
"Maybe. But officially? I think it’s best we both move on. I need to focus on my game without the 'distraction' of our history."
It was a cold, surgical dismissal. He didn't tell you about the model. He didn't tell you about the pregnancy. He just treated you like a contract that had reached its expiration date.
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user - username
did you hear? Emmanuel’s new girl is already 3 months along. he was cheating on Y/N the whole time she was getting fired for him, ouch
user - username
Is it sexist to say he’s playing better now that she’s gone? The stats don't lie. She was a liability
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It took weeks for the full truth to settle in your bones. It wasn't just the cheating. It was the why.
You found out through a mutual friend that Emmanuel hadn't just "lost feelings." He’d lost interest because you were no longer a "power player." As a Neville-Hadfield journalist, you were an asset—a way to influence the narrative, a prestigious name to have on his arm. But a fired journalist? A woman whose reputation was in tatters?
To him, you were like a broken racket. You didn't swing the way you used to, you didn't look good in his kit bag, and you certainly didn't help him win.
You weren't a person to him. You were a brand association. And the moment your brand dipped, he liquidated his assets.
PRIVATE NOTEBOOK ENTRY - Y/N
They all think I’m "lost." They think I’m the girl who got played. My family wants to "rehabilitate" me like I’m a PR crisis, not a human being. The industry has closed its doors.
I’m not lost. I’m just standing in the middle of a very quiet room, waiting to see who I am when I’m not 'Emmanuel’s' or 'The Paper’s' or 'The Daughter.'
I’m ready to be a stranger to everyone.
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The Neville-Hadfield annual "Winter Solstice Gala" was less of a party and more of a tactical maneuver.
Y/N stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in her childhood bedroom, adjusting the strap of her dress. Underneath the designer silk, the purple lace bra felt like a secret. It was a small, sharp reminder that she was a woman with a body and a pulse, not just a headline or a "fallen journalist" that her family needed to rehabilitate.
"You look... resilient," her mother said from the doorway, her voice draped in expensive perfume and concern.
"I'm wearing Versace, Mom. Not armor."
"In this family, darling, they’re the same thing." Her mother stepped inside, smoothing a stray hair behind Y/N's ear. "Your father has already spoken to the editor of The Standard. They’re willing to give you a column. High society, fashion, something... safe. No more locker rooms. No more sports."
No more Emmanuel, was the unspoken end of that sentence.
"I'm not ready to be 'safe'," Y/N murmured, pulling away.
"You're a Neville-Hadfield," her mother reminded her, her tone shifting from supportive to overbearing in a heartbeat. "The public sees you as the girl who was cheated on while her career imploded. We need to change the narrative. Smile. Look expensive. Remind them who you were before you met that tennis player."
Y/N didn't remind her that she was someone during the relationship, too. She just grabbed her clutch and headed downstairs to the lions' den.
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ynnavillehadfield
liked by friend1, gneville2, emmaneville and others
ynnevillehadfield The view is better when you aren't looking at anything.
user She looks so thin. Is she okay?
user the Neville-Hadfield comeback starts now 💅
user did you guys see Emmanuel’s latest post? the nursery is already finished...
user You were always better than him. (deleted by user)
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The balcony was the only place the air didn't taste like judgment. Y/N leaned against the cold stone, letting the London chill bite at her shoulders.
"The 'safe' column proposal didn't go well, I take it?"
She didn't turn around. She didn't have to. The voice was unfamiliar—low, with a slight rasp, and a hint of an accent she couldn't quite place through the wind.
"Are you a spy for my mother, or just a guest who got lost looking for the gin?" Y/N asked.
"Neither," the man said, stepping up to the railing, though he kept a respectful distance. He wasn't wearing a tuxedo—just a black suit with the top buttons of his shirt undone. He looked like he’d walked out of a high-speed chase and straight onto the balcony. "I’m just someone who knows what it’s like to be a project instead of a person."
Y/N finally looked at him. In the dim light, she saw sharp features and eyes that looked incredibly tired for someone who looked so successful. There was a watch on his wrist that cost more than a mid-sized car, and a stillness about him that felt... dangerous. Or maybe just honest.
"You're that driver," she said, her journalistic instincts flickering for a second before she extinguished them.
"I'm a lot of things," he replied, looking out at the city. "Tonight, I'm just the guy who isn't going to ask you how you're 'holding up'."
Y/N felt a strange, sudden weight lift from her chest. "Good. Because if one more person tells me I'm 'brave', I might actually push them off this balcony."
He let out a short, dry laugh. "Fair enough. Do you have a car here, Y/N? Or are you trapped in the Neville-Hadfield fortress for the night?"
"I have a car. I just don't have a destination."
The mystery man reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against a set of keys. "I have a destination. I just don't have any reason to get there fast. Want to see if we can find a middle ground?"
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sofiavofficial
liked by emmanuelofficial, user1, user2 and others
sofiavofficial Paris looks better from this side of the court. Finally at peace 🍦✨
emmanuelofficial My queen ❤️
user They look so much more natural together than him and that journalist girl. The energy is just different! 😍
user if she’s pregnant, the math on that "breakup" with Y/N is getting very, very messy ☕️🐸
user is it just me or did his backhand improve the minute he stopped dating a Neville-Hadfield? 🎾👀
user the way he looks at her… that’s not "PR," that’s real
maymayamaynot Amazing how "peace" looks exactly like a betrayal in 4K resolution 🤡
user okay, let’s do the math. If she’s that far along, he was definitely still with Y/N when this happened. Blood on my hands indeed 😬
sofiavofficial @ user Negative energy isn’t good for the baby. Blocked and blessed! 😘
lifeisaleo Money can buy the Chanel, but it can’t buy a clean conscience 💅
user why are people so obsessed with the ex? Y/N had her chance and she blew it by being too "professional." let Sofia live!
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tennis tea - username
He’s not alone. Model Sofia V. has been attached to his hip all night. Witnesses say he’s complaining loudly about "expectations" and "journalists who think they’re coaches." Yikes.
tennis tea - username
Breaking: Emmanuel just left the club with Sofia. He could barely stand. If this is how he "prepares" for a quarter-final, the career slump makes total sense.
tennis tea - username
Where is Y/N? Probably busy writing another article about "athlete mental health" while her man is out doing… this. The irony is killing me.
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DRIVER PHONE
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The driver finally reached over and turned the music down slightly. The heavy bass of the song was replaced by the low hum of the wind against the chassis.
"You're very quiet," he noted, his eyes fixed on the dark road ahead. "Is it the song, or the ghosts?"
"Both," Y/N replied, finally looking away from the window. "It’s hard to listen to lyrics about blood on someone’s hands when I can still feel the weight of everyone else's mistakes on mine."
"Well," he said, a small, genuine smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "If it helps, my team principal is currently convinced I’ve kidnapped a national treasure. So at least I’m the villain in someone else’s story tonight. Takes the pressure off you, doesn't it?"
Y/N felt a small, unfamiliar spark of amusement. "A national treasure? My mother would agree. The press would say I’m more of a... high-maintenance liability."
"I've always liked liabilities," he murmured, shifting gears. "They're much more interesting than assets. Assets are predictable. Liabilities keep you on your toes."
The matte black car pulled up to the curb of a quiet townhouse in Chelsea—not the Neville-Hadfield estate, but Y/N’s private sanctuary. The one her parents didn't like because it was "too small for a woman of her standing."
"We're here," he said, keeping the engine running. The vibration of the car felt like a heartbeat.
Y/N unbuckled her seatbelt, but she didn't get out immediately. She looked at him—still a mystery, still the only person who hadn't asked her about the "scandal" all night. "You never told me your name. I mean, I know who you are, but you didn't tell me."
He looked at her, a half-smile playing on his lips. "If I tell you, then I become a person you have to 'report' on. Or a person your family has to 'approve' of. Tonight, I'm just the guy with the fast car. Let’s keep it that way for a few more hours."
"How will I find you?"
"You won't," he said, tapping the steering wheel. "But I have a feeling I’ll find you. The world is smaller than it looks, Y/N."
She stepped out, the cool night air hitting her face. As the car sped off, she felt something she hadn't felt in years: light.
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ynnavillehadfield
liked by friend1, friend2, user and others
ynnavillehadfield I’m not looking back. The view in front of me is much more interesting. It’s ok, I’m ok. (Actually, I’m better)
leowilliams That’s my girl 🔥
mayahodgins The glow-up is already lethal
user Wait… who took that first photo? That’s not a paparazzi shot 🧐
user She looks so much happier than she did in all those "sad girlfriend" photos from last year
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soooo my brain has been going a little feral lately and I’ve been thinking (& reading) about writing reader x MULTIPLE drivers SMAUs… like yes… poly vibes… like sharing is caring… like one reader, several men, no rules just vibes 💀✨
SO TELL ME— ARE WE FEELING THIS OR AM I LOSING IT???
