Marie-anne

The case had been a rough one; with JJ stuck back at home having had her new baby, Rossi away on a book tour, and Derek out on an injured knee from a renovation incident. JJ’s liaison duties had fallen to you, to your silent horror.

It wasn’t that you were bad at public speaking or presenting. It’s just, your palms got all sticky with sweat, your legs shook, and there was a tightness in your chest that you knew was going to stick around for hours.

Which was not exactly ideal when trying to impress your hot boss.

So you stuffed your anxiety down and did what needed to be done. Because even false confidence had to become actual confidence at some point, right?

As of that moment though, you wouldn’t dare let Hotch know you felt out of your depth. Not while you had something to prove, and especially not when any amount of his attention gave you butterflies in your stomach.

With you on PR duty, the stress that Emily and Spencer were under had doubled.

And with Rossi gone, Hotch had no one to split the administrative duties with.

Which left you all so busy that you had barely seen much of Spencer and Emily. While you and Hotch had been alone together at the station the entire time, with little more than orders and questions conveyed back and forth between the two of you.

Until Hotch had gathered you all into a conference room together to go over the evidence and write up the profile—press releases and administrative bullshit be damned.

Which left you reeling, because the three of them were just as stressed as—if not more so than—you, and when they got stressed...

They tended to get undressed.

Not completely—obviously—just a suit jacket here, a few popped buttons there, maybe some rolled up sleeves and messy hair.

But a girl could dream.

And God, did you dream vividly.

Nothing about Hotch escaped your notice. The width of his shoulders and chest made you itch to splay your hands over them. His thick hair would look so tempting between your thighs. You wondered if he would like the way you’d tug on it as he devoured you. Even the way the man dressed drove you crazy. His suits must have been tailored, because they fit far too well for your sanity. His silk ties looked soft and pullable. Your fingers itched to give them a good tug, preferably while guiding him to your lips.

Your attraction to Spencer was different from how you lusted after Hotch.

Spencer had an innocence and pureness about him that was impossible not to adore… An innocence you fantasized about corrupting. You often watched Spencer read, a habit you couldn’t break. It was so hard to look away, however, when he drug his fingers down the page, gentle and reverent. You wondered how that would feel against your ribs. Or lower. His sweet smiles often tempted you to tease him mercilessly. The way his amber eyes lit up when he rambled on made your stomach fill with butterflies. His soft voice always left your heart pounding and your pussy throbbing. Not that he knew that—thank God—though even if he did, it would just embarrass him.

Emily was, well… Emily.

Confident, strong, sassy and could break you in half, something you definitely wished she would do. Her dark hair and porcelain skin were a thing of beauty. The way she held herself with such surety was enthralling. Her clever and bold personality was absolutely deadly, both to unsubs and your libido. You often wondered how it would feel to earn her attention. She had a ‘take charge’ attitude in the field that you were almost sure would extend to the bedroom as well. You found yourself daydreaming about her scarlet lips giving commands of the erotic variety, smiling, and calling you a good girl… Among other things you imagined they would be very good at.

In layman's terms you were metaphorically fucked.

If only you could get physically fucked… specifically, by one of them.

Alas, it’s against regulations to fuck your co-workers. So your imagination, that new vibrator, and—if you were lucky—a wet dream or two would just have to do.

Being alone with one of them was truly a battle between your common sense and your carnal imagination.

However, being in a room with all of them… that was enough to put you in a mental crisis of truly epic proportions.

Just to make everything astronomically worse, you were pretty sure they had started to notice.

They had all started to notice.

You had been so relieved to wrap up the case and finally head home. Until you realized that heading home meant being on that cramped jet for several hours with just the three of them.

Hotch, who was sitting across from you, had immediately noticed that something was off with your demeanor. You were usually so exuberant, talkative and flirtatious in a way that rivaled even Penelope.

Now your eyes darted around the cabin, never lingering longer than a second on anything—especially a person. Your cheeks were flushed, like you were a little overheated or had spent just a little too long in the sun.

His biggest clue, however, was the way your chest expanded in small rapid breaths. He was growing concerned and was about to ask if you were alright.

Before he could, you offered a quick excuse to Emily—who had been chatting animatedly to you—and headed toward the restroom.

“Okay, has anyone else noticed that she’s been acting strangely all day?” Spencer asked the other two, once the bathroom door latched behind you.

Hotch nodded his head, agreeing with Spencer’s assessment of your odd behavior.

“I agree, she’s not been quite herself this week.” Hotch murmured, raising his brows and shaking his head. “She definitely hasn’t been nearly as flirtatious as she normally is.” The usual crease in his brow returned to its proper place. “She didn’t say anything remotely off-color in front of me at all this week, now that I think about it.”

Your quiet, nervous state was so unlike you—not that he had watched you enough to know.

Usually, you would crack a poorly timed joke or two, earning a disciplinary glare, and he would have to bite back a grin all the way through it.

There were no jokes today, no flirting, just intense focus. Your eyes locked on the evidence board. Never straying for a second, not even when he made an attempt to draw your attention. You only responded when asked a direct question and only made eye contact when absolutely necessary.

He had easily noticed your skittish state. How you seemed to duck out of a room as soon as he entered, or disappear for a while and come back laser focused on anything that wasn’t him.

You were usually quite confident. Or at least did a very effective job at hiding it when you weren’t.

“No kidding.” Emily snorted in halfhearted amusement. “I’ve been trying to snap her out of it the entire flight, and apparently, my flirting only made it worse.”

“Maybe she just doesn’t like girls, Em.” Spencer joked with a smug grin.

“She definitely does…” Emily countered, giving Spencer a healthy dose of side-eye and a knowing smirk. “She flirts with me all the time, and Penelope told me that she has an ex-girlfriend. If anything she doesn’t swing your way.”

In Emily’s humble—expert—opinion, you practically had a flashing neon sign above your head that said: GAY!

Hotch chuckled and shook his head, smiling faintly, “I think you’re both wrong.” He refereed. “She’s bisexual, at the least.”

He glanced up from his case file, his brows raised and a smug smirk on his face.

“She very well could be.” Spencer admitted, his face stuck in that expression that said he was overanalyzing every detail about you that could ever apply to this situation. “We could test that hypothesis…”

His eyes were sparkling with a curiosity that was definitely scientific.

“It’s not a bad idea…” Emily mused. “It could be fun… and we do have five uninterrupted hours of airtime left…”

“Ground rules would be necessary,” Hotch added, murmuring almost as if to himself. Pretending to be lost in the case file again. His eyes traced boredly over the lines of text on the page, “and clear consent, from everyone.”

“Now we’re talking.” Emily smirked, sitting up a little straighter. She had been waiting for a chance to take her harmless flirting into a more serious pursuit. “I'm surprised though, you’re seriously gonna let us do this Hotch?”

“I can’t say I’m not curious to see where it goes…” He admitted, smirking a bit. However, his eyes barely lifted from the page, seemingly disinterested.

He was, in fact, very interested.

He saw the way you looked at him—and the other two—on a regular basis. He knew you were attracted to them.

What he didn’t know—with certainty anyway—was how you would react to an advance by all three of them at once. He was certain, however, that you were in for the surprise of your life—and a very good time—if you let it get that far.

“It’s settled then.” Reid smiled in self satisfaction. “When she comes back out we’ll conduct a little… experiment.”

Then the three of them produced a hurried plan.

When you exited the restroom a few minutes later you were no better—if not worse—off than you had been before. Trying to get yourself off had not only failed, it had also made the problem almost painful. However, staying in the restroom any longer would not only be embarrassing, but suspicious as well.

You tried not to look at Emily when you sat back down, looking anywhere else would be safer. So you shifted, only to catch Spencer’s eye, who was studying you with a strange expression.

The last time you felt so scrutinized, you had been defending your thesis to earn your Master’s.

You decided it was probably safest to stare at your lap instead, fiddling with the hem of your pencil skirt. Anxiously rubbing circles in the cotton fabric between your fingers in an effort to soothe… something. Hoping, praying, that none of them knew it had been hiked around your waist only moments before… with your hand tucked between your thighs.

“Hey, are you alright?” Emily asked softly.

You could feel all three sets of eyes burning into you, you didn’t dare look up. The racing of your pulse was only getting faster.

“Mm hmm.” You nodded, continuing to play with the seam of your skirt and then trying to smooth a run in the delicate black nylon of your stocking. “I’m perfectly fine.”

Your voice was a little higher than normal, and you knew they hadn’t missed it.

“Hmm, I don’t know…” Emily responded, you could hear slight teasing in her voice. “You haven’t been acting fine. In fact, you seem a little stressed,” You could practically feel the grin on her face as she turned, “Hotch, doesn’t she seem stressed?”

“Incredibly stressed.” He agreed, and if you’re not mistaken, that was amusement in his tone.

You flush even brighter.

“You should relax a little.” He suggested in that stupidly hot low timbre of his. He didn’t even have the decency to toss you a glance. You often wondered if anything could tear the man away from his file. God, maybe one of these days you’d strip down and stand in front of him butt-ass naked, just to see if that would do it.

You couldn’t help the little snort of indignant laughter that escaped you, because Hotch’s tone was practically sinful—proving that, yeah, you could get wetter than you already were—and the fact that Hotch, of all people, told you to relax.

“You’re one to talk.” You retorted before you could think better of it. A slight feeling of panic washed over you at your brashness and you risked a glance up at him, his expression was frustratingly neutral.

His eyes, however, held a peculiar spark. A spark that still somehow gave you nothing.

Emily scooted a tad closer to you, turning her body to face yours and pulling her knees up under her on the bench seat.

“Turn around.” She commanded, twirling her finger around in a circle. You raised a brow at her questioningly, unsure of what she was about to do. She rolled her eyes. “Just trust me.”

You sighed—long sufferingly—and did as she asked, turning to face the other end of the jet. Your back now facing the others. You had little indication of what Emily intended to do with your back facing her, but you didn’t have the energy, or the nerve, to argue with her. The only hope in your mind was that she didn’t touch you and send you spiraling down another unfortunate slip-n-slide of arousal.

Then you felt the french pin slide out of your hair, which promptly unfurled and cascaded down your back. The pressure lifted off your scalp, leaving behind a dull ache.

Why had you twisted it so tight that morning?

Oh, that's right.

So you could at least appear put together when you’d realized that it would only be the four of you on the jet home, with no case briefings to distract you.

You could only dream of where you wanted this to go.

Hot mouths, desperate grabs, pleasured moans… snap out of it before you let one slip, holy shit.

You stiffened, very aware that this was a bad idea and tried to pull away.

“Relax…” She cooed, alarmingly close to your ear. You bristled a little further. “I only want to help…”

Her hands slid into your hair then, nails raking over your scalp gently before her fingertips began firmly massaging your temples. Your eyes closed involuntarily and most of the tension fled your body without warning. A little sigh escaped your lips and you felt your cheeks start to burn as you sunk into her hands.

“There, isn’t that better?” She murmured softly, a lilt to her voice you couldn’t quite place yet.

“It does feel nice…” You admitted nervously.

Her fingers trailed down from your temples to the back of your neck. Working into the muscles, tight with the start of a tension headache.

“I bet it does, your knots have knots.” She hummed sympathetically, if not a little disapprovingly. “You shouldn’t let it get this bad. It’s not healthy and it feels painful.”

“It’s been a long week…” You responded a little defensively. “I don’t think I can handle many more cases without JJ and Rossi around.”

The words are almost strangled, her hands on your neck both a blessing and a curse. Then they slide down to your shoulders. Kneading and digging into your traps in an earnest attempt to banish the tension there.

“Why is that?” She asked curiously, but there was something more… sensuous, about the way she said it. It sent a small shiver down your spine that, luckily, was easy enough to conceal. But you still wondered if she felt it.

You tensed up slightly again.

“Because, I am not a trained press liaison. JJ does a much better job, and we’re all better off with more of us in the field. You guys almost ran yourselves ragged trying to get everything done, and Hotch didn’t have Rossi to delegate administrative tasks to. Not to mention the locals were being a pain in the ass the whole time. It honestly felt like a bit of a clusterfuck.” You confessed, though that was only half the truth.

“You did a wonderful job with the press, JJ even texted me to tell me she was proud of you.” Hotch murmured from across the aisle, giving you a rare compliment. You glanced over at him in surprise, you hadn’t known JJ had sung your praises to Hotch as well. “But she told you that herself earlier. So why are you really so anxious?”

“It was just a lot for the four of us to take on, that’s all.” You insisted, but Emily’s hands started to work their way down your spine. She found a particularly sore spot and dug her thumb into it mercilessly, forcing a moan to escape your lips without permission.

“Sorry.” You murmured in absolute mortification.

“Don’t apologize.” Emily hushes you, a sly knowing smile on her face. “I like it when you're vocal.”

That startled you so thoroughly that you actually jumped a little. Any other day and it wouldn’t have phased you at all. That type of flirting was normal from Emily, she liked to make you blush. Tonight, however, you were woefully underprepared for her raunchiness. You laughed nervously, knowing that she would expect you to laugh on a normal day.

“Mmmm, I’m with Hotch.” Spencer hummed, finally entering the conversation. “I think something else has you all worked up. You’re missing Morgan, JJ, and Rossi because they’re a good buffer.”

You almost choked on air, he couldn’t possibly have worked that out so easily.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You lied.

He didn’t respond, and instead shared a glance with the others behind your back. Hotch gave a subtle nod to Emily, and she smiled in pure glee, before pulling your hair to one side and tracing her nose down the side of your neck. Her breath caused goosebumps to rise on your skin.

“You don’t? Are you sure?” She murmured, voice taking on a blatantly seductive tone.

You shot a worried glance in Hotch’s direction, only to find his eyes glazed over. Something heated hiding just beneath the surface.

“I- I’m sure.” You stuttered, every bit of that false confidence you’d been building ripped away in an instant. Leaving you a mess, you squeezed your thighs together once more trying to silence the throbbing ache between them, and his eyes flicked down to track the movement.

“You can’t lie to us. We’ve all been paying attention, sweetheart, and we see everything.” Hotch murmured, his voice thick and husky. “You know better.”

Sweetheart? Oh god. What on earth was happening?

You looked away from him quickly, hoping the truth wasn’t on blatant display in your eyes.

He chuckled softly.

Emily’s hand cupped your chin gently as she turned your head to face her, to face all of them.

“Emily?” You murmured in apprehension. She started to lean in closer to you, much closer. Too close for you to keep your wits about you. “What are you doing?”

She was searching your eyes intently for any hint of discomfort or fear.

She found none.

“This.” She whispered and then her lips met yours.

It was a gentle, seeking kiss. Her lips sure and firm against your own. You couldn’t help but lose yourself in it for a moment. The world narrowed down to her.

Her soft lips against yours. The way her mouth moved, seeking more from you. Her hand skimmed up your jaw from your chin and tangled in your hair as she deepened the kiss, pulling a soft whimper from your throat.

A whimper that was echoed by Spencer, just a few feet away.

His soft needy whine pulled you back down to earth, or rather, inside the jet. Where it suddenly dawned on you that Emily was shoving her tongue down your throat, in front of the team. In front of the team and your boss, who was-unfortunately–a stickler for rules.

Jerking away from Emily, you looked over at Hotch.

“Emily!” You gasped quietly, scrambling backward away from her on the seat. Despite your very, very willing participation. She followed you slowly. “What has gotten into you!?”

You were panting, your breaths shaky, your hands even shakier.

She smiled at you softly and threw a glance back over her shoulder at the others. Her gaze seemed to project, I told you so, as she crawled a little closer to you. You looked around at them then—panicked and breathless—the throbbing between your legs not at all helping you to make sense of the situation.

You focused on Hotch. Your eyes searched his frantically, knowing a reprimand would be swiftly coming your way. Or the inevitable glare of disappointment. Or worse, suspension.

Your jaw nearly hit the floor when he smirked at you instead.

“Don’t stop on my account.” He murmured, his voice thick and low, a slight rasp starting to come through. “It was just starting to get interesting.”

What. The. Fuck.

“W-w-what?” You stuttered, unsure if you had maybe misheard him, or imagined the whole fucking thing.

“You heard what I said.” He shrugged at you. “Don’t stop.”

Your mouth opened and closed, trying to form words when you were pretty sure your brain was on a hiatus.

“But-” You started to argue and he furrowed his brows at you.

This absolutely could not be happening. It was impossible. Any second now you were going to wake up and employ that new toy you had ordered specifically to deal with this issue.

“Are you saying you don’t like it when Prentiss kisses you?” He asked, his expression making it clear that he already knew the answer was no. You searched his eyes intently, looking for any sign that this would end poorly for you. What you saw instead was pure, unadulterated lust. The deep hazel of his eyes was almost consumed by his pupils and dark with hunger. He wanted you, he wanted to watch you make out with Emily, wanted to hear your moans and it was driving him crazy. So you shook your head no. Because you definitely did like the way Emily had kissed you and you wanted more. “Then close your mouth before I use it, and let Emily make you feel better.”

“Okay.” You murmured, barely louder than a whisper.

That was all Emily needed to hear.

Her mouth crashed into yours again and she pressed you back against the seat, slowly laying you down. Her body hovered over yours, the sweet scent of her perfume curling around you and numbing your senses. A moan ripped its way out of your mouth and she devoured it whole as her hand rested softly on your leg, just below the knee length hem of your skirt, and began to push it slowly up your thigh. The coolness of the air on your newly exposed skin made you shiver, a small shuddery breath accompanying it.

Emily grinned against your lips.

“Garters, huh? Can’t wait to see if they match your panties.” She murmured, Hotch and Spencer both groaned.

The idea of the two of them watching the two of you and enjoying it… was enough to make you squirm, the throbbing between your legs became agonizing again. Your thighs were rubbing together seeking any amount of friction…

Until Emily forced her knee between your legs, forcing them apart and not allowing the friction you so desperately needed. Her fingers still slowly dragged your skirt up the expanse of your thigh until she had it hiked up around your waist again.

“So pretty…” Hotch murmured, his voice thick and rough.

You turned your head to look at him, not at all phasing Emily who began kissing your neck instead, and found him sitting with his legs spread. His pants were undone and his long thick member was firmly gripped in his palm. If you weren’t so occupied with the fact Emily had found a spot on your neck that made your entire body tingle, your eyes might’ve bugged out of your head.

Emily’s lips managed to coax another soft moan from you and your attention was temporarily diverted. Your head rolled back a little to give her space to work, which made her chuckle. A sound that you were sure was pure sin.

You heard another sound, a soft moan from across the aisle, and you realized that Hotch…

Wasn’t the only one.

Spencer had taken his out as well, watching you intently while stroking himself slowly. A loud and surprising moan erupted from your lips, pulling soft groans from the three of them in response.

You didn’t know what you wanted more.

Emily’s mouth… or either of the cocks now standing at attention in front of you.

However, the decision would not be left up to you.

Emily’s hand was now popping open the buttons of your blouse one by one. Working her way down your stomach, her mouth following her hands slowly. She was taking her sweet time, kissing, sucking and biting gently. Sucking your skin into her mouth and rolling it softly between her teeth, probably leaving some little red marks. Her head dipping lower and lower toward the apex of your thighs.

More little moans escaped through your heavy, panting breaths.

Her mouth finally hovered over the place you wanted it most. Emily’s breath was hot as she slowly closed her lips around your clit over your black lacy panties. A strangled cry breaking free as you threw your head back, your mouth wide and your eyes closing tightly.

Hotch knelt down behind you, pushing his shoulder under your head, forcing you to look down at Emily between your legs. His hand brushed your hair out of your face gently.

“Do you like having Emily’s mouth between your legs, sweetheart?” He hummed against your temple, placing a tender kiss there.

You opened your mouth to answer, but Emily had other plans, sucking harder on your clit that she had been previously, while flicking at it with her tongue. Your panties weren’t even off yet and she had you nearly in tears from the pleasure.

A strangled, half moan, half gasp left your mouth in the place of words.

Hotch chuckled softly and his breath moved your hair, tickling your forehead.

“Where did that clever mouth go? It was working so well earlier.” His fingers curled around your open blouse, and he gently pulled it off your shoulders. He guided you back onto his shoulder again as he placed kisses to the side of your neck, and then tossed the shirt to Spencer, who brought it to his nose and took a deep breath of your perfume.

“She smells so good…” Spencer mumbled softly, still palming his own erection and watching Emily's head move between your legs.

“You have no idea how good she smells.” Emily groaned, biting the inside of your thigh hard enough to sting and then started to suck a hickey over the indentations her teeth had made.

“Why don’t you take her panties off and tell us how she tastes.” Hotch suggested with a smirk, you groaned softly in agreement. Your hips bucked slightly and that knot in your core squeezed tight.

“You like that idea, huh?” He teased gently, you could feel his grin against your temple. Then he threaded his hand through your hair and pulled your head back to mouth hot kisses down the line of your throat.

“I definitely do.” Emily smirked, then hooked her thumbs into the waist of your panties and slowly began to drag them down your hips. Her fingers deftly unclipping your garters from your stockings, then continuing to drag your panties down your legs until she had freed them completely and tossed them to the floor. Her warm breath fanned out across your skin and yours hitched at the sensation. Much to Emily’s delight, goosebumps pebbled your thighs and she ran her fingertips over them slowly. Which only made them worse.

“It’s not braille.” You hissed at her impatiently. “It’s not going to magically spell anything out.”

“That fucking mouth…” She mumbled as she finally closed the distance between her mouth and your pussy. Your hips bucked at the heat of her tongue as she licked a path from your entrance to your clit.

A strangled cry flew from your lips. Emily’s laugh puffed against you, and the only thing keeping you aware of anything at all was the combination of Spencer and Hotch’s laughs filling the space as well.

“Not such a smartass with a tongue on your pussy are you?” Hotch’s gravelly voice reverberated in your ear before he took your ear lobe in his mouth and bit it gently. “Be good for us and we’ll see just how many times we can make you come.”

You only had the mental capacity to nod… because Emily had just sucked your clit into her mouth and was rolling her tongue over it. That—combined with the gentle suction she so mindfully applied—meant whimpering, nodding, and squirming was all you could manage to do.

The warmth of her mouth was obscene, the slick firmness of her tongue enough to make you see stars. She gave a particularly rough pull of suction against your clit and you couldn’t contain yourself.

“Fuck!” You gasped, throwing your head back and closing your eyes.

Hotch wasn’t having that though.

Especially since Spencer was barely containing his own whimpers and moans from the chair across the aisle, where he was watching the entire scene with rapt attention, soaking in every detail. Hotch took your chin in his hand and forced you to look at Spencer.

“Look at him.” He commanded, growling in your ear. “Look at what you’re doing to him, Sweetheart, and you haven’t even touched him.”

You made eye contact with Spencer then, his eyes full of longing, sweat glistening on his brow and his hand struggling to maintain a steady rhythm on his cock. His chest was heaving from the effort it was taking him to remain in control, you could clearly hear his ragged breaths from your place across the cabin. His cheeks were flushed–a ruddy pink–and his hair was disheveled from his fingers, which he kept dragging through it.

“Spence…” You murmured softly, for no other reason than you felt the need to say his name. To acknowledge him and make sure he knew you saw him. To be certain he knew that you appreciated what you saw.

His cock was so hard it was closer to pink than his natural skin tone and you were anxious to do something about it. It looked almost painful.

You felt like you could hear everything he was thinking as he broke eye contact to study the length of your body, then brought his gorgeous amber doe eyes back yours.

“Tell her how beautiful she looks Reid, talk to her, she loves it when you ramble.” Hotch urged him gently. “Don’t you, pretty girl?”

You really did and the pleading look in your eyes was all he needed to see to know that was true.

“You should see yourself right now, Angel…” Spencer murmured softly, hesitantly at first but the heat in your eyes as you gazed back at him was undeniable, and the boost in confidence he needed. “You’re stunning, absolutely ethereal, bewitching even. From the luster of your hair to the delicate curves of your legs, you look like a dream. Your perfect breasts look so firm and smooth, I want to cup my hands around them just to see how it would feel.”

You moaned softly at that and Hotch hummed his agreement and approval of Spencer’s pretty words. He had to admit he was impressed, Reid seemed to have a way of waxing poetic. He watched with glee as your body reacted, both to Emily’s ministrations and Spencer’s words as he continued to speak. “Darling you are divine, the very smell of your perfume is intoxicating. Your lips are tantalizing and I can only imagine the feel of them on mine would be soft as silk.”

You hung on every word, his voice mesmerizing you as he spoke. You had no idea that Spencer had such a way with words. His poetic phrasing had your heart racing and your stomach fluttering.

Emily’s warm tongue slowly drifted away from your clit, trailing down your pussy to the wetness of your entrance… and she began to leisurely fuck you with it. You moaned so loudly it startled you and bit your bottom lip to stifle the noise.

“They can’t hear you in the cockpit, Angel. The door is too thick and the engines are too loud. Not to mention, they’re wearing headsets to communicate with air traffic control.” Spencer explained quietly.

Hotch’s hands started to travel down your body. One slipping into the black see-through mesh and lace of your bra, the other sliding slowly down your stomach and finding your—recently abandoned—clit. He circled it with his fingertips gently. His other hand firmly massaging your breast and rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “You heard him, Sweetheart. No one can hear you but the three of us, and like Emily said: we like it when you’re vocal.”

You let out a soft whimper and he hummed in approval.

Emily drew most of your attention back to herself as she replaced her tongue with two fingers, stretching you wider and filling you more satisfyingly than before. She stayed between your legs though, sucking and biting at your thighs as she made her fingers match the pace of Spencer’s hand.

You knew that’s what she was doing because you were still watching him from the corner of your eye, and for every downward stroke of his hand, she thrust her fingers inside you at the same moment. Hotch caught on to what she was doing, and he also began to match that rhythm and pace, kissing and nipping at the column of your throat as he played with your clit and nipples.

“Let go babe, we’ve got you. I can feel how close you are, you’ve got my fingers in a vise.” Emily murmured against the skin of your thigh, pressing a kiss to the place she had just bitten. Hotch hummed against your neck.

“Are you gonna come on Emily’s fingers, Sweetheart?” He murmured, before biting your exposed throat gently and laving at it with his tongue.

All you could do was moan in response.

Emily’s mouth found its way back to your clit, nipping Hotch’s finger playfully to make him move it. He looked down at her with a smirk and flicked her forehead teasingly before bringing his hand up to your other breast.

She rolled her eyes at him and flattened her tongue against your clit, then circled it and finally began sucking on it again as she continued to fuck you with her fingers. Hotch was rolling both your nipples between his fingers and returned his mouth to your throat, you were almost certain he was leaving marks there.

He was and it was completely intentional, it was the weekend, and he intended to give you all two extra days off at the start of next week. They would fade.

Emily was getting worked up herself and the sound of your little pants and moans were driving her to distraction. When you let out a particularly loud whimper, she hummed in satisfaction and the vibration made you throw your head back farther and moan so lewdly that Hotch picked his head up to look at your face.

Your eyes were squeezed shut, your supple lips were shaped in a wide ‘O’ and he couldn’t help himself anymore, your mouth was just begging to be filled.

You were vaguely aware that he had lifted your head off his shoulder and moved to stand, but you were too focused on Emily—and her mouth— to wonder why.

Then something warm bumped your chin.

You opened your eyes and found Hotch standing in front of you, his cock bouncing just out of reach of your mouth. You looked up and met his eyes, questioningly.

He smirked down at you, reaching out and cupping your jaw in his hand. His calloused thumb rubbed a small circle on the smooth skin of your cheek.

“I told you to close your mouth or I’d use it.” He murmured, voice low and rough. His thumb stretched to pull your lip down just a little and let it snap back into place, then brushed the corner of your mouth softly.

You didn’t respond, you just opened your mouth a little wider and offered it to him.

“Fuck.” He murmured, barely louder than a whisper.

Em chuckled quietly and the vibrations ran straight up your spine then down your legs, making your toes curl. You threaded your hands through Emily’s hair, needing something, anything, to hold on to.

“A little wider sweetheart.” Hotch prompted you.

You obeyed immediately, opening your mouth as wide as you could and maintaining eye contact with him. You knew he would like the attention and he did, rewarding you with his thick cock as he slid it slowly into the warmth of your mouth.

He tasted clean, but salty, and the precum that was already leaking from him was sweet as well with a slightly bitter—but delicious—aftertaste. You groaned as you closed your lips around him.

“How does her mouth feel?” Spencer’s voice was strained, he still hadn’t moved to touch you, content to observe.

To learn.

“She’s perfect.” Hotch groaned, his hand buried in your hair fisting it firmly but not roughly. He began to use it to pull you slowly up and down the length of his cock. “Fuck sweetheart, you feel amazing.” He murmured looking down at you affectionately, “You’re so warm, and you’re being so pliant for me.”

You kept eye contact with him, trying to focus on him… While also being on the verge of coming from Emily’s tongue on your clit, her finger pumping in and out of your pussy. All three of them were still matching pace with each other, and it was intoxicating. In and out and in and out, all at the same time.

Realizing how close you were, just needing a little push to fall over the edge, Emily reached up and started rolling your nipple beneath the lace of your bra. Then she slightly changed the angle of her fingers, curling them slightly to brush against your g-spot with every thrust.

You uttered a very strangled cry, the sound muffled around Hotch’s thickness. “Whatever you just did, she liked it. Didn’t you, pretty girl?”

You moaned in response and his hand tightened in your hair, a low hiss sliding through his clenched teeth.

Emily chuckled and kept her pace steady, but the vibration of her laughter around your clit as she sucked on it was all it took to send you spiraling into blissful oblivion.

Your body felt fuzzy and warm and your pussy was pulsing uncontrollably around Emily’s fingers. Your legs were shaking and you finally broke eye contact with Hotch as you scrunched your face up in pleasure. Eyes closed tightly as she fucked you through it, then licked your pussy from bottom to top as though savoring the taste of your orgasm.

Your body slowly relaxed again and when Emily pressed one more kiss to your clit then stood from the couch, you opened your eyes again to look up at her. Panting heavily as you realized now, that Hotch had pulled out of your mouth so that you could breathe through your orgasm.

Emily smirked down at you and then held her two glistening fingers up to the light for Hotch to inspect. He looked at them with a feral sort of hunger in his eyes.

“Do you want to taste her?” Emily asked him, a sly grin on her face as she offered her middle finger up to him. “She’s delicious…” She purred, and Hotch glanced down at you, recovering from your orgasm with a look of pure adoration for Emily in your eyes.

Then he turned his head toward her and grabbed her wrist with his free hand, before drawing her finger into his mouth… and sucking it clean.

You groaned and let your head rest against his hand that was still tangled in your hair.

“Fuck, she tastes like heaven. Reid, you wanna taste?” Hotch asked the younger man, then turned his attention back to you, tugging lightly on your hair. “Get down on your knees for me, Sweetheart.” He coaxed gently.

You obeyed him, getting down on your knees in front of him, but watched Reid and Prentiss as you did it. She was offering her ring finger to him and he was licking it clean and groaning, as he stroked himself a little harder.

Spencer… Spencer who didn’t shake hands because of germs… was licking Emily’s finger, just so he could taste you.

Fuck…

You whimpered softly and Hotch chuckled quietly, using your hair to tilt your face up to look at him .

“You can have him as soon as I’m done with your pretty little mouth.” He murmured teasingly. “Open up sweetheart.” You let your mouth fall open in what you hoped was a sexy expression. “So pretty…” He whispered for the second time that night as he slid his cock back into your mouth.

He used your hair—again, to your delight—to guide your mouth up and down his considerable length. He was taking it slow, going easy on you… you didn’t like that, not one bit. So you surged forward on his cock, taking as much of him as you could without gagging and he let out a sharp, gasping, string of barely intelligible obscenities.

You tried to pull back a bit to do it again… but he held you firmly in place.

“You want me to fuck your mouth, pretty girl? Blink once for no, twice for yes.” You moaned, looking up at him from under your lashes and pleading with your eyes, you blinked twice.

That is exactly what you wanted.

He chuckled quietly and then gave you a soft look.

“Have you ever had your mouth fucked before? Once for no, twice for yes.” You blinked once—you hadn’t and you were nervous because with his cock so deep in your throat you couldn’t breathe, you were also struggling not to gag—but you wanted him to do it so badly in that moment.

“Then listen closely, so I don’t hurt you.” He warned you, then caressed your neck tenderly. “Relax your throat, soften the back of your mouth.” He instructed gently. “Go ahead, I’ll tell you when you’ve done it right.” You tried to do as he asked, relaxing all the muscles in your throat and opening the back of your mouth. “Good girl, that’s perfect.”

Your head was starting to feel fuzzy from lack of oxygen, but you knew he wouldn’t hurt you so you didn’t panic.

“Keep your jaw loose and let me move you, don’t fight against me or try to help. It’ll make you sore if you do. You can’t breathe right now can you?” He asked, seemingly knowing the answer was no, but you blinked once anyway. “You are going to have to focus on your breathing. Time it so that you take a full inhale through your nose as I’m pulling out.”

He pulled you back off his cock just enough so that your airway was clear, you immediately sucked in a full breath and your head cleared.

“Good girl…” He soothed, stroking your cheek with the back of his finger. “When you take a breath, hold it. Then release it when I pull out the next time. Do you understand?”

You blinked twice.

“Perfect.”

He started so slowly—barely moving at all—letting you get the hang of how to breathe and how to keep everything loose and relaxed.

“That’s perfect, sweetheart, just like that.” He praised you after a minute, and then he slowly increased his pace, going a little deeper as well.

“Look how well she takes it…” Emily purred, kneeling down next to you and brushing a stray hair from your face. “Such a good girl…” She cooed, running her hand down your bare back.

Her words only served to fuel your ego and you preened under her praise.

“She’s a natural…” Hotch agreed and brought his free hand up to your cheek. “Think you can take it a little faster, pretty girl?” He asked, stroking your skin with his thumb.

You blinked twice.

“Good girl, remember to breathe in on every other one.” He both praised and reminded you softly as he picked up the pace. His cock was touching the back of your throat now with every inward thrust. His hand in your hair supported your head and held you completely still. You were like putty in his hands, and Hotch was reveling in it. He loved the way you completely surrendered and trusted him with something you’d never experienced before. “Fuck, Sweetheart… you’re taking me so well. I’m so proud of you.”

The tone of voice he was using—low and rough—was making your pussy throb all over again.

You moaned and he lost a little bit of his restraint, fucking into your mouth a little harder than he had been before, but not hard enough to hurt you. It was making your eyes water, however, and you had tears running down your cheeks. Hotch was enthralled by them, by the mascara tracks they were leaving and the way they changed the shade of your eyes slightly. “Such a good fucking girl, letting me fuck your mouth like this… you’re perfection, sweetheart.”

“Look at what you’re doing to him…” Emily whispered softly in your ear. “He’s barely holding on, you’re driving him crazy with those pouty, fuckable lips and pleading puppy dog eyes… you should see yourself the way he’s seeing you right now… you’re fucking beautiful baby.”

You moaned and it would’ve been loud and obscene if not for the cock in your mouth.

Hotch’s hips stuttered and he cursed, you knew that meant he was close.

“I’m about to come, pretty girl…” He gritted out, his hand in your hair tightening. “Can you take it?”

You moaned and blinked twice at him, then held eye contact. You didn’t know how you knew that would send him over the edge, you just did.

Then he was spilling himself down your throat, and you swallowed every fucking drop, then sucked him clean. He pulled his cock from your mouth and tucked it back into his briefs, then squatted down in front of you. The thumb of his free hand wiped a drop of liquid off your chin and he brought it to your lips, the look in his eyes almost challenging.

You licked his thumb from base to tip, then closed your lips around it and lightly sucked on it. He smiled at you then, pulling his thumb from your mouth and sliding that hand back to join his other in your hair. Hotch pulled you toward him gently as he started to lean in and murmured, “Such a good girl…”

The kiss he gave you was hot, sloppy and branding. He could taste himself in your mouth as his tongue invaded it and he was obsessed with the mingling of his flavor and yours. You moaned into his mouth and tried to deepen the kiss again, but he heard Spencer’s ragged breathing behind him and pulled back.

“You wanna ride Reid’s cock, Sweetheart?” He murmured loudly enough that Spencer also heard him and you both whimpered pathetically at the suggestion.

Hotch and Emily both chuckled, and then Hotch put his hands on your waist to help you stand and guided you over to the chair Spencer was in. Your legs were shaking and you were as clumsy as a baby giraffe stumbling over to him.

Spencer was looking up at you with those big amber puppy dog eyes and you felt even weaker in the knees, luckily you didn’t have to stand for much longer. Hotch steadied you on your wobbly legs until you climbed up onto Spencer’s lap, straddling him.

He was hesitant to touch you, his observation had started this whole thing and when he had suggested an experiment… he hadn’t expected it to end in sex…especially not group sex. When Hotch and Emily had started talking about consent and ground rules—lines that couldn’t be crossed— he had been sent reeling.

When he had asked if they’d noticed you acting strangely it had been out of concern for your wellbeing. When he had suggested they test the hypothesis he had merely meant to prove whether you were into men, women, or both.

He had wanted a scientific experiment, not sexual experimentation.

Not that he was complaining…

He, Emily, and Hotch were all three bisexual. Hotch didn’t really broadcast that fact, especially not in front of the others. Even though Spencer was pretty sure the only two on the team who weren’t queer were Rossi and Derek, and he wasn’t even sure about Rossi sometimes. So it wasn’t a big deal if you were or were not bisexual. He had only been curious.

Curiosity killed the cat or something like that… yet this time he had ended up with your bare pussy hovering over his cock, and he was not at all upset with this outcome. Just incredibly shocked. You were so beautiful, looking down at him with your tear stained cheeks and swollen lips. He still hesitated, however, because he wasn’t sure whether or not you really wanted him, or if he was being included simply because he was here.

You could see that hesitation, that self doubt in his eyes… you hated it.

So you leaned in and kissed him. It was a sweet kiss at first… reassuring and gentle. You were giving him plenty of time to work his nerve up. When he didn’t pull away—and even started to reciprocate—you deepened the kiss and teased at his lips with your tongue.

Requesting entry.

He parted his lips for you immediately, you smiled against him before you let your tongue caress his sinfully. His body was no longer rigid, but he was still tense. You moved to kissing his neck and nipping at his skin.

“Relax Spence…” You murmured sensually, running your hands through his hair and brushing it back from his forehead. “Let me lead, I’ll take care of you.” Pulling back and checking in to make sure, before you went too far, you looked him in the eyes, searching them intently. “Is this okay with you, Handsome?”

He nodded, biting his bottom lip in a way that made you want to bite it too.

“Yes.” He murmured, still hesitating… then whispered, “I just– I’ve only done this twice… I don’t know what to do in this position…”

Oh…

“That’s okay, I didn’t know what to do a minute ago and Hotch talked me right through it… We can do that for you, if you want?” You offered him gently. Your eyes were soft and kind, but let him see just how badly you wanted him. “Besides… I’ll enjoy being able to teach you something for once.”

He laughed softly, and some of the tension melted away from him.

“Okay.” He agreed. “Tell me what to do.”

Then in a burst of confidence, he reached up and tucked your hair behind your ear.

You hummed in approval.

“Touching me would be a great start.” You teased gently, not at all trying to bruise his ego.

“That’s true…” He joked quietly and his hands settled on your waist, then started to slowly trail up your sides. Lightly dancing over your ribs. “What if… I did this as well?”

And then his hands were reaching around to the clasp of your bra and deftly unhooking it. Which shocked you given his inexperience… you’d bet anything that he’d practiced somehow so he wouldn’t fumble when it mattered.

You reached down between your bodies and wrapped your hand around him. He sucked in a sharp gasp, jumping at the contact and your soft chuckle was echoed by two more behind you.

“Then I would do this and tell you that you have great instincts if you’ll just listen to them.” You started to slowly pump your hand up and down his length and he groaned. It was an almost tortured sound, as though you were both killing him and pleasuring him at the same time.

He slid the straps of your bra down your arms and you briefly let go of him to toss it to the floor. You sat up a little straighter as he took in the sight of you, sitting astride him in nothing but a garter belt and thigh-high stockings.

“You’re so beautiful, Angel…” he murmured, then leaned forward and pressed kisses to your breasts.

You lost patience then.

“Are you ready?” You asked him as you lined him up with your entrance, barely putting the tip in.

Your hands were trembling and your breathing was rapid and shaky.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one who asks you that?” He responded, but his voice cracked and you knew he was putting on bravado. He was every bit as desperate as you, his breaths ragged and harsh.

“Spence…” You whimpered, needing his permission to sink down on it. “Please.”

He didn’t respond, instead he gripped your hips firmly and tugged you down onto his cock until you were fully seated on it. You swore you could feel every ridge, every vein, and every little twitch it made.

“Fuck!” You moaned, loudly, earning snickers and snorts from the two voyeurs sitting on the couch behind you.

“Shit, sorry! Did I hurt you?” He panicked.

“That was definitely not a sound of pain, Reid.” Hotch murmured.

Spencer looked at you closely anyway, unsure if you were alright.

“You told me to follow my instincts so I–”

You kissed him, to shut him up and stop his doubts from running away with his head. Then you started to ride him slowly. He groaned against your lips and you smiled. The feel of him—filling you up—was exquisite.

“Your instincts are perfect Spencer…” You praised him, letting your hands drift back into his hair. “That was hot.”

His beautiful eyes gazing up at you as you rode him made you feel a little dizzy, he was so fucking pretty. He was gripping your hips tightly and every time you brought them back down he whimpered. The sounds he was making were driving you insane.

“Tilt your hips forward a bit more, sweetheart.” Hotch instructed you, his voice low and raspy. “It’ll help you take him deeper, and feel twice as good for him.”

He was right, and you did know that already, but it was so fucking sexy when he started giving orders.

“And for her.” Prentiss added, you could hear the salacious smile in her tone.

“Like this?” You asked in a faux bashful tone, as if you didn’t know how to do it. Then you did it perfectly, so that you and Reid both groaned, and your ass popped back enticingly for Hotch and Emily.

They both groaned softly and you smiled, winking at Spencer. Letting him in on your antics. He smiled back at you, as amused as he could be—given the circumstances.

“What about this? Do you think this would make him feel good?” You asked, rolling and circling your hips seductively as you rode him.

Spencer hissed out a breath, his eyes rolling back briefly.

“I can confirm that it does in fact feel amazing.” He groaned, you giggled and threw a flirty glance back over your shoulder at the others. Then leaned forward and sucked Spencer’s bottom lip into your mouth, biting it. He slid his hands down to your thighs squeezing tightly, then over your thighs where he looped his fingers into your stockings and peeled them down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Then traced his fingers back up your calves and thighs, back to your hips and you noticed he was avoiding your ass… So did Prentiss.

You felt the heat of her body behind you before you heard her voice, and pulled back to look up at her.

“Don’t be shy Reid…” She purred, her hands landing on his, dragging them back till they rested fully on your ass. “Get a good handful… or two.” She made him squeeze you firmly. You moaned and Emily chuckled. “See… She loves that, don’t you babe?”

“Yes!” You moaned wantonly, and caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of your eye. Hotch had moved closer and was perched on the edge of the table next to the seat you and Spencer were in. He was watching with a ravenous hunger in his eyes.

“Put her nipple in your mouth, Reid.” He said after a moment. “Suck on it while circling your tongue around it.”

Emily hummed her approval, they were giving Spencer a veritable textbook for How To Make You Come 101. Spencer listened, of course. He’d just watched Hotch and Emily tag team you into an orgasm, their words were as good as gold.

When his lips closed around your nipple you hissed and whimpered a little, picking up your pace as you bounced up and down on his cock. Hotch chuckled in lust filled amusement, reaching over and stroking your ribs with the back of his hand.

“She makes such beautiful little sounds.” He mused to Emily, who nodded and then grabbed a handful of your hair.

She used it to tip your head back then kissed you thoroughly, her tongue caressing yours and you could still taste your pussy on her lips. You moaned and ground yourself down against Spencer, his cock reaching all the way to your cervix, you felt as though you could feel him in your stomach.

Hotch’s fingers were tracing your ribs, or maybe that was Spencer? No, his hands were still on your ass so it had to be Hotch or Emily. Someone was trailing a hand down your stomach to where your body joined with Spencer’s, this hand was larger and callused while the other was soft and smaller. So Emily was tracing your ribs, while Hotch…

Hotch was on a collision course with your clit. You knew when he made impact, you’d see stars.

Spencer switched nipples, still kneading your ass with firmness and your muscles were starting to ache from pulling yourself up and down his cock at this pace. Emily was still lighting you up with her kiss, her fingers traveling down the line of your rib to the breast that Reid had started with. Hotch’s fingers were getting closer and closer, but they were moving so slowly you knew he was trying to drive you wild with anticipation.

It was working.

Your chest was heaving, you were trembling and your legs were aching deliciously from exertion. Spencer’s cock was hitting you perfectly every time you sank down on it. All the sensations combined were almost too much for your sanity. You were so close, again.

“Look at you, falling apart at the seams… you’re so close aren’t you sweetheart?” Hotch murmured, his voice a lot closer than it had last been. What was he, a mind reader? His nose skimmed your neck up to your ear, which he then bit gently. You moaned into Emily’s mouth, a pitiful little whimper, and you felt her smile softly against your lips. “Does Reid’s cock feel so good? Filling you up like that. Stretching you out. I wonder, can you still taste yourself on Emily’s lips? Do you know how good you taste, pretty girl?”

Fuck, was he trying to kill you?

It was like his voice had gained a solid form and had wrapped itself around your throat, cutting off your oxygen and leaving you completely breathless. Your senses were overwhelmed, in a state of near euphoria, and you knew that once Hotch’s fingers reached their destination—and they would in the next three seconds—that the barest graze of them was going to make you explode.

He stopped just short of his target. You whined against Emily’s lips and he laughed at you softly.

“I think she ought to earn this one… What do you think, Prentiss? Should we make her beg?” Hotch asked the other woman, he didn’t ask Reid because the poor man was barely holding it together and all of his focus was split between the nipple he was currently stimulating and not coming inside you without consent.

Emily—reluctantly—pulled her tongue out of your mouth and smirked down at you.

“Hmm, she was being a little bit of a tease a minute ago wasn’t she?” She made a show of looking very contemplative, all the while she continued toying with your other nipple. “Reid?”

She brought Spencer into the conversation—or she tried to.

“Busy.” He murmured against the skin of your breast as he continued his work there, he would not be distracted. You glanced down and saw that he had started marking your skin with hickeys.

You moaned at the sight and let your head fall back.

“You want me to beg, and I’ll beg. Just please don’t make him stop.” Your voice was heavy, rough and breathless. You were so incredibly close, your body was starting to shake, and you knew you’d come, whether they kept touching you or not.

They knew it too, but they also knew they could make it so much stronger… if you were good for them.

“It feels so good, huh, sweetheart?” Hotch asked, his tone slightly condescending. “If you ask nicely, we’ll give you what you need…”

His hand was still stalled on your lower abdomen less than an inch away from your clit. Emily was just barely teasing your nipple and while it seemed like Spencer was ignoring them, you knew he was giving you just enough to keep you on the edge. Sneaky.

However, you expected no less from him. He was a fast and visual learner, he had been watching closely when Hotch and Emily had been playing you like a fiddle. He could have had you screaming all on his own if he’d wanted to—you had no doubt about that— he’d just needed the confidence to get started.

Hotch and Emily had helped with that.

“I’ll be such a good girl if you let me come, Hotch, please…” You gave him the sexiest pout you could muster. His eyes seemed to darken—his hazel irises almost completely drowned out by his pupils—as they zoned in on your lips. “I’ll mind my manners and be so polite, I promise. Pretty please, make me come.”

Hotch was listening, and he had intended to make you beg more than this, but your lipstick smudged lips were just so alluring that he couldn’t focus on anything else at that moment. Remembering what they’d looked like wrapped around his cock several minutes earlier, he found his will rapidly dissolving, and all he really wanted was to watch the way those lips formed a perfect O when you came.

“I knew you’d sound so sweet begging…” He murmured, and his hand started to move again “Let us hear you, pretty girl. Loud and clear.”

“Yes sir.” You murmured confidently.

Emily chuckled and started sucking on your neck, you moaned… Then Hotch’s fingers—finally—found your clit.

You screamed.

Your vision went fuzzy and then white. Your head was buzzing and your body was nearly numb. You went limp and Spencer took over, fucking you through your orgasm, prolonging it. Emily’s hand had begun rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Good girl…” She cooed. “You look so pretty when you come.”

“Yes she does.” Hotch murmured, reaching over to where your head was resting on Spencer’s shoulder and brushing your hair away from your face. “So fucking pretty.”

You whimpered softly at the touch and he smiled tenderly at you. Your chest was heaving with hard-fought, ragged breaths. You were shaking, but your vision was slowly returning to normal.

“Are you alright?” Spencer whispered gently in your ear. His hands on your waist now, thumbs rubbing circles on your hips. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fucking fantastic, Spence…” You murmured in return, shifting your weight slightly to sit up and kiss him. He squeezed your hips tightly.

“Please don’t move.” He hissed, pleadingly. “I can’t… I’m gonna… If you don’t get off it, I’m going to come inside you. I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”

You froze, your lips just a centimeter from his.

“It’s okay… Don’t panic… They make pills for that, and I intend to take one anyway… I’m a little stuck at the moment though, my knees are too weak to get up.” You met his eyes, the panic in them was astounding. “Hotch, could you–”

The man's arms were already coming around your waist and he lifted you off of Spencer effortlessly, as the younger man bit his lip and hissed as if pained. Setting you on your feet softly, Hotch held you to his chest to keep you from falling to the floor.

“Didn’t you say you’d mind your manners and be polite if we let you come?” He asked, a hint of mischief in his voice.

You looked up at him, searching his eyes for a hint, a clue, anything to tell you what he was up to.

“Mm hmm…” You hummed in response, nodding at him.

“You made a mess Sweetheart…” He told you quietly, then took your chin in his hand and turned your face down to look at Spencer… Who was, in fact, a whimpering mess. “Clean it up.”

You licked your lips and smiled salaciously.

“Yes sir.” You murmured softly and got down on your knees at Spencer’s feet.

Reaching out and taking Spencer’s cock in your hand, you gave him a firm stroke. He moaned and his head fell back against the seat. So he didn’t see you coming when you lowered your head and took him in your mouth, all the way to the base.

“Oh fuck!” He yelped, you hummed in approval at his reaction, then you pulled back so that a manageable length was in your mouth. You put one hand on his thigh to brace yourself and create a little leverage, the other you wrapped around the rest of him. Slowly, you started to bob up and down, moving your hand in time with your head. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Spencer’s hands gripping the arms of the chair, his knuckles were white. That only spurred you on.

The taste of yourself on his cock was tantalizing, the tang of you mingling with the musk of him was something you never thought you would experience. This whole situation was something you never thought you’d experience. You’d considered it of course—more times than you could count— but it was only a fantasy, a daydream. Never had you once thought it might actually happen.

“She’s doing so well… don’t you think Hotch?” Emily’s voice purred on your right.

“Hmmm, I don’t know… she’s capable of more…” He hummed in response from the left, and a hand—that based on the size could only be his—palmed the curve of your ass. He gave it a squeeze and a playful smack and you moaned around Spence's cock. Spencer twitched in response.

“You think she can take more?” Emily asked him, her tone was nothing short of sinful and it made you shiver. Hotch’s following chuckle, however, went straight to your pussy, making you squeeze your thighs together. Suddenly, you were completely desperate again..

“I know she can.” He answered, with a confidence that made your toes curl. His voice tended to do that to you, but when he put that cocky, self assured, arrogant rasp behind it… Goddamn. It was the voice he used when he knew he had the upper hand, when he had an unsub completely caught up in a lie, a trap of their own making. The voice that made your knees weak and your thighs tighten. It went straight to your pussy every time, making it clench around nothing. “Why don’t you help her along?”

“I’d love to.” She purred.

Then Emily’s hand was in your hair, resting firmly on the back of your head.

“You heard him, Gorgeous…” she lilted provocatively as her hand grew heavier on your head, slowly pushing you down the lengthy expanse of Spencer’s cock, until your nose was touching the neat patch of hair at his base.

“Fuck, Angel…” Spencer groaned, his voice husky and strained. “I’m so close…”

You gave him a muffled little hum of approval and that was all he needed to fall over the edge. Spilling down your throat as he moaned loudly, his hands joined Emily’s in your hair and he held you there firmly until he was finished.

You swallowed as much as you could and then—when they released your head—you sucked and licked him clean.

“Thank you, Angel. That was… incredible.” Spencer murmured, reaching up to stroke your cheek tenderly with the back of his forefinger. You leaned into the touch and then gave him a sensuous smile as you climbed back up into his lap. You brought your lips to his before he could say another word and kissed him deeply, letting him taste the mixture of all the flavors that had accumulated on your tongue. It was by far the sweetest thing you’d ever tasted. He moaned into your mouth and you pulled back to smile at him.

“You are very. Very. Welcome.” You purred, punctuating each very with a gentle kiss and biting his bottom lip after welcome. “It was my pleasure…”

Hotch and Emily chuckled softly at your antics and you noticed that Em sounded a bit shaky. Then you realized she was the only one who hadn’t come at least once… you’d have to remedy that.

Hotch—astute as ever—immediately noticed when your eyes locked onto Emily’s form. He chuckled again, looking between you and her, then stood and helped her to her feet as well, guiding her to the space between you and the couch you both had started this whole thing on.

“You want Prentiss again, sweetheart?” He asked, his smirk letting you know he knew exactly what was on your mind. You simply nodded your head, never taking your eyes off her. “Hmm… What do you think, Emily? Has she earned the right to touch you yet?”

She smirked down at you, trying to maintain her slightly condescending attitude… but you could read her like a book, and she was so turned on she was struggling to breathe regularly. You smirked back at her and she raised a brow at you.

“I don’t know, she seems a little too cocky about it to me.” She answered him, only prolonging her own discomfort.

“Am I?” You murmured, giving her a teasing smile. “Take it from the boys, Em. I could rock your world…”

She laughed softly.

“I bet you could, but I wanna hear you beg for it…” She purred, grinning at you. “Tell me how much you want it.”

You started to get up and reach for her, to show her how much you wanted her… but she stepped back, bumping into Hotch’s chest. He steadied her without hesitation, his hands stayed planted firmly on her hips and to your surprise, Spencer gripped your own hips. Tugging you back down into his lap so that you now faced the others, he held you in place.

“She said tell her, Angel…” Spencer murmured, his breath tickling your ear. You were shocked at his sudden burst of dominance. Your eyes widened slightly and your lips parted in surprise.

Hotch chuckled and you studied the three of them carefully… they were all smiling at you, their eyes holding the same teasing light. It was as though they were waiting for you to notice something. You just didn’t know what.

“You don’t get to touch her yet, sweetheart… not until she gives you permission.” Hotch murmured teasingly. “You can look though…”

Then his hands slid around her waist to the front of her pants, and he began to unbuckle her belt.

“Oh fuck…” you whispered on a breathy sigh. This would be the death of you, you were sure. Your head tipped back as you looked to the ceiling, as though praying for patience or guidance—or perhaps salvation because you felt certifiably damned—but Spencer had other ideas.

“Don’t look away.” He instructed you, his voice low and commanding as he gripped your chin and made you look back at them. You’d never heard him speak with so much authority, and yet somehow it was still so soft that it was barely audible. “They’re doing this for you…”

Hotch continued his mission to rid Emily of her slacks by unbuttoning and then unzipping them. Then he slipped them down her legs and held her hand to steady her as she stepped out of them. She kept her heels on, now standing before you in just her button down blouse and undershirt.

Your brain was short circuiting.

“Please, Em… I need to touch you.” You murmured softly and she smirked at you, scarlet lips tipping up to one side.

“Not yet…” She taunted.

Hotch reached around her again and started to unbutton her blouse, his pace was agonizing. You noticed that he was careful not to touch her body at all, now that she was only half clothed, and his eyes were locked on you… not her.

They really were doing this just for you.

How they knew you’d find it hot to watch him undress her, you didn’t know, but it was working. They didn’t seem uncomfortable, no… they were enjoying themselves as they teased you mercilessly.

When he slid the blouse down her shoulders and it fell to the floor, you felt as though you couldn’t breathe. She was wearing that one red tank top that always made you drool.

“Emily…” you nearly whimpered. “Please…”

She looked smug as she shook her head, reveling in the shakiness of your voice. She knew what that tank top did to you…

“Do you want to see him take it off me?” She asked, sweet as sugar… in a saccharine kind of way.

“I’d rather do it myself…” you implored, giving her a pouty look.

Her breath hitched and you knew… you were going to win this one.

“But if I’m being totally honest… I have this… fantasy… of you, in this exact outfit. I want you just like this, you’ve always looked so sexy in red, Em.” You purred, and you can tell you’ve surprised her for once. She was speechless for a moment and Hotch smirked at you, his eyes showing his amusement at this little standoff between you and Emily. “You know you want me Emily… just give in.”

You licked your bottom lip subtly, then bit it, trying to tempt her by looking up at her as innocent as a lamb. She had spotted your ploy a mile away, seen it coming from the moment you said she looked sexy in red.

It still worked.

“I will.” She drawled sensually, her eyes tracing your body. “If you get on your hands and knees and crawl to me.”

She stepped away from Hotch and sat on the couch with her legs spread wide, revealing red lace panties that matched her red tank top.

“Fuck…” you breathed. “You win… you win Em… just… God, let me touch you… please.” You pleaded. “I fucking need you.”

“Crawl to me, Gorgeous.” She finally conceded, smiling at you triumphantly.

And you let her think she had the upper hand, as you slipped out of Spencer’s lap and to the floor, but you knew once you got your hands on her—your mouth on her—she’d be putty in them.

Hotch moved to Spencer’s side and leaned against the wall—to watch the show of course—and nodded at you encouragingly.

You took your time, crawling seductively across the cabin to her, using every inch of the space to taunt her. She devoured you with her eyes and when you got to her feet, picked her right one up and propped it on your shoulder. You planted soft kisses on the inside of her ankle, never breaking eye contact.

“I have dreams that start out just like this…” you murmured to her.

“So do I.” She admitted, her voice breathless and shaky.

“Mmm…” you hummed softly, then purred, “Then what happens?”

She laughed softly, trying to seem unaffected again, but it was much too late for that. You knew exactly what you were doing to her.

“What’s the matter, Em?” You teased, beginning to kiss your way up the inside of her leg. “Cat got your tongue?” She seemed to lose all semblance of composure and you giggled softly against her soft skin. “Don’t worry… I can figure it out. I’m very creative.”

The roles had been reversed, and you’d never felt more in control than in that moment, kneeling between her legs. You slid your hands up her thighs and around her hips, gripping her ass firmly and then pulled her to the edge of the couch in one smooth motion.

For better access of course.

She yelped in surprise and you chuckled against her skin, never checking up as you continued kissing your way up her leg. You’d made it to her inner thigh and she was trembling. You looked up at her from under your lashes and smirked.

“I like it when you’re vocal.” You teased her, repeating her words back to her and earning a soft laugh from Hotch in return.

Emily started to say something but you flatten your tongue against her pussy—through her panties—and she moaned instead.

You hummed at the sound, reveling in it and lapped at her clit enthusiastically. Not bothering to tease her at all, just diving right in—to shut her up and wipe the smug smile off her gorgeous lips—and showing her exactly how creative you could be with your tongue.

But that didn’t satisfy your hunger for her at all, no… you needed to taste her, without the lace that was currently barring you from doing it.

You gently moved her panties to the side and took in the sight of her, bare and wet—absolutely soaked—all for you.

“Oh Emily…” You purred. “You’re dripping for me… and such a pretty pussy too. I wonder if it tastes as delicious as it looks?”

You were dying for her to regain a little sentience.

Docile, desperately horny Em was cute… but you wanted her sassy, confident self to come back out to play. You puffed a hot, teasing breath over the supple skin of her pussy and slowly, so slowly, licked her from her slit all the way to her clit. You stopped just short of it though, teasing her entrance with your tongue instead.

“Stop teasing me before I change my mind.” She growled impatiently, her hand tangling in your hair and tipping your head back to make eye contact.

You smirked up at her, a bit defiantly, and said softly, “Ask me nicely…”

Her eyes narrowed slightly and her head tilted to the side just a fraction as she stared you down, she seemed to be contemplating her options here. She could either let you get away with that and actually say please, or she could do whatever just crossed her mind and made those beautiful onyx eyes flicker with heat.

“Please, stop teasing me.” She murmured softly, leaning down so that her lips brushed your cheek as she moved to whisper in your ear. “Or I will take care of this pretty pussy all by myself, and make you watch from Spencer’s lap.”

You chuckled, biting your bottom lip as you turned your head to look at her.

“Mmm, I love it when you’re bossy.” You murmured, your nose less than an inch from hers now.

“Do you?” She purred, leaning closer so her lips are hovering just over yours, sharing your every breath. You nodded, yes, and she grinned salaciously at you, moving closer so she could bite your bottom lip herself. “Then stop talking, and do something useful with that silver tongue instead.”

You felt your cheeks heat, whether it was embarrassment or arousal—or a mix of both—you weren’t certain. But you loved the way it felt.

“Yes ma’am.” You purred, your voice dripping with pure seduction.

You felt her hand vacate your hair and didn’t waste time. Leaning forward, you licked her cunt from bottom to top in one smooth motion. Your tongue—finally—delving in to taste her, before you buried yourself between her thighs and ate her pussy like you were starving. She was delectable. Her arousal like honey on your tongue, and she just kept getting wetter.

The more you explored and experimented with her, the more you learned.

For instance, if you suctioned your lips tightly around her clit and rolled your tongue in circles around it, she couldn’t help but squirm as she let out soft little moans. If you added two fingers, curling just slightly upwards, and used them to massage that spot—just past the ridge of her pubic bone—she bucked against you wildly. So you gripped her by her thighs and hoisted them up onto your shoulders, forcing her to lean back on the couch and spread herself wider for you. The new angle gave you more leverage with your fingers and allowed you to apply firmer pressure with your tongue.

She was putty in your hands, just as you knew she would be. Her ragged breaths and quiet whimpers were growing more and more desperate, her hands grappling for purchase on any part of you she could reach. You were unsurprised when they found your hair, threading into it and taking two fistfuls that had your scalp stinging delightfully. You moaned against her and then felt her walls start to flutter around your fingers.

“Don’t stop, don’t change anything, I’m so close!” She panted, her voice raw with desire.

You suppressed the urge to grin, needing to maintain the seal of your lips around her clit, the pressure of your tongue… but you couldn’t help feeling a little smug. Especially as she clamped down hard on your fingers, her thighs quivering and trying to close around your head. Her entire body went taunt, her back arching and her head falling back against the couch as she cried out, “Oh God!”

Only when her body fully relaxed and her grip loosened in your hair, did you allow yourself to smirk against her pussy and look up at her from under your lashes. She didn’t notice—too busy recovering from the mind blowing head you’d just given her—Hotch, however, did.

“Look at you, being all smug.” His voice ran up your spine like molten lava. You didn’t dare peek over at him, choosing instead to pepper Emily’s fevered skin with soft, barely there kisses. First over her inner thighs, then her lower stomach where her tank had ridden up nearly to her breasts. “Are you proud of yourself, Pretty Girl?”

Hotch’s hand perched softly at the nape of your neck, he squeezed gently but firmly. His hand slid down your back slowly, his finger slipping into your garter belt—the only item of clothing left on you—and snapping the elastic against your spine. You moaned softly at the sting and he chuckled softly. He began to guide the belt down your hips, over your ass and thighs, to your knees. Tapping each in silent command. You complied, lifting them one at a time so he could—finally—strip you completely bare. “Such a good girl…”

His murmured praise had you aching again as you continued your worshipful path of kisses up the plain of Emily’s belly. Not stopping when you reached her tank, instead starting to lift it over her head with her willing assistance. You tossed it to the floor and pushed her gently to her back, so that she was lying along the length of the couch. Climbing to settle between her legs again, you began to kiss her chest. Propping yourself up with one hand, you used the other to free her breasts from the cups of her bra, which—conveniently— clipped in the front. She moaned softly as your lips closed around one nipple and your free hand toyed with the other.

Warm breath on your pussy made it clench around nothing. Which made you keenly aware of the fact that you’d left your ass high in the air—and completely exposed. Strong hands gripped it firmly and tilted it up even further, positioning you exactly how their owner desired. “Stay just like this Sweetheart. I want to taste you while you take care of Emily.”

You moaned wantonly at Hotch’s order, spreading your legs a bit more for him. He smacked your ass, just hard enough to make a point. “I said stay still.”

“Yes sir.” You murmured seductively around Emily’s breast and he soothed the sting with a gentle kiss to the spot, just before he buried his face in your pussy. Groaning as he tasted you first hand, he gripped your ass with bruising strength and made you whine. “Fuck…”

He chuckled quietly to himself, his hand traveling down your ass and in between your legs. It wasted no time in finding its target. Your clit. He circled it so lightly, as though he thought it was delicate enough that any firmer touch would damage it.

The effect was maddening.

Emily’s hands found your breasts, toying with your nipples and bringing your attention partially back to her. You trailed your free hand down her stomach, finding her clit again with ease and began to move your finger over it ever so lightly. She whined quietly, and pressed up into your hand with her hips in a wordless request for more pressure.

“You need more, Em?” You asked softly, teasingly, as you kissed your way across her chest, up her neck, nipping her ear and finally hovered over her lips. “Hmm? Do you wanna taste yourself on my lips?”

“Shut up and kiss me.” She demanded, her hand wrapping around the back of your neck and tangling into your hair as she tugged you down to her lips.

The kiss was rough, frantic and heated. Emily was still grinding up into your hand—desperate for friction—so you had mercy and increased the pressure and speed of your hand.

Hotch’s tongue was still leisurely fucking into your pussy as his finger work your clit with precision. He kept making these self satisfied little groans in the back of his throat that were driving you crazy.

And then two more hands were touching you… Hotch’s hands were still on your ass and clit, Emily’s in your hair and toying with your breast…

But Spencer…

He’d been content to watch for a few minutes, but he couldn’t help himself any longer, he had to touch you.

He was tracing the lines of your ribs with one hand and your spine with the other, his touch light and inquisitive. You’d fantasized about him doing exactly this and you’d been right, it felt amazing. His hands on your skin anywhere would have been heavenly, but the way he was following each rib intentionally—reverently—reminded you of the way he traced each line when he was reading a book, the way his fingers skimmed over each vertebrae was making your back arch.

You pulled away from Emily to look up at him.

There was such adoration in his eyes as he studied the expanse of your skin. The hand at your ribs, going up to your shoulder blades and your collar bones. The one at your spine trailing down to the curve of your hip, over the rise of your ass and down the back of your thigh.

“Focus on Emily, Angel…” He murmured softly. “I just wanna touch you.”

You would do anything to have him keep touching you like that, so you redoubled your efforts on Emily. Sliding your fingers down from her clit to her cunt and slipping the middle two inside of her.

She moaned and you silenced it with a kiss, parting her lips with your tongue.

You rubbed her clit with your thumb while you worked her g-spot with the pads of your fingers and she started to squirm. She tried to close her legs but your knees were in the way and her thighs started to tremble.

“Give it to me, Emily…” You coaxed into her mouth, then bit her lip gently. “Let me have it, you can do it… come for me one more time…”

Her head fell back against the couch, so you dipped yours down and drew her nipple into your mouth, rolling it with your tongue. It was just enough to send her spiraling for the second time. A breathy cry falling from her lips as her pussy spasmed around your fingers.

All the stimulation—Hotch’s tongue and fingers, Emily’s cunt clenching around your fingers and her hands pulling your hair and squeezing your breast, and Spencer’s exploration of everywhere else—was nearly too much.

And then Hotch slipped two fingers inside of you… much thicker than Emily’s slender ones, and when he added a third… It was thicker that Spencer’s cock had been. Not as long, but with what he was doing… length didn’t matter.

You came hard. Your pussy clamping down on Hotch’s fingers so tightly you thought you could feel each knuckle and every callus. Your brain went completely offline and your thighs shook violently as your release ran down them.

Your knees gave out, and you collapsed against Emily with a moan. Your vision blurred as tears filled your eyes. You laid there unable to move for several moments. Emily wasn’t moving either–except for her chest, which was heaving as she panted for air—so you were in no hurry to go anywhere. You gently slipped your fingers out of her and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.

“Holy–” She gasped.

“--fuck!” You finished for her on a hard fought breath.

Spencer snickered softly as he stepped back to observe the mess of limbs the two of you were tangled up in.

Hotch chose that moment to pull his fingers out of you—making you flinch and whine—and then he moved to lean against the table adjacent to the couch to watch you and Emily untangle yourselves.

“You good, gorgeous?” Emily murmured after a moment, her hand running through your hair affectionately.

You nuzzled into her neck, nipping at her throat playfully.

“I’m great, Em.” You purred, twirling her hair around your finger and then giggled, “Why? You wanna go again?”

“Do you?” Hotch’s voice pulled your attention from the way the overhead light caught in Emily’s hair.

You looked up at him, and found him staring down at you with heated eyes…

And a bulge in his pants.

You swallowed thickly, the amount of times you’d thought about fucking Aaron Hotchner…

Your mouth was suddenly dry and your tongue felt heavy and you didn’t think you’d be able to say anything if you tried.

So you nodded your head, yes.

“Come here.” He murmured, his voice low and rough.

You gently untangled yourself from Emily—dropping one more kiss to her lips as you went—and she propped herself up on her elbows to watch you go.

The three steps it took for you to reach him were the longest three steps of your life. When you came to stop in front of him he wasted no time.

He held the back of your neck and drew you in, gently but firmly, then kissed you.

You could feel the tension in the plain of his chest, the barely restrained strength of his grip, and the quiet urgency with which he kissed your lips.

He was desperate… but he didn’t want to be rough with you…

Which would have been sweet…

If that wasn’t exactly what you wanted.

You bit his lip, tugging it between your teeth and then licking into his mouth like you needed to taste him as much as you needed oxygen. Then you slipped your hand down and gave his cock a firm squeeze through his slacks.

He groaned and pulled you back to look at you, his eyes searching yours.

“Fuck me, like you own me.” You murmured, with much more confidence than you felt.

You saw in his eyes the exact moment his restraint snapped. It was like his whole demeanor did an about face.

The soft spoken, gentle—though slightly condescending and bossy—man that had been treating you with such tenderness and care…

He was gone.

You barely registered the movement, one moment you were standing up, asking him to fuck you…

And the next…

You were bent over the table he’d just been leaning on.

The sound of his zipper coming down made you clench around emptiness and then his hand was firmly planted in the center of your back. Holding you down on the table with an easy strength.

You felt the hard warmth of his cock at your entrance as he lined himself up, but he paused.

“You asked me to fuck you like I own you… are you sure you want that?” He asked again for consent. “I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.” You said clearly, with a surety in your tone that he could not mistake for anything but affirmation. “I just want you to fuck me.”

He didn’t answer you verbally.

Just slid his cock inside you, all the way to the base.

You cried out—hands clutching the edges of the table—-at the shock of it. You’d thought—surely—after coming three times, that you would be good and ready for him.

But he was… thick.

You couldn’t breathe, your lungs had ceased to function the moment he slid home.

Thicker than Spencer had been by a bit—though not as long—and you’d known that since you’d had both of them in your mouth. The way he was stretching you out though, it burned, it was a good burn… but you needed a moment to adjust.

He seemed to know that instinctually, and while he said he wouldn’t be gentle, he wasn’t going to hurt you purposefully either.

So as he bottomed out inside you he gave you a moment to sit with it.

“Breathe.” His voice was commanding, but strained.

You took a deep breath and he felt his hand on your back rise as your chest filled with air.

The burning eased, and you relaxed against the table.

“Good girl…” He murmured and then he started to move.

The stretch was amazing, the way he filled you up had your back arching and your hands white knuckling the table. Then he started to pick up the pace, his thrusts long and deep. Pulling almost completely out of you and then going so deep you saw spots.

You pushed back into him, trying to take him deeper—if that was even possible—urging him to go faster, harder. You wanted to feel him in your diaphragm—you knew that wasn’t possible, but you didn’t particularly care—wanted him slamming into you. Over and over and over…

He grabbed your wrists, pulling them behind your back and holding them in one hand while the other went back to your waist, with a bruising grip. Taking away every bit of leverage you had and giving himself total control of your body.

Then he pounded into you, hard and fast until your hips were bashing up against the table.

You didn’t even notice, because his cock was hitting you so perfectly with every sharp thrust.

“Hotch!” You keened his name, the loudest sound you’d made all night.

“Mmm keep talking to me, pretty girl, I love the way your voice sounds screaming my name.” His own voice sounded different from anything you’d ever heard from him. It was carnal and lust filled, and it had you clenching around him. “Fuck, if you keep squeezing me like that this isn’t gonna last very long, sweetheart.”

You could only moan in response.

There were hands in your hair, gathering it out of your face.

You hadn’t realized you’d closed your eyes, but when you opened them, Emily and Spencer were sitting side by side at the table you were bent over.

“She’s too quiet…” Emily purred, a truly wicked gleam in her eyes. “I don’t think you’re fucking her hard enough.”

Hotch chuckled, the sound ran up your spine and down your limbs until your whole body tingled.

“You think she can take it?” He asked her in return.

But it was Spencer who leaned down, his lips skimming your cheek as he murmured, “You can take it, can’t you Angel?”

“God yes!” You panted, trying to look back at Hotch, though it was nearly impossible to move at all with the way he was pinning you to the table. “I can take it!”

He pushed you back down flat on the table.

“You want it harder, Pretty Girl?” He asked and there was something in his tone… something lethal.

“Yes! Please!” You sobbed.

“Tell me how bad you want it, make it pretty for me sweetheart… I wanna hear you beg.” His grip on your waist got impossibly tighter.

“I don’t want it, I need it! It feels so good, Hotch, please! I’ll be so good! I’ll lie here and take it like a good girl! Just fuck me harder, please!” You pleaded, your voice cracking as he continued to fuck into you. “I need to feel you deeper!”

He groaned, letting go of your arms and taking ahold of your hair instead.

“God, I love to hear you beg…” He growled, pulling your head back so he could lean forward and whisper in your ear. “Hold on to the table, pretty girl. You’re gonna need it.”

You gripped the sides of the table as hard as you could, bracing yourself against it.

He railed into you so hard you couldn’t remember your own name, your hips slamming into the table. His balls were slapping your clit loud enough to be heard over the sound of your cries, which were spilling from your lips with every thrust.

They were unintelligible.

Not even you knew what you were saying, but it was clear what you meant.

Don’t. Fucking. Stop.

“Fuck, she looks so beautiful like this…” Emily groaned to Spencer. “Look at her.”

“I see her… she’s fucking perfect.” Spencer replied. “Watch, she’s getting close… she makes that face every time, right before she comes.”

You were, you were so wrapped up in the moment you hadn’t even felt it creeping up on you until he brought it to your attention.

“I can feel her pussy fluttering… fuck, she’s getting tighter.” Hotch sounded nearly pained. “Come on, sweetheart, let me have it. I wanna feel you come on my cock.”

Emily reached under the table and pressed on your clit.

Your vision went white, a dull roar—like the ocean—filled your ears, your knees buckled and only the table and Hotch’s grip kept you from hitting the floor.

Your throat burned, and you knew you must’ve screamed, but you couldn’t hear a thing.

Both his hands were on your hips now, squeezing like his life depended on, anchoring you firmly to himself.

And it was a good thing too, because you thought that otherwise you might’ve floated away.

Your body was numb, gravity meant nothing to you, neither did time, or space.

Just his hands on your hips and his cock still slamming into your pussy as he fucked you through it.

Your hearing was the first sense to return to you, and you thanked the universe and every deity you knew of—just to cover all your bases—that it did.

Because the sound of Aaron Hotchner coming was something you wanted branded into your memory.

“Fuck! Such a good girl, just like that baby!” He moaned, “You feel like heaven pretty girl! I’m- God- I’m about to come—“

He pulled out of you so abruptly that you whined at the loss.

But then there were warm, wet ropes landing on your back.

You moaned, you wished you could see it, though feeling it was something you’d never forget.

“Fuck.” Hotch panted, then patted your ass gently. “You did so good for me sweetheart. That was…”

You couldn’t seem to speak yet, and your vision was still fuzzy. Your limbs weren’t yet back under your control either. So you just laid there, panting.

“Angel, are you okay?” You heard Spencer’s sweet voice murmur, you could feel his lips near your ear.

And Emily’s hand in your hair, nails brushing against your scalp soothingly.

Hotch was stroking your thigh tenderly.

Then the strangest thing happened… you started to giggle… you couldn’t help it… nothing was funny.

You were just… happy?

Overwhelmed?

Incandescent?

“Is she laughing?” Hotch asked, confusion evident in his tone.

“It would seem so…” Spencer murmured. “I think—you might have broken her.”

“No…” Emily murmured, stroking your cheek, wiping away an errant tear. “She just needs a minute, she’s euphoric.”

There! That was the word you’d been looking for! Thank you Emily, you beautiful, sexy, sapphic goddess!

“I’m gonna get something to clean her up,” you heard Hotch murmur, “I’ll be right back.”

His footsteps retreated toward the bathroom.

You felt so heavy…

You just wanted to close your eyes and go to sleep.

A warm cloth touched your back, stroking up and down, cleaning up after Hotch’s release.

Voices were murmuring quietly around you, and then you felt someone—probably Hotch—lift you from the table.

You barely got your eyes open, just enough to look around.

Spencer was gathering all your clothes, you were resting on Hotch’s lap, Emily was digging in your go-bag—she pulled from it a pair of sweats and a t-shirt—then she brought them over and started dressing you.

You didn’t know at what point she had put her clothes back on… just that she was dressed.

Spencer put your discarded clothes into your go-bag and then he came back over to sit next to Hotch on the couch. He helped Emily get your arms—which were too heavy to move still—into the sleeves of your shirt.

When they had finished dressing you, Emily sat on Hotch’s other side. He gently lowered your head to her lap, and Spencer pulled your legs up into his.

“Are you sure she’s alright?” Spencer asked quietly.

“Mm hmm…” Emily hummed, stroking your hair tenderly. “She’s just exhausted… four times… is a lot.”

Hotch took your hand in his and kissed the back of it.

That was the last thing you felt before you fell asleep.

*Four Days Later*

You’d thought that it would be awkward…

Coming back to work after fucking three of your coworkers—one of whom is your boss—at the same time.

But it wasn’t.

It was exciting.

The four of you were all smiles when you looked at each other, secret smiles that no one else was aware of, and knowing glances had been passed back and forth all morning.

Hotch had accidentally brushed across your hips with the back of his hand when he’d passed you in the bullpen.

There was a bruise there from the table where he’d fucked you, and he knew it. He was reminding you on purpose.

Spencer had been glancing at your lips all morning, a soft pink flush coloring his cheeks each time. Likely remember how he’d come down your throat.

Now, at the round table, Emily squeezed your thigh once under the table. There was a bite mark there that hadn’t yet faded. One that she’d given you.

All their attention was making you feel a bit overheated, so you pulled your French pin from the pocket of your slacks and pinned your hair into a twist.

You noticed, after you’d done so, that Hotch was giving you a very smug look. You felt like there was something else behind it, other than the obvious, but you couldn’t figure out what.

Everyone was distracted, just waiting on the last of the team—Derek and Garcia—to straggle into the room. They’d made it to the door, but Derek was on crutches so they were taking their time and everyone was fine with that.

But then Derek stopped—right behind you—and laughed.

“You uh— you got a little somethin’ somethin’ on the back of your neck, there Lil’ Mama…” He teased.

You reached up to touch your neck, confused, you looked up at him.

“What?” You asked.

“Looks like somebody had a little fun this weekend.” He joked. “That’s a pretty interesting place for a hickey…”

You paled, then blushed, immediately pulling the pin out of your hair and letting it fall down your back to cover the mark.

“Morgan.” Hotch said quietly—to hide the amusement in his tone—his eyes flicking to you briefly over the top of the file he’d been pretending to read. “Leave her alone.”

Derek threw his hands up in surrender and kept making his way to his seat.

One half of the room moved on, assuming that Hotch had just scolded Morgan out of a need for professionalism, and was choosing to cut you some slack over a mark you clearly hadn’t known existed.

But the other half knew better.

Rossi—who had returned from his book tour just the night before—stood to pull out Derek’s chair for him and took one elbow, while Penelope took the other.

While they helped him get settled, you threw Hotch a scathing look.

Because the only one who had left marks on your neck, had been him.

He was already smirking back at you, smug as shit.

Emily and Spencer were biting their lips to keep from laughing and they didn’t dare make eye contact with each other, or they were going to lose it.

You just stared a hole through the smirking Unit Chief, silently berating him for leaving a mark where you couldn’t see it.

And the bastard winked at you.

Then he cleared his throat and you let your expression go blank as the others all came to attention.

campusconfess

liked by your.username and others

campusconfess #24 🫣 How do you recover from this?

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username1 - This would make me want to die btw

username2 - Time to change names and move to a different country

username3 - This is like the more embarrassing version of calling a teacher mom

username4 - That’s actually so funny icl

username5 - If someone did this to me I’d just laugh

-♡

campusconfess

liked by alex_albon and others

campusconfess I laughed, sorry

—

username6 - Admin, have you no shame?

username7 - WHAT

username8 - Icl I’d probably fall in love

username9 - I smell yet another love story unfolding

username10 - Hey, he held the door open. I’d say ily as well

alex_albon - Was he cute at least

georgerussell63 - Why do you want to know?

> alex_albon - I’m interested

> georgerussell63 - In a boyfriend?

-♡

campusconfess

liked by alex_albon and others

campusconfess Bold words

—

username11 - Anon you’re cooked

username12 - Ooo someone has a crush 🤭

username13 - This page is so huge and this is such a specific situation that atp there’s no way he hasn’t seen this

alex_albon - Lol true

username14 - Door holder guy, can you confirm or deny your feelings

username15 - He said ily. What more can he do?

> username16 - But did he MEAN it… 😔

-♡

Y/N’S MESSAGES ☆ BEST FRIEND

-♡

campusconfess

liked by alex_albon and others

campusconfess Fair points are being made. #23 thinks the door guy is suave

—

username17 - That’s actually true

username18 - And somehow he made it attractive and not corny?

username19 - Pls the whole internet is fawning over him

alex_albon - Yeah what a brave guy

username20 - I need him to reveal himself

-♡

campusconfess

liked by alex_albon and others

campusconfess Oh… 👁️ Hello door guy

—

username21 - LOL hello door guy

username22 - WAIT HE’S AMONG US

username23 - DOOR GUY GIVE US A RESPONSE

username24 - Any sign of life from our guy?

-♡

campusconfess

liked by your.username and others

campusconfess BETRAYAL! WE TRUSTED YOU

—

username25 - TOP TEN PLOT TWISTS??

username26 - SO YOU WERE HYPING YOURSELF UP??

username27 - Knowing this makes him even more cute ngl

> username28 - Right? Like he’s funny too

username29 - Cool now kiss already

username30 - I ACTUALLY CAN’T BELIEVE THIS

-♡

Y/N’S DMS ☆ ALEX ALBON

-♡

STORY REPLIES

→ bestfriend - IS THIS WHO I THINK IT IS

your.username - MAYBE…

→ alex_albon- Fuck you lookin gorgeous* for

alex_albon - Aw thanks

your.username - You’re so cringe

your.username - Love you

alex_albon - It’s I love you

your.username - Shut up

alex_albon - SO YOU CAN SAY IT WHEN WE FIRST MET BUT NOT NOW THAT WE’RE DATING

-♡

your.username

liked by alex_albon and others

your.username Could I beat Alex in a fight yes or yes

tagged alex_albon

—

bestfriend - Absolutely

♥︎ by author

bestfriend - You can and you should

♥︎ by author

bestfriend - I support Alex’s rights to shut the fuck up

♥︎ by author

alex_albon - 😕🥺

♥︎ by author

georgerussell63 - No

your.username - SOMEONE’S jealous I stole his boyfriend

> georgerussell63 - Jealous? of YOU? Never

alex_albon - No!!! Don’t hit me! Ily 🥺

♥︎ by author

your.username - Aww 🥺 Now catch these 👊 👊

-♡

campusconfess

liked by bestfriend and others

George corners you in the paddock. “Y/N, how would you like to come to Mercedes? We have biscuits.” You: serious toddler frown “Are they chocolate chip?” George: “Yes—” You: “Soft or crunchy?” George: “Uh—soft?” You: squints “Liar.” Lewis laughs so hard he nearly drops his smoothie.

🔵 Red Bull

Max just walks over, blunt as ever. “You work for me now.” Charles: “EXCUSE ME??” Y/N: tilts head, calculating like a mini computer “Depends. Do I get orange juice?” Max: “Yes.” Charles: “ABSOLUTELY NOT.” Checo: whispering to Max “She negotiates better than Helmut.”

🟡 McLaren

Lando shows up with a tablet. “Look, Y/N, we have coloring apps. Strategy apps. Even a simulator game.” Oscar: “We’ll even let you pick the tire compounds.” You: gasp “Do I get to tell you when to pit?” Lando: “Of course.” Charles storms in, scoops you up bridal-style. “My daughter is NOT doing your pit calls.”

🟢 Aston Martin

Fernando crouches down with a conspiratorial smile. “You know, I like winners. You could be the secret weapon of Aston Martin.” You: eyes lighting up “Do I get green crayons?” Fernando: “As many as you want.” Charles: “SHE HAS GREEN CRAYONS ALREADY.” Fernando: “But not Aston Martin Official Green™.”

⚫ Haas

Hülkenberg just asks straight up: “What’s your consultancy fee?” You: “One million.” Charles: “Y/N!” You: shrugs “Plus a juice box.” Nico: “…Honestly fair.”

🎥 The Chaos Escalates

By mid-season, the entire grid is running black-ops missions to steal you away from Ferrari’s garage.

Pierre tries to “babysit” you during media day, only for Charles to find you in full Alpine gear handing out race notes.

Carlos (uncle mode activated) literally carries you on his shoulders to keep you out of reach from rival teams.

Yuki teaches you how to yell “Box! Box!” dramatically into a walkie-talkie.

Logan offers you American candy if you join Williams. You take the candy. Still don’t join.

🏎️ Your Master Plan

Here’s the kicker: you’re only three, but you’re also a master strategist of chaos. You realize every team is desperate for your “insight,” so you start running your own little operation.

You draw “pit strategies” with crayons and sell them to the highest bidder.

You whisper conflicting strategies to different drivers just to watch the chaos.

You tell Max: “Push lap 14.” Then tell Lando: “Overtake Max lap 14.”

It works. Both listen. The overtake actually happens.

The FIA: deep sigh “We cannot regulate a toddler.”

🎥 Interviews

Carlos: “She’s the real team principal. Charles is just… there.” Lando: “She sold me a race plan for a packet of fruit snacks.” Oscar: “I still can’t believe she predicted the red flag at Silverstone.” Lewis: “She’s a genius. But she’s also three. She asked me if DRS stood for ‘Dinosaur Racing System’ yesterday.” Charles: holding his head “I am losing control of my own daughter.”

🏆 The Ultimate Heist

Singapore. The paddock goes dark.

The FIA thinks it’s just a power outage, but really? Every team is attempting the Ultimate Baby Heist™.

Mercedes distracts Charles by asking for a photo with a random fan.

Red Bull wheels in a suspiciously small “equipment box.”

McLaren bribes you with glow-in-the-dark stickers.

Aston Martin unleashes Fernando Alonso, who literally sprints with you under one arm.

Charles: chasing him down the paddock, screaming in Monegasque The cameras catch it. It trends worldwide.

🎥 The Twist

But here’s the thing: you were never actually stolen.

Because while the grid fought over you, you were quietly sitting in Ferrari’s hospitality, drawing up the exact chaos plan that unfolded.

Arthur finds you giggling, coloring with an orange crayon. Arthur: “Wait… did YOU plan this?” You: innocent smile “Maybe.”

Charles, breathless, hair messy, finally bursts in: “Y/N! Thank god, I—” You hand him a piece of paper.

On it is a crayon drawing: a Ferrari car crossing the finish line first. Underneath, scribbled in red crayon:

“Papa wins. Always.”

Charles melts on the spot.

📱 Fan Reactions After the Video Drops

@scuderiafan: not Ferrari having to protect a toddler like state secrets 💀 @chaoticgrid: FIA needs to ban Y/N from the paddock, she’s too powerful. @landoeditss: “one million and a juice box” IM CRYING. @maxnation: max being outsmarted by a 3yo is peak comedy. @monacochild: Y/N running Ferrari better than Ferrari.

🎬 Final Scene

You’re sitting on Charles’s shoulders as the grid reluctantly admits defeat. He’s holding you tight like he nearly lost you to Red Bull’s suspicious “equipment box.”

Carlos pats your head: “Strategy genius.” Lando mutters: “She’s terrifying.” Fernando smirks: “Call me when you want to win championships, pequeña.” Charles: hissing at everyone “Stay. Away. From. My. Daughter.”

You: innocent giggle “Papa win Monaco next year.” The grid: groans in collective fear Charles: smiles proudly “She said it, so it will happen.”

Fade to black

End.

Tall. Handsome. Bright smile. Black Japan Volleyball tracksuit.

Ran. Freaking. Takahashi.

You froze mid-step. Your water bottle almost slipped from your hand.

“Y/N, you dropped something,” Oscar said blandly, picking it up for you, like you weren’t having a complete heart attack.

Meanwhile, George leaned down and murmured, “Play it cool. Don’t faint in front of him. Optics, darling.”

“OPTICS?” you hissed, panicking. “THAT’S RAN TAKAHASHI—”

But then Ran looked up from the cameras, smiled directly at you, and waved.

And just like that, your brain went blue screen.

The First Encounter

The grid, of course, shoved you straight into Ran’s direction like you were a sacrificial lamb.

“Y/N!” Lewis called out, pretending it was casual. “Come meet our guest.”

Ran extended a hand. “Nice to see you again. Y/N, right?”

Your heart did an Olympic-level spike. “Uh—yeah—I—hi—”

He chuckled at your stutter, shaking your hand warmly. “I’ve heard a lot about you already.”

Your head snapped toward the drivers. Half of them suddenly found the ceiling fascinating. The other half were smirking like devils.

“…What exactly have you heard?” you asked cautiously.

Ran’s grin widened. “That you’re the paddock’s secret weapon. And that you’re a fan of mine?”

You were going to murder the F1 grid.

Subtle Flirting… Or Not So Subtle

From that point onward, Ran just… stuck around.

He toured the garages, asking questions like “so this is where you plan strategy?” and listening intently when you explained setups.

He leaned just slightly too close when you showed him telemetry data, nodding like he understood.

During lunch, he asked if you ever played volleyball. When you said no, he smirked: “Shame. With your height, you’d make a great setter.”

The drivers were LOSING it.

“Did he just—did he just compliment you like that?” Carlos whispered loudly. “Setter? More like homewrecker,” Pierre muttered. “Are we witnessing a crossover ship being born?” Lando cackled.

And of course the cameras caught EVERYTHING.

The Internet Meltdown

By FP2, Twitter, TikTok, and Instagram were on fire:

@f1updates: WHY IS RAN TAKAHASHI FLIRTING WITH Y/N IN THE PADDOCK?? @vblover23: Bro’s running a double life. Volleyball on weekdays, paddock prince on weekends. @charlesfangirl: Charles looks like a dad watching his daughter get asked to prom. @landoeditzz: CLIPS OF Y/N BLUSHING SET TO TAYLOR SWIFT — 2M views in 3 hours.

Your mentions were a disaster. “YNTAKAHASHI” was trending.

Backstage Conversations

In the motorhome later, you cornered Charles (because of course your pseudo big brother was in the middle of this).

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

He just smirked, sipping his espresso. “Would you have reacted any differently?”

“Yes!” you snapped. “I would’ve— I don’t know—practiced breathing exercises!”

“Non, non,” Charles shook his head. “This was better. More… authentic.”

You groaned, faceplanting into the couch. “I hate all of you.”

“Yet you’re smiling,” Charles pointed out.

You threw a cushion at him.

Ran in the Media Pen

The chaos only escalated when Ran was pulled into an interview with F1TV.

Reporter: “So Ran, how are you enjoying the paddock so far?” Ran: “It’s incredible. I’ve always admired Formula 1, but getting to see it up close—and having Y/N explain everything—it’s really something.”

Reporter: “You and Y/N seem to be getting along quite well.” Ran (smirking directly at the camera): “Well, she is my favorite on the grid.”

The paddock collectively screamed.

Pierre physically fell out of his chair. Lewis walked away muttering about “children growing up too fast.” And you? You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

“In Your Element”

The next day, Ran showed up again—this time asking specifically if he could shadow you.

“I saw you in my world,” he said casually. “Now I want to see you in yours. If that’s okay?”

Cue more teasing from literally every driver. (“OHHH HE WANTS TO SEE HER ELEMENTTTT.”)

So you gave him the full paddock experience:

Walkthrough of your team garage.

Quick simulator session where Ran hilariously crashed into every wall.

Sneak peek at strategy briefings (where he sat quietly but watched you more than the screen).

Pit wall view during FP3, where he leaned forward every time you pointed something out.

And the whole time, that easy, flirty smile never left his face.

The Internet Again

By Saturday, the internet had officially crowned the crossover:

@shipwars2025: I don’t care what anyone says. YN x Ran is the collab of the century. @volleyf1edits: NEW POWER COUPLE? No, but I’ll take the content. @gridoverprotective: The way the drivers glare at him like 20 overprotective siblings 😂😂😂

Clips of Ran watching you explain tire strategy went viral with captions like “boy is down BAD.”

The Departure

On Sunday evening, as Ran was getting ready to leave, he found you one last time in the hospitality lounge.

“Thank you for showing me everything,” he said softly. “It’s… really inspiring, watching you here. You belong.”

Your cheeks burned. “You didn’t have to say that.”

He smiled. “I wanted to.” Then, with a teasing glint in his eyes: “Next time, you’ll come watch me again, yeah?”

And before you could answer, he winked and walked away, leaving you speechless.

Epilogue: The Grid’s Verdict

“So,” Lando drawled later, “are we calling this ‘Y/N x Ran’ or ‘Takay/Nashi’?”

“Shut UP,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

Charles smirked knowingly. “He likes you.”

“I—what—NO HE DOESN’T—”

But judging by the way your phone was blowing up with notifications and the way your stomach fluttered when you remembered his wink…

Well. Maybe the internet wasn’t completely wrong.

✨ End

fan “he’s really been struggling lately” “his family doesn’t accept her” “they love yn” GOOD.

fan2 CRY MORE

fan3 usually hate deuxmoi and never believe anything they say BUT! i’ll believe this

⤷ fan4 REAL i never believe them either except when they say carlos is miserable lmao

fan5 lando liking this 😭

⤷ fan6 he’s so messy i love it

fan7 we should not not intimate details of this divorce wtf they deserve privacy

fan8 come out, yn, we know you’re the source 🙄

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

yn has added to their close friends story

replies

maxverstappen1 today’s win will be for you ❤️

⤷ yn 💛

carmenmmundt interesting

⤷ yn ?

⤷ carmenmmundt nothing, nothing…

georgerussell63 you’re not cheering for me? ☹️

⤷ yn you have carmen, max has me

⤷ georgerussell63 do you not realize how…nvm.

⤷ yn ???

⤷ yn you and carm are being so weird rn 🤨

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

liked by heidiberger_ and others

maxverstappen1 this week has been simply lovely

view all comments

fan YN SNEAK

fan2 OMG MOTHER WAS WITH YOU???

francisca.cgomes my gorgeous girl in the 3rd slide 💋

⤷ maxverstappen1 love u bby 😘 -yn

⤷ fan3 not yn stealing max’s phone to reply to kika 😭

fan4 close enough, welcome back to the f1 world, yn 🫶

fan5 love the little yn updates you give us…almost like you’re saying to us “don’t worry, i got her.” 🥹

charles_leclerc you guys are staying and didn’t invite us to joint you?

⤷ maxverstappen1 best friends only, sorry

⤷ charles_leclerc DOES WHAT WE HAVE MEAN NOTHING TO YOU?

⤷ maxverstappen1 well…

⤷ charles_leclerc va te faire foutre ❤️‍🩹

⤷ fan6 lestappen breakup happening in max’s comment section (real) (not clickbait)

⤷ maxverstappen1 just cackled so hard - yn

⤷ fan6 omg hi queen please come back to socials

fan7 you and yn are together an awful lot…

⤷ fan8 it’s almost as if they’re friends

⤷ fan9 yeah but they’re almost too close. it’s disrespectful considering he works with carlos

⤷ fan10 oh brother 🥱

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ yn has added to their close friends story

replies

ynsmama tell max i said thank you for talking you into going with him! you deserve a break💗

⤷ yn lol i will. love you 💞

excostar omg you’re here!?? let’s hang out, we all miss you! where are you staying?

⤷ yn i miss you you guys too!!

⤷ yn *location drop*

maxverstappen1 knew it 😎

⤷ yn 🙃

alexandrasaintmleux still so happy you’re here!! ♥︎ by author

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

liked by livherrera and others

carlossainz55 this week could’ve been better but we’ll come back stronger 💪🏽 besides, my liv is the real prize ❤️

view all comments

livhererra 😘

fan yawn.

fan2 can’t wait to see you dominate next week 🏆

fan3 we don’t care

fan4 she will never be yn!

fan5 liv is glowing 💞

fan6 did liv force you to post this after seeing max post yn?

comments on this post have been limited

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✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

liked by maxverstappen1 and others

yn new home, new light ✨

view all comments

fan WELCOME BACK

fan2 YN WE MISSED YOU SO MUCH 🫂

lilymhe drop that recipe for the dessert in the second slide and nobody gets hurt…🗡️

⤷ yn lmao putting it in the gc now!!!

⤷ fan3 ohhh to be in a gc with yn

ynsmama my beautiful baby 💞 i love you so much!

⤷ yn i love you 🥹🫶🏼

lewishamilton good to have you back stronger and better than ever 💪🏾 ♥︎ by author

fan4 😍

carmenmmundt i love you my strong girl 🤍

⤷ yn i love you 😚

maxverstappen1 💛 ♥︎ by author

fan5 that golden hour glow 💫 ♥︎ by author

lilyzneimer gorgeous gorgeous woman ❤️

⤷ yn back at ya ❤️

fan5 sooo pretty 🥰

alexandrasaintmleux 💛🌻🍯 ♥︎ by author

fan6 mother is back to stunt on these hoes (liv) 💅

fan7 so glad you’re back 💓

heidiberger_ our golden girl ⭐️

francisca.cgomes come over for dinner soon!!

⤷ yn tell me a day and i’ll be there 💞

fan8 did you finally get the dream dog carlos always said no to? 🥺

fan9 so! she’s def living with max, right?

⤷ fan10 that's what i was thinking! there's a lot of similarities in these pics and what his house looked like when he did that house tour with vogue…

⤷ fan9 love how close they are

⤷ fan10 roommates to lovers incoming! #trust

⤷ fan11 living with her ex husbands friend is weirdo behavior

⤷ fan12 why? his house is big enough, you know damn well he isn’t friends with carlos after what he did to her, and yn has known max for years. the only weirdo here is you.

charles_leclerc leo can’t wait for his next play date with winnie!

⤷ yn same! winnie loves her new best friend 🥹

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

liked by lilyzneimer and others

francisca.cgomes 🏎️🍨🍜👯‍♀️🍸

view all comments

yn so fuuunnnn 🥳

alexandrasaintmleux 💃🏻

fan the fourth slide 🫶

fan2 ugh to be in this friend group!!!

heidiberger_ SO sad i couldn’t be there 😢

⤷ lilymhe same 🥺

⤷ francisca.cgomes babes!! you two were SO missed this weekend ❤️‍🩹

⤷ yn we’ll plan something with all of us on our next group ft call!!!

fan3 looks like a wild time 🎉

carmenmmundt shoutout to max for being our chauffeur and occasional photographer 📸

⤷ fan4 now how the hell did you guys get max to agree to this? 😭

⤷ lilyzneimer yn says “jump.”, he says “how high?”

⤷ francisca.cgomes ^

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux ^^

⤷ carmenmmundt ^^^

⤷ heidiberger_ ^^^^

⤷ lilymhe ^^^^^

⤷ yn ^^^^^^

⤷ maxverstappen1 man, come on.

⤷ fan5 HE DIDN’T DENY IT LMFAO ♥︎ by yn

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

100k likes

f1wagsofficial new couple alert? 👀 a reddit post theorizing on max and yn’s relationship has recently gone viral and op was making some really good points…should we expect to see them make their debut at a race soon?

view all comments

fan guys it hasn’t even been that long since things ended with carlos. chill.

fan2 i know yn is tired of y’all

fan3 men and women can just be friends yk

fan4 not mad at it, they’re both hot as fuck

fan5 are they looking for a third? asking for a friend ofc.

fan6 pretty sure max is just being a good friend and you people are blowing things way out of proportion as always

fan7 she was probably cheating on carlos with him the entire time and now she’s trying to playing the victim so everyone will feel sorry for her. well, i ain’t buying it.

⤷ friend livherrera hmm.

⤷ livherrera hmmm.

⤷ fan8 oh hell no.

⤷ fan9 unlike carlos, yn was actually faithful.

⤷ fan10 liv. keep scrolling.

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

Messages flew in constantly:

Lando: If I see that man I’m throwing hands. Carlos: I will stand in front of her like a wall. Charles: I can distract him with Ferrari drama. It always works. Lewis: I’ll simply out-dress him until he goes blind. Daniel: Knife emojis. Oscar: Wait are we being serious?? Alex: Deadly serious. George: I’m building a schedule so we can rotate who’s on guard duty.

Max hadn’t said anything in the chat. But when he saw you giggling again — even just a little — he knew the others were doing what he couldn’t always do: give you the space to just be.

Part Two — The Human Wall

It started in Monza.

Jos appeared in the paddock like a storm cloud, striding towards the Red Bull garage with his usual scowl.

You were sitting just outside with Kelly, happily painting little flowers on her nails, completely unaware.

And then, suddenly—

Wall of Drivers.

Lewis and George flanked one side of the entrance. Charles, Carlos, and Oscar filled in the middle. Daniel somehow appeared with a tray of espressos, “accidentally” spilling one to block the path. Lando and Alex dragged a folding chair right in front of Jos’s feet.

“Sorry, hospitality’s full,” Daniel said brightly, dabbing at his spilled coffee. “Try again never.”

Jos glared. “Move.”

Carlos crossed his arms. “No.”

“Out of my way.”

“Non.” Charles smiled politely, which only made it worse.

Lewis leaned in, voice calm but cutting. “She doesn’t need you. And you don’t get to hurt her again.”

Jos sputtered, but before he could bark back, Max himself appeared, putting one hand on your shoulder protectively.

“Go home, Dad.”

And for once, Jos actually did.

Part Three — Creative Defenses

After Monza, it became a sport.

Every time Jos showed up, someone new took a turn keeping him away.

Singapore: Yuki and Pierre physically dragged you into AlphaTauri hospitality, declaring you their “emotional support mascot” while Pierre gave Jos the most Parisian side-eye ever recorded.

Japan: Logan literally handed Jos a fake paddock pass that redirected him to the wrong entrance. (“Oh, sorry, this is the media shuttle, sir.”)

Austin: The rookies — Ollie Bearman and Kimi Antonelli — linked arms around you like knights protecting a princess. Ollie even hissed at Jos like a cat.

Mexico: Checo’s family simply absorbed you into their clan. His mom kissed your forehead, shoved tamales into your hands, and said in Spanish loud enough for Jos to hear: “This one is ours now.”

Part Four — The Intervention, Paddock Style

By Brazil, everyone was fed up.

You were happier now — lighter, brighter — but Jos kept trying. Lurking near the garages, glaring across hospitality, muttering under his breath.

So the drivers staged an “accidental” confrontation.

It happened in the pit lane after FP3. Jos was standing near the barriers, waiting, when suddenly… twelve drivers appeared at once.

Lando, arms wide: “Hey, mate, you lost? The exit’s that way.” Daniel, grinning: “Or we can escort you out! Five-star Uber service.” Carlos, glaring: “Except you don’t get five stars.” Charles: “Or any stars.” Lewis, calm as ever: “Listen. She’s a child. She’s not responsible for results, for careers, for anything other than being herself. If you can’t accept that, then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

Jos tried to push past, but George blocked him cleanly. “Respectfully, sir, you’re not welcome. Not near her. Not anymore.”

And then Max appeared, helmet still in hand, fire in his eyes.

“You heard them. Stay away from my daughter.”

The pit lane went silent.

Jos opened his mouth — then shut it. For once, he had no fight left.

He turned and walked away.

And that was the last time you saw him in the paddock.

Part Five — Sunshine Protected

You didn’t know all the details. You just knew that somehow, magically, Jos stopped appearing at races.

Instead, you were free again.

You bounced between garages, teasing Lando, braiding George’s hair (badly), stealing Checo’s snacks, doodling race cars in Charles’s notebook, letting Daniel convince you to do TikToks you’d regret later.

And every time you laughed, the paddock felt lighter.

Max would catch sight of you — radiant, alive, unburdened again — and his chest would ache with relief.

The drivers never told you about Operation Solar Eclipse. They didn’t need to.

Because you knew, in the way you felt safest whenever they were around, that they’d never let anyone take your sunshine away again.

And for Max? That was worth more than any championship.

Epilogue — The Group Chat Lives On

Daniel: Mission accomplished. Sunshine protected. 🌞 Lando: Can we still use the group chat tho Charles: Oui. For memes. Carlos: No, for strategy. Lewis: Both. Oscar: Guys she’s literally reading over my shoulder right now You: …what group chat George: DELETE DELETE DELETE

✨ End✨

Taglist: :@moonlightphilosopher, @karinari1 @jessk23 @bunnisplayground @thisdoesntexsist-cherry @bookworm-weirdofor-life @skzlover24 @lottie810 @josephinel83 @hades-favourite-daughter @princess3055 @rosiel-leclerc04 @nikfigueiredo @anoukformula1 @queen-aria-things @pookynknowntranger @bia-n-t-d @hellsingalucard18 @omgsuperstarg @elvy16 @lagrandeourse @devilacot

Y/N froze. She wasn’t used to people speaking to her like that in her paddock.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes going glassy.

The man rolled his eyes and muttered something about “brats running around” before striding off toward the hospitality lounge.

Charles arrived just in time to see Y/N’s lip wobble.

“Mon soleil? What’s wrong?”

She sniffled. “He said… I don’t belong here.”

The First Domino Falls

Charles went stone-cold. He didn’t even need to ask who “he” was—he’d already clocked the man walking away.

He crouched down to Y/N’s level. “Stay here with Uncle Carlos, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Carlos appeared from nowhere like a protective older brother in a telenovela. “Who hurt her?”

Y/N pointed hesitantly.

Carlos looked like he was about to commit an actual crime.

The Word Spreads

Within five minutes, the entire paddock knew.

Lando heard from Oscar. Oscar heard from George. George heard from Carmen (who already had her heels off like she was ready to fight). Pierre heard from Kika, who was already tracking the man down.

Max Verstappen didn’t even speak—he just stood up from his chair, handed Kelly their baby, and muttered, “I’ll handle it.”

Toto Finds Out

Toto was in a meeting when Susie Wolff (who also heard within five minutes) stormed in.

“Your daughter’s crying.”

Toto was on his feet instantly. “Who.”

“I don’t know his name, but he’s about to have a very short career as a paddock guest.”

The Protective Mob Forms

By the time Toto reached the scene, the man was surrounded.

Charles was blocking his path, arms crossed.

Carlos was standing slightly in front of Y/N like a human shield.

Lewis Hamilton had taken off his sunglasses, the universal sign that things were about to get serious.

Max was just… looming. Intimidating. Saying nothing.

“Is there a problem here?” Toto’s voice was calm in the way that was more terrifying than yelling.

The man tried to laugh it off. “It’s just a kid—”

“She’s not ‘just a kid.’” Lewis cut him off. “She’s family.”

WAGs Assemble

Meanwhile, the girlfriends and wives had taken Y/N into the McLaren motorhome for emergency cuddles and juice boxes.

Carmen fixed her braid. Kika gave her a cookie. Charlotte told her, “Ignore him, bébé. He probably doesn’t even know the difference between a pit stop and a pit lane.”

The Showdown

The man, clearly not understanding the gravity of his mistake, scoffed. “I don’t see why you’re all overreacting—”

“Overreacting?” George Russell’s voice cracked an octave. “You made her cry!”

“She’s literally the only reason we put up with each other on Saturdays,” Lando added.

Max finally spoke. “Leave. Now.”

The man muttered something under his breath, but when he saw the entire Mercedes, McLaren, Ferrari, and even Red Bull crews watching… he backed away. Security politely “escorted” him out.

The Aftermath

Once the intruder was gone, the paddock turned its attention back to Y/N.

Charles knelt. “No one talks to you like that, mon soleil.” Carlos ruffled her hair. “You’re the boss around here, remember?” Lewis hugged her. “We race for you.”

Y/N sniffled… then smiled. “Can we go see the cars now?”

“Absolutely,” Toto said, lifting her into his arms. “But you’re getting extra ice cream first.”

Social Media Explodes

Later that day, clips surfaced of the “Protect Y/N” moment:

📹 Max silently glaring a man into oblivion. 📹 Carlos shielding her like she was the Ferrari trophy. 📹 Toto holding her while Lewis whispered something that made her giggle.

Fans dubbed it: “The Day the Grid Declared War.”

Evening – Paddock Peace Restored

As the sun set, Y/N was back to her usual bubbly self, sitting on the pit wall with a cone of ice cream bigger than her head.

“Papa?” “Yes, Maus?” “Thanks for making everyone protect me.” Toto chuckled. “Sweetheart… I didn’t make them. They just love you.”

And they did. Because Y/N Wolff wasn’t just Toto’s daughter— She was the heart of Formula 1, and no one messed with the heart of the paddock.

Bonus Scene

Summary: The man who made Y/N Wolff cry at Silverstone probably thought the drama was over. Unfortunately for him, the Formula 1 grid has long memories—and they specialize in creative payback.

Planning the Revenge

The idea came from, unsurprisingly, Lando Norris.

“He’s back,” Lando whispered over the drivers’ group chat.

“Who?” George asked.

“The guy from Silverstone.”

Within seconds, the chat lit up like a Christmas tree.

Charles: We end him.

Carlos: I have ideas.

Max: Good.

Pierre: Do we want subtle or humiliating?

Lewis: Humiliating. But classy.

Even Valtteri, who wasn’t even on the 2025 grid anymore, messaged: Need me to mail some Finnish fish for his hotel room?

Step 1 – The Confusion Campaign

The first day of the Hungarian GP weekend, the man arrived to find his paddock pass missing his name. Instead, it read:

“Y/N Wolff’s Fan #1027”

When he tried to complain to staff, the receptionist just smiled. “That’s what the system says, sir.”

Step 2 – The Mechanical “Issues”

Every time he walked past the garages, an engineer would loudly say: “Careful! Don’t let the brat hater near the car!”

One time, Daniel Ricciardo waved at him from the AlphaTauri garage… and then intentionally dropped an entire tray of lug nuts at his feet. “Oops, sorry mate. Guess kids aren’t the only ones who trip, huh?”

Step 3 – WAG Strike Team

The girlfriends and wives went full Mean Girls.

Carmen handed him a juice box every time she saw him. “Since you clearly don’t like seeing kids have them, thought you might need it more.”

Kika “accidentally” braided his lanyard so tightly around the pass that he had to cut it off.

Charlotte pretended not to recognize him and said, “Oh, are you one of the drivers’ dads?”

Step 4 – The Social Media Sabotage

Oscar Piastri convinced McLaren’s social media admin to post an “unofficial paddock mascot appreciation thread” featuring 50 photos of Y/N. The caption?

“If you don’t love her, you don’t belong here.”

The man’s face was visible in the background of one of the Silverstone shots—looking annoyed. Fans recognized him instantly. The comments section… was not kind.

Step 5 – The Final Blow

Race day. Y/N was in full sunshine mode again, making her rounds. The man tried to take a shortcut past the Mercedes garage— Only to find Toto Wolff, Lewis Hamilton, Max Verstappen, and Charles Leclerc standing in the way.

“Lost?” Lewis asked with a smile that somehow didn’t reach his eyes.

Max crossed his arms. “This area’s for people who belong here.”

Y/N peeked from behind Toto’s legs. “Papa, that’s the man from before.”

Toto didn’t move—he just tilted his head. “Yes, Maus. I remember.”

Security, once again, “escorted” him out. This time, his pass was permanently revoked.

The Afterparty

That night in hospitality, Y/N sat between Charles and Carlos, happily eating gelato.

“Everyone’s smiling today,” she said.

“That’s because the paddock’s back to normal,” Carlos told her.

“And because you’re smiling again,” Charles added.

Lando grinned. “Operation: Petty Revenge was a complete success.”

Lewis clinked his water glass. “To protecting the sunshine of the paddock.”

Everyone raised their glasses—because in F1, rivalries may run deep, but when it came to Y/N Wolff, they were all on the same team.

End.

The scent of warm butter and espresso drifted through the air like an alarm clock that actually worked. Somewhere in the depths of the penthouse, sunlight was spilling through floor-to-ceiling glass, and the Monaco coastline glittered just beyond the windows. Oscar padded barefoot into the kitchen, hoodie thrown over his t-shirt, curls messy and face still soft with sleep. His eyes squinted slightly at the brightness, but then he caught sight of the figures already moving around the room and blinked.

Lily was perched on the counter again, legs bare except for the cast, Lando's oversized hoodie slouching halfway off one shoulder. She was halfway through a strawberry, lips pink and glossy, phone resting on one thigh, a coffee mug in hand like she was born to be there.

Lando stood at the stove. Actually stood there. Like a real person. Spatula in one hand, pan sizzling gently, the sleeves of his black shirt pushed up to his elbows. The vision of a domestic man, absurdly hot and annoyingly functional.

Oscar stopped in the doorway. "Am I... hallucinating? Are you... cooking?"

Lando looked over his shoulder. "Good morning to you too."

Lily grinned, hopping her casted leg slightly. "Hi sunshine."

Oscar scratched the back of his neck, still blinking. "No, seriously. You're making actual food?"

"Eggs and toast," Lando confirmed. "Not exactly a five-star production."

Lily leaned forward and whispered, stage-quiet, "He put the butter on before the bread went in the pan."

Oscar gasped dramatically. "Gourmet."

Lando rolled his eyes. "Keep it up, Piastri, and you're getting plain toast."

Lily sipped her coffee like she was watching a comedy. "Plain toast sounds like a hate crime."

Oscar wandered in and slid onto a stool at the island, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Where are Max and Pietra?"

"They left early this morning," Lando said, flipping one of the eggs with absurd nonchalance. "Flight back to London."

"What? Why?"

"Pietra had work," Lily said. "And Max said something about needing to reorganise his sneakers or he'd cry."

Oscar raised an eyebrow. "That's... very on-brand."

Lando nodded. "They hugged us both at like five AM. I barely remember it. I think Max kissed my cheek and told me not to let Jude corrupt you."

"Wait," Oscar said, narrowing his eyes. "Am I being protected from people?"

Lily grinned wickedly. "More like observed. For scientific purposes."

"I feel like a lab rat."

"You are a lab rat," Lando said, sliding a plate in front of him. "Eat."

Oscar looked down. Two slices of golden toast, perfectly cooked eggs, a sprinkle of salt, a side of avocado that had clearly been fanned out with a knife. He blinked. "Okay, I take it back. This is five-star."

"I know," Lando said smugly, handing Lily a bite of something on a fork before she even asked for it.

Oscar stabbed his egg with a fork. "Can I ask a genuine question?"

"Always," Lily said, brushing crumbs off her bare thigh.

He gestured between them. "When did you two become... like this?"

Lando tilted his head. "Like what?"

"Domestic. Coordinated. Synchronized. Whatever. You're literally hand-feeding her like it's normal."

Lily popped another grape into her mouth and shrugged. "It is normal."

"We've been together two years," Lando said, sipping his coffee. "You just didn't know."

Oscar blinked. "Yeah mate, thats crazy, two years and nobody knew."

"We wanted peace," Lily said simply. "And privacy. It was ours."

"And now it's... public."

Lando nodded. "It was time."

Oscar looked between them again. The calm. The energy. The absurd, wordless telepathy.

"Okay," he said. "Just making sure I'm not in a cult."

Lando smirked. "Oh no, you are."

Lily leaned in. "There's a uniform and everything."

"I swear to god."

They laughed together, easy and warm, the kind of laughter that filled the whole apartment and didn't need to be explained. Oscar shook his head, smiling despite himself, and took another bite of his toast. Lando cleared his throat after a moment. "Anyway, after breakfast we need to run out."

Oscar looked up. "Where to?"

"Alcohol run," Lando said. "For tonight."

Oscar blinked. "Oh right. The storm is coming."

Lily tilted her head with a grin. "You're not ready."

"Stop saying that."

"It's true."

Lando tapped Oscar's mug with his own. "Finish eating. We're gonna need a lot of tequila."

And across the sea of golden light and half-eaten breakfast, somewhere in the heart of Monaco, the day stretched ahead, bright, calm, the last breath before a full-force chaos hurricane descended.

***

Lando didn't even grab a trolley at first. Just one of those baskets you're supposed to carry in your hand. Oscar blinked as he watched him pick up two of Lily's favourite chocolate bars, a multipack of crisps, and the bougie soft drink she liked with the ridiculous glass bottle.

"You gonna carry that all the way?" Oscar asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lando glanced at the basket already starting to overflow. "Yeah. I'll swap to a trolley in a sec. Just wanted to grab her snacks first before I forget."

Oscar followed him past the checkout aisles and into the back where the alcohol was kept. And that's when it got mental. Without hesitation, Lando grabbed a full-size trolley, dropped the basket into the main section, and started flinging things in like a man on a mission. A bottle of vodka. Then another. Two bottles of fancy tequila. Champagne. Rosé. Something that looked like it belonged in a Parisian nightclub. Oscar's eyes went wide. "Bro," he muttered, stunned. "What the fuck. Are you opening a bar?"

Lando grinned, tossing in a box of beer and then looking contemplatively at the shelf of cocktail mixers. "Nah. Just the usual. You've seen how they drink."

Oscar watched him pile up three different flavours of seltzer and a bottle of some neon green liqueur that looked radioactive. "Yeah but... it's like... four of them, right?"

Lando looked up, amused. "There's like seven of us tonight. Including Jude."

Oscar blinked. "Oh."

"They rotate. Not like a cult rotation or anything," Lando added quickly, laughing. "Just depends who's in Monaco. But yeah. Lily invited the full chaos unit."

Oscar gave a long blink. "So... what am I walking into?"

Lando paused, one hand resting on the edge of the trolley. His tone softened. "Honestly? It's nothing to stress about. They're not insane. Well. They are, but not in a bad way."

Oscar smirked. "That's comforting."

"They're super welcoming," Lando said as he resumed walking. "Like, if Lils likes you, they all accept you immediately. No proving yourself or any shit like that. They're just... loyal. In that ride-or-die, violently supportive way."

Oscar nodded slowly, his expression unreadable for a second. Then he asked, curiously, "And Jude? He's part of this?"

Lando chuckled, amused by the hesitation. "Yeah. He's a big part of it."

Oscar glanced sideways. "He's her ex, right?"

"Yep."

"And he's... close?"

Lando laughed properly then, reaching for another bottle of champagne. "Max warned you, huh?"

"He said not to blink if I see him go to bed with you two. I thought he was kidding."

Lando smirked. "He wasn't."

Oscar opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"It's not weird," Lando said calmly, honest and open. "There's no jealousy. No weird energy. They've known each other forever. She needs him in a way I understand now. It's not romantic anymore, but it's safe. Comfortable."

Oscar raised an eyebrow. "So... you're okay with them being close?"

Lando nodded. "More than okay. I love how close they are. And I trust her. We've had threesomes with Jude before. Loads of times."

Oscar almost dropped the bottle he was holding. "Jesus Christ."

Lando laughed again, completely unfazed. "Not recently, though. We've been more lowkey lately. Lily's been exhausted, especially after the surgery."

"Right," Oscar said faintly. "So tonight I'm meeting... the ex, the ride-or-die models, and the chaos crew."

"Pretty much," Lando said, loading the last round of drinks into the cart. "But don't worry. They'll love you."

Oscar took a breath and nodded, trying to adjust to the sheer speed of revelations. "Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Just casually dropping the fact you're having ex-inclusive threesomes. Love that."

Lando grinned. "Welcome to Monaco, mate."

Once they paid and loaded the car, the boot slammed shut with a satisfying thud as Lando tossed the last clinking bag of bottles inside and turned to Oscar with a grin.

"Don't let the bottles roll too much or it sounds like we've robbed a minibar."

Oscar chuckled, still not quite over the fact that he'd just helped buy enough alcohol to cater a wedding. He climbed into the passenger seat while Lando slipped behind the wheel and started the drive home through Monaco's winding streets. The drive wasn't long. It never was here. Everything in Monaco was close , like a village built by billionaires.

When they finally turned down the quiet, tree-lined road toward Tour Odeon, Oscar couldn't help the tiny shake of his head. "It's still mad that you live here."

Lando just smirked, tapping his key fob as they pulled up to the underground entrance. The gates slid open like a private spaceship hangar. "Wait till you see the security footage. Lily once buzzed the concierge wearing nothing but my hoodie and accidentally pressed the wrong intercom."

Oscar blinked. "What happened?"

"The guy sent her three Dominos pizzas and a Versace robe."

"...You're joking."

"I'm absolutely not."

They parked and grabbed the bags, Lando refusing to let Oscar carry more than one crate of beer while he took everything else like it was muscle memory. Up the lift, same beep of the fob, same quiet hum of luxury and money and the smell of bergamot-infused air conditioning.

When the elevator doors opened, the penthouse was flooded with soft light. And there she was. Lily. sprawled on the L-shaped sofa, half under a blanket, legs stretched out, crutches resting against the armrest. She wore Lando's hoodie again, this time with bare thighs poking out from underneath, and her cast was glittering in the sunlight, one glitter sticker half-hanging off from where it had been picked at overnight. Her phone was perched on her stomach, TikTok playing at half-volume, some chaotic cooking tutorial narrated in unhinged French.

She didn't speak when she saw them. Just smiled. It was small, warm. Her eyes flicked over to Lando like he was gravity itself. Oscar caught the look. So did Lando, who crossed the room and dropped a kiss onto her head before heading to the kitchen with the bags. She closed her eyes for a second when he did, like the contact alone was soothing.

Oscar trailed behind, still stunned by the casual intimacy of it all.

They put everything away quickly, the bottles lined up neatly on the bar cart, mixers stacked in the fridge, snacks into the pantry that looked more like a boutique than a food storage unit. Lando hummed some dumb melody under his breath as he opened the cupboard for her favourite glasses, setting two aside before Oscar even said anything.

Once they were done, Lando gestured toward the living room. "C'mon. She's barely moved since we left."

Oscar followed, dropping onto the opposite side of the sofa as Lando settled beside Lily, who instantly turned toward him and tucked herself against his side like she hadn't just been watching TikToks for an hour straight. Her phone dropped to the sofa beside her. Lando wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed.

Oscar leaned back slowly, watching them without watching them.

She was tucked so naturally into his side. And Lando... he wasn't even looking at her, not in that moment. He was reaching for the remote, casually flicking through sports channels. But his fingers absently rubbed slow circles into the back of her arm, and every now and then he glanced down like he just needed to make sure she was still smiling. It wasn't performative. It was like breathing.

Lily nudged him. "Put the golf on."

Oscar's eyebrows raised. "You like golf?"

She laughed. "No. But it makes the boys feel superior. So I let them talk at the screen and make fun of trousers."

Lando grinned. "She once referred to Rory McIlroy as 'the one with the unfortunate ankles.'"

Oscar blinked. "What does that even mean?"

"They were pale," Lily mumbled. "And shaped weird."

"You should be on commentary," Lando said dryly.

"I should be paid to be myself."

Oscar stretched out, letting his muscles relax. There was something bizarrely calm about the energy in this apartment. He'd expected noise, chaos, nerves. What he found instead was... comfort. Warmth. Domesticity wrapped in wealth and glitter.

"You know," Lily said after a minute, head turning slightly toward Oscar, "you're handling this better than most people would."

"Handling what?"

She smiled. "The fact that we're all clinically unhinged."

Oscar laughed. "I mean, the alcohol haul prepared me."

Lando chuckled. "Wait till tonight."

"Can't wait," Oscar said, surprisingly genuine. "So long as there's food."

"Oh, babe," Lily grinned, "you will be fed like royalty. Until you're drunk enough to forget what food is."

Oscar shook his head but was still smiling when he turned back to the TV. And in the background, the light kept moving across the floor, the sea breeze coming in from the slightly open balcony doors, the buzz of Monaco starting to rise as Wednesday inched closer to the chaos. he stretched out in one of the sunken armchairs, legs tossed over the side like he owned the place, a half-finished beer in hand and a bowl of crisps dangerously close to extinction. He looked more relaxced than he had all day. The awkward tension from earlier had burned off, replaced with the kind of quiet acceptance that could only come from watching Lando and Lily exist together like they'd been written as one.

Lando stood and made his way to the kitchen again. His sleeves were rolled up, collarbone peeking through the open top buttons of a loose linen shirt, as he moved around like it was his second nature. There were three saucepans on the stove, something garlicky in one, pasta in another, a pot of oil heating for whatever he'd impulsively decided to fry. A Spotify playlist played low from the hallway speakers some indie-soft bullshit Lily had chosen just before she wandered off in her towel. Something about sunset mood vibes.

"Do you need help?" Oscar called, leaning sideways to see over the back of the couch.

Lando glanced back, wooden spoon in hand, and smirked. "You offering or just being polite?"

"I'm trying to look helpful while doing absolutely nothing," Oscar said.

"Good. Stay there. You'll ruin the aesthetic."

Lily laughed from the sofa, voice low and sleepy. "No one's allowed near the kitchen unless you know the proper way to julienne."

"Do you even know how to julienne?" Oscar asked.

"Absolutely not," Lando replied. "But she thinks I do, so don't ruin it."

Oscar grinned, shaking his head. "You two are terrifying."

"No," Lily murmured. "We're curated." She said it with a wink, but the truth of it hummed underneath everything.

Dinner came together quicker than anyone expected. Lando plated it like a chef who was being judged, three massive bowls of pasta, a salad he didn't even remember preparing, and garlic bread that looked almost offensively perfect. They carried the food to the coffee table, opting to eat in the living room rather than the dining area, because the idea of being formal felt ridiculous in a house where people entered barefoot and stole each other's hoodies.

Lily stayed on the sofa, naturally, and Lando handed her the bowl with the least sauce like he'd anticipated her preference. Oscar didn't miss it. Just like he didn't miss the way Lando reached to tuck Lily's hair behind her ear when she leaned forward too fast, or the way she absently traced his fingers when he sat beside her. They were disgusting. In the most violently sincere way.

"So," Oscar said around a mouthful of pasta, "when exactly are the others coming?"

Lily tilted her head, thinking. "Probably around nine? That's usually when Jude arrives, unless he's with Gavi. Then it's earlier because Gavi can't keep still past sunset."

Oscar blinked. "Right. Normal."

"You'll be fine," Lando smirked. "You've met them all in passing, just not at... full capacity."

Oscar chewed slowly. "And what's full capacity?"

"You'll know when it happens," Lily replied, sipping her drink. "The air kind of changes. Like there's a storm incoming but it's wearing Margiela."

Lando snorted, nearly choking. "You're not wrong."

Oscar leaned back with a sigh. "Should I be scared?"

"Yes," Lily and Lando said at the same time.

Laughter filled the room again, soft and warm, wrapping around them like the sunset bleeding in through the curtains. It felt easy. Familiar. Even with the looming promise of unhinged arrivals and god-tier chaos, the penthouse remained still for a little while longer.

After dinner, Lily shuffled to the armchair with her cast propped on an ottoman, scrolling through her phone while Lando cleaned up without needing to be asked. Oscar tried to help, got shooed away, and gave up, grabbing another drink and sitting cross-legged on the floor near the balcony.

"Okay," Lily said suddenly, glancing up from her phone. "The group chat is going off already."

Lando looked over. "They're planning their outfits, aren't they?"

"Worse," she said, grinning. "They're planning entrance music."

Oscar blinked. "They're what?"

Lily held up her phone like a mirror. "Lila wants Beyoncé, Barbara says she's walking in to Kanye, and Jude's threatening to wear a velvet cape if someone doesn't stop him."

Lando leaned back against the counter. "Do we have any capes?"

"I think there's one in the upstairs dressing room. Harry left it here during Fashion Week."

"Of course he did."

Oscar ran a hand down his face. "I have made a mistake."

"You'll love them," Lily promised, soft now. "They're mine. Which means they'll be yours too."

Oscar looked at her; tired, happy, casted, half-silhouetted in the light of the city. He smiled. "Cool. I always wanted siblings I couldn't explain to my parents."

And currently it created the crisis in the Williams garage because Alex's least favourite game has officially started, 'Where on earth has Y/n Albon fallen asleep now.'

It was a daily occurrence at this point and damn was it a different game.

She's became infamous for slipping away from her parents and wandering around to find a new place to sleep on, anywhere was fair game to the little girl. Literally anywhere, if it was leaning against a wall or finding someone else to sleep on. It didn't matter to her whatsoever.

Engineers were looking around their stations, James had gotten involved, Lily was starting to stress over her missing daughter, Carlos was laughing over the missing girl because now everyone was frantic.

No stone was left unturn, under every table, on every chair, in his drivers room or even looking down the pit lane to see if she escaped! Hell, even on Carlos's side of the garage, every single person was on the lookout for where she was:

And 10 minutes into the search, Alex was absolutely frozen.

"Jesus Christ." He sighed, genuinely not understanding how on earth this had occurred.

Everyone stopper looking, because they knew instantly that Alex had found his daughter in some kind of new sleeping spot and was probably dead asleep like she was curled up in her cozy bed at home.

It was genuinely amazing that she really could sleep anywhere she wanted.

Lily had came over, thinking he had found her asleep on a chair or someone had picked her up or—

A tire.

Y/n had quite literally fallen asleep on a tire that was taken off of Alex's car and hadn't had the cover placed back on it.

"How does that happen?" He laughed, everyone else did as well, Carlos was hysterical, and James had patted Alex on the back saying, "Next time we know where to look at least?"

Yeah, at least.

Alex picked up the sleeping girl who happily curled against him in her sleep. At least she was safe and hadn't wandered off like last time.

He went to sit down, yeah okay there was qualifying in around 20 minutes but...arguably having his little girl sleeping on his lap, hands grabbing at his shirt and starting to drool was better.

It was friday, practice sessions had started and Alex was well on his way round a lap. It was quick, faster than the last and was smooth, nothing wrong but a little slower than the ultimate top cars.

But getting up there, even if it was just P6 or P5 was a win for the team. P5 was like the best position possible nowadays and you know what? To do that in a Williams was genuinely impressive.

Lily couldn't come this weekend. It was unfortunate but they'd already known about it for a while and originally the plan was to leave Y/n at home with Alex's family rather than bringing her to a grand prix completely by himself.

At least that's what was meant to happen.

Y/n had cried, thrown a mini tantrum and completely ignored Alex for about five hours. She was having non of it. She loved watching her dads car zoom by! She might not understand it but it was fun! It was fast cars and cool older people who treated her like she was a princess!

So eventually after about 6-8 hours total of Y/n expressing her absolute hatred of being left, Alex had to bring Y/n with him to the grand prix weekend.

That's what leads him to, now, having to find someone willing to at least keep kind of watch of Y/n until Fp1 finishes and again in Fp2

"I can watch her while you race." James had volunteered, taking the already sleepy girl into his arms.

"Thank you so much, I swear she won't be fussy or anything—"

"I think she'll be asleep the whole time."

Alex looked at his daughter and yeah, Y/n had pretty much decided that James Vowles was a pretty comfy person to fall asleep on.

"I'm not surprised anymore."

And with that Alex left to go for fp1.

Y/n didn't take any notice of what was happening around her, she watched the first few minutes of fp1, drivers starting their laps and also pointed at the screen, tiredly saying "That's daddy's car!" when the 23 Williams car went past, and James agreed very enthusiasticly with the little girl.

Barley 20 minutes in, she was asleep. James didn't mind, she was happy and having a little kid sleeping in your lap happend to be a great deterrent for people trying to talk to him.

Not that James didn't like his workers, of course he did. It's just that...people didn't exactly want to wake up Y/n.

People would turn to him and then go, "oh, right. We'll just figure it out." And discuss amungst themselves and try their hardest to figure whatever they wanted to ask themselves.

It was weirdly funny.

Suddenly, James Vowles was the most unapproachable person in the Williams garage because of Alex Albon's daughter having a nap.

It was Singapore. Alex's home race away from home and was a late night race. The race atmosphere was great, people were excited to see him race! It was one of the races where it didn't matter that Alex was a mid field driver, everyone wanted to see good results.

For the first few laps, Y/n was watching intently. She swore she'd stay up this time! Alex had laughed and ruffled her hair.

He didn't believe she would.

And in all honesty, the last time she was here she was asleep. The last grand prix she attended, she ended up asleep and well...every time she went anywhere she ended up dead asleep

And that how, in his drivers room ended up a very sleepy girl that couldn't quite keep her promise this time.

She'd protested the whole way of being brought there, "noooo! I wanna see him race!!" She'd whined while her eyes actively drooped and started to become very heavy.

"I know." Y/n's mother, Lily, said in a soothing tone. She knew they Y/n wanted to actually watch this race. Her daughter knew it was important to Alex and therefore was important to her!

But her eyes where so droopy and her pouty face screamed that she was tired. "I'll wake you up when later, yeah?"

She shook her head, "I don't want to sleep!"

Yet her head was leaning against her mum, eyes already closing and a very very tired look overcame her face.

"It's okay, next time you can stay up and watch him."

But Lily knew, deep down, the exact same thing would happen next year as well. Because while she might be enjoying the race, she was a really tired girl and at the end of the day, absolutely adored her sleep.

Even if it meant missing the most important race for her dad.

It was just fun for her.

Lily had gotten the okay to sit in Alex's car, mainly to take photos and also because who on earth wouldn't want to sit in a formula one car?

Y/n did.

And so, she made it her mini mission to get into that car, one way or another.

She made her way over to her dad, tugging on his trousers to get his attention.

"Yeah, bug?" He ruffled her hair, getting a bunch of giggles from the little girl before her face scrunched up in a very serious way, like as if she desperately needed to tell him something supper serious.

"I wanna sit in your car!" She exclaimed, pointing over at it and bouncing up and down on her toes. She saw her mum do it, why couldn't she? Surely she'd be allowed to! After all, who on earth would have the horrible heart to say no?

"Hmmm, I'll ask."

She frowned. She didn't want him to just ask! Y/n wanted him to give her a promise, or just put her in the car because it's not like she'd get told off for it or anything. "Promise!"

"...Fine. I promise I'll somehow get you in the car." He shook his head as the little girl squealed in excitement, she was going to sit in a formula one car! Her dads nonetheless. How cool was that!

Well to Y/n it was quite literally about to be the coolest thing that's ever happened to her.

James made an exception for the kid, she wasn't particularly fussy and was aware to not touch anything anyway. For the most part, the main threat she posed to the car was turning it int her temporary bed and that wasn't exactly career ending.

Alex crouched down next to his daughter, "He said you can sit in the car if you don't be a menace."

She giggled and he smiled, ruffling her hair before picking the girl up in his arms. "I won't!"

"Yeah, Bug, I don't think you can be whatsoever."

He put the girl in the car, she barely would be able to see anything and she was loving every moment of being in the car!

"Oh! What does that do?" She asked, pointing at a random button on the wheel.

"That's the radio, so I can talk to everyone here."

"What about that?"

"That changes the gears."

"And—!" She kept asking and asking and asking and Alex kept explaining it to her in the best way he possibly could, even if she wouldn't really understand what exactly was happening.

She pretended to do a lap of an imaginary track, one that would probably make an actual driver feel sick and wouldn't really be driveable.

"See! I can drive as well!" She squealed, turning the wheel and making the car noises she was so used to hearing while on track.

"Yeah, soon you'll be taking my seat, won't you bug?"

She nodded, "mhm! I'll win every race!"

Lily, who was watching from behind Alex just laughed, "Miracles can happen I suppose."

Alex just rolled his eyes, if Y/n wanted to pretend that she would win every race in a williams? Then why not.

For a mommy Alex got distracted by his girlfriend, talking to Lily as their daughter was sat in his formula one car. Y/n wasn't interested in what they were saying but she also was no longer interested in driving either.

After being awake for so long, in her standards, and playing so much, she was sleepy. She yawned, everyone was so busy around her that they weren't gonna notice anything. And it's not like sleeping in formula one car was gonna be a crime?

So as everyone else was busy doing their own thing, she somehow curled up and miraculously managed to fall asleep.

It had been about five minutes before someone had noticed, an engineer chuckled, someone from media shook their head and even James couldn't help but laugh.

It wasn't everyday when someone could genuinely fall asleep in a car like that.

And when Alex finally looked over to see what on earth everyone was laughing about, all he thought to say was,

She also had an unofficial tradition: whenever she visited a family motorhome, the parents would pull out baby albums like a ritual.

“Look at him!” Pascale Leclerc cooed, showing a photo of toddler Charles covered in flour in a kitchen. “You can’t tell anyone about this,” Charles warned from the hallway. “Oh, don’t worry,” Y/N said with a grin. “I’m saving it for Grill the Grid.”

2. Family Dinners & Baby Photo Bootcamp

The real training arc for her future Grill the Grid dominance happened during casual dinners.

In Spain, she flipped through a photo album with Carlos Sr. “Here’s little Carlitos winning his first karting trophy,” he said proudly. “And here’s him crying because he lost his Lego Ferrari set.” Carlos Jr. groaned.

In Italy, Kimi Antonelli’s nonna kissed her cheek and handed her old Polaroids. “Bambino Kimi,” Nonna Antonelli said, handing over a photo of a tiny Kimi with spaghetti sauce all over his face.

In Australia, the Piastri family threw a barbecue. “Oscar used to nap in the laundry basket,” his sister revealed, holding up the evidence. “Oh my god,” Y/N wheezed. “I’m using this. 100%.”

By mid-season, she had a mental archive of the grid’s childhoods:

Max hated bibs.

George wore bow ties voluntarily.

Pierre was a serial sandcastle destroyer.

Lando once got stuck in a toy McLaren.

3. Grill the Grid: Baby Photos Edition

“Welcome to Grill the Grid: Baby Photos Edition 2025!” the producer cheered.

The drivers sat in a semi-circle, already dreading humiliation.

Max: “I’m not good with faces… even mine.”

Pierre: “If there’s a baby in sunglasses, it’s probably me.”

Lando: “If I get Oscar wrong, he’s never letting it go.”

Y/N bounced in her seat, sandwiched between Kimi and Oscar, practically glowing with excitement.

“You’re way too confident,” Lando said suspiciously. “I have my ways,” she said with a smirk.

Round 1: A chunky baby in a karting suit.

Y/N: “Carlos.” Carlos: “…How?” Y/N: “Your mom showed me in Barcelona. You refused to take the helmet off for dinner.”

Round 2: A grinning toddler in a toy car.

Y/N: “Lando.” Lando: “No way you—” Y/N: “Your dad said you honked the horn for two hours straight.”

Round 3: Baby with a bow tie.

Y/N: “George Russell.” George: “Okay, how—” Y/N: “Your nan showed me that one. It’s still on her shelf.”

The media team was crying laughing. Drivers were screaming.

Pierre: “Do our parents love her more than us?!” Y/N: “Yes.” Lewis: “Confirmed. My mum calls her her bonus daughter.”

4. The Cute Baby Reveal

Finally, her own baby picture popped up:

Tiny Y/N in a bright yellow blanket, cheeks round as mochi.

All the drivers melted.

Oscar: “Aww…” George: “That’s gotta be Y/N.” Max: “…I’d protect that baby with my life.”

She hid her face as the scoreboard appeared:

Winner: Y/N L/N – 100%

Producer: “Y/N, how did you know them all so fast?” Y/N: “Easy. All your parents adore me and show me everything.”

5. Extended Scenarios

5A. Parent Group Chat

Two weeks later, Y/N’s phone buzzed. A new WhatsApp group:

“F1 Parents + Y/N 💕”

Pascale Leclerc: “Here’s Charles with a pudding bowl haircut 😆”

Carlos Sr.: “Here is Carlitos’ missing tooth era”

Kimi’s Nonna: “My bambino in the bathtub 🛁”

Y/N: “I’m using these for next year’s Grill the Grid.”

The parents: “DO IT.”

5B. Lando & Oscar’s Revenge

During the Belgian GP, Lando and Oscar tried to prank her.

They printed a random Google baby photo and said it was Max.

Y/N stared at it for three seconds.

“That’s not Max. His ears weren’t that small at 2. Nice try.”

The McLaren garage exploded in laughter.

5C. Driver Reactions to Her 100% Win

Carlos: Still salty. Keeps saying “traitor” whenever she visits his family.

George: Begged her to teach him how to win next year.

Max: Pretends he doesn’t care but secretly sends his mom selfies with Y/N.

Lando: Made a TikTok captioned: “The grid’s favorite child, not me 😔”

6. Social Media Aftermath

[F1 TikTok] Clip of Y/N naming every driver instantly.

“She’s literally the grid’s daughter 😭”

[Top Comments]:

“Max didn’t know his own face but she did 💀”

“She’s the main character of Grill the Grid”

“F1 drivers are her brothers and their parents are her parents. Cinematic universe.”

7. Final Scene – True Daughter of the Grid

At the Italian GP, Y/N strolled through the paddock with a gelato, waving at every family member like a local celebrity.

Carlos’ mom hugged her.

Lando’s dad offered to show her a new set of baby pics.

Pascale Leclerc whispered, “You really are the daughter of the grid.”

And when the drivers groaned about it later in the garage, Y/N just grinned:

“Hey, I don’t make the rules. The parents love me more than you.”

End.

“LET’S! GO! Y/N! CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP!”

Max, over comms: “What is this noise? My ears are dying.” Race Engineer: “Uh… Y/N’s fans. They seem… prepared.”

Lando, back in garage: “It literally sounds like Wembley during a concert. What’s happening??” Yuki, casually eating Pocky: “She’s famous. Like, idol famous.” Charles, head whipping around: “Idol?? As in… K-pop??” Yuki: “Yes. My sister bought her album. Limited edition. Photocard and everything.”

The entire McLaren garage: collective shrieking

Scene Four: Saturday Escalation

Quali day.

You walk out of the garage to head to the gridwalk. The sound is earth-shattering. Screams so loud the ground vibrates.

Lewis literally stops mid-step. “That’s not normal fan screaming. That’s… idol screaming.” Pierre: “Why does she have security detail like it’s the Met Gala??” Lando: “Wait—are those… lightsticks??”

Yes. Yes they are. Entire stands waving Bluetooth-synced official lightsticks in your color.

The kicker? They chant your name in sync with the engine sounds.

Oscar, jaw dropped: “They practiced. They… practiced with onboard audio.” Carlos, whispering: “This is sorcery.”

And when you make P3? The crowd ERUPTS. The fanchant shakes the entire circuit.

Crofty: “Ladies and gentlemen, you’d think we were at Coachella, but no—this is Y/N making P3.”

Scene Five: The Slip

After quali, you sneak to the barricades where fans are waiting. You sign albums (yes, albums), photocards, and lightsticks. Someone hands you a cake shaped like a Porsche car.

Alex, walking past: “Wait. Waitwaitwait. That’s her… actual album.” Logan: “And it has a Billboard sticker.” Alex: “…She’s literally… famous.” Logan: “How did we not know this??”

Meanwhile, Yuki’s just scrolling TikTok. “Told you.”

Scene Six: Race Day Madness

Race day.

The paddock is a war zone of glitter and fan slogans. Trucks of coffee arrive with custom “Driver Y/N Lattes.” Flower walls taller than the garages line the paddock gates.

Mechanics are taking selfies with fan banners. FIA officials look vaguely terrified.

Crofty: “I’ve never seen this. It’s like the Super Bowl halftime show… but it’s just one driver’s fan section.”

Formation lap.

As you pass, the crowd belts a perfectly synchronized fanchant. Loud enough to drown out engines.

George: “How is this louder than a V6??” Charles: “Mon dieu…” Max, deadpan: “I want earplugs.”

Scene Seven: The Win

And then you win.

Perfect strategy. Perfect pit stops. A late safety car seals it.

You cross the line first—and the fans LOSE THEIR MINDS.

Entire grandstands explode in confetti. A banner unfurls across the main stand:

“WE ALWAYS BELIEVED IN YOU 💜”

Glitter rains down. Fireworks go off. Balloons in your colors float into the sky.

Crofty: “This… this is not just a race. This is a phenomenon.”

Scene Eight: Hospitality Takeover

Back in hospitality, chaos.

Fans have delivered:

3 trucks of cakes (including a podium-shaped one).

Flower walls taller than Toto.

Customized cookies with your race number.

A coffee cart with drinks named after you.

George: “Why is this cake taller than me?” Lando: “Everything’s taller than you.” George: “NOT THE POINT.”

Max, holding a cookie with your face: “…This is creepy.” You: “Eat it.” Max: eats it “…Okay, it’s good.”

Scene Nine: The Fanmeet

Instead of hiding, you head straight to the barricades for a fanmeet.

Hundreds line up, holding banners, albums, posters. You smile, sign, laugh, and even dance for fancams.

Daniel Ricciardo stumbles upon it. Daniel: “…Is this a concert?” Fan: “No, it’s a fansign.” Daniel: “…Can I—?” Fan shoves him out. Daniel: 🧍

Scene Ten: The Grid Tries (And Fails) To Cope

The drivers cannot process this.

Carlos: “I thought the Tifosi were powerful. This is another universe.” Lewis, grinning: “She’s got idol power. That’s global. Respect.” Lando, holding a lightstick: “Okay but… if I learn the fanchant will they—” Y/N: “No.” Lando: “Oh.”

Charles accidentally waves a fan lightstick on camera. It syncs automatically. Fancams blow up. #LightstickCharles trends worldwide.

Pierre gets ambushed by fans asking for selfies because he was seen in one of your TikToks once. Pierre: “I AM A DRIVER TOO, YOU KNOW.” Fan: “Okay bestie now hold this banner.”

Even Toto gets caught in a fanchant when fans spot him in the paddock. They chant, in perfect unison:

“CEO! CEO! CEO!” Toto: looks around, horrified

Scene Eleven: Acceptance

By the end of the night, the grid has accepted their fate.

You’re not just a rookie driver. You’re a phenomenon.

Carlos: “We can’t compete with this.” George: “We shouldn’t. We’ll lose.” Lewis, smiling knowingly: “She’s redefining what it means to be a driver. You’ve got to respect it.” Max: “…As long as they don’t chant during quali again.”

Meanwhile, you’re curled up in hospitality, eating a fan-delivered cupcake, completely unbothered.

Because this? This is normal. This is what your fans always do. The grid just finally figured it out.

✨ End. ✨ (aka: the day Formula 1 realized K-pop stans could take over their entire sport if they wanted to.)

Yandere! Yakuza who kicks open your brother's door at three in the morning, a cigarette in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.

You scramble out of bed, convinced you're about to be murdered. And it's only your brother's hand hastily slapped over your mouth that keeps you from screaming bloody murder.

"Relax, I know these guys."

Despite his words, your brother doesn't look relaxed at all. His eyes dart around the room and he balls his fists into his jeans. It's a habit he hasn't broken since childhood and before you know it, you're stepping between him and a dangerously scarred yakuza.

Your Japanese is beyond rudimentary and your course didn't exactly cover how to have conversations with members of an organised crime family, but you tilt your chin back and try to keep your voice steady.

"Naze anata ga koko ni iru no ka? [why are you here?]"

Yandere! Yakuza who shamelessly leers at your tiny summer pyjamas. He pulls at his cigarette and when he speaks, his English is heavy with an accent.

"Came to collect what he owes us."

Of all the possible answers he could have given you, that was one you don't expect in the slightest. You turn to your brother and the way he avoids your eyes is answer enough. God, how could he be so stupid? Didn't you teach him better?

Yandere! Yakuza who came prepared to smash furniture and rough up a stubborn debtor suddenly finds himself at the mercy of your glare. You're at least a foot or two shorter than him and somehow it feels like he's the one being overpowered.

"How much does he owe?"

"Sis really I can-"

Yandere! Yakuza who scoffs and names a number much, much larger than you expected. It takes every ounce of will power not to scream at your brother right then and there. How could he get himself into such a mess? He's barely been here more than six months!

Yandere! Yakuza who watches the emotions flicker across your face and has to admire the way you fight them back. The only sign of your fear is a slight tremble in your hand.

"How much do you need tonight?"

The amount he names is just about everything you have in savings. You bite your lip. One look at him tells you everything you need to know. This isn't some small time crook. The pin on his suit jacket is clear as day, even to a foreigner like you.

You pull your coat over your pyjamas and grab your handbag.

"Let's go then."

When you step out into the hall, you're met with two other Yakuza. How didn't you notice them?

You meet their eyes, trying your absolute hardest to seem unruffled. Predators get violent when they sense fear, right? So don't like them catch that smell on you, no matter how fast your heart is racing.

The night air nips at your skin as you head to the nearest ATM.

"Sis it isn't that bad, I swear -"

"We'll talk about it later, ok?"

Yandere! Yakuza who walks close behind you. You can catch the smell of his cologne - something woody and pleasantly sharp.

When you slip your card into the ATM, he leans against the wall next to you and pulls out another cigarette. He watches you while he lights it, the flame throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief.

"You got a boyfriend?"

You're genuinely surprised. Your relationship status isn't exactly on your list of things dangerous criminals should be concerned about.

"No. I don't."

He let's the smoke curl up between his teeth.

"Good. Pretty girl like you shouldn't bother with relationships."

"Why not?"

The ATM spits out your cash before he can answer.

He doesn't take the money immediately. Instead, he let's his eyes roam down your body, like he can still see what's underneath your bulky coat.

"You're never gonna pay it off at this rate."

"You're offering me advice? Didn't think that was part of your job."

"Sōde wa arimasen [it isn't]. But what kind of man would I be if I didn't help you out?"

He digs in his inner pocket and you catch a glimpse of the gun holstered under his jacket.

He pulls out a business card and scribbles something at the back of it.

"He hasn't told you, but we've got his passport. He can't leave until he's settled what he owes."

You suck in a sharp breath at that. How much worse could this situation get?

He holds out the card. "Come work for us and maybe we can work out a better deal, yeah?"

You scoff. "Does that deal involve selling my organs?"

He smiles a little at that. "Īe - no. It's easy work. Come by tomorrow and see for yourself."

You look down at the card and the hand offering it. His tattoos peak out of his sleeve, blue-black and twisting in patterns you can't recognise. Better to not offend a gangster, right?

You take the card.

"Iiko [good girl]."

He turns to go, his baseball bat slung over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow hanī [honey]."

He's barely out of sight before you're grabbing your brother's ear and dragging him back to the apartment.

You spend the rest of the night talking to - or more accurately, interrogating - your brother.

"Gambling? What the hell where you thinking?"

"I was drunk, okay?"

You hiss and rub at your temples. And the worst part? The yakuza was right. You can't pay it off. Not without a very well paying job.

His card glares at you from the kitchen table. An easy job, huh?

The address on the card leads you to a hostess club in the middle of the Red Light District.

He isn't going to kidnap you in the middle of the day in the middle of the city, right? Slightly comforted, you make your way into the club.

It's cool and dark, lit by colorful lamps more than anything. You show the card to the bartender and a few minutes later your yakuza is sitting across from you and ordering you both drinks.

Yandere! Yakuza who wears a suit in the slouched, lazy way of a school delinquent. Shirt unbuttoned so you can see the edge his tattoos and the gold chain gleaming at his neck.

He gestures at the bar and the room around you, his cigarette hanging lazily between his fingers. "The Family owns this place. And my kyodai manages it."

He studies you while he smokes, eyes dipping to your chest and lingering. "You can work as a hostess here. Make good money and we'll take a cut of it to pay off what your brother owes."

You take a sip of your drink to avoid answering him. The sake leaves a tingle on your lips.

"But I'm not exactly fluent in Japanese. How am I supposed to entertain customers?"

He grins wolfishly at you. "Just wear something tight and you won't have to talk at all."

"Perv," you mutter into your drink.

On the surface, you can't see anything wrong with his offer. It makes perfect sense - the club gets a new girl they barely have to pay and your brother's creditors don't need to keep tracking him down.

But he's a yakuza and you'd be a fool to trust him.

"Fine. I'll work here, try my hardest to learn Japanese and sell drinks."

You hold his gaze. "But I'm gone the second I think you're being shady. Got it?"

Yandere! Yakuza who smiles like he's won the lottery. "Wakatta [got it]."

When you show up later that evening, he's your first customer. He orders you a bottle of champagne and keeps topping up your glass without ever touching his own.

A few drinks in you manage to finally loosen up enough to hold a conversation. He asks you endless questions - about your childhood, your hobbies, the movies you've been watching.

But in return, he dodges any question you throw at him. "Don't ask about my family." "My childhood was boring. You don't want to hear about it." "Hobbies? Does puss-"

"No."

"Then no."

He's surprisingly fun to talk to. And when he gets a call and has to leave you, there's a pang of disappointment that you can't quite mask.

He grins and flicks your forehead. "Don't miss me too much."

When you pick up the bill, you realise he left you a hefty tip. You stare at it and then at his retreating back. Just what is his angle?

Yandere! Yakuza who's back the next day and the one after that. He sprawls in the booth like a spoiled prince, his arms thrown across the headrest and his legs spread.

"Let me teach you Japanese."

You perk up. A native teacher would be so much easier to learn from compared to the dense textbooks you've tried using.

"Repeat after me. Onegaishimasu. It means 'please'."

You try and imitate his intonation. He walks you through a few more common phrases with moderate success.

"Need to work on your accent, but that was decent. Ready to try something longer? Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne [I think you're very handsome]."

"Anato wa...wa totemo hansam... hansamudesu ne."

He smirks at you over the rim of his glass. He seems immensely pleased.

"What does it mean?"

"Just another way to... greet someone. Kinda tricky though, so you should just use it on me."

He spends the rest of the day explaining kanji and grammar. You take notes on the back of a receipt and promise to rewrite them when you get home.

Your shift is practically over when he finally stands to leave.

"Say goodbye like I taught you."

"Anata wa totemo hansamudesu ne."

He grins at you again, his voice a bit sweeter when he replies. "Anata mo totemo kireidesu ne [you're pretty too]."

You tilt your head, struggling to understand. You don't recognise the phrase, but he's gone before you can ask what it means.

Yandere! Yakuza who requests you almost everyday. Until the house mother snaps at him to give it a rest, there are other clients who want to talk to you.

He scoffs and throws back his drink, Adam's apple bobbing like he's swallowing down his anger too.

"If they want to talk to her so bad, they should get here earlier. Watashitachiha kono basho o shoyū shite imasu [we own this place]. So go and get me my girl."

When you finally make it to his table, he's back to being all smiles. The only person who notices his jealousy is the house mother and she's far too busy to mention it.

"My head is killing me. Give me a massage please?"

He flops down into your lap before you can say no.

You sigh and run your fingers through his hair, trying to remember where the pressure points are.

Yandere! Yakuza who practically purrs at your touch. When you lift a hand away to take a sip of your water, he barely waits for you to swallow before he's dragging it back.

There's something very strange about having a deadly gangster in your lap. With his eyes closed, you can almost forget just how much he scared you when you first met. Can forget how he still scares you.

He opens his eyes and catches you studying him. He reaches up and catches your hand as you draw away from him. His touch is gentle, softer than you would expect from looking at him.

"Go on a date with me."

You aren't sure if it's an offer or a command. There's something so intimate about the way he looks at you, the club lights carving hollows into his cheeks, eyes dark and sweet.

And God help you, he's so close. Only the thin fabric of your stockings between his skin and yours.

"Okay."

His lips quirk into a half smile, boyishly handsome.

"Good. You'll like it."

By the next evening, you're already regretting your decision. What kind of idiot goes on a date with a yakuza? You blame the alcohol and the closeness of his body and your stupid, stupid hormones for getting you into this.

But when he picks you up, you find yourself smiling. He actually knocks on the apartment door this time and you open it with the full intention of teasing him.

"My brother's landlord-"

Your words die in your throat. You always knew he was handsome but the man waiting for you takes your breath away.

His hair is slicked away from his face and a sparkling cross dangles from one ear. His lazy suits are gone, replaced with a suit that's pressed and tailored. Hell, even his shirt is buttoned up properly.

He looks good. Dangerously good.

He takes you in, eyes lingering at your curves. You swallow and try not to blush. You do your hair and makeup everyday for the club and he's seen you in this dress before, but he looks at you like it's all new to him, like he wants to drink in every inch of you.

You somehow manage to find your voice and it has none of its usual bite. "You look good. Really good."

He smoothes a hand over his hair self consciously. "Arigatō. Shall we go?"

He offers you his arm and you take it, your heart thundering. He opens the car door for you and helps you in like a proper gentleman. You catch a whiff of his cologne - the same woodsy scent from the night you met.

He takes you to a skyscraper restaurant and sits down right next to the window. The city is a sparkling sprawl at your feet.

"I didn't think you'd be into a place like this," you say.

"What? You think I don't got class?" He grins and points his fork at you, "I've got the best damn taste in this whole city."

"Explains why you asked me out then."

"Obviously." He leans forward. "Only the best for my girl, yeah?"

"I'm your girl? Since when?"

"Since..." He makes a show of checking his watch. "Since the night I met you. You just didn't know it yet."

Ah, now that's one way to make a girl fall for you. And despite your better sense, you feel yourself falling.

You can still taste the lingering sweetness of dessert when he walks you back to his car. His leans against the car door and loops his arms around your waist.

"You had fun tonight?"

"Yes. More than I expected honestly."

He pulls you closer to him, softly enough that you can step back at any point. You don't.

"Gonna give me a kiss to say thank you? It's a very important part of our culture."

You clasp your hands together behind his neck.

"You liar."

He grins that boyish half smile of his. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

He doesn't feel like a gangster or a creditor or a customer. In that moment he feels like just a man - someone strong and handsome that you desperately want to kiss.

Your gaze flickers down to his lips and then back to his eyes. You pull gently at his neck and his head dips lower. You stay like that for a moment, lips almost touching. Too nervous to make the final move.

His hands move to cradle your waist and he closes the gap between you.

You pull him closer, your hands slipping from his neck to his jaw. His stubble scrapes your palm and makes your whole body tingle. He tastes of wine and sugar.

When you finally pull away, you draw your thumb across his lower lip. His eyes are half lidded and when he moves, it's with a sluggish reluctance. Like he doesn't want to let go of you.

He keeps one hand on your waist and draws out a stack of cash with the other. When he speaks, his voice is husky.

"How much for tonight?"

"What?"

His draws his hand up your waist to rest against your sternum. Like he wants to dig his hand into your heart.

"How much to take you home?"

A bucket of cold water would have been less shocking. You pull away from him, your mind racing.

God, why are you such an idiot? Of course he only wants to fuck you. He's just a thug, what did you expect?

And worse, you feel like a small part of your heart is breaking. Why be so sweet to you, why go out of his way to spend time with you, if all he wants is a one night stand?

"Are you serious?"

"Obviously. How much do you charge?"

You act without thinking and slap him right across his face.

The sound of it is terribly sharp in the open quite of the parking lot. It leaves your palm stinging. You freeze, terrified of what you've just done.

He doesn't move, his head turned to the side from the force of your slap. Slowly, he touches his fingers to his cheek. His expression is unreadable.

Oh, you're so dead. You just hit a yakuza. A guy who probably breaks faces everyday, who has who knows how many felonies to his name.

Your first instinct is to apologise, say you weren't thinking and that you're so so sorry. You lift your chin and squash down that part of you.

"I'm not for sale."

The quiet stretches out, tense and dangerous. He turns away and opens the car door for you. He doesn't meet your eyes.

"I understand now. Gomen'nasai [I'm sorry]."

The drive home is terribly quiet. You keep expecting him to lash out - hit you or humiliate you for daring to slap him like that.

He doesn't. He just keeps eyes on the road.

When you reach your building, he follows you to the door and rests his hand on the frame above your head. You can feel him behind you, close enough for his breath to tickle the back of your neck.

"I can't buy you."

"No."

"But I want you."

You pull in a shuddering breath. "Earn it."

You shut the door without turning back.

He doesn't show up at the club for the next week. At first you're on edge - what if he gets you fired? Or worse, does something to your brother?

But your boss doesn't mention anything and your brother keeps coming home in one piece. Slowly, you relax. Tell yourself that he's done with you now that you won't give him what he wants. You try and ignore the way it hurts.

When he does finally show up, he's dangerously tipsy. He yanks you out of your booth in the middle of a date and leaves the house mother to bow and apologise to the customer.

You try not to make a scene as he pulls you along behind him. But you look about desperately for any of the other yakuza. Where the hell are they when you need them?

Finally, he drops you in a booth in the corner of the club and collapses across from you. His hair is messier than you've ever seen it and there's a feverish wildness in the way he looks at you.

"Fine. I'm here. Let me earn your love."

You rub your arm and scowl at him. "Your idea of winning me over is to leave a huge bruise on my arm?"

He runs his hands through his hair. "Hell, I don't know. I've never had to win a girl over before."

"Yeah right. I've seen the girls you go out with. There's no shortage of women in your life."

He looks you in the eye. "Bought and paid for." He gestures at the table and at you. "Not like this. Not like you."

That gives you pause. It makes sense. Gangsters don't exactly have the time to go on Sunday morning brunch dates or meet the family.

"So why not just pay someone else?"

You don't say it out loud but the rest of your question is clear. Why me?

"I...I don't want to. Setsumei suru no wa totemo muzukashīdesu [It's so hard to explain]. But I don't want anyone else."

A confession from a yakuza was not at all on your list on fun and lighthearted tourist activities. You're not entirely sure how to deal with it.

Your sense is screaming at you to be smart. And when is dating a criminal ever smart? You're supposed to get yourself and your brother away from the underworld, not get roped deeper in. And what happens if you want to break up? When has a man with a gun and too many scars ever taken a heartbreak well?

And yet...

You want him. Stupidly, against all sense, you want to be with him. He's dangerous. He probably only wants to fuck you. He has too much power over your life. He might never let you leave him.

And still you want him.

You take a deep breath. "Come over tonight and I'll cook you something. And if my cooking doesn't change your mind then... then we can talk about it."

He smiles at you and the wild look in his eye seems to finally dim.

"Anata ga watashi o oidasou to shite mo dekinakatta [Baby, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried]."

You weren't lying when you said you were a terrible cook. When he finally arrives, the rice is somehow both burnt and slightly undercooked and your curry is severely under-salted.

You scrunch your nose when you take a bite. "This is awful."

"You cooked it." He takes another bite. "And I hate to say it, but I've had worse."

You push your bowl away and mutter, "I didn't think rice could be so complicated. I followed the instructions and everything."

He takes another bite. "I can make decent rice. And udon."

"So between the two of us, there's only one good cook? Shameful."

He adds some salt to his bowl. "Neither of us ever has the time to cook anyway, so I don't know why you're surprised."

You shake your head and watch him. He's halfway through your abysmal culinary concoction and somehow not green in the face.

"You never talk about yourself," you tell him.

He avoids your eyes. "I'm not that interesting."

"But I am?"

"Yes." There's a quiet fierceness to his answer that makes your heart stutter.

"Tell me a secret about yourself."

It's his turn to study you. "A secret."

"That's what I said."

He considers you for a long moment before reaching up and undoing his shirt buttons. He turns his back to you and let's his shirt fall away.

You gasp. His tattoo covers his entire back. It's every bit as intricate as you suspected - there's lotus flowers between his shoulder blades and a spider inked below his ribcage.

But it's the snake that takes up most of the space. It curls and unwinds across his back, every scale painstakingly inked. It's hissing mouth rests on his shoulder blade, opposite his heart.

He flinches when you touch him, but doesn't ask you to stop. You run your fingertips up his back, tracing the snakes coiling body.

"It's incredible."

He doesn't answer you. Eventually your fingers come to rest on his neck.

He reaches back and takes hold of your wrist. He draws it forward and tilts his head to press a kiss against your pulse. You wonder if he can feel the way your heart jumps when he touches you.

"Do you want to know the real secret? I go home at night and lie awake thinking about you."

You lean forward and rest your forehead against his bare back. "What do you think about?"

He inhales sharply. "Your voice... your lips... your body."

You laugh a little and your warm breath on his skin makes him shiver. "You're shameless."

"Mattaku hajishirazuna [totally shameless]."

You tilt his head towards you and kiss his cheek.

You can feel him smile against your lips. When you pull away, he turns to you and cups your jaw.

Your Japanese has gotten better, but you don't understand what he whispers before he kisses you.

"Watashi Kazu anata ni koiwoshiteiru, soshite watashi wa tomaranai [I'm falling in love with you and I can't stop]."

He presses his lips against yours, so much hungrier this time. His hand slips from your cheek to the nape of your neck to pull you closer to him.

"My girl, my pretty girl. Hanaretakute mo hanare rarenakatta [I couldn't let you go even if I wanted to]."

He presses hot kisses against your throat. His grip on your neck almost painfully tight.

"Hitsuyōniōjite, anata no kyōdai ni wa nan-nen mo shakkin o showa seru koto ni narudeshou [gonna keep your brother in debt for years if I have to]."

The rest of his sentence is little more than a growl. "Nanrakano hōhō de anata ni watashi o aishite morau tsumoridesu [gonna make you love me back one way or another]."

Group Chat: “WHO IS MAX VERSTAPPEN DATING”

 (Members: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz, Daniel Ricciardo, Alex Albon)

Alex: Why is this group chat even called this??

Lando: because max has a girlfriend and literally NOBODY knows who she is 😤

Alex: …that’s the reason??

Alex: Wait. He has a girlfriend? Since when??

Lando: THAT’S WHAT WE WANT TO KNOW. Daniel knows and he won’t tell us.

Daniel: 😊

Alex: So this entire chat exists just to stalk Verstappen’s love life?

Lando: It’s called INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALISM.

Alex: Or obsession.

Lando: Okay Sherlock Holmes, tell me you wouldn’t want to know who she is.

Carlos: I don’t care.

Oscar: I also don’t care.

Daniel: They’re lying. They care.

Carlos: Shut up, Daniel.

Alex: Wait wait wait. So you know, Dan?

Daniel: mhm.

Lando: AND HE REFUSES TO TELL US.

Oscar: That’s because it’s none of our business.

Lando: betrayal. treason. backstabbing.

Carlos: This is going to end badly.

Oscar: Definitely.

Daniel: 

Max would kill you all if he knew about this chat 😂

Lando: worth it.

***

Text Messages: Lewis Hamilton & Nico Rosberg

Lewis: I don’t usually text you, but I’m giving you a heads up. Before you hear it through the press.

Nico: Oh, this must be serious if you’re breaking the sacred vow of silence. What, you finally retiring?

Lewis: Cute. No. It’s about Ana.

Nico: …Ana? What happened?

Lewis: George crossed a line. Put his hands on her. She fought him off, but she’s hurt. HR are on it. Toto’s pulling strings, but it’s ugly.

Nico: … You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.

Lewis: Wish I was. She ended up in hospital after the fallout.

Nico: Fuck. I thought she was safe with Toto and Susie around.

Lewis: She should have been. None of us expected this.

Nico: Does Toto know I’m going to break every bone in that guy’s body?

Lewis: He’s handling it. Trust me, he’s furious enough for all of us.

Nico: Handling it isn’t enough. She didn’t deserve this.

Lewis:Agreed. But you need to keep your cool. If this leaks from the wrong mouth, it’ll hurt her more.

Nico: Fine. But don’t expect me to stay quiet if the FIA or Mercedes try to bury it.

Lewis: I wouldn’t. We’re on the same side.

***

Wolff Residence, Monaco - 28 July 2025

Jack came through the door with his usual schoolbag thump and the sound of sneakers on tile. His voice was bright, full of the chatter of playground politics.

“Mum? Why’s Ana here? I saw her shoes by the door!”

Susie glanced up from where she sat on the sofa, watching Ana sleep fitfully on the guest room couch, blanket tucked tight. Jack’s wide blue eyes looked expectant, curious, unguarded. He adored Ana, though he didn’t see her often—she was a rarity in Monaco, like a comet that blazed by, left him grinning at her quiet explanations of stars and machines.

“Yes, darling,” Susie said carefully, rising to meet him. “Ana’s here.”

Jack frowned, sensing the tension before she even said it. “She’s… sick?”

Susie crouched to his level. It was always the hardest part of motherhood—the choice between protecting his innocence and respecting his intelligence. He was eight. Old enough to know something was wrong. Too young for the full horror.

“She’s hurt,” Susie said gently. “Someone at work treated her very badly. Someone who didn’t listen when she said no.”

Jack blinked. Processing. “Like… bullied her?”

“Yes,” Susie said slowly. “But worse than that. He frightened her. And he grabbed her when she didn’t want him to. She got away, but she hurt her wrist.”

Jack’s face screwed up. Angry. Confused. “That’s not fair. You’re not supposed to touch someone if they don’t want it. Everyone knows that.”

“Exactly,” Susie whispered, brushing his hair back. “Everyone should know that. But this man didn’t listen.”

Jack hesitated, chewing his lip. “Who was it?”

Susie’s chest tightened. She’d hoped he wouldn’t ask—at least not yet. But his eyes were steady, and she couldn’t lie to him. He deserved truth, in a shape he could carry.

“It was George,” she said softly. “The one who drives for Papa.”

Jack froze. The name landed like a stone in water, rippling through his memory. “George?” he repeated, voice small. “But… he was always nice to me.”

“I know,” Susie said, pulling him close. “Sometimes people can seem nice, and still do very wrong things. That’s why it’s so important to listen when someone says no. George didn’t. And he hurt Ana. That’s why she’s here now.”

Jack buried his face against her shoulder, breathing hard. “I don’t like him anymore.”

“You don’t have to,” Susie murmured, holding him tight. “Papa doesn’t, either. And George won’t be coming back.”

Jack pulled back, eyes wet and angry. “Is he going to get in trouble?”

“Yes,” Susie said firmly. “He already is. And Papa is making very sure of it.”

Jack looked toward the guest room, voice small again. “Does Ana know she’s safe here?”

“She’ll know,” Susie promised. “Because we’ll show her. Quiet voices. Kindness. Giving her space when she needs it. You can help by being patient with her.”

Jack nodded, solemn. Then hesitated. “If she’s sad, can I… draw her something? Like when you get me to make cards for Papa?”

That nearly undid her. Susie kissed his forehead. “That’s a wonderful idea. I think it would mean the world to her.”

When he slipped off toward his room, already muttering about crayons, Susie stayed kneeling on the kitchen floor a moment longer, swallowing the lump in her throat. She hated that Jack had to learn so young that the world could be cruel—worse, that cruelty could come from someone he thought he knew.

But maybe, just maybe, this was how he would grow into a man who never let cruelty go unanswered.

***

Text Messages: Kimi Antonelli & Oliver Bearman

Kimi:Good news: I won’t be jobless next year. Bad news: George Russell is fucking insane.

Ollie: …define insane?

Kimi: He apparently kissed Ana Wolff against her will this morning. She broke her wrist punching him to get away.

Ollie: WHAT THE FUCK.

Kimi: Toto cancelled our meeting because HR and lawyers are all over it. Whole factory is like a morgue.

Ollie: …mate, that’s not “bad news.” That’s a catastrophe. Jesus Christ. I don’t even know what to say. holy shit.

Kimi: I don’t get how someone thinks that’s okay. like she’s just… ours. You know? She’s one of us. Part of the team. She’s brilliant. I feel sick.

Ollie: Do we send her something?? Flowers? Chocolate? A flaming effigy of George Russell?

Kimi: I feel like she’d hate all of those but the thought is nice.

***

Wolff Residence, Monaco - 28 July 2025

The guest bedroom was dim, curtains drawn against the harsh Riviera sun. Susie had been working in the kitchen, answering emails on her laptop, when she heard the low, panicked sound of retching.

She was at Ana’s side in seconds.

Ana was half-curled on the bed, pale, trembling, a sheen of sweat across her forehead. The wastebasket Susie had left beside the bed that morning was clutched to her chest, her shoulders heaving as she retched again.

The sedatives the doctors had given her—necessary in the moment, but blunt instruments all the same—were fighting with her system. She gagged again, pale and trembling, and Susie quickly slid a hand beneath her shoulders, steadying her with practiced calm.

“There we go, darling,” Susie murmured, voice low and steady. “I’ve got you.”

Ana shuddered, tears pricking at her lashes.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely, voice breaking. “I—sorry.”

The word broke something sharp in Susie’s chest. She brushed damp hair back from Ana’s forehead, her tone fierce but gentle. “None of that,” Susie said firmly. “You don’t apologise for being unwell. Ever. Do you understand me?”

Ana blinked up at her, glassy-eyed, and Susie saw it—how thin the line was between exhaustion and despair.

Ana gave a tiny, miserable nod, but her eyes didn’t quite focus. She was still floating somewhere between the sedatives and the crash of adrenaline, lost in a fog that frightened Susie more than she let show.

Susie fetched a cool cloth and pressed it lightly to Ana’s skin, her movements steady and soothing even as her own worry grew. This wasn’t just exhaustion. This was her body in revolt.

When Ana finally sagged back against the pillows, spent, Susie stayed seated on the edge of the bed. She stroked her hair until her breathing evened out, watching every rise and fall of her chest like a hawk.

But inside, Susie’s decision had already crystallised.

She slipped out into the hall, pulled her phone from her pocket, and dialed a number.. Their family doctor picked up on the second ring.

“Hello, Dr. Laurent? It’s Susie Wolff. I’m sorry to trouble you, but I need a house call. As soon as possible.” She paused, glancing down at Ana, whose skin was far too pale. “Yes. It’s urgent.”

The doctor assured her he would come immediately.

Susie ended the call, leaning back against the wall for a moment, gathering herself. Then she went back into the room. Back to Ana. Because until the doctor arrived, she was not leaving her side.

Susie had dealt with countless crises—races gone wrong, media firestorms, even boardroom wars—but this was different. This was family.

And she wasn’t about to let Ana weather it alone.

***

Mercedes F1 HQ, Brackley, England - 28 July 2025

Brackley had never felt like this.

Andreas Steiner had walked those corridors for years—through triumph and through loss—and the heartbeat of the factory had always been there, even on the quietest Mondays. The shuffle of engineers carrying laptops between meetings, the low thrum of dyno tests behind heavy doors, the faint hum of printers spitting out design schematics. It was a place that breathed.

Now it felt like a tomb.

Now Andreas walked the corridors with a strange awareness that every conversation stopped when he approached, every whisper broke apart into nervous laughter. People were unsettled. Shaken. He was too. 

He saw it in the way corridors emptied at the sound of approaching footsteps, in the glances exchanged between engineers who didn’t dare voice what they’d overheard. Rumor traveled fast in Formula One. Faster, sometimes, than the cars. But the truth—what George Russell had done to Ana Wolff—had outpaced even rumor.

But more than anything, he was furious.

Not just at what George Russell had done—though the knowledge of it made his jaw tighten until his molars ached—but at the ripple it had left in its wake. Ana was bright, meticulous, and brilliant, and now she was a ghost in her own workplace.

Now, walking through the hushed corridors of Brackley, Andreas thought of the drivers who were still technically the team’s pride and poster boys. And of Ana—sharp, brilliant Ana—who had only ever asked to be left alone to do her work.

And Toto…

Andreas had known Toto Wolff for nearly a decade. He had seen him furious at race control, at rivals, at regulations that made no sense. He had seen him lose his temper, slam doors, break headsets. That anger had always been sharp, loud, kinetic.

This wasn’t that.

This was worse.

Toto was too still. Too quiet. When Andreas had stood in his office earlier that morning, Toto hadn’t raised his voice once. He hadn’t needed to. The words were calm, clipped, but edged with a fury that felt colder than ice. The kind of fury that waited. That sharpened itself on silence. That didn’t flare up and burn out—it stayed, and stayed, and stayed.

Andreas knew what it meant when Toto got like that. It meant there would be no mistakes. No rash decisions. Everything would be methodical. Documented. Relentless.

The conference room was packed, but no one leaned back in their chairs the way they usually did. No crossed arms, no idle scrolling through laptops. Everyone sat straight, eyes forward.

Because Toto Wolff was at the head of the table, and every line of his body told them this was not a meeting they could afford to half-listen to.

Andreas slid into his seat and laid his pen across the notes he wouldn’t need.

Toto didn’t bother with a preamble.

“You all know why we are here.”

Not a question. A statement.

Andreas felt the room flinch.

“My daughter was assaulted in this building. By one of our own drivers. By someone who thought his position excused him from respecting the people who keep this team alive.”

The words landed like hammer blows. No euphemisms. No hedging. Toto had stripped the language bare.

He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the table. “This is not a PR problem. This is not a matter of image management. This is a matter of culture. Of what we allow. Of what we look away from.”

Caroline from HR shifted, lips parting, but Toto’s gaze cut across her before she could speak.

“We had warning signs,” he said flatly. “Staff heard comments. They saw behavior. No one acted. And now we are here.”

Andreas caught his reflection in the polished table—grim, tight-mouthed. He knew Toto was right. People had whispered. People had laughed it off.

Toto’s voice dropped lower. “There will be no more whispers. There will be no more looking the other way. If you hear something, you act. If you see something, you report. If you fail—if you allow this to happen again—you will not be sitting in this room.”

Silence. Heavy. Absolute.

Andreas noticed the way even the senior engineers, men and women who’d stared down FIA tribunals and political firestorms, wouldn’t meet Toto’s eyes.

“George Russell is on leave,” he said, voice level, but carrying that deep resonance that made the air feel heavy. “Pending the conclusion of HR’s investigation. ”

A few heads nodded. No one spoke.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. “So here is what we are going to do. Not discuss. Not weigh. Not park until the next quarter. Do.”

Toto raised a hand, ticking off items like a knife against stone.

“Effective immediately: every employee in Brackley and Brixworth will undergo mandatory conduct and consent training. External facilitators, no exceptions. Senior staff included.”

“Effective immediately: HR has my authorization to escalate any report of harassment or misconduct directly to me. No filters. No delays. If someone is afraid to speak to me, they will have a direct line to Jessica, and I will treat it as if they had.”

“Effective immediately: drivers are no longer exempt from internal codes of conduct. They will be briefed, monitored, and held accountable as staff members. The same standards apply to them as apply to engineers, mechanics, and interns.”

Andreas caught the quick glance exchanged by a pair of senior engineers. Drivers had always been a category apart—untouchable, protected by PR, contracts, and points on the board. Not anymore.

“And finally,” Toto said, voice softening in a way that only made it more dangerous, “we will rebuild trust. Not by words. By action. Anastasia is one of our best. She should never have doubted that she was safe here. None of our people should. If you think this is about shielding reputations, you are in the wrong team. If you think performance excuses behavior, you are in the wrong team. If you think silence is protection, you are in the wrong team.”

He let the silence stretch. Heavy. Final.

Andreas watched the room—the tight jaws, the lowered eyes, the weight of the realization that Mercedes had not just lost control of a situation but had failed someone they all respected.

“Questions?” Toto asked at last.

No one spoke.

“Good.”

He stood. “Then get to work. 

Brackley had been a tomb. But now, Andreas thought, it felt more like a battlefield waiting for the next command.

***

PRIVATE CHAT — Secure channel

JadeQueen 👑 is online

JadeQueen: You alive? Haven’t heard from you since yesterday. Don’t make me come to Brackley and drag you out myself.

JadeQueen 👑 is offline

JadeQueen 👑 is online

JadeQueen:Ana. Answer me.

JadeQueen 👑 is offline

***

Wolff Residence, Monaco - 28 July 2025

The house was quiet when Toto let himself in. Too quiet for a summer evening in Monaco, where the cicadas usually hummed through the shutters and Jack was usually a whirlwind of chatter. He set his keys down, his movements unusually tentative, listening.

From the living room, he heard low voices. Not Susie’s—another, older man’s, clipped and professional. The doctor.

Toto’s chest tightened as he stepped through the doorway.

Dr. Laurent was bent over his bag, packing away instruments with precise efficiency. On the sofa, Ana lay under a light blanket, her frame curled inward as if she was trying to fold herself into invisibility. Jack sat cross-legged beside her, a coloring book balanced awkwardly on his lap, one hand hovering protectively near her arm. His little brow was furrowed in concentration, as though keeping her company was the most serious job in the world.

Susie was perched in the armchair, watching both of them like a sentry. Her gaze flicked up when Toto entered, relief softening her features for just a second before the exhaustion returned.

“Toto,” she said quietly. “The doctor’s just finished.”

Dr. Laurent straightened, offering a brisk nod. “She’s stable, but her body didn’t tolerate the sedatives well. Severe nausea, dehydration, heightened anxiety response. I’ve given her fluids and adjusted the medication. What she needs most now is rest, hydration, and to feel safe.”

Safe. The word landed like a stone in Toto’s gut.

He looked at Anastasia—her lashes fluttering against pale cheeks, the faint tremor in her fingers where they clutched at the edge of the blanket. She didn’t stir when he stepped closer, only shifted faintly, as though even in sleep she sensed the weight of the room around her.

Jack glanced up at him, serious and solemn. “Papa. I’m keeping Ana company. She’s sad.”

Toto crouched down beside the sofa, reaching out to ruffle Jack’s hair, though his eyes never left Ana. “You’re doing a very good job, Jack. Thank you.”

Jack nodded firmly, like he’d just been given an assignment. He set the coloring book aside but stayed close, one small hand resting lightly near Ana’s elbow as if to guard her.

Toto’s throat tightened. He forced himself to focus on Dr. Laurent, his voice low and measured though his hands flexed restlessly at his sides. “She’ll recover?”

“With care,” the doctor said. “But recovery will not be only physical. This kind of trauma leaves marks. She’ll need time. Patience.” He glanced between them, then lowered his tone. “And protection.”

The implication hung in the air. Toto nodded once, sharply. Protection, she would have. On that, there was no negotiation.

Dr. Laurent finished packing, exchanged a few quiet instructions with Susie, then excused himself. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving silence again.

Toto eased onto the arm of the sofa, careful not to disturb Ana. For a long moment, he just sat there, taking in the fragile rise and fall of her breathing. His fingers itched with helplessness; he was a man used to fixing problems, strategizing solutions, bending chaos into order. But this—this was different.

Susie moved to stand beside him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. “She threw up half the morning,” she said softly. “Kept apologizing for it.” Her voice broke for a moment. “Like it was her fault.”

Toto closed his eyes, pressing a hand to his face. Anger surged hot and sharp through him, but he swallowed it down. Not here. Not now. He couldn’t let it touch Ana.

When he opened his eyes again, he looked at Jack—his son, still sitting watch like a small, loyal guard dog. “Jack, why don’t you go wash up for dinner? Mama and I will sit with Anastasia.”

Jack hesitated, reluctant to leave, but finally nodded. He leaned forward, whispering something inaudible to Ana, then padded off toward the kitchen.

Left in the quiet, Toto finally reached out, his hand hovering for a second before brushing against Ana’s wrist—light, careful, as if afraid she might break under his touch.

Her skin was cool. Her lashes flickered, but she didn’t wake.

“I’ve got you, Sternchen,” he murmured in German, too low for anyone but her to hear. “You’re safe. I promise.”

Beside him, Susie’s hand stayed on his shoulder, grounding him. For the first time all day, Toto let himself breathe.

The quiet stretched in the living room after Jack padded away, broken only by the steady hum of the air conditioning and the faint rustle of Ana shifting in restless half-sleep.

Toto sat rigid on the sofa’s arm, one hand still resting lightly near Ana’s wrist. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed on her pale face as though sheer willpower could keep her safe now.

His eyes stayed on Ana, but his mind was elsewhere—spinning, calculating, breaking apart the same problem in a thousand useless directions.

“The press release will be out soon?” Susie asked quietly. 

Toto nodded. “Valtteri confirmed everything with Brackley this afternoon. He’ll drive in Hungary. It’s handled.” He exhaled, long and harsh through his nose. 

His jaw was tight enough to ache.Frustration bristled sharp in his tone. “You should have told me. That he was—” Toto’s mouth twisted, distaste pulling at the words. “—flirting with her. Pushing at her. I should have known.”

Susie’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re right. I should have told you,” she admitted after a beat. “But I honestly didn’t think he would cross that line, Toto. I thought he was posturing. Trying to feel bigger than he is. I didn’t think he would cross the line like that. I didn’t think he was capable of…” She trailed off, shaking her head, fury flickering in her eyes.

Toto’s hand clenched around Ana’s hand. “You don’t not tell me something like that. I could have—” He broke off, raking a hand through his hair. “I could have stopped it before it got this far.”

Susie didn’t flinch. “Yes. And you’re right to be angry. I was going to tell you after Spa, but I should have told you before. I didn’t think it was…urgent. I miscalculated.”

She hesitated for a moment. 

“Do you think that meeting you you had scheduled with George this afternoon played a part? He probably felt cornered. You’ve been questioning his seat for months. Ana was an opportunity to him. A way to leverage security. Maybe he thought—if he could get close to your daughter, it would protect him? That it would secure his place?”

The words landed like a blow. Toto felt something cave in behind his ribs, hollow and sickening. His thumb brushed Ana’s knuckles, almost unconsciously, but his throat closed up.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and raw. “He used her. To get to me.” He said it like it poisoned him. He turned, meeting Susie’s gaze, stricken. “My influence—my name—was supposed to protect her. And instead it put a target on her back.”

Susie moved closer, laying a hand against his arm. “No, Toto. Don’t do that. The only person to blame here is George.”

But Toto shook his head, anguish flickering beneath the steel. His hand curled into a fist against his thigh. “What good is all my power if I cannot keep her safe?”

For a moment, Susie just looked at him. She saw it—the fury, the guilt, the helplessness eating at him in equal measure. She reached up, smoothing a hand against his cheek until his eyes finally, reluctantly, came back to hers.

“You are keeping her safe,” she said firmly. “She’s here. She’s protected. And you’ve made sure George will never come near her again. That is what your power is for.”

Toto closed his eyes, leaning into her touch for the barest moment before pulling her into an embrace, his jaw pressed against her hair. His arms were iron around her, as though holding her was the only thing tethering him.

Ana shifted faintly under her blanket, murmuring something half-formed in her sleep. Both their heads turned instantly, watching until her breathing steadied again.

Toto’s voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “I’ll never forgive him. Not for this. Not ever.”

And Susie, with her arms still around him, didn’t argue.

***

Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS Formula One Team Statement

The Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS Formula One Team confirms that Valtteri Bottas will drive for the team at the Hungarian Grand Prix.

Effective immediately, George Russell has been suspended from all team duties, pending the outcome of an internal HR investigation.

Out of respect for the ongoing process and the privacy of those involved, the team will not provide further details at this time.

Our focus remains on preparing for the Hungarian Grand Prix and ensuring that our team members are supported both professionally and personally.

— Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS Formula One Team

***

Twitter Thread: What the heck is going on?

@/F1: 🚨 | Breaking: Mercedes confirm Valtteri Bottas will race for the team at the Hungarian Grand Prix. George Russell suspended pending HR investigation.

@/formulafan19: WHAT DO YOU MEAN HR INVESTIGATION??????

@/LandoGf420: …suspended? Not “unwell” or “unavailable”? Suspended?? oh this is bad bad.

@/ValtteriStan44: THE KING IS BACKKKKKK 🐐🐐🐐

@/paddocktea: Mercedes using “HR investigation” publicly is basically corporate speak for “the house is on fire.”

@/carlossmooch: Nah cause imagine being Toto Wolff right now. He had George lined up for years and suddenly… THIS.

@/danstan88: Bottas back in silver at the Hungaroring was NOT on my 2025 bingo card.

@/susiewolffappreciation: The fact they didn’t even try to spin it as “personal reasons”… Mercedes said ✨we’re done✨.

@/NorrisStan44 wait WAIT WHAT DO YOU MEAN GEORGE IS SUSPENDED AND VALTTERI IS BACK???

@/gridchaos: F1 twitter rn: 50%: “omg Bottas is back 😭” 50%: “wtf did George do??”

@/paddocktea: remember when ppl said George was Toto’s golden child? lmao that didn’t age well.

@/FerrariFan89: this feels bigger than racing. Mercedes is being very deliberate with their wording.

@/chickensandf1: HR investigation???? that’s corporate-speak for “something really bad went down.” what the hell did george do 😳

@/piastrified: f1 twitter right now: 🕵️‍♀️🕵️‍♂️🕵️‍♀️ trying to figure out what george did

@/gp2enginepls: conspiracy corner: this has NOTHING to do with driving. has to be something off-track.

@/hamforlife: people making jokes… but if merc’s using that language, it means someone was hurt. hope whoever’s involved is safe.

@/NorrisNation: VALTTERI??! in 2025?? this season just keeps getting wilder 💀

@/LaudaLegacy: Valtteri Bottas back in a Merc?? 😭 We’re back in 2019!!

@/thepaddocktea: You don’t suspend a driver mid-season unless the situation is unfixable. HR investigation = workplace conduct. Which means 👀

@/paddockfightclub: What if George actually got into a fight? Like with Bono or something.

@/tinfolateam: no guys listen. This isn’t about George. This is Mercedes throwing a bone to the FIA so they look clean before 2026 regs.

@/flat12fantasies: “HR investigation” = has to involve another employee. My money’s on someone in engineering. Maybe he screamed at a sim engineer?

@/downbadforf1: George got suspended bc he kept calling Toto “mate” one too many times.

@/sillyseasonburner: HR investigation = cover story. This is about contracts. Mercedes wanted to ditch George for Antonelli, but they needed an excuse. Easy fix: suspend him.

@/brakebias69: george russell suspended for crimes against fashion finally caught up to him

@/gridgirlhotline: “HR investigation” is so vague it could mean anything — harassment? contract breach? workplace fight?? I NEED ANSWERS.

@/bottasbabe77: No way Mercedes throws around “HR” unless it’s serious serious. Like legal department serious.

@/paddockdramaqueen: No one panic but this smells like a scandal. And not a small one.

@/anonmclaren: Suspended pending HR?? What could George have done?? I’m scared to even guess.

@/paddocktea: Mercedes could’ve said “personal reasons” or “unforeseen circumstances.” They chose “suspended, HR investigation.” Do you know how catastrophic that wording is??

@/bwoahpodcast: I cannot stress enough: teams never make HR issues public. If they had to, it means lawyers made them.

@/claireautosport: The fact that NO JOURNALIST has an answer yet is making it worse. Everyone is just guessing and it’s terrifying.

@/oscarpiastrifangirl: Imagine being a rookie right now watching this all unfold. chaos.

@/yukiwhisperer: My brain is screaming “what if another driver is involved somehow” and I hate that thought but also 👀

@/f1burner69: The way every single fan is trying to crack paddock tea like it’s a murder mystery 😭

@/backmarkerbabe: Mercedes really just destroyed this man’s PR image in 2 sentences flat. like. the choice to announce “HR investigation” instead of hiding it behind “personal reasons” is brutal.

@/sillyseasonanon: hear me out. what if george thought being Toto’s golden boy made him untouchable and then did something dumb.

@/spicywheelnut: if Mercedes didn’t cover it up with “personal reasons” then whatever happened is not salvageable for PR.

@/mercedesarmy: could this be related to that weird tension on the drivers’ parade in Spa? Max looked like he was ready to fight someone 👀

@/f1anxiety: I’m genuinely scared to find out what this is about.

@/chaoticf1gf: HR?? HR??? Like workplace HR?? Are we talking toxic workplace stuff? harassment? WHAT

@/charlesgirly: There’s literally no version of “HR investigation” that sounds good. My stomach dropped.

@/valtterihotwife: conspiracy corner: did george piss off toto? is this about contracts and Max signing??

@/ChrisMedlandF1: Mercedes suspending George Russell on the eve of Hungary is extraordinary. Officially it’s “pending an internal HR investigation.” No one in the paddock seems to know what that relates to.

@/NateSaundersF1: Spoke to multiple sources in Brackley and at Spa — everyone is tight-lipped. Some don’t know anything, others say they can’t say anything. Mercedes playing this very close to their chest.

@/Julien_FEB: F1 journalists rarely all admit at once that we have no idea what’s going on. Today is one of those days.

@/craigslatersky: Worth emphasizing: Mercedes’ statement does not suggest this is racing-related. This appears to be a workplace matter. And right now, nobody on record will touch it.

@/tgruener:

Can confirm: Nobody in the media room has the faintest idea what’s going on.

Not performance related, not a simple “team choice.” Something bigger. Very unusual atmosphere.

@/EddStrawF1:

Lots of speculation out there, but the reality is we don’t know.

Every journalist in the paddock is asking the same question: what on earth happened at Mercedes after Spa?

***

Group Chat: WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!

(Members: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Max Verstappen, Yuki Tsunoda, Liam Lawson, Isack Hadjar, Oliver Bearman, Esteban Ocon, Gabriel Bortoleto, Nico Hulkenberg, Kimi Antonelli, Valtteri Bottas, Pierre Gasly, Franco Colapinto, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, Alex Albon, Carlos Sainz, Lance Stroll, Fernando Alonso)

Lando: WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!?!

Oscar: I thought you knew?

Lando: BRO THE STATEMENT JUST DROPPED I KNOW NOTHING

Pierre: Same. Absolutely nothing. This is insane.

Yuki: Someone tell me now.

Liam: Is George… like… injured??

Isack: It literally says “HR investigation.” That’s not an injury.

Gabriel: Do HR investigations usually bench you from a GP???

Oliver: No way. No chance.

Liam: wait what happened did he crash a simulator or something

Isack: suspension = not a sim crash lol

Oliver: they literally said HR investigation. that’s not racing stuff. that’s serious.

Valtteri: yes.

Pierre: “yes.” what does that mean. you’re back in F1 or yes George is suspended for ???

Valtteri: both.

Franco: can we get DETAILS.

Nico: Not even journalists know. This is insane.

Alex: Even my engineers don’t know. It’s completely locked down.

Carlos: …so what happened?

Kimi: Not mine to tell.

Lando: OH COME ON. YOU KNOW SOMETHING.

Kimi: Not mine to tell.

Pierre: Oh come on—

Esteban:

So it’s true then. It’s not about the car. It’s something he DID.

Charles: Why am I here.

Lance: Same.

Fernando: Because chaos.

Yuki: KIMI COME ON

Isack: You can’t just say that and then nothing.

Lewis: Fine. I’ll say it. George tried to kiss Ana against her will.

 Oscar: WHAT

 Liam: …oh my god

Carlos: … what??

Lando: Oh my god.

Fernando: Are you serious?

Valtteri: Yes. Serious. That’s why I’m driving Hungary.

Max: HE DID WHAT?!

 Max: He WHAT?!

Max: I’ll kill him.

 Lewis: He’s already suspended.

Max: That’s not enough.

Charles: Oh god. I don’t wanna be caught in the middle of whatever weird thing you two have again.

Max: Shut. Up.

Charles: Excuse me?! You tried to punch the living daylights out of me because I went on ONE date with her!

Alex: Wait wait wait. YOU went on a date with Ana Wolff??

Lando: WAIT. WHAT?!

Oscar: Max and Ana??

 Pierre: Hold on hold on hold on.

Lando: MAX.

Lewis: Max.

Franco: WHAT.

Liam: 😳

Gabriel: BRO??

Yuki: OHHHHH.

Isack: It all makes sense.

Pierre: Max nearly punched Charles??

Franco: WHAT IS THIS CHAT.

Carlos: Hold on. Is Max dating Ana??

 Oscar: WAIT. WHAT?!

Gabriel: Max and Ana?? Since when??

Pierre: …this is so much better than Drive to Survive.

 Lando: THIS IS THE REAL STORY HERE

Max: This is none of your business.

Ollie: …wait, so you and Ana???

Charles: I told you, I don’t want to be involved in this.

Lando: YOU ARE INVOLVED.

Oscar: This is insane.

Lando: …so who’s starting the betting pool on how long before Toto murders George himself?

Lewis: Too late mate. Susie will get there first.

Pierre: So Mercedes suspends George, Valtteri is back, Ana is involved with Max, Lewis is ready to commit homicide, and Charles went on a date with her once??

Alex: That about sums it up.

 Fernando: Best group chat ever.

***

Group Chat: Who is Max Verstappen Dating?

Lando: DANIEL. IS MAX DATING ANA WOLFF?!??!

Daniel: …how did you idiots figure that out?

Lando: SO IT’S TRUE???

Oscar: DANIEL.

Carlos: YOU KNEW?!

Alex: you knew and didn’t TELL us???

Daniel: I didn’t confirm anything! I just asked a question!

Lando: No, that’s suspicious.

Carlos: Too suspicious.

Oscar: Daniel. Out with it.

Daniel: …fine. I might’ve known for a while.

Daniel: look— it’s not my story to tell.

Lando: Broooooo. SO MAX IS DATING HIS BOSS’ DAUGHTER??

Oscar: Unbelievable.

Carlos: tell us everything.

Alex: no, don’t. we already know enough.

Daniel: wait. what do you know.

Lando: that george tried to kiss her. against her will.

Oscar: that’s why merc suspended him.

Alex: and max LOST IT when he found out.

Daniel: … jesus.

Alex: No, sorry, I don’t care about Max right now. GEORGE. I can’t believe he did that to her.

Lando: Yeah. I thought he was our friend…

Alex: He was. Was. Not anymore. That’s disgusting. He crossed every line.

Oscar: Yeah, that’s not something you come back from.

Oscar: he’s finished.

Daniel: max is going to kill him.

Lando: okay but also: MAX AND ANA??? That’s like… Toto Wolff’s actual worst nightmare.

Oscar: You’re not wrong.

Carlos: Imagine Toto finding out.

***

Text Messages: Daniel Ricciardo & Max Verstappen

Daniel: Mate. Don’t. Do. Anything. Stupid.

Max: Define stupid.

Daniel: Punching George. Running George over. Launching George into the Danube. …any of the above.

Max: He deserves worse.

Daniel: I know. Trust me, I know. But you can’t. Not now. Not when the entire world is already staring at you.

Max: He put his hands on her. He thought he could.

Daniel: And Mercedes took him out of the seat. HR’s on it. Toto’s on it. He’s done. You don’t need to be the executioner here. George’s career is hanging by a thread. You don’t need to add your fists to it. I mean it, mate. Don’t give anyone the satisfaction of saying you lost control.

***

Wolff Residence, Monaco - 28 July 2025

Toto sat in the low armchair beside the guest bed, his frame hunched forward, hands clasped loosely between his knees. He hadn’t moved in over an hour except to adjust the blanket or press a glass of water to Anastasia’s lips when she stirred.

The room was dim, just the soft lamp glowing on the dresser. Outside, the Riviera sang its usual summer chorus — distant traffic, the muffled bass of some yacht party across the harbor — but in here, the world had shrunk to the sound of Ana’s shallow breaths.

She shifted, murmuring something unintelligible, her head rolling against the pillow. Then her breath hitched. A sharp, wounded sound broke from her throat.

Toto straightened immediately. “Anastasia?”

Her eyelids fluttered, but she wasn’t really awake. Her lips moved, words tumbling out in a half-whisper, broken by sobs.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse. “I always ruin everything… I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.”

The words speared him clean through. He reached for her hand — small, fragile in his broad palm — and squeezed it gently. “No, Sternchen. You’ve ruined nothing. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

But she didn’t hear him. Her breath quickened, and tears slid hot and fast down her cheeks. She turned her face into the pillow, still whispering.

“He’s angry… I didn’t mean it… I just wanted—” Her voice cracked. “Why can’t I ever just be normal?”

Toto froze.

Normal.

The word landed like a stone in his stomach. She said it with such quiet devastation, like it was the single truth of her existence. Like every fight, every fracture, every loss in her life came down to this one failing she believed was hers alone.

He had no idea what she was dreaming, what argument she was reliving in her head — but the pain in her voice was real.

Her hand trembled in his, and he tightened his grip, grounding her as best he could. “Anastasia, listen to me,” he said softly, leaning close. “You are exactly who you are meant to be. There is nothing wrong with you. Never.”

But she didn’t stop crying. She muttered another apology, half-hysterical now, like she was begging him to forgive her for a crime he didn’t even understand.

Toto’s chest constricted. He had navigated boardrooms, power struggles, the collapse of empires — but nothing in his life had prepared him for the sight of his daughter unraveling in front of him, trapped in nightmares he couldn’t chase away.

He stroked her hair back, the way Susie did with Jack after a nightmare. “Shh, it’s alright. I’m here. You’re safe.” His accent thickened, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Ana. Nothing.”

But she only turned her face away, shoulders trembling, and whispered again, “I’m sorry.”

Toto sat there, helpless, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. He had no idea what ghosts haunted her, no idea why she thought she was such a burden.

And as he listened to her half-pleas, half-apologies, one truth burned hotter than the rest.

He had no idea what was really happening in her head. And that terrified him more than anything else.

***

Murphy Sheep Farm, Harlestone, England  - 28 July 2025

The statement hit her screen like a gunshot. Mercedes announces George Russell suspended pending HR investigation. Valtteri Bottas to race in Hungary.

Xia blinked at it once. Twice.

Her stomach knotted.

She opened her chat with Ana — unanswered messages stacked up like gravestones. The silence pressed in on her. Ana didn’t go silent. Not with her.

Which meant something had happened.

Xia’s pulse spiked into something clinical, electric. She didn’t wait for clarification. She didn’t care for Mercedes’ polished PR. If Ana was hurt, she’d find out.

And God help her, she should have seen it coming.

She knew Ana. Knew every crack in her voice, every shadow in her eyes. Fourteen years old, two misfit girls at a boarding school — and they’d never let each other go.

 They’d built their own language out of late-night calls and shared dorm spaces, a friendship stitched together through universities and jobs and heartbreaks. 

And Xia had missed it.

She should have known. Should have seen the way Ana skirted around George’s name when they spoke, should have caught the edge in her voice, the hesitation, the unease. Ana didn’t do unease. 

George had been circling for months probably. Xia brushed it off, told herself Ana could handle him. 

And now—this.

Xia didn’t need the FIA, or Mercedes PR, or the media vultures. She had her own ways. Fingers moving with ruthless efficiency, she pulled strings in the digital dark. 

George’s lawyer had locked everything down — or thought he had. Layers of encryption, sloppy but self-assured, like someone convinced no one would dare peek.

Idiot.

No — she was the idiot. For waiting. For assuming Ana’s sharpness, her intelligence, her silence, were shields enough.

Her fingers moved faster than her thoughts—keyboard shortcuts, encrypted tunnels, bypasses stacked on bypasses. 

George’s lawyer was exactly as arrogant as she expected: careless cloud storage, unpatched server vulnerabilities, weak two-factor. She shredded through the protections like paper until a folder blinked onto her screen:

INCIDENT – RUSSELL/WOLFF.

Her pulse thundered. She already knew what she’d find. But knowing wasn’t enough. She needed to see. She needed proof of her own failure.

She clicked.

The video loaded in cruel silence. Ana, cornered. George leaning in. That hand, grabbing, forcing. Ana’s body jerking away. Her fist connecting, desperate, fracturing bone in her own wrist.

Xia watched it once. Twice. By the third replay her nails had gouged crescents into her palms.

Her whole body shook. Fury rose like a tidal wave, flooding her veins until she could barely breathe. Not the hot kind of rage — the cold, calculated one. The kind that narrowed her vision and sharpened it into something lethal.

She slammed the laptop closed, chest heaving, and pressed her hands hard against her eyes. Images still seared there, burned into her brain.

Ana’s face. Ana’s fear.

The silence in their chat thread mocked her.

Xia whispered in Mandarin, a promise to no one but herself: I will destroy him.

And she meant it.

George Russell was finished. She would see to it personally.

But first—Ana.

Xia opend their private chatroom again, fingers hovering over the keyboard. For once, she didn’t type threats or sarcasm. Just:

I know. I saw. I’m here. Answer me when you can.

The screen stayed blank. Ana’s silence felt louder than any scream.

***

Max Verstappen’s Apartment, Monaco - 28 July 2025

Max’s apartment in Monaco was silent. Too silent.

Usually, he didn’t notice the quiet. He liked it. He liked the hum of his aquarium, the faint sound of city traffic on the cliffs, the way his cats moved from room to room like soft shadows. Silence was peace.

But tonight, silence pressed down on him like a weight.

He sat at the edge of the sofa, elbows braced to his knees, phone turned screen-down on the table. It had buzzed itself into near-death the last few hours—messages from Daniel, from Lando, from people he didn’t even want to think about—but he hadn’t touched it. 

Not since he heard.

George.

George and Ana.

The words didn’t settle into sense, not even now. He’d heard them, he knew them, but his brain kept rejecting the shape of it. Like it wasn’t possible. Like it didn’t fit into the world as he understood it.

And underneath that disbelief was a fury so sharp it frightened even him.

Because George Russell—polished, careful, golden boy George—had put his hands on Ana. Had frightened her.

Ana, who barely let anyone close. Ana, who lived her life in equations and silence and carefully chosen people. Ana, who trusted so few.

Max gripped the edge of his knees hard enough his knuckles ached. He wanted—no, needed—to do something. His body thrummed with it, like the revs of a car held too long at the limiter. Every instinct screamed at him to move, to act, to protect.

But she wasn’t here.

She was in Monaco, yes, but with her family. With Susie, with Toto. Probably curled on a sofa under too many blankets, hiding from the world. 

Max dragged a hand down his face, forcing his breathing even. In through his nose. Out through his mouth. Just like in the car, when fury could only cost him time.

He stared at the phone again. At Daniel’s last message—Don’t do anything stupid.

He hadn’t replied. Because the truth was, he wanted to. He wanted to find George and end this whole thing with his fists. Wanted to tear the smug, controlled façade apart and make him feel even a fraction of the fear he had put into Ana.

He had thought he’d known what anger was before. He’d thought it was the white-hot fury of a bad strategy call, the searing frustration of a race slipping away. But this—this was different. This was rage that lived in his chest like broken glass, cutting him every time he tried to breathe.

Max leaned back into the sofa, tilting his head against the cushions, staring at the ceiling like the plaster could offer answers. His chest hurt. A steady, bruising ache right under his sternum. 

He closed his eyes, knuckles pressed to his temples, and saw Ana’s face—pale, exhausted. The thought of her frightened, cornered, touched against her will—Max’s fists curled so tight his nails bit into his palms. 

He wanted to break something. He wanted to break George.

But worse than that was the weight in his stomach. The part of him that couldn’t stop replaying Spa.

That fight. That stupid, pointless fight.

He had been sharp with her, colder than he ever should’ve been, —about control, about pride, about the never-ending tension between the things he could fix and the things he couldn’t. She’d looked at him like he’d hurt her, and he’d thought he was justified. Thought he was protecting himself.

And he’d let her walk away angry, let himself believe there would be time to fix it later.

Later.

What a fucking idiot.

And now?

Now none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was her safety. Her trust. And he’d wasted time, wasted space between them that he could have spent reminding her she was not alone in this world.

He dragged both hands down his face, swearing under his breath. Dutch, English, it all bled together until it was just sound. 

His chest hurt with it. 

He hated George Russell with every fibre of his being, but he hated himself, too—for not being there. For not protecting her.

For letting the last memory between them be raised voices. 

Max stood abruptly, pacing the length of the living room. He caught sight of the medals on the shelf, the trophies gleaming in the shadows. They looked obscene. Useless. He would have traded every single one if it meant rolling back the clock, being there to stop it before it happened.

Instead, Ana was hurt. Ana was scared. And he wasn’t by her side.

He stopped at the window, bracing both hands on the frame, staring out at the glittering Monaco harbour. He’d spent his life fighting battles on asphalt, wheel-to-wheel at 300 kph. 

But this? This was war of another kind. One that felt far more personal.

He pressed his palms to his face and dragged them down, feeling the rasp of his unshaven jaw. His chest felt tight, like someone was cinching a belt around his ribs. He couldn’t sit here, not when Ana was just across the harbor, not when she was with Susie and Toto and probably looking smaller than he’d ever seen her.

He couldn’t just sit here while the person he loved most in the world tried to put herself back together.

Max stood abruptly, the legs of the sofa groaning against the tile. He grabbed his keys from the counter, his jacket from the back of a chair.

If Toto wanted to slam the door in his face, fine. If Susie glared at him for showing up uninvited, fine. If Ana didn’t want to see him — he’d take that too.

But he had to go.

Because nothing else mattered anymore.