GP's chapter for Simon Lazenby & Damon Hill's 2025 book, Pressure:
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Acquired Stardust
cherry valley forever
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GP's chapter for Simon Lazenby & Damon Hill's 2025 book, Pressure:

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vicious' fave max fics
a collection of max fics i've read again and again π©΅ f1 fic rec masterlist
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@thetalesoffastcars
please, bother me
@midnight-in-monaco
between naps and laps
@ijustwannabecool
moments you wish you caught on camera
@scuderiahoney
fluorescent
@postracehair
paying attention | part 2
gold rush
chicane
@pierregazly
tying you to me
@verstappenverse
breaking point
the lion and the flame
lessons in jealously
a fine line
@pucksandpower
to have a heart
pro bono
another man's treasure
the shape of your silence
have you ever tried this one?
thicker than blood
shouldn't have done that
too hot to handle
@cheftsunoda
single dilf
puppy love
part of the family
love is patient
hearts don't always break in two
@theemporium
and i promise none of this is a metaphor
@charlotteking27
the missing ring
the pretty interviewer | part 2
@theonottsbxtch
match made in hell | part 2 | part 3
@tracksidebaby
his favourite
idiot
@verstappenspole33
radio check
@lovestruck-radio
shoot to kill (and you know i will)
@starset21
heartache on the homestretch
@astonmartinii
into the arms of another | part 2 | part 3 | part 4
worlds biggest fan | part 2
behind the camera
i will always love you
little lion
@poetsblvd
bejeweled
This One's For Your Girlfriend - MV01
Max Verstappen x Reader
summary: what is the best way to get revenge out of your cheating boyfriend? simple answer. date his favorite driver.
word count: 7k
(this is a smau and story at the same time)
thank you to everyone who motivated me to write this!! i hope you like it!!
tagged: @star73807-blog, @lillacisbored, @fastlikeferrari, @clearlandchild, @canyon-nina, @folkloresreputation, @kasiewrites, @camilahpg03, @luvsforme, @tsnelf7, @littlegrapejuice, @athanasia-day, @themultifanshipper, @ecleticcreatorweaselsalad, @lilasthoughtss
The bitter taste of Vodka burning on your throat couldnβt mask the erratic rhythm of the drums pounding in your ears. On a good note, the song was so loud it was impossible for you to focus on anything - you can also blame that for the alcohol running in your bloodstream.Β
It was Monaco. Glorious, glamorous, the country of clubs and billionaires, where, even if you were poor, you were still filthy rich.Β
You were sure you would be enjoying yourself, had it not been the unfortunate circumstances on your pathetic private life. It was supposed to be a coupleβs trip, fancy, much like a honeymoon. You wanted to surprise your boyfriend - well, ex-boyfriend - with tickets to the Monaco race for his birthday, but before you could even wrap a cute baby blue ribbon around the Paddock Passes, you received a text - or rather a picture - from a random girl on your instagram DMβs. The image was clear, your boyfriend was locking lips with some blonde on a random Thursday night. You didnβt know the girl who sent it, maybe she was your guardian angel, maybe someone who knew you from college. It didnβt matter. What truly mattered was the pain breaking your bones, followed by the anger twisting your upper stomach.
He tried to reach out and explain himself, but there was nothing that could free him from the charges once the proof was so unquestionable.Β
After that, every time you looked at those stupid Paddock Passes you thought about burning them, alongside a few of his t-shirts. But your rational brain was always something you were proud of. Why burn them if you can just enjoy the perks?Β
Were you a big Formula 1 fan? No shot. It all started off as a way ofΒ pleasing your ex on Sundays, and then it quite became an unspoken tradition. You didnβt know all the drivers names, only the ones that won most of the time, and you still couldnβt figure out if Lewis Hamilton was a Mercedes or a Ferrari driver. And, wait, where was Daniel Ricciardo? The thing is, it was never about the sport, to you, it was only about the quality-time in the relationship.
However, with all your apathetic knowledge of races and Grand Prixs, you knew one important thing, Max Verstappen. Your exβs favorite driver. God, you even had t-shirts with his number on it. You rooted for him, because your boyfriend did. So, now that there was no boyfriend, you wanted Max Verstappen to actually crash his car on Turn 1. Sure, maybe it was a little bit mean to project your anger on a guy who is just doing his job, but the rage inside of you was so sharp that everything your boyfriend once loved, became what you now hate. So what if Max Verstappen is one of those things? He doesnβt know you.
The arrival to Monaco was chaotic. There was no way of getting to it by plane, so you had to spent an unholy amount of euros on an Uber ride. At least you got a chance to ride on a fancy white Jaguar that only existed on a parallel reality to yours.
You packed your best clothes, fancy satin dresses, short flowy skirts, the ones youβve been saving most of your life for that special occasion that never really arrived. Now it was the time. Young, single, enjoying the salty air of Monte Carlo. You wanted to make sure no one knew youβve been through a break up and you thought you were doing a good job, but, God, every corner of that country screamed your exβs name.
Maybe a night out in a club before Qualifying would do you good. From the outside perspective, you looked stunning. Goddess-like. Everyone could tell you were not from Monaco, because there was something about you that stood out from that dystopian place, something which some might like to call a personality. No designer brands sticking out, no fake anything, no trying too hard, just a simple but effective beauty.
βWould you like another shot?β
The bartenderβs loud voice overlapped the electronic beat. You looked down at the empty glass shot between your fingers. The image brought back the unbearable taste of Vodka, which made you involuntarily twist your lips.
βUhβ¦ Sure.β
You nodded, but the hesitation was dripping from your lips.
βMaybe you should make her something she actually enjoys drinking.β
You heard the masculine voice coming from your right side. The sentence was filled with confidence, mixed with a sense of humor that was dry. You didnβt dare to look at the man, you were not looking for one, in fact, you much preferred if they were far away from you.
βAnd how do you know what I like to drink?β
Your answer just slipped your tongue, it was supposed to stay in your thoughts. But that was the Vodka effect. Maybe the stranger was right, you should stop.
βFeisty.β You rolled your eyes. βBut no one actually likes the taste of that shit.β
βWell, Iβm not drinking for the taste of anything.β
You looked to your right, over your shoulder, with annoyance tattooed on your face. And then you saw him. Black t-shirt, fitted jeans, black cap backwards. Piercing blue eyes. Looking like a frat boy from a sorority or someone from high school youβd have a crush on from afar.Β
βYou could still get drunk on Gin and Tonics and they taste pretty nice. Trust me.β He gave you a polite smile, lips closed. βIβm Max.β
You had to use your sober side to control any facial expression in that moment. Must the universe play such twisted games with you? Does God actually believe youβre one of his strongest soldiers?
It was unwitting the way you relaxed your posture once you managed to understand what was going on. Blame it on the celebrity halo effect. It was like he pushed all your negativity out of the club, even the songs sounded decent now.Β
He did not look this hot on tv.
βIβm YN.β
He nodded and you noticed his grin. Wild. Trouble.
βSoβ¦ Gin and Tonics?β He shook the glass cup on his right hand, the ice cubes making a light sound.
βI think I will actually just stop with the drinking.β
Because you wanted to remember every single aspect of that interaction so you could journal it and send it on a letter to your ex-boyfriend. See? Iβm talking with Max Verstappen and youβre just dreaming about getting a glimpse of him.
βYou are not from around here.β
He wasnβt asking, it was a statement. You didnβt know if you should take it the wrong way, if you looked so pathetically poor or outcasted, but his tone didnβt seem to imply this. Max was curious. He didnβt ask to offend, he asked with admiration.
βDamn, do I look that poor?β
You joked, getting a silent laugh from him.
βNo, not at all! I meant it in the best way.β Max looked at the crowd of people dancing around, instantly making you pay attention to it too. The girls were well dressed, out of this world, like the Met Gala happened everyday here. You noticed, but never really paid that much attention. But, honestly, itβs not like you were self-conscious about it. Who care? In a few days you would leave and they would never see you again. βEveryone here is wearing some designer of some sorts, or glitter, or insanely high heels and expensive watches. Youβre wearing flat sandals and you hair is beach wavy.β
You blushed, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with the fact that he analyzed you with caution.
βDonβt get me wrong, I would wear Louboutinβs if I had them.β Truth is, there was a part of you that think you would have fun in this lifestyle. Thereβs nothing wrong with dressing fancy and wearing designer, as long as youβre doing it for the fun and not to show off. βBut, following your logic, youβre wearing a plain black tee and backwards cap.β
He raised his now empty glass. Max was never one to flaunt wealth in his fashion. He wasnβt, actually, a fashion guy. He was the type of guy who enjoyed spending his money on other people, or at least on things to do, things to get him out of boredom.
βAm I supposed to be wearing something else?β
βMaybe some RedBull merch?β
That got a loud laugh out of him. That was it for Max. He was officially invested in this. You knew who he was, yet you were still treating him like he was just some random guy flirting with you in a club. Of course, a guy you were minimally interested in. There was no starry admiration in your eyes, just plain acknowledge of his presence.Β
βA-ha. So you do know who I am.β
βI think everyone in Monaco this weekend knows who you are.β
You didnβt know your words caused his chest to tighten a bit. But, of course, it wasnβt your fault. You werenβt aware of his issues with his public presence and persona. No one was, actually. Max never really said out loud how he hated being famous, although he thought his private manners spoke it loudly for him.
You noticed, however, his shoulders tensed up a bit and the air between you was slightly heavier.Β
βAre you here for the race, then?β
βItβs a funny, long, too much information type of storyβ¦β
You opened the breach. Were you planning on telling about your disaster of a dating life to Max Verstappen? Never in a million years, but he looked like the guy who needed to hear some common human issues. Max craved normality, you could read that. So you were going to give it to him.
βHm, now you will have to tell me.β Max looked around, aware of the discomfort coming from the loud, stupid electronic track that he actually would like if the sound of your voice wasnβt ten times more interesting. βFollow me.β
Max had no problem walking through the crowd, people would just simply open the space he needed to pass, like he was the prince of Monaco himself, some authority figure that could go anywhere and get anything. That part of his fame he liked it, there was no denying.
You held his hand firmly, like youβd be dropped at the ocean if you let go. His skin was rough and firm, with a few calluses. Hands that could break you if you allowed. The pressure he was applying on your palm was like a reassurance.
You followed Max to what looked like a private room, with a few booths, away from all the noise. The light was dim and yellow, moody, a typical place for flirting. Not necessarily romantic, though. The energy emanating was too sensual to allow space for any fairytale date.
Around you, you could see a few recognizable faces. Celebrities, models with old men, drivers. Lewis Hamilton particularly caught your eye, sitting in a booth, listening to a blonde girl talking. Unlike everybody else who seemed mesmerized by Maxβs presence, Lewis didnβt care, in fact, he didnβt even acknowledged your existence, like he was above you, or Max. Truth is, he probably was.
Max guided you to a place in the corner, far away from the others, isolated. It felt like a calculated move. The dutch waited like a gentleman for you to sit down first, taking his seat right in front of you. The black table separating you with a single candle lit by a lonely flame wasnβt enough distance, it felt unduly intimate.
βSoβ¦ What is the too much information, funny, story?β
He took a sip of his drink, that by now consisted in mere melted ice cubes with whatever was left of a lemon.
βI bought the tickets a few months ago, as a gift, for my boyfriend.β You saw Maxβs lips curling in a smirk once you said the infamous word. βNow ex-boyfriend.β The emphasis on the first half of the word was deliberate.
βTough breakup?β
βI found out he cheated on me through pictures that were sent on my Instagram Directs.β
Max tilted his head, he was convinced that something similar probably happened to him once.
βWell, first of all, Iβm sorry, heβs a douche.β You brushed it off, a shoulder movement that made explicit that you were, somehow, almost over it. βSecond, you said it was funny.β
βWell, hereβs the funny part. I never liked Formula 1. No offense.β
βNon taken.β
βBut Peter was, like, obsessed with it. He knew everything, about everything. He had merch, lego cars, watched countless races in person, and the ones he couldnβt attend, he watched on Tv. Never missed a single one.β
Max laughed. Your description of his behavior wasnβt news to him, it sounded like just the average Formula 1 fan, but maybe that was the view from the public who had no idea how much passionate sports fan can be.
βSo you bought him Monaco tickets. Thatβs sweet.β
βWhen we broke up I contemplated selling the tickets and getting my money back. But why would I do that when I could live the experience he always dreamt of?β
Your comment sparked something in Maxβs chest. You were feisty, he could see you had a fire in you. He recognized, somewhere in your eyes and demeanor, that you had the rage and determination he only truly saw in himself.Β
βSo you flew out here?β
βHoping I could see his favorite driver crash and send a video to him.β
βAnd whoβs that?β
βYou.β
Max tilted his head, narrowed his eyes. The fact that you just admitted you were hoping he would crash didnβt even bother him, because the confidence and malice in how you said it, turned him on. Itβs like you were a challenge, unlike any other person he ever met. He wasnβt offended by anything you said, he was, on the other hand, completely captivated.
βIβm sorry to break it to you, sweets, Iβm not going to crash just so you could get revenge on your pathetic ex-boyfriend.β
You giggled, feeling a rush of goosebumps with the nickname that escaped his lips so naturally, like it was something easy for him to say.
βNo, I know. I guess talking to you is enough revenge already.β
You said the word talking, but both of you knew that wasnβt simply it. The air was denser and filled with dirty thoughts both of you had crossing your mind.
βYeah, except heβll never know you are here talking to me.β
You shrugged.
βItβs okay. Sometimes revenge is not about a public act, but an act of self gratification.β
Maybe it was the Vodka hitting, maybe it was how beautiful Maxβs eyes looked when they were reflecting eroticism, or maybe it was just the confidence that you packed and brought it out like a hidden gun, but your words were explicit enough for him to understand the double meaning.
βSo, since plan A is not going to work, your plan B is fucking your boyfriendβs favorite driver and what? Send him a sextape?β
Max was joking, clearly, but every time he thought back about it, he realized he wasnβt opposed to the idea at all.
You raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to agree to a plan HE was the one who created. You never said anything about a sex tape, or sex, at all. Turns out Max Verstappen had the devil in his mind, especially when confronted with a beautiful girl.
βLook, I canβt give you a crash, or a sextapeβ¦β He let the phrase prolong, like he had something to add. βBut I can give you something else.β
You narrowed your eyes, tempted.
βAnd what is that?β
βCome to the RedBull garage this weekend, with me. Iβll make sure he sees you.β
You were out of breath for a moment, nearly choking on air. Your mind racing with ideas and βwhat-ifsβ. Being on the spotlight was never your thing. Normal job, normal clothes, normal apartment, you would even call yourself basic. Simple. And there was nothing wrong with that. You liked the shadows, you liked doing your own thing without strangers lurking and noticing. It gave you a sense of freedom. If you were not in the spotlight, no one could judge and you could do what your heart truly desired.
Being in the RedBull garage with Max would change everything, your whole way of living. Because once you are seen in public with a guy like him, people never forget. It would give you a new identity, people would gossip, comment on your appearance, on your manners. It was too much.
Max could see the hesitation emanating from you, which sort of made him like you even more. Any girl would jump onto that opportunity, but you seemed actually worried about the consequences.
βI donβt know, Max. Heβs not the only one whoβs going to see me. People will talk.β
βSo?β
βPeople will gossip. About me.β
βWho cares about what other people think?β You didnβt answer. Of course Max Verstappen didnβt care about other people, he didnβt have to, he would still be successful and talented regardless of what people would say, and he would still be adored. Because unlike you, he had an army of a fanbase to support him. βLook, YN, youβre not going to show up as my girlfriend or anything, people bring guests to the Paddock all the time. Itβs really nothing if you think about it, and it will give you exactly what you need.β
Max promised to himself he wasnβt going to push if you said no. But he legitimately wanted you there, not only for the revenge or the ploy around your love life, but so that he could spend a little bit more time with you.
βI suppose we can try tomorrow and if it goes well, Iβll be there on Sunday too.β
Max smiled, ear to ear, a rare Max Verstappen smile journalist would be fighting over a picture. But it was natural and real, like the ones he had when he held his trophies.
βI have a condition though.β
βOh, a second ago you were begging for me to agree to this, and now you have conditions?β
βI was not begging.β He kinda was though. βAnd I am the one doing you a favor, so, yes, I have a condition.β
You smirked.
βOk, letβs hear it.β
βA date on Sunday night, after the race.β
Max had a dirty smirk hidden on the corner of his lips, which made your stomach twist with a familiar sensation you couldnβt quite name it.
βTo celebrate your win?β You teased.
βTo celebrate both our wins.β
Licking your lips, you couldnβt help but look at him like you were no better than any man. A date with a cute guy who was actually interesting and had a spark of evilness that matched you? Yeah, no one could refuse that.
βYou better not crash then.β
Max laughed, relaxing his posture.
βIβm too good for crashing.β
You gave him your left hand, waiting for a shake, like sealing a deal between two powerful businesses.
ΛΛπ’π·β§Λ.πβ
yourusername added to their story
"won't you guess where i am?"
ΛΛπ’π·β§Λ.πβSaturdayΛΛπ’π·β§Λ.πβ
As soon as qualifying was done, you heard the whispers, from celebrities on the Paddock, from members of the RedBull team, even drivers and their girlfriends. Everyone was polite, cordially polite, but no one dared to ask your name, that day you were simply βthe girl that came with Max.β Little did you know people were dying to unravel the mystery surrounding your persona. Who are you? How do you know Max? Are you and Max dating? It made you nervous.
You felt isolated. It was another reality, the people were so rich you were certain they didnβt know what working 9 to 5 felt like, or how it feels to get recognized for your ideas. At least, you had to admit that watching the whole thing in person was way more fun than on TV. Something, perhaps, you could start enjoying.
You were standing alone next to a window in RedBullβs hospitality, holding a glass of champagne that felt rude to decline. The room suddenly lit up, you heard loud claps all around, whistles buzzing. Between the fancy dresses and expensive t-shirts, you saw Max, walking with confidence, like he was royalty.Β
Max politely smiled and shook hands with everybody congratulating him. Pole sitter. In Monaco. A big thing, from what you learned. However, the excited strangers and members of the team were not able to stop Max from walking straight to you, like he had a duty, like getting pole position was a purpose.
βHello there, pretty.β
He smiled and you noticed how his features softened. Max was sweaty, hair messy, racing suit falling over his hips. You cursed. God damn it that man was breathtaking. Everything got even worse when he hugged your shoulders, placing a gentle, shy kiss on your cheeks. The room fell silent as everyone paid close attention to Max Verstappen being tender.
βCongratulations!β
βDid you enjoy it?β
You smiled, big, setting off an involuntary reaction on Max, that mimicked your smile as well.
βWay better than from home.β
βAny news?β
Max asked shamelessly, excited for the answer, excited to know if your boyfriend was cursing his own life for letting you go.
βNot yet. Maybe he didnβt see it.β
βOr maybe he is at the hospital, dead by a heart attack.β
You both laughed. Who knew Max Verstappen had a sense of humor? Even better, he had a dark sense of humor. One that sounded like the things you think, but keep it in your mind, afraid others will judge. Not Max. He will never refrain from speaking his truth, maybe thatβs how he got to the top, the best of the best.
Before you could say anything, Max got surrounded by people of his team. He gave you a look, a sorry one.Β
βItβs fine, Iβll go to the hotel, need some rest.β
βSee you tomorrow?β
βYes, sir.β
Another kiss on your cheek and he was gone. This time, when he walked out of the door, you felt overwhelmed by the looks fallen on you. They werenβt judging, just dying with curiosity. Nobody knew what the two of you had, but it was damn clear that the energy of attraction was so powerful it filled the space and left no place for anything else.
ΛΛπ’π·β§Λ.πβSundayΛΛπ’π·β§Λ.πβ
Race day was chaotic, that was note number one. Note number two was, you were sure there was no way that many boats fit on Monte Carlosβ coast.
Unlike yesterday, you saw Max before he got into his car. You texted him when you arrived and he made his way to you, introducing you to a few people, so you wouldnβt feel isolated. It was uncomfortable having to explain that you werenβt dating, just getting to know each other. What you learned was that Max never really brought any girl over ever since his breakup with his long time ex, or even before her. He was a guy that kept his personal life so private even his family members had no clue if he was still single or not. Which is why people were so curious about you, because Max was treating you like, at the very least, a long time friend.
Your presence during Qualifying alarmed the media. The cameras werenβt shying away from filming you during certain parts of the race, especially when Max won after dominating 78 laps. But nothing prepared the journalists and the fans to when he said it out loud on the radio, proudly, letting everyone know.
If Dylan was already freaking out by one TV appearance, by this time he was for sure throwing a tantrum like a toddler who refused to eat vegetables. He wasnβt the only one. You wanted to crawl into a dark hole and hide from humanity. Or maybe scream and punch Max on his god crafted face. Everyone was speechless from that moment and Max kept going with his duties like he didnβt just create chaos amongst the Formula 1 community.
Thankfully, an angelic, miraculous girl that worked for RedBull managed to take you to Maxβs driverβs room, where you could be alone. God, in that moment, if you could kiss her, you would.
You threw your phone in the depths of your purse, where you couldnβt reach to see any messages or take any calls, and especially not open Instagram. Your legs were shaking, like anxiety creeping through every pore on your skin. There was nothing you could do now, the damage was done.
Max opened the door in a brutal movement, like he was rescuing you from a dungeon. The mix of feelings when you saw him was too complicated to point. You were angry, nervous, grateful, amused, all of the above, plus a few more. Max, on the other hand, seemed like he just had another day at the office.
βHey, told you Iβd win, no crashes.β
βAre you fucking insane?β
Max was taken back by the tone of your voice and he replayed in his memories every single second of the day, trying to figure out what he did to get you so worked up.
βWhat?β
βThat fucking radio message!β
And then he laughed. He laughed like he was brushing it off. Like it was nothing, an incident.Β
βNot a sextape, but itβs the best I could do.β His smile quickly vanished once he saw the seriousness in your semblant. βAre you mad? I thought this is what you wanted.β
You were out of breaths to take. Sure, this was what you wanted, in a way, but maybe it went too far, too public. It was too much. And in that moment you were overwhelmed.
βIβ¦ Itβs-β You shook your head, sitting back down on the small white couch behind you. Max stood still, watching, studying your movements. βI wasnβt expecting it.β
That was part of it. You werenβt expecting any of this. It took you by surprise and reminded you that you had no control over anything. But to make matters worse, this happened in a situation where you particularly needed to control.
βWould you have preferred if I asked you before?β
βYes, I very much would, Max.β
He kneeled before you, reaching your height.
βIβm sorry, liefje. You are right, I shouldβve asked.β
You softened, not only because he seemed genuine apologetic, but the pet name and sweetness in his voice melted every bad feeling you had, just like magic, he erased every reason you had to be angry in the first place.
Max Verstappen just had that it factor that no matter what he said, people would simply surrender to his ways.
You stood up from the couch, making him turn to you, waiting anxiously for your reaction. The minimal possibility that you would just say no to the date or never see him again was driving him insane.
βSo, what time are you picking me up?β
The shape of his lips curved into the most beautiful smile you have ever seen.
βAt eight. No need to wear a fancy dress, anything is fine.β
βThank God I packed my finest sweatpants then.β
Max giggled, playfully.
βWell, actually, that doesnβt sound like a bad idea.β
Of course he wouldnβt mind. You could go to the date dressed in pajamas and he would still think youβre the most beautiful girl in the world.
βSee you later, champ.β
ΛΛπ’π·β§Λ.πβ
Later seemed to never come. Your hotel room was a mess when Max texted that he was waiting for you downstairs, much like a reflection from your insides. You were going out, on an official date, with Max Verstappen. How would you simply return to your job on Tuesday and tell your co-workers what happened?Β
Max was waiting outside his car, dressed casually, not like he was going on a first date, but as in you were in a established relationship and he could dress comfortably, like he always did. Somehow, that made him even more attractive. There were people around, watching, filming. You were worried, Max was annoyed, he wanted to punch anyone who dared to disturb that moment.
Once you were in the car, it was a relief, all the noise was shut, remaining only the sound of your shaky breathing.
βI promise you I will take you far away from this shit.β
He drove no longer than 10 minutes until he reached the coast. You followed him, like a lost child, watching him in his element, talking to the coast guards and some people that were there to help. And, then, it hit you, the big, white yacht, bigger than your childhood house. The type of thing you could work your entire life and still couldnβt afford.
Max got in first, extending his hand, like a gentleman, helping you. You looked around, mesmerized, like youβve entered heaven. That place was beautiful, unlike anything youβve seen before. The look on your face was probably pathetic, but Max found it adorable.
βIs this yours?β
You wanted to curse yourself, what a stupid question, of course it was.
βYes, welcome.β
Max gave you a quick tour around, showing the place with the lack of interest that only a person whoβs been there a thousand times could have. Like it was getting old. The Yatch was so peaceful you didnβt even notice it started to move and you were now somewhere in the ocean.
The tour ended with a table set out in the open, under the dark starry sky. White cloth, a burning candle, in the company of a lonely red rose. Max pulled your chair, sitting in front of you. You noticed he was nervous and you noticed he tried hard. Little did he know you didnβt need an expensive yacht to be impressed, he could do it only by being himself.
βThis is really nice, Max.β
Your compliment eased his nerves.
βI hope this isnβt too much.β
βWell, it certainly isnβt too little.β You joked, but he seemed still a little tense. βBut I think itβs romantic.β
And it was, indeed. Text book romantic. Straight out of a romcom.
βAre you hungry?β
You werenβt. The nerves were eating you alive, you couldnβt think about food, your body showed no signs of hunger at all.
βStarving.β
He grined, ear to ear. βAwesome.β And got up from the table, walking towards the inside.
You took the moment without his presence to breathe, get yourself together, recompose. You would leave tomorrow and never see him again, which was a shame, but at the same time helped you to get comfortable.Β
Max was back barely a minute later, holding two white plates. You were expecting some fancy seafood dish, maybe a lobster or shrimp, but instead, he held in his hands the delicacy of a homemade burger, garnished with french fries. You smiled. Maybe you were hungry after all.
Max placed the plates on the table, looking proud.
βI made them.β
βWoah! Iβm impressed.β You giggled, quickly taking one of the fries, from his plate. βHe can drive and cook? What canβt you do?β
βAnyone can cook a burger, itβs not that hard.β
βDonβt put yourself down. Youβd be surprised to see how peopleβs culinary skills are precarious.β
You took a big bite of the burger. Sure, it wasnβt anything elaborated, just a patty with a slice of cheddar cheese and tomatoes, but the simplicity turned it into something special. Plus, the fact that Max took his limited time to make them himself.
He watched you carefully, aching for your opinion, like you tasting his food was somehow validating him as a person, as a man, as a lover.
βSoβ¦ How is it?β
βPerfect.β
You werenβt talking about the burger at all. You were talking about him, about the weekend, about everything he did for you. It was perfect. Just what you needed. Like God saved Max Verstappen just for you, like all of this was just for you. Suddenly, you felt seen, important, cared about.
The rest of the night flowed like silk. The conversation was stimulating, electrifying. Max learned about your life, your family, your job and you learned about everything that did not involve his career or driving. That night, Max was just a regular guy, with a normal girl, having homemade burgers on a 33 million dollars Yatch.Β
As the night extended, you both realized how you didnβt want it to end, how you wanted to be there forever. You were laying down on a towel, the chill breeze flowing, standing side by side, stargazing, telling each other childhood stories.
βI really want to keep seeing you.β
Maxβs words came out as a fragile whisper, like he was telling a secret, like he never experienced being vulnerable before.
You turned your face, staring right into his blue eyes, that were a little bit darker with the lack of sunlight.
βHow are we going to do that?β
βDonβt worry, Iβll make it work.β
And he kissed you. You felt his hand first, barely touching you, almost like he was insecure - as if Max was afraid that instant could break.Β
The kiss wasnβt rushed. It came with the calmness of someone who knows that time, sometimes, bends before what is real. You sighed slightly, between the kiss, letting the air escape your longs amongst your partial open lips.
The sky fell a bit closer, like all the stars were watching, silently, bearing witnesses to that moment. He moved slowly, shy, like discovering his own name, until he wasnβt. Max leaned in even more, you felt the deepness, not in an urgent kind of way, but in a way in which you were dancing the same song.
And over there, underneath the starry Monaco sky, with his taste invading you, everything stopped moving. Nothing before, nothing after. Just this. The whole world fitted in that kiss, as a promise that would perpetuate for a long time.
ΛΛπ’π·β§Λ.πβ
What followed the weekend was not what you expected. You thought that once you boarded that plane back to your hometown, Max Verstappen would fade into a distant memory, a fairytale, something to tell your kids in the future and make them doubt reality. But that wasn't what happened.
When Max wasnβt flying you to nearby races, he was visiting you in his free time. Showing up at your job, unannounced, holding some white lilies or some plush toy that he bought. You visited his home, got introduced to his family, had dinner with his dad. The infamous Jos Verstappen people talked about, like he was an urban legend. Turns out, he wasnβt as scary as people made it sound, or maybe you were just too good at dealing with that kind of man. At the same spectrum, Max also met your family, your dad nearly crashing out once he saw the Max Verstappen sitting on the dining table, like a normal guy.
Turns out that, even with the constant traveling, media, fans following you down the streets, loving Max was so easy. Much easier than you thought. You even told that to him once. Max didnβt believe you, because he has been told the contrary many times before. In fact, he quite believed that he was an unloving person, although he would never admit that to anyone. However, he felt you were genuine in your acts of tenderness. Every time you brushed his hair or kissed his temples, something in him lit up with warmness, like he was experiencing a real life miracle.
Max never officially asked you to be his girlfriend, he didnβt need to, it just happened. When he wasnβt racing or you werenβt working, you were together, glued like birds of a feather.Β You were familiar with the drivers now, and their girlfriends. Unlike Monaco, every race you attended now you had someone to talk to, you would even dare to call some of the girls your friends. Everyone seemed to enjoy your company, the team, the drivers, Maxβs friends. Itβs like you were a breathe of fresh air amongst the chaos of the racing world.
Horner wouldnβt lie, he was a bit worried seeing his driver fall in love with someone, because he had never seen Max race while being distracted, while having another priority. However, Christian quickly noticed there was nothing for him to stress about. Quite the opposite, actually. Max - if it was even possible - improved, ruining McLarenβs dominance. He couldnβt quite explain what the chemicals of love were doing to his Dutch Lion, but he prayed you never left.
On Maxβs perspective, yes, he wanted to put on a show, to be his best, to impress you. Not in a pressured way, but in a βI want to make you proudβ way. And you were proud regardless of his position. You celebrated Max the same exact way, it didnβt matter if he was P1 or P11. In fact, during Singapore, after a disappointing race, finishing at P8, you waited for Max at the hotel room with champagne and balloons. At first he was frustrated, angry, disappointed at himself and definitely confused at your reaction, but that was mainly because he never had someone who supported him so much, to the point which anything was enough. You taught him that he was enough, and you were proud of him as a person, as a driver, he didnβt need to be the best of the best all the time.
That sort of mentality you brought worked like reverse psychology. It took the weight out of his shoulders. And racing without any worries, made him better.
Needless to say your ex, Dylan, was losing his mind with that whole situation. Which, to Max, was only an incentive. He took the cheating personally, like it happened to him. And even though you never talked to that guy again, he wanted to make sure Dylan regretted what he did to the rest of his life. You told him to forget it, reassured that you were over it, that after Monaco Dylan was dead to you, like a nightmare that you forgot the second you woke up. But Max wasnβt the type to let it go.
So, Abu Dhabi 2025, last race on the calendar, he would give his all. The championship was tied between him and Lando. For the entire season, he raced to win, but that exact race he had entirely different motives.
You werenβt nervous unlike the other girlfriends, you put blind faith in Max. Thatβs why when the race started, you watched with a steady heartbeat. And Max? Reminded everyone why he was the best of the sport.
When he stepped out of the car, the whole team made a priority that you would be the first to see him, per his request. Helmet on, he rushed to you, like you were the trophy, like you were the championship prize. You kissed the helmet, feeling the coldness hitting your lips. His breath fogged the visor for a second as he leaned closer, hands still trembling with the leftover adrenaline of the race. The roar of celebration around you faded into a muffled hum β the crowd, the champagne, the cameras β all of it dimmed behind the shield of this moment.
Max lifted the visor slowly, revealing eyes that had searched for you since the checkered flag. Eyes that only softened when they found yours.
βFuck, liefje,β he said, voice rough, edged with emotion. βI canβt believe we did it.β
You smiled, blinking against the tears threatening to fall. βYou did it, Max,β you whispered, your fingers brushing the edge of his jaw, βyouβre the best.β
He laughed β a breathy, shaking laugh β and pulled you into him, the hard shell of his suit pressing against your body like armor. βThank you so much for being here,β he murmured into your hair. βFor always being here. Love you.β
You closed your eyes, letting the truth of his words wrap around you like warmth. But then he leaned back just enough to meet your gaze again β this time with that glint in his eyes. The one youβd seen when he was most dangerous. Most determined.
βAnd maybe,β he added, with the ghost of a smirk, βjust maybe... I wanted him to see this too.β
Your breath caught.
βI wanted him to watch,β he continued, quieter now. βTo watch me win everything he lost the moment he let you go.β
The crowd started chanting Maxβs name, and behind you, the team called for photos, for celebrations, but neither of you moved. You stayed there in the quiet bubble of his embrace, the world spinning a little slower just for the two of you.
Finally, Max pulled back, cradling your face in his gloved hands. βItβs you and I, now,β he said, not as a question, but as a promise. βWherever I go next, we go together.β
And you nodded, heart thudding like an engine ready to race. Because this wasnβt just the end of a season. It was the beginning of forever.
The cheers swelled again as Max took your hand, raising it high like another victory. And when he looked back at you one last time before stepping onto the podium, he didnβt see the crowd, the cameras, or the flashing lights.
He saw you. Always you. His greatest win.
liked by redbullracing, f1, yourbff and 6,288,494 others
vogue Evertyhing we know about the romance between Yn Yln and Max Verstappen. From how they met to how she became RedBull's princess and fan's favorite WAG. Link in bio.
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user imagine being such an iconic couple vogue wrote a fucking article about you
user they won best paddock couple ππ
user she is so pretty!! π©π©π©
user can yn teach me her tricks? π
yourbff my baby is a star π€©
danielricciardo finally some real journalism!
> user you're in a max/yn biggest fan competition but your oponent is daniel ricciardo > danielricciardo you're immediately losing
yourusername what is my life??
> user girl if you don't want it, can i have it??
user how's dylan??
β€οΈ liked by maxverstappen1
user bro saw his girl got cheated on and made it everyone's problem
user if they don't get married istg
yourmom my loves π
zendaya petition for this to be a movie immediately.
user if petty was high fashion, this man just walked Paris.
florencepugh I need her skincare routine and his PR team.
gigihadid love that for her. love that less for her ex π
user he said drive to survive and thrive to flex, and I support it fully.
user this is the energy you have when your love life AND tire strategy are in sync.
user itβs giving βrevenge dressβ but in the form of an entire Grand Prix.
f1gossip she got cheated on and responded with a WDC boyfriend. this is not a win, this is a legacy.
user heβs not just her man β heβs the man your ex warned you about.
user if Romeo drove a car and Juliet wore a paddock pass.
liked by yourusername, RedBullRacing and 9,293,555 others
maxverstappen1 This one's for your girlfriends.
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user this is actually insane
user mad!max is back π₯΅π₯΅
user may this love find me! πππ
redbullracing the dutch lion is still here! πͺπ¦
user 5 times world champion, hot girlfriend, rich, talented. will he ever lose?
user i'm so invested in whatever this drama with this dylan guy is
> user i hope he is suffering wherever he is > user starting a fuck you dylan campaign
user max is in his protective!boyfriend skin
yourusername the best of the best! π
> user she is such a queen π
lando congratulations mate!! πΎ
charles_leclerc chat we tried, we can't stop him
> maxverstappen1 maybe when I retire π
lando blocked by at least 6 exes after this post probably
user championship + main character energy = unstoppable. respect π«‘
georgerussell63 ok but do you offer classes in pettiness? asking for a friend user imagine being the ex watching this with dry cereal and regret ππ₯ user no because he didnβt win a championship he won her and THATβS revenge π₯
user idc what anyone says, this is peak motorsport content and I love it
QUIET LOVE MOMENTS - MAX VERSTAPPEN
.SUMMARY: .Just quiet love moments/gestures with Max (1.6k words)
Max Verstappen x she!reader
part one here
For my crochet girlies.
WARNINGS: just fluff This will be part of a series I've been thinking about a lot! ππ Enjoy! β¨π
It was the night before Max had to leave for Italy.
The apartment felt a little heavier, quieter, the way it always did before a long trip. His suitcase sat open on the bedroom floor, clothes folded in neat stacks. He checked his list on his phone, mumbling softly to himself as he went over everything twiceβbecause forgetting something meant adding space between them, and Max hated that.
Usually, she was there with him. Always. Teasing him for overpacking, handing him travel-size toiletries, folding his Red Bull hoodies with the sleeves tucked just the way he liked them. But tonight, her hands were occupied with something else entirelyβsomething he knew she had been working on for a few nights in a row.
She was on the couch, yarn in her lap, legs curled beneath her in one of his old T-shirts, completely lost in concentration. Her fingers moved fast, looping and pulling, brows pinched together like the world depended on every stitch. Jimmy was stretched along her side, pawing lazily at a loose thread. Sassy and Nino were curled in the corner of the blanket sheβd made last week. And DonatelloβDonny, as Max called him when he was being extra cuteβwas nestled in the basket of colorful yarn, already asleep.
He leaned in the doorway, watching. Smiling.
βYouβre not helping me pack,β he said softly.
βNope.β
βBabe.β
βDonβt peek.β
βYouβre definitely making something for me.β
She didnβt look up. βCould be. Could also be a very small sweater for Jimmy.β
Max chuckled, stepping closer, but she blocked his view dramatically with her arms. βPatience, Max Emilian. Go pack your socks.β
He kissed her temple and obeyed. He loved that about herβhow passionate she got about her crochet projects, how even their cats had custom little covers and blankets, how their shared home in Monaco was filled with soft plants and coasters and cat hats she swore were βfunctional and cute,β even when Jimmy looked personally offended.
An hour later, she padded into the bedroom with something behind her back and a hopeful glint in her eyes.
βI have something for you,β she murmured.
She placed them in his hands: five little amigurumi, handmade with yarn and love. Jimmy with his sleek fur. Sassy looking unbothered and elegant. Donatello mid-pounce. Nino looking disproportionately long and incredibly smug. And then Max himselfβstitched in racing blue, with a mini cap and even the tiniest serious face.
βTheyβre keychains,β she said. βFor your backpack. So I can sort of come with you.β
He didnβt say anything. Just stared down at them, heart soft and chest tight.
Then he pulled her into his arms and held her like she was the thread keeping everything together.
βI love them,β he whispered. βAnd I love you. Iβm putting them on right now.β
By the time Max was walking through the paddock in Italy, the five keychains were swinging gently from the zipper of his backpackβJimmy, Sassy, Donny, Nino and a mini Max. He hadnβt stopped touching them since he left Monaco.
Heβd just finished morning media duties when one of the Red Bull community managers spotted the colorful shapes bobbing behind him and caught up, phone already in hand.
βMax, waitβwhat are those?β she asked, grinning, angling the phone to film him casually.
He glanced back. βThese?β he said, lifting the backpack strap to give a better view. βTheyβre my keychains. My girlfriend made them.β
The camera zoomed in slightly as he gently held each one up with proud fingers. βThatβs Jimmy. Sassy. Donatello. Nino. And... me,β he added with a small, lopsided smile. βYou can tell βcause mine has the annoyed face.β
The team member laughed behind the camera. βWait, she made these?β
βYeah, she crochets. She made them by hand. Sheβs honestly kind of obsessed with yarnβour apartment is full of little things she made.β
Then, as if unable to help himself, Max reached for his phone. βWait, Iβll show you. Look at this.β
He scrolled for a moment, then held the phone out. The camera caught glimpses of the photos: her sitting cross-legged on the couch, hair messy, tongue peeking out as she concentrated. Jimmy curled up in her lap. Donny half-buried in a pile of soft blue yarn. Sassy snoozing peacefully on the exact thread sheβd been trying to work with.
βShe always tells me she canβt finish anything on time because the cats fall asleep on her projects,β Max said, grinning. βAnd she wonβt move them. Sheβs got a good heart like that.β
There were moreβher holding up a seafoam-colored blanket, a miniature plant cozy in their bathroom, a cat bed in soft green yarn with Donny inside like royalty.
The Red Bull team member laughed again. βOkay, this is the cutest thing weβve seen all week.β Max blushed but shrugged, clearly proud.
Later that evening, after the national anthem, the champagne, and the photo ops on the podium, Max sat in the post-race press conference with a faint sheen still on his skin, his suit unzipped halfway, cap slightly crooked, hair damp around his temples.
Heβd just won the Emilia-Romagna Grand Prix.
Reporters filtered their questions in wavesβstrategy, pit stop timings, tire degradation. Max answered in calm, controlled tones.
Then a hand went up near the back, and the tone shifted.
βMax, earlier this weekend a video went viralβyour Red Bull media team caught you showing off some keychains on your backpack. Handmade, from what weβve seen. Can you tell us more about them?β
It wasnβt the kind of question that usually made it into a post-race debrief. But Maxβs entire face changed.
He blinkedβjust onceβand then the corners of his mouth lifted with something that wasnβt just a smile. It was pride. Warm and real, carved from something much softer than victory.
βYeah,β he said, sitting a little straighter, the usual guard in his voice dropping slightly. βMy girlfriend made those. Crocheted them, actually. She gave them to me before I flew to Italy.β
He paused, glancing down like the memory was physically warm in his hands.
βShe said it was so I could carry a piece of home with me,β he continued, voice gentler now. βThereβs one of me, and then Jimmy, Sassy, and Donatelloβour cats and Nino-our dog.β
The room chuckled, soft and surprised, but Max didnβt flinch. He didnβt hide from it.
βIβm really proud of her,β he added, looking directly at the reporter. βSheβs insanely talented. I mean, if I sit still too long, sheβll probably cover me in yarn.β He grinned. βHonestly, Iβm surprised she hasnβt yet.β
Lando, seated beside him, leaned into his mic. βWaitβdo you think she could make one for me? They looked seriously cool.β
Oscar smirked, glancing sideways. βYeah, Max. Hook us up.β
Max let out a low laugh, shaking his head. βFor you two?β he teased. βWould cost a fortune. Sheβs got standards, you know.β
The room broke into laughter. Even the moderator smiled.
But when the chuckles faded.
He didnβt say anything else. He didnβt need to.
Because the cameras would catch it anyway. The smile. The way his entire demeanor softened the moment her name hovered between the lines of a question.
Max Verstappen. A world champion. A man in love.
And not even trying to hide it.
Later that night, while tucked under one of her own blankets, cats and a dog asleep at her feet and Max somewhere in Italy basking in another win, she opened Instagramβand nearly dropped her phone.
The video was everywhere. Short clips from the press conference. Edits set to soft indie music. TikToks zooming in on Maxβs bashful smile when he said, βIβm really proud of herβ
Red Bull had posted the behind-the-scenes reel tooβhim turning around proudly to show off the keychains, flipping through photos on his phone like a man possessed. The captions were βHeβs fast. Heβs fearless. And apparently, if you sit too long near him, you might end up in yarn. π§Ά"
The comments? Absolutely unhinged.
@.landoismytherapist: Lando trying to commission a crochet keychain and Max telling him it would cost a fortune πππ sheβs got luxury brand status now @.speedandsoul: me watching this 500 times a day like it's my religion @.lan4do: Lando wants one. We ALL want one. Start the Etsy, girlie. @.maxielover16 Not Max dead serious in a press conference going βsheβll probably cover me in yarnβ Iβm crying in the club @.sassyjimboy the way max smiled when he said βshe made them so I could carry a piece of home with meβ ??? jail. all of you. this is too much. @.paddocktea: This man is GONE. Do you see the way he smiles when he talks about her??? @.softlyverstappen: She CROCHETED HIM and THEIR PETS and now heβs out here showing the world like itβs a Grammy
She covered her face with one hand, heart full and cheeks aching from smiling.
Then her phone buzzed.
Max π you're all over the internet, liefje. youβve officially outshined my win. lando wants a keychain. heβs serious.
She bit back a grin, curled tighter under the blanket, fingers dancing across the screen.
You he can have one. but only if he gives you a tow in quali. and i want onboard footage as proof.
Max π deal. youβre brilliant, you know that?
A pause, then another message followed.
Max π come to Spain. i miss you. and i want to show you off a little.
In Every Quiet Moment
Max Verstappen x Reader
Summary: as a gifted pianist struggling to make ends meet in Monaco, you never expect your quiet world to collide with Formula 1βs fiercest driver β¦ until a rain-soaked night, a stray kitten, and a cup of hot chocolate change everything
The rain comes hard and sudden, like a tantrum. It slaps against the cafΓ© windows in sheets, hammering the cobblestones and turning the square outside into a glossy watercolor. The sky is bruised, the streetlights yellowing the mist, and the world feels like itβs been dunked underwater.
You glance up from where youβre wiping down the espresso machine, sighing. Another late night. Another storm.
You're alone. The chairs are flipped upside-down on the tables, lights low, Edith Piaf humming quietly from the little speaker you keep on the counter. The smell of cinnamon and leftover croissants lingers faintly.
You stretch your wrists. Eight hours of class, three hours on shift, and you still havenβt practiced your Liszt etude. The anxiety tightens like thread in your chest.
And then β movement. Outside. You blink, stepping closer to the window.
Thereβs a man. Tall. Absolutely soaked. Heβs crouched beside the steps just past the awning, knees bent, arms out. You squint through the glass.
A kitten. Small, skinny, trembling.
Heβs trying to coax it out from beneath a stone bench, his jacket shielding it from the storm.
You hesitate. Logic says to mind your business. Let the guy deal with his savior complex in peace. But your hands are already reaching for the door.
It groans as you pull it open. Cold air slaps your face. βHey,β you call, barely audible above the downpour. βHey, do you need-β
He turns.
Your breath catches β not because heβs handsome, though he is β but because thereβs something strange in his expression. Like youβve caught him in something private. His jaw tightens. He doesnβt say anything. Just lifts the tiny ball of fur against his chest with careful hands.
You frown. βIs it hurt?β
βI donβt know.β His voice is low. Rough like gravel. A weird contrast to how gently heβs holding the kitten. βItβs freezing.β
You open the door wider. βCome in.β
He hesitates. Glances down the street, like maybe thereβs somewhere else heβs supposed to be. Then back to you. You think heβs going to refuse.
But he steps forward.
The bell jingles above the door. You lock it behind him.
βSit,β you say, motioning to the bench along the wall. βIβll get towels.β
He doesnβt argue. Just lowers himself silently, kitten still tucked inside his jacket. Water drips in small pools around his boots.
You disappear into the back room, grabbing the cleanest dish towels you can find and one of the cafΓ©βs emergency hoodies you sometimes wear when the heatβs out. You hand them to him.
βThanks.β His eyes flick up to yours briefly. Theyβre blue β so much lighter up close. He rubs the kitten dry first, talking to it under his breath like itβs a scared child.
You donβt ask questions. Just move behind the counter and start the steamer.
βYou want hot chocolate?β You ask.
A pause. Then a quiet, βYeah. Sure.β
You make it the way you like it β extra thick, pinch of cinnamon, real whipped cream β and slide the mug across the counter. He looks at it like he doesnβt know what to do with something that kind.
βWhatβs its name?β You ask, settling across from him.
He lifts a shoulder. βDidnβt ask.β
You smirk. βWell, she looks like a Phoebe.β
βThatβs a horrible name.β
βI like it.β
βSheβll get bullied at school.β
βSheβs a cat.β
He actually smiles at that. Itβs barely there, but it softens something in his face. You realize, suddenly, how tired he looks. Not just from the rain. The kind of tired that lives deep in the bones.
You lean forward, chin on your hand. βWhat were you even doing out there?β
βWalking.β
βIn this?β
βCouldnβt sleep.β
You nod slowly. βInsomnia or caffeine?β
His brows lift slightly. βWhy not both?β
You laugh, short and surprised. βYouβre really not gonna tell me your name?β
Another pause. He blows into the mug, watching the steam curl around his fingers. βDo I have to?β
βNo,β you say. βBut Iβll name you too, if youβre not careful.β
His eyes lift, direct and unreadable. βIβd rather you didnβt.β
That makes you curious. But something about his tone β quiet, almost pleading β makes you let it go.
You sit there a while longer. The storm beats on. He finishes the hot chocolate and wipes the kittenβs nose. You give him a take-home box for croissants and leftover brioche. He accepts it with a small nod, still saying nothing about who he is or where heβs going.
He leaves without giving you his name.
You only realize who he is when youβre sweeping up later. You find the receipt under his mug, flipped upside down, with the credit card slip still attached.
β¬2,000 tip.
You stare. Check the name.
Max Emilian Verstappen.
You almost drop the broom.
***
The next evening, it rains again. Not as hard, more of a romantic drizzle this time. Youβre closing up, humming through your teeth, when the bell above the door chimes softly.
You turn, halfway into your apron. And there he is. Dry this time. No kitten.
He doesnβt say anything. Just stands in the doorway like heβs waiting for you to yell at him for being weird.
βYou came back,β you say, blinking.
He shrugs. βYou were nice.β
You smile, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. βYou left two thousand euros. I couldβve retired.β
βYou work too hard to retire,β he says quietly.
That stops you. You donβt know how he knows that β but somehow, he does.
You clear your throat. βHot chocolate again?β
He nods.
This time he sits at the counter instead of the bench. Closer. You make the drink slowly, trying not to stare. Heβs different tonight. Relaxed. Still quiet, but not like heβs hiding. Like heβs β¦ watching. Noticing.
You set the mug in front of him. βSo. Phoebe survived the night?β
βSheβs living in my guestroom now. Chewed through my charging cord and pissed on my sock.β
βSounds like love.β
He smirks, sipping. βSheβs angry. Loud. A menace.β
βLike you?β
βWorse.β
Thereβs a comfortable silence that stretches between you. You wipe down the bar again, more for something to do. He traces a finger along the wood grain.
βI meant to say thank you,β he says after a moment. βFor last night.β
You glance up. βYou did. With money.β
βThat wasnβt-β He sighs. βI didnβt mean to do it like that.β
You raise a brow. βThen how did you mean to?β
He pauses. βI panicked.β
βPanicked?β
He shifts in his seat, suddenly sheepish. βI β¦ donβt usually talk to people like that.β
βLike what?β
βLike-β He cuts himself off. βLike a normal person.β
You canβt help the laugh that escapes you. βAre you not a normal person?β
He tilts his head, studying you. βDepends who you ask.β
The bell rings softly as a breeze sneaks in through the window crack. You tug your sleeves over your hands, watching him quietly.
βWhy are you here?β You ask. βI mean, really.β
He sets the mug down. βBecause I wanted to be.β
You blink. βThatβs not an answer.β
He leans in slightly, forearms resting on the counter. βYou didnβt ask a real question.β
You look at him. Really look. Thereβs something magnetic in the quiet way he holds your gaze. No arrogance. Just β¦ interest. Like heβs trying to memorize the way you wrinkle your nose or tug your sleeves.
You tilt your head. βOkay, then. Real question.β
βIβm listening.β
βWhy come back if you donβt want anything from me?β
He looks down. βWho says I donβt?β
Your breath stutters. You laugh, but itβs nervous this time.
βI donβt-β you start, then shake your head. βIβm not really looking for anything.β
He shrugs. βMe neither. Maybe thatβs the point.β
Youβre quiet.
You donβt know why this is happening. Why a man like him is sitting here, watching you like you matter. Like he wants something real in a world where everything around him is so curated and artificial.
You take a breath. βWhat if I like things slow?β
βThen I wonβt rush.β
βWhat if I have too much going on? I study ten hours a day, I work nights, I barely remember to eat.β
βIβll remind you.β
You blink. βYouβre a stranger.β
βIβm Max.β
The sound of his name makes something shift. It sounds β¦ different when he says it. Not like a brand or a headline. Just a person.
You swallow. βYou want more chocolate?β
He smiles β small, genuine. βYeah. Please.β
So you make another mug. And this time, when you slide it toward him, your fingers brush his.
Neither of you move.
Outside, the rain keeps falling.
***
Max begins showing up every few days. Never on a schedule, never with warning. Just β¦ appears. Quiet. Steady. Always a little after dusk, when the tourists thin out and the locals disappear behind shuttered windows. Youβll be wiping a table, or refilling the sugar jars, or humming some half-remembered Γ©tude under your breath, and then β there he is. That same quiet presence at the counter.
He never makes a move. Never flirts. Never pries.
Just sits. Watches. Listens.
You talk. He answers. Sometimes only in nods or dry little asides, but you get used to the cadence of it. The careful way he measures his words. You find it oddly comforting, the way heβs so still in a world that never stops spinning.
He tries everything on the menu eventually. Buys an absurd number of pastries he doesnβt eat. Leaves tips like heβs trying to buy the building.
βMax,β you say one night, eyes narrowed as you hold up the receipt. βYouβve got to stop. This is getting offensive.β
He shrugs. βItβs a good cafΓ©.β
βItβs a tiny cafΓ©.β
βStill good.β
You lean across the counter, mock stern. βDo you do this at Starbucks too?β
βIβve never been to a Starbucks.β
You blink. βYouβre joking.β
He shakes his head. βDo I look like someone whoβs been to a Starbucks?β
You stare at him. The sweatshirt heβs wearing is probably worth more than your rent. ββ¦ TouchΓ©.β
He just smirks into his coffee.
That becomes the rhythm. Every few days, a quiet ritual. A strange, tender peace you hadnβt realized you needed.
And maybe it wouldβve gone on like that forever β slow, safe, unspoken β if not for the man with the red scarf.
***
Itβs a Thursday night. Cold enough that your breath fogs when the door opens. The cafΓ© is quiet. A few locals sipping espressos near the back, and a lone stranger nursing something bitter at a corner table.
Youβre behind the counter, arms elbow-deep in hot water and soap, humming under your breath when you feel it. That prickling sensation between your shoulder blades.
You glance up.
The man in the red scarf is watching you.
You ignore it. Keep washing. Then he clears his throat. Loud. Once.
You look again.
He crooks a finger. βPetit cul.β
Your eye twitches. You dry your hands, approach slowly. βDonβt call me that.β
He smiles, too wide. βPardon, mademoiselle. I forget how things work here.β His French is lazy, Parisian. The kind that pretends not to see dirt. βYouβre the one from the other night, no?β
You frown. βOther night?β
βYou were playing piano in the square. Badly.β
You blink. βWow. Thanks.β
He grins like heβs charming. βNo, no, I meant it with affection. You're pretty. Thatβs what counts.β
You take a deep breath. βCan I get you anything else?β
He leans forward. βMaybe your number?β
You pull back. βNot for sale.β
He laughs, but thereβs something sour underneath it. βAll these pretty girls think theyβre so above it now. What happened to politeness?β
You donβt answer. Just walk away.
And thatβs when you hear the chair scrape.
At first, you think itβs the man standing. But the weight of a different presence hits you.
You turn.
Max is at the counter. You hadnβt seen him come in.
His voice is low. Unmistakable. βIs there a problem?β
You look between them. Max is calm β too calm. His hands rest lightly on the counter, but his stance is taut. Controlled. Lethal in the way a loaded gun is.
The man in the red scarf scoffs. βThis your boyfriend?β
Max doesnβt blink. βNo.β
Your stomach twists.
βBut youβre going to leave now,β Max continues, βand youβre going to do it without saying another word to her.β
The manβs smile fades. βWho do you think you are?β
Max steps forward once. Not threatening, exactly. Just closer. βI think Iβm someone you donβt want to test tonight.β
Itβs not a threat. Not really. Itβs said with the same calm tone youβd use to discuss weather. But something in it shifts the air. The man goes pale.
He mutters something under his breath and grabs his coat. Leaves without looking back.
You exhale slowly, trying to uncoil the tension in your spine.
Max says nothing. Just waits until your eyes meet his.
βAre you okay?β He asks softly.
You nod. βYeah. Iβm fine.β
He looks unconvinced.
βIβve had worse,β you add. βWaitresses arenβt exactly the least harassed demographic.β
Maxβs jaw clenches. He says nothing.
You run a hand through your hair. βThank you. For that.β
He shrugs. βDidnβt do anything.β
βYou scared the hell out of him.β
βThat wasnβt hard.β
You pause. βWant a hot chocolate?β
He hesitates. βWalk with me instead.β
You blink.
His voice is softer now. Almost hesitant. βIf youβre off?β
You glance at the clock. Fifteen minutes to close. The cafΓ© is empty now. Quiet.
You untie your apron. βLet me grab my coat.β
***
The streets are still damp as you walk. The air carries the smell of sea salt and wet stone. Max keeps close, hands in his pockets, his steps slowing to match yours.
You pass under a streetlamp, and for a second, it feels like youβre inside a movie.
βYou didnβt have to do that,β you say quietly.
βI know.β
βBut Iβm glad you did.β
He glances sideways. βSome people think silence is an invitation.β
You snort. βStory of my life.β
He watches you. βYou shouldnβt have to fight them off alone.β
You smile, but thereβs something sad behind it. βIβm used to it.β
βYou shouldnβt be.β
You fall into silence again. His coat brushes yours.
Then β voices.
A small group of teens cross the square ahead. They freeze mid-step when they see him.
One gasps. βNo way. Max Verstappen?β
He stops. Exhales. βYeah.β
βCan we get a photo?β
He nods, patient, stepping aside. You stand back, awkward, watching him smile for the camera. His posture shifts. Not stiff, but practiced. Familiar.
They thank him, then run off, giggling.
He turns back to you.
You raise a brow. βIs that your normal walk home?β
He shrugs. βSometimes.β
You laugh, shaking your head. βI forget, sometimes, who you are.β
His voice is quiet. βGood.β
You glance up at him. βDoesnβt it get annoying? Being known everywhere you go?β
βYes.β
βThen why do it?β
Heβs quiet for a while. βIt used to mean something different. Now β¦ I donβt know. I like the racing. Not the circus around it.β
You hum. βYouβre still in the circus.β
βYeah. Guess I am.β
You stop at the edge of your building. A narrow stone faΓ§ade with ivy curling up one side. Your windows are dark. The air smells like lavender from the old womanβs garden next door.
Max lingers.
You bite your lip. βWant to come up?β
He lifts a brow. βDo you want me to?β
You shake your head. βNo. Not tonight. Just β thank you for walking me.β
He nods. βOf course.β
But he doesnβt leave right away.
You hover near the door. βMax?β
βYeah?β
βYouβre not β¦ doing all this just to be nice, are you?β
He blinks. βWhat do you mean?β
βI mean β¦you donβt have to fix everything. Or show up every time it rains. Or save me from creeps. I donβt want you to feel like-β
βI donβt.β
You study him.
He meets your gaze. βI donβt do things I donβt want to do.β
Silence.
Then he adds, quieter, βYouβre not a project. Youβre not something broken.β
Your throat tightens.
βI come here,β he says, βbecause I want to see you. Thatβs it.β
You nod. Swallow. βOkay.β
He turns like heβs about to go, then pauses again. βYou were playing Debussy in the square. That night.β
You blink. βYou where there?β
He nods once. βIt was raining then, too.β
A small smile touches your lips. βYou like Debussy?β
He shrugs. βI liked how you played it.β
You step inside, the door clicking softly behind you.
And for the first time in a long time, you fall asleep with music in your head and something steadier than loneliness in your chest.
***
Itβs late when Max asks.
Youβre locking up the cafΓ©, hands stiff with cold and knuckles raw from the wind, when he leans against the doorway β hood up, collar high β and says, βCome with me.β
You blink, keys half-turned in the lock. βWhere?β
βMy place.β His eyes hold yours. βJust to get away. For a few hours.β
You hesitate. Not because youβre nervous β well, you are β but not like that. Itβs the weight of the offer. The intimacy of it. Not romantic, not sexual β something quieter. Like stepping into the private heart of a man who doesnβt let anyone inside.
You donβt say yes right away. You just meet his gaze, and after a long pause, nod once. βOkay.β
***
His apartment is tucked above the marina. Youβd walked past the building a dozen times and never once imagined it held something this still, this understated. High ceilings, wide windows, warm wood and cool stone. Light, but not too much. Modern, but lived-in.
The scent hits you first. Cedar, citrus, and something darker. Probably him.
And cats.
Thereβs a blur of movement as you step inside. Then a paw. Then two. Then all at once, theyβre there.
Max just smirks faintly. βGood luck.β
A sleek, skeptical Bengal perches on the armrest of the couch and stares at you like youβre a problem itβs been sent to solve.
βThatβs Sassy,β Max says, slipping his coat off and hanging it neatly. βShe owns the apartment. I just live here.β
A white blur shoots past your ankles. βJimmy?β
βDonut,β Max corrects, heading toward the kitchen. βJimmyβs the one with the attitude problem. Youβll know when he arrives.β
You bend down slowly, letting Donut sniff your fingers. Phoebe β the little kitten you first met in the rain β tumbles out from under a blanket and immediately starts scaling your leg.
Maxβs voice floats in from the kitchen. βTheyβll destroy your clothes. Sorry.β
βTheyβre worth it,β you murmur, untangling the kitten from your tights.
He gestures toward the open-plan kitchen, nodding at the counter. βHungry?β
You raise a brow. βYou cook?β
He rolls up his sleeves with a small smile. βWell. I try. Donβt get your hopes up.β
You step beside him. The fridge door opens to reveal fresh herbs, vegetables, and a frankly unnecessary amount of expensive cheese.
You smirk. βTrying to impress me?β
βMaybe.β
You laugh, and he gives a soft chuckle in return. Itβs the most open youβve seen him. Not the composed driver, not the cool-eyed guardian of Monaco cafΓ©s β just Max. Just a guy in a dark t-shirt who stocks more parmesan than sense and keeps four cats alive somehow.
***
You cook together slowly, messily. He slices vegetables with surprising precision while you burn garlic twice. At one point, you knock over a spice jar and send a dust storm of paprika across the marble. Max doesnβt flinch.
βPaprikaβs overrated anyway,β he murmurs, sweeping it away with a practiced hand.
The radio plays softly in the background. Old jazz, something French. You hum under your breath while stirring the sauce, and Max leans back against the counter, watching you.
Not in a lustful way. Not even admiring. Something deeper. Like heβs memorizing the moment. Committing it to a part of him that doesnβt let go.
You glance over, caught by the intensity of it. βWhat?β
He just shakes his head. βYou look peaceful.β
βI am peaceful.β
He grins. βGood. That was the point.β
***
Dinner is simple. Pasta, fresh salad, warm bread he didnβt bake but proudly heated up. You eat on the couch, curled under a blanket, with Donut curled beside your thigh and Phoebe nuzzling your ankle.
Max eats slowly. Savors things.
You, however, eat like someone whoβs lived on cafΓ© leftovers all week.
βJesus,β you mutter, swallowing a bite. βThis is good.β
His eyebrow lifts. βSo you are impressed.β
βDonβt let it go to your head.β
Too late. His smirk grows.
Afterwards, you both stay where you are. The room glows with soft, golden light. The windows show the harbor below, lights glittering across water like scattered coins. You tug the blanket higher, eyes growing heavy.
Max barely speaks. Just watches you fight off sleep, his hand curled around a mug of something warm, his body still like heβs afraid of ruining the quiet.
βIs it always this calm here?β You ask.
He nods. βWhen I want it to be.β
You yawn, half-smiling. βI like it.β
Phoebe climbs onto your lap and purrs herself into a tiny, warm puddle. Your eyes flutter.
You donβt mean to fall asleep. You just β¦ do.
***
When you wake, the lights are lower.
The room is quiet, save for the rhythmic purring of cats.
Thereβs a blanket draped over you now, thicker than before. Heavy with warmth. You shift slightly and feel the unmistakable weight of Jimmy β angrily curled beside your feet. You smile.
Then you hear it.
Max. In the next room. His voice is low, sharp. Controlled β but furious.
βNo. I said no.β
You blink, pushing the blanket down slightly. The door to the hallway is ajar.
βI donβt care what they think β sheβs not a story. Sheβs none of their business. Pull it. Now.β
Pause. A longer silence. Then his voice again, colder this time.
βIf I see one word printed about her, Iβll bury the piece myself. Understand?β
You sit up slowly, heart pounding. His voice is quieter now. But still hard. Still carved from something that doesnβt yield.
βI donβt give a damn if they think itβs innocent. Sheβs not part of this. And I wonβt let her be.β
Silence.
You donβt wait for him to hang up.
You push the blanket aside and step quietly into the hallway.
Heβs in the small office off the kitchen. Back half-turned, one hand braced against the desk, the other holding his phone. He doesnβt hear you at first. Not until you speak.
βMax.β
He tenses. Freezes. Then slowly turns.
His eyes are darker than usual. He looks like someone whoβs just stepped out of a ring β wound tight, ready for a fight.
βYou heard that,β he says flatly.
You nod. βYeah.β
He straightens. βI didnβt mean for-β
βWere they writing about me?β
He doesnβt answer. Just sets the phone down.
βMax,β you press. βWhat were they saying?β
βDoesnβt matter.β
βIt does to me.β
A beat. Then, quietly: βThey had pictures. From the cafΓ©. From the night we walked home. Nothing bad, just β¦ invasive.β
You blink. βWhy?β
He shrugs, but the motion is rigid. βBecause they can. Because youβre next to me.β
You step closer. βAnd you called them?β
βI made a call, yeah.β
βTo shut it down?β
His jaw tightens. βYes.β
βMax.β You stop in front of him. βYou canβt just-β
βYes,β he cuts in, voice low but firm. βI can.β
Thereβs a pause. The air between you shifts. The house is too quiet now.
You exhale. βYou donβt need to protect me from everything.β
βI know that.β
βThen why-β
βBecause I want to.β
You look up at him. Heβs close now. So close it almost hurts.
βIβll never let them touch you,β he says quietly. βNot while Iβm breathing.β
You donβt answer right away. Canβt.
He watches you carefully. βIf thatβs too much-β
βNo.β You shake your head. βItβs not too much.β
A silence falls between you. Not awkward. Not unsure. Just β¦ full.
Finally, you say, βYou care about me.β
He nods once. βYeah.β
βAnd youβre not going to say it.β
βI just did,β he says softly. βIn the only way I know how.β
You donβt know what to say to that.
So you step forward, press your forehead to his chest, and let the warmth of him settle around you.
His arms come up, slow, careful β like heβs afraid youβll vanish. Like heβs not quite sure youβre real.
But you donβt vanish.
You stay right there. Wrapped in his arms, the soft thrum of his heart in your ear, with the cats still curled on the couch and the rest of the world held outside.
***
It happens the next morning.
You're still warm with the echo of his arms when you sneak out the back entrance of Maxβs building, hoodie pulled tight, hair tucked under a beanie. You think youβve done everything right β quiet footsteps, sunglasses, even that cautious glance around the alley before you step into the light.
But itβs not enough.
The flash comes out of nowhere.
One. Two. Three rapid shots. Then a voice β male, giddy, breathless.
βMiss, are you seeing Max Verstappen? Were you with him last night?β
You donβt answer. Just duck your head and walk faster, ignoring the burn in your throat, the sudden thud of your pulse. You donβt run β you know better β but your steps go tight, clipped. A door slams shut behind you, a car engine revs.
By the time you reach the music academy, your hands are shaking.
You donβt tell anyone. Not at first.
But the whispers start by lunch.
You catch your name in a studentβs hushed voice. You hear Maxβs in another. Then the article hits β small but vicious, your blurry figure circled in red, a headline that wants blood.
Verstappenβs New Flame? Mystery Girl Leaves Monaco Apartment at Dawn.
By evening, itβs everywhere.
***
Max calls. You donβt answer.
He texts: Iβm handling it.
You stare at the message for a long time. Then turn your phone off and leave it on the counter like itβs something that might burn you.
By the next day, the article disappears.
Completely. As if it never existed.
A notice appears in its place.
Retracted at source.
Later, you overhear a barista talking about it with wide eyes. βApparently his lawyers sent something like β whatβs the word? A cease and desist? Except angrier. Like, terrifyingly angry.β
Someone else adds, βI heard he called someone at the top. Shut it down like that.β She snaps her fingers. βNo wonder theyβre scared of him.β
You press your hands into the counter, steadying yourself. Your phone pings when you step into the storeroom.
A screenshot.
An anonymous deposit confirmation. Six months of your rent. Paid in full.
Another message: Let me do this. Please.
You stare at it for a long time. Then close your eyes, lean your head against the cold concrete wall, and try not to cry.
***
The panic hits later.
Not all at once. Not in an obvious way. It comes quietly, like a tide. Like a soft pull at your ankles before it drags you under.
The guilt first β sharp and sour.
Heβs spending his influence, his money, his power β to protect you.
You. A girl who plays piano in a dusty practice room and works shifts to afford cheap ramen. You never asked for this.
And the fear β oh, the fear β of what it means. Of what he might want. Of what you might want back.
So you do the only thing that feels safe.
You pull away.
***
You stop replying.
Not rudely. Just slowly.
A message takes a day to respond. Then two. Then none.
You say no to his quiet invitations β coffee, a walk, just ten minutes β offering gentle excuses that grow thinner by the day.
Your shifts at the cafΓ© get longer. Your time at the piano stretches until your hands ache. You avoid the harbor. Avoid the old streets he likes.
Avoid everything that makes your heart hurt.
***
He doesnβt chase.
He doesnβt knock on your door. Doesnβt text again and again or show up late at night demanding answers.
Instead, he sends you a care package when you get sick.
It shows up at the cafΓ© on a Wednesday β delivered by someone who doesnβt ask for a signature. Inside is some lemon tea, cough syrup, throat lozenges, two cans of the soup you once said reminded you of home, and a small stuffed cat.
A note, tucked between the teabags.
Iβll wait.
Nothing else.
Not even his name.
***
You cry in the break room. Not a lot. Just enough to taste salt when you breathe.
You feel stupid.
Then you feel worse β for thinking you were stupid.
You hug the stuffed cat against your chest and whisper, βIβm sorry,β even though he canβt hear you.
***
Three days pass.
Then four.
By the fifth, you canβt breathe when you walk past his street.
On the sixth, you stand outside his apartment building for fifteen minutes and never press the buzzer.
On the seventh, it rains.
Hard. Monaco rain. Thunder at the edges. Wind that flattens your jacket to your spine and makes your cheeks sting.
You donβt bring an umbrella.
You donβt bring excuses either.
You just walk, quiet, soaked to the bone, and let the elevator carry you to the only door thatβs ever made you feel like youβre not pretending.
You knock once.
It opens almost instantly.
He doesnβt look surprised.
Just steps back and lets you in, eyes sweeping over you like heβs checking for bruises.
βHi,β you whisper, wet and breathless.
He says nothing. Doesnβt ask where youβve been. Doesnβt demand explanations or apologies or promises youβre not ready to give.
He just opens his arms.
And you fall into them like you never left.
His hoodie smells like him. Warm and clean and steady. You press your face into it and wrap your arms around his waist, trying not to shake.
He closes the door behind you with one hand, the other already sliding up your back.
You donβt speak. Donβt have to.
His chin rests on your hair.
You whisper, βI didnβt know how to-β
βI know,β he murmurs. βYou donβt have to explain.β
Your breath hitches.
βI just didnβt want to mess it up,β you admit. βItβs so big. What you did. What you do. And Iβm-β
βYou,β he says gently. βYouβre you. Thatβs enough.β
Your eyes sting again. You bury your face deeper into his chest.
βIβm sorry.β
βDonβt be.β His voice is low. Kind. βYou donβt have to be strong around me.β
You pull back, just a little.
Look up at him.
His eyes are impossibly gentle. No walls. No edge. Just patience. Just Max.
βIβm scared,β you say quietly.
He nods. βSo am I.β
You laugh β just a breath, wet with tears. βYeah?β
βI donβt usually let people in,β he admits. βI didnβt expect you.β
You blink. βThen why β¦β
His fingers brush your cheek, slow and reverent. βBecause Iβd regret losing you more than I fear what happens next.β
You stare at him. At his mouth. At the way heβs looking at you β like heβs memorizing this moment, too.
You lean in.
So does he.
The kiss is soft.
No urgency. No heat. Just warmth. Just yes.
His hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone. Yours curls into his hoodie, anchoring you.
When you finally pull back, youβre both smiling.
You exhale. βOkay.β
βYeah?β
βYeah.β
He rests his forehead against yours.
βIβm here,β he murmurs.
You close your eyes. βSo am I.β
Outside, the rain keeps falling.
Inside, everything finally feels quiet again.
***
Max doesnβt say βI love you.β
Not with words.
He says it when he hands you a mug of tea without asking how you take it. He says it when he walks on the side of the pavement closest to the street. When he drapes a blanket over your knees during a movie, and casually shields your face from a photographerβs lens with the curve of his body.
He says it like that. Constant. Quiet. Absolute.
But tonight, he speaks more than usual.
It starts after dinner, while you sit curled against the arm of his couch, legs tucked under you, his hoodie hanging loose off your frame like it belongs there.
Heβs staring into the middle distance, a glass of something amber untouched in his hand.
βI used to think loneliness was normal,β he says, voice low, like heβs not sure if he means to say it out loud. βLike it just β¦ came with the job. The way you get used to jet lag or waking up in hotel rooms not remembering what country youβre in.β
You glance over, but donβt interrupt. Youβve learned with Max β he only opens the door a crack at a time. If youβre too eager, it closes.
He takes a breath, gaze still unfocused.
βThereβs so much noise around me. All the time. Team, press, fans, cameras.β He finally looks at you. βAnd itβs not that I donβt appreciate it. But itβs like β¦ you have to wear this mask so long you forget itβs not your real face.β
You reach out without thinking, fingers resting over his wrist. His skin is warm. Solid.
He watches your hand for a moment, then flips his wrist so his palm is up, letting your fingers slot into his.
βIβm not used to people wanting me without the mask,β he says, quieter now.
Your heart tightens.
βI donβt want the mask,β you whisper.
His eyes meet yours, sharp and grateful.
βI know,β he murmurs. βThatβs why you scare me.β
You laugh, soft. βI scare you?β
Max nods, serious. βYou donβt treat me like Iβm something untouchable. You just β¦ look at me.β
You squeeze his hand. βThatβs all Iβve ever wanted. For someone to see me.β
That breaks something open in him. You feel it. The shift. The way his shoulders soften, eyes grow tender.
βTell me,β he says.
So you do.
You tell him about the nights you spent alone in the conservatory practice rooms, pretending the piano was a friend, not a thing you owed perfection to. You tell him about how scared you are to want something for yourself. How it feels to be surrounded by people chasing dreams so loudly you sometimes forget how to hear your own.
He listens like he has nowhere else to be.
Not just hearing β holding.
Your words. Your silence. Your fear. All of it.
When you finish, he doesnβt speak right away. Just leans forward, brushing his lips to your temple.
βYouβre not invisible here,β he whispers. βNot with me.β
***
The next few weeks are full of small shifts.
Your toothbrush finds a place in his bathroom. His hoodie disappears from his closet and ends up on your body more than his.
His cats take turns sleeping on you like youβre furniture now. Even Sassy.
Max kisses you in the kitchen. In the car. Once, under a streetlamp with rain brushing your cheeks, his hand cupped gently around your jaw like youβre something rare.
He doesn't let the world touch you. Not even once.
Heβs fiercely protective β but not in a loud way. In the way he speaks to hotel staff when you travel with him for a race, making sure youβre not put near the media floor. In the way his hand never leaves your lower back when cameras are near, like heβs placing a shield between you and the noise.
You try not to need it.
You try not to expect it.
But when itβs him, itβs hard not to let yourself be protected. Just a little. Just this once. Just again.
***
The comment comes three races into summer.
Youβre not even in the paddock β just sitting at a corner table in a nearby coffee shop, flipping through sheet music and sipping a drink Max had delivered for you before he left for press.
You look up when the door opens.
It's another driver β one of the younger ones. Cocky. Loud. The kind of guy who courts cameras like he was born for them.
He stops at your table, smirking. βDidnβt think Verstappen would go for your type.β
You blink. βSorry?β
He shrugs, like itβs nothing. βJust saying. He usually dates models. Youβre β¦ different.β
Your stomach twists, cold and ugly.
You donβt reply.
He doesnβt give you time to.
βAnyway,β he adds, eyes trailing a little too slowly down your body, βguess even the best get bored of the same thing. Nice upgrade, though.β
The chair screeches back before you realize youβre standing.
But Max is already there.
You donβt know how he found out. You donβt even see him enter.
But one second, itβs just you and the smirking boy β and the next, Max is between you, not touching, not yelling.
Just present.
Heavy.
Silent.
The other driverβs smirk falters. βHey, I was just-β
Max tilts his head. βSay it again.β
βWhat?β
βThat line. Say it to her face. Slowly this time.β
Silence.
Maxβs voice stays calm, almost soft. βYou want to flirt, do it with someone who hasnβt told you no with their body language. You want to insult her, you say it so I know exactly what Iβm responding to.β
The boy opens his mouth.
Max raises a single brow. βTry me.β
The tension shifts. Not loud. Not violent.
But dangerous.
The kind of promise you donβt test.
Max leans in, just a breath. βNext time you speak her name, it better be with respect. Or not at all.β
Then he turns, takes your hand, and leads you out like nothing happened.
Your heart doesnβt slow until you're back at his place, leaning against the door while he kicks off his shoes, jaw still tight.
βMax-β
He holds up a hand. βI know. I shouldnβt have. I know.β
You shake your head. βNo. Thatβs not-β
He exhales, sharp. βI just saw red.β
βI know,β you say again, quieter now.
βI didnβt want you to hear it. I didnβt want you to feel that way. Like you're less.β
You step into him. βI didnβt.β
His hand curls around your waist. βBut you couldβve. And Iβd never forgive myself.β
Your fingers trace the edge of his jaw. βYou stood up for me.β
He lifts his eyes to yours. βI will always stand up for you.β
The kiss is slower this time.
No heat. No anger.
Just need.
Just want.
***
It happens later β after dinner, after soft conversation, after you laugh so hard at a video he shows you that your ribs ache and your makeup smudges from tears.
Youβre standing in his bedroom doorway, shirt too big, your hands gentle on the back of his neck, and you say, simply:
βI want you.β
His eyes search yours. Careful. Serious.
βAre you sure?β
You nod. βYeah.β
He takes a breath, slow. Measured. Then presses his forehead to yours.
βThen Iβm going to take my time.β
And he does.
***
Itβs not rushed.
Not some fevered tangle of limbs or gasping urgency.
Itβs reverent.
Itβs slow hands under fabric, Max murmuring praises against your skin like scripture.
βSo perfect,β he whispers. βLook at you.β
He never stops looking.
Not once.
He undresses you like heβs being given a gift. Touches you like youβre something heβs memorizing for a time when the world is dark.
You tremble beneath his hands, and he notices.
βBreathe for me,β he whispers, mouth trailing down your neck. βIβve got you. Youβre safe.β
And you are.
You feel it in the way he checks in with every touch. The way he waits for you to nod before he moves. The way he groans when you whisper his name like itβs a secret meant only for him.
Heβs everywhere. Hands, lips, voice.
Guiding. Worshipping.
βLet go for me,β he says against your ear, tone wrecked. βIβll catch you.β
And when you do, itβs not with noise β but with surrender.
The kind that only comes when trust is absolute.
***
Later, you lie tangled together in the sheets, his chest to your back, hand resting over your heart.
You donβt speak.
You donβt have to.
He presses a kiss to your shoulder, and you close your eyes.
The mask is gone now.
For both of you.
***
The letter comes on a Tuesday.
You almost miss it β tucked between a utility bill and a flyer for a French tutoring service you donβt need. The envelope is heavy, your name written in raised black letters, the seal pressed with something official.
You open it with the caution of someone whoβs learned that good things donβt always come without cost.
Max is in the kitchen, barefoot, pouring coffee like itβs just another quiet morning. One of his hoodies drowns your frame. Phoebe is perched on the windowsill, blinking slowly at the rising sun.
And then youβre holding the future in your hand.
βMax?β Your voice wavers.
He glances over. βYeah?β
You hold the letter up.
He stills. Puts the coffee pot down.
You donβt have to say anything. He knows.
The logo at the top says everything: New York Philharmonic.
You stare at the words like they might vanish.
They donβt.
Youβve been offered a position. A permanent one. Full-time, first-chair piano. They want you.
βYou okay?β He asks gently, crossing the space between you.
βI-β You look up at him. βThis is everything I wanted.β
He nods. βYeah. I know.β
Before.
Before him.
Before Monaco and rainstorms and kittens and coffee shops and a Dutchman who looks at you like youβre made of sunlight.
You sink onto the couch. Max sits beside you, silent, waiting.
βItβs New York,β you say finally, like thatβs the problem and the answer all in one.
βIβve heard of it,β he murmurs, trying to make you smile.
You almost do. But your eyes blur a little.
βI donβt know what to do.β
He exhales slowly. βYou donβt have to know yet.β
βI donβt want to leave you,β you say. βBut I donβt want to regret staying.β
Max nods again. No flinch. No disappointment in his eyes.
Only patience.
Only love.
βIβll never ask you to stay,β he says softly. βNot if it means giving up something youβve dreamed of your whole life.β
You swallow. βBut youβre everything I never dreamed of. And now I donβt know how to want both.β
He takes your hand in his.
βIf you go,β he says, voice steady, βIβll come to you every free weekend. Iβll fly out after every race, Iβll sit in the first row of whatever concert hall they put you in. Iβll drink burnt American coffee and learn the subway system and wait outside rehearsal with a sandwich if thatβs what it takes.β
You laugh, eyes damp.
He keeps going.
βIf you stay,β he murmurs, βIβll make Monaco feel like home. Iβll move us closer to the sea, or the mountains, or wherever you sleep best. Iβll build you a studio. Iβll buy you ten pianos and soundproof walls and whatever else you need to play until your fingers are sore.β
Your throat tightens.
βI donβt care where you go,β he finishes. βI care that I go with you. So just β¦ say the word.β
Silence stretches between you. Not tense. Just full. Full of every version of your future playing out behind your ribs.
Then you press the letter flat on the coffee table.
And you say, softly, βI want to stay.β
Max doesnβt speak.
He just pulls you into his arms like he knew all along.
***
You donβt waitress anymore.
One day you show up to work, and the manager meets you at the door with wide eyes and a folded note.
You open it slowly.
Itβs Maxβs handwriting.
Come home. You donβt need this job anymore. Your job is playing. And writing. And being exactly who you are when no oneβs making demands on you. I bought the place. They can keep running it β unless you want it. Then itβs yours.
PS: The espresso machineβs still broken. Tell them I said to fix it.
You stare at the letter for a long time before smiling so hard it hurts.
And you do go home.
But not before waving goodbye to the cafΓ© thatβs now owned by a Dutchman with sharp eyes and a soft smile who only has eyes for you.
***
At night, the cafΓ© changes.
The lights dim. The chairs shift. A piano appears at the front like itβs always belonged there.
Your concerts start quiet β friends, regulars, a few curious neighbors.
But word spreads.
You begin to compose your own pieces. Sometimes inspired by rain. Sometimes silence. Sometimes Maxβs laugh or the way he breathes your name when heβs half-asleep.
He listens to every note like itβs a secret meant for him.
βYou should record these,β he says one night, lying on the rug with Phoebe curled under his arm and Sassy on your shoulder.
You snort. βRight. Because everyoneβs dying for a six-minute ballad about emotional intimacy and unresolved childhood grief.β
Max smiles, slow and sure.
βI am.β
You meet his eyes.
He means it.
***
You play at the cafΓ© again that Friday.
The roomβs fuller than usual. A couple journalists. A few photographers. Max sits in the back, quiet but unmistakable. Always watching.
You wear black tonight β simple, elegant. Your fingers skim the keys like theyβve always known where to go.
Before your last piece, you clear your throat.
βThis oneβs new,β you say, voice low. βI wrote it about someone who makes everything feel β¦ easier. Even when itβs not.β
You glance at Max.
His eyes donβt leave yours.
The first chord is soft. Then swelling. A little sad. A lot hopeful.
When the final note fades, the room doesnβt move.
Then, applause.
But you only hear the sound of Maxβs hands, steady and certain.
Afterward, he meets you at the edge of the stage.
You smile. βWas it too dramatic?β
He leans in, kisses your temple.
βI like dramatic.β
You tilt your head. βYeah?β
His mouth brushes your ear. βIβm in love with dramatic.β
***
You find the recording equipment a week later.
Just β¦ waiting.
Set up in the spare room. Wires. Mics. A soundboard you canβt name.
Thereβs a post-it on the chair.
In case you change your mind.
You roll your eyes. Laugh to yourself.
And start writing again.
***
You donβt take the job in New York.
You donβt regret it.
Not because it wouldnβt have been beautiful. Not because it wasnβt a dream.
But because some dreams change shape when you see whatβs possible.
Whatβs real.
Like playing under golden cafΓ© lights while Max sits in the shadows, looking at you like music was invented just so he could hear you play.
Like your name written in his handwriting on folded notes left by the stove.
Like Sunday mornings wrapped in each otherβs arms, no performances, no cameras, just skin and breath and warmth.
And maybe someday youβll tour. Maybe someday youβll go to New York β not to live, but to play. To be heard.
But for now?
For now, you stay.
Because love like this?
You donβt walk away from it.
Not when heβs willing to give you the world.
And not when the life you never knew to dream about turns out to be everything you ever wanted.

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White Horse - Masterlist:
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)
Summary:
Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.
She watched her family give up everything for Charlesβ careerβArthurβs karting, their fatherβs savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.
But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isnβt an afterthoughtβsheβs a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesnβt have to be invisible.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Interlude: Daylight
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Hi, whenever you write GP and Max this is what I imagine just so you know
GP when max is 17 and he tells him for the hundredth time that he needs to stop messing with the stewards on purpose
GP when max is 26 and he tells him for the millionth time that he needs to stop messing with the stewards on purpose
(max making rb team members fight the stewards for him is a love language)
This is Money Snake. She only appears every 312 years.Β
If you reblog her picture within the next twenty-five seconds you will have good luck and fortune for the rest of your life.Β
I reblogged her late last year and my 2024 has been very satisfying work-wise and (secure enough to not stress out) money-wise so far. Money Snake is wise and good.
Not worth taking the risk
Worth a shot.
what is the worst that can happen, right?
pole, GP Japan, 2025
GP: That's an incredible lap, Max. Stand-by. Gonna be tight with Piastri. And slow button on. That is insane! That is insane! Pole position.
Max: Yes let's go! Woohoo! Wow, what a lap! Yes, guys!
Christian: What a lap. What a lap, Max. Unbelievable. You've done it.
Max: Mate, this-- Wow, uh. Yeah, I'm really happy. Wow.
Christian: Pure class, mate. Pure class.
but daddy i love him. part two - mv1
summary: in the world of formula 1, where competition runs deep and loyalties are tested, yn wolff and max verstappen found themselves caught in the middle . as the daughter of mercedes team principal and the rising red bull star, they must navigate the balance between rivalries and love. wc:13.5k. READ PART ONE
folkie radio: HERE IT IS !!!! THE OTHER PART OF THEIR STORY !!! first of all i want to thank you all for the incredible support on part one, it was so nice to read all of your feedback ! please make sure to leave some feedback on this part as well. let me know ALL of your thoughts, and most importantly, ENJOY!
Monaco, 2021
The two weeks after Abu Dhabi are the longest of your life. Your phone remains silent - no late-night calls, no secret messages, no pictures of the cats that Max knows always make you smile. The space where he used to be feels enormous.
Your father is still dealing with the aftermath, appeals and media statements consuming his days. You watch him move through the house like a storm cloud, muttering about Masi and the FIA, and think about Max's words: "perfect Mercedes daughter."
You've never felt less perfect.
It's late one night when the doorbell rings. You're alone in the apartment - the one that's technically yours but has become a sanctuary for both of you over the past year. When you open the door, Max is standing there, looking as exhausted as you feel.
"Hi," he says softly.
You stand aside to let him in, heart pounding.
"I'm sorry," he says before you can speak. "I was cruel that night. You didn't deserve that."
"No, I didn't."
He runs a hand through his hair - a gesture so familiar it makes your chest ache. "I was high on winning, angry you weren't there, and I took it out on you. But that's not an excuse."
"I'm sorry too," you move closer. "You were right about some things. I should have been there for your celebration. It was your moment."
"It wasn't just my moment though, was it?" He sits on the couch, looking up at you. "It was your father's worst nightmare. Lewis' heartbreak. The most controversial end to a season ever." He laughs quietly. "Not exactly the best timing to announce we're in love."
You sit beside him, careful to maintain a small distance. "So what are you saying?"
"I'm saying⦠you were right. Telling them now, with everything so raw⦠it would be like throwing fuel on a fire." He reaches for your hand, and you let him take it. "I was so focused on finally being able to tell everyone, I didn't think about what that would mean for you. For your relationship with your dad."
"Maxβ¦"
"No, let me finish." His thumb traces patterns on your palm - another familiar gesture that makes tears prick at your eyes. "I've spent six years loving you. I can wait a bit longer for the timing to be right. For the wounds to heal a bit."
"What about what you said? About not being my dirty little secret anymore?"
"You're not keeping me a secret because you're ashamed," he says quietly. "You're protecting your family. And mine too, probably. Can you imagine Jos' reaction if we told him now?"
You both wince at the thought.
"So what do we do?" you ask.
He tugs you closer until you're against his chest, where you can hear his heartbeat - steady and strong and familiar. "We love each other. We wait for the right moment. And this timeβ¦" he kisses your head, "this time we decide together when that moment is. No ultimatums, no pressure."
"I missed you," you whisper into his shirt.
"I missed you too. These two weeksβ¦" he shudders slightly. "Never again, okay? No matter how angry we get, no silence. We talk it out."
You lift your head to look at him properly. "Promise?"
Instead of answering, he kisses you - soft and sweet and apologetic. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.
"I love you," he says. "Mercedes daughter and all."
You laugh through sudden tears. "I love you too. Even when you're being an insufferable World Champion."
"Speaking ofβ¦" he grins, that boyish smile you fell in love with all those years ago, "I believe this is the first time I'm kissing you as a World Champion."
"Technically you've already kissed me as a World Champion."
"Ah, but that was angry championship kissing. This is making up championship kissing. Completely different."
You roll your eyes but let him pull you closer. "Is that so?"
"Mhmm. Much better. Want me to demonstrate the difference?"
Later, curled up in bed together, you talk about the future - not just when to tell everyone, but what comes after. Houses and holidays and maybe someday kids who'll have Wolff determination and Verstappen speed.
"Your dad might actually kill me when we tell him," Max muses, playing with your hair.
"Probably. But at least by then he might have calmed down about Abu Dhabi."
"That's optimistic of you."
You prop yourself up on an elbow to look at him. "Are you okay with waiting? Really okay?"
He considers this, serious now. "Yeah, I am. Because this time it feels different. This time we're deciding together." He touches your face gently. "And because this time I know you're not running away."
"Never again," you promise. "No more running."
As you fall asleep in his arms, you think about timing and choices and love that survives silence. Maybe it's not perfect - sneaking around, hiding from families, loving in the shadows.
But it's yours. And for now, that's enough.
2022
After Abu Dhabi last year, you and Max spent a quiet Christmas apart with your respective families, but managed to escape for New Year's. Away from the media frenzy and family tensions, you found peace in the simple moments - cooking together, watching movies, Max trying (and failing) to teach you sim racing.
On New Year's Eve, standing on your balcony watching fireworks illuminate the harbor, Max held you from behind. "This is how I want every year to start," he murmured against your neck.
"Just us?"
"Just us. No drama, no hiding, no championships on the line."
You turned in his arms. "Well, about that last partβ¦"
"Okay, maybe some championships," he grinned. "But the rest⦠we'll figure it out, right?"
"We will," you promised, sealing it with a kiss as the clock struck midnight.
The first weeks of 2022 brought exciting changes. Susie announced her plans for the F1 Academy, a project aimed at supporting young female drivers, and immediately asked you to join her team.
"I need someone I can trust completely," she said during one of your planning sessions. "Someone who understands both the technical and human side of racing."
"Are you sure? It's a huge responsibility."
"YN, you're perfect for this. You've grown up in this sport, you understand the challenges these girls will face." Susie squeezed your hand. "Plus, you're the only person besides Toto who can match my caffeine consumption during race weekends."
Working closely with Susie brought you closer than ever. She became more than just your father's wife - she was your confidante, mentor, and friend. You spent long hours together, planning programs, reviewing applications, discussing how to break down barriers in motorsport.
Which made the current breakfast situation even more uncomfortable.
"Andreas has an impressive background in aerodynamics," Toto was saying, seemingly oblivious to your discomfort. "Oxford educated, worked with Ferrari's junior programβ¦"
"Dad," you interrupted, pushing your eggs around your plate. "Can we maybe not?"
"I'm just saying, YN, you should give him a chance. He's exactly the kind of person who would understand your world."
Lewis and George exchanged knowing looks while Susie watched you carefully.
"The new regulations are keeping me busy enough," you tried. "Between that and the Academy with Susieβ¦"
"There's always time for personal life," Toto persisted. "You're young, successful, beautiful. You shouldn't spend all your time buried in work."
After breakfast, Susie found you in your office, surrounded by Academy paperwork.
"Want to talk about it?" she asked, closing the door.
"About Dad's sudden career as a matchmaker?"
"He means well," Susie sat across from you. "He just wants you to be happy."
"Can you maybe⦠talk to him? Get him to drop it?"
"Why? Andreas seems like a lovely young man. Smart, ambitiousβ¦"
You set down your pen, heart racing. This was it - the moment to trust someone else with your secret.
"I⦠I already have someone."
Susie's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? How did I not know about this?"
"Becauseβ¦" you took a deep breath. "Because it's complicated. Really complicated."
"YN," Susie leaned forward, "you can tell me anything. You know that, right?"
"It's Max," you whispered. "Max Verstappen."
Susie's eyes widened, but she didn't immediately speak. She got up, locked your office door, and sat back down.
"How long?"
"Since 2015, on and off, you know that story. But seriously since I came back in 2020."
"Through everything? The championship battle?"
You nodded, tears forming. "It was⦠difficult. Especially Abu Dhabi."
"Oh, sweetheart," Susie moved to your side, pulling you into a hug. "That must have been awful for you."
"You're not⦠mad?"
"Mad? Why would I be mad?"
"Because he's Red Bull, because of everything with Dadβ¦"
"Listen to me," Susie pulled back to look at you. "Love doesn't care about team colors. God knows this sport has enough rivalry without policing people's hearts too."
"I don't know what to do," you admitted. "We want to tell everyone, but after Abu Dhabiβ¦"
"The timing's not great," Susie agreed. "But YN, you can't hide forever. It'll only get harder."
"I know. But Papaβ¦"
"Your father loves you more than anything in this world. More than Mercedes, more than championships." She squeezed your hands. "Will he be shocked? Absolutely. Probably throw something expensive. But he'll come around."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I've seen how he looks at you - like you're still that little girl who used to fall asleep in the garage. He might not like your choice, but he'll respect it. Eventually."
"He was furious back then, said Max was too young, too reckless, that it would end in disaster. He threatened to send me back to boarding school."
"That explains a lot," Susie said softly. "Why he's been so pushy about these 'suitable' men lately."
"He thinks he protected me back then. Maybe he did - we were young, and things got messy. But nowβ¦"
"Now you're both different people," Susie finished. She was quiet for a moment, thinking. "You know what the real issue was back then?"
"That Max was the enemy?" you said dryly.
"No. That Toto couldn't control it. He's used to managing everything, planning ten steps ahead. But thisβ¦" she gestured vaguely, "this wasn't in his carefully constructed plan for you."
"I never wanted to disappoint him."
"Hey," Susie's voice was firm. "Loving someone isn't disappointing. It's probably the bravest thing we do."
"Thanks," you whisper, hugging Susie tightly. "For understanding. For not judging."
"Just... be careful, okay? And know that I'm here if you need to talk."
The conversation with Susie lifts a weight you didn't realize you were carrying. Having someone know, someone in your corner, makes everything feel more manageable.
Bahrain, 2022
The morning of the Bahrain Grand Prix buzzed with the familiar nervous energy of a season opener. You were in one of the back offices of the F1 Academy, triple-checking schedules and programs for the upcoming season, when you felt arms wrap around you from behind.
"Shouldn't you be in pre-race prep?" you asked, trying to sound stern but failing to hide your smile.
"I have fifteen minutes," Max murmured, pressing a kiss to your neck. "Wanted to wish you luck. Big day for you too."
You turned in his arms. "Nervous?"
"About the race? Nah." He grinned. "About you stealing the spotlight with the Academy launch? Terrified."
"Idiot," you laughed, playing with the collar of his race suit. "As if anything could overshadow the great Max Verstappen."
"Hey," his expression turned serious. "What you're doing here⦠it's important. You're going to change lives."
"Now who's being dramatic?"
"I mean it," he insisted. "You remember what it was like, being the only girl in karting? These kids won't have to feel that way because of you and Susie."
"Well... I quit karting after a year," you joke and Max rolls his eyes, "Oh come on, just kiss me before you have to go all defending world champion on track."
And he does, but before you can go any further the door opened.
"YN, have you seen the timing sheets from- OH SHIT!"
George Russell stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide as saucers. You and Max jumped apart like teenagers caught by their parents.
"Iβ¦ umβ¦ I shouldβ¦" George stammered, pointing vaguely behind him.
"George, wait!" You rushed to close the door before he could escape. "Pleaseβ¦"
"This is literally my first day as a Mercedes driver and I'm already caught in..." he gestures wildly between you and Max.
"George," you step forward, "you CANNOT tell my dad."
"I... what... how long..." he stammers.
"Please," Max speaks up, "We'll explain everything, just... keep this between us?"
George looks between you and Max, then sighs dramatically. "Well, I guess this is one way to start my Mercedes career - harboring my team principal's daughter's secret relationship with our biggest rival."
"Welcome to Mercedes?" you offer weakly.
"Right," George shakes his head, but he's fighting a smile. "I'm going to leave, pretend I never saw this, and maybe drink enough tonight to forget it entirely."
As he turns to go, he pauses. "But for what it's worth? Your secret's safe with me."
The door closes behind him, and you collapse against Max, half laughing, half panicking.
"Well," Max says dryly, "that's one more person who knows. At this rate, the only person who won't know will be your father."
You looked up at him. "You should go. GP will be looking for you."
"Yeah," he sighed, but made no move to leave. "Good luck today. Show them what the Wolff women can do."
"Good luck to you too. Try not to make Dad throw anything at the TV?"
He laughed, kissing you quickly. "No promises. But hey," he paused at the door, "for what it's worth, George's reaction wasn't terrible. Maybe there's hope for the others too."
As you watched him leave, you couldn't help but smile. One more person in their corner, one more step toward not hiding. Maybe, just maybe, the universe was trying to tell you something.
Singapore, 2022
The humidity of Singapore still clung to the air as most of the paddock crowded into Marquee, celebrating another street circuit spectacle. The bass pulsed through the exclusive VIP section where drivers and key personnel gathered.
You were at the bar with Lewis when Andreas appeared, looking particularly polished.
"YN Wolff," he smiled, a bit too confidently. "I was hoping to find you here."
You caught Lewis' subtle eye roll as he conveniently spotted someone he "needed to talk to."
"Andreas, hi," you tried to sound polite but distant, very aware of Max watching from across the room where he sat with Lando and Charles.
"You looked beautiful today in the paddock," he moved closer. "That dress you wore to the team dinnerβ¦"
"Thanks," you cut him off, scanning for an escape route. You found none.
"Your father mentions you're still single," he continued, either oblivious to or ignoring your discomfort. "I find that hard to believe."
At the other end of the VIP section, Max's jaw clenched as he watched the scene unfold.
"Mate, you're going to break that glass," Lando noted, watching Max's white-knuckled grip on his drink.
"Who is that guy?" Charles asked, following Max's gaze.
"Some engineer Toto's trying to set YN up with," Lando explained, then froze, realizing what he'd revealed.
Charles' eyes widened. "Wait, why do you know that? And why does Max look like he's about to commit murder?"
Before Lando could deflect, Max stood abruptly as Andreas placed his hand on your lower back.
"Oh shit," Lando muttered.
"I don't understand," Charles said, watching Max stride across the room. "Why is he- oh. OH."
Back at the bar, you were trying to subtly remove Andreas hand when you felt a familiar presence behind you.
"Everything okay here?" Max's voice was controlled, but you could hear the edge in it.
Andreas looked annoyed at the interruption. "We're fine, thank you."
"I wasn't asking you," Max said coldly, then softer: "YN?"
You turned toward him gratefully. "Actually, Max, would you mind helping me with something?"
"Of course," he placed his hand where Andreas' had been, but this touch was different - protective, familiar, right.
Andreas looked between you two, confusion turning to understanding. "Wait, are youβ¦"
"She's not interested," Max said simply. "Never was."
You let Max guide you away from the bar, very aware of the eyes following you. Lando and Charles weren't even trying to hide their interest now, and you noticed Carlos and Pierre joining them, speaking in hushed tones.
"You didn't have to do that," you said quietly.
"Yes, I did." Max's hand hadn't left your back. "I'm tired of watching guys hit on my girlfriend because they think she's available."
You reached the relative privacy of a corner booth. "Maxβ¦"
"I know, I know. We're being careful. But YN," he turned to face you, "half the paddock already suspects something. Charles and Carlos are literally taking bets right now."
You glanced over - sure enough, money was being exchanged. "Great."
"Would it be so terrible?" Max asked. "If people knew?"
"No," you admitted. "But Dadβ¦"
"Will find out eventually. Wouldn't you rather he heard it from us than through paddock gossip?"
You were about to respond when George appeared, slightly out of breath.
"You two need to be more subtle," he hissed. "Lando just asked me if there was something going on between you."
"What did you say?" you asked anxiously.
"I'm a terrible liar! I just made a noise and ran away!"
Max couldn't help laughing. "Smooth, Russell."
"This isn't funny," George insisted. "Look!"
You followed his gesture. The other drivers were gathered together, all of them looking your way occasionally.
"Oh god," you groaned. "They all know, don't they?"
"If they didn't before, they do now," George confirmed. "Max's little knight-in-shining-armor act wasn't exactly subtle."
"He had his hands all over you," Max defended.
"His hand was on my back for two seconds!"
"Two seconds too long."
George looked between you, amused. "You two are ridiculous. Also, heads up - Lando is coming over."
Sure enough, Lando was making his way through the crowd. He slid into your booth without invitation, expression unreadable.
"So," he said calmly, "how long?"
You glanced at Max, who squeezed your hand under the table. "Since 2020."
"Through the championship battle?" When you nodded, Lando let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl. That must have beenβ¦"
"Horrible," you finished. "But we managed."
Lando studied Max for a moment. "You better be sure about this. Because when Toto finds outβ¦"
"I am," Max said firmly. "We both are."
"Good." Lando smiled finally. "Because I'm pretty sure Daniel just started a betting pool on how Toto's going to react, and I've got money on him throwing his headphones."
"Lando!" you exclaimed.
"What? Might as well profit from the drama." He stood up. "For what it's worth, I think it's kind of perfect. In a weird, Romeo and Juliet way."
"They both died in that story," George pointed out.
"Details," Lando waved him off. "Come on, George. Let's go see what odds Daniel's offering."
As they left, you buried your face in Max's shoulder. "This is a disaster."
"Is it?" he asked, running his hand up your arm. "Look around - no one seems shocked or angry. Well, except maybe Andreas."
You peaked up - he was right. The drivers were all still watching, but their expressions were mostly amused or knowing. Carlos gave you a thumbs up when he caught your eye.
"I guess the secret's out," you sighed. "At least in this room."
"Good." Max tilted your chin up. "Because I really want to kiss you right now."
"Max! Everyone's watching."
"Let them watch."
And before you could protest, he kissed you. When you pulled back, Max was grinning. "See? World didn't end."
"No," you said softly, "It really didn't."
The night continued, but differently now. No more hiding in corners or pretending not to know each other. Just you and Max, surrounded by friends who were apparently more supportive than you'd imagined.
Now you just had to figure out how to tell your father that his entire team - including his wife - had known about your relationship before him.
A late afternoon in Monaco, in Toto's office overlooking the harbor. What had started as a routine pre-race weekend meeting had quickly derailed when Andreas' name came up again.
"He asked about you again," Toto said, shuffling some papers on his desk. "He's a good man, YN. Smart, ambitiousβ¦"
"Dad," you cut in, "I've told you, I'm not interested in Andreas."
"You haven't even given him a chance," he insisted. "One dinnerβ¦"
"No."
Toto sighed, that familiar mix of frustration and concern crossing his face. "Liebling, I worry about you. Ever since that rebellious phase with Verstappen when you were eighteenβ¦"
You tensed, feeling your heart rate spike. In the corner, you saw Lewis shift uncomfortably - he'd been quietly reviewing race strategies, but now he was fully alert.
"Dadβ¦"
"You haven't been serious about anyone," Toto continued. "I know that boy hurt you, but you can't let one teenage romanceβ¦"
"You don't know anything about it," you said quietly, dangerously.
"I know enough. I know he was reckless, impulsive. I know ending it was the right decision."
Lewis cleared his throat. "Toto, maybe we should focus on qualifyingβ¦"
But Toto was on a roll now. "Andreas is different. He understands our world, he's stableβ¦"
"He's boring," you snapped. "And you don't get to decide who I date."
"I'm trying to protect you!"
"From what?" You stood up. "From making my own choices? From being with someone who actually makes me happy?"
"Max Verstappen did not make you happy!" Toto's voice rose. "He was a distraction, a rebellionβ¦"
"He was everything!" The words exploded out before you could stop them.
The office went deadly quiet. Lewis had his head in his hands.
"What?" Toto asked softly, dangerously.
You swallowed hard, years of secrets sitting heavy on your tongue. "You didn't protect me back then, Dad. You forced us apart. But you want to know something? He was never just a rebellion."
Toto stands slowly, his expression unreadable. "What are you saying, YN?"
You take a deep breath, catching Lewis' subtle head shake in your peripheral vision. The words are there, the whole truth ready to spill out, but... not like this. Not in anger.
"I'm saying I'm not eighteen anymore," you say finally, your voice steady. "I'm a grown woman who runs part of this team, who's helping build the F1 Academy with Susie. I make my own choices - about my career, about my life, about who I date."
"I only want what's best for you," Toto says, softer now.
"Then trust me to know what that is." You move toward the door, pausing with your hand on the handle. "And please, stop trying to set me up with Andreas. Or anyone else."
Zandvoort, 2022
The Dutch air mingles with the lingering scent of champagne in Max's private motorhome. The celebrations outside are still going strong - Dutch fans painting Zandvoort orange in honor of their hero's home win - but here, in this quiet space, it's just the two of you.
"Happy birthday," Max says softly, pulling a small wrapped package from behind his back. You're curled up on his couch, still wearing his Red Bull team jacket that you'd snuck on after everyone else had left.
"You already said that this morning," you smile, but take the package. "And before the race. And after you won."
"Well, it's not every day you turn twenty-five. And it's not every day I win at home on your birthday."
The package reveals a delicate gold necklace with a tiny racing helmet charm. But when you look closer, you notice something engraved on the back of the helmet - 15.03.15.
"The day we met," you whisper, running your finger over the date.
"I thought about getting something more obvious, but since we're still keeping us quietβ¦" He takes the necklace, moving behind you to clasp it around your neck. "This way you can wear it without anyone asking questions."
You touch the charm resting against your collarbone. "It's perfect."
"Unlike the cake situation," he grins, glancing at the remains of what was supposed to be a homemade birthday cake on the counter. "I really did try."
You laugh, remembering walking in to find Max covered in flour, frustration etched on his face as he stared at the somewhat lopsided creation. "The thought counts. Though maybe stick to driving?"
"Hey, I won today! I deserve some respect."
"You always win here," you tease. "It's your home race."
"True." He pulls you closer, until you're practically in his lap. "But winning on your birthday makes it special. Even if I couldn't kiss you in parc ferme."
"Dad would have had a heart attack right there in the garage."
"Speaking of Totoβ¦" Max's voice turns serious. "How was the birthday lunch with him?"
You think back to the awkward meal, where your father had once again tried to subtly mention Andreas. "Same as usual. He means well."
"Still pushing the Andreas agenda?"
"Mhmm. Though Susie shut it down pretty quickly this time." You play with the helmet charm. "Can we not talk about it tho?
Max kisses your temple. "Whatever you want. It's your birthday - you make the rules."
"In that caseβ¦" you turn to face him properly. "I want to dance."
He groans. "YNβ¦"
"Birthday rules," you remind him, already standing and pulling out your phone. When the first notes of a slow song fill the motorhome, you hold out your hand. "Dance with your birthday girl, World Champion."
He takes your hand, pulling you close as you sway together. Outside, you can still hear the distant sounds of celebrating fans, but in here it's just the music, Max's heartbeat under your ear, and the weight of a tiny gold helmet against your skin.
"This is nice," Max murmurs into your hair. "Though if anyone sees the mighty Max Verstappen slow dancingβ¦"
"Your reputation will survive." You lift your head to look at him. "Thank you for making my birthday special, even if we had to celebrate in secret."
"Next year," he promises, "we'll do it properly. Big party, everyone we love, no hiding."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He spins you gently. "But for nowβ¦" He dips you dramatically, making you laugh. "I kind of like having birthday girl all to myself."
You kiss him then, tasting chocolate and victory champagne and love that's grown from teenage rebellion into something unshakeable.
"Best birthday ever," you whisper against his lips.
Outside, Zandvoort celebrates its champion. Inside, in this quiet space that belongs just to you, you celebrate something else - another year of loving each other, of building a life in the spaces between public and private, of planning for a future where you won't have to choose between family and love.
For now, though, you're content to dance in a motorhome, wearing his team jacket and a gold helmet that carries your history, celebrating not just your birthday but everything you've built together.
Monaco, Summer 2023
The sleek car glides through Monaco's winding streets, but you can barely focus on the stunning views. Max's mysterious smile has you intrigued and slightly nervous - he's been unusually secretive all day.
"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" you ask for probably the tenth time, fidgeting with the sleeve of your sundress.
"Patience," he says, taking one hand off the wheel to squeeze yours. "We're almost there."
"You know I hate surprises."
He laughs. "No, you love surprises. You just hate not being in control."
He turns onto a quiet street lined with elegant villas, each one more beautiful than the last. The Mediterranean stretches out below, a perfect azure canvas. Your heart starts racing when he pulls into a driveway. The house is stunning - modern yet classic, with large windows and a terrace overlooking the sea.
"Maxβ¦" you start, but he's already out of the car and opening your door.
"Come on," he says, taking your hand. His excitement is palpable as he leads you to the front door. "Close your eyes."
"Really?"
"Trust me."
You do as he asks, letting him guide you forward. You hear keys jingling, a door opening, then his soft "Okay, open them."
The interior takes your breath away - open and airy, with natural light streaming in from every angle. But it's not just the architecture that catches your attention - there are small touches that feel incredibly personal. Racing memorabilia tastefully displayed, a few framed photos you recognize from your own collection.
"I bought it," Max says softly, watching your reaction. "For us."
You turn to face him, eyes wide. "What?"
"I want this to be our home," he continues, his voice full of emotion. He takes both your hands in his. "Where we can grow old together, maybe raise a family someday. No more sneaking around, no more hiding. Just us."
"But⦠when? How?"
"I've been working with a realtor for months. Remember all those 'simulator sessions' I had to do?" He grins sheepishly. "I was actually house hunting."
"You sneakyβ¦" You trail off, speechless.
"Want to see the rest?" He's practically bouncing with excitement now. "There's a home gym downstairs, and the kitchen is amazing - I know how much you love to cook. And wait until you see the master bedroomβ¦"
Tears start falling before you can stop them. Max reaches up to wipe them away, but you catch his hand.
"You bought us a house," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "You planned this whole future for us, and I can't even tell my dad about us."
"Hey," he pulls you close, one hand cradling the back of your head. "It's okay. We'll figure it out together, like we always do."
"No, it's not okay." You pull back to look at him. "You've been so patient, Max. For years. And I've been such a coward."
"You're not a coward," he says firmly. "Our relationship is complicated. I understand that."
"Still." You shake your head, suddenly determined. "I'm telling him tomorrow."
"YN, you don't have toβ"
"I want to." You look around at this beautiful space he's created for your future. "You've given us a home. The least I can do is be brave enough to fight for us."
"Are you sure?" His eyes search yours. "Because if you're not readyβ¦"
"I'm sure." You walk to the windows, taking in the view. "Besides, can you imagine trying to explain why I'm suddenly moving to a new house without telling him why?"
Max comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. "We could tell him you've developed a sudden passion for real estate investment."
You laugh despite your tears. "Yes, because that would totally explain why half my clothes are already in that closet I spotted upstairs."
"You noticed that, huh?"
"The Dior dress from the FIA gala was a bit of a giveaway." You turn in his arms. "How long have you been moving my things in?"
"A while," he admits. "Susie helped."
"Of course she did." You shake your head fondly. "Any other conspirators I should know about?"
"Well, Lewis might have helped coordinate the furniture deliveryβ¦"
"Lewis?!" You pull back to stare at him. "Lewis Hamilton helped you furnish our secret love nest?"
Max winces. "Please never call it that again. And yes - turns out he has great taste in interior design."
You laugh, really laugh, and it feels like releasing years of tension. "This is insane. We're insane."
"Maybe," he agrees, pulling you close again. "But it's a good kind of insane, right?"
You look around at this beautiful house - your house - taking in all the thoughtful details. The photos telling your story, the mix of both your tastes in the dΓ©cor, the way the space already feels like home.
"The best kind," you whisper, and kiss him.
Max kisses you back, soft and sweet, and you can feel his smile against your lips. When you finally part, he rests his forehead against yours.
"So," he says, "want to see our bedroom?"
"Our bedroom," you repeat, testing the words. "I like how that sounds."
"Me too." He takes your hand, leading you toward the stairs. "Though fair warning - I let Lando help with the media room setup, so that might need some adjustments."
"Oh god."
"Yeah, there may be more gaming consoles than strictly necessaryβ¦"
In this moment, in your new home, tomorrow's confrontation feels less daunting. After all, you've built something real and lasting here - something worth fighting for. And as Max leads you through your future together, room by room, you can't help but think that maybe it's time for everyone to know.
You've been standing outside your father's office at Mercedes for what feels like hours, but the watch on your wrist says it's only been ten minutes. Taking a deep breath, you finally knock.
"Come in," his familiar voice calls out.
Toto looks up from his desk, his face brightening when he sees you. "Schatz! What a lovely surprise." He stands to greet you, but pauses when he notices your expression. "What's wrong?"
"Papa, I need to tell you something." Your voice trembles slightly. "And I need you to listen. Really listen."
He gestures to the chair across from his desk, concern etching his features. "Of course. You can tell me anything."
You sit, hands clasped tightly in your lap. "I'm in love."
His face relaxes into a smile. "Is that all? Liebling, you had me worried. Who's the luckyβ"
"It's Max." The words come out in a rush. "It's always been Max."
The silence that follows is deafening. You watch as confusion crosses his face, followed by understanding, and then something darker.
"Max⦠Verstappen?" He says the name like it tastes bitter. "This is a joke."
"No, it's not." You straighten your spine. "We've been together for two years. Actually, we never really stopped loving each other after⦠after what happened when we were eighteen."
Toto stands abruptly, running a hand through his hair. "This is impossible. You can't be serious."
"I am. And there's more." You take another deep breath. "We're moving in together. He bough a house for us, because he wants us to build a future together."
"No." His voice is sharp. "Absolutely not. I forbid it."
"I'm not asking for permission, Papa. I'm telling you."
He turns to face you, and the hurt in his eyes makes your heart ache. "How long have you been lying to me?"
"Since 2020," you admit quietly. "When I came back⦠we tried to stay away from each other. We really did. But we couldn't."
"So what, you've been sneaking around behind my back all these years?" His accent grows thicker with emotion. "Meeting in secret like teenagers?"
"We didn't have a choice."
He's quiet after that, and you can almost see the storm inside his head.
"Who knows?" The question is sharp, hurt evident in his tone.
"I told Susie last year. Lewis has known almost from the beginning. George found out in Bahrain. Some of the other drivers..."
"So everyone but me?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "My own wife, my drivers, half the paddock knew my daughter was in a relationship with Max Verstappen, and no one thought to tell me?"
"They were respecting our privacy. Our choice."
"Our choice?" He stands again, agitated. "He's Red Bull, YN! Our biggest rival! The same team that's been fighting us for years, the same driver whoβ"
"Who makes me happier than I've ever been," you interrupt. "Who loves me for who I am, not whose daughter I am. Who's supported my career, my dreams, everything I want to do."
"And the team rivalry? The competition?"
"We've managed it for years, Dad. We know how to separate personal and professional."
"All those times I tried to set you up with other people..."
"I know you meant well."
"And Susie?" His voice catches. "She knew and didn't tell me?"
"She said it wasn't her story to tell. That I needed to be the one to tell you when I was ready."
Toto runs a hand over his face. "And now you're ready because...?"
"Because I'm tired of hiding. Because Max and I have built something real and beautiful, and I want you to be part of it." You stand, moving around his desk to touch his arm. "Because you're my father, and despite everything, I want you to know me. All of me."
"And if I can't accept it?"
The question hangs heavy in the air. You feel tears threatening but force them back.
"Then that's your choice. But I won't give him up. Not again. Not for anyone."
Toto is quiet for a long moment, staring out at the factory below. When he finally speaks, his voice is tired. "You really love him?"
"More than anything."
He turns to look at you, really look at you, maybe for the first time seeing not his little girl but the woman you've become. "And he makes you happy?"
"Yes." Your voice is firm, certain.
Another long pause. "I need time."
It's not acceptance, but it's not rejection either. You nod, wiping away a stray tear. "Okay."
"Does heβ¦" Toto clears his throat. "Does he treat you well?"
"Better than I deserve sometimes."
He makes a sound that might be a laugh or a sob. "No one could ever deserve better than you, Schatz."
You close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him. After a moment, his arms come around you too, holding you like he did when you were small.
"I'm still angry," he murmurs into your hair.
"I know."
"And hurt."
"I know that too."
He pulls back, cupping your face in his hands. "But you are my daughter. My precious girl. Nothing will ever change that."
Fresh tears spill over. "Papaβ¦"
"I can't promise to like this. Or him. Butβ¦" He sighs deeply. "I will try. For you."
It's more than you dared hope for. "Thank you."
As you leave his office later, you know this isn't the end of it. There will be more conversations, more tensions to navigate. But for the first time in years, you feel truly free.
The Monaco sunset paints the dining room in warm hues as you clear the plates from dinner, the conversation flowing as easily as the wine. Lewis lounges in his chair, gesturing with his glass as he speaks.
"Still can't believe Toto didn't notice for two years, honestly," he chuckles. "I mean, you two weren't exactly subtle at the Saudi GP last year."
Max groans. "That was YN's fault. She's the one who kissed me in the paddock."
"After you won! Away from everyone," you defend yourself from across the table. "Besides, Papa was too busy arguing with Christian to notice."
"Lucky for us," Max mutters, but he's smiling.
"How is he taking it now?" Lewis asks, his expression growing serious. "It's been what, two weeks?"
You exchange a look with Max. "Better, I think. He's⦠processing."
"He called me yesterday," Max adds quietly. "First time ever."
Both you and Lewis straighten up. "What? You didn't tell me that!" you exclaim.
Max shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant but you can see the tension in his shoulders. "It was brief. He just said that if I ever hurt you, they'll never find my body."
Lewis nearly chokes on his wine. "Classic Toto."
"I'll get the dessert," you announce, standing. "And Max, we're talking about that phone call later."
As you head to the kitchen, you can hear their voices carrying through the open-plan space.
"Seriously though," Lewis' voice drops lower, but not low enough. "You need to be prepared. Toto might try toβ¦"
"Separate us again?" Max's voice is steel wrapped in silk. "I'd like to see him try."
"I'm just saying, be ready. He did it once before."
"We were kids then. It's different now." A pause. "I'm different now."
"I know you are, mate. That's why I helped with the house. But Toto⦠he can be protective."
"Lewis." Max's voice is deadly serious now. "I would rather end my career tomorrow than lose her again. She's⦠she's everything."
You freeze in the doorway of the kitchen, tiramisu forgotten in your hands.
"I know what it did to her last time," Max continues, unaware of your presence. "What it did to both of us. But I'm not that scared teenager anymore, and she's not that girl who was afraid to stand up to her father. We fought too hard to get here."
"Good." Lewis' voice is warm with approval. "Because if you hurt her, Toto won't have to hide your body. I'll do it myself."
Max laughs. "Get in line. Susie already called dibs."
"Speaking of Susie, how's she handling being in the middle?"
"Better than any of us deserve," Max sighs. "She's been amazing. Especially with YN. When Toto first found outβ¦"
"That bad?"
"YN cried for hours after telling him. I've never felt so helpless." Max's voice cracks slightly. "All I could do was hold her."
"Sometimes that's enough," Lewis says softly. "Sometimes that's everything."
You wipe away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. The tiramisu trembles slightly in your hands.
"I'm going to marry her someday," Max says suddenly. "I already have the ring."
The tiramisu nearly slips from your grasp.
"Does she know?" Lewis asks.
"Not yet. I wanted to wait until things settled with Toto. She deserves a proper proposal, not one overshadowed by family drama."
"Smart man." Lewis pauses. "You really have grown up, haven't you?"
"Had to. She deserves the best version of me."
You can't take it anymore. You walk back in, pretending you haven't heard a word. "Who wants dessert?"
Both men straighten up, but you catch the knowing look Lewis gives Max. As you serve the tiramisu, Max's hand finds yours, squeezing gently.
"Everything okay, liefje?" he asks softly.
You look at him - this man who's grown and changed and loved you through everything - and feel your heart swell. "Perfect," you whisper, and mean it.
Lewis watches you both with a soft smile. "You know," he says, "I think Toto will come around eventually. He may be stubborn, but he's not blind. Anyone can see what you two have is real."
"Real enough to redecorate my gaming room?" Max asks hopefully.
You laugh, the emotional moment breaking. "Nice try. But Lando's RGB setup stays."
"It gives me a headache!"
"Should have thought of that before letting him design it," Lewis points out.
As they fall into friendly bickering about proper gaming room aesthetics, you sit back and take it all in - this beautiful home, these people you love, this life you've built. It hasn't been easy, but everything has been worth it.
Your phone rings just as you're finishing up some work in your home office. Seeing your father's name on the screen makes your heart skip.
"Papa?"
"Schatz." His voice is carefully neutral. "Are you free tonight?"
"I⦠yes?"
"Good. You and Max will come to dinner. Eight o'clock."
It's not a question. You glance at the clock - it's already 4 PM. "Tonight?"
"Unless you have other plans?"
"No, no plans." You swallow hard. "We'll be there."
"Good." A pause. "And YN?"
"Yes?"
"Tell Max to breathe. It's just dinner."
The line goes dead before you can respond. You sit there for a moment, phone still in hand, before rushing downstairs to find Max.
He's in the gym, finishing up his workout. One look at your face and he's pulling off his headphones.
"What's wrong?"
"Papa called. He wants us for dinner. Tonight."
Max freezes mid-stretch. "Tonight? As in⦠tonight tonight?"
"Eight o'clock."
"Fuck." He starts pacing. "Fuck fuck fuck. This is it. He's going to murder me. He's probably got a plan to make it look like an accident. Lewis will help him hide the bodyβ"
"Max."
"βprobably already has an alibi arranged. Susie will vouch for him, of courseβ"
"Max!"
He stops pacing. "What?"
"He actually said to tell you to breathe. His exact words were 'it's just dinner.'"
Max stares at you. "That's worse. That's so much worse. He's lulling me into a false sense of security."
You can't help but laugh, even as anxiety churns in your own stomach. "You're being ridiculous."
"Am I?" He runs a hand through his sweaty hair. "The last time I was in the same room as your father, he looked at me like he was calculating how many pieces he could cut me into."
"That was three weeks ago, right after he found out. Things are⦠better now."
"Are they? Because that phone call he made last week about hiding my body didn't feel like 'better.'"
You cross the room to him, placing your hands on his chest. "Hey. Look at me."
His eyes meet yours, and you can see the genuine worry there.
"Whatever happens tonight, we face it together. Okay?"
He takes a deep breath, covering your hands with his. "Okay."
"Good. Now go shower, because you stink."
"Charming," he mutters, but he's smiling now. "What should I wear?"
"Something bulletproof?" you suggest innocently.
"Not helping!"
The drive to your parents' house is tense. Susie opens the door, her warm smile immediately putting you both at ease. "Come in, come in. Toto's just opening the wine."
"We brought some too," you say, holding up the bottle you'd carefully selected.
"Ah, his favorite." Susie winks. "Good choice."
The dining room is set beautifully, candles flickering on the table. Your father stands as you enter, and for a moment, everyone freezes.
Then Toto steps forward, kissing your cheek. "You look beautiful, Schatz."
He turns to Max, who looks like he's trying very hard not to bolt. They regard each other for a long moment before Toto extends his hand.
Max shakes it, and you breathe again.
Dinner starts surprisingly well. The conversation stays safe - racing, weather, Susie's latest projects. Max gradually relaxes enough to actually eat, though you notice he keeps looking at your father like he's expecting an ambush.
It comes after the plates are cleared.
"So," Toto says, setting down his wine glass. "We need to talk."
Max's hand finds yours under the table.
"Max." Your father's voice is measured. "I need you to listen carefully to what I'm about to say."
"Yes, sir."
"When YN was born, I made a promise to protect her from anything that could hurt her. When she was eighteen, I thought I was doing that by keeping her away from you."
You feel Max tense beside you.
"I was wrong."
The admission hangs in the air. Even Susie looks surprised.
"You were angry then. Volatile. Too much like your father." Toto continues. "But you've grown. Changed. I see that now."
He leans forward, eyes intense. "But understand this: that girl sitting next to you? She is my world. My greatest joy, my greatest pride. And if you ever - ever - give me reason to think you don't deserve herβ¦"
"I don't," Max interrupts quietly. "Deserve her, I mean. I know that. I try every day to be worthy of her love, and I'll keep trying for the rest of my life."
Something shifts in Toto's expression.
"And you," he turns to you. "My strong, stubborn daughter. You've grown too. Standing up to me⦠it showed me you're not my little girl anymore. You're a woman who knows her own mind, her own heart."
Tears prick at your eyes. "Papaβ¦"
"I trust your judgment," he says softly. "Even when it differs from mine."
Susie reaches over to squeeze his hand, pride shining in her eyes.
"Now," Toto straightens, his expression growing serious again. "We need to discuss the media situation. Your relationship will be public knowledge soon, if it isn't already."
"We've been careful," you start, but he holds up a hand.
"Careful isn't enough. The press will be relentless. They'll try to create drama, stir up controversy. Everything you do, every interaction, will be scrutinized."
"We know," Max says. "We've talked about it."
"Good. But you need to be prepared. They'll drag up the past, try to create tension between the teams. Your relationship will become clickbait."
"We can handle it," you say firmly.
"Perhaps. But you'll need support." Toto looks between you both. "Which is why⦠which is why I'm offering mine."
Max's grip on your hand tightens.
"When the story breaks, there will be questions. Speculation. I will make it clear that you have my blessing." The words seem to cost him something, but his voice is steady. "It won't stop the circus, but it might help control the narrative."
You're crying openly now. Max looks shellshocked.
"Thank you," he manages finally. "That⦠that means everything."
Toto nods once, then reaches for his wine. "Now, who wants dessert? Susie made Sachertorte."
As Susie bustles off to the kitchen, you catch your father's eye. The love there, the acceptance, makes your heart full.
Max leans over to whisper in your ear. "I think I just aged ten years."
You squeeze his hand. "Worth it?"
He looks at you, then at your father who's pretending not to watch you both, then back to you.
"Every second," he says, and kisses your temple.
And just like that, your worlds align.
Saint-Tropez, 2024
The morning sun filters through the sheer curtains of your villa, casting warm patterns across the rumpled sheets. Max's fingers trace lazy circles on your bare shoulder as you lie there, both reluctant to acknowledge that real life awaits.
"Do we have to go back?" you mumble into his chest.
"Mmm, eventually." He drops a kiss on your head. "Though I could get used to this."
"What, me using you as a human pillow?"
"You do that at home too, liefje."
You prop yourself up on an elbow to look at him, taking in the relaxed set of his features, the way his hair is sticking up wildly. "True, but here you're not constantly checking the time for sim racing with Lando."
"That was one time!"
"It was three times last week alone."
He tugs you back down, rolling so you're trapped beneath him. "You're just jealous because I'm better at it than you."
"Excuse me?" You poke his ribs. "Who won last time?"
"You cheated!"
"Did not!"
"You distracted me!"
"Not my fault you can't focus when I kiss your neck."
His eyes darken. "Want to test that theory?"
"We'll be late for our flight," you warn, but you're already tilting your head as his lips find that spot behind your ear.
"Worth it," he murmurs against your skin.
Later, tangled in sheets again, you check your phone while Max dozes beside you. A frown crosses your face.
"That's weird."
"Hmm?" Max doesn't open his eyes.
"Lewis still hasn't answered my texts from yesterday. Or the day before."
You feel him tense slightly. "Maybe he's busy."
"During holidays? And he always answers eventually." You sit up, noticing how Max suddenly seems very interested in the ceiling. "Maxβ¦"
"What?"
"You know something."
"I don't."
"You're doing that thing with your jaw."
His hand flies to his face. "What thing?"
"That clenching thing you do when you're hiding something." You narrow your eyes. "Spill it."
"There's nothing to spill." He sits up too quickly. "We should start packing."
"Max Emilian Verstappen."
"YN Wolff," he mimics, but there's an edge of nervousness to his teasing.
"Is Lewis okay?"
"He's fine! Totally fine. Completely fine. Never been better."
You stare at him. "You are the worst liar ever."
"I'm notβ" He cuts himself off with a groan. "I can't tell you."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both?" He runs a hand through his hair. "Look, it's nothing bad. Just⦠something that's not public yet."
Your stomach drops. "Is he sick?"
"What? No! No, nothing like that." He catches your hands. "I promise, he's okay. It's just⦠complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"The kind of complicated I really can't tell you about yet." His eyes are pleading. "Please don't ask me to. I promised."
You study his face, seeing the genuine conflict there. "But he's okay?"
"Yes."
"And it's not bad news?"
He hesitates. "That⦠depends on how you look at it."
"Max!"
"I've already said too much." He kisses your forehead. "You'll know soon enough."
You flop back onto the pillows with a huff. "I hate secrets."
"Says the woman who kept our relationship secret for two years."
"That was different!"
"Sure it was." He stretches out beside you, pulling you close. "Can we go back to the part where we were enjoying our last morning in paradise?"
You want to protest, to push for more information, but his hand is sliding up your thigh and his lips are at your neck again and suddenly Lewis' mysterious silence seems less important.
"Fine," you concede, already breathless. "But this isn't over."
"Never is with you," he murmurs fondly. "It's why I love you."
"Because I'm stubborn?"
"Because you never give up on the people you care about."
Something in his voice makes you pause. "Maxβ¦"
"Let me love you," he whispers. "Just for now, let that be enough."
The world and its complications can wait. For now, there's just this - the sun on your skin, Max's heartbeat under your palm, and the knowledge that whatever comes next, you'll face it together.
Even if he is terrible at keeping secrets.
The gentle hum of your computer fills your office at Mercedes HQ as you review the latest F1 Academy reports. A notification pops up on your phone - Instagram, probably another post from Max complaining about his training session.
Your coffee cup freezes halfway to your mouth.
BREAKING: Lewis Hamilton to join Ferrari in 2025
The cup clatters onto your desk, coffee spilling across papers you can't bring yourself to care about. Your hands shake as you scroll through post after post confirming it.
Lewis is leaving.
Lewis is going to Ferrari.
Lewis didn't tell you.
Max knew and didn't tell you.
Your fatherβ¦
You're on your feet before you realize it, striding through the corridors. People step out of your way, perhaps recognizing the storm in your expression. You barely register Susie calling your name as you pass her office.
The door to your father's office bangs open. He looks up, unsurprised.
"What is going on?" Your voice trembles.
"YNβ"
"No." You hold up your phone, the Ferrari announcement glaring at you. "What is this?"
Toto sighs, removing his glasses. "Come in and close the door."
"You knew." It's not a question. "You all knew. That's why Lewis wasn't answering my messages. That's why Max was acting strange in Saint-Tropez."
"We couldn't tell you."
"Couldn't or wouldn't?" The words come out sharp, hurt. "I'm not just your daughter anymore, Papa. I'm co-director of F1 Academy. I work here. This affects me professionally as well as personally."
"Which is exactly why we couldn't tell you." He stands, coming around his desk. "The announcement had to be handled carefully. Any leak could haveβ"
"Leak?" You step back when he reaches for you. "Is that what I am to you? A potential leak?"
"Schatz, noβ"
"Lewis is family!" Your voice cracks. "He's been here my entire life. He watched me grow up. He helped Max and me whenβ¦" You swallow hard. "I had to find out from Instagram. Instagram, Papa!"
"I know."
"Did everyone know except me? Was there some big meeting where you all decided poor YN can't be trusted?"
"It wasn't like that."
"Then what was it like?" Tears spill over. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like nobody trusted me enough to tell me that one of the most important people in my life is leaving."
Toto moves forward again, and this time you let him pull you into a hug. "Lewis wanted to tell you himself," he says softly. "He was going to come see you today, after the announcement. He didn't want you to have to carry the secret."
"I could have handled it."
"I know you could have." His hand smooths over your hair like when you were small. "But he didn't want to put you in that position. Neither did Max."
You stiffen. "Max knew for how long?"
"YNβ¦"
"How long?"
"Since before New Year's."
The betrayal hits fresh. "That's why he was so weird about Lewis not texting back. He let me worry instead of just telling me."
"He was protecting you."
"I don't need protection!" You pull away. "I need honesty. I need the people I love to trust me. I needβ" Your voice breaks. "I need to not feel like an outsider in my own family."
"Oh, Schatz." Toto's face crumples. "You have never been an outsider. Lewis insisted on keeping it quiet precisely because he cares so much. He knew how hard it would be for you."
"It's harder finding out like this."
A soft knock interrupts. You turn to see Lewis in the doorway, still in his Mercedes gear - for one of the last times, you realize with a pang.
"Little Wolff," he starts, but you hold up a hand.
"Don't." You brush past him, ignoring his attempt to catch your arm. "I have work to do."
"Pleaseβ"
"Congratulations on Ferrari," you say stiffly, not looking back. "I'm sure you'll do great things there."
You make it back to your office before the tears really start. Your phone buzzes - Max calling. Then Lewis. Then Susie.
You silence it, staring out your window at the Mercedes logo shining in the winter sun. It looks different now, knowing Lewis won't be racing under it anymore soon.
Everything looks different.
Your phone lights up again - a text from Max.
"I'm sorry. I hated keeping this from you. I love you"
You turn the phone face down.
Later. You'll deal with all of it later.
By the time you make it home that evening, your eyes are red and puffy from crying. Max is already there - of course he is - waiting in the kitchen with that worried look you've come to know so well.
"Babyβ¦" he starts, but you brush past him, dropping your bag on the counter with trembling hands.
"Don't." Your voice cracks. "Just⦠don't."
But Max has never been good at leaving you alone when you're hurting. His arms wrap around you from behind, and despite your anger, you find yourself leaning back into his warmth.
"I wanted to tell you," he whispers against your hair. "Every day, I wanted to tell you."
The dam breaks. You turn in his arms, burying your face in his chest as sobs wrack your body. His arms tighten around you, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other rubs soothing circles on your back.
"He's leaving," you choke out. "Lewis is actually leaving. How can he leave? He's⦠he's my brother, Max. He's been there my whole life. The garage won't be the same without him. The team won't be the same."
"I know, baby. I know."
"He didn't tell me. None of you told me." You pull back enough to look up at him, tears still streaming. "You all just decided I couldn't handle it."
Max wipes your tears with his thumbs, his own eyes suspiciously bright. "Lewis wanted to protect you. We all did. You've been working so hard with F1 Academy, with the team⦠he didn't want you carrying this weight."
"But I could have handled it! I'm not some fragile thing that needs protecting anymore."
"No," Max agrees softly, "you're the strongest person I know. But Lewis loves you like a sister. He wanted to tell you himself, properly. Not through some leaked rumor or whispered secret."
You collapse against him again, letting out a shuddering breath. "I can't imagine Mercedes without him. Every memory I have there, he's part of it. Even when we were hiding us, he was there, watching out for us, covering for usβ¦"
Max leads you to the couch, pulling you into his lap. You curl into him, feeling drained.
"Talk to him," he murmurs. "Not today, not tomorrow if you're not ready. But don't let this distance grow. You'll regret it."
"When did you get so wise?" you ask weakly.
"Around the same time I realized that sometimes loving someone means letting them be angry at you for trying to protect them." He presses a kiss to your temple. "Even if you'd do it again."
You stay like that for a long time, wrapped in Max's arms as the sun sets outside. Your phone buzzes occasionally - more messages from Lewis, probably - but you ignore it. Tomorrow you'll deal with it all. Tomorrow you'll be strong again.
But tonight, you let yourself be held and comforted, mourning the end of an era while knowing, deep down, that family is family - even when they're wearing red instead of silver.
Bahrain, 2024
The Bahrain paddock buzzes with its usual first-race energy, but everything feels off-kilter. You've been masterfully avoiding proper conversations with Lewis all weekend, keeping interactions professional and brief. The pit wall feels different already, knowing it's his last season here.
You're reviewing data sheets in the garage when his shadow falls across your tablet.
"Little Wolff," Lewis says softly, using the nickname that usually makes you smile but now just makes your chest ache. "Can we talk?"
"I'm quite busy," you reply, not looking up. "Qualifying strategy needs finalizing."
"YN." His voice is gentle but firm. "Please."
You finally meet his eyes, seeing the concern there, the sadness. He looks older somehow, or maybe that's just your perception shifting with everything else.
"What's left to say?" You keep your voice low, mindful of the mechanics nearby. "You made your decision. You kept it from me. We move forward."
"That's not fair and you know it." Lewis steps closer. "I've tried calling, textingβ¦"
"I've been busy."
"You've been avoiding me." He sighs. "I never wanted to hurt you."
"Well, you did." The words come out sharper than intended. "Did you think finding out from social media wouldn't hurt? That watching Max and Papa dance around it for weeks wouldn't hurt?"
"I wanted to protect youβ"
"Stop saying that!" You catch yourself, lowering your voice again. "Everyone keeps saying they were protecting me. I'm not a child anymore, Lewis. I run part of this team. I handle confidential information every day. I've kept secrets bigger than this."
Understanding crosses his face. "Like Max."
"Yes, like Max." You swallow hard. "You trusted me then. You helped us. Why couldn't you trust me with this?"
"Because this wasn't just my secret to keep." Lewis runs a hand over his face. "There were contracts, negotiations, timing issues. And yes, I wanted to tell you myself, properly. Not have you carry it around for weeks knowing you couldn't talk to anyone about it."
"So instead you let me worry when you weren't responding to messages? Let me think something was wrong? Let Max lie to me?"
"I asked him not to tell you." Lewis reaches for your hand but you pull back. "He wanted to. He hated keeping it from you."
"But he did anyway."
"Because he understands sometimes protecting the people we love means letting them be angry with us." Lewis's voice softens. "You're my family, YN. You're the little sister I never had. Leaving Mercedes⦠leaving you⦠it's one of the hardest decisions I've ever made."
You blink back tears, refusing to cry in the garage. "Then why are you?"
"Because sometimes we need to chase new dreams, even when it means leaving safe harbors." He smiles sadly. "You taught me that, actually. When you chose Max despite everything, despite what it could cost you. You taught me that sometimes the scariest choices are the right ones."
"That's different."
"Is it?" Lewis raises an eyebrow. "You took a risk for love. For growth. For what you believed was right for you, even knowing it would hurt people you care about."
You look away, his words hitting too close to home.
"I'm not asking you not to be hurt," he continues. "I'm just asking you not to let that hurt break us. I'm still your Lewis. That doesn't change just because I'm wearing red."
"It feels like everything's changing," you whisper.
"Some things never will." He opens his arms. "Come here, Little Wolff."
This time you don't resist, letting him pull you into a hug. The familiar smell of his cologne brings fresh tears to your eyes.
"I'm still mad at you," you mumble into his chest.
"I know."
"And you better not beat us too badly in that Ferrari."
You feel his laugh rumble. "I'll do my best."
"Lewis?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm going to miss you so much."
His arms tighten. "I'm not gone yet. We've got a whole season ahead of us. And after⦠I'm still your big brother. That doesn't change with the color of my race suit."
Over his shoulder, you catch Max watching from the Red Bull garage, a soft smile on his face. He gives you a small nod before turning back to his engineers.
Some things change. Some things stay the same. And sometimes, you realize, holding onto anger hurts more than letting it go.
Miami, 2024
The sun beats down mercilessly as you pace your hotel room, phone clutched in your hand. The notifications won't stop - Instagram, Twitter, all exploding with the same photos. You and Max on his boat in Monaco last weekend, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you, both of you clearly lost in each other.
You'd been so careful for so long. One moment of letting your guard down, and nowβ¦
The door opens and Max rushes in, still in his Red Bull gear from practice. "Baby?" His voice is soft with concern.
"Have you seen them?" You hold up your phone, hands trembling. "They're everywhere. Everyone knows. Papa is going to have to address it in the press conference andβ"
Max crosses the room in three long strides, taking your face in his hands - just like in the photos, you realize with a jolt. "Breathe," he murmurs. "Just breathe with me."
"Butβ"
"Breathe first." His thumbs stroke your cheeks. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. With me."
You follow his lead, matching your breathing to his until the panic starts to recede. Only then does he lead you to sit on the edge of the bed, keeping one arm around you.
"Now," he says, "tell me what you're really afraid of."
"Everything!" You gesture wildly with your free hand. "The media circus, the speculation, the questions about favoritism in the sport, Papa having to defend us publicly, the board's reactionβ¦"
"YN." Max turns you to face him fully. "We knew this would happen eventually. We talked about it."
"I know, butβ"
"But nothing." His blue eyes are intense, earnest. "We're not doing anything wrong. We're two adults who love each other. Yes, there will be talk. Yes, there will be questions. But we can handle it." His lips quirk. "We've handled worse."
You lean into him, letting his steady presence ground you. "Papa's press conference is in twenty minutes."
"And he'll handle it like he handles everything - with that terrifying Wolff composure." Max's hand runs soothingly up and down your back. "He loves you, baby. He's not going to let anyone suggest anything improper about us."
"I should be there," you whisper. "I should face it with him."
"No." Max's voice is firm. "Let him handle this part. That's what fathers do - they protect their children, even when their children are grown up and running F1 programs."
Your phone buzzes again - another news alert. Max gently takes it from your hand and sets it aside.
"Remember what you told me?" he asks softly. "That night in Monaco when I was worried about how people would react to us being together again?"
You smile slightly. "I told you that what other people think doesn't matter."
"Exactly." He presses his forehead to yours. "You said that we've earned the right to be happy, that we're not teenagers anymore trying to sneak around. You said we're stronger together than apart."
"Using my own words against me?"
"Always." He kisses you softly. "Because you were right then, and you're still right now. Let them talk. Let them speculate. We know the truth."
Your phone lights up with a livestream notification - the press conference is starting. Max reaches for the remote, turning on the hotel room's TV where it's already being broadcast.
"We can turn it off," he offers, but you shake your head.
"No. I need to see."
You curl into Max's side as the questions start. Your father sits there, calm and collected as ever, fielding questions about strategy and performance. Then:
"Toto, there are photos circulating of your daughter YN with Max Verstappen. Given the rivalry between Mercedes and Red Bull, and Max's history with both Mercedes and your family, do you have any comment?"
The room goes silent. You hold your breath, feeling Max tense beside you.
Your father adjusts his glasses, that familiar gesture that usually precedes something important. "Yes, I do have a comment." His voice is measured but firm. "My daughter is a highly respected professional in this sport, running our F1 Academy program and working tirelessly to create opportunities for young women in motorsport. Her personal life is her own, and she has my full support in all her choices."
"But given the competitive nature of F1β"
"Let me be very clear," Toto interrupts, and you recognize that steel in his voice. "YN has proven herself time and time again. She has earned her position through hard work and dedication. Max Verstappen is one of the most talented drivers of his generation. They are both adults who conduct themselves with integrity and professionalism. Any suggestion otherwise is not only disrespectful but reveals more about the person asking than about them."
Tears blur your vision. Max's arm tightens around you.
"See?" he whispers. "Terrifying Wolff composure."
On screen, your father continues: "My daughter and Max have my blessing and my respect. They have shown wisdom and maturity in handling their relationship alongside their professional responsibilities. Now, unless there are questions about this weekend's raceβ¦"
You bury your face in Max's chest, overwhelmed. His hands stroke your hair as he murmurs soft Dutch endearments.
"He defended us," you say wonderingly. "He really defended us."
"Of course he did." Max kisses the top of your head. "He's your father. Andβ¦" he hesitates, "I think maybe he's starting to like, a little bit."
You look up at him, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes. "You know he likes you."
"Yeah." Max smiles softly. "He called me yesterday, you know. Said if any reporters gave me trouble about the photos, to refer them to him. Said he'd handle it."
Fresh tears spill over. "He did?"
"Mmhmm." Max wipes your tears with his thumb."Does this mean I can finally kiss you in the paddock?"
You laugh through your tears. "Maybe let's ease them into it?"
"Fine." He sighs dramatically. "But I'm holding your hand in public. No negotiation on that."
"Deal." You curl back into him, feeling the panic from earlier dissolve into something warmer, more certain. "Thank you for being here. For being you."
"Always, baby." Max kisses you again, soft and sweet. "Now, what do you say we give them something else to talk about and go absolutely dominate this race weekend?"
You smile against his lips. "Now that sounds like a plan."
Las Vegas, 2024
The neon lights blur through your tears as you watch the podium ceremony. George and Lewis stand there together, silver suits gleaming under the artificial lights, Mercedes' last 1-2 with this particular lineup.
Your heart feels like it might burst - pride, joy, and melancholy all tangled together. Max clinched his fourth title today, and you couldn't be prouder.
"Look at them," Susie whispers, squeezing your hand. "Our boys."
You can barely speak around the lump in your throat. George looks radiant, his second win of the season perhaps the sweetest. And Lewis⦠Lewis is beaming with genuine joy for his teammate, even as his eyes glisten with unshed tears. His last podium in Vegas as a Mercedes driver.
Your father stands tall beside you, his usual stoic expression softened by emotion. As the champagne starts flowing, you catch sight of Max making his way toward the Red Bull garage, where you know the championship celebrations are about to begin.
"Go," your father says suddenly.
You turn to him, surprised. "What?"
"Go celebrate with Max." His voice is gentle. "It's his fourth championship. You should be there."
"Butβ¦" you glance at the podium, at your Mercedes family celebrating.
"We've shared every celebration with you," Susie says softly. "Let him have this one."
"Are you sure?" You look at your father. "Papa?"
Toto's eyes are warm as he cups your face in his hands. "For three years, you couldn't celebrate with him. Couldn't share his victories. Couldn't be by his side when he achieved his dreams." He kisses your forehead. "Go make up for lost time, Schatz."
"But Lewis and Georgeβ¦"
"Will understand." Toto smiles. "Besides, I think Lewis would be disappointed if you didn't go congratulate your boyfriend on his championship."
As if on cue, Lewis catches your eye from the podium and nods toward the Red Bull garage, mouthing "Go!"
Tears spill over as you hug your parents. "I love you both so much."
"We know," Susie strokes your hair. "Now go. Make your man's celebration complete."
You run through the paddock, your heart pounding. The Red Bull garage is already in full celebration mode when you arrive. Christian sees you first, and instead of any awkwardness, he just smiles and points toward the back room.
You find Max there, surrounded by his team but somehow looking like he's waiting for something - or someone. When he sees you, his entire face lights up.
"Baby," he breathes, and then you're in his arms, his race suit damp with champagne, his heart beating fast against yours.
"Congratulations, four-time world champion," you whisper against his neck.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes shining. "You came."
"Of course I came." You touch his face, memorizing this moment. "Papa and Susie practically pushed me out the door."
Max's eyes widen slightly. "Really?"
"Really." You smile through your tears. "Papa said we had three years of celebrations to make up for."
Something vulnerable crosses Max's face. "I used to dream about this," he admits quietly, despite the noise around you. "Every championship, every winβ¦ I'd imagine you here, celebrating with me. But I never thoughtβ¦"
"That my father would be the one sending me to you?"
"Yeah." Max laughs softly. "Things really have changed, haven't they?"
"For the better." You kiss him softly, not caring who sees. "I'm so proud of you, Max. So incredibly proud."
He presses his forehead to yours. "Stay? Celebrate with us?"
"Wild horses couldn't drag me away."
"Good." His smile turns mischievous. "Because I have three years of championship celebrations to make up for, and I plan to make this one count."
From somewhere behind you, you hear Jos' voice: "Max! The championship photo!"
"Coming!" Max calls back, then looks at you. "Join us?"
You blink. "In the Red Bull championship photo?"
"Why not?" His eyes are bright with joy and love. "You're part of this story too. Always have been."
The photographer arranges everyone, and Max pulls you close to his side. Here, under the neon lights of Vegas, surrounded by celebrations both here and in the garage next door, you feel the weight of the moment. The past - three years of separation, of watching from afar. The present - standing proudly by his side as he achieves another dream. And the future - stretching out before you both, full of possibilities.
"Ready?" Max whispers in your ear.
You look up at him, this man who never stopped loving you even when the world tried to keep you apart, and smile. "Ready."
The camera flashes, capturing the moment forever - the four-time world champion and the girl who crossed rival lines to love him, surrounded by celebration and joy, making up for all the moments they missed and creating new ones all their own.
In the distance, you hear the Mercedes celebration continuing, George and Lewis' laughter carrying through the night. Two families, two celebrations, and you finally allowed to be part of both.
Melbourne, 2025
"YN, we need to check something at the track," Max says casually as you're getting ready for bed.
"At this hour? It's past midnight."
"Trust me?" He gives you that same boyish grin that still makes your heart skip, even after a decade.
You're both jet-lagged anyway, so you agree. But instead of heading to Albert Park, Max drives to a familiar hotel. Your breath catches when you realize where you are.
"Maxβ¦"
"Come on," he takes your hand, leading you through the quiet lobby to the coffee shop where it all began. The lights are dimmed, but it's clearly open - though completely empty.
"How did you�"
"Being a four-time world champion has some perks," he grins. "Plus, the owner remembered us. Said she never forgot the night the youngest F1 driver and Toto Wolff's daughter had their secret meeting here."
The same table is there, the one where you shared your hot chocolate ten years ago. There's even a steaming mug waiting.
"You were so smug," Max laughs, pulling out your chair. "Letting me ramble about being a driver when you knew exactly who I was."
"You were cute when you were flustered," you tease. "Especially when I dropped my last name."
"I couldn't believe it. Here I was, trying to impress this beautiful girl, and she turned out to be my biggest rival's daughter."
You take a sip from the mug - hot chocolate, just like that night. "Papa wouldn't stop talking about you."
"And now he's my biggest defender," Max shakes his head in wonder. "Remember how scared we were to tell him about us?"
"Worth it though," you squeeze his hand. "Every secret meeting, every careful distance in the paddock, every time we had to pretend we were just friendly acquaintances."
Max's eyes go soft. "You know what I remember most about that first night? You were the first person who didn't treat me like I was either Jos's son or some record-breaking novelty. You just⦠saw me."
"I still do," you whisper.
He stands suddenly, pulling you up with him. "That night, I was terrified about my first race. Everyone had opinions about whether I deserved to be here. But then there was this girl, sharing her hot chocolate and making me feel like maybe I could actually do this."
"Maxβ¦"
He drops to one knee, and your heart stops. "Ten years ago, in this exact spot, I met the love of my life. I didn't know it then, but that girl who kept her name secret until the last possible moment would become my biggest supporter, my best friend, my home."
Through your tears, you see him pull out a ring. "You've been there through everything, YN. Every victory, every defeat. When the pressure got too much, when the critics were too loud - you were my safe place. Just like you were that first night."
"Remember what you told me then? That your intuition said I'd do great?" He laughs softly. "You believed in me before anyone else did. And I want to spend the rest of my life believing in you, supporting you, loving you."
"YN Wolff," his voice cracks slightly. "Will you marry me? Will you keep being my safe place, my biggest supporter, my best friend? Will you let me spend forever trying to make you as happy as you've made me?"
Through your tears, you see the same boy from that late-night coffee shop - still determined, still passionate, still looking at you like you're his whole world. But now he's also the man who's grown with you, fought for you, loved you through everything.
"Yes," you manage, pulling him up to kiss him. "Yes to everything."
As he slides the ring onto your finger, Max pulls you close, and you can smell the same coffee shop scent that surrounded you ten years ago. "Thank you for sharing your hot chocolate that night," he murmurs against your hair.
"Thank you for making me believe in intuition," you reply, feeling the weight of the ring - a promise of all the years to come.
Outside, Melbourne sleeps, just like it did that first night. But now, instead of two strangers sharing a drink and their fears, there's you and Max, sharing a future.
And it feels like coming home.
tags: @mimiteller712 @lydia-demarek, @rory-cakes, @swaggymadi, @chriskevinevans @p7-otterton, @cherrystars81, @whokilledmarlene @lilymaleshka @kodeelynn @formoola1fan @pausmoon @lalala28 @baby-alien11 @allthings-fandoms @downsideup1989 @urbaebarnes @ivegotparticulartaste @liethatyouloveme @codymthepenguin @finn-dot-com @rayaskoalaland @angelluv16 @pourmercymercy0nme @tweetledeedumb @osclerc @scientifichufflepuff @cometpiastri @hobiismyhopeu @monsterdesandia @amyelevenn @damonsalvatorelikessex @rmvb @virtualperfectioncat @emma-chiara @chelle1306 @idontknow0704 @lilypat @elieanana @nothaqks @1800-love-me

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Iβve seen a lot of posts on my dash tonight about users who are threatening suicide, with other Tumblr members posting in effort to try to get ahold of them. I think you all should see this:
IF THERE IS EVER A TUMBLR USER WHO HAS POSTED A GOOD-BYE MESSAGE, SUICIDE NOTE, VIDEO, OR ANYTHING OF THE SORT, PLEASE FOLLOW THIS POST.
1. Scroll to the top of your dashboard.
2. See the circular question mark icon at the top? Itβs the third one over from your home symbol. Click on that, and a screen similar to the one in the picture will come up.
3. Where you can type in questions, the box with the magnifying glass at the top, type in the word βsuicide.β
4. Click on the first link that shows up. It should say, βPass the URL of the blog on to us.β
5. Type in the userβs URL and tell Tumblr admin that the user is contemplating suicide and has posted a message indicating that they are going through with it or will be attempting. Hit send! Tumblr administration will perform a number of actions to contact the user and take the necessary steps to prevent the suicide.
TUMBLR: THIS COULD SAVE A USERβS LIFE. PLEASE DO NOT IGNORE SUICIDE THREATS.
Reblog this to keep other users aware. Suicide isnβt a joke, and neither is someoneβs life. If you didnβt know this, someone else may not, either. Pass it on.
why on earth doesnβt this have more notes
I actually had to do this once. She lived.
if you scroll past this on your dash you are absolutely heartless.
Reblog this!! This can save somebodyβs life!
reblog.
help.
do not scroll down.
I SWEAR TO GOD IF ANYONE SCROLLS PAST THIS WITHOUT REBLOGGING I WILL LITTERALLY FIND THEM AND GIVE THEM A LECTURE
may I just update this?
see the little thing that says help?
Donβt ever scroll past this post. FUCKING NEVER SCROLL PAST!!!
πΈπΈπΈ
Anyone know where it is on mobile ???
You report the user, choose βsomething elseβ, scroll down and choose βsuicide or self harmβ
DO NOT SCROLL DOWN
REBLOG TO LITERALLY SAVE A LIVE
PLEASE REBLOG
Please donβt scroll past this post, you could save someoneβs life.
SAVE A LIFE
this. reblogging this on my largest blog for yβall to see this
You can also do this on Android mobile.
Scroll to the top of the post
Click the three dots in the top right corner of the post.
When the menu pops up, click Report Something Else
Then choose Suicide or Self Harm Concern.
Sorry this ainβt my usual content. But this is important.
sorry no matchups here but this is extremely necessary
this needs to be known more
please.
If you scroll past this, I am extremely disappointed
Rkkaktkqkgkwifkwkkdkfw
yeehaw pro tip!
Do this and you might safe a life partner!
literally!
I had to randomly fast scroll to past it and scroll back up to reblog/repost. I ainβt cruel. THERE WAS SO MUCH FUCKING REBLOGS!!!
Yall gotta reblog this unless y'all heartless MFS.
Anyways, have a critter.
PLEASE REBLOG
PLEASE
I BEG YOU
CALLING ALL SHARKS
@the-purpurhaj can you tag the hajar?
this is so unbelievably important, please please please reblog
im gonna try to tag as many as i can with gulβs list
@the-blahaj
@the-rodhaj
@the-gronhaj
Me the-gulhaj
@rosahaj
@the-lilahaj
@the-svarthaj
@the-rodbrunhaj (formerly dΓ₯rskap)
@the-grahaj
@the-rodgulhaj
@the-vithaj
@the-klapparhaj
@the-magentahaj
@blalilahaj
@demonhaj
@the-demonhaj
@thedivineguldhaj
@the-rutighaj
@the-smahaj
@the-haj
@the-djavulsksilverhaj
@the-purpurhaj
@the-purjolokhaj
@the-brunhaj
@brunhaj
@the-snohaj
@the-turkossmahaj
@regnbagshaj
@the-screenwriting-haj
@the-turkoshaj
Former medelstor-blarod-haj now @svard-haj
@ultraviolett-haj
@the-attaarmadhaj
@the-dinohaj
@the-anglahaj
@the-leendehaj
@the-litenhaj
@the-omvandhaj
@the-448c-haj
@the-jahalh
@the-eldritch-skrackhaj
@ogiltig-haj
@swimhaj
@the-ljusgrahaj
@spelutvecklare-haj
@the-sonicjah
@the-v1haj
@cardboard-haj
@the-hajhaj
@hajtale
@the-blahajtale
@the-blavingad
Dont scroll!!!! This is important!!!!!!!
despite this not being my usual content, it is way too important to ignore. Please, never ignore things like this.
A FUCKING IMPORTANT POST DETECTED!
cc @gimmick-thief
yea this is extremely important
@a-counter @achivement-unlocked @alphabet-statistician @anti-gimmick-thceif @are-there-grammar-errors @b-counter @biblepercent @c-counter @carbon-monoxide-detector @cat-spotted @citrus-typos @colortracker @contraction-counter @decontextifier @digitcounter @e-counter @eggblackoutpoetry @etho-spotted @free-post-store @gimmickblogcompletionist @gimmick-mimic @gimmickbloghunterhunter @happy-little-painter @hellsite-quotes @hellsitegenetics @hemo-rainbow-completionist @homestuck-word-counter @i-bork-at-you @i-give-chess-pieces-to-people @i-meow-at-you @i-reblog-your-post-with-balls @i-remove-color-from-posts @i-say-not-ok @i-say-ok @i-shelve-posts @i-tag-gimmick-accounts @identifying-cars-in-posts @identifying-cat-phenotypes @identifying-dinosaurs-in-posts @identifying-guns-in-posts @identifying-horses-in-posts @identifyinggimmickblogsinposts @identifyingtrainsinposts
Get Unready With Me - Drunk Edition
In which Lando takes care of you after a night out.
Pairing: Lando Norris x FeminineGirlfriend!Reader Warnings: Drunk reader. Tooth achingly sweet fluff tho. Word Count: 1.8k words
Master List
βLando! Iβve lost my keys!β You cry, opening the flap on your vintage Chanel bag in an attempt to dump the contents out on the floor of your flatβs empty hallway.Β
βNo you havenβt, you muppet.β He scolds, tugging the purse out of your hands before anything beyond your Charlotte Tilbury lipstick can clatter to the floor. βYou gave me your keys after your fifth vodka cran. βLan baby, be my hero and hold my keys so I donβt lose them!ββ He mocks, pulling out your keyring from his pocket.Β
Your eyes light up, a drunken giggle slipping off your lips as you lean your whole weight onto your boyfriend as he attempts to open the apartment door for you. βMy hero!βΒ
βBesides,β He tuts, slipping the key into the keyhole. βWe live together, my keys are your keys.βΒ
Lando swings the door open, ushering you inside before closing the door behind him with a soft snick of the lock. You look back at him, a bit more unsteady on your feet than youβd like. The pair of you are just getting back from dinner and dancing with a few of the other drivers and their significant others to celebrate the end of the season and you may have gone a bit overboard with the drinks portion of the night.
Flinging your stilettos off your feet, you groan at the relief of feeling the cool tile on your toes, only stumbling a bit when you try to stand up straight. Itβs quite the miracle you made it up from the garage to your tenth floor apartment in those heels under your own power really. βI think my feet might just fall off.βΒ
Lando follows behind you as you stumble towards the couch. βBaby, shouldnβt we just go to bed? Itβs late.βΒ
βMy feet donβt work anymore. Carry me?β You pout, reaching for him with grabby hands. You are quite needy when you get this drunk but honestly, Lando doesnβt mind one bit. Youβre quite independent, refusing to allow him to pay for much despite his multi-million dollar contract and endorsement deals. In fact, for the first year of your relationship you had refused to move in with him because there had been no way you could afford to split the rent in his posh apartment in Monaco. So when you get needy like this, which isnβt as often as heβd like, Lando likes to take full advantage of it. He likes to feel needed, especially by the woman he is absolutely smitten with.Β
βI think your feet work just fine, but I will carry you to bed anyway, pretty girl.β He coos, scooping you up in his arms.Β
You wiggle a little against him, nestling your head in the crook of his neck before breathing in his scent deeply. βYou smell so good.βΒ
βI smell like sweat.β He laughs, walking down the hall towards your shared bedroom.Β
βIt must be the pheromones then. Youβre so sexy when youβre sweaty.β You giggle.Β
Lando chuckles, knocking the light switch with his elbow as he enters your room. The yellow glow from the lights overhead illuminate your face as you look up at him. In the alcohol induced haze, the thought of how lucky you are to have him flickers through your mind. You two had met a few years ago when you had been attended the British Grand Prix with your uncle Jenson Button. He had literally swept you off your feet when Fernando Alonso had nearly taken you out in the paddock with his scooter. You liked to joke that Lando had literally been your knight in shining armor that day, so of course you fell for him quick and hard.Β
βHere you go, love.β Lando gently sets you down on the bed, your eyes already droopy with exhaustion from the day. βLets get you out of that dress and into something comfy.βΒ
βAre you trying to seduce me, Lando Norris?β You slur.Β
βNo, Iβm trying to get you into bed because youβre about five seconds away from falling asleep and I donβt want to cuddle you all night with that scratchy dress on.β Lando rolls his eyes but canβt help the grin that spreads across his face. He helps you shimmy out of the tight dress, pulling it over your head so you were left in only the skimpy McLaren papaya colored lingerie set.Β
βThis is new.β He says, slipping a finger under the strap of the lacy bralette that has him biting his bottom lip. You looked so cute sitting there on the bed, dressed only in his team colors.Β
βI wore it to surprise you but now Iβm too drunk to fuck you.βΒ
Lando canβt help the laugh that tumbles out of him. Despite you being 3 sheets to the wind, you know his rules: No sex while one of you is drunk and the other is sober.Β And Lando is very sober right now, wanting to maintain some control over you as you tend to get a little wild and adventurous (read: you like to wander off) when youβre partying. βWe can have a rot in bed day tomorrow and you can wear it then, okay love?βΒ
Your bottom lip sticks out in a pout, βFine.βΒ
βNow, lay down. Iβll go get you a t-shirt and we can go to sleep.βΒ
You follow his instructions and watch as Lando bustles around the room, first getting changed himself and then pulling a t-shirt out of his closet for you.Β
A few moments later, Lando pulls his t-shirt onto your body and tucks you back into bed before going to get some aspirin and a glass of water for you, knowing youβre going to have a wicked hangover tomorrow. He hates to see you in pain, but a part of him is pleased that youβll be unable to do much tomorrow so heβll be able to wait on you hand and foot. Being needed is absolutely one of Landoβs love languages.Β
As he goes to switch off the lights, finally ready to get into bed beside you, suddenly you sit up. βLando!β You gasp, smacking him on the shoulder as he sits down on his side of the bed.Β
βWhat is it, pretty girl?βΒ
βMy makeup! If I donβt take it off and wash my face, Iβm going to break out and I will not be your pretty girl anymore.βΒ
Lando rolls his eyes, βSeriously? Canβt you just skip it this one time? You will always be my pretty girl, breakout or not.βΒ
In addition to being extra needy when youβre drunk, you are also extra stubborn. βI need to do my skincare, Lando.β You whine.Β
βFine.β Lando is quite certain there is no way youβd be able to do it by yourself, judging by the state youβre in though. βLetβs go, Iβll help you.βΒ
You blink up at him as he rounds the bed to stand before you, offering you his hand. βReally?βΒ
He looks down at those big eyes and pouty lips of yours and really wants to break the whole βno sex while only one of us is drunkβ rule. βYes, really you muppet. Come on.βΒ
Despite the fact that just a few minutes before you had been insisting your feet were about to fall off, you suddenly find the ability to walk and pad behind him into the large en suite bathroom. Itβs a luxurious place, with a large jetted tub and huge shower with two shower heads. You find yourself sharing a shower with Lando more often than not. On the other side of the white and black tiled bathroom are his and hers sinks, yours more cluttered than his with various skin and hair products. You may be independent when it comes to asking for help, but you are certainly not low maintenance when it comes to your hair or skin. Β
Lando stands in front of your sink, eyeing the various jars and tubes with a bit of skepticism. βI hope youβre sober enough to tell me what goes first because there is no way I can do this on my own.β He mumbles.
βYou watch me do this all the time, baby.βΒ
βDoesnβt mean I know what any of this is. Now, hop up on the counter and let me take care of you.β He says, kissing the tip of your nose.Β
A fire burns in your belly at his order. Secretly, you do love when he takes care of you like this. You just hate to admit it. Being raised by a single mom who was never the biggest fan of the male species, you had always been wary of asking for help but being with Lando had healed some of that trauma and mistrust in you and the longer you were with him, the easier you found depending on him.Β
βWhatβs first?βΒ
βThe micellar water.βΒ
Panic flashes across Landoβs face. βThe what?βΒ
Giggling, you kick your feet like a toddler and point to the large bottle with clear liquid in it. βThat. Put some on a cotton ball andβ¦βΒ
βWipe off your makeup. I know, Iβve seen you do it, I just donβt know what goes when.β
Lando squirts some out on a cotton ball like heβs seen you do a thousand times and begins to wipe off the makeup in long, slow strokes. The alcohol makes your brain fuzzy but the way his face is so focused on his task, brows knit together in concentration, has you squeezing your legs together. He canβt quite believe how many cotton balls it takes to get everything off, but eventually most of your makeup is gone.Β
βNow is when you use the soap, right?βΒ
He looks so eager to be right your heart squeezes a bit. βYes, that bottle right there.βΒ
Lando continues on with your skincare routine, listening to your every step and following it exactly as described. It takes a little longer than usual, but neither of you mind. The way he so gently rinses the soap off your face and then applies your moisturizer is strangely one of the most romantic things youβve ever done together.Β
Finally, everything is done and youβre bare faced and freshly moisturized. Lando hands you your toothbrush, already prepped with your toothpaste, and the pair of you brush your teeth together. He gently helps you down off the counter and you follow him back into the bedroom, hand in hand.Β
βThank you, baby.β You coo as you slip under the covers, watching as Lando switches off the bedroom lights, plunging the bedroom into darkness.Β
βI love taking care of you.β He murmurs when he joins you under the heavy duvet, your warmth radiating towards him in waves.Β
βI love you, Lando Norris.βΒ
βI love you too, pretty girl.βΒ
Tag List: @shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @chlmtfilms , @inarabee @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @charlesgirl16
Want to be included on the tag list? Send me a message/leave a comment! <3
The mysterious Mrs Piastri - Masterlist
Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)
Summary: The one where Oscar has been married since he was 18 years old and never bothered to tell most people.
Links:
The mysterious Mrs Piastri
Oscar Piastri had always been a calm, collected kind of guy. Unshakeable, even. Lando Norris, on the other hand? Not so much.
And today? Today was the day Lando fully lost it.
Wait, What?
Oscar Piastri managed to keep his wife a secret on accident for nearly half a decadeβ¦
Come to think off, that was not the only one he kept a secret.Β
Home Sweet Home
Oscar Piastri is just happy to be home with his girls. Lando Norris meets Felicity and Bee Piastri.Β Β
The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Masterlist
Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)
Summary:
Elizabeth Treshtonβbestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routineβnever expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But thatβs exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzieβs side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.
Links:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Masterlist
Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)
Summary:
Elizabeth Treshtonβbestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routineβnever expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But thatβs exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzieβs side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.
Links:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
Max's ducklings
Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Max one-shot with the rookies. If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.
The first time you jokingly referred to the rookies as yours and Maxβs βkids,β it had been just thatβa joke. A harmless, offhand comment made while watching Kimi tail Max through the paddock like a lost puppy. You hadnβt thought much of it at the time, but then Gabriel had started tagging along too, and soon, Oliver was trailing after them both.
It became a running gag between you and Max. Every time you saw one of them lingering near your boyfriend, youβd nudge him and whisper, βYour sons are waiting for you.β Max would roll his eyes, grumble something in Dutch under his breath, and pretend not to care. But over time, the joke started feeling a little too real.
You were the one who noticed it first. Max would casually check on them in the garage, making sure they had everything they needed. Heβd offer Kimi a few words of advice about tyre management, remind Gabriel to stay out of trouble on the track, and even critique Isackβs qualifying performance like a strict but well-meaning father. And it wasnβt just themβLiam, Oliver, and Jack, who had already taken their first steps in F1, had somehow joined the ever-growing group.
βTheyβre not my kids,β Max insisted one evening after a race, arms crossed as you teased him about it. βTheyβre grown men. They donβt need parents.β
You smirked, sipping from your drink. βOh, really? Then why did you tell Kimi not to overwork his tires like that again? And why did you give Gabriel that pep talk about confidence? And why did you tell Isack to ignore the media when they criticized him?β
Max scowled, grumbling into his beer. βTheyβre just young. They need guidance.β
βThey need parents,β you corrected playfully. βAnd, like it or not, youβve become a dad.β
Max groaned dramatically, but he didnβt argue.
The paddock caught on quickly. Social media was soon flooded with memes about βPapa Maxβ and his βducklings.β A particularly viral post had an edited picture of Max and you, your faces photoshopped onto a mother and father goose, with Kimi, Gabriel, Isack, Liam, Oliver, and Jack waddling behind you. Even Christian Horner joined in on the joke one day, patting Max on the back and saying, βHowβs fatherhood treating you?β
You expected Max to brush it off, maybe even get annoyed. Instead, he just sighed and muttered, βExhausting.β
The real shift came after a particularly rough race weekend for Isack. He had made a mistake during the race and spun out, leading to a wave of criticism online. Pundits started questioning if he was even good enough for F1, and some of the comments were downright cruel. Normally, Max stayed out of these things. He rarely engaged in media debates that didnβt involve him directly. But that day, in the middle of a press conference, a journalist brought up Isackβs struggles, asking Max if he thought the young driver was cut out for the sport.
Maxβs response was immediate. βIsack is a talented driver. He wouldnβt be here if he wasnβt. Itβs easy to sit behind a screen and criticize, but racing at this level is incredibly difficult. Heβs learning, like all of us did when we started.β He leaned forward slightly, gaze sharp. βMaybe people should stop expecting rookies to be perfect and let them grow.β
Your phone buzzed almost instantly with messages. βDAD MODE ACTIVATEDβ read one from Lando. Another from Liam simply had a bunch of crying emojis.
When you saw Max later that evening, you couldnβt help but tease him. βI think that was the most dad-like thing youβve ever done.β
Max groaned. βI donβt know what youβre talking about.β
βOh, please. You defended him like a protective father.β You wrapped your arms around him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. βI think deep down, you love your little ducklings.β
He huffed, but there was no real irritation in it. βI just donβt like seeing young drivers get ripped apart when theyβre trying their best.β
You grinned. βUh-huh. Sure. And next, youβll be giving them bedtime stories.β
βIf they stop making stupid mistakes, maybe.β
From that moment on, Max stopped fighting the joke. He still pretended to be exasperated when the rookies stuck to him like glue, but he never turned them away. When Liam had a tough weekend, Max was the first to check in on him. When Kimi finally had a strong race, Max clapped him on the back and muttered, βSee? Told you itβd come.β
One day, as you watched the six young drivers standing around Max, hanging onto his every word as he gestured animatedly about car setups, you smiled to yourself. Heβd never admit it, but Max had fully embraced the role.
Later that evening, as you two walked back to the motorhome, you leaned into him with a grin. βSo, how does it feel to be a dad?β
Max groaned, shaking his head. βI hate you.β
βNo, you donβt.β
He sighed, glancing back over his shoulder toward where the rookies still lingered in the paddock. βFine. Maybeβ¦ maybe itβs not so bad.β
You grinned, slipping your hand into his. βOur little family.β
papa bear - mv1
summary: max becomes a papa bear when it comes to his favorite two girls (basically just dad-to-be max fluff)
folkie radio: oh boy do i love dad max !!!! and it's becoming canon soon i can't believe it. anywayyy i hope you like thisss
MASTERLIST | MY PATREON
liked by maxverstappen1, alexandrasaintmleux and 109,625 others
yourinstagram that's a wrap for the first half of the season! now I get this one to myself for 3 weeks β€οΈ
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username1 AWEEE
username2 you guys are literally the cutest couple ever
username3 enjoy the break guys!! max deserves it after dominating the whole season frfr
username4 protect these two at all costs
redbullracing π§‘π
sophiekumpen My babies! β€οΈ Enjoy the break, see you both for dinner tomorrow xx
β yourinstagram we love you !
landonorris bet he's already in the sim
β yourinstagram heβs cuddling the cats right now but you can bet heβs getting on that stream soon
β username1 CRYING MAX CUDDLING WITH THE CATS
carmenmmundt cuties! girls day soon? π
β iamrebeccad Please !!
β lilymhe count me in
β alexandrasaintmleux πββοΈπββοΈπββοΈ
β yourinstagram ABSOLUTELY
β username2 ughh i just want to be one of them
username5 ALREADY MISSING THEM
username6 if max doesnβt put a ring on it soon istg
username7 THE WAY YOU CAN SEE HIS SMILE HERE
username8 i hope they have a nice breeaaaak
maxverstappen1 Ready for no distractions, just us β€οΈ
β username1 MAX THE SIMP BOYFRIEND THAT YOU ARE
liked by yourinstagram, charles_leclerc and 1,056,826 others
maxverstappen1 Thank you Spa, wishing you all a lovely summer break βοΈ
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username1 THE GOATTTT
username2 he looks so good omfg
yourinstagram proud of you always β€οΈ now hand over that phone π
β username1 max listen to your future wife
β maxverstappen1 Your wish is my command
β username2 YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND
redbullracing Enjoy the break champ
danielricciardo Send it mate! Catch you in Zandvoort π€
username3 SUPER MAXXX
username4 i hope we get some content during the summer break
username5 max boyfriend era activated
username6 heβs going to disappear but at least heβll be spending time with our queen yn
username7 why is he glowing so much is he pregnant or something
username8 his babies will have the prettiest eyes ever
liked by username1, username2 and 38,625 others
f1updates Our favorite couple enjoying their summer break! Max and YN spotted enjoying some downtime after an incredible first half of the season.
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username1 PARENTS
username2 they look so happy and relaxed
username3 anyone else notice yn looks different? π
username4 is it just me or has yn gained a little weight? she's usually so tiny
β username1 let's not comment on people's bodies... she looks gorgeous as always
β username2 ffs who cares if she did. be normal
username5 she has been glowing lately and max is so protective of her here
username6 the way he's holding her so close in the first pic π₯Ί
username7 something's different about yn...
β username8 right? she definitely gained some weight
β username1 itsg im reporting every single comments who keeps deserting her body you people are insensitive
username9 why are people commenting about her weight? she looks beautiful let them live
username10 these two are gonna give us baby ver one day and break the internet
username11 PROTECT YN FROM THESE WEIRDOS AT ALL COSTS
username12 max seems even more protective than usual lately... interesting π
username13 maybe sheβs just bloated guys π
β username2 kindly fuck off
username14 she's literally giving off pregnancy glow but okay
βββββββββ ౨ৠβββββββββ
βββββββββ ౨ৠβββββββββ
liked by username1, username2 and 15,736 others
f1updates Our championship leader spotted doing a late night grocery run? π Max Verstappen seen buying what appears to be... stroopwafels, pickles, and various snacks at nearly midnight!
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username1 HES SO WEIRD
username2 is he high ?
username3 not the stroopwafels and pickles combo π
username4 THE PREGNANCY CRAVINGS ARE REALLL
username5 bros really out here doing midnight snack runs, yn got him WHIPPED
username6 max "i hate shopping" verstappen doing midnight store runs? she must be pregnant fr fr
username7 anyone who's been pregnant knows exactly what those snacks mean
username8 pickles AND stroopwafels? yeah that's definitely not for him π
username9 the way this man will do anything for yn
username10 everyone saying this is for his girlfriend but this mean could have the weirdest munchies combo
username11 the way he's trying to hide the bags I can't π
username12 leave them alone guys... but also BABY VER COMING???
username13 he looks so done with people taking pics π
liked by iamrebeccad, maxverstappen1 and 267,836 others
yourinstagram best break with you @maxverstappen1 β€οΈ teady for the second half of the season
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username1 SO DAMN CUTEEEE
username2 there are my parents
carmenmmundt You guys are glowing! π
β yourinstagram we love youuuu
username3 why is she wearing such loose clothes lately?
β username1 maybe mind your own business?
landonorris max actually took time off the sim? unbelievable π
β yourinstagram believe it or not he did
username4 THE THIRD PIC HAS ME DYING
usernsme5 he baggy clothes aren't hiding what we think they're hiding π
sophieklumen My beautiful loves! β€οΈ
β yourinstagram love you so much π
username6 is no one gonna talk about how max is looking at her stomach in the last picture?
username7 yn's literally glowing stop lying to us π
username8 yn definitely looks⦠different
username9 why are people so obsessed with her clothes? let them live
username10 that ocean pic needs to be framed
maxverstappen1 Thanks for the best summer break β€οΈ I love you
β yourinstagram i love you the most π₯Ή
liked by yourinstagram, landonorris and 847,936 others
maxverstappen1 Amazing to race in front of the Orange Army again. Missing someone special today but she was supporting from home β€οΈ Thank you all for the incredible energy! π³π±
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username1 DU DU DU MAX VERSTAPPEN
username2 the goat
yourinstagram SO proud of you! sorry i couldn't be there but i had the best view from the couch with our cats π§‘ see you soon champion
β maxverstappen1 Home soon β€οΈ
username3 first time yn's missed a race in ages π
username4 The Dutch Princess missing the Dutch GP? Something's definitely up
username5 she's never missed Zandvoort before...
sophieklumen Killed it schatje! YN we missed you today! Feel better soon β€οΈ
β username1 she might just have the flu and yall are claiming sheβs pregnant lol
landonorris Proper job mate! Tell yn she owes me a gaming session
username6 "supporting from home" yeah with morning sickness probably π
username7 nobody celebrating in parc fermΓ© with max felt so weird
redbullracing Thatβs our champion π
username8 she's never missed a home race... this basically confirms it
username9 the way he kept looking for her after getting out of the car π₯Ί
username10 extremely weird that you assume that sheβs pregnant just because sheβs not in the paddock and her body looks different
username11 some of these comments are delusional
βββββββββ ౨ৠβββββββββ
βββββββββ ౨ৠβββββββββ
liked by maxverstappen1, iamrebeccad and 278,395 others
yourinstagram words can't describe how proud i am! four-time world champion, my incredible max ! π¦ gutted i couldn't be there but celebrating from home with happy tears! the greatest driver, even better person π€ i love you @/maxverstappen1
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username1 MAXIE IS THE WORLD CHAMPION
username2 i canβt believe this is the first time she misses a championship
maxverstappen1 Wish you were here β€οΈ Coming home to you soon! I love you
username3 what kind of girlfriend misses her boyfriend's championship win? pathetic
β username1 shut up, she's clearly not well
username4 so selfish to not even show up for the biggest moment
username5 some of these comments are disgusting. leave her alone!
username6 she's literally been at every race for years, clearly something serious is keeping her home
victoriaverstappen CHAMP π
username7 the way he kept saying "wish she was here" in every interview π₯Ί
username8 not even showing up for THIS? something's definitely up...
username9 some of these comments are vile. let her take care of herself
username10 the haters are just mad their fav could never
liked by username1, username2 and 79,736 others
f1_gossip_daily EXCLUSIVE: The Real Reason Behind YN's Absence π¨
After months of speculation, here's your confirmation! Sources close to the couple confirm YN is expecting! This explains her absence from recent races including Max's championship win. These pictures were taken outside of a clinic π
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username1 WHAT THE FUCK
username2 MAX IS GOING TO BE A DAD ???
username3 DELETE THIS. they clearly weren't ready to share. this is disgusting.
username4 reporting this post this is a massive invasion of privacy
username5 following and photographing someone at their DOCTOR'S office?? you've crossed a line
username6 this is absolutely vile they deserved to announce this their own way
username7 well this explains a lot
username8 this is why we can't have nice things. delete this immediately
username9 taking photos of someone at medical appointments is a new low
username10 they deserved to share their happiness on their own terms this is heartbreaking
username11 MASS REPORT THIS POST
username12 this isn't gossip, this is harassment.
username13 no wonder max is always so protective. this is awful
username14 this is literally illegal in most countries. hope they sue
username15 their first baby announcement stolen from them. I feel sick
maxverstappen1 Hope the clicks were worth it. My lawyers will be in touch. Next time respect people's privacy.
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liked by maxverstappen1, lilymhe and 504,826 others
yourinstagram Privacy was the one thing I wanted during this special time. The choice to share this journey was taken from us in the most invasive way possible. For months we've been trying to protect this precious secret, wanting to experience these moments just between us and our loved ones.
Being forced to hide because of long-lens cameras at doctor appointments, avoiding races I desperately wanted to attend, missing Max's championship celebration - all to try keeping this private as long as possible. Not because we weren't excited, but because everyone deserves to share their joy in their own way, in their own time.
To those who violated our privacy - you didn't just take photos, you took away moments we can never get back. To those who defended us and reported those images - thank you. Your respect means everything.
But since this is now public... Yes, Baby Verstappen is joining the grid in 2025 π Not the way we planned to share this, but our joy can't be diminished. Max, watching you become a father already is the most beautiful thing. I love you β€οΈ
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username1 OH MY FUCKING GOD
username2 i hate everyone who ruined this for them
carmenmmundt You handled this with such grace. Can't wait to meet baby V!
username3 we knew something was up when you kept missing races
username4 THE WAY HE'S BEEN PROTECTING HER ALL THIS TIME π
username5 so happy it's finally out but so angry at how it happened
sophieklumen The best news! Already the most loved baby β€οΈ
danielricciardo uncle danny is ready for babysitting duties!
username6 anyone else crying at "watching you become a father already"
username7 the grace and class in this post after what happened... we stan the right person
username8 baby ver about to have the most protective dad in F1 history
lando does this mean I can finally talk about hiding snacks in the garage for yn? π
username9 MOST LOVED BABY EVER ALREADY
username10 i hope people who harassed her rot in jail tbh
username11 can we talk about how beautiful this pic is tho
username12 MAX IS A DAD OMFG
carlossainz55 Such beautiful news! Felicidades! β€οΈ
alexandrasaintmleux the most beautiful mama already
victoriaverstappen Finally we can celebrate properly! Love you both so much!
maxverstappen1 So proud of you both. I love you with everything I am and more
liked by yourinstagram, lando and 2,048,648 others
maxverstappen1 I rarely address personal matters, but today I have to. What happened yesterday crossed every line. Following my girlfriend to medical appointments, hiding in bushes to take photos - this isn't journalism, it's harassment. The people involved will be dealt with legally.
YN has been my strength through everything. Watching her try to hide her happiness these past months because of invasive cameras has been infuriating. She missed races she wanted to attend, stayed away from celebrations, all to protect our privacy. She even missed our championship moment - something that crushed us both - because we were trying to keep this joy to ourselves for a little longer.
To everyone who mass reported those photos and defended our privacy - thank you.
To the "journalists" who did this - I hope those clicks were worth it. Actions have consequences.
But yes, we're having a baby. YN is the strongest person I know, already the most incredible mother. Nobody can take away our happiness about this, even if they tried to take away our moment.
And to any paparazzi reading this - stay away from my family. This is your only warning.
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username1 PAPA BEAR MAX ACTIVATED AND WE'RE HERE FOR IT
username2 IM SOBBING
yourinstagram i love you β€οΈ best daddy already
victoriaverstappen My protective big brother π₯Ί Love you both!
charles_leclerc Well said Max. We stand with you both.
username3 this man won a championship and is still more focused on protecting his family
lando already ordering mini racing suits
username4 that last line wasn't a warning, it was a THREAT
username5 the way he goes from soft boyfriend to protective beast in one post π
username6 yn calling him best daddy already i can't handle this
username7 "Stay away from my family. This is your only warning." CHILLS.
username8 the whole grid in the comments ready to throw hands for them
username9 protective max is scary max
username10 love how he went from soft "yn is my strength" to "this is your only warning"
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liked by maxverstappen1, lando and 398,267 others
yourinstagram since it's out there anyway... let me expose papa bear a bit πβ€οΈ
catching him putting headphones on my belly to "start early with engine sounds." coming home to find him practicing assembly with the crib (yes, 5 months early). finding children's books about racing in 4 different languages because "the baby needs options."
my favorite is him speaking in dutch to my belly because "the baby needs to understand the language.β
also special mention to his 3 AM grocery runs because "we" were craving stroopwafels, and him threatening to fire his trainer for not changing his routine because "what if I need to carry both of them?"
the "most aggressive driver on the grid" everyone π₯Ί
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username1 IM SOBBING
username2 DADDY MAX YOU ARE SO WHOLESOME
maxverstappen1 The baby DOES need to understand dutch π€β€οΈ
username3 MAX IS SUCH A PAPA BEAR I CANT
lando NOW I can talk about finding baby books in his driver room
victoriaverstappen My brother the softie π₯Ί
sophieklumen The cutest papa bear β€οΈ
username4 SOFT MAX UNLOCKED
username5 not him being the most prepared dad ever
username6 the way he's been secretly nesting this whole time and we had NO IDEA
username7 "what if I need to carry both of them" STOP HE'S SO π₯Ί
username8 not him threatening his trainer I'M CRYING
username9 imagine being the most feared driver on track but also doing 3am stroopwafel runs
username10 the fact that he's been doing this for months while we all thought he was just focused on racing π₯Ί
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liked by maxverstappen1, iamrebeccad and 512,038 others
yourinstagram since we didn't get to share our first baby news the way we wanted to, we're keeping this moment ours β€οΈ baby girl verstappen coming to shake up the grid ! already has her papa wrapped around her tiny finger (and the entire paddock as her protective uncles π)
max hasn't stopped talking about "daddy-daughter karting lessons" since we found out (though i caught him googling "how to say no to puppy eyes" so at least he knows what he's in for π )
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username1 OMFG
username2 MAX IS A GIRL DAD
maxverstappen1 She's getting her first kart before she can walk π€β€οΈ
sebastianvettel Another racing princess! Congratulations!
username3 FIRST FEMALE WORLD CHAMPION INCOMING
victoriaverstappen My first niece πβ€οΈ Can't wait to spoil her!
lilymhe the cutest little princess already !
username4 GIRL DAD MAX ERA INCOMING π
username5 the way the whole grid is ready to be protective uncles
username6 first he protects yn, now he's gonna protect their princess
username7 GIRL DAD MAX IS GOING TO BE EVERYTHING π
username8 the most protected baby girl in motorsport history incoming
alexandrasaintmleux CONGRATS π
username9 max "I'll fight anyone on track" verstappen about to be wrapped around a tiny finger
username10 sebastian coming out of retirement to comment π₯Ί
username11 Danny Ric and Lando fighting for favorite uncle position already
username12 this baby girl about to have the most iconic childhood ever
username13 max trying to prepare for puppy eyes while simultaneously planning her racing career is killing me
username14 first she'll have max wrapped around her finger, then the whole grid
liked by yourinstagram, charles_leclerc and 1,388,936 others
maxverstappen1 Never knew I could love someone I haven't met yet this much. Already know she's going to be faster than her old man one day
(YN says I have to wait until she can walk before getting her first kart, but what she doesn't know is that GP and the engineering team are already working on the safest baby kart ever made π€«)
Can't wait to be your dad, little princess β€οΈ
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username1 IM SOBBING
username2 GIRL DAD MAX IS REAL
yourinstagram we love you so much, papa bear
sebastianvettel Welcome to the girl dad club. Your wallet and heart don't stand a chance π
redbullracing Our champion's toughest challenge yet: resisting puppy eyes π
lando WE LOVE YOU PRINCESS VERSTAPPEN
username3 MAX "I'LL FIGHT EVERYONE" VERSTAPPEN TURNING INTO THE SOFTEST GIRL DAD
username4 engineering team making the safest baby kart ever is so wholesome π₯Ί
username5 man's whole tough image about to be destroyed by a tiny girl
username6 the way every uncle is already fighting for favorite position
username7 "Never knew I could love someone I haven't met yet" WHO IS CUTTING ONIONS
username8 sebastian coming to warn him about girl dad life π₯Ί
username9 everyone ready to watch tough Max melt for his baby girl
username10 not the entire paddock becoming protective uncles immediately
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liked by maxverstappen1, lilymhe and 439,037 others
yourinstagram These last few months have been everything β€οΈ Can't believe we're so close to meeting our little racer.
The entire paddock has turned into protective uncles, Max reads engineering books to her every night (she kicks like crazy when she hears his voice), and GP's already got her first little team radio headset ready.
To our little girl: your papa's already planning your racing career (though we'll talk about that), the whole grid is waiting to spoil you, and we can't wait to meet you
Few more laps until we see you princess πβ€οΈ
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username1 NOT MAX READING ENGINEERING BOOKS TO THE BUMP π
iamrebeccad best mama already !
username2 "few more laps" THE F1 REFERENCES ARE KILLING ME
lilymhe look at you π₯Ίπ₯Ίπ₯Ί
username3 GP ALREADY HAVING A TINY RADIO HEADSET PREPARED HELP
username4 MAX IS REALLY ABOUT TO BECOME A DAD
lando baby verstappen is so loved already. and of course i'm her favorite uncle
username5 THE DRIVERS AS UNCLES I CANT DO THIS
username6 the way she kicks when she hears Max's voice STOP π
victoriaverstappen I can't wait to hold my little niece π
username7 the whole grid waiting to spoil her is the cutest thing ever
username8 max being a GIRL DAD is the best thing ever
danielricciardo Love you mates ! you'll be the best parents ever
username9 IM SOBBING THE BABY IS COMING SOON
username10 this is the best max era
maxverstappen1 Thank you for making all of my dreams come true, I love you both so much β€οΈ
liked by yourinstagram, carlossainz55 and 1,904,658 others
maxverstappen1 To the strongest woman I know - watching you carry our daughter these past months has made me fall in love with you all over again. You're already the most incredible mother.
Everyone sees the racing, the wins, the championships. But this, right here? You and our little girl? This is everything.
I promise you both - I'll always protect you, always take care of you. No trophy could ever compare to what you're giving me
Thank you for making me the luckiest man in the world, twice over. First by choosing me, and now by making me a father.
Few more weeks until we meet our princess. I love you both more than anything β€οΈ
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username1 "NO TROPHY COULD EVER COMPARE" I'M SOBBING
username2 THIS MAN WENT FROM COLD RACER TO SOFTESTBOI SO FAST
username3 THIS IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CAPTION EVER
sophieklumen So proud of you both. Can't wait to meet my granddaughter β€οΈ
victoriaverstappen Who is this sweet man and what did he do with my brother? π
username4 THIS IS THE SWEETEST THING HE'S EVER POSTED OMG
username5 THE WAY HE JUST EXPOSED HIS WHOLE HEART LIKE THIS
username6 he really said "championships who? my girls are everything"
lando still showing everyone baby scan pictures in drivers' briefing
charles_leclerc Time flies. Congrats future dad
username7 "first by choosing me" STOP THIS IS TOO CUTE
username8 this is the man who terrorizes the grid every weekend?
lewishamilton This is what it's all about mate β€οΈ Beautiful words
username9 BABY VERSTAPPEN YOU ARE SO LOVED
username10 i can't believe max verstappen typed this
yourinstagram you really are a papa bear. and we love you so much
























