#verstappen!reader

Max adjusted Yn on his hip as they stepped out of the car in front of The Galleria Al Maryah Island. The mall gleamed in front of them, glass and marble reflecting the sky like something out of a movie.

Yn, four years old and already very used to paddocks, private jets, and places most people only saw on Instagram, rested her cheek against Max’s shoulder. Her curls were slightly messy, her tiny sneakers dangling as she kicked lazily.

Behind them, Lando let out a low whistle.

“Mate,” he said, looking up at the building. “You sure we’re allowed in here? I feel underdressed and emotionally unprepared.”

Daniel laughed, reaching over and scooping Yn up effortlessly. “Relax, Norris. If they try to kick us out, I’ll distract them with my charm.”

Yn immediately perked up in Daniel’s arms, small hands grabbing the collar of his shirt.

“Uncle Danny,” she mumbled happily.

“There she is,” Daniel said softly, pressing his forehead to hers. “My favorite little jet-setter.”

Oscar walked alongside them, hands in his pockets, smiling quietly at the scene. “She looks exhausted.”

“She skipped her nap,” Max replied calmly. “Again.”

Yn yawned dramatically, her mouth opening wide as if on cue, then buried her face into Daniel’s chest.

“Traitor,” Max muttered. “I carry you all day and the moment Daniel shows up—”

“She has taste,” Lando interrupted. “Excellent taste.”

They headed inside, the mall instantly cooler, quieter, filled with soft music and the subtle scent of expensive perfume. Yn’s eyes fluttered between open and closed as Daniel carried her through the wide corridors.

They found a small luxury café tucked between designer stores, all white marble tables and gold accents. Tea was ordered, along with an excessive plate of biscuits that Yn poked at lazily before losing interest.

Oscar watched her carefully. “She’s really out of it.”

“She’ll crash any minute,” Daniel said, rocking her gently. “Honestly, I could carry her all day.”

“I know,” Max replied flatly. “You’d steal her if you could.”

Daniel grinned. “Tempting.”

Yn lifted her head just enough to point weakly at Lando.

“Uncle Lan… biscuit.”

Lando immediately slid the plate toward her. “Anything for you, boss.”

She nibbled one, crumbs sticking to her fingers, then leaned back into Daniel again, eyes drooping.

They stayed there for a while, talking about the season, the race weekend, laughing quietly. It was easy. Comfortable. One of those rare moments where everything felt normal.

Eventually, they stood and continued walking through the mall.

Yn was nearly asleep now, head tucked under Daniel’s chin, her small arm draped around his neck. Her breathing had gone slow and even.

They were passing store after store when suddenly Yn stirred.

She lifted her head slightly.

“Shiny,” she whispered.

Daniel slowed. “Hm?”

Yn lifted her hand, pointing weakly. “Glitter.”

They all followed her finger.

The Rolex storefront stood there, glowing. Glass cases, perfectly lit, diamonds and gold catching the light and throwing it back in a thousand tiny sparks.

Yn’s eyes widened just a little more.

“Stop,” she murmured.

Max stopped immediately.

Lando blinked. “Did… did she just command us?”

“Yes,” Oscar said calmly. “And we listened.”

Daniel chuckled, shifting Yn slightly. “You like the sparkles, huh?”

She nodded once, very seriously, then yawned again.

Max stepped closer to the display, crouching slightly so he was at her eye level. “You like that?”

“Mhm,” she said, then rested her head back on Daniel’s shoulder again, interest already fading.

Lando laughed softly. “That was the shortest attention span I’ve ever seen.”

Max straightened.

“Let’s go inside.”

All three of them froze.

“…What?” Lando said.

Daniel looked between Max and the store. “Mate, she’s asleep.”

Oscar added carefully, “Also, this is… Rolex.”

“Yes,” Max said simply, already walking toward the entrance.

They exchanged looks but followed.

Inside, the store was quiet, elegant. A sales assistant immediately approached, smiling politely.

“Good evening,” she said. “Welcome.”

Max nodded. “Hello.”

The woman’s eyes flicked briefly to Yn, then back to Max. “How can I help you today?”

Max glanced around the display, then said, calmly, casually—

“I’d like to buy the entire collection on display.”

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence.

Lando actually choked. “You— what?”

Daniel’s eyebrows shot up. “Max.”

Oscar stared. “The… whole collection?”

The sales assistant blinked. Once. Twice.

“I’m sorry, sir, did you say—”

“Yes,” Max repeated. “Everything in this section.”

The woman’s professional smile faltered for just a fraction of a second before she recovered. “Of course, sir. If you’d like, I can—”

“That’s fine,” Max said. “Just let me know the total.”

Lando leaned closer, voice low. “Mate, are you okay?”

Daniel whispered, “Blink twice if this is a cry for help.”

Oscar looked at Yn, still half asleep, completely uninterested. “This is for… her?”

“Yes.”

They stared at him.

“For Yn?” Lando echoed incredulously.

Max nodded like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Daniel let out a laugh. “She doesn’t even know where she is.”

Yn shifted slightly, murmuring something incoherent, her tiny fingers clutching Daniel’s shirt.

Lando shook his head. “Why?”

Max finally looked at them, expression calm, almost amused.

“For her future.”

Oscar hesitated. “Her… future?”

“So she doesn’t bring home some loser boyfriend one day who can’t live up to her standards.”

Silence again.

Then—

Lando burst out laughing. “You’re insane.”

Daniel snorted. “Four years old and already intimidating future partners.”

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck. “What standards?”

Max reached into his phone.

“I’ll show you.”

He pulled up a photo and turned the screen toward them.

It was Yn’s closet.

Perfectly organized, soft lighting, rows of tiny designer dresses and coats. But that wasn’t what made them freeze.

Shelves of handbags. Miniature, yes—but unmistakably luxury. Jewelry trays lined with diamonds, gold, gemstones.

Lando’s mouth fell open. “Is that—”

“Yeah,” Max said proudly. “And that. And that.”

Daniel squinted. “Are those—”

“Van Cleef. Cartier. A few others.”

Oscar looked stunned. “She’s four.”

“She has taste,” Max replied calmly.

Lando let out a weak laugh. “I didn’t even own furniture at four.”

Max zoomed in on another photo. “She likes this one best.”

A delicate Cartier necklace, pink diamonds catching the light.

“She calls it her ‘princess necklace,’” Max said, voice softening slightly. “Pink is her favorite.”

Daniel glanced down at Yn. “She doesn’t even wear it.”

Max gently took Yn from Daniel’s arms, careful not to wake her. He lifted her small sleeve slightly.

There, on her wrist, were thin Van Cleef bracelets, delicate and unmistakable.

“They’re light,” Max said. “She doesn’t like heavy jewelry. Says it gets in the way when she plays.”

Lando stared. “She… told you that?”

Max nodded. “Very clearly.”

Oscar smiled softly despite himself. “That’s actually really sweet.”

“She only wears a little when we’re out,” Max continued. “Most of the time she doesn’t want anything on. I don’t force it.”

The sales assistant returned quietly, tablet in hand. “Sir, whenever you’re ready—”

Max nodded, handed over his card, not even looking at the total.

The beep of the machine sounded absurdly normal.

Lando shook his head slowly. “You just bought enough jewelry to bankrupt a small country.”

Max shrugged. “She’s my whole life.”

Yn stirred slightly as Max lifted her back into his arms, one tiny hand curling around his shirt.

“Papa?” she mumbled.

“I’m here,” Max whispered immediately, kissing her hair.

She sighed contentedly and fell back asleep.

The others watched, the shock slowly melting into something warmer.

Daniel smiled softly. “She’s lucky.”

Lando nodded. “Yeah. Spoiled rotten, but… loved.”

Oscar added quietly, “She’s everything to you.”

Max didn’t deny it.

As they walked out of the store, bags discreetly carried by an assistant behind them, Max adjusted Yn gently, shielding her from the lights.

“She doesn’t need all of this,” he said softly. “But she’ll never need to wonder if she’s valued.”

The mall glittered around them.

Yn slept peacefully.

“Why does this one have a tiny umbrella?” Max asks, staring suspiciously at a figure.

You snatch it away immediately.

“Don’t touch her.”

“…You named it?”

“Her name is not important. Her vibes are.”

Max stares at you.

“You are so weird.”

You grin.

“You drove a GT car under a fake name for fun.”

“…Fair.”

Eventually your team decides this obsession is too funny not to use for content.

So someone in media comes up with an idea.

A challenge.

Every driver on the grid—including the rookies—has to go out and buy one random Skull Panda blind box.

Then they all bring them back for one giant unboxing video with you.

The second you hear the idea, you nearly fall out of your chair.

“You’re serious?”

Your media manager nods.

“We already sent the drivers.”

“Oh my God.”

The Shopping Trip Disaster

Not a single driver knows what they’re looking for.

Which makes the footage ten times funnier.

Lando walks into a toy store and immediately looks overwhelmed.

“There are too many tiny people in boxes.”

The employee asks if he needs help.

“I need emotional support.”

Oscar picks the first box he sees.

“Statistically they’re all the same.”

The employee tries to explain the rare figures.

Oscar nods politely.

Still picks the nearest one.

Charles is weirdly invested.

“This one has stars. She would like stars.”

He spends fifteen minutes choosing the “perfect vibe.”

George researches the whole thing beforehand.

He has notes.

He knows the names of the collections.

He arrives with three boxes because he “wanted to maximize the odds.”

You stare at him in awe.

Kimi asks someone in the store:

“Which one would a Verstappen like?”

The employee laughs.

Kimi is completely serious.

Ollie buys one because the box was purple.

“That seems like something she’d enjoy.”

And honestly?

You do.

Then there’s Max.

Max absolutely refuses to participate at first.

“I’m not buying little dolls.”

“Yes you are,” you tell him.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Then somehow, two days later, there is footage of Max standing in a shop in Monaco holding two Skull Panda boxes and looking deeply annoyed.

“I still don’t understand what these are.”

The employee asks if he wants gift wrapping.

“They are not gifts.”

The Unboxing Video

Your team sets everything up in the paddock during race week.

There’s a table.

A giant pile of boxes.

And you sitting in the middle already vibrating with excitement.

“This is the best day of my life.”

Max is sitting beside you looking like he regrets every decision that led him here.

First box: Lando.

You open it dramatically.

It’s a cute sleepy figure with stars.

You gasp.

“Oh my God. She’s adorable.”

Lando beams.

“I knew you’d like her.”

“You picked this?”

“No, actually I panicked.”

Oscar’s box is next.

You open it.

Blink.

Then burst out laughing.

It’s one with the most blank expression imaginable.

You hold it up beside Oscar’s face.

The resemblance is terrifying.

Even Oscar laughs.

“That’s fair.”

Charles gets a super pretty rare one.

You nearly scream.

“CHARLES!”

“What? Is it good?”

“IT’S SO GOOD.”

He smiles proudly like he personally handcrafted it.

George’s turn is somehow even worse.

He got the exact one you had been hunting for for weeks.

You stare at it.

Then at him.

“You have no idea what you’ve done.”

George looks terrified.

“Is that good or bad?”

“I’m stealing it.”

Kimi’s box has one with little racing goggles.

You immediately point at him.

“You did that on purpose.”

Kimi shrugs.

“I guessed.”

Then finally—

Max’s turn.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously.

“You better not have picked a boring one.”

“I literally just grabbed one.”

You open it.

Pause.

Then slowly look up.

It’s one of the rarest figures in the collection.

The prettiest one.

The one you’ve wanted forever.

The entire room erupts.

“No way.”

“You’re kidding.”

“THAT’S THE ONE?”

You are actually speechless.

Max looks at the figure.

Then at you.

“…Is that good?”

You launch yourself at him so hard he nearly falls out of his chair.

“YOU GOT ME THE SECRET ONE!”

Max is laughing now.

Actually laughing.

“Okay, okay!”

The video goes viral instantly.

Fans love it.

The comments are full of:

“Max pretending not to care but getting the rare one is sibling magic.”

“George did RESEARCH.”

“Oscar picking the one that looked exactly like him is so on brand.”

“Charles choosing based on vibes is killing me.”

And most importantly:

“Y/N Verstappen forcing the grid into her hyperfixation is the best thing to happen to Formula 1.”

By the end of the season, half the grid has accidentally gotten into Skull Pandas too.

Lando has three.

Oscar has one sitting on his desk.

Charles buys one whenever he sees them.

And Max?

Max still claims he doesn’t care.

But when you show up to the paddock one day missing a figure from your collection, he quietly hands you a small box.

Inside is the exact one you wanted.

You look up at him.

“You bought this?”

He shrugs.

“You were annoying about it.”

You grin.

“Love you too, Max.”

He rolls his eyes.

But he’s smiling.

End.

Max was the first one to call his little sister, demanding to know why she would write lyrics like this, why she would sing it.

"Did you fall on your head or something?" Max asked, pacing up and down the living room. Kelly, Penelope and Lily were all watching him from their position on the couch. "Do you need a therapist or something? If this is about money, then don't worry, I'll glady pay for your therapy. Even better, I will gladly pay you to take down this song."

But Yn couldn't care any less about therapy or Max money.

So when she arrived on Friday in yne paddock, she got exactly what she wanted.

Some of the fans near the entrance were already playing her song, cheering the moment they got sight of the Verstappen siblings. While Max wore a huge scowl, Yn’s smile couldn't have been any bigger.

Lando was the first one to see Yn. He was so mesmerised by her beauty and getting lost in his thoughts about the music video that he didn't even see the glass door in front of him. The loud crash that sounded because he walked into it left him bright red and embarrassed.

Carlos and Rebecca were much cooler than Lando. They complimented Yn and praised her to the moon and back. Rebecca was gushing about her beautiful looks in the video while Carlos was praising her singing.

Oscar was so sweet to get her a little golden microphone charm for her bracelet, saying, "It reminded me of you, and you obviously only deserve the best." Oscar certainly didn't mind all the cheek kisses he got from Yn. (The kisses made it very easy for Oscar to ignore the scowl Max was shooting him)

Lewis was everything but subtle. He posted a picture with Yn on his Instagram story, her newest song playing in the background. During all of his interviews, Lewis wasn't talking a bout the car. Instead he was talking about the talented Dutch woman and how grateful they all can be that she graces everyone with her presence in the paddock.

George, Kimi and Toto were caught on camera playing "Juno" in the Mercedes garage. Fans absolutely loved how Toto was voicing the lyrics quietly to himself or how George took Kimi by his hand, giving the Italian a little twirl.

Lily and Kika brought Yn the biggest bouquet ever in the RedBull garage. They were just so porihd of their babygirl to achieve number 1 in the charts. I mean, who wouldn't be proud to see the greatest, kindest, sweetest, prettiest girl in the world achieve all her dreams.

Yes, Yn certificate loved all the attention she received. And if it only drove Max more mad than he already was, it was certainly a huge plus for Yn.

                comments

user1 lecstappen > lestappen idc idc

user2 arthur and y/n dating when their older brothers were karting rivals is so endearing to me

youruser or you could just move to red bull 😁

arthur_leclerc never gonna happen, mon amour ❤️

user3 THIS IS HOW I FIND OUT THAT CHARLES AND MAX’S YOUNGER BROTHERS ARE DATING???

user4 they’re so cute oh my lord

youruser

liked by pepemarti, logansargeant, and 182,429 others

youruser mexico, you were a dream 💙

(ft my lovely + insufferable boyfriend)

tagged arthur_leclerc

                comments

user5 i am so soft for them omg 😭

user6 something about y/n winning his f2 race when max’s car is on a decline makes me sad :(

arthur_leclerc i am NOT insufferable!!!

youruser you spent an hour arguing with me over the pronunciation of stroopwafel this morning

arthur_leclerc you were saying it wrong!

youruser I’M LITERALLY DUTCH??????

user7 oh yeah i see why you guys like lecstappen now-

user8 i didn’t think it was possible for them to be more chaotic than lestappen but they’re so funny

arthur_leclerc

liked by christianmansell, olliebearman, and 281,470 others

arthur_leclerc autumn would be better with you x

tagged youruser

                comments

user9 no mention of charles being on the sprint podium in brazil ...

user10 right, but he talks about missing his “boyfriend” 🙄

user11 this is why you don’t get promoted to formula one, you’re dating a competitor

youruser how dare you look so Boyfriend when i’m not there to kiss you stupid :( 💙

arthur_leclerc *❤️ and you can kiss me when you get home

user12 genuinely how do they even think they’re good together ... they're always arguing in the comments

user13 it’s so cute how they always have a picture of the other in their posts

comments on this post have been limited.

youruser

liked by redbullracing, charles_leclerc, and 283,921 others

youruser qatar feature done + dusted, onto abu dhabi for the last round of the season and testing!

bonus: a throwback to my lovely bf and his okay brother in monaco

                comments

user14 it’s so obvious that max got all the talent ...

user15 the nerve of calling charles "okay" when he can’t even get into f1 🙄

arthur_leclerc always love seeing you on the top step of the podium, mon amour ❤️

youruser only a matter of time before you’re back there too 💙

user16 he’s so ungrateful, posting a f*rrari win when red bull are literally the only reason he has a seat

user17 all the people in the comments acting like you can win races with money and talent isn’t involved bffr

comments on this post have been limited.

redbullracing and scuderiaferrari

liked by lewishamilton, sebastianvettel, and 890,374 others

redbullracing and scuderiaferrari THAT’S OUR ROOKIES!!

Arthur Leclerc and Y/N Verstappen set the exact same fastest lap time in the first session of post-season testing here in Abu Dhabi! Also known as the first drivers to race against each other while dating, the boys have proved once and for all that they are more than just the younger brothers of F1 stars Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen.

We look forward to their continued development and can't wait to see the greatness they inevitably achieve 💙❤️

                comments

user18 we got a joint post between rbr and ferrari before gta6??

user19 congrats to the best boyfriends on the internet!

user20 glad to see their teams finally standing up for them ... even by formula one’s standards, the hate towards them was getting out of hand liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, and others

youruser younger, faster, ...

arthur_leclerc better 😉

user21 future WDCs 💪

user22 if they ever have kids ... imagine rocking up to a karting competition and seeing the name VERSTAPPEN-LECLERC 😭

user23 good for them

©koalapastries :: please do not copy or rewrite my work on any platform !!

author’s note: i kinda think this is cute but lemme know if you guys hate it lol

comments + reblogs appreciated !!

credits: pinterest for the photos !!

“Y/N.” Her voice is breaking in the middle. “Where are you?”

“Safe,” you say, which is not an address.

“You should have told me.”

“I’m telling you now.”

“You should have told us when you first realized.”

“I know.”

Silence.

“I love you,” she says. “I'm coming. And I'm bringing Max.”

“No—”

The call ends.

You sit down on the couch, dropping your phone next to you. Your head in your hands, as you anxiously wait for your siblings to get to the flat. You don't even know how they know where you are. Then you remember who Max is, and you get it.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rings.

You freeze.

Kat checks the monitor, confers with a second bodyguard you learned to call by his last name because he insists. Two minutes stretch like chewing gum. Safewords you practiced and memorized are said.

The door opens. Max fills it.

He is taller than fear and exactly as angry.

For a long second, nobody breathes.

Then everything happens at once: Max moving like he’s overtaking, straight for you; you step back because impact, and then impact happens anyway because he’s hugging you.

He’s crushing your shoulders, hands on your cheeks, like he's checking for injuries. He drops his forehead to yours like he used to when you were eight and sobbing into his karting gloves because the kids made fun of your Dutch and your legs were too short for the pedals.

“You should have told me,” he says, voice raw wood.

“You weren’t supposed to know,” you answer, somewhere between apology and appeal. “He said—”

“I don’t care what he said,” Max snarls. “I care what happens to you. Why didn’t I know? Why didn’t I know?”

“Because you would have done something stupid,” you say, and you hate the way your voice goes small.

“I will,” he says, and he's being completely serious.

Victoria is there by the time you register anything else, pushing Max, hands cupping your face, eyes scanning you like you’re an antique piece. You let her. You let them both.

“Media will ask,” Victoria says, and you flinch like a light.

“They can ask me,” Max says. “They can ask me and I will tell them to go—”

“Max,” Victoria sighs.

“—to go mind their own business,” he saves himself.

You swallow. “There are protective orders.”

“We’ll work with them,” says a new voice, and you realize Red Bull’s head of security is in your hallway talking to Kat like they belong to the same company.

“Stay with me,” Max says. “You’re not going back to the student flat.”

“I have classes.”

“You’ll have a classroom and a professor and an entire internet connection wherever I put you. You won't move without security. You won't walk alone. If anyone breathes near you, I will break their necks.”

“You can’t… you can’t fix this with containing me.”

“Watch me,” he says.

It’s not reasonable. It’s not rational.

It’s love.

You laugh, then cry, then laugh while crying because you have always been both of those things and you refuse to be anything less even now.

“I hate you,” you mutter into his chest, arms wrapped around his torso, hands gripping his shirt.

“Good,” he says into your hair. “Hate me where I can see it.”

TWITTER + INSTAGRAM

In the days that follow, Max turns himself into a version of him you’ve never seen: not the hammer of a front-runner, but a wall. He skips optional media. He does the mandatory parts with a jaw like stone. He says “no comment” with such force it sounds like a threat to the punctuation.

He calls your professors. Not personally—he is not insane—but through channels that make your email ping with subject: ACCOMMODATIONS.

He relocates you temporarily to a apartment building he trusts two levels deeper than your safe flat and hands you a keycard like you were fifteen again and he was saving for a second-hand scooter but still bought you a helmet before he got it.

You fight him on principle. He lets you win small skirmishes—what hoodie you wear, which tea tastes least like depression—but not the war: the car, the routes, the shadow at your elbow that is Kat or someone trying to be Kat when Kat sleeps.

Victoria is the buffer. She brings lasagna and nail polish and a baby who sleeps like a log. She mediates when you and Max spit old habits.

“You’re suffocating me,” you say once, hot and mean.

“I’m keeping you breathing,” he snaps back, hotter, meaner, guilty, right.

You hate it. You love him. Both are true. You’re nineteen, and sometimes you want to stand in a parking lot at midnight and scream wordlessly until your lungs turn inside out. Sometimes you just want to finish a problem set without remembering the shape of a man’s shadow across your favorite café.

You attend one race while the order is fresh and the security plan is fireproof. You sit in Red Bull for the first time in months because Max’s gaze is a magnet and also because you are tired of punishing yourself for someone else’s obsession.

The paddock goes quiet like a crowd that just realized the concert started. Cameras swing. Mouths open; PR hands rise. You square your shoulders and tuck your badge where it shows.

Yuki appears with a pastry box. “I brought donuts,” he says. “For nerves.”

“How?”

“Well,” he says seriously. “You will be too busy chewing to be anxious.”

Charles wanders by and squeezes your wrist. Lando salutes with a bottle of water like it’s champagne and says nothing for once. Lewis gives you a nod that feels like permission to exist. Carlos says something in Spanish that you’ll ask him to translate later and it will be an old proverb about wolves.

Ollie and Kimi jump at the chance to hug you. they fly off you when you flinch, clearly forgetting you weren't in the right state of mind yet. They don't leave your side until their teams call them back.

Max doesn’t smile when he sees you because you’re both too close to the edge, but his eyes go soft and dangerous, and you feel more seen than any camera could offer.

He stands so you can steal his chair. You put your feet up on the table like a child. You heckle his engineer in Dutch.

He glances back at you before getting in the car, a split second of brother, and for once you don’t say anything combative. You just lift your chin.

Drive.

He does.

You clap when he nails a sector and you mutter rude encouragement when he misses one—the kind you used to mutter through bathroom doors before exams.

TWITTER

Between sessions, you step outside with Kat, let your face warm to daylight. You do the one thing your therapist (you have one now, apparently) told you to practice: find five things you can anchor to where you are.

Oil on rainbows in a puddle.

A mechanic’s laugh five pitches higher than you’d expect.

The smell of rubber layered with coffee and sunscreen.

Max’s helmet on a bench, white and blue, uncharacteristically still.

Your own pulse where it belongs.

You think about the threats you didn’t repeat to your family because they were surgical: "I will end your brother's career." "I will 'misplace' your sister's baby."

You were wrong to keep it alone. You know that now.

When you step back into the motorhome, Max is mid-brief and mid-glare, and it softens when he clocks you. Tiny things. A weight you can’t see, lifted.

After the race—he wins, because of course he does–you wait by an internal door. He peels off sweat and speed and steps into the slice of space like he knows you’ll be there.

“You’re okay?” he asks, and it’s not rhetorical.

“Better,” you say, and it’s not a performance.

He nods. Then, softer, “You don’t have to be brave with me.”

“I’m not.” You grin despite yourself. “I’m being ridiculous and gorgeous.”

“That,” he says, with a rolling eye that can’t hide pride, “you always are.”

You bump shoulders on purpose and he doesn’t pull away.

In the weeks after, your life tilts into a new axis.

The stalker becomes a case file and then a sentencing hearing that you don’t need to attend but do anyway, because the detective says sometimes looking at a thing is stronger than remembering its outline.

You hold Victoria’s hand so tight you both come away with fingerprints in your palms.

The courtroom smells like dust and disinfectant. The words “no contact” and “time served” and “extended order” hang like flags in air that isn’t yours.

The internet does what it does: half kindness, half hazard. You curate ruthlessly. You block like a sport. You read messages from girls who didn’t have brothers who could rearrange the solar system and you try to write back what you wish someone had written you six months ago: It isn’t your fault. It isn’t your job to be quiet to keep other people safe. Tell someone. Tell everyone. Scream it if you can.

Max never says sorry for being furious. He says sorry for not seeing it. You tell him there was nothing to see. He says he should have looked harder. You tell him there’s a difference between attentiveness and knowing; he tells you he doesn’t recognize that difference when it comes to you.

You still fight. You fight over music volume and where to put the knives in the dishwasher and why you insist on wearing boots with no grip. You fight because you’re siblings, and because normal is a thing you are rebuilding.

You also learn truce.

On your first day back at university in person, he drives you early and parks three streets away so nobody thinks you are royalty. He walks you to the door with a cap low and a hoodie and tries not to look like a bodyguard. He fails. You kiss his cheek because he hates it in public. He scowls, embarrassed, happy.

“Text me when you’re done,” he says.

“I’ll FaceTime the entire lecture,” you retort.

“Please don’t,” he says, horrified.

“Relax. I’ll actually be calling Ollie and Kimi.”

“Those children do not need your sense of humor,” he says, resigned.

“Too late,” you grin.

He lets you go. You turn back twice, the way you did when you were five and he was walking you into kindergarten and the teacher had a smile like a held breath. He’s still there both times.

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@.yourusername

liked by, maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, and others

yourusername, rebuilding / rereading / rerouting. thank you to everyone who held me up. no bad guys in my comments or i release yuki.

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maxverstappen1, why the baby picture? — yourusername, because i found it in my camera roll?

olliebearman, finally included in a verstappen dump?? is this what its feel like to be famous??? — yourusername, literally shut up

victoriaverstappen, Proud 🥹 ♥︎ by creator

kimiantonelli, me and ollie look so cute — yourusername, sure you do, duck lips — kimiantonelli, is that supposed to be hurtful?

lewishamilton, Keep going, queen. — yourusername, i see your using the lingo i taught you

charles_leclerc, Where is my cookie? — lando, she ate it. i saw. i watched it happen in slow motion. — yourusername, snitching for what??? — lando, for the clapped pic of me

carlossainz55, I dont remember you taking that picture... — yourusername, yes, well, call me a stalker 😝 — carlossainz55, Y/N... — yourusername, too soon..?

fan5, THE PICTURE OF MAX AND Y/N HUGGING 🥹🥹

alex_albon, Please stop threatening to release Yuki. — fan1, honestly if i had a yuki i would threaten to release him too — yourusername, see @.fan1 agrees with me. — yukitsunoda0511, i am patiently waiting 👍

fan2, im so happy seeing Y/N so happy again — fan3, OUR QUEEN IN BACK YIPPEEE

fan4, The paddock is a family. It’s messy, loud, and imperfect... but it cares. 💙 ♥︎ by creator

The air in Zandvoort tastes like salt and orange smoke. The sea presses its body along the dunes and in the stands they chant as if singing can hold a car on the line. You’ve avoided a public return to this one because it’s too obvious, to you, to him—but then you catch yourself scoffing at the idea of hiding, and you decide you’re done with that.

Security is a dance you now know in your sleep. You do it without thinking: badge, route, back corridor that smells like condensation and body heat, Kat on one side, a new shadow on the other.

You feel safe.

Not invincible, not imaginary, just safe.

Max finds you before you find him. Of course he does. He holds out a pair of earplugs like a joke, and you take them like a ritual. He taps your jaw with a knuckle the way he does before you do something that scares you—a carryover from childhood bike ramps and swimming pools and, once, your first day of uni.

“You’re staying in here,” he says, meaning the garage, meaning “where I can see you,” meaning “I need to look up and know the world is in the right shape.”

“I’ll wander later just to spite you,” you say.

He half-smiles—small, real. “I’ll allow a lap.”

“Of the track?” you tease.

“Absolutely not,” he deadpans.

You look at him a long second. “Hey.”

“What.”

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what.”

“For being the wall.”

He inhales like he might argue. He doesn’t. He just nods, slow, like downshifting into a curve you both know.

You watch lights blink out and think of all the things you didn’t say, and of the things you finally did. You think of donut sugar on your tongue and courtrooms and tiny hands grabbing your finger and karts and plastic boats and thunder. You think of a rumor with a lanyard and a brother with a terrifying love.

The lights go out. The sea holds its breath. Max launches. The world, for a few minutes, is only speed and the knowledge that someone will always fight you in the hallway because they want you alive in it.

You lean back in the chair he gave up. Your badge is visible. Your fist is curled under your chin, soft as a promise.

[First name] Emilian Verstappen is Max Emilian Verstappen’s only child. Perhaps that’s too early to say with such finality, but that’s the reality they’re living in—and thus shall be the truth he wholeheartedly embraces.

Being an only child doesn’t come with a built-in playmate like twins do, or the constant companionship that comes with having a sibling. Max, being the oldest of two for far longer than he could actually remember, didn’t fully grasp the striking difference a sibling makes until his little [First name] reached her current age.

"Wat gaan we vandaag spelen?" ["What are we going to play today?"] As a father who's rarely home because of work, he's keenly aware he could just let the other children at daycare and her cousins develop her cooperative play skills. However, he also knows she’s not someone else’s responsibility—especially during the precious moments he is actually home.

Thus, there he is now: at the mercy of his four-year-old hours before his scheduled team meeting. "Papa, zit." ["Papa, sit."]

He obliges, sitting on the floor spot she pointed at. Despite not being home as often as he’d like to care for [First name], he still has the fatherly instincts to anticipate and assist. "Zullen we de tafel erbij pakken voor het theekransje?" ["Shall we get the table for the tea party?"]

Unfortunately, it seems he guessed their upcoming game wrong. "Nee, geen theekransje." ["No, no tea party."] His daughter shakes her head in denial. "Papa makeup!"

Max’s shock keeps him appropriately silent. He eyes the makeup toy set he distinctly remembers being wrapped in colorful gift wrap with Daniel’s name on it. He especially remembers the proud advertisement on its box about glitter.

Because, of course, only someone who's never had to clean glitter would gift a kid glitter. Checo, a true veteran of fatherhood, would most definitely never.

"Ga jij Papa mooi maken?" ["Are you going to make Papa pretty?"] He finally reacts verbally when his four-year-old settles comfortably on his lap. Despite his reservations, he makes no move to deter her from her mission. Rather, he tenderly keeps her in place.

"Ja! Net als een prinses!" ["Yes! Like a princess!"]

After all, he has every intention of embracing everything that comes with having a daughter.

Max enters the Red Bull meeting room with the poise of someone who missed their alarm and scrambled to make to their commitment on time. There’s little relief in witnessing people enter after him, as he sits down in the chair behind the plaque with his name.

"You look shiny today," Yuki comments, amusement obviously dancing in his eyes.

He acknowledges the compliment with a couple words of gratitude. "[First name] wanted to make me pretty, so," he punctuates his response with a shrug.

His teammate nods sagely, "[First name] did a great job."

Max relaxes even more into his chair. He had half-anticipated for everyone to be displeased with his makeover and give him a word or two about how he represents the team. Thankfully, their relative silence suggests otherwise—as he isn’t really in the mood to argue why he won’t erase his daughter’s handiwork in the name of ‘image.’

Besides Max arriving a little later than usual, the wait before the start of the team meeting proceeds like it always does. Some take note of his unusual look like Yuki did, but no one says anything with a negative undertone. PR even makes a video draft in good fun.

That is, until their boss appears by the door. "Why is there glitter everywhere?" They all watch as Christian walks in, finally completing their ensemble, and looks down at his hands. "Now, it’s on my hands."

No one answers, but all their attention gravitates towards Max. In another life, he might’ve felt a slight betrayal for everyone wordlessly selling him out. But, alas, the glitter clinging on his skin is doing all the work for them.

He owns sparkling under the fluorescent lights like a vampire from a cringy rom-fantasy movie with his head held high. He gives the fact that glitter is unknowingly falling off of him—coating whatever surface he walks on and touches mercilessly—no moment of thought.

"Alright, new rule: No glitter in the office. Or anywhere. Make sure everyone knows." Christian announces as he sits down in his chair at the head of long table. His visible irritation at the glitter on him manages to keep his attention off of Max—until he finally looks up. "Max! You’re the culprit!"

Max’s instinct is to correct; to point out that it’s technically [First name]. However, he doesn’t act accordingly. "I suppose so."

His boss seemingly takes in the nonchalance in his demeanor—scrutinizing him, almost. He doesn’t flinch. "I stand by my statement."

He almost laughs. It isn’t like he’ll let anyone tell him what to do. (Nor will [First name].) "I make no promises to abide."

Max really had no intention of showing up at the paddock like a low-budget copy of Edward Cullen, shimmering with glitter under the sun. Unfortunately, [First name] had other plans—and he isn’t really one to deprive his daughter of anything.

To top it off, [First name] just had to declare Daniel’s gift her favorite toy ever, despite the tens of other toys scattered around their home that he had given her. It was a serious blow to Max’s ego, fueling his fiery competitive spirit.

He countered by gifting [First name] a very glittery stationery set, complete with fifty glitter-inked pens and overly shimmery stickers.

Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he partnered it with customized Red Bull gear with their surname and his racing number all coated in glitter.

They were an instant hit.

"Oom Cha!" ["Uncle Cha!"] [First name] exclaims as soon as she spots Charles five feet away from where they had stopped. She quickly abandons him and her quest to retrieve the gifts for her paddock uncles and aunts from her backpack in favor of running towards her uncle.

The Ferrari driver catches her with no problem, even when she comes barreling at him like a bull. "There you are, little glitter princess! Came to support your Papa?"

"Uh-huh!" He hears his daughter reply proudly as he walks closer, her small backpack now on his shoulder. "Papa is the bestest! He gaved me glitter! See?"

Max has to hold back a laugh. Of course, he’s only the "bestest" in his toddler’s eyes because he gave her glittery things—not because he’s a four-time World Champion or anything.

"Very pretty," Charles comments on the matching glittery Red Bull cap and shirt that completed her outfit. "Very fitting for a glitter princess." She beams at that, satisfied.

Max chooses that second—after exchanging a quick nod of acknowledgment with his fellow driver—to remind [First name] of her gifts, before she completely forgets and talks Charles’ ears off about something else. "[Nickname], you wanna give your gift to Uncle Cha?"

"Oh! Ja!" ["Yes!"] [First name]’s reaction alone tells him he has made the right call to remind her. She immediately holds out her hand, "Papa, Oom Cha's cadeautje, alsjeblieft?" ["Papa, Uncle Cha’s gift, please?"]

He catches some of the excess glitter falling on the pavement as he hands the gift over. Belatedly, he realizes his daughter’s gifts will be the main reason glitter won’t just stay as a Red Bull issue—but the rest of the paddock’s as well.

"A gift?" Starting with Ferrari, it seems like, considering the amount that had just fallen onto Charles’ clothes. "For me?"

Maybe that’ll finally stop Christian from reminding him about the glitter ban he has been purposely ignoring this entire time.

"Uh-huh! I made one for Oom Lew, too! And Oom Yuki! And Oom Lala—"

Suffice to say, the paddock is a whole lot shinier by the time the weekend ends—and [First name] Verstappen can’t be more ecstatic.