Jas

The apartment was quieter than usual.

Not peaceful quiet, heavy quiet.

The kind that sat in the corners of the room and pressed against the walls.

Lando Norris dropped his keys onto the counter without saying much, shoulders tense beneath his hoodie. No sarcastic comment. No teasing grin. Not even the exhausted half-smile he usually managed after rough weekends.

Just silence.

You looked up from the couch immediately.

“Hey,” you said softly.

“Hey.”

One word. Flat. That was enough.

The last few races had been brutal. Bad qualifying. Strategy mistakes. Near misses. Headlines picking him apart, fans arguing online, interviews where he kept forcing jokes that never quite reached his eyes.

He’d brushed it off every time.

“I’m fine.”

“Just frustrating.”

“Next race.”

But tonight, he looked tired in a way sleep wouldn’t fix.

You stood and walked over slowly, giving him room to step away if he wanted.

“Do you want food?” you asked. “Or quiet? Or… do you want to be annoyed at the world for a bit?”

A tiny huff of laughter escaped him, but it disappeared quickly.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m just so tired of messing things up.”

Your chest tightened.

“Lan…”

“I know everyone says it’s not all my fault,” he continued quietly, staring at the floor. “But when it keeps happening, you start wondering if maybe you’re just—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “I should be doing better.”

You stepped closer. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, he did.

“You care more than anyone,” you said. “That’s why this hurts.”

His expression cracked slightly.

“But one bad stretch doesn’t suddenly erase who you are,” you continued. “You’re still ridiculously talented. Still hardworking. Still the same person who gets back in the car every single weekend and tries again.”

He looked unconvinced.

You reached for his hands. “And for the record? I hate seeing you talk about yourself like you’re only worth the result on a screen.”

His eyes flickered to yours.

“You’re allowed to be disappointed,” you said softly. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t suck. But you also don’t have to carry all of it by yourself.”

For a second, neither of you said anything. Then his shoulders dropped.

Barely. Like he’d finally stopped holding his breath.

“I just…” He swallowed. “Feels like I keep letting people down.”

“You’re not.”

A pause.

“And even if the whole world decided to be dramatic about racing for five minutes,” you added gently, “I’m still here. Bad races, good races, terrible interviews, grumpy moods all of it.”

That finally pulled a real laugh out of him.

“Grumpy moods?” he repeated.

“You’re unbelievably moody after bad Sundays.”

“Oh, wow.”

“It’s brave of me to tell you, honestly.”

He rolled his eyes, but he stepped closer anyway.

Then, quietly. “Can I just… stay here for a bit?”

You wrapped your arms around him before he even finished the sentence.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Course you can.”

For the first time all weekend, he let himself stop pretending he was okay.

And standing in your arms, forehead pressed against your shoulder, the noise of bad races, criticism, and expectations finally went quiet for a minute.

Because here, he didn’t have to fix anything.

You’d never forget the sound she made when she was placed on your chest — a tiny, startled cry that cracked something open inside you. Hours later, the hospital room was dim, quiet, and warm, and your daughter slept curled against your chest like she’d always belonged there.

Lando hadn’t stopped staring.

He sat sideways in the uncomfortable hospital chair, one knee pulled up, his chin resting on it as he watched the two of you with a softness you’d never seen on him before. His curls were a mess, his hoodie was creased, and his eyes were red from crying — but he looked like the happiest man alive.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered, brushing your thumb over the baby’s cheek.

He didn’t even pretend to deny it.

“I’m obsessed,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. “I can’t believe she’s ours.”

You shifted slightly, wincing, and instantly he was on his feet, hands hovering but gentle.

“Hey, hey — careful. Do you need anything? Water? The nurse? A different pillow?”

You laughed softly. “Lan, I just moved.”

“Yeah, well, you just gave birth to a whole human,” he said, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “I’m allowed to be dramatic.”

He slid onto the bed beside you, careful not to jostle the baby. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. You felt his breath catch when your daughter made a tiny noise in her sleep.

“She’s so small,” he whispered. “How is she so small?”

You smiled. “She’s perfect.”

He nodded, eyes shining. “She looks like you.”

“She looks like a potato.”

“A beautiful potato,” he corrected, dead serious.

---

The First Night

It was nearly 3 a.m. when she woke up properly for the first time — a soft, confused cry that made your heart lurch. You tried to sit up, but Lando was already there, scooping her up with the gentlest hands you’d ever seen on him.

“Hey, baby girl,” he whispered, rocking her slowly. “It’s okay. Daddy’s here.”

Daddy.

You felt your chest tighten.

He paced the room, humming something under his breath — not a lullaby, just whatever tune came to him. She quieted almost instantly, her tiny fist curling around the fabric of his hoodie.

“You’re good at that,” you murmured.

He glanced back at you, eyes warm. “I’ve been practicing on Rio.”

You snorted. “Our daughter is not a dog.”

“Yeah, but the rocking works on both.”

He brought her back to you, settling her into your arms with a tenderness that made your throat ache. He adjusted your pillows, your blanket, your hair — fussing in that way he always did when he was overwhelmed with love.

When she latched, he froze, eyes going wide.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “She’s actually… doing it.”

You laughed quietly. “That’s kind of the point.”

He sat beside you, head resting on your shoulder, watching like it was the most magical thing he’d ever seen.

“I’m so proud of you,” he murmured. “Both of you.”

---

Going Home

The car seat installation took him forty minutes and three YouTube videos.

You stood by the door, baby in your arms, watching him mutter to himself.

“It shouldn’t be this complicated,” he grumbled. “It’s a seat. For a baby. Why does it have seventeen straps?”

You bit back a smile. “Do you want help?”

“No,” he said immediately. “I’m her dad. I can do this.”

He did, eventually — and when he clicked the seat into place, he looked like he’d won a championship.

At home, everything felt new. Too quiet. Too big. Too real.

Lando carried the car seat inside like it was made of glass, setting it gently on the sofa before crouching down in front of it.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Welcome home.”

You watched him unbuckle her slowly, carefully, like he was defusing a bomb. When he lifted her out, she blinked up at him, and he melted all over again.

“She knows me,” he said, awestruck.

“She’s two days old.”

“She knows me,” he repeated, more certain.

---

The First Morning

You woke to the sound of soft shushing and the faintest squeak of a rocking chair.

Lando sat shirtless, hair messy, eyes tired but glowing. Your daughter was curled against his bare chest, tiny ear pressed over his heartbeat.

“She wouldn’t settle,” he whispered. “So I did skin-to-skin like the nurse said.”

You leaned against the doorway, heart full.

“How long have you been up?”

He shrugged. “Couple hours. She likes listening to my heartbeat. And I like… this.”

He looked down at her, brushing a finger over her cheek.

“I didn’t know I could love someone this much,” he said quietly. “Both of you.”

You crossed the room, sliding into his lap carefully. He shifted her so she rested between you, your head on his shoulder, his arm around your waist.

The three of you fit together like you’d always been meant to.

---

Later That Day

You were half-asleep on the sofa when you heard him whispering again.

He was lying beside the baby on the play mat, propped up on his elbows.

“Okay, so listen,” he told her seriously. “You can be anything you want. A driver, a singer, a scientist, a baker — whatever. But you’re not allowed to date until you’re thirty.”

You snorted. “Thirty?”

He looked over his shoulder. “Fine. Twenty-eight.”

“She’s two days old.”

“Exactly. Gotta set boundaries early.”

You crawled onto the floor beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. He kissed your temple, then kissed the baby’s forehead.

“I love our little family,” he whispered.

You smiled, eyes soft. “Me too.”

He intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing gently.

“We’re gonna be good at this,” he said. “I know we are.”

And with your daughter between you, tiny and perfect and loved beyond measure, you believed him completely.

ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ - ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ.

-------------------------------------------------------

Y/N had always been the person who noticed things. Maybe it was the job—she was a content creator for the McLaren F1 team, the one behind the cameras, the one who made the behind-the-scenes videos and social posts that turned chaos into something clean and polished. She saw the details no one else looked for. The way Lando’s shoulder twitched when he was nervous. The fake smile he gave the press. The little clues that told her something was off before anyone else even knew.

So when Lando tried to prank her, she always figured it out first.

It started with a mysterious black box on her desk. No label, no note, just a small thing that looked like it could be anything. Y/N didn’t even look at it twice. She just picked it up and held it to her ear.

“Is this a bomb?” she asked, holding it out to him.

Lando, who had been standing behind her with the kind of grin that said he was proud of himself, deflated.

“It’s not a bomb,” he said. “It’s a—”

“Toy snake?”

He blinked. “You opened it?”

“I saw the string. You left the string.”

He groaned. “I spent twenty minutes on that.”

Y/N laughed. “You’re getting worse.”

The next time, he tried a fake “urgent meeting” invite. He sent it to her calendar with a subject line that said Top Secret – McLaren Only. Y/N didn’t even open it. She just looked at him across the briefing room and said, “You used the wrong font.”

Lando looked at the screen, then back at her. “You’re not even supposed to notice that.”

“I notice everything.”

He couldn’t even argue with her. Because she did.

The week after, he tried a mysterious note tucked into her laptop case. It said: Open this when you’re alone. Do not tell anyone.

Y/N opened it right in front of him.

Inside was a single sticker of a cartoon duck.

Lando looked at her. “Okay, I see how it is.”

She laughed. “You’re trying too hard.”

“I’m not trying too hard. I’m just trying.”

“Yeah,” she said. “You’re trying...”

And every time he failed, he started bringing her something small the next day. A coffee. A chocolate. A stupid little keychain that said McLaren in glitter.

She started leaving notes for him too. Not the kind that said thank you. The kind that said: You’re getting worse. Or Still not funny. Or Try something else.

He’d read them and smile.

And somehow, between the failed pranks and the teasing notes, something started to change.

It wasn’t a big thing. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just… easier. Like the space between them was getting closer without them even realizing.

Lando started showing up at her desk more often. Not to prank her. Just to talk. To ask her about the videos. To ask her what she thought about something. To sit with her while she worked.

Y/N started noticing the way he looked at her when he wasn’t trying to be funny. The way he waited for her to finish before he spoke. The way he made sure she had coffee before he even thought about his own.

She made sure he had a place to rest when the weeks got long.

Sunday came—the last race of the weekend, the one that always left the team exhausted. Y/N was out in the paddock, camera in hand, filming the final wrap-up. She was moving between the garage and the media center, trying to catch the last shots before everything shut down.

And then she saw him.

Lando was near the corner of the garage, half-hidden behind a stack of equipment, trying to set something up. He looked like he was rushing, like he was trying to be quick about it.

Y/N didn’t say anything. She just walked over quietly, camera still in her hand, and watched him for a second.

He was taping something to the wall—a small box, the same kind from the first prank. He was leaning in, trying to get it to stick, and he hadn’t noticed her yet.

She stepped closer.

“Lando,” she said.

He froze.

He turned, and when he saw her, his face dropped.

“Y/N,” he said. “You—”

“You’re trying again.”

He looked at the box, then back at her. “maybe.....?”

She didn’t laugh. She just walked over to him, close enough that he could see her properly.

“Try this instead,” she said.

And she kissed him.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. It was just quiet, like the rest of Sunday night.

Lando kissed her back like he was finally letting himself rest.

When they pulled away, he looked at her like he was still trying to figure out what had just happened.

___________________________________________

y/n had gotten good at hiding it.

it started with deleting comments before she could read them twice. then muting words. then avoiding her own tags altogether.

some days it was easy to laugh off.

other days, not so much.

being the girlfriend of an f1 driver came with attention. she knew that. what she hadn't expected was how cruel some people could be.

she's using him.

she doesn't deserve him.

why is oscar even with her?

every comment felt like a tiny paper cut. harmless on its own. painful when there were hundreds.

but she never told oscar.

he already carried enough.

race weekends. media obligations. endless travel. expectations from everyone around him.

the last thing she wanted was for him to worry about her too.

so she smiled.

she locked her phone whenever he walked into the room.

and every time he asked if she was okay, she said yes.

because that's what people did when they didn't want to be a burden.

right?

except oscar knew her far too well.

he noticed the little things.

the way her smile disappeared whenever a notification popped up.

the hesitation before she handed him her phone to show him a photo.

the way her shoulders tensed whenever she opened social media.

he noticed all of it.

and one evening, after a long race weekend, he finally saw why.

they were curled up together in their hotel room.

the television was on low volume, neither of them really watching it.

y/n sat beside him scrolling through her phone.

then another comment appeared.

and another.

and another.

oscar glanced over.

he saw her expression change instantly.

the tiny flicker of hurt she tried so hard to hide.

before she could lock her screen, he gently reached for her phone.

"osc—"

his eyes scanned the comments.

the insults.

the assumptions.

the endless stream of strangers deciding they knew everything about her.

for a moment, the room was completely silent.

y/n's stomach twisted.

she hated this.

she hated that he'd seen it.

hated that now he'd worry.

"it's fine," she whispered quickly. "i usually just delete them."

oscar looked up.

his expression wasn't angry.

wasn't frustrated.

wasn't disappointed.

if anything, he just looked sad.

sad that she'd been carrying all of it alone.

without a word, he set her phone aside.

then he opened his arms.

y/n's composure shattered immediately.

she melted against him, burying her face in his chest.

one of his hands moved to the back of her head while the other wrapped securely around her waist.

holding her like he never intended to let go.

"why didn't you tell me?" he asked quietly.

she swallowed.

"because you have enough to deal with."

his arms tightened.

"you know that's not how this works, right?"

she laughed weakly through the tears threatening to fall.

"apparently not."

oscar pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"you don't have to protect me from everything."

the room grew quiet again.

only this time it felt softer.

safer.

he tilted her chin up gently.

"look at me."

she did.

and immediately wished she hadn't because his eyes were so sincere it almost hurt.

"those comments don't define you."

her throat tightened.

"they don't know you."

another kiss against her forehead.

"i do."

her eyes watered.

"and i'm proud of you."

the words hit harder than any hateful comment ever could.

because he meant them.

every single one.

"you're kind," he continued softly.

"you're patient. you're stronger than you think you are. and you're the person i want beside me through all of this."

a tear slipped down her cheek.

oscar brushed it away instantly.

"so next time something like this happens?"

she nodded.

"you tell me."

a small smile finally appeared.

"okay."

"okay?"

"okay."

he grinned.

"good."

then he pulled her back into his arms.

and for the first time in months, the comments felt quieter.

they were still there.

they probably always would be.

but wrapped safely against oscar's chest, listening to his heartbeat beneath her ear, they suddenly didn't seem nearly as important as the person holding her.

and that was enough.

___________________________________________

You frown, sitting up just in time to see him standing beside your chair, an evil grin across his face.

“Mack, no.”

“Oh yes.”

And before you can react, he runs both hands through his soaking wet hair, and starts shaking off like a dog. Water droplets fly everywhere.

“MACKLIN!” You shriek.

He doubles over, laughing.

“Sorry.” He mutters out between cackling.

“No you’re not!”

“You’re right. I’m really not.”

You grab the nearest pool noodle and smack his leg. Macklin yelps dramatically, collapsing on the pool deck.

“You’re assaulting me!”

“You deserve it.”

He gasps, clutching his chest with horrible acting. He’s still laughing though as he gets back to his feet.

“Come swim with me.” He pleads.

“I’m tanning.”

“Come onnnn. You know you want to.”

“I really don’t. The waters’ not even warm enough yet.” You reason.

Mack grabs your wrist gently, tugging slightly. “C’mon. Please?” He flashes the most obnoxiously charming smile, the one he knows will work on you. You sigh, letting him pull you to your feet.

A few minutes later you’re floating in the water while Macklin swims around.

“You’re gonna sleep good tonight.” You joke, turning your head slightly to follow him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re gonna wear yourself out.”

“Impossible.”

You laugh, watching as Mack dives under the water. You lose sight of him for a moment and then you feel hands wrap around your ankles and tug. Not enough to pull you under, but you still hold your breath as you try to kick free.

A second later. Macklin resurfaces, laughing so hard he can barely tread water.

“Oh my god, your face!”

You splash a wave of water at him. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“I’m going inside.”

“No.”

Before you can make good on your threat, he wraps you in his arms and pulls you into his chest. Water drips from his hair onto your shoulders as he laughs.

“You love me.” He says, tone sweet.

“Debatable.”

Mack hums at that. Then he dunks himself underwater, dragging you down with him. You come back up sputtering.

“MACKLIN!”

He's practically choking on laughter now.

“You started it!”

“I didn’t start shit!”

“You splashed me!”

“You’re trying to drown me!”

You stare at him and he stares right back. Then you're both laughing.

Eventually the two of you climb out of the pool and collapse onto the lounge chairs side by side. The cushions are warm from baking in the afternoon sun, and you can feel the water evaporating from your skin immediately.

For a while neither of you say much, the only sounds are the occasional rustle of leaves and the gentle slosh of pool water against the edge.

You turn your head toward Macklin. His eyes are closed, face tilted toward the sun. The freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose are darker than they were this morning, standing out against skin that's already starting to turn pink despite the amount of sunscreen you'd forced him to wear.

You smile to yourself, carefully reaching over to ghost your fingertip across the bridge of his nose. His face scrunches up instantly.

“Hey. Why are you touching my face?”

“Because you're cute.”

One green eye cracks open, squinting at you, and you laugh.

“You excited for next season?” You ask after a moment.

“I am.” He says, a small smile crossing his face. He’s always so humble about the way he mentions hockey. “I just want to be better than last year.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. “Ah, yes. You need to break all the records you just set, right?”

He shakes his head laughing slightly, and you can still see the blush creep across his face even through the sunburn.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

“I just feel like there’s always things to improve on.”

You nod thoughtfully. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing okay.”

He turns to look at you. “Only okay?”

“I wouldn’t push it.”

He laughs again.

Eventually a comfortable silence settles between you two. He reaches over blindly and bumping your hand with his, then lacing his fingers with yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

That’s how you ended up being forced out of bed and getting ready while your friend went through your suitcase.

“Good damn it, this is so boring. You only packed work clothes. Nothing hot but don’t worry, I got you.”

She left the hotel room and returned almost thirty minutes later with a short skirt and a top while you were doing your makeup.

“Isn’t this too short?” you asked, tugging at the hem.

“Babe, a skirt can never be too short. You have nice legs, why not show them? This is hot girl summer.”

She bounced around you excitedly while you sighed, knowing you wouldn’t win this fight. Still… it was better than crying alone over someone who clearly didn’t give a fuck about you.

You barely remembered the last real party you’d been to. Your friend shoved a drink in your hand and pulled you onto the dance floor. A few songs and one strong cocktail later, the alcohol started working. The tension in your chest finally loosened, and you were actually having fun.

“Don’t turn around,” your friend whispered, “but someone has his eyes on you.”

Of course you turned. Your gaze locked with Lando Norris. He was staring right at you, that signature smirk already in place.

“Girl, I said don’t turn around!”

“Sorry…”

“He’s been watching you all night. This is your revenge moment. Wasn’t Lando your ex’s favorite driver? He fucks your cousin, you fuck his idol. I’m a genius.”

“No, that’s completely unprofessional,” you hissed. “I work with him. How am I supposed to act normal in the paddock after that?”

“You’re not at work now, he won’t mind I’m sure. And it looks like he’s back in his party boy / fuck boy era. You can have fun at least one night? And make your ex fuming? That’s the best combination.”

You thought about it. It was a bad idea and a good idea at the same time. Rational speaking, it was a pretty bad idea to do that with someone you had to work with, you would never escape him. It wasn’t like hooking up with a stranger you’d never see again. But on the other side, you wanted revenge. Your ex was the biggest Lando fan.

“Okay, what do I do to get his attention?”

“Nothing,” your friend grinned. “He’s already coming over.”

“What?! No...wait, don’t leave me alone!” you shouted as she vanished into the crowd.

“Have fun!” she called back.

Now what the hell do you even do?

You weren’t good at flirting anymore after seven years in a relationship. You stood awkwardly until you felt a warm presence behind you.

“Unexpected to see you here, Ms. Journalist.”

You turned. Lando was right there, cocky grin and all.

“I can say the same about you, Mr. Driver who DNF’d yesterday.”

“Ouch,” he laughed, voice flirty with a hint of sarcasm. “Not nice even outside the paddock.”

“Does the DNF bring your playboy era back?” you shot back.

“What playboy era are you talking about?” he asked with a knowing smirk.

“Let’s dance if we’re both here,” he suggested.

“You dance?” You burst out laughing.

“Well… not really. Just a little swing or something.”

Calling it dancing was generous. Neither of you were particularly good at it. Most of the time you were just laughing.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Lando said, still grinning.

“Relaxed?”

“Yeah. Lately you always looked like you wanted to murder whoever was in your way.”

“That bad?” you asked, shocked.

“Oh yes. You looked scary. I was genuinely worried during interviews that you’d strangle me if you didn’t like my answers.”

Maybe yes, you had been a little tense and a little bitchy, but that bad? You didn’t even know anymore.

You both got bored of the awkward dance. Lando took your hand and brought you to the table where he had been sitting.

You tried to look around for your friend but it looked like she had left you alone. Lando sat down on the and said, “Looks like you don’t have where to stay,” then pulled you onto his lap with his arm around your waist.

What a lie, you could definitely have taken a seat from the neighboring table but you let him do his charm.

“You can relax a little more. You feel like a stone,” he teased. “Come on.”

You tried to relax while he talked with one of his friends. His friend eventually left, leaving the two of you alone.

Lando’s hand moved to your thigh, playing with it. You tried to take your phone from your bag to get some proof for your ex, but Lando caught what you wanted to do. He took the phone from your hand, put it on the table, and looked like he lost all interest in you.

“I see now… What’s your interest in this?” he asked, still drawing circles on your thigh.

You had two options: lie or tell the truth.

“So, long story short, my ex who I was together with for 7 years cheated on me with my cousin and got engaged after two months. And you are his favorite driver so I thought that maybe I will take somehow my revenge,” you said almost without breathing.

Lando looked at you for a while, not knowing if he should believe you or not. While you looked nervous and fidgeted a little.

Lando took a sip from his drink while he moved you to his other leg, still not letting you go.

You didn’t know if you fucked it up with Lando with this pics thing. Maybe he thought you were going to get some clout or use him.

“Is your ex really such a jerk to cheat and get engaged with your cousin or is it just a story?”

“I swear it’s real. I don’t have reasons to do that, ok? I’m not looking for clout or sending this to gossip pages or posting it. I don’t have an interest in this.”

“Okay,” Lando said, more determined.

“Okay?” you repeated, shocked.

“How do we take the revenge on your ex? How do we take those photos?”

“Maybe like how we are right now it’s good. I mean we are close enough, we don’t have to do something crazy, I don’t know.”

You were just rambling nonsense, so Lando took your phone, opened the camera, and tried to find the best angle.

“You’re again really stiff. Relax more on me. Pretend like you are melting on me.”

You couldn’t find the right position and you were basically climbing on Lando until you found the right one, then Lando kissed the edge of your mouth for the photo.

“Now kiss me too, like it doesn’t matter where. On the cheek or wherever you want.”

The whole photoshoot session was over and you had enough proofs for your revenge. An awkward but strangely comforting silence settled between you.

You stayed on his lap, his hand still resting on your thigh, talking about everything and nothing. Most of it was nonsense, but it felt easy. You were definitely spotted by now and would probably be on every F1 gossip page by morning, so it didn’t even matter anymore.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped himself. After a moment he gathered more courage.

“How about heading to mine?”

You knew this question would come. It was probably the reason he approached you in the first place, the same way your reason for staying here with him was revenge.You had already made so many bad decisions tonight… why not one more? You had fun. Maybe some good sex wouldn’t hurt.

The problem, to my father's dismay, was that I had inherited my mother’s rebellious spirit and never took no for an answer once I had made up my mind.

That was how, after months of arguments, tears, and shouting matches, he finally gave me his blessing to study Industrial Engineering—which, in his opinion, was the least terrible of all my options.

University flew by in the blink of an eye. Although it was demanding, I managed to stand out thanks to both my intelligence and my discipline. I had the privilege of studying without financial pressure, and I made the most of every opportunity that came my way.

Just when my father thought I had finally gotten my little rebellion out of my system and would return home to settle into a life of leisure, I made another decision he absolutely hated: specializing in Sports Data Analytics.

And that is how I ended up landing an internship with the Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team.

Yes, much to my family’s dismay, I had managed to throw myself headfirst into yet another world dominated by men.

“I don’t understand what a girl like you is doing working in a place like this.”

Louis’s words, one of the team’s senior interns, served as my official welcome.

“A girl like me?” I repeated, inviting him to elaborate on exactly what he meant.

“Yeah. You’re so young, so pretty…” He shrugged as though he were stating an obvious fact. “You belong on a runway or standing next to some billionaire.”

“Wow. I haven’t heard that much sexism packed into a single sentence in a long time.”

I frowned at him, and for the first time since he’d opened his mouth, he seemed to realize how his words sounded. A faint blush spread across his cheeks.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure you’re brilliant at what you do. I just meant that—”

“Don’t work so hard trying to explain yourself, Louis. Instead of questioning Y/N, get your ass up and help Alex back there.” Bono’s voice cut through whatever excuse Louis had been scrambling to come up with.

Judging by the immediate look of relief on his face, the interruption was exactly the lifeline he needed. Without wasting another second, he pushed himself out of his chair and headed toward Alex’s workstation.

“Y/N, come with me. I’ll show you where you’ll be working and introduce you to the rest of the team.” Bono motioned for me to follow him.

The moment I stood up, my stomach twisted into knots.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” he said as we made our way through the garage. “We work pretty well together around here. Besides, we warned everyone ahead of time that they were expected to treat you with respect. We don’t get many young ladies like you around here, and we were worried some of them might start acting like they're part of a pack of dogs.”

Bono let out a laugh, and I couldn’t help laughing quietly along with him.

As we walked, he pointed out different work areas and explained the things I needed to know to navigate life within the team.

When we finally reached the station where I’d be working, everyone greeted me warmly. There were smiles, handshakes, and friendly introductions.

Still, beneath every greeting, I sensed something else. Some looked at me with genuine curiosity. Others watched me with an interest that went far beyond professional courtesy—an interest they weren’t quite able to hide.

I felt like a rabbit that had wandered straight into a wolf’s den.

The next few weeks of settling in flew by. I was so busy with work that I barely had time to sit down and eat. The season had only recently come to an end, but the work never stopped. Mercedes wanted Kimi’s team operating at one hundred percent before the next season, and that meant long hours for everyone involved.

As exhausted as I was, I also felt a kind of happiness I couldn’t quite put into words. My dreams were finally becoming reality. And yes, my father’s money had undoubtedly made things easier for me, but I also had to give myself some credit and acknowledge the hard work and discipline that had brought me here.

The problem came later. Because, like everything else in life, it couldn’t be perfect forever. Eventually, all that happiness was replaced by something else entirely, sorrow.

Hermann was one of Mercedes’ longest-serving engineers and a complete jerk.

At least, that was my opinion. To everyone else on the team, he was simply an intense man who could be a little too persistent at times.

In my vocabulary, that translated to stalker.

He had been on vacation during my first month with the team, so he had no idea I even existed. But the moment he came back and saw me for the first time, his eyes lit up as if he’d found water in the middle of the desert.

From that point on, he seemed to have made getting a date with me the primary objective of his life.

“I noticed you like ice cream. Would you like to grab some after work?”

That was his first attempt.

“That’s very kind of you, but I’m trying to cut back on sugar.”

“What about going bowling this Saturday?” That was his second attempt a few days later.

“My father is visiting all week, so I can’t. Sorry.”

“Would you like to go to the movies tomorrow? I heard you like science fiction, and there are a couple of films I’m sure you’d love.” That was the third.

“Thanks, Hermann, but I already have plans with some friends.”

Every single one of those excuses was a blatant lie. My father wouldn’t set foot in Brackley even if someone handed him half of the New York Stock Exchange. And the truth was, I hadn’t made a single friend there yet.

They were simply excuses to get him off my back. The problem was that Hermann either couldn’t understand them or understood them perfectly and had simply decided to ignore them.

For weeks, he kept trying.

Lunch invitations. Coffee invitations. Suggestions to go somewhere after work. He always found a new excuse to approach me and I always found a new way to turn him down.

Until one day, I ran out of patience.

I’d spent hours trying to solve an issue on my computer and was so frustrated that I felt like the slightest thing could set me off. Of course, that was exactly when Hermann showed up.

“Would you like to go—”

I didn’t let him finish.

“No, Hermann.”

The words came out sharper than I intended.

He blinked in surprise. For the first time since I’d met him, he seemed completely lost for words.

“Look, I’m going to be completely honest with you. I think you’re brilliant at what you do, and I’m sure your intentions are good, but I’m not interested in dating you. And I’m not interested in dating anyone who works here, either. I don’t want to mix my personal life with my job. I appreciate that you’ve been kind to me, but I need you to stop insisting.”

I didn’t wait for a response. I didn’t even bother to see how he reacted. I simply gathered my things, shut my laptop, and walked out of the room.

I knew that rejecting him wouldn’t simply make him back off. What I hadn’t expected was for him to launch a smear campaign worthy of a public relations agency.

A few days after our confrontation, I started hearing whispers around the factory floor. At first, they weren’t particularly scandalous. But rumors rarely stay small for long, and before I knew it, things began spiraling out of control.

One person would tell a story to someone else, who would add a few extra details before passing it on. Then that person would embellish it even further.

By the end of it, I had somehow become a social-climbing slut who had slept with half the board of directors to get a job at Mercedes.

Or at least, that was what I overheard one day before walking into the cafeteria. Two coworkers were sitting at a table, quietly discussing exactly that. The moment they noticed me, they fell silent.

“Hey, Y/N. How are you doing?” one of them asked with an awkward smile, clearly trying to gauge whether I had heard anything.

“I’m doing great, thanks.” I didn’t even bother smiling.

Under different circumstances, I would have asked him the same question in return. But I despise hypocrisy, and I wasn’t about to be pleasant to someone who was perfectly comfortable spreading that kind of garbage about me.

I walked over to the coffee machine and poured myself a cup. I needed the warmth to chase away the coldness I had been feeling from my coworkers lately.

“How are you, Y/N?” Bono walked into the room and greeted me, grabbing a cup for himself.

“I’m good. How about you?” I replied, offering him a small smile.

“Excellent. How have your last few weeks with the team been?” he asked before taking a sip of coffee.

“Good. Although I’ve discovered a few unexpected things.”

“Like what?” Bono frowned, intrigued.

“That Mercedes isn’t just good at building race cars. Apparently, they’re also very talented at creating entirely new lives for people.” I said it loudly enough for the two idiots sitting a few meters away to hear every word.

Bono nearly choked on his coffee before bursting into laughter.

“And you haven’t seen anything yet.”

As it turned out, he was right.

I hadn’t yet discovered just how far people were willing to take their rumors. Over the following months, I decided to channel the Slavic genes of my ancestors and freeze my heart solid.

The gossip never stopped. But it never affected my performance, either. If anything, it made me even more disciplined. No one could question whether I belonged there, I had earned my place.

It wasn’t until my internship ended that I finally allowed myself to step out of the emotional bunker my mind had built when everything started.

Then I fell apart.

I cried over everything and nothing. I questioned whether I truly wanted to continue down this path. Whether I genuinely deserved to be there. Whether I was taking opportunities away from people who deserved them more than I did.

For several weeks, I seriously considered staying home and doing absolutely nothing. I moved back into my father’s house, where I was welcomed with all the ceremony reserved for visiting royalty.

His baby girl had come home and from his perspective, she was there to stay. The problem was that I wasn’t completely happy there anymore and that confused my father.

“I don’t understand why you’re so unhappy,” he told me one afternoon. “You have everything you could possibly need here, and you don’t have to tolerate being mistreated by anyone.” He was trying his best to pull me out of my lethargy.

But it wasn’t enough. I had already experienced the freedom that came with independence. I’d tasted what it felt like to build something for myself and work in a field I genuinely loved. Giving that up was making me miserable.

“I know,” I said. “But I don’t want one bad experience to take away my dream of doing more with my career. Besides, I liked working there. The only bad part was my coworkers.”

My father let out a long, pained sigh. Slowly resigning himself to the fact that it was apparently impossible to keep me inside his overprotective bubble forever.

“Fine. At least let me do something to help.” For the first time, he finally relented.

“Like what?” I asked suspiciously.

“I’m going to make a few phone calls and see if I can help you get back to work.”

“Dad…” The warning was immediate.

“Yes, yes.” He raised both hands in surrender. “I know. You don’t want me interfering. You want to earn everything on your own merit. But come on, I’m your father. Let me help you with this.” His eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement.

And because I was every bit as weak for him as he was for me, I eventually gave in.

For the next two hours, he locked himself inside his office. All I could hear were muffled conversations in French. Then he finally emerged.

“Done.”

“What?” I searched his face for some clue as to what he had just done.

“You have a position with another team.”

“What?” I repeated, completely stunned.

Looking back, I don’t know why I was surprised. My father owned shares in a ridiculous number of companies that sponsored teams across the paddock. Pulling strings like this should have been the least surprising thing in the world.

“Yes,” he said casually. “I spoke to an acquaintance.”

He didn’t seem remotely impressed by his own accomplishment.

“As soon as you’re ready, you’ll be starting at Red Bull.”

(…)

The first time Max Verstappen spoke to me, I thought he was an asshole. When he wanted to criticize someone, he didn’t even bother pretending to be polite about it. He went straight for the throat.

“Being new doesn’t exempt you from being called out for your mistakes. You’d think a little girl like you, educated at Stanford, would be smart enough to realize what she’s doing is wrong.” His face was set in a hard expression as he looked over the report in front of him.

How the hell did he know where I had studied? I hadn’t the faintest idea.

“Those were the instructions I was given—” I didn’t even get to finish before he cut me off.

“No, those are the instructions Esteban follows. That doesn’t automatically make them correct.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.” I crossed my arms.

I knew arguing with one of the people who was effectively my boss wasn’t the smartest decision. Normally, I would have tried to de-escalate the situation. But there was something about him that made it impossible. It was as if his face was personally inviting me to punch him.

“Of course it makes sense. You just don’t understand it, which is why you keep doing everything wrong.” The stack of papers in his hand hit the table separating us with a sharp slap.

My mouth fell open in outrage. What a miserable bastard.

“What’s going on here?” A voice carrying a faint French accent interrupted the argument.

I turned around and found myself face-to-face with none other than Laurent Mekies.

“Max, it’s the young lady’s first week here. Don’t be so hard on her.” Mekies was defending me or at least trying to.

“You told me she already had experience with this,” Max replied. “But right now she looks like she only found out what performance metrics are yesterday.” Max dropped heavily into his chair and rubbed a hand over his face in frustration.

I stayed silent. Because I knew that if I opened my mouth, something would come out that I would almost certainly regret.

“Don’t pay any attention to him, Y/N.”

My attention shifted back to Mekies.

“You have your father’s eyes.” As he spoke, he gave my shoulders a gentle squeeze and smiled in recognition.

To anyone else, it would have sounded like a simple compliment. For people in my world, mentioning my father was another way of saying: I know who you are.

The realization made me swallow hard. It suddenly became painfully obvious who my father had called in to secure me this job.

“Thank you,” was all I managed to say.

Mekies gave my shoulder a friendly pat before turning back toward Max.

“I’ll move her over to work with Isack. That way you won’t have to deal with her inexperience.”

“No.” The answer came instantly. “I want her to stay.”

Both Mekies and I stared at him.

“It’s less painful dealing with her than with whoever they’ll send to replace her.”

I looked at him in complete disbelief. Less than five minutes ago he’d practically called me incompetent. Now he didn’t want me moved to the other side of the garage.

“Good.” Mekies clapped his hands once. “In that case, try to get along. We don’t have much time before the new season starts, and we can’t afford mistakes. Y/N, make yourself at home. Max, be nice to her.”

Max responded with a dismissive wave of his hand that made Mekies laugh as he walked out of the room.

“Well…” I tried, mostly to fill the awkward silence.

“Do it again.” Max slid the papers across the table toward me. “I need it to be perfect. There can’t be any mistakes.”

I let out a quiet sigh, picked up the report, and headed for the door. It was already obvious that Max was going to be a nightmare to deal with and if I wanted to keep this job, I’d have to work twice as hard as everyone else.

The challenge didn’t scare me. I had been raised by five brothers and a father who were sharks in tailored suits.

A little lion wasn’t going to shake me.

The following weeks were brutal. Actually, brutal was putting it mildly, they were downright exhausting.

Max was never satisfied with anything, and he had developed a particular habit of pointing out every single one of my mistakes in front of the rest of the team.

He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t patient. He was so much harsher with me than with anyone else, so much that several members of the team had openly commented on it. Apparently, I was the only person he treated that way.

Unfortunately, his constant criticism seemed to give certain people permission to unload their own frustrations on me as well. Most notably, a bitch named Marianne.

Marianne was pushing forty and, for reasons known only to herself, seemed deeply unhappy about my sudden addition to the team.

“Are you sure you studied at Stanford? I went there too, and you don’t really seem like the kind of girl who would.” Her gaze swept over me from head to toe.

If her goal was to embarrass me, she failed miserably. I had grown up surrounded by men who were the human equivalent of sharks. But I had also been raised around women who could rival vipers and hyenas. Her little attempt at asserting superiority wasn’t going to work on me.

“Really? That’s interesting.” I smiled sweetly. “I think the student profile changed quite a bit after you graduated. But then again, that was a very, very long time ago, so I can understand why you might not be aware of that.”

The look on her face was priceless. For a moment, several emotions flashed across it in rapid succession. In the end, she simply offered me a smile that was just as fake as mine before walking off toward another area of the factory.

“Don’t pay too much attention to her. She got divorced recently because her husband cheated on her, and ever since then she’s been a little weird whenever she sees someone younger than her being just as successful.”

A female voice interrupted my moment of satisfaction. I turned to find a woman approaching me.

“My name’s Carla. I’m a mechanical engineer, but I work on Isack’s side of the garage, which is probably why we haven’t met yet.” We shook hands.

“Y/N.”

“Oh, I know who you are.” There was amusement dancing in her eyes. “I’ve heard you’re driving Verstappen completely insane.”

I rolled my eyes and let out a long sigh.

“And he’s driving me insane too.”

Carla laughed.

“That's a good thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Max has two settings. He’s either ignoring you completely or acting like you’ve personally offended him by existing.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

“That sounds about right.”

“The good news is that if he’s constantly criticizing you, it means he’s paying attention.”

“The good news?” I repeated incredulously.

“Trust me. If Max genuinely thought you were useless, he wouldn’t waste his breath on you.”

I stared at her.

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Not really.” Carla grinned. “But it is true.”

At first, I didn’t take Carla’s words too seriously. Mostly because they made absolutely no sense to me.

How could you treat someone like crap if you genuinely believed they were useful? The logic simply didn’t compute.

The weeks leading up to the start of the season were demanding, but at least Max had eased up on his strange dictator routine. That, in turn, allowed me to relax a little and do my job without feeling like I was being evaluated every second of the day. That lasted right up until a week before the season opener.

“Get your paperwork ready. You’re coming to Australia with us.”

The announcement came out of nowhere.

“What?” It was the only response my brain could produce.

“Are you deaf now? You heard me. Human Resources will send you a list of everything you need before we leave.”

He gave me one final glance before walking away.

Just like that. I sat there in a daze for several minutes.

According to my contract, my position was supposed to be based permanently in Milton Keynes. I wasn’t meant to travel with the team.

So the first chance I got, I asked Mekies about the sudden change.

“I know it’s not what was originally agreed,” he admitted. “But it’s a decision based on operational needs.”

And just like that, I found myself embarking on a journey of more than twenty-four hours to Australia.

Truthfully, I was thrilled. Everything felt new. I’d attended a Grand Prix before as a spectator. The environment wasn’t unfamiliar, but it was my first time experiencing it from the inside.

My excitement lasted exactly until the race started.

With fifteen laps remaining, the data began showing an unusual pattern. At first, I assumed it was a system error, so I checked everything again. Then I checked it a third time.

The rear brake temperatures were climbing faster than expected, and the tire degradation wasn’t matching any of the pre-race simulations.

My stomach tightened.

“Can you take a look at this?” I turned my monitor toward one of the strategy engineers.

He barely glanced away from his screen.

“What is it now?”

“The numbers don’t make sense. There’s almost a twelve-percent deviation from the projected models.”

His eyes lingered on the graph for less than three seconds.

“It’s noise.”

“I don’t think it is.”

“No?”

I shook my head immediately.

“Y/N, relax. I’m telling you it’s fine.”

I wanted to insist. I really did, but he’d already gone back to ignoring me.

I looked around for support. Nobody seemed concerned, so Ibreturned to my workstation and tried convincing myself that maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I was seeing problems where none existed.

Five laps later, the pattern got worse.

“Hey.” I caught his attention again.

“What now?”

“It’s increasing.”

This time, he didn’t even look at the screen.

“Drop it.”

My fingers tightened around the edge of my desk.

“We should report it.”

“And tell them what exactly?”

“That something isn’t performing the way it should.”

“Based on the gut feeling of a rookie?”

The muted laughter of two nearby engineers made me lower my eyes.

I didn’t bring it up again. And exactly as I’d feared—Three laps later, Max’s car began losing performance. One lap after that, he was forced to retire.

Silence fell over the garage.

The kind of silence that only happens when everyone realizes something has gone catastrophically wrong.

When the car finally returned to the pit lane, Max climbed out of the cockpit with his helmet still on.

He looked absolutely furious.

“What the hell happened?”

Nobody answered.

“Did nobody see this coming?”

His gaze swept across the garage, then landed directly on me.

“What the fuck do I pay you for if you’re not going to watch the damn data?” The shout was so loud the entire garage froze.

“I did see it.” The words came out before I could stop them. “And I reported it.”

“Well, obviously not well enough.” Max ripped off his helmet in one sharp motion.

“I warned them twice.”

The entire garage fell silent.

“I showed them the data. I explained that the temperatures were outside the expected range. I told them the simulations weren’t matching reality.”

“I don’t believe a damn word of that.” The accusation hit like a slap.

Months of frustration surged up my throat.

“Of course you don’t.” My voice shook. “That’s exactly the problem. You think I’m an idiot, and you’ve made sure everyone else thinks so too.”

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

“You treat me like I’m incompetent every chance you get, and because of that nobody takes me seriously when I actually have something important to say.”

The silence somehow became even heavier. Max simply stared at me, his jaw clenched tight, trying—and failing—to hide his anger.

I’d had enough. Without another word, I turned around and walked out of the garage.

Fifteen minutes later, I was crying alone in a small hospitality room. I’d cried so hard that my eyes felt swollen and my nose was completely blocked. Every time I thought I was finally calming down, another sob escaped me.

My shirt was damp from wiping away tears and my hair clung messily to my face. I looked pathetic.

But my appearance was the last thing on my mind. The ache in my chest occupied every corner of my thoughts.

Was this really worth it? Was it worth letting people trample over my dignity just to keep this job? For the first time, I wasn’t sure of the answer.

Maybe my father had been right all along. Maybe I hadn’t been made for this world and it was time to stop pretending to be some ambitious career woman and return to the life that had always been waiting for me back home.

A soft knock at the door pulled me out of my thoughts. Immediately, I forced myself to stop crying and wiped my face with the sleeve of my already soaked sweater.

“Come in.” I didn’t bother looking up, my gaze remained fixed on the floor.

My long dark hair acted like a curtain, hiding my swollen face from whoever had just entered the room.

I heard footsteps. A few seconds later, someone sat down beside me.

“Gianpiero confirmed what happened.” The slightly raspy voice made me tense immediately. Max.

Of all the people in the garage, he was the last person I expected to come looking for me. I remained silent, waiting for him to say whatever he had come here to say.

“I know I can be an asshole sometimes.”

A dry laugh almost escaped me at the understatement.

“It’s how I’ve learned to survive in this environment. If you’re not tough, people walk all over you. But…” He paused. “I have to admit I was wrong for taking it out on you.”

I remained in silence, again.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

My silence answered for me. Max let out an incredulous breath through his nose.

“Look, I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean to act like such an idiot.”

I turned toward him so abruptly that my hair fell away from my face, exposing the full extent of the damage. The red eyes, swollen cheeks and blotchy skin from crying.

For a split second, genuine surprise crossed his face. As if he hadn’t expected to find me looking quite so devastated.

“I accept your apology.” My voice was flat. “Now leave me alone.”

A full minute passed and he didn’t move.

“Y/N…” His voice was quieter this time. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

I stared at the opposite wall.

“You always seem so strong. So intimidating. Sometimes I forget I need to be more careful with the way I speak to you.”

That finally got my attention. I looked at him.

“Just because I act like a heartless bitch doesn’t mean I am one.” The firmness in my voice made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s just how I protect myself when people treat me badly.”

For the first time since entering the room, Max seemed genuinely uncomfortable. Maybe even a little guilty.

“Maybe I went too far today.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

A small laugh escaped me. Not because it was funny. Because it was absurd. We both knew that the moment this situation faded into the background, Max Verstappen would go right back to being Max Verstappen.

“It’s fine, Max.” I shook my head. “I already told you I accept your apology. You don’t need to keep talking about it.”

He released a long sigh and leaned back in his chair. The expression on his face looked suspiciously familiar. It was the same frustration I felt every time I tried having a conversation with him.

“Fine.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Wash your face and let’s go.”

I frowned.

“Go where?”

“Back to the garage.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Laurent is probably looking for me so he can hang me by my balls for yelling at you.”

The image caught me completely off guard. A genuine laugh escaped me and to my surprise, Max laughed too. For a moment, the tension between us eased. Just a little.

I followed his advice, cleaned myself up as best I could, and eventually walked back toward the garage with him. As we made our way through the paddock, I found myself hoping that after everything that had happened, things might finally get a little better between us.

(…)

To my surprise, my prayers were answered and just as I’d hoped, things started improving.

Max was noticeably more careful about how he spoke to me in public, although in private he remained just as demanding as ever. His justification was that he was doing it for my own good.

He didn’t want the rest of the team seeing me as someone fragile. He wanted them to see me as someone valuable. Someone the team actually needed. At first, I assumed it was just another excuse to justify his usual behavior. But when things started visibly improving with the rest of the team, I had no choice but to admit he had a point.

Apparently, seeing me cry had managed to crack his stone heart just a little. These days he was even… nice.

Which I didn’t mind. Unfortunately, Marianne did because her attacks became noticeably more frequent.

“That’s a lovely watch.” Marianne grabbed my wrist a little too firmly to inspect it before letting go just as abruptly. “It’s awfully luxurious for a fake, although, I highly doubt your salary here is enough to afford something like that.”

A few people nearby exchanged uncomfortable glances. Everyone understood exactly what she was implying and knew how inappropriate it was.

I simply smiled. Then said nothing. I’d discovered that silence was my most effective weapon against Marianne. Nothing frustrated her more than refusing to engage.

“Y/N.”

Both Marianne and I turned at the sound of Max’s voice.

“Come with me.”

I accepted the lifeline immediately. Without another word, I left Marianne standing there and followed Max down the corridor toward one of the quieter hospitality rooms.

The moment the door closed behind us, he turned toward me.

“Why do you let that idiot talk to you like that?” His irritation was immediate.

“Because I don’t want any more problems with anyone here.” I shrugged before taking a seat. “I just want to do my job and stay out of everyone’s drama.”

Max sat beside me, looking annoyed enough to punch a wall.

“I’m going to deal with it.”

“Max—”

“I can’t stand the way she behaves around you.”

“Max, it’s not worth it.” I crossed my arms. “And since when do you care so much about what happens to me?”

“Is empathy suddenly a crime?” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “A few weeks ago you were yelling in my face about what an asshole I was, and now that I actually show concern, that’s wrong too?”

“I’m not saying it’s wrong.” I hesitated. “It’s just…”

“What?”

“It’s not you.”

For a second, something unreadable crossed his face, then he looked away.

After that day, there were plenty of similar moments and I don’t mean Marianne continuing to be the world’s most irritating human being.

I mean Max. Max being considerate, being thoughtful. Sometimes, I could have sworn he was even…affectionate. The thought sounded ridiculous and yet it was true.

He brought me water when he noticed I’d been sitting at my desk for too long. If someone interrupted me during a meeting, he’d make them stop talking so I could finish my point. He paid special attention whenever I presented new findings.

It was like an entirely different version of Max had emerged. A version nobody had warned me about and while part of me was happy about it, another part was deeply suspicious.

Because mixed in with all those small acts of kindness were other things. The lingering glances, the shy smiles, his hand resting on my shoulder for a second longer than necessary, the way his eyes always seemed to find me in a crowded room.

I tried not to think too much about it, because every time I did, my heart sped up. Max was ridiculously attractive, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that I loved my job, I loved the life I was building here.

And I knew myself well enough to admit one terrifying truth: If Max took even one more step toward me, I was going to fall for him like a complete idiot.

My fears became reality during the Canadian Grand Prix weekend.

A few of the engineers were gathered in the coffee area, getting ready for the Sprint Qualifying.

“Ready to head over?” Carla asked.

“Yeah, you can go ahead. I’m just going to the restroom and I’ll catch up.”

Carla nodded and left with the others.

I went to take care of my business, and when I returned to the coffee area, the only person there was Max.

“I thought you’d already be in the garage getting ready,” I said as I walked over to grab a glass of water.

“I should be.” He lifted the coffee cup in his hand. “But I came to get some caffeine first.”

I was about to say something else when my hip slammed into the sharp corner of a table. A pained hiss escaped my lips immediately.

“You okay?” Max didn’t wait for an answer before stepping closer.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” The lingering pain was still obvious in my voice as I pressed a hand against the sore spot.

“Let me see.”

Before I could protest, Max placed his hand lightly over my hip and rubbed the area in small circles.

My heart immediately skipped a beat. Not only because of the warmth of his hand, but because of how close he suddenly was. Apparently, Max noticed it too.

Without stopping the gentle motion, his eyes lifted to meet mine. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

“It looks like that hurt,” he murmured.

“Yeah…” It was the only word I managed to get out.

I realized I was holding my breath. So was he. The tension between us was so thick it felt tangible. My gaze drifted down for the briefest second toward his lips and that seemed to be all the encouragement Max needed.

He closed the distance between us and kissed me. For a moment, surprise froze me in place. Then Max’s hand slid slightly higher along my side, and whatever resistance I might have had disappeared completely.

I kissed him back. My eyes fluttered shut as the world around us seemed to fade into the background. The kiss deepened naturally, neither of us willing to be the first to pull away.

Eventually, reality intervened when voices echoed down the hallway. Someone was approaching. We broke apart so quickly it was almost comical.

A member of the marketing team walked into the room and froze for half a second, clearly not expecting anyone to be there. After a brief moment of confusion, he continued toward the coffee station as if nothing had happened.

I pressed a hand against my mouth, still trying to process what had just occurred. Slowly, I turned to look at Max. He looked just as stunned as I felt.

“I should go.” My voice came out rougher than usual.

Without waiting for a response, I turned and practically fled from the room.

(…)

The following days turned into a silent competition over who could ignore the other more effectively. We barely spoke and whenever a conversation drifted away from strictly professional matters, my face would turn red while Max suddenly forgot how to form complete sentences. It was ridiculous.

Montreal ended with a victory for Max, and almost immediately afterward the team packed up and headed to Monaco.

Most people considered Monaco one of the least exciting races on the calendar. I couldn’t have disagreed more. Not because of the racing, for me, it was personal.

My father never missed the Monaco Grand Prix. For him, it was an opportunity to keep an eye on his F1 investments while spending time with his billionaire friends. For me, it was a chance to see him.

My schedule with the team had been so packed that we hadn’t had the opportunity to meet in person for months. We spoke almost every day, but eventually phone calls stop being enough. Sometimes you just need a hug.

The opportunity came on Thursday evening. We met at an expensive restaurant overlooking the harbor.

Not particularly discreet. Although during Monaco week, discretion practically ceased to exist.

“So,” my father said as he set down his wine glass, “how’s the team treating you? I spoke to Laurent a few days ago. He congratulated me on having such a brilliant daughter.”

His eyes lit up with pride, a broad smile spread across his face.

“Good, Dad. The workload is intense, but I’ve been happy.” I smiled back, feeling a familiar pang of nostalgia.

Moments like this reminded me of when I was younger. Back when he’d celebrate every achievement as if I’d personally solved world hunger.

We’d had our disagreements over the years. Plenty of them, but at the end of the day, we were still each other’s safe place.

“It pains me to admit it,” he continued, “but seeing everything you’ve accomplished on your own makes me incredibly proud.”

The compliment settled uneasily in my chest. I didn’t let it show.

Yes, I had worked hard to stay here, I’d earned my place. But pretending my father’s influence hadn’t helped open doors would have been laughably dishonest.

When dinner ended, he drove me back to the hotel where I was staying. We said our goodbyes in the lobby.

The following days passed in a blur and before I knew it, Sunday had arrived.

I was searching for something to eat in the hospitality area when a familiar voice called my name.

“Y/N.”

A hand settled lightly on my shoulder.

“Kimi!” The excitement in my voice surprised even me.

He laughed and pulled me into a hug, which I immediately returned.

Kimi was one of the few genuinely good things I’d taken away from my time at Mercedes. Seeing him always made me happy.

“How have you been?” he asked. “How’s Red Bull treating you?” His curious brown eyes studied me carefully.

“Pretty well, what about you? Looks like this season’s been treating you a lot better than the last one.” I squeezed his shoulder lightly.

A shy smile appeared on his face.

“Yeah. Although I think I’d be doing even better if you were still on my side of the garage.”

I laughed.

“So that’s why you miss me.”

“Exactly.”

We talked for a few more minutes before saying goodbye with kisses on both cheeks.

“See you soon, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Kimi” I waved as he disappeared into the sea of people moving through the paddock.

A smile lingered on my face.

“Looks like Mercedes misses you.” The deep voice behind me nearly made me jump.

I turned.

Max. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there.

“What?”

“Your old teammate.” He shrugged. “He seemed pretty happy to see you.”

I frowned slightly.

“Kimi has always been nice to me.”

“Must be nice.” There was something strange in his tone. Something I couldn’t quite identify.

“Did you need something?”

“No.”

Then why was he still standing there?

Max glanced toward the direction Kimi had disappeared.

“Do you two talk a lot?” The question caught me off guard.

“Sometimes.”

“Mhm.” There it was again. That tone.

“Is something wrong?” I asked carefully.

“No.” Definitely. Something was wrong.

“Well…” I hesitated. “He was one of the few people who actually helped me when I first arrived at Mercedes.”

Max’s jaw tightened.

“Right.”

“Right what?”

“Nothing.”

My confusion only grew.

“Max.”

“What?”

“You’re being weird.” I crossed my arms.

“Weird?”

“Yes.”

A humorless smile tugged at his lips.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize personality analysis had become part of your job description.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Forget it.” I turned and started walking toward the garage.

“Are you seeing him later?”

I stopped.

“What?”

“Kimi.”

I turned around.

“No.”

“Oh.” That tone again. The answer seemed to please him far more than it should have.

“I genuinely don’t understand why you’re so interested.”

For the first time, he appeared to realize what he was doing. His expression hardened immediately.

“I’m not.”

“Then stop asking.”

For several seconds neither of us spoke. Finally, Max let out a short, dry laugh.

“Fair enough.” Then he simply walked away.

I watched him disappear into the crowd, completely baffled. Because that had not been a normal conversation. Not even close.

Later that afternoon, Max won the race. He drove like a man trying to prove a point. For a circuit like Monaco, he took far more risks than necessary, which nearly gave me a heart attack.

When he finally returned to the garage after all the podium ceremonies and media obligations, his eyes immediately found mine.

And then he smiled. One of those strange, unreadable smiles that seemed to contain information nobody else had access to.

Max had been acting differently ever since that kiss.

And honestly? I had absolutely no idea what to do with that. So I went back to the strategy that had worked so well before our conversation about Kimi.

I ignored him.

Because I was nowhere near emotionally stable enough to start dissecting whatever the hell was going on inside Max Verstappen’s head.

(…)

The next day, we made a technical stop in Milton Keynes before traveling to Barcelona.

There were a few adjustments that needed to be made to the car, and they had to be done at the factory. We were working against the clock if we wanted everything ready before Spain.

Which meant, according to Laurent, that we would all be working straight through. By nine o’clock that night, I was still buried in the mountain of work I’d been assigned.

Carla had abandoned me almost thirty minutes earlier, leaving me alone with a cup of coffee and what felt like a million lines of data that were slowly starting to resemble ancient hieroglyphics.

I finally tore my eyes away from the screen and rubbed them with both hands, trying to chase away the exhaustion.

“Do you want something to eat?”

I yelped immediately.

Max was leaning against the doorway, watching me.

“Wow,” he laughed. “I didn’t realize I was that terrifying.”

“Don’t laugh. You nearly gave me a heart attack.” I pressed a hand against my chest, trying to calm my racing heartbeat.

“Sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

“It’s fine.” I let out a sigh. “And no, I’m not hungry. But thanks.”

I assumed he would leave after that. Instead, he walked into the room and sat down in one of the chairs across from me. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… strange.

At that hour, the factory lights had been dimmed, and the usual noise had long since disappeared.

“What?” I finally asked when I realized he was still staring.

“Nothing.”

“You’ve been looking at me for five minutes.” I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.

“It hasn’t been five minutes.”

“Four, then.”

A smile tugged at his lips. It was almost unfair how different he looked when he smiled. Younger, less intimidating and somehow far more dangerous.

“You’re tired.”

“So are you.”

“Not as tired as you.”

I glanced back at my monitor.

“I have work to do.”

“I know.”

“Then let me finish it.”

The smile on his face widened slightly, and for some reason that felt strangely satisfying.

Over the last few months, our conversations had changed. For the better, I thought. We still argued. We still disagreed on almost everything, but it no longer felt like fighting. It felt like something else.

“You should get some rest.” His eyes drifted toward the empty coffee cup sitting beside my computer. “How many coffees have you had today?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged.

The look he gave me made me roll my eyes.

“Four or five. I stopped counting.”

Max shook his head.

“You’re impossible.”

I laughed, the irony was rich coming from him.

Max laughed too.

Then, slowly, the smiles faded and the room grew quiet again. My heart began beating a little too fast.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” The question came out softer than I’d intended.

Max rested an arm on the table.

“Like what?”

“You know exactly how.”

For several seconds he didn’t answer.

“Because I like you.”

My breath caught. There was nothing elaborate about the confession. No grand declaration, just a simple truth. Very much like him.

“Max…”

“What?”

“I think maybe I should leave.” The words came out barely above a whisper.

“Probably.”

But neither of us moved.

“I still have work to finish.” The excuse sounded weak even to my own ears.

“I know.”

“And so do you.”

“Yeah.”

Yet somehow we remained exactly where we were. Neither stepping closer nor walking away. As if we were both waiting for the other person to make a decision.

Eventually, I was the one who stood and in the same instant, so did he.

A mistake. Because the distance between us disappeared entirely.

My heart slammed against my ribs and judging by the way Max was looking at me, I suspected his wasn’t doing much better.

“This is a bad idea.” I wasn’t sure whether I was trying to convince him or myself.

“Probably.” He nodded.

“A very bad idea.”

“Terrible.”

Yet neither of us sounded particularly concerned about that fact.

When his hand found my cheek, the touch was careful. Tentative. Like he was giving me every opportunity to pull away. To stop him. To say no. But I was already far too deep for that and I did none of those things.

“Tell me to stop.” His voice had dropped to a murmur.

I swallowed. But the words never came, because the truth was that I didn’t want him to stop and judging by the look in his eyes, Max already knew that.

His thumb brushed lightly along my jaw. Barely a touch. A question rather than a demand.

“That’s what I thought.”

And this time, when he leaned in, I was the one who closed the distance between us.

Our lips met with a softness that contradicted the urgency I felt in my chest, as if we both feared that one abrupt movement might shatter the moment.

When Max deepened the kiss in a slow, deliberate way, any reservations I might have had vanished.

He grabbed me by the waist and lifted me effortlessly. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around his hips as he walked, guiding us until my back met the wall. The cold of it seeped through my shirt, drawing a gasp from my lips. Max took advantage of that instant to claim more of me.

“Max…” I whispered when his lips moved to my jaw, biting so gently that I felt the shiver all the way to my fingertips.

“Yes?” His warm breath brushed against my neck, his hands squeezing my thighs with a possessiveness that set me on fire.

I didn’t answer with words. I leaned my head back, offering him my throat, and he understood perfectly. His teeth grazed my collarbone while his hands slipped beneath my shirt, finding my bare skin. The moment his thumbs brushed the underside of my breasts, I held my breath.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he murmured against my sternum.

“You’re not,” I gasped, arching against him, searching for more contact, more friction, more of everything he could give me.

Max pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, and I saw my own need reflected in his, darkened with desire. Without breaking eye contact, he slid a hand between us, finding the button of my jeans. The question was there, in his expression, in the tension of the muscles holding themselves back.

I nodded, and the sound of the zipper being pulled down seemed deafening in the silent room. His fingers slipped inside my pants, finding me already wet, and the groan that escaped his throat was the most erotic sound I had ever heard.

“God, you’re so ready for me,” he growled against my ear.

My head fell back softly against the wall while he held me with one hand and unraveled me with the other. Every movement os his hand against my clit was accompanied by kisses along my neck, bites on my shoulder, and dirty whispers about how long he had dreamed of this—of me, of this moment.

“Max, please…” I begged, not knowing exactly what I was asking for, only knowing that I needed more, everything, now.

“What do you need?” His voice was a purr.

“You,” I gasped.

He didn’t need any further invitation.

He carried me in his arms and walked toward the small leather sofa in the corner, lowering me onto the cushions with surprising gentleness. He pulled off his sweater in one quick motion, revealing a sculpted torso that my eager hands immediately explored, feeling the taut muscles beneath my touch.

When he leaned over me, settling between my legs, I felt the heat of his cock pressing against me through the fabric of our clothes. The anticipation made me tremble; every nerve ending in my body was on fire.

“Last chance to say no,” he sighed, though his body was already aligned with mine, ready.

In response, I unbuttoned his jeans and pulled him closer, guiding him toward me. The contact of his skin against mine drew a groan from both of us.

“I don’t want you to stop,” I confessed, looking directly at him.

When he moved forward and fully penetrated me, I knew I had been waiting for this, longing for this, since the moment his eyes first met mine.

We moved together, desperate, without rhythm or grace, driven only by pure, raw need. His hands gripped my hips, my breasts, my hair, as if he couldn’t decide which part of me he wanted most. I devoured him just as fiercely—scratching his back, biting his shoulder, feeling the sweat on his forehead against mine.

“So perfect,” he growled. “So mine.”

And when pleasure finally exploded inside me, sweeping everything away, his name was on my lips.

In the stillness that followed, our hearts beating in sync, he whispered against my hair: “I’m fucking crazy about you.”

(…)

The next day, I wasn’t woken up by my alarm, but by an uncomfortable feeling under my skin that I immediately recognized as anxiety.

The moment I opened my eyes, my heart started racing. I had done the stupidest thing of my life, and my body was reacting accordingly.

With my heart lodged somewhere in my throat, I showered and got ready. We had a few final sessions that morning, and later in the afternoon we’d be leaving for Barcelona.

When I arrived at the factory, the atmosphere felt strange. My coworkers were looking at me more closely than usual, and some of them were even whispering. Whenever my eyes accidentally met someone else’s, they immediately looked away with a certain awkwardness.

My anxiety only got worse.

All kinds of theories started running through my head, the strongest one being that everyone had somehow found out about what Max and I had done in one of the offices the night before.

I was already planning my escape from RedBull when Carla’s voice brought me back to earth.

“Why didn’t you tell me your dad owns half of Formula One?” Her voice was full of astonishment.

“What?” That was the only thing that came out of my mouth. “How do you know that?”

My ridiculous theories immediately collapsed as soon as I connected the dots and realized that this was probably why everyone had been acting so strange around me.

They had found out who my father was.

“So it’s true?” Carla’s eyes widened like she had just made the discovery of the century.

“No—I mean… why would you say that?” I tried to steer the conversation in another direction, but I’d already made the mistake of practically admitting it.

“Look.”

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and opened a video that had clearly been taken from TikTok.

The title read: Billionaires in Monaco.

The first two clips showed CEOs of companies I didn’t recognize. In the third one, my father and I were leaving the restaurant where we’d had dinner together.

Across the screen was a caption: Nikolai Sheremet and his daughter, Y/N Sheremet. Executive Chairman and CEO of Sheremet Industries. Net worth: $40 billion.

It was unbelievably tacky. So tacky that my stomach turned. I hadn’t even known there were people who made videos like this.

“I…” The words wouldn’t come.

I opened my mouth to say something else, but Marianne’s untimely appearance silenced me.

“Well, well.” Her smile was painfully condescending. “You really kept that little secret hidden. Now we all understand how you managed to get here.”

She folded her arms.

“It was obvious someone like you couldn’t have done it based on intelligence alone.”

I was not in the mood.

“I’m really not interested in your childish games, Marianne.” My voice came out sharper than intended. “Grow up already. It’s not my fault your life is miserable. Fix your own problems and get yourself a life.”

I turned around without waiting to see her reaction. The only thing I heard was Carla’s laughter.

A few minutes later, I was locked inside a bathroom stall, trying to calm my racing pulse. Between this situation and whatever was happening with Max, I felt like I was about to spontaneously combust.

When I finally managed to calm down, I stepped out of the stall, washed my hands, and looked up.

My eyes met Max’s through the mirror.

I practically jumped.

Spinning around, I stared at him.

“What the hell are you doing in here? This is the women’s bathroom.”

My whisper came out somewhere between panic and outrage.

Max simply shrugged.

“No one’s around this area.” He looked entirely unbothered. “Relax. You’re way too tense.”

I dragged a hand across my face, trying to steady my nerves.

“If it’s of any consolation, I already knew about your father.”

“What?” My eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“Yeah.” He crossed his arms and leaned against one of the closed stall doors. “I knew from the very beginning. Laurent told me.”

I stared at him.

“That's why I made your life difficult when you first arrived.”

My mouth fell open.

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t just another rich daddy’s girl who came here to play with race cars.”

For a moment I forgot how to blink.

“What?” I repeated, this time with even more disbelief.

“But then you proved me wrong.” He shrugged casually.“So…”

“What?” I repeated again.

“Is that all you’re going to say?” Max asked. “Did you forget every other word in the English language?”

The mix of sarcasm and concern in his voice only made me more irritated.

“You treated me like the dirt on the bottom of your shoe…” I stared at him in disbelief. “For that reason?”

“Hey, I wasn’t that bad.” He immediately defended himself. “And besides, I already apologized for that and you accepted my apology, so let’s not go back to it.”

He made a dismissive motion with his hand.

“Oh my God.”

I turned toward the mirror.

“I think I’m actually losing my mind.” I looked at my reflection, trying to quiet the anxiety that was roaring even louder inside me.

Max pushed himself away from the stall door and walked over. Before I could react, he wrapped his arms around me from behind.

“Hey.” His voice softened. “Everyone will forget about this in a week.”

His arms tightened slightly around my waist.

“Don’t worry about it.” He rested his chin near my shoulder. “You’re brilliant. Everyone knows you deserve to be here.”

Carefully, I stepped out of his embrace. The look on his face immediately told me he had interpreted it as rejection.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

I cleared my throat.

“I don’t think…” My voice faltered. “I don’t think we should keep doing this anymore. If someone finds out—”

“No one is going to find out.” He cut me off before I could finish. “At least not for now. We’re being discreet.”

“Maybe, but I don’t want things to become more complicated than they already are.” My words came out sounding almost like a plea.

“They won’t.” His hands found my waist again. “Trust me.”

His lips brushed lightly against my neck.

“I promise everything is going to be fine.”

And just like Max promised, things did get better.

Our relationship—if I can even call whatever we had a relationship—flourished over the following months.

We spent almost all our time together. We went out for dinner, took long walks, and even during the short breaks I was given by the team, I would stay with him in Monaco.

Things improved with the team as well. As the weeks passed, the news that I happened to be related to a billionaire became old news, and everyone gradually returned to the same dynamic we had before.

I could say everything was almost perfect.

Almost.

We were about to begin qualifying in Interlagos when I started suspecting that something wasn’t right.

At first, I blamed stress. The workdays were long, the travel schedule relentless, and the pressure at this stage of the season was enormous.

All of that seemed like a far more reasonable explanation than anything else.

Then came the exhaustion. A different kind of exhaustion. As if my body was operating at half capacity.

Then came the nausea. Small at first, mild enough to ignore. Until one morning I found myself locked inside one of the paddock bathrooms, trying not to throw up.

“Are you okay?” Carla’s voice came from the other side of the door.

“Yeah,” I lied. “It was just breakfast.”

I lied again the next day.

And the day after that.

Until I could no longer ignore the truth. My period was more than two weeks late. The number repeated itself over and over in my head during the flight back to London.

It couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t. But a part of me already knew it could.

That’s why, instead of going straight to Milton Keynes, I ended up sitting in the waiting room of a private clinic in Kensington.

Doctor Whitmore had known my family since before I was born. He had been our family’s physician in England for years.

When he entered the consultation room, he greeted me with a warm smile.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you here.”

“I wish this visit was social.”

Apparently, my face reflected every ounce of the devastation I was feeling, because his smile faded slightly.

“What’s wrong?”

I took a deep breath.

“I need you to run some tests.”

Two hours later, I was sitting across from him again.

My legs wouldn’t stop bouncing. Neither would my hands.

The doctor studied the results for several long seconds before looking up. And before he even said a word, I knew. The expression on his face left no room for doubt.

“Y/N…”

I felt my stomach drop.

“You’re pregnant.”

The world went completely silent. I couldn’t hear anything, not even my own breathing, just those two words.

You’re pregnant.

A fear so intense it stole the air from my lungs began rising inside me.

My career, my father, RedBull.

Max.

Everything started collapsing inside my head at the same time.

“How far along am I?” My voice sounded strange. Distant.

“Approximately eight weeks.”

Eight weeks. Eight weeks meant there was no mistake, no misunderstanding. It was completely real.

I lowered my gaze to my hands, which wouldn’t stop trembling.

“Oh my God…”

The doctor leaned forward slightly.

“You don’t have to make any decisions today.”

But I barely heard him. Because my mind was already several steps ahead, thinking about my father finding out, thinking about my job RedBull, about what this would mean for everything I had worked for.

And most importantly, thinking about Max.

Because for the first time since I’d met him, I had absolutely no idea how he was going to react. And that was what scared me the most.

Over the following weeks, I never managed to find the perfect moment to tell Max the news. Everything in the garage was so chaotic that it felt like we were living inside a pressure cooker.

Max was leading the championship, but there were still two races left and nothing had been decided yet.

Stress became the perfect excuse. Especially once the pregnancy symptoms became harder to hide. If Max noticed I was lying, he never let me know.

But sooner or later, every secret comes out and eventually, I reached the point where I couldn’t keep mine any longer.

We were alone in a small room in the paddock after the Qatar race. Max had finished P3 and wasn’t particularly happy about it.

“Max…” I whispered, trying to get his attention.

“Yeah?” He turned to look at me, waiting for me to continue.

My heart immediately started racing. My palms became damp. It was now or never.

“I need to tell you something…”

His full attention shifted to me.

“Just say it, baby.”

“I…” My voice faltered. “I’m pregnant, Max.”

I lifted my gaze from my trembling hands to look at him. And as expected, there wasn’t even a trace of happiness on his face.

“What?” His expression was pure shock.

I didn’t know what to say when tears started filling my eyes.

Max closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. A frustrated one.

“Weren’t you taking the shots?” His brow furrowed, and his face grew progressively redder with every passing second.

“Yes. I was. I don’t know what happened.”

Max dragged both hands down his face.

“Just what I needed…” He stood up abruptly and began pacing around the room. “God damn it.”

My stomach twisted painfully.

“What are we supposed to do?” he asked. “What are you planning to do?”

“Well…” My voice was barely audible. “I don’t know. Keep it, I guess.”

Apparently, that wasn’t the answer he wanted. A dry laugh escaped him. One completely devoid of humor.

“Of course.” He ran a hand harshly through his hair. “Y/N, I don’t have time for this right now.”

Each word landed like a blow.

“I have to win a fucking championship next week.” He shook his head. “This is the last thing I need to be thinking about right now.”

And just like that, he walked out of the room. Leaving behind nothing but silence and rejection.

All I could do was press a hand over my mouth, trying to keep my sobs from being heard.

The following week, I tried to ignore everything as much as possible. It wasn’t particularly difficult. Because Max seemed to be trying to do exactly the same thing.

There were moments when I could feel his eyes on me. But the second I looked back, he would look away. It was like he was refusing to accept the reality his life—our lives—would soon become.

As expected, Abu Dhabi kept all of us emotionally stretched to our limits. At times, it felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the garage.

Max was battling one of the McLarens for the lead. With only one lap remaining, he finally managed to build enough of a gap to cross the finish line first.

Making him the World Champion once again.

Everyone celebrated. Including me.

The entire team rushed toward the parc fermé to welcome him back, but I stayed behind. The truth was, I wasn’t sure he’d be happy to see me anymore.

With tears threatening to spill over, I headed toward a quieter area of the paddock. I walked slowly, trying not to think about what would happen next.

It felt like the life I had worked so hard to build was slipping through my fingers and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

“Y/N.”

At the sound of my name, I turned around.

“Hello…” I was about to ask who he was.

But as he got closer, I recognized him immediately: My father’s head of security.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, surprised.

“Your father needs you to come home immediately.” His voice was serious, so was his expression.

Fear settled into my chest instantly. My mind immediately jumped to every possible scenario that would justify such urgency.

“What?”

“I came here to get you.” His hands slipped into the pockets of his jacket. “And I can’t leave without you.”

“I don’t understand.” I frowned. “At least let me tell the others.”

He simply shook his head.

“Everyone is celebrating.” His tone left little room for argument. “We need to leave immediately. There’s a jet waiting for us.”

The finality in his voice made it clear that this wasn’t a request. And in the end, the only thing I could do was obey.

(…)

On the way home, I managed to send Laurent a message explaining the situation. I couldn’t do much else because my phone died.

How convenient.

Several hours later, I arrived home. I rushed inside, scanning everything around me, trying to figure out what was going on.

When I reached the main sitting room, my father and two of my brothers, Artyom and Ilya, were waiting for me.

My father was completely still, his expression unreadable. The moment his eyes met mine, I knew. The thing that was wrong was me.

“What’s going on? Why are we all here?” My voice cracked slightly.

The fear that had accompanied me throughout the journey had transformed into pure panic.

“Do you have something you’d like to tell us, Y/N?” Artyom, the eldest of us all, spoke first.

I hesitated.

“No… I don’t think so.”

My heart was pounding.

If this was what I thought it was—No, I pushed the thought away immediately. There was no way.

“Yesterday's evening, I received an email regarding a payment from our healthcare provider,” my father began.

God, let lightning strike me and turn me to ash right now.

I already knew where this conversation was headed, and it was impossible not to start trembling.

“I didn’t know you’d been ill a month ago.” My father’s eyes were red. All I could see in them was restrained fury. “Since you didn’t tell me about it, I decided to review your medical records and the tests you had done.”

Tears immediately started streaming down my face. Not a single sound came out of my mouth.

“And to my surprise, I discovered that my little girl…” My father paused, struggling to compose himself. “The little girl I trusted enough to let leave and start…” He stopped again, taking a moment to steady himself. “…start a new life.” His jaw tightened. “Is pregnant.”

I couldn’t hold it together any longer. The sobs burst out of me. I lowered my gaze to my hands, unable to keep looking at him.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

The tears kept falling. It felt like a dam had broken inside me and there was no way to stop the flood.

“The baby is his, isn’t it?” This time, it was Ilya who spoke.

I immediately looked up and found my brother staring back at me with barely contained rage.

“What?” I whispered.

My father let out a humorless laugh.

“You’ve always been naïve, Y/N.” He rubbed the tip of his nose with the back of his hand, and for the first time I realized he’d been drinking. “You can hide it behind that temper you inherited from your mother, but you’ll always be vulnerable in that regard.”

His eyes hardened.

“Did you really think I was going to let you move away from here and not keep you on my radar?”

My stomach dropped.

“We’ve always known what was going on between you and him, Y/N,” Artyom added.

Silence settled over the room.

I was still trying to process everything I’d just learned. Meanwhile, my brothers seemed to be waiting for my father’s reaction.

Finally, he spoke.

“Go to your room, Y/N.” His voice was exhausted. “We’ll talk again when that—”

He stopped himself before finishing the sentence.

“—when that man gets here.”

My eyes widened. I wanted to ask what he meant.

No.

I thought I already knew exactly what he meant. I just needed someone to confirm it.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t bring myself to ask. So I simply turned around and walked to my room.

The first thing I did was plug my phone in to charge.

The moment it turned on, notifications started flooding in. Messages. Missed calls.

The only ones I cared about were Max’s.

So I opened our chat and started reading.

MAX: Where are you? I’ve looked all over the paddock and it’s like you vanished. I know you’re still upset, but I want to celebrate with you.

MAX: You’re worrying me. I’ve asked around and nobody has seen you.

MAX: Laurent told me you had an emergency. Are you okay? Text me as soon as you can.

MAX: I know what’s going on now. We’ll see each other soon.

And that was where the messages stopped.

That last text confirmed what I had already suspected. Max was coming here to talk to my family. My anxiety immediately worsened, and the tears wouldn’t stop falling.

What the hell had we gotten ourselves into?

I don’t know how I managed to fall asleep, but eventually exhaustion won, and I slipped into unconsciousness.

The next morning, I woke up and got dressed. I didn’t go downstairs for breakfast. I didn’t greet anyone. I wasn’t ready for that yet.

Two hours later, Artyom came upstairs and asked me to come down. One look at his face told me the person I had been expecting had arrived.

My heart was racing. I laced my fingers together to hide how badly my hands were trembling. When I entered the room, I found more than just my family waiting for me.

Laurent was there.

Max’s manager.

Jos Verstappen.

And Max.

Everyone was already seated, so I quietly took a seat beside my father.

“Now that Y/N is here, I think we can begin,” Artyom said as he sat down next to Ilya.

“I’m going to be direct,” my father began. “As you’re all aware, my daughter, Y/N, is expecting a child with young Mr. Verstappen here present, and I believe we all understand that the situation is far from ideal.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“So, in order to resolve this matter in a way that benefits all parties involved…” He paused. “Max must marry my daughter.”

He delivered the statement like it was the most logical solution in the world.

My jaw dropped.

“You can’t force us to agree to something like that.” Jos Verstappen’s deep voice broke the silence.

My father didn’t even flinch. Instead, he nodded, as if he had anticipated the objection.

“You’re absolutely right, Mr. Verstappen.” His tone remained calm. “Which is why I’ve decided that if Max refuses my condition, I will take my daughter and her child far away from all of you. You will never see them, nor hear from them again.”

The room went still.

“Dad…” I protested softly.

My heart was pounding so hard it felt like I couldn’t get enough oxygen into my lungs.

“You can’t do that,” Max shot back.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of his pale face.

We both knew he could do that, and much worse.

“Please don’t interrupt me. I’m not finished.” My father continued like nobody had spoken. “And because I understand that, for some of you, that outcome might actually be convenient…” His gaze shifted toward Laurent.

“I will also be withdrawing all of my sponsorships from RedBull.”

Laurent immediately protested.

Then everything descended into chaos. Everyone was talking at once. Everyone had something to say. Everyone objected to my father’s proposal.

“I accept.” Max’s voice cut through the room like the crack of a whip.

The conversations died instantly.

“But Max—” Jos tried to reason with him before Max interrupted.

“No.” His voice was firm. “I understand that I have a responsibility toward Y/N and our child.”

He glanced briefly in my direction.

“And if this is the way you believe that responsibility should be fulfilled, then I’ll do it.”

Not once did he hesitate. The determination on his face made it clear that he meant every word.

Yet his answer brought me no comfort. I had practically fallen into the exact situation I had spent years trying to escape when I walked away from the cushioned life my father had built around me.

And now I sat there, watching everyone negotiate over me like I was an object.

Like I had no voice in any of it.

Unfortunately, that didn’t change over the following weeks.

The wedding was small. My father had wanted something much bigger, much more extravagant, but for once in his life, he did things my way.

Just close family, a few people from the team, and a couple of friends. Nothing more.

I only remember fragments of that day.

The dress. The weight of everyone’s gaze. The sound of a glass accidentally shattering during the reception. The judge’s voice. The flowers. The beautiful ring Max had given me. His hands wrapped around mine. But everything else was just a blur.

It was as if I had been watching the ceremony from outside my own body. As if the bride had been someone else.

Every time someone congratulated me, I smiled automatically. Every time someone took a picture of us, I did exactly what was expected of me. And every time I looked at Max, I felt an unbearable ache in my chest. Because it was obvious to me that he didn’t want to be there.

No one dreams of getting married because their father-in-law backed them into a corner.

By the time we finally arrived at the apartment in Monaco, I was exhausted. All I wanted was to take off the dress and hide under the covers for a week.

I heard the door close behind us.

I avoided looking at Max as I started taking off my earrings.

“Are you going to ignore me all night?” His voice made me tense.

“I’m not ignoring you,” I tried to defend myself.

“You’ve been doing it for weeks.”

I set one of the earrings down on the vanity.

“I’ve been busy with the wedding and the pregnancy.”

“That’s a lie.”

I looked up at the mirror. Max was still standing near the entrance, his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up. He looked just as exhausted as I felt.

“What do you want me to say?” I threw my hands up in frustration.

“The truth.”

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

“That’s ironic.” I pushed some hair away from my face.

“Why?” he asked like he genuinely didn’t understand.

I finally turned to face him.

“Because neither of us has been telling the truth since all of this started.”

I watched his jaw tighten.

“And what exactly is the truth according to you?”

A knot formed in my throat.

“That you didn’t want this.”

“What?”

“You didn’t want to get married.” The words came out faster than I intended. “I don’t blame you, Max. I wouldn’t have wanted it either.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” His expression showed genuine confusion.

“My father gave you an ultimatum.”

“Y/N—”

“He forced you.”

“He didn’t force me.” He shook his head as soon as I finished speaking.

“Yes, he did.” My voice cracked. “He backed you into a corner and took away every other option.”

The silence that followed was brutal. For a moment, I thought he would simply agree. Admit the obvious. Instead, something changed in his expression.

Max looked genuinely angry.

“Is that what you think?” His tone was sharper than I expected.

“Isn’t it true?” I challenged him with my gaze.

“No.” The answer came so quickly it left me frozen.“No.” He repeated it more firmly. “What your father did was try to force me.”

“And it worked.”

“No.” The word echoed through the room. “No one forces me to do something I don’t want to do.”

I stared at him without understanding.

“Max…”

“You don’t get it, do you?” His frustration was palpable.“I’ve raced injured because I wanted to. I’ve ignored team orders because I wanted to. I’ve spent my entire life doing exactly what I want.”

His chest rose and fell heavily.

“So why the hell would your father be the exception?”

My heart started beating faster.

“Because he threatened to—”

“I don’t give a fuck about your father’s money.” The bluntness of his words made me blink. “You think I said yes because I cared about the sponsors?”

“Then why?” The question came out barely above a whisper.

The anger faded slightly from his face.

“Because it was you.”

The air left my lungs.

“Max…”

“You think I wanted it to happen like this?” He shook his head. “No. Do you think I wanted your father involved? No. Do you think I wanted you to feel trapped? No.”

He took a step toward me.

“But if the question is whether I wanted to be with you…” His eyes met mine. And for the first time in weeks, I didn’t see resignation. I didn’t see obligation. I didn’t see regret. “The answer is yes.”

My vision blurred.

“Then why didn’t you ever say anything?”

The smile that appeared on his lips was small. Sad.

“Because you were so busy convincing yourself that I didn’t want you that you never stopped to ask me.”

This time, my tears didn’t come from fear or sadness. They came from relief. Because for months, I had carried the certainty that all of this had been a mistake. And now I was discovering that I had been wrong.

(…)

I never imagined happiness could be so quiet. For years, I had searched for it in big things. Degrees, promotions, recognition. In the approval of people who were probably never going to give it to me and in the end, I found it on an ordinary Tuesday at three in the morning.

Sitting on the floor of the nursery. A blanket draped over my shoulders and a baby girl asleep in my arms.

The soft glow of a lamp barely illuminated the room. Everything was silent except for our daughter’s steady breathing.

“Up again?”

I looked up. Max was leaning against the doorway, barefoot, his hair messy, still half asleep.

“She woke up a few minutes ago.”

“You could’ve called me.”

“You were sleeping.”

“And you weren’t?”

“I’m fine.”

Max laughed.

“You’ve been saying that for three months.” He walked over and dropped down beside us on the rug.

He watched our daughter for a few moments. The way his eyes softened every time he looked at her still surprised me. Because no one else got to see that version of him. Only us.

“She looks like you,” he said softly.

“Poor kid.”

“Very funny.”

I rested my head against his shoulder and we simply sat there, enjoying the silence. Until my eyes drifted back to the laptop sitting open on top of the dresser.

Max followed my gaze.

“You’re still thinking about it.” It wasn’t a question.

“A little.”

“A lot.”

I sighed. Maybe he was right.

“I miss working.” The confession came with an immediate wave of guilt. Because I loved our daughter, I loved her more than I ever thought possible. But I also missed engineering, I missed solving problems, the data, the challenges, I missed feeling like I was building something.

“You shouldn’t make that face.”

“What face?”

“The guilty one.”

“I’m not feeling guilty.”

“You’re terrible at lying.”

Damn it.

“I just…” I looked down at the sleeping baby. “I thought once I became a mother it would stop mattering.”

“Work?”

I nodded.

“And it didn’t.”

Max stayed quiet for a few moments.

“Good.”

I looked at him in confusion.

“Good?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s good about that?”

“That you still have dreams.”

The answer caught me completely off guard.

“Max…”

“What?”

“We have a daughter now.”

“I know.”

“And a family.”

“I know that too.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

He reached over and adjusted one of the blankets covering the baby.

“Because none of those things mean you have to stop being who you are.”

A lump formed on my throat.

“I can’t go back to the team.” We both knew it was true.

The rules, the internal policies, the conflicts of interest. All of it made it impossible for us to work together again.

“Then don’t go back.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“Do something better.”

I let out a small laugh.

“Sure. As if it were that easy.”

“For you, it probably is.”

“Max.” I warned.

“I’m serious.” He turned to look at me. “You spent years trying to prove you deserved a place in someone else’s company.”

I nodded slowly.

“And?”

“Why are you still thinking so small?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

“You could consult for teams, start your own company, develop technology. You could hire engineers better than everyone we met at Mercedes and Red Bull combined.” A smile appeared on his lips. “God knows you’ve got the money to do it.”

I couldn’t help laughing.

“That was weirdly romantic.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I know.” And that was exactly what surprised me.

Because he really believed it. He always had. Even when I didn’t.

“You think I can do it.”

“No.” His answer made me frown.

“No?”

“I know you can.”

The tears came before I could stop them. Max immediately rolled his eyes.

“Why are you crying?”

“Because you just said something nice.”

“I didn’t say anything nice.”

“You literally just did it again.”

“Oh my God.” His expression of resignation only made me laugh harder.

Our daughter, as if she had decided to join the conversation, let out a tiny protest in her sleep.

We both looked down at her at the same time. Then we looked at each other and smiled. Because for the first time in a very long time, I didn’t feel like my life had become smaller.

It had expanded.

I had a daughter, a family and I still had a future.

NSFW

-I see Jacob as a munch. He can’t get enough of it. You can just be sitting around watching tv, and he’ll beg you to let him go down on you. He just wants a taste.

-he’s definitely dominant in bed, but he also doesn’t mind if you take control once in a while. He throws you around however he wants to. “You’re mine.” He says as he plants kisses all the way down your body.

-he likes getting head, but doesn’t like spending that much time on it. He’d rather have the real thing anytime.

-he’s not very kinky. But one night, after a costume party, he let you put cuffs on him… you were a sexy cop and he was your prisoner. “Yes officer..” he mumbles as you kiss on his ear and neck, leaving little love bites on him.

face masks

max stared at his reflection in the mirror with suspicion as the green face mask dried on his skin. “i look ridiculous” he declared. “you look relaxed” you corrected, trying not to laugh. twenty minutes later, you were taking photos of him to share max’s “skincare journey” off to your followers

max trying matcha

while max scrolled through his phone at the kitchen island, you carefully whisked together two iced vanilla matcha’s. he raised an eyebrow when you handed him the glass “this better be worth the hype” he says taking a sip, he paused before nodding approvingly “okay, this is actually pretty good”

doing his eyebrows

“stay still” you warned, tweezers in hand.” i’m literally sitting still” he argued, despite flinching every time you got near him. each tiny pluck earned an exaggerated complaint, making the progress take twice as long. when you finally finished, he inspected his reflection closely before smirking “i think you missed your calling.”

pilates class

pilates seemed easy enough at first. five minutes later, max was questioning every life choice that had lead him there “these muscles weren’t even supposed to exist” he complained under his breath. you nearly lost focus trying not to laugh. still, his competitive streak kicked in and he refused to quit a single exercise, even if both of you could barely stand at the end.

relaxing

after showers and comfy clothes, the two of you curled up on the couch with blankets and a movie. you rested your head on his shoulder while he absentmindedly traced circles on your hand. the apartment was quiet except for the film playing in the background. it wasn’t often that he got a day completely away from racing so moments like this felt even more special.

painting his nails

when you suggested paining his nails, max immediately said no. after ten minutes of trying to convince him, he was sitting silently while you painted a light pink coat of polish onto his nails. “if anyone asks, this never happened” he joked. yet when you complimented how neat they looked, he couldn’t help but glance down at them with a small, satisfied smile.

@ angelyn

liked by maxvertappen1, laurenfitzsimmons_ and 229,049 others

angelyn: max definitely loves today more than he lets on 🤍

view all comments

maxverstappen1: pilates was the worst thing i've ever done.

user: max doing pilates is crazy

user: i think max needed that face mask after monaco's results

You’re standing at the kitchen counter, measuring out ingredients for pancakes as a hand wraps around your waist. You let out a startled gasp as Sidney pulls your back to his bare chest.

“Sidney!” You exclaim with a laugh, hand going to clutch your pounding heart. “You scared the hell out of me!”

His voice is raspy, and you know immediately what he wants as he laughs cockily, moving your curly hair away from one side of your neck before latching his lips onto it.

“I’m sorry baby.” He says between kisses, and you can’t help but let out little sighs as he continues tracing warm and wet kisses up and down the length of your neck.

“Sid.” You say, your voice coming out airy.

“What is it, baby?” He asks teasingly, one arm holding you around your stomach, his right hand moving down to the bottom of his shirt you insist on stealing every night.

Your purple lace panties are growing damper at the feeling of his mouth on your sensitive skin, and Sidney groans as his fingers trace your hip bone to find you wearing his favorite pair. He can tell without seeing them, he can feel the familiar pattern of lace. It’s then that you decide to test the waters, grinding back slightly, but just enough to feel how hard he is. You push back, and fuck.. he’s hard.

“Sidney.” You breathe out, white hot need flying through your body.

“Thanks for the pancakes baby, but I’m hungry for something else.” He says, his voice deep with desire.

He didn’t give you the chance to question him, didn’t give you the chance to respond. Sidney only picks you up, and puts you down on the island. The cool stone countertop feeling good against your flush skin. His hand comes up to push your body down, your back touching the countertop as he pulls you to the edge. He tugs your panties down in one swift movement, the purple lace falling to the kitchen floor. The rush of desire, cold air, and warmth of Sidney’s gaze floods you all at the same time. Your skin crawls with need, and you can feel how wet you are from just the smallest amount of attention.

“My god baby.” Sidney groans, his eyes locking on your center. And the sound of his voice, the feeling of his breath hitting your core makes a little moan escape your lips. “You’re fucking soaking.”

“Please.” You choke out, your hooded eyes landing on his.

“Is this all for me?”

“It’s all yours.” You tell him, ready to tell him anything if that meant getting some part of him to touch you.

And it doesn’t take much more than that for Sidney to throw your legs over his shoulders, and press a kiss to your clit. Stars ignite in your vision, and you’re convinced if the world came to an end that you would die a very happy woman.

Sidney looks up, seeing your parted lips moaning for him, seeing the way your eyes are barely open, so lost in the little bit of pleasure he just gave you. And he doesn’t hold back. His hands plant on your thighs which are framing the sides of his face, and he licks a stripe across your core. Your moan is like music to his ears as he continues. He doesn’t care about starting slow, not this time. Other times he’d tease you, kiss your inner thighs, touch your clit just a bit, but not today. Today all he wanted was the taste of you on his tongue, the feeling of your hands through his hair, and the sounds you make when he’s making you feel everything.

“Oh fuck!” You exclaim as he latches his lips on your clit and sucks. His hand releasing one of your thighs as he drags two fingers around, circling your entrance.

“Shh, baby. Let me show you how bad I need you.” He chuckles deeply, knowing just how to make you tick. He spent time perfecting this, learning exactly what you needed, learning exactly what you feel like before and while you come apart for him. And as he plunges two fingers in, knowing you’re wet enough to take them, Sidney feels his cock strain so painfully against his boxers.

The feeling of his fingers causes you to clench tightly, plus his mouth still sucking tightly on your clit has you panting. You know you’re not going to last much longer. Not with this, and not with the look in Sidney’s eyes as he devours you. You watch him as you pull the shirt up over your breasts, exposing yourself fully. And Sidney cannot look away as you roll your nipple through your fingers, the electric shock making you gasp, and making you tighten even more around his fingers.

Sidney lets out a moan against your clit, and the vibration nearly sends you over board.

“Sid!” You say, starting to move your hips in a frenzy, wanting to come so badly at this point. One hand is gripping the edge of the counter over your head, and another is shoved deep into his hair. Sometimes Sidney would wait until you’re right on the brink before pulling away. He’d do it multiple times, tease you until there’s a puddle under you or tears in your eyes. But right now, all he wants is you to fall apart on his fingers, on his tongue.

But you keep chanting his name, “Sid, please don’t stop!”

He moans again, watching your body lock up tighter, listening as your moans gets louder. He knows when you’re about to come, and his body tightens at the anticipation. Your arm comes up from the edge of the counter and covers your mouth, causing Sidney to rip himself off of you. Stilling his fingers as you cry out in agony at him stopping.

“Let me fucking hear you.” He says, pulling your arm back off of your mouth as he watches your eyes darken as you nod your head. “If I continue, are you going to be good?” He asks you, and he moves his fingers just slightly, as if reminding you what you get when you listen, but just enough where you let out a moan, loud and uncovered.

“Yes!” You exclaim, starting to ride his fingers, needing anything you can get. “Yes, yes I’ll be good, I promise.”

Sidney groans, that satisfied smirk covering his lips as he dives back down to your core. You thank god Sidney lives in a house and not an apartment building, because you can barely hear anything over the ringing in your head and the moans escaping your lips. Little, pleases and oh Sidney right there’s. And then he felt it. The familiar clench of your walls around his thick fingers, the way your clit pulses in his mouth, the wetness sliding down his chin and dripping onto the counter. You explode in ecstasy, you could be crying in pleasure or screaming out his name for all you know.

Sidney has played in sold out games, has represented his team, his country. But this? He lives for this. Lives for the mess you can make, lives for the way you tighten up so much before an almost scream comes out of your lips. Lives for the way he can feel you gush around him, and the taste of you sends Sidney over the edge.

It’s like he’s a teenage boy again, but that’s what you do to him. As he licks up everything you give him, as your muscles tighten so much around his fingers that he almost can’t move them, Sidney comes in his boxers. He moans at the feeling of everything, and the vibrations of that cause your orgasm to prolong itself. The grip on his hair tightens, and you ride his face and fingers as you come again immediately. He knows how sensitive you get, knows how easily it is to make you come again and again until you’re squirting down his chest.

But he forces himself to pull away a bit, licking you clean as he pulls his fingers out of you, and his eyes roam over your body. And you look beautiful to him. The post orgasm flush covers your skin, your chest rising and falling quickly, your thighs glistening with your release, but it’s your eyes that cause Sidney to grin. It’s the look in your eyes that could make him fall in love with you over and over again if he lost all his memories. He stares into the vast green, and he pulls you up to kiss him.

You taste yourself on his lips as he does, but you only groan, kissing him back in equal measure. Your finger tips trace down his chest, legs wrapping around his body, and he pulls away to stutter out a sigh. Sidney Crosby is a giver, but so are you. Even in your post orgasm fog, you want him in your mouth. You want his hands in your hair, you want his voice walking you through it, telling you how good you are. And it doesn’t matter that you just came twice, you need him again.

“Baby.” He says quietly, and you think he’s going to tell you the same thing he always does. How you don’t have to return the favor, or how he should clean you up before you wrap your lips around his cock. But then you feel the wetness hit your fingertips, and you look down in surprise.

“Sid-“ you start to say, and you realize it then. He came untouched.

He turns a bit red, but the smirk stays put on his mouth.

“I couldn’t help myself, you taste so fucking good.” He says, and you pull him into a soft kiss. It doesn’t last long, and as Sidney pulls away and picks you up easily and moves in the direction of the shower, your wave of need grows stronger.

You make a little sound, looking at Sidney. The needy whine grabbing Sidney’s attention. He pauses in the hallway, still holding you close to him. His muscles flex, and you’re half tempted to say fuck the shower and have him take you against the wall.

“Needy that quick?” He asks, teasing you. “Do you think you can handle me again?” He whispers, his eyes clouding again with desire.