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bellatrixlestrangeswhore · 19 hours ago

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Breakfast at the Wolffs - Part 3

Masterlist

Summary: Supermodel Tatiana Felicio joins her best friend Lewis Hamilton in Monaco for a few weeks, expecting a quiet break from the fashion world. Instead, she’s drawn into the Wolff family’s inner circle, building a close bond with Susie, Toto, and their son Kimi. Over shared meals, late-night talks, and honest conversations in Italian, Tate’s guarded past begins to surface. Her generosity and calm confidence leave a mark on everyone she meets, even as curiosity about her spreads through the paddock. After weeks of keeping her distance, she finally makes her paddock debut, instantly becoming one of the most talked-about figures in Formula 1.

Warnings: 18+, Sensitive topics, Mentions of past domestic abuse, disordered eating, drug and alcohol use, scars, mild sexual references, swearing, luxury wealth/lifestyle depiction, protective dynamics, found family themes.

The next morning, Monaco felt fresher,the kind of crisp winter air that hit the back of your throat when you stepped outside, even if the sun was trying to warm it. Lewis and Tate were in his car again, the city rolling past in quiet bursts of light and shadow.

“Deja vu,” she said, watching the harbour glide into view.

He glanced over with a smirk. “Except now you’re dressed for comfort.”

She looked down at herself, his oversized grey hoodie swallowing her frame, baggy black Nike joggers slouched low on her hips, platform Uggs, hair pulled into a neat ponytail, makeup barely there. She looked warm. She looked small. The hoodie made her collarbones even more noticeable. Lewis was in almost the same uniform, hoodie, joggers, beanie pulled low. They looked like they’d just rolled out of bed, which wasn’t far from the truth.

When they pulled up to the Wolff house, Lewis parked with casual ease, leading her inside. The place was already awake but unhurried. Susie was in the kitchen, stirring tea. Somewhere upstairs, George’s shower was running. Through the glass doors, Carmen sat in the garden scrolling on her phone. Kimi was curled on the sofa with a controller in his hand.

“I’m gonna go talk to Toto in his office,” Lewis said. “Grab a drink in the kitchen.”

She nodded and padded toward the kitchen, the smell of fresh pastries meeting her halfway. Susie looked up with a smile. “Morning. Sit, sit.”

Tate slid onto one of the stools at the island.

“Tea? Coffee?” Susie offered.

“Just water’s fine,” Tate said.

Susie poured her a tall glass, sliding it across. She hesitated, then: “I hope I’m not overstepping, but… is there anything you’d like for breakfast? I want you to be comfortable here.”

Tate blinked, caught off guard by the direct care. “Anything’s fine.”

“We’ve got pastries, fruit, toast, cereal, oats…”

“A fruit bowl would be nice,” Tate said after a beat.

Susie smiled softly and started cutting. “Coming right up.”

Meanwhile, down the hall, Lewis shut the office door behind him.

Toto looked up from his desk, leaning back in his chair. “Morning.”

They swapped a few casual words about last night before Toto said, “After you left, Kimi wouldn’t stop talking about her. Carmen’s been telling Susie about that bag, and George… George went down a Google rabbit hole.”

Lewis smirked knowingly. “Yeah, she’s paid well.”

“It’s more than that,” Toto said. “The media… they treat her like she’s untouchable. I’ve seen the headlines. Photos of her at parties. Yet no bad press.”

Lewis leaned back in his chair. “That’s the modelling world. Different rules. They can get away with things F1 drivers couldn’t. But it’s not just parties for fun, it’s part of the culture. Drinking, coke, champagne… it’s normalised. It’s survival.”

Toto’s expression shifted slightly, not judgement, more calculation. “She has no contact with her family?”

Lewis shook his head. “They were emotionally distant. She’s got her friends, that’s it. Which is why she lit up with Kimi last night, talking to him in Italian like he was a little brother.”

Toto absorbed that in silence for a moment. “She’s in your world now. Which means she’s in mine. I’ll look out for her.”

Lewis’ mouth quirked. “I knew you’d say that.”

By the time Lewis and Toto came out of the office, Susie had set the dining table with a spread that looked like it belonged in a boutique hotel, bowls of berries and sliced fruit, plates of flaky pastries, fresh bread, little jars of jam, a pot of tea steaming beside a French press.

Tate was already there with her fruit bowl, sitting opposite Carmen, who was idly scrolling on her phone. Lewis slid into the chair beside Tate, Toto taking the head of the table.

Kimi wandered in from the living room, dropping into the chair next to Tate with the comfortable ease of someone who had already claimed her as his. “Buongiorno,” he said, leaning on the table.

“Buongiorno,” she replied without missing a beat.

From then on, the conversation between them stayed in Italian. It was fast, warm, and clearly private. Kimi asked if she liked modelling, if it was fun. She said yes, the best part was wearing incredible designs and spending every day with her friends. Did she like partying? Yes, she admitted with a sly smile. Drinking was the first thing you learned when you became a model. Then the questions shifted. Did she have a boyfriend? No. They’d broken up a few months ago. Why? He wasn’t a nice guy. Was she safe from him? Yes, especially with Lewis around. Was she close with her family? No, they weren’t nice people either.

Kimi frowned for a moment, then said quietly, “You feel like my big sister.”

She laughed softly. “That’s good. Every little brother needs a big sister.”

When he stood and hugged her, Lewis didn’t know what was being said but he caught the warmth of it. Across the table, Toto’s eyes lingered for just a moment, understanding every word.

Tate turned to Carmen once Kimi sat back down. “Next time you’re in New York, come by my place. See if there’s anything else you want. My wardrobe’s… excessive.”

Carmen smiled. “That’s a dangerous offer.”

Tate looked to Susie. “You too. I’ve got limited edition pieces that have never been worn. They might as well go to people who’ll actually use them.”

It didn’t sound like bragging more like someone offering a spare room to a friend.

Lewis smirked across the table at George. “You know she gets me half my designer stuff, right?”

Tate shot him a look. “Only because the designers send me things in your size.”

George’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Wait, you mean most of your paddock fits are because she hands them to you?”

“Pretty much,” Lewis said, smug.

Kimi frowned like the rules of the game had just been revealed. “That’s an unfair advantage.”

Tate reached for her phone. “Give me your clothing size.”

Kimi rattled it off without hesitation. She typed it in, then turned her gaze on George.

“Oh,” George said quickly, catching on. “Medium. Thirty-two waist.”

Carmen laughed, adding her own sizes when Tate’s brow flicked her way, followed by Susie’s and then, to everyone’s mild surprise, Toto’s.

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “Who did you just text?”

“A group chat,” Tate said casually. “Told them if they have anything in those sizes, or spare accessories, to ship them to your address.”

George sat back. “That’s… ridiculous. In the best way.”

After breakfast, the group drifted toward the patio, sliding open the big glass doors. The late-morning sun was warm enough to take the edge off the winter air, and the pool glimmered blue in the centre of the terrace.

Kimi dropped into one of the chairs beside Tate, the conversation slipping back into Italian like flipping a switch. “You don’t have to answer this,” he said quietly, “but are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” she said.

“Why only fruit for breakfast?”

“I struggle with food.”

“Does Lewis know?”

“Yes.”

“Because of modelling?”

“Yes… but also because of drugs.”

That made him pause, but he didn’t push. Instead: “What about your last relationship?”

“What about it?”

“I’ve never had a girlfriend. I don’t want to be a bad boyfriend one day.”

She smiled faintly. “To be a good one, you just need to show love.”

“Did your ex show you love?”

“At first. Then it faded.”

Kimi pulled his knees up onto the chair, resting his chin on them. “Did something bad happen to you?”

She sighed, but she didn’t look away. “He used to hit me. A lot. Pin me down, kick me, throw things. Scream in my face. Call me names.”

Kimi’s voice was soft. “Is that why you flinched when I hugged you last night?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Can I hug you now?”

She opened her arms and he was in them immediately, small but fierce. “I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through.”

A minute later, she stood to grab a drink. Susie told her to help herself. In the kitchen, she’d barely opened the fridge when Toto’s voice came from behind her. “I know Italian.”

She froze for a beat, then glanced over her shoulder. “You do?”

He nodded. “I heard everything.”

She closed the fridge gently. “Okay.”

“Are you really okay?”

“I am. I’m happy here. With Lewis. It’s… nice to be welcomed.”

He hesitated, then said, “If you need anything, and I mean absolutely anything, I’m here.”

She gave a small nod, and he pulled her into a hug before they walked back outside. Kimi was waiting with a water gun. The spray caught her shoulder, and she yelped, chasing him across the terrace as everyone else laughed.

Lewis used the distraction to glance at Toto. “You heard all of that, didn’t you?”

Toto’s jaw was set, but he nodded.

The water fight was meant to be harmless, a couple of blasts from Kimi’s water gun, Tate chasing him around the patio while Lewis and Toto pretended not to get involved. But then Kimi, grinning like the devil, made a split-second decision.

He darted toward the pool, lured her close enough, then shoved. The splash was enormous. Gasps and laughter erupted from the patio, but before Kimi could make his getaway, a wet hand clamped onto his wrist. Tate surfaced, hair slicked back, eyes narrowed in mock outrage, and yanked him in with her.

The water was cold enough to make them both shriek. Kimi came up spluttering, already laughing so hard he could barely tread water. “You’re evil!”

“You started it!” she shot back, wiping her face.

On the patio edge, George crouched down, offering Tate his hand. She reached up and let him pull her out, effortlessly. Too effortlessly.

He felt it instantly. How light she was. Water streamed off her clothes, darkening the oversized hoodie that clung to her frame. Lewis, knowing how heavy that would be, stepped forward and tugged it off over her head without asking, leaving her in a thin white tank top plastered to her skin.

The baggy Nike joggers were soaked and hung even lower on her hips now, the waistband loose enough to hint at the sharp angle of her hip bones. The tank clung to her ribs, collarbones prominent, every line of her shoulders stark under the wet fabric.

Lewis barely blinke, he’d seen her like this a hundred times, but around the pool, there was a subtle shift. Carmen’s smile faltered for a moment. Susie’s gaze softened. George glanced away quickly. Even Toto’s eyes lingered, not in judgement, but in quiet awareness.

Tate didn’t notice. She was too busy wringing out her hair, laughing as Kimi tried to swim to the side, the picture of someone completely unbothered. Lewis slung the wet hoodie over a chair. “You should meet the other drivers one of these days,” he said casually.

She gave him a polite but firm, “No, thank you.”

He chuckled. “You’ll have to eventually.”

“Not today,” she said, grabbing a towel.

#f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 grid x reader #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton imagine #lh44 #mercedes amg petronas #mercedes amg f1 #mercedes amg girl

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bellatrixlestrangeswhore · 1 day ago

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Please make something funny with Isack and rookie reader

The Pregnancy Test

It was supposed to be a calm Thursday before media day. Drivers were trickling into the paddock, coffee in hand, sunglasses on, trying to pretend they hadn’t spent the previous night in hotel bars, gyms, or doom-scrolling Twitter.

But then the internet exploded.

And not for some strategic upgrade or a spicy team radio leak. No, this was something else entirely.

Because apparently, the youngest driver on the grid had been photographed at a local convenience store the night before… buying not one, not two, but several boxes of pregnancy tests.

“Have you seen this?!” Pierre came storming into the hospitality lounge, phone in hand, eyes wide like he’d just discovered the earth was flat.

Max, mid-bite of a banana, barely looked up. “If it’s another meme account putting my face on a cat, I don’t care.”

“It’s not that!” Pierre slapped his phone down on the table dramatically, screen showing the grainy paparazzi photo. “It’s her!”

Charles leaned over, squinting. “Is that— is that Yn?”

Carlos, who had been peacefully sipping coffee, choked. “Wait. Are those—”

“Pregnancy tests.” Pierre nodded gravely, as though announcing the apocalypse.

The room fell silent. Even Max stopped chewing.

George wandered in at that exact moment, latte in hand, humming to himself before noticing everyone’s horrified faces. “What’s going on?”

Max held up the phone wordlessly.

George squinted. “…Oh bloody hell.”

“EXACTLY.” Pierre flailed. “What are we supposed to do with this information?!”

Oscar peeked over George’s shoulder. “Maybe it’s not her? Maybe it’s someone who just… looks like her?”

“No, that’s definitely her.” Charles sighed, zooming in. “That’s the jacket she wore yesterday. I told her it was ugly.”

“Priorities, mate,” George muttered.

Lewis walked in then, because of course he had perfect timing. He glanced around, immediately sensing chaos. “Okay. What’s going on here?”

Everyone shoved the phone at him at once.

Lewis stared at the screen for a long moment. Then sighed. “Oh for f—” He cut himself off because, father figure or not, he wasn’t about to swear openly about his honorary child.

While the entire paddock was spiraling, the subject of the rumors herself strolled into the lounge ten minutes later, sunglasses perched on her head, iced coffee in hand, humming like her life was perfectly normal.

“Good morning, losers,” she greeted, dropping into a chair.

Everyone froze.

She glanced up, confused at the silence. “Uh. Did I walk into a cult meeting or…?”

“Yn,” Lewis began carefully, “do you have something you’d like to share with the group?”

She blinked at him. “…Like what? My coffee order? ’Cause it’s just a vanilla latte, nothing scandalous.”

Charles shoved Pierre’s phone under her nose. “THIS.”

She took one glance, then snorted. “Oh my god. You guys are actually losing it over that?”

Carlos gaped. “YOU BOUGHT SIX BOXES OF PREGNANCY TESTS.”

“And?” She shrugged, sipping her coffee.

“And?!” George’s voice cracked. “You’re seventeen!”

“Wow, thank you for the reminder, George. I totally forgot my age.” She rolled her eyes.

Oscar, voice small: “Are you… pregnant?”

Yn let out a laugh so loud half the paddock probably heard it. “No. Obviously not. Jesus, you guys are dramatic.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Then why—”

“Because,” she cut in, throwing her hands up, “a certain IDIOT thought he might be pregnant.”

The room blinked.

“Excuse me, what?” Pierre said.

“Wait,” Charles frowned. “You said he.”

At that exact moment, Isack walked in, hoodie up, clutching tissues, looking like death warmed over. He froze when he saw the entire grid staring at him. “…What?”

Yn pointed at him like she was presenting evidence in court. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: the idiot.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Carlos said, shaking his head. “What do you mean he thought he was pregnant? That’s not— that’s not even possible.”

“Exactly!” Yn threw her arms in the air. “Tell him that!”

Isack sniffled, looking offended. “Okay, first of all, I wasn’t feeling good. I was nauseous. I was tired. My nose was all stuffed. My head hurt.”

“That’s called having a cold, genius,” Yn deadpanned.

He glared at her. “Or pregnancy symptoms!”

The room exploded.

Lewis pinched the bridge of his nose like he was physically in pain. “Oh my god.”

Max looked personally offended. “Are you STUPID?!”

“Hey!” Isack shot back. “I googled it, okay?!”

“Oh, fantastic,” George muttered. “He googled it.”

Charles actually laughed. “Mon dieu. This is insane.”

Pierre looked like he was about to combust. “So you— you made Yn go out at night and buy you—” he waved his arms, “—pregnancy tests?!”

“She didn’t have to,” Isack mumbled.

“Yes I DID,” Yn shot back. “Because you were sitting in my hotel room looking like you were about to cry. I thought if I got them, you’d shut up and stop being a hypochondriac.”

Oscar, trying not to laugh: “And… did it work?”

“Well,” Yn smirked, leaning back, “turns out our boy here is NOT pregnant. Congratulations, dad.”

Isack puffed his chest proudly. “Negative, all three of them.”

“You took THREE?!” George yelped.

“I had to be sure!” Isack defended himself.

Max slammed his hands on the table. “THIS IS THE STUPIDEST THING I HAVE EVER HEARD.”

“Liam once thought that a pogeon was stalking him, remember?” Yn asked him.

“That’s different!” Max barked.

Carlos was rubbing his temples. “I cannot believe this. I cannot believe this is real.”

Pierre was pacing. “Do you know what this looks like? Do you know what the internet is saying right now?!”

Yn shrugged. “Yeah. They think I’m pregnant. Whatever. It’s funny.”

“FUNNY?!” Pierre screeched.

“Relax, grandpa.” She smirked. “It’ll blow over in like, two days. The internet has the attention span of a goldfish.”

Lewis, calm but firm: “Yn. You can’t just brush this off. You’re seventeen. This is— this is serious.”

She softened slightly, sensing his genuine concern. “I know, Lew. But really, it’s not a big deal. I wasn’t embarrassed. I wasn’t scared. It was just… stupid Isack being stupid. And me being a good friend.”

Isack sneezed loudly. “Thanks.”

“Shut up, idiot,” she said affectionately.

Oscar was still processing everything: “Wait, so… you actually went to the store? At like, midnight?”

“Yeah,” Yn said casually. “Hoodie, sunglasses, full incognito mode. Thought no one would notice. Guess I was wrong.”

Charles started laughing. “That is iconic, actually.”

“ICONIC?!” George nearly fainted. “This is a PR nightmare!”

Yn grinned. “Relax, PR dad. The fans love me. They already turned it into memes. I saw one that said ‘Yn really speedrunning life — karting, F1, pregnancy.’ That’s hilarious.”

Max groaned. “You are unhinged.”

“Thank you.”

George was still baffled. “I just… can’t believe Isack genuinely thought he could be pregnant.”

Isack crossed his arms defensively. “You weren’t there, okay? My body felt weird. I panicked.”

Yn rolled her eyes. “You’re an idiot. End of story.”

Carlos pointed at Yn. “And you. Next time, maybe don’t enable him?”

“I was being NICE!” she protested.

“You could’ve just told him to sleep it off!”

“I DID. He cried.”

“I did not cry!” Isack cut in.

“You sniffled!”

“I was congested!”

The entire room groaned.

Lewis finally stood, hands raised. “Okay. Enough. This conversation is over. Yn, no more late-night pharmacy runs. Isack, no more googling your symptoms.”

“Yes, dad,” Yn teased.

Isack muttered, “You’re not my dad,” under his breath.

Lewis gave him a look so sharp he immediately shut up.

Later that day, the internet really did explode. Memes were everywhere.

Yn carrying the rookie era like a true Gen Z icon.

I wish I could be Yn's Baby Daddy

Photoshopped posters of “Teen Mom: F1 Edition.”

Yn was thriving. She even liked a few posts.

Isack, on the other hand, was mortified.

“Please stop engaging with it,” he begged her as they walked to media duties.

“No way,” she grinned. “This is my legacy now.”

Meanwhile, the older drivers were still traumatized.

Pierre cornered her before an interview. “I swear to god, Yn, if you EVER do something like this again—”

She smirked. “You’ll what? Buy me more tests?”

He groaned.

Max muttered every time he saw her, “Unhinged. Absolutely unhinged.”

Carlos started calling Isack “mama” just to annoy him.

And Lewis? Lewis just shook his head and muttered, “Seventeen. She’s only seventeen,” like he was aging ten years a day.

A week later, the storm did blow over. By the next race, the memes had slowed, replaced by new scandals and jokes.

But the story lived on in the paddock.

Every time Isack sneezed, someone would whisper, “Congrats on the baby.”

And every time, Yn would laugh the loudest.

Because at the end of the day, there was nothing wrong. She was fine. Isack was an idiot. And the grid? The grid would never recover.

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Authors Note: Well, hello there. I hope you enjoy reading this. Don't be shy and send me a request 😉

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #formula 1 x reader #rookie!reader is a menace #reader is a redbull racing rookie #rookie!reader #driver!reader #isack hadjar x reader

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bellatrixlestrangeswhore · 1 day ago

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Love the rookie!reader, Im sucker for platonic grid fics. Since reader has an actual 2 big brothers... Imagine the chaos when they first arrived with Reader's mom, cause like mom is a regular in the paddock, the time her brother's arrive and visit for the first time imagine the chaos of the grid watching reader be clingy like a cat to her brothers cuddling them and stuff (Im imagining like she sits her brother on a bench and she put her head and feet on their lap with them sitting on the other end, and whenever they try to move she hisses or whine) and the grid is just like who are these guys, when they found out oh their her big bros and ollie and kimi are like we wanna cuddle too! We are her brothers too righttt? 😭 Im bad at explaining mb

The Brothers

The paddock on a race weekend was always buzzing with its usual mix of nerves, gossip, and caffeine highs, but today something new was stirring. Not that the drivers knew it yet. They were going about their normal routines — some joking, some pretending to focus, others pretending not to eavesdrop.

And then she appeared.

Yn. The seventeen-year-old rookie, Red Bull’s firecracker, the internet’s Gen Z icon. She was strolling in, chatting with Ollie and Kimi as usual, when suddenly the paddock gates opened again.

And with them came Melissa. Everyone knew Melissa, Yn’s mom — glamorous, confident, and a staple at races. But what no one expected were the two tall figures walking beside her.

“Wait. Hold up,” Lando muttered from where he was leaning against the McLaren hospitality. “Who the hell are those guys?”

The two men — early twenties, one brunette, one slightly taller and broader with lighter hair — walked in casually, carrying backpacks, looking like they belonged but also very much like they didn’t.

Yn spotted them. And the transformation was immediate.

Her sarcasm melted into pure, unfiltered joy. “NICK! THEO!”

“Ah, crap,” George whispered to Lewis. “She’s running.”

Yn bolted across the paddock, nearly taking out a poor cameraman, and launched herself into the arms of the taller one — Theo. He stumbled back a step but caught her with ease.

“My baby!” Theo laughed, squeezing her tight.

Nick ruffled her hair like she was still ten. “God, you’re tiny. Are they feeding you?”

“Excuse me, I’m a whole F1 driver!” Yn protested, muffled against Theo’s hoodie.

“And yet still fun-sized,” Nick teased.

By now, the grid was openly staring.

“Does anyone know who these dudes are?” Carlos asked, eyebrows knitted.

“No idea,” Pierre said, sipping his coffee, eyes glued to the scene. “But apparently, they’re allowed to touch her without losing a hand, so they must be important.”

The rookies, especially Ollie and Kimi, were craning their necks.

“Do you think they’re like… managers?” Ollie asked.

“No,” Kimi said flatly. “She just tackled them. She doesn’t tackle her manager.”

Sure enough, Yn was clinging like a koala, refusing to let go as Theo tried to pry her off gently.

“Yn,” he said, laughing. “We just got here.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “Stay forever.”

Ten minutes later, the mystery was only deepening.

Theo and Nick had been forced onto a bench outside the Red Bull motorhome. Yn had stretched herself across them like a cat on her throne: head in Theo’s lap, feet propped on Nick.

Every time one of them shifted, she groaned dramatically.

“Don’t move,” she ordered.

“I can’t feel my leg,” Theo said.

“Cry about it.”

Nick smirked. “She’s exactly the same. Just louder.”

Around them, the drivers gathered like pigeons.

George was the first to crack. “Okay, I can’t take it anymore. Who are you guys?”

Theo looked up, amused. “We’re her brothers.”

Silence.

Then chaos.

“BROTHERS?!” Ollie nearly shouted. “You mean, like, actual—blood brothers?!”

“Uh-huh,” Nick said, stroking Yn’s hair just to annoy her. “I’m Nick, this is Theo.”

“No freaking way,” Lando muttered, wide-eyed.

“She never told us she had brothers,” Pierre said.

Yn cracked one eye open from her throne. “You never asked.”

“You—you let them cuddle you?” Kimi asked, voice going a little high. “That’s not fair!”

Theo blinked. “Fair?”

“We’re her best friends!” Ollie said, gesturing between himself, Kimi, Isack, and Gabriel. “We’ve been here since day one. Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for her to let us cuddle her?”

Yn smirked. “You guys are pokey. They’re soft.”

“EXCUSE ME?” Ollie looked personally offended. “I moisturize!”

Lewis appeared then, sunglasses pushed up, radiating father-figure energy. He took in the scene, the crowd of drivers, and the girl sprawled across her brothers like she owned them.

“What’s going on?” he asked, calm but suspicious.

“Apparently they’re her brothers,” George said, gesturing.

Lewis looked at Theo and Nick, nodded slowly, and then pointed a finger at them. “Respectfully. Don’t hurt her.”

Theo chuckled. “She’s the one biting if we move.”

As if on cue, Nick shifted to crack his back, and Yn hissed. Actually hissed.

“See?”

The entire grid erupted in laughter.

“Oh my god, she’s feral,” Lando wheezed.

“She’s always been feral,” Charles said, shaking his head, but he was smiling.

Fernando wandered in, late to the party as usual. “What is this?”

“They’re her brothers,” Daniel explained dramatically, as if announcing a plot twist.

Fernando squinted at the boys. Then at Yn. Then back at the boys. Finally, he clapped Theo on the shoulder. “Good luck. She’s yours to deal with now.”

Ollie however wasn’t letting this go.

He marched up to the bench, hands on hips. “Yn. We’ve been over this. If you’re letting people be your brothers, we’re in the queue too.”

“No,” Yn said, not moving.

“Yes,” Kimi argued. “We’ve earned it.”

“You don’t just earn brother privileges,” Nick said, amused.

“Yeah, you do!” Ollie shot back. “I’ve listened to her rant about TikTok at two in the morning! I’ve given her my hoodies! I’ve—”

“—crashed her scooter in the paddock,” Yn cut in.

“That was ONE TIME!” Ollie cried.

Theo raised an eyebrow at Kimi. “And what about you?”

Kimi looked deadly serious. “I’ve carried her bags when she was tired.”

Nick whistled. “Strong contender.”

“See!” Kimi said triumphantly. “Brother material.”

Yn groaned. “You guys are exhausting.”

“You’re exhausting,” Ollie shot back.

From the sidelines, Daniel was laughing so hard he was crying. “I swear, this is better than Netflix.”

Eventually, Melissa returned, sipping coffee like she hadn’t just unleashed chaos into the paddock.

“Oh, you met Nick and Theo,” she said casually.

“MET?” Pierre repeated, scandalized. “Melissa, your daughter’s been lying on them like a blanket for half an hour!”

Melissa smiled knowingly. “She misses them. They couldn’t travel until now.”

Lewis softened immediately. “That makes sense.”

But Carlos was still suspicious. He crossed his arms. “So they’re actually her brothers?”

“Yes, Carlos,” Melissa said patiently. “Biological. Same mother. Grew up together. Brothers.”

Carlos sighed dramatically. “Fine. I guess.”

Theo blinked. “What does that mean?”

“It means the grid has been unofficially competing for her affection since she showed up,” Pierre explained. “And apparently, you two just… won?”

“We didn’t even know there was a competition,” Nick said.

“Well, there was,” Ollie muttered bitterly.

It all escalated when Ollie, bold as ever, threw himself down onto the bench too.

“Move over, I’m in.”

“Ollie, no—” Yn started, but it was too late. He wedged himself next to Theo and tried to drape an arm around her.

She shrieked like a cat. “GET OFF.”

Kimi immediately took his chance, climbing onto the other end. “If he’s in, I’m in!”

Suddenly there was a pile: Yn still across her brothers’ laps, Ollie squished against Theo, Kimi trying to balance without falling, and Nick looking like he regretted every life choice that led him here.

“Why is this my life?” Nick muttered.

“Because you’re loved,” Theo said dryly.

“THIS IS SO UNFAIR!” Gabriel shouted from the sidelines. “I want in too!”

Charles was doubled over. “Someone get Netflix cameras RIGHT NOW.”

Lewis finally stepped in, clapping his hands. “Alright, break it up. You’re going to suffocate her.”

“She started it!” Ollie complained.

Yn stuck her tongue out at him.

By the end of the day, the paddock had accepted that Yn’s brothers were real, and also that they were now unofficially part of the circus.

Nick and Theo spent most of the afternoon fielding questions, politely laughing as drivers asked things like “So you’re really blood-related?” and “How much blackmail do you have on her?”

Yn, meanwhile, stayed glued to them every chance she got, ignoring the dramatic cries of betrayal from her rookie besties.

As they were leaving, Lewis clapped both brothers on the shoulders. “Good to meet you. She’s got a lot of people watching out for her here. But you’re still top of the list.”

Theo smiled. “We know.”

Nick glanced back at Yn, who was happily chatting away with Ollie and Kimi again, the three of them walking in sync. “She’s in good hands,” he said.

Lewis smirked. “Depends who you ask.”

And with that, the legend of Yn’s brothers was cemented in paddock history — along with the permanent jealousy of at least two rookies who would, without a doubt, keep campaigning for cuddle privileges.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Authors Note: Well, hello there. I really hope you enjoyed this story. Don't be shy and send me a request 😉🙂‍↕️

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #formula 1 x reader #reader is a redbull racing rookie #rookie!reader is a menace #rookie!reader

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bellatrixlestrangeswhore · 2 days ago

Text

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MORE THAN A DRIVER

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

more about driver!yn

formula one + female!driver!reader smau + irl

What begins as an ordinary race weekend ends with a performance so sharp and unshakable that it sends ripples through the entire paddock — and leaves certain teams questioning the choices they made.

It keeps her awake at night. She should've been elated.

The race had been one of her cleanest all season. Every braking point had been exact. Every overtake clinical. Every sector wrung dry of wasted time.

And yet, when she looked into the Mercedes garage, the same electricity in the air was non existent. No laughter, no back-slapping, no engineers replaying her overtakes on their monitors.

She remembers how he said it, "Kimi Antonelli will be replacing you next year." It landed like a blunt-force hit to the chest. Toto believed it's best for the future of the team.

He didn't thank her for the races she'd given them. He didn't mention the podiums, the late-night debriefs, the way she'd carried the team through the worst seasons since their dominance began.

It was business to him.

She left without looking back. The air outside felt too thin, her Mercedes suit suddenly too heavy. The chatter in the paddock blurred into white noise.

By the time she reached her hotel room, the headlines were already forming in her mind.

MERCEDES PARTS WAYS WITH YN LN ANTONELLI TO REPLACE MERCEDES' SECOND SEAT IS THIS YN'S END?

She didn't bother turning on the lights. She sat on the edge of the bed, bag on the floor, staring at nothing. Mercedes had been home. And now she's standing, with nowhere to go.

The days blurred after Suzuka. Monday, morning the official announcement had dropped. The press release was so sterile it could've been written by AI -- "We thank YN LN for her contributions and we wish her the best in her future."

No montage. No heartfelt tribute. Just a neatly packaged send-off designed to look professional, while feeling like an afterthought.

Sports channels replayed her career highlights between panels. Commentators spoke in polite tones about "fresh talent." Others, less kind, wondered aloud if she'd already peaked.

She didn't watch them. Not directly, anyway. The clips found her -- sent by friends, tagged in posts, or playing faintly from a TV in cafe below her apartment.

Social media was worse. Some fans were furious on her behalf. Others seemed eager to close the chapter.

user: i am in physical pain rn. merc fumbled so bad. user: she’s finished. the sport moves on. user: the loyalty this woman showed them and THIS is how they repay her?? nah. user: sources say ferrari & red bull both interested 👀 user: i want her to sign with literally anyone else just to make them regret this.

By Thursday, the texts started strickling in.

"Heard the news. Don't let them make you think you're done." "You deserve better. Call me if you want to talk."

And then, one made her sit up. From a certain newly promoted team principal.

"Let's talk."

It was grey and raining when the car pulled up to the Red Bull Racing headquarters. The lobby was all glass, steel, and clean branding. She barely registered it, because Mekies was already there, waiting at the far end.

He looked exactly like she remembered from past FIA briefings -- calm, unreadable, with a half-smile that wasn't quite friendly, but wasn't hostile either.

"You came," he said simply.

"You asked," she replied.

He led her to a meeting room whose walls were lined with Red Bull's history -- photographs of victories, trophies lit from below, candid shots of mechanics mid-celebration.

They sat across from each other. He didn't waste time.

"I won't give you a pity seat," he said. "We don't do pity here. We do winning."

Something shifted in his expression. A spark of interest. "Two years," he said.

"Full backing. You'll be alonside Max. If you can't survive that, you won't survive here."

"Beating him's the plan." Her voice didn't waver.

For the first time, he smiled fully. "Then welcome to Red Bull."

The contract was signed on a Thursday afternoon. The announcement didn't come in a press conference, or a neat little tweet.

At noon sharp next day, Red Bull posted a ten-second video:

A black screen. The roar of an engine climbing through the gears. A matte-black helmet with her colors slamming down onto the desk. Her voice, steady and low: Let's do this.

Then it cuts to white text: WELCOME TO RED BULL RACING -- YN LN

The internet exploded.

user: OH. MY. GOD. YN TO RED BULL. MERCEDES PACK IN SHAMBLES. user: max + yn in the SAME GARAGE?????? prayers for the FIAAA user: i’m not even a merc fan but… this feels like betrayal in 4k. user: toto watching this like user: "let’s do this" oh she’s about to ruin careers i can FEEL IT

It's Bahrain, pre-season. The RB was lighter in her hands than the Mercedes had ever been. It bit into coners like it was alive, hungry. The power down the straights pressed her into the seat so hard it almost hurt -- in the best way.

When she pulled back into the garage after her first run, Max was leaning against the entryway.

"You're fast," he said.

"So are you. Guess we'll see who's faster."

The smile he gave her wasn't friendly. He never gave one that was. It was competitive. Respectful. Dangerous.

In the first race, she placed P3 on the grid. P2 at the flag. Ahead of both Mercedes.

The champagne sprayed, the crowd roared, and the cameras caught Toto's face as she stood on the podium -- tight-lipped, unblinking, watching the driver he'd thrown away stand above his cars.

The victory wasn't hers. Not yet.

The next three races blurred into a fever dream of podium ceremonies, debrief rooms, and restless nights. She hadn't even unpacked her apartment in Monaco yet; her suitcase lived half-open on the floor, clothes in perpetual rotation between the laundry and her next flight.

And with every race, the narrative shifted.

No more "Is YN still competitive?" Now it was "How far can she go?"

RB's machine was merciless -- date sheets that bled into the early hours, simulations stacked one after another until her eyes burned. But for the first time in a long time, the pressure didn't feel like a noose around her neck. It felt like breathing.

By the time the circus arrived in Barcelona, the tension between her and Mercedes and was no longer subtle.

RB's YN LN ahead of both Mercedes in the championship Antonelli struggling to find pace? Wolff's replies: No Regrets.

Her first sight of Toto that weeked was in the paddock tunnel. He didn't speak. But she caught the way his eyes flicked over the Red Bull team shirt she was wearing -- the way his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

It was Qualifying on Saturday.

The RB was again, flawless. Every corner carved into muscle memory. Every exit snapping like a rubber band into the straights.

On her final flying lap, she pushed into Turn 9 so deep that the rear twitched, but she held it -- held it -- through sheer force of will. When she crossed the line, her delta was growing green.

P1. Pole position. Max's lap came in three-tenths behind hers.

The garage was chaos when she climbed out. Mechanics shouting, clapping her on the back. Mekies standing with his arms folded, smiling that small, dangerous smile that always looked like he was thinking three moves ahead.

Max approached with his helmet in had. "Nice lap," he said.

"Thanks," she replied. "Try to keep up tomorrow."

He grinned at her like she'd just given him a challenge he couldn't refuse.

It's now Race Day on Sunday. The lights went out, and the RB launched like it was shot from a gun. She hed Max at bay into Turn 1, then widened the gap with clean precision.

The Mercedes in her mirrors fell back quickly -- Russell struggling with balance, Antonelli overcooking corners like he was chasing ghosts. She didn't think about them long.

She only thought about the rhythm.

Lap after lap, she fed the RB exactly what it need -- no more, no less. Brake temps perfect.

By Lap 45, she was five seconds clear of Max. The radio crackled with her race engineer's voice: "Looking good. You're free to push if you want fastest lap."

Her grin was involuntary. Of course she wanted fastest lap. She pushed. The car sang for her, the engine note higher, sharper. Through the last chicane, she could almost feel the RB begging for more.

When the chequered flag waved, it was her name at the top of the timing tower.

Her first win in Red Bull colors.

She slowed on the cool-down lap, the noise of the crowd bleeding through the radio static. In the grandstands, fans waved flags — not just Red Bull blue, but her own custom livery. She spotted signs in every language, her name painted across cardboard and fabric.

In parc fermé, she climbed out of the RB and pointed straight at the Red Bull logo on her chest before raising her fist.

The cameras caught Toto’s face in the Mercedes garage as the replay of her final lap played on the screens. His jaw was locked. His hands were clasped behind his back.

No regrets, he’d said. But in that moment, his eyes told a different story.

user: SHE DID IT. FIRST WIN WITH RED BULL. MERC PACK HOLD THIS L. user: this isn’t just a win this is a revenge tour user: toto watching yn on the top step rn >>>> user: she looked straight down the camera when she pointed at the red bull logo. i am SOBBING. user: max p2, yn p1… red bull dominance is UNREAL user: remember when they said she was washed LMFAOOOO

The anthem played, and she stood in the middle, higher than Max. She didn’t look at him, or the crowd, or even the trophy in her hands.

She looked directly at the Mercedes team on the pit wall, visible just over the barriers. She held the trophy aloft and smiled — a small, sharp smile meant for exactly one audience.

It wasn’t about proving she could win. It was about making them watch.

second to last chapter, my loves!!!! i promiseeeee the last chapter will be worth it :) tysm for all the loveeee that you've given driver!yn and i'm more than happy to expand her universe. ily all x

@omgsuperstarg @hymntostars @dollyvuu @halleest @smh-anon @scentedrosa @ceekokocee15 @melancholicandmessy @heavenbabyg @milkiane @jajouska @stqrgirlies-blog @imdyinghelpplease @iikissagirl @moonlight52moonlight @hollandxstanley @sleutherclaw @deaddumblbumble @iamdedsthingz @scuderiapng @ninass-world @lagrandeourse @kodzuvk @reallifemermaidprincess @enfppuff @rosegoldorchid @cryinghotmess @hero-ically @anunstablefangirl @floraf1ln @beathreat @fromsaltandsea @i-need-to-be-put-down @usseraloo @starrgir1 @vinylphwoar @elliefind @wherethezoes-at @yarastilinski @liveoninmemory @lavaflow1012 @formulapierre @isagrace22 @lemon-stvrrr @celiacallsitcasual @peqch-pie @thisissomehowweird @guacala @backupchrissy96 @marleycline13 @allthings-fandoms @siennaluvshcky @mikiamu @tztuoo @radioactivepotato @lost-library-of-violets @blushmimi @madamebovary-of-moderndays @l-a-u-r-aaa @injerafiend @luvr4miya @l3thal-l0lita @eviswriting @cerisesparadise @lina505 @ashy-kit @simplylovelysworld @orangepapayass @champomiel @mellowtacomentalityidk @mal3f1cent @tonyysstank @josephinel83 @have-another-doughnut @cptg00s3 @shitface-t @isa942572 @deleteidentity @mbm2006 @alireads27 @pedriglazer @avamblog @nyxisnotok @1chaerry @gigigreens @nyxisnotok @crispynutella @bookworm-weirdofor-life@jessk23 @coolfiregiver @yukisjam @julesbog @trashmouthsahra @fire-0-lily @spiderliliesliveon @bia-n-t-d

#formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #f1!reader #formula one smau #f1 smau #driver!reader

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bellatrixlestrangeswhore · 2 days ago

Note

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I'm kinda curious about what kind of relationship driver!y/n's has with Susie Wolff considering that Susie is the managing director of F1 Academy

that's her girl. she's susie's girl.

more about driver!yn

YN often jokes that Susie is the only one who can boss her around and get away with it—besides her race engineer.

They don’t post much together. But when YN won her first F1 race? Susie was already at Parc Fermé, whispering something into her ear that made YN start sobbing before she even took the podium.

She didn’t even finish the cooldown lap before the voices came rushing back in.

“P8 again, what is going on with her?” “Another lockup. She’s slipping.” “Can’t handle pressure like the boys.” “She’s all PR, no pace.”

YN took her helmet off in the garage and stared at nothing. Her fireproofs were still sticking to her skin from the humidity. Sweat ran down her spine, but it wasn’t from the heat anymore.

It was too much noise.

And for once, she didn’t want to fight back. Didn’t want to post a cheeky caption or clap back in an interview. She just… wanted to be somewhere quiet.

She found it in the Mercedes Hospitality. In an office tucked above the garages, lights off, AC humming faintly. She didn’t knock. She didn’t need to.

Susie already had the door open.

YN didn’t say a word. Her jaw was clenched, lashes wet. Susie didn’t ask what happened. She just shut the door behind them and sat beside her on the couch like it was second nature.

“It’s too loud,” YN whispered eventually. Her voice cracked. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

Susie’s arm looped around her shoulders, firm and unwavering.

“Then don’t think. Let me hold it for you a while.”

The silence between them stretched—warm, unjudging. Susie didn’t speak. She just let YN crumble gently into her shoulder, finally letting the weight fall. The sob that left her lips was quiet, but it shook her entire frame.

No one had ever seen her cry. Not like this.

No cameras. No engineers. No teammates.

Just Susie. The one person who had always seen her before the world did.

“You don’t have to prove anything to people who were never rooting for you,” Susie murmured, brushing damp hair from her forehead. “You’ve already done more than they ever believed possible.”

“Then why does it still feel like I’m never enough?”

That was the part that made Susie pause.

“Because you care. Because you’re human. And because this sport wasn’t built for girls like us.” She smiled, a soft, sorrowful thing. “But that’s exactly why you belong in it.”

YN exhaled sharply through her nose. Half a laugh, half another cry. Susie passed her a tissue wordlessly.

They sat like that for another fifteen minutes. Long after the media pen emptied. Long after people forgot about her lap time.

Eventually, YN stood up. She looked taller somehow, even in her lowest moment.

Susie didn’t tell her to fight back.

She didn’t need to.

“Thank you,” YN said softly, eyes glassy but steadier. “I didn’t come here to fall apart. But I’m really glad I did.”

“You didn’t fall apart,” Susie said. “You just let go. And letting go… is something only the strongest ones know how to do.”

Posted later that night on F1TV’s BTS feed:

A short, muted clip of YN walking quietly into the F1 Academy office.

Ten minutes later, Susie Wolff opens the door and walks her out with a hand on the back of her neck.

YN’s eyes are red. Susie’s arm stays around her until she disappears down the stairs.

user: i am SOBBING who gave susie wolff permission to be the mother figure our grid girl never had

user: no one talks about how hard it is to be the female driver in f1. and yet susie saw her and said "you’re allowed to break. i’ll catch you."

user: she cried. she CRIED. and it wasn’t on the podium or behind a helmet. she let herself break in the safest arms possible.

user: the way y’all clown her over one bad quali like she’s not carrying generations on her back.

user: i don’t want a relationship unless it’s “i didn’t come here to fall apart” and “i’m glad you did” energy.

user: can someone check on toto bc HIS WIFE JUST MADE THE WORLD CRY

#formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #f1!reader #formula one smau #f1 smau #driver!reader

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bellatrixlestrangeswhore · 2 days ago

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The Girl & The Gifts - Part 2

Masterlist

They’d just settled into that lazy after-dinner lull, the film playing on low, the soft clink of Susie carrying plates back into the kitchen, when the advert break cut through the calm. On-screen, a perfectly-lit model walked through a Parisian street carrying a rose-gold Hermès Birkin, the kind of bag you didn’t even see in stores, the kind people waited years for.

Carmen’s head snapped toward the TV. “That’s it!” She grabbed George’s arm like he might somehow manifest it into the room. “That’s the bag I’ve been talking about for a year.”

George, curious, pulled his phone out and started typing. Thirty seconds later he was choking. “Two mil?”

The noise had everyone’s attention instantly. Lewis raised an eyebrow. “Why do you sound like you just found out you’ve got to sell a kidney?”

Carmen groaned dramatically. “Because I’ve wanted that bag for a year, and now I know why it’s been impossible to get. I’m not paying that.”

“What bag?” Tate asked, leaning forward slightly. George angled his phone toward her. She studied the screen for a second, lips curving. “I have that bag. Back in New York. Still in the packaging.”

The silence that followed was brief but palpable.

“I can ship it to you if you want,” Tate added, like she was offering to pick someone up milk on the way home. “Just give me your address.”

The room froze. Carmen blinked at her. “No, Jesus, I can’t just take it from you.”

Tate shrugged. “It was a gift from Axel Dumas. I’ve never used it. It’s just sitting in one of my wardrobes. Better it goes to someone who’ll actually carry it.”

Even Toto, who’d been quietly watching from the other end of the sofa, looked faintly taken aback. George stared like he was recalculating everything he thought he knew about her.

“You’re just… giving away a two-million-dollar bag?” George asked finally.

Tate smiled lightly. “I’m giving it to someone who’ll appreciate it.”

Carmen still looked stunned, but there was a flicker of genuine excitement beneath it. “That’s… incredibly generous. Thank you.”

Lewis smirked into his shoulder, knowing full well this wasn’t unusual for her, he’d been on the receiving end of more than one “oh, they sent me this in your size” designer drop. But he also knew how it landed on people who didn’t already live in Tate’s orbit.

Susie returned from the kitchen just in time to hear Carmen repeating the offer, her brows lifting slightly. “That’s very kind of you, Tate.”

“Not kind,” Tate said, waving it off. “Just practical.”

The conversation eventually drifted on, but there was still a trace of that quiet shock lingering under the small talk. For all her warmth and easy humour, it was a reminder that the petite girl sitting between Lewis and Toto wasn’t just a model, she was one of the models. The kind with access, influence, and wealth most people couldn’t quite wrap their heads around.

By the time the clock crept past ten, the film had ended, and the conversation had thinned into that soft, content background hum that meant the night was winding down. Lewis glanced over at Tate. “You ready to head back?”

She nodded, tucking her phone into her bag.

Toto leaned forward slightly. “You should come by for breakfast tomorrow.”

Lewis didn’t even hesitate. “We will.”

Tate smiled politely. “Thanks for having me tonight. The food was amazing.” She stood, moving toward Susie first. A quick, warm hug. “Thanks for letting me crash your evening.”

“Anytime,” Susie said genuinely.

Carmen got the same, a quick hug and a quiet thank-you, before Tate turned toward Toto. She hadn’t been expecting him to open his arms, but he did, the gesture so natural it took her a second to react. She stepped into it without thinking, hugging him back, the faint scent of his cologne clinging to his shirt.

From the dining room doorway, George raised his brows at Susie in silent surprise. Toto didn’t just… hug people.

Tate patted George’s shoulder in passing, a casual “see you” that made him smile. Kimi appeared from the living room, practically bounding toward her. “Thanks for helping me with my homework,” he said, throwing his arms around her.

She laughed. “If you need help again, message me.”

Lewis, already halfway to the door, called back, “I’ll send him your number.”

Once the front door closed and the sound of Lewis’ car faded, the Wolff house settled again. Susie padded back toward the kitchen, George dropping onto the sofa, Kimi trailing behind. Toto loosened the top button of his shirt and sank into his usual seat.

Susie glanced over at him. “So… what was that about earlier? You and Lewis in your office?”

Toto hesitated for a beat, then sighed. “He was telling me about Tate.”

George sat up straighter instantly. “Did he mention how thin she is? Because surely I’m not the only one who saw it.”

Toto’s gaze flicked to him. “He told me she’s had a difficult relationship with food. She’s a model. And… she left an abusive relationship three months ago.”

Carmen’s eyes widened. “Oh my god.”

“He said the man used to beat her,” Toto continued evenly. “Often. Lewis has been looking out for her.”

For a moment, no one spoke. Even Kimi, who was usually full of questions, stayed quiet. It was George who broke the silence, leaning back against the sofa. “She offered Carmen a two-million-pound bag like it was nothing. I googled her when you were all talking earlier. She’s… beyond successful.”

Susie tilted her head. “How successful?”

George tapped at his phone again, scrolling. “In a recent interview, Anna Wintour said Tatiana Felicio averages five million per runway, minimum twenty thousand per shoot. In 2021, she walked somewhere between eighty-six and ninety-two shows across the big fashion weeks, New York, London, Paris, Milan, plus another hundred-plus for other designers. Chanel, Dior, Dolce & Gabbana. That’s about a hundred and fifty runways in one year.”

“Bloody hell,” Carmen murmured.

“She announced this year she’s only doing a few shows. Victoria’s Secret, Milan, the Met Gala.” George’s brow furrowed as he kept scrolling. “And… okay, here’s the darker side. There’s been speculation about bruises for years. Pap shots of her and Lila Moss doing cocaine. Other photos with models, needles on the table. Media just… glamorise it. Call it ‘unwinding.’”

Toto’s jaw tightened again.

“She definitely looks like a model,” Susie said quietly. “But helping Kimi earlier… she’s got more to her than the photo spreads show.”

“She’s got a lot more to her,” Toto agreed.

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bellatrixlestrangeswhore · 3 days ago

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The Girl in Lewis' Livingroom - Part 1

Masterlist

Summary: Supermodel Tatiana Felicio joins her best friend Lewis Hamilton in Monaco for a few weeks, expecting a quiet break from the fashion world. Instead, she’s drawn into the Wolff family’s inner circle, building a close bond with Susie, Toto, and Kimi. Over shared meals, late-night talks, and honest conversations in Italian, Tate’s guarded past begins to surface. Her generosity and calm confidence leave a mark on everyone she meets, even as curiosity about her spreads through the paddock. After weeks of keeping her distance, she finally makes her paddock debut, instantly becoming one of the most talked-about figures in Formula 1.

Monaco in December didn’t have the postcard sunshine Lewis was always trying to sell to his friends. The sky outside his floor-to-ceiling windows was a soft slate grey, the horizon bleeding into the calm water of the harbour. The heating was up just enough to take the chill off, and the air smelled faintly of his laundry detergent and the vanilla candle he always lit when he was expecting company. Tatiana Felicio was stretched along his sofa like she owned it, long legs curled up, hair spilling over the back cushion in warm, loose curls. The tank top she wore with her joggers left her shoulders bare, and Lewis’ palm rested idly on the smooth skin of her thigh, thumb brushing in slow, absent-minded strokes as they talked.

They had been swapping ridiculous stories for the past hour, about the time he missed a team meeting because Roscoe had diarrhoea on the balcony, about her trying to explain to an American designer that Milan wasn’t the same as Rome, about how she once accidentally snubbed a minor royal at Paris Fashion Week because she thought he was a waiter. Every story came with her dry, sarcastic punchlines and his loud, warm laugh.

It was the kind of friendship that felt like a safe place. Lewis had that in him, that ability to make someone feel like the world outside was on pause. For Tate, that was rare.

“Last weekend was mad,” he said eventually, leaning back and letting his head rest against the cushions. “Final race. Everyone’s either celebrating or kicking off. We had Christian threatening to-” He stopped himself with a small laugh, like he was realising he was about to overshare.

She smiled, shifting so she could look at him. “You’re being very cryptic, Hamilton.”

“Just protecting your innocence,” he teased.

“Innocence?” she scoffed. “You’ve met me, right?”

His grin deepened. He liked that she never let him get away with anything. “Speaking of… I’m supposed to be going over to Toto and Susie’s for dinner tonight. Just a casual thing. George will be there. Carmen too, George's girlfriens. Kimi Antonelli as well, the little baby of the team.”

She made a face instantly, groaning into the cushion. “No.”

“Why no?”

“Because, Lewis, I don’t know them. And I don’t want to be sat there like the awkward plus one while you all talk about racing.”

“You think Susie’s gonna talk about racing? She’ll be on you in two seconds about your Vogue cover. Carmen’s obsessed with your Prada campaign.”

She shook her head, still burrowed into the cushion. “No.”

“Come on, Tate. Please.” His voice had that coaxing lilt now, the one that usually got him his way.

Still, she didn’t budge. “I don’t even have anything to wear.”

He rolled his eyes. “Right. The woman who owns more clothes than Selfridges.”

“No,” she repeated, more firmly this time.

Lewis sighed, pushing himself up and reaching for his phone. “Fine. You leave me no choice.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

“Calling Toto.”

Before she could stop him, he had the phone ringing. She swatted at his arm, but he just laughed and held it out of reach. The call connected almost instantly. "Lewis,” Toto’s voice came through, warm but businesslike.

“Hey, I’ve got a favour. I’ve got a friend staying with me and I was wondering if I could bring her to dinner tonight.”

There was a brief pause. “Of course. Who is it?”

Lewis grinned across the sofa at Tate, who was mouthing I hate you at him. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Alright,” Toto said, curiosity clear in his tone. “We’ll see you tonight.”

Lewis hung up and tossed his phone aside, looking smug. “No choice now.”

Tate groaned dramatically, dropping her head into her hands. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said, giving her thigh a gentle squeeze, “you love me.”

She peeked at him from between her fingers. “Unfortunately.”

Lewis laughed, leaning forward to grab the TV remote. “Come on then. You’ve got a few hours to pick out something that will make Susie cry with joy.”

Tate shook her head but she was smiling, that warm, reluctant curve of her mouth that said she’d already decided to go, and maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as against the idea as she wanted him to think.

By the time Lewis pulled up outside the Wolff mansion, the December evening had settled into that quiet, expensive kind of darkness Monaco was so good at, the street lamps casting gold across the slick driveways, the sea just a dark shimmer behind the rows of immaculate villas.

Tate had, of course, delivered on her promise of looking like she belonged in a luxury ad campaign. She’d gone for something understated, a soft ivory silk blouse tucked into high-waisted black trousers that skimmed her legs perfectly, a pair of heeled boots, her signature Prada sunglasses pushed into her hair like a headband, lips glossed just enough to catch the light.

Lewis had grinned when she came out of her room earlier. “Susie’s going to adopt you.”

Now, as he rang the bell, Tate shifted beside him, keeping her arms folded loosely. It wasn’t nerves exactly; she didn’t do nerves, but she was acutely aware she was walking into someone else’s home.

The door swung open almost immediately to reveal Susie Wolff, all warmth and brightness. “Lewis!” She kissed his cheek, hugged him, and then her eyes landed on Tate.

“Oh my goodness,” Susie said, voice tipping just short of fangirl territory as she stepped forward for a hug. “You’re even more gorgeous in person. Come in, come in.”

Tate smiled, accepting the gentle hug and the invitation inside. “Thank you for having me.”

“Of course,” Susie said like it was ridiculous to even suggest otherwise.

They’d barely made it into the hallway when Toto appeared, tall and immaculate in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled. Lewis did the introductions, Tate stepping forward to shake his hand. “Lovely to meet you,” she said politely, her grip firm.

“You too,” Toto replied, studying her for just a beat longer than politeness demanded. His handshake was warm, but his mind was already cataloguing details: how light her hand felt in his, the faint scars across her knuckles, the small mark at the base of her neck, the quiet tiredness behind her eyes. He didn’t comment, not here, but filed it away for later.

“Come on through,” Susie urged, leading them into the dining room.

George Russell and Carmen Mundt were already seated, Carmen lighting up when she saw Tate. “I’m a huge fan of your work,” she said immediately.

“That’s sweet, thank you,” Tate replied with a genuine smile as she slid into the chair Lewis pulled out for her, directly across from Carmen.

Plates of pizza were set out in the middle of the table, casual, homey. Susie made a point of telling everyone to help themselves, and Tate took two slices without fuss. Toto noticed.

Conversation flowed easily, Carmen asking about the reality of afterparties, George curious about the logistics of walking in four shows in three days. Susie leaned in with interest when Tate talked about the designers she loved working with, while Lewis occasionally dropped in little comments that made her roll her eyes. Midway through, Toto turned the conversation to Kimi Antonelli, sat two seats down. “How’s school?”

Kimi shrugged. “Maths homework. But it’s stupid. It’s words and not numbers.”

Carmen laughed. “I can’t help, I don’t speak Italian.”

“Neither do I,” George added quickly.

“She does,” Lewis said, tilting his head toward Tate. “She’s Italian. And she’s smart. She can help.”

Kimi’s eyes lit up. “You know Italian maths?”

Tate grinned. “I know Italian everything.”

Kimi grinned back like he’d just won the lottery.

Later, the plates were pushed aside and the group drifted into the living room. Carmen, George, and Susie claimed one sofa, a film playing low on the TV. Lewis and Toto took the other, both of them glancing now and then toward the coffee table where Kimi sat beside Tate, his laptop open.

She leaned in, explaining formulas slowly and patiently, never just giving him the answer. When he got something right, she smiled at him like it actually mattered, and for a kid who’d spent most of his year surrounded by adults who only cared about lap times, that was something.

Lewis watched the way she tilted her head when she listened, how Kimi relaxed more with each passing minute.

“She’s lovely,” Toto said quietly beside him.

Lewis smiled. “Yeah.”

But then Toto’s gaze shifted toward his home office, a subtle tilt of his head. Lewis understood immediately.

He stood, speaking just loud enough for her to hear. “You okay if I go talk to Toto for a minute, baby?”

She nodded without looking up from Kimi’s laptop. “Go.”

In the office, the door clicked shut behind them. “Is she alright? She barely ate.” Toto asked, no small talk this time.

Lewis sighed. “She’s a model, Toto. She's got a complicated relationship with food.”

Toto’s brow lifted. “There’s more.”

Lewis hesitated, then let his shoulders drop. “She was in an abusive relationship. Bad one. Left him three months ago. Used to be that every time I FaceTimed her, she’d have a black eye or bruises. He… didn’t hold back.”

Toto’s jaw tightened. “She’s out of it now?”

“Yeah. But she’s still fragile. Drinks champagne to cope. Flinches at loud noises, shouting. I keep an eye on her.”

“What can I do?”

Lewis shook his head. “Just… be kind to her. Let her feel normal.” He paused. “I want to bring her to some races. Support her in her world when I can. She’s been there for me.”

Toto nodded. “Consider it done.”

When they walked back into the living room, Susie raised her eyebrows at Toto, a silent question. He just shook his head.

Half an hour later, Kimi was beaming like the Cheshire Cat. “Done!” he announced, holding up his finished homework.

Tate laughed, hugging him, and even though she flinched at the sudden contact, she recovered quickly, squeezing him back. Lewis and Toto noticed.Kimi pulled away, turning to Lewis. “Can we keep her?”

Everyone laughed. Lewis patted the sofa between him and Toto, and Tate dropped into the space, leaning her head on Lewis’ shoulder like she’d been doing it for years.

#f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 grid x reader #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton imagine #lh44 #mercedes amg petronas

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bellatrixlestrangeswhore · 3 days ago

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System Failure - Chapter 18: Brackley

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Dr. Anastasia "Ana" Wolff (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen to Mercedes? The paddock is buzzing. The media’s in meltdown.

Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff, Mercedes’ notoriously brilliant, emotionally unavailable lead systems engineer and Toto Wolff’s eldest daughter, is not handling it well. Because Max isn’t just a potential signing, he’s the man she’s been sleeping with in secret for nearly a decade.

And if the rumours are true, and Max Verstappen really is joining Mercedes, then Ana’s carefully compartmentalised world is about to explode.

Warnings and Notes: George Russell Bashing. Questionable Engineering Science...also Questionable work ethic. Difficult Family relationships. also I am gonna warn for Sexual Assault. I would consider that it counts, other people may not. Let me know if I missed something else, and I'll add it!

(Also apparently I need to add this following disclaimer: There's this magical thing in a fic called character development and plot. If there was neither of those there wouldn't be much of a fic. So yes, characters will make stupid decisions and act in a way that is not very smart.)

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Mercedes F1 HQ, Brackley, England - 28 July 2025

The world was easier in the simulation suite.

Easier when it was numbers and telemetry and clean graphs—when Ana could just adjust parameters until they made sense and bury herself in the comfort of algorithms.

After Belgium, after the fight with Max and the endless churn of gossip that had haunted the paddock all weekend, work was the only thing that still made sense.

Code didn’t lie.

Either it worked or it didn’t.

So she had been at work at 5, one of the earliest starters, like she was always prone to be doing.

Her father preferred to take no meetings before 10 AM but Ana was the exact opposite. Ana adored Brackley when the halls were still half empty, when it was quiet.

It was easier than thinking about Friday night. Easier than replaying Max’s voice in her head—raw, furious, asking for things she didn’t know how to give.

The code didn’t need her to explain herself.

The telemetry didn’t need her to be brave.

The data didn’t get hurt when she shut it out.

Ana had gotten through a good 4 hours of work with absolutely no interruptions, but was sadly running out of caffeine, which was the only reason why she was even on the way back to her office.

She turned down the corridor toward the elevators—only to see him.

George Russell, leaning against the wall like he owned the place, phone in hand, smile already curling when he spotted her.

“Ana,” he said, straightening. “Perfect. I thought maybe we could talk

She stopped short, frowning. “I’m working.”

“Come on.” He stepped closer, too close. “I thought we should talk,” he said. “About next year. About… us.”

Her spine stiffened.

What the fuck was he talking about?!

“There is no us,” she said sharply, shifting sideways, angling toward the elevator. “I have to go.”

But he moved with her, blocking her path.

George didn’t listen. He never really listened. That was the problem in the first place.

“I just think maybe now—with Max coming, and everything changing—it might be the right time. You and I could—” his hand shot out, fingers brushing her arm—not rough, but unwanted all the same. “Start something.”

Her mouth went dry.

“I think we’ve been dancing around something for a while,” George said, voice lower now. “And I don’t think you’d mind if I just…”

Ana realised too late what he meant.

She flinched back the second his hand reached out—just a light touch to her hip, but it sent her straight into panic.

And then he kissed her.

Not softly. Not gently. Not with permission.

Her whole body revolted.

No, no, no, no, no.

She shoved against him, hard. “Don’t—”

He didn’t let go.

“Come on,” he murmured. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

She wasn’t pretending. She was panicking.

Her whole body revolted.

The contact was wrong—her brain screamed it. Too close, too much. Her skin crawled, sensory alarms firing all at once like glass shattering in her chest.

It wasn’t like her brain stopped working. It was worse than that.

It screamed.

Panic roared through her chest, acid and wildfire. She tried to wrench back, but his grip held.

She wasn’t a fighter. She wasn’t violent.

But her body had already made the decision.

Ana’s fist came up—instinct, desperation, rage—and she slammed it into his jaw.

Hard.

Pain exploded up her arm. Not in his face. In her hand.

Her knuckles cracked wrong. Something shifted. Something broke.

George stumbled back, stunned. “Jesus—”

She didn’t hear the rest. She didn’t stay to watch his expression.

She turned, clutching her wrist to her chest, and bolted.

Past the simulator. Down the hall. Around the corner to the executive wing, where her father’s office door stood half-open.

Straight through the corridor, past curious glances, past the control room and the boardroom and the entire façade she’d spent twenty years building. She didn’t stop until she reached the corner office with the frosted glass.

Toto looked up from his desk the moment the door slammed open.

"Ana?"

And she broke.

Hot, fast tears spilling down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking like she’d been hit.

“Papa,” she gasped.

Toto was up in an instant, around the desk and pulling her into his arms before she could even wipe her face. “Anastasia, what happened? What’s wrong?”

She clung to him like she was eight years old again and the world had just upended itself.

***

Mercedes F1 HQ, Brackley, England - 28 July 2025

Toto hadn’t seen Anastasia cry like this in years.

Not since she was fourteen and her mother hadn’t called her on her birthday. Hadn’t even sent a postcard. And even then, she hadn’t cried like this.

Now she was folded into him, breath stuttering, fists clenched in the back of his jacket like she was trying to hold herself together with muscle memory alone.

“Anastasia,” he said again, voice rougher this time, one hand braced between her shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of her head. “You have to tell me what happened.”

She just shook her head. Again and again. Trembling like something had broken loose in her chest and wouldn’t stop echoing.

“Okay,” he said quietly, trying not to panic, though his heart was already galloping. “You don’t have to speak. Just sit down.”

She cradled her wrist to her chest like it was the only thing holding her together. Her breathing was erratic, shallow, like she couldn't get enough air in or out, and then the sob burst from her lips.

“I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean to hit him, I just—I told him no—he didn’t let go—my wrist—fuck, Papa, it hurts—”

“Okay, okay, Sternchen,” he murmured, switching to German without even thinking, soft and rapid. “Breathe, Anastasia. I’m here. You’re safe. You’re safe, do you hear me?”

She was sobbing now. Full-bodied, raw, and silent between the gasps—like her entire body had short-circuited.

He’d seen her cry maybe twice in her adult life. Not like this.

And her wrist—

He pulled back enough to inspect it.

Swollen. Already starting to bruise. Her knuckles looked wrong. Misshapen.

“God,” he muttered. “You broke it.”

“I think I punched him too hard,” Ana whispered, voice trembling.

“Who?”

Silence.

Her lip trembled.

And then, finally, like it shattered something inside her—

“George.”

The name was spit out like acid. Her entire face contorted with it.

Toto’s blood went ice-cold.

George Russell.

One of his drivers. One of the men he was supposed to lead. One of the men he had a meeting with in less than four hours.

And in that meeting, he’d been planning to tell George that his contract would not be renewed for 2026.

That Mercedes had signed Max Verstappen to partner Kimi Antonelli.

Toto had imagined George might take it badly. Maybe defensive. Maybe even cold. But this?

“George Russell?”

Ana nodded, then buried her face in his shoulder again like she couldn’t stand to see the expression forming on his face.

And Toto wasn’t sure what expression it was. Rage? Horror? Regret?

He had to lock it down. For her.

But his mind was already a storm.

George. One of his drivers. One of the boys he was supposed to protect, but—

No. No. This was Ana.

This was his daughter.

And she was sobbing in his arms with a broken wrist because someone wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“ I didn’t want him to. I told him no—after—but he just—he just did it, and—” her breath hitched, voice breaking completely, “—and I couldn’t even move—”

She pressed her fist to her mouth, like she could somehow shove the sobs back in. Like showing this much hurt was something she needed to apologize for.

And Toto—who had spent a lifetime commanding teams, negotiating deals, and facing the most ruthless men in motorsport—felt something in his chest shatter.

Toto had to force himself to inhale. Count to three. Exhale.

Not now. He couldn’t lose it now. Not while she was still folded in his arms, coming apart in pieces.

Then stood.

Ana let out a panicked noise. “Don’t go. Don’t—don’t yell at him. I don’t want this to be—Papa—”

He knelt back down. “I’m not yelling. I’m not doing anything. You are safe. Do you understand me?”

She nodded, jaw trembling.

“I will deal with it. I will. But I need to know… how far did he go?”

Ana shook her head immediately. “He just—kissed me. I punched him.”

Relief. Sick, sharp, short-lived.

Toto nodded slowly. “Okay. Thank you for telling me. We’ll get you to the hospital. Okay?”

“But—” she hiccuped, dragging the sleeve of her jumper across her cheek. “I still have cooling revisions—”

“No,” he said, as gently as he could. “No revisions. No work. Just you. You’ve done more than enough today.”

He helped her up. Gently. Slowly. Her face was streaked with tears, her whole frame trembling, but she didn’t resist when he pressed his hand to the small of her back.

As they walked past his assistant, he didn’t even slow down.

“Cancel my one o’clock with Russell,” Toto said, his voice so controlled it was almost dangerous. “Cancel my two o’clock with Kimi. Call Susie—tell her to meet us at the hospital. And then call HR. We’re going to have a very long conversation about George Russell.”

He didn’t care if the whole floor heard.

He wasn’t Team Principal right now.

He was a father.

And someone had hurt his daughter.

***

Slack Channel: #brackley-nerds

Private Channel. ~30 members.

amelie.procurement: uhhh… anyone know why Toto just stormed out with Ana?? she looked… bad. like really bad.

james.brakes: Bad how??

amelie.procurement: Like she’d been crying.

benjy.data: crying?!

amelie.procurement: yeah, like shaking.

lucy.comms: Toto slammed his door. I was in reception. Whole floor went silent.

benjy.data: what happened?

zahra.aero:She was holding her wrist like it was broken.

james.brakes: WHAT.

jules.elec: Wait—broken as in broken??

matt.merchandise: Guys, I’m in the corridor outside the exec offices. She came in from the simulator wing at speed. George was down there earlier.

lucy.comms: …are we connecting those dots?

flo.eng: I’m connecting those dots.

nicola.sim: I saw it. I saw him block her by the elevators.

nicola.sim: And then before I could even say anything, he leaned in and kissed her. She punched him and bolted.

amelie.procurement: WHAT.

james.brakes: Ohhhh he’s dead.

ian.security: I’m pulling the hallway security footage right now.

flo.eng: forward it to Jess in HR. Immediately.

zahra.aero: Oh my god.

lucy.comms: This is going to HR. Today.

Yas.enginecontrol:Why does he think that’s okay?! Ana barely tolerates people shaking her hand unless she knows them.

jess.hr: 👋 Okay, since this is already circulating — if anyone has had issues with George Russell, now is the time to voice them. My inbox is open. My office door is open. You will be heard and it will be confidential.

lorelai.pa:You know what? I’m done being polite. He’s been pulling this shit for months. Negging her in the break room, calling her “cold” like it’s flirting, making “jokes” about how she’d be prettier if she smiled. He even told her to “dress less like an engineer” once.

lucy.comms: You mean other than “he’s a creep”?

nicola.sim: Or the way he “compliments” women by implying they’re lucky to be here? 🙄

ian.security: security cam footage sent to HR.

zahra.aero: Or that time in hospitality in Monaco when he wouldn’t stop talking to Ana even though she was clearly trying to leave?

flo.eng: Good. I’ve had it with him.

yas.enginecontrol: Same. The way he talks to her in engineering briefings is gross. “You know, Ana, you might get farther if you softened your tone a bit. You come across a little… intimidating in meetings.” WHO SAYS THAT?!

james.brakes: He once told her she should “let him take her shopping so she could look the part of a Mercedes engineer.” Like what the fuck does that even mean?

jules.elec: Or the way he always “just happens” to need something from whoever’s working next to her desk?

liv.strategy: or when he said she’d be “even prettier if she smiled more” and she just stared at him until he backed off??

david.aero: he told me once he was “just breaking through her ice queen act” 🙄

benjy.data: wow. that’s…

yas.enginecontrol: Or when he stood inches behind her at Silverstone in the garage? I thought she was going to jump out of her skin.

jess.hr: All noted. Please DM me specifics, dates, and any witnesses.

flo.eng: So… Toto’s cancelling meetings and walking out with Ana. George is rattled. Kimi’s four o’clock was cancelled. What does that sound like to you?

benjy.data: It sounds like George isn’t going to be here much longer.

jules.elec: Good. He’s been making Ana uncomfortable for months. I’m done watching it happen.

zahra.aero: Same. And for the record — if anyone tries to spin this as “misunderstood” or “bad timing,” I’ll personally set the wind tunnel to 300kph and see how long they last inside.

***

Wolff Residence, Monaco - 28 July 2025

The call came while she was in the middle of a sponsor meeting. Toto’s secretary never called her directly unless it was urgent.

“Mrs. Wolff—” The voice was clipped, low, the kind of tone you use when you don’t want the whole office to hear. “You need to come to Horton General Hospital. It’s Ana.”

Susie’s pen froze mid-signature. “What happened?”

“I don’t know the full story. She came into Toto’s office—her wrist is broken, and she was… crying. He’s with her now. He said to call you immediately.” A breath, too careful. “It’s about George Russell.”

Susie didn’t ask another question. She was already on her feet, snapping for her bag. The flight from Nice to Luton blurred into muscle memory—driver, private jet, driver again—her mind a loop of worst-case scenarios.

The flight to Luton was a blur—just the drone of engines, the burn of adrenaline, and the steady, suffocating loop in her head: Valtteri warned me.

She should have said something before Spa. To Hell with Max Verstappen signing with Mercedes.

No Driver contract could ever be worth more than her daughter.

Men like George Russell didn’t take no for an answer.

Susie should have fucking seen it coming.

And now Ana was in a hospital bed, and Susie was wondering if she’d made the worst misjudgment of her life.

***

Horton General Hospital, Banbury, England - 28 July 2025

Toto had never liked hospitals.

Too white, too sharp, too clean in a way that made you notice every smudge of fear clinging to the air. He could handle pit walls in chaos, a garage on fire—literally—but hospitals were something else entirely.

He stayed close to Ana as the admitting nurse asked questions, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. She was still clutching her wrist, refusing to let anyone touch it until the X-rays. But what worried him wasn’t the wrist—it was the way she’d gone silent.

She had been spiraling since they’d arrived—every touch from the nurse, every question from the doctor setting her further on edge. She answered in short, clipped bursts until she stopped answering entirely.

When they’d tried to examine her wrist, she’d pulled back so violently the IV stand rattled.

“I don’t want—don’t—” Her voice had broken completely.

“Anastasia, it’s alright,” Toto had said, bracing her shoulder. “They just need to look.”

They were led to a curtained bay in the orthopaedics wing. Ana sat on the edge of the bed like it might collapse under her. Her shoulders were hunched, her eyes fixed somewhere far away.

When the doctor came in and started to examine her wrist, it was like something snapped.

“No—no, don’t touch me!”

It wasn’t loud. But it was sharp enough to cut the air in half. She scrambled back against the wall, the bed clattering beneath her.

“Anastasia…Sternchen—” Toto started, but she wasn’t hearing him.

Her breath was coming fast, too fast. She was shaking her head, over and over, as if that alone could erase the last hour. Her free hand fisted in the sheet, white-knuckled.

The doctor tried to calm her, explaining that they needed to see the injury, but every word seemed to make her retreat further.

Then the sobs came. Raw, choking, tearing out of her like she was breaking in real time.

And Toto—who had made a career of commanding people, solving impossible problems, holding entire teams steady—felt utterly powerless.

“It’s alright,” he said, moving between her and the doctor, crouching so she could see only him. “No one is going to hurt you. You’re safe.”

But she was barely breathing now, her eyes darting, unfocused, her body locked like it was bracing for another blow.

She’d been breathing too fast, too shallow—borderline hyperventilating. Eyes wide but unfocused. Her nails digging into her own arm like she was trying to anchor herself to the pain.

The attending doctor had murmured something about “acute distress response” and “safety sedation” and Toto had hated it.

Every word. Every implication that they needed to chemically quiet his daughter because she was drowning in something she couldn’t even name aloud.

But when Ana had gasped out “No—no—I can’t—please—” and then started to shake so violently he’d had to physically hold her up, he’d realized she was already slipping beyond the point where his voice could reach her.

The doctor’s voice was low, urgent. “She’s in acute distress. If we can’t get her to settle, we risk shock.”

Toto’s jaw tightened. “Do it.”

“A mild sedative will help her stabilise—”

“Do it,” he repeated, sharper this time.

They administered it quickly, an injection into her upper arm while Toto kept her attention, murmuring in German. She flinched, but by then her sobs had weakened into shuddering gasps.

Within minutes, her breathing began to slow. The rigid set of her shoulders loosened fractionally. Her eyes, still wet, began to lose that wild edge.

He didn’t move from her side until she finally slumped sideways, letting herself lean into him. The sedative had tipped her past the point of resistance.

“I’ve got you,” he said quietly, his hand steady against her back. “You don’t have to do anything else today. Nothing.”

She didn’t answer—already half under—but her fingers curled weakly into his jacket.

And Toto knew, with the kind of cold clarity he reserved for life-or-death calls, that George Russell would not see another race in a Mercedes.

Not after this.

The doctor spoke softly. “We’ll X-ray the wrist. It’s badly swollen—likely a fracture.”

Toto nodded once. His throat felt tight.

She looked so young like this.

Not the sharp, capable engineer who could stare down a room full of senior staff. Not the woman who could cut a man in half with a single precise sentence.

Just his daughter—small, pale, and hurt.

He studied her face. She looked younger like this. Not in a good way—more like the thin, defensive child he’d first met, dropped into his life without warning. The one who hadn’t really spoken to him for weeks.

It twisted something in his chest.

The doctor’s voice broke through his thoughts. “She’ll be groggy for the next few hours. The sedation was light—enough to get her through the acute phase. She may not remember much of this.”

Toto nodded. “That’s fine. Thank you.” His voice was flat, but his grip on Ana’s hand didn’t loosen.

When they were alone again, he sat back down, leaning forward so his forehead rested briefly against her temple.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured in German, so soft it was almost a thought instead of words. “I should have seen this coming. I should have—”

He didn’t finish.

There would be time for rage later. For HR, for legal, for ending George Russell’s contract in the most final way possible.

Right now, there was only Ana—sedated, small, and still gripping his fingers even in her half-conscious state.

And Toto Wolff was not letting go.

***

Mercedes F1 HQ, Brackley, England - 28 July 2025

Bono had come down to the simulator floor for one reason — to chase up some data.

It wasn’t supposed to be a long visit. A quick in-and-out, a word with one of the telemetry analysts, and then back upstairs.

But as he passed the open break room door, voices drifted out — younger voices, still in that slightly too-loud register of people who think they’re alone.

He wouldn’t have noticed them at all if one of them hadn’t said Ana’s name.

“…yeah, Jess from HR pulled me in this morning. Asked if I’d ever seen George talking to her like that.

Bono slowed.

“Like what?” someone else asked.

“You know. That… weird, backhanded thing he does? Telling her she should smile more, asking why she never comes to drinks, saying she’s ‘wasted’ just hiding behind a computer all the time.”

A muffled laugh, the kind you make when you’re uncomfortable.

“Yeah, he cornered her outside the wind tunnel last month—kept saying she’d be more ‘approachable’ if she wore her hair down. I thought she was going to take his head off.”

Another voice chimed in, lower now, almost guilty: “I saw what happened. Or at least part of it. He kissed her. She punched him—hard—and ran straight for Toto’s office. Looked… scared.”

“Scared?”

“Yeah. Proper scared. Clutching her hand like she’d hurt herself. And now George is nowhere to be seen, so—”

“Do you think—?”

They never finished the question.

“Enough.”

Bono’s voice cut through their little circle like a wire snapping. Four heads turned, eyes going wide. The performance analyst holding the chocolate bar suddenly looked like he wanted to melt into the floor.

“This isn’t a gossip column,” Bono said, voice low but dangerous. “That’s your colleague you’re talking about. Someone who’s been here longer than any of you. Someone who’s earned more respect than this.”

They all shuffled uncomfortably. One muttered, “We didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care what you meant,” Bono said sharply. “If you saw something, you take it to HR. If you heard something, you keep it there. She doesn’t need this place turning her day into a bloody rumour mill on top of everything else.”

He didn’t wait for a reply.

Didn’t trust himself to stand there without saying more.

Because underneath the calm, his chest was tight with fury—the cold kind, the one that didn’t shout. The one that remembered every smile Ana had given him over the years, every late-night telemetry review she’d pulled, every time she’d made herself small to keep the peace.

Ana was Toto’s daughter, yes — but she was their Ana too. The one who stayed late in the sim for them, who fixed problems no one else could even find in thousands of lines of code.

And now George bloody Russell had—

Bono’s jaw tightened as he kept walking.

He’d wait for the HR email. He’d get the full story.

But in his head, one thing was already clear: if half of what he’d just overheard was true, George was lucky Toto was dealing with it before Bono got the chance.

***

Text Messages: Peter “Bono” Bonnington & Valtteri Bottas

Bono: You heard what happened?

Valtteri: No. What?

Bono: George put his hands on Ana. After she told him no. She broke her hand getting away from him. She’s in hospital.

Valtteri: …

Valtteri: I told Susie months ago I didn’t like the way he looked at her. Should have said it louder.

Bono: Yeah. You should’ve.

Valtteri: How bad?

Bono: Bad enough HR has the footage. Bad enough Toto cancelled every meeting today. Bad enough I want to find out where Georg Russell is just to have a word.

Valtteri: Forget “a word.” I can deal with him the Finnish way.

Bono: Which is?

Valtteri: Quiet. Efficient. Permanent.

Bono: … Tempting.

Valtteri: Just say the word.

Bono: Get in line.

***

Horton General Hospital, Banbury, England - 28 July 2025

Ana was asleep when Susie stepped into the hospital room.

Not the restless kind of sleep that came from exhaustion, but the heavy, sedative-dragged sleep of someone whose body had forced them to shut down. She was curled awkwardly on her side, wrist bandaged, hair half-fallen out of its tie.

Toto was in the chair beside her, jacket still on, eyes fixed on her face like he was trying to memorise every detail.

Susie didn’t say anything at first. She just crossed the room and rested her hand on his shoulder. He looked up, and that was when she saw it—fury, banked low but burning hot, threaded through the worry in his eyes.

“How bad?” she asked quietly.

“She punched George Russell,” Toto said, voice like gravel. “Broke her wrist. After he kissed her against her will.”

Susie’s stomach dropped. She looked at Ana again—at the way her fingers twitched slightly even in sleep. “God.”

“She’s going back to Monaco with you,” Toto said, standing, the decision final before she could argue. “Today. As soon as the doctors clear her. I have… things to take care of here.”

Susie knew what “things” meant.

Her throat tightened. This was the moment she should tell him. Get it out. Confess that she’d known something was off weeks ago. That Valtteri had noticed it too. That she’d let it slide.

She swallowed, then forced herself to say it. “Toto… I should have told you.”

His gaze sharpened. “Told me what?”

“Valtteri mentioned something. Weeks ago. That George was…being….difficult to Ana. That he was…making comments. Trying to change her…make her more…palatable. I didn’t want to cause a problem before Spa. I was going to tell you tonight. Once Max’s signing was public. I didn’t want to throw this on your plate when you already had—”

The air between them went glacial.

“You knew,” Toto said slowly, “and you did not tell me.”

“I didn’t think it was—”

“Not important?” His voice cut like ice. “Not urgent? He kissed my daughter against her will today. She’s in a hospital bed with a broken wrist, Susie. And you knew there was something wrong.”

Her jaw tightened, shame prickling hot under her skin. “I thought I had time to talk to you—”

“You didn’t,” he snapped, so sharp it startled even her. “You never have time when it comes to this. I would have pulled him from the seat before Spa.”

Susie’s own anger flared, fast and defensive. “And I would have, too, if I’d thought it was serious. Don’t you dare act like I don’t care about her safety. I’m furious with myself for not seeing it clearly.”

The tension was a knife between them, heavy and cutting.

“I was going to tell you,” she repeated. “After Spa. Once Max’s signing was public. I didn’t want to throw this on your plate when you already had—”

His chair scraped back sharply. “You didn’t want to throw it on my plate? Susie, that man kissed my daughter against her will in my own factory. And you knew there was a problem.”

She’d seen him angry before—on pit walls, in boardrooms—but never like this. This was personal. This was rage.

“I didn’t think he’d be that stupid.”

“Well, he was.”

He looked back at Ana, jaw tight. “Take her home. Keep her with you in Monaco. I’ll deal with Russell, and I’ll deal with the board. She is not setting foot in Brackley until I’ve burned this out to the roots.”

And Susie, for the first time in a long time, was almost afraid of what “deal with” might mean.

They stood there for a long moment, the sound of Ana’s breathing the only thing breaking the silence.

Finally, Toto glanced at his watch. “The car will take you both to Luton. My pilot’s waiting.”

She understood the unspoken part. He wasn’t going with them. Not yet.

Because George Russell still had a Mercedes contract.

And Toto was about to make sure that wasn’t true by morning.

Susie nodded, turning back to Ana. She tucked the blanket around her, careful of the splint.

If Toto was going to war with George Russell, she’d make sure Ana never had to set foot anywhere near the battlefield.

***

Mercedes F1 HQ, Brackley, England - 28 July 2025

Kimi Antonelli had been half-convinced he was getting fired. Nobody scheduled a last-minute one-on-one with Toto Wolff and called it “important” unless something was wrong.

He’d been rehearsing possible reasons all morning — maybe he’d said the wrong thing in an interview, maybe someone had taken a joke out of context, maybe Mercedes had decided to put a more experienced driver alongside Max in 2026.

By the time he walked down the corridor toward the executive offices, he’d worked himself into a low-grade dread.

But the door to Toto’s office was closed.

The lights inside were off.

Instead, Bono was leaning against the wall across from it, arms folded.

“Kimi,” Bono said.

“Hi,” Kimi replied cautiously. “Where’s Toto?”

“Meeting’s cancelled,” Bono said. “He’s at the hospital with Ana.”

Kimi blinked. “Is she sick?”

Bono’s mouth tightened. “No. She’s hurt.”

Something in his tone made Kimi’s stomach sink. “What happened?”

Bono hesitated for a second — just long enough to glance around and make sure the hallway was empty — then said, low and clipped:

“George happened.”

Kimi frowned. “George…?”

“He cornered her this morning. Ignored her telling him no. Put his hands on her. She punched him to get away. Broke her hand doing it.”

For a moment, Kimi just stared. Then: “He what?”

Bono’s voice was ice. “HR has the footage. He’s on leave, pending investigation. Toto’s… not in the mood to be calm about it. None of us are. Valtteri is in the second seat now.”

Kimi’s brain was already jumping — from the rain delay in Spa when Ana had been playing cards next to him, to the little ways she always kept a careful distance from people she didn’t trust, to the fact that George had been just a bit too smug around her lately.

And now—

Kimi exhaled slowly through his nose. “Good. He should be gone.”

Bono gave a short nod. “Get used to working with Max next year. That was the other thing Toto was going to tell you today.”

Kimi blinked. “Oh.”

Bono’s mouth twitched, but there was no humour in it. “Not the way I thought you’d hear the news, but here we are.”

***

Mercedes F1 HQ, Brackley, England - 28 July 2025

Toto Wolff sat with his hands steepled in front of him, elbows planted on the table.

He hadn’t said much yet.

Just walked in, nodded once, and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

Three senior HR representatives—Jessica, Caroline, and Michael—were already there. They weren’t new. They knew him. They knew the particular stillness he carried when he was angry.

Really angry. The kind that didn’t shout. The kind that settled in his bones like steel waiting to snap.

Jessica was the one who finally broke the silence. She didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“The security footage corroborates what your daughter—what Ana reported,” Jessica began, her voice careful.

“She didn’t report it,” Toto said, voice quiet. Flat. “She came into my office crying with a fractured wrist after trying to escape someone she told no.”

“We’ve compiled the statements,” Caroline said, sliding a folder across the table. “From staff who saw the incident. From those who’ve interacted with George in the last year. From people who’ve overheard things.”

Toto didn’t open it yet. “Tell me.”

Jess exchanged a glance with Caroline, then said it plainly. “The kiss wasn’t an isolated thing.”

The air in the room went still.

“He’s been… pushing, for months,” Jess continued. “Making comments about her appearance—telling her she’d be ‘prettier if she smiled more,’ that she should ‘dress less like an engineer.’ Joking that she’s ‘too cold’ for anyone to date, then calling it flirting. He’s been telling people he was going to get her to ‘loosen up’.”

Toto’s jaw tightened.

“Multiple witnesses say he’s waited for her in common areas. Break room, corridors near her office, outside the simulator suite. A couple of times, he followed her when she tried to walk away. Lorelai—her PA—says Ana started avoiding the kitchen entirely because he’d corner her there.”

Michael added, uneasily, “We also have him on record from a hospitality suite in Silverstone telling another staffer that Ana just needed the ‘right man to get her out of her shell.’”

Toto still hadn’t moved. His fingers pressed tighter together, knuckles whitening.

Jess opened the folder for him and slid over a printed still from the hallway security footage—George stepping in front of Ana, her trying to move past, his hand catching her arm.

“This is the moment before the kiss,” Jess said quietly. “The rest is worse.”

Toto looked at it for exactly one second before pushing it back across the table.

“I don’t need to watch my daughter get assaulted on company property,” he said, clipped. “I know what she told me. I believe her.”

Caroline cleared her throat. “We’ve taken his statement. He admits to the kiss, says he ‘misread signals.’ He claims he didn’t realise she was distressed until she struck him.”

“She punched him,” Toto said. “She fought her way out of a situation she did not consent to. She broke her wrist doing it.”

He sat back, eyes sharp. “Anastasia is one of the brightest engineers in this company. She’s not just my daughter. She’s a department lead. She builds the engines that keep us competitive. She deserves safety in this workplace. She deserves respect.”

“She has both,” Caroline said gently.

“Does she?” he asked, sharp now. “Because she didn’t even want to come to me. Do you understand how broken something has to be for your daughter to show up with a broken wrist and not want to say why?”

No one answered.

Toto’s voice stayed level, but it was the kind of level that shook mountains.

“I want formal documentation. A report filed. I want every detail entered into the system. No brushing this aside. No protecting him because of his title. George Russell is still our race driver—for now—but if you think that protects him from consequences, you are mistaken.”

Michael shifted uncomfortably. “We were waiting for legal consultation before—”

“You have my directive,” Toto snapped. “Proceed. Full investigation. And I want him nowhere near Ana, her department, or any engineering spaces until it’s complete.”

Jess didn’t flinch under his glare. “Understood. And, for the record, Toto—this isn’t going away quietly. Too many people saw it.”

“Good,” Toto said. “Let it be loud. Let everyone see what happens when you cross that line here.”

Another beat of silence.

“I’m not asking for special treatment for my daughter,” he added. “I’m asking for the bare minimum owed to any woman in this company.”

He stood.

Straightened his suit jacket.

Paused.

“What do we need to do to make sure this never happens again?” he asked.

Caroline didn’t hesitate. ““Mandatory consent and conduct training for all staff, including drivers. Review of driver integration protocols, given the power imbalance. A dedicated reporting channel outside normal hierarchy. And we’ll speak with Ana—let her set the terms for what comes next.”

Toto nodded once. “Good. Do it.”

He stood, but paused at the door. “And Caroline?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t want a sanitized version of this on the record. I want truth. Transparency. And I want him gone if the investigation confirms what we already know.”

“You have my word.”

He left the room.

And for the first time in a long time, the man who ran Mercedes didn’t feel like the one in control.

***

Email Subject: Important: Workplace Conduct Update

From: Jessica Palmer <[email protected]> To: All Mercedes AMG PETRONAS F1 Staff

Dear All,

This is to inform you that, effective immediately, George Russell will be on leave from all team duties pending the outcome of an internal investigation into a workplace conduct matter. He will be replaced by Valtteri Bottas for the Hungarian Grand Prix.

We understand that situations like this may generate questions or speculation. Please be aware that, in line with our commitment to confidentiality and due process, we will not be sharing details beyond what is necessary to ensure the safety and integrity of our workplace.

During this period:

Mr. Russell will have no access to team facilities except as expressly authorized by HR and senior management.

All matters related to this investigation should be referred directly to the HR department.

If you have information relevant to this matter and have not yet spoken to HR, please reach out via the dedicated reporting channel: [email protected] or directly to myself, Caroline Hughes, or Michael Patel. This channel is open to all staff, and any reports will be treated with the utmost seriousness and confidentiality.

We take the safety, dignity, and wellbeing of our staff extremely seriously. The Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team is committed to ensuring that our workplace remains respectful, inclusive, and free from harassment.

Thank you for your cooperation and understanding.

Kind regards, Jessica PalmerHuman Resources Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team

***

Text Messages: Valtteri Bottas & Lewis Hamilton

Valtteri: You busy?

Lewis: In the gym. Why?

Valtteri: You need to know what George did. Not gossip. Not rumours. Real. At Brackley.

Lewis: …Go on.

Valtteri: He cornered Ana. Kissed her without consent. She told him no. She punched him to get away. Broke her hand.

Lewis: What the actual fuck.

Valtteri: HR has the security footage. Other people in the factory had complaints before too… Just like we heard. Negging. Trying to “make her more sociable.” That kind of shit.

Lewis:

No. No no no. I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.

Valtteri: I already offered to deal with it the Finnish way.

Lewis: Valtteri, I swear to God— She’s like family to me. And if he’s walking around the paddock smiling like nothing happened?

Valtteri: He’s on leave now. Pending investigation. Toto’s furious. Brackley’s furious.

Lewis: Good. Because if I see him before this is dealt with, it’s not going to be an HR problem anymore.

***

Wolff Residence, Monaco - 28 July 2025

Ana wasn’t sleeping — not really. She was drifting in and out, eyelids fluttering under the hazy drag of sedatives and painkillers, her head heavy against Susie’s shoulder.

She barely stirred when the car pulled up outside the Wolffs’ place in Monaco, moving like a zombie. The late-afternoon sun painted everything gold, but Susie felt none of it.

Inside, she guided Ana straight to the guest room — the one with the pale curtains and the quilt Susie’s mother had made — easing her down to sit before slipping her shoes off and tucking the blanket over her legs.

“Home,” Susie said gently, even though she wasn’t sure Ana could process it.

Ana made a soft sound in response — not quite a word, not quite a sigh. Then, slowly, she blinked her way back to some fragile awareness… and started to speak.

It wasn’t English.

It wasn’t German.

Susie stilled. Russian.

She’d only ever heard Ana speak it twice before — once when she was sick with the flu, and once in her sleep after too much champagne on New Year’s Eve.

The words tumbled out now, unsteady and slurred, like her mouth was chasing them faster than her brain could shape them.

Susie didn’t understand a syllable. But the tone — the raw, unguarded heartbreak in it — hit her all the same.

“Hey,” Susie murmured, crouching down so she was level with her. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

Ana shook her head, eyes glassy. “Нет,” she said — firm, like she was rejecting the idea outright — before stumbling into more Russian, her voice tightening, the edges fraying.

Then, just as abruptly, she switched to English.

“…and he hates me,” she whispered.

Susie blinked. “What?”

Ana’s mouth trembled. “I—he… I made him angry. Friday night. And now—”

Her voice crumpled. The next breath hitched, sharp, and then she was crying. Not loud, but deep, shuddering sobs that shook her narrow frame under the blanket.

Susie reached for her hand — careful of the splint — and smoothed the hair back from her damp cheeks.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured. “Whatever it is, we’ll sort it out.”

But Ana only shook her head, tears catching on her lashes. “I ruined it. I ruin everything. He—he hates me now.””

Susie stilled. She didn’t know who he was. Didn’t know if she wanted to know right now. But the rawness in Ana’s voice was enough to twist something in her chest.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Susie said firmly.

Ana gave no sign she’d heard. She was already curling tighter under the blanket, her words slipping back into Russian, quieter now, almost like a lullaby she was whispering to herself.

Susie stayed until her breathing evened out again, until the trembling eased.

She stayed there, holding on, until the sedatives pulled Ana under again — her breathing evening out, her face still streaked with tears.

Then Susie sat back, brushing her thumb over the back of Ana’s good hand, already turning over the morning in her mind.

Already thinking that she should have said something sooner.

Already knowing she would never forgive George Russell for making Ana cry like this — or herself for not seeing it coming.

For now, she just kept her voice low and steady.

“You’re safe here,” she said again. And she hoped, one day, Ana would believe it.

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bellatrixlestrangeswhore · 5 days ago

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System Failure - Chapter 17: Francorchamps

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Dr. Anastasia "Ana" Wolff (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen to Mercedes? The paddock is buzzing. The media’s in meltdown.

And if the rumours are true, and Max Verstappen really is joining Mercedes, then Ana’s carefully compartmentalised world is about to explode.

Warnings and Notes: George Russell Bashing. Questionable Engineering Science...also Questionable work ethic. Difficult Family relationships. Let me know if I missed something else, and I'll add it!

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The Townhouse, Brackley, England - 25 July 2025

Ana woke before her alarm.

Not because she’d slept well—her mind had been chewing itself raw all night—but because the silence in the house felt wrong. It was that pre-dawn kind of stillness that didn’t soothe her; it prickled.

She padded barefoot into the kitchen, made coffee, opened her laptop, and pulled up the latest telemetry batch. It was quiet work—sifting through simulation deltas, comparing Kimi’s runs with the baseline Altair integration. She could have done it from her office. She could have sent the notes through the secure server like always.

But the more she stared at the numbers, the more they blurred into the memory of Max’s message from two nights ago. I’m still coming.

Her chest tightened.

Yesterday, the paddock had been in complete and utter chaos.

The news of Max Verstappen changing from Red Bull Navy to Mercedes Silver hat detonated like a bomb. And the blast radius had been the entire global media.

If Ana was smart, she would keep away from it as far as she could.

Sadly, Max Verstappen had the unfortunate habit of making Ana Wolff very, very dumb.

The email draft was already open when she realised she’d been staring at it for a solid ten minutes without typing a word.

Subject line: PU Calibration Review – Spa GP. Body: I’ll be onsite to review integration notes with power unit and chassis departments prior to FP1. Please confirm availability.

Ana read it back, lips pressing together. Technically true. A review was always useful before first practice. Spa was the kind of circuit where integration quirks could expose themselves in the worst possible way, and she’d been planning to watch the telemetry anyway.

But she didn’t need to be there in person. Not really.

The team could run the review over encrypted video call. Solomon could handle the early data analysis. She could stay here, keep working on the Hungary updates for Altair, and avoid… complications.

She pushed her chair back from the desk and stood, pacing once across the room. The city was still quiet—Brackley didn’t wake early unless it had to, and certainly not on a Friday. Outside, the light was still pale, the air cool. A morning that could have been peaceful if her head wasn’t a war zone.

She told herself she wanted to see how Max settled into the paddock chaos now that the announcement was out. She told herself it was important to gauge how the media circus might affect his head before Sunday. She told herself the in-person meeting would smooth interdepartmental cooperation.

All true. Just not the truth.

She wanted to see him. Plain and unvarnished.

Ana stopped pacing, went back to her desk, and without giving herself room to think, she opened the flight booking site. Early Friday meant decent seat selection, minimal weekend business travel. One click, two, three—confirmation email.

She exhaled, sat back, stared at the screen.

A logical decision, she told herself again. Strategic. Proactive. Good for the programme. Not about him.

It wasn’t about Max.

It was about the car.

It was about the work.

Ana repeated that to herself as she closed her laptop. She repeated it as she went upstairs to pack. She repeated it until the words felt thin and unconvincing.

Because deep down—somewhere under the layers of Wolff discipline and engineer logic—she knew exactly why she was going.

And it had nothing to do with engine integration.

***

Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, Francorchamps, Belgium - 25 July 2025

Toto had not expected to see his daughter before free practice.

Ana was not… spontaneous, at least not in the way the rest of the paddock understood it. She was measured, deliberate, always choosing her appearances based on what work actually demanded. And when work did require her presence at a race, she arrived quietly—often on his schedule, tucked into a seat on the Dassault Falcon with her noise-cancelling headphones on, eyes closed, filtering out the chaos of travel.

Today, however, there she was.

He spotted her just outside the motorhome, Mercedes pass already clipped to her jacket, hair still carrying the faint static of a rushed journey. And it had clearly been a commercial flight, not one of his—he’d been in Belgium since Wednesday, and she’d made no request to join.

Toto frowned.

Ana hated flying. Not in the way people used it as an excuse—she didn’t get nervous turbulence, she didn’t clutch armrests—it was the rest of it. The airport noise. The crowds. The fluorescent lighting and boarding chaos and strangers brushing past.

The security lines, the unpredictable boarding times, the constant drone of human noise that she could never quite escape. He knew she found it overwhelming. She’d once told him she could physically feel other people’s impatience in airport terminals, like static pressing against her skin.

Unless she was on his jet or a team-chartered flight with minimal disruption, she’d avoid it entirely.

Yet here she was, on time for pre-FP1 meetings, no sign of having been waylaid or rattled.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Toto said, catching her eye as she approached.

Ana adjusted the strap of her laptop bag. “I thought it might be useful to sit in on the integration review in person. Spa can be tricky with deployment patterns.”

“You flew in this morning?”

She nodded. “Headphones. Tchaikovsky. Volume high enough to make airport announcements sound like distant artillery.”

Toto almost smiled. “And you managed the transfer from Brussels?”

“Car from there. Not exactly difficult.”

He couldn’t quite reconcile it. Out of all the races on the calendar, she’d chosen this one to show up for—immediately after the Max-to-Mercedes announcement, with the paddock buzzing like an anthill someone had just kicked. Every camera crew within fifty miles was crammed into the media centre, waiting for someone to slip, to say the wrong thing.

Even walking in from the car park, Toto had felt the buzz—reporters lurking, camera lenses flashing, the ripple effect of the biggest driver move in years.

And yet Ana, who usually avoided the spotlight at all costs, had walked right into it.

Part of him wondered if she was here for him. He’d been in the thick of it since the press release—meetings, interviews, sponsor reassurances. Ana had always been good at seeing the angles other people missed; maybe she’d decided she needed to watch the storm from inside the eye.

Or maybe for Kimi—she’d worked so closely on Altair’s integration for him, and she’d been quietly protective since day one.

Either way, she hadn’t told him she was coming.

“Good,” Toto said, motioning toward the garage entrance. “Come on, then. Let’s make the most of you being here.”

Ana followed, quiet and self-contained as always. If she had another reason for being here—one that had nothing to do with him, or Kimi—Toto had no idea.

But still—he couldn’t shake the question. Why this weekend? Why now?

***

Twitter Thread: Anastasia Wolff at the Belgian Grand Prix

@F1TeaSpill 📸 Ana Wolff spotted in the Mercedes garage this morning 👀 She’s actually here for Spa weekend?? I swear she usually avoids race weekends unless someone drags her in, until it’s Monaco or Silverstone…

@altair_obsessed Ana Wolff back in the garage = Mercedes has officially entered “no nonsense” mode. The woman does not fly out unless there’s something serious going on.

@gridgirlnotes Not me immediately pausing the FP1 feed to zoom in on her outfit. It’s literally: Mercedes team jacket, black trousers, loafers. That’s it. And yet she looks like she walked out of a Loro Piana ad. HOW???

@pitlanecloset Ana Wolff is the downlow fashion inspo of the paddock. Always in uniform. Always minimal. And yet the loafers? The coats? The trousers?? You can never find them because they’re like stealth high-end pieces from brands that don’t even have public webshops.

@wheresmybaguette It’s the way she’ll wear one pair of black trousers for four seasons but they’re probably hand-tailored from some Italian atelier no one’s heard of.

@mercedesmermaid Also can we talk about how she looks completely unfazed while the entire garage is buzzing about Max’s first weekend post-announcement? Queen behaviour.

@paddockspy confirmed: ana wolff spotted pre-FP1 in the Merc garage with her laptop open and three engineers around her. she’s in work mode.

@gridgossip ok but Ana usually only comes to a handful of races a year and she picked THIS one? 👀 After the Verstappen news? interesting.

@silverarrowed ngl Ana Wolff is my absolute favourite kind of paddock presence. never in the media pen, always in team kit, but you just know she’s doing galaxy-brain things in those spreadsheets.

@gplife I think Ana’s wardrobe strategy is “be invisible until someone tries to replicate your outfit and realises you’re playing 4D chess.”

@paddocktea

Why is nobody talking about the fact Ana Wolff NEVER shows up for media-heavy weekends and yet she’s here the day after the Verstappen-to-Mercedes announcement??? 🤨

***

Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, Francorchamps, Belgium - 25 July 2025

Max didn’t expect to see her.

He’d spent the whole morning in the Red Bull garage pretending not to notice the way it felt like a tomb—every conversation sharp-edged, every glance in his direction loaded. The absence of GP was like a missing gear in an engine; the whole thing still turned, but wrong, jerky, inefficient. The replacement engineer was competent but not his—and it showed.

Free Practice 1 had been a disaster. Nothing catastrophic, just… nothing that worked. Wrong balance. Wrong tyres at the wrong time. Too much traffic in the runs that were supposed to be clean. Then FP2 wasn’t better—data all over the place, every change they made feeling like a guess instead of a plan.

By the time he stepped out of the car after FP2, the air in the garage felt heavy, like everyone was just waiting for him to explode.

And then he caught sight of her.

Across the paddock, through the crowd of Mercedes kit and silver hospitality umbrellas—Ana Wolff, head bent over a tablet, hair in a low bun, the oversized team jacket making her look smaller than she was. She was standing just inside the Mercedes garage, talking to one of the engineers, completely oblivious to the fact that his chest had just gone tight.

He hadn’t known she was coming.

She hadn’t told him.

Of course she hadn’t told him.

His jaw clenched. The last time they’d spoken—if you could call it that—had been over text, right after he signed the Mercedes contract. She’d said congratulations like it was an obligatory courtesy, not the single biggest decision of his career. She hadn’t said I’m glad you’re coming. She hadn’t said I want you here. She hadn’t said anything that mattered.

Radio silence except for a perfunctory “Congratulations” that had landed with all the warmth of a weather report.

And then Daniel had texted him yesterday, right after the announcement went public.

He’d ignored the last message, but it was still there in the back of his head, wedged somewhere between the understeer from FP1 and the fact that half the Red Bull garage wouldn’t look him in the eye.

Now he was looking at her—Mercedes jacket, Mercedes garage, Mercedes badge on her lanyard—and all he could think about was how she hadn’t said a damn thing that made him believe she wanted him there at all.

An engineer asked him something about brake migration. Max answered on autopilot.

Because all he could think about was Ana in that garage, cool and untouchable, working like he wasn’t twenty metres away and slowly losing his mind.

And the worst part? She probably came for some technical reason, some project, something to do with Kimi or a power unit calibration—anything but him.

Max turned away before she could see him watching.

Back to his own garage.

Back to the team he’d just detonated.

It was going to be a long weekend.

***

PRIVATE CHAT — Secure channel

Andromeda 🛰️ is online

JadeQueen 👑 is online

Andromeda:I am in Belgium. He’s here. Obviously. And I still haven’t… said anything.

JadeQueen: You mean besides the world’s most lukewarm “congratulations” when he signed?

Andromeda: Yes. That. It’s… awkward. I don’t know how to make it not awkward.

JadeQueen: It’s only awkward because you’re making it awkward.

Andromeda: Thanks, that helps so much.

JadeQueen: Annie. You want him at Mercedes. You do. You just don’t know how to say it in a way that doesn’t make you feel exposed.

Andromeda: It’s not just that. It’s… He’s going to be in my workspace. My meetings. My… life. And he did this partly for me. That’s a lot of pressure to acknowledge.

JadeQueen: So don’t acknowledge the pressure. Show him something smaller. Do something that says “I’m glad you’re coming” without you actually saying it.

Andromeda: Like give him a gift?

JadeQueen:A gesture.

Andromeda:They have his favourite cupcakes here.

JadeQueen: Buy one. Give it to him. Tell him it’s for signing. It’s not a speech, it’s not a declaration—it’s a gesture.

Andromeda: That feels… manageable.

JadeQueen: Exactly. Baby steps. You don’t have to storm the fortress gates, just open a window. Besides, food is universal. Even Max Verstappen understands “I got you cake.”

Andromeda: Fine. I’ll stop by the bakery before I leave.

JadeQueen: Good girl. Now go before you overthink it and talk yourself out of it.

Andromeda 🛰️ is offline

Chat archived

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff

Ana: What’s your room number?

Max: Why?

Ana: I have something for you.

Max: …

Ana: It’s work-related. Mostly.

Max: 327.

Ana: Thanks.

Max: Yeah.

Ana: I’ll be there in ten.

Max: Fine.

Max sat back on the hotel bed, phone still in his hand. Four words. One number. And she didn’t even clock it. No pause, no is something wrong?, no shift in tone—just straight to logistics.

Ana Wolff could reverse-engineer an entire hybrid system from scratch, but apparently couldn’t tell when he was pissed off even if he all but underlined it.

***

Max Verstappen’s Hotel Room, Francorchamps, Belgium - 25 July 2025

Max heard the faintest knock—two sharp taps, nothing more. He didn’t even need to check the peephole. Nobody else knocked like that.

By the time he opened the door, Ana was already slipping inside like she’d been born to evade hotel security. She’d done it for years—side entrances, service corridors, casual detours through the wrong lobby to avoid cameras. She was a professional at not existing where she wasn’t supposed to.

And yeah, fine, his brain went straight to sex.

That was usually what these late-night drop-ins meant. Not always, but often enough that muscle memory kicked in—closing the door, locking it, watching her cross the room in that smooth, controlled way like she’d planned every step.

Only he didn’t move toward her. Not this time.

He stayed by the door.

“You could have texted when you got here,” he said, voice low.

“I didn’t want anyone to see.” She set her bag on the desk. “You have… less privacy than usual right now.”

“Yeah, no shit.” He folded his arms, let his eyes track her without softening. “So what’s this? Distraction sex to celebrate me signing?”

That got her head snapping up. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Her mouth tightened. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Isn’t it?” His eyes locked on hers. “You’ve been running hot and cold with me for years, Ana. You keep me close enough to want more but far enough I can never have it. And I’m done with it. You want me enough to pull me into hotel rooms, but never enough to let me actually in.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” Max said, stepping closer, “what’s not fair is you acting like this doesn’t mean anything, like I didn’t just burn down the last nine years of my career for a future that has you in it.”

She flinched at that, but before she could answer, the frustration that had been gnawing at him all day slipped out unfiltered.

“Why are you here, Ana?” He pushed off the door, the heat in his chest already climbing. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t to say you’re happy for me. You didn’t even react when I told you. Just three dots and a ‘congratulations.’ Like I’d told you I bought a new blender.”

She blinked, genuinely thrown. “I didn’t think you needed—”

“I needed something,” he cut in. “Anything to show you cared. Instead I get silence, and then Daniel in my messages telling me George Russell has apparently been flirting with you!”

Ana stared at him for a beat—and then laughed. A sharp, incredulous sound. “Are you insane? He is not flirting with me.”

Max laughed, humourless. “He is. And you don’t want to see. And maybe you don’t care because you’ve made it perfectly clear for years that I’m just the convenient option you can sneak into a hotel room when it suits you.”

“That’s—God, Max, that’s not even remotely true. And if you think I’d ever—”

Max laughed, humourless. “Or maybe you do see it and you like it—because it means you don’t have to deal with me actually wanting something real.”

Her cheeks flushed, whether from anger or shock he couldn’t tell. “Max, this isn’t—”

“I want more, Ana.” He cut her off. “And if you’re not going to give it to me, just say so. Stop making me guess. Stop making me wait.”

Silence stretched, thick and brittle. Her mouth opened, closed again. She wasn’t ready for this conversation—he could see it in the way her shoulders curled, like she was bracing for impact.

“I don’t know what to think,” he said, quieter now but no less raw. “Because I want something more from you, Ana. And you keep showing me just enough to hope, and then shutting the door again. You are keeping me at arm’s length, and then show up like nothing’s wrong. I’ve been waiting for you to let me in for ten years, Ana. I can’t keep doing this.”

Her shoulders went rigid. “I’m not having this conversation now.”

“Of course you’re not,” he said bitterly. “You never do.”

Something flickered in her face—hurt, maybe, but gone too fast to pin down. She reached into her bag, set a small white box on the desk.

The silence between them stretched taut.

“I got you this,” she said, voice tight. “To celebrate signing. It’s a chocolate cupcake. You like those. I thought it might be easier than… words.”

It was almost absurd, the way the box sat there between them like a peace offering in a war neither of them had planned to start.

Before he could answer, she was already at the door.

And just like she’d come in, she slipped out—silent, invisible, gone.

Max stared at the box for a long time before finally sitting down, the weight in his chest heavier than it had been all week.

***

PRIVATE CHAT — Secure channel

Andromeda 🛰️ is online

JadeQueen 👑 is online

Andromeda: I did what you said. Went to his room. Brought the cupcake.

JadeQueen: …And?

Andromeda: And it was a disaster. No, worse than a disaster. It was like stepping on a landmine I didn’t know was there.

Andromeda: And he thinks I only show up for sex. That I don’t want him enough to actually let him in. When I said I wasn’t, he accused me of keeping him at arm’s length forever, using him when I feel like it. Then he brought up George.

JadeQueen: George?

Andromeda: Apparently Daniel Ricciardo told him George has been flirting with me. Does Daniel Ricciardo have spies at Brackley? How does he even know?! WHY DOES HE EVEN CARE?!

JadeQueen: …Sweetie, George has been flirting with you.

Andromeda: He has not. Don’t be ridiculous.

JadeQueen: Ana—he has. In a very terrible, very mysogynistic way. And apparently it’s very obvious when Daniel Ricciardo knows about it, even though he hasn’t had a seat in F1 for nearly a year.

Andromeda: I’m not having this conversation.

JadeQueen: …Oh, you’re doing the thing.

Andromeda: What thing.

JadeQueen: The thing where you hit emotional overload and start shutting every door in the building. Ana, talk to me. What happened after George-gate?

Andromeda: I don’t want to talk about it.

JadeQueen: Annie—

Andromeda: No. I went there to do something small, something manageable, and it blew up in my face. And it just—He was angry, and I didn’t know how to fix it, and now I just—That’s it. I’m done.

JadeQueen: You’re not done. You’re scared.

Andromeda: I’m tired. And I have work in the morning. I am not doing this. Not with you. Not with him. Not with anyone.

JadeQueen: I’m not blaming you, Annie—

Andromeda: I said I’m not doing this.

JadeQueen: …You’re shutting down.

Andromeda: Correct. I am compartmentalising. I am going to focus on my work and not think about cupcakes or contracts or… anything else.

JadeQueen: That’s not healthy.

Andromeda: It’s functional. That’s all that matters right now.

Andromeda 🛰️ is offline

Chat archived

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: Just had a fight with Ana.

Victoria: …like an actual fight-fight? Not your usual “we bicker about tyre strategy and then make out” thing?

Max: Fight-fight. She came to my hotel room. Thought it was for sex. It wasn’t.

Victoria: Maximilian. 🙄

Max: Don’t start. She barely reacted when I told her I signed with Mercedes. Three dots. “Congratulations.” That’s it. She shows up here, gives me a cupcake like we’re colleagues celebrating a promotion, and somehow I’m the bad guy for being pissed off.

Victoria: What did you actually say?

Max: That she keeps me close enough to want more but never lets me have it. That I’m done with her hot/cold routine. And… I might have brought up that George Russell’s apparently been flirting with her.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Max: Daniel told me!

Victoria: Still. Timing, Max. You basically accused her of not caring, then threw in the George thing like a grenade.

Max: She doesn’t care. Or she won’t admit she does. Ten years, Vic. I’ve been waiting for her to let me in for ten years. She’s here, and it still feels like she’s a thousand miles away.

Victoria: Or maybe she’s terrified. And you yelling “let me in” when she’s already halfway to shutting down doesn’t exactly help.

Max: So what, I just keep waiting forever?

Victoria: I’m saying—figure out if you want to win the argument or keep her. Because from what you’ve just told me, you’re on track to lose both.

Max: …

Victoria: And don’t text her tonight. Give her space. Eat the damn cupcake.

***

Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, Francorchamps, Belgium - 26 July 2025

The garage was too loud.

Not in decibels—her noise-cancelling headphones could take the edge off of that—but in the way everything pressed against her from all sides. Mechanics in quick-step choreography around the car bays. Power unit diagnostics scrolling across the central monitor wall. A camera crew stationed just outside the garage shutters, the white LED of a live feed blinking in her peripheral vision.

Ana stood behind the workbench, hands wrapped around a tablet that had been in sleep mode for the last fifteen minutes. She was meant to be reviewing heat mapping from Sprint Qualifying, cross-referencing it against cooling models she’d finished two weeks ago. Instead, her eyes kept snagging on meaningless numbers while her brain played back last night in loops she couldn’t stop.

The hotel door closing. His voice—angry, clipped, almost foreign to her. The cupcake box on the desk like a stupid, fragile peace treaty.

She’d gone back to her own room after, dropped her bag on the chair, and opened her laptop because work was the only thing that still behaved the way she expected. She’d made it through eight hours without closing it—cycling between simulations, telemetry archives, and CAD diagrams until sunrise, when she finally noticed her hands were trembling from too much caffeine and not enough sleep.

Now she was here, in the garage, running on three espressos and pure muscle memory.

Someone called her name—Tom from the PU team, voice coming through the left ear of her headset. She blinked, answered automatically. “Yes—module four needs another pass through the stress cycle at race temp before we sign it off. Run it at eighty-five percent of max load, twenty minutes.”

She knew her tone was flat. Too flat. Usually, she could make herself sound… if not warm, then at least present. Today, there was no bandwidth for it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw silver over black at the edge of the garage—Kimi stepping in, helmet in hand, offering her a short nod as he passed. Then Bono a minute later, Valterri falling into step beside him. Ana gave them both a faint greeting, just enough to keep them from asking questions.

She did not look toward the Red Bull garage.

Not once.

She told herself it was because she didn’t care.

She didn’t look because she was afraid that if she saw him—helmet off, jaw tight, eyes cutting toward her the way they always had—she’d give herself away.

So she kept her head down, stylus tapping against the tablet screen like it mattered, and let the garage swallow her whole.

***

Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, Francorchamps, Belgium - 26 July 2025

Kimi spotted it before he even made it through the doorway of the hospitality suite.

George. Leaning against the high counter like he was auditioning for a really bad cologne advert. Ana, across from him, tablet in hand, very obviously mid-work and very obviously not inviting conversation.

Kimi didn’t know her that well yet, but in the months since he’d joined the team, he’d picked up the basics: Ana Wolff didn’t do chit-chat in the middle of a race weekend, and she sure as hell didn’t appreciate someone blocking her caffeine supply chain.

George, apparently, had missed that memo entirely.

“Well,” George said, tilting forward just enough to enter personal space territory, “you’re looking… surprisingly put-together for someone who’s been in this chaos all morning.”

Kimi paused in the doorway. That wasn’t a compliment. Not the way George said it—like he was astonished she’d managed to get dressed without supervision.

Ana’s reply was flat. “I’m working, George.”

Kimi frowned. She wasn’t being dry or sarcastic—that would’ve been normal. This was… muted. Off. Like someone had dialled her volume down and left it there.

George didn’t seem to notice, because he grinned and kept going. “Just saying—you could give some of the hospitality girls a run for their money.”

That was it. Kimi didn’t even think about it—he just strolled in, sliding into the space between them like he’d been invited.

“Ana, Toto’s looking for you,” he said, completely deadpan. “Needs you in the garage before the systems check.”

She blinked, clearly thrown. “Now?”

“Yeah. Urgent.” Then, turning to George: “Sorry, mate. Don’t want to interrupt your… whatever this is.”

George put on his best diplomatic smile. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to get in the way.”

Kimi gave him a deliberately sweet smile—the kind that wasn’t sweet at all—and shepherded Ana toward the side exit.

They didn’t speak until they’d put some distance between themselves and the lounge.

“You okay?” Kimi asked.

“I’m fine,” she said, which was exactly what people said when they weren’t fine.

“You’re quieter than usual.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Yeah, but this is like… muted Zoom mic quiet,” Kimi said. “Battery’s low. Looks like you need a recharge.”

She gave a faint shrug. “Didn’t sleep much.”

Kimi narrowed his eyes, but didn’t push. He’d only known her a few months, but he knew enough to clock when she wasn’t in the mood to be poked at.

Still, as they walked toward the garage, he glanced back at the hospitality area, imagining George trying another one of those half-compliment, half-something else lines.

If Kimi was going to lose this seat anyway, he might as well make it his mission to make George’s life inconvenient until then.

***

Text Messages: Kimi Antonelli & Oliver Bearman

Kimi: George was once again hitting on Ana Wolff

Ollie: 💀💀💀 you’re lying

Kimi: I WISH i was

Kimi: like full lean-on-the-counter voice drop “you’re looking surprisingly put together”

Ollie: oh my god is he insane???

Kimi: YES

Kimi: and Ana was giving him the “i’d rather die than be in this conversation” face so i pulled a tactical extraction

Ollie: tactical extraction???

Kimi: I told her Toto needed her in the garage urgently

Ollie: did he??

Kimi: nah. Toto probably thinks I’m in sim right now.

Ollie: you’re insane

Kimi: I’m petty. If i’m getting yeeted out of this seat anyway, might as well use my remaining time to ruin george’s life.I’m getting demoted to formula e or endurance gt3 or whatever in 2026 There are no rules anymore

***

Ana Wolff’s Hotel Room, Francorchamps, Belgium - 26 July 2025

The curtains were drawn, the lights low. The hum of the minibar was the only sound in the room.

Ana sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, laptop open but forgotten, the code on her screen blurring into nonsense. She hadn’t eaten since lunch. She couldn’t remember what lunch even was.

She’d told herself she was going to review overnight engine data. That was the reason she’d retreated to the hotel straight after the final meeting. But the truth was, she couldn’t stand being in the garage anymore—not with the noise, not with the press, not with the static in her head.

But the fight with Max kept replaying.

The way his voice had sharpened.

The way he’d said I’ve been waiting for you to let me in for ten years.

Max’s voice kept replaying in her head, looping over and over until she couldn’t tell where anger ended and something else—hurt, maybe—began.

Her chest tightened—sharp, small, the same way it used to when she was a child, standing in a hallway in front of an apartment in Vienna and staring at a man she had never met who claimed to be her father.

Her mother had kissed her forehead, promised it would be fine, that she’d see her soon.

She never came back.

At first, Ana had written letters. Emails.

Then she’d stopped.

By fourteen, she understood that silence was its own answer.

And so she’d learned—painfully, meticulously—how to lock things away before they could be taken from her. To fold feelings up small and tuck them behind walls nobody could breach.

It had kept her alive. Functional.

Now, over a decade later, it still hit with the same cold weight.

The same lesson she’d never quite shaken: People leave. And the more you need them, the faster they go.

She pressed the heel of her hand to her sternum, as if she could push the feeling down.

She couldn’t afford this—not now. Not like this.

So she reached for the one thing she knew how to do. She started locking it away.

One by one, she took the pieces—the sting of his words, the guilt for not saying what he wanted to hear, the old hollow ache of a mother-shaped absence—and shoved them into the mental vault she’d built over years of necessity.

Shut it. Seal it. Weld it shut.

Focus on what you can control.

Her fingers found the noise-cancelling headphones on the nightstand. She slid them on, thumbed through her phone until Tchaikovsky’s Chanson Triste filled the world—loud enough that it drowned out her own thoughts.

The data on the laptop swam back into focus.

Numbers. Systems. Variables she could quantify.

Everything else could stay in the dark, where it belonged.

***

Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, Francorchamps, Belgium - 27 July 2025

Max could have done without the drivers’ parade today.

Sadly, now he was stuck waving at fans on the back of a flatbed truck while every single driver in a fifty-metre radius seemed to want to dissect his career choices like they were splitting an atom.

“Big change, mate,” Lando said over the engine noise, grinning like Max had just signed to be the face of McDonald’s. Carlos had followed, asking what it was like to blow up an entire career in one press release. Even Hulkenberg had wandered over with a raised brow and a “So… silver suits you, ja?”

Charles followed it up with, “Guess we’re going to have to get used to seeing you in silver.”

And Oscar, ever the quiet one, simply offered, “Bold move.”

Max gave them all the same clipped nod, the same non-committal hm, because the only thing that had been circling in his head all morning was the fact that Ana still hadn’t messaged him. Not a single word since she walked out of his hotel room Friday night.

He’d spent the sprint race avoiding her line of sight—easy enough when she was buried in telemetry in the Mercedes garage and he was fighting an RB21 that refused to do what he wanted without GP there to translate. But avoidance didn’t stop the frustration from clawing at him, or the memory of her voice—quiet, careful, shutting him down.

And now, two days later, the silence between them felt like a wall he couldn’t even see over.

He half-tuned out Pierre talking about track conditions, eyes drifting toward the back of the truck where the rookies were clustered—Kimi, Ollie, and a couple of others, heads bent together in that way young drivers did when they thought nobody was listening.

“…seriously, George is insane,” Kimi was saying, half-turned toward Ollie Bearman and the rest of the rookies. “It’s like… horrible flirting. Like, he thinks he’s charming but it’s just—no.”

Gabi laughed. “With who?”

“Ana Wolff,” Kimi replied, tone as if that alone proved the insanity. “Keeps making these… comments. Not even good ones. Like backhanded compliments in the middle of her trying to work. She barely says two words to him, and he’s still trying.”

Max’s fingers curled tight around the railing before he could stop them.

He forced himself to keep facing forward, but his ears stayed locked on the conversation.

“Mate,” Isack said, “that’s asking for trouble. Doesn’t she work on engine integration or something?”

“She runs the system integration,” Kimi said flatly. “And she’s Toto’s daughter. I wouldn’t even think about—”

Max didn’t hear the rest. He was too busy biting back the urge to turn around and demand exactly what George had said, when, and how quickly Max could find him after the parade ended.

Daniel had joked about George. But hearing it from Kimi—who had no reason to make it up—lit something raw and ugly in his chest.

He could picture it too easily: George leaning on some countertop in Mercedes hospitality, talking down to her in that smooth, grating tone of his. Ana putting up with it because she put up with too much, because she didn’t want to make a scene, because she still didn’t seem to realise when someone was crossing a line.

The truck jolted over a bump. Max’s grip on the railing didn’t loosen.

The idea of George—George, of all people—trying to play charming with Ana while Max was standing over in the Red Bull garage made something ugly and hot curl low in his stomach.

He didn’t care if the whole thing was pathetic, or if it made him sound jealous. He was jealous. And pissed. And still raw from Friday night.

***

Transcript: Sky Sports Coverage of the Belgian Grand Prix, Rain Delay

[CAMERA cuts to Nico Rosberg striding into the Mercedes garage with his trademark grin, microphone in hand, rain pattering on the tarmac outside.]

Nico Rosberg: (cheerfully into camera) Well, the rain has given us plenty of time to… uh, wander into places we’re normally not allowed. So obviously, I came straight here to Mercedes. And—look at this—I’ve found Toto Wolff. (turns to Toto] Hello, Toto.

Toto Wolff: (dryly) Hello, Nico. You are already causing trouble, I can tell.

Nico: That’s my job! Now, let’s get straight to it. Max Verstappen. Mercedes. 2026. This is the biggest news in Formula 1 right now. The paddock is going crazy, the fans are going crazy… you’re going to be dealing with all of that. What’s the mood inside the team?

Toto: (measured, professional) Obviously we are looking forward to working with Max when the time comes. He is one of the most talented drivers of his generation, a multiple world champion, and he will push us forward. But right now, our focus remains on our current driver lineup and the race in front of us—whenever the weather allows it.

Nico: (grinning wider) Okay, so you’re giving me the PR answer, which is fine. But come on, Toto—was this a long courtship? Did you have to wine and dine him? Was there a secret yacht summit involved?

Toto: (deadpan) We had conversations. The decision came down to shared goals for the future of the team.

Nico: Uh-huh. Totally believable.

[CAMERA shifts slightly—viewers can now see, in the background at a side table, Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff in Mercedes team gear, sitting cross-legged on a padded bench with Valtteri Bottas and Kimi Antonelli. The three are playing cards. Kimi is staring very intently at his hand. Ana looks utterly relaxed, holding her cards in one hand and a coffee in the other.]

Nico: (glancing over Toto’s shoulder, breaking into a grin) Wait a second. Is that…? (waves) Ana!

[Ana looks up briefly, gives a small wave, then goes straight back to arranging her cards.]

Nico: This is incredible. I am trying to do a Very Serious Interview with Toto here, and you’re just… playing cards?

Ana: (without looking up) Kimi’s nervous. This helps.

Kimi: (muttering without lifting his eyes] I’m fine.

Valtteri: (deadpan) He’s not fine.

Nico: (laughing into the mic) This is peak Mercedes right here. Rain delay? No problem—just break out a poker game in the garage.

Toto: (trying to redirect) We use the time to keep everyone focused and calm.

Nico: Focused? She’s not even looking at us.

Ana: I’m winning.

Valtteri: You’re not winning.

Kimi: She’s winning.

[Nico turns back to the camera, mock-conspiratorial.]

Nico: Ladies and gentlemen, there you have it. Mercedes: keeping their power unit integration lead, a race-winning driver, and a rookie all occupied with… cards. And somehow, Ana is apparently winning.

Toto: Nico—do you have an actual question?

Nico: (grinning again) Yes, yes, of course. Final question—if it keeps raining, will we get a rematch here?

Ana: No. I’m retiring undefeated.

[Nico laughs, signs off.]

Nico: Well, there you go. Mercedes are calm, collected, and apparently better at poker than they are at giving away team secrets. Back to you.

[CAMERA cuts back to main broadcast.]

***

Twitter Thread: Rain Delay

@/f1shitposting:

nico rosberg has clearly decided his life’s purpose is to personally annoy toto wolff for sport and i, for one, support it

@/mercedesgirlie: not me wheezing because toto is being all serious about max signing and in the background you can SEE ana wolff playing cards with kimi antonelli like she’s babysitting him 💀💀💀

@/f1memedepartment: toto’s nightmare:

nico rosberg with a live mic

ana in frame during nico rosberg with a live mic

@/SilverArrowStan: Toto looked like he wanted to throw Nico into the gravel for interrupting, meanwhile Ana was just like: “I will destroy you at cards next, Rosberg.”

@/F1GossipMill: Kinda love that Nico tried to bait her and she gave him nothing. Girl has walls made of titanium.

@/RosbergFanClub: Say what you want about Nico, but him being one of the only people who will publicly tease Ana is hilarious. Everyone else treats her like she’s some unapproachable boss character.

@/NotThatGeorge:

Ana really is the quiet queen of the paddock. She doesn’t do interviews, she doesn’t do soft-focus WAG content, she just shows up in the garage, runs half the telemetry, and wins card games during rain delays. #Goals

@/KimiNation88:

Kimi looked like he was at a high-stakes poker table in Monaco, not waiting out rain in Spa 😭

Also, Ana didn’t even flinch when Nico started chirping at her. Stone cold.

@/F1HotTakes: nico rosberg terrorising the pitlane during a rain delay is already funny, but him zeroing in on toto like a shark??? priceless.

@/mercgirlie: the way nico asked toto about max like it was a casual brunch chat while ana wolff was just… in the background playing cards with kimi and valtteri 😭

@/safewithkimi:

kimi looking like ana was his emotional support human during that whole rain delay 😭 he wasn’t even pretending to watch the interview

@/PaddockGossip:

why does max verstappen look like he’s plotting someone’s downfall during this rain delay 💀

@/chaosandchicanes:

someone tell max he’s not starting a coup, it’s just a weather delay

@/softtyres:

rain delay bingo:

☑️ nico rosberg being annoying

☑️ kimi looking 12 years old

☑️ ana wolff being unbothered

☑️ max verstappen visibly pissed about SOMETHING

@/slipstreamqueen:

idk what’s happening but max looks like he’s about to throw a space hopper at someone and i’m here for it

@/verstappenstans: this is not the face of a man stuck in a rain delay this is the face of a man stuck in a rain delay and in his feelings

@/slowpitstop: can confirm max hasn’t moved in 12 minutes zero blinking we are witnessing the birth of a new paddock conspiracy theory in real time

@/overtakequeen: he’s either thinking about tyre strategy or thinking about homicide and honestly it’s a coin toss

***

Toto Wolff’s plane, somewhere above Belgium - 27 July 2025

The hum of the engines had always been something Toto found steadying—low, constant, predictable. Tonight, it only seemed to underline the tension sitting two seats to his left.

Anastasia had claimed her usual window seat when they boarded, her noise-cancelling headphones already in place before the crew had even closed the door. Normally, by now, she’d have shed her meticulous work posture for a looser sprawl with a book in hand or her laptop open, half working, half bantering with him about something she’d read.

Tonight, she hadn’t said more than a handful of words since takeoff.

Her coat was still on. She sat angled toward the window, hood half-pulled up, knees drawn in close. Not sleeping—he could see the small, restless movements of her fingers on the armrest—but not working either. Just… turned inward.

Toto closed the last page of a report he wasn’t really reading, letting the papers rest on his knee as he watched her.

Anastasia didn’t look angry. Not exactly. But there was a distance in her face, the kind that made him think of the first months after she’d come to live with him—before she’d found her footing in Brackley, when silence had been her armour.

“Long weekend,” he said finally, careful with the tone—light, open-ended.

She didn’t look at him. “Yeah.”

“Are you feeling unwell?”

A slight shake of her head. “No.”

The headphones stayed on, but he noticed the music wasn’t playing—no faint percussion leaking out, no telltale change in her expression when a favourite passage came on. Just silence.

Toto’s hand tightened slightly on the armrest. He had seen her like this before—retreating, pulling the shutters closed. And he’d learned long ago that pressing too hard would only make her retreat further.

Still, it pulled at him.

He thought of the way she’d been all weekend—present, yes, working, yes, but without the quiet undercurrent of wry humour she usually carried. Even during the rain delay, when she’d been playing cards with Kimi and Valtteri, her smiles had been smaller, fleeting.

“You know,” he said after a beat, “I can usually tell when something’s wrong.”

That got him a glance—brief, guarded. “And?”

“And I’m not going to ask for the whole story now.” He held her gaze just long enough to make sure she understood. “But I want you to know I’m here when you want to tell it.”

Her expression shifted—fractionally, but enough for him to see something flicker behind her eyes. Then Anastasia looked back out at the dark beyond the window, hands tucked under her sleeves.

“Okay,” she said finally.

It wasn’t much. But it was something.

Toto leaned back in his seat, letting her have the space she needed, even as the quiet between them stretched on. He didn’t know what had happened yet—but he knew enough to see that whatever it was, it had settled deep.

And he wasn’t about to let it stay there forever.

***

Text Messages: Toto Wolff & Susie Wolff

Susie: I know you’ve got meetings at Brackley tomorrow morning, but we need to talk when you come home, please.

Toto: About what?

Susie: Ana.

Toto: What about her?

Susie: Just… trust me. We’ll talk tomorrow.

Toto: Susie—

Susie: Tomorrow, Toto. Don’t overthink it on the flight.

Toto: Too late for that.

***

#max verstappen fanfiction #formula 1 #max verstappen #max verstappen smau #max verstappen fic #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #max verstappen fluff #mv1 fanfiction #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fake instagram #f1 smau #max verstappen social media au #max verstappen x reader #mv1 x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #mv1 fic

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bellatrixlestrangeswhore · 5 days ago

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Between Naps and Laps | Max Verstappen

Plot: 3.4k - Max has a very sleepy girlfriend, slowly Twitch gets to see them together in multiple little scenes. Tags: Max Verstappen x very sleepy & migraine plagued (teacher) reader, very fluffy Warnings: Use of feminine pronouns; physical intimacy (sfw) Note: Please let me know how you like 'chat' in this fic! I'm scared I might have added them too much haha!

Max’s eyes locked on the apex, his grip tight on the wheel as the car screamed through the flat-out left-hander. The vibrations rattled through his hands, every nerve firing.

“Inside line... inside line...” he muttered under his breath, barely audible.

He glanced at the timing; two-tenths up. “Don’t mess this up, Max.”

The world around his focus tunnel was blurry, aside from consciously listening to his Redline Teammates. every now and then.

Chat was a blur of lap-time spam and back seat driving.

They couldn’t hear it clearly, soft but unmistakable, was a click of the front door. Max didn’t glance over, but the faint thump of shoes being kicked off on the hallway mat bled through the otherwise silent apartment.

A slow, groggy “Heeey…” floated in. And instantly, the driver smiled. “Hi, liefje,” Max said, tone effortlessly warm even as he was trying not to crash in-game.

The chat barely reacted at first, until the words really sank in.

what’s a liefje?? DID HE JUST CALL SOMEONE BABE IN DUTCH?? whose voice was that omg

Something else was mumbled from somewhere in the room, but too quiet to make out for chat.

Max didn’t answer until the next straight. He reached behind his chair, grabbed the folded blanket slung over the backrest, and tossed it toward the couch.

The camera didn’t catch her, only the sound of fabric hitting cushions, the soft rustle of her curling up, and a tiny, content sigh.

HELLO??? WHO TF JUST WALKED INTO HIS HOUSE blanket toss mid race?? Damn

Max’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “Don’t fall asleep before the end, want to show you something,” he said over his shoulder, voice pitched lower than usual.

Aside from a soft ‘Mhmm’, no answer came.

Ten laps later, after finishing the race, Max relaxed in his seat, pushing the headset off his ear on one side. The guys in the call were already laughing in his ear. “So, uhm… Max? Anything you wanna tell us?” He blinked, feigning innocence. “About what?”

“About who just wandered in mid-race.”

Max leaned back in his seat, taking a sip from his water bottle like he had all the time in the world. “Oh, yeah. That was my girlfriend.”

For half a second, there was silence. Then chat detonated.

GIRLFRIEND??? MAX HAS A GF??? SINCE WHEN??

The Redline guys were cackling. “Mate, you just drop that in like it’s nothing?”

Max only smirked, glancing toward the couch, voice dipping softer. “She’s a teacher. Had parents’ evening tonight, so she’s wrecked. Pretty sure she’s already asleep.”

A soft ‘nuh-uh’ was heard from the direction of the couch. The camera caught just a sliver of her when Max tilted it over a bit, a blanket draped over her, the curve of someone curled into the couch. Still no face.

Max twists in his chair, eyes wide open in suprise. “Hey,” he said softly. “You want some tea or just… sleep?”

From under the blanket came a muffled, “Sleep. Forever.”

He chuckled. “Long night?”

A groan, then: “Do you know how many parents told me today that English isn’t important anymore? Like, apparently spelling doesn’t matter because ‘we have autocorrect.’ Or, get this, they say their kid doesn’t like reading so I should just… not make them do it?” She yawned mid-sentence. “Max, I swear, some of them are worse than the kids.”

Max’s smile turned helpless. He leaned an elbow on the armrest, just watching her. “Yeah?” he murmured, like every word she said was gold.

bro’s in love this is DISGUSTING i want what they have

“Go to sleep, liefje,” he said eventually, still grinning. “I’ll be done soon.”

“Mm.” She was already halfway gone again.

Max reached over without thinking, adjusting the edge of the blanket so it covered her shoulder completely, tucking it underneath her chin. “Sleep well,” he murmured, almost too low for the mic to catch.

Then he turned back to his screen, shaking his head with a smile on his face.

It was barely past nine in the morning on the first day of summer break, when a Redline stream was up and running. Max’s headset was snug, wheel centered and he looked freshly showered, hair still wet in some spots. Chat was still waking up too, their greetings a mix of sleepy emojis and half-hearted banter.

“Morning,” he said into the mic, sipping his coffee. “Early start today. I’m more awake than some of you, I think.”

He was mid-qualifying lap when the soft shuffle of bare feet came from the hallway. His eyes flicked toward the camera for half a second, subtly thinking of what could be seen from this angle, which was second nature by now, before answering one of his teammates questions.

“Max…” came a hoarse, gravelly voice, still warm from sleep.

“Mhm?” he hummed, braking into a chicane.

“…there’s no coffee.” She stood in the doorway like she’d walked straight out of bed (which was probably the case), hair messy, one sleeve of her (Max’s) oversized T-shirt slipping off her shoulder, and the blanket still trailing behind her like a cape.

She spotted the half-full mug in his hand and gasped in mock outrage. “Hey!”

Chat latched on instantly.

SHE’S BACK bro she sounds like she just crawled out of the grave

Max bit down on a smile. “There’s beans in the cupboard,” he told her, ignoring his teammates giggles in his ears.

“…the grinder’s too loud,” she mumbled, and he could practically hear the pout without looking.

“That’s… how grinders work, Liefje,” he said, steering with one hand for a moment just to shrug, and eye her with a teasing smile.

A pause. “Can’t you make it for me?”

bro make the coffee for your queen he’s WHIPPED i know it

Max let out a short laugh. “I’m,” the car twitched for a second, he corrected it “,kind of busy here Schatje.”

She didn’t argue. Just a deep and dramatic sigh, the quiet scuff of her feet retreating, and the whump of her collapsing onto the couch. “I guess you want your girlfriend to have a terrible start to her summer holidays.”

Over comms, one of his teammates snorted. “Mate, that’s cruel. Your girlfriend’s asking for coffee and you’re ignoring her?”

Another chimed in immediately, tone dripping with mischief. “Bet you could wake her up better than any espresso, huh, Max?”

Max burst into a laugh so sudden he clipped a kerb, muttering, “Oh my god, shut up,” as he tried to stop his cheeks from blushing. “They’re saying I could have woken you up differently,” he called over his shoulder.

From under what sounded like a pillow came a muffled groan, “Tell them they’re worse than my teens.”

He laughed out loud, flipped the mic back on, and relayed, “She says you’re worse than her students.”

The guys roared, one muttering something else questionable. Max laughed so hard he had to lift off the throttle.

“What’d he say?” came the sleepy voice from the couch.

He hesitated, still grinning. “…That you should give him detention.”

She snorted. “Yeah, well, I’d make him write out ‘I will not be gross on the internet’ a hundred times.” Max smirked, relaying it word for word while his teammates howled. Chat spammed that he should just put her on the call instead of being the transmitter.

The rest of the laps went by with the occasional background yawn, the rustle of a blanket, and the faint hum of her scrolling on her phone and laughing at some TikToks.

this is so domestic i can’t stand it not her giggling in the background

When the team finally took a short break before the next race, Max decided to be a nice boyfriend. “Alright, I’m gonna make her coffee now.” He turned in his chair to get up, only to find her curled up, blanket pulled to her chin, already fast asleep again.

Max just shook his head, smiling to himself. “Never mind. Crisis averted, she’s back to sleep. Gotta make the most of the time without school.”

From the couch, without even opening her eyes, she mumbled, “Still no coffee, though…”

Max just sighed in defeat.

The stream started unusually quiet that evening in the winter. Max’s usual chatter was replaced by a soft tone when he talked, and the glow from his racing rig was the only light in the room. The Redline team and chat noticed immediately.

One of the guys on comms teased, “Oi, Max, what’s with the creepy mood lighting? You look like you’re hiding from a ghost.” Another chimed in, “Yeah, mate, this isn’t supposed to be a séance!”

Chat flooded with laughing and confused emojis, but Max just smiled gently.

“Yeah, I’m sitting in the dark today,” he admitted quietly, “Because… well, my girlfriend’s had a migraine all day. She missed me while I was at work, and she didn’t want to be alone.” His voice softened as he spoke, eyes flickering to the shadowy couch nearby.

One of the guys asked, “She’s there right now?”

Max nodded, lips curling into a fond little smile. “Yeah. I moved the couch closer so she could be next to me while we do our stuff. She’s just resting, but she’s here”

Between practice laps and breaks, Max shared a few little updates, careful not to sound too heavy. “She’s wrapped up in that big blanket, it's weighted so it feels really good,” he said, “and she’s really tired… but she keeps reaching out for me.”

Then he shifted the camera angle slightly, revealing the outline of a blanket pile on the couch, after a moment, a hand crept into view, gently resting on Max’s thigh. Really she was going for his hand, but her arm wasn’t long enough, so she settled for the thigh.

“Ohhh, hand reveal,” Luke teased. “She’s real!” one of the others laughed, while chat was freaking out an equal amount.

Max chuckled, a little embarrassed but clearly amused. He adjusted his seat, sliding his hand gently over hers and letting her hold on before rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “She’s just grounding herself, I guess,” he explained softly, the warmth in his voice unmistakable. “I’m lucky she trusts me enough to do that.”

During one of the races, a quiet, pained sound came from the couch. Max’s whole focus shifted. “Hang on, guys,” he said into his mic, before abandoning his sim-rig mid lap. He took off his headset and set it on the desk, then leaned toward her.

“You still hurting, Liefje?” he whispered. She nodded under the blanket, barely opening her bleary eyes.

Max brushed her hair gently back from her forehead. “Alright. I’ve got something for you.” He moved to the fridge and came back with one of those gel-filled cooling headbands. He knelt beside the couch and eased it over her hairline, adjusting it until it sat just right over her eyes.

“Better?” he asked softly.

“Mm… yeah,” she mumbled, but after a beat, her lips twitched. “You know this makes you an official migraine assistant now, right?”

Max huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s not a real job title.”

“It is now,” she said, eyes already closed underneath the eye mask again. “And you’re really good at it, maybe I'll give you a promotion”

He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand before tucking the blanket more securely around her. “I’ll be right here.”

Sliding back into his seat, he put his headset on again. “Alright, crisis handled,” he told the guys.

“What’d you do?” Diogo asked.

“Cold headband. Weighted blanket, and of course - Me,” Max deadpanned, earning a round of snickers.

From the couch came a faint, sleepy murmur. Max leaned back, his eyes flicking to her silhouette under the blanket.

“She’s been so tired all day,” he said. “I think she’s been fighting the migraine more than she lets on.”

For the rest of the stream, Max’s attention was split between the track and the hand in his. When she shifted slightly, Max smiled wider.

The final lap ended, and as the stream wound down, the dim light bathed the room in a warm glow. She was asleep again, nestled against the couch cushions, hand still softly clasped in his.

Max whispered, barely above the hum of his computer, “Sleep well, liefje.”

Max’s fingers danced over the sim wheel, as they were watching some footage back, the familiar hum of a race filling the living room. His eyes were sharp and focused, but behind him, the soft creak of the front door caught his attention.

“Hey,” came a sleepy, barely audible voice from just off camera.

Max smiled without turning, the immediate ‘Tell her hello!’ from his teammates filling his ear.

“Hey, liefje. What’s up?”

Slow footsteps padded closer. Before Max could say more, a small tray appeared at the edge of the frame. A hearty dinner plate with a jug of water beside it. “I thought you’d be hungry, and I just ate, so..” she murmured, voice thick with tiredness.

“Thank you,” Max said, reaching out to take the tray, tearing his eyes away from the screen. “You didn’t have to.” She shrugged, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “I didn’t want to bother you, but you’re ignoring your stomach. And while it’s still early, I’m gonna crash any minute now.”

Chat instantly lit up with heart and food emojis, some playful teasing about Max being whipped.

Max chuckled, keeping his eyes on her. “You’re a saint.”

Quickly he pushed the camera downwards so that he could press a gentle, thankful kiss to her lips in peace. What he hadn’t thought about was how everyone could now see a) the hoodie she was wearing was definitely his, and b) the grip he had on her waist.

There was a beat of silence before Enzo whistled low over comms. “That’s not very PG-13, mate.”

Gianni laughed, “Forget the hoodie, chat! I’m more concerned with where your hands are, Romeo.”

Chat was already going feral:

HELLO?? WAIST GRAB?? that is NOT a handshake max

Max’s ears went a little pink as he straightened the camera again after ensuring that she was out of frame, or at least her face. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Enzo shot back, “and you’re whipped.”

Max just grinned, not bothered by their teasing at all. “She just brought me dinner, in my hoodie, in my apartment… of course I’m whipped.”

Before he could take a bite, she yawned, “I’m gonna go crash on the couch after this,” she mumbled, almost to herself.

Max nodded, voice warm but steady. “Go get some rest. I’ve got you. Thank you again for dinner, Schatje. It’s delicious.” She disappeared fully from frame, the soft footsteps retreating as Max turned back to his teammates and the chat buzzing with questions.

Gianni grinned, “So, who is she, really? You’ve gotta spill some secrets, mate.”

Max laughed softly. “She’s a teacher. Right now, exam season’s been brutal for her. Tons of stress, migraines have been hitting hard. And she tries to help her students as best as she can, and when they get stressed, she gets even worse. So yeah.. bit rough at the moment.”

“Ah, she’s one of the good ones then? The kind who really cares?”

Max’s tone grew a little softer, more thoughtful as he stared at his sleeping girlfriend. “Yeah. She cares.. a lot. When we started dating, she wouldn’t let me take care of her. She was always the strong one… didn’t want to be the one needing help.”

Enzo teased, “Sounds like she’s got you wrapped around her finger now.”

Max smiled, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… she’s still that strong girl. But now? I get to be the one who’s there. When the migraines hit, when she’s tired or stressed, I’m here. Even if it’s just sitting quietly while she naps.”

Chat filled with “awws” and hearts.

Max glanced toward the couch, voice dropping to a gentle whisper. “She’s the kind of person who doesn’t ask for help easily. But she lets me in now, and that means a lot.”

During this particular stream, chat notices how distracted Max was, glancing at the door and his phone every few minutes.

You okay, Max? don’t mind him.. he’s just hearing voices

Max’s voice is tight. “Yeah… she’s had a long day at work. Said texted and said that she would be home by now, but, nothing yet.” He types a quick message, then puts his phone down.

The front door opens quietly. Footsteps shuffle in.

She steps into their shared home, eyes red and tired, shoulders heavy as her bag and jacket were dropped next to the door. Without a word, she beelines it towards Max, blind to the fact that he was streaming, before sliding into his lap, burying her face against his throat.

WHO IS SHE?? is this THE girlfriend???

Max’s arms close around her immediately, pulling her even closer in the tight space as he pressed soft kisses to her hair, “Hey Schatje, there you are. Rough day, huh?”

A shaky, muffled nod.

In Max’s ear, his teammates kept their voices low, not wanting to disturb the quiet moment. Luke whispered, “Max, do you want to end the stream? You can take a break if you need.” Max glanced down at her, then back at the screen. “She’s okay with me staying, right?”

From his lap came a tired but calm, “As long as you let me stay.”

i’m gonna cry this is so soft max being boyfriend of the year rn

Max strokes her hair, voice almost a whisper. “It’s okay, Schat, just let it out.”

She trembles slightly, tears soaking into his shirt as she cries silently against his neck. Max stays as still as he can, letting her lean into him as they start the next race in the simmulator.

Slowly, her tears dry as exhaustion finally wins over, and she drifts to sleep, curled against his chest, breathing soft and even. Max doesn’t move, just gently brushing her hair back, careful not to wake her.

After a while, she blinks awake, still curled against Max’s chest. He carefully lifted a second headset over her ears, and leaned toward the camera with a soft smile.

“Alright, chat,” Max said, voice warm but playful, “the moment you’ve all been waiting for. This is the mystery girl who’s been sneaking into my streams and stealing me away from you guys.”

From the call, Luke’s voice broke in, teasing and a bit impatient. “About time, mate! We’ve been waiting forever for this.”

Diogo laughed quietly, “Finally! She’s making her debut. Hi there!”

Max glanced down at her, then back at the stream. “Yeah, this is my girlfriend. Go ahead and say hi.”

She shifted slightly, heat rising to her cheeks, voice a little shy but steady. “H-hi... Sorry for crashing in like this. It’s been a really rough day.”

hi gf!!! OUR girlfriend nowwwww

Gianni’s voice was quick to respond, gentle and welcoming. “No need to apologize! We’re just happy to finally meet you.”

Luke’s tone softened, clearly impressed. “We like you already. Liefje, you’ve got yourself a whole fan club now.”

Max grinned, cutting in with mock seriousness. “Hey, ‘Liefje’ is my name for her! Get your own! That counts for you too, chat.”

A small laugh escaped her lips, mixed with a tired sigh. “Thanks for letting me just... be here. With him.”

Diogo chuckled. “He’s wrapped so tight around your little finger, I don't think there was any other option.”

Max relaxed back in his chair, wrapping an arm around her as she settled beside him. He gave her a gentle squeeze to make sure she’s okay.

While Max raced, she stayed curled in his lap, half-listening to the hum of the sim and half-soaking in the easy banter between him and the guys, Max’s quiet chuckles rumbled against her cheek, calming her down one by one.

The steady rhythm of their voices, the familiar sound of tires screeching in the headset, and Max’s hand idly tracing circles on her arm all worked together to ease the tight knot in her chest.

By the time the next race ended, the heaviness in her shoulders had lightened, and there was the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

Luke grinned, “Hey, so when’s she gonna hop in the sim and show us how it’s done? You think she’s got what it takes?”

Max laughed, glancing over at her. “You wanna give it a go?”

She lifted her head from his shoulder, eyes sparkling despite the exhaustion. “You bet. I’ll wipe the floor with you guys.”

YESSS LET HER DRIVE this is gonna be chaos and I’m here for it

The team erupted into laughter. “Oh, it’s on now!”

Max shook his head, smiling. “Guess I better step up my game, she’s coming for my seat.”

Note: Please let me know how you like 'chat' in this fic! I'm scared I might have added them too much haha!

#max verstappen #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x reader fluff #max verstappen x you #max vertsappen fic #red bull racing #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #fluff #x reader #f1 fluff

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bellatrixlestrangeswhore · 6 days ago

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System Failure - Chapter 16: Francorchamps

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Dr. Anastasia "Ana" Wolff (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen to Mercedes? The paddock is buzzing. The media’s in meltdown.

And if the rumours are true, and Max Verstappen really is joining Mercedes, then Ana’s carefully compartmentalised world is about to explode.

Warnings and Notes: George Russell Bashing. Questionable Engineering Science...also Questionable work ethic. Difficult Family relationships. Also if the emails suck, that's on me. Let me know if I missed something else, and I'll add it!

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Text Messages: Toto Wolff & Dr. Anastasia Wolff

Toto: As promised — keeping you updated. Max signed. Press release will go out later today. We’ll manage the timing so it doesn’t overshadow Spa media day entirely.

Ana: Thank you for letting me know.

Toto: It’s a courtesy. And a promise.

Ana: Still. I appreciate it.

***

Wolff Residence, Monaco - 23 July 2025

The next morning, Susie sat in their kitchen, scrolling through her phone with the kind of detached precision that masked the fact she wasn’t really reading anything.

She was still furious.

She’d kept her calm when Valtteri had confirmed it—when he’d written, with that maddening understatement of his, I think it’s flirting. But the calm was a veneer. Beneath it, she was still simmering.

Susie could play it off well—thirty years in motorsport taught you how to smile with clenched teeth—but the memory of Valtteri’s text exchange was still raw under her skin.

George Russell.

George bloody Russell, with his polite PR smile and corporate-safe manners, deciding that what Ana needed was to be more likeable. “Warmer.” “More human.”

As though she hadn’t already been balancing an entire car programme, two drivers’ worth of egos, and an engineering department twice the size of some small villages.

As though she hadn’t coded Altair herself to fit Kimi’s driving style with surgical precision—only for it to actively spit telemetry errors when George sat in it.

The audacity of it.

The sheer, blithe arrogance it took to look at Ana—Ana, who had spent her entire life learning to exist on her own terms—and decide she needed “softening.” That she needed to be more likeable, as if her worth could be measured in how many people felt comfortable in her presence.

Ana didn’t need George Russell’s guidance on how to be more likeable. She didn’t need anyone’s guidance on that. People either understood her or they didn’t. If they didn’t, that was on them, not her.

What George didn’t understand—and what infuriated Susie—was that Ana already bent herself into uncomfortable shapes just to survive in the paddock. She had learned, over years, to smooth her sharper edges, to mask the sensory strain, to calculate her words so she didn’t come off as too blunt or too cold. That she managed all of this without ever compromising her work was nothing short of remarkable. And yet, people still wanted her to smile more. Speak softer. Take up less space.

And still—still—people wanted to make her “more approachable.”

Susie knew exactly how that brand of “advice” worked. Death by a thousand paper cuts. Smile more. Speak less sharply. Be easier. It was the kind of thing Ana had heard her whole life from people who dressed it up as concern but meant control.

Susie would be the first to admit she was biased, but she thought her daughter deserved better.

Her daughter.

Not biologically—Ana had come into her life already half-grown, wary and watchful like a stray cat that didn’t trust easily. But Susie had taken one look at those steel edges and thought, Good. The world was sharp. Better to meet it with armour.

Susie had been there for enough milestones and scars to know exactly whose Ana was. She was theirs.

Susie’s as much as Toto’s.

Biology was irrelevant in Susie’s mind. She hadn’t been there for Ana’s first steps or first words, but she’d been there for almost everything that mattered since Ana was 13. Graduation. First degree. Doctorate. First time she saw Ana light up over her own project instead of someone else’s.

Ana wasn’t Susie’s on paper, but she was hers in every way that counted.

Susie had never had a daughter by blood. But somewhere along the way — between awkward teenage dinners, sleepless exam nights, the fierce arguments and fiercer silences — Ana had become hers. Not in a way that erased history, but in a way that rewrote the future.

Ana was hers every bit as much as Jack was. Her blood didn’t matter.

The way she looked at Ana, the way she worried about her, the way she found herself half-ready to fight anyone who made her feel small—that was motherhood, whatever the genetics said.

And some people had made her feel very, very small.

Stephanie, with her backhanded compliments and well-timed silences, who had never had any interest in treating Ana like a part of her family.

There was a part of Susie that loathed her husband’s first wife just because of how she had treated Ana through the years.

Ana’s existence was best treated as a flaw to be ignored in Stephanie’s mind, and it made Susie furious.

Then there were Rosa and Benedict. Yes, they’d grown up under Stephanie’s influence, which might explain their childhood indifference. But adulthood was a choice, and they had chosen to remain politely distant, as though Ana were an occasional guest rather than their sister.

They’d had the choice to be something to Ana. They hadn’t.

The way they could sit at a table and act as though Ana was nothing more than furniture still made Susie’s jaw tighten.

All of them had taught Ana — intentionally or not — that she was too much and not enough all at once.

Susie had spent years trying to undo that damage in small, quiet ways. A seat at the table that was hers by right. Invitations without conditions. Pride stated plainly.

She didn’t like to think of herself as someone who held grudges, but some things were worth holding on to.

And yet, Ana never complained. She just… adapted. Built her own scaffolding out of work and precision and independence, until the neglect barely showed from the outside.

Susie had kept her mouth shut for years. Watched Ana navigate those relationships with surgical precision, cutting ties where necessary, tolerating the rest with that icy politeness she’d perfected.

She didn’t need Susie to fight her battles. But that didn’t stop Susie from wanting to.

And then—then—there was her.

Ana’s biological mother.

God, how Susie hated that woman.

It wasn’t the cool, distanced dislike Susie had for Stephanie—the kind born from years of watching someone chip away at Ana with polite disregard.

No.

With Ana’s biological mother, it was a bone-deep, primal hatred.

Susie hated her in a way she hated very few people.

Susie still remembered the first time she’d heard the story.

Ana had been eight years old when her mother had sent her to a father she didn’t know, to a country whose language she didn’t speak, and left her at Toto’s doorstep like unwanted luggage.

No explanation. No transition. No effort to make sure Ana was safe, secure, or understood what was happening.

Just gone.

How anyone could do that to a child—how anyone could take a little girl’s world, shatter it, and then walk away without looking back—was something Susie would never comprehend.

Or forgive.

How could you walk away from your own child like that? Not because you couldn’t feed her. Not because you couldn’t keep her safe. But because you simply didn’t want to anymore. Because you’d decided she was too much trouble.

After that, Ana’s mother hadn’t tried. There were birthday cards for a while, stilted phone calls that were more awkward than affectionate. Then even those stopped. She’d vanished into new marriages, new cities, new lives—always chasing something else, never her daughter.

Toto never stopped keeping tabs on her—quietly, through a private investigator he trusted implicitly. The reports came in every few months, clean and factual. Where she was, what she was doing, on which number of husband she was on now…

It wasn’t paranoia—it was protection. He never admitted it outright, but Susie had seen the reports, read between the lines.

Ana didn’t know. Or if she did, she’d never acknowledged it.

Susie suspected that was one of the places where she and Toto were in perfect agreement: neither of them wanted that woman anywhere near Ana ever again.

Not since her mother had stopped even pretending Ana existed. After even the birthday cards had stopped.

Toto protected with structures, strategies, contingencies. Susie? She protected with presence. With making sure Ana knew someone was in her corner without trying to change her into something more palatable.

Toto couldn’t know yet. Not before Belgium. Not before Max signed and the entire sport shifted under their feet.

Susie might not have given birth to Ana Wolff. But she’d be damned if she didn’t protect her like she had.

Belgium first, she reminded herself.

Handle George later. And if that woman ever tried to step back in?

Susie would handle that too. Permanently.

***

PRIVATE CHAT — Secure channel

Andromeda 🛰️ is online

JadeQueen 👑 is online

Andromeda: Max signed.

JadeQueen: …as in the contract? Silver paint, black overalls, your father’s new headache?

Andromeda: Yes. It’s official.

JadeQueen: And you’re freaking out.

Andromeda: I’m not freaking out. I’m… aware.

JadeQueen: You texted me. That’s your version of hyperventilating into a paper bag.

Andromeda: I just— It’s different, X. When it was hypothetical, it was easy to compartmentalise. Now it’s real. He’s going to be here. Every weekend. In my orbit. In my family’s orbit.

JadeQueen: And?

Andromeda: And I don’t know what that changes. I don’t know if I’m ready for whatever that means.

JadeQueen: Annie. He’s been in your orbit for a decade. The only thing changing is that now you won’t have to hide behind hotel corridors and conveniently “bumping into each other” at airports.

Andromeda: That’s exactly what worries me. I’m not good at the rest of it. I don’t… function the way people expect. What if I ruin it?

JadeQueen: You’re looking for reasons to bolt.

Andromeda: I’m being realistic.

JadeQueen: No, you’re running again. And one day, you’re going to turn around and find he’s not behind you anymore.

Andromeda: …

JadeQueen: He’s waited for you longer than most people would. But he’s still human. And if you keep making him wait, Ana, the day might come where you’re ready and he’s gone.

Andromeda: You think I don’t know that?

JadeQueen: I think you know it and it terrifies you. Which is why you need to decide if you’re going to keep living behind that fortress of yours… Or actually let him in before the gates rust shut.

Andromeda 🛰️ is offline

Chat archived

***

Email Subject: Thank you

From: Max Verstappen <[email protected]> To: All Red Bull Staff

Hi everyone,

I wanted to share this with you directly before you read it anywhere else.

At the end of the 2025 season, I will be leaving Oracle Red Bull Racing. This is not a decision I made lightly. It has been the most difficult choice of my career, and I have thought about it for a long time.

For the past nine seasons, Red Bull has been my home. Together we’ve taken part in nearly 200 Grands Prix, fought through highs and lows, and achieved something incredible — four World Drivers’ Championships and two Constructors’ Championships. Those numbers will always be part of the record books, but what I will carry with me most are the people behind them.

From my first days in the garage as a teenager, you’ve believed in me. You’ve built cars that allowed me to fight at the front, and you’ve stood beside me through every battle. You’ve celebrated the wins and carried me through the hard weekends. More than that, you’ve made this a team I’ve been proud to call my family.

There are too many individuals to thank by name, but you all know who you are — the mechanics who gave me a car I could trust, the engineers who pushed the limits every season, the staff in Milton Keynes who worked tirelessly behind the scenes, and everyone who made sure we could go racing at the level we have.

I’m proud of what we’ve achieved together. I’m proud of the standard we set and the way we’ve pushed each other to be better, year after year. And I’m grateful – for the trust, the belief, and the hard work that made it all possible.

For the rest of 2025, my focus remains on delivering the best results possible for Red Bull. I want to finish this chapter as strongly as we can, together.

Thank you for nine incredible seasons.

Max

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

GP: Well. That was quick.

Max: …?

GP: Your email’s been public for less than five minutes. I’m already on gardening leave. No official notice. No handover. Just “don’t come back to the factory.”

Max: You’re surprised?

GP: No. But I thought I might at least get to finish my coffee before they changed my access codes.

Max: You’re free now. Think of it as an early holiday.

GP: I hate holidays.

Max: Then think of it as an early start at Mercedes. So. Gardening leave. Any plans?

GP: Buy a better coffee machine. Sleep. Pack. And start planning how we’re going to win in silver.

Max: That’s the spirit.

GP: Just don’t make me sit through any “team bonding” exercises.

***

Email Subject: Announcement: Max Verstappen Joins Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team

From: Toto Wolff <[email protected]> To: All Mercedes AMG PETRONAS F1 Staff

Dear All,

I am pleased to share some exciting news for our team’s future.

As of the 2026 season, Max Verstappen will be joining the Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team as one of our drivers.

Max’s record speaks for itself: a four-time Formula One World Champion, a competitor whose consistency, adaptability, and relentless drive have set new benchmarks in our industry and has amassed nearly a decade of experience in Formula One, competing in nearly 200 Grands Prix. His proven racecraft, relentless drive for excellence, and uncompromising commitment to performance make him a natural fit for the future we are building at Mercedes.

This is a significant moment for our team. We are entering a new regulatory era in 2026, and our goal remains unchanged: to compete at the very highest level, fight for race wins, and bring championships back to Brackley and Brixworth. This decision reflects not only our commitment to building a competitive and forward-looking programme, but also our confidence in pairing exceptional talent with the world-class capabilities of our team in Brackley and Brixworth.

I would like to thank everyone across our organisation for your continued hard work, passion, and belief in what we are building. This announcement is the product of not only months of planning, but also years of commitment from every one of you — both at the track and behind the scenes.

Please join me in welcoming Max to the Mercedes family. We will work closely with him through the remainder of this year to prepare for a smooth and successful transition.

I am confident that together, we will write an exciting new chapter in our team’s history.

Kind regards, Toto Wolff Team Principal & CEO Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team

***

Slack Channel: #brackley-nerds

Private Channel. ~30 members.

jess.hr: HAS EVERYONE CHECKED THEIR EMAIL

ellie.electronics: WHAT EMAIL??

jess.hr: THE ONE FROM TOTO OPEN IT RIGHT NOW

zahra.aero: omg OMGGGGGGGG

jess.hr: MAX. VERSTAPPEN. SIGNED. WITH US. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

sam.transmission: brb making popcorn before comms dept spontaneously combusts

jules.elec: does this mean GP is coming too?? please say yes please say yes please say yes

ellie.electronics: if GP comes, ana will finally have someone equally terrifying in her orbit

liam.eng-lead: ngl that pairing might make the garage a protected UNESCO heritage site for strategic excellence

megan.sim: can we talk about the fact that ana 100% knew before any of us and didn’t say a word

fatima.pr: ana never says a word unless it’s to end you

james.brakes: i’m just picturing kimi’s face right now

liv.strategy: kimi is probably hiding under a desk thinking he’s getting sacked

kayleigh.powerunit: lol nah they’re gonna keep kimi and drop george brackley has spoken

yas.enginecontrol: meanwhile comms team: [gif of someone screaming into a pillow]

lucy.comms: wonder if max will survive media day with our press officer without swearing

sam.transmission: no.

nicola.sim: …ok but can we get him into the simulator asap like i need to know what lap times look like

lorelai.pa: calm down you thirsty data goblin

benjy.data: are we allowed to drink champagne at 9:15am or is that frowned upon

james.brakes: depends, are you sharing

kayleigh.powerunit: ok but imagine GP on the pit wall here. my god.

sima.calibration: also imagine altair + verstappen feedback loops. ana’s gonna lose her mind

flo.eng: kimi and max as teammates is going to be the most beautiful era in team history

leo.mechanic: seriously though… the pace data + that mindset? this could be dangerous in the best way

jess.data: also i’m calling it: brackley cafeteria is going to become a verstappen museum by february

zahra.aero: someone warn catering to double the stroopwafel orders

flo.eng: triple.

matt.merchandise: does anyone know if george has seen this yet or do we start a betting pool

leo.mechanic: betting pool obviously

***

Text Messages: Kimi Antonelli & Oliver Bearman

Kimi: oh my god i am gonna end up jobless

Ollie: ??? what happened

Kimi: max verstappen signed with mercedes

Ollie: WHAT??? no he didn’t

Kimi: yes he did it’s all over the staff email he’s starting 2026

Ollie: …holy shit nobody tells me anything

Kimi: ollie do you understand that means it’s gonna be me or george next year

Ollie: nah mate they’ll get rid of george don’t worry

Kimi: you say that like it’s easy

Ollie: you’re literally ana wolff’s engineering child and half the factory is in love with you you’re fine

Kimi: that’s not a real metric for job security

Ollie: it is at brackley

***

Press Release: MERCEDES-AMG PETRONAS FORMULA ONE TEAM ANNOUNCES SIGNING OF MAX VERSTAPPEN FOR 2026 SEASON

Brackley, UK – 23 July 2025 – The Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team is delighted to confirm that four-time FIA Formula One World Champion Max Verstappen will join the team from the 2026 season onwards.

With 60+ Grand Prix victories, 100+ podium finishes, and nine consecutive seasons at the top of the sport, Verstappen is recognised as one of the most accomplished drivers of his generation. His relentless pursuit of performance, exceptional racecraft, and adaptability across eras of Formula One make him a powerful addition to Mercedes as the sport enters a new chapter under the 2026 technical regulations.

Team Principal & CEO Toto Wolff said:

“Max is an extraordinary driver whose record speaks for itself. His speed, consistency, and fighting spirit make him a formidable competitor, and we believe he will be a perfect fit for our team’s ambitions. As we prepare for a new set of regulations in 2026, bringing together the right combination of talent and technical capability is essential. We are thrilled to welcome Max to Mercedes and look forward to building the next chapter of our success together.”

Max Verstappen commented:

“I’m excited to join Mercedes from 2026 and to begin this new chapter in my career. I have great respect for what the team has achieved in the sport, and I’m looking forward to working with everyone in Brackley and Brixworth to fight for championships together. Leaving my current team was not an easy decision, but I believe this is the right move for my future, and I can’t wait to get started.”

Further details of the team’s 2026 driver line-up will be confirmed in due course.

***

Group Chat: “WHO IS MAX VERSTAPPEN DATING”

(Members: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz, Daniel Ricciardo, Alex Albon)

Lando: WHAT THE ACTUAL— Mercedes?!?

Oscar: I just saw the press release. I thought it was fake.

Carlos: No es posible. He just… leaves Red Bull like that?

Daniel: Yeah, I knew.

Lando: …excuse me???

Oscar: What do you mean you knew?

Daniel: He told me. It was a secret.

Carlos: And you didn’t say anything?

Daniel: What part of “secret” do you guys not understand?

Lando: Bro, this group chat is literally called “WHO IS MAX VERSTAPPEN DATING,” not “BREAKING NEWS.”

Alex: I’m more interested in whether George is about to get replaced.

Carlos: George + Max? Or Kimi + Max?

Alex: My money’s on George staying.

Lando: No way. They’re keeping Kimi.

Carlos: Agree. They’ll pair Max with Kimi. They already look like they get along.

Oscar: They’re keeping Kimi for sure.

Carlos: Max + Kimi is like the perfect lineup for them.

Lando: Sorry Alex but… yeah, I think George is the one out.

Alex: I’ll talk to George.

Oscar: Why?

Alex: Because he’s my friend.

Lando: You mean “because you want to know the tea.”

Alex: …also that.

***

Twitter Thread: Max to Mercedes

@/F1: 🚨 BREAKING 🚨 Max Verstappen will leave Oracle Red Bull Racing at the end of the 2025 season and join Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team on a multi-year contract. #F1 #MercedesAMGF1 #MaxVerstappen

📸 Attached graphic:

@/Turn1Drama: : OH MY GOD THEY ACTUALLY DID IT WE’RE GETTING MERCEDES MAX VERSTAPPEN ERA

@/PaddockTea: Red Bull stans right now: 🫠🫠🫠

@/FerrariStrategist: Max in a Mercedes is like watching your ex marry your mortal enemy.

@/KimiCam: Mercedes PR dept rn: 🥂🍾💻🔥 Red Bull PR dept rn: 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

@/itsDR3baby: Petition to livestream Jos Verstappen’s reaction in full HD.

@/RaceWeekendMeme: BREAKING: The Silvers are coming for the Bulls.

@/GridLockF1: Honestly? The F1 breaking news graphics need to come with a health warning. My heart rate was not prepared.

@/PitwallWhisperer: 9 seasons. 4 WDCs. Nearly 200 GPs. End of an era.

@/MotorsportNerd92: My jaw is on the FLOOR. Verstappen to MERCEDES?!??!

@/CaffeineAndChicanes: F1 Silly Season said “hold my beer” 🍺

@/piastrified: They didn’t even give us time to digest the BREAKING NEWS before Mercedes hit us with the “Welcome to the team” 😭

@/f1graphicgeek: F1’s breaking news graphics team is working OVERTIME today. The “Max Leaves Red Bull” one hit like a bomb, and now Mercedes drops the recruitment poster.

@/danielricciardosmile: Red Bull comms rn: 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

@/kimination: Me: “I wonder who will be Max’s teammate at Merc” Also me: “lol it’s obviously Kimi Antonelli”

@/fernandoenthusiast: MAX. MERCEDES. 2026. HELLO???

@/pitwalltea: Me at 9:00 — “quiet day in F1” Me at 9:32 — Verstappen to Mercedes confirmed F1 never lets us rest.

@/yukisramen: i opened twitter to see “BREAKING: Verstappen leaving Red Bull” and i swear my soul left my body

@/smoothoperator55: Max + Kimi Antonelli in a Mercedes?? 2026 gonna be nuclear.

@/mercedesmains: Imagine telling someone in 2021 that in five years Max Verstappen would LEAVE Red Bull to drive for Toto Wolff.

@/verstappenthusiast: 4 WDCs. 9 seasons. nearly 200 races. thank you, Max. Red Bull will never be the same. 💙

@/F1GossipHub: The official F1 account dropping a “MAX VERSTAPPEN TO LEAVE RED BULL AT END OF 2025” post like it’s a driver market silly season meme when in fact… the sport just shifted.

@/LappedByLatifi: We all thought 2026 regs were going to be the big shake-up. Max Verstappen: hold my Heineken

@/SoftTyreEnjoyer: max verstappen leaving red bull after NINE YEARS and 4 titles is actually insane. the end of an era.

@/paddocktea: Mercedes PR team working overtime to make silver arrows look like home. Red Bull PR team working overtime to make it look like they’re totally fine. Twitter working overtime to make memes.

@/PitwallWhispers: Imagine being George Russell right now.

@/F1MemesDaily: 2024: “Max is loyal to Red Bull” 2025: Mercedes posts “Welcome, Max” in 4k

@/FanOnTheApex: max in silver 😭😭😭 i’m not ready for the photo shoots.

@/tyredegtruthers: BRO??? I thought the breaking news graphic was a meme.

@/pitwallpanic: Me, minding my business at work: 👀 F1: 🚨 BREAKING NEWS 🚨 Also me: drops laptop

@/engineergirl44: We’re really living in the “Max Verstappen to Mercedes” timeline?? What’s next, Fernando to Ferrari again?

@/softtyresonly: the f1 “breaking news” graphic should come with a health warning because my heart STOPPED

@/rb19_era: 9 seasons. 4 WDCs. Nearly 200 GPs. Gone. Just like that. 😭

@/w14copium: Max + Kimi 2026 is about to be chaos in the best way possible.

@/charleslecluck: HELLO??? MAX??? MERCEDES??? IN THIS ECONOMY???

@/silverarrowsstan: the F1 breaking news graphic team: finally… something worth using the template for

@/mercgaragecat: somewhere in brackley right now: chaos, champagne, and at least 3 engineers screaming into the carpet

@/sainzysmooth55: max in silver. max in SILVER. MAX. IN. SILVER.

@/paddocktea: not to be dramatic but the world supply of silly season memes just doubled

@/alonsolegacy: brb making popcorn for the 2026 netflix season

@/OversteerQueen: max verstappen leaving red bull feels like watching the captain grab a lifeboat before the iceberg even finishes hitting 🚢💥

@/SlipstreamStan: red bull rn = that one scene in titanic where the violinists keep playing while the ship sinks max: yeahhh I’m not in the band bye ✌️

@/GrainingMyLife: Max Verstappen walking into Brackley like Rose climbing onto that door. He will survive, kids.

@/WDCdreaming: me watching the RB ship go down: 😬 me seeing max get a silver lifeboat: 😏

@/SoftsToHards: everyone clowning but honestly… makes sense. Red Bull’s hull is cracked and Mercedes is building a battleship.

@/lap1chaos: ngl I didn’t think I’d see the day Verstappen walks away from RB… but looking at the last 12 months? Yeah, it adds up.

@/pitwallpolitics: Let’s be real: RB’s politics lately have been messy as hell. Internal fights, key staff leaving, Adrian’s future unclear… why wouldn’t he jump?

@/Verstappening: Max watched the RB pit wall implode in strategy meetings for half this season and said “you know what, I’m done.”

@/kimiandcoffee: It’s giving “Lewis to Merc in 2013” vibes. Everyone’s shocked now, but in two years they’ll call him a genius.

@/f1engineeranon: The RB power unit project is behind schedule. A lot behind. No driver wants to start a new engine era in a car that isn’t ready.

@/longrunslander: Max saw where the wind was blowing and moved before it became a hurricane.

@/rbr4life: can’t lie… saw it coming. the car’s been sliding backwards for 2 years and internal politics are eating them alive.

@/silverarrowed: Everyone acting shocked but Max is literally the most results-driven guy on the grid. RB’s losing pace, Newey’s gone, and Mercedes has a monster PU coming in ‘26. This is chess, not checkers.

@/pitwallgossip: Remember when people said he’d retire at Red Bull? LMAO. They forgot this man only cares about winning.

@/kimisleftglove: Red Bull went from “we have the best car in decades” to “please stop overheating in quali” in like 18 months 💀

@/v10nostalgia: Honestly, the way RBR treated some of their own people recently… I get it. It’s not just performance, it’s culture.

@/girlonsofts: Max & Kimi Antonelli in silver in 2026 is going to be terrifying and I can’t WAIT.

@/undercutmerchant: Red Bull fan here. It hurts but I understand. They’re not the same team they were in ’22.

@/vettelicious: no bc this is actually insane. like… we are LIVING in the silly season of silly seasons.

@/gperacebrain: ngl, have you SEEN red bull lately??? the car’s been a tractor half the season, aero dev stalled, and the internal politics?? i get why max dipped.

@/kimiapproved: Max really said “I’m not going down with this ship” 😭😭😭

@/itsjustchicanes: you know it’s bad when the guy who built his career in that team just walks away.

@/bottaslatte: honestly… red bull’s been getting slower every upgrade. the writing’s been on the wall since mid-2024.

@/gossipinthepaddock: remember when they said “max will retire with us”??? yeah about that 💀

@/DR3sunshine: people acting shocked but anyone paying attention could see red bull’s implosion coming. engine project delays, staff jumping ship, aero direction in the bin…

@/verstappened: i just hope he gets a car worthy of him. rb clearly isn’t that anymore.

@/mercedesmami: kinda poetic tho. max debuting in red, dominating in blue, and maybe finishing his career in silver.

***

Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, Francorchamps, Belgium - 23 July 2025

Alex had seen drivers in denial before — hell, he’d been one — but George Russell on the Thursday morning of the Belgian Grand Prix was a masterclass in self-assurance.

They were standing near the paddock entrance, waiting for their respective PR minders to herd them to interviews. George was immaculate, as always: fresh haircut, pressed team kit, smile tuned for the cameras. He radiated calm. Confidence.

Delusion.

“Big day,” George said cheerfully, balancing his coffee like it was a prop in a lifestyle ad. “Media’s going to be all over Max signing, but obviously my seat’s solid. Two race winners in one team — that’s a statement.”

Alex tilted his head. “Right. Two race winners.”

George grinned, missing the dry edge completely. “Exactly. Mercedes know consistency matters. Sure, Kimi’s quick, but he’s still green. I’ve got experience. Wins. Podiums. The sponsors know my face.”

Alex hummed, thinking of the quiet efficiency of Altair — the bespoke project Ana Wolff had apparently built like a scalpel for Kimi Antonelli. A car that would respond to Kimi like muscle memory, alive under his hands. And that even George seemed to think hated him. Mercedes didn’t build something like that for a short-term junior experiment.

“You’ve seen Altair, right?” Alex asked.

George waved it off. “It’s just a name. PR flourish. The team know where the long-term value is.”

Alex resisted the urge to say, Yeah. It’s not with you.

They walked toward the media pen, George still talking. “And with Max coming in? That’s going to be huge for the team. I’ve got the perfect temperament to work alongside him. Keep things stable.”

Alex just so managed that his facial features didn’t immediately betray what he was actually feeling.

The perfect temperament?

George Russell? That same guy that not even a year before had said about Max: He can't deal with adversity. When things don't go his way he lashes out with unnecessary anger and borderline violence.

Then George, as if on cue, veered into familiar territory. “And Ana will come around, you know.”

Alex glanced at him sharply. “Come around to what?”

George smiled faintly, like it was obvious. “She’s… intense. A bit closed off. But I’ve been chipping away. I think she’d be perfect if she just relaxed more. Opened up. A softer image would do her a lot of good.”

It was said casually, but it made Alex’s skin crawl. Not just the arrogance of thinking he could ‘fix’ someone, but the fact George spoke about Ana Wolff — his team principal’s daughter, the woman who could write him out of a job in two keystrokes — like she was a project for him to complete.

“You’re talking about her like she’s an upgrade package,” Alex said.

George just shrugged. “I’m good with people. She’ll see that eventually.”

Alex didn’t reply.

If George thought his seat — or Ana — were “safe,” Alex decided, there was no point arguing. Reality was going to hit him soon enough.

And it was going to hit hard.

***

Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, Francorchamps, Belgium - 23 July 2025

Kimi Antonelli was not prone to spirals. Not usually.

But that morning, sitting in the corner of the Mercedes hospitality with a coffee he hadn’t touched, he could feel the edges of one starting to take shape.

Max Verstappen had signed. Officially. Which meant… well. Which meant things were shifting.

Which meant one of them was going.

And he was still technically the new kid — no matter how many simulator hours he’d done, no matter how Altair fit him like a second skin, no matter how much Ana Wolff had built a package to sing for him.

Max Verstappen was a four-time world champion. George Russell was a race winner.

Kimi was… Kimi.

“I’m going to end up jobless,” he muttered, staring at the table.

Valtteri Bottas slid into the seat across from him, casual as if he hadn’t just been summoned by Bono with the words your kid is short-circuiting.

“You’re not going to be jobless,” Valtteri said, sipping his tea.

Kimi shook his head. “You don’t know that.”

Valtteri didn’t even blink. “You’re fine.”

Kimi stared at him. “How can you possibly know that?”

“Because I know Toto,” Valtteri said simply. “And I know George. And I’ve seen Altair.”

“Trust us. ” Bono appeared at his side, setting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “ You and Max will be good for each other. He’ll push you. You’ll push him.”

Kimi glanced between them, suspicious. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because,” Valtteri said simply, “George is not as… popular… as he thinks he is. And you’re faster. The factory knows it. The engineers know it.”

Kimi stared at him. “That’s not enough—”

“It is,” Bono said. “Max respects you. The team sees potential. You’ve got pace we haven’t even unlocked yet. George is… George.”

Kimi’s brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”

Valtteri and Bono exchanged a look.

“It means,” Bono said diplomatically, “that Mercedes is looking forward, not sideways. You and Max are forward.”

“Max didn’t come here to babysit George Russell,” Valtteri said flatly.

Bono nodded. “And because I’ve been in enough of Toto’s meetings to know where the wind’s blowing. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Kimi wanted to believe them. He almost did. But he could still hear the little voice in his head — the one that had been there since karting days, reminding him that a bad weekend could ruin everything. That being the youngest meant he had the most to prove, every single time.

“What if I mess up?” he asked quietly.

Valtteri smiled faintly. “Then you learn from it and get better. That’s how this works. And trust me, Mercedes doesn’t invest in someone like you to throw it away in a year.”

Bono squeezed his shoulder again. “And Altair’s practically your best friend. You think Ana’s going to let us give her setup to someone else?”

That got a tiny, reluctant smile from Kimi. “…No.”

“Exactly,” Bono said, relieved. “Now finish your coffee before the media pen eats you alive.”

Valtteri stood, stretching. “And if George starts acting smug, just remember — there’s a reason Toto hasn’t told him anything yet.”

Kimi didn’t ask what that reason was.

He didn’t need to.

For the first time all morning, he felt a little steadier.

***

Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, Francorchamps, Belgium - 23 July 2025

Bono found Valtteri still in the hospitality lounge, refilling his coffee like a man preparing for battle.

“So,” Bono said, “you think he believed us?”

Valtteri gave a low chuckle. “Not a chance. Kid’s wired to overthink.”

Bono leaned against the counter. “He’s fine. Toto knows it. We know it. George…” Bono trailed off.

Valtteri made a face. “George has… let’s call them interpersonal issues lately. Some people in the factory have started to notice. And not in a good way.”

Bono raised a brow. “You mean the thing with Ana?”

“Exactly,” Valtteri said, lowering his voice. “He’s… weird about her. Possessive. Like he’s entitled to her attention. Keeps giving her ‘advice’ on how to be more likable, which, coming from George, is—”

“Rich,” Bono finished.

Valtteri’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “She doesn’t even realize he’s flirting. But other people do. And trust me, they don’t like it.”

Bono sighed. “And then there’s Altair.” Bono leaned back against the counter. “She coded Altair to work perfectly for Kimi — it’s practically allergic to George’s inputs — and George still acts like he’s entitled to her attention. Like he could… change her or something.”

Valtteri’s mouth twisted in faint disgust. “I told Susie months ago, it’s not just advice he’s giving her. It’s… the kind of pushy behaviour that makes people shut doors permanently. If Toto ever puts two and two together, that’s it for him.”

Bono nodded. “Meanwhile, Kimi actually listens, learns, doesn’t piss off the team, and works with the tools we give him. That’s the guy you keep.”

Valtteri smiled faintly. “And Max will want him in the other car. He’s not going to tolerate someone who’s too busy making politics to drive properly.”

“Exactly.” Bono grabbed his own coffee, glancing toward the paddock. “Kimi’s safe. George just doesn’t know yet.”

Valtteri’s tone turned wry. “When he finds out, it’s going to be one hell of a media day.”

***

Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, Francorchamps, Belgium - 23 July 2025

Max had done a lot of Thursdays in Formula One.

Media days were usually just background noise — a rhythm he’d lived in for nearly a decade. Cameras, microphones, a few carefully neutral soundbites, a walk back to the garage.

But this Thursday?

The Red Bull garage felt like a tomb.

No, not a tomb — that would imply reverence. This was colder. A mausoleum for something still alive but dying all the same.

Max could feel it in the air, in the way conversations cut off when he walked by, in the too-bright smiles from the PR staff who had clearly been told to “keep things civil.” Mechanics worked on the RB21 with the kind of efficiency that came from muscle memory, but their eyes slid away from him, their posture tight.

It wasn’t just quiet. It was hollow. Mechanics kept working, but there was no banter, no music, no soft undercurrent of jokes that usually ran through the morning. People either kept their heads down or glanced at him like they weren’t sure whether to say hello or spit in his coffee.

Some looked at him with quiet understanding — like they got it, even if they wouldn’t say it out loud. Others looked… betrayed. And more than a few looked downright pissed off.

Raymond noticed first. His manager had stationed himself just inside the garage, the perfect picture of polite, watchful disinterest, intercepting anyone who so much as started to walk toward Max with that look. The one that said: “I’m going to ask you why you’ve done this and I expect a satisfying answer.”

Jos was less subtle. He leant against the wall like he owned the place, a wall of crossed arms and narrowed eyes, daring anyone to approach.

Max wasn’t quite sure if his father was there to support him or to enjoy the chaos — probably both.

He’d almost made it to the end of the morning without incident when his phone buzzed.

Helmut.

Raymond clocked it first, stepping in just as Max’s hand twitched toward the device. “Give it to me,” Raymond said.

Max raised a brow. “You want to take the call?”

“Better me than you,” Raymond replied evenly, already answering. “Hello, Helmut.”

Max didn’t hear the words exactly — just the volume. Even across the garage, Helmut’s voice carried, a low roar of Austrian fury. Raymond listened for all of ten seconds before stepping neatly out of earshot, speaking in that measured, lawyerly tone that had probably saved Max from three lawsuits over the years.

Jos watched the whole thing with the faintest smirk, like it was a private joke. “He’s going to pop a vein,” he muttered in Dutch.

Max only hummed in reply, leaning back in his chair. He wasn’t in the mood to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him rattled — though truthfully, there was something gnawing at him.

Ana.

He’d signed for Mercedes yesterday morning. She’d known it was coming. She’d predicted it, even. And yet… nothing. No message beyond a clipped “processing.” No hint of how she actually felt.

Processing, my ass.

He knew her well enough to know she was building walls faster than he could climb them. The trouble was, he’d just set fire to the life he’d built at Red Bull — and yes, he’d done it for himself, for his career — but he’d also done it for her.

And she couldn’t even say she wanted him there.

Across the garage, Laurent Mekies hovered by the timing screens, looking like he’d walked into the wrong room entirely. The new team principal had barely been in the job long enough to find the coffee machine, and now he was presiding over the implosion of the Verstappen–Red Bull era. His eyes darted between Max, the pit wall, and Raymond still murmuring to a furious Helmut like he wasn’t sure which fire to put out first.

Max almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Because the truth was, this was the beginning of the end here. And everyone knew it.

***

Transcript: FIA Pre-Race Press Conference

Location: Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, Francorchamps, Belgium Date: 23 July 2025 Participants:

Laurent Mekies (Team Principal, Oracle Red Bull Racing)

Jonathan Wheatley (Team Principal, Kick Sauber)

Ayao Komatsu (Team Principal, Haas)

Tom Clarkson:Laurent, it’s been a big news day for Formula 1 — Mercedes have confirmed Max Verstappen will join them in 2026. You’re only a few months into your role as team principal at Red Bull. How are you dealing with that news, and the wider situation within the team?

Laurent Mekies: “Well, first of all… yes, it’s been a… full morning for us. I think everyone in the paddock understands that losing a driver of Max’s calibre is significant. Nine seasons, four world championships, nearly 200 grands prix with the team — that’s a huge chapter for Red Bull.

When I came into this role, I knew there were challenges ahead — both on-track and off-track. What I perhaps didn’t expect was to be navigating this particular challenge quite so soon. But that’s part of the job.

We respect Max’s decision. He’s been very clear about his motivations, and while of course we would have liked him to continue with us, the team’s responsibility now is to focus on the future. That means building the strongest possible package — car, power unit, people — so that Red Bull remains at the front.

As for the, uh… ‘mess’ —” (half-smiles, slightly weary) “— I inherited a team in transition. Some things were always going to be difficult. This one just happens to be very visible to the outside world.”

Journalist (Sky Sports): Was there anything you could have done to keep him?

Laurent: “I think when a driver of Max’s experience and success makes a decision like this, it’s rarely about one conversation or one race weekend. It’s the product of many factors, over time. We had constructive talks, but ultimately, his path took him elsewhere. My job now is not to dwell on that, but to make sure Red Bull is ready for what comes next.”

Journalist (Motorsport.com): Do you have a replacement in mind?

Laurent: “We have options. We’ll take the time we need to make the right decision — for the car, for the team dynamic, and for our long-term objectives. It’s not just about filling a seat, it’s about finding the right fit for the future.”

***

Transcript: FIA Pre-Race Press Conference

Location: Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, Francorchamps, Belgium Date: 23 July 2025 Participants:

Lewis Hamilton (Ferrari)

Kimi Antonelli (Mercedes)

Carlos Sainz (Williams)

Moderator:

"Good afternoon, everyone. We’ll open with questions from the floor. First question, please."

Journalist (Sky Sports): "Kimi, this morning Mercedes announced that Max Verstappen will be joining the team next year. That obviously raises questions about the second seat. Have you had any conversations with Toto Wolff about your future with the team?"

Kimi: (half a breath, clearly buying time) "Well… obviously it’s big news for everyone. Max is one of the best drivers in the world, so for him to join Mercedes is a huge statement from the team. Right now my focus is just on this weekend and doing my best in the car. I’ve had some talks with Toto, but nothing’s confirmed yet."

Moderator: "Follow-up?"

Journalist (Sky Sports): "Do you feel confident you’ll still be with Mercedes next year?"

Kimi: (smiles a bit too tightly) "I want to be. That’s the goal. But this is Formula 1, so… we’ll see."

Lewis: (leaning into the mic, grinning) "If you need help with negotiations, I can give you a few tips on how to work Toto."

(laughter in the press room, Kimi smiles awkwardly)

Carlos: (smirking) "This sounds like it comes from experience."

Lewis: "Mate, I drove for him for a decade. I’ve got it down to a science. Or—" (glances at Kimi, eyes twinkling) "—you could just ask Ana to help you. That’s the real cheat code."

Kimi: (trying not to smile) "I think I’ll… keep that in mind."

Journalist (Motorsport.com): Lewis, you’ve raced Max for years. Were you surprised by his decision to leave Red Bull?

Lewis: Surprised? Not really. Drivers make career moves for lots of reasons—sometimes it’s performance, sometimes it’s personal. I don’t know what his exact reasons are, but Mercedes is a great team with a huge history. It’ll be interesting for the sport.

I think it shows how competitive Mercedes want to be under the new regulations. Max is incredibly quick, obviously, and he’ll bring a lot of experience. But I think it also means there’s a big job ahead for the team—integrating new ideas, making sure everyone’s working towards the same goal. It’s not easy to bring in a driver who’s been with another organisation for so long. But I’m sure they’ve thought it through.

Journalist (F1TV): Carlos, you know Laurent Mekies from Ferrari. He’s inherited a difficult situation at Red Bull. How do you think he’ll handle it?

Carlos: Laurent’s a really strong leader. At Ferrari, I always found him great to work with—clear communication, understands drivers well. He’s walking into a storm right now, but if anyone can calm things down, it’s him.

***

Twitter Thread: Papa’s Little Girl

@/f1gossipgirl: Lewis Hamilton saying "ask Ana to help you negotiate" is sending me. Toto Wolff is 100% wrapped around her finger and we all know it. 💅🏽

@/downforceanddrama: Kimi Antonelli being told to ask Ana for help with contract negotiations is like telling a peasant to petition the queen.

@/liftandcoast: Toto Wolff: “We run a strict, logical, performance-based team.” Also Toto Wolff when Ana blinks at him: “Yes dear, wind tunnel all yours.”

@/monacopitstop: sooo after kimi’s answer in the press conference… are we thinking george is out??

@/KimiKartKid: Kimi rn: frantically googling “how to politely ask Ana Wolff to save my F1 career”

@/blisteringlap:if you watched it in context, lewis + carlos basically confirmed kimi is safe without confirming it. lewis offering to “help him negotiate” was peak “welcome to the team, kid” energy.

@/paddockcryptid: you don’t WORK Toto Wolff, you are Toto Wolff’s daughter and therefore the laws of physics no longer apply.

@/apexandexit:

george meanwhile this morning was on sky sports talking like his seat is carved in stone. man’s in Narnia.

@/mercgirl44: the fact that lewis said it so casually… like it’s known lore in brackley that ana can get whatever she wants from toto 😭😭😭

@/DRS_Delulu: The way Lewis said “she’s better at it than me” with zero hesitation… this is not a drill.

@/downshiftdrama: not kimi antonelli being told in a press conference to just “ask ana wolff” if he wants to keep his mercedes seat 😭😭😭

@/downbadforwolff: [photo of toto looking at ana at the garage] “how can i say no to my little girl” energy

@/gridgossip: Lewis Hamilton knows two things:

How to win in f1

That Ana Wolff has her dad wrapped around her finger and will always get what she wants

@/KimiAntonelliStan: This is Kimi’s villain origin story — Lewis just told him the cheat code for Brackley.

@/gripandgo:after that kimi interview in spa i think we can all agree it’s george who’s done 💀

@/flatspotfever:ngl the way kimi’s avoiding eye contact when asked about his future is making me nervous…

@/ItaliansForKimi: Kimi please… go ask her for help. I want to see Toto approve a lifetime contract just because Ana says so.

@/F1HotTea: Lewis saying "ask Ana to help you, she’s better at working Toto than I am" might be the funniest thing I’ve heard all season 💀

@/GridGossip: So basically Toto Wolff is not running Mercedes. Dr. Anastasia Wolff is. Glad we cleared that up.

@/ShutUpAndDrive: Lewis Hamilton just casually telling a rookie to get Ana to negotiate with Toto is peak F1 chaos.

@/gppov:

kimi’s whole vibe in that interview was “trying not to freak out” and tbh same.

@/SectorThreeScreams: Toto: hard-nosed negotiator, ruthless operator, feared team principal Ana: says “Papa” once in the right tone Toto: "You can have two wind tunnels and a pony."

@/ChicaneQueen: She literally has him wrapped around her finger and we, as a society, support her rights and her wrongs.

@/slowpitstop: the sheer concept of kimi being sent to ana wolff like “pls help me keep my job” is sitcom levels of comedy

@/DRSmerchant: lewis didn’t even blink when he said that. like it’s a known paddock fact that ana has toto wrapped around her finger 😭

@/paddockmemes: petition to mic up ana wolff in a meeting with toto because i need to hear the jedi mind tricks in action

@/frontwingfangirl Max Verstappen just signed with Mercedes and somehow Twitter is now obsessed with the fact that Toto Wolff is wrapped around his daughter’s finger. Peak F1 content.

@/sector3stan: everyone talking about ana wolff having toto wrapped around her finger reminded me of THAT drive to survive scene

↳@/apexandexit: oh my god YES — the one where she’s in his office mid-season talking about some telemetry thing, and he’s mid-rant to the cameras about performance drops… then she walks in and suddenly he’s smiling and asking if she wants tea 💀💀💀

↳@/rearwingchaos: ^ and she straight up tells him “you’re overcomplicating it” and he just… agrees??? this is the same man who argued with an fia steward for forty minutes??

↳@/paddockprose: the funniest part is when the producer asks him after if he always listens to her and he says “she’s usually right” like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

@/undercutcentral:

so after kimi’s press conference answer + lewis saying “ask ana to help you negotiate” … do we think george is out?? 👀

↳@/softtyre:

toto has been loyal to george for years, don’t count him out yet. kimi might get shuffled to a reserve role if merc can’t make room.

↳@/dtsedits:

if george goes i want the full netflix slow-mo edit of him finding out. dramatic violins. ana in the background refusing to make eye contact.

@/yellowflagchaos: honestly the press conference today made it feel like everyone except george knows which way this is going

***

Transcript: Pre-Race Interview - Max Verstappen

Location: Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, Francorchamps, Belgium Date: 23 July 2025

Journalist: Max, the news is official now. You’re leaving Red Bull at the end of the season. Can you talk us through the decision?

Max: Yeah, obviously it’s a big change. I’ve been with Red Bull for… what is it, nine years now? Almost 200 races. We’ve achieved a lot together—four championships, a lot of wins. It’s been a huge part of my life. But I think as a driver you have to keep challenging yourself, and for me, the project at Mercedes was something I couldn’t ignore.

Journalist: How does it feel to finally have it out there?

Max: (short nod) It’s good to have it confirmed. These things… they get talked about a lot behind closed doors, and eventually the noise starts to build. Now everyone knows, and we can focus on the rest of the season.

Journalist: You’ve been with Red Bull nearly your entire Formula 1 career, nine seasons, four World Championships — that’s a huge part of your life. Was it an easy choice?

Max: No, definitely not. I’ve got a lot of respect for everyone at Red Bull, and I wouldn’t be where I am without them. But I also think you have to look at where the future is going. I believe Mercedes is building something very strong for the next regulation change, and I want to be part of that from the start.

Journalist: You’ve talked before about loyalty. Did that factor into staying as long as you did?

Max: Loyalty is important to me. I don’t walk away easily. But loyalty has to go both ways, and sometimes you have to make a decision for your own future, even if it’s not the easy one.

Journalist: People thought you’d finish your career at Red Bull. What changed?

Max: Formula 1 changes. Teams change. You can’t base your career on what was true five years ago. I still believe Red Bull can win races, but I felt like I needed a new challenge.

Journalist: Red Bull’s performance this year hasn’t been at the level we saw in previous seasons. Did that influence your decision?

Max: I’m not going to pretend the car’s not a factor. In the last couple of years we had something special. This year has been more difficult, and you have to look at the trends, not just one race or one season.

Journalist: You’ll be joining a very young driver in Kimi Antonelli—or potentially George Russell, depending on Mercedes’ decision. Have you been told who your teammate will be?

Max: (smiles) I’ve got a pretty good idea, but that’s up to Toto to confirm. Whoever it is, I’m looking forward to working with them.

Journalist: Was Toto Wolff a big factor in convincing you?

Max: Yeah, Toto’s very good at presenting a vision. But it wasn’t just him—it’s the whole team. The way they’re approaching the next era, the resources they’re putting in… it feels like the right place to be if you want to fight for championships in the next couple of years.

Journalist: What’s the rest of this season going to be like?

Max: (shrugs) I’m still a Red Bull driver until the end of the year. I know it’s going to be a bit strange, but I owe it to the team to finish strong. I’m here to race. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll give everything every weekend, like I always have. Whatever the situation is off-track, on-track my job stays the same.

***

Text Message: Max Verstappen & Daniel Ricciardo

Daniel: Well, look at you, Silver Arrow. Congrats, mate. Big move.

Max: Thanks.

Daniel: …That’s all I get? I expected at least a smug emoji.

Max: Not really in the mood.

Daniel: What, because the internet is in meltdown? Or because someone didn’t say what you wanted them to?

Max: …

Daniel: Ah. Bingo. Ana didn’t say anything?

Max: She said congratulations. That’s it.

Daniel: Ouch.

Daniel: Maybe she’s processing?

Max: Maybe.

Daniel: Or maybe you’ve got competition.

Max: …what?

Daniel: A little birdie told me that George is very… interested in Ana.

Max: Yeah, sure.

Daniel: No, seriously. She’s beautiful, she’s intelligent, she’s… not the kind of person George usually meets in a paddock hospitality queue.

Max: And she has functioning taste.

Daniel: Mmm. Just saying. Keep an eye on your territory, mate.

***

790 notes · View notes

bellatrixlestrangeswhore · 8 days ago

Text

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

MORE THAN A DRIVER

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

more about driver!yn

formula one + female!driver!reader smau + irl

Suzuka, let's wish YN well. Will this weekend secure her spot in the next season with Mercedes?

Also trying this new thing with how I do my social media parts.

Suzuka -- Thursday, Press Day

There was something about Japan that always made YN breathe easier.

The air smelled different here -- fresh, like morning after rainfall. Even the paddock felt calmer, tucked into the trees of Suzuka with its winding, iconic figure-eight layout. But she wasn't calm, not really.

Mercedes had been quiet for days. No contract talks, not after her talk with Toto after Singapore. No hints, no press releases. The only news to surface was Lewis' confirmed departure to Ferrari for the next season.

And then came the rumors -- louder with every race.

Kimi Antonelli.

The prodigy. The golden boy.

The future of Mercedes. They used to call her that too.

And the possible reason why YN's seat wasn't being renewed.

She'd tried to ignore it. Tried to drown it out with race prep and simulator runs, pushing herself so hard the her engineers begged her to go home. But even when she lay in bed at night, noice-cancelling earphones blasting white noise, the silence from the team screamed louder than anything.

user: yn's body is at suzuka but her soul is somewhere else user: mercedes better not be about to throw away one of the best drivers on the grid just to make room for their "future" did they forget she's the future too??? user: i hate how quiet toto's being. that man writes essays when lewis breathes, but nothing for yn?

Friday -- Free Practice

The car felt good beneath her. The corners at Suzuka were a test of finesse, and she nailed each apex like her life depended on it. Maybe it did.

Lewis was ahead in FP1, but by FP2, she'd found her rhythm. P3 on the timing sheets. Calm and controlled.

But the media kept poking.

"Still no update on your contract?" "Do you think Mercedes is looking toward a younger lineup?" "Is Antonelli on your mind at all this weekend?"

She answered politely, of course. She was always professional. But behind her practiced smile was a girl gripping the wheel of a car that no longer felt like it belonged to her.

user: i will not forgive mercedes if they take this away from her user: yn's lap in sec 1 was pure art and yall wanna benchc her for a teenager? user: i don't even care about the podium i just need her to know she deserves the world user: it's the way she walks with her earphones like she protecting herself. YNNNNN :(

Saturday -- After Qualifying

When YN crossed the line in P3, the radio crackled alive:

"Yes, YN! That's a hell of a lap. That's what we're talking about!"

And for a moment, she let herself believe. Believe that maybe this meant something. That maybe Mercedes saw her again. That they heard her again.

She stepped out of the car to cheers, her team clapping around her. George patted her helmet. Even Toto gave her a nod from the pit wall.

But the pit of her stomach twisted anyway. It still didn't feel like vicctory. Not really.

user: YN IS BACK ON THE FRONT ROW LET'S GO BABYYYYYY

⤷ user: no bcs if merc still drops her after this they're actual cruel

paddockgossip on twitter Rumors continue: Kimi Antonelli's F2 team spotted in Mercedes hospitality today. Mercedes still hasn't commented on YN's seat in the next season. Is this Suzuka weekend her last real chance to prove herself?

⤷ user: if toto fires after after suzuka i'm protesting to end f1

⤷ user: it's lewis to ferrari and kimi to merc... yn's in the middle of a hurricane rn

Later that night, she found Lewis sitting alone on a bench near the hospitality area. He was look up at the moon.

"You okay?" she asked softly, sliding down beside him.

He looked at her. Gentle. Familiar. Like safety.

"Are you?"

"Not really."

"Yeah, me neither."

They sat like that for a while, not needing to say much. Then he finally broke the silence.

"Ferrari... it still doesn't feel real."

Her face softens as she looks at him, "You're gonna do great. I know it."

"But I won't be in the garage next to yours anymore."

That's when her throat closed up.

"We've been through a lot," he added. "Wins. Crashes. Shitty contracts. All of it. And now it's changing."

"Feels like it's ending," she whispered.

He reached over and squeezed her hand. "It's not ending. Just... different chapters, you know?"

But she wasn't sure she believed him.

user: no because this photo of yn and lewis sitting in silence is making me cry user: THEYRE REALLY BREAKING UP THE LEWISYN ERA I CANT BREATHE user: she deserves to be told what the hell is going on. how are you dropping one of the most consistent drivers with no warning??? user: she doesn't even look like she wants a podium. she just wants answers.

Sunday -- Race Day

The wind rustled through the trees as YN walked into the paddock with her earphones on, shoulders squared and chin lifted. The smile she wore was quieter than usual, stretched just enough to fool the cameras but not quite enough to fool herself.

Because it's another day where they hadn't said anything.

No contract renewal. No "We're proud of you." No "Let's talk."

Just silence.

And she was starting to learn that silence from Mercedes was worse than yelling. Worse than the crash with Sainz in Spa. Worse than the rumors swriling like vultures above her.

user: yn walking into the paddock in suzuka looking like she's carrying the whole mercedes legacy on her back... again.

⤷ user: why does she look sad tho? she always smile for japan :(

"Look at me," Lewis murmured. They were sitting side by side on the pit wall after media duties, legs swinging over the edge like schoolkids, the track quiet before chaos.

"I'm just trying not to cry in front of the camera," she said, attempting lightness. Her voice cracking gave it away.

"You don't have to be strong all the time. You know that, right?"

She blinked at him. "If I'm not strong, I don't know who I am."

He placed a hand gently on the back of her head. "Then let me remind you. You're the reason we still believe in this team. You still have time."

"Time for what?" she whispered. "To be replaced?"

His silence was heavy.

user: LEWIS AND YN TALKING ALONE AT SUNSET??? stop it my chest HURTS

⤷ user: it's giving "i'm leaving" energy. lewis probably told her what toto wouldn't 😭

She races like her life depended on it.

Every overtake was deliberate. Every second in the car was sacred. She wasn't driving for points. She was driving to remind them who the hell she was.

When she crossed the finish line P2 behind Verstappen, her arms shook on the wheel. Not from exhaustion--from adrenaline. From relief. From hope.

"You did amazing. P2, YN. Absolutely fantastic drive."

She climbed out to cheers, hugging her mechanics, smiling in that full way again, even tearing up on the podium.

She looked out into the crowd and saw fans with her name written on boards and tshirts. She felt it. Maybe she was safe.

user: podium in suzuka. she's back. our girl is BACK 😭🏁❤️

⤷ user: dropping yn ln would be CLINICALLY INSANE.

The moment cracked in the hallway. Post-race debrief done. Bottles of champagne half-drunk. Mechanics laughing.

Toto stood at the end of the corridor like a ghost.

"Can we talk?"

She followed him into a quiet room. No fanfare. No lights. No one else. He didn't sit.

"We've made a decision," he began, hands clasped.

YN felt her stomach drop. "And?"

"We're going with Kimi next season."

What?

He continued, "You'll still finish this season with us," he said quickly. "We believe in you. But long-term--"

"No," she whispered, voice trembling. "You don't get to say you believe in me and still drop me."

He flinched in return. Just slightly. "You've been incredible. But the board--"

She backed away. "Don't blame the board, Toto. You knew. You always knew."

She left before she could cry in front of him. She didn't want to cry, not in front of Toto. Not in front of the one who said he believed her since the start.

She found Lewis in his driver room, already halfway out of his race suit. He looked up when she walked in--no words needed.

"You knew," she said quietly.

He nodded, standing.

"You should've told me, you know."

"I wanted to. But I thought--" he broke off. "I thought they'd change their minds."

She lets out a strangled laugh. "They never do."

They both stood there, just looking at each other, the room painfully silent.

Lewis stepped closer. "Next year, we'll both be wearing different suits. Different garages. Different teams."

"But not together," she whispered.

A beat.

"No. Not together."

She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. "I'm scared, Lewis."

"I know," he said. "But you're not done. Not even close."

user: lewis and yn hugging in the hallway after hours. if you can listen closely you can hear my heart shattering

⤷ user: yeah that's it. it's official, toto dropped her. kimi's in. lewis is off to ferrari. MERCEDES ERA IS DONE. i'm sick

⤷ user: yn was seen leaving the garage in her hoodie before this was taken and no one is talking to the press rn. not even toto. something HAPPENED

⤷ user: rumors are swirling that antonelli has been signed. yn's still finishing the season, i don't even wanna know if it's confirmed or not

paddock tea on twitter!

A thread: the YN LN Mercedes downfall is real and we need to talk about it.

⤷ So... Suzuka was supposed to be her redemption arc. She had a flawless race, was even smiling again in post-quali interviews. And then Mercedes went radio silent. Not even a post-race pic with her. -- 2.1k retweets • 4.5k likes

⤷ And if that wasn't enough, who do they finally post about today? Kimi Antonelli. The same day YN gets seen being pulled aside by Toto post-race. The same day Lewis and YN are seen crying on the pit wall. I'm sick. -- 5.3k retweets • 10.1k likes

⤷ Rumor says Toto told her after the cool down room that Kimi was being signed. And she's finishing the season, but she's not staying. NO ceremony. NO thank you post. NOTHING. -- 3.8k retweets • 7.9k likes

⤷ Let's also talk about Lewis Hamilton. The way he hugged her after the race? How they sat in silence post-briefing? He's leaving to Ferrari and YN is out. The soul of Mercedes is being ripped out in one season. -- 6.2k retweets • 11k likes

⤷ This is a driver who's carried the team in the midfield. Who gave them podiums when their car was dragging itself through gravel. And now she's getting a private "We're replacing you" chat while fans are still cheering her name. -- 4.2k retweets • 8.7k likes

⤷ Mark my words, when YN signs with another team and starts haunting Mercedes from P1, this admin will be here laughing. Anyway, YN nation, we cry tonight. -- 10.2k retweets • 21.8k likes

hellooooo, the grid is messsyyyy this season. stay tuned for the next chapters because things are just getting started!

if interested in what happens next, leave a comment to be added to the taglist! if you want to know more about driver!yn, my inbox is always open :)

likes and reblogs are appreciated, love lots! xx

#formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #f1!reader #formula one smau #f1 smau #driver!reader #lewis hamilton x reader

630 notes · View notes

bellatrixlestrangeswhore · 9 days ago

Text

❤️❤️❤️❤️

System Failure - Chapter 15: Brackley

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Dr. Anastasia "Ana" Wolff (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen to Mercedes? The paddock is buzzing. The media’s in meltdown.

And if the rumours are true, and Max Verstappen really is joining Mercedes, then Ana’s carefully compartmentalised world is about to explode.

Warnings and Notes: George Russell Bashing. Questionable Engineering Science...also Questionable work ethic. Difficult Family relationships. Let me know if I missed something else, and I'll add it!

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Text Messages: Gianpiero Lambiase & Max Verstappen

GP: Did you give her my phone number?!

Max: Who? Wait. Oh. She texted you already?

GP: Already?? She called the Head of Sixth Form, she got Francesca’s application fast-tracked, and she knew about the robotics project from last spring. Also? SHE KNEW FRANCESCA PLAYS VIOLIN. This woman is terrifying.

Max: Nah, I didn’t give her your number. She probably ran a background check on you. You’re in her system now. There’s no escape.

GP: Jesus.

Max: You asked for help. You didn’t specify a level of intensity. And Ana only operates at “global infrastructure rewire” speed.

GP: She signed off with “consider it a professional courtesy.” Is this what it’s like being friends with her?

Max:Yup. Efficient. Occasionally feels like being on the receiving end of a military-grade satellite strike. But it gets results.

GP: She fast-tracked the application. Before I even finished filling out the parent portal. How?! How does she do that?

Max: She's Ana. She gets things done before you realise you needed them done.

GP: Did you tell her I was stressed about the school?

Max: I mentioned it. She volunteered to help. Then said "I sit on the alumni board. I am the pull." Direct quote.

GP: Mate. You didn’t tell me you were dating a Bond villain.

Max: She’s not a villain. She just knows how the system works. And how to bend it into origami.

GP: Francesca is going to scream when she finds out.

Max: Just make sure she knows she earned it. Ana will say the same.

GP: … I don’t know whether to be grateful or terrified.

Max: Both is good.

***

Text Messages: Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff & Max Verstappen

Max: So. You did help.

Ana: I said I would.

Max: Yeah, but I thought “help” meant like… forwarding a link. Not calling the Head of Sixth Form, pulling alumni strings, and casually slipping in violin trivia.

Ana: She does play violin. It’s relevant. Bosworth values multi-disciplinary applicants.

Max: You terrify me. In a weirdly comforting way.

Ana: That’s a contradiction in terms.

Max: So are you. And I mean that in the nicest, most "you’re incredible and I have no idea how your brain works but I love it" way.

Ana: You’re deflecting with flattery.

Max: Because I’m grateful. Because you didn’t have to do it. Because GP’s basically short-circuiting from how fast you pulled that off. And because Francesca is going to lose her mind in the best way.

Ana: She deserves it. Bosworth will be lucky to have her.

Max: You’re really bad at taking compliments, huh?

Ana: I prefer data over emotion.

Max: Okay then. Data point: You helped. Data point: You cared. Data point: That means a lot. Even if you won’t admit it.

Ana: Noted.

Max: Thank you, Nastya. You’re the best part of my evil master plan.

Ana: You don’t have a master plan.

Max: Sure I do. It’s just mostly built around you.

***

Mercedes F1 HQ, Brackley, England - 22 July 2025

Toto hadn’t meant to linger on the simulator floor.

He’d come down to check on the updates for Zandvoort package and sign off on a few resource reallocation requests. But instead, he found himself hovering by the observation deck above the sim bay, arms folded, eyes fixed on the quiet rhythm of the engineers at work.

Below, Kimi Antonelli was climbing out of the simulator pod, helmet off, curls damp with sweat. He moved with that casual confidence of someone who didn’t quite realize the weight of the world was shifting to make room for him.

A prodigy. A risk. A possibility.

Toto didn’t like making decisions this early. But 2026 wasn’t that far away. And Max Verstappen was going to sign.

That changed everything.

He turned without looking and murmured, “Peter.”

Bono didn’t even flinch. He’d been standing just behind him, sipping a now-cold coffee and watching the same session unfold.

“Boss,” Bono said, voice even.

Toto’s eyes stayed on the garage floor. “How do you think he’s doing?”

There was a beat. “Which ‘he’?”

Toto exhaled. He should’ve known Bono would catch that. “Kimi.”

Bono shifted, leaning casually against the railing. “He’s a monster in low-speed corners. Still working on tire management over longer stints, but his adaptability is off the charts. Every session, he learns something and applies it immediately. You don’t have to repeat yourself with him. He stores everything.”

Toto nodded once.

“And George?” he asked, more carefully.

Bono didn’t answer right away.

That told Toto enough.

“He’s… fine,” Bono said eventually. “Still a good driver. Still fast. But he’s rattled.”

“Because of Max?”

“Because of everything,” Bono replied. “He’s not dumb. He knows the wind is shifting. Kimi’s coming up strong, and now Max is walking through the front door. It’s hard not to do the math.”

Toto’s jaw ticked.

“We brought George in to build with us. He’s part of this team. I don’t want to throw him aside.”

“And I don’t think he thinks you will,” Bono said. “But he knows what it means when Verstappen signs with a team. He becomes the gravity well. Everyone else either adapts or gets flung off course.”

Toto stayed quiet.

“And George,” Bono continued, “he’s been… trying. But it’s not the kind of trying that helps. He’s in his own head. The feedback is overcomplicated. He second-guesses the car, second-guesses his instincts. And he’s trying to adjust the setup to fight Altair instead of listening to it.”

Altair. The new upgrade. Ana’s code.

Toto frowned. “And Kimi?”

“Listens,” Bono said simply. “Doesn’t try to wrangle the car into doing what he wants. He lets it speak and learns the language.”

Toto was already weighing futures in his head. Max would want someone who wouldn’t get in his way, who wouldn’t try to edge him out in politics or narrative. George wanted to be number one. Kimi just wanted to drive.

“Gut feeling?” Toto asked. “If you had to pair one of them with Max.”

Bono didn’t hesitate.

“Kimi,” he said. “No ego. No baggage. He’ll learn from Max without resenting him. And Max—he respects talent. Especially quiet, sharp talent. You would get a partnership. If you are lucky…you could get a mentorship.”

Toto nodded, eyes drifting back to the sim floor.

Max Verstappen was a once-in-a-generation decision.

And so was this.

***

Wolff Residence, Monaco - 22 July 2025

Toto had stared at the same three words for twenty minutes.

Driver lineup pending.

The email from the board sat open on his laptop, clean and clinical. Numbers and projections, sponsor demands and budget forecasts all neatly attached in PDFs. There was nothing emotional in it. No weight in the words. But Toto felt it. In his bones.

George or Kimi.

He’d asked Ana the question almost idly, half expecting her to hedge. She didn’t. She’d said Max and Kimi like she’d been carrying the answer for months.

Now, in the quiet of his office, he turned the words over and over. Max and Kimi.

Susie found him like that — hands steepled under his chin, laptop glowing in the dim.

“You’re brooding,” she said lightly, stepping into the room.

“I’m deciding,” he corrected, though his voice didn’t sound as firm as usual.

She glanced at the laptop. “Lineup?”

He nodded once.

Susie leaned against the desk, crossing her arms. “You already know what you’re going to do.”

Toto exhaled slowly. “Do I?”

“Yes.” Her tone was maddeningly certain.

He leaned back, rubbed at his temple. “George has been loyal. He knows the team. He knows the factory. He’s consistent.”

“And Kimi?”

“Kimi is…” Toto hesitated, searching. “Raw. Instinctive. Altair woke something in him. And Max respects him. That’s… rare.”

Susie studied him for a moment, but Toto kept going — almost talking to himself now.

“There’s something else,” he admitted. “I can feel it in Brackley. People like George, but they… lean toward Kimi. He hasn’t been here long, but the mood shifts when he’s in the building. Less guarded. More—”

“Hopeful?” Susie supplied.

“Yes.” He frowned. “It’s not about popularity. But the way a team feels about a driver… it matters more than most admit. Brackley lights up when Kimi is around. Like they did for Lewis.”

Susie’s mouth curved faintly. “Sounds like you’ve already decided.”

Toto gave a humorless laugh. “And you’re not afraid of letting go of stability?”

“Of course I am,” she said. “But sometimes stability is just… inertia dressed nicely.”

That landed heavier than he expected.

Susie moved closer, her voice softening. “Ana told you Kimi and Max, didn’t she?”

Toto looked up sharply. “How do you know that?”

“Because I know her,” Susie said simply. “And because she’s right.”

Toto exhaled through his nose, leaning back in his chair. “She’s very sure.”

“She’s usually sure about the things that matter.”

He stared at the laptop again. George or Kimi. Familiar or future.

Susie touched his shoulder. “You asked for my opinion?”

“Yes.”

“Then listen to your daughter.”

He huffed out a small laugh. “You’re both ganging up on me now?”

“Not ganging up,” Susie said, smiling faintly. “Just… reminding you. You don’t build a new era by clinging to the old one.”

Toto looked at the email again. The cursor blinked in the reply box.

He thought of Anastasia’s voice, calm and unflinching: Max and Kimi. Cleanest long-term bet.

He thought of Brackley’s quiet shift in tone whenever Kimi walked in the room.

He thought of George, competent and consistent—and of Max, the kind of driver who needed someone unshaped, unafraid to learn beside him instead of against him.

Susie’s hand squeezed his shoulder once, grounding.

“Future or safety, Toto,” she said quietly. “Which one wins you championships?”

Toto closed his eyes. Then typed two words.

***

Wolff Residence, Monaco - 22 July 2025

Susie closed Toto’s office door behind her, the faint click sounding louder than it should in the quiet corridor.

He’d looked tired — not just I’ve been in meetings all day tired, but the kind of tired that sat in the shoulders and behind the eyes. It wasn’t only the driver lineup weighing on him. There was something else under the surface, though he hadn’t said it aloud.

She started toward her own office, mind turning over the conversation. Max and Kimi. The shift in Brackley’s mood. The unspoken undercurrent around George.

Her steps slowed.

Something tugged at the edge of her memory — a different conversation, months ago. The buzzing of her phone on her desk, Valtteri’s name flashing. A “hypothetical” that hadn’t been hypothetical at all.

hypothetically if someone in the team kept giving your daughter unsolicited advice on how to be more likeable like. warmer. more “human”. and also hypothetically had a history of this sort of behavior what would you do

Now, standing in the corridor, she felt the weight of that exchange settle differently.

At the time, she’d left it there. Quiet observation. She hadn’t pushed for a name then — partly out of trust, partly because Valtteri had been careful not to hand her something explosive without warning.

But now… she was fairly certain the hypothetical wasn’t hypothetical at all.

Her stomach sank.

One and one made two.

And if she was right about who Valtteri had been talking about, then the board’s looming decision wasn’t the only problem her husband was about to have on his desk.

And if George Russell had indeed decided to make her daughter into a project, she was going to have to step in before Toto put two and two together. Because if he did?

It wouldn’t be cookies Kimi was getting. It would be front-row seats to a controlled detonation in the Mercedes motorhome.

***

Text Messages: Valterri Bottas & Susie Wolff

Susie: I’m going to skip the pleasantries. Was it George?

Valtteri: …yes.

Susie: Jesus Christ. I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

Valtteri: Yeah, well. Benefit revoked, probably.

Susie: Probably?

Valtteri: I don’t think it’s just the “be warmer” nonsense. I think it’s flirting. Bad flirting. Weird, entitled, “let me fix you” flirting. Like he’s decided she’d be perfect if she were less… her.

Susie: Ana wouldn’t even recognise it as flirting.

Valtteri: I know. She probably thinks he’s doing some weird social experiment. Meanwhile he’s making himself look like an idiot in front of half of Brackley.

Susie: Half of Brackley?

Valtteri: Yeah. Especially since she literally coded Altair to sing for Kimi’s driving style… and the system will not run properly for George. I’m pretty sure it loathes him. Refuses half his inputs. Kimi calls it “the personality clash.”

Susie: That’s not a personality clash, that’s my daughter writing passive-aggressive code.

Valtteri: …exactly. She’s already decided she doesn’t like him. She just hasn’t realised it’s because of this.

Susie: She will. And when she does, I’ll make sure she never has to sit through another one of his “helpful suggestions” again.

Valtteri:Ana will never say anything, but it’s not going away.

Susie: Thank you for confirming. Now excuse me while I find a diplomatic way to ensure George Russell never speaks to my daughter again.

***

Group Chat: “TEAM 33”

(Members: Max Verstappen, Jos Verstappen, Raymond Vermeulen)

Raymond: It’s done. Mercedes contract is finalized. Just needs your signature.

Jos: About time. How soon can you sign?

Max: Well… I’m in Belgium already.

Raymond: And?

Max: We can do it tomorrow. Nice and simple.

Jos: Tomorrow?? You’re this calm about changing teams?

Max: Yeah. Decision’s made. No point dragging it out.

***

Text Messages: Toto Wolff & Max Verstappen

Max: You got any plans tomorrow?

Toto: …Max. We are literally one day away from Media Day for the Belgian GP. I have about eighteen plans tomorrow. Why?

Max: Because we’ll all be in Belgium anyway.

Toto: …Yes?

Max: And I’d rather not have this leak before we want it to. You and I both know it will the second I sign.

Toto: …You’re telling me you want to do this tomorrow?

Max: Better than doing it after someone’s already sold the story to the press.

Toto: You do realize my comms department is going to have a collective aneurysm.

Max: Then you should probably warn them tonight.

Toto: You’re impossible.

Max: And yet here we are. 10 a.m.?

Toto: Fine. 10 a.m.

***

Susie found Toto in the kitchen, phone face-down on the counter, coffee cooling beside him.

He didn’t look up as she stepped in, just reached for the mug like the caffeine might finish whatever conversation he’d just had.

“I’m going to Belgium early,” he said finally.

Susie arched a brow. “Early as in…?”

“Today.”

“That is early,” she said, leaning against the counter. “What’s the rush?”

Toto hesitated—just long enough for her to know it wasn’t logistics. “Max wants to sign. Before Media Day.”

She blinked. “Today?”

He nodded once. “His logic is… not flawed. Better to do it before anyone has the chance to leak it.”

Susie felt her lips curve despite herself. “So that’s it, then. He’s ours.”

Toto’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to make it a smile. “Almost. The papers will be signed in Belgium. We’ll announce soon after. We’ll need to get comms aligned, brief sponsors, prepare the internal rollout…” He trailed off, already mentally moving through a checklist.

Susie sipped her tea. “I assume the comms department loves you for this.”

His mouth curved wryly. “They’ll survive.”

She didn’t doubt it. Toto could throw a grenade into the middle of a PR schedule and still have people thanking him for the shrapnel.

But as he moved on to muttering about legal paperwork, Susie’s thoughts drifted elsewhere—back to the text from Valtteri, the Finnish “hypothetical” that wasn’t hypothetical at all. Back to the little knot of cold anger she’d been carrying ever since he’d confirmed that, yes, it was George giving Ana those backhanded “be more human” comments.

She hadn’t told Toto.

George.

George and Ana.

Or, more specifically, George and whatever strange blend of unsolicited “advice,” personality adjustments, and faintly patronising commentary he’d decided Ana needed. Valtteri’s warning replayed in her head in that blunt Finnish cadence: I think it’s flirting.

She didn’t want to believe it. Not fully. George didn’t seem suicidal. But she did believe he was trying to change Ana—polish the steel, sand down the edges. Which meant he didn’t understand her at all.

Toto would understand. And then he’d detonate.

Which was exactly why she wasn’t telling him. Not now. Not during a race weekend. And especially not during this race weekend, where Max’s signing would be the axis everything turned on.

No—Belgium was for Max. For the announcement, the media circus, the start of whatever future Toto had decided on. The George problem could wait until after the champagne had gone flat and the headlines had cooled.

And Ana… Ana didn’t seem to realize George was flirting, let alone undermining her. She’d just shrug it off and keep working, oblivious to the fact that Brackley had clearly started favouring Kimi over him.

No, Susie decided, setting her cup down. The George conversation could wait.

Max Verstappen was signing with Mercedes today. That was a storm she was willing to walk into. The other one? She’d keep that powder dry—at least until the ink was dry on the contract and the champagne had been drunk.

One war at a time.

***

Text Messages: Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff & Susie Wolff

Susie: Hey you. Just checking in.

Ana: On… what?

Susie: On you. How you’re doing. Life, work, etc.

Ana: Is something wrong?

Susie: No? Do I need a reason to check on you?

Ana: …Historically, yes.

Susie: 🙄 Humour me. How are you?

Ana: I’m… fine. Work’s fine. The office hasn’t burned down.

Susie: That’s not the same thing as you being fine.

Ana: It’s in the same category. Adjacent, at least.

Susie: Anastasia.

Ana: … Okay. I’m fine-ish. Mostly tired. Working a lot. Kimi’s learning fast.

Susie: There we go. Progress.

Ana: Is this about something?

Susie: It’s about me wanting to know if you are okay.

Ana: … Weird. But… noted.

Susie: Weird in a bad way?

Ana: No. Weird in a… nice way.

Susie: Good. I’ll keep being weird, then.

Ana: You do that. …Thanks, Susie.

Susie: Anytime.

***

A Hotel Room, Spa, Belgium - 22 July 2025

The contract was thick—more pages than a season calendar and heavier than it should be for something made of paper. It's spread out across the long conference table in a high-end hotel suite just outside Spa, where the rain is already tapping against the windows like it wants to be let in on the moment.

Max Emilian Verstappen – Mercedes AMG Petronas F1 Team Driver.

It feels surreal.

Not because he doubts the decision. He’s done doubting. He knows the car is right, the project is right, the team is building something worth stepping into. But still—after everything he’s built, after all the blood and championship points and headlines—it feels like closing a chapter written in Red Bull blue.

And opening one in silver.

Toto is here, tall and watchful at the far end of the table. Mercedes legal is here too, alongside Raymond, Max’s lawyer, and one of the marketing guys who keeps smiling like they’ve already won a world title. There’s champagne sweating in a bucket in the corner, untouched. Premature. The air’s too still for celebration.

Max doesn’t speak much.

He reads every page carefully, pen resting in his hand like a loaded weapon. He’s not nervous—just aware. Aware that this is the biggest move he’s made in years.

Not because it’s Mercedes. Not because it’s leaving Red Bull.

Because of her.

Ana.

Toto’s daughter.

Toto, who has no idea that the man he’s about to sign to a multi-year deal has been in love with his daughter for the better part of a decade.

That he’s been in her bed, in the soft, hidden parts of her life. That every time Toto says “family,” Max has to keep a straight face and pretend he doesn’t already know exactly how Ana takes her coffee.

He signs the first page. Then another. Page five. Page thirteen. Final clause.

Somewhere between legal binding obligation and power unit commitment, he thinks about the ring.

It’s in a little velvet box buried deep in his Monaco apartment. Tucked behind a trophy shelf he hasn’t dusted in a year.

He bought the ring four years ago. Platinum band. No frills. Elegant. Strong. Her.

He’s never opened the box since.

Not because he doubted her. But because Ana Wolff is a fortress. All steel edges and fireproof walls. She’d built a life out of keeping people out, of never needing anyone enough to be left disappointed.

And Max?

Max has spent the last decade quietly waiting at the gates.

There were moments—long nights in hotel rooms, kisses that felt too much like promises, silences that said more than either of them could bear to speak—where he thought maybe. Maybe she’d let him in. Maybe she’d admit what he already knew:

She loved him. Just didn’t know how to live in it yet.

Now he was signing with her team. With her family. He’s crossing that line between personal and professional with a full sprint.

He was not afraid.

Max picked up the pen. Signed the contract.

Bold stroke. No hesitation.

Toto leans forward to shake his hand, businesslike and solid. Max meets his eyes and wonders what he’d say—what he’d do—if he knew.

It’s done. It’s real. He’s a Mercedes driver.

Her driver, now.

And maybe—just maybe—someday soon, he’ll open that ring box again.

And this time, she won’t run.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Dr. Anastasia “Ana” Wolff

Max:

I signed.

Ana:

…

Max: That’s all I get? Three dots?

Ana:I’m processing.

Max: You already knew it was happening.

Ana:Yes, well. Seeing it on paper is somehow different from knowing it’s real.

Max: It is real. I’m coming. Silver arrows and all.

Ana:I know.

Max: Nastya.

Ana:You’ve just set fire to everything you built at Red Bull. For a team that might not be ready. For a power unit we haven’t fully tested under live conditions. For a political environment that eats drivers alive.

Max: Did you miss the part where I did it for you, too?

Ana:Max—

Max: I’m not asking for a speech. Or a parade. But I thought maybe you’d say something.

Ana:I don’t know what to say.

Max: Try: “I’m glad you’re coming.” Or: “I want you here.” Or even: “I’m terrified but I’ll be in your garage every weekend anyway.”

Ana:I’m not good at this.

Max: I know. But I’m still coming.

Ana:Congratulations, Max.

***

The Townhouse, Brackley, England - 22 July 2025

The stars usually helped.

Ana’s always loved this part of the house—the quiet little patch of garden tucked behind the hedges, the one with the bench she built because she needed something real to hammer together when simulation results stopped making sense. She was sitting on that bench now, knees drawn up under one of Max’s old hoodies, staring at the sky like it might offer answers.

It didn’t.

It never did. But most nights, it at least quiets the noise.

Not tonight.

Max signed the contract.

Max—the man she’s spent a decade pretending not to be in love with, the one she’s kissed behind closed doors and argued with in half-whispers and mapped telemetry for like it was a second language. The man she’s always kept at a safe enough distance that nobody, not even herself, could accuse her of wanting too much.

And now he’s going to be a Mercedes driver.

Her driver.

She should be thrilled. Proud, even. He was the best on the grid—statistically, intuitively, ruthlessly brilliant. He’ll win races. He’ll push the team. He’ll sharpen the entire programme just by being there.

And she’ll have to watch him walk into that garage every weekend, wearing silver, with her father’s name on his jacket.

She digs her fingers into the sleeve of the hoodie. Her breath catches in her throat.

Because it’s not just that Max is coming.

It’s that he’s coming for her.

He didn’t need to leave Red Bull. He didn’t need to blow up everything stable just to come stand beside her in the pit lane.

But he did.

And now Ana didn’t know who she was without the distance.

She stared up at the stars, trying to count them. She always did that when her mind spiralled. One. Two. Fourteen. Twenty-seven. But the numbers get blurry because her chest is tight and her heart won’t settle.

How was she supposed to stay objective? How was she supposed to lead engine integration meetings and strategy briefings and power unit development reviews when Max was in the room—smiling at her like she’s home?

She pressed her forehead to her knees.

He signed the contract.

He was really coming.

And for the first time in years, the stars didn’t calm her.

They feel too close.

Too bright.

Like someone’s rearranged the entire sky—and all she could do was watch it fall.

791 notes · View notes

bellatrixlestrangeswhore · 9 days ago

Text

❤️❤️❤️❤️

God's Favourites Don't Get Caught - Part 5 (final part)

Masterlist

Summary: Supermodel Sofja Jones is untouchable, rich, reckless, and secretly in love with Lewis Hamilton. When a high-speed car crash nearly exposes their hidden relationship, Sofja takes the fall to protect his career. As the media spirals, Toto Wolff steps in, not to punish, but to protect. What follows is a coke-dusted, chaos-fuelled cover-up and a brutal lesson in love, loyalty, and legacy. Lewis was her secret. Now she’s Mercedes’ too.

Warnings: Mentions of drug use, alcohol, car crash/injury, reckless behaviour, secret relationship with age gap (22x40), emotional intensity, grief, implied trauma, and protective cover-ups by powerful men.

The villa was quiet. Too quiet. Not the usual post-party hush, the fun kind, where bodies were draped over sofas and sunlight filtered through sheer curtains and someone was already brewing coffee no one would drink. This was something else. This was the kind of silence that wrapped around your ribs and whispered you should be dead.

Sofja lay curled into Lewis in bed, motionless. The silk sheets were tangled around her thighs, bare legs bruised and scraped, one foot still swollen from slamming into the glovebox. Her hoodie was off now, left in a blood-crusted pile on the floor, replaced by one of Lewis’ soft black T-shirts, three sizes too big. Her curls were matted. Her lip was split. Her nails were chipped.

She looked beautiful. She looked ruined.

Lewis watched her from the bathroom doorway, toothbrush still in his mouth, heart cracking in half with every second that ticked by.

She hadn’t spoken much since they got back. No tears. No breakdowns. No demands. Just quiet.

He rinsed his mouth and walked over, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Sof.”

No reply. Her eyes were open, fixed on a slant of light stretching across the ceiling.

“Sof,” he said again, softer. “We’ve gotta go.”

Still nothing. His hand found her calf, thumb rubbing gently over a bruise near her knee. “Baby girl.” That made her blink. Just once. Then she turned her head, slowly.

Her voice was sandpaper. “Go where?”

“Brackley.”

She laughed, low and broken. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“No.”

“Yeah.”

“No, Lewis.”

“He wants to help.”

She sat up so fast she winced, one hand flying to her ribs. “No, he doesn’t. He wants to ask questions. He wants to get answers. He wants to find a way to clean this up without getting his golden boy dirty.”

Lewis didn’t flinch. “He already knows.”

“Knows what?”

“Everything.”

Sofja’s eyes narrowed.

“I told him the truth.”

“You what?”

“I told him i was in the car.”

Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “You weren’t supposed to do that.”

“He asked.”

“So you told him?!”

“I couldn’t lie to him.”

“You were supposed to lie to everyone. That was the fucking deal.”

“I know,” Lewis said gently. “I’m sorry.”

Sofja stood, bare feet hitting the cold marble. Her legs trembled slightly, but she didn’t let it show. Not fully. “He’ll never trust you again.”

“He already does.”

“He’ll fire you.”

“No, he won’t.”

She turned sharply. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he said, standing too. “Because I talked to him. On the phone. Last night.”

She blinked.

“He said we’ll fix this.”

We. Not you. Not the team. We.

Sofja folded her arms. Her voice was flat. “And what does that mean?”

“It means we go to Brackley. We sit down with him. We talk.”

“No.”

Lewis stepped forward. “Sof-”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not walking into the headquarters of your Formula One team with last night’s blood still on my knees and a criminal fucking record because I love you too much to let you burn for recklessness.”

The words hung there. Raw. Unsaid until now. Loud enough to fill the whole room. Because she hadn’t said it before. Not to him. Not out loud.

Lewis stepped closer. His voice was quiet. “Say that again.”

“No.”

“Please.”

She shook her head.

“Sofja.”

“I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I say it,” she whispered, “you’ll look at me like I’m breakable.”

“I already do.”

She closed her eyes. He touched her face, gently, the way you might touch something sacred. “You saved my life.”

“I ruined yours.”

“No,” he said firmly. “You saved it. And now I’m saving you.”

Her breath hitched. He tucked a curl behind her ear. “Toto’s not your enemy. He’s not mine. He’s family. And he’s gonna help us clean this up. Not because he has to. But because he wants to.”

She didn’t believe him. Not fully. But she was too tired to argue. Too bruised to run. So when he held out his hand, she took it.

Brackley. Mercedes HQ. The journey was quiet. No music. No small talk. Lewis drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting over her thigh the whole time. She stared out the window, watching the trees blur.

When they arrived, security let them in without a word. No cameras. No media. No gossip. Just silence. And then the sound of doors opening as they walked through the factory, soft murmurs, whispers, people pretending not to notice the bruises under Sofja’s sunglasses or the fact that Lewis Hamilton was walking two steps behind her instead of leading the way.

They reached Toto’s office. Lewis knocked once. “Come in,” came the reply.

They entered. Toto was sitting behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, no tie. A coffee mug in one hand. His laptop open, ignored. He looked up and stood immediately.

Sofja hesitated at the door. Toto saw it. He didn’t smile. He just said, “You’re safe.”

That was all it took. She stepped inside. Lewis sat. She followed. No one spoke for a moment. Then Toto said, quietly, “You shouldn’t be alive.”

“I know.”

“You hit the dash.”

“I know.”

“Why the fuck weren’t you wearing a seatbelt?”

“Because I’m an idiot.”

Toto exhaled hard. “You’re not an idiot. You’re young. And you’re in love. And you’re reckless as hell.”

Sofja’s voice cracked. “Is that a lecture?”

“No,” he said. “It’s a warning.”

She looked up.

“I’ve seen what this kind of lifestyle does to people,” Toto said. “It eats them alive.”

“I’m not asking for your pity.”

“I’m not offering it.”

More silence. Then Lewis finally spoke. “She protected me.”

Toto nodded. “I know.”

“She took the fall.”

“I know that too.”

“She saved me.”

Toto looked at him. Then at her. The silence in the room had turned surgical. Not cold. Not hostile. Just precise, sharp. Like everything happening was being weighed, measured, and executed with purpose. The walls of Toto’s office were made of glass, but the blinds were drawn shut. No one could see in. No one could hear them.

Sofja sat still in the chair opposite the desk, one leg crossed over the other, sunglasses pushed up into her curls. She hadn’t taken them off since they arrived. Not because she was hiding. But because she didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her properly.

Lewis sat beside her, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. Silent. Watching.

And Toto? Toto was behind the desk. Calm. Unmoving. Sharp as ever. He reached into the drawer without looking down. And placed an envelope on the table. Thick. White. Unlabeled.

Sofja didn’t move.

“Open it,” Toto said.

She didn’t. So he did it for her. His long fingers slid under the flap, flipping it open and nudging it forward so the stack of notes inside peeked out, pristine, crisp bills. Not bundled. Not counted. Just there.

She arched an eyebrow. “You’re giving me pocket money?”

“I’m covering the charges.”

“No.”

“I insist.”

“I don’t need it.”

“You deserve it.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You saved my best driver from losing his license. Possibly his career.”

“I don’t give a fuck about his license.”

Lewis flinched beside her. Toto raised an eyebrow. “I did it because I love him,” she said, voice flat. “Not because I wanted a thank-you.”

“This isn’t a thank-you.”

“Sure looks like one.”

“It’s logistics.”

“Call your bank.”

Toto stared at her for a moment. Then quietly closed the envelope and slid it aside. He reached into the drawer again. This time, he pulled out a folder. Black. Matte. Mercedes seal embossed in silver. He slid that across the desk too. “Fine,” he said. “Then at least take a look.”

Sofja didn’t move. So Lewis reached over, flipped it open, and froze.

Inside:

A printed copy of every headline about the crash, with red slashes through the original ones and green highlighter over the replacements

A press release written under the name of Sofja’s “legal team,” expressing deep remorse and gratitude to Mr. Hamilton for his “ongoing support as a friend”

A document from the local Monaco precinct showing the official case dismissal and removal from public record

A signed NDA from the responding officers

A memo from a private media intelligence firm confirming that all CCTV footage from the surrounding street had been corrupted

A list of payments made, names, amounts, timestamps

Lewis turned the page.

On the next sheet: A PR strategy outline titled “Controlling The Chaos: Softening Sofja Without Spoiling the Myth”

Subcategories: • “Heartbreaking vulnerability” • “The girl who took the fall alone” • “Why Gen Z is praising Sofja Jones for owning her mistakes” • “Lewis Hamilton’s response: graceful, forgiving, untouched”

Toto folded his hands. “That’s what I’ve done since 6AM.”

Sofja stared down at the folder. “You paid the police,” she said.

“Yes.”

“You bribed the media.”

“I rerouted the story.”

“You faked legal paperwork.”

“I removed it from view.”

“You made me look like a sad little reckless girl.”

“I made you look like the hero.”

She looked up. Toto leaned back in his chair. “I’m not doing this to control you,” he said simply. “I’m doing this because I protect my team.”

“I’m not on your team.”

“You saved the only reason this team breathes.”

“I don’t need protection.”

“Everyone does.”

She tilted her head. “And what do you want in return?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Toto smiled. “Fine. I want you to keep your mouth shut. And stay the fuck alive.”

Sofja blinked. Then smiled too. She reached across the desk and closed the folder. “I’m not gonna kiss your ring, old man.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to.”

“And I’m still paying my own fines.”

He chuckled. “You’re feral.”

She leaned in. “And you’re lucky.”

“Why?”

“Because if I hadn’t taken that fall,” she said, voice ice and honey, “you’d be short a world champion, and your team’s entire legacy would be on fire.”

Toto’s smile faded. “I know,” he said. And he meant it.

Outside the office, down the corridor, three Mercedes engineers stood awkwardly pretending to discuss chassis updates while stealing glances at the door.

Inside, silence fell again. Lewis reached over and squeezed Sofja’s hand. Toto watched it. He didn’t comment. But something softened in his eyes. “Next time,” he said, “just wear a fucking seatbelt.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“No. You won’t.”

"I might, if I can come to a race?”

Toto raised a brow at Lewis who just nodded. "Suzuka's next, I'll see you there."

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