oracleredbullbabe

[oracleredbullbabe]

2025

2024

[oracleredbullbabe]

f1 grid | southern drawl

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @itscalledastrategyfred) : how the grid reacts to a texan!driver!reader and her southern accent — from flustered blushing to terrible cowboy impressions and a whole lotta “yes, ma’am.” 🤠💬

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 2116

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : yall i missed the race cus i fell asleep... am i cooked?

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

gives you so much shit for your drawl at first.

“did you really just say y’all while threatening me?”

can’t stop smirking whenever you get riled up... especially when you say something like “i swear to god, i’ll whup your ass.”

fully imitates your accent when teasing you... and it’s terrible.

lowkey loves it though. it reminds him of daniel, in a way that’s nostalgic and soft.

once heard you say “darlin’” to someone and just froze for a second like okay, maybe this is the hottest thing alive.

pretends not to care but definitely perks up every time you say something country-coded.

yuki tsunoda

is very confused at first. “why do you sound like a cowboy?”

teases you constantly but in a very you’re my favorite person to annoy way.

starts mimicking your phrases just to make you laugh — “howdy” becomes part of his vocabulary purely to irritate you.

calls you “cowgirl” when you beat him in anything and grumbles when you call him “city boy” back.

secretly adores how unapologetic you are about it. says it makes you sound confident.

would 100% ask you to translate slang and then say it in his best impression just to see you roll your eyes.

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

first time he hears you say “bless your heart,” he panics. “wait… is that… a good thing or not?”

tries to keep it professional but gets flustered when you throw a “yes, sir” his way with that southern sweetness.

definitely raises an eyebrow every time you drop a “y’all” during press, but secretly thinks it’s endearing.

once tried to imitate your accent on live tv and it came out as australian. never lived it down.

thinks it’s hilarious how you say things like “fixin’ to win this race” — quotes it back to you every chance he gets.

might tease you gently, but 100% defends your accent if anyone else makes fun of it. “it’s not weird, it’s hers.”

kimi antonelli

very confused at first but listens so intently whenever you speak — your accent is like a whole new language to him.

starts asking what everything means. “what is… ‘rode hard and put up wet?’”

tries to mimic you saying “howdy” once and instantly turned red when you burst out laughing.

quietly loves the way you talk. it’s soft and warm to him, even if you’re smack-talking.

calls you "texas" like it’s your nickname. “hey, texas. need help with your helmet?”

100% memorizes your slang and starts slipping it into conversations to make you smile.

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

confused the entire first week. just stands there smiling while you say things like “i’m fixin’ to head out” and later quietly asks carlos what it meant.

blushes furiously the first time you call him “darlin’” — tries to play it cool but is visibly short-circuiting.

imitates your accent once during an interview and gets roasted online for how bad it was. “i wasn’t even that bad, right?” you nod slowly, hiding laughter.

starts calling you “cowgirl” in private, just to see you roll your eyes and smile.

says your voice sounds like “sunlight on hot pavement.” he’s a romantic.

lowkey tries to learn country music just to bond with you — gets too into kacey musgraves and now you catch him humming “slow burn” on race days.

lewis hamilton

absolutely obsessed. tells you it’s “the sexiest accent” he’s ever heard.

constantly asking you to say things again, slower this time — just so he can hear it twice.

you say “yes, sir” once and his whole soul leaves his body.

teases you when you get heated and slip into full-blown southern mode, but with the softest grin. “there she goes, my wild southern girl.”

absolutely convinced you two need to do a cowboy-themed photo shoot. insists on wearing the hat too.

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

the second he hears your accent, he’s already planning impressions.

“well howdy y’all, ah’m fixin’ to win me a lil ol’ race today!” — said in the worst cowboy voice imaginable.

you threaten to fight him. he grins harder.

calls you “ma’am” dramatically and tips invisible hats at you in the paddock. you once slapped him with your water bottle.

has no idea that it’s kind of hot until you call him “sweetheart” mid-argument and he just shuts up entirely.

you catch him watching country tiktoks so he can learn phrases to throw back at you. he says it’s “research.”

may joke nonstop, but the second someone else mocks you? “nah, only i get to call her cowgirl.”

oscar piastri

didn’t expect to fall in love with your accent, but here we are.

says nothing when you speak, just blinks slowly and listens like it’s music.

every now and then you catch him smiling to himself after you say something super southern like “he ain’t got the sense god gave a goose.”

finds your little quirks adorable. “you just said ‘buggy’ instead of shopping cart,” he says softly, grinning.

doesn’t mimic your accent. not even once. too respectful.

will 100% ask you to teach him how to say certain phrases, then casually use them later to make you laugh.

you say “c’mere, sugar” once and he actually blushes. he’s so gone.

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

pretends like he doesn’t care but he’s obsessed with your accent.

the first time you say something like “sugar, that was a rough quali,” he just stares for a second before going, “say it again.”

tries to mimic you with his own spanish accent and ends up sounding like a cowboy in a telenovela.

“how do you say it? y’all? yuhhhll?”

laughs at himself when you make fun of it but still keeps doing it because your eyes light up every time.

secretly loves how fiery you get when you're mad — especially when you let the accent fly. “you gonna kill me, cariño?” he teases.

absolutely calls you "cowgirl" in the most smug voice imaginable.

lance stroll

immediately thinks your accent is the cutest thing alive.

“you sound like a character from a movie. it’s awesome.”

gets super flustered when you call him anything sweet — “baby,” “darlin’,” “honeybun.” it kills him every time.

has a weird little canadian twang himself so when he tries to imitate you, it comes out like “howd-eh y’all.”

you cry laughing. he commits to it anyway.

lowkey loves how different you sound from everyone else — thinks it makes you magnetic.

tries to “cowboy up” next to you in interviews and fails miserably. “we’re a dynamic duo,” he says. “city boy and the wild west.”

ʚ・williams

alex albon

thinks your accent is the best thing ever, and won’t shut up about it.

constantly repeats your phrases back to you in a horrendous mock accent just to make you laugh.

“well shoot, sugar! i reckon we got ourselves a pole!” — said at full volume in the paddock.

you threaten to hit him with your boot. he tells everyone “she threatened me in southern again. it was so hot.”

teases you with names like “rodeo queen” and “yee-haw y/n” but goes feral the first time you call him “sweetheart” on comms.

100% starts saying “y’all” unironically. refuses to admit it.

tells his PR team you’re his “emotional support cowboy.”

carlos sainz

tries to act unfazed like “it’s just an accent” but his eyes go all soft when you call him “darlin’.”

loves hearing you talk — especially when you ramble. just nods along and smiles like he understands every word even when you say things like “that boy ain’t right.”

calls you mi vaquera under his breath when you walk away.

one time you called him “baby” and he blinked twice, turned red, and muttered “mi vida...” like a reflex.

doesn’t tease, but subtly flirts back in spanish until you’re the one blushing.

quietly practices a southern phrase or two just so he can surprise you later. you catch him whispering “fixin’ to win” before a race and nearly crash your scooter laughing.

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

absolutely thrilled the first time he hears you speak. grins like a little menace and goes “wait, say that again.”

becomes obsessed with getting you to say weird southern phrases. “wait wait, what’s the one about biscuits and gravy again?”

mimics your accent constantly but in that annoying younger brother way. you threaten him with a tire gun. he laughs harder.

teases you with a fake lasso motion every time you walk into the garage. “woah there, cowgirl.”

once called you “ma’am” in a joking tone and you shot back with “watch your mouth, sugar.” he shut up immediately.

genuinely adores it though. thinks you’re the coolest person alive.

starts picking up your slang accidentally. pr catches him saying “fixin’ to” in an interview. he panics.

esteban ocon

acts completely unbothered at first. nods politely while you talk, no visible reaction.

but he’s so internally flustered.

one day you say “yes, sir” in that sweet, drawling tone and he just stands there blinking like you short-circuited his brain.

asks pierre what certain things mean later in private. “what’s a ‘hoot and a half’?”

doesn’t tease, but is very intrigued. tells people he likes how “unique” you sound.

once tried to say “howdy” as a joke but it came out awkward and overly French. he never attempted it again.

secretly loves when you call him something soft in that accent. might not say much, but his smile says everything.

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

pretends to be unbothered but he’s fully gone the first time you say “darlin’.”

literally pauses mid-sentence when you call him “sweetheart” like… yeah. that’s it. you’ve got him.

teases you gently, but it’s always with heart eyes. “you really gonna charm everyone with that voice, huh?”

obsessed with how passionate you sound when you’re fired up. just lets you rant and watches, smiling like an idiot.

tells everyone “i don’t get the hype” and then immediately melts when you rest your boots on his lap.

absolutely wants you to teach him how to two-step. “for educational reasons.”

isack hadjar

chaos incarnate. tries to mimic your accent constantly and fails in the funniest ways.

“whatchu doin’, sugarplum?” he says. you throw a wrench at him. he ducks and cackles.

you start mimicking his french accent right back. “ohhh la la, baguette!”

you two are just rude to each other and completely in love about it.

insists on calling you “sheriff” like it’s your job title. even salutes you sometimes.

if you ever call him “baby” or “mon cœur” in your accent, he shuts up immediately.

secretly thinks your voice is the most comforting sound on earth, even when you’re yelling.

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

absolutely loses it the first time you call him something soft like “sugar.” full flirty grin, immediately flirting back.

“you keep talkin’ like that and i’m gonna start fallin’ in love, mon amour.”

mimics your accent way too often and does it so dramatically it’s offensive.

“well HAW-DEE Y’ALL,” he says, strutting into the motorhome in your cowboy boots. you throw a towel at him.

turns every southern phrase you say into something scandalous.

“i’m fixin’ to fight you, pierre.”

“please do.”

but when you’re soft? when you call him “darlin’” and it’s not a joke? he’s quiet. maybe even a little breathless.

“don’t stop,” he mumbles. “say it again.”

jack doohan

acts cool at first but the second you hit him with a “yes, sir,” he’s toast.

blinks. stares at the floor. full body flush.

“you alright?”

“yep. yeah. mmhm.”

loves your voice but doesn’t tease. just listens. takes in every word.

gets kind of protective when people joke about your accent. “don’t be weird. it’s just how she talks.”

one time you called him “honeybun” in the middle of a race debrief and he messed up a tire strategy.

definitely the type to lowkey start picking up your phrasing — you catch him saying “reckon” once and he immediately denies it.

“i didn’t say that. you imagined it.”

he 100% said that.

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

pretends he’s unfazed but absolutely notices every time you say something country-coded.

raises an eyebrow and goes “what does that even mean?” but secretly writes it down for later.

makes sarcastic comments like “you gonna ride a horse to the race next?” while absolutely staring when you wear boots to media.

calls you “cowgirl” in the driest voice imaginable but it makes you grin every time.

once heard you say “lord have mercy” under your breath and now repeats it back in a bad drawl just to mess with you.

claims he’s above it, but the second you call him “baby” in a sweet voice, he forgets how to speak.

accidentally got flustered once when you offered to teach him how to line dance. “oh. uh. yeah. maybe.”

gabriel bortoleto

fully enchanted from day one. like… heart-eyes level enchanted.

asks you a million questions. “wait, say that again? what does it mean when you say ‘bless his heart’?”

doesn’t mock, just listens with a little awe in his expression.

is super respectful, always like “you sound really cool” instead of teasing.

lowkey tries to learn southern slang so he can flirt back better.

once called you “sugar” in a heavy brazilian accent and you nearly fainted.

gives you that boyish grin and shrugs like “you started it.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[oracleredbullbabe]

F1 Grand Prix of Miami May 05, 2024

[oracleredbullbabe]

Daniel Ricciardo and Max Verstappen with Christian’s daughter or Helmut’s Granddaughter. A fuck you to Red Bull literally

No one has to know||Max Verstappen x Daniel Ricciardo x Reader (Y/N Marko)

Warnings: Explicit sexual content: M/F, M/M, M/M/F threesome, Double penetration Power dynamics / mild Dom/Sub themes Light choking / breath play Oral sex (receiving & giving, M & F) Marking Possessive behavior Secret relationship Mentions of family tension (Helmut Marko) Discussion of retirement and identity crisis (Daniel) Emotional vulnerability / aftercare

Word count—2434

A/n — this has been sitting in my inbox since the 21st of December I’ve finally finished it 😭😭😭

The low hum of the city below was muffled by the thick glass of Max’s penthouse windows. The Monaco skyline glittered, casting a soft glow over the living room, where a half-finished bottle of wine rested on the table, and laughter still lingered in the air.

Y/N sat curled between Max and Daniel on the plush sectional sofa, her legs draped over Daniel’s lap while Max’s fingers lazily trailed along her thigh. There was something about nights like this stolen, quiet, hidden in the dark that made everything burn hotter.

“You’re not going to be able to keep this quiet forever,” Daniel murmured, his voice low and full of heat, but teasing.

Y/N smirked, her head tilting back onto Max’s shoulder. “Helmut doesn’t exactly follow gossip blogs.”

“Still…” Max’s hand slid further up her leg, under the hem of her oversized Red Bull tee his, of course until his fingers brushed the edge of lace. “You do like testing fate.”

“Maybe I just like testing you.”

Max’s gaze snapped down to her, and something flickered behind his eyes dark, hungry. Daniel’s fingers tightened on her calf at the same time, his grin widening.

“Oh, you’ve definitely got a death wish,” Daniel said, leaning in, his lips ghosting over the shell of her ear. “Max gets possessive when you talk like that.”

Max didn’t deny it. He just kissed her slow and deep, while his hand slipped between her legs, pressing the heat of his palm against the soaked lace. Y/N gasped into his mouth, only for the sound to be swallowed by Daniel’s lips replacing his, a seamless shift that made her dizzy.

The taste of wine, Max, and Daniel all tangled on her tongue as Max kissed his way down her neck, pushing the shirt up and over her head. His mouth found her chest while Daniel’s hand slid behind her neck, keeping her gaze on him, on the glint in his eye as he dipped down and captured her lips again.

“You’re so good like this,” Daniel whispered, kissing down her jaw. “All soft. All ours.”

Max hummed against her skin in agreement. “She likes when we take our time.”

“But you don’t always,” Daniel muttered, and there was a look something electric between them. A smirk from Daniel. A sharp flash in Max’s eyes.

Y/N felt the shift in the air before it happened.

Max pulled back and looked at Daniel. “You gonna keep teasing or are you going to show her how good you taste?”

Daniel raised a brow but didn’t hesitate. He leaned over, crashing his mouth against Max’s in a kiss that was anything but gentle. Y/N’s breath hitched as she watched, heat coiling low in her belly. There was tongue and teeth, fingers curling into fabric, and tension that had clearly been simmering between the two of them far longer than they admitted.

Max pulled back, just enough to speak his voice low and dark. “Watch closely, lieverd. We want you squirming.”

Y/N didn’t think she could not watch, not when Daniel’s hand slid over Max’s thigh, fingers tracing the outline of his hard cock through his jeans. Max hissed, tilting his head back, and Daniel took advantage mouth on his throat, sucking, biting lightly, just to make him groan.

It was almost too much.

Almost.

And then Max was tugging Daniel back by the collar, dragging him into another filthy kiss, before glancing back at Y/N his voice like velvet and smoke.

“Your turn,” he said, eyes burning. “On your knees.”

She slid off the couch without a word, heart pounding and thighs clenched. The silk of the rug met her bare knees as she knelt before them, already stripped down to nothing but her panties. Max stayed seated, legs spread wide, the golden city light haloing his figure while Daniel lounged beside him, flushed and smirking.

“God, you look good like that,” Daniel murmured, brushing her hair off her face, fingers lingering at her jaw.

“She always does,” Max said, voice low. He let his hand drift lazily over her chest, thumb brushing her nipple. “But tonight, I think you want to be used, hm?”

Y/N’s breath caught. She looked between them Daniel’s teasing warmth, Max’s simmering intensity and nodded.

Max’s lips quirked. “Words.”

“Yes. I want it.”

Max shifted forward, his fingers curling under her chin, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. “Who do you belong to, Y/N?”

Her lips parted, heat pooling in her stomach. “You. Both of you.”

“Good girl,” Max whispered.

Daniel chuckled. “I think she’s being too good. Makes me want to ruin her a little.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, thighs pressing together instinctively. Max’s eyes darkened as he watched.

“Take your panties off,” Max commanded.

She obeyed slowly, letting the lace glide down her legs, adding to the tension until she was completely bare before them.

Daniel leaned forward, palming himself through his jeans. “Fuck, look at her. Dripping and we haven’t even touched her properly yet.”

Max stood, towering over her, then gave Daniel a look. “You want to make her beg first, or should I?”

Daniel grinned, then leaned close to whisper in her ear. “You decide, baby. Want Max’s fingers or my mouth first?”

Y/N’s voice trembled. “Daniel. Your mouth.”

That grin turned wicked.

She barely had time to steady herself before Daniel had her flat on her back, dragging her closer by the hips. His mouth was on her immediately hot, slow, and maddening. His tongue traced over her folds, teasing, never giving her quite enough, while Max knelt behind her head, pulling her up against his thighs.

“You can be loud,” Max said, stroking her hair. “We’re high up. No one will hear you scream.”

And she nearly did when Daniel sucked her clit into his mouth, one hand gripping her thigh, the other teasing at her entrance. His tongue worked her like he’d memorized every spot that made her tremble. She gasped, eyes fluttering open only to find Max unzipping his pants.

“You’re not getting off yet,” Max murmured. “But you are going to be useful.”

He guided himself to her mouth, dragging the tip of his cock along her lips. “Open.”

She obeyed instantly, tasting the salt of his skin, the weight of him heavy on her tongue. Max groaned low in his throat, threading his fingers in her hair as he rocked into her mouth.

Below, Daniel slipped two fingers into her, curling them just right, mouth still latched to her clit. The combination was overwhelming. Max’s cock filling her mouth, Daniel’s fingers stroking her inside, tongue relentless it was too much. She moaned around Max, eyes squeezing shut, thighs shaking as her orgasm slammed into her.

Max pulled out with a hiss just as her cry was muffled against his thigh. “Fuck, she’s perfect like this.”

Daniel pulled back, his lips and chin glistening, pupils blown wide. “Let me have her,” he said, voice thick with want.

Max’s smirk was dark. “Not yet.”

Then he turned to Y/N. “Your turn.”

She blinked up at him, breath still shaky. “M-My turn?”

Max leaned in, eyes glinting. “Make him lose control. You know how.”

Daniel chuckled, letting himself fall back onto the couch again, arms wide. “You heard the man.”

The shift was electric. One second she was their plaything, the next she was crawling toward Daniel with hunger in her eyes. She straddled him, grinding down on the bulge in his jeans as her fingers worked to undo his zipper.

Daniel’s hands gripped her hips tightly. “Fuck, baby, you’re soaked.”

“Your fault,” she whispered, before sliding down and taking him into her mouth.

Max stayed standing, watching like a king admiring his empire stroking himself slowly as Y/N hollowed her cheeks, bobbing her head in Daniel’s lap, tongue working him just right. Daniel groaned, head falling back.

“Shit—she’s better every time.”

Y/N didn’t stop, not even when Max circled behind her and bent down, hand spreading her open from behind. She gasped around Daniel when Max pressed two fingers back into her.

“Can you take both of us tonight?” Max murmured against her back, breath hot. “One in your mouth, one in your pussy. Then we’ll see if you’re good enough to ride us both.”

Daniel let out a choked laugh. “Now that’s what I call teamwork.”

Y/N moaned her answer, overwhelmed and blissed out.

Y/N was glowing flushed, slick, lips swollen from sucking Daniel off, and back arched from Max’s fingers still inside her. But the shift was already happening. The second Max pulled back to watch her work Daniel’s cock, she sat up on her knees, dragging her fingers down Daniel’s chest and staring Max dead in the eye.

“My turn.”

Daniel chuckled breathlessly. “Oh, she’s dangerous when she gets like this.”

Max didn’t move. He just raised a brow, intrigued.

Y/N rose, slow and confident, and straddled Max’s lap. She took his cock in her hand, dragged the head through her folds, and sank down with a breathy moan ompletely in control.

Max let out a growl, hands gripping her hips, head falling back as she rocked into him. “Fucking—Y/N.”

“You said you wanted to watch me take him, right?” she whispered, leaning forward, biting his earlobe. “But now I want you both.”

From the couch, Daniel sat up, eyes dark, hungry. “Shit. I think I’m in love.”

She turned her head, meeting Daniel’s gaze as she rode Max slowly, teasingly. “Then come prove it.”

It didn’t take long. Daniel was behind her in seconds, kissing down her spine, hands rough and possessive as he spread her open. Max was fully sheathed inside her, and the idea of both of them filling her, owning her sent a fresh wave of heat spiraling through her.

“Ready?” Daniel murmured against her neck.

She nodded, voice trembling but sure. “I want it. I want both of you.”

Max’s grip tightened, his voice a low warning. “Tell us if it’s too much.”

But she just smirked, eyes wicked. “You can’t break me.”

The stretch was slow Daniel taking his time, his cock pressing in alongside Max’s and she gasped, pleasure sharp and overwhelming. Max was already shaking under her, jaw clenched. Daniel groaned behind her, resting his forehead against her shoulder.

“Fuck, baby. You’re unreal.”

She whimpered, body twitching, caught in the fullness, the way they moved together each thrust measured, building up until she couldn’t tell whose moan was whose. Hands everywhere Daniel on her breasts, Max on her throat, her thighs trembling from being stretched to her limit.

Then something shifted again.

Max grabbed her jaw and kissed her hard, dominating her mouth while Daniel reached around and circled her clit, rubbing in slow, torturous circles.

“You thought you were in control,” Max whispered darkly. “That was cute.”

Daniel bit down on her shoulder, a soft growl. “But now it’s our turn.”

And then they took her.

Thrusts quickened, their rhythm brutal and perfect, each stroke dragging fire through her veins. She was sobbing with pleasure, body barely holding up, nails digging into Max’s shoulders as her second orgasm crashed through her louder, rawer, leaving her boneless.

But they didn’t stop.

Max was the first to fall apart, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside her with a deep, broken groan. Daniel followed moments later, pulling her back against him as he came, biting down on her shoulder to muffle the noise.

All of them stilled.

Breathing ragged. Sweat-slicked. Bodies shaking.

Y/N let out a dazed laugh as she collapsed between them, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“I can’t believe I have to face Helmut at family dinner tomorrow.”

Daniel chuckled against her neck. “If he finds out what we did to his granddaughter, I’m a dead man.”

Max’s arm curled around her waist. “Then we better make tonight worth it.”

The bedroom was quiet now, wrapped in a blanket of gold light and cooling skin. Y/N lay nestled between them, Max’s arm draped over her waist, Daniel close on her other side, one leg tangled with hers like he had no plans of letting go.

For a long time, no one spoke.

Daniel was the first to break the silence, voice low and scratchy. “I missed this.”

Y/N turned her head slightly, eyes fluttering open. “What—sex?”

He gave a soft, lazy laugh. “Well, yeah. But… more than that. I missed this. Being in the middle of something that makes me feel alive.”

Max’s hand rubbed slow circles into Y/N’s side. “You are in the middle of something. Right here.”

“I know.” Daniel paused, then shrugged a little. “It’s just weird sometimes. Not being part of the circus anymore. Watching from the outside. I thought I’d feel lighter after retiring but there’s this itch under my skin. Like I left a piece of myself out there on the track.”

Y/N reached for his hand without thinking, lacing her fingers with his. “You didn’t leave anything behind, Dan. You gave all of it. And we—” she glanced between them, “we still want you. Need you.”

Max nodded, chin resting on her shoulder. “You’re still you. Still the annoying, loud-mouthed, overly affectionate pain in the ass we love.”

Daniel snorted, but his smile was softer now. “Careful, Verstappen. Sounds like you’re getting sentimental.”

“Must be the post-orgasm haze.”

Y/N rolled her eyes with a laugh and squeezed Daniel’s hand tighter. “You’re still part of this world. Even if you’re not behind the wheel anymore. You’re still ours.”

The way Daniel looked at her then like she’d just peeled away the last layer of doubt made her chest ache.

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to her temple, then shifted to rest his head against her collarbone. “If Helmut ever finds out I’m sleeping with his granddaughter, he’s gonna take a tire iron to my knees.”

Max didn’t miss a beat. “You’re retired anyway. He’d be doing the grid a favor.”

“Rude,” Daniel mumbled into Y/N’s skin, but he was smiling again. “Maybe I should’ve picked a safer post-career hobby. Like beekeeping.”

Y/N giggled. “You’d flirt with the bees.”

“Flirt with anything that buzzes,” Max added, smirking.

They dissolved into quiet laughter, their limbs tangled, heat still radiating between them but softer now, slower. Y/N let her eyes drift shut, the weight of their bodies anchoring her, the warmth of their affection so thick she could sink into it.

And just before sleep started to claim her, she heard Daniel whisper—

“I don’t know what this is, but I don’t want to lose it.”

Max’s hand tightened on her waist. “You won’t.”

[oracleredbullbabe]

Smut request for max! Where reader is really overstressed and stimulated from work/study and he just fucks her real good with multiple orgasms to send her to sleep

Taken care of||Max verstappen x fem!reader

Summary— y/n is stressed out by work and max knows just how to shut her brain off long enough for her to relax and sleep.

Word count—899

You slam the door behind you and lean against it, chest rising and falling too fast. Your brain feels like it’s still sprinting, stuck in overdrive from the minute you woke up. Notifications, deadlines, expectations too much, too loud, all day long.

Max looks up from the couch, and immediately, his eyes soften.

“Baby,” he says gently, already standing, already moving toward you.

You shake your head as your throat tightens. “I can’t Max, I feel like I’m coming apart. My chest won’t unclench. My brain won’t stop. I don’t even know what I need.”

He reaches for you. “I do.”

His hands are strong, sure, sliding under your jacket and tugging it off before you can argue. He kisses your forehead, then your temple, then finally your mouth, slow and steady. His lips taste like reassurance.

“You’re done for the day,” he murmurs. “You don’t need to think anymore. I’ve got you.”

He undresses you like you’re fragile, but not in a way that makes you feel breakable in a way that makes you feel precious. His hands linger at your hips, his fingers dragging slowly down your thighs. You’re already shaking, breath catching in your throat.

“On the bed,” he says softly. “Face up. Legs open.”

You obey, not because he demands it, but because every word out of his mouth sounds like salvation.

He strips down, climbing onto the bed beside you, settling between your thighs. The way he looks at you like you’re the center of his whole damn world it makes something inside you finally breathe.

“Been running yourself into the ground,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your knee. “You give so much to everyone else, you forget you’re allowed to fall apart, too.”

His mouth is warm, slow, relentless between your legs. He licks through your folds like he’s savoring every second, like tasting you is his reward. He slides two fingers inside you while his tongue circles your clit, and your hips arch before you can stop yourself.

“Fuck, Max—”

“I know, sweetheart. Let go. Give it to me.”

The first orgasm crashes over you fast, your body too strung out to hold back. You cry out, thighs trembling, hands gripping the sheets as he coaxes you through it but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even pause.

He keeps going, soft and wet and maddeningly gentle, until the next one builds like a slow-burning fuse and hits you even harder. You sob through it, overwhelmed, body writhing, nerves sparking like a live wire.

“Such a good girl,” he breathes, lifting his head to watch your face. “So fucking perfect for me. Every sound you make, every twitch I want all of it. You’re doing so good.”

When he finally slides inside you, you’re wrecked in the best way open, needy, pliant. He fills you so slowly you nearly cry from how full you feel, your cunt fluttering around him even before he moves.

“You needed this, didn’t you?” he murmurs against your cheek. “You needed to be taken care of.”

You nod, eyes glossy, lips trembling. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he promises. “Not until you’re so fucked out you can’t remember why you were stressed in the first place.”

He moves in deep, measured strokes, angled perfectly to brush every sensitive spot inside you. And he never stops talking, praise spilling from his lips like honey.

“Look at you. So tight and warm around me. Taking me so good.”

“You’re everything I want. Everything I need.”

“This pussy was made for me, wasn’t it? Look how she holds me. Fuck.”

Every word sinks deeper than the last, and soon your nails are digging into his shoulders, your body shivering under the weight of another orgasm. He groans when he feels ir how you pulse around him, so wet and desperate and slows his thrusts until he’s barely moving.

“Shh, baby. I’ve got you. Just like this,” he says, settling in deep, still buried inside you.

You whimper, oversensitive, hips twitching.

“I know,” he soothes, brushing sweaty hair from your face. “Just wanna keep you full a little longer. You’re so good like this. So soft. So fucked-out and perfect.”

He stays like that cock still inside ou while he holds your body against his, letting you breathe through it. Letting you feel it: the fullness, the safety, the intimacy of being completely possessed in the most loving way.

Your walls flutter again, helpless, overwhelmed, and you gasp when another orgasm sneaks up on you this one slower, deeper, dragging tears from your eyes.

Max kisses them away, murmuring, “That’s it. Let it out. I’ve got you. Just give it all to me.”

And you do.

When he finally lets himself come, it’s with your name on his lips, his forehead pressed to yours, his hands cradling your face like you’re the most sacred thing he’s ever touched. He fills you, shuddering, groaning low in his chest.

But even then, he doesn’t pull out.

He stays inside you, wraps you in his arms, and holds you close. You’re limp, boneless, body still twitching in little aftershocks as your head finds its place on his chest.

“I love you,” he says softly, voice rough. “So proud of you. Every day.”

Your eyes flutter shut. His hand strokes your hair. And for the first time in what feels like forever, your mind is quiet.

[oracleredbullbabe]

here's a little collection for all the lando girlies (gn) who need some proper reaction pics

[oracleredbullbabe]

max and fernando selfies over the years

[oracleredbullbabe]

f1 grid (2/2) | sharing the cookie

୨ৎ : featuring : kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, yuki tsunoda, isack hadjar, and liam lawson (click here for part one) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : your f1 boyfriend agrees to try the viral cookie challenge with your toddler (or cousin...) only to be hilariously betrayed (inspo: tiktok - click for reference)

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 1230

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : its quali time.. feeling nervous gas

ʚ・kimi antonelli

“this is gonna be a disaster,” kimi whispered, side-eyeing the plate in front of his tiny cousin.

you nudged him gently. “you don’t know that. maybe she’ll surprise you.”

he leaned closer, lips at your ear. “she bit me over a stuffed bunny last week.”

fair point.

you hit record.

his little cousin sat on the floor with two big cookies in her hands, practically vibrating with excitement. kimi sat across from her on the carpet, blank plate in front of him, hands resting on his knees like he was at a press conference.

"wow," he said dryly, glancing at her cookies. "they didn’t give me any. that’s sad."

she blinked at him.

then blinked again.

then took a giant bite out of one cookie, and held the other up dramatically.

“for your girlfriend,” she said, proudly handing it straight to you.

you barely held back a laugh. “wait, not for kimi?”

she shook her head. “she’s pretty. you can have mine.”

kimi turned to look at you, fully offended. “excuse me?”

“guess i win,” you said, biting into the cookie like it was a trophy.

kimi held out his hand to his cousin. “i thought we were a team.”

she shrugged. “you have a car. you don’t need cookies.”

you doubled over laughing while kimi sat there, blinking in actual betrayal.

“you guys are evil,” he muttered. “both of you.”

later, he was caught sneaking a cookie out of the jar and whispering, “this one’s just for me. no small traitors allowed.”

ʚ・ollie bearman

“i don’t think i’ve ever been this nervous around a child,” ollie whispered to you as your little cousin climbed onto the couch with his plate of cookies.

“he’s obsessed with you,” you whispered back. “play it cool or he’ll sense it.”

you hit record.

your cousin sat proudly in the middle — one cookie in each hand — glancing between you and ollie like this was some kind of test.

ollie gave him his best sad eyes. “wait… i didn’t get any cookies?”

your cousin blinked. looked at the cookies. then at ollie.

“why not?” he asked, genuinely confused. “aren’t you a grown-up?”

you tried not to snort. ollie blinked. “well, yes, but…”

your cousin nodded solemnly, fully taking over the situation. “okay. you can have one.”

ollie looked shocked. “really?”

“but only,” your cousin said, holding a tiny finger up, “because you’re a racer. and you drive the super fast cars.” then he leaned closer and added in a whisper, “they go like vroom vroom.”

you lost it behind the camera.

ollie took the cookie carefully, like it was an award. “wow. that means a lot. thank you.”

your cousin nodded, very serious. “you’re my third favorite.”

ollie paused. “third?!”

he shrugged. “max goes faster. and my dad says lewis is a legend.”

ollie gasped. “you gave me a pity cookie.”

your cousin patted his knee. “still better than nothing, bearman.”

you were on the floor at that point, and ollie was left holding his single, hard-earned cookie like a true motorsport warrior.

ʚ・yuki tsunoda

“you really think he’s going to share?” you whispered as you handed your son two cookies and yuki none.

yuki didn’t even blink. “absolutely not. he’s me.”

you hit record.

yuki sat at the kitchen island, trying to look casual while your three-year-old climbed into the seat beside him, holding two slightly melty chocolate chip cookies like they were gold bars.

“wow,” yuki said with a dramatic sigh. “they only gave you cookies?”

his son looked at him. then at the cookies. then back at him.

yuki leaned in, hopeful. “you don’t think papa deserves one?”

the toddler narrowed his eyes.

then — and this was so tsunoda family it hurt — he said, “you’re a grown-up. you can buy your own.”

you nearly dropped your phone from laughing.

yuki blinked, fully offended. “what?! i feed you every day!”

the kid shrugged. “i eat nuggets. you don’t even cook that.”

yuki gasped. “the betrayal.”

a pause.

then, with the tiniest sigh imaginable, your son broke one cookie in half and handed yuki the smaller piece.

“okay. you can have this. but next time, i want a bite of your ramen.”

yuki took it like it was a peace treaty. “deal. but only one bite.”

your son nodded solemnly. “i’m growing. i need snacks.”

yuki looked directly into the camera. “i’m raising a villain. a tiny, polite villain.”

ʚ・isack hadjar

“they’re cute,” isack whispered, watching your 5-year-old cousin march in with two chocolate chip cookies like they were briefcases full of power. “but i don’t trust them.”

you snorted. “it’s a cookie challenge, not a mafia standoff.”

“same energy.”

you hit record.

isack sat cross-legged on the floor while your cousin plopped down across from him, cookies in hand, eyes narrowed like they were sizing up a business deal.

“wow,” isack said, feigning drama. “you got two cookies?”

his cousin nodded, slowly. “yup.”

“crazy. they gave me… none. not even a crumb.”

your cousin paused. then raised an eyebrow. “do you want one?”

isack blinked. “…yes?”

“okay,” the kid said, “but you have to do five jumping jacks.”

isack stared. “what?”

“five.”

you: already wheezing.

“are you… bartering with baked goods right now?” isack asked, genuinely baffled.

your cousin nodded like a tiny ceo. “it’s the economy.”

sighing dramatically, isack stood up and started doing half-hearted jumping jacks. “one. two. this feels like extortion. three. i hate you. four. five.”

your cousin smiled. “okay. you can have… half.”

“half the cookie after cardio?” isack muttered, taking the piece. “this is the worst gym reward system ever.”

ʚ・liam lawson

“i don’t know, she’s too sweet,” liam whispered as you handed your daughter two warm cookies and guided her toward the living room.

“that’s the point of the challenge,” you grinned. “let’s see if she’ll share with you.”

“she’d give me a kidney if i asked,” liam muttered, sinking onto the carpet. “i feel like a monster already.”

you hit record.

your daughter shuffled into the room proudly, holding the cookies with both hands, cheeks puffed with focus. she saw liam first and beamed. “papa! look!”

“ohhh, two cookies?” liam said, eyes wide in fake surprise. “that’s so many. i didn’t get any…”

she paused. looked down at both cookies. then glanced at you.

her tiny eyebrows furrowed. then, very carefully, she held out both cookies — one to liam, one to you.

“you can both have one,” she said sweetly. “i don’t need one. i already had a snack.”

liam blinked. “wait. you’re giving them both away?”

she nodded, chipper. “sharing is nice.”

you: already struggling to hold the camera steady.

liam: already looking like he might cry.

“no, no, no,” he said quickly, holding the cookie like it was made of gold. “you’re supposed to keep one, sweetheart. this is your treat.”

she smiled up at him. “but you didn’t have one. and you always give me the last bite. so now i give you the whole one.”

liam looked at you, horrified. “why would you do this challenge to me?” liam scooped his daughter into his lap immediately. “this is it. we’re retiring. i’m raising her on a farm away from the cruel world.”

your daughter giggled. “can i still have cookies on the farm?”

liam kissed her cheek. “you can have ten cookies, every day.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[oracleredbullbabe]

pleaseee headcannons about lando x frenemies to lovers cause I feel like that’s so fitting for him idk (if u want to ofc)

okay three facts about meeee

I loooove partying with close friends ESPECIALLY during summer, I love sad music and I have terrible sleeping problems 😚

don’t stress yourself tho if no ideas pop up lovely!!

you’re genuinely the sweetest <3 and yes lando absolutely embodies this trope 🤭 (i hope you enjoy it 🙏💕)

an: for some reason this made me think of roommate!lando? thoughts? 🫣

HEADCANNONS:

my inbox is open!! [nav | inbox | masterlist]

FRENEMIES TO LOVERS: ft. lando norris

truly, you don’t even why lando aggravated you to such an extent.

he wasn’t rude to you in any way

just, annoying

what you do know, however, is that regardless of his irritating smirk and sarcastic quips, you couldn’t help but be pulled to him.

in a crowded room, you could be found bickering in a corner together, closed off to the rest of the world.

it was always over something ridiculous — him claiming your shoes were ridiculous and you countering on his horrendous jumper.

at get togethers with your friends, something frequent in the summer months, you would often be arguing about everything.

about the music:

lando removing from queue, and outrightly refusing to play, your music (deeming it ‘depressing’).

you ‘accidentally’ disconnecting the bluetooth from his phone.

about the food and drinks:

lando adding way to much alcohol to the punch that you two had been tasked to organise

you ordering way too much food ‘just in case’ (it’s fine, it was on lando’s card anyway)

lando objecting to the insane amount that people now need to eat (okay so maybe you did go slightly overboard-)

he however, (rarely) could be a godsend:

maybe you were on a group holiday, renting a villa in the outskirts of a quiet town.

it was late, and you couldn’t sleep.

and, it was late enough that your phone touch was needed for you not to fall down the flight of stairs as you made your way to the lounge.

you got the fright of your life when you span around the corner and saw a silhouette sitting on one of the sofas., only a lamp illuminating him.

your phone clattered onto the floor in a loud noise.

you were expecting a snarky comment about your dramatic entrance, or the mismatched socks that you wore.

he must have seen the darker circles under your eyes from your lack of sleep, but he didn’t mention them.

all he did was move over slightly so there was room for you to sit next to him.

wordlessly, he draped the blanket that had been previously folded next to him on you.

you sad silently, watching the crappy crime show that was over 40 years old, that lando had on.

after the repeated plot formula becoming obvious after 5 episodes, your eyes finally felt heavy.

you didn’t notice that you fell asleep with your head on lando.

you didn’t know that he refused to move — even to grab the remote — as to not wake you.

you didn’t find out until morning and one of your friends had taken a photo of the two of you together, that he fell asleep too.

for the rest of the holiday, there were jokes of if you two were ‘going to take an afternoon nap together’, or if lando ‘misses you when he slept’.

one thing your friend said seemed to stick with you a little more than the others: ‘i knew you two had a thing for each other — don’t you see the way lando looks at you?’

(this was not proofread-)

lando taglist (lmk if you want to be added); @formulaal @landossnorriss @maxivstappen @bunnisplayground @sarx164 @itssssstiiiiimmmmmeeee @alex-lba @nichmeddar @djoenthusiast @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bowielovesyou @ln4obsessedb1tch @fairywriter-oracle @elieanana @weekendlusting @awritingtree @scorpiodiosa @papayadays @loxbbg @freyathehuntress @sunny44 @kodeelynn @lottalove4evelyn

[oracleredbullbabe]

friendly neighborhood boyfriend

spiderman!esteban ocon x reader

w.c.: 4.3k

warnings: curse words, mentions of violence

summary: WHY were your boyfriend’s clothes always scuffed up, his body always bruised, and his hands so freaking sticky??

a/n: sorry to any hardcore marvel and spiderman fans if there are any huge inaccuracies... i know close to nothing about the to the mcu spiderman lore besides a few watches of tom holland's spiderman movies so errr yeah.

picture credits from pinterest :)

present

three whole hours of doing nothing but waiting on your boyfriend’s stupid bunk bed had to be a new record- you’re sure of it. if there was a contest for this niche topic, you would literally be the reigning world champion. your last personal best was an hour and a half, which seemed pretty long, but was definitely miniscule to this new groundbreaking achievement of three hours. 

you were heavily considering filing a missing person’s report before the telltale noise of his squeaky fire escape window opening and the soft “thump” of his shoes landing on the carpet sounds in your ears.

estaban slips in like a ninja of some sort, which makes you roll your eyes. he innocently re-adjusts his clothes and brushes off any offending pieces of dust that had landed on his school backpack as if he didn’t just climb through his freaking window, seven stories up. you finally speak up when he reaches his hand towards the window panel. 

“what is the excuse this time, huh? did you like, take a detour to save the entire city of new york in the three hours it took for you to travel from our high school to your own house?” 

esteban freezes half-way in the middle of closing his window, looking alarmed, before his face morphs into a guilty frown when he sees you with your arms crossed on his blue bedspread. 

“i’m so, so, sorry baby!” he exclaims, hurriedly sliding the window all the way shut with a bang. “something came up again- i swear! i- i can explain! please don’t be mad at me!” 

you just sigh and roll your eyes, watching as esteban, like always, stutters out an excuse for his lateness as he peels off his mangy jacket that, more often than not, was dirt-coated. it was after-school detention a few days ago, an unplanned stop at the grocery store last week, and heavy traffic the week before that.

”let me guess… you got stuck in an elevator? subway delays? or maybe traffic again?”

”yes…?” esteban responds, nervously wringing his hands under your harsh glare. 

when it is clear you are not going to let up, he quickly reaches into his backpack, a mangled and stained piece of cloth that looked like it was on its last life, and pulls out a rather flattened object wrapped with wax paper. 

he holds it out to you like an apologetic offering.

“i also stopped by delmar’s deli grocery on my way back and got you your favorite - ham, cheese, pickle on french bread with mustard, grilled and pressed real flat,“ he says quietly.

you suppose you can forgive him- this time.

“alright,” you huff, taking the sandwich from his hand. “i guess i forgive you.” 

esteban brightens up almost immediately, and quickly skirts around the half-built lego death star littered on his bedroom floor to jump into his bed next to you as you take a huge bite from the sandwich. 

besides the fact that it was a little cold from sitting in your boyfriend’s backpack for a little while, it tasted absolutely scrumptious. 

in the minutes it takes for your boyfriend to lay his lanky self horizontal on the bed and place his head in your lap so you can rake one of your hands through his short black hair, you scarf down the last of the sandwich.

“merde!” he notes from your lap, looking at the empty spot in your hand where he swore the sandwich was a second ago. “was it that good?” 

you laugh, patting the top of his head. 

“of course- mr. delmar always makes the best-“

almost immediately, you are distracted by the most ginormous hole in his shirt that you were surprised you hadn’t noticed before. it lies on the area where his shoulder meets his neck, probably hidden from his jacket when he came in, but visible from the angle from above his head. the edges of the hole look burnt.

what the fuck? 

esteban looks at you quizzically when you pause your sentence. 

“-best..?”

“sorry, i got distracted by the biggest hole you have in your shirt right now,” you giggle, jokingly poking at the soft skin visible from where the hole resides.“did you blow something up in chemistry and get acid on your shirt or something?”

instead of laughing though, he hisses and shrinks away from your touch almost immediately.

you snatch your hand back with a gasp, feeling terrible for hurting your boyfriend, even if you didn’t mean to. 

“i-i-i’m so sorry,” you stutter out. “i didn’t know…?” 

”no, no, no, it’s fine- i’m fine- it’s all okay,” he says reassuringly, yet he still sits up and adjusts his shoulder gingerly.

”did someone beat you up at school, este?” you ask slowly, searching his face for answers. 

this isn’t the first time he came home with bruises on his body. bullies were the only possible explanation, and it wasn’t out of the park, considering there were some pretentious assholes at school who you knew openly disliked your boyfriend for no reason whatsoever. 

reaching up and placing a hand comfortingly on your shoulder, he looks you in the eye. 

“baby, thank you for your concern, but i’m okay- i promise- i just ran really hard, um, backwards, into a shelf, and there was this whole big thing about somebody dropping some cigarette ashes onto a part of my shirt, so that explains the whole burnt hole scenario.”

you obviously don’t buy it, but you still, you nod, hesitantly.

esteban smiles at you and squeezes your shoulder once reassuringly, before starting to turn back around to sprawl himself back in your lap.

however, to your horror, when he lifts his hand off of your shirt, it sticks to his hand like it’s superglued there. 

???

in your state of confusion, your boyfriend’s eyes widen and he yanks his hand back from your shirt, almost propelling you off of the bed from the force he exerts. 

“what the fuck was that, este?” you screech, looking at the shoulder at your shirt to see if there were somehow remnants of whatever magic your boyfriend used to temporarily glue his hand to your shirt. 

there isn’t, really- just a small white stain of sticky, web-like fluid?

”i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” he repeats, hands held high in the air away from you.

at this point, you snap. 

“esteban ocon, you need to explain right now. i just went through, like, five different emotions in the last five minutes, and i don’t know what just happened, but as your girlfriend, i need you to tell me why you always show up with your clothes scuffed up, body bruised, and fingers all sticky???” 

“i don’t,” he defends desperately.

you sigh. 

”let’s take a trip down memory lane, huh? last saturday?” 

last saturday 

your little kitten heels clack against the pavement, shiny and sleek against the dirty grime-covered grey of new york’s sidewalks. you wore it on purpose, obviously, along with one of your favorite outfits that you knew would leave esteban drooling. the hazy sky orange sky bleeds into black behind you, but the always-on lights of new york light up your jewels, leaving a shiny hue around your neck. 

the restaurant that you had booked almost a month in advance loomed overhead, fairy lights around its exterior that you knew would perfectly set the mood for you and your boyfriend’s two-year anniversary dinner. 

“yeah, i’m almost there,” you parrot back to your boyfriend on the phone as you squeeze through a group of noisy tourists who were- quite rudely- taking up the entire sidewalk. “i’m at the corner, like, a minute away from the french restaurant-“ 

before you can finish your sentence, a shrill scream from among the crowd of people interrupts. 

“hey! give me back my bag!”  

a masked man whips past you, knocking straight into a pretty girl in gym workout clothes nearby.

the giant protein shake in her hand flies out of her hand, and it is almost like slow motion when its contents splash across your clothes. 

“fuck!” you yelp. 

the shake is cold as it drips down the entire side of your right side. it smells like cookies and crème. 

esteban’s voice sounds frantic on the other side. 

“what? what? baby, are you okay? i’m on the way, just hold on!”

with the rise of crooks and supervillains in new york lately, it was no wonder that he sounded worried. 

“i’m fine,“ you reassure him. “just- let me call you back- there’s a situation where i’m at,” you reply quickly, glaring at the backside of the masked man who continues to scamper down the road with a bright pink purse that obviously didn’t belong to him. 

you jam the red “end call” button on your phone just in time to see the girl offer you a semi-moist gym towel. a monogrammed “abbi” is stitched on the edge. 

”i’m so, so, sorry!” the girl- abbi- blurts out apologetically. “i just left the alpine gym a block away and that-“ she gestures over to the man, who was now leaping across lanes of new york traffic, “-absolute dick just pushed me! i can, like, pay for your dry cleaning, if you want?” 

you start to reassure her, using the towel to dab up some of the bigger chunks of protein shake and unmixed powder, when, in the corner of your eye you spot a flash of red, blue and black from the metal scaffolding of a nearby construction site.

abbi’s mouth drops in amazement. 

“is that-?”

you stop dabbing the towel and turn, only to find the great superhero of the new york- the one and only spider-man- swing down onto the concrete, barely missing the tips of your heads.  

well, great. thanks, spiderman, for conveniently showing up now, you think. 

“hey ladies, no worries, i got this!” spider-man shouts, throwing finger guns at you both before sprinting towards the crook. 

he propels himself like a freaking rocket across the street onto the masked man with the purse, sending the both of them into a dirty puddle on the gutter of the sidewalk. they scuffle for a bit before spider-man successfully knocks out and ties the crook, semi damp and scuffed up, onto a nearby pole. 

huffing with exertion, he stands back up before swinging with his webs over the heavy traffic and back towards you and abbi with the bag hoisted on his shoulder. 

landing with a soft thump, he stiffly extends the bag out towards the pair of you, arm straight at a 90 degree angle with his body. 

“um, is this yours?” spider-man asks, voice barely muffled through his mask.

it wasn’t every day that an average new yorker saw spider-man in real life. he seemed a little- taller than you expected. and a little more…awkward.

“no, no, it’s not,” abbi says quickly. she looks starstruck, hand limply holding the half-empty shake container and the other barely gripping the dirty monogrammed towel you gave back.

“yeah, it’s not ours,” you say in support. “i think it was some lady way behind us.” 

spider-man scratches his head. 

“oh,” he says. “um, well okay.”

there’s a slight pause before he continues. 

“did um, any of you guys, want me to escort you to wherever you are going next? with all this, like, crime and all, going on, you know?” 

wherever you're going...shit, the anniversary dinner!

“i’m fine, thank you,” you assert, hurridly turning to go. “i have an dinner to get to with my boyfriend.” 

abbi, however, just about explodes with giddiness. 

“you? spiderman? escort me? yes please!” 

after sprinting like you were usain bolt into the french restaurant and avoiding the weird looks regarding the giant stain on your outfit, you are seated in a comfortable spot underneath the twinkling fairy lights. a waiter comes by and lights a few candles as well, creating what would have been a real romantic atmosphere- if esteban was there. 

present

“even after being held up by spider-man, i waited for like, twenty minutes in that restaurant, este.” 

your boyfriend shifts awkwardly on the bed. 

“yeah, but-” he starts.

“no, i’m not done,” you snap. “not only that, your entire dress shirt was literally wet and had unidentified scuff marks on it. care to explain yourself?”

he stays silent. 

you sigh. 

“even if i forgive you for that, how about you explain the weird bruises you got at the school fair on wednesday?” 

last wednesday

as the reigning associated body president, you were in charge of one of the biggest fundraisers at midtown school of science and technology- the grand fair. it was a tradition, at this point, for every president to host a larger, bigger, fair than the last in an effort to outdo one another. it always raked in thousands of dollars from the community that single-handedly funded many of the school’s programs.

last year, gwen, the asb president then, had somehow gotten bumper-cars as an attraction, which you decided to one-up by adding an enormous ferris wheel and dunk tank, which would more than likely look even more impressive. 

the new york state fair had nothing on you by the time you had most of the stalls set up an hour and a half before the event started. the cotton candy and popcorn machine was up and running, making whiffs of spun sugar and melted butter float over the quickly darkening site. between a few student workers, milling about, the little game stalls flashed red and yellow, advertising bean bag throwing or ring tosses to earn giant stuffed prizes shaped like the school mascot. 

esteban, being the good boyfriend he was, had volunteered to come “help” you organize and sort all the booths at the fair site, but you knew it was a pitiful excuse that would probably end up with him taking advantage of open booths and nicking a shit ton of cotton candy and kettle corn popcorn. 

like you predicted, after rounding the final grassy corner from the balloon darts booth, you spot your boyfriend metres away, sitting still and looking pretty at a little decorated picnic table stuffing his mouth with cotton candy.

so much for helping set up the stalls.

when esteban spots you from the table, he beams and waves energetically, teeth and lips colored an artificial strawberry pink.

“hi baby!” he shouts, startling a few classmates setting up and a few poor birds in the trees. “the fair is looking really good- and so is the food!”

you roll your eyes, but nonetheless blow a kiss to him. 

reaching a hand up, your boyfriend exaggeratedly mimes snatching your kiss out of the air and sliding it into his pocket before patting it protectively. 

you giggle softly and turn back towards the front of the venue after he blows an air-kiss back with a more-than audible smooching sound. even if he was a little goofy sometimes, he more than made up for it with all the love and support he gave you. 

weaving through small groups of students that were just-arriving, you flip through your clipboard of papers to do some last minute checks.

it’s not until a few seconds later when you hear a thundering sound of propellers behind you.

huh, you don’t remember setting up anything that involved propellers. 

curiously, you turn around  and snap your head up, only to meet a glowing green hoverboard paired with a grinning, wild haired man that immediately strikes fear in your heart, freezing your feet from moving.

the green goblin. 

“hiya there sweetie,” he says, peering down at you in a sickenly sweet voice. “do you know where your-“ 

before he can finish his sentence, a flash of blue-red flashes across the sky and sends the green goblin flying, narrowly missing the game stalls.

for the second time in a freaking week, you were graced with the presence of spider-man. but now, he was fighting green goblin. over your just-built fair. 

in all of new york, of all the times, green goblin decided to pick now to start a petty fight? 

almost immediately, screams from your classmates start up, blending weirdly with the jolly carnival music surrounding the atmosphere as the green goblin’s pumpkin bombs rain down from the sky. they sprint past you, pushing and shoving to get away from the potentially-deadly scene.

the first thought in your head is: esteban.

you force your legs to start moving to find your boyfriend in the now burning fair-site as the pair in the air above you crash straight into your house of mirrors, sending glass shards everywhere. 

even when you straight-up almost die after one of the bombs land a little too close to your feet, you continue searching through many of the booths and stalls for your boyfriend. there was no way you were going to let him die to something as stupid as one of spiderman’s city-demolishing fights. 

your search is largely unfruitful, even though you do find a few trapped classmates under a destroyed balloon-making stand as spider-man and green goblin grapple each other and do irreversible damage to your fair. 

by the time you find the picnic table your boyfriend was sitting at a few frightening minutes later, it didn’t even matter that spider-man had won the fight by propelling green goblin’s unresponsive body straight into the dunk-tank that you spent a wild amount of asb money on, because the table was entirely crushed, with your boyfriend nowhere in sight. 

an existential feeling of dread fills your chest. 

no. no. 

you wipe a few stray tears from your eyes. 

you refuse to accept this. esteban had to be around here somewhere. 

before you set off to look someplace else, a red-and-blue clad body blocks your path.

spider-man.

“are you okay?” he asks, patting your shoulder. 

you could almost throttle him.

”no!” you screech, on the verge of bursting into tears. “you fucking destroyed my entire fair, and now i can’t find my boyfriend!! why couldn’t you fight green goblin somewhere else?” 

spider-man recoils, snatching his hand back.

 “i-i-i’m sure he’s fine,” he stutters out. “he’s probably, you know-“ he gestures around the burning debris next to him- “around..here.” 

you’re not satisfied with spider-man’s flippant answer. what if esteban was buried under a bunch of heavy wood planks? what if he was trapped underneath a fiery inferno? 

although you were pissed at the so called “hero” in front of you, you couldn’t help but admit that he would probably be the best chance in finding your boyfriend. 

trying your best to hold yourself together, you snap, “look, spider-man, can you just please find my boyfriend? he’s kind of tall, has straight short black hair.. i just can’t bear losing him right now, okay?” 

he nods once, tersely, before swinging off into the flames. 

it doesn’t even take five minutes before your esteban steps out behind a wrecked hot dog stall. even if he looks absolutely disheveled, with countless bruises littering his arms and a half-ripped shirt, you can’t help but to run straight into his arms, feeling his body against yours. 

your boyfriend tucks you into him, making sure to pat head comfortingly. 

“hi baby, you okay?” he asks a little too nonchalantly, as if you both weren’t standing in the midst of what looked like to be the aftermath of a meteor shower. 

“no!” you shoot back, leaning backwards to look up at his face. your face must be streaked with tears, but you didn’t care at this point. “i genuinely thought you died, esteban.” 

“ah,” he replies. “well i, um, didn’t, so that’s good. i just, you know, went to the bathroom.” 

present

“don’t get me wrong, esteban, i was super glad you were fine that i didn’t really question you, but now i realize- what the hell were you doing in the bathroom that got you bruises that bad?”

your boyfriend wrings his hands. 

“i, like, ran into the bathroom door really hard after i heard those banging sounds from outside the restroom.” 

hmm. 

you roll your eyes.

”okay, how about yesterday when you got literally everything in my room sticky during our physics study session?” 

esteban raises and eyebrow before snorting, seemingly taking your words a different way.

you huff. boys and their dirty minds.

“no! i’m being serious!” 

yesterday

although your boyfriend could somehow ace physical education class, no problem, and run a mile in, like, under six minutes, he struggled sometimes with other subjects. thirty one sit-ups? sure. thirty one algebra or physics questions? eh, not so much.  

good thing though, he had a top-of-the-class, straight a student as a girlfriend. 

by hosting impromptu study sessions (that honestly usually ended with you both making out on your bed since esteban got distracted pretty easily), you were able to boost his average grade up to a moderately acceptable level.

currently, your room looked like an absolute mess, with esteban’s physics papers scattered everywhere on the floor, eraser shavings all throughout the area, and your heavy textbook flipped open halfway.

“alright, next problem!" you exclaim. "what is the net force of a race car on a 30 degree-angled bank- are you even listening?” 

while you read out the next question on his homework, it is clear that your boyfriend’s attention has drifted elsewhere, specifically the tv mounted on the corner of your room. 

you knew you should have turned it off before you started tutoring him.

when you glance over to what has caught your boyfriend’s attention, the screen blares an all-too-common scene of a bank robbery that was taking place a few blocks away. from the helicopter live-footage through the side of the bank's glass window pane, a masked man greedily stuffs green bills into his camo bag. 

it doesn’t cause you that much concern though. you knew spider-man, the sometimes good/sometimes bad friendly neighborhood hero would show up soon or later to patch up the situation, so you reach over the papers to tap esteban gently on the shoulder. 

“okay baby, focus! you’re literally almost done with the worksheet!”

instead of snapping his attention back to the work though, he scoots back rather hurriedly and announces that he was going to get something to eat. 

you let him rush out of the room, knowing that he was probably going to be stuffing his face with the fresh pain au chocolat that your mother had freshly made a few hours ago.

meanwhile, you scribble shapeless blobs on the corner of your history homework. 

the news network on your tv moves on from the robbery (like anticipated, spider-man came in, swinging on his webs, and slingshotted the robber against the bank wall) to some car race in australia by the time your boyfriend skips back into your room, slamming the door behind him with a flourish. 

you pat the seat next to you, gesturing for him to sit down. 

he peers at your tv for a quick second before settling down next to you. 

“welcome back, este!” you say enthusiastically. “don’t worry- you didn’t miss much from the tv- just spider-man saving a bank or whatever.” 

“oh,” your boyfriend murmurs, fiddling with a pencil. “was- was he cool?”

”huh?” you blurt out, puzzled.

he waves you off quickly, setting the pencil down and scooting closer to your desk.

”no, nothing, just joking. so um, where were we on the physics homework?” 

you send him a weird look before shuffling his papers back to how it was before. 

“ok, back to the problem- what is the net force of a race car on a 30-degree angled bank…”

when you finish re-reading the problem, you reach over to grab the pencil that esteban put down to draw out a diagram to clarify the problem, when surprisingly, it doesn’t budge. 

even when you pull as hard as you could, the pencil stays stubbornly stuck to the desk.

what the..? 

present

“okay,” esteban says, waving his hands in the air as if it was clarifying things. “i went to your kitchen to eat those éclairs your mom made, remember? i got the crème filling on my hands, and it got on the pencil and everything, so that’s why it got stuck to the table...” 

you were so done with this guy. 

“este- my mom didn’t make éclairs- she made pain au chocolat!” 

caught up in his lie, there was nothing your boyfriend could do but to scratch his head awkwardly and pretend not to make eye contact with you. 

scoffing, you shake your head. honestly, you didn’t understand why your boyfriend had to lie all the time. what did he even have to hide? 

pushing off the bed, you take off your piece of clothing with the weird stain that had came from esteban’s hands in one smooth motion. it was probably best to get the stain out immediately before it ruined your shirt. besides, it would give him a chance to reflect. maybe then he’d tell you. 

before walking out to throw your laundry in the wash, you sternly tell off your boyfriend.

”este, i suggest you tell me whatever it is you’re hiding after i come back from starting up the laundry, because, as your girlfriend, i think i deserve to know, no?”

chucking your piece of clothing into the washing machine, you decide to wash a few articles of esteban’s clothes as well, cause hey, it saves water, right?

you throw in a few mismatched socks, a scuffed up hoodie, and a worn shirt before you spot a flash of red-spandex like material at the bottom of his basket. 

brushing aside a rolled-up pair of jeans, your eyes widen almost comically when you spot what it really is. tucked haphazardly at the bottom of your boyfriend’s laundry basket is a wrinkled spider-man mask.

general taglist: @ellelabelle @n0vazsq

[oracleredbullbabe]

SUGAR SWEET | Max Verstappen (18*+)

Max Verstappen x F! Reader

Summary — You like pretty things, and you’re willing to do whatever it takes to make sure you get what you want.

Notes — 18+ content, daddy kink, sugar daddy!max, oral (male receiving).

Do we want more sugar daddy max? Let me know what you’d like to see!

"Daddy?" You fluttered your eyelashes and began a slow crawl from the foot of the queen bed to where he was lounging, right in the centre of your queensized, silk-dressed divan. You settled yourself on your knees beside his hips, gazing down at him with those dove-eyes that he couldn't help but adore.

Max’s eyes were stuck on you like glue. They were dark and hooded and held a dark promise of repentance.

His dress pants had been discarded beside the bed. He was in a pair of black Calvin Kleins and nothing else.

He looked expensive. Dangerous. Untouchable.

You couldn't get enough. You were drunk on his power.

You pulled your bottom lip beneath your teeth and rested your palms on your thighs. "About that pretty handbag I saw at the store today.."

A slow eyebrow raise had you flustered and pressing your lips together to hide an embarrassed smile.

"Daddy," you complained, hands coming up to cover your cheeks when you felt them heating up.

He liked to tease you, and he liked watching you blush.

Most of all, he liked the way that even after years of spoiling you, of drowning you in expensive jewellery and extravagant gifts and anything you'd ever dreamed of — you still got flustered every time you'd ask him for things directly.

"S'okay, princess." He muttered, reaching a hand up to caress your bare hip. You were wearing one of those silk robes that you couldn't get enough of, and even though they retailed at almost four-hundred a piece, he'd filled an entire section of your closet with every color they made. His hand slowly rose to rest over your rib cage, his rings cold against your skin. "Take your time, schat." He murmured, hands still all over you.

You were sat just how he liked you.

He'd happily laze there all day long, just staring at you there, on your knees with those eyes staring at him, big and beautiful and wanting.

"I really liked it," you pushed the words out of your mouth in a rush of syllables, shuffling where you sat. "I've never seen such a pretty pink," you said breathily, thinking back on how beautiful and eye-catching and perfect it'd been.

Max licked his lips, smirking as stars appeared in your eyes. He squeezed his hand where it was already on your body and your eyes snapped back to him.

"And you’d like your daddy to buy it for you, hm?"

You nodded shyly.

The hand on your ribs started to rise again. You arched your spine as his fingertips brushed over your nipples through the satin.

His hand settled on your cheek. "Are you going to be a good girl and ask properly, yes?"

You chewed on your bottom lip and nodded quickly, eager as ever.

"And you going to do as you’re told?"

You nodded again, somehow quicker and more sure this time.

His responding smirk made your stomach quiver with excitement.

And then his hand was pressing on the back of your head and guiding you toward his hips. Your small hands pushed down his boxers on command, so good for your daddy, always so obedient.

Your drool rubbed over the tip of his cock. You hesitated for no more than a second before you wrapped your fingers around his length and gentle glided your thumb over the tiny gathering of pre-cum on the tip.

He grunted, hips stuttering upward, and you had to swallow around him to avoid choking on his girth.

"Atta girl." He muttered, and then the hand in your hair was leading you down.

You took him with a practised ease, only a small surprised splutter emitting as he pushed you down once again with more force than you'd expected.

You let him guide you, let him take the lead and show you exactly how he wanted you to take care of him.

You ran your tongue along the underside of his cock as he pulled your head up, eyes burning as he watching the spit trail connect your mouth to him even once he'd left your mouth.

And then he was back in your mouth and your nose was pressed to his stomach, eyes fluttering as you gazed up at him; your tongue dancing and your throat contracting around him.

"Little princess loves a cock in her mouth." He cooed, and your cheeks flamed at the praise. You whimpered around him and he couldn't contain the pleasured groan that fell out of his mouth.

"Fuck, baby. Just like that."

Your entire body thrummed pleasantly with his appraisal. You nodded the best you could.

Spreading your hands across his lower stomach and digging the tips of your expensive manicure into his skin; the bite of pain that you knew he liked making him moan low in his throat.

"Only good girls whore themselves out to their daddy for a new handbag." He growled out, his eyes fluttering shut just briefly before he bucked his hips upwards and you choked on him, the movement taking you by surprise.

His hand fisted against your scalp, pulling so tightly at the roots that your scalp burned.

Thrilled tingles ran down your spine. You squeezed your eyes shut, and tears dropped from your eyes. Your drool shined on your daddy's lower stomach and now your tears would decorate his skin too.

"Going to finish on your pretty face, schat, then I’ll get you all cleaned up and we’ll go straight back to the store to buy you whatever you want." He promised.

Then he pulled your mouth away from his pulsing cock and released your hair in order to use his hand to wipe your drool across your cheek. "Make me cum, princess."

That was not an order that you would ever disobey.

Your hand slid around the base of him as your mouth lowered to gently suck the tip into your mouth.

You were desperate to bring him to the edge. It was a sign of achievement, of the pure balance behind your arrangement.

You made him happy, and in return, he kept you draped in diamonds.

It was fucking perfect.

Your tongue drew hearts around his tip as your hand furiously moved up and down, up and down, up and down...

And then his hand was in your hair, your mouth was pulled off of him, and thick, hot stripes landed on your face, on your cheeks and your nose and on your tongue.

You panted as you stared up at him, relishing the deep kind of satisfaction in his eyes.

Only you could make him feel like that.

"Good, sweet girl." He droned out, thumb rubbing over your face to wipe away a bead of cum before it fell into your eye.

You pushed your head into his head and sucked his thumb into your mouth, maintaining eye-contact as you slowly sucked it clean.

He groaned and captured your jaw in his hand, pulling you in for a firm kiss. "Such a good girl."

You smiled prettily at him, all glazed over eyes and panted little breaths.

And then you started planning which scarf you wanted to pair with your new handbag.

[oracleredbullbabe]

but daddy i love him. part two - mv1

summary: in the world of formula 1, where competition runs deep and loyalties are tested, yn wolff and max verstappen found themselves caught in the middle . as the daughter of mercedes team principal and the rising red bull star, they must navigate the balance between rivalries and love. wc:13.5k. READ PART ONE

folkie radio: HERE IT IS !!!! THE OTHER PART OF THEIR STORY !!! first of all i want to thank you all for the incredible support on part one, it was so nice to read all of your feedback ! please make sure to leave some feedback on this part as well. let me know ALL of your thoughts, and most importantly, ENJOY!

Monaco, 2021

The two weeks after Abu Dhabi are the longest of your life. Your phone remains silent - no late-night calls, no secret messages, no pictures of the cats that Max knows always make you smile. The space where he used to be feels enormous.

Your father is still dealing with the aftermath, appeals and media statements consuming his days. You watch him move through the house like a storm cloud, muttering about Masi and the FIA, and think about Max's words: "perfect Mercedes daughter."

You've never felt less perfect.

It's late one night when the doorbell rings. You're alone in the apartment - the one that's technically yours but has become a sanctuary for both of you over the past year. When you open the door, Max is standing there, looking as exhausted as you feel.

"Hi," he says softly.

You stand aside to let him in, heart pounding.

"I'm sorry," he says before you can speak. "I was cruel that night. You didn't deserve that."

"No, I didn't."

He runs a hand through his hair - a gesture so familiar it makes your chest ache. "I was high on winning, angry you weren't there, and I took it out on you. But that's not an excuse."

"I'm sorry too," you move closer. "You were right about some things. I should have been there for your celebration. It was your moment."

"It wasn't just my moment though, was it?" He sits on the couch, looking up at you. "It was your father's worst nightmare. Lewis' heartbreak. The most controversial end to a season ever." He laughs quietly. "Not exactly the best timing to announce we're in love."

You sit beside him, careful to maintain a small distance. "So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying… you were right. Telling them now, with everything so raw… it would be like throwing fuel on a fire." He reaches for your hand, and you let him take it. "I was so focused on finally being able to tell everyone, I didn't think about what that would mean for you. For your relationship with your dad."

"Max…"

"No, let me finish." His thumb traces patterns on your palm - another familiar gesture that makes tears prick at your eyes. "I've spent six years loving you. I can wait a bit longer for the timing to be right. For the wounds to heal a bit."

"What about what you said? About not being my dirty little secret anymore?"

"You're not keeping me a secret because you're ashamed," he says quietly. "You're protecting your family. And mine too, probably. Can you imagine Jos' reaction if we told him now?"

You both wince at the thought.

"So what do we do?" you ask.

He tugs you closer until you're against his chest, where you can hear his heartbeat - steady and strong and familiar. "We love each other. We wait for the right moment. And this time…" he kisses your head, "this time we decide together when that moment is. No ultimatums, no pressure."

"I missed you," you whisper into his shirt.

"I missed you too. These two weeks…" he shudders slightly. "Never again, okay? No matter how angry we get, no silence. We talk it out."

You lift your head to look at him properly. "Promise?"

Instead of answering, he kisses you - soft and sweet and apologetic. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

"I love you," he says. "Mercedes daughter and all."

You laugh through sudden tears. "I love you too. Even when you're being an insufferable World Champion."

"Speaking of…" he grins, that boyish smile you fell in love with all those years ago, "I believe this is the first time I'm kissing you as a World Champion."

"Technically you've already kissed me as a World Champion."

"Ah, but that was angry championship kissing. This is making up championship kissing. Completely different."

You roll your eyes but let him pull you closer. "Is that so?"

"Mhmm. Much better. Want me to demonstrate the difference?"

Later, curled up in bed together, you talk about the future - not just when to tell everyone, but what comes after. Houses and holidays and maybe someday kids who'll have Wolff determination and Verstappen speed.

"Your dad might actually kill me when we tell him," Max muses, playing with your hair.

"Probably. But at least by then he might have calmed down about Abu Dhabi."

"That's optimistic of you."

You prop yourself up on an elbow to look at him. "Are you okay with waiting? Really okay?"

He considers this, serious now. "Yeah, I am. Because this time it feels different. This time we're deciding together." He touches your face gently. "And because this time I know you're not running away."

"Never again," you promise. "No more running."

As you fall asleep in his arms, you think about timing and choices and love that survives silence. Maybe it's not perfect - sneaking around, hiding from families, loving in the shadows.

But it's yours. And for now, that's enough.

2022

After Abu Dhabi last year, you and Max spent a quiet Christmas apart with your respective families, but managed to escape for New Year's. Away from the media frenzy and family tensions, you found peace in the simple moments - cooking together, watching movies, Max trying (and failing) to teach you sim racing.

On New Year's Eve, standing on your balcony watching fireworks illuminate the harbor, Max held you from behind. "This is how I want every year to start," he murmured against your neck.

"Just us?"

"Just us. No drama, no hiding, no championships on the line."

You turned in his arms. "Well, about that last part…"

"Okay, maybe some championships," he grinned. "But the rest… we'll figure it out, right?"

"We will," you promised, sealing it with a kiss as the clock struck midnight.

The first weeks of 2022 brought exciting changes. Susie announced her plans for the F1 Academy, a project aimed at supporting young female drivers, and immediately asked you to join her team.

"I need someone I can trust completely," she said during one of your planning sessions. "Someone who understands both the technical and human side of racing."

"Are you sure? It's a huge responsibility."

"YN, you're perfect for this. You've grown up in this sport, you understand the challenges these girls will face." Susie squeezed your hand. "Plus, you're the only person besides Toto who can match my caffeine consumption during race weekends."

Working closely with Susie brought you closer than ever. She became more than just your father's wife - she was your confidante, mentor, and friend. You spent long hours together, planning programs, reviewing applications, discussing how to break down barriers in motorsport.

Which made the current breakfast situation even more uncomfortable.

"Andreas has an impressive background in aerodynamics," Toto was saying, seemingly oblivious to your discomfort. "Oxford educated, worked with Ferrari's junior program…"

"Dad," you interrupted, pushing your eggs around your plate. "Can we maybe not?"

"I'm just saying, YN, you should give him a chance. He's exactly the kind of person who would understand your world."

Lewis and George exchanged knowing looks while Susie watched you carefully.

"The new regulations are keeping me busy enough," you tried. "Between that and the Academy with Susie…"

"There's always time for personal life," Toto persisted. "You're young, successful, beautiful. You shouldn't spend all your time buried in work."

After breakfast, Susie found you in your office, surrounded by Academy paperwork.

"Want to talk about it?" she asked, closing the door.

"About Dad's sudden career as a matchmaker?"

"He means well," Susie sat across from you. "He just wants you to be happy."

"Can you maybe… talk to him? Get him to drop it?"

"Why? Andreas seems like a lovely young man. Smart, ambitious…"

You set down your pen, heart racing. This was it - the moment to trust someone else with your secret.

"I… I already have someone."

Susie's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? How did I not know about this?"

"Because…" you took a deep breath. "Because it's complicated. Really complicated."

"YN," Susie leaned forward, "you can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

"It's Max," you whispered. "Max Verstappen."

Susie's eyes widened, but she didn't immediately speak. She got up, locked your office door, and sat back down.

"How long?"

"Since 2015, on and off, you know that story. But seriously since I came back in 2020."

"Through everything? The championship battle?"

You nodded, tears forming. "It was… difficult. Especially Abu Dhabi."

"Oh, sweetheart," Susie moved to your side, pulling you into a hug. "That must have been awful for you."

"You're not… mad?"

"Mad? Why would I be mad?"

"Because he's Red Bull, because of everything with Dad…"

"Listen to me," Susie pulled back to look at you. "Love doesn't care about team colors. God knows this sport has enough rivalry without policing people's hearts too."

"I don't know what to do," you admitted. "We want to tell everyone, but after Abu Dhabi…"

"The timing's not great," Susie agreed. "But YN, you can't hide forever. It'll only get harder."

"I know. But Papa…"

"Your father loves you more than anything in this world. More than Mercedes, more than championships." She squeezed your hands. "Will he be shocked? Absolutely. Probably throw something expensive. But he'll come around."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I've seen how he looks at you - like you're still that little girl who used to fall asleep in the garage. He might not like your choice, but he'll respect it. Eventually."

"He was furious back then, said Max was too young, too reckless, that it would end in disaster. He threatened to send me back to boarding school."

"That explains a lot," Susie said softly. "Why he's been so pushy about these 'suitable' men lately."

"He thinks he protected me back then. Maybe he did - we were young, and things got messy. But now…"

"Now you're both different people," Susie finished. She was quiet for a moment, thinking. "You know what the real issue was back then?"

"That Max was the enemy?" you said dryly.

"No. That Toto couldn't control it. He's used to managing everything, planning ten steps ahead. But this…" she gestured vaguely, "this wasn't in his carefully constructed plan for you."

"I never wanted to disappoint him."

"Hey," Susie's voice was firm. "Loving someone isn't disappointing. It's probably the bravest thing we do."

"Thanks," you whisper, hugging Susie tightly. "For understanding. For not judging."

"Just... be careful, okay? And know that I'm here if you need to talk."

The conversation with Susie lifts a weight you didn't realize you were carrying. Having someone know, someone in your corner, makes everything feel more manageable.

Bahrain, 2022

The morning of the Bahrain Grand Prix buzzed with the familiar nervous energy of a season opener. You were in one of the back offices of the F1 Academy, triple-checking schedules and programs for the upcoming season, when you felt arms wrap around you from behind.

"Shouldn't you be in pre-race prep?" you asked, trying to sound stern but failing to hide your smile.

"I have fifteen minutes," Max murmured, pressing a kiss to your neck. "Wanted to wish you luck. Big day for you too."

You turned in his arms. "Nervous?"

"About the race? Nah." He grinned. "About you stealing the spotlight with the Academy launch? Terrified."

"Idiot," you laughed, playing with the collar of his race suit. "As if anything could overshadow the great Max Verstappen."

"Hey," his expression turned serious. "What you're doing here… it's important. You're going to change lives."

"Now who's being dramatic?"

"I mean it," he insisted. "You remember what it was like, being the only girl in karting? These kids won't have to feel that way because of you and Susie."

"Well... I quit karting after a year," you joke and Max rolls his eyes, "Oh come on, just kiss me before you have to go all defending world champion on track."

And he does, but before you can go any further the door opened.

"YN, have you seen the timing sheets from- OH SHIT!"

George Russell stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide as saucers. You and Max jumped apart like teenagers caught by their parents.

"I… um… I should…" George stammered, pointing vaguely behind him.

"George, wait!" You rushed to close the door before he could escape. "Please…"

"This is literally my first day as a Mercedes driver and I'm already caught in..." he gestures wildly between you and Max.

"George," you step forward, "you CANNOT tell my dad."

"I... what... how long..." he stammers.

"Please," Max speaks up, "We'll explain everything, just... keep this between us?"

George looks between you and Max, then sighs dramatically. "Well, I guess this is one way to start my Mercedes career - harboring my team principal's daughter's secret relationship with our biggest rival."

"Welcome to Mercedes?" you offer weakly.

"Right," George shakes his head, but he's fighting a smile. "I'm going to leave, pretend I never saw this, and maybe drink enough tonight to forget it entirely."

As he turns to go, he pauses. "But for what it's worth? Your secret's safe with me."

The door closes behind him, and you collapse against Max, half laughing, half panicking.

"Well," Max says dryly, "that's one more person who knows. At this rate, the only person who won't know will be your father."

You looked up at him. "You should go. GP will be looking for you."

"Yeah," he sighed, but made no move to leave. "Good luck today. Show them what the Wolff women can do."

"Good luck to you too. Try not to make Dad throw anything at the TV?"

He laughed, kissing you quickly. "No promises. But hey," he paused at the door, "for what it's worth, George's reaction wasn't terrible. Maybe there's hope for the others too."

As you watched him leave, you couldn't help but smile. One more person in their corner, one more step toward not hiding. Maybe, just maybe, the universe was trying to tell you something.

Singapore, 2022

The humidity of Singapore still clung to the air as most of the paddock crowded into Marquee, celebrating another street circuit spectacle. The bass pulsed through the exclusive VIP section where drivers and key personnel gathered.

You were at the bar with Lewis when Andreas appeared, looking particularly polished.

"YN Wolff," he smiled, a bit too confidently. "I was hoping to find you here."

You caught Lewis' subtle eye roll as he conveniently spotted someone he "needed to talk to."

"Andreas, hi," you tried to sound polite but distant, very aware of Max watching from across the room where he sat with Lando and Charles.

"You looked beautiful today in the paddock," he moved closer. "That dress you wore to the team dinner…"

"Thanks," you cut him off, scanning for an escape route. You found none.

"Your father mentions you're still single," he continued, either oblivious to or ignoring your discomfort. "I find that hard to believe."

At the other end of the VIP section, Max's jaw clenched as he watched the scene unfold.

"Mate, you're going to break that glass," Lando noted, watching Max's white-knuckled grip on his drink.

"Who is that guy?" Charles asked, following Max's gaze.

"Some engineer Toto's trying to set YN up with," Lando explained, then froze, realizing what he'd revealed.

Charles' eyes widened. "Wait, why do you know that? And why does Max look like he's about to commit murder?"

Before Lando could deflect, Max stood abruptly as Andreas placed his hand on your lower back.

"Oh shit," Lando muttered.

"I don't understand," Charles said, watching Max stride across the room. "Why is he- oh. OH."

Back at the bar, you were trying to subtly remove Andreas hand when you felt a familiar presence behind you.

"Everything okay here?" Max's voice was controlled, but you could hear the edge in it.

Andreas looked annoyed at the interruption. "We're fine, thank you."

"I wasn't asking you," Max said coldly, then softer: "YN?"

You turned toward him gratefully. "Actually, Max, would you mind helping me with something?"

"Of course," he placed his hand where Andreas' had been, but this touch was different - protective, familiar, right.

Andreas looked between you two, confusion turning to understanding. "Wait, are you…"

"She's not interested," Max said simply. "Never was."

You let Max guide you away from the bar, very aware of the eyes following you. Lando and Charles weren't even trying to hide their interest now, and you noticed Carlos and Pierre joining them, speaking in hushed tones.

"You didn't have to do that," you said quietly.

"Yes, I did." Max's hand hadn't left your back. "I'm tired of watching guys hit on my girlfriend because they think she's available."

You reached the relative privacy of a corner booth. "Max…"

"I know, I know. We're being careful. But YN," he turned to face you, "half the paddock already suspects something. Charles and Carlos are literally taking bets right now."

You glanced over - sure enough, money was being exchanged. "Great."

"Would it be so terrible?" Max asked. "If people knew?"

"No," you admitted. "But Dad…"

"Will find out eventually. Wouldn't you rather he heard it from us than through paddock gossip?"

You were about to respond when George appeared, slightly out of breath.

"You two need to be more subtle," he hissed. "Lando just asked me if there was something going on between you."

"What did you say?" you asked anxiously.

"I'm a terrible liar! I just made a noise and ran away!"

Max couldn't help laughing. "Smooth, Russell."

"This isn't funny," George insisted. "Look!"

You followed his gesture. The other drivers were gathered together, all of them looking your way occasionally.

"Oh god," you groaned. "They all know, don't they?"

"If they didn't before, they do now," George confirmed. "Max's little knight-in-shining-armor act wasn't exactly subtle."

"He had his hands all over you," Max defended.

"His hand was on my back for two seconds!"

"Two seconds too long."

George looked between you, amused. "You two are ridiculous. Also, heads up - Lando is coming over."

Sure enough, Lando was making his way through the crowd. He slid into your booth without invitation, expression unreadable.

"So," he said calmly, "how long?"

You glanced at Max, who squeezed your hand under the table. "Since 2020."

"Through the championship battle?" When you nodded, Lando let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl. That must have been…"

"Horrible," you finished. "But we managed."

Lando studied Max for a moment. "You better be sure about this. Because when Toto finds out…"

"I am," Max said firmly. "We both are."

"Good." Lando smiled finally. "Because I'm pretty sure Daniel just started a betting pool on how Toto's going to react, and I've got money on him throwing his headphones."

"Lando!" you exclaimed.

"What? Might as well profit from the drama." He stood up. "For what it's worth, I think it's kind of perfect. In a weird, Romeo and Juliet way."

"They both died in that story," George pointed out.

"Details," Lando waved him off. "Come on, George. Let's go see what odds Daniel's offering."

As they left, you buried your face in Max's shoulder. "This is a disaster."

"Is it?" he asked, running his hand up your arm. "Look around - no one seems shocked or angry. Well, except maybe Andreas."

You peaked up - he was right. The drivers were all still watching, but their expressions were mostly amused or knowing. Carlos gave you a thumbs up when he caught your eye.

"I guess the secret's out," you sighed. "At least in this room."

"Good." Max tilted your chin up. "Because I really want to kiss you right now."

"Max! Everyone's watching."

"Let them watch."

And before you could protest, he kissed you. When you pulled back, Max was grinning. "See? World didn't end."

"No," you said softly, "It really didn't."

The night continued, but differently now. No more hiding in corners or pretending not to know each other. Just you and Max, surrounded by friends who were apparently more supportive than you'd imagined.

Now you just had to figure out how to tell your father that his entire team - including his wife - had known about your relationship before him.

A late afternoon in Monaco, in Toto's office overlooking the harbor. What had started as a routine pre-race weekend meeting had quickly derailed when Andreas' name came up again.

"He asked about you again," Toto said, shuffling some papers on his desk. "He's a good man, YN. Smart, ambitious…"

"Dad," you cut in, "I've told you, I'm not interested in Andreas."

"You haven't even given him a chance," he insisted. "One dinner…"

"No."

Toto sighed, that familiar mix of frustration and concern crossing his face. "Liebling, I worry about you. Ever since that rebellious phase with Verstappen when you were eighteen…"

You tensed, feeling your heart rate spike. In the corner, you saw Lewis shift uncomfortably - he'd been quietly reviewing race strategies, but now he was fully alert.

"Dad…"

"You haven't been serious about anyone," Toto continued. "I know that boy hurt you, but you can't let one teenage romance…"

"You don't know anything about it," you said quietly, dangerously.

"I know enough. I know he was reckless, impulsive. I know ending it was the right decision."

Lewis cleared his throat. "Toto, maybe we should focus on qualifying…"

But Toto was on a roll now. "Andreas is different. He understands our world, he's stable…"

"He's boring," you snapped. "And you don't get to decide who I date."

"I'm trying to protect you!"

"From what?" You stood up. "From making my own choices? From being with someone who actually makes me happy?"

"Max Verstappen did not make you happy!" Toto's voice rose. "He was a distraction, a rebellion…"

"He was everything!" The words exploded out before you could stop them.

The office went deadly quiet. Lewis had his head in his hands.

"What?" Toto asked softly, dangerously.

You swallowed hard, years of secrets sitting heavy on your tongue. "You didn't protect me back then, Dad. You forced us apart. But you want to know something? He was never just a rebellion."

Toto stands slowly, his expression unreadable. "What are you saying, YN?"

You take a deep breath, catching Lewis' subtle head shake in your peripheral vision. The words are there, the whole truth ready to spill out, but... not like this. Not in anger.

"I'm saying I'm not eighteen anymore," you say finally, your voice steady. "I'm a grown woman who runs part of this team, who's helping build the F1 Academy with Susie. I make my own choices - about my career, about my life, about who I date."

"I only want what's best for you," Toto says, softer now.

"Then trust me to know what that is." You move toward the door, pausing with your hand on the handle. "And please, stop trying to set me up with Andreas. Or anyone else."

Zandvoort, 2022

The Dutch air mingles with the lingering scent of champagne in Max's private motorhome. The celebrations outside are still going strong - Dutch fans painting Zandvoort orange in honor of their hero's home win - but here, in this quiet space, it's just the two of you.

"Happy birthday," Max says softly, pulling a small wrapped package from behind his back. You're curled up on his couch, still wearing his Red Bull team jacket that you'd snuck on after everyone else had left.

"You already said that this morning," you smile, but take the package. "And before the race. And after you won."

"Well, it's not every day you turn twenty-five. And it's not every day I win at home on your birthday."

The package reveals a delicate gold necklace with a tiny racing helmet charm. But when you look closer, you notice something engraved on the back of the helmet - 15.03.15.

"The day we met," you whisper, running your finger over the date.

"I thought about getting something more obvious, but since we're still keeping us quiet…" He takes the necklace, moving behind you to clasp it around your neck. "This way you can wear it without anyone asking questions."

You touch the charm resting against your collarbone. "It's perfect."

"Unlike the cake situation," he grins, glancing at the remains of what was supposed to be a homemade birthday cake on the counter. "I really did try."

You laugh, remembering walking in to find Max covered in flour, frustration etched on his face as he stared at the somewhat lopsided creation. "The thought counts. Though maybe stick to driving?"

"Hey, I won today! I deserve some respect."

"You always win here," you tease. "It's your home race."

"True." He pulls you closer, until you're practically in his lap. "But winning on your birthday makes it special. Even if I couldn't kiss you in parc ferme."

"Dad would have had a heart attack right there in the garage."

"Speaking of Toto…" Max's voice turns serious. "How was the birthday lunch with him?"

You think back to the awkward meal, where your father had once again tried to subtly mention Andreas. "Same as usual. He means well."

"Still pushing the Andreas agenda?"

"Mhmm. Though Susie shut it down pretty quickly this time." You play with the helmet charm. "Can we not talk about it tho?

Max kisses your temple. "Whatever you want. It's your birthday - you make the rules."

"In that case…" you turn to face him properly. "I want to dance."

He groans. "YN…"

"Birthday rules," you remind him, already standing and pulling out your phone. When the first notes of a slow song fill the motorhome, you hold out your hand. "Dance with your birthday girl, World Champion."

He takes your hand, pulling you close as you sway together. Outside, you can still hear the distant sounds of celebrating fans, but in here it's just the music, Max's heartbeat under your ear, and the weight of a tiny gold helmet against your skin.

"This is nice," Max murmurs into your hair. "Though if anyone sees the mighty Max Verstappen slow dancing…"

"Your reputation will survive." You lift your head to look at him. "Thank you for making my birthday special, even if we had to celebrate in secret."

"Next year," he promises, "we'll do it properly. Big party, everyone we love, no hiding."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He spins you gently. "But for now…" He dips you dramatically, making you laugh. "I kind of like having birthday girl all to myself."

You kiss him then, tasting chocolate and victory champagne and love that's grown from teenage rebellion into something unshakeable.

"Best birthday ever," you whisper against his lips.

Outside, Zandvoort celebrates its champion. Inside, in this quiet space that belongs just to you, you celebrate something else - another year of loving each other, of building a life in the spaces between public and private, of planning for a future where you won't have to choose between family and love.

For now, though, you're content to dance in a motorhome, wearing his team jacket and a gold helmet that carries your history, celebrating not just your birthday but everything you've built together.

Monaco, Summer 2023

The sleek car glides through Monaco's winding streets, but you can barely focus on the stunning views. Max's mysterious smile has you intrigued and slightly nervous - he's been unusually secretive all day.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" you ask for probably the tenth time, fidgeting with the sleeve of your sundress.

"Patience," he says, taking one hand off the wheel to squeeze yours. "We're almost there."

"You know I hate surprises."

He laughs. "No, you love surprises. You just hate not being in control."

He turns onto a quiet street lined with elegant villas, each one more beautiful than the last. The Mediterranean stretches out below, a perfect azure canvas. Your heart starts racing when he pulls into a driveway. The house is stunning - modern yet classic, with large windows and a terrace overlooking the sea.

"Max…" you start, but he's already out of the car and opening your door.

"Come on," he says, taking your hand. His excitement is palpable as he leads you to the front door. "Close your eyes."

"Really?"

"Trust me."

You do as he asks, letting him guide you forward. You hear keys jingling, a door opening, then his soft "Okay, open them."

The interior takes your breath away - open and airy, with natural light streaming in from every angle. But it's not just the architecture that catches your attention - there are small touches that feel incredibly personal. Racing memorabilia tastefully displayed, a few framed photos you recognize from your own collection.

"I bought it," Max says softly, watching your reaction. "For us."

You turn to face him, eyes wide. "What?"

"I want this to be our home," he continues, his voice full of emotion. He takes both your hands in his. "Where we can grow old together, maybe raise a family someday. No more sneaking around, no more hiding. Just us."

"But… when? How?"

"I've been working with a realtor for months. Remember all those 'simulator sessions' I had to do?" He grins sheepishly. "I was actually house hunting."

"You sneaky…" You trail off, speechless.

"Want to see the rest?" He's practically bouncing with excitement now. "There's a home gym downstairs, and the kitchen is amazing - I know how much you love to cook. And wait until you see the master bedroom…"

Tears start falling before you can stop them. Max reaches up to wipe them away, but you catch his hand.

"You bought us a house," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "You planned this whole future for us, and I can't even tell my dad about us."

"Hey," he pulls you close, one hand cradling the back of your head. "It's okay. We'll figure it out together, like we always do."

"No, it's not okay." You pull back to look at him. "You've been so patient, Max. For years. And I've been such a coward."

"You're not a coward," he says firmly. "Our relationship is complicated. I understand that."

"Still." You shake your head, suddenly determined. "I'm telling him tomorrow."

"YN, you don't have to—"

"I want to." You look around at this beautiful space he's created for your future. "You've given us a home. The least I can do is be brave enough to fight for us."

"Are you sure?" His eyes search yours. "Because if you're not ready…"

"I'm sure." You walk to the windows, taking in the view. "Besides, can you imagine trying to explain why I'm suddenly moving to a new house without telling him why?"

Max comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. "We could tell him you've developed a sudden passion for real estate investment."

You laugh despite your tears. "Yes, because that would totally explain why half my clothes are already in that closet I spotted upstairs."

"You noticed that, huh?"

"The Dior dress from the FIA gala was a bit of a giveaway." You turn in his arms. "How long have you been moving my things in?"

"A while," he admits. "Susie helped."

"Of course she did." You shake your head fondly. "Any other conspirators I should know about?"

"Well, Lewis might have helped coordinate the furniture delivery…"

"Lewis?!" You pull back to stare at him. "Lewis Hamilton helped you furnish our secret love nest?"

Max winces. "Please never call it that again. And yes - turns out he has great taste in interior design."

You laugh, really laugh, and it feels like releasing years of tension. "This is insane. We're insane."

"Maybe," he agrees, pulling you close again. "But it's a good kind of insane, right?"

You look around at this beautiful house - your house - taking in all the thoughtful details. The photos telling your story, the mix of both your tastes in the décor, the way the space already feels like home.

"The best kind," you whisper, and kiss him.

Max kisses you back, soft and sweet, and you can feel his smile against your lips. When you finally part, he rests his forehead against yours.

"So," he says, "want to see our bedroom?"

"Our bedroom," you repeat, testing the words. "I like how that sounds."

"Me too." He takes your hand, leading you toward the stairs. "Though fair warning - I let Lando help with the media room setup, so that might need some adjustments."

"Oh god."

"Yeah, there may be more gaming consoles than strictly necessary…"

In this moment, in your new home, tomorrow's confrontation feels less daunting. After all, you've built something real and lasting here - something worth fighting for. And as Max leads you through your future together, room by room, you can't help but think that maybe it's time for everyone to know.

You've been standing outside your father's office at Mercedes for what feels like hours, but the watch on your wrist says it's only been ten minutes. Taking a deep breath, you finally knock.

"Come in," his familiar voice calls out.

Toto looks up from his desk, his face brightening when he sees you. "Schatz! What a lovely surprise." He stands to greet you, but pauses when he notices your expression. "What's wrong?"

"Papa, I need to tell you something." Your voice trembles slightly. "And I need you to listen. Really listen."

He gestures to the chair across from his desk, concern etching his features. "Of course. You can tell me anything."

You sit, hands clasped tightly in your lap. "I'm in love."

His face relaxes into a smile. "Is that all? Liebling, you had me worried. Who's the lucky—"

"It's Max." The words come out in a rush. "It's always been Max."

The silence that follows is deafening. You watch as confusion crosses his face, followed by understanding, and then something darker.

"Max… Verstappen?" He says the name like it tastes bitter. "This is a joke."

"No, it's not." You straighten your spine. "We've been together for two years. Actually, we never really stopped loving each other after… after what happened when we were eighteen."

Toto stands abruptly, running a hand through his hair. "This is impossible. You can't be serious."

"I am. And there's more." You take another deep breath. "We're moving in together. He bough a house for us, because he wants us to build a future together."

"No." His voice is sharp. "Absolutely not. I forbid it."

"I'm not asking for permission, Papa. I'm telling you."

He turns to face you, and the hurt in his eyes makes your heart ache. "How long have you been lying to me?"

"Since 2020," you admit quietly. "When I came back… we tried to stay away from each other. We really did. But we couldn't."

"So what, you've been sneaking around behind my back all these years?" His accent grows thicker with emotion. "Meeting in secret like teenagers?"

"We didn't have a choice."

He's quiet after that, and you can almost see the storm inside his head.

"Who knows?" The question is sharp, hurt evident in his tone.

"I told Susie last year. Lewis has known almost from the beginning. George found out in Bahrain. Some of the other drivers..."

"So everyone but me?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "My own wife, my drivers, half the paddock knew my daughter was in a relationship with Max Verstappen, and no one thought to tell me?"

"They were respecting our privacy. Our choice."

"Our choice?" He stands again, agitated. "He's Red Bull, YN! Our biggest rival! The same team that's been fighting us for years, the same driver who—"

"Who makes me happier than I've ever been," you interrupt. "Who loves me for who I am, not whose daughter I am. Who's supported my career, my dreams, everything I want to do."

"And the team rivalry? The competition?"

"We've managed it for years, Dad. We know how to separate personal and professional."

"All those times I tried to set you up with other people..."

"I know you meant well."

"And Susie?" His voice catches. "She knew and didn't tell me?"

"She said it wasn't her story to tell. That I needed to be the one to tell you when I was ready."

Toto runs a hand over his face. "And now you're ready because...?"

"Because I'm tired of hiding. Because Max and I have built something real and beautiful, and I want you to be part of it." You stand, moving around his desk to touch his arm. "Because you're my father, and despite everything, I want you to know me. All of me."

"And if I can't accept it?"

The question hangs heavy in the air. You feel tears threatening but force them back.

"Then that's your choice. But I won't give him up. Not again. Not for anyone."

Toto is quiet for a long moment, staring out at the factory below. When he finally speaks, his voice is tired. "You really love him?"

"More than anything."

He turns to look at you, really look at you, maybe for the first time seeing not his little girl but the woman you've become. "And he makes you happy?"

"Yes." Your voice is firm, certain.

Another long pause. "I need time."

It's not acceptance, but it's not rejection either. You nod, wiping away a stray tear. "Okay."

"Does he…" Toto clears his throat. "Does he treat you well?"

"Better than I deserve sometimes."

He makes a sound that might be a laugh or a sob. "No one could ever deserve better than you, Schatz."

You close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him. After a moment, his arms come around you too, holding you like he did when you were small.

"I'm still angry," he murmurs into your hair.

"I know."

"And hurt."

"I know that too."

He pulls back, cupping your face in his hands. "But you are my daughter. My precious girl. Nothing will ever change that."

Fresh tears spill over. "Papa…"

"I can't promise to like this. Or him. But…" He sighs deeply. "I will try. For you."

It's more than you dared hope for. "Thank you."

As you leave his office later, you know this isn't the end of it. There will be more conversations, more tensions to navigate. But for the first time in years, you feel truly free.

The Monaco sunset paints the dining room in warm hues as you clear the plates from dinner, the conversation flowing as easily as the wine. Lewis lounges in his chair, gesturing with his glass as he speaks.

"Still can't believe Toto didn't notice for two years, honestly," he chuckles. "I mean, you two weren't exactly subtle at the Saudi GP last year."

Max groans. "That was YN's fault. She's the one who kissed me in the paddock."

"After you won! Away from everyone," you defend yourself from across the table. "Besides, Papa was too busy arguing with Christian to notice."

"Lucky for us," Max mutters, but he's smiling.

"How is he taking it now?" Lewis asks, his expression growing serious. "It's been what, two weeks?"

You exchange a look with Max. "Better, I think. He's… processing."

"He called me yesterday," Max adds quietly. "First time ever."

Both you and Lewis straighten up. "What? You didn't tell me that!" you exclaim.

Max shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant but you can see the tension in his shoulders. "It was brief. He just said that if I ever hurt you, they'll never find my body."

Lewis nearly chokes on his wine. "Classic Toto."

"I'll get the dessert," you announce, standing. "And Max, we're talking about that phone call later."

As you head to the kitchen, you can hear their voices carrying through the open-plan space.

"Seriously though," Lewis' voice drops lower, but not low enough. "You need to be prepared. Toto might try to…"

"Separate us again?" Max's voice is steel wrapped in silk. "I'd like to see him try."

"I'm just saying, be ready. He did it once before."

"We were kids then. It's different now." A pause. "I'm different now."

"I know you are, mate. That's why I helped with the house. But Toto… he can be protective."

"Lewis." Max's voice is deadly serious now. "I would rather end my career tomorrow than lose her again. She's… she's everything."

You freeze in the doorway of the kitchen, tiramisu forgotten in your hands.

"I know what it did to her last time," Max continues, unaware of your presence. "What it did to both of us. But I'm not that scared teenager anymore, and she's not that girl who was afraid to stand up to her father. We fought too hard to get here."

"Good." Lewis' voice is warm with approval. "Because if you hurt her, Toto won't have to hide your body. I'll do it myself."

Max laughs. "Get in line. Susie already called dibs."

"Speaking of Susie, how's she handling being in the middle?"

"Better than any of us deserve," Max sighs. "She's been amazing. Especially with YN. When Toto first found out…"

"That bad?"

"YN cried for hours after telling him. I've never felt so helpless." Max's voice cracks slightly. "All I could do was hold her."

"Sometimes that's enough," Lewis says softly. "Sometimes that's everything."

You wipe away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. The tiramisu trembles slightly in your hands.

"I'm going to marry her someday," Max says suddenly. "I already have the ring."

The tiramisu nearly slips from your grasp.

"Does she know?" Lewis asks.

"Not yet. I wanted to wait until things settled with Toto. She deserves a proper proposal, not one overshadowed by family drama."

"Smart man." Lewis pauses. "You really have grown up, haven't you?"

"Had to. She deserves the best version of me."

You can't take it anymore. You walk back in, pretending you haven't heard a word. "Who wants dessert?"

Both men straighten up, but you catch the knowing look Lewis gives Max. As you serve the tiramisu, Max's hand finds yours, squeezing gently.

"Everything okay, liefje?" he asks softly.

You look at him - this man who's grown and changed and loved you through everything - and feel your heart swell. "Perfect," you whisper, and mean it.

Lewis watches you both with a soft smile. "You know," he says, "I think Toto will come around eventually. He may be stubborn, but he's not blind. Anyone can see what you two have is real."

"Real enough to redecorate my gaming room?" Max asks hopefully.

You laugh, the emotional moment breaking. "Nice try. But Lando's RGB setup stays."

"It gives me a headache!"

"Should have thought of that before letting him design it," Lewis points out.

As they fall into friendly bickering about proper gaming room aesthetics, you sit back and take it all in - this beautiful home, these people you love, this life you've built. It hasn't been easy, but everything has been worth it.

Your phone rings just as you're finishing up some work in your home office. Seeing your father's name on the screen makes your heart skip.

"Papa?"

"Schatz." His voice is carefully neutral. "Are you free tonight?"

"I… yes?"

"Good. You and Max will come to dinner. Eight o'clock."

It's not a question. You glance at the clock - it's already 4 PM. "Tonight?"

"Unless you have other plans?"

"No, no plans." You swallow hard. "We'll be there."

"Good." A pause. "And YN?"

"Yes?"

"Tell Max to breathe. It's just dinner."

The line goes dead before you can respond. You sit there for a moment, phone still in hand, before rushing downstairs to find Max.

He's in the gym, finishing up his workout. One look at your face and he's pulling off his headphones.

"What's wrong?"

"Papa called. He wants us for dinner. Tonight."

Max freezes mid-stretch. "Tonight? As in… tonight tonight?"

"Eight o'clock."

"Fuck." He starts pacing. "Fuck fuck fuck. This is it. He's going to murder me. He's probably got a plan to make it look like an accident. Lewis will help him hide the body—"

"Max."

"—probably already has an alibi arranged. Susie will vouch for him, of course—"

"Max!"

He stops pacing. "What?"

"He actually said to tell you to breathe. His exact words were 'it's just dinner.'"

Max stares at you. "That's worse. That's so much worse. He's lulling me into a false sense of security."

You can't help but laugh, even as anxiety churns in your own stomach. "You're being ridiculous."

"Am I?" He runs a hand through his sweaty hair. "The last time I was in the same room as your father, he looked at me like he was calculating how many pieces he could cut me into."

"That was three weeks ago, right after he found out. Things are… better now."

"Are they? Because that phone call he made last week about hiding my body didn't feel like 'better.'"

You cross the room to him, placing your hands on his chest. "Hey. Look at me."

His eyes meet yours, and you can see the genuine worry there.

"Whatever happens tonight, we face it together. Okay?"

He takes a deep breath, covering your hands with his. "Okay."

"Good. Now go shower, because you stink."

"Charming," he mutters, but he's smiling now. "What should I wear?"

"Something bulletproof?" you suggest innocently.

"Not helping!"

The drive to your parents' house is tense. Susie opens the door, her warm smile immediately putting you both at ease. "Come in, come in. Toto's just opening the wine."

"We brought some too," you say, holding up the bottle you'd carefully selected.

"Ah, his favorite." Susie winks. "Good choice."

The dining room is set beautifully, candles flickering on the table. Your father stands as you enter, and for a moment, everyone freezes.

Then Toto steps forward, kissing your cheek. "You look beautiful, Schatz."

He turns to Max, who looks like he's trying very hard not to bolt. They regard each other for a long moment before Toto extends his hand.

Max shakes it, and you breathe again.

Dinner starts surprisingly well. The conversation stays safe - racing, weather, Susie's latest projects. Max gradually relaxes enough to actually eat, though you notice he keeps looking at your father like he's expecting an ambush.

It comes after the plates are cleared.

"So," Toto says, setting down his wine glass. "We need to talk."

Max's hand finds yours under the table.

"Max." Your father's voice is measured. "I need you to listen carefully to what I'm about to say."

"Yes, sir."

"When YN was born, I made a promise to protect her from anything that could hurt her. When she was eighteen, I thought I was doing that by keeping her away from you."

You feel Max tense beside you.

"I was wrong."

The admission hangs in the air. Even Susie looks surprised.

"You were angry then. Volatile. Too much like your father." Toto continues. "But you've grown. Changed. I see that now."

He leans forward, eyes intense. "But understand this: that girl sitting next to you? She is my world. My greatest joy, my greatest pride. And if you ever - ever - give me reason to think you don't deserve her…"

"I don't," Max interrupts quietly. "Deserve her, I mean. I know that. I try every day to be worthy of her love, and I'll keep trying for the rest of my life."

Something shifts in Toto's expression.

"And you," he turns to you. "My strong, stubborn daughter. You've grown too. Standing up to me… it showed me you're not my little girl anymore. You're a woman who knows her own mind, her own heart."

Tears prick at your eyes. "Papa…"

"I trust your judgment," he says softly. "Even when it differs from mine."

Susie reaches over to squeeze his hand, pride shining in her eyes.

"Now," Toto straightens, his expression growing serious again. "We need to discuss the media situation. Your relationship will be public knowledge soon, if it isn't already."

"We've been careful," you start, but he holds up a hand.

"Careful isn't enough. The press will be relentless. They'll try to create drama, stir up controversy. Everything you do, every interaction, will be scrutinized."

"We know," Max says. "We've talked about it."

"Good. But you need to be prepared. They'll drag up the past, try to create tension between the teams. Your relationship will become clickbait."

"We can handle it," you say firmly.

"Perhaps. But you'll need support." Toto looks between you both. "Which is why… which is why I'm offering mine."

Max's grip on your hand tightens.

"When the story breaks, there will be questions. Speculation. I will make it clear that you have my blessing." The words seem to cost him something, but his voice is steady. "It won't stop the circus, but it might help control the narrative."

You're crying openly now. Max looks shellshocked.

"Thank you," he manages finally. "That… that means everything."

Toto nods once, then reaches for his wine. "Now, who wants dessert? Susie made Sachertorte."

As Susie bustles off to the kitchen, you catch your father's eye. The love there, the acceptance, makes your heart full.

Max leans over to whisper in your ear. "I think I just aged ten years."

You squeeze his hand. "Worth it?"

He looks at you, then at your father who's pretending not to watch you both, then back to you.

"Every second," he says, and kisses your temple.

And just like that, your worlds align.

Saint-Tropez, 2024

The morning sun filters through the sheer curtains of your villa, casting warm patterns across the rumpled sheets. Max's fingers trace lazy circles on your bare shoulder as you lie there, both reluctant to acknowledge that real life awaits.

"Do we have to go back?" you mumble into his chest.

"Mmm, eventually." He drops a kiss on your head. "Though I could get used to this."

"What, me using you as a human pillow?"

"You do that at home too, liefje."

You prop yourself up on an elbow to look at him, taking in the relaxed set of his features, the way his hair is sticking up wildly. "True, but here you're not constantly checking the time for sim racing with Lando."

"That was one time!"

"It was three times last week alone."

He tugs you back down, rolling so you're trapped beneath him. "You're just jealous because I'm better at it than you."

"Excuse me?" You poke his ribs. "Who won last time?"

"You cheated!"

"Did not!"

"You distracted me!"

"Not my fault you can't focus when I kiss your neck."

His eyes darken. "Want to test that theory?"

"We'll be late for our flight," you warn, but you're already tilting your head as his lips find that spot behind your ear.

"Worth it," he murmurs against your skin.

Later, tangled in sheets again, you check your phone while Max dozes beside you. A frown crosses your face.

"That's weird."

"Hmm?" Max doesn't open his eyes.

"Lewis still hasn't answered my texts from yesterday. Or the day before."

You feel him tense slightly. "Maybe he's busy."

"During holidays? And he always answers eventually." You sit up, noticing how Max suddenly seems very interested in the ceiling. "Max…"

"What?"

"You know something."

"I don't."

"You're doing that thing with your jaw."

His hand flies to his face. "What thing?"

"That clenching thing you do when you're hiding something." You narrow your eyes. "Spill it."

"There's nothing to spill." He sits up too quickly. "We should start packing."

"Max Emilian Verstappen."

"YN Wolff," he mimics, but there's an edge of nervousness to his teasing.

"Is Lewis okay?"

"He's fine! Totally fine. Completely fine. Never been better."

You stare at him. "You are the worst liar ever."

"I'm not—" He cuts himself off with a groan. "I can't tell you."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both?" He runs a hand through his hair. "Look, it's nothing bad. Just… something that's not public yet."

Your stomach drops. "Is he sick?"

"What? No! No, nothing like that." He catches your hands. "I promise, he's okay. It's just… complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"The kind of complicated I really can't tell you about yet." His eyes are pleading. "Please don't ask me to. I promised."

You study his face, seeing the genuine conflict there. "But he's okay?"

"Yes."

"And it's not bad news?"

He hesitates. "That… depends on how you look at it."

"Max!"

"I've already said too much." He kisses your forehead. "You'll know soon enough."

You flop back onto the pillows with a huff. "I hate secrets."

"Says the woman who kept our relationship secret for two years."

"That was different!"

"Sure it was." He stretches out beside you, pulling you close. "Can we go back to the part where we were enjoying our last morning in paradise?"

You want to protest, to push for more information, but his hand is sliding up your thigh and his lips are at your neck again and suddenly Lewis' mysterious silence seems less important.

"Fine," you concede, already breathless. "But this isn't over."

"Never is with you," he murmurs fondly. "It's why I love you."

"Because I'm stubborn?"

"Because you never give up on the people you care about."

Something in his voice makes you pause. "Max…"

"Let me love you," he whispers. "Just for now, let that be enough."

The world and its complications can wait. For now, there's just this - the sun on your skin, Max's heartbeat under your palm, and the knowledge that whatever comes next, you'll face it together.

Even if he is terrible at keeping secrets.

The gentle hum of your computer fills your office at Mercedes HQ as you review the latest F1 Academy reports. A notification pops up on your phone - Instagram, probably another post from Max complaining about his training session.

Your coffee cup freezes halfway to your mouth.

BREAKING: Lewis Hamilton to join Ferrari in 2025

The cup clatters onto your desk, coffee spilling across papers you can't bring yourself to care about. Your hands shake as you scroll through post after post confirming it.

Lewis is leaving.

Lewis is going to Ferrari.

Lewis didn't tell you.

Max knew and didn't tell you.

Your father…

You're on your feet before you realize it, striding through the corridors. People step out of your way, perhaps recognizing the storm in your expression. You barely register Susie calling your name as you pass her office.

The door to your father's office bangs open. He looks up, unsurprised.

"What is going on?" Your voice trembles.

"YN—"

"No." You hold up your phone, the Ferrari announcement glaring at you. "What is this?"

Toto sighs, removing his glasses. "Come in and close the door."

"You knew." It's not a question. "You all knew. That's why Lewis wasn't answering my messages. That's why Max was acting strange in Saint-Tropez."

"We couldn't tell you."

"Couldn't or wouldn't?" The words come out sharp, hurt. "I'm not just your daughter anymore, Papa. I'm co-director of F1 Academy. I work here. This affects me professionally as well as personally."

"Which is exactly why we couldn't tell you." He stands, coming around his desk. "The announcement had to be handled carefully. Any leak could have—"

"Leak?" You step back when he reaches for you. "Is that what I am to you? A potential leak?"

"Schatz, no—"

"Lewis is family!" Your voice cracks. "He's been here my entire life. He watched me grow up. He helped Max and me when…" You swallow hard. "I had to find out from Instagram. Instagram, Papa!"

"I know."

"Did everyone know except me? Was there some big meeting where you all decided poor YN can't be trusted?"

"It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like?" Tears spill over. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like nobody trusted me enough to tell me that one of the most important people in my life is leaving."

Toto moves forward again, and this time you let him pull you into a hug. "Lewis wanted to tell you himself," he says softly. "He was going to come see you today, after the announcement. He didn't want you to have to carry the secret."

"I could have handled it."

"I know you could have." His hand smooths over your hair like when you were small. "But he didn't want to put you in that position. Neither did Max."

You stiffen. "Max knew for how long?"

"YN…"

"How long?"

"Since before New Year's."

The betrayal hits fresh. "That's why he was so weird about Lewis not texting back. He let me worry instead of just telling me."

"He was protecting you."

"I don't need protection!" You pull away. "I need honesty. I need the people I love to trust me. I need—" Your voice breaks. "I need to not feel like an outsider in my own family."

"Oh, Schatz." Toto's face crumples. "You have never been an outsider. Lewis insisted on keeping it quiet precisely because he cares so much. He knew how hard it would be for you."

"It's harder finding out like this."

A soft knock interrupts. You turn to see Lewis in the doorway, still in his Mercedes gear - for one of the last times, you realize with a pang.

"Little Wolff," he starts, but you hold up a hand.

"Don't." You brush past him, ignoring his attempt to catch your arm. "I have work to do."

"Please—"

"Congratulations on Ferrari," you say stiffly, not looking back. "I'm sure you'll do great things there."

You make it back to your office before the tears really start. Your phone buzzes - Max calling. Then Lewis. Then Susie.

You silence it, staring out your window at the Mercedes logo shining in the winter sun. It looks different now, knowing Lewis won't be racing under it anymore soon.

Everything looks different.

Your phone lights up again - a text from Max.

"I'm sorry. I hated keeping this from you. I love you"

You turn the phone face down.

Later. You'll deal with all of it later.

By the time you make it home that evening, your eyes are red and puffy from crying. Max is already there - of course he is - waiting in the kitchen with that worried look you've come to know so well.

"Baby…" he starts, but you brush past him, dropping your bag on the counter with trembling hands.

"Don't." Your voice cracks. "Just… don't."

But Max has never been good at leaving you alone when you're hurting. His arms wrap around you from behind, and despite your anger, you find yourself leaning back into his warmth.

"I wanted to tell you," he whispers against your hair. "Every day, I wanted to tell you."

The dam breaks. You turn in his arms, burying your face in his chest as sobs wrack your body. His arms tighten around you, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other rubs soothing circles on your back.

"He's leaving," you choke out. "Lewis is actually leaving. How can he leave? He's… he's my brother, Max. He's been there my whole life. The garage won't be the same without him. The team won't be the same."

"I know, baby. I know."

"He didn't tell me. None of you told me." You pull back enough to look up at him, tears still streaming. "You all just decided I couldn't handle it."

Max wipes your tears with his thumbs, his own eyes suspiciously bright. "Lewis wanted to protect you. We all did. You've been working so hard with F1 Academy, with the team… he didn't want you carrying this weight."

"But I could have handled it! I'm not some fragile thing that needs protecting anymore."

"No," Max agrees softly, "you're the strongest person I know. But Lewis loves you like a sister. He wanted to tell you himself, properly. Not through some leaked rumor or whispered secret."

You collapse against him again, letting out a shuddering breath. "I can't imagine Mercedes without him. Every memory I have there, he's part of it. Even when we were hiding us, he was there, watching out for us, covering for us…"

Max leads you to the couch, pulling you into his lap. You curl into him, feeling drained.

"Talk to him," he murmurs. "Not today, not tomorrow if you're not ready. But don't let this distance grow. You'll regret it."

"When did you get so wise?" you ask weakly.

"Around the same time I realized that sometimes loving someone means letting them be angry at you for trying to protect them." He presses a kiss to your temple. "Even if you'd do it again."

You stay like that for a long time, wrapped in Max's arms as the sun sets outside. Your phone buzzes occasionally - more messages from Lewis, probably - but you ignore it. Tomorrow you'll deal with it all. Tomorrow you'll be strong again.

But tonight, you let yourself be held and comforted, mourning the end of an era while knowing, deep down, that family is family - even when they're wearing red instead of silver.

Bahrain, 2024

The Bahrain paddock buzzes with its usual first-race energy, but everything feels off-kilter. You've been masterfully avoiding proper conversations with Lewis all weekend, keeping interactions professional and brief. The pit wall feels different already, knowing it's his last season here.

You're reviewing data sheets in the garage when his shadow falls across your tablet.

"Little Wolff," Lewis says softly, using the nickname that usually makes you smile but now just makes your chest ache. "Can we talk?"

"I'm quite busy," you reply, not looking up. "Qualifying strategy needs finalizing."

"YN." His voice is gentle but firm. "Please."

You finally meet his eyes, seeing the concern there, the sadness. He looks older somehow, or maybe that's just your perception shifting with everything else.

"What's left to say?" You keep your voice low, mindful of the mechanics nearby. "You made your decision. You kept it from me. We move forward."

"That's not fair and you know it." Lewis steps closer. "I've tried calling, texting…"

"I've been busy."

"You've been avoiding me." He sighs. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"Well, you did." The words come out sharper than intended. "Did you think finding out from social media wouldn't hurt? That watching Max and Papa dance around it for weeks wouldn't hurt?"

"I wanted to protect you—"

"Stop saying that!" You catch yourself, lowering your voice again. "Everyone keeps saying they were protecting me. I'm not a child anymore, Lewis. I run part of this team. I handle confidential information every day. I've kept secrets bigger than this."

Understanding crosses his face. "Like Max."

"Yes, like Max." You swallow hard. "You trusted me then. You helped us. Why couldn't you trust me with this?"

"Because this wasn't just my secret to keep." Lewis runs a hand over his face. "There were contracts, negotiations, timing issues. And yes, I wanted to tell you myself, properly. Not have you carry it around for weeks knowing you couldn't talk to anyone about it."

"So instead you let me worry when you weren't responding to messages? Let me think something was wrong? Let Max lie to me?"

"I asked him not to tell you." Lewis reaches for your hand but you pull back. "He wanted to. He hated keeping it from you."

"But he did anyway."

"Because he understands sometimes protecting the people we love means letting them be angry with us." Lewis's voice softens. "You're my family, YN. You're the little sister I never had. Leaving Mercedes… leaving you… it's one of the hardest decisions I've ever made."

You blink back tears, refusing to cry in the garage. "Then why are you?"

"Because sometimes we need to chase new dreams, even when it means leaving safe harbors." He smiles sadly. "You taught me that, actually. When you chose Max despite everything, despite what it could cost you. You taught me that sometimes the scariest choices are the right ones."

"That's different."

"Is it?" Lewis raises an eyebrow. "You took a risk for love. For growth. For what you believed was right for you, even knowing it would hurt people you care about."

You look away, his words hitting too close to home.

"I'm not asking you not to be hurt," he continues. "I'm just asking you not to let that hurt break us. I'm still your Lewis. That doesn't change just because I'm wearing red."

"It feels like everything's changing," you whisper.

"Some things never will." He opens his arms. "Come here, Little Wolff."

This time you don't resist, letting him pull you into a hug. The familiar smell of his cologne brings fresh tears to your eyes.

"I'm still mad at you," you mumble into his chest.

"I know."

"And you better not beat us too badly in that Ferrari."

You feel his laugh rumble. "I'll do my best."

"Lewis?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm going to miss you so much."

His arms tighten. "I'm not gone yet. We've got a whole season ahead of us. And after… I'm still your big brother. That doesn't change with the color of my race suit."

Over his shoulder, you catch Max watching from the Red Bull garage, a soft smile on his face. He gives you a small nod before turning back to his engineers.

Some things change. Some things stay the same. And sometimes, you realize, holding onto anger hurts more than letting it go.

Miami, 2024

The sun beats down mercilessly as you pace your hotel room, phone clutched in your hand. The notifications won't stop - Instagram, Twitter, all exploding with the same photos. You and Max on his boat in Monaco last weekend, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you, both of you clearly lost in each other.

You'd been so careful for so long. One moment of letting your guard down, and now…

The door opens and Max rushes in, still in his Red Bull gear from practice. "Baby?" His voice is soft with concern.

"Have you seen them?" You hold up your phone, hands trembling. "They're everywhere. Everyone knows. Papa is going to have to address it in the press conference and—"

Max crosses the room in three long strides, taking your face in his hands - just like in the photos, you realize with a jolt. "Breathe," he murmurs. "Just breathe with me."

"But—"

"Breathe first." His thumbs stroke your cheeks. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. With me."

You follow his lead, matching your breathing to his until the panic starts to recede. Only then does he lead you to sit on the edge of the bed, keeping one arm around you.

"Now," he says, "tell me what you're really afraid of."

"Everything!" You gesture wildly with your free hand. "The media circus, the speculation, the questions about favoritism in the sport, Papa having to defend us publicly, the board's reaction…"

"YN." Max turns you to face him fully. "We knew this would happen eventually. We talked about it."

"I know, but—"

"But nothing." His blue eyes are intense, earnest. "We're not doing anything wrong. We're two adults who love each other. Yes, there will be talk. Yes, there will be questions. But we can handle it." His lips quirk. "We've handled worse."

You lean into him, letting his steady presence ground you. "Papa's press conference is in twenty minutes."

"And he'll handle it like he handles everything - with that terrifying Wolff composure." Max's hand runs soothingly up and down your back. "He loves you, baby. He's not going to let anyone suggest anything improper about us."

"I should be there," you whisper. "I should face it with him."

"No." Max's voice is firm. "Let him handle this part. That's what fathers do - they protect their children, even when their children are grown up and running F1 programs."

Your phone buzzes again - another news alert. Max gently takes it from your hand and sets it aside.

"Remember what you told me?" he asks softly. "That night in Monaco when I was worried about how people would react to us being together again?"

You smile slightly. "I told you that what other people think doesn't matter."

"Exactly." He presses his forehead to yours. "You said that we've earned the right to be happy, that we're not teenagers anymore trying to sneak around. You said we're stronger together than apart."

"Using my own words against me?"

"Always." He kisses you softly. "Because you were right then, and you're still right now. Let them talk. Let them speculate. We know the truth."

Your phone lights up with a livestream notification - the press conference is starting. Max reaches for the remote, turning on the hotel room's TV where it's already being broadcast.

"We can turn it off," he offers, but you shake your head.

"No. I need to see."

You curl into Max's side as the questions start. Your father sits there, calm and collected as ever, fielding questions about strategy and performance. Then:

"Toto, there are photos circulating of your daughter YN with Max Verstappen. Given the rivalry between Mercedes and Red Bull, and Max's history with both Mercedes and your family, do you have any comment?"

The room goes silent. You hold your breath, feeling Max tense beside you.

Your father adjusts his glasses, that familiar gesture that usually precedes something important. "Yes, I do have a comment." His voice is measured but firm. "My daughter is a highly respected professional in this sport, running our F1 Academy program and working tirelessly to create opportunities for young women in motorsport. Her personal life is her own, and she has my full support in all her choices."

"But given the competitive nature of F1—"

"Let me be very clear," Toto interrupts, and you recognize that steel in his voice. "YN has proven herself time and time again. She has earned her position through hard work and dedication. Max Verstappen is one of the most talented drivers of his generation. They are both adults who conduct themselves with integrity and professionalism. Any suggestion otherwise is not only disrespectful but reveals more about the person asking than about them."

Tears blur your vision. Max's arm tightens around you.

"See?" he whispers. "Terrifying Wolff composure."

On screen, your father continues: "My daughter and Max have my blessing and my respect. They have shown wisdom and maturity in handling their relationship alongside their professional responsibilities. Now, unless there are questions about this weekend's race…"

You bury your face in Max's chest, overwhelmed. His hands stroke your hair as he murmurs soft Dutch endearments.

"He defended us," you say wonderingly. "He really defended us."

"Of course he did." Max kisses the top of your head. "He's your father. And…" he hesitates, "I think maybe he's starting to like, a little bit."

You look up at him, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes. "You know he likes you."

"Yeah." Max smiles softly. "He called me yesterday, you know. Said if any reporters gave me trouble about the photos, to refer them to him. Said he'd handle it."

Fresh tears spill over. "He did?"

"Mmhmm." Max wipes your tears with his thumb."Does this mean I can finally kiss you in the paddock?"

You laugh through your tears. "Maybe let's ease them into it?"

"Fine." He sighs dramatically. "But I'm holding your hand in public. No negotiation on that."

"Deal." You curl back into him, feeling the panic from earlier dissolve into something warmer, more certain. "Thank you for being here. For being you."

"Always, baby." Max kisses you again, soft and sweet. "Now, what do you say we give them something else to talk about and go absolutely dominate this race weekend?"

You smile against his lips. "Now that sounds like a plan."

Las Vegas, 2024

The neon lights blur through your tears as you watch the podium ceremony. George and Lewis stand there together, silver suits gleaming under the artificial lights, Mercedes' last 1-2 with this particular lineup.

Your heart feels like it might burst - pride, joy, and melancholy all tangled together. Max clinched his fourth title today, and you couldn't be prouder.

"Look at them," Susie whispers, squeezing your hand. "Our boys."

You can barely speak around the lump in your throat. George looks radiant, his second win of the season perhaps the sweetest. And Lewis… Lewis is beaming with genuine joy for his teammate, even as his eyes glisten with unshed tears. His last podium in Vegas as a Mercedes driver.

Your father stands tall beside you, his usual stoic expression softened by emotion. As the champagne starts flowing, you catch sight of Max making his way toward the Red Bull garage, where you know the championship celebrations are about to begin.

"Go," your father says suddenly.

You turn to him, surprised. "What?"

"Go celebrate with Max." His voice is gentle. "It's his fourth championship. You should be there."

"But…" you glance at the podium, at your Mercedes family celebrating.

"We've shared every celebration with you," Susie says softly. "Let him have this one."

"Are you sure?" You look at your father. "Papa?"

Toto's eyes are warm as he cups your face in his hands. "For three years, you couldn't celebrate with him. Couldn't share his victories. Couldn't be by his side when he achieved his dreams." He kisses your forehead. "Go make up for lost time, Schatz."

"But Lewis and George…"

"Will understand." Toto smiles. "Besides, I think Lewis would be disappointed if you didn't go congratulate your boyfriend on his championship."

As if on cue, Lewis catches your eye from the podium and nods toward the Red Bull garage, mouthing "Go!"

Tears spill over as you hug your parents. "I love you both so much."

"We know," Susie strokes your hair. "Now go. Make your man's celebration complete."

You run through the paddock, your heart pounding. The Red Bull garage is already in full celebration mode when you arrive. Christian sees you first, and instead of any awkwardness, he just smiles and points toward the back room.

You find Max there, surrounded by his team but somehow looking like he's waiting for something - or someone. When he sees you, his entire face lights up.

"Baby," he breathes, and then you're in his arms, his race suit damp with champagne, his heart beating fast against yours.

"Congratulations, four-time world champion," you whisper against his neck.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes shining. "You came."

"Of course I came." You touch his face, memorizing this moment. "Papa and Susie practically pushed me out the door."

Max's eyes widen slightly. "Really?"

"Really." You smile through your tears. "Papa said we had three years of celebrations to make up for."

Something vulnerable crosses Max's face. "I used to dream about this," he admits quietly, despite the noise around you. "Every championship, every win… I'd imagine you here, celebrating with me. But I never thought…"

"That my father would be the one sending me to you?"

"Yeah." Max laughs softly. "Things really have changed, haven't they?"

"For the better." You kiss him softly, not caring who sees. "I'm so proud of you, Max. So incredibly proud."

He presses his forehead to yours. "Stay? Celebrate with us?"

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away."

"Good." His smile turns mischievous. "Because I have three years of championship celebrations to make up for, and I plan to make this one count."

From somewhere behind you, you hear Jos' voice: "Max! The championship photo!"

"Coming!" Max calls back, then looks at you. "Join us?"

You blink. "In the Red Bull championship photo?"

"Why not?" His eyes are bright with joy and love. "You're part of this story too. Always have been."

The photographer arranges everyone, and Max pulls you close to his side. Here, under the neon lights of Vegas, surrounded by celebrations both here and in the garage next door, you feel the weight of the moment. The past - three years of separation, of watching from afar. The present - standing proudly by his side as he achieves another dream. And the future - stretching out before you both, full of possibilities.

"Ready?" Max whispers in your ear.

You look up at him, this man who never stopped loving you even when the world tried to keep you apart, and smile. "Ready."

The camera flashes, capturing the moment forever - the four-time world champion and the girl who crossed rival lines to love him, surrounded by celebration and joy, making up for all the moments they missed and creating new ones all their own.

In the distance, you hear the Mercedes celebration continuing, George and Lewis' laughter carrying through the night. Two families, two celebrations, and you finally allowed to be part of both.

Melbourne, 2025

"YN, we need to check something at the track," Max says casually as you're getting ready for bed.

"At this hour? It's past midnight."

"Trust me?" He gives you that same boyish grin that still makes your heart skip, even after a decade.

You're both jet-lagged anyway, so you agree. But instead of heading to Albert Park, Max drives to a familiar hotel. Your breath catches when you realize where you are.

"Max…"

"Come on," he takes your hand, leading you through the quiet lobby to the coffee shop where it all began. The lights are dimmed, but it's clearly open - though completely empty.

"How did you…?"

"Being a four-time world champion has some perks," he grins. "Plus, the owner remembered us. Said she never forgot the night the youngest F1 driver and Toto Wolff's daughter had their secret meeting here."

The same table is there, the one where you shared your hot chocolate ten years ago. There's even a steaming mug waiting.

"You were so smug," Max laughs, pulling out your chair. "Letting me ramble about being a driver when you knew exactly who I was."

"You were cute when you were flustered," you tease. "Especially when I dropped my last name."

"I couldn't believe it. Here I was, trying to impress this beautiful girl, and she turned out to be my biggest rival's daughter."

You take a sip from the mug - hot chocolate, just like that night. "Papa wouldn't stop talking about you."

"And now he's my biggest defender," Max shakes his head in wonder. "Remember how scared we were to tell him about us?"

"Worth it though," you squeeze his hand. "Every secret meeting, every careful distance in the paddock, every time we had to pretend we were just friendly acquaintances."

Max's eyes go soft. "You know what I remember most about that first night? You were the first person who didn't treat me like I was either Jos's son or some record-breaking novelty. You just… saw me."

"I still do," you whisper.

He stands suddenly, pulling you up with him. "That night, I was terrified about my first race. Everyone had opinions about whether I deserved to be here. But then there was this girl, sharing her hot chocolate and making me feel like maybe I could actually do this."

"Max…"

He drops to one knee, and your heart stops. "Ten years ago, in this exact spot, I met the love of my life. I didn't know it then, but that girl who kept her name secret until the last possible moment would become my biggest supporter, my best friend, my home."

Through your tears, you see him pull out a ring. "You've been there through everything, YN. Every victory, every defeat. When the pressure got too much, when the critics were too loud - you were my safe place. Just like you were that first night."

"Remember what you told me then? That your intuition said I'd do great?" He laughs softly. "You believed in me before anyone else did. And I want to spend the rest of my life believing in you, supporting you, loving you."

"YN Wolff," his voice cracks slightly. "Will you marry me? Will you keep being my safe place, my biggest supporter, my best friend? Will you let me spend forever trying to make you as happy as you've made me?"

Through your tears, you see the same boy from that late-night coffee shop - still determined, still passionate, still looking at you like you're his whole world. But now he's also the man who's grown with you, fought for you, loved you through everything.

"Yes," you manage, pulling him up to kiss him. "Yes to everything."

As he slides the ring onto your finger, Max pulls you close, and you can smell the same coffee shop scent that surrounded you ten years ago. "Thank you for sharing your hot chocolate that night," he murmurs against your hair.

"Thank you for making me believe in intuition," you reply, feeling the weight of the ring - a promise of all the years to come.

Outside, Melbourne sleeps, just like it did that first night. But now, instead of two strangers sharing a drink and their fears, there's you and Max, sharing a future.

And it feels like coming home.

tags: @mimiteller712 @lydia-demarek, @rory-cakes, @swaggymadi, @chriskevinevans @p7-otterton, @cherrystars81, @whokilledmarlene @lilymaleshka @kodeelynn @formoola1fan @pausmoon @lalala28 @baby-alien11 @allthings-fandoms @downsideup1989 @urbaebarnes @ivegotparticulartaste @liethatyouloveme @codymthepenguin @finn-dot-com @rayaskoalaland @angelluv16 @pourmercymercy0nme @tweetledeedumb @osclerc @scientifichufflepuff @cometpiastri @hobiismyhopeu @monsterdesandia @amyelevenn @damonsalvatorelikessex @rmvb @virtualperfectioncat @emma-chiara @chelle1306 @idontknow0704 @lilypat @elieanana @nothaqks @1800-love-me

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Please be good Japan

race week...........

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Max Verstappen’s ✨ thighs ✨

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does someone also experience post race amnesia where unless something is meaningful to you u just forget everything that happens

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Daylight - Taylor Swift [Insp]

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college boyfriend pt. 2 ☆

summary: texts from your college boyfriend

f reader×driver!

read part 1 here!

trigger warnings: nicknames, mentions of eating, curse words, mentions of sex, suggestive, idk if there are any more (?)

an: i hope you guys have fun reading this one! i brought in new drivers 😝😝, please leave comments and let me know what you think!

lando, oscar, alex, logan, daniel

mick, pierre, yuki, ollie, franco

end

always open for requests! love you pooksters :)