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checkeredchicklet · 11 days ago

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Anemoia | 0.2 | Masterlist

Overview: Everyone is born with a red string of fate tying them to their soulmate for life, but not everyone meets their soulmate before the bond is broken.

Max Verstappen and Aurora Byrne were linked at birth, and both lived life thinking they'd never meet. Now, their relationship that never was is quite literally hanging on by a thread - five threads to be exact - before the pair ever even meets.

Aurora's history is filled with dirty secrets she's determined to never let bubble to the surface again. Guarded, withdrawn and impassive she never willingly offers details about her past. She never offers why she broke so many strings in the pair's mid-teens.

Max Verstappen is calculated, self-contained and composed; determined to show Aurora that the ruthless competitor he is on track will destroy their relationship before it even starts. He broke most of their strings before the pair even hit fifteen, he's not safe or stable.

Warnings: 18+ AUDIENCES ONLY. Mentions of past Sexual Assault, Light mentions of past Alcohol Abuse, Mentions of Disordered Eating, Past Abuse, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn (xoxo), Anxiety Attacks, Mentions of Depression, Use of Strong Language, Perfectly Imperfect Characters, Injuries.

Author's note: Is it really a slow burn? Feel free to hit up my inbox with asks or ask to be tagged!

“Deep breath,” Aurora stood off to the side of the stage, lights flashing while she watched the crew scrambling to set up the stage. Two commentators stood on the stage, out of view from where the mainstage was being set up. She watched as a video from the last match of their regional tournament played on the large screen hanging from the ceiling. The commentators were discussing the odds of each team winning, and so far they seemed to be pulling ahead.

Aurora watched closely as the crew began to set up her spot on the stage; the furthest on the left for her team, and the furthest from the crowd. Fiddling with the dog tag that hung from the chain on her neck Aurora held it up to her lips while she continued to watch as her eyes drifted off to the crowd. After Rex had passed, and she moved out officially, Aurora had taken the dog tag from his collar with her as a memento. It had become her lucky charm rather quickly and she wouldn’t travel for a tournament without it.

“You look like you want to shit your pants right now,” Aurora jumped as she looked to her left, where the voice had come from. Long, intricately manicured nails tapped on a ‘Mean Bean’ Monster can.

Aurora briefly met the girl’s eyes. They were lined with sharp black wings and her eyelids sparkled slightly, her eyelashes – which seemed to be fake – fluttered against her skin as she blinked. Her lips were also painted black and seemed to be perfectly plump, framed by a septum piercing. Her calico dyed hair, blonde, black and copper, completed the look. Freckles dusted her cheeks, and Aurora couldn’t tell if they were real or painted on, but they made her look delicate.

“Tatum,” the girl stuck out her hand that wasn’t clutching the can of Monster and Aurora reached out to take it. Aurora knew who Tatum was, they were two women in a male-dominated space; they’d been orbiting each other for a couple years now and had never quite managed to meet before now.

Tatum’s voice had the tilt of an accident to it, she spoke slowly compared to Aurora, and her vowels seemed to be lengthened quite a bit. Maybe it was the stress of the current situation, but it took Aurora far longer than it should have to remember Tatum was Australian.

Tatum had moved to the UK at a rather young age after signing her first contract in the ‘Game Changers’ bracket before being moved up to the Tier 1 circuit. Aurora had managed to skip the ‘Game Changers’ stage and went right into Tier 1 professional play, so, thus far the two had been unable to cross paths on the professional play circuit..

“I’m Aurora, I like Rory more though,” She looked out onto the stage again to ensure that her mouse and keyboard had been placed in the proper spots. She’d adjust them later anyways, but it looked like the right keyboard and mouse had been placed by her seat.

“I know,” Tatum said the words with a shrug as she lifted up the can of Monster up to her lips and took a long sip. “I used to swear these things were just for show,” she pointed to the monster logo on her Jersey, “then I started dating a guy who’s sponsored by them and actually drinks them,” she took another sip, “life changing apparently. Or maybe good dick just helped me develop better taste.”

“Oh my,” Aurora choked out around a laugh.

“Hey,” Tatum smiled over the rim of her can. “Credit where credit’s due, it’s done wonders for both of our performances also.” It was quiet for a moment between the pair.

Aurora used the silence to reach into her pocket and pulled out a stress ball she kept there on match days. It was firmer than what most players used, but years of competitive lacrosse as a child and into high school had resulted in more than a handful of broken fingers and fractured bones in her hands and wrists. The firmness helped loosen her joints more than most other things would.

“Not a bean bag girl?” Tatum nodded towards the stress ball in her hand and Aurora nodded.

Her doctors as a child added ‘intense sensory issues’ to the list of ‘reasons why her parents should have her evaluated’, right underneath her fine motor skills delays. Anything with ‘beans’ in it would send her into a minor spiral where she felt like she could feel the texture in her hands, and mouth, for at least an hour after touching something with them.

“Absolutely not,” Aurora laughed and offered the cat shaped stress ball to Tatum who took it and began to squeeze it between her hands. “I think I might need one of these, you’re coming up with good ideas AuriDawn,” Aurora snorted out a laugh when Tatum used her old tag, one she had prior to ever entering the pro-play circuit. “When you dropped the ‘Dawn’ it was truly a travesty. I hope you know that.” Tatum continued.

“I spoiled my own pro debut with that,” Auror laughed lightly. When Aurora was transitioning into professional play she had opted to drop her tag from the ‘AuriDawn’ she used to play under the just ‘auri’, a short and simple derivative of her name that was different enough from the ‘Rory’ that her friends and family knew her by.

“They were announcing my pro contract literally the next day at the regional kick off, I was on the roster and everything,” Aurora caught her stress ball as Tatum tossed it back to her. “They gave me the okay to change my tag the night before and then I hopped on to stream with my friends.” Tatum offered a wide smile as she reached next to them to throw her now empty can out.

“Hey,” Tatum started, “it’s better than my boyfriend hard launching our relationship by walking into my stream.”

Aurora found herself searching her memory for a few moments. “Oh he’s the,” she snapped her fingers in front of herself a couple times, “cars.” She couldn’t quite remember what Tatum’s boyfriend did, but she remembered it blowing up on the internet when he’d wandered into the back of Tatum’s stream.

“Formula One.” Tatum finished for her. “Lando and his friends would love you.” Aurora watched as the rest of her team began to filter out into the area where they’d all be waiting for their match to begin. “He’s here somewhere today, especially since I’m only commenting on this one.”

“I was going to ask about the nails,” Aurora nodded towards Tatum’s nails; long coffin nails intricately designed to match the character she typically played. Blacks, navy blues and hints of red swirled together to form prowlers on the pinky and ring fingers while cat paw pads made up the middle and second finger. Aurora couldn’t quite tell what was on the thumb but it looked to be the most intricate of them all.

Tatum held out her hands and let Aurora look them over. “My nail artist loves when I’m not playing, I’m able to do more than just plain builder gel.” She moved her hands away and pulled out her phone. “Lando loves it too, but for another reason,” she offered a playful wink.

“Rory,” Aurora looked up to see one of her teammates calling her over with a wave of his hand.

“I gotta go but,” Aurora pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her black denim skirt, “send yourself a message so I don’t keep missing you again.” Tatum took Aurora’s phone and sent herself a message, her phone vibrating against Aurora’s before she handed the device back.

Aurora turned to walk over to her team when she heard Tatum’s voice once more, “better show out, I’m going to be calling you my match MVP prediction today.”

Nearly a year and a half later, Aurora blew out a breath from between her lips, a quiet huff falling out as her bangs blew up in the air momentarily before settling back on her forehead. “I’m done,” she wiggled her hips as she pulled her leggings up more, the fabric not wanting to budge as it stuck to her sweaty thighs. She had long since twisted the extra fabric of her t-shirt and tucked it under the band of her sports bra.

“You totally look done, Rory,” Tatum looked around the bare apartment, boxes and suitcases scattered around the living room. “I already told you that Lando’s friends would’ve come to help with the boxes.” Aurora, Tatum and Lando had stacked all of the boxes in her living room based on where they would need to get moved the following day.

Their contracts had a written in moving allowance that included shipping for all of their belongings as well as enough to luxuriously furnish and decorate the apartment. The idea of their contract was longevity, and the team looked at their players as an investment. Aurora’s furniture would be getting delivered later that week, and until then she’d be sleeping in Tatum and Lando’s guest bedroom.

“Lando’s friends totally would've helped,” the man in question said as he walked back into the apartment. He lifted up his shirt and wiped the sweat off his face with the hem. “God I’m glad that’s it, I’ve been slacking this off season.”

“Still look good to me,” Tatum smiled as she momentarily slipped her hand up under her boyfriend’s shirt and leaned down slightly to kiss him. Aurora saw the small blush that spread across the apples of Lando’s cheeks when Tatum pulled away, a satisfied smile on her face. Their height difference was something Aurora had found endearing since the first time she met the couple together.

After Aurora’s team had won Masters, Tatum had sent her a text inviting her out clubbing with herself, her boyfriend and their mutual friends who were in the area that weekend. Aurora had walked into the club and immediately found Tatum waiting for her near the entrance to the V.I.P. section.

Tatum had switched her platform boots out for a pair of heels with a little more height and had swapped into a black leather mini-skirt and a white bodysuit that was practically see through.

Beside her stood a man with a backwards hat, plain black tee and loose fitted jeans. With the added height from her heels Tatum seemed to be about four to five inches taller than him.

“Oh that is hot!” Tatum wolf whistled when Aurora crossed into her line of sight. Aurora did a small spin, showing off the black rhinestone covered dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. She had paired it with a matching pair of heels she had found and minimal jewelry.

“I feel comfortable agreeing with her,” The man standing next to Tatum slipped out from underneath her arm that had been wrapped around his shoulders and extended his hand to Aurora. “I’m Lando.”

“Rory,” His smile was kind, and his eyes gentle. It had been years since Aurora had felt at ease and comfortable when first meeting a man close to her own age. But Lando? He was instantly different. He wasn’t soft; he was a competitor and a cutthroat one, but he looked at Tatum like she held his entire world in her hands. Aurora trusted that, trusted him.

Tatum had very quickly developed into Aurora’s other half, the pair streaming together in their off time, vacationing together and Tatum made an active effort to mesh Aurora into her and Lando’s group of friends.

Meeting the couple had come at a time when Aurora had just gotten herself out of her last relationship and was trying to reconcile all of the complicated feelings that came with it. Sure she felt bad being their third wheel at times, but the trio had managed to balance their lives flawlessly.

Aurora heard a loud meow come from the direction of her new bedroom and watched as Moose, her twenty-two pound Maine Coon padded back into the living room. “What Moose?” She looked at the tri-colored cat who stopped in front of the trio and meowed loudly again.

“He’s saying he’s exhausted too,” Lando leaned back against the floating bar that spanned the length of the kitchen and stretched his neck from side to side. “What you need is at our place already right?”

Aurora nodded as she watched Moose hop up onto the counter next to Lando and rub across his back before sitting right next to him and letting out another loud meow.

“Yes, Moose, we know you aren’t there yet,” Tatum reached over and used her thumb, second and third finger to scratch under his chin. Moose closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly so that she would keep going. “Him and Lando are the same creature.”

“Hey!” Lando’s voice was slightly higher than it usually was and Aurora knew his cheeks had a flush to them. He cleared his throat, “are you unpacking anything else tonight?”

Aurora looked around the large open area where most of her boxes and suitcases were and sighed, seeing everything haphazardly stacked into piles based on what room they needed to go into made her skin crawl. On the other hand though, she was exhausted, overwhelmed and aware of the fact that no productivity would come from shuffling boxes into different rooms and her suitcases into her bare bedroom.

��No,” she was mentally making a checklist for the following day, “I think I’ll be able to unpack everything tomorrow pretty much, and Tatum said she’d help me with my desktop once my desk is here next week.” Moving and unpacking again had sounded like the most unappealing part of everything when Red Bull had approached her with the offer to join their own hand crafted e-sports team.

It also meant that this team would no longer be just a team they were the main sponsor for or a team that they pooled some money into; this was their new pet project, and their name was the biggest one tied to it. They had handpicked the players that would make up the team and went for not only the biggest names in industry, but also the players with the most talent.

Red Bull had decided that the EMEA region would be home to their new team, it only made sense. Different locations were floated for the team's home base, Austria was floated by the brand, and different locations across England, someone had mentioned Germany and another Italy.

The five athletes chosen for the team, two women and three men, eventually sat around a table in the team’s Salzburg office after promotional shoots for the announcement were completed. The five athletes represented four countries, and only one of them had their home country as an option for the team’s location.

“A job is a job,” Tatum spoke up from her space at the table next to Aurora, “and I’ll work where you tell me, but I just moved to Monaco two months ago and I’d love it if that idea could be on the table.”

“Think about the wow factor that comes with that,” Luca cut into the conversation, “it’s a first for the industry, think of the attention it’d bring.”

Aurora watched as the Red Bull executives looked between each other for a few moments, one tapping their pen on the table before speaking. “We’d be willing to consider it.” His answer was short, leaving no room for argument. “It’s expensive to supplement a team based there.”

“You’re a company that made nearly ten billion dollars last year,” Aurora looked across the table to where Elliot, one of their other teammates was speaking, “you can afford to base five of us in one bedroom apartments there.”

“Four,” Tatum cut in, “I don't need my living expenses allocated into my contract if we go with Monaco,” she used the red pen in her hand to cross something out of her drafted contract. “I discussed it with my partner, he makes more than enough that living expenses in Monaco wouldn’t be a concern for me.”

“We’re discussing significantly increasing your living expense allowance if we opt to base the team in Monaco,” a different executive, someone from finance or accounting Aurora believed, spoke up.

“You’re looking for a team that’s dominant in their first season,” Aurora heard herself speaking up. “You poached the best of the best in the league from the best teams, the players that have the most followers on social media, if you want that dominance, that fanfare, you pay for it.”

“You pay to be the first and you see what sponsors roll in behind us.” Noah’s voice cut in from somewhere else at the table.

“And remember all of us are rolling in sponsors with us,” Tatum again.

The woman from finance began to type on her laptop before turning it to face the others next to her. A few hushed whispers were passed between the row of executives before she turned to face them again. “An additional one hundred and fifty a year for living expenses, rent, utilities, groceries and other necessities. An additional deposit along with your salary, you’re not expected to keep record of those expenses, it's just an additional supplement to support the expected lifestyle.” The offer was direct, final.

Aurora looked down at the offer in front of her and did the math in her head. She didn’t want to be the first to speak, but she’d accept it without much argument.

“I’m in,” Tatum capped her pen and put it down on top of her annotated contract.

“I am also,” Noah followed, leaning back into his chair.

Elliot chewed on the end of his pen for a few moments. “I am also.”

“Same,” Luca closed his contract back to the cover page.

Suddenly, Aurora felt all eyes in the room on her as she drummed her pen against the table, the rhythmic tapping the only sound in the room for a few moments. She’d remembered speaking to her lawyer earlier that morning, before she’d come into the office. They’d discussed what options she would and wouldn’t take, and ran through different scenarios. She knew the others had done the same with their attorneys. So, quietly, and with no fanfare Aurora nodded. “I’ll sign.”

And with two quiet words the room erupted into applause as a new era was ushered in. An era in which Aurora knew she would be expected to always be on the top of her game.

“I’m not cooking tonight,” Tatum opened her and Lando’s front door and hung her keys on the hook right next to it. “And Rory isn’t volunteering to cook either.” Tatum turned around and gave her a pointed look. Aurora knew that all three of them had enough expendable income at this point to eat out every single day if they wanted to, and they would be doing just that for at least the next week, but Aurora still enjoyed cooking when she had the time.

“I wasn’t going to ask anyways,” Lando closed the door behind him as Aurora bent down to let Moose off his harness. Harness training Moose as a kitten was one of the best things she ever did, the cat easily traveled with her nearly anywhere she went, and that included accompanying her to most tournaments and other trips. “He has free run of the place you know that already,” Lando waved his hand to show he didn’t care where the cat went.

Tatum padded into the kitchen after she kicked her shoes off by the door, opening the fridge and pulling out an energy drink. She used a butter knife that was on the counter to crack the tab so she wouldn’t accidentally break or lift a nail before finishing it with her fingers.

“One shot, two shots?” Tatum turned on the espresso machine that laid at the back of the makeshift coffee bar she had made in the kitchen. “What flavor? What milk?” She reached up into the cabinet and grabbed a glass. “I’m practically a barista.”

“You’re welcome!” Lando called as he closed the pair’s bedroom door. He had called first dibs on the shower, having sweat through his tee shirt even in the mild winter weather while carrying the heaviest boxes up to her apartment.

Lando had texted Aurora in a panic nearly a week after American Thanksgiving, asking what he should get Tatum for Christmas. His job made it easy for him to shower his soulmate with gifts all year long, but he had wanted to do something special for Christmas.

From Lando NoRizz:

‘HELP’

To Lando NoRizz:

‘No Hi?’

‘No Hello?’

‘No How are you?’

From Lando NoRizz:

‘WHAT DO I GET TATUM FOR CHRISTMAS I GET HER LITERALLY ANYTHING SHE WANTS THE SECOND SHE SAYS IT.

To Lando NoRizz:

‘A ring…’

From Lando NoRizz:

‘No’

‘Well yes’

‘Not yes either’

‘Not yet’

To Lando NoRizz:

‘Get her an espresso machine, she keeps complaining she wants one and instead of buying one you always just order her coffee’

From Lando NoRizz:

‘THANK U’

‘I COULD KISS YOU RIGHT NOW’

To Lando NoRizz:

‘Please don’t’

A few weeks later, on Christmas morning, Tatum had sent Aurora a picture of a full blown espresso bar that had shown up on her and Lando’s kitchen counter. A big red and white bow on top of the machine. Lando hadn’t only gotten Tatum an espresso machine, but a machine that steamed milk and made cold foam also. It had been paired with a storage rack full of different syrups, drink powders and fancy mugs. When Lando did something for Tatum he took it seriously, and Aurora adored seeing her friend so happy.

“Do caramel and whatever milk you’re going to have.” Aurora pushed herself up on the kitchen counter and took a deep breath as the espresso shots started to drip from the machine and into the mug underneath it. “That is the best thing I’ve smelled in years.” She watched as Tatum grabbed two tall glasses and filled them with ice before pumping syrup into the two cups. She poured vanilla almond milk over them before slipping the carton back into the fridge.

“Wait until you smell whatever we order for dinner.” Tatum spoke as she poured three espresso shots into one of the glasses and threw a straw in it. “Lando asked if you were up for people earlier, I told him I’d ask once you had a few minutes to decompress.”

Aurora took the glass when it was pushed towards her and began to swirl the espresso and milk together with her straw. She’d met some of Tatum and Lando’s Monaco friends before, Oscar, Alex, Carlos, Charles, their soulmates. It wasn’t the idea of being in a room worth literally hundreds of millions of dollars if you put all of their contracts together that made her uneasy.

It was the idea of being in a room full of people that were so happy, had met their soulmates, were complete and healed, that was what made her uncomfortable.

“Umm,” Aurora drew out the noise.

“You don’t need to, we just thought it’d be nice!” Tatum rushed out as she poured the espresso into her own cup. “It probably wouldn’t be everyone anyways, I know a lot of his friends are on vacation since it’s the off season. Let me,” Tatum learned her elbow on the counter and pulled her phone out.

“Literally a five minute shower,” Lando opened the door to their shared bedroom and walked out in a pair of sweatpants and a black tee shirt, his curls still dripping drops of water here and there as he tucked his phone back into his pocket. “Probably Oscar, Charles, I think Max wanted to come over next time we did dinner.”

“Max is in Monaco right now?” Aurora held her straw up to her lips and took a long sip. One thing about Tatum that Aurora loved was that she always made amazing coffee or had the perfect coffee orders. It had saved her from many hangovers when the two had spent nights out together.

“Verstappen,” Lando shook his head as he walked around the kitchen counter and leaned his head against Tatum’s shoulder, watching as she typed on her phone. “Just Charles and Alex, then Oscar and Max, Lily’s home or something,” he read off of Tatum’s phone.

“I’ve mentioned Max before,” Aurora didn’t look up from her phone, “can we just do a pasta bar and order a bunch of different ones and like sides? Everyone else seems okay with that.” Aurora and Lando both nodded and Tatum began flipping through the online menu and adding different dishes into the cart.

Lando and Tatum had both mentioned Max Verstappen before, more than a handful of times actually, “I think you should talk to Max,” Lando had said one night, curled up on the hotel sofa, tucked into Tatum’s side. “He has the same,” Lando waved his hand that wasn’t clutching a beer haphazardly, “issues.” Aurora and Tatum had both returned from a long day at Champions, a tournament that Lando had flown out to attend, the trio sharing take out and drinks afterwards in Aurora’s suite.

Aurora narrowed her eyes at the boy who sighed, “not the same exact issues.” Lando knew the bare bones as to why trusting men was a struggle for Aurora. He’d gone to place a hand on her lower back one evening when exiting a club, he’d done the same for Tatum on his other side, but Aurora had instantly tensed and pulled away from the contact.

After that night, Lando had made it a goal to make sure Aurora was always comfortable around him. He’d put in the effort to ask the proper questions, and listened while Aurora explained as much as she was comfortable with. Slowly, over the course of months Lando had earned Aurora’s trust, and had gotten inside her walls the same way Tatum had.

He was one of the few men she was comfortable being around, sharing personal space with. It was something he quietly cherished.

“Same soulmate problem, I know,” Aurora nodded as Tatum walked over to the entryway and picked up Lando’s credit card. She laid it on the counter and began to type in the information into the payment section on the restaurant’s website.

“Max said he’d pick it up. He offered to pay too but he can’t if we already did,” Tatum tucked the credit card back into Lando’s wallet and passed it back to him.

“I’m not talking to a man I don’t know about how my soulmate connection is hanging on by literal threads.” Aurora stirred her coffee with her straw, mentally calculating if she had enough time to shower before company came over.

“All I’m saying,” Lando leaned over the counter so he was eye level with Aurora now, “is that it doesn’t hurt to make new friends.”

“Exactly,” Tatum cut in. “Max might seem like he’s some type of heartless competitor but he’s honestly one of the best men I know.” Aurora found her eyes casting down to the string wrapped around her finger. It was still frayed, still barely holding on, but it was her’s. It was her’s and it was her soulmate’s.

They might not have much left tying them together, but they had both been putting in immense effort to ensure what little they had left still hung on. Lori had told her that would make their soulmate bond stronger once they finally met. ‘You’ve both had something to fight for already,’ Lori’s soft voice filled Aurora’s head, ‘your bond is already stronger than most who hardly think about what having to fight for a relationship is like prior to meeting’.

“I’m going to shower,” Aurora stood up straighter.

“Try and be friends with him!” Lando called after her.

Aurora held up her middle finger as she closed the door to the guest bedroom behind her.

Taglist: @eiffel-hood @deaddumblbumble @sarcasm-ismy-onlydefense @fastandcurious16

#max verstappen imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 imagine #max verstappen x ofc #max verstappen fanfiction #max verstappen x original female character #max verstappen fanfic #anemoia fic

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checkeredchicklet · 11 days ago

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They don’t tell you about the hot flashes that come with endometriosis, like why am I sweating through my clothing at noon on a Monday sitting at my desk and fighting the urge to puke

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checkeredchicklet · 12 days ago

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i stand with my cancelled suicidal wives

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checkeredchicklet · 12 days ago

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hungarian gp crashout twins

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checkeredchicklet · 12 days ago

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imagine youre charles leclerc, pulling of an incredible pole on your WORST track, you start p1, your teams strategy falls for the DUMMY CALL your car drinks fuel like crazy, you fight your ass off to stay EVEN IN TOP3 but you end up being p4- AND THEN your team shuts your radio to silence your outrage after the chequered flag. i wouldve killed someone

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checkeredchicklet · 13 days ago

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Show her a little love while I work on the next chunk 🤭

Anemoia | 0.1 | Masterlist

Overview: Everyone is born with a red string of fate tying them to their soulmate for life, but not everyone meets their soulmate before the bond is broken.

Authors Note: This is my first fic back after hot mess of a couple years. Be kind and leave constructive criticism, and fill my inbox with asks. Comment or send me an ask to be added to the taglist.

XOXO Chickee.

Aurora shifted on the couch, tucking her legs underneath herself after sliding her fur-lined boots off, something she wouldn’t have done five years ago in the same position. Her water bottle lay balancing on her legs, stickers beginning to peel, the top dented from where she dropped it in her driveway a few weeks earlier. Her feet were clad in mismatched socks, a pair of plain black leggings clung to her skin more than she’d like them to, and a hoodie — with the string aglets chewed off — kept her surrounded in warmth.

She brushed her left hand slowly along the chenille arm of the couch, a dark blue color that reminded her of the sky not long after a storm passed, still angry, but not quite as dark. It was the fifth couch she had sat on in this office. They seemed to be replaced on an annual basis, typically right at the beginning of fall, when it was still warm but no longer too hot to function. The color had changed each time also, but the material never did, and Aurora supposed each color represented a new stage in her healing journey. That was never something Aurora would say out loud, she knew Lori would ask her something introspective if she did. ‘Does each color make you feel differently, or are you just at a different stage in your healing journey?’ She heard Lori’s soft, practiced voice in her mind every time she looked at the sofa for too long. She’d also never admit it out loud, but it was something she had acknowledged to herself for the first time years ago after the couch changed to the third color.

The first couch was a deep red, as fresh as the wounds Aurora had been trying to heal herself for two years with no progress; raw and still bleeding. She had managed to form a thick scab over the wounds rather quickly though, and not long after Aurora had started attending therapy – over two years after everything happened – she came in for a session and a dark green couch sat before her. The color was truly awful, puke green really, it had taken Aurora an entire year to figure out how the color tied into her story.

She didn’t realize how the green couch made her feel until it was replaced, but not long after it was gone, and she had time to reflect. Aurora realized that her first full year of therapy often made her feel sick to her stomach. All of her fears were uncovered as she had finally come to terms with everything, and had finally managed to say the words she had feared were true out loud. She had sat on the green couch on a Monday night in May, rain pounding against the glass window and her nails digging into the fabric, the words ‘I was assaulted’ had just barely slipped past her lips before she bent over and puked in the garbage can next to the sofa. Bile had burned the back of her throat and ugly sobs shook her fragile body, but she had finally admitted the words outloud, over a year after she had started attending therapy to heal those wounds. Three years after it had happened.

The green couch had seen a year of college parties and binge drinking, her GPA never dropping under a 4.0, but her sleep schedule erratic and irregular. Skipped meals and too many hours were spent in the gym. She felt like a corpse, pale green and sickly.

The green couch had seen the worst version of Aurora, the truly sick version of Aurora, but the green couch also saw Aurora begin to heal. While she wanted to compare the couch to the color of the bile she had retched out on that night in May, she couldn’t. So, two months after the green couch was replaced she settled on a word for that period of her life. Regrowth.

Soon after Aurora started her final year of college – and had received her first professional contract - the yellow couch appeared. Her third year of therapy was hopeful and bright, she felt human again. She wasn’t constantly on edge, she slept, she ate regular meals, and three days of binge drinking on the weekends turned into an occasional wine night with her friends. Hopeful, bright and filled with joy; the worst was behind her now. Optimism.

Then came the black couch. Who would even pick a black couch? Aurora had gotten into her first serious relationship since everything had happened not long after the black couch appeared.

The boy she was dating was nice enough, they had gotten rather serious pretty quickly. Four months into their relationship and five months into the black couch her boyfriend had suggested they take the next step in their relationship. Blinded by love, and her own denial that she still needed time to heal, Aurora agreed.

However, the minute Aurora began to feel again, she shut down. She regressed back to the coping mechanisms she had used immediately after it happened; keeping herself so busy she couldn’t think, not eating, staying up until four and five in the morning only to get back up by seven. Aurora knew the black couch had ushered in a new type of pain, a type of pain the red couch had never seen.

She admitted on the black couch on a quiet Thursday afternoon that she had thrown up the second she smelled a movie theater for the first time in nearly six years, and that something inside her died that night. She admitted on the black couch that she had a panic attack the first, and only, time she and her boyfriend had tried to go further than just kissing. She admitted part of her didn’t want to keep going anymore. Dirty, Aurora had settled on the feeling long before the black couch was ever gone. It wasn’t an emotion, but a feeling. The entire time the black couch was in her therapist’s office Aurora had felt dirty.

The fifth couch was the same dark blue couch she was sitting on now, the color of the sky when thunder could still be heard in deep rumbles, but the worst of the storm had passed. The color that painted the sky when the crisp smell of the earth after rain filled the air. Clean, refreshed.

It was ironic really - the couch in her therapist's office being the same color that the sky tended to be right after the worst of the storm passed. It was also still uncertain if another downpour would come rushing in, uncertain if the sky would soon again be filled with flashing lightning and rumbling thunder, but for now, the worst was in the distance.

“I heard about your new contract,” Lori, Aurora’s therapist, finally spoke. Aurora’s eyes snapped up from where they were watching her own fingers run over the arm of the couch, the trance being broken. Her bright blue eyes swam with tears from her previous thoughts and she narrowed them, not in malice, more-so in curiosity, as Lori spoke. “Big contract.”

‘Mhumm’, the noise carried out into the office from deep in the back of Aurora’s throat. “It’s a hefty contract,” Lori tacked on. Hefty was being modest. She didn’t mention the sponsorship deals she had also signed or the income that comes in from streaming as well, the living costs built into her contract in addition to her salary. The number publicly published was modest compared to what she was really receiving.

Aurora nodded. “I’m moving to Monaco, I’ll be on an EMEA team now.” Her hand resumed the same motion as earlier, the soft fabric shifting just slightly under her motions, it appeared to be a lighter blue as she pushed the fabric around, but as soon as she disturbed the fabric again it went back to the same dark color. It had to mean something, but Aurora couldn’t figure out what, she wasn’t sure if she ever would. “Monaco is a first for E-Sports,” she continued, “it’s a group of us, pretty well known, sponsors wanted to try something new I guess.”

Lori crossed her legs, and Aurora knew she was watching her over the rim of her glasses. “You’ll be able to meet more people there. Maybe you’ll finally meet-”

“No,” Aurora’s voice was firm, sure, leaving no room for disagreement. She cleared her throat. “No,” Aurora corrected her tone, “I’m not going searching for him.” Aurora looked down to her left ring finger, the red string that never seemed to disappear still firmly tied around it. A simple little bow that reminded her of the ones she would tie when she was first learning to tie her own shoelaces.

She smiled at the bow fondly, remembering the words her parents would speak to her when she had first been learning to tie her shoes. Aurora had always been a perfectionist, and she closed her eyes as she took a deep breath to try and center herself.

She remembered her father bent down on one knee next to her before her first day of kindergarten while she held her shoelaces firmly between her two small hands. Fine motor skills had been something she struggled with when she was younger, and her parents had done everything possible to help her improve. The moldable clay wasn’t just for fun, nor were the large lego blocks, puzzles or animal lacing activities she had, it had been an active effort by her parents to aid in her development as much as they could. Her parents were gentle, kind, caring and determined that their daughter would not only stay on track, but would excel.

Up until kindergarten Aurora could read chapter books meant for second and third graders, but all of her shoes she wore to school were still Velcro or slip ons as she couldn’t tie them herself. Her doctors had encouraged helping get a diagnosis, and although her parents weren’t opposed to the idea, they had opted to work on their daughter's fine motor skills themselves before sending their daughter in for hours of evaluation.

“Okay,” Aurora looked down at her laces as she began to make two loops with them, “bunny ears, bunny ears playing by a tree,” she poked her tongue through her missing front teeth as her father watched her cross the two loops. “Criss-crossed the tree, trying to catch me.” Aurora pulled one of the laces through the hole as she spoke softly, “bunny ears, bunny ears, jumped into the hole,” she tugged the two loops tight between her dings, “popped out the other side, beautiful and bold!” She remembered jumping up to hug her dad, the man swinging his daughter around in a circle.

”Look!” She held up her left ringer finger and left foot after he had put her down, “They match!” And even though her father couldn’t see the red string tied neatly around his daughter's finger, he nodded with a wide smile on his face. “I’m not sure why some of the strings are weird though,” Aurora frowned at the threads around her finger that had frayed. Although up until that point Aurora didn’t remember when any strings frayed, she knew they had, but her parents opted not to explain why until years later.

Over the years the string had begun to fray even more, individual threads breaking, but the whole string seemed to still be hanging on tight. The first time she vividly remembered watching a thread break had been that night in the movie theater during her sophomore year. She felt the sharp tug of the thread as the button on her jeans had popped open, she remembered the second it broke not long after. A silent tear had slipped down her cheek when it did. Others had broken over the years; some when she was too young to remember exactly when it had happened. She was older when others broke though, those were the ones she wanted to know more about. It was often said that if threads broke once soulmates were older it was due to a lack of emotional regulation, but Aurora knew that wasn’t necessarily true.

On a mild Sunday in July, Aurora had been home on a break from her first stint in professional play. She’d won a tournament in her debut to the pro play stage, and before the craziness consumed her again she had opted to travel home, to the middle of nowhere, for a quiet break. She was out on her family’s boat, their family dog, an old German Shepard, tucked into her side on the bow of the boat while she balanced her kindle on her bare legs, an iced latte clasped in her left hand. It was quiet, too early for most people who attended church weekly to be out on the river, too late for all the fishermen who were out before dawn. Her dad stood on the opposite end of the boat, casting his fishing pole back out into the river while her mom was cutting up a large plate of fresh fruit. It was quiet, a normal morning for the family now that Aurora was home for a few weeks.

At 10:31 that morning Aurora had been twisting her string around her finger while she read, as she often did, when she suddenly felt a sharp tug and then felt the string go slack. She looked down and noticed that a new thread that made up her string was frayed. Another thread had broken. It hadn’t happened in about a year, a thread breaking. The last thread that had broken snapped the day Aurora had admitted out loud what had happened, that was well over a year ago. So, to say it was a little bit of a system shock would be an understatement.

“Rory,” Lori used the nickname Aurora had asked her to use five years ago when she had first sat down in her office, freshly eighteen and unwilling to unpack any of her trauma. “You’ve consistently been fighting it since you were sixteen,” Lori paused, waiting for Aurora to answer, she didn’t though. “You need to be willing to ease yourself into it in a healthy way eventually, your anxiety surrounding developing a healthy relationship is understandable-”

”But I’ll never even have the chance at a healthy relationship if I refuse to even look for my soulmate in the first place,” Aurora finished the sentence in fewer words than Lori would have.

Silence filled the room in a way it hadn’t in a long time, Aurora and Lori’s sessions had been lively the past few months, Aurora’s mind finally quiet in a way it hadn’t been for a long time. Life always had its way of playing games with her mind though, it often did.

“He requested to follow me the other day,” Aurora’s voice broke through the silence. “How am I supposed to develop any successful relationship when I have to explain that my not-even-ex from when I was freshly sixteen requesting to follow me on social media sends me into a weeks-long anxiety and panic induced spiral or something. I felt the string stretching and pulling, I didn’t let another strand break though, I couldn’t, we only have five left,” Speaking the words hurt; they were raw, real, and truer than anything she had said in months. The string had pulled tight that night, and Aurora knew a thread had wanted to break, but at the last second she had managed to calm herself down enough to release the tension.

“The same way you’ll explain to them why developing relationships is something you tend to struggle with.” Lori spoke the words so easily, she even shrugged at the end. “Just because you thought that’s what you were supposed to do at fifteen and sixteen doesn’t mean that it wasn’t traumatizing.”

Aurora realized her hand had stilled on the couch and had begun picking at her cuticles, skin beginning to pull away at her fingers. If she didn’t stop now she’d pull at the skin until her fingers bled. She folded both of her hands in her lap and began to spin the ring that wrapped around her right index finger, it helped her avoid not only picking her cuticles but also pulling at her string. “That I can’t go to the movies as a first date, or any date really, that I can’t smell certain aftershave and deodorant without wanting to throw up, that the idea of anyone touching me, of me touching myself, sends me into a panic attack,” Aurora’s chest began to heave as she spoke. There was more, she knew there was more, but she couldn’t find the words.

Finally, the room fell quiet for a few moments, and Aurora’s hand began running along the sofa again, another storm had passed, her mood matching the post-storm blue that the material was once again.

This time though, this time it was different. It wasn’t calm and the air wasn’t crisp with the scent of a summer thunderstorm. The air was thick and humid, electrified, the promise that another storm, something stronger, would soon sweep through. “I was doing so well,” her voice wobbled, “I hadn’t thought about him in months, and him just clicking one simple little button ruins months, years,” her voice cracked and she partially sobbed the final word, “years of progress I’ve made.”

“Progress isn’t linear, Aurora,” Lori’s voice was soft. Lori tapped her electronic pencil against her tablet, “and I should be able to keep acting as your doctor as long as you are able to uphold your appointments while you’re living in Monaco.” Lori typed something on her tablet before setting it down. “I think we need to go back to weekly appointments for a while at least.”

“Thank you,” Aurora’s voice was quiet, raw, as she spoke.

White. Aurora thought to herself, the next couch is going to be white. Clean, sterile, so easy to stain, and she’d stain it. Just like she’d stain any pristine opportunities presented to her, just by touching it.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

”Max,” he placed his sweat-soaked towel down when he heard Lando call his name. Picking up his padel racket, he placed his hands down on either side of his hips and pushed himself up off the ledge he was sitting on. “You and Osc!” Max hears Oscar push himself up from where he was sitting along the padel court as well, a quiet groan leaving the Aussie’s throat. It was the off season, and although they all stayed in amazing shape – had to stay in amazing shape for their jobs – some weeks they let go a little bit more than others.

Max waited for Oscar to catch up with him before he heard the younger driver speak, “I don’t understand how they have so much energy.” Oscar looked over to where Lando was currently trying to catch Tatum, his soulmate, across the padel court from them.

“Mate, they’re both in off season right now they’re going at it like rabbits probably, soulmate glow or whatever.” Max nods across the court where Lando has his arms wrapped around Tatum’s waist, the girl hoisted above his one shoulder while she pounds on his back with her fists. Her athletic skort had flipped up and Max was incredibly glad for the built in shorts.

The pair weren’t quite who you’d expect to wind up together; quite literally embodying the golden retriever boyfriend and black cat girlfriend trope to the extreme, but it had seemed to work for the pair since they met.

Max had been out with Lando the night the pair had met at a club in Melbourne following the Grand Prix. Tatum had been clad in a skimpy black, leather mini skirt with fishnets A black lacy bodysuit hugged her top half and her makeup was flawless; black winged eyeliner with big fluttering lashes, a light sparkle to her eyelids and a black lip. A septum piercing was in her nose and Max couldn’t quite count how many ear piercings she had.

“Oh fuck,” Max heard Lando mutter under his breath as he had a white-knuckle grip on his drink. “Jesus, I am not prepared for this.”

“What are you on about?” Max leaned closer to Lando and shouted over the pulsing beat of the club music.

The moment Tatum turned around though, Max saw it, the same awestruck look in her eyes that Lando currently had. Her lips pursed and she tilted her head to the side before she leaned over to one of the girls she was apparently with and handed her the brightly colored cocktail in her hand, whispering something in her ear.

Tatum pushed herself up from the VIP booth she had been sitting in with her friends and made her way across the room on a pair of black platform boots. As she got closer, Max noticed the tattoo on her upper right thigh and saw the one that took up most of her right arm.

“Took us long enough?” Her voice was sweet and gentle; it didn’t match her style at all as she held up her left hand, manicured nails – claws – that were too intricate Max couldn’t even tell what design was on them. And Lando? Lando just laughed nervously as he stared at the girl in front of him.

Max had watched people other than Lando meet their soulmate, and every single time it drove the knife into his heart just a little bit deeper; twisted it just a little bit more.

He hadn’t searched for her, he didn’t even know where to begin. He didn’t necessarily want to find her. It still hurt though. Watching everyone get their happily ever after while his soul bond was hanging on by literally five threads.

“Put me down!” Tatum reached out towards Max and Oscar for help when Lando turned around so her top half was facing them, Oscar let out a hearty laugh and shook his head no, while Max just shrugged and held up his padel racket with both hands.

“My hands are full,” Max called back.

“Lando!” She screeched as he began to spin in circles.

Max watched on as Lando spun in a few more circles while Tatum yelled at him to put her down. He glanced at his own string, still tied firmly around his right ring finger, with indifference. He didn’t long for that life anymore and had settled on the fact that he might not meet his soulmate at a convenient time like many of his friends seemed to. He might not meet her at all.

He’d won two world championships now, hopefully would be chasing his third this season. He was satisfied. He’d achieved the dreams he’d been chasing since he was a child. Yet, he still found himself watching for a little too long as Lando bent down carefully to place Tatum on the ground.

Her feet touched the padel court and she immediately turned around to glare at her boyfriend, her dyed hair sticking out of the pony tail she had tied it up in earlier; tufts of blonde, black and copper sticking up. Her cheeks were flushed, but a bright smile stretched across her face. The two were truly made for each other, and anyone with eyes could see it.

“You want that,” Oscar spoke up from his place next to Max.

Max’s response was just a shrug. He knew his connection with his soulmate was quite literally hanging on by a few threads. Five threads to be exact. “I do,” he said matter-of-factly, “I also don’t.”

Max would never just open up to Oscar about his fears, about all the threads he’d broken when he and his soulmate were younger.

The thread that broke when his fingers were practically frozen around the wheel of his kart at eight or nine. He hadn’t felt that thread break, and he didn’t remember much about that day other than looking down at his finger in the car later that day and noticing the thread had snapped. He was so small, and so naive at that point still. The frayed edges of the string had practically frozen in the cold air, but later on that day, after he had warmed up, Max stared at the frayed edges for hours.

He’d asked his mother about it, and she’d offered him a sad smile and a quiet explanation. “Sometimes,” she started as he stared down at the string, “when you or your soulmate have extra bad days, one part of your string will break.”

“What if all the parts break?” Max remembered himself asking quietly, his eyes staring up at his mother with tears he’d never actually let fall. His small voice was laced with distress as he continued to stare at the string, as if his gaze alone could fix it.

“Well you need to be strong enough to make sure it doesn’t break.” His mother had never finished answering his question, but Max knew now what would happen, and he swore he’d never let that connection fully break.

Another string had broken after hours of practice in the cold rain on slicks.

Another when he was left on the side of the road in Italy at a gas station.

Another when he was berated in front of the other teens after a second place finish at a karting race.

Max hadn’t let a string break since Silverstone 2021 though. Max remembered the start of the race. He was in the cockpit of his car, his hands gripping the wheel so tight he swore his fingers might snap. They’d finished the formation lap and he was parked in his gridbox, waiting for the lights in front of him to light up one by one before going out fully. His string was wound so incredibly tight he thought the entire thing may snap if he wasn’t careful.

2021 had been a season of almost’s; Max knew if that season hadn’t gone his way it would’ve been incredibly possible that all of their remaining strings would’ve broken.

He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, the string growing slightly less tense as he did so, then, the lights went out and his foot practically hit the floor of his car instantaneously. Max remembered going around the outside of Lewis into turn one and taking the lead of the race; keeping the lead into the next few turns. He felt the string grow taught again as Lewis again grew closer; he didn’t have a safe lead yet.

The next thing he remembered he was spinning and then slamming into a wall harder than he ever had before. His ears ringing, his vision blurring, the string tying him to his soulmate snapping once again. He remembered GP’s voice, his name rushing past his engineer’s lips with worry when he could only respond with a pained groan.

He’d ruined it again. He’d broken their connection once more, and now they only had five chances left, and he was too afraid to lose them all before meeting her. He wouldn’t start racing safe; he didn’t start racing safe. He continued to take risks, push himself – and his car – to the absolute limits. It had been all he’d ever known. He couldn’t stop now.

In his early twenties, part of him wished his string would just snap the rest of the way. He could take all of the risks he wanted if he wasn’t soul tied to anyone.

“Max,” Tatum’s quiet voice snapped him back into reality, “you zoned out.”

“Yeah,” he shook his head, “yeah.”

“Aurora, my friend from work I’ve mentioned,” Tatum started. “She’s moving here this weekend.” Max watched as Tatum bounced on the balls of her feet, it’s what she did when she was going to ask for something. Max might not be her soulmate, but he’d spent enough time around her in the past year and a half to know the tell tales of when she wanted something. “Lan said he’d help her move in if she needs it, Osc did too.” She offered Oscar a toothy grin, showing off the pink gem on her right canine tooth, it was some of the only pink he’d ever seen on her body. Max had been with the pair when she had gotten it a few weeks ago on a whim along with a naval piercing.

“I volunteered you to help too,” Lando gave Max a shit eating grin as he picked up the padel ball again, “plus she has a cat,” he added.

“Lovely,” Max sighed, just what he needed.

Taglist: @deaddumblbumble @eiffel-hood

Quietly dropping an @pitlanepeach tag in here also since her fics are fire and lowkey inspired me to start getting on the grind again.

#f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 imagine #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x original female character #max verstappen x ofc #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fanfiction

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checkeredchicklet · 14 days ago

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Anemoia | 0.1 | Masterlist

Overview: Everyone is born with a red string of fate tying them to their soulmate for life, but not everyone meets their soulmate before the bond is broken.

Authors Note: This is my first fic back after hot mess of a couple years. Be kind and leave constructive criticism, and fill my inbox with asks. Comment or send me an ask to be added to the taglist.

XOXO Chickee.

Then came the black couch. Who would even pick a black couch? Aurora had gotten into her first serious relationship since everything had happened not long after the black couch appeared.

Lori crossed her legs, and Aurora knew she was watching her over the rim of her glasses. “You’ll be able to meet more people there. Maybe you’ll finally meet-”

”But I’ll never even have the chance at a healthy relationship if I refuse to even look for my soulmate in the first place,” Aurora finished the sentence in fewer words than Lori would have.

“Thank you,” Aurora’s voice was quiet, raw, as she spoke.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

“Oh fuck,” Max heard Lando mutter under his breath as he had a white-knuckle grip on his drink. “Jesus, I am not prepared for this.”

“What are you on about?” Max leaned closer to Lando and shouted over the pulsing beat of the club music.

Max had watched people other than Lando meet their soulmate, and every single time it drove the knife into his heart just a little bit deeper; twisted it just a little bit more.

“My hands are full,” Max called back.

“Lando!” She screeched as he began to spin in circles.

“You want that,” Oscar spoke up from his place next to Max.

Max would never just open up to Oscar about his fears, about all the threads he’d broken when he and his soulmate were younger.

Another string had broken after hours of practice in the cold rain on slicks.

Another when he was left on the side of the road in Italy at a gas station.

Another when he was berated in front of the other teens after a second place finish at a karting race.

2021 had been a season of almost’s; Max knew if that season hadn’t gone his way it would’ve been incredibly possible that all of their remaining strings would’ve broken.

In his early twenties, part of him wished his string would just snap the rest of the way. He could take all of the risks he wanted if he wasn’t soul tied to anyone.

“Max,” Tatum’s quiet voice snapped him back into reality, “you zoned out.”

“Yeah,” he shook his head, “yeah.”

“I volunteered you to help too,” Lando gave Max a shit eating grin as he picked up the padel ball again, “plus she has a cat,” he added.

“Lovely,” Max sighed, just what he needed.

Taglist: @deaddumblbumble @eiffel-hood

Quietly dropping an @pitlanepeach tag in here also since her fics are fire and lowkey inspired me to start getting on the grind again.

#max verstappen imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #max verstappen x ofc #soulmate au #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fanfiction #max verstappen x original female character #anemoia fic #chickee writes

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checkeredchicklet · 15 days ago

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Anemoia | MASTERLIST

Max Verstappen x OFC (Soulmate AU)

Grid Ace

Lestappen x Reader (SMAU)

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checkeredchicklet · 15 days ago

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Crying, screaming, throwing up over how amazing this is!!!!

Siren Sounds | Chapter One (1/5)

Max Verstappen x Maya Hamilton (OFC) x Lando Norris

Summary — What started as a mistake—a tangle of limbs and too much vodka—had become something else. Something dangerous. Something that hurt in ways she hadn’t expected.

She loved them both. She didn’t know how it happened, only that she had cracked open somewhere along the way and they had poured into her—bright and brutal and absolutely unavoidable.

And they—God help them—loved her back.

Warnings — Polyamory, secret relationships, complex relationship dynamics, d/s undertones, strong language, cheating, lack of communication, protective big brother lewis.

Notes — Guys..... I'm obsessed with them.

Feed the writer with your reactions/thoughts/feelings!<3

mayahamilton just made a new post!

liked by landonorris, lewishamilton, mercedesf1, and 298,548 others

mayahamilton ready to get back to business!

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lewishamilton Another year of gratitude for your support and dedication babygirl🩷

user17 LETS FUCKING GOOOO ANNUAL MAYA POST MEANS F1 IS BACK FOR REAL

user2 me foaming at the mouth: maya hamilton pls just give me a chance one chance i’ll treat you so good

user11 bro she’s not gonna pick you lmaoooo

vogueuk Your reminder that Maya was voted the most beautiful woman in the 2020 F1 paddock—and we can’t see that changing anytime soon!

mayahamilton mwah kisses <3

Maya Hamilton had mastered the art of slipping through the paddock unnoticed—or at least she thought she had.

Tote bag slung over one shoulder, she flashed a practiced smile to a couple of Sky Sports reporters, weaving her way past the McLaren motorhome. The Bahrain sun burned low, casting the desert in gold, and if she tilted her head just right, she could pretend her heart wasn’t racing at a thousand beats per minute.

Because somewhere behind that locked hospitality door, Lando Norris and Max Verstappen were probably already arguing.

Again.

She knocked once, paused, then entered without waiting.

Inside, Lando sat on the edge of the leather sofa, fidgeting with the ring on his finger—the one she’d given him, stupidly, sentimentally, back in Monza. Max stood against the far wall, arms crossed, every inch of him taut with restrained fury.

The air was sharp. Tense. Familiar.

Maya shut the door behind her with a quiet click, as though silence might hold the tension at bay. “Okay. Who’s going to snap first?”

Lando looked up, his mouth twitching into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Depends. Do I get a kiss before or after Max accuses me of stealing his girlfriend again?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Max said sharply, his voice like flint.

Maya blinked. “Wow. Nice to see you too.”

Silence settled over them like desert heat—thick, slow, suffocating.

It had been like this for months. Since Abu Dhabi. Since that night in Monaco when Max kissed her in the dark behind the Red Bull garage like he couldn’t help himself. Like she hadn’t left Lando’s bed four hours earlier and her lipstick stain still marked his neck.

What started as a mistake—a tangle of limbs and too much vodka—had become something else. Something dangerous. Something that hurt in ways she hadn’t expected.

She loved them both. She didn’t know how it happened, only that she had cracked open somewhere along the way and they had poured into her—bright and brutal and absolutely unavoidable.

And they—God help them—loved her back. In their own impossible ways.

Lando loved her like sunshine. Like laughter and late-night voice notes and clumsy fingers trying to memorise her. Max loved her like gravity. Like drowning in deep water. Like claiming, not asking.

And maybe, if either of them had the courage to admit it, they loved each other too.

But Lewis could never know.

Her big brother would lose his goddamn mind.

Lando broke the tension first—he always did. “Okay,” he said, standing, pushing both hands through his hair. “Let’s just be grown-ups about this.”

“Says the child,” Max muttered under his breath.

“I heard that,” Lando snapped.

“Good.”

Maya groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m not doing this again. We talked about this. Nobody owns anyone. This works because it’s balanced. Max, you get me. Lando, you get me. And when you let your egos chill out for five seconds, you get each other.”

Lando looked away, jaw tight. Max didn’t.

Max never looked away. He watched her like she was the only fixed point in a spinning world. And sometimes, it scared her—how much of herself he saw. How much of her he wanted.

His intensity was magnetic and terrifying, like he wanted to consume her whole.

Lando, in contrast, gave her room to breathe. He held her by the hand, not her throat. He kissed her slowly, let her laugh during sex, wiped tears off her cheeks when the world outside their bed got too loud.

She needed both. She wanted both.

And that’s what made her feel like the worst kind of woman.

Selfish. Greedy. Slut. Liar.

She’d called herself all those things in the mirror more than once, brushing her teeth with a guilty mouth and red-raw lips.

Max stepped forward, slow, gaze locked on her. “Lando gets to joke with your brother. Walk beside you—play the best friend act. And I have to stand in corners like a dirty secret.”

“You are my dirty secret,” she teased weakly, voice trying to lift the weight between them. “Both of you.”

But neither of them laughed.

Max’s voice dropped to a low rumble. “It’s not funny anymore, Maya. When Lewis finds out—”

“He won’t,” she snapped, more harshly than she meant. She swallowed, instantly regretting the heat in her tone. “Because we’re careful. Because I’ve spent my whole life being suffocated by him, and for once, I want something that’s mine. Without having to ask for permission.”

The confession left her breathless.

Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow bursts. Her throat ached.

She blinked away the sting in her eyes. “I don’t want to be Hamilton’s little sister every time I walk into a room. I want to love who I want. I want to make my own mistakes. Even if it means—” Her voice cracked. “God—I don’t know.”

Lando moved first, always soft when she started to spiral. He approached, voice gentle. “We’re not saying you can’t have that, baby. We’re just… we’re heading into the season now. It’s not like winter break. Everything’s more intense. The media. The pressure. The rivalry.”

“Yeah,” Max added, his tone unreadable, his eyes unreadable. “And you think Lewis is overprotective now? Wait until he finds out his sister’s in bed with the man who’s going to steal his eighth title.”

She flinched.

It wasn’t just the words—it was the weight behind them.

Max meant it.

He wanted that title. That legacy. That history.

Even if it tore Lewis apart.

Even if it tore her apart.

And that was the part Maya couldn’t reconcile—the cruel irony of loving the man who wanted to undo the one person who had built her entire world. Who had raised her. Protected her. Carried her through every storm she didn’t have the strength to face alone.

Max didn’t just want to win.

He wanted to win against Lewis.

And maybe that should’ve been enough to make her walk away.

But instead, she stepped forward. Always forward.

Heart hammering. Hands trembling.

She moved like a magnet drawn to flame, unable to stop herself as she slid between them, reaching out—fingers wrapping around Max’s left and Lando’s right.

Their skin was warm. Familiar. Her anchors in a world that shifted beneath her feet every day.

She could feel Max’s pulse against her palm, steady and strong. Lando’s hand twitched slightly in hers, like he didn’t quite believe she was still choosing them—still choosing this—despite the inevitable fallout.

“I know this isn’t ideal,” she said softly. Her voice barely carried in the hush between them. “I know it’s selfish. And maybe I don’t deserve either of you—”

“Don’t say that,” Max cut in, sharp and immediate. His frown deepened, not out of anger but frustration. “Don’t ever say that.”

She glanced up at him, startled by the intensity in his eyes. Not cold, but burning. Like he’d set himself alight just to prove her wrong.

“You’re allowed to want something for yourself,” he said, quieter now but no less fierce. “Even if it’s us.”

Lando leaned in then, pressing his forehead to hers, grounding her with the kind of softness Max could never quite manage. “We chose this too, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing her hairline. “You’re not the only one risking something.”

Maya exhaled shakily, eyes fluttering closed.

The guilt was always there, curling in her stomach like smoke. For lying to Lewis. For keeping secrets from the team that had always treated her like family. For loving so recklessly, so expansively, that she hadn’t even tried to contain it.

But this—this twisted, complicated, sacred thing between the three of them—it was hers. Untouched by anyone else's judgment. Untamed by logic or permission.

Max kissed her temple then—slow and uncharacteristically sweet. “Until it burns down around us,” he whispered.

She swallowed.

And maybe it would.

Maybe they were building something doomed to collapse under the weight of scrutiny and legacy and bloodlines.

But when she looked at Lando—still holding her hand like it was a lifeline—and at Max, standing close enough to feel his heartbeat echo in her chest…

She couldn’t bring herself to care.

Maybe it would burn.

Maybe she was the one holding the match.

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mayahamilton beautiful bahrain 🇧🇭 bring on the first quali of the year tomorrow morning!

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mickschumacher that pasta looks sooooo good

user22 🫵 @/lewishamilton

mickschumacher YO WTF???????

mercedesf1 We are so excited to have you with us this year, as always!🩷

mayahamilton so much love for you all!!!!!

user62 did you get seasick??!?? i will never forget that vlog where you were rocking back and forth on toto’s yacht begging them to put you back on solid land😭😭😭😭

mayahamilton we were actually still docked in this pic i just made lewis take it at an angle that make it look like we weren’t😭😭😭😭😭

user15 STOP IM CRYING THATS SO FUNNY

user83 catfishing being out at sea as a seasick person is insane😭💀

lewishamilton Great pics!❤️

mayahamilton he says like he didn’t take 3 of them loooooool

lewishamilton I didn’t wanna steal your shine!

mayahamilton not possible 👸🏾✨

The Mercedes garage buzzed with its usual pre-qualifying electricity—monitors flickering, radios crackling, engineers darting between laptops and tire carts. Controlled chaos.

Maya stood near the back wall, familiar lanyard hanging from her neck, sipping lukewarm coffee from her battered Mercedes-branded flask. She wore the team polo, like always, but today it felt a little tighter across the chest. Or maybe that was just her guilt constricting her ribcage.

It was the first qualifying of the year. Normally, she’d be excited—grinning, making jokes with the engineers, sneaking pictures of Lewis warming up in the driver room to post to his private Instagram. She’d grown up in these garages. Crawled under tool benches. Learned how to curse in five languages by age ten.

This was home.

But today, the air felt different. Or maybe she did.

She caught sight of Lewis through the windowed partition, arms folded, head bowed in conversation with Bono. Focused. Calm. Her chest ached.

She hadn’t looked him in the eye all morning.

Not since she woke up tangled in sheets that weren’t hers, with Max’s hand resting heavy on her hip and Lando’s sleepy voice murmuring something soft against her spine.

She shouldn’t be here. Not like this.

“Good morning, trouble,” a familiar voice called, breaking through her spiral. Maya looked up to see Toto striding toward her, tall and purposeful in his signature white shirt. “You hiding out back here?”

She forced a smile. “Just observing.”

Toto narrowed his eyes. “You observe better when you’re harassing strategy with your silly questions and stealing the gummy bears from my desk.”

“Are you calling my questions dumb, Mr. Wolff?”

He grinned. “Only the ones about if we can put glitter on the tires.”

She smiled, grateful for the distraction.

But before she could relax, Angela slid up beside her, slipping a cool water bottle into her hand like she always did. Maya blinked at her. “I’m not the one doing quali.”

“No, but you’ve looked like you’re gonna faint twice today, and it’s bloody hot. So hydration it is,” Angela said lightly, squeezing her elbow. “You okay?”

Maya nodded a little too quickly. “Yeah. Fine. Just… pre-season nerves, I guess.”

Angela didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press.

Then came Shov, arms full of data printouts, offering her a warm nod as he passed. Jasmin, the comms girl, gave her a hug and whispered, “Lewis looked over the data. Reckons he’s got pole in him.” Even Roscoe ambled over and flopped at her feet.

Lewis finally stepped out of his drivers room, race suit half-zipped, headphones around his neck. His eyes scanned the garage automatically—and landed on her.

His smile lit up instantly.

“’Bout time you showed up,” he called, making his way toward her with long strides.

Maya smiled, but it wobbled at the edges. “Thought I’d let you warm up without me distracting you.”

“You’re my good luck charm,” he said, pulling her into a hug without hesitation. “You’re supposed to be annoying my engineers and doing your anxious pacing routine by now.”

His grip was strong. Familiar. Steady.

Her stomach twisted.

Lewis pulled back to look at her properly. “You alright?”

She hesitated.

It was just a second, barely more than a breath. But his expression shifted—just slightly. The concern cracked through.

“I’m okay,” she said quickly, too quickly. “Just a bit tired. The AC in my hotel room wouldn’t work properly last night, so I’m knackered.”

He studied her. The way she avoided his eyes. The way her fingers curled too tight around her coffee cup. The way she was wearing the necklace he gave her last year—the tiny ‘44’ pendant, but there was a second thin chain tucked under her t-shirt.

“Is it something with the media team?” he asked. “Toto said some people from F1TV have been pushing harder this year. If they’re giving you shit, I can talk to them.”

“No—God, no. It’s nothing like that.” She forced a laugh. “You don’t have to solve everything for me.”

He raised a brow. “Kind of my job.”

Her heart cracked a little more.

Because he meant it. Lewis had always made her problems his to carry. And here she was—carrying one she couldn’t let him anywhere near.

“I’m fine,” she said again, softer now.

He studied her for a long beat, then pulled her in for another hug. Longer. Tighter. One hand gently cradling the back of her head like she was still his baby sister and the world was still simple.

“You’d tell me, right?” he murmured. “If something was wrong?”

Maya closed her eyes.

She thought of Lando’s soft kiss on her collarbone.

Max’s voice growling mine into her skin.

The way her body was marked with secrets her brother would never forgive. The way his ’44’ necklace was now layered with a pendant engraved with ’334’.

She nodded against his shoulder. “Yeah,” she lied. “Of course I would.”

—

The garage held its collective breath.

Maya stood pressed between Angela and one of the data engineers, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, trying to look like any other team member—calm, collected, focused.

But her insides were twisting.

Q3 had been chaos. Max was flying. Lewis had just put in a near-perfect lap and yet—Maya could feel it before the final sector even lit up red on the screens.

He’s going to do it, she thought, not with pride, but dread.

And then it happened.

"Verstappen goes fastest by nearly four-tenths of a second!"

The words echoed out from the broadcast feed just as the live timing confirmed it: 1:30.499.

Max Verstappen, P1. Pole in Bahrain.

The Red Bull garage erupted somewhere down pit lane, a ripple of cheers and fist bumps and exhaled adrenaline.

Inside Mercedes, there was only silence.

Not disappointment—no one would ever dare call P2 disappointing—but something close. Tight-jawed restraint. The kind that came from knowing the fight had already begun and this year, it wasn’t going to be easy.

Maya stared at the screen as Max’s name flickered to the top.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

Max. Her Max. Standing in the spotlight that had been Lewis’s for so long. Not as a fluke. Not as a surprise. But as a credible championship threat.

She swallowed hard.

Beside her, Lewis was still in the car, helmet on, visor down. No reaction. Just silence, his hands resting still on the wheel as if he could slow the rotation of the world through sheer will.

Toto muttered something low into his headset. Bono nodded, already making notes.

And Maya?

Maya just stood there, eyes glued to the monitor, like if she blinked, maybe she’d give herself away.

Because she wasn’t just watching a race for pole.

She was watching everything she loved begin to unravel.

—

“Not bad,” Lewis said later, climbing out of the car, voice steady but clipped. “But he’s quick.”

“Too quick,” Toto said under his breath, eyes narrowed toward the Red Bull pit wall.

Maya stayed quiet, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to hurt.

Lewis yanked off his helmet, hair damp with sweat, face unreadable. “I’ll get him tomorrow.”

And he meant it.

There was no panic in him. Just fire.

Maya wanted to feel proud—did feel proud—but it tangled in her chest with something darker. Max had wanted this so badly. Had trained, obsessed, studied every weakness.

He’d told her last night, all cocky and sure, “I’m taking pole tomorrow. Watch me.”

She had.

And it felt like betrayal.

“You alright, Maya?” Angela asked beside her, voice low.

Maya blinked. “Yeah. Just… adrenaline.”

Angela smiled but didn’t look convinced.

Around her, the team started to reset. Engineers filed data. Tires were rolled back into the bays. Lewis ducked into the cool-down room. The day went on—qualifying melting into race prep.

But Maya stood frozen, staring at the screen as they showed a replay of Max climbing out of his car, grinning, waving, drinking in the roar of the crowd.

Her phone buzzed in her back pocket. One message.

Max: That one was for you, mooi meisje ;)

Her thumbs hovered over the screen.

She didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Not when every part of her felt like it was fraying.

—

The private dining room at the Four Seasons was as beautiful as it was unbearable.

White linen, glinting crystal, plates arranged like art installations. Half the Mercedes team had shown up in tailored shirts and watches worth more than her apartment. Lewis looked sharp in dark navy, his jewellery glinting under the lights, all confidence and quiet authority.

Maya sat two seats down from him, nursing a glass of sparkling water and trying to ignore the way her skin felt too tight.

Everyone was celebrating Lewis’s P2. Quiet jabs at Red Bull. The conversation flowed easily, punctuated with champagne flutes and inside jokes.

She smiled when she needed to. Laughed at the right times.

But her food sat mostly untouched.

“Not hungry?” Lewis leaned over during a lull, his brow creasing with concern.

Maya shook her head lightly. “Just a bit of a headache. Might head back early.”

“You sure?” His eyes narrowed slightly, protective mode flickering to life. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

“It’s fine, Lew.” She smiled softly, touched his hand. “Just tired. Too much sun today.”

That placated him—for now.

Still, when she excused herself a little after dessert, she felt his eyes on her all the way to the elevator.

—

Her heels clicked quietly through the marble halls of the hotel. She peeled off her pink sequined jacket, fingers already itching to wipe off her lipstick.

Room 1608. Keycard in. Heartbeat loud.

She pushed open the door.

And there they were.

Lando and Max.

Barefoot on the carpet. Dressed in old shirts. A paper bag of Bahraini takeout between them on the low coffee table. The room smelled like garlic and lemon and cardamom.

Lando lit up the moment he saw her. “Hey, gorgeous.”

Max didn’t say anything. Just looked at her. Took her in like he always did—like he was seeing past the makeup and the silk and the smile she’d worn like armour all evening.

“We thought you might be hungry,” Lando said, lifting the paper bag. “You hate fancy food, eh? The shit with the tiny portions and the—what did you call it? Sea foam?”

She laughed before she could help it. “God, yeah. I do hate it.”

“We got your favourites,” Max added, his voice low. “That lemon rice thing. And the roasted chickpeas.”

Her eyes stung instantly.

It was stupid, really.

They hadn’t bought her diamonds. They hadn’t swept her away on a platinum vacation with cabana’s and champagne on tap.

They just… noticed things. And then remembered them.

Maya shut the door quietly behind her and toed off her heels.

“You alright, baby?” Lando asked, watching her closely.

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Just—long day.”

Max stepped forward, reaching out to take the jacket from her. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“And kind of exhausted,” Lando added, frowning as he set out the containers.

She exhaled, breath catching in her throat as she stood there, bare feet on plush carpet, in a beautiful, lavish hotel room lit only by the soft glow of a bedside lamp.

Maybe she didn’t deserve them. Either of them.

But in that moment, with the scent of home-cooked spices and two pairs of eyes watching her like she mattered—

She felt seen.

She crossed the room, curled onto the floor between them, let Lando tuck a pillow behind her back and Max pass her a container with a plastic fork.

They didn’t ask about the Mercedes dinner.

Instead, Lando handed her a can of Diet Coke and said, “Max, I swear to God, if you eat all the hummus again—”

“That was one time,” Max muttered, stealing a bite from her rice.

She laughed through the tears that slipped down anyway.

And no one said a word when she wiped her eyes on Lando’s sleeve and whispered, “Thank you.”

—

The penthouse smelled like eucalyptus and lemon disinfectant. Again.

Maya stepped into the foyer, kicking off her shoes before she could even call out, already knowing the routine by heart.

“Lew?” she called gently, balancing a tote bag and her phone as she tiptoed further into the open-plan space.

“Bathroom!” came his voice, muffled.

She heard the sink shut off, followed by the hiss of the automatic soap dispenser refilling. A moment later, Lewis emerged, wearing joggers and a loose black hoodie, dreads tied back in a bun, hands freshly dried on one of his eco-cloth towels.

He opened his arms wordlessly, and she walked right into the hug.

“You good?” he murmured into her hair, holding her a little tighter than necessary.

“Fine,” she lied, letting her head rest on his shoulder. “Just needed this.”

“Same.” He let her go reluctantly, stepping back and scanning her face like he could see a fever if he looked hard enough. “Did you wear your mask on the flight?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Double. Plus visor.”

“Proud of you.” He grinned, but there was that edge of real concern in his voice, always there since 2020. “I wiped down the groceries. There’s ginger tea in the kitchen. You hungry?”

Maya dropped her bag by the couch and sank into the corner of the sectional. “Starving. But not for quinoa, so don’t even try it.”

He chuckled, already padding toward the kitchen. “Fine. I’ll do that chickpea pasta you like. But no dairy.”

“God forbid.”

The apartment was all clean lines and natural light. Candles flickered on nearly every surface—lavender, sandalwood, some obscure eco brand she’d never heard of. Plants climbed up the balcony railings, and soft music played from the built-in speakers—Snoh Aalegra, probably.

It was safe here. And calm.

“You sanitised your phone, right?” he called.

“First thing.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad.” She mocked.

He laughed again, but she heard the tension behind it.

The thing was—her big brother really was scared. Ever since COVID nearly derailed his 2020 season—and long after he recovered—he’d become almost fanatical about health. He didn’t just follow protocols; he added his own layers. Masking between hotel rooms. Distancing in the garage. No hugs. No parties. No exceptions.

Maya understood. But she also knew she’d broken almost every rule last weekend.

She’d kissed Max Verstappen without a mask. She’d fallen asleep in Lando Norris’s hoodie. She’d snuck back into Lewis’s hotel suite in Bahrain with aftershave clinging to her scarf.

And now here she was, sipping herbal tea, while her brother made her dinner like she was still ten years old.

“How’s your jet lag?” Lewis asked as he chopped shallots.

“I’m holding up.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Just… weird being back here. Monaco.”

“It’s your home.”

“I know,” she said quickly, guilt climbing up her throat like smoke. “I just meant… after being back in the paddock. It’s quiet.”

He smiled, gentle. “That’s the point. This place is your reset button.”

Right. Reset.

Wipe away the lies. The longing. The way Max’s touch lingered like a bruise. The way Lando’s laughter followed her into her dreams.

She watched Lewis light another candle at the table. He was so careful. So loving. So damn sure he was doing what was best for her.

“Hey,” he said, sitting across from her once dinner was ready. “You doing okay with all the traveling again? Like mentally, not just physically.”

She looked at him for a long moment.

And then she smiled. “I’m okay.”

Because what else could she say?

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mayahamilton my love letter to italy—this year was very different, but i still got my gelato, so life goes on💘

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lewishamilton Beautiful!❤️

landonorris Yummy!!🤤

mercedesf1 Our girl is glowing in Italy!🇮🇹

Imola was one of Maya Hamilton’s favourite places in the world.

There was something about the way the trees bowed over the track like silent witnesses, the ghosts of legends hanging heavy in the air. It felt older than the sport itself, reverent and raw. The air smelled of wet grass and motor oil, and the soft murmur of Italian from the paddock staff always made her feel like she was drifting through some hazy dream of a life that wasn’t hers.

But it was.

Sort of.

She sat tucked into a corner of the Mercedes hospitality unit, sunlight slanting through the sheer white awnings, her iced water sweating against her palm. The Friday debrief had been going on for almost forty minutes, and she hadn’t contributed more than a nod. Not that she needed to—she wasn’t on payroll. But they liked having her here, the team. The kid sister. The emotional barometer.

Lewis, seated at the head of the table in his black team polo and braided bun, was deep in conversation with Bono and Shov about tire degradation in Sector 2. His voice was calm, clipped, surgical. Every word deliberate. The energy around him buzzed with intent.

Maya leaned back in her chair, legs crossed at the ankle, trying to look engaged without letting her mind drift. Toto sat on her right, scanning a data tablet, occasionally muttering to the race engineers. Angela was on her left, chewing absently on a granola bar and highlighting something in her notes.

Maya’s phone, face down in her lap, buzzed once.

Then again.

She glanced down—quick, subtle—and felt a flutter rise in her chest.

Lando: Max just told an Italian journalist to fuck off because he said he preferred twisty pasta to spaghetti

Max: It’s called fusilli

Lando: Twisty tho ain’t it

She smothered a laugh behind her water glass, keeping her face neutral as Lewis debriefed something about tire temperatures to Bono and Shov.

Another buzz.

Lando: You staying at the team hotel or Lew’s villa?

Maya: Team hotel.

Max: Can I see you tonight?

Lando: Can we see you tonight he means

Maya: 🙃

She tucked her phone under the table for a second and exhaled slowly.

They were relentless. Sweet, stupid, hers. And so, so dangerous.

“Everything okay?” Angela asked gently beside her.

Maya startled a little too hard. “Yeah—just George texting. He wanted the link to that yoga app I told him about.”

Angela nodded, satisfied.

Another buzz.

Max: I’ll be in the parking garage at 9. Left side, by the back entrance.

Lando: I’ll bring u some of the cannoli you like yh

Maya: You two are going to get me killed.

Max: Then we’ll die smug.

Lando: I’ll die holding your hand bb

She typed slowly, carefully.

Maya: I can’t stay long

Max: Five minutes. Just to see you.

Lando: Five minutes or forever. Up to you <3

She stared at the screen until Toto asked her if she had any insight on Lewis’s sleep patterns this week, and she made something up about melatonin and magnesium.

Later, she’d sneak out the hotel’s back door, hoodie pulled low, mask snug on her face.

But for now, she smiled politely, tucked her phone into her lap, and pretended she wasn’t being pulled in a million directions.

—

It started slow.

Imola was chaos—wet and wild and unpredictable. Max won. Lewis made a heroic recovery drive from the gravel trap to second, and everyone called it one of the best races of his career.

Maya sat in the Mercedes garage, clapping along, smiling for the cameras, while her phone buzzed with a single message from Max.

Max: For you. Always.

And she’d felt it like it was exactly that—for her. Every lap. Every snarl of the Red Bull carving through spray like it was born in the rain.

She met him that night. Hotel room. No lights, just hands and breath and whispered I missed yous.

Lando came the next day. Brought her espresso and chocolate and that stupid charm that made everything feel okay—even when it wasn’t.

—

Portugal was another battle. Lewis took pole. Max hunted him like a wolf. The lead switched, again and again. Maya could barely breathe as she watched it all from behind tinted garage screens, Mercedes crew around her cursing and cheering and pacing like caged animals.

After the podium, Max didn’t text. He called.

“I hate him,” Max said, voice hoarse.

She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “No you don’t,” she whispered. “You just want to win.”

—

Spain.

Another Mercedes win. Another Max podium. The tension between the two teams had become nuclear. The smallest remarks in the media turned into grenades on Twitter. Every glance, every gesture, was interpreted as strategy.

Maya stopped sleeping properly.

Lando noticed first.

“You’re not built for keeping secrets,” he told her softly, tracing her knuckles with his thumb. “You’re too good. Too honest.”

“I’m not,” she whispered, curled against him in a Monte Carlo flat she didn’t live in. “Not anymore.”

“You love us?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. Immediately. No hesitation.

“Okay,” he said, kissing her like he didn’t care that she had to sneak out before sunrise to make breakfast with Lewis.

—

Monaco should have been the breaking point.

Lando podiumed.

Max won.

Lewis finished seventh, livid.

Maya nearly lost it.

She spent half the night arguing with Lewis—about Red Bull, about Max’s aggressive driving, about how close the championship was becoming.

“I don’t trust him,” Lewis had said flatly. “I don’t trust them. And I sure as hell don’t want you anywhere near that garage anymore.”

Maya bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood.

She couldn’t tell him she’d already been in Max’s garage that night—wrapped in his arms, pressed into a wall, his victory champagne still clinging to her skin.

She couldn’t tell him about the messages she and Lando had exchanged during the team dinner, the silly hearts and fire emojis and shared glances no one else seemed to catch.

She couldn’t tell him anything.

So she just hugged him and waited for the next race.

—

And now, it was Baku on the horizon.

Red Bull had the momentum. Max was leading the championship for the first time in his career.

Lewis was angrier than she’d seen him in years—sharp-edged, distrustful, more obsessed than ever with precision and control. Maya couldn’t blame him. He felt the walls closing in. The weight of history. The eighth title slipping out of his reach.

The hotel room was too warm.

Not hot—just humid in the way that made the silk of Maya’s blouse cling to the small of her back, her wine glass sweat in her hand, and her thoughts fuzz at the edges.

Max had the balcony door open, a breeze occasionally lifting the edge of the curtain. Lando sat cross-legged on the bed, a sandwich half-eaten in his lap, scrolling through TikToks on mute and barely pretending to watch.

Maya stood near the dresser, drink in hand, watching the city glow.

She’d come here for quiet. For a few hours off-grid from the Mercedes camp, from Lewis.

And yet, somehow, the silence had only made things worse.

Behind her, Max leaned against the window frame, arms crossed, face unreadable.

He spoke without looking at her. “Who do you want to win the championship?”

The question hit the air like a spark.

Maya turned slowly. “Max—”

He looked up, eyes sharp. “No games. Just say it.”

“Maya,” Lando said quietly. “Don’t—”

“She’s allowed to answer,” Max snapped.

“And you’re being a dick,” Lando shot back.

“Don’t do this,” Maya said, more tired than angry. “Not tonight.”

But Max stepped forward, jaw tight. “Because you want it to be him? Lewis?”

She held his gaze, not flinching. “You know I can’t answer that.”

“Yes, you can,” Max insisted, something desperate creeping into his voice. “You love him. He’s your brother. I get it. I do. But I need to know—do you want me to win?”

The silence cracked.

Maya opened her mouth—then closed it. She set her glass down carefully on the dresser, walked over to the bed, and sat beside Lando. He leaned into her instinctively, hand brushing her knee.

She didn’t look at Max when she spoke.

“Lando.”

The word was soft. Certain.

Max blinked, thrown. “What?”

Maya finally looked up at him, face unreadable. “You asked who I want to win. It’s Lando. I want Lando to win it.”

“That’s not an answer,” Max said.

“It’s the only one I have,” she replied, voice thick now. “Because he’s the only one who hasn’t tried to make me choose. Not once.”

Max flinched, but only slightly.

Lando’s hand slid into hers, steady and warm.

She went on, quieter now. “I love Lewis. I love you. But this thing… this fight between you two—it’s war. And I can’t be involved, okay? I won’t survive it.”

Max didn’t speak.

Then he crossed the room slowly, like a storm winding down to a drizzle. And when he reached her, he didn’t argue. He dropped to his knees in front of her, hands resting on her thighs, forehead bowed to hers.

“I don’t want to be at war,” he said. “Not with you.”

Her breath caught. “Then don’t ask me to choose.”

Lando leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck.

Max’s hands slid up to her waist.

And then it unraveled—not with fire, but with something gentler. Like gravity. Like inevitability.

They fell into each other—Max and Maya and Lando, tangled up in silk sheets and half-spoken promises. The world outside kept spinning: titles and telemetry and history waiting to be written.

But in that room, just for the night, none of it mattered.

—

The paddock buzzed with tension.

Maya stood just outside the Mercedes hospitality unit, arms crossed, heart pacing faster than it should’ve been this early in the afternoon. Everyone was on edge. The engineers, the pit crews, the team principals. No one trusted Baku, and Baku had no interest in being tamed.

The street circuit wound through the city like a razor-blade. Tight. Twisty. Unforgiving.

She watched the pre-race build-up from her usual spot in the garage, pressed behind a row of monitors. Angela stood beside her, sipping ginger tea, eyes locked on Lewis’s helmet cam.

Eventually her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Max:Love you no matter how this ends.

It wasn’t directed at either her or Lando specifically. And Maya knew he’d done that on purpose—because it wasn’t a message for only one of them.

Then, seconds later,

Lando: Guys do either of u have tummy aches I think the food was weird last night

She nearly laughed.

Max: I feel fine mate.

Maya: Ask Will for a gaviscon Lan <3

—

The race started clean.

Lewis got the jump. Max surged. Lando held his own. The first half blurred—strategies playing out, overtakes and tire management. Maya held her breath for most of it, eyes flicking between timing screens and team radios.

Then: chaos.

Lap 47.

Max’s Red Bull was leading. Confident. Controlled.

And then it snapped.

A straight-line blowout at over 300kph. No warning. Just a cloud of smoke, a violent skid, and silence.

Maya didn’t scream—but she felt something inside her crack, hollow and sharp.

The garage fell into chaos.

Maya’s hands trembled around the edge of her chair.

He was okay. He was okay.

They showed the replay. Again. Again.

Max kicking the tire barrier. Furious. Frustrated. Alive.

Then came the red flag.

She texted him, not caring who saw.

Maya: Are you okay?

Max: I’m fine. Just want to punch the fucking world.

She exhaled.

—

The restart.

Two laps. One shot.

Lewis surged forward at lights out—and then, unbelievably, went straight. Turn One. Brakes on. Magic brake settings not switched off. A lock-up. Gone.

He dropped out of the points in one breath.

Maya sat frozen.

It wasn’t joy she felt. Not relief. Not even horror.

Just... confusion. The kind that made her feel weightless and sick at once.

She looked around. The garage was in shock. Toto shouted something unintelligible into a headset. Bono cursed. Lewis’s voice over the radio—calm, too calm—sounded like grief.

—

After the race, she didn’t go looking for anyone.

She walked the paddock like a ghost. Ignored the Sky Sports crew. Brushed past her brother’s darkened driver room. Didn’t go to Max. Didn’t go to Lando.

She ended up at the far end of the paddock, sitting on the edge of a generator crate.

Her phone lit up.

Lando: Want me to come get you?

Max: Where are you?

Lewis: Waiting for you in the garage

She stared at the screen.

Because for all her talk about not choosing, about balance and control—Baku reminded her of the truth.

In Formula 1, everything comes undone eventually.

—

Maya’s trainers hit the pavement in rhythmic thuds. Early morning sun poured over the marina, glinting off the sea like shattered glass. She’d taken this route a hundred times—around Port Hercule, through the quiet streets of La Condamine, past the curve of the Fairmont hairpin.

She ran to feel empty. Or maybe to feel anything.

But today, she came to a full, breathless stop at a corner café tucked under the awning of a designer boutique.

Max was sitting at a table by the window.

And he wasn’t alone.

The girl was beautiful, effortlessly so. Model-beautiful. Laughing at something Max said, tucking her hair behind her ear like she knew exactly who he was and what he was worth. His hand rested on the table between them. Close. Comfortable.

Maya didn’t move for a long moment.

Then she turned, walked back the way she came, and ran until her lungs burned.

—

She didn’t speak to him until three days later.

—

It was Lando’s flat in Monaco.

Safe territory. Neutral ground. Or at least, it used to be.

Maya had barely stepped inside before she said it. Couldn’t keep the words inside any longer. “I saw you.”

Max, standing by the window with a glass of water, turned slowly. “What?”

“At the café,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake, but her heart did. “With her.”

Lando looked between them, confused. “Wait—what café? What’s going on?”

Max’s expression shifted, just barely. But Maya knew that look. That wall slamming down behind his eyes. “Nothing happened,” he said. Too fast.

“You were on a date.”

He didn’t answer.

Maya crossed her arms, holding herself together with sheer will. “Say it.”

Max set the glass down with a soft thud on the table. “Fine. Yeah. I went out. Had a coffee. It was nothing.”

Lando’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, what the hell, Max?”

Maya’s voice cracked. “We say we love each other. Max, we say it all the time.”

“Do we?” Max snapped, too loud now. “Do we actually say it? Or do we just whisper it in dark rooms?”

Maya flinched.

Lando froze. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak.

Max started pacing, running a hand through his hair, every movement too sharp. “Your loyalty is with your brother—okay, I’ve accepted that. But this relationship? It’s always going to be a secret, isn’t it? I can’t hold your hand in public, can’t kiss you in the paddock, can’t even look at you for too long without someone putting two and two together and ruining everything. You want me to believe that that’s enough?”

Maya’s eyes welled up. Her throat burned. “So that’s it?” she whispered. “You’re not happy, so you just go and—what—punish me by going on a date with somebody else?”

Max’s mouth opened, then shut.

“I wasn’t punishing you,” he said, but it didn’t matter. His voice was like gravel now. “I just… I needed to breathe. Just once. To not feel like some shameful little secret you keep locked away.”

“I didn’t know you felt like that,” Lando said quietly, and this time his voice wasn’t gentle. It was tight. Controlled. Dangerous.

Max turned to him, faltering. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Too fucking late,” Lando said, his voice slicing through the room.

Maya backed away a step, her hands trembling now. “You told me you loved me. You said that and meant it. And I believed you.”

“I did mean it,” Max said, stepping forward.

She shook her head hard. “No. You don’t do this to people you love. You don’t humiliate them. You don’t cheat on them and call it ‘needing air’.”

Max’s face crumpled—just for a second. Then he looked away.

“I didn’t think it would matter,” he said, and that, more than anything, made her knees almost buckle.

“You didn’t think I would care?” she asked, blinking fast. “You didn’t think this—us—was real enough to matter?”

“I didn’t think this was forever,” he said, barely audible.

Maya’s face twisted in pain. “But we said it was. I was building something with you. With both of you.”

Lando stepped in now, chest heaving. “And I was all in, man. I’ve been all in since Monza. You think I haven’t wanted more? Think I didn’t wish we could walk into a fucking restaurant and just exist like normal people? But I never once even considered bailing. Never looked at what could possibly exist outside of this. Us.”

Max swallowed hard, guilt rising like bile. “I wasn’t bailing—”

“You were,” Lando said, sharp. “You fucking were.”

Max turned to Maya again. “I didn’t think. I was—I didn’t think—“

“I don’t know what to say, Max,” she whispered, tears running freely now. “Because I don’t know how to come back from this.”

—

The air smelled like burnt rubber and heat haze.

Everything was too bright—too clean—and Maya Hamilton felt like she was made of broken glass.

She stood in the back corner of the Mercedes garage, arms folded tightly over her chest, watching Lewis climb into the W12 with that same focused fire in his eyes. It used to make her proud—used to make her heart swell with something close to worship.

Now, it just made her feel small.

“Alright, Maya?” Bono asked as he passed her, clipboard in hand, offering her a quick smile.

She nodded, managed a soft, “Yeah, all good,” even though she hadn’t really eaten since Monaco, and the bags under her eyes were hidden only by genius makeup artistry.

She was not all good.

She hadn’t spoken to Max.

And Lando—God, sweet, loyal Lando—he’d been checking in with quiet texts.

Across the paddock, Max stood like a statue in front of his car, arms crossed, face unreadable. But she could feel it—his gaze drifting toward the silver garage, like maybe if he stared hard enough, she’d appear and forgive him.

She didn’t.

Lando passed her in the hospitality zone earlier, sunglasses on, jaw tight. He didn’t stop. Didn’t even look at her. But he’d brushed her hand as he passed—so quick, so light she almost thought she imagined it.

And she almost cried right there in the corridor.

“Three minutes to lights out,” someone called. The garage snapped into life.

Maya flinched at the sound, as if the race could somehow shake her loose from everything she was holding inside.

She shifted closer to Angela, who gave her a knowing look. “You okay, babe?”

She nodded. Lied again. “Yeah.”

The lights went out.

And the world moved forward, even if her heart hadn’t.

—

The race was brutal.

Max won. Again.

It wasn’t just a victory—it was a statement. He took it from Lewis in the final laps, overtaking with a precision that Maya knew would haunt her brother for days.

And it gutted her.

Not because Max didn’t deserve it.

But because she couldn’t tell him congratulations.

Could only share the grin with Lando when he finished fifth—she'd seen it bloom behind his helmet visor on the cool-down lap.

All she could do was stand in parc fermé, arms folded, watching Lewis climb from the car and throw his gloves down, jaw tight, too angry to talk.

Toto clapped him on the back. Shov muttered something to him in his ear. Maya didn’t move.

And from across the way, Max caught her eyes for just a second.

One second.

And in it, she saw the win meant nothing to him.

Not really.

Because she wasn’t there to congratulate him.

—

The apartment was quiet when they got home.

Maya toed off her shoes, kicked her bag under the hallway table, and tried to make it to her bedroom without being stopped.

No such luck.

“Hey.”

She halted.

Lewis had leaned against the frame of the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

She forced a small smile. “Hey. I thought maybe I’d get an early night—”

He didn’t return it. “Yeah—no. You thought wrong.”

Maya sighed, rubbed her temple. “I’m really not—”

“Don’t,” he cut in, voice quieter than she expected. “Don’t give me that I’m fine crap. You haven’t been fine for weeks.”

She turned away, walking toward the fridge just to give her hands something to do. “I’m just tired.”

“That’s not all it is,” Lewis said, stepping closer. “You’ve been checked out. You barely talk to me anymore. I don’t even know if you’re sleeping. It’s like… it’s like when you were sixteen all over again.”

That landed like a punch. She turned, slowly, eyes wide. “I’m not—” Her throat tightened. “I’m not there, Lewis. It’s not like that.”

“Then talk to me,” he said, voice breaking now. “Because I know you, Maya. And whatever this is, it’s not good. And I don’t want to wake up one day and realise I didn’t see it happening again.”

She looked at him. Her big brother. Her protector. The man who had pulled her back from the edge more times than she could count.

And her heart just gave out.

“I fucking fell in love, Lew,” she said suddenly, voice cracking like glass. “And he’s an asshole. And I hate him. But I love him so much.”

Silence.

She didn’t know what reaction she expected. Anger? Confusion?

Lewis’s eyebrows drew together, slowly. “Who?”

Her lip trembled. She blinked fast. “Max.”

He just stared at her.

“And Lando,” she added, barely above a whisper.

His mouth opened, then shut again. “Jesus Christ.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she said, tears falling freely now. “I didn’t. It started out… I don’t even know. It wasn’t serious. Then it was. And I love them both. And I know how messed up that sounds. And Max—he—he did something, and I don’t know if I can forgive him, and it broke me, Lewis. It really fucking hurt me.”

Lewis stepped forward, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal.

He wrapped his arms around her without a word, held her so tight she could barely breathe. But she didn’t fight it. She just buried her face in his chest and let the sobs shake out of her.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I didn’t want to lie to you.”

“I’m not mad,” Lewis murmured into her hair. “I’m not. I just wish you’d told me.”

She nodded against him, fingers fisting into the soft fabric of his hoodie like she might fall apart if she let go. His arms were a wall around her, warm and steady, and for the first time in weeks, she let herself stop holding it together.

But the silence didn’t last.

“What did he do?” Lewis asked after a beat, his voice lower now. Sharper. “Max. What did he do?”

Maya froze.

Pulled back just enough to look up at him. Her lips parted, but no words came.

Lewis’s jaw ticked. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” she said quickly, too quickly. “No, not like that.”

“But he did something,” he pressed, not letting go.

Her throat worked around the answer, heavy and aching. “He went on a date.”

Lewis blinked. “A date?”

Maya nodded once. “I saw him. At a café with some girl. Laughing. Holding her hand—kind of.”

Lewis was quiet for a long time. “You’re not together, though. Not properly. Right?”

“No,” she whispered. “But we were… we are something. We’ve said we love each other. All three of us. It’s messy, and it’s complicated, and it’s so stupid, but it’s real, Lew.”

Lewis’s brow furrowed. “And he knew that?”

She nodded. “Yeah. He knew.”

He pulled away slightly, pacing toward the kitchen counter with his hands on his hips. “So what, he just... he fucking cheated on you?”

“I think he thought I wouldn’t care,” she said softly. “Or maybe he wanted me to care. Maybe he wanted to prove a point. I don’t know. He said he was tired of being hidden, of always being the secret. And I get it, Lew, I do��but it still fucking hurt.”

Lewis’s eyes narrowed. “So instead of talking to you like a man, he decided to break your heart and play the victim.”

Maya sighed, wiping her cheeks. “It wasn’t that simple. Nothing with Max ever is.”

Lewis leaned forward against the counter, silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. “I don’t like him.”

She let out a humourless breath. “I know.”

“I mean it,” he said. “You’re my sister. I’ve seen you at your worst, and I know how long it took for you to feel whole again. And now you’re risking all of that for… for him?”

Maya looked down, voice small. “It’s not just him. Lando too. And he’s been… perfect, honestly. Patient. All in. But this thing with Max is like--I don’t even know how to describe it. It pulls at me even when I don’t want it to.”

Lewis’s shoulders dropped a little. “Then why not just be with Lando?”

“Because I love Max too,” she whispered. “Even when it hurts. Even now. And Lando, he—he loves Max too. In his own way.”

Lewis stared at her for a long time, and then walked back over, resting his hands on her shoulders. “You don’t deserve halfway love, Maya. Not from anyone. You hear me?”

“I know.”

“And if either of them—either—ever makes you feel like you’re hard to love, you come to me. Because I will bury them in the goddamn gravel.”

A shaky laugh broke out of her. She leaned forward again, pressing her face into his chest. “Thanks, Lew.”

He held her tighter this time. “Always, baby girl. Always.”

—

Lewis shut the door to his bedroom harder than necessary. The click echoed in the quiet Monaco penthouse. His chest was still heaving, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

He paced once, twice.

Then grabbed his phone off the desk and hit the number he'd called more times than he could count.

“Hey,” came Bono’s voice, calm as always. Familiar. Safe. “Everything alright?”

“No.” Lewis’s voice cracked like a whip. “No, Bono. It’s not.”

There was a pause. “Talk to me.”

He closed his eyes. “He hurt her. Max. He fucking hurt my sister.”

Bono was quiet again. But not surprised. “How bad?”

“She was crying in my arms,” Lewis snapped. “You know how long it’s been since I’ve seen her like that? Since she broke down like that?”

Bono’s voice dropped, gentle. “What happened?”

“She fell in love,” Lewis bit out. “With both of them. Norris and him. Max. And Max—he went on a date. With someone else. While telling Maya he loved her. Like she’s some disposable thing and not the most precious girl in the entire world.”

Bono sighed softly. “Shit.”

“I’m serious, man.” Lewis raked a hand through his braids. “I swear to God, I’m two seconds away from getting in the car and going over there. I don’t care if it loses me the championship. I’ll put him in the fucking wall if he even looks at her again.”

“Lewis—”

“No, Bono, I mean it. You didn’t see her. She was shaking. And she’s still trying to defend him. Still trying to make it make sense in her head, because she loves him. And he—God, he’s a fucking idiot.”

“I know,” Bono said gently. “I know you’re angry. You’re her big brother. That’s your job.”

“Then let me do my job,” Lewis growled. “Let me protect her. I can fight him and win—easy.”

“And what happens after?” Bono asked calmly. “You go over there, punch him in the face, make headlines around the world, maybe get suspended from the next GP? You think that fixes anything for Maya?”

Lewis was silent.

Bono continued, voice firm but warm. “You’ve been the anchor for her, always. You can’t lose that now. Don’t let your anger speak louder than your love.”

“I just…” Lewis rubbed his eyes. “I just hate seeing her like this. And I hate that I didn’t know. That I didn’t protect her soon enough.”

“You’re protecting her now,” Bono said. “Just by being there. That’s what matters.”

A long silence passed between them.

Lewis sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, the tension in his body slowly bleeding out. “She deserves better.”

“She does,” Bono agreed. “But she has to be the one who makes that choice.”

Another silence. Then, quietly, Lewis said, “If he hurts her again, I’m not calling you first next time.”

Bono chuckled. “Fair. Just… give me a warning before you end your career, yeah?”

Lewis huffed a laugh, bitter but real. “Yeah. Deal.”

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